#which is just ink blue and dream staring with mouth open

[ancha-aus]

KillerXDust (Kist) idea.

Them with Loser Baby. Killer as Angeldust and Dust as Husk.

Look. Hear me out.

Angeldust saying "I sold my soul to a psychopathic freak" seems like something Killer could say about his own deal/situation with Chara when he is in stage/phase 1 and actually feelign things.

Husk saying "I sold my soul to save my power" give sme Dust vibes. Mostly because of the way that people say like 'sold your soul to do this/that' pretty much saying you did a very bad thing no one would ever do. Which Dust very much did and he 'metaphorically' sold his soul to get the power he needed to defeat the player.

"I am trapped and it gets worse with every hour" pretty much both being stuck with the decisions they made and having to deal with it even now after they are out of their AUs

Also I just love Dust and Killer together and Kist so it haunts my mind now.

I just keep playing a mental animation in my head that i have no clue to ever make/draw as my skill is in writing not drawing and no where NEAR animation so it is just me rotating this idea in my head.

[anonymooseforever007]

CATastrophe

(Alfie Solomons x Wife Reader)

Summary: Alfie said the kitten could stay on ONE condition: It couldn't make a mess of anything. And you'd promised him the cute little furball wouldn't dream of spilling even a drop of milk.....Unfortunately the kitten made no such promises....

A/N: Hi y'all! No warnings for this one. This is for Flor's ( @raincoffeeandfandoms ) 2.7k celebration! That I wrote like a year ago before I disappeared, so I'm sorry it took so long 😂😅! But you're amazing!!!❤️ I hope you enjoy this! You said the theme was cats and this idea popped into my head and I ran with it! It's about 90 percent comedic/fluff about when Y/N and Alfie met their kitten, which happens to be on the same day Alfie meets Tommy. So I have changed that part up from canon just a little bit for my own devices.

WC- 7.5k

Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh no. No no no no no! Get off that! Off! No! Whhhyyy did you dooo that..... why."

Slight panic swept through your body as you quickly snatched up the ink stained papers off Alfie's desk. 

"Please don't be important. Please don't be important. Please don't be impo.... and they're for the new guy.... great.... Maybe we can clean it off... nope. We are absolutely screwed."

Giving another groan of defeat and burying your head into your arms, you slouched down in your husband's chair. The rain outside seemed to grow darker with your mood. You'd only fallen asleep for fifteen minutes.... but evidently that was all it took for catastrophe to occur. 

"Meow."

And CATastrophe really was the right word for it, given how the instigator of this entire mess was already ignoring your despair... in favor of playing with a loose string on the couch. The small creature wasn't paying any mind to the paw printed papers he'd ruined, nor the blue ink still mattered upon his tiny mitts. Ink that was yet to dry, resulting in a small path of blue paw prints across the stone floor.... And on the desk... And the couch.... And basically everything in the office. There was even a single blue print on the fur right under a sleeping Cyril's nose.

"Oh don't say that. You know what you did."

Sighing again, you stood up and pinched the small kitten up by the back of his neck. You weren't hurting it, instead you'd grabbed it in the hold you'd seen mother cats do many times when carrying their babies down the road. It was the exact grip that would render your captive immobile while you came up with a plan to fix his mistake. Or maybe to escape.

"I mean really?! You heard what Alfie said earlier." Still holding the guilty party gently, you wagged your pointer finger at the naughty thing, much like you did Cyril when he got stole steak off the table. Narrowing your eyes slightly as the kitten only stared, you continued your admonishment, "He said if you made any trouble he'd put you back in the dumpster I found you in. And while he may not actually do it, he'd certainly give you away to someone else. And we can't have that, can we."

The kitten only let out a small noise as if agreeing. Though it would seem that would be enough to melt your frustrated heart. Huffing, you pulled the cat closer to your chest and started petting the top of his head, paying no mind to the ink slowly dying your dress. Moving to the couch you sat down, remembering what had occurred only that morning....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A few hours ago....

"ALFRED!!!"

Jumping slightly at the sudden shout, your husband raised his head from the dozens of papers on his desk. He barely had time to open his mouth before the door to his office swung open with contrasting gentleness from your previous tone. As you stepped through the frame, he could see your coat bundled tightly to your chest. He'd never admit it, but the way you shook your head to get the rain drops off reminded him exactly of Cyril. Like mother like son he guessed. As if your particularly bouncy disposition shouldn't have been enough to tip him off, the look in your eyes told Alfie were this conversation was headed before it even began. Or so he thought.

"We have a cat."

"......No, we don't. We have a dog."

"No, Alfie. We have a cat."

"Cyril's a dog." Alfie was confused now. You did understand that Cyril was a dog right? Did you get brunch with your sister and have too many cups of her special 'tea'? Alfie's brow pulled together as he thought, and a quick glance to the mutt, confirmed that he was indeed looking at a dog. A very big one, who wasn't anywhere near cat size.

"No. Alfie. We. have. a. CAT." You stepped right up to his desk, and placed a small ball of fur right onto his top hat. Just like it was a podium in which to share the world. If Alfie had to guess, he'd have thought you'd placed a clump of Cyril's fur on his hat, but then it started to move. 

In no time, Alfie was matching gazes with a pair of brilliant blue eyes that could rival Tommy Shelby's. Or so Alfie had heard, he was only meeting the man for the first time today, because apparently a simple 'Hello' constituents as a fucking 'Come on over for tea and biscuits, we'll be fucking friends,' in Birmingham... But the brilliance of Tommy's eyes wasn't the biggest thing on the Jewish Gangster's mind right now.

"What the fuck is that?"

"It's a CAT, Alfie. Haven't you been listening to a word I said?"

Sliding around the desk, you pushed Alfie's chair back, just enough so you had space to sit on his good leg. You only grinned, watching the small kitten begin to play with the feather in your husband's hat. Alfie was slightly still stuck in the whole Cyril: Dog or Cat? debate he'd gotten into his head.

"Ok Dovey, but why is it here?"

With a loving sigh, you took Alfie's face in your hands, mindlessly rubbing a thumb over his bearded cheeks.

"It is here because our newest child needs to meet his new daddy." Turning his head so he could see who exactly was 'the child' in question, you continued, "I was bringing back lunch. I heard something mewling from the dumpster. I went over to the dumpster. I found him gnawing away at a half eaten fish head. He was adorable. He was alone. Now he is ours."

The final sentence was said kindly, but firmly. In fact, your whole statement was spoken so 'matter of fact' like and simply. Alfie knew the conversation was already finished. But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

"Ours? Dovey, I don't know. I'm not really a cat fella. You know that. Besides I've got a meeting in a bit. I don't have time to be taking care of a feral cat. What kind of man would this Peaky fucker take me for if he saw me walking around with a cat on my shoulder?"

Grinning, you gently tapped Alfie's nose as if he'd said something adorable.

"Well, Ally. That's just because you've never had one before. You have to have something to become a something sort of person don't cha? Besides. It's not like you're gonna be the only one taking care of him. I'll be there too! To help you along the way." Then raising and eyebrow you made sure to catch his eye contact before you continued, "Also, before I forget, Alfred. I know it's important to make an impression on possible business partners, but how about this time we keep those impressions non physical, yes? I have no issue with you pointing a gun in their face, but just please stop getting blood on your rings. Try to take them off if you must. I'm tired of having to take your rings to the jeweler to get them fixed because you just had to make a 'lasting impression' when they decided to say one thing you didn't like, alright?"

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you continued your plea for one month without having to get his rings fixed, "Do it for me and sweet old Miss Haversnash who always thinks you've been mugged every time I bring them in. She's 83 years old, and her memory's not what it use to be. Half the time she thinks you've gotten into another boxing match like when you were 16. And the other half, she thinks you're an actual baker with a bad hip who's being constantly being picked on and bullied by the teens who throw glass in the allyway behind her house at night."

Alfie's eyes shot to yours at that statement.you could practically taste the offense coming off of him.

"Wait Dovey... Are you telling her I'm a weak fucking thing that can't even scare off a few kids?"

"No," your sighed, slightly rolling your eyes at the one think you knew would get his attention in that sentence. "I've told her again and again that you can take care of yourself, but she just won't have it. Hell, last time I spent ten minutes convincing her to not take her gun and go shoot the 'cowardly fuckwits who dared mess with such a sweet injured man.' Becca was there too and she can tell you just how hard it was. So I'm asking again Alfie: For all of our sakes, please don't beat this man up today unless he really deserves it."

"And what exactly would really deserving it mean Dovey? Because you know me, I'm a man of honour and I'm not gonna hit a fella unless he's got it coming for him." Alfie clasped his hands together as he spoke, like if he did so you'd agree with him.

"Right," you nodded in response, somewhat mocking him. Technically he wasn't lying, by you knew there were times when your husband's definition of 'deserve' varied greatly from the average person's. And while he didn't regularly beat up any poor workers for a simple accident, some of the more annoying ones might as well have been walking on snowflakes over a volcano during his bad days. "Alfie, good behaviour today, deal. Because remember? The longer I spend at the shop getting your rings fixed, the less time I have to get ready for tonight. And Alfie?" You questioned as you leaned your lips to his ear, "I got a pretty new nightgown I've been waiting to show off. It would be a shame if you were to miss it because you were too busy dealing with another man and I fell asleep waiting for you..."

"Is that so poppet," Alfie chucked quietly, moving his hand to you hips and rubbing slow circles. With a sly smirk you nodded, moving one of your own hands down to his upper thigh. Groaning softly, Alfie leaned back in his chair to draw you face towards his for a deep kiss that would probably result in him being late for his meeting. 

"Mrrrrrroooow!"

Remembering there was audience, you pulled back from your husband. Alfie made a noise of his own, one of almost offended shock, crossed a confused huff. Looking at the cat, he narrowed his eyes. It wasn't that he already regretted letting the small thing stay this long, but Alfie never enjoyed your attention being torn away from him. Especially when he could have used that attention to make you think of him for the rest of the day. Though you paid no mind to that.

"Oh, don't worry sweetheart. I'm still gonna keep you safe. Come here sugar, time to say hello to your new papa."

Reaching across the desk you picked up the kitten from his 'podium'. Pulling him closer, you gently laid the creature on Alfie's chest in a way that forced him to cup the animal in his hands so it wouldn't fall. You knew once Alfie touched the kitten he'd be sold. And to further your luck, as soon as the kitten was settled on Alfie's chest, it had stated purring in contentment. You may have been Cyril's preference, but there was no doubt who this baby favored.

"See! He loves you! You can't give up on him now. He's already so attached. Even Cyril likes him!" You stated, indicating to the curious pup who was already sniffing gently at the kitten. The baby cat also seemed curious, reaching out a tiny paw to gently bat the dog's nose. In response, Cyril jumped back and barked happily, bending down into his playing position. However it seemed like the poor kitten was not as eager to start playing. With a tiny hiss, he startled, scratching Alfie's hand to be released, before clawing his way up the man's chest under the safety of Alfie's beard. 

"Oh for the love of....fuck. Grab it will ya?" Alfie huffed, his eyes raised to the ceiling as he couldn't lower his chin or risk crushing the cowering cat. Laughing when your eyes met brilliant blue, you couldn't help but coo as you carefully detangled the pair.

"Shuu. It's alright baby. It's ok. Cyril didn't mean to scare you. He's only excited to have a new brother. I promise we'll work on being gentler." Comforting scratches under the cats chin seemed to finally relax its fears. Still sitting on Alfie's lap, you held the cat with one hand and stuck out your other for Cyril to sniff. Seeming to take the hint, Cyril slowly inched forward until his head rested in your palm. Though he was standing still like a good boy, Alfie could practically feel the dog's urge to wag his tail and lick the kitten again. Over the next few minutes you slowly moved the kitten closer and closer to the dog again until the pair was right next to each other.

"See baby, Cyril's just a bug ole fluff ball. He didn't mean to scare you." Still remaining calm, both you and your husband grinned, watching the cat reach out and cautiously climb from your hand onto Cyril's head. Making a small circle and a few biscuits, the kitten seemed to be satisfied and promptly curled up on Cyril's head. By now the dog couldn't contain his excitement and his tail could be seen wagging happily as he tried to stay still.

"There! They already love each other! Isn't it the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

"It may very well be cute love, but do I look like the type of man who should be surrounded by cute?" With an arched eyebrow, Alfie raised his hands as if to show off all the "cute" things currently not surrounding him at the paper filled office in the middle of an illegal distillery.

As Cyril made his way back to his dog bed, the kitten still perched on his back, you took the time to turn to your husband and cuddle into him more. After all, a little bit of affection never hurt your cause before did it? But Alfie still seemed a bit uncertain.

"Well you certainly don't have any problem being surrounded by me, do ya? And you were saying just last night how cute I was whe.... Hello Ollie! Do you like our new cat? I still haven't thought of a name yet. Any ideas?"

Immediately you switched topics as the tall man walked through Alfie's open door while bearing papers. Though judging by the blush on his ears, he'd already over a head the last sentence and knew where it was going. Alfie just grunted quietly and shifted you on his lap a little as the memories of last night came to his mind. He had absolutely no qualms about Ollie hearing about your marital bliss, but you still tried to spare the younger man's feelings. He'd been married six years and had three kids (with another on the way), but how the man still blushed at the word sex, you didn't know. His wife certainly didn't have the same issue, which is why you made a point of having her for tea at least once a week. She was the mousiest little thing ever, but boy did she have some fun ideas. And she always knew the most interesting books for a a good read. Plus, she made really good chocolate pound cake. Yes, it was safe to say if (heavens forbid) you ever cheated on your husband, it would only be with Ollie's Rebecca. She would have jumped on the cat idea without hesitation. In-fact, she would have already made the animal his own little coat by now. 

"Oh...you have a cat now," Ollie sputtered out, ignoring Alfie's slight 'don't encourage her' glare. Partially because he wasn't afraid of Alfie when you were there, and also because he knew if the cat didn't go with you, it would end up at his house...again. So humoring you was likely his best bet if he wanted to keep what little remained of his space on the bed. "That's nice. Seems to get along with Cyril well."

"Don't they! That's just what I was telling Alfie. Such close friends already, how can you tear them apart."

Still uncertain, Alfie tried one more weak plea.

"I don't know Dovey... It's not even trained. I don't want a cat tearing up my papers before a meeting."

But once more you only smiled, and brushed away his concerns. 

"Alfie. That's ok. He's just a baby now. There'll be time for training. Besides, he's been perfect so far. I promise, this cat will be absolutely no trouble at all..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present time...

"You are in so much trouble mister."

Again the kitten only meowed and continued to gently bat at your necklace. You still hadn't settled on a name for him yet. So sorrow you'd just taken to calling him the many different pet names you also used on Cyril, Alfie, Goliath, and occasionally Ollie. This entire conversation really was one sided. Your criminal counterpart (well the four legged baby one) couldn't care less about the words coming from your mouth. Glancing around the room you tried to think of a plan. 

"Ok, first thing's first sugarstop, we need to clean you off before you can go signing any more important documents..... But the closet sink is in the kitchens. That might pose an issue." 

Alfie had gone out to meet Mr. Shelby about half an hour ago leaving you, Cyril and, 'the furball' to your own devices. Considering, if Alfie actually decided to play nice today, that a tour of the bakery would take about an hour...You had to be very very quick. But also considering that Alfie always took the same route for his tours, you'd also have to be sneaky because the bakery (the real one) was right at the front of the shop by Alfie's office. Which meant if he hadn't decided to kill this new fucker, then they'd be headed your way and very soon. 

Looking down at the kitten again you knew you'd have to find a way to sneak him to the kitchens, or his blue paws would give up the whole gig. Glancing around the room your searched for something nonchalant to hide the cat in for the short journey. Suddenly your eyes landed on an object sitting by the corner of Alfie's desk..... purrrfect...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy / Third Person POV

Thomas Shelby didn't know how to feel about Alfie Solomons. 

But he knew one think for certain.... This Alfie was fucking insane. A partnership with this man might kill him even more painfully than a gang war against him. But then again, Tommy had stopped caring if he'd die long ago, so the way it happened really didn't make much difference these days. As long as his family didn't go with him he figured he'd be just fine. And so if a deal with a mad man was what it took to beat Sabini, then a deal with a mad man he'd make... and hopefully not become one in the process. 

These were the thoughts running through Tommy's head as he followed the other man around the 'bakery', while pretending like he'd already regained feeling in his left elbow and that the ringing in his right ear didn't exist. He really didn't care what Alfie was saying, or about the front the man had put up for his rum business. As far as Tommy was concerned, he just wanted to make the damned deal and go to Ada's house to sleep. But seeing Alfie pause during the tour (again) only too to berate a random worker didn't raise his hopes up. Resisting the urge to knock his head into the wall, Tommy just raised an eyebrow at the scene and waited for Alfie to be done. Suddenly, he heard a fast paced yet soft clicking noise. Like someone was headed towards them, but walking on their toes in an effort be quiet. Unconsciously, he reached for his gun, only to freeze when the approacher turned the corner. 

It was a woman with blue ink stains on her dress and (more oddly) wearing a top hat far too large to be hers...

Tommy could barely see her eyes from under the brim of the hat, and it seemed her vision was just as limited. Head ducked down, she seemed more interested in the ground than anything else. Or maybe like she was trying to hide something. Unconsciously Tommy reached for his gun again. He'd been tricked by a pretty woman before and he didn't plan on letting it happen again. While Alfie continued to quietly threaten talk to his tenth worker of the day, Tommy'a gaze remained fixed on the woman walking towards them. 

Suddenly Alfie slammed his fist against the wall, before he grabbed the man by his collar and pulled the worker towards him. It was so close in-fact, their noses were almost touching. Both Tommy's head and the hat woman's shot over to the angry man. But while the Birmmingham man said nothing, the mystery woman wasn't so silent now. And Tommy didn't know to be more confused or amused when he woman pulled a button out of her pocket and threw it at the bearded man's head to get his attention.

"ALFRED!"

Dropping his wide eyed victim back on his feet, Alfie stepped back and raise his hands in mock surrender. It was evident that this was regular conversation in the bakery. Spinning around to face the pair of onlookers, the bearded man barely even blinked at the hat upon the woman's head. That must have been a regular occurrence too.

"Oi! Why aren't you back at the office?! We agreed you were staying there until this was finished."

Raising an eyebrow at his harsh tone, the woman mimicked Alfie's crossed arms and tilted her head just slightly. It was then Tommy thought he heard a slight mewl coming from her hat, but chalked it up to his still cracked skull. After all, why would a hat be making cat noises? Though before he could question it, the woman spoke again.

"First off, I am not one of your workers. Alfred, You will not use that tone with me. I am not the one who pissed you off, I am not the one who gets the backlash. You know how it works. Second, we never agreed on anything of the matter. You just got up and left when you heard Ollie trying to keep someone out. And third.... I... I wanted to wash my hands in the kitchen. I spilled some ink when writing a letter."

Both men heard the slight hesitation in her last sentence, and while Tommy didn't care enough to question it, Alfie wasn't so convinced. Again Tommy heard a small meowing from her hat, and thought he saw it shift slightly on her head. Almost like someone had just barely bumped into the woman, jostling it slightly, which was odd seeing as there was at least an arms length distance between her and anyone else. Then the noice came again, more frustrated this time and he wasn't so sure it was fake. Additionally by now, the Birmingham gangster had realised this woman obviously wasn't just a random secretary. No, this little conversation was one that took place between two of a far more intimate relationship.

"You spilled ink writing a letter? Really?.... wait. Dovey? Why are there tiny paw prints on your dress? Did the fucking rat do it?"

Having been completely forgotten by, what he assumed was a couple now, Tommy watched as the woman gasped slightly and unconsciously placed a hand over her hat. What was she protecting? And why wouldn't that fucking cat noise go away? Maybe he should have stayed in the hospital for longer. The hat shifted again seemingly by magic.

"Rat?! Alfie you know he's not a rat! And just because he's a bit mischievous doesn't mean this was his fault."

This time it was Alfie's turn to raise his eyebrow. "What do you mean 'this' Poppet? It was only a letter wasn't it? A few spots of ink? He didn't cause any trouble, did he? Where is the little runt anyway? And why've you got my hat on?"

But before anyone could speak again, a determined yowl released itself from the hat, as the object forcefully flipped itself off her head. Unable to hide his shock and confusion, Tommy watched with wide eyes as the hat practically flew towards the ground until it was caught by Alfie. 

Silence reigned in the warehouse for a few moments. Everyone was staring at the 'magic' hat in suspense, waiting to see what it would do next. 

Then, with a rather satisfied purr, a blue pawed kitten popped his head out of the hat.

"....is that a cat?"

It was Tommy who (for once) spoke first, breaking the human silence that still hovered over the group. Forgetting the mess back in the office, the woman finally turned towards him, as if just registering his presence.

"Yes, it is! Isn't he just the cutest li....Alfie!"

Her words had trailed off and then turned to shock as she took in the state of the stranger before her.

Putting it nicely, Thomas Shelby looked like shit.

With a bruised up face and blood shot eyes, there was also a small drop of blood beginning to run from his nose, almost as if he couldn't get it to stop bleeding.

Holding the cat hat in one hand, Alfie raised the other in self defense and pointed at Tommy accusingly.

"He came like that, Dovey! It wasn't me. Doesn't have a single fucking ring mark on him, I swear!"

Observing his torn up state again, the woman gave Tommy another once over, before looking back at Alfie and sighing like she had the confirmation she wanted. With that her shoulders relaxed again and it was like she wasn't giving any more thought to Tommy's beat up state since Alfie wasn't the one who'd done it.

"....Alright, I believe you. Are you sure he's not just gonna dro...."

"I'm Thomas Shelby....And you are?" Having enough of not knowing who this woman was, Tommy interrupted the couple before they could start another conversation. 

Turning to face Tommy again, the woman suck out her own ink covered fingers to shake his outstretched hand. 

"Right, I'm Y/N. You must be the new man Alfie mentioned. It's nice to meet you." 

Tommy politely nodded in agreement, and stepped back once the introduction was over. Behind Y/N, he noticed Alfie's narrowed gaze, as he made physical contact with her. Truthfully, the imitating glare was dampened by the small cat in the hat Alfie was still holding on to. Especially when the animal started reaching up to play with the string on Alfie's necklace. 

Before another silence could settle upon the group, Alfie leaned off the wall he was resting against and promptly handed the hat/cat to his wife. Then throwing his arm almost amicably around Tommy's shoulders, he turned the pair of them around and started walking towards the exit. 

"Well this has been a nice fucking meet up hasn't it? Lovely meeting you, the tea was great, blah, blah, blah. You'll be headed out now."

As the men reached the door, Alfie let go of his grip Tommy and released the man for a hand shake of his own. And while Tommy was truthfully glad to finally be leaving this made house, he couldn't help but be curious and slightly confused about what was going on. 

"What about our deal?"

"Well, we'll just have to cover that next time you invite yourself over here won't we treacle. This was just a fucking warm up, meet and greet. I don't know if I want you lot poking your noses where they don't belong just yet do it. Come back tomorrow and we'll have a chat."

"Next Friday."

Turning, both men looked at Y/N who had followed behind them, and apparently wanted to change the date of their next meeting.

"Huh, Poppet?"

Gesturing towards Tommy's less than healthy state, she explained the situation to her husband. 

"Alfie look at him. A half-blind elderly ladybug could kill him right now." She also made sure to catch Tommy's eyes as she continued, "You can come back at the end of the week. Three O' Clock. Not sooner and if you're going to be late at least call first."

Tommy couldn't only nodded in agreement and slight confusion. Something about the way she spoke told him she'd already decided how this conversation would go. With a short nod he made his way out of the bakery and back to his car. Truthfully he was glad to finally be able to leave. He was tired and his head was killing him, and quite frankly there was something off putting about Alfie. But he couldn't put his finger on it. Now just yet. As he drove to Ada's house there was only in thing on his mind...

No matter how bad the relationship got between the two gangs, Y/N Solomons was never to be touched. Because Alfie Solomons was fucking crazy. And SHE might have been the only bit of sanity he had left. And Tommy didn't want to see how much blood would run when that bit was lost...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N / Second Person POV again a few minutes later

"So. How many papers am I going to have to type up again because furball here decided to go ink happy in the office?"

Humming innocently, you continued to avoid eye contact with your husband as  the pair of you walked back to his office, clean kitten in hand. After Tommy had left, you made the unspoken decision to clean the cat off first and then discuss the situation. But now as Alfie's office door approach once again, you couldn't help but feel slightly nervous. 

It wasn't that you thought Alfie was mad. Truth be told, you knew he wasn't. Having married him over a decade ago, you'd gotten to know every one of his little quirks and signed to his emotions. Just like he knew yours. And you knew if he really was frustrated or wanted to talk to discuss something important with you he'd never do it in-front of someone else. 

It was something you both agreed on when you'd gotten married. Being mad at the other was alright. No relationship is perfect and conflict is bound to occur. But that didn't mean it would be healthy for those feeling to stew. So upon the wedding day you'd talked and agreed on three things. First: if the other hurt your feelings or made you mad, let them know about it with words. Actions may show passion, but words speak clarity. Second: Never let the anger stew longer than a day. Try not to go to bed angry and make amends of the day. So the small bump doesn't become a mountain by the end of the week. And Third: NEVER bring down one in the presence of others. Unless the other is about to do something really wrong, you'd stand as a united front through thick and thin. Fighting may be fine, but it would be done out of everyone else's business. You marriage was a private matter and besides, no one liked being the onlooker to a shouting couple. And while the rules had become a bit deeper and more complex and your marriage lengthened and love continued to grow, you'd both still held each other strictly to them even today. 

And that's how you knew Alfie wasn't really mad about the interruption. If it really had irked him, he would have sent Tommy with Ollie and talked to you in the office alone. But he hadn't. Sure he'd accidentally been a bit rude when you'd first come upon him. But that was mainly because he was still channeling his frustration at the man who'd pissed him off. Besides. You were probably right to call him out that time. For his tone though.... and maybe a little bit for threatening a new young worker who simply mixed up the words bread and rum when being asked directly about the rum. But it was an important distinction AND he did have to show Tommy he meant business. Especially since he wasn't allowed to leave a 'physical' impression, this time either.... Maybe next time though. Alfie had told Tommy he didn't want to make a deal yet, but that wasn't quite true. He'd known the moment the bastard walked in, that this man could be either really good (or bad) for business. Alfie had also knew this man needed a better sense of humor too.

That was another thing too, you noticed. Alfie hadn't held back on the quips he'd be making during your initial 'interrogation' AND he'd actually let Tommy shake your hand. What the Birmingham gangster had yet to realise is that Alfie Solomons did in fact like him. If he hadn't there would have been a Shelby shaped blood stain on the dock ground minutes after he'd stepped off his dingy little boat he'd sailed down the Cut in. So the fact Alfie hadn't "accidentally" tripped the man down the stairs for interrupting you was definitely a positive sign that you'd be seeing the blue eyed man very soon...

"Fucking Hell! Little devil spawn really did a number didn't he?"

Distracted from your own inner thoughts, you met your husband's gaze as he finished his spin of the office. It was evident that Ollie (bless him) had already been through and cleaned up most of the scattered papers and toppled plants. During your short nap the cat had managed to undo the two hours of tidying you'd done just to curb your boredom that morning before finding the clawed culprit. So despite Ollie's best efforts, there was still a stark trail that someone else hadn't been on his best behaviour. Namely, the royal blue trail of tiny paw prints that lead on just about every surface in the office. Seeing them again, you couldn't help but feel guilty for you part in this.

"I'm sorry Alfie. I really didn't mean for this to happen. I fell asle..."

"Oh hush Dovey. I'm not mad at you."

Curiously, you couldn't help it as you tilted your head. You knew he wasn't furious, but you figured he would at least be a little frustrated that his couch was permanently covered in the cutest little stains ever. 

"What do you mean? You're not mad about the mass rampage?"

Shaking his head, Alfie only opens his arms to pull you close as he settled down in the couch.

"Nope. Infact I think it's rather nice timing the little bastard had isn't it?" And for the first time that day, Alfie willingly stretched out his hand for the animal to sniff. After two seconds, you both chuckled and the kitten practically faced planted in his effort to cuddle Alfie's hand. Shoving his nose as deep as he could into Alfie's palm, the kitten began to curl up right there. 

"Nice timing? Alfie, not only did he ruin the papers for your deal, but he quite literally almost threw himself to death trying to get your attention," you retorted, brushing a single finger along the cat's back. "And I have to add to Love, seeing you hold him in that hat wasn't exactly the message you were hoping to send was it?" 

"Na Dovey," Alfie shrugged and settled leaned further against the couch. "Those weren't the papers I was gonna give him. Just a draft of it if he wasn't a total prick. But I'd say he fail that test, Love. It's a good thing you came when you did. I'm not to sure how I feel about that fella. Bit of a bore if I'm being honest. Needs to be a bit less serious."

The last part of his words were mumbled as Alfie tilted his head back towards the ceiling again. Happily, the kitten had once again climbed from his hand to right below his beard. 

"Now what's that mean?"

Alfie didn't answer, only grumbled. Evidently you weren't suppose to hear that last part.

"Alfie...."

Shrugging innocently, Alfie avoided making eye contact until the moment you took his face in your hands again. You couldn't help but smirk, as his face fell into a small pout, reminding you of Cyril when he didn't get extra treats for his bedtime snack.

"....He didn't like any of my jokes? All those wonderful little tidbits that I spent so long thinking of to break the tension, and not even one little snort?" Alfie complained, his nose wrinkling as he thought of the stoic man's manner. "I mean really Dovey, he didn't even smirk at my 'Fucking Biblical' quip! How am I suppose to work with a fella who can't find the humor in that!

Gasping dramatically, you frowned sympathetically and ran you fingers through the hair behind Alfie's ears.

"Awe! He didn't even laugh at your Fucking Biblical joke? Wow, Alfie, Darling that's just cold. I'm not even sure how you survived such a mean man." You cooed, talking in the voice you did when you were mocking Cyril for not having opposable thumbs.

"EXACTLY! Barely got through one meeting with the fucker and that wasn't even about the important stuff." 

"Aweee, you poor dear. All that hard thinking and not even a smile? Maybe he was just a shy fella Alfie?" Smirking you,  placed a finger under your husband's chin and lifted it up as you tried to ease his 'sorrows' from a 'tough' meeting. "And by the next meeting he'll open up and become a real hoot?"

"Maybe Dovey. But I suppose we'll have to see then won't we? And if he still hasn't pulled the stick out of his ass by then we'll know what kinda man he really is," Alfie declared. "Any man who can't take a good joke ain't a man I'm gonna be working with."

"Alrighty then. I suppose it's settled."

"Damn right it is Dovey. I got a code yeah. And I'm gonna stick by it no matter what some suck up little Birmingham horse fuck thinks of it."

Jokingly ruffling Alfie's hair you laughed at his deceleration. "Good on you Love, sticking your ground. If he can't handle a bit of fun then he's not worth the time is he?"

"Not a single thought Dovey, not a single thought." Alfie stated, closing his eyes as his head remained facing the ceiling. The kitten once again meowed as if agreeing....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A peaceful quiet settled over the office. Cyril was asleep at your feet again, and you had taken to leaning against Alfie's shoulder watching the rain fall outside. The kitten was still snuggled up under Alfie's beard. Only his small but sharp claws and Alfie's reclined form were keeping him from sliding down your husband's chest. Alfie's eyes remained closed but eventually he had freed one hand to gently stroke the kitten's side. If one were to looked over at the pair they would have seen a small tail poking out from between Alfie's beard gently swishing happily. 

It wasn't until Ollie's phone in the next room rang that the serenity your little family had found was interrupted.

The sudden high pitched ringing scared the small creature taking refuge under Alfie's beard. With a whining hiss, the kitten clawed his way out of Alfie's beard and up onto his head, trying to get to as high of ground as he could. Alfie cursed as the small claws hit his face. And while you half expected Alfie to drop the cat in your lap and find the number for the nearest shelter, instead he surprised you. Before the kitten could put out one of Alfie's eyes, the man grabbed the creature gently and held him aloft by the back of his neck like you had done earlier. 

"Alrighty mate. Now that's just fucking rude isn't it," Alfie began, talking to the kitten with authority, much like he did with Ollie. "Because that old thing in there isn't gonna hurt you, and you should know that. It's just noise and there isn't any reason for you to go off like how you did, Furry. Here I am trying to be nice and let you curl up on my chest, when I could very well be cuddling up with me darling wife, your mum, over there yeah?" With a tilt of his head, Alfie motioned to you as if clarifying who he was missing out on in his efforts to be nice. Then with a manoeuvre you didn't understand, Alfie gently rolled his hand so the kitten was lying belly up in his palm. With a stare, your husband continued on his ramble, "And now you may not yet be familiar with the rules in this house yet, but when a man offers you a warm place to lay, you don't go trying to put out his eyes now. Unless he's trying to hurt ya or something and the warm chest was a trap. In that case, you draw as much blood as you can and give no fucking mercy, ya hear? So there isn't gonna be any more of it when I'm around yeah? We don't do that here and you're gonna stick to that alright?"

It was a rather amusing sight. Your big 'scary' husband telling off an animal that weighed less than a bottle of rum with the same tone he would his new men when giving them instructions for the bakery. You finally understood how true Alfie's words were when he said he wasn't a cat person. Cyril he had been able to comfort right from the start, but now it was as if Alfie was holding a small man who hadn't been meeting his daily quota. This man truly had no idea how to care for a cat. And it was hard to hold off a laugh as Alfie ended his speech with a gently poke to the cat's stomach for good measure.

While laying in Alfie's palm the kitten's limbs had still been somewhat curled up. But as soon as his finger hit the animal's stomach, his little legs shot out like a star. Pausing, Alfie moved his finger back, and watched as the kitten's legs pulled back into their original position like on a spring. The with childlike curiosity almost, you watched your husband slowly poked the kitten's stomach again, gaining the same reaction as before. And then again, and again, and again. Soon enough Alfie was playing a hilarious version of 'stick them up' as a small smile grew on his face. 

"So I take it he can stay?" You gently interrupted. Pausing in his movements, Alfie turned towards you and then looked towards the kitten and then back to you. Pursing his lips he tilted his head from side to side for a few seconds, thinking of his answer. Then with a heavy sigh as if making a tough decision he shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose we can keep him around for a bit longer Dovey. He's proved his worth."

Beaming you leaned over to give Alfie a kiss on the cheek ... which he turned into a kiss on the lips. Finally giving up his game with the kitten, Alfie placed the small animal on Cyril's back again so he could pull you over to his lap. It was you who initiated the kiss as you leaned farther against him, deeper into the couch. But this time, it was actually Alfie who pulled back first from the kiss before it got too far.

"Say Dovey, have you given any thought to what we're naming the Furball yet? Because I'm not calling it Baby or Sweetheart forever."

Pulling back, you sat up and thought. Then your eyes landed on the stained papers and an almost wicked grin grew on your face. 

"I can think of one name. But you have to promise to hear me out."

"Yeah? And what's that Dovey?"

"....Tommy."

"Fuck no," Alfie shot up with furrowed brows. "Why the fuck to you want to name the cat that? Not after that boring sickly fucker back there do ya? What's so great about him that he deserves a nice little thing like this being named after him."

"Well you just said why yourself Love," you chuckled. "You know exactly why it is a fitting name for him."

"Yeah and what's that....?"

"I mean, he is just a little thing after all...."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down the hallway, Ollie jumped, startled by the deep laughter of his boss echoing from the office. But at the same time he smiled, know he hadn't lost any more space on his bed. Not today at least. The same thing wouldn't be said next week. When at the same dumpster, Y/N and Becca found three more kittens...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TAG LIST (Based on what I've gathered from before I got off and what I think I refound, if I'm wrong and you wanted to get off a tag list or on one you can look at this post here and let me know :) )

Peaky Everything-

@raincoffeeandfandoms @zablife @theshelbyslimited @tommyshelbywhore

Peaky Romantic -

@optimisticsandwichgladiator

[alicraft336]

The Wish (Chapter 1)

Warnings: None

Note: Little Wish is a Dreamtale Au (Dreamtale belongs to Jokublog)

Dream wandered around the multiverse, jumping from Au to Au, helping spread positivity and avoid detection from the person he once knew as his brother, Nightmare.

As he wandered around, he entered an Au he'd never seen before. He found himself in an overgrown meadow covered in flowers and long grass, the night sky illuminated by the full moon, stars, and fireflies, all of which together added to the peaceful atmosphere.

He turned his attention to the only structure in the peaceful meadow, an old Wishing Well that stood upon a hill, the moonlight reflecting off its stone and burgundy roof, small flowers and vines grew on it telling him it was quite old.

He climbed up the hill it stood upon to get a closer look at the old structure. There were cracks in the stone, the shingles that gave the roof its color falling off. The Guardian had some G on him, so he thought it would be fun to do what he had seen many do before him; make a wish.

Dream held the G to his chest, his eyes closed as he silently spoke; "I wish for my brother back and for him to feel the love and appreciation I had been given..." he said, opening his eyes as he tossed the G into the old well, the sound of the G hitting the water quickly made its way up to his ears followed by a weird and horrible stench causing him to take a few steps back.

He stood there blankly for a few moments before turning away from the well and making a portal back to his and Ink's home that doubled as the Star Sanses base.

As he walked through the portal, he failed to notice the pair of golden eyes staring at him from the bottom of the grassy hill.

~~~

Dream walked out of the golden portal he had made, a smile appearing on his face as he greeted his friends, "Hey Blue, hey Ink, I'm back." He said, walking towards them, the golden portal closing behind him.

His two close friends looked at him, greeting him with a smile, "Hey Dream, welcome back!" Blue said cheerfully. "Hey, Dream!" Ink said as he proceeded to shove a taco in his mouth, "Blue made tacos for dinner!" he added, his mouth now full.

Dream laughed softly at his friend before he felt his eyes start to grow heavy, a sudden yawn escaped him not long after. His friends looked at him, Ink's left eye turning into a green question mark, the other a blue triangle, "You feel okay there, buddy?" He asked him, knowing it wasn't often for him to feel sleepy.

Dream gave his friend a tired smile, "I'm fine, don't worry, guys." He said, rubbing his eye as another yawn escaped him, "it's probably just because I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately." He reassured them.

Blue got up from the table and made his way towards his friend. When in front of him, he removed one of his blue gloves and placed it on his forehead, "You're little warm..." He said as he backed up from his friend, putting his glove back on. 

"R-really, I am?" He said in disbelief as he placed his own hand to his forehead, "It's not often I get sick," he said quietly to himself. Blue nodded, "Yep, you are, go lay down and I'll make you some soup. It shouldn't take me long. I'll bring it up to you when it's done," he said, ushering Dream up the stairs.

He quickly shook his head, "no, no, that won't be necessary Blue, I'm sure it's nothing, there's no need for you to go out of your way to do that for me." He said in protest, but Blue quickly dismissed him. "Dream, the sooner we correct this, the better, now go lay down and rest, okay?"

Dream sighed softly and nodded. There was no point in arguing with him. He was just looking out for him after all, "Okay, Blue, I'll see you both later then." He said as he walked up the stairs.

Blue smiled at his small victory and let out a small, barely noticeable laugh before making his way towards the kitchen, leaving behind Ink, who proceeded to steal Dreams taco.

~~~

Dream walked into his room, closing the door behind him. Using magic to quickly change his clothing into something comfortable before making his way to bed, yawning once more as he laid down. As soon as he felt his head hit the soft pillows the world around him became black.

≿━━━━━━━━༺💫༻━━━━━━━━≾

Characters used in chapter:

Dream belongs to Jokublog

Blue belongs to P0pc0rnPr1nce

Ink belongs to Mye Bi (Comyet)

≿━━━━━━━━༺💫༻━━━━━━━━≾

Next Chapter ->

[luckyfinch]

Chapter 6: Nightmare

look at this post for chapter one, warnings, and other info

To say Nightmare was ‘mad’ was to put it very, very lightly. 

He’d returned to home to discover the castle had been infiltrated, his newest follower unconscious in one of their plain infirmary beds with two uneasy skeletons hovering by him. 

His tentacles twitched behind him as Killer recounted the attack, an ugly, quiet anger rising in his chest. A small part of him settled, though, as this was also a confirmation that Swap had indeed been truthful with his intentions.

Cross wrung his hands, anxiety practically dripping from his bones. Nightmare allowed himself a moment to soak in the negativity before he ordered that the ex-guardsman go rest. He could tell Cross wanted to argue, but refrained, as he gave a sharp nod and left the room. 

Turning then to Killer, Nightmare’s request was cut off before he even started.

“-i’ll make sure he eats later, don’t worry.” The taller gave an exaggerated smile, hand raising for a ‘thumbs-up’ as he stepped out, leaving Nightmare alone with Swap.

He exhaled, gaze returning to the still passed-out Swap. There was a scuff mark in the center of his skull, where Ink had supposedly whacked him right in the face with the end of his brush, but besides that, he seemed unharmed. Though, his fingers twitched every moment or so, and his sockets crinkled the smallest amount. Hm. Even asleep he did not relax, Nightmare mused. He wondered what could be happening in Swap’s head at the moment.

Lucky for him, he didn’t have to wonder. Nightmare reached a hand forward and rested it on Swap’s skull, letting his eyes fall closed as he reached out with his magic.

. . .

When Nightmare opened his eyes, he saw nothing. The dream was dark, surprisingly so, and he couldn’t tell which way was which until he heard a faint voice in the distance.

Slowly, he headed towards it, confidence growing as the voices got louder and he could make out a blue, hunched figure in the distance. Swap sat on his knees, arms wrapped around his midsection and head hanging low. His sockets were squeezed shut, a scowl fixed on his face as he mumbled quietly. In front of him were a few somewhat familiar figures, though different than most of the alternates he’d gotten used to seeing.

“You’re Not Real, You’re Not Real, You’re Not Real, You’re Not Real—“ Swap shuddered.

The one standing closest to him, a tall skeleton wearing a bright orange hoodie, bent down to his level, a solemn look on their face. “why did you leave me behind, brother?”

“I’m Sorry, I’m So Sorry!” He exhaled shakily, fingers digging into his arms. 

Nightmare had never seen Swap so.. Distraught.

A figure he recognized as an Alphys stepped forward, donning heavy armour rather than the typical lab coat. She opened her mouth, presumably to taunt him as well, her face hard with anger.

Nightmare huffed, “Wow. Booooring.” He swiped a hand through the air, and the character’s of the dream disappeared. He approached Swap, still shaking, and kneeled in front of him.

“Swap?”

Hesitantly, the other forced open his sockets, eye lights hazy as they locked onto Nightmare. “...What? Oh, Stars, Don’t Do This.” His hands unclenched and he reached up to rub at his eyes.

“Don’t.. Do what?” His head tilted to the side.

Swap groaned, pushing himself away from the corrupt skeleton and drawing his knees to his chest. “You- AGH! Screw You, Octopus!! I Don’t Want To Deal With YOU Telling Me How Awful I Am Too! You’re Not Even Real.”

A startled laugh escaped him. “‘Octopus?’ Really, Swap?” 

He glared, hiding the pleasantly surprised feeling that arose from hearing The God of Negativity laugh like that, even if it was only a dream. “Yes, Really. Are You Gonna Start Yelling At Me Or What? Just Gonna.. Creepily Stare At Me, Instead?”

“Hmm, no. Just checking out this dream of yours.” He smirked, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

“...You’re Not Real.” Swap’s brows furrowed, though a bit of unease rose in him.

Nightmare thought for a moment, then let a copy of Dust appear by Swap. The shorter startled, scooting away. He made dream-Dust cross his arms, a familiar scowl forming on his shadowed skull.

“i can’t believe you’re sooo rude, doing the dishes and cleaning the manor. and i’m soooo petty that i’m goin’ to pretend to hate you, cause you broke my arm, like, a month ago. scoff.” Dream-Dust says, in Dust’s voice though somewhat robotically.

Swap hesitantly chuckles, then quickly devolves into laughter at Dust’s expense. After a moment, he abruptly stops, and turns to Nightmare. “You’re Actually Nightmare.”

“And you called me an octopus.”

“I’m Very, Very Sorry!! I Thought- I-” Swap stumbles over his words, growing panicked.

Nightmare huffs, standing. “Relax. Wake up.”

The other frowns, brows pinched. Nightmare rolls his eye lights, pulling out of the dream.

. . .

His hand retracts from Swap’s skull as he returns to himself, and he takes a step back. Swap’s figure has lost a bit of the usual tension now, as he slowly flexes his hands and forces open his eyes. Immediately, the taller’s eye lights snap to him, a hesitant.. look, on his face, that Nightmare can’t quite decipher. His emotions were oddly jumbled.

“...Did You Just Invade My Dream?”

“Yes. You should be glad that I did, considering..” Nightmare glances off to the side boredly, posture lax. “Are you feeling alright? I can heal you, if needed.”

Swap thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m Okay. I Fear My Room Is Not, Though.”

“I’ll make Killer and Horror repair your door. Nothing seemed broken apart from that, don’t worry.”

“Oh. Thank You. Were Killer And Cross Okay Too?” His relief is quickly drowned out by worry for his new friends, and before Nightmare can step forward to hold him back, he’s already pushed himself up and swung a leg off the bed.

“You are the only one not okay right now.” He huffs when Swap swings the other leg off the bed too. None of these children ever listen to him when it comes to their health.

“Nightmare, I’m Fine. No Pain At All!” He forces a smile onto his face.

Although annoyed, the god stepped back. “I might be tolerating this now, but you’d do well to not lie to me in the future.”

Swap’s shoulders hiked up, but he held back a retort. Truthfully, he wasn’t injured, only having a bit of a headache. He knew what Nightmare meant, though. The sudden encounter with Ink and Dream had pushed many unwanted feelings and thoughts right back to the forefront of his mind, and Nightmare knew it, even if he wasn’t direct about it. Hurt, grief, anger, loneliness, desperation—the sharp-edged emotions swirled in his chest, and he found it difficult to push them down. 

Before, Swap would have found someplace else to settle down, an alternate Underswap to hide away in, or maybe he’d have just pushed through and ignored how he felt. He did feel guilty for working for what he had previously been fighting against, but the anger he felt got just a little louder each time Ink or Dream would pull him from whatever AU he ran to, each time they brushed him off, each time they pushed him just a little too far. He didn’t want to kill innocent people, or to really hurt anyone, but if working for the God of Negativity meant the protectors couldn’t drag him back…

But they’d gotten in. Would they force him to return, even if he’d “betrayed” them? He didn’t know. Swap knew that Nightmare could feel his fear in waves, but to address it was to admit something to the god he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Swap?” Nightmare’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he jolted back to awareness. A hand rested on his shoulder, retracted as the corrupted skeleton leaned away from him. “I can assure you, nobody’s going to come capture you on my watch. Even if you were, somehow, I’d come get you.”

Despite the clear grimace on Nightmare’s face as he tried to be comforting, Swap allowed his worries to quiet for a moment. “Thanks.”

The other huffed. “Sure. There’s food set aside for you, when you’re hungry. Bother Killer if you need anything else.”

As Nightmare stalked out of the infirmary, Swap’s shoulders sagged, and he fell back onto the mattress. Reflecting on the interactions he’d just had with his boss, he felt a bit of gratitude rise. 

Letting his sockets fall closed now, he thought that was a great feeling to fall asleep with—except he couldn’t sleep. 

Rising from the bed, Swap carefully exited the room, letting his feet guide him back to the gym. He had rested for long enough, anyway. 

previous < > next

[iomadachd]

Vessel knows they are not the first. If they do their job correctly, they will not be the last.

Sleep has had many worshippers over the millennia, though their numbers had dwindled in the wake of new gods with voices made louder by obsession. A cacophony of praise that spiraled their power ever higher, and choking out those who had been there at the beginning.

Vessel hopes to raise their voice to match the storm, to bring Worship back to Sleep, and to bring Sleep back to the world.

To become a vessel for a God requires sacrifice, and the primary will always sacrifice the most. It had begun so small, a black mark on the inside of their left elbow, then the tips of their fingers, creeping up their flesh like frostbite. The flesh did not die, but became transformed. They were Becoming.

With the Dark came the Gospel, and they lost track of Day, Night, and Time until all that remained was what was Written. Notebooks filled to bursting in every available space, the desk became but another surface on which to Write. Their blood became ink, and their flesh became paper. The language of Sleep was scratched and painted onto them, only to sink beneath the surface as if it had never been there in the first place.

When the light hit their forearms, there was the faintest shadow beneath like a passing mirage. The language was a part of them now. Where the language sank in, the Dark bloomed. A Gospel Baptism in the Name of Sleep.

To hasten Becoming, they drew a blade in Sleep's name, and carved the words She sent them. By morning, the carvings were gone, and the shadows beneath had taken the language to root. The Dark conceals the surface, but beneath the water and moonlight, the words written on the inside of their skin almost glow, shifting and undulating like oil on the ocean's surface. They are Vessel and Holy Scripture in one.

With their Becoming, humanity is no longer pressing. In Sacrifice, they Offer, Sleep accepting their name, their identity, and their very soul as a sign of Faith. Thereafter, they are Vessel, and there is no need for more.

It is painful to Become, Sacrifice is never painless, and there are many nights where there is no rest, as the bones rearrange in their face, as the skin splits, stretches, and cracks beneath the assault of Becoming suitable to house a God.

At first, their jaw became stiff, each time it opened an effort that caused fire to arc down their throat and a scream to bubble back up in its place. Then it fused entirely, and Vessel was Silent. No voice, no laughter, no cries, only unending silence as the pain wracked their body. They would only Speak in Ritual, in Sleep's name.

Only Sleep could ease their agony, and He did, blessing them with dreams in the day or night that might distract them from Suffering. They claw at their face, mouth, and throat, choking on nothing and desperate for air, for respite.

In dreams, they slip beneath the water, they exist in Void, and when they wake the following day, Becoming is a little easier to bear until night falls again.

It is the eyes that hurt almost more than anything else. Their vision darkened, and was taken entirely, Blind and Silent and Still. When it returned, the eyes were changed, no longer the blue they thought it had been before, but something more. The sclera were black, and the pupils had faded. They could see, but it wasn't fully the sight of the world before them. There was more beyond it.

The second pair began as cuts just below their eyes, stinging and throbbing with every twitch of their face until they learned to be Still. To control their expressions. Their cheeks ached and hollowed, and the bone scraped away and remolded into something new. In the night, when Sleep was absent, their vision doubled, blurring and sharpening all at once, and they cannot scream because they are Silent.

In the mirror, two pairs of eyes stare back at them, and this new pair shifts and changes with their moods, ink dark with smears of color passing over them like paint. They are like oil slicks and blink out of time with the original set.

Sleep gifts them a new mask in a Blessing, and it is not missed by Vessel that there are three sets of eye slits. They are not done Becoming.

When the Time of Silence passes, it is to welcome ii to the fold, and their mouth tears open on a snarl, bleeding lips once fused and jaw cracking as it broke free from its bonds.

To Devote is to Become. To Become is to Sacrifice. To Sacrifice is to Offer. To Offer is to Worship. To Worship is to Devote.

[offictionandfandoms]

✎﹏﹏ Rumors Pt. 2

Previous | Next

✑ Pairings: Eddie Munson x f!reader!

✑ Word Count: 5192

✑ Requested: Yes/No

✑ Warnings: Angst into fluff, cursing, bad DND talk because I don’t understand DND so….yeah. Let me know if I missed anything!

✑ Authors Note: I just want to thank everyone who loved the last part and requested to be tagged in this one. It truly means so much to me, y’all have no idea. I wish I could reply to every comment asking to be tagged but I was busy making this. I’m sorry if I missed anyone! I hope this part lives up to expectations and you love it just as much. Also. I have a small part three that is just fluff because I was in a mood and I already liked the way I had ended this one…so. Here is a short fluff part 3! Enjoy :)

✑ Gif isn’t mine!

“It’s spelled with an ‘e’ not an ‘o’,” Y/N critiqued the paper in front of her, using her usual red pen to circle the mistake. The paper was adorned in red ink at this point, harshly overlapping the pencil markings, something she usually tried to limit. She always believed that verbally pointing out the mistakes and allowing the student to fix it in the moment was better than just marking the paper and letting them go. But over the past few days, all she cared about was wrapping up her tutoring sessions as fast as possible so she could escape back to her house.

“Oh, okay.” The dejected tone of the student had her looking up from the paper, red pen hesitating over yet another mistake she was about to mark. The reason being that she always wished to verbally correct them over just marking was that they always took the red marks to heart: the more marks there were, the worse the feeling of failure became. She was a tutor, not a dream crusher. Yet that’s all she had been doing lately. She recognized this, but she couldn’t stop it. It was like an angry blue monster had sat right on her brain, eating away at all sense of logic, healing, and hope, replacing it all with bitterness, sadness, and tints of anger whenever she saw Eddie Munson’s stupid pretty face in the halls or in class. She felt horrible in every way possible.

“I’m sorry,” she started, opening her mouth to give words of encouragement but halting before anything slipped out. The wide green eyes staring back at her were waiting, wanting some sort of pick-me-up advice and comfort. But how could she offer them that when she couldn’t even give it to herself? On top of feeling horrible, she felt pathetic. It had been days since the break up, days since she spoke to Eddie or even Jason, who she still hadn’t confronted about the rumor. The only person who she actively spoke to beyond her tutoring clients was Max Mayfield, who insisted on checking in on her every day, even if it meant her step-brother had to wait in the parking lot.

“It’s not a bad paper, these errors- they’re small. Just little things. You can fix them and everything will be okay.” She muttered out, averting her eyes back to the paper, yet not truly taking anything in. She had begged Eddie to let her fix her error- which she now knew hadn’t even been /her/ error- and he rejected her. Banished her, actually. The thought now made her laugh— was she some traitorous princess, banned from her kingdom?

Yes.

Quickly circling the last mistake she could find, or really the first mistake her eye came to after coming back into focus, she pushed it over the table towards the rightful owner, watching as they scanned over all the red. You couldn’t even make out what they had actually written in the first paragraph due to her scribbles.

Their shoulders slumped, “I. . . When I fix them, can I come back to you?” She wanted to say no, she wanted to cancel all her tutoring sessions for the next week but she couldn’t. So she just nodded her head and offered the kid a small discount for the next session, as she really wasn’t 100% there herself.

She watched as they shoved everything in their backpack and took off, leaving her alone with her thoughts. At least for another ten minutes, at least, before her next and final client showed up. She was currently holding all of her sessions outside; the wind blowing her hair into a little dance and kissing her skin felt more freeing than the feeling of stares crawling over her body and whispers assaulting her ears. Whispers of what, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure if her overactive imagination and paranoia was making her hear her own name or if they were genuinely whispering about her. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know.

Students were still dallying in the parking lot; some throwing balls back and forth like there wasn’t an actual sports field behind the school, some making out with their significant others like they didn’t have a house to go to, and some, like herself, sitting alone to study like they actually cared about school.

In her stupor, she could make out someone asking to talk, but she assumed that it was directed towards someone else, not bothering to turn around and see who it was. Not until the person said her name.

“Y/N?” Normally, she would’ve turned around to properly address whoever was speaking to her. Normally, she would’ve greeted whoever it was with a smile, maybe a handshake or a hug, and invited them to sit down with her until her next client came. She was raised in a proper household, she had manners.

But this wasn’t a normal case. And that wasn’t just anyone saying her name. She could tell who it was within seconds, the cadence of his voice permanently etched into her brain.

So, in that situation, she froze. Like a deer in headlights, she stared ahead of her, vaguely seeing the football go sailing through the air, and in her peripheral’s, the shadow of a body taking a seat beside her. Uninvited.

“Please.”

It was such an odd time in her brain. Because she could recall just how easily she used to cave into his cute little plea’s, how seeing his pouty face as he begged her to give in had filled her with such a strong sense of adoration that she felt like she was floating. Now she could also recall just how easily he denied her when she pleaded, how seeing him push her out the drama room door felt like he had stapled an eviction notice to her heart. She could feel the want to give in, to turn to him and promise to make things better. Normally that would be enough to make her do it. But, again, this wasn’t a normal situation. The blue monster was turning red, tendrils of smoke puffing down her spine and overcoming the want for them to work out with the want to tell him to shove it. Neither side won, and she just sat there, knee bouncing as her mind and heart fought a war inside her. It wasn’t her place to make things better anymore, she had already tried. But she couldn’t imagine treating him like he had her, even if he deserved it.

As if he could read her mind, he nodded, leaning forward on the table to try to catch her attention. If only he knew that every nerve ending in her body was standing on end for him, how every neuron in her brain felt like they were on a live wire that was Eddie Munson’s guitar string. Even if she wasn’t looking his way, she was still acutely aware of every move he made, every breath he took, and even his hair being ruffled by the wind.

The rings glinting in the sunlight was what made her look over, though. Specifically the ring he had on his ring finger— the one that she had bought him. It was a gift for them making it a month together. Eddie had freaked out because he hadn’t got her anything, mainly because he didn’t get the hype of a monthiversary, not because he hadn’t remembered. When the next month came around and he had brought her handpicked flowers and a guitar pick with their initials messily engraved on them, she had laughed, explaining how two months isn’t really celebrated but that she loved them. He had started complaining about how monthiversary’s are complicated but she kissed him mid-sentence and took the flowers to a vase. She still had the dried petals in a box in her bedroom and the guitar pick in her jewelry box for safe keeping.

“I couldn’t take it off.” He had noticed her staring at the ring, lost in thought. So lost that she hadn’t noticed that he had begun to fiddle with the ring nervously. She raised an eyebrow at how easily it spun around, clearly not too tight for him to be unable to remove it. He caught that, too. “I mean. I could. But I.. couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

Finally she lifted her gaze to meet his, the wide puppy stare a punch to her already beaten gut, “Why?” It was the first thing she had said to him since the breakup, and yet it summed up everything she wanted to know. Why couldn’t he take the ring off? Why didn’t he trust her? Why didn’t he talk to her? Why didn’t he love her enough to make things work?

She could see his Adam’s apple bob with a harsh swallow, almost like he had picked up on her thoughts regarding this, too.

“Well, you see, it’s my favorite.” The same goofy grin she had come to love developed on his face, his hair sweeping across his forehead as he dipped his head down. He was trying to be cute. He was trying to be cute to hide the fact that his fingers were now tapping against the table nervously, much like her bouncing leg. He was trying to be cute to hide the fact that he was as upset over everything as she was. If he knew her enough to pick up on her thoughts, then she surely knew him enough to do the same. And there was no way he was as upset as she was.

Anger finally took hold of her as she crammed her studying books, index cards, and red pen in her bag, swinging it over her shoulder as she stood up. The momentum nearly caused her to stumble but she used it to propel herself towards the school doors.

“Yeah, well. Things change. Find a new one.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

After managing to find her last client and change location to the library, Y/N had been homeward bound and had never felt better about it. The brief encounter she had with Eddie had left her shaken and she just wanted the comfort of her blankets and whatever sad song she could find on the radio.

Though, the next day brought even more shaking encounters and by the time lunchtime rolled around, she was thoroughly exhausted and on edge. She had nearly failed her first period exam, hadn’t been able to answer a question that her second period teacher had asked due to her being zoned out, and then she nearly tripped in the hallway, losing some papers in her skirmish to regain balance. She didn’t even try to get them back as she hurried to the cafeteria, eager to eat mediocre pizza and not be bothered.

But, as all bad days go, they get worse.

“Hey, Y/N! Hey!” She could barely contain her groan as she lifted her head to see Jason waving his hand for her to join his group in the line. The people who stood between her and him gave her warning glares, as if to say ‘don’t you dare skip again’. She had no intentions of doing so.

“Hey, Jason. I’m good here, thanks though.” While she was angry at Jason and his inability to shut up, most of her anger lay with Eddie, who bought into the cheap rumor without hesitation. Though, she still didn’t want to be near Jason or his posse of dumbasses.

“They’re not going to say anything. Right, guys? She can come up here.” He asked, his voice carrying over the other conversations taking place as he addressed the glaring individuals. None of them went against Jason’s order, though none looked happy about it, either.

Y/N was forced to take a deep breath through her nose as she steadied herself. It felt as if she was teetering on a tightrope and either way she fell, she was going to end up having a breakdown. Whether it be from anger or sadness was yet to be determined. In this moment, though, she was about to swan dive into anger.

The tight lipped smile she gave him felt painful on her face as she spoke through gritted teeth, “I’m fine here, Jason.”

But, as all choices given by egotistical jocks go, you don’t really have a choice.

Y/N soon found herself sandwiched between Jason and his buddies as they came down the line to her, willingly giving up their space near the trays just to grate her nerves even more.

“You know something, N/N?” Jason started, looking down at her with his pretty smile she was sure had other girls swooning, “You’re a saint. A real saint.”

The thin line of frazzled nerves that he was sawing away at was about to snap, but she decided to play his game. Not like she had been given an actual choice in the matter. “And why is that, Jason?” She refused to call him by some nickname that his friends usually used— they weren’t friends and she wasn’t going to appease his feelings by pretending otherwise. She wasn’t even looking his way as she moved forward in line.

“Tutoring that freak.”

At that moment, Y/N swore she could see red. His friends were howling with laughter, he himself seemed smug with his insulting joke. She couldn’t take another step forward as she processed what he said, and each time it played over in her mind, the angrier she got.

“What?” By now the line had moved up more and Jason was pushing at her back, but she was a brick wall and she wasn’t moving. Not until he repeated what he had said, not until she knew she had heard him right.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like he can pay you. You’re doin’ it pro-bono right? You’re a saint. I guess even devil worshippers need to graduate.” Not only had she heard him right, but he was only making matters worse. She didn’t pay much mind to the students behind her once again complaining about how she needed to move or Jason trying once more to push her body forward.

He had successfully sawed her nerves away. She was now hurtling towards the pit of anger, happily so. Anger beat sadness, and she was about to beat him.

“Go fuck yourself, Jason,” was the first thought she had to say, one she had been dying to get out since she first realized what he had been spreading about her. His eyes went wide at the sudden quip and his friends started letting out low “ooh”s.

“You can’t talk to me..”

“I can talk to you however I want to. But God knows from your essays that you probably won’t understand anything I say. So let me spell it out for you,” she started, feeling as if the world around her was shaking, and yet it was only her body as rage coursed through her. “We are not friends. We did not sleep together- I would never sleep with someone like you…”

His hands threw up in defense as he took another step back, away from the step Y/N hadn’t known she had taken forward, “Whoa. I never said we slept together, dude.”

The interruption was enough to make her jab a pointed finger into his chest, sending him another step back. “Don’t you dare interrupt me. I am talking. Eddie Munson is /not/ a freak. He is a better man than you could even dream of being. I am not tutoring him. And you can shove your money right up your-”, she didn’t get the chance to finish her rampage before someone was grabbing her around the waist, pulling her away from a red faced Jason Carver.

“Put me down! I said put me down, asshole!” She yelled, not caring how her voice bounced off the walls, or how everyone in the cafeteria was staring at her like she had lost her mind. Maybe she had, but she didn’t care much about that either.

“I know I’ve made some mistakes but I don’t think name calling is necessary.” It took a moment before she could pinpoint that voice in the midst of her anger but once she did, she thrashed harder in his arms. She felt like a dog backed into a corner, no matter where she ran, she was met with people who pissed her off.

And a corner is exactly where she found herself as Eddie deposited her in a janitors closet, shutting the door behind them. It was dark for only a second before the dim light filled about half of the room. Dirty mops, cans of antiseptic spray, cobwebs, and a very amused Eddie stared back at her as she looked around.

The second his lips pulled up in a smirk, she exploded, “Why would you do that? I was-“

“You was’ going to get yourself expelled.”

“Stop interrupting me!” She flung her arms up in exasperation, seething at her sentence being cut off once again. Though when her fingers made contact with metal shelves and brick walls, she was quick to gasp and pull them back into her chest.

Much to his credit, Eddie hadn’t even flinched during her yelling, he had simply leaned against the opposite wall, watching with the ever-amused smile and raised eyebrow. He even shook his head with a chuckle as she nursed her now stinging hands.

“Let me see,” he started, inching forward with a hand outstretched to her. His rings didn’t glint as much in this light but she could tell he was still wearing the one she gave him. Tucking her hands closer into her chest, she shook her head. Her anger gave way to stubbornness, nostrils flaring with each deep breath and her chin lifting up to give some semblance of strength. Much to her chagrin, it only amused him more.

“Come on, sweetheart. Just let me see.” At the pet name, she froze for a moment, thinking back to all the times he had called her that before. Eddie wasn’t big on cliche pet names, he liked to create his own for her. Though sweetheart was a personal favorite of hers, so he had a tendency to use it on her. It always worked for getting her attention and making her feel more comforted and loved. Even now, even while dealing with a hundred different thoughts, that one word was like a bridge straight to her heart.

Without a word, but with a dramatic huff, she held out her hands, letting him see the damage for himself. He was very gentle when taking her hands into his, the warmth of his rings pressing into her skin like a beacon from home. His fingertips gracefully traced over the little red marks now marring her skin, like any sort of pressure would cause her to crack and fall apart.

The softness of the moment had entirely eradicated her anger and she was left with an ache where it once was. With her hands still held in his, she couldn’t fiddle with her fingers in nervousness, and when she tried to pull them away, he tightened his hold. Yet it was nothing compared to the way Jason’s hand had been firmly nudging her at lunch or how he held her wrist. It was like Eddie had found the next greatest DND figurine, used and a bit worn, but beautiful, ethereal, sacred. Something he was meant to protect— and he had failed doing so. But now he was making up for it.

His lips pressed against the red marks before she could question him, his forehead resting against her wrist as he just stood there, not saying anything, but not needing to. The amusement from earlier was long gone and was replaced with something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

Her lips parted for a moment as she thought over what to say: ‘I’m fine”, “We should go”, “Thanks for stopping me from getting expelled but god I wish I could have decked Jason just once’?

What came out was something entirely different: a whisper of his name. Saying it any louder would have broken whatever spell had been placed over them, and she didn’t know that she had it in her to do so. Or if she could even raise her voice again- she was so tired of yelling, of trying to be heard and listened to.

“Please,” was all he said in return, his voice just as low as hers. He finally dropped her hands but it was only so he could wrap his arms around her waist, tugging her into his chest; into a hug that she had yearned for since last week; into the arms she never thought she’d feel herself in again.

Vulnerability. That was the new feeling, what had replaced his amusement. The room was warm but the goosebumps on her skin still arose, her heart raced like she had run a mile and yet she was standing still, time felt like it had reversed a few weeks to when they were still together, when they were still Y/N and Eddie. And yet, it was still the same day, same hour, and the same broken up situation.

“Eddie…” she repeated his name, feeling his hair tickle her lips as they moved, smelling his cologne sneaking into her nose, and hearing the way he took his own shuddering breath, terrified of what the next steps would bring.

A few seconds later, Y/N found herself back in her own space, Eddie standing against the wall like he had been moments before, “I know you didn’t sleep with Jason.”

Even though the anger had long since disappeared, she still felt snarky as she shot back, “Oh, really? News to me.”

The smile he gave back was one of mock amusement, one of barely concealed pain, “I deserve that. I… I don’t know why I didn’t talk to you about it. I’m sorry.” He was pushing away from the wall in a flash, pacing the short width he was given as he raked his fingers through his hair, his face scrunched up in a look of concentration and anxiety.

“Sorry doesn’t-“

“I know, sorry doesn’t cut it. I /know/ that, Y/N. Why do you think it’s taken me so long to approach you? I had to do better than that. I had to think of more than ‘I’m sorry.’” He rushed out, not caring that he had interrupted her again. He just had to get it out of his brain before he lost it, before he became a stumbling, stuttering mess and wasn’t able to fix things.

“I still don’t have anything. Because nothing will magically sweep this away. I can’t roll dice and overcome this. But seeing you today in there with him, I knew I had to step in. And I’m sorry.” He rattled off, finally coming to a stop as he looked down at her, looking like a puppy who had just been kicked or left on the side of the road, searching desperately for its home. And even though he didn’t say it, Y/N was his home.

She couldn’t continue staring into his eyes when he looked like that, all she wanted to do was to grab him back into her arms and never let go. So she looked down, she folded her arms over her chest and she looked anywhere but him, anywhere but where she really wanted to look. “Why did you believe it?”

His laugh was dry, humorless, and forced. It was so unlike his normal behavior around her that her heart ached. “I didn’t. Well, I didn’t want to. I came back to the lunchroom that day and I saw you sitting there, him whispering in your ear. And then him again at your locker. And every time, I could just hear him telling his friends how he kissed you in payment for tutoring. I felt.. I felt. Pissed off. Hurt. Like the runt in a family of giants. Or a magicless spell caster. I can’t blame you if you wanted to be with someone like him.” The moment he started speaking in DND terms, she snorted. That was more like the Eddie she knew, the one she missed. This made him halt in his tangent as he looked at her, clearly confused and worried about her laughter.

“Jason Carver paid me in cash. Extra cash, actually. He stayed across the table at all times, he didn’t ever touch me. I wouldn’t have let him. I wouldn’t have let anyone who wasn’t you touch me. If you’re a magicless spell caster than Jason is.. is a tree stump.” She was never good with DND terms, but she was trying to get through to him in any way she could.

Her words seemed to only make him feel worse as he threw his head back in a groan, hands dragging down his face roughly. His rings left momentary red streaks on his skin. “I know that, too. I’m just a dumbass and I ruined it, didn’t I? I can’t make this better.”

Hearing him so down on himself had Y/N pausing, watching him with a studious eye, analyzing everything he did. His face had returned to the normal color, though his eyes were still wide and pleading. His hair was a mess from being tugged at so much from his own hands. He was fumbling with his rings again as he anxiously awaited her response. His body was wound so tight, she was sure he was going to spring apart in a seconds notice.

Now it was Y/N’s turn to inch forward, hands outstretched slightly, “I wouldn’t say you ruined things but,” she started, watching as his head snapped around so fast she was sure she heard a crack, “it will take time to get back to how we were. You have to work on trusting me, Eddie. Relationships can’t work without trust.”

“I do trust…,” at her look, he trailed off, nodding his head again, this time much slower than before. Maybe she really had heard a crack earlier and now he was feeling the consequences. “Okay, okay, yeah. I’ll work on it. I promise.”

“And promise me that you won’t listen to bullshit rumors without talking to me?” She asked, feeling his hands snake into hers, fingertips tapping against the inside of her wrist, like he was waiting for the go ahead sign to fully grab her hand.

“I promise, I swear.”

In the beat of silence that spread between them, Y/N felt her heart building up hope again. The strings she thought she left back in the drama room were wrapping around the beating organ with a new found excitement, the cracks starting to form together once more. There was work to be done, yes, but she truly believed it was going to be okay.

“Okay,” she murmured more to herself, testing it out, feeling how her heart soared at her acceptance, “yeah, okay. We can work on it.”

That must have been the sign he was needing because he was soon pulling her back into his arms, forehead connecting with hers with a little more force than intended. Neither commented on the slight bump, both entirely caught up in being back in each other’s arms, no fight or rumor or dumb jock standing between them.

The shadows from the dim light cast deep shadows over Eddie’s face, making his eyes seem darker than normal. It had Y/N’s stomach flipping in nerves. Who would’ve thought that only a few days apart could have her feeling like she was about to have her first kiss again?

Who would’ve also thought that right when everything was about to be made right again, they would be interrupted? Not them, for sure.

But here they were, the lighting from the hall now creeping into their little hiding spot and a familiar redhead standing with her hand on the knob.

“Oh,” she started to turn away but soon turned back, like leaving without an explanation was more awkward than speaking, “Dustin told me what happened in the lunchroom and I wanted to check on you. But, I see everything’s good. Great. Okay.” Pointing at them like a finger gun, Max went to shut the door once more. The shadows that had been starting to crowd around the couple again were soon chased away, though, as she pulled the door back open.

“Max!” Y/N laughed, part of her finding her new friend’s insistence and indecisiveness funny, but another part wanting to kiss Eddie and hide away in their bubble for a short while longer.

“Sorry, sorry! Just sayin’. Eddie, don’t be a dick next time, understand?” With her headphones hanging off her neck, red hair pulled back in a low pony, and her eyes narrowed on Eddie’s figure, Y/N had no doubt Max could and would have some choice words with him next time around. When Eddie just laughed, Max pursed her lips and leaned her head closer, refusing to leave until he said it.

Taking the hint, he curtly nodded his head towards her, “Understood.”

Seeming satisfied with his answer, she briefly turned her attention back to Y/N with a teasing smile, “Don’t forget, you promised me more ice cream after school.”

Finally, with the door swinging shut and the noise from the hallway being muffled, Y/N turned to Eddie with a shy smile, remembering key components of her time as a single woman.

“Eddie, I have to tell you something.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she felt him pull away, just enough to fully look at her face. “I kind of spent half of my savings buying me and Max ice cream.”

Instead of responding like she had expected, Eddie laughed. It wasn’t like the dry one from earlier; this was filled with happiness, humor, and maybe a hint of teasing.

“I was a…” whatever she was going to say was cut off as his lips pressed against hers, his arms tightening around her waist as he held her close. Every thought, every word, every syllable left her brain as she clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair, back bent slightly as he leaned over her, not an inch of space between their bodies.

It was perfect, Y/N swore she could see clouds and Cupid himself flying around them. Bright light shone down on them like the heavens approved of this match.

Well, that was what she was choosing to believe as the principal led them into the bright hallway, students all around whispering and pointing at the couple with messy hair, puffy lips, and intertwined hands.

There would be rumors of this, Y/N was sure. ‘Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N caught making out in a broom closet!’ But it was a rumor that she was actually looking forward to hearing spread around— because it was absolutely correct.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Taglist: @therealautobotgirl @tinawhynot @gemm-femm @evi-mads @bunnysthngs @subjecta13-thefangirl @soanis @eddieussy @samsdarlin-redactedwriter @lily-sinclair-2006 @atrxidxs @makimakills @bambi-laufeyson @do-not-call-me @elmariachijin @visi0ns-of-vi0lenc3 @iheartyouyou @darksunemiku @dulce-incitacion @curemyteeth @kingofhellfire @khayhuij @paradisiacalsparks @momzashi @flicksturz @poisxnedmind @salembridger @imasimptoowth @eddiemunson-thehero @lelenikki @authorlovers @peter-parker-break-my-back @toosadtobecool4 @crimecatt @the-chocoholic-writer @theloveablesociopath @yanelimerida @juggernort @eddiemunson4ever @heyaitsklaudia @dollop-of-cream @demo-bats @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse @hydratrashbucky @masterofquinn @onibee13 @suckyatphotography @nanasdream @andreead @do4mu @empress-simps

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[thesunicarusfellfor]

WAIT WAIT— what if 👀 what if Yandere!Tubbo and Yandere!Tommy falling for the reader at the same time

BROO— THE ANGST POSSIBILITIES

ooooooOOOOO DAMN this one is gonna be good! I love the way you think! So I wrote this as headcanons, but I will write this as an actual story if requested. ^^

This is not exactly implied romantic??? I'm still scared about writing their characters as directly romantic????? I'll probably get braver about it but still lowkey worried.

Yandere!C!Tommy x GN!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo Headcanon/Fic

Tommy, at first, completely denied even acknowledging your existence.

Until he saw someone interact with you.

Then he would start pulling out his sword or glaring at them from across the room.

He would definitely pin them in an alleyway and threaten every single one of their canon lives.

Tommy, please. Niki was just trying to give you cookies.

He's the kind of Yandere that would greatly keep his distance both physically, emotionally and mentally. Basically, he would be a Tsundere Yandere.

Tubbo, on the other hand, would be extremely sweet to you.

Need netherite? He had an extra few ingots ready in his pockets!

Interacting with someone who wasn't him? Was he not good enough for you??? Fine. You don't deserve him.

He would cry to you and make you feel guilty OR completely ignore you for a week straight until you come crawling back to him and apologizing.

Straight up can flip emotions like a switch.

The first time either of them realized the other liked you as well, was when they were listening to Mellohi on their bench, watching the sunset when they saw you having a conversation with Ranboo at the bottom of the cliff.

"What're they doing talking to him?" Tommy growled lowly and leaned forward to glared at the enderman who was talking to you. He reached for his bow n' arrow before Tubbo grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks, "What? I don't want them talking to anyone but me."

"What do you mean 'anyone but you'?! You avoid them like they're a virus!" Tubbo stared at him, digging his fingers into Tommy's bicep a small bit to show his anger a bit more, "They should only be talking to me."

The blond turned towards his brunet friend and yanked his arm out of his grasp, "Excuse me?" He glared into Tubbo's dull blue eyes, gritting his teeth, "You do nothing but give them stuff!"

"And you treat them like shit and avoid them!" The smaller of the two retorted angrily, trying to keep his tone level enough to where you didn't hear.

Mellohi, the music that had been playing mere moments ago, slowly came to a stop and left nothing but silence and tension in the air. You had noticed them arguing from below, but Ranboo (who had heard their entire argument) decided to pull you away from them and bring you to the Tundra.

"Are you trying to take everything from me?!" Tommy tightened his grip on his diamond sword, although part of him knew that if Tubbo equipped his netherite armour, there would be absolutely no competition whatsoever.

"Take things from you?! They're a human being and you choose to ignore that fact when you ignore them or call them terrible names!"

"I treat everyone like that! You already have Ranboo, I don't understand why you're chasing after them with hearts in your eyes when you're fuckin' married! Loyal much! Oh wait, you aren't loyal, you EXILED ME!"

"It's platonic! I told you that already! And you're starting this again now, Tommy?!"

Ranboo actually felt nervous leaving you alone around both Tommy AND/OR Tubbo after hearing their entire argument that day.

Tommy, although now a lot nicer, became extremely clingy towards you and constantly would walk over and drag you away mid-conversation with anyone that wasn't him. ESPECIALLY if you were talking to Tubbo.

Man would bring you everywhere with him if you would let him.

Netherite mining? Get your pick.

To get new discs? Pack your bags, we're going on an adventure.

Straight up does everything he can do to get you away from Tubbo because he's petty.

He tried giving you as many gifts as Tubbo, but mans is broke.

Tubbo would get extremely annoyed by Tommy even just walking through the area when he was with you.

Would start to hold your hand or link arms with you (if you're comfortable), just so Tommy couldn't pull you away as easily.

Started to try guilt-tripping you into living in Snowchester, and even tried to get you to live in the mansion.

Ranboo actually lied to Tubbo, saying he was scared of enderwalking and hurting you, to convince Tubbo not to guilt-trip you further into living in the mansion.

Tubbo's constant gift-giving got so much more extreme.

Want netherite ingots to make armour?

Nope. No lifting a finger.

He already made you fully enchanted netherite god armour anyway.

Has definitely tried to convince Ranboo to let him involve you in the platonic marriage.

"Ranboo! My beloved!" Tubbo called jokingly, walking into their home. He kicked the snow on his boots before pulling down his hood and taking off his hat, hanging it on the hook as he took off his footwear, "I have a proposition for you!"

The monochrome-coloured man lifted his head and set down the journal in his hand, the ink likely still wet judging by the quill in his hand, "Yeah? What's that?" He placed the feathered pen in the pot of ink and turned to face his platonic husband.

"What would you say to extending our marriage to three people? Like a polyamorous relationship. Like Sapnap, Karl and Big Q?" Tubbo sat down in the chair beside him, watching as Ranboo was left reeling for a few seconds.

"W-well, one, I think you mean expanding. Two, with who?!" The tall male sat up quickly, bumping his leg on the table from his minor flailing, "A-and, and, what about Michael? Are you sure they can be trusted with him?"

Tubbo held out his hand to calm his friend down, making his friend put his hands down so he didn't accidentally hit something, "You know what I meant, and (Y/n)! Y'know... Like, the one with (h/l) (h/c) hair, (tall/short)! (Y/n), them!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know who they are, it's just..." He paused to gather his words, glancing away from his friend. In all reality, he wouldn't mind inviting you into the platonic marriage, even if he knew Tubbo felt more romantic feelings towards you. He didn't shut up about it. It was the fact that he was worried about what kind of mental manipulation Tubbo would do to you if you did agree to be in the marriage. Or even what Tommy would do to you or Tubbo!

"...Just?"

'Your relationship with Tommy is beyond screwed already... Imagine what would happen if both of his friends left him to be in a platonic relationship with me. Tubbo, all of us would be in severe danger.' He thought silently before taking a breath. "I-I don't have my enderwalking state under control... I'm already scared for Michael enough, and I don't want to hurt her as well... Give it some time and we'll see. Please.." He whispered, lying through his teeth. Ranboo knew you were damn good at protecting yourself and could knock his long and lanky ass to the dirt within seconds.

Tubbo's bright shiny eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment as his smile began to falter, "Ah... Yeah. I guess that makes sense. For their safety I suppose." His normal look returned and he gave him a smile, "Yeah, that does make a lot of sense. I'll ask again next month to see what happens."

"What... What about Tommy-"

"What about him?" He demanded sharply, his smile vanishing in mere seconds which caught Ranboo off guard yet again, "He doesn't need to be in their life. He would do more harm to them than good!"

Ranboo was left gaping, his mouth moving but not creating any sounds. He watched as Tubbo eyed him carefully before he got up, murmuring something about grabbing food then going to bed.

Once the goat hybrid was completely out of sight, Ranboo reached for his memory book and took the quill again.

'Protect (Y/n) from Tubbo and Tommy. Get them out of DreamSMP.'

Ranboo was scared for you.

He was stuck watching as these crazy two men fought over you, threatened you, manipulated you... It was worrying, to say the least.

Don't get him wrong. If he didn't have an adopted son, a platonic husband that he still cared about despite him being another Dream at this point, and a Syndicate to protect him from, he would've packed everything and ran, bringing you with him.

He was practically walking on eggshells around this man that he had once been extremely close to!

It practically sent shivers down his spine...

Eventually, it got to the point where Ranboo had gone to your house in the ungodly hours of the morning to talk to you.

This man LITERALLY crept into Tubbo's room AND Tommy's house to make sure they were both asleep before going to talk to you.

"Ran... Boo?" You asked, yawning softly as you leaned against the door, your hair all frizzy and messed up, "What's up? It'sssss... Like 5:30am. The sun is barely even up..."

"(Y/n)... Can we go inside? Please... There's something very wrong.." He murmured softly, his memory book tightly held in his grasp as he glanced around. Tommy could be waking up sometime soon, and he did not want to get caught talking to you. He would certainly be down a canon life before he could even say 'sorry'.

You watched the nervous man in front of you and nodded before stepping aside to let him in. Peaking outside, you looked around for what was causing him to panic but went back inside once you didn't see anything. "What's wrong?" Softening your tone, you gestured for him to sit at the table while you made coffee.

Once he had a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, Ranboo slowly began to gather his nerve and speak. He told you everything he could remember, and even opened his memory book to tell you about the things he didn't remember. Everything from the fight where Tommy and Tubbo's friendship completely went downhill a few months ago, to the threats Tubbo used against Tommy, the manipulation against you, the threats he had received by talking to you, and even Tubbo's violent mood switches when talking about you or Tommy.

The entire time, you just sat there wide-eyed as you listened to him ramble on about his fears and worries, and everything in between. He even mentioned wanting to actually divorce Tubbo because of how scared he was for you and his own life. "I don't... Not... Believe you... But this is- this is a little difficult to believe." You knew the enderman hybrid wouldn't lie about something so serious, and he definitely wouldn't be shaking like a leaf if it was a joke or a lie.

"Y-yeah, I expected that... But I really do care about your safety, honestly. You know I wouldn't joke about this kind of thing, especially about Tubbo." He murmured softly, looking at his crown laying on the table in front of him, "In all honesty, I came here this early because I was scared about Tommy trying to kill me if he saw me talking to you..."

"He wouldn't ki-"

The door slammed open dramatically and there was a cheerful shout of your name, "(Y/n)!!! Let's go mining for diamon-" Tommy walked into your kitchen, only to freeze mid-step and midfacial expression. His expression went from surprised to annoyance to a grim smile, "Hello Ranboo!" He gave him a smile that was more like baring his teeth as he twirled his axe nonchalantly.

He was going to hurt him...

[saurexhas]

Love is Blind - Part 1

So I’ve been hanging out with @studionovella​ and the team for @nightmare-castle​, and the sheer talent in their discord server is so amazing. It led me to be inspired, and while I’m typically more of a Sanscest writer, I figured that it’d be fun to try something new considering the source of my inspiration! So have some Nightmare x MC (Nightmare x Reader).

Be warned, this story handles blindness and... probably some other sensitive topics considering it’s me. So just watch the tags for any relevant triggers!

*******************************************************************************************

You didn’t think that it was possible, but somehow you had fallen for Nightmare. On the surface he was cold, cruel, and calculating, using everyone he could to advance his goals. But if you could tolerate the coldness, get past his clinical treatment of those he believed were beneath him, then there was so much more to him. Nightmare was a scholar, a brilliant mind with a vision for a world all his own. He appreciated the arts, often enjoying his downtime with a good book and a calming cup of tea. And believe it or not, there was a small part of him that genuinely cared for the skeletons under his charge. You’ve seen that side of him more than most, managing to open even his eye to what was hidden beneath the centuries of anger and hatred.

Even if negativity was still a large part of who he was, you found yourself able to accept that darkness, because it only made the small lights within him shine brighter. Just like the stars the two of you were gazing at. Though as your gaze shifted to the skeleton currently dominating your thoughts, you found that piercing cyan eye of his locked onto you instead of the sky. If there was ever any doubt in your mind that your feelings were reciprocated, one look at his gaze would sweep it all away. There was a tenderness to him, reserved only for you as he would say. It was only in these moments where the two of you were alone that he would let his imposing demeanor slide.

Getting moments to yourselves was easier said than done though. Despite the sheer size of the castle, the others always seemed to be around. They knew how Nightmare favoured you, how he treated you special and wasn’t as harsh. You were pretty sure that they’d managed to piece everything together on their own, even if none of them ever said anything for fear of angering their king. That said, some of them, namely Killer, seemed to delight in getting in the way of your fleeting moments alone. And there was always no shortage of work to be done, not when your partner was as ambitious as he was. Nightmare aimed to create an empire, and you were doing what you could to further his goals. Even if all that work and Killer’s interference left you and Nightmare fleeing to other worlds in order to have some semblance of a relationship.

Outertale was a favourite destination of yours, the beauty of the cosmos always taking your breath away. It always seemed so far removed from the chaos of the multiverse, or the chaos of the castle.The peace and quiet out here made it perfect for when both you and your partner just needed a break. You could stand out here for hours, watching the subtle shifts in the sky or mapping constellations.

But for now, you were seemingly locked in a staring contest with the lord of darkness, neither willing to look away or break the silence that had fallen. Unsure of what to do, you simply reached out with your finger and booped the tip of his nose. The look of utter surprise on his face left you giggling, only for his own rich laughter to mingle with yours.

“You dare to lay a hand on the God of Negativity, hmm?” He teased, pulling you close with his tentacles before wrapping his arms around your waist. “You are either very brave or very foolish… maybe a bit of both. How shall I deal with your crime, my little moon?”

You couldn’t help but swoon a bit at the pet name he called you, grinning up at him like a fool as you took advantage of the close proximity to snuggle close. “I could swear my love to you, would that appease the great Nightmare?”

“Perhaps,” he chuckled, the distance closing between the two of you even further as he ducked his head down to be level with your own. Nightmare opened his mouth, perhaps to say something else or to move in for the kiss you were anticipating. Before either option could happen though, the dark skeleton froze for a split second. There wasn’t even time to ask what was wrong before you found yourself hefted into his arms, the two of you dodging a volley of bright blue arrows that had speared where you’d been moments ago.

Your heart hammered in your throat, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you tried to get a grip on what was happening. Nightmare still had you cradled to his chest, dodging arrows and… was that paint? Following the paint’s trajectory, you could see your partner’s enemies had managed to crash your little date.

The Star Sanses stood on the other end of the floating chunk of rock you were on, the portal they’d used to arrive closing behind them. Blue was just coming through the portal, his gaster blaster hammer in his grip. Dream had another arrow ready to fire, though he hesitated upon seeing you staring back at him. Ink on the other hand wasted no time in splattering more of his paints everywhere, a tentacle raising to block you from the oncoming attack. The paint hissed and fizzled on contact, a growl leaving Nightmare as he jumped to another nearby rock to escape the barrage.

“Night, are you okay?!” You look up to see him trying to hide his pain, showing you that those paints are far more than something to be smeared on a piece of paper. While you’d heard stories from the others about the chaotic creator, you’d never met him in person or seen him fight. Seeing that paint flying towards you was way scarier than the guys’ stories had led you to believe.

“I’ll be fine,” Nightmare insisted as he set you down, even if you knew that attack hurt. “Look, you need to remain here where you’ll be safe. I don’t care what kind of training you’ve been partaking in with the others; I refuse to let you endanger yourself by fighting them. Ink especially is dangerous, keep away from him at all costs. If you cannot dodge his attacks, make sure to shield your face. His paint can burn like acid if he wishes, and while liquid negativity protects my body, you have no such defenses. Give me your word that you will remain safe while I deal with these pests.”

As much as you wanted to argue that you could help, even you couldn’t muster the confidence to speak against him with such a stern glare directed at you. It was clear that Nightmare wouldn’t take no for an answer on this one, so you had no choice but to nod your head meekly. “I-I’ll stay here,” you promised, glancing up to see him seemingly satisfied. Without another word, he rushed off, preventing Blue from getting any closer with his large hammer.

Watching Nightmare take on all three of the Star Sanses by himself was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, much like the first times you’d joined sparring sessions with the guys. But there wasn’t the assurance in the back of your mind that nobody would be out to kill you. While it might not be the goals of all of the Stars, there was very much mortal danger in this fight for both you and the one you loved. Staying on the sidelines like this was painful, leaving you feeling useless as Nightmare struggled to hold off the onslaught.

Were they not essentially your enemies, you’d be impressed by the coordination and teamwork the Stars possessed. All three of them were capable of both melee and ranged attacks, and wordlessly organized themselves so that one of their own was never in danger of being hit by their own attacks. Dream’s precision with his arrows allowed him to stay primarily a ranged fighter, while Blue’s blasters and Ink’s attacks were a bit too widespread to risk while one of them fought in close combat. Nightmare was the only one without a specific ranged attack, which probably explained why the others rarely got close to attack. Your lover’s tentacles gave him reach though, and the ability to hit multiple targets at once, so he was somehow able to hold his own against all three.

The battle looked to be a stalemate… until one of the Stars suddenly switched tactics. While Blue rushed in with a hammer and bones at his side, Ink actually turned his back on the fight. He seemed a little lost, like he was trying to remember something, only for his eyes to light up as he locked gazes with you. Instant panic seized you as the one skeleton that Nightmare warned you about came straight for you, manic glee plastered over his face as he quickly crossed the distance between the two of you. A glance back at the battle proved that Nightmare had seen what was going on, but Blue was keeping him from coming to your aid. So it was up to you to think fast and avoid the creator, hope bubbling in you that this might actually make things easier. If you could keep Ink busy by dodging his attacks, then Nightmare might be able to take on the remaining two with better success before coming after Ink.

With this admittedly crazy plan in your head, you began a game of cat and mouse with Ink, jumping from one place to the next. If you didn’t have a splash-happy maniac chasing you, it would’ve been cool to enjoy the low gravity of Outertale. For now though, it was all that was allowing you to escape most of the attacks directed at you. You were far from unscathed though, small splashes of paint eating away at your arms and legs. It burned, but was nothing you couldn’t deal with as you continued to dodge and weave the bulk of the attacks. So long as none of it touched your face, you would be fine.

Glancing back at the main battle going on, your hopes of Nightmare doing better against two targets instead of three were steadily being crushed. He seemed distracted, constantly looking up to watch you kite Ink around the area. Instead of focusing on the two he had to deal with, he was so worried about you and Ink that he was now losing. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was facing off against Ink and Blue, because there was little the two could do beyond superficial damage. Dream on the other hand was still very much a threat, his arrows of pure positivity being about the only thing that could seriously hurt. And you could see several piercing the ground, coated in the black negativity that Nightmare relied on for protection. It was a surefire way to see when he’d been hit, and the staggering amount of these soiled arrows made it clear that your partner wasn’t holding his own anymore. Guilt welled up in you, because you were the reason he was now losing this fight. While there wasn’t much you could honestly do to shake Ink from your trail, reason did little to quell the negativity rising inside you. All you could hope for was that your own despair could give Nightmare just a bit more power, enough to keep himself safe at least.

As time dragged on, both you and Nightmare were running out of stamina. Your legs cried for rest as you continued to run away from the creator, while your lover’s movements were growing noticeably sluggish. More arrows seemed to connect than not at this point, and he had barely any time to recover from one attack before dealing with another. The two of you were badly losing, and it was quite clear now why Nightmare rarely let anyone from the castle venture out on their own.

The Stars seemed to sense this sudden weakness in their target, Dream finally stopping his barrage to call out to the one going after you. “Ink! Stop playing around, I need your help!” Help? What help could Ink possibly be? Even his corrosive paints couldn’t breach the surface of Nightmare’s negativity, the only thing that could was Dream’s… oh… oh no.

As the realization hit you, Ink finally gave up his pursuit. “Woo! Looks like my plan actually worked… at least I think this was my plan. Whatever, let’s do this!” Laughing at some untold joke, Ink hopped away from you to return to the large rock that most of the battle had been on. At the same moment though, you felt your legs moving as the horrific reality of their plan hit you. Ink purposefully went after you to distract Nightmare, allowing the others to weaken him enough so that their special attack would hit. The creator might not be able to damage the surface, but if Dream’s arrow ripped through first, then there’d be a narrow window where Nightmare’s greatest defense would be gone. In a single spot he’d be vulnerable, which is why they needed to slow him down enough to ensure their hit would work.

You weren’t going to let that happen. Promise be damned, your soul was screaming at you to protect the one you loved, and you were going to heed its call. The ache in your legs went completely ignored, adrenaline pushing you forward with more speed than you thought you could muster. You needed to be faster though; Ink was already there, and Blue had set about corralling Nightmare to keep him still.

Only a few floating chunks of rock were between you and your beloved now, but you still weren’t fast enough. Panic rose once again as you watched Dream draw back his bowstring, the arrow glimmering faintly in the surrounding darkness. Ink stood ready beside him, the paint coating his brush a dangerous shade of red. That same paint had left such horrible burns along your limbs, and you could only imagine the damage it might do to the weakened god of negativity. With Blue running interference and drawing Nightmare’s attention, it was only a matter of time now.

As your feet touched down on the large space rock, several feet from everyone else, you knew that you were out of time. Nightmare was too absorbed in his fight to hear your warning calls, and it would only alert the two and likely cause them to reset before trying again. This attack would only work once though, because once Nightmare knew of their plan, he wouldn’t let it work a second time. That meant that you had one chance to stop them, especially when you saw that Dream was aiming towards his twin’s soul.

Courage and determination welled within your soul, driving you forward despite the risk you were running straight into. Any number of things could go seriously wrong, but… you couldn’t risk them killing him. Nightmare was the bane of the multiverse to many, but he was everything to you. Gritting your teeth, you timed your steps so that you’d only enter Dream’s field of vision after he fired, preventing them from stopping you and trying again. The second he saw you, the god of positivity’s expression changed from one of grim determination to one of shock and horror, his hand reaching out as if he could stop his attack or stop you. His hesitance once again wasn’t present in Ink, the creator wasting no time in flinging the red paint directly after the arrow.

With mere seconds to spare, your outstretched hands made contact with the cool goop that covered Nightmare’s body. All of your momentum and might went into a push, knocking the deity away from the incoming attack. Your lover turned back to look at you the second you made contact, his eye conveying the same shock and horror as Dream’s had when he saw you. All you could do was smile, knowing that you’d managed to save him no matter what danger you’d put yourself in. Nightmare reached out for you just as the arrow whizzed past, its trajectory leaving it slicing past your eyes. Pain bloomed as the minor cuts scratched the outsides of your eyes, but it was nothing compared to what came next. You’d been so concerned about the arrow that you temporarily forgot about Ink. His attack followed as per the Stars’ plan, splattering over the both of you with its acidic effect. The scratches to your eyes had left you temporarily blind, so you weren’t able to see that red paint as it splashed all over your face. The last thing you saw was instead Nightmare, reaching out to you as if to save you from this pain.

*******************************************************************************************

First (Here) | Next >

[lumosinlove]

Well, this got longer than I thought it would, so I’ll have to publish in a few parts as I write...

But Happy Birthday, Finn, my favorite :)

Find it here on Ao3

~

Of Silence And Slow Time

part i of iii

~

New York City, 1920

~

Everyone told Finn that the statue looked like him, that he simply must go and see it.

“Really, Finn,” his older brother Alex said. “It’s the eyes, the face, it’s the mouth. It’s uncanny.”

Finn had just looked over Alex and the man and woman he seemed to always have at his side ever since the war ended. Natalie, a nurse whom he’d met in France, and Kasey a Canadian from another unit—they’d ended up in the hospital together.

“It’s in France,” Finn said flatly. “I know you’re forgetting about it all, but I’m not exactly keen on going back there. It took me ages to get home.”

It had taken everything for him to get home.

Alex, to Finn’s relief, nodded at Natalie and Kasey to go get themselves a drink at the bar down the street, told them that he’d meet them there. Finn stared down at the book open and unseeing in his lap. He wasn’t even sure what he was reading, on that he wanted to. His mind didn’t seem to follow him just right these days. Cars became bombs sometimes. Sleep was all dreams.

Alex sat beside him on their parents’ old sofa.

“Fish,” Alex said softly, and moved his hand slow, where Finn could see it, before resting it gently around his shoulders. “You can’t sit here all day. That’s not going to help you, and I know you don’t like it. You’ve never sat still like this.”

“I’m not going back to France.”

“It’s Paris,” Alex said, and gently flipped Finn’s wrist over to reveal the tiny globe his friend Jackson had dotted there with a needle and ink. “You’ve always wanted…don’t let this war stop you any longer.”

Finn stared down at the reminder he’d asked his friend for, ink permanent black. He’d never been farther than New England before the war. Paris, he’d always thought, gazing at his collection of books. Rome. Athens, Barcelona—

Finn swallowed hard. “Looks just like me, huh?”

Alex’s grin was enough to pull one out of Finn, just slightly. “It was bizarre.” Alex squeezed his shoulders. “I’ll even meet you there later if you want, once we’re through with Canada.”

Finn sent a wary glance towards where Natalie and Kasey had left.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’d like them. And, who knows who you’ll meet over there. We ran into all sorts of people, people like you’ve never seen. It’s why—” Alex broke off slightly, and looked after the nurse and soldier, too. Finn blinked at the nervous bob of his throat, and then his smile. “There are all sorts of love and art in this world of ours. I know it feels like it’s all war, I felt that too, but it’s not. Please let me help you see that.”

Finn rubbed a thumb over his tattoo, and closed his book.

Everything felt like war. He was so tired of it he thought he’d be crushed.

He looked up at his brother. “I don’t have much money.”

Alex just grinned and slapped him on the back, then pulled him into a tight embrace.

~

Finn arrived in Paris with a lump in his throat. He stumbled through half-French greetings and requests to his taxi, who looked at him sourly and turned out to have dropped him off four streets away from his hotel—maybe on purpose. Maybe because it was barely six in the morning.

Finn was annoyed at first, and then he began to walk.

Paris’ cobblestones were like those in the West Village, only they weren’t. There were glimpses of his home in the uneven tread of his feet, but these stones were darker, as if soaked with more time and more place. It calmed him, while the brief glance towards France’s rolling hills had sent him back to his cabin on the rocky ship, shaking and gasping for air. He’d barely eaten during the entire journey besides forcing down the occasional breakfast sludge, and his legs had wobbled so fiercely upon stepping back onto land, he’d had to sit down.

Finn paused now, closing his eyes and leaning against the nearest building. He’d been so stupid the first time, decked out in his new uniform, eyes on the war like it was some prize to be won. The comfort waned with his scattering mind and Finn tried to draw a steady breath in. The lump in his throat only grew tighter and he squeezed the handle of his small suitcase.

“Monsieur?” came a voice, spilled over with concern.

Finn’s eyes flashed open and he pushed himself straight, blinking through the pale morning light. There was a boy standing there, around his age, with bright blond hair and worried blue eyes. He was tall, with a neat white apron tied around his hips.

“Ça va?” the boy took a hesitant step forward. His eyes glanced towards Finn’s suitcase, and he nodded in realization, then spoke in accented English. “Are you all right?”

Finn looked behind the boy to see the cafe, slowly opening, from which he must have come. There was an abandoned stack of chairs he was putting out for the day, and his apron had an embroidered name at one corner, Finn realized, that matched the sign above.

Le Lion.

“Yes,” Finn breathed, but found himself unable to speak louder. “I’m fine.”

The boy just shook his head, and gestured behind him. “Non. You must sit down. S’il vous plaît. Please.”

Finn didn’t know how to refuse him.

A few minutes later, he found himself stationed at one of the cafe’s tables with a steaming pot of coffee in front of him, a croissant, and a plate of softly scrambled eggs.

“You look like you need more than butter and bread,” the boy had said, wiping strong looking hands on his apron. “You are from America?”

Finn nodded. He had been worried he would be able to stomach the food after the boy went through so much trouble, but upon his first bite of eggs, he felt ravenous.

“Yes,” Finn nodded, brushing his hands off from croissant crumbs. “Sorry, yes,” he held out his hand. “Finn.”

“Leo,” the boy smiled, and took his hand. “It is a pleasure.”

Finn found himself returning that smile with one that, for the first time in a long time, felt like his own. He tried to put coins into Leo’s hand when it was all over, but Leo simply waved him off and said he hoped to see Finn again.

~

The Louvre was more than Finn could have imagined. It was like walking across the ocean floor, new rarities at every corner. And, of course, there was the matter of the statue. Alex had said it would be with all the other works from ancient Greece. He didn’t have trouble following the signs to the correct gallery, walking through the white marble hallways. When he did reach the Greek galleries, his first thought was that the perfectly white statues nearly blended in with everything else, at least until he found a plaque that said it had all been painted once. Finn smiled to himself. Maybe his apparent stony doppelgänger had had red hair, too.

Imagining Alex and his long stride in these halls was easy. And it was quiet here, and distracting, which let Finn close his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of old stone, like a church, or a river’s bank.

When he opened them, he had found it. He was staring into his own face. His eyes were blank. He reached up to feel the shape of his own jaw as he looked at the statue’s, on display in the way the head was slightly turned, jaw set, brow low, as if in focus. Finn blinked, pulled out of the daze of seeing it, and his eyes landed on the museum card beside it. There was a word in ancient Greek, said to have been carved more visibly into the bust’s base. Future, it translated to. Thought to be made in the name of a God, though he may be lost now. There is no other surviving work by this artist.

Finn looked back at the eyes, so much like his own he could have seen brown there in the blank irises, and thought about when this strange statue had been carved. He’d always loved the way ancient Greece was sometimes described in poetry. It had gotten him through many long nights in the trenches. Serene, warm, and with nothing to do but lounge in the olive groves. Working the land and coming home at sundown to wine and honey and spiced meat. He’d longed for it. He longed for it still, this simple-seeming past.

The next thing he felt was warm wind. He smelled salt water.

The museum melted around him and his shoes slipped into sand before disappearing entirely.

~

Finn turned around to the sound of someone shouting, worried it was at him, only to find a brunette boy storming towards him—then past him—a foreign language continuing to fly off of his tongue. But more importantly, the boy was dressed in a simple garment of white cloth that left his strong, tanned legs and arms completely bare, and his feet were sandaled. Finn reached down to smooth his suit, only to find it gone, as well, replaced with a similar getup. He stared down at his bare skin, so pale in the bright sunlight.

And then the foreign language morphed, like a scratched record, and became English to his ears.

“—I’m telling you, Leo, I won’t go. Not without you.”

Leo?

And there the blond boy was, sitting in the shade of low trees at the edge of the beach. He was holding some sort of musical instrument, plucking at its strings almost sadly, head bowed.

“You have to,” Leo replied. “The oath says—“

He stopped mid-sentence, having looked up and spotted Finn. It made the brunette turn, and then Finn’s back was in the sand and there was a thin, rough blade at his throat.

Green eyes bore down into his own, a growl ripping from the boy’s throat. “Spartan.”

Finn choked out a breath, his hand going around the boy’s wrist. “No—no.”

“Logan,” came Leo’s voice, and then the knife’s pressure was released, pulled back by Leo, but the boy—Logan—was still sitting firmly on Finn’s hips. Finn felt his entire body flush with the sheer lack of fabric between them, but Logan didn’t seem to either mind or notice.

“I’m not a—Spartan,” Finn managed. “What the hell, I…” He looked to his left, at the sparkling waves lapping there, and then to the two boys looming above him. “Where am I?”

That made both of them freeze, the knife twitching in Logan’s hand.

“Ithaca,” Leo offered timidly, then glanced out at sea, as if that was where Finn had come from. Finn just stared at him.

He was the boy from the cafe. He was sure of it. His blue eyes filled with the same concern as they had on that early morning cobblestone street.

“Are you all right?” Leo asked.

“He is a spy,” Logan said, and went for him again.

Finn was ready this time. He knocked a leg around Logan’s waist, putting him on his back, and then rolled away from him and to his feet, knife in hand. He raised it for the two of them to see and then tossed it a little ways down the beach. “I’m not a spy. I…I’m just lost.”

It was true. In more ways than he’d even thought before.

“Please,” he managed more quietly.

He watched Leo and Logan exchange a look, unsure of what it meant, until Logan turned on his heel and Leo gestured for Finn to follow.

~

“Are you at war?” Finn asked he was led through the city streets. It had been a hot walk up a long road built into a steep hill, all the way up to what Finn assumed was the inner city and acropolis. Water ran along the side of the street—no doubt with sewage—and they crossed via stepping stones, pressing themselves against the walls whenever carts rattled by—carts filled with men with shields and swords or spears.

Logan, who brought up the rear behind him, having retrieved his knife, scoffed. “Aren’t we always?”

“And where are you taking me?”

“Where we take any question we can’t answer,” Leo said from in front of him, golden hair gleaming. “Pascal.”

[jaskierswolf]

😏 Hey, it's me, back again. On my knees, begging for more filth. I want some post mountain grovelling. I want Geralt on his knees. One of Jaskier's hands in his hair, holding his head still. The fingers of Jaskier's other hand in Geralt's mouth. <insert Gopher gif here>

Forgiveness

Not exactly filth? There is smut... but it caught plot. For those wondering... Jaskier's hair and beard looks something like this.

Rated: E

Length: 2.5k

CW: dom/sub vibes, subspace, oral sex

______________

Fear was not something that Geralt was accustomed to feeling. The trials had made sure of that, but the trials were created with monsters in mind, not bards. There had been a time when being afeared of Jaskier would have seemed preposterous. The worst thing that could have happened was the bard getting too close to a fight and getting hurt because of Geralt, but even then, Geralt had never been scared of Jaskier, more scared for him. Losing Jaskier to the witcher’s way of life would have been unforgivable, so Geralt made sure it didn’t happen.

Jaskier was gone.

And yet he still wasn’t safe. Geralt had torn his own heart into pieces to keep Jaskier safe, and now fucking Nilfgaard was destroying everything. Rumour had it that the army were looking for Jaskier, looking for a way to Geralt and to Ciri. So it was time for Geralt to swallow his pride and make amends. He’d travelled to Oxenfurt with his young ward in tow to search for his dearest friend, the man he’d broken. Ciri had been a surprising blessing in his life. Just like Jaskier, she had brought light to his life when there had been none, and he was beginning to realise that isolating himself did not make him stronger. His friends, brothers, lovers were more deadly than any sword or sign. Alone he was just one man, motivated by survival and a sense of duty.

For Ciri he would tear down the Continent.

For Yennefer he would climb the highest mountain.

For Jaskier…

He sighed. For Jaskier he would break his own heart, and for Jaskier he would try to make it right again.

It was more terrifying than any manticore or griffin.

A knock on the door, that’s all it would take. Instead he was just lurking outside the office, an elaborate “Professor Pankratz” painted in fine golden calligraphy on the panelling. Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, every instinct he had was telling him to run, take Ciri back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and leave Jaskier. Surely no harm would come to him at the academy.

“Are you going to stare at my door all day, Geralt, or shall we go inside?”

Geralt’s eyes widened as he spun around to face his friend. He hadn’t heard Jaskier’s voice in years but there was no mistaking the lilting accent and the playful way that he spoke. No one else spoke quite like Jaskier. The bard’s voice may not have changed but Geralt was taken aback by Jaskier’s appearance. His hair, which had always been short and scruffy in the decades that Geralt had known him, was now long, the ends ticking just below his chin. The long locks were tucked behind one ear, and his fringe had grown out. But it was the beard that really drew Geralt’s attention. He’d never realised that Jaskier could grow a beard, he’d never even seen the bard with stubble before, and yet here was Jaskier sporting a thick beard that was as rich in colour as his hair, no sign of any grey despite his age.

He looked beautiful.

Piercing icy blue eyes burned with cool fire, and Geralt was reminded why this trip had worried him. Jaskier had been his most loyal friend, and despite his profession, the bard was dangerous. His tongue was sharp and his temper was short, for Lillit’s sake, he’d even tried to condemn a man to death with the blasted Djinn.

“Well? Come on, witcher, get inside or get out,” Jaskier said with the cool authority of the professor he had become. Gone was the eighteen year old fool that Geralt had met in Posada.

“Right, yes,” Geralt grumbled and stepped aside so that Jaskier could open the door. He trailed in after the bard, feeling very much like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“I never expected to see you at my door, Geralt,” Jaskier muttered as he busied himself around the room, sorting out his books and scrolls from his satchel, carefully placing his ink bottles on the messy desk, and shrugging out of his teaching robes.

Underneath the dark robes, he was wearing an elegant dark green doublet with matching breeches, gold thread stitching at the seams. To Geralt’s surprise, the bard's doublet was fully buttoned, hiding both the chemise and the mass of chest hair that Geralt knew was underneath the emerald fabric.

“I never expected to come,” Geralt admitted.

“Excellent, now you can leave again, it was good to see you old friend. Close the door on your way out.”

Jaskier’s words stung, a dagger between his ribs, poison running through his veins, but Geralt couldn’t give up, not without a proper fight. “I came to apologise.”

“Oh, ho, ho, that’s rich, witcher. What’s next? You’ll go and fetch your Child Surprise?”

“Ciri,” Geralt mumbled.

That seemed to have an effect, Jaskier froze, his back to Geralt. The bard slowly spun round and peered at Geralt. “So you finally found her?”

“I did.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jaskier sighed, pushing his hair from his face and scratching idly at his beard. “Did she mention me?”

“She did.”

“So, tell me Geralt, are you here because you want to apologise, or because the princess demanded it?” Jaskier’s tone was sharper than any witcher sword, this was the man who had destroyed a knight’s honour with a few well-placed rhymes and catchy songs just because he had insulted Geralt, and Geralt wasn’t used to being on the receiving end.

“Nilfgaard are coming, Jaskier. I couldn’t leave you in danger. They are looking for you, because of me.”

Jaskier scoffed, throwing his arms up, almost knocking an ink bottle flying. “Nilfgaard, wow. Yup, yes, should have expected that.”

“I’m here to protect you,” Geralt growled, “and- and because I miss you.”

“Miss me?” Jaskier hissed, stepping forward so that there was barely any space between them, his sweet chamomile scent now flooding Geralt’s senses. “You should have led with that, witcher.”

“I-”

“Fine, you want to apologise. On your knees, grovel. I won’t follow you blindly again, Geralt. I need to know you won’t hurt me. You want to protect me?”

“Yes,” Geralt answered without hesitation.

“Then know that no one on this Continent has ever hurt me like you did on that fucking mountain. Forgiveness will take time,” Jaskier said haughtily, and Geralt dropped to his knees. He finally saw Jaskier’s rage for what it was; a shield. Jaskier was trying to protect himself… from Geralt.

“I am sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice shaking but sincere. “I only ever meant to protect you. I lashed out. I was hurting after Yennefer. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, but-”

“Hollow excuses.”

“But I was scared,” Geralt finally glanced up, and oh what a sight. Jaskier was looming above him, his hair almost coppery in the candle light. He looked like a messenger from the gods. “My life is a dangerous one. I fucked up Yennefer’s life with one breath, how could I possibly risk doing the same for you?”

“You already did.”

“But you’re alive,” Geralt whispered quietly.

“I would have rather died, Geralt,” Jaskier hissed.

“Don’t be so dramatic, bard.”

“If it meant giving up my life with you. Life with you was the greatest adventure, there was never a dull moment. I got to live every single day. Now look at me, I’m trapped in a cage without the best friend I’ve ever had,” Jaskier spat. “So you’ll have to do better than that.”

Geralt lowered his gaze once more. He was running out of options, but there was one more card that he held close to his heart, rarely even admitting it to himself. They say that love can conquer anything. It hadn’t been true for him and Yen, but perhaps the sorceress had been right and their love was just an illusion created by his wish and the spell she’d cast on him.

“I love you,” he whispered, loud enough for human ears to hear but still a quiet admission, one he’d never said out loud before.

Jaskier didn’t say anything. Instead, there was a gentle tug at Geralt’s hair as Jaskier pulled the tie from its place. Geralt stayed still, letting his words hang in the air. The bard’s fingers began to gently run through Geralt’s hair, each touch sending warm tingles down his spine, and he felt his breathing relax almost into a meditative state. Jaskier had done this before when they were on the path, braiding Geralt’s hair whilst he meditated, but this felt different, there had never been this spark burning between them before.

There had never been those words lying heavy on Geralt’s tongue before. “I love you, Jask,” he repeated, his voice more slurred this time and he felt almost as if he had been drugged, his head feeling foggy. The haze got thicker with every stroke of Jaskier’s hand through his hair.

“Oh, dear heart,” Jaskier cooed, his voice sounding almost like a dream. “You have no idea how long I’ve yearned to hear those words.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt mumbled. “Forgive me, Julek.”

“In time, my darling, in time,” Jaskier breathed, his scent sweeter now, something akin to arousal. It was hard to tell through the fuzziness in Geralt’s head.

There was a low whine, that Geralt vaguely registered as coming from him. Heat was beginning to thrum through his body, and he slowly realised that at some point he’d shut his eyes, completely submitting to his bard in his attempts to earn Jaskier’s forgiveness. He felt Jaskier’s fingers cupping his cheek, hooking under his chin. Geralt whimpered as he struggled to open his eyes.

“There you are, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, “apology accepted, dear heart.”

“Jask…”

“I know, I know, I’m here,” the words washed over Geralt like a warm breeze.

“I- I- want…” Geralt didn’t know what he was asking for or what he wanted, but his head was spinning and suddenly the hand in his hair wasn’t enough. He’d gone so long without seeing Jaskier, and now that they weren’t together, it was like a dam had broken. All the things he’d been denying himself for years…

“Shh, Geralt, I’ve got you,” Jaskier hummed, and before Geralt could protest, he felt the press of Jaskier’s fingers at his lips. Eagerly, Geralt opened his lips, taking the digits into his mouth and sucking gently. He gazed up at his bard, drunk on the feeling of his own arousal.

Geralt had never seen Jaskier in his element at Oxenfurt before but the calm way in which Jaskier commanded the room was enticing. This was Jaskier’s office, his space. Geralt was the guest here, not the other way round. Usually Jaskier had to fit into Geralt’s life, but now it was Geralt’s turn, kneeling at the professor’s feet, a willing student, begging for another chance.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, cocking his head so that his long hair fell in front of his eyes. “Do- do you want this?”

Geralt hummed around Jaskier’s fingers, nodding his head. It felt like a stupid question. How could he not want this? It was everything he’d never let himself dream of. He tried to say yes, but the word was muffled by Jaskier’s fingers.

“Gods, darling, you look so beautiful like this,” Jaskier cooed, and there was a sharp tug in Geralt’s head. He moaned around Jaskier’s fingers, vaguely aware that his cock was now painfully hard in his trousers. “That’s it, my love, sing for me.”

Geralt moaned again, sucking at the fingers in his mouth, enjoying the weight on his tongue. He’d never done anything like this before, but with Jaskier it just felt right. When he’d come to Oxenfurt he hadn’t expected anything like this to happen. He’d been praying to whatever gods were listening that Jaskier would forgive him, anything more than that had been an impossible dream. Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut and he hummed happily, shifting his weight until he was in a more comfortable position, the one he used for meditating. Like this, he could sit at Jaskier’s feet for hours should the bard wish.

But instead, Jaskier pulled his fingers from Geralt’s mouth. The emptiness left an ache deep inside Geralt that he hadn’t expected, but Jaskier’s other hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head so he was forced to look up at the bard. There was an undeniable fondness in Jaskier’s eyes, and between the beard and the extra weight he’d put on now that he was settled at Oxenfurt, he looked so warm… cuddly.

And Geralt wanted him.

“Can I- do you want my cock?” Jaskier stumbled over the words, a break in his previously mask of calmness. “We don’t- it’s just a suggestion…”

“Yes,” Geralt breathed, gazing up at the man he loved. In fact, he could think of nothing he wanted more in that moment. He swallowed, his mouth dry as he shuffled forward to nuzzle against the bulge in Jaskier’s trousers. Jaskier groaned as Geralt mouthed at his erection through the fabric. “Please, Jaskier.”

“Go on then, witcher, please me.”

Geralt’s fingers shook as he untied the lacing at the front of Jaskier’s trousers, and they moaned in unison as he finally took the tip of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth, the taste of precum bitter on his tongue.

“Gods, Geralt, I never thought I’d see the day…”

Geralt just hummed, licking at Jaskier’s slit before bobbing his head, slowly taking more into his mouth. There was another tug at his hair and he hummed, relaxing into his movements as Jaskier slowly began to rock his hips, gently thrusting into Geralt’s mouth. All the while, a steady stream of soft praises fell from the bard’s lips. Geralt had never felt particularly aroused from sucking cock before, but at Jaskier’s feet, the gentle words lingering in the air and the rhythmic touch of fingers caressing through his hair, he was closer to cumming than he thought possible.

He gasped as he pulled back, biting back a moan as he rested his head on Jaskier’s thigh. “I- Jask, fuck…”

“Shall I take you to bed, darling?” Jaskier cooed, gently pulling Geralt to his feet.

His legs were shaking and he fell into his bard's waiting arms, burying his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. Geralt hummed as he kissed Jaskier’s neck, the soft bristles of the bard’s beard warm against his skin. “Your beard is soft,” he murmured, running his lips along the edge of the beard until they were ghosting over Jaskier’s lips, a tease of a kiss yet to come.

Jaskier laughed, pressing their foreheads together. “The luxuries of Oxenfurt, my dear witcher.”

“Smells good too,” Geralt hummed, finally capturing Jaskier’s lips in a chaste kiss. The bard moaned quietly and his fingers dug into Geralt’s side, pulling him closer. “Smells like home.”

After a few moments of being lost in each other, Jaskier finally took Geralt’s hand, lacing their fingers together and leading him through the office to the bedroom that lay beyond. They had a long way to go before Geralt was truly forgiven but this was a start.

This was their start, their new beginning, a new chapter in their adventure.

[galaticrow546]

Ok so i started to write this before chapter 9 even came out sooo yeh :'), idk i just wanted to write something about a "what If Blue and Ink finally got little Dream back but Dream is acting in a way they didnt expect" and yeh i tried-

Anyways, OSD belongs to @calcium-cat ( seriously go check them out the story is good and her art is neat af )

Ah yes, a new day, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, everything is peaceful, Blue sighs relieved and sips his coffee while sitting on the fluffy blue couch, reading a book about a hero perhaps? Blue noticed how little he was paying attention, but its fine right? He feels like today is going to be a good day-

*Thump*

Well, today WAS a good day, It seems that the tiny guardian just woke up, and unfortunately, Dream hasnt been in the best mood or behavior ever since they got him out of Night’s castle, he has no Idea why Dream is so angry at them, Neither Blue nor Ink know why, but Dream sure wasnt taking It well.

As the small angry child approached the couch, Blue quickly stood up and faced him:

-“Good morning dear, how are yo-“

-“No”

Blue paused and blinked, its not a new thing that Dream wasnt up for talking, but for one month straight? Blue wouldnt say It out loud, but he was getting sad at the situation:

-“....right” Blue said sadly

As the angry looking child stared at Blue, Ink got down the stairs in a white blue-striped pajamas:

-“Hey yall, good morni-“

Dream quickly hissed and got ready to jump at Ink, in which Ink hissed playfully in return, but this got the toddler even more angry, after a minute, the toddler started to hit ink’s legs with his tiny hands, but they hardly hurt Ink, as Ink playfully mocks Dream, he gets more motivated to hit Ink like there is no tommorrow, Blue silently watches them from afar, he wished the toddler didnt hit or hiss at Ink so much.

Blue silently left the living room and went to the kitchen to grab something for Ink to eat, today was his turn to patrol the multiverse while Blue stays and takes care of Dream, as he explored the kitchen, he quickly made a sandwich and took a banana, then placing It in the bag and wrapping it up nicely, as he finished, he quickly left the kitchen and went back into the living room:

-“Ink, take this bag with you in the patrol, remember to drink water and to take a little break If you want to- oh c’mon“

Blue glared at the scene in front of him, Ink was holding Dream wrapped in a blanket, the toddler was screaming and wriggling in the blanket furiously, Ink just giggled and sometimes told him to calm down, only to be answered with a death stare from the child in return.

Ink quickly stared at Blue with a grin:

-“Uh, oh? Were you saying something Blue?”

Blue quietly glared at Ink with a tired gaze and then pointed at the bag, the bag had a text written in It saying “for patrol”, Ink silently looked at It:

-“...what?...oh-“

Ink quickly left the angry toddler at the sofa as It squirmed himself free from the blanket, hurried towards Blue and took the bag, as he was heading towards the door, Blue quickly grabbed a fistfull of his clothes, as Ink looked back at him with a confused glare:

-“Your clothes, you are still in pajamas Ink“ Blue slightly grinned

Ink paused and glared at himself, and then a look of realization made its way on his face, he thanked Blue for reminding him and hurriedly ran back to his bedroom to change.

The toddler in the sofa eventually made his way out of the blanket and slowly walked towards Blue with the blanket in hands, eventually he silently gave It to Blue and then walked away to the kitchen.

Blue stood confused and with the blanket in hands, eventually folding It and heading to Dream’s bedroom, eventually placing It on his yellow fluffy bed, Blue looked at the bed for a while, its hard to not remember the times when Dream was with them and when he wasnt a angry child, he wished Dream could open up to them just like he did in the past.

He hasnt realized that Ink was staring at him from the bedroom door, silently waiting for Blue to turn around, but eventually, Ink went in and hugged Blue from the side of his body, Blue jumped a little and looked at Ink, he just stared back with a serious expression, eventually smiling at Blue, this made Blue giggle a little as they both made their way outside Dream’s bedroom.

As they were getting down the stairs, Dream silently stared at them with a bored face, Ink playfully greets him as Dream ignores the greeting, eventually, Ink and Blue made their ways to the front door, Ink hurriedly says goodbye to both of them as he left, Blue quickly screamed behind:

-“HAVE A GOOD DAY PATROLLING, AND BE CAREFUL”

Ink looked back and waved at Blue, and then, he was gone, Blue sighed as he returned back home, he was about to sit down before hearing a strange sound in the kitchen, he blinked and sighed yet again, heading to the kitchen

Blue arrived at the kitchen only to see Dream sitting in the counter drinking a cup of water while looking bored, he paused and stared at Blue, he then looked back at his water and kept drinking It:

-“Dream, get down from there please” Blue started

-“Hmmmmmm no” replied Dream while looking at his now empty cup

Blue stared at Dream with a serious expression, as he approached the tiny guardian, Dream was busy refilling his cup:

-“Dream im serious-“

-“Nah“

Blue paused in front of Dream, the guardian stared back with a bored but relaxed look as he sipped from his now refilled cup, but quickly screamed a little when Blue suddenly grabbed him and brought him to his eye level, Blue looked at him silently before he spoke up:

-“Get off the counter, you might fall and get hurt“

Dream stayed silently and looked nervously at Blue, only to gulp and slowly wrap his hands around Blue, as Blue brought him down gently

Dream nervously looked up at Blue with cup on hands, the other stared back with a sigh and a frown, Dream quickly drank his water and gave the empty wet cup to the skeleton in front of him, only to run away right after, Blue blinks silently, and then immediatly follows him after putting the cup on the counter

As Blue got in the living room, Dream was sitting on the sofa with a bored expression, that quickly changed to a angry stare once he spotted Blue:

-“...what?“

Dream stayed silent, but after a while, spoke up:

-“...why?“

-“Why what?“

-“Why did you guys take me away from my brother?”

-“Your brother is evi-“

Dream gasped in offense, eyes wide and with a expression of disgust:

-“MY brother is the sweetest and nicest person i know! Stop saying nonsense!“

Blue paused terrified at the sudden reply, did Night brainwash him somehow? If he did, how could he fix that now? He needed to act quick:

-“But the people he is with are also evi-“

-“Stop“

Blue stared at the angry child, he felt himself getting more determined to tell Dream the truth about his “family” as Dream likes to call them, but apparently, the kid didnt want to listen, as Blue opened his mouth to say something else, Dream interrupted:

-“Do you even know what you’re talking about? I dont want to talk with someone who associates himself with the mean Ink guy who hurt my brother and who also hurt Cross, dont think i forgot the day you both took me away“

Blue stood silent, the kid had a point, but he didnt think Dream would actually hold a grudge against Ink or him, coming to think about It, the grudge with Ink should be stronger now, after all, Cross was alone with Dream when they invaded Night’s castle, It was weird, but a opportunity to get their friend back, and Dream tried to protect Cross so much, but It was all in vain as Ink injured Cross severely, he will never forget the horrified look on Dream’s face when he saw Cross hurt and almost passing out, and the expression of anger that came right after was dreadful.

Ink grabbed Dream with no problem, but then constantly tried to keep Dream from squirming and hitting them, begging to be let go, Blue just followed right after, but It seems that their relationship became even more strained when Ink began taking almost everything he said as a joke, Dream didnt even talk with them that day, and hissed angrily whenever they tried to approach him, its weird to think that this happened a month ago.

Blue didnt notice how long he has been silent and lost in thought, by the time he noticed that, he also noticed that the child was still staring at him angrily, as If he was expecting a response, but It quickly turned into an annoyed expression as Dream spoke up annoyed:

-“Ugh, nevermind, I’ll just go to my room“

Blue tried to tell Dream to wait up, but the toddler could care less to hear him, as Dream’s bedroom door closed up with a loud thud.

Blue looked up to the closed door sadly, but he knew that Dream needed some time, everytime those fights happened, It would always end with Dream getting in his room angrily, Blue cant help but feel bad whenever he heard sniffles coming from inside the room when he walked in front of It.

Blue heads to the kitchen to perhaps make something to eat for himself, that will distract him right? right.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

He forgot how long Dream usually stayed there, sometimes It would last hours upon hours, but sometimes only minutes, but no matter how long It lasted, It still hurts Blue to the core, he hated seeing Dream all sad, he could manage to deal with na angry Dream, but with a sad Dream who is not willing to talk? He just couldnt.

Blue was sitting on the sofa yet again while he was thinking about It, as he looked outside the nearby window, It was already sunset, he decided to at least see how Dream was doing since the sniffling and the muffled cries have stopped, as he got up from the sofa and walked towards the bedroom door, he paused and looked at the door sadly, carefully paying attention to the sounds, but nothing was heard from inside, with a worried feeling, Blue slowly turned the handle to the side, opening the door carefully and taking a peep inside, only to see Dream silently looking at a piece of paper with tears on his eyes, he seemed so tired, yet so sad, Blue felt a heartbreak start to become clearer on his soul, he slowly and careful got in, carefully approaching the sad child, hoping that he could at least comfort It, but as he approached further, Dream quickly looked scared at his direction while hiding the paper from Blue’s view:

-“...its ok, you dont have to show It to me“

Dream stayed silent, tears still on his eyes, he began to curl up protectively and shake, Blue looked nervously and stopped approaching, just looking at the child with an sad look, they both stayed in silence staring at each other until Blue asked softly:

-“Are you ok with me approaching you a little?“

Dream stared silently, some minutes have passed before he nodded slowly, Blue began slowly approaching the crying child, being careful to not make any moves that might scare Dream further, Dream began to slowly uncurl himself up and looked up at Blue, with his arms protecting the paper, Blue stopped and began assuring the kid:

-“Its ok, I wont take It or destroy It in any way, you can stay with It“

The tiny child seemed relieved but doubtful when Blue assured that, Blue began to once again approach the small child, then bending to his level once he got close enough, Blue stared at Dream with a soft look, Dream stared back with a blank stare, heavy breaths could be heard from the tiny kid, Blue carefully approached his hand towards Dream, the little one staring at It with a worried look, but then, as Blue’s hand touched his skull gently, Dream stopped breathing for a moment, confused as to why Blue was doing this and why was his gloves so soft, Dream didnt move at all for a moment, but then slowly rubbed his head on Blue’s hand, Blue moved along and asked the child If he was ok with It, Dream nodded gently as Blue took his hand away.

Dream blinked confused, but as Blue’s hands began drying his tears, he started speaking:

-“...I want to suggest something, but I will only do so If you are willing to hear me“

Dream stared at Blue, and then nodded curiously, Blue wont admit It, but he feels incredibly happy that Dream is starting to somewhat trust him:

-“A-alrighty, so, I suggest that we try to start listening to each other carefully-“

Dream opened his mouth with a little angry expression, but quickly backed down when Blue started to speak again:

-“It doesnt have to be a fight, It can be a calm conversation where we listen to each other and maybe even understand each other“

The little child softly stared at Blue, then looking to the side as If he was thinking about the suggestion, and then asked softly:

-“...will you be willing to listen to me?“

Blue smiled softly:

-“Of course Dream“

Dream sighed in relief, and gently approached Blue, his hand gently wrapping around the tiny guardian, Dream slowly analizes Blue, staring at his clothes and his face as Blue just let him, and before Blue knew It, he was shaking with joy, his little friend was now trusting him and looked somewhat calm, but for Blue, It was everything, Dream worriedly looked up at him when he noticed the sudden shaking and the overly happy look on the skeleton’s face:

-“Uhhhh, are you ok mister?“

-“Y-yeah“ Blue answered happily

Dream’s face approached further and started to analize the monster’s excited face, and It seemed to get even more excited the more Dream approached, but Blue couldnt handle It when a tiny hand started poking his face, Blue fell on his back and Dream squeaked in surprise, falling over to his back as well, but then getting up and rushing to Blue:

-“Um, uh, are you sure you’re ok?“

Blue stayed silent, little Dream approached further and poked his cheek various times, he was getting worried about the tall skeleton, but then noticed the big smile on Its face, Dream paused and looked at the smile, poking It at the process, Blue got spooked and looked up at the child poking him:

-“Huh? Uhhh...oh! Yeah im fine, dont worry Dreamy“

The child gave a small relieved sigh, and then smiled softly while lightly hitting Blue’s arm:

-“You scared me for a moment“

-“Heh, sorry“

Blue stared at Dream with a wide grin, as Dream suddenly turned around and laid down on his back above Blue like he was a matress, Blue squeaked with surprise and was about to ask what he was doing before noticing his eyes closed, Dream looked quite relaxed, and Blue didnt want to ruin that, so he watched as the child slowly fell asleep on his body, petting him gently as he did so, he doesnt know exactly what will happen from now on, but he is excited to see what the future holds.

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

Tag List: @tealnymph-writes @trashforazriel @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @flora-shadowshine @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist @sagureads @katiebellf @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sv0430

Slide into those DMs or reply to this post if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

[angelofsmalldeathandthecodeine]

Disasters and Detentions

Request: “Hi! Can i please request A fred weasley x reader (I love my boy fred lol). With the angst prompt 16 and fluff prompt 12 and 9 please? Tyty i love your writing!”

(”Why do you care?”/”Oh my God! you’re in love with him”/”God, you’re so fucking cute”

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1.9k (I got excited or whateva)

A/N: These were suchhh cute prompts to work with, I really love writing the twins in a school enviroment it gives me good vibes :) ALSO this is so long but like I said before, the twins x fluff = a dream.

The Triwizard tournament was all anyone had been talking about recently, and while you could admit it was an exciting year for Hogwarts with the Yule Ball too, you couldn’t help but get tired of everyone’s eagerness – even those too young to participate.

You sat with your friend Hermione, completing work, and simultaneously watching as students in their sixth and seventh year entered their names into the goblet, each time admiring the flicker of the sapphire blue flame.

“Isn’t he dreamy” Hermione commented, gazing at Cedric Diggory who had just placed his name into the Goblet, receiving a warm welcoming from the inferno, indicating acceptance.

“I guess” you said, looking up towards harry noticing he had the exact same grin on his face as yourself. You both knew exactly what Hermione was trying to do and by the looks of Ron it had worked.

You understood why all the girls would swoon over the older, prince charming-like Cedric, but you had someone different in your thoughts…. much different.

Suddenly the room was filled with clapping and cheering as if Gryffindor had just won the Quidditch Cup.

“YESSS” you heard the raspy laughs of what could only be Fred and George, running into the hall with a test tube each. The way the light hit Fred’s copper hair as he ran towards the goblet had caught you in a trance. His Hazel eyes, his bright smile and pale complexion… it was all you could focus on.

Suddenly you were met with a hand being waved across your face which disrupted your line of sight and snapped you back into reality.

“What on earth has gotten into you” Hermione asked, with a puzzled expression on her face.

“uh, nothing just tired” you replied in an attempt to draw as little attention as possible to what was actually distracting you.

“Well lads, we’ve done it” George announced to the mass of applause “cooked it up just this morning”, as soon as you heard Fred’s voice you couldn’t help but swoon at the sound, gaining another weird look from Hermione.

“It’s not going to work” Hermione sung, in a rather condescending manner.

Before you knew it, you were inches away from Fred, who had accompanied his brother in lowering himself to yours and Hermione’s level.

“Oh yeah?” Fred asked, patronisingly back whilst leaning an arm on your shoulder. You weren’t sure what to do in that moment other than freeze and try not to make any eye contact. You could feel your palms get sweatier by the second and your breathing start to increase at a stupidly rapid rate.

“And why’s that Granger?” George then asked, with sole focus on beating Hermione in this sort of battle of ‘who’s right’.

Strangely you thought could feel Fred’s eyes, looking you up and down, which only caused your body to tense up even more than it was before.

You zoned out completely every word that Hermione spoke, only being able to pay attention to the arm that rested on your shoulder and the lips that were inches away from your face.

“Ah but that’s why it’s so brilliant” Fred said, this time you had gained some confidence to look slightly in his way to which you were then face to face with his mischievous grin.

“Because it’s so pathetically dim-witted” George over emphasised in Hermione’s scolding face, causing you to giggle like a schoolgirl.

God, how pathetically dim-witted of you.

Fred and George looked at each other before rising to their naturally giant-like height in high spirits of just winning an argument against Hermione Granger.

Whilst putting a thumb over the test tubes to shake them you couldn’t help but kind of worry about Fred. It was such a strange feeling, you knew how much of a prankster both him and his twin were, but the potion was dangerous, and not nearly as dangerous as if they managed to enter the tournament itself.

“I hope he’s alright” you accidentally mumbled under your breath, causing a slightly aggravated Hermione to snap back.

“What, Fred? Why do you care?” she replied, meeting your gaze focusing on Fred.

There was silence for what seemed like forever, you didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to make it obvious, “I don’t I just, uh, I made one of those potions myself at home, nasty things” you settled with.

Yet, you were forgetting who exactly you were talking to, they don’t call her the brightest witch for her age for no reason. Hermione looked at you, who then looked at Fred, who seemed to be looking in your direction and suddenly the light bulb inside her turned on.

“Oh my God! You’re in love with him!” Hermione gasped, giggling in the process.

“Shh Hermione!” you attempted to reduce the chances of anyone hearing the truth, especially that of Fred.

“Ready Fred?”

“Ready George”

“Bottoms up” the twins sang in unison which helped distract Hermione from the information that she had just heard. Fred and George proceeded to jump into the ring of fire that guarded the Goblet, letting out a very confident “Yesss” that got the crowd going once more.

Putting their names in the fire seemed to actually work, gaining a repeated and very smug “Yeahhh” from both the twins – yet there’s one thing you had learnt during your time at Hogwarts, and it was that Hermione was always right.

Instantaneously there was a flash of blue light and before you knew it both the twins were rolling around on the floor with white beards, rather resembling Dumbledore himself.

You couldn’t help but really belly laugh at their stupidity as the crowd chanted “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

“Detention! The both of you!” McGonagall’s voice went straight though you, yet you continued to laugh at the twins’ misfortune as she attempted to separate them.

“And I suppose you find this funny miss Y/L/N” McGonagall’s eye caught your line of sight, “then I shall see you in detention with these two buffoons”

You groaned at the thought, which seemed to only antagonise her further “Oh and since the three of you are in Gryffindor, 10 points from Gryffindor” she spoke in a high tone, which earned a groan from the majority of the room.

 \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Later that day you had found yourself in the detention hall with both Fred and George, alongside a few other misbehaving students. Don’t get me wrong, you had sat through your fair share of detentions, it was just that this year you had promised yourself that you would try and reduce the amount of time you had to spend with Professor Snape.

After what felt like an eternity, Snape put his head down to mark some work and you felt like you could finally breathe.

A paper bird landed onto your desk, bringing you back into the real world.

The note simply read:

‘I’m sorry for getting you into trouble’

You turned around discreetly to be met by Fred, who gave you a gentle smile, and in turn you were holding in quite possibly the biggest smile you have ever had before.

“God, you’re so fucking cute” you mumbled to yourself whilst reading the note, but before you knew it Fred’s message started to disappear, and the ink began to write the last words you spoke.

Of course, Fred had used magical ink. “oh no no no” you began to panic quietly, frantically trying to think of a spell that would erase the words on the note. Yet, your anxious mind only hindered your time and the note began to transform into a paper bird and fly behind you towards Fred’s seat.

You started to sink into yours, literally face palming at the thought of Fred reading those words. You were so embarrassed that right then and there you had sworn you just wouldn’t open your mouth for the rest of the year.

Since you hadn’t got another note back and you hadn’t turned around to check, you prayed that the paper bird had just got lost on the way back to him.

Once detention had finished you collected your books and rushed out of Snape’s classroom, faster than you ever had before.

“Oi! Y/N! where you off too?” Fred’s voice unexpectedly called after you, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

“Just uh, the common room” you replied without looking back to face him, maybe everything was alright after all, and maybe Fred really hadn’t seen your note.

“Great, I’ll walk you”, you heard Fred’s footsteps get closer and closer to you, before finally gaining the courage to face him in hopes of his cluelessness.

“Oh by the way, this is for you” Fred opened his two hands to reveal a paper bird, pecking at his palm, “couldn’t have gave it to you back then of course, Snape was watching me like a hawk” he laughed before allowing the bird to flutter into your hands.

Your heart sank at the thought of opening the note, with a sick feeling in your stomach.

‘Y/N,

I had no idea you felt that way, but in that case… You’re way cuter’

You giggled slightly, feeling a sense of relief yet still feeling extremely anxious. Fred Weasley thought you were cute. You couldn’t believe it.

Finally looking up from the note, you noticed Fred’s hazel eyes staring longingly into your own, and you couldn’t look away.

You watched as he lifted his hand to your cheek, pushing back the hair that draped slightly over your face. The brush of his fingers on your skin felt so soft and warm, yet your gaze remained. In that moment you felt no sickness, no heart sinking, and no anxiety… just butterflies in your stomach and a sense of serenity.

“Is this okay?” Fred asked, and with one nod from you he began to lean in closer, causing you to slowly press onto your tip toes to make his job a little easier. This time he lifted his right hand to cup your face completely.

Upon instinct you closed your eyes, feeling your face be lifted towards his. You could feel the warmth of Fred’s breath grow closer, placing your hands on his lower torso where they would naturally reach.

The moment was perfect, and without a second thought your lips met Fred’s in a soft exchange. The initial kiss allowed you to linger for a moment, digesting the feeling of not only his face against yours but his fingers entwined in your hair.

Your lips were left cold but sweet as you breathed into Fred, causing him to place a second kiss on your lips returning the warmth you had just felt. This time you felt the corners of Fred’s mouth curl into a smile which made you do the same.

Pulling away slightly and starting to land on the heels of your feet you began to open your eyes slightly, seeing Fred’s adorable smile with his eyes closed. He began to pull you up again ever so slightly, eyes still closed.

“Hang on, just one more” he seemed in a trance, and giggling you put your hands around his neck to which he lifted you gently. The third kiss was as good as the first and second, and with that you were placed onto the ground, spiritually and physically.

You and Fred giggled at each other when finally opening both your eyes to see each other again. You felt Fred’s hand snake down your arm to meet your own hand, locking his fingers between yours.

You looked down at the floor and bit your lip at the afterthought of the moment, gripping Fred’s hand tightly as he let out a heavy breath.

“I bloody love detention” Fred announced as you walked hand in hand towards the common room, giggling.

[chainhead]

ink

leon has tattoos. ethan was never informed.

leon/ethan. mild swearing. smug leon, done-with-life ethan. fluffy!

It's fine. It's fine. This is totally fine.

Is it weird? Is he weird? God, he must be weird. It's nothing to get this riled up over, yet here he is, peeking over at Leon every now and then to catch a quick glimpse of the ink that spirals up his forearm.

Ethan bites his lip. Twirls the pen in his hand and clicks the button on top a few times, his desk work momentarily forgotten.

No, this isn't normal. Then again, neither is Leon with tattoos, so how is one supposed to think? React? He's been pretty good about hiding his (admittedly disturbing) attraction to the special agent; but things like this… well, they're on the same level as glasses, or piercings. A small change that—for a select few—can turn their entire world on an axis.

How far up do they go?

Does he have more?

When did he get them, and what do they symbolize?

"Ethan?"

The blonde startles, blue eyes flickering up in embarrassment.

Leon blinks at him. "What's your damage?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. "Nothing, sorry. Just a little spacey… today."

"I'll say."

Ethan hurriedly scoots closer to his desk, quickly turning his attention back to the papers that scatter across it. He isn't even sure what he's supposed to be doing with these, or why he even got assigned to deal with them, but if things keep going the way they are, he's gonna be here all fucking night.

Ethan frowns. And then he hesitates, realization dawning on him slowly that… hey, doesn't Leon work crazy late hours, too?

No.. no, no. He's on the clock. He needs to pay attention…

"Ethan." It isn't a question this time. Ethan meets Leon's gaze with a sheepish expression, and the other man draws his brows together. "Seriously, what's going on with you?"

How does one go about confessing their guilty, weird, quid-pro-quo attraction to their superior without coming off as a freak? Better yet, how does one go about it without getting fired? Ethan feels a cold sweat prickle beneath the collar of his button-up.

I like you. I like you. I like you.

"I like…" It's like there's a solid chunk of ice stuck in his throat. "Well, I mean, your… you know."

Leon's look of concern quickly shifts into one of bewilderment. "No?" He says, real slow-like. "I don't know."

Ethan wants to die.

"It's just…"

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Ethan's hands are clammy and cold and he regrets even opening his mouth; wishing he could've just opted to say that he feels sick and his head hurts, and maybe even take the rest of the night off so he could reflect on all of this – perhaps over a nice glass of red wine. Instead, because he's terrible at socializing and even worse at socializing with Leon, he's currently staring the agent down with terror flashing in his eyes.

Leon doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's dying to get this over with, just like Ethan is.

"Y– you can't get mad," Ethan stammers, clenching his fingers.

More silence.

Ethan sighs. Then, finally, he lays down his cards with a quiet, "Your tattoos."

Leon tilts his head. "... Mine?" He asks, a bit delayed, and Ethan has never wanted to evaporate into thin air more than he does right now.

"Yeah."

"Like, the ones on my arms?" Leon rotates his wrists, glancing down at his own artwork. 

"Yeah."

"Ah." 

Great. When should he start packing up his belongings? Now? Tomorrow? There's a spare produce box in the break room, and he only has a couple of personal items on his desk. His name placard, a picture of his childhood dog, a cup full of pens he got on clearance at Staples…

Although Ethan doesn't get to stand up or prepare before Leon is speaking again, his voice surprisingly nonchalant. 

"And...?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. That's a good question. "They're… distracting me?" Vague enough to keep matters civil. He can do this. "And that's why I'm a little… slow, today. I think. Because they're doing that. Distracting me, I mean."

Leon hums, acknowledging that he heard Ethan's answer. He waits, silent until Ethan manages to scrounge up the courage to meet him eye-to-eye, and then he laughs.

There's something to be said about the way in which Leon handles all things; from topics as serious as bioweapons wreaking havoc on unsuspecting townhomes, to things like this – Ethan admitting he's intrigued by the older man's ink. He's good at finding the balance while still remaining cool and collected, and that's a trait Ethan's always admired.

Because, sadly, he cannot do that.

"I knew there was something about you, Winters," Leon says jovially, as if he's uncovered some grand secret. He leans back in his chair, pushes himself a little further away from his desk, and says: "Do you want to come have a better look?"

Ethan nearly chokes on his spit. "W– wh– what?"

Leon's grin widens. He's enjoying this. "I can't have distractions in the workplace. So if you're curious, and think it might help you refocus, I implore you to get your ass over here and take a gander."

The blonde flusters, his lips screwing into a scowl. Implore. What did this guy know about words like that?

Regardless, he still obediently gathers himself to his feet, taking the necessary steps to close the distance between him and Leon. The fine hairs on the back of Ethan's neck stand at attention, and he's acutely aware of the personal bubble he is now officially bursting— not that Leon seems to notice, or mind.

Infact, the only thing he does when Ethan comes to stand beside his chair is jut both arms out, letting Ethan do whatever he likes.

Instinctively, Ethan grabs them. Then panics, because holy shit, he's touching Leon fucking Kennedy. Then double panics, because why did he do that? Why is he still doing it right now?

"Uh…"

"You just wanted to hold hands?"

"N– no!" Ethan exclaims, immediately letting go. Leon bursts out into full-bellied laughter, and the blonde has to take a deep breath before he passes out from his nerves. "Jesus, Leon, I– I was trying to bring them a little closer."

"Oh right, the bad eyesight," Leon drawls. "I forgot you wear glasses sometimes. Near-sighted?"

"Far-sighted. Now shut up and let me look," Ethan snaps, finding his second wind. He reaches for Leon's arms again and finds relief in how the older man wordlessly obliges; giving Ethan the opportunity to twist his arms and inspect the patterns that dance across them. It's not a situation Ethan could've expected, or even predicted, but Leon's right about one thing—this is definitely scratching that terrible itch he feels, somewhere deep down. No more needing to sneak creepy, uncomfortable glances to figure out what they are.

However, he'll always wonder where the tattoos lead. And how many more of them Leon has, hidden underneath all those layers of fabric.

"I see." Ethan nods, smiling faintly as he releases his grip again. "They're cool, I wasn't expecting you to have them. Then again, I've never seen you wear anything other than long sleeves."

Leon quirks a brow. "You pay attention?"

Ethan's smile drops. "Oh. I mean, not in like– not in a weird way, that isn't what—"

There's the sound of a scoff, and then Leon's hands are on Ethan's wrists, gently pulling him down to his level. The blonde stumbles forwards and catches himself with a knee on Leon's chair, and the situation is so intense and utterly stifling that Ethan has to rear away with his eyes narrowed in firm on the office door.

"Ethan," Leon coos.

The blonde makes a noncommittal sound in his throat. 

"Ethan, c'mon, look at me."

There's no way this is happening right now. No feasible way. He must be dreaming.

Ethan registers with rapt attention as Leon let's go of his wrists in favor of bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks, and whether Ethan wants to submit or not isn't really an option anymore. Determinedly, the older man coaxes him to meet his gaze again.

"Shy?" Leon teases, and then quickly changes his tune when Ethan struggles in his grasp. "Okay, okay, I was just kidding! Damn."

"Leon—"

"Hold on for a second, sweetheart. I've got a few things on my mind." Ethan's face burns as he tries to process this, process the feel of Leon's touch as it sears itself into his memory. His heart pounds so fiercely in his chest he fears that Leon can feel it, but if he does, he doesn't comment.

Leon brushes his thumbs over Ethan's cheekbones. "You thought I'd be mad?"

"It's... unprofessional," Ethan breathes.

"What is?" Leon asks. His eyes are so blue. "Wanting to see my tattoos?"

Ethan nods. Leon snickers, pulling him that much closer, and the blonde is enveloped in the smell of bergamot and gunpowder and something spicy like sage, and… what was the question again? He can't think clearly when he can feel Leon's words flit across his lips.

"The only 'unprofessional' thing I see is the subordinate about to climb into his boss's lap," Leon murmurs with a wry smile. Ethan lets out a small gasp, jolting, and Leon makes sure he doesn't slip away. "Woah, hey! I never said I didn't like it."

"L– Leon, I don't understand what's…" Ethan stutters, shivering, feeling the traces of electricity that follow Leon's fingertips. He doesn't know whether to lean into him or settle his entire weight on top of Leon, so to play it safe, he refrains from doing either.

The agent takes a moment, eyes sweeping over Ethan's features, before letting out a soft exhale. "Well, now you've seen them. I hope that helped you find some kind of clarity..."

Not even a little bit, Ethan thinks miserably.

"... But it'll probably kill you to know that there's more than just this, and I can assure you, they are much more interesting." Leon chuckles as he tugs the blonde in one last time, and kisses him, right on the corner of his mouth.

"Still distracted?" He whispers.

Ethan can't even think of a proper reply. His brain has turned to mush.

"You…"

"Mm?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. "You're a fucking asshole."

Leon throws his head back and laughs, and when he recovers Ethan is already swooping in for another kiss. To hell with professionalism.

[carelesscreativity]

Ink’s Breaking Point: Gift for J_Demi_Creates On Twitter

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[Based on this post https://twitter.com/j_demi_creates/status/1383857865178316806?s=21]

[Set in FGOD Multiverse]

(SFW, Angst, Dismemberment)

Ink loved how they all acted like he didn't already know. He sat on the floor of the Doodlesphere, hearing Dream and Blue chattering behind him about how everyone had done very well in battle. Ink was tending to his wounds, painting back the limbs that Error had torn off his body. He'd painted back both legs and one of his arms, though it had been difficult. Error always lamented about how annoying it was that Ink wouldn't die. The glitch had seemed especially fired up today. He'd spat at Ink, telling him how all he did was get in the way. That he wasn't needed. That Ink didn't help with the balance in the slightest. He'd said it so vehemently and Ink scoffed to himself, finding it funny how Error thought Ink didn't already know all that.

"Ink?" Dream's voice brought him back and Ink held up his hand, silencing both of them. He continued to paint back his other arm in silence. He held it up and watched in quiet disappointment as his tattoos began to spread up onto the new bone, tainting it. He hated them. He finished off his hand and sighed. "Ink?" Dream had come over and knelt next to him. "You seemed upset when you came back from fighting Error. You were crying." Had he been crying? Ink furrowed his brow before the memory vaguely returned to him. Right. When Error had... reminded... him of his position. Ink had stared at him and he hadn't even realized there were tears running down his face. He hadn't felt anything. He never did.

"Yeah. Said some stuff to me. But nothing I didn't already know." Ink said quietly. That was usually how he shut down conversations like this, but it seemed that that wasn't good enough for Dream today. He sat down next to Ink, Blue coming over and settling next to Dream.

"What did he say? Because I can assure you that none of it is true." Dream insisted, his brow furrowed in concern. Ink glanced at him. It was always such genuine concern. It fascinated him in a way. Amused him. But that wasn't what he was really focused on. It was Dream's words. It was those lies that he kept fabricating off of that golden tongue of his. If he wanted to keep pushing when Ink had offered a way out, then that was his own fault. Ink met his gaze and his ever changing eyelights had faded into barely colored circles. Dream's smile faltered as Ink stood up abruptly.

"I think it's a little funny." A smile spread across Ink's face, but it was the worst kind. One without any cheer or joy. Any semblance of a positive emotion. Ink stared out over his Doodlesphere before turning to look at Dream with those pale eyelights, slowly tracing his fingers over the vials on his sash. "Dream, do you think I'm stupid?" The prince seemed taken back immediately and he began to protest that he did not. That forced, calm smile didn't leave Ink's face as he watched him. "Then that's another lie, isn't it?" Dream seemed lost and he opened his mouth. "I guess 'stupid' isn't the right word." Ink's skeletal fingers made soft clinking sounds as he dragged them up and down the vials. "Maybe 'ignorant' or 'naïve'..."

"I-Ink, I don't... I don't think you're any of those things." Dream stared at him in confusion. Blue didn't seem to know what was happening either. "Ink, what did Error say to you? I-It's clearly upset you-"

"He just reminded me of something. Something you definitely already knew. Y'see, when you greeted me for the first time as another balance-keeper, I just assumed you didn't know. But then you kept talking and it became VERY clear to me that you did know." Ink's voice was calm and he kept that smile on his face. "I think it's amazing you thought you could lie to someone who lies for a living. Who spends everyday pretending to be someone and something they're not." Dream stared at him and opened his mouth. Ink stopped him again by holding up a hand and there was an audible click as Dream shut his mouth.

It wasn't Ink holding up his hand that had gotten him to shut up. Ink had slid one of his vials from his sash. Bright red liquid almost seemed to glow inside of it. Blue gulped and stood up, Dream immediately following. He kept himself slightly in front of Blue. "He reminded me I wasn't actually necessary. That I don't actually influence the balance like he does. Like you or Nightmare do." Dream's shoulders sank as Ink met his eyes. "But you already knew those things." Ink tipped his head. Dream really wasn't liking that lazy grin. He really didn't like it. "You guys really are similar. You and your brother." Dream's gaze hardened and he began to protest. "Shut up." Ink summoned his paintbrush to his other hand and Dream did as he asked.

"You're both smart. Calculating. You both like to plan for every outcome. Look ahead into the future. That's the reason you befriended me, isn't it? It was your failsafe. You didn't befriend me with the actual intention of having me as a friend, you befriended me because I could be a real problem for you in the long run." Blue didn't understand. He knew he was uneducated when it came to the balance, but he'd always thought Ink was the one to balance out Error. Dream had told him that. And all these things. All these things Ink were saying couldn't have possibly been true. He turned to Dream to ask and froze up.

Dream's eyelights were shrunken and he couldn't seem to look at either of them. There was a pop that made both Dream and Blue jump, looking back at Ink. The cork of the vial clattered to the ground. Ink smiled at them, a facade of tired amusement. "I-I can't deny I knew... And I can't deny the reason I befriended you." Dream managed to say. "But I do care for you. I do care for you as a real friend now. Nothing I did or said was with malicious intent." Dream's voice was shaking. Blue seemed shocked as he stared at Dream. The prince glanced at him before immediately looking down, but Ink had already seemed to notice.

"So you lied to him too?" The words bit into Dream like flames. He looked up to see Ink's calm smile still plastered on his face. It had grown wider, but his eyes were white pinpricks. Dream was shaking quietly. He didn't know what to do. His entire plan, which had been formulated long before he'd actually started thinking of Ink as a true friend, was based solely on Ink not knowing that he was not a cog in the machine. It was falling apart.

"I-I did. I'm sorry, I didn't do it with malicious intent..." Blue was a little disappointed in Dream, but he was also confident Dream wouldn't have lied to him without a good reason. He just... wasn't really sure what that reason was.

"You seem confused." Ink almost cooed and it took Blue a second to realize that Ink's attention had shifted to him. For some reason, his entire body felt frozen. Why was he so tense? This was Ink. This was... This was his friend... right? Blue didn't know what to say and Ink gave an empty scoff. "Quietest I've heard you." Blue was momentarily taken back. Ink traced small circles in the air with the vial, careful to not let any of it spill out. "You know why Dream lied about everything?" Blue realized he was trembling and shook his head. Ink's grin became something sharp. Something that could cut like a knife.

"I may not be important, but I can tell I'm quite a nuisance. Error tells me that a lot. He says I'm a bitch to fight. Dream lied because I'm DANGEROUS. Isn't that right?" He gave a tiny laugh like he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. "I'm a threat to the Multiverse unless I'm leashed. Right, Dream?? You just want to keep the Multiverse happy and safe. A true hero." He sighed, his smile still not leaving his face. Blue gulped. He had his hands clasped in front of him quietly. Ink hummed softly, but it wasn't a good sound. It sent ugly prickles up both of their spines.

"I'm tired of humoring you two." Ink said bluntly. He tipped the vial into his mouth and Dream immediately began to protest.

"No!! Ink, wait, please!! We can talk about this!!" He begged, his eyes wide. Blue yelped as Dream shoved him behind him. Ink finished the vial and sighed, his arms falling to his side. He loosely gripped his paintbrush in one hand while the empty vial slipped out of his fingers in the other. The clattering sound it made seemed unbelievably loud as it echoed around the dome. Ink was panting and his tongue, which had been white the entire time had red starting to bleed through it. Ink scoffed and gave that grin.

"Talk about it??" Now Ink's voice had some emotion to it, but none of it was the good kind. “You want to talk about it? Dream, that’s INCREDIBLE.” He sounded incredulous. He gave another short burst of laughter. “Dream, you used me. I mean, I suppose not since I knew from the beginning, but you used me to help play your silly little game with Nightmare!” He snickered and shrugged, his eyes changing to those glowing red rings. One began to morph into a target. “I figured if anyone would know how it felt to be used, it would be you.”

Immediately, Dream froze up and before he knew it, Blue had pushed in front of him. “Ink, I get you’re upset, but you know how Dream feels when it comes to stuff like that!!” Ink rolled his eyes and glared at him. “Ink, please-” Out of all the things that Blue was expecting, the sharpened bone crunching through his shoulder wasn’t one of them and the force of it knocked him back. He stared at the bone in shock and he looked back up at Ink, who had formed a few more. They hovered around him menacingly.

Dream was next to Blue’s side in an instant, but Blue was already trying to get up. “Ink-”

“Nothing YOU say matters to me. We replace you every time your AU goes through a Genocide Route. I didn’t care about anything you’d said the first time and I’m sure as fuck not gonna care now for the thousandth.” Ink said, practically spitting at him. The words cut deep and Blue’s voice got stuck in his throat. Dream was shaking and he got up to say something, but could only watch as more bones began to form behind Ink. “Dream, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but nothing you could say to me will change a damn thing.” Ink tipped his head with that condescending hum again. “I’ve grown bored of you.”

He turned. “I’ve grown bored of all these monsters in these AUs.” Immediately, Dream’s eyes widened and he formed his bow, but the ink had already hit him, constricting him and sending his bow clattering a bit away. He tried to reach it and Ink came over quietly. He tipped his head again and kicked the bow further from Dream. “I’m done playing with both of you.” He raised his hand, but before he could snap his fingers, there was a fizzling noise.

Ink’s head lifted, but he didn’t look over. Blue was shaking as he looked over at the glitching portal that had opened up. Both Error and Nightmare seemed unsure of the scene in front of them. This wasn’t good. Dream’s shoulders sank. Nightmare was going to get cocky, wasn’t he? He was going to get cocky and talk about how Dream had messed up. Maybe he’d invite Ink over to their side. He jumped as he heard a soft swear.

Both Error and Nightmare had gone into defensive positions. “F-F-Finally got it through his skull, I b-b-bet.” Error’s mutter to Nightmare should’ve been soft enough that only they could hear it. But this was the Doodlesphere. This was Ink’s domain and he could hear everything. Ink froze up and that smile cracked across his face as he turned to face them. He reached up, beginning to pick at his scarf as his brush clattered next to him.

“Finally??” Ink sounded delirious as he yanked the scarf down and exposed the inside of the part that was always bunched up around his neck. There were scrawled messages over and over of how he was not a Creator. How he was not a balance-keeper. “I’ve known since the start!! I’ve known it all since the start!” There was a glint as strings wrapped themselves around his throat, tightening into the swirled bone.

“Y-Y-You made a m-m-mistake showing your throat.” Error growled. Ink scoffed and finally burst out in laughter. It was loud and it echoed through the golden dome. It felt cold. It felt cold and empty and feverish. Ink managed to calm himself to giggling as ink began to bubble up from the ground around them.

“You made a mistake coming here. What a perfect time to break your way into MY territory.” The portal was being covered up and the ink was seeping towards them, sizzling as it moved along the ground. “It would be in your best interest to remember that I can’t die.” He teleported out of Error’s strings, drifting above them. He took them all in, seeming overjoyed. He hummed and tipped his head, feigning deep thought. “I mean, I guess I can die if people forget about me.” He mused. The side of his mouth quirked in amusement and he scoffed.

They were in danger. They were all in danger and they knew it. They were lambs in a lion den. Ink smiled, eyes glowing as more bones spiraled out behind him. His face was shifting and it was one they all recognized. Large, empty eyes and a haunting fanged grin. His features became scratchy, like someone had scribbled him and it was a terror to look at as he spoke in his feverishly delighted voice. “I may not be important, but I’m NOT going to be forgotten."