#George barely knows that he’s doing when he writes people of color himself

[dulcewrites]

Why is Myrah not dornish? I am curious because she looks like I imagined Oberyn's dughters with Ellaria and when I read she is from Reach I was confused. Among 7 kingdoms only people from Dorne are non white as far as I am concerned. It's not hate, I genuinely thought you would write her as dornish with all pictures you tagged as myrah.

Myrah is from the vale because half of her father’s family is from myr and half is from the vale. The castle that is to become hers sits there. If someone were to ask her where she is from, she’d say the vale. If someone asked her what her ethnic makeup is, that is a different story

Myrah’s mom (amal) rhoynish and summer islander. I’ve mentioned Myrah’s grandma in the piece, she lives in the dornish marshes. I’ve also mentioned the places her maternal grandmother hold dear to her… they are inhabited by people of color. I have mentioned Myrah’s heritage and how it affects her clothing here. In chapter 9, she literally talks about naming her bunny nymeria.

“Myrah tries to think of what Vhagar would sound like. Ironically, she imagines her sounding a bit like her maternal grandmother, who now resides in the Dornish Marshes. A funny, older woman who has seen a lot, probably too much. From the Water Gardens of southern Dorne to the Red Flower Vale of the Summer Isles to the Isle of Butterflies. Vhagar is battle tested in the way her grandmother is life tested.”

There were 10 thousands ships, not every rhoynish person landed in dorne. Though myrah’s grandmother has ties there after she settled down, she was a traveler (something y’all will get when I write more about the everlanes). Some settled other places. The same way you can call African Americans black. You can’t call all black people African American. There is a diaspora. There are rhoynish people who consider themselves dornish, they are people of rhyonish blood who may not

“The Rhoynar attempted to settle in Naath where they were welcomed by its peaceful people, but they were soon driven off by disease.[2] In the Summer Isles, the Rhoynar settled on the uninhabited so-called "Isle of Women" for more than two years.[2][4][5] The princes of the isles refused to allow them to settle on the larger islands, fearing the wrath of the Freehold.[4] However, many soon starved for the island was poorly soiled and yielded little food,[2] and disease and slavers took their toll.”

“although the less seaworthy ships settled the Stepstones, or were blown off course to Lys and Tyrosh and gave themselves up to the slavers of the Free Cities rather than die at sea. Nymeria and her ships finally made landfall on the coast of Dorne, near the mouth of the river Greenblood, not far from the Sandship, the ancient seat of House Martell.[2][6]”

“While most Rhoynar integrated into Dornish society, especially into the so-called "salty Dornishmen", the orphans of the Greenblood have retained their Rhoynish heritage and language.[2] The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, who sits Iron Throne, claims the title of King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.[3]”

Also even if her family wasn’t from any of those, I’d still write her as mixed… bc I can. If I can write something about a dragon riding prince, I don’t think it’s far fetched for readers to use their ~imagination~ and picture a woc living in the seven kingdoms lmao

[weministertomonsters]

Orc (Oak) x human female reader ~ Part 2

  You're deep in a pleasant dream about Oak when you're woken up by someone banging on your door.

  "Are you up? Breakfast won't make itself, you know!"

  It's Ms. Markely. The floor stings your bare feet but you hardly notice as you spring out of bed and march to the door, more than a little annoyed about having your dream interrupted.

  "Since when do I make your breakfast?" You growl heatedly as you swing your door open. "I'm not a maid!"

  "Good morning to you as well," Ms. Markely scowls and then clears her throat, giving you a slightly apologetic look when she notices you're still in your sleepwear. "Listen, George finally came out of his room, and seeing as I can't make more than toast and eggs, I was hoping you'd make something a little nicer, to entice him to come down more often."

  Access to Ms. Markely's larder? You'd be mad to turn that opportunity down.

  "I see," you feign interest in the rare appearance of Ms. Markely's son.

  He means nothing to you, but George is one of the few people Ms. Markely cares about and she talks about him incessantly. She tells you about what a glorious man he used to be and what a sad husk of a human he has become and how she despairs over it.

George broke a leg months ago in a horse race. Things went downhill and his leg got infected and had to be amputated to save his life. You hadn't been living with Ms. Markely at that time but George had been something of a figure around the town and everyone was talking about it, even the women at the wool cabin. He went from a real lady's man to a nobody very quickly and apparently, the man was ruined after that and he shut himself up in his room and spent his days writing poetry and smoking.

  "How about a bargain? I'll make you breakfast, if you let me have some of it," you say.

  "Deal." Ms. Markely looks triumphant and scurries down the stairs back to her son. "Oh, George, you should see how the garden is flourishing, even in this cold!" She calls out to him somewhere downstairs. "How you used to love the winter blooms!"

  You can't help but smile a little. Ms. Markely is almost tolerable when her son is around. Having him come downstairs more often would improve the atmosphere, you decide. You dress quickly and hunt Ms. Markely down for the key to the larder. She reluctantly hands it to you.

  "Don't take more than you need, mind. I keep a strict inventory and I'll know if you take anything."

  You stifle an eye roll. "I'm not a thief, Ms. Markely."

  The larder is stuffed to the brim with food. The subtle scents of preserves reach your nose and you peruse the shelves for ingredients. She has enough food to last the entire winter and then a while into spring. You resolve to make a breakfast worthy of a queen because you wouldn't mind getting to share some of this food. There's a nearly empty barrel of wrinkled apples that looked like they won't be missed, so you pocket one. You can hear Ms. Markely at the far side of the porch, holding a conversation with the neighbor, ready to let the world town know that her George was out of his room.

  You push the kitchen door open with your foot and ease inside, trying to avoid dropping your armful of goodies. Once you have everything set safely on the table, you polish the apple against your skirt to wipe away the thin layer of dust and take a bite. It's still crisp and sweet, amazingly enough. You turn to the wood bin, almost moaning in delight at the flavor, and choke on the mouthful because a man is sitting on a chair beside the lit stove, watching you.

  His face is gaunt and washed of color, his eyes set deep underneath dark, troubled brows. His eyes are a familiar steely blue. His right leg is stretched out towards the warmth of the fire, while the wooden one provides a surface for him to lean his elbow on. He gazes at you with a great measure of curiosity.

  "I took the liberty of making a fire," he says, and his voice light and melodic, a complete contrast to his sharp-angled appearance.

  "Thank you. I presume you're George?" You reply, clearing your throat.

  "Yes."

  You introduce yourself in turn and he says,

  "I know who you are. I watch you leave for work every morning from the window. You're very pretty, especially in the blue dress."

  There's nothing polite you can say to any of that, so you give him a small smile and start to put together a mix of flour, eggs, sugar, and cinnamon to make pancakes. He watches you, hardly moving anything except his eyes, which follow you like a hawk.

  "You know, staring like that is rude," you chide, trying not to sound too annoyed or concerned with his strange behavior.

  "I cannot help it," he replies, and you give him a look.

  Well, now I'm not so ecstatic about having you around, you think. Creep.

  You duck outside and head back to the larder to get a basket of green beans. You come back into the kitchen and hand him the basket.

  "We're having these beans for lunch," you say sweetly. "If you could help me snap them, I would be grateful."

  He takes the basket slowly with a sniff. He glances over his eyebrows at you and takes a bean pod in his delicate hands.

  "How do you do it?"

  You demonstrate, snapping a bean and pulling on it to remove the sinewy string in the middle before you discard the string on the floor to be swept away later. The entire time, he's staring at your face instead of your hands and you tell yourself that if he isn't paying attention it's his damn fault. You're not going to demonstrate it again. You're beginning to wonder if he also hit his head in the accident and meet his gaze defiantly, ready to scold him for being creepy.

  He looks down and some color seeps into his wan cheeks. "Sorry," he says, and peeks up at you sheepishly.

  Suddenly flustered, you step away and concentrate on cooking, because what on earth was that you just felt? A flutter in your stomach? You have no idea what that means. You're pretty sure you're not attracted to him. No way.

  After that little incident, things settle into some semblance of normalcy and breakfast eventually commences without a hitch. George eats very little, picking at his food and looking sick whenever he takes a bite. Ms. Markely dotes over him and he ignores her, sneaking glances at you. For once you're glad to be going to work and getting away from the house and his unnerving eyes.

  When you get to the wool cabin, one of the women is pacing restlessly.

  "I have no idea where she is! We came in together but she's no longer here. I've checked everywhere."

  "She probably snuck out to play with her friends. You know Ann," one of the women says.

  "But it's unlike her to run off that like that," Ann's mother murmurs, her eyebrows furrowed.

  "Leave her be, she works far too slow and talks too much, it's better if she isn't here," Ms. Markely says, sweeping inside and glancing at her pocket watch. "Snap to work, ladies!"

  Ann's mother reluctantly begins to work, glancing up at the door now and then.

  The hours tick by and you find yourself glancing discreetly at the sundial on the windowsill to try and guess what time Oak will be stopping by. You're halfway through a basket of wool when Ms. Markely comes hurrying up to you.

  "Dear me, I forgot to restock the woodbin!" She says in a hushed voice to you. "George is in no condition to get wood from the outdoor shed. Would you be a dear and make sure there's enough wood for him to keep warm? I'll compensate for your time, of course."

  "Oh, alright," you sigh and stand, secretly pleased at the chance to stretch your legs and still earn your regular amount.

  You hurry back to Ms. Markely's house, which is within walking distance. As soon as you let yourself in the gate, you can tell something is wrong. The front door is open. You grab the garden rake and tiptoe inside, peering around. Nothing is out of place or missing, which is odd. The silence is pierced by the sound of a child crying. Confused and anxious over what you'll find, you follow the sound which leads you up to Mrs. Markely's bedroom, of all places.

  There is a spindly, dirty girl crouched beside the bed, clutching a necklace of pearls.

  "I only wanted to get Momma something to sell because we're broke!" She wails at the man standing over her. "We can't even buy any milk for the baby," she sniffles.

  "Now that's just too bad," the man says, clicking his tongue in mock sympathy.

  "Y-you're a m-monster!" Ann shrieks as she looks up and sees something on his face that scares her, burrowing her face between her knees.

  The man is leaning against a cane to ease the weight on his wooden leg. George. He leans down like he's about to take the necklace from her. That's when you catch a glimpse of his reflection in the ornate standing mirror across the room. Where his eyes should be there's nothing but a black void like his eyeballs have been scooped out. You can't help but gasp. George and Ann turn to look at you. With a few garbled words tossed your way, Ann runs past you and out of the room, leaving the necklace on the floor. 

  "You shouldn't be here," George growls, stepping forward. "You're not supposed to see me like this."

  "I... Your m-mother wanted to make sure you were staying w-warm," you stammer, backing away.

  "You needn't act so scared," he pouts. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

  "Where are your eyes?" You retort, gripping the rake tightly. "What are you?"   "Hush now, this doesn't have to become difficult for us both," George says, licking his lips. "This is a fine opportunity for me. Not so much for you, but if you do what I tell you to, I promise it won't hurt."

  He drops the cane and strides towards you, all of a sudden agile and reaching out with cold hands. The bloodlessness of his skin takes on a whole new meaning.

  "Don't touch me!" You shriek and swing the rake at him.

  He catches it by the handle and snaps it in half with ease, throwing the pieces behind him. His black holes for eyes leer at you and when he opens his mouth, sharp teeth glisten. He lunges at you and you dart to the side to try and get away. Your body teeters out into the open air and you're falling down the stairs like a sack of potatoes, clunking and banging your head and limbs on what feels like the edge of every step. You hadn't realized you were so close to the stairs.

  When you finally come to a dazed stop at the bottom of the stairs, you try to drag yourself away, but your vision is filled with dark spots and you can't see straight. He's much faster, straddling you and forcing you onto your back.

  "I have waited so long for this," he pants, baring his teeth and going straight for your neck.

  Pain is the last thing you feel.

[atopvisenyashill]

i’m loooving asoiaf but i’m disturbed by the way martin describes the girls’ bodies, do we really need to know that dany/marg/jeyne have small breasts? do we really need to know that sansa’s are “ample for a girl her age”? do we really need to know the color and size of arianne’s nipples? must they all come with a bra size?

ya, imo it’s a combination of

there were a few time jumps/events he thought would take longer that didn’t work out and when he abandoned them timeline wise, he didn’t like, abandon the characters acting older lol

george tends to focus on the extreme youth of the characters as a form of tragedy (the infamous “she had just turned 14” line) but because george himself is interested in the way war, identity, power, etc affect sexuality, it also unfortunately means he focuses in way too much on the bodies and sexualities of barely teenaged girls.

the “payoff” of all this is the ending of the series which we will never get, so i think people think the extreme levels of skeezy behavior will be ignored like they are in f&b - see: rodrick arryn being a sweet doting husband to his child bride, something that just doesn’t happen in the main series. the only “functional” couple we get with an age difference like that is fat walda and roose bolton, and roose is a villain and they are about to get merked by ramsay anyway so! every other teenager/adult sexual or romantic relationship has some obvious level of abuse on display, even Lancel/Cersei - you can really see the relationship damage his sense of self as it progresses!

he is a 75 year old white man named george from jersey. him being an amazing writer does not negate the fact that he has his own blind spots & will write things that don’t land. also sometimes, because he is interested in sex and sexuality, you will see him just get distracted by his own kinks when writing. i would be more willing to forgive him for this if we at least had twow and some form of "pay off" but alas. we're all doomed to have this half finished story lol.

[jkknight98]

History Made (Familial forest side story)

OK, I thankfully did not forget my password after being away for so long (I had to write papers on research and educational adaptations) but now it’s time for me to post a story. Rather than having a dragon and a princess, we have a dragon and a witch instead, and what troubles that cause. Poor George is in for an interesting time when he meets a certain green-eyed dragon named Dream.

(Do me a favor and do not bring up the Quackity and Dream drama, thank you)

Warnings: soft vore, fear of digestion, dragon rampage themes, unnamed people death

“Catch them!”

“Find that magic bastard!”

George panted harshly as he ran, almost tripping over rocks and tree roots, and causing him to lose a few of his mushrooms. “Fuck,” he wanted to go back for them sure, it was the completely wrong environment for that species to grow, but he couldn’t save them as the village men trampled them to mush as they chased him. George knew he had to keep running despite how badly his chest hurt because if those men caught him, he would have a worse fate than his mushrooms.

The lead man, a brute of a butcher that always upcharged him on the price of pork, raised his touch high as he yelled in sadistic enjoyment,” Keep running Witch boy, there’s a nice bonfire with your name on it when we catch you!!” The four other men in the group let out their own jeering, they were also people from the town that George lived on the edge of, he had no idea why they were chasing after him. Hell, he gave a stew to Smith's wife that cured her weakness and this is the thanks he gets? How did any of them even know he was a witch, he never practiced unless it was in the middle of the night and he was out of the village completely. How in the world did this happen??

George just kept chanting to himself as he slowly grew weaker,” Got to keep running, can’t stop.” He pushed his body harder and harder, feeling much like a rabbit fleeing from a pack of hunting dogs, and knew he would be ripped apart like one if he got caught. He almost wailed in despair when he reached a clearing in the trees, he couldn’t hide here, what would he-

His train of thought was completely derailed when he fully ran into something large…and warm.

_*_

Dream sighed as he lay in his favorite clearing, watching the different animals go about their short lives, it was hard to live as a giant; much less a dragon hybrid. It felt like he was barely there in a world that's constantly changing around him, even the few turtles he watched hatch, grow, and age faster than he could blink. Could he ever find a true friend out there like his mother used to tell him, or even find someone like his parents did with each other? Dragon hybrids were rare enough as it is and he didn't want to be thousands of years old before finding someone, he was only 1,800 as it is. He blew a small stream of green-tinted smoke before him, watching it slowly fade with mild disinterest, but jumped when a dark shape burst through it and hit him in the face!

Dream almost crossed his eyes as he looked down at whatever had hit him, and was surprised to see a little human. He didn’t enjoy the things for the most part, sure they could talk like him, but they were more likely to poke him with their metal-tipped sticks and scream. He wanted to push the creature off his face but stopped when his green eyes met frightened ones of blue and brown… He didn't know humans could have two colored eyes, he was more surprised when he heard a clearly weak and out-of-breath voice whisper quietly,” Help me.” Dream was tempted to push the little thing aside for entering his personal space (though he was mildly amused by how brave it was) but his eyes snapped to the treeline where a large group of human males came crashing into the clearing, making him bare his fangs in a warning. “Why have you come into my woods humans..?”

Dream watched as the men took a step backward in justifiable fear, but the largest of the men took a step forward as they cleared their throat,” We seek no trouble with you giant..dragon, we're only here to punish that witch that's been terrorizing our town.” This made Dream lift a brow in confusion as he looked back down at the now-identified witch that still lay below his face, how could this tiny thing cause terror to these adult men, they looked to still be in their adolescence. He gently sniffed the witch and could now detect the scent of magic under the smell of mushrooms…it made a low rumble start in his chest as it was one of his favorite scents. “If you would allow us to take him we can be on our way and won’t bother you any longer.”

_*_

George felt like crying, He had to run into a giant humanoid dragon and had the men waiting in the treeline for him, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even run anymore so his fate was solely placed in this creature’s hands. He looked into the acid-green eyes pleadingly and wheezed as he still fought to catch his breath,” Please... I didn’t do anything to them… I healed their sick… I just collect mushrooms.” He flinched as the men yelled angrily from the treeline as he brought his hand up to protect his face and unconsciously leaned closer to the heat of the dragon, he didn’t even know what to do at this point. He jerked when he felt a sharp object slide under his chin and start to lift his head, opening his eyes to see it was the dagger-like nail of the dragon, and he was soon forced to meet its gaze.

“Did you really do what those humans said you did, little witch boy?” The words came out in a low rumble that clearly held no place for lying, but why would he even lie to the dragon in the first place? He lifted his head to avoid the point and struggled to calm his ragged breathing before speaking.

_*_

Dream grinned widely as the witch spoke to him, they clearly were not lying despite the fear emanating from them, which meant the humans were lying like they usually did. But what to do in this situation, he could blast his fire at the humans and leave the witch in the clearing, but that would just lead to more humans coming after him. The thought took him off guard for a moment, he was already thinking of ways to help them…Seems like he already took a liking to the little witch~

He brought a handover to the witch and placed a claw over their chest, using the point to pin them to the forest floor,” I could take care of them for you, it's not every day I get a snack run into me..” He grinned widely as the men and witch began to freak out at his statement, but he had to focus on his new friend... He let his tongue slowly slide across the face of the witch and purred loudly at the musky flavor of mushrooms, the meatiness of human-like flesh, and the indescribable taste of magic. The poor thing did its best to flail as he wrapped it in his tongue and slowly pulled it inside, keeping eye contact with the men until the witch was fully sealed behind his teeth. He gently moved them around as he fully took the time to enjoy their flavor before tilting his head slightly, placing a hand over his throat as he swallowed, closing his eyes in delight as the wriggling lump slowly moved downwards.

“Consider your witch problem solved, now get out of my forest.” Dream sealed the finality of his words with a small jet of green flames that sent the men scrambling as they left their tools behind, making him laugh heartily. He slowly turned to lie on his side as he brought a hand up to his torso, pressing gently on the firm lump that rested just under his ribcage,” did you pass out from exhaustion or fear little witch?”

_*_

George didn’t bother moving or answering the dragon’s words as he lay within the humid stomach, the short second wind he got didn’t do him any good once he was pulled into the maw. It was unnaturally lit by a green glow from the dragon’s esophagus, illuminating the dagger-like teeth and dripping saliva around him. He couldn’t clear his mind enough to use any defensive spells he could have known as each swatch of the almost catlike tongue covered him in hot drool, and he was sent screaming into the unforgiving gullet. He could horrifyingly see his arms held above him as the crushing muscle scent him downwards, feeling his every cell and sense being assaulted by the giant body around him, even his sense of magic was going haywire.

He couldn’t help but let out a low whine as he slid through a tight ring of muscle into the stomach, eyes drawn to a faint glowing outline that illuminated the wall of the stomach closest to it... It must be the dragon’s magic core. He would have been mesmerized if it didn’t clearly mean his demise, he turned when he felt pressure against his side and both felt and heard the voice of the dragon questioning him, making him sigh in frustration. “ What’s the point in fighting? I ran for miles to get away from those villagers, my poor excuse of a second wind didn’t make you choke, what else could I do?”

“You don’t know any defensive spells, maybe some sort of poison spell with all of the mushrooms you had?”  The walls around him gave a low rumble as they squeezed him tightly, the hot flesh rubbing more slime into his skin than what the tasting had already done, the dragon moving to a more comfortable position he believed,” though it is strange to see a witch on their own, don’t you form covens?”

This made George sigh as he tried to wrack his mind for any spell that would help him in this situation, but he was still drawing a blank, should he even be honest with this dragon? It's already eaten him, but it could make things more painful if he lied,” I only make potions because they're simple and easy, I didn’t get to learn any useful spells since my parents were killed by humans just because they also tried to help people with their magic…. I thought I would be safe with just my potions..,” George wiped at his face as he thought of the elderly woman he made a regenerative mushroom stew for that helped her gain some strength back when everyone thought she would pass,” but humans can’t even be grateful for any help if it doesn’t fit their standards.”

_*_

Dream let out a low rumble of thought as he gently rubbed the warm lump, lightly sucking on his own tongue as he savored the last of the witch’s taste,” Humans are very unfair in that way, they stole away my brother just because he was more golden in color, and left him to be obsessed with death totems and hiding away in deep oceans with his sharks... I can’t stand the tiny things.” He moved to stand up and stretch, purring loudly as the witch got compressed and he could feel their fluttering movements more strongly,” I actually don’t like a human village being this close to my home for you to have run into me, I’ll get some revenge for you by burning the place to ash, consider it payment for being a nice meal,” Dream let out another loud purr as the witch tried to plead and fight against him, he really didn’t plan on digesting them, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t help but tease them a bit. He let his wings fully unfurl and jumped into the air with a firm downstroke to take flight, quickly hovering over the treeline as he sniffed the air for the distinctive scent of humans.

~

Dream couldn’t help but laugh in distinctive joy as he breathed flames over the village, watching both humans and buildings crumble away in the intense heat, he was close to burning down the final hut before he got the faint whiff of mushrooms from it... Seems like he found his witch's hut. He gently took the top off the rather modest home and looked inside, there were plenty of pillows and tiny glass containers filled with different plant life, making for a very cozy-looking den if he was at that size. His passenger had stilled once more after fighting, but he could feel them panting harshly, they might appreciate some of their things back in his den when he let them out. He gently gathered everything he could and slid it into the satchel he carried, cushioning the plants with the pillows, and stood up with a soft hum.

He froze when a soft warm wave of magic seemed to spread from his stomach and soaked throughout his entire body, causing his wings and tail to shiver slightly from the feeling. He brought a hand to the witch and gently rubbed at them,” I thought you didn’t know any spells?”

_*_

George shivered slightly despite the increased heat around him, while he couldn’t hear anything outside the body, he knew the village was gone with how many times flames rushed past him and out the dragon. Why hadn’t he started to digest yet, all that has happened was him slightly sweating from the heat and trying to not fall asleep in the surprisingly soft flesh. But he couldn’t take any chances. He wracked his brain hard for any spell he could use to protect himself, maybe the one his mother used on his father when they did their renewal ceremony? 

“⌇⌿⟟⍀⟟⏁⌇ ⍜⎎ ⍜⌰⎅ ⊑⟒⏃⍀ ⋔⊬ ⌿⌰⟒⏃, ⌰⟒⏁ ⋏⍜⏁ ⋔⊬ ⌇⍜⎍⌰ ⏚⟒ ⌰⍜⌇⏁ ⏁⍜ ⏁⊑⟒ ⎐⍜⟟⎅ ⏃⌰⍜⋏⟒. ⏚⟟⋏⎅ ⋔⊬ ⌇⍜⎍⌰ ⏁⍜ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍜⋏⟒ ⋏⟒⏃⍀⟒⌇⏁ ⋔⟒ ⏃⋏⎅ ⏁⟟⟒ ⎍⌇ ⏁⍜☌⟒⏁⊑⟒⍀ ⎍⋏⏁⟟⌰ ⍙⟒ ⏚⍜⏁⊑ ⌿⏃⌇⌇ ⍜⋏. ⋏⍜ ⊑⏃⍀⋔ ⌇⊑⏃⌰⌰ ⌿⏃⌇⌇ ⏃⌇ ⌰⍜⋏☌ ⏃⌇ ⍙⟒ ⏃⍀⟒ ⋏⟒⏃⍀ ⍜⋏⟒ ⏃⋏⍜⏁⊑⟒⍀.”

George felt both himself and the dragon shiver as the magic took effect and smiled victoriously when the dragon questioned him,” It's a protection spell so you won’t be able to digest me no matter how hard your body tries!” He gave a sharp kick to the wall as he laughed in his excitement, but his smile fell as the dragon laughed around him.

“Oh I never planned to digest you, I thought you were cute and wanted to keep you, all your spell seemed to do was increase my fondness towards you…was that your plan?”

This made George frown as he tried to think over the words, bind my soul…tie us together…no harm will come…,” Oh shit..” He quickly realized his mistake, the spell he remembered wasn’t a protection spell that needed to be renewed every year... It was a wedding spell used to tie witches’ lifelines with who they consider their soul mates… he just declared a giant dragon as his soul mate and the spell took.

“My name is Dream by the way.., what's yours, my little witch?”

‘Well,’ George thought with a soft huff,’ who else can say they married a dragon?’

[pollyna]

Navy regs are in books that quote books that quote books. Ron has all of them somewhere in the house, with Tom's precise handwriting pointing out all the spelling issues and doing the theoretical maths his degree didn't help him to understand. In a less neat calligraphy, in some pages, Nick's notes are mixed with doodles and his own notes. Of Annapolis he will forever remember the heat and the hours in class, before their callsigns, when Nick used to make him late because he had to kiss him one minute more and Tom had the most convenient, and convicing, excuse for them.

(Maybe he could find some of those books and show them to Bradley the next time he's going to come around. He could probably appreciate them? Or maybe he should ask Maverick?)

Regs say no tattoo, but regs say a lot of shit Ice used to correct back then and that he corrected during the years. Regs say no tattoos, and Tom said they were stupid, so Ron got his first, then his second, and half of his right sleeve. The only people who know of them are his friends, his doctors, his mirror and his tattoo artist. Having to wear a shirt all day, and a jacket for most of it, has its advantages, even if he fucking hates being an admiral most of the time. But it's almost time; another couple of years, and he's going to retire and never again put a foot on a Navy base.

The studio isn't the biggest in town, but Ron knows the artist and their dad, and they are both the best for what he needs. He's so focused on the piece of paper between his hands that he almost misses two young women saluting him, with a half-panicked Adrmial Kerner, sir!

At ease, Lieutenants, glad to see someone knows where to get good ones. He smiles because he knows they shouldn't be there, but he shouldn't be either, so it's not really a problem. He's going to add something when something, someone, hugs his leg and has all his attention. Oh, who do we have here? George? You're so big now, boy! he picks up the kid. Mom is waiting for you! he points towards one of the rooms, and, in less than five steps he takes, George tells him all he can fit in, and it's a lot.

(Ron finds himself wondering if Bradley was the same at that age.)

So you're already back for the next piece, uhuh? a voice asks. You know, I can't live without you, hon, he answers, laughing loudly. They laugh with him, but it dies when he passes them the piece of paper. I'm so sorry, Ron, they murmur, and he finds himself smiling lightly, trying not to cry again, thank you Carly.

He takes off his jacket and then his shirt, and his right arm is colorful but not whole. Are you ready, big guy? they smile, dipping the tattoo gun in the red ink as ready as I was the first time he answers. Carly draws and talks, asking questions about the kid (he's a man now and he's almost as tall as me), about the kids (if they destroyed the base while I was gone, at least they're going to let me retire), about Tom and there, Ron has to take a breath because it fucking hurts. He doesn't know if it's the point they're working on or missing Tom or both, but he has to ask Carly to stop for a minute. (He was-the last few days were the hardest. Did you know he used to write mathematical formulas when he was bored during lessons? He and Nick were good friends, Tom was the reason behind the Mother Goose. I miss him. I miss them all Carly). Almost five hours have passed by the time it's done, and by that point they're humming random songs and listening to the description of the rock George found outside his school that same morning. All done, Admiral. You already know what you have to do, right? I'd like to see you next week to check on some of the edges around the elbow, but it's already looking pretty great. Ron barely hears her because he's so intent on looking at his arm, where now Tom's name is adorning his arm, just inches away from Nick and Carole's. Yeah, yeah whenever you want Carl'.

(It's seven in the evening and the cemetery is empty. The bouquet is a happy one, and his shirt leaves are already up. It's done, I finally finished it. He starts and you're here all together now. I miss both of you. I hope Tom's there too. I hope you're all okay now.)

The regs say no tattoos, and Tom said fuck 'em all, and now they are all there while he flies and teaches and lives another day, under his uniform and out in the open.

[ineverwrite]

All Good Things- Chapter 3

Long time no see! I don’t know if anybody is still here, that’s okay, I know its been over a year. I finally felt like writing a little more and continue this fic- enjoy? Feedback is always appreciated! 

------ All Good Things Chapter 3 ------

Word Count: 818

The revelation of her crush on the oldest Weasley twin weighed heavy on Y/N’s mind. The thought of her friends, all of her friends, finding out was beyond horrifying. As was the visualization of him possibly rejecting her- she couldn’t bare it. So, she didn’t. From that moment on she swore it would never get in the way of their friendships and would never act on her crush… unprompted at least.    

  Fortunately for her, school kept the girl so busy that her crush could hardly stand in the way of her responsibilities. Fourth year meant preparing for O.W.L.S next year, and their teachers were unrelenting. Many nights she stayed in the library, not only doing her work but also helping Neville with his schoolwork. Magic, it seemed, was not coming easy to the boy and it was beyond devasting for the poor lad. She called him a late bloomer, he called himself a squib. Their arguments could go back and forth for hours. Eventually she discovered that Neville’s round face would light up talking about Herbology. He could go on for hours about the different plants and their functions, and sometimes after a lesson would retell it. Y/N let him, even though she had heard this lecture two years before, as it was interesting- and he was so excited.

           Of course- such heartwarming or pleasant topics came to a screeching halt at Halloween. The Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and member of the castle were attacked. Their safety felt like it had been ripped away, the very real threat of one of their friends being killed weighed heavy. Fred and George tried, as they always do, to make things lighter with their comedic commentary. It didn’t work all the time. Poor Harry Potter was even further outcasted than before, and Y/N didn’t know how students could even think that a 12 year old boy would want to murder people. Neville seemed to believe Harry anyway, so that was good enough for Y/N.

           One night, with the dormitories emptying out due to the late hour, the usual group of fourth years laid around. Not saying much, thinking too hard. They all had contemplated the suspects of who could be the heir of Slytherin, nobody daring to mention Harry’s name, and several offering Draco Malfoy’s instead.

           “He’s got to be it. Little creep called Hermione a mudblood,” George stated, anger crossing his features making his face almost the color of his fiery hair. Undoubtedly remembering the fight that broke out between him and Malfoy.

           “Plus his family, the whole lot was in Slytherin,” Fred added, twirling his wand between long fingers.

           Y/N straighten from her spot on the floor, angling herself to face the twins better as they were sitting on one of the couches in the common room.

           “Good points- But he is only a second year, how could HE be the one to figure out how to open the bloody thing after all this time, and don’t you think he’s been a little bold about the whole thing? It’s too obvious.” Y/N offered an open question to the group.

Angelina nodded in agreement, her chin resting on her folded hands. Alicia looked away thoughtfully and yawned. With a sigh Fred stretched his arms out wide and said,

           “I think you’re right Y/N.”  

           The affirmation from him made Y/N glow on the inside, even as morbid as the subject was. A sudden thud broke the comfortable quiet of the group, Alicia had fallen asleep and slipped from her upright position against the sofa and onto the stone floor. A booming laugh erupted from the fourth years, with Alicia joining in when she realized what happened. They quickly went to their respective beds for the night. The warm and familiar feeling was too good to last.

           The night that Ginny Weasley was taken into the Chamber of Secrets was one of the most frightening nights of the young wizards lives. The fourth year Gryffindor girls huddled together in the common room, crying quietly as they thought about the fate of the youngest Weasley, for their best friends losing their sister, and fear what was to happen next. It didn’t take long for anybody to notice that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were nowhere to be found, chaos ensued. Neville shakily found his way next to Y/N, crying for his friends and shaking like a leaf. It was a long night- but, emerging out of the depths of the school the following morning came the best whirlwind of news. Ginny, Harry, Ron and Professor Lockhart all were safe and sound, having escaped the Chamber. Rumors abounded, how they escaped, the battle that was fought, others dismissing it completely. Y/N was just happy to have the younger Gryffindor’s back, to see the relief on the Weasley’s faces, and hope for a better year to come… it could hardly be worse- right?

[sansxfuckyou]

It's fungal not floral

Summary: There's a lesser known counterpart of Hanahaki, a fungal disease, it festers in your lungs just like the sister disease Hanahaki does, but instead it comes up due to some form of hatred- the only way to save yourself is to let go.

But, George has a hard time doing that when it's someone he holds very close to heart.

Warnings: Crying, toxic friendships, graphic depiction of disease, body horror, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: banger idea and spike in emotional viscosity is because of @sobredunia who splayed her heart out on the table for me while I was writing this and all of a sudden shit got real, I really hope this fic did the idea justice, also my writing style changed since I last wrote for them so I think it'll be a quaint 4K word punch to the gut, also snf cause I am a total slut for red/blue pairings, and not as important but this fic a second of two things, one being giving George plant motifs (done over here the first time) and the second time someone has eaten eggs in one of my fics, and it's George, again, what the fuck.

George heaved a heavy sigh as he ran the flat edge of a butter knife along his tongue where fungal spores threatened to gather, making the color more pastel than it already was. One hand kept his mouth held open, the other held onto the butter knife tightly. He knew exactly why this was happening to him- he hated someone, he just didn't know who. He had already eliminated those who he knew it couldn't be from his list of people who he was close to.

He had scratched out Wilbur, Sapnap, Dream, hell, even Quackity, but he's begun leaning towards Quackity being the one whose causing this mess of his respiratory system. He couldn't possibly hate any of them, could he? No, no he couldn't, they've stuck with him for this long what good would it do him to push them away (even if for his own health).

George wants to keep dwelling but he feels a constriction in his chest, he drops the scraping knife and wheezes out a couple coughs. Bright, neon, green spores come pouring from betwixt his lips and leave his mouth dry on the way out. His throat feels raw and dry, like someone took chalk dust and slathered a steak in it, he knows it's wet underneath the dry casing. Breathing feels different now with the consistent fungal casing on his trachea but he won't cut them off because they're his friends.

His hands grip porcelain tightly, he loves them all so much, why? Why does he have to release one of them? Cut ties with them, he might as well just isolate himself, ghost all of them see if that gets rid of it. Tears are welling up in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to just drop all of them like that, it'd be cruel. He's choking on his own breath as he sobs, his tears hit the sink and slide down the curved ivory, glistening in the LED light. His body quakes, he doesn't want to let go, he doesn't care if one or two of them are bad for him, he doesn't want to let go.

They've done so much for him!

How could he just pick and choose until he stumbles across the one that's causing this?

He can't.

He'll just suffer instead.

He'll suffer and stay quiet about it because his friends care to much they'd make a big deal out of it.

---

George doesn't stream today, he was supposed to do another shock stream for some god awful reason except with some weird damage loop around so they'd have to protect each other.

Instead George can barely bring himself to get out of bed; his sheets all have spores layered on top of them, a green tone or that of mildew. He wakes up his jaw agape and he can feel the mycelium that's dug into his tongue and between his gums. His hands feel heavy with the mushrooms that had formed over his fingers and the sheets- he yanks them up and the growth shreds easily. He would yawn, but all he can bring himself to do is blink as he looks around his partially sunlit room. His mouth is dry and chalky, even more so than usual. His case has gotten worse over the last couple weeks, he's stopped leaving his apartment entirely, ordering groceries and wiring over the money.

He swings his legs over the edge of his bed, when his feet touch the hardwood ground it feels carpeted with the amount of spores and developing mycelia. He simply looks blearily around his room til his eyes land on his alarm clock, it's almost ten, his stream with Sapnap was supposed to start ten minutes ago. He grabs his phone as he stands up and stumbles to the kitchen, he cringes at the sight of concerned texts from Sapnap. He can't fess up to what's really wrong and he doesn't want to lie either, he leans against the counter as he hesitates to open them up.

George feels his hand shake as he places his phone face down the counter.

(it hurts him to ignore them just as much as it hurts them to be ignored)

The last space that isn't absolutely covered in spores because even if he's in his deathbed he has some decency. He doesn't even know what he wants to eat, he just knows that salt helps kill mushrooms. He grabs a bowl he's used three times in a row with nothing more than a rinse in between and grabs salt from the cupboard. He pours a sizable amount into the bowl, it tastes like shit no matter how he waters it down but it makes the casing in his throat die down. He opens his fridge, it's seemingly bare, a carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, lettuce, and little bits of leftovers that have no doubt gone bad. He doesn't want to fill his fridge with food he won't eat, it's hard to down much of anything that's a solid given his current state.

He pulls out the eggs and milk, he places them down beside the bowl and flicks on the burner, a pan already waiting as he prepares the eggs. With the amount of salt in the bowl it's sludgy even with two eggs and a bit of milk, he whisks it haphazardly- his mind is elsewhere and he doesn't know how to fix it. All he can think about is how this isn't helping, about how he isn't letting go, about how he isn't really fixing his disease. He knows logically just distancing himself isn't actually letting go and cutting ties, but at least they might take him back if he only distances himself until this over.

His phone buzzes loudly against the counter and he cringes a bit, he flips it over to find another concerned text from Sapnap. In a burst of foolishness he flicks it open and starts to type out a response faster than he can stop himself- but at least he catches his actions before he can send it. He deletes the entire message before he can read what he wrote and he really should respond but he doesn't. Instead he checks to see if anyone else messaged, he finds worried texts from Karl, Wilbur, Quackity, his parents, and a couple others.

But not Dream.

Dream hasn't texted him in forever despite how much George tried to reach out, tried to make arrangements; he'd move mountains to get an ounce of attention from him. The constriction in his chest grows tighter and he hacks up chunks of coral mushroom, they're bright pink and he swears red droplets are on them. He tastes iron in his mouth but he ignores it as he shuts off his phone again and focuses on the eggs. It's fine that Dreams ignoring him, it's fine that he won't respond, it's fine that he isn't getting what he needs- he won't tell that to Dream though. No one needs to know what's tearing him up inside to the point of spores taking residence in his lungs if he can't figure it out himself.

(he knows exactly what it is but he won't let himself realize)

George bitterly swallows down the heavily over seasoned meal, it burns what little of his taste buds still work at this point in time. He's been on this diet for a month now, just to kill the mushrooms, they take most of it anyways. He's sure his body is fine even though he's destroyed all his mirrors to never look at his sickly form again. He hears his phone buzz again, he doesn't look at it.

And again.

He ignores it.

And again.

He forces down the last of his breakfast and grabs his phone, he doesn't open it, he doesn't want to see what plea for a sign he's still alive he's getting from Sapnap. He left him on read that's good enough, that shows he's still breathing doesn't it? His phone keeps vibrating in his hand and he can't tell if it's from messages or his own hand shaking.

He ends up on the couch, it's coated in spores of a mildew hue and a neon tone, they match the black leather terribly. A puff of spores burst up when George drops down on the couch and he simply hates this sensation. He knows it won't go away until he let's go, but he doesn't want to, he'd sooner die than give up one of his friends no matter the cause. He leans his back along the arm rest, the ground around that side of the couch is thick with mycelia and forming mushrooms. Poor Sapnap, he must be so worried about George, poor everyone, all of them keep sending texts, asking him if he's okay- and he's just not responding. He's hurting them and in the process he's hurting himself as well to extents he can barely comprehend, someone has to get hurt and this time it'll be everyone.

Tears rise to his eyes and throat aches as bursts of spores go off in his lungs, he hack and coughs until he's practically choking on the cloud of damp spores. They float down the floor, spattered with the crimson of his blood and glowing with a new genus prospering inside of his chest. His form is slumped over the armrest of the couch, his rib cage resting on the tainted fabric with his arms hanging over the edge. His body is so sore, his mind is so tired, he just wants to sob and not have webbed mycelia crawl ever closer to his lips.

But he can't let go of whose causing this, he doesn't want to, he isn't ready.

(he knows this is killing him but why should he let himself live like this)

His phone keeps buzzing, but he's in too much a haze to even bother checking just to confirm it's Sapnap. He's sure it's just some pleading question as to what's going on and he's not answering the questions he's being asked. He grips his phone to toss it to the other end of the couch before trying to get into a comfy position where he'll be able to hack a lung out easily.

---

3 messages unread

Sapnap: please just tell me whats going on George was it something i did? is this on me, if it is i can try and make it right

im coming to England just to find out myself George

---

More time passes and somehow this is the third time this month George has ordered a box of salt, kosher, Himalayan, black, table- he's tried every kind and none of it helps him anymore. Now he uses it to scrub his dishes and wash his clothing and the sheets because if it won't kill the spores in his lungs then maybe it'll at least help him lie to himself about his state. Maybe if his clothing isn't covered in fungus he won't feel so dirty, maybe if he slept in clean sheets he'd feel better about himself.

He lays in bed, the sheets are clean and he relishes in the fact, he's achieved it with god awful amounts of salt in his washing machine (the poor thing must be in agony). He knows that he's absolutely terminal by now, he feels faint consistently and his everything aches no matter what he does to make it stop. He sees his reflection in the black of his phone screen and he wants to vomit with how zombified he looks.

Mycelium creeps outward from his lips like lichtenberg fractals and his skin, now disturbingly thin, bulges where thick roots of mycelia wrap around his veins and shoot down his spine. His eyes look hollow and when he opens his mouth it's all white, the thick casing of spores crack when he moves his tongue- he's shocked he can salivate at this point. When he looks at his hands he sees them in a glaze of mildew hues, neon green, and red from all the times he's raised his hands to cover his mouth when he coughs. His hair no longer retains it's dark hue, it's lightened up with the fungus sapping his nutrients and the spores latching onto individual strands, causing it to clump.

He looks like a monster.

He's glad no one has seen him in months, they'd all run screaming if they saw the hideous creature he's become.

He doesn't want to move anymore, he has no excuse to just stay in bed aside from the fact he's literally dying. No fungus tries to hold him down and his sheets are thin and light, he just sees no reason in getting up even though he's hungry. He should eat, he really should, he knows the food in his fridge is rotting and the door dasher must be getting concerned with the fact he only buys salt, bleach, and Tylenol these days (even if he was buying healthy the mushrooms on his apartment door are also a red flag).

His phone buzzes and he picks it up, a message from Sapnap, he's tempted to just ignore it but when he sees the preview he's just confused. Why the fuck would Sapnap need to know if he's changed his lock since last time he visited? He gives a quick two letter response before turning off his phone, silence washes over his dark room. The lights are off and the blinds are down but light still filters in between the cracks, despite that the luminescent mushrooms that have taken residence inside of him glow under the skin and on the hardwood floor.

And then he hears his apartment door open.

Panic briefly washes over him, but then he hears Sapnaps voice calling out a meek 'hello?' and he can rest easy again. How stupid, panicking over someone breaking into his apartment, it'd obviously be Sapnap just visiti-

Wait.

Why is Sapnap at Georges door?

Last time George checked they did not live anywhere remotely close by.

Just to investigate George limps out of bed, on the way to the door he grabs a Tylenol and downs it dry. He knows it won't start working for a couple minutes, but if Sapnap really is at the damn door and he isn't just hallucinating he'd rather have it kick in than not have it. He pushes open his bedroom door, vines of mycelia trail down the white paint that's peeling away as spores integrate themselves into wood. He walks- he stumbles, gripping onto the nearest wall for support as he makes his way to where his couch rests. He finds a concerned Sapnap looking very, very confused and almost sick with worry as he stares at the mycelium littered across Georges apartment.

"Sapnap what the fuck are you doing here?" George choked out, his mouth didn't want to properly form all the words and his voice felt higher than before with how little he used it, it was quiet. Sapnap still perked up at his voice and turned to face his sickly friend.

He rushed over to capture George in a rib crushing hug and despite the fact he was shorter he still managed to lift the Brit with a worrying ease, "fuck, you're okay, you're alive- I was so scared George," Sapnap only barely managed to choke out the words, the chill rooted deeply into George seeped into him but he didn't care. He was hesitant to release his grasp on his frail friend, "I thought you were dead."

George gives him a questioning look, "and you hopped on a plane to Britain just to make sure? Are you fucking insane?" His question comes off a little bit roughly but if anything he's touched by the sentiment, still worried about what would happen if he was dead and Sapnap was stranded here.

Sapnap gives a bit of a laugh, "they say love makes you do crazy things don't they? Or is that not a saying in Britain," Sapnaps hands rest on Georges wrists and what little untainted blood remains in the Brits body goes to his face. He looks pale as a ghost and the slightest blush on his face looks like blood on a wedding dress with how much it stands out.

The warmth Sapnap gives off is addicting and George slips his wrists from the grip before interlocking fingers instead, it anchors him into reality, this must be how ghosts feel, "everyone's heard that saying," he sounds so sure of himself, he steps a bit closer to Sapnap before leaning into him. He feels dead, he feels so dead now that he has someone healthy and alive to compare himself to, it's like he's wasting away, "I'm sorry."

Sapnap gives George a perplexed look as he leads them over to the couch, the leather is torn in some spots (it wasn't last week), "what for? I'm sure you had your reasons, maybe you thought it would help the Saprophytis in it's onset, I'm just glad I got here before it could kill you," he gives a hum of as he guides George to just rest. He ends up on top of Sapnap to some extent, ankles resting on the armrest, Sapnap places his chin on the top of Georges head as his partner nuzzles into him, "so, care to cough it up?"

"I think I'll try to avoid hacking up mycena and coral mushrooms if I have a word in it Snapnap," George said with a forced chuckle, a puff of spores filter past cracked lips at the singular laugh.

The spores aren't much more than a red mist these days, at least it wets his painfully dry lips. The red settles onto his terribly stained shirt and it blends with the preexisting blotches of spores and blood. He finds himself coughing, he brings up his hands to his mouth and his entire body shakes as he draws his knees to his chest- he slumps a bit lower on Sapnaps torso. When he pulls back his hands they're dripping with crimson and red chunks of coral mushrooms, he feels disgusted in himself. No one should have to see that, especially not the only one to haul so much ass to check if his friend was okay.

George stared at his hands in horror for a brief moment, Sapnap only looked intrigued and mildly worried, "fuck I'm sorry," he mumbled out as he wiped his hands on his pants, they were covered in bloody hand prints from the cuff to the waist- he heaved a sigh but couldn't help a smile when Sapnap wrapped an arm around his midsection.

"You can't help the symptoms," Sapnap stated with a shrug, he rested his hand atop Georges, "now, I'm begging you, cuss out whoever you hate so much that it's done this to you," George gives him a hesitant look, "please."

George glances to the side, "you won't get mad at me?"

"Of course not, I wouldn't get mad at you for evading death, George that's stupid," Sapnap said, he gently ran his thumb in circles across the top of Georges hand, he could feel the mycelia under skin and the almost scale like make up of the spores on Georges fingers- it was different, but it was still George.

"It's Dream, I just, he won't respond to my messages, he won't reach out, he hasn't talked to me in months but he streams, so I watch, see if there's a hint as to why he's been giving me the silent treatment, but there isn't," George explained, his breaths were short with how crowded his lungs were. He had to pause to hack up chunks of coral mushroom, stringy bits of mycena came out along with it. They looked like guts in his hands, coated in a sludgy blood, he tossed them to the floor, "he just wouldn't give me attention no matter how much I was begging for it."

Sapnap nodded a bit, he gave a hum of understanding, "and you hate him for that?"

George nodded fiercely, "I guess so, I can't think of anyone else who could be the cause this," he hacked and coughed again, the blood dripped from his forever stained crimson hands as chunks of fungus tore up the casing in his mouth and throat- he could feel them again despite the sting. He threw the mushrooms to the floor before wiping down his bloody hands, he noticed the drops of red on his friends hoodie, "sorry."

"Don't worry, shit happens," Sapnap said, his casualness shocked George, but it was the least he could do despite the fact he was fearing for his partners life given how much blood he's hacking up and how malnourished he feels, "is there anything else on your mind?"

George paused, "I don't think so, I just wish he'd pay more attention to me sometimes."

"What? Am I not enough? I spontaneously paid for a flight to fucking Britain just to check in on you and that's not enough," Sapnaps voice is playful even as he takes Georges bloody hands in his own.

George rolled his eyes a bit as he let his knees drop from his chest, he pushed himself a little bit higher up Sapnaps torso, "yeah, definitely not, you didn't even smuggle me some pop over the borders," he sounds playful as he speaks even though his voice is cracked and raw due to lack of usage over the last few month.

Sapnap brought a hand to Georges chin, tilting up his head a bit, "I love you dude, you know that right? You know I'd jump through some insane hoops just to make sure you're feeling good?" George nodded a bit, only to be taken aback at an unprompted and chaste kiss.

There's an awkward silence.

"Shit I shouldn't've done that, jumped the gun on my end," Sapnap said, grasping for excuses and apologies as a distinctive red rose to his face, "tasted kinda bloody anyways."

George simply stares at Sapnap, the words registering, "the first time you kiss me and all you can think of is how bloody it tasted? What a romantic," a lilt of laughter rests on his voice and he shies away from Sapnaps form just a bit.

"What else am I supposed to do!? Compliment you on your dry lips, say that your veins are looking absolutely magnificent? Throw me a bone George," Sapnap said dramatically, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as though offended at such a thought, he's caught off guard when George pushes him into the sofa slowly, "well someones taking things fast, you seem like the kind of guy who'd want a candle lit dinner before we get down to fucking, have I misjudged you George? My dear partner in crime how badly have I made assumptions about you?"

Georges face heats up, "I was gonna kiss you again, but now that you mention it, yeah, I do want a candlelit dinner before we kiss," he's smirking a little bit.

"What about premarital hand holding?" Sapnap asked, he looked smug as he spoke despite the fact he was pinned under another person, albeit a person whose weaker than a wet kitten.

George gasped in faux shock, "how scandalous! I'm shocked you could even say such a thing," his exclamation dissolves into laughter as he goes on with the bit, he leans down and kisses Sapnap again; this time he can actually relish in the reaction such a simple motion garners.

He splays himself atop Sapnap, back pressed to his torso, he can feel his partners heartbeat reverberate in his frail body. He let's himself slide into the crack between Sapnaps side the backrest of the couch, he rests a good portion of himself on top of Sapnap. He's, to put simply, smitten with his friend at the moment- he can't really blame himself for it either. Kissing the guy who decided to fly on over to Britain on a whim, just snuggling on the couch, a dream come true.

Georges phone buzzes, it's probably just Karl. He sits up a little bit before pulling it out of pocket only to find it's Dream, yikes. Maybe if he sent the message two hours earlier he would justify it with a response, but he just fessed up to hating the guy. He places his phone on the coffee table, a hit of coughing catches him off guard and keels over Sapnap to choke out whatever's in his trachea. He finds himself coughing for a solid fifteen seconds, he convulses like a cat choking on a hair ball until a chunk of fungus the size of a meatball dislodges itself. He feels gross, but he also feels like he can breath again with the saprophyte in his lungs disappearing bit by bit.

He leans back to look at Sapnap who is simply staring, "so am I still hot or did that just wave a massive red flag in your face?" He wipe the blood from his lips with the back of his hand and for a second Sapnap is stunned (the likeness to a vampire in those actions is blood chilling in the best way possible).

Sapnap stifles a laugh at the words, "George do I even need to justify that question with an answer?"

George gives a hum of amusement before resting against Sapnap again, he's smirking, "good point, I'll always be hot as fuck, even when I look and feel like shit," he can't help the way he arches into the warm touch resting on his spine.

"I think cute would be a better word to describe you, but go on," Sapnap said playfully, George gave an offended gasp, "who texted you?"

George shrugged, "someone that fucked up big time if he wants my attention now," he finds himself flustered when the hand on his back pulls him down and into a hug.

"That means you won't die right?" Sapnap asked quietly, practically whispered into his taller friends ear.

"Obviously, I couldn't just die on you after only two kisses anyways," George said, his tone was cocky.

His confidence simply melted away when Sapnap placed a kiss to his cheek with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face- he really was turning this entire day into a warm embrace.

[bluemouseblackpad]

Tag ppl you wanna know betteeer

Tagged by: @somaisbatman

Last song: "Born Under Punches (The Heat Goes On)" by Talking Heads has been my latest major earworm. I just made it the new opening of the playlist I’ve been slowly building for the BBEG of my D&D campaign. “Take a look at these hands! The hands of a government man”

Favorite Color: I genuinely loved the red that @somaisbatman picked but for the sake of individuality I'll say the type of pink/lilac/violet-y color that clouds take on at sunset

Currently Watching: umpteenth rewatch of Twin Peaks: The Return with friends. I also started Nichijou with friends recently, which is hysterical

Last Movie: A few: Rewatched The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover, probably a top 10-or-20 all-timer for me, since I had been thinking about the late great Michael Gambon; Patlabor 2 (without any context for the rest of the franchise), which was really interesting and beautifully animated and made me want to get mechapilled; and The World's Greatest Sinner, a film directed by and starring notorious Hollywood hanger-on Timothy Carey, about the meteoric political rise of a former insurance salesman who wants to empower the American people with immortality. To quote @impish-lion, it is a glimpse into the mind of your father's weirdest friend. He also compared the protagonist to Euron Greyjoy in that he barely registers as a human being, mainlines a Mystery Juice definitely illicit in nature, and fancies himself a god

Currently Reading: Too many books. I'm making my way through The Lord of the Rings for the first time, which, y'know, it's great. Fevre Dream by George R.R. Martin is pretty good so far, and it's interesting to see earlier stages for a lot of ideas that get more fleshing out in ASOIAF. Also by GRRM we have A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, which like LOTR has taken me embarrassingly long to pick up. I'm slowly inching through The Dark Forest by Cixin Liu, which I'm determined to finish because I really liked its predecessor, even if this trilogy is a little out of my usual wheelhouse. Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin is great even if I need to put it down for a few weeks at a time. And lastly Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon, at whose midpoint I've been stalled for about a year. I'm loving it, I've just seen the movie so many times, and also as you can see I've got a lot on my plate already lol

Sweet/spicy/savory: Spicy

Relationship status: Single (not working super actively to change this, but I am talking very casually to people on the apps, more to feel Desired than anything. at least one connection seems promising so We Shall See. I just want to kiss cool queer people lol)

Current Obsessions: I'm in a bit of an obsession-rut, barring like, the actually obsessive things I do, i.e. washing my hands over and over lmao. I really want to rewatch the The Terror for Halloween season, that will definitely become an obsession if I do. I've also been playing lots of Baldur's Gate III but I wouldn't say that's at Obsession Status.

Last googled: the release date for Killers of the Flower Moon. I'm busy that weekend :(

Currently working on: My video editing reel. The next arc of my D&D campaign (no idea when I'll actually be running it, but I feel really confident that I've basically got it all mapped out. I've been running it for several years now and much as I'll miss it when it's finished, I am incredibly happy to wrap it up soon lol). I've also taken to writing creatively more in my free time recently which has been nice. EDIT: oh, also my mental health/gender/interpersonal relationships but that’s not Currently so much as Perennially lol

tagging my irl friend @impish-lion even though I know him pretty well. also tagging mutuals @visenyaism/@soupseason, @moss-sprouted and @pigeonz/@melasshai. Nobody do this if you don't want to lol

[minecraftmen]

Mcyt x deaf!reader hcs please? 💘💘

MCYTs x deaf!reader

hello! very glad to write this :] just a couple quick notes:

while I do use American sign language (ASL), I am hearing and do not claim to be d/Deaf

I don't intend to overstep d/Deaf community boundaries or speak for d/Deaf people

if I do, please let me know and I'll edit and aim to do better

for American sign language (ASL) resources, I recommend Bill Vicars on youtube / lifeprint.com :]

[I write disabled!reader x MCYTs ; requests open!]

Dream

eager to make sure ur comfy

quickest to set up adaptive things around the house

you want a notice light for the door? boom, installed

need a different smoke alarm? yep, he's got that (barely needs a stepstool to replace it, stupid tall mf /affectionate)

need more notice when he's approaching u? he's tapping the floor, flashing his phone light, w.e you need

signing:

works really hard to learn, wanting to know as much as possible, as soon as possible

def gets some things mixed up if they're similar, but if u think it's funny, he does too

example: in ASL, 'coffee' and 'making out' can get mixed up. after the first time u correct that, he'd keep switching them out just to make u laugh

Sapnap

really attentive to your cues

if he accidentally startles you once, he's making note of how to more gently alert you next time

like one time you didn't notice him come into the room, so now he taps on the floor or the furniture so you feel it, or moves until you can see him or his shadow

signing:

likes using music to practice, signing as he sings

the differing grammar can trip him up in conversation, but he's working on it

likes being able to communicate in a way that's comfy for u :]

George

always ready to fill u in if u want it

turns on captions and tells you if they got something wrong

repeats jokes if you want it

checks in with you if you ask him for clarification on anything

signing:

starts taking lessons

practices a lot - if he sees something, he's signing it to himself

like if you're at a shop together, he's signing the names of the produce or fingerspelling the brand names

likes learning the slang and memes

Quackity

checks in frequently

always asks if u want things written down

if you read lips, knows it can be difficult when ppl are masked or moving around a lot, esp if there's other stimulus

always has a notepad and his phone with him so he can jot things down if you want him to

signing:

ambitious

wants to learn American sign language, Lengua de Señas Mexicana (Mexican sign language), and British sign language, and yours, if it's not one of those 3

he loves to learn new things and challenge himself

might get them mixed up sometimes, but doing pretty well, for learning 3+ languages at once

Karl

really curious, but always checks first that ur okay w him asking questions

wants to know abt the d/Deaf community

really wants to be polite

like Q and George, will ask if you need anything

enables TTS and Live Transcript on his phone

if you lip-read, gets clear face masks for when masks are required

signing:

his focus shifts a lot, so he tries to learn as much in one sitting as he can

gets nervous when he signs w you, he doesn't want to mess up

likes learning the hidden meanings and jokes in signs

example: in ASL, the sign for pasteurized milk moves in front of the face - 'past-your-eyes milk'

Punz

will ask the occasional question, but not often

strikes me as someone who'd google his qs when he thinks of em

if you so much as glance at him, will ask others to repeat themselves more clearly

signing:

focuses on learning the basics and generally fills in with context clues and fingerspelling as things come up

like he'll practice the alphabet, numbers 1-20, and maybe colors

but beyond that he's prob looking at online dictionaries

after he learns a new one tho, he'll usually remember it and add it to his general practice

the first sign he surprises u with is 'cute,' just to fluster u

expect to see it a lot after that

[cdroloisms]

I really love when people write about c!wilbur manipulating c!dream so I was wondering if you could write on about the smp realizing that c!wilbur manipulated c!dream into being a lap dog for him but a hell lot of trouble for then and if you could add c!wilbur taking advantage of the fact that dream is a god during a fight that would make my day. Hope you have a great day.thank you. Love your work.

ooh yeah - c!wilbur is back and GGG-ing as good as ever, , which Really makes you think abt what it’s gonna be like when he interacts with c!dream again. this ended up being a little more c!sapnap centric than i intended, hope that’s alright haha. (and thank you so much for the kind words!) 

tw: implied abuse, torture, drowning, dismemberment, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, emotional distress, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault, c!sapnap critical? not really?, dark portrayal of c!wilbur (typical MAD duo shenanigans)

Sapnap isn’t expecting to find anyone when he storms out in the middle of the night - he’s tense, they all are after the fiasco at the prison, but really his thoughts are filled with Karl once again going inexplicably radio silent for days on end and Quackity ignoring all of his questions with a simple “i’m busy” that he’d failed to follow up even twelve hours later, so Dream and Wilbur and whatever the hell happened that left Pandora’s Vault - obsidian, indestructible, tall and dark and proud - half-crumbled and sunken into the sea are just about the last things on his mind.  

Even so, he’s not an idiot, so he had enough foresight to pack a few potions and gather his armor and weapons before stepping into the summer night - it’s cool under the moonlight, a soft breeze cutting through the otherwise stifling weight of the humid air, and the comfortable night is enough to make his anger die down, just a little. Kinoko Kingdom glows soft and warm from the lanterns Foolish had scattered all over the place, thick with the earthy smell of fungus and flowers, and he takes a deep breath before walking to the city outskirts to hopefully clear his mind.

He’s no stranger to late-night walks; his temper had always been fiery, even as a child, and he’d figured out pretty early on that the easiest way to deal with it was to walk or run until his brain was too tired to think anymore. Walking at night also meant he could take out some of his frustration on mobs as well as the satisfaction of setting a random patch of forest on fire without worrying about burning down someone else’s property, and once he got good enough with a sword and shield to come and go relatively unscathed, Bad had stopped his worrying enough to let him do whatever as long as he came back in time in the morning. Sapnap frowns as he hacks at a random branch in his way with an axe, watching as it falls in a spray of leaves and crashes to the ground; he hasn’t seen Bad in a while, not since he became obsessed with the whole Egg thing. Quackity had mentioned some cryptic things, and Karl was adamant that they avoid the Egg as much as possible, but he probably should’ve at least visited, or something. Bad always knew what to say when it came to messy things like this.

Though - Sapnap laughs wryly - it’d never been this bad, before. Karl distant and absent, Q somehow even more so with a new glint to his gaze that sent a shiver down his spine. George, usually asleep, never around, expression perpetually foggy like he doesn’t know where he was. Dream- evil, insane, awful, somehow so familiar it hurt and too much of a stranger to recognize. He wonders when it all got this bad. He wonders what it says about himself, that he didn’t notice until it was far too late.

“Fancy seeing you out here.”

Sapnap whirls around, sword drawn; the figure staring back at him doesn’t even flinch. His eyes narrow at the sight, stance widening, shoulders tense.

“Wilbur?” He keeps his voice wary, guarded, trying his best to keep surprise from coloring his tone. Wilbur grins at him, tight-lipped, the planes of his face faintly lit by the moon shining over them, facial features only barely visible in the dim light. Without really meaning to, Sapnap cranes his head to look around at the surrounding forest, but nothing moves or makes itself known outside of the figure still staring at him, smirking. “What- what are you doing here?”

And where’s Dream?

Because Sapnap might not know much about what went down at the prison and what Dream’s plans are and the whole mess that he’d been so desperate to put behind him and utterly failed at doing so, but what he does know is that the two of them - Dream and Wilbur, Wilbur and Dream - had been all but inseparable, strangely attached to each other in a way that spelled out nothing but trouble for the rest of them. The rest of the server had been compiling sightings of the two in the hopes of being able to stop whatever it was that they had planned, but Sapnap knows his former friend, brother, and even if he doesn’t know Wilbur, his reputation more than precedes him: the two of them are smart, not to mention paranoid as fuck, and the rest of them have a better shot shooting targets in the dark than figuring out whatever the hell was going on in their heads with the two of them working together. Either way, he knows that they’d never been sighted apart - it was always Wilbur standing on a hill with Dream sitting next to him, or Dream hacking through mobs as Wilbur followed, or the two of them stepping into a fortress and leaving minutes after - until now.

“Could ask the same of you,” Wilbur laughs, just a shade to the left of friendly, and the moonlight scatters through the leaves and glints off his glasses. “Don’t be so tense, man! I’m just going on a walk, thought I’d enjoy the night. Didn’t see anything like this in Limbo, you know.”

Sapnap winces at the reminder, that Wilbur is here and alive in defiance of law and reason and the universe itself, but Wilbur barrels on, seeming unaware of his unease.

“Anyway - how are you doing, man? Haven’t seen you around in a while.” He leans back, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, stance loose, relaxed. “I’d ask Dream, but he’s been in prison for a bit, you know? Most of what he knows is pretty - ah, outdated, not that I tell him that.”

“What are you planning?” Sapnap snaps, grip tightening around the handle of his sword. “You and Dream. What do you want?”

“Who’s to say we want anything?” Wilbur seems to grin wider, and the expression on his face is unsettling, makes something cold slither up his spine. He shakes his head to rid himself of the feeling, half-wishing it was brighter so he could better see the other’s eyes.

“I mean-” he stutters. Because Dream always wants, he almost says, bitter and angry, that all-too-familar swell of betrayal rising in his chest at Dream, forever insatiated, forever wanting, forever looking for more more more. Because if he were to escape, and if he were to want nothing, then what did that mean for the rest of them? Because if he didn’t want, if he wasn’t left wanting, then did Sapnap ever mean anything at all? The thoughts stick to his skull like tar, words clinging to the roof of his mouth as it goes dry. Wilbur seems to stare at him, unimpressed, and he feels his face go hot.

“He’s not- he’s dangerous, you know,” Sapnap says instead of answering, because untangling the awful, knotted feelings that make up his remaining ties with Dream, half-frayed and neglected and forgotten, is more work than he can handle and more emotions than he has the energy to bear. It doesn’t matter, in the end, because Dream is still dangerous; he knows that, resolutely, and maybe it’s lucky, that he found Wilbur without Dream whispering plans and manipulations and meaningless words by his side. It’ll give him a chance to warn Wilbur, bring him back to their side instead of risking his life (again) in the company of his friend-turned-tyrant. Dream is dangerous, whether he wants or not, because Dream is Dream and he’s been in too many manhunts to face him with anything less than one hundred percent confidence. “You don’t want to be with him, Wilbur. He’s hurt- so many people.”

Wilbur’s expression doesn’t change, seeming as indifferent to the words as ever; if anything, he looks a little amused. “Really,” he hums, almost to himself. “Dangerous, you say?”

“He’s Dream,” Sapnap insists, because it’s the truth, and it’s the simplicity of it, really. It’s Dream, and Dream is dangerous whether he’s on your side or not, forever ruthless and unheeding as long as he gets what he wants. He’d been in Wilbur’s place, once, convinced that Dream’s strategies and planning and infallible logic had meant they had no way of losing. He knows better, now. “You’ve fought him before! He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anything.”

And if the words are a little more bitter than they should be when he says that, who but he is going to notice?

Wilbur’s eyes stay on his, completely silent, expression unreadable. The quiet gets awkward quickly, Wilbur’s expression seeming unchanging, nothing but the faint rustling of the leaves around them to break the stillness of the air, and Sapnap feels his gut roll uncomfortably as he looks off to the ground, waiting for Wilbur to react in some way, any way. It’s hard, he knows, to realize that someone you thought was on your side had been using you the entire time, he’s been there before and he gets it, but- it’s still strange, how still Wilbur has become. How he still hasn’t reacted - is his expression going to change?

And suddenly, starting quiet and then swelling in volume, Wilbur begins to laugh.

“Goodness,” Wilbur drawls through his chuckles, voice low and dark and sending chills down his back. “I thought he was exaggerating, man - you really do hate him, don’t you?”

“What- what’s so funny?”

Wilbur smiles, teeth flashing white as the faint light from the moon bounces off of them, “I have to give you my thanks, truly. I’d thought that Quackity did the most of it, or Sam, but you- I really couldn’t have guessed.”

Sapnap’s head is spinning. Wilbur’s expression is positively gleeful, eyes dancing, smile wide and brilliant, bouncing from one name to another with little explanation to how any of them tie together. Sam? Quackity? Nothing is making sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh Sapnap,” Wilbur croons. “You really don’t know, do you?”

He twists his hand in a flippant gesture, eyes directed into the forest surrounding them.

“Let’s just say that his, ah- stay, in Pandora, wasn’t exactly what I’d call a five-star experience. But you know that, don’t you?” Wilbur directs a flat smile his way, and Sapnap swallows, throat dry. Briefly, images flash behind his eyes - walls, dripping with crying obsidian, the lava’s heat hard to bear at his back, even for him, mining fatigue pulling at his limbs and making them heavy. How startlingly bare the cell had been, even through the haze of his anger, Dream, slumped in a corner of the cell, barely moving, barely even breathing as it seemed sometimes, sunken-in cheeks and sagging shoulders speaking of nothing but a bone-deep exhaustion. “Apparently, being psychologically and physically tortured for months on end has an interesting effect on the human psyche. Even more so when, say, your best friend comes once in the entire time to tell you that he’ll kill you if you ever try to escape.”

“How-” he trips on his own words, lungs seizing, “how do you know that?”

“He tells me things. A lot of things, really. Did you know it takes one and a half regen potions to reattach an arm after it’s been cut off? It takes three and a half for a leg, he thinks, but the blood loss made it rather hard to remember.” Wilbur steps forward. “Did you know that scars created by healing potions tend to be much thicker and more prominent than those made by regens? Or that he can hold his breath for a little more than two minutes before passing out?” Wilbur smirks, jagged, threatening. “Did you know that I can tell him just about everything, and he’ll believe me because there’s no one else to tell him otherwise?”

“Wh- what?”

“I’ll be sure to tell him what you said; I’m sure he’ll love to hear how his brother is doing.” Wilbur waves. “And when you see Quackity, be sure to give him my thanks, will you?”

“Wilbur, what- come back-”

And with a flash of purple particles, Wilbur disappears, leaving Sapnap alone in the middle of the forest. Stasis chamber. His heart pounds in his ears, breathing all-too-loud, and he stares desperately at the empty space where Wilbur had stood like it’ll bring him back again.

Fuck, he swipes his hand across his face, startled when it comes back wet. What does he do now?

[padfoot-and-prongsie]

Is That My Bra? || Fred Weasley

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 1.9k

Requested: No

Summary: Things get heated when Fred steals your favorite bra from your room

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever created it

A/N: This is my first piece of writing here, please let me know what you think! I hope y'all like it :)

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR STEAL MY WORK. REBLOGS ARE JUST FINE :)

George walked back to the small circle of Lee and Fred, a triumphant look on his face. Proudly he lifted up his left pant leg, showing his now clean shaven leg.

“Done,” George declared, causing Lee and Fred to both fall back in laughter.

“Nice job Georgie,” Fred said, after composing himself. “You wait until Angelina sees that.”

George grinned. “They’re only going to make her fancy me more.”

Lee snorted at George’s comment, finding the shaven legs more horrifying than attractive. “Get on with it George, it’s your turn.”

George looked between the two of them, before he landed on Fred. “Freddie my boy, dare or dare?”

The three had originally been playing truth or dare, but after nobody picking truth for seven rounds, they had changed the name to dare or dare. For the last forty-five minutes, the three of them had been sent on a wide range of tasks, from streaking through the charms corridor (Lee got a weeks worth of detention for that) to making a dirty comment in the ear of an unsuspecting Hufflepuff.

Fred pretended to think. “Hmm, I think I’ll go with dare.”

George looked around the common room, trying to come with a suitable dare for his brother.

His eyes landed on you, who was just making your way down the stairs from the girls dormitories. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, were with you, and the three of you were laughing at a joke Alicia had said.

You turned, feeling someone’s eyes on you and sent George a look. He waved back wildly, and you raised an eyebrow, waving back to him.

You followed the girls out of the common room, heading towards the kitchens for an evening snack.

George turned back to the two boys with a wide grin on his face. “I dare you Fred to steal Y/N’s bra.”

Lee busted out laughing once more as Fred turned to George. “Easy,” he replied confidently, getting up from the circle.

A smirk played on his lips as he made his way towards the stairs up to the girls dormitories. He was only six steps up when the stairs flattened out, producing a slide that sent Fred tumbling back down into the common room.

George bent over laughing at his brother, who was now splayed across the floor and had attracted the attention of the few people present in the room.

“Jackass,” Fred muttered, picking himself up. “You knew that was going to happen.”

“I didn’t, I swear,” George defended between laughs.

Fred continued to glower, not buying it. “Give me a new dare, I can’t do this one.”

George’s laughter faded, his expression turning to one of thought as he tried to find a way around the stairs.

“We could go get your broom,” Lee suggested.

Fred nodded. “That could-” He let out a small yelp as he felt his feet leave the ground.

Looking down, he saw that he was now hovering six inches in the air and his brother was pointing his wand at home in concentration.

Lee let out a whoop of excitement as George lifted him up the steps.

Fred now stood at the top of the stairs, rubbing his head from where George had “accidently” bumped him into the wall.

“Go get the bra!” George yelled, causing a third year to fix the three with a horrified expression.

Fred walked down the narrow hallway, trying to locate your dormitory. After finding the right one, he pushed open the door, pausing for a moment to take in the sheer amount of clothes that littered the floor. He found your bed easily by the large Holyhead Harpies blanket that was stretched across the top. He himself had given it to you for your birthday last year.

Fred’s eyes landed on your trunk and a large smirk filled his face. Resting on top was a set of clothes, and beneath the shirt he could see the straps of a lacie red bra.

Fred slid down the stairs not three minutes later, sitting back down in the circle and triumphantly showing the boys your bra.

George applauded loudly, but immediately stopped when he caught sight of you coming back though the portrait hole with Alicia and Angelina, all three of you balancing numerous sweet treats in your arms.

“Shit,” George hissed, “it’s Y/N.”

Fred’s eyes widened and he quickly shoved your bra into his book bag that laid beside him, filled with the homework he had yet to do.

You walk past without a second glance though, heading up to your dorm.

~

The following morning you stood in your dorm, running late for breakfast as you hastily flipped through the clothes in your trunk.

“Are you okay?” Alicia asked, already dressed for the day.

“Yeah,” you replied absently, again rechecking all your clothes. “I just can’t seem to find my bra. Did one of you two take it? It’s the red one.”

Angelina snorted. “You know red’s not my color,” she stated, leaning over your shoulder to look in your trunk. “Just wear something else.”

You pursed your lips. “I picked this one out because it goes with my top for the party tonight, I have to find it!”

“You mean the top you’re going to wear for Fred?” Angelina asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You rolled your eyes. “No you daft doxie!” You exclaimed, giving your best friend a playful shove. “You and I both know that’s a load of horse crap.”

Angelina only winked back, causing you to shove her again.

Annoyed at your bad luck, you glared at your clothes once more. You knew you had set it out just last night so you could find it the next morning. Now where had it gone?

After three more searches through your trunk, which only seemed to make it messier and more difficult to look through, you settled for a black sports bra instead, not your favorite but it would have to do.

~

After morning classes you found yourself running late to lunch after going back up to your dorm to grab the transfiguration essay you had forgotten to put in your bag that morning. Hustling down the stairs, your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you had missed breakfast.

Your pace quickened, rounding the corner into the charms corridor where you immediately crashed into an unsuspecting student.

“Shit,” you said, as you rather ungracefully stumbled back. Losing your footing, you landed on the floor painfully.

“Damn I’m sorry Y/N,” someone said, and you looked up to see Fred sprawled across the floor across from you, his twin not too far away, trying to hide his snickers.

“Don’t-”

You had barely started speaking when your eyes landed on Fred’s bag, which had slid across the floor in the impact. Your attention was drawn to the red lacie strap which was peeking out from inside.

The twins followed your gaze, Fred’s face turning into one of surprise as he had completely forgotten that he hadn’t taken your bra out of his bag last night, whilst George doubled over in a silent laughter.

“Is that my bra?” you asked bluntly, turning to stare at Fred.

“I best be going,” George said, giving you two a little waive, “have fun with that brother.”

You turned to Fred again. “Is that my bra?” you repeated.

Fred’s look of shock twisted into a smirk. “Quite possibly love.”

“How- What-” you struggled to find the right words. Finally you resorted to just saying. “You took that from my room.”

Fred nodded. “Yup, sounds about right.”

You turned to look at your bra once more, and Fred, sensing what you were going to do, dove for it just as you did. He was far closer, reaching it first though you landed on top of him just seconds later, your hand trying to grip the undergarment.

“Give it to me,” you hissed, as he held it behind his head and out of your reach.

Fred looked up at you, from where he was positioned underneath, his smirk only widening. “You know I hadn’t pegged you as a top, Y/N,” he said cheekily. “We might have some control issues later.”

You glared down at him, but he only winked back.

“Shut the hell up and give me the damn bra,” you snapped, lunging forward.

Fred firmly placed his free hand on your waist, holding you back.

“You’ll need to do better than that L/N,” he taunted.

You were now royally pissed off and desperately wanted to hex that smirk right off his face. You look back to where your bag had fallen several yards back, judging how fast you could reach your wand.

“Don’t bother love,” Fred said, reading your thoughts. “I won’t let you get that far.” He squeezed your hips for good measure.

“Now do tell me,” he asked lazily, his hand that was on your waist beginning to slide up your shirt. “Why is this particular bra so important?”

You slapped his hand, but that only seemed to provoke him more as his thumb was now beginning to trace circles on your stomach. Quickly, you glanced down the hall to make sure it was empty, thank Merlin it was lunch. You and Fred were still in a rather compromising position, something he seemed to indicate wouldn’t change anytime soon. Normally you would have been rather content with this too, but currently you were far too focused on retrieving your stolen bra and the redhead beneath you wasn’t doing anything to lessen your annoyance.

“I need it for the party tonight,” you finally grumbled.

Fred pretended to think. “That is a rather convincing argument, you should have started with that earlier. I as much as the next guy would be quite curious of this outfit.”

You flushed red, picturing the rather see through top in your head.

Fred smirked at your discomfort, his hand rising up your back. With no warning, he pulled you down, causing you to let out a gasp when your face reached a mere few inches from his.

“I am very curious of this outfit,” he repeated, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

You felt your heart rate quicken. His warm breath hit your face and you struggled not to sigh. You’re still angry at him, you tried to remind yourself.

Fred’s hand that was slithering up your back had now reached your bra and he let out a huff of annoyance. “Damn, sports bra, you’re killing me L/N.”

This time you were the one who smirked. “I would have been wearing that bra if you hadn’t taken it.”

“Now where would we be if I had done that?” Fred asked quietly, before pressing his lips against yours.

Almost instantly you kissed him back, your mouths moving together in sync. You felt Fred smirk against your mouth before he flipped you, causing you to let out a small yelp as you found yourself now looking up at him.

“I’m always on top,” he whispered huskily, crashing his mouth against yours once more.

Your hands tangled themselves into his hair, pulling him closer to you. His landed on your body, dropping your now forgotten bra on the floor. They traced your skin, running up your stomach and, despite Fred’s complaints, still managing to get beneath your bra.

“Fred,” you muttered against his mouth. “Can I have my bra back?”

“Only if I get to be the one to take it off you tonight.”

[killmebythebeach]

A bunch of head cannons (Maybe too much). Also in talking about the characters.

I think Dream is that one design where his skin is just the static tv screen. He just constantly emits that fuzzy noise, Sam crafted him the smile mask that he can see through so he doesn't scare people.

George is just kind of the server itself. He's the same species as Hannah, but a mushroom and more powerful. If he stays awake too long, the server just kind of freezes. This is also a reason XD keeps him sleeping, it's his way of talking to George and he thinks the server is like his soap opera of mortals.

Callahan is sort of like the person who makes sure George doesn't get killed or dies while asleep, making sure he's surrounded by mushrooms and such. Deer hybrid <3

Alyssa joined the server because she knew all her friends were idiots and didn't want them to die immediately. But once the elections rolled around, she felt the pressure of choosing sides and ran away to the desert, only keeping contact with Ponk. She actually lives just a couple miles from Foolish's summer home. Her communicator actually died after a couple months and she had no way of charging it, so she lost contact with everyone.

Sapnap is a magma cube hybrid and can jump higher than most, his natural temperature runs hotter, and is fire proof. Bad found him in the nether when he was maybe 10-15 years old.

Sam was actually a normal creeper, but gained player like sentience from being struck by lightning. Instead of becoming charged, he gained intelligence and met the others on the server. Callahan taught him some Redstone, but from there he figured out a lot on his own. He's also a creeper centaur.

Ponk is actually a descendant of a fairy, a lemon tree. Their mask was also a gift from Sam because after the second or third time their tree was burnt, their immune system was weakened a considerable amount. Alyssa also wore her mask for them.

Bad is a size shifting demon from the nether, more specifically soul sand desert. He uses soul fire to gain strength, so because the egg died when near it, he was just a little weaker than normal. Because he's a demon he needs a tie to the overworld to stay there, he tied his soul and lives to Skeppy.

Tommy was grown in a lab to be a hero, project: THESEUS. The lab gave him small enhancements, like slightly stronger and just a bit more resilient, to make the Above Average Boy (TM). He then ran away to meet Wilbur. When Dream asked Wilbur if he wanted to come to the server, he asked if Tommy could go first to see what it was like. He also actually really likes gardening and making up funny songs to Wilbur playing guitar. He also made funny lyrics for his discs, but he's still a bit scared to take them out of his ender chest. Other than bringing attachment, Dream also exiled Tommy to see what his lab enhancements could do.

Tubbo is an adaptive hybrid! His hair was blond, shifting to brown when Wilbur found him, getting blue eyes from Tommy, growing small horns under Schlatt, parts of his skin being static when Dream was "helping" him with his presidency, and parts of his scars tinging black and green from Ranboo and Micheal. Tubbo also helped Wilbur write part of the anthem. He likes living in the snow because the Manberg flag had magma blocks on it, casting a heatwave over the country, and after L'Manburg blew up it got really hot from the exposed stone in direct sun.

Fundy can actually hold his breath for a very long time and swim very well because of Sally teaching him and his salmon genes. The yellow things on his hat are actually shells, and the stripes on his jacket are trans colors. Also with his dreams, he saw Eret was going to betray them but didn't think it was real, or didn't want to. He also saw Wilbur blow up L'Manburg but chose not to believe it, thinking his father could still be saved. He actually saw pretty much everything, but didn't quite understand what they were until after doomsday.

The necklace Punz wears is one of those picture lockets, but he lost the picture and can't remember what it was. The first time Dream paid him was when Dream asked for help and Punz made an off hand joke about getting money, and then Dream thought he was being serious. Him, Dream, and Sapnap were like brothers, and Punz got sadder every time he saw Dream pushing people away and diving deeper into darkness.

Purpled is an aliensent to see if the planet was colonizable, but then crashed and was stranded, all his communications down and his ship barely able to hover fifty feet off the ground. When Quackity blew it up, he essentially got rid of his chance of ever going home. Purpled's species can shapeshift, so he turned himself into the first person he saw, Punz. Eventually before trying to communicate with the native life forms, he edited his form a little so they weren't identical, keeping purple eyes and antennae, changing the colors slightly, and changing the voice up. When he moves away from the main SMP, Ponk makes sure to check up on him and that he has a way to check his communicator.

Wilbur came a month after sending Tommy. His father being a patron of life and his mother the goddess of death, he met in the middle being born as a human. The only reason Ghostbur was as active and present as he was was because he was so connected to both life and death. Since his corpse was decaying for as long as it was, Wilbur is now super weak, his flesh is thin and his eyes are rotted and gone. Much like Ghostbur, Wilbur in limbo saw what people said about him, and Ghostbur could hear that from the back of his head. Now Wilbur can hear what people say about Ghostbur and he hates it, not wanting to be connected to what he thinks like a shell of himself.

Schlatt is a ram (duh) and actually does the fainting goat thing. So when he died of a heart attack, no one knew at first if he was actually dead or not. His alcoholism stems from the revive book, as the possibility of tampering with death made him existential and scared, so to cope he drank. There are also a ton of other stuff other than revival in the book, but it's in galactic.

Skeppy was just a normal human, but after making the pact with Bad, Bad put a spell on him. Parts of him turned into diamond, protecting both his and Bad's lives. He however, is unaware of this. With the egg, he would just sit on it, the diamonds chipping away to make room for the vines.

Eret was cursed by the Wither Cult, giving them white eyes and a slowly deteriorating memory. Not sure what to do, Foolish dropped them off at the SMP. Sometimes they would dream about old memories from before the curse, but it was just glimpses so he could never tell what they meant. Once they were king, they made the Herobrine shrine subconsciously, not really sure what it was after. They also had a strange affinity of beacons and resurrection, some of their memories resurfacing when they tried to help Phil and Ghostbur revive Wilbur after doomsday. The reason people are more scared of their eyes than any other wierd eyes was because he generally looks like a normal human, but the wither along with their Herobrine origins creates an uncanny valley that people are shocked by.

Jack had red and blue irises before crawling out of hell, but after coming back the whites of his eyes also turned red and blue. He always wears 3d glasses so no one noticed, but he just thought no one cared enough to mention it. He also has a bunch of scars and burn marks that no one but him can see, therefore no one asks about them or thinks something is wrong, cementing the idea that no one cares about him.

Niki is a blaze hybrid (stole this from @/420technoblazeit) whose fire hair color changes based on strong emotion, something she bond with Tubbo for as a fellow shifter. A soft yellow in L'Manburg, brighter orange in Manburg, hot pink on Doomsday, a soul fire blue with the syndicate (which Techno hates), and a dead grey when she found out Wilbur was alive. She was also old child hood friends with Ranboo and Eret, leaving Ranboo for the SMP. Ranboo, unfortunatly, doesn't remember much more than her name. She also knows galactic from Ranboo, so she talks about her troubles to Shy the Enderman. She doesn't really know how to talk to Puffy anymore after Doomsday or finding out how she wants to protect Tommy.

Quackity can perfectly replicate someone's voice and, with a lot of effort, can completely change his form to another player. He also has very small yellow wings, too small to fly, so he almost always hides them. He used to constantly change his voice for jokes with Karl, Sapnap, and George, but he doesn't like doing it now in Las Nevadas, as he sees it as unprofessional. However, sometimes he uses when he visits Dream, changing his voice to people like George and Sapnap to make torture more effective.

In the In Between and Other Side, Karl actually looks like his old skin, or his natural state (the big purple one that inspired his sweater). But most of the time in the normal world, he looks human. With effort he can bring out the interdemential being thing, something only Quackity and Sapnap know about. The more he time travels, the easier it becomes to change, and he's even started defaulting to the other form.

HBomb is actually just a normal news reporter, sent to interview and record what's going on in the server, his first big story being the election. Upon Doomsday, the stress of seeing everyone alone, fighting, and disconnected, he ran away from the world, essentially becoming a cat lady. His undercover reporter persona is actually the cat maid. He eventually came back to the server to see how he could help after Doomsday, befriending Niki again and living with her in the underground city.

Techno is a piglin, so he's scared of soul fire. He forgot to tell Phil before he decorated the syndicate room, so he just suffers in silence. He also does better when around a lot of gold, like in the nether, and he feels drained and slightly weaker without it. Instead of just putting gold around the area (it would ruin his property value), he just hibernates. He has an emerald earing, like all of the syndicate, but his is a locket that unfolds into pictures of the syndicate.

Ant always wears a red hoodie, now ruined by the egg, that used to be Red's. On Red's death anniversary, him, Bad, Skeppy, and Sam would make cake and put flowers on his grave. He missed the last one because it was during the egg, but for a brief moment after Puffy killed him he saw Red. Red then promptly and bluntly told him to stop being a pussy (haha, cat) and that he shouldn't do all this just to get him back, one of Ant's motivators to make amends with the people he hurt while with the egg. Ant is also a shapeshifter, but can only turn into a cat.

Phil actually used to work under Foolish as a patron of life but then he had a son with the goddess of death, so his title was removed so he could be with her and he became an Angel of Death. Kristin noticed how sad he was after being released, so she gifted him wings. They were however, destroyed on November 16th. His chat also serves as messenger pigeons, which were used to send letters to Wilbur.

Connor is actually just a hedgehog who somehow befriended Schlatt. Even before the haunted mansion, Karl vented to him about his time travel troubles, not knowing he was a sentient player. As a hedgehog, no one really cares where he goes, so he goes outside the server limits to meet his friends from the haunted mansion.

Puffy is a distant relative of Schlatt, but instead of politics she went into piracy. With her mom, she went travelling the seas. One say, a storm came and wiped out her ship, her crew, her mom, everything but her. The reason she survived was because Foolish saw her and saved her. Unfortunately, Puffy hit hee head in the crash and doesn't remember anything.

Vikkstar is the equivalent of a big time celebrity, so of course his endorsement of POG2020 was a big deal.

Lazarbeam is literally just a ginger bread cookie.

Ranboo has actually met a lot of the smp before actually joining. He's met Niki, Fundy, Eret, Punz, and Dream at least. He also sees the inverted colors Enderman see. His suit was actually a gift from Eret before they forgot how to tailor. He got the crown from Techno after joining the syndicate, claiming he didn't want any syndicate members to look like trash.

Foolish came to the server most recently to check up on Eret, but he couldn't bring himself to leave again. When Puffy adopts him, he can't say no because he remembers saving her. His initial goal was to kill an ender dragon to claim the XD title and become a full god like DreamXD, but after realising someone already killed it he went into his totem if death phase. Upon meeting Eret, he got over it and they went on some silly adventures, Foolish now taking a more peaceful route.

Hannah is essentially a weaker George, as her power is tied to the plants themselves and not the entire server. She however has a lot more physical power because rose dryads like to fight because they have thorns. Since roses can be taken out a lot easier, she is essentially a glass canon. Also when around any plant, she can make it grow faster than normal.

Any guest on the server? Corpse, Pokimane, Lil Nas? They were all Slimecicle. That's how he knows where everyone is from, even outside of Las Nevadas. No one else knows this. He's also ancient, if he met Phil they would probably recognise eachother. There was an actual Charlie Slimecicle who was not a slime, but after being launched into orbit this Slimecicle decided to impersonate him.

Michael Mcchill is a sort of bounty hunter. He came to the server after hearing of all the crime, assuming there'd be a lot of bounties to collect. However, he soon learned that no one really cares if you commit a crime. He then took to reading news articles made by HBomb to see if there were any past open bounties. But after reading for a while about the server's wronguns, mostly Dream, he began to sympathise with them. And he's also a speedrunner, so maybe he could help with some bounties across other servers!

This was a very long post and i apologize, but it was so fun to finally write all these thoughts down! I hope you liked them! I can't even fit all the tags I want.

[smutandfluffohmy]

Restricted Section

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George Weasley X Slytherin! Reader X Fred Weasley Warnings: Smut!, (French special), there’s some spanking in there, NO twincest! they share you but don’t touch each other in that way A/N: Sorry for missing last weeks ‘His Sweater’ update, I’ve been really tired lately. Maybe it’s too much coffee or too little? Also I have midterms this week nobody tell my professors this is what I’m doing. A/N 2: They’re very different when they do the old devils tango but that’s just what I thought fit their personalities don't come for me Request: Hi! I love your writing and wanted to request a Fred x reader x George (preferably smut if you’re comfortable writing it) and if you don’t want to write the reader with both of the twins you can pick. There’s just not enough Weasley twin love on tumblr. Also can the reader be Slytherin or at least house neutral? Thank you ❤️❤️

Class ended early, you and your friend Flora walked with a very gloomy Draco Malfoy that likes to annoy older students to seem more interesting than he actually is. Your other friend,Blake, was making their way very annoyed and very much covered in some sort of colorful powder.  “Whoa what happened to you?” You asked looking them up and down.

Blake shook their robes as powder of all different colors fell of their robes “Got caught in one of Weasleys pranks.” they said, hitting at the Slytherin tie that will never be solely green and silver again.

“Fred and George?” Flora asked wiping some of the powder that got on her own robes.

“Yea.” Blake said absentmindedly, before looking up at your face before scoffing. “Stop drooling!” Blake said clapping their powdered covered hands at you making the front of your sweater covered with bits of blue and yellow.

“Oh what I wouldn’t do to be between them.” You laughed.

Blake laughed and shoved you a bit  “You’re disgusting.”

“To keep warm!” You laughed and attempted to defend yourself, your friends were more than aware on your crush on certain Weasleys but Draco Malfoy wasn't your friend.

Draco scoffed walking in front of the three of you “Blake’s right you’re disgusting to be talking like that especially about a Weasley.”

You laughed again but this time at Draco and his air of importance “I think they’re fit. You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t eat them up if you got the chance.”

Flora laughed pretending to be disgusted “Lalala can’t hear you.”

“You’re a disgrace to Slytherin.” Draco said wagging a disapproving finger at you.

“Shouldn't you be off snogging Parkinson?” the three of you laughed shoving past him, leaving him to stay stunned in the middle of the hallway.

Being a prefect was great, rewarding, yada yada yada all that people thought being a prefect was, was in fact tru. It was also a great pain in the ass, especially on the days when you got to patrol around the school looking for any wondering housemates before any of the other prefects could.

The library was your last stop before you called it a night and went off to bed. Two tall figures came out of the dark, the only source of light was your wand.

“Merlin! what are you two doing here?”You said after you composed yourself after getting scared half to death. “This could easily be 50 points from Gryffindor so I suggest you tell me why you two are in the library in the dead of night.” You said scolding George and Fred who were in front of you leaning against book cases with their ever present smiles on their faces.

“We need your help with something” Fred said hooking his finger on the top of your tie, tugging it loose. Your face was burning and the words you wanted to say weren’t reaching your mouth. Instead you swatted his hand away trying your best to keep your wits.

“We’d really owe you one.” George said taking a step towards you.

Straightening yourself up you looked up at the two of them, having not a bloody clue what they were going on about “I have half a mind to tell Flich.”

“I don’t think you’d want Flich to join us for what we had in mind.” George said picking off something from the front of your robes.

You swallowed, rolling your shoulders back at a failed attempted to be seen as taller, a tad bit more intimidating “And what exactly did you have in mind?” You asked.

Fred smiled leaning down to tug at your tie once more “You tell us we over heard you.” he said.

Grabbing your tie away from him your face grew red, knowing exactly what he was referring to “I don’t kn-” you lied

“In the halls.” Fred said squinting his eyes at you trying to see when it will all click for you.

“You should really talk about things like that somewhere private.” George said trailing his hand down your arm.

“I-I’m sorry.” You said. and it was all you could say, there was obviously no point in denying it now.

“So are you interested?” Fred said. It took a moment to register exactly what he was saying but by the hook on your robes and Georges hand hovering over your arm. You reckoned that it would at least be a good time, you nodded in agreement “Use your words love.”

“Yes. Yes I want to do it.” You nodded. But what were you agreeing to? A messy snog behind the Herbology books? or something more?

Fred laughed cupping your face to look up at him “Shivering? Naughty.” which made you shiver under his touch even more.

George leaned in for a kiss, that you returned. His lips against yours, slowly biting at your bottom lip a bit. “That’s ten points from Slytherin.” He said.

Fred played with the loops of your pants waiting for a sign that you wanted to keep going. Un-buttoning your pants he took it as a sign to keep going, as he pulled down your pants “Another ten here.” he said, the cold air hitting your now bare thighs.

George played with the waistband of your underwear, as he ran his finger across the fabric. “Another fifteen there” he said smiling into the kiss

“What if someone walks in.” You said. Looking up at them despite always being aware of how tall the twins are you never had them tower over you this closely.

“The more the merrier.” Fred laughed before you slapped him on the arm. “Ouch” He said still grinning as he pretended to rub at his arm.

“Don’t worry we’ll take care of it.” George said waving away all of your concerns.

Your hands were shaking placing them on Georges chest leaning in for a kiss, he placed his hands on the sides of your face. Stroking your face gently with his thumb, Fred reached over unbuttoning your shirt. His hands were cold, his fingers traced your chest pushing your shirt to the side he bit the soft skin of the nape of your neck.

George stopped and used his index finger to make you look up at him“Are you okay?” He said looking into your eyes for any hint of unease  “We can stop whenever you want to.”

Shaking your head you answered him “No. Please don't stop.” you said placing your hand over his.

“See they’re a good little prefect.” Fred said his hard dick pressed against your thigh, making you melt into him further.

Shaky hands you reached behind you, your hand slithering down Fred’s shaft. “Cat got your tongue Fred?” You said smiling smug at how the tables changed.

“Ready Fred?”

“Ready George.”

Everything moved too quickly and before you knew it you were on your hands and knees on the cold wooden floor.Fred got behind you nudging your knees apart. Fred positioned himself behind you, your heart thumped against your chest.

You fingers flexed, a shudder going through your body as Freds tip teased you. In frustration you leaned backwards making Fred suck in air and a string of curses, wincing you sunk deeper. He placed his hands on your back trying to keep you in place .

George was hesitant to go through with it. “George please.” You muttered out, your voice low and filled with lust. You asking was all that took for George to shuffle forward. His dick missing your mouth and the tip and shaft slapping you on the face.

George tried once more and this time he enters it slowly in your mouth. You slobbered on George’s dick, being trusted further by Fred making your eyes sting with tears. George cupped your cheek with his hand, wiping away a tear that was rolling down your cheek.

You wanted to know what George tasted like but all you could taste was his shaft that was pressed against your tongue.Your drool was dripping down your chin and hitting the floor.

Fred pushes himself in further, you could feel every inch of of him inside of you.Moans and pleas got stuck in your throat, the vibrations making George shudder.

You pressed your hands and knees against the hard floor trying your best to keep steady. To stay upright. Worried that your shaky hands and legs will give out from under you.

Fred pushed himself out, his hands gripped your hips tightly before pushing himself back in. Your eyes rolled back wanting to touch them but instead you were left with them touching you and being unable to do the same.

The libraries overwhelming smell of old books was something you never got used to even after all the years you spent at Hogwarts. But now all you could smell was George and Fred.

George's hands were placed on your head holding your hair back. Maybe it was out of the kindness of his heart or maybe he was just trying to keep himself steady.Fred’s palms rested on your sides, his fingers digging into your hips.

Moving your head up and down softly sucking on his dick but not giving him enough to get off, his fingers gripping handfuls of your hair. Your moans and whimpers got stuck in your throat, Fred’s hand slapping your ass then grabbing handfuls of it. Leaving a pulsating sensation that would disappear in seconds.

“Shit.” Was all Fred said before he cummed inside of you, sighing and collapsing against a book case in a mess of sweat and pants. His ginger hair pressed against his forehead, his body coated in a glistening layer of sweat.

You tugged your legs under you, feeling the cum travel down your leg.You grabbed George’s shaft pumping up and down, George let out a moan throwing his head back. A string of incoherent curses left his mouth, tugging at your hair in between fistfuls.Your hand moved up and down, your thumb swiping across the head before taking him in your mouth again.

Your legs were going numb underneath you, and your eyes stung as tears rolled down your face.George shuddered around your touch letting out a deep throaty moan, cumming inside your mouth. Strings of cum ran down your chin before swallowing, finally able to sit between the twins you were trying to steady their breathing.

“You okay?” George asks holding you up right before you could collapse in front of them.

Fred laughed “Don’t go dying on us.” he said pinching your cheek lovingly.

Getting to bed was a haze. You started to think that last night was all a pleasant dream but the marks and soreness begged to differ.

You didn’t want to get out of bed, you didn’t want to wake up and you definitely didn’t want to have to walk around a ridiculously large school when you walked weird just getting out of bed.

Your friends that were already sitting at the Slytherin table waved you over “Come sit! I heard from Lavender Brown that a 5th year Ravenclaw told her that Melvin Catterrick said he thinks he overheard Draco has a crush on someone. You’ll never bloody guess who! ” Flora said excitedly and hurriedly beckoning you to sit down.

“Can you just tell me standing here?” You asked tugging at the hem of your sweater making sure to keep your hickeys hidden.

Dalton said shaking their head “No common we’re all going to guess!”

“I can't.”

“Why not?” Your friend asked as the rest of them looked up confused at you.

“I-I have a headache. Feels like my heads splitting right down the middle.” You said in fake pain grabbing your head.

“and a sore ass, red handprints on my ass, a sore throat and hickeys that will have me wearing scarves for a while.” You thought to yourself, trying your best to ignore Fred and George.

[technowoah]

thinking about angst prompt 'you're right. you're useless' with c!jschlatt where all reader does is try to help him and they eventually get to a breaking point because all they do it give and give and give and get nothing in return so schlatt just turns around and scares the fuck out of them :D

Have a Heart

You end up helping Schlatt after hating his guts. And even though you give every thing to your new president he dosent seem to fucking care

- c!schlatt x reader

- gender neutral reader!

- prompt: 25) "You're right. You are useless" (angst list)

⚠︎: swearing, drinking, smoking, angst, mentions of vomit, c!dream makes an appearance 🤭 not proofread

An// I LOVE THIS SCENARIO UGHH! THANKS FOR REQUESTING AS WELL BUB! I HOPE YOU ENJOY!

"Where's my fucking decree at?!"

"It's in my room Schlatt, please stop yelling." You tried to calm the ram-man down by talking calmer than him, but it only seemed to rile him up more.

"In your room?! Sounds like another fucking excuse that you didn't even finish them." Schlatt waved around his hands which one of them contained a lit cigarette in them. "Look at Tubbo he re-wrote one of my decrees before the festival, which is tomorrow may I add, and gave it to me. You havent even done anything I asked you." He scoffed.

You closed your eyes and held back a huge eye roll. You had done everything that Schlatt asked you to do, the decree was actually sitting on your desk in your room. This has been happening ever since Schlatt became president. He was more nicer, well as nice as Schlatt can get, but now he's been drinking like a moster and it never fails that he shows up to an important meeting drunk and makes you and Tubbo do all the work while Quackity and George are running free doing God knows what.

You had been loyal to Schlatt even when you didn't want to be, you had swallowed your pride along time ago. Every. Single. Task you do. And Every. Single. Time you get more put down that you already do.

Your head was hung low while he still spoke. "Hey! Were you listening to me shithead?! I need those papers by tonight!" Schlatt dug his finger into your chest pushing you back a little.

"Also get me my beer and bring it to the meeting room because apparently that's all you're good for." He finally left the long hallway, stumbling a bit as he walked.

You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding until you saw him walk away. You walked away to find Schlatg that beer and try to put on a smile for the meeting you are currently dreading. Quickly you stopped by your room to grab the stack of paper Schlatt was yelling about earlier and grabbed a beer from a random room. Schlatt always has alcohol and cigarettes in every room just in case he needs one.

Dragging your feet along the marble floored hallways you mad your way to the meeting room. You didn't want to get there first or even last so your mind switched up from speed walking to continuing your slow pace. You started to walk faster when you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey!"

You turned around to see Tubbo waving behind you. You stopped in your pursuit to greet your friend.

"Hey Tubbo!"

"Going to the meeting I see." He smiled.

"Sadly yes." You sighed. "I already got yelled at twice today so-"

"Hey! It's better than three!"

"Tubbo!"

"Im sorry! But am I wrong?" Tubbo laughed a little.

"Well I wish it was zero. I give everything to that bastard and I get nothing." You breathed out.

"Really?! I get a lot of-" Tubbo stopped talking after the shock on your face was prominent. "You know what nevermind!" He waved off.

"Of course he would favor you." You walked off keeping a brisk pace with Tubbo apologizing for Schlatt's favoritism right behind you.

Once you reached the door to the meeting room you slowly opened the door to be greeted with, once again, a drunken president and his right hand man looking smug as ever when he had no right to be.

Schlatt's cabinet was a mess. Quackity was only the vice president because he partnered with Schlatt and George became, well, the vice president to the vice president. George was barely around anyways. Then Tubbo and you came from L'Manburg, hating Schlatt's guts at firsy you two learned to be okay with the treatment. And while apparently, Tubbo had better treatment than you, you still gave that president everything you had.

Everything you worked for was for that drunken man sitting at the head of the table. You basically devoted your life to him, writing decrees that represents Schlatts policies because "you dare not write something Wilbur would". You had pulled him from sleeping at his desk at nights, cleaned up his spilled wine and beer, picked up cigarettes from the clean marble floors. He pushed you around and you let it happen too, some people woukd say you've become weak and they were sadly right.

"Aye! Look who it is!" Schlatt slurred his words together. "There's my beer!"

"And your decrees!" You plopped the papers down on the desk as he snatched the beer bottle out of your hand.

"You have an attitude with me?" Schlatt asked quickly.

"No! No why?"

"'Cause you just threw my decrees on the table like they are some sort of scrap." Schlatt tried to find the right words. "Some sort of shit like its not important! Fuckin' have some nerve huh?"

You didn't respond and went to go sit by Tubbo across from Quackity. Schlatt apparently noticed and took it upon himself to say something.

"Asshole! You gonna respond to me?! I am your president!"

You fought the urge to snap back at him so you bit your lip as he continues to yell and make everyone in the room uncomfortable, even Quackity.

"Dammit!" Schlatt slammed the table. "Fuck you! I could kill you! I have so much power over you! I can control everyone in this damned kingdom that I'm second best to! This kingdom was owned by a tyrant! I saved all of you! And all you have to do is respond!"

He stood up during half of his breakdown, but you didn't know when. You could hear every single word he said, but your eyes were threatening to spill tears and you could feel Tubbo's hand grab yours underneath the table.

Schlatt huffed smoothed put his suit and sat back down in his chair.

"So! We're here for the festival."

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

You softly closed your bedroom door not wanting to make more drama by slamming it. This whole week you held in your emotions and tears, but today was the breaking point for you. Your back slid down the door and you started crying, and crying. There was no need to try and deafen your sobs, because you couldn't even if you tried.

Your mind kept reminding you of every single event if today.

First. Tubbo didnt tell you he was still in contact with the former citizens of L'Manburg, and the only way you found out was that today at the festival you saw them and you asked Tubbo. He finally told you with his head hung low as you two stood on the podium. You felt betrayed.

Second. Schlatt gave you an extremely hard time making sure everything was intact for today's festivities. You were stressed out of your mind.

Third. The festival went down hill hard and fast. So fast everything seemed like a blur. Tubbo gave his speech, really fidgety may you add, and then Schlatt and Quackity began trapping him in cement, you tried stopping him, but you were pushed away multiple times. You knew who Technoblade was, so when you heard Schlatt call him up to the podium you started to freak out. Your heart started to pound out of your chest when he brought out an explosive crossbow and pointed it right at Tubbo's chest.

The next thing you know a huge, bright, colorful explosion went off and with you on the podium with Tubbo's murderer sparks flew and hit you, Schlatt and Quackity making all of you have some sort of burn marks. Tubbo was gone, soon to be revived again for his last life on this earth, but seeing him die like that was the breaking point for you.

You stayed on the ground with your knees to your chest sobbing loudly. It was too much for you. Your lungs felt like they had no air inside of them, and your heart felt like a million weights were hung on it. You kept crying until you heard a harsh knock on the door, that felt like they were trying to break down the door than get someone's attention.

"Stop sobbing so damn loud!" Of course it was Schlatt you rolled your eyes and stayed on the floor.

"Leave me alone!" You cried out.

"Damn you sound like you're in pain huh?" You heard him from the other side of the door.

It was silent until the door was forced open and you were pushed with the door on your side. You sat up again to see Schlatt, who was out of breath, above you and had another beer bottle in hand.

"Why did you open ny door?" You asked softly.

"Why didn't you let me in?"

"Cause you didnt ask."

"Excuse me!?" Schlatt grew angry.

"You heard me." You stood up facing the taller man with horns. He was scary, but somehow you got the confidence today.

"I dont think you know who you're talking to shithead!" Schlatt got closer, but this time you stood your ground.

"Im talking to a drunken, egotistical, ram-man who let someone kill the only person I had left!" You yelled in his face while tears fell on your cheeks.

"You do got some nerve! I saved you!" He turned around, his back facing you.

"You made my life hell!" You yelled at him. "You- you made my life worse! You made me feel like I have no purpose, but to serve you and your ragtag cabinet! You made me feel like a useless sack of shit, you-!"

"YOU'RE RIGHT! YOU ARE USELESS!" Schlatt quickly turned around his faced filled with pure anger and his eyes bloodshot. He was breathing heavily and all the confidence left your body as soon as he stumbled towards you.

"You're fucking useless! You're even worse than Tubbo and he was working against me!" Schlatt then let out a strained stream and smashed his bottle on the floor letting the left over alcohol spill onto the floor.

"Do me a favor and leave, go. I dont need you! I dont need this damned place given to me by chance! By a fucking vice president that dosent even do his damn job! I dont need you! You! You and those bastards ruined everything!" Schlatt yelled and then rushed out of the room while holding his mouth.

You followed him quickly into the hallway and watched as he stumbled into the nearest bathroom to throw up the alcohol consumption of today. The tears kept coming as you ran down the hallway hoping that you can get as far away from these ivory buildings as your feet can take you.

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

Your feet hung off the edge of the prime path and underneath there was a small river. You had stared at the water running for about ten minutes since you got there. You noticed immediately when you set foot on the prime path that you had no where else to go except for pogtopia you learned about.

You sighed tilting your head up towards the night sky.

"Lonely?" A voice asked next to you.

You turned your head and saw the well known man dressed in green. Dream had his mask on, as usual, but hood was down letting his blonde hair show.

"Yeah actually." You responded not looking at him.

"I know what happened at the festival."

"Everyone does." You scoffed.

"What happened with Schlatt?" He asked and you turned your head with a confused look on your face. "Dont think I don't know anything that goes on around here."

"I don't know how you found out, but long story short I'm not allowed back there. I dont wanna go back there." You said while standing up facing the man.

"I have someone that can give you a place to stay. If you want to take the offer. Also I wanted to check up on you. You were so close to Tubbo and its hard to lose a friend." Dream spoke softly, but you could still hear him loud and clear even through the mask.

"Thank you. I would want to take the offer for a place to stay." You airly laughed. "I dont want to see Schlatt or Quackity again."

Dream chuckled while giving you a paper with an adress on it before getting ready to leave.

"Don't worry. He'll be dead soon." Dream said before turning around and walking down the prime path.

You should've stayed.

Taglist(s)

MCYT Imagines: @annshit @bobaducky @malfoysslutt @egorldevi

[harrypotter-imaginess]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info I Instagram I Zine

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / <This is Part 3!>

A/N: I'm on a HP writing roll also that picture of Oliver Phelps is too cute. Drop those requests and Oh, and if you are in the market for some cute pro-Weasley shirts, check out my 'Weasley Suprmeacy' shirt here!

- George whistles a cheery tune as he walks down the street

- All around him are couples madly in love, gazing upon everything with rose tinted glasses

- And for once

- George is one of them now too

- No more watching Ron and Hermione giggle over some inside joke like a couple of schoolgirls

- Or watch Fred and Angelina Johnson make eyes at each other from across the room while all he could do was wonder what he had to do to get someone like that

- Because now he has you

- And he never has to spend Valentine’s Day alone again

- He’s so caught up in the joy of having someone, and his pride in not being one of those morons who wait until the last minute to make a reservation, that he doesn’t notice the line wrapped around your store

- He doesn’t notice until he walks inside and sees the chaotic state

- “Ainsley will you pass the ribbon?”

- “Henry get the customer will ya?”

- “Boss we’re out of the red roses!”

- “Get some red food coloring and put it in the water of the white roses!”

- So he probably won’t be needing those reservations

- “Oh George,” you notice him standing at the door after several long minutes of him watching you frantically move around the shop trying to fill orders

- You stand in front of apologizing profusely

- “I’m sorry I know we’ve had tonight planned out for so long-“

- “I didn’t think we would be so busy-“

- You usually do appointment only for Valentine’s but... your bills came in a little higher this month and your landlord is talking about a rent increase

- And so you kind of need this money

- Still, you thought you would be able to manage, but you seriously underestimated how many people would require your services last minute

- George listens to your carefully, only speaking after you say you're final: “I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to you”

- He nods and you think that will be that

- And then he glances at your apron, a finger gently picking at one of the straps that sit on your shoulder

- “Have you got an extra one of these?”

- And so that’s how George spends his Valentine’s Day

- In a bright pink apron collecting muggle money and placating customers at your store

- And it’s not how he quite pictured it- but he’s got the biggest smile on his face because he’s with you

- Watching you scamper around is oddly cute too

- Besides helping here isn’t all the difference then working at his shop

- He just can’t use magic

- “Oh I thought we were out of red roses?” You say when he brings you a dozen roses from the backroom

- “I found a few hidden behind some pink ones” he lies

- Well, he can’t blatantly use magic

- It’s 10:17 when you flip the shop sign over, bidding your employees a happy Valentine’s Day

- You don’t bother finding a chair, sitting on the ground, and letting out a relieved sigh

- Finally, it’s over

- George settles on the floor next to you, sporting a similar expression

- You laugh

- “I’m guessing this falls into your top ten worst Valentine’s days”

- Now it’s George that laughs

- “Not even close, I think the worst one was when I was at school, all of us single lads passed around a box of Bertie Botts”

- “What’s Bertie Botts?” You ask

- Oh bullocks, is that not a muggle thing too?

- “They’re like jelly beans, but there are a few gag flavors thrown in like rotten egg and freshly mown grass”

- “That sounds like a very teenage thing to do,” you say with a laugh

- Oh good looks like you bought it

- “Second worst then,” you say and shakes his head with a grin

- “It was actually really fun,” his smile softens when he looks at you, your eyes meet his.

- “It’s always really fun when you’re around.”

- And from any other man, you would think they were empty words.

- But George’s warm eyes and that soft expression he has as he gazes at you with nothing but adoration tells you it’s all completely genuine

- And you fidget, clearing your throat

- “Well the least I can do is treat you to a meal”

- “Want to beg the restaurant to take us even though we’re-“ he looks at his watch “3 hours late?”

- “Not quite,” you say laughing

- You tip the pizza boy in flowers, who seems ecstatic with the bouquet in his hands

- “My significant others going to love these thank you!”

- You practically crawl up to the rooftop of your shop where George has already set up a makeshift table with your bare minimum patio furniture, lit candles at the center

- “I’ll have to apologize, I didn’t bring a bottle of wine so all I have is this”

- George holds up a silver flask

- You don’t hesitate to take a swig from it when he offers

- You cough almost immediately

- “What was in that?” You’ve never had anything like it

- It almost tasted like fire

- “Fi- I mean, cinnamon whisky,” George says and you offer him a small smile

- “Well bring a bottle next time, I like it”

- You grin, eating pizza side by side while watching the city lights

- George has to keep himself from grinning

- Best Valentine’s Day ever

[moo-moo-meadows]

For your Georgebur royal au, I always had this thought of George teaching Wilbur archery flirting

MY GEORGEBUR ROYALTY AU?? I didn’t think people still knew about that or cared enough to actually send an ask,, oh my gosh, okay, okay. Gnf teaching Wilbur archery (to flirt) handshake Wilbur teaching gnf ballroom dancing (to flirt) so we’re gonna try to do both of those + an added something :D mostly cause it fits their characters but also kinda fits their roles in the story? Wilbur is the antactic prince from this long bloodline and his family is probably very regal meanwhile George is a prince, yes, but a prince of the forest. Complete different vibes

send writing prompts pspsps

“I’m no good with weapons.” Wilbur isn’t sure how their conversation had lead to this topic. It’s often that their conversations seem to follow no rhyme nor reason. One moment they could be talking about their childhood, the stars, the next; doubling over in laughter over shared experiences with prickly old nobles at balls.

George frowned as Wilbur continued, “That had always been something that was more of my brothers’ nature. We’re all trained with a sword, of course, but it never felt right in my hands the way a quill or an instrument does.” He flexed his fingers lightly, grazing the tips of his fingers.

“I think I might disagree.” George, who had been laying with his back against a mossy rock, sat up, arms flexing as he propped himself up. Rid of his outer coat, complaining of the sun rays that beat down on their skin at the clearing which they found themselves in, he sat in a simple tunic which revealed lean yet toned arms and a collarbone powdered like the cream-colored spores on top of mushrooms. Due to George’s unblemished countenance and thin figure, Wilbur had once thought him to seem more elegant than particularly strong. Not once did he think that again after watching the same man who seemed as delicate as the stars take down men twice his size with ease, laughing with his twinkling smile all the while.

“Do you fathom know me better than my old swordsmanship teacher then? Who I brought to tears the last time I tried to wield a sword and nearly cut my little brother's head right off?” George smiled. He knew of the story. Wilbur had told it to him once before, miming the way his sword clumsily soared through the air and then out of his slippery grasp–he always seemed to have loose lips the same way around George–and barrelled right at poor Tommy, bright-eyed and waiting for the day he would be allowed to wield a sword like his strong big brothers.

Needless to say, Wilbur’s lessons stopped there, and Tommy’s were delayed for some time until he could trust being around swords again. Not that it hindered his natural talent for the art in any way. Perhaps it is his confidence, and Wilbur’s lack thereof, that made the difference.

“I think that they simply gave you the wrong weapon and that your strengths lay elsewhere.” George hummed.

“Yes, dear, they lay with the words on my lips and the chords at the tip of my fingers.”

George shoved him lightly, rolling his eyes. The brown and blue hues seem to twinkle. “That too, of course. You know I mean something else.” Wilbur stayed silent, so he continued. “Have you ever tried wielding a bow?”

“I can’t say that I have.” There were some bows in the armory back at home, but Wilbur had never trained with them. Swordsmanship had been the bare minimum for their curriculum, and he didn’t even pass that. He knew that Techno and his father were adept, while Tommy, though talented, had no care for it.

“Would you like to try?”

“When done properly, wielding a bow should not just use the arms, as many might think, but the entire body. Your back and your core especially.” George’s hand trailed from Wilbur’s shoulder down his back, making him shiver.

“George,” he said at length, fingers clenching infinitesimally against the string of the bow. He can almost feel George grin behind him as he pulls his hand away to move more towards Wilbur’s side, judging his stance.

“Tight here, loose here.” George’s fingers fall naturally against where Wilbur erred, correcting him bluntly with his words yet gently with his actions. He flinches as George’s hands fall on his waist, and George merely raises an eyebrow up at him. “Keep this part forward, and your feet shoulder length apart.”

“Do your people normally teach in this manner or is it just you?”

“In what manner?”

“So… touchy.” Wilbur’s used to having things demonstrated for him, or to learn simply by doing and having his errors beat out of him, more or less. Still quite tactile and hands-on, but in a much more different way.

George hummed, stepping back to look at Wilbur’s stance once more. “Which answer would you like?”

“The honest one?”

“Deep breath. Shoot when you feel ready,” George replied instead. As Wilbur felt the crisp air enter his lungs, he thought that George would not give him a proper answer. Instead, as the arrow whizzed past his cheek, George whispered.

“Maybe it’s just because it’s me, and you.” Wilbur’s arm jerked, and the both of them watched as the arrow embedded itself just slightly left of the bullseye.

“Does that feel better than wielding a sword?” A callback to their earlier conversation.

“You did that on purpose.” Wilbur huffed. Again, with no rhyme or reason.

“Maybe so.” George walked over to pull the arrow out of the target.

“I’ve found that there’s something quite more satisfying with landing a successful shot than a successful hit. It’s a lot more technical, but in a way, there’s also something melodic about the way that your body moves almost in tandem with the bow and arrow. Like the string of a violin, or the beat of a drum.”

Or two hearts writing their own melody.

“Is that why you always seem to disappear during this time of the night?” Wilbur mused, reminiscing the first time they met. It had been a starry night just like this one, and they are atop the gazebo from back then too, which has now become something of a special place for them both to get away to.

George shrugged one shoulder, but his smile said it all. It’s awkward in the way it always is when there’s something George doesn’t want to admit but has left out in the open for people to assume anyway. “Just like you never saw a reason to learn to fight-”

“I tried, still,” Wilbur interjected, though he is right. There has been enough bloodshed in the Antarctic Empire’s past to ensure that at least the dynasty of Wilbur and his brothers’ generation will pass mostly peacefully, and if they play their cards right it will hopefully stay the same for the next generation, too.

“Yes, of course. Just as you tried, and failed, so did I when it comes to dancing.”

“But you seem so graceful.” Graceful. Elegant. A number of other synonyms for the words flash in Wilbur’s mind.

“Graceful in battle, that I’m sure of. But when it comes to dancing I literally seem to have two left feet. Trust me, countless have tried to fix my wrongs. I’d say the one who’s gotten close to making me seem at least somewhat presentable while dancing was Dream, but–”

“What about me?” Out of nowhere, Wilbur blurted out. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, George’s dual-colored irises shining curiously, but he couldn’t help the words from escaping when George mentioned the countless others who have attempted to dance with him that made Wilbur realize that they have never shared such a moment.

“What about you? You want to teach me how to dance?” Despite asking it as though it were a question, George was already beginning to slide off the roof, the answer known but unspoken between them. He landed gracefully, as always, and held up his hand to help Wilbur down. Not that he needed any assistance, but he took it anyway, if not just to pull George close to him once both his feet are planted firmly on the ground, their shoes squeaking on the marble floor as he brings them to the center of the gazebo.

George stumbled a little, and Wilbur couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll step on you, on purpose,” he threatened.

“Shh,” if they were quiet enough, they could almost barely hear the music playing all the way from the ballroom. It’s even fainter in Wilbur’s ears, drowned out by his heart beating louder as George tilted his head up towards him. Their lips came together for just a moment, Wilbur allowing himself the reprieve of smiling against soft chapped lips before he moved them into the proper positions.

“You know the steps?” A nod, bashful. From the kiss, maybe, or the prospect of what’s to come. George had never liked making mistakes in front of Wilbur, though he loves him even more both despite them and because of them.

“Try leading me, then.”

“What?” George snapped, but Wilbur just smiled, ever so patient. He moved George’s hands and waited for him to move. He did, a few moments later, hesitantly.

“Don’t think about it too much,” Wilbur advised, his voice a murmur as to not break the moment. He didn’t seem too successful as George’s mouth still twisted in displeasure as he took the next step and the next.

“Easy for you to say. How many ladies, is it, that you’ve danced with just like this during balls?”

“Jealous?” George rolled his eyes, turning them. Wilbur fought back a smile.

“Like you weren’t jealous at the prospect of me dancing with someone else, either.” Wilbur couldn’t even find it in him to get mock-angry as they stumbled a little on their next turn, George’s face flushing with the mistake before they right themselves and continue on.

“I’d neither confirm nor deny that statement. Only if you tell me if I’m doing a better job at teaching you than all the rest of them so far.”

“Careful, or your feet mind end up worse than theirs.”

“I’ve never let someone else take the lead, if that makes you feel better.” George’s hand twitches where it’s situated on the small of Wilbur’s back.

“It doesn’t.” It does.

“I hope perhaps you’ll still allow me the pleasure of being the only gentleman you’ve danced with whom you didn’t ruin the shoes of.” George ducked his head but brought it back up upon the insistence of Wilbur’s knuckle underneath his chin. They smiled at each other, fond.

“We’ll have to see.”

On some other night, Wilbur’s knuckle would find itself brushing high against George’s cheekbone as his eyes flutter, both tired and bright at the same time.

“I’ve never seen eyes quite like yours.” Wilbur would murmur, into the space between their lips. Into the space between their souls. Ice blue eyes against brown and blue. George would only hum in response, and in an infinitesimally small gesture, lean closer into Wilbur’s touch.

He knows the other must have heard the phrase more than enough, but Wilbur could write poems about his eyes’ hues. Already has, in his mind, more than enough times. Not just the mismatched color, both the earth and the sky at the same time, but the depth, the expression. It’s like a renaissance painting that transports you to that time period, except its two portals that transport you to a world where everything just seems right, with no preamble. Somehow, Wilbur finds that he’s already living in it.