#boy your merry-go-round is about to be much more than broken down

[bluerasbunny]

the merry go round broke down? more like the merry go round burnt down

[cevansbrat0007]

Growing Pains Official Masterlist

Last Updated: April 2024

About Growing Pains: This series contains an ever-growing collection of related one-shots featuring Andy’s and the Reader’s love affair at different points of their relationship. It will explore everything from the challenges of being in an interracial relationship, love and marriage, pregnancy, the ups and downs of raising a family, and more. 

Warning! Please note that many stories will often include mature themes, such as: Sex, D/s Dynamics, Daddy Kink, DD/bg Dynamics, Punishments, Angst, Violence, Spanking, Brat!Reader, Descriptions of Pregnancy and Child Birth, Discussions of Sexual Harassment, Discussions of Racial Dynamics, Cursing, and more. Minors please DNI.

All stories are listed in chronological order. Those marked with (**) indicate smut or implied smut. Special shout-out to my sweet friend, @birdie-girl​, for helping me organize and update this list yet again. I appreciate her so much! 

 ~Dating Stage~

Merry-Go-Round Magic: You and Andy finally have your first date. But what happens when things don’t go as planned?

Andy’s POV: Merry-Go-Round Magic: Told from Andy's POV. Andy and Reader’s finally have their first date, but what happens when things don't quite go as planned?

Morning After Magic: Takes place the morning after Merry-Go-Round Magic. After waking up in the arms of Andrew Barber, you invite Andy on an impromptu second second date. 

Tough Nights, Tough Times: You and Andy have a couple of tough nights. Takes place shortly after Merry-Go-Round Magic.

Dessert Before Dinner: It’s the Reader’s first time with Andy. **

Just A Friend:You make the mistake of referring to Andy as “just a friend”. Just A Friend: Bonus Scene **  [Request]

Nighttime Musings: A slew of late night insecurities have you ready to put the breaks on your relationship before it even starts. Thank goodness your boyfriend is a light sleeper. **

Fallen: It’s that time of the month, and as much as you love your boyfriend, all you want to do is go home and curl up on your couch. And you certainly do not want to talk about it. Especially not with him. **  [Request]

Bathroom Busybodies: When you show up at your boyfriend's office for the first time, the only thing you're anticipating is a lunch date with your man. You didn't bank on having to deal with gossipy coworkers.  [Request]

The Ache: You decide to tease Andy on FaceTime during your evening bubble bath. ** [Request]

I. Love. You.: You and Andy exchange those three magic words for the first time.

Cool for the Summer: What you have with Andy is so much more than just a run-of-the-mill summer fling. And you won't let it be damaged by little things like flies, or a casual dash of outdated ignorance.

Iridessa & The Lost Boy: This Halloween you refuse to let anyone dim your sparkle, unless it's your curmudgeon of a boyfriend. [Request]

The Key: A broken furnace and a slip of the tongue lead to a special gift from your very stubborn boyfriend.**

Safe With Me: You have a rough day while Andy is away on a business trip. [Request]

A Good Lesson: This takes place four months into your relationship with Andy. You learn the hard way that you are Andy’s baby girl, whether you want to be or not. And that your safety always comes first. **

Laying Down the Rules: Andy explains what the dynamic of their relationship will look like to the reader. ** [Request]

Treat Yourself: How Andy deals with your ill-advised love of ice cream. [Request] **

Two Words: Andy will always give you what you need. All he wants is to hear his two favorite words come from your pretty little mouth. [Request]

Tulip: Feeling overwhelmed, you decide to use your safe word while role playing a scene with Andy. [Request]

Taking the Blame: You and Andy end up having your first major fight at one of his office parties. But the real question is, who’s right and who’s wrong? **

Handsy: Andy always seems to have trouble keeping his hands to himself during your movie nights…**

Brat Games: It’s all fun and games when you find yourself in the mood to embrace your inner brat. **

Photo Shoot Faux Pas: Andy’s reaction to a risque anniversary gift gets you more than you bargained for. ** [Request]

The Lonely Hearts Club: You decide to press pause on your relationship with Andrew Barber. Too bad your hotshot attorney of an ex-boyfriend doesn't understand the meaning of the word. [Part 2]  [The Lonely Hearts Club: Part Three - Teaser] *Ongoing*

The Laundromat: After your smarmy, sneaky landlord refuses to fix your broken washing machine without certain payment, Reader ends up at the laundromat. And Andy isn’t happy about it.  [Request]

The Incident: An unsettling incident at your apartment forces you to rethink your current living situation. Takes place after the events in The Laundromat. **

Night Routines: You get a little creative helping Andy with his nightly skincare routine. ** Reader's Worst Spanking: An Introduction to the Hair Brush: Reader is introduced to the hairbrush during a trip over Andy's knee. **

A Lapse in Judgment: Restless energy and an ill-advised night jog land you in a heap of trouble with your man. **

Fed Up: Reader is fed up with her and Andy’s current living situation, which gives Andy palpitations.  [Request]

Communication Mishap: Reader decides to play a prank on a grumpy Andy Barber.

The Help: A lovely new neighbor shows up with intentions on Andrew Barber. Too bad he’s already taken, and not by the fucking maid.

NEW! A Simple Request: A lazy morning in bed leads to a simple request from your man...

A Little Break: Feeling naughty, you ask your boyfriend to be rough with you, and he is more than happy to deliver. **

Scissors: What Andy wants, he gets. Whether you like it or not. **

In Control: For a night you get to take control. **

Passenger Princess: You decide to embrace your inner-brat when during a boring road trip with your boyfriend, Andy Barber.**

Dating Andy (AU) Drabble: Another AU version of the series. What if Jacob was still alive? How would Andy tell him about Reader? [Request]

Thirty Minutes or Less: Andy tries to convince you to skip work and stay home with him instead.**

How Many? A Growing Pains Drabble: Andy is curious as to how many partners his girl has had.

Three Sheets to the Wind: A huge victory in the courtroom leads to a celebration and a very drunk Andrew Barber. **

Sun Soaked: A Growing Pains Drabble: After your boyfriend, Andy, tries and wins a particularly difficult case, he whisks you off on a tropical vacation. **

Deliciously Sore: You allow Andy to take you in a way no other man has ever before. [Request]**

A Brief Explanation of Andy & Reader's Dynamic [Request]** 

Punishments with Andy Barber [Request]**

Drunk reader Drabble (Ask) **

Girls Night (Ask)

Horny Reader (Ask) **

Andy Wearing Readers Bonnet (Ask)

~Engagement Stage~

That Special Anniversary: The story of Andy and Reader’s Engagement. [*See Reader’s Engagement Ring]

Spit-Shine: A surprise visit to Andy's office leads to an impromptu game of show and tell. **

No Nut Nonsense: You try to convince Andy to participate in No Nut November. It doesn't go well.** [Request]

The Credit Card Folly: After agreeing to do better with your money, you find yourself risking your ass over a pair of boots.**

That One Time You Were Not Okay: You’re used to being a badass, but what happens when you encounter something that’s simply too painful and overwhelming to deal with on your own? Will you lean on Andy?  [Request]

NEW! Reader Sends Andy on a Hunt for Fake Feminine Products (Ask)

~Newlyweds Stage~

Magic Revisited: The Wedding: Reader and Andy finally tie the knot.

Forever My Love: A Barber Honeymoon: Reader and Andy embark on their Italian honeymoon. **

Forever Partners: You and Andy are newly married and have recently moved into a new neighborhood. Everything is wonderful until the day you receive a disturbing note on your doorstep. How will you and your new husband handle it? And how will it affect your relationship? **

Forever Partners: Part Two: This is a follow-up to the events that occurred in Forever Partners. Andy and Reader's neighbor, Jeffries, just doesn't know when to quit. But Andy isn't having it.

Games We Play: Sometimes your husband likes to play little games. Now just how dirty are you willing to get for him? **

Disobedient:You disobey Andy and then get sassy about it, which means you’re going to have to pay for it.

Barber v. B.O.B: Andy catches you breaking a very important rule during a punishment…

Distant: Your husband has been pretty neglectful lately. Late nights, canceled plans, missing dinner. Is it possible that he doesn't want you anymore? **

Wet & Wild Desperation: Your husband fulfills a fantasy you didn’t quite know you had. **

~Family Stage~

First Pregnancy:

Late Night Revelations: You and your husband had never really discussed children, not after what happened with his son, Jacob. But when you find out you’re pregnant, you realize that you don’t really have a choice. [Part Two - Andy’s POV]

Ten Foot Pole: A Growing Pains Drabble: Morning sickness is the devil.

The Curious Case of the Chicken McNuggets: You sneak out one night to satisfy a late night craving, with every intent to make it back before your overly tired husband wakes up. [Part Two - Andy’s POV] **

Waddle Woes: At seven months pregnant, you've perfected the art of the waddle. Your emotions are a little out of whack. Plus you may or may not enjoy pickle and peanut butter sandwiches. And your sweet, handsome husband likes to test your delicate patience.

Cocoa Butter: A Growing Pains Drabble: You’re concerned about developing stretch marks during your pregnancy, and Andy is more than happy to help. **  

Chaos: Your baby is on the way and your urge to nest kicks in.  [Request]

A Little Scotch: When you begin to experience Braxton Hicks contractions, it sends your overprotective husband into a tizzy.

NEW! Reader’s Pregnancy Hormones (Ask)

___

First Time Parents:

The Arrival: Isn’t She Lovely?: Baby Bianca decides to make her debut to the world.

That First Night: You and Andy bring your little BiBi Barber home for the first time.

Don’t Breathe: A newborn Bianca finally goes down for a nap.

Restroom Reservations: You encounter a rude heckler as you try to feed your baby at a local bistro.

BiBi Barber’s First Word

Let Go: The Reader and Andy reconnect nine months after welcoming their first child together. After all, it’s important for Andy to remind you that you’re his baby too.

Indulge Me: You’re struggling with your post-baby body, but Andy refuses to stand by and watch his baby girl neglect herself.

Terms & Conditions: Having regained some of your old confidence, you wake up in the mood to torture Andy while he’s working from home. **

Just A Bite: Your toddler notices a bruise on your bottom and informs her Daddy. Little does she know that he was the one that put it there in the first place… **

Aviary Adventures: One of your worst fears comes to fruition.

Sweet Dreams: You can’t sleep, and neither can your baby girl. Guess it’s Daddy to the rescue. [Part Two: The Reward]  **

Hold Me:You comfort Andy while he’s dealing with a very difficult case.  

Andrew Is A Brave Man: Andrew is a very brave man for calling his wife lazy. [Part Two - Request]  [Part Three - Request]

___

Bianca “BiBi” Barber Centric Fics:

Toes: A BiBi Barber Drabble: Baby BiBi loves playing with Mommy.

BiBi’s First Steps Drabble  [Request]

The Curse Word: A BiBi Barber Drabble: Bianca drops a curse word in a public place.  [Request]

Enough: “Are we ever gonna see the Growing Pains reader beating the sh*t out of someone?”  [Request]

Roughhousing: You accidentally traumatize your toddler when she walks in on you and Andy having a little late night fun. **  [Request]

Privacies: A BiBi Barber Drabble: BiBi Barber is all about her privacy, and she is quick to let her daddy know it.

BiBi The Brave: A Growing Pains Drabble: When little Bianca realizes that there are monsters on the loose, she takes it upon herself to protect her parents.

Taco Tuesdays & Terrible Twits: You and your little family encounter a racist woman at the grocery store.

Andy & BiBi: Daddy Daughter Date: Andy and BiBi have a father daughter date while they run some morning errands.  [Request]

Tea Time: A BiBi Barber Drabble: Sunday mornings are made for tea parties.

BiBi’s First Boyfriend: The Candy Crusader: Andy finds out that little his BiBi has a boyfriend.

Preschool Brawl: You and Andy end up in the principal's office after BiBi has an altercation with a little boy at school.

BiBi Finds A New Friend: Introducing Ollie the Cat

BiBi & Stranger Danger: A Growing Pains Drabble: Andy and Reader are at the park when a strange man approaches their BiBi.

The Mess

BiBi At Work with Andy

BiBi’s Ice Cream Date

BiBi’s Wedding (Ask)

___

Second Time Parents:

BiBi Wanting Another Sibling (Ask)

NEW! Home: Andy's home is wherever you are. **

Introducing Baby Barber No. 2: Andy and Reader welcome another baby Barber into the world.

Public Displays of Affection: When an encounter with another parent at the girls' school crosses the line, you debate over whether or not you should tell your husband...

Unexpected Consequences: It's hard to talk trash when your husband keeps your naughty mouth stuffed full.  

___

BiBi & KitCat Family Centric Fics:

Big Sister BiBi: A Drabble: Reader and Andy realize that BiBi is a little more insecure than they thought she was.

Baby Barber Babbles: Bianca is confused when her baby sister KitCat won’t talk to her.

Cookie Crusades: BiBi & KitCat: BiBi and KitCat go on a late night hunt for their favorite thing: cookies.

Playground Scuffles: BiBi and KitCat get into a scuffle with a kid on the playground, prompting Mama to come to the rescue.

Late Night Fright: What happens when your home alarm goes off in the middle of the night? What happens when your greatest fear comes to life?

After That Late Night Fright: How do Reader and Andy start putting the pieces back together after the scariest night of their lives with their girls?

Tales From Adventure Land: The Barber Family takes a trip to an amusement park.

Barber Lady Spa Day: The ladies enjoy an evening spa day.

Daddy, Daughters, Dinner: Reader goes out with friends, leaving Andy alone with BiBi and KitCat.  [Request]

Morning Adventures with Daddy and His KitCat: Andy and KitCat spend a little father daughter time.

Dance With My Father Again: Andy escorts Bianca and Katrina to a Father Dance.

Friendly Ignorance: Andy encounters an old friend while his girls are playing in the park, which results in him having to teach the idiot a lesson in manners that he won’t soon forget.  [Request] The Conversation: A Follow-up to Friendly Ignorance: Takes place after the events in Friendly Ignorance. You and your family decide to have a much needed family meeting to discuss what happened at the park after Andy lost his temper with an old friend who insulted his girls.  [Request]

Classroom Confrontations: After learning that another child called their daughter a racial slur at school, Reader and Andy confront the Administration over their lack of action. Takes place after BiBi's confession in The Conversation: A Follow-up to Friendly Ignorance. [Request]

Coffee Shop Creeps: Andy takes a day off to spend with his girls, only to have it interrupted by an ignorant lady who is concerned by the fact that he is white and his daughters are not. [Request]

___

Third Time Parents:

Feral: You return from dropping off the girls at Grandma’s house, only to find that your husband has been raiding your library. **

The Tests, The Ultrasound, & The Truth: Reader and Andy may or may not receive confirmation that the Barber Brood is expanding.

The Announcement: You and Andy decide to share your exciting pregnancy news with BiBi and KitCat. How will they react?

The Cookie Jar: A Growing Pains Drabble: You attempt to scold your husband for using a colorful euphemism during your earlier conversation with the girls. Takes place right after the events in The Announcement. **

The Cookie Jar Jam: Sometimes Andy forgets just how literal your two little girls can be. [Request]

The Twins: Is Andy really having more girls?

Fantasies: Reader finds out that her husband Andy has been harboring a secret fantasy.  [Extended Version] **

Baby Blush: You send Andy an adorable video of your girls and their playground crush, which sends his blood pressure through the roof. ** [Request]

Happy Place, Interrupted:You and your little family take a trip to Target, your ultimate happy place.The last thing you expect is to run into an ex-boyfriend, one who apparently hasn’t moved on. [Part Two] [Part Three - Request] **

The Question: A Growing Pains Drabble: Your girls ask an innocent question that triggers Andrew’s anxiety and your pregnancy hormones.

Sneak Peek: Life With The Twins: A soft sneak peek at what life looks like with the twins.

Hello World: The Barber Twins: The twins decide to make their appearance a little earlier than Reader and Andy likes.

The Best Surprise: Andy and baby A.J. have their first of many important conversations. 

The First Meeting: A Barber Kids Drabble: ​​BiBi and KitCat meet the twins for the first time. How will it go?

NEW! The Green Light: Andy is over the moon when you finally get the green light to be intimate again after the birth of your babies. But how do you explain to him that you're not quite comfortable with your post-pregnancy body just yet? ** 

NEW! Green Light: Afterglow: After an emotional afternoon, you finally allow your husband to take you to bed. Can you trust your man to help you see past your flaws? ** NEW! Warm: Andy makes you sit through one of his favorite punishments… **

NEW! The Rub Down: Andy takes care of you when things get a little rough in bed. **

The Interrogation: Andy just wants to get to know his company a little better.

The Other Woman: Your husband is not allowed to take on another woman. Not now, not ever.

Feel The Burn: Andy & A.J.: A.J. is very protective of his Mama, and he’s not afraid to let people know.

That Thing in The Closet: RoRo and KitCat hear a monster in their closet.

Your Little Monsters: After an exhausting day, all Reader wants is some intimate, alone time with her husband. But her children have other plans. **

Razzie Boos: Andy & A.J: Andy and A.J. engage in a little friendly competition. 

Kiss & Make Up: Bianca finds out that her friend’s parents are getting a divorce. Could her own be next? 

The Visitor: Reader receives a surprise visit from the last person she ever expects.

Room For One More: Is there room for one more in the Barber Family household? Someone is convinced there is...

NEW! Sweet & Sticky: You and Andy decide to get a little frisky in the kitchen before the kids come home. **

Plead the Fifth: A little white lie lands you in hot water with your husband. **

Daddy Don’t Be A Hero: When Andy puts himself at risk during an incident at the courthouse, everyone celebrates him as a hero. But what happens when he goes home to face his angry wife and daughters, each of whom is determined to give him a piece of their mind? [Request]

Daddy Lessons: Andy & KitCat: KitCat has a secret she's been keeping from her father. How will he react when she finally shares her truth?

NEW! A Peek Inside Casa Barber: Take a tumblr-style tour of the Barber Family Home

NEW! Plausible Deniability: Coming Soon 

NEW! MILF Talk: You're a wife, a mother, and apparently...a MILF.

NEW! At Last…: True love stories never end...

NEW! A Word With Andy Barber: [Volume 1] [Volume 2] [Volume 3]

NEW! A Word with Mrs. Barber: [Volume 1]

NEW! What Are the GP Kiddos Hobbies? (Ask)

NEW! The Barber Kids are Broke (Ask)

[thatwouldbee-enough]

Another December Prompt

@til-true sent this one as a reply <3

lams x family

Went with some bendies for this one <333

---

“Merry Christmas!” 

His family’s house is decorated more than it ever was growing up, and John can only attribute that to Jemmy and Polly, the last of his siblings to still be living at home. Both of his youngest siblings had never lacked in holiday spirit, and it shows now in the garland wrapped all the way down the bannister of the grand staircase in the entry way, the wreaths covering not only the front door, but also the windows, the way the outside of the house is perfectly lined in soft yellow Christmas lights. 

Speak of the devils, both of them appear not a minute after he calls out into the house, along with several of his nieces scampering in close behind. Eli and Ellie immediately make a break for it, chasing after their cousins as they disappear into another room before John or Alex have a chance to take off their coats. 

Frances huffs a sigh, shrugging off her own new coat. She’s been growing like a weed over the last year. John is just glad that with the whole crop of children his sister seems to be creating, he at least has someone to pawn off all the clothes she’s outgrown onto. 

Martha herself hurries into the entryway a moment later, looking decidedly stressed as she calls back into the kitchen at another one of her kids, warning them not to eat any of just-out-of-the-oven cookies. 

They all hug and say hello, even Alex, though he hangs back a little and waits until John’s family comes to him. It’s certainly an improvement from the first years they did this at least. 

Martha wraps their daughter in a big hug, earning a grumble from Frances, but she smiles and hugs her aunt back. 

“Hey kiddo. How’s it going?”

“You just saw me two weeks ago,” she mutters, squirming out of the hug.

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” Martha beams as Francis rolls her eyes and allows Polly to pull her aside to catch up, the two girls being, somewhat ridiculously, closer in age that most of Frances’s cousins are to her. “She’s getting so big,” she says to John, once Frances and Polly have retreated into some other room. 

“I know. She’s already competing at level 10.”

“...not everything needs to be measured in gymnastics standards, you know.”

Alex laughs while John throws his sister an unamused look. “Well excuse me, but you would too if you were in the gym with her every day of the week.”

“When your newborn pops out,” Alex interjects, “I’m going to start referring to it as a level 0.” 

Martha laughs, shaking her head good naturedly. 

Henry finally rounds the corner a moment later, a new cane steadying his steps. “Sorry,” he says, “Davie was showing me the new remote control car that Santa brought him.”

“Santa spent way too much on things that will probably be broken in a couple of weeks,” Martha muttered under her breath. 

“Dad,” John greeted, pulling him into an awkward hug, ovelry careful not to upset his balance, “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Henry,” Alex echoed, opting for a polite nod and a smile. 

“Merry Christmas, boys.” He craned his neck, looking about the entryway. “Where are my grandkids?”

“You’re getting too slow for them,” Martha chuckled. “God knows where they all got off to. Probably tearing your house apart as we speak.”

“They certainly better not be,” Henry said sternly, though he couldn’t help but smile. “Well, come on in, then. We have some appetizers set out. Drinks in the fridge.” 

“I picked up some IPAs on the way back from school.”

John turned towards his little brother, eying the can in his hand. “There’s no way you’re old enough to drink.”

“I turned twenty-one last month! You knew that!” 

John raised his brows. “I knew you had a birthday. No way it was your twenty-first.”

“Swear to God.”

“You are making me feel ridiculously old right now.”

“You feel old?” Henry chuckled. 

“Okay, fair point.” 

They all followed Henry into the living room where an array of appetizer trays had been set out on the coffee table, John taking a the loveseat with Alex as they all gathered around, the television set to one of those fake fireplace streams. 

“So, how are the kids?”

“They’re good. Ellie and Eli are doing well in kindergarten, according to their teacher.”

“If you ignore the fact that Eli is apparently biting the other kids,” Alex added, “and Ellie has picked up some not so nice words from one of the other little heathens at school and won’t stop repeating them.”

John rubs a tired hand over his face, and Henry laughs. “They sound more like they could be your sister’s children than yours.”

Martha scoffs, picking a carrot from one of the trays. “Rude.”

Ignoring her, Henry continues, “And Frances?”

“She’s doing great. I was worried with all of the time she spends on gymnastics we’d have to worry more about her grades but–”

“She’s a perfectionist,” Alex finished for him, hint of exasperation in his voice. Ironic, all things considered. “She stresses herself out over her grades before we ever get the chance.”

“Well I’m glad she’s doing well,” Henry told them with a fond smile. “When’s the next meet?”

“Not until after the holidays. Second week of January.” John taps the screen of his phone, already pulling the information up. “I’ll send you the event info.” 

“Thank you.”

—

Later, once the Christmas ham is out of the oven and everyone’s plates are piled with deliciously fattening foods, John glances down the table, then over to the kids table, tacked on at the end. It’s hard to believe how much their family has grown, how much things have changed, over the last several years. If someone had asked him all those years ago, he would have never imagined the holidays could feel like this. Would never have thought Alex would be welcomed in so completely. Never could have imagined having kids of their own, never mind all of the nieces and nephews running around. Seeing Martha’s kids playing with their own always felt a little strange. Like, how did they get here? John and his sister were just kids themselves not too long ago. 

And the biggest surprise, all these years later, was the change the years seemed to instill in his father. With each new grandchild, he seemed to grow more and more indulgent. John almost wants to laugh, watching him now. Part of him thinks it’s not fair. It would almost be easier, knowing Henry’s stubborn discipline was some immutable trait rather than something that would fade with time and growing sentimentality. 

But that hardly mattered when he watched him with the kids after dinner, passing out presents to every single one of them and glowing with pride. 

Perhaps it wasn’t fair, but that didn’t stop it from being good now. 

And as he leaned against Alex’s shoulder, watching Frances open up a brand new journal with a big smile on her face, he couldn’t help but be perfectly content with the world and the family they had grown into. 

---

On AO3 here :)

[pog-sad-muffin]

The dreamscape.

Vilbur and Reader pt. 6

!TW! freezing, manipulation, yelling, violence, mentions of blood, feral Tommy!TW!

Hope you enjoy <3

Art credit to: @elevenshaze on twt

-----

Tubbo's POV

I know I am dreaming, I can hear Phil pacing around the room. Soon his pacing fades away.

-entering the dream state-

The sun rests just over the horizon, Tommy is here. We are on the hill that overlooks L'manburg.

"Hey, big man?"

"Yeah what's up?" Tommy answers.

"Will we get our happily ever after? Everyone is talking about how they work towards their happy ending. But I just can't seem to see the end." I say brushing my hair away from my eyes.

"There is no ending because there was never a beginning," Tommy says, his voice getting scratchy.

"What do you mean," I ask, turning to look at him. His eyes are the void and a smile is etched into his face. No! NO! DREAM CANT TAKE HIM FROM ME! please...

-

Waking up with a start. Sweat dripping down my face, my breathing erratic, and shaking all over. Phil, with a concerned look on his face, swiftly walks up to me.

"Are you alright mate, you look like you just had a nightmare," Phil says softly, sitting down next to me and rubbing circles on my back. I open my mouth but no words come out, my mind racing from what I saw.

"It's ok you don't need to talk about it. Go be with Ranboo, he was worried about you." Nodding, I shakily stand. Walking cautiously down the stairs I make it to the kitchen. Collecting myself I look around for Ranboo. Nope, not in the kitchen, not in the living room. Though Techno is when he notices me peeking into the room he points to the porch. Stepping over to the door I bring it open and looking out. Seeing Ranboo playing with Michael, a lazy smile adorned his face. Smiling softly to myself I walk outside fully and close the door, getting their attention.

"Dad!" Michael yells, wobbling up to his feet he shuffles towards me.

"Hello buddy, how are you?" I ask resting Michael in my lap after I sit down in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch.

"Good, Papa called some people over. Mister Pink looked at me weirdly and Mister Green told Papa to relax so he played with me out here while you were sleeping! We played all these fun games…" my son's voice settling into the background, he thought I was sleeping and Techno saw him… "and then I saw you and you were awake and here!" Michael says finishing his story.

"That's nice, now I need to talk to your Papa for a moment, would you go inside with Phil?" I ask, voice cracking slightly.

"Ok, Dad see you later!" Michael says, jumping up and running inside. We wait a few moments, I'm still sitting on the ground, the cold of the snow no longer bothering me.

-

Ranboo's POV

I look over at Tubbo when Michael runs inside. His eyes are glassy, and he is still on the ground. After a moment I walked over to him. Sitting down next to him I pull him into a hug. I feel him start to cry, it burns into my chest, but I don't complain. Comforting him I feel myself starting to cry as well. My tears cascading down my face, sizzling and burning down my face. It is snowing now. Tubbo and I don't care anymore, we grasp onto each other and start sobbing. Tubbo let out a cry, one you would hear from someone who just got the news that their last hope had passed.

-

3rd person POV

Techno is watching the two broken children cry into each other from the window. Something in him breaks in him as well. They shouldn't be in this life of violence, they're only kids. And yet they had suffered so much. He thinks shaking his head. Started when he hears the most heart-wrenching scream from Tubbo. His eyes tearing up, he turns away and walks up to the room where Tommy lays. Phil has long since left the room to comfort Michael. Looking over Tommy, he notices all the details of what had happened. Tommy's lips were dark purple, his exposed skin looked like icy veins crawling up his body, Tommys breathing slow and labored. He is not much better than when Ranboo found him. We don't know why he isn't getting better. Niki should be on her way, unfortunately, she lives far away from Ranboo and Tubbo's house.

Knock knock knock. Phil upon hearing this sets Michael down on the bed, the young child having fallen asleep. Hears the knock and makes his way downstairs. Opening the door, letting Niki inside.

"So where is Tommy? I saw Tubbo was awake." She mentions, taking her winter coat and winter gear off. Grabbing the satchel that was under the coat.

"Good to see you again mate, follow me," Phil says waving his hand towards the stairs. As they make their way up the stairs Niki is looking around, looking for clues to what had happened to the boys. Phil stops at the door opening it for Niki.

"He's on the bed over there," Phil mutters, refusing to make eye contact or look in the room. Niki looks at Phil with sympathy in her eyes before entering. Walking in closing the door softly behind her. Techno once he saw her stood up, knowing her past and her hate against Tommy. Pulling out his ax in a defensive stance.

"Woah, calm down I'm only here to help. Phil called me in," Niki says, trying to calm Techno. Slowly lowering his defensive stance in front of Tommy, who is effectively dying without treatment.

-

Niki's POV

As I cautiously approach Tommy, I can see the damage of whatever had been done to him. His lips are dark plum and black near the center, his ears are blue and black, his hair was stiff from what seems like the cold Ranboo found him in, his breathing is more like wheezing and pained. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Focusing my eyes back on Tommy I grab the bag that I had brought with me. Opening it I grab my book, my candles, and a heater. Looking over at Techno I ask, "Would you put some coal in here," I hand him the heater. He looks skeptical about it before doing what I asked. As he loaded coal into it, I pulled out my book looking through various supernatural creatures before finding what I was looking for.

“Here!” I shout, after a while, startling Techno. “Sorry,” I say softly when he glares at me.

Hearing a thundering sound running up the stairs, Phil bursts into the room, “Do you know what caused this?!” Phil says frantically. Techno being confused at the question looks between Niki and Phil expectantly.

“He means what creature caused this,” I explain, “I'm a mob expert.”

“HUH! Since when?”

“She has been for a while… Anyway, that's not the point.” Phil says.

“Yes, Phil is right. I found what caused this. It says here-” I say, pointing at a page in my book,”- the only thing that could have caused this would be… A spectator aka a ghost essentialy.” Once I say that Phil and Techno’s eyes go wide and they stare at each other, then Tommy. Their eyes are filled with confusion and terror. And then the realization hit me, we only have two ghosts, and both of them were close to the young boys. But they wouldn't do this… would they?

-

Tommy's POV

-entering the dream state-

It is warm here, I remember it was cold earlier. Why was it cold again? Eh doesn't matter now that I am warm. A new wave of heat cascades through me, thawing my body into comfort. I am calm, wow when was the last time that happened. Maybe when Tubbo and I were building our bench, Techno and Wilbur watched our back. It was the most peaceful week of work… ever I think.

"Hello?" I hear an echo crossing the room.

"Hello, who are you?" I question back to the voice, not bothering to open my eyes.

"Tommy is that you?" I hear, starting to recognize the voice. Snapping my eyes open, I look around in search of the voice. Y/n they are here, I want to see them again. I miss them.

"Y/n? Where are you?"

"I'm right over here Tommy," they say. I turn around and see them, glowing with their arm stretched towards me, a soft welcoming smile decorated their face. Rushing over to them I tackle them into a hug, crying slightly.

"Hello Big man," they say softly, engulfing the smaller in a hug. I smile through the tears that are free-falling down my face.

"I missed you Y/n," I say, my voice heavy with emotion. Finally, I reluctantly pull away from the hug.

"I have something important to tell you, Tommy…" Y/n says, eyes going downcast and glossing over. "They are trying to take you from me," their voice growing softer, as I grow more confused and I furrow my brows.

"Who is trying to take you? I want to stay with you." I say, standing my ground ready to fight anyone who gets in my way of being with my sibling I was forced to lose.

"They are Tommy you have to stop them…" their voice fading away more as I am being pulled away from them.

"No! Stop! I want to go back! Y/n!" I yelled, reaching desperately towards them, despite me being pulled away.

Waking with a start, all of the warmth from the dreamscape gone. Niki, Techno, and Phil standing over me. They are smiling. Why do they get to be happy? I just want to go home, the place where I belong. With Y/n, Will, Tubbo, and L'manburg. The good days.

"How are you feeling?" Phil asks, my head slowly turning towards him. I throw myself at him, clawing at him. I get a handful of feathers and his hat before Techno and Niki pull me off of him with my arms behind my back. I hear an animalistic growl until I realize it is coming from me. Not that I care they were the ones trying to take me away from Y/n. Phil, who has now fallen onto the floor. Looking at me in shock. I feel my lips curl up to bare my teeth and growl once again.

"Niki what's happening?!" Techno shouts frantically, as I struggle from their grasp. I hear people storming up the stairs. Tubbo and Ranboo slam the door open. They see me and I'm not sure what sparked it but I think it was looking at Ranboo, I never liked him, he took away my friend, and now he is here for Y/n as well. With newfound strength, I launch myself at Ranboo, ripping my grasp away from Techno and Niki. I go to attack him only to be hit with something and thrown off to the side. Looking at where the item was thrown I see a shaking Niki, standing on all fours I growl at them. My hybrid features on display. My tail swishing behind me defensively, my razor-sharp canines bared at all of them, the two joints on my legs ripping through my pants near the joints.

"Hey… Tommy, Big man calm down…" Tubbo says cautiously sidestepping towards me, in response, I let out an unnerving growl that makes everyone flinch in response.

"Niki! What is going on!" Techno growls, furiously.

"I don't know this isn't supposed to happen! Though there is a chance that the spector had said something to him!" she says, looking through her book frantically trying to find an answer.

"What do you mean! There is a chance! What could they have said'' Phil yells, I ignore them focusing on Ranboo. Tensing my legs and lowering myself onto the ground I feel something fall from my mouth.

"Umm… Phil what is dripping from his mouth," Tubbo asks, voice quivering. Suddenly everyone's attention is on me again. I let out another growl, more of the goop falling from my mouth, looking at it this time I see it is a black-looking slime. Hearing someone step closer to me, my head snaps at them. I let out a roar. Tubbo and Niki are staring at me in fear, Phil is staring in shock, and Techno in distress. I lunge at Ranboo once more this time reaching for his horn with the reached ring on it. Tubbo shrieks when he sees what I'm going for, and he jumps at me. I make it to my target and start yanking on his horn trying to rip it off, so he will let me see Y/n again. Tubbo hits me off, falling to the floor with a whimper. Techno and Phil rush to restrain me, Niki rushes to Ranboo to check on what I hurt. I see Ranboo reach for his horn and realize the ring is gone.

"My ring is gone! Did it fall off!?" Ranboo asks, I plant myself onto the ground. It's not like I needed to, I have two people keeping me on the ground. Smirking, I look Ranboo in the eyes.

"Tommy where is it!" He yells at me, part of his jaw unhinging. I close my mouth tighter, locking my jaw. 

"Guys… I think it's in his mouth." Tubbo says, noticing my jaw tense.

"How? We didn't see it?!" Niki says, baffled. She runs over to Techno and Phil, something in her hand.

I feel something cold touch my neck as the world fades to dark.

-entering dreamscape-

"Tommy are you ok?!" I hear Y/n yell when they see the state I'm in.

"I wanted to come back… they are the enemy…" I mumble my words slurred.

"Ah... I see what happened. I'm so glad you came back," they say, picking me up into a soft warm hug. Just like Mum used to do. Feeling the familiar warmth return.

"Don't worry Big man I will protect you," they say. I feel warmth flood my being and patterns scorching into my body. I didn't mind though it felt nice.

"They're going to sting when you wake once more, but don't worry I will always be here when you go to sleep." I nod limply.

"Want to see them?" Parking up at this I nod once more, not finding the energy to speak. A mirror appears in front of me. I have marks up and down my back and arms. They have symbols that look like, "⋔⊬ ⌿⎍⌿⟟⌰" I feel myself fading out of dream world into a deep sleep.

"Y/n would you stay with me?"

"Of course my pupil."

(:

-----

Thank you for reading, don't be shy if you have a recommendation🖤

[wlntrsldler]

unrequited (draco malfoy/cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.2K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

-

PART 1

“You know you're my best friend, right?” Cedric muttered from beside you, nudging the side of your rib with his elbow. “Always will be.” 

The final stage of the Triwizard tournament was creeping up behind you. It was said to be one of the most dangerous obstacles in history. Cedric acted smug about it, acting like the idea of death didn’t phase him one bit. In front of other Hufflepuffs, he let out an empty chuckle, declaring that the TriWizard cup would be home on the mantle of the Hufflepuff common room by the end of it all. But during the moments where only he and you existed in the world, his lips quivered and his breath was broken as he explained to you how much he loved you. 

During Cedric’s first two years at Hogwarts, he would come home and tell you all about his year. He would teach you spells in secret and make potions with you so by the time you entered as a first-year, you were already ahead of everyone else. He would spend his days and nights with you when he wasn’t at Hogwarts. Fellow students would make fun of him for how often he would receive owls with your name attached to the back of the envelope. 

Cedric was your best friend. Always will be. 

“Of course, I know, you silly man.” You huffed, turning your head to face him. He was staring at you, eyes twinkling under the soft glow of the lonely moon. The air was crisp and the winds were quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the soft whispers between the two of you and if one were to focus enough, the incessant beating of Cedric’s heart rattling in his chest and the breaking of your heart in yours. “Why are you telling me this?” 

He sighed, gulping down any sign of false bravado. He knew he never had to fake with you. You always did understand him, better than anyone ever could. “Y/N… Tomorrow’s obstacle is said to be deadly. I just wanted to tell you how much I love you in case it’s the last thing I’ll ever say to you.” 

“Nonsense,” You replied, waving a hand in front of his face. You shook your head, not accepting the venomous words that slip past his lips. You blinked away the tears pricking your eyes, fearing that if you even let one drop slip, it might become a reality. “You’re Cedric Diggory. Nothing can break you.” 

Cedric laughed a hearty laugh, startling the small animals finding sanctuary within the bushes that stayed static beside your bodies. His finger absently traced the scar on your hand, one that you got a few years back as you hid behind the Whomping Willow before you knew of its capabilities. Cedric rushed over to you once he heard you yelp in pain, a few meters away from the irritated creature. You ended up with Madam Pomfrey for a night and a half and the scar was the constant reminder you had of the memory. “Can you at least say it back?” 

“Fine,” You playfully rolled your eyes, grinning at the sound of his laugh. It was your favorite thing. “You, Cedric Diggory, are my best friend. For now and for always.” 

Cedric beamed and slowly started to sit up. You followed his actions and took his arm once he offered it to you. He led you a few steps towards the secret passageway that you both took most nights to get away before stopping. You cocked your head to the side, shooting him a puzzled look. He suddenly hugged you, tightly as if you were his lifeline, and mumbled incoherent, sweet, nothings into your ear. Cedric placed his chin on the top of your head, a single tear landing on your crown, making you shiver. “I’m scared, Y/N.” 

You let out a broken sigh, digging your fingertips into the muscle of his back. You feel his warmth radiating on the side of your cheek, suddenly feeling wet. You hadn’t noticed the tears slipping from your eyes. It was quickly, too quickly, starting to feel like a reality. “Me too, Ced.” 

-

“What do we have here?” A smug voice sneered from behind you. You and Hermione twisted your heads to look at the man harboring the posh voice. Malfoy. “A Hufflepuff and a mudblood. Pathetic duo, if you ask me.” 

The boy was dressed in all black, a hint of emerald green in the silver pin that he sported on his vest. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him, smiles reaching their eyes as they followed the Slytherin prince around. Draco’s hair fell perfectly to frame his face, loose strands looking intentional as they landed on the areas that made him look ethereal. It was unfair really, how beautiful Draco Malfoy was. He was like straight out of a painting; pale skin, soft hair, pink lips, that often contrasted his dark exterior and his detestable character.

“Get out of here, Malfoy.” You spat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Why are you even here? I’m sure all of us would have a lovelier time if you went on your merry way.” 

“You’re a courageous little Hufflepuff, aren’t you?” He teased, words dripping with distaste. “I’ll have you know that I’m here to watch Potter crumble into pieces. Although, I’ll also settle for Diggory if it comes down to it.” 

You let out an angry huff, “Oh, you little shi-”

“Y/N, don’t.” Hermione placed a hand on your shoulder, holding you back. “He’s not worth it.” 

Draco chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “A mudblood telling me my worth? Comedy. Where’s your boyfriend? Did Dumbledore finally get tired of housing the neverending line of Weasley scums?” He turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “Took him long enough.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Malfoy.” Ron chirped up from behind the three boys, three butterbeers in hand. “But I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Draco rolled his eyes but left without another word, the two boys following him as soon as he took his first step. Ron took his spot beside you and Hermione, passing you the butterbeers. The three of you looked down to where Harry and Cedric stood, the two boys in deep focus before the final round started.

Cedric’s eyes wandered the arena, stopping when his met yours. He smiled, teeth uncontained behind his lips and raised a thumb up. You mirrored his actions, raising your butterbeer in celebration of him making it this far. Dumbledore called for Cedric’s attention, letting him know that it was soon to begin. He nodded and got ready. Before the sound of the cannon, he turned to look at you one last time and mouthed, “I love you.” Just as you were going to reply, the cannon went off and Cedric disappeared into the darkness. 

You heard disgruntled mumbling from a few people beside you. You turned and saw Draco with his eyebrows furrowed, staring at you. His cheeks were dusted with the mellowest shade of pink when he saw that you caught him staring. He quickly turned away, bottom lip caught between his teeth. You continued to stare, unable to decipher the look on the boy’s face. His eyes darted back to look at you, awkward under your intense fascination. 

“Y/N?” Hermione’s voice pulled you out of your daze. She waved her hand in front of you, growing concerned. “Hello, Y/N?”

You snapped your attention back to her, blinking a few times to adjust your view. “I’m sorry, what?”

Ron laughed, taking a sip from his butterbeer. He motioned to where Cedric stood earlier, “She asked if you finally told Cedric how you felt about him.” 

You shook your head, eyes growing wide. “I told you guys. I’ll never tell Cedric how I feel. It’s not like he’ll return the feelings anyway.” 

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” She asked, a slight irritation to her voice. “Sweetheart, that’s how every girl wants to be looked at. He’s so in love with you. It always baffled me how you never noticed.” 

“Hermione,” You groaned, staring at your stubborn friend. “He doesn’t look at me in any way. He sees me as his best friend, nothing more.” 

“Are you bloody stupid?” Ron responded, backing Hermione up. He ran his fingers through his ginger hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. “We’ve known the two of you for a fraction of the time you two have known each other and even we can see that you two are madly in love!”

“We agree.” 

You looked past Ron’s shoulder to see the Weasley twins, grinning and nodding in agreement with their brother. 

 “You two don’t even know Cedric.” 

Fred cocked an eyebrow, “We’ll have you know, we have Potions class together. He always wants to partner with us.”

“So yes, dear Y/N. We do know Cedric.” George chimed in. 

“Well perhaps you do know him,” You trailed off. “But that doesn’t mean you guys know what he’s feeling. You’re just guessing.” 

“It’s not guessing when he said it himself.” 

Your eyes widened at the twins’ revelation. As you were about to question the two boys, a loud commotion caught everyone’s attention. All of you turned to the source of the sound to find Draco and a shattered glass of butterbeer pooling at Crabbe’s feet. His eyes narrowed, shooting daggers in your direction. 

He spat, “Are we here to gossip or are we here to watch the Triwizard tournament?”

All of you remained silent, not knowing the reason for his sudden outburst. The words that the twins let slip danced in your thoughts the entire time. Everyone’s patience ran thin as the competition seemed to drag on. People left and returned upon hearing any sign of movement. You stayed, however, no matter how long it took for anyone to come back. You looked down at your yellow sweater, the initials “C.D” embroidered on the left sleeve. 

Cedric got you the sweater the summer before your first year at Hogwarts. He picked it up at a shop at Hogsmeade, in yellow, confident that you were going to be placed in the same house as him. He knew you were always scared that you were going to be separated into a different house so he did little things to put your mind at ease. ‘I’ll be by your side no matter what happens but in your heart and mine, you’ll always be a Hufflepuff.’ 

You smiled at the memory, rubbing your thumb over the golden thread. You looked up at the sound of shuffling feet, moving away from you. You saw Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle making their way out, growing impatient with the lack of gore, you assumed. The blond boy disappeared behind the doors, slipping away from your line of vision. 

You were on your third butterbeer, eyes slowly fluttering closed when you heard an audible gasp coming from everyone in the crowd. Your eyes shot open and watched as Harry and Cedric appeared in front of everyone. Harry’s body was covering Cedric. 

You stood up, wanting to get a better look. You couldn’t wait to hug Cedric and congratulate him. Then you heard someone wail. Mr. Diggory. 

Your knees buckled as you heard him yell and scream as he rushed down the steps to meet Cedric. The breath was knocked out of your lungs as you leaned against the barricade for support. You felt Hermione and Ron hold you up, stopping you from falling through. You were breathing unevenly, chest rising rapidly. 

“Y/N?” Mr. Diggory called, head twisting in every direction trying to look for you. “Where’s Y/N?” 

You shoved Hermione and Ron away, apologizing in your head for your roughness and ran down to meet him. You tripped over your own feet a few times, eyes not being any help as tears clouded your vision. The cold air was hitting your overly bitten lips, the cracks and scars growing sensitive with each breath. You pushed past everyone and fell to your knees when you got a good look at Cedric. 

“Y/N…” You heard Harry say. “I’m so sorry.” 

“W-why are you apologizing, Harry?” You questioned, stuttering over your words. “He’s okay. He’ll wake up.” 

You didn’t realize that Ron and Hermione followed you until you heard Hermione’s broken cry after you said those words. You turned around and saw her face buried in Ron’s shoulder, a protective arm wrapped around the small of her back. 

“Y/N…” Harry tried again, reaching out for you. 

You pulled away, nearly crawling over to Cedric. You leaned close to him, a broken smile on your face. You whispered, “Ced, I’m here. Wake up, Ced. You did it. Ced?” 

“Y/N..” 

“No!” You yelled, shaking Cedric's body. “Ced, wake up.”

“Miss Y/L/N.” Dumbledore called for you, looking down at your pleading face. His eyes pooled with tears. “He didn’t make it.” 

You crumbled into Cedric’s unmoving body. His eyes were still open, blankly staring back at you. The love and adoration that once swam in his pupils were gone and replaced with a gray smoke. Death. You sobbed into his chest, clinging onto his lifeless limbs. Your piercing cries shook everyone to their core, the entire arena falling silent as Mr. Diggory wrapped his arms around you and his son. 

You placed your left arm under him, clutching him closer to your body. His blood stained the embroidery of his initials on your sweater, a painful memory overpowering your once sweet one.

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘Two Down, One To Go’ - part 1

My biggest gripe with how late the three canon lives system was brought in is that the early deaths never got the weight they deserved in canon. So I fixed that. The night of L’Manberg’s independence is the biggest party any of them have ever attended, but Tommy’s not in a merry mood. Tubbo finds out why. Featuring a little headcanon about how a person knows how many lives they have left.

part two | part three

---

Night of Independence

“One, two, three, four, five-” His heart was racing, fingers tightening on the bowstring. There was a kind of dread in his heart like never before. Not only was Dream a better shot than him; he knew it. And to bet both the future of his country and one of his discs on his abilities…

“-six, seven, eight, nine-” His arms ached; his whole body ached. Bruises and scrapes and barely healed gashes littered his limbs from Eret’s betrayal. That b*stard. He snuck a glance at his fellows. They’d all lost so much today. All their things, a war, a country; not to mention a life apiece. Something had erupted inside of him when they’d woken back in the camarvan with a tally mark each: something red and explosive. And they returned his gaze, Tubbo and Fundy watching with bated breath. He couldn’t see Wilbur from the direction he was facing, but he imagined his expression was about the same. Fear, apprehension and just the smallest sliver of hope.

“-Ten paces fire!” And then it died, for the second time in twenty-four hours. As did Tommy.

The mood around the campfire was merry. Wilbur had poured them all drinks (watered down for everyone but him, especially Fundy) and was currently leading him and Tubbo in a half-drunk singalong of something that had started as the L’Manberg anthem, that had since devolved into innuendos about explosions and jokes about ‘independance’, though they kept in the parts with the names and the ‘it’s a very real and not blown up L’Manberg’. Tommy tried to have a good time, shouting “F*ck Eret!” every time that line came up, but the feeling was bittersweet. He slipped his hand inside his shirt and felt the tiny ridges. Two tallies. He hadn’t told the others yet. They’d given him enough pity when he’d told them how he’d traded away the discs. He didn’t need them fawning over him for this as well.

Unfortunately, it seemed he hadn’t been subtle enough. Tubbo sat down beside him, out of breath from dancing and grinning at Wilbur’s antics, and the first thing he laid his eyes on when he looked to Tommy was his hand inside his shirt. Tommy internally cursed himself and quickly removed it, but Tubbo had already latched onto the topic, “Feels weird doesn’t it?”

“Hm?” “The… Death mark.” A slight tremor passed over him, his eyes wandering down to where his own sat. The marks always showed just below a person’s collarbone, on the left side of the chest, close to the heart. “Maybe not weird but… I never expected to have one this- this early.” His words hung in the night air. They were both just kids, Fundy too, and they were all too close to a permanent death than they should be. But Tommy found some solace in how his friends had survived the war gaining only one. They were the lucky ones. Tommy had not only lost his most valued possessions but another life too. There was a line to death, and now Tommy walked along it, feet placed end to end like an acrobat tip-toeing a tightrope. Any moment now could be his last forever. It was unlikely he’d die right this second: he’d just secured peace for goodness’ sake, but what if? All it could take now was a stray arrow, a random attacker, a careless match finding an explosive in an untouched corner of L’Manberg, and that would be it for him. Gone.

Tubbo shuffled closer, “Tommy, are you okay man?” Drat. Once again, his face betrayed his feelings. He glanced around the partying men. Of all the people here, he trusted Tubbo the most, but mainly, the secret was starting to weigh him down worse than a full suit of netherite. He was tired of saying he was fine. Besides, it was Tubbo. His best friend, his brother. They’d been fighting together since the beginning: the Disc War, the Pet Wars and most of his other scuffles with citizens of the SMP, major and minor. He could trust Tubbo.

“Tubbo, I… Give me your hand.” One boy put his hand in the others’, and Tommy laid it on his chest, where they could both feel the lines representing a betrayal and a duel through the thin fabric of his shirt. Tubbo’s face changed from concern to horror to pity as he ran his fingers back and forth over the two ridges, checking, again and again, to verify what he couldn’t quite believe was true.

“You never said-” He started to say, but Tommy silenced him with a finger to his own lips hurriedly. “I didn’t want to worry anyone.” He sighed. “Or detract from the celebrations. I’m fine. It’s just a second mark.” Tubbo gave him a look halfway between disappointment and sympathy. “First of all, it’s not ‘just a second mark’ and second, you know that because I can see it on your face. It’s affecting you, dude.” Tommy looked away, closing his hand around Tubbo’s. “I don’t wanna think about it tonight, but I can’t-” He looked around at his four closest comrades. “I can’t stop running it over in my head, how much we’ve lost.” He gestured around them, at the land of their country torn apart, at the small patch of scorched grass they’d found sound enough to celebrate on. His eyes met Tubbo’s, creased with worry. “Five lives between us. Five.”

“Well… We’ve lost a lot, but we’ve also gained, y’know? What you did-” “How do you feel?” “Hm?” Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s hand. “How does it feel to be down a life?” “Don’t you remember?” He smiled faintly. “It was only this morning.” “I was a bit preoccupied, Tubbs.” They giggled half-heartedly. “True.” There was a moment of quiet broken only by the sounds of the party, and then; “I suppose I’m okay. I know I’m a bit closer to dying now, but I’ve still got another chance. So I can manage, I think.” “Do you feel more… mortal? Vulnerable?” Tommy’s voice was small. “Yeah. Like, I know what it’s like to die now- or, I know I can die. That it’s possible. I think that’s what it’s like for the others as well.”

Tubbo’s gaze drifted to look over at Wilbur, and Tommy’s soon followed. “Well, he seems fine.” The blonde remarked as Wilbur whirled past, drink in hand, a brown coat over his revolutionary uniform, adding more and more names from the crowd around them to the anthem as Fundy looked on, bemused. “I guess,” Tubbo shrugged. “He’s a bit older, so it’s less… jarring to be down one. Still not ideal, but not entirely unexpected.” “Well he’s certainly taking it well.” And at that Tubbo laughed. “He’s also quite drunk. So drunk he hasn’t noticed Fundy’s stopped watering his beers down.” That brought forth a small smile from Tommy. Tubbo continued: “He’s had time, y’know?” He paused, waiting for Tommy to look him in the eye. “When… When did you notice it?”

“After Dream took off with the discs. I finally came down from the adrenaline rush when I was alone in my house, just before I got back on comms to let you guys know. I felt it while I was taking off my armour. The tiniest little sting... And there it was.” He remembers standing alone in his house, examining both the duel scar and the extra mark in the grimy mirror he’d taken off the wall and leant on the floor. For a moment it was like the floor had gone out from beneath him again, but luckily this time it wasn’t an explosion. It hadn’t crossed his mind before then: all his brainpower had been in use, between worrying for his friends, discs, country and bow skills. The physical and mental pain of losing the duel had kept his mind off his own mortality as well, but there it was, staring him in the face, taunting him.

‘Two lives in less than twenty-four hours,’ it seemed to say (and he’d be omitting important details to not mention how it spoke in an American accent) ‘You won’t make it to twenty, or eighteen, or even your next birthday. Are you running out of time? Are you running out of time? Are you running out of ti-’

“What you did was incredibly brave and selfless.” Tubbo’s voice snapped him out of the memory of Death calling out to him, or maybe that was just him being melodramatic. “More like stupid. I didn’t know what I was doing.” “Well, Wilbur did tell you, he said ‘ohh Tommy, this country isn’t worth your life’.” “I wasn’t thinking.” “Well... I don’t care.” Tubbo squeezed his hand. “And maybe that’s a little selfish, but we’re free because of the trade you made, and maybe you’d never have pushed Dream to that point without the duel. I don’t know. But now we’re free. We’ve been beaten down by that tyrant for so long, but now we’re finally free.” He gave him a firm smile, “Yeah.” It was hard not to get swept up in Tubbo’s good moods, so Tommy reached for his drink. “Cheers. To L’Manberg!” “L’Manberg!” Tubbo knocked his tankard into Tommy’s and they both took a long drink. Wilbur overheard them and knocked Fundy’s drink out of his hands in his tipsy enthusiasm, and then there was another round of My L’Manberg. And as Tommy listened to the growing, rowdy chorus of his country, he let go of his fears for a while. Maybe they’d never leave him for the rest of his life, but for right now, they had their walls, their drinks and their song.

And as long as there were more crosses on the flag than lines on his tally, he’d be fine.

---

Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia (Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist in future :)

[keenesbeans]

Two Heads are Better than One

Requested by @amofbebbanburg: Hello! I know something to write 😝😝😝 if you haven’t written this already, how about a Spencer Reid x reader where they both are geniusses and both can get extremely involved in discussions and the team is always flabbergasted as they don’t understand a thing about them, except.. That Spencer and her have a crush on eachother and they make Spencer fonally act on it? Maybe some NSFW to it ❤

A/N: Takes place during season 5 and mentions Spencer being shot in the knee. Introduction takes place in season 5, episode 5 “Cradle to Grave” Sorry I went a little off of the request I had an idea and I ran with it, I still hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @amofbebbanburg  @thatsonezesty13​ @slutforthegubes​ @hazel-howell​ @rachelssafespace​ @lindaze​

Requests are Closed!

Category: FLUFF and SMUT! (NSFW)

Couple: Spencer Reid x BAU! reader

Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, chocking, Dom!Spencer, degradation 

Word Count: 2,889

******

"The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits."

-Albert Einstein 

You were sat at the corner of Spencer's desk as he rambled on about a blog he had just found, you wouldn’t have stayed and listened cause the subject was boring to you, but you stayed because you loved to watch the first genius in the BAU ramble. Especially since he was shot you couldn’t spend a moment away from him, afraid that something like that would happen again.

You were happy to see Derek walk in to the office finally someone else that Reid could talk to besides you. But, before you could give Reid to Derek, he was questioning Reid.

“Reid, what did I miss?”

“Oh, man, you're not gonna believe this. Some moron just posted a blog called "what would Carl Sagan do?" Spencer completely oblivious to what Derek was asking him about.

“No, Reid, the case.” Derek asked him again annoyance clear in his voice. “What's the case?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t know about a case, do you know about a case y/n/n” Spencer now directed his attention to you. You shook your head no “Nope I didn’t hear about any new cases coming in.” You told the boys.

“These emails from Hotch.” "take a look at this, " "new case to review."

“Emails from Hotch? I didn't get any emails from Hotch,” Spencer replied back to Derek while he typed on his computer. “did i? Nothing.” Both you and Spencer were clueless about what Derek was taking about. 

The whole time he talked you and Spencer shared questioning gazes between the two of you as you played with his crutches, him stealing them away from you before you hurt yourself or broke them. 

Derek had walked to Hotch’s office before you could ask him what was going on you and Spencer just went back to talking about the blog, you both assumed that Hotch had asked Derek to consul on a case before it was brought up in front of the entire team. 

*****

“Kristie Taylor, runaway, drug addict, Reported missing from Farmington, New Mexico 3 years ago. Yesterday, she turned up off a freeway Outside of Rio Rancho.” JJ had begin debriefing the team about their new case.

“Sexual assault combined with ligature marks on her wrists and ankles.” Spencer stated reading off of the case file. 

“She was asphyxiated.” You shuddered as you stated that as you hand was brought up to your neck, you hated whenever victims died from this, thinking that one day it could be you. In the bedroom you were know as the kinky submissive type, completely different from the dominant personality you used at work. And one of the things that could always get you off was a little bit of breath play, choking, you just loved it when a man took complete control of you, when your life was in his hands.

Those hands, god you had to get over this crush on Spencer ever since he was shot you realized your feelings were more of the “I want you to absolutely destroy me”, then the overprotective family type that they other members of the team had for him.

Spencer shook you out of your thoughts as he mouthed to you “are you okay” you simply nodded your head “yes” and went back to listening to JJ talk about the case.

When you had tuned back in Rossi was talking about how “There are a lot of guys out there who like chains.” You giggled to yourself and girls too, you thought to yourself. Spencer was confused as to way the mention of chains made you giggle, but figured out the answer when he saw the way your pupils were dilated, the rising blush on your checks, and the way you bit you lip with desire. 

He blushed to himself, trying to get the imagine of you tied up in chains for him and only him out of his head. He cleared his throat and tried to get rid of the growing bulge in his tight pants.

Rossi asked JJ  “ Are we sure this is the same unsub?”

“Kristie Taylor's autopsy report also indicates a second connection between these victims.” JJ replied back to him

Spencer informing the team of the connection, “she was pregnant.” Flipping the case file closed as JJ said that she had just given birth, she was killed within minutes of giving birth.

You had a theory, “This unsub isn't your typical sexual sadist. Captivity and assault we've seen before. What we haven't seen is this signature-- The role he forces these women to fulfill before he kills them. Motherhood.” you told the team all of them looking shocked and terrified.

“Journalist William D. Tammeus wrote, "you don't really understand human nature "unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round "will wave at his parents every time around And why his parents will always wave back."

“So why would a sexual sadist make women carry his children?” Emily asked the team with absolute confusion as to the unsubs motive.

“Gary Heidnik kept a harem in a dungeon. His goal was to create a large family As a replacement for his own broken home.” Spencer answered then turned to look at you, you continued his explanation.

“Josef Fritzl kept his daughter in a cell in his own house, And they had several kids together.” 

You and Spencer were always like this, you guys were known to finish each others thoughts almost as if you too shared the same brain. It was absolutely sickening how adorable you two were with each other when you would get into your genius debates, rattling factoids about anything to prove which one was smarter. They were always wondering when you two would finally get together.

And to be honest you had finally had enough of the back and forth of the will they won’t they and you had decided (much to Penelope's constant nagging) that after this case you would finally tell Spencer how you felt, and fingers crossed, jump his bones.

***** The case had finally rapped up after what had felt like forever and you were glad to step foot back into the bullpen, determination coursing through your veins as you eyes landed on Spencer.

“Hey Spencie want to get takeout and do a movie night?, I’ll even let you pick out the first movie” You asked him hoping that he said yes, but he usually always did Spencer could never say no to the puppy dog eyes you were know to give him.

“That sounds amazing,” He replied as he laced your arms together walking you towards the elevator “your place or mine?”

“Yours” If this plan was going to end in the way you hoped it did you wanted it to be done at his place. You wanted him to take you on every surface of his apartment. You felt yourself getting wetter at the idea and before you even realized it Spencer was opening the car door for you to get in, you blushed as you thanked him for being such a gentlemen and got in the car.

*****

You had made your way to Spencer’s apartment without exciting yourself to much, in case he didn’t return the same feeling of attraction.

You sat on the couch as Spencer placed your usual order at your favorite Chinese restaurant. “It’ll be here in 20 minutes” he told you as he joined you on the couch and he set his crutches down on the ground you gathered up some courage to place your hand on his knee. 

“Does it still hurt Spencer?” You began to bring your hand up and down his leg in a teasing manner making sure not to put too much pressure on it. 

“Umm no-o not that much only when I-i try to put too much pressure on it.” Spencer didn’t know what you were trying to do but, he was hoping that you were finally going to tell him how you felt. 

“OK that’s good just tell me if this hurts” 

“If what hur...” Before he could finish his sentence you straddled yourself on his lap combing some hair that had falling in his face behind his ears. You smiled deviously as you felt his growing bulge resting at your core, you moaned at the sensation. 

And in that moment, Spencer had lost all control, the years of him holding in his feelings were finally able to be set free. He grabbed your chin bringing your face inches away from him. You felt his hot breath fan over your face, another moan escaping your mouth.

His pupils were extremely dilated, they were filled with lust and desire. “Is this why you wanted to do a movie night y/n, huhh?” He left one hand on your check as the other wandered down to your throat giving just enough pressure to make you a whimpering mess in his lap.

“Yes, Doctor” That’s all you needed to say to him before he captured your lips in a breathtaking kiss both of you moaning at the sensation of finally being together.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” Spencer manged to get out in between kisses.

Both of you exploring each others bodies like you both had dreamed about. 

His hands now harshly gripping your hips and grinding you against him. You ran your fingers through his lengthy curls, tugging at the ends eliciting several moans from him. He begin to work his kisses from your lips down to your neck leaving love bites in his wake, marking you as his.

With every kiss and bite you were a whimpering mess for him, grinding your hips against his, your core was pulsating and you needed him so badly at this point it hurt.

You finally began to undress each other, the want of him being inside of you taking over your body. You stood up to help remove his clothes making sure that you didn’t hurt his leg.

“Are you able to hold yourself up against a wall” You asked him with a smirk.

“Yes” 

You grabbed his hand and shoved him against the wall before getting down on your knees, you stripped yourself down to your bra and underwear. Spencer had to stop himself from practically cumming at the sight.

“You are so fucking gorgeous” He manged to get out in between moans as you began to palm his erection through his underwear. 

Finally having enough of teasing him you grabbed his underwear and dragged it down to his ankles, him kicking them off. You were shocked at the sight of him.

His tip was pulsating red with pre-cum as it rest against his stomach, you had never felt more aroused then you were in that exact moment you couldn’t wait any longer, you had to feel him.

You wrapped your hand around his erection, staring to stroke him gently. You stuck your tongue out as you drug it up and down his shaft, bringing it up from the base to the tip. You looked at Spencer, having a feeling that eye contact was a turn on for him, he moaned at the sight of you, which only egged you on even more. 

You finally wrapped your lips around the tip, giving it a kiss before you began to to take him in your mouth. You wanted Spencer to fuck your mouth and that is exactly what he did. You felt his grip on the back of your head tighten as he began to thrust rapidly into your mouth, you made sure to relax your jaw to allow him more room inside of you.

He guided your mouth up and down his length, him loving the control that you gave him. 

“You fucking love letting me you use that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, it feels so good baby, you are taking it so well, like the good, slut that you are.” Between the praising and the degradation you were soaking wet and just dying to feel Spencer inside of you.

You loved that you were the only one to see him like this, the complete opposite of how he acted in work. He never cursed, he barely had the courage to take control. But, in this moment he was in full control and both of you were high off the feeling.

Spencer was so close to the edge as much as the idea of cumming down your throat excited him he needed to know hat it felt like to be inside of you first.

You pouted as Spencer yanked you off of him, dragging you up by the hair. You know stood practically dripping from how wet you were on shaky legs as he had to hold you up as he wiped the spit from your chin and the tears that fell from your eyes.

“As much as I wanted to cum into the pretty mouth of yours I think we would both enjoy it much more if I come in your fucking cunt.” Each word made you wetter by the second, he pushed your ruined panties to the side.

He started with two of those perfect and long fingers, that slipped with such ease inside of me, he roughly finger fucked me. He had to hold me up with one hand as we made out like horny teenagers.

As he pumped his fingers inside of me he began to rub my clit with his thumb, he could feel how close your were, the way you were clenching around his fingers, you had stopped kissing him to preoccupied with the feeling of his fingers deep inside of you. 

“Are you going to come for me, as I finger that tight pussy up against my apartment wall, for all my neighbors to hear. I want you to fucking scream my name as you moan. I want everyone to know who you belong to.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, you came hard and quick a sting of curses and the doctors name falling from your lips. He never stopped his assault on your pussy, he kept pumping his fingers in and out of you as you came down from your high.

“Good girl, so fucking responsive to me and the real fun hasn’t even begun.”

He lead you to his bedroom him climbing up on the bed first carefully as to not hurt his leg, as soon as he was situated he told you to take off your bra and underwear as he patted his lap.

As soon as you straddled him he gripped your throat making your eyes roll to the back of your head, as his other hand guided his length into you. 

Your moans were echoing through the bedroom as he entered you, filling you to the brim completely stretching you out. “Fuck, you take my cock so good baby, so fucking tight.” He stated as he began to pound into you from below you ground your hips against him trying to keep up with his pace.

His hand still tighten wrapped around your throat he pulled you towards him capturing your lips in a kiss that seemed a lot softer compared to the situation that the two of you were in now.

“Fuck, Spencer you fill me up so good.” He moaned at your words only pulling you closer to him and thrusting deeper inside of you. You felt yourself coming closer to release as he groaned against your ear.

The hand from your throat was removed only to move to your bundle of nerves circling it, “I want you to come all over my cock baby, before I fill you up with my load. Understood?”

“Yes, Doctor.” 

“Come for me baby,” he pleads as he feels his release is close. A hot panting mess, you still managed to scream his name as you came.

Spencer wasn’t far behind you still thrusting into with such force, your pussy tightening around him added to his orgasm as he came deep inside of you.

“Oh, god, fuck that feels so good baby.” 

You two just sat there for awhile in pure bliss, both of you hot sweaty messes but neither of you cared. After a couple of minutes he pulled out of you you whimpered at the soreness that you felt, but knew that Spencer would take care of it for you. 

He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before he hobbled (since he left his crutches in the living room) his way to the bathroom to grab a washcloth to clean you up, you flopped over onto your stomach feeling completely drained.

You couldn’t stop the giddy feeling that coursed throughout your entire body you had never thought this moment was going to happen, especially with a co-worker that you fantasized about on a daily basis. You had finally realized you were also madly in love with this man.

Unbeknownst to you Spencer had felt the same giddy feeling as he stood just there in the bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror with a smile that spread across his entire face. He had to realized the love he had for you and couldn’t be happy then to tell you.

*****

“Some love stories aren't epic novels. Some are short stories. But that doesn't make them any less filled with love.”

- Carrie Bradshaw 

[beinmybonnet]

29th June 1613 - London, England

   “Remind me again why we’re doing this?

“He went to the trouble to have a draft carried all the way to Brandenburg for me, the least I can do is attend the opening night.”

Andromache rolls her shoulders into her partlet. “The least you can do maybe. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you missed me. And because you cried when we saw Othello.” Yusuf replies, looking sideways at her. Curbing the inevitable objection, Quynh squeezes Nicolò’s arm and strides forwards to overtake them. He lets himself be dragged after her, taking care not to tread on her skirts.

“I love the theatre. Plus, we’ve spent the last week sleeping in a shack in the Dales. This,” Quynh waves her free arm over the bridge rail, “is a nice change of scenery.”

London Bridge is teeming with people, the warmth of the bustle settling like cinders into his skin. The city writhes in its haste. Against the far bank of the Thames tall buildings strike against the horizon, the old Southwark Priory still reaching high in spent pride. Buildings are painted pale with dark beams striking bold across them. It is beautiful in its own way, Nicolò thinks. Inelegant, but unique.

“It wasn’t that bad. I still think we should have stayed a little longer, at least until-

“Andromache we’ve slept in nicer caves.”

Quynh glances back over her shoulder meaningfully, brow rising. Andromache shrugs. A smile, although few would recognise it. They step down onto the riverbank as one, turning east.

Nicolò nudges his shoulder into Yusuf as they pass the gardens. “You fail to mention you sent that script back with corrections.”

“Revisions. Small ones.” Yusuf’s voice is low, his expression impish. “Barely noticeable.”

                                                         *

“Ah, here we are.” Yusuf waves Andromache forward into their usual first-floor booth and steps back to allow Quynh to pass. Nicolò pauses, peering up the stairwell.

“Full house.”

“First performance. Trust me, this will be one to remember.” Yusuf is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and it makes Nicolò want to tuck his chin over a bobbing shoulder.

“You’d think the city would be a bit more subdued,” Andromache settles herself on the bench tucking thick plum skirts around her calves. She happily accepts a bag of roasted hazelnuts from Yusuf as he passes her to stand at the balcony. “They’ve only just recovered from their last bout of plague.”

“Exactly! This is the power of art.” Yusuf beams, arm sweeping wide. “Look at these people.” All around them the crowd is seething with anticipation, the noise growing as the wait goes on. Children scramble in the lower level of the yard for better vantage points, clawing their way up the beams supporting the lower galleries. People are shouting and laughing and drinking, the sound cocooned tight within the impressive structure. A man swings a laughing boy up over the mass, and a small group of women pressed against the stage begin shouting a suspicious sounding rhyme, pointing across the pit. Before they can finish a man in the gallery beneath them roars his response across the yard.

Nicolò’s brow furrows. “Clot-pole? I don’t…”

“She’s calling him an idiot,” Andromache supplies, “and insulting his hat.”

“It is a bit much.” Quynh’s leaning over the balcony to get a better look. “I think she’s accusing him of, err – short-changing her. Last night.”

Still grinning, Yusuf peers over beside her. “Oh, she’s quite angry. Here we go.” He sounds delighted. What looks like a parsnip sails over the head of the crowd. “A pity, she’ll want those for the third act.”

Quynh’s now bent almost double over the bannister and Andromache reaches to steady her without looking. “Isn’t this sort of thing that made the man move half of the troupe over to Blackfriars?”

Yusuf shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Ah, William has become far too prudish in his success. The engagement of the audience is the nature of theatre.”

“Engagement?” Nicolò smirks as something below meets its mark with a splat and a shout.

“Well, you cannot deny their enthusiasm-”

Quynh reappears with a whoop of triumph clutching her prize; a browning cabbage intercepted in the air. She rotates the rotten vegetable in careful examination. “Excellent.”

Yusuf raises his hand in hopeless protest as Nicolò leans back in his seat, eyeing Quynh. “10 crowns says you can’t hit the stage from here.”

She snorts derisively.

“20 if you can take King Henry off his feet.” Andromache counters, rising slightly to gauge the distance. Done, Quynh agrees happily, settling beside her and tucking her cabbage under the bench. Yusuf mutters an exasperated appeal for help to the heavens and Nicolò quickly tugs him down into the remaining space with a hand over his knee.

The parting of the stage curtain prompts the dropping of remaining projectiles and an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. The herald clears his throat, steps to the edge of the stage and spreads his arms.

The first and happiest hearers of the town,

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

Be sad, as we would make ye

“Oh, so a comedy?” Quynh says brightly and Yusuf shushes her.

The first actors emerge from the wings in their velvets and the tale takes flight.

                                                                                                                                                                    *

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

One care abroad; he would have all as merry

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:

Yusuf is mouthing the words soundlessly, engrossed.

There are many things Nicolò has enjoyed about visiting theatres over the years. He will readily admit this performance is an enjoyable one - the young man playing Buckingham is particularly charismatic, the audience viscerally immersed in his indignation. The actors proudly deliver their lines and their story to an increasingly hypnotised audience.  

But the play itself has never been what really draws Nicolò to this place. He glances sideways again and immediately, expectedly, loses the thread of the plot. In this moment the talent on the stage could never hope to hold his interest as he sits beside this man. Yusuf has lost himself entirely to the unfolding tale, gaze flitting from figure to figure calling below. Passion alight in his eyes. The arts do this to him in a way Nicolò has seen nothing else in all their time together. They have walked familiar paths in gallery halls for hours on end, Yusuf’s eyes roving walls of painted expression. They’ve sat in houses of the dying and listened to children bringing comfort with songs of naivety. Literature, dance, poetry, music; in all their changing forms they have always arrested Yusuf in his entirety.

These things give people freedom Nicolò, true freedom, he had once said. Free of limitation and expectation, in art people reveal their true selves. It is beautiful.

For Nicolò, that beauty is reflected blindingly in Yusuf’s own experience. To watch him like this for the rest of his given days would see him depart this earth achingly grateful to his God.

But Yusuf feels his distraction and leans toward him. “You’re missing it,” he murmurs, smile pulling impossibly wider. Unbridled delight is etched at the edges of his eyes, and Nicolò wants to trace his fingertips over the creases. He only realises he has reached out and done so when Yusuf captures and kisses his palm. “Watch the play.”

“It is a story still within living memory, I know how it ends,” Nicolò whispers.

Yusuf will not have it, nodding towards the actors. “Watch them tell it.”

Anne Boleyn is drifting across the stage, hand at her chest and Nicolò turns dutifully back to the performance.

Was he mad, sir?

O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:

But he would bite none; just as I do now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

This time it’s Yusuf’s eyes that flicker back towards him and Nicolò hears silent words in the curl of his lip. Twenty kisses in a single breath. A risky venture, no?

Nicolò hums, his thoughts mirrored beside him. We shall see.

                                                                                                                      *

Good lord chamberlain,

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;

And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em

Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all!

King Henry VIII emerges from the curtains with a flourish, the actor clearly taking great pains not to stumble in breeches that billow around his knees. The theatre bursts into applause as a round of trumpets sound, and they shout their approval at the blast of a canon from the rafters. The actors move to their marks to begin the scene in earnest, and Andromache leans forward with interest for the first time.

“See, I told you! With the funding now available, they’ve really spared no expense,” Yusuf is still clapping. Andromache hums noncommittally sitting back, but her eyes are suddenly bright with curiosity.

“Quynh, if you’re going to win your money, I suggest you do it now.”

“Why? I was going to wait until the trial scene,” she replies, confused.

From his place beside her Nicolò can see clearly that Andromache is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well, there won’t be much left by then.”

“What?” Quynh looks down the bench at him. He shrugs. Andromache sighs around her growing amusement.

Seconds pass before she speaks again.

“They’ve set the roof on fire.”

He doesn’t need long to piece together what’s happened. There’s a thin plume of smoke rising from the inner curve of the roof and within, a flicker of light no bigger than that from a candle waving gently in the rafters. The canon. They wadded the canon, he realises. The little flame wafts higher in the breeze. The crowd is oblivious, too focused on the stage to be looking upwards. He taps Yusuf’s thigh.

It does take a moment. “Oh dear.” Yusuf looks back and forth between the roof and the stage, face falling. “Well maybe-

There’s a loud pop as the flame meets eager fuel. It dances up into the thatch lining the hooped roof and flares wide and greedy. Whip fast, it licks across the reeds consuming them in crunches and cracks that have people now looking skywards and shouting. Those in the highest galleries rear back as the fire completes its rapid circuit of the roof. By the time the actors have abandoned their attempts at continuing and stand dumbstruck on the stage, the theatre is ringed in an ominous halo of flame.

“Yusuf, unless your intention is a repeat of ’54…” Quynh trails off sadly, holding her cabbage.

Clumps of lit thatch are beginning to drift into the standing audience and the pushing and shoving follows in earnest. One man charges through the crowd braying, his breeches alight. Andromache stands looking decidedly more cheerful. “Come on, we’ll help them clear the pit.”

Nicolò follows suit, a hand falling to Yusuf’s shoulder. He has to work to quell an absurd urge to laugh; Yusuf is glaring at the roof with all the stubbornness of a chastised child. He squeezes gently, sympathy winning out. “I’m sorry.”

“Canons, who on earth thought canons in a wooden building was…” Yusuf trails off, glancing up. “Nothing to be done I suppose.” He holds out his other hand. “Shall we?”

Drawing Yusuf up behind him, Nicolò moves out into the stairwell twisting up into the higher galleries where people are starting to pile down in haste. An older man stumbles in the rush and he reaches out to steady him. “Careful, sir. Head out towards the river.”

The man nods and quickly hurries on pressing his handkerchief to his mouth. The next woman through the door snatches her arm up to her chest before he can move to offer any assistance. Dirty papist  she spits as she veers away. Yusuf tenses, a hard line pressed at his back. Nicolò just dips his head.

“Please hurry.”

By the time the flow of people has ebbed the flames are beginning to consume the ornate stage pillars. The curtains masking backstage catch like parchment and blaze furiously. “We should make sure the galleries are clear,” he says, “you take the east, I the west?”

Yusuf eyes the roof timbers warily. “Five minutes. No more.”

In the end it only takes Nicolò four minutes to usher the last stubborn gamblers from the gentleman’s room. The fact that the smoke has now crept down to waist level speeds this along nicely, and they hurry to the stairwell hunched and coughing. Nicolò stays low, following them down the last steep flight when his foot catches on something in the darkness, almost putting his hand through the adjacent wall in an attempt to steady himself. There’s a man slouched in the corner, limbs sprawled wide and snoring. An empty bladder clutched to his chest. The strength of the brandy fumes punch through the dense smoke to further sting at his eyes and his irritation almost threatens to outweigh his conscience. Almost.

By the time he staggers out into clear air dragging his oblivious charge Nicolò know he’s been much longer than five minutes. Behind him there’s a crash which sounds very much like the galleries have finally given in and collapsed. Sounds like, because his eyes are clenched shut, burning and watering. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tries not to gag on the tar in his throat.

A hand settles on the back of his neck whilst another cups a palmful of water to his face. Nicolò winces.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “He’s heavier than he looks.”

He can hear Yusuf grinding his teeth but his response is surprisingly placid. “Rinse your eyes.”

Yusuf presses a water skin into his hands and moves away. When Nicolò’s vision has cleared he spots him back near the eastern entrance, patiently shepherding two enraptured boys further from the fire as they gape at the sky. Even for one who has seen much, Nicolò must admit, it is quite a sight.

The playhouse’s cylindrical shape has moulded the fire into a twirling steeple of flame inside the structure, now reaching twenty feet clear of the building itself. The Globe resembles an enormous cauldron struggling to hold its roiling contents. It belches clouds of thick black smoke as its rim splinters and cracks under the pressure and heat. What’s left of the thatch continues to feed the furnace, keeping the flames bright and fierce.

Quynh appears, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow to steer him away. She leads him to a grassy curve of the riverbank where people are congregating in groups and beginning to resettle on the ground. From one muse to another, the audience remain eager spectators, gasping and whooping as the bones of the building begin to break, sending up showers of sparks. Yusuf and Andromache join them just as the walls start to keel inwards.

“You were right, definitely one of his more memorable works,” Andromache announces as they sit. “Perhaps my favourite.”

“Yes, I’m so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” Yusuf’s tone is flat, but his eyes roll indulgently.

Quynh settles herself back against Andromache’s bent knees, facing the playhouse. “We can still make a night of it. We get a bottle of wine, some pastries. Watch the sunset.” Her voices softens slightly and she levels her gaze at them. “You really must go so soon?”

He looks to Yusuf, who nods. “We have passage on a ship to Antwerp. She leaves on the tide tomorrow morning.”

Quynh’s sigh is dejected. “You won’t consider staying just a little longer? We’re moving on to…” she trails off, peering up at Andromache – Devon, she supplies, “We could use your help relocating these women. The trials are becoming barbaric.”

Yusuf shakes his head, surveying the crowd. “I’d prefer not to tempt fate. London is not at its most welcoming for us presently.

Nicolò quirks his lip. “You mean for me.” Ah, he sees now. The woman from earlier is stood just a little further up the bank, clutching at well-dressed man and pointing at them. Yusuf stares back unflinchingly. Nicolò feels him shift to further block her line of sight to him.

Then he turns back to meet Nicolò’s eye and speaks firmly. “For us. If a place does not welcome you, it does not welcome me.” 

Quynh has watched the exchange carefully and suddenly sits up. She clears her throat and calls out loudly enough for those nearest to turn. “Thou art a boil, madam, a plague sore!”

Andromache snorts and the woman raises her fan to her face appalled, tugging on her husband’s arm. It has the intended effect on Yusuf though and his grin returns to its proper place. Nicolò feels a familiar rush of affection for Quynh and her unfailing ability to put people at ease.

“King Lear,” Yusuf says proudly. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Of course she was,” Andromache interjects, “It’s a magnum opus of insults.”

Quynh grins up at her. “Oh, you worsted-stockinged knave.”

The retort is instant. “Brazen-faced varlet.”

“Ancient ruffian.”

Andromache shrugs. “Accurate.”

Their laughter comes in easy unison and Yusuf’s expression is unbearably soft as he watches them. “It won’t be for long,” he promises.

Quynh pulls her eyes from Andromache and nods. “Probably a sensible choice at the moment. You do look violently Venetian Nicolò.

He wrinkles his nose, affronted. “I do not-”

Yusuf is reaching for his face, so he pauses his protest for the gentle pass of a thumb over the bridge of his nose. “It’s your profile my love.” Yusuf’s tongue darts out over the pad of his thumb before it returns to rub more firmly at his nose. “Which currently is very sooty.”

With his hands still upon Nicolò’s face he murmurs.  “Oh but what a piece of work is this man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel,” Yusuf blinks, his sincerity blinding, “in apprehension how like a god.”

It’s all Nicolò can do not to rub his flushed cheeks into Yusuf’s palms like an alley cat.

Andromache arches a refined brow at Quynh. “Nicolò gets a Hamletian ode to his soul, and I get ‘ruffian’?”

Quynh rocks onto her elbow in the grass without missing a beat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Mayhap a smouldering playhouse, ablaze in righteous flame?

“Likened to a smoking wreckage, how romantic.”

Nicolò would laugh but Yusuf is still holding his gaze and his face, everything else muting around him. He does this; bestows his love in soft declarations that leave Nicolò stunned, and then holds him steady until the words perfuse. Nicolò loves him so much he feels he might combust, with all the ferocity of the fire at his back.

Centuries before, he had allowed his disbelief to ask a question once, and only once. The intensity frightening him. Could a gift such as this truly be his eternal?

Nicolò smiles at his world and whispers.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and gives life to thee.

 held in the embers on ao3 at theexistentialteapot

 part one of this series can be found here

[strawbrrytoast]

chapter one.

"𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓?" 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕; 700 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔; none 𝒂/𝒏; yoyoyo first chapter pog ‼️ keep in mind this chapter is mainly world building and that our favourite golden boy will appear next chapter :) ✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

as you set your arm down on the hard bench covered in flyers and menus, their brain was somewhere else. Your eyes slowly scanning across the dimly lit café walls, with polaroid's and fake ivy hung across them all, presumably to make the café more popular online.

The café was a very mundane place to work- sure, the pay was decent, anything to help pay off the student debt- customers came in every so often, always getting a latte with almond milk and going on their merry way. Even if the work was boring, you had nice co-worker's who would cover any shifts you needed them to, and were always on time. The café was peaceful. Most of the time you could get the needed homework done on your breaks, and even sometimes if you were scheduled alone, during your work hours when customers weren't in. the café was like all the others in north Carolina, small, eco friendly, had a mostly vegan menu, and had a theme you could only describe as "soft girl meets 2010 Pinterest".

You knew how to make every drink pretty well with the exception of mocha frappes because the machine was broken half the time, and of course the latte and iced coffee were your specialties from habit. You loved your job, you really did.

of course, except these days.

Work had been especially gruelling today- there was an old woman who got angry at you for "adding too much milk" in her coffee, teen girls being that bit too loud while you had a raging headache, and the bubble-gum at the front had run out, meaning you needed to call your manager to get an order in, which took much longer than it should have.

Lets just say you were grateful to be on the bus home. You loved the bus rides, you have since you were a kid- they provided a sense of calm, a time where nobody else was involved, just you and your music. The ride home was peaceful thank god, and as you rounded the corner of your street you pressed the button and your little bubble was popped. Stepping back into the real world, you made your way down the street to your apartment complex.

The apartment you shared with your close friend deb wasn't extravagant, it was decently average. a small, crowded kitchen with Tupperware floating around in all of the cupboards, two small bedrooms that for some reason were on opposite ends to the apartment, a tiny bathroom that had absolutely no water pressure, and a living area with a laptop monitor as a TV hooked up to deb's MacBook from 2012.

Walking up the stairs to your apartment, absolute horror fills your mind- it was your dinner night. a flurry of swears flew out your mouth, sending a quick text to your roommate apologising and asking what takeout she wants.

𝐲/𝐧 <3 hey debs im so fucking sorry i had a super stressful day at work and i ended up not being able to pick up any food- what takeout do you want?? all on me ofc

𝐃𝐞𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐩𝗼𝗼 💞 ofc its fine i understand!! <3 also pls im craving chick fil'a I would cry

giving the message a quick thumbs up,  you open door dash and quickly order all the food for tonight. opening the door, you quickly plop your bags on the rack and put your shoes by the door and walk to the back of the apartment which held your room and the living room. opening the door, you're immediately greeted by the soft smell of long gone incense and candles, and by the piles of clothes sitting around the floor. plopping down on your bed, you were thinking of nothing in particular, yet everything at the same time.

life was so boring. you got up at ungodly hours of the morning to take a shower, then take the forty minute bus ride to your job, be harassed by teenagers and adults alike all day, walk back to the bus stop in what almost always was rain, take the forty minute bus back home, and if its a tuesday, thursday, or sunday cook dinner, and go to bed thinking about everything all over again.

you wanted something new. something, someone to help you get through the mundane days.

and little did you know, you would.

[sprnklersplashes]

theo/robin- “we broke up but I was in an accident and you're still my emergency and you dropped everything to come to the hospital”

also on ao3

He grabs the phone at what he suspects is a second before it stops ringing. After pushing himself off the couch and throwing about five hundred things off the coffee table in search of it. He can feel Moth’s stink eye on him even as he turns and heads into the hall, half-closing the living room door. Not just because he disrupted the organised chaos of their coffee table, but because he violated their ‘no answering the phone during the movie’ rule. He’ll make it up to her, he tells himself. He’ll do the coffee run tomorrow. Even she can’t remain mad after an iced latte.

He hears her pause the movie and thinks maybe he’ll throw in a cupcake too.

“Hello?”  he asks.

“Robin Goodfellow?”

“Yep.” He’s just a little suspicious, because the voice definitely isn’t one he recognises, and hardly anyone has his number, just Moth and a few close friends. It’s a little unusual, but not too much, and certainly not enough to scare him or anything.

“This is Greendale hospital.We’re calling you because you’re the emergency contact for Theo Putnam.”

Apparently, he spoke too soon.

The first part is enough to send a shiver running up his spine. He thankfully doesn’t have too much experience in hospitals, but the word still puts him on edge. His experiences might be few and far between, but he’s smart enough to know that calls from hospitals mean bad news, 99% of the time.

And yet, that’s not even the part he’s focussing on. Instead he’s focussing on the name uttered on the other line. A name that makes him feel like he’s drowning, and flying, and dying all at once, just at the mention of it.

“Theo?” he asks. Slowly, the information begins to come together, clicking like a jigsaw puzzle. Theo. Hospital. Hospital. Theo. Emergency contact. Him. Emergency. Theo in hospital for an emergency. He breathes out steadily, one hand flat against the wall, and swallows past the lump in his throat. “Theo Putnam?”

“Yes.” The operator’s voice is soft, careful, coaxing him to stay calm, and it would work were it not clearly rehearsed. They’re trained to stay calm in any kind of crisis. Robin is yet to learn that. “He was in a motorbike accident. We’ve tried to get ahold of his father, but we’ve been unable to reach him.” 

Robin looks down at his watch. Of course, he thinks. Thursday night. 8pm. If nothing has changed, then Mr Putnam is out in the fields right now, his phone left on the kitchen table because, in his words, ‘it’s too expensive to take out and get lost’. Theo had tried, and failed, to explain to him that the point of a cellphone is for people to reach him whenever they need to. Briefly, he hopes that the hospital doesn’t see Mr Putnam as some neglectful asshole for this.

But there’s more pressing things than Mr Putnam’s reputation.

“Is-is he okay?” He pushes his hair away from his face and pretends not to notice the trembling hand, or how the warmth has fled his skin entirely.

“Yes. We believe there’s nothing fatal. Like I said, he crashed his motorbike and was badly hurt. And since he’s a minor, we need someone to come in and fill out some paperwork for him, and take him home. He’s in no state to drive himself.”

I bet he isn’t. Robin lets out a soft curse and leans against the wall. Now that the worst-case scenario is over, he lets himself think about how much bullshit this all is, and how much of an asshole Theo is because, seriously dude, you didn’t update your emergency contact info? Why was I even there to begin with?

His heart flutters though, just a little, when he thinks about it, and he tries not to hate himself for it.

“Mr Goodfellow?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I-I’ll be right there. Thanks. Bye.” He hangs up before they can say anything else, and lets the dial tone ring in his ear, flood his mind and leave it blank, before springing into action.

And of course, Moth is standing in the doorway when he turns, her grin only growing wider when he jumps.

“Jesus, Moth.”

“Where you off to, hot shot?” she teases, like she doesn’t know. Like she paused the movie so they could watch it together. Like that name didn’t set alarm bells off for her as much as it did for him.

Moth never liked Theo, and never made an attempt to hide it. Not even when he brought him around, or when Theo tried to get on her good side. He gets it, to some extent, given that they;re brother and sister in all but blood, and protecting him was a job she began early on. But even he soon got bored of her speeches about how Theo isn’t good enough for him, how he’s risking too much for a small town farm boy. He reminded her that he was hardly high class himself-an ex foster care brat who only just got a full-time job as a tattoo artist. Her rants didn’t stop bringing Theo round though, and towards the end he just started tuning her out. He assumed, hoped, that one day she’d get tired, or bored, and then finally see the good in Theo, and they’d all live happily ever after.

So much for that.

She wasn’t necessarily happy when Robin came home that night, eyes full of tears and heart freshly broken. She made him some tea, turned on Taylor Swift and let him cry his sad little heart out. So no, she wasn’t happy. But still.

Now he pushes past her into the living room, grabs his jacket from the coffee table, and prepares himself for some more of her bullshit.

“I guess I owe Mer ten bucks,” she sighs. Her response is so far from what he expected-which was something closer to a rant about how he’s better than this-that he freezes in place, his eyes narrowing in a silent demand for the answer. She just shrugs, her lips pursed like it all makes perfect sense. “She bet me you wouldn’t last six months without him. I thought you were stronger than that, but that’s what I get for believing in you.”

“Okay, first off, can you and your girlfriend stop making bets on my love life,” he says. “And second, he was in an accident, for your information.” He pulls his jacket on and turns down the collar. “He’s in the hospital. I'm his emergency contact.”

“Oh,” is all she says. She’s not one for admitting when she’s wrong, not out loud, so she just steps aside and tosses the keys into his open hand. It’s enough for him though, and he taps her shoulder as he passes her in thanks. “Text me when you’re coming home,” she says just as he opens the door. “And if you need anything. And… if he’s okay.”

He nods, the gesture minute, and jogs outside. He throws himself into the car and peels out of the driveway, shaking fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. He picks the first radio station he can and turns it almost all the way up, letting it drown out his thoughts.

It doesn’t work, but no-one can say he didn’t try.

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

He’s not in the waiting room five minutes before he puts his headphones in. It’s the same logic as the music in the car; drown out the sounds, forget where he is. The paperwork sits on his lap, supported by a wooden clipboard that’s seen better days and a receptionist with tired, sympathetic eyes sporting dark shadows. She tells him she’ll come and get him whenever he can see him, and less than a minute later, appears with a paper cup of coffee. ‘You look like you could use it,’ she said before leaving him to the paperwork.

The coffee sucks, but the gesture is appreciated.

He texts the Midsummer Night's group chat, updating them on what little has happened so far. Moth is surprisingly sympathetic, messaging him privately saying she hopes he’s okay, Merry offering words of comfort and the others piling on with the love and support. It’s beautiful, and it’s sweet, but it’s suffocating. He mutes the chat before he can see someone else asking if there’s anything they can do and puts on a podcast that has yet to let him down. From there he reads through the paperwork and mindlessly puts his signature wherever he needs to. He tenses at the sight of the word ‘surgery’, even if the word ‘minor’ is before it and shudders at the word ‘accident’. He turns the volume up on his podcast every time his thoughts start going down a road he doesn’t like, as if Theo will be okay if he doesn’t let himself think about it.

By the time the nurse taps him on the shoulder, he’s getting dirty looks from the lady two seats down that tells him everything she thinks about his podcast choices.

“Hey,” the nurse quietly, like he might bolt if she scares him. “The surgery went well, and we moved him to the recovery room. He’s awake, if you want to go see him.”

She leads him down a perfectly-polished corridor, neon lights distorted in the shiny reflection, and quickly up in a too-small elevator before stopping outside what must be Theo’s room. Room 203, with the word RECOVERY printed on the wood in grubby white letters. The nurse tells him something in a soft, polite voice and he thanks her before leaving, because he wasn’t raised in a barn, and then it’s just him and the door. And Theo, on the other side of it.

It takes more effort than it should just to put his hand on the handle.

It’s been four months now. Four months, two weeks, five days, because yeah, he counted. Four months since Theo’s insecurities got the better of him and he told Robin to leave, since Robin got tired of trying to work it out and told him that he’d come back whenever he’s ready. A week later, Roz appeared on Robin’s doorstep with most of his things in a box-a mixtape he’d made for Theo’s birthday, one of his shirts, his cap, a book he’d forgotten about. Four months of waiting beside the phone, of not-so-subtly checking out his social medias.

Four months without waking up next to him, or meeting him for coffee, or sharing milkshakes, or having his face pressed into the crook of his neck.

Four months had never felt so long, and now here they are.

He doesn’t feel himself turning the handle, only sees the door slowly opening before him, a cold wash spreading over his body. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Stony silence. A potted plant being thrown at his head. A colourful array of curse words telling Robin exactly where to go. Or maybe, in his wildest dreams, Theo bursting into tears and begging him to take him back.

He doesn’t know what he expects, but what he gets is Theo blinking at him, surprise slowly trickling through the medication-induced haze.

“Hi,” he says slowly. That’s the first word Theo has said to him in four months. Hi. His response is ‘hey’, so it’s not like he’s much better, but still. 

He closes the door and moves closer, stopping a good few feet from Theo’s bed. He isn’t an asshole, and so he lets the fog clear a good bit before he starts saying anything. He had planned on going straight into a lecture, but state he’s in, he now feels bad doing so. His skin is almost as pale as the sheets he’s lying on, his right cheek sporting a nasty looking purple bruise, smaller marks and cuts trailing along his neck and jaw. The arm facing Robin is wrapped in layers of white bandage, while the opposite leg sits atop the sheets and wrapped in a cast. He moves, little by little, until he can see that side of his body, which seems to be more bruises than skin. He winces on instinct, and then remembers that he still can’t see what’s beneath the blanket and hospital gown.

“What are you doing here?” Theo asks after a while.

“I’m still your emergency contact,” he replies, and he tries not to laugh when Theo curses under his breath. He chuckles humorlessly. “Seriously, you need to get that changed.”

“Yeah, I’ll make that a priority.”

“Well, you should. I changed my contact info two months ago. When-” The words catch in his throat. When it became clear to him that Theo didn’t want him back. When he texted him and waited around for two days for a reply. When it was obvious that Theo had moved on and he should do the same. “Well, I did.”

“Oh well good for y-” He gasps sharply, the word turning into a strained cry as he clearly pulls on something he shouldn't have. Robin’s at his side in less than a moment, his hands on his shoulders because he’s unsure where else to put them. They stay there, sitting in that half-embrace, as the seconds pass and the tension fades from Theo’s face. Robin watches and resists the urge to run his thumb along Theo’s jaw.

“You okay?”

“Peachy keen,” he replies in a voice that implies anything but. Now that he’s closer, Theo somehow looks worse than he did when he came in. He can see the bruises poking out from beneath the hospital-issued gown, along with freshly-covered cuts. He remembers the nurse telling him something about needing stitches and he tries not to shudder. 

Theo’s eyes follow his and, because Theo is a bastard, he smiles.

“I look pretty badass huh?”

“Not the word I would use.” Theo pouts and damn it, Robin can’t help it. He laughs; he’s not made of stone. Theo laughs too, as much as his beaten-up body will allow, and raises an eyebrow at him. “So is this the part where you tell me ‘I told you so’?”

“No. Because I am not an asshole.”

But in complete fairness, he did tell him so. Several times, in fact. He told him over and over again that that bike was a death trap and would it kill him to wear a helmet for the love of God and there’s no way he should be on that thing when he doesn’t even have a permit and does he know the reason motorbike insurance is so much cheaper than car insurance? He had told him all of that, over and over again, and Theo had just laughed and kissed his cheek and told him he’s cute when he’s protective. 

Well now he’s cute and right.

“No,” Theo says after a pause. “You’re not an asshole.” He tilts his chin slightly and looks at him, his eyes still slightly dazed, probably from the pain meds. “You came all the way out here because you heard I got hurt. That’s not an asshole thing to do.”

“Yeah, well… You’d have done the same for me.” He doesn’t deny it. Instead he just huffs a soft laugh and looks down at his sheets, his free hand toying with the fabric. Maybe it’s just him, he hopes it’s just him, but it feels too bold, what he said. Like he had just asked, or at least implied, something about them not being entirely over. His heart skips a beat, and so he quickly changes the subject. “They said they’re trying to reach your dad. I know he’s usually busy these nights. They said they’ll keep trying to reach him.”

“Oh God.” Theo’s head hits the pillow, a low groan escaping him. “My dad.”

“Yeah.” Theo opens one eye and looks at him and sighs heavily, grunting slightly with his sore chest. “You may not tell me you told me so, but my dad definitely will.”

“Well, to be fair… he told you so.” He chuckles when Theo flips him off, a scowl on his bruised face. Robin feels braver, and moves closer again. 

“Do you know what happened to the bike?” he asks.

“Nope,” he sighs. “I haven’t seen that bike since I crashed it. And I kind of forgot to ask the paramedics what they were going to do with it.” He picks at the sheet. “But given how I ended up, she’s probably scrap metal by now.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know how much you loved that bike.”

“No you’re not,” he replies dryly. “You hated it.”

“No, I hated the risk attached to it. That’s different.” He finds himself, somehow, standing at the foot of Theo’s bed, his hands shoved into his pockets. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he doesn’t know what, and it feels weird. Words always came easy with Theo. That happens when you have someone you can be yourself around. When there’s no need to hide anything because you’re not afraid of what they’ll do. There was never any need for hesitation or hint of discomfort between them. Not until right now.

He doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t want to go either. He’ll stay until his dad comes, he decides. Until he knows Theo’s going to be okay.

And it’s probably a good thing he does, given that his ever-restless ex boyfriend grows bored of laying down and tries to push himself up, despite his beaten-up body’s protests. He gasps sharply, a short, stifled grunt escapes him, but he keeps acting as though it didn’t happen. Robin rolls his eyes and moves over to him; one hand on his arm and the other adjusting his pillows. Theo scowls again, because he would walk on broken legs before asking for help, but he doesn’t push him away.

“Here, careful… there you go.” Theo sits up against the wall, his back supported by pillows. Robin settles next to him on the mattress, watching his face for any indication that he should go. He doesn’t get one. Instead, he gets a smile, and the ghosting of fingertips along his hand.

“Thank you,” he says. “For… for coming here.”

“It’s fine,” he replies. His mouth runs dry, his heart beating louder and louder being so close to him. He’s missed him. Holy crap, he’s missed him. He’s missed him for months and it all slams into him now, like a speeding train hitting him. Theo doesn’t meet his eyes, doesn’t say anything, just keeps tracing patterns on his hand, his finger getting faster and faster by the minute. He knows him well enough to know what that means. He doesn’t push though, because finally being this close to him is something he doesn’t want to risk losing.

“Robin,” he begins after a long while. “About what I said to you-”

“It’s fine,” he says again, a little too quickly this time.

“It’s not,” he says firmly, shaking his head slightly. “It wasn’t. What I said, the way I said it…” He closes his eyes briefly, probably reliving the night they broke up. He’s recalled it countless times since then. “You didn’t deserve it. And don’t-” He holds up his finger to silence him before Robin can even say anything. “Tell me that it’s okay, you Canadian asshole. Because it wasn’t.”

He laughs at that, even if it’s short-lived. He felt bad for thinking it sometimes, but it never felt right, what Theo had said to him. Half-sentences about not wanting to hold him back, how he can’t stay and give up everything just for him. How he ended it with “I don’t want you anymore” and told him to go. Aside from maybe cheating on him, he doesn’t know how it could have been worse. Leaving him with a broken heart and so many unanswered questions.

“Okay, it was,” he says. “Thank you for apologising.” Theo smiles, barely, and his fingers move quicker against his hand. He doesn’t say anything, not out loud, but he does rest his free hand on Theo’s knee. A brave move, maybe, but also a silent signal that it’s okay. That whatever he has to say, he can say it. God knows when they’ll see each other again, so they might as well.

He must hear it, but even so it takes a lifetime for him to say “I got scared.” He leans back on the pillows, the three words having drained him, and Robin processes it.

“You got scared?” he asks. “Scared of what?”

“Of us,” he sighs. “Of you and me and… how serious it was all getting. And… and your family, and my family, and school. And it was all getting so serious and I-I freaked out.” He swallows thickly and pulls his  good knee close to his chest, a small whimper escaping him. He doesn’t know if it’s from the pain or something else. “I’m sorry.”

They fall silent, and Robin digests what he said. For the past few months, he’s lived with constant confusion over their break-up, and it was just over the past week that it was slowly morphing into acceptance that Theo had just outgrown him. Now there’s this, and his view is shaken up again.

“Oh,” he replies. That might be the only thing he’s capable of saying, given how tight his throat is. He tries to clear it, only to find tears blurring his vision. “Theo… what happened?” Something comes back to him, one night near the end, with Theo over at his place. Him arguing quietly with Moth in the kitchen, her whispering that Theo will ‘ruin his life’. It hadn’t occurred to him how thin the walls in their house actually are. “Did you hear me and Moth?”

“Some of it,” he mumbles. Robin opens his mouth, a fire against Moth ready, but Theo holds up his hand, his pained expression grinding him to a halt. “It’s not just Moth though. It’s everyone else. You heard it too right?” He laughs bitterly. “When people said how weird it was that we were getting so serious so fast.”

Robin doesn’t say anything. Theo’s right; people did talk. It wasn’t because it was two boys, which for Greenedale, is saying something. It was the fact that they’d only been together a few weeks before they were staying at each other’s houses. It was that just two months into their relationship, Robin gave Theo his father’s ring. They talked even more when Robin let it slip they were looking at apartments to share for when Theo went off to college. So yes, people talked, but they weren’t listening. Or apparently, he wasn’t.

“Since when do you care what other people think?” he asks after a while.

“I don’t. But I care about you,” he says. “I care because what if they were right? Robin, you were planning on moving out of Greenedale for me.”

“Yeah, and I said I was okay with it.”

“Well what if I wasn’t?” His voice is tight, shaking, and when tears run down his red cheeks, Robin doesn’t hesitate in wiping them away. Theo leans into his touch, shivering slightly at his skin against his. His hand comes up and wraps around his wrist, his thumb rubbing against the back of Robin’s as he tries to compose himself. “What if I wasn’t okay with dragging you across the country?”

“Is that what you think you were doing?” he asks. “Theo… you weren’t dragging me anywhere. I wanted to go with you.” He swallows thickly before adding, “I still do.” Theo closes his eyes and runs his hand through his hair, his fingers catching on knots.

“Yeah I know,” he whispers, and Robin isn’t sure if he’s talking to him or to himself. “I know that now.” Theo hesitates for a moment, uncertainty in his eyes, but then he wriggles closer, despite his beaten-up body, and Robin does the same until they’re just a breath apart. Close enough for Robin to count the freckles on Theo’s cheeks. Holy crap, he loves those freckles. He loves him, every part of him.

Moth was wrong; he wasn’t lasting six months without him.

“Why did you come here?” Theo asks.

“Because I’m your emergency contact,” he reminds him. 

“Mm-mm.” He shakes his head. “Roz is third on the list. You know that. You could have left it to her. Why did you come?”

“Because you were hurt,” he says, and he means it. It’s the truth, but not the whole truth, and they both know it. “Because I miss you.”

Theo laughs, and kisses the inside of his wrist. 

“I miss you too,” he says, and the tears running down Robin’s face aren’t from heartbreak this time.

The kiss starts slowly, their foreheads pressed together before their lips touch. Robin moves to hold the back of Theo’s head, his free hand on his hip, still mindful of the condition his ex(?) boyfriend is in. Theo’s hand curls into Robin’s shirt, his other tangled in his hair. He feels Theo’s grin against his mouth, feels his own heart finally being put back together. Feels the weight of the past four months finally slipping away, leaving a new future open for them. Together.

But he also feels Theo’s hand shaking, his short, pained gasp against his mouth, and so he pulls away, leaving a small frown on his boyfriend’s face.

“I’m not going to make out with you on a hospital bed,” he tells him. “No matter how badly I want to.” Theo huffs a laugh and nods. 

“Fair enough,” he says. He doesn’t let go of Robin’s hand though, instead linking their fingers together. “What about when I get out of here, we can maybe talk about this? About you and me and…. Everything. And I can try not to freak out this time.”

Robin pushes Theo’s hair away from his face, mindful of the bruises, and smiles.

“I’d like that.” He moves in to kiss him again, fully intending to keep it small this time, but they’re interrupted by the door opening, and a familiar, frantic voice cutting through the air.

“Theo? Oh my God, I left my phone in the house and I just got the call from the hospital, are you-”

He stops his rant just as Robin turns around, his and Theo’s faces a matching shade of red. He feels flashed back to when Mr Putnam caught them in Theo’s room, his mouth hanging open and his eyes darting between them just like he did then, waiting for an explanation. Except they’re not in Theo’s bedroom this time around, and this is the first time Joe has seen him in months, so he sympathises for him this time around.

“So…” he begins. “You two got back together?”

Theo just laughs and buries his face in Robin’s shoulder.

support me on ko-fi

[arcadianstuff]

School Rivals p.t5

Finally getting round to writing the next instalment in the series ! Hope you like it ! Tell me if you want part 6 !!

——————

"I need your help."

You eyed the man curiously who was standing not to far away from where you were laying down. Unlike the first time you’d blacked out and awoken, the ground below you was soft and plush. It appeared you were lying on a sofa of sorts, and as you pushed yourself up you were surprised to find that there was no pain. The blood that had littered your hands had vanished, and with a hesitant hand you traced the edges of your face. The scar was also gone.

"Am I dead ?" You whispered, voice hoarse as you felt the sudden horrible sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach at the thought of death.

A serious look crossed the man’s face as he turned away from the bookshelf he’d been persuing, to stare at you. He didn’t look older than seventy but his eyes gave away the eons he’d been alive. There was knowledge and wisdom in them far beyond what you could hope to understand.

"No, not yet at least. You’ve reached the line between life and death, which is what let me call you here. You ((Y/n) Lake, are the last descendant of Arthur Pendragon." His words had you looking at him incrediously, a laugh leaving your lips as you stared at him in disbelief.

"You’re cracked old man. Aruthur Pendragon and the knights of the round table ? That’s from a storybook. Next thing you’re gonna tell me Merlin is a real person." You chuckled a little, rolling your eyes at the old man who was clearly crazy. Your words had the old man rolling his eyes.

"He is a real person. Or was rather. We don’t have time for this (Y/n)" Merlin was becoming quickly aware of the time limit on your meeting. He didn’t have much time left to keep you in this realm unless you truly wished to die. He couldnt let that happen.

"Arthur’s sword, Escalkibur is yours to wield. A new foe is coming, a truly evil being and you’ll need it if you’re too fight this war and win." Your eyes widened in confusion as you tried to stand up and reach the man, but as you tried you felt yourself fall, nausea rolling over you.

With a grunt, you collapsed to the floor but couldn’t feel a thing. It felt like reality had turned to sand and you were struggling to grasp on to it. Though you struggled to open your eyes, you managed a few blinks and saw the room, in which you were in, was fading like an old photograph. A white glow fillled the room and you managed one last look at the old man’s face.

"Protect your brother and his troll hunter friends. Protect magic and mortal alike. And please girl, Protect Hisirdoux for me...." Merlin's last words barely registered in your mind as he finally weakened, the magic that he’d needed to hold your spirit there having taken a toll on him.

With a bright flash, your form disappeared the white light fading out of the room.

"She reminds me a lot of you." Merlin spoke, his words echoing around the room that wasn’t actually empty. Though you’d never noticed another person, or spirit rather, had been lurking in a corner.

Stepping out from the shadows, Morgana Le Fay glanced at her senile mentor with a grim expression.

"Perhaps. I can only hope she doesn’t repeat our mistakes."

—————————-

For the third time that week you yet again awoke from a blackout.

"Let’s try and not make this into a habit." Your sour words were clipped as a cough racked your body. This time you felt pain as you tried to push yourself up of the grassy floor you’d found yourself on. Curses fell from your mouth as a sharp pain tore through your side in retaliation for you trying to stand up.

It was a struggle, but you managed to stagger up to your feet, though walking was considerably harder. The red suit of armour you wore was heavier than you realised, and it slowed your sluggish steps even more. Though the scar om your face had permanently disappeared, there was still blood covering your hands and coating locks of your (h/c) hair. You were a gruesome sight to behold.

Thankfully, it appeared to be the very early morning, the sun not yet peaking its head up from over the horizon. Only the birds were awake with you, as you hobbled through the forest, having to grasp onto nearby branches for support. A couple of your ribs were definitely broken, and you’d sprained your right ankle. Guess that meant no soccer for you. How the fuck would you explain this to Coach Lawrence ? And oh my god it’s a Monday today. You had school !

"Dude you literally just died and went to heaven calm down..." You grumbled to yourself, still in complete disbelief that you’d just died, kinda.

You could remember taking down Bellroc, the feeling of stalactites stabbing your body and a weight so crushing that it had cracked your body. Had you gone to the afterlife ? And now you were here, somehow having survived all of that. But they were all safe. Your friends, your family, they were safe.

But oh boy were you going to give them the worst tellinng off of their entitle lives when you found them. Jim and Toby wouldn’t know what hit them. Claire, you might go easy on because you felt considerable guilt for having flung her into a wall. God you hoped she was okay. And douxie....or rather Hisirdouxx ? What a weird name...

And the trolls. For fucks sake there are trolls now.

Luckily, the streets of Acrcadia were empty, minus the stray cat and occasional morning bird who’s sweets song made the journey back to your home a bit more bearable. Somehow you’d managed to stumble out of the forest, and found yourself on the familiar 3rd street where Mr. Benoit'ss cafe was.

The walk home should’ve taken ten minutes, but with your injuries it had taken considerably longer. There were tears running down your cheeks as you spied the familiar sight of your home. All your life you’d dreamed of escaping Arcadia, of leaving this house and never coming back. But now you couldn’t have felt happier to see it again, to be able to come back. You’d always wanted adventure, maybe you were getting it now.

As you walked up the porch steps you noticed the faint light coming from the living room mixed with hushed whispers and words that were too muffled for you to hear. But it had gone silent the moment you’d knocked on the door.

——————————-

"I’m so sorry Jim.." Claire whispered, rubbing her boyfriend back as they sat together on the sofa. She’d forced him to change out of his armour and back into his ordinary clothes once they’d come inside. Their friends were scattered around them, Toby was huddled up on the floor next to them, stroking Archie's fur as he glared at the floor. Brooding in the corner of the room, Douxie's face as shrouded with hatred and anger as his grasp on his wizards staff tightened every time he recalled the last moment he’d seen you.

"I love you too." He could hear you saying that, the words like a song stuck in his head. They went round and round like a merry-go-round.

What was worse though, were the audible sobs and gasps of pain that were coming from your mother, Barbara, as she broke down in Strickler's arms. The changeling had taught you for years and was disheartened to hear of one of his favourite students deaths, especially considering that you were Barbara's daughter. This would be a wound that the doctor couldn’t treat.

"I can’t believe she’s gone.." Jim barely recognised the sound of his own voice as he spoke, lips quivering as he tried to hold back another round of tears. His throat was dry and eyes sore, tinged red around the edges. The home was now a house full of broken people.

A rap at the door caught the rooms attention, everyone collectively sucking in a breath.

"Could be more trouble. Stay on guard." Douxie spoke, almost hoping for a fight. He meeeded someone to take his anger out on.

With a quiet whisper, Jim summoned his armour and sword, the familiar feeling of the cool metal setting him a little at ease. With Strickler and his mother at the back of the group, they proceeded to the front door, all armed and ready for a fight.

But their hostility dissipated at the sight of someone they were sure they’d never see again. There, drenched in blood and littered with cuts, stood the girl they’d all been mourning, her eyes widening at the sight of weapons being pointed towards her.

"Woah I die and come back to life and this is the greeting I get." You half heartedly joked, not quite sure how to greet them considering what had happened. Awkward and poorly timed humour was what you resorted to.

A stifled sob left your mothers lips as she stumbled forwards out of Stricklers grasp, and barrelled into you, not caring about the blood that now coated her white lab coat. A small smile lifted the corner of your lips as you hugged her back, more tears falling down your face as you clung to your mum. The two of you sobbed into each other.

As you peeked over her shoulder, you saw the stunned expressions of your friends and family, especially the tears that were flowing down Jim's face. Pulling back from your mum a little, you opened your arms up and Jim rushed into them. Though he was catching up to you in height, you were a tiny bit taller. The three of you hugged, crying and laughing at the impossibility of the situation.

"I cant believe it." Jim repeated again and again, unable to fathom that you were standing there with them. You were alive. Somehow you were still here with them.

A broken laugh left your lips at his words. You couldn’t believe it either, it seemed like a miracle but you knew better. This was thanks to one man, and you were sure he’d saved your life. Merlin.

"Y-you idiot ! How could you do something like that to me ? To Jim ? You are in so much trouble !" With amazing speed your mother did a whole 360, going from sobbing and incredibly happy, to sobbing and incredibly mad. She looked absolutely furious as she pulled away from you and took a step back.

Before you could protest she was pointing at your motorcycle, that was laying innocently in front of your house.

"No bike f-for at least a month ! And soccer ! no soccer a-and a-a.." she trailed off, her anger dying as quickly as it came before she snatched you up into another hug. "Don’t ever do that again." She whispered into your hair.

"I promise I won’t." You whispered back, grateful to just be able to hug your mum again.

After that you’d been tackled into a hug by Toby and Claire, who clutched to you with a lot of strength for two sixteen year olds. Though you were beyond grateful to be here with them and were flattered by their fear and worry for you, you were starting to get antsy. You had questions for them.

Firstly, how on earth did your mum know about this ? And everything that was going on ? You’d had a furious screaming match when your brother revealed to you that he and your mum had known the truth about your worlds for the last year, and had decided to hide it from you to keep you safe. The argument you’d had had shook the living room, and the other people there had sat awkwardly on the sofas and watched quietly.

Secondly, what was Strickler doing here ? You were very surprised to see your favourite history teacher at your home. You knew he and your mum were dating and were totally cool with that. Or well you were until they revealed that he was a changeling ? What the hell even was that ? You’d gone from furious, to threatening to kill Strcikler to calm and collected. Your emotions were taking a toll. Not to mention the exhaustion of surviving death,. Yet you weren’t sleepy. There wasn’t time for sleep now.

Somewhere between your fourth argument with Strickler, Douxie had decided to sneak out of your home. He was too conflicted at the moment To stay there any longer. Of course you’d noticed the wizard try and slink away, and so as you all started to calm down you deiced to follow him yourself.

You were yet to reunite with the man, and though he might be your enemy in some ways, the state of your relationship and been changed permanently forever. And you also had a message to give him from an old friend.

[belovasangel]

Come Back to Me

Summary: Shawn missing big events leaves to beautiful memories and Christmas miracles

Pairing: Shawn x fem!Nurse!Reader

Warnings: swearing, light angst, fluff, flashback heavy, holiday feelings 

A/N: Yup. Surprise. Also flashbacks are in italics, per usual. Also I am not Canadian so I don’t know if y’all celebrate Remembrance Day. For the sake of this story, pretend that it’s the equivalent to Thanksgiving.

Shawn took your hand as you barreled down the sidewalk, laughs flying past you in the wind. Tonight had been a perfect date, something great to wrap the summer up, full of time alone with your favorite guy (and your favorite wine). He had been planning this for weeks now, and you can even remember him talking about this back in June when his tour had been announced. The pandemic put a damper on your two’s plans since March, but once the numbers started decreasing did he get calls from managers, and then... there was another world tour. You weren’t mad, music was his passion. Even though you two would be wrapped in each other’s arms after a lovely night, you could tell behind his eyes he longed to play the guitar for different cities. 

That’s why tonight was so important, because he started packing and planning, then he would leave on Wednesday for Prague. And of course, your job needed you in Toronto. While Canada hasn’t experienced any significantly alarming numbers, there were still cases rolling in. You insisted that Shawn goes on tour, so much that you had to pay for his first ticket yourself (he payed you back, though. He insisted). 

Shawn skidded to a stop, turning around and putting his hands on your shoulders. “Now promise me you’re gonna close your eyes, just for a few seconds.”

You huffed and shrugged your shoulders, “Shawn I’m out of breathe, you made me run in heels for about half a mile... Give me 5 minutes instead.” With a quick chuckle, he pecked your lips and turned you around. You heard his shuffling from those black boots he wears to rubble, then decided to look around. He somehow managed to find a quaint park, with a nice bubbling fountain and family’s scattered around. Dogs were running a lit in the distance, and the bustle of the city wasn’t nearly as booming as it usually is. This was nice.

“Okay, turn around.”

With a giggle, you turned around to see Shawn on one knee. Behind him was a tree strung with lights that were glowing, and underneath the tree was champagne and a radio playing your two’s song, Turning the Page (Yeah, we know it’s from Twilight, but that doesn’t stop it from being any less romantic). He was kneeled on a red and white picnic blanket, the typical one you’d see in catalogues for fall. On the blanket were rose petals scattered. 

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), you have changed my life for the better. The moment you saw me in the E.R., and had to take care of my broken hand, I knew you were just as kind and gentle as you looked. Once you let me in, and take you on that shitty first date, I got to see the real you. The you that cries during every Disney movie, the you that would bring me breakfast in bed when I had a rough day, the you that would rescue a damn pigeon off the street because it looked sad. You are the most sincere, selfless, and intelligent woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I don’t want ever want to stop or slow down. You have become my life and my rock, I’m completely lost without you. I am utterly in love with you, (Y/N). I want us to have a family, I want to make an album for you, and everything in between. Will you please marry me?”

You shuddered awake, looking quickly at your blaring alarm from the end table. Picking it up and turning it off, the time read 4:25 A.M., signaling it was time to get ready for work. You got up, and went to open the blinds to your bedroom, watching the snow fall steadily. Slipping on your socks and bathrobe, you shuffled to the kitchen to get a cup of tea brewing before you hit the shower. 

Mornings like this weren’t incredibly tough anymore, once Shawn was gone on tour. He face-timed you once a week because of tour, sent you letters and packages from your favorite cities, and even had roses delivered on your birthday. And of course, he always said, “Lemme see it. I wanna see you wear that pretty ring. There it is, there she is, soon-to-be Mrs. Mendes.”

Slipping in the hot shower, you played some of his songs, some of your regular playlists, and when you were throwing on your outfit, your two’s song. You missed Shawn. He had missed your two’s favorite holiday, Halloween, where you two always did the cheesy couple costumes. He missed your birthday, but he sent his family in place. He missed Remembrance Day, because in Europe that wasn’t a thing. And tomorrow is Christmas, where he has no sign of coming home whatsoever. That’s fine, though, because you took the long shift at the hospital.

When the song came to an end, you threw on your coat and snow boots, grabbing all the food and equipment you would need for a 12-hour and began to head out. Shawn sent you his daily vlog and you watched that on the shuttle. Once that was over, you got to the hospital where you would forget about your slightly more aching heart. After work, the routine would basically go in reverse. Commute home, get back into your pajama’s, drink some tea, get dinner, and go to bed, where you would have a restless night in an empty bed.

“When do you think we should have the wedding?”

Shawn looked over, a piece of popcorn hanging onto his lip like a lifeline. His cheeks were flushed and he still looked a little sweaty from the show he just played at TD Garden. He knew you were doing the planning to keep yourself from descending into madness (well, not entirely, but you only brought it up when you really missed him). “I think we should do a summer/fall sort of wedding, like when the leaves are red but it isn’t freezing by 5, ya know?”

You hummed in agreement, a smile picking at the corners of your mouth. “I completely agree. Do you want it to be outdoors then, because of the leaves?”

Shawn took another few things of popcorn from the bag and popped them into his swollen lips, he always licked them when he was frustrated by how a show went, or just when his mind was reeling. “I think we should get married outdoors, and then have the reception indoors. Kind of like-”

“Twilight...”

You both looked at the screen and snorted, sending both of you into fits of hysteria. “Shawn, we really base our relationship off of those books, didn’t we?” He looked over, licking his lips once again. “Explain, babe. I get a little bit, but our whole relationship?”

You shuffled in the bed a little bit, “Hear me out, Shawn-y boy. We met when you were hurt and I had to save you, or more-so your career. Edward saved Bella from the car, right? Right. So, there’s that. Then that girl who you worked on the album with tried to get you on the few dates, but that was long after we were official. Boom, Jacob plot line. Then you leave me for your first tour, which I get 100%, so don’t be upset over that. But the girl you worked with saw you kind of sad and made it her mission to befriend you and then attempt to change your mind over me... And our song is the one from their wedding, and we want an outdoors-y wedding.....”

Shawn looked at the screen, then back to the popcorn leaking butter in his hands. “Damn. So you’re saying that I’m Bella?” You began to shake your head, cheeks turning red. “Maybe I meant that wrong, but-”

“No, no you’re saying I’m Bella. Does that mean I get to wear the dress? I cannot wait to get married with no emotions and then have the ugliest CGI baby in the history of cinematics. Aren’t you so excited for that, my love?”

“Absolutely thrilled.”

The alarm on your phone blared once again, pulling you from Shawn. You picked up the phone, getting a few “Merry Christmas” texts from family and friends. You assumed Shawn was out partying with his crew mates, plus it must’ve been a busy day altogether. Turning off the alarm and standing, you pulled on the slippers and followed your routine again. 

Once it got to 6:07, and still no text from Shawn, you decided to call him. Immediately, you were sent to voicemail. With a sigh, you waited for voicemail.

“Hey bubs, Merry Christmas! I miss you more than ever, it’s snowing here pretty rough. I know you’d probably go outside right about now and insist to make a snowman or some angels, so that might be a mission for me after work. Um, I wanted to let you know that I love you so much, and I hope you’re having fun on tour... The apartment isn’t the same without you here, especially around this time. You’re probably having fun with your friends and I don’t wanna intrude on that, so I’ll hang up. I love you Shawn, be careful. Stay safe, come back to me soon. Bye.”

Wiping the tear that fell down your cheek, you stepped outside your apartment, hopped into the elevator and began the commute to your shift. You got to work on record time, beginning your patient rounds and vitals, then celebrating with the coworkers. Working 6:30 AM-9:30 PM would be a tough one, but whatever to keep you under that roof. Plus, double-time because of the holiday.

Once it hit 9:30, you booked it out of the hospital and onto the shuttle. Your eyes were barely open as you saw the texts from Shawn.

(Shawn) 7:59 AM: Hey babe, I’m so sorry I didn’t answer your call! I can’t wait to see your face tonight, you still up for FaceTime?

(Shawn) 9:26 AM: I bet you’re busy, but I’m gonna be in a few conferences and doing press so I won’t be able to talk for a while. Love you!

(Shawn) 3:14 PM: (Y/N) I don’t think we can FaceTime tonight, I have to do something for a fan and it’s really important. I am so sorry.

(Shawn) 8:44 PM: Are you mad at me or are you still working?

(Shawn) 9:32 PM: Something is waiting for you at home, it’s your gift. I hope this can make up for the call!

You hopped out of the shuttle, heart feeling extra heavy as you walked into the apartment. The string lights and streamers along the walls were taunting you as the elevator brought you to your floor, and you tried to compose yourself until you would get inside. Stepping up to your door, you looked for the present, to no avail.

(Y/N) 9:45 PM: Shawn I don’t see a package

(Shawn) 9:45 PM: Mom must’ve brought it inside, I’m sure it’s there.

With a huff, you shoved the key into the door, and walked inside. Chucking your purse and coat onto the hooks, while flinging off your shoes, you composed yourself enough to look for the package. If he got it express-shipped it had to be good. Checking the kitchen was no luck, and the living room looked normal. 

(Shawn) 9:48 PM: Bedroom, babe

With a gasp, you quickly buzzed to the bedroom, and laid your hand on the door. You stopped, hesitant to what was behind the door. What if it isn’t him? Taking a deep breath, you dismissed the negative thought and opened.

The room was filled with lit tea lights, rose petals on the bed and the floor, and Shawn. He was standing there in that chunky-white knit sweater you loved, with flushed cheeks and watery eyes, holding a bouquet of flowers, and your favorite song playing softly in the background.

You gasped, running into his arms with a squeal and sob, him mimicking the sound. He held onto the small of your back, and one hand on the back of your neck, and you felt his tears falling onto your skin. “I missed you so much, (Y/N). You don’t even know.” He pulled back slightly pressing his lips to yours in a soft embrace.

After a minute of kissing, you pulled back. “Merry Christmas, Shawn.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

[partywithgyu]

In The Pines.

🌙Members: Kang Taehyun and Huening Kai.

🌙Genre: Horror. More like, spooky.

🌙Tag: One shot.

🌙W/C: 2300+

🌙Summary: Taehyun had a dream. It was a lucid dream or rather a lucid nightmare. Along with him was his friend, Kai. Stuck in a lucid nightmare he can't manipulate, Taehyun has to deal with the horrifyingly weird happenings. He could get stuck in the nightmare only for that night, right?

‹•.•›

Taehyun woke up in a dimly lit room.

He looked down at himself, dressed in the silk sleepwear he wore to bed that night. So soft was the blanket he pushed away and his feet touched the ground. It was red but not a deep shade unlike the roses in the vase, on the white old fashioned dresser. Few steps towards it he took. Stopping at a distance, small, he looked into the mirror. He saw the reflection of the open window behind him, revealing the sky so enigmatic. No, he couldn't see his own self in the mirror for he was in a lucid dream. 

He did what one would if they were left to control a dream. He left to explore. His feet rushed past the tall bedroom door, down the stairs to the lower floor. He looked to the left then to the right. All around him were doors. No furniture, just doors. In the dimly lit room, he could see that the walls were of a pale shade. The doors were dark, with dull gold detailing. Confusion arose as he looked around. "Which door shall I go through?" The one straight ahead he chose. Opening it had consequences. Cold fingers wrapped around his wrist and he was dragged away. The face was familiar, but difficult to identify with the flashing lights. He could've looked over it for more time to try to recall the person's identity. If only there were blinding lights calling out for his gaze. 

Here and there he looked. Around him was chaos. Chaos was created by the people stomping around, screaming on top of their lungs, words he couldn't quite make out. They looked so dead. As if their eyes never once saw life. Holding in their hands, sources of colorful lights they pointed it around. Truly it was headache inducing. This was a lucid dream, he remembered. For it was lucid, he could control it. He believed he could manipulate it. So, he turned to face a wall. 

"Taehyun," called out a familiar voice making him feel relieved. He could recognize the voice to be of his best friend Huening Kai. He would turn to a different scene, he thought. No. He turned to see a familiar face in a scene growing more violent. He looked into his friend's worried eyes. Kai's eyebrows were furrowed, his cheeks stained with tear marks. "We have to get out of here," he said in a tone so pleading that Taehyun immediately held onto his hand. 

"Kai. Where do we go?" he asked, even more terrified as he noticed blood on the faces on the people. Now they held a weapon each in their hands once free. "Door. We have to get out of this mansion," replied Kai in a hushed tone. The last thing they needed was being charged at by the lifeless people. Twisting the knob, Kai opened the door. He dragged Taehyun out of there. 

Once again all around them were doors. They looked at each other. "How do we get out of here?," asked Taehyun. Breathing in and out, Kai looked around before looking at the shorter friend. "It has to be one of these doors right?," he said with a hint of nervousness in his tone. Taehyun nodded before hesitantly reaching for the other door. The door opened to reveal a mirror. Their reflection didn't exist. "Next door," said Kai before reaching out to the other door. He was rushing because the longer they stayed in the creepy mansion, the most afraid he was of whatever could happen next. Rather, whoever could come to them. 

The third door was pushed open by Taehyun. The young men narrowed their eyes, when bright light fell on them. It was a dimly lit room with a table at the centre. On the table was a cage and in the cage a very bright being. It looked like a fairy, that's what Kai thought at least. "Oh no. Has she trapped you two too?," asked the creature in a concerned tone. "Who?," the two of them asked at the same time. "The evil witch. The one who has caged me." They shared a look before shaking their heads, slowly. "We haven't met any evil--" "Oh good. You should escape before she returns." "How?" "I wish I knew. A window? Something. As long as you two escape to the pines, you're good." 

"The pines?," asked Kai. "Yes. Outside this mansion is a long road. At the end of the road are the pines. That's the only place she can't get you two," said the bright little creature. "As you walk down the road, do not talk to anyone else you come across. Do not believe anyone you come across." Taehyun gulped. The warning made him fearsome of what they would have to encounter on the walk. That's when they hear a small sound at the corner of the room. "Go! Go!" On hearing the fairy-like creature scream those words, Kai shut the door. It was for a split second that Taehyun felt guilty for not setting the creature free. However at times like that, one's own survival has to be prioritized. In this case, both their survival. Silently, he promised himself that he wouldn't leave behind Huening Kai no matter what. 

"Not again," they heard a scream from upstairs. Taehyun turned to the staircase. It sounded like a boy just like him. Someone, who seemed rather frustrated. "We should go," said the other boy before opening another door. Oddly to their convenience, the door led to the outside. "Outside?," he asked Kai who nodded at him before stepping out. Taehyun followed. 

The front yard looked ruined by chaos. Taehyun made the observation as the two young men walked to the main gate. The swings were broken. The merry-go-round was once painted with colors he could tell. Aesthetic, it would be to some. To Taehyun, it was chilling. To be present in a scene, under the purple sky, in a place unknown. He wanted to go back to the world he knew. He wanted to wake up. 

"You told me I would be able to control the dream," he said to Kai. 

"I told you it would take practice," reminded the accused man with a hint of nervousness in his tone. 

Kai was right. He was told that. But he didn't expect this to be the outcome. "Why am I lost in a nightmare?" The last thing he wanted to do was walk on the spooky road that they were walking on. At least there were streetlights. "It's alright. It'll get done today. It's only for tonight," muttered the taller guy, walking ahead. "Right. It's just for tonight. I'll wake up soon." He picked up the pace to catch up with the taller boy. He felt better about walking next to him. "How do I wake up?," he questioned. Kai looked at him. "Oh. It's easy. We just have to reach the pines. That'll be the end of the adventure, you see." 

Not knowing much about how lucid dreams work, Taehyun just nodded. That's all he could do anyway. Walking to the pines wouldn't be that difficult, he thought. Then, he saw someone sitting on the bench, at the bus stop. He noticed first the small golden ornaments hanging on the tip of a tall, pointed hat. It was a clown. A creepy smile was painted onto his face. The one that extended upto his cheeks. Taehyun clinged to Huening Kai. "Stop," he whispered. Huening Kai did as told. He turned to Taehyun with worry in his eyes.  "We'll be fine as long as we don't talk to him. He'll disappear if we do that. After all, this is a dream," he reminded softly. "I know." 

"Know what?," asked the clown in a high pitched voice. He was heading to them, on his hands, upside down. It was horrifying, his gaze. "Ignore." reminded Taehyun to Kai. A small nod from Kai, then they started walking ahead. It was going to be a long walk with a clown behind them. 

"Tell me. Tell me. I wanna know." 

"Oh! Let me guess! You know that you're headed the wrong way?" 

"My! My! The pines are the other way! Poor boys!" 

"You're so lost without your mom. Don't worry, children. I'll help you find them!" 

"Wow! Did she tell you to not talk to strangers?" 

"I am not a stranger. Look at me. Don't you know me? Take a look. Take a look." 

"Look! Is that a shark in the sky?." 

"Ah! Fooled you!" 

"Don't act like you didn't fall for it."

"Why did the mushroom go to the party? Because it was a fun guy!" 

The clown wouldn't shut up. More than terrifying it was annoying. So, very annoying. It was shocking when the clown screamed for he had been hit. The two guys turned around to see another boy, about their age, with a baseball bat in his hand. The clown lay on the floor, with 'X' painted over his eyes. To their surprise he was beginning to fade away. Kai looked over at Taehyun who just watched the scene. The unknown guy smiled at them. "You're welcome." Taehyun opened his mouth to talk for it to be covered by Kai. "Don't talk to anyone," he was reminded. 

"Why not? You can talk to me. I am just another wanderer. I wouldn't have hit the clown for you otherwise." 

Taehyun was curious about the use of the term wanderer. What did it mean to be a wanderer?, he wanted to know. So, he stopped to hear what the wanderer had to say next. "What? Aren't you two wanderers too?" He was clueless of what it even meant to be a wanderer. Yet, he couldn't ask him. "This is a trap," whispered Kai into his ears. 

The wanderer's eyes lit up as he drew a conclusion. He looked over at Kai who only seemed to be wanting him to shut up. "I don't know what to do other than tell you to not go to the pines. Don't go. Wake up." 

The warning made Taehyun even more curious. What was the guy talking about? He looked so human. Like a boy killing time. The way he had been waiting for the clown almost. He must've picked the spot to hide because of the streetlight. He could see the clown clearly that way. He was so tempted to ask him. "Taehyun, we have to go to the pines to wake up, remember?" said Kai, gaining his attention. "Right." 

Once again, the two guys found themselves walking on the path. The pines, they could see far away. "What did he mean?" asked Taehyun to his friend. "How am I supposed to know?," replied Kai. He sighed as he looked at his friend. "Dreams don't always make sense, you know?," he said. "I keep forgetting this is a dream." "Right. You aren't even able to control it so that makes sense." Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "Can you?" "Hm?" "Can you control this dream? Are you really here? Are we sharing the same lucid dream?," questioned Taehyun, stopping in his tracks. Kai stopped too. "I can't control--" 

A fish hit Kai's face. It was a goldfish, he could see courtesy of the streetlights. A few more fell on the ground. Surprised, Taehyun looked up at the purple sky. It was raining fishes, just like he had once read about in a novel. "We better run," said Kai putting forth his hand. Taehyun held onto it before the two of them ran to the pines. He giggled, once they were covered by the trees. He turned back to see a lot more fishes fall from the sky. "That was silly," he said to Kai. "Free fishes," commented the other boy. 

"Anyway, let's go now. I want to wake up," said Taehyun. "Sure." 

 "Don't go," they heard a voice say. Another boy sat by a tree, sadness in his eyes. He looked as pale as one could with the darkness under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for months. "It's a trap. Don't go in," he told Taehyun. Particularly, him. "They're just like the clown, Tae." "He's right," defended another guy, from not so far. Few more guys headed closer. "Don't go in. He's trapping you." He sounded very assuring. That wasn't enough for Taehyun to believe them. Why would he believe the people of this nightmare? As they started getting closer, trying to convince him, Kai held onto his hand. "Let's run before they trap us. They don't want us to get in the pines." 

The two friends ran as fast as they could. So fast, that the few of the unknown guys who tried following them, gave up. They ran and ran until they saw a golden bench. In the middle of the pines, a golden bench, had to be there for a reason. "I think this is it. It has daylight around it. So sit," said Kai to Taehyun. Relieved, the guy sat on the bench. It was over. The nightmare was over, at least that's what he thought. "May I never have a nightmare again," he said only to notice the creeper growing up from the land, creeping around his leg. 

Golden was the light surrounding the trees. Familiar was the voice that spoke as though it didn't belong a person. The voice belonged perhaps to the trees or the wind. Maybe, it was the purple sky. "You were successful, wanderer. Just as told, you brought to me a sacrifice so you no longer stay cursed. You're free from the recurring nightmare. You shall now dream freely, no long wake up in the mansion. Be vary of wandering back into my nightmare world again." 

Eyes wide open, Taehyun looked at Kai. He looked so relieved for he had finally gotten rid of the curse. How could he not be? Not even once he would have to visit this nightmare again. He had to work hard for it of course. To even convince Taehyun to try to have a lucid dream was work. Every bait was a work of art. It took efforts but it was done. He was free to finally have a goodnight's sleep. He felt as happy as Taehyun felt betrayed. 

"As for you new boy. Every night you shall visit this nightmare. Every night, you shall suffer. As it gets brighter, you'll wake up to a bright morning but at night you'll wake up to the purple sky. If you wish to not do so, get along a friend in the pines." 

‹•.•›

 To head to my masterlist click here.

[justinalovee]

Empty souls

0.01

Notes: Hello all, this is my first attempt at writing a 100 fic. It will stray from the original story, but I’ll try to stick to it best I can. Hope you enjoy.

“Not long now,” Jill grumbled to herself.

Huffing, she slumped against the wall opposite her tally marks. They sealed her up in the Skybox just after her sixteen birthday, and today she turned eighteen and would be floated for her ‘crimes’.

“Any minute now.” She mumbled to herself.

Talking to herself had become her new normal to make up for her lack of communication with others. Sitting with her legs crossed, hand shaking while poised over the side of her boot, Jill always had a knife hidden in it. Depending on what guard walked through the doors, she might need to use it. All she wanted was to tell the truth, but the ark's council would never let that happen.

As she heard the heavy footsteps getting closer, Jill prepared herself mentally. This was it.

“Prisoner eighty-nine turn and look at the wall with your hands behind your back.” A guard’s voice called in before they even opened the door.

Doing as she was told, Jill called back. “I’ve done it.”

It surprised Jill when the guard entered the cell alongside a young woman in a medical uniform. After the women inspected her vitals, the guard clamped a thick metal bracelet around her left wrist.

“What the hell is going on? You need to tell me? Jill demanded.

“You are going to the ground.” The guard informed her.

The ground? Was this some kind of sick joke? Nobody had lived on earth for a long time. It was physically impossible.

From then on everything happened so fast. Before Jill knew what was happening, she was among the one hundred being sent to the ground.

Jill tried to look at the bright side. At least she got to live a little longer. What she would be alive to see would remain a mystery.

On her way to meet the other ‘prisoners’ she walked past doctor Abby Griffin, and it took everything in her power not to try and rip her head off. The older women was supposed to protect them...she should have fought for them. Instead, she did nothing. Doctor or not, Jill would always think of the women as a coward. When Abby looked at her walking past, they shared a knowing look without saying a word.

______

When they landed on the ground a few things became clear, firstly the ‘no rules’ life would never work. Second, it was going to be a dick measuring competition to see who got to run the place. The third thing that Jill knew for sure was Bellamy Blake was hiding something. Behind his macho persona, he was scared.

Bored of listening to a girl called Clarke talking so much about how they needed to go find some mountain, Jill wandered off away from the crowds. She struggled to believe that all the surrounding greens were real. Even though she had read it in books, Jill had no idea how large the trees would be, or how bright the different colors would look. It felt surreal. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wonder to what it would be like to feel grass underneath her bare feet for the first, or...

“Jillian?”

Jill turned to see John Murphy running towards her. He picked her up and hugged her tightly, spinning her round. He had gotten so much taller than the last time she met him.

“What the hell are you doing here? I never even saw you on the way down” he said, still holding her.

“I got arrested not long after...you know. What about you? Why are you here, John?” Jill asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

She was so happy to see him that Jill never noticed the way Murphy changed when he saw Bellamy glancing over at them. He had let go of her and his excitement seemed to have died down.

Murphy never responded, he just pulled the woolly hat that covered her head down somewhat and chuckled. “I’m glad you’re still alive.”

Jill watched him walking away, smiling. Apart from getting taller and filling out a bit more, he still looked the same as she remembered. She was glad he was on the ground. John was a good guy, Jill just hoped he didn’t get too carried away being Bellamy’s ‘right-hand man’.

Turning to her left Jill saw someone else she recognized. “Steph?”

The redheaded girl looked up at her with tears in her eyes. “Jill? Is that you?” She asked quietly.

The young girl's breath was hitched and broken from crying so much. Jill kneeled down beside her. “Hey, are you okay?”

Steph couldn’t have been older than fifteen now and seemed distressed.

“She’s been like this since we landed. See if you can get her to shut up!” One of the older boys called Harrison hissed.

Jill stuck the finger up at him before helping the girl to her feet. “Why don’t we go a walk? Get you some space away from all the noise.”

Steph nodded. Jill knew Steph just needed some time to adjust to what had happened. They had only been on the earth for roughly an hour, anyway. Coming to earth from lockup was a lot scarier for some of them and being around asshole boys like Bellamy and Harrison wouldn’t help her feel any better.

“When did you get locked up?” Jill asked curiously.

“Shortly after you.”

Damn it, another life ruined for no reason.

______

As they walked through the forest, Bellamy was frowning. His sister had run off with Clarke and her band of merry men, instead of staying like he wished. All he wanted was to keep her safe, but as usual his stupidly naïve sister didn’t listen to him. He would need to find a babysitter for her at this rate.

Bellamy also couldn’t help but notice the foolish smirk that was on Murphy’s face, he didn’t know why but it was annoying him. He had seen the way Murphy had looked at the girl with the stupid wooly hat earlier. Jill seemed like trouble and a distraction. He wondered how far Murphy’s loyalty for her went.

“Who were you talking to before?” Bellamy asked with a flat tone in his voice.

“Just someone I know from the ark.” Murphy frowned. He didn’t want to talk about her.

“What was her name? Jill?”

Murphy responded, “Jillian Slate.”

Slate? “Slate? As in councillor Laura and Thomas Slate’s daughter?” Bellamy asked wide-eyed.

Murphy nodded. Bellamy had heard the stories about what happened at the ark's orphanage. The infamous Jillian Slate looked nothing like he imagined she would. He had pictured someone a lot bigger and feral looking.

“Right” Bellamy deadpanned. “Just remember no distractions. You can’t take your eyes off the prize for anything, you can screw her after we get everyone’s bracelets off.”

Murphy wasn’t sure why, but his hands balled into fists. Jill wasn’t some whore who he would ‘screw’. If anybody but Bellamy had said that about her, he would have put them on the ground without a second thought. Murphy didn’t want to go against him for any reason so soon...however he had his limits, and Jill was one of them.

“Is it true?” Bellamy asked without looking back at him.

“No.”

Bellamy smirked, knowing he was getting Murphy riled up. “You know, Wells and Clarke don’t trust her. They think she’s a danger to the rest of us.”

“Wells and Clarke better mind their own fucking business.” Murphy snapped.

Bellamy’s smirk faded as they walked back towards the camp. He could see kids gathering and yelling.

“Bellamy!” A kid called Monty yelled while running towards him.

“What’s going on?” He demanded.

“Octavia got bitten by something in the water and they have speared jasper.” Monty said before leading him towards Octavia.

No. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Bellamy wasn’t ready to lose his sister. She was everything to him.

Next chapter

[eternalstrigoii]

Haunt-ober Night #8: Lantern                                                                      

There’s a monster in those woods,

It will get you, if you’re not good.

Ulstead’s children sang that rhyme, still. They had when he was young, and he imagined they would when he was as old as the king; the young man had been repeating it to himself since his brother flinted their lantern under the cover of the dense canopy. Their dinghies rested, overturned, beneath the first tree across from the fishermen’s bridge – somewhere they hoped would be easy to find once they ensured they would be paid for their trouble.

Drag you under leaves and sticks,

Punish you for all your tricks.

It seemed like a simple prospect until they were engulfed by darkness. They grew on stories of the wicked and tricky fey who would lure children into the woods and spin them in circles so they would never find their way home, yet he had the nagging suspicion that it would not be Their fault if they lost their way. When the leaves rustled overhead, he looked up out of the corner of his eye to spy the squirrel or the possum that made the sound, but his eyes did not linger; it’s a wood, he reasoned with himself, that is what woods do. Things live here.

A nest for hair and claws of bone,

You are never, ever coming home.

They had to have passed plenty, by now. They just weren’t looking hard enough.

He had thought the glowing mushrooms might be fey, but they were simply glowing mushrooms – they did not struggle when plucked, and they did not provide enough light to pocket more than the one. If it was not for the chirp of the insects and the scurrying of night-animals, he would’ve believed them entirely on their own.

The darkness of the canopy had given way to open fields of summer’s wildflowers, and the young man plod through them with no regard for what might be occupying the earth or the safety of the tall-grasses where he stepped. His brother moved more lightly, barely more aware of nature’s intricacies.

“Where would they go?” he whispered fiercely.

“I don’t know – to a fairy ring,” his brother replied.

“A fairy ring?”

His brother’s cheeks ruddied. He threw an angry glance over his shoulder and held the lantern higher. “What do you expect, to reach out and just—?” Find one? His brother reached out, swept his hand over the tops of one of the wildflowers, and “pulled the flower from its stem” –

Except no flower came away. His hand closed around the body of a sleeping petal sprite, whose abrupt awakening came with a soft, gentle cry of pain at the crumpling of their fragile wings.

The young man nearly threw them to the ground.

A heart’s beat of silence passed between them, and then the boy dropped his lantern to rifle through his bag. There was a cork-topped jar that they’d stolen from their mother’s kitchen, and he hurried to pry the top loose so he might stuff the little creature inside of it. His brother snatched another off the top of the tall grass, bent down like a stem beneath the weight of their round little bodies, and the small creature yelled out in fear as they were disturbed. He reached for another, who ran; grabbed at another, still. The other sprites were quick to rouse, and their high, panicked voices rose above the tall grass like a song.

A fleeting darkness blotted out the moon’s pale light. The young man’s eyes lifted, but he saw nothing pass; his eyes were still raised as his brother pocketed the half-sealed jar, and a heavy thump landed upon the earth behind them.

For a heart’s beat, neither moved. The petal sprites did not soothe, and yet their cacophony did not detract from the certainty that accompanied their shared apprehension. His brother dared begin to turn, slowly raising his head, and then his eyes, to look over his shoulder at whatever creature’s landing claimed the advantage of familiar territory.

He did not take the time to look for himself. He saw the fear that seized his brother’s face, and he surged forward without regard for the sprites that had not fled.

He ran.

The petal sprite struggled and chittered and screeched when the pressure built upon her fragile wings. He did not understand a word of the language she spoke, but he should’ve understood raw panic when he heard it – help! Don’t hurt me, please!

He did not have the time to dig his heels into the soft earth when the shadows themselves descended from the blackness of the tree-line. The light of will o’ the wisps fluttering in practiced coordination had been snuffed out by the sheer breadth of your wings.

He dropped the petal sprite.

There’s a monster in those woods.

The tender, fragile little thing hit the dirt face-first. He did not once look down at it, for his eyes were fixed upon the seemingly back-lit, demonic gold of yours. The blood rushed away from his already-pale face. Oh god.

It will get you, if you’re not good.

Low. Guttural. The sound you made – the snarl that left you – could not have come from you, yet it had. Faintly human. Your shape was faintly human, but your wings. Your horns. He backed away. He could not take his eyes off of you; he would’ve been a fool to.

One. Measured. Step. Forward.

Drag you under leaves and sticks.

That was what happened to his brother. The roots had turned to prehensile branches with unnatural sentience, guided by the hand of the other wingéd creature. God in Heaven, it wasn’t just you. How many—?

Punish you for all your tricks.

His back collided with something solid. Be a tree, he thought, though an involuntary shudder passed through him. Trees are not warm.

Another languid, measured step. He could see you in the light, now. Cheekbones like a jagged cliff-face, broken-glass webbing over your cheek, talons…claws of bone.

You are never, ever coming home.

From not far above his head, a low, coarse voice hissed, “Boo.”

                            Thankfully for the flower sprite, her petal-wings were bruised, but otherwise unharmed. You loved the way their fat, alien little bodies fit in your palm – her fuzzy moth-feelers brushed over the sharpness of your talons as you examined her delicate, curling tails. Satisfied that she was in sound physical shape, you set her down on one of the many beds of flowers and apologized – again – under your breath.

Confused, but pleased, the little creature chittered something that sounded kind, and crawled off of the flower into the thicket of overlapping leaves beneath.

“How is yours?”

“Hm?” Borra had been watching his rather intently for a time, and you would’ve been concerned, had you not seen the little thing kick their feet several times when his thumb brushed over their fat little belly. A little one, you figured, and were likely right. They had thinnish, white-tipped-blue petal wings and much sparser antennae – long and curved like reverse forest-horns with little, brush-like tufts on the ends. “Fine.”

Fine, shorthand for, they’re unharmed and relatively unscathed.

Your back cracked when you stood, and you fanned out your wings to help crack it again. Thumb-claw to thumb-claw, they nearly stretched as far as four of the moors’ old trees.

“Her wings were bruised, but she’ll recover.”

One of his sparse, fair brows lifted. “You can tell them apart?”

“Women’s intuition.”

His jaw flexed. The pad of his thumb ran over the little creature’s belly again, and the little thing kicked its tiny, gentle legs with a merry peal of laughter. They were insufferably cute.

He released them onto the flowers without a word, and the little thing flared and flapped their inverse-morning glory wings. You thought they might disappear into the foliage too, until you realized that, by holding still in a given place, their flared wings made them totally resemble flowers – as useful of a skill as the feathered bases of a jungle fey’s horns, blending their bright horns in with the foliage.

“Goodnight, little one.” You patted their delicate back with the pad of your index finger, and their gentle, fragile wings fluttered once more.

You did not need to watch the smattering of sprites settle on their stalks to sleep, yet you lingered for a moment longer; every night on the moors was a beautiful one, and the gentle, stirring breeze fanned strands of your dark hair over the front of your shoulders. They – and the will o’ the wisps you’d loosed the last time poachers sullied the sanctity of their homes, the willow sprites before them, and the one, unfortunate wallerbog who had once been cornered only to spend the night on your lap like a child, squishing their wet hands around your horns and trailing pond-slime through your hair while Borra pretended not to smile in your periphery – needed protection. They needed the wall of thorns, at least on along the river-border. If only you knew who created them and why they’d finally lowered. If only you didn’t suspect that someone else had once protected this land as you did.

He nudged you. The incline of his head proposed that he might go ahead to push the boats back into the river without you, if you liked; you shook your head and fell back into step with him, already considering where, along the banks, you might next land.

High up in the trees, well beyond where the moorland fey flit and pattered about, an unkindness of ravens picked at the carcasses of the men cornered by the pair of you. The guts within their open bellies had not been too badly mangled by their mounting, and were uncharacteristically whole. The eldest of the ravens plucked one of the unseeing eyes from its socket as he watched, cocked his head, and swallowed the morsel whole.

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

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[heli0s-writes]

winter dreams

Summary: Six months after a perfect summertime kiss, you see him again in time for the new year. Music: Death Cab for Cutie - I Dreamt We Spoke Again

Pairing: Reader/Bucky

A/N: 2.1k words. Pining & Soft Bucky. Holiday fluff.  TW: references to cancer

A follow up to summer skin but it’s not necessary to read it first. This was written for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​​‘s Merry Kismet Writing Challenge. Thank you so much for hosting! The prompt is “You owe me a kiss.”

It’s cold.

December reaches your childhood home in disappointing periods of drizzling rain hitting windowpanes, fogging the insides gray with the house’s heat. Brief winter winds ice the city, never quite enough to flurry like how it did in New York.

Yet somehow, it feels colder here.

You bundle up all over when it sinks into your bones. Blankets and two pairs of wool socks, knitted hats and gloves indoors, still rattling, falling lovesick and not participating in festivities.

Your sisters chide the melancholy, ask you to cheer up, tell you it’s the most wonderful time of the year incoming. Tinsel and allspice, brown sugar candles and the crisp snap of pine. A real tree propped up by the fireplace, topped by a burning red star.

You miss him.

The ornament glows his sigil and, you miss him.

Miss his eyes. His hands. Miss his damn shadow.

Thanksgiving had tasted like wet sand. The turkey and cranberries a mush of pulp. Basting and seasoning, rosemary and garlic, rubbing all manners of things down with butter… and in the end, no matter how you tried, the last six months crumbled like ash in your mouth.

Your father’s illness and subsequent recovery bloomed relief but it was still too soon. There was one more round of radiation and then, it would be over. The cloak of death could finally be ripped down, hung up elsewhere to shrivel and flee; he’d finally be free of cancer.

Six months after sweltering summer kisses on a dock and you were still sick with longing for Bucky. He calls rarely because your civilian life can’t bleed into your hero life; you’re the only one with family—the only one with a possible hostage situation.

Two conversations, maybe. With his low timbre saying hello. Don’t know when I’ll see you, but I’ll dream of you until I do. And the sadness in your gut volleys into hope—careens itself into balmy spring and the taste of his tongue on yours. The only reprieve you receive is in darkness, when you might be lucky enough to find him under a clear June sky, the two of you meeting in the middle of a midnight yearning.

The days between Christmas and New Years smear together. A foggy mess of unknown hours and habits, waking and sleeping all blurring into some kind of purgatory overcrowded with glazed ham leftovers and candles with names like Twisted Peppermint and Merry Berry.

A steaming mug is slid over the frosted windowsill on the 30th. Your youngest sister plops down on the sofa seat with a hum, pulling striped red and green sock encased knees up to her chest. Mind-reading. That connection between siblings.

“You go.” She states casually, and it takes you by surprise. “Dad’s doing well. You go. World needs you and all.”

Under a heavy quilt, you’re already quivering with preemptive heartbreak. A sip of your drink and the beginning of a protest before she puts up her hand, “We’ll be fine.” Then, a smirk and a roll of her eyes, “Figures. You finally fall for a guy and he’s probably Captain America.”

You bite your smile down and stay silent.

-

Voicemail. Even the automated tone repeating his phone number before the shrill beep gives you butterflies. War drums echoing from your chest. The practiced message you ran through your head sounds stupid no matter how many times you rehearse it. No matter how many times you’ve dreamt of him and this moment.

“H-hey... I, uh, I’m heading to the compound. Uh. Well, I think I’ll be there in time for tomorrow night’s party. Can’t wait to see you, Buck.”

A string of the dumbest syllables ever known to man.

-

The commons room is aglow when you arrive. Soft and brilliant in orange and yellow, warming up the darkness of dimmed lights. There are at least three trees on your way in, lit up with gold, then blue, then silver for the third, overflowing with ribbon and sparkling garland. Hand-blown glass ornaments refract a rainbow array of hues. There is fake snow in a trail flanking the velvet red carpet running inside, shaped meticulously so that it imitates a snowbank to perfection. Soft music hums from deeper in, harps and violins, and the smell of the fireplace crackling spiced woody notes soothes your bones.

Pepper’s outdone herself heralding in the New Year. You’ll have to apologize for dripping water all the way in, pelted by snow and shuddering head to toe.

It’s flurrying in New York, alright. Your chattering teeth are a testament to the temperature.

Natasha’s the first to see you by the entrance. A raise of her champagne class and you grin shyly, stepping in, wet boots tracking to the bar. Steve beams and rushes across the room, nicking off his conversation with a fan in the middle, throwing his arms around you for a hug.

“He’s in D.C.—does he know you’re— Christ, where’s your coat?"

You shake your head and quiet your trembling as you take in Steve’s pressed denim shirt and his slacks and hair neatly combed to one side. Clean shaven and handsome, twinkling eyes as he holds tight. Your shoes are dripping onto his and you chuckle, “I forgot it—too eager, I suppose.”

The gown you pulled on at the airport is an old one—silvery lavender with thin trails of sparkling tinsel. Worn once during an undercover mission near New Mexico and then hung up to sway limply in your sister’s closet because it was too beautiful to discard even though it smelled like gunpowder. The excitement of your arrival was too pressing that you’d forgotten the right shoes. Boots it is—black and clunky, the kind you’d prefer to have on in a fight.

“He’ll be mad you’re not dressed for the weather.” A silly grin as if Steve’s hiding a secret. Then, a single raise of his sandy brow as he looks down. The gossamer hem a darker purple as it sways over your shoes. “But maybe you can go barefoot for tonight.”

-

Sam is elated when he arrives, pulling you into a spin before his hand clasps onto yours and he sways all the way to the middle of the dance floor. It’s like you never left as he chatters on, making you laugh and cry, his steps goading the band to play faster accompaniments.

Three songs in and you’re reminded of how tired you are from the trip. Your feet are freezing on the tile and so you lead Sam to the couches, accepting a drink from Natasha’s hand before leaning into her, tingling toes tucked beneath your thighs. She plays with your hair, rubs your shoulder, and whispers that it hasn’t been the same without you.

“I remember this dress. We got into some trouble that mission.” And you know that look even without seeing it. Half-smirk, eyebrow up, the Natasha trademark.

You laugh at the memory. Gunpowder from her Beretta and the skirt hiked up to reveal your own pistol strapped tightly to your thigh. Beneath it had been a knife. Overkill, you’d thought, but it came in handy anyway.

“James will appreciate your sentimentality.”

The two of you had played lovers, and it was easy slipping into the role. Your heart flutters at the memory and how nervous you had been when his hand caressed yours at the auditorium entrance. He had bent over and whispered that you looked beautiful, and you snorted in return—a broken noise of disbelief.

“We missed you.” Natasha blows into your ear playfully, “You won’t believe how annoyingly long he sulked. If he’s not here at midnight, you’re getting a kiss from me.”

“Woah. I’m gonna kiss her.” Sam protests, leaning forward dramatically.

You turn to Steve with a grin, waiting for his bid but he only puts his hands up, palms faced outward. “Not me. I’m not trying to get into any fights with Buck. Had enough of that for a while, if none of you remember.”

A few more minutes of chatting and you dismiss your friends, shooing them back to their company and unwilling to take up any more of their time.

New Year’s Eve and you certainly can’t be the most interesting person here, you say. Check out the band, gosh, there’s a celebrity—and Tony, sweeping in with gusto to shoot a comment about how he didn’t even notice you were back but that your room is still in pristine condition, if you were wondering.

And you weren’t, but you thank him anyway with a wink.

11:50 and the back wall is glaring a projected image of the NYC ball drop. You stifle a yawn behind your hand, leaning over the couch lazily. Guests come and go, welcome you back, and you’re always a little startled when another stranger flits by to say hello and thank you. Everyone blurs together in a rush of sparkling cream gowns and silk suits.

11:55 and your eyes are shuttering close, cheekbone resting upon your palm.

11:58 and a hand is skimming up your arm, softly prodding, but you’re too tired to move.

Cheers and whoops. It’s so loud. Music crescendoes, Natasha placing a peck on your cheek along with a blanket over your shoulders and you reply with a wilted little smile. Then, you return to a familiar sweetened coffee black dream of someone tall and soft-spoken.

-

You jolt from the stupor with a gasp. The room has emptied and darkened, only lit by the soft glow of the projector spinning starry images. The blanket from your shoulders has slipped off some time ago, gathering to pool at your feet. Blinking sluggishly, you realize you’re no longer leaned against your palm on the edge of the couch.

Dusky pine and leather. Faint cool aftershave and the vital heartbeat of warm boy. Something heavy and buttery soft draped over your previously cold shoulders.

Another dream.

Yet, it feels more corporeal than ever before and the drumming in your chest strikes a thrilled beat. Your hands wildly pat him up and down, drawing forth his sweet laugh at your antics. You don’t stop, though, running up the neoprene vest, the straps buckled over his torso, his strong jaw and chin. Then hair, those long chestnut strands lightly curled at the edges, grown a little longer and tucked loosely behind his ears.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, honey.”

You bristle in disbelief, distracted by the realization with some embarrassment that you’ve been sleeping on top of him for who knows how long.  Stupid syllables stuck like caramel chews in your mouth, welding your teeth together in a solid disappointment. After spending six months dreaming about seeing him again, now you’re finally here and you’ve got nothing to say. Bucky lifts his chin to place atop your head, pressing kisses down and chills race to your fingertips and toes.

“Nat said she kissed you at midnight,” Bucky muses, and you can just hear him smiling how he does when he thinks he’s done something clever. “And what about me? You owe me a kiss, unless you’re all done with kissin’ for the night?” His gloved finger traces your chin, thumb pad rubbing over your nose, lifting your gaze until you’re staring up into his eyes.

Blue, blue, blue, like milky ways dipped in a cerulean sea. Behind his head the cosmos continue to spiral, outlining him in silver and starlight. He is beautiful in the night, brighter than suns. You want to sob and say Bucky, Bucky, if I’m sleeping don’t wake me.

Cheekiness snuffs itself out as he tilts his head with a smile, eyes roaming over your expression curiously. A statement begins in the silence of his thumb caressing your cheek, then brow, then making a path down to your bottom lip, skimming over the edge.

He punctuates it with a press of his mouth to yours. Hand moving to latch onto your jaw, then neck, then cradling your head between two and your heart hurdles all the way to the finish line.

“Missed you.” He murmurs, “Missed you a lot.” Licks to your lips and you vaguely wonder when he learned how to sweep you completely off your feet. Bucky tugs on the lapels of his jacket around your shoulder, crushing your torso to his. After six months of longing and anguish, you could float away if he wasn’t holding on so tightly.

“You look beautiful. Always thought so.” Fingers rub the lavender tulle and he smiles. You didn’t believe him then, the night Bucky complimented you and yanked the knife from its strap. “Like a dream.”

Now, you know he means it.

“Happy New Year, honey.”

Bucky pulls you fully into his lap, solid beneath your hands and flush against your torso. Real. Real. Real.

Winter rages on outside. Wrapped up in him, here, now, finally, you’ve never felt warmer.

“Happy New Year, Bucky.”

-

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