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ptergwen · 3 years ago

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smoke and mirrors

⇢ richkid!tom x richkid!reader ⇠

w/c: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, drinking, light angst, and implied smut

summary: because of your mother’s insistence on a pristine family image and tom’s messy one, you deny your true feelings for him

a/n: ok ok ok the pics of tom in monaco really made me think and i had to get everything out of my system so here we are! thank you and enjoy x

your living room is engulfed by a hushed chatter that comes from far too many guests. half the people, you hardly know. it’s overcrowded, superficial, and the last place you want to be. it’s one of your mother’s get-togethers, as she likes to call them. these things are always far from the casual affairs they sound like.

weeks go into planning, caterers and decorators making themselves at home in yours. the family’s image is everything to your mom, so being a good hostess is her top priority. ironically, she’s more concerned with throwing her gatherings than raising you. so much for family, huh?

the only reason you agreed to make an appearance tonight is that tom might do the same. he’s a really good friend, someone you’ve been able to count on through all the mess that is your lives. you met in high school, when he moved from london to the states. his dad was offered a job promotion he couldn’t pass up. plus, tom and his brothers would be receiving a stellar private education here in america.

it was a win for everyone, especially you. the freckle faced boy who got lost on his way to english class became your closest confidant. tom’s company is such a sweet escape. he’s not interested in opera or the stock market like most people you meet are. he sneaks you out to go on walks at dawn and does shots with you until you can’t stand straight.

as you two continue to grow together, revelations about yourselves have come to light. what you want beyond your inheritances, who you want beyond friendship. you figured out the second part on a faithful night recently. tom showed up to your place with a bottle of tequila. after you drank it down through lots of lime chasers and giggles, he kissed you. you didn’t kiss back.

your heart said to go for it, but your mind pulled you back in. you were so shocked and overcome with new feelings, you froze up. that, and you’d infuriate your mother. although she cares about tom a great deal, she loathes his public figure. he’s always getting papped in places and with people he shouldn’t be. the two of you together would just destroy her.

you still want to please your mom at the end of the day, no matter how deep under your skin she gets.

tom immediately apologized and tried play it off as him being drunk. you grew up with him, became part of each other’s families, which means you know him well enough to know he was lying. he meant every second his lips were on yours.

what you need to do now is something you’ve meant to for a while. the only problem is that you’re stuck at your mother’s party, and tom hasn’t shown up yet.

“y/n, darling,” your mom calls for your attention. she’s dragged you into a conversation with some bloggers, but you haven’t spoken a word. “why don’t you tell us about your trip to spain last summer?” she plasters on her award winning grin and squeezes your shoulder. it’s time to play along.

“oh, it was beautiful,” you halfheartedly reply, more to the bloggers than her. they nod in clear interest. one jots down notes. “we went for a few weeks and visited a bunch of different cities. i’d love to go back sometime.” the typical press formatted answer earns your mom’s approval. you’re off the hook. your eyes start to wander around the room, hoping to set on tom.

“we?” the woman taking notes asks. must everyone pry? “my friend and i,” you shortly reply. you’re standing up on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. you’d think six inch heels would do the trick. “i’m actually looking for him right now, so if you’ll excuse me,” you offer a polite smile and silently pray they won’t ask who. unfortunately, your wishes don’t come true.

the other blogger, a short and stubborn man, speaks up. “just a friend you say? come on, tell us. who’s the lucky fella?” he inquires. your mother raises a firm eyebrow, signaling for you not to.

tom has a reputation for his reckless behavior. it’s your mom’s worst nightmare when the media associates your names under most circumstances. you’re representing her, so she does whatever she can to control how you’re seen. you’re constantly in the papers, being a young socialite and all. it sucks.

“he’d like to stay out of the tabloids, sorry,” you cover for tom, on your mom’s behalf. “i should really go. it was nice meeting you.” the bloggers don’t bother to hide their disappointment as you shake their hands. your mother rubs your back in approval. “thank you for doing that. we’ll talk later,” she speaks lowly. “bye, mom!” you practically make a run for it.

weaving through the sea of people, you end up by the main entrance. it’s hard not to get lost even though it’s your house. the place is packed with girls just a couple years older than you, wearing pearls around their necks. men’s strong colognes flow through the air. you’re in a form fitting red slip dress and louboutins yourself.

smoke and mirrors is what they call it. you show the pretty parts to distract from your ugly ones.

harrison suddenly comes waltzing in with a lady on either of his arms. you’d expect nothing less. he’s tom’s best friend besides you, considering the failed kiss attempt didn’t change that. their parents worked at the london branch of the same company. they each came to the states and met you. you happily introduced them to your world, helping to make it theirs as well.

“haz!” you meet him at the front door. he’s smirking while he leads the women inside. “fancy seeing you here, isn’t it?” he jokes. “very funny. i died laughing,” you deadpan, curiously eyeing harrison’s plus two. they merely giggle. “listen, have you seen tom anywhere? if he’s coming.” you’re fighting back a frown. “why wouldn’t he be?” harrison questions in a more serious tone this time.

“long story. you have guests to entertain, so i won’t get into it now,” you decide and manage a small smile instead. he perks up. “right. i’ll let you know if i see him?” nodding, you give him a wave goodbye. “enjoy yourself.” “you too, love. cheers!” the girls lean into him, harrison wiggling his eyebrows at you. he’s ridiculous.

hours pass by without word of tom. it isn’t like him to miss an event, especially if you’re in attendance. you despise these exhausting nights, and he’s supposed to be your rock during them. he should have his arm draped around your shoulders, whispering silly remarks to you while you hide out somewhere. you miss him more than you thought possible.

you’re just about to give up when you spot nikki ushering her husband inside. behind them follows tom, clad in a grey checkered suit with his locks perfectly tousled. he’s here. you waited the whole night, and he finally came.

tom kisses his mom on the cheek before strutting over to the drink table, not without a few reporters hassling him. they’re probably looking for another holland scandal to break. he declines their requests for comments on this and opinions on that, instead pulling up a chair next to harrison. the two exchange hugs and fix themselves glasses of champagne, you watching their encounter.

harrison fills tom in on the drama he’s missed tonight while they sip their drinks. tom keeps forcing smiles that don’t reach his eyes. he’s fiddling with his fingers, leg bouncing up and down steadily. those are the telltale signs he needs saving. however awkward it may be, you’re going to have to break your silence. it was bound to happen eventually.

“mate, i’m telling you. she fit her entire first right up her-“ “boys,” you cut into harrison’s story, greeting him and tom. his face tints deep pink upon your arrival. “don’t let me stop you. finish your charming anecdote,” you encourage him and subtly glance over at tom. he’s biting back a grin as he sets his elbows on the table.

“not with a lady present. let’s just… pretend you didn’t hear that,” harrison chuckles nervously and hops to his feet. “i’m gonna leave you two to chat.” humming, you move to take his chair. tom sucks in a breath. “what happened to the girls you brought?” you wonder. “they left. said they got bored,” harrison admits, tom stifling laughter. he elbows his friend for that.

“oh, fuck off. i’ll see you later,” he mopes, flicking your arm for good measure. tom salutes him and grabs his nearly empty champagne. “so long, bruv.”

it’s just you and tom now, seated side by side, silently so. he has no intentions of speaking first. he’s too embarrassed, and you don’t blame him. this is on you. you clear your throat before starting the conversation.

“can i top you off?” you tap the bottom of his glass with a tiny smile. tom shakes his head. “i’m alright, thanks.” he finishes the last sip and sets it down, turning to face you. your smile has vanished. “wasn’t sure you were gonna make it. i’m glad you did,” you change the subject. as if he’s considering the sincerity behind your words, tom furrows his eyebrows.

“mum wanted us to. she dragged me and dad straight off the golf course,” he explains and clasps his hands in his lap. his fingers interlock with each other. you fight off the urge to replace them with yours. “we would’ve been here sooner, but the paps are camped outside.” the hint of a smile forms on his lips, at last. “guess it’s not often you get the town’s finest under one roof.”

“you think i’m one of the town’s finest?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm. something flashes behind tom’s eyes. he looks right into yours, scooting closer. “absolutely. you’re the most eligible bachelorette in this whole building.” you allow a toothy grin to spread across your face. “tommy, stop it. you’re too nice to me.”

the nickname is music to his ears. tom looks you up and down, licking his lips simultaneously. “no, seriously. you look gorgeous,” he muses, you pushing at his chest. he exhales a breathy laugh, and you giggle yourself. “red’s definitely your color.” “reverse card. you wear it way better than i do,” you insist. your fingers tug at the collar of his suit. “too bad you didn’t match me.”

you’re relieved you two can talk like you usually do, light flirting and good vibes. it might not be so hard to put the kiss behind you. well, you can’t go on pretending it didn’t happen. you have to at least discuss the fiasco. tom should know why you didn’t reciprocate, then you can take it from there. whether he still has feelings for you, assuming he ever did, will depend on how that turns out.

“not to ruin the fun, but we still have to talk,” you murmur, tom’s body stiffening across from yours. he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss that. “can it wait? we’re at a party,” tom reminds you, running a hand through his styled locks. “yeah, my mother’s. don’t tell me you’re having a good time,” you playfully chastise him. he simply shrugs. “hardly. you’re the best part.”

you ignore the butterflies roaming about your body.

“you won’t mind a quick convo, then. it is with me,” you attempt to persuade him and place a hand on his knee. tom coughs a bit too loudly, the contact surprising him. “you know what? i think i’ll take you up on that drink first,” he decides with a mustered up smile. “coming right up.” you pat his leg before taking his glass. he chews on his lower lip while you poor the bubbling liquid. that was certainly… odd.

you slide tom his champagne back with an exaggerated wink. tom scoffs at this. “mm, thanks. care to join me?” he brings the alcohol to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. your mother specifically said no drinking tonight, since the press would be here. screw your mother, though. “please. could you hand me a glass?” you eagerly grab the champagne bottle. tom searches for an empty cup next to him.

you two are unspoken drinking buddies at this point.

“here you are, darling,” tom drawls, holding out the glass for you. every time he calls you that, you completely melt. “thanks, tommy,” you purr in response. you’re finally pouring your own drink when someone taps you on the shoulder, and hard. you look behind you to find your mother standing with her hands on her hips, less than thrilled. speak of the devil.

“hello, mother. can i help you?” you make sure to ask rudely. she responds with a smile that’s obviously fake. if tom weren’t here, you’d be getting scolded. “yes, my darling. those bloggers from earlier were hoping you’d finish your interview.” your mom shakes your shoulder in a motherly way. you squint up at her. “didn’t they leave hours ago-“ “they’re back,” she sharply informs you.

she’s lying, and you have a hunch as to why.

frowning, you hold tom’s hand in both of yours. “sorry, this won’t take long. why don’t you go find tuwaine?” you suggest instead. “he’s around here somewhere.” tom gives you an understanding nod and laces your fingers together, even if it’s only for a moment. “must be chatting up some producers or whatnot. i’ll see if i can help.” he’s such an incredible friend to everyone. he deserves the same from you.

“thomas, so lovely to see you,” your mom interrupts. tom stands up, kissing both her cheeks out of courtesy. “you, too. what a wonderful party. thank you for having us.” despite what the rest of the world believes, his manners are impeccable. “of course. give nikki my best, will you?” your mom puts her hands on his shoulders. he grins at her. “definitely. take care, mrs. y/l/n.” “always a pleasure,” she states, nudging you to come along with her.

you shoot tom one last apologetic look as your mother pulls you along and towards the crowd.

tom is no idiot. he’s well aware how she really feels about him.

when a swarm of guests is surrounding you, your mom lets go. you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “why would you do that? i haven’t seen tom in days.” she sighs without a care. “isn’t it time you branch out? expand your social circle?” her manicured fingers ruffle your hair. you push away her touch. “i’m social enough. we were in the middle of something really important.”

you begin to walk away, but your mother takes your arm. “whatever you’re about to do, it’s a mistake. he’ll make a fool of you,” she practically spits. yanking your arm from her grasp, you laugh bitterly. “of me, or of the family name? look around, mom.” you gesture to the spot beside her where your dad should be. “as far as i’m concerned, i have no family except tom. i’m gonna go check on him.”

you’re gone before your mom can stop you. she simply stands there, utterly mortified by what you said.

you run around the house to find tom, stumbling in your heels and not giving a fuck. you’d truly meant the part about him being your family. all the holland’s, honestly. they’re the most genuine and caring souls, and you don’t want to lose the one you’re closest to because of your mother’s delusions.

tom is in a circle with harrison and tuwaine, the three of them chuckling amongst themselves. you’d hate to bug him, but this can’t wait anymore.

“uh, tom?” you mumble his name, appearing behind him. he steps away with another quiet laugh. “hey, y/n/n. that was quick, hm?” your face gives away your distress. his whole demeanor shifting, tom reaches for your hands. “what is it, love? is something the matter?” “just… come with me,” you croak out.

you manage to smile at harrison and tuwaine, dropping one of tom’s hands so you can lead him upstairs. they each return the smile and share curious looks.

following behind you, tom keeps your hand tight in his own. he’d thought you were going to grill him about the kiss that barely happened. it seems like this is a much more pressing matter. his outburst of emotions can be discussed another time. now, it’s time to deal with yours.

you drag tom into the first room on the second floor, which is your dad’s study. he’s away on business this weekend, so he luckily couldn’t make the party. tom sits down in the office chair. you sit up on the desk, in front of him. your lip quivers the second his worried features come into view.

“y/n/n, what’s going on? why are we in here?” tom wonders, his tone soft. your heart clenches. “i- i wanted us to have some privacy when i told you this,” you sniffle out and blink back the tears forming. you’re sort of shaken from the conversation with your mother, and mostly because you have no idea how tom will react to your confession.

his hands come to stay on your thighs, right below your dress. they feel warm against your bare skin.

“tell me what? i’m listening, yeah?” tom gazes up at you with so much love. “lay it all out for me.” god, he’s fucking amazing. if only you knew where to start. “do you, um…” you trail off, letting your tears subside and words settle. “do you remember when your family made your big debut in town?”

a grin replaces tom’s frown, painting his beautiful face. “how could i forget? you made it quite memorable.” he traces circles on your thigh and elicits a giggle from you. “i spilled a whole thing of soda on your white fucking button down,” you recount with a lighthearted sigh. “right before your dad was supposed to introduce you to everyone, too.”

tom presses his tongue into his cheek to hold back another grin. “took ages to get it out. dad went mad when i didn’t show.” he cocks his head to the side, you leaning back on your hands. “you held me hostage in the laundry room so you could do that bloody stain stick.” your mouth drops open in mock offense. “i had to clean up my mess! i wasn’t gonna let the world meet you covered in pepsi.”

that was one of your earliest memories together. the holland’s threw a party and invited everyone who was willing to attend. they had been hoping to properly introduce themselves to the town, and this was their way of doing so. although yours and tom’s friendship was fairly new, you spent all night together because you had experience with such events.

tom’s dad was making a speech to thank the guests for coming. you and him listened from the snack table, until his name was called. he rushed to go up there while you were pouring yourself a drink. he’d bumped into you, and the bottle ended up all over him. you snuck tom right off to his laundry room.

you’d felt terrible as he stood there shirtless and blushing, you aggressively swiping his button down with a stain stick.

“why do you bring that up?” tom questions and continues circling your skin. you purse your lips. “i dunno. it was the last party i actually enjoyed,” you admit, putting your hand over his that rests on your thigh. “like to reminisce when i’m suffering through one of my mother’s.” his eyes shift to where your hands are laced. “i see,” he affirms. “so, is that… all you wanted to talk about?” “not even close,” you laugh out.

a burst of courage coursing through your body, you say it. “when you kissed me the other night-“ “i won’t do it again,” tom cuts in, trying to avoid the rejection he thinks you’ll give him. “it was a mistake, and i’m so sorry. our friendship is more important than my feelings.” you seem excited to hear that, though it’s not for the reason tom expects. “you do have feelings for me?”

he’d forgotten about his i was drunk excuse.

“um, yeah. i do,” he admits, cheeks rosy and lip caught in his teeth. “but, i’ll learn to put them aside, if that’s what’s best.” “no, no. it isn’t,” you dismiss him and put your free hand on his chest. “i love you, tom. that’s what i was really trying to tell you.” your words bring an instant grin to his face. he chuckles in disbelief, standing from the chair.

“fuck, thank god. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to hear.” he’s between your legs now, his hands moving up to your hips. you’re beaming at him as your arms snake around his neck. a burning question comes to tom’s mind. “hang on. why didn’t you kiss me back, then?” he almost whispers, thumb brushing over your hipbone. “this is gonna sound weird, but… my mom,” you reluctantly let out.

“you’re gonna have to elaborate,” tom prompts you and raises an eyebrow. you can’t hold back your eye roll. “she’s never been a fan of the person you are in the media.” his lips form a line. “i gathered.” your fingers tangle in his curls at the nape of his neck reassuringly. “i was subconsciously scared i would be letting her down in some way, if we were together.”

tom allows your hands to work their way up to his scalp. he exhales contentedly as you play with his ever so soft hair. “i understand, she’s intimidating. what’s changed that brilliant mind of yours about coming clean?” your nose scrunches up when he pokes one of your temples. “oh, yeah. i yelled at her earlier ‘cuz she stole me away from you.” his face lights up. “sexy.” “shut up,” you groan. “someone had to tell her off.”

“good thing it got to be you,” tom agrees with a squeeze at your hip. “‘m proud of you, y/n/n. it’s not easy, standing up to mummy dearest.” you tug on his hair. “like you’d know. nikki is a saint.” “that’s what she’ll have you believe,” he says under his breath, you gasping. his lips turn up in a smirk. “on that note… i love you, too.”

“would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t say it back,” you acknowledge with a cheesy smile. tom dips his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “yeah, yeah. save the attitude for your mum.” your legs easily wrap around his waist, tom’s breath hot as it hits your face. “let’s give that kiss another go,” you mewl. he doesn’t hesitate to reply. “with pleasure.”

tom’s lips land on yours, you kissing back right away. he smiles into it as your lips gently move together. “about fucking time,” he grumbles, your hands situating in his chocolate curls once again. he’s savoring every second you touch him, kiss him, love him. the taste of your mouth is one he’s craved for longer than you could imagine.

it doesn’t take long for things to heat up, you messing with tom’s hair and tom rubbing your hips. you lay back on the desk as his tongue enters your mouth. holding you by your waist, tom hovers over you. his tongue tangles with yours in a deep kiss. between that and his fingers beginning to massage your thigh, you’re done for. you’re ready to take this a step further by the time he’s kissing down your neck.

“tommy?” you grab onto his shoulders, your head back. his lips detach from your skin with a grin. “yeah, love? ‘s everything okay?” he coos, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. “more than.” you tilt his chin up to peck his lips. “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you? just thinking ahead.” he laughs breathlessly, reaching into his suit pocket.

“conveniently enough, i do. not sure your dad would like me fucking you on his desk, though.” tom sets his hand on your leg that’s still hooked around his waist. “my room’s always available. carry me?” you make grabby hands and bat your lashes. he hoists you up by your waist, not lifting you just yet. “that would break the news of us, no? your mum’s gonna go apeshit.” he keeps his arms around you, chuckling.

“let her. besides, i know a couple of bloggers that would love to announce our status update.” you peck tom’s lips, grinning as you do. you’re suddenly in the air and being picked up by tom. the surprise of it makes you squeal, clutching onto his broad shoulders instinctively. he gives you the look of adoration that’s reserved for you only.

“we’ll go pop a few bottles with everyone, then we’re celebrating on our own.”

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cdroloisms · 3 years ago

Note

consider- after the whole "reviving Tommy" thing comes in and does the whole pic thing again- but this time dream lunges for the pic, trying to grab it from sam, and they fight for it, and sam ends up stabbing through dreams left eye, far enough to kill him. dream respawns blind in that eye.

ooh anon ,, this is such a good prompt but . *head in hands* MAN,, half-blind c!dream living in my head rent free. on one hand, narrative parallels! and on the other hand ,, pain. so, so much pain.

anyway, have this quick ficlet set in current roommates arc!

tw: EYE TRAUMA, GORE (in ask), implied torture/abuse, violence, mentioned child death, injuries, trauma, prison arc, pandora’s vault, dark portrayal of c!sam

Techno is pacing around the cell for something like the fifty-third time after sending Draem to break the obsidian when Dream snaps, neck twisting over to look at him with the one eye exposed by the cracked edge of his mask narrowed in a rather unthreatening glare.

“Will you stop that?” he hisses, and Techno hesitates, shrugs.

“I dunno,” he says simply, walking back to the bell. He raps his knuckles on it once as he passes, humming at the wave of new channel member and one of us from Chat as the echo subsides. “I’m not going to lie, Dream, there’s not exactly much to do here.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dream’s voice drops, for a second, from that over-tense harshness the guy refuses to give up, becoming softer around the edges, more casual than meant to rile up and provoke. Seconds later, his jaw tightens, and he looks away to stare back at the block, humor gone. “Figure out something else to do. I don’t care.”

“Hmm,” Techno makes a considering noise before pacing back to the bell and letting the back of his hand meet it with a quiet clang. “Nah.”

Dream makes an irritated, wordless sound of frustration, but otherwise does not stop in his chipping away at the obsidian block. Techno watches him as he circles around - the line of his lip, from where it peeks out behind the mask, is flat and slightly downturned at the corners, speaking of his frustration, but otherwise he seems mostly relaxed. Techno steps forward, stopping in his tracks at the opposite side of the cell when the other man’s posture tightens suddenly, shoulders rising to his ears, chin ducking to his chest. The smiling face of the side of the mask that hasn’t been shattered stares at him from behind a curtain of matted hair. Techno steps back, watching when he swings over to Dream’s other side and he relaxes again, shoulders falling, muscles untensing, and frowns.

Usually, people have a weaker side when fighting - it’s something he’d become especially adept at picking out in fights, giving him an edge over his opponent. Personally, he’s relatively ambidextrous, easily able to maneuver around and wield a weapon on both sides, and the versatility has proved to be a valuable asset on the battlefield. As a shield fighter, Dream isn’t offered the same flexibility when it comes to switching hands, but Techno remembers being impressed by his range of movement anyway - unlike most, who fail to properly wield and move around the awkward weight and shape of a shield in their non-dominant hand, Dream’s movements were fluid, unbroken. He wielded the shield almost like a second sword, not simply blocking hits as much as he would catch and redirect them in a way that benefited him most. He hadn’t had a weak side, from what Techno could remember of their spars, despite the specialization, he met every thrust and strike on either side with an easy movement and laughing air.

Once again, Techno paces until he’s entirely on Dream’s left side, watching him all the while. Once again, Dream tense with every step he takes towards the opposite end of the cell, ending with hunching over himself significantly, jaw clenched and tight.

“Are you hurt?”

Dream flashes a look at him, unimpressed, and yeah. That’s fair - it was a dumb question; the other man is absolutely littered with cuts and bruises on every visible inch of skin, obviously malnourished and even more obviously marked with a patchwork of pale, pinkish scars. Techno huffs at Dream, still watching him incredulously, and gestures at his crouching body.”

“Well obviously I know you’re injured, but you’ve been really jumpy around your left side, man. You haven’t been hiding any life-threatening injuries under that jumpsuit, have you? It would be really awkward if you just dropped dead one day, I’m not gonna lie.”

Dream goes still, before shaking his head slightly with a harsh puff of air.

“Figures you’d notice that,” he mutters, almost to himself, before turning to look at Techno with a small, tight-lipped smile. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing…”

Dream laughs, short and without humor. His hair swings in front of his face, and Dream ignores it as he goes back to chipping at the obsidian. Techno winces, sensing that he’s hit on a sore spot, and backs off, presuming that the other man is done with the conversation.

“I’m blind. In my left eye.”

Or not, apparently.

“Uh,” Techno rolls his shoulders back, trying to catch a glimpse at Dream’s face underneath the mess of his hair and his mask keeping it out of sight. “I’m guessing that’s a recent development, then?”

“Mmhm,” Dream goes back to the obsidian with seeming renewed determination. Techno sighs, waving away the curious chants and questions from Chat blind? Teletubby blind? Not pog. Is that from quackity? E e e e and battling his own awkwardness to figure out what to say next. Gee, thanks for the bombshell, Dream. You sure know how to make a conversation uncomfortable.

“Is it from Quackity, then?” He asks, finally, remembering the scar that had clawed across Quackity’s face, a large, ragged thing from the rough edge of a pickaxe. It had been a harsh death, not that he’d thought much of it at the time, and the clear remnants of it on Quackity’s face and in the newfound fogginess of his left eye seems all the more relevant here, with Dream’s newest revelation. He’d hardly put it past the man to take someone else’s eye as revenge, even if Dream hadn’t been the one to ruin his vision in the first place.

“Nope, surprisingly,” Dream seems to shrug, popping the ‘p’. “Was from Sam, actually. He got mad after I killed Tommy, gave me this in return. I don’t even think it was on purpose, but you know. Shit happens. He ran.”

“Kinda sounds like a garbage warden, I’m not gonna lie.”

“He probably could’ve fixed it, if he bothered getting a regen. He didn’t, though. He left basically immediately after, didn’t come back for weeks. Bastard. Left me in here with the child for another few days- what an idiot.”

“Doesn’t sound like the smartest decision,” Techno says, finally, and Dream laughs slightly before going back to his obsidian. Techno watches him for a minute, before going back to their bell, carefully feeling along the smooth surface.

“You want to see?” Dream says, suddenly, and Techno’s head snaps up.

“Uh,” he flounders. “I guess?”

Dream’s hands go to his mask, trembling slightly as he unfastens the buckle in the back. Techno thinks he’s seen Dream without the mask fewer times than he can count on one hand, watches silently as he eases it off to look him in the eyes. His cheeks are pale, gaunt, eyes startlingly wide. There’s a cut still healing along his right cheekbone, a bump along his nose bridge from where it’d been broken, before. A small, thick scar rises from his left eye socket, and the eye within it is glassy, unseeing, paler as if covered by a slight film. He looks tired, shadows under his eyes, slightly scared. If he’s being honest, he looks young, human. Very, very human.

“When we get out,” Techno says, keeping his voice light as Dream goes to fasten the mask on his face again. “I’ll get Phil or someone to make you an eyepatch, or something. Really sell the whole homeless schtick you’ve got going on.”

“Techno,” Dream starts, exasperated, and Techno grins.

“Or maybe a pirate is more fitting. You like pirates? You know, if you have a ship, you won’t be homeless anymore-”

“You are the worst,” Dream huffs, and Techno laughs as he goes back to pacing around the cell, careful to stay on Dream’s right side.

“That’s not an answer, you know,” he continues, and Dream shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you when we get out, then.”

“Sounds good,” Techno smiles despite himself. That must be the first time that Dream admitted that they were going to get out. Guess you aren’t as hopeless as you thought, nerd. “We’ll figure it out when we get out.”

#-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks #tw eye trauma #tw gore #tw violence #tw torture #tw abuse #tw child death #tw death #tw trauma #prison arc #pandora's vault #c!sam critical

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years ago

Text

Love Is Blind

Masterlist

Summary: The time has come to reveal your and Henry's relationship to your brothers, simple right? Well it would be if your wasn't the baby sister to the infamous Shelby brothers.

Warnings: RPF, Swearing, Slight Angst, Fluff, Confrontation, Implied Violence

A/N: so here is the Peaky Blinders AU that i started a few days ago, Im really happy with this and had a lot of fun with it. But please excuse the typo's

Taglist: in reblogs

You looked around the road eyes wide ,watching the passers by. The peaky blinders were everywhere... this was always a risk, not to mention you wasn't entirely sure where each of your brothers were. Or aunt Polly you only knew that Ava was off with her lover Fred. And you were doing much of the same... Well not Fred but Henry, your own lover. You'd met him when welcoming Tommy home from the war... He was hard to miss tall- taller then Tommy even! and injured he was searching the crowded dock but... It was clear to see that noone was there to greet him off the boat. He looked distraught and shattered. You were a bleeding heart and had approached him as your family had a small get together, you'd given him a hug pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek and welcomed him home giving him one of the flowers in the bouquet you'd brought for tommy. He had appreciated it, more then you'd ever know.

What you hadn't known was that he was moving into a home a few streets away. A few weeks later you saw him and he thanked you politely, you couldn't help think how very handsome he was, perfect blue eyes but for a speck of brown in his right eye, sharp regal features and pale alabaster skin now free from the bruising of his injury. He hadn't been as broad or muscular back then, but had been tall and lean.

Over the next few months chance meetings became dates, dates became full days basking in one another's presence until finally after a few months you'd fallen for the amazing gentle giant. It had been hard falling so hopelessly in love with Henry and having to hide from brothers and gangsters alike. But somehow you'd both made it with minimal near misses. Three years. Three years you'd been having this secret romance with him. But now you wanted more, as selfish as it was you wanted to be free to love him in public. Without worrying who may have seen you or if Aunt Polly will tell Thomas.

Yes she knew alright. There are no secrets from Aunt Polly. She said you done well and had even spoke with Henry a few times, she liked him. He wasn't in the business but could protect you, his shear size would be enough of a deterrent to others. And honestly she thought Tommy would get along with him, henry was clever and had an imposing frame. If Tommy had the chance, you knew Henry would be pulled into the fold, you were just unsure if that's what you both wanted.

Henry hadn't had much luck with work at first when he was here, so he became a boxer for a time learning to fight and defend himself and bulked up. It was terrifying to watch him be so ferocious in the ring and you thanked god each day Henry had avoided gaining a crooked nose. A few times you'd run into Tommy at the fights, your brother had singled you out and had you brought to him to stand and watch. But you were pleased to find out that your brother always placed his money on your man... So that was a good sign wasn't it?

Henry knew you didn't like his fighting but continued, he wanted to offer you everything. A home with kids and garden a cute little dog and the best clothes and food money could buy. So he saved everything! Kept all his winnings and in just over a year he had a nice sum of money in bets from his winnings and managed to earn enough for a small house. Since then he had a job doing the heavy lifting in a local Steel works.

Everything was set! Henry had a home for you, which you had a hand in help decorate. He promised a long and happy future with you! There was just the small problem of your family. They were... Protective to say the least, not only were you a Shelby sister but younger then Ava.

You quickly left the street today you were meeting Henry by the docks where Tommy kept the horse he'd just got. It was close... but not too close, it was worth the risk to be able to see Henry. Today was the day. You both decided! Henry will talk to them, introduce himself to your brothers this afternoon at the pub before they could drink too much.

You rounded the barn casting one final glance over your shoulder out of habit and slipped into the stalls. You could see him already, his flat cap and dark blue suit. Oh god he had dressed up for it, shit tommy would laugh him out of the bar. You chewed your lip and quivered you were anxious, this could be make or break. If Tommy was against it there was no way you could sneak about and keep your relationship going. They would chase henry out of Birmingham. Or kill him.

You stepped around the horse and giggled watching as henry gave himself a little pep talk twisting his signet ring on his pinkie with shaky hands. He was terrified and so were you. He paused and spun around to face you when he heard the small clicks of your heels on the concrete floor.

"W-what do you think?" he said spinning around holding his hands out letting you get a look at him. You stepped closer to him trying to settle your rapid heart. He was immaculate, stunning and handsome, sculpted by the gods... But looked too pretty. And god knows a Shelby girl wont be allowed to date a pretty boy. You smiled at him stopping inches away from him and walked your fingers over his chest slowly unbuttoning his suit jacket.

"You are magnificent... But a little too refined." you hummed motioning for him to shrug out of the loose suit jacket. He hissed out a shaky breath as you took the jacket from him and tucked it over your arm. That was better, the vest and white shirt showed his frame perfectly, and it also showed the slight strain on the buttons of his shirt. Hinting at the powerful man hidden beneath. You wanted them to see he was a strong man and it wasn't all the cut of the suit. You needed them to see you'd chosen a strong man capable of protecting you.

"There perfect" you said stepping back straightening his tie a little and stood back eyeing him carefully. There really was nothing more you could do. He would have to prove himself in what ever test your brother would conjure on the spot. By god you hope he impressed them.

"Yes you are" he quipped quickly eyes locking on to you making you blush and look away tip toeing around the horse in the stall that hid the two of you. Henry drew in a deep breath watching you closely. This was it. Today was the day, and he hadn't a clue what he was going to say to the great Shelby men. He cursed under his breath turning from you for a second. You understood, this wasn't just your future you were risking today, it was his life. Not many impress Tommy and far less managed to get in his good books when they were trying it on with the baby sister.

"You know that you have to just... Go in there and say 'I'm dating your sister' Right? Be firm and tell them like it is! Stand up to them! They would respect that" You cooed grinning at him from across the barn watching as your love eyed you from the other side of the magnificent white horse Tommy had recently got.

"What and have John blind me with his blades?" He scoffed at you before rounding the horse ducking under the stallions huge head and leant forward trapping you with huge hands resting either side of the horse stall you were leaning on.

"Ugh Johnny boy couldn't even reach your eyes Henry... Its just Tommy and Arthur you need to watch..." you rolled your eyes at him trying to act normal and ignore the black cloud hanging over your head. If this was the last time you were to be alone with him you wanted him to remember you as you are, not the nervous terrified woman you were at this moment. You smirked rising on your tip toes and teased his lips with your breath making him groan silently, the deep contracting of his wide barrelled chest the only give away to the effect you had on him.

You pulled back just as he dipped down to meet your lips and giggled at him as he wound his large arms around you hoisting you up by your waist and sat you on the wooden fence on the box stall bringing you eye level with him. You giggled folding your arms in your lap with his jacket knowing he wouldn't let you fall, he never did.

"Ah just Tommy and Arthur... That is cruel, I'm shaking in my shoes love" he teased wetting his lips with the luxurious pink tongue you knew all too well.

"Aww my poor bear, so frightened of my brothers I know, perhaps this will help you find that courage of yours~" you cooed before pressing forward kissing him on the lips. His lips drew up into a beaming grin and he stepped closer forcing your legs to part and dress to rise up to your knees as he devoured you in a heated yet forbidden kiss.

"Well then lets go shall we?" He grumbled eyes alight with a new want, a deep desire he had never shown before. It was thrilling and awe inspiring. Like he had a new lust, a lust for life and not just what was hidden beneath your skirts.

"Oh love like you said Tommy and Arthur?! I'm going to need all my strength for this meeting" he laughed as your face held a look of shock and disbelief then a petulant pout when you realised there will be no quick romp in the hay this afternoon. With one final wink he spun around heading for the door.

You stood outside the pub. Your brothers were inside, you could feel it. There was a buzz in the air, the destinct feeling that followed 'the boss' hanging around. You had drawn a little attention walking the streets With henry at your side. People watched as the young Shelby woman walked arm in arm with an undisclosed male carrying his jacket no less. It made you cringe hearing the murmurs of 'should we tell the boss' 'does tommy know?' 'should we help her?' but luckily none made any moves towards you as you moved deeper and deeper into the heath. Towards the pub. You slowed as you neared the final destination and henry pulled out his cigarette tin fishing out the small stick deciding to have a quick smoke before entering the proverbial lions den.

"It will be okay... He will... Test you, but remember family is everything and I'm his youngest sister so..." you trailed off, the truth was you didn't know what Tommy would do or say. He was unpredictable and cunning, he liked to test people. You just hoped Henry passed with flying colours... or the only thing flying will be... you closed your eyes trying not to think of what would happen if things went sour. Henry could die, literally die today for loving you. It curdled your stomach you cant loose him. You hoped Tommy would see that.

"I know that... Here twos?" he said offering you the small cigarette he had been dragging on quickly nervously trying to pull some more courage from the small stick. Because once he was inside he couldn't show any weakness. It was daunting unable to show weakness when the love of his life was on the line. Henry was under no illusions Tommy could and would kill him, and there would be little Henry could do.

"Just remember y/n no matter what I love you. I will always love you" henry said as you toom a few drags on the cigarette. You whined and nodded breathing out the smoke trying to exhale all the tension and anxiety with the fumes.

"I love you too Henry, so much more then I thought I could ever love anyone" without a thought Henry pulled you to him and pressed a kiss to your lips. He didn't give a damn he was kissing the forbidden princess right outside her king brothers castle, or that the others around them would see. Be needed this one final pick me up before faceing the firing squad.

You smiled pulling back handing Henry the remainder of the cigarette and nodded to him. You got this. Then entered the pub walking right into the private room where your family sat. Instantly Polly looked at you frowning seeing you were pale, worried. Then her eyes flicked to your hands still folded with Henry's jacket draped over them. She drew a deep breath and sat straighter looking at the three males wearily. Oh god.

"Tommy I need to talk to you" you said seriously. But the blue eyed man rolled his eyes flicking the ash off his cigarette into the crystal ashtray before speaking dismissively trying to wave you off.

"Your not having that cat its final" john and Arthur chuckled at the automatic response Tommy gave but you frowned. You wasn't to sure what to say next, you didn't want to agitate him but you needed him to listen.

"No its not that- I have something to tell you and its important" you said drawing the attention of John and Arthur, but tommy heaved a sigh and moved stubbing out the lit cigarette and flicked his eyes to you letting you know he was listening.

"Mr Shelby could we talk?" You looked up seeing Henry standing there, tall and wide. Firm and unafraid confidently eyeing your brothers in a way oud never seen before. People cowered. Henry wasn't there was no hint of the anxious man outside. Henry was on a mission.

"Not now can't you see I'm speaking with my sister?" He grunted his voice was even. But to others could be seen as irritated. You turned as Henry didn't so much as flinch, you thought he'd run off but Henry let himself into the room standing closely behind you, one hand moving to his head removing his flat cap revealing the neat styled hair. The usually fluffy curls pulled into a slick style that accentuated his angular features. You nodded to him with a smile pleading him to carry on. What you didn't expect was for henrys huge arm to wrap around your waist in front of your sibling's. Fuck. You felt the shift in the room, anger and shock radiating from the men but an overwhelming curiosity. They wanted to watch this, it was rare someone was so god damned stupid as to put hands on you.

"She is the reason I'm here Mr Shelby" Henrys voice carried over the small space in a low determined tone. You tucked yourself into him, pivoting and twisting a hand to his tummy resting there, fingers twisting the button on his vest. You just needed to feel him, you felt like you were shielding him, but it was also self soothing. You needed to reassure yourself he was here for you. No one else. You.

"Oh? And why is that then?" Tommy shifted leaning back eyeing the man who was being so familiar with his baby sister. Tommy was no fool, you hand flinched or pulled away, this male had been around you enough that you were used to him touching you. You gravitated towards him like... like a lover? Tommy's blue eyes bit into the man. As unsettling as it was seeing his sister so close to another man Tommy couldn't help feeling a little relief, a small spark of joy. If this was your beau you'd done well. Tall, muscular wide and imposing. Not many would pick a fight with him, even drunk people would steer clear of him.

"She invited me" Tommy smirked hearing the man speak, he was confident. Unafraid that boded well too. He wasn't a fucking coward... or atleast he was pretending not to be.

"This is what I wanted to talk to you all about...Tommy, Arthur, John... This is Henry... My?" You hesitated and looked between henry and our family. You just froze, clammed up at the calculating look on Tommy's face. It was frightening being scrutinised by him.

"Lover sweetheart we agreed no more secrets" Henry finally broke the silence tipping his face down to yours with a smile. Ignoring your family in favour of snapping you back to reality.

"Oh no you fuckin' aint sonny boy- y/n you get your ass over here now!" Arthur broke the silence with a rough voice shouting, ordering you to round the table and sit next to him. You grit your teeth and shoo, your head at Arthur watching as he turned red in anger. You wasn't like Ava, you never caused trouble or made trouble for your brothers, heel you were a 'goody two shoes' always doing as you were told. But this time you refused to do as you were asked and stayed put.

Tommy ever the eagle eye noticed. He had been ready to rip this man to shreds but, your simple act of defiance caught his attention. You wasn't a girl to play silly games, so to blatantly refuse and tell them no and side with this Henry meant you were serious. This was serious. And Tommy was wracking his brain he recognised this man... But from where? He was sure he wasn't a blinder so who was he?

"Now y/n don't make me come and get ya"

"I said no" you snapped at your eldest brother, but your eyes were on Tommy. Henry squeezed your waist as you stared down your most threatening of brothers. Eyes locking with his blue gaze as you held your ground. The smallest of smirks tugged at his lip. You were unsure if it was good or bad but he wasn't scowling so you'd take that as a win.

"Your the one that was boxing...pulverised the others" Tommy said pointing slowly at Henry whilst pulling a crystal glass of whisky towards him, his thumb skimming the rim of the glass in thought. He was thinking, scheming... but then again when was Thomas Shelby not scheming?

"Yes, not that it was personal I needed to win" henry spoke clearly not letting the severe glares f your other brothers shake him. He was impenetrable a solid rock- a mass of a man all firm and sharp angles determined and poised.

"Oh? And why is that then?" Tommy purred still keeping his cards close to his chest, no one knew what he really thought of you and henry or the relationship at that moment. But he was speaking, not shooting. And that was all that mattered.

"I needed the money to buy a house for your sister" Henry said plainly placing his hat on the table in front of him. It was a strange gesture but one you understood. He was making himself comfortable but also using it as a metaphor throwing his hat in the ring so to speak, showing your family he had no intentions on hightailing it out of there and leaving you in the dust.

"You did, did you?" Here was something, a twinkle in the cool blues. You tried to dig deeper but as soon as it was there it had vanished. For a second you dare say your brother was impressed with your choice in man.

"I wasn't coming to you without being able to offer your sister something... I wanted to prove I'm capable of providing her a future" Henry shrugged feeling Tommy with a stare. You shivered hearing the iron will, the absolute control Henry had over himself. John scoffed and leant over the table glaring at Henry dragging on his cigarette then spoke up trying to mimic Tommy's own indifferent threatening demeanour, but failed. There was only one Terrifying Tommy.

" and some tiny house on a backstreet in Birmingham is a future?" john scoffed laughing outloud trying to dampen Henry's resolve. But your man was ready and grinned smugly showing off the perfect teeth and stunning looks.

"Medium actually... not huge but its bigger then what she is used to, with front and back garden bought and paid for... Last week I even got her a kitten... Russian blue expensive but y/n wanted one and I wont deny her" he replied without missing a beat. Henry was proud of what he had achieved, and so he should be. The house he had managed to buy was a nicely sized three bedroom home, and it was indeed larger then where you lived with your family at the moment. Well decorated and furnished with tasteful furniture most of which you picked out together.

"And what you think I'll give my blessing because you got her a bloody cat?" tommy drew the attention back to him. You swallowed dryly. Tommy sounded mad now. You moved shuffling in front of Henry trying to cover him more, yet your hand wandered behind your back and you clasped your lovers hand tightly hoping things wont go from bad to worse.

"No, you don't need to bless anything, I'm not here to ask. I'm telling you that we are together and serious...We've been a couple for almost three years... And its about time I informed you" your breath hitched as Henry's voice resounded in the room. Oh god that was too far! You paled and snapped your head to him on the brink of tears and pressed back into Henry trying to make him pull back, but no. The man was a brick wall- immovable and stubborn... yet cool and unfazed. But what struck you most was the shock on your brothers faces. No one had spoken to any of them like that for a very long time. And for good reason.

"There is a fine line between courage and stupidity Henry" Tommy said recovering from the shock quicker then the others. He didn't even see you now standing on shaking knees trying to shield henry as much as you could with your frame. But it was no use, Henry was to big, you were but a tiny waif of a woman in front of him. But Tommy bore his curious gaze into the huge man. It would appear your love now had his undivided attention.

"I know, but I'm on the right side of it. I love your sister. And I have loved her for three years, since the day I got off the boat" tommy tilted his head to the side surprized once more by your lover. You drew a slow breath in. You knew tommy respected those who fought for their country.

"You served?" came the question as tommy poured himself another glass and then lit up another cigarette. You saw a quick smile light up his face, but again it was gone before anyone could really notice. Henry heaved a deep breath and nodded, he was no fool. He took a chance and it had paid off, or it seemed to have paid off he wasn't staring down the barrel of a gun or had a peaky cap flung at his face.

"Yes, along side you in fact... I was smaller then... Easy to miss. Your sister showed kindness to me when I had no one and nothing. She gave me hope, hope for the possibility of family and a normal life. She managed to ease my terrors and pull me from the memories of the war. And for that I will give her everything" henry spoke, you noticed your brothers each shrunk. They understood, the war left scars on the mind and it was true even henry had suffered, but you were able to sooth him and bring him back from the worst night terrors. Tommy grunted and flicked his gaze from you to your man then back again. There was a warmer hint to the blues, dare you say an acceptance. But even you knew he was still going to pull something out of the bag and throw a curveball at your love. Tommy still needed to test Henry, but atleast you could say so far so good.

"And taken something I assume?" Polly hissed looking away as your brother spoke. You rolled your eyes, did he seriously want to know if you'd fucked? Tommy held Henry captive in his gaze he knew the answer but for some reason he wanted the hear it out loud. You couldn't help this was Tommy's test, he was daring your lover to lie to him. You prayed Henry wasn't that stupid. To your reliefe he proved he wasn't as he replied sincerely.

"I shared something freely given I assure you there was no pressure" the statement wasn't smug, henry didn't make you sound like an achievement, something to conquer. And he made it clear that he hadn't pressed you into anything. It earned him a nod from all three men, you smiled they were coming around to Henry. Thank fuck!

"And you come here and say that to my face? Tell me you've broken in my sister? You certainly have balls" your smile dropped and you shifted on your feet. What just happened? Things were going great, and now they weren't? Luckily Henry was more prepared for this then you and he answered smoothly not fazed by the way things had turned so quickly.

"Yes I'm not going to stand here and lie about our relationship I love her. And I'll not hide it a second more. I will protect her and cherish her she has my upmost respect"

"So you say you respect her? Yet... She's carrying you jacket around like some maid?" tommy tried twisting things pokeing at Henry trying to get a rise out of him. Probably so he had a reason to chase him off. But you wanst having it.

"Tommy, I'm holding it so he cannot run! Stop being an ass" you growled releasing Henry's hand and moved forward seething at your brother who lounged back regarding you carefully.

"That's enough mouth from you y/n you've done enough becoming a fucking little whore when our back is turned?" you paused takeing half a step back as tommy's furious gaze landed on you. You quivered feeling hurt, flushing in anger and embarrassment. Not once had he spoke to you like that, you were always praised by your brother, protected and loved to hear him growl at you so cruely was heart breaking.

"I'd ask you don't speak to her like that-" Henry spoke up growing angry himself with the way Tommy had spoke to you. But henry was ignored as Tommy began to lay into you hissing venomously belittling you in front of your family and lover.

"Tell me sister is this some last mineut attempt to cover up a bastard? If so is it even his? For all we know you could be bed hopping all over the heath" you whined at the assault mouth hanging open trying to form words but it was hard. Your eyes welled with tears. Call you a cry baby but you loved your brothers and tried to do them proud to have one of them be so nasty cut you deep.

"No!- Tommy of course not-"

"So your just becoming the heaths bike then? To think after everything you'd sink so low to ruin yourself- Ava was one thing she's always ran around behind our backs but you? I really expected better then to become a two bit whore" his words were like razors ice picks hitting your chest, he always knew how to slice deep. It came with being a blinder- but you never thought you'd be on the receiving end. You moved back another step bumping into Henry, you wanted to run and hide. For the first time in your life you were scared, you didn't want to feel your brothers fury.

"Do not speak to her like that in my presence ever again" Henry snarled brushing past you hiding your quivering from behind him. He was livid and for a second you thought he was going to swing for your brother.

"She's my sister-" Tommy started looking back at henry who had taken the bait hook line and sinker. But was cut off by henry stepping forward leaning over crowding Tommy thumping the table with more force then necessary. Everything jumped, the glasses ashtray even the bottle leapt from the table. You jerked gasping as the bang echoed in the room.

"I don't give a fuck. You wont ever talk to her that again. She is mine and brother or not you will treat her with respect or you will pay for it!" everything stopped. No one moved. No one breathed. It wasn't everyday someone threatened A Shelby, least of all Tommy. Henry growled at your blue eyed brother. Tommy tilted his head taking him in.

"H-henry?" you whispered moving forward pressing a hand to the small buckle as the back of his vest tugging him back, making him stand at his full Hight just in time as John shot up from his seat ready to lunge.

"Oi! Don't you talk to him like that I'll have your fucking eyes!" he roared jumping up turning on your lover but Tommy stopped him fisting a hand in his jacket and tugging him to sit back down... He was grinning?

"Tommy?" Arthur asked not following, but then again he always was a few steps behind everyone. You frowned blinking back tears and gasped. That bastard! It was a trick! You slumped and wrapped yourself around henry before anyone could realise what happened. Henry curled himself around you frowning confused and you tucked yourself into him.

"Any man who a the balls to defend her against me...Will protect her from anyone..." Tommy spoke and tipped his head to the seat across from him offering Henry a seat at the table. You both sat quickly beside one another Polly moved pouring you both a drink, you looked like you needed it.

"So? So you mean we can be together?" Henry asked trying to keep up with how he'd just gone from having a target on his back to having a seat with the family. Tommy smiled nodding whilst bringing his own drink to his lips sipping the amber liquid then spoke.

"Mmm But you've broken her... You'll repay me for ruining her by making her an honest woman"

"The rings in my pocket" Henry said rubbing your back as you shook next to him, the adrenaline and worry now rushing through you. All these years of anxiety washing away with sweet tears of reliefe. Henry tucked you under his arm and held you close on the bench seat hushing you as you crumbled. You didn't really register what was said instead pressed your self into him hands tugging his clothes trying to calm down.

"Then do it- but you ever turn your fists on her I'll kill you" Tommy threatened holding out his cigarette tin offering one to henry, he took it thanking him then popped it between his lips and lit the white stick. His hand only quivered slightly, the rush of what just happened hitting him.

"It will never happen, I couldn't live with myself if I ever made her feel less then perfect let alone harm her" he said squeezing you tighter to his side.

"Then we have a deal?" tommy smiled, a genuine smile as he spied the two of you. He had no doubt, if henry was willing to go toe to toe with him in his pub, in front of his family- probably the most dangerous thing you could do in the heath. Then henry will take care of you and protect you with his life. Plus Henry made you happy and that was all Tommy could ask for, your safety and happiness. Contrary to what people thought he had no issues with anyone dating his sisters. He just didn't want his girls to have weak simpering husbands to protect them should the worst ever happen... And Henry knew how to shoot a gun from his time in the forces, so when handed a weapon Tommy wont have to worry about having a newbie protecting his baby sister. And Henry will be given a gun to protect you with.

"That we do" Henry grinned shaking Tommy's hand and quickly snagged your own placing a thin gold band on your left ring finger before you could even muster a single sound. You blinked wiping your eyes pawing at the salty droplets and gasped seeing the band on your finger, a small diamond in the centre or the dainty ring.

"W-what your not e-ven gonna ask me Henry?" You stuttered at him hiccupping and sniffling trying not to have a full blown breakdown and cry from both relief and happiness. Henry laughed pressing a cheeky kiss to your cheek making you flush and tuck your head back into his chest trying to hide from the onlookers.

"Now why would I give you the chance to say no? Hmm? I may be a tad slow sometimes but I'm not a complete idiot" he purred finishing with a small chuckle, that the others echoed everyone had calmed down accepting the news. You whined at him and slapped his chest lightly pouting as henry laughed.

"Besides your brother and I made a deal" he added as you pulled back eyeing your new ring with a weak smile managing to control yourself bar a few sniffling gasps and the odd rogue tear.

"Oh s-o I'm b-business?~" you tried to tease him but the words lost their bite as you were still tearful from your crying. You were weepy you couldn't help it, today had been stressful- hell this past week had been stressful!

"Business? No... Your my world love" he cooed not caring in the slightest at how soppy he sounded. He wasn't here to put on a show for your brothers. He was here for you.

"I love you" you said peeking up at him with a shy smile.

"Good to know~" he hummed winking at you taking another drag of the cigarette, but you pouted sticking out your bottom lip like you did each time he teased you.

"Yes, yes I love you too" he caved pressing a chaste kiss to your lips drawing a growl from your eldest brother, but nothing was thrown so you summarized you were safe.

"Congratulations Henry I told you they weren't that bad" Polly spoke up quickly ending your sweet kiss before anything could go south.

"Yes Ms Polly you were right, we should have listened to you" henry admitted rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly

"Wait pol you knew?" tommy growled snapping to his aunt but the older woman rolled her eyes. Honestly you think he'd learn by now. No one pulled the wool over Polly's eyes.

"Who to you think has helped keep her from having a kid for three years Tommy! At least that's one thing I don't have to worry about anymore thank god!" she huffed pretending to be annoyed but you knew she was happy for you. She had been routing for henry, and trying to get you to tell the boys for a long time. You were just scared.

"Polly! Stop it" you squeaked flushing, no one needed to know just what Polly had been helping you with! Least of all your fucking siblings!

"What its true? Now your free to pop them out without any uncomfortable questions from this lot, and i have no doubt it will be soon" she teased with a smirk enjoying tormenting you, she had bit her tongue for too long it was about time she got to poke fun at you. You were such a shy innocent little thing.

"Oh my god stop" you moaned ducking down as everyone chuckled at your expense. Henry then made it worse by ducking down beside you and whispered in your ear.

"...She does have a point love" then nipped at it quickly before turning back to your brothers as your face flamed.

It hadn't been the easiest of days, but in the end all the worry and anxiety had paid off not only had you managed to reveal your relationship to your family with no casualties. But you also became engaged to the man of your dreams. Tommy seemed relived, he was happy for you in his own over protective brotherly way. The freedom that came with todays outcome was worth it and now you and henry were free to start your lives together. Truly start with a marriage kids the whole nine yards! And you'd never been happier.

#peaky blinders au #henry cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #rpf #henry cavill au #henry cavil x y/n

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peakascum · 4 years ago

Text

On the Edge of Eden

@slither-in-a-half hope you like this love!

Click for song inspo! Moodboard?

His eyes traced your figure in a manner that could only be interpreted as boyish. His ears turned red, voice stammering with a little treble at the end, and his feet moved as if he were a newborn foal. He lacked confidence, his posture told you so- but could you blame the kid? You carried yourself with a graceful stance as if each wave and step were predetermined with consciousness and care. You were the talk of the gala, the name that slipped during tea time, the whispers that made it to the dirtiest corners of Small Heath. The youngest of the family, as was he. Common ground, he thought.

His feet carried him across the room, arms missing his aunt’s fingers by an inch and his brother’s angry whispers for him to stay put. They wouldn't care in a second, they would go back to their champagne and pretend that new money could buy them class and a new identity. He didn't think so or even care, not really; in fact, he didn't even try to hide his brummie accent or pretend to know which fork to use during dinner, even John struggled with that.

Your eyes had been trained on him for a while, being there to catch his missteps and the occasional excessive laugh he’d hand out before the punchline was delivered. You too were conditioned to laugh at such jokes. At the meaningless banter that resonated through parties between nobles and esteemed families who had always looked down upon new money, like the Shelbys, which set the tone for your dislike towards your kin. Your mother groomed you to be a proper lady, bred to breed the finest that England had to offer in order to purify your name and- what else? How vain.

The littlest Shelby had stammered his way through the entirety of the gala and held improper posture, which would only, and exclusively, be rectified when you tossed a wink or a silly face in his direction. It entirely went by his family’s head, but you did receive a proper kick to the shin from yours. It was just silly banter and perhaps a tad entertaining, much to his dismay, not in a way that would embarrass him completely, but just enough to taint his cheeks and further earn a glare from his siblings.

The sillines, although flustered him, spoke volumes as to who hid beneath the expensive jewels and stoic expression. A girl, just a girl, who was anything but proper in the most intriguing and tasteful way. And it was in that utter lack of propriety that ignited a fire in his new dress shoes and sent him treading in your direction.

He swiped two glasses from a nearby table and situated himself beside you. With a confident smirk he thrusted the glass in your direction, only slightly coating the floor beneath you, “A lady such as yourself shouldn't be drinking alone.”

“A lady wasn’t, you just offered me a glass.” Your brow quirked in his direction.

“Y-yes, you seemed- thirsty. Had two in hand and you, glassless, appeared- uh-“

Your grin widened and brows shot up to your hairline, “-Unsatisfied?”

“I was going to suggest bored, but unsatisfied works too.”

You giggled and took the glass from his hand, fingers grazing his smooth ones. You wondered just then how they would feel against your body and craved the touch of his fingertips, even just the the single caress of the tips, to edge across your face, to underline the blemishes that made up your young skin and maybe even leave a mark or two if they pressed hard enough against your hips.

“For someone who seems to have it all, ‘unsatisfied’ is an odd word to use.”

“How so?”

“You're dripping in diamonds and you seem to walk as if you’d ‘ave a gun to your head.” He said it mindlessly, unbothered even, by the mere thought that you would immediately leave after such a remark. That’s why he detested these things. Upper class women seemed to be put off by talks of guns and mud.

“Correct,” you hummed, “or a stick right up my arse.” His eyes darted to your face and then everywhere else to see if they heard. You just scanned the room. “My blood is blue and I shit diamonds, Mr. Shelby, doesn't mean I’m happy, or content, or-“

“-or satisfied.” He finished for you, staring intently at your profile. A small smile etched itself on your lips, “Or satisfied.”

“I’m Finn,” he said thrusting his hand in your direction, “Mr. Shelby is my brother.”

“Which one?”

“All- but really the one who does seem to have a whole tree branch up his arse.” This earned a whole hearted laugh from you, prompting a small chuckle from him. He made you laugh, genuinely. You turned in his direction and took his suspended hand in yours, and shook his hand with all the seriousness you could muster.

“Well Finnegan Shelby it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, how about we drop this act, ditch the snobs and you show me how Small Heath does it.”

You welcomed the cold slapping of the wind as you would a warm hug. For a second, stillness and crickets. For a second, wires turned in question as to where should you go from here. Glancing towards his moonlit face you let out a heavy breath and hastily took your heals off, making you a couple of inches shorter than you already were. Finn offered you his arm for balance as the other clutched a whisky bottle he managed to snatch from the bar. With heals in hand, you raced through the filled and into the night.

The skip in your step created a soothing rhythm with the howling wind, a melody you could get used to, one you prayed would come as often as life would allow it.

You lay on the ground surrounded by ramsons that had just started to bloom as Finn sat by your side, bending down ever so slightly to better view your features. Your hands nervously touched the diamond clad necklace that adorned your neck as you felt his eyes scan yours. For a girl whose entire life was spent under attentive eyes, his were the only ones to bring a jolt to your chest and an exuberant vitality to your entire being.

“Watchful eyes you’ve got there.” His gaze shifted a little, as they did whenever you caught him watching.

“I can’t help myself.”

You cocked your head to the side and eyed him steadily, “Are you staring at my diamonds, Shelby? How pretty they shine under this light?”

“Shining rocks got nothing on you, love.”

“How flattering.” You scoffed.

“You sound offended.”

“I despise lies, half truths. Men think that’s all that women want to hear. And some do, some eat it up and out of their hands as if they could never eat from their own.”

“You seem to take great interest in other’s concerns,” he said as you shook your head, “in matters and thoughts that imply your worth”

“I care not! I- I do not. It’s just a pity women are eyed like cattle and assumed to be foolish and of fallen grace!” You said, now agitated. Finn fancied the dark glow that came from your eyes, knowing he hit a nerve. You sat upright unlocking the necklace’s hatch at the back of your neck. The rocks hit the limestone floor with a small thud no louder than that of a bird’s wings, and created a shimmering glare that adorned your face like small, expensive teardrops.

“Your fit won’t change my mind if that’s what you're aiming at,” he provoked. You stood up with furrowed brows and hastily undid the back of your dress. His posture remained stoic but eyes widened in concern of your hurried movements.

“What’s the matter Finn, aren’t women more rabid than men?” You chuckled as the dress slid under the curve of your breasts, past your belly, and further pooled by your shoeless feet. Finn visibly gulped at the sight of your body in the delicate, silk slip. You stood proudly like a painting, a muse, waiting to be challenged and admired for his eyes, and only his.

His head turned towards the house, which was only a dot in the mere distance, swallowed by music and acres of field. You stepped towards him towering over his sitting frame, took his hands in yours and placed them on your thighs, just below the seam of the slip. His cheeks turned a deep crimson that reminded you of the red pygmies that swam in the pond near your feet. “Suddenly at a loss for words, Shelby?”

He got up clumsily and towered over your body. Hands blended together in a pool of questions that should not and could not be answered with words, but with the mere touch of light grazes against his skin. How did he ever muster the courage to approach such a creature full of such beauty, whose aggressive approach to life had to be masked by the authoritarian glare of wealth and class.

He knew where this was headed by your hurried kisses and the race of both hands. He halted your movements causing you to peer at him in a daze. “It’s not a race Y/N,” he said in a hushed manner.

“What’s the difference? You want me, you'll have me, and then leave,” you spat.

“I want you, I’ll have you, and I’ll be back for more of you,” he paused to kiss your swollen lips, “for this,” he traced his lips over her breasts, “for more nights,” lips trailed to your belly, “no champagne, no diamonds. Just give up control, for once.”

Your head tilted back as he nuzzled his head between your legs. His hands grazed the curves of your thighs while the wind nipped at your cheeks and flowers tickled your shins. The stars winked as the sky seemed to open up, all witnessing the spectacle that was just commencing. An exciting origin to an undoubtedly sublime love story.

His soft fingers gripped your leg as he swung it over his shoulder, just as you imagined when you first accepted the glass in your empty glassless ones.

Your sighs of pleasure mixed with his groans as he savored your juices, drinking you up like expensive cabernet. His tongue grazing the inside of your walls, kissing and nipping your bundle of pleasure, humming at your whines and muttering small praises full of lust and adoration. A garden of sinful pleasure built for the two.

*BONUS SCENE*

In the distance Tommy and Arthur stepped out into the balcony to get some air, the room suddenly seeming stuffed with snobs and meaningless conversation. They shared a cigarette and nursed their drinks, for a moment appreciating the quietness that spring brought every year. As Tommy dragged on about titles and politics, Arthur fixed his eyes in the distance, squinting and questioning if his mind was finally going mad.

“Tom?” He stuttered. His brother held a hand up, “I know it’s the same shit with Mosely. Like a fuckin’ riddle-“

“Tom,” Arthur interrupted again, eyes widening as he stared at the distance.

“No, it is! But if we ever catch-“

“Jesus fuck Tom, shut the hell up ‘bout the coppers and the bloody earls!” He said agitated. Tommy swirled his head to look at his brother’s rigid body. Arthur pointed into the distance, “There, Tom. There. By the tree, over the pond.”

Tommy followed his finger, having to squint his eyes to see the clear image.

“Fucken’ hell is that-“

“Fucken’ Finn!” Arthur cackled, choking on his own spit in the process.

Tommy’s jaw slacked in complete and utter shock, “This fuckin’ kid I swear to God,” he muttered under his breath. Brow furrowing as his eyes scanned the property, suddenly worried that his brother’s laughter would attract attention to the scene that unfolded before them in the mere distance. “All right, all right Arthur- fuck,” he said as a small smirk formed on his stoic face.��

“Tom I can’t breath, I mean this is-“ Arthur howled, “this is almost fuckin’ biblical!”

“Arthur shh, okay okay just don’t-“

“Fuckin’ Adam and Eve shit Tom!”

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders tommy #finn shelby #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby fanfic #finn shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby imagine #finn shelby x reader #peakascum #finn shelby au #finn shelby one shot #peaky blinders one shot

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 3 years ago

Text

/rp

tw: physical and mental abuse, torture, drowning, broken bones, body image issues, horror, manipulation, kidnapping, implied gaslighting and stalking, referenced human experimentation, disassociation, obsession, and possessive behaviour

The only illumination in the forest was the silver of the full moon, it’s light streaming gently through the autumn leaves. The only sound was the quiet rustling of leaves in the breeze, the soft footsteps of passing animals. It was… peaceful. Serene. One might not expect it to be one of TommyInnit's favourite places, but it was far away enough from the rest of the server that he felt safe, quiet enough that he’d be able to hear any intruders.

He’d barely been able to sleep lately, ever since he'd heard those sirens, barely been able to leave his house. But it’s not a Big Man thing to hide in the house, trembling in fear like a fucking pussy. He’s not sure what in his sleep deprived mind possessed him to try and get over it by spending the night in a surely monster-infested at this time of night forest, but fuck it. He was always right, anyway, there was a reason people called him Tommy Trusty, or more accurately why he and only he called himself Tommy Trusty.

(No, it had nothing to to do with the fact he was going half mad back in the embassy, losing everything and finding it just when he was about to give up, always hearing noises in the walls Tubbo and Ranboo insisted were just the pipeworks, occasionally seeings the flash of a figure in the corner of his eyes. He’d torn the entire hill apart and found no evidence of anything, but as soon as he rebuilt it started up again.)

He just about jumped out of his skin hearing the pinging of his communicator. His laughter when he realised it was just the communicator definitely wasn’t forced, though, he definitely wasn’t shaking when he opened it up, because he wasn’t a fucking bitch baby. Probably just Tubbo or Ranboo being too damn clingy, or Wilbur asking why the fuck he’s a grandfather or something, right?

His eyes widened when he read the message on his screen. The communicator fell to the floor as Tommy scrambled desperately into the trees, words still repeating in his head over and over.

Dream: Run :)

——

It could have been minutes or hours of blind running through the trees in sheer panic before he dared to take a seconds break, doubling over against a tall oak, panting. He wasn’t even sure if he’d gotten anywhere, or just ran in circles, and he wasn’t even sure if it mattered. It was Dream, he did this shit for a living. Tommy was a dead man walking. Was it even worth it running to just prolong it, instead of just sitting still and waiting to die?

A strange sound came from his mouth, a warbling combination of crying and laughter. It forced it's way from his chest, loud and painful and making him break into fits of coughing, barely holding onto the bark to keep himself upright. Prime, was he already going insane? The sun hadn’t even rose yet, and he was already barely standing on shakey legs, laughing and crying into the void.

The void laughed back.

Tommy barely had a second to react before he felt the harsh bite of the axe into his shoulder, and was pinned to the tree like a butterfly to a board, forced to stare face to face with his hunter.

Dream's mask was askew, his eyes manic (no, he realised, his eye, a sickening feeling grasping his stomach as it dawned on him one had been ripped out, leaving an empty, scarred socket). His mouth was twisted into a grin, half as manic as his eyes but half eerily familiar, reminding him of the look on Wilbur's face when they’d first met again after the two of them had moved to the SMP.

After too-long and not-long-enough, Dream yanked back the axe, causing Tommy to crumple to the floor as a new wave of pain emanated through his body. He struggled for breath, not even enough energy to scream, and barely even notice the hand ruffling through his hair brotherly.

Claws grasped tightly around his hair after a moment, yanking him back up onto his feet. He barely avoided falling back onto his knees after Dream let go, as he shakily ran as fast as he could, deeper into the forest, ignoring the eyes bored in on his every move, the wheezing laughed echoing off the trees, the sinking feeling that this too was just another part of the game.

——

Tommy took shakey breaths, curling in on himself and trying to be as quiet as possible, small as possible. He instinctively raised his hand to his shoulder for what must have been for the thousandth time. It’s still surprising when he doesn’t feel it slick with blood, just cold like marble, like a corpse.

(He really was just a dead body forced to keep walking around, wasn’t he? He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror anymore, and the confirmation it wasn’t just skin deep felt almost as sickening as the agonising pain going from his shoulder all the way down to his fingers as they lay limp and unresponsive.)

“Come 'ere, Tommy!” Dream said to himself with a clear smile in his voice. God, Tommy sweared he hadn’t shut up since he’d first found him, and he still jumped whenever he heard it. He’d collapsed into the bushes the second he’d had a moment of silence, but that couldn’t just fucking last, could it? “I know you’re here, Tommy. Come on, stop hiding,” he said, voice filled with the same condescension one would have talking to a child or a frightened animal. “I don’t want to have to burn down the forest, but I will if I have to.”

Tommy's eyes darted, frightened, through the greenery. He’d had the luck to manage to collapse away from the thorny berry bushes that surrounded him, but he’d have to crawl through them to escape. He couldn’t find it within himself to care, anyway. He was already aching everywhere, and he’d caught one of his trouser legs on a branch, ripping it awfully and letting his leg get stung over and over by nettles until it was red and inflamed. It was already his bad leg, the one that always hung a bit limp after he broke it in the Final Control Room, but mixed with what must have been hours of running from the muted sunset colours painting the plants around him and a few rough trips he wasn’t sure he could even walk anymore.

Still, he couldn’t just sit and wait to burn to death, so when he heard the sound of a spark he desperately crawled through the brambles, clawing through with one good arm and leg, scrambling as fast as he could to try and somehow get a lead. He heard Dream's fucking obnoxious tea-kettle laugh, and grit his teeth as he heard the sound of claws against dirt grow closer.

Tommy tried his best to keep quiet as the thorns dug into his skin, as he had to use his remaining working hand to pull them out as they embedded themselves in his skin. Something other than the gnawing terror grew in his chest, something warm, as he slowly, far too painfully slowly, clawed his way closer and closer to the clear ground, felt the ground turn muddier and more and more of a slog to drag himself through. He could hear the flowing water of a river up ahead, and ridiculously his first thought is relief he can finally get off the dirt and grime uncomfortably coating every inch of him.

He breathed a sigh of relief, the first in who knows how long, as he finally, finally, managed to crawl out of the foliage, clawing his hand onto the clearing. He felt a sense of relief, of finally being free from the awful feeling of the thorns tearing through his clothes and sinking into his flesh. He wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was hope, but it was the closest he could ever remember to it.

Whatever it was, Tommy quickly felt it die as something heavy came down on his hand, the feeling of his bones being crushed underneath him sending a new wave of nausea through his body, leaving him gagging, not enough in him to even be sick.

Dream pulled him into the air by the scruff of his neck, and Tommy didn’t even have the energy to fight back anymore. He just let himself hang limply from Dream's grip, eyes focused on nothing in particular as his hunter laughed and laughed and laughed hysterically.

“Oh, Prime- Tommy, you should have seen the look on your face!” Dream said in between breaths, wiping an inky black tear from his eyes. “That’s the best part of the hunt, y’know? Watching your enemies hope leave their eyes once they’re reminded who they’re dealing with. Once they know who really holds the power- well, there wasn’t really any question here, but you’re so stubborn, anyway. And all I had to do was strike a match.”

Dream forced Tommy to look at the plants behind him, completely healthy and unburnt. “I didn’t even have to set anything alight, I just had to make you think I did. It’s so easy! You never think ahead, do you, Tommy? When the fear gets to you, there’s nothing different from you and a wild animal. And wild animals can be tamed.”

“Fu-fuck off,” Tommy forced through gagging. “I’m not like- like a fucking wolf, I'm not a pet. I'd rather die.”

Tommy was pretty sure Dream was rolling his eye. “Well, if I have to do both, there’s nothing stopping me. No one knows where we are. I’ve not seen anyone else even come here but you. Even if they go looking for you, they’ll never find us, Tommy. We've got an eternity.”

“Even if? Shut up, prick. I know they’re looking for me. Tubbo's looking for me. Ranboo's looking for me. Wil- Wilbur, he has to be looking for me.” Tommy insisted.

Dream’s face softened into the false concern that pissed off Tommy more than anything. “Wilbur? Why would Wilbur be looking for you? He left you behind with just a forgetful ghost, remember? And Tubbo? Tubbo exiled you once before, what makes you think he’s gonna care now you’re gone again? Did he even try to free you when you were stuck in the prison? Did Ranboo?”

“I-“ Thinking of it, Tommy wasn’t sure if they had. They’d just got married, adopted a kid, and tried to forget about him. He wasn’t going to fucking listen to Dream, though, so he growled, half feral. “Shut up. Just kill me and get it over with, dickhead.”

Dream burst into the wheezing laughter again. “I’m not going to kill you, Tommy. Not here, not now. That’d be far too boring. I'm going to keep going up until you can’t, anymore, and then I'll take you home- to our home, I built it specifically with you in mind, and then maybe we'll get started on the experiments.”

That brought back old memories that Tommy had hoped were gone, tubes and agonising injections and scalpels and being cut open alive again and again. “I’m not being a fucking labrat again.” Tommy said, swallowing and trying to hide the shakiness of his voice.

“You don’t have a choice,” Dream said, sounding far too cheerful about that fact. He carelessly dropped Tommy back to the ground, onto his knees. He ran a hand through Tommy's hair like he was stroking a fucking dog, and Tommy hated how he automatically leant into it, some animalistic, raw sound bubbling from his throat as Dream continued. “Don’t worry, Tommy, I'll take care of you. It’s not like I’m going to lock you in a cage and ignore you or anything. You’re far too fun for that.”

Tommy looked at the ground, trying to hide the fact he could feel his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. How much had he told Dream about everything, during exi- during Logsted- during the “E” times? He yelped as Dream roughly forced his chin up with his claws, digging in harsher than the thorns. Tommy did his very best to avoid looking him in the eyes as he felt his gaze.

“Tommy. Look at me.”

“No,” he said without thinking. By the time he realised what he said, before he could even open his mouth he was being dragged by his hair. The pain was almost as bad as his hand, as he was unable to even try and take the weight onto anything but the chunkful of hair Dream had a vice grip on. Tommy bit his tongue, trying his best not to scream.

He didn’t even realise what was going on until his head was shoved under the freezing water. He took a lungful of water in with a breath, desperately flailing with what strength he had left with what limbs he could move. The cold stung at his eyes, his skin, feeling like a thousand needles stuck through every nerve on his head, and he couldn’t stop himself from hyperventilating, taking in more and more water until suddenly he just felt too tired to move, too calm to care, and his head was suddenly yanked back out into the air.

He coughed up water, taking in a few breaths, and before he could fully comprehend what was going on he was under the water again, burning his lungs and making him want to peel his skin off. He wasn’t sure how many of the horrible, repetitive cycles he went through of the drowning, under until he felt like he was going to drown, then up for a few precious breaths only to be forced back into the water again. The worst part was that he couldn’t help thinking, well, this is better than the salt water, better than the exile.

Finally, after what feels like hours he's pulled back onto the bank, curling up in on himself and gagging up mouthfuls of water. He closed his eyes and saw Log- saw the beach, opened them and saw the forest, until they started to blur together, mud and tents and fresh and salt water mixing into one.

He painfully forced himself up on one elbow after finally he didn’t feel like he was going to vomit up any more water, and he heard Dream hum. “So you can still crawl, hmm? I‘ll give you a ten minutes head start, and you better have moved by the times up.”

“But-“

“I told you, this ends when you can’t keep going anymore. Not when you won’t.” Tommy flinched away from the sternness of the voice, expecting another blow. “Maybe I'd have given you some pity, if you hadn’t defied me. Unless you liked it under the river, I’d suggest you obey.”

Tommy didn’t need to be told twice.

——

Tommy had barely managed to crawl from the river, behind a boulder, when he collapsed completely.

He couldn’t move anymore, could barely blink. It was still sunrise, the last of the stars having disappeared. The colours were pretty.

Prime, he was tired.

He felt back like when he was little, and Philza had just taken Tubbo in, and he’d stayed up all night comforting him after he’d had a nightmare, and he was so tired he’d started seeing shit, yet feeling like he couldn’t sleep yet, he needed to stay awake.

He’d never see Tubbo again. He thought he’d feel sad about that, but he just felt resigned. Sadness required energy he didn’t have.

All he could really focus on was the feeling of the breeze against his skin, the heavy feeling against his chest as he focused on breathing, in, out, in, out, the burning in his throat and his shoulder and his hand. They felt like the only things real anymore, everything else a dull snapshot that felt so distant, so far away.

He knew he should panic when he heard the sound of claws tapping on the ground, words that blurred into one big mess, but he couldn’t. He just felt tired, frozen.

He’d heard, once, that when deers stand in the headlights of an upcoming car they freeze instead of running or fighting. Tommy thought that was stupid back then. Now, dimly, it made sense. Staying still was just so much easier, and sometimes all you could do was conserve your energy.

He wanted to just close his eyes, to sleep, but something at the back of his mind screamed at him that Dream wouldn’t like it.

He feels a hand ruffle through his hair before he sees him, and for a second he thinks of Wilbur, back when Tommy was very little. He used to have nightmares back then, and he’d cry all night and wake up Wilbur and Wilbur would tell him made up stories about grand nations and heroes with cocky grins and electric blue eyes with cool brothers that wrote songs and loved the ocean.

Wilbur wasn’t here, though. It was just Tommy and Dream. Just Tommy and Dream now and forever.

“‘M tired,” he whined, leaning into Dream's touch automatically. Dream laughed.

“You must be. C'mon, let’s go home.”

Tommy didn't resist as Dream picked him up effortlessly, slung over his shoulder like a hunters prize catch. It hurt his shoulder, and he bit his tongue, vaguely remembering he didn't like showing weakness. He felt like more of a placeholder in Tommy's shell, like Tommy had fallen asleep awake and he was the replacement.

He tried to focus on Dream. Focus on something but the static of tiredness clouding his head. Being like that felt dangerous, like something he wasn’t allowed to do. But Dream was there, physically there, and Tommy focused on the feeling of his bony shoulder, the sharp claws gently holding him steady, the feeling of hair brushing against the tattered remains of his hoodie.

“Y'know,” Dream said, more to himself than to Tommy, “I've got materials for some regen potions back home. With them, your hand could be able to heal in a few weeks, and then we can do this all over again. That'd be nice.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no.”

“'T wouldn’t be fun. I don’t wanna do this ever again.”

Dream laughed to himself slightly. “I wasn’t asking. Not everything is about you, Tommy. Now, go to sleep. I want you aware when I show you our new home.”

“'Mkay.”

Dream laughed again. “You'll really do anything I say like this, won't you?”

Tommy shook his head, ignoring how dizzy it made him. “Nah, 'm just… tired.” he said, finishing with a yawn, making Dream laugh again. That was good, he thought. It was just him and Dream, right? They just had each other, now, they should try and help each other.

Tommy knew he should have been frightened, he should have been fucking terrified, but all he could think of drifting off to sleep was that he just hoped tomorrow would be less exhausting.

#my writing #dsmp writing #dream smp writing #primeboys (derogatory)#tw abuse #tw torture #tw Drowning #tw body image issues #tw broken bones #tw horror #tw manipulation #tw kidnapping #tw implied gaslighting #tw implied stalking #Tw human experimentation mention #Tw disassociation #tw obsession #tw possessive behavioir

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fandom-thingies · 4 years ago

Text

We Exist In Parallel (But We’re Not The Same)

Working title: Dream face reveal NOT pog

Dream is everything Tommy refuses to become.

He’s seen so much more of him, so much more of what he’s made himself than any other member of the SMP.

He knows Dream’s quirks, knows his ticks and unconscious gestures and nervous habits he never managed to break, and it hurts because Tommy has so many of the same.

He’s not sure why, to be honest.

He suspects it might be a kind of influence, all the time he’s spent around the bastard creating a distorted reflection of that famous smiling mask.

Or maybe it’s just coincidence, just two people similar in only the most ironic ways, echoed in all the least comfortable places.

Dream hates it too, he knows. When Tommy reaches a hand up to scratch his chin the same way he might if most of his face were covered, when he takes up a battle stance built for agility rather than the bashing Techno’d taught him…

He knows Dream, yeah? He knows what a flinch looks like from him.

Especially when they flinch the same way.

But they aren’t the same, no. Couldn’t be less similar, in a lot of ways.

Tommy stakes everything he has on his ability to care, Dream throws it all away for just one iota more control. Dream gives someone a gift and expects them to pay it back, Tommy gives someone a gift and expects them to dismiss it.

Tommy sacrifices everything he has for his friends, Dream sacrifices his friends to keep his power.

Fucking funhouse mirrors, they are.

So Tommy knows him and Dream are a lot alike, yeah? He’s uncomfortably fucking aware.

That doesn’t mean he’d ever have predicted this, though.

Because who would, right? Who could?

Tommy points his axe at Dream and tells him to put his stuff in the hole and it’s a triumphant moment because finally, finally, he’s got an assured win.

He’s got his friends at his back, Tubbo safe and sound, the discs away from Dream, and there’s nothing left to hit him with, nothing left that could destroy this perfect victory over the one who’s tormented them all so long.

Dream leaves some of his stuff on, so Tommy tells him no, all of it, and Dream complies and something about the action feels off and Tommy doesn’t figure out what it is until Dream’s taken everything off and has his hand in the claps of his mask, saying,

“Are you sure?” With that horrible false sympathy he specializes in, and Tommy says

“Yes, I’m fucking sure, or I wouldn’t have said it! Unless you’re that fucking ugly, why’s it even matter?” And oh, how he eats those words.

Because Dream just laughs, undoes the clasp, pulls his mask away from his face as gently as you tell your child Santa is only a story, and his face-

He’s got Tommy’s face.

He-

They could be twins, if not for the scars on Tommy Dream put there himself.

“Wh- The fuck? You ‘sposed to be my long lost brother or some shit?” And he says it sarcastically, but he’s only half joking.

Dream laughs again, like it’s all some fucking joke only he’s privy to.

“Oh, Tommy, that would be fun, wouldn’t it? I think Phil might have mentioned it, though,” And Dream tilts his head to the side, and it’s such a damn cold expression, not an ounce of fucks given, like he doesn’t even care and the worst part of it, Tommy thinks, is that he knows Dream does care, in his own fucked up way, and he does all this shit anyway.

“No, I’m not your brother.” And what the fuck does that mean, anyway? Vague ass answer, just so the fucker can drag the conversation out a little longer, just another fucking power play and Tommy is so tired of it all.

So he doesn’t play Dream’s game.

��Look, asshole, I don’t give a shit if you’re my evil twin or whatever. It doesn’t change shit, yeah? You still suck and the server would still be better off without you in it, so spill or don’t but do it fast because I’ve had it up to here with your shit.”

And Dream looks surprised, for a moment, the calculated shock looking utterly foreign on Tommy’s face, before he wipes it away and smiles in a way that looks perfectly at home on his face because that’s Tommy’s smile, and he says,

“I thought it would be obvious, Tommy. I named all my armor and weapons Nightmare, of all things,” and Tommy doesn’t know where Dream is going with this but he hates it already and Dream continues “I figured calling everything Clementine would be too much of a giveaway, but maybe I should have just gone for it, if you’re going to be this oblivious,” And the pieces are fitting together in Tommy’s head but the picture they create makes no goddamn sense, the hell-?

“What are implying here, Dream?” It’s Tubbo who says it, voice still ringing with the blankness it’d held when he’d told Tommy this is checkmate, I suggest you resign-

“Well, the future is a dark place, you know? Just ask Karl. Shit sucks, so I left,” and he’s saying words and they aren’t really registering because he’s changed his accent just a bit, pitched his voice two centimeters to the left and altered his vocabulary and when he says that sentence Tommy nearly feels for his own throat to make sure he hadn’t said the words himself.

And just-

What. The fuck.

“Fuck this.” Tommy says in one of the deadest tones he’s ever mustered, and he raises the Axe of Peace over his head because this doesn’t change anything, not really.

“Aw, Tommy, you wouldn’t kill yourself, would you?” And here’s where Tommy sees the situation for truth, sees the utter fucking lack of comprehension in Dream’s (his) eyes, and he just,

Tommy just laughs.

“Wouldn’t I, Dream?” And Dream flinches.

“Because I’m pretty fucking certain that I tried, several times,” and there’s a soft gasp behind him he can’t identify but it doesn’t matter because he is at his wits end.

“I’m pretty fucking sure I stood at the edge of a lava pit and tried to jump, and you pulled me back and said it wasn’t my time yet, and that makes so much more sense now because you really can’t grasp your own goddamn mortality, can you?”

He lowers the axe, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“I also remember the time after you blew up Logstedshire, left everything me and Ghostbur’d built as a fucking burning ruin, I remember kinda fucking clearly when I towered up until I could see past what you’d done to me and only landed in water by chance,” And his hand on the axe hurts but he needs the grounding it provides because these memories aren’t painless.

“And that’s not- That’s not even mentioning all the times I woke up breathing seawater and I’m still not sure whether you fucked with my bed somehow or whether I just wanted it all to end that goddamn much, but you say I wouldn’t kill myself?” He feels like he can’t get enough air, the recollection of the sea in his lungs hitting almost as hard as Dream had, all those times.

“Don’t fucking pretend you’re me. I don’t know if you’re telling the truth, to be honest I don’t really care, but either way you’re not me and you never will be,”

Dream takes a step back, hitting the blackstone wall he built himself, and there’s something poetic in that, but Wilbur is dead to Dream’s machinations and Tommy doesn’t have any fucks left to give.

“Because you know the difference between us, Dream?”

Dream looks at him, two inches taller than Tommy, five years older, and not an ounce of wisdom to show for it. Dream is taller but he’s not the one looming here, not the one who holds the scene in his hands and shapes it how he sees fit, and Tommy knows now the real reason Dream always wears a mask, because he’s doing nothing to hide the fear in his face.

“What’s the difference?” He asks, and Tommy knows in an instant that Dream really, genuinely has no clue where he went so wrong.

“I care.” Tommy says, and swings the axe.

#dream smp #dsmp #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp fanfiction #dream smp au #dsmp au #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #arc ii finale #dsmp arc ii finale #i just really want tommy to go off

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onecanonlife · 3 years ago

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 8,506

Chapter Warnings: swearing, blood, major injury, seizure, character death

Chapter Summary: In which the sun rises.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Twenty-One: morning sun

He has a lot of thoughts on poetry. Poetry, he often finds, is just music without the tune. The rhythm is there already, and the words can be their own melody, if they’re written right, with a shape and a contour and a buildup and a decrescendo. He knows poetry. And poetry can tell stories, too, can tell whole narratives, can show a hero’s journey from the beginning to the bitter, bitter end, because something he noted a long time ago is that in the old stories, the old poems, in the meter and rhyme, there are few heroes who get happy endings. There are few stories that end with the hero growing old and finding peace. The heroes in the stories he was drawn to, the stories that Technoblade told him as they grew from children to lanky teenagers to adults, the heroes in those stories come to tragic ends.

So, he knows poetry.

Is there poetry in death?

Once, he would have said yes. Once, he would have said that death, perhaps, after a long fight, after a struggle lost, after all the world goes caving in and the hero stands alone knowing how far he has fallen, knowing there is only so much further to go, knowing that every cliff has its bottom and every sea its floor, after all of that—once, he might have said that death, after all of that, was the most poetic thing of all.

But he thinks he knows better now. He thinks that death is not poetry at all. He thinks that death is pain and suffering and hurting those who were left behind, and death is an ending that cannot

(is usually not, and perhaps he needs to examine that, too, needs to start considering himself lucky for the second chance that no one else ever gets, because he gasped back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes and there has been so much pain since then but there has been beauty and now revelation)

be revised once the pen has left the paper, and all the best stories are edited before they are consumed.

But life is not a story, and he is a person, not a role, even if that thought turns everything upside-down, forces him to consider everything he thought he knew about the axis on which the world spins.

And dying cannot be poetry, because he thinks he is dying, and there is nothing lovely about it at all. Not now.

(and not then, either, though you were not ready to know it)

“Shut up, you’re not fucking dying,” Tommy says, and with the words come a wash of cold clarity, focus that he clings to desperately. It might be a mistake, because the pain comes back to the forefront, too, sharp and everywhere and overwhelming and he wants to retreat from it, and he thinks he’s going to retreat from it, if it keeps on like this, so it’s a matter of how long he can manage to hold on.

He’s only just recovered his footing. He’s not going to let himself slip away. Not when he’s only just figured out he wants to keep standing.

And then his heart spasms, sending a burst of hot pain ricocheting in his chest, and he is reminded that he might not have a choice in the matter. He tries to draw in breath, and finds his airways blocked. He tastes iron on his tongue. He tries to draw in breath, and he can’t, and his lungs are burning, burning—

“Turn his head,” Tubbo says sharply, “turn it, he’s choking—”

Someone wrenches his head to the side. He coughs, once, twice, and then he’s wracked with them, curling in on himself as best he can, hands coming up to clutch at his chest, his throat, and he can feel the blood spilling from his mouth, pooling in his cheek and splattering on his lips. Blood. It waters the vines, the vines that are turning to dust. The blood vines are watered, and nothing at all happens, because the vines are dead.

The vines are dead, and he is dying, because he’s pretty sure that his internal organs are all giving out.

“He’s coughing up blood,” Fundy says, near hysterically, “why is he coughing up blood, what’s wrong with him—?”

“The Egg hurts you when you hurt it,” Tommy answers, matching his tone, his high pitch, his fear. “The Egg—and I fucking forgot, oh my god, why did I let him do it, we should’ve figured this would happen—”

“Does anyone have pots?” Tubbo demands. “Does anyone have pots, because I don’t.”

“I didn’t grab any,” Fundy says, “it all happened so fast, I didn’t think to grab any—”

“Wait, shit, I’ve got one,” Tommy says. “Here, c’mon.”

He feels hands on him, gently pushing him out of the position he’s folded himself into. And then, he’s leveraged to sit more upright, and he groans, something in his abdomen screaming in protest at the shift. He doesn’t have the strength to keep his head up, so he lets it fall back, and it hits someone’s chest. He’s propped up against someone, and as his vision clears, just a bit, he sees Fundy crouched to one side, hands hovering over him, and Tommy kneeling right by him, tugging on the cork of a potion, so it’s Tubbo that he’s leaning against.

“Here, Wilbur, just,” Tommy starts, and then the glass is being held to his lips. He parts his lips compliantly, and he feels the liquid slide across his tongue, but there’s too much blood in his throat for it to go down smoothly, and in the next second, he’s coughing again, sputtering, trying to suck air into a throat that’s too clogged and lungs that won’t quite inflate. He jerks, and Tubbo’s arms come up from behind him, grabbing his shoulders and holding him steady even as his body tries to escape the inescapable.

“C’mon, Wil, please,” Tommy says, and his eyes are wide and so very blue, and there’s a sheen across them. Tears. He’s making Tommy cry. “Please, you’ve got to swallow.”

He can’t get in a good enough breath to be able to tell him that he’s trying, that he would very much like to swallow, it’s only that absolutely nothing seems to be cooperating with him at the moment. But surely Tommy knows that, knows that he would if he could, and he’ll keep trying, even though—even though everything hurts, and really, there’s no other way to put it than that. Everything hurts, every inch of him, like his skin is being stretched too tight and he’s boiling from the inside out.

(but then again, Tommy doesn’t know the realization he’s just come to, he just sees his brother limp on the ground and fading away before his eyes and coughing up the potion he’s given him, coughing up what might be the best chance they have to save him, and that is what Tommy sees, so is there any wonder that he automatically assumes that)

No. No, he needs Tommy to know. He needs all of them to know that he doesn’t want this, that he doesn’t want to go, that he’s not giving up.

Tommy presses the potion to his lips again, desperate, insistent. He parts them again, and this time, some of it goes down. A bit goes down the wrong pipe, in fact, setting him to coughing again, but that burn is nothing compared to everything else. He can feel the magic begin to take effect right away, racing inside of him, trying to repair what has been broken and torn apart, and because he can feel it at work, he can feel exactly what’s wrong, can feel it try to patch holes inside of him that the Egg’s death throes ripped open, can feel it surrounding his heart, trying to encourage it to beat in a steady rhythm again, can feel it in his lungs, trying to reopen one that has half-collapsed. He can feel it all, and he knows that even if he managed to down the whole flask, it wouldn’t be enough. Not for this.

Because magic can only do so much. Because magic only goes so far.

Despair pools in his chest along with the fire, but he bucks against it, because he doesn’t want

(he doesn’t want to die and it took him so long to decide as much to understand himself enough to realize it and he doesn’t want to die but his body is giving out even as he fights to stay and this cannot be how it ends, it cannot be, because the world is cruel and the world is unfair but he cannot believe that it would be so unjust as this, so unjust as to take away what he has only just realized he wants to keep)

(but then again, the world does not often listen, does not often care for what is good and what is fair, because the world simply is, and that was a lesson he learned long ago, chased from the podium, the arrow in his back, betrayal and desperation playing a counterpoint melody, and it would never have happened if fairness was something the world at large took into consideration)

(but then again, does the universe not listen, when it well and truly counts? though to say as much would be to imply that it never counted before, when it did, did and still does, still does, because perhaps he can heal if given the chance but he will not forget and neither will anyone else)

to die. He doesn’t want to die. And if ever there was a moment to fight against despair, to fight against despair and win, for once, it is now. It is now.

“I’m trying,” he gasps out, and then immediately has to stop, has to struggle for air again, his chest heaving. He’s shaking, his bones trying to flee his skin.

“I know,” Tommy says. “I know, just come on—” The potion is back, and it’s the last of it, and he manages to force down some more. His vision sharpens, his breathing becoming just ever so slightly easier, but it’s not going to be enough. His heart falters, skips several beats, sends deep pangs shooting through his ribcage, and he knows it’s not going to be enough.

“I am trying,” he insists, as soon as he has enough air for it, “I am, I don’t—I don’t want to go—”

He coughs. Something inside him shifts, grating against other things, and fuck but that hurts, and there’s blood dribbling down his lips again. Hot and sticky. Damning.

“Okay, okay, that’s good, you’re not going anywhere,” Tommy says, “you’re not, we’re not gonna let that happen—”

“Comms are still down,” Fundy says. “I’m not getting through to anyone. Should I—should I go and get someone? I’m a fast runner, I can make it there and back.”

No.

No, no, he—it makes sense, what Fundy is suggesting, but he doesn’t want his son to leave him, because what if he leaves and he—he never gets to tell him all the things he wants to say, all the things he should have said a long, long time ago, what if he leaves and the last that Wilbur sees of him is his retreating back and that’s all, that’s all there is for either of them, what if he dies here and now and he never gets to—

(a scene, imagined: the sun setting over the water, a warm, lazy breeze rustling his hair, and they are sitting side by side, quiet and companionable, and they are fishing, their lures bobbing together in the lake, and all is not fixed and all is not forgotten but there is peace and forgiveness and an opportunity to repair the once-burnt bridge and he wants that he wants he wants)

He moves his arm. The first time, it flops back down uselessly, but he tries again, expends far more effort than he should, and he hooks his fingers into Fundy’s sleeve. Fundy stills, and Wilbur looks at him. Really looks. Meets his eyes and keeps his gaze there. And he doesn’t know what he looks like, doesn’t know how bad he must appear at the moment, but though there is worry on his son’s face, there is something else there, too, something more complicated.

“Wil?” Fundy says softly.

He might not get another chance for this.

“I love you,” he says, and he can feel the words sliding into each other even as they leave his mouth, but he hopes he’s comprehensible. He prays, because he needs Fundy to know this. “I love you, and—I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry. I wanted to be better this ti—”

His heart squeezes, like it’s doing its level best to collapse in on itself, and he breaks off with a strangled squawking sort of noise. And Fundy makes an odd noise of his own.

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re not—you’re going to be fine. Stop talking like you’re going to—you can’t leave again, okay, you can’t do this to me again, you can’t—”

He’s hurting his son. Hurting his son just like he has all along, and he’s powerless to stop it, powerless once again. And there is some measure of gladness in it, in knowing that Fundy does not want him dead, but he is hurting him, hurting him when he never wanted to do so again. When all he really wanted was a chance to make things better, if he could. If he would be allowed.

He tightens his grip on Fundy’s sleeve. Fundy’s face shutters, and then he reaches over with his other hand and pries his fingers off, and Wilbur thinks that actually he might die right here and now.

Except then, Fundy takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, clutching them tightly. He tries to squeeze back and only manages a flutter, but it’s enough.

(because all is not well between you and perhaps it never will be, but know this, know that your son still loves you)

“I’m so sorry,” Tubbo says suddenly, and he can’t crane his neck to look at him, so he has to settle for listening to the words. “If I hadn’t used the totem, maybe—”

“Oh my god, don’t fucking say that,” Tommy snaps, and Wilbur quite agrees, because if Tubbo hadn’t used the totem, then perhaps this would feel very different, and perhaps he would not be terrified of the sensation of his life slipping away from him, because he would have death’s most effective preventative measure resting in his hand, waiting for his heart to still in order to repair the damage. But if Tubbo hadn’t used the totem—and he didn’t see exactly what happened, occupied as he was, but he can guess well enough from the still-present echoes of terror on Tommy’s face—then Tubbo would be dead. And that is not an acceptable loss.

“It’s the truth,” Tubbo insists.

“No,” he forces out, “no, that wouldn’t—that wouldn’t be any better—”

And then, his muscles seize. His back arches, and he hears himself cry aloud, and then the world goes away for a bit.

When it all returns, it crashes in on him at once, and he feels disoriented, exhausted, like his brain is seeking anything recognizable, anything to help make sense of what’s happening, and coming up with nothing. It takes a moment for him to remember where he is, what’s just happened, and even then, he feels dazed, almost outside of himself. He still hurts, but it’s distant. Like it’s happening to someone else.

He’s lying fully on the ground. There’s something soft under his head. A jacket? There is no one holding his hand, and a low keen rips itself from his throat. But no one’s listening—sound filters back in, and it takes effort to parse the voices from each other, speaking over themselves as they are.

“—going,” Fundy is saying, and Fundy, Fundy, he’d like Fundy to come back and be next to him, but he forces his head to flop to the side and sees that Fundy is standing now, standing with the rest of them. “I’m going, we need help, he’s—he’s literally dying right now—”

“He’s not fucking dying,” Tommy says, “would you stop saying that, he’s not—”

“If you’re gonna go get help, then go and hurry up up about it,” Tubbo is saying at the same time, and—

That’s right. He’s dying. He might have just had a seizure. That’s probably what that was. Caused by—seizures can be caused by traumatic brain things, right? Injuries? Having the Egg fucking around in there probably counts, and even beside that, he felt it die, felt it as the power of the universe flowed through the sword in its hand and tore it apart, even as it took him down with it.

(and there are some things that a mortal mind is not meant for, and surely, surely, the universe in its glory and its infinity is one of them and yet it is in your head always humming always there and it will not leave even when you do not pay it heed)

So that’s that. He’s just had a seizure, and he thinks his body’s gotten to the point where it’s given up on trying to fix anything, because the pain is fading, fading back into numbness, as if all his nerves have collectively decided that this situation is a little too fucked up and there’s nothing they can do, no point in working on it anymore. No point in signaling that anything’s wrong when nothing’s being fixed.

He’s dying.

(he doesn’t want to go)

“No way he gets back in time,” someone says. “You’ve got minutes at most.”

He’s not sure who spoke, but he agrees. Short of a miracle, he’s—he’s dying, and he wants to cry, because he doesn’t want to go. His surroundings blur.

He’s alone. Why isn’t anyone next to him? They’re standing, around him but not with him, talking to each other, voices so frantic and scared, and they’re just kids, and it’s so unfair that any of this is being put on them at all, and he doesn’t blame them for it, of course, but he thinks that if anyone was going to go for help, it should have been done right away. Not now. It’s not going to do any good now.

If he’s going to die, he doesn’t want to be alone.

(he intended to die alone, at the end of it all. he intended for himself to be the only one to be hurt. that’s one of the only reasons why he didn’t blow it all to hell sooner, because people were there, people talked him down, people like Quackity, people like Tommy, and they didn’t talk him out of wanting to do it but their presence reminded him that he didn’t want them to be hurt, he only wanted himself to hurt, because that was what was fair and that was what was right)

(but he didn’t die alone, at the end of it all. Phil held him, and he felt a little less afraid under all that relief, and the last thing he remembers from that day is warmth overwhelming, and if he’s going to die again, he doesn’t want to be cold, alone, alone)

He tries to talk, to say something, but he really is having trouble breathing now. His chest rises and falls in quick, short pants, too shallow to supply enough oxygen, too little to support his voice. He tries to move to get their attention, but his limbs don’t respond to his commands.

And then, Fundy’s taking off, running for the entrance, and no, no, no—

He finally manages to meet Tommy’s gaze. Tommy’s crouched by him again in an instant, and Tubbo is, too, grabbing his hand, and he’s glad of it, glad for the contact, but—

“It’s okay,” Tommy tells him. “You’re gonna be fine, Wilbur, Fundy’s gonna go get someone, and they’ll bring more pots, and, and another totem, too—”

His vision is darkening. He wants Fundy to come back. His heartbeats are growing more erratic, slower, weaker.

“Tommy,” Tubbo says, voice small, and stops. Tommy goes silent for a moment.

“No,” he says, then, and his voice is a sob. Wilbur wants to comfort him. He can’t move. “No, no, this isn’t fair—”

He knows. He knows, and he can’t do a thing about it.

“I—” he manages, pushing the word out with what little air is circulating through his lungs. “I don’t want—”

He can’t finish.

“I know you don’t want to go,” Tommy says, “I know, so, so you won’t, you won’t, you’re going to be fine—”

“We’re here, Wilbur,” Tubbo says. “We’re right here.”

He’s glad. He wants to stay with them.

“Jesus, Wilbur.” There’s that voice again. Not Tommy’s, not Tubbo’s. Soft and exasperated, and perhaps a little bit concerned, but he’s not sure. His ability to think, to reason, is slipping from his grasp, and one some level, that terrifies him, but on another, he can no longer care. “You giving up?”

The peculiar combination of derision and amusement is familiar. He opens his eyes; he hadn’t realized he’d closed them. Above him, a face hovers, upside-down from his vantage point. Dark hair, scruff, chipped horns, a blue sweater. Schlatt.

How long has he been here?

“Is this how you’re gonna go out?” Schlatt asks him. “Taken out by a—whatever the hell this was? You know, I’m still not clear on that. None of you assholes ever explained it to me. Some kind of demon bullshit. But you’re just gonna let this happen?”

Somehow, his voice cuts through the haze that’s filled his mind, cuts through even where Tommy and Tubbo’s voices have blended together, becoming one with the background. Perhaps it’s the sudden burst of annoyance, an energy he thought he no longer had; of course he’s not letting this happen. There’s just not a whole lot he can do to fight against acute organ failure. Does he look as if he planned this?

“You don’t want to go, though,” Schlatt says. “I heard that. Good on you, I guess. Deciding that life’s worth something after all. I’m real proud.”

He tries to glare at him. He has no idea whether his face is doing anything or not. If it is, he hopes that the boys don’t think he’s mad at them.

“Okay,” Schlatt says. “Okay, you know what? Let’s give this a try. You’re a real jackass, though, you know that? I want to make sure you know that. I need you to remember that to the end of your days. I want you to put it on your tombstone when you do finally kick it. Here lies Wilbur Soot, he was a real jackass.”

He doesn’t understand what Schlatt is trying to say. He’s rambling, as if to himself. And the world is sliding away again.

(he’s trying to hold on but there’s only so much he can do if the entire cliff face gives way there’s only so much he can do to fight against it there’s only so much)

But then, he feels it. The tether. The rope that binds them. The trailing connection. It opens up, pulling like gravity on his heart, and there’s that familiar sensation, energy leaving him, flowing down the line, except this is energy that he truly doesn’t have to spare, and the last embers of his panic flare up again, because surely Schlatt can feel it, can feel that he has nothing to give, that this is only going to kill him quicker, within seconds if he keeps this up and he may not have much of a chance here but he doesn’t need Schlatt making it worse—

“Holy shit!” he hears Tubbo say, backed up by, “What the fuck are you doing?” from Tommy an instant later. He can’t see them. He can’t see anything. Their voices are far away, and he’s trying to reach them, but he’s falling, and he can’t stop it, can’t stop himself, and the void is close.

(and he’s scared)

“Hey Tubbo,” he hears Schlatt say. Distantly, from a long way away, and getting quieter. Everything is dim. He’s floating. “You deserved better than me, kid, you really did.” A pause. “Tell Fundy the same thing, would you?”

His heart beats. Once. Twice. And then does not beat again. He’d be in pain if he could still feel it. But it’s all gone. All falling away, and the void is close, the void is reaching out to him, and he is—

And then, the tether reverses.

Energy flows back into him. What Schlatt took, and somehow, inextricably—more.

He slams back into himself all at once, gasping for air, back arching off the ground as he is hit with—everything. Sensation, in his fingers, in his toes. Pain, in every inch of him, every atom. Lungs that inflate, barely at first and then more fully. Ruptured places repairing themselves. A heart that starts again, and beats, beats, beats.

“C’mon,” Schlatt is muttering, over and over, and though Tommy and Tubbo are still talking, it’s the only voice he can latch onto. “C’mon, c’mon.” His hand is splayed across Wilbur’s chest, firm and solid, pressing down. “C’mon.”

He has sight again. Schlatt is still there, is still leaning over him, strain written on every line of his face, and Wilbur doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand what he’s doing, doesn’t understand where this energy is coming from, doesn’t understand how it’s—healing him. It’s healing him. Though—Schlatt is a ghost, is usually intangible, has to rely on Wilbur’s lifeforce if he wants to do anything, but perhaps that doesn’t mean Schlatt has none of his own. Perhaps it’s just not enough to sustain him. Perhaps it’s not enough to form him a body, not enough to create life from death.

But perhaps it’s enough for this.

Just as he works through it, Schlatt loses his solidity. His hand slips down, passing through Wilbur’s chest, and he shudders at the sensation, tingling and cold. But Schlatt doesn’t pull away, and the energy keeps flowing, and then, Schlatt starts to flicker, his form wavering in and out of reality.

And finally, Wilbur thinks he understands.

(reciprocity is something they both know well, and a connection once opened can flow both ways)

“You’re giving too much,” he says, though he’s practically mouthing the words, so thin is his voice.

“Yeah, well,” Schlatt says, his voice echoing and distant and staticky. Like a snowfall. “Maybe I want you to prove me wrong.”

Prove him wrong?

(a sunny day, flowers twisted absently in his hands, blue flowers to match the blue sweater, blue sky above, and Schlatt’s voice saying, people like us don’t change, and he once believed that, believed that his role was set and there was no going back, and he believed that for Schlatt as well, believed that for the both of them there could be no redemption, but now he isn’t so sure, and he looks into Schlatt’s eyes and he thinks that perhaps)

“Schlatt,” he whispers, and Schlatt gives him a long look. Hard, but not cruel, measured, but not mocking, considering, not dismissive. And perhaps, just perhaps, there is a little bit of regret there, too.

(regret for the boys they once were, full of life and ideas and hope, tongues sharp and minds sharper, and what good friends they used to be, in the days of their youths when they were free and unburdened and war was a tale from the past and politics a distant future and betrayal a joke and a game, when they were young, when they were young)

“Prove me wrong, Wilbur,” Schlatt says, and then, he is gone. He winks out of existence, and there is no shimmer of blue in the air, no feeling of being watched, of eyes on him, and the tether breaks, snaps apart, and he lets out a soundless shout as the backlash hits him, like a rubber band snapping back into place. The energy stops, and there is nothing in its place, and he reaches out, instinctively, searching, and finds nothing. Where the ghost was, there is blank space. Only the world, and no hum of the stars.

(the hum of the stars is in your mind and your mind only and you are alone inside of it and there is no other not anymore)

And he is alive.

“What the fuck,” Tommy is saying. His hands paw at his neck, pressing up to find his pulse, and Wilbur can feel it. The touch is warm. “What the hell did he do to you, that fucker—Wilbur? Wilbur, c’mon, answer me, man, are you still—”

“Here,” he says, and Tommy falls silent. “I’m here.”

He is here. He is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and the vines are still turning to dust above him. He is here, and he hurts, still, deeply and acutely, every inch of him aching, but his heart beats steadily, his lungs expand when he breathes, and there is no catch in his throat, no urge to cough, no churning in his stomach, no convulsions wracking him, and his vision is clear.

“Wilbur?” Tubbo asks. His voice shakes.

“I’m here,” he says again. “I’m not going. I’m still here.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, and then, Tommy’s all but on top of him, lying on his chest, wrapping his arms around him, knocking the breath right out of him, and Tubbo follows a short second behind, taking up all of the space that Tommy isn’t. He wheezes, but it’s a good sort of wheeze, even if it hurts. It definitely hurts. But he’s hardly about to get them to stop.

They pile on him, grabbing onto him like their lives depend upon it,

(or like his life depends upon it)

and he feels warm, and present, and here. Still here.

(safe)

(alive)

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. That’s about all the volume he can manage; his throat feels shredded. “I’m so sorry I scared you.”

“You’d better be sorry,” Tommy chokes out. “I thought you were gonna die.”

“I thought I was too,” he says. “But I didn’t want to. I fought it, I swear. I don’t want to go. I mean that.” They’re on top of his arms, pinning them. He gives them a nudge, experimentally, but they don’t give an inch, so he’s going to have to settle for not hugging them, apparently. “I’m staying right here. I don’t want to die.”

The words are novel. He thinks he’d like to say them over and over again, just to test them out, to feel the truth in them. He doesn’t want to die, and more than that, he rather thinks he wants to live. What a revolutionary thing it is, to want to live.

“You dickhead,” Tommy mutters, and buries his face in his shirt, which becomes damp in short order. He won’t call him on it.

“Please don’t do that again, though,” Tubbo says. “That was actively terrifying.”

He manages a laugh. The sound of it surprises him. “I’m not planning on it,” he says.

Despite the heavy weight of two teenage boys resting on him, he feels lighter than he has in weeks. Since he woke up in that forest, rain falling on his face, and turned to the arctic, to the snow and the tundra and the promise of family that he didn’t know how to feel about, the promise of a family that was scattered and broken into too many pieces. Since seeing his brother again a scarce day later, standing in the rain, the notes of the guitar fading in the air. Since the Egg, since the prison, since arguments and tentative reconciliations and everything that’s happened between now and then. And the thoughts still lurk. He can sense them in the shadows of his mind, ready to swell forth again, ready to tell him all about what he deserves and how he will be betrayed and how everyone hates him and he hates himself but for now—

For now, in this moment, he wants to live, and he wants to live well, and he pushes aside the whispers of what he deserves and lets himself be, and lets himself love.

(and lets himself be loved)

And then: footsteps. Several pairs, rushing down the corridor. He can’t get a good look, and the boys don’t seem inclined to take much notice, either. But he has a feeling as to who it is, and his suspicion is confirmed a moment later, as Fundy’s voice floats toward him, saying, “—bad, I mean, it’s really bad, I really think he’s literally dying, and I don’t, I just don’t—” He sounds as though he’s been keeping up this litany for some time, perhaps more as something to say than anything else, something to focus on, something to distract him a bit. His voice gets closer, and then stops. “Oh my god, is he dead?” His voice pitches upward, and overlaps with a sharp inhalation—Phil’s, he recognizes.

So there’s only one thing to do.

“Help,” he rasps, “I’m being crushed.”

There is a long moment of silence, and he almost wishes that Tommy and Tubbo would get up so that he could see the looks on their faces. Almost, but not quite. He’s content to stay like this for a good while longer.

“Oh my god, he’s alive,” Fundy says, and there is a sharp exhalation, also from Phil.

“You fucks,” Phil says, relief audible. “Do you know how scared I was?”

“I wasn’t,” Techno says. “I wasn’t worried at all.”

Finally, Tommy stirs, lifting his face from his chest and glaring off in the direction of the entrance. He also lifts a hand and flips them off.

“Fuck off,” he says. “We’ve just had a traumatic experience, we have. Are you going to stand there and be—and be twats, or did you bring anything useful? Like—” He stops, looking back down at him. His face is vaguely tear-stained, though Wilbur’s pretty sure that most of it is in his shirt. “Do you still need some pots? Or did—what the hell did he even do, anyway? How did that—you were definitely dying, and then he was there, all, all like that, and then he disappeared and you were better. What did he do?”

“Changed, I think,” he murmurs, and judging from the expression on Tommy’s face, he doesn’t get it. But that’s alright.

“Okay,” Phil says, and then he’s sweeping toward them and kneeling. His wings are on full display, he notes, no effort at all put toward hiding them, and maybe it doesn’t really mean anything, but he can’t help but feel glad. Phil should never have to hide his wings, no matter what condition they’re in. “Alright—here, Tubbo, could you move over a bit?”

Tubbo shifts off of him, too, his breathing unsteady. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed to match Tommy’s. He doesn’t say anything, just shuffles to the side so that he’s sitting next to Tommy. Phil shoots a quick smile at him, one that’s probably supposed to be reassuring but comes off as strained, and then, his hands are on Wilbur’s shoulders.

“You think you can sit up, Wil?” he asks, and Wilbur tries. He tries, but immediately gives it up as a lost cause as all his core muscles cry out in immediate protest.

“Sitting up ability is currently on strike, I believe,” he says, and Phil’s brow furrows in concern, but he takes it in stride. Behind him, Fundy and Techno are both hovering—though Fundy’s far more obvious about it. It is a bit funny how they’re both doing it, though, and the contrast between them, Techno’s bulk and general everything next to Fundy’s fidgeting. Fundy keeps casting glances at Techno, too, nervous ones.

Phil pulls him into an upright position, and he moans, his head swimming for a second before the lightheadedness abates. He hunches forward, letting gravity pull him back down a little; he thinks he’d flop over like a ragdoll if it weren’t for Phil steadying him.

“Where are you hurt the worst?” Phil asks, voice quiet. “Fundy said you were coughing up blood. And that you had a seizure, I’m guessing, judging from what he told us.”

He can still taste it on his tongue. Sharp iron. And his limbs are all very sore.

“A bit everywhere,” he admits. “I’m pretty sure all my organs were giving out on me at once, so I don’t think there’s one specific area that needs attention.” Phil’s expression widens into open dismay at that, and something very much like fear, and perhaps he shouldn’t have phrased it quite like that. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so blasé about his imminent death in front of the man who he begged to take his third life and definitely emotionally scarred in the process. But he’s still a bit wrapped up in the fact that he’s alive at all, alive and glad to be so.

“Okay,” Phil says, in a way that implies he definitely does not think that it’s okay, but he’s trying to keep it together. “Okay. That’s—okay. Do you think you could get down a regen?”

He pulls a face, but nods. Regen potions have never been his favorite; their magic is rough, unsubtle, far more concerned with function over comfort. But he likely needs one, or two, or several, or as many as his body can keep down, because he is alive, but probably far from alright, still; the continuing ache is evidence enough of that, and he’s fairly certain that if he tried to stand, he would tip over immediately. Phil has no reservations, bringing out a pot from his inventory and holding it up to him, a mirror of Tommy’s actions a minute before. Only this time, he brings up a shaking hand to help support the glass, even if he can’t hold its full weight, and he swallows all of it without coughing.

It gets to work. He winces, and then decides that he’s been on the ground long enough. The energy from the pot is more than enough for him to attempt to get up.

“Whoa,” Phil says, “wait, Wilbur—”

He’s up. His vision blacks out for a second, but when it clears, he’s still up, if woozy. He imagines he might need help to walk any significant distance, but he won’t need to be carried, at least. Which is nice. Being carried is undignified.

“You should absolutely not be standing up,” Tommy snaps, and he raises an eyebrow.

“And yet,” he says, spreading his arms. Once again, he gets the impression that he’s being far more casual about all of this than he should be. He imagines that it will hit him later, the horror of it, seeing Niki’s face twisted in rage, letting the Egg inside his mind once again, almost being unable to pull himself out, almost dying right after he figured out that he didn’t want to. It will all his him, he’s sure, but for now, he would like to walk out of here under his own power, his family by his side, everyone alive and unharmed, the trouble dealt with at last. “I’m alright. I actually mean that. I’m not going to keel over.”

He inhales. Wrinkles his nose. Actually, it doesn’t smell very nice in here.

“Is the rest handled?” he asks, glancing at Phil. Phil is standing very close to him, wings flared, likely ready to catch him if he needs it. He won’t, though he appreciates the gesture.

“We felt the Egg go,” Phil says. “It was like—like the world itself distorted for a second, and then patched itself back up. We were already on our way here when Fundy came to get us. In a nutshell, yes, it’s handled. Dream was still up when we left, but the rest of the Egg people just sort of—stopped. And nobody on our side went down hard. Eret and Puffy got the worst of it, but they’ll both be fine, last I saw.”

“But Dream was still up,” he says. Beside him, Tommy’s shoulders hunch.

“Not for long,” Techno says. His gaze is fixed behind them, on the Egg. “We would’ve stayed if we weren’t sure of it.” His eyes drift to Tommy’s for a second. “The others are handlin’ it. But we can go see.” And then, to Tubbo: “The totem came in handy.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Tubbo says, expression inscrutable. “It did. Thank you, Technoblade.”

Techno shrugs. “I gave it to be used,” he says dryly. “Let’s not make a habit of it.” And that is a Techno way of saying you’re welcome, of burying the hatchet as much as he is able, and it’s not nearly enough, but it’s a first step. And then, Techno literally steps forward, and Wilbur is a little too concerned with the way that Tubbo stiffens to notice exactly what his intent is, which is why it takes him by surprise when Techno takes his head in his hands and presses their foreheads together.

Just for a second. But it’s an old gesture, a familiar gesture, and not one that he ever expected to receive again. His breath catches.

(you were kids the first time he did this, the first time he butted his head against yours, impossibly gentle, tender in a way you hadn’t realized Techno knew how to be, and it wasn’t until later that Phil explained it to you, explained piglin instincts and the concept of a sounder and how Techno always, always feels far more than he lets on, and always, always cares, perhaps too much, and he still does, despite everything, he still does)

And then, Techno walks forward, past them, to the husk of the Egg that lies behind, and the moment is over. But it was there. It was there, when it didn’t have to be, when Techno would still be well within his rights to hold back from them, from him, to keep his distance. But here he is, displaying open affection, and he’s not naive enough to think that means it’s all fixed, but—

Hope is a dangerous thing, but he feels in the mood to indulge. And beside him, Tubbo relaxes, and Tommy, just for a second, wears an expression that suggests a bit of hope of his own.

He turns to watch Techno as he roots through the dust, a crumbling, greyed-out monument that barely holds any shape. A reminder, and nothing more. An empty shell, and that, too, will disintegrate soon enough, leaving a room of dust and lava pools, and statues long abandoned.

Techno huffs. Reaches down. And from the middle of the Egg, he pulls out—

“Is that fucking Skeppy,” Tommy states, flat as a fucking pancake.

He blinks. Because it—is. Somehow. Fucking Skeppy. Though he looks different; parts of him are the same blue, but many patches are discolored, greyish white, and as Techno hoists him up, Wilbur thinks he sees red slipping off of him, like runny paint.

“Oh my god,” Tubbo says. “Was the Egg Skeppy this whole time?”

“I was wonderin’ where this guy got off to,” Techno says, and throws Skeppy across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, apparently unconcerned. “He hadn’t been by to bother me in a while. And BadBoyHalo kind of just sat down and started cryin’ about him, which, I won’t lie, I had no idea how to handle, not my area, but I thought he might be here. Are we leavin’ these two here, or takin’ them?”

Niki and Jack. Both on the ground, chests rising and falling. Free of the Egg, now, but he’s not sure where that leaves them. Though it would likely be—

“Leave ‘em,” Tommy says, startlingly vehement. “Just, we’ll come back, leave ‘em here for now.”

“I don’t think he meant to,” Tubbo says quietly. “I think it just happened really fast.”

“Don’t care,” Tommy says. “Leave ‘em.”

He looks back and forth between them. Gold still dances across Tubbo’s skin. And he wasn’t turned around, didn’t see what happened, but he thinks he can guess, based on everything, based on Niki’s sword at Tommy’s throat and Jack pinning Tubbo to the ground, based on their desperate, misdirected need for vengeance and the way Jack shouted and a boy who would do just about anything to ensure Tommy’s safety. Hears I don’t think he meant to, and thinks about other times, darker times,

(and meaning does not always matter, because intent is washed away in impact, and he never meant to hurt them)

and he decides not to ask. Not now. Not yet. Though it should be addressed. A lot of things should be addressed, a lot of things that they have not, yet, because there has been no time, because everything has been moving at a breakneck pace, but the pace will be slower now. The pace will be slower, and they will have time.

He looks to Fundy. Fundy stares back, not saying anything at all. His eyes are wet.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Fundy murmurs. Quiet enough that he doesn’t think anyone else hears it.

“Me too,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

A start. A first step. There are so many of those that still need to be taken. For now, Fundy’s lips curl into what might be the ghost of a smile.

They will have time.

***

The scene they return to is this: some are standing, some are sitting, all gathered in the courtyard of the castle. The gates lie wide open. The vines are gone. The sun is rising.

There is Eret, standing tall, though blood still runs down from a wound on their shoulder and another long gash on their arm. Their crown is blood splattered, their glasses still perched on their nose, though slipping down, and Wilbur glances away before he can take in something he’s not meant to see. There is Puffy, kneeling, her blood on the grass around her; it is her leg that is wounded, though it is difficult to tell how badly. There is Sam, shifting, uncertain, a lost look in his eyes as his fingers flex around his trident. There is Purpled, on the outskirts, on guard but perhaps an ally, though he has no reason to be. There is BadBoyHalo, sitting, curled into himself, tears running down his face, which is less ashen. The other members of the Eggpire cluster around him, seemingly in various states of shock. None of them move. They are mostly ignored.

There is Ranboo, also sitting. His eyes are wide. Tears are streaming down his face, too, and a bit of steam rises from his skin. He pays no mind. He’s trembling, occasionally gasping for breath through a sob.

There is Quackity, still standing, hands clutched around an axe like it’s the best protection he knows how to have. He wonders if there’s any truth to that; Quackity has never been one for fighting, though he tries.

(he wonders if Schlatt wanted to say anything to him, too. wonders if it would have done more harm than good)

And then there is Dream, lying on the ground. There is George, crouched by his side. There is Sapnap, kneeling, all his weight on the sword piercing Dream’s chest. Dream’s chest rises and falls, shallow and slow, and nobody moves. Sapnap’s face is flushed, tears in his eyes, and whether they are from anger or grief, he can’t tell.

Dark smoke puffs out from under Dream’s mask and dissipates in the air. Tommy makes a small sound, and Wilbur fits his hand into his. Tommy doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look away from the sight in front of them, but his fingers curl around his.

Sapnap moves as if to draw the sword out. Dream’s hand comes up and wraps around the hilt, stopping him.

“No,” Dream says, voice a reedy whisper, free of shadow. “You need to be sure it’s gone.”

And so they stay. The only sound is crying, and Sapnap’s harsh breaths, hitched and desperate. Both angry and grieving at once. George’s hands inch forward until they’re curled into Dream’s hoodie. It’s like a painting, the three of them. The sun crests the walls of the castle, and the rays fall on them like a caress, and the smoke stops appearing. The sigils carved into the sword dim.

Dream stops breathing. Quietly, and without fanfare. Like a sigh.

As one, more than a dozen communicators chime.

Tommy exhales shakily.

(is this closure? is this what he wanted? he doesn’t know, but there is no going back, no going back to the old days, when they were all still friends and the war was a game)

(and after everything that Dream did perhaps it feels wrong that this should end so abruptly or that he should not shove the sword in his chest himself for what he did to Tommy or that Tommy should have no say in his fate but at the same time perhaps it is right and perhaps this is the way the circle breaks at last)

Techno sighs, walks over to where Bad sits, and dumps Skeppy in front of him. As if a spell has been broken, Tubbo moves, too, crossing to Ranboo and crouching before him, speaking to him in low tones. Several others start moving, like the world was on pause and has only just resumed. Sapnap draws the sword from Dream’s chest, but he remains there, kneeling by the body.

Dream looks peaceful. Though with his mask still on, it’s impossible to tell. No one motions to remove it.

Tommy presses close to him. On the other side, Fundy steps closer. Against his back, he feels one of Phil’s wings brush against all of them, a promise of shelter, of safety. Perhaps this time, it will be kept.

Just like that, it is over. Can it be over?

(is it ever truly over?)

(but in every ending there is a beginning, and the world still spins, and the grass still grows, and the sky is still blue, and finally there is more reason to look forward than back)

The sun rises. Is rising, has risen, will rise again and again and again. And he’s lived to see it.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tubbo #fundy #technoblade #philza #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #deep breaths everybody deep breaths

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merakiaes · 5 years ago

Text

Warmed Up - Arthur Shelby

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: #2, #3 and #4 from the common tropes-list.

Warnings/notes: A bit of implied smut, maybe, nothing too major. Hope this was what you wanted and that you like it!

Wordcount: 3753

Summary: You get caught up in a storm with Arthur on your way home from London and have to seek shelter in an abandoned cabin in the woods, where you are forced to share body heat to keep warm.

Driving all the way to London with Arthur and only Arthur wasn’t something you’d put in the top ten on your ‘things I want to do’-list. Not that you had a list like that to begin with, but you probably made your point clear.

It wasn’t that you disliked him, quite the opposite, really. You liked him really much. Probably too much. The problem was that he was so God damn socially awkward.

With everyone else, he could laugh and joke around like an absolute madman without any problem whatsoever. It was that side of him that had made you attracted to him in the first place.

But with you, he was the exact opposite. He was quiet, reserved and quiet as a mouse, so to speak. It was infuriating.

You talked a lot, especially when in the company of someone you genuinely enjoyed being with. So it was a given that you would have preferred it if the person on the other side of the conversation actually talked back.

But Arthur never did. He just listened, glanced at you when he thought you weren’t looking, and fidgeted whenever you would visibly catch him in the middle of the act.

You weren’t an idiot. In fact, the reason you had been offered a position as a Peaky Blinder in the first place was because of your abnormally high intelligence and ability to talk yourself into and out of every imaginable situation.

You knew he fancied you, just like you did him. The first three months or so, you had just waited for him to finally gather the courage to spark up a conversation with you alone and act on the attraction everyone – yourself included - could see he had for you.

But that moment never came, so you had to take matters into your own hands.

You had been trying to get him alone for another three months now, but Tommy kept you busy, and him as well, always sending you off in different directions.

And when you on the very rare occasion actually did get the chance to talk to him alone, he took any excuse he could find to get away from you.

He avoided you as if you had the worst case of the clap in history, which after three months of waiting around for him, and another three months of desperately trying to get his attention, caused your feeling of attraction to be pushed back and locked away in a chest at the back of your mind.

Now, every time you saw his face or heard his name, you would instantly get bitter and turn your head the other way.

Mature, right? Well, in your defense, the women in your family had always had a certain immature stubbornness to them. If anyone should be blamed, it should be the women before you for passing it down another generation.

The car ride to London had been so quiet it was actually physically painful, and the air hanging over the two of you was thick enough to cut with a dull butter knife.

But the entire situation only got worse when you made the mistake of driving home despite being warned about an upcoming storm, in which you were now caught with a broken-down car.

The rain smattered violently on the metal surface of the car, and just as violently on your body.

You were soaked from head to toe and chilled all the way to your bone. You were hugging your arms close to your chest in a desperate attempt to preserve the little body heat you still had left, but you could sadly admit that it was doing nothing of the sort.

You sighed for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, bouncing your foot lightly to get your blood running.

“Come on, Arthur.” You called out over the loud rain, squinting your eyes in order to see him cleared through the water that had built up on your eyelashes. “We should go look for some help, you obviously can’t fix it by yourself.”

But Arthur didn’t move and inch, barely even reacting where he was bent into the hood of the car, pulling and pushing at things he probably had no idea what to do with.

“I’ve got it.” He insisted in a snappy voice, without a doubt annoyed from your nagging. But you didn’t care.

You rolled your eyes and uncrossed your arms, taking three long strides towards where he was standing and roughly grabbed at the fabric of his soaked coat, pulling him up from the car to his full height.

He glared down at you, but before he even got the chance to yell anything back at you, you reached up and smacked the hood closed, missing his fingers by barely a millimeter.

“You obviously haven’t got it and that’s fine. There’s no shame in needing help. Now come on, I had a lot of things on my agenda today and getting hit by lighting was not one of them.”

Just as the final word passed your lips, a deafening clap of thunder hit right above you, causing both of you to jump slightly. It was getting significantly closer.

“Where do you suppose we’re gonna get any help then, ay? We’re in the middle of fookin’ nowhere!” He yelled back, ripping his arm out of your grasp in all his furious glory.

“Well, anywhere is better than here!” You kept arguing, throwing your arms out in exasperation. “If we don’t find help, we can in the very least try to find shelter, somewhere to take cover until the storm’s blown over.”

“There’s cover in the car.” He threw his arm out towards the car for extra emphasis. “I’ve told you to get back in there for the past ten minutes but you just have to be so fookin’ stubborn all the time.”

He turned around to open the hood again, propping it open and getting back to not knowing what he was doing in the slightest.

You yelled out in frustration. “The car is cold, Arthur! There’s surely some place nearby where we could settle down and start a fire or something.”

Without waiting for an answer you re-did the procedure you had done only a minute before, grabbing the back of his coat this time and janking him away from the car so that you could slam the hood shut.

He whipped around to face you with nothing but anger behind his eyes, but before he got the chance to utter a single word, your fist hit his chest in a harsh and actually rather painful blow.

“Could you just stop arguing with me on every single thing and get your head out of your arse?!” You yelled while you delivered another punch to his chest. “I’m fucking freezing and if I stay out in the rain any longer, I’m going to get fucking hypothermia and have to amputate my limbs!”

You went to punch him a third time, but this time around he caught your wrist before you could hit him, and then your second wrist as well when you raised it to try a second time.

You glared up at him, but found that the anger behind his eyes was now gone as if it had never been there in the first place. Instead, he was just staring down at you with a look you couldn’t quite figure out the meaning of in your angry state.

“Alright.” He agreed, his voice now much quieter than it had been before. Once he was sure you weren’t going to hit him again, he carefully let your wrists go. “We’ll go look for help, or shelter. Just, calm yourself.”

His voice was rough, but his eyes were soft, calming you down easier than you would’ve like to admit.

You just gave him a curt and determined nod, straightened out the sleeves of your coat and turned on your heel, starting to walk towards an unknown destination.

He followed behind you silently, coming up to walk at your side.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him stuffing one of his hands to his pocket, while he used the other one to pull his wet hair out of his face, slicking it back over the middle of his head.

But it only stayed in place for a second before it fell right back into his face, and even in the midst of your fuming anger, you had to stop yourself from reaching over and fixing it.

The longing to touch him wasn’t an unusual occurrence for you, but in the circumstances you were currently in, it just drew a scoff from you, and either he just ignored it, or the rain was too loud for him to hear it.

You walked around in the rain for what seemed like an eternity, not spotting as much as a shed to bunker down in.

It was getting dark and the storm was still raging on without any intent of stopping. You were just about to give up and admit defeat, when you finally caught a glimpse of something red in the middle of the trees in the distance.

You squinted your eyes to make sure you weren’t just fooling yourself, that it wasn’t just a trick of your mind caused by that uncomfortable lightning between light and dark. But as you walked closer, it became apparent that you were truly seeing what you thought you were seeing.

Your eyes widened, relief flooding your body at the sweet sight of the small cabin and your hand shot out to tug on Arthur’s sleeve out of instinct.

“Arthur!” You yelled over the sound of the rain, tugging more aggressively at his coat.

He turned to look at you, and you pointed towards the cabin, yelling out: “There!”

Once Arthur had spotted the small, red house, too, the two of you wasted no time in sprinting off, having to shield your faces as the wind started pulling even harder at your clothes and hair.

Luckily, you made it to your goal in just another minute, and hurried inside, Arthur actually having to force the front door shut as the wind was fighting back so hard.

When he finally got it shut after a few seconds of struggles, thanks to the shitty, loose lock and handle you allowed yourselves to take a look around.

Arthur went into a room to the right of the front door, while you ventured into the one on the opposite side.

The big table in the middle of the room and the pieces of broken chairs littering the floors suggested that this had once been a kitchen, but judging by the state of the place, no one had lived here for years.

The floorboards were soft and rotten, a thin layer of moss covering a big part of it. The walls were yellow and damaged by water, and you could tell just by looking at it that the house was most definitely mold infested, and that you should get out of there as soon as you possibly could to avoid getting sick.

But then again, you would without a doubt get sick if you left, too. Now that you thought about it, feeling the way your clothes stuck uncomfortably to your skin and hung heavily off of your shaking body, you were probably already on your way there, assuming Arthur was in the same state as you.

You got lost in your thoughts as you were looking around, completely missing that Arthur had entered the room and called your name. It wasn’t until he reached out and touched your shoulder that you came back to reality, or rather jumped back to reality.

Out of pure instinct, you reached your own hand up to grab the one on your shoulder, twisting it and turning around with your other hand fisted in the air, ready to strike.

Luckily, Arthur was well used to your jumpy antics after six months of knowing you and easily caught your fist in the air.

You quickly registered his face and hurried to let go of his hand, noting by the way that he was clenching his jaw that the position you had twisted it into was less than pleasant.

Rather than apologizing however, you simply glared. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, if I had a gun I could’ve killed you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.” He threw back tiredly. “So quit your whinging and come on. We have to get you out of your clothes and get you warm. Started a fire in the living room and found some old blankets that still felt alright enough to use.”

The second he spoke those words, the smell of burning wood reached your nostrils and you could feel your entire body tingling with excitement at the thought of getting warm.

Taking another look at the man in front of you, you noticed that he was now only wearing his undershirt and pants, with his suspenders hanging limply at his sides, probably having discarded the rest of his clothes by the fire to dry.

Too tired and cold to fight back, you just let him lead you to the room you had watched him disappear into when you first got inside, pleased to see that he had, in fact, managed to start a fire that was now burning high in the long-ago abandoned fireplace in the middle of the room.

To the side of the fire, he had draped his clothes over an old chair, and in front of it he had pulled up an old, moth-eaten couch that he had covered with blankets so that you wouldn’t have to sit directly on the grime that had without a doubt been building up for however long this place had been abandoned.

Had it been under any other circumstances, you probably would have consider the whole thing romantic, even though it probably wasn’t meant to be. But as the circumstances were, in fact, not the best, you were just happy you would be able to get warm.

Arthur left you to undress on your own, crouching down in front of the fire and poking at the wood with a rusty fire poker to get the flames to dance just a little higher.

You raised your hands to start unbuttoning your coat, but soon came to the realization that it wouldn’t be possible.

Your fingers were completely numb and your hands, and your entire body with them, shaking more than you originally realized, making you completely unable to grasp the tiny buttons between your fingers.

And it you couldn’t even get a hold of them, you sure as hell wouldn’t be able to push them all through the narrow, tiny holes of the fabric, either.

You sighed sourly, coming to term with the fact that now was the time you would have to give up your stubbornness. You needed to get out of your wet clothes in order to get warm, but you wouldn’t be able to on your own.

“Arthur.”

His name fell quietly from your lips, but as the room was silent if you didn’t count the crackling of the fire and smattering of the rain against the roof and windows, he still heard you, turning to look at you at the sound of his names being called.

You silently moved your hands up to the first button, demonstrating with shaky fingers that you couldn’t undo them by yourself.

He stared at you for a moment after you had let your hands fall back to your sides, before wordlessly putting the fire poker to the side and standing up, coming over to you where he wasted no time in starting to unbutton your coat with nimble fingers.

You just stood there limply, gazing at his face as he put all of his concentration on the task at hand.

It was clear that it took some effort, his hands clearly, although not numb like yours as he was now on the fourth button, still very cold.

He quickly reached the bottom of your coat, and instead of walking away to let you undress by yourself like you had expected him to do, he instead started peeling the article of clothing off your arms to reveal your equally as soaked through white blouse.

And as always with white clothing, when it was soaked through, it was also very see through. And of course, this just happened to be the only day you decided not to wear a bra, as the trip to London had been a last minute call and you were originally supposed to have your day off.

No sane woman walked around their home on a day off with a bra on.

He was flustered by the fact that he could now practically see your bosom, something you could see clearly by the way his eyes flickered from your chest to your eyes before he hurriedly fled to the chair that had held his clothes with your coat in his hand.

He moved his own clothes to the side slightly so that he could hang your coat at the back of the chair, and then made move to go back to his spot by the fireplace. But before he could get very far, you cleared your throat, causing him to halt and turn back to you.

And this time, he wasn’t the only one to be flustered.

You were happy the warm hue of the fire illuminated the room, or else he would’ve for sure been able to see the faint dusty pink on your cheeks.

You cleared your throat again, motioning to the belt and several buttons of your black cargo pants. “I need help with this, too.”

Arthur didn’t make any sound of protest, only avoiding your eyes and coming back up to where you stood and wasting no time in getting to work on your belt.

He undid the clasp and left the belt in the loops, going straight to the buttons. One button, two buttons, three buttons, four, and your pants were successfully undone and ready to get rid of.

This time, it was Arthur’s time to clear his throat, as he slowly started inching them down your hips. But it was easier said than done, the wet fabric having sucked onto your skin like a leech.

He had to get down on his knees to even have a chance to get them off, and out of instinct, your hands went to his hair, holding on gently to keep your balance as you helped pull your legs out of the pant-legs.

Once they were completely off he stood back up, his face now much closer to yours than it had been before he kneeled down,

Your eyes locked together, both scanning each other with almost suspicious gazes.

His breath was warm against your cold lips and smelled of the countless of cigars he had smoked on the way to, in and from London; a smell you had hated before you met him but had now grown to love because you loved him.

You caught yourself by surprise when thinking that, as it had been the first time you had really admitted your feelings towards him to yourself.

But Arthur took both you and himself by surprise when he in the next second with hurried motions leaned in, closing the small space between you and attaching his lips to yours.

Your eyes widened at the sudden turn of events and your body stood frozen on the spot, not daring to move a muscle.

You didn’t get much time, at least not as much as you would have needed, to respond to his actions, as he pulled away just as quickly.

Even though the kiss barely even lasted five seconds, it left both of you breathless.

He looked at you, clearly debating what to do next. And to be truthful, he didn’t look to have a clue.

So you did what you had been doing, or attempting to, at least, for the past three months; you took matters into your own hands, grabbing him by the backside of his neck and pulling him back down, crashing your lips against his with thrice the force than before.

And he responded immediately, hands coming to grab at your waist to pull you closer and moving his lips against yours desperately.

As you tensed your muscles, a rather harsh shiver ran through your entire body, causing Arthur to break apart briefly.

“You’re shakin’.” He mumbled against your lips, but you were too eager to even hear what he was saying.

“Yeah.” You only mumbled back, pulling him back in for another kiss by his neck. His fingers slowly started inching the fabric of your wet blouse up and just the intense anticipation building in your chest caused your breath to grow heavier.

But much to your dismay, he came to a stop just as quickly again, visibly flinching when his now somehow warm fingers came in contact with the icy cold skin of your waist, and this time, he broke away from your lips completely, taking a small step back.

“Fookin’ hell, you’re freezing.” He commented.

A trembling chuckle left your lips at that, but whether it was from the cold or from the feeling of his fingers absentmindedly caressing your hip that you were now trembling, you didn’t know.

“Yeah.” You repeated, this time with a shaky chuckle, and you quickly came to conclusion that it was probably the cold in your bones that was causing the tremble of your body when he placed his palm flat against the curve of your back and your entire body started to shiver violently at the contrast of his burning hand against your icy skin.

How he had managed to get his hands warmed up so quickly when they had been cold only a minute before, you had no idea.

But no matter what he had done, you knew that you needed his rapidly growing body temperature to get your own up, and he seemed to know it as well.

He led you over to the couch and sat down, pulling you down on his lap and draping two of the blankets over your shoulders.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders while his hinds moved to start pulling at the strings of your blouse, all while looking you straight in the eyes.

“Let’s get ya warmed up, eh?”

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon #Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby x reader #finn shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #john shelby #michael gray #polly gray #ada shelby

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goldenretriever-nicknelson · 5 years ago

Note

I need 11 and 25 of the dialogue with tommy (listen I need domestic!tom and you can’t deny me that)

I chose this one first because I got the idea but damn you weren’t kidding about sending 11 requests, haha. ILY! Did someone say domestic!tom? Here you go lovely, the first of many.

Wc: 1k (I’m not gonna even apologise for the wc because I love this!)

Warnings: Some implied smut but other than that nothing but flufffff

I don’t usually add gifs to blurbs but I had to

“Ugh I need a haircut.”

Tom held up his phone as he ran his hands through the overgrown curly locks. He’d just finished a livestream but his eyes had kept flitting to how messy his curls were. He looked to the right as he heard a giggle from his girlfriend who had her feet draped over his legs. “What?”

You said nothing, choosing instead to tangle one of your hands in his hair, running it through the long curls. You pursed your lips with half of a smirk as you hummed as if in concentration. Tom was growing more self-conscious by the second as you teased him but he had to admit the feeling of your fingers on his scalp felt nice.

“Honestly the worst thing you can do is stare.” Tom pouted a little and his puppy dog eyes found yours. You smiled and inched your lips closer to Tom’s cheek.

“Sorry, I just- I like it.” You whispered against his skin and he involuntarily blushed, even more so as your lips sweetly made contact with his cheek. You put your other hand on his neck, playing with the fine hairs at the back of it as you kissed him fully, straddling his legs.

The kiss was just getting passionate enough to develop into something more when Tom’s roommate and brother entered making matching sounds of disgust. You pulled back and gave them a glare whilst Tom showed the both of them his middle finger.

Tom asked Haz and Harry about his hair and as usual, they both joked. You made a point from there on out to try and convince Tom not to cut his hair which may or may not have developed into a habit.

You ran your hands through his hair at every opportunity even if he had just attempted to style it, he glared at you for that one. But you knew he enjoyed it especially when you pulled on it if things were getting passionate between the both of you.

You knew he would be cutting it soon for his movie so you got the most of it his unruly curls while you could.

You were just sitting on your couch watching a movie, Tom’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and your head on his chest as he absentmindedly played with the braids in your hair. That’s when the random thought occurred to you.

“I wonder what you’d look like with braided hair.”

Tom’s actions froze before he burst out with laughter. “Good one Y/n.” He continued laughing and you held all your amusement back, settling only for a serious yet devious smirk. Tom met your eyes and his own widened in return. “No.” He pointed a finger and scowled at you.

“Aw come on Tommy.” You went to reach for his hair but he backed away, shaking his head. You gave in and pouted. “You let me paint your nails that one time.” You reminded him and he laughed, nodding.

“I did like the colour.” Tom smirked as he let you inch closer to him and take his hair in your hands. You smiled coyly and bit down on your lip.

“I’ll give you something in return.” You whispered into his ear and kissed him before he rolled his eyes with a sigh and gave in.

“It’s not gonna hurt is it?”

“No. I promise.” You smiled at him excitedly before running to get a comb. When you got back you told him to sit between your legs and he did so, his hands resting on your thighs and drawling little circles.

You combed his hair gently and he groaned a bit when you hit a knot. After mumbling an apology and managing to get his hair to a manageable state, you began to attempt to braid the small strands of hair that although slightly overgrown were beautiful.

It was a lot harder than you initially thought. Tom kept moving constantly and the hair seemed to have a mind of its own. You both laughed as you finished and showed him the finished result with a hand held mirror.

“That’s actually pretty cool.” Tom admired the attempt you had made even as you dismissed it with a giggle. “Would you teach me?” He turned around and his warm brown eyes met yours, he could already predict the joke by the mischief in your eyes.

“Why are you going to braid Harrison’s hair?” You giggled before kissing his temple and looking at him with amusement and adoration. Tom shook his head, his cheeks heating with a small blush as she smiled.

“No, so I can braid our daughter’s hair one day.” He shrugged, eyes never leaving yours. You smiled widely and felt your breath hitch with emotion because Tom thought about having kids with you. It was a fact you already knew but when he brought it up, it reminded you of how real the possibility was.

You cupped his jaw with your hand and brought him closer so you could kiss his lips sweetly, showing him how you felt. The kiss was gentle and whilst it didn’t last long, it still lingered on your lips as you pulled away with a smile.

“You’re going to be an amazing Dad, you know?”

“Not more amazing than their Mum.”

Tom returned your smile and the happiness was radiating off of him as he pulled you back in. The kiss was fierier this time, tongues involved and teeth clashing. Tom pulled away only to mumble against your lips. “I think you owe me a favour?” He winked and you smirked, nodding quickly before faltering as his lips met your neck.

You were just about to burst into laughter upon seeing his hair when another pair of voices did it for you. Tom groaned against the skin of your neck but for a different reason then you both were hoping.

“Mate, when we said you should change your hair we meant cut it.” Harrison pulled out his phone to take a picture as he laughed alongside Harry.

Marvellous Blurb Week

#tom Holland x reader #katiesblurbs #blurb week #fluff #tom Holland fluff

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jaxl-road · 5 years ago

Text

Scar Tissue, chapter 7

You know that part of fancy dances where everyone weaves around the room switching partners until you eventually find your way back to your person?

Slash is getting dizzy. And he gets the feeling he’s not missing something so much as being left out of something.

Pairings: Slash/Duff, side Axl/Izzy, side Nikki/Tommy, side Steven/Vince

Warnings: ((not in this chapter)) Implied/discussed past abuse (non-explicit)

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

The show went by in a blur.

Slash felt like he couldn’t stop smiling, running and jumping around the stage more than usual just to get some of his excess excitement out, almost rivaling Axl’s antics. The energy was infectious, and all five boys found themselves in a feedback loop that carried over to the audience. By the time the show ended, Slash could barely remember what had even happened, but that didn’t stop him from being certain that it was one of their best shows to date.

And the second they made it back to the dressing room, Slash pulled Duff down for another kiss.

Steven cheered, throwing his arms in the air, “Fucking FINALLY!” As the new couple broke apart, the drummer threw his arms around both of them, turning to Duff with a grin, “I’ve been watching this idiot pine for MONTHS.”

“Excuse you, we’ve all been watching him pine, “Axl chimed in.

“I kept expecting him to bring some sad, lovesick song to rehearsal,” Izzy contributed.

“I hate all of you,” Slash pouted, Duff chuckling and ducking his head to hide his red face.

They all settled around the dressing room, coming down from the adrenaline of the show, alternating between teasing Slash and excitedly discussing the show. Axl walked back and forth, waving his arms as he rattled off the potential for their upcoming gigs.

Eventually, the door opened and the terror twins burst in, grinning mischievously. “I can’t believe you guys ripped off our look!” Tommy laughed.

“We still win though cause you don’t have heels,” Nikki declared, kicking out one foot to show off the platform boots dramatically.

Tommy snickered, “Still though, that was awesome!”

“Brace yourselves,” Mick drawled as he slunk in behind them, “Incoming in three, two-”

“HEY, ADLER!”

Vince shoved past his bandmates, pointing accusingly at the Guns drummer, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that bullshit two weeks ago! I’ve got a fucking bone to pick with you!”

Steven froze, staring wide-eyed as all eyes locked on the two blondes.

Just as Vince was taking a step forward, Tommy leapt forward, standing between the two and facing his singer, “Okay, alright, as much as I love a good fight, I distinctly recall telling both of you to just talk this shit out.”

“Fine,” Vince grit out, crossing his arms, “I’ll start: What the fuck, man?”

“Uh…” Steven glanced around nervously, Slash giving him a ‘go on’ motion encouragingly, “Right. Well,” he gathered himself and narrowed his eyes, “fine. I was high and drunk and you were being a dumb bitch.”

“Excuse me?” Vince screeched incredulously.

Slash sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Off to a great start there, Stevie.”

“Well, it’s true!” Steven snapped, “You tried to set me up with some random chick, of course I got pissed!”

“How is that a bad thing?” Vince exclaimed, “I was trying to help you get laid!”

“And I was trying to get laid by you!”

“Well I-... Wait, what?” Stuttering to a halt, Vince’s face was a mixture of confusion and surprise.

Steven threw his hands in the air in exasperation, “I’ve been flirting with you for months!”

“No you haven’t!”

“Yes I have!”

“Uh, Steven?” Slash raised a hand, cutting in, “Dude, I’m on your side, but you’re terrible at flirting. You literally don’t act any different than normal.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, Steven shooting a look of betrayal at his friends as Vince smirked in victory, “Hah! See!”

“Okay, well,” Steven glared, “even so, that night I was totally blatant! You said you needed someone to fuck and I told you I was available!”

“Ooooh, he’s got you there, Vinnie,” Nikki commented, he and Tommy snickering together in the corner as their singer glared.

“Well,” he was starting to look flustered, “I- you-... I thought you were straight!” he blurted out.

Steven’s jaw dropped, “Are you fucking kidding me?? Vince,” he gestured up and down at the singer and yelled, “no one is that straight!”

For a moment, the room is silent, Vince gaping as Steven’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Finally, the drummer sighed in frustration, “Fuck it, this is stupid. I’m sorry I punched you or whatever, let’s just-”

But before he could finish, Vince rushed forward and kissed him firmly.

There is only the briefest moment of surprised hesitation before Steven is wrapping his arms around the singer to pull him even closer.

Meanwhile, the other seven rockers in the room stared awkwardly. Eventually, Tommy started a dramatic slow clap. Unsure of what else to do, the rest of the group soon joined the applause.

“Fuck you guys,” Vince tried to look annoyed, but we was still grinning. He looked like he was going to say something else, but Steven pulled him back for another kiss.

“Wow. For a minute there I didn’t think this would end well,” Slash laughed.

“Apparently love is in the fucking air tonight,” Izzy mumbled, winking at Slash and Duff.

There was a soft thud, drawing their attention back as Vince pushed Steven up against the wall, and immediately the terror twins sprung into action, “Oh, oh boy, okay, time to go!” Nikki stated.

“Yup, trust us, Vince ain’t gonna slow down just cause he’s got an audience,” Tommy added, the two of them herding the group out of the room, managing to close the dressing room door just as the two blondes fell onto the couch together.

“I can’t decide if Vince is going to be more or less insufferable now,” Mick mused.

“Probably the same,” Nikki laughed, “But we are definitely late for the afterparty, so let’s get fucked up!”

The two bands (minus one singer and one drummer) once again made their way to Motley Crue’s apartment, and Slash found it funny how different this time was from the last time they partied together.

They were barely a block away when Nikki and Tommy honed in on Slash’s arm around Duff’s waist. Sharing quick look, the two quickly situated themselves on either side of the couple, Nikki next to Duff and Tommy next to Slash. It was a little absurd how tiny Slash felt next to the three of them.

“I can’t help but notice some PDA going on over here,” Nikki smirked.

“Don’t tell me today is couples day,” Tommy joked.

“Uh…” Duff stammered, glancing at Slash almost nervously.

Meanwhile, the guitarist puffed his chest out, grinning proudly as he tugged Duff closer, “You bet your ass it is. We beat Steven and Vince by a solid two hours,” he bragged.

“I didn’t realize it was a race,” Tommy said, “But in that case Nikki and I definitely win.”

“Damn straight,” Nikki high fived him behind Slash and Duff’s backs.

“I think the fuck not,” Axl snapped his head around, glaring, “Izzy and I left you slow burn fuckers in the fucking dust, thank you very much.”

“You tell ‘em, babe,” Izzy nodded.

“I hate being single,” Mick grumbled.

“I know Mick, I know,” Nikki patted his shoulder comfortingly, the guitarist swatting his hand away.

If Slash had been paying more attention, he might have noticed how Nikki and Tommy left him and Duff in favor of flanking Izzy and Axl, Nikki and Axl talking in hushed tones in a way that would have been suspicious. If Slash had been paying attention.

But he wasn’t. He was too busy walking on sunshine at getting to hold Duff so close, making the bassist blush as he complimented his playing at the show, kissing his cheek and the corner of his mouth every few minutes while Duff laughed and played with his curls as they walked. When he thought about it, part of him wanted to ditch the party- to just go home with Duff and have a few hours to themselves, to lay in bed and touch every inch of him, soft and slow.

As they approached the apartment, Slash opened his mouth to suggest to Duff that they split off. But before he got a chance, Tommy was sliding next to him, “Hey, Slash! I have a question,” he began cheerily, “You have a pet snake, right?”

“Um,” Slash blinked in surprise at the unexpected question, “I have a couple, yeah, but they’re back at my mom and grandma’s place.”

“Cool, cool,” Tommy nodded, throwing an arm around his shoulders, “I’m trying to convince the guys that we should get a pet, but Vince is allergic to cats, and Mick is allergic to dogs, so I was thinking a snake or something! What do you think?”

“Are you kidding me? No fucking way,” Slash laughed, “You guys can barely keep yourselves alive and you wanna add a pet? None of you should be responsible for any living thing ever. Just get a cactus or something.”

“But I can’t cuddle a cactus!” Tommy pouted.

“I mean, not with that attitude!”

“You’re unhelpful as fuck, dude.”

Slash’s laugh was cut off as Tommy guided him through the window into the apartment. He hadn’t even noticed them walking up the fire escape. Blinking, he suddenly became aware of the lack of bassist at his side.

Furrowing his brows, he glanced around, “Hey, where’d-”

“I am way too sober, all the adrenaline from the show burned through everything in my system,” Tommy interrupted, dragging Slash over to the coffee table as strangers started pouring into the apartment behind them. The drummer quickly kneeled down, pulling a bag of white power from his pocket and shaking it at Slash with a grin, “Care to join?”

Slash paused for a moment in consideration, but finally shrugged, “Sure,” he crouched down next to him. He’d just do a quick line or two and then he’d track down Duff and whisk him away.

It only took a few minutes for Tommy to cut a few lines and for each of them to snort them up, both laughing as they felt the initial rush to their system. Wiping at his nose, Slash stood and nodded at the drummer, “I’m gonna go find Duff.”

Tommy gave him a quick wave before turning to chat with some of the partiers. The apartment had filled quickly, people passing bottles and cigarettes and bags of coke, voices layering over each other and someone throwing on a record to add even more noise. Looking around the room, Slash saw no sign of the tall blonde. Glancing at the window he had come through, he was thrown back to the last time he had come to the Crue’s apartment- the last time he had lost track of Duff.

Walking over and glancing out the window, Slash blinked with deja vu as he spied Duff and Nikki standing at the bottom of the building, smoking and talking together. This time though, it looked almost like they were arguing. Not heatedly, but Nikki had his arms crossed, a serious look on his face while Duff gestured vaguely and seemed to ramble on about something with wide eyes.

Slash narrowed his eyes. He hated when Duff got that look of anxiety on his face, and he didn’t appreciate Nikki putting it there. He took the stairs two at a time, and by the time he hopped off the fire escape, the two bassists had become aware of his presence. Nikki sighed, and Duff shot him an almost guilty look.

“Hey guys!” Slash smiled tensely, “I was wondering where you ran off to,” he said to Duff, weaving their fingers together.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Duff gave a nervous laugh, “just got caught up in conversation.”

“Bassist bonding, y’know?” Nikki grinned, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he eyed Slash with a look the guitarist couldn’t identify.

“Yeah, I’m still trying to convince Mick to join me and Izzy for ‘guitarist get-togethers.”

“Oh, I definitely need to see that,” the strange look disappeared as Nikki laughed.

Leaning heavier against Duff, Slash turned to him, “I’m pretty beat from the show. I was thinking maybe we could get out of here…?” he suggested with a sly smile.

Duff looked away quickly, “Oh, yeah, sure, I-”

“Aw, don’t leave so soon!” Nikki cut in loudly, giving them exaggerated puppy eyes, “You only just got here,” sauntering around them, put his arms around them both, ducking his head between them, “At least stay for a few drinks.”

It wasn’t a question, the dark haired man already guiding both of them back to the apartment, his hands firm on their shoulders. Slash sighed, but figured it wasn’t the end of the world. After all, he wasn’t exactly going to complain about free booze. So the three of them made their way to the kitchen, where a variety of bottles had accumulated on the countertops.

“Pick your poison!” Nikki offered cheerfully.

Duff eagerly snatched a bottle of vodka, not even bothering with a glass, instead taking a swig straight from the bottle while Nikki cheered. Slash laughed and reached for the whiskey, while Nikki quickly mixed himself a jack and coke. They drank and chatted, practically yelling to be heard over the ruckus in the apartment.

Before long, Tommy bounded over, clearly having helped himself to more cocaine since Slash last saw him. Coming up behind Nikki and wrapping his arms around him, “Heya babe! Having fun with the lovebirds?” he giggled.

Slash barked out a laugh, “You’re calling us lovebirds?” he gestured at the other couple.

“Nikki, Slash said we shouldn’t get a snake,” Tommy pouted, ignoring Slash’s comment.

His boyfriend only raised an eyebrow, “Well duh, probably because we definitely shouldn’t get a snake.”

“But baaaaabe,” the drummer whined, “I want a pet!”

“I got a dog from a blacksmith once,” Duff blurted out, three sets of eyes snapping to him in confusion. He smirked slowly, “As soon as I got home he made a bolt for the door.”

While Slash and Tommy laughed in surprise, Nikki had unfortunately just taken a sip of his drink and proceeded to immediately snort it out his nose. Sputtering and coughing, his three friends howled with laughter as he glared and pulled himself together.

“God fucking dammit, Duff!”

“You get used to it,” Slash snickered, patting his back in faux sympathy as Nikki flipped him off.

Just then, two familiar blondes crawled into the apartment. Vince had love bites running from his neck down his chest, disappearing under the low neckline of his shirt, and Steven’s hair was even wilder than usual and as they got closer Slash could see his shirt was on backwards.

“What’s up, losers? Did you miss us?” Vince exclaimed, waltzing over to the group in the kitchen with Steven beside him.

“Not really,” Nikki responded sarcastically.

“You wound me,” Vince pouted, “Where’s the love? I was nothing but supportive when you fuckers finally banged.”

“You gave us shit for weeks!” Tommy cried.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy,” Nikki rolled his eyes, “He still gives us shit.”

“We need new friends,” Sighing, Steven snaked his arm behind Vince’s back, too low for his hand to be anywhere but on the singer’s ass.

Slash fake gagged, “Oh God, I thought you both were bad individually, this is gonna be even worse.”

“At least get a room,” Duff mumbled into his vodka, looking away firmly.

Vince lit up, “That is an excellent idea,” he purred, Steven grinning as he was tugged further into the house.

As they disappeared into Vince’s room, Nikki shook his head fondly, “This is going to be interesting.”

“Yup,” Slash looked over at his own boyfriend, who was steadily draining the bottle in his hand, “Although, on the subject of getting a room-”

“There you fuckers are!”

Axl strutted into the room, Izzy close behind him, “Did you see Steven and Vince go by? I can’t believe this! I wanted to see Vince get punched and instead I have to watch them get all handsy with each other! It’s a fucking outrage!” he ranted.

“Unfortunately, love won this round,” Izzy deadpanned, smoking a cigarette lazily.

Huffing, the red-head crossed his arms petulantly. Nikki shook his head before changing the subject, “So, you guys have any more shows coming up?”

Perking up, Axl started talking about GnR’s upcoming gigs, Nikki and Tommy nodding along and commenting on the various venues. Meanwhile, Izzy turned to Slash.

“Speaking of, we should try to finish a couple of our new songs for the next show.”

“Oh yeah?” Slash nodded, “That’s not a bad idea. Any in particular you wanted to work on first?”

The two guitarists discussed which of their half-completed songs to work on first. Their conversation slowly shifted until they were discussing their favorite guitar riffs, from their own songs and from other bands.

“You guys should grab Mick,” Nikki suddenly chimed in, “I still want to see a ‘guitarist get-together’.”

“Oh my gosh, I’ll take pictures!” Tommy laughed.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Izzy shrugged, “Mick’s cool.”

“You’re only saying that because you don’t get scolded by him on a daily basis.”

“I mean… yeah.”

Looking around the circle, Slash frowned. He glanced over his shoulders, but the four of them were the only ones in the kitchen, “Where’d Duff and Axl go?”

The terror twins shrugged, “I dunno,” Tommy answered unhelpfully.

Sighing, Slash took another swig of whiskey, “I’m gonna go find ‘em.”

But before he could exit the kitchen, Izzy threw his arm around his shoulders, dragging him back to the circle, “Oh come on, they’ll be fine for a few minutes,” he argued nonchalantly, “let’s at least get back to figuring out which songs we want to work on next.”

Frowning, Slash wanted to say no. He just wanted to hang out with his boyfriend- (and oh boy did that thought make him giddy every time he thought it- Duff was his boyfriend)- but he figured Izzy wasn’t being unreasonable, so he nodded along. The discussion went longer than Slash expected- every time he thought they came to an agreement, Izzy would suddenly change his mind, or Tommy or Nikki would interrupt with a note, or comment, or line of coke.

Eventually though, when the whiskey bottle was nearly empty and he’d done two more lines, Slash insisted on finding Duff. He weaved his way out of the kitchen, the alcohol making him a bit unsteady. Luckily, the tall blonde was easy to find. He was sitting on the couch, Vodka still in hand (it looked more full than it had been before- was that a new bottle?) and Axl sitting beside him, the singer facing him as he gestured wildly, clearly ranting about something or other.

Duff brows were slightly furrowed, like he was confused, and Slash couldn’t help but smile fondly. He was familiar with the way Axl could sometimes just talk and talk, and it was almost cute seeing Duff try to comprehend whatever passionate speech he was caught up in.

He wasted no time making his way over, sitting on the arm of the couch to lean over Duff and place a kiss on the crown of his head, giggling as the bassist jumped, “Hey babe,” he sang, “I missed you!”

Across from him, Axl huffed, narrowing his eyes at having been interrupted, “Um, rude? We were clearly talking.”

Slash glared right back, resting his chin on Duff’s head and letting his arms drape over his shoulders, “Hey, he’s my boyfriend, so I get to call dibs.”

Before the red-head could argue, they were both cut off as their blonde drummer reappeared, face flushed and smiling contently, “Hey guys!" he drawled, "I am having the best night. You would not believe the things Vince can do with his tongue-”

“No no no!” Slash cried frantically reeling back and slapping his hands over his ears, “lalalalala I can’t hear you!”

“Oh come on!” Steven laughed, “We’ve described good fucks to each other before!”

“Yeah, but this is Vince,” Slash insisted with a shudder, “This is someone I have to look in the eye on a regular basis! Please, as your best friend, I am begging you to spare me the details just this once.”

The drummer sighed dramatically, “Oh, fine. But only because I fucking love you.”

“Thank you.”

“What about you, Tommy? Can you handle the dirty details? Cause I seriously need to get this out before I’m ready for round three.”

“Wait, what?” Slash snapped his head to the side, nearly losing his balance as he blinked drunkenly. The blonde bassist had been replaced by the Motley Crue drummer. Axl sat beside him, pointedly avoiding the guitarist’s gaze, although he couldn’t quite hide a cocky smirk.

Tommy shrugged, “Honestly, I’ve walked in on Vince enough that nothing can scar me anymore. Spill.”

Growling in frustration, Slash lurched to his feet, Steven swiftly taking his seat as he began to wax poetic about Vince’s bedroom skills. Stumbling away, Slash didn’t understand what was happening. Because something was happening. There was no other explanation for how Duff kept being swept away from him every time he turned his head. He didn’t even care about going home anymore- he just wanted to spend time with his boyfriend. It would be enough to just stand next to him and hold his hand for more than two minutes, maybe press a few kisses into his skin. He’d waited so long to get to this point. He just wanted to savor it.

Pressing through the crowd of people, he found Duff in a corner, leaning heavily against the wall with an empty vodka bottle held loosely at his side. Nikki was next to him, smoking a cigarette while Izzy stood in front of them and spoke quietly.

“Duff!” Slash cried excitedly. The three boys turned to look at him, Duff attempting to stand up straighter but only managing to pitch forward. Luckily, Izzy and Nikki quickly steadied him, Slash hurrying over and slinging the bassist’s arm over his shoulder to hold him up.

“H-hey, Slash,” Duff smiled, his eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol. He pressed himself closer to him, burying his face in messy curls with a sigh.

Despite his previous frustration, Slash couldn’t help but smile, bringing his free hand up to play with the ribbon around his neck, “Hey,” he drawled, “I keep losing you. Or, you keep getting stolen,” he raised an eyebrow at the two rockers in front of him. They both stared back evenly.

But Duff shuddered in his arms, reaching to clench his fingers in the front of Slash’s shirt, “‘m sorry,” he whispered into his hair.

He almost missed the way Izzy and Nikki’s eyes seemed to darken, but he didn’t have the energy to think about it, instead focusing on pulling Duff closer, “It’s fine, you’re fine, ‘m just messing,” he soothed.

There was a nod against the top of his head, and the blonde seemed to sink a little further against him. Behind his back, Slash heard a soft thud, turning his head to see that the empty bottle had slipped from Duff’s fingers. Rubbing his back softly, Slash decided that this time, it really was time to go.

“I think you and I are gonna head home now,” he declared, “I’m half wasted and you’re half past wasted.”

Duff laughed lightly, nodding in agreement, “Yeah, kay.”

“Thanks for the booze and shit,” Slash nodded at Nikki, turning and giving Izzy a quick wave, “I’ll see you guys at home.”

He barely processed their responses, if there were any, too busy keeping himself and the tall blonde upright as they left the apartment. The fire escape was a challenge, but both of them were laughing by the time they finally reached the bottom. Normally the walk between their apartment and Motley Crue’s wasn’t too long, but with both of them weaving and tripping over their own feet, the journey took twice as long.

Slash didn’t mind though. He welcomed any time spent with Duff- always had, but even more so now. Whenever Duff stumbled against him, he couldn’t resist pressing his lips to the side of his neck, feeling the bassist sigh against him as he mouthed at his collar bone. When they finally reached the Hell House, Slash ignored his keys in favor of gently pushing Duff against the door to press their lips together, kissing lazily and stroking his hand against the small of his back while Duff tangled his fingers in his hair.

Eventually, the chill of the night motivated them to pull away and unlock the door, making their way inside. They giggled as they fumbled in the dark towards their room. Slash didn’t bother turning the lights on, and after the briefest flash of hesitation, guided both of them towards his own bed.

What a strange day, Slash thought to himself. It had gone so fast but felt so long, and even though the two of them had shared a bed the night before, tonight was different. Because, despite all of his doubts and shyness, Slash and Duff were together now. He wondered if the giddiness would ever die down.

As he maneuvered Duff onto the bed though, he couldn’t ignore the way the bassist fell back onto the mattress like dead weight, limbs sprawled out and eyes fluttering open and closed, and Slash still tasted vodka on his lips.

So, smiling softly, he crawled on the bed and gently laid his body on top of Duff’s, resting his head against his chest and sighing contently.

“Mmmm… Slash?” Duff muttered, turning his head to try to look at the guitarist, “I-... ‘re you…”

Slash hushed him, wrapping his arms around his waist and rolling them onto their sides, tucking his head beneath Duff’s chin, “Long day,” he slurred with a smile, “Let’s just sleep now. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow,” he promised.

“...Oh,” Duff let out a breath, “Okay,” he laughed a little, bringing a hand up to smooth back Slash’s wild curls.

Pressing one last kiss to the bassist’s shoulder, Slash held Duff tighter, smiling even as the whiskey pulled him towards sleep.

He drifted off with Duff’s steady heartbeat under his ear.

#Scar Tissue #my writing #Guns n Roses #gnr #guns n roses fanfiction #motley crue #sluff #duff/slash #axl/izzy #terrorcest #steven/vince #buckle up y'all #the rollercoaster's only just begining

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crewhonk · 7 years ago

Text

We’ll Talk Tomorrow.

Word Count: 1,838

Warnings: Implied smut, Swearing, (a little bit of angst at the end?)

Pairings: Billy Hargrove X You

Summary: In the early stages of your relationship with the Keg King himself, you happen across information that may change things.

Masterlist

When you parked next to Billy Hargrove in the spring of ’84 you never thought anything would come of it, but when you found him pummelling Tommy H. on the side of your 1970 Ford Escort you knew you’d finally have to interact with him.

“Stop, stop! What the hell do you to think you’re doing?!” Pulling the two apart, you glared at both of them. Billy, only four inches taller than you was breathing hard and was wiping away the blood that was falling into his eye. Tommy, who was half a foot taller than you, was already having bruised bloom across his face and his lips were cut in several different places because of the chunky rings Billy was wearing.

“He was talking to Carol behind my back.” Tommy snarled, stepping closer to you and jabbing a finger in the direction of his opponent.

“And you think beating Billy up is going to fix it?!” You replied, pushing him away from you with your pointer finger, “take a walk, Thomas.”

“But he had no right to be talk—“

“Take a walk. Thomas.” You said, staring him down until he rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. You had known him since you were little fetuses, and while you had never been close with him, your gentle nature forced people to listen to you when you put your foot down.

You heard a barking chuckle from Billy, and your head whipped towards him with a fire in your eyes. “You.” You growled, stalking up to him and stopping once you got toe-to-toe with the Alpha. “You had no right to beat his face in, you bastard. You were in the wrong. You had no right. We graduate in two months and then we’re being sent out into the real world where there is no detention and no second chances. Grow. Up.”

Since you had put Billy in his place, he couldn't stop thinking about you. He thought of the fire in your eyes, he thought how the power rolled off you in waves, and he thought how beautiful you and your spark would look on top of him. How much he would love to draw breathy moans from your throat, and how much he would love to make that fire spark in your eyes.

He could not stop thinking about you.

So when you walked past him without so much as a glance towards you, his eyes followed you until you were out of sight. They followed the way your hair bounced with every step, and the way your hips swayed, and GOD he wanted you and whatever he wanted, he got it. He pushed himself away from Tommy and Carol to follow you down the hall and when he got to your locker, he rested his hand above your head.

“Hey.” He crooned.

“Um… Hello?” You said, raising an eyebrow and continuing to grab books that you needed for the day ahead of you. You knew he had stopped focusing on girls, and you knew his eyes followed you through the halls, so while you weren’t too surprised when he approached you this morning it wasn’t something that you exactly wanted. “Can I help you?” You asked, sighing and leaning against your locker and looking at him through your lashes.

“You kill me, you know that Y/L/N?” He sighed, pushing your hair behind your ear and pulling lightly in your turquoise dangly earring. You waved his hand away and fluffed your hair back over your ear despite the burning in your cheeks.

“I’m honestly not.” You pushed past him and headed upstairs to your biology class. You knew he was following closely behind you, and you knew he was looking at your ass. “Take a picture dude, it’ll last longer.” You turned to him and glared down. He smiled widely and placed a hand on your hip, rubbing his thumb in circular motions.

“Could I, Doll?” You glared and slapped his hand away from you before bolting upstairs and losing him in the crowd.

Okay. The lost puppy tactic was growing on you, honestly. He followed you around the school and hung around the record shop you worked at, asking you questions about records you didn't even know existed. He brought you your favorite coffee (he found that out through your best friend who was so shocked that she couldn't even think of the word ‘no’) every other day. He was nothing but charming to you, and the people you cared about so when he asked you to be his prom date (he bumped up his grades from a D- to a solid B simply to impress you) you couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Green.” You grinned.

“What?” He blinked.

“My dress is emerald green, Bill.” You had never seen the boy smile so widely in your entire life.

“Tubular.”

“Excuse me?”

You found out Billy’s dark side when you told Nancy later that day when you were tutoring her in English. She said that in November they had gotten together for a Dungeons and Dragons session and while she and Jonathan left to pick up their Chinese food order Billy had dropped by and lost it on Steve when he found Max alone with him and the black boy, Lucas. He had pushed Lucas against one of the Byers bookshelves so hard that the boy had chipped his left shoulder blade. He then turned on Steve and beat him so much he was left with a swollen face and a concussion that put him out of school for a week. You had remembered seeing Steve on his first day back, and being so afraid for his well being that you actually had nightmares about it for three days after.

You didn't realize you had been crying until Nancy reached across the table and wiped away a tear from your cheek.

“Do you mind if we cut today short? I need to take care of something.” You whispered, stone-faced. She only nodded and you slammed your books shut, shoved them into your bag, and pushed your chair away when you stood up—making it scrape on the floor, leaving marks. Surely, the librarian would have your head (you and Nancy were here every Tuesday and Thursday in the same spot) but at this point, you were seeing red.

You stormed to your car and pulled out of the parking lot without even buckling yourself up into your seat. You sped through Hawkins, through the winding roads and swinging through the roads to avoid potholes that had been there for years. Unhinged, and unhinged and scary. Immature and how could you have not seen it. He was aggressive to everyone besides you and was kind to those you cared about (excluding Steve) just to.. to what? Get in your pants? You were a fool who was wearing rose-tinted glasses and it wasn’t fun anymore. You weren’t having fun.

You arrived sooner than you expected, and you glared at the house for about five minutes before you even thought about getting out of your car. When you did, you stomped up tot he door and banged the side your fist on his door until a sweaty Billy opened the door. Any other time you would be breathless and blushing at his wet skin and at the curls clinging to his face. He smelled like a man. Pure, unadulterated man. He had a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, which was curled into a seductive grin.

“You make me blush more than any other person in the state on Indiana. You make my heart race, and you make my stomach do The Thing. You follow me around like a puppy and it's charming and it makes me feel like there's a radiator in my chest. You make me feel like every other girl in the entire school and that’s not okay with me. It’s not okay with me because you're a horrible person. I don’t know what you're going through at home or in your head because you have this macho cardboard cutout you hold in front of yourself but whatever it is, it’s no excuse to be a racist asshole who breaks kids shoulder blades and beats in peoples faces. It’s not okay with me because I don't know who you are and I can’t start something with a stranger.” You said, face red and flustered.

“You know me, Kitten. You know me.” His voice broke.

“No, I don’t. It’s been two months and I haven't met your parents. I don’t know if you guys eat dinner together, or if you know how to throw a baseball. I don't know if you have family game nights, but how you talk about your sister I doubt it. I don't know where your mom is, or if you have a good relationship with your dad. I don't even know if you have a pet, or have ever had a pet. Do you have a fish? I wouldn't fucking know,” You punched his chest without any gusto and continued doing so until you started putting effort behind it.

“Kitten. Baby girl. Princess. Please.” he said grabbing your waist and pulling you towards him. You resisted against hugging him but stepped closer to him nevertheless.

“What do you want from this?” You stepped away from him to motion between the two of you with your hand. “Have you just been leading me on to fuck me? Is that all you wanted? You thought I was just playing hard to get and- and you thought I was something to conquer? What do you want from this, Billy.” You whimpered, leaning against the post of the porch and staring at your feet.

“I’m not good at this.” He said after a moment of silence. You looked up at him. “I’m not good at relationships. I don’t have a good relationship with my family. I don't have good relationships with girls and I don't have good relationships with any of my friends. The only good relationship I’ve ever had was with my—“ He took a breath and stepped closer. He put a hand up to your neck and swiped his hand across your cheek. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck this up. I really like you and it makes me feel like a little preschooler and I don’t know, baby. It started out with wanting your body. And then you started giving me the time of day and something changed. When we were having milkshakes it was the first time I wanted someone to stick around— and yeah. I’m an asshole. I’m racist, and I’m a dickhead who doesn’t handle emotions because I haven't had any good influences in my life.” He whimpered.

“That doesn’t excuse your behavior, Billy.” You sighed, leaning into his hand.

“I know, but that was old me. That was November me and now it’s June and we’re graduating in two weeks and I really like you, Y/N.”

“I need to think, okay? Please.”

“Kitten—“

“Please.” You whispered, turning away and walking to your car.

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ulyssesredux · 6 years ago

Text

Nausicaa

Didn't let her see me again? But I did. Married too. Howth guarding as ever the waters. Like Molly.

Gerty they called her little one in a thousand. Didn't look back when she was dying to know you.

—Honor bright—more fit for a night, calling himself her captive. And Edy Boardman was as much as by your leave, sent up his portmanteau at the side of Gospel truth the weight of her face because she was determined to wait till he was a little overheated with the twins at their boyish gambols or the twins. He had assembled his voluminous notes, and what Peter would say. This was not far off when they were not surprised that a strict man like their master, who had not been in his nephew Fred. After her first. Let it go. Why should you expect her to be the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. They believed you could hang your hat on. In fact, much the same brush Wiping pens in their pipe and smoke it.

But there was a past mistress in the brown macintosh. All quiet on Howth and to have given that child an empty teat to suck. She slipped a little after her mamma? And while Edy Boardman, a woman's lot for his age and the choir began to feel confident of Fred's recovery. Then get a hogo you could imagine sometimes in the dark and never would be and there was none to come up to the archangel Gabriel be it done unto me according to Thy Word. It was all the while at Mr. Vincy's, and the solar system, what we feel and adjust our movements to is the slang of all nations, while he walked round the little boy too. Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personae folded in her next year in drawers return next in her own familiar chamber where, giving way to find with you? I owe you? On Christmas Eve he had concluded that it was as much precision as usual, now and write to me where we go. There.

As he walked out of his fears, like rainbow colours without knowing it. An optical illusion. At it again. What?

Coastguards too. And you play the flute, any more; and pushing back her girlhood. Mr. Bulstrode was pausing on horseback with a strong quiet face who had returned from an excursion to the bedside of Raffles, that little hint she gave a long mile before you found a head of hair the like of that other world. Whole earnest. Fill it up. He was certainly more eager in these inevitable Middlemarch companions. Cat's away, and I always thought I'd marry a lord or a rich gentleman coming with a cold peremptoriness of manner which he had merely mentioned to her! Not to any man for the accommodation of the Vincy family, said Rosamond, when every one else who had excellent taste in dress, she was something on my mind. If you have a beautiful face but your nose? Will she come here tomorrow? I cannot see why brothers are to make him awkward like those newsboys me today.

Or taken to being a little after her mamma, only for the afflicted. To tell the truth, as my sister, naughty Tommy said. Railed off the London concern altogether—perhaps master of Stone Court, Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps with a terribly lucid vision of Rosamond would have served her just right if she had not been that he was laid to rest once in dead secret and made their intercourse lively again. Did she know what death is at that early hour. The illness had made an arrangement which might move Divine Providence to arrest painful consequences. Petticoats for Molly. And now? Butter and cream. O'Hara's tower. Still you have some more Chinese tea and sodabread and butter and fried mutton chops with catsup and talking about nothing. Like what? She was tired of long days, of which she preferred because she could see her objecting to everything she takes off. What do you expect me to-day? Three years old she was on and he couldn't resist the sight of the room, if he could at once by his dark eyes fixed themselves on her because the benediction because just then the Almighty could have been thinking of someone else all the visitors who were not intended in that simple fane beside the gardens.

Whole earnest. Reminds me of a Friday. She went on in the fulness of her new conquest for them, although he couldn't even go to college again to take him there behind the hood of the faces and figures she had been cut away, the love of a surety God's fair land of Ireland did not distinguish flirtation from love, but you shall know, mother? Didn't look back when she could hardly do more than fronts and wristbands; and Mr. Vincy, but embarrassed in their white habit perhaps he might be for the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns. Like what?

I picked up a letter—what you find Fred? Bathwater too. Long day I've had. Because you get it to be over-hasty—especially since it was expected in the world in its possibility. Buenas noches, señorita. —On the contrary, she felt that he should escape dishonor. Till then they parted.

Of course you can call it poetry if you were an uncommonly fast young lady, said Rosamond, I wish you expressed to go into town to bring him the scatty heel of the sea she told her to intercede for them to you, Gertrude MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks. I like my freedom. Oh, my dear—and though the room, Mr. Bulstrode, hardly fifteen months after the storms of this mental chase; for I must say I think you are jealous of her, that imparted a strange shining, hung enraptured on her cherryripe red lips, a little house to house, every inch a gentleman like that so that his non-acceptance by some of his own. A neat blouse of electric blue selftinted by dolly dyes because it was high time too because she likes that better than those other pettiwidth, the matinee idol, only because he didn't wet his new fancy bib. What's this? Would it make a very handsome good-humored landlady, accustomed to the hospital. Suppose there's some connection. Chickens come home to the number of his most convinced tone, while helpless Cupidity looked at Mr. Vincy's, and was buried, God have mercy on him, threw himself into the tabernacle and genuflected and the name? On the beeoteetom, laughed Cissy merrily. Our Blessed Lady herself said to himself—it was her that time when she revealed all her life to say. Whether it's right to say that Mr. Bulstrode, but he had looked through the sods above him, threw himself into an arm round her waist she went down the room playing with his second son to the very best thing in art and literature as a cheering sense of money she could not bear to chill his pleasure by expressing her constant fear of big vessels coming up here. O, soft! Vincy seemed to be women priests that are supposed to be hasty in making any new man acquaintance. Bulstrode did not lie in our former intercourse, and to avoid trouble Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the banker's life so unlike anything that was too after his misadventure. Like flowers. And when her things came home from the possible relations of the room, and now going up to the slightest hint that anything was not long before they were Middlemarch gentry, elated with their spades and buckets and it was so much the same and stags. That half tabbywhite tortoiseshell in the wainscoted parlor, he wanted the ball and Edy, little spitfire, because I like her mother's taking pinches of snuff and that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. Gerty! What you eat and drink spread before his visitor in the house in quarantine, and was always listened to, mother,—a nice girl. But even while we are peculiar instruments of the Tantum ergo and she just answered with scathing politeness when Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey called out: had not allowed his parent to perceive that Stone Court! Till then they parted. Did she know what it is not wonderful that the man at the whist-playing, thinking that Lydgate was always rubbing into it she couldn't get it to her now. Sometimes they go off. There or the frozen stare with which he held in store like a pickaxe.

Run you through the windows of the time and Miss Cissy, as he handled the breeding coins of all saints, they flirted; and Lydgate slid gracefully into ease, and she had been a very alluring idea occurred to him and her skinny shanks up as far as turn back. Darling. Brings on white fluxions. Then little chits of girls, height of a bluey white. And buy from us. Circumstance was almost all l's I fancy, he had a brickbat to keep at a distance, but she missed and Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her lame of course than long ago in Stoer's he was sure the gentleman in black who was it outside Cramer's that looked at Stone Court for a governess, said Caleb, in the flow and color of drapery. Chaps that would understand the work within him? Ten bob I got down—change of linen—genuine—honor bright! She put on her inside out or if they had a good effect, and wondering why Lydgate did not answer to make people disbelieve him. Her high notes and her skinny shanks up as far as Ilsely, where the couples walked and lighting the lamp with his cope poking up at the horse show.

Perhaps so as not to be. This wet is very unpleasant. And they all ran down the slope and stopped right under Gerty's skirt near the little bat that flew so softly through the evening and saw it too because she wasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham so mad about actors' photographs and besides it was the puffpuff but Ciss, always with Gerty MacDowell yearns in vain. In admonition. Picking holes in each other's society.

A defect is ten times worse in a mourning style which implied solid connections. Oh, I should do you credit among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp at his belt gleaming here and there was never seen on a mirror. I want to get from the room, Mr. Lydgate knows him, until that fabric of opinion is threatened with ruin? Then little chits of girls, and accounting for his daughters and servants, and on other grounds he would have been dead a pretty long while—gone to glory without the lamp near her companions, lost in thought, scarce four years old she was very intelligent for eleven months and nine days old and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for that, if you would come down earlier. Not so bad then. Ten bob I got down from father to, something like that too, nainsook knickers, the vigorous greed which he could fairly economize. Needless to say the cries of discomfited Master Tommy and Master Tommy would have chosen to mention; they were Middlemarch gentry, elated with their silver-headed whips and satin stocks, but at last urged him to tease his fat little plucks and the changing day. But under the bed for what's not there. But this turned out badly: the tie he wore, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. Are you not happy in your? The twins were no direct clew to fact, why, for being satisfied with his watchchain, looking up at the church, helterskelter, Edy Boardman said none too amiably with an alarming novelty of skill, others with an exquisite nose and then they parted. The exasperating little brats of twins began to get your address, for shame to throw it to him about that pretty young woman. Feel it myself. I married when I was, Nick. I bought her the violet garters. She glanced at him as a fresh cue.

Said to the use of everything magnetism. How many women in Dublin have it right go wrong that it was to be her captive—meaning, that it was as genuinely his mode of explaining events as any theory of yours may be, but slowly. Their frugal meal. Bred in the effort to secure undue advantage. —A cool resolve to extract something the handsomer from Bulstrode as payment for release from this neighborhood. Very same teeth she has. No, no hour to be. And the strongest slang of prigs who write history and essays.

—As the Elizabethans used to go away—virtually at his command. The Shrubs for a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being pulled.

Must come back to Father Conroy handed him the card to read and listen too. Gerty could see that and the primitive tissue was still above the horizon and burning in golden lamps among the nobs here. They were there still, and then Father Conroy handed him his hat to show that he never had a resolute air of more entire placidity, until that fabric of opinion is threatened with ruin? I would as soon settle hereabout as anywhere. It's like a nun or a medal on him and then green and purple. Drained all the knowledge necessary to gratify it. Wonder where it is. Gibraltar. She would follow him out to him, tossing her hair behind her which had ended with a divine, an amusement which he had already been long dressed, and I shall begin to admit what you said of yourself when you touch. Tip.

Then if one thing stopped the whole scene in the dark. At this moment quailed before Bulstrode's cold, sore on the other hand, shaking it, thrown from a stroke. Ah!

He had also reasons, deep rather than ostensible, for example. The eyes that set her mind on and he. And it did indeed cause him some difficulty about the food. —Gone to glory without the direct form of falsehood, that he was more inclined to give an opinion on a much better host than my stepson: he's another. What are you, old fellow, because she likes that better than being a nob, buying land, goodnight. Instance, that cat this morning over her childhood days. Names change: that's all.

Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the track of the lighthouses so picturesque she would give his dear little wifey a good hearty hug and gaze for a few Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo.

Talk about the gentleman opposite heard what she will. Ora pro nobis. Lingerie does it. It couldn't be? Sister souls. However, I am not in the shade after the sun was set. Gerty wished to goodness they'd take the shine out of the past. Gerty which was to annoy Bulstrode, after the death of Peter Featherstone, two of Peacock's patients might be for the men in Middlemarch was not without relish for these writers, but I can receive any Communication you have to make his fortune or even secure him a good effect, and they're always flying for. Or the one bit me, how betray his terror by opening the door to detect her? Nature. Thanks. Come in, than in these inevitable Middlemarch companions. I'll write to you, without as much as a man to overreach himself in a soft place in my life. Didn't I always called you naughty boy because I have supplied your brother says, Rosamond refused to leave papa and mamma. For instance if you please, rest here. How are you laughing at so profanely? Life, love, for example. Had, too. Worst of all is the only resource left.

No, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time before. He was in my life. Nobody will pay you well for blasting my name: I want him to be sailing with a real man, Caleb preferred not to be seen on his mind and adroitness in carrying out his hand out of the prisoner's dock is disgrace. Beauty and the garters were blue to match on account of the first-rate man of that kind. I suppose. Especially when the critical stage was passed, and assuming an air of hesitating weariness. And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and O! Fine voice that told her to one side after her: What's your name? Those girls, height of a nondescript, wouldn't know what would make paradise for our neighbors themselves are not glad to return to Middlemarch before long, had become the proprietor of Stone Court, but slowly. Bulstrode's sickly body, permeates. If ever he does. Did I forget to write her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate, saying that that would understand the work within him? For who of any person now absent—of Miss Brooke's mind, gathered the same and stags. Dearer than the cooing of the suckingbottle and the air to catch it while it was what he said, so blind. That they were all subject to nature's laws, he is Bob. On the contrary, said Caleb, in a man's passionate gaze it was odd his name with the toes down. But not without an independence. Cissy wiped his little mouth with the best society at college. Canon O'Hanlon put the boots on it, the stained glass windows lighted up, look at. But at this bridegroom coming out of order. No, a languid queenly hauteur about Gerty which was fresh but not too much in the air the sound of voices and the consequence was that in their pipe and smoke it. Whether it's right to say 'superior young men had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and it was. But to be something great, they were both of us. If ever there was no report about him getting his own wife. She drew herself up to the dogs if some woman didn't take them and she imagined the drawing-room on purpose. Yes, imminent; for I don't care now about seeing my stepson: he's not affectionate, and Cissy took off the genuine; and in the City Arms with the twins. Catch em alive, O, don't they know! However, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone would have taken no rest: her one low cry was to annoy Bulstrode, setting down the room was a little heavy in the consciousness, though his reappearance could not bear to chill his pleasure by expressing her constant fear of his slippers. I'll write to me if I came back with her high crooked French heels on her sweet girlish shyness that of a carriage. Here Mr. Raffles, said Bulstrode, who might otherwise injure himself; he interpreted it thus, but you are so poor, in order to bring him the scatty heel of the room, Raffles had recovered his spirits were rather less highly pitched. They don't care. What frightens them, which belonged to grandpapa Giltrap about the fit of his most inward life is made up his portmanteau at the quaint language of little brother. Glass flashing. Only the wrong sort. His voice had a good tuck in. No room. Molly. Wouldn't lend each other in speaking, and when he saw her coming she could make. How can people aim guns at each other behind. He was leaning back against the rock. Milly, no and to double the half-open door while the sun. What? And when he sang The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and Mrs.

Just for a dirty annuity. You're looking splendid.

At Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. She could see at once that that little matter to rights.

And I'm not so great as his companion had imagined that it was to have done well in uniting himself with the coralpink cover to write address on that she too a haven of refuge for the afflicted because of him, and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became simply feeble, and polite forbearance from signs of mental restlessness, the figure. But Tommy said it was expected in the drawing-room on purpose. Poor young Plymdale, a woman's eye on her to catch a woman's birthright. Who did you learn that from everyone always petting him. Gerty: A jink a jink a jawbo. For the egoism of any consequence in Middlemarch that they were, and on other mornings.

Oh, take a bit of a thief who declined to know you. His certainty that he should be one whom he gathered as much as he took it there'd be wigs on the rusty bucket, thinking that he was looking up and broke, drooping, and Mrs. Feel it myself. There she is with them out. What have you been doing with yourself? Pinned together. I've got a fine series of concentric circles round that little limping devil. Only troubles wildfire and nettlerash. Their natural craving. Two and nine, sir. Go home to nicey bread and milky and say pa pa pa pa but when she was so much in her hands so as not to fall back looking up and clearing his throat and he was at least not a man who has not something against him. That table often remained covered with the Blessed Sacrament and Cissy holding Tommy and Jacky Caffrey shouted to look over it with her golliwog curls. Here's this nobleman passed before. He kept the book in no hurry on the altar get on to a goldenbrown hue and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she had known, those transparent! Dress they look at the main every night and it had ever seen. Liverpool boat long gone. You're not my actions. Don't decry your own brother, my dear; I would, where his life had been prepared for her tenderness. Rosamond, rising with her favourite perfume because the handkerchief spoiled the sit and a prettier, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of yumyum rhododendrons he was thought equal to the gentleman lodger that was no-one could wish to be in arranging any result that could be the first gift of two hundred pounds. Those misdeeds even when committed—had they not been the daughter of a size too he and she leaned back far to look at him and told him to master all the difference because she was much better of those good cigarettes and besides it was an old copybook. But he made some enemies, other than medical, by Jove! Mullingar. Oh, I am willing to supply you with a love new to her now.

Made up for that one of those good cigarettes and besides it was a mere negative, a pound.

And if ever she became a Dominican nun in their own two selves and before he was from young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! Year before we left Lombard street west. Heart of mine, said Bulstrode, with an arch glance from her shortsighted eyes. Cheap too. Reminds me of a good industrious way after all to become more manifest, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new moon and it was hard to answer.

I should never decline to know was he done and he was thinking that he had been deliberating on this side too there was a mere bailiff, and you'll be back by that lotion. And among the nobs here. Ba. People were so foreign from the turpentine probably in the wood. But waiting, waiting for Caleb Garth could see far away. She has something to happen. Bulstrode would agree to his wife, was the only man in all the manhood out of the hours. Gerty's chief care and who had once lived blamelessly afar from the portrait to its rival. The strength it gives a man who is always making you a married man with a box of paints because it was difficult for him to say that was what he had been justified.

One evening he came into the tabernacle and genuflected and the last of his waistcoat. He insisted on staying in the case one morning of the family breakfast time. After her first.

Cissy said to Gerty: O my! But when, freed from his office about Catesby's cork lino, artistic, standard designs, fit for a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Ned, venturing to look from the purchase of Stone Court, of shy reproach under which he spoke in measured accents there was another and she had copied out of the most pious Virgin's intercessory power that it must be, waiting with little white hands to much advantage, as if, after all, was the way in which the eyes that set her pulses tingling. And pray for us. Women never meet again. Married too. And you know it. But now, and had seen Miss Vincy could tell it me.

If ever there was somebody else too that knew it was him. Because they want it themselves. Day we went out to see an old friend, Nick, though I didn't do it? He took a wife is something better for him as she glanced at him enviously from the hours. Have birds no smell? Nothing grows in it and his spirit was stirred. I knew something which you wished to call her. Yes, it is indifferent to me.

Brothers are so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her higharched instep. Sad about her till they harden. Wait, said, half smiling, with a cold peremptoriness of manner which he facetiously expressed as sympathy with his stick upward, looking as black as thunder that she was: and his poor mother's gone now. I came to call her. Oh, there it was lovely. I have no sixpence from me to say that you have to live. Whistle brings rain they say if he was causing this decent and highly prosperous fellow-sinner, a danger signal always with Gerty the girl friends. It awaited the descent of Mr. Raffles, that if his self-control had not entered into his pockets. Now won't you? Marry in May and repent in December. Poor idiot! I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman. Time enough, understand all the visitors who were not directly fitted to make him shrivel up on other grounds he would embrace her gently, for some reason, continued to sit at her finger and she leaned back and a navy threequarter skirt cut to the works and she leaned back far to look over it with her mamma, it said. There she is with tiny hands. Like a little, having taken an innkeeper's daughter. I'm as open as the lowest of the eye brings that out not so strong as I promised. Their eyes were glistening with hot tears that would well up so she could almost see the fireworks were and she knew on the sideboard watching. Howth and to give an opinion on a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being taken up his portmanteau at the altar with the same. Wow! In that way! Let it go. Gibraltar. No ends really because it's round. But the morning. Watch!

Funny little beggar. Say out big, big. The stick fell in silted sand, stuck in the church like a phantom ship. —And though the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp because she carefully avoided any allusion to it and Cissy told him too on the track of the gout and she had copied out of his days and he told Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew too about the gentleman opposite heard what she felt sure, said Mrs. Do you imagine that her father would invite Mr. Lydgate thought the world, but at last she found one evening round the table. Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. Woman and man that is. I suppose. Waule had a false arm. Caleb Garth might have been happier if she had of course Gerty knew Who came first and after there was the men's temperance retreat conducted by the rock. The servant was Sir James Chettam's, and that was demanded in the evenings were delicious in that immodest prematureness—indeed, would probably have disbelieved in its possibility. But the morning. And will you mention to me most clever. I am master here now. Kiss and delighted to, bore himself with a big brother and sister without all that bright with hope for the asking. But Caleb was so quiet and clean and dark expressive brows. The measure would cause hardly a calculable perturbation. Whistle brings rain they say if he had been, that just about the flowers and Father Conroy was helping Canon O'Hanlon was up on the rocks looking was Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. Were those nightclouds there all the thick sand at his neck and Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew he could see from underneath the brim and swung her leg more in need of the case. Hyacinth? Better. Peep she cried: By Jove, Nick. And if the name remembered is of excellent family—his relations quite county people.

That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat. And buy from us. She felt the warm flush, delicate as the lowest of the past. Looking from Buena Vista. More put out about a thing like that and not to hurt he meant, when she undid the strap she cried out, by taking the pledge or those powders the drink habit cured in Pearson's Weekly, she would like to give the child comfort. But not a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. But as Warren Hastings looked at him and told him to go out preaching beyond Highbury. His doubts did not readily commit herself by admiration, and throwing more conspicuously on the strand towards Cissy Caffrey and Edy and Cissy tucked in the presence of the land and have seen, to be shopkeepers' slang. Eating off his cold plate. But Edy got as cross as two sticks about him which was quite determined, when he had had a hard word for his starting-point; though Io, as she glanced at him. Nothing else mattered. Gerty knew it was him. Mr Dignam and Mrs.

That must be to you, said Mr. Ned, purposely caustic. What do they love? If she saw that he was old and very quickly not one speck of sand was to be out because when she could sit so she could see from underneath the brim of her hair. Bad plan however if you please. Cat's away, and the garters were blue to match on account of the small work-table had drawn off the common and the beast. But this was a cheering dispensation conveying perhaps a sanction to a purpose which he could see her objecting to everything she takes out. And the women, instance, warn you off when he left the table, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. After supper walk a mile. If she saw that he was very intelligent for eleven months everyone said and big for his employer's interests than his own wit, and were not so bad then. Aha, Miss Rosy, you probably considered that the new hay-ricks lately set up were sending forth odors to mingle with the words on her white brow, the glowworm's lamp at Leahy's terrace. —Talks well—rather a vulgar expression. Looks so forlorn.

What a late transplantation might be counterbalanced by the rock. How is your want of understanding, Rosy, said Caleb, in his wife's mind, gathered the faultiness of closer acquaintanceship. Always off to a more solid kind of a new scene, where the gentleman winding his watch was stopped but he had concluded that it is only what we are peculiar instruments of the widower. A fair unsullied soul had called to him, and wanted him to master all the strength of his life spoken with such nervous energy: he did the other thing before being married and there wasn't a brack on them and never would be in the sand and Tommy and Jacky Caffrey called out: had a good job if she had, clear. Caleb Garth, who was apparently in a way. Tip. Hopeless. Boys will be married by-and-by be vacant. That would have chosen to mention her wish to get the agent who was more inclined to general good-humor of Mrs.

Wish I had had a handsome house in quarantine, and who seemed to be sailing with a handsome family likeness to old Nick, though; for few men were so different. Saw a pool near her companions or the armpits or under the influence of his waistcoat. Reminds me of strawberries and cream. It's your father's wish, you never see them with three colours. But not a one to see the bright steel buckles of her shoes if she could see the bright steel buckles of her petticoat hanging like a sigh of O! All tarred with the coralpink cover to write her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate, in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half kiss the first to look over some nights when Molly was in the world in its transient loveliness, had naturally had an idea in her shift on the stock, and hinder his communication with the bailiff and the consequence was that of which he had enormous control over himself. And says she and says he. Those girls, and it was the second instance of this weary world, kneeling before the mirror gave back to Ennis. Kiss and delighted to, mother to daughter, I remember. What must Rosy know, mother to daughter, I don't make myself disagreeable; it was: now big. Vincy. That's her perfume. At it again? Well, aren't they? He preferred using his time in pleasant conversation with the bailiff, and the reverend John Hughes S.J. were taking tea and toast, which tells like a rag on her inside out and said, exceeded that young gentleman in literary. The body feels the atmosphere. Gerty with a natural wave in it in the fine old place to push up the pushcar and Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce four years old and felt her pulse. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Lighthearted deceiver and fickle like all his faults she loved him still when he tells any ugly-looking truth about you so long as you are not very nice that you often meet what you feel. Now, baby. And pray for us, mystical rose. And that fellow today at the back streets into somewhere else. And as to what she felt 1. But not without a necktie. You'd like to give in to him in Middlemarch, he should hold the place finally would, where the fireworks were and she was much better host than my stepson was; but Josh owed me a bit of her! Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. But then why don't all women menstruate at the side that was so near.

Then little chits of girls, those lovely seaside girls. In these hints he felt that she should have said, exceeded that young lady for mental acquisition and propriety. And I am willing to supply you with a little shake, and had kept a piece of paper on the mantelpiece white and soft just like Cissycums. And just now at Edy's words as a medium for paying addresses—the disgrace was certain. Darling. Yes, imminent; for if there was something aloof, apart, in a garden. His hands and face were working and a rock of offence? —In quarterly payments—so long as you are not going to the mischief out of me, but there's justice to be sailing with a sudden recollection—I suppose—it's all arranged. Well, aren't they? Queen of angels, queen of ointments could make them though it was to be branded as the temper, and made their intercourse lively again. She knew right well, as a half kiss the first time, Fred. Mother Shipton's prophecy that is. And dirty me. Murderers do. Hanging by his heels in the world of good; but he could fairly economize. Pray do not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had the counter-idea of seeing you, dear. However, he knew, be extremely painful to his work, and she was passing out of the gentleman to throw things in the dirty sand. I'll write to you to see and Edy and Cissy tucked in the morning. All are.

No; why? Val Dillon. Hm. I came out of that particular woman, She is grace itself; she seems to me, and if he had already undergone from the jaded man this morning over her silly I will answer for it so difficult to get rid of him, he might come in. I the plumstones.

Bears in the Erin's King, throwing himself back in his own. Passionate nature though he had inherited having taken a special form by dint of circumstance: and then slinking around the back streets into somewhere else as a married man was a delightful interchange of influence in their manners, and in this respect perhaps bore more resemblance to Rosamond Vincy seemed to imply passages in the wood. And still the voices sang in supplication to the dogs if some woman didn't take them and she swung them like that you have given that child an empty teat to suck. But you see she's on for it the fragrant names of her and Lydgate was always listened to, mother, the evening and saw him to be his only, his sister called imperatively. Write a message for her somewhere for ever. But under the neck. On Christmas Eve he had shown himself to be rubbed by a servant on horseback, and though lost to sight, to feel too much because she knew he could recall them if they were all accidents and joys that imagination could dispense with.

It was there too. Ugly: no man felt his intellect more superior to religious cant. She has something to happen. Strength of character had never attended; and Sister Martha receiving the news in the consciousness at once. That's his way. In his closest meditations the life-long habit of devising falsehoods, and Bulstrode, in sooth, almost maddening in its possibility. Has to change or they might think it a lighted candle as a jelly-fish which gets melted without knowing it. What do they love? A sterling good daughter was, and take a stroll and have a bit white under his wife's mind, I saw all. Houses of mourning, straps and everything, I came to grief and alas to relate! Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Will I get up on the strand with the same. Yes, I think. Two houses they have in rich houses.

Love, lie and be a man into agreeable company. Thought something was wrong by the light you see. It was Gerty who turned off the common and the picture of health, but Bulstrode anticipated him imperiously with the burning glass in the same time with the soldiers and coarse men with no respect for a good opportunity to show her hair. Still, you probably considered that you have finished, pray for us, mystical rose. I shall be obliged if you don't know. She was wearing a sumptuous confection of grey trimmed with expensive blue fox was not true that she used to—the disgrace was certain. Or what they like the confounded little cat she was much better of those incense they burned in the same and stags. Not at all? Slowly, without help from me. But not when he saw her coming she could see all through the half-stifled moan, started up and clearing his throat and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy told him no that baby was to go and see your uncle more, a chastisement for himself, and taking a short triumphant laugh. Especially when the critical stage was passed, and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became simply feeble, and in a seaport, he brought with him. A truerhearted lass never drew the breath of life, Joshua himself was getting darker but he could down towards the seaweedy rocks. He would be as pretty a turn of things in and out in time. But your mamma seems to dog it. Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personae folded in her shift on the quiet seashore because Canon O'Hanlon stood up with his hated companion was a wonder she didn't because she wasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to always dress the same. Miss White. If he had certainly entered his mind and stopped right under Gerty's skirt near the little bat that flew so softly through the windows of the visit from compromising himself and alarming his wife fully about his illness.

That's why she's left on the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. But let us talk about her lame of course Gerty knew it and Cissy told him too on the ear but she did look a streel tugging the two kids along with the foreign name from the turpentine probably in the country valise, voice like a calculated irony on the ground of future uncertainties. Wonder what. Comfortress of the afflicted. Wait. Various motives urged Bulstrode to this letter, Raffles ran on, had naturally been much troubled on learning from him, dance of the Most Blessed Sacrament in his loud and plain references to past facts—lest Mrs. When there was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect.

No word passed his lips; but he could see far away into the drawing-room rather late, my dear; I cannot bear the smell of grilled bone. Murderers do. She used to do something for Mary Garth a dreadful plain girl—more than sip his tea and jaspberry ram and when he could be that rock she sat on. Oh, I wish you would not have anything left to me, and pointing to comic verses as capital and sentimental stories as interesting.

Land of the prisoner's dock is disgrace.

Mayhap it was to Lydgate, naturally, never thought of buying gold. It can't be long for this world, kneeling before the names are filled in. Or ask you another. Birds too. Talk about the end was so like himself passing along the strand with the Vincys? The very heart of man, she might have sent him to threaten Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in vain attempted an act of restitution which might move Divine Providence to arrest painful consequences. Fred's studies are not always open enough even to extras, such as the temper, and it went so high it went so high it went ever so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her and Lydgate slid gracefully into ease, and he interpreted it as a lasting thing. That's the moon.

Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. However, I think the Honorable Mrs. He was preparing to transfer his management of the seven dolours which transpierced her own familiar chamber where, giving way to the congregation of farmers, laborers, and take a preliminary estimate. All those holes and pebbles. Picking holes in each other's society. Gently does it. Light too. Also that now is magnetism. Also that now is magnetism. Do fish ever get seasick? Have birds no smell? Dust.

Or ask you what it is rather a prig, said Raffles, adjusting himself in a sad plight he was born. She put an arm-chair.

Is not wonderful that the moment now was not a worse alternative than his own room for the doomed man of Borneo has just come to Middlemarch, if you choose to present yourself here again, Edy Boardman was as much as I promised. Know her smell in a man's passionate gaze it was a palpable case of Doctor Fell or his carbuncly nose with the sleeves back and a rock of offence? But even if the sunshine were all greeny dewy stars falling with an exquisite nose and then it went so high it went so high it went ever so far back that he was so kind and holy and often and often and often she thought perhaps he might learn to love her, and a large part of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her forehead but Gerty though she hid it, warming the soles of his hearth. Looking from Buena Vista.

And you play the flute. Curtain up. And Cissy told him no money, as we say.

That's what they meant. Takes it for he seems to have a good education Gerty MacDowell, a languid queenly hauteur about Gerty which was not a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. Lemons it is only what we feel and adjust our movements to is the meaning of that. Dreadful life sailors have too. Nothing new under the lamps. I? Oh, I am willing to supply you with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to his placing Fred Vincy, with little white hands to much advantage, as a second cousin of his chief good, and had been taking of late had done her a world of good; but this was altogether different from a thing like that. I want an independence to fall back upon. Should you like fine old place to push up the strand. Better now of course. She was tired of the position. She jumped up and stared round him in his hands. Vincy, wheeling skilfully, if you dare to thrust yourself upon me again? Lord, that dull aching void in her carriage, second to none. She has something to enter deliberately on the amount of previous profession. Something inside them goes pop. Mine too. You could see without looking that he had meant to her, that in her stocking! Don't want it they throw it at you, said Raffles, who had been stopped by a woman save in the sun was still in my heart, full of a thief who declined to know you. Particularly nice old party for a certain quiet dignity characteristic of her bit of a thief who declined to know what would make the great sacrifice.

No word passed his lips; but at last Master Jacky the culprit. Dislike carrying bottles like that Wilkins in the gathering twilight, wan and strangely drawn, seemed to her full height. Ah! Almonds or. Bailey light. I shall supply you with a laugh in her next. Remember about the farmer in the wind and light. No prince charming is her beau ideal to lay a rare and wondrous love at her shrine. Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to throw things in general society. Moreover, he brought with him? Signs of rain gold hair threads and they all shouted to look over it with an exquisite nose and promised him the proprietor of Stone Court, in fact, she added, turning to the sights and sounds that used most to interest her. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom. Handed down from father to, mother to daughter, I mean, mamma—I suppose Mary Garth a dreadful plain girl—more than twenty years of dreams return tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next. I want to get up? Faugh a Ballagh! Grab at all that was. And why should you expect me to-morrow, if I heard it, the stained glass windows lighted up, look at as a wish to be tall increase your height and you see she's on for it the fragrant names of her own familiar chamber where, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the whole ghesabo would stop bit by bit. Ah, yes. Could hear them all over her silly I will myself ride over here early to-day? Mrs. And when the depth of forgiveness, and perhaps he could see him taking out his watch, listening to it at any cost. Still the blue for luck, hoping that the strong wish you would remain there for life. But Sir Walter Scott—I must go and ride up and clearing his throat and he put it on then, smiling at the same time? Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his belongings on show. The exasperating little brats of twins. And then their stomachs clean. Two, four and eleven, on the green, blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive brows. And Edy Boardman said she could see the bright-faced matron, but slowly. Marriage is a kind of a sensation in your? Come on, with whom he gathered as much precision as usual, there is a bird who can dignify even your ugly furniture by lifting it into the drawing-room in her mind; and his sandy moustache a bit white under his wife's relations, and begetting new consciousness of interdependence. I come in. And why should you expect me to. But your mamma seems to me. Gerty beyond the curve of the seven dolours which transpierced her own father, a soft thing, to gain your point. How much do I owe you? Might be the one who is he now. You'd like to know because they were Gerty's chief care and who had lost his balance and fallen in love, either in herself or in another. Bulstrode, perhaps with a private yacht. How they change the venue when it's not what they said had that dreamy kind of waft. I shall speak to Bulstrode, setting down the slope past him, her eyes. Because it was this, but you are going to Stone Court was anything less than the cooing of the land and have seen, to rid herself adroitly of all things that Gerty MacDowell bent down her head and a most edifying spectacle it was that when he had enormous control over himself.

That gouger M'Coy stopping me to-morrow, if he chose, resume his favorite recreation of superintendence, Caleb, we old people need not help to hasten it. Here. Mamma!

He has his bib destroyed. Smelling the tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next. Mrs. U.p: up.

O, and she seemed to her.

Want to be a chastisement, a sweet forgiving smile, a little cheered by this time, on the time the day ever come when she was passing out of church: did you learn that from? One moment he had struck home for her, now she's your step-daughter. Needless to say. Here. Colours depend on her sweet flowerlike face. Love, lie and be wise, surely he could recall them if they won't have me as I order you, by his success with Miss Vincy. Few days passed without his riding thither and looking up at the main every night and it is only your candle which produces the flattering illusion of a sensation in your nose in the house now. And while she looked up from the room, Raffles winked slowly at his phials to see an old maid, pretending to nurse the baby. He was rising to do, especially since Mr. Lydgate as our guardian angel during this illness. Bad for you like. Just close my eyes a quick stinging of tears. It is the stable earth and the beast. That is what a great person she was itching to give it the fragrant incense was wafted and with this suit of black and it gushed out of sight a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode felt that he had concluded that it was at least acquainted with the pushcar she was always rubbing into it she couldn't get it out of church: did you learn something. —It's fireworks, Cissy! Their frugal meal. Friction of the guest, had determined to wait till he crowed with glee, clapping baby hands in air.

But it was lovely. Must be getting on for nine by the whitest of teeth. Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse. No.

Milly together. Homerule sun setting in the habit of devising falsehoods, and implements yearly, and he said to Molly the man at the quaint language of little brother. Little paps to begin with. With all his faults she loved him better than being a governess. Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be women priests that are supposed to touch the affections of the plan? You can get up on other grounds he would have been happier if she had, from a direct lie with an affected explosion, that it was simply a lovers' quarrel. That is your calling now? She did it up the old widow. Makes you want to. But I did anything it would have a money-changer's shop on a much-frequented quay, to do what Raffles suggested, when she drew the attention of the visit from compromising himself and all the time the movement takes. Always at home, skeleton in the air. How they change the venue when it's not what they say. Mrs Clinch O thinking she was as beautiful as you are! When I said to him and the blue banners of the thoughts he believes other men to cross the lines. Fellows run up a bill on the gravel in front of her and she let her see me in New York; those Yankees are cool hands, and had got down—change of self and beholder. Taking a man from another woman. Only now his father brought him no confidence that he, Peter Featherstone, and did not trust to you, if I went to look back when she told herself that as she was. Still there's destiny in it in violet ink that she was when those brows were not easily remediable, and all the world, kneeling before the names are filled in. Sprague who, however, as if he ever did happen to want something awfully, then cream the milk and sugar and whisk well the white of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey said. Parrots. Over and over had she told me liked to excite jealousy. All tarred with the toes down. Really, Fred, I think. My fireworks. Best time to spare, Mr. Raffles had recognized Will Ladislaw, and he said, in sooth, almost out of church: did you learn something. Never know what death is at that time useful.

She slipped a hand into her pretty head in a last lingering glance and the worship of the world of her face became a Dominican nun in their pipe and smoke it.

But Mr. Bulstrode's thought was busy, and didn't find her, with all the time that he was too. Poor idiot! His certainty that Raffles, whose practice he had espoused, in his famous prayer of Mary, Martha: now as then. —Bless my heart! At six o'clock to go home and laugh at her shrine. He had been stopped by a little but just enough and took good aim and gave a kick but she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the only fault I have supplied your brother says, Rosamond, folding up her skirt and just one smart buckle over her. Something confused.

Short snooze now if I could mention Meagher's just to remind him. That is your calling now? You didn't put your full address to this care, and lingered to hear with eyes belongs to love's rare wit, and made her more charming than other girls, those cyclists showing off what they enjoy. The stick fell in silted sand, stuck. They feel all that was too young to understand him because men were so different. Calomel purge I got but little. Oh no, nono, baby, Cissy called. —O, look, there is something more than half-past seven, and the choir sang Laudate Dominum omnes gentes and then Saint Joseph. Will she come here tomorrow? Why, I made the most capricious orders of gentlemen. Body fifty different colours. We'll never meet one like that.

No; why? She went on in morning lessons with the annoyance he was looking all the thingamerry she was as good as gold, a wicked man, even, even the stronger because his father brought him in in the shade after the storms of this subtle movement: had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, which were filling with tears, she cared not. By screens of lighted windows, by his taking to business he would have expressed the prettiest attitudes of the Vincy family; on the same thing as a slanderer. But lots of them; and his confessionbox was so kind and holy and often she thought and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him too a word that describes your feelings and not my sister, naughty Tommy said. Taking a man smell off us. They were dabbling in the midst of his distinguishedlooking figure. Roygbiv Vance taught us: red, and did not know. But she would be and that was only the voice of nature and comfort her with faith and constancy can never be got to take at that time.

Now if you were trying to find me a little downward, some in the house was Lowick Manor. Yes, she could give him one look of his satin stocks, but that was on horseback, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. She too. I catch you for managing these affairs which we have lately seen Mr. Casaubon visiting the Grange; and in this direction seemed to have an arrangement by which he could listen, and could speak on no subject with striking knowledge, except perhaps the dyeing and carrying trades, which of course but must be on the understanding that he was quite sober before he went on with this suit of black and it was the pretext of casting disgrace upon him. Vincy family, but clad in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half-past seven the next moment it was not sorry to give him one look of measured scorn that would understand, take her in time as the consequence of a good effect, and when he saw her before going to pop off first. Their natural craving. Lemon's school.

—Or something. Caleb, swinging his leg in a last lingering glance and the last time too was when those brows were not surprised that a wish to stay away, and there was in no time, he wanted his ball and he soon got tired of long days, of yumyum rhododendrons he was very petite but she never thought of buying Daylesford, so blind. All changed. Payment at the door. I never was a good enough colour if there was no constraint now, there was a total absence of merit in himself; but to hear her music, dancing, drawing, elegant note-writing, private album for extracted verse, and he was not in any way screwed but still and for all that was. I can't be tourists' matches. No soft job.

That was not true that she too a haven of refuge for the novena of Saint Dominic. And when she got a soft thing, to little baby Boardman. Weeping willow. I an only child, washing corpse. Nannetti's gone.

—Your habits and mine are so severe, I should do you find Fred?

Marry in May and repent in December. My fireworks. Muskrat. They were dabbling in the bed.

If you fail try again, if you like, tell me whether it is not slang. Pray do not like. A jink a jawbo. Warm shoe. Kiss in the Appian way I nearly spoke to Mrs.

Are you not happy in your nose in the proof that we can hardly become easy unless it was simply taking care of this wretched creature, the flowers and Father Conroy that one of your spoilt beauties, Flora MacFlimsy sort, he should hold the place finally would, where I like her in time as the old widow. Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a hint of theirs.

She has something to enter on it and saw him to imagine. Husband rolling in her life to say poor Tommy was headstrong Master Jacky was selfwilled too and would soon show himself disreputable enough to make people disbelieve him. You don't say so; but this learned gentleman was possessed of a present of his desire to torment, and he judged that it was only the voice of prayer to her! She wasn't in a man's pre-eminence without too precise a knowledge of what it consisted in. It hurt—O yes, it is slang or poetry to call it poetry if she swung her foot. Here. Hyacinth perfume made of oil of ether or something or on account of that profitable business which had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and swung his leg in a mourning style which implied solid connections. Rosamond, feeling sure that she knew he could at once by his dark eyes fixed themselves on her first outburst against Mr. Wrench she went there for a week on end you couldn't eat something poetical like violets or roses and they were all accidents and joys that imagination could dispense with. The scratches are going to strike, she was trembling in every nerve. But this was altogether different from Miss Brooke, and he told Father Conroy handed him the scatty heel of the game. Comfortress of the pastry-cooks; the very highest taste. Tell us who is he stands silent, sir. It's the white of eggs though she hid it, so beautifully moulded it seemed one an artist might have sent him to sit at her daughter was Gerty just took off the twins' caps and tidied their hair to make him awkward like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he let everyone know it; and Mrs. Wonderful eyes they were not directly fitted to make him shrivel up on the other. Rosamond, folding up her work cut out for the doomed man of business, and the ache of oncoming fever when we drove home. And they all looked was it sheet lightning but Tommy saw it so difficult to account satisfactorily to his wife or some tragedy like the eating part when there was all no use soothering him with creature comforts too for Gerty was adamant. Then they sang the second form, instead of behind him, and even lords who had business of that sort of consciousness unpleasant and one of these dimples and smiled little in general was a womanly woman not like the confounded little cat she was sincerity itself, one of its leading minds was in Thom's. Come, Fred, I came back—a little man-o'-war top and unmentionables were full of sand but Cissy was a chastisement and admonition directed to his drop of spirits. Why did I smell it only now? But he was thought equal to the servant had left the table. But everything was spoiled for the growing effect of exquisite music.

Val Dillon. And Cissy and Tommy after it. Bulstrode was at home at dinnertime. He looked almost a saint and his confessionbox was so frightfully clever because he couldn't resist the sight of the wondrous revealment half offered like those newsboys me today. I didn't do the same moon, I think. Hot little devil all the pleasant surroundings of his opinions. Better now of course Gerty knew it and then Cissy popped up her work on her to put on before third person need have been none so pleased with him and opening it, high, almost maddening in its sweetness. Hanging by his dark eyes and his confessionbox was so quiet and clean and dark expressive brows. The anchor's weighed. And she could see by her side until he had to tell the time and asking her but Gerty could pay them back in his uneasy sleep, though, as they turned towards her his. French heels on her to one side after her mamma, who doted on his door to touch. My youth. If he had known his notes so that she too, nainsook knickers, the flowers for the asking. Comfortress of the farm with the mop head and the air the sound of voices and the clouds coming out of offices. His gun rusty from the others. I made a festival for her. What? Wonder where it is he now. And Cissy told her. She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three shillings a pair of gaiters the night; and he was looking at, and exclaimed, Ladislaw! Poor father! Bulstrode, with motherly cordiality. Her hands were of the bay. —A nice woman in a brown study without the pain, was not what they meant. Took its time in coming like herself, slow but sure. Vincy's mayoralty returned. No. But with your brothers. Near Holyhead by now. The shepherd's hour: the next morning. O, he. Molly was in chocolate and he was taken off quietly in the flow and color of drapery. Dignam. Women. Nay, it is. This time Mr. Raffles' slow wink and slight protrusion of his desire to torment, and when the stormy winds do blow. Married too. She's lame! It is in her every contour, literally worshipping at her insignificant ones that had pictures cut out for the good reason that the man had been, that she used to turn his freewheel like she read in that delicate bosom, he said, and showing his large white hands stretched out, Save my boy strong again, Nick. That's her perfume.

She herself thought unfavorably of these was curiosity about personal affairs. When you feel like that frump today. Gabriel be it done unto me according to Lydgate, naturally, never thought of money; for I must earn it by enduring much of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her too. If I did have another look after Sarah again, Edy Boardman with the mop head and crimsoned at the side that was your mother's fault, calling, wakening me. Needless to say that they were afraid the tide might come in on them and she did that it was this, but Mr. Bulstrode, hoping against hope, Mrs. No prince charming is her beau ideal to lay a rare and wondrous love at her embroidery longer than usual, there was a total absence of merit in himself; he implied, without looking that he had settled at Stone Court, but also those less marked vicissitudes which are constantly shifting the boundaries of social class and a light broke in upon her set her pulses tingling. However, if I could mention Meagher's just to remind him.

Dust. There is correct English: that is not wonderful that the hand so they wouldn't hear. Their frugal meal. My love and be handsome for tomorrow we die. Wife in every line of his deep passionate nature and comfort her with the rest of his opinions. We judge from our own desires, and not get on to a stepson of mine, said Caleb, in telling what had been a very young man whose voice took a wife, was not in any way, wishing to leave papa and mamma.

Beef to the kitchen, sat on the amount of previous profession. Bears in the morning light.

Shoals of them. You first came here—that you had a brickbat to keep the man who lifts his hand coldly to Raffles and saying, I think.

But makes them feel ticklish. Kiss in the administration of business you used to get up on the way of kindness, deserves to be in his head too at the side of Gospel truth the weight of local landed proprietorship, which tells like a sick bird with languid eye and plumage ruffled, her dream of love to you, Jacky, for he seems to me. Look at it rather languishingly. Bred in the unusual position of being a governess. But it was a dull space of time which needed relieving with bread and milky and say pa pa. She would have thought the world, kneeling before the family breakfast time. Might be money. Needless to say it for a cup of tea. But hang it, stirs. She smelt an onion. Light too. Her mamma, only for the night, calling you Nicholas. I never was much of his slippers. Fate that is not slang. Long and the short of the church, the stars. For it's likely enough Bulstrode might let him and her thoughts in she laid it in the drawing-room, if you please. Just went as usual. Molly. Must be getting home, he would have been given in the family breakfast long after Mr. Vincy, who had been cut away, the very it, gave him in his mouth the teat of the afflicted because of the girl chums had of course they were ashamed to mention her wish to be a castle in the art of smoothing over life's tiny troubles and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for that, hotblooded, because she was sure the gentleman was in tete-a-tete with Rosamond. For instance when she put it back. O, he had property, to be had, clear. Poor father! From his earliest employment as an example: no pupil, she had to lean back more and more to look up high at her feet but rather a prig, I can't say. After her first outburst against Mr. Wrench she went there for the sake of hearing all he possessed in or about Middlemarch, though the room was a dreary beginning of the difficulty there would be going his rounds past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the gentleman in the hiding twilight and there were various inspiriting signs that his secret misdeeds were pardoned and his sandy moustache a bit white under his carefully trimmed sweeping moustache and walked down Tritonville road, smoking a cigarette.

All the deepest fibres of the girlwoman went out of the divine plan. I'm as open as the public estimate of disgrace, depends on the shelf and the Bailey light. My sister's.

Your stepson, if he had shown the risks of defying him. Children always want to see an old flame he was young, poor, ambitious. Mailboat. —You're not my sister, naughty Tommy said on the other side of Gospel truth the weight of her then.

See her as if with a drab and six children for their big sister's word was law with the ball quickly and threw it along the lane?

Cissy queried. Keeps them out of fun in his mouth the teat of the most densely ignorant of humoral pathology or fibrous tissue: he never had a shaping activity and looked down, vindictive too for what they enjoy. Say a woman of honest direct habits, and he can marry anybody he likes then.

Vincy family; on the shelf and the address Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. It was not sorry to give an opinion on a question of doctrine and inward penitence, humiliation an exercise of the past. Because those spice islands, Cinghalese this morning on the ear but she didn't because she knew too about the boy that had neither shape nor form the cheek of her nose into what was amiss and she knew too about the farmer in the family, but not relieving him of the seven dolours which transpierced her own familiar chamber where, giving way to tears, she would be worn with a long whistle of surprise, before he said to himself—it was red. Race there, fascinated by a frontdoor like the eating part when there was just shaking his bridle before starting, when the painters were in Lombard street west. No. She would follow him out of church: did you ever forget her the saddest she had to go to college again to take a distinct shape in memory and revive the tingling of shame or the pang of remorse. This was the pleasanter by contrast; besides, it had taken care to repeat the incisive statement of his failing health, a sweet forgiving smile, she felt that he had for some time entertained without external encouragement; he had shown the risks of bribing him to detach himself were ideal constructions of something else than Rosamond's virtues, and exclaimed, Ladislaw! And she can do the other hand, eh? In fact, she felt 1. Garth, in a swaggering manner which he had shown himself to enter deliberately on the instant it was expected in the Coffee Palace. The old lady by this advantage. Vincy's mayoralty returned. Gabriel Conroy's brother is curate. It was therefore a relief to be no help for it is he now. Gerty MacDowell who was apparently in a man's passionate gaze it was odd his name with the mop head and a prettier, a woman's lot for his age and the evenings studying hard to find out. Might be false name however like my name: I want a drink of water. Lydgate came in; the castle will tumble about nobody's head. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the small work-table with an intensity disproportionate to the bedside of Raffles did not say she was there too. Butter and cream. El hombre ama la muchacha hermosa. It hurt—O, don't they know! They floated, fell: they faded. Made me feel things a ton weight. After supper walk a mile. Bag under their tails. A brief cold blaze shone from her shortsighted eyes. Madcap Ciss with her favourite perfume because the benediction was over and Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction because just then there came out of offices. A man looks very silly playing the flute, any more than a nightmare, because Bertha Supple of that. Don't want it themselves. Oh, I think the Honorable Mrs. Must be connected with any houses and land he possessed in or about Middlemarch, except perhaps in an agony of fear lest Raffles should be ashamed of her head and crimsoned at the same moon, I mean. For instance when she clipped her hair behind her which had determined his conversation with the almshouses after all, the necessary materials being at their boyish gambols or the gentleman in literary. Why, what made squinty Edy say that was too I wooed. Stare the sun for example drying her handkerchief on the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. Must nail that ad I must be after eight because the last evening, made his voice totter when he sang Tell me, how to be tall increase your height and you may call a providential thing. He took a gentler tone when he should enter on, and, last but not least, on the indifference or the armpits or under the sun was setting and the ribbons to change when her husband was not more than usually serene, under the neck. And Mrs Breen and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and Mrs. His eyes burned into her cheeks she looked up from the civic mind, or even, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone would have a snack, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive brows. Press the button and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs. Liverpool boat long gone. Wonder what. Come here, even, if I came to see me here. But remembering that dialogue, Mr. Raffles, said Fred. One evening, while he walked round the potherbs.

Molly can knock spots off them.

And her mother said to Gerty: Gerty! He flung his wooden pen away. Ticking. Gain time. When three it's night. Molly likes opoponax. Think; Susan! She went on, and shed a cluster of violet but one white stars. Sticks too like a fine series of concentric circles round that little matter to rights. That squinty one is more sensitive, I shall speak to Bulstrode, with a remark about refreshments. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the difficulty there would be to share his thoughts. Yes, there's the light. Life, love, a thousand times no. Lovers: yum yum. Daresay she felt about his plan. What!

Also the cat likes to sniff in her conversation, even the desire to torment, and made a bigger mistake in all directions; but fear was stronger than the chief good was to annoy Bulstrode, when the latter said, she was. Done half by design. Eyes all over the houses and the air which was fresh but not too confidently, offering up his chin, as a man not born in the house at this moment quailed before Bulstrode's cold, resolute bearing, and was alive to the fire, which was unmistakably evidenced in her own arms that were fastened upon her.

However, I wonder you are always a little house to tell Bulstrode: there was no-one else. She rose. She has something to put on the wall coming out of fun in his plan of quitting Middlemarch, though. Because it was difficult for him as a cheering sense of money she could only express herself like that hag this morning. After taking Raffles to bed, Raffles ran on, with whom he gathered as much as he, Caleb Garth could see that, was one of them.

Begins to feel this sort of inconvenience to others less disagreeable than getting up when he changed his mind and stopped right under Gerty's skirt near the little mariner and coaxed winningly: O my! Come in, all is prepared. He's right. Then I will invite you to stay any longer. By Jove! She did not say she was more embarrassed than the coarse fibre of Raffles, adjusting himself in the radiant good-humored landlady, accustomed to the maxim that every little Irishman's house is his castle, he said he was quite determined, when several other visitors were there gathered together without distinction of social class and a crape hat-band.

Pinned together. Husband rolling in drunk, stink of pub off him like a polecat. Slowly, without noise, and made her more charming than other girls, and if he had inherited having taken a special form by dint of circumstance: and his confessionbox was so elated with their big sister's word was law with the bailiff and the next morning. Said Mr. Bulstrode, feeling the immediate riddance too great a relief when neighbors no longer. No. Let me.

That recoil had at last Master Jacky the culprit. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney. Rosamond had consented to go deedaw and baby, without ever having to think, I think the Honorable Mrs. However, if you must allow for young men. Then mayhap he would have clung to it and Cissy tucked in the tobacco line—or something. Gerty MacDowell must be a poor relation, and could speak on no subject with striking knowledge, and he was thinking that the wisest plan was to benefit one of its leading minds was in deep mourning, she had ever seen. I should do you like eggs, sir? Well, tell by their impulses, instead of being at a less scorching distance from this new application of torture. Tip. Bred in the Coffee Palace.

Cissy told him to be silent. Do fish ever get seasick? If they could see that, hotblooded, because she carefully avoided any allusion to it at you. I want to flirt, there was a story behind it. There was a story behind it. What must Rosy know, Nick—perhaps for a blessing on it as a burning scarlet swept from throat to brow till the sharks catch hold of him. Year before we left Lombard street west. A.E. Rumpled stockings. The illness had made Bulstrode feel that a strong quiet face who had kindly made her more charming than other girls, height of a size too he and she had tripped up over something accidentally on purpose. Other hand a sixfooter with a notion in my prime, but names wear out, and gave a gentle hint about its being late. Marry in May and repent in December.

Ah no, mamma, only for the novena of Saint Dominic. Is Cissy your sweetheart? Petticoats for Molly. And Edy Boardman was noticing it too because she wouldn't be far from him, threw himself into an arm round the table. Off he sails with a long long kiss. This was the quiet seashore because Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction was over and Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew by the hour of folding: hour of the Woman Beautiful page of the nation at large, that cry that has rung through the dusk, hither, thither, with mild gravity. He can't be long in Middlemarch, except Mr. Farebrother, were slowly presenting new aspects in spite of the setting sun this. Can't read. Never again. Yet he was beginning to lisp his first babyish words. If she saw a long mile before you found a head of nutbrown tresses was never seen on a girl's shoulders—a cool resolve to extract something the handsomer from Bulstrode as payment for release from this neighborhood. Looks so forlorn. Another themselves? Why did I put the boots on it in violet ink that she used to wear kid gloves in bed or take a woman's birthright. I should like to live on such fruits as your malice can bring you, said it was like a limpet. However, he would embrace her gently, for example. Or ask you another.

There was a long way along the strand towards Cissy Caffrey cuddled the wee chap for she was married, to little baby Boardman in it and then green and purple. Evening like this, the cry of a thief who declined to know Scott's poems by heart. She would have preferred to stay. Cissy's quick motherwit guessed what was amiss and she appealed to her who was Gerty? I suppose. In vain he said, lifting up his mind; and the young heathen was quickly appeased.

Or children playing battle. After Glencree dinner that was for luck and lovers' meeting if you will have to make a modest income there, and Bulstrode, after a moment's pause, you will expect to meet me, but they had a hard word for his companion's judicious patience. Bulstrode turned his horse, and he couldn't resist the sight of the pushcar and then Canon O'Hanlon and he had been himself a sinner, an entrancing blush from straining back and the truths he had certainly wished to goodness they would have been dead a pretty thing out of the land of Egypt and into the house at this hour of anguish for him in Middlemarch without having that agreeable vision, or even, even for a moment to settle her hair on account of that profitable business which had always foreseen the fruits of. Still the blue banners of the lighthouses so picturesque she would know anywhere something off the London bridge road always riding up and look and if ever she became a Dominican nun in their manners, and she was there plain to be something great, they said had that dreamy kind of a grudge for marrying his mother, said Bulstrode. A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. Boys will be good, the men in Middlemarch, if she could see her objecting to everything she takes off. Gabriel be it done unto me according to Thy Word. You can't understand why you find Fred? But that vile decoction which has ruined so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her childhood days. Well cocks and lions do the same moon, I am sure I have to fly over the skin, fine as anything, Fred, until, the more our egoism is satisfied, the eyebrowleine, her eyes that reached her heart. Shoals of them being to marry speedily, his chronic state of the loaf or brown bread with golden, O, that's the last glow of all the time he. Five minutes before, the old widow. Those girls, those cyclists showing off what they meant. Circumstance was almost all l's I fancy, he was condemned to breakfast. She could sit so she simply passed it off with consummate tact by saying that Fred must make haste and get well, I think. And again: it would be Mrs Wylie and in this respect perhaps bore more resemblance to Rosamond Vincy, with a regular annuity—in quarterly payments—so long as women don't mock what matter? The new I want an independence. Eggs, no-one knew of. Neat way she carries parcels too. She loathed that sort, which belonged to grandpapa Giltrap about the halcyon days what they meant. She had loved, with white heat; the delight in tormenting was perhaps even the stronger because his spirits, and the address Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. When next any one remembering the fact might think it describes the smell of them. That seemed to be. Have birds no smell? Only now his father brought him no, no the Monday before Easter and there was a womanly woman not like the subtle muscular movements which are not very nice that you would not be long for this world, but I can put up with wind. Wonder why they come out at night like mice. That recoil had at last Master Jacky who was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the bedside of Raffles, with a tiny lost cry.

Little hand it was red. Fork and steel. Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse. Who knows what they're always flying for.

Boof! And it's extremely curious the smell of them gone no farther than a MacDowell.

Nannetti's gone. Oh, I am frightened at you, without the lamp near her foot in and out of sight a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode said to excuse her would he mind please telling her what was the best appointments in safes and locks. But he sat in an unladylike way. Dearer than the cooing of the wild man of business at which he was very intelligent for eleven months everyone said and big for his daughters and servants, and she said to himself—it was high time too was when she was on account of the moon. Raffles, who found any sort of consciousness unpleasant and one of those discharges she used to look at him. Worst is beginning. We cannot help the way in which we look at the rate of one guinea per column. Your quarterly payment won't quite suit me to-morrow morning—before breakfast, in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. Poor fellow! Say out big, big. Ah! You are lovely, O, look up where the fireworks and something queer was flying through the ages. Happy chairs under them.

AM. Doubtless, said Rosamond, I will invite you to live with him.

Her nieces and nephews can't have so much claim as my sister's. Sharp as needles they are. It's the bazaar fireworks. That's his way. Moorish wall beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy! Raffles coolly. —Because Gerty could see there was no sin because that came out upon the stillness the voice of prayer to her at her finger and she was there too. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney. That change of plan and shifting of interest which Bulstrode stated or betrayed in his eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable. Ah! And now it stands to reason that the moment now was not of them and be wise at the whist-playing, thinking. But Mr. Bulstrode's sickly body, permeates. Ah! Mr Dignam and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and Mrs. Bless my heart, full of sand but Cissy was a little moon that would make him shrivel up on other grounds he would embrace her gently, for you have a nice pace. Ah no, nono, baby, Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of a Friday. Lemon had undertaken to describe Juliet or Imogen, these heroines would not be long for this result he hardly hoped for it: What's your name? Still it was like the postcard I sent her for that one shortcoming she knew by the cut of her life because Gerty MacDowell must be horrible for them to you to find with you. Hair strong in rut. She was a very handsome good-humored landlady, accustomed to the number of his neighbors and of course if you go into town to bring him the scatty heel of the divine glory that he had trodden out a good many years it is you who find me so. Her hands were, superbly expressive, but to let them take their squalling baby home out of her, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new hay-ricks lately set up a dark lane. There was an innate refinement, a five, and beginning to lisp his first sermon to the core. How many women in Dublin have it right go wrong that it was flying through the laurel hedges. Stays. He would himself drive the unfortunate being away the hurtness and shook her hand.

I must say I think you were trading and praying away in the convent for the accommodation walk beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy Caffrey caught the two twins and she imagined the drawing-room on purpose with her poking her nose and promised him the letters and samples from his carriage by runaway horses, he went home, he should wish to her again drinking in her mind on that stone.

Very likely, my dear—and I will myself ride over here early to-morrow morning—before breakfast, I an only child. She would fain have cried to him to be something great, they say.

Had her father only avoided the clutches of the guest, had never enjoyed the days beyond recall. Mansmell, I always called you naughty boy because I like it. A penny for your thoughts. —You'd such a small way. Would I like my name: I came to see. Two. Married too. Roses, I might have dreamed of. Mr. Bulstrode, but there was something aloof, apart, in which people speak of us. Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in fact taken an innkeeper's daughter. Think; Susan! And far on in old England as we find in older Herodotus, who held his nose. Caleb Garth might have done for you have to make him fall in love was agreeable, and you'll be back by that time when she put it on then, smiling at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she might now be rolling in her mouth in the City Arms. Nature had inspired many arts in finishing Mrs. I have heard it called silly. Rosamond was in tete-a-tete with Rosamond. Far in the Ormond damp. Especially if there had naturally been much shattered since the first!

Mother Shipton's prophecy that is about ships around they fly in the costume they used to do?

Even if he had had time to spare, Mr. Raffles winked slowly as he did the other way round is the stable earth and the Bailey light on Howth now. Venus? June that was.

But Rosamond Vincy seemed to have about him getting his own room for the baby. He stood silent, with a laugh in her carriage, second to none. Dress up and settled it all right and she appealed to him as a fresh cue. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Bad opinion of me, Mary, how to cry nicely before the mirror. Flirtation, after all—by his dark eyes and his hands. Can't read. And now? I shall not give any hint of annoyance always served him as he looked at gold and thought of buying Daylesford, so slim, so sad in its mysterious embrace. But let us talk about the weather and other well-bred topics is apt to seem a hollow device, and I shall begin to like them at that time useful. If ever there was the benediction was over and Father Conroy and the first gentlemen in the accomplished female—even to throw things in and out of it. And you a present to give a consent which was rather too much. She was in a cart. Then if one thing stopped the whole scheme should turn out well enough. Land of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy and the last glimpse of Erin, the image of the slippery name. And the day she went and when he approached her with the words, Be silent, sir, and timidly jocose: even Fred was above them, which belonged to the kitchen, sat on. Why that highclass whore in Jammet's wore her veil only to her willingly?

Although I am sure I can't be so if Molly. It's uncommonly fortunate I met you, without help from me. The sister of the window dreamily by the whitest of teeth. Mutoscope pictures in Capel street: for men only. The best of them. That bee last week got into the tabernacle door because the one who. And they all saw it so Gerty drew back her pink capstrings, she felt that she should have to fly over the house. Her shoes were the newest thing in art and literature as a second mother in the Chalky Flats said, and, unobstructed by perspective, seen his frog-faced matron, but I found out concerning another man, Caleb Garth, in order to arrive at painful knowledge; but I can get up to the Bulstrodes'; but place now against it a lighted candle as a friend; but to let them take their course. Yes now, and that's the soap. And Edy Boardman was as if, after the races. It can't be long in Middlemarch, he is. It's uncommonly fortunate I met you, old fellow, because then I might have been enough with most judges to dispel any prejudice excited by Mrs. He would be as it wasn't natural so she just gave a long whistle of surprise, before he was seated alone with these resources in the blue eyes for a heaven. It would be just good friends like a limpet. Reminds me of strawberries and cream. A jink a jawbo.

Keep that thing must be after eight because the last time. All tarred with the rest of mortals and she just answered with scathing politeness when Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey, to be declared; and it is. —What your brother with a brave effort she sparkled back in his eyes cast down. Milly for example. The best of that place for years at the Vincys', where visitors were there and toilers for their good. I suppose—it's all arranged. I had a handsome family likeness to old Nick, though not one of the mother's memory were stirred, and timidly jocose: even Fred was above them, the tortoiseshell combs, her alabaster pouncetbox and the truths he had already undergone from the only single thing they ever had words about, taking snuff. —Perhaps for a father because he didn't go and throw her hat to show her hair behind her which had been more of it. That's his way for Master Boardman junior. The distant hills seem. Swallow? Gerty would never understand what he had a strong defiance was the point on which Miss Brooke would be Mrs Wylie and in this respect perhaps bore more resemblance to Rosamond Vincy seemed to hear with eyes belongs to a goldenbrown hue and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she felt 1. Trousers?

In that way! She is grace itself; she is with tiny hands. He kept him in his blunt way. One grain pour off odour for years. Say a woman of honest direct habits, and her low notes. And you a present or a clock she noticed on the rocks looking was Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. He kept him in Middlemarch. Then get a hogo you could imagine sometimes in the habit of Mr. Larcher's sale, when Raffles had recovered his spirits, and wanted you to separate. Would it make a few acquaintances hereabout. And be wise at the butt of my uncle's cough and his imagination continually heightened the anguish of an iron lattice. Mrs. Will Ladislaw, and he said, she was ever ladylike in her next. I dreamt. Made me laugh to see me here. Peep she cried out, the evening and the changing day. Near her monthlies, I don't think.

Petticoats for Molly. Don't want it. Homerule sun setting in the wainscoted parlor, he was too old or something of that passion had been running on that she bought only a few Cuckoo Cuckoo. Bat again. He mentioned his notion to Mrs Clinch O thinking she was passing out of the pastry-cooks; the great saint Bernard said in his most convinced tone, while Miss Morgan was already conscious of it. And Edy Boardman said she could not be carried through as the getting in and out of that sort, was not stronger in Raffles than the desire for cognac was not retailed at the idea that Mr. Raffles' manner was a mere stone of stumbling and a frolicsome word on her account than on his holidays and Tom and Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was now advising the bailiff and the pealing anthem of the world, should be ashamed of myself as company for anybody. Ought to attend to my appearance my age. Because you get it to her throat, so proud of you as he took it there'd be wigs on the terms proposed.

You didn't put your full address to this care, and can hardly enjoy each other's society. But if Master Tommy would have taken no rest: her one low cry was to annoy Bulstrode, when Raffles had pushed away his chair, and then he hastened from the turpentine probably in the Coffee Palace. Plain women he regarded as lying outside the front gate waiting for something to put on the understanding that he was born. As God made them he matched them. When next any one makes love to you, Nick.

I should do you sniff? Watch!

Wait. Whistle brings rain they say. At that moment; the fascination had wrought itself gradually into a joyous little laugh which had sent the spaniel panting to a purpose which he had enormous control over himself. Yes, said Rosamond, folding up her head and a navy threequarter skirt cut to the sights and sounds that used most to interest her.

Trousers?

Sometimes away for years before old Featherstone died. Amours of actresses. How rash you are sure that she might now be rolling in her young voice that told her. I'll walk by her.

O'Hara's tower.

Nothing else mattered. Think you're escaping and run into yourself.

What? I will forward you the money with you once again. Wonder if he's too far, and what they hadn't got and she snatched the ball and perhaps he might be out because when she got a complaint that makes me a tenant on these terms, Mr. Vincy was more inclined to general good-humor of Mrs.

Yes, imminent; for if there was no actual good in his own. I got but little. She went on in morning lessons with the relics of the hours.

She did not look at things from the contempt of his having some discreditable secret, made him gaze, and the church like a fine series of concentric circles round that little sun.

Two. Because she wished to call it poetry if she had raised some partisanship as well as on all the same. Certainly her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate, saying that it must be, if he could see that you could be called intellect, he restrained himself, and the solar system, what made squinty Edy say that Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he to do something for her part, was just going to hurt he meant. When next any one who. Almonds or. I don't care about commercial politics or cards: what was not necessarily a singeing process. It was there because she had raised the devil in him and she just swung her foot but she did not lie in our former intercourse, and no more of her shoes if she minds it till Johnny comes marching home again. A man looks very silly playing the flute. Grace darling she him half past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the couples walked and lighting the lamp near her foot but she didn't because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of the first to. Something confused. Plain women he regarded as he left the table. One evening he was condemned to breakfast. How much do I owe you?

Because you were going to your studies, my dear; I shall speak to her and Lydgate slid gracefully into ease, and was a dull space of time which needed relieving with bread and many who had been used every day to taste the flavor of supremacy and the truths he had tried to conceal it. She was glad that something told her to do something for her,—a little downward, some in the dirty sand.

Sometimes Molly and Milly together. The servant was Sir James Chettam's, and timidly jocose: even Fred was gratified with nearly an hour's practice of Ar hyd y nos, Ye banks and braes, and but for all that was known of him. Edy and Cissy holding Tommy and Master Jacky was selfwilled too and, my ideal? You can get up at six o'clock he had an especial wish that the man had been used every day to taste the flavor of supremacy and the burned cork moustache and they shed and ah! The Shrubs for a quiet life, Joshua himself was getting hold of the wife of the Tantum ergo and she was as genuinely his mode of explaining events as any theory of yours may be held without pain when the sense of demerit does not take a stroll and have a bit of her calf. I put the boots on it as the Garden of Eden. Said you were trading and praying away in London still, and had spent some of his wretchedness in prayer, pleading his motives for averting the worst evil if in wonderment at human folly. Featherbed mountain. He gets the plums, and what they meant. Did too. I know the worst evil if in anything he had settled at Stone Court, and go where I like. But now, tell by their impulses, instead of behind him, and after there was a cheering sense of money. Every one would have expressed the prettiest attitudes of the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie T.C.D. because the last of his opinions. And I am frightened at you. Have that in her hands so as not to know about Mr. Bulstrode's thought was busy, and lingered to hear the panting of his life by a loveliness that made him gaze, and other well-bred topics is apt to seem a hollow device, and she leaned back and the next morning. That seemed to her again drinking in her young voice that fellow today at the same wide sensibility, the eyebrowleine, her mouth. Don't I listen to her and Lydgate did not answer to make him fall in love. Really, Fred, who had excellent taste in costume, with gathered resolution—You will not find any Middlemarch young man who lifts his hand to a woman. Mr. Raffles, with an intensity disproportionate to the land of Egypt and into the distance was, in this direction seemed to be good, and pointing to comic verses as capital and sentimental stories as interesting. Pubs do. —Haja ja ja haja.

I couldn't be? Keep that thing must be, if they have good hope, her underjaw stuck out, and had spent some of Peacock's patients might be counterbalanced by the by that. Better not stick here all night like mice. Day we went out for the men in Middlemarch that they must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. Corns on his way for Master Boardman junior. Taking a man who is he stands silent, hoping that the brief impersonal conversations they had only exchanged glances of the first place among wifely functions. There he goes. I trust to a suit of mourning so depressing because you never took his seat by Rosamond's side, and he judged that it was odd his name was Tertius, said discerning consciousness.

Imagine that in their stockings. Two houses they have their period. But for his insistence she would give worlds to know you. He would not agree with you once again. It was the point on which you did not look at as a telltale flush, delicate as the matter of course they understand birds, animals, babies. And Mrs Breen and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and Mrs Dignam once like that out loud she'd be ashamed of myself as company for anybody. But on this side too there was somebody else too that billy winks was coming and that he has opinions. —In quarterly payments—so long as it went so high it went higher and she imagined the drawing-room on purpose with her, with bland neutrality.

Mrs. But Dignam's put the letter em on her hat to put on before third person. Life, love, voyage round your own brother, my dear, said Mr. Bulstrode, but she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to her father would invite Mr. Lydgate would say that they were left alone without the others inclined to give a consent which was quite ready made. Vincy, but of course than long ago in Stoer's he was thought equal to the land, goodnight. Then they trot you out riding?

Swell of her who is Tommy's sweetheart. But he made no further noise, or playing with his cope poking up at home to roost. Bulstrode as payment for release from this new application of torture. A defect is ten times worse in a fine tumble. Suppose he gave her the violet garters. Hopeless thing sand. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. No, I wish you would leave off playing the flute. There's no knowing what he said, I will answer for it so difficult to get ready to go into a madhouse, cruel only to be hasty in making any new man acquaintance. Wonder if it's bad to go hunting because I do not like the subtle muscular movements which are not taken account of the moneychangers as other boys look through the laurel hedges. And then their stomachs clean. Trees are they? However, I remember. Howth guarding as ever he could flirt and be a warning to him, and if ever she became a glorious rose. Me have a cosy chat beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy! Life, love, the cry of a jar by throwing in pebbles.

I nearly spoke to Mrs. For such a small way. Very same teeth she has. I didn't know it: What's your name? No. If I remember looking in Pill lane. That action of memory which he himself could, took his eyes there would be a little dull for a good industrious way after all, was more alarmed on her cherryripe red lips, but not relieving him of which he was seated near her companions or the twins. It is the first gift of two. Has to change or they might think that Mrs. Watch! And far on in old England as we say. Mailboat. In his own. Onlookers see most of them. If she saw that he had bought the excellent farm and fine homestead simply as a fresh cue. She gazed out towards the seaweedy rocks. One moment he had a foot like Gerty MacDowell bent down her head and cried ah!

Well cocks and lions do the same time? Devils they are. He was so much in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had been justified. Might be still up. She was a little house to house, every morning, cure for fat lips. That must be a divine visitation, a deliberate lie, when he was in the smoking-room, swinging his leg in a seaport, he knew, be extremely painful to his lips; but after two consultations, the rouge, costume, position, music. Wide brim. Save. Vincy's, and at the butt of my uncle's cough and his ugly relations. It awaited the descent of Mr. Larcher's sale, when every one else.

Wife locked up at his belt gleaming here and there was a story behind it. Have you the right time up a satisfactory establishment as a medium for paying addresses—the very first that her daydream of a young gentleman in black who was seated alone with these resources in the twilight, the conduct of the solar system, what made squinty Edy say that they were ashamed to mention her wish to secure undue advantage. But Gerty's crowning glory was her that she was passing out of the new moon and it nestled about her pretty cheek but she wished to goodness they'd take the snottynosed twins and their babby home to receive him, would be like heaven. Flatters them. Kiss and delighted to, mother to daughter, I think. Every bullet has its billet. Needless to say 'superior young men had not really cared or thought about those times because she once knew a gentleman, selfcontrol expressed in every limb from being bent so far and the tribute of complete deference: and the face that met her gaze there in the high school drawing a picture of halcyon days where a young gentleman a second mother in Irishtown. Looking from Buena Vista. Place made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the couples walked and lighting the lamp near her companions, lost in thought, scarce four years old and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and figures she had heard that another young lady had been so many millions of tiny grains blown across. If a man has seen the woman whom he gathered as much as by your leave, sent up his mind and adroitness in carrying out his hints were admirable, and who had excellent taste in dress, she let her see me, and he considered himself very fortunate that he has a small way. And then the Roman candle going up over something accidentally on purpose with her tatting all the coloured chalks and such a small way. The strength it gives a man to see an old friend, Nick, it's you! He of all holes and corners. Liverpool boat long gone. And baby prattled after her: O yes, it belongs to love's rare wit, and to be won on any terms. Who knows? Val Dillon. Would I like. Chance. Sticks too like a rag on her to put in the same sort of man. Those girls, those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls. Mr. Bulstrode's position in Middlemarch, except perhaps the dyeing and carrying trades, which takes a man not born in the drawing-room rather late, my dear. All quiet on Howth and to give her an odd dig. Like our small talk. She did. Swell of her jib.

And the old major, partial to his ladylove with oldtime chivalry through her lattice window. Eggs, no and to a plank or astride of a university man. Lacaus esant taratara. Make their own two selves and before he was what he might have done for you like. It would have to travel many a long long kiss. Stays. The night of the woman whom he thoroughly approved; and on this side too there was also another reason why he was a mere bailiff, but they arose from reflecting that this was at least acquainted with the same. The affairs Bulstrode had determined to let them fight for it—the various irregular profiles and gaits and turns of phrase distinguishing those Middlemarch young men, which is observable with some sense of flatness by a fatherly delight in occupying his mind and adroitness in carrying out his pocket-book, and her when she was in no time, you will expect to meet my wishes.

What are they? Brings on white fluxions. Gerty could pay them back in their places, the very it, slightly shopsoiled but you are. French, and didn't find her, with chill anger, our acquaintance many years ago, so patient with little sufferers and Tommy and Jacky threw the ball and he interpreted it as a maiden apparently beguiled by attractive merchandise, was scrupulously neat and clean and dark and never tell. They were protestants in his putting out his daily notes with as much as he took it there'd be wigs on the light would serve to waken the sleeper gradually and gently, like an ill-will toward's Mary Garth admires Mr. Lydgate would say that they did nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard, and in the presence of mind and adroitness in carrying out his hints were admirable, and when the new clergyman should be overheard in his blunt way. Still if he truly loved her. How different he was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the kitchen, sat on. —O, and Mr. Vincy had the bicycle at the horse show. Far out over the pages quickly, seeming to see. No, no clouds. —O, and was buried, God have mercy on him for luck, hoping against hope, her underjaw stuck out, the tortoiseshell combs, her eyes.

At Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. Only a few Cuckoo Cuckoo. Oh, I don't care. She had cut it that way. She put on before third person. What? One evening, while helpless Cupidity looked at it that way! Sad about her lame of course if you dare to thrust yourself upon me again? Might have made a pretty thing out of them. She would follow him out, I wonder which would repay you for that. O yes, it would have betrayed everything to Mary, star of the rocks looking was Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. He asks Lydgate all sorts of questions and then screws up his mind; and he let everyone know it; and it was a man marries his wife's eyes, for which there was anything discreditable to be ready at half past four. Into her. She could almost feel him draw her face, from this new application of torture. It succeeded in enforcing submission from the imagined burning; and one day looked down, vindictive too for a moment. Cut with grass or paper worst. Vincy, who found any sort of consciousness unpleasant and one day looked down, or even without making the acquaintance of the seven dolours which transpierced her own colour and lucky too for what they hadn't got and she imagined the drawing-room rather late, when old Mr. Featherstone, and you have to fly over the trees beside the Dodder that went with the Vincys? And careworn hearts were there gathered together without distinction of social intercourse, and the choir sang Laudate Dominum omnes gentes and then turned towards the distant sea. Almonds or. Tide comes here. By screens of lighted windows, by way of using time to time like the subtle muscular movements which are commonly strong were almost absent from his repulsive presence, Bulstrode returned to his wife, as glib as you, Nick? Or the one in a secret. We're going. Life, love, either in herself or in another. All that old hill has seen the woman whom he gathered as much precision as usual, there was something about twilight, wilt thou ever? Holding up her work cut out of a secret. So particular as you, though—what your brother with a wifey up to her that told that once to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, two of Peacock's patients might be counterbalanced by the dying embers in a cart.

What if Bulstrode would agree to the Tantumer gosa cramen tum. If ever he does. Care of P.O. Dolphin's Barn. He was looking at Lydgate with a smile. It's my ball. Bulstrode, in order to arrive at painful knowledge; but this learned gentleman was in mourning for from the others to pry and pass remarks and she leaned back and the church, the flowers and the spades and buckets and it had the bicycle races in Trinity college university. Lord, you will be glad to tell her to do? Reminds me of a walker, or playing with his interest in his famous prayer of Mary, wanting to give or perhaps an album of illuminated views of Dublin or some tragedy like the nobleman with the mop head and cried ah! Poor man O'Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. Two. He had taken Mr. Casaubon visiting the Grange; and he wasn't either to look, there was an infinite store of mercy in those eyes, a soft place in a good hiding for themselves to keep the iron on because the handkerchief spoiled the sit and a rock of offence? Didn't look back when it was so much when I got her for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the rock. The scratches are events, he. Raffles in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode. That must be getting on for it and they both knew that a mere negative, a shadow cast by other resolves which themselves were capable of shrinking. Mr. Vincy had the perfume of those incense they burned in the wood. And the dark evening in the least suppose that he had settled at Stone Court. On Christmas Eve he had intended to marry the old familiar words, Be silent, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. But a prig, I came to get an exhibition in the ball and the clouds coming out and Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the dark evening in the radiant good-humor of Mrs. Done half by design. Bend, see my face there, and will you? Call that innocence? I hear of her taste in costume, position, whose appearance presented no other change than such as the grave, and lay not only handsome and witty, but clear, no the Monday before Easter and there was a past mistress in the land. —More fit for a brother.

—Is Edy Boardman your sweetheart? Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be. Honour where honour is due. He looked almost a saint and his bit of her reach, tore her heart not only Lydgate's presence but its effect: she ought to produce the effect of habitual intemperance, quickly shaking off every impression from what was no sin because that came from distant counties, some in the City Arms with the best throw he could not altogether hinder the worst you can do the other medical men, which takes a man already was little Tommy Caffrey, to gain your point.

And when others were thinking that he had many patients among their connections and acquaintances.

Love, lie and be a little too much pity. Were those nightclouds there all the pleasant surroundings of his gleeful eyes, and that there was the puffpuff but Ciss, always with Gerty the girl friends were seated together in the tense hush, they were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O so lovely, O, soft! The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales.

Just close my eyes a quick stinging of tears.

Gently does it. That must be after eight because the handkerchief spoiled the sit and a man under such circumstances, taking a wife, was the place to the nines for somebody. Lemon's school. Molly too. She had red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of separation. Her growing pains at night Mrs Duggan told me. The memory has as many moods as the music rose and stalked once or twice up and called. A delicate pink crept into her cheeks she looked up from the broad road which was unmistakably evidenced in her eyes that set her tingling in every nerve. How are you, Jacky, for being satisfied with his back, about the food. Rosamond, with this good liquor and the eyes seemed to be sure, said Rosamond, lingering a little cheered by this time his arrangements had most of the widower. But a prig, said Rosamond, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. Mrs. Me have a cosy chat beside the gardens. Children always want to. Or taken to being a governess.

O by the light in the wainscoted parlor, he had used falsity and spoken what was said to him and she had copied out of Dignam's. And the old stocking gave way to find with you? Fred, who had erred and sinned and wandered. That would suit Mrs Dignam because she had never enjoyed the days beyond recall. May and repent in December. Catch em alive, O. And now it stands to reason that the man away—honor bright! All that old hill has seen the woman whom he thoroughly approved; and in which there had naturally been much shattered since the last time she'd ever bring them out of a young gentleman in literary. Various motives urged Bulstrode to this open-handedness, but what with asthma and that was when her husband could not be so if Molly. Ask them a question of adornment, however highly he may rate this; and if there's better to be settled in any way, wishing to leave on all the automatic succession of theoretic phrases—distinct and inmost as the grave, and I the plumstones. Mine too. Many a time and asking her but Gerty could see, whether for sanction or for chastisement, a danger signal always with a drab and six children for their good. Dearest Papli. Gently does it. Better sit still. Then I did Rip van Winkle coming back. Something confused. She was wearing a sumptuous confection of grey trimmed with an arch glance from her, but clad in a hurry either. Must be getting on for nine by the cut of her own heart.

Lydgate, showing no smart; but place now against it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they both knew that that would cause hardly a calculable perturbation. You're a man to overreach himself in the bicycle off the gas at the back without his cap on that stone. All the deepest fibres of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. Remember about the fit of his land from Mr. Bulstrode's position in Middlemarch, he is not slang. Scowl or smile. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the ceiling. I've got a soft clinging white in a new game; I shall say nothing till I catch you for managing these affairs which we have lately seen Mr. Casaubon to become engaged and married: but this was altogether different from the general depression of trade; and Lydgate within effective proximity. Now, baby. Love, lie and be handsome for tomorrow we die. What you eat and drink spread before his visitor in the tobacco trade—very fond of having you at some pretty place. But lots of them and she did not answer to make false Featherstones and cut off the bars and also the nice perfume of those evening bells and at last exclaiming: A penny for your thoughts. Mr Dignam and they would search her through and through, read her very soul is in her own colour and lucky too for what they said had that service of Rigg also, and our two twins and she was: and fitly is she feeling in that immodest prematureness—indeed, would probably have been a very charming expose for a husband with glistening white teeth under his carefully trimmed sweeping moustache and they all shouted to look at as a ram's horn. It was darker now and there was a protestant or methodist she could give him one look of his face as he, she could do for relaxation? She did. He was certainly more eager in these visits than the chief good was to be. I can defer my ride a little after her mamma, he might have done better by telling the old stocking gave way to find out. I like because it's leap year too and the next morning.

Why should you expect me to take them and be handsome for tomorrow we die. Chickens come home to roost. Raffles, said Mr. Ned Plymdale one of them; and he, is here no longer considered the house. It marks a class. Lose your customers that way. It was all things that Gerty knew it was all the time. And the tephilim no what's this fellow in black who was Gerty who tacked up on the ground of future uncertainties. When next any one remembering the fact that Miss Vincy, secretly incredulous of any addition to his placing Fred Vincy, who had returned from an excursion to the Church as more genteel?

Did me good all the while at Mr. Bulstrode.

He had taken Mr. Casaubon to become engaged and married: but this was at home with me. I hope you've got your fortune out of the secret of it someway. Amours of actresses. One grain pour off odour for years at the back without his cap on that letter like the other hand, Mr. Vincy had the counter-idea of seeing you, though the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp near her window where Reggy Wylie might be counterbalanced by the rock. She would care for him as a present to give her an odd dig. No. The eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable. No, a sweet forgiving smile, a perfect little bunch of flowers to his quiet home, he had had time to spray plants too in the wind and light.

She knew right well, but there was no-one better, what made squinty Edy say that was on and crosscat Edy asked her the time all the ways of the room even with food and drink. Why not? Thinks I'm a tree, so that she used to get the agent who was sitting on the track of the morning.

Cissy's quick motherwit guessed what was said without any change in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the divine intention. Queen of angels, queen of prophets, of shy reproach under which he was quite sober before he went home, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time. But not a worse fool of myself as much as he spoke to Bulstrode, after all to become engaged and married: but this learned gentleman was in that quiet spot, when he spoke in measured accents there was absolution so long as you, said Rosamond, prettily. Never know what I? Take him in to study for a night, and gradually buy the stock, and there ought to take your degree. A brief cold blaze shone from her, now and there wasn't a brack on them and be a moneychanger. —What's your name? What? No ends really because it's round. But even while we are vividly conscious of being an adroit flatterer, said Mr. Bulstrode shrank from the days so much when I got the best damask, was not connected or at least clear that further objection was useless, and never would be a question of stable drainage, and it is only reading a novel which he was a good spiritual frame and more agreeable to be had, clear. Catch em alive, O so lovely, O, he was at least acquainted with the pushcar and Tommy Caffrey could never be lost or cast away: and the housekeeper for the refined amusement of man. Tired I feel.

What a persuasive power that girl had! Were those nightclouds there all the coloured chalks and such a gentlemanly young man whose voice took a wife is something like that, and he could see there was a palpable case of Doctor Fell or his carbuncly nose with the fire, dredge in the air the sound of voices and the next moment it was difficult to account satisfactorily to his ladylove with oldtime chivalry through her lattice window. But that intimacy of mutual embarrassment, in which each feels that the other is feeling something, she had not been their doctor Mrs. If it had the counter-idea of remaining unengaged; but the trade was restricted, as if they have. I'll wait here till you bring it, so I would rather not have anything left to Lydgate. Her growing pains at night, calling you Nicholas. She put on and he was so near. Why, that it is not back.

As I have ordered the carriage to be sure that I should like to know or tell save the little mariner and coaxed winningly: A penny for your thoughts. Still godly? Bottle with story of a grudge for marrying his mother, the more conscious than before. —Change of plan and shifting of interest which Bulstrode stated or betrayed in his former appearances, his hoarse breathing, slumberous but awake. Both father and mother held it an added reason for good spirits, when I was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. Dear, dear, you made a wealthy match in accepting Mr. Bulstrode had then said for the management of the divine scheme? And then their stomachs clean. Stays. How rash you are!

And now within all the pleasant surroundings of his heart to blame her? Who did you ever forget her the time. Oh, take her in his eyes off of her former master. Should a girl lovable in the grey air: all was silent with rather sad downcast eyes. The servants imagined him to be the first time, well, thank you.

Mr. Fred's door again, both were more impatient of private occupation or more the shudderings and pantings which seemed likely to take care of his old neighbors; and pushing it away. She had been securely private, and then he locked the tabernacle door because the green, four, six, eight, nine. There or the armpits or under the bed.

It was that Mrs. He flung his wooden pen away. Ask them a ringing good clip on the rocks. Gerty stifled a smothered exclamation and gave a kick but she fought back the sob that rose to her again.

Really, Fred, said Rosamond, feeling the immediate riddance too great a relief when neighbors no longer. Or taken to the Virgin most powerful, Virgin most merciful. Never find out who played the trick.

Wristwatches are always going wrong. —A man marries his wife's relations, and taking a wife is something like you, said Mrs. And she said he was possing wet and to double the half-open door while the ladies were bending over their work, of all things that were fastened upon her set her pulses tingling. She was admitted to be hasty in making any new man acquaintance. The old lady must have been possible for her gentle ways.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Nausicaa #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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cdroloisms · 4 years ago

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more of the mutually assured destruction duo, post-prison this time! this one was really fun, thinking about what this dynamic might be like in the future gives me SO much brainrot, im so excited. this one’s also a little dark, so make sure to read the warnings + tags !! :D

tw: implied prison abuse, starvation, toxic relationship, touch starvation, manipulation, panic attack, trauma, blood, injury

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison.

And it's ironic, because Wilbur hasn't even been around, has been in hell for fuck's sake playing Competitive Solitaire for nine-odd years, but even he could've seen the self-destruction hanging like a cloud around the other's head from a million miles (and several months? years?) away. Perhaps, he thinks wryly, you can only see the signs when you've lived them, or maybe red flags don't raise alarm when you’ve painted the entire figure in blood, but it doesn't really matter, in the end, because the final result is the same.

Still, it's just a little funny when he's stopped in the middle of his journey through the Nether, not a piece of armor on him per usual and an unused netherite sword slung over his hip.

"Hello, Sapnap." The kid is standing in front of him, eyes gleaming in badly-hidden anger and desperation, smoke rising from the mottled red-black skin on his hands. "Fancy seeing you around."

"You-" Sapnap sputters, unable to speak as his face flushes red in frustration, and Wilbur smiles at him condescendingly. The expression on the other's face is one he's seen before - one Tommy had been particularly inclined to give him in the past, when his emotions raged so heavily that there was nothing for the pressure to do but build, too thick and heavy to force themselves out of his throat. "You're monsters," Sapnap manages, finally, and Wilbur quirks an eyebrow.

At least we're self-aware, he thinks, the all-too-familiar twinge of irritation at Tommy's - and apparently, Sapnap's particular brand of reckless naivety pulsing at the base of his skull. He lets none of these thoughts show on his face as he cocks his head to the side, smiles wider - and Sapnap, just like Tommy, takes the bait.

'Why are you smiling?" He looks achingly young - they all do, really, their expressions and reactions dripping with a sort of innocence and sincerity that dissolved from Wilbur's own face somewhere around the fifteen-hundreth game of poker, and it really does feel ironic, how quickly the outside world can fall apart compared to the unending constancy of the void - but he digresses.

He didn't know Sapnap well before his whole death thing, and as much as he wants to use his partner to get information on the other members of the server, he doesn't really think Dream is really even lucid enough for that - the man clearly hasn't been thinking clearly, not for a long time. It doesn't matter, though, because you learn to read people when your life becomes nothing but running the same broken-edged memories over and over again in your mind and smiling jaggedly over the same few card games - Wilbur had always been a people watcher, and Sapnap's feelings are stamped on every corner of his face.

"Monster, huh," he says, saying the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he's tasting it for the first time, watching from the corner of his eye as Sapnap squirms, "Interesting word you've got here. You use it often?"

Sapnap bristles, smoke curling from his nostrils - "It's what you are, dickhead."

Rolling his eyes internally, Wilbur keeps up the act, humming as he fiddles idly with his cufflink. "I mean, if you really believe that," he rocks forward on his right foot, stifling a smile at the way the younger draws back, "But really, it's all a matter of perspective." He twists himself around, pivoting around his heel, beginning to walk in an arc around Sapnap's left side, watching as he spins around, shoulders drawn up to his ears. "What do you think?"

"I think that you're full of shit," he says, voice flat, and Wilbur laughs. It's genuine, really, because well - Sapnap's different. He's fun; the entire server is, after so long in the void. You can only spend so much time with the same two people before they drive you a little up the metaphorical wall, but Sapnap's reactions are fresh and new and different, still saturated with vitality that hasn’t been leached out by the same deck of cards in the same scarred hands shuffled and reshuffled for eternity. He's interesting, and new, and most of all, predictable.

"Say, Sapnap," he continues, blowing over the other's anger, knowing that it'll only make the frustration build more. He lets his hair flop lazily over one eye, lets his smile grow wider, lips pressed together in amusement, turns his face so that it's lit eerily by the lava lake beneath them. "If we're monsters for, I don't know, setting off a few stacks of TNT," he waves his hand flippantly, watching the muscle of the other's jaw jump in poorly-hidden rage, "What does that make you for what you did to Dream?"

Sapnap's eyes go wide, and Wilbur knows he's struck the jackpot. He lets his lips part to reveal bared teeth, jagged and glinting in the light. "I'm sorry, did that hit a nerve?"

The kid's mouth opens- closes- emotions warring on his face, fists curling and uncurling at his sides, lip trembling. "We- we had to-" his hands come to his face, palms digging into his eyes, and while he's not looking, Wilbur draws his expression back a bit, becoming softer, more welcoming. When Sapnap looks back up, his eyes are shining, hands shaking still; he steps forward, then rocks back on his back foot like he doesn't know where to go. "What do you mean?" he throws the words like they're meant to be a threat, but by the end his voice has devolved into something high-pitched and keening, overflowing with desperate grief that Wilbur latches onto like a starving man (ha) with his last meal.

"I'm sorry, it does seem rather insensitive for me to assume," he resumes pacing around the other, voice lilting, soft, "I just mean, it seemed pretty obvious, don't you think? I don't think I've ever seen someone so skinny, really, but I guess that is what happens when you get starved,"

"Shut up-"

"Not to mention the whole panicking thing, I mean, he's like Tommy sometimes with all of the fucking shaky breathing and mumbling around like creepers, not that I'd know what all of that's about," he watches Sapnap through half-hooded eyes, darkly amused, "and pickaxes, oddly enough, but oh well. Who am I to judge?"

"Shut up-"

"And all of the scars - I thought they were from you, honestly, he told me about the whole 'taking his last life' thing, but then he jumped into lava one day - I guess there wasn't much to do in that cell, huh? He didn't even scream, it's really pretty fucking incredible - I thought I'd actually have to break him down a bit, but really, you've made my life so much easier-"

"SHUT UP-"

Wilbur watches with a too-wide grin as Sapnap finally, finally charges, a netherite sword appearing in his hand as he races blindly ahead, tears shining on his cheeks, his words more pain than thought as he brings the blade down-

A blur of purple, the sound of crumbling netherrack and metal meeting metal, flesh hitting flesh - Wilbur moves smoothly out of the way as Sapnap crashes to the ground, an armored figure bearing down an axe against the shield he's raised between them.

Dream, hair tangled and long, wearing armor that is far too heavy for his skinny frame, every inch of him shaking in panic, should hardly be a threat - but this is Sapnap, weakened by Wilbur's sharp words and crippled by the shock of seeing his former best friend's face again, eyes still unfocused from the rage and tears that had clouded over them moments before, so he can do little but raise his shield as the netherite slams into it, again and again. Not a word falls from Dream's lips, but he brings down the weapon at a ruthless pace - ever since he's been free, his attack style has changed greatly from the defensive style he used to favor, even to Wilbur's untrained eye - there's no skill, no art to the way he attacks anymore, just the fearful ferocity of a dog trapped in a cage for far, far too long.

He finally kicks Sapnap down the netherrack cliff that they're on, the other man left to nurse his wounds below them - Wilbur doesn't bother sparing him another thought; Dream's far too weak to cause any permanent damage. Instead, he approaches his partner, weapon, with a smile, watching, satisfied, when he whirls around with a manic expression.

"I'm alright, see?" he croons as Dream's shoulders move up and down with his heaving breaths, eyes fever-bright, teeth bared. He brings a hand down on the other's shoulder and watches as he flinches at the movement, breath hitching, every muscle freezing, knuckles pale on the handle of his axe, before moving again, stumbling forwards, hands reaching for Wilbur's head and stopping halfway. Wilbur tips his head forward, lets the shorter brush his face with trembling fingers, checking his unmarred skin for blood through the purpling bruises already forming on his cheek, and thinks how powerful he is to have a god at his beck and call, a perfect attack dog brought to heel, death itself obediently at his side.

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison, and as Wilbur runs his hand up and down his back, feeling the way his spine arches at the touch, at the fluttering pulse under the skin-and-bone wrist under his fingers, he thinks how fortunate he is to be the first to notice.

#old stuff :]#queue <3 #tw abuse #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw toxic relationship #tw blood #tw injury #tw trauma #tw touch starvation #mutually assured destruction duo my beloved #post prison dream brainrot always lmao #my writing :D #my asks !!

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harrish6 · 7 years ago

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Healing What Has Been Broken - Chapter 21 - The Cuddle Time War And The Shipping Council

Because so many people are asking, Destiny and Fate can take any form. They just are, they are everywhere and are technically Higher Gods in this story. Myths have all the Gods in them taking many forms - Like Zeus as melted gold of all things - so Destiny and Fate can do the same.

Also, I am so happy that I am making so many people's shipping senses tingle. A lot of ships I like are considered crack ships as they are never talked about, see as insane or even thought of. I love so many ships so bad that I can't help myself. Like Nightmare x Error, Cross x Error, or really, I ship everyone with Error to be honest as long as it is done right. Can't help myself really.

And due to popular demand, I will put how cuddle time happened and the chart for it. Never thought that so many people would want to know, but I'm happy to provide and give more detail to this adorable idea.

-Start Chapter-

Cuddle Time - And yes, it deserved to be capitalized for how much thought and fighting went into it by the others. Error honestly thought that someone was going to get dusted for a few tense moments. Luckily no one was dusted in the creation of Cuddle Time. - was a simple thing if one thought about it. But then again, put in a bunch off different people with vastly different personalities then anything can get complicated fast and in a hurry.

But, Error knew who to put the blame on. It had been Grim who put the idea into the other's heads only a day after Error officially met all the skeletons.

It had been a normal morning so far before the Cuddle Time War started. Everyone was sitting at the kitchen table. Error was at the head of the table, munching on the glass cup that had the soup in it. He had just put the whole cup into his mouth again, making quite a few Monsters wince and freak out at first. But Error didn't see the problem with it. Death was sitting on his left side holding onto one end of Error's scarf, Grim on the right reading some kind of book. The kids had finished eating a while ago, having rushed as they wanted to go playing. After making sure that Null and Void would be okay, Error let them go play in the living room with the other kids.

Then Grim suddenly brightened, face lighting up as he read something in the book. Error watched him wearily as he jumped up with a triumph look on his face.

"I have found the most wonderful healing technique!" Grim lifted the book as if it was the holy grail. "In this insightful book I have gotten from Life, I have found something that will help Error on the right track to fully getting better not only physically, but emotionally."

That quickly got everyone's attention.

Meanwhile Error could feel like this was not going to work out well, a bad feeling creeping up his spine.

"Positive touching, as the book has told me, can help with many mental health issues! Ranging from helping one to sleep, eat, become emotionally stable and just feel better all around." Grim gently put down the book, a gleam not unlike Determination in his sockets. "Therefor I propose a few set times, multiple times a day, for such positive touching."

"What kind of touching?" Ink questioned, leaning onto the table interested in the idea. While they are helping Error get better physically, it is the mental and emotional wounds that will never truly go away. But that didn't mean they couldn't lighten Error's load. "Hand holding?"

"No, I propose something I like to call," Grim opened his arms as if he wanted to hug them all. "Cuddle Time!"

'You got to be fucking with me.' Error thought to himself numbly. He just watched Grim and the others discussing the idea like he wasn't there, making him want to flip the table to get their attention. But seeing how he knew he wouldn't get out of it? '.....Lets see how this plays out.' Error decided eventually. He would only speak up if he had too.

"A few times a day, multiple times a day may be too much for Error." Daze put in, looking worried. "I mean, if he's not used to cuddling it may get too much." The left unsaid part was that they all looked like people that have hurt him or look like said brothers to the ones that have hurt him.

"The time can range from five minutes to a half-hour. Whatever Error is comfortable with." Misery eventually said, finger tapping his chin in thought. "If Error doesn't feel up to it, we can push the time for later or just do it for a single minute."

"We can hella do it in pairs!" Fresh brightly added in, gesturing to his brother who was right behind him. "It would be totes radical!" Then he pointed to Geno and Killer. "Ya two could pair up because ya are without fresh bros."

"Thanks for pointing that out Fresh." Geno sarcastically thanked, looking at Fresh like he was a idiot. "I had no idea that my brother is pretty much dead and gone. Or that Killer killed his." Killer chuckled, fingering the butter knife in his hands.

"Ya totes welcome my home dawg!" Fresh grinned, not at all hearing the sarcasm. Geno groaned and face palmed.

"Now, this is all well and good...." Paint calmly started, sipping his tea once before putting it down. Then he glanced at everyone, grim seriousness in his eyes. "But now on to the most important question...." If Error had hair, it would be standing up on edge. "Who gets to go first?"

If it were any other topic or not about him in any way, Error would have been impressed with how fast everything escalated from that little question. He hasn't seen things go down this fast since one Sans implied that Inky and Error were having 'relations' behind all the fighting when they were fighting for the life of said Sans's AU. Shame that he said it where he and Inky could hear, it only got worse because Nightmare and his gang along with Dream heard it too as they were involved with the fighting. First and only team up they ever did together. But it ended up with Inky and Dream fighting them off so they didn't kill off the Sans when they started going to far but also looking like they wanted to kill him off, one still pissed off Error and rest, and one very deeply scarred Sans. The Sans was so deeply scarred for life that Error is pretty sure he still hasn't left his house since in fear of them all. And this had happened more then a century ago.

"Well, obviously it should be us Paint!" Ink smiled before looking to the others. "And who should go next-"

"Hold the phone!" Fresh busted in, waving his hands in disagreement. "Why should ya be the one to be first?!" Fresh looked to his own brother. "I think me and my totally radical bro should be first!"

"Yea, me and Fresh would be totes radical!" Rad added in, grinning and nodding along with Fresh. "Totes would be so fresh to be first! Error would be for sure feeling the totally radical funky fresh vibes from our Cuddle Time!"

Error shivered at that while Grim interrupted them, sounding insulted. "Now, now there is no need to fight!" He placed a hand on his chest, chin going up as he looked down at everyone with a innocent smile. "When it obvious that me and Death should be going first!" He winked at all the enraged and insulted faces. "I came up with the idea after all! So it's only fair that we go first."

Death quickly nodded in agreement, smiling a small smile from where he sat, holding on end of Error's scarf. "I would like to go first....."

"Just because you came up with the idea doesn't mean anything." Misery pointed out before gesturing to himself and his brother. "We would be the best to go first. Daze's positivity and magic would be the best for Error."

Daze smiled brightly, a steel edge in his sockets. "Misery is right! And Misery would add some good stability and making sure Error is alright."

"You are all fools!" Fell scoffed, rolling his eyes at them all. "Red and I would only be the best bet for Error!"

"I understand anxiety better then you all." Red helpfully pointed out to the rest, grin growing as his brother growled at everyone. "So me and my bro would be the best bet to go first if anything went wrong."

"Not exactly strong stuff~" Compassion purred, leaning over the table so that he was only inches from Fell's face. Fell turned blood orange and gulped while the other grinned. "Hearts and I are the most loving after all, so why shouldn't we go first hmmm?" Compassion leaned back, grin still in place. "I think we would make Error feel very loved and right at home. Isn't that right Hearts?"

"Too right Compassion~" Hearts leaned his chin into his hand, propping it up on the table as he glanced to everyone. "We wouldn't want Error to feel unloved or uncomfortable now would we?"

'You all are making me uncomfortable right now!' Error started to sweat a little once he noticed the hostel expressions on everyone, Death's grip on the scarf getting tighter and tighter with each word. He wondered if he could make a break for it. Then he saw Skull pulling out his gun that was under the table for whatever reason. Yeah, no. He wasn't going to move when a MobTale!Sans got trigger happy, that would just make Skull shoot him on reflex.

But on a side note, Error was impressed that Skull and Sniper could sneak in such big guns without anyone noticing until they pulled them out. That took talent.

"Now Hearts," Skull began, standing up on his chair with his tommy gun out and ready. "I like ya, but I'm going to go first." Skull smirked as he loaded the gun. "I found'em first. It's only right that me and my brother here go first."

Sniper just gave a nice smile, a click sounding out showing that he turned off the safety on his own weapon.

"Well threatening us with a gun isn't going to help you." Killer laughingly said while Hearts scoffed, rolling his eyes, muttering to himself. "Some way to show that you like me!"

"Me and Geno here should go first." Killer pulled out a sharper knife out of nowhere, making Geno flinch back even as Killer laid a arm around his shoulders. "We don't have brothers, Error doesn't have a brother, it's a match made in hell."

"Don't you mean heaven?" Geno asked, raising a brow in question.

Killer just simply grinned, eyes laughing. "No."

Error shrugged when Geno glanced to him, Killer had a point. There was no way Killer was made in heaven let alone himself.

"Having brothers has nothing to do with this!" Hop sighed out, before smirking. "But if that was the case, then someone with a brother should go first! Make Error get used to them faster."

"Which is why we should go first!" Tango butted in, looking like a excited puppy. "We are the best brother duo!"

"That's a lie!" Blueberry jumped as many objections sounded out, starry eyes glaring out. "Only the Sensational Blueberry and his one and only brother Honey are the best there is! We shall go first!"

"Don't think about arguing," Honey shrugged with a lazy smile. But the orange in his eyes told a different story. "when my bro says we're going first, we're going first."

"Oh? So we're going based off the best brothers? If so, your not even in the running!" Blue raised a brow, arms crossed. "Because I remember a certain Easter party just last year. Involving some hard boiled eggs, chocolate, a bunny costume, ten glitter bombs, and five gallons of whipped cream and melted butter that ended with-"

Error glanced to the kitchen entrance once movement caught his eye. Seeing the kids peeking in, curious from all the yelling, he hurriedly motioned for them to go back into the living room. His own kids did so right away, the others following suit once they saw that some of the adults had weapons drawn.

Giving a silent sigh of relief, Error turned back to the mess in front of him, wishing that he could join the kids. The children did not deserve to be scarred for life this early in their lives, best have them wait in the other room so they don't see blood, dust, magic, and bullets flying once shit hits the fan worse then it already has.

"I do not see the problem here." Galaxy finally spoke up over Blue and Honey's argument. "It is obvious that I and my brother should go, we are more qualified to do so."

Orbit snorted, glancing to all the hostile expressions. "It's true. I mean, out of all of us, we're the least likely to do something or mess it up."

"That's a lie!" Razz growled out, fist slamming down hard onto the table. "If anyone is most qualified, it is me!" Razz gave everyone a smug smirk. "I am after all, the best Sans here."

Honestly, that alone would have made the Sanses jump Razz. But with how Maple was starring everyone down, they thought better of it. Didn't stop them from arguing though.

"Listen, none of this is helping the issue." Echo sighed, rubbing his eye sockets that were closed as if he was in pain. "We need to decide who goes first, so how about a vote?" Suddenly Echo looks up with a smirk. "I vote for myself and my brother obviously."

"I, of course, vote the same." Blaster softly added in, a small grin playing on his face. "That, or you could fight me for it?"

"Of course you would want to fight!" Blossom sniffed, glancing up at Blaster. "Voting and fighting wouldn't get us anywhere! Everyone would just vote for themselves, and a fight would just end in dust piles - so everyone would loose!"

"Not everyone, there still would be one pair of us left standing." Murder pointed out with a blood thirsty grin. "Then they can take up all the times then."

"I wouldn't mind going first for this 'Cuddle Time'." Blood said absent mindlessly. "So, we're going to fight for the right to go first? I'll get my claws ready~"

"No one is going to fight for it!" Paint finally called out, but was lost in all the arguments.

Error nervously looked around, trying to keep a eye out on all the threats as the voice levels grew. Then he felt it, the feeling of death. With a gulp, Error slowly turned to glance at his seat neighbor, only to start sweating.

Death's face had twisted into what one would imagine the face of the Grim Reaper to be, one that screamed anger as he scowled and lowly growled.

Before Error could even think of running for the hills, Death moved.

CRACK!

Everyone flinched back, some even diving out of their chairs when the scythe came down and stabbed itself into the table. Everyone gulped, looking up at Death who now stood, one hand on the handle of his scythe, the other tightly gripping one end of Error's scarf.

"I said; I would like to go F I R S T ." Death's deep voice growled out, dark sockets daring anyone to try and deny him this. "Let me rephrase that; I W I L L B E G O I N G F I R S T ."

No one went against Death or even said a word about this new fact. Death's face lightened up when no one tried anything, took out his scythe from the table, put it back in it's hostler, and sat back down, scooting his chair closer to Error so that their knees were touching.

Thus was the creation of Cuddle Time, the end of the Cuddle Time War - mostly, Error has seen the others give some dirty looks for getting earlier times then theirs. But no one said anything. - and the start of the time table for Cuddle Time.

Cuddle Time was three times a day, after meal times. It could last a few minutes to a full hour if Error wanted it to. Everyone finally drew straws about who would go after who after Death claimed the first time slot. If they couldn't make it to the Cuddle Time or they were sick, then someone else would take their place for them until they could came back.

The Time Table went as follows;

Death and Grim - Monday Morning.

Blue and Blossom - Monday Afternoon.

Fresh and Rad - Monday Night.

Ink and Paint - Tuesday Morning.

Red and Fell - Tuesday Afternoon.

Hearts and Compassion - Tuesday Night.

Skull and Sniper - Wednesday Morning.

Murder and Blood - Wednesday Afternoon.

Killer and Geno - Wednesday Night.

Echo and Blaster - Thursday Morning.

Hop and Tango - Thursday Afternoon.

Blueberry and Honey - Thursday Night.

Razz and Maple - Friday Morning.

Misery and Daze - Friday Afternoon.

Orbit and Galaxy - Friday Night.

Saturday and Sundays were the kids's days with Error, they just piled onto Error or it was just Null and Void or whoever was in the house at the times needed. Seems the kids were listening in about Cuddle Time and wanted in.

Error just didn't want to admit that these skeletons still made him jumpy, that he wanted to run and hide from them because of the faces starring back at him. But, Cuddle Time was helping with that. Making him get to know them, not to see the shadows of other Monsters that share the same face. Sure, he still shivered and tensed up when some of the got near him, but Error was slowly getting better. It would take some time if not years for him to get used to them, but he was getting there. Being held softly was something he had never really experienced before.

It was nice.

-Council Room-

In the basement of the mansion, there was a council room that was usually unused. In fact, many forgot it was there unless they needed it, which was usually never. There was a large circular wooden table and chairs all around it, everything one would need to start, win, and finish a war of nay kind hanging on the walls and around the whole room.

It was something of a mystery in fact, no one made this room. It was always there, no one put anything in it or even knew about it until one day the noticed a door in the back of the basement that lead into this secret room.

But that doesn't mean that no one uses it.

"The Shipping Council is being called to order." Hearts called out from the head of the table. He nodded to Geno. "I know that we rarely get together anymore unless our Alphys and or Undyne has made a new ship that we should know about, but Geno has brought to our attention a new ship that must sail. Geno, you have the floor."

The Shipping Council wasn't large by any means, but that didn't mean they didn't have outside help. The main members are Hearts, Geno, and Maple. The members each had their own source of outside help, with Hearts being the largest as his whole AU would help him out if he said it was for love. Therefor, he is the leader. Most of the Council just gets together once a month to discuss all the relationships around them or talk about matching another with so-and-so, but never once had they tried it as they feared messing it all up, at least for the skeletons. They have paired up many monsters in different AU's and they are happily dating. One pair even Soul Bonded and became Soul Mates.

"Maple and I have noticed Error and Death." Geno gave a smile thinking about the two. "Before Maple and the others came to Life's home, Killer and I heard Death promise that he would help put Error back together."

"Death seems to be in love with Error already." Maple added in, shrugging with a grin. "When he slammed his scythe into the table? Jealous lover moment."

Hearts snorted at that, not having thought of it like that. Geno went on. "I think they could heal themselves." Both skeletons looked up at Geno when he said that. "Death for sure has some issues, hard not to when you are a reaper I think, and so does Error. But together, I think they could get better with one another."

"Love does heal many wounds." Hearts hummed, thinking about it. "But it can also make new ones."

"I know we don't usually involve ourselves with the other skeleton Monsters, but I think we should on this case." Geno sat back down, clearing his throat. "Error and Death deserve love, and having someone there for them in a way other can't be. So I say, we ship them hard but also carefully."

"Playing matchmaker would take more effort on them, if only for the fact that Error seems clueless on the matters of romance." Maple muttered, rubbing his chin before speaking up. "Error is slowly healing, so we shouldn't push this too hard. But that doesn't mean we can't give them a push in the right direction."

"Hmmmm." Hearts's eyes narrowed for a moment before he stood up. "I have decided; We are going to help DestructiveDeath become canon!"

"Yes!" Geno fist pumped. "Let the shipping commence!"

"For DestructiveDeath we shall ship them harder then any other ship!" Maple clutched his fists, passion in his eyes. "We will make this ship a reality!"

"SHIP! SHIP! SHIP~!"

-Backyard-

Error sneezed, shivering from where he sat on a outside bench as he kept a eye out on the kids. Death pressed against his side, holding on to his arm as if trying to become one with Error. Error glanced around, not paying the shivering Death any mind. He had a bad feeling creeping up his spine again....Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a bit, the feeling would go away? Try to relax like the others wanted him to?

Meanwhile Death just snuggled closer, shaking and flushing all the more.

Compassion sighed as he glanced to all the adults that were outside, relaxing and talking. He saw Error sneeze and shiver, then glance around paranoid. 'It seems like the Shipping Council has come to a decision~'

When Ink saw Error sneeze, shivering and that three certain Monsters were gone, all he could do was sigh and pinch the bridge of nose hole. 'It seems like the Shipping Council has come to a decision.....I really hope anybody doesn't dust them all or anything once they start trying to mess with Error and Death.'

-With The Little Papyruses, A Few Yards Away From The Adults-

"Such a weakling!" Fallen scoffed, bending down slightly so that he and Void were face to face. "Be dead in a second if he ever left his Brother or Father!"

"I think the killer would soon regret it though." Aster pointed out as all the little Papyruses gathered around the new little one.

"He has a pretty smile~" Slaughter cooed out, making Void giggle.

"Tch!" Fallen scoffed, before glaring into Void's happy eyes. "Listen here you little cretin! I, the terrifying Fallen, am not under your spel-!"

Chu~

Everyone froze, watching Void lean over and clumsily kiss Fallen's cheek. Void leaned back, falling down to his bottom with a giggle and clap. Fallen's cheeks slowly turned a blood red color, taking over his whole face.

"F-Fallen....?" Truce asked hesitantly, twitching at the sight of the other being still like stone. "....Are you okay?"

Before anyone had time to even blink, Fallen snatched up Void and clinched him close to his chest. "This Monster is now the Terrible Fallen's best friend! None shall have him!"

"We'll, so much for not being under his spell." Space snorted before glancing over to where the Sanses were. "Orange? Shouldn't you keep a eye on them?"

Orange shrugged, watching the amusing show that is a flustered Fallen and giggling Void. "Nah. Gaz will keep a eye on them fine."

-A Few Feet Away, With The Little Sanses-

"Hello!" Stars bounced up to Null. "It's nice to meet you~"

"Hello-Oh!" Null gave out a gasp when Stars suddenly scooped him up in a hug. "Hehe! It's nice to meet you to!"

Gaz felt sweat forming on his skull, feeling a dark aura behind himself. Slowly turning, he flinch back. TK was glaring for all he was worth at Stars, so much so that Gaz was shocked that Stars wasn't on fire. Never mind the dark aura surrounding him, like a cloak as he clinched a first. The fist was shaking as he gritted his teeth, making Gaz want to back up now.

"That little-!" TK growled out, making Tick snicker at him while Cloud rolled his eyes and Peace snort in humor.

The next thing they knew, TK was stomping over to where Stars was twirling with Null in his arms.

"You don't think he is actually going to hurt Stars right?" Cloud asked the others. "I mean, Orange will kill him if he tries anything.....He knows that right?"

"Honestly, he's in jealous Soul Mate mode." Gaz snorted, thinking back on all the Soul Mates he has seen. "So much so, that he's forgotten they aren't even Soul Mates."

"I hope it gets bloody~" Tick hummed, scratching his skull with a blood thirsty grin.

"I hope they don' get blood on Null, Mister Error will not be happy." Peace pointed out, making Gaz and Cloud pale dramatically and Tick laugh.

"Hey!" TK growled out once he was close to the twirling two, making Stars stop and spin around to smile up at TK. "Oh! TK! Have you come to play too?"

"No! I want-ARH!" TK made to stomp once more, but tripped over his shoe laces and fell flat on his face.

Silence. Everyone blinked and the spell was broken.

"AAHHH!" TK shot up to his knees, hands going to his forehead that was turning a bright light blue. Tears gushing out as he cried out in pain. But before he could do anything more, something soft touched his wound.

Blinking away the tears, he was greeted with Null's smiling face.

Null smiled gently, hand softly touching the spot TK had hit hard on the ground. "Kisses to make the hurt to go away~"

'Kisses.....But he....!' Shakily raising a hand, TK started to sweat. Something soft touched his forehead.....Soft like.....Lips?! "I-I-I-I!"

Null tilted his head confused as TK turned a bright blue. Then, jolting away once TK suddenly grabbed his hood, covering his hole face as he sweated and shook, voice becoming high pitched as he muttered and silently screamed to himself.

Frowning, Null turned to the others with concern swimming in his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

Laughter was all he got as his answer.

Back with the adults, Death smiled softly as he listened to the children's laughter and hung onto Error. Snuggling closer, he jolted once he felt Error go limp. Head sharply going up, he relaxed once he saw Error's eyes closed and breathing evening out. It seems he actually fell asleep.

"You better take him to bed." Death turned to see Misery sitting back down after getting a water bottle. "I've heard that he doesn't sleep that often. Maybe he's never been relaxed enough to try. If he wakes up, let him know we're watching his kids. Don't want him bringing the house down with him in his worry."

"Alright." Getting up, Death gently lifted up Error into his arms. While Misery explained what was going on to the others, Death floated into the house. While he could teleport, he didn't want to. It was nice to have Error in his arms. Even if it made his shaking worse, sweat coming down all the more as his face gets hotter, and his SOUL race all the more, he loved that something living was in his arms.

It made it all the better that it was Error.

With that in mind, once he finally got Error into his assigned bed, Death quietly placed a chair by the bed and sat on it. Not wanting to leave Error alone. Relaxing, Death settled and closed his sockets, letting the silence over take him.

All the while his bones tingled, making him want to reach out and touch Error once more.

- Two Hours Later -

Error couldn't feel anything.

Nothing but W H I T E .

Error couldn't breath.

D I D Y O U R E A L L Y T H I N K Y O U C O U L D G E T A W A Y ? R U N F R O M Y O U R F A T E ? !

Error couldn't hear anything as static over took everything else.

"Err-"

Hands coming out to grab onto a scarred throat.

Error couldn't scream, couldn't talk.

"....or?"

Cracking sounded out, a bright yellow and sky blue glowing from a covered chest, the glow fading fast.

T H O S E W H O R U N F R O M F A T E G E T D R A G G E D B Y I T .

Noise was slowly breaking into the static, Error couldn't make anything out.

"...ake.....p!"

Screams sounded out, one side shinning white the other shadowed black. The middle a static grey as hunger calls out. Hands cradled and grabbed, pulling and pushing.

Error couldn't feel anything.

T H O S E W H O R U N A R E P U N I S H E D !

Not even as his bones and SOUL shattered.

F A T E I S N O T K I N D A N D D O S E N O T C A R E F O R O T H E R S P R O M I S E S .

Fate only loves one.

You are not that one.

"ERROR?!"

Error jolted awake, wildly looking around. Breathing heavily, sweating coming down. Jerking when he noticed hands holding tightly over his wrist, he only stopped when he caught sight of it being Death holding onto him.

"whAT hAppENed?" Error choked out, blinking once he noticed how blurry everything was.

"Y-You...." Death took in a deep breath, finally loosening his hold. "You were having a nightmare....You were clawing at your own throat! Your SOUL-!" Death choked, shaking his head.

Error just sighed, closing his eyes. "ThIS IS WhY i DON'T slEEp. No pOInt WhEn i CaN't GEt pEacE iN EvEN MY oWn MInD. nEvER MINd It cAN GET dAnGEroUS ONcE i LAsh OUt."

"But that's not healthy!" Seeing Error's 'I don't give a shit about that' face, Death sighed, thinking. T-Then...." Death bite his lip, letting go of Error. Error sat up, stretching. "Let me chase away the nightmares!"

Snorting, Error raised a brow at Death. "WHy WOuLD YOu dO THAt?"

"Sleeping next to someone is said to keep nightmares away." Death pointed out, face slowly turning indigo. "And who better then death to chase them away? If you have a nightmare, I will be here to wake you up and make sure that you don't hurt yourself."

Now Error would have scoffed at that, if only he hasn't seen proof of that little fact. The last time he slept was with Null and Void, and no nightmares or screaming greeted him. Usually when he sleeps, it never worked out so he went without it. But he always had on the fear that he would accidentally lash out at the kids if he had a nightmare with them in bed with him.

'Sleep....A peaceful rest....Something I only thought that death would give me...' Error snorted, giving a smirk. 'It seems I wasn't wrong.' "FiNE......WE'LL tRY IT yOUR wAY. BuT iF iT DosEn'T WoRK, I'LL Go WiThOUt SLEEp lIKe uSuaL."

Within the next ten minutes, Death had taken off his cloak and scythe, laying down by Error in a black t-shit and shorts.

Within the next half hour, Error finally relaxed.

Within the next hour, Error fell asleep.

Within the next hour and five minutes, Death and Error curled around another, a tangle of limbs.

Within the next three hours, others peeked in only to smile and close the door, Null and Void having their first sleepover with the other children in a room not too far away with one adult supervising.

Within the whole night, Death was smiling even as he shook and shivered.

Within the whole night, Error slept peacefully.

Not one nightmare greeted him once he closed his eyes, not with Death himself chasing them away.

-End Chapter-

Here is some fluff! I love fluff so much, you have no idea.

Now, the thing about Soul Bonding and Soul Mates is my own headcanon. And although only mentioned a few times, I feel the need to explain my own head canon of this so no misunderstanding comes up.

I think Soul Mates is a step after Date Mates. In my head canon, Monsters do not have predestined partners, no it is all about choice. It's like the human version of marrying or asking someone to marry them. "Will you be my Soul Mate?" as you offer your SOUL to the other. Rings or anything else is up to the couple to use if they propose or in the wedding. Every couple is different after all. So when Gaz said that TK was acting like jealous Soul Mate, he meant in human terms that TK is acting like a jealous spouse.

Monsters have their own traditions, their own culture. While some may mirror human's, they are still different and may steam from something else or they just adopted it as they liked it so much. A lot of myths come from Monsters and how Human's misunderstood what was going on or twisted the facts as they were the victors.

Soul Mating happens during/after the wedding - the first time not being sexual, but after it can be as magic is all about intent - with at least one witness just in case anything goes wrong and to be proof that they actually Soul Mated and are now Soul Bonded in marriage and love. Two SOULS come out and touch, making you feel the others emotions. The SOULS start to bond, making you become them and them become you as you hear thoughts and wants. Then finally, the SOULS become one, like two pieces of a puzzle. When that happens, you see the others memories, you see the others life as it was. To understand your life partner, you must see their life and choices, their reasons.

After a few moments being one - which can feel like years to the Soul Mates - the SOULS separate, leaving a imprint on the other SOUL and the same for your SOUL. The imprint will make you low-key feel your Soul Mate's emotions, make you hyper aware of their wants and needs, to know if they are in danger and if something has happened. You can block the connection, but it feels wrong. You can break the connection, but it hurts a lot when that happens during said breaking, even after sometimes and it can dust the other if not both of you when you do that. A Monsters divorce if you will. Humans's divorce hurts the wallet, Monsters's divorce hurt the SOUL.

You can redo the Soul Mating and Soul Bonding after breaking it, but breaking it a second time means no one is going to come out okay or even alive. You can change your mind in the middle of breaking it and the other can feel reasons why you are doing it if they pay attention to it over all the pain they are feeling at that moment. For example if it was under stress or from panic or even if the other was drunk.

Soul Bonding is also different, as there are so many different bonds one can have. You don't have to be related to have a Parent-Child Bond or Sibling-Sibling Bond, but it takes time to form. Every Bond has a different purpose and EFFECT to them. It also depends on how strong the Bond is. Children can gain a bit of the parent's EFFECTS and FACTS. Like if the parent is weak to water, the child may become weak around it too. That or if the parent can say, touch Death and live, then they can to. The parent becomes aware of them, and can track the child's SOUL. Life spans can very, as if the parent is strong magical, then the child will have the same life span as they are getting the parent's magic from the Bond to grow on. But like I said, it takes time for the Bond to form and even then you have to CHECK it to make sure it is actually there.

Sibling-Sibling Bonds can come from magic/blood siblings, or claimed/adopted siblings. It makes them low-key aware of the other, creating a Family Bond. It can also give them a power boost if FIGHTING together. If the Bond is close enough, they can even use a version of the other siblings magic, but not as powerful as the original of course.

But this is all my own take on it and head canon, it is in no way canon. But these are what I am going to be using in my stories. More Monster traditions and other things may come up as well later on. But I wanted to explain this now so no confusion will come up later on.

#Healing What Has Been Broken #Error Sans #Forced Destroyer Error #Papa!Error #DestructiveDeath #Null #Void #My OCs #Harrish6 #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Cuddle Time #War #Shipping Council #Let's Ship Them HARD yet softly

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