Marleen

23/student/ Comics/ Manga/ Anime

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go)—part xiv

Summary: You are reminded that love invites vulnerability—for better and for worse.

AN: This is really the chapter and song that started this entire journey. Highly recommend listening to Taylor Acorn’s acoustic cover of Jamie All Over before reading the first half of this chapter. As for the second half—please don’t hate me. 

masterlist

. . . 

“Hey, please don’t tell me that I’m dreamin’,

When all I ever wanted was to dream another sunset with you.”

Jamie All Over (Acoustic), Taylor Acorn

. . . 

Part xiv

‘Love can be scary. But that’s a good thing. Means you’ve got something worth being afraid of losing.’

‘You deserve to be protected.’

‘I remember you.’

When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by a sky  full of stars. High above your head hangs a full moon, pale as a bowl of cream, bathing the beach in soft twilight. The tide is quiet tonight, its whisper no louder than the shuffling of the sand as you rise to your feet. 

Your eyes track the dark path of the Milky Way overhead, a dappled stream of black, purple, and pinprick stars that trickles above you. When you turn around to follow its trail, you find that it arches down to meet a very familiar silhouette standing several paces away. 

A soft huff of amusement escapes you at the sight. Funny how all paths are leading to him as of late.

Fake Dream watches quietly as you approach from where you came to on the beach. The light of the moon turns his skin luminescent, every beloved feature of his face set aglow. His blue eyes reflect the starry sky back at you. Though they lack the dark gravity that you witnessed in his gallery earlier today, something in those eyes still captures your attention, pulling you in. There’s a quality to them that you can’t quite place, an emotion within them that your mind struggles to put into words. A certain measure of tenderness. 

‘Something within you was known to me from the moment we met.’ 

His words echo in your mind as you come to a stop before him. Oh, how that realization had cut you to the bone. A cure and an affliction, all in one. Keeping yourself from him in that moment had been almost impossible. Here  in your unconscious, the compulsion to go to him is even more powerful. The knowledge that this is all an illusion wears on your resolve.

“Did you mean it? When you said that I deserve to be protected?” The question hardly feels real as it slips from your lips, a ghost in the saltwater air.

Fake Dream’s eyes watch you with an  intensity that’s almost palpable. His gaze on you feels physical, a soft touch to your cheek. “Yes,” he breathes into the night air.

The sigh that escapes you is one of relief. “I’ve never had someone to protect me before,” you admit, your voice small and hesitant.

Fake Dream’s throat bobs at your words, a nonverbal response. You take one step closer to him, watch his eyes track your shift in position.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to submit, you think. To give in, just for a little while. To pretend that this was real, to pretend he wasn’t fake. To pretend that this was your Dream.

And if it did hurt…well, the only one you’d have to blame was yourself.

Your hands find his with tentative fingers. His skin is soft as silk as your thumbs trace the lines of his palms. Hands that had created, hands that had destroyed. When it came to you, all they had ever done was support, uplift, cultivate. You loved these hands.

The shift in the air when you touch him is tangible. A crescendo in energy, a symphony building. Coiled like a spring, and yet you know he won’t make the first move. He’ll entrust you with that decision.

“I’m tired of running, Dream,” you say, drawing a step nearer to him. Close enough that you can bring his hands to your chest, that when you raise your head to look at him, your nose nearly brushes his skin.

Dream’s voice is soft, betraying nothing of the pressure building within. “Then don’t.”

For a long moment, you don’t dare move. Not out of fear, but because the simple pleasure of allowing yourself to be this close to him, of allowing your guard to finally fall, is utterly intoxicating. Up close, Dream’s eyes are seas you could drown in. Happily, you might add. The warmth of his skin radiates from him, drawing a flush into your cheeks. His breath dances across your skin, a piece of him that you inhale, exhale. Your heart pounds in your ribcage like a bird’s wings, about to take flight. You wonder if he can hear it, too. 

Breathing his borrowed breath is almost too sacred, too intimate to sustain. He could set your soul aflame at will. He could rip the air straight from your lungs and fill his own. He could crumple your paper heart in the palm of his hand. And yet, the fear of these fates is minuscule compared to your fear of the next moment never happening at all.

You had thought you’d been in love before. That was nothing compared to this. 

When you lean forward, the universe sighs, ‘Yes.’

When you press your lips to his, it feels like, finally.

The two of you release a bated breath through your noses simultaneously, as if with the same pair of lungs. With the exhalation, the world around you stills. A moment frozen in time. Suspended within it, you’re not sure there was ever a world outside of him at all. 

After a long moment, Dream moves. The glide of his lips against your own is soft as cashmere, smooth as silk. The pressure is sure and gentle. His bottom lip is full and round as it slips between yours, just as plush as you’d imagined. With each slow, savoring movement, a fuzzy warmth seeps into your toes, curling up into your stomach, unfurling in your chest. It feels like every attachment you’ve ever fostered–no, better. 

What does it taste like to kiss dreams and stars? It tastes like milk and honey. 

Only when your lungs burn for air do you reluctantly pull away. When your lashes flutter open, heavy with bliss, you find Dream’s eyes brimming with stars. Pouty lips parted and flushed red from your affection, he looks at you like a beautiful dream, a well-crafted nightmare. Like every ounce of gravity in the universe is pulling him toward you—a celestial body entangled in your gravitational pull. 

He looks at you as if he doesn’t fear the inevitable collision. In spite of all that he now knows, he doesn’t look at you as if you’ll break on impact. He looks at you with awe, with reverence. It’s transcending and grounding, all at once. A rush of adrenaline pours through you, frazzling your thoughts, making you giddy. 

When you press your lips to his again, it’s with fervor and a grin. Emboldened, your curious hands slide up his arms, fingers tightening around the sinewy strength beneath his cloak. Dream’s features were often so poised, so perfect, that one might expect him to be cold and stiff, like a statue. But the column of his throat is anything but inanimate as your fingers glide over it, eager and exploratory. His jugular tightens under your touch, his skin warm, his steady heartbeat thrumming into your palm. 

As satisfying as this particular piece of him is, there’s something you’re even more eager to explore. Dream’s hair is lush and thick as your hand cards through it, the strands soft as cornsilk between your fingers. When they curl into the wild tresses at the back of his head, giving a soft pull, a delicious sound pours from Dream’s mouth into yours. You swallow it greedily, your bones turning to jelly. You want to pull that sound from him, again and again. 

Your eagerness sparks a flame in him like steel to flint. In an instant, Dream is all around you—his chest pressed to yours, one hand drawing you into him from the small of your back, the other a cradle for your cheek. 

You aren’t sure what you expected his touch to feel like. Dream was one of the most powerful beings in the universe, after all. Perhaps you expected a dominance in his touch, or a sense of power lurking beneath the surface of his skin. But this is neither. The press of his hand to your back is firm, but not forceful. His palm cups your cheek like a treasure, like a masterpiece. When his hands begin to move, searching, mirroring your own curiosity, every touch feels like worship, every nerve set aflame. 

The press of his lips against yours, gentle and insistent, is everything. What need do you have of oxygen, of food, of water? None. All you require to remain is this. 

“I’ve dreamt of this for so long,” you whisper as your back falls against the sand. Dream’s lithe form hovers over you, all long limbs and draping cloak. Grabbing him by the lapels, you draw him down toward you, unappreciative of the empty space between you. 

Dream’s lips find your ear, a brush that sends a mind-bending shiver down your spine. His disheveled hair sweeps over your face, tickling your nose and cheeks. ‘’Dreamt?’” he echoes, lips upturned against your skin.

Your heart swells three sizes at the amused lilt in his tone. Maker, you didn’t know that love could feel like this. Like fire and ice, like a suckerpunch and the sweetest embrace, like a first and final breath, all at once. Your chest feels too small to hold it, and yet all you crave is more. 

“You know what I mean,” you laugh, tilting your face to steal his lips again. 

Time slips from your grasp as you lose yourself in each other. You had always known Dream to be attentive, a perfectionist, meticulous to a fault. You had spent countless days watching him observe dreams and nightmares in silence, making miniscule adjustments until each was just as he pleased. He shows the same attention to detail here–no curiosity left unsatisfied, no quiet gasp of yours left without follow-through. To be the sole focus of his attention is intoxicating, almost maddening. 

You have spent your entire existence pouring love into others. For the first time, you understand how it feels to open your soul to another, to have them open their own in return. To see into the core of another and to be seen. To be thoroughly treasured, entirely engulfed, utterly loved. 

You never want it to stop. 

As Dream’s fingers drift over your skin, leaving fire in their wake, the rational part of you, the part you’ve been trying desperately to silence, reminds you that this is only a fantasy. You don’t know if the real Dream’s fingers would linger along the dip of your hips and the curve of your spine. Would the tip of his nose fit perfectly into the hollow under your ear, just as it did here? Would his lips quirk upwards each time his affections coaxed a soft hum from your throat, a smile you could feel, but could not see?

“I wish this was real,” you breathe when your lips part for air, leaning your cheek into the palm of his hand. Your fingers trail through the feather-soft hair at the back of his head, already eager to pull him back toward you. 

Dream stills slowly above you. When he draws back, ever so slightly, his eyes are so clear you can almost see your reflection in them. 

A confession shines in those blue irises, bright and earnest. Of what, you don’t know. 

For several moments, all is still save for the rise and fall of your chests as you regain your breath. Then, slowly, Dream weaves his fingers through your hair, drawing your face into the crook of his neck. You press yourself deeper into his lean, slender form, burrowing closer, searching for more places to touch, more places to connect. Yearning to melt together until you can’t be distinguished apart. Until there is no place where he ends and you begin. Nothing less will do. 

You remain that way for a long time. 

Finally, Dream draws his lips to your ear. “May I?” he asks, barely more than a whisper. 

You turn your face to his, nestling your nose into his unruly mop of hair, placing a tender kiss into the hollow under his ear. “Please.” 

. . . 

“Do we have to leave?” 

There is a shift at the back of your head as Dream’s lips quirk against your hair. Damn that smile, elusive as ever. “I’m afraid so,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your scalp. 

You heave a soft sigh, pressing closer to him. Dream’s chest is warm and solid against your back, his arms and legs encircling you as you sit together on the beach, watching the moon coax in the tide. Dream’s cloak is draped over you, shielding you from the seabreeze that skims off the waves. You draw it tighter around your neck as a new breath of wind tickles your cheeks. 

“What if I just stay forever?” you ask, only half-joking. 

Dream’s thumbs stroke your knuckles, his touch slow, thoughtful. “I suspect the world would become a very dismal, lonely place.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest, turning you soft and sentimental. You lean your head back against his shoulder, peering up at his face. Mortal and divine vocabulary alike fail to describe the way he looks at you, to capture the feeling his gaze places in your chest. Like having your heart torn apart and sewn together over and over again. It’s a sweet kind of pain, an agony you know you’re blessed to carry. 

“What I’d give to see the real you look at me this way,” you say quietly. “I don’t want to leave you.” 

Dream watches you in silence for several moments. Finally, he draws one hand out of his cloak, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the wrinkle in your brow. Any sense of sorrow and bittersweetness fades at his touch, replaced by warm contentment. 

“Do not urge me to leave you, or to turn back from you.” The words slip from his lips like a prayer, as familiar to you as the blue of his eyes. Instantly, they transport you back in time–back to Cathedral Grove, to the wedding you attended under the green and gold leaves, to the vows that were exchanged there. 

That was months ago. Though you’ve heard these words countless times, even recited them to yourself, hearing them in his voice takes your breath away. “Where you go, I will go,” he continues, his voice soft.

The lump in your throat feels insurmountable. When you find your voice, it’s scarcely more than a whisper. “And where you stay, I will stay.” 

Dream’s thumb trails down your cheek, favoring the curve of your jaw. “Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried,” he murmurs, eyes bright with stars.

You can still remember the moment you looked up from the young couple’s glowing attachments, still remember the way he looked at you across that clearing. Was that the moment you’d started to love him? Or had it come sooner, later? 

You honestly weren’t sure. It felt as if he’d always been yours. Life before him seemed like a strange and distant memory now. You didn’t even want to think of it. 

“May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me,” you finish quietly, eyes fluttering shut. 

As you lean into him, savoring this moment, this togetherness, for as long as you can, you feel his warm breath over your skin. “What more could one want than to not go through this life alone?” 

. . . 

As you make your way toward Cliff’s coffee shop, you’re convinced that you’ve never seen so many mortals smiling on a Monday morning in the dead of winter. 

Normally, Monday morning coffee runs are filled with tired eyes, whispers of plans for the Friday ahead, and faces glued to phones as everyone scrambles to organize their lives for the week. But today’s walk is filled with bright eyes, refreshed faces, and contented smiles. For once, everyone’s faces are turned up to the sky, or steeped in conversation with a friend. You barely see a phone in sight. 

Must be something in the water, you muse with a grin of your own as you step into Cliff’s coffee shop. When the white-haired man affixes you with a toothy smile from behind the counter, you grin even wider. 

“‘Morning, Cliff. The usual, please,” you say as you fish the cash out of your pocket, placing it into his waiting hand. “And add an earl grey to go, please.” 

“Of course, miss.” Cliff is already pulling the container of milk from the fridge below the counter as he deposits the money into the cash register. 

You can’t help the lopsided grin that warms your face as you watch Cliff set to work tamping the grounds, foaming the milk, brewing the tea. He’s always seemed agile for his years, but the way he moves this morning looks downright youthful. 

When he twirls the long-handled spoon between his fingers before stirring the earl grey, you can’t help but laugh. “You’re in a good mood this morning.” 

Cliff’s white beard frames his smile perfectly as he places the to-go cups before you, slipping lids onto them with nimble fingers. “Indeed, miss. ‘Suppose I got an extra good night of sleep,” he says. 

Heat creeps up your neck as your own activities from last night come to mind. You hide a cheeky grin behind the rim of your coffee cup. “Glad to hear it.” 

A mixture of excitement and nerves makes you impervious to the cold as you walk back to your townhome. Mind racing, you mull over possible phrases for the thousandth time since you awoke.

Hey, Dream. Do you mind if we talk in private for a moment?

That was as good a place to start as any. But what next? 

Dream, what I’m about to say sounds crazy—

My unconscious mind is so enamored with you that it’s created a fake you that I’ve been hanging out with every night—

And we’re actually soulmates. Like, romantic soulmates—

You huff with dissatisfaction, taking a long drink of your coffee. That wouldn’t do. He’d think Matthew had fried your brain with a bad joke or something. 

Dream, there’s something I need to tell you. 

Balancing one to-go cup precariously atop the other, you dig through your pocket for the keys to your front door. Perhaps you could just wing it from there. Or perhaps you’d totally lose your nerve once you saw him in person. Right now, you were riding the high of your time with Fake Dream, drunk off the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his skin. Would you be able to speak the truth when everything was real, when you were face-to-face? You weren’t really sure. After last night, all you knew was that you were tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of not letting him know how you felt. 

You were ready to make the leap. You could only hope and pray that you’d make it to the other side. 

Your key slips into the lock with a resolute click. Warmth creeps into your cheeks as you step inside, locking the door behind you. When you turn to take your cups to the kitchen, the sight of someone sitting on the counter nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

“Maker, what is wrong with you Endless? Are you completely incapable of making a normal entrance? Is knocking a foreign concept to you?” 

Desire of the Endless grins at you from their place on the kitchen counter, legs crossed, eyes flashing. “You sure know how to make a guest feel welcome, don’t you, darling?” they coo, all blood-red lips and bone-white teeth. 

You shoot Desire a pointed glare, placing your to-go cups on the end of the counter furthest from them. “The term guest implies that someone is welcome, which you are most definitely not.”

Desire’s eyebrows perk up, making their golden eyes even wider. “So touchy these days. You used to cower in my presence. I must say, this is much more entertaining.” 

Your jaw sets tightly as you drape your coat over a dining table chair. As much as it pains you to admit it, Desire was right. The helplessness you had felt in their presence had seemed inescapable once. The shift from fear to annoyance had been subtle. Looking back, you suppose that as your power had grown over the past few months, so too had your confidence, your willingness to stand up for yourself. In the past, your fear had stemmed from a lack of control over your circumstances. Now, you felt like you had a say in your future, a way to combat Desire’s interferences. Another blessing of Dream entering your life.

Desire’s gaze darts to the second to-go cup resting on the counter. ‘Earl grey’ is scrawled across the side in Cliff’s cursive handwriting.’ “Who might that be for?” they ask, voice sickeningly sweet. 

Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to snatch the cup from their sight. You settle for crossing your arms, instead. “That’s none of your business. Did you just come here to make idle chit-chat? If so, I really have better things to do.”

“Like what? Get back to your darling Dream?”

Something about the sense of knowing in Desire’s voice chills the blood in your veins.

Desire grins widely, leaning forward. “How was your night? Very eventful, I presume.”

Dread trickles down your spine, numbness creeping forth from the cracks it sews. You try your best to keep your expression neutral.  When Desire licks their lips like a predator eager to feast, you suspect you’re failing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through clenched teeth. 

Desire rolls their eyes, irritation pinching their feline features. “Come now, little goddess. You’re a terrible liar. Did you forget that all beings fall under my domain of desire? When I sensed your connection to the Threshold last night, I could hardly believe it. I thought, ‘Could she really be such a fool to place herself within my grasp again? Surely not.’”

The walls of your townhome pull away as darkness encroaches on your vision. One hand steadies yourself against the counter as numbness grips your knees. 

The soft purr of Desire’s laughter meets your ears, followed by the sound of two feet hitting the floor. “That’s when I went to your quaint little realm to investigate. Imagine my surprise when I found that you and my darling brother share a soulmate attachment. And not only that, but eros, erotoropia, and pragma, as well. I swear upon my eldest sibling, you truly are a fool.”

Eros, erotoropia, and pragma? You hadn’t even known about those. The last time you’d been to the Realm of Attachment, only the philia had been present. Had the others formed last night? you wonder, mind racing.

“I must say, you did an admirable job of keeping it from me at first. A ‘B’ for effort if I ever saw one. But nothing could conceal what I felt last night.”

The feeling of hot breath on your face jerks you back to your senses. With a shake of your head, the darkness clears from your vision, revealing Desire’s grinning face mere inches from yours. “When I killed you all those years ago, I couldn’t have dreamt of the ramifications I’d see today. That toying with a mortal would lead to my brother’s undoing. I must say, you’ve surprised me, Love. And for that, I am quite pleased.”

Your fingernails grind against the countertop as you brace yourself against it. You fight the urge to run, force yourself to stand your ground. “What do you mean, ‘undoing?’” you ask coldly, trying to sound more assertive than you feel. 

Desire takes a step closer, pressing in on you. Their close proximity, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the dread weighing down your bones–it’s all too much. When Desire’s fingers cup your chin, you want to crawl out of your skin. You fight the urge to push them away, unsure of what they’d do if you did. 

“Though it might be hard to believe, my brother Dream is quite the romantic. That lonely heart of his has gotten him into all sorts of trouble, caused him all sorts of pain. Some of it my doing, some of it not.” Desire flashes you a cheek-splitting grin. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, darling. Nor was my somber, solitary sibling. ” 

You clench your eyes closed, repulsed by the sweet malice in Desire’s expression. Killala. Nada. Calliope. You can still remember the sight of their names in Dream’s book in your library. You can still picture how he’d looked at you when you’d asked what happened with them that night on the dock. ‘I am not entirely sure. Perhaps that is why the process continues to repeat itself,’ he’d said, his voice soft and sad. 

Now, the truth dawns on you. The realization that, while he wasn’t entirely excused of blame for the outcome of his past relationships, their demise hadn’t entirely been his fault, either. How many times had Desire interfered with Dream’s relationships, and in what ways? How many times had they been responsible for Dream’s sadness, his loneliness, his broken, distrustful heart? 

The thought makes you want to run to Dream, to throw your arms around him. It makes you want to tell him everything. 

Your feet move beneath you as you resolve to follow through. However, just as you start to pull away, Desire’s voice makes you halt. “Dream’s falling out with Calliope left a nasty scar. Made him impassioned, turned him into a recluse. He’s walled himself off for a long, long time. But with you here, I finally have a way in.”

The world around you goes very, very still. 

“My brother’s heart has always been his greatest weakness.” The feeling of fingernails pressing into your skin spurs your eyes open. Desire tilts your chin to meet their gaze with an agonizing slowness. When you lock eyes, you’re met not with malice, or anger, or annoyance. Only cold, hollow contempt. 

The next words they say will haunt you forever. “Perhaps you really were made for each other.”

For a long moment, there is nothing. And then, like a loose thread, the world you know begins to unravel. 

It’s a strange feeling, having the foundation of your life crumble beneath you. A war between emptiness and overstimulation, between immobility and urgency, between desperation and surrender. Sense of control slips through your fingers like tears. Surety flees with it, like a rug ripped out from beneath your feet. Your stomach bottoms out as you freefall, down, down, down, with no end in sight. 

When would you hit the bottom? Was there a bottom to hit? 

You had thought you held your life in your own hands. You had thought that the future was yours to create. You had thought you’d known what that future might hold.  

You were wrong.

Your palms hit the trash can by the fridge with enough force to bruise. The acidic burn of bile and coffee floods your mouth as the sad truth crashes through you, again and again. As you realize what your future now holds. 

Your gaze, hot and blurry with tears, rises to the cup of earl grey sitting on the counter just a few feet away. The one you’d bought for him. The one you wouldn’t be able to give him, now that your sorry heart had ruined everything.

The salt of your tears reminds you of the Dreaming’s sea. You heave into the trash can again. 

Desire’s fingers rest on your shoulder in mock sympathy. You can’t bring yourself to pull away. “I told you I’d find what you loved and squeeze, darling. You should have listened.”

The trash can’s steel lid is cool and smooth against your cheek. You blink past the tears in your eyes, watching as Desire saunters toward the door. “You’ll regret this,” you choke past the vice that grips your throat. 

Desire unlocks the door, then pauses. Slowly, they turn to look at you over their shoulder. For once, their lips are not pulled into a devilish grin. Their expression is devoid of emotion, their gold eyes hard with disdain. “Funny, the only one who looks like they have any regrets here is you.” 

And without another word, they slip out the door. 

. . . 

You don’t go to the Dreaming that day, or the next day, or the next.

. . . 

Once, spending your days alone had come easily to you. Though lonely, it had been preferable, really, to the painful possibility of having your trust betrayed. The painful possibility of losing something–or someone–you cared about.

Oh, what you’d give to return to those days now. 

The Realm of Attachment starts to lose its beauty after so many days spent there without reprieve. The rainbow tapestry of the sky seems duller in color, the attachments between mortals glowing with less fervor than they used to. You’re not sure if it’s simply your imagination, or if your Realm is siphoning off the negative energy of its creator. You’re not sure you have the strength to care. 

In spite of your homesickness for the mortal world, you spend as much time in your Realm as possible. You know the Dream Lord can’t reach you there. Only yourself and Desire are capable of traversing the realm freely. 

Out of an abundance of caution, you don’t allow yourself to rest, either. Not out of fear of Dream finding you. You’re well aware that you can’t dream, that him contacting you in such a way is impossible. Rather, you don’t trust your unconscious to resist conjuring Fake Dream if you were to give in. You’re not sure what you would do if you saw him there. Fear that it would crumble your resolve keeps you alert at all hours, in spite of your mind’s pleas for rest. 

It’s only when you need to grab your list of daily assignments from the Fates that you depart your Realm for the mortal world. Just enough time to grab your list, and nothing more. 

It’s on one of these brief outings that he finally finds you. 

When you walk through the front door of your townhome, you’re intent on grabbing your assignments from the kitchen and finding the nearest mortal to pass through without delay. At the sight of Dream standing in the center of your living room, however, all plans and intentions are thrown out the door.

Nothing could have prepared you for seeing him again. After so many days parted from him, it feels like it’s for the first time. The force of his presence, of how much you’ve missed him, of how badly you want to run to him, hits you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. 

The realization that he must have been waiting for you here comes after. 

Your mouth hangs agape, any semblance of coherent thought far from your reach. In spite of your mind’s protests, your body carries you forward, through the doorway. The front door closes behind you with a resolute click.

Silence. 

“You have been avoiding me,” Dream finally says, his voice matter-of-fact, measured.

You draw in a breath to speak, only to come up at a loss. What is there to say? Any possible response feels like both too much and too little. You settle for closing your mouth, hands fisting anxiously at your sides. 

Your silence is answer enough for him. “Why?” Dream asks, his dark brows furrowing.

Again, words seem to fail you. Your eyes slowly drift to the to-go cup sitting on your kitchen counter, still filled with earl grey tea. You haven’t touched it since that day, haven’t garnered the willpower to throw it away. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally croak, barely more than a whisper. 

Something in Dream’s expression shifts at the sound of your voice. He takes a step toward you, his long cloak sweeping the floor. However, when you step in the opposite direction, maintaining the distance between you, he stops. Confusion pinches his handsome features, darkening his eyes, forming new wrinkles in his brow. Knowing that you placed them there makes you want to tear your heart out and stomp on it. 

“What is going on, Love?” he asks quietly, his voice softening around your name. 

This is it. The moment you’ve been dreading. The moment you’ve been desperately trying to avoid. 

You swallow thickly, steeling yourself for what’s to come. “I can’t see you anymore, Dream.” 

Your words hang in the air, suspended in time. Perhaps they’ll never leave. Perhaps they’ll remain here even after you're gone, a permanent blemish upon this place you call home, like a scuffed wall, or faulty wiring. 

When the weight of the silence becomes too great, you add a strained, “I’m sorry.” 

Dream studies your face for a long time, his troubled gaze lingering on the furrow in your brow, the reluctance in your eyes. Finally, he shakes his head, just once. “What is the reason for this?” 

A shaky breath slips from you. You’ve planned for this conversation for days, rehearsed it in your head over and over. Even still, you can’t conceal the hesitation in your tone as you answer, “I can’t tell you.” 

Dream’s lips tighten in displeasure. Maker, how you’ve missed those lips. “You must.” 

“I can’t.” 

Dream’s mouth opens, then closes, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. 

You draw in another inhale, release another breath. Though it goes against every fiber of your being, against everything you want, you have to stick to your decision. That day in the gallery, you had told Dream that the war between you and Desire was yours to wage. In your heart, the sentiment still rings true. A battle between two Endless was sure to be catastrophic in ways you couldn’t even fathom. It would certainly rock the foundation of mortals’ lives as they knew it. Who knew how it would impact the universe at large. The only way to protect them was to wage it alone. 

And then there was Dream. As long as you were with him, as long as the soul tie between you had the chance to fulfill itself, Desire would have a way into Dream’s heart. Dream would be vulnerable. 

The only way to protect him was to keep him from you. You had accepted that now. Making yourself his villain was the price you’d have to pay. 

Dream shakes his head again, a flicker of resolve flashing in his eyes. He begins to approach you again, each step swift, purposeful. When you begin to step backward, he opens his mouth to protest. Just as he does, your back collides with the wall, stopping you in your tracks. Though only a few feet stand between you, it feels like miles. 

“I don’t understand,” he says again, his voice tight with an emotion you can’t quite place. “You told me that you were tired of running.You told me that you wished it was real.” He pauses, a thick swallow working down the column of his throat. “You told me that you wanted to stay.” 

For a moment, there is nothing but the shallow hush of his breathing, a soft rush of air as the breath is pulled from your lungs. 

And then, it all clicks. 

‘I wish this was real,’ you’d breathed into Fake Dream’s skin beneath the star-lit sky on that honey-gold beach. 

 And he’d paused. 

“Dream.” 

At the sound of his name on your lips, Dream surges forward, closing the distance between you. He stops shy of touching you, instead clenching his hands at his sides. You wonder if he suspects that you’d run if he did. If only you could tell him just how desperately you wanted to do the opposite. 

You shake your head, searching his eyes for answers. “How?” you ask, brow furrowed in confusion. “You said it yourself. Gods and goddesses don’t dream.”

“You are right,” he says, his voice gentle. “The divine do not dream. But you do possess an unconscious.” He pauses, considering his words, then dips his chin toward you. “I once told you that I contain the entire collective unconscious of the universe. Though I had never traversed the plane of a deity’s, I suspected that I could. I only needed a way to get there.”

Your hand slips into the pocket of your coat with a mind of its own. The cloth of Dream’s pouch of sand is soft and familiar against your palm. You’d carried it with you each day since he’d given it to you. Even now, when you’d been avoiding him, you couldn’t bear to part with it. It was a piece of him you carried everywhere you went. 

It all made sense now.

As you hold Dream’s pale blue gaze, liquid warmth bubbles up in your chest. Slowly at first, and then spilling forth, overflowing, flooding everything. 

It had been your Dream, all along. It was his fingers that had caressed the dip of your hips and the curve of your spine. It was his nose that had fit so perfectly into the hollow under your ear. It was his lips that had upturned into your kiss. 

He had vowed to go where you went, to stay where you stayed. He felt the same. 

He feels the same. 

You almost wish you didn’t know. It makes what has to come so much harder. 

With a shuddering breath, you steal your nerves, gathering courage. You close your eyes, unsure if you can find the strength to press on if you look at him. “Dream, you have to listen to me. You have to let me go. Please.”

“No.” His voice is firm, absolute. 

You swallow, hard. “Then I’ll have to go,” you say, moving to step around him. 

The touch on your elbow is immediate. “Wait,” he insists, stepping with you. In spite of the urgency in his tone, his touch is gentle, entreating. It makes you want to cry. 

“Is that truly what you want?” he asks, his voice imploring. Asking you to open your eyes, asking you to look at him. 

With reluctance, you do. Dream’s ocean eyes–always full of stars, full of thoughtfulness, full of intrigue–are soft, their edges red, their surface wet. They cut straight through to your soul as he holds your gaze, waiting for your answer. 

It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him, this moment when you’re breaking his heart. The realization that you’ve brought him to tears before you’ve ever brought him to laughter hits you like a ton of bricks. The thought of it is suffocating. 

In this moment, you hate yourself more than anything on this earth, or any realm beyond. Breaking his heart is the worst thing you’ve ever done. The worst thing you’ll ever do.  

You ache to take him in your arms, to card your fingers through that wild hair, to cradle his face in the crook of your neck. One day, I hope I can explain everything, you long to say. 

The bitter taste of copper fills your mouth as you bite your tongue. You don’t trust yourself to speak, or even breathe. Though you have a plan for what’s next, you’re unsure if you have any chance at succeeding. It’s entirely possible that you and Desire are doomed to maintain this cruel dance between you for the remainder of time. If that’s the case, you can’t bear to give Dream false hope. 

Still, you can’t help but picture the bond between you, imagine it glowing white, vigorous, and radiant. You hope beyond all hope that he can feel it too, that he can hear the whisper of your heart against his, that he can sense your intentions. 

Let me fix this, you think, holding his gaze as tears sting in your own. You drink in each thread of blue, each dark lash that frames those eyes you love, committing each detail to memory. Wondering if it’s for the last time. Let me protect you. 

Dream takes your hands in his ever so gently. His thumbs skim across your knuckles, just  as they had days ago on the beach. You can feel the request behind them, one last attempt to convince you. Please, they seem to say with each stroke. 

You close your eyes as your heart cracks in two. 

“As you wish,” he concedes quietly. 

And in a breath, his touch is gone. 

When you open your eyes, you’re alone. Your hands are outstretched in front of you, fingers still curled from where he’d held them. You can still feel the ghost of his touch against your skin. 

Completely, utterly alone. 

The first scream is torn from somewhere deep within you, a black, cavernous space you didn’t even know you held. Adrenaline rips through you, bright and painful, as you storm into the kitchen, throwing your arm at the pile of assignments sitting on the kitchen counter. The papers scatter in a flurry of white, flying across the floor, twirling in the air like snow. 

The second shout is guttural, more animal than human. A howl of pain, a howl of longing. Your coat is ripped from your shoulders in rage and flung across the room. Other items follow–throw pillows, blankets, shoes, novels. Whatever is in sight. 

It’s only when the cup of earl grey tea enters your vision that you finally stop. Chest heaving, skin slick with sweat, muscles caught between exhaustion and exhilaration. When your eyes settle on the cup, everything else fades away. 

It’s only then that the tears finally fall. 

As the sound of wet, choked sobs echoes through the room, you look at the wreckage around you. All of it mirrors the destruction you feel within–the pain, the chaos. None of it fills the gaping void that his departure leaves in your soul. 

As the last vestige of your adrenaline slips away, you crumple to the floor, knowing that you, too, belong to the ruin.

[roguelov]

Lean on Me

Summary: Being an immortal, you have lived countless lives and soon fell in love with Dream of the Endless. But, after a trip to the Waking, Dream went missing. You eventually ventured out in search of him, but you underestimated your abilities. You unfortunately become trapped along with him, trapped and tortured - will you ever be whole again after this?

Word Count: ~ 7.4k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, torture (tw blood, but nothing truly specific), imprisonment, fluff sprinkled throughout

Requested by a wonderful anon

The mansion - a regal upstate mansion, which held parties nearly every night, which had multiple staffs both inside and out on the premises at this moment - was eerily quiet. A hairpin could drop, shattering the well kept peace. However, you would not even hear it over your erratic heartbeat in your ears.

But, despite the warning signs, you pushed on.

You had to.

This.

This silly rumor was the only lead of hopefully finding Morpheus - this lead in this extravagant mansion belonging to a man named Roderick Burgess, or also known as the Magus, a supposed amateur of magic.

It had been years since you last saw Morpheus. He had taken a trip to the Waking in search of the Corinthian, however, he never returned. You kept telling yourself it was okay, that maybe the Corinthian had slipped by and Morpheus was still chasing after him.

But, it was all excuses.

Poor excuses.

Now, after delaying for too long, you left the Dreaming, leaving it in Lucienne’s more than capable hands in search of your love. Which oddly led you here, sneaking into a basement behind a lockable door.

So, you hoped. Hoped you will find him.

“The Dreaming is now your home.”

You stepped into a bedroom - a massive suit crafted for a king. The high vaulted stone ceilings revealed an ethereal galaxy floating at the top, shifting and casting an array of colors over the room. A fireplace, its mouth nearly tall and wide as the wall, roared with an eternal fire, warming the entire space. Two chairs and couch, crafted out of a rich dark red oak and an upholstery plucked from the clouds, snuggled closely to the fire to enjoy. Peering into a cracked door off to the side, it was a grand bathroom: a tub the size of a small pool affitted with waterfall, sinks chiseled out of an onyx marble, and a collection of aromas from various perfumes and soaps.

You slowly, almost hesitantly, walked towards the bed. The bed was enormous, enough for a handful of people. It was draped in sheer black found only in the dark corners of space, and the color only worn by your love. You ran your hands over the fine silk sheets. So smooth, so soft, and dare you say, similar to his hair.

You immediately turned, flopping back onto the bed. And it happily welcomed you.

“Does it suit your needs?“

Your eyes flickered up. Morpheus, your love for more than decades, stood by in front of you. His face was reserved, withholding any tells of how or what he was feeling.

Or so he thought, but you knew him.

Sitting up, you grabbed his hands, and tugged him down. A smile, so small, almost unnoticeable, twitched on the corner of his lips. He bent down, placing a loving kiss on your waiting lips.

You pulled away, and brushed his hair out of his face. “As long as you are here and by my side, it is perfect. We could be sleeping on rags in a snowstorm and with your warmth alone it would be heavenly.”

However, with each step down the basement steps, a few problems arose. You didn’t know what you would do if he truly was here. Is he weak? Surely, he must be if he has been gone for so long. Which meant, could you successfully sneak him out?

Worries and questions only spiraled more and more out of control.

On the other hand, what will you do if he isn’t here? What other leads do you have? Who can you turn to? His siblings? You trusted Death, but you also knew your love: his stubbornness and pride knows no bounds. Would he accept help from them?

At the bottom, through a gate, you scanned the room - or dungeon, you would say - to find a desk tucked in the corner near you, but vacant. Strangely, no guards. But, your eyes were then drawn to the glass container suspended in the middle of the basement with a man sitting with his head bowed inside - stark naked and vulnerable.

Your breath hitched, and you covered your mouth.

Slowly, the man lifted his head. His eyes locked with yours. Instant recognition, overflowing adoration, icy fear, then a boiling of anger all flashed behind his beautiful endless blue eyes.

One step.

Another.

Two more.

You sprinted to Dream, to your love, trapped in the glass. Your hands slammed on the glass as your momentum was forced to a screeching halt.

He didn’t flinch,

“Oh my god,” you shakily whispered. “Morpheus, I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

He stared up at you, more and more emotions clashed behind his usual stoic face.

Run. He wanted to scream.

Forget me. He wanted to say.

Save me. He wanted to beg.

He reached out, pressing his hands up on the glass over your own. Teary eyed, you nodded then began circling around the glass. Your fingers tried to find a crack, or a seam, to expose.

“Come on, come on.” You pleaded.

Your thoughts wandered to the empty guard station, to Roderick Burgess. You may have snuck in, but when will all your hard work crumble? At any moment, they could return. Your hands began to shake. Nervous and frustrated, you banged on the glass.

“Fuck,” you hissed.

You stumbled back. Perspective, you needed perspective - a new angle. Your eyes darted around.

Sturdy chains, pristine metal work, thick glass, yellow chalk symbols -

Your eyebrows knitted together.

Stepping back further, you saw the entire array of complex symbols and intricate shapes surrounding the glass sphere. It was magic, or some form of it. You peered up. Morpheus stared down at the symbols, then his eyes trailed up. He nodded.

The only confirmation you needed.

You leapt to kick, or just smudge, the marks.

But, you moved too late.

Hands wrapped around your forearms. They forcibly yanked you back. Off balance, you landed onto your back, knocking all the air out of you. The owner of the esteemed home, Roderick Burgess, loomed over you with a fire in his eyes. The guards, who left their post, were now at his side viciously glaring down at you.

“Who are you? What do you think you are doing?” Roderick hissed.

“I -“

Pain shot across your face.

Instinctively, you curled into a ball, clutching your face. Sharp white hot pain bloomed over every inch of your curled body. Blood trickled out of your nose. Welts rose. Bruises would later form. Your mind retreated away, trying to find comfort elsewhere.

“Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I do not know what goes on in my own home?” Roderick shouted. “Do you not understand what you could have done? The horrors you could have unleashed!”

His cane cracked against your skin one last time.

You couldn’t breathe. A high pitched ringing hummed in your ears. Your body throbbed, ached. You didn’t want to move, just breathing brought enough pain.

“Grab her.” Rough hands hoisted you up. You bit your tongue suppressing a groan. “Take her to the cellar.”

The two guards dragged you off. You lifted your head, staring at Morpheus still trapped in the glass. His frown was more prominent. Yet, his eyes - glossy and red - burned with a rage so ancient, and so catastrophic.

You mouthed. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked as consciousness slipped.

Weightlessness quickly followed by an abrupt, and painful, crash.

You jerked away, slumped against a wall.

Hands tugged on your hands upwards. Cold metal shackles clamped around your wrists. Someone tipped your head back. Your eyes slid up. Firstly, you took in the surroundings: a tiny concrete room, a cell, with one door, no windows, and a single bucket in the far corner. Your eyes looked to the guard who held your head back, then to Roderick who stood in the middle of the room, acting as commander and king.

The guard gave you a violent jostle. “Now, listen up.”

Roderick crouched down in front of you. “Now, my dear, you are going to tell me everything you know, okay? Starting with who you are? And how did you get in here?”

You blinked, unfazed.

The guard slammed your head against the wall. “Answer him,” he growled.

“Go … fuck … yourself.” You muttered.

Roderick scoffed. “How eloquent.”

You couldn’t respond, no witty quip. Words slipped away from you.

“Okay then, let’s start simple: who are you?”

You licked your lips, tasting the blood from your nose, the odd metallic tinge. And continued to stay silent.

Roderick gritted his teeth. “I ask who you are! Are you one of that thing's siblings? An Endless? Or maybe just an accomplice of his? A devoted follower?”

You spat in his face. “I told you … go fuck yourself.”

Roderick was silent for a moment. He calmly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away the bloody spit. Standing back up, he tossed the handkerchief in your direction. “Thomas, do as you wish. Maybe after a night in here she will be more cooperative.”

The guard, Thomas, smiled wickedly - with far too many teeth - down at you. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

You don’t remember when it happened, but you eventually, and thankfully, passed out. The torment was, to put it plainly, too much. So, you happily sunk into darkness, sunk into a dreamless sleep.

All the while, Morpheus sat awake, glaring at his reflection. His nails cut into his palms as a new tension set in his jaw.

Why? Why did you come for him?

“You are doing it again.”

Morpheus’s eyes flickered up to you. You stood in front of him, arms behind your back, while he sat on the bottom of the grandiose stairs of his throne.

“And what am I doing?” He asked.

“Glaring at nothing.” You stepped closer, touching the spot between his brows and smoothing out the crease. “Putting too much pressure on yourself.” Your hands moved down to his shoulders giving them a light squeeze to ease out any tension. “Hiding from me.” You plopped down beside him, and took his hand in yours.

He frowned slightly. “I am not hiding from you.”

“Maybe not,” you hummed. “But, you did promise to meet me in Fiddler’s Green a few hours ago.”

Morpheus winced. “I am so sorry, my love, time has gotten away from me.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He nodded, his gaze dropped to your hand intertwined with his.

“You know you don’t have to do this alone.”

His eyes jumped up to yours.

You smiled, lovingly. “You do so much already, do not be afraid to lean on me. I am your partner, through thick and thin, am I not?”

You came because it was in your nature. It was your nature to help, to seek him out. Centuries spent together and he still had trouble comprehending that someone will always look out for him.

He sighed, closing his tears as those bitter tears began to well up.

I hope I can free us both. I do not want to damn you with me, he thought solemnly.

You awoke the next morning to icy water dowsed over your skin. You gasped, and scrambled away only to slam into the concrete wall. Breathing heavily, you wildly looked around. Last night events slowly crept back. All your aches were phantom pains - a terrible memory.

“How wonderful, you’re awake.”

Your eyes locked onto the source of said grating voice. Roderick stood a few feet away with his hands behind his back, while a stooge of his held an empty bucket.

You glared.

“Now, I know we were both not as cordial as one should be when introducing ourselves so allow me to take the first step to a better relationship. I’m Roderick Burgess, but I suspect you already knew this.”

You kept quiet.

He sighed, disappointed. “I do not wish for us to continue on this trajectory. If you help me, then I can most certainly help you - say let you go.”

“Let Morpheus go,” you hissed.

“Ah, so you do know of our little friend.” He stepped forward. “And this is where I am confused, how do you know the beast?”

You clenched your jaw.

“Oh, come now, must we revert back to the silent treatment. We were having a conversation, we were being civil.”

“Civil?” You spat as your anger rose. “Are you insane? How could we ever be civil when you have me chained to a wall? And have Morpheus trapped in that glass sphere like - like on some odd display?”

“I trapped him with the laws of magic,” he shot back. “I did what I must in order to get what I so desire - to have my son back. And Dream - or Morpheus as you so call him - has continuously denied me. He chooses to rot in there when the solution is fairly simple.”

“Simple?” You scoffed. You awkwardly rose to your feet and walked to the end of your chain, getting as close as you could without ripping your arms out of your sockets. “That is not simple. That is asking for the impossible. Once someone has passed to the other side it is impossible to return, and frankly rude, and selfish, to rip them from their eternal peace.”

Roderick sneered. “I did not ask for your opinion. And there are other things he can grant me. His items have already brought prosperity, so is it so far-fetched that he may heed my demands? If he cannot give me my son - as you so claim - then he can grant immortality for instance.”

You rolled your eyes. “You still don’t get it.”

“What?” He said, lowly.

“He cannot give you that - any of it.”

“He certainly can. He can call upon his sibling, Death, in exchange for his freedom and now possibly yours.”

“Let me put it differently: he won’t.”

“What do you mean?” He glared.

“Exactly as I said, he will not give you what you seek.”

Roderick’s lips thinned. Anger boiled and boiled and - he closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. When he opened his eyes, you nearly reeled back. Something had changed. You didn’t know it but the floor was crumbling underneath you. Something sinister was being pieced together behind those dangerous eyes of his.

“You know, I still do not know who you are.” Roderick pointed out.

You said nothing.

“That’s okay, you are still shy, so allow me to talk. While I came here to introduce myself to my intruder, I also noticed something.”

He glanced over his shoulder. The guard, Thomas you now remembered, glared at you. But, there was something else hidden behind the anger. Fear? Confusion?

“Now, Thomas, you had a lengthy conversation with our guest, did you not?”

“Yes,” he sneered. He instinctively touched his bruised and busted knuckles wrapped in gauze.

“Do you recall everything you’ve discussed?”

“Yes.”

Your heart rate spiked, a horrible sinking sensation dropped into the pit of your stomach. The floor almost crumbled away, you were about to fall.

“Interesting, and we, of course, discussed what occurred here once you’ve returned.”

“We did.”

Roderick swiveled his beady gaze back onto you, smiling at you. “So, I find it odd how our wonderful guest is standing before us without a nick on her.”

You backed away - now, you were falling.

His unsettling smile immediately wiped away as a glare and a snarl settled into his grotesque features. “You know of immortality because you are immortal, are you not?”

You quickly shook your head. This can’t be happening.

“Oh? You’re not? Then tell me, how do you not have any bruises? Any scratches? You have clearly healed over, so how?”

Your throat squeezed.

“I think we should test this theory.”

Your eyes widened.

Thomas stalked forth. He raised a pair of handcuffs, twirling them with a chilling smirk. Quickly, like lightning, he unhooked your chains and replaced them. He tugged on your new cuffs, and you stumbled forward.

Run.

A hand curled over your shoulder - a menacing claw. A breath puffed on the back of your neck. Your heart dropped. “It would be in your best interest to behave,” Roderick hissed.

Your skin crawled.

Roderick, with his hand still on your shoulder, steered you out of the cell down the dark hall to the open space where Morpheus was being held - being suspended. He walked you up right to Morpheus, just an arm's length away from the chalk markings.

Do something. Fight. Break him free.

Roderick’s grip tightened, as if sensing your intentions. “Dream Lord, I will ask again for you to grant me immortality and riches.”

Morpheus did not acknowledge Roderick, his sole attention was on you. Your gaze, however, was on the symbols. You could do it, you could -

“Dream Lord!”

Your eyes snapped up. Still, Morpheus looked at you, trying to assess what happened after you were taken. He saw no injuries, but that meant nothing to him. Injuries healed as they always do.

You tossed him a lopsided smile, and mouthed, “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

But, it wasn’t.

You gasped, all the air was taken from your lungs. An intense searing pain pierced your chest. You numbly, and mortified, glanced down. A thin dagger, coated in your blood, protruded from your chest and began to soak your shirt. You reached up with shaky hands.

No, this - what -

The dagger was forcibly pulled out.

No scream.

No sound.

You simply collapsed onto the floor.

Blood pooled out. The warm liquid clashed with the harsh cold of the concrete floor. You choked, trying to get air into your damaged lung. Your eyes locked back onto those yellow chalk symbols - those symbols just barely out of reach - then glanced up.

Morpheus stared down at you with wide stunned eyes. His hands pressed against the glass, unable to tear his gaze away. All he could do was watch - watch as you bleed, watch as you shake in insurmountable pain, watch as tears prickled in your eyes.

You licked your lips, tasting the blood in the back of your throat. You mumbled quietly, looking at your love. “I’m … okay … I’m okay … I’m -“

“Morpheus you must relax, I don’t break so easily.”

You had the wondrous idea of horseback riding through Fiddler’s Green, however for it to end with your horse being spooked and jerked you off. Now, you sat under a tree - by Morpheus’s request - with a sprained wrist since you landed all your weight onto it.

Morpheus, who was crouched in front of you, glanced up from examining your wrist. His lips thinned, and said nothing.

“He only worries.” You tilted your head back to see Jessmay resting on a branch above your head. She cocked her head with a certain twinkle in her eyes. In a way, she was smiling, finding amusement in Morpheus’s worry.

You chuckled. “Worrying like a mother hen.”

Jessmay squawked - a high pitched bubble of laughter.

Morpheus’s lips puckered, unamused.

You cupped his face with your uninjured hand. “I’m okay, Morpheus. Nothing can hurt me, I will always heal in the end.”

Yes, you would be okay.

You would not die, and soon you would heal without even a scar left behind. The only issue was the pain, a burning pain sorching you from the inside. You wanted to claw at your skin, you wanted to scream, but you laid perfectly still. Your mind splintered and focused on every excruciating detail like the sensation of blood filling your lungs, or your utter breathlessness as you choked on said blood and gasped for precious air, or how the blood cooled in the air and stuck to your skin.

Blood. So much blood.

Seconds became hours.

Both for you and Morpheus.

Finally, with a shaky exhale, you caught your breath again. The intense burning pain was now a bearable ache. Inhaling, your chest groaned, but you preferred it. It was nothing compared to before.

You looked at Morpheus and whispered. “I’m okay.”

Morpheus curled his hands into tight coiled fists. His eyes finally flickered to the man behind you, glaring with a vicious hatred meant to destroy the world.

Roderick was completely unfazed. He was instead far more interested in you, and your immortality. “I do think there is an opportunity here … a learning opportunity.”

Your heart sank.

“Thomas.”

Hands roughly lifted you up onto your feet. You tried to fight. You twisted and kicked like a wild caged animal. A fist connected to a jaw, feet to a knee, and eventually you freed yourself. You rushed over to Morpheus, pressing your bloody chained hands to the glass. You needed to speak with him, even if it may be your last for some time.

“It’ll be okay,” you spilled out.

His eyes fell to your red soaked shirt.

“Morpheus, don’t give him anything, okay? We will get out of here - I am getting you -“

Hands yanked you away. You were spun around and face to face with Roderick. His face was flushed with rage, and shouted, “How dare you! What if I cut your tongue out, will it grow back?”

You spat in his face.

He smacked you.

The sting on your cheek was nothing. You laughed, a huff from your nose. You lifted your head, giving him a passive look.

He tsked. “Take her away. I believe we have some important discussions to be had later.”

You struggled back, trying to drag your feet as Thomas and soon another guard dragged you off back to your lone cell.

A fist banged on the glass.

Roderick lazily glanced over his shoulder. Morpheus’s fist landed directly over your bloody handprints. He glared at the man who was robbing him of everything.

More blood on his hands, more blood to bath in.

Jessmay and now you.

“You can stop this, you know,” Roderick said nonchalantly. “Do you not love her?”

Morpheus clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm ready to draw his own blood.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t stop any of this - wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t cave to such a cruel mortal, ignoring that he couldn’t give what Roderick sought. But, if Morpheus could, why should he give Roderick what he wants? He would not call his siblings, especially not Death.

This man, this pathetic excuse for a human, deserved to rot.

He only hoped you would give him for this choice. You did tell him not to, so could you live with this? Would you forgive him? Or more importantly, could Morpheus forgive himself?

Days passed.

Every night brought new torment for you and unknowingly Morpheus.

Roderick wanted to know the full extent of immortality. He hired doctors and scientists to experiment on you. What can an immortal body do? What could it survive? How does it survive? Question after question, experiment after experiment.

Morpheus curled into a ball, his back to the guards. He pressed his palms to his ears.

It was too much.

Your screams.

Your pleas.

He knew you. He knew you desperately, and always, tried to muffle your pain for him. To lessen his load. Which meant, you were being broken apart, torn down, sliced into, ripped open, whatever. He didn’t wish to dwell on the specifics.

“You know, Dream Lord, you can make this stop.”

Morpheus did not look back nor move.

Roderick sneered. “Your love is in pain and you sulk like a child.”

Morpheus gritted his teeth.

Roderick scoffed and walked off. “Maybe I will bring her in here so you may watch next time.”

Thankfully, Roderick never did. But, your screams never stopped.

Your only salvation was the darkness - away from those greedy eyes, away from all those tools, away from cruel deadly tests, away from it all. Well, the darkness and Morpheus. You could only endure it all knowing Morpheus was still trapped. If they kept your focus on you rather than him, then so be it.

You would both escape … eventually.

Hopefully.

Years had to have passed.

The experiments came less and less much to your relief, however unfortunately it did not stop completely. The new sporadic nature of the experiments constantly kept you on edge.

The cell door creaked open.

Slumped against the wall, after finishing a grueling test, you wearily glanced up and braced yourself. You suspected it to be the doctor from earlier, but it shockingly wasn’t. Even with only one of your eyes currently working, you still recognized it to be a young man, one you saw a handful of times before - Roderick Burgess’s son, Alex.

He never visited you. So, why now?

“The … The Magus is dead,” he announced.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

It replayed over and over until it finally sunk in. Trying to keep a calm exterior, you pushed yourself up to sit straighter. This could be it. “Please,” you whispered urgently. “Free him, free Morpheus.”

Alex awkwardly shuffled side to side. “I will, I - I just need time to think.”

Inhaling, you mumbled not hiding your exhaustion and disappointment. “It is so simple. Free him - us. What do you have to gain from all of it?”

Alex dropped his head, staying quiet.

“Please, I’m begging you to free him, leave me behind if you want. Use me - take whatever you want. Take my blood, take my organs, take it all, just let him go, please.”

“I … I will think on this, excuse me.”

Alex bustled out, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Some time passed.

Yet, you eagerly waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. Time was your only companion. You never saw Alex again, or anyone much after that.

So, you slowly began to rot.

Days and nights blended together. You were not sure how much time has passed, the only tell was the difference in temperature - to the freezing nights where you could not sleep due to how much your body shook to the sticky hot mornings where you could not breathe no matter how much air you took in.

Escape was now a dream.

You had tried and tired, and exhausted every option. In the beginning, you did all that you could going so far as mutilating your body to free yourself, but now? Now, you could not even lift your head. Your body was sluggish, and all you could do was lay on the floor as your mind slipped in and out of consciousness.

Another day, another night in darkness, trapped and starved.

Your cheeks, sunken from what had to be decades of neglect and lack of care, laid against the cool, damp stone floor. A relief from the humid summer air - the indication of another year had passed. Even at night, the humidity clung to your skin, suffocating you.

You blinked slowly.

Your eyelids weighed down from years and years of built exhaustion. You were nearly catatonic. You tried to keep your mind busy by counting the cracks in the stone, counting to hundred then back down to one, or by counting your moments with Morpheus.

Each moment you clung fiercely to your heart, replaying them over and over. You pictured all of his details: how his lip twitched before he smiled, how his eyes sparkled in any light, how his voice soothed any worries with a single word, how his hands fit into yours, how he … how he became your world and it was devoid without him.

You adjusted yourself, laying completely flat against the ground. Such a simple move left you breathless and in pain. The rusted chains rustled behind you and the cuffs banged against your sore, raw wrists. You could pull free, one swift tug and the chain would snap. If you only had the energy to do so.

You were ready for sleep again. Ready to drift off into the dark void of slumber - no dreams, only darkness.

You closed your eyes.

A high pitched screech pierced your ears.

You barely reacted. You simply opened your eyes.

A figure stood in the doorway.

Your eyes tried to focus on it, focus on the features. But, it was nearly impossible. It was all blurry. Sleep, you wanted sleep.

The figure approached.

It was probably a morbidly curious guard, or maybe another doctor who traveled far fascinated by the tale of the regenerative mortal. You were a relic covered in dust, one that spurred interest every so often. Or, as you put it, a circus freak that was unnatural and to be exploited.

But, you had no energy to fight or argue with whoever this stranger may be.

It’ll be over soon, you numbly thought.

The person crouched down. They reached out, brushing your cheek - the barest of touch.

You squinted, trying to focus on who this may be. It was dark, or they were dark - shrouded in shadows.

“My love,” a voice cracked.

Your vision sharped, the main focal point was the bright blue eyes. “Mor - Morpheus?” Your voice was scratchy.

“It’s me.” He gently stroked your sunken cheek. His throat constricted. “Come, let’s go home.”

Before you could answer, his coat swept over your vision.

The stiff concrete floor shifted. You were being cradled, held close to Morpheus’s chest. You breathed him in.

Home.

You sighed, curling further into his chest. You had been cold, and alone for so long. It was a sweet relief to be held so gingerly. A sharp contrast to all that you were subjected to in the past decades.

Wind whipped past your ears as the mildew stench of the basement faded. Morpheus carefully walked with you in his arms, and placed you down.

Your eyes swept over the room. It was your shared bedroom. And you should be relieved, you should be thrilled to be home again, yet your heart dropped.

It was all in ruins.

The ceiling had notable cracks, and fall pieces laid shattered on the ground, the swirling universe which twinkled and shone every night was gone, the constant roaring fire was out leaving a horrible chill in the air, the chairs and tables were covered in dust, and the bedsheets were in tatters.

“Morpheus,” you whispered in pain.

Your home, your safe haven, was destroyed.

Morpheus gently brushed your forehead. “It’s okay, everything will be okay.” He bent down, kissing your forehead. “I must go, but Lucienne will look after you.”

“What? No, please -“

“Only for a short while, I assure you. I must retrieve my items to rebuild the Dreaming - to rebuild our home.”

You reached over, grabbing his hand then squeezing it.

Or at least tried to squeeze.

Morpheus tried to hide his frown. You were so weak, so exhausted.

You licked your chapped lips. “Okay,” you mumbled, reluctantly agreeing. “Come back quickly.”

He took your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “I will.”

Days passed, and finally Morpheus had returned. With his items back on his person, and a piece of himself returned, he immediately rushed to you. Almost barging into the bedroom, his eyes landed on you, tucked in bed, sound asleep.

“Welcome back, my lord.”

Morpheus turned to find Lucienne stoking the fire. She greeted him with a kind smile. He nodded a ‘hello’. His eyes darted back to you. The bed swallowed your figure, and thankfully a fraction of your color had returned. A fraction was better than none.

“She has been sleeping most of the time. I have gotten her to eat, but very little. And I helped her with a bath a short while ago.” Lucienne explained.

“Thank you, Lucienne.”

She shuffled in place. “If I may, could we speak outside, possibly in private?”

Morpheus tore his gaze from you, and nodded. He stepped outside with Lucienne following closely behind. She shut the door and faced her lord.

“What is it?” He asked, trying to hide his worries.

“It’s about (Y/N), sir,” Lucienne started slowly. “I don’t want to cause any alarms, but I have noticed a few things.”

His heart jumped. “Such as?”

“Nightmares. She cannot sleep for long without being disturbed by them and - and they are rather nasty, sir.”

“Nightmares,” he whispered to himself.

His heart ached.

You suffered because of him, because of his nightmares. Now that he was free, the Dreaming was unleashed again back onto the world, but with no control. Dreams and nightmares did as they pleased.

How much pain will he continue to inflict on you?

“Thank you for telling me this, Lucienne, your help is much appreciated.”

Lucienne smiled softly. “Of course, my lord.”

He snuck a glance to the closed door.

“If you don’t mind, sir, I can attend to things if you wish.”

Morpheus looked back to Lucienne, his most trusted friend. “Please, if you do not mind.”

“Not at all.” Lucienne, smiling, spun on her heel, and strolled down the hall.

Morpheus crept back into the room. His footsteps padded quietly as he made his way to you. He crouched down by your bedside and gently stroked your cheek. Inhaling, you cracked your eyes open. You glanced and threw Morpheus a lopsided smile. “Welcome back.”

He laughed through his nose. “How have you been faring, my love?”

“Good, just very tired.”

He waited, waiting for you to speak of your nightmares, but you didn’t. “Then I shall let you rest.”

He stood up.

“Wait.”

Morpheus froze.

“Don’t go, not yet.” You clumsy scooted over, tossing back the sheets. “Please, join me for a bit.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He kicked off his boots, shucked off his coat, and crawled into bed with you.

You flipped onto your side, facing him. He laid on his back, and turned his head to look at you. You smiled at him, despite everything and it was such a lovely smile. His heart always skipped at the sight.

“Hold me?” You asked, your voice was a faint whisper. “Please.”

Again, Morpheus did not need to be asked twice. Anything you wished, he will do. He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you to his chest.

Ice.

Your skin was ice against him. “You’re freezing, love.” He brushed your cheek. “Are you sure you are okay?”

You snuggled further, burying your face into him. “I always feel cold lately, but I’m fine.”

He frowned.

Silence filled the air. And with silence, it brought insecurities and unwanted thoughts - thoughts you had since your freedom. “You know, I never said I’m sorry.” You whispered your minor confession.

Morpheus blinked. “About what?”

For not saving you.

“Jessmay.” You avoided the truth with a lesser one. “I never said I was sorry about her loss.”

He sighed. “So you found out?”

“I did. The guards talked, and they spoke of a raven who was shot a few days before I arrived. They wondered what other things would come looking for you.” You frowned. “She was part of our family and I know it must hurt you deeply.”

“I … I will not lie to you, it was hard,” he confessed. “But, there is a silver lining in all of this.”

“How?” You tilted your head, looking at him.

Morpheus turned his head, his nose bumped against yours. “During my time away to retrieve my items, I have acquired a new raven. His name is Matthew.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

He hummed. “Yeah, maybe once you are feeling well you can’t meet him.”

You smiled. “I would love that.”

“Good,” he kissed your forehead, “now rest, I will be right here when you wake.”

You nodded, and closed your eyes enjoying his warmth after being decades - a century - apart.

The cold that had settled deep within your bones, lifted. Like the first spring morning after a devastating winter. The ice cracked on the pond, the first melted off the grass, and the sun kissed the land once again bringing life back.

Sleep was easy with him by your side. But, it was still difficult to stay asleep.

After a century without any dreams, the Dreaming flooded your subconscious pulling at every facet of your life to weave its stories. Unfortunately, recent years were unkind to you. The Dreaming, however, took without a care what it needed and constructed new plays for you - constructed new terrifying nightmares.

You were strapped down to a hard, metal slab unable to move. A single light shone above you, while shadows surrounded you in all directions. Your heart pounded in your ears. Your eyes wildly searched for help, for someone. But, no one was there. Out of the shadows, hands made up of various tools - each finger a different device - instantly tore into you, sinking into your skin down to the bones.

A scream crawled out of your throat.

Hands grabbed you, grabbed your face.

You scrambled away, trying to bat off the hands.

“Oh, stay still, dear, wouldn't you want to poke your eye out?” A cacophony of horrible sickening laughter echoed.

“Love, breathe.”

That voice, you knew that voice. You immediately dropped your hands. Your eyes shot open and locked onto Morpheus. “Morpheus?”

He nodded, “It is me, I’m here.”

Your bottom lip trembled. “I - I’m sorry. I -“

“Shhh,” his thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, “you needn’t apologize.”

Your hands flew up, latching around his wrists. It was real, he was real. You closed your eyes, and let out a shaky breath. His thumb continued to rub soothing circles - so gentle, so comforting. Opening your eyes again, the world in all of its love stared back.

Morpheus smiled sadly. “I should apologize, I didn’t mean for the Dreaming to torment you further.”

“No, Morphues, it’s -“

“Wrong. I am hurting the one I love.”

You squeezed his wrists. Moving his hands off your face, you placed them over your heart - over the now steady calm beat. “You cannot hurt me.”

He opened his mouth to argue.

But, you cut him off. “Nightmares, no matter how awful they may be, I am grateful for them because dreaming again means you are back at my side.”

We are home again.

He didn’t know how to react.

You reached out and stroked his cheek, returning the gesture. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But -“

You leaned in and pecked his cheek. “I’m fine.”

Why? Why did you lie to him?

The Dreaming, and all of its dreamers, need their king, you reasoned with yourself.

And for some reason, Morpheus didn’t argue. Maybe he didn’t wish to push it, maybe he wished for you to come or him, whatever the reason may be he kept quiet.

Weeks passed.

You stayed in your room recovering. Your glow slowly returned. Your cheeks fuller again, the spark twinkled behind your eyes. Only for all the progress to be ripped away, right back to square one. Despite Morpheus's efforts, the nightmares still continued. Maybe not every night but they persisted.

And they were ruthless.

You tried to hide them, hide your pain, and even neglected sleep. You had decades of sleep, so you’ve had your fill. But, you could not hide it from him any longer.

Morpheus stepped in the bedroom. You were curled up on a chair, staring blankly at the fire. The bags under your eyes had returned.

He sighed.

What am I doing, he bitterly thought. My love, my heart, needs her partner.

He walked over to you. You slowly glanced up at him, and smiled. “How was your day, my sweet Dream?”

He stretched his hand out to you. “Join me, will you?”

“Where?” Your hand already was in his.

He lifted you up to your feet, and walked off towards the bathroom. “A bath, it has been an exhausting day.”

You laughed once. “Of course.”

Entering the bathroom, a bath was already drawn. The steam filled the air, and delicate floral aroma wafted. Petals, of multiple colors, danced over the surface of the steamy water.

“Allow me.”

With no arguments from you, Morpheus helped you out of your clothes, and into the tub. You sunk into the water, sighing deeply. He soon followed after, sitting directly behind you. His eyes quickly scanned over your bare back. There was nothing wrong - no abnormal marks, no scars. But, in his mind's eye, he could imagine all the cuts sliced into you.

His arms snaked out, wrapping around your waist desperate to have to close - desperate to feel your skin against his.

You hummed, leaning into his embrace.

“How are you this evening?” He asked.

“Good.” Lies. Both of you knew this, but neither of you spoke of it. “And you?”

“Exhausted.”

You nodded.

A few minutes ticked by in silence. With each tick, a weight pressed onto your chest again. A familiar weight you only felt around Morpheus. Heavier and heavier and - “Morpheus? Do … do you -,” you sighed, and shook your head. “Never mind, forget what I said.”

“No, talk to me. Ask your question.”

I will not turn my back again, he thought.

You licked your lips. You finally spoke about what has been eating at you since you both escaped. What you wanted to say that first night together. Exhaling slowly, you hesitantly sat up, and twisted your back to face him. “Do … do you hate me?”

“… what?” He breathed out, stunned by your question.

“I - I feel as if I caused you more harm in trying to find you. I did nothing. I only succeeded in getting caught and damning us both. So, do you hate me for it? Do you wish I never came?”

His throat constricted. So this was what you have been carrying all this time. “… yes.”

You flinched, dropping your head.

Morpheus gently lifted your head so you could look at him. “Yes, I wish you never came because then you would not have experienced so much pain.” I would never know your screams and pleas. “But, I never would hate you. I would never be furious at your attempts because I know you did your best and you just trying was enough to give me hope of a future out of there.”

Tears silently streamed down your face.

He wiped them away. “My hatred only goes to those who hurt you - never you. And why would I? Why would I hate the one person who tried when others didn’t. My only hope is that you do not hate me for -“

You vehemently shook your head. “What? No, I would never hate you.”

“Even when I could have called upon my siblings?”

“No, because I asked you not to. I told you to not give in.”

“Even if I could have spared you such pains?” His voice cracked.

You smiled sadly. “I will take anything knowing you were possibly spared.”

“And what if I cannot? What if I cannot handle what you have been through? You haven’t spoken of it, and I am worried for you.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry, I - I did not want to put more on your shoulders. You do enough as is, and right now I am terribly … broken.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Yes, you may be broken, but your pains are my pains. You are not a burden.”

You sniffled.

“One step at a time, as they say, and I will be there at every step.”

He pulled away, brushing away a few more of your tears. You fell back into him, your back pressed into his chest. His arms instantly wrapped around your waist again. Your hands laid on top of his, intertwining your fingers with his. “Thank you,” you whispered.

His arms tightened around your waist. “Of course, my love, I will always be there.”

You tipped your head back, resting it on his shoulder. His eyes meet yours. Luckily, the tears had stopped.

“You do not have to do this alone.” His voice was oddly so small, so fragile. “Do not be afraid to lean on me.”

A smile stretched over your lips, a beautiful smile that he adored. You pecked his lips. “I believe that is my line.”

He huffed through his nose.

Snuggling into his chest, you closed your eyes. “Just hold me a bit longer.”

“Anything for you.”

“… and maybe we can take a walk later through Fiddler’s Green? And maybe I can meet Matthew?”

Morpheus smiled to himself. “Sounds lovely. And I know Matthew would love it. He always asks to meet you.”

“So you speak of me behind my back?” You teasingly asked, peeking up at him.

“I do,” he dropped his head, kissing your shoulder. “He wishes to know the wonderful, selfless, beautiful, kind person who I can call mine.”

You laughed.

Yes, you were broken. But, Morpheus was there to pick up your piece and carefully, and lovingly, piece you back together.

You would be more than okay with him to lean on.

[targazyen]

OMFG IT SEEMS LIKE THESE WRITERS DON'T KNOW HOW TO USE TAGS, IF YOUR FANFIC IS NOT A READER INSERT DON'T USE READER TAGS! jesus christ, we don't want to read your fantasies, there is clearly a difference between "reader insert" and "oc insert" IT'S NOT THAT HARD 💀

edit: "reader inserts" are for people who want to be inserted into the story, with any kind of gender, color, hair etc and NOT a fully described character with name, characteristics, genders..

[tired-teacher-blog]

Hello lovely Teach, I had the idea of kissing Todoroki’s scar during a cuddle session, I just want to show him all the love he deserves, I don’t know if you like it, if not feel free to ignore. love ya 💐

I love it! And I love you for sending such an amazing request.

Title : Scars

Characters : Shouto/ gender neutral reader

Genre : Fluff/a tiny bit of angst if you squint/ drabble

Masterlist

_ "Shouto! Come on the bed's getting cold without you!" You shout playfully, giggling and wiggling your legs eagerly as you wait for your beloved to join you.

You haven't seen him in over two weeks, haven't touched or kissed him for that long. So when he called you earlier in the day to say he was coming over, you got incredibly thrilled and could barely contain your excitement.

And as regrettable as it is, you still understand and accept the situation you're in. Your boyfriend is one of the top heroes in the country after all, which means that your time together is usually bounded.

_ "I'm coming honey." You can hear the chuckle in his words as his voice gets nearer.

_ "What took you so long? You're usually quick in the shower." You're pouting now, watching him towel his hair for a moment before placing the cloth away and joining you under the covers.

He lets out a low satisfied groan as he nuzzles your neck, and you can clearly feel his lips curve up against your skin.

_ "I can stay like this forever." He holds you closer and plants the softest kiss right above your pulse.

_ "Me too Shouto." If only it was that easy..

Your palms ghost over his scarred back, picturing each and every mark they trace. You're familiar with them all, even the ones your touch can't reach right now.

You know their stories and the way they came to be. They left a mark on your soul as they did on his body.

They hurt you both, but you love them regardless. They are a part of him after all, a part of his journey, and a part of the reason why he's the man he is today.

You smile tightening your hold before declaring your love one more time.

_ "You are everything to me." Your words come out in a murmur but he hears them clearly.

_ "Y/n, I would gladly die for your sake, you're the only thing that gives my life meaning. Never go beyond my reach." Your heart flutters and you cup his face, gazing lovingly into his mismatched orbs.

Your thumb traces the scar around his eye ever so gently, and you cannot miss the little flinch traveling throughout his body as your finger moves. You understand how grave that particular mark has affected him -how it still does- it's apparent in the way he's averting his gaze and clenching his jaw. It's as if he's silently begging you to stop touching him there.

_ "Shouto, look at me, please." You kiss his cheek as you speak and your lips linger there for a moment, but his reaction remains the same.

You move up -hesitantly at first- and plant another one under his left eye to replace your finger.. and then another on his eyelid.. and another on his temple.. and another on the side of his forehead.. until your lips finally cover his burn entirely.

His grip tightens around your waist as his breath tickles your cheeks.

_ "Y/n, why do you always insist on doing that?" He huffs as a faint blush adorns his skin.

He's not even waiting for an answer, he already knows. He knows you love him, every part of him, even the things he hates about himself.

You giggle and plant one more kiss on his scrunched up nose.

_ "What did I do to deserve you?" His smile is genuine, beautiful, and you would give your life to guard it.

Your fingertips glide along his soft lips and he grabs your hand to kiss each and every pad all the while gazing into your eyes.

You love him, and sometimes it's hard to express it since no words are enough.

You lower your hand and peck his lips once, pulling back and watching his expressions before moving completely on top of him.

_ "You're something else sweetheart."

You giggle as his arms wrap around you possessively. You kiss him again, deeper this time, and you lose yourself into it.

He is your happiness as you are his, and you never miss a chance to remind each other of it.

[ourgoddessathena]

Five : *Accidentally hits Y/N in the face*

Five : *Trying to decide between saying 'I’m fucking sorry' and 'Are you okay'*

Five : "ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY?!"

Y/N : "What’s wrong with you?!"

[ourgoddessathena]

Y/N : "Where are you?"

Five : "Waiting for the bus."

Y/N : "Okay. Hurry up."

Five :

Five : "What am i supposed to do? Waits faster???"

Y/N :

Y/N : "yOUR FUCKING POWER IS A FUCKING TELEPORTATION YOU OLD MAN--"

[ourgoddessathena]

Y/N : "You saved me. I owe you my life."

Five : "No thanks. I’ve seen it and I’m not very impressed."

[bebx]

Mood

[itsyasmeme-deactivated20250125]

I really want to see this guy in something that ISN’T a flashback

[robottko]

“this pillow works better if your a back sleeper” bitch I’m a rotisserie chicken sleeper I don’t stop turning until sleep rips me forcefully from this world

[obliviates]

“WRITE IT BADLY. Write it badly, write it badly, write it badly, write it badly. Stop what you’re doing, open a Word document, put a pencil on some paper, just get the idea out of your head. Let it be good later. Write it down now. Otherwise it will die in there.”

— Brandon Sanderson on overcoming writer’s block to create a first draft as a professional author

[littlefreya]

Remember this 🖤

[notabronte]

@jolly-polly it applies to any idea you have. Getting out of your head helps a lot to not think about the rest of the world for a while ❤️

[levi-ish]

saw this on twitter rn, if you ever feel discouraged about writing fanfiction, read this again

[quatresnuku]

I hope that in every future marvel movie with Shang Chi that they have an after credit scene where they just collect more heroes to do karaoke with

[deliciouscreationphilosopher]

Dating Shoto Todoroki would include...

Quick A/N before you guys continue on to this headcanon!!!:

So, I know it's been a while since I've posted anything (other than reblogging stuff and giving you guys updates on Polar Opposites)... I sincerely apologize for that guys... I am hoping to post more stuff like this in the near future since my work is finally just open Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays! But anyway, here is the dating headcanon for the one and only icyhot boy, Shoto Todoroki!!!

I really hope you guys enjoy!!!

P.S.

I will reorganize and edit a few of the points later on when I have the chance too so that the headcanon makes a little bit more sense (much like I said for the Bakugo headcanons which I haven't had the times to edit and reorganize yet)!

When Shoto first met you, his world came to a stop - LITERALLY!

Both Todoroki and you were leaning a little on the introverted side so any harbored feelings went unnoticed for a while.

You both were too shy to hold a conversation longer than five minutes let alone confess your feelings so you guys kind of danced around each other for a bit.

That was until Todoroki confessed to you one day purely by mistake, he was so sure you wouldn’t like him back so he was so surprised when you reciprocated his feelings that he almost cried.

At first, Todoroki didn’t really pay too much attention to his needs or emotions and more so ever since your relationship started bc he poured all of his attention towards you - he really just needed to be reminded that he matters and that his feelings are valid

Before Todoroki even knew he had feelings for you his sister, Fuyumi, was already shipping you guys

He will really appreciate any and all compliments you give him especially if they’re directed at his physical appearance

Will be more open to initiating contact with you, at first he was a little hesitant with touch but he gets used to it.

He’ll start out slow by ‘accidentally’ brushing your arms together while you're walking side by side.

Unless he tells you he feels uncomfortable with it, please feel free to touch his scar or just caress any part of his face, he loves it.

Place a kiss on his scar and he will be flushed and embarrassed for the rest of the day

He REALLY, really loves it when you hold his hands or just pick them up and play with them

Instead of reaching out to grab your whole hand, he’ll just link one of his fingers with yours

He loves your eyes and he’s always falling into a deep trance while he’s looking into them

It took nearly forever for you to meet Todoroki’s parents.

You of course met his mom first since he was more hesitant about you meeting his dad since he obviously knew as to what he would've done and said to you.

When he met your parents they immediately loved him

After stressful days he likes to just cuddle with you and listen to your heartbeat

He loves calling you names like Sweetheart and Honey

Lots of soft passionate kisses 🥰

Your kisses drive him crazy

Long tight hugs while he whispers cute things in your ear

When he’s in a bad mood you cant help yourself 🤷🏽‍♀️ - You shower him in kisses until he gives you that famous smirk of his

He is weirdly affectionate in terms that he craves for your touch but will never admit to it… He loves talking about his future with you though 🥺

You’ll have to be patient with Shoto. He’s new to dating so he doesn’t get a lot of stuff 😭

One thing he does know is that he absolutely LOVES any affection from you. Holding hands, cuddling, sweet little kisses.

He loves it all!

Seriously he treasures those moments with you and he’s sure to let you know that

“Your lips are so soft and sweet… Can I kiss you again?”

This guy is the king of cuddles. If it’s cold and you need to be warmed up he’ll put his left side to use. And then if you’re too hot then he can cool himself down

Todoroki never neglects to tell you how much you mean to him.

He needs you to know the positive effect you’ve had on his life

Your boyfriend confides in you about his childhood. So you’re fully aware of how he got his scar and what Endeavour put him through.

Although he'd be open about his father, Todoroki wouldn’t want you anywhere near him.

“I don’t want him to do to you what he did to me”

His mother is another story. Shoto takes you to visit her with him one day and she seems to really like you.

Being the only one who can touch Todoroki’s scar.

Sometimes when he needs calming down you gently caress it and that helps

Shoto loves to read to you.

He especially likes resting his head on your lap so you can run your fingers through his as he has a book in his hand

Shoto loves going on that cute clichè sort of dates that you’d see in romance movies.

One of the nicest dates that you can remember is him taking you ice skating and getting hot chocolate afterward

Taking care of each other’s injuries whenever one of you gets hurt, either from training or from hero work

Being the most supportive of Todoroki becoming the number one hero and always cheering him on

“You did so good in Aizawa’s exam. I’m so proud of you!”

Todoroki being extremely protective of you.

He doesn’t care what it takes. He’ll keep you safe from villains

He loves spending quality time with you.

He’s interested in your hobbies and enjoys doing those things with you. He’s a bit awkward and aloof, but he’s learning and will get the hang of things the more you dive into the relationship.

Takes you out to eat soba all the time.

Sometimes he’s just chilling on the couch and you would walk up from behind and twirl his hair a little.

He doesn’t feel bothered by it at all, it feels like a gesture of affection to him.

Hardly initiates cuddles, however… Holds/hugs you from the back. Also head pats.

Has a soft but firm and tough grip when you’re holding hands.

You’re forced to be the noisy one in the relationship because this man does not talk.

Buys you little gifts that remind him of you because he has Endeavor’s credit card. Maybe a little fragrance or a plushie? The fragrance has a note on it. “You don’t smell bad, this just reminds me of you. -Shoto.”

Doesn’t understand why you would want to wear his clothes. He doesn’t mind, it just confuses him. At first, he offered to buy you some new clothes. He still doesn’t get it, but he likes seeing how your face lit up when you put his shirt on.

Would give you his jacket or cup your hands in an effort to keep you warm during cold walks.

His calmingly low voice works magic when you feel sad and need some reassurance.

Dates with this boy would include lots of PDA. He didn’t get enough as a kid so when you popped into his life, expect him to ask for cuddles.

He lives for being hugged out of nowhere. Like if you come running at him for a hug he will drop everything just to catch you.

Loves to nuzzle into your neck - like neck kisses anywhere

Play with his hair while he’s laying on your lap.

This boy will literally fall asleep so freaking fast while you’re doing that.

Just Imagine- You and Shouto are laying in his backyard, just basking in each other’s presence, him laying on your lap, his brown and blue eyes watching your face as you toyed with his hair. The soft touches making his mind hazy with sleep. You smiled as his lips curved up into a soft smile, his eyes fluttering shut as his breathing slowed into a steady pace

Expect this boy to be very blunt with his feelings towards you,

Like he will say ‘I love you’, once the two of you are both comfortable with it, out of nowhere and in front of everyone.

Shopping sprees with Endevorevors credit card.

He is so dense ESPECIALLY when it comes to flirting so all the ppl trying to flirt with him would just give up

Cuddling with his hot side when you’re cold

He wouldn’t do anything with you unless you were comfortable with it - Like all good boyfriends

doing a lot of “childish” stuff with him because his father wouldn’t let him when he was young

his siblings loving you

[marleen98]

[taikeero-lecoredier]

Archive.org is facing a lawsuit

tldr: the Internet Archive/WayBack Machine is super important in term of archived content, billions of stuff are on there, and with the current event happening in the world like stated above,without this tool, it will be hard to properly document what took place. It will be easy for certain people to rewrite history. Dont let them.

DONATE HERE (post dont get much exposure with working links sorry)

 archive.org/donate/

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

IF YOU CANT DONATE THEN PLEASE SPREAD THE INFO

On twitter,tumblr,facebook,heck,anywhere you want,this needs to be talked about !

[ruffboi-mags]

they’re being sued due to putting together an “emergency library”, essentially, in the wake of schools and libraries closing due to covid-19.

you can read about it in a few places. here’s one article on the subject, but there’s plenty to be found.

[karthonic]

Hey I just went to look to see if there was any new developments since this was posted (June 2020), And the actual trial as far as I know the trial will begin around November 2021. So this is still relevant.  Archive.org Blog |  Publisher’s Weekly 

[lesbian-deadpool]

Loki: I have impossibly high standards for a woman.

Y/N: Yeah, she has to like you.