#stop acting like every character must fit neatly in a box

[callum-hunt-is-bisexual]

i want jeremy to have black hair, it'd be funny

[cdroloisms]

yk, I always thought of c!dream to perfectly fit the saying “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” and every time I think about it I get even sadder send hepl

hello !! it’s been a bit, so sorry anon, but ty for ur patience :D 

but yeah !! that saying REALLY fits c!dream - he’s someone that has done a lot of awful, unjustifiable things, but they were all for a Reason, as much as people like to think otherwise. he’s said so before, repeatedly - it’s all for a vision of the smp as it “used to be,” one “giant family” that can be happy again. and obviously, what he does isnt right, and will never be right - but in the end it’s all in a very twisted attempt to find a home he lost, which makes his character all the more twisted and tragic, yknow? 

sometimes i wonder what an earlier dream would say, after seeing how far he’s fallen, which is what really led to this oneshot - it’s a bit messy, but i like it nonetheless. c!dream is a disaster that makes me Very Sad 

tw: derealization, implied torture, hallucinations, injuries, dark content, mentioned abuse, manipulation, emotional distress, implied suicide, panic attacks, self-hatred  

“Was it worth it?”

Dream blinks, looks up; this is new. He’s no stranger to hallucinations, of course - they’d started somewhere around the first week or two of solitary, and had only grown in frequency and duration as time went on, but this has never happened before.

The figure standing - well, sitting in front of him is hazy at the edges, indistinct, little more than a splash of green and grey, blown out at the edges by the bright white highlights from the lava lighting them from behind. Even so, Dream is all too familiar with the craftsmanship of the iron armor they wear, with the bright green hoodie tucked underneath that he’d once worn like a second skin. The figure’s face turns just enough to catch the slightest sliver of a mask.

“Well?”

“You’re me,” Dream says - breathes, really, his throat too sore for the words to be much more than a labored exhale. The other Dream turns, the lava throwing shifting shapes in orange and red all over his chestplate, his mouth visible and pulled into a frown underneath the bottom edge of the mask. Dream touches the cracked surface of the one sitting on his own face reflexively, feeling the jagged hole on its left side surrounding his eye, the edge pulled over his chin to keep as much of his face obscured as possible.

“Well, I mean,” the other Dream’s hands come to the edges of his mask, easing it over to the side of his face in a practiced motion; his eyes burn brilliantly in the dark room, green and furious and bright. “I wouldn’t exactly say that, now.”

Dream knows that this man isn’t him - well, isn’t him anymore, doesn’t have the burn scars that trail all over his body, doesn’t know the feeling of his stomach turning itself inside out in pain and emptiness, doesn’t know how it feels to have an axe dragged painfully, slowly over his skin over and over and over and over until he’s screamed his throat raw. This is the ghost of a man that has not lived and died a million times, that does not know the feeling of blood on his hands better than he does kindness, that can think of other faces and feel something other than shattered ribs and remembered pain.

“Was it worth it?” The other Dream watches him, eyebrows furrowed, insistent. It’s hard to remember that this was once him, that he has a face made of skin and muscle and bone instead of porcelain and leather even with the bruises and dried blood beneath his mask reminding him otherwise. The expressions on his face, the ones that must be on Dream’s own face, feel foreign, like they belong to someone that isn’t him. Maybe that’s the point.

“You’ll need to get more specific,” Dream’s voice cracks, throat protesting at the strain pulling at the still healing wounds from within it. Dream takes the pain, boxes it up, files it away; he’s becoming pretty good at that. “Was what worth it?”

The other man throws his arm out in an arc, gestures vaguely at the entire cell. “This! All of this- this prison, what you did to Tommy, what you did on Doomsday, what you did in the vault.” His words burn with a dangerous fury, and Dream closes his eyes. It’s not real. It’s not real. “You ruined everything! You destroyed our home! Everything is gone and it’s all your fault!”

“Don’t-” Dream’s voice cracks, shatters in on itself, and he swallows around the pain and pushes on. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing as me.”

The other man scoffs, a fiery light dancing in his pupils. “As if. This is all your fault. You didn’t have to exile the kid. You didn’t have to blow up the community house. And you sure as hell didn’t have to manipulate a fucking teenager, you sick fuck.”

The voice morphs, overlays with the echoes of voices he hasn’t heard in what feels like an eternity. His back burns, stings; his head pounds furiously and threatens to plunge his world into darkness. Through it all, green eyes stare at him, twin flames in his ever blurrier vision, looking for all the world like a god handing down judgment.

“You know you would,” Dream mutters, each word dropping and shattering on the ground like broken glass, “if you had to sit in here for just a chance at bringing them together, you would. If you had to burn the whole damn server down for them, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

The other Dream shakes his head, teeth bared. “Don’t you dare pretend that you did this for them. Don’t you dare pretend that you don’t deserve this.”

I deserve this. I know, I know, I know. “But you would.”

The hallucination’s shoulders rise, fall; it’s hazy, shimmering from the heat, but the eyes glow ethereally and feel more real than anything in the cell.

“You’re an idiot, you know?” He laughs, and Dream tastes iron and ash and salt. “You’re so fucking stupid. You- you thought that the problem was Tommy. You blamed everything on Tommy because you couldn’t see him as anything other than the person that ruined our server and you’re so fucking stupid.”

The voice distorts, echoes in on itself; a half-hearted whisper of wrong wrong wrong rises in Dream’s mind and melts under the fury of the other’s glare. The image shimmers, shifts, and the other Dream- is he even Dream, anymore? - smiles humorlessly, stepping closer. It’s not real, Dream knows, because the image is hazy and flat and wrong but his mind echoes with the sound of shoes scuffed against obsidian and a netherite blade dragging against stone and the book, Dream, and we’ll stop-

“The real problem was you. It was always you. You were the one that ruined the server, you were the one that blew up the community house, you were the one that destroyed L’manburg. You are the one that everyone hates, that everyone fears. You are the villain, Dream, a monster. You’ve always been a monster. Now that you’re gone? The server is finally at peace. You were the problem.”

“And- well, Dream,” The figure leans over, lips right by Dream’s ear, and when they speak their voice is sweet-sharp, all-too-familiar. Quackity. “I guess you should’ve fuckin’ offed yourself when you had the chance.”

He flinches back, eyes squeezing shut, hands scrabbling around his neck. His lungs heave and he tries to suck in air but he can’t there is lava in his chest like everything inside has been torn apart like the words have ripped through him like he’s no more than wet paper and he chokes and stutters on the exhale and it’s not real it’s not real it’s not-

(That night, long after Quackity leaves with a fresh bouquet of bloodstain blooms splattered over his shirt like a field of blooming poppies, after the Warden leaves from forcing another round of health potions down his throat, Dream curls around his ribs in the back corner of his room, watching the lava fall.

Was it worth it?

He laughs, low, bitter, every inch of him feeling scaped raw and open and hollow, thinking of a world without himself in it, of a sky and earth and family with the ugly parts cut neatly away. He thinks he must be a wither skeleton, watching as everything his fingertips touch crumbles away into black rot and ash, breathes in and out and hears the same echoing rattle from deep within his chest. Was it worth it?

It must’ve been, he tells himself, even as the sound of a drop of brilliant purple magic falling against the obsidian makes his muscles seize, leaves him cowering under a blow that does not come. It must’ve been worth it, because-

What was this all for, if it wasn’t?)

[ciarawritesmarvel]

First Year [Teacher!AU] - One

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Language, fluff, vague sexual references but I mean very vague

A/N: Here’s the first chapter! Full of fluff and perhaps not much substance but hang in there, I just wanted to reintroduce the relationship and the characters. I toyed with making the rest of the Avengers teachers but eventually decided to go down a slightly different route and make them students instead. Please let me know what you think of this, I beg of you! <3

FIRST YEAR MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

September

“Are you sure about this, Buck?” you asked, taking another spoonful of cereal but just holding it on the spoon, too deep in thought to actually eat it, “I mean, there must be some rule about teachers not dating each other?”

“I’ve spent two months trawling through codes of conduct and I promise you, there isn’t one. We’re not doing anything wrong,” he smiled at you, so genuine it made your heart hurt but still, you couldn’t help but worry.

“But what if-” he cut you off by leaning over the table and grabbing your hand, lifting the spoon to your lips and making you eat the cereal.

“Shut up and eat your food, Miss Y/L/N.”

You rolled your eyes at him but still did as you were told, knowing that he was right and that you didn’t have anything to stress about. He really had looked all over for any possible rules you two were breaking but there didn’t seem to be any. Once you’d finished your mouthful, you smirked at him.

“Save that little nickname for school-” you insisted, then placed two hands on the table and leaned over it so that you could whisper in his ear, “-and the bedroom.”

You sat back down and continued eating as if nothing had just happened, but you could feel his gaze locked on to you and see his slightly open mouth out of the corner of your eye. You fought back your laugh.

“How could you do that to me on the day we go back? How am I supposed to cope with having to call you that all year?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” you smiled, getting up to put your bowl in the dishwasher but you kissed his cheek on the way past, “Mr Barnes.”

You could have sworn you heard him groan.

***

“What have you got first, anyway?” you asked Bucky as you walked side by side through the hallways towards your shared office. Well, he was walking and you were practically waddling. You were pretty envious of the fact that he seemed to be able to fit all his neatly organised folders in one single briefcase and you still had this bloody box full of loose paper and lesson plans. He’d offered to organise things for you over the summer and had just offered to carry the box but there was no way you’d let him do any of that; it would have been like admitting defeat.

“Russian with the new Year 10s. I think there’s 8 of them?”

“That’s an amazing turn out!” you exclaimed happily. Teaching Russian at the school had always been a dream of Bucky’s as he’d told you four years ago but he’d only made that dream a reality this year. He had to convince at least 5 students to choose it for the school to let him teach it and he’d finally managed it, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, doll,” he smiled, eyes sparkling and it still made you weak at the knees every time, however annoying that might have been. You grinned back, desperate to stop walking and kiss him, just quickly, just to remind yourself that you could. But you couldn’t, not when there were so many kids passing you with cheerful smiles and hellos that you’re all too happy to return. Later, you remind yourself, you’ll be able to kiss him as much as you want.

He certainly wouldn’t complain.

“Morning Mr Barnes!” Steve Rogers walked past, flashing a hearty smile at his favourite teacher and completely ignoring your presence. You pressed your lips together to hide your amusement.

“Welcome back, Steve! I’ll see you in Russian?” Bucky asked him and he nodded before hurrying off and you turned your head to watch him scurry away.

“That boy dotes on you,” you shook your head, a light chuckle escaping your lips and you were sure Bucky puffed up his chest just slightly.

“And rightly so.”

You rounded the corner to your office just as you were laughing at him and he opened the door and gestured for you to go first.

“Always the gentleman, aren’t you?” you teased, but you joined his antics nonetheless with an awkward curtsy that made him snort before you walked into the office and dropped the box down on your desk with a thump.

“I like to think so,” he winked at you and your heart rate sped up of its own accord. Things like that were only supposed to happen when you had a crush on someone, you reasoned with yourself, not when you’d been in a relationship for a couple months.

Bucky was surpassing expectations.

You’d had one of the best summer holidays of your life with him, holidays as a teacher and student included. It wasn’t as if you’d done anything crazy or gone anywhere special. Just days of lying on your backs in his garden, looking up at the sky, wanting to make shapes out of clouds that weren’t there. Days of staying in and watching TV despite the wonderful weather outside. Days of walks along the nearby canal, Bucky picking you up and pretending to throw you in. That day when he did throw you in, by accident of course.

On second thought, perhaps that wasn’t the best moment.

And yet still, each grin made your heart flutter, each wink turned your legs to jelly, each kiss just made you melt. And from the look he was giving you now, that look that you’d caught him with too many times to count, you couldn’t help but hope it was the same for him.

“Earth to Y/N?” he waved his hand in front of your face and you blinked out of your daydream, seeing him sitting on your desk in front of you, “Whatcha thinkin’ bout?”

“Summer,” you bit your lip, feeling a little niggle of frustration at the back of your mind at how nervous you still got around your colleague, “And how perfect it was.”

“It was pretty perfect, wasn’t it?” he agreed, reaching out for your hips and pulling you to stand between his legs, your hands instinctively falling to his thighs for balance.

“Bucky…” you warned, using your leverage on his thighs to push yourself from his grasp, but he held firm. You turned and checked nobody was watching you through the glass door, but just because there wasn’t now, didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any second, “Not here.”

“Come on, no one’s around. One kiss?”

“No!”

“Just one tiny kiss?”

“Get your hands off me, Mr Barnes,” you laughed, swatting away his hands on your waist and he finally obliged, though he looked like a sad puppy with those eyes that often made you cave in. Not this time.

“I never asked you, what do you have first?” he changed the subject deftly as he hopped down from your desk and rounded it to sit down at his own.

“Spanish with the Year 7s, bless them, they’re always so scared on their first-” you didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence as the bell signalled the beginning. A new day, a new term, a new year.

“If anyone can put them at ease, it’s you,” he assured you and you could feel the heat creeping up the back of your neck, “Knock em dead, doll.”

“I think that’s the opposite of what I’m trying to do, idiot.”

“Oh, cállate,” he muttered, shooing you out of the office and you grinned at him, picking up your box making your way out of the office and towards your first class, which was only a couple of classrooms down the hallway.

Once inside the room, you carefully placed the box down underneath the desk and got out everything you’d need for the lesson, arranging it in almost-neat lines on the desk. Grabbing a pen and uncapping it with your teeth, you wrote your name in large print in the middle of the whiteboard, glancing at the door and smiling at the line of tiny students that was slowly growing outside.

As soon as you were sure everything was as ready as it possibly could be, you walked over to the door and opened it with a flourish, a genuine smile painting your entire face as you glanced over the kids.

“Hello everyone, come on in, sit where you like guys,” you chimed, standing with your back against the door as they filed in, keeping the smile plastered to your face. You saw mostly scared expressions, but the few shy smiles you received in return for yours made it all worthwhile. As you were about to close the door, you saw Bucky in the classroom across from yours, closing his own door and your eyes met across the corridor.

Bucky mouthed ‘buena suerte’ at you with a smirk and you mouthed ‘удачи’ back. His eyebrows shot up at your unexpected knowledge of Russian. You didn’t speak the language, but you loved it when he did and had secretly learned just a few phrases that you thought might come in useful. With a wink, you closed the door and turned to your class.

“Okay, hola everyone! I promise there’s no need to look so nervous, soy muy simpatica!” you smiled warmly but were met with a sea of confused faces, “Anyone know what that means?”

Silence. Hands stayed firmly by their sides.

“It means ‘I’m a witch!’” you joked and finally saw a few stifled giggles. You’d never get away with such humour with your Year 11s but these were Year 7s and you could get away with a bit of plain old silliness, “I’m kidding, it means ‘I am very nice’ but we’ll get to that later. Today, we have a bit of admin to do and some names to learn!”

You rubbed your hands together before starting to get the exercise books out of the drawer and plonked them down on your desk. As you were getting therm out, you could hear the first murmurs of chatter spreading throughout the room and smirked. At least the terrified silence stage was over.

“Whilst I could get one of you to hand these out for me,” you began, leaning on the books with one hand holding your chin up in a well-rehearsed and perhaps even perfected act, “I think it would be far more fun if I threw these at you, don’t you?”

A few more stifled giggles this time and you grinned at them, picking up a wad of books with one arm and using the other to start flinging the books at the students. Well, not really at the students, just at the desks and at an extremely controlled pace in a practiced pattern. It wasn’t as if you really were a witch, after all.

This time, the class was properly laughing, a few kids nudging others and the ones you could already tell were quieter just simply smiled to themselves. You silently congratulated yourself on easing the minds of these children, despite the fact that you’d done it so many times before: each class was a challenge in its own right.

“Who wants to play a game?”

This time, all hands in the room were up instantaneously. You’d be winning this lot over in no time.

***

When the lunch bell rang out and you dismissed your fourth class of the day, you sank into your chair with a loud sigh. Mondays this year were definitely going to be a struggle. With classes every single period until lunchtime, you had your work cut out for you staying energised and upbeat. You managed it, of course, but it was hard. All you wanted was some bloody food.

That was, if you could find the energy to stand up.

Just as you were thinking it, your phone beeped in your pocket and you cursed, thanking whatever god might be listening for not letting it ring during your classes. Without the need to unlock it, you saw Bucky’s text on your lockscreen.

Want me to bring you fish and chips? I’m front of the queue ;)

Briefly considering the fact that your boyfriend might actually be a mind reader, you quickly typed out your reply, putting your head down on the desk immediately afterwards to get just a few minutes of rest before he arrived.

Best. Boyfriend. Ever.

All too soon there was a soft knock at the door and you smiled in spite of yourself.

“It’s me,” came the harsh whisper and you groaned as you lifted your head from the desk, stretching out your neck as you saw his face peering in through the glass in the door and beckoned him in, “Sleeping, are we?”

“Sneaking food out of the canteen, are we?”

“Touché.”

He pulled a chair up to your desk, even though it was far too small for him and sat down, chest pressed against the back of the chair and legs poking out of either side. You bit your cheek to prevent the bubble of laughter from escaping at his positioning but forgot all about that when he presented you with fresh fish and chips in a paper bag. You took it eagerly and began eating before he had time to blink.

“Tha-” you swallowed your bite and made to take another, “Thank you.”

“No worries,” the hint of amusement in his tone went unnoticed by you as you continued eating, as did his random glances in your direction, fondness laced within his gaze. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of staring at you, even with the funny feeling it stirred in his stomach.

You spent the remainder of the lunchtime telling each other stories from your surprisingly eventful day so far, laughing when he told you about the amount of holiday homework Steve had done for him and you explained that he hadn’t even done yours. Shaking your heads in sync at Clint Barton’s blatant refusal to listen to instructions and marvelling at Tony Stark’s new invention to help him do his homework that he had been far too open about.

“-seriously, I swear I have never seen someone leave a class as fast as that Maximoff!”

“I know! It’s as if he-”

You were interrupted by a knock on the door, though it wasn’t nearly as soft and inviting as Bucky’s had been forty-five minutes earlier. Nevertheless, with a quick glance at each other, you called for them to come in, smiling when you saw that it was just Miss Hill.

“Maria, how can we help?” you asked, brushing the salt from your hands.

“I wondered if it was your car blocking mine in the car park? I’m taking some kids to this stupid maths challenge thing this afternoon so I need to get out.”

“Oh no, it’s not mine sorry,” you said quickly and you saw the confused blink at your rapid answer.

“But it looks exactly like yours?”

“It can’t be hers, I’m afraid, Miss Hill, I drove her in today,” Bucky spoke up, smiling over at you but you just looked panicked. Maria’s demeanor changed instantly and she suddenly lost her look of hurry and had all the time in the world. A smirk made its way onto her features.

“Oh, you did, did you, Mr Barnes?” her tone was dripping in intrigue and you felt the blush on your cheeks before they saw it, “And why was that?”

She was directing her question at you. She’d known about your crush on him for almost as long as you’d had it, so it was only natural for her to be asking questions now, you supposed, however awkward it made you feel. Before you knew it, you had opened your mouth and were speaking.

“My car broke down,” you blurted out and Bucky raised one eyebrow at you, “It happened yesterday so I called old Mr Barnes here and he helped me out. I owe him one really.”

Your voice was so shaky you wanted to scream and you wondered when exactly you’d become such a terrible liar. Bucky was giving a look that bordered on offended but was mostly just amusement. Maria, on the other hand, was radiating pure smugness.

“Right…” she drew out the word for far too long and you stood up from the desk before she could say anything else.

“If that’s all, I better go prepare for this afternoon, I’ll see you both later!” you smiled, or at least hoped you did, though you were pretty sure it probably looked more like a grimace. You hurried out of the room before they could question you any further and rushed to the office, closing the door behind you and leaning against it, letting out a puff of air.

Only seconds later, you were propelled forwards and had to fight to keep your balance as Bucky opened the door. One hand on your chest to steady yourself, you turned to him with a glare.

“What the hell was that?”

‘What?” you tried, scratching the back of your head and pretending not to see the look Bucky was giving you. But it seemed he wasn’t going to give up, “Honestly? I don’t know! I just panicked, Buck, I’m sorry, please don’t think that it’s anything to do with you, it isn’t, it’s hardly that I’m embarrassed of you, I mean look at you but I just-”

“Y/N-”

“I don’t think I want to tell people yet!” you exclaimed, far too loudly for the situation at hand and you watched Bucky blinked a few times. Inwardly, you were screaming at yourself, knowing that he could take that the wrong way, that he could think you weren’t really in this. Outwardly, you were stiff and still.

“Y/N,” he began, and his eyes were serious even though they were hardly ever serious with you, “We don’t have to tell anyone yet. I’m not sure I’m ready to face Nick’s teasing anyway.”

His last sentence was said with a cheeky grin but your hands were wrapped tightly within his and you knew then that he understood. This was still new and still fresh and still yours. You wanted it to stay yours for just a little longer.

The bell put a stop to whatever you wanted to say next and you smiled apologetically as you squeezed his hands once.

“I’ve got Year 11s now, but I’ll see you later?”

“Seeing as I’m your ride home, I’m sure you will,” he mocked and you rolled your eyes, which seemed to be becoming a habit.

“Мудак,” you muttered, leaning forward to kiss his forehead quickly, once you’d checked over his shoulder for anyone outside. He gaped at you yet again.

“I swear, I have never heard anything as hot as you speaking Russian,” he murmured and you copied his signature eyebrow waggle as you walked away, only letting your hands drop from his once you were out of the door.

You could hardly wipe the grin from your face as you walked into your class of Year 11s, all sat in their seats and awaiting you eagerly. You’d been taking this class for French for three years and knew them almost as well as if they were your own.

“Missss!!” they chimed as you walked in and you chuckled fondly, grinning at them all.

“It’s so good to see you all, how are you doing? How were your summers?”

“Oh my god!”

“You were so right, Nat, I owe you, it’s written all over her face!”

“Steve said it too, wow, just look at that grin!”

“What are you all harping on about?” you asked, hands on your hips in a faux warning, but the class just dissolved into giggles, a certain Barton practically snorting in the corner as Romanoff tried to calm him down, “Guys!”

“We all know you and Mr Barnes are together, Miss,” Wanda spoke up, despite the fact that Vision was trying to cover her mouth and stop her. Your eyes widened briefly but then you managed to control your expression.

“Whaaaat…”

“You can’t fool us, Miss!” Thor shouted.

“Nat saw you guys in your office!”

“Shut up, Peter!” Nat hissed but you were already on your way over to her.

“Is this true Natasha?” you asked, ignoring her scoff at your use of her full name, “You shouldn’t be spying on people. And anyway, I checked and nobody was there!”

You were whining by the time you finished speaking and Nat stood up and placed both her hands on your shoulders.

“Miss, if I don’t want you to know I’m there, you won’t,” Nat admitted and you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, “Why wouldn’t you tell us anyway? We’ve been shipping you two since you first started!”

“I know, I know, but...I just don’t want the teachers to know yet okay. Can you all promise me not to tell them?”

“Only if you spend the first five minutes of this lesson telling us everything!”

You looked at the sea of expectant faces and sighed yet again, walking over to sit down at your desk. You held your head up with both hands under your chin.

“Five minutes, no more.”

They were crowded around you in an instant and you smiled at their barrage of questions. As their teacher, there were very few you could answer and as a rather proud woman, there were very few that you wanted to.

But having some of the best kids you’d ever taught be almost as excited as you were about you and Mr Barnes? It felt pretty damn good.

***

if crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for some reason - sorry! tag lists are open so please just drop me an ask ^-^

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first year: @feelmyroarrrr @donner5822 @cassifrassidy96 @lilith-snappinnecks-demon @dontpanc @olivespock @propertyofpoeandbucky @ican-do-this-all-day @paintballkid711 @buckysothiccbarnes @futuremrsb-r-main @significantlysirius @bornfortherainydays @stevieboyharrington @classicswolf @just-add-butter @moni-poloni @srhls @directionerfae @clevertheoristpainter @wisestydia-15