#and then the second one was about having a dream about a duck who judged peoples fashion choices

[bluejaybytes]

In middle school summer camp one of my friends would recite old fake Tumblr posts but none of my friends were as online as I was so no one believed me when I told them she was just reciting Tumblr posts and not her own stories. They weren't even real as Tumblr posts like girl you can't make up your own LIES?

[syrupfog]

When Sanji runs from Germa, he doesn't make it far. He hides away in the brig of a merchant vessel for a short time, but as soon as he's found, they recognize him, and don't want Judge's wrath coming down on them, so they dump him the next time they make landfall.

The island he ends up at is one that's felt the threat of Germa for years, and they too recognize him, whether Sanji tries to deny it or not. Afraid of the omen that they see him as, they send him to an old manor at the edge of town and lock him away. 

He grows up there.

Like the dungeon, he's again alone and despised. 

But he tries to make the best of things. He can see the sun here, can wander the halls without fear, can cook what he wants from what the town delivers to his doorstep, which is often a little rotten but edible. 

He lives.

He assumes this is as good as life will ever get for someone in his position. There is nowhere he could go that they wouldn't know and fear him, despise him; at least here he's free from his family. At least here he can breathe fresh air. 

And then, one day, a man appears.

"Appears" is maybe a generous word. He comes crashing through the front door, armed to the teeth (literally), a sword in each hand and one in his mouth. Sanji, who had been simmering a bouillabaisse, comes running at the noise, spatula in hand for defense. 

The man looks at him.

He narrows his eyes. 

He charges right at Sanji. 

Sanji yelps, ducks behind his spatula as if it will protect him, and cowers. At the last second, his childhood training kicks in. He manages to dodge a swipe and RUNS for it. 

The man, who has made a crater in the wall, follows.

The manor has a maze of rooms, but Sanji's closed most of them off. It's just him here, after all. He runs into one of the first doors he finds and is faced with cobwebs and dust as he slams it behind him. 

He hears heavy footsteps behind the door slow to a stop. 

"Open up."

Oh he is NOT doing that. 

"Hey," says the man who has broken into his home with SWORDS. "I'm not going to attack you." 

"I do NOT believe that," Sanji shrieks. There's a spider in here and he's trying not to run screaming back into the hall. 

"I should've knocked," the man says.

Sanji stutters. "Swords!" he manages to get out. 

"They said there was a monster," the man says. "Paid me fifty thousand to kill it." 

...Oh. 

"Well," Sanji says. "They're right, that is me." 

The townspeople have probably put up with him for long enough. 

He opens the door.

The man is down to just one sword. He eyes Sanji. "Don't look like a monster," he says. "What, you transform in the moonlight?" 

Sanji snorts. "Nah, this is all there is. Was just born a monster. Surprised it took this long for them to try to get rid of me." Cowards, he thinks.

Maybe he's a little bitter. Maybe something inside of him still dreams of something better. T

he man cocks his head. "Pretty shitty monster," he says, sliding his last sword back into its sheath. "I don't need beri enough to cut down someone who defends himself with a spatula."

Sputtering, Sanji realises he's still holding it. "Shut up," he says. "What would you spend it all on anyway? A FOURTH sword?" 

The man shrugs. "Or food," he says. "Got washed up here a week ago, didnt exactly have a lot of pocket change on me." 

And, well. That's the magic word.

"I have food," he says. The bouillabaisse is still simmering. 

The man grins. "Not going to turn you down," he says. "I'm Zoro." 

"Sanji," Sanji says. "If you're not going to kill me, what do you know about fixing doors?" 

"Absolutely nothing," Zoro says.

Zoro... doesn't leave. 

Sanji feeds him, and Zoro has NO manners. He eats like he's never known what it means to be full. He's not talkative, although he's quietly hilarious. In return, Sanji's conversation is stilted. He's not used to talking, especially not to a real person.

But Sanji feeds him and he feeds him again, and Zoro doesn't leave. He leaves his dirty shoes on the carpet and cleans his swords on the kitchen floor while Sanji cooks. When they do talk, the words jump between polite niceties and petty arguments. 

It's... It's good.

Sanji's so happy. He hates the way Zoro seems to live in a state of mess, even while having come into the manor with nothing but the clothes on his back. But he loves the arguments, the verbal sparring, every word an acknowledgement that he's not alone. 

It's too good to be true.

Zoro doesn't talk about himself much, just that he's got a crew out there somewhere. Sanji wonders but doesn't press, an instinctual fear that if he pushes Zoro will leave. Zoro doesn't ask him much either, except for when the food shows up. 

"Cook," Zoro says, "That's rotten."

Sanji picks up a tomato, blackened on one side. "We can cut those bits off," he says. The produce is actually better than usual. 

"They send you rotted mush every week?" 

"Sometimes they skip a week," Sanji says with a shrug. "On holidays, I think." He doesn't own a calendar.

Zoro frowns, but shuts up. Sanji makes stew. 

He makes chili. 

He makes ratatouille. 

They live in companionable silence. Zoro trains and Sanji yells at him to not use the kitchen utensils as weights. 

It goes like this, for weeks. Good weeks. 

But good things don't last forever.

Almost two months on, someone comes crashing through the front door of the manor. For a moment Sanji thinks it's Zoro again, somehow, but remembers Zoro's napping in a sun puddle. 

Knife in hand this time, instead of a spatula, Sanji sneaks around the corner to the front door.

There's... a LOT of people pouring into the house, but front and centre is a man with a scar and a straw hat. He points at Sanji with a serious expression. "Are you the one who killed Zoro?" 

Sanji blanches. "N-no?" he asks. His knife isn't going to defend against NINE people.

Suddenly, from behind him, comes Zoro's voice. "Shut up, Luffy." 

"Zoro!" the man shouts, bounding past Sanji and wrapping himself around Zoro an unnatural number of times. 

"Told you he wasn't dead," a man with a long nose says. "Townspeople are terrible liars."

"Come on, Zoro," a redhead says. "We've got places to be and we just spent two months tracking you down." 

Sanji's stomach sinks. 

Of course. 

These are Zoro's people. His crew. These two months have been the best of Sanji's life, but for Zoro they've just been a waiting game.

He's had people out here looking for him this whole time. He has a world outside these walls. He's going to move on and live his life and forget about this little moment in time. 

This moment that Sanji will think about, dwell on, treasure, for the rest of his life.

He steps back, considers hiding in the pantry until they're gone. Before he's able to entirely flee the room, though, Zoro turns to him. 

"Luf," he says. "This guy's coming with us." 

Sanji stops. "Uh," he says. 

"He's a cook," Zoro says. 

Luffy turns to him. "Yeah?" he asks.

"I-" Sanji shakes his head. "I can't leave," he says. 

"Yes you can," Zoro tells him. "You're staying here because you think you deserve this." 

Luffy, standing between them, looks back and forth. "Zoro knows what he's talking about," he says to Sanji. "I trust him. You coming?"

"I'm a monster," Sanji says, because that's what the townspeople call him. They sent Zoro to KILL him, they know he's a monster. 

"You're not," Zoro says. "Come on, Cook. Come with us. You can live, now." 

Sanji wants to live. 

It's all he's ever wanted. 

"Promise?" he asks.

"Fucking promise," Zoro says, and he grabs Sanji's wrist. 

Pulls him out the door. 

Into a world Sanji thought was beyond him. 

He follows nine strangers and a swordsman who attempted to kill him onto a ship and into the bright blue ocean and doesn't once look back. 

He lives.

[wyvernquill]

More Dreamling Anastasia AU

Because I must obviously be stricken down for my hubris if I say I refuse to write something. (Masterpost can be found here!)

This one’s an earlier bit, while they’re still trying to teach “Murphy” how to act like Dream, and first encounter The Corinthian - so please be aware that there will be Corinthian-typical mentions of stabbing and blood in this excerpt!

(Tagging @10moonymhrivertam again, and also open invitation for anyone who wants to be notified of new updates to tell me so, and I’ll tag you when/if I write other scenes!)

---

“Do the list again.”

“Hob…” Murphy sighs, visibly annoyed, hands stuffed in his coat pockets and face ducked into his scarf. There are snowflakes caught in the dark tangle of his hair, and Hob wonders briefly if he would accept Hob’s hat, or look at it with the same disgusted grimace he pulled when he was offered one of Gil’s spare cardigans.

“Come on. Again.” Hob encourages. “You’ll need to know it by heart, it has to be ingrained so deeply into you that I should be able to wake you up at three in the night and have you recite it perfectly.”

“Do not dare to wake me up at three in the night!” Murphy snarls, and they will really have to work on that temper - Gilbert is very insistent that Dream of the Endless’s fury was fierce, yes, but quiet, controlled, and merciless in its silence. These outbursts don’t befit a Dream King, and they’ll have to go.

“I was speaking metaphorically!” Hob laughs and holds up his hands defensively. “I know better than to disturb your sleep, rest assured. Matthew would peck my eyes out, for a start.”

(Judging from the look on Murphy’s face, the man would approve of that course of events, and possibly praise his raven afterwards.)

“But the list. Go on, Lord Morpheus, the list.”

Murphy sighs again, turning his face up to the snow-grey night sky. Hob is suddenly quite glad Gilbert shooed them out for a walk, to clear Murphy’s head after another long day of lessons - more lessons tomorrow, and then they’ll be travelling again over the weekend, always busy or on the move. It’s quite lovely, to have this moment of tranquillity, in the dark and the snow, and to see Murphy… well. Less frustrated and harried than he usually is, solemn and thoughtful and with chapped lips from the frost.

“Destiny, the oldest, in the maze, with the book.” He recites, only slightly sullen. “Death, the second, everywhere and everywhen, but always where she’s needed, with the ankh. Dream, the third-”

“Include the names.”

“Ugh. Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, the Shaper of Form, Kai’ckul-”

“Kai-what?” Hob frowns. He hasn’t heard that one before.

“-Oneiros or the Oneiromancer, and the Lord of Stories.” Murphy continues, undeterred, slogging through the list just to have it be over quicker. “There, the names. Now: Dream, in the Dreaming, with the ruby - and sometimes the helmet and the sand. Always with a raven. Next, Destruction-”

.

“No, please,” drawls a voice behind them. “Tell us more about Dream.”

.

They both freeze.

Hob turns slowly, stepping to the side just slightly, just enough so he will be in range to shove Murphy behind himself, should it become necessary.

“I do so love bedtime stories,” the stranger who has approached them is grinning broadly, in a tan suit and coat much too thin for this weather, and dark glasses - sunglasses? At night!? - covering his eyes. “Though I always like ‘em best when they have gory endings. When the stepsisters cut their feet to fit into the glass slipper in the Grimm brothers’ version of Cinderella? Boy, I could listen to that all night.”

The man is holding a long knife in his hand, the sort not made for cutting anything but the flesh of your fellow man, toying with it - and Hob feels a prickle of fear slide down his spine.

“Who are you, to disturb us?” Murphy snaps haughtily, and Hob would be pleased at the excellent noble-arrogant cadence, if he weren’t suddenly fucking terrified of Murphy getting a knife in between the ribs for his cheek.

“Me?” The man laughs, throwing the knife up in the air, glittering, twirling, before catching it again. “You don’t remember little old me?”

The man’s teeth are too white, Hob notes, too bright, and too *many* when he smiles like this.

.

“I’m your worst nightmare, my Lord,” he says, still smiling - and then lunges forward, knife first.

.

Hob moves instantly, instinctively, without even a moment’s hesitation.

With his elbow, he shoves Murphy back, out of the way, and then bats the man’s knife arm off-course, coming in swinging with the other fist. It connects with an audible crack, but their assailant only laughs, giddy and breathless, and spits out half a mouthful of blood - is there some dripping from his eyes under the glasses, too - before evading Hob’s grip on his arm and dancing out of the way.

“Murphy, run!” Hob shouts over his shoulder, heart beating in his throat, blood up and boiling. He hasn’t gotten into alleyway fights in a year or two, but it’s familiar, the tang of blood, the rush of adrenaline. He’s always liked the brawls where there wasn’t a sharp object involved better, just two men and their fists - but if this madman wants a fight, he’ll damn well get one. Hob’s put better people than him in hospital.

Hob charges forward, goes for a grab at the knife arm again, and manages a short grapple, a kick at a shin, the tip of the knife wavering as they twist against each other, and slicing a red-hot line of pain along the side of Hob’s jaw - the man’s still grinning, holy shit, that’s unsettling - before the other twists himself free again with almost unnatural strength, and Hob has to jump back before that knife goes somewhere vital.

“Well, aren’t’cha quite the fighter, Hobsie?” The assailant says, with his dozens of bone-white teeth bared. “I’m glad. Makes it more fun to carve into you when you struggle a li’l bit.”

“Would love to see you try,” Hob spits back, wiping his cheek, his blood dripping red onto the snow.

They throw themselves at each other again, and the man is impossibly strong, delivering an almost casual punch against Hob’s sternum that knocks the breath out of him, forcing him back a couple stumbling steps.

And Hob knows he should run, too. The best way to win a streetfight is to not be in one, and he’s not keen on getting stabbed. Would be a waste, to die now, when he’s so close to earning himself immortality…

…but he needs to buy Murphy time.

The thought alone, of seeing Murphy dead in the snow, blood pooling around him in and coat spread out like broken wings - he can’t bear it. He’s got the man into this fucking mess, and he cannot let Murphy die because of his con. This is supposed to be a win-win situation for them all, not a threat to anyone’s life!

And if somebody’s life is threatened, it better be Hob’s own. Only fair - he gets the biggest reward in the end, he should shoulder the brunt of the risk as well.

Hob coughs one last time, eyeing the blood-red tip of the assailant’s knife. He won’t die here, he refuses to, and he’ll fight until the bitter end if-

.

“Wait,” Murphy says, and Hob’s heart stutters in his chest.

.

The idiot! The absolute fool! Hob told him to run, why the fuck is he still here!?

Hob gets barely more than a second of panic in before Murphy steps up beside him, glowering darkly at the man with the knife…

And then, in a movement quick as a flash, he throws a handful of salt-grit-sand mix - the sort the city keeps in large containers alongside the streets in wintertime, to make the snow and ice safer to traverse - straight into the man’s face.

The man screeches, voice strangely dissonant, as if it comes from three mouths at once, and jerks back sputtering, dropping his knife and covering his face with his hands.

Hob kicks the knife away, out of reach, on instinct - and then he feels a bony hand curl around his own, dragging him away, and he lets it, running hand in hand with Murphy for dear life.

(There are angry shouts behind them, threats, but Hob never looks back, only squeezing the cold palm against his harder.)

.

They run, and run, and run, until they finally reach the relative safety and familiarity of the street outside their inn, both gasping for breath as they lean against its walls.

“You… need not… have come…” Murphy wheezes, his thin chest heaving under his thick coat, even as his eyes are burning with indignation, “to my… defence!”

“Clearly!” Hob rasps, sliding to the ground, uncaring for the snowmelt soaking through his trousers. “Still… I didn’t want to be standing in front of the Endless alone, in a few weeks’ time.”

He grins up at Murphy - the wound along his cheek burning as he does it - and the sharp retort about being perfectly capable of handling himself in a fight visibly dies on Murphy’s lips.

He crouches down besides Hob, coat puffing up around him, and brings one hand up to cup Hob’s jaw, to turn it and inspect the line of red their attacker’s knife left there. Thumbs the cut, smearing warm blood along Hob’s cheekbone.

“You were hurt,” he murmurs, dark voice almost wavering with distress.

“Shallow cut.” Hob catches Murphy’s wrist before he can fuss any more with the wound, rubs a thumb soothingly over the thin bones there. “I’ll live.”

“Foolish man,” Murphy grumbles - but he’s very nearly smiling as he says it.

Their eyes meet.

They’re both still breathing hard, and for all his haggard, skeletal build and sunken face lined with long years of hardship, Murphy looks almost lovely like this, lips slightly parted and pale face flushed with exertion, looking up at Hob through his lashes as if…

As if…

Hob leans forward, and Murphy does too, something burning bright and smouldering hot between them, lips getting close enough to brush-

.

“ROBERT! MURPHY!” Gilbert slams open the door beside them, and they both jerk apart as if burned.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re here!” Gilbert flusters, wringing his hands on the grip of his cane. “I had the most terrible premonition that my two dear friends were in danger, most ghastly, so I rushed- Robert, are you bleeding!?”

“I’m fine, Gil,” Hob tries to wave him off - to little avail.

Hob is ushered up into their room, sat down, and then berated by Gilbert for his recklessness while Murphy is carefully, studiously, dabbing at Hob’s wound with one of Gilbert’s handkerchiefs and pointedly not making any eye contact.

(Though Matthew is more than making up for that, staring Hob down as if he knows exactly what almost transpired outside the inn’s door, and is rather firmly against the idea of letting it happen again…

Which it surely won’t. It was a mad impulse in the spur of the moment - they both know better, now.

Yes.

They both know better.)

[kydrogendragon]

Ohoho happy upcoming birthday!! I offer ye Ever After (1998)'s first meeting scene between Danielle and Prince Henry for a sandman au! I'm Dreamling trash so that's where my thoughts went first but whatever pairing tickles your fancy is good~

The Scene:

Henry is running away from the palace and the arranged marriage to the princess of Spain that his father has arranged to ally France with the other country. Henry hates the notion of becoming king let alone wedding a stranger so he flees in the night. By morning he's fleeing from his father's guards who are pursuing him and steals a horse from an estate he happens upon.

Danielle (aka Cinderella) is treated like a servant by her widowed stepmother and is out harvesting apples in the early morning hours before attending to her breakfast chores when one of her father's horses comes tearing through the field with a strange rider upon its back. Danielle, having always been a rough-and-tumble sort, takes aim and nails the rider in the head with one of the apples she was carrying, knocking the would-be thief off the horse.

Henry climbs back to his feet, flailing to free himself from where he's now entangled by his cape as he continues to be pelted by apples and berated for his theft. He finally frees himself from his cloak and upon his face being revealed the peasant (Danielle) drops to the ground begging his forgiveness for the assault citing a lack of recognition. Henry's still dumbstruck at the peasant's aim and strong arm when he hears his father's guard approaching in the distance and quickly dismisses the apologies and begged for mercy. He tells the peasant that so long as no mention of his passing is made, he will forget the transgression while also tossing the peasant some gold 'for the cost of the horse'

The fun bit about this I realized is that this movie and I are the same age xD Very fitting for today!

Anyways, here's our second prompt for the day!! This one was fun to write. I know you'd messaged me with other possible pairing and the idea of Dream and Johanna really stuck out to me for this one, so without further ado, here's our Ever After AU:

Relationship: Dream/Johanna Words: 1953 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

The fierce sound of hooves on the ground echo through the woods behind Dream. He sits atop a horse he’s claimed from the nearby stable. He planned to flee by foot or take is own steed, Jessamy, but there wasn’t time. His father’s guards were gaining on him and he refused to go back. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

The borrowed horse whinnies, shaking it’s neck and fighting against Dream’s commands. Dream can hear the distant shouts. They’re getting closer. He rides over the hills of the estate he’s passing through when something hard crashes against his head. He lets go of the reigns and watches as the treeline shifts in his vision. The sky tilts until it is directly above him. His back aches.

He’s fallen off the horse. Dream groans and tries to push himself up when another object, small and round, smacks him square in the nose. His hands shoot up, covering the aching point as he shouts in pain. More and more, he’s attacked, points of pain popping across his body as he’s pelted down by an unseen force. He struggles, trying to stand, but his damn cloak is twisted around him, pinning him into the dirt with his own weight. He shifts, trying to pry the fabric off of him.

“Filthy thief!” A woman’s voice cries out somewhere to his right. The cloak finally slips free and he lunges to his feet only to be met with an… an apple? His brain processes the shape just seconds before it decks him in the cheek. His head ducks down from the impact and it’s then that he realizes how many apples are scattered around him.

When he looks back up, the woman stands directly in front of him, a finger pushed firm into his chest. She is angry, judging by the pinch of her brows, the snarl in her lips. Not to mention the apple assault he just received from her. Her shoulder-length brown hair is pulled half up, though appears just moments from falling out completely. Her dress is simple - a maid, perhaps? Or a servant to the estate?

“Who do you think you are running off with another man’s horse? You’re lucky he knows his way home or else you’d be much worse off from me!” She cries, jabbing her finger right into his breast bone. Dream frowns and opens his mouth to reply when the sound of hooves rings through the small orchard they’ve found themselves in. He blanches.

Quickly, he grabs her hand and falls to his knees in front of her. “Please,” he begs, staring up at the woman with desperation in his eyes. “Hide me, please. I beg of you.”

“Why the hell should I-” She stops mid-sentence. Her face falls and fear creeps into the edges of her eyes. “Shit. You’re the prince.” The young maiden’s head whips towards the sounds of the oncoming cavalry and back to him, to the noise, and back again.

“I will pay you well, but please, we must hurry. I cannot go back.” Dream pleads. The woman stares down at him with a calculating gaze, as if mentally tallying if hiding him was worth the effort. Perhaps word has already spread of his escape, but surely a reward for his return has yet to be officially declared?

The sounds of hooves grows louder with each passing second and Dream is mentally preparing to flee when the young maiden tugs him forward with the hand in his own grasp. He nearly face-plants into the earth from the sudden movement, but she hauls him up to his feet with a practiced ease. When he looks up, her face has morphed into one of mischief.

“Well come on then, Crown Prince. You’re luxurious hiding spot awaits,” She says with a smirk. He barely has time to process her words before he’s being dragged off further into the orchard. They run, down the gradual rolling hill, weaving between the trees and past the chicken coop. The sound of the guards has faded. Dream smiles. Perhaps he’ll make it a few days more.

The young maiden guides him towards a barn further into the fields. It is run down, the paint worn away by the heat of the summer sun and the door at the front appears off-kilter. It is a stark contrast to the other amenities they’ve seen so far on the Estate. They slow their pace to a walk as they approach the weary looking building.

“Home Sweet Home, your highness,” she says, creaking open the barn door. It makes a terrible wobbling screech as it sways open. The inside is nearly empty, save some bundles of hay, rope, and pitchforks. Clearly this barn wasn’t a high priority. Perhaps it served as an overflow of sorts?

Dream steps through the doors into the cool shade of the building. It smells like fresh hay with a musky undertone. It is not unpleasant, but far from the best he’s smelled before. Though his prior night was spent tucked in the corner of an empty horse stall, so he supposes this is quite the improvement. He turns to her. She is standing under the doorway, hand on a cocked hip as she stares him down.

“Thank you, milady. I owe you a great debt.” Dream nods his head. Not a full bow, but more than most royalty would have offered someone of her status. Although, perhaps she is owed a bow now if he truly plans to rescind his royal status. He would be no different in standing to her, after all. Perhaps even lower for he does not even have a job. The thought strikes him that he is no different than those he used to look down upon. He is penniless, or close to it. The small supply of coin he has will only get him so far. The clothes upon his back, perhaps a bit farther if sold for coin. But what would he do now? He has escaped, for the meantime, though he doubts his father would ever truly let him leave. Would he always be on the run? Would he ever be able to settle down, find a life for himself as he dreamed of? The realization of his life, the known and unknowns of his future, it is much. And it’s hitting him all at once.

“Hey,” the maiden’s gentle voice calls out. There is a hand on his chest and another holding his own hand. “Hey, easy there, Christ. I know this barn’s about as far as you get from all your silks and furs, but it’s not that bad, is it?” She is attempting to joke. He knows this yet he cannot stop the panicked breaths in order to laugh.

“Shit,” he hears her say. His hand is moved up and rests just above her heart. She is warm. The fabric underneath is softer than he had expected. “Just breathe, yeah? Follow my breath. In.” She breathes in and he follows. It is a shuddering thing, but it is deeper than he had managed before. “Out.” She releases her breath, her chest falling. He follows, out the air goes.

They repeat this. In. Out. In. Out. And with each breath, he feels calmer. He can breathe again. His hand still rests upon her as hers does him. Her face is close, he notes, as he looks up. They are but inches from each other. Her deep brown eyes stare into his with a care he has not seen aimed his way in… Dream is unsure how long.

“Better?” She asks, brows pinched with concern. Dream nods, slowly. He feels drained.

“Yes, I…” He takes a deep breath and releases it, the final bits of tension flowing out along side it. “I apologize, I do not know what came over me.”

The young maiden looks at him with that critical gaze once more before letting her hand drop from his chest. Dream follows in suit. “S’alright. Not like anyone ever chooses to have a panic attack.”

Dream’s brows furrow. “I did not-”

“Yeah mate, you definitely did.” She cuts him off with a knowing look. Dream does not fight her on it. They stay silent for a moment before she speaks again. “Wanna tell me why I’m hiding the Crown Prince in the old barn?”

The young maiden moves, walking further into the barn. Dream watches, following behind, as she makes her way over to an old table. It is short, a coffee table perhaps, but still sturdy despite it’s dusty appearances. She sits down at the edge of it and tilts her head, gesturing to the other end. Dream sits.

“I was told I was to marry. My father wished to use me for strengthening our relations with Spain. And while I have no ill-will towards the Princess Calliope, I… I did not love her. I barely knew her. One should wish to marry for love. If my father had allowed us time to become acquainted with one another, perhaps I could have found love for her, but he did not allow me even that, even after I had asked.

“I was set to be married in a week’s time. It was not the sole reason, but perhaps the final straw. I never wished to be King as it is. And given my father’s declining health, I knew it would only be a matter of time until the crown was passed to me. And I couldn’t…” Dream sighs. He lets his head fall, his gaze staring down into his mud covered boots. “I just want to be free.”

The young maiden doesn’t reply. Perhaps she’d call him foolish, selfish. It was what he was. He had responsibilities, ones given to him upon his birth. In exchange, he lived in luxury, yet he still wished more more, for something other. Maybe she’d echo the words his father repeated many times. That Dream was pathetic, that he needed to grow up and learn that the real world doesn’t play by the rules of fantasy.

“Good. Everyone should get that choice. You should too.” Dream’s head whips up to hers. She’s staring out at the slightly open barn door with a distant look upon her face. “There’s enough shit in the world to deal with as is. No one should have to deal with being something they don’t want to be. Besides,” she turns to him, that same mischievous look on her face once more. “Sounds like you’d have made a shit King.”

Dream huffs, the closest thing to a laugh he’s had in years. “You are not wrong.” He mumbles, a smile finding home upon his face. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” She sighs as she hauls herself to her feet. The maiden’s hands dust off the back of her dress as she looks at him. “Feel free to stay here as long as you want. No one save me comes out here.”

A weight he did not realize was on him lifted at her words. He has shelter now, at least for a while. “That is exceedingly kind of you.”

She shrugs. “So, if you’re officially ditching the monarchy, what do I call you? Morpheus?”

Dream shakes his head. “No. That was the name given to me by my father. Call me Dream.”

“Dream, can do.”

“And what might I call you, fair maiden?”

The woman laughs. “Oh Gods, fair maiden. Yeah, no. You can keep that term to yourself. Name’s Johanna. Or Jo. Mainly Jo.”

Dream smiles. “Jo. Thank you.”

[robtopus]

Get ready for a story.

A piece of Weird Fiction from my collection Purveyor of the Weird.

TW animal death (mention)

Robert R Sidian: That New Car Smell.

There didn't seem to be anything wrong with the car. The engine purred. The brakes were a bit worn, but still had a ways to go. The wheels were only two years old. Even the color was fine-i-guess; some people apparently like pastel tones. And still, looking at it, something seemed to be off. At first, it was easy to just put that on the hideous color (because Kay really didn't like pastel colors. At all). But there was something else, something behind the odd choice in paint job. Some underlying sense of dread. It didn't make any sense, and so he decided that the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach was just some bad sushi he had recently partaken in. It was just a car. Nothing more than an amalgamation of metal and chrome, designed to ferry him from one place to another. It didn't have a soul. It didn't have a sinister purpose. It was just a car, and one that he had been given as a gift, no less, after his old car had been put out of commission for the foreseeable future.

"So, what do you think? I know the color isn't quite your style, but I hoped you'd be a bit more thrilled" said Bertram, and Kay realized with a start that his friend had asked him for the second or even third time, judging by the annoyance in his tone.

"No, no, it's fine" Kay murmured, or something to that effect, still lost in his contemplation of that eerie feeling he got from looking at the thing. It seemed to smell faintly of… death.

"Has someone died in this car?" Kay wondered, and only realized he'd spoken aloud when Bertram shot him a glance. "No, no person has ever died in this car, don't worry about that at all, it's totally safe to drive!" he added, speaking quickly. Had Kay not been knocked so off-kilter by the inexplicable feeling, he may have noticed the thin sheen of sweat that appeared on Betram's forehead now. Almost as if he was afraid Kay might not take the car, the keys of which now appeared in Bertram's hands. He tossed them underhandedly at Kay, who caught them more by reflex than anything else. Bertram seemed to visibly relax, noticeable to the casual observer, but not to Kay, who seemed still unable to tear his gaze away from the car. Which now, it seemed, belonged to him. Holding the keys had somehow transformed ownership. Bertram left, and he walked with a new spring in his step. It would take him over an hour to get back home on foot, but he would gladly have walked twice this distance, if it meant being rid of the car. There may have been a pang of guilt at hoisting the blasted thing off at his friend like that, but then again, he also had been afforded no mercy when the car had been all but dumped onto him by a former friend. He was just continuing the tradition, really. And with that, he disappeared down the street and out of this story, leaving Kay and his new car in the garage.

About seventeen hours after getting the keys from Bertram, Kay again stood in his garage, in front of the hideous pastel-colored car and tried to understand what the absolute hell he'd gotten himself into. There also was an undercurrent of impotent rage; he badly wanted to rearrange the geometry of Bertram's face using a 2x4, but there was no way he'd walk over an hour to do so. Especially since Bertram had probably moved away. Driving would have been faster, but Kay would not enter the car. The hideous pastel-colored car, which sat in his garage, feigning innocence. As if it had not been filled with dead platypuses only an hour ago. As if Kay had not woken up from disturbing dreams he only half-remembered and stumbled to the garage as if drawn by an invisible string, following a stench he could almost but not quite place. It had turned out to be the stench of death - of a surprisingly large number of dead platypuses, a pile of duck bills and beaver tails and otter feet, squashed together in his new car without rhyme or reason. In this deconstructed state, the animals had looked even more like a bizarre fever dream than they did in nature documentaries or in their native wilds. Kay had, in fact, decided to go back to bed and just discount the thing as a hallucination, some semi-lucid dream brought on by stress or the cauliflower he had had for dinner. And now he was back in the garage and the car was empty, bereft of animal carcasses. It would have been so easy to just write the whole thing off, had it not been for two key facts: One, the garage still positively reeked of egg-laying mammals in an advanced state of decomposition which wafted out of all four of the car's windows. That was the second thing: All four windows had been unbroken yesterday, yet now were shattered. From the inside, as if something (such as a mass of slowly-rotting, uniquely Australian flora) had exerted massive pressure on the glass. But apart from the glass shards on the concrete floor and the smell, there was no sign of the dead platypuses. No bills or tails, no front paws or hind legs, no eggs or milk. Just an ordinary car of an absolutely hideous pastel color.

Kay couldn't help but feel as if the vehicle was mocking him, sneering at him. So he decided to not give it the satisfaction of crawling on his hands and knees to look for more evidence under the car. Most frustrating was the way he still felt that dread in the pit of his stomach. Heavy and cloying, like the stench of blood. There were no blood stains on the seats, which was no surprise. The platypuses clearly had not been killed inside the car, but somewhere else and then transported here. But how? And by whom? Kay would have loved to just regard the whole thing as a bizarre prank, but he honestly didn't know anyone who had access to this amount of deceased monotremes. He was still standing in the garage, transfixed by the car which just sat there, with its broken windows but otherwise absolutely unremarkable. "It's just a car" he told himself, and "This shouldn't be this disturbing". Confusing, yes. Needless? Absolutely. But scary or disturbing? No. Unsettling, maybe, but that's the most of it. But he didn't feel merely unsettled; not even just disturbed. He was genuinely scared, almost to the point of being terrified of this car, and not just because of the hideous pastel.

He had some business to conduct and decided that he'd rather take his chance with public transport than drive this weird car. Even if all of this was just some particularly vivid hallucination brought on by a looming burnout or the broccoli he had had for lunch, he didn't want to risk it. He decided that he'd just shower and head out, putting the car out of his mind. He had a full day ahead of him, and when he returned in the evening, he'd call Bertram and ask what the deal was with the car. As he left his garage to take a shower, he briefly thought that he heard something laugh. Whatever it was, it was not human. The shiver that ran down his spine did not come from the crisp fall air outside, and Kay hurried back inside his house.

Before leaving for the day, Kay took another look in the garage. There was no reason to do so, other than to sate his morbid curiosity. Even approaching the garage, he could feel the dread building up, sweat breaking out on his back and under his arms. But he pushed on; after all, satisfaction was known to bring back cats.

As he was standing under the shower, the doubts had begun to creep back in. Surely, he could not have seen the dead platypuses. Surely, he had only imagined it all. But there had been glass shards on the floor, and the stench of death. Or had that been part of the dream too?

So now, he involuntarily held his breath as he looked into the garage, rendering him unable to tell if the smell was still lingering; but when he looked at the car, shining in its hideous color in the twilit darkness, he inhaled sharply. Something was wrong. The car looked differently than it had earlier. For a few moments, he was unable to place the change, but then it hit him. A cold, cold fear gripped his heart. He flicked on the light, banning the darkness and bringing the car into sharp focus. The car, which was pristine. Nothing wrong with it, except the color. And all four windows were absolutely unbroken. The garage smelled of nothing, except the usual lingering smells of gasoline and rubber. So now, all the evidence was gone. The cat had been well and truly killed. And apparently, he was losing his mind.

Kay turned off the light and closed the garage again. He realized that his heart was pounding in his chest; he could feel it all the way up to his temples. He leaned against the concrete of the garage. It was hot, for no good reason at all; but Kay barely felt the heat, only felt the security that only an unmoving piece of masonry can provide.

Kay took stock of his options: He still had no desire to drive the car. But he also did not feel like going out. Something was very wrong today, and it was not just the fact that his new car had a hideous pastel color.

Suddenly: "Augh, what the fuck!" He recoiled from the wall, almost hearing his flesh sizzle. His garage was inexplicably heating up. He watched in mounting terror as the concrete wall began to melt before his eyes, losing its form, the sense (the illusion?) of safety it provided. But it did not fall down, did not collapse. Then, suddenly, there was a deafening crash from inside the garage, a shockwave of sound that dropped Kay to the floor. He fell and hit his tailbone on the driveway. The pain was immediate and excruciating, yet at the same time sharp enough to cut through the panic that had begun to cloud his mind. He got back up and threw open the garage door. What he saw did not surprise him; he had, it seemed, become numb with terror.

The dead platypuses had blown the roof off the car. Kay slammed the door closed and walked back to the house, slowly and deliberately. He knew that, should he start to run, he would be unable to stop.

He needed to make a call.

"The number you have tried to call does not exist" the computerized voice intoned, and Kay couldn't help but feel like there was a certain smugness behind it. Of course the number had been disconnected. Of course his supposed close friend Bertram had gotten a new phone as soon as the keys had been in Kay's hand. After all, Bertram probably didn't want to be reached by Kay anymore. Kay, rather than a friend, had been a dupe for Bertram, who had used Kay to get rid of a problem, namely the hideous car.

He looked at the phone in his hand. There really was only one solution. He dialed a number.

"Hey, Jenny! It's me, Kay! Say, don't you need a new car?"

© Robert R Sidian 2024. Do not distribute.

[desertboogierecordneedle]

Do Trump supporters realize that millions of liberals, moderates, and old school conservatives (of the “Never Trump” variety) have spent the last few years quietly amassing firearms and building arsenals? Yup, it's true! You probably didn't know that because we don't base our entire identities on guns - and we don't live for the day when we can avenge the bruised ego of a felonious former president

We anti-Trump Americans certainly don't want things to turn ugly in November, but if a SHTF scenario is forced upon us, we’re not going to cower and hide. MAGAts, right wing extremists, and Christian Nationalists seem to under the impression that they own The Second Amendment - but that's not the case. The 2A was written with the oppressed in mind, not the oppressors. It was meant to deter Christofascists and other authoritians from putting their boots on the necks of freedom-loving Americans.

It's amazing how quickly perspectives can change during times of uncertainty and unrest. Americans who were afraid to be alone in a room with an unloaded firearm just 10 years ago are now bringing family members to the range for target practice and are guiding friends through the process of purchasing (legal) firearms. Left-leaning Americans aren't just buying guns, locking them up in their safes, and forgetting the combination - they're actually becoming proud Second Amendment advocates. Memberships for left-leaning, (non-NRA) gun clubs have EXPLODED in recent years. These clubs foster a sense of community and unity between like-minded citizens who are concerned about the number of elected leaders and unelected judges jumping on the authoritarian bandwagon. The trend is alarming enough to turn even the most nervous, clueless, reluctant gun virgin into a responsible, confident gun owner (who rarely misses a target). Also, views on lethal self defense are bound to change when people realize that millions of their fellow citizens regard them as subhumans who deserve to be subjected to violence oppression, enslavement, imprisonment, and even death - simply because they reject everything the far right stands for.

MAGAts like you can delude yourselves into believing that when Trump gives you the green light, you’ll have free reign to ‘teach the liberals a lesson’. We’ve all seen those “no quarter given” flags and we know what they mean - but I promise you, things won’t go the way you think they will. Maybe you're envisioning an army of ‘mighty MAGA warriors’ (LOL) rounding up a bunch of limp-wristed, unarmed liberals who pissed themselves from fear, but that not how it's going to play out. I promise. We won't be unarmed sitting ducks waiting to be picked off one by one. We WILL be ready and willing to protect ourselves, our families, our homes, our neighborhoods, and our values. Unlike you and your ilk, we don't desire violence. We don't have wet dreams and demented fantasies about rounding up unarmed citizens for the “crime” of rejecting Donald Trump. Unlike MAGA faketriots and their ilk, our side is not itching for Civil War 2.0. The prospect of spilling American blood doesn't excite us. We hope November 2024 comes and goes peacefully, but we're preparing ourselves for all possibilities. If your side wants to settle the score with violence, don't be shocked when you face armed resistance. Right-wing MAGA extremists and Christofascists are an existential threat to freedom, liberty, and our Democratic Republic. Liberals, Democrats, moderates, and Never Trumpers just want to live their lives as they see fit - not as YOU see fit. Our side wants freedom from oppression. Your side wants freedom to oppress. You're not going to get the outcome you seek. But hey, if the Christofascists and the MAGA boomers on mobility scooters are hellbent on initiating the “fuck around” phase, they’d better not cry when the “find out” phase bites them in the ass.

[darkrubymoon]

Just returned from our Ocean City weekend. A special thank you to my Aunt Barbra Shaul who let us use her condo for the weekend . Still working on video to post. The weather sadly was not so great. We arrived Friday night and got to visit Roses for one last time. Roses, an Ocean City mainstay for as long as I can remember, closes for good next week. We had a fantastic dinner at COINs, making it on time for their happy hour with great deals on food and drinks. After unpacking and watching a little TV, went to bed for the night and I was very grateful for having packed ear-plugs as was forced to share a bed with my dad for whom I am pretty sure he was dreaming about doing a rain dance shaking the bed while intermittently speaking in some unknown dialect between snores.

Saturday, we started the day with a gourmet breakfast made by my sister Renee Ovelgone- Kahn before getting dressed to head out for the day. I was happy that I at least brought one set of clothing for frigid winter weather. What I had not planned on was carrying a repair toolkit with me for an unexpectedly wheelchair repair. I have only been driving my new wheelchair for about a week, so I haven't learned all the quirks like how it will react going over a steep doorsile while simultaneously turning 90 degrees before encountering a sketchy iron railing two floors up. On way out door, bumped footrest which immediately folded upward crushing my foot a bit. As easily as it bent upward , we couldn't get it to go back down. So were outside on cold gray windy balcony by condo elevator trying to fix it. Getting out tools as people coming and going from elevator. This very very nice guy and his wife, seeing our predicament tries to help...with almost no effort, he got footrest to go down again simply pushing on it. For some reason, he wanted to show what he did so we could do it again if in a similar situation ,so he pushed it up again ...and it got stuck. No matter how hard or what he did, could not get footrest to go down, only further up like a one way ratchet . So now he and bunch people gather around to disassemble my chairs footrest. Like an hour later, get it fixed. Just want to thank room 106 so much for helping us...we would probably still be there trying to repair my chair.

We headed to Summer Fest at ocean...but it is FREEEZING lol. Wind and light drizzle, walk around a bit...but we froze. It was still fun though ...they were smart to move most vendors inside tents which kept the wind down and sheltered from the light rain. I was very happy to bump into a absolutely fantastic vendor, Catch of the day https://www.catchofthedaydesigns.com/ , who made the beautiful crane decoration and turtle plaque in my house. Dad took his scooter, so he was able to zip along. We zig-zagged through the many vendors until we were pretty well frozen .

I normally pick restaurants ahead of time, but couldn't narrow down a good second day restaurant. As luck would have it, passed a brand new restaurant called Route 66. I wasn't particularly hungry , so I did a very light kid's meal size french toast and coffee with Kahlua which hit the spot. Sandwiches and very much family fair food with a very friendly waiter. From there , we basically went back to the condo to watch the Kentucky Derby and a very good free Net flicks movie called The Judge before preparing to sleep next to the broken train whistle ...or whatever sound dad was mimicking at night.

Sundays weather was the best of the weekend. It was still drizzling, but at least it was warmer with less wind. We had a great walk down Ocean City Boardwalk with dad in his scooter and me and Renee ducking into shops for a few little souvenirs. I would so love to run my own little souvenir shop near a beachy vacation area. We left a little early for dinner hoping to be able to make a quick stop in Rehoboth beach. We stopped at perhaps the fanciest restaurant of the week, Cottage Cafe, which had really great food. Prices ranged from very low to a tad high depending on what you ordered, but it was quiet, clean and lots of food.

Just about every shop in Rehoboth were closed as pulled up in late afternoon on what was now a rainy Sunday . Renee and I made it to a few cute shops as dad and Thomas Crandall waited for us back at the van. Overall, weather, snoring and wheelchair repairs aside , it was a very nice weekend with dad already wanting to plan next years journey .

[user-needs-a-username]

Thanks @awesomedurraworld for the tag. Here it is. Tumblr has been being weird for a couple days and I had no idea I got tagged.

are you named after anyone?

I am not named after anyone, but I have a cat my grandmother named after me? And if you ask my dad, he’ll tell you I was named after the place I was conceived (which is not true whatsoever.).

But, yeah, no.

when was the last time you cried?

Let me quickly go check my dms... April first and second were my last real cry days. (My puffy eyes we’re definitely just allergies.)

do you have kids?

No, not yet, but hopefully soon. I can barely wait to have kids. (If you can’t tell by my four or five baby or toddler Ed Elric fics.)

Wait... Do these kids count? (I’m too blind to tell if this is a good picture.)

do you use sarcasm a lot?

Way too much... I am trying to stop so I don’t always sound so mean. People here were I live just don’t get it much...

what sports do you play?

None anymore, but I used to play baseball and softball as a kid. Now I am mildly disabled and prefer going on a long walk or a run.

what's the first thing you notice about people?

Their eyes. What emotion do they convey? Eyes are the windows to the soul, as they say. People have a harder time getting their eyes to lie. And differently the vibes/aura people give off. Can’t hide that either... And, yes, I am only just now realising that I seem to have trust issues...

what's your eye color?

Some people say grey, some say blue, and some say green (But that feels wrong. My eyes only show up as green in warm coloured rooms and pictures.)

scary movies or happy endings?

I’m a sucker for happy endings. I can settle for hopeful and I do write bittersweet, but the extent of my “scary movies” is Doctor Who. I know. Judge me, but I like my babies to be happy.

any special talents?

Is playing very below average piano a special talent?

It’s gotta be that or I’ll need to resort to my ability to always have an injury of some sort as a talent.

where were you born?

Same place I live now. :)

what are your hobbies?

I love to write and draw the most. And many other crafty things grab my attention. I love costuming and playing dnd with my dnd buddies. Probably other things also, but right now, that’s all I’ve got.

do you have pets?

Yes, so many. I have a Walker Coonhound named Rollie that is my big baby. I have two hedgehogs. I have two ducks and lots of chickens, several goats (kids too), fish, two cats, and several other animals. Those are just the ones I dedicate my time to taking care of. The rest of the beasts are on someone else.

how tall are you?

I haven’t a clue. At least five foot six. That’s what I said when I went to get my ID, so that’s just how tall I’m going to be. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

favorite subject in school?

Definitely English. It was always my favourite. It’s so fun.

dream job?

My dream would definitely be writing and creating art while having my own children to chase around during the days. :)

I don’t really know who to tag because it’s so late right now... My brain decided not to work. But you know, if you see this and want to do it, feel free to. And feel free to tag me if you do it. XD

[spacequokka]

RM1506: Production Mgmt

Pairing: professor!Jooheon x student!Reader Genre: College AU, Smut Rating: M Summary: “I’ve been trying to figure out how to get you alone for weeks. You’re always with your friends, always where someone might see. But not today. Not this time.” Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: I have no shame, dirty talk (my signature at this point), spanking, pet name, unquenchable thirst, unprotected sex, creampie

This is my second entry for The Faculty, a Monsta X professor au series with @iibonniee​ who also made this gorgeous banner. If you like this series, please fill her inbox with love! I recommend Dangerous Woman for reading.

Taglist: @appachicken​ @dandelion-aj​

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Lee Jooheon was the kind of man who inspired people. Whether it was to graduate, create the best web series, or figure out a way to climb his tall ass, he was simply inspirational. You’d been trying to figure out how to do that last one for three years now. When you first saw him freshman year, you were done for. Sure, he was a teacher, and you weren’t in any of his classes. But your friends were, and you admittedly abused that. Over the years, Professor Lee came to know you as “that brat” sneaking into his lectures with her friends. The one who’d pout but was at least obedient when asked to leave. You liked to believe that since he hadn’t reported you, he somewhat tolerated your shenanigans.

He never complained about the way you often watched him walk by in the hallways or how you’d wink when you caught him watching you. You didn’t want to assume the attraction was mutual, though. It was entirely possible he was brainstorming ways to dump your body in the woods without getting caught. Didn’t mean you couldn’t keep dreaming and wishing for a miracle.

Classes for the day had long since ended. You’d just finished with a small errand for a different Professor Lee when you heard something…off. Something that you don’t usually hear in an academic setting. Muffled moans. You looked around and confirmed the hall was empty. The math building tended to empty out fast after the evening classes. Was someone ducked off somewhere watching porn? Why the fuck would someone want to watch porn in the math building? The music building was a million times better. Soundproof with more space between classrooms.

Curse you for being nosy.

You weren’t in a rush to go to your dorm room, so you figured you might as well see what was up. Channeling your best Black Widow stealth mode, you tiptoed down the hall, listening intently as the sounds got louder. Someone was about to get a heart attack.

The volume of the moans varied, but you found the door. Room 1526. You held your breath as you listened. Heavy breathing mixed with gasps and whines. Damn, someone was really getting it. Then the oddest thing happened. Screeches of metal across the floor. You heard it all the time when classes ended from people getting up from their desks. The flooring in the buildings wasn’t the best, and the heavy desks made it known. So then…this wasn’t a video. Someone was actually fucking in the Calculus classroom.

Oh, shi—

A large hand covered your mouth, and you were hauled back off your feet. You squealed and flailed, doing everything you could think of to throw the strong motherfucker off. You got in a few jabs with your elbow before you heard “Ow! Will you calm down?”

You knew that anime protagonist voice anywhere. “Professor Joo?” You asked, though your voice was muffled, and stopped swinging.

A door opened and then you were in a dimly lit closet with your back pressed up against a wall. “Ah, fuck. My ribs.” Judging by the scented powder wafting off him, you confirmed it was the Object of your Obsessive Horniness, the Production Management professor. And you’d hurt him. Well, shit.

“I’m so sorry—” You started, but he cut you off with a finger to your lips.

Somewhere nearby a door, presumably the porn room, opened followed by faint whispers. You weren’t dumb. You knew he was very close with Professor Im and it was clear as fuck he was trying to protect his friend as much as he could. Sweet, really, but you had zero interest in whoever was getting fucked in that classroom when you had him pressed up against you like this. While he focused on the hallway, you let the situation sink in. Dark small space with Professor Dimples close enough to taste. You shifted against him, maneuvering so that his thigh slotted neatly between your legs to keep his balance.

“He’s taking forever,” he hissed. Agreed, but you weren’t complaining. You settled your hands on his hips, savoring the feel of his slacks under your fingertips. He didn’t react to your touch, so you explored a little more. His shirt was tucked into his pants, but you wanted to feel his skin. The second he felt you tugging on his shirt, he stiffened and turned his head so that his cheek was against yours. “Now isn’t the time, _____.”

Your face scrunched up with a smile. “You know my name?”

“I know a lot more than just your name.” His free hand moved to your hip as he continued to whisper in your ear. “I know you’re a music major with a talent for recording. That you’d like to work with me at least once before you graduate. You’re actually an excellent student when I’m not involved. Kihyun has nothing but good things to say about you. But,” he took a deep breath and released it on a shudder when you worked the shirt free, “you’re so fucking dense.”

“Hey!” You started to protest, but he covered your mouth with his hand.

“Quiet,” he begged with a slight whine. He stopped to listen again and when the silence continued beyond your little bubble, he took his hand away. “How else do you explain being hellbent on fucking me without realizing how I feel?”

You blinked at the shadowy outline of his face. “Um, what now?”

He pressed closer, bracing himself on one arm on the wall near your head. “I’ve never had anyone so determined to get with me. And be so vocal about it, too. You don’t pay attention to your surroundings. You don’t care who hears you whine about me not dicking you down.” He chuckled. “Even the Dean’s making fun of how bad you got it for me.”

“That’s…unfortunate. If I make you uncomfortable, you know you only have to say so.” You removed your hands and held them up. “You never said anything—”

“Oh, sweetness. That’s because I love it.” He squeezed your hip and pulled you against him as he pressed his thigh up against your core. You gasped as the sudden contact sent a jolt through you that left you chest to chest with him, hands holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to get you alone for weeks. You’re always with your friends, always where someone might see. But not today. Not this time.” His fingertips brushed along your jaw, then you felt his lips graze yours. “You haven’t even figured out we go to the same club every Saturday.”

You stopped chasing his lips. “What?”

“What?” He mimicked, sounding more like a parrot than a human. “Yeah, we do. You make me watch you get drunk and practically fuck whoever dances with you right there on the floor. But I gotta know something. Why don’t you ever take anyone home?” He spoke the words against your lips as his hands traveled down your body to the back pockets of your jeans where he slipped his fingers in. “Hm? Knowing you’re so eager to get fucked and cum, why don’t you let someone give you the release you crave?”

“Because they’re not you.” No need to even hesitate. “Why would I settle for subpar sex when I can do an excellent job with my vibrator and memories of the way you bite your lip when you’re waiting for me to leave your class? I may seem desperate, but really I’m just you-sexual. Joosexual, if you will. I want more than just sex. I want the experience.”

His answer was a deep, throaty moan that bordered on a growl. “Fuck, _____. Can I have you? Can I give you what you’re dying for?”

“Please.” You moaned, pressing down on his thigh with a needy cry. He pulled his hands out of your pockets and grabbed your ass with both hands, encouraging you to rut against him while pressing kisses to your jaw.

“Do you dream about doing this? Because I do.” He caught your earlobe with his lips and nipped it. “I’ve always wanted to feel your pussy on my thigh through these ass-hugging jeans you’re so fond of. Who do you wear them for, sweetness? Who do you want fantasizing about this,” he smacked the side of your thigh, “juicy ass?”

You bit your lip. “No one but you. I like making you look at me. Makes me feel sexy.”

“Does it now. C’mere.” His lips captured yours in a kiss that made you both go up in flames, making every contact of skin leave searing heat in its wake. It was all-consuming, stealing your breath and pride, leaving you gasping for air by the time he let you go.

“Turn around,” he ordered as he backed away.

“But I want you down my throat.” You resisted his insistent hands trying to turn you around with a pout.

“Next time, sweetness. I promise. Not here though.” You gave in only because of the reassurance there’d be more to come. See? You weren’t always a brat. “Good girl.” He pulled you against his chest and got to work unbuttoning your jeans and working them down your legs, along with your panties. He grabbed your hips and gently pressed into your back with his thumbs as he angled you towards the wall. “Hands up.”

The second you were in the desired position, one of his hands disappeared for a few seconds as messy slurping filled the room. You shivered in anticipation and were rewarded with his wet fingers gliding through your lower lips. “Oh, god.”

“Mmm, no sweetness. I wanna hear my name.” He smacked your ass. “Lemme hear you say it.”

You were losing your shit. He could ask for the moon and you’d scramble to figure out a way to get it for him. “Jooheon.”

“Mm, yeah.” He rewarded you with a finger, stroking your wet walls. “Music to my ears.”

“Please, Jooheon.” You trembled, just barely able to keep standing. “Fuck me already. Fill me up.”

“Can’t say no when you look so sexy for me.” His hands left your body, followed by the clink of his belt and his pants unzipping. “Where’s the condom you keep on you?”

Your jaw dropped. “How’d you—”

“I told you already. You don’t care who hears you talk about me.” He groaned when his dick brushed against the curve of your ass. “Shit. Give it to me or I’m going in raw.”

“Ooh, fuck. Are you serious? Because I’m on the pill and I swear I’m clean—” Your mouth clamped shut when the fat head of his cock pressed against your entrance. You pushed back on him and your pussy sucked him right in, making you both moan.

He buried his face in your neck as he covered your mouth with his hand. “Oh, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. So tight. Ah.” He wrapped his other arm around your waist and held you steady. You still had six more inches to take. “You feel even better than I imagined.”

You heard him, but just barely. Your sanity was slipping away as he continued to push inside, moaning softly in your ear each time you clenched and made it harder for him to ease inside. You’d heard stories of people cumming just from putting it in, but always dismissed it as an exaggeration. They must have had insane sexual tension and months of celibacy because it felt like a possibility right there in Jooheon’s arms. You reached back with both hands and palmed his thighs before squeezing them. You’d waited long enough for him to ruin you.

With a steadying breath, you thrust back on him, forcing the rest of his dick in. He shivered and held you tightly as he pressed kisses to the side of your neck. “G-gimme a second, sweetness. I can feel your fucking heartbeat on my dick. That’s so fucking hot. Like a hummingbird.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Only he could still manage to be cute while stuffing you with his cock. You granted him a chance to adjust and calm down as you enjoyed the way his hands caressed you from your breasts down to your thighs and back. Up and down, over and over, as his dick gradually stopped twitching. When he wrapped his arms around you again, you decided you’d waited long enough. You reached back and held his neck with one hand as you pulled your hips away.

“No. What are you—” The words died in his throat when you tugged on his leg while pushing back on his dick, creating a single clap of skin. He didn’t protest when you immediately pulled away to do it again, determined to fuck yourself if you had to. Jooheon straightened up and grabbed your hips. “Knew you wouldn’t let me just enjoy the feel of this delicious pussy wrapped around my dick for long.” He snapped his hips, forcing you to brace yourself on the wall. “So eager and needy. Always tempting me.” His hand cupped the front of your throat but didn’t apply any pressure. “Now I can finally fuck you stupid.”

Each thrust left you speechless as he went deeper than anyone you’ve had before, stretching you as he circled his hips, searching for that spot. It was pointless to try to keep it down when he eventually brushed against it and left you crying out.

“There we go.” He moaned as you got tighter. “Come here, sweetness.” He bent over and molded his body against your back as he fucked into you harder, faster. “Touch yourself for me. Be my DJ.”

He guided your hand down to your pussy and pressed your fingers against your clit. Each swirl of your finger around your clit brought you closer to orgasm as he pounded away. “I’m, I’m almost there.”

“I can feel it.” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders as he jack hammered into you. “I am too. I am—ah, fuck—right there. So close. So close.” You held onto his arm and met his thrusts, throwing it back so hard his hips stuttered. He came first with a low whine as his strokes slowed down but were longer. Being held tightly while feeling his dick twitch deep inside you was nirvana. His lips brushed the shell of your ear and he said, “Cum for me, sweetness.”

Euphoria washed over you from your head to your toes as you fulfilled your ultimate fantasy: creaming on Professor Lee’s fat dick. Knowing it was him, that you’d finally gotten a taste of him, left you light-headed as your legs threatened to give out on you. You didn’t realize you were chanting his name in between strings of gibberish as he pressed kisses along your neck and shoulder.

“Shit, _____.” He gave you a little squeeze. “The best I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, breathless and beyond satisfied with how your body buzzed. “You don’t have to keep up the act. I’m sure Professor Im is long gone. I won’t tell anyone what I heard.”

“Hm?” He sighed blissfully, then shook his head. “What act? I couldn’t fake a nut that good even with years of drama classes.”

“You knew someone was fucking in his class, right? That’s why you pulled me into the closet.” You tried to look at him over your shoulder. “Wasn’t this just to distract me?”

Your eyes met as his widened. “I didn’t hear anything. I had Minhyuk send you on an errand after his class so I could get you away from your little friends.” His eyes darted all over your face. “I was telling you to be quiet so we wouldn’t get caught.”

Oh.

Ohhhh.

“Either way, he should be gone by now.” Jooheon smiled before planting a kiss on your lips. “You hungry? We can grab dinner on the way back to my place.”

“Really?”

“Of course. When I said next time, I meant it. Today.”

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[nowimyurdaisy]

Backseat Rider Part 2

pairing: Jeremiah fisher x reader

warning(s): angst?

summary: a summer back in cousins, leads to confessions.

a/n: HERE is the part 2 to Backseat rider that y'all have been asking me to write. Wrote the last part on my phone, no judging 😂 Luv y'all 💗💗

part 1 part 2

~a year later~

It had been over a year since you had seen the Fishers, you didn't want to go back to Cousins, but your family had insisted on going this summer. I guess the whole never seeing Jeremiah or Belly again plan failed, since you couldn't really control going to Cousins or not. So, since you had to return, you would just avoid that WHOLE group & focus on making new friends?

Currently you were in your room packing for the trip, your playlist playing in the background, you began to hum to the song 🎵I hear your voice over and over, sitting on the beach of Dover, what is happening? Oh, dear, I keep wishing you were here, and I swear, I'm gonna lose it, if I keep playing your music🎵 You're dreading this summer but at the same time you can't help but smile, because you have this feeling in the pit of your stomach that this summer would be different than last.

~ flash forward to the first day in Cousins ~

Belly is right, the drive to Cousins is like coming home after you've been gone, it stays the same when you're away. You headed straight to the beach when you got there, changing into your new swimsuit, a bikini your best friend bought you, that you honestly aren't too sure about but hey! new summer.

~~

Eventually you got a job at the country club working at the snack shack unbeknownst to you, Steven AND Jeremiah were working at the club as well. When you got to the club, you saw that red jeep pull up, and sitting in that red jeep was one Mr. Jeremiah Fisher, Steven, and of course, one Belly Conklin. She was dressed in what looked like a summer dress with puffy sleeves & a fascinator. *It's deep red, my broken dream* That lyric danced in your head when you saw them step out of the car, and you ducked behind the counter.

Jeremiah & Belly walked straight into the club, while Steven headed straight your way, straight for the snack shack. You ducked behind the counter, then your manager asked "hey what are you doing!?"

"Nothing"you mumbled standing up. Then Steven saw you, he ran up to you to give you a hug.

"Y/NN! Is that you?" you nodded. "I can't believe you're really here! Wa-wait, wait 'till Jere and belly and-'' You cut him off before he could finish, "no, no, no, you can't tell anyone, not even susanah or ms. conklin ok?" you said before wriggling out of his grasp.

~~

Well, wishes don't always come true, huh; you can't ever completely control who you do & don't see, especially when working, Ducking behind counters and taking breaks every time he comes over won't last forever. It was a Saturday, one of the busiest days at the club, and you were facing the other way when he walked over, expecting to see Steven, not you. "Y/n?" Jeremiah asked, such shock in his voice.

You freeze, eyes wide with shock. Slowly you turned around, "hi" you said nervously, eyes still wide, like a deer caught in headlights, an awkward smile plastered on your face. The two of you stood there staring at each other for a few seconds, before one speaks up.

"I, I thought you weren't coming back this summer" Jeremiah chuckles nervously.

"I wasn't," you replied simply.

"What made you come here then?"

Ignoring his question, you asked him, "What can I get you, Jere Bear?" emphasis on the 'Jere Bear', a nickname you had come up with, oh so many years ago, that Belly stole from you.

"Oh" Jeremiah's face was blank from the sudden change in topic, "Nothin' just wanted to talk to Steven. I'll catch you later" he smiled, regaining more of his normally cheery self, as he whispered, "at least I hope so."

~a week later~

You wished you could say that you didn't love him anymore, that hearing his voice again didn't bring back memories, feelings of lost time. You were standing on the beach staring at the water, thinking how he used to be the first thing on your mind. You internally cringed at how every morning when you got up the first thing you did was check your phone for a text from Jere, and during the summer the first thing you did would be going over to the Fisher's to see him. You laughed, seeing Jere's reflection in the coastline, now you were going crazy, seeing things. Then the reflection said something and you turned around.

"I- wh-what are you doing here?" you asked Jere, realizing you weren't actually seeing things.

"I knew you'd be here" he chuckled, "it's your favorite spot."

"You got me" you responded, turning to walk away. But Jeremiah grabs your wrist to stop you.

"y/n, please don't, don't go" jere pleads with you. "There's so much I want to talk to you about, so many things left unsaid from last summer."

"Okay. Lets talk" you agreed, beginning to walk along the beach, Jere along your side. "Where do you want to start?" you asked.

"I, I read your letter." You nodded at his statement. "I'm sorry I had no idea, I wish you hadn't left so fast" you went to question him why, but he continued talking. "Yes belly & I love loved each other, but after you left. After a week of us dating. She left me, she left me for Conrad. I wasn't enough, and it killed me, but her ending our summer fling. Yes we dated most of the summer, in secret of course. But I realized," he stopped. Chuckling nervously.

"You what?" you asked slowly, carefully, like you were afraid he would run away. Carly Rae jepsen's lyrics ringing in your head 🎵But I still love you I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you🎵

"I realized, Belly is not the girl for me, I'll always love her but she'll never compare. She'll never compare to you, you y/n y/m/n y/l/n are the girl of my dreams" he finished.

"Me?"

"Yes you. I'm in love with you, and if you don't feel the same ever again, I understand"

"Jeremiah, you stupid idiot. I'm in love with you too!!" You responded, a teary smile on your face. You leaned in and kissed him. His hand on the back of your head, his other resting on your hip, pulling you closer. Your hands resided in his messy curls.

"I'll love you forever & always y/n" Jere spoke pulling away from your lips.

"Forever & always" you responded, giggling and reconnecting your lips. Standing on the beach of Cousins, your summer fairytale.

 -✧⬝✧⬝✧⬝✧⬝✧-

Taglist + moots: @bigassnocash @http-ily @http-ilysm @buckys2thicc @xtom-darling-x17

[amor-immortalem]

Replaced

Genre: Heavy Angst, Angst with a somewhat happy ending.

Warning: The following piece is my take on the replaced! au with Arella. Dark themes lie ahead. If you are triggered by feelings of abandonment, suicidal ideation, or outright suicide, this mini fic is not safe for you to read. Please continue at your own discretion.

A/N: I did it guys! I actually managed to break myself with this mini fic by digging into my own abandonment issues. It was fun- cathartic almost. Please enjoy! Also, spoilers for the lesson 16 incident.

What does it feel like to be replaced? If you were to ask Arella, she’d say it felt bitter and painful. Like someone was holding a white-hot branding iron to her stomach and pushing it in to the point it ate through all the layers of her skin and was now searing through her stomach or like someone was rubbing salt into a open, festering wound.

When Diavolo had announced to the other student council officers that a new exchange student would be joining their ranks, Arella was excited- especially when she found out the new student was a female- there was only so much Arella could talk about in a house full of men and one genderless individual that they would understand, all of them having been assigned male at birth and whatnot. So, another woman among their ranks would be a breath of fresh air for her. And it was for a time being- until the brothers had taken favor to this new human.

It started within months of this new exchange student arriving. One by one, her favorite demons started hanging around her more often. It wasn't like Arella could be mad at them. This human was novel and oh so different from Arella. She was everything Arella was not, from her blonde hair to her well-developed body- even her height, which matched closer to the brothers. She was everything human world media told a girl she should be. She even looked like she fit in with them- having taken to the Devildom like a duck to water even without being able to use magic.

Arella wants to be angry with this girl, but she can’t. This girl, named Melissa, was so sweet it was almost enough to make Arella sick. She was smart, innocent, and -above all else- selfless. It was apparent the boys adored her immediately. One by one, Arella was losing them to the charms of this new girl. The first to go was Satan, clearly smitten by her love of books and knowledge of obscure but very talented authors. The second to go was Asmo, often taking her out to clubs or on long shopping trips that often lasted well past curfew. And just like that the other brothers started to follow suit. Game nights between her and Levi? Gone. Drawing up budgets with Lucifer? Not anymore. Going out with Beel to cafes? Not in her wildest dreams. Naptimes up in the attic with Belphie? Hah! Fat chance. The last and most painful to pull away was Mammon- her first man. The one who swore he would always be there for her when she needed him. And oh how she needed him.

Just like when Arella had first come to the Devildom, Mammon was given the task of watching over Melissa by Lucifer. At first Arella tried to justify it as Lucifer worrying about the girl’s safety as even though his brothers had gotten better at controlling themselves, they still had their moments.

As time went on however, she started to notice the little things. Missed movie nights between them, date nights often forgotten about in favor of showing Melissa his favorite spots around the city, the loss of any physical intimacy. Soon, he stopped seeing her all together. Things that she and Mammon did together were now reserved for Melissa: casino trips, movie nights, pranks on Lucifer that would have the eldest chasing after them, running around the city until it was nearly what could considered to be the Devildom’s equivalent of dawn. She knew he was completely gone when she walked down to the dining room for supper one evening and overheard them just casually flirting. Mammon didn’t even make any attempts to dissuade Melissa’s advances. He remembered he actually had a girlfriend, right? Right?!

Or were they even a thing anymore? It had been months since they’d spent any substantial time together outside of classes and even then, he’d moved seats to sit closer to the new human. He’d either ignore her texts or straight up just ghost her altogether. As she listened to them, she had to push down the possessive tendencies that tried to force their way out of her. She pushed them back down into the flimsily locked box they had always been contained in and burying them down in the deepest parts of her mind, forcing herself to accept that she was no longer wanted- no longer loved by the family she thought she’d found. She returned to her room for the rest of the night and for the first time since the initial weeks after arriving here on her first visit, cried herself to sleep.

The next time she interacted with any of the Avatars, it was Lucifer ordering her off to school telling her that she had better not be late and tarnish the good name Lord Diavolo and the exchange programme. Arella only nodded and promptly left the house, not even bothering to finish her morning cup of tea. The walk to school was lonely, Mammon had left earlier with Melissa and it was then, with a broken heart, Arella decided she would leave them all to their new toy. They wouldn’t bother her. They didn’t need her. At least she had Solomon and the angels, didn’t she? No, it didn’t seem to be the case either judging by the mass of unanswered texts.

As she entered class, Arella took her usual seat only hoping Mammon would choose to sit with her for once, would just choose her for once in general. But it wasn’t meant to be. Of course, it wouldn’t. Why would he bother to choose her when there was someone who was much better for him than her? Someone who wasn’t selfish or possessive or... or... worthless... She subtilty looked over her shoulder to watch as they cracked jokes and laughed together and she felt tears pool in her eyes- heart aching at the thought that she would never have that again and the sweet memories she’d made with the demon. The spot she once saved for him was now taken by another demon.

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

Two months more of this- it had been eleven since Melissa joined them. None of the brothers even looked Arella’s way anymore- often forgetting she lived in the house with them in the first place. When she tried to reach out to any of them it was Melissa needs this or Melissa and I are doing this, so she just stopped. She stopped eating, stopped taking care of herself save for basic hygiene needs. No one came to check on her. There were no texts, no calls, nothing. They’d gotten all they wanted out of her and now she was like a cast aside doll. She thought about reaching out to any of them but decided against it. They were demons and she was just an insignificant human. It's not like they actually cared and Arella was a fool for allowing herself to entertain the thought.

She should just go home. But where was home? The human world held nothing for her to return to. Sure, she had that degree in biochemical engineering to fall back on but after having a taste of true happiness, would she even enjoy a life doing that? Maybe she could just go back to her original plan. The plan she had made when she first signed on to the exchange programme. 23 years was certainly long enough to experience everything life had to offer, right? She always did tell herself if the year on the exchange programme didn’t work out, she’d end it all. The idea was sounding more and more appealing by the minute.

With her mind made up, Arella swung her legs over the side of the bed. A smile was painted on her face. Her cheeks stained with tears; emerald-green eyes bleary from all the crying she’d done over the past two months. No one would miss her. They left her- abandoned for the better human like she was an unwanted pet. What did she expect though? No one ever stayed. No one ever cared. No one ever loved her enough to begin with. She was always thrown away like the trash she was after her purpose was fulfilled.

With what little strength she could muster, Arella stood as she uttered a spell and a portal opened. She gladly stepped through it, finding herself in her childhood home as it closed- a place filled with nothing but suffering and pain for her. What a fitting place for her own painful end.

“Hello, Mum, Myles... I’m... home... Isn’t it lovely... that you were right after all? I’ll be with you... soon...”

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

Missing his call on her D.D.D. was the first thing that Mammon noticed. He knew he hadn’t been the best boyfriend ever since the new human arrived and the demon felt guilty for that. He’d put so much energy into helping Melissa get a date with his younger brother that he hadn’t realized how much time had actually passed- how it had been almost a year since he’d done literally anything with his girlfriend. She was probably pissed at him and rightfully so. Now that he had actually looked at his calendar, there had been so many planned dates and movie nights he had missed with her and all he wanted to do was make it up to her somehow. She probably thought he didn’t want her anymore which couldn’t have been further from the truth. He missed her- missed hanging out with her, missed the dumb jokes they would crack and the laughter that followed, missed the pranks they would play on Lucifer that often ended up with them strung up from the ceiling together. He missed the late-night cuddles and having her tucked up under his arm at night as he held her close. The bed they had once shared was considerably colder now that she was no longer there.

Mammon made his way down to her room. That was the only place she could be. Arella never left her room anymore. She always left for school earlier than anyone else too, choosing to skip breakfast outright, so Mammon couldn’t even catch her to talk then. He thought about reclaiming his seat next to his human but every morning he found her chatting up another demon that had taken his old seat. He often felt his possessiveness spike most during those times but did he even have the right to feel that way after neglecting her for the past eleven months?

As he drew closer to her room, he could see Beel knocking at her door, asking if she’d like to go visit that new café she had mentioned a couple weeks ago. When there was no answer, the Avatar of Gluttony would frown, unsure if she was just asleep or just actively ignoring him. That was the second sign something was wrong. No matter what happened, at the end of the day, Arella was always happy to entertain their whims.

“She’s not answerin’ ya, is she?” The second-born asks as the sixth-born shakes his head, looking like an abandoned puppy on the side of the road. “I’ll go in ‘n see if she’s awake. I have to talk to ‘er anyway.”

Beelzebub nodded as he left back to the kitchen- likely to eat his hurt feelings away. None of them really had the right to feel this way after they’d just ghosted their favorite human though. As he opened the door, Mammon stopped dead in his tracks. She wasn’t there, her phone lay on the bed lit up with missed texts from Asmo and Levi.

Immediately, he took off for Lucifer’s study. If anyone would know her whereabouts it would be Lucifer, right? The family patriarch had the uncanny ability to know exactly where every resident of the House of Lamentation was at any given time so long as they were still in the Devildom.

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

After considering her options, Arella was left indecisive. There were a number of ways she could end her own life. She wouldn’t lie, before the exchange programme she would fantasize about the many ways she could kill herself. Would it be by hanging like she found Myles? Or perhaps she could slit her wrists like her beloved mother. If the car in the garage still worked, carbon monoxide poisoning was a valid option too. There were sleeping pills up in the medicine cabinet- a large handful of those would definitely do the trick... Ah choices, choices. As she smiled to herself, the human wondered if any of the brothers had noticed she wasn’t in the house anymore. The chances were unlikely as they were all too busy with their new human but if they had, who was it?

Would it be Asmo, Levi, Belphegor? Surely, it wouldn’t have been Mammon. He’d long since moved on, probably enjoying the start of a new relationship with Melissa. It hurt that he couldn’t have been bothered to even break up with Arella in the first place. What happened to forever? Had it all been the honeyed words of a liar?

She shook her head. It was best not to think too much on it but she still couldn’t help it. Once she was gone- once their pact faded away- would he regret this? Would he regret losing the person who loved him so unconditionally that it was almost embarrassing?

With her mind made up, Arella grabbed a knife from one of the drawers in the kitchen and carried herself up to the master bedroom where she had found her mother four years prior. As she lie on the bed, she pressed the knife to her wrist deep enough to cause substantial bleeding. She drags the blade up her arm, watching as the crimson liquid gushed from the from the wound. She thinks it’s beautiful- a fitting end for a vile creature such as herself.

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

“Lucifer!”

“What, Mammon?” The eldest didn’t even bother to look up from the ever-growing stack of paperwork on his desk.

“Did Arella have plans tonight?” The Avatar of Greed asks as his brother finally looks up at him.

“Not that I’m aware of, but I also haven’t seen her all day. As her mate, you should know, shouldn’t you? As far as I’m aware, Arella hasn’t left the house and is still in her room probably practicing her mag-”

In that moment, both demons felt a sharp pain shoot up their arm as if someone had taken a knife and was drawing a line up the inside of their arm. The same pain was radiating from the places where their pact marks were located. Mammon clutched at his chest as he fell to his knees, the symbol representing his girlfriend radiating with pain that reached down to his heart. If the screams of the others were anything to go by, they felt the same thing.

“She’s not in her room!” The white-hair demon manages to gasp out. What scares him most is that he can feel their pact fading away.

Lucifer’s heart leapt up in his throat as the realization hit him. It wasn’t her practicing magic that he had sensed earlier, it was her casting a spell. She opened a portal to the human world and had gone through. He now realizes the mistake they’ve made as he remembers back to the confession she had made to him over a year ago one night when neither of them could sleep and opted for a late-night cup of tea. She had told him that he and his brothers had saved her life that first year during the exchange programme. That if things hadn’t worked out so well, she had planned to take her own life. Back then, he thought nothing much of it since the problem had resolved itself. But with how they had essentially pushed her aside in favor of Melissa, she would have felt unwanted bringing the suicidal thoughts back full force. They had to get to her and fast before it was too late.

Always fast on his feet the eldest, opens a portal of his own, knowing of only one place she would go to take her own life. Both brothers would hop through, landing in the dusty house with a thud. The smell hit them faster than either of them could process it. Blood. And a lot of it at that.

Mammon was the first to scramble for the stairs while Lucifer made a break for the phone, having forgotten his D.D.D. on his desk in the rush to get through the portal. The second-born knows the layout of Arella's house too well, having been here with her multiple times before this. Back in better times when she knew just how much he loved her. As the smell of fresh blood grows stronger, he finds her resting on the bed, a smile on her face as the knife lay between her body and the arm that was still slowly losing blood.

Faster than a flash of lightning, the demon tore his belt off and was on the bed immediately. He took her arm, fastening his belt around the upper part in a tourniquet to stop the blood flow. He shook her frantically, tears spilling down his face freely.

“Arella! Arella! C'mon, baby, wake up! Please!” His voice came out in a scream and he could only vaguely hear his brother speaking on the phone with emergency services. “We’re sorry! Don’t leave us! Don’t leave me!”

With every passing second, Mammon could feel her life slipping away through the pact that was still searing his heart. This was the price of his actions- of all their actions. Her blood was on his hands, literally. He should have done more. He should have been there. He could have called or texted or even just picked up the damn phone when she had called him, but instead just like the blood that had slipped from her arm, the Avatar of Greed let her slip through his fingers. She was gone and there was no bringing his human back this time like they had when Belphie threw her body down the stairs after he’d strangle her to death. He and his brothers had spent all that time protecting her from other demons but they couldn’t protect her from themselves.

Once the EMT’s got there, the demon stepped back from the blood-soaked bed in a state of shock- a state of disbelief. There was nothing they could do for her now. She had no pulse, no signs of life. He dropped to his knees unable to believe that his human was truly gone. His throat felt tight as more tears came. He was only just able to register the feeling of the Avatar of Pride’s embrace as they cried together- something they hadn’t done since the fall, since Lilith passed.

The two demons were informed that the coroner would arrive to collect her body shortly as they left the room. Slowly they got up, Mammon taking her body in his arms as he fought back the urge to sob. The pair returned to the House of Lamentation with Arella’s body in tow, cradled carefully in her mate’s arms. As they stepped through, they were met by their brothers and Melissa. Even the Angels, Solomon, and the Royals were there waiting.

“She’s gone,” The eldest’s voice cracked as a pained grimace formed on his face, more tears slipping down his face. Mammon couldn’t even lift his head to look them in the eyes as the crying, wailing, sobbing started.

“We didn’t deserve ‘er.” The second-born chokes on his tears, feeling utterly broken inside. “We did this to ‘er. All... All seven of us did this... She reached out to alla us ‘n we ignored ‘er.” He’s the angriest with himself.

The prince and his butler only watch on, tears in their eyes. Diavolo remembers all the good times they’ve had with Arella. The way she made the lives of the Avatars better, the fun she brought to the student council meetings, the beautiful light she’d brought to the Devildom. She’d made such an impact on the lives of all of these demons and angels. As selfish as it was, Diavolo didn’t want to let any of that go.

“Bring her back, Barbatos.” He orders and his loyal servant steps forward.

“Place her on the ground, Mammon.” Barbatos says calmly, almost as if he’s done this a thousand times and for some reason the Avatar of Greed obeys the order.

Once she’s on the ground, the green-haired demon pulls open her mouth and takes Mammon’s hand in his, producing a dagger and slicing the white-haired demon’s palm tipping it to side and allows the blood to drop into Arella’s mouth. As the crimson liquid flows down her throat, the effect is immediate- Arella's body convulsing violently before she gasps for breath as the gash along the inside of her arm heals.

Everyone- demons, angels, and humans alike- stare wide-eyed at the scene. Lucifer looks up to his longtime friend in disbelief. He had just...

“Let this teach you all a very painful lesson. I’ve given her life as a demon, do not take this chance for granted. You will not get it again. She needs rest for now, but in a day or two, Arella will reawaken.” The prince’s voice is stern as he peers down at the former human who would now become a very powerful demon. “Treat her right this time.”

It’s with that that Diavolo and Barbatos take their leave. The rest was up to the brothers now to care for her and right the wrongs they’ve made.

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

Next

The Bad Ending

Find more on my masterlist

[cdroloisms]

take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi) 

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete. 

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now. 

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news. 

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright. 

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now. 

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots. 

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine. 

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?) 

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all. 

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen. 

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it. 

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs. 

“Michael!” 

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air. 

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!” 

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves. 

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands. 

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly. 

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?” 

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.” 

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice. 

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices. 

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return. 

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest. 

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all? 

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands. 

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team. 

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs. 

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!” 

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation. 

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return. 

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak. 

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?” 

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time. 

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?” 

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?” 

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in. 

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?” 

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud. 

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.” 

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.” 

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter. 

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.” 

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream. 

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for. 

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena. 

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops. 

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again. 

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!” 

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up. 

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge. 

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway. 

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“ 

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.” 

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.” 

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out. 

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best. 

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail. 

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly. 

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.” 

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions- 

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?” 

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut. 

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps. 

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well. 

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to. 

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before. 

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Like you did that much.” 

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye. 

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs. 

“Fair.” 

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow. 

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future. 

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever. 

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team. 

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits. 

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?” 

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they? 

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body. 

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well? 

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further. 

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him. 

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own. 

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?” 

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words. 

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?” 

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.” 

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?” 

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s  worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red. 

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?” 

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome. 

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break. 

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain. 

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.” 

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own. 

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake. 

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point. 

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.” 

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.” 

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time. 

Keep your head down. 

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.” 

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race. 

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!” 

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.” 

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again. 

“Thanks, guys.” 

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings. 

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?” 

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.” 

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs. 

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?” 

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back. 

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?” 

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!” 

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition. 

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down. 

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it. 

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap. 

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter. 

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder. 

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own. 

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it. 

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off. 

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off. 

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak. 

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod. 

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams,  watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team - 

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering  into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena. 

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?” 

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners. 

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route. 

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out. 

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused. 

“Gottem.” 

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting. 

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them. 

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby. 

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?” 

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective. 

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second - 

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!” 

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own. 

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue. 

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay. 

The smile slips off his face. 

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on. 

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what? 

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply. 

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it. 

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity. 

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all. 

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow. 

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down. 

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red. 

---

“What the hell was that?” 

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence. 

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?” 

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look  above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes. 

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-” 

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?” 

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter. 

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-” 

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?” 

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?” 

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features. 

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.” 

“...liar.” 

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down. 

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward. 

“Quackity!” 

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-” 

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops. 

“LET’S GO!” 

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows. 

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time. 

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself- 

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.” 

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?” 

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze. 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.” 

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder. 

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp. 

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention. 

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.” 

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..” 

���Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.” 

“Thanks for everything, Scott.” 

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.” 

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing. 

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?” 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?” 

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.” 

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him. 

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.” 

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached. 

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.” 

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.” 

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure. 

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?” 

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head. 

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.” 

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly. 

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.” 

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.” 

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life. 

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.” 

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow. 

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?” 

[angelofthequeers]

Free to Be You and Me: chapter 24

Chapter 23 | Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

“Hi, guys!” Lila beams when Marinette and the other girls plus Nino enter the classroom on Monday. Marinette’s ready to tense, to steel herself to deal with Lila and her court, but then she remembers: everyone knows now. The other girls had gotten word to Kim, Max, Ivan, and Nathaniel, and now there’s a berth around Lila that hadn’t been there before. Not blatantly obvious, sure, but it’s clear enough that Lila is Not Happy about it, judging by the chilly quality to her smile.

“Oh, hey, Lila!” Rose says brightly. That’s it. That’s all she says as she heads to her seat with Juleka. It clearly catches Lila off-guard, because her smile falters for just a split second.

“So,” Lila says as everyone else takes their own seats, “I hear you all had a sleepover on the weekend! That must have been so much fun!”

“It totally was, dude.” Nino proudly shows off his glimmering green nails. “All the girls were fighting over me and everything.”

“We were fighting over what colour to paint your nails, thank you very much,” Alya says, crossing her arms. Out of the corner of her eye, Marinette notices Adrien slip into the room and to his seat, ducking out of sight of Lila, and she can’t help but giggle softly at his antics. He grins back at her with pink cheeks.

“You should have come, Chloé!” Rose says. “Zoé was there and it was so much fun!”

“Yeah, I’ll keep being anywhere she’s not, thanks,” Chloé drawls without looking up from her nails.

“That sounds like fun,” Lila sighs. “I wish I knew why I was the only girl not invited. I know Marinette and I don’t always get along, but it would have been nice to hang out and have a girls’ night.”

“For your health, of course!” Alya says. “We didn’t know how your arthritis would cope with the ladder to Marinette’s room. And since Marinette lives in a bakery, we didn’t want to risk triggering your gluten intolerance.”

“Exactly!” Max says. “I would have also had to turn down an invitation if I’d gotten one, since the particles in the air might disrupt Markov’s sensitive systems. Not even a chance to beat the champion of Ultimate Mecha Strike III could have tempted me to endanger Markov.”

Lila’s too-wide smile turns rather fixed. “That’s so considerate of you all!” she says. “I do wish I could have come, but I appreciate you all thinking of me!”

Marinette chews on her bottom lip to stifle her laughter. It’s not even getting one over Lila that’s got her so giddy; it’s the fact that her classmates believe her, that they know the truth, and they’ve got her back.

Once class is underway and Ms Bustier tasks them with partnering up for the lesson, Marinette turns to Alya, ready for hushed best friend conversations in between doing actual work. But, to her surprise, Lila materialises next to her with the same too-wide smile as before.

“Marinette!” she says. “I was thinking, since we didn’t get to hang out last night and I’d really like to bury the hatchet between us, would you mind being my partner?”

Marinette blinks. She turns to Alya, silently asking if she’s having an incredibly vivid dream, but Alya’s answering blank stare confirms that no, this is reality and she’s very much awake.

“Um, sure?” Marinette says. “If that’s okay, Alya?”

“Totally,” Alya says. “I can third-wheel Adrien and Nino.”

Something in Lila’s eyes shifts at the mention of Adrien’s name. “Sounds like a plan,” she says and tugs Marinette to the back of the room, her nails digging into Marinette’s forearm. The back desk is empty, since Nathaniel’s moved down a row to work with Ivan, and Marinette is practically thrown onto the bench by Lila, who slides along and crowds Marinette between her and the wall.

“You can take our notes, since my arthritis is playing up,” Lila says with a sweet smile. Marinette smiles back just as sweetly.

“Of course! In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask about all your health conditions. As the class representative, it’s my job to help make sure that each student can do their best learning, and I realised that I should be doing more to help you, with all your problems.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to worry about me. I wouldn’t want to put you out or anything.”

“Really, it’s not a bother! But it can wait until after class. I can do the writing and you can read through the exercises!”

“Alright, what’s your game?” Lila drops the sugary act and leans in, her eyes narrowed. “Why are you suddenly being nice? And why is everyone else acting weird?”

“What do you mean?” Marinette says innocently, her heart pounding in her ears. “They’re trying to help you and your conditions, just like they’ve always done. And I’ve just come to realise that it’s easier to be nice than aggressive.”

“Trying to suck up to your friends?” Lila sneers.

“I don’t need to suck up to them. I told you, Lila, you’ll never turn them against me. And the fact that you’ve put all this effort in and they’re still my friends should tell you something about true friendship.”

“Well, I don’t need true friendship. I just need to tell them what they want to hear until they’re begging to help me. I’m even wrapping Adrien around my little finger.”

“Right, by getting his dad to force him to be around you.” Marinette clenches her fists under the table, otherwise she might punch Lila in the face for daring to talk about Adrien like that, and that’ll tear their plan to shreds. “You know what? I pity you. You can’t even get people to be around you without lies and manipulation. I used to hate you, but now I just feel sorry for you.”

“Feel sorry for me all you want. I’m the one that Adrien’s kissed. And if I have anything to say about it, there’ll be a lot more like that in the future. Soon, I’ll be on his arm in the spotlight and – why are you laughing?”

Marinette had thought that mentioning the forced kiss would make her blood boil. What she hadn’t expected was to end up bursting into laughter right in Lila’s face, just at the sheer absurdity of it all. Lila went to all those lengths just to make him kiss her and she thinks she can still force her way in? Especially when she’s unknowingly sitting next to Adrien’s girlfriend, who he kisses willingly and so, so many times?

“Stop laughing at me!” Lila whines.

“Y-You’re so sad,” Marinette hiccups. “You’ll never get Adrien. You’ll never get anyone. No matter how much you lie and manipulate and sabotage, you’ll never get Adrien or Alya or Ladybug or anyone else.”

“I always get what I want!” Lila stamps her foot. “Always! You’ll see – stop laughing!”

“Girls, what’s going on here?” Ms Bustier says as Marinette slides out of her seat and under the desk, her stomach cramping with laughter.

“Marinette won’t stop laughing at me and I just feel so attacked right now!” Lila wails immediately.

“N-Not at all,” Marinette chokes, pulling herself back out from under the desk. “Lila j-just told a funny j-joke, Ms B-Bustier. I didn’t know she c-could be that hilarious.”

“Oh my gosh!” Rose squeals. “Marinette and Lila are finally becoming friends! This is amazing!”

Marinette loses the battle against her body and slides back under the desk, tears streaming down her face.

.

Operation Be Annoyingly Nice to Lila is amazing. Adrien hadn’t thought it could possibly work, and yet Lila’s now constantly one tiny step from losing it, if the way her eye twitches when no one’s watching is any indication. And not only that, but every single classmate – even Chloé and Sabrina, and Adrien isn’t even fully sure they’re in on it – refuses to leave him alone with Lila. Like, at all.

Like the day after the sleepover, when Lila had cried about her arthritis playing up and how she just couldn’t make it to the cafeteria and oh, could Adrien help her there?

“Ivan, why don’t you take her?” Mylène had said. “You’re the strongest person in the class!”

“Hey!” Kim had protested.

“What? She’s telling the truth,” Alix had grinned. Lila had sniffled and pouted but been forced to take up Mylène and Ivan’s generous offer, and Adrien’s insides had fluttered at the small smile Mylène had sent his way before she followed Ivan and Lila.

The next time her “arthritis” had played up, Kim had fashioned her a sling out of his hoodie, as “the certified expert on every possible way to hurt every cell in your body”. Lila had not been happy at all.

Or the time when Lila had pleaded with Adrien to help her study so that she didn’t fall behind and Max had volunteered his services as “the smartest person in the class”. Sabrina had chimed in as well to offer her help, and so Alix had turned it into a group study session in the park, where Lila had conveniently been sat on the total opposite side of the picnic blankets to Adrien and Marinette.

“Why didn’t we do this before?” Marinette had grumbled while her silky black hair shone in the sunlight. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have fallen so far behind on my homework.”

“Ooh, we could make this a weekly thing!” Rose had said. “If Max and Sabrina are okay with that, of course? We can all help each other and stop Lila from falling behind!”

“You guys are just amazing!” Lila had crooned with murder in her eyes.

It’s just…overwhelming, what everyone’s doing for him. The only time Adrien’s alone with Lila is during their Gabriel-mandated study sessions but even then, he’s been asking his bodyguard to stay with him, and it’s not like Gabriel can get upset at Adrien wanting supervision of a boy and a girl alone in the same room. Not without letting on that there’s something more going on with him and Lila.

It hasn’t stopped Lila from trying, though. And today, she’s pulling out all the stops.

“…and I had the most awesome night with Ladybug!” Lila says. Funny, considering that Adrien had also had the most awesome night with Ladybug, and he’s pretty sure his lady can’t be in two places at once. “She let me try out new hairstyles on her! Not that her pigtails aren’t sweet, of course, but with her new costume, she wanted to experiment a little!”

Lila’s right. Ladybug would look much better with her hair down. Adrien had found that for himself last night during a make-out session that makes his toes curl and heat blossom in his stomach remembering it even now.

“What are you so dreamy about?” Alya says from behind him. Adrien immediately schools his face into total neutrality as he turns to her.

“Nothing!” he says. “I just…had a really good night. You know, without Lila breathing down my neck.”

Alya just raises an eyebrow. For some reason, Marinette’s face has turned scarlet, and she’s buried it in her arms on her desk. Adrien doesn’t have time to ask if she’s okay because Lila’s being interrupted by Alix.

“That’s nothing,” she’s bragging when he tunes in. “We had Chat Noir at our sleepover!”

“Wait, what?” Kim says, while Lila’s eyes narrow. “Since when?”

“He dropped by to bring Kagami and we made him stay,” Alix says smugly. “Too bad we couldn’t paint his nails like Nino’s. Just can’t get to them under the gloves.”

“I’m never taking this polish off, no matter how much it chips,” Nino says. “You dudettes are nail gods.”

“He loves Ladybug so much!” Rose squeals. “It was so romantic to hear him talking about her!”

Adrien’s cheeks burn because that’s him. He’d said all that stuff about Ladybug. His girlfriend, even though no one else knows.

“Oh,” Lila says, visibly fumbling for solid ground, “that’s great! That reminds me of the time Jagged Stone invited me to –”

“Wait, wait!” Ivan says, uncharacteristically excited. “Juleka, you’re Jagged’s daughter! You’ve never really told us anything about him!”

Juleka’s cheeks burn as everyone turns to face her. “Um…he’s cool,” she says. “Luka’s closer to him. But, um…yeah.”

Adrien checks Marinette’s reaction to Lila being defanged, but she’s still got her face buried in her arms. Oh, how he wishes he could ask her what’s wrong, but the last thing he wants is to draw attention to her when Lila’s on the warpath with their classmates, so he forces himself to turn away and leave her to her predicament. His stomach turns at the thought of just leaving Marinette, and –

He needs to talk to Ladybug. ASAP.

[syms-things-5]

Case Histories - Chapter Eight

An AU Andy Barber fic (based on BBC’s ‘The Split’)

Previous Chapter Here / Masterlist Here

Series Synopsis: A talented small-town family lawyer, Grace Atherton, gets the opportunity of a lifetime when she is offered a job at prestigious Boston law firm, Rothman and Hale. She decides to give up the relative comfort and ease of her current working situation in favour of following a dream she’s had since she was a young law grad, to the detriment of her family life and marriage. She soon comes into contact with old mentor and one-time flame, Andy Barber. As gifted as he is handsome, it becomes clear he’s been keeping an eye on her burgeoning career from afar. Just how much will this decision cost her?

Chapter Warnings: 18+ language, angst, emotional stress

CHAPTER EIGHT

Andy looked to be in his element. 

The three men, all smartly-dressed and wearing confidence as easy as if it was a watch, were currently stood in a circle, laughing at something hilarious he had just said. Judging by some of the hand signals, it was football related. No surprise, really. She had been made aware curtesy of Sam this morning that the Patriots were officially heading to the Super Bowl for the third year in a row. Both he and Dan had even started making plans for the food fest they were going to enjoy whilst watching it. 

Another loud laugh bellowed from one of the men, an older gentleman who evidently liked his suits to come equipped with pocket watches clashing patterns, and Andy looked to make his excuses to let the group move on. They briefly disappear into an office behind where they were stood before Andy reappears and starts striding with purpose towards her office. 

She quickly ducks behind a bookshelf just in time to see him materialise in the doorway. He looks around for a second to locate her before seeing her awkwardly crouched down beside her desk. 

“You OK down there?” He looks at her with faint amusement. 

“Yeh, course. Just looking for…this.” She grabs any white file and stands up, flashing it to him as though that would act as proof she was being genuine. 

“Tax law?” He asks, quickly spying the title before she puts the file face-down on her desk. 

“Yeh. For the Matherson thing.” She straightens up and tucks the loose hair behind her ear. “So, what’s up?” 

He narrows his eyes before thinking better of mocking her. 

“There’s a couple of guys I thought you would like to meet. They’re from Yale. Max Ellison is running a mentor scheme next semester and has asked me to recommend a couple of the best, annnnd…” 

He holds his hands out in front of him to indicate that he was most obviously talking about her. Which he didn’t think he would have to do but she looked much like a rabbit caught in the headlights almost as soon as he had entered her office. 

“Me?” She points to herself. 

“No, Cindy Crawford. Of course, you!” 

“But why? Max is a bit of legend, isn’t he? You should be choosing the very best to make yourself look good.” 

He opens his mouth to speak. He’s not sure if she’s being serious right now or if this is one of those moments where she has a crisis of conscience and he should offer some soothing words of wisdom. Like he even had any. He never did understand women. 

“Exactly. I’m obviously suggesting you because even though you’re still new here, you’ve been making a name for yourself and I think that type of story will resonate more with the students.” He says, his voice now lower and as he moves towards her. “And I kind of figured I made it clear the other night that you are the best.” 

The heat radiating from him as he stands just inches from her momentarily clouds her brain, so much so that she swallows thickly and tries to regain her composure. It was really not OK that they were both tempting fate like this. 

The morning after. 

He watches her silently as she moves around the room. She is being extra careful to gather her things together without trying to wake him, he figures. She doesn’t know he’s awake yet or that he has been awake for the past twenty or so minutes after he heard her start the shower. He doesn’t make any move to let her know he’s awake either; he honestly doesn’t know when or even if he’ll get to do this again. Just watching her with ease, making him feel peaceful. 

She tucks her laptop back into its case and zips the side shut. She ponders something for a second, placing a hand on her hip while she glances back towards the television cabinet, and he sees her reach for her phone charger.

She unlocks the phone screen and he can tell there’s messages waiting for her. Likely Dan, he suspects, and he can’t help but feel his heart sink a little at the intrusive thought. Back to reality. 

“Hey,” he speaks with a slightly groggier tone than is entirely accurate of how he is feeling. 

She turns to look at him, lying on his front, both arms hugging the pillow beneath his head. He looks as adorable as he did back then, the years in-between making no difference to his boyish handsomeness. 

“Hi.” She says quietly. “I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“S’Ok. I was just dozing.” He manoeuvres his body slightly so he can lie on his side. “You getting ready to go?” 

“Um, yeh.” She looks a little bashful. “But I wasn’t gonna go without saying goodbye or anything.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you. Not like I haven’t done it before.” 

There was a lot of unanswered questions hanging between them and a lot they would likely have to talk about. When exactly, she couldn’t say, and she was hoping he wouldn’t ask just yet. 

At some point in the middle of the night, they had laid in bed facing one another, both wrapped up in the sheets. He was running his hand gently up and down her arm, her skin so smooth under his fingertips. No tension, no goosebumps, just comfort and warmth and a sense of calm that they were both locked away from the outside world, if only for a few hours, before daylight arrived and brought them both crashing back down to Earth. But not before he coaxed another orgasm from her tired body. 

He moved to lie on top of her, threading his arm underneath her head and kissing her passionately as though it might be the last time he would get to do so. It was soft and warm and all the ways she liked being kissed. There was the all-too-familiar strength that had never failed to keep her safe and secure when she held on to him as he moved inside her. He pushed her to the edge time and time again, not quite letting her go until he decided he wanted to. He kept a firm grasp on her as he held her down and took her breath away, pulling at her hair wrapped loosely between his fingers before finally cumming with a slow, satisfied gasp. 

She remembered a lot about how he used to make her feel back then. It was like they were the only two people for miles around. They could stay like that, in their self-made cocoon, for as long as she wanted. He was never impatient with her, even when she was certain he had other, better, things to do with his time. He had never made her feel like she wasn’t wanted or that she was getting in his way, which she occasionally thought she might have been such was her lack of self-esteem back then. 

She figured other girls were made to feel the same way. No one ever had a bad word to say about him, even back then when he had more of a cockiness about him, a certain swagger that you could enjoy but from a safe distance. She wasn’t naïve. 

His body looked and felt much the same way, too. Hard and soft in all the right places, still keenly working out and taking good care of himself but not obsessively so. She once told him that the luck of the Irish had given him an impressive physique without much effort but he would coolly shrug it off. One thing that was new was the tattoo on his chest, a quote she couldn’t quite make out in the dark but she saw the outline of it closely enough when she ran her fingers across it as she looked down at him and felt him shiver under her touch.

It was all so familiar, more familiar than she had ever thought it would be. She didn’t know she had held on to so many of the memories until now, as she looked across at him and ran her fingers soothingly down his cheek. He smiled softly at her, tiredness gradually appearing in his eyes. 

He didn’t want to fall asleep, not yet. He wanted to stay awake so she might come to him and let him take her all over again. 

Present Day… 

He feels a little bad. He’s obviously taken it a step too far. He tilts his head and smiles at her before taking a step back and beckons towards the door. 

“…You wanna?” 

She thinks for a second. She does wanna, but she’s not prepared. Not even close for someone like Max Ellison. 

“Don’t worry.” He reassures her when he spies the panic creeping onto her face. “I’ve buttered them up with the prospect of Superbowl tickets so you could tell them you think Morrison’s report is a vital addition to Wilson Huhn’s framework and they would love you regardless.” 

“They’d have to be drunk to believe that, surely?” 

He chuckles as he follows her out of her office. She was right; Morrison was an idiot and no lawyer worth their salt would use his ideas in an argument. 

As it turned out, she didn’t need to be there at all. Andy had them both eating out of the palm of his hand with tales of Jack’s past shenanigans (it turned out Ellison had gone to college with him back in Ohio) and some inside joke about a man named Doug and his pet chihuahua who regularly accompanied him to Court. Apparently, he would bark at the guilty parties but stay silent if he thought they were innocent. Grace had vaguely heard of such a person but she had always assumed it was a myth or a joke that had gotten out of hand in certain circles. 

She headed back to her office afterwards. Andy appeared moments later after he had shown the gentlemen out. 

“So?” He posed, taking a seat in the chair opposite her. He looked far too confident. 

No matter how cool or slick Andy pretended he was these days, he couldn’t completely hide the childlike glee of being able to do something so utterly ridiculous for a living. And being a Lawyer, deciding the fates of complete strangers, was that ridiculous. 

“I don’t know….” 

He frowned at her before leaning forward in his chair so he could place his elbows on her desk. That was a move usually reserved for convincing people they were being unrealistic in their expectations of a settlement, or that they were not going to get the very thing they so desperately wanted. She didn’t much care for it in this scenario, though; she likely knew she wasn’t going to win. 

“At least let us put forward a session plan. This could be a good move for you, for the company, and Jack is behind it 100%. Plus…” He trailed off as he contemplated his next words. “It might give us the opportunity to spend a bit of time together, work together again like the old days.” 

He tries to hide the potential disappointment lingering beneath his carefully poised façade, ready to surface if her response wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

They hadn’t ended things in a bad way when they left the hotel. In fact, if anything, it left him with a sense of hope. Not hope that this was going to become something per se, but it was enough for him that Grace had at least acknowledged his sentiment that it had been an amazing night. She shouldn’t be so surprised that he wanted to maintain some form of personal company with her in light of everything they had shared. 

“Look, I’m not going to make any demands of you if that’s what you’re worried about. If this was a mistake then I’d rather you just said so.” He said. “You don’t need to protect my feelings. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.” 

Was that what she was doing? Protecting his feelings? Or was she protecting her own? 

She hadn’t particularly had much time to consider the implications of what had gone on between them. In the morning after, Andy had walked her to her car parked in the underground garage and kissed her softly on her cheek before they parted ways. As soon as she left the hotel, almost within the very same hour, she was back home and in the arms of her familial comforts. Andy had only asked if she could message him that weekend, just to let him know she was OK, and she had done that very thing. But…that had been all. By the time Monday had arrived and he had smiled warmly at her across the table in the boardroom during one of Jack’s impromptu catch-ups, she felt like she had let him down in some way. He didn’t deserve it when it was her own issues that had put them in this position. 

He had been honest; he wasn’t going to make any demands of her. He had never done such a thing before and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. He trusted her enough to allow her to figure it out in her own mind and when she did, he trusted she would tell him what was going on. For now, he just wanted to be around her in any way he could. Even if that was restricted to just these four walls of the office. 

“I am sorry, Andy. I don’t really know what I’m thinking to be honest.” She says, quietly. 

“And that’s OK. I don’t want to put pressure on you, I just didn’t want to leave you with any doubt over what I was thinking.” He attempts to comfort her. “And I think about you a lot.” 

He would have reached out to touch her if they had a bit more privacy but he’s acutely aware she wouldn’t be able rest if he did so, not with people milling around outside and the annoyance of having so many damn glass walls placed around the building. He shouldn’t complain about them, he had a fair few himself at home, but they had never gotten in his way before. 

“Could I maybe think about it for a day or two?” she finally asks. 

“Of course!” 

She wasn’t expecting him to agree to that, much less with such enthusiasm. Then again, she was also not expecting to decide within the hour that she was definitely going to do this with him. It would be a great opportunity and another string to her bow, plus a good way of getting familiar with some of Yale’s professors in case her children had those kinds of ambitions later in life. There was a lot of reasons to say ‘yes’. 

Later that evening, Grace is multi-tasking, chopping vegetables and keeping one eye on the Television while Sam lies on the sofa. He’s comfortable and likely won’t move for some time now, not unless food is being offered, and she thinks that’s adorable. He’s definitely her son. 

She never understood the need for a separate living space since the family spent most of their time in the kitchen and dining area. Dan had joked about bomb-proofing it since it pretty much held everything they could ever need if the worst was to happen. 

“Do you want the spiral pasta or the bow-tie one?” Grace asks. 

“Bow-tie.” Sam answered, not moving an inch as far as she could tell. 

Always straight and to the point. She smiles to herself and continues to chop the vegetables for a salad she knows the kids likely won’t eat but nevertheless, she keeps the hope alive. 

The front door goes moments later. Dan walks over to the sofa and kisses Sam on the head before thinking about doing the same to Grace. She can tell he thinks better of it. Instead, he moves to the fridge behind her and grabs a beer.

“Smells nice.” 

“Just the asparagus and chicken that was left over. Nothing fancy.” Grace says. “Was Liv OK?” 

“Yeh, yeh. She’s just getting changed. She scored a couple this time so she’s in a good mood.” Dan says as he leans his forearms on the side of the kitchen island. “Do you need a hand?” 

“No, it’s OK, you can go and relax.” 

She smiles at him and he nods to her, gratefully. She was tired as well but she definitely had some making-up to do, even if he didn’t know it. 

Andy 06.45pm: What’s your stance on dick pics?? 

Her phone buzzes just as she places the pasta in the pan to cook. Wiping her hands on the tea towel nearby, she reaches for it and doesn’t recognise the reaction she’s now feeling. 

Grace 06.48pm: Ummm…I can’t say I’ve ever received one myself. Why? 

Andy 06.49pm: CEO of Veterol has been sending them to his Secretary. Not yet public knowledge so keep that to yourself. 

Grace 06.51pm: Shit 

Grace 06.52pm: I can’t believe that asshole….. 

She googles for a photo of said asshole to make sure it was definitely the same man she was picturing. It was. He looked the type as well. Not that there was a ‘type’ specifically, but he looked smarmy and arrogant enough to think he could get away with it. 

Andy 07.01pm: So youve never had one? 

Was he being serious? 

Grace 07.03pm: That would be a big no thankfully 

Andy 07.04pm: You’re missing out 

Another few seconds and an emoji comes through, the one with a winking face and a tongue sticking out. Oh God, he was a nuisance sometimes. She really didn’t want to spend any longer thinking about the implications of what he was trying to joke about or get into his own personal experiences as the water continued to boil. 

Grace 07.10pm: Goodnight Andrew Barber. 

Emphasis on the full stop at the end. 

Andy 07.14pm: I do love it when you use my full name 

She doesn’t reply again. 

Sometimes, she felt like an old lady (or so Liv would tell her) as she hated the concept of texting and hated even more that things could be so easily misconstrued. And she really didn’t want to get this misconstrued, not when she didn’t know what she was thinking or doing from one moment to the next.

“Can you grab me another one?” 

She looks up from Andy’s message to where the question had come from. Without looking back to where she was stood, Dan holds the empty beer bottle up in his hand. He’s focused on the cartoon that he and Sam had been watching, and he doesn’t say another thing. 

“Dinner’s ready so you can grab it on the way to the table.” She turns around to grab the salad tongs. She can hear Dan’s eye roll from here. “Sam? Can you get your sister?” 

He doesn’t move at first, just waiting for the credits to finish in case there’s something on afterwards, so she asks him once more, sterner this time, and he finally moves. 

“You OK?” Dan asks, putting a couple of the pasta bowls on the table for the kids before turning back to collect the others. 

“Yeh, course. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

He shrugs but doesn’t give her a verbal answer. She doesn’t say anything either but smiles brightly when she sees her daughter for the first time that day. Liv has changed into her unicorn onesie and has her headphones wrapped around her neck. Grace doesn’t mind so much, even if it has become code for planning to leave the table as soon as she’s finished. 

“Looks yummy, Mom.” Liv says enthusiastically. Clearly, scoring a couple of goals at hockey had changed her personality. 

“Thanks darling.” She smiles back at her and decides to chance it and add some salad to their plates. 

These days, it may only be for twenty minutes that Grace can bask in the quiet, pleasantness of family time but it’s worth it and it can make even the most stressful of days inestimably brighter. Sam was happily chewing away on his food and Liv hummed a tune to herself between bites. Grace couldn’t imagine how her life would be without them both. She didn’t much want to imagine, either. 

It had been Dan who had given her this. Right when she needed saving from herself, he had been there. It had only been him. He had provided her with safety and love even if that love was expressed in his own way. It might not be a love that was romantic in the same way anymore, but people change. People grow up and the love changes with them but it doesn’t make it any less valuable or protective or vital for the survival of a marriage and a family. 

No matter what was going on in her head and no matter how often she found herself thinking about Andy, nothing could compare to this. Nothing would even come close. 

 *

[writing-dead-clovers]

Sweet Dreams (Monster AU!Dream x abandoned!child!GN!Reader)

Mentions of cutting and blood. If this triggers or bothers you, please feel free to ignore this story!

Dream was confused, to say the least, when Phil pulled him aside and gave him a rescue case for a child. According to Phil, the kid was an awful lot like Dream, to the point where they had actually managed to get a hit on Technoblade, with a well thrown book to the boar monster's face. It did make the dream demon laugh, taking the time to track his two best friends down to tell them about the kid. George, a hallucination causing mushroom monster, told the dream demon to go for it and get the kid. Sapnap, a demon, however told Dream to hand the case over to the sheep like woman Dream called a mother. Sapnap was quick to change his tune after seeing the kid's file and encouraged his friend to get the child. The kid was just like him, ignored and bullied, told that were wrong about everything.

Dream's mind flew off with questions. Would he be a good dad? Should he even try to get the kid? What is he supposed to do if he can't get the kid to come with him? How do you even take care of a kid? Would they even like him? Dream was quick to go to his mother and voice his concerns. Thankfully, Puffy was quite understanding and explained everything to the best of her ability.

The dream demon ducked to avoid a flailing Tommy as he walked, rereading the kid's file. The file showing that the parents didn't really care for the 8 year old child, often leaving them alone for months on end. Sometimes humans really shouldn't have kids of they couldn't do even the bare basics of being a parent. The barely humanoid monster sat the file on the table near his station before fixing his mask. The inky black clawed hands stood out against his skin, as did the odd glowing, floating neon halos around his head. They reminded him of glowsticks sometimes. His build was mostly human, save for the random splotches of black and glowing neon green freckles here and there, the claws, the towering height and odd eyes that would glow in the dark like a nightlight.

His claws danced across the program that sent monsters into the human realm, an action he had done for years. He wasn't fazed by the harsh roar of the machine as it located the child. Dream took one last second to pull his hood over his head before stepping into the realm.

The room was like any other kid's room, granted there wasn't as many toys as most kids. Dream step cautiously through the room to the child's bed. He wanted to see the kid that got a hit on Techno up close. However he didn't get too close when the 8 year old sat up in their bed, groggily rubbing their eyes. "Why do you guys keep coming here?" Dream chuckled slightly. "Cause you're odd. Like us." The kid froze for a split second before looking at the dream demon through their fingers. Dream smirked behind his mask before lifting his hand up to wave at the kid. "Hello." "What's that thing around your head?" Blunt much, kid? "These? No clue." A clawed hand hooked around a glowing green halo. "I've had them for ages." "What are you supposed to be?" Dream shrugged before letting his abilities take over, making him float. "Most people say I'm a dream demon, some say I'm hallucination. All in what you wanna call it." He said, casually laying in the air like it's something he does all the time. "You got a name kid?" "Y/n, who are you?" "Call me Dream, shortstack." A small thump filled the room as Dream looked down. "Did you just throw a ball at me?" "Maybe."

Dream spent a good bit of time talking to the kid, still debating on whether or not he should take the kid with him. If he had to guess the time, judging by the navy and purples that danced across the sky, his time in the human world would be coming to an end soon. He looked back over at Y/n, who was attempting to move through the air like Dream. "Try relaxing, not swimming." They nodded, before floating over to the male. "So when's your parents coming back?" He asked, tossing the rubber ball the kid had thrown at him, against the ceiling. The kid shrugged. Dream turn over to where he was laying on his stomach on the bed. "So they ditch you like this all the time?" "Pretty much." Dream shook his head. "How about you come home with me? You can help me annoy my friends." "Why?" "Well, you'd be apart of an actual family." The kid nodded. Dream sat up before moving the kid to land on the bed. "You got any bandaids?" Y/n nodded and got off the bed.

Little feet padded away from the room as Dream had a few split moments to question what the hell he was doing. Y/n walked back into the room and climbed onto their bed. They held out bandaids to the demon, who took them and sat them aside. "I'm gonna have to cut your hand, but it'll be for a split second. We have to do a blood pact, that way you don't get snatched up by someone else in the monster realm." Y/n nodded. Dream took their hand and let his claw nick them. He then cut his own hand and pressed it to the cut. After putting the bandaids on, Dream got off the bed. "Come on, get on." Dream said, keeping his back to them. He felt the kid's weight in his back before reaching back and catching his child's leg and pulling them up. Tiny arms wrapped around his neck as he shifted them on his back. Dream made his way to the closet, using his foot to open the door.

When he stepped back into the monster realm, he was immediately greeted by his two best friends, his mother, and his giant of a brother. He felt Y/n grip tighten on his hoodie. "Hey." "Let me see my grand baby!" "Puffy, back up." Dream was thankful for his younger brother's immediate response. However, it didn't stop his two best friends who were quick to go to him and poke their friend's new child. Dream casually adjusted his grip on Y/n before kicking at Sapnap. Just enough to get the pyromaniac to back up. He heard George yell, his attention snapping to the hallucinogenic mushroom like monster. The dream demon was soon wheezing as he had noticed his new kid had casually slapped George, making it where Dream didn't even notice the shift in their weight. "That's my kid!"

[dudeandduchess]

Yakuza!Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Sugar and Spice (Mafia!AU, NSFW Series) [Chapter 1]

Summary: Kyōjurō and (Y/n) meet at a party, only to find out that their lives would change forever— since they had been arranged to be married. To make matters even more difficult for them, they were from two different walks of life, with (Y/n) being the Prime Minister’s daughter, and Kyōjurō being the heir to his clan’s Yakuza group.

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Dirty Talking

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

***

Hot and heavy breaths meshed together in hefty puffs, as needy hands traced every contour of (Y/n)’s body beneath her dress. She felt fingers digging into her left thigh, and a few others pushing her panties aside— just so they could trace up her wet slit, before toying with her sensitive clit.

A gasp of pleasure escaped her mouth then, which was soon followed by another needy kiss from her partner— a cute blond that had been eyeing her from across the party that they had been at. He was so smooth with his words, and that laugh of his felt like it had melted her panties right off earlier— so it didn’t take long for her to give in and follow him up to an empty room on the second floor of the mansion.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, baby,” The man rasped against her mouth, before nipping at her bottom lip and tugging on it lightly; which caused a tingle to shoot up her spine. “You better remember my name, baby, since it’s the one that you’ll be screaming until morning.”

That had (Y/n) opening her eyes a little, feeling her snarky attitude come to her with some clarity, since she didn’t even have a clue as to what his name was.

However, she was beaten to the punch when the blond pressed a light kiss to the corner of her lips, before trailing kisses down her jaw— eventually biting down on her neck, which had her moaning. Especially since he had partnered that bite with his fingers pinching her clit.

“Kyōjurō. Rengoku Kyōjurō. Say it for me, baby.”

“Kyōjurō,” (Y/n) gasped out, inadvertently arching her chest up into him when he began tugging on her clit. And, as if that wasn’t already overwhelming enough, he slid his fingers down to her entrance and began to push a finger inside her— groaning at how tight and wet she was because of him; for him.

She was so blissed out by his actions that it hadn’t sunk in that she was laying in bed with the next heir of the Rengoku Group— the biggest Yakuza clan in the Kanto region. And, little did she know, that her negligence was going to come back to bite her in the ass sooner rather than later.

The blond then curled his finger up against her g-spot, watching (Y/n)’s face as it twisted up in pleasure— as one of her hands reached down to grab hold of his wrist.

Instead of getting offended, a smirk crawled up onto his lips as he pulled his finger back from inside her; all so he could add in another digit. That motion had her moaning aloud, with her hips bucking up into his hand; which more than stroked his ego, and made his cock throb even harder in his pants.

“You like my fingers inside you, baby?” Kyōjurō cooed, smirking all the while, as he kept on with thrusting his digits up against her g-spot. “Just wait until it’s my cock fucking that cute little pussy of yours.”

However, before Kyōjurō could even take his free hand and unzip his pants, his phone began vibrating in his back pocket— making him click his tongue in irritation, as he regretfully looked down at his flushed bed partner.

He knew full well who she was, which had surprised him when she had accepted his less than subtle advances throughout the night. He had always thought that she was a goody two shoes, what with her steering clear of any unsavory headlines— since her father was the current Prime Minister of the country; but it appeared that he shouldn’t have judged her so quickly.

Regretfully, he sat back up on his haunches, gently taking his fingers out of her cunt and bringing them up to his lips to lick them clean— which had (Y/n)’s eyes widening in surprise and arousal at the sight.

In turn, he gave her a big grin, as well as a cheeky wink, before fishing his phone from his back pocket. “This better be important.”

The young woman took that phone call as a sign that their little rendezvous was coming to a close, albeit with neither of them being remotely close to orgasming. It was frustrating as hell, but it couldn’t be helped— since she also knew what it was like to have priorities other than your own pleasures.

So, gingerly, she sat up on the bed and swung her legs off the side of it— making sure to avoid hitting the man that had been pleasuring her a mere few seconds before. But, before she could get up and dismiss herself, she felt his hand on her thigh— as he leaned in to brush a kiss against her lips; one that began as a soft and light one, that gradually delved into something deeper; his tongue snaking into her mouth and coaxing hers out to play.

That was, until she overheard the words “boss” and “group” coming from the phone that was still pressed to his ear.

And it was only then that it came crashing down on her: her bed partner wasn’t just any normal, handsome man. He was far more dangerous than that, and she wanted to kick herself for not realizing it any sooner.

Because if she got caught with him, it would spell such a huge scandal for her father. He could potentially lose his job, all because she had been too neglectful.

Cold fear washed over her then, and she immediately jerked herself away from him— even slapping his hand off of her thigh— which obviously irked Kyōjurō; judging by the way that his eyebrows furrowed together, as he pinned her beneath his fiery gaze.

(Y/n) wasted no time then, not even giving him another glance as she got up off the bed and quickly slipped her shoes on; chalking the night up as some fever dream that she never wanted to revisit again.

As much as she hated judging others right off the bat, the Rengoku Group’s reputation was notorious enough to land her on the front page of a tabloid— or worse, a gossip rag. And that was the last thing that she wanted to happen, as she had worked so hard to keep her image so squeaky clean that she appeared so boring to the media.

It was the consequence of having a father who ran an entire country, after all.

The moment the door closed, however, Kyōjurō felt irritation bubbling up within him; something predatory in him being stirred up— especially at the memory of her slapping his hand away.

Still, he kept on listening to his father’s secretary— whom had kept on prattling about useless things, which shortened his fuse even more.

Normally, he would have been very indulgent, but being shut down the way he had been was making him feel less than lenient. “Can you get to the point, Matsutaka?”

“I- yes, sir!” The other man all but squeaked at Kyōjurō’s curt tone, before continuing, “The boss is summoning you tomorrow at seven in the morning; so you can meet your omiai partner.”

The blond couldn’t help but feel fed up at the news, even though his father had kept on reminding him that he was trying to work out a suitable marriage arrangement for him. He couldn’t care less about that before, since his heart hadn’t been set on marriage yet; and even more now that his attention was piqued by the woman whom he had beneath him minutes ago.

***

Not wanting to stay there for longer than necessary, (Y/n) made her way back down the stairs— after ducking into one of the bathrooms on the second floor, and straightening herself out as much as possible— and melted back in with the crowd; faking smiles, and taking a glass of champagne from one of the passing waiters.

She knew that she just had to fake feeling faint with her earlier group of acquaintances, and she could go home without being it construed as rude.

So, she made her way back towards the same old ladies— hearing them still gossiping about some other unfortunate woman— and deciding to just hold her comments by taking idle sips of her champagne.

“You’re back already, (L/n)-sama!” One of the women exclaimed with a smile, eliciting a polite smile from (Y/n) in return.

“Oh yes, I was feeling a little faint and had to get some fresh air.” Which was a complete lie, as she had been pinned under such a beautiful man earlier, but no one needed to know that.

One other woman laid a hand on her arm, under the guise of sympathy, which had her skin crawling from the clammy skin lingering on hers. But she said nothing, and only smiled further— even batting her eyelashes at the obviously two-faced women.

(Y/n) had no doubt that she had been one of their topics when she had excused herself earlier. It was just how these social circles worked; and she was more than well-versed in that world’s language, having grown up in it and all.

She was just about to thank the women for their ‘heartfelt’ words, but she caught sight of a head of fiery blond hair coming down the stairs from the second floor— all while adjusting the blood red tie that matched his eyes— and felt her heart begin beating faster in her chest.

No one could know that she had even looked his way for the night, because to let everyone know that would be more trouble than her almost-orgasm was worth.

“Ah, but I still feel a little under the weather. So I might be bowing out early for tonight,” The young woman tried for her sincerest tone, but only barely managed to be convincing— what with her mind being solely focused on the blond that was steadily making his way through the crowd.

And, to make matters worse, he was heading right for her with a predatory glint in his eyes.