#world walker demon

[little-earthquakes-rp]

Bio

Name: Valdis Smith (Val)

Age: Beyond comprehension

Supernatural species: Wrath Demon & World Walker

Nickname: The Collector

Dark eyes, dark hair, & dark heart

As long as Valdis can recall Earth had always been an enigma; one that he’d been hell-bent on unraveling the mystery. After being fed the stories of the former glory of the forbidden realm. The wrath demon was born shortly after his tribe opted to retreat from it during the great purge. Returning to their original dimension of Delexos. Thousands of years passed as the demon moved through dimensions and time, always avoiding the cursed rock of Terra.

In time factions among the tribes grew on Delexos and war inevitability began to spread throughout. From inception, Valdis was groomed to be efficient in violence and realm jumping, and while he much preferred the latter he never minded getting his hands dirty. Realm jumping was a unique gift among his species and allowed him a certain freedom over his own destiny. The demon didn’t have to rely on being summoned and could jump through portals on a whim making him highly sought after. Valdis was constantly collecting demons, deities, and souls from other realms to bring back at the bequest of his leaders. Often in war numbers prove to be an important asset. After an extended period of capture and enslavement by an adversary the Val grew disillusioned by the never-ending war and traveled far from Delexos.

Eventually, curiosity proved too much of an allure as he subtly jumped realms landing on the forbidden world. The fearful whispers of his ancestors no longer held true. Its residents long ago ended their campaign to rid their world of demons. They were too busy fighting a war among themselves letting him blend right in. Physically he integrated in with the other bipeds except for having to file his fangs and horns down periodically. His dark hair kept longer covered the small protruding bones keeping them hidden. Warring in this land was quite different and he found himself invested in the game often joining different revolutions and resistances. In truth, he liked the place and its inhabitants very much and periodically returned when world jumping. Eventually returning to Delexos with a slew of captured new collateral to fight in the on going war, but his offerings were becoming fewer and far between.

War was the reason he was near the Black Sea that day when he felt a tear and witnessed a portal open. Curious he followed it to find a Vengeance demon had been summoned. After a brief exchange, he killed the demon and opted to answer the call himself. It was then he happened upon Pavlo Terasenko an exceptional death witch who was in the throws of personal devastation. Valdis offered him assistance if in return he would gather souls for him to take back to Delexos where they were used to feed the Hyndra. A demon species that feeds on essence. Despite the demons souring opinion of his home he needed to keep making an offering out of respect. A working relationship formed between the witch and demon eventually a friendship to follow.

In the consequent years, he finds himself spending more time on this plane. Deciding long ago that the tactical style of how humans fought was superior and more enjoyable to his own kind. In fact, many things suit him better here including the advantages he holds over the general population. Pavlo and his daughter Sasha have adopted Val helping in fit in this realm and forming a small family.

Attributes:

Immortal-More deity than even a demon he’s an immortal and is not affected by earthly diseases or injuries or even time. He can self-heal and on occasion has resurrected others.

Strength- Super human strength

Telekinesis- the ability to move items with a thought

World Walker -The ability to travel through multiple dimensions and time and able to collect souls.

[take-it-on-the-run]

And I Love Her

Sam Winchester x Reader

The reader and Dean are being tortured by Gordon Walker because of her relationship with Sam, and all they can do is hope he'll get there in time.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Torture, graphic depictions of being cut into, descriptions of gore and severe bodily harm, Sam Winchester is out of character depending on who you ask

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! Can I request a Dean and/or Sam Winchester (sepperate) x fem! Reader set in season two, with an established relationship, where it's like when Gordon kidnaps Dean, but instead of just Dean he also kidnaps reader. (I can imagine if it's a Dean x reader Gordon uses reader to get Dean to not try anything, and if it's a Sam x reader Sam just going even more ballistic than he originally does in the show). Thank you!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Beatles title. My first Sam fic! Honestly, it was really hard writing this one for some reason, and after five revisions I'm still not completely in love with it. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, and heed the warnings! Do not read if this will make you uncomfortable!

Sam Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Gordon stared blankly at the wall in front of him while you tugged at the ropes on your wrists. A bandana was tied tightly around your mouth that tasted like dirt and your own blood. Dean was tied up to the left of you in a similar state, and both of you were staring down Gordon like it would kill him.

Traps lined every entrance from the doors to every small crack in the wall. Sam was powerful, but you doubted he could break through solid brick. Grenades, tripwire, even a shotgun trap that looked like something straight out of a movie; Gordon wanted Sam dead at all costs.

You knew your boyfriend would come to you and Dean’s rescue, but damn was this cutting it close. Gordon had already tried his best with Dean, but when it was your turn, he took his sweet-ass time.

He punched you, kicked you, even spit on you. Now, you tried your best to not scream as he dragged a knife against the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder.

You failed.

Biting down on the bandana, a muffled scream ripped through your lungs. You tried focusing on Dean, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes which were spilling over with more tears than you thought were in your body.

You could feel your blood dripping down your back and your chest, slithering its way to the floor as Gordon wiped his blade with the rag in his back pocket. He wrenched your head to the side, forcing the fresh wound close and for more tears to streak down your face.

He repeated his process on you a few times.

Your arms.

Your hands.

Your legs.

Every time somehow hurt more than the last, the hunter pulling open your skin and snapping it back together like a rubber band. Your vision was spotty, but you held steadfast to the thought that your boyfriend would be here any minute to save the day like he always did.

Gordon took a step back, wiping sweat and blood from his face and arms. He looked down at you with a glare that you’ve held plenty of times for the less-than-human creatures in the world. You guessed that, in his eyes, you, Sam, and Dean, were held in a similar regard.

Snaps.

Taunts.

Cracks.

Screams.

All because you fell in love with someone born under a bad sign.

You didn’t regret meeting Sam. Kissing him, falling for him, even the idea of just having him in your life was enough for your mind to justify the situation you were in. It wasn’t his fault you were having your life drained out of you minute by minute, and you hoped he would be smart enough to know that.

“Sam’s going to be here any minute, you know. Gotta convince himself he’s the hero of this story, and I’m the big,” Gordon turned to you, knife in hand, “bad, evil dragon. But I’m not the one with demon blood, am I, Y/N?” He placed the edge of the blade against the bottom of your chin. You could feel the cold steel heavy against your skin, and any sudden move would surely spill even more of your blood.

Dean glared at Gordon, his face shades of purple and blue, which mirrored the pain you felt along your entire body. Gordon dug the knife into the bottom of your chin, piercing your skin ever so slightly, but not enough to fatally wound you. Your mind was trying hard to hold onto the cracks of reality that remained in your vision; the smell of the dingy house you were in, the feeling of the carpet making contact with your boots, anything that wouldn’t send your consciousness reeling over was enough of an anchor for you to hang onto.

Gordon walked away from the two of you, returning to his position of peering out one of the boarded-up windows in wait for Sam. You glanced at Dean, which granted you a glance back from him. His eyes were dry, but they held enough behind them to let you know what he was thinking. Sam was going to burst into this booby-trapped hellhole, and Dean could do nothing but blame himself.

It’s all your fault, really, a thought that smashed through what you knew was the truth said.

This isn’t any of our faults, you told it back, wanting to tell Dean the same. Sam wasn’t to blame for the two of you being taken, and neither of you was at fault for being used as bait; it all landed in the hands of the rogue hunter who deemed himself holier-than-thou.

Though you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you were starting to resemble a bloody pulp more than a human being. Dean could barely look your way for longer than a second, and deep cuts that surged whether you moved or not continued to scrape away at your consciousness.

Gordon disappeared, and as you tried to turn your head to follow him, you felt a burning pain across your chest. Highlighted by a spurt of blood splattering over your thighs, you wanted to vomit. The top of your head started to feel like it was being lifted off from the rest of your skull, and the black spots in your vision connected at the edges of your eyes.

You grunted, head going slack and opening wounds on the back of your neck. Either spit, blood, or bile dripped out of your mouth, but at that moment you didn’t care- the black at the corners of your eyes bled together, and all you could do was limply hope Sam would find you.

You blinked, slowly, noticing light creeping in from the boarded-up windows. The second thing you noticed was the searing pain in your body, coupled with grunting and what you could guess was a well-landed punch.

“Y/N!” Someone called out to you, but you could barely lift your head to meet their voice. The bandana in your mouth was pulled away and hands cupped your face, warming your skin that was ice cold after losing so much blood.

The hands left your face and moved to the ropes at your wrists, cutting them off quickly and placing your arms in your lap. You forced your eyes up high enough to see it was your hero, Sam, standing before you with tears starting to fill his eyes. If your face would’ve let your smile, you would’ve, but every movement flashed the memory of Gordon cutting into you.

Gordon.

“Where’s-” You managed to sputter out through a sore jaw and a severely dry mouth.

“Dead,” Sam answered coldly. For the first time, you noticed his knuckles were a hue of bright purple, complimented with blood splattering up his arm. Sam moved your arms around his neck and picked you up as gently as he could.

“Dean’s already in the car patching himself up. I’m going to try and lay you down in the back seat so we can get to the closest hospital. I left Gordon in the room by the first door, so keep your head to my chest if you don’t want to see him, okay?” He asked softly. The tears that were in his eyes had faded slightly, but you could see the emotions he’d no doubt try to hide later on. Regret, blame, guilt - the more he looked at you, the more you could sense that your battered state was tearing away at his consciousness. You wanted to reach out, hold his face, and tell him you’d be okay, you’d survived worse, that it wasn’t his fault, but your thoughts were halted by Sam stepping past Gordon’s body.

If you could call it a body, that is.

His nose was sunken into his face enough that his eyes were slightly popping out of their sockets. His mouth had more gums than teeth, which were scattered around the room. He was lying against a dresser, and his limbs were spread out in the wrong directions. You thought you saw a bone, but before you could look closer, Sam turned and shut the door behind you.

Sam laid you across the back seats of the Impala, trying his best to be gentle with the abhorrent number of cuts across your body. You couldn’t guess how the hospital wasn’t going to ask questions, but you hoped the brothers would figure that out. Your head laid in Sam’s lap, and he looked out the window as Dean buried Gordon.

“Sam,” you slowly moved one of your arms to his face, bringing his attention to you, “thank you. You saved us both. You had to do what you had to do.”

Sam smiled but still didn’t say a word as he dipped down and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You wanted to be able to tell him everything your racing mind was coming up with but were beaten by the overwhelming need to not move. Dean climbed into the front seat, beating the gas pedal to the floor and hitting the highway as Sam ran his fingers comfortingly through your hair.

[thaoworra]

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association recently released the poems that made it to the finalist stage for consideration for the 2024 Rhysling Awards for Short and Long Speculative Poems of the year. Congratulations to all of the nominees! This will be the 46th year these awards have been conferred!

Short Poems (50 finalists)

Attn: Prime Real Estate Opportunity!, Emily Ruth Verona, Under Her Eye: A Women in Horror Poetry Collection Volume II

The Beauty of Monsters, Angela Liu, Small Wonders 1

The Blight of Kezia, Patricia Gomes, HWA Poetry Showcase X

The Day We All Died, A Little, Lisa Timpf, Radon 5

Deadweight, Jack Cooper, Propel 7

Dear Mars, Susan L. Lin, The Sprawl Mag 1.2

Dispatches from the Dragon's Den, Mary Soon Lee, Star*Line 46.2

Dr. Jekyll, West Ambrose, Thin Veil Press December

First Eclipse: Chang-O and the Jade Hare, Emily Jiang, Uncanny 53

Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness, Ali Trotta, The Deadlands 31

Gods of the Garden, Steven Withrow, Spectral Realms 19

The Goth Girls' Gun Gang, Marisca Pichette, The Dread Machine 3.2

Guiding Star, Tim Jones, Remains to be Told: Dark Tales of Aotearoa, ed. Lee Murray (Clan Destine Press)

Hallucinations Gifted to Me by Heatstroke, Morgan L. Ventura, Banshee 15

hemiplegic migraine as willing human sacrifice, Ennis Rook Bashe, Eternal Haunted Summer Winter Solstice

Hi! I am your Cortical Update!, Mahaila Smith, Star*Line 46.3

How to Make the Animal Perfect?, Linda D. Addison, Weird Tales 100

I Dreamt They Cast a Trans Girl to Give Birth to the Demon, Jennessa Hester, HAD October

Invasive, Marcie Lynn Tentchoff, Polar Starlight 9

kan-da-ka, Nadaa Hussein, Apparition Lit 23

Language as a Form of Breath, Angel Leal, Apparition Lit October

The Lantern of September, Scott Couturier, Spectral Realms 19

Let Us Dream, Myna Chang, Small Wonders 3

The Magician's Foundling, Angel Leal, Heartlines Spec 2

The Man with the Stone Flute, Joshua St. Claire, Abyss & Apex 87

Mass-Market Affair, Casey Aimer, Star*Line 46.4

Mom's Surprise, Francis W. Alexander, Tales from the Moonlit Path June

A Murder of Crows, Alicia Hilton, Ice Queen 11

No One Now Remembers, Geoffrey Landis, Fantasy and Science Fiction Nov./Dec.

orion conquers the sky, Maria Zoccula, On Spec 33.2

Pines in the Wind, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, The Beautiful Leaves (Bamboo Dart Press)

The Poet Responds to an Invitation from the AI on the Moon, T.D. Walker, Radon Journal 5

A Prayer for the Surviving, Marisca Pichette, Haven Speculative 9

Pre-Nuptial, F. J. Bergmann, The Vampiricon (Mind's Eye Publications)

The Problem of Pain, Anna Cates, Eye on the Telescope 49

The Return of the Sauceress, F. J. Bergmann, The Flying Saucer Poetry Review February

Sea Change, David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Ann K. Schwader, Scifaikuest May

Seed of Power, Linda D. Addison, The Book of Witches ed. Jonathan Strahan (Harper Collins)

Sleeping Beauties, Carina Bissett, HWA Poetry Showcase X

Solar Punks, J. D. Harlock, The Dread Machine 3.1

Song of the Last Hour, Samuel A. Betiku, The Deadlands 22

Sphinx, Mary Soon Lee, Asimov's September/October

Storm Watchers (a drabbun), Terrie Leigh Relf, Space & Time

Sunflower Astronaut, Charlie Espinosa, Strange Horizons July

Three Hearts as One, G. O. Clark, Asimov's May/June

Troy, Carolyn Clink, Polar Starlight 12

Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, John Grey, Medusa's Kitchen September

Under World, Jacqueline West, Carmina Magazine September

Walking in the Starry World, John Philip Johnson, Orion's Belt May

Whispers in Ink, Angela Yuriko Smith, Whispers from Beyond (Crystal Lake Publishing)

Long Poems (25 finalists)

Archivist of a Lost World, Gerri Leen, Eccentric Orbits 4

As the witch burns, Marisca Pichette, Fantasy 87

Brigid the Poet, Adele Gardner, Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice

Coding a Demi-griot (An Olivian Measure), Armoni “Monihymn” Boone, Fiyah 26

Cradling Fish, Laura Ma, Strange Horizons May

Dream Visions, Melissa Ridley Elmes, Eccentric Orbits 4

Eight Dwarfs on Planet X, Avra Margariti, Radon Journal 3

The Giants of Kandahar, Anna Cates, Abyss & Apex 88

How to Haunt a Northern Lake, Lora Gray, Uncanny 55

Impostor Syndrome, Robert Borski, Dreams and Nightmares 124

The Incessant Rain, Rhiannon Owens, Evermore 3

Interrogation About A Monster During Sleep Paralysis, Angela Liu, Strange Horizons November

Little Brown Changeling, Lauren Scharhag, Aphelion 283

A Mere Million Miles from Earth, John C. Mannone, Altered Reality April

Pilot, Akua Lezli Hope, Black Joy Unbound eds. Stephanie Andrea Allen & Lauren Cherelle (BLF Press)

Protocol, Jamie Simpher, Small Wonders 5

Sleep Dragon, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

Slow Dreaming, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

St. Sebastian Goes To Confession, West Ambrose, Mouthfeel 1

Value Measure, Joseph Halden and Rhonda Parrish, Dreams and Nightmares 125

A Weather of My Own Making, Nnadi Samuel, Silver Blade 56

Welcoming the New Girl, Beth Cato, Penumbric October

What You Find at the Center, Elizabeth R McClellan, Haven Spec Magazine 12

The Witch Makes Her To-Do List, Theodora Goss, Uncanny 50

The Year It Changed, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Star*Line 46.4

Voting for the Rhysling Award begins July 1; a link to the ballot will be sent with the Rhysling Anthology, as well as with the July issue of Star*Line. More information on the Rhysling Award can be found here.

[mimblizzy]

DP x DC story idea y'all:

So the JL has some big ass problem, like really big, like dimension-destroying-big.

And as a last resort they want to find some entity powerful enough to save them and strike a deal (John Constantine-idea tm)

But where do they find something like that?

The infinite realms. John regrets his idea already. That is a fucking suicide mission. But what other option is there?

The whole JLD works really hard to find a way to the infinite realms and after searching every and all books about death magic they manage to find a portal.

It is decided that the Trinity plus Constantine should go in, try to find a powerful being and strike a deal at any costs. 

So they go in. And land somewhere in the middle of nowhere, floating in the Ghost Zone. 

They meet a random ghost and ask if they know of a being powerful enough to save a whole ass dimension from destruction. The ghost says the most powerful being is the ghost king who reigns over everything dead, then gestures vaguely in some direction and leaves. 

So the the group moves in that direction and on the way encounter all kinds of bizarre beings (demons, ghosts, jinns, alpe and the like) getting in all sorts of trouble (walker's prison, some demon with shares of John's soul etc) and only escaping by a hair's width every time, getting new directions and very concerning and sometimes contradicting information on the ghost king from more amicable beings in between (not every ghost knows of the new king yet). The whole journey to the king's castle is very the wizard of oz like.

And then finally. The castle comes into view. All the heroes (and Constantine) are exhausted and desperate. As they come near the tension is rising. Hopefully the king is merciful like that one ghost said and not a ruthless tyrant like the other said. They've almost reached the castle when -are those disco lights coming from the windows?!?! And can anyone else hear Caramelldansen??

There's a big ass houseparty at the ghost king's fortress. 

They can just walk into the courtyard unbothered. There's also a ton of beings partying hard and almost nobody even spares the JL ensemble a glance. 

They, once again, ask some random drunk? beings for the Ghost king and, once again, get directed on a wild goose chase across the courtyard several times, to no avail. Finally, they find someone who at least looks human and alive. 

It's Jazz. She's just finished with her mid-terms and for once not being the responsible one. She earned this. But now there's a group of weirdly dressed humans? asking for her brother. Yeah, she hasn't seen him in a while, she'll go looking with them. Last she's seen him he was near one of the snack bars. 

Together they make their way over. But he isn't there. The Leaugers could fucking scream! They went through hell just for the tiny chance to save their world and now they can't even find the Ghost king!

But then the young red haired woman with them looks around. narrows her eyes. pulls up the table cloth. 

And finally there he is! The ghost king! In full regalia! With a flaming crown hovering over his head, a mantle made out of galaxies draped over his shoulders and the ring of rage on his left hand ... and it's a teenager. Passed out drunk.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Idk i just thought: what would a normal teenager do if they had a gigantic castle in another dimension and no parents to reign them in? Houseparty.

"I mean what's the worst that could happen? Death of alcohol poisoning? Not fucking likely" -Danny

[cassandraclare]

New publishing announcement!

Hi guys!

I know it’s been a long time since there’s been news about The Wicked Powers. I’ve actually been sitting on information for a long time because I was not allowed to talk about it. It was making me pull out all my hair, so I am super glad to be able to share the following announcement with you: The Wicked Powers is scheduled for publication, and will be published by Walker Books in the UK and Random House in the US.

There’s a bunch more about this announcement, including the announcement of a brand-new YA romantasy series I’ll be doing called In Fire Foretold. That will be published by Pan Macmillan in the UK (same people who published Sword Catcher) and by Random House in the US.

I know there will be a lot of questions about what my schedule is, why things are coming out when they are, whether I have anything coming out next year (Yes, The Ragpicker King, the sequel to Sword Catcher, and also for those who participated in the Kickstarter, those four books) and the overall future of everything Shadowhunter-related. So I will be doing followup announcements to address all that stuff, but first, here are both press release from my publishers in the US and then in the UK with all the info!

GLOBALLY BESTSELLING FANTASY PHENOMENON CASSANDRA CLARE TO PUBLISH  FINAL TRILOGY IN THE ‘SHADOWHUNTER CHRONICLES’  AND NEW DUOLOGY WITH ALFRED A. KNOPF BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS  First book in THE WICKED POWERS to release in Spring 2026

(New York, NY, April 5, 2024)—Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, will publish five new books from #1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassandra Clare, whose novels have sold more than 40 million copies worldwide, been translated into 43 languages, and published in more than 60 countries. The new publications will begin in Spring 2026 with the first book in THE WICKED POWERS trilogy, the sixth and final series in Clare’s 23-book, young adult fantasy franchise The Shadowhunter Chronicles. Also slated for publication with Knopf is a brand-new YA romantasy duology, IN FIRE FORETOLD. The news was announced today by Melanie Nolan, VP and Publisher, Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers, who acquired North American rights from Suzie Townsend and Joanna Volpe of New Leaf Literary & Media in a highly competitive auction. Michelle Frey, Senior Executive Editor, Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers, will edit both series. 

Cassandra Clare mesmerized readers across the globe with the publication of City of Bones (2007), the first book in the Mortal Instruments series, and was quickly dubbed the “New Queen of Fantasy” by the Wall Street Journal. The Mortal Instruments became the basis for the far-reaching Shadowhunter Chronicles, an intricately drawn world that has seen global success and has been adapted into both a feature film and television show. The books follow the Shadowhunters, a secretive race of humans born with angel blood, whose mission is to eliminate the demons that plague the Earth. Knopf’s first publishing collaboration with Clare, THE WICKED POWERS (Spring 2026), will follow Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn, and Drusilla Blackthorn from The Dark Artifices series as they are drawn into the final massive conflict between the demons and the angels. 

IN FIRE FORETOLD is a pulse-pounding YA romantasy duology set in a new world with entirely new characters. The story centers a young woman who must learn to control her dangerous magical abilities in order to save her kingdom, all while finding herself torn between two brothers—the kingdom's princes, born to a cursed royal bloodline. The publication date for IN FIRE FORETOLD, as well as news of additional books to come from Cassandra Clare and Knopf, will be announced. 

Says Cassandra Clare: "I am delighted to have Knopf and Penguin Random House as my publishers for this last trilogy in the Shadowhunters world. They truly understand what it means—both for the story and for my readers—to wrap up such an epic tale that has been told over so many years. I'm also excited to be launching my next YA series — a kickass portal fantasy that contains a ton of things I love, from a bold and reckless heroine to a magical wasteland filled with terrifying monsters that must be fought, to a love triangle with two very unusual cursed princes. I can't wait for us to bring these stories to the world."

Says Michelle Frey: “Cassandra Clare is a beloved author whose work has a massive following for good reason: she sucks you into a fully imagined world and never lets go until the last, satisfying page. I have long admired Cassie and am thrilled to be working with her on both the delectable final trilogy in the Shadowhunter Chronicles and the heart-stopping new love triangle she has dreamed up with IN FIRE FORETOLD.”

Random House Children’s Books (rhcbooks.com) is the world’s largest English-language children’s trade book publisher. Creating books for toddlers through young adult readers, in all formats from board books to activity books to picture books, novels, and nonfiction, the imprints of Random House Children’s Books bring together award-winning authors and illustrators, world-famous franchise characters, and multimillion-copy series. Random House Children’s Books is a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

UK/AUS/NZ:

Walker Books will publish three new books, the final trilogy in Shadowhunter Chronicles, the first coming in Spring 2026.

Separately, First Ink will publish a brand new YA duology, introducing readers to a fantastical new world of Clare’s creation, filled with enticing new characters and heart-racing action. With sales figures for Cassandra’s novels exceeding 40 million copies worldwide, translated into 43 languages and published in more than 60 countries, these are exciting and major acquisitions for both publishing houses.

Walker will launch THE WICKED POWERS in Spring 2026 with the first book in the trilogy, The Last King of Faerie. THE WICKED POWERS is the final instalment of Clare’s 23-book, young adult fantasy series, Shadowhunter Chronicles.

THE WICKED POWERS (Spring 2026), will follow Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn, and Drusilla Blackthorn from The Dark Artifices series as they are drawn into the final massive conflict between the demons and the angels. The novel marks the beginning of the final trilogy in Clare’s globally beloved series.

Cassandra Clare Says about THE WICKED POWERS: "I’m thrilled to be taking this momentous step in the Shadowhunter chronicles with Walker! They published City of Bones in 2007 and now we will be bringing this huge epic to a close together. With their creativity and dedication, I know they’ll do it justice."

Denise Johnstone Burt says: “We at Walker are immensely proud to have been Cassie’s publishers from the very beginning, when City of Bones launched the Shadowhunters into the world. Since then Cassie has become one of the most beloved writers in YA fantasy all over the world, and with very good reason. Her world-building and character portrayal are absolutely second to none and her books never fail to mesmerise her fans. I am delighted that we will be returning to the world of Shadowhunters once again in THE WICKED POWERS, and know Cassie will bring the Chronicles to a conclusion with her trademark brilliance and consummate style.”

First Ink will publish IN FIRE FORETOLD, a pulse-pounding YA romantasy duology set to delight all fans of Cassie Clare. UK and Commonwealth rights were acquired by Samantha Smith, Publisher of First Ink and Macmillan Children’s Books’ Fiction, Non Fiction and Picture Book List, from Danny Baror and Heather Baror-Shapiro at Baror International.  The duology will be a super lead title for First Ink and will launch with a significant multi-channel communications campaign including national media, influencer and fan events [HBS1] and multimedia advertising.

IN FIRE FORETOLD sees the launch of a brand new world and set of entirely new characters for Clare. The story centres on a young woman who must learn to control her dangerous magical abilities in order to save her kingdom, all while finding herself torn between two brothers - the kingdom's princes - born to a cursed royal bloodline.

Cassandra Clare says about IN FIRE FORETOLD: “I’m so excited to be publishing IN FIRE FORETOLD with First Ink. This story contains so many things I love- it’s a portal fantasy that swings between worlds, where the gritty LA streets exist alongside a dangerous magical world filled with deadly monsters - and a uniquely tough heroine who’s ready to do battle on all sides. Not to mention some gorgeous princes with shady pasts. I know how much Pan Macmillan loves fantasy and how well they publish it so I’m thrilled for this partnership."

Samantha Smith, Publisher at First Ink, says: “Cassandra Clare is a phenomenon author who has delighted and surprised her millions of readers across the world for decades now. As a huge fan of both her YA Mortal Instruments series and latest adult fantasy Sword Catcher, I cannot wait for her to turn her formidable pen to a new, heart-stopping series in In the Fire Foretold and could not be more excited to welcome her onto the First Ink list”

Belinda Ioni Rasmussen, Managing Director at Macmillan Children’s Books, says: “ Welcoming Cassandra Clare to First Ink with a brand new fantasy world is very exciting - both for us and her fans.  Her storytelling is second to none and her new duology on our list is the perfect partner series to her brilliant publishing that sits on our Tor list at Pan Macmillan.”

About Walker Books

Home to books for all ages, Walker Books publishes many award-winning authors, illustrators, and literary franchisesincluding Anthony Horowitz, Angie Thomas, Cassandra Clare, Lucy Cousins, Anthony Browne, Patrick Ness, Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney and Anita Jeram, We’re Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury, and Where’s Wally? by Martin Handford. Walker Books is part of the vibrant international Walker Books Group that includes Walker Books Australia; Candlewick Press and Walker Books US in America and Walker Productions.

About Pan Macmillan

At Pan Macmillan we publish a broad and vibrant range of books for audiences of all ages, from dazzling bestsellers to influential prize-winners; books to inspire lifelong readers and listeners to enduring classics for generations to come. The fourth largest UK publisher, we pride ourselves on publishing successfully and sustainably and are committed to working together to positively impact culture and society at large.

[azzayofchaos]

As an exercise in creature design and in the interest on developing my dreaming-verse/general world building lore, i thought these guys would be fun to do!

More lore / transcript:

THE STRIDER:

Peaceful lava walkers and grazers, they’re often breed and domesticated for both their use as transportation across the lava lakes and for various materials.

While not certainly an acquired taste to an overworlder, strider meat is not an uncommon food source. String and membranes from their opalescent sensory organs and hide are also valuable resources.

The membranes are heat management, courting displays, and gathering sensory input as they are near-blind.

Strider's eyes are largely vestigial, the sensory organs picking up on heat signatures exclusively.

They have spiracles for breathing along their sides and tails.

When wading through lava, their limbs are able to stretch out, this process requires the high temperature and results in the brighter, redder coloration of their skin as the heated fluids move under it. When not on lava, this fluid cools resulting in a duller coloration.

A subspecies of strider can be found in regions of the deep Neth that are blue in color.

They are long lived and migratory creatures, lichens and fungi often growing on their harder outer plates to spread across lava lakes. These are not an incident the striders, though magma barnacles, the stationary stage of a Nether-local insectoid species are considered pests.

Adolescent striders are a few meters tall, though they can grow considerably larger.

When being ridden, a lantern full of the phosphorescent warped mushrooms that Striders prefer. This lantern has the bonus effect of glowing when passing across sections of land. While Striders prefer to graze on fungi, they also spend significant amounts of time filtering minerals from the lava lakes.

Flags are displayed to help make visible where the rider and the strider are coming from and what the point of travel for the rider is.

THE GHAST:

Territorial and aggressive animals that use the updrafts of lava lakes to remain afloat in the the atriums of the Neath.

Ghats contain organs able to solidify and fire out explosive charges, when about to fire, the organ will light up, an illusion of a demonic face appearing through their spiracles and semi-transparent bodies.

They feed on minerals and airborne biological matter that filters out of the biomes in the upper-regions of the Neth with their oral arms.

The ghast tear is an organ in their center arm.

Adult ghasts release their own spores into the air to help with genetic exchange, otherwise growing young ghast on their bodies that eventually split off in a sort of mitosis.

the gelatinous bodies of ghasts are used primarily in construction and fuel, but parts of their innards, explosive organs not included, are commonly eaten.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Demons are a girl’s best friend

Daryl Dixon x reader | SMUT🔞

You hide from the rain in a church, not knowing a very interesting beast already claimed the place as his home.

Anon requested Monsterfucker!reader x Were!Daryl, with some preg and pups!

The church building was in a good state, within a gate that seemed to hold up surprisingly well against dead. It had been used to house the religious folks of the town when the problems first started and had housed many more groups for short period of time before they too moved on in search for something permanent.

The place was good, but didn’t house people anymore. Nowadays it was covered with warning signs sprayed with graffiti warding off anyone attempting to enter.

A once human man made himself at home in the place, needing a roof and walls now too with his home in the woods constantly being overrun by the dead. Except these days he no longer resembled a man. The only evidence of him ever being one was still tucked in a pocket of the old, army green bag he carried around that now held his most common clothes. Among those a leather motorcycle vest with tattered wings stitched on the back, and a wallet with the long expired ID of a blue eyed young man named Daryl Dixon.

You could handle a little rain, but the rate it was coming down now was a little too much for you.

Making your way around to find a place to hide you came across an small church.

You hated churches in the old world. Their people were never your people but now you thanked the building being empty and available to you.

The interior still kept its beautifully made details, now graffiti’d over and makeshift fabric walls hung in places. The pews had been moved for space too.

It all looked like it was used at the start as a safe house.

You were gonna stay and made sure to barricade the doors to keep unwanted guests out, dead or alive, while you slept.

Moving some pews against the doors took longer than you hoped, even when you took the closest ones.

You were tired now. Tired and ready to pass out for the night and pray the storm was over by then.

But a low growl scared you wide awake again. You just blocked your way out and didn’t check the building for walkers first. The scraping of the wood over the floor must have woken them up..

You mentally cursed at yourself for being so extremely stupid, keeping quiet to not further announce your location while you snuck off. With a hand on your hip you remembered taking off your knife belt and leave it at your bag. In the same direction the growling came from, right behind a fake wall.

“Fuck me..”

You were officially done with this world. You rounded the place to get a view of what you were dealing with while also trying to find anything that could function as a weapon, picking up a candle holder on your way and taking the candle itself off to use the iron spike at the top.

You kept low to the ground, hiding behind anything you could use as a cover. The growling had stopped and sounds of buckles undoing and items moving around had stared before the growling picked up again, now right where your bag sat. You could have sworn you heard your knife belt hit the ground and your bag scoot over the ground. It sounded heavy, so it had to be. There was nothing else there.

Now that you were thinking about your bag, you let out a sigh remembering you could have hung your dirty clothes out In the rain to at least rinse them and dry them over a fire later.

You were almost where you needed to be to get your items and enemy into view.

Just a few more steps and—

With a loud clatter the candle holder fell rom your hands at the sight of what was rummaging in your bag.

He had his head stuck in your bag, soft muffled growls sounding from it. His wrapped tail wagged happily.

You knew immediately what he was, and understood it was easier to survive while keeping the form he kept now. If it had been anyone else standing in your place they probably would have ran, but you were a little too distracted by the beast currently going through your bag with the largest hard-on you had ever seen.

Mind you, you had seen some impressive ones before, seeing monsters weren’t too rare in your area before the world went to shit, but this beast in its entirety was huge.

Probably not a city wolf.

At the clattering sound the beast pulled his head rom your bag, your dirty laundry hanging off his muzzle.

Your panties, to be precise..

Your hands were up in defeat, but your eyes kept going between his own, and the angry red cock between his legs. A string of drool hung from the corner of his mouth and your mouth spoke before your mind could stop the words from flowing.

“You know it tastes way better from the source, right?”

The beast shook the panties off his face, slobbering all over the scattered contents of your bag in the process and looking you dead in the eyes while licking his lips. A large paw moved from the floor to find his member and give it a few tugs, letting out a satisfied growl as he kept his eyes on yours.

You watched him, almost hypnotized. He knew exactly what he was doing and the effect it was having on you. You could feel yourself getting wetter but never moved an inch to get closer to him where he stood over your bag and weapons.

He did look very handsome. Strong too, he could snap you in half with one hand.

“C’mere.” The hand that was touching himself before how reached out for you, precum staining the pads of his fingers.

You weren’t gonna make him ask twice and stepped closer to him and watched him stand up to his full height, ending with his chest at your eye level. The extended hand reached for your face, stopping in front of your mouth. “Clean up.”

You stared at the glistening liquid covering his paw pads before taking his hand in yours and gently licking his thumb clean, giving the pad a kiss before moving on to the next one.

While you worked you felt tugging at the waist of your pants, the button being torn off not so gently and pulling the zipper in half along with it.

“Hey, those were my good pants..” you pouted against his middle finger, lips resting against the skin but your whines were ignored as he kept tearing the fabric further and continuing with your sweater. He urged you on to continue cleaning his paw instead of moping over lost clothes. “Got spares, go on.” His muzzle was right next to your ear as he moved in to sniff at you from up close, taking in your sweet scent and let out a hum.

By the time you had his paw cleaned you were stripped bare, only remains of pant legs and boots.

The cold air hitting your skin had you shiver, now really feeling how wet you were getting.

With both hands available again you were grabbed by the hips and manhandled onto one of the wooden pews, ass right on the edge and legs held wide open. “Be’er from’e source, hm?”

The anticipation was killing you, reaching for the long tufts of fur on his head and pulling his muzzle against you.

With his nose pressed against your clit he let out a growl at your hair pulling, which you took note of and tucked the info away for later.

A large claw came to rest on either of your thighs and the rough surface of a huge tongue slid across your lips. With a little prying and prodding your hips jerked at the sudden intrusion, feeling his tongue slip deep inside while his jaws opened wide enough to wrap around your lower end. He was holding you up now as he shoved his tongue in and out of you, making sure to not break your skin on his fangs.

His rough ministrations had you moaning in mere seconds. "Fuckk, you know what you're doing, huh.." your hands found purchase at the base of his ears, rubbing the thin flesh between your fingers and pulled a moan from the beast between your legs that vibrated deep inside of you.

You felt his tongue brush against your most sensitive spot, making your grasp on his ears tighten and pulling another whine from him. It made your walls clench around him, signaling you were close.

"Keep going.. please.." You tugged softly on his ears, moving your hands into his long fur and pull at it hard to make him let out those vibrating growls two, three times before squeezing your walls tight around his tongue as you tipped over the edge. You slumped against the wooden bench and let go of his fur, watching him pull away from you slowly, sitting on his haunches in front of you and going back to paw at his cock and lick his lips.

"Now you." His mouth formed a wide grin as he moved himself to sit on the wooden pew next to you, moving to pull you to your knees in front of him. "Go on."

You stared at the large member in front of your face, trying to find the easiest approach to get this done.

You started off with simple licks to get a taste, all the way from the base up to the tip before wrapping your lips around the tip and sucking gently. You had to keep your jaw wide open to fit only his tip inside and almost gagged on him already.

"Ahhw.." Two padded fingers stroked your hair, his claws never touching your skin. The fingers moved to the back of your head and pressed, shoving himself all the way against the back of your throat causing you to gag and pull back. You coughed while he let out a laugh. "S'rry.." the chuckle in his voice was a clear sign he didn't mean it in the slightest but you let it slip.

You cleared your throat and moved to get back to work but were stopped by a pointed claw against the chest.

"Wha, huh? I thought you wanted me to return the favor?" You stayed seated before him and watched him move off the pew and onto his knees in front of you.

“S’fine.” His mind wandered, looking you up and down to take in your details, taking in your scent that was almost addictive. He took both your hands and placed them on his cock for you to play with before his hands found your head and pulled you closer, his nose pressed against yours. After a short moment his head tilted slightly, for a quick moment resembling an adorable confused dog before his mouth opened and he licked across your mouth. A broad stripe from cheek to cheek that had you involuntarily smile in response, barely parting your lips but just far enough for him to prod his tongue in between.

Your hands worked as best as they could on his length while the again fucked your mouth, this time without making you gag on him. You wanted to kiss back, but swirling your tongue around his was the best you could do for now until he stopped and pulled away again.

He looked around the place, towards your bag and bedroll. “Tha’ soft?” His paw was pointed at the rolled up thick fabric attached to your bag and got a confused yes that lead to him going to fetch it and lay it out on the ground. “Go ahead.”

“You want me to go lay down?” He nodded and you made your way down on the soft bedding. “Hmhmm, no fur. Cold floor, s’bad.” He followed your movements with his own, ending up hovering above you. His paw lifted and moved down to your core, mimicking the motions he remembered from his days as a human but stopping right above you. You followed his gaze down and saw him stare at his hand. Instead of asking him what was wrong you took two of his fingers and pressed them to your clit, carefully moving them around making you jerk up your hips in excitement. “Like that, jus the pads. S’good..”a The roughness of his fingers was a welcome feeling and you saw the tense energy leave your companion too now that he was pleasing you properly.

You reached out for him but your hands couldn’t make it all the way down to his cock. Instead they found purchase in the shorter fur of his chest, kneading the soft muscle underneath. Light scratches and squeezes made him purr above you, joining your mewls.

“Want it in, tha’ okay?” He was nuzzling your neck as he lowered himself to lay on top of you, grumbling something as he couldn’t get comfortable.

“Get comfortable.” You moved yourself up on your elbows. “We’ll make it work, big guy.”

He was sitting on his haunches and looked between the two of you before moving to lower him to his knees, his back paws stretched underneath him so his crotch was lower to the ground. With a satisfied nod he took your hips in his hands and pulled you up against him, hips in his lap with your legs spread and shoulders still on the soft bedding beneath you. “This good?” His deep voice was comforting, making sure you were okay.

“I’m good, puppy. Don’t worry about me.” You reached your hand down to pat his thigh. “I’ll make myself known if if hurts.”

Ears perked up at being called a puppy. He wasn’t a puppy, he was a monster. Did you really feel like he wasn’t s threat? You did invite him to do this to you without hesitation after all.

You intrigued him from the moment you spoke your first words to him. And it didn’t help he found you incredibly attractive. He could have easily used you for his pleasure and snap your neck afterwards but he felt drawn to you. He had to think of a way to ask you to stay after the storm passed.

He kept one hand on your hip to keep you steady as the other one moved to rub his tip between your folds, gathering slick before pressing in the tiniest bit. He watched you like a hawk for any signs of discomfort, stopping at even the smallest grimace as he stretched you further than anyone ever had.

And hurt it did, but your constant reassuring had him slowly continue to rut his hips into you, pushing further in inch by inch.

“You hurt.” A rough paw wiped away a tear on your cheek and stopped moving again.

“I’m fine, you’re just so big, baby..” You added a little wiggle of your hips at the end of your sentence to add extra reassurance.

Gods, the compliments you gave him went straight through him, urging him on to keep going until his legs gave out. But he knew better and kept up with your body’s limits. It’s why it took him a while to be fully sheathed inside of you with his knot pressing snug against your lips.

Tongue was lolled out of his mouth by now and you were breathing heavy but smiling, your hand moving to poke at your stomach that showed how deep he was buried. “Fuck, that’s insane. Hot though.” You squeezed around his length, telling him to start moving and he did, slow thrusts at first that had you whine with the slight discomfort.

The feeling quickly faded and turned into pleasure, leaving you a moaning mess in his lap until he pulled out and moved you onto your stomach.

You audibly complained at the loss of contact but almost screamed when he crawled over you to pull your hips up and shove himself inside again, one quick move to be buried entirely.

Immediately his muzzle was buried in your neck again, lapping and sniffing, mumbling from time to time as well as he kept rutting into you. “Hmhmm smell so sweet,” he lapped at your ear, your jaw and your neck before licking right down your spine and pressing his nose to your skin. “Smell good for breeding..”

You moaned underneath him, barely registering his words. “Whatever you want baby, just keep doing what you’re doing.” You tried to reach for him but you had no strength left in your body. With your face against the floor you didn’t see him raise his brows in interest. He thought of pulling out before he came, earlier. Shoving himself down your throat and make you swallow it all but that quickly changed to doing exactly as he said.

One of his hands on your hips moved to rub his pads over your clit, making you moan out loud. Your clenching signaled him you were close and set a pace to work himself towards the end as well.

Your moans and whines were music to his ears, you sounded so pretty. He could barely contain himself already and then with a long drawn out cry you came around his cock, squeezing you walls and making him howl.

A deep, rumbling howl as he thrusted deep into you, taking two or three tries to shove his knot past your lips and finishing deep inside you.

The extra stretch hurt like a bitch, but it was so worth the pain.you got to spend the night with a gorgeous creature and cuddle with him too for the time it took his knot to deflate.

“Ya okay?” He was back to lapping at your cheek and nuzzling you affectionately.

“Hmm yeah, all good.” You nodded and moved a hand to pet his head, rubbing your fingers over his ear again to earn a soft hum. “M’happy.”

He held your hip in one hand and your chest against his in the other and moved to lay down with you, getting you positioned right so you wouldn’t be hurting.

You were resting on his stomach, head on his chest as you began to wonder. “Hey, do you have a name?”

His large paws came to rest on your back, mindlessly drawing figures on your skin. “Yeah. M’Daryl.”

You played with his long fur and smiled, giving him your name in return. “Well, goodnight, Daryl.”

Weeks passed after that night and a lot happened in you’re the small church that had become your home after the stormy night.

It was only a couple days later that you found out Daryl had in fact done what he promised and had knocked you up. A week later you woke up from your sleep in pain, crying into Daryl’s chest as he held you, unsure what to do against the pains of your body changing to carry his pups. You slept through the entire next day while Daryl hunted for food and brought back some fish in the meantime.

You had just finished eating and sat in one of the pews staring at your stomach. That night spent in pain resulted in what you could only describe as canine teats, small nubs on your belly that had started to round out by now.

When Daryl saw them in the morning after you both passed out he was beyond excited. You had asked him what it meant and got scared by accident when he told you “puppies, many.”.

You weren’t against the idea of pups at all, you were excited even, but the many part was what had you feeling scared. Daryl made sure to comfort and ensure you everything was going to be okay.

And he was right. At almost three months you could barely walk, but you were doing totally fine.

Daryl wasn’t enjoying the fact that he had to leave you alone to go hunt, but you needed food now more than before. To his luck he found a deer that would feed you at least until the pups arrived if you rationed it well, so he didn’t have to leave your side again.

Daryl made it clear he was enjoying you a lot in your current state, resting his head against your belly and purring, speaking soft words while he thinks you sleep. Words of love and adoration, sometimes of worry, but those never linger.

At each and every mewl of being uncomfortable he’d be on you for comfort, be it carefully kneading your muscles, holding your belly to relief some weight or lap wt your sore breasts. He’d happily take any leaked milk as thanks for the care.

It was the middle of the day, you were relaxing in a beam of sunlight that came through the stained glass windows and painted you in many colors.

“Daryl?” You had been feeling uncomfortable ever since you woke up the day before but it had gotten way worse all of a sudden. Tightening muscles had you double over in moments, suddenly feeling weight shift low inside of you. He was on you the second his name left your lips, feeling around your stomach and up your skirt before stopping and pulling his hand away. “You feel and talk. Can’t touch ya, claws..” he wiggled his fingers in your view before helping you back onto the nest you built in preparation for this, needing to stop every few steps because of the contractions. “Ya good? M’sorry t’hurts.”

You could only nod and hold onto your painful belly as you sat against the stuffed bags, breathing through contractions while Daryl unwrapped your skirt and took your hand, trying to place it between your legs but your belly made it almost impossible to reach. “Just leave it be, we got this.” You tried to sound convincing but it was clear the nerves had kicked in.

“Strong momma, you.” His muzzle nudged the underside of your belly as he inspected your progress as best as he could, trying to spread your lips with just the pads of his fingers and feeling them bulge outward with each of your cries. “You see anything?” You managed to ask between deep breaths, getting an eager nod in response. “Snout. Good work.” A soft pat on your thigh added to the compliment.

Daryl watched you work, his large hands holding your thighs spread until one moved to cradle your first pup’s head. “Bit more, then a break.”

You huffed at his comment, but pushed hard to get your first child out of you, groaning in relief as you felt it slip out entirely.

“Good momma.” Daryl laid the pup down between his arms and started to clean as you caught your breath before the second pup made itself known. You wanted to see so bad, but you never got the time to look as the second one came a lot quicker than the first. It hurt less but still took effort, listening to Daryl’s short updates and commands and feeling his hands move around you between pushes.

The sun had gotten down by the time you were all done. You were on fresh sheets instead of laying in the soaked ones from before and all your puppies were laying comfortably against your skin, squeaking softly as they were suckling away. Four little creatures, cleaned up by Daryl the second they were out of you.

And Daryl? He was curled up in front of you, watching the most beautiful scene he had ever witnessed. He stared at the puppies, up your figure and to your face, where he found you staring right at him. “They’re so small,” he watched your hand reach of the pups and pet its head. “so weird, seeing how big you are.”

A low rumbling laugh left him as his hand joined yours, softly running a knuckle along the back of the pup. “No worries, momma.” He moved to stretch and lay down even closer, his nose an inch from your chest where the first pup nursed, and his tail resting over your legs. “Lil’ ones grow big fast.”

He couldn’t do anything but stare, feeling his mind wander to the days of chasing the pups through the woods behind the church and teaching them how to hunt while you foraged. But he also admitted to himself he enjoyed being inside with you while you carried his children. He quickly told himself off, not allowing himself to even think about asking you for the next few months. The two of you first needed to figure out being parents in this new world.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Stolen Angel - Part 3

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Warnings/Notes: Jake is a little dark. Kidnapping. Manipulation. Obsessive behavior. I’m sure there are typos. This used to be a different fic for August Walker, so if you see it, it’s fine. I wrote that one too.

Words: 1426

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

JAKE POV - (One Year Ago)

He can’t stop watching you. Smiling, laughing, serving customers caffeinated beverages on their way to work. The sunlight streams through the front glass window of the cafe, the rays illuminating everything of you that they reach. Your hair, your eyes, your skin. You’re bright, happy, healthy, stunning, and it does unreasonable things to his heart.

He’s been sitting there for two hours now, not even pretending to occupy himself with a magazine or newspaper or anything that will make him less conspicuous. You’re the only thing that has his attention. The only thing that ever has his attention when he comes to this world. He spends this time, each second of it, observing your every move, memorizing every feature of your face, and when you leave for the day, he follows. Just so he can be a little bit closer to you.

You’ve never noticed him, and sometimes he chuckles at your lack of awareness and how well it works in his favor. You have no idea that he trails you from the cafe to your apartment. You have no idea that he stands outside your building as night cloaks the day. You have no idea that he leans against the same lamppost he always does when he comes to see you, his stare latched on to your window—third floor, second from the left—as you strip yourself of your uniform and into your pajamas. He’d watch forever if he could, but he, and those like him, do not have that luxury. 

The hand that lands on Jake’s shoulder is expected and he turns his head to his friend. 

“Time to go,” Javy says. “In a month you can come back and stalk her some more, but we’re cutting it close. We have to get back.”

Jake sighs, giving your bedroom window another glance. The light clicks off. “I know.”

“She’s not going anywhere. I’ve kept an eye on her in your absence and she’s had the same routine for the last six months,” Javy reminds him as he rolls his shoulders, preparing for the weight of his wings to return. 

Cartilage and bone materialize as his gray feathers, one by one, seek him out from the spot he had shed them. Each one returns to their place, layering themselves together until his wings are fully reformed. 

Javy gives them a testing flap, scattering the fallen leaves at their feet. When he sees Jake has yet to call for his own wings, he huffs. “Seriously, it’s eleven fifty-six. Do you really want to spend six months in The Tower because you chose to stare at your little girlfriend rather than be punctual…again? You literally just got out.”

Jake stands from his leaned position and a moment later his black feathers find him. He spreads his wings out in a stretch. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Javy says with pride. “So let’s go.” Then he’s shooting up into the night, a speck in the darkened sky. 

Jake takes one last look at your window, imagining himself in that apartment, holding you, kissing you, falling asleep beside you. He doesn’t want to leave you behind. Leaving you behind is leaving a part of his heart behind. But he has to do it. For the night, you’re warm and safe tucked in your bed, and that will have to be enough for him until his return next month.

“Good night, Angel,” he mutters. “Sleep well.” Then he follows after his friend.

—

Food everywhere. Grapes smashed in between the stones of the walls; plums dotting the floor, one having rolled under the bed; juice from apple slices staining the rumpled bedsheets; the silver tray, now dented in the middle, thrown across the room. All as if some bratty tornado tore through the place. Except now the brat is missing. 

He’d guessed you would struggle to stay put once you regained enough of your energy, which is exactly why he'd planned to sit by your bed while you slept. But—albeit very reluctantly—he had listened to Javy’s advice about giving you some space for the night. A mistake, clearly, because now he has to hunt his little escapee down.

Shaking his head, Jake rubs the back of his neck and gives the room one last scan in case you got the bright idea to hide until he got close enough for you to whack him in the skull with something hard. When the assault doesn’t come, he jogs to the window and peers through it the way you were when he found you standing there the other day, your pearly wings in all their grandness cascading gracefully from your back. 

Glancing to the nearby field many stories below, he spots you seated in the grass with your knees tucked to your chest. His pounding heart stutters in relief.

How the fuck did you get out, Angel? he thinks as he hurries from the room, down the multiple twisting staircases, and through the maze of halls. You’re the last person who should have the ability to leave this place. New residents of The Tower have been known to roam the halls for months at a time, trying to find a way out until they surrender to exhaustion and return to their rooms, and yet you walked right out the front door?

When he reaches the main floor, he stops short at the silhouetted figure leaning against the doorframe. He knows that figure well, and realizing that someone he trusts has been keeping an eye on you from a reasonable distance permits Jake to take a calming breath before he steps closer. 

“She’s…content, I think,” Javy says, tucking back his large gray wings to provide enough space for Jake to comfortably stand beside him. “Doesn’t seem to want to run off.”

“Only because she doesn’t know where to go,” Jake sighs, running his fingers through his hair. And thank fuck for that. “How long has she been out here?”

“At least since four. That's when I found her,” Javy informs him. He looks at Jake, playfully grinning. “We watched the sunrise together.”

“Has she seen you?”

“No. She hasn’t so much as turned her head in hours,” he answers, then after a pause of consideration, says, “How do you think she managed to make it out on her first try?”

Jake shakes his head. He has that very same question. Anyone would. “I don’t know, but had I known she could, I would have locked the damn door.”

“Maybe The Tower felt bad for her,” Javy suggests. “You know she always made it easy for the unfairly imprisoned.”

Unfairly imprisoned. Yes, Jake supposes that is what you are. But it’s not for forever, and it’s simply to protect you while you adjust to your new life by his side. Surely, you can understand that. And then you can start accepting the happiness and love you’re denying yourself. 

“She fucking scared me,” Jake says, and Javy snickers.

“Then I imagine you're even.”

“She's not scared of me, she just has to get used to me.” Jake watches the gust of air flutter your feathers. You still haven’t moved, save for one hand's fingers which continuously weave through the blades of grass. “She's taking her damn time though.”

“Don't be unfair. She's known you for a couple of weeks—a couple of very difficult weeks—which is nothing compared to the head start you had.” Also true, to Jake’s dislike. But he’s shown you how much he cares, and that should be plenty to help you catch up. Then Javy says, “You should take her back. Just for a few hours.”

Jake’s head snaps to the right, eyes just short of bugging from his head. “Are you insane?”

Javy shrugs. “The day is coming up. It might be easier for her to be here with you if she knows she has the option to visit her world.”   

“That’s not her world anymore.” 

“True,” Javy agrees. “But don't you miss seeing her smile?”

Jake swallows. He’d give anything to see you smile again; smile at him again. Though he was gifted one when he was deep inside of you, praising you, telling you how beautiful you were, offering the same compliment since he brought you here has not elicited the same reaction. If anything, you frown more intensely, with more effort. 

“It's too soon,” Jake says. “She's still attached, and I can't trust her.”

“It's more important that she trusts you,” Javy counters. “And this could be your olive branch, my friend.”

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @fandom-life-12 @hookslove1592 @buckysteveloki-me

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Now Presenting...

Starring: A Love-Sick Nanami Kento

Synopsis:You and Nanami have been friends for benefits for quite a while now, with no issue! At least, no issue as far as you knew. Kento's caught feelings for you though, and even though he knows he should stay away and get over this crush, he simply can't ignore your 1:45 am "You Up?" text.

Warning: This fic is a drabble containing angst (if ya squint), fluff, and is really just smut with some plot thrown in. Rating NC17, Reader Discretion is advised ;)

Oh, and if you'd like, why not check out my Masterlist?

Nanami was awake again. It was 1:45 in the morning, and he was awake. Fuck. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. He wondered if he should just give up the fight; accept that he was just going to be tired in the morning and indulge his Netflix binging demons. He sighed in defeat, grabbing the remote. Before he could turn anything on though, his phone vibrated next to him. He grabbed it before his brain could fully register what he was doing.

It was 1:45 in the morning. Only one person in the world was going to text him at 1:45 in the morning. He checked his messages and yep. Just as he was expecting. 

One New Message from Darling: hey, you awake?

Nanami was pretty sure he was worth more than a generic “You Up” text. In fact, He knew he was. And he knew that responding to that text was the worst possible thing he could do at that moment. He wanted far more out of this than she ever would. Catching feelings was probably the second stupidest thing a person could do, preceded only by continuing to sleep with the person you have one sided feelings for. He wouldn’t do that to himself.

Yeah, I’m up. Why are you awake?

God damn it Kento. He cursed himself silently for doing this to himself again. One day one day he would grow a spine strong enough to put his phone down when she messaged, or at least put it on silent. But apparently that day was clearly not today. He groaned softly as he propelled himself out of bed, grabbing a shirt to throw on. The first top he touched was an ancient Tool shirt from when he was still in college. He thought about grabbing something nicer, but ultimately threw it on. Not like he’d be wearing it for long anyway. He did manage to put on jeans to look at least a little more put together.

Darling: I’m thinking about you ;) I got a bottle of Blue Label that’s been begging me to open it. Wanna come help me drink it?

Not really. Nanami wasn’t a huge fan of blended scotch. He knew this, he knew you knew this. But, it wasn’t about the scotch, was it?

Johnnie Walker? I’m already on my way.

He hoped the sarcasm read through the text. He hoped the sarcasm didn’t read through the text. He didn’t really know what he hoped for honestly. What he did know was that he wanted to be with you. He was also pretty sure you didn’t want to be with him in the same way, and that he should at least try to get some distance. He wanted to get over this crush. He didn’t want to get over this crush. He grabbed his keys, deciding he’d sort out his tangled emotions some other time. 

🥀🥀🥀

He always felt silly trying to get his nerves together long enough to knock on your door. He was a fully grown man getting butterflies at the thought of being with a girl, it was silly! But, at the same time, it wasn’t just a girl. It was Y/n. It was a girl who had always been there with him, and supported him though some of the darker times in his life. The girl he thought he was going to marry back when he was in highschool. The girl he wouldn’t mind wifing up now if she gave him the chance. But, why would she? He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

You were all smiles when you opened the door, wearing a sleep set Nanami knew you didn’t actually sleep in. It was small, and clung to you perfectly, only a few steps away from being basically lingerie. It made him proud to know you wore it for him. 

“Well hello Gorgeous,” He smiled, placing a hand on your hip and leaning in to kiss your cheek, “Do you always get dressed up so pretty to go to sleep?” He teased.

“Nope, only when I’m expecting company.” You giggled, moving out of the door to let him in. 

“You get company in the middle of the night often?” He asked as he sat on your couch, trying to hide his absolutely unfounded jealousy. 

“Check your phone if you really want the answer.” you said as you closed the door and joined him on the sofa. He chuckled softly, happy to know he was your only late night visitor. You smiled as you curled into his side, taking in his familiar warmth. He wrapped his arm around you to pull you closer. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked.

“No, not at all,” He assured you, “You know I don’t sleep anyway.” He joked. He’d struggled with insomnia and night terrors for years. If anything, the distraction alone was welcome.

“You really should work on that,” you joked, “Sleep is important you know.”

“You're one to talk,” he laughed, “You’re up too you know.”

“Hey, I tried to go to sleep!” You protested with a giggle, “It’s not my fault I woke up. I had a dream.”

“Is that so?” Nanami asked, tilting his head at you in amusement. “And what were you dreaming about, Beautiful?” you grinned and bit your lip, deciding to use this opportunity to take some initiative. You moved to placed yourself on top of

him, putting one of your legs on either side of his hips and placing your hands on his shoulders for balance.

“I was dreaming about you Kento,” You purred softly to him. He smiled, placing his hands firmly on your hips to keep you stable. God, you always looked gorgeous from this view. It was his favorite way to have you.

“Were you now Princess?” He muttered, “What were we doing in your dream?” 

“This.” You said, leaning down to kiss him. Smooth. He chuckled softly before pulling you in closer, pulling your bottom lip into his teeth. You gasped softly at the gentle pain, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

There was something undeniably right about kissing Nanami. The way his mouth fit perfectly against yours, the way his soft lips moved, how he always tasted like strong tea and mint. You would kiss Nanami for an eternity if the world would have let you. And he would have happily obliged. 

His left hand glided up from your hip to tangle in your hair. He gave it a quick, sharp tug, lighting a fire in your core and pulling a soft moan from your throat. Nanami chuckled softly.

“You sound so pretty when you do that.” He said, his right hand moving in between your legs, leaving you clinging to his shoulders for balance. “I want to hear more.” Your shorts were small enough you might as well have not bothered with them. It was only when he moved the crotch aside that he realized why you had.

“Commando huh?” He teased, “It’s almost like you were expecting this.”

“Oh shut up-!” You tried to laugh, but Nanami’s thick fingers running up your slit cut your words off. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Princess, were you saying something? I didn’t quite catch that.” He smirked, swirling tight circles into your puffy clit. You could feel the slick gather between your legs, killing any retort you had before it escaped your lips. Nanami knew your body better than anyone else you’d ever been with, and took every opportunity he could to remind you of that fact when the two of you were together. 

Every movement of his digits sent another wave of illicit electricity through you and to your core. Wave after wave, building up into a riptide pleasure threatening to take you underneath it. You moaned out shakily, your nails digging into his shoulders as you gripped him tighter, getting lost in ecstasy.

And Nanami couldn’t get enough of the sight. You always looked breathtaking, but something about watching you come undone on top of him always set his heart into overdrive. “Fuck, you look so pretty.” He muttered to you, “Feel good?” He asked. You nodded to him. You had about one good sentence left in you, and you wanted to use it for this.

“P-please Sir…wanna cum on your cock..” You whimpered to him, looking up at him from under long lashes. Fuck. Kento was honestly lucky he didn’t cum right then and there in his jeans. You always knew exactly what to say to leave him even further wrapped around your finger, a slave to your every beck and call. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” He grinned. He took the opportunity to rip the crotch of your shorts in two, giving him much easier access. You didn’t really care about losing the cheap set, much more interested in unbuttoning Kentos jeans and getting his cock into you. You bit your lip as you got him out. You wouldn’t say this about many guys, but Kento genuinely had a pretty dick.

His hands found your hips, and despite his better judgment his eyes met yours as he guided you down onto his length. This was always his favorite part, the part that played on repeat in his head on nights when you didn’t text him. Watching the way your eyes screwed shut, how you bit your lip, the sharp breath you pulled in as you braced for impact. Fuck. He let out a shaky moan as he finally pushed into you, your velvety walls pulling him even further in.

“Kento, fuck” You moaned out, sharp spikes of pleasure rippled out from your core as he graced your g-spot. You could feel yourself quiver around him. You were so close earlier, you knew you weren’t going to last long now. 

“Jesus christ, you belong in a museum.” Kento mumbled as he took in your features. You were a piece of art to be praised and prized, and he fully intended to make you believe that you were. He bucked his hips up, and you saw stars. 

“You feel so good Sir,” You muttered, tangling your fingers into Nanami’s hair and pressing your forehead to his. Every movement of his hips sent another wave of euphoria through you, only intensifying the tsunami building up inside of you and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami was lost. He could feel his heart rate picking up, and it wasn’t from the physical activity he was performing. You were so close, too close. Your soft breathy moans filled his ears, your scent filled his lungs. You felt so, so perfect in his arms. He was convinced only you could make such a sinful act look so divine. Against his will, thoughts of your laugh and your smile entered his mind. 

Memories of the two of you working perfectly together, celebrating all the events in your life together, big and small. You may have seen a friend when you looked at him, or worse, a late night hook up. But when he looked at you, he saw the woman he wanted to build a life with.

 “God, you're perfect Y/n,” He whispered to you, “You’re so fucking good for me, so pretty. So fucking sweet and kind, and fuck. I love you Y/n.”

FUCK.

“Wai, wha?” You slurred, trying to look at him. Nanami was quick though, flipping you off of him and onto your hands and knees before you could see his panicked eyes. He did not just fucking say that, motherfucker Kento! What were you thinking?!

“I said, I fucking love your cunt,” He rasped out, ramming into you with enough force to hopefully knock the memory out of your mind. You found your face shoved into one of your decorative pillows while he rammed into you from behind. The new angle left you screaming profanities into the pillow. Every push of his hips set your blood on fire, creating an inferno inside your core that threatened to burn you alive.

“Kento!” You yelled out.

“Yea, that’s right Princess, say it again.” Nanami said, trying to distract himself from his colossal mistake. It wasn’t hard to do when your pussy was gripping him like a vice, pulling him right back in every time he pulled out. He held your hips tight enough to leave bruises you could take fingerprints off of. He wanted you to remember he was there when he was gone. 

“Kento, please, I-I’m close..” You stuttered out, feeling the knot in your stomach get tighter and tighter.

“Is that right pretty girl?” He asked, pushing into you with a vengeance. This was probably going to be the last time you called him over, he was going to make the most of it. His right hand slipped down your body, and two of his fingers found your clit. He massaged expert circles into it, pulling a truly embarrassing moan from you. His every move sent your nervous system into overdrive. Your head was filling with fluff and your blood felt explosive.

“Then come on. Cum all over my cock like the dirty girl you are.” Something in his words and everything in his movements sang to your pleasure receptors. A few more swirls from his fingers and a few more thrusts of his hips and you were coming undone. The knot inside your stomach exploded into a thousand waves of pleasure and oxytocin. You swear you saw white as the tsunami overtook you. 

And Nanami wasn’t that far behind. The way you seized around him, your warm walls enveloping him and trying to pull him impossibly further in undid him. He barely managed to pull out, cumming all over your back and ass as he did. It was a pretty fucking sight. He would have taken a picture if he was about 40% more coherent. 

You collapsed face first onto the couch, and Nanami braced himself on the back, still breathing hard. His confession was still ringing in his head. Did you buy his lie? Probably not. You were smarter than that. 

Fuck.

Once his breathing started to regulate, he finally stood up, fixing his pants and going to your bathroom. He returned not long later with a warm, damp washcloth, cleaning up the mess he made on your back. You groaned out softly.

“Sorry about the mess.” He muttered once you were cleaned up. His fingers gently traced the outline of your spine before he patted you gently. “Come on, let's get you to bed.” He muttered. 

He threw the rag in your hamper as he got you into your bed. “Stay with me?” You muttered softly. Oh, good. That probably meant you didn’t hear his confession. Or you did and were completely okay with leading him on forever. But, that wasn’t like you. He nodded and laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was only going to make things worse for him in the end. But he couldn't help it. All he ever wanted was to be close to you.

“Hey Kento?” You muttered softly.

“Yea Y/n?” He asked softly.

“I love you too.”

[milqueandsugar]

No thoughts, simply requesting accidentally losing Lucifer in a crowded area. Like perhaps a mall or maybe even Lu Lu World, where his partner (or date) seemed to disappear in the two seconds he wasn't looking. Is probably worried that they got hurt somehow, and most definitely frets when he finds them again. Maybe with kisses to assure him you're okay!

-🥐

🌼☕` Your Tea Us Ready `☕🌼

Gen / Fluff

Includes / lucifer

A/n - just a quick drabble for tonight! Hope you enjoyed ^^

He swore it was only a few moments, a few, fleeting moments and then you were gone. It was something stupid too, red cotton candy shaped into a heart. It was silly, he considered getting it for you two and by time he turned around to ask if you'd like to split it with him you were gone. Worst part is he hadn't even felt your hand slip from his, and now he was all too aware of it. He walked a few paces still I the direction you guys were headed, you were a bit of a fast walker, maybe he lagged behind? But he's searching, scanning the crowd and you're gone. You're not there. You've vanished.

He feels his throat tighten in his chest, ransome is his first thought, then he dismisses it. No one would be stupid enough to pull that off, especially when he's holding your fucking hand. In HIS theme park. His chest feels tight, he isn't certain he's breathing anymore but he is certain that his hands feel cold and numb. Where are you where are you where- he's about to take flight, calling your name until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off coldly, horns splitting from his skull as he turns tight on his heel to face the offender with a scowl.

You're there.

"Hey! I've been looking for you. Your so short you blend in with the crowd- are.. are you okay?" His demonic form falls and his chest feels light, lungs no longer contracting with fear.

"Yeah- yeah I just thought I lost you." He spots the candy apples in your other hand. "Oooh! What's this?"

"Candy apples! I told you I was getting some- did you not hear me?" You tease, your words sputtering off into laughter. "Maybe if you weren't wearing that silly hat you'd be able to use you're listening ears." You chide playfully, handing him the stick of his apple. He takes it with a grin.

"You love my hat."

"I tolerate it." He savours the sound of your teeth crushing the candy coating, the way your eyes crinkle slightly at the motion, the brush of your hand against his, you.

"It does makes you easy to find in crowds though."

"Maybe I should get you one too then."

[unboundprompts]

Fantasy Writing Prompts

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Royalty/Medieval Prompts:

The Merchant (#21)

You Had One Order - Prince and Knight (#71)

Princess x Guard (list)

Princess x Knight (list)

The Handmaiden in the Maze (#102)

Royal Painter x Knight (list)

Prince x Prince (list)

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Non-Human Character Angst Prompts:

No-Longer Human Character Reuniting with Friends and Family Part 1 (list)

No-Longer Human Character Reuniting with Friends and Family Part 2 (list)

No-Longer Human Character Regretting What They've Become (list)

Non-Human Character Revealing Themselves (list)

Doctor Finding an Injured Non-Human Character (list)

Betrayed Your Kind (#123)

Vampire Prompts:

Fangs (#47)

The Vampire and the Girl on Floor 3 (#110)

Werewolf Prompts:

Remnants of Humanity (#169)

Mermaid / Siren Prompts:

Get in the Water (#151)

Phantom of the Deep (#160)

Lungs Filled with Salt (#174)

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Nothing to Do with Fate (#9)

Fallen Angel Dialogue (list)

Fallen Angel and Fallen God (list)

Apotheosis (#112)

Asking for Favors (#137)

Favor From an Old God (#157)

The Gods of August (#173)

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Anything You Want Me to Be (#91)

Shapeshifter x Human (list)

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Witch x Fairy (list)

Angry in the Tavern (#158)

Guardian of the Old Ways (#161)

Fantasy Character Description Prompts:

How to Describe a Character with Wings

How to Describe a Character with Bug Wings

The Dream Walker (#140)

Modern Fantasy Prompts:

The Bartender (#23)

Turning to Stone (#105)

Mind Reader on Campus (#134)

Pockets Filled with Shadows (#141)

The Brain Implant (#148)

The Boy in the Library (#162)

Ghost Revealing Themselves to a Mortal (list)

Magical Object Prompts:

Blank Pages (#85)

The Door to Other Places (#139)

Fantasy Setting Prompts:

The Town Engulfed by Flames (#67)

Zombie Apocalypse AU (list)

Ideas for Earning Money in a Fantasy World (list)

Music in The Dark Wood (#138)

The Sun Stopped Setting (#164)

The Portal to Realms Unknown (#168)

Problems that May Occur in a Dystopian/Apocalyptic World

[misguidedasgardian]

Wild cats (Part X)

X. At the brink

MASTERLIST

Summary: You got a breather

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, a bit of domesticity, dirty thoughts, bad thoughts about one-self (don’t know how to explain this, we get into Daryl’s head and he put himself down), descriptive words that are some sort of stereotype: “preppy girl”, “redneck”, “hick”, and some more. 

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: Alright I know you liked to see what was in Daryl’s mind even for a bit… let’s shine a bit more light in it.

You had been at it for days.

Glenn was right, there wasn’t anything left on this world that wasn’t hidden, and that included canned food and supplies

You did not find a working car anywhere, even though you tried to fix some along the way, but still, most of the road, you did on foot, for long seven days you had been walking, north-east or so, going towards Richmond

You were not going to lie, you were hopeful, but some days, especially when the sugar levels were low in which you were impossible to deal with, you were angry, and mean, so those days you preferred to walk back, taking care of the group’s rear. You knew yourself, you knew how to control the demons, but right now… some were escaping you.

You started to question things, to think about how idiots they were being, thinking about that island and how good it must have been for you, so many resources and powdered margaritas you could find to have a drink…

The heat was overwhelming you too, dressed in your thick boots, and the lack of nutrients was taking a toll on you.

You felt terrible

But the mood in general was good, nobody had fought, yet, and they all seemed hopeful, so that was also helping.

You should have gone to that fucking island

You could have been sipping powdered margaritas with lake water on a boat by now…

But you shook your head, you gained nothing by thinking like this.

What was in Richmond anyways?

Nothing, not for you at least

Was it too late? to turn back? alone at least?

You had a bad feeling about this, something in your stomach. But perhaps it was just the hunger talking.

You had always been a person that got very “hangry”, angry when hungry, and today was showing clearly

Judging by the signs, you were about to cross to North Carolina, meaning you were closer to your destination

What if everybody died there?

What if you come across another group like Terminus? What if this time they succeed? 

And for what? 

You felt guilty instantly, Noah was a somewhat sweet kid

You just needed a break

“HEY!”, you all stopped to watch Daryl as he appeared through the woods, waving his arms

“Found somethin”, he said, and you all went with him. “A set of houses”, he told you. 

You all sprinted through the woods.

It wasn’t a big deal, they were similar to the ones you found Carl in, or rather, he found you.

They were miraculously untouched, or looked like it, just like those you found back then.

You divided naturally, you entered the second house there, ax in hand, ready for some walkers… you hit the door with it, and there came the stickers, one dropped from the second floor scandalously, and you killed it right where he dropped

You were going to go for the second one, but in a second a bolt bashed his skull

Daryl had entered the house right behind you

You shared looks, and nodded.

The first place you hit was the kitchen. And to your amazement, it had things, good things. You didn’t even ask, you opened a can of peaches in juice, and you moaned when you just grabbed the first one with a fork and stuffed it almost completely in your mouth 

Daryl watched you, almost entertained

“Fuck this is good, I swear, I’m a monster if I don’t get some sugar”, you said, offering the can to him once you had two

He grabbed it from you, smiled, and ate contently. You kept checking the kitchen, you found some good stuff… you even found some coffee. How long has it been since you drank coffee?

“I might get use to this”, you said, looking at the pantry with an assortment of things

“Ya should”, said Daryl, he stood right by your side, his arm bumping into yours

“Let’s keep checking”, you said with a soft smile

You went room by room, and found batteries, which was always helpful. You had grabbed a small radio from the safehouse in Atlanta, and you sometimes checked it, to see if there was something being said in it. So far, no luck, but still.

You found candles, which were always helpful, and a flashlight. In the bathroom came the real treat, you found toiletries, which were always coveted, and a deodorant.

You turned the water on, and to your amazement, water started pouring from the tap.

“OH!”, you said, almost crying in relief

“That’s somethin”

“We should check where this water is coming from first”, you said softly, “before we even think about drinking it, or washing ourselves with it”

“Fair”, he said

“It might be a contaminated well, a sealed tank, filled by a generator on a nearby river, or a underground water supply, that’s our best bet”

“You got it ma’am”, but he didn’t move, and you didn’t want him to, he had done so much, always taking care of the group, hunting, scavenging, you were convinced that he walked twice as the entire group, always making rounds around you.

“But you should rest first”, you said with a soft smile

“I actually might”, he said, checking the room behind him, he seemed contented

“Do so, and I will cook…”, you were interrupted when a door flung open, and then you heard footsteps going up the stairs, and Carol appeared.

She frowned, -as she used to do-, when she saw you both, just standing in the hallway, you felt as you were two little children and were caught doing something naughty

“Find anything?”, she asked

“Yeah”, muttered Daryl

“You should report it”, she should have left after saying that, but she just stood there, so you cleared your throat

“You should rest”, you said to Daryl, “I will check that thing we discussed”, he nodded, and you walked away from him, passing by Carol who just stood there.

This was awkward and weird

You found Rick, who was just coming out of the first house with Judith in his arms

“We found a bunch of rotten food in the fridge, the smell is vile, but we found some useful things too”, he said

“We found canned goodies and toiletries”, you informed him, “we also have running water, but I wanted to check out the source”

“Good job”, he said

“I’ll help you”, said Magie coming out of the house, “I know I thing or two about wells”

“Great!”, you said happily

It didn’t took you long enough to find it

“It’s filled with an aquifer”, she said with a wide smile, “WE GOT WATER!”, she said excitedly, “the only thing we need to do is to pump this thing a few times”, you were learning, you were actually learning, as Maggie walked you through the entire system that fed the houses with water, and it was incredible. So cool.

“So… what’s goin’ between you and Dixon?”, she asked teasingly 

“What?”, you asked, taken completely by surprise, “Nothin”

“I saw you both sneaking to the house”, she said

“We didn’t do it on purpose, I thought more people were following me”, you explained simply

“Ohh, come on!”, she teased, as she gave the first pumps with that rusty thing, “not a little something something?”, she teased

“I don’t see it”, you said simply, “I mean he is wildly handsome but… I don’t know he barely tolerates me, he thinks I’m some sort of burden”

“No he doesn’t”, you said

“How do you know? he as much as said it to me”, you explained

“If he truly thought you were some sort of baggage, he wouldn’t be so concerned for you all the time”, she said, “I think he really cares for you”

“It's mutual”, you conceded, “but I really think he only hangs around me to prevent myself from getting killed or something…”

“Well, last time i checked… that was caring”, she said, you loved her accent

“How about you and Glenn?”, you asked her, she looked back at you softly, “did you know each other before?”

“No, actually”, she said, “I lived on a farm with my family, and they showed up one day…”

“They?”, you asked

“Rick, Carol, Daryl, Glenn, and Carl”, she said

“Oh”, you said

“The farm get overrun a few months later”, she said sadly, “my dad, Beth and I made it out, we spend an entire winter scavenging, until we found the prison”

So you were right, Daryl went back far with Rick and Carol. All of them had forged a very strong bond, a bond of survival.

“Don’t be that grim”, Maggie teased, “He likes you”

“Yeah, he likes me… far away from him”, you mocked

“I don’t think that’s true”, she teased, you were actually a bit jealous. She and Glenn seemed so happy together, they were such a great, strong couple.

You felt lonely, alright? you were a human being

You started filling the well with underground water, and took turns to pump, at the end became some sort of competition that drew laughs from the both of you, and eventually, some of the group came out of the houses to see what’s going on, as you were on what would be the common yard in the back

The well was about to be overflowed because of your efforts, and Maggie and you ended up sweating, dropping to the grass 

“WE CALL THE FIRST SHOWER!”, you said to Rick, Carol, Glenn, Daryl, Carl, and those who showed up. You stood up so quickly it made you dizzy 

You started running towards the house to prove a point, and Maggie jokingly started trying to catch you and pushed “out of her way”

“Do ya understand what’s going on?”, Daryl asked Glenn, he shook his head, entertained.

The water felt heavenly, dropping on your dirty skin, you couldn’t remember the last time you showered. It was cold, but it was something. 

You felt guilty for that poor towel you used, it ended up very dirty.

But you didn’t care at the end, you were freaking clean, cold as fuck, but clean nonetheless. The apocalypse life was filled with little pleasures, this was one.

You took a second look at your filthy clothes, and almost hit yourself when you thought about the fact that you didn’t even check the house for more…

You came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, you entered the master bedroom, you had seen pictures of the people that lived here, a middle age couple, with teenager kids, so you dove into the closet of the mother, the towel was a bit short, but you didn’t think there was nobody here so…

You heard something behind you, on the bed.

“What’ya doin?, you turned quickly to realize Daryl was looking at you. He had taken your advice, he had tried to sleep and you just sneaked in, almost naked, and he just woken up

“SHIT”, you cursed, trying to hug yourself, “I’M SORRY! didn’t see you there, I was trying to get some clothes”, he only grumbled something and turned around in the bed, to give you privacy, looking towards the wall, you grabbed a henley you found, and some jeans you’d think they fit and you went back to lock yourself in the bathroom on the hallway, completely petrified

. . .

He took deep breaths but nothing was helping him…

Were you trying to kill him?

First you are alone in that house, searching through the kitchen, sharing food, and now you waltz into the room he chose, the master bedroom, almost naked, wrapped in a towel, looking through the closet like it's yours… like it's your room, like you and him….

He groaned, when he felt his pant tighter, was he a fucking teenager?

This wasn’t a fucking fairytale, this isn’t an episode of desperate housewives apocalypse

You would never be interested in playing house, especially not with him. You were way younger than him, from what he knew, you had been here studying here in the states, a freaking master degree, he had barely finished high school. How could you be interested in him? You had a freaking cute accent, you knew more than one language, you…. you… you were not his type, no, he was not your type.

That is what he believed, that is what he knew.

Pretty girls like you don’t go for rednecks like him

If you were still in the old world, and you saw him walking towards you on the street, you would have changed sidewalks, you would have crossed to the other side of the street.

He had to understand that.

He still didn’t understand why he felt… things.. when he saw you. He had never felt anything like this, when he saw you coming his heart jumped on his chest, he felt nervous, and his hands got sweaty, he felt the need to care for you, to protect you, it didn’t help that you were so freakin’ clumsy, almost askin’ to be bitten by walkers… 

And that got him frustrated and being a freaking asshole to you, because he was… frustrated… he didn’t understand why you, of all the women he had ever met, got him feeling like this. 

But at the same time, the way you eliminated the dead was something of beauty, something Daryl had never seen before, you got good moves, and that only made him more of an idiot for you.

He groaned, turning into the pillow when he heard you walking about in the bathroom.

He knew you had come back to the house you both checked, he never imagined you would get out of the bathroom wearing only a little towel, he wasn’t a pervert, he had heard your advice, and he knew since you were in the house he could sleep for a while, relax. 

Now he wasn’t relaxed until he took care of that situation YOU provoked

Well…. rather that you provoked in him

He felt like a teenager, he couldn’t believe he was having this sort of problem in the damn apocalypse.

“I’ll let everybody know what we found so we can cook something”, you said softly, peeking through the open door

He only nodded, looking at you

“You want me to get you after?”, you asked softly

“Yeah, thanks”

Yeah, some privacy is exactly what he needs

Perhaps this… all of this, what exactly he needs

A similar though passed your mind

These little houses in the middle of nowhere, with a working water system… they seemed so heavenly you almost wanted to stay here forever.

@crazyunsexycool

[holylulusworld]

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Like in 2019, 2020, 2021 & 2022, I will post a kinky, fluffy, angsty or scary one-shot from October 1st till October 31st, 2023.

Please consider none of the stories are available until the set release date. Titles may change (all titles are working titles until the release date.). The release date may change at any time.

ANGST/SMUT/FLUFF

October 1st: Forbidden Lust (2) sequel to Forbidden Lust

Pairing: Stepdad!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Kink: Homewrecker kink

Requested by: @jayyyyyyy-stuff

October 2nd: Rekindle

Pairing: Chubby!Thor Odinson x Exgirlfriend!Reader

Trope: Reunion

October 3rd: Very tight places sequel to Cramped & Tight places

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x fem!Reader

Kink: Claustrophilia

October 4th: Footloose

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Trope: Enemies to lovers

October 5th: Serve your Soldier

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!Reader

Kink: Collars

October 6th: Falling leaves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Trope: Sunny vs grumpy

October 7th: Blaze of glory

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Kink: Glad-to-Be-Alive Sex/Victory sex

October 8th: Two Bikes (1)

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader; Biker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Trope: Angst

October 9th: Golden Retriever

Pairing: Jake Jensen x Reader

Kink: Crops / Spanking

Idea by: anon

October 10th: One autumn night

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader

Trope: a/b/o

Idea by: anon

October 11th: I'm the best

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Kink: Breeding kink

Idea by: anon

October 12th: Breathless sequel to Take my breath away

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Trope: Secret crush

October 13th: One Summer night

Pairing: Cultleader!Thor Odinson

Kink: Sex Cult

October 14th: Snuggle time

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x Plussized!Reader

Trope: Cuddling & snuggling

Idea by: anon

October 15th: The cabin in the woods

Pairing: Winter Soldier x fem!Reader

Kink/Trope: Choking

October 16th: Not in my car

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

Trope: Love confessions

Requested by: @dawn-petrichor-world

October 17th: Backpack

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader

Kink: Thigh riding

Idea by: @dawn-petrichor-world

October 18th: Sex you up

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Chubby!Reader

Kink: Size kink

Idea by: @sultryfandoms

October 19th: Fulfilment

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Trope: Pregnancy

Idea by: @elle14-blog1

October 20th: Triad (1)

Pairing: Omega!Stucky x Alpha!Reader

Kink: Dom / Sub

Idea by: anon

October 21st: Autumnal love

Pairing: Thor Odinson x fem!Reader

Trope: Carving pumpkins

Idea by: anon

October 22nd: Unwanted Mate (Bucky's version)

Pairing: Alpha!Stucky x Omega!Reader

Kink: Threesome

October 23rd: Rescue you

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader

Trope: Rescue romance

Idea by: @dawn-petrichor-world

October 24th: Right there

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Kink: Pegging

Idea by: @flory-alexandra

October 25th: Deepest love

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Trope: Friends to lovers

Idea by: @elle14-blog1

October 26th: Demon knife

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Trope: Friends to enemies

October 27th: Sunrise sequel to Beyond the soldier & After the eclipse

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Kink/Trope: Quirofilia/Nursed Back to Health

Requested by: @clarinette07

October 28th: Naughty School Adventures (1)

Pairing: Janitor!Sam Winchester x Teacher!Reader x Gymteacher!Dean Winchester

Kink: Cucking

Idea by: @moosekateer13

October 29th: Unwanted Mate (Steve's version)

Pairing: Alpha!Steve x Omega!Reader

Trope: Unrequited feelings

October 30th: Taped on video

Pairing: J3 x fem!Reader

Kink: BDSM

Requested by @moosekateer13

Halloween Specials: ANGST/SMUT/HORROR

October 31st: The past always catches up

Pairing: Winter Soldier x former Hydra!(fem) Reader

Trope: Villain Reader

October 31st: Dreams of sharp teeth

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader x Werewolf!August Walker

Trope: Monster AU

Find all other Bingos and Special Events here: Special Events

[jamaisjoons]

happy hentaiween | m.

Fear is a powerful aphrodisiac, and October is the season of fear. The dark season. The season of desire.

In October, we toy with the semantics of the monster waiting under our bed to claim us. What does it want with us? Will it be delicious? Will we be delicious in the back of its mouth. In October, we consider the curiosity of the alien, and his probing, searching eyes. When he takes us, will will bind ourselves to him, giving life, and liver and womb without question or hesitation? In October, sympathy for the devil and his demons comes easily and as sweetly as a candy apple to the tongue. Does sin have any room to germinate where there is no light? October makes room for spellbinding, for magic, for complete surrender to the monster living deep within the forest. How easily we will spread ourselves, give over to the limits of our bodies just to ache and hunger with wildfire in our blood.

Welcome to A Hentai Halloween! A collaborative event between a set of truly wonderful authors in celebration of all weebs, monster fuckers, and tentacle lovers hosted by yours truly!

notice: all fics contain smut. minors dni.

⟶ AO3 Masterlist

⁂ binding vow

⤑ pairing: king of curses!namjoon x jujutsu sorcerer!reader ⤑ genre: smut ⤑ tropes: dark fantasy. reincarnation. jujutsu kaisen au.

❝ During the Heian Era, long before he was known as the King of Curses, you were Namjoon's lover, only to be parted by death at the hands of a Curse. Now, it's the modern era, and you, a Jujutsu Sorcerer, have been captured by Curses in an offering to the very King you had once loved. ❞

⏤ Category: Hentai ; As Animated by @jamaisjoons​

➵ Coming Soon

⁂ tormented

⤑ pairing: researcher!seokjin x monstress!reader ⤑ genre: smut ⤑ tropes: supernatural. native folklore. e2l.

❝ Seokjin has a terrifying memory from his younger days that has easily shaped him into the man he’s become, and fuelled his desire for all accomplishments thus far. Watching your mother be eaten alive by a monster tends to have a lasting, psychological effect like that. Now a full-time Folklorist, with a PhD in Mythology, Masters in Cultural Anthropology, and a time consuming side-hobby as a Supernatural Investigator, his research has led him into the wilderness surrounding the Black Water Lakes, where he’s determined this monster resides in its hidden habitat. Determined to reveal new discoveries to the world, to prove his insanity is anything but, Jin finds himself hot on the trail of something that haunts his inner child, and yet ignites an unusual fire deep inside him. ❞

⏤ Category: Monster Girls ; As Animated by @kookdiaries​

➵ Coming Soon

⁂ can’t deny your appetite

⤑ pairing: dream whisperer!yoongi x dream walker!reader ⤑ genre: smut ⤑ tropes: supernatural. e2l. sleep paralysis demon.

❝ In the entirety of your existence as a Dream Walker, traveling through people's dreams and feeding on their subconscious fears, you had only heard tales about the Dream Whisperer – a creature that granted humans erotic dreams, taking them away from the fear that you survived on – and had never actually encountered him. But tonight, when the said monster physically appears between you and your food, you might end up feeding on more than you were prepared for. ❞

⏤ Category: Demons ; As Animated by @jimilter​

➵ Coming Soon

⁂ brood mare

⤑ pairing: alien!hoseok x human!Reader ⤑ genre: smut ⤑ tropes: sci fi. alien abduction. alien experimentation.

❝ The ship arrived three days after your birthday, an eerie blot in the sky that grew larger and larger until it sought to outshine the sun. It is the lack of change beyond this that had you, and everyone else around the globe, unsettled but after months of its looming presence you are starting to feel curious about it. You are even comforted by it. Still, there is no change. Except, sometimes in the morning you feel as though you have lost something. And, sometimes in the evening, you feel as though you are waiting for something. And, most times, you are certain there is something standing in the shadows, watching and waiting and departing the moment you try to focus on it. Perhaps there is change: a change in you. A change in the way you want it. And a change in the way you want it to want you back. ❞

⏤ Category: Aliens ; As Animated by @yeoldontknow​

➵ Coming Soon

⁂ beware the jabbercock

⤑ pairing: jabberwocky shifter!jimin x ace of hearts!reader ⤑ genre: smut ⤑ tropes: shifters. royalty. alice in wonderland au.

❝ As the Ace of Hearts, you are next in line for the throne after your cousin the Queen of Hearts. Her consort Jack however wants you out of the picture and banishes you to the Wonderland wilderness where the terrifying Jabberwocky lives, a horrifying creature responsible for a slew of card deck townspeople deaths.

Within the mysterious depths of the Wonderland forest you find the Jabberwocky, and as you fall under his spell you realise how he was so easily able to capture and defeat so many of your people. ❞

⏤ Category: Hybrids/Shifters ; As Animated by @opaljm​

➵ Coming Soon

⁂ lurking in the dark

⤑ pairing: bogeyman!taehyung x curvy!reader ⤑ genre: smut ⤑ tropes: monsters. s2l. pwp.

❝ Don’t look! It’s best to stay tucked under your covers. Folktales warn against acknowledging him. It only strengthens his power. Yet, he is all you want to think about. ❞

⏤ Category: Monster ; As Animated by @inkedtae​

➵ Coming Soon

⁂ fresh out of hell

⤑ pairing: demon monster!jungkook x med student!reader ⤑ genre: angst ∴ smut ⤑ tropes: forbidden love. horror. death race au.

❝ Jungkook was sentenced to life for a crime he didn’t commit. When the opportunity to earn his freedom again presented itself, he went for it. However, just like the victory, his life was snatched by the vile humans that put him in that awful place to begin with.

After rising from the grave, Jungkook has one mission. Take what’s rightfully his along with what his worst enemy loves the most. Although, the latter might be easier to grab than the former.  ❞

⏤ Category: Demons ; As Animated by @sugakookitty​

➵ Coming Soon

The shadows grow long in October, a bottomless black that swallows everything it touches. Trepidation comes easily, lurks behind every corner, watching and waiting, a feeling you cannot shake. And lust has never been shaken from the binds of our bones, it lurks, it watches it waits. What was once a friendly, well-lit street becomes an endless expanse of bleak possibility. What was once a friendly fable becomes a warning, a promise, an ode to regret and an ode to an unexpected metamorphosis. Desire transmutes the street corner your old neighbour once occupied, full now with difference, with longing, with a yearning close to obsession the moment a charming, new face stands at its threshold. The air tastes different in October, ripe with unexplained cravings.

We were taught never to speak about the dark desires that remain unsatisfied when the sun is out. But in October, when the moon is high, and the darkness is alive, we've decided to tell you everything we've ever wanted.

And none of us will be the same when we are done.

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

summary: "We begin... with a spin."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

warnings: gonna break your heart one last time, Dream is still Dream (reluctantly affectionate)

notes: all good things come to an end : )

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Rule the World (Odyssey Version) by Take That

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?” 

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

“You are the one who wanders. You will do so until the universe ceases.”

“Why?”

“Because you have been cursed to do so. Because you chose no shackles, no roots. You wished, instead, to roam free. And now you shall.”

“Why?”

“Because all is as it is meant to be, Wanderer.”

“Why?”

“Because you wished to break your destiny. And so you did.”

.

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

Book in hand, you step around Hob, licking the dryness from your lips. Copper lingers on your tongue. “Same family.”

He perks up at your subdued comment, arms unfolding from where they rested over his chest.

“Nah, really?” He mulls it over for a moment. “Wait, that actually makes a lot of sense. He was a bit of a twat.”

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

Late evening sun streams through the blinds, bathing the dark wood office in syrupy, golden-brown light. Books and notes lay scattered everywhere you look, each inch utilised fully. Johanna leans her hands on the table, squinting at the grimoire laid open. She’s been chewing on her lip for the last five minutes. That doesn’t bode well. 

“No can do,” Hob replies, hitching his shoulders with a proud smile. “I’m here on strict business.”

Dropping the grimoire Johanna requested on the table, you shoot them both a look, “Are you two done?” Your attention swivels towards the necromancer despite your trembling hands, finding her delicate features pinched. “Can you find Jed Walker?”

She huffs, her brows folding inwards. “You’re asking me to find a needle in a haystack of seven billion, give or take. I’m not a bloody witch. I don’t just cook up locator spells. I deal with demons and the dead.”

Bracing your hand on the table to mirror her, you soften your voice, “I understand what I’m asking for.”

“I’ll need time to figure this out,” she admits tightly. 

Private displeasure colours Johanna’s voice, and you nod in defeat. It’s hard to admit any shortcoming, much less one rooted in one’s power. While Johanna may be more powerful than most mortals can comprehend, it’s not power without gaps. She’s still so young. But, as with all Constantines you’ve known, there now sparks that fiery, stubborn drive, seemingly blazing from within. This is a challenge and one she’s set to overcome. 

“What about the other?” she poses abruptly, turning several pages in the grimoire. Her index finger trails over the yellowed pages, glued to another spell. “Do you have anything of theirs? You said this one has magical protection?”

“It’s conjecture,” you clarify. “But he’s been able to skirt me for over a century, so I’m left with one conclusion.”

Hob whistles under his breath. “A century? Bloody hell, you must be eager to find him.”

Memories flutter to life, birds caught in flight. A tall man with blonde hair, a dangerous smirk, and your blurred reflection dancing across his shaded glasses. Nothing more than a twisted memory that’s all fangs and blood. To file this want under ‘eager’ would be insulting. This specific longing comes with both elation and dread. Horror at what you might discover. This ignorance is no more than a flimsy illusion. You’ve spent the last century following Corinthian’s every crime, experiencing it as if he executed them on you instead. 

“I can’t promise this will work,” Johanna continues, oblivious to your internal struggle. Your attention snags on Hob, who is watching you with deep creases denting his forehead. There’s old, shrewd awareness in how he examines your rumpled appearance. “At best, I might be able to cloak you. Again, locator spells are not my speciality. At all.”

You clear your mind, pushing away from the wooden fixture. “ What if I gave up an object? It’s old, full of history. Would I be able to form a tether?

You’ve seen such spells performed—you know they’re possible and incredibly advantageous when done right. 

Johanna glares down at the grimoire for a beat, silent. Her chin lifts suddenly, her narrow-eyed stare harsh and biting. There’s digging intensity to how she inspects your appearance from head to toe, and you bristle at the probing check. 

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly. “I don’t think you should be doing any tethering to anything.”

Your teeth gnash. “Can it be done, Constantine?”

Tension barbs through the room. Hob sighs, making you even more defensive because you can instinctively tell it’s about to become two against one. “We’re not daft, you know,” he says quietly. “It’s clear you’re unwell.” 

Your eyes flutter shut. Forcing your jaw to relax, you mull over the most palatable way you can deliver this information to them. It’s clear from their wonderfully human determination that they’re not going to let this drop until they have more context. 

“Fine.” Filling your lungs with oxygen, you hold your breath, gathering yourself. How difficult it is to draw oxygen should probably concern you. “Remember how I told you I’ve been experimenting? Well, I’ve exercised a degree of control over the curse. The travelling part, at least. I can force it to take me places I want, but it… costs me. Physically.”

Johanna folds her arms over her chest, humming in consideration. “Cost, eh? How steep?”

These damn Constantines. 

The setting sun warms your cool cheek, and some invisible restraint in you loosens your invisible cast dropping. “Internal injuries. Bleeding, tissue tears, organ failure, haemorrhaging. It heals, but slowly. Excruciatingly so. If I abuse controlled travel too often, I can pass out. Slip into a temporary coma until internal damage heals. Vomiting, mobility issues, dizziness, hallucinations—take your pick.”

You’re avoiding direct eye contact, but utter silence encompasses the office when your words sink in. 

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

Shrugging, you say, “It’s fine. I’m getting better at controlling it.”

“Which part of that is fine?” Hob’s voice is barbed with horror. “None of that is fine.”

You wish neither of them were looking at you like this. Rattled, aghast, alight with shades of sadness. It's so much easier to handle this when no one is standing there reminding you of the ugly aspects of this curse.

“Can it be done?” you bite out. 

Johanna wipes emotion from her face, stretching out her hand, palm up. “Show me this item.” 

Without a preamble, you hand her the roughened wooden figurine. Your stomach roils at the sight. Desperately your fingers clench and unclench in the folds of your coat, blunt nails biting into your palms. The urge to snatch back the figurine is bone-breaking. 

Johanna rolls the item in her hand, scanning it with eyes that see far beyond its material form. She’s digging deeper into what history—power—the object contains. “It might work,” she muses pensively. “I’ll cloak you, but the spell will have a time limit. The further away you are from me, the shorter the timer will be. Whoever it is won’t see you coming, but I can’t promise you the exact location.”

The grim determination bubbling in your gut answers: “Just get me as close as you can.”

.

Swirls of colours and shapes; loud, jarring noises, spinning, spinning, nails raking through the skin—

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

It doesn’t stop. There’s only colour—sound—sound—breaking—madness. And it doesn’t stop for a very long time.

.

A thousand reflections stare back at you. 

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

A rat scurries past your arm, disappearing into the hoary mist, and you flinch. 

No matter how loudly you plead for forgiveness, for relief, there’s only endless despair and glass cutting into your palms. 

.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace. 

A tall, pale, looming man with twin stars for eyes stands over you. 

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

But for the first time since you’ve woken up as you: hope. 

A beautiful dream. 

.

“Who did you say you were again?”

Mighty, leathery wings block out whatever light there once was, the newcomer’s pale hair shining like a halo around their fair face. 

“I am an angel, here to save you,” a benign, soothing voice coos, followed by fingers tracing over your bloodied jawline. “If only you help me.”

“By doing what?” you slur, blood and sweat trickling down your split brow. “By spying on the Endless? On Dream?”

“Do not fear. I alone can protect you. Your purpose is to merely… observe.”

Demons hiss and growl around you, and you flex your newly healed jaw. They broke it four times in succession. So much for talking back. Scorched dirt beneath your feet stains with your congealing blood, and you chuckle. The croaking sound grows in volume until your throat bleeds. 

It’s answer enough. 

Your bones quiver under the sheer power of Morningstar’s displeasure. “Take this one away. Make sure there’s nothing left.”

The demons make good on that order. 

.

Johanna pierces the world map with a letter opener, every inch cutting in with deliberate slowness. Candles flicker, settling after the spell, and you taste the magick at the back of your throat. 

“Georgia, U-S of A,” the necromancer announces, loosening a breath.

“Great,” Hob chirps, his arm brushing against yours. “That’s just brilliant. It’s across the bloody ocean, that is.”

Johnna shoots him a venomous look. “Oh, sorry. Were you hoping for a nice trip down Brighton?”

Hob stares at her blankly in the shadowed office. He turns your way slowly as if mutely asking do you believe her?

You do. You’ve dealt with enough Constantines in your lifetime to ensure their sarcastic, surly nature is no longer a shock. 

“You’re a highly unpleasant woman,” Hob concludes, though no real malice lingers in his tone or bearing. 

“Thank you, Constantine,” you cut in before they can break into another bickering session. “There’s one more thing.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “Is there now?”

“Magdalene’s Grimoire,” you begin deliberately. Johanna freezes. “I want you to locate it and retrieve it for me.”

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

“You believe it has something to do with your curse, don’t you?” 

Ignoring Hob’s incredulous outcry, you nod towards Johanna. Pain twinges suddenly in your core, and your breaths slow until you get a grip on yourself. But it’s slow. Numbing pain laps at your senses for a debilitating minute until it clears once more. The curse wants to drag you in a thousand directions, but you don’t permit it. 

You right yourself again, swallowing over your dry tongue. Your temples throb insistently. 

“I think it’s old—older than people assume and has spells that no mortal should have access to.” You lean towards the map, examining the range letter opener has offered. You’ve been to Georgia several times previously, but long ago. “Roderick Burgess might have gotten lucky, but the mere fact there’s a spell there that can help capture an Endless… I find that curious. Unlike what your records indicate, he was not the first Magus, but he was the last. This means the grimoire has to be with his family—likely his son—or someone relating to them. I’ll pay you.”

Somehow. 

“Are you joking?” Johanna scoffs immediately. “One of the most powerful grimoires known to humanity? I’ll find it for free. Imagine what I could learn from it.”

Your stare glides to her unhurriedly, fixing on her fair complexion. She visibly falters at whatever she spies in your cool regard. “Within reason… and for the good of humanity. Scout's honour.”

Hob squints at her. “You’re not even American.”

“Shut… up,” she mutters, shooting him another nasty look. 

You tug your coat free when it catches on a chair, slotting your hands in your pockets. “Thank you, both of you. Is the spell active?”

“Yes, but it won’t hold long at this distance,” Johanna warns. 

Your attention latches on the wooden figurine on her desk. It’s wrong—it feels so wrong to have it out of your grasp, to feel nothing more than Dream’s pebble warming your hand. You try not to think about him now or your last conversation together. Instead, you focus on the thread woven around your heart, tugging you away and over the ocean. 

“I won’t be back for at least two weeks, but see what you can discover in that time,” you tell them. 

Hob balances on his heels, presenting Johanna with a charming grin. “Well, I guess I ought to help you.”

The sorceress scowls. “I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

Levelling them with a fond look, you wordlessly head towards the door while they verbally spar. Your hand briefly braces your chest, feeling the unsteady thud beneath your palm. You’ve been jumping too often, too far, and too rapidly for your body to recover. But just a bit more. Then you can rest. 

You’re almost at the end of a darkened hallway before an urgent voice sounds behind you, accompanied by brisk strides in your direction. 

“Wait, wait…”

You’re not even slightly surprised to hear Hob behind you or feel his fingers wrap around your bicep. Street light filtering through the window paints over his taut features, creating a pronounced tale of two sides. Light and dark. Young and older than anyone can comprehend. Quite fitting for both of you. 

“Take me with you,” Hob says, imploring edge laced beneath his lighthearted manner. It pinches your heart. “You know what they say: two immortals are better than one, eh?”

If things were less dangerous, less volatile, if it were anyone but Corinthian, you would take him up on his offer. You would love nothing more—two immortals going on an adventure. Hob has known the same horrors, similar hardships, countless failures and highs. Together you’re as effortless as breathing, as familiar as old friends meeting after years apart. You’ve felt that kinship with him from the first moment you locked eyes in that overcrowded pub, sitting there soaked and miserable. 

But this is the Corinthian. Even if Hob is the one human with nothing to fear from the nightmare, this goes much deeper. Soul deep. Perhaps deeper still. This conflict is between you, Corinthian, and Dream. It’s always been a tale of three parts, interwoven into a single, unbreakable thread. 

“Hob Gadling, you are a gem,” you say softly, placing your hand on his warm cheek. An unsure smile forms across his mouth. “And maybe one day I will. But this… this is something I must do alone.”

“You don’t, though. You realise that, right?” Hob argues softly, fiercely. “There are people who care about you.”

You think about the Dreaming and its occupants, all the mortals and other beings you’ve encountered in your many travels. Friends and companions who have told you to visit, stay, there is always a place for you here even when they knew you could do no such thing without putting them at risk. You think about the Endless—your becoming and undoing.

Your hand slips away from him, your faint smile hollow. “I do. Two weeks.”

.

The Endless are formidable individually. The raw power holding this universe together, given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades. 

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this. 

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing, beige hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones. 

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. Oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you. 

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves. 

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t already empty, you would likely be throwing up right now. 

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she angles back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils. Today, her hair keeps flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green. 

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, others having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds. 

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up. 

Destruction chuckles on your right, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm. 

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but don't think you can stomach it right now. 

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend sentiments that are so far out of their reach. 

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. You associate him most closely with that wild animal fear and sheer helplessness. You can’t help it. 

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

Shadows coil around Dream Lord’s feet, seated between Delirium and Death. You silently question if it’s a purposeful partition. 

“That’s enough from you, sibling,” Dream warns. 

Desire’s lovely mouth spreads into a quick, beaming smile; all teeth bared and tawny eyes aglow with sadistic amusement. A predator having scented blood. “Oh, come on now,” they coo. “We all come here to talk as a family; even lovely Wanderer is present. Yet you think yourself above everything. Your realm, your rules—we’ve heard it all before! You’re oh so dull.”

Despair slumps beside her twin, face downcast. “Dull. Yes, rather dull indeed.”

“And are you perhaps bored, my sibling?” Dream returns, a slight pinch to his imperious features. His voice remains perfectly aloof. From this outsider’s perspective, it’s easy to see why Desire views Dream as supercilious. “Did you run out of adequate ways to amuse yourself?”

Momentarily swallowing down your fear, you slant your head over to one side, “Dream.”

Dream pauses at your drawn, anxious expression. The ignited stars dim, draining away, but the hard slant of his broad shoulders doesn’t drop. 

“Oh, don’t run to his defence.” Desire’s voice is just edging on goading. Their nails tap on the wooden table when they cross their legs, leaning towards you. “This is quite characteristic. Surely you find him just as insufferable as the rest of us?”

Death’s retort is whip-sharp. “Desire. Shut up.”

Others around the table appear calmly accepting. They’ve seen this fight play out in the past a thousand times. While you’ve never demanded reasons for the bad blood between the two Endless, it’s clear it runs deep, a problem stemming from innumerable centuries long since past. And very clearly not a situation for you to get involved in. You’re not naive or arrogant enough to assume you can fix their problems for them. Neither Desire nor Dream seems particularly invested in settling anything, either. 

But inciting like this is dangerous. Desire has never attempted to spark arguments involving you in the past, no matter how spiteful the mood. 

As if mentally arriving at the same conclusion, Destruction’s rumbling words vocalise your unspoken plea: “Do not involve Wanderer in your quarrel, sibling.”

Delirium curls into herself, her legs raised on the chair and pressing into her chest. Her hold on your arm turns near painful. “Arguing, fights, it's not nice, but it… um… that’s not where Desire is supposed to be. It’s um… it’s somewhere else. It’s in Dreams.”

You’re not sure how to decode Delirium’s words. You once believed them to be mindless babbles. Then some phrases would come back to haunt you months or even years later. Whatever caused the turn in Delirium from Delight gave her foresight no other Endless seemed to possess. Save, perhaps, Destiny. 

Desire’s fingers curl beneath their pointed chin. Desire surveys you, then his older brother, with a feline's slowness. “Well, well. Aren’t you two sweet on each other?”

This time, the darkness curling beneath Dream’s chair becomes physical. Visible even to your mortal eye. 

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily. 

Desire scoffs, dropping back in their seat with a graceful, seductive stretch. Heat encompasses your being, pouring in the crevices of your skin. Desire’s effect is all but impossible to escape this close. 

“Is it not my function, oh dear brother of mine, to sow desire in the hearts of all living things, mortal and otherwise? What are they without their desires?” The Endless straightens just as swiftly, their elbows digging back into the table while they eye you, chin back in their hands. Something cruel and fragmented, endlessly amused, slides through those golden irises—an intent you’ve never seen Desire direct your way until now. “Come, my sweet, doesn’t it get dreary? All those mortals set on your suffering? Surely you have missed the sweet, loving embrace of Desire? I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.”

And then…

The world melts away, and everything once making up your being bows and folds under the power pressing into you. You’re but a child. You are atoms. And you’ve forgotten how terrible their power could be once unleashed. 

There’s only cocoon and darkness and golden, glowing eyes beckoning you, warming you, bewitching you. Your limbs are too far away to control, your will dulled into thin, worn paper—brittle to the touch. Your skin is too hot, and the air in your lungs is insufficient. It feels so good. So good, so good—

Even a kiss, even a kiss, even a kiss—

Your limbs are on strings, tugged in one direction, then another. Distantly, horror chokes you, and you scratch at the walls inside your mind, clawing for some semblance of control, but there’s only a sultry embrace of desire. 

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

“Enough.” Something inside your chest trembles at that single word’s sheer, unbridled power. Your numbed senses are clear but not enough to free you. You're trapped, caught on the verge of awareness. “You dare.”

“Now, now, dear Dream. Did I get under your skin? It’s but jest. Lighten up.”

Few stars emerge in your blackened vision, guiding you closer. They urge you forward to safety, but you’re unable to move. It feels good to be here, so good and hot. There’s no pain, only desire and pleasure—

“We do not control mortals, sister-brother. Their will is their own. Release Wanderer.”

Destiny’s tepid command shreds through the heated, desire-filled veil. You return to yourself with a choked gasp, snapping into your tiny mortal body with a painful lurch. It’s overwhelming. Every sense was smothered to such a degree, it’s as if everything is twice as heightened now. 

“Are you insane?” Death snaps. You’ve never heard her this angry until now. There’s always a smile on her face and a playful gleam in her eyes. But you’re too busy shaking to be afraid. “What was that, huh?”

Your hands convulse. Bloody indents line your palms. Your nails must have cut into your skin hard enough to draw blood. You fought. But what can a mortal do when faced with an Endless? You were erased, folded down to nothing. You are nothing. 

Voices melt into one. You’re too shaken to separate them. When some semblance of awareness settles in, you realise how awful these… seconds, minutes, or hours have truly been. 

You’re half straddling Destruction, arms half wrapped around his broad shoulders, your mouth near his neck. Horror liquefies your limbs, rooting you in your spot. Too much—it’s too much. Humiliation leaves you immobile, but Destruction rests his hand between your shoulder blades, his gaze kind and concerned beneath his bunched eyebrows.  

“Are you well?” he asks quietly over the clamour behind you.

Your chin wobbles. Shame lashes your skin. You’ve been used as no more than a puppet to be thrown at him. On him. Like some mindless whore. A witless worshipper, begging for their chosen god’s favour, not understanding what they’re inviting. How the gods are never kind. How they only use and break for their amusement. 

Even though Destruction doesn’t appear angry, you can’t stop yourself from croaking out, “I… I… I’m sorry.”

His sympathetic frown is visible even beneath his thick beard. He cradles you to him but with gentleness indicating how fragile he believes you to be at this moment. “Do not fret. It is quite alright, my friend.”

“Can you…?”

Your words splinter. The burn behind your eyes turns painfully prickly. Destruction’s handsome face creases further. He nods mutely, carefully manoeuvring your body to a standing position. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, steading and hot through your thin robes. His fingers fold slightly, protectively. Your gratitude for his unprompted support is immeasurable. An anchor while your knees shake.

“It was a joke,” Desire calls out over his siblings. “Desire is who I am. It’s all in good fun. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Your shoulders spasm, your back still to them. Your insides churn at the prompt, and you’re unsure if you’re about to be sick, cry, or some horrific mix of both. 

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume… 

How many times have you landed in the Threshold, thrilled to see Desire? How often have you shared jokes, laughs, and peaceful evenings and mornings in the twilight land? What other touch or embrace have you known over three centuries that didn’t end in agony but Desire’s? You’ve told them numerous times you have no preference for any sibling in their family—that you cherish Desire’s company as much as others, perhaps even more so. Because with Desire, you could remember what it’s like to be human—to want and need. 

You had foolishly believed you were friends. 

Now you see the truth. You feel the horrible, numbing heat licking across your flesh—the aftermath of this ultimate betrayal. Desire’s power shimmers on the outskirts of your mind, ready to devour you anew. Rob you of reason and choice. 

“I—you… I trusted you.” Everyone falls silent at your frayed words, scraping through the eerily quiet dining hall. When you rotate clumsily towards them, you look only at Desire. You avoid others. Your humiliation burns too brightly for anything else. “You… just made me feel like nothing. You degraded me. I’m no more than a thing for you to play with.”

Some foreign emotion spasms briefly through Desire’s face—gone in a blink. Their answering smile is so patronising a deeper crack splinters your chest. “Wanderer. Be a good sport. It was simply a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun. 

Desire can be fickle, and it can be cruel. But you’ve forgotten just how cruel they could be. To Desire, this is no more than a practical joke. You’re only a silly mortal. No wonder you don’t get the joke. You’ll get over yourself soon enough. But no one else is laughing or smiling, either. Even Despair in your peripheral remains hunched and mute, typically first to her twin’s defence. 

“Fun.” 

The word shatters something between you the second you voice it. You can see it on Desire’s face. The realisation settling in. There is no regret, no apology. Nor will there ever be. It’s clear from the dismissive curl of Desire’s mouth. They don’t see anything wrong with what just transpired. 

It makes it worse. So much worse. 

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

Destiny’s perfectly poised voice shreds whatever little composure you’ve been clinging onto. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” The accusation rips through the room like wildfire. You shake off Destructions comforting touch, your lungs filling with air and spilling out fire. “You knew Desire was going to do that. That’s the only reason why you permitted me to stay. Do I not suffer every day? Or do you enjoy making me into your little plaything? Have I not been humiliated enough for your amusement?”

Destiny says nothing. 

You shove away from the table with disgust. Your feet tangle before you command your sluggish limbs. Death rise after you immediately.

“Wanderer—”

You flinch away from her extended hand, from all of them. You don’t care what invisible line you may be overstepping. “Don’t touch me,” you spit out. “I never should have stayed.”

Your feet carry you several paces until another, more resounding voice calls, “Wanderer.”

A part of you doesn’t understand why you pause or look back. Dream’s gaze sears into you. Yet you can’t untangle a single thing you see burrowed there. He’s standing as well, his hand flat on the table. Foolishly, you hope he will come after you, say something in defence of you. But Dream is Dream. He’s likely just as clueless about why you took this so badly as others. Perhaps the fury you see glimmering in those starlit eyes is but your imagination. Another pretty lie your sentimental, human heart would be all too happy to convince yourself of. 

He doesn’t move. You pivot away, your shoulders hunching. 

Desire’s chuckle licks at your back, silky and smooth. “So tense, that one. It was only a bit of fun.” 

No one laughs. No one responds. 

Only a bit of fun.

“Take me away, take me away from here,” you sob, stumbling into a shadowed hallway.

For once, the curse listens. 

.

Rivulets of sweat drip down your back. The puddle of blood at your feet is starting to go dark. These observations float from somewhere beyond the dense fog shrouding your mind. It’s so difficult to focus. Wiping across your sweaty forehead, you lean on your arm, breathing deeply. You’ve forgotten how suffocating the humidity could be here in Georgia. 

Mercifully only heat-blurred fields surround you. The vast, open stretch of highway is all you see on either side.

Lights dance in your vision, your ears ringing. Maybe it’s the curse and not the heat. Your limbs obey no command, barely held together by sheer stubborn will to follow the tether pulsing in your chest. The spell’s power is already dimming. You have no choice but to jump. This is your only chance to get to Corinthian first. 

“Come on… come on… I don’t obey you.” Your nails scrape on the heated metal, your head hanging low. “You obey me.”

Your tongue rolls the words clumsily. No matter how much you swallow, more saliva floods your mouth, causing your stomach to cramp. Your knees beg to fold beneath you. Lay down in this tall grass and wait for the inevitable that will never arrive. It’s foolish. Death is far from the worst thing that can befall an individual. It was the very first lesson you learned. 

Digging deeper, you claw and yank on the curse’s power, squeezing it until the bleed becomes physical. Until your limbs rip from one place to another. 

When you settle back into your body, skin stinging, your knees hit the ground immediately. Blood dribbles past your lips, your sweat-covered forehead pressing into the soft dirt. You pant loudly, blood trickling past your cracked lips. Pain is coming from everywhere. Sounds mangle into each other when you attempt to raise your head. Your stomach protests viciously, leaving you dry heaving. Nothing but more blood escapes your body. 

A hotel sign. It’s the first thing you register. You’ve landed near one, practically on it. Your fingernails dig into the dirt as you stumble into a standing position. The tether Johanna’s spell has threaded pulses harder and faster in your chest. There. Corinthian has to be there. 

Cradling your sore midsection, you painstakingly make your way towards the hotel. Relentless heat melts your already nonexistent strength reserves down to nothing. 

Several people glance in your direction when you push through the reception door. In this climate, your attire certainly raises eyebrows, but you remind yourself there’s no way Corinthian can know you’re here this time.

“Can I help you?”

You stumble to a stop, breathing heavily. A man with a tiny hat and a nametag reading Fun Land sits behind a table, his annoyance palpable while he stares at you expectedly. It takes considerable effort to gather the strength required to speak. 

“No.”

You turn to go. 

“Hey, woah! This is a convention-only area. Can’t you read?”

Following the direction the man is gesturing wildly towards, you find a board reading Cereal Convention printed in large, bold letters. The rest blurs, sweat stinging your eyes. You work your jaw. 

“No,” you repeat.

The man’s petulant glare would be comical if you were in a better mood. 

“You can’t go here,” he declares stiffly. 

Your fingers curl weakly, convulsing at your sides. You didn’t come this far to be precluded from finding Corinthian by a goddamn sign. By a cereal convention. Cereal convention. Cereal. At the back of your foggy mind, something nags at you. 

Your brows dip inwards, your gaze slipping towards the man. His bravado stutters, washing away from him. He shrinks backwards the longer you stare at him, his throat working on a gulp. Your lips compress into a stiffer line. Someone brushes behind you, stepping up to the table. Fun Land exhales in audible relief, serving them, pretending he’s too busy to pay you further notice. 

Fine. You’ll find another way. 

Stalking outside, you keep to the shade, leaning into the wall for support. It doesn’t take long to track down the delivery entrance. Every hotel has one, and depending on the time of day, they’re not the best protected. Like right now, in the afternoon, after housekeeping has gone home, leaving only a handful of staff on standby.  

He’s in here somewhere. The hotel corridors melt together. Beige walls and stale, humid air. They warp, smearing together into nothing but sensation. You’re a rat caught inside yet another maze. Sickness churns inside your stomach. 

And then, impossibly, you see him. 

A pale head of golden hair illuminated by washed-out light, his back to you while he strolls ahead and away from you. 

“Corinthian.”

The raspy exhale ricochets. The nightmare stops dead in his tracks. Until this precise second, he wasn’t there, wasn’t real, but with his name, the nightmare becomes a reality. Corridor may separate you, but the spell winks out, confirming your suspicion. 

Aircon buzzes through the long, otherwise vacant corridor. Your heart thunders in your ears. 

Then, Corinthian speaks: “You shouldn’t be here.”

A sob wells in your chest at his drawling, smooth words. Nearly two hundred years you haven’t seen him. Over a century seeking him out, having to live with the ramifications of atrocities he’s been inflicting. And now, here, it’s just you and him. You’re not sure which sensation pulses in you stronger: anger or relief. 

Your mouth quivers, your tongue dragging across your dry, cracked lips. “I searched for you.”

“I know you did,” he replies listlessly, his back still facing you. It hurts, because you were right. He’s been knowingly avoiding you. As if reading your mind, Corinthian raises his hand, and your stomach shrivels when you spot your ring firm on his finger. “I have this to thank you for, but it would seem you found me out anyway. Shame.”

The ring. Of course. 

A small piece of humanity for you to hold. I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.

And experience it he did. An essential part of yourself put away in that ring must have given him a sense of your presence nearby. He used your own present against you. 

The Corinthian finally turns to face you, all but unchanged except for his modern hairstyle and refined round shades. You want to say so many things to him that your tongue refuses to work altogether. A great chasm yawns between you, and you have no idea how to bridge it.

“What are you doing?” you ask at last. 

There’s no smirk or sly grin in sight. He’s as closed off as you. Despite his seeming indifference, you read the subtle tension lining Corinthian’s broad shoulders. He can hide from others, trick and lie to them if he pleases, but never you. 

“What I was made to do,” he replies tightly. 

“No. You’re hurting them.”

Corinthian’s jaw locks. “He made me in your image, Wanderer. Now I’m making the world in mine. I thought you’d be proud.”

A disbelieving scoff rips from your chest, burning your windpipe as if acid washed down it. “Proud?” you parrot. “You’re killing them.”

Your harsh condemnation dissolves whatever neutrality remains in the space between you. Prior uncertainty dashes beneath a strain of a century dripping in the blood of innocents. 

“Did they do less to you?” Corinthian’s voice is all nightmare; honeyed, cruel, and seductive. His head tilts playfully to one side. “How often did they torture you? Shun you? Sought to eradicate you? Still you defend them as you did him.”

Your sight muddies, and it takes a shake of your head to clear it. “You can’t punish all for crimes of a few.”

A snarl twists Corinthian’s mouth, his feet carrying him towards you in a measured, prowling stalk. 

“A few? They’re all the same: greedy, selfish, and cruel. The curse reveals. I reflect. They don’t change; they only learn how to hide better.” He pauses, licking his lips as he considers you. Something seems to occur to him, a faint laugh vibrating from his chest. “Do you have any idea how many times I stopped them? Punished them for hurting you? New Orleans in ‘31. Berlin in ‘43. Vienna in ‘55. Seoul in ‘62. Moscow in ‘71. Bangkok in ‘89. New York in ‘00. Why those were all me and then some. I was there. I’ve always been there.”

Each date punctures through you like a stray bullet. Honed and whetted for the single purpose of hurting you in a different sense. A fragmented nightmare. You’ve chased a mirage while the nightmare has spent a century mirroring your steps, keeping you safe from the shadows whenever your paths crossed unbeknownst to you. 

There’ve been times—

You thought you’d caught glimpses of him in decades-long since lost. But unfailingly, you’ve only ever found empty alleyways when you pursued these figments. Eventually, you stopped chasing these mirages. The pain was too great. But it’s never been just your overreactive imagination, has it? He was real. He was there. 

He’s spent a century killing indiscriminately while also keeping you safe. You want to scream at him for the evil he’s committed and cry from sheer relief he hasn’t forgotten you. 

“Then why hide?” you croak, stumbling closer. “Why not speak with me?”

“Oh, come now.” Corinthian clicks his tongue. He turns away, nostrils flaring, then turns to face you again. “You know why. You would have asked me to come back, and for you, I would have.”

His features blur, your words barely audible, “And would that have been so terrible?”

“Come back to what? Dream’s ball and chain?” Acidic words, despite their softness. His rage deflates instantly, a huffing laugh escaping him as if he’s surprised himself with the lapse. “You think he gives a fuck about either of us? He threw you out. You left.”

Indignation flares in your chest. “Not by choice.”

“Then you should have taken me with you. But you left me. All you ever do is play by Dream’s rules. I figured out how to leave the Dreaming back during Dreamfall, but I stayed. Wonder why.”

You have no response to that. You’re left standing there, gaping. For you. Who else? He had no one else there; no other reason to stay other than your presence. 

“So that’s it,” you begin shakily, your words rasping, sniffling. “All this because you believe I chose Dream and his rules over you?”

“What did you do to yourself?”

Corinthian’s voice has gone dreadfully quiet. Fiercely unhappy. Too late, you realise you’re sniffling because blood is dripping from your nose. Clumsily, you swipe the back of your hand over your chin. Crevices in your skin crack with dried blood. 

“It was never a choice, don’t you get it?” you whisper, your words pouring out thick and wet with emotion. “It’s always been you. Always. I was terrified the journey would destroy you. Had I known, I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat.”

Corinthian closes the remaining distance between you, grasping you by the forearms. It’s such a relief to have him near again. You sag into him, trembling. You try to raise your hand to wipe beneath your nose, but your limbs are too stiff to obey. 

“What did you do, Wanderer?” He sounds furious while he examines you, as if only now realising the extent of your deterioration. “What did you do yourself?”

“I had to get to you first,” you tell him. Blood smudges the lapels of his jacket where you grasp it. “Please, you have to stop. They don’t deserve this, Cori.”

He looks disgusted at your words, but your legs fail you before he responds. Corinthian catches you before your knees hit the carpeted ground.

“It hurts.” His words come out hissing, sharp with incredulity. “Why does it hurt?”

Your chin jolts upwards, your bloodstained smile trembling around the edges. “You know why. I’m inside of you. You can’t escape that.”

Neither of you can. You’ll carry him in you until your bitter end, as he will carry you until his. 

“Shh. I got you.” Corinthian tucks you into him when a whimper of pain escapes you. His hand cradles the back of your head. “I’m going to set us both free.”

And then, through horror, darkness closes in. 

.

Motion. 

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar. 

“Oh, yes. This one is with me. Won’t you be a good girl and share that tidbit with others, so we don’t have any… complications. I appreciate it.”

“But I thought—”

Arms tighten around you possessively—the air coils, suffused with thick tension. 

“Good Doctor. No one touches this one. Or they'll have to deal with me. Personally.” 

Footsteps retreat near instantly, the atmosphere lightening in the absence. You’re resting on something velvety. You have no idea where you are, but you know you’re safe. 

“Cori…”

“Shh, I’ll be back before you know it.” Cold glass touches your lips. When your lips part, soothing water slips into your awaiting mouth. After several mouthfuls, the glass disappears. A cool hand traces your face. “Things will be different real soon, you’ll see.”

You reach blindly, seeking. “Don’t go.”

“Oh, don’t worry. After I’m done, we’ll have a Dreaming of our own.”

Then nothing. 

.

Anchor around your ankle. Plunging, bitter cold water, pressure, pressure, a hand reaching uselessly towards the shrinking light above, then nothing—

.

Ropes bite into your wrists, the pyre is tall, and the crowd jeers with open delight. They throw things at you; some hit, some miss. You don’t know if you hate them or pity them. Both, neither. Sahsin’s face is disgusted, filled with hate. She has positioned herself in front of the throbbing mob. When the fire comes, Sahsin enjoys it. When the fire comes, the agony devours all else—

.

Blank page. 

Blank page.

Blank page.

And beneath, a faint, pulsing power of Endless Destruction. 

“My lord.”

Urgent footsteps head in his direction. Morpheus raises his head, his grip on the tome in his hands white-knuckled.

Loyal Lucienne and a rather familiar figure a step behind her. 

“I apologise for leaving, Lord,” Fiddler’s Green begins, flustered but entreating. “But you must help. He’s killing them.”

.

You awake with a pained gasp. Your head swims, your fingers clumsily seeking purchase. 

An eerily silent hotel room greets you when your hiccuping gasps assuage into a steadier rhythm.  Corinthian is nowhere in sight. You wrench yourself from beneath the comfortable covers, stumbling. You grab your carelessly thrown coat on your way out, shrugging on the familiar weight. At least your vision is clearer than earlier. Pain remains undiminished by your fretful rest. 

The hotel is unnaturally quiet—your nerves prickle. Nothing good ever comes from places where there should be life, being devoid of it. Unease pools in your stomach while you stumble through winding corridors. Where did everyone go?

Outside, twilight has settled over the landscape. Your pace increases, your palms dragging across the walls to keep moving.

You find the reception empty, the convention table barren. Except…

“—a black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront. But look at you—”

Your body turns to stone mid-step. There’s no confusing that voice with anyone—the absolute power infused into every deliberate, low syllable. 

With a start, you realise your knees have bent, your coat pooling around your ankles. You’re scared. Dream wasn’t supposed to be here. Not when you’re not there to mediate. Clawing at the walls, you force your legs forward. Your bones quake in protest with each step. 

Shoving into the conference room, you find the room full. Hotel patrons sit in neat rows, their heads bowed and eyes closed. 

Dream of the Endless and the nightmare make for a lonely, contrasting sight on the stage: dark and light. 

Corinthian’s small smile is scornful. “I’m not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right,” Dream Lord concurs quietly. “This is my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

Dream’s arm lifts in the air between them. You lurch forward, stumbling up the stairs.

“No!”

You let out a dry sob, pushing past Dream to get to the nightmare. The contours of Corinthian’s face have begun dissolving, singed red at the edges, disappearing back into the sand he was fashioned from. 

Corinthian chokes out a breath, grinning widely, grasping your hand. “Hey, trouble—”

His hand in yours crumbles. A wounded, animalistic sound rips from you. There’s a futile, blind attempt to grasp onto his body as it slips between your fingers. Through your arms, and then out of your life. 

“No! No, no.”

Your knees hit the stage so hard the sound is a thunderclap through the hushed room. Sand lays in a golden pile at your feet. A tiny skull containing teeth for eyes is all that remains and—

Your ring. Corinthian’s faint warmth still lingers on the metal. Wet dots fall into the sand. Only then do you register the tears dripping down your face. Followed by speckles of blood. It seems appropriate that, in the end, he should have your blood also. 

Featherlight touch on your shoulder only registers after Dream’s voice floats through your agony: “Wanderer. I am sorry.”

Perhaps under different circumstances, you would have examined this moment closer—Dream Lord, an Endless, on his knees beside you, his voice impossibly soft. Instead, you want to disappear. 

“I know,” you sob, shaking, half leaning towards the ground. If it weren’t for Dream’s grip on you, there’s no doubt in your mind you would collapse right where Corinthian has. Something mangles inside you, far beyond physical. “I know you had to stop him. I… to me… he… to me he’s…”

Everything. 

Dragging your hands desperately through the slippery grains, you gather them in a smaller circle. 

“What are you doing?” 

Dream’s question is uncharacteristically gentle. There’s deeper awareness that a wrong question could shatter you completely. 

Past your raw vocal cords, you only manage: “I—I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him again.”

You’re not sure if you’re coherent enough for him to understand. Each word borders on a pained howl. Black is rapidly devouring your fading vision. Too much. It’s too much. You’re about to explode. Collapse like the nightmare did, utterly undone. 

Several scarlet drops drip into the sand, and Dream sucks in a deep breath beside you, his grip on you tightening. 

“You’re bleeding.”

He doesn’t get a response. Blackness devours you whole. 

.

Recovery takes three weeks. You’re unconscious for the first two. Another week crawls by until you can move again. 

The simple fact that it takes you so long to become functional only confirms that Dream brought back a broken soul into the Dreaming. You’ve survived limbs being severed. Past incidents where your skin was peeled off. But this goes beyond skin deep. 

You haven’t travelled since the incident. The mere thought induces a fresh dose of cramping terror through your system. The curse, wounded and worn, has retreated. Dormant. For now. 

“You mourn him.”

You jump in your spot. Your fingers close protectively over the ring in your hand. Dream steps into your line of sight, his coat fluttering around his lithe figure. His face is slanted away from you, observing the waterfront. You try to hide your surprise at seeing him. 

He’s been… distant these last three weeks. Not cold, but…

Sad. 

There’s no other way to delineate the forlorn stares that seem to follow you. 

“I’m not an idiot. What Corinthian was doing was horrific,” you say dully, tugging on stray blades of grass. 

Fiddler’s Green has returned, taking his post once more. It should make you happy. He apologised personally for his departure, but you understood his reasonings for leaving. Without his creator, Fiddler’s Green wanted to experience what it was like to be human. What right do you have to judge him for such a wish? Yet memory is a cruel mistress—the recollections of the one whose absence is so torturously felt are everywhere. 

“He took lives that were never his to take,” you continue. Anger bites into controlled syllables. “Not to mention his plan to have Rose become the new heart of the Dreaming. Did he realise the universe would have collapsed in on itself? He had to be stopped.”

It was what had awoken you back at the hotel. It’s only later that you learned the extent of Corinthian’s plan. Rose Walker was the vortex. Given enough time, she would have become the centre of the Dreaming, drawing dreams and nightmares to her. And collapsed this universe as a result. Dream would have killed her—it’s the only time the Endless are permitted to take mortal life, if they’re an active threat—but Rose’s grandmother had stepped in last second. A woman who should have been the vortex if it hadn’t been for Dream’s capture. If the sleeping sickness that swept through the waking world had not robbed her of life. 

“But you mourn him still.”

Unequivocal insistence. Your composed mask cracks around the edges. Lying would be pointless. 

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained. 

Dream’s fingers curl at his side, but he doesn’t look your way. “This was my oversight, Wanderer. Do not bear the guilt for those lost.”

Trees ripple and shiver in the faint breeze. Waterfall roars to your left, while to your right, the dark shores of the Dreaming reflect sunshine like the darkest obsidian. You consider the Dream Lord while he watches the beach with a stony expression. Utterly closed off—same old Dream. 

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet. 

“Their blood is on my hands, too,” you say, turning to go.

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains. 

“Are you departing once more?” he calls out, halting you in your tracks. He’s scrutinising you when you peek his way. “You are not fit for travel.”

Offering a throwaway smile, you shrug. “I’m a rubber ball. I bounce back quickly.”

“Stay until Dreamfall if the curse permits it.” Dream pauses after his brisk request, catching himself with a swallow. Awkwardness permeates the air. “It would mean a great deal to others if you celebrated with them.”

You loosen a reluctant breath, squinting at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

Something shifts between you at the forthright prompt; tightening, warming. Surprise collects in your chest at the fact you dared to ask. But you’re tired of feigning, acting as if you’re both not caught in some bizarre impasse. 

Dream’s lips part softly, his answer a mere exhale, “I would.” 

Light, tingling sensation webs through your chest. You hadn’t expected that. “Under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Answer me something, Morpheus. Truthfully.” With deliberate slowness, you step into his bubble, so close Dream’s lashes flutter as he peers at you. There’s such unbearable weight to his gaze. There’s always been a raging storm brewing there, but this is more. Heavier. “Corinthian was convinced that you made him in my image. Is it true?”

Your jaw sets stubbornly, the nightmare’s name stinging your tongue. Dream’s eyes roam over your features, seeking some unknown truth. You’re not asking about physical similarities, but you permit him this moment. Because he digs deeper, because your heart is in your throat when Dream finally settles on his truth: 

“While I did not recognise it as such at the time, I believe I did.”

You’ve known, been aware of this fact for centuries. Since Corinthian shared his hypothesis, you’ve been unable to scrub it from your mind. But to have confirmation from Dream himself paints many past events in a different light. 

“I made you poorly then… a black mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.” Recalling Dream Lord’s words, you stagger backwards, your mind whirling with thoughts. A startled gasp pushes from your lungs, your attention snapping back to the Endless. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces slot perfectly into place. “I had it all wrong. Corinthian was a manifestation of your anger for what humanity was doing to me. He was to be your mirror, your teacher, so humanity may choose to be better. So they may learn to overcome their darkest impulses.”

Staggering backwards, words escape you in a torrent, “But it went wrong, didn’t it? You gave him too much of that anger—the fury of an Endless and reckless, unshakable defiance of a cursed mortal. You created a masterpiece by giving him too much. By making something that is so much more than just a nightmare. A perfect hybrid between an Endless and a mortal.”

Dream says nothing in response. It’s the only confirmation you need. 

In the end, you stay. But this time, you’re the one who avoids the Dream Lord. 

.

“You’re always welcome in my chambers, sweet Dream. It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you anything you desire?”

Morpheus strolls through the glossy scarlet chambers of his younger sibling’s stronghold. Desire of the Endless curls with each word spoken, stretching indolently across their seat. Loving malice lines planes of Desire’s face, enigmatic and magnetic as their name suggests. 

Dream moves closer. “I desire nothing from you, save some answers.”

Desire pouts, sitting up, their hands in their lap. “Oh? Do tell. I love a test.”

He’s never understood Desire’s love for games. Petulant slights or wish to inflict harm. To manipulate and use. Once…

He supposes it no longer matters what their relationship might have been once—too many years arc between them: too much history and bad blood. Morpheus prowls through the gallery, briefly flicking his attention towards his family’s sigils. 

“Unity Kincaid should have been the vortex of this age. But someone saw fit to take advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex and I would be left with no choice but to kill it.”

A mock gasp escapes Desire’s ruby-painted lips. Their golden eyes blow wide open, startled and innocent, while they monitor Dream. 

“Are you implying I meddled with affairs of another Endless domain, dear brother?” Desire’s pout wobbles when Dream doesn't respond. The faux innocence melts away in a blink, leaving behind nothing but conniving malice, peering back through a hooded stare. “Oh, fine, was I really that obvious?” 

A brief, cool smile touches Dream’s lips, his words coming out frosty, “No. You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Desire tuts, grinning sharply. 

“What did you intend?” Dream heads towards the other Endless unhurriedly. “That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

“This time, it almost worked.” Desire’s grin stretches wider, pleased. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since my little wrangle with lovely Wanderer. How is she, by the way? Still coughing up blood?”

His younger sibling adjusts their position once again, sitting up straighter. Bracing for a fight, Morpheus realises belatedly. This is a sore spot that always elicits a reaction. But this time, Morpheus will not be giving his sibling the satisfaction. He’s observed Desire’s and Wanderer’s relationship—or what little of it remains—long enough to draw his own conclusions. 

“You do not fool me,” Morpheus begins deliberately. The corners of Desire’s mouth tilt downwards slightly. “I know your fickle heart, my sibling, and you resent the fact Wanderer forgives others but not you. But you fail to understand why that same forgiveness has not been extended your way. We of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.”

“Then perhaps I shall pay Wanderer a visit in person.” Desire drags their thumbs over the edge of their lips, sly in their wily deliberation. “I do, after all, wear your face now. But unlike you, I will endeavour to be a far more… devoted lover.”

Wrath kindles in his chest. Morpheus knows. He’s read about your and Desire’s encounter at the shores of the Dreaming while he was locked away. 

He shakes his head. “Still, you fail to see. We are their dolls, Desire. You and Despair, and even poor Delirium, will do well to remember that.”

Desire presents him with a dismissive shrug, their nose wrinkling. “Maybe I don’t understand.”

“No, perhaps you do not,” Morpheus agrees softly. Circling, he slips behind his younger sibling. Desire’s head wrenches backwards, their gulping gasp nearly lost when Morpheus twists the other Endless’ head back, peering down at the blonde coldly. “Then let me tell you something you will understand: mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. You lay a finger on Wanderer, and I will make every circle of Hell feel like kindness by comparison. Do you believe yourself to be strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

Desire forces down a gulp, their breath stuttering at the creeping wrath, “No.”

“No, indeed.” Dropping his hold, Morpheus straightens, his jaw rigid as he stalks away, adding, “Remember this next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs.”

And then he’s gone. 

.

Translucent light kisses your shoulders as you stroll towards the looming stronghold, your hands buried deep in your pockets. Your fingers have turned numb from how tightly you’re clenching them. The impressive, stone-carved statues depicting the seven Endless guide your way. Well, six. You pause by Destruction, the only one facing away, unlike his siblings.

You don’t dare to stray from the path. The likelihood of finding your way out if you get lost in the maze again is non-existent. 

The ruler of this sprawling, eerily silent domain greets you at the foot of the marble staircase. 

“I welcome thee, Wanderer, Roamer of Realms, into my stronghold.”

Even at this distance, Destiny looms so impossibly tall, some forgotten human instinct sparks in a warning.

Undeterred, you halt before the imposing figure, bowing your head. “I greet and thank you for your welcome, Destiny of the Endless.”

Only Destiny’s lower face is visible behind his billowing hood when he speaks in a crackling rasp, “You have arrived here for a single purpose.”

No ifs or buts about it—he knows better than that, the book slotted neatly under his arm. 

“And here I was, ready to ask if you’re surprised to see me,” you shoot back jokingly. Destiny does not smile or construe entertainment from your words. You sober, your attempt at levity now abandoned. “Guess we both know the answer to that. I’m here to share some theories if you have time to spare.”

To your surprise, Destiny slips past you, heading in the direction you came from, deeper into his garden. His footsteps make no sound. His cloak whispers behind him, shimmering in the dim, muted light. On equal footing, you have to crane your head to see him. The devouring dark pooling around the contours of his pallid face reveals nothing beneath the hood, even at your angle.  

“You seek to ask questions for which there are scarce few answers, Wanderer,” Destiny says resolutely. “You are far older than most mortals can comprehend, yet your heart remains stubbornly mortal.”

You set out after him at once, your invisible hackles rising. “In what way? My defiance?”

Destiny does not falter, his pace remaining as steady as lapping waves. “That is not for me to judge.”

The garden is vast and a marvel to behold, but the temperature lingers on that unnatural lukewarmness that gives away how unorthodox this place is. The light is perpetually unfading, gauzy in the corners of your eyes. It’s a confusing, strangely profound place. It’s as if Destiny’s realm contains everything all at once but also nothing. A place of futures to come, lives unlived, and wilted pasts. There’s no point in attempting to unravel it. There’s only uncanny strangeness you’ve come to accept. 

“You will spend time in the realm of each sibling—you will dream, despair, desire, destroy, delight and otherwise, and, eventually, die—but you were his from the very first page, and only he will read how your story comes out, a long time from now.”

Destiny doesn’t pause at your reiteration. There’s no indication he even heard you, but you’re a step behind him. A thousand years of trying to get answers have taught you he would not be entertaining you if this wasn’t heading somewhere. The thought of another scrap of information sets your heart thudding. Haven’t you spent the last two centuries piecing things together? Attempting to confirm your speculations before you came here to confront him with them. Your past attempts may have ended in uniform failure, but today is different. You can feel it.

“You told me that when we first met,” you continue, keeping your nonchalance. You’re no more than a child to him despite your millennia of existence—this is the only way to get him to take you seriously. “When I awoke in your garden, alone and terrified, with no clue as to who I was or what had happened to me. I’ve been thinking about those words ever since.”

Destiny slows, then stops altogether. Your heart climbs to your throat. You've paused by his statue, standing at the foot of polished, pale stone. Destiny’s cloak whispers when he hinges in your direction, anticipatory. He already knows what you will say.

“It was you. You’re the one who did this to me.” 

The clarity that clangs through you with those words shakes your knees. Sucking down more oxygen, you add, “Not directly, maybe. I was cursed by mortal power. This much I know for certain. But you made it possible. You led me to this by the hand. Why?”

And like a dozen times you’ve tried in the past, you expect dismissal, or worse, silence with which he’s punished you often. Destiny would disappear from your sight altogether. His patience and unwillingness to give you clear answers are unmatched. 

But not this time. 

“Because you broke your destiny. Tore it to shreds. Painted it red.” Destiny readjusts the heavy book under his arm. “So you were allocated a new path. One of hardship and pain, but one that may lead you to salvation. Should you tread it mindfully.”

The roar in your head is so loud you barely understand Destiny’s low, equable words. 

“You could have told me this a thousand years ago,” you choke out. 

He remains a perfectly barren canvas, but in the tension pulsing between you, there now whispers a hint of displeasure. Sweat trickles down your nape. 

“I did,” he replies flatly. “But you did not listen. You instead raged and ran, and what came of it?”

Madness and despair. 

Stumbling forward, you bite out, “Why? What did I do? What could prompt eternity of this.”

All this pain for crimes you couldn’t so much as recall. Whatever it was, have you not paid back your dues? Have you not suffered enough to make up for your past?

“Forgetting is the only kindness you’ve ever been spared. Or ever will be. Treat it as such.” Cold needles your spine, and a terrible urge to fold yourself into a ball gnaws on your bones. Destiny’s pitch does not change, nor does his bearing, but it doesn’t need to. “In your quest to break, you reformed into something else.”

Your force down saliva, near choking. “Into what?”

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

Silence envelopes the garden. There’s little to no sound in the Garden of the Forking Ways to begin with, but those words blanket everything. Not even the wind seems to stir. No blade of grass moves. This means something; it means something crucial, but you have no idea what.

“What does that mean?” you beseech. Destiny doesn’t move, nor does he answer. Your voice cracks. “Please just tell me.”

But you already know it’s a lost battle. This is all too familiar—the cold, pitiless silence, utterly unmoved. He’s given you all he’s intended to. 

“I used to think you hated me.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. Destiny won’t care. Your feet carry you past him. Briefly, you pause by Dream’s statue, then keep going. “More than anyone else in this universe. It wasn’t until Destruction left that I finally understood your position more. It is a burden to know what others don’t but be unable to speak that knowledge.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that Destiny knows where Destruction is. 

The Prodigal’s statue pierces your vision, making you squint into the hazy skies above. Your following words slip out, each lilting with breezy ease: “But it doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive you for letting Dream rot in a cage for a hundred years when you knew it was coming, when you could have warned him somehow. I know you have a duty, but he’s your brother. However, indirectly you let Dreaming decay—my home. You let humanity suffer. I figured it out, by the way, why it’s a loophole. Why my book exists in the library, but nothing in other dimensions does. Why I can sleep in the Dreaming but not anywhere else.” 

Destiny stands stock still, his bony arms close to his chest, clutching his book. He displays no outward reaction as per usual. It’s a relief to voice your thoughts. You’re utterly terrified of him, but he’s right—your heart is still stubbornly human, as brazen as the Fates accused you of being.  

“Because if my curse was the will of the Endless, if my path—whatever it is—is so tightly bound to your family, then it only makes sense, right?” You’re not looking for a response because Destiny will offer none. “The Dreaming is the only place where aspects of each Endless manifest. It’s a loophole. The curse goes dormant when I’m in the Dreaming because the only thing more powerful than the curse is the combined power of the seven Endless.”

You’ve waited to voice your conclusions for so long, it’s surreal to have spoken them aloud. You might fear Destiny, but not enough to continue as a coward. He can deny it, but you’re confident that’s the reason. It’s the only thing that makes sense. 

“My siblings have gained much from their companionship with you, Wanderer,” Destiny admits. You quell a flinch despite Destiny’s voice retaining its monotonous quality. “But you and I are antitheses of one another. My brother would not be who he is now had he not tasted that helplessness and sorrow. You are the ink and the quilt with which Dream will write his story.”

His words make little to no sense. Dream is… Dream. What could ever influence him? Much less you. He’s changed since his imprisonment, it’s true, but doubt still nestles in your heart. Had the situation with Gault not proven how those attempts to change come undone in a blink? Despite it, Dream is trying, and it’s more than enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight; not any profound version, anyway. 

You wipe across your face, schooling yourself. “I won’t stop trying to save them even if I’m punished further,” you assert. “I’ll always fight for humanity.”

Even over his hood, you feel your gazes clash, burning into one another. 

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures. 

Squaring your shoulders, you’re halfway between dimensions before a thought occurs to you. “Just one more thing before I go.”

Destiny is as grave as usual, entirely inhuman in his foreboding silence while he waits. 

“It can be broken, can’t it?” you say, scrutinising him closely. “The curse. There are weak spots in its design.”

“That is for you to discover,” he replies, much to your surprise. It’s closer to a yes than a no. “But pay heed. This path will not be forgiving should you wish to pursue it.”

Icy trepidation creeps its claws down your spine. You don’t permit it to show. 

“Nothing in my life has been forgiving,” you say curtly. “I bid you good fortune, Destiny.”

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

.

“Happy Dreamfall.”

Slanting your head, you let your chin dig into your shoulder, smiling. You hadn’t seen the Dream Lord since you snuck back into the Dreaming, seemingly no one having noticed your momentary departure. Normally, there are someone’s eyes on you. But only Dream can sense your appearance and disappearance inside the Dreaming itself. So you’ve taken advantage of his absence. You’ve had too much on your mind since your return from visiting Destiny to seek him out yet. 

“Happy Dreamfall,” you say to the Endless, who comes to a halt beside you. “May Fates smile upon you, Dream Lord. And may your realm of dreams be aplenty.”

Behind you, the castle grounds buzz with activity. At long last, things were returning to normal. This is the first cause of celebration these dreams and nightmares had in over a century. Back home, safe and in a place where they belong. You hugged and drank sweet nectars with plenty, smiling and touching hands. Or claws. But it didn’t take long to slip away and settle out here. 

Perched on the castle staircase, you must make for an odd sight, but Gatekeepers straighten back into their patrol positions with Dream’s arrival. You had left the castle to enjoy the darkening skies, the dreams swelling and blinking in the pitch-black canvas, ready for their journey. The Gatekeepers had clustered close, and you had spent a while simply chatting. You’ve missed them. It had been harrowing to witness them turn to stone while Dream was missing.  

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

Without a preamble, Dream sets out. His gait hovers on ponderous this evening. You’ve gotten used to more hurried, curt interactions between you. Invisible tension stretched tautly. Will-o'-the-wisps dance and sway through the humming evening air. Flowers in your path bloom in different colours, fairy dust sprinkled through the air. You continue on the faintly lit path cutting through the heart of the Dreaming without a word. 

“Are you well?”

Dream’s sudden question shakes you from your peaceful stupor. 

“Busy, but good,” you answer. “And you?”

Dream halts abruptly. You pass him, then do the same, gazing back at him, confused. 

Dream Lord’s pale eyes dig into you. They steal from you, and they give more than words ever could. But this once, Dream also uses his words: “I wish for us to talk as we once did.”

Anxiety pangs through your belly. You hadn’t expected him to point it out. Your lips compress into a stiff, bloodless line. It would be a bald-faced lie to insist something hasn’t broken between you. Corinthian’s unmaking has driven a wedge between you that neither can overcome. The nightmare had to be stopped, but it doesn’t take away from the grief festering in your chest. Most believe grief is an absence, but you’ve found the exact opposite is true. 

Grief is a presence that should be there but isn’t. It’s a weight of memories, of possibilities, of life unlived. Corinthian has become your phantom limb, his absence invisible to all but you as is the bleed.

“We’re getting there,” you say lastly.

His wild hair covers his eyes when his head lowers. Subconsciously, you find yourself stepping towards him, folding your hand around his. Cool and silky to the touch. A breath, and then you feel Dream’s hand curl around yours. He doesn’t move otherwise, muscles sitting in rigid mass beneath his pale skin. 

“Dream,” you call his name gently. “You’re trying. I see that. We’re finding new ways. Now tell me why we’re here.”

Because this path is familiar to you as your own hands. Just over the dark treeline lays the beach. The docks you’ve visited every night in his absence. This path had been your pilgrimage once, and now he’s returned. The fingers folded around yours tighten. Dream wordlessly tugs you with him until soft sand cushions the soles of your shoes. 

“It is a night where anything is possible,” he says knowingly. 

Your heartbeat jumps when he leads you towards the pier, wood creaking under your combined weight. “What are you doing?”

Dream draws you both to a stop halfway across the pier, something close to mischief sparking in his gaze. It’s so bizarrely unwonted you do a doubletake.

“Giving you my present.”

With that, he strides closer. Your mouth dries when he gently curls his arm around your waist. He raises your joint hands, spinning you to the side slowly. Clumsily, your legs obey, your breaths escaping uneven gulps. 

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

Dream bows his head closer to yours, his voice velvet, “We are dancing in starlight, you and I.”

It’s then you feel the tingling, reverent whisper of his power over your body. Your eyes widen when you see faint light needling the sturdy fabric, as if your coat has become no more than a window into the raw cosmos. Galaxies swirl in raging spirals across the once-dark material. Your head snaps to the side while Dream continues spinning you unhurriedly. Your coat is shrinking, reshaping to fit your body even better than it did up to this point. 

“Dream this is…”

The coat settles into actuality. Sparkling dust spills from the material when you shift. Your overcoat has shrunk to kiss just above your knees. More fitted but no less comfortable. And then there’s the way it glimmers like a precious jewel whenever moonlight hits it. 

“I had hoped to give you something more… fitting,” Dream murmurs. You look up at him, your noses almost touching. “It is only right for the one who roams the stars to wear a coat of pure starlight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily. “It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful doesn’t do it justice. The midnight material shimmers with your movement, liquid starlight captured into tangible fabric, and your throat closes up as you examine it further. Dream slips his arm from your waist. He lifts your joint hands, comfortable in his own, and lays a light kiss on your hand.

“It becomes you,” he compliments quietly, releasing you. “Now… it’s time.”

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

Was this not it? Thick emotions still coat your tongue, lodged deep in your windpipe. But Dream only devours you with quiet intensity. 

Above your head, dreams start raining down in shining beams of light.

“We begin… with a spin.”

Your heart stutters to a stop. Water roars behind Dream, wild spray flying through the air. The faint drizzle beats against your face, leaving you gaping. 

“Dream. I…”

He extends his hand your way. “There is no Dreaming without Wanderer Island. Should you wish it, I would like us to create another.”

Your features crumble, the ball in your throat robbing you of your voice. Indecision holds you captive—on the one hand, you want nothing more, but on another, you’re too afraid. What if it all ends up in the same place? You watching yet another part of you sink into those inky depths. 

But there’s something cautious, near vulnerable, to be found in Dream’s guarded features. It’s an effort for him to open up, but you can see the unsure way his hand hangs in offering between you. He’s bracing himself for rejection, for you to leave him alone on this pier. 

You grasp his proffered hand, fingers winding cautiously around his. Dream’s shoulders slump slightly from their rigid slant, relaxing at the contact. 

He guides you to an all too familiar position. You standing at the edge of the pier, him behind you, a hand on your shoulder. A disconcerting sensation of deja vu falls over you. 

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

Black, foreboding waters of the Dreaming spin in ferocious whirlpools. Dream’s elegant hand pierces your line of sight, primed for creation. 

“There’s a small island.” Your voice trembles. You haven’t forgotten anything, down to the exact words used. You conjure the Wanderer Island in your mind’s eye as it once stood; brilliant and shining. The visual blooms bold and alive in your mind. “The grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And it tastes like sour apples.”

Dream’s hand on your shoulder squeezes lightly. Same amusement, even centuries later. You’re both changed, but a familiar outline of an island starts taking shape on the horizon. 

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, and trees never shed leaves.” It’s pouring from your mouth now, an avalanche of memory. You’ve missed the island so dearly, and details from five centuries ago come readily. “The sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. And…”

Your heart bleeds, fresh wounds gushing. But you push on because it’s not about you.

“And an old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive. Because not everyone has a family, and not everyone needs a lover, but everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. Only…”

Dream’s lips tickle over the shell of your ear. “… hope.”

And then stillness. 

The water settles in a gurgling slosh. In the distance, a patch of land once again floats. There to welcome new dreamers. Wanderer Island blurs. The heel of your hand presses over your eyes, overwhelmed. 

Blindly, you tug on Dream’s coat; a mute request. Between one inhale and the next, wood underfoot is exchanged for sand. 

Everything is the same down to the last blade of grass and tree composition. Either your vision was so clear Dream could pluck every last detail from your mind or…

Or he remembered the Island with the same clarity as you. 

You sink to your knees. Sand crumbles around your digits when you dip them into the pliable sand. 

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

Grass sprouts unprompted around your hand, tiny daisies twining across your thumb. Utterly impossible, yet tonight, here, anything is possible. A choked laugh escapes you. Your cheeks ache from your beaming smile. 

“She’s missed you,” Dream reveals quietly.

Your head lifts in surprise. You stroke the miniature, perfect blooms. “I missed you too.”

With another tickle, the flowers and grass retreat, shrinking into the golden beach. Several moments pass by until you unearth the strength to stand. Dream’s profile greets you. He’s turned away, giving you privacy, but subtle uncertainty lines his features. Sensing your attention, he peers towards you, then past you. 

“Thank you,” you breathe. Despite your verbal gratitude, Dream’s attention remains fixed over your shoulder. “What?”

His low words reach you over the sound of lapping waves. “Are you not going to say hello to an old friend?”

You follow his line of sight. Behind you, at a distance with falling dreams as his backdrop, stands a tall, pale-haired figure. 

Everything inside you falls very, very quiet—all those tumultuous emotions freeze. Your head snaps back to Dream with a stifled gulp. It can’t be real. Surely it’s some mirage, a feedback loop, a ghost conjured from your love for the now-gone nightmare. 

But Dream only slants his head in a marginal, affirming nod. You dare to peek behind you once more. There he stands. The nightmare. Not a twisted joke. 

Your feet carry you towards him without conscious thought; half-running, half-walking, stumbling all the while. Corinthian stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in a slight slouch. His nude-coloured slacks and white shirt shine like beacons in the pale moonlight. Round shades cover his eyes, his blonde strands fluttering in the light breeze. 

He's a figment. Not quite tangible until your body crashes into him, your arms scrambling to hold onto him. “Oh, God!”

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can feel it, if not hear it. A pained, whining sound bubbles up in your throat, gripping him closer.

“I… how…” You wrench yourself back, a horrible thought occurring. You search his handsome features. That infuriating smirk always curling his mouth is absent. “Do you remember me?”

Corinthian stands there, not moving, with no real emotion on display, either. Your heart sinks. Could it be that he—

Dull throb flares across your forehead. He’s flicked you—

A wide, toothy grin stretches across Corinthian’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

With a choked laugh, you punch his shoulder, hugging him close with a wide smile. “I hate you.”

A pleased hum. This time, the nightmare’s arm settles around you. “Hate you more.”

You’re not sure how long you both stand there. When you do part, reluctance keeps your hand on him. Fingertips connecting to some part of him. Remembering the Dream Lord you came here with—who gave you this, his present—you find Dream no longer on the beach. Or anywhere in sight. He’s given you privacy and time. Your heart softens further.  

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Corinthian’s subdued question tugs your attention back towards him. You almost wish he didn’t remind you. Because now you’re faced with the reality that even though he’s been returned to you, there’s much you both need to overcome and fix. That losing him did not magically wipe away the wrongs he’s done. If you hope to return to the relationship you once had, you’ll need time.

You consider him for a moment. 

“You’re always forgiven,” you tell him honestly. 

Standing in the moonglow, you pretend you don’t notice how something coiled tightly seems to loosen inside him at your reassurance. Instead, you reach for his face. Your fingertips brush over Corinthain’s glasses, and his hand snap out, wrapping around your wrist tightly. Bones making up his jaw roll beneath the skin. Tension throbs between you while seconds tick by. Through clenched teeth, Corinthian unwraps his hold finger by finger. 

You tug his shades away from his face. He’s tense as a bowstring, his head slanted at an angle. The same jagged teeth sit where most have eyeballs. They’re hooded, though. His discomfort—and anger at said discomfort—couldn’t be more perspicuous. 

His shades close as you fold arm temples one at a time. You hold his stare, staring right at those jagged teeth with a slight frown. You extend his shades back to him mutely. 

“But my trust is something you will have to earn back,” you state earnestly. 

The nightmare hesitates halfway to reaching for his glasses. Those pale fingers dance over them before he plucks them from you.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he muses absently. You expect him to put the shades back on, but instead, Corinthian hooks them on his shirt pocket. Turning to go, he calls out a honeyed, “You coming?”

He gazes at you over his shoulder, jagged teeth on full show, and you feel yourself smile.

“Always.”

.

Sun shines luminous and warm today. The Wanderer Island stretches as far as your eye can perceive, teeming with life and greenery around every corner. Flowers and trees bloom everywhere—an awe-inspiring marriage between tropical and temperate climates. The Island once again oozes a sense of magick and wonder that was once so prominent here. No place in the universe can compare.  

“Rebuilding is almost complete,” you begin conversationally. “The Dreaming is more beautiful than ever.”

The Endless keeps pace beside you, a pensive sound rumbling from him. “It was not without aid.”

A smile twitches your lips upwards. “You’re welcome.”

Two weeks have gone by since Dreamfall. Things have mended—between you individually and the atmosphere around the Dreaming. While Corinthian’s return was met with some side glances, no one discussed it further. Dreamfolk trust Dream to make the right decision. Or perhaps Gault was right; they’re wiser than to outright question.  

“The Corinthian has also been making progress,” Dream says. “I am hoping to place him under supervision and monitor his conduct. To make sure what happened is never repeated. Should the need arise, he will be allocated duties back in the waking world.”

Joy flutters in your heart. “Yeah? That’s great. Someone you trust, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And?” you probe. “Are you going to tell me who or not?”

In your peripheral, Dream inclines in your direction. “Yours.”

You nearly trip. “Dream, I—” You clear your throat, pausing. “Are you sure? It didn’t exactly work out last time.”

Dream’s intent scrutiny slides over your facial features. “It was due to no fault of yours. And this Corinthian is the same in all but one function. He will not fail again. He has a different purpose now.”

There’s a solemn sort of finality about the way he articulates those words. A tiny shiver skitters down your spine. He will not expand further upon those words. Whatever that purpose is, you imagine time will reveal it. 

You chew on your inner cheek. “Okay. I would like that.”

You smile at him. But Dream’s expression stutters, overcome by some foreign emotion. His mouth parts, then closes, his fingers folding into white-knuckled fists. 

Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, Dream speaks: “Wanderer. Stay.”

You muster up an uncertain, perplexed smile. “I’m right here.”

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair. 

“Stay however long you want,” he insists softly. “Stay forever if it should so please you.”

Shock envelops you, freezing you in your spot. You’ve told him, didn’t you? That you would stay forever by his side if only he asked. Now he’s asking. Except confusion and unease battle in your chest. Can you trust his word? Did Dream change enough? He brought back Corinthian. He freed Gault from the Darkness. He insists this is a new age. But…

“And if I wanted to leave?” you question. “If I chose never to return, what then?”

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

Dream falters, shackled by your insistence. His lashes flutter, his head lowering in near palpable struggle. You’re challenging him, but you refuse to continue with the charade. If he wants forever, you can’t live with the fear he might change his mind about it. 

“It would pain me, also. A great deal.” He hesitates again, and it’s bizarre because this degree of uncertainty is not something you associate Dream with. “But you are free. You've always been free. The Dreaming is your home. Should you wish to return, its gates will always await you.”

Doubt twists your mouth downwards. “I thought that once—”

“I swear it. No matter what the future may hold. No matter how angry I get, I shall never again take the Dreaming away from you.” Sheer power woven into those words leaves no room for doubt. It’s a vow. He will not break it. There would be a price to pay if he did. Dream’s fingertips ghost over yours, a graze leaving fire in its wake. “I read your book in the library. I did not wish to tell you sooner because I worried you would leave. Because… you were right. I could never understand the sheer devastation. Or the harm I inflicted.”

You drag your hand back, stepping away from him. Dream’s features fall subtly. You face away, giving him your back while you process. Raising the hand he was caressing seconds prior, you cradle it to your chest. Sunshine prickles your cheek, but you ignore it. 

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” you tell him, turning back to face him. “I always knew there was a chance you could read it. So, what did you think?”

He appears pained. At least now you know why he’s been so melancholy these last several weeks. “That I should wish for nothing more than for you to stay by my side.”

Those unadorned words devastated you. 

Smiling through your inflated, overjoyed heart, you mumble, “Stay forever… I can’t technically do that.”

But Dream is unruffled. If anything, you glimpse the beginnings of hope starting to take root in him. 

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows. 

“To what?” An incredulous chuckle escapes you. “Break the curse?”

Destiny’s warning jump back to the forefront of your mind, and you swallow thickly. You don’t dare to ponder freedom for longer than an indulgent moment. 

“Yes,” Dream replies. 

You stare at him. Tall and dark, sunlit and more open than you’ve ever seen him. Determined and golden. Your Dream Lord. He terrifies you. You love him. 

“You can’t interfere,” you remind him emptily. “And I might die.”

“Or you may live,” Dream argues. “Freely. And choose for yourself. Always.”

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

Sudden tension between you loosens around the edges. Once more, the susurration of the trees trickles into your mind, elevating the brewing anxiety. 

A thousand years. The curse has defined your existence and has kept you alive this long. What are you without it? There’s always been an unspoken acknowledgement that you could never break the curse without dying. Simply too much time has passed. No mortal vessel can survive over a millennium otherwise. When you asked Destiny, it was only to understand more about the nature of the curse. Not because you ever assumed you could survive breaking the curse. 

Dream’s mouth compresses as if he’s attempting not to smile. “I would never.”

“Stay by your side, huh?” you mutter, looking away while you mull over your conversation. “And what exactly would that entail?”

His response is immediate, smooth, “Whatever you wish.”

“A companion, then?” Your words pitch lower and silkier while you close the minimal distance with relaxed, unhurried steps. Dream’s eyes darken a shade. “An emissary? A consort? A queen?”

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale. 

“Those are but words,” he murmurs silkily. “For you would be all those things, and more.”

You examine his profile, those starlit irises, the doubt swimming there. Does he doubt you would stay? After such long years harbouring this affection for him? Silly, wonderful anthropomorphic personification. “I’ll stay, but only if you answer a question.”

“Even if the price were a hundred thousand questions, Wanderer, I would pay it gladly. What is this question?”

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinise him. Dream does not balk under your exigent examination, waiting patiently. Biting back a smile, you permit your features to relax. He’s unfairly fun to tease. 

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

Relish bubbles in your chest at the way Dream’s expression comes undone. As if from a thousand questions he was bracing for, nothing could have prepared him for this. Birds chirp a merry tune somewhere in the tree line, a warm breeze ruffling Dream’s dark hair while he gazes at you with utterly confused wonderment. A slight, fond smile curls his lips.  

“A thousand years,” he begins in a bewildered drawl. “And still, you ask the same question.”

You laugh faintly, shrugging. “Well, in all fairness, you never answered me the last time. Which was very rude, by the way—”

In an inhale Dream of the Endless materialises in front of you. His hands slip to hold your face, cupping it with delicate hands as he tugs you closer. His kiss falls over you like stars. Silky, gentle warmth that washes over you with such fervent passion you gasp against his mouth. Your hands grasp onto him blindly. You part only long enough for you to gulp down oxygen before your mouths meet again, and again, and again, burning with need unquenched. Heat spreads through every inch of you. A thousand years being cold, floating unearthed, but now someone is holding you. 

Dream presses another kiss to your mouth, desperate and hungry, gentle in his handling, and you return it with equal enthusiasm, equal need. Dizziness envelops you, and Dream pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. You shudder, a delicious heat licking up your senses. This closeness hurts better than anything ever has. You remind yourself to breathe, to remember this is real, he’s here, holding you, and nothing matters in this moment. Whatever the future holds, you do not fear it. Because Hob was right: there are people out there who love, and that makes all the difference. 

Dream’s thumb grazes over your bunched-up cheek. Your smile is wide enough to light your entire face. 

It continues with a gentle, rasping: “I’ll tell you one day, stardust.”

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

I set out to write nothing more than a fun little story that I expected to have maybe 3-4 parts max. Something entirely self-indulgent and fun for no one but me and maybe one or two mutuals. I never quite expected it would become as beloved as it did. I suppose here, in the end, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who read this and supported it. Be it by commenting, making edits/art for it or just sending me encouraging/funny messages. You guys are the reason this story became what it did. I'm immensely grateful for each and every single one of you. It was a rough month, but I'm glad I could offer you this conclusion at long last. Thank you for being here, thank you for being kind, and thank you again for reading.

Goodnight, and see you all in dreams, wanderers ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

[charlietheepicwriter7]

"I'm telling you, she's the best bloody runes expert this side of the Mississippi," John Constantine told the other members of the Justice League as he raised his hand to knock on the old screen door. He hadn't expected his ex-wife to stay here, in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, but Spittoon, Arkansas, was the hill-billy hole it was when he last left. "If anyone can decipher the ritual to summon the ghost king, it's her--"

The door disappeared before he could knock, and a shotgun was shoved in his face. John smiled the best he could. "Hey, sweetheart."

Alicia Walker glared back at him. "Constantine."

*******************************************

This is the "John Constantine used to be married to Danny Fenton's Aunt Alicia" AU. Some idea's I've had:

Maddie introduced them. Maddie had dragged Alicia into studying ghosts, but Alicia ended up fascinated by the occultism of ghosts, more metaphysical than scientific. Maddie, wanting to support the sister that was supporting her, found Constantine, introduced the two, and they got along enough to bang.

it was a shotgun wedding. Alicia got pregnant and damn if she was going to let her baby be born without a father, so John ends up marrying her. He doesn't really mind since Alicia's nice enough and the sex is good, but he isn't exactly an attentive husband.

The baby is actually twins! a boy and a girl.

The babies are born without complications, but the baby boy, the first born... goes missing.

In addition to selling his soul to multiple parties, John had also sold the soul of his first born... probably to multiple parties. And he'd forgotten all about it until Alicia calls him, sobbing, saying their son has gone missing.

Needless to say, once she knows, John is divorced within the week.

the newborn daughter is given to Maddie to take care of; Alicia can even look at her without remembering her dead son, she knows she wouldn't be able to take care of a baby the way it needs. she can barely take care of herself.

(Jazz finds out that her aunt is her biomom when Danny is born. She never hates her aunt for giving her up; in fact, it's Alicia's depression and grief that makes Jazz want to study psychology in the first place)

Alicia moves to Spittoon to isolate herself, but the close knit community won't let her self-destruct. They help her rebuild herself in the middle of nowhere and she discovers a love for farming rhubarb.

John only shows up once before for Alicia's help, but the town chases away that nasty ex-husband of hers before she sees him, with his yuppie-accent and dirty clothes. They don't want him around her.

Alicia grows content with her life. She keeps all her occult books locked in the attic, out of sight and out of mind, and while she might regret not having been able to raise her daughter, she loves her niece and nephew and spoils them when they come to visit.

All's right in the world.

Until one day, Jazz and Danny come to her door in the middle of the night, desperate and injured.

Not too long after that, her yuppie ex-husband come around, asking her to look over some nonsense summoning circle. What's Constantine trying to summon anyway, the demon of astrology!?