#single chapter fics

[mrghostrat]

Aziraphale crossed the pieces and lifted the left up to his chin, but his own movements fumbled against Crowley’s grip. The man refused to let go, adamant to keep hold and tie it for him. He just— he didn’t know how. But Aziraphale needed that smile, needed to bask in the pride of it, so he let muscle memory slowly continue the process of lifting and crossing and folding things into place. Crowley’s hands followed along, his brows set in concentration as their fingers gently tangled together to guide the strip into a bow. [ BIG NAME FEELINGS ]

fellas is it gay to—

#of course i made more art for this chapter it's 12k and every single word is pinging aruond my head like a coin in a microwave #good omens #gomens #good omens art #good omens fan fic #bnf au #rat draws #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #good omens human au

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

—

Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

—

Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That your new look?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #vengeful danny #villain danny #btw Derringer is named after a type of gun #dw he isn’t the focus forever #I just felt like Danny could use like. a single person who isn’t trying to manipulate him #also I think he would get along very well with the goons :) #aside from. yknow. the whole target thing HDJDNDND #also there IS a lore related reason that his vocal chords can’t recover but the rest of his body can #you just gotta wait to see what it is >:3 #anyways. Arkham time next chapter #Awwawaw

[diazsdimples]

Fuck It Friday!

How are we all feeling after today chaps (gn)? Not drowning in our feels too much I hope!

I truly said fuck it today and started a new wip. So here I have the very first snippet of Sleepy Mornings (working title), the premise to which you can find here (and if you cbfed looking, it's a collection of all the times Buck wakes up next to Eddie). Please enjoy what will hopefully be something cute and fluffy (with a hint of sex later)!

The first time Buck woke up next to Eddie, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how he got there. There he was, in a strange bed, head pulsing in time with an inaudible beat, his mouth as dry as the Sahara, with an unfamiliar, warm lump to his right. Buck blinked blearily up at the ceiling and tried to orientate himself. The room was…. beige. That was the only word Buck’s poor, addled brain was coming up with. Beige, with no life, no character. It could have been a hotel room for all he knew. Trying not to panic as his mind ran through a million scenarios – most of which ended with drugged and held captive – Buck tried to play through the events of the previous day. The last thing he remembered was the beauty pageant, standing numbly as he, Eddie and Hen were handcuffed, before being corralled into the back of Athena’s police car. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. There were small flashes of memories; Athena all but dragging him up the steps into someone’s – Eddie’s – house, Eddie suddenly appearing next to him, his face still tearstained as he hiccupped miserably, Athena sitting on the coffee table and gently explaining to the two of them that they’d been drugged, Athena supporting Buck as he threw up messily into Eddie’s toilet. Buck’s cheeks burned as the memories flickered through his mind like a film reel. He was going to have to send one hell of an apology text to Athena. And Eddie too, if the trash can by the side of the bed was anything to go by. A grumble came from the other side of the bed and the covers shifted as Eddie rolled from his side to his back, smacking his lips before settling back into sleep. Buck couldn’t help but admire Eddie’s face, the way the morning light played over it, giving his skin an almost-honey coloured hue. He shook himself, wincing as his head throbbed once again. Now was not the time for weird thoughts about his best friend. If anything, he’d blame it on the drugs. “’die?” Buck mumbled, pushing himself up onto his elbows as he squinted into the too-bright light filtering through the shabby curtains. “Are you 'wake?”

Tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @puppyboybuckley @bucksbackwardcap @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @wikiangela @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @evanbegins @nmcggg @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rainbow-nerdss @kitteneddiediaz @elvensorceress @epicbuddieficrecs @smilingbuckley @actuallyitsellie @spagheddiediaz @thekristen999

#sleepy mornings fic #hi i am once again trying to do a short cute wip that won't turn into a 10k+ monster #single dads hit 20k today and that's TWO CHAPTERS #send prayers #i'm also incapable of writing one singlular thing #james writes #buddie #buddie fic #buddie wip #911 buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #911 fanfic #eddie x buck #buddie 911 #buddie fanfic

[fairyrona]

a fanart to @cosmobrain00 's ''I know the end'' series because I can't !! stop ! thinking about it !!!!

#will byers fanart #will byers #byler #byler fic rec #byler fic #byler fanart #my art #stranger things #the last chapter killed me #actually no #every single chapter kills me #i don't know how im still on this earth #(must stay to read the next chapter) #GO READ THE STORY ITS AMAZING #i hope i did will justice #wanted to make him look a lot like jonathan because #...you know <333333

[lil-vibes]

mmm a Happy Sketch for @sensitiveheartless wonderfull, wonderfull fic Skyline Pigeon bc it had me sobbing and crying and i think that Chuuya deserves to gently hold a bird <3

#im gonna give him the world #also i loved every single bird fact in there i was so invested in them #now i go back to the trenches (figuring out comic layouts) #i want to draw more of this fic #the brainrot is so strong i cant wait for chapter 2 #im gonna see the notification and explode on impact #pls excuse how rough the sketch is i just needed to get something done hh #tho i like how the uughhjj light turned out #isnt this called dapple light?? idk i find it v pretty #anyways pls if u like chuuya hurt/comfort this is The fic to follow #bsd #bsd fanart #my art #chuuya my love #skk

[fanaticsnail]

(inspired by this post)

Benn Beckman needs more "x reader" fics. If anyone finds some, writes some or crafts some out of marble and stone with a chisel: tag me please. I will write more, myself, but I love reading him.

#benn beckmann one piece #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman #x reader #op benn beckman #benn beckman headcanons #i will take a single sentence #a scrap of thought #a little drabble #a fully fledged fic #a chaptered series #clawing at the walls #one piece

[steddieas-shegoes]

this place is such great motivation for anyone trying to move the fuck away from hibernation

chapter 8: i'm homesick also on ao3 all chapters masterpost rated e

🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰

Eddie woke up to drool.

Which should probably be more concerning, but considering he had a teething baby, he was used to a little drool.

The part that was confusing was that his baby was asleep in her crib in the bedroom next to him.

The drool on his chest was Steve’s.

Oh, he would never live this down.

Eddie let his fingers ghost through the strands of Steve’s hair, glancing at the clock to see that it was nearly seven in the morning. They were supposed to call the realtor at eight.

Eddie needed to be on the road by lunch so that Mia would nap for most of the ride back to Hawkins.

The urge to ignore all of that was strong, but they couldn’t ignore their future. Not now that it seemed like they might have a chance.

“Stevie, it appears there’s a leak in the apartment,” Eddie said softly, not wanting to startle him.

Steve’s head shifted, his nose rubbing against the drool on Eddie’s chest followed by a groan.

“Disgusting,” Steve said. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. You sleep okay?” Eddie tightened his arms around Steve, not wanting to lose this moment quite yet.

“Yeah. Loved this,” Steve poked his side and kissed his chest. “Could definitely get used to this.”

“Well, if we don’t get to the showing, we may not have it anytime soon.” Eddie nudged Steve off of him so he could get up. “Mia must still be asleep so I’m gonna take a quick shower before she decides to bless us with her presence.”

“No rush, baby. I got her if she wakes up.”

Eddie kissed Steve’s forehead. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

When Eddie walked into the kitchen, fully dressed and halfway packed already, Robin was sitting at the table holding Mia while Steve cut up fruit at the counter.

“My goodness, Mia, it looks like you’ve made a new best friend,” Eddie said as he kissed the top of her head.

“Dada!”

Steve dropped the knife in his hand and turned to them. Robin’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she looked between Mia and Eddie.

Eddie was pretty sure his heart was on the floor.

“Did she just-“ Robin started to ask, only to be interrupted by Mia kicking and yelling it again.

“Dadadadadada!” Mia squealed out.

“Yeah, I’m dada,” Eddie said, scooping her into his arms and spinning her around.

“Mama! Dada!” She exclaimed. He could feel Steve come up behind him and watched his hand go to her back, covering his own.

“Someone’s so talkative this morning,” Steve said. “You were so excited to see your dada, weren’t you?”

“Dada! Dada!”

Eddie was crying, Steve was crying, even Robin was trying to hide a tear that slipped out as Mia kept repeating her new word.

Steve kissed his cheek, then Mia’s, before going back to what he was doing.

"So what time are you going to the house?” Robin asked them.

Eddie looked away from Mia to look at the clock. “Hopefully within the next hour. We gotta try to get on the road.”

Robin nodded once. “I’m off to work. I’m glad you came to visit, Eddie. And I’m glad I got to get to know Mia. She’s probably my favorite future roommate.”

“Yeah, right. Until she cries all night from a fever,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Or until she takes up all of Steve’s attention.”

“Oh, I’ve been begging for someone to take up some of his attention. He’s very needy, ya know.” She gave Eddie a quick side hug and touched Mia’s shoulder. “You guys be safe going back and make sure you call when you get home so I don’t have to watch Steve pace a hole into the carpet.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Steve said as he moved fruit he’d been cutting up onto the high chair tray.

“Uh huh.” Robin grabbed her small purse from the hook by the doorway out of the kitchen. “See you guys!”

“See ya!” Steve and Eddie called at the same time.

“Buh!” Mia yelled out.

“I cannot believe you finally said it,” Eddie said to Mia in awe as he set her in the high chair. “I’ve been waiting for you to finally say Dada for two months and you decide to do it here.”

Steve set a plate of toast in front of Eddie and kissed the top of his head. “I’m gonna go shower so we can head out. Eat.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Eddie saluted. Mia let out a laugh as Steve rolled his eyes and walked out of the kitchen. “Alright, princess. We’ve gotta eat up so we can be big and strong and walk around this house that we might move into.”

“Mama?” Mia turned her head to look for Steve, then looked back at Eddie with a frown. “Mama.”

“Mama’s in the bath. He’ll be right back. You eat your bananas and grapes.”

When Steve was done, Eddie went to finish packing up the last of their things, looking around at the place he’d hoped would be their new home. He couldn’t help feeling a sense of loss still, even knowing that they were working on finding a new home for all of them. He’d wanted this to work so badly.

“You ready, baby?” Steve asked from the door, holding Mia in one arm, diaper bag slung over the other shoulder.

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Sure am.”

******

The house was perfect.

Eddie felt like crying the moment he stepped onto the front porch. Even with the broken parts, even with the chipped paint along one side of the house, even with the slightly overgrown front yard, it was perfect.

The inside was even better, already mostly done in the ways he’d always imagined a house with Mia to be. The bathroom that needed work was still better than the one he currently had in the trailer.

The backyard needed to be fenced in, but he knew they could work on that over the next year before Mia was big enough to outrun them.

He kept sharing looks with Steve, going room to room as the realtor spoke about the natural lighting in the bedrooms and double sink in the master bathroom. They hadn’t made it obvious they were together— they weren’t stupid —but it was pretty clear the realtor caught on to them being together.

“You mentioned another person moving in?” she asked when they got to the last bedroom.

“Yes, my best friend would be moving in for a bit to help with the bills,” Steve offered. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. Quite a few homes surrounding the city are mixed family homes just due to the cost of living. My only suggestion is to keep all utilities in your name so that if they move out, it doesn’t become a hassle of removing them from everything.” She opened the door to the final bedroom. “I assume this would probably be their room. It looks out at the backyard and the street behind you, which is still a part of this neighborhood and isn’t a very busy road.”

“Yeah, she’ll like this room.” Steve smiled. “And you mentioned the current owners are already moving out next week?”

“Yes, they’ve already bought another home in the city. As you can imagine, that’s quite a financial strain and they’re very willing to get a deal done as soon as possible, even if it means a lower offer.”

“Could we have a minute?” Steve asked. The realtor nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Steve turned to Eddie, who was setting Mia down on the floor to explore. “So?”

“It’s perfect, Stevie.”

Steve closed the distance between them, wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, and kissed him softly. “It is, isn’t it?”

Eddie nodded, brushing the hair away from Steve’s face. “I can picture everything here. I see you setting up a sprinkler in the backyard and running through it with Mia. I see us having family game night at the kitchen table. I see us sitting on the porch while Mia draws on the driveway with chalk. I see it all.”

“Me too. I want all that with you. Here. Can we?”

“We should. Do you think we can make an offer today?” Eddie turned to see Mia trying to pull herself up by the window ledge. “Maybe by the time I get back to Hawkins, we’ll have an answer.”

“Yeah, Eds. I’ll go tell her.”

“We’re really doing this?” Eddie was hesitant to truly believe this was happening, especially after how quickly the weekend had turned into an unknown future. “We’re buying a house?”

“We’re buying this house.”

“Wayne’s gonna be insufferable. I’m gonna have to listen to him talk about the foundation’s integrity for the next three months.”

“It’s already been inspected. I promise, it passed.”

“It may have passed with a professional. It has not passed with Wayne.”

Steve snorted. “Well, he can come inspect anytime. He can have a copy of the key, even.”

“Don’t offer that. He has the worst timing in the world.” Eddie glanced over to Mia, who was now standing at the window, banging the ledge as she used it to hold her weight. “Mia seems to like it here.”

Steve looked over and smiled. “Yeah, she looks happy. Do you think you’d be happy here? With me?”

“I know I would be, sweetheart.”

“We’re buying this house?”

“We’re buying this house.”

“Mia, you like your new castle?” Eddie asked Mia, who looked over at them and quickly lost her balance, falling on her butt with a grunt.

“Dada! Mama!” She started to crawl back to them with a big smile.

They both sat down on the carpet and waited for her to get to them. Mia climbed into Steve’s lap, tugging his shirt until she was situated comfortably on his thigh.

“You like this place, little one?” Steve asked her, kissing the top of her forehead.

Eddie watched as Mia clapped her hands together and smiled up at Steve.

“I think that’s a yes,” he said quietly.

“I think so too,” Steve stole a quick kiss from Eddie before lifting Mia into his arms and standing up. “Let’s go buy this house.”

It seemed kind of crazy to Eddie how simple this turned out to be. He half expected them to find flaws in the house, or disagree on the cost, or the realtor deciding she didn’t want to work with queers.

But maybe he finally deserved something simple. Maybe they all did.

******

The goodbyes weren’t as difficult now, the certainty of this being temporary enough to keep the tears from falling, at least until Mia was in her carseat in the van and Eddie was backing out of the driveway of their future home.

Steve was sticking around to discuss the boring part of it all with the realtor, and hopefully, by the time Eddie and Mia made it back to Hawkins, they’d have an accepted offer and paperwork to sign.

Eddie would have to come back to sign everything once it was drafted up at the bank and with the insurance company, but he would make it work.

Mia babbled a bit in the backseat while Eddie sang along quietly to his Iron Maiden tape. She eventually got quiet, and Eddie glanced at the mirror he had facing her to see that she was asleep.

He let his mind wander to the future, to everything he and Steve would be able to do in their own place. He thought about Mia having her own room, a backyard that she could run around in, easy access to a city that she could be herself in, whatever that may be. He wondered if Robin would live with them for a while or just while they figured everything out.

He even pictured a day where they could have more kids, give Mia a brother or sister or both, and take family pictures to hang up in frames on the walls of their house.

It wasn’t easy for him to picture his life like this before; He’d never had any reason to believe he’d have the picket fence version of life that so many people seemed to have. He’d always been okay with it, at least until Mia came into his life. Even then, he figured as long as she was fed, clothed, and had a roof over her head, he’d be happy.

But now that he had a taste of this kind of life, now that he saw the house he’d get to raise Mia in, he knew this was what he’d always wanted.

“Can’t believe Steve Harrington got to me like this,” he shook his head fondly.

*******

Wayne greeted him at the door, immediately taking Mia’s carseat from his hands and going inside.

“Nice to see you, too,” Eddie grumbled, walking back to the van to grab their bags.

“Oh, hush. You know I’m happy to see ya, too,” Wayne said over his shoulder.

Eddie smiled. “Steve call?”

“He may have.” The screen door closed before he could get more information.

“Dammit,” Eddie rushed to grab the bags and get inside.

“What did he say?” Eddie dropped the bags on the floor unceremoniously, going to the kitchen to call him back.

Mia was babbling in Wayne’s arms as he joined Eddie in the kitchen.

“Dada!”

Wayne’s jaw dropped.

“Oh! She learned a new word. Said it this morning and I cried and decided to give her anything she wants for the rest of my life.” Eddie smiled at Mia. “What did Steve say?”

“Well, first of all, he said to call him when you get back.” Wayne reached out for the rice snacks on the counter to hand one to Mia. “And then he said your offer was accepted by the owners.”

Eddie felt tears welling up in his eyes. “Really? Already?”

Wayne walked over to him, tears already gathering up in his eyes, too. “Yeah, son. Looks like you’re gonna be a homeowner.”

“Holy shit.”

“Sh! Sh!” Mia couldn’t quite make the right ‘sh’ noise, but it was close enough for Wayne and Eddie’s eyes to widen.

“Looks like ya might have to start watchin’ your mouth around the princess. Seems she’s reached her mimic stage a bit early,” Wayne laughed. “Your dada’s been sayin’ bad words since he was eight. Don’t let him fool ya.”

“Alright, alright. I’m gonna call Steve back and then it’s time for Mia to have some dinner and a bath and a bedtime story.”

“Mama!” Mia turned her head around at Steve’s name, clearly searching for him.

“Mama’s not here, baby. Sorry. But I’m gonna call him and you can say hi, okay?” Eddie picked up the phone and dialed Steve’s number from memory. He took Mia in his arms and sat down at the table as he waited for Steve to answer.

“Hello?”

“Mama! Mama! Dada!” Mia started clapping the moment she heard Steve’s voice through the phone.

Steve laughed. “Hi there princess. I miss you already. Are you being good?”

“Mama. Ma. Mamamamama!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve snorted. “Did Wayne tell you the good news?”

“He did.” Eddie smiled into the phone even though Steve couldn’t see it. “What do we do now?”

“The next part is kinda out of our hands. The realtor has to work with the bank to get the papers done properly and then when they’ve gotten that done, we’ll both have to sign everything.”

“When do they think that’ll be?” Eddie let Mia sit in front of him on the table, one hand holding her side so she wouldn’t fall. “I don’t know if I could get back there before next weekend.”

“Yeah, I mentioned that to them. They said it would probably take at least 14 days to have the closing paperwork done. And they also said we didn’t have to go together, so I could go sign when it’s ready and then you can go sign the first chance you get.”

“I wanna do it with you, though. It’s a big deal. Our first house.” Eddie’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, our first house. We’re buying a house.”

“Sh!” Mia copied, grinning up at her dad.

“No, Mia, not that. God, Mia’s trying to say bad words before she even says Papa or anything. Okay.” He sighed. “So I can just make sure my boss knows in about two weeks I’ll probably have to take a day off to drive there and sign.”

“He won’t fire you or anything, right?” It sounded like Steve was in his kitchen, cooking dinner for him and Robin. “If he finds out you’re moving?”

“No. I already mentioned to him it was a possibility and that I’d be grateful for any recommendation he could give me on a job search.”

“Good. Just don’t want you to be without a job.”

Mia started playing with a strand of Eddie’s hair, tugging on it lightly. He knew it would get rougher if he didn’t distract her, though. He held up the cord of the phone in front of her and showed her how it coiled.

“I won’t be.” Eddie sighed. “I miss you already.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Wayne grumbled before leaving the room.

“I miss you too. You okay?” Steve sounded genuinely concerned, almost like he’d be willing to drive to Hawkins if Eddie’s answer was no.

“I’m alright. I’m actually-“ Eddie laughed. “I think this is maybe the best I’ve ever been. Other than the missing you part, but that’s just for now. Like, within the next month or two, I’ll be with you all the time. And Mia can have us both all the time.”

“Yeah,” he could hear the grin in Steve’s voice. “I can’t wait to share a home with you. Did you tell Wayne about it yet?”

“No, called you almost as soon as I got in the door. He can hear all about it later.” Mia tapped Eddie’s cheek. “Mia’s gonna love having her own kingdom to rule over.”

“I’m sure she will. I already stopped by the store to look at paint samples for her room,” Steve admitted. “I didn’t think pink fit her, but there was a nice lavender that might look nice on one wall.”

“I’ll let you handle that stuff. Maybe she can pick from a few options. Would you like that, Mia?” Eddie poked her nose and smiled when she giggled. “I bet you’d pick something so colorful it hurts our eyes.”

“Dada.” Eddie waited to see if she did anything, but she didn’t.

“Okay, I’m gonna go get some dinner into Mia’s system. You want me to call you when she goes to bed?” Eddie asked.

“How about I call you after I talk to Robin?” Steve offered.

“Sure, just not too late. Wayne’ll be going to bed soon, too.”

“Should be by nine, baby,” Steve’s voice changed to something softer. “You know I love you more than anything, right? I’m so fuckin’ happy I get to do this with you.”

“I know, sweetheart. I love you so much. This is more than I could’ve ever dreamed of for us,” Eddie said quietly, watching as Mia grabbed his hair again. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later.”

Eddie hung up the phone and started to get Mia’s dinner ready. Wayne had already been making something for them before they got home, some chicken and green beans that could easily be cut up for Mia. He set her in the high chair and started passing some of the cooled off and cut up green beans.

“Are they yummy, Mia?” He asked as she shoved a piece into her mouth.

“Me.”

“Yummy!” Eddie nodded. “We love when Wayne makes green beans, don’t we?”

“Suckin’ up to your old man, now?” Wayne asked he walked in. He stood next to Eddie and started shredding a piece of chicken for Mia. “I already gave my blessing to move. Not sure why ya feel like bein’ so nice.”

Eddie nudged his shoulder. “Maybe I’m just appreciating you before I don’t have you helpin’ me out all the time.”

Wayne froze for a moment, just enough to make Eddie pause in his movements, too.

“Steve’s gonna make sure you have a key to the house. You’re welcome anytime,” Eddie continued. “And we could definitely use some help fixing up some things if you’re willing to.”

“Always here to help ya, son. You know movin’ away won’t get rid of me.”

Eddie bit back a complicated set of emotions, most of which would result in tears, possibly for both of them.

“We’ll visit you here, too.”

“Well…’bout that.” Wayne walked over to the high chair and put a few of the pieces of chicken down. “I been talkin’ to my buddy in Ohio. You remember Benny?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s been thinkin’ about movin’ to Illinois to be closer to his sister’s family. Her husband died last year and she could use the help with her kids, but he didn’t wanna move in with them. He’s lookin’ for someone to share rent with and I kinda offered to go.” Wayne rubbed the back of his head. “Be closer to ya at your new place, too. Figured I can probably get a job anywhere with my mechanic skills.”

“Wayne, that’s great. Seriously, can’t believe you’re gonna leave this place!” Eddie got more excited the more he realized this was all working out perfectly.

“Yeah, well. Don’t think this town’s got much more for me in it if you two ain’t here.”

“I’ll drink to that. We are the best parts of this place.”

*******

Two weeks flew by, but the paperwork wasn’t quite finished when they’d hoped.

“It’s normal for delays to happen,” Steve reminded Eddie over the phone when he was starting to worry that something would fall through.

“I just don’t want there to be any problems. Like, what if the bank decides they don’t wanna provide a loan to us? What if they figure out we’re romantically involved and decide they don’t wanna do business with us?”

“Baby, that’s not gonna happen at this point. It’s our house, okay? We just have to be patient.”

*******

Another week passed, and Eddie was starting to worry that the house would never be theirs.

Steve reassured him it was fine, that he’d been in contact with everyone nearly every day and everyone remained positive that this would be closed soon.

Eddie was on edge at work, on edge at home, on edge when he visited with the Hendersons.

He knew it, wanted to be able to brush it off, but couldn’t. The stress was eating away at him until he was barely sleeping.

But finally, on day 26, Steve called him at work.

“Baby.” He could hear the tears in Steve’s voice, instantly making him choke up. “It’s done. You just have to come sign everything.”

“It’s done?” Eddie turned away from the secretary at the desk for even the smallest amount of privacy. “It’s ours?”

“It is.”

Eddie turned and yelled to the entire lobby: “I’m a homeowner!”

He could hear Steve laughing on the other end, giddy with the news.

“Shit, we’re homeowners. Please tell me you know how to clean gutters,” Eddie said into the phone.

“I can figure it out,” Steve snorted. “You think you can come up tomorrow to sign everything?”

“Wayne works tomorrow so he wouldn’t be able to watch Mia,” Eddie groaned.

“Bring Mia. We can do this as a family,” Steve said.

“She might get fussy if she gets bored,” Eddie said. She’d been itching to try to walk for the last week or so, and any time anyone held her for longer than a couple minutes, she would whine and push away from them. “And I don’t think they’d be cool with her crawling around their office and getting into things.”

“We can take turns handling it. That’s why we have each other, baby. I’m here for both of you now.”

“I-“ Eddie was doing his best not to cry in the lobby of his workplace. “I know, Stevie. I can be there tomorrow. We can be there tomorrow.”

“If you can get here before lunch, maybe I can take you both over to see Maryann and Charlie. They’d love to see you again.”

“Oh, I know. They call once a week asking for updates from me because they don’t trust you to tell him if anything bad happens.” Eddie looked over his shoulder at the shop, sighing. “I gotta get back to work. Two cars just pulled in and we’re already running on one less employee this week. I’ll call you tonight to let you know when to expect us tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, love. Love you.”

“Love you.”

He hung up the phone and went back to work.

Tomorrow, he’d officially own a home with Steve.

Tomorrow, he’d get to start living a future he’d only ever dreamed of having.

Tomorrow, he’d make another step in making sure Mia had a family to love her and care for her.

Tomorrow, he’d get to leave the home he never thought he would.

Tomorrow was a fresh start and tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ao3 fic #chaptered fic #mechanic eddie munson #single parent eddie munson #robin buckley #wayne munson #such a sappy ending #the epilogue will probably be a whole lot of fuckin #if im being realistic

[jazzfordshire]

the touched heart madly stirs (chapter 3)

It took me a long time and a lot of research rabbit holes but I finally managed to get another Ancient Greece AU chapter done!! So happy Supercorp Sunday to all who celebrate 💕🏛️

“Is this a dungeon?” Lena says as they approach the man, who looks only at Lex. Kara and Lena might as well be invisible. “Are you keeping someone prisoner here?”

“Of course not,” Lex says jovially. “Simply one of many homes for him. He likes to be away from the chaos of the city. Isn’t that right?”

The man doesn’t answer. He’s pale and still, with short black hair and a muscular build, and he’s obviously tall even when he’s seated. His face might have been handsome if his eyes weren’t so hollow. They’re a dull grey, red-rimmed and sickly and only accentuated by the blood-red colour of his tunic. Even so, there’s something familiar about his face as Kara gets close enough to see the details; the shape of his mouth, the alignment of his features. The perfect curl at the front of his dark hair.

Just like her uncle Jor-El.

The torchlight flashes over a glint of metal hanging around his neck. A silver pendant. One bearing a symbol as familiar to Kara as her own name, because it is.

Kara’s supper, so recently enjoyed, threatens to come up again.

“…Kal-El?” Kara whispers.

Read it here!

My ko-fi, patreon, and sincerest apologies for taking NINE MONTHS to update oh my god

#supercorp #supercorp fic #ancient greece au #i last updated this in AUGUST can you believe #it's mostly because i thought i could finish the fic in a single chapter (LMAO) #but it does mean chapter 4 is almost done! so that's a bonus #this is my most niche and beloved fic and I know it doesn’t appeal to everyone but my god I have fun writing it

[fishfingersandscarves]

very silly drawing of a scene from the most recent chapter of Fuckboi Dream Was Forced To Experience The Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Alive And All He Got Was This Stupid Husband (by Fall Out Boy) by @dancinbutterfly

#my art #fishfingersandscarves #the sandman #the sandman netflix #fic rec #dancinbutterfly #dream of the endless #dream (the sandman) #lucienne the librarian #lucienne (the sandman) #yes. this is homestuck style bc of a single line in the chapter about how oneiros is the beta vers of murphy LOL #this was very fun to make

[extravagav]

Yk I never did truly recover from the sick fic chapter

#one day im gonna make a post overanalyzing every single frame from this chapter bc its just so good #everything from how confused sakura looks at the idea of them coming to visit him when hes sick #to suo suggesting they leave bc he knows them staying here the now will only make him worse/uncomfortable which is the last thing he needs #bc yeah although he shouldn't and doesnt have to hes used to dealing w/ things like this alone #hes convinced he needs to and thats not smth you can just expect to change from one visit #still i need my hurt/comfort sick fic sequel please and thank you #so we can get a full circle of sakuras character development where he actually lets them help/asks for it #and NO im NOT projecting 🙅‍♀️ #i DONT just wanna see my son getting comforted through his sickness when hes at his most vulnerable nuh uh 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️ #wind breaker #wind breaker spoilers #sakura haruka #ALSO ALL THIS ^^ WITHOUT EVEN MENTIONING THE REASON HES SICK IN THE FIRST PLACE LIKE???? #MY SON WAS SO EMOTIONALY CONFLICTED AND CONFUSED THAT HE GAVE HIMSELF A FEVER 😭😭😭😭 #ALSO also i seriously cannot get iver how scared he looks in the last panel like ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ #ok im going off in these tags rn i need to stop fr

[alarainai]

early morning, coffee cups | chapter twenty

"It was always my story, my happy ending. It was plotted out and drafted before we even came into your lives, for fuck sake," James is working himself up again, a hand running through his hair. When he meets Regulus' eyes, he looks... Regulus doesn't know. But he doesn't like it. "So, don't you dare come in here and accuse me of using you when I have done nothing but dream of being with you for nearly a decade."

[x] Sirius and Regulus own a failing bakery, Remus is writing a Christmas-themed novel, and James just wants everyone to enjoy the festive season.

#i could have posted for every single chapter i uploaded but that would be annoying #but we're 5 chapters away from being done so i think i can post about it again ehehe #this was one of my favourite chapters to write because i love jam more than any character ever and i like when he's correct #(he's always correct btw) #remember when i said fluffy crimis fic #lmao #summary do be misleading rn #anyway #jegulus #starchaser #i would tag wolfstar but like they're not in this chapter much to my HORROR #i miss them #but james pining was VERY important to me

[lover-of-skellies]

Fic where Killer finds you after he'd recently been in a huge fight with someone and you thought he died

It's not the first time he's fought with someone (or multiple people) and got the short end of the stick. It's not something that happens very often, but it still does once in a while

Anyway. You were certain he'd died

The two of you had hooked up in the past. You developed feelings for him, but he'd always assumed you were either lying or that you had no idea what you were talking about, because from his perspective, he's not worth it

He finds you and starts giving you some crap about how it looks like you're not handling his fake death very well. You try to shrug it off and let him teleport both of you elsewhere for spice reasons. In the middle of it, you blurt out that you love him. He brushes it off at first, because you should know that he can't return that sentiment, but then he looks at you

He looks at you, sees the look in your eyes, and has some grand epiphany about how you were being serious. About that fact that you'd loved him, despite knowing he's dangerous, he's not mentally stable, he's a bad person, he's typically just Nightmare's puppet, so on and so forth. Man's entire world comes crumbling down around him with this earth-shattering realization, and then it's like a switch flips inside him

He decides he's tired of how things have been. He's done losing things that were supposed to be "his," and so he swears on god that he won't lose you too

#maybe mildly suggestive?? #idk man #killer sans #based off of a fic i read recently #or like. a single chapter of said fic #i read it and fell in love immediately

[plush-rabbit]

Phantoms and Memories

Continuation to Spots and Stops

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: If i let if go any further, it would have been well over 5K so I had to cut up the chapter ( ◕ᴗ◕)っ✂ (its also in his pov this time!! and so will next chapter)

-

As Johnathan runs, he’s thankful that the effects of the Super-Collider had given him longer legs. He doesn’t think he’d be able to run as long if not for the long strides that he takes as police chase after him. This most certainly isn’t fair- he hadn’t even stolen anything! When the cops had stopped and shined their light at him, he panicked and immediately set off. 

The lights of the vehicle flash behind him, red and blue filling the night and people move out their way as a cop shouts at him to stop. One in the cruiser and the other pursuing him on foot. 

Turning a corner, he grabs at a spot near his wrist- the jacket he wears pushed to his elbows- and holds onto it. He doesn’t trust himself to throw it and jump into it- knowing his luck, the hole would be much too small, and he’d just get stuck in it. No. Not again. 

Instead, he jumps up, and the creaky ladder of a fire escape bangs down. Once more, he’s thankful for the long legs that allow him to climb easily and take two stairs at a time compared to the cop who is trailing behind. Reaching the roof of the building, he puts the spot in front of him, and taking in a shuddering breath, he stops. He hasn’t done a long jump with one of his holes before. It’s been something quick and nearby- nothing faraway. But hearing the cop behind him, there isn’t much time to ponder about where he’ll end up, he just hopes that wherever the spot leads him to, is home. 

Like blinking, it’s a moment of darkness, falling into nothingness, until he realizes he is falling. His legs kick out until just a second later, he falls onto a soft surface- bumpy, but soft. He lifts himself up on his forearms, scanning around what appears to be a dark room. Maybe he did manage to control where he went this time.

His hand pulls at whatever it is that squishes under him. In the dark room where the only light comes from a streetlamp behind closed blinds, he sees that it’s a pillow shaped like a flower. The fabric stretches down where his hand has fisted over one of the stuffed petals. He turns, and he freezes. He holds tightly onto the pillow and he can barely make it out, he can barely make you out, but it’s you. Asleep on your bed and asleep in your room.

How you didn’t hear or feel him fall onto your bed is beside the point- even with being a heavy sleeper, that must be a stroke of luck for him. Why are you here? A better and appropriate question is why is he here? He doesn’t want to be here. He can’t be here. Sure, you had invited him to come if he needed something but he doubts that you actually meant it- more as a nicety than anything- and even if you had meant it, he doubts that you meant it like this. 

The flower goes behind him, and he waits- quiet and still, he hopes that you don’t wake up. Please, don’t wake up. To whatever deity that listens to him, he promises that if you don’t wake up, he’ll never see you again. He can’t handle seeing your reaction if he stopped by unannounced. Crawling slowly, he moves to get off of your bed. Even with you being such a heavy sleeper, every time the bed creaks under his weight, he pauses, the bed creaks under his weight and every creak has him go rigid. 

His feet are flat against the floor and he turns, your phone lighting up as a message enters. His curiosity gets the best of him and he takes soft footsteps to peek. It’s from an unsolved number that simply asks if you’re awake. Hurt grips at him in unforgiving claws. 

The time is ten past two. Your phone is fully charged, and he takes another look at you. You still sleep soundly and undisturbed. He unplugs your phone, and lets the cable hang over the drawer knobs. No matter how many times he told you that charging your phone overnight is harmful for the battery, you never seemed to listen. You continued to charge it.

Turning to you, he sees that the blanket is askew, draping over the side of the bed. Adjusting it, so that it now covers your body, he tucks you in, pulling it up to your shoulders. He lifts his hand up and hovers your head, and as his fingertips brush against your skin, he pulls back. The memory of you reacted when he last touched you is fresh in his mind. You recoiled away. He wonders if you washed yourself of his touch right after he was kicked out. Instead, he watches you, asleep and unaware of him. Your phone lights up again, and he frowns. Taking another peek, it’s the same unsaved number. Looking back to you, he fists his hand at his side. He wishes that he could touch you one more time- just a final touch, a final kiss to allow him to let go of you. But he can’t do that- he’d feel awful knowing that he did something to you. You’d probably be disgusted with him if you knew what he was doing. 

He should leave.

You didn’t wake up. He did promise that if you didn’t wake up, he wouldn’t return- he wouldn’t see you again. You’ve moved on, and he should too. 

Still, he can’t pull himself away. He wants to look at you like he would before. He wants you to look at him like you would before. He wants to slip into the bed beside you and pull you to his chest and feel you rest your hand over his stomach. You sleep, and he stares and it’s creepy and gross and an invasion of your privacy, but he can’t help it. He needs to look at you, needs to engrave you into his memory until he can picture you without even trying.

His hand lifts again, shaky and unsure as it reaches over, and just as he’s about to trace over your features, your phone rings. Scurrying, he hides himself behind the bottom edge of your mattress. He pulse himself down, making sure that not an inch of him is seen over where you sit. 

The ringing stops, and he hears your voice.” Hello?” It’s raspy and heavy with sleep. He can’t hear the other side of the conversation no matter how much he tries to strain his hearing. “Yeah, well I was asleep.” You mutter something under your breath too light for him to hear. “I’m listening, I’m listening.” You pause. “Yeah, no I’m not really in the greatest mood considering that I was woken up in the middle of the night.” You never liked being woken up- he’s made that mistake a few times. “Look-” you exhale- “I’m sorry that I led you on-” it doesn’t sound sincere but rather annoyed- “but it’s over, okay? Like for good.” Another pause. “No, no. It’s over. I’m done. Good luck or whatever. Bye.”

Your phone lights up the room in a bright glow and as quick and blinding as it came, it’s snuffed out. He hears you fall back into bed. You groan and the bed shakes as you turn. 

Silence fills the room and Johnathan’s heart beats in fear. He just has to wait a few minutes until you’re back to sleep. It won’t take long. You’ve always been quick to fall back to sleep and after being rudely woken up, you’ll slip off into slumber in no time.

He waits and waits, and after what feels like eternity, he hears soft thumping- you’re kicking into the bed. “Fuck,” you whine. “Fuck.” You toss and turn, and he can hear the assault on the pillow as you try to make yourself comfortable. 

Oh no. You can’t fall back to sleep. 

He should have left when he had the chance. This is his punishment. 

Carefully, he peels off a hole, and places it beside himself, maybe he can slip away like this, he enters his hand into the hole. Keeping his gaze fixed looking above, he pushes his hand into the hole, fingers outstretched, fluttering about looking for a flat surface. He’s elbow deep, the hole on his face contorting into what would be frustration if he still had his face. He can’t find it, and you’ve already begun to kick at the blankets and grumble at yourself. 

You’ve already lost your sleep- taken away by a phone call from someone who you used to date. 

Johnathan tries not to dwell on that. It’s too fresh of a wound. You’re too fresh of a wound. 

As he reaches further down, his body presses against the floor. All he needs is to know that something is on the other side, something that might break his fall or would at least get him out of your room. Too focused on looking up to see if you’d peep your head over, he feels something ghosts over the side of head, fleeting and spindly, and he yelps. 

Oh fuck. He turns, hoping to find a spider, but it’s just his hand, the portal made to just be a few feet away from where he made it

“Hello?” Your voice is alert. Even if he were to be quiet, you’d never buy it.

The light clicks on, and he can hear you rummage through your nightstand. “Hello? No, fuck. I- I have a weapon.” Your voice is shaky. He stays silent, pulling away the spot and making another one that ends up on your wall on the opposite side. “I'll call the police.”

He lowers his head and lifts an arm. “It’s me. It’s just me.” He hopes that he’s the only one with white skin that you know.

“Johnathan?”

His head knocks against the wooden frame of the mattress, and he lowers his hand. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pop in unexpectedly. I just- I got myself into a pickle and I just threw a spot and now I’m here.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”

He had wanted to go home. Or at least pop in anywhere but here. He can’t believe that his holes would betray him like this.

The bed creaks, and he pulls his arm back from the spot, watching above him, seeing if you’d peek over to see him. You don’t. “A pickle? Are you okay?” He can hear the soft rustle of the blankets. “Are you hurt?”

He shrugs, but you can’t see him. “Oh, um. Yeah, yeah.” His knees feel as if they’re on fire and he’s ready to put this day behind him. “I’m okay.”

You stay silent. 

“I’ll get out of your hair, I just- It’s hard to control my holes and where they take me.” He fumbles with another spot. That one pools on your ceiling. 

“Jonathan?”

He pulls the spot back. “Yeah?”

“You can say no, but um, can I see you?”

The spot of his face stretches, and he feels his body tense. He remembers how you reacted to him the first time. And the second time- granted he did catch you in a vulnerable moment, but it was because of him that you were so- so vulnerable. He should tell you no. He should leave and never look back, and never think of you. But then you call his name, and his resolve crumbles. When the two of you were together and happy, he could never tell you no; he could never deny you anything that you had wanted.

His hands brace themselves against the edge of the bed frame, and he stands, looking down at the ground, unable to see you. Never has he felt so bare and exposed. 

The bed creaks, and he sees a shadow approach and a familiar shirt peeks in the corner of his vision. He can feel your eyes on him, and your hands flex and unflex in want. He should look at you. He should give himself that grace, he should take one look at you while you look at him. When he looks up, he’s tilting his head down, head cocked to the side, as you look at him with doe eyes shining in unshed tears. Your hands fist into his old shirt, and you look at him.

“It’s rude to stare,” he mumbles.

You still continue to stare. You suck in your bottom lip, your teeth teasing at it, and he hates that he can’t kiss you, that he can’t touch you without one of you resulting in tears. You swallow, and part your lips once more. Would you still taste like mint? Or would you taste like sleep? Would you close your eyes and pretend that he was someone else if he leaned towards you? Are you pretending that he’s someone else right now? Are you only able to stomach him and his appearance because you think of someone else?

“Can you eat?” You ask, and it’s almost laughable that all that you could tell him, and it’s that. A simple, curious question. It’s entirely you. 

“Yes,” he answers. What would you say next? Would ask if he could chew? If he still has teeth that would tear apart meat and grain? Would you ask if he still has lips? Would you continue to ask him questions so that he could stay a little while longer in the comfort of your bedroom? “Why do you ask?”

“Are you hungry?”  Your hands fist over the stomach of his old shirt. “We- I can make you something if you’d like.”

He’d eat glass if it meant that he could stare at you some more. “I can eat.” You give him a ghost of a smile, and he takes it eagerly. “What do you have around?” Is he allowed to be greedy? Can he ask and ask until you can no longer give him what he wants?

You climb off the bed, adjusting at the shirt and pulling down the legs of your shorts. He follows you out of your room, and now as a stranger in your home, he feels like a ghost invading your space- walking past memories that he no longer has access to. He walks past the living room, the weight and tension a swirling mess, threatening to pull the both of you in and keep you stuck forever in a loop of grief. He holds his breath until he enters the kitchen. Motioning for him to sit at the table, you open the fridge, a cool blast makes goosebumps prick your skin. 

Turning your head, you look just like how he remembers you. “Are you okay with sandwiches?”

“Do you have chips?” He’ll be greedy and gluttonous- stuffing himself full of food in order to sit with you longer.

Nodding, you begin to pull out the ingredients to make sandwiches and he watches from the chair, stiff and cold, wanting to believe that he won’t be back after tonight. But as you bring out the plates and pull out the drinks- his favorite is still in your fridge even after all this time remains unopened and cold. You place the ingredients in front of him and alongside you, he prepares his sandwich.

You’re done with yours fairly quickly, and you turn on the television, and a late night show fills the room. Fake laughter, and fake applause is all that rings in him, and in his hand is a sandwich made with a gluttonous desire to take all that he can.

When he takes a bite, it’s sour. 

“We probably should have toasted the bread,” you tell him, peeling off the crust. “Untoasted is fine and all it if we were going to make sandwiches-”

“-We should have done it properly,” he finishes. Looking up at you, he can’t finish the sandwich- not when it tastes like it’ll give him heartburn. “Chips?” The drink remains unopened, collecting condensation on the side and dripping onto the placemats on the table. Hissing comes from the soda, and he looks at the opening. 

“In the pantry.” You take a bite of your sandwich and glance at him through the corner of your eyes. “You’re free to check.” You close your eyes, humming at the mouthful of food in your mouth. 

He stands, and searches through the cabinets, a brand new bag of chips sits, and he grabs at it, the colors popping against his skin. Reaching down into a drawer, he pulls out a reusable straw. A metallic one, the silver distorting his image in the reflection. It sits beside yours- iridescent and solid colors. 

The chips sit at the table and the straw- his straw- sits in his drink. He turns his head every time he takes a sip. You don’t look at him. This entire time, you haven’t casted a glance towards him except in the beginning. You make small conversation as you eat your sandwich and place a few chips onto your plate. Your drink is opened, and you never take your eyes off of it. The television still plays. He’s only taken small bites of his own, the taste not returning, and the bitterness staining him.

“Why did you ask me to stay?” His holes are shifting, swirling and constricting as he waits for your answer.

You cast him a glance. Finally, you look at him. “I just-” you let out a long exhale- “You want the truth or a lie?”

“The truth.”

Shrugging, you take another sip and look at him, turning your body in the chair to fully face him. “I-” the words get stuck in your throat and you look away- “I have no right to say it, but I missed you.” He stills. “I know what I did was awful, but-” you hold the can and the aluminum bends under your touch- “you were right. It’s still you.” You look at him again, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so saturnine. Even your tone is sorrowful and empty, and the words hang in the air, unanswered to.

He stays silent. And you continue, keeping your gaze on him. It must be taking all of your willpower to even do so.

“Do you think you could stay a while?” He’s silent. “You can say no.” You turn away from him, and push yourself away from the table. “I know that I shouldn't be asking you anything of the sort, but I hope you’ll say yes. If not, then you know, just lock up when you leave.”

You have the gall to ask that of him. You open your home to him, and offer him food, and he takes it with acid poisoned in him, with hands stained with muck and gunk, and his pale white skin is stained with holes and spots. And still, as if it were the first night that he spent with you, anxiety chills him to his core and roots him in place. 

He’ll get up and lock the door behind him. Johnathan will rid himself of you, and let all of this be some dream that felt too real. He’ll do it. His chest fills with air, and the chair scrapes against the floor. He’ll leave a mess behind, and when you clean it in the morning with the bird chirping outside and the soft rays of light shining against your table, you’ll miss him. Every step that he takes is heavy, and slow, weights placed on his ankles to pull him back so as to not make a dumb mistake. You can hope that he’ll say yes, and he can hope that when morning comes, you’ll still miss him. And he stands in the living room, back where he stood before you all those nights ago. 

The room looks so different. Emptier.

Every step has him hoping that he’s making the right decision. What more could you ever say to him? What words could ever mend him back together? What tenderness could ever replace the cold and callous nature that you bared at him in his weakest moments? He holds the doorknob in his hands, and he hopes that he’ll never get to find out. He hopes that when he closes the door behind him, he’ll have it all figured out.

#the spot #the spot x reader #johnathan ohnn x reader #johnathon ohnn #jonathan ohnn headcanons #johnathan ohnn #im gonna start using the h in the fics #but will i go back and fix the rest #probably #porbably not #i dont know #im lazy #i have to go to work so tags are rushed but yeah #hopefully the next part is tonight or tomorrow #i had to split it up #it was gonna be way to long #as a single chapter #plus the mood shifts so ya know #i think that was a good break

[cdelphiki]

Jason slumped backward in his chair and glared up at the ceiling.

There were a lot of topics he never wanted to talk about again ever in his entire life, and his death was definitely one of them.

“You said I could ask you anything,” Mara said, and all Jason could do was sigh louder. 

He had said that.

Didn’t mean he liked it. 

“Did Father actually kick you out,” Damian asked.

“Yes,” Jason said, as he pushed himself back to sitting to look at all three kids, then stammered, “Okay. Well. Ugh,” he sighed again.

#ive been ahead by at least a chapter from what im posting the past several updates #so i think im gonna keep going ahead and put the fic on an update schedule #which will be sundays and wednesdays #we'll see if i keep it up #if i miss a single sunday or wed ill just go back to posting when a chapter is done lol #jason todd #jason and the three terrors

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

are you still mine?

by sidekick_hero

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Future Fic, Steddie in their 40s, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Second Chances, Minor Eleven | Jane Hopper/Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has A Kid, Divorced Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson Words: 4,586 Chapters: 2/2

Summary

"He kissed me," Steve blurts out, and to Robin's credit, she doesn't react except for her hand on his to twitch in surprise. She makes a questioning sound in her throat, clearly waiting for more.

#steddie #steddie fic rec #multi-chaptered #1-5k #future fic #mutual pining #getting together #rockstar eddie #single dad steve

[plasma-studios]

On Mercy (ao3: x)

The Council has been at war with the Emperor (more colloquially known as the King of Nightmares) for a long, long time. After defeat after defeat, they find themselves with no option but to request help from his fabled twin.

However, Dream will not help them for free; he locks eyes with Cross, and decides he wants him in exchange for the war victory. It is an easy choice to make.

But Cross is terribly apprehensive, because he his loyalty is not to the Council, but to Nightmare as a spy, and Dream is Nightmare's mortal enemy. Moreover he suspects Dream chose him knowing this, wanting information about his twin; and the issue is, Nightmare is absolutely unforgiving of traitors.

But he cannot offend Dream, for he too is an Immortal and God. He cannot forget that both Dream and Nightmare is dangerous, that any wrong move will end in his demise or worse.

(He forgets, however, that he himself is mortal.)

[OR: A Empire/Kingdoms UTMV AU, where Cross is caught between the crossfire of Immortal/Gods! Dreamtale Twins and some involvement with God!Errorink too.]

Inspired by love, in fire and blood by cicer

Chapter 1: a deal is struck

The tides would shift soon, they told themselves. Each day’s fresh defeats were a necessary evil, soon the tides would shift and they would have their victories. This war would be theirs to win. 

That was the belief of the dreamers among them. Those who held onto their hopes even as they buried their comrades day after day.

Then there were the defeated, the broken. Those who had given up their hopes for a better life and fought to survive. Sometimes they just gave up and let the ocean take them, or the earth. It would be a kinder fate than joining his army of the dead.

Even with all the Kingdoms of the World allied together, his Empire overshadowed them all. Even in their Council, even with Kings and Queens and Dukes and Countesses they all seemed to have some grasp on the truth. Some awareness of their position, of defeat after defeat.

Cross watched them debate, then argue, then lament. They were losing, they all knew it. He knew it too. Even as a lowly soldier (it was what he was best at) he knew it, saw it in the numbers they were losing and the grim lines in their faces. He didn’t say anything, however, and lowered his head as they discussed troops and strategy. 

As if he’d heard nary a word of the King of Nightmares.

There were rumours about him. He went by other names, too. The Cruel Prince, once. The Boy of the Night. There were rumours that he was a God, some that he was an immortal. (The Moon Immortal, they called him.) Some that he was just a regular mortal drunk on power. But what mortal lived for centuries?

The Council, at least in part, suspected his immortality. Perhaps even Godhood. But they did not want to, because their hopes of success were already dismal. 

But there were stories that brought them impossible hopes. Stories about his twin, the Light to his Darkness. Stories, not rumours, for the twin was so little known about him and far less about his twin. At one point the numbers had climbed too high and someone bravely made the suggestion. Could we reach out to his twin for help? First, it had been a casual remark. But slowly it made its way into the official discussion, its feasibility and possibility debated alongside strategy and supply. Not happily debated, of course, for the implication was that they had no other choice. But Cross, again, remained silent as they worked out the finer details. First, they worked out how they’d contact him in the first place; a letter, perhaps, but it would need to be published everywhere to get his attention. That meant that it couldn’t contain anything sensitive, but they could work around that.

A few sessions later (and a couple lost battles) the letter was drafted. Soon after, published world wide. Hours later, they got their response. Though they would not discover it till the morning after. His reply had been burned into the walls of their Council Chambers.

To the Council:I hear you. I agree that my brother has been excessive in his terror; I also agree that you cannot win this war without me. It is not a matter of your weakness, but rather his strength. It’s time my brother is stopped. 

However, I will not do it for free. On the Summer Solstice I shall attend your Council to discuss our terms. I sincerely hope we’ll find an agreeable compromise then.- The Sun Immortal.

At this the Council was entirely silent. There was only the sound of breathing, then gasping, and slowly they erupted. Insolence and arrogance bounced across the room: “What hubris!” “Is it hubris if he’s an Immortal?” And, of course, the confirmation of immortality. Though that was somehow the least shocking tidbit. 

The writing was oddly neat for having been burned in, Cross noted. Then how long till the Summer Solstice? and what can we offer him?; of course they hadn’t been so optimistic to assume he would help them free of charge, but faced with the confirmation they suddenly found it difficult to discern what an Immortal would want in exchange. Gold and jewellery seemed like rewards for the living, for the mortal; would such material rewards be accepted? 

What if he wanted land, instead? A crown, a Kingdom? What, then? They spent more time debating their terms than drafting the letter. But they had to come to a conclusion soon, as Asgore reminded them: the Summer Solstice was a mere three days away.

Finally they voted, and it was decided. They would ask him what he wanted in return first, and work from there. Surely if he was taking the time to discuss with them, he did want the deal to go through, and if he wanted it to succeed, he would not ask for something impossible. Surely?

However, they still prepared for all the options thought up in their hours of discussion. Rubies, sapphires and emeralds polished and stored away in trunks with gold and silver coins beneath them; carefully stored crowns with freshly gilded gold and polished jewels; cloaks and clothing made out of silk or laced with furs, etc. 

Even obscure recipes were brought out, like boiled gold soup and silver ingot bites. The food once regarded as the highest cuisine, only for the wealthiest. Not anymore, of course, but nonetheless.

Finally, the preparations made not in official Council discussion but covert exchanges to prepare a variety of beauties. Some fair-skinned, some not. Some freckled, some not. Some muscled, some not. Some more compliant, some more recalcitrant, some more aggressive.

We don’t know his tastes, and there was an undercurrent of humour in it, even. It would not be the first time someone demanded people for their war efforts.

It was a little extreme. Even Nightmare’s tastes were… ah, somewhat sane. But Cross didn’t know the Sun Immortal, so perhaps his tastes were indeed less sane. Nonetheless the day of the Summer Solstice arrived like the sun rising for each day.

Now the Council would be arriving earlier today for fear of missing the Immortal’s visit, but though they’d arrived at their predetermined time (just after dawn) there was already someone there. A stranger in light silks, asleep in one of the chairs. Arms folded, head dipped, sleeping quietly.

His breathing was quiet, but it was still there, and in the silence of their held breaths they heard it clearer than their own. No sooner had the first of them stepped over the threshold, however, did the stranger’s eyes flutter open. “Ah, good morning.” His voice was clear and light; like a drink of water in the desert. “I assume you’re the Council?” There was a silence, before CORE Frisk responded, “Yes. I assume you’re the Sun Immortal?” At that, a sweet chuckle. Still so light, sweeter than honeycomb. “Officially, yes; but just call me Dream.” At that, whispers again: but they were quickly silenced by a look from Undyne. The Council had tentatively started filling in, all the while Dream was looking at them rather curiously, a hint of amusement in his gaze yet any mocking absent from it. Just like how an adult would look at a child. Like an immortal gazing upon mortals?

Cross was familiar with that sort of look.

Dream got to his feet and tilted his head. “I’m assuming I wasn’t so fortunate to choose my seat on a guess?” “Unfortunately not, but we’ll show you to your seat?” CORE Frisk had taken a tentative step forward when he raised his hand abruptly— lazily? “No need.” He reached over and grabbed the shoulder of the nearest Guard. “You.” He smiled. “Show me to my seat.” The poor Monster was so very stiff as he led the Sun Immortal to his seat; a cushioned, grand thing, positioned in the centre of the rows of seats wrapping around it in a circle. 

Cross made sure he wasn’t scrunching his eyebrows. Wouldn’t that be obvious that it was his, a seat in the middle? And once again that sweet, clear laughter. “Oh, that’s— aha .” His fist crumpled over his teeth and mouth. “It’s just— ah, it’s almost as if I’m on trial.” He pulled his hand away from his mouth. “So, terms! What will you offer me?” And Cross swore his golden eyes, though still agleam, sharpened. 

Dream had not taken his seat.

“What would an esteemed Immortal such as yourself prefer?” Asgore’s tone had found the cadences of officiality, of usual Palace affairs or even mundane Council business. Still, it seemed to interest the Immortal (Dream, was it?) as he looked to him intently. “Such as I?” He laughed again, but this time it wasn’t as sweet. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what I want. It’s up to you to make a good offer, Your Majesty.” 

In the Immortal’s mouth, the title was like dust. But to his credit Asgore maintained his composure and answered. “I suppose I should start off with the simplest offer. Coin? Jewels?” And it was evident that he did not think Dream would accept this offer. And he was right, Dream only raised an eyebrow. “I can find jewels anywhere. Coin even more so. What else do you have?” And then the silks, the cloth. He was as unimpressed with the offer as with the first, but strangely, Cross noticed from his place against the wall, not an inkling of disappointment lined his face. Still he let them offer more, and more. Offer after offer was raised with the speed of bullet fire, flying across the space as they desperately tried to appease the Sun Immortal.

Silently, Dream raised his palm. It seemed his patience had reached its limit.

“And what if I said I want people?” Immediately the tension in the room thickened. Looks were exchanged, confused blue on repulsed green, yellow irritation on pink curiosity. CORE Frisk observed Dream quietly, but did not speak up. Dream smiled a tiny small smile.

“Well, Esteemed Immortal,” Duke Isre murmured hesitantly. "If it would please you, you may have your pick of the courtesans of my court.”

“And mine, of course!” Another hurried to protest. “The courtesans of Sere are known for their allure—” “Oh?” Dream’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “Tell me more.” Then there were a dozen, more than a dozen, speaking at once; all so eager to grasp at the Immortal’s interest. 

But that wasn’t a sparkle. Cross swallowed the sigh into his throat. It was a gleam: the gleam of amusement, of sardonicism. Dream was not interested in them, not truly.

But their offers of concubines and courtesans only continued, each one more outlandish than the first. Blue eyes like sea sapphires. Gold hair like threaded gold. Skin as smooth as a babe’s. Teeth like mermaid pearls. He had to force his eyes not to roll. Somewhere in him, however, there was the smallest shred of pity. Of irritation. If the Council failed to negotiate terms, they would lose their last hope. They were making too many mistakes; mistakes that were obvious in hindsight, but not so much in the doing; mistakes that were his job to report back to Nightmare to be exploited.

He did pity them, somewhat. He couldn’t just stand around and not see how much the common people were suffering. Starving children and cold corpses. Empty homes and unburied bodies.

But the Council was full of Kings and Queens, Dukes and Duchesses. People who’d never lived a day of hardship in their lives. People who, only a century ago or two, would’ve been delighting in tasteless gold delicacies while the people starved of famine. The generals and soldiers, he was annoyed less by. They were competent, at least. But they still could not fight a God, certainly not Nightmare. It was their deaths he felt more guilt over.

“Dream,” CORE Frisk suddenly cut in. “You haven’t accepted any of our offers. May I ask what they lack?”

Dream locked eyes with CORE Frisk. To their credit. CORE Frisk stayed unflinching. There was a moment of quiet, of tension.

Cross realised Dream was no longer smiling. “Since you’ve asked, CORE, I’m more than willing to oblige. You see,” He gestured vaguely around him. “I believe I never said anything about wanting someone to warm my bed.”

He turned his eye upon the one who had gotten the ball rolling. 

“You know, I’m beginning to rethink this,” He said casually. “Maybe we aren’t suited for an alliance after all.” There was a dead silence. And then there was nary a sound, save for CORE Frisk: “I’m sorry for any offence caused, Dream,” They began. “May I ask why?”

There was sharp laughter, in the silence. Not a single eye wasn’t upon the Immortal, and Cross unconsciously noted CORE Frisk too was on their feet. “You want me to answer to you?” Like a violin string drawn taut, like the lightning striking the earth, backs straightened and sharp, fearful gazes were exchanged. “A little pretentious, don’t you think?” His eye was on CORE Frisk. The string, taut and tauter. CORE Frisk opened their mouth, but no words came out. 

Too taut and now the ripped alliance between them. Dream still looked unbothered under the fearful and indignant glares of the Council. 

“May I ask what it is that you want?” CORE Frisk tried, ever the meditator. “Or even just what you don’t want.” Dream looked into the rows and rows of people. Slowly, he turned his gaze down the row.

“I’m beginning to think,” He said softly. “That you don’t have what I want."

Well, that was it, then. There was relief of having finally bitten the bullet. Dream wasn’t going to help the Council after all. Nightmare would be happy to hear that, right? Momentarily his eyebrows almost scrunched together.

It would be difficult to get news to him, especially news of this nature. He’d have to wait till Dust came by to pass the news: it was always risking making contact on his own.

A pity, though. CORE Frisk’s face was blank, but they must’ve been disappointed. They weren’t as bad as the rest, really. But CORE Frisk was one person and the rest (whom he had little pity for) always outweighed them. 

A pity, but a small amount of it only. CORE Frisk was blank, but probably carefully blank. 

Dream locked eyes with him. 

“You.” 

Cross stilled. Those golden eyes, bright and alert, were on him now.

“Come here.” His outreached hand was curved, fingers beckoning. Cross did not move for the first few seconds. His eyes were on Cross’; no mocking, no amusement: there was nothing Cross could recognise. 

Then, slowly, he took his first step. Then another. Then another. All the while the quiet had been broken but quiet exhales, gasps, confused rustling and carefully blank faces almost faltering.

Soon he was before Dream. A smile was pulling at his teeth. “Ah, may I ask for your name, sir?” Cross felt the welt of saliva in his throat. “Cross, Esteemed Immortal.” Dream smiled indulgently, and reached for his chin. His breath was in his throat; then, ever Cross’ saviour, CORE Frisk interrupted. “May I ask what the Esteemed Immortal wants of this Guard?” “A Guard, huh?” There was interest in his eyes, but his hand still did not let go. “I see. I don’t suppose he’s a recent one?”

On instinct, most of the Council turned to Undyne, but she was looking to CORE Frisk with a sigh in her throat. “He was recruited by CORE, not me.” “He was not raised to be a Guard,” CORE Frisk said delicately, as it was the custom. “But he was enough strong and clever to be one, and I happened upon him a few years ago. I beg your Esteemed Immortals forgiveness for any caused offence on his behalf.”

A light laugh, through the hall. Suddenly the weighted air lightened and Cross could breathe again when the hand withdrew from his chin. “No no, no offence at all. I’ve merely found my answer to your question, CORE Frisk.” Just slightly, they tilted their head with the air of curiosity. “You have?”

There was ice in Cross’ stomach. 

“I shall help you in your war. By next month you will regain your frontlines,” He said casually. “You may reveal my part in it, or you may not. This I have no concern about. But in exchange,” And his eyes turned on Cross.

Fuck.

“Will you come with me?” And his voice was so soft, so sweet. It was so different from Nightmare’s, yet exactly the same air of persuasion.

Cross’s words were in his stomach; weighing heavily. 

“May I clarify your intentions, Esteemed Immortal?” CORE Frisk carefully asked.

In turn, Dream sighed. “Why does everyone here insist on calling me that? Have I not said to call me Dream?”

“May we clarify your intentions, Dream?” The voice was just as dry.

“Isn’t it obvious? If he’ll have me,” He turned to him slightly. Cross steeled himself. “I’ll have him.”

Undyne frowned. “He is not a pig for sale. Courtesans, maybe,” And the look she sent the Court was no less disdainful than Dream’s earlier words, “Because it’s their job. But Cross is one of the Guard, not a cow to be bartered away to be a bed-warmer.” At cow, Cross almost flinched. God, that comedic timing was terrible and hilarious at the same time. Dream turned his gaze onto Undyne, who did not flinch, but subtly drew back. “I believe I have made myself clear,” He said quietly. “For him, I shall help you with your war. Without him, you die and your Kingdoms turn to dust. Simple as.”

There was a very clear swear in Cross’ head, confusion tenfold as he looked to CORE Frisk (he could do that, it would be in-character for what they knew him as) but there was conflict and no more in their gaze. 

“CORE, perhaps— perhaps it would be best. If the Immortal wants him, in exchange for victory…” The voice trailed over. Dream’s gaze was still on CORE Frisk, waiting. 

Abruptly Cross became aware of the eyes on him. The knowing gazes, the knowing eyes. Cross felt his face warm. 

“No.” CORE Frisk finally spoke, firm. “No, he is not a pig for sale. Jewels and gold, I can offer you. Land and palaces, yes. Silks and furs, yes. But I will not barter you a person who has yet to say anything on the matter.”

“But I did not ask you.” Once again his words held the air of spelling out something incredibly obvious. “I asked you, Cross.”

And once again Cross found himself at a loss of what to do when his gaze was upon him once more. “Will you come with me? For the war?” Well, I’m actually on the other side of it, Cross thought anxiously. But he kept his voice steady (or as steady as it should be for someone about to be sent away) and spoke to CORE Frisk. “CORE, if I agree, will— will it stop the war?” CORE Frisk held his gaze for a second more. “Yes, but… but it’s still your choice.”

Ha. No it wasn’t. He could feel the weight of a thousand eyes, of expectation, weighing on his very bones. It seemed Dream knew it too.

Dream and CORE Frisk exchanged a strange look.

Cross opened his mouth, little choice left. “Then I accept. I will go with you, and you will help—” He almost said them . “ Us, win the war.” He only hoped Nightmare would not see it as traitorous. 

Dream smiled brightly. “That was easy, wasn’t it?” He pulled a ring off his finger (and it was then Cross noticed the rings on his fingers, gold but the gold not of solid ingots but of the gold of sunlight) and gently took hold of Cross’ hand. He stiffened almost immediately, but Dream said nothing of it as he slid the ring on.

Onto his ring finger.

Well, a very public engagement.

“A gift,” Dream explained. “I will pay your family the rest of the dowry the next time I visit.”

The words stuck in Cross’ throat. “I don’t have a family.”

Because family did not seem like the right word for, ah, Nightmare’s right hand men. 

Dream blinked slowly. “Oh?” But he did not soften. “Nonetheless, I’ll come by soon.”

Cross, almost imperceptibly, nodded. It was all Dream needed, it seemed. With a rustle of silk, a gleam of light, he was gone.

And Cross was alone in the middle, a thousand eyes upon him. 

“Is there anything else?” Undyne said sharply. Angrily, almost. Cross kept his gaze on the floor. He would not know how to act if he locked gazes with anyone else. There was a silence. But Undyne did not speak again. Still there were a thousand gazes on him.

Cross feet turned and he left the Council chambers though it was against protocol. He knew no one would blame him for it; there would be no point, and far too risky to lay a hand on an Immortal’s betrothed. 

Just before he passed the doors, however, he had faintly registered that the burned-in words on the walls were gone.

Cross prayed that Dust would come by soon, so they’d hear the news from Cross’ own mouth and not rumours spreading quicker than wildfire. Not Horror, the hole in his skull too recognizable, and certainly not Killer with his messy dripping eyes. Dust was always the one sent by Nightmare. So Cross left the windows unlocked, staying awake for hours at a time. But, it seemed his prayers did not hold that much weight at all. If ever. Dust did not come the next day, nor the one after. He had the feeling something was going on behind the scenes, why else would an Immortal choose a random Guard? But he could not confirm his suspicions, for there was no one to talk to. No one came for him.

#dream sans #cross sans #utmv #utmv fic #utmv fanfiction #utmv fanfic #core frisk #cream ship #wanna know why Dream chose Cross? here's a hint: #look at Cross' inner monologue when Dream alluded to no longer wanting an alliance #it's not particularly negative is it? #(and how would they look to Dream #if there was one single person in the whole room whose emotions were reacting so differently?) #and Dream came there specifically looking for someone. Cross doesn't know that's him #but next chapter soon he will #also pls remember this is from Cross' perspective and Dream is exaggerating himself #the cream here is CONSENUAL i swear