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theladyofshalott1989 · 27 days ago

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Mum’s the Word 🤫

(Modern AU Sebastian Sallow x MC One-shot)

Summary: Twenty-four hours after his long-term relationship goes up in smoke—just in time for his thirtieth birthday—Sebastian reluctantly tags along with his twin sister to a mysterious locale to, allegedly, secure himself a new love interest. Shenanigans ensue.

Or: How many pop culture references can one writer cram into a story? (Spoiler: far more than she’s willing to admit, even to herself.)

Word Count: 4420

[ AO3 Link ]

Author's Note: Alexa, play "Fireball" by Pitbull. 🙃🙃🙃 (Oh, and happy early birthday to the Sebastian and Anne in my head canon💚)

“No wallowing in misery on our birthday,” Anne said, her voice crackling through his mobile. Service had always been spotty in Sebastian’s flat. Tonight was no exception.

Anne rang mere minutes ago, rudely interrupting Sebastian’s horror film marathon. He currently had the telly paused on the best celebrity Chris—Hemsworth, obviously—riding his dirt bike into an invisible wall, moments before plummeting to his death. Sebastian was quite chuffed with himself that he managed to pause on such a perfect scene, although he always felt a slight pang of disappointment in recalling that this would be the last moment of the film in which Hemsworth graced the screen.

But back to Anne.

He sighed. “You’re not the one who was broken up with the day before your birthday.”

Elizabeth and Sebastian had been together for five blessed years. Blessed in a physical sense. Perhaps not so much, uh, emotionally. Elizabeth apparently agreed and had been quite vocal yesterday about how much of her life he had wasted. No mention of his life being wasted too. Typical of her, really. She’d even stormed out of his life, quite literally slamming the door shut behind her, leaving all of her belongings behind in the process.

To be fair, Elizabeth didn’t have a lot of items at his flat; Sebastian didn’t appreciate clutter and she’d been rather materialistic. It wasn’t like they had lived together either. God forbid. That would have been a nightmare, for Elizabeth had a fondness for bobbleheads. There was a whole wall of them at her flat in Soho. At least five shelves worth! Sebastian avoided that wall like the plague, averting his gaze whenever he was forced to walk past, which was quite often, since that wall, unfortunately, led to her bedroom. The bobbleheads’ beady little eyes would nod at him menacingly, as if they didn’t approve of his cavorting with their Elizabeth. Well, they must be happy now. No more Sebastian.

Come to think of it, Elizabeth had always been annoyed that he teased her about her ridiculous collection. Shelves were meant for books, not horrifying knick-knacks! That was probably one of the many reasons why she broke up with him, if not the main reason, as ridiculous as that sounded. Not that he’d ever ask. Not that she’d ever talk to him again. That bridge was effectively burned forever.

“I never understood why you were with her for so long anyway,” Anne continued. Sebastian could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. She was likely decluttering as she chatted with him. Multi-tasking was something Anne did a lot. It was something they had in common.

Sebastian managed to refrain from saying aloud, “She was a good shag,” and instead just grunted noncommittally, popping a handful of popcorn in his mouth and chewing vigorously.

“Come on, Seb. Humor me? I really want to go out and do something.”

“Go out for a bite with Ominis then!”

“He’s held up at work. Something about an important deadline.” Sebastian could hear Anne’s pout through his mobile. Anne and Ominis were married last summer in a lovely—albeit a bit saccharine for Sebastian’s taste—ceremony on the beach in Brighton. They’d been together for ages. Sebastian didn’t know how Anne managed. As much as he loved his oldest friend, Ominis could be a bit of a buzzkill. He was an accountant, after all.

“Tough luck,” Sebastian said in reply, knowing that Anne would not be amused.

He waited for Anne to give up, even though it was probably in vain. Anne possessed a stubborn streak that rivaled his own. Meanwhile, he unpaused the film, keeping the sound muted. He had it memorized anyway. He gave Hemsworth one last long, lingering look of appreciation, and then he was diving down to his demise.

“What if I had an idea?” Anne asked, a mischievous lilt in her tone. Sebastian’s shoulders lifted, a spark of attention flickering in his gaze as he shifted forward, the worn cushions protesting softly beneath him. Anne certainly knew how to pique Sebastian’s interest. It was probably a twin thing.

“What sort of idea?” he asked, reaching for the clicker and pausing the film once more.

“Well, there’s someone I think you’d very much like to meet. And now that you’re single…”

“Oh?” Sebastian interrupted, raising an unruly eyebrow. “Please tell me she’s tall, blond, and athletic.”

Anne laughed. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Of course. “Right,” Sebastian said. “And where, pray tell, will she be on Halloween? A party, I presume?”

“Not exactly.”

Sebastian squinted at the telly, then glanced down at himself—his rumpled shirt, a stain on his joggers, crumbs scattered across his lap. He looked so unkempt, almost pitiful. When had he become so pathetic?

Get a hold of yourself, Sebastian! You’re thirty now. Go out and do something fun, the older and wiser version of himself shouted above his lizard brain.

Sebastian brushed the crumbs off his shirt. Might as well give Anne’s plan a shot. “Fine. Where to?”

The address Anne texted him was a gym, of all places. Good thing she’d told him to wear casual clothing.

In typical fashion, Sebastian was early, so he leaned against the wall near the entrance, waiting for his twin sister to arrive, attempting to ooze suave energy on the off-chance that the young woman Anne wanted to introduce him to was here, or arriving soon.

But why a gym? And on their birthday? And why would this woman Anne wanted him to meet— whoever she bloody was—be at the gym on Halloween? Unless Anne had taken his request for someone athletic rather literally. A man could hope.

Sebastian admitted to himself he was intrigued. He scrolled on his iPhone absentmindedly as he surreptitiously inspected the room.

The gym was more crowded than he expected, but he didn’t observe any young women around his age. Not yet, at least. A group of rather matronly, older women stood off to the side of the room near a door that appeared to lead to a fitness studio. They were chattering away like a gaggle of geese, their heads bobbing back and forth, much like his ex-girlfriend’s bobbleheads. Damn them! Damn those bloody bobbleheads! Why couldn’t he get them out of his head? They were a downright nuisance.

“Happy birthday, Seb!” Anne to the rescue, thank the universe. She pulled him into a short but sweet embrace.

“Right back at ya, sis,” he replied as he fumbled about with his mobile, stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Good, you’re in joggers,” Anne said, nodding approvingly. “You listened.” She smiled and winked.

“I do that sometimes.” He paused. “Now, where’s this cheeky minx you wanted to introduce me to?”

Anne, also in joggers, although hers were one half of a forest-green set—Anne could be a fashion icon when she put in the effort—rolled her eyes. “No wonder Elizabeth broke up with you,” she said.

Sebastian mock-gasped, plunging an invisible dagger into his heart. “Et tu, Brute!”

“Oh, spare me, Caesar.” She pulled her own mobile out of her purse, glanced at it briefly, then nodded as she peered over Sebastian’s shoulder. “Good, we’re right on time. The class should be starting soon.”

Sebastian groaned. “A class? You brought me to one of your exercise classes?”

Anne had been taking exercise classes for years, ever since she beat breast cancer. When Sebastian asked her why—it wasn’t like she needed them, the wisp of a woman that she was—she explained it away as something she enjoyed doing, as she’d never had the stamina when she was ill. Sebastian understood to a certain extent, but he also didn’t appreciate being part of her devious scheme, whatever it entailed.

Speaking of that…

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked, glancing down at his very slight paunch. Sebastian enjoyed a good pint or two at the local pub every other night or so, as most of his colleagues at the university did. It was often the highlight of his day. Who knew that being an English professor could be so tiresome?

“Never!” she said through a chuckle. “I promise I didn’t lie. There is someone I want to introduce you to. But a class or two would probably do you some good,” she added as she walked forward, grasping his hand and pulling him along.

“Okay, where is she?” Sebastian asked, shaking his hand forcefully to release himself from her surprisingly firm grip. He didn’t need his potential new girlfriend to see him holding hands with his sister, of all things.

But Anne didn’t reply as she’d been accosted by the throng of matriarchs at the entrance to the fitness studio.

Wait.

No.

“Anne…” Sebastian began.

“Oh, Anne! We’ve missed you! Where have you been?” The old ladies bowled over each other, pulling Anne into hug after endless hug.

“And who is this?” a woman with bottle-red hair inquired, reaching out for Sebastian. She smelled like she’d been rolling around in a bathtub full of potpourri. He flinched and backed away.

“This is my twin brother, Sebastian,” Anne said. “It’s our birthday today!” Sebastian grimaced, his cheeks growing hot.

“Happy birthday,” another woman with a shock of white hair said to his left, patting his shoulder. At least she smelled normal. Sebastian ducked to the side regardless. Why were these women so affectionate? He was a literal stranger to them! For crying out loud!

The doors opened, saving him from being forced to verbally acknowledge the women. They all shuffled through, Anne leading the pack. Sebastian dawdled behind, his tattered old trainers squeaking on the shiny wood floor.

“Anne,” he said, as he slunk behind her—to the very front row. Dammit, this was dire.

“Yes?” She didn’t look him in the eye. She was too busy stretching. Apparently.

“What class is this?” Sebastian asked hesitantly.

She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a booming baritone. “Welcome, everyone, to Zumba! It looks like we have a new face tonight.” Oh no…

Sebastian snapped his head toward the sound of the man’s voice, only to instantly freeze in place.

Standing before him was the most beautiful man Sebastian had ever laid eyes on.

Wait, that couldn’t be right.

Sebastian shook his head.

The man was simply very aesthetically pleasing, that was all. His eyes were a captivating shade of golden-brown, his hair blond, long and wavy, pulled back in a low bun, and his smile… His smile was dazzling, white and radiant, catching the fluorescent light above his head like a flash of brilliance. He even noticed that the man had a dimple on the right side of his cheek, but not his left. But most importantly, while he wasn’t slim, he was fit. Very, very fit. Chris Hemsworth’s perfectly chiseled body briefly flitted across Sebastian’s mind. He shook his head—bloody again —to disperse it. What was wrong with him today?

Sebastian blinked back to attention.

“I’m Damien, your instructor,” the man said, addressing the whole group, but Sebastian could swear his eyes lingered on Sebastian for a bit longer than everyone else. “Is everyone ready to dance?”

No, Sebastian was not, in fact, ready to dance. Sebastian Sallow didn’t dance.

The instructor—Damien—adjusted his headset, then fiddled with a clicker he fished out of his pocket. The music began.

God, were they really going to warm up to Pitbull? Sebastian shuddered. He was in deep, deep trouble. What had Anne been thinking?

Well, this was complete and utter shite. No surprises there.

“If you’re having trouble following along, start with the feet!” Damien exclaimed, his eyes firmly fixed on Sebastian. “You don’t have to do the arms.”

Sebastian struggled to keep his composure, but it was rather difficult under the circumstances; his brain was fried and he was already sweating bullets. Why was it so hot in this damned room? Where were the bloody fans? And, he suddenly realized he left his Nalgene on the Tube. When this class was over he was going to murder Anne.

To make matters worse, they were only ten minutes in! And where was this young lady that Anne wanted to introduce him to? It would be just Sebastian’s luck that she decided not to come tonight and his birthday would be a total loss. What bollocks!

In his mental grumbling, Sebastian lost his bearings entirely. He stumbled right in the middle of his grapevine like a baby giraffe learning to walk and crashed into the woman to his right—Mrs. Potpourri-Explosion, with her blazing red hair and a figure that could only be described as 'huggably plump.'

She yelped but recovered quickly, following it up with a polite, “It’s alright, dearie,” not once losing her rhythm.

How were these little old ladies so graceful? It was beyond comprehension.

The song—Sebastian vaguely recognized it as merengue—soon ended. Damien, ever attentive, sprinted over to Sebastian. Sebastian braced himself.

“You’re doing great!” Damien called out, flashing a grin. Sebastian desperately wanted to respond, but he found himself speechless, completely overwhelmed by the sudden crisp scent of fresh grass. And was that a hint of mint? Good lord, Damien smelled positively divine.

Clearing his throat, Sebastian glanced down at his trainers. “Thanks, mate,” he mumbled, but Damien was already off, dashing back to the front of the class.

Anne snickered to Sebastian’s left, but he was too distracted to verbally acknowledge her. The music had begun again, this time Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” A classic for Halloween.

Did the instructors choose the songs? Sebastian hoped not. Most of the music thus far had been, frankly, uninspired. But, to be fair, he didn’t think the women in the room would appreciate his taste in music. They’d more than likely complain that it was far too loud and bassy. Anne had never particularly been a fan of Kasabian, The Libertines, or even Arctic Monkeys for that matter. Her loss.

Oh no, they had moved on to salsa. No. Absolutely not.

Sebastian mimed a drinking gesture to Anne, insinuating that he was stepping out of the room for some water. She nodded as she executed what Damien called a ‘right turn’ without missing a beat. Sebastian felt a wave of relief at his decision to escape the room, even if only briefly.

Sebastian thought he had fled alone, but as he made his way to the drinking fountain, taking a quick sip of water, he was gobsmacked to find Mrs. Potpourri looming behind him. He stumbled to the side.

“Is this your first time attending a Zumba class?” she asked, leaning down to fill her water bottle. It was bright red, almost as vibrant as her hair.

Sebastian nodded hesitantly. “That obvious, huh?”

She smiled. “You really are doing great,” she said, repeating what Damien had said earlier in the class. “I’m Mrs. Evans, by the way. But you can call me Mary.”

Evans. Sebastian’s least favorite celebrity Chris. Of course. He somehow managed to hold back a chuckle as he drawled, “You’re far too kind.” “I do try,” she said, her eyes sparkling. Was Sebastian imagining it or did the corner of her lips tilt up ever so slightly? Was she… flirting with him?

No, absolutely not!

Sebastian pivoted sharply and hurried back into the fitness studio. Anne finished an impressively complex turn, then shot him a triumphant grin. “Back already?” she teased, a shit-eating smirk on her face.

“You’re a menace,” Sebastian muttered.

“I know I am," she shot back, "but what does that make you?”

“A fool, obviously,” Sebastian said through a sigh. “Why I ever thought I could trust you…"

Anne had the audacity to shush him! The cheek of it!

And then they were back to dancing to a Pitbull song. What would Mr. Worldwide think of his music being such a hit among the geriatrics? He'd probably be less than thrilled, though the cash flow might help dull the sting a bit…

Mrs. Potpourri—erm, Evans, that is—piped in, scattering his distracted thoughts. “Oh, this song’s my favorite,” she said, very loudly, as if she wanted everyone to hear. “Thank you, Damien!”

Damien tossed another one of his stunning smiles in their direction, his eyes snagging on Sebastian’s once more. Sebastian jerked backward, swallowing nervously, then promptly choked on his own saliva. He burst into a fit of coughing.

The next thing he knew Damien was beside him, thumping him on the back vigorously.

“Breathe, breathe,” he said calmly amid thump after embarrassing thump.

Sebastian attempted to get a word in edgewise but he was too busy literally choking. Bloody fucking hell.

“What’s his name?” he heard Damien ask Anne amidst his hacking. Anne stood beside him looking as if she might burst into laughter at any second. Yes, Sebastian was definitely going to murder her after class. That was decided.

“Sebastian,” she answered.

“Sebastian,” Damien practically crooned. His voice was rich, as if it were dripping with honey. “Sebastian, take a breath.”

Sebastian did as he was told. He took another.

“Good, good.”

Once again, his nose was swept up in a sharp tide of grass and mint. He could almost picture himself at a football match on Christmas Day. God, why did Damien smell so good?

“I’m alright,” Sebastian finally managed to eke out. His whole body felt like he had just been thrown into a blazing fire. He knew his freckled cheeks had utterly betrayed him.

Damien looked away, perhaps embarrassed for him. Or maybe to stifle a laugh. Sebastian hadn’t the foggiest idea.

“We only have a song or two left before cool-down,” Damien said. “You can sit them out if you’d like and wait for your… sister?” he finished as a question. Anne nodded at him in affirmation as Sebastian shook his head vehemently. He was doing that a lot today.

“No, I can do it,” he stated firmly. Damien narrowed his eyes. Sebastian noted it seemed to be more of an inquisitive stare than a challenge though. “I can do it,” he repeated, probably lamely, but whatever. There was no possible way he was going to give up now. Sebastian didn’t care if he passed out cold on the floor from asphyxiation. He was going to prove to this man—his two left feet be damned—that he could finish his class. That he could keep up with his minuscule sister, with these elderly women.

His determination gave him pause though. Why did he even care? Surely Damien wouldn’t give him a second thought after this class was over. Sebastian wouldn’t be back. Sebastian wouldn’t think about Damien ever again either… right? Dammit, he was lying to himself if he thought that statement was true.

For there was something about Damien.

Something in the graceful way he demonstrated the moves for the class, the deep rumble of his voice as he called out affirmations, and then, of course, there was his addictive scent.

Damien chose that very moment to release his hair from his low bun. Sebastian couldn’t look away. Cascades of golden blond hair shimmered in the harsh fluorescent lighting, bouncing coquettishly against the top of Damien’s shoulders as he finished a move. Sebastian released a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

Oh my god.

Oh my god, was he bisexual? Had thirty years of his life passed him by and he’d never even realized?

Surely not. Surely not! No… Damien was just very feminine. Right?

Sebastian would know if he were into men by thirty years old, wouldn’t he?

And then it hit him. Chris Hemsworth. Why did he go to the cinema five times to view The Cabin in the Woods in the first place? Chris Motherfucking Hemsworth. It wasn’t like the man was a BAFTA Award-winning actor. He was merely a sight for sore eyes. He was eye candy. Man candy.

God dammit! Sebastian was very, very bisexual. And he was having this revelation during the middle of a Zumba class, beside his sister, sandwiched between at least a dozen middle-aged women, on his thirtieth birthday. Bugger it all.

He gulped as the final song ended. He couldn’t stay for the cool-down. He needed to get out of this room. Now. Right now. He grabbed Anne by the shoulder and practically carried her out of the fitness studio as she shouted out in protest. Sebastian averted his gaze but managed to catch Damien’s eyes widening before he whipped around and exited the room, irascible twin sister in tow.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, and ensuring they were out of earshot of the gym rats, Sebastian set Anne back down on solid ground.

“What are you doing?” Anne hissed, her eyes blazing.

Why was she angry? It was Sebastian who should be angry! Which he was. Extremely!

“Why didn’t you say something?” he demanded, crossing his arms across his chest.

Anne glowered back at him. “What are you prattling on about?”

“The instructor! Damien!”

“What of him?”

Sebastian glared. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Out with it, then. I want to hear you say it.”

It took Sebastian far too long to realize he was tapping his foot on the floor furiously. “You were going to introduce me to him!”

“By Jove, he’s got it!”

Sebastian released an exasperated sigh. “How did you even know I’d be interested in a man?”

Anne paused. She tilted her head at him curiously. Then, to Sebastian’s complete shock and annoyance, she started to laugh. Why was she laughing? Dammit!

“You didn’t know you were bi?” she said through a guffaw. Sebastian merely stared back at her, his cheeks growing hot. Again. Her face slackened. Her expression shifted to complete astonishment. “You didn’t know,” she repeated, this time more seriously. “I figured you knew. I mean, I am, so why wouldn’t you be?”

“What?” Sebastian stammered.

“Oh come off it, Sebastian. Don’t play coy—you knew I liked women too.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“Really? Even back when Ominis and I were on a break at school?”

Sebastian shook his head. “Oh. Well, erm…Poppy and I…” “I don’t want to know!” He clapped his hands to his ears. “Stop right there!”

“I’m stopping, I’m stopping!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ominis is bi, too, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you think he hates Hobhouse so much?”

Absolutely not. Sebastian took a step back. “Now I know you’re messing with me,” he tried, hoping he was correct.

She burst into laughter. “Okay, okay. You got me there. But he did tell me he kissed Garreth once.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Swear down!”

Sebastian brought a hand to his forehead and began to rub at it vigorously. “At this rate, I’m questioning everything—myself included.”

“Someone has to.”

He gave her a good shove. “Rude,” she complained, but Sebastian noted her tone was light and airy. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Now it was Anne’s turn to cross her arms and tap her foot impatiently.

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.

She nodded toward the fitness studio door, which was now open. The crowd of middle-aged women were already streaming out. Well, it appeared class had (finally) ended. So why wasn’t Sebastian relieved?

“Go on, then—go get him, tiger!” Anne laughed, giving him a firm push.

Sebastian gulped. How exactly did one approach a man? He guessed he was about to find out.

He had barely stepped through the door when Damien practically materialized before him. Sebastian’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

“Thanks for coming today!” Damien said, grinning. “It was nice to see a male face in my class for once.” He was speaking so quickly that Sebastian could hardly keep up—and he completely missed the last bit. But Damien was now looking at him expectantly. Shit.

“Uh…what?” Sebastian said, rather dumbly.

Damien chuckled, toying with a loose strand of his long blond hair. “I asked if you’d come again,” he repeated, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Hm?” Sebastian’s attention had drifted, far too entranced by the way Damien’s long, slender fingers teased through his hair. Sebastian wanted to be the one doing that.

Oh god, Damien had asked a question. Shit! Shit, shit, shit.

He snapped back to reality to find Damien smiling, eyebrows raised. “Will you be coming to my class again?”

“Oh.” Sebastian hesitated, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to let Damien down.

Perhaps sensing his indecision, Damien filled the silence. “No pressure. I was just curious.”

“To be honest…I don’t think I’m cut out for Zumba.”

Damien’s smile faltered very slightly. It seemed as if he was trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “Fair enough,” he replied. “Well, thanks for coming, then.” He gave a polite nod and started to turn away.

“Wait!” Sebastian blurted out. He was bungling this entirely. Why was he like this?

Damien turned back around and searched Sebastian’s face.

“I… erm…could I maybe have your number?” he heard himself ask, barely believing it.

Damien’s eyebrows shot up, but then a carefree grin spread across his handsome face. All of Sebastian’s thoughts emptied at once as warmth flooded through him from head to toe—and then some. Most notably, a steady pool of it settled low in his belly, just above his waistband. He shifted his stance, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pressure as he waited, pulse thrumming, for Damien’s reply.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Damien said, pulling his mobile out of his pocket.

And just like that, Sebastian Sallow was stepping into new territory: showing interest in a man. On his thirtieth birthday, no less. Truly, the universe had a sense of humor. Did wonders never cease?

Sebastian sauntered out of the fitness studio, feeling rather chuffed with himself. He spotted Mrs. Evans by the door, likely lingering to thank Damien for the class—she struck him as the exceptionally polite type.

“He’s all yours now,” Sebastian said with a casual nod. Mrs. Evans just smiled back, an odd twinkle in her eye that almost looked… mischievous.

She raised a hand in farewell, then called out, “Ready to go, Damien?”

Huh? Did Damien know this woman outside of class?

Damien whipped off his headset and began gathering his things. “Coming, Mum!”

…Oh. Oh. Well. That explained that, then. Damien Evans. It figured.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x oc #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy oneshot #hogwarts legacy art #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy modern au #anne sallow #hogwarts legacy anne sallow #crack fic #kinda?#I'd like to thank my Zumba class of the past three years for sparking the idea for this fic #they are the true MVPs #not that any of them are on Tumblr LMAO #OH GOD I HOPE THEY'RE NOT

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annaraebananawriter · 3 months ago

Text

Day 1 - Stars

Hello all! I come bearing a new fic for a new ship week. This one (created by @starsanspolyweek) (which is also me) is for the Star Sans Poly ship! It's so fun to explore how much they mean to one another, and I thought about doing a ship week for them a few years back, but only got the courage and motivation to start it last year. So sorry about not posting anything for that one--I honestly just didn't get anything written. But this year I have!

I will try and update daily, though today is the only full day I have pre-written. The others are mostly a handful of words, or a blank page. We'll see how it goes.

Without a further ado, happy reading!!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically UTMV

Characters: Dream (Who belongs to Joku), Blue (Who belongs to P0pcornPr1nce) and Ink (Who belongs to Comyet)

Pairings: Star Sans Poly/Pre-Star Sans Poly

Warnings: None, actually, now that I think about it. Let me know!

Summary: "Dream is not mortal. His brother, Nightmare, is also not mortal. They are both gods. An incident in the past involving both of them forced the hand of the other gods to create a new rule: Mortals and Gods are not to interact, let one infect the other with knowledge they should not possess.

This rule becomes a problem when Dream becomes infatuated with two mortals, Ink and Blue."

Word Count: 4420

***

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen:

***

The tree was always Dream’s favorite place to watch the stars. Nothing beat climbing up to the furthest branch, using skills built upon centuries of practice to get up with the ease and grace as a nimble forest animal would naturally have, using the same skills to balance there on a branch that would’ve cracked had he been anyone else.

Being so high up got him so close to the sky, so close he could almost feel the twinkling lights kissing him. He could spend hours there, crouched in the tree, staring up at the wonder most didn’t think twice of.

Correction: he has spent hours there. He often got so lost in the beauty of things that he forgot to return home, and so his brother would be forced to come and retrieve him. Though he’s often said to Nightmare to just let him be, and though his brother often agrees to do so, forever annoyed at having to leave their house for any reason, he is often going back on his word, there at the base of the tree to call him home before sunrise without fail, every night.

Tonight, it’s still early enough that he knows he has time to watch. He settles in, leaning against the trunk, eyes searching the sky for anything and nothing at the same time. If he were an artist, his fingers would itch with a drawing. If he were a writer, it would be a story or poem instead. He is neither, however, so instead all he does is look.

That is enough to content him.

Mostly.

He does sometimes wish he were more creative. Sure, he can sketch something and have it end up half-resembling the original idea, and he can string together a short story with a simple theme, but they both end up crude and childish. That’s not a bad thing overall, it just leaves him unsatisfied, forever envious of those who can do them.

It’s funny, really, that in all the centuries he’s been alive, he has never mastered the art of art. So many other things he can do with his eyes closed. Never art. The closest thing to it is baking, maybe gardening, both things he can do well enough. Healing might be considered an art in itself, but it’s not paint and words and colours and metaphors. It’s not something people will look at for years with awe, not something people will hang up on their walls or in galleries. It’s simply a skill to help others, as is his duty and job—the only thing he is ever frustrated by.

He doesn’t hate doing his job. No, he does enjoy helping people. It makes him smile when he can dry a child’s tears with some warm magic on the knee, or when he grants a miracle to a family who now needn’t worry about the cost of a funeral for someone so young. In fact, he prides himself on doing good, spreading laughter across the world. He loves the stories told of him, the kind way they portray him in artwork, and he’s flattered by the statues of him in temples. It’s all something he enjoys.

That doesn’t mean he can’t find it uncomfortable at times.

One of the very first things people decided about him was that he was never selfish. He was always working in favor of others, always, no matter the demand or price. As the people have sway over how the universe works, he is bound to this fact. He can never act for himself, not without it also benefiting others. In the beginning, he hadn’t minded this, naïve to there being a different way to live, but when he found out he was the exception to the general rule, he couldn’t help but find it unfair.

Yes, he is not mortal. That shouldn’t mean he cannot be as free as them.

He should not have to bend to their whim, pick up after their messes, make every tiny wish come true. He should not have to heal all their scraps, paper cuts to broken bones, and he should not have to drug them to feel happiness, his aura meant to be something soothing and helpful in a crisis, not something to get addicted to.

Through the years, he’s grown so irritated that the common belief about him is that he enjoys being seen as a slave. It is simply not true at all. He enjoys helping people, yes, but he does not enjoy how it is half of what people see when they look at him. He is so much more than that. He is the sun and the stars and the light of your home, the lightness in your chest. He is the pleasant morning breeze against your flushed skin as you close your eyes and bask in it. He is the relationship you have with your closest friends and family, the way they know you better than yourself, that unspoken trust that they will be there to hold you when you fall.

He is so much more than a helper.

Dream is a God.

Yet, the laws of the universe dictate that he never speak about his wants, for that would be ‘—blasphemy for suggesting that we have free will like the mortals. We do not. We serve Fate, and Fate tells us to serve the mortals, to act the part they want us to play.’

Nightmare is a stickler for the rules. He never used to be. He was once as dissatisfied with the role mortals gave him while he had not been able to see what he meant, too wrapped up in the glitz of attention. Time has seen that their roles flipped over. Now, Nightmare insists he remember the laws, remember the role he plays, the one both of them play. What happened all those years ago changed him so much…

Ah, but he rambles. As he always does when watching the stars.

It’s time to clear his mind, lean his head back against the bark and fall into his trance. Crickets are abound on the grassy floor of the hill below, providing a symphony as he follows his own instructions, stretching his leg out along the branch. On a whim, he plucks an apple out of the air, biting into it, letting the juice fill his mouth.

It makes him sigh, this simple act of savoring what he eats, especially since it’s not needed. It is something he wanted, and so it was something he did.

A small rebellion, if you wish to call it that.

Closing his eyes, he took another bite.

He should eat more often. It’s a pleasant experience, and the taste is amazing. This apple was just one of the many edible things out there, too. Perhaps he should try an orange next, or maybe one of those sweets he’s heard about. Something to consider the next time he comes to the tree to watch the stars, that’s for sure.

When he opens his eyes again to look at the sky, he finds himself looking at a face instead. Freezing like a deer caught in the hunter’s gaze, Dream looks at the face in front of him, eyes wide.

It belongs a skeleton monster, that much is obvious, and it’s eyelights do a curious thing he’s never seen before. They change. Shapes and colours, they change as the monster blinks, making him fascinated. He’s never met a monster whose eyes change colours. It’s intriguing to watch, and he wants to ask this monster how his eyes work. Does he pick the colours and shapes? Or do they just happen? Does he know his eyes change, or will the news surprise him?

And then he remembers the new law, instilled after Nightmare’s incident: Mortals and Gods are not to interact, let one infect the other with knowledge they should not possess.

Remembering it, and realizing this would count as a violation of the law, makes his eyes widen even further, something in his stomach churning uncomfortably. He starts to panic, thinking of the repercussions of this act is found out, how it will affect Nightmare, since the universe is much more willing to blame any fault of his onto his brother.

The apple slips from his hand as his grip loosens.

The mortal catches the apple before it falls too far to salvage. “Hello!” The mortal says, grinning. His eyes change again, distracting Dream from his panic for a few moments. There’s an ink splotch on his cheek. Is he aware of it? “What brings you all the way up here?”

“Um…” Dream says, and then his panic returns, engulfing his line of thought. Automatically, he tugs at his magic, giving it the order to teleport him out of this interaction before he gives away more than he should.

Unfortunately, he does think of a destination along with the order, so he blinks and finds himself falling, having only teleported below where he was sitting, in a space without any branches to catch himself with. The beginning of a scream escapes him before he manages to wrench his mouth shut. It’ll do no good to draw even more attention to himself, not now. The best he can do is keep quiet and begin to teleport again.

Before he can give the order, he is caught, his hand instinctively clenching the fabric of a shirt. Blinking once, then twice, he breathes heavily as it sinks in that if he was caught that means…he looks up at the face of another mortal, another skeleton monster at that, who is looking down at him with concern, checking that he is alright.

Then, his face changes, jaw clenching, and the mortal looks up at the tree. “Ink! You were supposed to ask him why he was up there, not scare him into falling!” The mortal shouts up at the other one.

Ink, Dream thinks. How fitting, considering the splotch of the substance on his cheek.

The mortal who caught him does not have the changing eyelights of his companion, but that does not mean they are any less fascinating. They are blue, a bright blue that almost seems to glow, contrasted by the darkness that surrounds them. It’s a trick, he knows that—and really, the only eyelights that can glow are his own, a tell that he is not as mortal as everyone else—but it still makes his heart skip a beat.

Sounds of leaves being shaken come from above their heads, and they watch the other mortal—Ink—hop down. At first, the height he jumps from makes Dream panic, a feeling echoed from the mortal whose arms he was still in. Or maybe that feeling came first and he was the one that echoed it. Emotions were vague, that way. Landing perfectly fine, though with a bit of a stumble, Ink does not feel regret for making them worry, instead just laughs at them.

“I didn’t mean to, honest!” Ink says, grinning first at his companion, then looking down at Dream, blinking. His eyes change again: two question marks, different colours. “I gotta say, it’s weird that you got down here so quickly. I mean, I know you fell, but still. I didn’t hear any branches break or anything. The only leaves on the ground are from me.”

He’s observant. How terrible. Not only will he have to scramble for an excuse to leave as soon as possible, praying that he makes it home before anyone can get suspicious, he will have to find a way to avoid these questions.

The companion answers before he finds any words. “Don’t be silly, Ink, he just fell. That’s it. There’s nothing different about him.” He says the words pointedly, as if referring to something only the two of them understand. What were they talking about?

No, no, don’t ponder that!

Just go home.

Except he’s still in the mortal’s arms, and now he’s been in them so long, it feels too awkward to ask him to set him on his feet. That is the only reason he hasn’t moved, he tells himself, and nothing to do with the fact that it’s comfy here.

Ink scoffs, throwing Dream’s apple in the air and catching it. He takes a bite out of the other side, opposite from where his marks were. For whatever reason, the fact that this mortal is eating his food makes his cheeks burn. “You don’t know that. I’m telling you, there’s something off about him! Something…magical.”

His companion—he really must discover his name—shakes his head. He feels exasperated. Obviously, they have had many conversations like this. “Magic doesn’t exist.”

Unable to stop himself in time, Dream flinches. To proclaim that magic does not exist in front of a God, a being comprised of and birthed from the rawest form of magic, knowing you were in the presence of one or not…well, that hurts. It’s like someone denying a piece of you exists, no matter how much proof is written down, how many times you explain it to scholars and historians. It’s like they shake their head, telling you that you are the uneducated one, and referring you to a handful of resources that provide all the reasons as to why, exactly, you’re wrong about yourself.

Ink sees this flinch. “Ah, but he flinched when you said that! Why would he flinch unless you wounded him personally?” Grinning in triumph, he walks closer, standing in front of them with his hands on his hips. There is a small bit of apple stuck on the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps it’s time to ask the man himself. What say you, Magician? How do you explain traveling such a distance in such a short time?”

As the mortals wait for an answer, Dream swallows.

The only way to get out of this is to lie, which goes against everything that he is; God of Honesty and all that. Which is different from truth, yes, but it still holds the same restrictions. He cannot lie here, not fully. But there are many ways to lie and perhaps he can use that to his advantage by taking a page out of Nightmare’s book: avoidance and omission.

Yes, this will work. Or else he risks all of them being in trouble.

“Uh…” Dream says, swallowing again as he draws on his courage to raise his eyes to meet Ink’s. The changing eyelights are trained on him with unwavering attention. Clearing his throat, Dream tilts his head, pushing a curious expression to fall over his face. “Your eyelights change, did you know that? I’ve never met someone like that before.”

It’s a very clear avoidance, much like seeing someone you don’t want to talk to, making eye contact with them even, and deliberately turning and walking right back where you came from. Ink doesn’t call him out on it, though, instead just hums. “I see, I see. You want to keep your secrets. I guess I can respect that. A magician never tells, correct?”

“They’re very pretty to watch,” Dream continues as if he hadn’t replied.

Ink stares at him some more before shrugging. “Alright, Magician, keep your secrets. Maybe you’ll tell me your trick one day.” Now that his topic seems to be finished, he smiles, putting on a show of blinking and unveiling the brand-new eyelights. “Thank you! They are my second-best trait, if I do say so myself.”

Dream blinks. “Second-best?”

“Yes,” Ink laughs, eyes scrunching up. New eyelights appear. “They’re fine, but I’m used to them by now. It doesn’t excite me as much as it seems to excite you.” Sending him a wink, he reaches into his satchel, which is sat on the ground on a blanket he had been too preoccupied to notice before now. There are other things scattered on the blanket, a few snacks, and a telescope aimed up at the sky.

Finding what he’s looking for, Ink holds a notebook in front of him. “But these are much more interesting. I say this with modesty, of course. I would never proclaim myself one of the greatest artists of my generation.” With a hand on his heart, and a grin on his face to say how he really feels, he offers the notebook to Dream, who reaches out to accept the notebook but falters, remembering he is still in the arms of the other mortal.

Isn’t he tired yet? His arms must be aching by now. He is not a light God, certainly would not come across as a light mortal. But the mortal doesn’t appear to really notice him in his arms, content to stand as long as needed. Still, even knowing he wouldn’t mind holding him for a while yet, it feels like he’s being mean by taking a notebook to look through, lounging in the arms like it was his idea. Certainly, if he does this, he would come across as selfish, and as already established, this is something he cannot do.

But how to explain such things to a mortal…?

Ink seems to notice his dilemma, and he smirks at his companion. “Are you going to hold him all night, Blue, or are you going to allow him to stand on his own two feet again? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to make sure he was uninjured.”

His companion—Blue, Dream thinks to himself. How appropriate, with eyelights the essence of the word itself—jumps as if just remembering he is, in fact, holding someone in his arms.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I didn’t think to—I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t seem to know how to explain himself, stuttering and starting over as he sets Dream on his feet. When he looks back at him, Blue is blushing, flushed from his neck up, the colour just as bright as his eyelights as it glows. Ink is laughing in front of them, not even trying to hide it.

Dream smiles, laughs a little himself, patting him on the shoulder. “If it helps any, your arms are quite comfortable.”

Blue’s blush deepens. “Thanks.”

Taking the notebook from Ink, he first runs his fingers over the cool sensation of the leather cover. He’s unable to tell what colour it is exactly, too much of the pigment sucked into the darkness that surrounds them—which reminds him of another problem. “It’s too dark to see your art.”

Ink looks up at him as he plops himself down onto the blanket. He’s still eating Dream’s apple. “Ah, right. Forgot it was night.” Laughing at himself, he shrugs. “I guess you’ll just have to borrow it and wait till morning to look at it.”

Blue frowns at Ink, having walked around Dream and is fiddling with the telescope. “You’re giving it away? You never give your sketchbook away.”

With those words, Dream’s hand stills, fingers hovering in the air, a hair width away from the cover. Never? What made him so special, then?

It seems that’s Blue’s question as well, the one not spoken aloud. Ink shrugs again, answering both of them at the same time. “I’m not giving it away forever. It’s not like he’s just going to keep it.” Pausing, he looks at Dream, appearing for the first time this night nervous. “Are you?”

Dream shakes his head. “Of course not! I understand how important your art is to you artists. I would never steal it from you.”

“Right.” Gesturing at Dream, Ink continues talking to Blue, “See? I’m not giving it away. I’m letting someone borrow it.”

“Yes, but you never do that either.”

“There’s a first for everything.”

Silence rings in the air as both companions fall silent. He cannot help but feel that an unspoken conversation was just had with those few words, a conversation he is not even somewhat aware of. Like Ink said—a first for everything. What did they talk about? Was it about him? Must’ve been. Was he really that important to them?

Oh no, he didn’t interrupt anything, did he? Is he ruining something by lingering here? Well, he is, but is he ruining something for the mortals, too?

It’s best he leaves, quickly now, before—

“Are you going to sit down, Magician?”

Blinking out of his worries, Dream clutches the book to his chest. “Pardon?”

Ink tilts his head back, looking at him upside down. “Are you going to sit down, join us? I promise you; we don’t bite.” Another pause. “Not unless we have to.”

Blue smacks his arm. “Ink!”

Ink laughs, the sound beautiful, filling the quiet as if it was always meant to be there. “What? Just telling the truth. You really have nothing to be afraid of, I swear it. We’re out here to test run Blue’s telescope, that’s all—he built it himself, you see.”

Mouth opening in surprise, Dream draws closer, inspecting the telescope. It’s true. It’s made out of a mixture of wood and metal. If he reaches a hand out to touch the barrel, he runs the risk of getting a blister. Despite this, it is pretty, the rough wood a nice texture, the cool metal that frames the edges, that makes up the legs and the viewing port a nice difference, a good compliment. He cannot see too many details—again, too dark—but he can tell that a lot of work was put into it.

Shifting his gaze, he finds Blue’s gaze. “It’s amazing. How did you build it?”

Shrugging, gaze dropping back to his fiddling, Blue mumbles. “It’s nothing special, really…just wanted to make something to look closer at the stars…”

Beside him, Ink groans. “Don’t be silly, Blue.” Scooting over, he leans against Dream’s back, his breath warming the side of his skull as he whispers into where his ear would be if he was based on a human. “I keep telling him not to be so modest. It never sticks.” Getting louder, he leans forward even more, pointing at Blue and his telescope. “You built it to prove to your classmates that you didn’t get into school by chance. You built it because you knew you could. You built it with your heart, with determination—that’s how you built it.”

It seems Blue is unused to so many compliments in a row, the flush creeping back in, but Dream can tell that this is a proud flush, not an embarrassed one. “Bit more to it than that, but I suppose…and I can tell that I need to change the glass—I don’t think this was the correct cut. I need to change other things a bit, too, as it’s not zooming in as much as I want it to…” The longer he speaks, the more confident he gets, the more relaxed. He is in his comfort zone now, talking about his telescope, about the intricacies of it.

As he rambles, Dream glances over his shoulder to Ink, finding him looking at Blue with a smile far gentler than his grins were. This one, he can tell, is only used for moments like this, looking at someone he loves. Oh, how much he loves Blue…the emotion is like flying up into the sky, being among all the stars, all the lights, and closing your eyes and letting yourself fall, the euphoria in letting go.

It makes Dream’s essence pulse in tandem, like a heart skipping a beat.

However, in doing this, it reminds him of how different he is to these mortals. Why he puts them all in danger the longer he stays.

If Nightmare were to catch him like this…it would not be worse than the others, but it would mean being on lockdown. He would not be able to go anywhere without his brother breathing down his back, watching his every move, through his own eye or one of his familiars’. His brother is paranoid, afraid of what the others have done. If he sees this, he will worry that the others have as well, that the same thing that happened to him will happen to Dream…

He should leave. He should leave, right now.

But…

Tuning out of the conversation, Dream looks down at the book in his hands, runs his fingers over the leather, feeling an indentation where Ink has carved his name.

Ink has given him his sketchbook, obviously a weighted responsibility with the way they were talking earlier. Then there’s Blue and his telescope, which he built from the ground up with his own two hands, and the way lying in his arms was so comforting—he wants to know everything about them both. Why build things? Why draw things? Why create things?

These two mortals are the first ones he’s spoken to in a long, long time. Since before Nightmare’s incident and the law was fashioned. He wants to know how things have changed from last time, how much progress they’ve made as a society—he has heard of an Industrial Revolution, would like to know about it from the eye of mortals, maybe even see the changes it had made for himself. He longs for it, an ache in his bones that he cannot ignore any longer, has so many questions and two people able to answer these questions sitting so close to him.

It's dangerous to stay…but it would be terrible to leave.

The mortals deemed him selfless, to never act for himself. They might have had good intentions at first, but they quickly grew greedy with their order and wishes, and the gift turned into a curse, a prison. He has spent so long behind these bars, watching mortals grow close with one another, watched the others dictate the laws of the universe like they were the only deciding factor of it. He has watched mortals revolt tyranny all on their own, watched them write into their laws time after time some version of free will, that everyone has the right to be who they are, all of themselves, without judgement, without prohibition.

Perhaps the same can be true of a God…

Perhaps the same can be true of him.

There is a first for everything, and so Dream decides to try and be selfish, sitting down on the blanket to stay in the mortals’ company for a little while longer.

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