#writeblr fic exchange

[zackprincebooks]

Silent Night

Happy Holidays, @adhdprincess! I'm your Secret Santa. I don't know a lot about The Last of Us, but I tried to have some found family fluff for you!

During a stop on their way to Wyoming, Joel, Tess, and Ellie find a gem on Christmas Eve.

Read here on Ao3!

Clouds hover dangerously over the highway, threatening travelers with heavy snowfall. Joel keeps his foot on the gas as they pass rusty road signs and burnt-out cars. He’s already driving late at night; he doesn’t want to drive late at night, during a snowstorm.

In the backseat, Ellie snores.

“Let me drive.”

Joel’s hands tighten on the wheel, not bothering to look over at Tess. “No.”

He can hear the frown in her voice, “you’ve been driving for six hours and it’s about to start snowing. Let me drive.”

“It’s only a few miles to the next shelter; I can handle it.” He’s lying; it’s at least another twenty before they get anywhere near relative safety. Occasionally, the radio in the cupholder crackles to life when they get within range of a transmission:

“Shit, we’re already seeing flurries over here.”

“I give it half an hour before everything’s covered.”

“Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas!”

“Is it Christmas Eve already? Damn, I hope I was good this year.”

Their laughter fades into the static as Joel, Tess, and Ellie pass out of their range. Ellie grunts and rolls over, attempting to lay down on the seat while restrained by her seatbelt.

“Let me drive,” Tess repeats, “at least long enough to let you sleep.”

“I’m not tired. I once stayed up for three nights straight. I can handle it,” Joel repeats. He’s almost grateful, in a way; Tess’s badgering forces his exhaustion to the back of his mind. “You can take the first watch when we get to the shelter, and you can drive tomorrow.”

The silence between them is tense. Joel can hear the gears in Tess’s head turning as she considers the deal. Her fingers clench and unclench around her sleeve from where her arms are folded over her chest.

“Fine. Fine. As long as you help me dig out the car tomorrow morning.”

Ellie keeps snoring as the white flakes start falling. ---------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure this is it?” Tess looks between Joel and the “shelter” they were assigned.

Joel checks the coordinates he was given with the coordinates on the ancient GPS. “According to the coordinates, this is the place.”

Rustling from the backseat indicates the awakening of Ellie. She finally managed to squeeze herself against the window, and a large swathe of the window is clear from where Ellie rested her cheek. “What happened?” Ellie rubs her eyes and yawns. When she spots the shelter, her eyes blink widely. “Oh.”

Calling it a “shelter” is demeaning. The mansion looms large in front of them; all brick with white columns and black shutters. It possesses a two-car garage that matches the black shutters. If the house was decorated with lights, it would look like it came out of a Christmas card. There’s even a fir tree in the middle of the yard, covered with snow.

They sit in disbelieved silence, staring at the house. The gears in Joel’s mind are whirring. There might be a snow blower in the garage so they can dig out the car tomorrow morning. Hell, if Joel and Tess can get the garage door open, they can park the car and they won’t need to dig it out at all.

“If the fireplace is operable, we can actually have a hot dinner,” Tess muses. “We could make coffee. Real coffee.”

“It better be operable, or else we’ll freeze tonight,” Joel mutters as he opens the door. “C’mon, let’s see if we can open the garage door. I’d rather not have to deal with scraping off the snow tomorrow.”

Slipping and sliding on the thin layer of snow, Tess hits the code for the garage side-door they received. It takes a few hits from her shoulder for her to finally wrench it open. Joel waits outside with Ellie until he hears Tess call out, “clear!”

Holding their flashlights aloft, they enter the garage. There’s only one car parked, leaving enough room for them to park for the night. “A Maserati,” Joel mutters, wiping off some of the dust and the rust, “wonder if the husband was going through a mid-life crisis.”

The electric opener is a dud, but the manual controls still work. With an assist from Tess, she and Joel are able to lift the garage door. “This will make unloading the car a lot easier, too,” Tess muses.

Ellie frowns. “It feels…too good to be true. What if there’s an ambush?”

“If there was an ambush, we would see their tracks in the snow,” Joel says as he gets out of the car and opens the trunk. “I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle, or something.”

They close the garage and unload the trunk via flashlight; Joel holds his flashlight in his mouth as he passes a sleeping bag over to Ellie. He hears her go into the house proper and let out a loud “WHOA!”

Well, if they were going to be ambushed, now would be the time.

But no one pops out from inside cabinets or behind the fridge or down from the ceiling. Tess follows behind Ellie with a long, low whistle.

“Let me see what all the fuss—” Joel shoulders his way between them with a backpack slung over one arm. “All right, that’s pretty cool.”

An antique chandelier hangs in the foyer; as pretentious as it sounds, foyer was the right word for it. Two stairways with dark wood banisters curl their way down to the foyer, carpeted in red and gold. Their flashlights glance off of quartz countertops and stainless-steel appliances, all coated in a thick layer of dust. The food on the table is long desiccated into thick, gray mush that doesn’t come off even when Ellie holds the plate upside-down.

“Ewww,” she whines, putting the plate back down with a loud clatter. The sound echoes in the empty house.

Joel’s flashlight shines on a photo of the family that once lived here: a mother and a father, with a daughter wearing a hoodie from a college downstate and a teenage son in a soccer jersey from a local team. He grimaces and turns the flashlight away to focus on the marble fireplace in the living room, underneath the cracked flatscreen TV.

Tess is elated. “It’s big enough for us to make dinner on it, and we might be able to use any cookware they left behind. We could use our fuel cans, but a wood fire would be bigger for a fireplace of this size.”

Joel can read between the lines. “I can get some firewood chopped if you get dinner prepped.”

“You’re not going alone,” Tess counters, and Ellie raises her hand.

“Fine.” He points to Ellie. “You get the kindling, and I’ll get the logs.”

They step out into the snow, their collars turned up and wrapped with scarves. Joel finds an ax leaning up against the back of the garage with a pile of wood stacked in a metal rack. While there are a few logs already chopped, it won’t be enough to sustain them throughout the night.

The sound of an ax chunking into logs fills the cold winter air, interspersed with the sound of Ellie snapping sticks into manageable pieces. Every now and again, they each stop to lift their heads for the sound of something approaching; Ellie cocking her gun and Joel lifting the ax. He keeps eyeing the tall vinyl fence, imagining long fingers crawling over top as a clicker vaults the fence.

But nothing comes. For a moment the wind calms and they both stop, enjoying the stillness of the night. Ellie leans against the tree, her pile of kindling tied with one of her scarves. She’s not quite the same age as the boy from the photo; living a life she’ll never get to experience. Ellie won’t go to high school and play soccer, visit colleges with her parents, graduate with all her friends, and pack her ratty little car as much as it can hold before starting her life away from home.

The sound of the porch door opening startles them both as Tess pokes her head outside. “Hey, I’m almost done with dinner prep; how are we looking on wood?”

“We should have enough for tonight,” Joel says after counting, “but we might need to chop more tomorrow if we want a hot breakfast.”

“I want a hot breakfast,” Ellie and Tess say at the same time. Joel sighs, hefting the ax again. -----------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Joel and Ellie are done gathering wood, they’ve taken off their coats and slung them over the backs of chairs in the living room. Tess has thrown out the ossified plates to make room on the table to prepare dinner. If this was a real Christmas dinner, they would have roast turkey or ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh rolls…

There’s canned beef stew with potatoes and carrots, canned tomatoes, and canned fruit cocktail. “I didn’t find anything in the cabinets that we could eat; everything in that pantry belongs in a museum,” Tess grumbles, “but at least there’s running water. It’s not hot water—” she clarifies when Ellie’s and Joel’s eyes light up, “—but it’s running water.���

Clean, running water. This house almost feels too good to be true. “And you cleared the rest of the house?”

“Yes; it looks like everyone left in a hurry. I found maps in an office upstairs with directions and instructions. The gun locker in the office and the safe in the bedroom are both empty. But they have some nice clothes upstairs that we can take as it gets colder. Speaking of which,” Tess starts opening the can of beef stew, “let’s get the fire started.”

Warmth and light roar to life, illuminating the living room for the first time in years. Joel and Ellie drag some of the fancy Turkish rugs over to the fireplace to use as extra padding for their sleeping bags on the marble floor, huddled around the fireplace for warmth.

Tess brings a Dutch oven with the beef stew and canned tomatoes inside; Joel stifles a laugh when he sees that she’s clutching it with Christmas oven mitts, decorated with elves and ornaments.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she grumbles at both of them. From behind Tess, Joel sees Ellie hide a smile into her shoulder. “These were just the first that I could find.” Without a hook in the fireplace, she awkwardly puts the Dutch oven on top of the burning fire. Soon, the living room is filled with the smell of beef stew cooking, and Joel is starting to salivate.

As Joel starts pulling out their portable, metal dishware, Ellie stops him. “If they still have running water here, can’t we use their dishes? They probably have nicer dishes than we do.”

They pause as Tess and Joel look over at the display cabinet full of fine stoneware; blue with gold trim and leaf designs. “I guess there’s no harm in it,” Tess hedges, and Joel puts away their metal dishes. “Maybe it would make it feel a little more like Christmas,” she mutters as Ellie sprints to get them plates and bowls.

Sitting on their sleeping bags, hunched over bowls of stew, plates of fruit cocktail, and bottles of filtered water, Tess, Ellie, and Joel eat their Christmas dinner.

Joel has eaten this canned stew hundreds, maybe even thousands of times. It’s a standard-issue can of stew concocted to provide the maximum amount of calories required for an adult human in the apocalypse.

This is the best it has ever tasted. The beef is somehow tender and flavorful, the tomatoes burst in his mouth, and there’s something nostalgic about the carrots and potatoes. Even the protein powder dumped into the broth gives it a creamy texture. When it settles into Joel’s stomach, it warms him from within. Even Ellie and Tess are muttering their approval.

They stack their empty bowls together before moving onto the canned fruit cocktail. Tess tried to distribute the fruit and syrup equally, which meant they all wound up with a single miserable cherry on top of a pile of chopped apples, pears, and pineapple. But every bite is juicy and sweet, cut slightly by the tartness of the cherry. Joel resists the urge to lick the puddle of syrup left behind by his “dessert.”

He looks up at Ellie and Tess, who have also cleaned their plates. Ellie sadly looks at her plate, moving her fork around to catch leftover bits of apple. She passes it to Joel and he takes it to the kitchen with the rest of the dishes.

“Don’t forget about our deal,” Tess calls to Joel, “I’m taking the first watch tonight.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Joel grumbles as he washes the dishes in the sink. The ice-cold water makes him flinch, but running water is so foreign and forgotten that it’s a luxury no matter how hot or cold. Joel spends at least ten minutes washing dishes just to feel the water cascading over his hands. His fingers are numb by the time he returns to the fireplace with the dry dishes. Ellie is already curled up in her sleeping bag, watching as Tess adds another log to the fire.

When Joel crawls into his sleeping bag, it’s warm. “Merry Christmas, Tess. Merry Christmas, Ellie.”

“Merry Christmas, Joel.”

From the cocoon of her sleeping bag, he hears a muffled, “Merry Christmas.”

[unpredictable-probabilities]

No Longer a Dream || Chapter 1: His End

Main Summary:

Hob had felt a sense of worry about Dream ever since they last saw each other.

When Dream appears on his doorstep a month later, Hob's worries only grow.

But now he has a chance to be there and actually take care of Dream. And by God, he'll do his damnedest to keep his friend safe.

Total Word Count: 13,712

Author's Notes:

This work is a gift for @zzoomacroom as part of the @mr-sadman 2024 Spring Exchange <3 If you prefer to read it on AO3, here's the link~

Heads-up that I haven't read the comics leading up to the Significant Canon Event I mentioned here, I just got information about it from the internet, including the personality of a certain character that hasn't appeared in the show yet. So if the timelines or some other things don't match up, that's why.

Anyway this was really fun to write, and I hope you all have fun reading it too! ^_^

Chapter Summary:

Dream appears on Hob's doorstep injured and barely conscious. Hob helps him recover and worries about what could have happened to hurt his friend that much.

Chapter Word Count: 4,386

---

The butter sizzled on the tagine pot, so Hob lowered the heat on the stove before double-checking if he had evenly coated the chicken wings with the breading before frying them. He had become fond of the mixture of ground cinnamon, ginger, turmeric, pepper, salt, and olive oil ever since he first tried the recipe last Christmas.

While the chicken cooked, Hob got to work on the glaze; simmering honey, a cinnamon stick, and some apricots in a saucepan.

He usually didn't make elaborate dinners after a school night, but seeing as it was a Friday and he had just finished marking the backlogged essays, he figured he deserved it.

After everything was cooked, he set them on the coffee table in front of the telly. Some Jeopardy and then a good book would be the perfect way to end the evening.

Hob put his feet up on the armrest, the plate on his lap, and was about to take a bite of chicken just as the show was starting.

A knock on the door made the fork stop halfway to his mouth.

Hob sighed and put the plate down on the coffee table before walking towards the door.

One downside about living in a flat above The New Inn was that sometimes his staff came up to ask for his input about one thing or other. Tonight could be about the inventory; they usually had to restock for the end-of-month specials.

He opened the door and his eyes widened, any thoughts of the Inn fleeing from his mind.

“Hob…” Dream was standing unsteadily, his voice barely more than a breath.

His black coat was in tatters, and his pale cheekbones seemed more prominent on his bruised face. A cut above his left eyebrow was bleeding.

“Jesus, Dream—” Hob barely got the words out before Dream's legs buckled.

Hob quickly caught him, wrapping his arms around his friend’s waist as Dream slumped against his chest.

“Dream? Dream?” Hob heard the growing panic in his voice when Dream's limp form didn’t respond.

He half-dragged, half-carried Dream to his couch, barely registering the sounds from the TV show.

He propped up Dream's head with a pillow and gently brushed away the lock of hair that was sticking to his forehead.

Was Dream sweating?

Dream’s eyes were half-closed, and he seemed to be mumbling something.

“What? What do you need?” Hob leaned closer to hear him better.

“...leave. I must leave.” Dream looked like he wanted to stand up but couldn’t seem to remember how.

“Leave?” Hob said in surprise. “Mate, you can barely keep your eyes open."

"Must… Keep you safe…"

"I'm perfectly safe. It's you we should worry about. And why’d you come here if you’d just leave immediately?”

Dream shook his head, wincing as if the small movement caused him pain. “I did not… I was brought here.”

“What?” Hob frowned and took a breath. Each answer from Dream just brought up more questions. “That doesn’t matter right now. What’s important is you recover, yeah? Stay here.”

Hob quickly got the first-aid kit from the cabinet and went back to Dream's side. “Just gonna clean up that cut on your forehead. This might sting a bit.”

Dream flinched when the cotton made contact with his skin but didn't seem to have much energy to protest.

“Right then,” Hob said after cleaning up the cut. “I have to remove your coat to see your other injuries. Is that alright?”

Dream frowned and grudgingly nodded, his face contorting in pain as he tried to shrug off his coat.

Hob tried to help as gently as he could, and the coat practically fell apart in his hands with how shredded it already was.

“Jesus…” Hob tried not to think of the last time he saw Dream. His friend visited for a drink, and there had been a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach that made him reluctant to let Dream out of his sight.

The shirt underneath the coat was torn in a lot of places too, and the fabric stuck to Dream's skin with dried blood. Hob frowned and took a closer look. The dark patches of blood had a shimmering quality to them, like there was glitter mixed in. He checked the cotton he had used for the cut on Dream's forehead; it was faint but it was there, the glitter with the dark red.

Alright, so his oldest friend was bleeding starlight on his couch. But more importantly, most of the bleeding seemed to have stopped already. He didn't know if Endless even needed their wounds to be cleaned and disinfected, but it was better to be safe.

“I'd have to cut your shirt off of you to clean the rest of the wounds, sorry. But if you're not comfortable with that, I can… Uh…” Hob racked his brain for an alternative. He knew what Dream had gone through from 1916, and he didn't want to make his friend feel so exposed again, but he didn't want to risk him getting an infection either.

Dream reached for his hand and gave it a weak squeeze. “I trust you.” It was barely a whisper but Hob heard it clearly.

Hob smiled reassuringly at his friend even though he's not sure how well Dream's half-closed eyes could see him.

It didn't take very long to get the shirt out of the way and clean the cuts on Morpheus’ torso. Hob’s army doctor knowledge came naturally to him, and all the while he pushed down his worries about what could have possibly done this much damage to his godlike friend.

Dream's pants were intact and had no cuts, as well as his boots. So after making sure that his face and torso were tended to, Hob removed his boots and gently lifted him up from the sofa, supporting his back and the backs of his legs.

Dream grumbled a noise of protest, but his eyes were fully closed.

“Just taking you to the bed, you'll recover better if you're more comfortable,” Hob explained, carefully walking towards the bedroom so as not to jostle Dream. “So you get the bed tonight and I'll take the couch.”

He placed Dream down on his bed and quickly put the blanket up to his chin.

“There. You rest up, and tomorrow, tell me who I need to fistfight,” Hob said mostly to himself, he suspected that Dream was asleep already.

He sighed and looked down at his friend. He had never seen Dream sleep before, and seeing it now made him feel a surge of protectiveness, not unlike what he felt in 1789 when Lady Johanna’s thug pointed a knife at Dream's throat.

Hob returned to the living room to tidy up before he could fully analyse such feelings.

He tried eating the chicken on his plate, but he had lost his appetite and felt too nauseated with worry to eat properly. He cleaned up and put all the food in the fridge, glancing from time to time at the open doorway to check on Dream.

After everything had been put away, he returned to his bedroom and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. Dream looked much more relaxed now, the crease on his forehead had smoothened and his breathing came more evenly.

Hob knelt down and brushed a strand of hair from Dream’s face, barely touching the skin. “Good night, love,” he whispered, warmth spreading in his chest at how right the words felt.

He stood up and turned to go, deciding to leave the door open in case Dream needed something. But before he could walk away, he felt a hand grab his own.

“Stay,” Dream’s voice said, soft with sleepiness.

Hob looked at him in surprise, unsure if he heard correctly. “You… want me to stay in this room? Okay, um, just give me a moment to get the spare mattress—”

Dream shook his head and blinked blearily at Hob. “Beside me.” He moved aside to make more space on the bed, not letting go of Hob's hand.

Hob swallowed. Dream’s grip on his hand might still be weak, but Hob didn't feel nearly strong enough to pull away. He felt himself nodding. “Of course.”

He climbed in beside Dream, who pulled the blanket over the both of them as soon as he lay down.

Dream pressed in closer to Hob, tucking his head under Hob's chin, his hand over Hob's chest. “You are very warm.”

“Uh,” Hob managed, his brain still trying to process how they ended up here.

Dream felt cool against him, and Hob wondered if he was cold. That would certainly explain why he was suddenly all snuggly.

Hob tentatively turned and put an arm around Dream, making sure that his touch stayed over the blanket and not on Dream's skin. “Is this better?”

Dream made a contented hum, and when he didn't reply several moments later, Hob realised he had fallen asleep.

Hob sighed, resting his chin on Dream's soft hair. Tomorrow, he would ask Dream what had caused his injuries. He'd see what else he could do to help and what else Dream needed.

But for now, they both deserve a good night's rest. And in the darkness of his bedroom under the covers with Dream, Hob allowed himself to believe that he deserved this, too.

***

Hob began to wake up when he felt the mattress shift. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and saw a slim figure get up unsteadily from the bed and onto the floor.

“Dream,” Hob sat up, the events of last night coming back to him all at once. “Is everything all right?”

“I apologise for intruding on you last night. It was not my intention…” Dream trailed off and looked down at his bare chest, seeming to notice it for the first time. His eyes widened fractionally, and Hob was quick to jump out of bed and get to his closet.

“Here, take this.” He got the first black shirt he saw and handed it to Dream.

Dream looked at it uncertainly for a moment before putting it on. It hung loosely around his frame; the sleeves reached down to cover half of his hands and the neckline showed his collarbones. “I thank you for your kindness. I will be sure to repay it soon. But for now I must leave.”

“There’s nothing to repay— Wait, leave? You were barely conscious just hours ago, are you sure you should be going out by yourself already?”

Dream nodded once. “I feel quite alright. You have taken care of my injuries and…” He glanced to the bed and averted his eyes for a moment. “I apologise for my behaviour. It was crude of me to insist upon your company as I did last night.”

Hob shook his head. “Not at all. We’re friends, right? I’m always happy to keep you company.”

Dream gave him the barest hint of a smile. “I must go. I will return your item of clothing as soon as I am able.” He turned and headed for the door.

“Whoa wait,” Hob followed him to the living room. “I don’t care about the shirt. At least let me check on your wounds before you leave.” He kept remembering the way Dream looked when he arrived, how he fell limp and unresponsive in his arms.

“You have done more than enough for me, my friend,” Dream said gently. “By all rights I am… not even supposed to be alive anymore. But I am grateful that it was you to whom they brought me. Regardless, I cannot stay long. I thank you again.”

He walked quickly towards the front door, but Hob was faster.

“Hey,” Hob grabbed his arm and spun him around so they faced each other. “Not supposed to be alive anymore? What are you— You can’t just say that and then leave! What…” he trailed off, looking into Dream’s eyes as he held Hob’s gaze.

“Hob. I must go.” Despite his firm voice, Dream looked conflicted.

Hob couldn’t discern if the conflict meant he wanted to stay longer, or at the very least explain more. But Hob didn’t want to cause him any more distress. He reluctantly let go of Dream’s arm. “Okay, but… will I see you again next week?”

Before Dream had visited him a month ago to say that he was going to do something important, they had seen each other every week since Dream’s return from Fawney Rig.

The second that it took for Dream to answer was enough to make Hob's stomach turn with nervousness.

"I believe so, yes."

Hob nodded. "You take care, alright? If you need anything you know you can always come here."

The smile that Dream gave him was less subtle this time. "You take good care as well, Hob Gadling." He went out the door and closed it behind him.

Hob almost immediately began to pace the floor. There was something he couldn't quite figure out about the conflict in his friend's expression. Maybe two centuries ago Dream would be too prideful to stay or rely on him, but he was different now. Something else was stopping him from staying with Hob even though it seemed like he wanted to.

Hob stopped in his tracks as he remembered something that Dream said last night.

"Must… Keep you safe…"

Dream left to protect him. Dream was worried that whatever attacked him last night might follow him here.

"I am… not even supposed to be alive anymore."

Something was after Dream.

Hob flung open his front door and raced outside, praying to whoever god was listening that his friend hadn't teleported away.

He was just able to see Dream exit the Inn as the door closed behind him.

“Sir? Who was that?” The bartender asked Hob but he was already running to the door.

Dream walked fast. He had already gone a good distance when Hob got out onto the street.

The rush of the morning commute wasn't helping. Three times Hob had lost sight of Dream in the foot traffic, and each time he was afraid that Dream had teleported. Maybe he was overreacting, maybe there was nothing to worry about, but he'd rather not risk it. He had no idea that Dream had been captured and imprisoned for over a century; if Dream went away and died somewhere, would he ever know? Or would he keep waiting century after century for someone who would never come back?

Hob pushed down the wave of nausea that rose with that thought, and focused on keeping his eyes on Dream. He had considered calling out to him, but worried that it might only drive him away further.

Dream turned a right to the park, and Hob followed, keeping his distance.

Dream went to an empty bench and sat down.

Was he waiting for someone? Hob stood half-hidden behind a tree a few feet away, unsure of whether to approach.

“Will you not sit with me, Hob Gadling?” Dream said without looking at him.

Hob was only briefly surprised, then he chuckled to himself and walked over to the bench. “So you knew the whole time, then?” He smiled sheepishly, tugging at his left ear.

“I would recognize your presence anywhere.”

Hob was relieved to see that Dream didn't seem upset and even looked fondly at him—if Hob dared to believe it.

Hob shifted uneasily in his seat, feeling Dream's warmth even though there were a few inches of space between them. “What’s wrong?” he finally asked. “Are you in danger somehow?”

Dream seemed to weigh his words before speaking. “You must not worry about me, Hob. You need not have followed me here.”

“You're my friend, I'll always worry about you. Especially when you pass out in my house and say stuff like you shouldn't be alive anymore,” Hob said pointedly.

Dream looked down for a moment, his long eyelashes catching the light of the sun. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation after all that you have done for me.”

“No, it's not that.” Hob sighed. “You don't owe me, I'm just concerned. And if I can't do anything to help, at least let me be someone you can talk to.”

Dream stared out into the park where families were having picnics and kids ran around with their dogs. “What do you know of the story of Orpheus?”

“The bloke in Greek mythology?” Hob furrowed his eyebrows while trying to remember what jumbled knowledge he had of the myths. “He had a lyre, and he was the one who almost succeeded in getting his wife out of the Underworld, except he looked back when he wasn't supposed to.”

It was one of the more popular stories, and one that stuck with Hob as someone who had also lost a wife too soon. He would have also braved the Underworld to get Eleanor back, and like that poor sod Orpheus he would have also looked back.

“Indeed.” Dream kept his eyes looking in the distance. “Shortly after his failed quest, Orpheus was killed and his body hacked to pieces. His decapitated head remained conscious and was able to provide prophecies to adventurers and travellers alike.”

Hob pondered that for a moment. “What a way to live, eh? Just a talking head. Travelling would certainly be out of the question. Even I'm not sure how long I'd be able to do that.”

Dream was quiet for a few seconds. “He did not wish to continue living like that himself. And in exchange for a boon, he asked me to help him. End his life.”

“...Oh. You knew him, then?”

“Yes.” Dream said calmly. “He was my son.”

Hob stared at Dream, speechless in his surprise. After having known Dream for centuries, he had half-expected that most people in mythology were real. But knowing that Dream lost his son in such a way made him feel a deep sadness; no pain compared to outliving a child.

“And did you…” Hob couldn’t even finish the thought.

Dream nodded. “I asked for his help in finding my brother. In return, he made me promise to help him end his existence as a lone head of an oracle. He was unhappy, and I could not refuse when he asked for my aid.”

Hob fell silent. If he had been in Dream’s place, would he have had the strength to do the same? If Robyn had asked for his help in ending an unhappy existence, would Hob be selfless enough?

“I'm…” Hob trailed off. What could he say? He was sorry that Dream had to help with the death of his own son? Dream wouldn’t want to be pitied. “I'm glad to see you're okay, at least. But what did you mean that you're not supposed to be alive?”

“The old laws forbid us from killing our own blood, on pain of death. When the Kindly Ones found out what I had done for my son, they came to enforce the law.”

Hob could only imagine what it must have felt like for Dream, knowing he would be killed for fulfilling a promise to his son.

“How did you escape?” Hob's voice came out in a whisper, as if speaking any louder would bring the attackers upon them again.

There was a slight frown on Dream's face as he tried to recall what happened. “I am not entirely sure. I had no plans to escape. I regained consciousness shortly before my siblings brought me to your door.”

“You had no plans to escape?” Hob said incredulously, horrified. “You knew that your punishment was death, and what— You just— You just sat there while they tore at you?” He didn't even want to imagine such a scene.

Dream finally looked at him. “You are upset.”

“Of course I'm bloody upset! You just told me you planned to die. Were you ever gonna tell me?” Hob had gotten to his feet. He didn't know when the tears had started to well in his eyes.

“I had said goodbye to you. Before.” Dream looked at him with a sombre expression.

“What…” Hob frowned, processing what that could mean. “When you visited me for drinks a month ago? That's it? Was I supposed to wait for you for an eternity not knowing that you had died?” His voice broke.

“There would have been a funeral,” Dream looked up at him, his voice soft and his eyes resigned. “You would have been invited.”

“Oh, well then that makes everything better, doesn't it?” Hob was almost yelling now. “Centuries of friendship and I'm only supposed to find out about your suicide mission at your bloody funeral?” Hob’s tears began to fall, and Dream's eyes widened as he stood up.

“Hob…” Dream said in concern.

“You don't understand, Dream. You're the only person whose funeral I'm never supposed to attend. I've long since accepted that I would one day lose everyone I care about, but not you! What happened to meeting every century? Why didn't you wish to live?”

Dream stared at him in surprise and confusion. “I… did not think you cared that much. About our meetings. About…” he seemed to struggle in getting the words out. “Me.”

“Of course I care about you,” Hob's voice quieted down. He suddenly felt exhausted. “I never hid that, did I?”

There was conflict again in Dream's eyes, and a moment later he had stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hob, pulling him in a loose embrace.

“Is this alright?” Dream asked softly.

Hob clenched his fists onto the back of Dream’s shirt and ducked his face into Dream’s chest, letting the last of the tears fall. All his pent-up worries since finding out about Fawney Rig and Dream's visit last month had surged up all at once, and now he was having a meltdown in the middle of a park. He'd be embarrassed if he didn't feel so wrung out.

He gently pulled away once his breathing had evened out. “Sorry, I've cried all over your shirt now.”

“It's your shirt,” Dream said with a hint of playfulness.

Hob chuckled. “Right. But seriously, Dream, are you still in any danger?”

Dream glanced at the sky, as if making sure there wasn't anything approaching. “If the Kindly Ones still wanted me dead, I believe I would be already. Something has happened to stop them, though I do not know what that could be.” He looked at Hob again, and when he spoke his voice was quieter. “I did not want to risk them following me to your home. That is why I had to leave.”

“Yeah I figured that much. But if you said they were only upholding some law, then they'd have no reason to harm me, right?”

Dream paused to consider it. “Indeed. But still I would rather you not encounter them.”

“And I'd rather you have a safe place to stay while you recover. Do you have anywhere to go?” A thought occurred to Hob. “Can you still teleport?”

Dream glanced down and didn't say anything. It would make sense that he was weakened enough not to have his powers; Hob should have realised that sooner.

“Wanna come back to my place and maybe we could figure something out over tea?” Hob asked gently. “There's also the spiced chicken I made for dinner last night, would take no time at all to reheat it.”

“I do not need to eat.”

“But I do. And I'm famished, love.” Hob belatedly realised what endearment he had just said, and he cleared his throat before averting his eyes in what he hoped looked like a nonchalant gesture. “Anyway. Shall we?”

Dream looked at him contemplatively before nodding.

They walked in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's company while they went past the shops and restaurants. Some couples they came across were holding hands while walking, and Hob vaguely wondered what it would feel like to hold Dream's.

He should probably turn his thoughts to something else now.

“So, if you had a son, does that mean you're married? Is someone out there waiting for you to come home?”

Dream looked caught off-guard for a second and Hob wanted to kick himself. He never could stay quiet when it was the smarter choice. He was about to apologise and take back the question, but Dream was already answering.

“I have not been married in a long time. My former wife and I… We have had our problems even before our son was condemned to being an oracle. We had grieved separately. No one is waiting for me.” Dream's voice held an almost indifferent resignation, and Hob wanted so badly to tell him that he would always wait for him. That he did wait for him, all day and night at The White Horse in 1989, and every day since.

Dream stopped in front of a food stall. “I believe they sell grilled meat and bread over here. Shall we purchase some?”

Hob looked at the stall and raised an eyebrow at Dream teasingly. “I thought you said you don’t need to eat?”

“But you do. Love.” The corner of Dream’s mouth turned up.

Hob felt his face warm and he chuckled nervously. God, this man was going to kill him. “I don't have any money on me. I ran out of my flat in just my pyjamas, you know? Barely managed to put my shoes on. Besides, we're almost back there now,” he rambled, looking at anywhere but Dream.

“Then let us proceed to your home. I would not want to further intrude on your daily routines.” Dream began walking again.

“You're not intruding,” Hob said as he walked beside him. “How many times do I have to say it? I'll whack you over the head until you understand that you're welcome to stay with me anytime.”

Dream looked at him with a frown that Hob would never say he found endearing. “You would not dare.”

“Or what?” Hob challenged.

Dream narrowed his eyes at Hob. “You have grown insolent,” he said without any bite to it.

“Always been,” Hob winked.

Dream looked back at the road again, but not before Hob caught his smile.

---

Note:

I had no idea what a tagine pot was before I wrote this fic, but it sounds pretty cool and I can see Hob owning one.

---

(Chapter 2) ->

(Masterlist)

[svtexchangefest]

💕Roll Up!! Share a sentence from your wip starting with each letter of SVT. We’ll go first!

So, we can’t wait to begin the WIP exchange!

Vaults of WIPs will be open to the public for the very first time!

To everyone who’s a little unsure if they should join, please do!!

[thoughpoppiesblow]

10, 12 && 14 for the end of the year writing meme!! --kindsummer <3

thank you so much for the ask @kindsummer!! i really appreciate it - and also, happy new year! 🫶🏻

which character(s) turned out differently from what you had planned? how so?

answered here!

if your character(s) had their own new years resolutions, what would those be?

oooh this is such a fun question!! i’m not gonna do it for every oc, but here’s a couple :)

pollie: visit the mountains! she loves western pennsylvania, and want to go to other mountainous places (like the alps 👁️👁️)

jackie: go dancing at a jazz club at least once a month (with bucky, as long as he isn’t singing lol)

time for writing wrapped! what would be your top three used sentences?

okay so these aren’t sentences but more words/concepts … ehhh it’s fine

1. eyebrows - raising, furrowing, whatever. i do a lot of eyebrow describing when i write lol

2. staring - because pollie death stares everyone lol. she and i are both kubrick stare girlies ✨

3. putting title in fic - i did this with an FtS drabble not too long ago, and i did it with my heavy artillery holiday exchange fic lol. i looooove making references hehehe 😌

[EOY Writeblr Asks]

[altfire]

WELCOME TO AERMAINH

Book One: RAPTORA

tag: #aermainh status: planning/in progress genre: high fantasy/romance

Summary

One hundred years ago, the people of Aermainh waged war against their own gods and sent them back to the realm from which they came in an event known as the Godsend. Since then, magic has been a finite resource - the blood of the gods' only casualty, metered out slowly, and this precious ichor is running out.

The spoiled youngest son of a governor, Velius Mattia could not care less about the ichor running through his own veins when he drops out of Laryce Academy for Mages. Frustrated with his lack of innate talent and the grueling coursework, he runs away to the capital city of Elaboros to celebrate the first centennial of the Godsend and avoid the wrath of his demanding family.

Ortag Garrok has never left the arid northern desert of Aermainh or, indeed, his own village before he's banished. Accused of a crime he didn't commit and far out of his depth, he travels deep into human territory looking for somewhere new to belong.

On the beach of the Elaborate Sound, these unlikely companions are enlisted to aid a forgotten minor god, Raptora, who has been trapped on Aermainh for a hundred years with no way home. They resolve to help the Lord of Oaths open the gate to the Aviarium in exchange for all that they dream - but Vel and Garrok will soon discover that there's good reason Raptora's otherworldly kin were banished.

(Character list + some notes/thoughts/additional info below cut!)

From left to right: Lioren Florianus, Hermiscia "Miscia" Mattia, Velius "Vel" Mattia, Ortag Garrok, Adaric "Daric" Mattia III, Adaric Mattia II, Caysin Rea. Right click + open in new tab to take a closer look - the image is huge and took me forever lmao. Also the bird represents Raptora :3c

I'm not really a writeblr bc I barely write and also barely -blr, but I follow a couple and I'm super inspired by their passion and posting so I'm. Trying it out. Idk I'm nervous but whatever.

I've been working and thinking about Aermainh forever - I first thought of the name and gods in 2018, and this iteration has been in progress (though on a backburner) since late 2022. I wanted to create my own fantasy world for a couple reasons:

Firstly, I've been writing Elder Scrolls fic with OC focus since 2016 and wanted my own world to play with since I was basically writing original fiction without having to do any worldbuilding, but using someone else's world has its own drawbacks

And second, I want to create the kind of book I want to read, in the most self-indulgent sense possible. M/M romance, maybe explicit smut (still deciding lol), but all alongside the sweeping, immersive world and wonder of my favorite paperback fantasy novels. I'm especially inspired by Scott Lynch's Gentlemen Bastard Sequence and the Nightrunner series by Lynn Flewelling.

Also, I just think big lizard people are neat. Maybe that's my TES-brain disease. I love Argonians so much.

ANYWAY this post is super long and if anyone actually read this far, thank you!!!! If you have any questions about any of this - the story itself, the characters, the world (I have a map!) - feel free to send me asks!!!!

[welcometowriteblr]

WELCOME TO WRITEBLR DELIVERS OUR 36TH EVENT!

For this year’s holiday season, we’ll be hosting a Secret Santa gift exchange event! Like last year’s event, participants will be randomly assigned to create a gift for a fellow participant. These creations can be anything: from playlists to graphics to art to fics. The event will run from DECEMBER 1ST to JANUARY 1ST with the following schedule:

SIGN-UPS : 12/1 - 12/8

TARGETS ANNOUNCED : 12/9

PROGRESS CHECK-IN : 12/20

GIFT EXCHANGE : 12/25 - 1/1

NOTE : the GIFT EXCHANGE period will run in the RECIPIENT’S timezone.

HOW TO PARTICIPATE

Be a part of the wtw discord server and reach CROOK aka LVL 5.

Fill out the sign-up form, which will be linked in the server.

Wait until you receive your assignment, then start creating!

Send your gift to your target within the GIFT EXCHANGE period

If you choose to post your gift to tumblr, tag your posts as #WTWEVENT and #WTWCOMMUNITY.

Wait for your post to be added to the queue.

NSFW content will not be posted to the blog.

COME CHILL WITH THE SNOWMIES, JOIN OUR SERVER HERE! (discord.gg/earlgrey)

[justheretoread-ao3]

Have you ever clicked on the Darcy Lewis/Loki tag on ao3 and been disappointed there weren't 100 new fics for you to read? JOIN THE EXCHANGE AND WRITE SOME!!!!

There's a Tasertricks April Fools' (not themed) exchange on ao3! Read the FAQ and sign up!!! GOGOGOGO!

Run by @gyoroandururun Banner by moi!

[littleladymab]

Kiss Tag!

Are there rules for this? Apparently it's sharing smooches on the weekends but we're all breaking the rules? Now you know how to get me to come back to writeblr tag games when I'm deep in fic hell. it's smooches.

I got tagged by @mysticstarlightduck and you can find their post over here!

Now i have actually posted this scene once before but it was screenshots and so here, have it in text so it is easier to read! This is Raif and Cateryn from Still Waiting!

+++

“You’re nervous,” they realize, rising to their feet. 

“And?” she challenges, not looking away. 

“I didn’t think you got nervous.” They round their desk to stand before her, closer than they otherwise would have dared. Not after they understood how they felt for her. Not until she offered herself up like a challenge. 

Cateryn’s exhale stutters as their fingers trace the line of her throat up to her jaw, a soft, hesitant touch that offers to pull away at the slightest sign. “What, and you’re not?” 

“Of course I am,” they admit, their palm coming to rest against her pulse and their fingers in her hair. “But I am better at hiding it.” 

“I don’t want you to hide things from me.” Her voice is a whisper, fingers closing around the collar of their coat as she pulls them to her, their other hand dropping to their desk to steady themself, her hips caged between theirs and wooden surface behind her. Then, their lips brushing in a not-quite kiss, she says, “I want all of you, Raif Van to Yuen-ha,” like it's that easy to want and have and they realize that it could be. 

With her, it always could be that easy. 

And so they press into the space she offers to kiss her — no summer wine on winter beaches to blur the line between them. Just want and need exchanged quickly and hungrily as they back her up onto the table and her legs twine around their hips, as her hands tangle in their hair and their hands find the hem of her shirt and then the skin beneath. 

--

Tag: if you would like to share your OCs smooching, or just read about mine,

@bottlingsound (honestly the only reason I didn't do catoir and ayn was because I've UPDATED HOW I WANT THEIR KISS TO GO so all i have is the old version from YEARS ago), @krisseycrystal, @rkmoon

@jadeoxfordrose @sentfromwolves @ybotter

@luukeskywalker @scribble-dee-vee @redtailedhawk90

(and you know, @mysticstarlightduck if you've got more smooches to share, I'm sure we won't complain hehe)

[rotschopf-thedrow]

Master Fic List & Stuff

I guess it's time to compile all the fandom stuff into one list. Otherwise, I'm never going to find shit again XD

Exchange Letter

Mass Effect

Stories

The Pendulum Verse (Cameron Shepard)

Devils Never Cry (mShenko) (Read on AO3) The Damage Done (mShenko) (Read on AO3) Virmire Reprised (mShenko) (Read on AO3)

Walk through the Fire Verse (Chris Shepard)

(Gift) Some Sunny Days by palimpsestus

Unrelated One Shots & Gifts

Oceanborne (mShenko) (Read on AO3) Moonstruck (mShenko) (Read on AO3) This Moment is Eternity (Read on AO3) Ad Astra Per Aspera (mShenko) (Read on AO3) Two for Tragedy (mShenko) (Read on AO3)

Tiny Scenes

Crutch, attract, chase (mShenko) Gun, upset, speculate (mShenko) Complain, monstrous, cream (Venko) Necklace, carry, promise (mShenko) Light, incapable, knock (Kaidan Alenko / Major Coats) Valid, flavour, tongue (Kaidan Alenko / Major Coats) Colourful, weak, engagement (Kaidan Alenko / Major Coats)

Answered Asks & Tag Games

Writeblr Ask Game asks from @cr-noble-writes Unusual Muse Associations (Chris Shepard); tagged by @cr-noble-writes Edgy/misc OC ask game from @dandenbo for Cameron Shepard Edgy/misc OC ask game from @clericofshadows for Cameron Shepard Character ask game from @clericofshadows for Major Daryl Coats Shepard Ask Game from @astorythatwritesitself for Ares Shepard

@palim-writes asking about Chris Shepard

Stuff

Marry me, Shepard.

Other Fandoms (AO3 exclusive)

Tag Game Lists

Emoji Tag Game Questions for Fic Writers (answered for @swaps55)

[that-angry-noldo]

it is time for me to make an intro post

hi! hello. welcome to that angry noldo tumblr dot com. nice to see you here

i go both by Queen and Noldo, though am more known by the latter

not a minor

mostly a silmarillion blog, though i have also been getting into tma/tmagp lately

i have a few sideblogs! @enchantress-of-words is my writeblr (mostly inactive) and @loremasterling is my studyblr (once again. mostly dormant)

i am a hardcore finarfin fan :) his tag is #araposting (#feather in your braid for finarfin/eönwë and #swanfeathers for finarfin/eärwen)

i am a ficwriter and an artist! my AO3 is bowl-of-borscht (and you can find me as Noldotàri on SWG). #silm fic is my writing tag and #noldo draws is my art tag (with #silm art for tolkien and #tma art for tma)

some of my latest fics under the cut :)

Ongoing works

ashes, ashes, dust to dust - the devil's after both of us (23.9k, 8 chapters)

Maedhros and Maglor capture Finarfin and keep him hostage, demanding the Silmarils in exchange. Post-War of Wrath. Rating T, no archive warnings apply (Finarfin, Maedhros, Maglor, Eönwë, OCs)

wip tag: ashes

bitter water (5k, 2 chapters)

Eärwen and Finarfin go for a seaside vacation. Eönwë tags along. Rating E, no archive warnings apply (Finarfin, Eönwë, Eärwen)

wip tag: bitter water

of sand of pearls under the sun (14.3k, 5 chapters)

Finwë's youngest son gets invited to spend the summer with Olwë's family. The boy is not overly happy with that. Rating G, no archive warnings apply (Finarfin, Olwë, Eärwen, Sons of Olwë)

wip tag: of sand of pearls under the sun

Finished oneshots

the portrait of the youngest son of finwë noldoran (5.1k)

A portrait, a conversation, a commentary. Fake academia, rating G, nawa (Finrod, Finarfin, OFC)

a secret coiled beneath the waves (6k)

Sometimes a childhood vacation is boring balls, much less boring princesses, and eldritch beings in the ocean. Rating G, nawa (Finarfin & Eärwen)

world condensed to gleaming eyes (2k)

Finarfin and Eönwë have some fun. Rating E, nawa (Finarfin/Eönwë)

my love, you're tired, lay with me (7k)

The more Eönwë takes, the more Finarfin is willing to give. Rating E, nawa (Eönwë/Finarfin)

fire with fire (1.3k)

Finarfin is wounded in battle, and Eönwë is left to deal with aftermath. Rating T, nawa (Finarfin/Eönwë, pre-slash, whump)

wrong all over (1k)

There is a familiar face in the depth of Angband, though the wrongness of it slips past Maitimo. Rating T, creator chose to use no archive warnings (Maedhros, Maglor, Sauron)

masks of feathers, robes of silk (1.7k)

Eärwen and Finarfin cope with their feelings in a healthy and mature manner. Rating E, no archive warnings apply (Finarfin/Eärwen)

rest beneath thy fingers (yield beneath thy touch) (1.5k)

Even Eönwë can get weary. Luckily, Finarfin is ready to help. Rating T, non-sexual bondage (Finarfin/Eönwë)

shifting to your heart's desire (2.1k)

It is rare that Eärwen and Finarfin make a trip to Ilmarin. When they do, it is rare that Finarfin manages to keep his thoughts off his lover. Rating E, no archive warnings apply (Finarfin/Eönwë, Finarfin/Eärwen)

blissful state (8k)

Eönwë returns from Númenor. There is someone he wants to see. Rating G, no archive warnings apply (Finarfin/Eönwë)

warmth (0.9k)

Even in moments of passion, Finarfin cannot fully open to his lover. Rating E, no archive warnings apply (Finarfin/Eönwë)

flowers sprang beneath his marching feet (6k)

After death of Argon, Fingolfin has to decide where to go next. Rating G, no archive warnings apply (Fingolfin, Nolofinweans)

Finished multichapters

thrice he rose (18.9k, 4 chapters)

The story of Fingolfin, from the Flight to Dagor Aglareb. Rating T, graphic depictions of violence, major character death (Fingolfin, Lalwen, Nolofinweans, OCs)

images that describe me on spiritual level

[fabled-lady-twilla]

That's a really good question. I just reblogged a post by @moonandris that is essentially what really helps get eyes on both your blog and your stories. In my experience, here's the things that really help:

Interact with the writeblr/fanfiction community often. Making time to uplift fellow fanfiction writers is great because you make new friends and also help out the community. I try my best to reblog other peoples fanfic ideas, share summaries, ask for fic recs, exchange headcanons, and they usually do the same for me. It's a symbiotic relationship and helps everyone out.

Get into the 'like/comment/kudo/reblog mindset', lol. The more we interact with each other, the more the people we follow will see our stories. Without us, the community wouldn't exist. Every little reblog helps. 😊

Make a writeblr introduction. Many writing blogs will have introductions (usually the pinned post on their blogs like mine) and it helps because it shows what fandoms you're interested in, what your favorite ships are, what content you enjoy writing, what tropes you enjoy, etc.

Make a Twitter account, and go interact with other writers on there. I have yet to make my account but there's a lot of events for many different fandoms, ships, and characters that aren't always on Tumblr. Sometimes a fandom is more active on Twitter/Tumblr, it really just depends.

If anyone has anything else that they think helps with this, feel free to add! I can't think of anything else at the moment, haha.

Where do people usually advertise their fanfics? I'm very new to this and don't know how to get more attention.

[unpredictable-probabilities]

No Longer a Dream || Chapter 2: Visitors of an Old Dreamlord

Summary:

Hob manages to convince Dream to stay with him while recovering. As he does so, three unexpected visitors drop by to check on them.

Word Count: 3,560

---

They reached The New Inn, and Lee, the bartender, looked over in concern when they approached the doorway leading to the stairs to Hob's flat.

“Everything alright, sir?”

“Yeah, just had a little misunderstanding with my friend here so I've invited him over for brunch,” Hob gestured to Dream.

Lee eyed Dream before turning to Hob again. “James was in the morning shift and said he didn't see anyone come up to your place, so we were surprised and wondered if you were chasing a burglar.”

Dream arched an eyebrow, and Hob hurriedly spoke before he could get too offended. “No, no, he arrived last night, that's why James didn't see him.”

“Indeed,” Dream added. “I assure you that I mean no harm. And I had all intentions of returning Hob’s clothing when I walked out the door.”

Lee suddenly seemed to recognize Hob's shirt on Dream, and he visibly appeared to put two and two together. “Oh! Sorry, sir, we didn't realise you had a… uh, guest, last night.”

Hob felt himself flush. “I-It's not like that—”

“Oh, excuse me, sir. Customer.” Lee nodded to the guy who just approached the bar and asked for a menu. “You have a nice time with your friend!” He smiled at him and Dream before talking to the customer.

“Let's just go,” Hob turned to Dream and led the way to the back.

“Is something wrong?” Dream furrowed his eyebrows. “You seemed in distress when your employee called me your guest.”

“Oh, uh, no, it's just—” Hob cleared his throat. “He assumed that you're my, uh, let’s see, paramour. From last night. I was just trying to correct him.”

Dream blinked. “Is that a common occurrence, then? Do you often bring people here to bed them?”

“What, no!” Hob felt his ears warm. “I haven't gone out with anyone in ages. Especially not after you came back. Because I'd been so busy with work,” he hurriedly added.

“Hm. I am sorry to have made such an impression on your employee. I did not realise you were so against the idea of me being your paramour.” Dream said evenly as they climbed the stairs.

“I'm not— I mean I don't mind if people think we—” Hob snapped his mouth shut. He was behaving like a flustered teenager. Get it together, Gadling. “I wanted to correct Lee because I thought you might not like being seen as… you know… my lover or something.” He averted his eyes.

“Hm,” was all Dream said, which made Hob look at him again in curiosity.

“Do you not mind, then…?” Hob could feel the pulse in his throat. “If people see us that way?”

Dream looked at him and opened his mouth to answer, but they had reached the open doorway and Dream's eyes turned to something else.

“Sister,” Dream said in mild surprise. “And… brother.” He said more quietly.

Hob turned and saw two people standing in his living room; a woman with dark curly hair, and a much taller and muscular man with red hair and a beard.

“Morpheus.” The woman walked towards them and immediately pulled Dream into a hug. “We were wondering where you'd gone. I'm sorry we had to leave so quickly after bringing you here.” When she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. “I trust you have been keeping well? I knew it was the right decision to bring you to Hob.”

The woman smiled at him, and Hob realised she seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he might have seen her.

“Hi, sorry, have we met before?” Hob asked uncertainly.

“No, but in 1389 you called me stupid.”

Hob tried to remember that day all those centuries ago, the first time he met Dream.

“You're Death,” Hob realised. “Thanks are in order, I suppose?” he grinned. Dream had told him when he first came back that it was Death who had given him immortality.

“You have my extremely stubborn little brother to thank for that gift.”

Dream pouted but didn't deign to say anything.

“Here's my other equally stubborn brother, Destruction,” Death looked over her shoulder at the bearded man, who chuckled before stepping forward. 

“I'm afraid I can't argue much with that.”

Despite his build, he radiated friendliness much like Death did. If he and Dream were to stand side by side, Dream—with his quiet and aloof demeanour—might be the one mistaken for Destruction.

“You must be Hob Gadling.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and held out a hand. “Sorry we just let ourselves in, your door was open. Thank you for looking after our brother. ”

Hob took the hand and shook it. Destruction's grip was firm and callused, and it reminded Hob of all the warriors and soldiers he had known. “It's no problem. The tricky part is convincing him to let himself be looked after.”

“I’ve heard no complaints from you,” Dream pointed out.

Hob chuckled. “Shall we all sit down, then? Maybe have some tea?”

A little over five minutes later, they were all gathered at Hob’s dining table with steaming cups of green tea in front of them.

“We couldn't stay long after bringing you here,” Destruction began to explain, sitting beside Death and across from Dream. “We didn't want to risk The Kindly Ones following our trail.”

“Couldn't they have sensed Dream?” Hob asked. “He's Endless, too.”

Death and Destruction exchanged glances, and Hob felt Dream stiffen beside him.

“Not anymore,” Dream kept his eyes on his siblings. “Am I correct?”

“No,” Death shook her head. “You're still Endless, and you're still our brother, but…”

“You're not Dream anymore, Morpheus,” Destruction said gently, looking at his brother with sombre understanding.

“What does that mean?” Hob looked at each of them in turn.

“Someone else rules the Dreaming,” Dream—Morpheus—said in realisation. “I can feel it. That I am… less, now. Another has taken over my function.”

Death nodded. “Daniel. He's the Dreamlord now. And a benevolent one, so there's no need to worry about the denizens of the Dreaming nor the dreamers who visit.”

“And you can still visit the Dreaming too, as long as the new Dreamlord allows it,” Destruction said. “And we have no doubt that he will.”

“But please take some time to recover first,” Death said. “You only have that one body now, and it has just taken a lot of damage.”

“Why have you returned?” Morpheus asked Destruction with an edge of hurt to his voice. “Why help me escape my fate after centuries of being away from us?”

Destruction shook his head. “You were not obligated to die, brother. Just as I am not obligated to return to my original function. As for why I helped, you had been forced to break the old laws because of your quest to search for me; I would not have you die on my account.”

“What about The Kindly Ones?” Hob asked with a worried frown. “Would they still be after him?”

“No,” Destruction replied, and Hob let out a relieved breath. “We have spoken to them, shortly after bringing Morpheus here. We managed to convince them that an Endless being stripped of his function and forced to live an eternity as a human is as good as dying for them, and therefore enough punishment.”

“After all, no sane creature would crave an eternity of this. Am I right, brother?” Death asked Morpheus in amusement.

A smile twitched at the corner of Morpheus’ lips. “For the purposes of preserving my continued existence, let us say that you are indeed right, my sister.”

“I had thought that you would be more upset at losing your kingship,” Destruction mused. “And yet you are sitting here drinking tea with a human. I first had my doubts when Death said to bring you here, but now I see that this place is good for you. I do not think I have ever seen you more relaxed.”

Morpheus looked down at his cup. “Have you spoken to Delirium?”

“I have. Though I shall not be returning to my function, I have reached an agreement with our little sister that I would not be gone for so long, and endeavour to spend more time with her. Admittedly, I did not think someone could care about me so much,” Destruction smiled.

“Hmm. It would appear that such a trait runs in the family.” Morpheus looked at Hob, and there was no mistaking the affection in his gaze.

***

Death and Destruction bid their farewells eventually, reiterating how happy they were that Morpheus was all right. Morpheus gave a quiet thanks to them for helping him with The Kindly Ones, to which Destruction responded with a tight embrace.

When they had the place all to themselves again, Hob finally got to reheat the food from last night, and served a plate to Morpheus as well.

“I know, I know, you don't need to eat,” Hob said when he saw Morpheus about to protest. “But just eat a little, you're still recovering and it might actually help.”

Morpheus took a tentative bite of the chicken, and he chewed slowly as if savouring the taste on his tongue.

Hob very sternly told himself not to look at Morpheus’ lips as he ate, and he even nearly succeeded.

“I might understand now why you had been looking forward to eating this dish.” Dream stared curiously at the piece of chicken on his fork. “I do not frequently eat, but I recognize that the flavours are balanced and the taste is pleasing to the palate.”

“That's a long-winded way of saying you like my cooking,” Hob quipped to keep himself from staring as Morpheus’ tongue darted out for a moment to lick the bit of grease from his lip.

“I cannot accurately judge your cooking from just one dish. The only way to truly be sure is to sample others.”

Hob took a few seconds to process what Morpheus just said, to realise that his friend was looking at him with a playful glint in his eye. “You want to try more of my cooking?”

“If you have no prior dinner plans.” Morpheus took another bite and he really should stop darting out his tongue like that if he wanted Hob to remain sane for this conversation.

“It's a date,” Hob said without thinking. “I— I mean—”

He was saved from further rambling by a loud tapping on the window.

They looked over to see a black raven sitting on the ledge, hitting its beak repeatedly on the glass.

“Matthew?” Morpheus stood up and went to the window.

Hob followed curiously. Morpheus had told him about Matthew before, but he had never had the opportunity to meet the raven.

He opened it and was immediately met with an indignant squawk.

“So this is where you went, huh?” The bird said as it hopped onto the kitchen counter. “When were you planning on telling me you're alive?”

“Matthew. I have not been able to return to the Dreaming yet. And I had thought that you would be occupied in serving the new Dreamlord.”

“Oh right, you’re not my boss anymore. So I can do this.” Matthew flew up to Morpheus’ eye level and bit his nose.

Morpheus gave a cry and stumbled back. He stared at Matthew with wide eyes and his mouth open, too flabbergasted for words.

“Whoa, what was that about?” Hob said in surprise.

“That’s what he gets!” Matthew snapped at him before turning to face Morpheus again. “You think you can ghost me after ordering me to leave you to be killed? It’s a good thing your sister told me and Lucienne where you were.”

“Ghost you?” Morpheus looked confused.

“You’re lucky Lucienne said not to be mad at you.” Matthew snapped his beak at Morpheus, who instinctively flinched.

“This is you being friendly, then?” Hob quipped.

Matthew narrowed his eyes at him. “You must be the Hob Gadling dude they keep mentioning. Apparently you’re his favourite human or something, so you take care of him, okay? I'll be checking in again once everything's fine and dandy with the new boss.”

Hob grinned despite the threatening glare that the raven was giving him. “Sure, feel free to visit anytime.” He looked at Morpheus. “I wouldn’t wanna lose the ‘favourite human’ title.”

Morpheus’ cheeks turned pink and he turned to Matthew. “I am sorry for upsetting you. But you need not worry about me any longer.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, I don’t take orders from you anymore.” Matthew flew to Morpheus’ shoulder, and for a second Hob thought he was gonna bite his face again. But Matthew gently nuzzled against Morpheus’ cheek. “It’s really good to see you, boss,” he said quietly, his eyes closed.

Morpheus looked surprised before a soft smile appeared on his face. “I am not your boss, Matthew.”

“Shut up,” the raven said before flying back onto the counter. “I can’t stay long, gotta help with announcing to the denizens of the Dreaming that there’s a new king. But you two be careful. Use protection!” he said sternly to both of them before flying out of the window.

Hob’s eyes widened and he felt his face burn. What exactly do the denizens of the Dreaming think his relationship with Morpheus is?

“Protection?” Morpheus furrowed his eyebrows. “From what?”

“Um,” Hob cleared his throat. “Maybe he just meant we gotta look out for each other. Now come on, the food’s getting cold.” He turned away and quickly walked back to the table.

After finishing their meal and cleaning up the kitchen, Hob checked on Morpheus’ wounds again. They had healed up well, with some of them only being faint scars. Morpheus seemed affronted that there were scars at all, pointing out that back then he would have recovered enough for there to be no evidence of injury. Hob gave him some Earl Grey and said they could go shopping for clothes, which worked well enough in improving his mood.

Morpheus reminded Hob more than once to take note of the prices while they were at the shop, saying that he would pay him back once he had the means to. Hob pretended not to hear and changed the subject every time.

Hours later, they were sitting in front of the TV in the living room with plates of the pot roast that Hob had cooked for dinner.

“Remind me again why we are eating on your couch when you have an entire space dedicated for dining?” Morpheus’ imperious expression was softened by the fact that he was wearing a black sweatshirt and grey pyjama pants.

“So we could watch Doctor Who! I’m guessing you haven’t watched a single episode.”

“I had contained the collective unconscious. I am aware of what the show is and I know the dreams of the people that led to its creation.”

“Yes but have you seen an episode?”

Morpheus pouted, and Hob barely stopped himself from calling him adorable.

Four episodes in, and their plates were emptied and set aside on the coffee table. Hob felt the cushions shift and looked to see Morpheus leaning against the armrest with his eyes falling close.

“Morpheus? Would you like to sleep already? You can head to the bedroom now.”

Morpheus got startled and straightened in his seat, blinking. “This is strange. I am not supposed to need sleep.”

“Nothing wrong with needing sleep, or even wanting it. Especially since it's late already,” Hob glanced at the clock, it was past midnight.

“I see. Will you be going to sleep as well given the late hour?”

“In a bit. Just gonna wash the dishes first and brush my teeth.” Hob reached for the remote and turned off the telly.

“Ah yes, I almost forgot. We bought a toothbrush for me as well. Humans brush their teeth before they sleep, correct? Seeing as this body is human, I must take care of it as such. It would not do for me to deteriorate further.”

Hob wanted to say that Morpheus hadn't deteriorated at all, but Morpheus already stood up. Hob watched him with a small smile as he went to the bathroom for his toothbrush. It was good to see that Morpheus wanted to take care of himself, despite his mixed feelings about his newly human body.

***

When his nightly routine was done, Hob went to his room to get an extra pillow and blanket from his closet.

“What are you doing?” a sleepy voice asked.

He turned to see that Morpheus had propped himself up on an elbow to look at him.

“Just getting a pillow for the couch,” Hob held up said pillow. “You can go back to sleep.”

Morpheus sat up entirely and swung his legs off the bed. “The couch? This is your home. I will not take over your sleeping quarters.”

“I don't mind the couch, don't worry. You can have the bed to yourself.”

Morpheus furrowed his eyebrows. “Was it so unpleasant to share the bed with me last night that you do not wish to do it again?”

“No, no,” Hob quickly said. “It wasn't unpleasant at all.”

“Then what is the problem?”

Hob fidgeted with the pillow in his hands. He didn't mind sleeping next to Morpheus, it was the opposite, actually. Last night was one of the most comfortable sleep he'd ever had, but he felt like he would be taking advantage of his friend, since Morpheus had no idea that Hob's been in love with him ever since that first day they spent together at the Inn. Maybe even before that.

“No problem,” Hob finally answered. “I just thought you might be more comfortable having more space.”

“Hob Gadling, will you sleep in your own bed or do I have to pin you to it?” Morpheus said.

Now, there’s a thought. Hob swallowed.

“You really think you’re strong enough to be threatening that?” Hob grinned, instinctively hiding behind humour.

Morpheus narrowed his eyes, and Hob’s grin melted off his face as Morpheus slowly got out of bed and walked towards him.

“You dare question my strength?” Morpheus’ voice was a low rumble as he stood right in front of Hob.

Hob couldn’t look away from those stormy blue eyes, and any clever comebacks he might have had had slipped away from his mind.

Whatever expression he had on his face must have been mistaken as fear by Morpheus, who took a step back and smiled playfully.

“I jest. I simply do not want to keep you from using your own room in your house. If I must, I will take the couch.”

That got Hob back to his senses. “Like hell you will. Have you even slept in a couch before?”

“I have never slept before last night. Not in the way humans do.”

“Right, well, I’m not exiling you to the couch. Come on.” He walked over to the bed, belatedly realising he was still carrying the extra pillow and blanket. There were already two pillows on his bed, and he and Morpheus shared the blanket last night. But it was better that he brought his own now, right? Christ, he was overthinking this.

They settled into bed, with Morpheus pulling the blanket over both of them just as he had the night before. The extra one that Hob was holding had been put aside by the pillows.

“I thank you for letting me stay in your home,” Morpheus said quietly, facing him. “I am not sure how to begin looking for my own place, but—”

“Hey, none of that.” Hob turned to face him properly as well. “You’re welcome here for as long as you’d like. And if it’s money you’re worried about, I already told you way back in 1789 that I’ve learned how to manage my finances, right? If we continue at this rate, I’ll be able to pay for both our living expenses up until the next century at least.”

“I do not wish to be a burden.” Morpheus said it with the weight of something from his past, like it was something he felt he needed to clarify.

“You never are,” Hob said with all the reassurance he could muster. “If you really want to find your own place and even career, I’d be more than happy to help. But I’m telling you that I’m also happy to have you here. I like your company. In case that hasn’t been clear in the last six centuries.”

Morpheus’ answering smile was so fond that it made something flutter in Hob’s chest. “I enjoy your company as well, Hob. You are a good friend. I shall see you in the morning.”

Hob couldn’t help but smile back at that. “You definitely will. Good night, Morpheus.”

“Good night, Hob.”

Morpheus closed his eyes but didn’t turn away, and Hob found himself staring. He wondered how many people got to see Morpheus this relaxed.

This was the man who had stormed off in the rain when Hob dared to say that they were friends. And now, despite all his new human vulnerabilities, he trusted Hob enough to sleep next to him. It was enough to have Hob sigh in contentment as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

---

<- (Chapter 1)

(Chapter 3) ->

(Masterlist)

[loopyhoopywrites]

Sneezewort & Accidents - a Starlight & Ashes fanfic

Written for @wildswrites for the fic exchange! Thanks for giving me permission to turn your characters into absolute disasters, Fox was so much fun to play around with. (Sorry I took so many liberties with her magic.) Thanks also to @humour-and-hyperfocus for organising this awesome event!

.

Magic, Fox had always been told, was a gift. If that was true, she hoped whoever had sent it had kept the receipt.

Although in fairness, it wasn’t the magic itself that was the Problem. No, the Problem was the generous side helping of memory loss that had accompanied her gift and wiped out the past several years of her life. Oh, and the fact that instead of playing nicely, her magic only reared its head at the worst possible time.

Like when hot girls visited her flower shop.

“Hi!” She said, arranging herself artfully across the counter and quickly slapping away the Lollipop plant that tried to cheekily peer over her shoulder, “How can I help you?”

The potential customer – about Fox’s age, long blonde hair, the kind of don’t-talk-to-me smile that could have been either anger or anxiety and, in case it hadn’t already been mentioned, hot – gave a polite nod.

“Just browsing.”

“You sure?” Fox wasn’t exactly shy when it came to getting to know her customers, and this was one customer she definitely wanted to get to know. “I got some more Baby’s Breath in recently, makes a great garnish for a bouquet if you’re looking for a gift. Or if gardening’s more your thing I can show you the Turkey Corn, if you plant it now you’ll- OUCH.”

Under pretence of an itch, Fox had reached down and tried to bat away the Sneezewort she could feel creeping up her leg. She’d missed. The plant, that was.

Rubbing her leg, Fox attempted a disarming grin. The hot girl gave her a look that, again, could have been either annoyance or awkwardness. It was hard to tell. Fox decided to hope it was the latter. It was far easier to put someone at ease than apologise to them, especially if you didn’t know what you’d done to make them mad in the first place. The Lollipop plant was still getting handsy, so Fox gave it a subtle shove and coughed loudly to cover up the sound of the pot breaking.

“Give me a shout if I can help you with anything?”

Hot Girl nodded, and turned her attention to examining the wall-to-wall shelves Fox had somehow stuffed into the cramped storefront. Fox immediately elbowed the bouquet of roses that had started to creep across the countertop.

“Stop it!” She hissed, “She’s going to see!”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing!” Fox quickly moved in to block the roses from view as Hot Girl poked her head around a Swiss Cheese plant. The roses weren’t having any of it, and shuffled faster. Fox followed suit, hoping she was making it look natural.

(She wasn’t.)

Hot Girl didn’t seem all that convinced by Fox’s attempted nonchalance. In another misguided attempt to ease any suspicions, Fox laughed.

Great, now she looked like even more of a weirdo.

Hot Girl disappeared behind the shelves again, and Fox immediately grabbed the roses and stuck them in the nearest empty vase. Wiggle their little thorns all they liked; they weren’t getting out of that one.

A few whispered warnings and a threatening wave of the pruning shears later, Fox was feeling calmer. Hot Girl was still browsing, picking up a flower or pot every now and again to get a closer look, and as far as Fox could tell they were all behaving themselves.

Determined not to look like a creep who couldn’t stop staring, Fox stopped staring. Instead she busied herself tidying up the countertop; returning the roses to the back room, repotting the Lollipop plant and placing it safely out of sight, and taking great delight in impaling the morning’s receipts on the metal spike that sat next to the till. Hot Girl had made her way to the end of the aisle by the time Fox finished, holding an orchid in each hand and glancing between the two of them with a look of intense concentration. A few moments later she lifted the Showoff orchid to her nose, closed her eyes, inhaled, annndddd Fox was staring again.

She tore her gaze away and dropped down behind the counter, figuring that not only would she be unable to stare at Hot Girl with the desk in the way, but she could clear up that mischievous Sneezewort while she was down there. Only, the Sneezewort was no longer there.

Fox took a deep breath, readied herself, and peeked around the corner of the counter. Sure enough, the Sneezewort had decided to make a run for it, and was slowly yet surely inching its way across the shop floor. Directly towards Hot Girl.

“Here, Sneezewort,” Fox called as loudly as she dared, grabbing one of the sachets of plant food she kept under the counter and wiggling it enticingly, “Come on, come get this tasty little snack, there’s a good Sneezewort.”

Fox would have sworn the Sneezewort looked at her. If it had a tongue to stick out, it probably would have done that too. It didn’t, so it settled for an insolent wiggle before resolutely continuing its slow trek down the aisle. Fox cursed.

Abandoning the plant food, Fox succumbed to plan B and began to follow it. She crawled out from behind the counter as stealthily as she could and slithered her way across the floor, creeping ever closer to the runaway wildflower. Gradually, she closed the distance, until with a hiss of premature triumph she lunged forward, managing to grasp the Sneezewort by the roots…

Just as her head collided with Hot Girl’s leg.

“Are you okay?”

Fox briefly considered remaining on the floor. Maybe if she played dead, Hot Girl would take pity on her. On the other hand, deadness would drastically reduce the chances of her getting Hot Girl’s phone number.

Cons outweighing the pros, Fox scrambled to her feet.

“Fine!” She managed, only slightly manically, “Just dropped this.”

She held the Sneezewort up, realised it was still wriggling in a decisively not-normal manner, and quickly hid it behind her back. Hot Girl looked… amused? Or at least, Fox hoped it was amusement. She hoped…

Oh great. Now she was panicking.

“Letmeknowifyouneedanyhelp!”

Fox quickly waved – why did she wave? – and did her best not to run as she fled the scene of her embarrassment. Managing to resist both the urge to look back and the even stronger urge to rip the tendrils of Sneezewort into tiny, unrevivable pieces, she made it safely to the cupboard that masqueraded as a back room and plonked the unruly plant into the nearest soil-filled container.

Okay, now breathe. The problem with uncontrollable magic was that it made an excellent trigger for Fox’s panic attacks. And given that panicking just made the uncontrollable magic worse, it was best to head it off as early as possible.

In… and out. In… and out. In… and out. In… and-

“Excuse me?”

“Ouch!”

Fox had jumped, and slammed her hand down on a squat cactus that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago. She spun around, the cactus keeping her company by way of its spines embedded in her palm, and immediately tripped over a sprig of Devil’s Ivy that had come to see what all the fuss was about. Fortunately, the vine had the quick thinking to wrap itself around Fox in order to steady her. Unfortunately, it grabbed the wrong leg.

“Oof.”

Fox looked up from her position on the floor to see a face – Hot Girl’s face, to be precise – peering around the “back room” door with concern. Fox tried to smile. From Hot Girl’s expression, it wasn’t all that convincing.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

On the other hand, maybe she’d hit her head harder than she thought.

“Do you need a hand up?”

Hot Girl took a half-step through the doorway, hovering awkwardly as if she wanted to reach out and help Fox to her feet, but had only just realised both her hands were currently busy with an overly large pot of Mother-In-Law’s Tongue. Fox shook her head, which both answered the question and helped shake some of her dizziness.

“I’m good, but thanks.”

To prove it, she reached for a shelf to pull herself to her feet, realised she still had a cactus stuck to her palm, and reached for a shelf on her other side instead.

“Interested in buying that, or just couldn’t make the gym this week?” She asked, nodding to the leafy plant in Hot Girl’s hands as she yanked the cactus from her own. Most of the spines came with it.

“Hmm?” Hot Girl replied, “Oh. Yes. I’d like to buy this, please.”

“Great!” With her non-spiney hand, Fox gestured out the door, “After you.”

In what was nothing short of a miracle, they made it to the counter without any more magical mishaps. Fox briefly considered letting out a sigh of relief, but decided that would just be tempting fate. Hot Girl hefted the heavy plant onto the counter as if it weighted nothing – and if Fox wasn’t convinced of her hotness before that was the final nail in the coffin – and Fox set about ringing her up, jotting a few notes on how to best care for the Mother-In-Law’s Tongue on her cutest gift tag. She was just deciding whether a rainbow-striped ribbon would be too obvious, when Hot Girl spoke.

“Your tattoo is awful.”

Um, what?

“Excuse me?”

“Oh!” Hot Girl’s eyes suddenly widened, as if she hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud, “Oh, no, I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean the design. Sorry. I just meant, the actual tattoo itself. Your lines are wonky, and I can clearly see where the artist has had blowouts. Plus, the colour isn’t saturated properly.”

And Fox thought she had a tendency to ramble. Hot Girl still looked horrified with herself, but Fox wasn’t one to hold a grudge.

“Yeah, it was one of my first,” She shrugged, reaching for the rainbow ribbon, “I’ve got some better ones since then.”

Fox would offer to show her, but dropping her pants at this stage might have been a little too straightforward.

“I could touch it up for you, if you like.” Hot Girl offered. Fox raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a tattoo artist,” Hot Girl quickly explained, “Maverick, I work next door.”

She held out a now-empty hand. Fox shook it.

“I’m Fox,” She said, managing to keep her cool only to immediately ruin it as she added, “I work here.”

By some miracle, Maverick laughed.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She said as she handed over a few crumpled notes and a handful of change, “I mean it though. You should come by the shop sometime. Even if it’s just to check I’m keeping this thing alive.”

Maverick waved at the Mother-In-Law’s Tongue. It waved back.

“Sounds good!” Fox said quickly, desperately hoping Maverick hadn’t seen. Ribbon tied, she gave the plant a stern glare and pushed the pot back across the counter. “Here you go. And remember, Fox’s Flowers, for all your floral needs!”

Maverick laughed again. Fox immediately decided it was the best sound she’d ever heard.

“I will.” Maverick promised. With a final smile, she picked up her purchase, and with a nod of goodbye she was gone.

The moment the door shut behind her, Fox’s head collided with the counter. She hadn’t had a disaster like that in a long time. Groaning, she batted away the Venus Fly Trap that was trying to get her attention, refusing to lift her head. It was a shame really. If she had, she might not have been all that concerned about her unruly magic after all.

Because as Maverick passed the window, the Mother-In-Law’s Tongue in her hands began to glow a bright, vibrant blue.

[candanandphilnot]

Guess what bitches?? I bought a Bluetooth keyboard tonight so I don't have to type on my fucking phone.

[ink-flavored]

ink-flavored writeblr intro!

hello writeblr, my name is Annika (she/her & he/him)! i hail from the southern USA, i‘m in my 20s, and i’ve been reading and writing for most of my life. as you can tell from my subtitle, that includes both original and fanfiction, which is the content you’ll see on my blog! I do writing commissions too! Check out my request sheet.

bonus facts about me: i have a BFA in Creative Writing for Entertainment, i was a dancer for 13 years (and i still dance as a hobby), i bake in my spare time, and i love dragons so much.

what i write

i got my start in high fantasy, and have since expanded to urban fantasy, sci-fi, romance, and poetry. thanks to my BFA, i have working knowledge of film & TV scripts, comic scripts, and video game writing. i don’t often write in script formats for my own amusement, but i do have a series of guides on scriptwriting that i do for follower milestones!

most of the actual content you’ll see me posting is prose - WIPs, short stories, and idea scraps i throw to the wind on occasion - and poetry. they can cover any of the genres i’ve listed above, and i also have a magnetic poetry series going on (see it below!).

you’ll also see posts about my fic updates. in the past, i’ve written for Yu-Gi-Oh!, Critical Role, Overwatch, and countless unposted fics from a dozen other fandoms, but these days i have slowed down my fanfic writing to focus more on my original projects. my ratings are all over the place, so please read the tags!

original WIPs

Pride & Justice

Paranormal romance | a demon and an angel escape as fugitives from Heaven to Earth, and discover a new home in each other 

Tales from Athendrolyn

Urban fantasy | anthology | a collection of tales from one city’s fantastical citizens

Athendrolyn After Dark

Urban fantasy erotica | anthology | a collection of erotic tales from one city’s fantastical citizens

The God-Dragon’s Wife

High fantasy/romance | a queen marries a dragon in exchange for her peoples’ safety.

Unnamed Dream WIP

High fantasy | when dangerous magical artifacts start falling from the sky, a mage must discover the truth with his nation working against him

Henry & Priscilla

Crime Noir | short fiction | a mobster couple, nicknamed Hades and Persephone, fight marriage troubles as well as threats on their lives.

Firesoul

High fantasy | a mage leads a revolution in her war-mongering home country.

Out of the Park

Science fiction | a robot joins a professional baseball team.

fanfiction

Come find me on Ao3 or on my discord server!

Angle of Approach

E | yugioh | puzzleshipping | AU - country club | 27 planned chapters

AU-gust 2022 Series

Ratings Vary | yugioh | puzzleshipping | prompt list | 31 unrelated one-shots

poetry

Magnet Monday

series/collection | a series of magnet poems, voted on by my readers

SIN QUEERLY YOURS

collection | poems about being gay as hell

Fear, Me

collection | poems about my journey with mental health and anxiety

The Theory of Love

collection | poems about romance and finding love in all aspects of life

Life, Death, and Other Mild Topics

collection | poems about my personal observations of the world

outro

thanks for reading this far! if you’re interested in what else i do, i also have a portfolio site and a ko-fi !

i hope you enjoy what i have to offer!

[welcometowriteblr]

WELCOME TO WRITEBLR DELIVERS OUR 19TH EVENT!

In preparation for the holiday season, Welcome to Writeblr will be hosting a Secret Santa gift exchange event! Participants will be randomly assigned a target to create a gift for—creations can be anything, from playlists to graphics to art to fics. The event will run from DECEMBER 1 to JANUARY 1 with the following schedule:

SIGN-UPS: 12/1 - 12/8 

TARGETS ANNOUNCED: 12/9 

PROGRESS CHECK-IN: 12/20

GIFT EXCHANGE: 12/25 - 1/1

Note: the GIFT EXCHANGE period will run in the RECIPIENT’S timezone.

HOW TO PARTICIPATE

be a part of the wtw discord server

fill out the sign up form, which will be linked in the server

wait until you receive your assignment, and begin creating!

send your gift to your target after the exchange period begins

if you choose to post your gift on tumblr, tag your posts as #WTWEVENT and #WTWCOMMUNITY

wait for your post to be added to the queue

You can join the server here!