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silentglassbreak · 5 months

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Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

I had the 2nd part in my head already, so I started writing it. This post may go up pretty darn quick. If you've read so far, THANK YOU. Again, if you like it, and want to be tagged, Just lemme know.

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery.

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Part 2 - Running in Circles

Syd looked so much brighter today. It was refreshing. She had her makeup on, she was clear, like she had been sleeping and eating regularly. Sometimes, that in and of itself was the simplest of answers. It was the key some days.

She finished telling us about how she had put in sixteen applications at various employers since the last meeting, had been to the gym each day, and finally finished a 2000 piece puzzle she started three months ago. It was fabulous news, earning her a huge applause from everyone, including Noah, who I was halfway surprised to see again today. It had only been two days, but showing up again was a 50/50 shot with newcomers. Usually, if they made it to 5 meetings, they were in it for the long haul. I was extremely pleased.

He was also a lot different today, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest the majority of the meeting, but still more open than his last visit. Reading body language was crucial in this field, so I may have read a book or two on it in my spare time. His face also looked fuller, the dark circles now just shadows slightly casting his light skin and deep color eyes. He wore a white T-shirt with a red beanie, showing the tattoos off on his long arms.

His turn came rather quickly, and he sighed heavily when all eyes turned to him.

Before he could start, I chimed in. "Guys?" Everyone looked over to me. "Before Noah shares today, can we give him a huge round of applause for showing up to his second meeting?" This was met with fierce applause and a few hoots and hollers from our more spirited members.

"Great job!" Seth smiled brightly. Abel nodded his head pointedly.

"One of the hardest parts is coming back. Good for you, bud." I could see Noah's cheeks tinge pink, but he smiled, a smile bigger than I had seen so far. He was slightly embarrassed, but I could see his appreciation. Maybe even a sparkle of moisture in his eyes? He definitely pushed that down.

He reached behind his head nervously and chuckled shyly as the clapping died down.

"Thanks guys." He folded his hands in his lap, looking at the floor. "I was in the neighborhood, so..." He threw his hands up in a casual manner, causing some laughing from the group, including myself.

"How was the last few days for you?" I crossed my legs, eyes pointed in his direction. He didn't return my gaze.

"It was different. I haven't exactly talked to anyone about it." I only nodded. I wanted to encourage him to keep sharing, but I didn't want to pry too hard. "I don't know how to bring it up to anyone."

"That's fair. I think we all went through that."

He nodded, idly picking at his thumbnail. "I have a gig this weekend, and things usually get pretty wild after. I'm nervous." His eyes then looked up at me. I felt as though he was speaking directly to me, rather than to the group. Maybe he was?

Most people look around, avoid eye contact, and talk mostly just out loud. That's the purpose. Noah, however, was holding a conversation with me, and everyone else just happened to be within earshot. That was clear.

I would allow it, for now. If it eased him in, I was game for almost anything.

"Can I ask what kind of gig?" He sucked his teeth, a smirk creeping in.

"I'm in a band." I smiled now, because he was telling us (me) something personal.

"Oh nice! What do you play? Guitar?" His eyes snapped to Syd, who had chimed in. I could see this broke his concentration bubble, and I watched as his shoulders slightly drew in.

Although, he did not stop speaking. His tone did die down a little.

"I can play guitar, but in this band, I just sing." He cleared his throat, squirming slightly in his chair. "We were on tour earlier this year, and once it was over, I realized I needed help, so I'm hoping to make good progress before the next tour starts this fall. This gig is just opening for a bigger band."

"Must be some band." I added with a smile. This brought his attention back to me.

"What's it called?" Syd's voice was bouncy, breaking through the cool calm I had manufactured. I watched him almost visibly flinch.

"I'd rather not say." And with that, I could see he was done for today.

After the meeting, I caught Noah booking for the exit. I ran after him, donut in my hand.

"Hey Noah!" I caught him right before he slid into the driver's seat of his Navigator. "You didn't get a snack!"

He waved a hand at me. I still jogged up to his car. "I'm good Leena, thanks though." I sighed, stopping in front of him.

"Can we chat for a sec?" I saw him look down, likely questioning his decision to come back, but still shut his door and walked over to where I stood by the hood of the truck.

"What's up?"

"Did you get a chance to find a sponsor?" His beanie was pulled down low toward his eyes. He avoided my gaze.

"Yeah, uh, I actually didn't. Turns out everyone I know is into drinking, and I don't think that'll change anytime soon." I nodded knowingly.

"We've got great sponsors here, you know? Abel is a great resource, so is Rodger. They've both been in active recovery for more than five years." He narrowed his eyes, visibly stressed by the conversation.

"Yeah, I uh...don't really know them very well."

I couldn't tell you what possessed me to say what I did next, whether it was empathy, the sugar high from the donuts, the caffeine, or something else entirely, but I still opened my mouth.

"Do you want me to be your sponsor?" I watched his eyes widen at that, his head snapping to me quickly.

"You'd do that? You don't even know me."

I smiled my bright smile, and nodded. "Absolutely, at least until you can find another or get comfortable with one of the other members. I don't mind at all."

For the first time since we'd met, which wasn't long ago, admittedly, I saw a smile touch his eyes. Something told me that Noah hadn't seen genuine human kindness in a while.

"I mean, only if you want to. Maybe just to get me to the meeting next week?" I nodded.

"Of course. Happy to." He looked around, watching the people trickle out of the building around us and waved at Seth, who smiled at him before getting in his car.

"I do think we should take some time to work out a plan for your gig. These first few weeks in recovery are crucial."

He leaned against his car, chewing his lip. "You think so?"

I handed him the donut. He skeptically accepted it, and took a small bite.

"How long has it been?" He looked down then, a sign of shame.

"Five days." I nodded.

"And when is your gig?"

"Tomorrow night." I shrugged. I had work to do.

"You busy tonight?"

Noah sat back in the booth, sighing heavily, his plate clear. I continued shoveling pasta into my mouth, the carbs and the donuts being my only food sources today. Work had, once again, been hectic. I could see him looking around the restaurant, people watching.

Without warning, he leaned over the table. "You know, my girlfriend would kill me if she knew I was at dinner with another woman."

His statement gave me pause for a moment. Girlfriend. I hadn't even considered that. Ignoring the small, sinking feeling in my gut, I slurped my noodle and felt a twinge of guilt. I had no interest in getting him in trouble.

He must have seen the look on my face, because he smiled then. "I didn't tell her. It's no big deal, really."

I wiped my mouth on my napkin and swallowed a large gulp of water.

"Does she know you've started coming to AA?" He shook his head feverishly.

"No, not yet." This made me furrow my brow, suspicious.

"Where does she think you are, then?"

He leaned back, perusing. "Probably figures I'm out with the guys, shitfaced already."

It took me a second to realize, I didn't know a lot about Noah. I had no idea who the man was that I just shared a meal with, agreed to be his sponsor, and unknowingly risked his relationship.

"You know, if we're going to be working on your recovery, there's some things we may need to know about each other." He signaled the waiter.

"Like?"

"Well, for one," I smiled at the waiter as Noah politely asked for a dessert menu. Then, keeping my voice low, I leaned over the table. "I don't even know your last name."

I caught the way his eyes drifted over me, my chest now slightly exposed at this angle, my black hair flowing over my shoulder.

"You don't?" He seemed unfazed, but I did catch the bob of the bulge on his throat when he dry swallowed. I leaned back. This was not the game to play.

"No." I laughed. "You always sign in as 'Noah S.' What does the S stand for? Skynard?" This made him laugh loudly.

Through his chuckles, he choked out "Sebastian." He caught his breath. "My last name is Sebastian."

I nodded, satisfied with that. It was enough to Google if I felt so inclined.

"And you?" This made me stop for a second mid-bite.

"What about me?"

"Is your name just Leena? Like Cher?" This made me drop my fork, a hard laugh echoing between us from my chest. I saw his amused smile, which almost embarrassed me.

"Mileena. Mileena Richards."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Like, from Mortal Kombat?"

I nodded proudly. "Same spelling, different origin."

"That's fucking cool."

The waiter then came back, a large slice of multi-layered chocolate cake covered in a hot chocolate sauce set down on the table, two large scoops of vanilla ice cream and two spoons set down on the plate with it.

"Wow."

Noah shrugged sheepishly. "I heard sugar helps with the cravings."

We walked out of the restaurant, the night nice and chilly in the February air. We stood between our trucks, full and exhausted.

"So, we didn't come up with a game plan."

I nodded, leaning my head back on the door of my Tahoe. "I'm sorry. I was starving."

He returned it with a rub of his stomach. "Same. It's fine."

"You said in group that the usual thing is to go out and party after the show, right?" He nodded. "What's the chance of just heading home afterwards? Claiming you're tired?"

"Slim. We have the show. Then meet and greet. Then we all typically hang out in the green room. Do some shots. Then hit a bar." I watched his face downturn, as if he was admitting to a crime.

"Okay. And being in a bar is a big no no for right now." He sighed, covering his face with his hands.

"I'm not ready to tell them." I reached over, putting a hand on his shoulder. I felt his body slightly lean into the affection, only for a second.

"That's okay, Noah. We can make it work." I wracked my brain for ideas, but was sincerely lost for ideas. "Can you tell them you don't feel well?"

He put his hands down and leaned back against the door, looking defeated. "Maybe? It would need to be a pretty good disease to get me out of the after party."

This made me smirk. "You ever had the stomach flu?"

This made him chuckle. "You want me to vomit onstage?!" He feigned shock and disgust.

I laughed. "No, it doesn't need to be that dramatic. After the meet and greet, you just tell everyone you have to use the restroom, spend way too long in it, and then tell them you need to go home. Pull at the skin on your face a little, make yourself look flush. Make sure you're sweaty."

"That's a given after a show."

"You never did tell me the name of your band."

He smiled wickedly. "It's probably not your vibe?"

I lifted my chin proudly. "Try me."

"Metalcore?"

"Architects? Falling in Reverse? Ice Nine Kills? Bring Me The Horizon?" I began listing them on my fingers.

He pointed at the name of the last band. "We're touring with them some time next year."

My jaw dropped. "You've met Oli Sykes?!"

He shook his head. "Not yet, but I hear he's a really cool dude."

"Noah, how big is this band you're in?"

"Not too big, just me and three other guys."

I rolled my eyes. "Not what I meant." He laughed then, acknowledging his smartass.

"Maybe you should come tomorrow?" This took me back. The idea hadn't even crossed my mind.

"Seriously?"

His tone became excited. "Yeah! Why not? You can make sure I get out of there afterward, you can see us play, too. Maybe you'll hear something you recognize."

"Maybe I'd know if you just told me the name of the band." He laughed again, but my amusement was fading.

"C'mon, you can be my getaway driver."

"How am I going to get in, when your band is apparently a pretty big deal? I bet there aren't even tickets left."

He shook his head. "Nah, I can get you a VIP suite. So you don't have to do the mosh pits and all that."

This started to sound not so terrible after all. It had been a while since I had gone to a good rock concert. Life had been so busy.

"Can I bring a friend?" He smirked.

"Boyfriend?"

For whatever reason, I felt the inherent need to deny this immediately. "Nope. But I have a best friend who is really into metal. She just saw Bad Omens a few months ago."

His eyebrows rose, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Oh, definitely bring her. If she's into that, she may like us."

I nodded. "Alright. Where is it?" He pulled his phone out and unlocked it, swiping away multiple text notifications before opening a fresh contact and handing it to me.

"Put in your number. I'll text you all the details in the morning, when I get them." I nodded and added myself in under Leena H. He nodded in satisfaction.

Then came this sudden awkward silence. I could tell he didn't know what to do next. Handshake? Hug? Salute?

This made me chuckle, when I turned and opened my car door.

"Goodnight, Noah. See you tomorrow." I got a sheepish wave in return.

Back at home, after a much needed shower and settled into my bed, I pulled out my laptop.

My curiosity was too strong now. Who was this band?

My Google search took less than a second to load.

Noah Sebastian: Lead Singer of Bad Omens.

I stared at my screen for a long time. I wasn't reading this correctly was I? There it was, in black and white on my screen. It was a joke, right? Noah wasn't...he couldn't be...right?

But there it was, his photograph plastered on my screen. That was definitely in technicolor.

I didn't know much by Bad Omens, but I knew their song Just Pretend. It was one of the most played in my shower, on my drives to work. It was one of those songs that resonated with you. I heard it first on TikTok, and was hooked on that verse. That voice.

No fucking way.

I pulled out my phone, completely ignoring the fact that it was clear after midnight by now.

Me: YOU'RE THE LEAD SINGER OF BAD OMENS????

It took about three minutes, in which I was absolutely not staring at the screen the entire time, before I saw the typing bubble.

Noah: LOL Bad Omens? Never heard of them.

This motherfucker.

Me: Noah! Why didn't you say something?!

Noah: I don't get to have fun once in a while? Wow. AA's kind of a bummer.

Me: Laura's going to lose her shit.

Noah: That'll be fun for you. Talk to you tomorrow!

With that, the conversation was over. I chucked my phone to the foot of the bed, stunning a curious glance from my hound Angel. I petted a silent apology on his head and he laid back down.

What the fuck. What the fuck?!

I'm sponsoring a fucking rockstar.

#noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #fanfic

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gorlygorlx3 · 26 days

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Twilight Joyride (Moon x Reader) 🌑🎠

Written by me!

Moon loomed in the dark, once again acting as the security of the plex. He's been doing this for how long? A few years? He can't really remember. But from actor to attendant, it definitely changed some things. From creation and meeting his brother to transferring to childcare to...her...he experienced things he thought were only told in fairytales. He knows these walls contain secrets unparallel; he was a secret in this place. Doing...inhuman things to...poor...innocent lives. He harmed his brother...the only family member he had since the beginning. And ever since the corruption, so many people either loathed him...or feared him. Staff, children, Sun...How long has he been doing that? He didn't want to know.

Fortunately, Moon has gained resistance. Like bacteria to an antibody, he evolved. He's better than before when he was nothing but a puppet. He's gained his consciousness and he created his own antivirus barrier inside the mindscape, with the help of Sun of course. Though there were times when he felt like slipping, hearing the warmth of his beloved brother's voice made him regain himself again. He was glad to hear some optimism counter his pessimism during those times, even if he envied his brother's love of the children and time in the limelight. But he doesn't want to be the Cain to his Abel. That's the last thing he wants.

Still nothing. No sly crooks, no naughty children, no loose animatronics. A little boring but it's better than dealing with a robber trying to be slick or Monty smashing equipment due to something stupid. Moon crawled in the shadows cast by the dim lights of the plex. He already checked the second and third floors. Majority of the attractions were clear. Some wet-floor bots loiter around the floors not doing their jobs, but only because there were no spills. The security STAFF bots rolled around as well. He can tell where everyone comes from. Moon never really liked them either. He remembers waking up abruptly one night, lying on the floor of his room and surrounded by broken STAFF bots. He didn't know how they got up there. He didn't think Sun would do this. He was confused. It wasn't until he knew what was happening to him he knew how they got there. And why they were broken.

Moon shook out his thoughts. One because Sun reports having "nightmares" of robot slaughter while he sleeps. But two because he hears the sound of...clicking. Someone must have slipped from his radar. Whoever it is, they'll be in big trouble. Moon makes his way as the sound gets closer. His acrobatics let him move more through the halls faster and fluidly. He wanted to stay silent just to see if it was an intruder. The noises led him deeper into the plex, a place he wasn't so familiar with. It was a hallway he had searched in the past, but he never went down this way. Little sparks flickered in the dark accompanying the light being shined on a fuse box, illuminating a contraption a little. As well as a silhouette of a person. With the light, Moon could see a roof-like shape covering the person, with details of blue, white, and gold embroidered on the top. He could hear little mutters from the person who looked to be hard at work. He slinked down from his roost, crawling silently toward the human, like a predator hunting prey. Jumping down to the floor, he could see several porcelain horses, their colors dark due to the lack of light as well as a pole attached to all of them. Wait...this was...his carousel...

Moon always loved his carousel, from the moment it was built he loved it. He remembered hearing the music playing from the hall down. Such lovely music. And even more lovely horses. He gave each one a cute name to match them. He remember when he heard complaints about the carousel breaking down every now and then. But staff was too lazy to fix it, so it was just there to rot away. Sun likes the carousel so much, he wishes they fixed it already, or at the very least give them the code to fix it. He also remembers hiding away there during the corruption, where no one can find him. Just Moon and his horses. And now someone wants to destroy one thing that brought him comfort. How naughty. Moon approached the distracted intruder, red eyes piercing the silly little human. Closer and closer until-"AAAH!" The person shined their flashlight at his face, stunning him. He cried in pain.

"Oh my gosh! Moon, you scared me half to death!" A familiar voice cried. "Are you ok?"

After regaining his vision, Moon was surprised to hear the voice. It's the voice of who he knows and loves the most. "(Y/N)? What are you still doing here so late at night?"

"Oh. Well..." (Y/N) looked away in shame. "It was meant to be a surprise." She turns to face the fuse box. "But the dang switches weren't working." She huffed.

Moon was a little more confused. "A surprise?"

"Yeah! I wanted to fix the carousel for you." (Y/N) smiled sweetly. Which made Moon fall harder and faster in love. First, they created separate bodies for him and Sun, fixed the lighting in the Daycare, moved the generators into a safe spot away from the children, cleaned their room, and now this! How much did this woman go through for them? No wonder Sun was always so uptight with returning all those favors for them. Moon would ask why go through all this trouble for them but he knows she'll give the same answer.

"Because you guys don't get any support."

"Because you're just as important as the Glamrocks."

"Because I care."

He remembers the first time (Y/N) stepped into the Daycare on her break just to help Sun clean. Every time she watches through the glass, she says how much he has to deal with and not getting enough time to rest. He always said his brother was a hopeless romantic, swooning over anyone who complimented him. Saying it's true love and they'll live happily ever after. Then he had to be the one to bring Sun back to Earth telling him they were only being nice and it isn't love at first sight. But (Y/N). (Y/N) was different. Something about her persistence in helping...any of the animatronics really. He heard the Glamrocks talking about how nice (Y/N) takes care of them during maintenance. But that can't be the case, she's just a nice person. Nothing more, nothing less.

So why did it make the circuits spark and the cooling fans whirl every time he's seen her?

This was just another good deed (Y/N) wanted to do "for the hell of it" as she says.

"I was trying to fix the lighting and the motors of it but the fuses weren't working right." She crossed her arms. "But look, I polished all the horses. Look's good as new huh?" She gleams at a white horse with a vermillion saddle, breast collar, nose, and browbands, and a golden yellow mane. Golden glitter was flicked on the back legs down to the hooves. "Hyperion," Moon said breathly. He never realized how shiny and white the horse was. It's been that long of a time.

"I saw it in the corner while I was doing security. Reminded me of my childhood when I would to the state fair with my mom." She chuckled at the memory as her hand petted one of the horses. "I would beg my mom to let me ride, and when she did, I find the prettiest one to mount on and have a blast." She chose to saddle upon a silvery gray horse with a dark, almost black, navy blue saddle with little sparkly bits of silver. "I can still hear the little jingle the carousel played."

Moon smiled at the newly clean merry-go-round. The horses looked brighter and more elegant, and the roof was clear of cobwebs and dust, but sadly the lights weren't on nor was it moving. It would have looked so magical with them. "Glad you're happy with my gift Moon, even if it wasn't finished."

"You've done enough, Starlight. And I thank you." Moon looked to (Y/N) softly.

"Aw, you're welcome." (Y/N) was about to get off, only for her to fall. Well, if it wasn't for Moon's fast reaction time holding her back up before helping her get down. "Careful, Phoebe was always taller than the rest." Moon comments. But it made (Y/N) raise an eyebrow. "Phoebe?" Moon gets startled not realizing what he said. "Wait, the horses have names?!"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." Moon turns away, trying to hide his embarrassed face.

"Awwww! That's so cute!" (Y/N) coos.

Moon covers his face with his sleeping cap, unable to handle the embarrassment. "So what's that one's name?" (Y/N) points to a cream-colored horse with green harnesses and little flowers. "R-Rhea," Moon muttered. But (Y/N) couldn't hear him so she asked again. "Rhea. And the one next to her is Iapetus." Moon points to another horse. "So they're all named after different moons?" (Y/N) asked. "Y-Yes. But it's better than what Sun was calling them." Moon huffed. (Y/N) chuckled, imagining what kind of names Sun would have called each horse.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"My pleasure."

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #five nights at freddy's security breach #security breach #fnaf moon #moon x reader #moondrop

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nicksbestie · 2 months

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the bratzfornick 141 writing challenge

hi everyone! we’ve been looking for new fics to read and so many of you are so talented, so what better way to have new reading material than hosting a little challenge to fuel our delusions 😋

here are the basics for the challenge: pick 1 character, pick 4 story elements, and create 1 fic! more details below!!

the following rules are things you must follow. otherwise, you will be eliminated from this challenge.

no being rude or hateful to other creators. this includes us, as well as others participating in the challenge.

no copying or plagiarizing ANY work. this includes challenge submissions as well as other stories that have been posted to tumblr/wattpad/etc. if you choose to use one of your works from another platform, please make sure that you have proof it is your own work

no submissions that revolve around anything weird or illegal (abuse, incest, illegal age gaps, highly graphic mental illness, hard drugs, age play, homo/transphobia/racism/abelism/etc, bathroom play, etc)

5k max word limit. in order for us to be able to thoroughly read all of your submissions, please keep your word count to 5k or less and use paragraph breaks!

when you post your fic, please tag @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the tag #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge

characters (pick 1)

matt sturniolo

chris sturniolo

nick sturniolo

nathan doe

story elements (pick any 4): you may mix and match these to your liking. you are not required to do one from all four categories (for example: two locations, one trope, one genre OR two genres, two tropes, etc)

GENRES:

Fluff

Smut

Angst

Age regression

TROPES:

Friends to lovers

Enemies to lovers

Little x caregiver

Friends with benefits

Chronically ill x healthy

Mafia x goody two shoes

Academic rivals

Lovers to strangers

Nurse x doctor coworker

Fake dating

Grumpy x sunshine

Royalty x bodyguard

Major character death

Angel x demon

Singer/band member x fan

Arranged marriage

Locations/Settings:

Alternate universe (AU)

College/university

Concert

Outskirt small town

Big city

The forest/woods

Home

Library/bookstore

Vacation

Haunted/abandoned house

Office

Hospital

Plot Ideas:

Accidental confession (it slips out when drunk, caught in the heat of the moment, etc)

Revenge (fake dating, sleeping with an ex, etc)

Getting used to a new diagnosis/disability (a doctor who is so used to coaching patients through their new diagnosis that they struggle with theirs, getting used to new dynamics with a partner)

Forced proximity (one bed, locked in a room, etc)

Redemption arc

Taking care of each other (cleaning wounds, cooking, holding the trash can while they’re being sick)

Hiding a big secret

Fight that turns sexy

Language barrier (a Southern partner not understanding Boston slang, an actual language barrier, etc)

Chance encounter

Caught in the rain

Dare

create 1 fic: please follow the rules, characters, and story elements listed above! as stated before, you do not have to pick from all four story categories, just four total. write as many fics as you’d like for this challenge.

don’t forget to tag BOTH of us: @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge in your submission!

Submissions close May 15th, 2024! Most importantly, have fun! No actual monetary or material prizes will be given out for this challenge→it’s all meant to be fun and creative. Good luck and have fun! We can’t wait to see what you come up with!

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agendabymooner · 11 months

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satellite ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

“i’m here, right here. wishing i could be there for you.”

summary: when the news of the downfall of her racing journey broke out, max verstappen promised to never let her down like that ever again. (1)(2)(3)(4)(5)

content warning: confrontation and good crying sesh with max and ofc, panic attack, alludes to smut (not graphic), use of explicit language, angst, set in vs fashion show 2016

note: 300 FOLLOWERS?! you guys are insane and i love you all so much!!! thank you!!!

masterlist

[translation: i’m just putting my french fluency into use. thank you paris!]

tagged victoriassecret, steviemarlz

liked by danielricciardo, aimeeyh, max33verstappen

comments have been limited

charles_leclerc such a heartwarming caption from you ❤️

sylvieeford charles leclerc? hardly know her 🤐

landonorris my best friend ate 👏 liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford thank u best friend

tillymarie ughhh you girls make me proud ❤️ liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford i’m always eager to please 😍

danielricciardo when the mini boss can do anything >> liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford call me barbie 😉

max33verstappen what a beaut 😁 liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford don’t get too soft on me now, caddy 😂

Her standard was Max, and god, did that ever ruin her chance to have a rebound. Whenever she got the chance to go on dates, she seemed to cower from the thought. As if she was worried about not getting along with the said dates.

Speaking of anxiety.

The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was on the go, and to say that it was nerve wracking would be quite a shame. You would think that she would be alright with walking down the runway now— but to know that some of her peers were here to support her, three days after the last race? Yeah, she might as well shit on her pants.

She had everyone else to be nervous about; Lady Gaga was there for fucks sake. She was in the same room as Adriana Lima and Elsa Hosk. Hell, even Abel would be performing during her segment— why was she nervous about seeing her driver friends while she walked down the runway?

She supposed that no one had seen her pose in her underwear before. That, and that they all grew up with her— it was weird to see your childhood friend all grown up, dressed in lingerie and nothing else.

Not that Max Verstappen hadn’t seen that months ago.

Fuck, Max was going to be there!

She knew she was nervous. She just didn’t realize that it was because of him. Why would she be nervous? After all, working together had a major effect on their relationship. And… sleeping together once.

Because he didn’t bring it up anymore after their conversation that day. He was friendly with her, but not once did he mention that he wanted to do it again. She wasn’t sure if it was because of their workplace relationship or their general friendship, but she was sure as hell that it hurt. Not that she would ever tell him that. Not especially after she found a woman clinging to him at their next race’s afterparty.

So it did hurt. But as a prideful daughter of a miserable mother, she kept a straight face and smiled at everyone.

After seeing him that night, she kept their relationship as civil as it could be— only listening to him “Maxplain” everything he could speak about, and offering him advice whenever he needed it. She failed to mention a lot of things in her life— like how Abel was performing tonight. Max only found out through their friends hours prior to the event and while it pissed him off to no end, he couldn’t afford to upset Sylvie on her special day. This was her day after all. She was debuting as a VS model.

Tilly and Aimee had managed to see Sylvie and Stevie before the show as they prepared. They had mostly spoken about how they were able to get to the location easily and how Soren fussed when Tilly left him at Toto’s watch.

“The boys are there,” Aimee pointed her head towards the direction of the audience, “I told them not to be foolish this time around.”

“Did you tell them to behave and not bark?” Stevie giggled, making Sylvie cackle. Sylvie’s makeup artist shot her a warning to not ruin her makeup by crying in laughter.

“They know not to,” Tilly rolled her eyes, “those men have PR managers to answer to otherwise.”

“I think George and Alex were only there chilling,” Aimee said, “I didn’t think someone could have anxiety even if they’re just an audience— not until I saw Max.”

“Max? Why?” Now that piqued Sylvie’s curiosity.

Tilly answered, “I dunno. It must’ve been the adrenaline from Abu Dhabi, if you were to ask me. He’ll be fine once the show starts.”

The beating of her heart slowed down when her segment started, only focusing on the front and had only given Abel a look of indifference before making her way through the middle, posing with her head tilting slightly to the right. Walking back, she glanced on her right and watched Max’s eyes stare at hers.

She kept her head in his direction for a moment, not even realizing that she walked past Abel as her ears muted his song and voice, only paying attention to Max before looking back in front of her and walking off.

Max knew that she had seen him with his not-really-girlfriend in each race, and it was extremely stupid of him. Rebounds shouldn’t be a thing at all, he told himself. He knew how he felt about her, yet after spending some time with her in a bedroom, he seemed to chicken out and not tell her about the love he had for her.

He always wondered how she went from insulting him jokingly to having a civil conversation and agreeing to everything he said. It was wrong. Why didn’t she say something about it? They agreed not to lie to each other, did they not?

He seemed to feel like a hypocrite just saying that. But he was more than willing to admit that she was just as beautiful as she was before. He only started to feel different when they shared an intimate moment with each other, one that he’d like to relive for as long as he could breathe.

But they weren’t even aware that admitting would have to take time. After all, there were more problems to solve.

Partying had never been a priority for her, if you were to ask, but Kendall insisted that Sylvie come along before the younger girl could even dive headfirst into her work throughout their break. The third Hearth daughter only nodded and dressed up as nicely as she could, only deciding that she would only drink one glass of daiquiri. What she didn’t know, however, was that Kendall had invited her guy friends to join them at the party. She had never felt so annoyed— why wouldn’t Kendall tell her in the first place that she’d invite them? Not that she wasn’t enthralled at the thought. Some warning would have sufficed.

But it wasn’t their presence that made her want to go home.

Everyone was too busy dancing to even sit in their booth, leaving Sylvie behind while she scrolled through her Twitter. She liked the peaceful atmosphere that the club could offer in a booth. And her blocking Abel was definitely something.

Her eyes found a tweet that left her blood running cold. No.

“Sylvie’s Failed F1 Career: Explained”

From top to bottom, the story of her discontinued journey in Formula One was splayed out in a gossip website— a rather accredited one, while you’re at it. People would normally say not to believe what you see on the internet, but the truth was published and spread in the Formula One community and show business.

Nobody knew what had happened before. Not until now. Whoever the fuck were these anonymous sources, they were nothing but assholes. Everything in the article was detailed from head to toe. Some stuff that people didn’t know were put up for everyone to see and shame her with.

Then panic started to spread across her body, her feet stumbling up as she marched down towards the dance floor, her hand gripping on Max’s shirt as she dragged him to a seedy area of the club no one had ever stepped foot on.

“Mustang, what—“

“Cut the bullshit, Max,” she spewed out venomously before she shoved her phone in his hand. “Did you do this?”

His eyes peered down on the article on screen as they widened. He looked up to see her teary eyes appearing once more.

“No,” he answered honestly, but she wasn’t having it.

“You knew what happened, you’re the one who reported me, Max,” she cried out, her body shaking in anger and panic as she continued, “you saw that. You told the officials—“

“But that doesn’t mean I would fuck your career over!” Max exclaimed in frustration. “I told you that if you had somehow given me a heads up that they were kicking you out, I would have gone back and made them review it. Me not being there when you were being questioned was the biggest mistake I’ve made, because I know you. You’re honest. I would’ve known. I would’ve admitted that I was wrong if I heard you speak for yourself.”

“Then why do this? If you respect me then why do this now?”

“Sylvie, schatje,” he took a deep breath before looking at her again, “I would not— for the life of me— treat you like that. God, I would never forgive myself if I did. So I swear that isn’t me.”

He didn’t even realize how bad their situation was until she started crying and crumbling in his arms, the music still tampering with the hysterical sound of her sobs. He tried to comfort her right there, but the loudness of the club only messed with both of their emotions and anxiety as he picked up their stuff and hailed for a cab.

It didn’t take him long to find his room as she continued to cry in his arms. She spoke about her worries about her career as she sobbed, not wanting to lose her job in Red Bull and as a model because of this disaster they both called a lie. How was she going to explain all of this to her family? She asked herself as she sniffled, wiping her tears away. She hadn’t even realized that Max was crying too.

All of this happened because he believed his friends who couldn’t give anymore shit about him. All of this happened to her because of him. All he could do now was apologize with tears.

“I- I- I’ll do my best to fix this,” Max stammered, wiping his tears away to hide it away from her as she looked up. “Let me please help you fix this. This was my doing and I- I can’t hurt you like this, Sylv. I can’t afford to have you lose your career because of me. Just… please, forgive me and let me help.”

“Please, Max,” she whispered. “I can’t be silenced anymore, Max. I- I need someone to speak for me.”

“We’ll be speaking for you,” Max promised, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ll… I don’t care if it ruins my own career, I just know yours cannot be ruined because of me. I’ll be here for you, schatje. Just have me.”

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cepheusgalaxy · 3 months

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What I want to see in Hazbin Hotel s2 part 3

A Valentino song. I think it'd be a cool insight in who he is depending on the song. I'm also picturing it being from similar situations to Angel's, but from his PoV. Maybe something about him being very very mad that Angel is not obeying him, idk.

The Vees interacting with the Hotel. We've already saw lots of those two groups, and it's pretty clear the Vees will be a major antagonist in the next season, but aside from the Alastor X Vox "Stayed Gone" duet and Angel with Valentino, we've never seen them properly interact. I mean, Angel and Vox kind of aknowledge each other and are shown to be in the same place sometimes, and Val and Charlie met once but I rlly wanna see where things would go.

Velvette. I mean like, I was wondering how Angel finds those gorgeous outfits he has? I reached the conclusion that it wouldn't be too hard, considering his position and who's his boss, but then I considered that maybe they were designed specifically by Velvette and that seemed very cool. I kind of want to see them interacting

Eve, Cain, and maybe Abel.

Charlie going to an Overlord meeting???? Maybe????

On a side note: We know there are the Hellborns like Charlie, and I'm picturing them to be this aristocratic-ish group? Maybe they even have like, fancy balls. I want to see Charlie attending one of them, or more Hellborn characters.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel s2 #the vees #hazbin valentino #hazbin vox #hazbin velvette #hazbin angel #hazbin charlie

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pinto-bean-writes · 2 months

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Welcome Y'all :)

My name is Pinto! Some of you may know me as @sydaney-foxay, my personal blog! I'm a silly little author, I usually write original works in the genres of Dark Fantasy and Realistic FIction with hints of fluffy-angsty Romance sprinkled within! Though I do occassionally write Fanfiction and do take requests, but more on that later on!

Name: Pinto Bean Age: Minor Pronouns: She/Her Sexuality: Heteromantic & Ace Socials: Wattpad, AO3, Neobook Race/Ethnicity: Half Filipino, Half British Religion: Catholic ✝

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Any type of hate, racism, homophobia, transphobia, body shaming, abelism ect, are PROHIBITED and will NOT BE TOLERATED.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ No NSFW/Explicit asks or images/videos in the Ask or Submissions box. They will immediately be DELETED.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Anybody younger than 13 reading/engaging with this blog WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. (Mutuals are an exception to this rule.)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Any asks or submissions about politics are PROHIBITED and will be DELETED.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ People older than 30 reading/engaging with this blog WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. (Family members, mutuals, and people granted personal permission are an exception to this rule.)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ If any work is marked "16+" please do take it upon yourself to make a responsible decision on wether to consume the piece of media or not.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ All trigger warnings will be mentioned, please do read those first and mind then when reading through a piece.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Anyone younger than 13. (Mutuals and family members are exempt from this rule)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Anyone older than 30. (Mutuals and family members are exempt from this rule)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ AI Art supporters.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Proshippers.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Homophobic, transphobic and fatphobic individuals.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ People who have public ownership of explicit/18+ media blogs.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ This silly shart sniffer /silly

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ People who showcase harmful/toxic behaviors and excuse it with religion (I.E: Toxic Christians, toxic Catholics)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Bots.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ People who spread religious hate.

If any of these describe you I highly suggest getting off my blog and to not interact with it.

..............................Fanfiction............................

As I mentioned before, I do take requests! Now I do wanna start this off by saying:

I consider myself an ORIGINAL AUTHOR. I mostly write ORIGINAL WORKS. Though those take quite a long time to come out and sometimes I want to write but not focus on larger, original projects- so I take REQUESTS and write MY OWN fanfictions, but those are LOW on the priority list. I spend the majority of my time writing WORKING ON ORIGINAL WORK, so I do want to say FANFICTION REQUESTS MAY TAKE A WHILE TO GET SENT OUT. Due to this, I want to thank you all in advance for your patience and support!

Now; onto the fun stuff!

Fanfiction requests will usually take about 1 week to come out, due to my focus on original work and the fact my writing is usually very long and detailed. I write for a plethora of fandoms and even though fanfiction is not my main focus, I try to put as much love and care into my fanfics as I do my original work!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Hazbin Hotel 🔥

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Helluva Boss 👿

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Cuphead 🥤

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Camp Camp 🌲

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The Ghost and Molly McGee 👻

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Miss Peregrines Peculiar Children 🐣 (I have read all 6 books + watched the movie)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Stardew Valley 👩‍🌾

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sexy Brutale 🛌

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Court x Mort Saga 📚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The Amazing Digital Circus 🤡

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I DO WRITE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Character x Character ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Character x Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Platonic Character x Character ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Platonic Character x Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sibling Character x Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sick comfort ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Period/Menstruation comfort ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sibling comfort ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Headcanons ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Alternate timelines ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Alternate universes ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Alternate situations ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Hurt comfort ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ MILDLY suggestive fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I DON'T WRITE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sexually explicit NSFW (OF ANY AGES) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Incest ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Pedophelia ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Underage use of drugs and alcohol ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ SA scenes ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The brutal murder of children ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suicide ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Zoophilia

Side note:

My boundaries when writing fanfiction will not always align with my boundaries when writing original fiction. I want to respect the original piece of media and the creatives behind it- so I refrain from writing anything particularly heavy, intense, or mature that has not happened in the original piece or anything incredibly off-canon. I also know the large majority of those who read/request fanfiction are minors, and I want to be able to give them a place to read lots of fics without worrying about coming across anything particularly disturbing. Though with my original work, do expect much heavier topics to be referenced.

..........................Original Fiction........................

As I've stated before, I am an original author and I do plan on sharing my work here on this blog among other socials! My original work will usually take longer to release than fanfictions, so feel free to pop in aks about characters, plots, and things revealed through spoiler posts! The genres I write in are usually dark fantasy, realistic fiction, dark humor (if that counts), psychological thriller, psychological horror, dystopia, dark romance, and political fiction.

My original work may contain these things/topics: (Of course specialized Trigger Warnings will be placed on each piece according to the content of the writing)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Swearing ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Mental/Emotional/Physical Neglect ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Mental/Emotional/Physical Abuse ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Generally traumatic events ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Intense descriptions of blood, gore, and violence ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The use of drugs and alcohol ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Underage use of alcohol ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Toxic romantic relationships ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The mentions of sexual harassment/assault (The actual acts of assault are never described or written out. Only suggested.) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Cults/Cult-like organizations ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Death ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Violence ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Vomiting ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ MILDLY suggestiveness (MILD, meaning all characters are fully clothed, and there is never sexually intimate touching) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Vulnerable character (I.E: being drunk) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Child death ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Human cruelty ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ References made to specific types of drugs, alcohols, weapons, ect,

Another reminder:

All pieces of writing will have specific trigger warnings placed on them depending on the content of the piece. Not all of my original works will contain these specific topics if any at all- please read trigger warnings before consuming.

.......................Socials...................... ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Wattpad ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ AO3 ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neobook

Thank Ya'll :)

...to everyone who read through this and I do hope you stick around and follow to see what crazy shit I can whip up for y'all with nothing more than a Google Document and an ink cartridge filled with dreams!

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betterthanyalls · 6 months

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Abel The Rebel Angel x Reader

"It's only November!"

Day 2! I hope you like this one, I tried to add romance but not too much at the same time yk? Enjoy!💕💕

Published: 12-3-2023

Words: 543

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

Y/n was walking through a mall in her home city. She wasn’t shopping for anything in particular, just browsing through the sections.

It was only November 5th, and the whole mall was decorated for Christmas.

After walking for a bit, Y/n stopped in a local family owned store. It was decked out with festive decor. Ornaments glistened from the front windows, and Christmas music sang from the speakers.

As she was looking around, she didn’t notice a toon walking towards her, busy looking at his phone. When Y/n looked up, it was too late; the human and the toon bumped into each other, causing them both to take a few steps back.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you!” Y/n panicked, trying to make sure the toon was alright.

“First it’s Christmas in November; now I get hit by some daydreaming idiot.” She heard him grumble as he steadied himself.

Y/n leaned back, giving him an offended look.

"Well, excuse me, Mr. Grinch!” Y/n glared at him with a sassy tone.

Abel looked at her and into her eyes, staring into her soul with his pie cut eyes. Unexpectedly to Y/n, he let out a small chuckle.

She didn’t notice it before, but she did now; the toon had major wings on his back. His head had a tilted halo hanging above it, and he was in a nice suit. The toon's hair was well kept as well. All in all, he seemed to care for his appearance, and she wouldn’t lie if she had to admit that he was pretty attractive. But that doesn’t automatically mean she’s head over heels—no, not at all.

“What?” Y/n frowned.

“You have weird insults.” The toon smiled.

“Well ok then, why not tell me some of your ‘oh so great’ insults?” Y/n mocked, putting her hands on her hips.

“First off, don’t call someone a Grinch-” The toon began before being cut off by Y/n.

“It’s true though! You were acting like The Grinch.” She states matter-of-factly.

He just deadpanned.

The two of them talked for a long time, sometimes bantering or playfully arguing. They eventually learned each other's names.

~~Time skip~~

It had been a year since the two met, and now they’re inseparable.

Currently, the two were simply lounging around on Y/n’s couch. Y/n was lying down, her legs laying on top of Abel’s lap. Abel was sitting up, scrolling through channels on Y/n’s TV.

He tried to ignore how pretty she looked right now; they were just friends after all. Nothing more.

As Abel scrolled through the channels, he stopped on an interesting one. It was going on about how electric cars are made.

“We’ll be right back after this short break.” The channel spoke. As the screen of the TV faded to black, it was replaced with blaring Mariah Carey and red and green lights.

“It is November! Why are there Christmas commercials out?!" Abel shouted at the TV.

Y/n couldn’t help but burst out laughing at his anger.

He looked over to her, a smirk flashed over his features. Shoving her off of him and the couch, Abel couldn’t help but laugh too.

#x reader #fluff #christmas fluff #Abel The Rebel Angel #Abel The Rebel Angel x Reader

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aokozaki · 19 days

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Devil Survivor 1 makes a gimmick out of including several demons with "Bel" in their name, in reference to it being a title meaning "lord" associated with several major deities (x).

(In the same way that fellow DS MegaTen game Strange Journey ties together several Mother Goddesses with some form of "MA" in their name - name-based syncretism was going around the ATLUS offices in those days).

Several "Bel" demons are in a race to see who can kill all the others the fastest, granting the winner the title of "Lord of Bel", new ruler of the Demon Realm.

Current winner Belberith is shown to be ahead in the race by being a large ball of meat with a few recurring "Bel" named demons from the Mega Ten series that otherwise didn't make it into the game sticking out of it.

That purple guy with horns and a goatee? That's series regular Belphagor. The frog, cat, and guy with a crown is the series' depiction of Bael, and the silvery guy down the bottom is Baal.

Pretty neat, Devil Survivor.

It has to cheat to make a few of them work. "Beldur" and "Belzaboul" are not very standard spellings of Baldr and Beelzebub. But it also uses this fast and loose approach to put in some real oddballs, like Jezebel or the story of Cain and Abel.

Which reaches an apex of oddball picks when the true final boss on most routes isn't Belberith, but the Tower of Babel.

Like, the whole thing. The concept of the Tower of Babel, quite fittingly being the last thing in your way before you take the Throne.

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lostloveletters · 9 months

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Bruised Fruit Chapter 4 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: In the Bible, Cain killed Abel, and when confronted by God responded, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” But Michael isn’t Cain, and Gloria isn’t God. She doubts he’d answer her if she were.

Note: Thank you everyone who's read the fic on here and AO3! Your support means a lot to me🖤

Warnings: Angst, canonical major character death, emotional manipulation. Sexually explicit content that involves vaginal fingering.

Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

Chapter 3 | AO3 Link | Masterlist

“Were you at Guadalcanal?” she had asked, his eyebrows raising in the slightest display of surprise. “I remember reading that article in Life magazine about you. My brother was there, but he won’t talk about it.”

That was the first conversation she had with Michael after Fredo’s brief introductions between them. A clumsy encounter, awkward, even, as she could tell Michael was politely tolerating her presence for his brother’s sake until she couldn’t help but bring up Guadalcanal. Suddenly, Fredo was dead, and Gloria began to suspect Michael had never truly left that island.

She could only piece together what had transpired on Michael’s disastrous trip to Cuba. No coincidence that Fredo’s death occurred just after Hyman Roth’s assassination made the front page of The Daily News. The bell had tolled both for he and Rocco Lampone, one of Michael’s caporegimes who was shot by federal agents immediately after taking out the hit, according to the paper.

At the same time, Gloria struggled to wrap her head around Michael ordering his own brother’s death. Perhaps it was her own attachment to Jackie, but she couldn’t imagine a situation where she’d even consider that an option. She and Jackie didn’t talk often, but they were as close as they could be considering the circumstances.

She wouldn’t have even considered the possibility if Michael hadn’t attributed Fredo’s death to drowning when he broke the news to Gloria. Though she tried not to show it, she’d taken pause at that detail. Even after a few drinks, he was a good swimmer, often hanging out at the hotel’s pool with whichever waitress of the week had caught his attention.

Michael’s eyes widened when Gloria teared up. She’d been able to keep herself composed throughout his mother’s funeral and wake, but not knowing Carmela much at all helped that. Fredo was a better boss than other people she’d worked for in the past. She supposed she considered him a friend.

“He was always so nice, really, everyone at the hotel liked him,” she managed to mumble. “I’m so sorry, Michael. Losing your brother—I can’t even imagine.”

He reached out and caressed her cheek, her tears rolling down her face and onto his hand. He stared at her, silent for a moment. “You’re here, darling. That’s all I need.”

She took his hand from her face and kissed his palm, giving him a weak smile. His gaze was dark, dense and sprawling like the bare trees that hadn’t yet begun to bloom so early in spring. So easy to lose her way if she weren’t careful in the daytime, helplessly lost at night if she dared attempt to do so. She could see herself, so minuscule reflected in his eyes like an omen.

Finally, she broke his gaze, wiping her eyes. He gave her a hug and a soft kiss on the cheek that lent her some warmth, allowing herself to wallow in his embrace. She sniffled, rubbing her face in his shoulder without care as to the makeup and snot that she’d surely smeared on his clothes. He shifted one hand from around her back to stroke her hair, his fingers getting caught in the microscopic tangles and stray curls she struggled to keep under control. His comfort was all she’d be offered, and she accepted it as long as he’d provide it.

Minutes passed before Michael put his hands on her shoulders, telling her in a gentle voice to take a hot bath to calm her nerves, and that he’d be just outside if she needed anything. Reluctantly, Gloria nodded, though she didn’t leave her spot, even when he was outside, instead staring at her feet, her arms wrapped around herself. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt so helpless, so morose.

Michael glanced back at the house, his young fiance no longer in view. Gloria, Latin for glory. Reminded him of attending mass as a child. Supposedly echoed by choirs of heavenly hosts in the presence of the Almighty, a being so extraordinarily divine that to gaze upon His visage would cause certain death. Until the end of time and beyond that, Gloria, Gloria, Gloria en excelsis Deo. Forever and ever. He sighed. Gloria.

She’d been so deceptively earnest in asking him about Guadalcanal when they’d first met, clumsily paired by his traitorous brother. He almost couldn’t help but humor her question, and the subsequent ones that followed, betraying her knowledge of what transpired on those nightmarish islands but a desire to understand it all the same. She had thanked him for being so honest, a striking smile on her face that made him feel like it was reserved just for him.

He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, but she had made it so difficult, pretty and wild with a gleam in her eye that made him want to indulge her despite all reason. So he indulged her question about Guadalcanal, and then almost every other request she’d made, doing so while stewing in the fact that she was yet another reminder that he was merely a man, a slave to his base desires.

Coaxing her into calling him by his first name had been a bit of a challenge. In every other circumstance, he’d expect to be addressed as ‘Mr. Corleone’. Instead, he was inexplicably frustrated by her insistence on maintaining the veneer of professionalism despite his being uncharacteristically personal with her. So, he brought those damn service medals with him all the way from New York to Nevada. Hadn’t even looked at them since he returned from his exile in Sicily.

The banquet hall had been practically empty, save for a handful of other employees setting out utensils ahead of Johnny Fontaine’s dinner show that evening. ‘I’d like to show you these somewhere private, Gloria. They’re very personal to me,’ he’d said, his voice low so only she could hear.

She gave him that same striking smile when she agreed to go up to his room with him. He wasn’t a man many people said ‘no’ to, and she wasn’t a woman who said ‘no’ to many men. A morbid part of him wanted her to, just to see what would happen, test his already dwindling self-control. He could feel it slipping from between fingers when the door clicked shut, wondering how she could be so calm, alone in a room with a married man. Either she’d done so countless times before or hadn’t been expecting him to fold. Probably both.

Her fingers had brushed his World War II Victory Medal, then his Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal, then, while he described how he earned his Navy Cross, she finally uttered his name in a raspy lilt. Michael sounded almost foreign coming from her lips, part of this secret they were sharing—hotel rooms and service medals and first names. As soon as she pinned the Purple Heart to his lapel, her manicured hand lingering on his chest for just a moment, his ego howled for a taste of blood. Tiger, she called him, lurking in the dense jungle, fiery eyes stalking his fox-prey as she chased pleasure without a thought for him until he pounced, and, in turn, consumed her, razor-sharp maw dripping with her passion.

Hearing about her other dalliances, never from her but always in passing, made him silently seethe with a raging possession he knew he had no right to feel, but did nevertheless. She had clearly assumed that he would be a quick and casual fling like every other man she saw. He resented those men not just for their proximity to her, but at the ease with which they seemed to be able to cut things off with her. Every time he told himself a visit would be the last, he’d habitually slink back to her in the still of the night. He supposed giving in to those instincts served some purpose higher than simply giving in to desire. If he hadn’t, he would have been alone, without hope for another son.

Little else good had come from his family’s tenure in Nevada, and upon receiving confirmation from Tom of Frank Pentangeli’s suicide, had quickly come to the conclusion that they could get a chance at yet another fresh start in New York. Besides, with the newly created vacuum of power there in light of Roth’s and Pentangeli’s deaths, he needed to move in quickly to maintain control.

Gloria sat in the bathtub, watching her fingers prune beneath the foggy surface. She had run it scalding, tears streaming down her face as she allowed the hot, perfumed water to engulf her. When it had cooled enough to not be painful to the touch, she splashed some on her face. A knock at the door caught her attention.

“Gloria? It’s me.”

“Come in.”

Michael opened the door as narrowly as he could to slip inside, not wanting to chance anyone catching a glimpse of Gloria in her state of undress despite the bathroom being in the master bedroom, which few people were allowed in, anyway. He watched as she pulled her knees to her chest, looking at him expectantly. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tie nowhere to be found as the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked almost as disheveled as he did that night he appeared at her apartment.

“I decided it would be good for the family to move back to New York,” he said, sitting on the edge of the tub, his fingers grazing the top of the warm, sudsy water. “I’m going to make an offer on my childhood home tomorrow. It should close by the end of the week.”

“Long Beach, right? That’s pretty close to my parents. They’ll be glad,” she said. “Did the people who lived there say why they were selling?”

“An old associate of my father’s lived there, but he died recently. His widow put it up for sale. Doesn’t need such a big place anymore.”

“Wow, between your friend, Fredo, and your mother…it comes in threes, that’s what my dad always says.”

She knew when his thin-lipped smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, it wasn’t so simple.

“Things will be different in New York. Quieter, not as much trouble,” he said.

“So you’re leaving me here?”

He snickered, his smile more genuine as the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I said not as much.”

“I see,” she said, shifting in the tub, her bare breasts peeking from beneath the water, and she gasped as the cool air brushed her sensitive skin. She noticed his eyes on her chest. “You just here to look, or are you trying to go for a dive, tiger?” she asked, her laugh light and airy until his hand dipped beneath the water to squeeze one of her breasts.

“Something like that,” he muttered, gently tugging her nipple before doing the same to her other breast.

There they were again, those eyes like woods she’d lose herself in. This time, she did so willingly as he drew her in with his touch, his arm submerged in the bath water as he slipped his fingers between her folds, watching as she gripped the edge of the bathtub. She lifted her hips, rolling them slightly as she felt his fingers fill her.

“Michael—fuck,” she groaned when his thumb brushed her clit. “I need more.”

The sensation was odd, for all they’d done in the past, bathtubs had never been involved. Pools and showers, yes, but perhaps they’d both wordlessly come to the conclusion that something about a bath was far too intimate. She could understand why in that specific situation, something inherently erotic about him being fully clothed while she was quite the opposite, exposed and easily accessible for him.

With a curl of his fingers, a loud moan echoed through the tiled room. No one would hear her anyway. As she flexed her legs, calves burning ever so slightly, she tried digging her nails into the porcelain tub, breaking one with the force she used to grip the sides of it.

“Don’t tease me,” she growled, voice low and husky in her frustration.

Her eyes met his again, and she was something wild in that forest, a woman-beast with no regard for civility, instead venturing deeper in search of pleasure. It was how Michael had lured her in, carefully domesticating her before she could realize what he’d done. Her body jerked as she felt her orgasm building up inside her, splashing water onto the floor from her sudden movement.

His shirt sleeve had rolled down, drenched despite his efforts, but he didn’t let up, his eyes fixed on her as he felt her pussy clench around his fingers as he worked them inside her, his thumb unforgiving on her clit. Her legs shook as she came, toes curling as more water splashed out of the tub.

“Oh my god,” she moaned. “Fucking—keep going.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and a haze overtook her mind as she rocked back and forth against his hand. So engrossed in her second orgasm wracking through her body like an earthquake, she almost forgot he was even there, instead this disembodied figure that existed only to make her cum. If only.

She shook as the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through her, eyes wild as they opened again, fixed on the man before her, so composed compared to how she’d come apart.

He pulled his arm from the water, grabbing her nearby towel and drying his hand off with it. Her knuckles were white when she released her grip on the side of the tub, chest heaving as she ran her fingers through her messy, half-dry hair.

She attempted to push herself up from the tub, and he quickly wrapped his arms around her torso, supporting her as she climbed out on unsteady legs.

“Your shirt—“

“I don’t care,” he said, wrapping the towel around her. “I’ve got others. How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good.”

He lifted her hand, inspecting her broken red-painted nail. “You sure?”

She snickered. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

As she dried herself off, he leaned against the counter, watching her. For a moment, it felt like they were in the hotel room again, no obligations or strings attached, and something inside her ached for that time. She’d always enjoyed it, but she wouldn’t have taken it for granted if she’d known what four years of it would have led up to.

She grabbed her brush from the counter, combing the knots out of her damp hair.

“Where do you want to honeymoon?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t know,” she said, hissing softly as she painfully snagged a knot. “The Hamptons would be nice.”

“Not very exotic.”

“Well it’s not exactly about sight-seeing, is it?”

She could be a tourist any time she wanted, but when else would she have a week where having sex was not only expected, but encouraged? Even in school, she wasn’t one for museums or monuments, finding books far more engaging than the watered down information presented to them. As the likelihood of a summer wedding was rapidly increasing, the last thing she wanted was to walk around looking at ruins or statues in sweltering heat, hardly having the energy to do much else by the end of the day.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Gloria turned to him, her eyes wide. “What?”

He smiled the slightest bit at her shock. “Kay and I married in a small ceremony in New England, and then we went back to Long Island. We didn’t honeymoon.”

“But that’s the best part.”

“You’ll get your honeymoon, I promise.” He wrapped his arms around her bare torso from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. “So, the Hamptons? Beachfront, secluded–”

“Very secluded,” she emphasized as he kissed her cheek.

Her dreams that night had troubling vividity in which she couldn’t tell whether she was asleep or awake as realistic scenarios warped outlandishly. People’s faces shifted into others, desperately trying to tell her something but unintelligible nonetheless. She woke up in a cold sweat, Michael sleeping soundly beside her. Damn. It was her turn to be the insomniac.

As quietly as she could, she got out of bed, sliding her feet into her slippers and padding across the carpeted floor, hoping she wouldn’t wake him up. She slipped out the door and made her way into the living room, turning on a lamp for the slightest bit of light. Shuffling into the kitchen, she made herself a rum and coke, trying to remember something from her dreams, but came up with nothing comprehensible.

She wandered back into the living room, turning on the radio that was almost always set to the local rock n’ roll station since she’d been there. The volume of the music was low, but she could still make out the sounds of the familiar songs as she sipped her drink.

“Glo?” a small voice whispered. “I can’t sleep.”

The kids had taken to calling her that, less formal than Gloria without forcing them to call a woman they hardly knew a derivative of mom.

Anthony emerged from the dark hallway, a teddy bear tucked beneath his arm.

“Me either, kiddo,” Gloria said. “Are you hungry? I can make you a snack.”

The boy shook his head, instead walking into the living room and sitting next to her on the floor. Despite effectively moving into the house, Gloria had hardly interacted with Anthony, though that was almost exclusively his choice. She couldn’t blame him. She still thought it was too soon for her to be living there, but after Carmela’s death, Michael practically insisted.

“Do you know why everyone’s leaving? Daddy says mommy did something bad, but I think he’s lying,” he said. “He lies a lot.”

Gloria let out a shaky breath as she tried to figure how to answer such a loaded question. “He doesn’t tell me much, but I don’t–your mother isn’t a bad person, Anthony. She was just very sad.”

“Was uncle Fredo sad, too?”

“I think so. When you become an adult, you’re not supposed to talk about things like that, and some people have a harder time with it than others,” she explained. “They feel very alone, and they do things they might not normally do because they don’t know how else to ask for help.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t. I don’t think things should be that way.”

Gloria knew what Kay did, and though she wasn’t sure if she herself could go through with having an abortion, she certainly wouldn’t condemn a woman’s desperation. Still, she wondered what Fredo had done to be iced out by Michael. She felt almost guilty for considering Michael had something to do with his brother’s death, fratricide was certainly no weightless accusation. Then again, even if she confronted him with it, would he tell her the truth?

For four years, she had to face the horrifying reality of nearly losing her own brother. She wondered about the worry Michael’s family felt when he was fighting overseas. From what she understood, they hadn’t been very supportive of him joining the Marines in the first place. He had told her that the only person who congratulated him was Fredo, and the only people who regularly sent him letters were his brother, his mother, and Kay, all no longer in his life in some way.

“I’m going back to sleep now,” Anthony said.

She nodded. “Good night.”

He disappeared back down the hallway.

When she heard a door close, she threw back the rest of her rum and coke before making herself another. Some teeny-bopper’s twangy voice faintly played out over the radio, singing his song about heartbreak. The station always played the moodier songs at night, giving way to the teenagers who sounded like lovesick ghosts that haunted the airwaves. “I’m crying,” they’d wail. “My baby left me.” Few said it better than Elvis, “You’ll feel so lonesome, you could die.”

The song shifted to Ricky Nelson’s ‘Lonesome Town’. Despite his talent, she always found it funny, the California boy putting on an accent to sell records. But people put on acts all the time, different masks depending on the scene. She thought back to earlier in the bathroom, and wondered if Michael’s sudden display of intimacy was calculated on his part. His question about the honeymoon had certainly taken her by surprise, enough so that for a few hours, she didn’t think much about the implications of his brother’s death or try to talk to him about it again.

She squeezed the glass in her hand, enraged at the thought of him playing with her emotions while she was in such a vulnerable state, but more than that, angry at herself for falling for it.

#the godfather #michael corleone #michael corleone x oc #the godfather fanfic #michael corleone fanfic #michael corleone imagine #the godfather part ii #the godfather imagine #michael corleone x ofc #bruised fruit fic

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whiteteadreams · 1 year

Text

Y(our) Song

Paring: Lee Seokmin x Gn!Reader

Word Count: like 1.7k idk...

Genre: Slice of Life, college AU, fluff

Warnings: i don't think any...like at all except fluff and seokmin is in love love! also not proofread lol

a/n- hihi! so this idea came to me and i had to write it immediately! but dw i'm still working on some requests and the mafia jeongin fic!! also big big thank you to @ofneos for helping me out with some polishing of the fic and talking with me while i added the finishing touches!!

Every night that you hosted the campus radio station, Seokmin was always there to tune in and listen to the songs you played and the commentary you made before and after each one played. Your late podcast like music sessions made him feel a little less lonely when he was alone in his dorm at night, which was every night. Your voice filled his chest with a warmth and placed a smile on his face while he typed away at his computer, completing assignments that he held off so he could do them while you spoke.

~~~~

He liked you, a lot, and he didn’t even know you, or at least not really. He knew your voice and the personality you put on for whoever listened to you. You didn’t know who ‘whoever’ was, but Seokmin was easily the person on campus who listened to you the most.

Seokmin was listening to your calm, soothing voice like always when you said something that caused his fingers that were rapidly typing to come to a stop instantly.

The song had just come to an end when you said, “Alright, this one’s for all the other students who are night owls like me and tune in all the time. Whoever is the first down to the studio and finds the vinyl that holds my favorite song, which I played for you last week, somewhere in the many shelves that hold various records, will win two free tickets to any upcoming concert of your choice.” The instrumental intro of the next song started playing as you finished speaking. “Head over now for that chance to win before you’re out of time, in the meantime, here is Out of Time by The Weeknd”. As your voice was replaced by Abel’s, Seokmin saved the google doc that he was working on and sprinted out of his dorm.

He passed the studio every time he went to his psychology class, so he knew exactly where he was running to. It was about half a mile away from his dorm but the excuse to see and talk to you overcame the sleepiness that fogged his brain.

However, there was several things going through his brain at this time. The main ones were what he was going to say to you, where the radio station was, and what your favorite song was, which was Right Down the Line by Gerry Rafferty, but what wasn’t on his mind at this time, was his speeding footwork.

Before Seokmin knew it, he had tripped on an elevated sidewalk crack and was falling to the ground. His knees and palms luckily took the majority of the impact of his fall. He knew the little stones embedded into his hands would hurt later, but the overwhelming urge to meet you overpowered the pain. Getting up and wiping his palms off on his grey sweats, he started running again.

The streets were empty, absolutely silent except for his heavy breathing. He picked up his pace at the thought of someone else using his fall as an advantage to get ahead of him. Besides the quiet streets, if the streetlights weren’t there, it would also be completely dark. The shops and cafés mixed in within the dorms, classrooms and lecture halls were of course closed as it was 2:52 in the morning, but he saw the one light ahead in the distance, the one he was looking for, the radio station’s light.

He smiled as he didn’t see a group of people crowded outside the corner building, and his smile grew as he saw not a single soul inside the building once he stepped inside. But the feeling of someone beating him there nagged at his spirit. Seokmin was forced to step away from his radio in order to run there, so if someone did happen to beat him there, he wouldn’t have heard your announcement. He was there within five minutes, so he was praying there wasn’t someone right down to street who got there first.

Seokmin didn’t give up though and headed to the vinyl section, you didn’t say CD, you said vinyl and after listening to Right Down the Line several times after you stated it was your favorite, he knew the artist, genre, tone, how it was arranged, everything. Gerry Rafferty is listed as rock, pop rock, folk rock, soft rock, blues rock, and of course, classic rock. Seokmin wasn’t sure which genre you’d have it listed under, but as some of the other radio hosts weren’t as deep into genres as you were, he headed to the classic rock area and went to the 70s section to find City to City, the album it was on.

The albums were in very specific year order, so he grabbed the 1978 handful and looked through them. Chills ran through him as he saw the album art, surely if someone had found it first, you wouldn’t have had time to put it back just yet.

Putting the rest of the albums back in the exact order he found them in, with the exception of the album he clutched to his chest, he walked back to the main area and stood by the booth surrounded by glass that you sat in. He saw you talking into your mic with the words “ON AIR” flashing above the door.

You must’ve sensed his presence despite his silence as you looked over your shoulder with a bright smile and waved at him before holding up one finger to signify you needed a moment. He shot you a shy smile and nodded. You looked back at him and pointed at the album. He held it up, showing you the front before turning it around and pointing at the name of your favorite song. Your smile grew and you gave him two thumbs up. Seokmin’s heart sped up at the thought of making you happy.

His heart was already beating fast from the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins, but you were also much prettier than he had already thought you were. Your photo on the station’s website was the same photo that was on your school ID but the photos that were held in link to your Instagram also didn’t do you justice.

While Seokmin waited for you, he looked down at his hands, careful not to get any blood on what you called a masterpiece. His feet hurt a bit from running in his slides, causing him to constantly switch which foot he was putting most of his weight on. He knew he looked awkward but lucky for him, your back was to him.

“Alright everyone, the contest is over as we have our winner. I’m going to step away for a bit, but don’t worry everyone, I have plenty of late-night jams queued up for all of you. Enjoy!” Seokmin heard your voice throughout the speakers in the station and braced himself for the conversation he was about to have with you.

The booth’s door opened and out stepped you. Your eyes held evident drowsiness, but he could understand as to why, but your voice and spirit was still bright.

“Hi! Well, you won my little competition, I’m impressed that you remembered the song! I’m Y/n by the way.” You stuck out your hand only to be met with Seokmin holding up his scraped hand. “I would shake your hand, but I tripped. I’m Seokmin though.” Heat covered his face as he giggled at himself.

“Aw, I’m sorry! But at least you won, right? About that, what concert are you wanting to go to?” The red on his face spread everywhere visible as he let the words slip out before he could give it a second though. “I actually only came here since it gave me an excuse to meet you.” He looked down at the vinyl in his hand and traced the colorful outline of Gerry Rafferty with his fingernail.

“Oh! Me?” Your words don’t hold any type of mockery, you don’t make him feel embarrassed whatsoever. “No one has ever wanted to meet me, I’m really flattered.” You laughed but it was humble and genuine, full of surprise, but your voice drug on. “But you met me, and it’s been 30 minutes since the contest started and no one else showed up…so do you want those tickets? Any concert you want!”

Seokmin could hear the awkwardness in your voice, unsure about what to do at this point. The confusion was also evident as no one has stuck around this long during a radio involved thing just to talk to you.

“Um, yeah, yeah sure. Do you have any suggestions? Gerry Rafferty maybe?” He looked at you with doe eyes, the concert tickets were the last thing on his mind while you, you were the first.

Looking at him with softness in your eyes, you shook your head lightly and giggled. “Gerry Rafferty died in 2011, but if he was still alive, I would have definitely suggested him. I like Greta Van Fleet a lot and I’ve played them on the station, how about them?”

You looked on your phone for tour dates of theirs while waiting for Seokmin to answer. He laughed and looked around, seeing that he was truly the only person that tried to show up.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, is I don’t care about who I see, I was just wondering if you’d like to go with me to any concert.” Seokmin was cute, that was obvious, and his demeanor showed nothing but kindness and a gentle aura.

“I mean, yeah sure! You can still pick the concert and I’ll get us those tickets!” Seokmin’s smile grew even more, and he bounced a bit on his toes. “Greta Van Fleet is fine with me.” He couldn’t remember the song of theirs that you played but all he cared about was the fact that you liked them.

He couldn't remember how their songs went, or the names of whoever is in Greta Van Fleet, but it all doesn't matter to him. The only thing on his mind is this chance to make you his.

#x reader #kpop #fluff #seventeen #seventeen kpop #seventeen fluff #dk fluff #dk fanfic #lee seokmin #lee seokmin fluff #seventeen dk #seventeen lee seokmin #gender neutral reader #dokyeom #seventeen dokyeom #dokyeom fluff

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firebuug · 8 months

Text

indirectly not really tagged by(stolen from) @scp-168 because i'm cracyyyy (want to type and ramble)

3 ships:

damian already went off about abc but i need more abel and hokma. you guys talk about old man yaoi but WHEREEEE is the old man x old man yaoi. your coworker aged you 40 years and then he remanifests in his office as a manifestation of his flaws and his trauma and he's old as balls too. tell me you arent all over his ass. also can we have a old woman yuri carmen.

literally all of the ships i've been going crazy over have literally just been oc ships but also i need everyone to know that even if i don't play it anymore gregor x rodya will forever be the bisexual fail ship of all time. they both get no pussy. they beat each other up daily. gregor is used as a headrest and is also boob height. what's more to love? but also gregor and meursault? there's no chemistry here whatsoever other than they were both done dirty by their society and also have a ridiculous height difference. i feel like gregor talks and says shit and meursault takes it too seriosuly or doesnt get it and they both sit in silence for the next 30 mins. i hate them

none of this matters (holds up my oc polycule that consists of a giant centipede a wriggling neurotic mass of wires a giant bird dinosaur beast and the occasional cockroach that needs some love and forces you to like them) (holds up my queerplatonic autistic distortion sex explosion that commits The Pianist 2 and kills thousands and forces you to like them) (holds up my giant centipede kissing the bug from limbus company and forces you to like them) (holds up my bisexual telephone who hates men but wishes the living cymbal piano man and knight butch would kiss her so bad)

First ever ship: ugh i wish i knew, i'm pretty sure it has had to be an oc ship of some kind, but that probably doesn't count since that's just playing with dolls, so my money is on some stupid hetalia shit (i refuse to actually speak the name of the ship but like. it was one of the most popular mlm ships in the fandom so fuckin. guess). although the first ship i actually started making content and reading fic for instead of just looking at pictures of (i have no idea if hetalia came before this or not) is skarso from tos sob

Last song: im currenlty listening to music lel...im listening to Paranoiac Intervals/Body Dysmorphia by of Montreal one of the songs of all time nglll

Last Movie: Probably a movie i watched at my schools entertainment club, which was..across the spiderverse (it was really good but the ending was kinda disappointing)

Currently reading: I need to start reading again but I keep getting distracted by art and the Evil Devices, but I'm working on continuing Villain VS Villain by Rosalind B. Sterling and recently bought Chainsaw Man Buddy Stories and the first book of part 1 that i'm waiting to get brainrot again to read

Currently watching: i need to finish catching up on major adventure time episodes so i can watch fionna and cake and not be confused. also want to finish steven universe sometime...also need to finish watching madoka w my friends....

Currently consuming: also wateh

Currently craving: watermelon (we only have it when im not craving it like a dehydrated man in the desert)

#enjoy the insane ramblings of a madman #i'm distracting myself as much as possible so i don't think about the fact that i have to get up early tomorrow and think #txt #tag meme

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megthemewlingquim · 1 year

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wasteland, baby! | three: concerning the dreaming and your new companions (the coming of storms)

Summary: You spend a few weeks in the Dreaming and get to know your new friends. But something is wrong. Storms are coming.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: I will reitorate that there are MAJOR SPOILERS for The Sandman graphic novel series here. If you have not read “Fables and Reflections”, “Brief Lives”, “The Kindly Ones”, and “The Wake”, I would recommend you wait to read this until you have done so. This chapter contains dialogue from Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman" issue 57.

Read the previous chapter: two | concerning your time spent away from the dreaming

wasteland, baby! masterlist

“Is it ready yet? Are you done?”

“Nearly. There we go. There we are. All ready for you to make into something wonderful.”

“That’s me darling girl…”

“What are you making him, then?”

“I can’t say that I’m entirely certain, my popsy. But it’s a fine yarn and I don’t doubt that it’ll suit.”

The next few weeks in the Dreaming are lovely.

When you started to get yourself used to The Dreaming, you toured with Lucienne, who accompanied you through the vast landscapes and sights that surrounded you.

You saw Fiddler’s Green again. He was happy to see you, and just as lovely as you remember. The bright green fields and streaming waterfalls and beautiful flowers were a sight for sore eyes: you grew to realize why travelers dream of that place.

You saw the Lake of Dawn, which was on one side of the Dreaming. A beautiful countryside lake, it was decorated with the morning sunrise and shades of pink, orange, yellow, baby blue, and gold. It looked like a painting, the colors of the sky all fading into one another.

The Mandrake Wood was a small forest of little plants. You were instructed to keep your hands off of them, or else they would either scream or give off a very weird smell that would’ve made you see things.

The Via Lacrimae was not a Road of Tears, contrary to what your studies had made you believe. It was a limitless sky filled with thousands of stars. Though it was beautiful, it gave you a terrible sense of loneliness and isolation. This, Lucienne told you, was a place where depression took hold of your dreams. You knew, without her saying, that somehow your cell, the place that you first saw Morpheus in years past, resided here.

The Archipelago, a series of small tropical islands, was so far away that you and Lucienne had to take a boat to cross the oceans to get to it. To you, the boat was much more modern and futuristic than you were used to, and it was very disorienting to look at. But Lucienne was patient, and described it as “a boat that humans use nowadays, in the current year.” The Archipelago itself was small and lonely, but still beautiful and almost neutral in atmosphere. It was a resting place.

The Love Fields were overwhelming. A frantic, shifting, loud, and passionate place like this would only exist in dreams. The sky and ground were the deepest red color, not dangerously so but the color of blush, the blush that spreads across the face and shoulders and chest when infatuated lovers are at their most vulnerable and intimate. The ‘fields’, as they were described, were not fields at all. They were bodies, naked bodies of all shapes and colors and sizes. Everywhere you looked, there were people fornicating, desperately and passionately. The sounds of moans and sighs and ecstatic cries were constant. You did not spend a long time there; the second-hand embarrassment was too strong.

Nightmare Country was on the other end of the Dreaming: a dark, desolate place with gray skies and stormy weather and barren, fruitless, dry ground. You saw many creatures there, the grotesque and the uncanny, the typical horrors of children such as clowns and spiders. You met Cain and Abel, the first murderer and the first victim, respectively. Cain was a snappy, sarcastic man with eyes like daggers, and Abel was a bulkier, gentler man with a severe stammer and watery blue eyes. You also met Goldie, the baby gargoyle who was equal parts ugly and adorable, and Gregory, the older gargoyle who resembled a very large puppy. You liked Abel immensely, but felt very wary and cautious around Cain, despite his reassurance that he would not hurt you.

The borders of the shifting zones were the last stop on your tour for the week. You saw the borders of Fiddler’s Green, a couple of schools and gas stations in the middle of nowhere, lonely houses that did not have any doors or windows, some mountains, and the desert sands. The liminal spaces, the uncanny valleys, these were the shifting zones. You did not get too close to any of them, lest they would suck you up and ensnare you.

A week later, you met Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Matthew, and Nuala. What Morpheus said was true: Mervyn Pumpkinhead is, in fact, a sentient scarecrow with a pumpkin for a head. Matthew is a raven, dark and smooth. Nuala is a small fairy, not beautiful but sweet, with pointed ears and wide brown eyes and tousled brown hair.

“So, uh, you one of Boss's new broads?” Mervyn had asked, a cigar smoking in his gloved hand. He inhaled from it, and exhaled the smoke from his nose… and his eyes, and his mouth.

“Mervyn,” Lucienne scolded.

“What?” Mervyn raised his hands in self defense. “It seems like yesterday that the Boss was getting over… uh, what was her name… I forget. Name of a region — Aeolia or something. I dunno. It's been a while since we've mentioned her though… or maybe it hasn't been. Time is so screwy here.”

“Lord Morpheus… had a lover?” you asked softly.

“A lover?” Mervyn laughed once, almost in a scoff. “Kid, he's had a few lovers. There was that princess from Africa, ten thousand years ago. There was… Killala, the cosmic being. There was that one woman who was made for him, literally. Don't ask, it didn't go well.” Mervyn paused. “None of 'em go well.”

“Maybe this one will,” Matthew chimed in.

“Guys,” you said bashfully, “I'm — I'm not one of Morpheus's new lovers. I'm just a visitor.”

“For a hundred years?” Matthew cawed. “I doubt he’s given that amount of time to any dreamer.”

“He just… felt bad that I was stuck for that long. I’m sure you would do the same if you were him.”

Nuala, the fairy, looked up at you with a kind smile, but there was something in her face that didn’t sit right. You couldn’t tell if she was scared or sad, or something else. “I’m sure he missed you terribly.” She looked down at her feet. “He must’ve been really sad when you were gone.”

You couldn’t deny what Nuala had said; you’d heard it yourself, from Morpheus. He did miss you terribly. But it wasn’t just you: there were others that went missing. You were sure he missed them just as much, if not more.

“It was awfully nice of him to bring you back though,” said Matthew, thankfully before you could figure out how to respond to Nuala. “Back when I first met him, he wouldn’t have done that. He would’ve left you there, I think. Something changed in between then and now. I don’t know what it is.”

Lucienne blinked.

“He doesn’t tell us much,” Matthew continued gravely. “We’re kinda… left in the dark a lot of the time. And y’know, I’ve been thinking, too… about certain things.”

“What are ya thinking?” asked Mervyn.

Matthew opened his beak to say something, but then he shut it. “It’s nothing… It's fine.”

He opened his wings and flew off, out of the library.

“Is he alright?” Nuala asked. “I’ve never seen him so… distraught.”

“I’m sure he’ll be alright,” Lucienne sighed. “This happens with Lord Morpheus’s ravens sometimes. They get worried when they haven’t seen him for a while. They get restless and can’t stay in one place for long.”

“When do you think we’ll see Morpheus again?” you asked.

“I’ve not the slightest clue. He’s on the shore, but he wouldn’t want to be disturbed while he’s working. He'll come back to us eventually. He always does.”

There is a river that runs through the Dreaming. It fluctuates between deep and shallow, choppy and still, depending on Morpheus’s mood. Today, you are sitting at the edge of the land there, your feet hanging over the site and lightly touching the water, which mostly still: a wave rises here and there, sometimes small, other times quite large. But they do not hurt you; they rise, and then they fall as quickly as they come.

He is uneasy, you think. But… about what?

Looking up at the castle in front of you, you shudder. The skies are becoming gray and storm clouds are rolling in, shrouding the Dreaming in a murky, dark blanket that does not seem secure at all . Something is happening.

A miniscule black dot swoops down from the air, and lands in front of the castle entrance. The castle itself is on top of a very high mountain. You are able to recognize the black dot as Matthew: he is talking to the Gatekeepers.

The Gatekeepers are the Griffin (a lion with an eagle’s head), the Wyvern (a dragon) and the Hippogriff (a winged horse). They are gigantic creatures mounted on marble platforms, towering over the equally gigantic entrance to the castle. They gaze at Matthew with the utmost neutrality, but they speak to him nonetheless. You cannot hear what is being said.

Morpheus is uneasy. Something’s wrong.

Standing up, you gaze at the storm clouds and look to your left. A long ways away, you can see a beach, a shoreline, and a lake that stretches on forever. The waters there are getting choppier.

Stupidly, perhaps, you begin to walk forward, towards the shore. Toward Morpheus.

It takes a while for you to get to the shore — it’s on the very edge of the Dreaming. A wind has risen and it seems to draw you backwards, as if keeping you from moving forward. Sand starts to get in your eyes. It reminds you of the shifting zones, and you fight the urge to sink to your knees and let yourself be buried.

“That’s not very nice of you,” you mutter into the air. “I know you may not want visitors right now but… I would like to see you.”

Two seconds pass, and the wind dies down. You are now able to see something far away on the shore, on an open plot of sand and surrounded by rocky cliff sides. A tall man with pale skin, covered in a dark cloak. He is surrounded by other humanoid figures.

Slowly, you begin to see him more clearly as you join him on the shore. He is… making… these figures around him: they are half-finished, some lacking faces or mouths or limbs. Some are disgusting and monstrous, almost like the nightmares of children… and others are normal looking, like the nightmares of adults. Some of the humanoid people are so normal looking that you would think they’re fellow dreamers, but something about them is off just enough that you are stricken with a sense of unease when you look at them.

There is one that stands out more than the others. A tall, young, naked man with white hair. His eyes are closed. He looks more finished than any of the other nightmares around you. Something about him looks waxy and dead, as if you were looking at a corpse, or even a mannequin. You recognize him, somehow… You don’t remember ever meeting him, but he looks like someone you may have passed on the street without ever paying him any mind — well, maybe you would have begun to date him, if he had asked. He is certainly handsome. But your attention lingers less on this man and more on Morpheus.

The Dream Lord is concentrating hard on his work. He is gazing with narrowed eyes at the man he is creating, and he shapes the man with his hands, altering the nose or the chin or the arms like clay.

Without turning away from his work, Morpheus addresses you. I apologize for that. Truly, I appreciate your presence. But why did you come here?

“Storm clouds are coming in. Merv and Matthew and Nuala are worried about you… I’m worried about you. Are you alright?”

Morpheus says nothing for a little bit. Then, he looks back at you. His eyes, usually starry and bright, are dim and tired. He looks shrunken, exhausted. I am… perfectly content. Thank you for asking.

“You’re… pardon me for saying, but you’re an awful liar. What’s wrong?”

Despite the comment, Morpheus offers you a tiny smile. You’ve found me out. Ah, I am just… thinking… about things. Or… trying not to. That is why I am so focused on my work. Do not trouble yourself with worry, dear one. I will be fine.

“What are you working on?” you ask.

A nightmare. I am… recreating him.

“Recreating? What happened to the old one?”

I uncreated him. He was… petty, and foolish. It was my error. I made him, unintentionally, to be too ambitious and too cold. Nightmares should be frightening, yes, but not malicious. They exist only to reveal a dreamer’s fears so that they may face them, not to cause fear and unrest for the pleasure of it. He will be a protector now.

“Nightmares reveal a dreamer’s fears. Can I ask you what my nightmares mean?"

Morpheus stops what he’s doing and puts his hands in his jean pockets. Thunder rumbles in the clouds.

Some time ago, I was asked to interpret someone’s dreams. He asked me, “I was floating on the sea, calling my wife’s name. What does it mean?” This was when I was cold and ruthless and distant, and I told him, “Am I a hedge wizard, that I should interpret your dreams for you? Dreams are composed of many things… images and hopes, fears and memories. Memories of the past and memories of the future.” I did not tell him what his dreams meant, and this inaction caused him to be unprepared for what awaited him in the near future. He was… distraught… by my unwillingness to let him know. But I did not indulge him.

I shall, contrarily, indulge you. First, what do you think your nightmares meant?

“The fear of solitude.”

You would be correct, but that is not all. You are afraid of cruelty and neglect, and you are afraid of those you love rejecting you. Your cell was a manifestation of that fear.

“Why did you save me?”

From your nightmares? I am not cruel. This nightmare was overperforming, much like the nightmare you see standing before us. He had done his duty, but… he had done it for the pleasure of it. The Corinthian, before I uncreated him, had swayed more than just mortals in his ideology of fear. He had persuaded other nightmares, too. That will not happen again.

“Do you do that often? Save people from their nightmares?”

Often? Define ‘often’. There are trillions upon trillions of beings in the universe. Morpheus grins. They all dream. I would not want you to trouble yourself with the amount of times I have… interfered… in the nightmares that overstep their bounds. It happens more times and more frequently than the human mind can comprehend.

“Oh.”

It seems like the thunder has quieted down, and the gray skies have become just a bit lighter. You feel content there, with Morpheus, on the sands of the Dreaming.

Morpheus turns and looks across the sands. Someone is coming, he says suddenly. I did not send for anybody. His voice is tight. I shall send you to the castle. I will rejoin you shortly.

“What?”

A raven caws.

Once more, in the way of dreams, you are instantly in what seems to be a broom closet of a kind. It is a small, cluttered room with various kinds of brushes and construction equipment. The room does not smell very nice, either. Delicately, you step over the equipment and make your way to the doorway. Turning the knob, you exit the janitor’s closet and find yourself in the castle, in the North wing. The door has a sign on it that reads: JANITOR’S CLOSET. A piece of paper below the sign contains the words ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH. MERV PUMPKINHEAD. in crudely scrawled capital letters.

You are not alone at the moment. You are surrounded by different creatures; servants of Dream’s, perhaps, or citizens of the Dreaming with free roam.

Nuala the fairy runs past you, the soles of her bare feet slapping the cold floor. It almost looks like she’s not quite touching the ground, but it could just be your mind playing tricks. She looks scared.

“Nuala?” you ask. “What is it?”

She does not answer you. She disappears around a corner.

You look around. None of the other creatures appear to be under the same stress. They walk leisurely in the castle halls, without a care in the world.

You don’t know where to go. You could go… pretty much anywhere. You pick a direction — to your left — and follow the hall. Down steps and through the labyrinth of the castle, you slowly arrive at a part of the castle that you have not seen before.

It is a long, wide, dark room with nothing in it except seven wall decorations: they look like mirrors, or maybe picture frames. Elaborate gold borders surround circular spaces, and almost all of these spaces each hold an item: in the first, you see a large, worn, dusty book. In the second, a small silver ankh. In the third, a mirror. In the fourth, nothing. In the fifth, a red jewel that almost looks like a heart. In the sixth, a tiny ring with a sharp fish-hook on it. In the seventh, a misty and unstable swirl of floating color.

Something about both the heart and the ring intrigues you. You step forward silently, making your way to them. Your feet make no sound on the floor below you.

Your fingers brush the smooth surface of the heart.

You are standing in a wide, smooth corridor colored the deepest red. The surface of the corridor — the floor and walls and ceiling — is the same the whole way through. It looks like a cave of sorts, but you have no trouble seeing.

It looks like the room you were just in, with its own wall frames and items. But there is a person laying on what looks like a couch in front of you. They face away from you, but they speak to you:

“My, my, this is a lovely surprise, don’t you think? I haven’t had visitors since… well, since my sister gave me this.”

The person holds up a tiny red flower in a beautifully manicured hand. He, or she, or… whoever… does not turn to look at you.

The voice is sultry and seductive, buttery and dangerous. You cannot place if it is a male or female voice. Sometimes, it is deep and sensual, like a man’s, and other times it is lighter and more mischievous, like a young woman’s. You do know that it holds power, and the power that it holds is dangerous and sharp, like a knife’s edge.

“You’ve wandered here on your own accord. You wanted to come here.”

You feel compelled to step closer, and you do. It’s almost involuntary.

Did I want to come here? you think. I don’t…

“You did. I should know. I am wanting. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe not. Maybe you had a feeling, deep down, in your heart, exactly what that glass heart meant. What it means for you.”

Your mouth has gone dry and you cannot muster up any words to speak. As you hear this person talk, you realize that everything they are saying is true, even if you have no idea what any of it means. This person is like Morpheus. This person knows you, knows you more intimately than you'd ever know. But there is a danger here, that knife-like sense, that keeps you from being comfortable with it.

“What does it mean?” you manage.

The person chuckles, and it's a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Wouldn't you like to know? I can't tell you that, sweet thing. That would ruin the fun of it. You'll know soon enough.”

The person turns around and looks you in the eyes.

You are looking at the most beautiful person you have ever seen. Whether they are a man or a woman… you cannot tell, and you don't care. Beautiful tawny eyes the color of yellow wine. Deep maroon lipstick and dark eyeliner. Their skin is pale like smoke. You suddenly smell summer peaches, and your mouth waters. Somehow, though you cannot tell why, you know that to see this person is to love them.

But… you don't.

You see them, right in front of you. You know that to look in these yellow eyes is to forsake anything else, leading to your ruin or your triumph. But you are doing just that — looking into the yellow eyes — and you hold your composure. You do not fall in love.

And that's when it hits you.

You know. You know who this person is.

Desire.

Dream has family, you think, swallowing thickly.

“My big brother has quite a large family, actually,” Desire says nonchalantly. “You've already met his son. Pity how he turned out.” Desire's face scrunches up in confusion. “It seems to me… that my brother's influence has gotten to you. Normally, any mortal would be begging on their knees for me to even glance at them.” They scoff, an amused smile on their face. “He must be really wrecked for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Desire shrugs, their smile fading into an expression of disinterest. “It wouldn't matter even if I told you. It won't last.”

“This is about — Dream?” you ask, trying to make sense of what Desire is saying.

“Things are always about Dream,” they mutter. “Even me. I don't like it.”

“I don't understand.”

“Mortals rarely understand anything. But, if anyone asks… if Dream asks… I don't have anything to do with anything that's going on right now. But deep down, he knows that. And you'll know that soon enough, too.” Desire smiles. It is, like everything else about Desire, knife-like and sharp.

But their eyes…

Their beautiful yellow eyes are screaming.

Desire's eyes twitch, and they spill over with tears. The smile, all happy and mischievous, stays the same. “You poor thing. I'm starting to like where things are going. It's a pity it's going to end.”

They wave a hand and you feel a lurch as you are yanked backward by a very strong, invisible force.

You're back in the long room of Dream's castle. You are holding the glass heart with both hands, and immediately upon recognizing it, you frantically put it back on the wall. Biting your lip, you slowly back away from the heart, keeping your eyes locked on it.

Your back meets a body and you whip around with a frightened yelp.

It is Dream. His eyes are soft and concerned. What did you see?

You're panicking. “I'm sorry — I didn't mean to go anywhere, I was just —”

Dream shushes you, and the sound is soothing and quieting. It sounds like an invitation to sleep, a soft lull that slowly brings you down into the bliss of unconsciousness. He takes a hand in yours and swipes his thumb over your skin. His voice is so, so soft. I am not asking for an apology. What did you see?

“I saw Desire,” you whisper.

Dream instantly tenses up. His eyes are wide and pained, and he glances over at the glass heart on the wall.

But then his eyes go to yours again. It is no matter. Please, dear, do not trouble yourself with this. I shall deal with my sibling in my own time. Desire should know by now not to meddle in my affairs.

“Your — your affairs?”

You are a guest in the Dreaming. My guest. You are under my protection for as long as you live. This is an affair of mine.

Morpheus's hand moves up to stroke your cheek, as if you were a little child. Desire will not harm you again. This I swear.

“Desire didn't — didn't hurt me.”

Dream's eyes are piercing then, but his harsh gaze is, once again, not directed towards you.

Yes, they did.

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