#I'm waiting until Poppy can make them one

[terriblysims]

Where we make our home~

☑ Have at least 3 tattoos ☑ Rarely wear makeup and dress as casually as possible ☑ Start on an empty lot in Willow Creek ☑ Be self-employed with the Freelance SIMply Crafted career ☑ Build and live in a suburban style micro home ☐ Foster a healthy garden on your lot ☐ Find love while ‘homeless’ and marry ☐ Name all children after nature ☐ Master the fabrication / handiness / wellness skills ☐ Complete the master maker aspiration

[corrupted-ciphers]

Thought this would be a fun project to work on! I <3 weird women. My thoughts on each of the characters below the cut. Version without names added below the cut as well.

Current Favorite: I love Junebug, she's been my blorbo recently, she's really weird. I love her. As I started this project though, I also started playing ENA Dream BBQ. I've been waiting for it for four years now, and damn was it worth the wait. It's a surreal game about ENA's adventures to find the b̷̸̸̡̧͇̜͎͙͙̥̥͚̫̪̩̩̏͑ͩ̓̇ͪ̋̑ͧ̂̃͊͋͘͝͡͝ͅ_̗̖͕͉̻ͯ̍̒ͤ̊́a̢͉̺̫̙̳͓̣̗͔̙̻̔͑̿͛͛̀̽͒̂̒ţ̡̧̼͙̰̥̳̹̻̍ͫ͋̌̏ͮͣ́̔ͯ͊̇ͤͪ͐̿̉ͫͨͧḩ̷̧̡̛̞̩̹͙̱͍̯͇͉̪̫̹̭͙̭͉͚ͬͯ̄̄͗ͯ̅̐̀́ͯ̈́͂̇͆̾͂͘͘͢͠r̾̆͢_̽̆ơ̶̸̡̡̛̠̥͓͔̪̲̥̥̱͙̲̲̫̖̽̊̎̎͒͊̅̔͐̄̈́̓̈́͊ͩ̂̋͘ͅȍ̶̢̙͕͍̰͓̖͉̼ͯ͆ͮͩ̓ͭͭ͑̿́́͢͝͠m̵̧̛̗͉͔̯̦͙̟̼̲̜̫̱͊͋̀̊͊ͯͤͬ͆ͭ̽̃̄̔̋̾͞. Chapter 1 is out now and free to play on Steam right now, and I highly recommend it! Anyway, Junebug is my girl, I love her.

Comfort: Okay, I know the reception ch 4 of Poppy Playtime has been receiving. Do I think chapter 4 is scary? No. Do I think it's good? Also no. Do I think it's hilarious? Hell yes I do. We got several game breaking bugs that were honestly rather amusing, and also the devs letting you move around in Doey's monologues is honestly the funniest decision they made. You can clip into him and let him just eat your head mid talk. He'll also fling you if you stand on his limbs while he talks, it's great. We nearly got killed by him flinging us under the pipe in that one section where he gets froze. Having said all that bad stuff, I love Doey. Okay, there's a lot going on in my life right now, and he came along in the middle of that. As the older sister to three little brothers, I relate to Doey in multiple ways. He is me, he is my brothers, and I just want to give him a big hug himself. I too am trying desperately to pick up the pieces of our home life collapsing around us, while trying to keep my little brothers happy and managing my own angry outbursts. It was a (in my opinion) jankily written scene, but the bit where Doey was torn up over Safe Haven getting destroyed really got to me. It was probably tied to the emotional state I was in when I played the chapter, but damn, I get it man. I too failed to protect those around me from what I knew was inevitable but selfishly pushed to the back of my mind. Damn, I really was made to hurt things and fuck up too bud. I get it. And in a lore perspective, Doey is three little boys mashed together. I have three little brothers, need I say more about that? This character has consumed my life, and I just want to give him a hug. Although honestly his in-game model is a little oily looking tbh. Also Michael Kovach knocked it out of the park with his performance here. Also also, fuck you devs for making us squish/kill Doey in the end. If he's actually dead I'm gonna be so mad at you guys.

By Design: Look man, I like women. I like murderous women. I mean, when I first saw the original Alice, I was still a child and wasn't pan yet, but like, she likely contributed. hnnnrg, girls.

By Plot: Unlike Doey who brings me comfort when I relate to him and kicks in my material instincts towards anyone even remotely younger than me, Jupe's relation to me does not bring me comfort. Instead my connection to Jupe is more uneasy. Ricky and I both express our traumas in similar ways. That is to say monetize them and put them on display for all the entitled voyuers out there on the internet for attention. Now, I'm obviously not someone who was a victim of a chimp attack, but there's that familiar death of childhood there. I've grown up with an abusive father, which I didn't realize the extent of until this divorce is going through. And guess what my most prominent stories feature? yeah. I'm also the type of person to build a shrine to my trauma like him. While Ricky's is obviously a little more extreme, I still have my hospital bracelet from my appendectomy. That is not a normal response. I wear my first dog's tag on a chain, and when it's not worn it's next to that hospital band. Most of my stories involve my internal or external traumas in some way, just like Jupe capitalized on the exploitive movies and shows he was roped into as a child. I'm white, but I'm a woman and I'm queer. I get being the token item. Reduced to stereotypes. Forced to uphold other stereotypes in a never ending cycle of wanting to be on top, of vainly hoping that others will finally accept you into their group. But they won't. Jupe's storyline makes me viscerally uncomfortable, but my favorite part is the end. Just before Jean Jacket eats him, we see his lips twist into a smile. Faint, but there. Because finally, for the first time in his life, Ricky isn't defined by what groups he's part of, he's not vying for anyone's attention, he's not this special chosen one because he survived all those years ago, he's just like everyone else. He's merely food for that creature. And that is a freeing feeling. Finally, something has accepted him the way he is, with no fighting, no tense acceptance into a world that could throw you away at any time, he's finally safe. And for that, I think he loves Jean Jacket. Because I know, there's parts of me that wish the same. A release from the responsibility, and freakish nature of myself since I'm so different than those around me. If Doey is my comfort character, Ricky "Jupe" Park is my discomfort character. (In a good way)

Guilty Favorite: Look man, she's weird as fuck. She also saved my nightmare mode run. Again, I love weird women. Choo Choo Charles is great because it knows its lane and sticks to it. It knows it's a goofy ass train spider game, and it sure does deliver on that premise. Pickle Lady is so bizarre, I love her. I can't help but love her. Is she a good character? No. Do I like her anyway? Yeah.

All Time Favorite: DO I even need to say much about this guy? It's FNAF. It's toilet Bonnie. It's the boy. I love him. My favorite animatronic since I was like 12. Hell yeah dude, let's keep it up.

[bullet-prooflove]

Okay! Since you said I could! I'd love it if you'd try (if you're up for it) if you did, "you were never what I expected" with Reacher!! If you ever feel like writing him, this will be here, lol! I'm glad you like the show!

Tagging: @kmc1989

Reacher finds you in a seaside cottage in Maine. It looks like something out of a fairytale, white washed with a grey roof, honeysuckle running up the outside. The garden is lush, well cared for. Not the place he expected to find the world’s foremost Intelligent asset.

There have always been rumours about The Rose, nothing substantial. He’d thought you were just a myth but then he’d received the packet that Joe had left for him, one that was to be delivered only in the event of his death.

He watches you for a while from the woodland on opposite side of the cottage, trying to get a read on you. You spend a lot of time in the garden with your dog Poppy, the collie snoozes in the shade as you weed the flower beds diligently. That garden, the attention you give to it, it shows focus and dedication, traits that served you well throughout your previous position.

He spends days following you, learning your patterns, your habits. Your mornings start with a walk on the beach with Poppy. She frolics on the sand, while you toss pieces of driftwood for her to chase. You get lunch in the diner where all the locals know you. You go for a run on the beach just before sunset. There’s no sign that your anything other than a normal woman.

At least until the third night he spends watching your home, when he finds himself on his knees in the woods with a Glock jammed into the base of his skull.

“This is getting old.” You tell him as you secure his wrists with zipties. “Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?”

“You know I can break these?” He says almost conversationally.

“You know I could just shoot you and bury you under the rosebushes.”

It’s at that moment Reacher realises what happened to the men that came after you, the ones documented in Joe’s file. He turns his head towards the roses as he passes them, every single one of them healthy and flourishing. He has to say, he approves of your environmentally conscious approach to body disposal.

You make good on that offer of tea. You keep the gun trained on him while you wait for the leaves to steep inside of the pot. The scent of Earl Grey fills the air and Reacher feels his muscles relaxing despite the precarious situation.

“You are not what I expected.” He finds himself telling you as he sits at the kitchen table, his wrists still bound behind him.

Your gaze flickers up to meet his as you set a mug of tea down in front of him and say.

“That’s what the others thought too.”

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[the-s1lly-corner]

Seven Minutes In Gardenview (Opener)

As promised here is the opener for the 7MIH x DW series-- not sure how fast these will update since I'm working on flufftober and stuff but we'll make It work! Of course not all toons will be available options due to there being so many- I've already got a list of who to include. Maybe I'll make endings for those excluded one day. No promises. Also due to how many options there are polls are gonna be... weird until enough endings are written- max voting option stuff.. hmm what else.. oh yeah these are fully sfw and some may not even end with the reader and a toon getting together romantically. Depends on what I end up cooking

Notes: gn toon reader, short opener, vote at the end to determine the next endings winner, takes place during the holidays so Christmas toons are here, possible ooc, partly after visiting hours to celebrate the holidays , pre game, theres some build up before the party starts really its just a fun part for me to feel everything out first woo Word count: 2.6k

CWs: none

The day had been more than a little chaotic, but the promise of having a moment after visiting hours at least gave you something to look forward too… as well as catching whispers of the other toons hosting a little get together to do one last big celebration before the Christmas toons needed to be put back… wherever they went when it was time for them to part. You got confirmation when Dandy himself alerted you that everyone was meeting on the main floor after closing and when the staff had left for the afternoon. Of course, excluding the human security prowling around but even then they posed little threat to the privacy and personal activities of the toons.

A promise of fun and games made an evening filled with excited children and parents waiting impatiently to get a turn to take a picture a little more bearable. 

Helping Sprout and Cosmo make treats- most for visitors… some for the night ahead. Cookies and other assorted baked goods to feast on. 

“Yatta’s gonna bring candy, we know that much… I think Poppy mentioned bringing some soda,” Sprout mumbled softly to himself in thought as he looked through what the kitchen had to offer.

“Maybe we should make something to balance out the sugar?” You offered as you set out bowls and other cooking utensils on the counter. The strawberry paused for a moment… before smiling. His hand lightly pats against your upper back. “Something sour would do the trick!” 

And so you added some acidity to treats that called for it. Of course, some were left unaltered. One could only hope that the sugar wasn’t too much for everyone else. You nod to Ginger as she enters the kitchen. Between the four of you the treats were all finished quickly… though…

You could only offer a sheepish smile and apologize quietly as Tisha stepped in and nearly passed out from the sight of the kitchen’s state. 

“Sorry Tish-” You rub the back of your neck. Her eyes darted across the mess. Dirtied bowls, smears of batter, there was flour everywhere… the black mats on the floor were shifted to a dusty white. Streaks ran all over the surface only occasionally broken by footprints. 

“It’s…” She started. You could see the gears working in her head as she tried to pick apart what to tackle first. 

Ginger spoke up. 

“I can help, and so can Cosmo,” The cookie glanced at her cousin. The roll cake nodded- he was already gathering the dishes he had ruined to rinse them off in the nearby sink. Tisha seemed to visibly untense just a tad. “Oh, thank you both,” 

With now five toons in the kitchen it became cramped, so you bid yourself goodbye- each toon inside returning your announcement of departure with varying levels of awareness. 

You hardly made it to the elevator before you bumped into Brightney as she checked through a long list in her hands.

“Scraps and Goob are handling decorations… Yatta is putting them up as well as providing candy… Teagan is responsible for drinks… and Sprout…” She tapped the tip of her pen to the paper as she continued to walk- totally engrossed into the paper. You clear your throat lightly and catch her attention before she could walk into a wall. 

“Oh-! It's you!” The lamp gave you a smile. You return it as you steal a glance of her list. 

“Sprout and Cosmo finished baking up some treats,” 

Brightney gives another soft “oh!” before checking off the item. “You’re not pushing yourself too hard trying to make sure everyone’s on track?” 

“I’m giving a hand where I can! It’s been so long since all us toons got to get together afterall!” Brightney’s eyes darted to the elevator. “Are you going down?” 

Were you going down…? 

You glance at her list once more. You could pay the craft siblings a visit to see if they needed any help with getting things together- or with visitors. 

“Yeah, sure,” You smiled. 

And the two of you step into the elevator. As you reach your hand to the buttons a loud shrieking voice makes you stop in your tracks. 

From the end of the hallway Yatta is sprinting forward towards the elevator with her hands absolutely filled to the brim with all sorts of candies. Wrapped ones, boxed ones, you saw a few you didn’t even know were carried in Gardenview. You allow your hand to remain in the air to let the pinata close the distance… she slid into the elevator- some candies slipping from her arms with clacks of varying pitches and volumes. “AAAAAAAAH-” Yatta… the noise you could only describe as scrumpt… before trying to shuffle the candies back into her arms. It was… actually kind of pathetic seeing her awkwardly try to pick the wrapped candies with her teeth- leaned over close to the floor. 

“Oh my…” Brightney whispered softly.

“Here-” You step forward- but not before pressing the button you had wanted- and scooped the scattered candies up in your hands. “Good thing only the wrapped ones fell huh?” 

“I’D STILL eat them if they weren’t!” Yatta insisted as she tightened her grip on the collection. You force your face to remain straight. 

“I assume that’s not all the candy you’re going to be bringing to the party?” Brightney asked. Yatta rapidly shook her head. It seemed she had just taken a hit from her sugar stash. “This is only the third batch!” 

Third…

You glance at Brightney who… did her best to look supportive. 

“The parties on the ground floor, right? Near the entrance? That’s what Dandy told me before he had to go do… whatever activities they have him doing today-” 

Brightney snaps out of it and looks at you. “Oh! Yeah- yes you’re correct! The others agreed that it would be the most convenient… lot’s of free space to set everything up and to play games,” The lamp looked down at her list once more. “In fact… I don’t recall any talk of what games will be played tonight… all I recall is that Dandy had told us to bring out trinkets… “just in case” as he had put it,” Her mouth tightens slightly. “I’m sure he’s got a plan! If not there’s plenty of games we can play without props,”

The paper is rolled up and tucked away somewhere. The elevator door opens.

“I’ll go check on the crafts to see how they’re doing,” You muttered out loud. Brightney glanced at you as her hands patted the space where she put her list and pen.

“Are you sure? I was already planning on checking in on them myself,”

You gently wave her off. “Knowing you, you’ve been on your feet all day trying to keep things rolling smoothly- you deserve an extra set of eyes n hands- it's no sweat off my back!”

The elevator door opens. 

“It’s only about an hour… maybe two… until everything closes down, it really isn’t that big of a deal,” You added. 

Over Brightney’s shoulder Yatta was eyeing the candy in her arms… she seemed to be struggling to pay attention to the conversion between you and the lamp. Not that it was that big of a deal. 

“Well… if you insist,” Brightney offered you a tired smile… and for a moment you caught the exhaustion in her eyes before she perked right back up. “I’ll go back up and see if Teagan needs any help,” 

As eager to help as ever.

…and Teagan was probably on a higher floor judging by the fact that Brightney did not leave the elevator with you. 

“SEE YA BUD!” Yatta called out- she crouched down to rapidly wave at you as the floor closed. Brightney began to say something to her but her voice was cut off by the door. You stand there quietly for a moment before simply choosing to go on to the tables the craft siblings usually situated themselves at…

This floor was one of the rainbow rooms- and the walls were covered in various crafts and drawings made by the children. There were even some scribbles of you… the sight warmed your heart as you drew closer to the sounds of overjoyed children. 

Scraps sat in a short blue plastic chair carefully cutting out some streamers… at least as best as she could with her claws. It seemed that at the moment Goob had taken it upon himself to entertain the children while his sister worked on party preparations… a few of the calmer children had sat around her table and helped her out- whether they knew they were for a party or not they looked to be having fun. 

“Hey,” You lazily- and somewhat awkwardly- raise your hand in a half wave. Scraps’ eyes dart up to you for a brief moment before snapping back to her paper. “Oh! Didn’t know you were gonna come down here-” Her hands tensed around the dull pair of scissors in her hands. Her claws gently scraped against the plastic handles. 

You give a shrug that she didn’t see. “I don’t have many visitors today so I’m kind of going around seeing if anyone needs a hand in getting things ready for tonight- speaking of,” You glance to the small pile of paper decorations set to the side. 

“Need a hand?”

“Please,” 

And so you settled yourself in the last free chair at the table. One last glance is given to Goob as he plays some sort of tag game with the kids. He was… covered in glitter and paper scraps… pipe cleaners and stickers. A part of you was glad you weren’t often assigned to arts and crafts. 

“And I can help bring them up to the main floor after closing- maybe help put them up,” You grab a spare pair of scissors and begin copying whatever designs Scraps was attempting to do. “I think Brightney mentioned Yatta’s going to be doing that?”

“Flutter offered to help- since she can reach the higher stuff,” Scraps tensed her eyebrows a bit before relaxing. “There!” She said to herself before setting the section of steamer away to the rest of the pile. 

And the two of you finished making decorations. Children came and went… though as the time passed they progressively lessened in numbers until the intercom clicked to life above to alert the visitors that Gardenview was closing for the day. You… never much liked the voice of whoever did the announcements. They sounded fake. Too sweet, like how Dandy sometimes spoke in his episodes. Like he was talking to a bunch of idiots who couldn’t think for themselves.

…

You force the comparison to the back of your mind- feeling it was too mean of a thought. 

Actually decorating and setting everything up was fairly uneventful. Some toons did butt heads about where everything should go…

Ultimately the snacks were set in the hall leading to the main lobby. Out of the way but close enough to not be an inconvenience to walk. It also seemed like it was going to be a slumber party judging by the bedding Astro had provided- you caught him and Shelly stacking them neatly to one of the walls. The latter had already changed into her comfortable onesie. A table was set nearby with various games… board games and card games. Vee had added some trivia games to the pile.

Brightney was skittering around the room making sure everything was all coming together… she only stopped when Dandy approached her and said something you couldn’t catch. He did give her a pat on the shoulder and thumbs up, though. 

Razzle and Dazzle had moved the projector from their room down to the main floor and were setting it up to throw whatever picture they wanted to the middle elevator… it temporarily glitched for a few seconds- before Connie revealed herself. Razzle seemed to be far more scared than his brother at the prank. 

“That’s everything I think!” You overheard Shelly as she glanced over the large space. It looked… nice. It was cozy inside- the Christmas lights strung up glowed against the paper decor you and Scraps had made with the children. 

“It looks so nice! Like a big warm hug and a nice cozy sweater!” Bobette stepped to her side and marveled. The main lights had dimmed- further pushing the cascade of colors from the string lights. 

“I’ll say,” Sprout muttered with a grin as he finally tugged his apron off and half haphazardly folded it and set it to the side… it wasn’t unlike him to forget to take it off. 

One by one the last toons that hadn’t yet arrived made it to the gathering. Rudie dashed right in with Ginger… not quite right on his tail. “I wanted to add some last minute decorations to the cookies-” She said softly as she placed her cookies on the table with the rest of the treats. 

Shrimpo stomped in… the fact he had even decided to show up was a shock actually especially as he complained loudly about how stupid he thought this was. Rodger took the role of reason in asking why he had decided to appear… which earned him a nasty string of insults. 

You catch him telling Toodles not to repeat what the crustacean had said. 

Finally you bring yourself to the main group of everyone congregated. You catch a glimpse of Toodles running off to go play with Pebble and Coal who were both a bit aways from the group doing… whatever it was rocks do. 

By the looks of things Dandy was already starting a game- holding a large sack. A big red one, the kind you see Santa lugging around in movies. 

“The first night of the game is a little different everyone!” The flower grinned as he took charge. He opened the bag and shifted towards Sprout.

“And the game is…?” The berry looked inside the bag skeptically. By the looks of it it seemed empty. 

“We usually play tag or hide n seek- but this time around I figured… hey! Why don’t we play something a little more adventurous!” Dandy grinned. “Put your trinkets in the bag, we're playing seven minutes in heaven- of course, only if you wanna play!” His eye darted to look at you out of the corner. Several toons already muttered their passes and detached from the group to do their own thing until the current game was over with. 

“Really? Seven minutes? Dandy we’re not-” Vee started before Rudie cut her off. Her antennae twitched irritably before going still once more.

“Where are the players gonna go?”

Dandy’s grin widened as Sprout slipped his trinket into the bag. “Why, we can use the gift shop! It’s far enough away to give the lovebirds some privacy- Vee you’ve got a built in clock riiiiiiiight?” He fluttered his eyes at her. Vee seemed to fight the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Of course I do,” She crossed her arms… she hesitated before adding her trinket to the bag.

One by one the participating toons slipped their trinkets in- you included. Dandy was the last to add his… and once the bag was filled he shifted it around to move the trinkets around inside… the clicking and rustling inside muffled thanks to the thick and soft material of the sack. 

“Now…” Dandy stuck a finger out… and then.

“Eeny meeny-”

“Are you being serious?” Connie scoffed as she stared at the toon. She looked both.. Amused and a little shocked that the person who suggested the game wasn’t going first.

Dandy ignored her.

“You!” His finger landed on you. “Unless you’re too chicken to go first,” He added with a light hearted tease. The sack is pushed close to you and he shimmies it around slightly. 

“I ain’t chicken,” You huffed.

Everyone’s eyes glue themselves onto you as you reach your hand into the opening of the sack and pull out…

[xxkiller-muffinxx]

You and me, Against the world

Floyd x reader (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Summary: once saved, Floyd can't help but still feel uneasy about losing you. It doesn't help that he's been thrusted back into reality surrounded by trolls who he doesn't exactly know, nor does it help that a mysterious figure in a black cloak is looking for something in town. His anxiety is through the roof, until a familiar face reappears.

Words: 1393

Warnings: just some slight angst.

A/N: this could've been better, but I just got too excited to share this one with you guys. Thank you all so much for your feedback! You guys make writing enjoyable! So please, enjoy this part! I cant wait to see you in the next story. Stay golden, and enjoy.

✦✧✦

Floyd looked out on the world as he thought deeply about everything that happened, he was safe. His brothers saved him. He should be happy, but something is holding him back.

He was so lost in thought that he couldn't hear footsteps approaching behind him. He closes his eyes and looks up at the sky, ignoring the sounds of a troll sitting beside him. He took a deep breath, smelling the refreshing air of the outdoors.

“Hey Floyd,” Branch said, leaning forward to look him in the eyes. “Everything alright with you?” he said while putting a hand on his shoulder. Floyd’s eyes opened and he looked at Branch. His eyes tired, and his smile deeply saddened.

“Yeah, yeah I'm okay.” Floyd’s feet swung over one another criss crossing his legs to feel a little more secure.

Branch raises an eyebrow and elbows him, “Come on. You can tell me.”

Floyd looks forward and then down at his hands. “You probably don't remember them, but there was this person back during our Band days. They were so sweet, and kind. Gentle. So much so that…” He stopped, capturing his breath back into his throat before he continued,

“They got trapped in the diamond prison with me, but…they didn't make it.” He brought his knees up to his chin. Sniffling slightly as the moments played through his head again, your exhausted face. Your laughter, your pain. He was tired of thinking about you, but he couldn't help it.

Branch looks up to where Floyd was looking beforehand and grimaces. How the hell is he supposed to comfort something like that? What angle does he go with? Poppy is usually good with comforting but she's with her sister right now and-

“I'm sorry, I'm burdening you,” Floyd said, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

Branch shook his head. “No no, I just…I want to say you can get through something like that but… it's easier said than done. They would want you to enjoy your freedom.” He said, placing a hand on Floyd’s shoulder once more.

Floyd glanced at him and smiled sadly. He took another deep breath. “Yeah. They would, wouldn't they.” He takes a deep breath and stands up with Branch. The two head home shoulder to shoulder.

✹✺✹✺✹✺✹

About a month had passed, and news about Brozone had spread like wildfire. Pretty much everyone knew about their adventure and Floyd’s tragic mistreatment, but no one knew about yours. That upset him the most,

You died, in that room, you were thrown out of a window. However, he couldn't bring himself to be mad. He knew you wouldn't like the attention anyway. Even then, he didn't care if he was in Brozone or you were, you both deserve equal recognition for what happened.

He woke up and brushed his teeth, patting himself down. He did his hair quickly and then walked to the exit to go outside. The branch must've already left. Along with Clay and John Dory. When he got outside he let his eyes adjust and immediately walked into town.

The sun basically screamed into the ground which hurt Floyd’s eyes. He walked until he found his usual spot and sat down, watching the world go by. He still has to get used to people again. Especially used to trusting people again.

His eyes wandered until catching the sight of a cloaked figure. Which was new for most of Pop Village, they seemed to be looking for something Floyd, out of his nervousness, reached for the closest troll. “Uh, hey-” He mumbled, causing the troll to turn around. It was Guy Diamond. “Do you know who that is?”

Guy Diamond looked in the direction Floyd was pointing and simply shrugged. Saying maybe it's someone new and it wouldn't hurt to introduce themselves. He then walked off to do just that. Floyd watched from the sidelines as the Glitter Troll made himself known.

Floyd’s attention fell out of pure secondhand embarrassment. Standing up and walking off to go sit down elsewhere. He sat down and took a breather, for some reason he felt like a kid again. Right after a concert when everyone's trying to talk to him but he doesn't want to talk to anyone else. He'd only make time for one person, and that one person’s gone.

He sighed and leaned into his seat, then suddenly he heard a voice. He didn't dare turn around, he liked imagining it was you. “Hey…you okay there?” this voice was quiet, raspy, almost as if they lost their voice. Floyd felt a shudder of deja vu run down his spine.

“Yeah yeah. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,”

“You’re not sure.”

“Okay fine.”

Floyd flinched when a hand grazed his shoulder, and another troll sat beside him. A part of him was confused while another was genuinely frustrated that this person sounded so much like you. There was silence before the other troll spoke again.

“Talk to me Floyd.” The troll said. That woke Floyd up fast.

His head shot up to meet the face of his Companion. So familiar and yet so new. Something about how you looked took him back. Post show stuff and all that. His first instinct was to reach out and touch the troll's cheek to see if they were real.

“That’s a weird way of talking-” you snorted. His hand pressing into your cheek and you simultaneously leaning into it. “Hey there.” You said, squeezing his hand on your cheek.

“What? How? How did you- I watched you- you're here!” Floyd asked, his thumb caressing your cheek. Then almost in an instant his arms wrapped around your neck in a tight hug. So cozy that you ralax into his arms.

You laughed quietly, inhaling his scent into your nose. “Well, it’s a long and troubling story, but let’s just stay like this for a while okay? I need it.” You mumble into his shoulder, and when Floyd nodded you both took a deep breath together and let it out slowly.

The waves of weight on their shoulders now a distant memory. They were together again, nothing else mattered. As long as they were together it was okay. That’d usually be the end, but there’s something they’re forgetting to do.

After about 2 hours of just holding one another, they finally pull away. Floyd has tears in his eyes and you've probably cried too many times to cry now. You’re very dehydrated. Floyd wipes his eyes and looks at your cloak.

He pulls on it to look at it some more. “You were the new troll in town? You were looking for something? Did you find it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and smiled once your eyes made eye contact. “Did you meet Guy diamond?” he’d lightly chuckle.

“I was looking for you! And yeah he was really nice. He did introduce me to anyone he could, which is why I knew you were here. Because Branch was here. Speaking of which he was also looking for you and-“

Your words turned into ringing as Floyd stared into your eyes, you were real. Rambling the way you used to, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept remembering things. Your hands move every now and then to display your point. Then by the time you snapped out of it, Floyd’s face was super close to yours.

“Woah- you okay?” You wound up asking, your cheeks flushed to the nines. Floyd shook his head and leaned back.

“Sorry. I just uh- I just- I missed you.” He said, looking down. You pull his face back up to meet yours. He looks between your eyes then your lips, his cheeks matching yours. “Uh…can I…can I kiss you?” He asks nervously.

You’re taken off guard by this, then you look at his lips. You're on autopilot when your lips meet his. You hold eachother like that for a while then pull away. “Does that answer your question?” You smile slightly then hug him tight. “Thank you.”

Floyd’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are red. He hugs you back. Then in a fit of emotional breakthrough he mumbles “I love you.” He said with a smile, and then in response you say.

“I love you too.” You pull apart, pressing your forehead against his. “It’s you and me.”

“Against the world.”

❀✿❀✿End❀✿❀✿❀

[miyuhpapayuh]

twenty-two

Rolling over to grab her ringing phone, she blindly slides her finger across her screen and groggily says hello.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Leon chuckles on the other end, making her join in with her own tired laugh.

“Shut up,” she mumbles back. “Always been a morning person.”

“I thought it woulda rubbed off on you by now!”

“Maybe one day, but not today!” She quips.

“Happy Valentine's Day, anyway babe. I was gonna wait until you were already up, but I couldn't wait anymore.” He says, and she can see his smile from where she was laying.

“Aww, you are so cute! Happy Valentine's Day, baby. I can't wait to see you later and give you your gifts.” She gushes.

“Aw, you got me something??”

“Of course I did! One of them you can wear on our date tonight– but the rest are surprises!”

“Oh shit, there's more!” He exclaims, making her laugh. “Well, your first gift is sitting on your kitchen counter, when you do get outta bed.”

“Alright, I'm getting up now.” She says, sliding from underneath the covers to head out of her room, into her kitchen. A big orange bag sits, awaiting her.

“Aw, it's orange!” She frowns, walking over to it and looking inside, gasping at the potted plant— her very own poppy plant! It was also orange.

“A poppy plant?! Wait, I'm gonna cry!”

“Oh, don't cry!”

“No, no it's okay! They're happy tears!” She laughs, wiping her face, as she puts him on speaker, sitting her phone on the counter.

“Okay… you okay?” He asks.

“Yeah,” she whimpers. “Ugh, there's a card! More tears!”

Pulling that and the pot from the bag, she giggles at the bright bubble-lettered Zora that's painted on both sides.

“Aw, did you paint this??”

“Of course I did, baby. You like it?”

“It's the cutest thing I've ever seen, Leon. I love it. Nobody's ever bought me a plant before.”

“Well, I've never bought anybody one before, either. Look at us, being each other's firsts.” He exclaims, making her laugh and wipe away another tear.

“Shut up,”

“Ah— open your card, please dear.”

“Okay,” she grabs it off the counter, pulling it from its envelope, “you have to go soon?”

“Yeah, it's been nonstop since I got here, but the moment my supervisor gave me a break, I came straight back to call you. He’ll be looking for me soon.”

“Okay, I won't hold you up too much longer.” She says, looking at the pretty pink card with the holiday name emblazoned on the front in gold calligraphy, opening it up to read what's inside.

“Happy Valentine's Day to the sweetest woman in the world, I love you and cannot wait to see you later tonight. 

In the meanwhile, I've decided to send you on a scavenger hunt— what?! That's so cool!!” She yells.

“I thought you'd say that!” He yells back.

“Once you get to work, there'll be three things for you to find; something big, something tall and something small— all orange, of course.”

“Linda let you hide presents in her restaurant?? Wow, she must love me for real.” She snorts.

“She loves me too, ya know? Told you, we're besties.”

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The first gift she found was her “something tall”– a lava lamp. Not just any lava lamp, the specific one she had been eyeing from one of her favorite online shops.

Orange and black. A curvy designed frame that stands at about two feet. She was in love, already having a place to put it in her mind.

Putting it in her car for safe keeping, she begins looking around for the other two.

“Hmm..” She roams around the dining area, until she sees an orange piece of paper sticking out of a napkin dispenser.

Pulling it out, she begins to read it before squealing. She quickly covers her mouth and looks around, thankfully going unnoticed.

“I'm gonna kick his ass,” she laughs to herself, before reading the card once more. “Happy love day, angel face. There is a certificate attached for a one of a kind bouquet from your favorite flower shoppe. I know you jumped for joy cause you love your flowers! I love you and I cannot wait to see the look on your face. I worked so hard on  this. My fingers hurt. I love you, again. Bye.”

She giggles again, loving the neon orange paper clip that's holding the certificate to the card, how the certificate has poppies and cosmos on it, also wishing her a very happy Valentine's day.

“Goodness, there's one more thing! I might just die in here.”

A small group of customers coming in had her stuffing the card into the front of her apron and moving back behind the counter.

Once everyone was settled, she started to move away from the counter, until something told her to look to her left.

A flat black box is tucked by some papers. She pulls it out and stares at it, her brain mulling over what it could be.

“Hm. It's a lil heavy,” she playfully shakes it, before reading the note taped to the right corner, telling her to open it after work.

Which was a great idea, cause once she pulled the top off the box and found the burnt orange scrapbook Leon made her, all types of screams and expletives flew from her lips.

“Is he fucking serious?!” She screams, again, flipping through the pictures he'd candidly taken over the course of their relationship, so far. The food, the flowers, the dates, many moons and sunsets, baby ducks in ponds, the two of them in their element, and so many more special moments.

“He is so cute,” she tearfully laughs, wiping her face as she hears a knock at her door.

Opening it up to reveal her man, she jumps up in his arms as he laughs and walks inside, closing the door behind himself.

“Heyyy, baby!”

“Damn, girl! You missed me?”

Many kisses are exchanged.

“Absolutely! Been waiting to see you all day!” She exclaims, looking up at him with doe eyes as he pecks her nose.

“Why you think I got here so fast?! Did the mad dash for ya.” He says with a wink.

“I'll let it slide, today,” she snickers as he lets her down. “But, this right here! Best gift I've gotten today, so far.”

“Really? I had so much fun putting it together, too!”

“It looks like it, babe. And yes, you had me in here ugly crying! The pictures of the ducks took me outta here!”

“They were good models that day, for sure,” he laughs, running his hand over her hair, pulling her back to him.

“You're so cute,” she frowns.

“I'm about to get cuter, I fear.”

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Soon, they're at her favorite place on earth, getting ready to unveil the bouquet Leon handcrafted for her.

“Okay, close your eyes, sweet girl!” The owner, Inara, says.

“Okay, they're closed!” Zora squeals back.

“Hold out your hands.” Leon says, placing the bouquet in her trembling hands.

“Okay, open!”

Her wide eyes land on the most beautiful bouquet she'd ever seen.

“Wow, you love me a whole lot!” She whispers, watching as her vision gets super blurry with tears. He's right there to wipe them away.

Oranges and pinks and purples. Peonies, cosmos, poppies, a couple white roses in the mix. It was beautiful!

“I love you so much.” He says, wiping her wet eyes, once more.

“He's such a sweetheart,” the owner exclaims. “Made sure he got your favorites and some extras— lord, you taught him well about these flowers!”

Zora giggles, wiping her own eyes, this time.

“He did such an amazing job,” she frowns up at him, those sweet kisses he places on her makes her frown deeper.

“Anything for you, baby.” He cheeses. “Speaking of, I got one more thing for ya.”

She looks up at him in disbelief. “Really??”

He chuckles, an mhm leaving him before they wave to Inara and head towards the exit.

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She gasps. “You got me a kitty???”

“I sure did, baby. Meet Coco.” He says, carefully handing over the tiny orange kitty, smiling at the way she immediately curled up in Zora’s arms.

“Oh, this is what love feels like.” She frowns, rocking herself as she pets her head, snickering at the way her ears flicker.

“Hey sweet baby angel!” She coos.

He smiles, taking a picture with his phone. “Nothing but love, baby.”

“Nah, this is a new level! I don't think we've had too many conversations about cats or dogs, or any of that type of stuff.”

“Cause we're not that kind of couple. I trust my gut when it comes to you. I pay attention to you, and you've never struck me as a dog person.”

“I'm not, no.” She shakes her head, nuzzling her face against Coco's, making Leon laugh at the sight.

“I mean don't get me wrong, dogs are cool! But cats are so independent and I like that. Plus, look at this face!”

She turns her around to face him, those big green eyes looking up at him. He frowns and reaches out to pet her.

“She's adorable! The cutest out of the litter, too. Had to scoop ‘er up.”

“Aw, the cutest of the bunch?! Go you!” She coos, earning tiny squeaks back that make her heart swell.

“How old is she?”

“About a month old? I've got her papers back at the crib.” He says.

“Aw, can we take her home now?!” She asks excitedly.

“Yeah, let's get her signed out and she's all yours, babe.”

With her free hand, she pulls him into a hug, thank you falling from her lips about a thousand times. He kisses her hair, a smile stuck on his face.

“Anything for you, my love.”

Back in her apartment now, she sits Coco down in the fluffy cat bed she'd bought on their way back, loving the way she curls up in it.

“Ugh, she's so cute! I can't believe she's mine.”

“Imagine if I had missed the mark on this,” he snorts, making her laugh too.

“Nah, you nailed it without me even having to say it! I also wanna rename her.”

“To what?”

“Okay, now don't think I'm corny.. but, Valentine.”

“Aw! That's actually really precious.”

“Right?! The sweetest valentine present I've ever gotten from the sweetest valentine I've ever had!”

She squeals as they share a sweet kiss.

“You think she'll respond to it well?”

“Well, let's see..” She looks over at her, her little tail wagging slowly as she looks up at them.

“C'mere Valentine.. c'mere baby girl!” She coos, cupping her hands as she slowly moves away from the fluffy bed.

“Look at her trottin’ over,” he comments, “takin’ her sweet time.”

“It's okay, I'm new!” She whispers, still cooing and calling her by her new name, getting more and more excited as she gets closer to her fingertips.

The minute she hopped into her palms, she had to stop herself from screaming for joy all over again, as the baby kitten peers up at her.

“She's so cute, I cannot take it!” She squeals, watching her roll around and lay on her back, inside her palms. Leon pokes her exposed belly, earning squeaks that resemble laughter.

“Awww!” They coo in unison.

“I've heard that orange cats are sassy,” he notes, and she nods.

“Yeah, one of my aunts used to have one. She was something else. Jumped out the window one day and never came back.” She sighs, looking down at Valentine.

“You are not jumping out of windows okay? No jumping off walls and up onto high surfaces. Mama don't play that, mmkay?” She scoots her into one palm and holds the other up, snickering as her paw connects.

“Like she understands you, for real.”

“Just you wait, we're gonna have our little system up and runnin’ in no time!”

Soon having to get ready for their date, Zora drops Valentine off at auntie Nique’s, who might've been a tinge more excited than Zora once she saw those big green eyes.

“Oh my goodness, look at this sweet baby!” She coos, scooping her up.

“Right?! The most precious kitten I've ever seen!”

“I'm almost shocked she's not gray,” Nique laughs.

“Or black! I love the witchy kitties, too! Maybe she can get a sister later on.”

“Aw, not a slew of em! Lean on me is so in love with you, it's crazy!”

Zora's face scrunches up at the nickname she'd given Leon.

“Lean on me?”

“When you're not strong, yes.” Nique nods, before snickering.

“Anyway, dawg. I'm glad you could watch her for me tonight. God knows I won't be any good after he gets through with me.” She whispers the last part.

“Daaamn, you gettin’ strung up by the ceiling or sumn??”

“Girl, no! I just know ima get put through the mattress once I put this new lingerie on, though!” She whispers again, cackling as they slap hands.

“Just freaky frogs! I love it!”

“So do I! Now, tell Darnell we said hey and he better put his whole foot in whatever he's making you tonight!”

“Either that or my foot's goin’ up his a—” her sentence cuts off as he comes around the corner with a spatula in hand, squinting at her with a sly grin.

“You talkin’ shit, huh? You know I gets down in here for you.”

“I was just playing, babe.”

“Mmmmhm. Hey Zora.” He flashes a smile.

“Hey, boyfriend!” She mocks, making him laugh, before cutting his eyes back at Nique.

Zora snorts, looking between the two of them.

“Should I take Valentine to ma’s?” She jokingly asks.

“Bye, Zora Jean!” Nique laughs, pushing her towards the door.

“Okay, okay! You girls, be good, tonight! Don't give uncle Darnell too much trouble, okay?”

“We gon’ give him hell, girl!” Nique looks at Valentine, before smiling at Zora.

“If you find Nique strung over the balcony, I didn't do it!” He yells from the kitchen, making them laugh.

“And that's my cue!”

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Reservations at the Mimosa Grill were made in advance, which gave the couple ample time to get all dolled up for love day.

Smoothing her hands over her black, floor length dress, Zora gives herself a once over in the mirror. Nude lip. Smokey eye. Minimal jewelry besides the citrine earrings Leon had also gifted her. And nothing goes with a dress like that, but big hair!

Voluminous curls sit pretty on her head as she tousles them, loving each way they fall.

She felt so pretty.

Leon is across the hall in her bathroom, fastening the belt to his pants and cuffing the jacket of his all black ensemble, making sure the world sees the icy chain she'd gifted him. The light reflecting off the diamonds had him periodically letting out a “woo!”, making her giggle.

Low fade Leon had come out tonight, and Zora was more than a happy camper. Those waves were a dangerous tide pulling her under, and she already knew neither her nor her panties would survive the night.

Crossing the threshold, they both let out a whistle of appreciation, sizing each other up.

“Damn girl, this is sexy,” Leon says, running his finger along the curved and plunging neckline of her dress, watching the smirk on Zora’s face grow.

“Anifa does it again, I fear.” She laughs, touching the diamonds of his chain. “You iced out!”

“Thanks to my stylist and stunna girl,” he compliments, twirling her about, unable to resist smacking her on the ass.

“Ooh! You better be glad we've got reservations, sir.” She playfully warns as he dips down to kiss her, making her giggle.

“Don't tempt me, girl, I'll bend you ov—” she presses her finger to his lips, shushing him.

“Before you seriously get me started, we better go.”

“Yeah, you right,” he chuckles, releasing his hold on her to grab his keys and lead the way.

Clink!

For the occasion of love, the restaurant was decorated to the nines! Strings of pink and red hearts swayed from the ceiling between the open spaces, vanilla candles sat in the center of each table, along with a single rose wrapped away from the silverware.

“Did you pull strings and make sure this rose was orange?” Zora asks, a smirk covering her lips at his sly smile.

“You know I do my best for ya, poppy.” He winks, making her duck her head down and giggle. He laughs, taking a sip of his drink.

“I knew that was the right moment to use that on ya,” he adds.

“You are ridiculous, Leon. And I love it.” She says with a grin, reaching for his hand across the table.

“And, I love you, Jean.” He uses his height to his advantage and leans across the table for a kiss.

Taking a sip of her own drink, she briefly squeezes her eyes shut at the bite from the moonshine.

“What did you order again?”

“The mooshine sangria,” she laughs to herself. “I knew it would be strong but damn.”

“Is it good, though?”

“Yeah, yeah it's delicious! Just strong,” she smiles, skimming over the menu.

He stares at her a second longer, before doing the same.

Soon their waitress returns to put their orders in, and they're alone again, twiddling each other's fingers.

“Happy love day, as you call it,” Leon says, clinking their glasses together for the second time.

“Yes, happy love day! It's been so overwhelming in the best ways possible.” Zora sighs, chin in palm, staring at her man.

“Had to make our first one memorable, ya know?”

“In true Leon fashion, indeed!”

Their sweet conversation turns from the special occasion to Zora wanting to finally get back into her art world, Leon couldn't be more ecstatic. Even more so as their food finally arrived at the table.

“That's great, babe! When does all of this get set into motion?”

“Well, I still have to talk to Linda about quitting, hopefully she understands. I mean, either way, I'm leaving, but ya know what I mean.”

“Yeah, totally. If she tries anything funny, I'll be on standby.” He says with a couple pats to his chest.

“Stand down, please,” she laughs, continuing to sip her drink. “I'm sure it'll all be fine.”

“Yeah, you heard what I said, though.”

“Yes, father. I'll call if I need ya,” she salutes, as they both laugh.

“But, seriously. What's the next step after that?” He asks, chin in palm like she.

“That's actually a surprise,” she sweetly smiles, “but it'll be so worth it, I promise!”

“Aw, no fair!” He playfully whines as she laughs.

“Aw, come on! Be a good sport!”

“Fine, fine.” He playfully sighs. “But, I will let you know that I'm quitting my job soon, too.”

“Really??” She asks. “And doing what??”

“It's a surprise,” he mocks with a smile.

“You better be glad it's a lovely evening, Leon.” She snorts, sipping her drink as he snickers at her expression.

“Not so funny when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?”

“Keep it up,” she nods, unable to stop the laugh from coming out.

“Okay, okay! But, I do have one more surprise I can share with you.”

“What is it?”

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Zora stomps excitedly in her heels as Leon guides her into their hotel room.

“This blindfold is killing me!” She squeals, making him laugh.

“Okay, okay,” he fiddles with the knot, making her stomp again, her giggles filling his ears.

“Happy Valentine's Day!”

Her wide eyes stare at every girl's dream. The decorated hotel room. And boy was it decked out for his favorite lady.

Oranges of every hue in the room, from the arrangement of cosmos and poppies, many balloons littering the ceiling, homemade cake all the way down to champagne flutes.

“Oh my god…” is all she's able to get out as she takes it all in.

“You l-like it?” He asks, feeling his nerves kick in.

“I love it, babe!” She throws her hands up, turning to face him with glossy eyes, to which he smiles brightly.

“Oh, come here, my big baby,” he chuckles, pulling her into his arms, careful not to smear her makeup.

“I'm glad I didn't do a full face now!” She laughs, the sound muffled by his chest. He joins in the laughter.

Pulling away a bit, they stare back at each other, bursting into more laughter.

“You're goofy,” he pokes fun at her.

“You're goofy,” she pokes back, actually poking him in his side.

“You started it,”

“What are we, fifteen?” She laughs, again.

“No, of course not. We're newly legal, apparently.” He playfully scoffs. “Haven't had that many shots since my college days, honestly.”

“Me, either. I'm praying we don't have hangovers in the morning.”

“You know I'm stocked up on aspirin and water, don't worry your pretty little head!” He places a kiss on the crown of her curly mane.

She felt precious all day long. Those butterflies just kept on multiplying, and now she felt like she was gonna explode.

Unwrapping her arms from him, she grabs his face to pull him down to her level, kissing him deeply.

His long arms completely cage her in, holding her up as he slightly dips them, getting drunk on her lips now, too.

Tongues tangling together, the promise of a night of bliss being spoken between them.

Pulling away, Zora’s chest heaves up and down as she stares up at Leon, who's just as breathless.

“I've got a surprise for you,” she lowly speaks, trailing a finger down the middle of his button-up shirt.

“Yeah? I must need to sit down for this.”

“Unless you wanna fall to your knees.” She quips, making him raise his eyebrows.

With that, she grabs her bag from the counter by the door and disappears into the room to change.

Carefully stepping out of the prettiest dress ever, she shimmies into the orange lingerie she'd fallen in love with, fighting the urge to squeal at how sexy she felt and looked!

Leon was gonna freak!

Adjusting her garters, she grabs the matching satin robe to hide such a set, and heads back out to where her beau is patiently waiting.

His smirk makes her insides clench. She strides over to him, stopping right in front, reaching out to rest her shaky hands on his broad shoulders.

“What's up under here, huh?” He asks, his long fingers fiddling with the knot on her robe.

“Untie it and find out.” She winks.

Doing just that and letting it fall open, he blows out a breath that makes her clench all over again.

“Mmm… all this for me?” He asks, reaching out to touch her anyway, gripping her thick hips, his sweet lips peck her belly and make her giggle.

“Yes, all for you, baby.”

“What a lucky man I am.”

Reaching up to push the silk away from her body, his hands roam back over her curves, kneading and groping as she bites into her lip.

“All for me.”

Standing to his feet, he picks her up and carries her into her their room, kicking the door closed. He drops her on the bed before climbing on top of her.

Her laughter fills his ears as he kisses all over her face, big hands tickling her sides.

“Stop” at different octaves came out of her as she flailed underneath him, slapping at his hands.

“Babe!” She squeals as he finally lets up the tickling, but not the kissing.

Laughter melts into moans, his kisses getting wetter the lower they get, traveling over to her thighs for a nibble in between.

Her garters are pulled at with his teeth before he spreads her legs wider, running a finger over her damp panties.

He watches as she bites her lip in anticipation. He smirks, continuing to tease her.

“You look so good like this,” his finger presses harder, earning a moan from her, “there it is, baby. Don't be shy.”

Her head falls back against the bed, and his free hand finds her neck, another moan leaving her.

Pulling her panties to the side, he whistles at the string of arousal clinging to them. Her head lifts back up and the look on his face makes her clench.

“So fucking wet,” his tongue swipes up her slit, sending her eyes back, her hands coming up to cradle his face as he continues the action.

“Oh my.. oh— oh my,”

His teasing humming puts a smile on her stuttering lips as he starts pulling that first nut to the surface.

“I'm gonna cum!” She pulls his hair, smushing his face against her, losing her mind when he wags it.

Not letting her recover, he makes her cum once again, her thighs beginning to shake in his hold.

“Baby, please..” she moans, softly rolling her hips against his face.

“Mmmm,” his humming sends shocks through her, his hands rubbing her sides.

In a flash, he's right where she needs him, deep inside, rocking against that spot so nicely.

“Look at that,” he mumbles, making their heavy gazes move down to where they join and rejoin again, those gushy noises are music to their ears.

“Feels so good,” she whispers.

His eyes dance back up her face and stay, as his heavy strokes land right into her spot.

“Say it again,” he says.

Like clockwork, she looks up at him, further melting and quaking as his brown eyes stare back.

“Mmmm, so fucking good!” She moans a little louder, earning a smirk from him.

Her pouty lips mouthing such sweet filth, as the man of her very dreams rocks her world.

“Fuck, baby,” her grip on him was beginning to loosen as he continued to fuck her into the mattress.

“Mmhm,” he moans, placing his hand at her chin and his thumb right at her bottom lip.

A faded smile appears on their faces as his thumb makes its way between her lips, coming in contact with her warm tongue and making his eyes roll like they did when he first slid inside.

“Mmmfuhh,” she whimpers around his thumb, feeling her thighs begin to burn.

“You cummin’,” he mumbles, removing his thumb to rub her clit, “let it out, baby.”

Her hands find his face, cupping his cheeks as her mouth drops open at the feeling brewing in her gut.

“Oh my god,” she gasps harshly, losing the rest of her oxygen as he swallows it in a kiss.

Pulling away, their lips retouch as he gets closer and closer to tossing her off the deep end.

“Just like that,” she nods fervently, “don’t stop.. don’t fucking stop.”

“Gimme that shit, babe..”

His hand slides to her throat, gripping tight. His other gripping into the sheets, as he’s close to the edge himself.

“Oh shit,” she moans, immediately feeling the air get sucked out of her lungs as her orgasm rocks through her like a heavy wave.

“I love you,” he groans, his own peak crashing toward him, sending him collapsing on top of her. Her giggles tickle his skin.

“I love you too, baby,” she sighs, her body twitching underneath his own.

“Catch your breath, cause I'm not done.” She whispers, kissing every inch of skin in her reach.

Ch 23

@ghostfacekill-monger @honestpreference @harmshake @henneseyhoe @blackerthings @soufcakmistress @megamindsecretlair @motheroffae @abeautifulmindexposed @thegifstories @starcrossedxwriter @mauvecherie-writes @twistedcharismaaa

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Poppy Heart

Pairings: Silver/Hypnos MC

Summary: MC is inspired by Hypnos, god of Sleep. They help Silver get his shit together. Hurt/Comfort friends to lovers ensue. CW for past trauma/abuse the MC endures under. Not inflicted by any Twisted Wonderland Characters

Notes: Ayo sorry for literally dropping off the face of the earth lmao I was getting my Master’s and now I’m omw to get a PhD! It’s crazy since I didn’t think I’d make it this far lmao. Thank you all for your support thus far, each and every one of you who has supported this creative outlet for me deserves an honorary PhD. Also, for others living in the U.S. currently, hang in there. I hope this can bring you some sort of comfort with the shit that’s going on. Also if you can, please consider supporting my Kofi ♡

GN terms for MC

CW: Emotional/physical child abuse for MC's backstory, not inflicted by any Twisted Wonderland characters.

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

My Kofi!

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Dear sister, 

I believe I may have some good news. A strange boy with sweet dreams may hold the key to your survival. I will investigate further, I hope for more time. Time is all I need. 

Also, I thought about you the other day while tending to my poppies. The color reminded me of the ribbons you used to wear in your hair. I nearly forgot, I found them in storage the other day. They've completely frayed, I believe I took too long to get to them. I'm sorry sister. 

With much love, 

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

You and Silver cross paths during your 100th day at the Night Raven College. 

The days you wade through the sleepless nights are counted with each poppy flower you press into your records book‒ each page, one flower. A heavy reminder. 

By the time you reach your 100th page, you notice someone rustling through the fattened bulbs of the blushing fields, one who was untouched by your brothers and sisters of death despite the decay of late spring. He sleeps so soundly, you have to wait until the chatter of the wind weaving through the flowers willows down to a whisper to hear his steady breathing. You find yourself entranced by the white-gold slivers of his locks that flow like crescent moons above his face. 

You notice‒ you recognize the sleepy, moon-haired boy drawing the nectars of your flowers‒ not from his face, but by the salty-sweet taste of his dreams. The melting, sticky-soft sea-salt taffy that your sister always stole in handfuls from the nurses‒ the ones that left a bright green streak on your tongue that you would scrape with your teeth to draw the remnants of its sweetness. His dreams were always the same way‒ you’d see through his eyes the love he carries for people‒ and in turn, you’d taste that sweetness, for a moment. 

“Hello?”

You stare at him for a moment, taken back from his aliveness‒ like a doll brought to life. 

“Hello.” You offer in return. 

He mumbles to himself, as he often does during his slumber. “Ah…I must have fallen asleep again. Father will scold me if I catch a cold sleeping in places like this again…” His aurora eyes sweep the area. You think of the blue and purple swirls of taffy, the one that your sister favored the most. “Something about this smell, I think it puts me right to sleep.” 

You give him a half-lidded smile. “I’m flattered. I’ve worked hard to hybridize my poppies to make the perfect fragrance. Not many notice.” 

He hastily lifts his palms from the earth. “My apologies. If I had known…” 

“No need. I don’t really care.” You smile, and your fingers sway through the light breeze, diffusing the perfume of the poppies into the moonlit air, and with it‒ the weight of his eyelids to the earth again. Picking a flower near his wind tossed hair, weaving at the spider stalks that prick at the field, you note‒ 100 days. Not much more time. 

You need to do better. 

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

Your half “siblings” from homebase forbade you from meddling in mortal affairs so often, but this was too curious, you decide. 

The boy’s years left to live increase with every time you two meet‒ it’s strange, it’s never happened before. It began at 50‒ or so‒ you don’t quite recall the first night you met him face to face, you had swiftly slipped away after consuming the sweetened tufts of his dreams. A passing thought: a bit short, but you paid no mind. But when you partnered with him during gym class just today‒ you see 63, then 74 by the end of the class when you had been exchanging friendly remarks‒ teasing, even. Perhaps it was something you could control‒ so you decide to investigate‒this is important. You have little time. 

It surprises you when he approaches you first. 

“I don’t have good marks in this class, are you positive you want to partner with little ‘ol me?” You feign every part of your movements, from your arms lazily folded at the back of your head, to the muscles of your face which suture a curve onto your lips. 

Silver nods, the number above his head following his firm movements. “I always see you taking so many notes in this class‒ you must know something we don’t.” 

“I’m actually always devising an escape plan.” You lean forward onto your forearms flattened against the table, yawning. You want to sleep. “But Crewel is always so sharp‒ I’ve had no luck.” 

His smile is sweet, but cut through when Crewel smacks the table in front of you. You lazily rise from the table, unbothered by your instructor’s presence. 

“You still want to partner with me?”

“Yeah, I need a change of pace, I think.” 

You pretend to think about it, hiding a smile under your arms. You can’t tell if it’s from your plan’s unexpected expedited success, or something else. “Hmm..Ok. If you say so. You can’t really complain if I blow something up now.” 

He quirks a wry smile. “Should I take that as a warning?” 

Shrugging, you begin to crush the mandrake root with the mortar and pestle.

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

Well that went about as expected.

The bits of glass scrape the ceramic flooring as you mindlessly sweep the debris you caused during Crewel’s lecture. Silver scrubs the burn marks left on the table, stopping for a moment to take a break. 

“You ruined the healing potion.”

A tight line holds your lips, and you manufacture crescents under your eyes to construct a smile. “I told you I don’t have good marks in that class. Healing is not my strong suit.” 

“No I didn’t mean‒” He sucks a breath in, a stern look pointed towards you. “You give up halfway through. You made a face. And just stopped.”

“I made a face, huh.” You don’t so much as lift your eyebrows as you push the debris back and forth with the broom. 

Mid-sentence, the door slams open, revealing a disheveled disarmonia student with minty green hair. He catches his breath, lifting his head with a jerk to look at Silver. Sebek. You remember his tingly dreams‒ like sticking your tongue close to the tv. Sour, tingly, buzzing. 

“I was looking for you everywhere, I thought you had nodded off somewhere again! What‒” His gaze flickers to the glass on the ground, the dark burn mark that sticks to the table where the two of you worked. “..What did you do?”

Before your lab partner can open his mouth, Sebek speaks for him. “No matter. Young master wishes to make a visit to the library‒‒ we must accompany him immediately! It took nearly half an hour to find you‒ what are you even doing here?” 

“Cleaning.” He responds. Not dryly, but plain. “Master Lilia says that we should let young master be for the time being here at Night Raven College. Experiencing life outside the castle before we all graduate, and young master‒” His eyes flicker to you. “...Don’t you remember?” 

“That’s‒” 

“You’re fae aren’t you?” You rest your chin on your broom, studying his features with an alertness Silver hasn’t seen in you yet. Through your lidded eyes, your eyes flicker, sharply, to his ears, his fangs when he opens his mouth to speak, the slight gleam in his skin. 

“You’ve got keen eyes for a human. Indeed I am half fae‒” He jerks his head back to Silver once more “Don’t try to divert the conversation‒ why are you here in the first place?” 

“Like he said,” you point to Silver. “cleaning.” 

“You‒ you know what I mean!” He continues, a pointed glare in your direction. “And you’re out of dress code! Your shirt is unironed, your blouse is missing a button and that brooch you have on your necktie isn’t in either of our uniforms! I will not have a mere transfer student, a human at that, sully the Diasmonia‒- ”

The scarab beetle pin on your uniform is adjusted as he points to it. “You fae are always stuck in your ways, so possessed by this sentimentality. Ha ha!” You push that sound as if blowing a mechanical note through your throat. “Silver just got stuck with me, that's all. But he shouldn’t be stuck with anyone, including you.” A crescent smile forms on your lips. 

Silver senses the tension slowly rising with the redness of Sebek’s face. “Sebek‒‒” he tries. 

“You understand as a student of Diasmonia, it is your duty to act responsibly for our great Malleus, do you not?” He jabs a finger at you before swiftly turning his neck towards Silver. “And you, Silver! You’re half asleep most of the time that you don’t even understand the weight of your own actions! Why them? What could this human possibly offer?” 

You think for a moment, smiling coyly at his words. It’s been quite a while since you’ve been referred to as a human, so directly at that. Your tongue rushes to secure a deal, as if awakened by the way his words tether you to the earthly realm. “Say what. My unique magic is to control dreams and sleep‒ why don’t I fix Silver’s little sleeping problem here, hm?” 

“You‒ you can do‒ wait, no, I shouldn’t be‒” 

You interrupt him. “I’ll do it with one small thing. An exchange of sorts.” 

“What is it?” Silver asks. 

A finger extends towards Sebek. “Your life.”

The languid movement gliding down his throat jittered something inside your gut. Finally, his throat makes out a “You’re‒” before you interrupt him once more. 

“Wow you really can’t take a joke! I jest, I jest. I only need- “ Plucking a single hair from his head, you drop it in a sterilized vial. “- this. I’ll help Silver with his sleeping problems, you can get that stick out of your ass, you stay out of my way‒ and we’re all happy!” 

The green haired boy shakes himself into reality again. “Wait‒ what did‒”

The broom in your hands is shoved into his. “I have to go now! I’m just a lowly human after all, and I have my lowly human activities‒ bye!” 

Silver and Sebek exchange looks, before watching the door close. 

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

Dear Sister, 

I really do think I have good news now. You were always the better student out of the two of us‒ forgive me for taking so much time. But with this breakthrough, I believe I can just make more time. At least for now, until I find a way to release you from your pain.

I had a good laugh the other day‒ you always said I was antisocial, but I think I’ve got the hang of it. People are so funny‒ the one I talked to yesterday turned all bright and red when he got mad. I think it was something I said. 

I’ll visit you soon in your eternal dreams. I’ll bring some taffy from the nurse’s station. 

With love, 

------------------------------------------- “Jardinier de rêves! You are here still?"

You look up from the pile of books you bury yourself in. “Ah, Rook. Wonderful timing. Do we still have any of that carmot powder? I can't seem to‒ what are you laughing about?”

He gestures to his own hands, prompting you to look at your own. Your vision, blurry for a moment, focuses on the bottle labeled in black ink: “carmot.” 

The blonde laughs, surveying your mess while running a finger across the dust covered books. “My, it seems you are due for a break Jardinier. Life is fleeting, you must enjoy its pleasures.”

“Don't patronize me, gosse.” 

A knock at the door before it opens. “I hope I'm not interrupting?” A Silver head pops in, and you feel the corners of your mouth automatically drawn upwards. 

“Of course not. What brings you here?”

Silver liked that‒ of course not. Your conviction seemed straightforward for once. 

“I've always wondered what you do in here. Sometimes you disappear for so long.”

You lean back into your chair, a haughty smirk curving onto your lips. “My. Are you stalking me?” 

A puff of air from his nose as he glosses the shelves full of bottles. You feel Rook staring a hole into you both. “Well it seems you're always slipping out early for your club activities when we're punished by our professors.”

“You see I have very important things to do here. And I'm not blowing anything up, see?” You hold up a glass containing Sebek’s hair. It glistens in the warm waning light, suspended in a clear liquid that casts the refractions of the glass onto your face. 

“Do you even have permission to be using all that stuff?” 

“...that's confidential.” 

“What are you doing here then?” 

“Also a secret.”

“Are you sure you’re not doing anything illegal?” 

“Something you’ll never know.” 

He sighs. “What are you even doing with Sebek’s hair?” 

“Would you believe it if I said I was creating the elixir of life?” You adorn a devilish grin, one which Silver returns a half lidded, entertained glance. “You see what he does to me Rook? He comes in here like he owns the place just to harass me. On top of that he's stalking me‒ you know, you two should really start hanging out.” 

“I would too, jardinier, if I had known you were creating the elixir of life. Any success?”

You huff, crushing the paper underneath your hands and balling them up in your hands. The pain almost soothes you, but you still feel jittery, a great earthquake within you‒ crackling and buzzing. It explains the speed in which you speak, as if your tongue rushes out of your mouth in an attempt to escape the breaking within. 

“Well half fae is only half fae‒ half immortal. Not entirely so. I attempting to isolate compound all day but no such luck. By the sevens, it's driving me absolutely insane I mean it's all a bust! It amounted to absolutely nothing!” You fully lean your head back on the chair, rocking as you laughed and laughed. 

“Ah, savant fou! Who knew.” 

A tired look is sent to Rook. Silver chuckles.

Despite your smile, a solemn look glazes over your features when you dump the substance into the biohazard waste. You catch Silver’s eyes for a moment, pulling him with something that weaves around his lungs and squeezes his chest, before you cast your eyes onto the floor again. Shame, you think. Stretching, you hop off your chair. 

“I came to invite you to the Mostro lounge. You look like you can use a break.” Silver announces.

“Oh~ A date. Well now you have to say yes Jardinier de rêves. Enjoy the beauty of the night, hm?”

“Rook, you're welcome to join of course.”

“No no. I couldn't possibly impose. This is an occasion for les amants.” 

You flip him off eagerly. 

“Alright, I’m hungry, let’s go get something to eat in that place you call heaven.” 

Silver rushes to catch up to you. Still, he smiles through his breathy chuckles. “I grew up with what most deem inedible!” 

You wave him off, waiting for him to catch up. Weighing your heart in the warmth you feel rushing to replace the buzzing of your body, you decide his laughter makes you feel just a bit lighter. 

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

"Pitiful, Hypnos. Just utterly‒" a pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Completely and absolutely abhorrent."

You spread a smile on the lips that hides your clenched teeth. "Of course, brother. I'll do better next time." A visit from the homebase, of course. To check on your “progress”, considering your original vocation for the role as a reaper, as Hypnos. 

He scoffs. Your grin stretches further, pushing the darkened bags of your eyes up in a sorry attempt to evade his sharpened words. The wind makes your skin feel rubbery, foreign. It feels like you are dying again, as you have a dozen times before as Hypnos. You don't remember where the sutures between you and him are on your body anymore. It all seems seamless, motionless, ceaseless. You decide that’s at least better than yesterday's buzzing. 

"You've been saying that for millennia. This is why people have ceased their devotions for you, Hypnos." He spits that word out like it had curdled on the back of his tongue, dead as you both were. "Your predecessor ceased your duties as a reaper, and you can’t commit to actually fulfilling your duties as pathetic as a role as sleep incarnate. It's your own fault that your strength has dwindled over the years."

"You’re right." You're tired. 

Yet the weight permanently fixed on your eyelids will not fully let your eyes close. They are epoxied open to your failures. Frustration stirs at your temples, you try not to let it go, reminding yourself why you’ve joined the homebase in the first place. You push it further down, letting it simmer. You remind yourself, I’m trying, but it’s not enough. 

“You’ll be obsolete soon enough. Did you know, humans are developing ways to avoid you?” He smiles a bit, a shape that folds sharply on his lips. “You can return to your original duties then. Your original glory. Cured of this pathetic dream of saving what little you have left in the living world.” The thought plants in your mind, spreading its roots in your now uneasy expression.

If you could dream, you would certainly face this in sleep. Fears, desires, anxieties‒ they chemically laced into the flavor of dreams. You stand, eyes ever open, mind relentlessly awake. 

It is seamless, motionless, ceaseless. 

Ceaselessness is a hard place to belong.  

“I’ll see you soon enough, brother.” You walk towards your field of poppies, eager to cut, tend, and dig out the pests. 

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

“I had a dream about you last night.” 

Your gums bleed when you bite down on your teeth, clamping down on any noise that may come out of you. Silver just stares off, sinking into the comfort of the grass. You’ve been helping him stay awake for a couple of weeks now‒ regulating his circadian rhythm and sleep cycles. Basic stuff. A job, you convince yourself. 

“...That’s a bad omen, you know.” 

Something thistles at the back of his throat when he hears the gossamer threads of your voice, he looks to you, only to make sure you were really here. His anxiety threatens to scrape against his throat when he speaks. “To see a friend in a  dream?”

“I’m your friend?” The flowery, mellow perfume returns to your words, along with a teasing smile. It almost makes him nauseous, the intoxication slithering to his throat. You bite down the singing in your heart‒ a great, monstrous thing that lurches towards him‒ bearing your teeth into a smile that sands down your excitement. 

“You knew that already.” He kicks your side playfully. A simple gesture for him, one that feeds the great big thing inside your chest. “I was younger in my dream though. But you were the same. Still nice and…”

A wide grin as you turn towards him.

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, a curve tugging at his lips. “I used to live in a forest deep in Briar Valley, with my father. You were there for some reason, in a deeper part of the forest, away from my home. You told me to get away from that part of the woods, because you would start reaping soon. You looked…different.” A sigh settles in his lungs, before he stretches his arms behind his head. “I have no idea what it meant. My dreams are always jumbled.”

I know, you think. That knowledge weighs like opium inside of you, rolling its weight inside the hunger of your chest. “What else did you see?” You remind yourself of the sweetness of his dreams, the bitterness of your own image in his mind. 

He hums, the sound rumbling deep in his body. “My father was there. He was training me, making me food. It felt like a really long time that I spent with him.” 

“You’re close with him?” You already know the answer to the question. Liar, you point that word towards yourself. 

You watch him run his hand through his hair. “I am.” He pauses for a moment, now it’s his turn to steady himself. “Despite being a fae and not knowing much about humans, he adopted me. I…” He sinks into the poppies. “I really wish I could repay him, for all he’s done for me.” 

The blood in your body itches to tell him how much you know. You know his sweetness‒ the sugary graininess of his love for his father, the heavy nectar of the burden he feels for his fae family. How his father loves him, dearly‒‒ and so richly it creates sores in your mouth tasting his father’s dreams of him and his family. He’ll be gone soon, you know it all will. You resist the urge to move closer to him, feeling your arms buzz and swell with his honey sweetness. But you know, the next time you'll be seeing him in a different part of your life‒ he'll be in a coffin, and you'll be all the same. Cold as he will be, but still tethered to this world, left behind.  

“...in my experience, best to not look too far into it. Science hasn’t progressed far enough to identify what dreams actually are yet.”

Silver sits up a bit, listening intently. “Really?”

“Really.” You reply with a smile, he mirrors it. “They have some theories out there though. They might be residual information from our daytime experiences, they might be our fight or flight instinct training with different scenarios, the synapses in our brain preserving themselves, our brain processing information, or really, anything. This one guy who was really into writing about fetishes and wish fulfillment theorized it was to explore our subconscious, and sometimes inappropriate desires.” You give him a suggestive grin. 

“Don’t be gross.” He sideeyes you, leaning his upper body away. His warmth leaves a tingling impression, like a heartbeat slithered under your skin. “Is there a chance they might be memories?” 

“Maybe. But then again, maybe not.”

“Maybe because you’re my friend then. Maybe it's you. We're connected somehow.” 

Maybe its you.

Fuck, you think. His sentimentality tickles your stomach, and you laugh, throwing your head back to look at the rumbling sky. You hope it doesn’t rain, your sister hates that.  “Maybe.” 

Nausea pricks your throat. You were always a bad liar. 

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

You don't sleep on the train ride to the hospital, as usual. 

“Oh. You’re here again.” The receptionist notes. He quickly snaps his hand to his mouth. “Oh my‒ I’m so sorry. It’s just‒ I see you here so much...please don’t tell my boss I said that.”

You shake your head, perhaps to shake that pitiful look from him. “It’s alright. You’re new here, right?”Or has time run longer than you thought?  

“I am, I just started this month for an internship for my school.” You breathe a silent sigh of relief, there are already too many rumors about you here. “My name is Dominic, it’s nice to officially meet you.” 

You shake his extended hand, taking a handful of taffy before you retract your hand behind the front desk. “I’m visiting my sister here, in room 109.” 

“Room 109…I don't see their room in the system, I'm sorry.” 

“There should be a note from the head nurse. I’ve entrusted the senior nurses here to take care of her. There’s not much to do, however.” 

“Oh, I'm seeing that note here, my apologies! Well…I hope to see her soon!” He says cheerfully. His enthusiasm is refreshing. Your thoughts lurch towards Silver, your mind remembering his warmth like a womb. “You have a good day today!”

“Thank you, Dominic. It was nice talking to you.” 

You wave goodbye, heading to your sister’s room. The light reveals the slight marks you’ve left by dragging your hand across the wall, and they hike taller and taller until they touch the placement of your fingers now. You really don’t have much time. Look how much you’ve grown. Unrecognizable. 

The room is as quiet and light as ever. The floating feeling always reminds you of dreams‒ their placid, constructed-ness. 

“Good afternoon sister. I’ve brought you some flowers, and taffy. Maybe we’ll braid your hair today, yeah? Clean you up a bit.” 

You’ll never get used to the silence. 

“I was finally able to find your favorite telescope. Sorry it took long, unpacking your stuff has been a long process.” 

“...sorry I haven’t been here lately, I’ve met someone. I need him for the research I'm working on for you.” Your stomach curdles at your words. “I’m using him. Old habits never die. Isn’t that just cruel?”

The cheap metal of the hospital stool creaks when you sit on top of it, and you fuss with the flowers to make them just right. Poppies from your garden, as always. A shaky, willowy sigh escapes your lips as you brush the hair from your sister’s eyes. Taking a damp towel, you begin to clean her ears, careful of the pointed tips, before combing through her hair carefully with the brush inside the nightstand. Unlike sterile, cheap hospital furniture, this one from your sister’s storage stands sturdy. The hair oil you rub between your palms fills the empty room with a warm aroma, reminding you of the days you and your sister waited anxiously for the other to finish having their hair oiled by your mother. Her hair has grown quite long. But you braid it all, placing a bow in her hair when you’re finished. 

“The experiment I wrote about…it was a bust. Sorry, sister. But I’ll find a way to let you go with ease before you’re set to…” You fuss with her bangs, trying to smooth out the bristly white hairs that stick out stubbornly from the rest of her hair. Look how much time has passed.

“I’m sorry. I’m going to try harder. Whatever it takes.” It feels childish, but you lay next to her‒ back to back, like you used to when you were kids. Warmth still radiates from her, fluttering against your cold skin. 

You really never get used to the silence. Desperate to fill it with anything, you cry. 

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

“This is worse than my father’s room.” 

Silver scans the various boxes you have lying around, their contents overflowing, or haphazardly shoved back into their container. Scrolls, books, parchment everywhere. He raises an eyebrow towards the row of telescopes that sit neatly on your desk, while you attempt to move around the boxes so there’s room on the floor to sit and work. 

“How dare you. I, truly an academic icon of this generation, invite you over to a study session and this is how you respond? This calls for divine punishment.” 

“I mean…How do you even do anything in here?” 

“I just roll out of bed everyday‒ what other activities would I be doing in here?” You flash him a suggestive grin.

Your partner just shakes his head, stepping over the mountains of paper. “I didn’t know you were interested in astronomy.” He points his gaze to the telescopes, sitting next to a stack of various books and files on astrophysics. Charting the heavens, brushing the makers of this world. It would be unseemly for you, you suppose. You belong to the earth, and its weight.  

You sigh a bit, a chuckle to defuse the tightness in your throat, running your fingers through your hair. “It’s not mine.” 

“Oh.” Cautiously, he asks, “Then who’s?” 

“My sister’s.” You answer curtly. Silver’s silence urges you to continue, hesitantly. You don't like silence. “Such a sentimental person, she kept everything. She used to be a student here, in the Scarabia dorm. She went on to be a well-known scholar, actually. She advanced astrophysics quite a bit. Have you ever heard of the galactic recycling theory?” You pick at the scarab pin on your tie. 

“I can’t say I have.” 

You laugh a bit, gaze softening. To compensate, you steel your breaths‒ rigid, and suffocating. The pain, a reminder. Silver wonders how a sound can be so brittle and sweet at the same time. “It’s not really a word we encounter on the daily. But, I think we’re all familiar with it. My sister was the first person to conduct comprehensive research on the theory. The universe reuses the gas from previous, dead stars to create a new generation of stars. It’s how archaic galaxies sustain themselves. Things die, but they eventually reunite in some sort of way. We will forever be woven into the destruction and rebirth of a fraying universe.” 

He plops himself right next to you, as if it was the most natural thing to do. “It sounds like something my father used to say. Things repeat over and over in history. Even if we die, there’s bound to be some version of us somewhere, again, in time. Death scares me a bit, I’m not sure what to make of it, being raised so far from it, with fae and all. It still feels like a foreign concept to me, but, maybe that means I'm lucky.” 

A small smile adorns your lips, a nectarine taste spreads across Silver’s mouth as his mouth does the same. “I think death can be a guiding star of hope. To some that is. It can be boring, seeing it over and over though. But like you said, perhaps it’s good to be distant from it.” You feel the bitterness seep through your words. You throw Silver a small telescope, he catches it with ease. The weight of the brass rolls through his palms, cooling them. “Here. You should use it. The stars are beautiful here.” 

“Won’t your sister need it?” 

“She won’t mind. Besides, look at how many she’s got. What a hoarder…” 

Silver chuckles at that, a light and airy sound that travels and tingles through your fingers to your chest. “That reminds me of something you said the other day in a dream I had. You’re always in my dreams, it’s so weird.”

“It’s probably an effect of my unique magic. I’m not sure, I don’t usually talk to people I put to sleep to be honest. Or maybe because I’m just that much of an influence on you.” You flip your hair over your shoulder, mocking a diva pose. 

“It’s strange though, I feel like I had a conversation with you, but I can’t exactly remember it. But I get deja-vu sometimes. I’m usually good at remembering things that happen in my dreams but recently, not so much.” 

You have to go a bit easier with tasting his dreams. Or perhaps distance would be better‒ less involvement, less consumption, less of you. You can’t help but to search his face for an answer‒ something that would offer you a solution other than what you know. “...I’ll try to go a bit easier on you then.“

“It’s not that at all.” Silver speaks calmly. It makes you feel a bit small, you jump to an apology once more, but relax at the sorry expression he adorns. “I enjoy talking to you in my dreams. I just wish I remembered our conversations.”

“Oh.” That’s all you can muster, fiddling with the scarab brooch. “I do too.” Your voice wavers a bit, the shape of your throat stuck between your enthusiasm, and your shame of it.

“I mean it, I appreciate you. I finally feel like I don’t have to set 20 alarms just to get up, and I worry Sebek a lot less. He seems annoyed most of the time, but he’s harmless. He looks out for all of us.” 

“The two of you seem close. You’re not related are you?” 

He shakes his head. “No, but we’ve been training together for a long time with my father. His grandfather and mine were comrades during the war. How about you and your sister?” 

“Yeah, we were close. Inseparable, even when she was attending here, I used to pester her all the time. I still visit her regularly. It’s difficult, though. She’s half fae‒ time flows a lot differently around her. I felt like I was always running to catch up to her.”

Silver blows a laugh through his nose. “What?” you ask, throwing him a crumpled up piece of paper. He catches it with ease. 

“I’m just surprised to hear something like that from you.”

“Enlighten me.”

His sheepish demeanor is rare, but never a sore sight. “I feel like you’re always running to something no one else but you can see. I had this dream once, I was immovable, tethered to the ground by something. And you kept running and running like you always do. Your back got smaller and smaller until I was sure you couldn’t see me.”

He admits, “I think I was scared.” 

What a coincidence, I had the same dream about you. 

“I‒‒ graciously‒‒  always wait for you though, don’t I?” You put your hand to your chest, sporting a cheshire grin. Your usual theatrics did little against the dizziness of your own sincerity. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He laughs, a colorful sound that could refract all the light of the heavens. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

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

You try your best every morning not to look absolutely exhausted‒ careful to intentionally lift your feet off the ground that would drag through the miasma that tangles through your body. Fatigue flows like a river within you, splitting your body into a million disjunct pieces, chipping at your usual demeanor. 

The nights at the lab laboring away at your experiments are not as taxing as the nights you stay awake‒‒ your chest a gaping hole for the flood of thoughts that rush forth, feeling as if it had tethered its roots through you and into your bed. Even if you busy yourself with your duties as Hypnos, the night eventually stills, the world blanketed by a silence you’ve woven. An eternal lethargy fills your crackling resolve, but you feel as shaking, as alive as ever when you so much as to let your eyelids flutter. 

Silver notices this, in the slight wobble in your smile, your words that slur and stick to your tongue like sour honey. Your usual curves and melody were sutured into his memory, and your deviation from it twisted inside of him. 

You groan as Vargas’ voice scrapes against your skull, worsening the migraine that had been hammering at your temples for the last three hours. You stand when he demands a lap around the track, but everything turns black. 

There's a buzzing feeling growing inside you, a thousand flies gathering around rot and decay. 

You dream for the first time in decades.

It’s your mother, standing at the center of your dirt packed house. Her svelte frame‒‒ which had remained shivering and shaking, whether from the illness of her body or your father‒ halts with alarming grace. The corners of your vision are dark‒ right. She had led you to the closet. You tell yourself to move your body‒ drag your buzzing flesh, situate it where it belongs. At the center of violence and death, your mother takes your place, while your throat scrapes against its silence. 

You had learned this silence long ago. Through your mechanical doings, you carved silence in your own home. The way you quieted your footsteps and avoided the broken glass that would scrape against the floor. There’s silence in the marketplace, stealing apples and potatoes for your mother and sister, and silence in midst of the town that was always swollen with noise. There’s silence when you feel your insides are turning inside out, when you try to tamp down the shattering and yelling from the living room‒ the way you stare at the window in your room you shared with your sister, a dreamy stifling of violence that cups the desire within you into the clouds in the sky that float you away when you sleep. The silence when you sleep is what you like the most, imagining yourself soaring, splitting the skylight into a dozen rays as a sparrow. 

But you remember, it was never your position as a reaper that made you abandon your desire to shape yourself into a human‒ but much before that, even before this moment. The first time your father had hit you, that’s when. 

And again you remember, and remember, and remember . 

You remember the undoing of the silence in this moment you had declared your desire for freedom to the world with a knife to your father’s stomach. Your mother muffled it, taking the brambles of your violence, holding it firmly in her blood rubbed hands. She had stained herself from you‒ from the moment your father’s filthy insides had entered her to conceive you. You remember begging to gods you didn’t believe in‒ any and all of them‒ when you had first killed him. Now, a second time (and it’s always the second time)‒ it seems your dreams choose the violence of your own silence, rather than any divine one. You learn a different sort of silence. 

The gravity of your whirling chest swallows you whole, but it does not end. You are spun in your own violence. 

It’s your sister now. 

The hospital is as silent as ever. Dreams are supposed to be noisy, buzzing with desire, but the emptiness roars against your ears. 

She’s much younger than she is now, her hair rich and deep as the ocean‒ alive, and golden as the sunlight beams onto it. You remember how she tied it at your mother’s funeral, dignified and honorable to temper herself from the in-laws’ whispers. She looked older that way, indicating herself as the conduit of all legal affairs and family gossip.

Failure of a mother. Dying in a prison. Killing our beloved son‒ what a pathetic hag. Oh and the filthy children, one out of wedlock with another man, the other poisoning our family name…

She kept her hair that way when she had gone to Night Raven College, as she spent night and day pouring herself into her projects. You can’t braid it half as good, calloused hands tangling among her mass, ruining, marring, staining her rich radiance. 

A deep red flourishes from your chest, bursting forth like your field of poppies. A heart made of opium‒‒ you feel it dragging its weight in your flesh. Turning that violence against yourself almost felt euphoric. The rush of swallowing your poison with such ease. 

A solitary figure swims in the red, pointing their glazed gaze towards you, dagger-sharp features made from jagged marble. Temples upon temples built from the material. You reminisce the touch of the warmed stone, a sun-like radiance given through the palms who touched it, offering incense and ambrosia. It was only in your beginning years as a reaper, a mere 80 or so years ago where you had last touched upon this warmth‒‒ the memory fleeting as time always does for you. Imagine what beloved memory will run from you next. The marble is cold, and pointed at your pain. It is your brother’s likeness. You wonder if he also had something breaking apart stitched inside of him, seamless as the glossy lines of marble. 

“Can’t you do anything right? You’re a reaper‒ do your job, Hypnos .This is why you will be forgotten. No one will remember you enough to gift you the kindness to kill you, or your memory. You will lie lingering in your filth, diseased and in pain. Like your sister, your mother, and her mothers, and hers and hers.” Your brother beckons you towards death. Towards him. 

Even as death grows like weeds inside of you, you can’t manage it. Not even for your sister. Your mother’s sentence and death had been for nothing after all‒ your body and the rot sutured together with an unyielding red thread of faith.

Hypnos. That name, strung together like half made pearls, knotted and impure. It ripples against the silence, its barbed edges fraying you to pieces. Hypnos. No temples, no loyal devotees. A mere glutton who feasts on others’ desires to fill their pitless stomach filled with your acid-desire. Just Hypnos. Sour honey, buzzing, puckered rot. It swells inside of you, anchored like an opium heart. 

Suddenly, your vision washes to a white. It wasn’t pure like the stark white lights and counters of the hospital, but woven with an aurora of colors. Baby blues, peachy pinks, golden streaks running their stalks like meteors in the sky‒ iridescent and sparkling along the fruits of color washing over you like a warm, seaside wind. You watch it like through a reflection in a pond, taking in the ripples that shine beautiful in its impurity. The only justice you can do is to echo it upon your surface, untouchable from the crimson depths below. 

A familiar voice calls towards you, and you remember your name. 

“(Name)?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you feel your blood rushing into your body again. Tempering yourself with the softness of his voice, you face Silver, eyes swaying and ears buzzing. The cotton under you feels hard and rough, and you rub your palms against it to feel real again. Gym clothes, rough fabrics, Silver. You’re back to the effervescence of life again. 

“Oh. I’ve fallen asleep. That doesn’t happen very often.” You laugh, fighting against the dizziness to sit up. “Where am I?” 

The window is splotched with a streak of poppies that bob their bloody heads up and down. You stare distantly at them.

“In the infirmary. I thought I'd let you rest, but you were moving around and groaning in your sleep.” He hesitates with his words, flickering his gaze towards you, testing the waters. “I…fell asleep for a moment. I saw you, I think. But it wasn't like always. It seemed like I was looking through a fog or something.” The slight aversion of his eyes said everything for you.

“You…saw me, didn’t you?.” Breathless, you push the words from your throat, not knowing what sort of expression you’ll string together. “I’m sorry.” you conclude, severing your gaze from his. 

He flinches when you look away. “You shouldn’t be. I understand, my father‒- ” 

“I know.” you say, painfully, a longing look cast towards the sterile flooring. Sevens, you hate it. You shift your gaze towards the window, away from Silver and towards the horizon, as if you already see his back getting smaller and smaller in the distance. “I’ve seen your dreams, I’ve seen your father’s dreams. I’ve seen most of everyones here. I knew about you before we even met in person. I’m sorry, I’m not a good person. In any capacity.”

Lips sewn in silence, you sharpen that emptiness inside of you. It is softened, atomized when Silver pierces his gaze into your own.

“What are you?” He asks. 

“Sleep incarnate.” Brambles upon your tongue. “Hypnos.”

Oh. He seems to say, his voice wilting. You swallow, enjoying the scraping pain it sends down your throat. 

“What are you doing here?” 

A sharp inhale. “I’m fulfilling my duty as Hypnos. I cradle the world to sleep and relinquish my influence when the sun rises. That is my duty, my job.” 

“But what are you doing here?” 

You’re a bit taken back by the strength in his voice, so much so that you answer truthfully. “I came to this school to see if I could find anything to elongate my sister's life. At least until I can find a way to let her go painlessly. I came here because of the high diversity of people who would be vulnerable to my dirty work. But…”

“But?”

“There’s no one.” You see his hand twitch. “There is nothing but remnants. All the books I've translated are near useless. Only pieces. Only fragments.” 

“Your sister, she’s sick?” 

“Yes.” A curt reply. 

“May I ask what she has?” 

The ease in which he unravels the truth from you is surprising, but does not sweeten the bitterness you feel towards your undoing. “I don't know. All I know is that it’s genetic, from my mother’s side of the family. I will become something like her sooner or later. My position as sleep incarnate is just me stalling.” 

He processes the information you’ve given to him for a moment. The silence suffocates you, you want him to leave already, like he’s going to eventually. Get it over and done with. 

He stays. 

“Do you regret talking to me, when we first met?” 

There's no hesitation, nothing to grind the sincerity into foolish theatrics. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” you do take a moment, however, for the anger that stirs inside of you. “Why are you asking so many questions?” 

The way your expression folds into the shadows of your face, the way it reminds him of crushed petals‒‒ it nettles inside of Silver. 

“I…do want some answers. Like what you did with Sebek’s hair, or what you were really doing in that lab, or what I saw in our dream. I have so many questions.” He continues, almost out of breath. “But we’re friends. I want to get to know you, if you think we’re not on equal footing.” He pours himself towards you, his words spilling into your hunger. You want to wretch, vomit, your throat knowing the shape of that starvation that lurches out of you. 

“You have my lifetime.” He concludes. 

“But, I tricked you. Don’t you get it?” You crush the bedding between your fingers, blood rushing to your knuckles. “I’m a vile person. I only befriended you to progress my research‒ for myself. All for me, I tricked you for it. Why don’t you get that?” 

You stare in horror at the still tranquility of his face. You want to stop, to tell yourself that your friendship with him is the best thing that will ever happen to you in your miserable life. But the poison overfills your mouth, spat out like bile that rises heavily on your tongue. You are determined to prove your accusations.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, at least not yet. But I don’t know much about you, don’t I?” A sliver smile creeps onto his lips. “But I know I enjoy our walks through the forest, when we talk through the afternoon into the night in your field of poppies, and even the time we spend together when Crewel punishes you for something you did.” 

He continues, “I want to know more. I plan to.” 

“What if it’s worse than you thought?” 

A pause, before a small smile curves onto his lips, his eyes half moons that fill his gaze with a moonlight hue. He mirrors your coy sweetness, tangy and raw on his tongue.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

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

“I wasn’t always a reaper. I used to be a human too.” You begin. You’re unsure where to start, whether from your birth, or when your mother remarried and had you with that worm, or from when you became the next iteration of sleep incarnate. 

The light in the music room swells from the spring glow weaving through the swaying trees. On top of the piano where you lean, the poppies appear as crimson shards caught from the fractals of light from the vase that sits on top of the black lacquer surface. There's plenty of time‒‒ Silver makes you feel this for once in your life, his quiet patience rolling every moment for you smoothly, and sweet. It almost feels tiring, the lack of a constantly thundering heart inside of you.

Silver drives his attention towards the dancing iridescence‒ a kindness he affords you that avoids looking at your shifting expression. 

“What were you like then, do you remember?”

You nod. Of course. Even without tufts of dreams gnawing at your insides, you remember. You are made from desire. It haunts you, flows inside you like blood, shifting.

“I get glimpses, when I'm here.” 

When I'm with you. 

You press a finger onto the cool keys of the piano. “I remember, my favorite color was green, the kind that emerged from my mother's garden in the spring. I remember the shack where I went to school everyday. I was always getting into fights. I was always coming home with dirt all over my uniform and bruises all over my body, my sister hated that.” You chuckle, unconsciously rubbing a small scar on your hand that had been a result of one of those fights. Your sister ripped a part of her own shirt, scolding you while wrapping the cut. 

“I remember my sister was my rock, my mother was always sick, and my father, always drunk. But I also remember I wasn’t much better.”

“What did you do?” He doesn’t accuse you with those words. 

“What didn’t I? I stole, I hurt people, blackmailed‒‒ I did it all if there was money. I needed it for my mother’s treatments, and my sister later on.” You played out a cord, testing your memory. “My sister went here, years ago. She was prefect of Scarabia dorm actually. A prestigious student, and a…good person, like our mother.” You string your words together carefully, attentive to what it could thread, what it could sever between you and Silver. 

“What happened to your mother?”

“She was supposed to live a painful, but longer life. Instead, I got her dragged off to prison. I knew she was gone from the moment they took her away. The city barely gave us assistance when we were nearly living off the streets, it's not like they were going to give convicted murderers princess treatment.”

Silver sees you search the piano for a chord, hovering your hands over the keys. “Do you play?” He asks. 

“I’m afraid I only know ballads. Nothing fancy.” You lift your wrists delicately, a lover’s breath between you and the memories imbued into the keys. “I used to play for my sister. She taught me. Music is one of the last things you remember before your memory frays. It’s stupidly poetic, isn’t it?” You smile, playing a slow tune that rocks your body with the movement of your fingers. 

“The way you play it, it makes me believe that.”

You try to concentrate on the piano. “One night, my father just wouldn’t stop. He threw bottle after bottle. There was a wife, next door to us, that poisoned her husband for cheating. The neighbors were talking about it the day she did it, spewing their sanctimonious bullshit. They lived a few doors away, they didn’t know she screamed and cried every night he came home from the bar.” 

A bit disjunct at first, but you get the hang of the chords. You don’t play so much anymore, your sister doesn’t respond the way she used to. When you do, you think you dream a twitch from her hand, a flutter of her lashes. 

“I had walked to the kitchen, intent on just…ending it all for myself. People always describe these divine experiences, hearing voices or seeing deities. That’s what it was. Like a thread of light, death guided me towards hope. If I killed him, it would all be over. All of it. I think I believed in him, somewhat. Killing him seemed like the key to everything.” 

“I stabbed him right in the stomach. He crumpled so easily. My sister was surprised, mostly. Despite her being part fae, she hadn't witnessed death so much.”

“That must have been incredibly hard.” You want to accuse his words, let them bleed inside of you as some retribution to your life. But the softness in which he delivers them, it's almost impossible to twist them into anything else but kindness. ”I didn't know your sister was fae.”

The melody escaping from your body momentarily silences you. “Yes. Half, anyway.” You respond, gaze trained on the poppies as your fingers frantically search for the next notes. “My mother took the blame. It’s funny. She was always skittish and shaking in my memories, either because of my father or because of her illness. But it was like she had this moment of…lucidity she hadn’t had in so long. She slipped the knife from my hands and into hers, so smoothly and softly, with a stability in her body and mind I hadn't seen since I was a lot younger. She covered herself in blood and hid my sister and I.”

An exasperated sigh escapes your lips, the tune turning heavy and blurry in your hands. You recycle the cords, the placement of your hands, winding and rewinding the sound until it plateaus into a somber hymn. “It wasn’t too long before my sister became sick too. Doctors refused treatments because it would cost them too much than just letting her die in pain.”

“I’m sorry, that’s awful.” 

“It is, but nothing money can’t solve. But the disease is genetic‒‒ causes you to slowly lose control of your own body and mind until you’re virtually unrecognizable. You die in terrible pain, so much of it.” Your voice comes breathy, the quiet piano slowing under your fingers. “I knew. When I received my mother's ashes in a cardboard box, I just felt it‒ that pain. I had to find a way to avoid all of that for my sister, at all costs. She’s fallen into a coma since then, I think the only thing keeping her alive is her fae genetics.” 

The music slowly twists to silence. “I was using your friend’s hair to see if I could isolate the genetic compound that would sustain her for longer. Just until I find a way to use my magic to put her to a peaceful sleep. She at least deserves that. To not be in pain when they come and…” 

You continue. “After she went into a coma, the hivemind recruited me. They look for various incarnates whenever a material body reaches its limit, usually two to three hundred years or so. But lucky me, I got stuck with the one in the middle of all this bullshit.” The warmth lingers on the keys as you lift your hands from them, rubbing your face in exasperation. “Apparently Hypnos used to be one of the various death gods, but separated after some  disagreements with their twin, Thanatos, the god of death. The last incarnate managed to evade them pretty well while maintaining their own temples and devotees, but it’s difficult in this modern age. People avoid sleep. Maybe I'm just destined to die off. Hypnos, I mean, but maybe me too.” 

“I think,” He ponders for a moment, rubbing his palm with his thumb. “I think that would be incredibly lonely.” 

You twirl a poppy flower between your fingers. A tired smile presses onto your lips. A comfort to Silver. “Progress knows no master. The world will keep turning. They’ll find someone or something new.”

“Then you are part of the world worth taking into that future.”

When his gaze reaches yours, you fill your lungs with air to suffocate the erratic beat of your heart. He continues, “I know you look over me ‒‒ or‒‒ all of us. You watch over us, I feel it. I think there will forever be people like me who will know these small morsels of happiness in sleep as a location of our love. It's where we're allowed to dream of the past and future‒‒ of potential.”

A hum in response. “None of my temples or shrines remain, so I think I'm already being forgotten by this world. It had been a while since I've slept, let alone dream. If sleep incarnate doesn’t dream, who will?” You titter, falling deeper into the ache of your bones. 

He thinks, I will. Instead, he gives you evidence. “I have, haven’t I?”

“I don’t know where to put this feeling. It's the silence that kills me, the vast emptiness that digs a hole inside my chest. I don't like the quiet, so I don't sleep. I don’t dream. It's like the past and present are pressing up against me‒‒ and I am suffocating. The infinity of both is too much to bear, and I have no space in my mind to dream of a future, a past, or a present for myself. It's an opium weight, dragging and numbing." You shake. 

“What do you wish to dream of then, if you could?”

A chuckle creeks through your hoarse voice. “I dream of…life. To be awake, startlingly so‒‒ not the kind now, where I'm just wading through life, numbed by the repetitiveness of it all, or swinging towards a vile buzzing inside of me. I dream of time, to feel it. I wish that I would have known you sooner.” A smile. “I wish I could stop dying.”

Pitiful. You hear it in your brother's voice, so you wash it over with your laughter.

Silver closes the space between you and him, brushing away strands of his hair that kisses your face as you look up towards him. 

“Your temples, what were they like?”

Your predecessor’s memories pour into you, a century of desire and hope and despair all at once. You search for yourself inside of them, wading through the striations of your being. “My temples, they were…” Honey-warm. Golden earth. Chalices filled with ambrosia, teeming with a nectarine glow. “Beautiful. You would have liked them. They're the perfect place to nap. My followers were like cats‒ the way they could find the warmest places of the land. I mainly remember that warmth, like being cradled by sun-kissed clouds.”

Silver suggests a walk. Something about seeing it in a dream with you, and that his father always suggested it to clear the mind. Oh, he reminds you, I’ll introduce you to him. 

The two of you lie there for the rest of the time, talking about everything and nothing. That cloud looks like an acorn, that one an apple. Have you seen that post Carter made on Magicam? I tried to modify the smell of these poppies over here, and their color on that side. Did you sleep well? How about that pillow I lent you? Did you dream of me? Can I meet you there again? 

In the field of poppies you both lie your bodies in, you roll to your side, cradled in Silver’s golden gaze as you drift. The silence of your mind does not haunt you in your dreams, but instead, an aurora glow, singing with warmth. 

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

“Is this some cruel joke?” You blind rapidly, the small statue he handed to you shaking in your gasp. 

Silver mimics your movements, taken off guard. “Why would it be a joke?” 

"Do you think this is funny?" 

"Nothing is funny about this. What are you talking about?" He reaches towards you, and you sway back from him, pushing a withered laughter from your throat. 

"I know I act like a fucking idiot most of the time but I have feelings too, you know."

"I’m not sure I follow. "

“This can’t possibly be real. I must be dreaming.” 

There’s a long pause from Silver before he takes your hand. “This is real.” 

You squirm from his grasp, falling to your knees again to inspect his gift. "Won't you just stop it already?! I can't do this anymore‒ I…" Your head hangs low between your shoulders, you stare at the earth which runs deep with your brother's doings. 

He reaches to you once more, guides your fingers to the inscription of the statue. 

Through a bleary vision, you read,

(Name), Sleep Incarnate. In sleep they flood the moral world with their sweet bliss. Adored, and cherished. 

You run a finger against the groves of each letter, testing the reality of each word inscribed. The oils on your hands release the aroma of the timber‒ black walnut, unlike the marble and gilded gold of your statues before, this lacquered wood smells distinctly of this earthly world, and shaped clearly from Silver’s hand. The carved figure is the same‒ each dip and curve imprinted with his work, features smooth as your own flesh. A small smile is adored on your face, framed with the messy curls of hair‒ that freckle you'd forgotten about, that small white scar running across your arm‒ the smallest ticks and imperfections you'd never imagine anyone would notice. But Silver did, everything about you, the way your throat bobbed when you laughed, the crooked corners of your smile, the softness of your eyes when he looked into them‒ all of these things had become raised and solid in his mind, now a perfect seal to press onto wood to honor them properly. And all of that, adorned in poppies. They were carved of solid wood, but you felt their bloom in your chest, their roots spreading the warmth inside you. 

You sweep your finger over that title, over and over, sculpting each grove made in his hand in your heart. Adored, and cherished. If he were to replace your name entirely with that sweetness, you would be alright with forgetting your arcane title, your human one too. 

"I know it’s not made very well, I tried to‒"

"You made this? For me?" 

"Of course." Of course I would do this for you. Of course I did. That conviction runs like electricity within you. 

Your voice wobbles, the tightness of your throat coming with the salt of your eyes. "Adored, and cherished. Did you mean to carve that?" 

"I will be your first and last follower. Not just of Hypnos, but you."

Finally, he sees that smile on your lips. The same way he carved it in his mind, then the wood. "Okay." A beat, you turn towards him with a light expression, but look into him with an unwavering expression. “I believe you.”

The shore you have built in your isolation breaks down in waves. Silver holds you, tightly, and steadies the ocean of your breaking. In his arms, it is not sanctuary you feel, but half the weight of it all‒- half your heart, returning to you once more to bear it all. A body to contour your own to confirm its reality.

You write a final letter a few nights later. 

Dear Sister, 

I understand now, the way you seemed most alive, teeming with golden passion as you bent over your papers and books in that sterile hospital room. Your body was willowy, peeled of its life, but you had hope. For me, and for the world, always. I have read your entire dissertation now, 59 years after you have left this world. It took me this, long, but I do understand now.

I know this story has already been told, I have already bid him goodbye like I have with you, and everyone else. Our loyal sun will breathe its final breath, and explode into a million pieces, carried by only the force of its destruction. You told me, then, through letters and the footnotes of your dissertation, that this dying starlight will be recycled into the life and laugher of the universe. We will all collapse into entropy, and fade to the fringes of the universe, our lives just a fraying dream, a lost language of memory and desire. I know I will meet you here, somehow, in this vast emptiness, and I will meet him too. 

I see two golden strings‒ weaving their way through this decay, together. I have no evidence for this. Just my hope, just my love. Its weight is tripled with you and him. 

I will meet you all in this dream. 

With all the love, at the corners of our fraying world, 

(Name)

[soranyuus]

The florist | eren jeager

chapter 01/???

Flowers speak in whispers. A language older than war, softer than sorrow.

A bouquet can confess love or weave a silent curse. A lily at a doorstep means sympathy, but at a grave, it means goodbye. Daisies are innocence. Peonies, longing. Poppies, remembrance. Some flowers bloom only in the presence of death—jasmine creeping over headstones, lilies unfolding in mourning halls. Others belong to lovers, pressed between pages, hidden in coat pockets, carried like secrets against the skin.

And then, there are the flowers that grow where they shouldn't. The stubborn ones. The ones that break through cracks in forgotten roads, daring to bloom in places ruined by fire and grief.

Those are the ones [Y/N] understands best.

"Oh dear, there you go again, losing yourself in those bouquets."

Ms. Schmidt's voice pulled her from her thoughts. The old woman shook her head with a fond smile, just as she did every day. She was the grandmother of a fallen soldier, one of the many left waiting, clinging to ghosts. She had said the same thing before her grandson went to war, before he became a name on a casualty list, before she started living in a yesterday that would never return.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Schmidt. Flowers have a language of their own. Would you care for one?"

She offered, though she already knew the answer.

"No, dear. I'll wait until Otto comes back. He promised to buy this old lady a purple hyacinth bouquet. I hear it's a sign of victory."

A simple smile. Hope in her eyes. Hope that didn't know how to die.

[Y/N] swallowed. "Yes, Ms. Schmidt. They do mean victory."

She couldn't bring herself to say the rest.

Purple hyacinths mean victory, but they also mean sorrow.

"I thought so. Well, I don't want to disrupt your stand, so I'll be on my way."

Ms. Schmidt turned with the same quiet enthusiasm she carried every day, making her way toward the post office, where she would sit from morning till dusk, waiting for a letter that would never come.

The usual hum of Liberio pressed in around [Y/N]'s flower stand, a low thrum of voices, the rhythmic clatter of a handcart rolling over uneven cobblestones, the distant laughter of children playing in the alleyways. Even in the early morning, the internment zone was alive, restless, a hive of subdued movement. So many people, all confined within the same unyielding walls.

"Excuse me, miss! Can you help me pick a flower? I want to give it to a boy."

The voice was small, nearly lost in the noise.

A little girl, no older than twelve, stood before the stand, her fingers curled in the fabric of her dress.

[Y/N] smiled, stepping around the stall to kneel at eye level. "Of course, love. Tell me, what is he like?"

She always liked to know about the people receiving her flowers. It made the bouquets feel more personal, more like messages whispered between hearts.

The girl scrunched up her nose, thinking hard. "Well... he has blond hair and big hazel eyes... oh! And he's brave, I think. And he wants to fly."

Fly?

[Y/N] let the word sit on her tongue, tasting the innocence of childhood dreams. She reached for a cluster of soft yellow roses. "These," she said, holding one out for the girl to see. "They mean friendship and kindness. A sweet gesture for a brave boy."

The girl's eyes lit up. "Yes! He'd like those."

She carefully counted out her small collection of coins, trading them for the flowers before clutching them tightly to her chest. Then, just as quickly as she had come, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

[Y/N] watched her go, a faint smile touching her lips. Fly, she mused. Children and their dreams.

She loved her job. In a place weighed down by grief, she had the rare privilege of offering something beautiful—something that, even for a fleeting moment, could make people forget the hell they lived in. She cherished the way their faces softened as they spoke of their loved ones, how their eyes brightened when they described them, how, just for a heartbeat, they seemed to step outside the misery of their world.

[Y/N] was carefully arranging a bouquet of scarlet poppies when she noticed a small contingent of Marleyan soldiers walking briskly down the street. They flanked a man who favored his left leg, his face pale and drawn. Another wounded soldier, another casualty of the endless tension that suffocated Liberio. She barely spared them a glance before returning to her work. The hospital was in that direction. Such sights were nothing new.

A woman standing nearby had stopped to stare, but her partner quickly tugged at her sleeve. "Come on, we can't look at the soldiers too long. Who knows what the Marleyans might do to us? Let's buy our bouquet and go."

The man turned to [Y/N] with weary eyes, the kind that had seen too much yet still burned with quiet desperation. "Hi, can we buy a bouquet? It's for her mother. I'm trying to get her blessing."

[Y/N] offered a small smile. "Of course. Tell me about her. Every bouquet should feel like it belongs."

The woman hesitated, then spoke softly. "She's reserved. Always hoped the world would be different. Her hands..." she looked down at her own, tracing invisible lines against her palm. "They're worn, full of creases. She knits a lot."

[Y/N] nodded and reached for the first flower. A white camellia. "For maternal love," she murmured, tucking it into the bouquet.

Next, she selected a purple aster. "She must be a patient woman, waiting for a world that never changed."

The gladiolus came next, its tall, strong stalk standing out among the delicate petals. "This one is for her strength. Endurance."

She paused before adding a dark red carnation, glancing at the man. "Deep love, but also caution." The unspoken words lingered in the air.

An olive branch, a quiet promise of peace and protection. A myrtle blossom, symbolizing devotion.

Finally, she lifted a chrysanthemum, turning it between her fingers. "And this... for the unspoken things. The sorrows we carry."

The woman took the finished bouquet as if holding something fragile, something sacred. "Oh my... it's lovely," she breathed, eyes glistening as she turned to her partner. "She'll love this, darling."

The sight of her smile alone seemed to lift the weight from his shoulders. If only for a moment, he forgot the war waiting for him. And only the stars knew whether he would return.

She glanced at the sky. It was nearly noon now. The warm sun hung in the air, casting long shadows on the cobblestones beneath her feet. It was time to close up her stand. As always, she moved with quiet grace, her fingers brushing the petals one last time, as if saying goodbye to each flower.

She gently pushed the small camellia bud down into the bin where she kept the others. The camellia was still a bud—fragile and waiting. Each day, she hoped it would bloom, and each day, she watched it patiently, knowing that it would open on its own time.

The old watering can, already filled with water from the early morning, was perched by the stand. She lifted it carefully, giving each flower the water it needed, her hands moving with practiced ease. The marigolds, their bright orange petals beginning to wilt, still held some vitality. She watered them gently, fingers brushing against the edges of the petals, feeling the last traces of their life.

There was something meditative about the routine. As she watered, she took a moment to breathe in the scent of the earth and flowers—a quiet reminder of the life she tended to each day, even in the midst of chaos. The flowers were her sanctuary.

When the watering was done, she set the can back beside the stand. Then, moving with the same tenderness, she picked up the drying marigolds. Their vibrant petals were curling slightly at the edges, the color fading, but they still held a touch of warmth. These would be perfect for tea, she thought. She had promised a friend some of her herbal blend, and the marigolds were a key ingredient. They helped calm the mind, ease the body, and lift the spirits.

She placed the marigolds gently into a small pouch, her fingers brushing over the petals as if to send them off with a blessing. The pouch was small, but it would be just enough. She tucked it carefully into her basket, alongside her notebook, pen, and coin pouch.

"Goodbye, dears," she murmured softly, almost as if speaking to a group of old friends. "I'll be back soon." Her voice was quiet, but firm in its assurance. The flowers, now tucked away for the day, seemed to rest in peace beneath the wooden shelves of the stand.

With one last lingering glance at the corner of the market, she turned and began to start her Chores.

Her first stop would be the Karpov Bakery. It was a small, familiar haven tucked between the rows of overcrowded market stalls. As [Y/N] passed by the other stands, she overheard the endless bargaining and the harsh calls for rations—voices raised in frustration, the collective pulse of the market vibrating in the air. Oh dear, another day filled with sounds of suffering, she thought, feeling the weight of it press down on her. She tried to distract herself by counting the stones underfoot—an old habit, a simple act that never truly shielded her from the harsh reality.

Dust, dry earth, and blood, a cocktail of scents clung to everything in the internment zone. Yet, despite the oppressive atmosphere, it was the comforting smell of warm bread and yeasty sweetness that drew her forward, a faint glimmer of solace in an otherwise bleak world. The Karpov Bakery, with its homely scent of freshly baked goods, was one of the few places where, for a moment, life felt a little softer.

She was almost at the bakery when the sharp voice of a patrolling officer sliced through the low hum of the market.

"You, stop right there!"

Everyone froze, eyes shifting nervously towards the source. The officer's face twisted with disdain as he pointed an accusing finger at a man. "Where is your band, devil?"

The word made [Y/N]'s stomach tighten in disgust. It was a word she had grown to loathe, associated with them, the Eldians, merely for the sins of the past. She could feel the weight of history in it, the condemnation, the hatred, all of it directed at the innocent.

Her gaze flicked toward the man, watching as the officer's hand clutched his rifle tighter. She couldn't stand to witness the cruelty that would inevitably follow. It was something she had seen far too many times, and each time, it burned her in the same way. Without thinking, she ducked into the nearest alley, her heart pounding as she quickened her steps.

As soon as she turned the corner, the stifling heat of the bakery wrapped around her, soft and comforting, pushing away the harshness of the outside world. The yeasty air carried the scent of freshly baked loaves and pastries, filling her lungs with warmth. It felt like stepping into a different world, even if only for a moment.

Behind the counter, Jannie Karpov, her friend and the bakery's owner, looked up from her kneading. Flour dusted her apron, and a faint streak of dough marked her cheek. When she saw [Y/N], a smile spread across her face, the familiar, crinkled lines at the corners of her eyes deepening.

"[Y/N]! Good to see you. The usual?" Jannie's voice was light, a welcomed contrast to the tension in the streets outside.

[Y/N] smiled, feeling a little lighter. "Morning, Jannie. Yes, please. And how are things smelling in here today?" She stepped inside, letting the warmth soothe her.

Jannie chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face with the back of her hand. "Busy as ever. Everyone seems to need a bit of comfort in these times, and bread's a good place to start." Her voice dropped slightly, as if weighed down by a quiet worry. "I heard they brought in a few more injured at the hospital last night. You heading that way later?" Her gaze held a flicker of concern.

[Y/N] nodded, keeping her tone steady. "Just my usual deliveries," she said, though her heart ached. She could already see the crowded wards in her mind—the stench of antiseptic, the quiet groans, the lost hope.

Jannie sighed softly, her gaze momentarily far away. "Well, you be careful out there. This place... it feels like a tinderbox sometimes." She reached for a warm loaf, her hands moving with practiced ease. Then, with a wink, she slipped something extra into [Y/N]'s basket. "And for my favorite florist, a little something extra."

[Y/N] glanced down to see a golden, sweet roll nestled among the other goods. She smiled at the gesture. "Thank you," she said softly, slipping the roll into her basket.

"And," she added, her voice warm but slightly teasing, "I brought you what I promised."

From the folds of her apron, [Y/N] pulled out the small pouch of drying marigolds, careful not to let them unravel. She held it out gently, her fingers tracing the edges of the pouch as if to remind herself that they still had purpose.

Jannie's eyes lit up when she saw it. "You really do spoil me," she laughed softly, accepting the pouch with gratitude. "These will make a lovely tea. I'll be sure to save them for when I need a little peace."

[Y/N] smiled, though her thoughts lingered on the woman's words. Everyone needed peace these days, but it was a rare commodity. "I'm happy to help," she replied quietly. "I know how hard it can get here."

Jannie smiled back, though there was a sadness in her gaze that spoke volumes. "We all need something to hold onto. I'm just glad you're here to share that with me."

They stood in a moment of quiet understanding before [Y/N] broke the silence. "I'll leave you to it. I've got to get back to work."

"Of course," Jannie replied, her smile returning. "Take care, [Y/N]. And remember, if you ever need a break, you know where to find me."

With a nod and a final smile, [Y/N] picked up her basket and turned toward the door, the comforting warmth of the bakery still lingering as she stepped back into the chaos outside.

The familiar weight of her basket settled comfortably on her arm as [Y/N] turned down the well-worn path toward the Liberio Hospital.

The route took her past rows of tightly packed houses, their walls sagging under years of neglect. Laundry hung precariously from makeshift lines, fluttering weakly in the dry wind. The muted murmur of countless lives echoed from behind those thin walls, each home holding its own small universe of stories. She passed children playing in a dusty patch of ground, their laughter hollow and muted, a far cry from the carefree joy she imagined the world once had, before the war.

A knot of worry tightened in her chest at the thought of Jannie's words, about the ever-growing number of injuries. The hospital had become a constant fixture of pain and suffering in this corner of the world—a grim reminder that peace was something they could only dream of.

The gates of the hospital loomed ahead, rusted and battered by time, bearing the scars of struggle and neglect. It was a far cry from the pristine, well-kept facilities of the Marleyans.

As she stepped into the courtyard, the atmosphere was heavy, filled with the quiet hum of people trying to heal from the war. A few patients, still in the early stages of recovery, attempted to walk with shaky steps, while others sat with family members who had come to visit. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the palpable weight of suffering. But there was a quiet resilience too, visible in the patients' eyes as they clung to the fragments of life that remained.

A nurse quickly approached her, her face lighting up with recognition. "We missed you yesterday, [Y/N]! We've had so many new patients, each one worse than the last." Mira's voice carried a mixture of warmth and concern as she guided [Y/N] toward the main office.

[Y/N] laughed softly, though the sound was tinged with apology. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it yesterday. I wasn't feeling well, but I do hope to make up for it today. Oh, and Ms. Schmidt passed by my stand again, as she does every day. Is she feeling any better?"

Mira's expression darkened for a moment. "No, I'm afraid she's getting worse." She sighed, her voice soft with sorrow. "I wish I could spend more time with her, but the constant flow of new patients... it's overwhelming. But here, these are our newest arrivals, and the ones you missed yesterday." She handed [Y/N] a packet of papers, the crisp sheets filled with names and photos of the patients. "Take care of yourself, alright? Don't overwork."

"I won't," [Y/N] promised, tucking the packet under her arm as she walked quietly down the hall. The first name on her list was Len Orlovo, a man who had lost two fingers in the war.

She reached his room and paused outside the door, listening to the muffled sounds of movement inside. Taking a deep breath, she knocked gently. "Mr. Orlovo, may I come in? It's [Y/N], the florist," she called, her voice soft but clear. She always introduced herself this way, many of the patients here were cynical and jaded, and she'd learned the hard way that only those who knew who was coming would open their doors.

There was a pause before she heard a gravelly voice from inside. "Come in," it called, and she slowly turned the handle.

Inside the room sat an old man, his face weathered and worn, yet his eyes still held a flicker of hope. [Y/N] was accustomed to seeing soldiers of all ages; to the Marleyans, age mattered little, if you could walk, you were sent to the frontlines.

"May I sit?" she asked, gesturing to the seat across from the bed where Mr. Orlovo sat. He nodded without a word.

She always tried to lighten the mood, offering a gentle smile in an attempt to break the heaviness of the war-torn silence. "If I may ask, Mr. Orlovo, how was your life before the war? You look quite dashing, one can only imagine what you were like in your younger years."

There was a slight pause, and his eyes softened, as though the question had taken him back to a time before the war. "I was a farmer. With my brothers, I tended to the livestock..." His voice carried a wistful note.

[Y/N] pulled out her pen and notebook, making quick notes on the fresh page. Mr. Len Orlovo—farmer, tended to livestock, has brothers. She made sure to capture every detail, as these memories would guide her in crafting a bouquet that could transport him back to those moments, if only for a while. "That sounds lovely. I imagine you enjoyed being with the animals. You seem to have a kind heart, someone who understands the quiet nature of animals."

He glanced down at his hands, his gaze lingering on the missing fingers. "I was. I can still remember the soft touch of the sheep, and the warmth of the sun as I worked through the harsh afternoons..." His voice grew quieter, and for a brief moment, it was as if he could feel the warmth of those memories once again.

[Y/N] silently jotted down the details. Loves soft sheep, remembers the harsh sun of the afternoon. She closed her notebook and looked up, giving him a soft smile. "Thank you, Mr. Orlovo. It was wonderful to hear about your past. I promise to come back again tomorrow."

She bowed slightly, as a sign of respect, and he smiled faintly in return, the brief connection between them evident. "I'll be here, [Y/N]."

With that, she slowly turned, walking toward the door, and gently closed it behind her, the weight of his memories lingering in her mind.

[Y/N] consulted the next name on her list: "??? Kruger."

She found the room number and walked down the hall, her footsteps echoing softly on the linoleum floor. Reaching the door, she paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to center herself after her previous encounter with Mr. Orlovo. She knocked gently. "Mr. Kruger? May I come in? It's [Y/N], the florist."

She waited, but the silence stretched longer than expected. 'Is there no one inside?' she wondered. It wasn't uncommon for some soldiers to prefer isolation, unwilling to face strangers when they were so deeply entrenched in their personal struggles.

As [Y/N] began to turn away, she heard a faint voice, raspy and filled with weariness. "Come in."

"Thank you, Mr. Kruger," she replied softly, opening the door just enough to step inside. She knew not to appear too eager or intrusive—some soldiers could be deeply cynical, and her gentle approach often helped to bridge that gap.

Inside, Mr. Kruger lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His hair was overgrown, partially obscuring the bandage wrapped around his face, covering the eye that had clearly suffered a severe injury. Beside the bed, a crutch leaned against the wall, and where his left leg should have been, only fabric was tied to the bedframe, marking the absence of his limb.

"You must be new here, Mr. Kruger," [Y/N] said, keeping her tone light and respectful. "I make custom bouquets for those who stay in the hospital." She held her hands in front of her, an unspoken gesture of peace, an attempt to provide comfort in the subtle way she knew best.

But Mr. Kruger only exhaled, a heavy sigh, and closed his eyes, as if the weight of the world had become too much to bear.

[Y/N] stood quietly for a moment, sensing his reluctance. She was no stranger to soldiers in pain—physical, emotional, or both—but each person had their own walls to put up, and she never pushed too hard. 

She simply waited, giving him space, knowing that sometimes silence was the only thing soldiers needed. After a few more moments passed in stillness, [Y/N] took a small, almost imperceptible step back, her hand lightly resting on the handle of her woven basket.

"I understand if you're not feeling up to visitors right now, Mr. Kruger," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking louder might disrupt the fragile air between them.

"I just wanted to let you know that I visit the hospital each day with fresh flowers. If you ever feel like having some color in your room... or if you'd like me to create a bouquet for you, please don't hesitate to let Nurse Mira know." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway, nodding slightly, her tone gentle and understanding. "There's no pressure at all."

He turned his head just enough to face her. His green eyes, unlike the others she'd encountered, were void of any glimmer of hope. Instead, they seemed distant, almost hollow, as if he had long since abandoned any expectation of kindness or recovery. There was a flicker of something else—perhaps disdain, but it was difficult to decipher in the stillness of the room.

[Y/N] gave a soft smile, though it was tinged with sadness for what lay behind those eyes. "Alright, Mr. Kruger. I hope you feel better soon," she said, bowing slightly, her respect and empathy lingering in her voice.

With that, she quietly turned, her footsteps muffled by the soft carpet as she exited the room, her thoughts lingering on the soldier whose soul seemed as broken as his body.

She moved on, but the encounter remained, heavy like a shadow, as she continued her rounds.

The scent of the flowers, faint but persistent, lingered in the sterile air long after she left. Kruger remained staring at the ceiling, his body still and his mind working overtime, sifting through the fragments of information he'd gathered from the brief encounter.

The woman with the flowers... Her kindness had been a fleeting anomaly, an unexpected splash of unwanted color in the otherwise gray, desolate world he had made for himself here. He couldn't afford distractions. A gentle touch, a smile—these were things he had no use for, especially in a place like this. His purpose was clear, unwavering, and these small acts of compassion had no place in it.

He forced himself to push the thought away, focusing instead on the faces of those who truly mattered—his comrades, the mission, the greater cause. His resolve, already a brittle thing, began to harden again. The scent of blossoms, once so intrusive, now faded into the background, replaced by the bitter, almost metallic taste of his resolve.

Flowers. What a pointless gesture in a place like this.

| next chapter

[adhdream1409]

Into Playtime's Hands

This is a flashback sequence I wrote for my Poppy Playtime AU: the "Stray Souls AU". The AU itself is gonna involve multiple fandoms including but not limited to FNAF, Marvel, BATIM, and Undertale/Underverse. But until I get the chance to write up some proper bios and get a few of the beginning chapters written (maybe a few one-shots to sum up some backstory stuff), I will probably only post small sections that involve minimal OC interaction. This passage is Jack's fateful visit to the Playtime Factory. It's written from his POV so there is going to be TW: depictions of child death and drowning, so please be aware of that if you choose to read it. (If I should add that to the tags on this post please let me know, I'm still new to Tumblr and the tagging system). My AU will be doing some small retcons but as far as this section goes, it should be cannon-compliant (with small headcannons/speculation on things not specifically mentioned or explained in-game). Anyway...Enjoy the angst!

(Italics indicate internal dialogue or thoughts of the POV character, unless it is specified to be someone else's thoughts.)

Jack’s eyes were filled with wonder as he followed his parents through the playtime factory. From the moment they pulled into the lot and saw the colorful building’s exterior, he was buzzing with excitement! As they entered the colorful lobby, Jack could see the entrance to the factory itself just behind the turnstiles. In front of the entrance was a small waiting area filled with other tourists. He could hardly contain his excitement watching his parents hand over their tickets to the woman at the front desk.

Taking his mom’s hand and practically dragging her through the turnstiles, they joined the waiting crowd. A youngish looking guy, maybe an older teen, wearing a Playtime polo stood by the doors looking at the large crowd. He looked a bit worried for some reason, but Jack was far too busy taking in every inch of the building to notice.

“Welcome, friends, to the Playtime Co. Factory! I am Brendan, and I will be your tour guide for today! Now, before we go in, we have a few rules to make sure–”

Jack’s attention wandered to the murals on the walls and the colorful pattern of tiles on the floor. How did they make it look so random but organized? He wished HE knew how to do that. If he could do that to his room, then maybe he wouldn’t have to clean up so much. His attention snapped back to the Tour guide as he said,

“To stay safe…Now follow me!” He swiped a card on his belt in a scanner to the side of the door which opened to reveal a long hallway. The end of the hall opened into a large round room with a domed glass ceiling. In the center of the room stood a giant statue of one of playtime’s most popular mascots, Huggy Wuggy. He was super tall! More than twice the height of Jack’s Dad!

Wow! I wonder if they have giant statues of all their mascots! He would love it if they did! Then he could see giant smiling critters, a giant PJ Pugipillar, or best of all, a GIANT Doey the Doughman!

Doey had been Jack’s favorite character as long as he could remember! He loved watching his show. Usually there were kids who were bored or who had a problem they didn’t know how to fix, but Doey would always show up and help them with whatever was wrong. 

“I can be anything you KNEAD!” he would chuckle. Sometimes, when Jack had a problem he couldn't fix, like the time his kite got stuck in a tree, or when he had forgotten his homework at school, he would imagine Doey coming to the rescue! 

“If you’ll follow me this way we can enter some of the production facilities.” Brendan led the group through a set of doors and down a long hallway. Jack let go of his mom’s hand and squeezed his Doey doll with both arms, so excited he could barely contain himself.

“Jack, you need to hold my hand while we’re in here…I don’t want you wandering off and getting lost.” his mom chided.

“Aw…mom…I won’t wander off! I promise!”

She sighed and shook her head, “Alright, just stay close to me…I don’t want you getting hurt.”

`~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before long they were entering the catwalks in the area Jack had most looked forward to, the room where they made Doey Dough. The room had a large mural of Doey on the wall, and the walkways were suspended over giant tube-shaped machines churning the bubbling dough. There were so many colors! It was so incredible! 

Brendan was saying something about when Doey Dough was first invented, but Jack was busy peering over the railing at the machines below. His mom shouted at him from a few yards ahead of him not to wander off, but he wasn’t wandering. He was just looking. Everyone was still right there. He didn’t understand what she was so worried about.

“He’s not listening to a thing I say, is he?” his mom muttered, turning to her husband a bit further ahead.

“Not even a little bit.” his dad replied. Which wasn’t entirely fair, since he WASN’T wandering, and she hadn’t asked him anything. He just wanted to see how the machines worked.

He leaned against the railing, mesmerized by the process. He watched the machine’s mixing arm going round and round…he had never seen so much dough all at once in his life!

There’s so much I could swim in it!

Not that he’d want to, the dough bubbled like the soups his mom would make when the weather got cold. She always made warm soup for Jack since she knew how much he hated the cold. Maybe she could make some tonight when they got home. He turned his head to look at the group further ahead when he felt a slight movement and heard a low creaking. He looked back to the railing he was leaning on. 

Has that bend always been there? Maybe I should stand a little further awa–

The rail suddenly gave out and Jack felt himself tip forward as he yelled in alarm. He tried to grab onto the walkway, but the surface was slick and slippery. He heard his mother scream, and heard dozens of footsteps rushing towards him.

His heart was pounding as he hung suspended over the bubbling vat. He heard an alarm blaring as his mother shouted,

“GRAB HIM! SOMEBODY! GRAB HIM!”

His mom was right there, she reached towards him, his dad holding her other hand so she wouldn’t lose her balance. Jack let go with one hand to reach for hers…

And he slipped…

Down…down…down he fell…He watched his mother’s face morph from worry into horror as he fell further and further from her outstretched hand. Did he fall for minutes? Hours? Maybe it was only a second or two…he couldn’t really tell.

There was a searing pain as he dropped into the viscous material, feeling it close over his head with a “blorp” sound. 

There was still yelling, but the dough muffled it and he couldn’t tell what was being said. He reached up as high as he could, feeling his hand stick out of the gooey blue material that clung to him. He tried kicking his legs like he was swimming, but the material wasn’t like water…he could barely move in it. As he tried to reach his other hand out so someone could pull him free, the metal mixing bar swung around and hit him, pushing him further under the dough than before. 

His thoughts became more and more confusing and he felt more and more anxious as he fought desperately to get to the surface! He needed to breathe! He couldn’t breathe! His body tried to pull in a breath but his mouth and lungs filled with the hot sticky dough. He tried to cough it out but he COULDN’T!...he couldn’t…

…so…hot…can’t…breathe…Mommy! Daddy! I wanna go home! Help me! Please! Somebody help me!

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Do you have ideas for how the Angel and The Prototype ship would occur and progress? (Like, who would get feelings for who first, who would they get advice from, how the toys would react, if it would be an even bigger romcom than Dogday and Catnap…)

FINALLY, MY TIME HAS ARRIVED.

Angel x Prototype in the Everyone Is Saved AU first starts after Angel finds a nice house for all the toys to live in. After everyone is moved out and settled in, Catnap convinces Prototype to leave the abandoned factory. Prototype reluctantly agrees, making sure to grab every single document he can find with him. I know Prototype is known by the authorities because Angel had to tell them about him, but not by the general public. When he leaves Playtime, it's a very quick and effective escape and into a small hut outside the farm.

This new place is way smaller than Playtime, physically wise, but it feels so much better in every way possible. Prototype is weirded out by everything at this point, even the sound of the toys playing with each other and talking like normal kids and young adults would do instead of trying to hunt each other for food like before. Elliot's mind is full, all the memories from the toys he absorbed together with his own, and now his brain finally has time to work out through the +10 years of trauma. He dissociates a lot, his hallucinations get weirder, all the good stuff about dealing with trauma, and the only ones who are there for him are Catnap and Angel.

Oh, Angel...

So we all can agree that Angel is also suffering from PTSD, right? And on top of that, they're taking care of +80 kids! Yeah some of them are young adults, but from Angel's POV those are still THEIR kids, and they have no idea how they work. Except Prototype does, and thus their relationship evolves from merely two adults desperate to give a better life to monster toys to two adults having no fucking idea what they're supposed to do for them. Prototype feels like he will never be able to repay for his sins, Angel feels like they'll never be able to provide everything the kids need. So one day Angel stays up late in Prototype's hut just talking about the toys, with Proto/Elliot also talking about them, and the two just go "this feels so overbearing, right?", and the other agrees.

When Prototype's relationship with Catnap finally gets better when they have some important conversations about the decade-long post Hour of Joy, there's a notable shift in his behavior, because now that he feels like he has his kid back it's like things can indeed be better. Cue to Angel getting better at dealing with the other toys, and as months go by their bond becomes stronger and more than just "hey the kids gave me a lot of work today and I need to drink/smoke, i'll stay at your hut so I won't be a bad example to them".

The really good stuff hits only after Poppy finds out that Prototype = Elliot Ludwig = her actual dad, because it's Angel grabbing Proto around and going "TALK. WITH. YOUR. KIDS", and it's the first time in decades since someone ever did that to him, because who in their right mind would bicker with a monster like HIM? And then Angel does exactly that. Smacks him with a newspaper and demands him to get his shit together instead of spiraling further into depression.

Somewhere during the months where Prototype is being promoted to parent #2 by each toy, one by one, is when Angel realizes that their friendship is getting a bit Funky(tm), but they just. Ignore it. Two years post-Playtime Co. go by and Angel is just there like "what I feel for parent #2 is entirely platonic and I do not think of him as anything else than a friend at all hahaha it would be weird right. Because he still talks to me about how he misses his wife (they divorced each other +70 years ago) and how he feels like he failed literally everyone important to him. I mean he didn't fail me what I see is just a guy struggling to be better and honestly I'm worse than him and- oh wait What" until like, they go to a family trip and Prototype decides to stay behind to watch over the farm, and Angel misses him way more than they think they would just miss a dear friend, and it's not just because he helps them with the kids.

Anyways Angel is panicking in all levels except physical when one day Prototype is talking with Catnap and Poppy (they're having a three-toy "tea party" because Pop wanted them to have a small family gathering) and she looks at him in the eye(s) and says "dad, are you sure you don't feel anything else for Angel?", and Proto is just "why are you asking me that???". Cue to Catnap staring at him like

And then Prototype realizes it's not very normal kind of platonic two months later when Angel, as per usual, is called by a scammer. And, as per house protocol, all the toys immediately go to the living room as Angel says "hold up, can you talk to my husband for a moment?" and gives Prototype the phone and tells him to do his thing and annoy the scammer. And Prototype feels weirdly a tiny bit too happy about pretending to be someone else's husband.

At this point the other toys are eyeing the two of them and going "no way..." as the two IDIOTS show them that yeah, yeah, they're witnessing the second romcom of the house, after Catnap and Dogday's telenovela-level worthy levels of drama. Some of them, like Kickin and Dogday himself, think it's no big deal, just two people being friendly, that's all, and then some time later Prototype accidentally sleeps over Angel's room during a thunderstorm (Angel is afraid he'll get struck by lightning so he stays in the main house for safety), and Angel, a genius Made In Brazil, decides to sleep in their room anyways because why not, Proto is just giving free teddybear vibes.

Proto wakes up and just accepts his fate (he's happy with that). Angel is half-asleep and very content with the setup.

... Anyways. Next day goes by, surprise surprise, the family's cuddle pile for movie night now has Prototype added to it, and it's not because Angel sleeps better when he's around. Nope.

Poppy and Catnap are considering start doing some bets to see how long it'll take their parents to realize It's Not Normal Platonic Anymore(TM) at this point, and are unimpressed when Prototype goes to them, sighs, and agrees that Poppy indeed was right. Meanwhile Angel has NO IDEA what to do because it's Prototype/Elliot, no way they have a chance, they'll just end up ruining their little weird family structure, and Dogday and Mommy Long Legs calm them down.

Bobby Bearhug and Craftycorn are working with the other toys to see if they can make Angel realize they need to do something, because Prototype is NOT going to do ANYTHING because his therapy is going strong but his communication issues are stronger. Hoppy and Picky know all about it and try to make Prototype do something about it, while Kickin and Bubba are Dissapointed But Not Surprised at the Situationship going on. "Guess Dogday and Catnap aren't the only ones with communication issues...", they agree, not realizing they also have communication issues. Mommy Long Legs is losing her fucking mind because HOW can one household have SO MANY IDIOTS RUNNING AROUND AND WHY ARE HER ADOPTIVE PARENTS LIKE THAT. AAAAAA. It's good drama tho.

Poppy tasks herself with keeping tabs on what's happening between her two parents. Catnap is watching in the background like "stop being so dramatic over this, Pop, they're working adults, they sure can talk". He may or may have not be gathering information to share with the old ladies at the church he goes to, because those girls LOVE Angel and are all curious as to how their relationship with the kids' "second parent" going. Catnap never tells them much asides from "my mother is, once again, terrible at communication, but has been doing well", but even he starts getting a bit impatient at one point.

Prototype and Angel's big telenovela-level worthy of romance drama lasts a few months, mostly because they both need lots of time with themselves in order to figure out what to do, and also mostly because at some point Angel is pretty content with just being Prototype's non queerplatonic/romantic partner. They're just going with the flow, initial anxiety being left behind and all of that.

Also Angel is a really big freaking dumbass, because Prototype's way of affection is through pampering, and he has been pampering Angel for MONTHS at this point and our human just didn't notice it's not platonic pampering. Prototype gets them more than one flower bouquet and Angel is just "oh this will be very nice for the house, Bobby and Long Legs love red roses!", and he keeps giving them the bouquets because it makes Angel happy, thus making him happy.

No, Elliot doesn't realize Angel is also stupid. He just tries to flirt like it's the 1930s while Angel is flirting like "haha what if we were married. Just kidding! Unless...?"

I think Angel doesn't exactly confess to Prototype in a traditional way. One night they're both chilling at either the hut or Angel's room after a long day and Angel gathers the courage to ask him what they even are. "You're the children's Parent, and I am Elliot Ludwig". Angel reworks their question to be "I don't think we're just platonic friends anymore".

"Do you want to be more?", Prototype asks, hopeful. Angel pauses, then agrees. "Then we can be more". After some talk they settle on either queerplatonic or romantic - I don't know which one would work best, but I think they aren't just platonic or just romantic. Angel and Prototype understand and respect each other a lot, and their relationship, for me, can't be defined with a simple "it's romance" definition. They're just them, and that's what matters.

Also Prototype goes "I WAS TRYING TO GET YOUR ATTENTION FOR MONTHS!" and Angel goes "I WAS REFERRING TO YOU AS MY HUSBAND ALL THE TIME AND YOU JUST THOUGHT I WAS JOKING AND BEING A SMARTASS????"

... Also Angel can wear a ring now! Prototype as well. They tell the kids about their new Situationship and Poppy very happily says "I won our bet!" to Catnap. Everyone else is glad for their parents but also their real-life telenovela is no more..,....

Anyways, I think this post is getting too long, I may share hcs about how their relationship works later, if anyone is interested!

[vanillablankcanvas]

Oneshot -Broppy Wedding Planning

Pop Village was buzzing with celebration!

The former town grump, Branch had finally…

FINALLYYYYY!!!!!!-

Proposed to Queen Poppy!

And she said ‘Yes’!!!

The town had never been this excited!

This would be the first Royal Wedding since they escaped Bergen Town!

AND

The first Troll wedding attended by Bergens!

AND

It would be the first Royal Wedding to be attended by the other Trolls Tribes in centuries!

This was going to be the event of a lifetime!

Satin and Chenille had produced a scrapbook they had made for Poppy as an engagement gift. 

It was full of wedding ideas they had collected over the years that they thought Poppy could one day use.

Flower arrangements, colours, cakes, songs, dance numbers…

The scrapbook was huge!

Branch found Poppy in her pod later on.

Poppy was at a table lazily flipping through the pages of the scrapbook.

Branch sat across from her, surprised that she looked so deflated.

Without saying anything, Poppy pushed the scrapbook over for Branch to see.

Branch looked over a few pages.

“Wait? You've already planned everything?”

“No. Satin and Chenille made it.”

“And you're upset? Are their ideas that bad?

“No it's not that…” she looked away.

Branch put the book aside and took her hands into his.

“What is it you usually say to me? If you're having feelings, you can talk about them with me.”

Poppy sighed.

“It’s just…a lot”

Branch nodded encouragingly.

“Go on.”

“Look at it, Branch. Everyone is so excited for our wedding! Everyone is expecting a huge thing and we haven't even begun to plan anything yet!”

“You've never had trouble planning things like this before.”

“This is different. It's not just about me this time.”

Branch thought her words over.

“You're worried about me.”

Poppy looked over to him with almost apologetic eyes.

Branch smiled and leaned in close to whisper.

“Poppy, I don't know if you know this about me but…”

Poppy leaned her ear in.

“-Sometimes I over prepare for things.”

Poppy blinked at him then burst into silly giggles.

Branch smiled proudly that he was able to get her to laugh like this.

“Poppy when I proposed, I knew exactly who I was proposing to. I know what I'm getting myself into. So, individually handcrafted invitations? Coordinated dance numbers? Napkins matching the flowers? Each guest's face painted onto the cake?-”

“You're just giving me ideas now.”

“I’m saying that I want all of that with you.”

“...Really?” 

“I get to marry my best friend. We've been through a lot together and I think we should have the celebration we deserve.”

“It’s your wedding too. I don't want you to get overwhelmed just to make me happy. You don't think it's going to be too over the top?”

“I know it's going to be over the top! I'm fully prepared for that and happy to help in any way I can to go over the top with this. Let's really go ‘Poppy’ on this thing.” he smirked.

Poppy snort laughed at his word choice.

“You'll let me know it's too much?”

“Don't I always?”

Poppy narrowed her eyes skeptically. A cheeky grin spread across her face 

“How ‘Poppy’ are we talking?”

“I want you to go ‘Full Poppy’.”

“You do know what you're letting into the world, right?”

Branch kissed her hand then looked deep into her eyes.

“Let’s throw the biggest, loudest, craziest party ever.”

Poppy poked his chest.

“Keep saying things like that and we aren't gonna last until the honeymoon mister.” she growled.

Poppy smooched his cheek gratefully before she grabbed the scrapbook and took off to find Satin and Chenille.

It wasn't until she was out of sight that his eyes widened with the realization of what she was implying.

And Branch's lovestruck face flushed red.

[violetspots-2007]

Part 2 to that Welcome Home Incorrect Quotes post I made, like, a year ago. Wow how productive of me.

.

Poppy: Good morning.

Julie: Good morning.

Eddie: Good morning.

Barnaby: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit.

Sally: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS!

.

Barnaby, holding in their laughter: Hey, how do you ask a glass of water what it’s doing?

Frank: A glass of water is an inanimate object. Therefore, it's incapable of having a thought process or understanding basic human language.

Barnaby:

Barnaby: Water you doing?

.

Julie, peeling a banana: May I take your jacket, sir? Hahahaha.

Frank: Do you think other people can’t hear you?

.

Wally: Good. Thanks, dad.

Poppy: You just called Eddie “dad”. You just said “thanks, dad.”

Wally: What? No, I didn’t. I said “thanks, man”.

Eddie: Do you see me as a father figure, Wally?

Wally: No. If anything I see you as a bother figure ‘cause you’re always bothering me.

Howdy: Hey! Show your father some respect!

.

Howdy: *on the phone* Just snap his kneecaps and he’ll talk, I’m at a parent teacher conference.

Howdy: Anyways, you said Wally is enjoying finger painting! That's great.

.

Eddie: Shouldn't get stressed out, it's not good for the baby.

Wally: What baby?

Eddie, crying a bit: Me.

.

Wally: The shadow realm? No, I’m sending you to Ohio!

.

Howdy: Well, if you're not at least a little bit gay for your friends, then what kind of friend are you?

.

Frank, looking at a selfie of Wally's: I hate this photo.

Wally: I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly.

Frank: You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something.

Wally: Up to kindness.

.

*at a zoo*

Julie: What are they in for?

Frank: Julie, this isn't prison.

Julie: So they can leave?

Frank: No, but-

Julie, pointing at a meerkat: I bet that one murdered someone.

.

Poppy: Fine! Judge all you want but...

Poppy, points at Sally: Married a lesbian.

Poppy, points at Julie: Left a man at the altar.

Poppy, points at Wally: Fell in love with a gay ice dancer.

Poppy, points at Barnaby: Threw a girl’s wooden leg in a fire.

Poppy, points at Howdy: Lives in a box!

.

Julie: Frank and I are so close we even share a toothbrush.

Frank: We what?

.

Wally: I never tell people off the bat that I'm gay. I wait. I wait until they say some homophobic shit and then I laugh and am like "you know I'm gay right?" and watch the look of terror on their face.

Barnaby:

Barnaby: I like you.

.

Eddie: I think I'm falling for you.

Frank: Then get up.

.

Julie: Why do you act like we’re three year olds?

Frank, exasperated: WHY?!?

Frank points at Barnaby: YOU TRIED TO HYJACK A CAR!

Frank points at Wally: YOU NEARLY JUMPED 20 FEET OFF A CARPARK!

Frank points at Julie: AND YOU ATE MULTIPLE DRIED LEAVES AND ROCKS OFF THE GROUND!

Frank: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

.

Howdy: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash.

Frank: Oh. We're going out?

Howdy: Wh…

.

Wally: *gets set on fire and screams in agony*

Wally: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

.

Sally: I need 28 lightbulbs for 28 ducks.

Howdy: Ducks can’t eat lightbulbs?

Barnaby: I think that’s the point.

Sally: Exactly. I want my ducks to glow so I can find them.

.

Julie: Wasn't icarly that guy that girlbossed too close to the sun because he was down for Apollo?

Frank: ICARUS?

.

*at an awards show*

Poppy: Can I carry you on my back like Eddie did?

Wally: I don't think Barnaby would like that.

Poppy: *pouts*

*Later*

Poppy: *carrying Wally on their back*

Barnaby: What the hell??

Wally: What was I supposed to do? Say no?

.

Frank: I have very high standards, you know.

Eddie: I can make spaghetti...

Frank: Oh no! You're meeting all my standards!

.

Wally: I’ve been here in jail so long I think I’ve lost my mind.

Wally: The days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months.

Wally: How long have I been in here now? Almost a year?

Barnaby: This is Monopoly.

.

Wally: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective?

Barnaby: *crouches down*

Frank: *kneels down*

Poppy: *sits on the floor*

Wally:

Wally: I hate all of you.

.

*Sally is crying after a breakup*

Eddie: There there, Sally.

Sally, still crying: Thanks, but how did you get into my room?

Eddie: Great question—

.

Barnaby, knocking on the door: Howdy, open up!

Howdy: It all started when I was a kid.

Barnaby: That’s not what I-

Sally: Let them finish!

.

Julie, on a random band name generator: Oooo! They Might Be Depressed Horses! That about sums up my friend group.

.

Julie: War is heck!

.

Sally: What’s it like being tall?

Sally: Is it nice?

Sally: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards?

Poppy: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb 4 chairs, 2 boxes, a small coffee table and 6 oddly placed stools to get what they want.

Wally: It was one time!

.

Howdy: Last night I found out Barnaby is a sleep talker.

Poppy: Oh, really?

Howdy: "The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell." Right. In. My. Ear. At 3am.

.

Wally: Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey!

Poppy: But I'm a vegan.

Wally: Wakey Wakey Vegetables and Sadness.

.

Howdy: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the things you lost throughout your life.

Sally: It would be nice to have my sense of purpose back...

Julie: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this.

Eddie: My will to live! I haven't seen this in years.

Barnaby: I knew I lost that potential somewhere.

Wally: Mental stability, my old friend!

Howdy: Jesus, could you guys lighten up a little?

.

Frank, looking over Wally’s shoulder: You can draw?

Wally, stopping what they were doing: You can speak?

.

Wally, near tears: Please, Neighbor, I don’t speak meme! I don't know what a 'yeet' is!

.

Julie: A party is a celebration of a life, bringing people together to let the guest of honor know how much they’re loved. Frank has done so much for us. This is our chance to do something for them.

Eddie: By forcing them to have fun at a party that they don’t want to be at?

Julie: I knew you’d understand.

.

Wally: Julie noticed only today that they can label their email inboxes, but they took apart their entire bloody laptop two weeks ago.

Sally: This reminds me of the Julie who couldn’t turn on the coffee maker, but remembers about 500 digits of pi.

Wally: I’ll be delighted to inform you that this is the very same Julie.

.

Julie: What do I get?

Sally: A night of fashion, mischief, mayhem, and possible death.

Julie: Ooh, check, check, and check; not sure about that last one.

Sally: It won't be you.

Julie: I'll get my coat.

.

Wally: My crush isn’t picking up on my hints.

Barnaby: What hints have you given them?

Wally: Well, I think about them a lot.

Wally: And sometimes I even think about talking to them.

.

Poppy: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine!

Julie: How can you still say that?

Poppy: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

.

Julie: If you spell skeletons backwards, it still spells skeletons.

Barnaby, deadpan: Wow, I can't wait for Halloween to see some snoteleks.

.

Wally: I'm not a morning person. I'm barely even a person.

.

Julie, holding a scooter: Poppy! Can I go outside and play with this?

Poppy: Sure, whatever. I'm not your parent, okay?

Julie, running outside: Thanks Poppy!

Poppy, running out after them and screaming: NOT ON THE STREET! STAY AWAY!

.

Sally: ....Thou shalt not marry each other, for thy art both sinful...

Frank: I just wanna fucking marry Eddie!!

.

Eddie: My life is a little too much panic and not enough disco.

Julie: My life is a little too much fall and not enough boy.

Wally: My life is a little too much chemical and not enough romance.

Sally: My life is a little too much imagination and not nearly enough dragons.

.

Frank: Fuck capitalism. It's a rigged system that keeps us poor and it isn't fair. You shouldn't need to work three jobs to afford basic necessities.

Frank, playing Monopoly: Sorry, if you wanted to win you should have tried not being poor.

.

I did it :D

[storydays]

My Bookworm

Shy!Clay X Actor!Male!Reader

This takes place after the movie. Lots of Descendants references and one or two Helluva Boss references, I own nothing but this fanfic!

(3rd POV)

Clay laughed as Viva and Poppy dragged Brozone along. Since some of them have been disassociate from Pop Culture for 20 years, Queen Poppy decided to show them some of the new stuff they'd been missing out on.

Today, it was a movie premiere and there was a bonus performance from one of the actors. "Girls, slow down, they can't start until y'all are there anyway." JD laughed as the two royals smiled sheepishly and walked at a slower pace, finally arriving.

"So what's this movie about anyway?" Clay asked Branch. The blue-gray Troll went to answer when Poppy interrupted talking a million miles. "OhmygoshClaythismovieisthethirdofapopularfranchiseanditsbaouttheoldfairytalecharactershavingkidsandwefollowthekidsintheiradventures--" "Poppy,breathe!" Branch chided, shaking the Queen's shoulders with a grin.

In that moment, Clay was thankful for being used to Viva's motor mouth that he understood every word she had said. Their brothers on the other hand...need Branch to slowly repeat what was said. As he explained, he listened to the trolls chattering behind him.

"Oh me gosh, I can't wait to see Nix, daughter of Nebula! She can be my captain anytime." giggled a teal Glitter Troll seductively.

"Forget that, I can't wait to see (Y/N)! He looks so good in red." A Rock troll yelled, throwing up the goats, and making an indecent gesture.

"Who's (Y/N)?" wondered Clay aloud. "'WHO'S (Y/N)?'" The rock troll grabbed the taller Troll and shook him insanely, "(Y/N) is only the hottest actor in all of Pop Troll History! He's won a Glitter XXX award 9 times in a row! He is--"

"Well," chuckled a thick Australian accent, drawing everyone's attention, "That's quite an introduction, but I think you oughta let 'em go now." The Troll speaking, pushed down his shades to glare at the Rock Troll. "Oh my God," Smidge yelled distantly, "It's (Y/N)!" Suddenly cheers and screams echoed through the arena, but honestly, none of that mattered to Clay. All that mattered was those pretty (e/c) eyes and how suave the superstar Troll was dealing with his fans and making his way over......'Wait! He was making his way over, don't blow this Clay!' He screamed in his head.

"You alright, mate?"(Y/N) smiled, holding a hand out to the taller Troll on the floor from where he was dropped.

"Wow, you are hot.."Clay said confidently before realizing what just came out of his mouth, and his fur turned a dark blue as his cheeks flushed.

His brothers were doing their best to hold back their laughter, seeing their usually confident brother be turned to into a blushing schoolboy.

(Y/N) blinked and laughed loudly, before helping Clay up. "I like you, you remind me of the first time I saw my friend, King Trollex, with his hair down for the first time. I was like, 'Oof, you're one good lookin' bloke.' But then I wanted to die.." (Y/N) continued to talk, not notcing Clay's discomfort. "Because, Trollex is like a really great friend to me, and I'm just like, gross....." The movie star paused and looked to the side with narrowed eyes, "I could tap that." He mused, before shrugging and turning back to the taller Troll.

"Anyway, why don't you and your friends come with me, and you guys can come backstage, get a real nice view of the show. Crikey, I don't think I got ya name..."

"Uh, I'm single. Damn it." Clay face palmed. "Ha! Nice to meet you Single. Well, c'mon, it's almost show time!" (Y/N) waved off security as Brozone and the Pop sisters followed behind, teasing Clay along the way.

"Well, here are the best seats in the house! You can watch the shows from here, and afterwards, Single, if ya don't got any plans, I was thinkin' we could go to this great sanger shop nearby." (Y/N) pushed his shades up on his head and offered Clay a hopeful smile.

Clay stuttered over his words before Bruce smacked him on the back, almost as if he were a record player and coughed. "That's a snager?" Clay wondered. "Heh, it means sandwich, mate."

Now knowing what the other Troll wanted to do, Clay nodded eagerly. "Yeah, yeah that sounds great." "Great! Well, gotta go. Be back soon, and hey, enjoy the show, huh?"

With a final wave, the movie star rushed off. Leaving Clay at the mercy of his brothers. Clay brushed it all off, too ecstatic to even be embarrassed.

The lights dimmed and the teasing stopped to watch the show.

*end*

[vaile-elenya]

The comedy of RoP is underrated. Nori, Poppy, and the Stranger are iconic. Arondir “this shall be called super.” Nori suggesting names and then the other two, in sync, saying “you already said that.”

In season one, watching Nori and Poppy chase after a wheelbarrow was beautiful.

Berek being the best horse EVER and somehow being the smartest in the room

Other miscellaneous thoughts

1. Arondir is going after Adar, maybe he’ll meet Galadriel

2. I’m picturing Númenor having Elrond on speed dial for random mishaps. “Well he is the first king’s brother, so he must have good ideas like our first king did.” Like he shows up because of the coup.

Númenor: So, Lord Elrond this is our blight. How do you think the old king would taken action?

Elrond remembering Elros’ letters about stupid people: ……

Elros, lingering over his shoulder: For the love of, MIRIEL STAND UP!!

I’m so sorry for spamming your inbox, I have one (1) I can talk to about RoP and that is my dad. 💀 I hope you appreciate the carnage on your inbox

Never apologize for sending asks! I love them 🖤 Timezones and life may keep me from replying instantly, but trust me, I read them, think about them, and wait for the stars to align so I can sit down and properly respond 😂

And YES, humor in RoP is pure gold!!! Its that kinda blink-and-you-miss-it type of comedy that just hits for me. Like, that line about supper was so smoothly delivered that I didn’t realize Arondir was joking until he said the last word 😆 And Isildur sinking in the swamp, totally drowning, but still being like, “nah, it’s all good!” absolutely sent me 💀

I love that they’re sneaking in some bits of humor here and there, and not, you know, leaning heavily one way or another. It’s not too comedic but not dull either.

I think I’ve seen in the trailer that Arondir is going to be fighting in Eregion, so him meeting Galadriel is like 99.9% happening. But can you imagine his face when he sees her just chilling with the orcs? 💀 Like, “Excuse me, ma’am, but what exactly is happening here??”

I'm thinking, though... Arondir is focused on getting his revenge for what Adar did to Bronwyn and the Southlanders. Galadriel is just about to make some alliances with the Uruks. What if we get this super intense moment where Arondir’s about to take out Adar, but Galadriel stops him like she stopped Halbrand once, because he’s useful for now??? 👀 I don’t know, but I need it in my life

AND IF I SEE ELROND INTERACTING WITH THE NÚMENOR PLOTLINE IN ANY WAY I SWEAR I’M—

Okay but seriously, the idea of the Númenóreans treating him like Elros 2.0 is hilarious. BUT what if they’ve never actually met him? What if Elrond’s first introduction to them is during the chaos of the downfall?? Imagine Elrond meeting Elendil and Isildur and just having a full-on meltdown because they remind him so much of Elros. I CAN’T

[moshpitgamma]

Hii I have a request, so like I wanted to know if you could write a Floyd X Reader where Floyd proposes to the reader but they reject him and that ends up breaking the relationship but Floyd just can't move on from them. That's it, I'm craving some angst lmaoo. btw you can take all the time u need!

Thx for reading!!

😦Bruhhh yall is harsh, but ofccc I’ll write it Fa u😭Also yall this hurt me hella bad☹️

Floyd x Reader||It Ends With Us

Warning:Angst ___________________

Silence... was the only thing both of you could hear.

"What" Floyd said standing up, smile faltering in the progress. "I said no" you said trying to push all the feelings down. "I get that we have been together from the beginning, but I just can't do it." You felt BAD, but you just couldn't commit to the feeling of being a wife/husband/spouse. "I'm so sorry Floyd" you said kissing him on the cheek before leaving the very nicely set picnic under the stars. All he could do was watch you're leaving figure with tears streaming down his eyes.

But...That was 20 years ago

"Ummm bro you good?" John asked Floyd as he caught him staring into space at a ring box. "Huh! Oh, yea I'm good just putting the last of my things away." He was finally getting settled into his room in branch's bunker, but paused in his tracks when he reminisced the painful rejection memory of his pass lover. "You sure, because you got some tears pouring out." John said as he went to gently rub his tears away and put his hands on his shoulder. "If there's something wrong, you can tell me bro." He told Floyd before turning to leave.

Floyd didn't want JD to feel guilty on not telling him, so he grabbed his arm and told him the whole reason why he was spaced out crying. Once Floyd finished, he was pulled into a hard hug by JD. "Whoever they are doesn't deserve your love bro and If i see them they won't know what's coming." JD said smiling at his younger brother. "Jd you will not hurt them". Floyd said scolding his brother for trying to hurt you. He tried to get over you, but he just couldn't. But little did floyd know, you were coming back into his life.

Just not to stay..

Floyd and his brothers were headed to Poppy's and Viva's place for a sleepover, but they wanted to stop to get some sweets, so they decided to check out a local bakery. (Yall are little cute bakers because I said so😤) When they walked in, they smelled the sweet scent of freshly baked cookies and delicacies. They all began to order, until it was Floyd's turn. He stopped in the middle of his sentence when he saw those intoxicating e/c eyes staring at him. He felt like he was going to explode and run into their arms, but he knew you probably moved on. He quickly finished his order and went to sit down with his brothers, with a frown on his face.

You on the other hand dreaded every moment of this interaction. You wanted to hug and be with him oh so bad, but it's all gone now. Before you could give a wait time and a total, he shoved a $20 towards you and sped walked to the table with his brothers. Once their orders were ready you called every individual name of the brothers and when it got to Floyd's, you said it filled with such plainness. As if he was just the ok sibling or as if you really didn't care. You didn't mean to, but JD caught on to the tone quickly. Once the boys left, he stopped Floyd in his tracks and asked if he knew you. When Floyd told Jd that you were the one that rejected him. His blood boiled and he stormed right into the cafe to confront you.

Floyd did everything in his power to stop him, but it was too late. He was already yelling at you for making his brother's life miserable and saying how you were the worst s/o ever. After John felt satisfied with his argument, he left still a little hot and proud for causing a scene. Floyd was behind him the whole time terrified on the outburst and was hoping you weren't mad. Before he could get to you, your manager called you to the back. He wanted to wait for you so you both could talk so he sat and waited. It took about 10 minutes before you came back out in your regular clothes, with a little frown on your face. When you were pushing the doors open to leave, a hand caught your arm. "Can we talk." When you looked back to who it was you felt anger. It wasn't directed to him, but to the embarrassing scene his brother caused. "What do you want?" you asked harshly removing your arm from his grasp.

He knew why you were acting like this, so he calmly approached you and said "I'm so sorry about JD. He really didn't mean it." Floyd tried to apologize for his brothers' actions, but what you said next resettled the whole interaction between you two. "I don't care Floyd! He basically proved that whenever we talk or whatever I do, I'm a bad person." you said full of hurt. "I guess we just wasn't meant to be." you said sadly before walking away and leaving him stunned. He never wished you both would end on bad terms again. But like you said....

“I guess we just wasn't meant for each other."

Y’all got me bawling over here☹️

[tellmegoodbye]

It's been a minute, huh?

College is kicking my ass (and I've been spending the past few Mondays offline for....spoiler reasons) but I'm returning today with a few tearjerkers. Thank you @paperstorm for tagging me!

---

Good Things Go - Linkin Park

Feels like it's rained in my head for a hundred days Stare in the mirror and I look for another face And I get so tired of putting out fires and making up lies Checking my eyes for some kinda light But nothing's inside and it Feels like it's rained in my head for a hundred days

And I say I hate you when I don't Push you when you get too close It's hard to laugh when I'm the joke But I can't do this on my Only you can save me from my lack of self-control Sometimes bad things take the place where good things go

This song, besides being one of the most beautiful Linkin Park songs out there, makes me think about pre-canon TK, especially in 3x08 but also generally. It also reminds me of s1 TK keeping Carlos at arm's length.

Starving To Be Empty - Dayseeker

I've been noticing my clothes fit A little bit looser Worried is an understatement When you don't have a future

I've been noticing my bones show a little bit clearer I don't recognize who I see Reflected in the mirror Thinner, I'm not bitter of the cards that I've been dealt I would give up everything to be somebody else Starved with no regard 'Cause I can go a little bit longer

Falling, I'm falling so far away Hold out your hand when I start to break Don't leave me all alone Skin deep, no one has to know

Try every night to swallow more than my pride But I'm starving to be empty I bite my tongue so I don't feed off your love 'Cause I'm starving to be empty

This song also reminds me of pre-canon TK and what it was like for him reaching rock bottom with his addiction.

Halo - Poppy

I was fine for a minute 'Til I remembered You were somewhere on a distant shore You left it as it was before

So wait it out The road is winding narrow It's all you have I know you can't turn back now I'll follow where your light goes 'Cause they don't know what we know

You're in a dream You're everybody's hero But it's you and me Still love you if the light goes out I could fix your halo Still, they don't know what we know The future's never gonna wait Every plan will have its place I could fix your halo They don't know what we know

This song has a lot of 5x05 and 5x08 vibes. The lyrics remind me of how this rift between TK and Carlos sort of stagnated and after so much time TK was learning to be okay with it, until the conflict with Jonah stirred everything up again. It isn't that they aren't making an effort, but Carlos is still lost, and their future remains in limbo.

"You were somewhere on a distant shore // You left it as it was before" is a perfect representation of the crushing realization TK has when he sees that Carlos may be stuck with these demons forever.

"I know you can't turn back now // I'll follow where your light goes." TK told Carlos he would leave a light on for him, and every day he does exactly TK sees that Carlos is stuck and is confronting the issue, but he still loves him to the end of the earth.

"The future's never gonna wait" TK says he's done living his life on pause, but Carlos is his life and he'd never dream of living it without him. He wants Carlos to see that he'll wait for him, but the world around them is still moving forward.

Tags!

@herefortarlos @strandnreyes @lemonlyman-dotcom @heartstringsduet @literateowl

@carlos-tk @carlos-in-glasses @alrightbuckaroo @theghostofashton @certifiedflower

@reyesstrand @ironheartwriter @emsprovisions @eclectic-sassycoweyes @bonheur-cafe

@firstprince-history-huh @freneticfloetry @reeeallygood @sweettkstrand @goodways

@nisbanisba @corsage @carlossreaders @henrygrass @morganaspendragonss

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