#i am going to be so bloody insufferable all day
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trent crimm returns to my screen in 25 hours. depending on if he’s in the first episode BUT STILL!!!
#i have to wait until after college to watch the episode#because i’ll already be on the train when it comes out#i am going to be so bloody insufferable all day#TED LASSO RETURNS IN 25 HOURS HOLY SHIIIITTT MAN!!!!!#ted lasso#trent crimm#james lance
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Stress Relief
Pairing: Theodore Nott x reader
Content: comfort, fluff, bestfriend!Theo, friends to lovers, gender and house of the reader are not mentioned
Synopsis: reader is stressed by all of the school work they have and Theo won’t stand there an watch them deteriorate.
Length: short
A/N: I could write a sequel with smut if anyone were interested
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5th year had been hard, with O.W.L.s and all, but 6th? Bloody hell, you couldn’t catch a break.
It wasn’t until it was too late to change, that you realized you had overestimated your will to study and make everything fit into your schedule.
With Quidditch practice, advanced standard subjects (and don’t let the “standard” fool you, there was nothing ‘standard’ about advanced potions and transfiguration), care of magical creatures, runes, bloody arithmancy… curse your stupid self for voluntarily picking up magic math on meth.
You had considered begging your teachers to let you drop a subject once or twice, but you were no quitter, and your stubborn, pride-ridden heart would never allow that.
So now you were scrambling to get work done and sprinting between classes, earning yourself a few scoldings from the faculty.
You were so preoccupied with staying afloat study-wise, that the previous time you usually dedicated to your friends had now been turned in power-naps and more, incessant, work.
Most of your friends decided to give you time, but your best friend, Theo, just ‘could not give you up’. So, he decided to work around the problem and hang out with you anyway even with all your protests.
“Theo would you just please get out?!”
You exasperated eventually, after he would keep trying to strike up conversation or annoy you to get you to stop ignoring him.
“And where would the fun be in that, love”
He’d reply nonchalantly every time.
This time you had had enough, though, and set yourself to do something you may or may not regret the next day.
“I AM DONE WITH YOU. I do not want to play around, I do not want to hear your insufferable jokes, or look at your stupid face. Your ‘fun’ is the LEAST of my concerns. I need to get work done. GET OUT.”
You shouted, getting impossibly close to his face and poking a finger into his chest, in an effort to be as intimidating as possible.
Theodore stared down at you, unmoving and calm. A more serious expression on his face. When suddenly, he pulled you into a hug.
You tried to protest but he shushed you quickly.
“You’ve been going through a lot these weeks, haven’t you?” His voice was soft, caring. It caught you off guard so off guard that you remained silent, mouth opening and closing at intervals.
“I know everything’s been weighing on you. I just want you to take it easy every once in a while” he sighed, his hand caressing through your hair. “And I just want you to know that you don’t have to keep up with everyone’s expectations. I’m proud of you, always.”
Tears started to prick at your eyes at his words. You hadn’t realized how much the stress of everything had been affecting you. You melted into him and buried you head into his chest.
“I don’t deserve you” you sobbed “I’m sorry for how mean I’ve been to you these past few weeks.”
“It’s okay, don’t apologize, love.” He kept you close to himself until you started to even out your breath again, holding you with such a firm tenderness, you almost forgot about your worries.
“Fuck, I just wish there was a way to let off steam and get away from all that bullshit…” you mumbled against him.
Theo cringed lightly at your words, his muscles unconsciously tensing.
“What?” You loosened the hug to look up at him once more. “Do you know a way?”
“Uhm”
He avoided your eye contact, a hint of pink displaying on his cheeks.
“There might be a way…”
#fanfiction#x reader#writing#theo x reader#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott#slytherin x reader#slytherin reader#ravenclaw reader#gryffindor reader#hufflepuff reader#gender neutral reader#friends to lovers#best friends
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Hey.
I am in love with your I was wondering if you could do Alastor helping reader with their period that have really bad cramps. I am going through it now and I’d really appreciate it. You could totally ignore this if you aren’t comfortable with it. :)
Thank you for requesting it! I do hope you feel better in no time. I know period cramps can be a real bitch.
Taking care of you
Alastor x reader
This was a bloody start to another bloody day in hell. Literally.
Oh, how you wished you were spared from the pain that came with periods in your afterlife but NOPE, you had to suffer eternal damnation AND fend off your deadly cramps.
Speaking of cramps, here you were, twisting and turning in your bed hoping that the pain would subside eventually, but it seemed as though it just got worse with every second. You moaned in distress, wondering what you'd done in life to send you to hell and be subjected to such terrible cramps.
In the middle of all the tossing about, you heard a knock at your bedroom door. You did not have the energy to go open it, nor did you want to raise your voice to tell whoever was on the other side to get lost. So you just lay there, underneath the blankets, clutching your abdomen to soothe the pain, albeit failing miserably.
You heard the knock again, this time with the familiar static ringing through.
"Good morning, my dear. It's time to wake up! You can't be in bed all day!"
You ignored him and stuck your head deeper into the pillows, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, hoping he'd go away soon.
Oh how wrong you were.
"Now my dear, it is quite rude to ignore someone like this, no?"
Your hair stood on end, and you gasped, surprised by the radio demon appearing right in front of your bed. Of course, you should've expected him to pull this shit.
"Go away, Alastor," you groaned as you covered yourself fully in the warm blankets.
"Hm, I don't suppose I will," he said, with that permanent shit-eating grin on his face.
When you refused to comply, he forced you up, holding you tight by the arm, "Do not make me repeat myself, my dear." His static grew insufferably louder.
You looked at him and with no warning at all, started bawling your eyes out. Tears streamed down your face as you sobbed loudly.
Alastor let go of you immediately, startled by the turn of events. He looked flabbergasted and moved his arms to his side, unsure of what to do. Welp, this was a first.
Once your sobs subsided, you sniffled, embarrassed at your display of vulnerability in front of the radio demon.
What you did not expect was for him to sit next to you, on your bed and pet your head, soothingly.
"Now," he said, " What, pray tell, is bothering you so much?"
"Why do you care?" you mumbled, hiding your face in your blanket.
"Why, my dear?" he laughed, "Well I am the host of this fine establishment here, am I not? It is my job to make sure the residents of this hotel are well taken care of. Now, do tell me what grievances you are facing, cher."
You grumbled under your breath but relented anyway.
"It hurts. My period cramps are getting worse every minute and I don't know what to do." Your eyes started to well up with tears again. Stupid hormones.
"AH, so that's the problem?" Alastor got up and brushed off his coat, "I will be back in just a second, dear." And with that, he poofed out the room, as if he was never here in the first place.
It was only a minute after that he came back, this time holding a bowl containing something warm and inviting. You looked up at him curiously.
"This, my dear, is something my darling old mother used to make back when she was young. She had given this recipe to me telling me to make it for my future spouse whenever she had terrible cramps during that time of the month. Of course, it never came in handy when I was alive. What a pity."
Alastor then placed the bowl of warm soup into your hands. Your mouth watering at the sight of such a delicacy. Before you could take a sip, you looked up at the radio demon with skepticism, " How do I know there isn't... I don't know, demon flesh here."
Alastor laughed boisterously, " Oh, dear, I know that not everyone shares the same delicate palate I do. Rest assured it is completely safe for consumption for the likes of you."
You glared at him and took a spoonful of the dish in your hands. Your eyes lit up immediately, and you started gobbling down on the food, till the bowl was wiped clean.
Satisfied with the meal, you placed the empty bowl on your nightstand.
"Thank you, Alastor," you said, looking at him with grateful eyes, "I feel a little better now."
You were about to get up from your bed when you felt a clawed hand push you down and tuck you into your bed, wrapping the warm blankets around you.
"W-wait, Alastor, I told you I'm fine," you said.
Alastor replied, "Nonsense! You take the day off and rest till you're fully better the next day. No one wants to see you in your pitiful state when you've still not recovered, now do they? Brings the whole morale of the staff down, don't you think?"
You chuckled at his theatrics. Although it seemed like he was being mean to you, you still felt the warmth and care he was showcasing. Maybe you were just delusional.
Once he was satisfied with how you were rolled up like a burrito, he conjured up a radio in his hands and placed it near your bed, tuning the little machine to play some soft jazz. You were touched by this little sentiment.
"Thank you, Alastor, truly," you said, smiling softly.
"Do not mention it, dear. I am just doing my job." Saying this, he clicked his fingers and disappeared from the room.
You cuddled into the warm bed. Your smile remained as you closed your eyes. The room echoed with the soft music playing through the radio.
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Can I request firstprince alternative first meeting in Rio for your fandom fest? Thanks! ❤️💙
(Yes, I'm still working on these! I'm guessing this isn't exactly what you had in mind when you sent in this prompt, but it fit in very well with the Olympics, and it IS a (very) alternative first meeting lol. I hope you enjoy!)
Tonight, You're Gold
(M, 6k, read it below or on AO3)
Henry wasn’t expecting the Rio Olympics to be particularly eventful, all things considered. These weren’t his first games, after all, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s not a favourite in the men’s Laser sailing fleet this year. Coming back from a knee injury has been hard, and he’s proud of what he’s achieved this season. If he can make it into the medal race, he’ll be ecstatic. Mostly, he’s been enjoying the experience. Enjoying watching the different sports. Enjoying the city of Rio. Enjoying the other athletes.
As one does.
Normally, he wouldn’t have gone out tonight, but Pez had cajoled him into it, saying even if he wasn’t going to find a hookup he could at least take his mind off his impending first-round race rather than stewing alone in his room. Henry had to admit he had a point. That was before this, though.
One minute Henry’s listening to a ridiculously gorgeous American beach volleyball player with big brown eyes and eyelashes that would be a handicap in many sports complain about how his room was the victim of catastrophic flooding thanks to a burst pipe, and the next, all of his common sense simply deserts him.
“…and Liam ended up finding a place with this diver named Spencer, but I got fucked over because the only extra bed right now is with Hunter,” the American, whose name is Alex, is saying. He pushes a mess of gorgeous dark curls back from his face, only for several of them to flop back and curve just under his ears, framing a jaw that could cut glass. “Who— I mean, you don’t know him, and you should be thankful for that because he’s insufferable. But the real problem is that he snores like a chainsaw, so how the fuck am I supposed to get a decent night’s sleep?”
“You could stay with me,” Henry says before he can properly think it through. Across from him, Alex raises his eyebrows. Christ. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Only, my roommate’s already done competing, and he’s moved out. So I have an extra bed.”
Alex laughs, his curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to just move into Team Great Britain territory.”
Henry shrugs and takes a sip of his mocktail—he’s not dumb enough to drink with a race tomorrow, even if he is dumb enough to make this suggestion. “Given the revolving doors on some of these rooms, I don’t think you’ll draw much attention.”
Henry should know, after all. He’s had more than a few overnight visitors since Basil finished on the second day of the games. It’s been incredibly convenient having a room to himself—Fabrizio the Italian gymnast had been a highlight, to say nothing of half the Dutch rowing team—and now he’s about to give that up for a mouthy American that he’s pretty sure is straight. Because he’s a bloody idiot, apparently.
“I mean, people would probably assume…” Alex trails off, the darkening of his cheeks obvious even in the low light.
“That we’re fucking?” Henry finishes bluntly, and Alex chokes on his drink. Definitely straight, then. Pity. “It's true, they might. I understand if those kinds of rumours are not something you’re willing to risk.”
For some reason, that makes Alex look slightly stricken. “No, I mean, I don’t care if a bunch of random athletes think I’m queer. That’s not, like, a problem.”
“So it’s just me that’s objectionable, then,” Henry quips.
Alex is stunning when he laughs. It’s becoming a whole problem. “Have you seen yourself?” he scoffs. “Fuck, man. I should be so lucky.”
Henry only narrowly resists suggesting that he could be. Even if he thought Alex would be interested, he’s offering a place to stay. Not a quick shag.
“I should… probably get to bed. Races start early tomorrow,” Henry says, offering a little smile. “The offer stands, if you decide you need a break from the chainsaw.”
Alex draws his full lower lip through his teeth, which is supremely distracting. “Fuck. We do have a match tomorrow. And it’s against the Italians who are fucking good this year.” He squints sceptically at Henry. “Are you sure you don’t mind? You just met me. For all you know, I could fuck up your sleep.”
It’s insane to say he almost wouldn’t mind, so he doesn’t. He thinks it, though. “I doubt you’ll be worse than my roommate at the London games. And if you are, I’ll just kick you out.”
He says the last bit with a teasing smirk, which makes Alex laugh again, and Henry knows already he has no hope of surviving this man. Perfect. Just what he needs while he’s competing on the world’s biggest stage.
~~~~~
Alex is a wonderful roommate, as it turns out, which is lovely but also terrible. He’s considerate about noise and the odd hours they all have to keep between training sessions and competitions. He’s a chaotic whirlwind, but he’s also incredibly organised—“My brain is enough of a mess,” he’d told Henry on the second day—and always knows where everything is at any given time. He always makes sure there’s hot water in the kettle for Henry’s tea whenever he makes himself yet another no-doubt-coach-unapproved coffee. He’s an excellent conversation partner whenever their schedules line up, but he seems to intuitively know when Henry needs some time to himself. Today, he woke up before Henry’s third day of opening series races to hype him up, even though he had no reason to be up that early.
That’s not even considering what he looks like when he comes out of the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his curls onto some of the most well-sculpted shoulders Henry’s ever seen.
Henry is well and truly fucked.
“Hey, do people watch you guys compete?” Alex asks as Henry goes through his pre-race morning routine. “Do you have spectators?”
Henry hums, sipping his tea. “Not really. Most of the courses are barely visible from shore. They’ll put us reasonably close in for the medal race, but it’s still not much to see.”
“That’s the 15th, right?” Alex says, looking to Henry for confirmation even though he’s clearly already pulled the schedule up on his phone. “Maybe I could swing that. Our game should be late. You know, assuming we make the quarterfinals.”
Henry doesn’t quite know what to say to that. No one comes to see him compete, primarily for the aforementioned reasons of it not being the most scintillating or comprehensible sport to watch in person. Bea, at least, watches the televised races where the cameras, graphics, and commentators make it much easier to follow and texts him about a hundred times saying things like I can’t believe that asshole crossed in front of you and that Australian fucker stole your wind, which make him laugh as he reads through them once he’s back on shore.
“You don’t have to do that,” Henry demurs. “It’s really not worth it. Plus, I might not even make the medal race.”
“You will,” Alex says confidently, even though he knows next to nothing about sailing or Henry’s capabilities. Henry’s done pretty well in his first four races, but there are still six to go. “And anyway, it’s not really about watching the race. You guys deserve to have people to support and cheer for you too.”
Henry’s throat is tight. “Right, well, one step at a time,” he mumbles. Best to change the subject. “Tell me about your match today?”
Alex smiles like he knows what Henry is doing, but he lets it go, and Henry spends the rest of the time before has to depart for the race listening to Alex go on about digs and float serves and line shots. It’s a surprisingly effective way of soothing pre-race jitters and getting out of his own head, even if it’s one he knows he shouldn’t get used to.
~~~~~
Henry’s not sure he’s ever watched a beach volleyball match before, which was clearly a significant oversight on his part. He is sweating and not only because the sun is beating relentlessly down on him as he sits in the stands. It’s certainly not helped by the USA’s uniforms, which feature shorts a full hands-breadth shorter than seemingly any other team’s and vests with deeply scooped arm holes. Alex’s teammate, Liam, is wearing a white ball cap, but Alex has eschewed a hat, instead pushing his curls back from his face with a blue elastic hair band, which is more endearing than it has any right to be.
“Christ, would you look at his arse,” Pez says appreciatively from his position at Henry’s side as Alex leans over with his hands on his knees.
“You say that like I’ve been able to look anywhere else,” Henry returns. There’s no shortage of hot people in minimal amounts of spandex at the games, yet the way those shorts cling to Alex’s arse is somehow more tantalising than all of them. “I’m convinced he was specially sculpted by the gods explicitly to torment me.”
Pez tsks and slants a sideways look at him. “Still haven’t gotten him into your bed, then?”
“I’m not his type, Pez.”
On the court, Alex spikes a ball over the net, scoring a point, then runs over to Liam to celebrate. Which involves smacking each other vigorously on the arse. They’ve been doing it all match. Once, after a particularly exceptional point scored, Alex kissed him enthusiastically on the cheek.
“You’re certain about that?” Pez asks sceptically.
“You know straight men and their homoerotic sports rituals,” Henry sighs.
“Mm,” Pez hums. “I wouldn’t mind testing that hypothesis with his partner. Those arms.”
Henry snorts. “Godspeed, my friend.”
“Never underestimate my charm, Hazza,” Pez chirps, watching as Liam dives for the ball and knocks it back over toward Alex. “They really are very good at this.”
It’s not like Alex has been modest when he’s talked about their performance, but it’s very clear that he’s still managed to undersell it. The US men are practically putting on a clinic, dominating every set of the match. Both Alex and Liam are clearly exceptional players, operating like a well-oiled machine, but Henry admittedly can’t take his eyes off Alex. The way his muscles ripple under bronzed skin as he stretches to make a save. The raw power behind his serves. The brilliance of his smiles when he turns away from the net to celebrate after each point. Of course it wasn’t enough that Alex had to be gorgeous and kind and thoughtful and funny—he had to be absurdly skilled, too, even taking into consideration that everyone here is at the top of their game.
Alex is clearly still hopped up on adrenaline when Henry catches up with him after their decisive win, talking animatedly to one of the other Team USA athletes. Henry does his best to feel nothing about the way Alex lights up when he spots Henry lurking by the sidelines, immediately ditching his conversation partner to jog over to him. He’s glistening and flushed and Henry wants to lick him.
Christ, he needs to get a bloody grip.
“Did you see that save in the second set?” Alex chirps excitedly. “When I did a fucking flip and just caught the ball, and then”—he mimes a jump—“Liam slammed it into the corner?”
“It was hard to miss,” Henry tells him indulgently, biting down on his too-wide smile at Alex’s antics. “You were incredible, Alex.”
“So how’d you like your first beach volleyball game?” Alex asks. “Think you’ll come back?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Henry admits. It’s too honest by half, but entirely worth it for the truly brilliant grin he gets from Alex in return.
~~~~~
The thing about sailing is that there are no crowds you can see, no cheering you can hear. There’s just you and the boat and the wind—and nine other guys trying to cut a tighter path on the course to shave off a few seconds.
The wind is gusty during the medal race, and Henry ends up drenched in spray within the first ten seconds of getting out on the water. He loves these conditions, though, the way they push a sailor to their limits, the way it feels like you could take off in flight at any moment. The boat is responsive under his hands, skipping across the water like a stone, and he finds good angles to the wind that send him rocketing forward right off the starting gun. His luck holds, helped by the French competitor nearly capsizing in a gust and the Italian having to do a penalty turn at the second mark, and in the end he crosses the finish line at the front of the fleet in a cluster so tight it’s impossible to tell the final rankings from the water.
It probably won’t be enough to medal, even if he managed to score in the top three—his previous finishes were just a little too far back in the fleet—but frankly, he can’t find it in himself to care. Because when he finally gets back to shore, there’s an extremely excitable American who practically launches himself into Henry’s tired arms before he can even check the scores.
“Second place, you motherfucker!” Alex yelps in his ear.
Henry blinks, pulling away to look at him properly. “Are you serious?”
“They just announced it,” Alex confirms breathlessly. “What does that mean? Do you get silver?”
“No, the final scores are cumulative. It’ll depends on how the leaders finished, can you look—”
But Alex already has his phone out, looking up the scores as Henry’s coach hurries up to them, his eyes wide.
“Burton and Sheldt were both over the line at the start,” Shaan tells him urgently. “They were disqualified. With your second place, that means—”
“Fucking bronze!” Alex shouts, like he’s just won the medal, and abruptly Henry’s knees don’t feel steady enough to hold him up anymore.
It takes several minutes before Henry’s breathing returns to something like it’s normal rate, and he finds Alex sitting next to him, chewing on his thumbnail as he reads something on his phone. A short ways away, Shaan is taking care of putting away Henry’s boat for him, leaving the two of them in their own little bubble.
“This scoring system is bonkers, I hope you know,” Alex tells him. “I can’t believe it’s cumulative over eleven races.”
“I can’t believe I won a medal,” Henry replies, staring off into the distance. He can see the women’s Radial fleet on the course already, the colourful flag-patterned spinnakers cutting across the horizon. Nothing quite seems real yet.
“Yeah you did,” Alex says, grinning as he bumps his shoulder into Henry’s. “You were right, by the way. I couldn’t see jack shit. But I’m glad I was here.”
Henry’s not going to cry. He’s not. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing on the connection between their shoulders like he can draw strength from it. “I am too, Alex.”
~~~~~
“Shouldn’t you be out getting wasted?” Alex asks when Henry eases the door closed behind him.
Henry really thought Alex would be asleep at this point, given that the semifinal games are tomorrow. Instead, Alex is sitting up in bed with his iPad laying on the mattress in front of him showing a paused beach volleyball game and a notebook next to that. They’d been out with a mixed group of Brits and Americans celebrating Henry’s medal and Alex and Liam’s quarterfinal victory, but Alex had begged off early to come back to their room, leaving Henry in Pez’s clutches with too much champagne flowing.
“Maybe I’m going back out,” Henry says, more defensively than is probably warranted. He is, actually. Just not to party. He walks over to his bed and pulls his medal over his head, laying it carefully on the side table where the bronze glints softly in the low light from Alex’s lamp.
“Hm,” Alex hums doubtfully as he looks Henry up and down. “You’re up to something. I can tell.”
“It’s nothing.” Fuck. He probably should have denied that.
“Henry,” Alex says flatly, giving him a Look. “I’m not gonna judge you.”
Henry sighs and leans against the wall, letting his head thunk backward. That might have been a mistake, because everything is spinning now. “I was going to sneak back to the marina and take my boat out,” he confesses.
The room is silent, and when Henry opens his eyes again, he finds Alex frowning at him. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Best time to see the stars,” Henry says with a weak smile.
“Isn’t that kind of dangerous? And against the rules?”
“Hence the sneaking.”
Alex stares another beat, then he nods, turning off his iPad. “Ok, let’s go.”
“…What?”
“There’s no way I’m letting you go out there by yourself,” Alex says firmly. “What if you slipped and hit your head or something?”
“If we got caught, you could be kicked out of the games,” Henry argues.
“And they could take away your medal,” Alex counters, folding his arms over his chest. “Whatever this is, it must mean a lot to you if you’re risking something like that. So if you’re going, I’m going.”
Christ, but he is stubborn. “My boat isn’t exactly built for two people, Alex.”
Alex shrugs. “We’ll make it work.”
Against the odds and all good sense, they do. Sneaking into the marina is easier than expected, thanks to shockingly lax security, and they find Henry’s boat amongst the other Lasers slumbering by the waterside in their cradles. Henry is well-practised at launching it by himself, so they just have to make sure Alex doesn’t capsize it when he climbs in—a near miss that leaves Alex white-knuckling the edge of the cockpit and Henry trying to hold back his laughter as Alex glares at him. The breeze has slackened now that the sun is down, just strong enough to take them out into the bay, where Henry drops the sail again and they both cram into the tiny cockpit with their knees bent and their legs weaved together.
“So,” Alex says, once they’re settled in and staring up at the stars, “are you gonna tell me what this is really about? Because I’m guessing it’s not just stargazing. Not that they aren’t amazing out here, but still.”
There’s a reason Henry didn’t put up much of a fight about Alex coming along, and it’s not how unspeakably beautiful he is with the pale moonlight in his curls. They might have only met a week ago, but he feels safe with Alex in a way he rarely does around anyone, able to share parts of him that he usually keeps buried. He takes a deep breath, letting every point of connection between them ground him.
“My father taught me how to sail,” Henry finally begins. “When I was small, we used to go out on his boat at night—a much larger one than this, mind you—until you almost couldn’t see the shore, just so we could see the stars better.” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “He died when I was eighteen. All of this—the racing, the Olympics, coming out here after regattas to look at the stars no matter where I am in the world—everything I do. It’s all for him.”
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the soft lap of the water against the hull of the boat, but then Henry feels Alex’s fingers against his, his hand pushing into Henry’s loose grip as he twines their fingers together and squeezes. “He’d be so fucking proud of you, H.”
“I know,” Henry whispers, not trusting his voice.
“Absolutely no pressure, but…” Another squeeze. “Do you want to talk about him?”
For the first time in a long while, Henry does.
~~~~~
“What do you think?” Alex asks as he emerges from the bathroom. He turns in a slow circle, holding his arms out to the side, to show off his outfit—absurdly tiny shorts that are practically painted on and a lacy shirt that he’s seen fit to close with only a single button just above his navel. There’s a gold Olympic rings pendant laying over his collarbones, and his dark curls are shining with whatever product he’s put in them to tame them just so.
Henry narrowly avoids swallowing his tongue. “I think you’ll be very popular,” he manages.
Alex’s nose wrinkles as if that is not entirely the point. He’s been invited to a party at some extremely exclusive club in the city hosted by the Brazilian women’s beach volleyball team, who happen to be two stunningly gorgeous women that seem to particularly enjoy flirting with Alex. Not that Henry can blame them, but that doesn’t make him feel any less grumpy about the whole situation.
“I’m not trying to be popular,” Alex says as he turns again, twisting around to look at his arse in the mirror. He frowns, and mutters, “Only one person’s eye I’m trying to catch.”
Henry isn’t sure if he’s meant to hear that, or respond to it, but he swallows against the disappointment that wells up in his chest. So Alex does have someone in mind. He should have expected it, really—there’s no way someone who looks like Alex could go the whole games and not find company eventually. Not to mention he’s going to be playing in the gold medal match in a day’s time, and is thus guaranteed no lower than a silver medal. There are always plenty of participants at the games who consider bedding an Olympic medalist the next best thing if they’re not going to win one themselves.
“Well,” Henry says, trying to appear as if he’s reading and not surreptitiously ogling his roommate, “whoever it is, they’d have to be an idiot not to notice you.”
“Ok, but I’m asking what you think,” Alex says, a little petulantly.
Henry sighs and closes his book on his thumb. “You look incredible, Alex. Truly.”
That makes Alex beam, and Henry’s stomach flips. Christ, he’s hopeless.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” Alex asks, casting his eyes over Henry’s slightly ragged joggers and Team Great Britain hoodie from 2012. “I’m pretty sure they’re not going to let you into the club like that.”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, Alex,” Henry says. “I’m not going to any club.”
“Uh, yeah you are. You’re coming with me,” Alex says, like it’s obvious.
Henry scoffs. “I think my invitation got lost.”
“You’re a medalist,” Alex points out with an unnecessary eye roll. “Medalists have an automatic invite to every party. I thought this wasn’t your first Olympics?”
Henry pointedly looks down at his hoodie then back up again. “I know how these things work, Alex. I’m also certain that none of them are interested in having me there.”
“Well, I want you there, so.” He cocks an eyebrow, like he’s challenging Henry to deny him.
Like he knows Henry won’t.
Henry refuses to bring his medal with him because he’s absolutely not going to risk getting mugged for it, but in the end he doesn’t need the proof; apparently, he’s somehow on the list already along with Alex. And also, perhaps unsurprisingly, Pez, who’s already inside and practically shrieks when he sees Henry.
“Hazza! It’s a miracle!” he shouts as he looks appraisingly at Henry’s sedate trousers and the button-down shirt, which Alex had insisted he leave open down to the middle of his sternum. “I thought we had big plans to sulk in our room tonight.”
Henry glares at him and ignores Alex’s curious gaze. “I wasn’t aware having a quiet night in was a crime.”
“It’s the Olympics, H!” Alex puts in, clapping his shoulder with enough force to make Henry nearly stumble. “You can have all the quiet nights you want after the games.”
“See, this man knows how it’s done,” Pez agrees, then turns his attention to Alex. “I don’t suppose your dashing court partner is going to be here tonight…?”
Alex shrugs. “He said he was coming.”
Pez claps delightedly. “Wonderful!”
Alex says he isn’t drinking tonight, given his ongoing competition, which is understandable. Henry, on the other hand, is fairly certain he’s not going to survive the night watching Alex dance with scantily-clad women without significant assistance. He starts with a gin and tonic, but Pez keeps on appearing in a whirlwind with a myriad of brightly-coloured shots, so it’s not long before he’s very much feeling the loosening effects of the alcohol thrumming through his veins. When Alex reappears some time later with a sheen of sweat on his skin and an ipê-amarelo in his hair, Henry even lets himself be dragged out onto the dance floor, pretending his heart isn’t hammering in his chest when Alex pulls their bodies close with his hands on Henry’s hips.
“Hey, that first party we met,” Alex asks, his voice low and husky in Henry’s ear, just audible over the thumping bass, “were you trying to hit on me?”
Henry can’t help it; he laughs. “Well, yes, at the start,” he admits despite himself, his lips thoroughly loosened by all those shots. “I wanted to talk to you, so I did. I figured out you weren’t interested, but…” He shakes his head. “It didn’t matter. I was happy just getting to know you. Then I heard about your room situation, so it was kind of moot.”
Alex’s hands tighten on his waist. “Right.” There’s an odd note in his voice as he pulls back to stare up at Henry with those big brown eyes, the lights of the club painting multicoloured patterns on his face. “And if I wasn’t not interested…?”
There are far too many negatives in that sentence for Henry to be able to parse in his current state. He blinks at Alex, frowning deeply. He might also be slightly cross-eyed. “What?”
“Fuck, you’re really drunk, aren’t you?” Alex says with a huff of laughter. He pushes a lock of hair back from Henry’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to the room, yeah?”
“Sensible,” Henry says through a yawn, and contentedly leans against Alex’s side as he steers them toward the exit.
~~~~~
The American women take bronze in beach volleyball, and Henry sweats out the rest of the alcohol in his blood as he sits in the unrelenting tropical sun at the match. Next to him, Alex is in high spirits and seemingly all too happy to add to Henry’s torment.
“Did I tell you about the time we protested the beach volleyball uniforms rule at a tournament match?
Henry squints at him behind his sunglasses. He doesn’t remember much about the previous night, which he suspects is probably for the best. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“You know the women have these rules that they have to wear these skimpy bathing suits while the men get shorts and tank tops, right?” Alex explains. “Well, Liam and I made a deal with the women’s team to trade uniforms.”
It is frankly in Henry’s best interests not to picture such a thing, and he tries valiantly, but Alex already has his phone out and is shoving a photo in his face. In it, Alex and Liam are posing next to each other, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, wearing nothing but huge grins and matching tiny red bikinis. It’s actually absurd how well Alex’s pecs fill out the top, but the bottoms are another matter entirely. A women’s bikini contains decidedly less fabric than a men’s suit would, and the tiny scrap of fabric is stretched to its absolute limits, leaving precisely nothing to the imagination.
“The officials made us go change before we could play the match, of course,” Alex continues, oblivious to Henry’s suffering. “But it was worth it.”
“Quite,” Henry nearly whimpers.
“We still have the suits, actually. Said we’d wear them again at the medal ceremony if we won gold this year. Guess we’ll see tomorrow, huh?”
Henry has to close his eyes and breathe through his nose, and hopes desperately that Alex doesn’t notice.
~~~~~
Somehow, Alex manages to finagle Henry a seat in the front row for the final match. It’s a little awkward, sitting with Alex’s family, all of whom eye Henry with confused suspicion when he tries to explain how a British sailor ended up as a special guest of their son and brother. Apparently, Alex hadn’t bothered telling them about his altered living arrangements, a fact that has his mother—who Henry understands is some sort of American politician—pulling out her phone to have words with the US Olympic Committee and possibly the IOC as well, before her daughter tells her to cut it out and watch the match.
Alex is spectacular, of course, even when the Brazilians give them a run for their money, forcing the match into a nail-biting third set. Henry ends up with each of his hands crushed in the matching grips of Alex’s sister and her girlfriend (also Alex’s best friend), a statistician who has apparently run all the stats on this game and keeps rattling off numbers and percentages that Henry admittedly doesn’t quite follow.
It comes down to the final match point. Liam serves the ball, and they end up in a spectacular volley that seems to go on and on—the Brazilians make an incredible save that keeps it in play, somehow blocking a spike that Alex sends rocketing over the net, and Liam dives to prevent a ball from going out of bounds that Alex already touched. Finally, the Americans set up a shot, winding up like they’re going to drive it to the back of the court, but once the Brazilians have moved backwards to counter it, Alex softens his strike and the ball falls weakly into the Brazilian zone on the other side of the net.
The resulting cheers are deafening as Alex and Liam crash together in an ecstatic hug, knocking Liam’s cap off and nearly sending both of them down into the sand. Then Alex is running full-tilt toward them, barely pausing to accept an American flag from someone in the stands, which he throws over his shoulders like a cape as he gets enveloped in hugs from his family over the railing. It’s incredible, and Henry is so bloody happy for him, and—
And Alex grabs him, Henry assumes to drag him into a hug, but then Alex is pulling back and putting his hands on either side of Henry’s face and kissing him soundly on the mouth. Henry can see at least five cameras out of his peripheral vision, all crowding in to try and get the shot, but his attention is quickly torn away because Alex is kissing him, full and deep and claiming, and Henry can do nothing but cling for dear life as he kisses Alex back.
Alex presses their foreheads together when they finally part and says something, though Henry can’t quite comprehend it over the roar of the crowd. Only later will the words finally resolve themselves in his head, once Alex has been drawn away to be congratulated by others and Henry is still sitting dazed and touching his lips as people ask him questions he doesn’t know the answers to.
“I’m interested, baby.”
~~~~~
Alex and Liam do not, in fact, wear bikinis at their medal ceremony. Henry finds out later that the US Olympic committee’s emphatic directive that athletes wear their official Team USA track suit or else was, in the end, enough to spook the two men into behaving.
“That, and I’m pretty sure my mother would murder me,” Alex tells him once Henry manages to steal him away from the numerous well-wishers and endless press after the ceremony.
Henry has no clue where they’re going, having never been in the non-public parts of this stadium, so he lets Alex take over, leading them into the bowels of the training areas and locker rooms. By now it’s nearly three in the morning, and Henry is slightly delirious, though that’s less from the fatigue than the fact that he still hasn’t recovered from Alex kissing him in front of the entire world. They could have gone back to their room in the Village, except that apparently neither of them are willing to wait any longer.
“We should talk,” Henry says when Alex finally pushes him into an empty training room and closes the door behind them with a soft snick.
“Counterpoint,” Alex says, grinning wickedly as he crosses the room. There’s a swagger in his stride that really only comes when there’s a gold medal hanging around a person’s neck and, unfortunately, it’s devastatingly attractive. He backs Henry up against a wall, sliding his hands up Henry’s chest as he leans in so close their noses brush. “This now. Talking later.”
“You make a compelling argument,” Henry breathes.
“I know I do, sweetheart,” Alex says smugly, and Henry has no choice but to kiss the smirk off his face.
This kiss is nothing like the one they shared after the match. Henry takes his time, luxuriating in the slide of their lips and the cut of Alex’s teeth, licking into Alex’s mouth to feel their tongues slip against each other. He gets his hands into Alex’s hair like he’s wanted to since that first night, letting the curls twine around his fingers as he tightens his grip in a way that makes Alex moan into his mouth. Alex’s body is a firm weight against him, nothing but solid, corded muscle clenching under Henry’s palm. His hips rock forward, so subtly that Henry’s not even sure he knows he’s doing it, but the effect is unmistakable all the same.
In one smooth movement, Henry turns them, pressing Alex back against the wall and dropping to his knees, and the sight of the hard length of Alex’s cock straining in his trousers is enough to make Henry’s mouth water. He looks back up to find Alex gaping at him, his chest heaving and his knuckles going pale where his hands are clenched into fists by his side.
Henry licks his lips and slides his palms up Alex’s thighs to the elastic waistband of his trousers. “Can I blow you?”
“Fuck, please,” Alex exhales, a gratifying tremor in his voice.
Grinning, Henry hooks his fingers into the waistband and yanks downward to reveal—
“You’re a bloody demon, you know that?” Henry huffs as Alex’s cock twitches against the skimpy red spandex of the bikini bottoms.
“I said I was gonna wear it on the podium, and I keep my word,” Alex says, grinning, only to swear loudly when Henry leans in and presses his open mouth to the damp spot on the fabric.
Thank god this area is deserted at this time of night because Alex is loud as Henry shows off his not inconsiderable skill. He teases Alex through the bikini until he’s trembling all over, and when Henry finally sucks him down to the root, it takes no more than a few swirls of his tongue before Alex is coming with a shout and a fist tugging on Henry’s hair hard enough that Henry sees stars.
“Gold medal,” Alex breathes, his chest heaving and his thumb pressing at the corner of Henry’s mouth as Henry gentles him through the last aftershocks.
Henry doesn’t have the heart tell him that he’s not the first person to say that at the games. If cock sucking were an Olympic sport, Henry’s medal count would put Michael Phelps to shame. None of that matters now. Alex curls his hands in the front of Henry’s jacket and drags him back up to kiss him deeply, and the way they fit together is simply… perfect.
Alex doesn’t miss a beat in the rhythm of the kiss as his hand slides down to palm Henry’s cock through the front of his trousers, but Henry catches his wrist. “Later, love,” he murmurs against Alex’s lips. “What I want, we need to go back to the room for.”
They have two days before the end of the games, and Henry intends to make the most of it.
#rwrb#firstprince#red white and royal blue#rwrb fic#rwrb fanfic#firstprince fic#firstprince fanfic#alex claremont diaz#henry fox mountchristen windsor#olympics au#my fic#chamel's fandom fest
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so after that devastating ask neil answered about morpheus and calliope’s wedding i was suddenly beset by a MIGHTY need for a dreamling fix-it so... this is that. part headcanon post, part fic, entirely more than i was planning on it being. it got just a bit out of hand and is possibly a bit too sappy but i'm not sorry!!!
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Hob introduces Morpheus to his longtime friends and colleagues after they’ve been together for a year. Morpheus carries the suspicion that Hob only agrees to wait this long for love of him.
He’s so excited about it, because he loves Dream, and it brings him the utmost happiness to imagine his friends, his loved ones, the people he works with, his students, getting to meet Dream—who hung the moon, as far as Hob’s concerned.
Dream is... less than enthusiastic about it. He hedges about going out for drinks with Hob’s friends, and he’s cagey about agreeing to be Hob’s plus one to the first department mixer Hob’s thrilled to invite him to. He still goes to these things, because Hob is his beloved and he sees how it lights Hob up to have him by his side at them. He’s the picture of gentility each time; shows up looking incredible, asks all the right questions, says all the right things, makes the small talk. He even personally ensures all of these people have pleasant dreams for a week following, for good measure.
But afterwards, he’s always a mess. Tense, withdrawing into himself.
After the third time this happens, Hob cottons on and asks him about it.
“What is it, love? My friends, or my colleagues, do they bother you?”
“On the contrary. Your friends and your coworkers are as lovely as you are, of course. Well—I must admit Dr. Halliwell is... not my favorite, but... by and large.”
“Oh, he’s no one’s favorite. Bloody insufferable, he is. Alright, well, is there anything I ought to be doing differently? To help make you feel more comfortable?" "You are utterly blameless in this, Hob." "That's..." Hob sighs. "A relief, I suppose. But there is something. And if it’s not that, then...?”
And little by little, it comes out. How the last time Morpheus was as serious about someone as he is about Hob, the last time he was serious enough to want to bind himself to someone... her friends and family opposed it. Opposed him. Thought him entirely ill-suited for her. And on their wedding day, the happiest of days, he was so excited to share his joy with his own family, and none of Calliope’s side were there.
“That’s awful,” Hob says, with a few choice swears thrown in for emphasis. “And it must have been hard for her, too.”
“I believe it is a loneliness she still carries. One far greater than my own.”
~*~
It comes out that Morpheus wants to introduce Hob around, too. Wants to bring Hob to family dinner with his siblings and have Hob with him to receive delegations. How he wants Hob to sit beside him in the throne room of the Dreaming. And how Dream wants to know all Hob’s friends, his little found family of students, his colleagues at the university, his neighbors. How he wants to belong in the life Hob has built for himself.
Yet surely, this is bound to end in disaster, too. Surely he is ill-suited for Hob as well, and surely all of those closest to Hob can see it. Are thinking it to themselves. Are biding their time to tell Hob I told you so.
“But... you’ve got to know everyone adores you. They’re always wondering when they’ll see you next. My students are always asking after you. Everyone tells me we're great together, actually. Never seen me happier, wanting to bake things for you, insisting I bring you along to the next thing—all of it."
"Then it is only a matter of time." "Until what?" "Calliope's family were not exactly... incorrect about me, in the end."
"So... what—you think you're ill-suited to me?"
"I am ill-suited to love."
And of course Hob can't have Dream thinking that. It just isn't true.
So he goes out of his way to be even more vocal about the things Morpheus does that are appreciated. To remind him he is loved. To remind him he is welcomed. To remind him just how well-suited he is to Hob, and how much he fits into Hob's life.
So-and-so says hello, he tells Dream, multiple times per week. Hob stops politely turning down the biscuits his favorite TA sends along, and they've always got a note taped onto the Tupperware ("For you and Morpheus") that Hob makes sure Dream sees. (If Morpheus secrets the little Post-Its away in one of the inner pockets of his coat and Hob never sees them again, well, all the better for Dream to keep them.)
~*~
Hob brings Dream to sit in on his knitting circle one week at the New Inn. All his friends are so excited to have Dream model their scarves and gloves and shawls and cardigans. Morpheus stands there for all of it obligingly, feeling the dreams in each and every one of the stitches.
"Brigitte wants to know what you'd like for your birthday," Hob says to Dream one day, after he runs into his neighbor, who is also in the group, and is held up ten minutes by her asking.
"I do not have a birthday," Morpheus says. "Not as such."
"Yeah, but they all don't know that, do they?" Hob grins, cajoling. "Let her give you something."
"What should I ask for?"
"Well, she is getting on a bit, so nothing too adventurous. She usually just knits me something every year. We could just tell her your favorite color." Hob pauses for dramatic effect. "...What's your favorite color?"
"You jest, I hope." "Right," Hob says, voice full of stifled laughter. "I'll tell her. Nothing but black as the deepest midnight for my darling."
Morpheus wears the resulting jumper, a drapey, soft comfort, constantly; and when the armpits pill and if it ever even approaches becoming threadbare he fixes it gingerly with yarn woven of finely-sifted stardust; and Brigitte has only the best dreams of exactly what she wishes to dream about for the rest of her life. It is the least gift he can give her in return.
~*~
When Morpheus finally invites Hob to visit the Dreaming, Hob comes with an easy smile for even the smallest nightmare and an ear to bend for every dream he meets. He brings a profound and open curiosity for everything about the place. Everyone is charmed. Hob is so regular that some of them are baffled. But Lord Morpheus' happiness rolls off him in tangible waves when he is around Hob Gadling. The denizens of the Dreaming can feel that their lord is lighter than he has been in literal ages of his existence.
Everything in the realm is in fragile bloom for the first time in a very long time. The sunshine is resplendent. The air is balmy. Birds sing in the palace orchards. Hardly so much as a drop of rain dares to fall for weeks.
~*~
The first time Hob is invited to a soiree in the Dreaming he frets about his outfit for days on end.
Morpheus is privately amused by it. "You do recall this event is being held in the Dreaming," he says, sprawled on Hob's bed, watching him pass the fabric of two of his bowties between his fingers, one tie black as night and one so dark a navy it could almost pass for black as well. "You do not actually have to dress for it in the Waking. Your dream-self will simply manifest your preferred attire." Hob just scoffs at him. "Of course. But my imagination's got to start somewhere, right? I don't want to accidentally manifest pyjamas with ducks on them just in time to meet bloody Oberon because my mind forgot what a good suit looks like. Can you imagine?"
"I would not allow you to experience any embarrassment in my realm," Morpheus says, possibly with undue vehemence.
Hob glances over at him. "I know, love."
And the ties go forgotten after that.
~*~
“I’ve got something for you,” Hob tells Dream, one day.
They are in Hob’s living room, sitting on the couch together, Morpheus adrift on a veritable sea of throw pillows. He could, he thinks idly, craft these exact pillows in the Dreaming, replicate their heft and the give of sinking into them, and still they would not offer him such ease.
“Hob Gadling,” he says, disguising his delight rather poorly, he thinks. “You should not have.”
But Hob is already slipping to his knees on the rug in front of Dream, already pulling a small box from behind his back with a flourish, with the sleight of hand of long-abandoned habit. “Shouldn’t I?” he asks. “You deserve beautiful things."
Morpheus stares at the ruby ring, nestled on its little velvet cushion, for so long and so intently that Hob starts to sweat.
"I know it's been a long time," he says. "For both of us."
Morpheus is still staring.
"Fuck, I had an entire speech planned. Rehearsed it and everything. Gideon told me it was brilliant. But now it's like all the good words've been knocked right out of my skull. All I can think is—I hope you don't run off in the middle of me asking you to marry me." "I will not run off," Morpheus says.
"Good," Hob says. "That's good."
~*~
Morpheus is nervous, at first, about telling people. There is a part of him that wants to hold this joy inside his heart, hoard the buoyant sensation of being loved by Hob Gadling like it is a precious commodity that will disintegrate if he lets it out.
But Hob is generous with his love. He reminds Morpheus of it constantly.
“Dream,” Hob says, one morning, propping his chin on Morpheus’ bare chest to gaze at him. “You’re my fiancé.”
Warmth tingles through Morpheus’ body. “I am,” he says.
“I’m your fiancé,” Hob goes on, and now he’s grinning so wide Morpheus is sure his cheeks must ache. “God, am I really?”
“You are,” he promises, with a little swoop of something like fear, or elation, or both. Surely he cannot just have this joy. It cannot be so simple.
“I am,” Hob says, “the luckiest person in all creation.” He says it as earnestly as if he’s saying a vow, right there in their bed.
Hob’s exuberance is contagious, and Morpheus finds that his own smile comes to his mouth unbidden.
Perhaps it could be so simple if he allows it to be.
~*~
Hob is sitting at the kitchen table, addressing invitations to their engagement party, working his way through a stack of fifty laid paper envelopes. Morpheus sits sprawled in his customary chair next to Hob’s, observing.
“That is a great many people,” he says, plucking the pen from Hob’s fingers once he finishes the current envelope and setting it down before taking Hob’s hand in his, kneading the tension from his palm. “Are you certain they should all be in attendance?”
Hob looks up from where he’s scrutinizing his own calligraphy. He must catch something in Morpheus’ tone, because his face softens from surprise into concern. “Only if you want, love,” Hob says. “You know I’d elope with you tomorrow, if you preferred that.”
“Would that bring you happiness?” Thinking on it, Morpheus is unsure it would bring him happiness, now that it is being offered as an option. Strong as the greedy part of him that wants to hoard their love is, there is also the part of him that hungers for it to be known. To be seen. To be shown.
Hob’s brows knit together, then smooth out again. “I admit there’s a part of me that wants to shout about all this from the rooftops.” He laughs softly. “And there are a lot of people who are happy for us, you know. But—” And here he turns his hand in Morpheus’, so he can hold it properly. “I want you to be comfortable. I could marry you in this kitchen and not tell a soul til after—”
“I wish to have the party,” Morpheus announces, because it is, he finds, true. “And I wish to have a ceremony. Here. And one in the Dreaming.”
“Two ceremonies?” Hob’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Now you’re just being extravagant.”
Morpheus huffs. “You have seen nothing yet of my extravagance.”
He feels none of his usual trepidation at admitting it.
~*~
Their ceremony in the Dreaming is an intimate one. The castle is resplendent with flowers, and the twilight twinkles with stars and carries a hint of magic.
Morpheus presents Hob with a crown made of dreamstuff and a mantle lined with stardust much like the inside of his own coat. Lucienne gives Hob his own key to the library. He dances with Gault in the palace gardens, face lit by the auroras rippling through her wings. The new Corinthian swears to protect him. Matthew perches on Hob’s shoulder almost the entire rest of the evening.
Late in the night, Morpheus and Hob excuse themselves to walk together in the fields of the Dreaming, and to kiss beneath the endless sky.
A fraction of the tightness in Morpheus dissipates, having Hob here. Having him welcomed by his realm. Having his own choice so honored, and Hob so loved.
~*~
There are fifty people at their engagement party in the Waking world, and two hundred at their Waking wedding reception. Most of them are from Hob's side. By the end of the evening Morpheus’ hand is sore from being wrung so many times by well-wishers, he is surprisingly tipsy off surprisingly good champagne on which Hob had spared no expense, and he feels slightly effervescent himself, even in this Waking body.
The gifts table creaks under the weight of all the presents—many of them handmade. There is a hand-painted portrait and a hand-thrown ceramic bowl and a hand-knit blanket for his and Hob’s bed and a crocheted sweater for the dog they do not yet have together. There is a queue to sign the guestbook.
He drifts in the pleasant dreams their guests have for them—Hob’s fellow professors, his research assistants, his former students, his neighbors, his knitting group, his landlord, his philosophy discussion club. These people dream of happiness for Hob; of happiness for them; of happiness for him. There is love in their hearts for Hob, and now, by extension, a new love for Morpheus.
The rest of the old weight lifts from his shoulders that night, as Hob beams down at him, and kisses him long and slow, and whispers “I love you” while his patchwork of family—their family, now—whoop and holler and clap.
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Guess who got 30/30 on her finals’ viva 😭💃
It was the biggest adventure of my goddamn life.
The viva was scheduled at 3 pm today so I was pretty chill. I was like okay I’ll do the hardest ones till late night, grab some good sleep and wake up a little early to revise the rest.
But my university sent a mail at 10:30 pm, saying ✨surprise motherfuckers, the time is changed to 9:30 am, all the best insufferable freshers✨
Post this mail, I had made peace in accepting that I aint gonna get any sleep tonight and I had to revise 4 subjects till 8 am (minus 30 minutes to get my boogie ass ready because I will never enter the uni looking like crap and 30 more minutes to reach the university)
I started studying around 12 am because all we did was cuss the fuck out of the university and exam managers for a bloody 1.5 hours.
Considering my attention span, my study session lasted for approximately 15 minutes before I opened Pinterest and keep scrolling mindlessly until it was suddenly 2 am 🤩. Then I went for a mindless walk around the hostel, disturbed my bf for a good 15 minutes, and realised he wasn’t giving me any attention because he actually studies and uski fati padi thi so I came back in my room and re-started studying. It continued till 5 am (paired with stress eating, gossiping, watching a documentary)
THEN, I ACCIDENTALLY FELL ASLEEP AT 5 AM AND WOKE UP AT 8 AM!?!? I had to leave at 9 am so there was no bloody chance of revising Histology and Radiology that I very confidently left for the morning 🤗 I left the house at 9 and kept a ppt of histological slides open on my phone so I could at least revise SOMETHING.
If this drama was not enough, here is more :
Me and my friend had decided to pair up for the viva but some dude mishandled the list and jumbled the numbers and I had to beg my classmate to go with a random dude so me and bestie could go tgt.
As I was about to enter the viva room, a physical fight broke pit between two students and my examiner walked out to stop the fight and never returned.
I confidently wrong answered a sub question and made the doctor believe that I was right cus I answered everything else too. 10 in Anatomy ✅
Manually picked the harder examiner for Histology because bestie shat in anatomy so I wanted her to score in Histology with the easier examiner. My reactions to the first two questions- ✨ma’am I don’t know✨ and she was glaring me so bad I cannot explain y’all but then by god’s grace, she asked me more questions (redemption arc) that I answered but she gave me 7.5 so I was like okay, I did shit in the beginning so-
Next was physiology and if y’all weren’t aware of my bad reputation with the professor (George), well now you are 🤗 But then I again had a choice to choose my examiner and I chose my favourite teacher from last semester and George was like ✨why are you not sitting with me huh✨ in the most sarcastic tone ever like i would ever voluntarily chose you , kind sir.
End result, I scored full in physiology too which just proves that my physiology wasn’t a problem, George was the problem!
Last was Radiology. I was scared for my life since I slept and didn’t revise radiology AT ALL. But the examiner was impressed by my marks and gave me 2.5 🙂↕️
Now if that still wasn’t enough adventure for you, let me introduce you to my bad math skills. 7.5 in Histology + 2.5 in radiology makes 10 which meant I had scored 30/30 but my dumbass forgot math and thought I scored only 27.5 and went out a little sad.
Then a senior dude asked me how was it and I was like ‘Accha tha bas muje ek baat bata histology ke liye maximum kitna hota hai?’ And he was 7.5 and then it hit me ‘Oh bhaiii fir toh muje full mile hai’ 😭😭😭
I’m never forgetting this day. I narrated this entire thing to my mom twice, once to bf, a 30 min voice note to @hum-suffer and now on tumblr.
#desiblr#medblr#desi memes#istg the dude started laughing when my math skills were revealed 😍#Im not really proud of myself cuz a lot of people scored full ao it doesn’t fell special to me anymore tho#Kanya in med school#thanks krishna im never forgettinf how i was about to shit my pants but you helped 😗#krishna and kanya
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ᯓ★٠ ࣪⭑ INJURY. ( bucky b. )
mentions about you being injured but not that detailed, bucky being worried as always, playful banters between the two of you, not much proof-read, usage of doll nicknames as always.
this is almost going nowhere but eh 😭
tagging : @xxladyballadxx || dividers by @/saradika-graphics !! 💜
"Doll!"
Bucky grabs onto your wrist almost too carefully so; bringing you along with him to the outside, vacant space beside the unused car. He begins to do some checking here and there over your figure, inspecting any possible harmful injuries while kneeling in front of you.
"Does it hurt?" He questioned worriedly, just in case, even when he just found a cut right on one of your cheeks. Thankfully, it's not too deep, so it might heal in a few days prior.
"Ouch.." You tried your best to mask your pain with a small pout, but to no avail. It's just a 'small' cut after all, you should be fine.
"You're lucky that it's nothing too serious. If it's something worse, you might give me a heart attack or something."
"Don't die yet." Your voice came out in an almost humorous, beseeching way-- yet in purpose regarding to his previous statement. "Who am I gonna annoy then?"
He rolls his eyes upon your choice of words, "Oh wow doll, I'm touched." The sarcasm is evident within his tone, trying to play it off as if he's not that concerned.
As if wanting to test it even further, he lightly smacked your thigh-- albeit almost playfully-- making sure you're really okay despite your look of disbelief.
"That's what you get for making me worried, and for being reckless." You merely pouted once again upon his remarks, the quiet utterance of 'hey' escapes from your lips involuntarily.
"You're insufferable, you know that?"
Bucky didn't mean it, of course. He secretly enjoys watching and getting every single reaction out from you.
"Thanks for reminding me!" You retaliated wryly, rolling your eyes over his words this time; somewhat aware of his true intentions, yet decided to play along for now.
Not too long after, he gently grabs ahold of your face, causing your gaze to land upon his own as he examines for any visible wounds being present. His touch is so tender, and almost making the pain from the cut earlier to dissipate into nothingness.
"Don't throw yourself out in the way next time. If I see you doing that again, I'm not and won't speak to you for a month, got it?"
He wouldn't dare to do that anyway-- both of you knew for a fact.
"Is that supposed to be a threat?"
".. dramatic ass." You huffed slightly, shaking your head. "You know damn well that's not gonna happen."
Another eye roll was received from him. "Don't try to change the subject."
"But I bet your fine ass won't listen to whatever I have to say, so I'm keeping you away from fighting anything for now."
"You can't do that!" You gasped almost too dramatically for your own liking, but you couldn't help yourself.
"Try me."
No traces of playfulness are present anymore-- only dead seriousness. The least he could do is to allow you handle one more enemy before, but the chances are low, and surely, the others have taken care of it by now.
You initially wanted to try arguing back, but also well aware on how pointless it would turn out. So instead, you simply sighed rather heavily, slumping your shoulders in defeat.
"Fine, you win." You grumbled reluctantly, shifting your gaze away from his own while he wipes your slightly bloodied cheek with some sort of a tissue-- pulling you into his strong arms after.
You couldn't even be mad at him or anything, especially when he's just worried about your well-being.
Bucky doesn't reply just yet; merely embracing you for a bit more, while still being cautious over any possible wound being present on you that's still left unseen. The feeling is still quite new to him, since he doesn't just hug people that often.
But he wouldn't lie-- it genuinely feels nice, and it brings him some sort of comfort, at least.
This time, he makes an exception for you. He's clearly trying himself, and you somehow knew that even when he didn't tell you anything.
"Sorry.." Your voice is somewhat muffled by the leather jacket he's wearing, yet he still heard you nonetheless. One of his gloved hands gradually reaches out to the back of your head-- stroking your hair so delicately as possible.
"It's fine, doll."
"Just be careful next time. For me."
@luneariaa. do not repost; reblogs are welcomed. all rights reserved.
#aria's post 𖥔 ݁ ˖#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#marvel#marvel x reader#marvel x y/n#marvel x you#marvel fanfiction#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fluff
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I've said it before, I'll say it again, and I'm sure it won't be the last time. I AM SICK AND BLOODY TIRED OF THESE MFS, HALF OF WHO DONT EVEN CARE ABOUT CURSED CHILD, BITCHING AND MOANING ABOUT AN ANGSTY TEEN DARING TO BE AN ANGSTY TEEN, I WILL FIGHT THE LOT OF YOU
(this is gonna be a bit long and probably incoherent so sit down and fucking listen to me 🔫 stick with me because I'm not just complaining about albus haters)
eVERYBODY wants cOoMmpllEeXx relatable HUMAN characters - and then SHIT themselves when the flaws a CHILD has isn't just 🥺 uwu im socially awkward and traumatised 🥺. that's why scorpius doesn't get this fuckass treatment, because his terrible human flaw is that he's a bit shit at conversation and gets sad about his dead mum (generalised understatement, but this post isnt about him. dont come for me i love him 🫶🏻)
god forbid albus, who feels unloved and unwanted (with valid evidence for a teenager), albus who feels completely out of place and outcast from his entire famously-close-knit family, ablus who is well known by the world by default via Harry and hates the attention and high expectations, albus who then gets targeted and bullied by his peers because he's not as perfect and brilliant as his father, albus who is then isolated from his one friend because Harry is making irrational ptsd fueled decisions, albus who tells Harry completely sincerely that he knows he's unlikeable but he'll try and change himself and be more like his siblings because he genuinely believes that's what Harry and everyone else whos had the misfortune of meeting him wants, albus who spends the entire play trying to prove himself and fix things via idiotic childish decisions BECAUSE HES A WHOLE UNSTABLE CHILD
god forbid that CHILD doesn't react like a patient, supported, well adjusted, level headed adult. god forbid he reacts outwardly. god forbid he reacts at all, my bad. clearly he should just sniffle a bit as if he doesn't feel suffocated and helpless by everything in his life, because obviously hes just a spoiled brat who doesn't know what real suffering is. god forbid he complains or feels anything negatively, or doesn't quite grasp that other people are struggling too because he is too busy trying so hard to deal with himself and his declining mental health the best he can with basically no support or understanding. god forbid he isn't completely perfect.
you all sound like some fucking boomer telling teenagers they don't know what real struggling is, they aren't mentally ill, they dont have any problems because they have a roof over their head, they should all go to war kids are too soft these days 😫😖😱 fUCKING‼️SHUT UP‼️
he does things wrong but he knows he does and he does everything he can to fix it! and he is fourteen!!! do none of you remember what being fourteen is like 😭😭 I swear half of you have got to be basically fourteen yourselves cmon man
cause I'm seeing this fucking pattern a lot recently. not just for albus, not just in this fandom, everywhere. ‼️ no one can fucking handle flawed characters anymore ‼️ the only thing any character is allowed to have wrong with them is trauma apparently, otherwise they have to be perfect, and I'm getting sick of it. characters and stories are meant to reflect real life, they're meant to help shape our world view, why are you expecting everyone to be fucking perfect??? what happened to nuance? what happened to understanding character development? you are all acting like characters and people are so black and white. either they're perfect or they're insufferable and evil. I won't lie, the most common victims i've noticed of this are women. but the flawed women are typically demonised, whereas the men are typically turned into uwu baby boys who actually aren't capable of doing anything wrong and then fanon goes nuts making them into ittle wittle victims. and I'm so fucking sick of all of it, I hate this. (obviously this is not a strict rule. Albus Potter, and also Albus Dumbledore now I mention it, are demonised beyond belief)
BRING BACK FLAWS AND BRING BACK NOT COMPLETELY WRITING OFF A CHARACTER BECAUSE THEY DARE TO BE HUMAN
I AM FED UP, ALBUS POTTER GET BEHIND ME
#he did many things wrong BUT I PROMISE YOU HE IS MORE AWARE THAN YOU ARE#HE HATES HIMSELF MORE THAN YOU EVER COULD#this post has been building a lot because i just kEEP SEEING ALBUS HATERS AND ITS DRIVING ME INSANE#i am albus potters defence lawyer actually#also eloise bridgertons i am seeing far too many people jumping on that hate train#i know shes going through her im not like other girls i hate pink phase but OF COURSE SHE IS#SHE LIVES IN THE 1800S WOMEN ARENT ALLOWED TO DO SHIT SHE FEELS TRAPPED IN A BOX AND ALL SHE SEES IS OTHER PEOPLE PLAYING THEIR PARTS#i could talk about her a lot more but this isnt the time or place 😔✋🏻 eloise bridgerton they could never make me hate you#also sansa stark i havent even watched game of thrones but i would fight to the death to defend her#her only crime was being a naive child and yet people hate her mercilessly#these are the people coming to me off the top of my head but there are countless fucking others#we are witnessing the death of media literacy and the death of nuance and its killing me i cannot fucking do this#i sincerely hope anyone complaining about al dont ever have teenage children because they will be shit at supporting or understanding them#hpcc#harry potter#albus potter#scorpius malfoy#years spent on tumblr and i still dont know how to tag#albus severus potter#harry potter and the cursed child#scorbus#is it cheeky if i tag bridgerton or game of thrones?#it feels cheeky 😔#the marauders#tagging that too because that fandom are fucking perpetrators of this#(said as someone in it dont come for me)
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Sleep On the Floor
Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! reader
summary: reader and Ghost's safehouse has only 1 bed. reader also wears glasses/contact. just know you're pretty much blind and it makes things hilarious.
genre: fluffy, enemies to lovers
warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, I think that's it.
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You were huffing, walking back to the safe house. Blood was dripping down both sides of your temple and at some point, your nose was bleeding profusely. Your legs felt like jelly, and all you wanted to do was go to bed.
This was one of the hardest missions you had been on in a while. The number of people you killed were too many to count, as well as the number of injuries you had collected over the course of what felt like years, when in reality, it was only a few days.
Keeping close behind you was one of the most insufferable and loud men you had ever come across. Everyone called him Ghost, however, you preferred to never even address him. He was your one and only partner for this mission, and boy, was it as awful as you thought it would be. Sure, he was extremely attractive and was amazing at everything he did, but that made him so much more annoying to you.
“Are you hurt?” He yelled in his raspy, all too British voice.
Why does he care? That pig.
You don’t answer as you unlock the door to the safe house, well, as you try. Your fingers were shaking, and you felt like a total moron after trying to just put the key into the lock. You were starting to be noticeably frustrated when all of the sudden, Ghost’s large arms wrap around your torso, one resting on your shivering waist, the other your hand. He bends down and whispers in your ear,
“I said, are you hurt?” His voice sends shivers down your spine, and as much as you hated to admit, you loved his voice. He slowly unlocked the door with ease and kicked the door open with his giant, muddy combat boots. You didn’t move, you just stared at the open door entry and whispered, “No. Just a little bloody but nothing a shower won’t fix.” You turned around to look at him, his hand shifting away from your waist, and you almost grabbed his hand to keep it there.
What am I thinking? I need sleep.
“I’m fine.” You repeated quietly. He just huffed in response, and pushed you backwards into the house by the shoulders.
He started walking towards the kitchen, but you grabbed one of his arms reluctantly.
“What about you? Did you get injured?” You said, staring into his cold eyes. You didn’t know why you even cared, but the thought of your only partner on this mission getting hurt made you uneasy.
He didn’t answer for a long time, just stared at you, his breathing heavy and you could see his chest rising and falling through the thick layers of this camouflage armor.
“No. Just tired.” He gruffly responded. You nodded, and went to go see the bedrooms.
Or should I say, room. Singular. The safe house only had one bed, and as soon as you saw it you gasped so loud, Ghost came running down the hall, expecting to find a dead body.
“What? What is it?” He turned the corner into the room where you were to find that there was only one queen bed. The two of you just stood there staring at it. “This is ridiculous! Why would they only have one bed in this huge house?”,you yelled. Opening your mouth again, you whispered angrily, “I’ll sleep on the floor. There's enough blankets in this house to make a whole separate bed.” Ghost started to counter you but you interrupted, “Don’t argue, I'm gonna go take a shower. You can take one in the guest bathroom.”
You started to walk into the bathroom when he briskly walked in front of it, blocking you.
“Your back is going to hurt and I don’t want to have to hear you complain any more than I already do. I’ll sleep on the floor.” You tried to push past him, but his hands alone were stronger than your whole body, there was no point. He put his large hands on your shoulders and massaged them a little, leaving you surprised as he walked out of the bedroom, taking a towel with him.
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As you exited the bathroom, your hair washed and clothed in fresh pajamas, you were shocked to see that the lights were already turned off, and it was extremely hard for you to see. Plus, you didn’t have your glasses on so you were a walking hazard. You tried to take as small steps as you could, but all the sudden you stepped on something hard and alive.
Ghost growled and sat up as you tripped over him. You started laughing, “Ghost, I’m sorry, I honestly thought you were kidding about the whole floor thing.” You crawled on your hands and knees, feeling your way around until your hands landed on his thigh. He exhaled loudly and abruptly grabbed you by the hips and turned you over on your back, so he was hovering over you. Breathing heavily, he whispered, “Watch where your hands are going.” You started giggling again, in total shock that he was caging you in with his bare torso and biceps, the only thing on his body being that stupid balaclava and grey sweatpants.
“I don’t have my glasses on, I can’t see! I swear.”
He sighed and dug his face into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around your midsection. Your hands traveled up and down his spine, as if you had always done this around him. It felt so natural, for both of you.
So, there you were, laying tangled up in each other on a makeshift bed on the floor, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.
#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#simon riley#ghost mw2#ghost fluff#simon riley fluff#simon riley x reader#modern warfare#ghost imagine#circe69scribbles
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Square: B2 - FREE SPACE
Title: "would you go along with someone like me?" (ch. 2)
Rating: T
Ship: Dream/Hob
Warnings: No archive warnings apply
Additional Tags: college AU, non-traditional college students, don’t worry they’re actual grownups, poet Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, history student Hob Gadling, referenced character death, rating will go up in later chapters, more tags to be added
Summary: Hob is a freshman history major and a first generation college student, while Morpheus is completing a graduate degree poetry. When they're crammed into a small room together due to a shortage of on-campus housing, it seems like an odd couple situation at best and a recipe for disaster at worst. But as the months go by, mutual respect turns into real friendship. And then... something happens that Hob never expected.
Link to AO3.
another @dreamlingbingo fill! I know it's been over a year since I posted the first chapter of this fic. I know. I'm sorry. I will try to make sure it takes less than a year to post chapter three.
October blew in, blustery and bright. The campus glowed with autumnal light. In the long, cool afternoons it would bounce between windows and gild granite columns. It even illuminated the study carrels in the fourth floor stacks of the undergraduate library, turning dim and dusty rooms into little pockets of brightness and learning and hope.
There were rainy days, too, but even they seemed apt and atmospheric; it wasn’t cold or dark enough yet for the grey days to be truly dismal, so the inclement weather was still more a novelty than anything else. A good excuse to spend the extra dollar on a hot mocha and wear one’s favorite cozy sweater.
Hob was either hugely elated or fantastically depressed, depending on – well, it could be anything. The weather, the grade on his latest paper, the relative freshness or staleness of the bagels in the history department, the phase of the bloody moon. On some level he knew it was just emotional whiplash from throwing himself into the deep end of academia after so many years spent in unacademic pursuits, but on his harder days he was beginning to think the hormonal soup of his young undergraduate classmates was rubbing off on him somehow.
On one such day, Hob returned to their tiny dorm room, dropped his bag on the floor, and faceplanted on his narrow bed with a heartfelt groan.
Morpheus was in his usual spot – perched on his desk chair and curled into a position that should not have been possible for his thirty-something spine and hips – and did not look up from his notebooks at Hob’s flop.
Hob groaned again.
“I imagine you want me to ask you what’s wrong,” Morpheus said, still not looking up.
“I am a fool,” Hob said dismally. “A fool and a buffoon. A nincompoop, even.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m even doing here, mate, I really do. I mean who am I kidding? I’m almost thirty two years old and I’m sitting in these fresher history lectures and fucking Stephanie is running rings around me. Have I told you about Stephanie? She’s nineteen. Nineteen, Morpheus. We have, like, three classes together, and she’s kicking my arse, she has her entire career planned out, all the way to a Ph-bloody-D, and I can’t remember whether ‘Ottoman’ has one T or two.”
“Two.”
“I know that, you insufferable git, I’m trying to have an existential crisis here.”
“Ah. And is that happening concurrently with your one-sided competition with a child? Or does one precede the other?”
Hob raised his head enough to stick his tongue out at Morpheus. Something he’d learned about his roommate over the past few weeks – something their dorm neighbors and many (if not most) of Morpheus’s classmates didn’t quite seem to understand – was that Morpheus could actually be screamingly funny at times. The problem was that his humor was so bone dry, his delivery so absolutely deadpan, that it was difficult to tell the difference between the times he was being funny by accident, the times he was being funny on purpose, and the times he was actually being deadly serious and would be incredibly offended if people misinterpreted his words as some kind of joke.
Hob had already been on the receiving end of his irritation more than once, usually through pure misunderstanding. He knew he had a puppylike tendency to assume that everyone was his best friend until proven otherwise; Morpheus clearly had a tendency to assume exactly the opposite. The very first time Hob, barely a week into their shared existence, had asked if the other man wanted to get lunch together some time and help each other study, Morpheus had bristled so severely that he looked like a porcupine and claimed that he had no interest in either food or company.
He’d never apologized, per se. But later than night, the sandwich Hob had smuggled back from the dining hall in his jacket pocket and left in their dorm-sized fridge, labeled with Morpheus’s name on a sticky note, had mysteriously disappeared.
Much worse had been the time Hob, in one of his occasional fits of organization and cleanliness, had dared to tidy Morpheus’s desk.
He’d been on a roll – had done his laundry (and put it away!), and changed his sheets, and swept, and tidied up the shoes and jackets in the tiny shared alcove that passed for their hall closet, and then he’d turned his attention to the built-in desk that spanned one full wall of their little room. Hob’s half was always a bit messy, with some piles of notes and one or two books left haphazardly open to key pages he was certain to return to at the right moment. But Morpheus’s side looked like a bomb had gone off. He always had at least four or five notebooks on the go, plus what might be described as a small mountain of poetry anthologies, chapbooks, and photocopied coursepacks. The corner where the desk met the wall contained a veritable snowdrift of various ephemera: scraps of paper, receipts, dried flowers, bottle caps inexplicably labeled with dates and locations, labels carefully peeled off of beer bottles, a scant handful of beads and other shiny bits and pieces, and a single earring that looked like some bright young thing had lost it on her way to the club.
And Hob wasn’t stupid. He knew Morpheus could be a little prickly about his space and his things. Protective might be a better word. He supposed it was a side effect of growing up with a bunch of siblings; though he was an only child himself, Eleanor had had an older sister, and had told many tales of epic battles over favorite shirts and library books and other such treasures. So hadn’t thrown anything away. He’d moved it all aside and dusted and wiped, and then shuffled the papers into a neat stack, set the books against the windowsill in a semblance of order, and collected the ephemera in a little plastic basket that had been in the share box in the common room. He thought, when he was done, that it had still looked pleasantly cluttered – just less like a tornado had gone through their little room.
He hadn’t been expecting praise. He already knew better than that. But he also hadn’t been expecting Morpheus to project a wall of furious silence for the several days.
It got so bad that he’d spent half an hour hunting through the “ethnic” aisle of the grocery store to see if he could find any English sweets with which to mollify his roommate. The closest he’d gotten was a Ritter Sport with whole hazelnuts and a packet of Canadian potato chips, both of which sat, unacknowledged and uneaten, on Morpheus’s side of the desk for nearly a full day before being shoved unceremoniously back over to Hob’s side while he was in a lecture.
Hob started to consider emailing Teleute (who had given him her business card before she’d flown back to London) on the fourth day, just to ask exactly what level of unforgivable sin he’d committed, and whether any penance could possibly absolve him of it.
He was, luckily, saved from the indignity of asking his roommate’s sister how to circumvent his little temper tantrum, and by none other than Morpheus himself.
He got home after a lecture one day to find Morpheus perched nervously on the edge of his bed, a bottle of Bass beer clutched nervously between his knees.
Hob shucked off his shoes and tossed his bag on his own bed before flopping down, legs akimbo. The room was so small that if he and Morpheus both stretched their legs out, their ankles would probably touch in the space between their narrow beds.
“Hello, Hob,” Morpheus said formally.
“Morpheus,” Hob said. “Talking to me again, then, are you?”
Morpheus, to his credit, flushed slightly. “I would. That is. I have… I would like to apologize.”
Hob made an expansive sort of go ahead gesture and leaned back, waiting.
“I was talking last night with my sister – not Tel, whom you met, but my youngest sister. I was…” He ducked his head. “To be frank, I was complaining about you. About how you had tidied my desk and how much it upset me. She pointed out, quite rightfully, that it sounded like you were trying to help; trying to do something kind. She also pointed out that there have been several occasions when she herself has made an awkward or unwelcome choice in an effort to do the right thing. I… cannot argue with her logic.”
“I really was just trying to help,” Hob said. “If I promise never to touch your side of the desk again, will you stop ignoring me?”
Morpheus flushed again. “Yes. And I would extract no such promise from you. It was. Thoughtful.” That seemed to be a hair too much genuine emotion for the man, who stood abruptly and shoved the bottle of beer at Hob. “I have brought you this. A peace offering.”
“Thanks, mate. I –” Hob began, but Morpheus was already throwing on his peacoat and out the door in a whirl of black. “Okay. What a fucking weirdo.”
The beer was good, though. A taste of home. Hob picked the label off and left it on Morpheus’s side of the desk.
read on AO3 >>>
#dreamling bingo 2024#my writing#dreamling#the sandman#feeling some type of way about how long a 1500-word chapter took me#I actually wanted this one to be longer but perfect is the enemy of done#future chapters are still coming and they will definitely be more in depth
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It's the first day of the radiostatic week!!! Have you prepared something for it? Because I did! 😁😁
So, for the first day here, we are with the theme first meeting. Hope you'll like it!
Day 1: First meeting
It’s been 20 years since Alastor fell into this horrible yet entertaining place that people commonly call Hell. Life was always changing here, new people fell every day with all of the particularity that qualified them. There was always something new and funny to watch, but at the top of the big pyramide of the sinners in Pride district, the radio demon was bored.
These new people who arrived every day were nothing more for him than mere food. Not even interesting at all. The deer demon fought with a lot of Overlords, proving his superiority and trapping them inside his radio to have fun. But it’s been 20 years since he started ripping the life of the other Overlords and it had become quite uninteresting.
A scream of pain resonated in the ears of the radio demon, sorting him off his thoughts. His ears started to twitch at the annoying sound of the prey he caught during one of his lonely walks. On his feet was a red-horned demon, crying and bleeding like a pig at the slaughterhouse. He begged for mercy in tears while Alastor crunched one of the fingers he ripped from the demon when he caught it like it was a common snack.
Bothered by the screams he decided to kill the demon so he wouldn’t have to hear his horrible screams again. Usually, he quite liked it when a demon was begging him for mercy and from pain but this one must have been the exception. He was insufferably annoying. One last bloody gurgling and the “life” of the demon left his body.
“Well, this was disappointing.” The radio demon said with an iconic smile on his face. “Time to go I guess!”
The red Overlord was about to walk away when a strange rumbling noise came from behind the empty box and garbage of the dark alley where he ate. His ears turned in the direction of the sound and with a curious expression on his face, Alastor moved toward the piles of junk.
There was a humanoid shape behind the boxes, they looked stunned and clearly hadn’t seen Alastor lurking behind their back. The stranger was apparently a man, he had dark skin, sharp blue claws, and the most singular head than the radio demon had ever seen.
“Urg…Where Am I…?” The new demon mumbled, not clearly seeing his surroundings.
Well, this was interesting! New demons fell every day but it was the first time the red Overlord ever saw one like him. It was as if technology took possession of his body, instead of a classic face he had a TV post. Alastor could even hear some static sound coming from the new guy. It wasn’t really audible for a classic demon but his demonic form was based on the one of an animal. He had a great audition compared to his demon peers.
“Well in Hell of course!” Alastor exclaimed cheerfully, happy to have found a new source of entertainment.
“AAAH!! Dafuq is wrong with you!” The TV demon screamed before punching the Overlord in the face, clearly surprised to see him.
Alastor stayed still as an uneasy silence invaded the space between the two demons. He had been hit before but the demons that managed to touch him in a fight could be numbered with the fingers of a hand. Oooh this demon was more and more interesting with every second. He would have a lot of fun with this one.
“Shit, I’m sorry! I didn’t want to hit you, you just scared the shit out of me.” The TV demon said, looking sorry at the man before him.
“Worry not my friend! If you said you’re sorry and that hurting me wasn’t your intention I suppose I can let it pass!” Alastor said with a deranged smile on his face.
He felt like a child during Christmas, waiting to open a present. This new demon was so strange, unusual, and funny! He couldn’t wait to see the next thing he would do to entertain him.
The stranger looked a bit confused and surprised by his reaction but it was nothing compared to the look on his face when he finally properly saw who or rather what kind of person he had in front of him.
It was really funny to look at. Alastor could see his pixel eyes looking at his ears, woods, and smile with fear.
“Oh worry not dear friend! I won’t hurt you or at least not now.” The Overlord said with the same smile he had since he met that new demon. “I never saw anyone like you before, it is quite interesting if I may say!”
“Ah! Uh thanks, I suppose? Look, pal, it's not against you but I need to go…” The stranger said before trying to get up.
Alastor looked at him, trying to get on his legs, he looked like a baby deer with his first steps. It was kinda endearing. Where would he go that could be safe enough for a new demon? It wasn’t the safest quarter of the Pride district and all new demons were fragile and weaker, especially after their death.
If he goes, Alastor would probably lose his new source of entertainment for a while. Or worse the TV demon could make a deal with another Overlord! No that won’t do!
“You shouldn’t leave like that, my friend. It is very impolite. Besides, you’re clearly too weak to survive out there. It must have been a violent death you just had.”
Barely standing up the TV demon looked at him, a bit out of breath and surprised. His confusion was adorable.
“Death? I don’t under-”
Suddenly he cut himself in his sentence and passed his hand all over his torso. Tiny mistake here because his hands were what was holding him against the wall. Before he could fall Alastor grabbed him in his arms.
“Now, now, dear friend, I think you should rest, don't you agree?” Alastor said rather than asking, still smiling at the new demon in his arms.
The new demon looked at the strange and scary red guy over him, his vision was starting to get blurry, and black dots slowly invaded it. He didn’t understand, the last thing he remembered was the gunshots and then nothing. He woke up here.
A shadow with a creepy green smile appeared next to the red guy with sharp teeth and wood, the two of them looked like they just got out of a scary movie or a nightmare. He tried to fight against the urge to sleep that was becoming stronger and stronger as much as the seconds passed, but in vain.
“Sleep well, my dear friend.” Said a cheerful voice before he fell into the darkness once again.
*********
When he woke up in an unknown place for the second time the TV demon wasn’t as shocked as he first was. He just hoped it was all a dream and that someone rescued him from the attack at the studio. The simple thought of what happened earlier frightened him and gave him the beginning of a headache.
“Urgh…my head is killing me…” He rumbled trying to get his surroundings.
“I see you are awake!” The creepy red guy exclaimed near him, even if he couldn’t see well for now he could distingue the crazy smile on his face. “Do you need electricity? I chose a house that had some in case you might need it.”
The red guy?Deer? Creature? Honestly, he didn’t know what he was, was looking at him as if he was a new specimen and that he wanted nothing more than to dissect him alive. Urg…he didn’t have the strength to deal with this shit… His head was killing him and for an unknown reason heavier than he remembered. His whole body felt so weird right now.
“Why would I need electricity? And where are we? I swear if you lay a single hand on me you’ll have to deal with the cops!”
Why was he in this dream again? Why hadn’t he woke up when the darkness invaded him for the second time? Things weren’t right and the look on the other guy’s face wasn’t reassuring at all.
Alastor looked at the new demon to see if he was serious before bursting into laughter when he understood he was. His new friend was funnier than he first expected, perhaps he’ll keep him as a shadow if he couldn’t survive hell.
“Well for your head of course! I’m not sure if it works with your energy or if you need electricity. It would be better for you if it worked with your energy but who knows what fate has in reserve for you.”
The new demon looked at the man in front of him with apprehension. He was clearly mad. But at the same time wasn’t he to see or dream of such things? He passed a hand on his face when another wave of pain passed into him, and it was only then that the cold shower called reality hit him.
“What happened to my face?!” He screamed in panic as his hands tried to find something familiar on his face and head.
He has no hair, no nose, no ears, no anything! All he could feel was the coldness of the metal and glass, the sound of the guns still vivid in his mind. He felt himself on the edge of a panic attack which only amplified when he saw his hands and how sharp his nails were. It could destroy metal so easily now!
“See? I told you you were an interesting person! I never saw a demon like you my friend, perhaps you’re the first of your kind! There is no need to panic at all.”
Demon. He was a demon. Oh Lord, he was in hell. He died during that gunshot and now he was in hell.
“No need to panic?! I don’t have a freaking face anymore!”
Just into what had he turned into? He was just stuck as nonhuman with some metallic head that weighed too much to be normal. He wasn’t stupid enough to say he didn’t deserve Hell. Clearly, he wasn’t the best human on earth, and he knew it, but still! Why couldn’t he look a bit more like this creepy red guy?
Suddenly music started to resonate in the room. The new demon turned his head to its source to find a shadow replica of the other demon playing the piano. It was smiling at him while the real red guy was bringing a huge mirror in front of him. The music kinda helped him to calm down.
“Here so you can see yourself. It is quite something when you first wake up here but I’m sure you’ll find your mark very quickly. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t. You look like a strong demon.”
The new demon sighed heavily and looked at the Overlord in front of him a little sorry. This guy looked and clearly was weird, but he wasn’t bad with him. The least he could do was to give him a chance.
“Thanks and….I’m sorry…” He said before nervously walking to the mirror.
In front of him as his reflection was a man with dark skin, sharp blue claws, and a TV for a head. It wasn’t like any model he ever saw back in the living world. It had a big screen and the antennas were shorter. There were two round boutons on the right of the screen, probably for the volume and the channel. On the screen were two huge red eyes and a sharp blue smile, he had no nose or ears but somehow it wasn’t preventing him from hearing or smelling around.
“This is so weird…” He let out too much shock to look anywhere else other than the mirror.
“I was going to say exciting, entertaining, or original but if you prefer weird my friend then alright. It is weird.” The red demon said with his traditional smile. “I’m Alastor, the radio demon. A pleasure to meet you!” He added before taking his hands to shake them.
“I’m…well I…”
“You know my friend, one of the good points of starting a new life with death is that you don’t need to bother with old undesirable baggage. So now tell me. What is your name?”
The TV demon smiled for the first time he woke up here and shook the hand Alastor was handing him. Yes, he could do this, he would survive Hell, and perhaps he could do it with his new friend.
“Call me Vox, friend.”
#vox x alastor#radiostatic#alastor x vox#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#radiostaticweek2024#tumblr fic#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor#radiostatic week 2024
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Chapter 1: the case of Willamina Wood.
Tw: this chapter includes: rape, assault, death, talk of sex, and bad friends. Viewer discretion is advised.
Knock, knock, knocking on the two dead boys' door.
Edwin:
Everything was going splendidly. We had moved crystal in next door to the office so she could have her own room, and coincidentally Jenny moved downstairs.
The night nurse left us alone for most days, unless we had a case she insisted on being there for.
Speaking of, we had just finished wrapping up a case. Three boys terrorising young human girls. Crystal calls them “dead frat bros”. I do not like the name, but she does so automatically Charles likes it too.
We walk into the office, Charles and Crystal talking as usual, while I walk ahead. I will not say I am over my love for Charles, but I know he does not see me in such light. So to be a good friend, I refuse to give In to them.
Once I sit down at my desk, the mailman comes scaring both Charles and Crystal and I smile slightly.
We let Crystal see if she could pick up anything off of the mail, getting used to her powers already.
“It is pretty brills innit?” Charles asks as he looks at her, her eyes white her head tilted backward.
“It’s…..charming, to say the least.” Ever since her, Niko, and Charles saved me, I've been trying my hardest to be nicer to the girl. It is a trial sometimes, I will admit.
When she finally comes back, she looks at us and says “nothing good, just some girl missing here. But, but, I think I know her?”
Crystal never got to take the other two memory balls, therefore she has some dark spots here and there. She says they may have more bad memories and doesn’t want them.
Charles gos up to her. His hand on her shoulder “is she ok?” “I think so. All I saw was a smiling girl, but I don’t know who or what she is…” right then an older gentleman walks in.
He has grey hair and blue eyes, he seems to have died around the same time as I.
“This is the dead boy’s detective agency, correct?”
“Yes, that is us.” I say sitting up in my chase at the new case.
“Good. I have a case for you.”
Charles, Crystal, and I all look at each other, ready for our next case.
The case.
“There is a girl. Her friend lives in the apartment I stay at and she visits quite frequently. She’s a human.” The man states.
We deal with the dead. That is our job. Last time we took a missing girl case we got stuck in port Townsend and I got sent back to hell. The answer is no.
But as I look up I can see Charles and Crystal really want to take the case. More Charles than crystal, so I let him finish.
“She’s the nicest of the lot. She always makes sure the girls are quiet, and she’s kind. To everyone.” He looks Charles and Crystal up and down, clearly still in his own ways.
“And I would not be here, usually, but those idiotic girls keep yelling at one another, saying that she’s lost because of one another. It’s insufferable. I was hoping you could help find her.”
Crystal's look tells me she thinks it might be a demon like her, but a demon would not be so subtle.
“We’ll take the case!” Charles says before I or Crystal have a chance to speak.
The man nods and looks at me, with a roll of Charles’ eyes.
“We’ll take the case.” I say.
Finding willamina wood.
“Why did he discredit Charles like that?” Crystal asks.
“He’s a bloody racist, is why.” Charles answers.
“It’s not uncommon, in our line of work we deal with people who died when that was common. And it unfortunately is hard. You as well will get discredited, for being a woman, and for being of colour.” I say, and she looks angrily at the door the man just left from.
“You get used to it, but it’s best not to let it get to you.” Charles says.
“You’re right. Let’s focus on the girl. He said her name is willamina but the girls call her Willy. Why don’t you two go talk to people around where they last saw her, try her friends.” Crystal says as she eyes the missing flyer.
When I pick up the paper, I see it is our missing girl. She’s been missing for 48 hours. And by human statistics, she should be dead by now. But for her sake, let us hope she is not.
“And what about you?” I say.
“I’ll call hospitals near the area, try and see if she’s been checked in.” Crystal says as she grabs her phone and starts a “Google search” as she calls it.
Charles packs his bag, and we grab our special glasses, and we take to the mirror.
The investigation
Her “friends” were of no help. They say they were in some band of sorts, said they were from the states and wanted to “branch out” but they could not even tell us her last name.
“Some friends. They left her alone so they could go shagg.” Charles says as we try to find a mirror.
“Truly horrible girls.” I answer him.
As we step back into the office, Crystal stands up.
“I found her, she’s at a hospital three blocks from here. They say she’s in good condition, she has all her memory’s, but hasn’t been discharged yet. But…” she says as she paces slightly.
“But?” I say.
“But I don’t know if it’ll be a good idea for you two to come with me. They say she’s a bit tense with men.”
“Tense with men?” Charles asks.
“It does not matter, she can not see us.” I reason. They both agree, Crystal is still on edge however.
The girl with multi coloured hair and battle scars.
Me and Charles decided against going in with our glasses, not wanting to scare her.
Crystal walks up to the nurses station, a woman in scrubs and a bun, who looks too tired to stand up is sitting there.
“May I help you?” The nurse asks.
“Yes we-I’m looking for willamina woods?” Crystal says, almost blowing it up. I roll my eyes and Charles bumps me.
“Realstion?” The nurse asks.
“Say we are her friends,” Charles says.
“No they won’t let us in, say we’re family, her cousin,” I retort.
“I’m her cousin.” The nurse looks crystal up and down, but nods.
“Before you go in, you should know she’s been through a lot of trauma, the poor girl, so, don’t scare her, ya’hear?” The nurse tells her as she leads us to a door.
“Yes ma'am” Crystal says.
When we walk in, there’s another nurse, a girl, laughing.
The nurse walks out and says “you have a funny friend, she’s been joking since she’s got here.” I smile at that. The girl seems to have went through trauma and is still joking around. In away she’s a bit like Charles.
When we walk in fully, she clams up.
“Who are you guys?” Guys?
“You can see us?” Charles asks, and she nods.
“Near death experience.” Is all she says, her smile gone from her face. Whatever trauma the poor girls been through, it has something to do with men.
“Charles, let us take a walk outside shall we?” He nods and we walk out.
Willy:
“Willamina?” The girl says. And I nod.
Who are these people? Why can’t everyone just leave me alone? Two nights ago was the worst night of my life and they just won’t leave me ALONE!!
“I’m crystal, we, uhm, we were asked to find you.” Huh, maybe my “friends” cared after all…
“Oh, by who?” She smiles at me talking.
“A ghost who lives in the apartment your friends live at.” Oh, so they don’t care.
“Can I ask what happened?” I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s best to tell someone now, then push it back until I rage and do something stupid.
“It all started two nights ago….”
Hi author here, I just wanted to say this part might be triggering to some viewers.
Warning: rape, death, sexual assault, and bad friends are in the fallowing. Viewer discretion is advised.
Two nights ago.
YES! We did it! We just played one of our biggest crowds yet! And they loved us!
I walk out of the bar, ready to catch a ride from one of my friends. I decided earlier not to take my bike tonight, not to mess up my hair. Everyone said that they'd give me a ride to and from the concert so I’m not worried.
When I walk out all my friends have guys or girls on their arms, ready to head back. I stop one of them, Cindy, she’s the nicest.
“Hey cin, can you or one of the others give me a lift home?” I ask, and she looks a bit disgusted, but I don’t let it bother me, that’s just how they are.
“Willamina, hun, we’ve all got, uhm, plans, maybe next time you should just rely on yourself.” She laughs and gets in her car. When I looked for the others, they all left.
They left me.
They all left so they can get screwed….
What great “friends” I have.
I’m only four blocks, I’ll just walk.
As I walk, I feel eyes on me, but I don’t turn around, instead I decide to do what my mom always said and take a number of turns to lose them.
After about six different ally’s I think I finally lost the person, and I walk into the ally right next to where I’m crashing.
Once I walk into it I feel hands on my arm, and I turn around, and a man in his 50’s maybe 60’s with thinning grey hair, and round, with a crooked smile
The old man corks out “oh, have I had my eye on you” in a heavy accent and I’m instantly paralyzed with fear.
He puts a gloved hand over my mouth, and all I smell are toxins, and then it all goes black.
When I wake up I’m freezing cold, stripped of my clothes, and now my dignity. I look up and there’s a woman with curly hair and sad eyes.
“No woman should have to go this way, my dear. It is here that I give you a second chance at life. And I am truly sorry.” And with that a blue light blinds me.
The next time I wake up, I’m in a hospital bed, with a male doctor checking my vitals, and I instantly do not feel safe. I wiggle and scream and he leaves and a female doctor comes in to soothe me.
“Hush dear, you are alright now. No more scary men. I promise.” She tells me.
Now.
I’m crying as I speak. “And that’s how I ended up here.” Crystal looks at me with sad eyes. And I’m sick of people looking at me like that. I’m not defenceless, I was just scared shitless.
“I’m sorry.” She tells me.
“Don’t be. You can’t fix it. No one can. That’s the end of it. You found me, now you and the two gay ghosts can leave me alone.” I say, or rather I snap.
“Just Edwin, Charles isn’t gay- y'know what, I’m not gonna fight it, I’m, I’m sorry, I’ll get my friends and we’ll go.” She says and I turn to go back to bed.
When she sits the light off and I close my eyes, the lights turn right back on.
“Ms.wood?” A boy says in a proper accent. My hands get sweaty, and I want to run, but I just close my eyes more.
“I am Edwin, Edwin Payne. I- well, I just want to tell you that not all men are like the one who I assume hurt you. And,” he sighs and asks himself why he’s doing what it is he’s doing. “And I’d like to ask if you have any place to stay?” He asks.
“Uhm, no, no I don’t.” The loft I was renting weekly is probably due to the fact I was supposed to pay yesterday, so, I guess I’m homeless now ... .just the cherry on top of the cake.
“Well, if you would like, Charles, Crystals, and I would love to have you.” He says, kind of hopefully.
I open my eyes and he has one hand in the other, and his bow tie is slightly crooked. I smile.
“I’m, I'm not that trusting with men anymore.”
“That is completely understandable. And if you would allow us, I’d like to, well, I’d like to try and be one of the ones you do trust. And I hope Charles could be as well.”
He’s nice. And he’s willing to be a friend. I guess I am in the market for new ones. And they don’t seem like the type to hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.
“Ok” I nod, and he smiles.
“Ok. I’ll have crystal sign you out.”
#charles rowland#dead boy detectives#edwin payne#crystal palace#original character#willamina wood#willy#niko sasaki#night nurse
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53 - What Are Her Intentions
Part 54
Family is More than Blood
@secretdreamlandmentality @melvia-ito
Klaus’s pov
I groaned, staring up at the ceiling of the mansion for a few moments enjoying the simple sound of silence that fell throughout the house. Then I rolled over onto my side seeing my queen laying beside me. Her blonde hair was scattered across the pillows and our bodies were barely covered by the tousled sheets. “I know you’re in there, Rae. I won’t let her keep control over you.”
Trailing my fingers over her bare shoulder she sniffed in her sleep. “Already awake. It appears I didn’t tire you as much as I thought last night.” She stretched her arms and legs out when she uttered her first words of the morning.
“I wouldn’t say that. We’ll definitely have to go shopping for new furniture.” Lifting my head up slightly I saw the destruction we caused. The dining table downstairs was broken in half, the main living room coach was torn, and most of the beds except for the ones in our children’s rooms were completely smashed into the wooden floor.
Raelyn flipped over onto her side to face me with a cocky smirk on her lips. “Hmm wasn’t it you that once told me that vampires never tire. That’s the beauty of immortality is it not?”
“Maybe I did. But that isn’t important now.” I shifted my body above hers and she smirked even wider if that were possible. I leaned down, capturing my lips with hers in a quickly heated kiss.
She threaded her fingers into my already tousled and super curly messy locks. I moaned into the kiss enjoying the feeling of doing this with her again, even though I wished that this dark side of her didn’t have much control over me. “So what would you say to a shower before we go furniture shopping?”
“Tis temping…but I have to go take care of a spell I have been working on.” Raelyn pushed me onto my back vamping over to the walk in closet grabbing some new clothes for the day.
Flopping onto my back on the pillows I put my arms behind my head watching her walk around the bedroom getting dressed. “You are a little evil minx.”
“You weren’t complaining last night, Nikky.” She smirked, shrugging her blue Jean shorts up her legs and buttoned them very slowly just to tease me.
Shaking my head I sent her a half glare. “Last night I wasn’t complaining but I am now.”
“Oh I wish I could say I was upset about it. But I most certainly am not and do you want to know why?” She put her short orange shirt over her head that showed off part of her stomach. Swaying her hips back and forth she vamped over to me standing at my bedside.
Pushing myself up in a sitting position lifting my head up to meet her gaze. “Tell me why, my love.”
“Because if I keep you here waiting for me to come back. Well you’ll be so desperate and needy when I get back that we won’t be able to stop having sex all night and maybe even the next day.” Dark Raelyn draped her arms around my neck touching our noses together.
I growled under my breath at her seductive suggestion. “You have become much more sexually active. Much more than you ever were when you were pregnant.”
“If you’re implying you’d like me pregnant again I think that could be arranged with many hours of work.”
I tilted my head to the side wrapping my arms quickly around her waist and she squealed before our lips hungrily met for a second time this morning. “Then it turns out that you have other matters to attend to.”
“Fair point….” She kissed me once more holding my face in her hands kissing me for a good few minutes until she broke it and vamped into the doorway leaving me flustered on the bed.
I hung my mouth opened in utter shock blinking my eyes a couple of times in confusion. “Bloody hell, you truly are Dark Raelyn.”
“I’ll see you tonight, Nikky.” She vamped out of the room without another word.
Getting up from the bed I put on some pants and one of my shirts mumbling to myself. “Insufferable sexy heretic!”
The bedroom door suddenly burst opened where I spun around on my feet seeing someone unexpected visitors from New Orleans. None other than my siblings Rebekah, Elijah, Kol and Freya. “Niklaus!”
“What do you want, Rebekah?” I grumble under my breath throwing my head back in annoyance.
She vamped in front of me, crossing her arms over her chest. “I want you to explain to me what the hell did you let her dark side do to our former home!”
“It wasn’t simply just all her fault.” I dropped down sitting on the edge of the bed. “It takes two people to tango or should I say let the spirits move our animal instincts-“
“Klaus, I don’t wish to hear about you two love making when Raelyn is in real danger.” Freya stepped up to her sister’s side.
Kol moaned in disgust. “Just be happy you didn’t have to hear their first night together.”
“Did you really come all this way to be concerned with my sex habits because if so there’s the door.” I rolled my eyes pointing at the door wanting to end this conversation with them.
Elijah ran a hand down his face. “Niklaus, we need to be concerned about your wife at the moment.”
“And you don’t think that I am. How shameful, Elijah.”
Rebekah gains my attention for the second time, arms still crossed over her chest in anger. “If you are so concerned, tell us where your beloved wife is right now.”
“Off doing a spell.”
Kol was quick on his feet. “What kind of spell, brother?”
“We have to find Raelyn before she kills the whole town.” Elijah exclaimed before we heard screaming from the boarding school from all the way at the mansion.
Alina’s pov
Jackson and I had been up all night because of Xavier and his crying. I snuggled underneath the covers trying to sleep but I felt someone standing over me. I slowly peaked over my shoulder jumping in a scare seeing my mom standing at my bedside in the complete darkness. “Mom, what’s wrong? Is it a monster or Xavier?”
“Phantamogriphia decorum.” She only uttered a spell from her lips, clasping a hand on my arm and her other on Jack before I passed out and woke up in a similar room to our bedroom.
Jackson was standing beside me confused. “Mrs. Mikaelson, what kind of spell is this?”
“Simple illusion spell, wolf.” My mom sniped at him where I raised a brow at her nickname to address my husband. She never called him wolf, he was always Jackson to her so something must be up.
I take a step towards her nervously. “Mom, what do you need to show us here?”
“I need to warm you, dear.” She replied simply.
Jackson sent me a confused look taking my hand in his before I asked the question I would soon regret later. “Warn us about what exactly?”
“Tenebris anima vestra contundito morten et conteret spirtium.” She raised her right hand chanting a spell causing me to claw at my neck struggling to breathe, removing my hand from Jack’s.
Jack grunted dropping to his knees with his bones starting to break. “Alina!”
“Jacks! What the hell are you doing mom?” I winced sharply feeling the bones in my back beginning to break.
She lowered herself down on a knee lifting my chin up so my gaze would meet hers. “This is a warning that if you or any of my other children try to bring the true me back. I will use the same Crescent curse I used on Hayley and Jacob to trap them as wolves unless there was a full moon.”
“Alina - what is she talking about!” Jackson held his stomach with his eyes glowing gold.
I felt tears falling down my face with my knees giving out from under me. I screamed through the pain forcing myself to look up at my mother. “Why do you think I’d say anything?”
“Because you are very much like your father, Lina. And I can’t have that if I want to be the version of your mother that stays around.” My mother growls down at me, clutching her hands going back to chanting the spell trying to turn us back into our wolf forms. “Frange vitam nolite corde ut sub terra esse, ad tenebras usque in sempiterrnum.”
Jackson and I laid on the ground trying to fight the pain but her spell was too strong. I felt the fangs in my mouth coming through and my eyes turned the golden color before I gasped in relief seeing my aunt Freya and my father appearing behind her. “Aunt Freya - dad!”
“She’s not your mother, Alina.” Freya stomped forward grabbing the back of my mother’s neck quickly twisting it until it snapped and her body collapsed onto the ground in front of us. “I think that’s enough out of you.”
Holding myself up on my hands and knees I gasped to catch my breath eyeing my father who hadn't said a word. “Dad, how could you let this happen?”
“I'm sorry, Alina.” He whispered glancing down at his uncommon wife laying on the floor before our mind space disappeared and we returned physically to my bedroom.
Comments really appreciated ❤️
#family is more than blood#klaus mikaelson x reader#tvd fanfiction#tvd fandom#klaus mikaelson x reader fanfiction#tvd#tvd x reader#klaus mikaelson fic#ask box is open for feedback#wattpad fanfiction#comments really appreciated#klaus mikaelson fanfiction#klaus mikaelson x witch reader#klaus mikaelson x heretic reader#oc : raelyn lane#indiana evans#tvdu#tvd universe#tvd fic#kol mikaelson#elijah mikaelson#rebekah mikaelson#jackson kenner#freya mikaelson#legacies#legacies fanfiction#klaus mikaelson smut#klaus mikaelson masterlist#oc : alina mikaelson#madelyn cline
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WHUMPTOBER 2023
ITS SPOOKY SEASON BITCHES AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS???? WHUMPTOBER
Main Master List
SOOOOO I am giving it a go again this year. That being said, I don't have all the days planned out and I might not post on all of the days, but the ones I do have planned out I do plan on posting. So HUGE SHOUTOUT to @ailesswhumptober for supplying the prompts I will be using this year.
They are as follows:
1) Drugged/Sick/Poisoned (Sub: Bloody Knuckles) - Johnny Lawrence
You got in a fight for your life and the only thing you could think about is going to the comfort of your sensei, unknowing of your wounds.
2) Overworked/Insomnia/Exhaustion - Ernest Lawrence
Lawrence has been working very long and very hard hours to produce the first nuclear bomb. Long enough hours to forget a very important celebration.
3) Sensory Deprivation/Overstimulation/Isolation - Ed Baldwin
Being on the moon by yourself is tricky as is, dealing with the loss of you however? It’s downright insufferable.
4) Hiding an Injury/Betrayal/Lying - N/A
5) Hostage/Kidnapping/Held at Gunpoint - Roman Sionis
With you now being known as Roman Sionis’s girlfriend, you becomes an easy target.
6) Conditioning/Mind Control/Forced to Hurt Someone - N/A
7) Flatline/Restrained/CPR - Rick Flag
Rick and you have always had prank competitions, but this year, you take it a little too far.
8) Panic Attacks/Dissociation/Seizure - Gordo Stevens
You wait at the restaurant for 30 minutes and are very irritated that Gordo doesn’t show up. Deciding to give him a piece of your mind, you go to his house only to find that Gordo is in the middle of a panic attack.
9) Scar Reveal/Interrogation/Presumed Dead - N/A
10) Branding/Scarring/Collar - N/A
11) Fainting/Paralyzed/Adrenaline - Ernest Lawrence
Feeling the buzz of finally completing the first nuclear bomb, Lawrence comes home to you and fucks you.
12) Self Harm/Sacrifice/Character Death - Gordo Stevens
After a night of heavy drinking, Gordo reflects on his life and how pathetic he has become. Wanting to hurt himself but not go through with it, he calls you, who he knows will help out.
13) Earthquake/Flood/Crushed - N/A
14) Bleeding through the bandage/Field Medicine/No Anesthesia - N/A
15) Experimentation/Muzzle/Transformation - Jonathan Crane
You decide to be a test subject for his new toxin.
16) Amputation/Chronic Pain/Hospital - N/A
17) Hypothermia/Heat Stroke/"You Look a Little Pale" - J. Robert Oppenheimer
In which the detonation of the atomic bomb is successful but the one person who should be celebrating isn’t looking too hot.
18) Fever/Vomiting/Warm Soup - Gordo Stevens
Gordo survived Jamestown but at what cost?
19) Taken for Granted/Left Behind/”Why wasn’t I enough?” - Stephen Holder
Holder is smitten by a fellow detective and so he does all of your paperwork at your request. Linden confronts Holder about this behavior but Holder deflects it. When he goes to ask you out, you reject, leaving a heartbroken Holder.
20) Dehumanization/Stockholm Syndrome/Master and Servant - N/A
21) Blood Loss/Shock/Near Death Experience - Gordo Stevens
Follows the events of season 2 where instead of Ed’s plane catching on fire, Gordo’s plane catches on fire and he’s forced to eject, causing him to land in the middle of the ocean. You are nearly devastated, Gordo has never felt more alive.
22) Whipping/Punishment/Stress position - N/A
23) Begging/”Take me Instead”/Forced to Watch - N/A
24) Failed Escape/Hunted Down/Too exhausted to keep running - N/A
25) Nightmares/Flashback/”Why didn’t you save me?” - Joe Pickett
In which Joe has recurrent nightmares about his childhood and you try to help him.
26) Magical Exhaustion/Curse/Came Back Wrong - N/A
27) Forgotten/Locked Away/Immortal - N/A
28) Whumpee Hair Pulling/Oxygen Deprivation/Sweating - N/A
29) “The easy or the hard way?”/Bargaining/Force To Choose - Obi Wan Kenobi
Maul is holding both you and the Duchess Satine Hostage and forces Kenobi to choose one, the woman he “loves” or the woman he loved.
30) Possession/Mind Games/Coma - Rick Flag
The Enchantress control’s Rick’s mind and knowing Rick’s connection with you, his best friend, the Enchantress decides to get rid of you.
31) PTSD/Headaches/Crying - N/A
If you guys have any thoughts about the ones I have unnamed, please send me an Ask or DM if you would like to see someone in that slot!!!!
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6 Songs Character Meme
I wasn't tagged but idgaf i'm doing a song meme because i am insufferable about my girls :) I'll spare you the torture of doing 4 and just do Tempest
1. An event that defines your character's past
Mommy issues.
Go ahead, let me be the enemy I got no time for all your fake bitch energy Not sorry that I'm not the way you want me So fuck you and fuck your pity party
2. How your character sees themselves
"I'm hot shit"
You better turn me loose You better set me free 'Cause I'm hot, young, running free A little bit better than I used to be
3. How others view them
Tempest is...reckless. People are worried she'll get herself killed one day.
You may bury me with an enemy in Mount Calvary You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile I could really give a shit, I'm going out in style
4A. Their closest relationship (romantic)
You get a twofer deal here because Liv and Kerr get separate songs obviously
I like (I like) what you like (what you like) Long hair (no bra) that's my type (that's right) You just told me, want me to fuck you Baby, I will 'cause I really want to
Hey, I was doing just fine before I met you I drink too much and that's an issue, but I'm okay Hey, you tell your friends it was nice to meet them But I hope I never see them again
4B. Their closest relationship (platonic)
Dinkley Dorset, the most dapper goblin you'll ever meet. Picks a lock like no other.
Sat around the pile, sat and laughed Sat and laughed and waved 'em into the air And we did it just like that When we want something, man, we don't wanna pay for it
5. A Major Fight Scene
The vibes are immaculate. Selvy taught her well.
Now dance, fucker, dance, man, he never had a chance And no one even knew it was really only you And now you steal away Take him out today Nice work you did You're gonna go far, kid
6. End Credits Song
The song that plays at the end of the night at her favourite pub.
Bugger off you bastards bugger off FUCK YOU! Bugger off you bastards bugger off Like a herd of bloody swine who refuse to leave the trough You'll get no more this evening so you bastards bugger off
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Hazbin Hotel- Velvette x Odette- Guess I don’t have a choice, all because I liked a girl.
Chapter 1: The First Spark
"So, as I was saying, our people are in serious danger in the next extermination. We need to ……."
This meeting was so boring. Of course, it was. It had a goddamn Carmine hosting it. Really, this was so boring that Velvette couldn't ever muster the energy to scroll on her phone. God, at this rate, she was going to fall asleep.
“Velvette!”
“Velvette!”
"Velvette, I swear to God if you …"
And with that, sadly, Velvette was up, "Oh my God, you old geezer, shut the actual hell up! You interrupted my nap!"
"Your nap!" Carmilla yelled, "We are discussing plans to protect the entire population of hell and our souls! Which correct me if I am wrong; keep you and the rest of us in power!"
"You know, maybe I would pay attention for once if you weren't so goddamn insufferable all the time! I don't even know why I even come to these stupid things. I never get anything out of these meetings!" Velvette sighed. She knew exactly why she came to these meetings. Valentino, like every other event in his life, fucked these things up. I mean, god, who in their right mind suggests an overlord orgy. Half of the overlords cut off supplies to the Vees for over a month. It took way too much bribing from Vox to try and get them back into the "I'm not going to kill you on the spot" graces of the other overlords. And Vox, bloody Vox. The one goddamn time he had come to one of these stupid meetings with Alastor, he had a goddamn meltdown like a toddler where he broke down and tried to make out with Alastor, who tried to legit murder him with one of the angelic weapons Carmilla had on her wall. Who bloody puts angelic weapons on a wall by overlords who want to overthrow each other. Has Carmilla ever heard of common sense?
But no, the real reason Velvette came to these stupid things was the one time she skipped it. She missed them planning a goddamn overthrow of one of the most annoying overlords ever. She missed out on taking lots of lands and souls, and she had to listen to Vox's bullshit for days. He kept invading every one of her screens just to lecture her.
So that was why she was here in this goddamn room with Carmilla fucking Carmine. God, if she could gut one person in hell.
"Velvette! Would it kill you to show some respect!" Carmilla screamed.
Now this was it, Velvette finally snapped, "Please, why should respect an old geezer who fucks a goddamn spider!"
The room went instantly silent, aside from several gasps.
Yep, Velvette had finally done it; she was going to fucking die. And by Carmilla no less. Fucking Carmilla! Carmilla's powers were overflowing, and the rage was boiling on her face. Her powers were suffocating. The only thing left for her was to grab a weapon. Wait, Carmilla was a weapon. Yep, she was going to die. She was going to fucking die by Carmilla Carmine, of all people. And now the last words she was ever going to hear in this life were going to come from Carmilla.
There they were. Deathly calm, Carmilla said, "Velvette, you've crossed a line, and now."
"Ha ha, oh my fucking god. You have to be kidding me." Who the hell said that? It was one of the prettiest voices Velvette had ever heard but also one of the dumbest. Who in their right goddamn mind would interrupt Carmilla when she was going to kill her. "Mamá!"
Wait, mamá! Mamá! One of Carmine's brats saved her?! Her of all people. Why? All the Carmine's despised her. Right? "Odette, Not now!" Carmine shrieked.
Odette. The blonde one with glasses. She always looked frigid and cold and never showed any emotion. Even when Velvette had accused her mom of killing an angel. But now, unlike her usual self, she looked flushed, worried, and scared. But she still went on, "Mamá, you can't kill her. Vox and Valentino would go after you. It would be a huge turf war. Plus, they would turn other overlords against you. Please, mamá, don't do this!"
She was beautiful. Stunning. Brave. The flush on her cheeks was the most adorable thing Velvette had ever seen. And her voice, Velvette would've sold her soul just to hear it for one more minute. She was fucked. She needed Odette, beautiful and stunning Odette. Odette, who was sticking up for her. Velvette could see through all of Odette's bullshit and knew that Odette didn't give a fuck about a turf war. Hell, based on the rumors about the Carmines, they would bloody enjoy a turf war. No, Odette wanted to save her. But why?
"Fine!" Carmilla snapped, "Meeting dismissed."
And with that, Carmilla grabbed, no dragged, her daughters out of the room. After that, all the other overlords dashed out of the room, leaving Velvette. Her mouth was wide open, and her mind still reeling from the fact that a Carmine, no Odette, had saved her. But now it seemed that all Velvette could think of was the cute blond. God, what was she going to do.
Chapter 2: A Longtime Crush
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