#that’s when george started being weirdly nice

[secret-keeper-speaks]

I have no homework for once. my teachers haven’t been assigning it for a good week because of the trip. george and harold are going insane about this. i mean about both the trip and the lack of homework. speaking of those two george has been talking to me more often than usual too. I assume it’s because of our truce, but he is being oddly nice about it. not that I’m complaining, though.

#sk logs #apparently I got assigned to watch those two at the airport #before we get on the plane I mean #that’s when george started being weirdly nice #again not that I’m complaining #I’m just a little suspicious is all #especially since harold’s slowly starting to follow suit #I don’t know if they’re planning something #and they’re just trying to get on my good side #or if they’re actually just treating me like an equal #because of the truce #it’s almost friendly #it confuses me #it confuses me quite a bit actually

[squidproquoclarice]

Yeehawgust Day 31: Git Along Little Dogies

August 1890

Rainbow Junction, Nebraska

Bessie understood losing a child, or at least, she did in some sense.  She and Hosea had lost some babies, one of them achingly close to being born, and every time, she’d cried.  With George, there was an actual grave.  One she still thought about, even near twenty years later.  Pieces of her heart and soul carved out and stitched together only with the most deliberate care, leaving the scar all the same.

But even she didn’t fully know what it was like.  What she’d lost had been mostly the dreams, the hopes, the potential.  Arthur…he’d lost a child fully in the world, named and known and to judge from helping raise her sister’s kids years ago, one who’d already very much started to show a clear personality and self at four.  No, technically three.  Arthur had last seen him alive at three.  Dreams and potential, yes, but so much heartbreaking reality as well.

Three months now since he’d come back and said he found them buried, and soon enough he once again smiled and laughed and did all the usual things within their small family, but she saw that emptiness in his eyes when he thought nobody was looking.  Knew that I’m fine facade for the act it was.

Something else there too, something bleak and hard that unsettled her, but if he wouldn’t talk about his boy and the woman who’d borne him, he wasn’t going to talk about whatever happened afterwards.  She knew Arthur so well now after almost thirteen years, learned his moods and tempers and kindnesses, but he’d gone somewhere she couldn’t follow.

He’d always tended to ride off for a while to be by himself, even before he’d been making trips to see Isaac, but now sometimes those trips ended with him coming back drunk or else in the local jail for getting into a bare-knuckle brawl.  Things that would have felt like youthful idiotic high spirits in a man with energy and temper in abundance now felt like something so different. 

Dutch said Arthur just needed work.  Bessie frankly thought Dutch was full of shit on that point, but wouldn’t say so.  She could see he was so impatient for Arthur to just come back to himself.  As usual, trying to nudge things along, make them into the reality he wanted, and he probably meant well by it, but it was like trying to force a man who’d been gutshot onto his horse and demanding he go holler Git along you little dogies at the cattle and round them all up, claiming it was just for his own good.

She found him out in the barn, on the heap of feed sacks they’d put in to start to prepare for winter.  A book opened and placed facedown on his chest, and him instead staring up at the ceiling as if it had something profound written on it.

She took a deep breath, and knew this would probably either help or shatter him completely, but she couldn’t just stand by helplessly and wait.  Or shove more work at him like Dutch.  Or shove more books at him like Hosea.  Or cluck and fuss over him like Susan.

Arthur heard the whimper from the puppy she was carrying and sat up, though he put the book aside.  Still a man who valued reading enough to not carelessly throw a book to the floor and risk damaging it.  Sat there, looking at her and said, “Found another wayward critter, huh?”  An edge of rueful humor to it, the self-deprecation so familiar to her.  

“Yeah, in town.  This one was the runt.  Man was threatening to drown him, if you can believe it.”  True enough.  Though it had been in a weirdly joking way that she knew wasn’t serious, but which she couldn’t find funny all the same.

“I can believe it.  World’s a shitty place, Bessie.  My pa threatened to drown me plenty of times.”  Said with an offhanded humor, but she couldn’t find it funny either.  The puppy snuffled, wiggled, cuddling closer to her.  “Figured maybe you wouldn’t mind a late birthday present.”

His brows knit together in confusion.  “You and Hosea got me that nice shaving kit.”

“Now, Arthur.  I took the poor boy on and we all know who’s best with animals in this family, and don’t think I don’t see you petting everyone’s dogs and cats given half a chance.  So please just play along with me here.”

Also not untrue.  But hopefully he wouldn’t see what lay beneath all that.  The notion she’d had, looking at that poor last remaining puppy, that what Arthur truly needed was someone who needed him, someone to give some love to, someone to give him some happiness back.  Yes, Boadicea did some of that, but people always had a more complicated dynamic with their horses, given the dependency of a working relationship involved.  Dogs and cats?  It could be much simpler.  

He sat back a bit, shoulders easing, and she saw the faint twitch of a smile.  One of those moments he’d managed to forget the pain, to let it recede, and she thanked God for that.  She’d made the right call here.  “You got me there, I suppose.” 

“Besides, it’s been a while since we had a dog.  What, five years?”

“Seven.  We lost Midnight seven years back.”  A gleam of humor entered his eyes.  “It’s fine, we got little Johnny as a pet instead.  Now, he shits where he ought, but he still ain’t gotten the hang of not yapping all the time, though.”

“Arthur.”  She couldn’t help but chuckle all the same.  “Here.  Besides, don’t I owe you for beating me at dominos this winter?  I always said we needed something to mark the occasion should you ever manage it.”

He was smart enough to know some of what she was doing, but thankfully, he seemed to believe it was just her being a soft touch, and both of them knowing he was every bit as much of one when it came to animals.  She handed over the dog, his fur the color of a newly-minted penny, and watched him cradle the puppy close to his chest.  Already half in love, by the look of him, and laughing at the dog’s boundless energy.  “OK, there, Copper.  Yeah, you’re a good boy.”

“Copper?”

“Coloring.  And hell, we got enough lawmen sniffing out our trail at times–might be nice to have a friendly copper around for once.”

Copper seemed to agree, licking Arthur’s face.  She felt a spark of hope at that.

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2022 #rdr2 #bessie matthews #arthur morgan #copper the dog #cw: child loss #thanks for another year of yeehawgust y'all

[noki-is-soup]

ᘜᗴOᖇᘜᗴᑎOTᖴOᑌᑎᗪ ᔕᖴᗯ ᗩᗷᑕ’ᔕ

♣️Warnings:

♥️Fluff, Ig?

♠️Pairings:

♦️GeorgeNotFound x Gn!Reader

MASTERLIST

——————

Activities- What do they like to do to spend time with their partner?

George absolutely loves just sleeping with his partner. Not sexually, just physically sleeping together. He doesn’t need to do anything when he’s holding you, just being with you is enough.

Beauty- What do they admire about their partner?

George LOVES your hands. He just finds it so cool that your nails could make your whole hand look different or different accessories.

Comfort- How would they comfort their partner?

Just laying with them, honestly. He honestly seems like the type that once he is comfortable and know you are comfortable, he would never let you go.

Dreams- How often to they dream about their future with their partner? What do they dream about?

George often spends his time dreaming about the future when he’s bored. He enjoys the idea of having kids with you, probably around 2-3. He seems like the type to have a “golden family”, which means he wants to be involved as much as possible with you and your kids’ lives.

Equal- Are they more dominant in the relationship, or more passive?

It definitely is very equal between the two of you; sometimes he plays into the certain dominant role, yet other times, he’s much more passive.

Fights- Do they forgive their partner easily? How do they fight?

I can easily see him taking a week to get over an argument, which can get very annoying for you. Of course, he will apologize when he realizes he’s wrong. When he is fighting, he will easily condescend you whenever you are trying to argue back, like:

You: “Fuck off!”

George: “That’s not very nice to say, is it?”

Gratitude- How grateful are they for their partner? Are they aware of what their partner is doing for them?

He may not realize what you do for him at first, but as soon as its brought to his attention, its an endless amount of praise and thank you’s. He tries to make it up to you, but he is endlessly grateful.

Honesty- Do they have secrets that they hide from their partner? Or do they share everything?

George will usually not remember to say things that are semi important, like someone flirting with him because it simply didn’t have any significance in his life. He doesn’t understand why he needs to remember it even happening, so he doesn’t mean to keep things from you, yet he does sometimes.

Inspiration- Did their partner change them somehow? Or the other way around?

George usually would stay in bed for whole days at a time, yet when he started dating you, his mood completely changed and he was more active.

Jealousy- Do they get jealous easy? How do they deal with it?

George doesn’t get jealous easily, yet when he does, you can tell EASILY. He tries to distract himself from whatever is happening, yet it gets to him when it goes on for too long. He’ll usually be more quiet and wait for the interaction to be over before grabbing your hand and messing with your fingers absentmindedly.

Kiss- Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

George is a pretty good kisser. Not the best in the world, but not the worse either. The first kiss was magical. You were both waiting for the train when it got delayed by a few hours, crushing everyone’s spirits. He suddenly turned to you and kissed you, hands holding your jaw.

Love Confession- How did they confess their love?

It was truly by accident. Something slipped out, and neither of you realized what he said until a while later.

Marriage- Do they want to get married? How would they propose?

I can see George wanting to get married later in life. He seems like the type to take forever to propose though because he would be too nervous. He would propose by the beach George said he used to swim in when he was younger, even if he kept hinting at it the whole date, like:

“Man, you are life partner material” and just weirdly hinting at it.

Nicknames-

Beginning of the Relationship: Babe

Around Friends: Love

By Yourselves, On a Date/Somewhere Romantic: Lovely

Later in the Relationship: Hun

When He’s Sick: Baby

On Cloudnine: What are they like when they are in love? How do they express their feelings?

It’s a little difficult to tell if George is in love. He usually is more closed-off, so whenever someone realizes that he is in love, he instantly denies it and usually is more embarrassed.

PDA: Are they upfront about the relationship? Do they brag about their partner? Or are they really shy about their PDA?

George would usually be pretty discrete with him touching you, just holding your hand and every once in a while kissing your knuckles, never wanting to overstep your boundaries. Even if you assured him it was okay to do more, he always was nervous that you had changed your mind and would be uncomfortable.

Quirk: A random ability that they have that’s beneficial to the relationship?

No matter what you say, pretty privilege is there. You would be able to go on so many vacations/holidays with George because he gets invited to things (like, Italy, Venice, etc).

Romance: How romantic are they?

He can be romantic if he really tried, but usually he doesn’t really know how to go about it. He could probably think of something if he tried, though.

Support: How supportive are they of their partner’s goals?

I feel like this is a really easy answer. Obviously he does. If he didn’t, he’d be a really shitty partner.

Thrill: Do they need to try out new things to spice up the relationship?

Yes, definitely. But it wouldn’t be too often, usually just one or two new things to do a year. Other than that, he’s pretty content.

Understanding: How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Totally! He may not understand sometimes, but he will try his best and that’s all that matters. When you are going through something, he tries his best to cheer you up (sometimes that backfires and makes you even more upset) but all that matter is that he cares.

Value: How important is their partner to them?

Very. He can last a few days without texting/talking to them, sure. But after that he’ll get severely depressive and/or anxiety-ridden about why y’all haven’t texted/talked. Little to say, you are extremely important to him.

Wild Card: What’s a random fluff headcannon you have?

George loves cuddling. He may be scared to touch you, but when you assure him it’s okay, he won’t stop. He must be near you at all times.

XOXO: Do they like kisses/cuddles/etc?

Just refer up to W. Yes, he likes them, just a little nervous to :D

Yearning: How do they deal with missing their partner?

Sleeping. If he can’t have you with him, he’ll have you in his dreams.

Zeal: Are they willing to go to great lengths for their relationship?

Totally! The only way he wouldn’t is if you forced him to do something with his friends he didn’t like (ex. Stop talking to them, not go to the US, etc) but he pretty much will do anything else.

#mcyt #fanfic #fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcytblr #minecraft youtubers #dsmp x reader #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound #gnf x y/n #mcyt x gender neutral reader #gnf

[csashton]

A New Pack - Chapter Eight

Warnings - A/B/O fic

WC: 2093

Find the other chapters here

My Masterlist here 🖤

“Doc said anywhere from a few days to two weeks for the blockers to get out of his system.” 

“Did they say anything about his suppressants?”

Ah, Sebastian is telling them about his doctor's appointment. Realistically he should be upset, but he’s not. He knows his Alpha is only doing what's best for him, and his pack deserves to know. 

"She didn't want to take him off and force him into a heat until he was comfortable and settled with the pack. He has new suppressants, the ones they had him on are dangerous for long-term use." Sebastian's voice is soft as he speaks, trying to not wake him. The next thing he notices is that Charles is still wrapped around him, his fingers brushing through his curls. 

“How’d he handle the appointment?” Daniel’s voice comes from the other side of the room. It sounds like he’s standing near the kitchen, but Lando keeps his eyes closed. “About as good as he could, he’s seems traumatized from all the shit he went through at that stupid facility. About had a panic attack when she said she was doing her exams.” Charles’ chest rumbles underneath his head as he speaks, he can almost feel the anger in his voice. “We need to be careful with him, let him rest and do things at his own pace. It’s going to take a bit before he’s comfortable with everyone.”

“Should we cancel Seb’s work party? We’re supposed to host it here in a few weeks.” Daniel’s voice sounds closer this time. He can’t help the course of panic that shoots through him, though he knows Daniel’s not a threat. 

They can’t cancel their party because of me, I’ll be fine. I can deal with it. I’ll stay out of the way. 

“No,” he mumbles against Charles’ shirt, pulling his head back a bit. “Don’t cancel because of me. I’ll be okay. I’ll stay out of the way, I promise.” His voice slurs from his sleep, eyes still closed as he puts his head back down, pushing back into Charles' hand.

“Lando, this is your house too. We want to make sure you’re comfortable before we bring a bunch of people in. Especially if you’re coming off blockers, that’s a lot of scents to deal with in a short amount of time.”

 Alpha Sebastian, always being so wise. 

“I’ll stay to myself and if anything I can always stay in my room.” The couch moves as someone climbs in behind Charles, careful to not touch Lando as they settle in.

An offended scoff comes from the new person on the couch, when he opens his eyes, it's Pierre with a soft smile on his face.   Weirdly he doesn’t feel any panic at the fact that Pierre is so close, it’s actually pretty comforting. Not once in the dreams he had of his future pack did he expect it to be like this. During training, he was told that he would be a fixture in the home, for lack of a better word. He was there to help and serve, not to bond or be close. 

The conversation flows back around him when he closes his eyes again, lost in his thoughts. 

What would it be like to not be on blockers anymore? Would it be overwhelming? What if someone’s scent wasn’t nice? What if I don’t smell nice? What if the pack rejects me because my scent isn’t nice? 

The next few days are a blur of cuddles, warm foods, and lots of information. The change in his suppressants made him sick and Charles made it his mission to nurse him back to health. He’d spent so much time with Charles recently, they were essentially velcroed together.  Lando had yet to lift a finger for the pack. Carlos and Sebastian wouldn’t allow him to cook, clean, or do anything but rest and adjust. 

During his sick days, he spent most of his time on the couch face pressed into Charles’ neck or chest. Sometimes Pierre or George joined to be a comforting weight against his back. 

 About a week later he was finally feeling back to normal and started to notice the changes around him. Charles had a scent of vanilla ice cream drizzled with warm caramel.  Lando found it welcoming and warm. Learning the scents of the pack proved to be very overwhelming. It was hard for Lando to discern those who lived in the house because they’d been intertwined for so long.  His nose was working overdrive, and the constant feeling of overstimulation was overwhelming. 

That’s why the first thing he did this morning was shower and then disappear outside to his gardening shed. The fresh air rolling through the open door and windows was a welcome feeling.

On the table at the back of the shed was a new brown box and a white note taped to the front. 

“Lando - 

I picked up some starter seeds to get your garden going, let me know what else you want to try and we can place an order. Please make sure you wear the hat, you’re far too pale to be in the sun without protection. : ) 

Seb

PS: Carlos built your garden boxes, we bought the supplies for the fencing but wanted to wait for you to feel better.”

A weird ache starts in his chest, working its way up to his throat as he sets the note down and pulls the box open.  Inside is a new pair of gardening gloves, a floppy hat, and a gardening apron with holders for his tools. After he puts all his new items on, he notices the seed packets at the bottom of the box. 

“Cucumbers, tomatoes, green beans..” He lists off to himself, stuffing them into the pockets of the apron. Then making his way outside after grabbing his hand shovel, a small smile on his face. 

“How did I miss this?” he questions into the crisp morning air. There they were, exactly where he’d marked them. A pile of chicken wire and metal posts lay off to the side, waiting to be built. 

He could do that himself, right? His Alpha had done enough for him already, it was time for him to pull his own weight. 

Many tears, a ruined pair of brand-new gloves, and some bloody fingers later - he has a poorly built corner of a fence. Defeated, he sits down in the grass and lets the tears flow. 

It’s a fence, how can I not do this myself?

 The sound of the back door opening makes him look up, cutting his thoughts short. He wipes his tears away as Charles approaches, hands reaching out for him. 

“You doing alright, Lando?” His voice is soft like he’s trying to comfort a spooked animal. Charles’ tone only makes the tears come back stronger.  “Carlos built me my boxes. Sebastian got me seeds to start my garden, and they bought the fence but wanted to wait for me.” he stutters out between breaths, “and you never keep an Alpha waiting, Charles.” his voice is stern, even through tears. Before he can even start his next thought, Charles joins him on the ground and wraps him tight in his arms. “Hey,” His voice has a soothing tone. The warm vanilla caramel scent fills wraps around him as he buries his face into Charles’ chest, his hat falling to the ground.  “You’re okay, it’s okay. Don’t stress.” he mumbles, petting Lando’s hair.

A few minutes pass before Lando settles his breathing again, but he keeps his face hidden. “I’m sorry.” his voice muffled into the fabric of Charles’ shirt. The hand on his hair doesn’t stop, but he feels Charles’ laugh vibrate under his cheek. “You don’t need to apologize, Lando. You have nothing to apologize for. Your hormones are not right, you’ve changed medications. Not to forget your entire life changed over a week ago - almost two weeks now. You’ve had a lot going on.” Lando nods into his chest, taking a deep breath. 

“I couldn’t get the fence to work, and I ruined the gloves that Sebastian gifted me.” His voice trembles again as he speaks, new tears coming to his eyes. As if Charles could read his mind, his hand comes to rub Lando’s back. 

“Seb won’t be mad, Lando. They’re gardening gloves, they’re bound to get ruined, yes?” he asks, though Lando assumes he’s not expecting a real answer. One of Charles’ hands comes down to grab his own, turning it so he can look at his fingers. “We should get these cleaned up, huh?” Lando nods but doesn’t move, content to stay in the comfort of Charles’ arms. They stand a few minutes later, Charles helping him put away his hat and apron before leading him into the house. 

“You don’t need to stress over me, Charles.” Lando whispers as he sits on the bathroom counter. His hands lay palms up on his thighs while Charles cleans his cuts and bandages them. An awful feeling claws at his throat. Charles is here helping him when he should be the one tending to what Charles needs, what the pack needs. The answer he gets is a click of the tongue and a swipe of an alcohol wipe over the last cut.

“You’re part of the pack Lando, which means you are part of my worries. I’m allowed to worry about you. I’m allowed to take care of you, and as you can take care of me if you so choose to.” His eyes are kind when they meet Lando again,  he places a gentle kiss on each of his palms, like Lando’s mother did when he was a child. 

“Thank you, Charles.” He chokes out, tears forming in his eyes again. He’s wrapped up in a tight hug not a moment later, his face pressed to Charles’ neck again. “You don’t need to thank me, Lando. We’re a pack, we’re family. This is what we do for each other.” He nods, but Charles continues. “I know this is all still new to you, but I’m going to help you learn. I’m going to show you that you’re allowed to receive love without it being transactional, you can  exist here. Even if you wanted to be lazy and never move from the couch, we would still want you. We would still care for you all the same, yes?” 

A quiet laugh tumbles from Lando’s throat as he shakes his head, pulling back from Charles’ neck. “I think I’m just overwhelmed with all this change so fast.” Charles hums, but doesn’t speak. “This pack is wonderful, you’re all so welcoming. This whole experience is so much different than I was expecting, or prepared for… and changing my medication has made me so emotional. I promise I don’t normally cry this much.” he admits, leaning back to look at Charles. He’s got a small smile on his face as he brushes away the last of Lando’s tears. “I’m also emotional - let me watch a movie about a dog. I’ll be a crying mess. We can do it together.” 

Lando gives him a small smile before hopping down from the counter. “Hopefully we can get the fence together before the party, I don’t want it to be messy when you have guests.” A scoff comes from Charles as he pulls him back out to the living room, tossing himself down onto the couch. He pats the space next to him for Lando to lie with him, then covers them with the blankets. “Don’t worry your pretty head, Lando. Let’s be lazy on the couch - when we wake up it will be done. I promise.” 

Charles was correct. 

He wakes up an hour or so later, the TV is on but muted and Sebastian is sitting at the end of the couch near their feet. “If I didn’t know any better, Lando, I’d think you’re trying to steal my mate.” Lando’s eyes widen comically as he stumbles over his words, “Sebastian, I -” He’s stopped when Sebastian pats his foot gently, a small smirk on his face. “Calm down, I know you’re not stealing him. I was joking.” 

“Seb, if you’re being mean to him, we’re divorcing.” Charles’ voice comes from underneath his head, a soft rumble on his cheek. The arms wrapped around him squeeze tight for a moment before releasing him again. “Plus, he’s not stealing me. I’m stealing him. I’ve decided that he’s mine, and if anyone causes him any problems - they have to deal with me.”

#lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #sebastian vettel fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #sebastian vettel #formula 1 fics #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 a/b/o fic #csashton #csashtonwrites

[josiebelladonna]

mercury retrograde: all i can think of is all alone by mad season 🥺

last day in paradise: one of those songs that sticks with you and you don’t really have a reason for it, either. it just... is. 

tom sawyer: *neil peart smiling from heaven*

shades of grey: alex being self aware? what a man.

pratique lo que predicas: this is weirdly more sinister than the original, like… picture a knife being sharpened.

the lizard: headcanon: alex was jimmy morrison in another life

channel 4: whatever you do, don’t fall asleep listening to this one. just... trust me on this.

revelation (mother earth): *ozzy laughing in the distance*

out there somewhere: alex: i can’t sleep. nathan: sorry, dude. matt: did someone say ‘splash cymbal’?

western sabbath stomp: picture alex in black cowboy boots, black leather pants that are a bit too snug, no shirt, big black cowboy hat… and the star of david around his neck. yippee ki yo ki yay motherfucker 🔥

panna: bread? bread.

bollywood: getting a weird little dave matthews vibe from this. idk, i expect to see carter beauford listed and a horn section somewhere. this is also one of those songs where my hips just instinctively start swaying to the rhythm the second it starts.

song of the open road: alex, did you take one of the many road trips my family and me had when i was a kid, either from carson city down to my grandparents’ house in simi then the antelope valley, or from carson city up to montana and down through yellowstone, and didn’t tell us because-

veritas: you are hearing the sound of a man breaking his own heart.

99/09: *heavy breathing*

path of least resistance: this cocaine makes me feel like i’m on this song. this song makes me feel like a broom.

alone in brooklyn: this is one of those songs where if you’re not in the right state of mind, oh my god, do you feel it. like, when it hits you wrong, it hits you WROOOOOOOONG and it’s especially difficult to explain to someone else if all they listens to is music with singing and shit.

the river lethe: alex in chains.

flection: i can think of about 50 things you can do with that tongue and i ain’t telling you half of them, mr. skolnick.

fade to black: ...yes. yes, THAT fade to black. and tbh, i kinda like it better than the original. this one’s more humble.

bollywood club remix: it’s like he knew someone as sensual as me would come along. EVERYBODY DANCE NOW!

unbound: something oddly heartbreaking about this one once i’ve had my deep listen through their discography. i just picture alex having the same look on his face the time i told him on ig live i couldn’t watch him that night. that look on his face and monsoon flow raindrops sliding down from my eyes to imitate tears.

django tango: *george costanza voice* there should be some salsa on the table here.

conundrum: if unbound is heartbreaking, this is like the weirdly unhinged older brother that drank five cups of coffee during a depressive episode. why am i under the impression alex has dealt with some severe anxiety or depression in his life.

culture shock: 🤠

gymnopédie no. 1: if you know the backstory on this one, it conjures a... *tina belcher voice* very nice image.

dodge the bambula: the sound of a mental breakdown at the coso junction rest stop bathroom at 1 in the morning where there’s no one else on the road and you’re about 100 miles from civilization.

key of sea: alex is a merman. no, i will not elaborate.

a question of moral ambiguity: alright. *sigh* who farted.

protect the dream: the one trio song that genuinely puts me to sleep. need i say more.

florida man blues: ALEX SINGING ALEX SINGING ALEX SINGING ALEX SINGING ALEX SINGING ALEX SINGING ALEX SINGING ALEX SINGING and he’s actually got a pretty good voice? he’s off-key but like... reel him in and have him tune up a bit, and he could actually do some legit singing in his own rite at some point. he’s got a nice full baritone à la nick cave or mark lanegan or somebody.

their covers are like little gems, too, and many of which you would never expect to work in a free jazz setting—look no further than the metallica, testament, or ozzy covers; they’ve also covered judas priest!

#deep listening #alex skolnick #alex skolnick trio #headcanon #text #this was a long time coming too 😅

[jobamakes]

[Project Story] Sugoi Muscle Party

What is it? Dj Event + Promotional Videos When: 2020 Where: Vietnam Roll: Co-organizer / Designer / Video Director What I Did: Organized an event with japanese bodybuilders and made funny videos with the guest DJs lifting weights to promote them. With: Thibaut Rabier

I always had a strong natural attraction towards japanese people, since Brazil - which has the bigger japanese community outside Japan, and weirdly enough, most of people are not aware of this.

So did Thibaut, he lived a few years in Tokyo when he was young, and as soon as we started hanging around Hanoi, we ended up meeting a lot of Japanese people. I didn’t know at that time, but Vietnam is one of the biggest markets for Japanese and Korean companies, so you have a huge amount of expats from both countries working everywhere around Vietnam.

From all those incredible japanese people, we crossed paths with Seiji Yokohama. Always with an easy smile on his face, he used to DJ a lot (of good house music) around Hanoi and we ended up being friends. On one of those endless nights on Kobala’s rooftop, we were just having a laugh the three of us as usual, and I’ll never forget this exact moment when the idea of uniting Japan and Muscles came up simultaneously. A PARTY INSIDE A GYM WITH JAPANESE BODYBUILDERS we shouted as one.

SUGOI ----MUSCLE ---- PARTY

Those 3 words sounded really amazing, screaming them out loud, drunk, in a rooftop in Hanoi at 2am - sugoi means amazing btw.

SMP vol. 01 poster design

We did a first event, just the three of us, which was just to set up the music genre. Then for the second event, we teamed up with Tony From Japan, a Japanese bodybuilder that has a private gym in Hanoi, and Toby aka Tobiceps, a UK DJ, good friend of ours, and gym fan as well. Both got nice pecs.

Tony’s gym was too small for an event, so we decided to do it at Kobala’s, the birthplace of the idea. We managed to bring a few dumbells and equipments from Tony’s anyways, and turn Kobala into a gym. It worked like a beauty.

Promotional DJ set for SMP vol. 02 featuring Tobiceps, guest DJ, inside Tony’s gym.

The party was an absurdity. Tony couldn’t stop lifting weights in front of the DJ booth, people were just throwing yoga balls at each other and the lifting games we did had people going mad, all of it under pumped 80s Italo Disco tracks.

Tony and Seiji, which had just turned Dad that week.

Some pictures from SMP Vol.02 by Tobiceps. Here I’m trying to motivate a party goer to lift that sh* up in exchange for tequila.

We didn’t manage to take off a lot of shirts though, our dream of a party inside a gym playing 80s track with everyone lifting weights shirtless was still ongoing.

But we knew this wasn’t gonna happen in north Vietnam, so we decided to make the vol. 03 in Saigon, Vietnam’s party capital. We started enhancing the promotional material as well, doing funnier videos showcasing the guest DJ in weird situations, all related to the 80s gym esthetics.

As for the the posters, I took reference from the 80s/90s jav porn VHS covers.

poster design for SMP vol.03, others editions here

body > iframe { min-width: auto !important }

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Maurice, from George & Maurice (@ganesh_the_french)

body > iframe { min-width: auto !important }

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Maurice, from George & Maurice (@ganesh_the_french)

Never had so much fun in my life shooting those SMP vol.3 promotional videos haha

The promotion worked perfectly and Saigon edition was pure madness, the best party we ever did in Vietnam.

Later on, Vietnam went through a few other covid waves that held up the organization of others SMP but we managed to organize 2 more editions, one with Rob, longtime welsh friend, and a last one in Saigon with Robat, french filmmaker and DJ, goof friend of ours too. We lost Seiji though for those last editions, he had to come back to Japan unexpectedly =/ But we made a blood promise before he left: we’re bringing SMP to the (few) gyms of Japan.

Can’t wait for the next one !

More pictures: vol.2 / vol.3 / vol.5 More videos: vol.4 / vol.5

#design #music

[foo1ishheart554]

Super long and self-indulgent F1 + carlando Dungeons & Dragons AU where:

Seb is the Dungeon Master (DM) and made a homebrew session for the boys

Lando is interested but a bit nervous so he asked Carlos to tag along

Main players also include Alex, George, Charles and Mick

Lewis occasionally joins in as NPCs, he's not part of the main players because he likes to min-max and he thinks that would be too much for the newbies

Seb's NPCs sometimes low key flirts with Lewis'

Dan cameo'd once as an NPCs but he's now banned because he nearly team killed them when he tried to fireball in an enclosed space

Eventually it starts taking over driver conversations and Pierre and Yuki joins in too

George gets very invested in the combat part and wouldn't stop bugging Lewis about min-max'ing and multiclassing

Charles is very chaotic and also has the best luck at rolls and has to force Seb to think on his feet because he did not plan for any of this to happen

Mick has previously played with Seb many times but is having a very good time watching his friend learn his favourite game

Alex is the resident "can I seduce the dragon" player (which frustrates George because he wants to fight the fucking dragon while Alex wants to fuck the dragon)

Yuki is weirdly extremely good at roleplaying

Pierre isn't all that interested but he's here for the loudness and chaos (and Yuki of course)

Yuki and Pierre's characters are romancing each other and it's very cute (which Pierre enjoys because another excuse to flirt with Yuki?? We take those)

Now the carlando part:

Carlos and Lando are just close friends at the start of the campaign

Carlos was reluctant to join at first but he eventually started enjoying the RP part (a little bit too much)

Also Lando is having a lot of fun so that's a plus to see Lando light up during the fun moments

When Carlos rolled his first natural 20 they hugged in excitement but ended awkwardly (featuring live slug reactions from everyone else)

When Yuki's character started romancing Pierre's, Lando was screaming internally "YOU CAN DO THAT???" (Seb later told him yes but in moderation)

Seb had to dial up the combat difficulty (George is very happy about this) because Carlos and Lando work very well with each other

During individual missions (as in 1-on-1 sessions with the DM) Seb asked if Lando's character has feelings for Carlos' and Lando nearly choked on his milk

Lando, after dying inside for a few seconds, said yes, along with a bunch of excuses that totally doesn't mirror his experience with Carlos irl ("yeah they travelled in the same party and they have a really good working relationship going on so I guess it's only natural... right?")

During Carlos' private session, Seb asked the same thing and Carlos said no in response. But he only said it because he didn't want to make Lando feel uncomfortable and ruin the campaign for him. (Lewis overheard this and shook his head at Seb, Seb winked back)

During one of the boss fights, Lando's character's tragic back story was triggered when George's character was struck down by a fire bolt.

Seb narrates the character's flashback and PTSD response and everything got really serious

At first Lando found RP'ing trauma quite challenging but Carlos sacrificed his combat turn to comfort Lando's character

It was a nice bonding moment between the characters, while Lando's heart fluttered because Carlos went from not being very comfortable with D&D to actually being invested

(George is fine he was successful in his saving throws)

More live slug reactions from others because carlando's characters are inseparable ("yes yes we know you're going to take the same night watch shift together")

Eventually Carlos opens up to the idea that Lando might want their characters to end up together because "it just makes sense", though he's waiting for Lando to take the initiative

After an emotional near death battle, Carlos' character comes to check if Lando's is okay

Everyone at the table is pretty much anticipating something to happen

Lando narrates his character's action, "... and then he kisses him". Everybody cheered.

Carlos laughed and shouted "fucking finally". Lando couldn't look him in the eye at all and buried his face in his hands. Face the temperature of the sun.

During post session chats, Lando is hyper aware of everything Carlos, he's just feeling emotional over their characters right?

The campaign eventually comes to an end, Yukierre's characters got married, it was very cute

Since they don't really meet regularly for sessions any more, Lando is finding it difficult to come up with reasons to hang out with Carlos

Lando doesn't get why he's feeling so down, maybe he just misses D&D and playing as his character?

"Oh."

WHY IS IRL ROMANCE SO MUCH HARDER THAN ROLEPLAYING

A week before Christmas, Lewis reveals that be made a one-shot and invited all the boys

Carlos invites Lando over to make their characters together

Lando: Panik ™️

Love confessions wahooo

Are they going to roleplay their characters during sex? You bet they will

TL;DR: what if we end up together just like our OCs... Haha just kidding... Unless??

(somehow this turned into a text wall help)

#ramblings #carlando #long post #super ooc but i wanna imagine an alternative universe where they are both drivers + nerds

[ickle-ronniekins]

tangled up

request: from nonnie! “love those sharing a bed tropes... not saying you should do it but you should definitely do it”

pairing: fred x fem!gryffindor!reader

word count: 2.3k

A/N: ummmmmm love this request, i'm in suuuucch a fred mood lately

warning(s): brief mention of war, ~implied sexual content~ i suppose

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @keoghans @dreamer821 @wtfweasleyy @62442-am @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro | message me to be added loves!

The cool October air had a bit of a bite to it -- it seemed as though Bill and Fleur’s wedding was ages ago. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders to reduce the chill in your bones.

Suddenly two redheaded figures appeared with a pop! onto the field outside of your home. By what you could see, they’d apparated just before the line of protective enchantments -- a type of advanced magic only a very intelligent wizard could do.

“Bloody hell -- you’re a life saver, you know that?” George exclaimed as he finally reached you, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “I couldn’t be there for one more moment.”

Fred rolled his eyes and explained, “He means at Auntie Muriel’s. Being a bit overdramatic, are we, George?”

The elder twin shot his younger brother a look of amusement as George dropped his bag onto the floor and ran a hand through his hair. “Overdramatic? Tell me, Fred, would you like to go back?”

Fred then draped an arm across your shoulder and peered at his brother. “And reject our best mate’s offer to spend time at her lovely home? That would be so rude.” George swore he saw his twin shudder a bit, no doubt at the thought of returning to their Auntie Muriel’s to endure more yelling and criticism. George shot him a very sardonic look, and laughed lightly.

“Glad you two decided to come -- it’ll be nice having someone else in the house. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in months,” you waved your wand to pull three teacups from the kitchen cupboard and started the kettle. You felt a sense of ease at having your two closest friends here. “Should be alright out here, at least for a while.”

Fred glimpsed around your tiny little house. It was small, but exceptionally tidy with a very cozy feeling to it. It looked much different than the Burrow, but still emanated that feeling of home. “Lovely place you’ve got.”

“Thanks, Freddie,” you replied, handing him a steaming cup of tea. He gingerly took it out of your hands. “Just one problem.”

The twins chorused together, “What?”

“I’ve only got one extra bed.”

If the room hadn’t gone so eerily still at your comment, you never would have noticed the small jab to the hip George gave his twin. Fred grunted a bit and stifled a cough. “Oh, no worry -- George already said he’ll take the floor.”

Fred earned himself an eye roll and another jab.

You waved them both off and blew on your tea. “Don’t be silly! I’ll take the floor. You two’ve just got to battle it out for who gets the bigger bed.”

As if on queue, George immediately hoisted his bag back over his shoulder. He began walking away and pointed toward your very tiny spare bedroom off of the kitchen. “This one here, yeah? Thanks again, Y/N, really appreciate you letting us escape the wrath of our aunt -- I’m absolutely knackered, hope you two don’t mind if I turn in!” and with a quick wave to you and Fred, George closed the door and you both almost immediately heard very loud snoring. You and Fred exchanged a laugh.

You made sure everything was in order for Fred before leading him to your room. But you noticed he hadn’t brought his stuff with him -- you saw his belongings near your front door. With a wave of your wand, you brought it forward.

“I’m really okay to sleep on the couch,” he told you, pointing back toward the front.

“I’m not going to have you sleep on the couch,” you replied, shaking your head. “Besides -- you’re not staying out there. I might be a bit dramatic, but the couch is too close to the windows and the front door, and though I’ve been safe here for a while..” you voice trailed off a bit, and you swallowed down the nerves bubbling up inside of you. “Just -- we never know where the Death Eaters are. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

You patted Fred’s shoulder, ready to head back out to your front room, when he took your wrist in his hand and whirled you back around to face him. “If I’m not allowed to take the couch, neither are you.”

You crossed your arms and swallowed. “Fine,” you replied with a grin. “Have got tons of extra pillows and a massive blanket here somewhere -- let me go and fetch it. Go on then, make yourself comfortable.”

“Merlin, you are being thick today,” Fred chuckled, and you noticed traces of the young boy you grew to love. He caressed small circles on the back of your hand. “Would you just sleep in your own bed?”

“But --” your breath caught in your throat. You glanced at your own bed, easily big enough for two, maybe even three, and went against your better judgement before you could overthink it. “Just share with me, then. Nobody takes the floor.”

A hint of nervousness flashed across his features before twisting into a cheeky grin. You continued on when he stayed silent, “What’s the matter, Freddie? You’ve been my best mate for the better half of the last twenty years. I mean, I’ve seen you in your bunny slippers, for Merlin’s sake --” Fred flinched uncomfortably at the memory of you catching him, late one evening in Gryffindor tower, in bunny slippers his mum had knitted for him as a child. You had never let him forget it.

His grin deepened alongside the crimson red colour of his cheeks. “Listen, woman, they are soft and keep me nice and toasty, alright?”

“Whatever you say,” you replied before sliding yourself underneath your warm blanket. You patted the other side of the bed in an accidental sensual way and realized how that must’ve come across. You quickly cleared your throat and turned off the light before you could see his reaction. “Erm -- there are extra pillows on the couch if you need.”

You felt his body slide in next to yours, and you could still make out some of his facial features from the faint light of the lightning strikes outside. He was definitely still grinning. “I’m fine, really.”

You figured out quite quickly that neither of you were able to sleep, especially because it was only eleven p.m. and because of the wild wind and rain that were howling outside of your window. The words were spilling out of you before you could help it. “Fred?”

He turned on his side to face you. “Yeah?”

You were laying on your back, looking up at your ceiling in the darkness. “Are you afraid?”

When he didn’t answer right away, you turned your head to face him too. Each time the lightning struck it was bright and vibrant, and highlighted his features in a more intimate way than ever before. He threaded his brows together and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I am.”

It was weirdly comforting hearing him say that he was afraid. The man who didn’t have a serious bone in his body was actually scared. It was strange and unnerving and brought a sense of solace to you all at once.

You sucked in a breath, worried that your normal evening anxiety would show solely through the look in your eyes. You turned away to glance toward the ceiling again when you felt Fred brush his fingers gently against yours under the covers. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“I think it’ll be okay though.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I suppose I can’t..” it was so weird, hearing him speak like this. He shifted again. “I just think.. we’re more prepared than before. Think there’s more of us this time. Besides, we’ve done our studying, and we’re all brilliant wizards.”

A smile tugged at the edges of your mouth. “You are kind of brilliant.”

“Wow,” he breathed, and it was almost a whisper. You noticed the way the edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Care to return the compliment first?”

“Hang on,” he replied, placing his hands behind his head in a bit of a relaxed state. “I need to bask in this for a moment.”

“Oh shove off, you git!”

You playfully swatted him before he retaliated. Soon enough you were both sitting upright, thwacking one another with pillows and laughing into the darkness of the night. Fred fell to the floor with a dull thump, and you stifled lots of giggles and shushed him as he slid back into bed next to you. “You’re going to wake up George!”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were swatting at one another. It could’ve been hours, or perhaps days. But then the storm grew more fierce, and you found yourself scooting closer to him in bed. Fred always had a way of making you forget about everything going on around you. It was always surprising to you how you’d be able to drown out the rest of the world, as long as you listened to him talk, or as long as you watched him work on his inventions with gentle hands. Even in lessons, back in school, when he’d teasingly wink at you from across the classroom, you were pretty much rendered completely useless for the rest of the day. When it was just you and him, the rest of the world might as well not even exist.

He must’ve noticed how you zoned out, because he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

You turned on your side to face him fully this time. “Just reminiscing.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“Remember when we bumped into one another in the corridors during our fourth year -- I was sneaking sweets up from the kitchens, and you were attempting to sneak into one of the classrooms to finish working on inventions?” You smiled at the memory. “And then Filch was roaming around, and we nearly got caught?”

Fred laughed. You were happy that he remembered. “Never sprinted back to the common room so quickly in my life. That ruddy cat of his was clawing at my ankles.”

“Between the fact that I’d hardly gotten any sleep that night and the adrenaline rush, I was bloody exhausted.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, you fell asleep in the armchair next to the fire almost immediately when we returned and began to snore rather loudly, if my memory serves me correct.”

You grinned, not skipping a beat. “Yeah, my snoring is almost as embarrassing as those slippers of yours.”

You expected him to groan and throw another pillow in your direction, but instead he just deepened his smile and reached out and placed his hand next to yours on the edge of his pillow, your fingers almost touching. “I dunno -- I thought it was cute.”

You really hoped the steady drumbeat sound of your heart was drowned out by the sounds of the thunder outside. You weren’t so sure though. “Yeah?”

He wet his lips and nodded. “I remember having to wake you up because it was nearly four a.m. -- fire had died out and you looked so uncomfortable in that armchair -- I just wanted to carry you upstairs. Except..” Yeah, jinxes by the professors at each respective staircase. Boys weren’t allowed in the girls dorms, and vice versa. You knew exactly what he was getting at.

You felt a swift surge of confidence overtake you, so you gently moved your fingers a few centimeters before you slowly intertwined them with his. He didn’t flinch. Your voice was softer than you expected. “What else do you remember about that night?”

It was an opening -- you didn’t want to be so blatantly obvious about it, but Fred could always read you like a book. You hoped he still could, after all these years. Luckily for the both of you, nothing had changed. He took the opening. “I remember wanting to kiss you.”

You bit your lip, hoping to suppress the nerves that were bubbling up inside of you like fizzy champagne.

Fred laughed cheekily. “Never got a chance, though.”

Before you could think more on it, you nudged his leg with your toes and scooted closer to him. You could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, you were so close. “Then kiss me now.”

His mouth parted slightly in surprise, but nevertheless he inched forward and caught your lips with his. They were soft -- softer than you ever could have imagined, and so was the kiss itself. He tasted faintly of mint, and and you found yourself breathing in deeper when he trailed one solitary finger across your jawline and down your neck. The feel of him against you warmed up your entire body in a way that the common room fire never could.

He sighed against your lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Mmm we should’ve been doing this the entire time,”

You laughed softly and brought your fingers to your lips, hoping to still feel that electricity. “Yeah, we probably should have.”

All thoughts of the war seemed to subside as he leant in to kiss you again. Somehow, being with him, your limbs entangled together -- it was enough to make you forget about the war on the horizon, everything that was about to happen. As far as you were concerned, as long as Fred was beside you, tangled in the covers of your bed, everything would be alright.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. His voice was rough and sensual and soft all at the same time as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Thanks for inviting me to sleep in your bed.”

You grinned and raked your bottom lip through your teeth. “Yeah, well, like you said -- we should’ve been doing this the entire time. Figured I’d get a jump start on what we’ve missed.”

He laughed and wrapped his arms tightly around your hips. Goosebumps sprouted on your skin as he lazily trailed his fingers up and down your spine and told you, “Knew you were my favorite for a reason.”

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley x reader #fred wealsey x you #fred weasley drabble #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

[amazingmaeve]

right where you left me ↠ f & g weasley

━ “i like you for you, you know that.”

summary ━ Y/N is heartbroken when Fred breaks up with her and leaves her at Hogsmeade and she feels like she’s frozen in time. Until someone snaps her out of it.

warnings ━ angst, fluff

a/n ━ no twincest. also no hate to angelina or fred. Loosely based on ‘right where you left me, by taylor swift. Also may make a part two if i’m up for it.

word count ━ 2.3k

tags ━ @risingtripletaurus @hey-there-angels @lindsaytriestowrite

Before the war everything was fine between Y/N and Fred. They were in a relationship ever since their 4th year. Fred Weasley and Y/N Y/L/N were hopelessly in love.

Then the war came. Everything changed after that.

Y/N knew that Fred must be going through a tough time since a wall almost crushed him to death. She was there when he woke up screaming from a nightmare. She held him while he cried. Comforted him when he needed it.

She suggested a therapist where he can talk his problems out. Fred immediately declined not even thinking about it for a second.

They no longer went on dates where they could spend time together. Laugh and be in love. Fred put his focus on the shop which Y/N could understand since she worked there as well.

Before the war Fred would cheer Y/N up whenever she was sad, angry, frustrated or even when she had a bad day. Fred would there to cheer up, making her smile and laugh.

But now when she had a bad day Fred didn’t even know. Not even when she was sad or angry. It was like he was falling out of love with her.

Y/N would usually shake those thoughts out of her head not believing it.

Fred worked longer than she did and always came home late. Y/N assumed it was work getting to him. Also him not wanting to sleep because of the nightmares, which she completely understood.

She didn’t want to make Fred worry at all since the war so she tried doing her best with everything. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry so he didn’t have to do it.

She assumed this was the normal. Y/N was happy for the moment. She was here with Fred and everything was okay. It would’ve been much worse if Fred had died she told herself.

She was content for the moment.

Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.

Fred told Y/N that they would be going on a date tonight which made her really excited. It’s been awhile since He took her out.

She got dressed in her favorite dress and put on makeup to make her look presentable. When she was done finishing putting her earrings on she looked at herself in the mirror.

She smiled at herself. She felt so happy at the moment. Fred might be coming back to her and that was the best thing in the world.

Fred took her to this really nice restaurant where she ordered some salad while Fred ordered some steak. He was being very quiet which confused Y/N.

“What’s wrong Fred are you okay,” Y/N asked worriedly while she put her hand on his. It surprised her when jerked his hand away from her.

“We need to talk,” Fred says, not looking at her in the eyes, this makes her heart sink into the bottom of her stomach.

“About what,” Y/N asked as her voice wavered a bit out of nervousness. She dropped her hands to her lap and picked at her nail wondering what he was going to say.

“I think we need to break up,” Fred blurts out making her eyes widen.

Many emotions are running through Y/N. Confusion, sadness, a bit of anger. Her lip trembled when she met his beautiful eyes.

“Who is she,” Y/N sighed tears brimming her eyes as she looked down at her lap. She didn’t know if he cheated, she just wanted to know if she did. Fred let out a sigh.

“Angelina Johnson,” Fred answered. Y/N could feel the tears falling as the name slipped out of his mouth. Angelina has a crush on Fred in Hogwarts but Fred always reassured Y/N he never liked her.

“Of course,” Y/N scoffed, tears finally falling down her cheeks. He didn’t love her anymore. She thought they’d be together forever. The mascara must be wearing out from the few tears that came out which probably made her look like a freak show.

“Also I think you shouldn’t work at the shop anymore,” Fred says softly. It took everything for her not to cry. She was losing her boyfriend and her job in one day.

Y/N nodded not looking at him. Fred got up putting the money on the table and walked over to Y/N kissing her forehead. The contact made her flinch.

“I’ll come pick up my stuff tomorrow,” Fred softly says before leaving Y/N in the restaurant. She tries to finish her salad to get something in her stomach but she just couldn’t.

She finally got up wobbling on her legs. Putting a tip on the table before leaving the restaurant.

The cold air is a sensation that made her flinch as soon as she stepped out on the sidewalk. She walks home as tears slip out of her eyes as reality sinks in.

Fred doesn’t love her, he loved Angelina.

She puts her hand over her mouth to cover up the sobs so people don’t look at her weirdly. When she finally gets inside her flat she falls on the ground sobbing into her arms.

Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and rocks herself back in forth. What did she do wrong to make Fred not love her anymore? Did she not love him enough?

She got up after half an hour of crying and put her pajamas on. She looked inside her closet and saw Fred’s quidditch Jersey.

Y/N pulls it to her chests as more tears fall out of her eyes. Her heart feels like it cracked in half from the heartbreak.

“Why?” She whispers to no one. She starts to get angry. She did everything to help Fred, she comforted him when he had nightmares, suggested a therapist to help him and even offered to pay for it. Y/N did everything to help Fred but apparently Fred didn’t care anymore.

She crawled into bed as she let a few tears fall until the exhaustion finally hit her like a freight train. She fell asleep hating the fact that Fred would never love her again.

Y/N woke up early the next morning so she could pack up Fred’s stuff so he wouldn’t be there for long. She didn’t want to look at him if she didn’t she would break down in front of him and Y/N didn’t want to do that.

She got some boxes and threw all of his stuff and put it on the kitchen counter waiting for Fred to show up. Y/N thought about what job she could get since Fred fires her.

A knock on the door startled her. She sighed paddling towards the door and opened it reluctantly.

“Your stuffs on the counter,” Y/N walks him to the kitchen where she stares at her feet not wanting to look at him.

Fred nods and notes that she’s not looking at him. “Just so you know I will never stop caring about you,” He walks himself over as he holds the boxes.

Y/N scoffs, “Whatever.”

Fred sighs, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze to reassure her. She closes her eyes until she hears the door close and when she opens her eyes again tears start pooling again.

Y/N never wants to see Fred Weasley ever again.

For the next few weeks Y/N stays in bed wallowing in her own misery. She cries herself to sleep every night wondering what went wrong.

The only reason she gets out of bed is to go to eat, shower, and read the paper to see if there’s any jobs out there. She watches rom coms where they get the guys in the end and wishes it was her.

One particular time she’s sitting at the counter eating someone bangs on her door.

“Y/N open up, it's been weeks,” George yells, continuing to pound on the door. He’s been here everyday since the break up wanting her to get out of bed.

Y/N sighs angrily walking up to the door opening it letting George in. He walks in and turns around to look at Y/N.

“You look like hell,” George comments, putting his hands into his suit pocket.

“Thank you, you always know how to make a girl blush,” Y/N sarcastically replies rolling her eyes. “What are you doing here,” She says more seriously.

“I’m just worried about it,” George says worriedly. “You’ve been in bed for weeks, it's not healthy,” George states.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” Y/N coldly replies.

“I will always worry about you, you are one of my best friends and Fred is an asshole for cheating on you,” George sternly says.

“I can’t even look at you without crying,” Y/N says looking at her feet on the hardwood floor. George pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not Fred,” George sighs.

“I know but you look exactly like him,” Y/N counters back.

“Well no Fred has that birthmark-,” Y/N interrupted him.

“Okay you can stop,” Y/N snaps holding her hand up.

“I’m just saying I’m not Fred and I want to be there for you,” George tried to reassure the girl.

“Why Fred’s your brother,” Y/N finally looks up at him with a confused look on his face. She doesn’t understand why he wants to be there for her.

“Yeah and he’s a prat for cheating on you and for firing you,” George scoffs. “But I still love him and that doesn’t stop me from not caring about you,” He explains.

“Fine if you want to see me be miserable,” Y/N accepts. George gives her a smile before walking in the flat further and following him.

For the next six months George kept coming to her flat everyday to see how she was doing. He stayed for dinner and if he couldn’t come he’d call her before.

George was being so nice to Y/N and she felt a crush forming on him. But she didn’t want that because Fred would probably accuse her of using George.

But she didn’t want George to think bad of her. Him thinking that she only likes him because he’s Fred’s twin is something she does not want.

Whenever she feels particularly down George drops everything to come and comfort her. No matter what.

Y/N doesn’t want to go to the shop because she’ll see Fred and she doesn’t want to run into him or Angelina. George understood knowing how bad it could hurt her.

They would sit on the couch watching shows and movies laughing and joking with each other. She felt so comfortable around him and she felt her heart race around him.

Y/N would never have thought she would have feelings for George Weasley since she was with Fred. But her feelings change when Fred doesn't want her anymore and now she sees George in a different night.

On one particular night she was cooking some lasagna and waiting for George to show up.

“I got breadsticks,” George yells as he walks in the door with a smile on his face.

“I knew you would,” Y/N giggles pointing her spatula at him. George sets the bag on the table and walks around the counter to go next to Y/N.

“You always make the best food,” George groans smelling the lasagna. “Fred moves in with Angelina today,” He blurts out.

Y/N nods biting her lip getting the food out of the stove and setting it on the table. George told her a few months ago that Fred might want to move in with Angelina.

“That’s great that means I can come over to your flat now,” Y/N teases, getting plates and setting the food out on it.

“I thought you’d be more upset about it,” George’s eyes furrow as he takes a bite of the food.

“I did too but I guess if he’s happy I’m happy,” Y/N sighs leaning against the counter poking at her. “You want some wine,” she asks, getting the glasses.

“Sure I love getting drunk,” George accepts with a smile. Y/N pours the wine and hands the glass to George and pours one for herself.

Only in a few hours George and Y/N are drunk. They’re making out on the couch and neither of them knew how this started. But at the moment they don’t care, they only care about getting their clothes.

Y/N rubs her eyes when she wakes up in the morning feeling the sunlight in her eyes. She feels someone pressed up against and she looks up to see George laying there sleeping.

“Oh my god,” Y/N whispers, getting up out of his arms to go and change into something more comfortable. She sits on her bed before walking out and shaking George awake.

“Give a guy a break Y/N,” George grumbles, rubbing his eyes as the sun peaks in through the blinds.

“We had sex last night,” Y/N snaps.

“Why are you so mad about it,” George asks sitting up.

“Because we’re friends,” Y/N states wondering what George is going to say about it.

“We’re more than friends and you know it,” George snaps at her getting his clothes and putting them on. “Are you telling me that you don’t have feelings for me,” He asks as he stands up.

“Maybe,” She whispers, crossing her arms over her chests. “But it’s be wrong you’re my ex boyfriend's twin. I don’t want you thinking I’m only doing this because you look like Fred,” She explains.

“Is that what this all about,” George asks, his eyes softening. He brings his hands to her cheeks and cups them.

“I like you for you, you know that,” She smiles at him, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“I know love.”

#fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader #fred weasley series #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley smut #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #george weasley series #george weasley smut #george weasley blurb #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #george weasley headcanon #george weasley imagine #george weasley x oc #george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #tw angst #tw anxiety #tw fluff

[dr3amofagame]

Dream thought that he can bring server together, he thought that they can be one big family... Well at least he really bond them, even if they bonded to fight against him. Even if that mean he's not part of this server anymore.

right,, the one big happy family thing always destroys me

bc it’s really the driving force behind everything he’s done, the reason why he’s cut off everything he’s ever loved, moved forwards despite everything he’s ever lost. it doesn’t make what he does right, by any means, but c!dream’s longing for a better past, his clinging to a family he loved and lost - it’s so desperately, painfully human and is very much the cherry on top of his whole tragic story. it’s something that tugs at my heart every time i think about it - especially how in the end, pretty much nobody knew what drove him to the lengths he went to, and how everyone still sees him as being motiveless, or doing it all for personal gain and power. it’s reasonable, with their limited povs, but oh man does it hurt when we know his real reasoning.

this,, ended up weirdly long haha but oh man was it fun. have some dream team angst as i cry abt c!dream for the millionth time 

tws: death, grief, off-screen murder, implied mental deterioration

Two weeks after Dream dies, Sapnap asks George if he wants to come to the vault.

He almost says no. It’d be an early journey if they want to get out without anyone seeing, and he’s just- tired. He’s been tired for months even though he spends most of his time sleeping, usually can’t even find the energy to pull himself out of bed. The weird dreams hadn’t helped in the slightest, though they’ve been gone for a few weeks, and he’s not seen XD in a long time, save for a few minutes after he first heard the news. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to deal with the mental strain of anything to do with Dream at all.

But- Sapnap is still his best friend, even if they’ve grown apart ever since that fateful night with Dream, and he still knows the Netherborn better than nearly- well, everyone, now, with Dream gone. As much as Sapnap tried to put on a strong front, Dream’s death had taken its toll.

Killing Dream had taken its toll.

He’d been asleep (again) when it all went down, but he knows that somehow, Dream had escaped prison. Somehow, it ended with Sapnap’s sword stabbed hilt-deep in Dream’s chest, an unmarked grave in the forest behind the Community House that he knows Sapnap visits when he thinks nobody’s watching.

So when Sapnap asks, dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes, if he wants to come with him to see what belongings they can find in Dream’s old blackstone-brick vault- he says yes.

“There,” Sapnap gestures over the crest of a netherrack cliff above a bubbling lava lake, and George strains to look at what the other is pointing at. There, settled over a small outcrop of netherrack and gravel, a messy bridge of various blocks leading from it, lies the signature black and purple silhouette of a nether portal. “It’s just across that.”

George hums in acknowledgement, and they clamber down in sync. It’s been a while since he’s spent time one-on-one with Sapnap like this; George had half-forgotten what it feels like, to work with someone so different and yet know them so well. Years and years of teamwork means they fall in step almost without thinking, Sapnap easily sliding forward to block a skeleton’s arrow while George nocks one of his own to shoot it through the skull. It is a partnership built on years of bickering and banter and deep-set trust, of having to face a stronger, more agile opponent together through wind and rain and snow.

He missed it, though he’ll never admit that to anyone but himself.

He hesitates in front of the nether portal, pulling Sapnap back automatically by his sweater sleeve. “You sure the other side is safe?”

“Yeah, yeah- it should be,” Sapnap pulls his arm away, lets him enter the portal first before stepping into the frame himself. “Not a manhunt.”

“Mm,” George laughs, tired. “Just checking.”

The portal hums, purple creeping into the corners of George’s vision and filling it until it’s all he can see, and he rubs at his eyes to clear his vision as he stumbles out the other side. Sapnap walks out, seeming unfazed - it’s always been something that George has envied in the other, how unaffected he is by portals, but he’s also always had worse portal sickness than most- “We’re here.”

The place is - put lightly, a wreck, wooden planks scattered all over the floor and inch-deep water sloshing around his shoes. “What’s with the water?”

“I don’t know, someone must’ve come here after for something,” Sapnap frowns, points across the room to a chute leading upwards, filled with a crude spiral staircase of oak. “We’re going up there.”

George nods, letting him take the lead. The staircase is rickety, the bottom steps waterlogged; Sapnap grimaces the whole way up, makes some comment under his breath about how unsafe it all is, but they continue without much issue. The top of it is surprisingly unassuming - there’s really nothing around, just a small hollowed out space carpeted by savannah grass, shorn short. Sapnap tosses him a pickaxe.

“He respawned up here, that day - he’s gotta have a bed up here somewhere.” He gestures at the plain stone walls surrounding them, “My guess is that it’s just behind one of these walls. Just mine two or three blocks in all the way across, I’ll start from this side.”

“Whatever, Snapnap,” George takes the pickaxe anyway, walking over to the other side of the room and ignoring the protests Sapnap throws at his back. Mining the stone is simple, methodical; it’s a steady rhythm of the pick hitting stone and blocks falling into his inventory; if he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that they’re in the middle of a manhunt, and Dream has holed himself into the wall as he always does for them to find him. He doesn’t, because thinking about manhunt does nothing but make something cold and choking claw up his throat, almost like guilt, almost like regret, and he doesn’t have the energy for that in the slightest.

His next swing rings oddly hollow, and when the block drops neatly away the wall opens to a narrow corridor. He calls Sapnap over.

“Here.” Sapnap moves with large, heavy strides, face tightening into a foreign expression of grim determination when he catches the darkness behind the one-block hole George mined, “I found it.”

“Well, obviously,” he rolls his eyes as he takes out the bottom block, looking at George from the corner of his eye. “Nice observation, genius.”

“Hey! You told me to find it, and I did, unlike you- you should be thanking me, Sapnap.”

“Whatever, Gogy,” Sapnap sighs, looking into the corridor, feet settling against the ground into a wide stance that George recognizes as the one he’d usually use in a fight. It makes something long-forgotten ache in his chest, joining the dull ball of hurt that has been there for what feels like months, “You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, hurry up, will you?” The retort rings hollow, dying on his lips even as he says it, and George watches as Sapnap turns his head away and pretends not to notice.

“Let’s go.”

The hallway is dark, dusty, a hastily made thing as shown by the rough gouges made on either side by a quickly working pickaxe. It opens into a tiny room, similarly carved into the mountain with roughhewn walls of stone; George’s lips thin and press against each other as he takes a closer look at the room, stepping in behind Sapnap.

“This place is a mess,” he states drily, scuffing his foot against the floor and cringing at the trail it leaves in the dust. There’s a bed left in the corner, a thin little thing with the covers thrown off, lying halfway on the floor, and a few chests and furnaces scattered aimlessly against the walls and making the whole thing look more cramped. There are papers strewn over the floor and chests, piles of coal and wood left to collect dust in the corners. It looks like a whirlwind swept through the place, and it’s almost eerie to see this room, completely untouched since the twentieth, a snapshot in time of Dream in the middle of his spiral into madness.

Sapnap kicks at one such pile with a humorless scoff, “That’s an understatement.”

“You looking for anything in particular?” George jabs his thumb at the mess in front of them, “Because I’m not cleaning all of that up.”

“I guess- just look through the chests?” Sapnap’s face darkens visibly even despite the dim lighting, and George stifles the urge to poke fun at how the younger clearly didn’t plan this far ahead, per usual. “Just look for anything useful, worth taking back I guess.”

“Mmhm.” He moves to the left-most chest as Sapnap moves to the right, watching from the corner of his eye as the other strikes up a torch to place in the middle of the room. The lid creaks open, and he rummages through the contents, vaguely surprised when his hand meets row after row of glass bottles. He pulls one out, squints at the contents. “Hey Sapnap, is this a regen?”

Sapnap looks over. “Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes when George pockets it. “Seriously- you know Sam literally has an automatic potion brewer, right. You can just steal from that instead.”

“Or I could just steal from here,” he closes the lid, moving to the next chest. “That’s just his pots chest. He really stacked up, didn’t he?”

“Well, you know Dream. Always had to plan for the end of the world.” Sapnap closes the chest that he was hunched over, tossing over something in a flash of gold, “Was just his food chest. Don’t know why someone needs eight stacks of gapples, but whatever. We can split the god apples later.”

“Sure,” George nods, distracted as he fiddles with clasp of the next chest. This one, unlike the last, seems more worn over the bottom edge of the lid, the wood almost seeming to bear dents where fingers had pressed into the areas right by the clasp again and again. The lid eases open, and he frowns at the chest’s contents; there’s no rhyme or reason to them at first glance. There’s a half-stack of stone in the top left, a couple pieces of leather thrown in the bottom corner, a low-durability crossbow, unenchanted, that he briefly runs his hands over before throwing it back into the chest. He rummages through it for another second, about to dismiss it as a junk chest, when a well-worn book near the back of the chest catches his eye.

He pulls it towards him with careful hands, breath having caught in his throat. The cover is leather, scuffed and scratched in several places, not bearing the dull shine of a book that’s been signed and preserved magically. It doesn’t seem to be titled, no ink against the usual places on the front cover or spine, but the whole thing looks well-loved, the thread of the spine slightly frayed the leather heavily creased from where the cover had been eased open again and again.

He opens the front cover, and sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Sapnap? I think I found something.”

There, nestled between the front cover and the first page, lays a pile of photographs. Unlike everything else in the room, these are clearly well-loved, well-cared for, the corners are sharp, the surfaces shiny, despite how often they must have been thumbed through and looked at. He plucks the first one off the top of the pile - it’s one that was taken from the inside of the old community house before the floor was replaced with crafting tables, string lights hanging from the ceiling in an impromptu party, Alyssa’s legs dangling from where she’s sitting at the edge of the spiral staircase, Callahan leaning against the wall with a slice of cake held between his hands. Sapnap’s sitting in the middle of the floor across from himself, both of their faces glowing softly in the flickering light - his own face is caught in a grimace, Sapnap bent over himself in laughter- Sapnap walks up behind him, gasps at the sight.

“What are-”

George passes over the photo wordlessly as he moves to the next; there’s Sam, grinning at the camera with a newly tamed Fran by his side, tail a white blur against the green of the grass; Bad, hands clutched around a bucket as he yells at someone off the frame, a salmon head poking slightly out the top; Ponk, sitting proudly in the top branches of his first lemon tree.

His breath catches at the next; it’s dim, the sky a pretty blend of purple-pink from the last remaining dregs of light of a sunset, hovering over the dark edge of the ocean stretching out towards the horizon. They’re sitting in boats, the bottom edges lit softly from the coral sitting in the shallow waters below them, brilliant halos of reds and pinks and yellows and oranges and blues dotted with the soft lights of sea pickles painting the wood in muted rainbows. Sapnap’s smiling from one in the back, head tipped to the side cheekily, right hand lifted in a cocky two-fingered salute. George is sitting in the back of a boat in the foreground, glasses lifted to his forehead, eyes mid-roll even as he grins obligingly at the camera-

And then, in the front, there’s Dream.

His mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing his freckled skin and brilliant green eyes; he’s smiling widely, all teeth, hair wet and sticking up in a ring of untamed swirls and spikes. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, cheeks red, arm stretched forward off-frame from where he’d held the camera in front of them to take the selfie. George’s thumb brushes over the photo, pressing lightly against the dusty mess of hair framing Dream’s face, pausing at the sight of his pure, unadulterated joy.

What had happened to them?

A soft, choked sound comes from behind him, and George tucks the photos away, pressing them between two random pages in the book. His eyes flicker to the book’s contents, finally, finding Dream’s familiar, looping scrawl written on the first page. The words are big and messy, all capitalized and underlined several times, the last four circled roughly.

REMEMBER WHY YOU’RE DOING THIS: ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY.

He snaps the book shut.

“George-”

“Let’s go home, Sapnap.” He throws one last look at the room, at the messy, desperate edges, the remnants of a man lost in his own reckless belief that he could build something beautiful out of blood and ash. He swallows, blinks back the image of a brilliant smile, freckled cheeks ruddy with laughter, at the golden glow of memories long-forgotten that threaten now to burn him with their warmth. He can imagine Dream, settled in the middle of this mess, pressing himself closer to the fire contained in these photographs, these memories, and not realizing how he’s being burned, can nearly see a ghost of him tucked in these shadowed corners, haunting the hopes that he had clung to against all reason with the promise that it could all be worth it.

Sapnap frowns at him tiredly, photos pressed against his own chest. “George,” he says, cautious, and George’s shoulders hunch defensively.

“Let’s go home,” he stands up, hearing more than seeing as Sapnap does the same. “Whatever closure you’re looking for- you’re not finding it here.”

#tw death #tw grief #tw murder #tw mental deterioration #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

[rosy-cheekx]

Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing. 

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin.  It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

--

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

--

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

[princessofprocrastination]

Nothing But Hatred (GeorgeNotFound)

MASTERLIST 

pairing : georgenotfound / george davidson x reader

summary : you had nothing but love for people, even strangers. so how could george hate you so much? 

a/n : long imagine? i owe you guys this. also, happy new years!

you were taught since young to love people. 

“you don’t know what they have gone through before.” your mum always reminded you whenever you would complain to her about someone. 

and since then, the quote stuck to you. it was planted in your head even more when she passed away. you couldn’t describe the pain to other people. 

your dad also left the earth soon after her, following suite. his last words to you in the hospital were “i know you can take care of yourself, i believe in you. always.” you just turned eighteen then. 

since you were a legal adult, the house was automatically yours. now, you’re twenty-one, and since then, you have moved out. 

you found yourself a decent sized house. born and raised in florida, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the country, or state, that is. that’s just one thing you couldn’t bring yourself to do. 

you often forget that you’re on your own, no parents. born the only child, no siblings. and since you are a legal adult and everyone thinks you’re all good on your own, seeing that you have done many things on your own, your relatives don’t pry in your life. 

no, you weren’t lonely, if you say so yourself. you and dream, or clay, as you call him are best friends. literally platonic soulmates. you met him when you both are seventeen. he stayed with you through everything. 

when he started blowing up on social media, you were ecstatic. but you would often jokingly brag to him that you blew up way before he did. 

you didn’t understand why people watched you, if you were being honest. clay would say that it’s because of your charming and kind self that brought so many supportive people. you don’t agree. 

you never once pried in clay’s life. in social media and in real life. who’s his friends are his and you never would try to come across that. your friends and yours and his friends are his. simple. 

when clay blew up, no one knew that the two of you even knew each other, let alone best friends. they found that out weirdly. somehow they heard clay screaming in your kitchen when you were streaming. that clearly was a common occurrence for you since you barely even acknowledged it. 

yes, before anyone asks, there were shipping comments immediately after that. but, you two talked about it on stream, about how you two were nothing but amazing friends. but neither of you mind the ship comments. the fanarts have always been so incredible. 

being the biggest supporter of clay, or dream, you watched every single stream, video, liked posts of his, so you knew who his friends were. 

although you told clay that you didn’t want to pry into his life, he begged you to talk to his friends. you clicked so well with everyone. beside george. you didn’t understand it at first. whenever you’d watch his streams, he’d seem so nice and welcoming. 

but somehow, whenever you’d join in their discord or play in the dream smp, his tone would change drastically. 

after some time, you got the memo. he just didn’t like you. and you accepted that. not everyone would like you, so you backed off. you gave excuses to clay if george was present. 

you didn’t want to be the one interrupting his stream or be the cause of his mood change. so you stayed away, and so far, it had been better that way. 

you and clay were different in some ways. everyone is. but to be more specific, he made his money off of social media. and no, this wasn’t to say that he is below you. in fact, he was lucky that he got to do that. 

and this also didn’t meant that you couldn’t live off of your streaming money, you just rather do something other than social media. you wanted to make sure that if one day your social media career were to flop, you’d have a backup plan. 

but you didn’t want to put your degree to waste. your mum used to tell you all the time to study all while you are still young, so that you don’t regret it when you’re older. 

so that is what you did. you spent your years studying psychology, something you’ve always wanted to do. and in your free time, you’d stream or make videos. you didn’t tell that to the public, wanting that part of you to be private and away from social media. 

and one more thing, you never once brought up the loss of your parents to the public. you wanted people to like you for you, and not want them to like you for pity. hence, no one besides clay knew about your parents. 

and lucky for you, clay understood and no one had brought up any questions about your parents. they just knew you lived alone. 

you sat on clay’s bed, on your laptop, typing in important paperwork that had to be done from home. he invited you over. he told you he was lonely and that he needed the company. and in exchange of your company, he’d buy the both of you takeout for dinner. 

so you agreed. you told him that you being there would make no difference since you would be sat in the corner doing work anyways but he still begged you to come, saying that he didn’t mind it, that he just wanted you to be there. 

that is another common occurrence. there are days when he just needed someone to be there with him, in the same room. you never asked why but you enjoyed the company too, so you never bothered to know. 

as you sat on his bed typing, he was on his desk recording a minecraft hitmen video for his youtube with george, sapnap and badboyhalo. you could feel the nerves coming from him. 

he did need to pay his friends if he lost, after all. not that he cared about money but his ego was too big to lose now. 

you heard him bang his desk as he won, somehow by flying a boat. your best friend was a genius anyways, so you were not surprised that he did something new. 

now they were just talking on discord, you still typing on your laptop, unmoving from your spot on his bed. 

“you hungry?” clay asked you, to which you didn’t reply, since you were too focused into your work. he called your name another two times before you stopped typing and looked up at him. 

you shook your head, and pointed to your laptop, telling him that you just wanted to get this done before the two of you ate. he continued talking to his friends after that. 

“yeah she’s here. i just needed the company.” you heard him say. you knew he was talking about you. his friends probably asked who he was talking to earlier, anyway. 

“george, stop.” you heard him say. your heart sunk a little. you could hear the conversation going on in discord. you had heard george saying something along the lines of ‘if she’s here i’m out.’

that really hurt, but you knew you had to suck it up. “i’ll leave, it’s okay.” you said, closing your laptop and picking up your stuff. 

“wait, don’t leave. he’s jok-” 

“i’ll see you another day, clay. go have fun.” you cut his sentence, smiling at him as you left his room, and place. 

as you sat in your car, driving home, you wondered if you were really unlikeable. clay always said that you are the nicest person he’s ever met yet you never believed him. this was the reason. why did his friend hate you so damn much?

you tried to push it to the back of your mind. you parked your car in your house garage, but stayed in the car. 

at this time you wished you had your parents still. death comes to everyone at some point, and you knew that. but it felt unfair, not having both your parents. you wished you still had them to talk to, to hug and cry to whenever you had a bad day.

weeks pass since that uneventful day and you are not having the best day. 

to sum it up, you went to work early, ready to meet your mentor, to teach you the way around your workplace. however, your mentor had called in sick and apologized to you. 

everyone gets sick so you didn’t blame her. but that would mean that you had to do things on your own, no one to guide you, so you were lost constantly. this also meant that you were screamed at a lot. 

they called you names, saying that you are useless, slow, lazy, and that you are just a pretty face but you didn’t have the brains to work professionally. sure, that hurt. but at the end of the day, this was what you wanted, so you continued, you pushed through all the mean words. 

you went home with a heavy heart. you were exhausted, mentally drained as well. you facetimed clay on your way home, when you were driving to tell him everything. you just needed to let it out. 

he told you to go home and relax, that you would be all good tomorrow. 

at first, you believed him, but then you felt like you weren’t feeling any better, so you decided to stream. 

“i just showered, please ignore my wet hair.” you told chat as you started your stream. 

as the hour passes, you started to feel better. clay watched your stream, donating you at times to ask you questions. 

your phone goes off, signaling someone calling you. you picked up, knowing it was clay anyways since no one else would call you at 10pm. 

“discord.” he told you and hung up. 

“wow, not even a hi. what a friend.” you told your chat while you got in discord. 

you silently went in, not greeting anyone. you had a feeling that it isn’t just clay in the call. 

“there she is.” sapnap called you out. you said hi to all of them, even george, who you knew was in the call too. he only grumbled a reply to you. 

you guessed that george streaming since sometimes he would talk to himself, not muted. sapnap told you to join the smp and play with them, to which you agreed since the night was still young anyways. 

you spawned at sapnap’s house somehow, but walked across the smp towards where the rest of them were. you heard george say something as your character walked closer to them, you were still in the discord call, anyways. 

“dream, why did she need to be here?” you heard him say.

“maybe cause i’m his best friend?” you replied, innocently. you didn’t realize that you saying this would cause a huge problem, or could potentially lead to a fight between the boys and you. 

“i’m his best friend, you butt off.” he says, somewhat using an angry tone. 

“wait, i didn’t mean to-” you tried to say but was cut off by george. 

“you’re literally so fucking annoying. i don’t understand how clay can stand you.” he almost shouted. 

you could feel the tears coming, but you tried your best to keep it in, not wanting to cry on stream, especially with your facecam on. 

“george, language.” bad told him off, trying to ease the tension. 

“no, no. i’m not going to just sit and keep quiet anymore. i don’t like her here.” george starts another sentence.

“i’ll go.” you tried to say, voice small.

“georg-” clay tries to stop him before it goes too far. 

“chat says she’s about to cry? well go cry to your mum, don’t waste your time here on the smp.” he scolds. 

fuck. that one really hurt. “george what the fuck.” you heard clay say before you silently left the smp and discord chat.

you still had your stream. you didn’t want to disappoint so you still kept your stream going, trying not to cry. 

you connected your ipad to your laptop so they could see what you were up to. you decided to draw since you didn’t feel like going on your own world in minecraft. 

“chat, i drew this of sapnap the other day cause i was bored.” you showed them, zooming in the drawing on your ipad. 

your intention was to only show chat your drawing of sapnap but you didn’t realize that you accidentally clicked off that drawing, and showed a different drawing on stream.

“oops, you weren’t suppose to see that, chat.” you told them as you clicked back from the drawing you accidentally showed them. specifically, you had shown them a drawing of george that you made. 

“calm down, chat. i draw everyone.” you tried to ease the comments that arrived to your stream. 

“i even drew dream but that’s in my private section cause you guys haven’t seen his face yet.” you told them. 

the comments were positive. some of them were telling you to post it on twitter, that the boys would appreciate it. “oh my god, chat. fine i will, i’ll post them right now.” 

you went on twitter and posted every single drawing of them, even clay’s but you picked the ones that you had drawn a mask on him. you captioned it “chat told me to do it and i couldn’t disappoint them.” 

slowly you saw that your positive chat started to turn very negative. the name calling, the degrading. people were calling you attention seeking, that you are nothing but a whore for drawing them all. 

“okay guys, i should go to bed, i have things to do in the morning.” you told them, saying goodbye, leaving the stream and turning your pc off. 

you had your twitter notifications off so that you wouldn’t be annoyed at the constant pinging but since you were already on twitter, you had known that most of the people you drew had already noticed it. they retweeted it, screenshotted it, asking for your permission to post it or use it in their profile. 

you replied to most of them, before turning your phone off to get ready for bed. 

you sat on your bed, staring at your wall opposite you. you could feel the exhaustion come over you, the tears streaming down your face. it had been a good couple of hours. 

streaming definitely did take your mind off a lot of the things from your job earlier. but somehow you felt like your day got worse. 

you didn’t blame george, nor anyone for the matter. you needed to just suck it up, that not everyone will like you and that it’s okay for someone to call you out like that. 

that didn’t mean what he said didn’t hurt. in fact, nothing hurt you more than this. the fact he reminded you about your mum. you wished you could cry to your mum. everyday. you just wanted to hug her, talk to her. you wanted nothing else than to have a couple more moments with your parents. 

you needed to be tough, as your dad told you to be. you won’t be torn down because of this. your phone rang. you already know it’s clay facetiming you. you dried your tears and quickly went to wash your face.  

“hi.” you started, smiling to him as you picked the call up. 

“you don’t have to act like you’re okay. you’re allowed to cry.” he reminds you. 

“i am okay, don’t worry.” you told him. 

“you aren’t” he starts. “he went too far, i’m sorry.” he says. 

“don’t apologize. neither of your faults. i am tired though, i’m going to bed and so should you.” you replied to him, reminding him not to remain awake for too long.

“sleep well, hopefully tomorrow won’t suck for you. i’ll sleep later. goodnight. i love you.” 

“i love you too.” you told him before you ended the call. 

you laid down on your bed, continued crying and praying that tomorrow would be better. with that, you cocooned yourself in your covers and went to bed. 

-

DREAM’S POV

“what the actual fuck, george.” i scolded the british boy as you left the smp and discord call. 

“turn off your streams, all of you.” i told them. 

i had your live put up on my other monitor, so i knew exactly what was going on and what she was doing. so far, her chat had nothing but nice things to say and now she’s showing her drawings to them. 

good. she’s good so far. she’s probably only trying to take her mind off things. 

as all the boys turned off their streams, i told them to wait before i continues saying anything. we were all still on minecraft, doing our own things. i couldn’t just sit and do nothing, i would end up being too mad and breaking things. 

“i am so fucking disappointed in you, george.” i started to say. i was truly disappointed. i knew the two of them somehow didn’t get along well but i didn’t understand why he’s such an ass about this. 

“i find her so fucking pretentious. i refuse to sit here and not say anything about it.” george told all of us. i wish i could shake him awake right now. 

“she has been nothing but nice to you, what is wrong with you?” my voice louder now. 

“clay, i fucking hate her. she’s acting nice in front of everyone. you, chat. i don’t like that.” 

“acting nice? she’s the nicest person i’ve met.” i scolded him, bad and sapnap agreeing with me. 

“then you clearly haven’t met many nice people, clay.” he told me, scoffing. 

at this, i got more angry. i didn’t want to hold back. i couldn’t anymore. although i knew she’d get mad at me for telling people this, i didn’t care. i had to tell them, tell george. he will not just step on my best friend and get away with it, not when i’m around. 

“you dickhead. you told her to cry to her mum. her mum isn’t there to be there for her, to console her, to calm her down when your bitch-ass decide to talk crap about her. her dad isn’t there to hug her, to tell her that boys like you don’t deserve her. you really fucked up this time, george. i can’t believe you.” i basically screamed at him. 

“what?” i head sapnap say. “you don’t say-” he tried to say again. 

“her parents passed away when she was eighteen. she had no one but me. even her relatives don’t give a shit about her anymore.” i told them. that felt good to say. sure, it is a private matter about you and i should respect her boundaries but i can’t listen to george talk shit about you like that and not do anything. 

“i hope you’re happy, george. you probably fucking broke her.” i told him before leaving the smp and discord call. 

before i left, i heard him. “fuck.” i knew bad and sapnap would torment him anyways. 

i called you right after that. you looked fresh and looked like you haven’t been crying but i knew better. i knew you went to the bathroom before picking up my phone call. i knew you too well. 

when she hung up on me, i went to check out her twitter. i saw my twitter notifications earlier and saw that she posted something. i knew it had to be one of the drawings. chat must’ve told her to post it. 

my heart sunk when i saw a drawing of george. you are too nice for this world. no one on this earth deserves you, not even me. the fact that you still posted him when he was the cause of your tears prior to this. 

and the fact that he has been mean to you since the start yet you still spent hours drawing him just melts me. george really needs to wake up. 

i saved the drawing you drew of me and had it up as my profile picture. it was too wholesome. you really are talented. not to mention, really smart too. you were incredibly forgiving, it wouldn’t shock me to hear that you’re not even mad at george for being so rude to you. 

-

YOUR POV

i heard a knock on my door as i was finishing reading a book. i went to the front door not really expecting it to be anyone. maybe it’s clay, since he comes to your house often and never told you earlier. not that you mind, anyways. 

you were shocked, to say the least, to see a slightly shorter than clay, boy standing in front of you. that isn’t the shocking part. it is the fact that you are well aware of the man standing in front of you. 

george. and for some reason, he was holding flowers.

when you opened the door, he smiled sheepishly at you. you just stared at him, waiting for him to say something before you decide to. 

nothing. he says nothing. “is this about the things you called me? i totally get why you said what you did and i don’t blame you.” you said first, since it didn’t seem like he would. 

“how am i not one to blame when i was so incredibly rude to you, not even getting to know you first.” he finally opens up. 

“did clay ask you to come?” you asked him. he shook his head. 

“i offered, actually.” he started. 

“i couldn’t just sit around and not try to apologize. i’m so sorry for turning a blind eye and calling you such things. i didn’t mean any of it.” he says.

before you try to say something, he cuts you off. “and i know you’re going to stand there and tell me i did nothing wrong, that i have nothing to apologize about but that’s not true.” he says. 

you smiled. were you that predictable. you knew he had a couple more things to say, hence you kept your mouth shut and told him to continue, and that you wouldn’t cut in this time. 

besides, him apologizing with bouquet of flowers in his hands is just too adorable for you. so you decide that you should enjoy this. 

“clay told me how much of an idiot i am for talking about your mum. i didn’t mean anything i said, i swear.” he starts again. 

“i just- it seems like you and clay are so close and it made me feel so alone, like i barely stood a chance with you in the first place. and that thought alone made me feel enraged. i know that doesn’t count as an excuse, nothing can count as an excuse bu-” you cut him off by pulling him by behind his neck to kiss him. 

the kiss was short, but sweet. it was for two reasons, one, to shut him up, for him to stop rambling, and two, for him to realize that you liked him just as much. 

as you pulled away from the short kiss, he was already looking at you with a glint in his eyes, as if he was looking at the last piece of donut in a coffee shop.

he showed you a grin, a grin like none other. it showed you how much he did actually like you. 

it’s safe to say he only spent the rest of his stay at your house, or in your company. even clay couldn’t steal him from you. 

#georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound #georgenotfound imagines #georgenotfound imagine #georgenotfound fanfic #georgenotfound fanfiction

[spiked-tea-writing]

I Want A Baby. For Dinner??

Georgenotfoundxfem!reader

Summary: Who wouldn’t want to annoy the hell out of their boyfriend??

Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings Swearing

Word Count: >1k

A/n: Disclaimer I don’t know how streams work, or literally anything. I’m sorry if it’s hella butchered

You loved your boyfriend very much

And one day while he was on call with his friends Sapnap and dream post-stream, being the good girlfriend you are, you were chilling over on the bed while George talked to his friends.

He had got up to go get something from the kitchen, so you slipped on his headset and began chatting

You were met with immediate chaos

“YOOOOO Y/N WELCOME TO HELL”

“Greetings Sapna. How are my boyfriend’s boyfriends doing??”

Dream let out a laugh

“We’re doing alright. Could I interest you in a deal? It involves messing with George.”

You quirked an eyebrow

“I do enjoy messing with him. What does this entail?”

Dream began to speak but Sapnap beat him to the punch

“Basically you’re gonna record yourself guessing his replies.”

“Why.”

Dream sighed

“For TikTok.”

“Since when did you care about TikTok?”

Sapnap cut you off. 

“We just want to see how it goes”

“Alright, that seems like fun. I’ll do it”

“Do what?”

Your boyfriend had appeared back from the kitchen, a package of Oreos in hand.

“Oh, nothing dear. I just sold my soul to satan. As usual. Here’s your headset”

And with that you left your boyfriend there, dazed, confused, and holding Oreos

You began to form a list in your head of all of the things you knew you could get George to say out of instinct, and all you could do was grin

The only question was how would you be able to inconspicuously record? 

Well there is only one way to find out

When you heard him sign off with his friends you set the phone on the table beside you recording

“Hey honey, what should we have for dinner tonight?”

“I don’t know, will you eat the chicken?” 

“eAt ThE cHiCkEn?!?”

He looks disturbed at your outburst, and even more scared at the fact that you took just spoke in sync.

“What?”

“Oh nothing, let’s run to the supermarket and pick up some food.”

He still looked at you confused but nodded

“Alright, lemme get my jacket.” 

He left towards the bedroom and you started laughing before ending the recording and pocketing the phone. 

It’s a miracle he didn’t see it, but maybe you just could pull this off.

The day continued, you speaking in sync with George.

At the supermarket, back at the flat, and even while on the bus.

~

“George, can you get the cat?”

“Now why would you can a cat?”

“cAn A cAt?!”

“What the hell, Y/n.”

“What? I’d just like the cat, Dear.”

~

“George, I want a baby.”

“For dinner?”

“fOr DiNnEr?!”

~

“What do you think of my top?”

“It’s nice”

“Well does it compliment my eyes?”

“Honey, I’m colorblind.”

“iM cOLoRbLiNd.”

~

The entire time you were discreetly recording, always capturing your voices weirdly in sync and his disturbed face afterward. 

He had always forgotten what you had been doing so you managed to get him every time, and it was hilarious watching him get progressively more flustered and annoyed 

That night you sent all the clips to Dream, excited to see what he’d do with it.

After working all night and sleeping through most of the morning, because let’s be real here, after 4 years of living together, its only fair that your sleep schedules would be equally fucked, lmao tangent, yall woke up in the early afternoon

While in the process of caffeinating yourself, you heard the sound of a discord call coming in, and went over to the computer, answering the video call.

“What do you want?” “Goodmorning to you too.”

“Actually, bitch, it’s 2 in the afternoon.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes and Dream laughed and changed the subject.

“I edited all the clips together and finished it up. Get George in here so that I can send it to him and we’ll watch it together. Btw I’ll be recording.”

“Alright, that’s a plan and a half. GEORGIE!!”

You heard him pad into the room, looking confused.

“Yes, dear?” “Dream sent you a TikTok and wants us to watch it together.” 

George looked confused.

“Dream...sent us a TikTok, to watch together…?” “Yes, George, you gotta keep up jeezus. Here.”

 He sat down in front of the monitor, taking you in his lap, and opened the link.

The TikTok was posted to Dream’s account and suddenly you could hear Dreams voice

“I challenged George’s girlfriend to try and guess his replies. This is what she got.”

The rest of the video was all of the clips from yesterday, and you could hear Dream’s wheeze after every single one of them. 

At the end of the short video, you looked behind you to see his reaction. 

His eyes were just filled with disappointment.

“Really? That’s why you were doing this yesterday?”

You looked embarrassed.

“Yeah….”

“Jesus christ Y/n.”

“HEY you have to admit it was kinda funny.” 

“...fine.”

#georgenotfoundxreader #georgenotfound x reader #george #georgenotfound #george fluff #georgenotfound fluff #george fanfic #george fanfiction #george x reader #georgenotfound x you #george x you #georgenotfound x y/n #george x y/n

[mariacallous]

Dear ms callous, one of my mutuals-in-law is supremely annoying in so so so many ways but is also a very bright person with an incredibly narrow scope of absolutely correct, insightful takes. The problem is that the things this mutual annoys me with are very un-self aware and status-oriented like making casual and maybe even unintentional assumptions and remarks about people based on what school they went to (or where MIL believes they went to) and how much they earn (or how much MIL believes they earn/should earn). I mean obviously the right answer is to block and move on with my life but i also want to reach out and legitimately ask this person if they understand how disrespectful those assumptions are. They're always posting about compassion but i sense a deeply stung, wounded ego around this stuff (bc this person clearly didn't go to harvard or yale or princeton themselves, but also clearly wasn't making a FB developer's salary either). We all have blind spots but it does kind of hurt as someone who didn't go near the Ivy's for a variety of reasons but did somehow manage to make something of myself despite what family/society/this mutual think. Appreciate any thoughts on this!

I think that part of the issue might be, if you were to reach out and (calmly and respectfully) ask if they realize what they're saying and how it comes across, if they are as self-absorbed and unaware as you indicate, whether they would understand and realize and respond to you or whether they would double-down and continue, and whether it would be worth your time and energy to engage and then maybe/possibly/likely be frustrated and back where you started.

Also, as this went on longer than I expected, I'll do a read more (also because I got very personal about myself).

I get it though - my parents are pretty solidly middle-class (although it's a declining thing, as things got and have gotten worse or fallen into a stasis starting in my teen years) and couldn't afford a lot of things and so I knew I'd be mostly on my own and having to figure stuff out, and also weirdly reliant on them for other things. So while a lot of my friends were getting into UCs and privates (my best friend got into George Washington University, before coming back to UC Berkeley after going to Berkeley City College for a bit, and others got into Stanford and Georgetown), and even while I was getting accepted to Roosevelt in Chicago and the University of Canberra, I had to go to the community college near where we lived, and then I ended up, because of costs and requirements, going to state schools in the Midwest, and I've had to stop and start at college multiple times, and those same friends are now working at various tech and consulting groups making the FB developer salaries and owning homes or nice apartments and condos in San Francisco or Los Angeles and getting married and having kids (and having spouses with similar strategies) and I'm...not, lol, and I don't have mommy and daddy (or grandparents) with their several years at various law firms and corporations and home equity and savings and trusts to help me or give me connections.

So I have fairly large chips on my shoulder, because a lot of "normal" or average experiences or options (for my parents, even, when they were younger)...weren't the case for me and for the people I've worked with and dealt with over the last decade plus, and I've had to decide what to sacrifice or skimp to get other things (when I graduated from my undergrad, I had nowhere to go and almost no furniture and minimal belongings that I brought with me to college and ended up being the third roommate in a 2-bedroom apartment and living off a stipend I got from a nonprofit I worked with of about $500 a month, until I finally got hired by the public health department in Fargo, and then one of the roommates moved out to take a live-in job so I finally got my own room), and what to do without or stretch, and I constantly feel insecure and shabby. Especially because my parents and my sisters were more of the country mice with our city mice uncles and aunts, who were particularly clueless and thoughtless (and who accused my parents of stealing or withholding things and who held finances over them), and we didn't get a ton of new stuff and our home had to end up going to the home flippers because we couldn't afford the mortgage and the maintenance and it got black mold (and which I helped my parents figure out and coordinate from North Dakota, and which meant all of the stuff I left behind at home got trashed and ruined).

All of which is way more than I meant to say or bring up and which is tangential to my point, which is that I've worked and struggled (and still doing both) to get to where I'm at now, which is Better but not Great (the last year or two is the first time I've made more than $50,000/year since I started working) and it is incredibly hurtful to, hopefully and likely, see that devalued or denigrated by someone, who it sounds like is more secure financially and socially, and also because of how divorced it is from the reality of so many people, and probably so many people we both know and deal with. (It's why I've complained/ranted about the way people talk about the Midwest or "flyover country" or rural areas, having lived there and dealt directly with the people and issues involved)

And I think it's also just fundamentally tacky and crude and betrays a lack of thought and class and discretion (and having grown up in the San Francisco Bay Area, I'm used to seeing that) and doesn't recognize or acknowledge the people who have worked and struggled and who didn't go to Ivies or who didn't have well-off family or connections or who didn't grow up in the nice(r) parts of the Coasts and so forth.

This is way longer than I intended, and I don't want to further show how bitter *I* am or how wounded and stung my pride is, but all of this is to say that I Get It, and to make sure that you do what's best for you to be able to enjoy things, and to also recognize all the work you've put in and how far you've come and what your successes and achievements are.

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (next part)

(word count: 3,098)

--------------------

Part Two: Sapnap

Sapnap has never thought of himself as an outwardly sentimental person, but nights like tonight make him consider changing his mind on that front.

Things have been weird, lately. Weird in a different kind of way from the usual weirdness. Personally, he blames Wilbur Soot and his dumb drug van that has somehow evolved into a dumb country and a dumb revolution, because apparently he thinks it’s fine to be invited onto someone else’s server and promptly declare independence. But whatever, it’s fine, and so what if it’s getting a little more intense than the games they usually play? So what if Dream’s starting to get strangely obsessive about the whole thing? Sapnap thinks he might too, in his position, and there’s no need to get too worried about it anyway. There’s no way this war—if it can be called a war at all—will last much longer.

But it’s been weird.

Nights like this, though, remind him that it’ll all be okay in the end. Because tonight started out as a war meeting, all of them hunched around a table in Dream’s base, talking over plans and hypothetical ways to kick the L’Manbergians straight into next week the next time they fight. But over time, conversation shifted to other things, lighter things, and Dream flicked water at George’s face for some reason, and George retaliated by throwing small objects at Dream’s mask, and somehow that’s resulted in them all piling onto each other in front of the TV, watching really terrible horror movies. Dream tosses popcorn at the screen whenever someone makes a horrendous decision, and they’re all cracking stupid jokes and making silly commentary, and Sapnap feels warm and tired and safe. It feels like old times, when it was just the three of them on this server, or maybe even like just a few months ago, before Wilbur got it into his head to create a drug empire and they were all still friends, and the stealing and the griefing was all in good fun and the disc thing was a joke and not something that Dream is still weirdly preoccupied with.

It’s a nice reminder. Things were good before, and they’ll be good again. Everything will go back to normal soon, and right now, with Dream draped across his lap and George half sprawled over both of them, he can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.

And then, Tommy stumbles into the room.

He blinks a few times, because what? But no, Tommy’s still there, even though this is about the last thing he expected to happen. Scratch that, it’s like, the negative third thing he expected to happen tonight, because what is Tommy doing here?

There is a split second in which his instinct is to go for a weapon. But even disregarding how fucked up that is, because this is still Tommy, still the kid he joked around with and hung out with in the early days, and he doesn’t want him hurt or dead no matter how annoying he’s been lately—even disregarding all of that, the urge fades quickly.

Because Tommy looks like shit.

He’s unarmed and unarmored, nothing on his back but his usual t-shirt, and that appears rumpled, like he slept in it and didn’t bother to change before coming here. His hair is mussed, even more than normal, and his eyes are red-rimmed. Sapnap would chalk it up to sleep deprivation if there weren’t obvious tear tracks drying on his cheeks.

Which, holy shit. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tommy cry before. So what the hell could have happened that he would show up in Dream’s base of all places, alone and looking like this?

“Uh,” he says, very eloquently. “We’re having a war meeting? What are you doing?”

Tommy’s gaze drifts from them to the TV and back to them again.

“Oh, good,” Tommy says, and he sounds… off. Like he’s trying too hard to sound casual. Sapnap’s not quite sure how he knows that, except that there’s an odd strain in his voice, and the words don’t seem to come easily, like he has to search for them, and that’s wrong. Tommy delivers insults as easily as breathing, even when they’re not particularly clever ones. “Here I was worried you were having a sleepover. Like middle school girls.”

“We can have a sleepover if we want,” George mutters, sounding slightly offended and also like he’s too tired for this. Which, honestly, Sapnap completely agrees with.

“If this is supposed to be a sneak attack or something, it’s a really bad one,” Dream says, and finally puts in the effort of rolling to his feet in one smooth motion and taking a few steps in Tommy’s direction. “Why are you here, Tommy, and how soon can you leave? Or do we need to make you?”

It’s definitely too late at night to sound threatening. Even Dream can’t manage it very well, too much sleep creeping into his voice.

Except it seems to work. Tommy flinches, and takes a step back. Alarm bells start clamoring in Sapnap’s head, because the one thing Tommy has never been is scared of Dream.

Dream catches it too. His head tilts, and he stops his advance. Sapnap exchanges glances with George, and they both get to their feet as well, the earlier warmth and comfort almost forgotten. The movie continues to play in the background, disregarded.

“I’m not here for a fight,” Tommy says, and Sapnap can’t stop his snort.

“You’re always here for a fight,” he says, and Tommy—

Tommy looks at him. Just looks at him, and it’s only for a second, but he could swear that there is something dark in Tommy’s eyes, something dangerous, something that Sapnap has seen before but never in the face of someone so young, something that speaks of loss and bloodshed and an unshakable determination to do whatever it takes. To accomplish what, he doesn’t know, and he can’t find out, because Tommy blinks, looks away, and the moment is gone.

“Not tonight,” Tommy says, and turns his gaze on Dream. And keeps it there. “I want to propose a deal.”

“You want to propose a deal,” Dream repeats. “You want—you came here at three in the morning to try to make a deal with us? I—okay, why? What do you want, and why do you think we’ll give it to you?” Dream’s voice is increasing in both volume and snappiness, and Sapnap can’t blame him; deals, when coming from Tommy, inevitably end in some sort of scam, in his experience, and if Tommy’s really trekked all the way over to their base to try to pull one over them, he’s got another thing coming to him.

But at the same time, Tommy has actually trekked all the way over to their base, looking like he’s halfway to death via exhaustion. His voice is flat, and he’s watching Dream like he’s some sort of predator, like he’s going to attack at the slightest provocation. Which might just be the case, but the point is that Tommy has never seemed this aware of it. Never been careful, never given Dream the respect and caution that his skills deserve, despite Dream besting him in combat time and time again. So somehow, Sapnap doesn’t think that a simple scam is the end goal here.

“You’re going to give it to me because I know you, Dream,” Tommy says, lifting his chin defiantly, and there, there is some of his usual spark, his usual confidence. Odd, though, that it seems to be just that: confidence, not false bravado, not a child playing in shoes several sizes too big, not Tommy trailing after Wilbur like a puppy trying to learn to be a wolf. Just surety. “I know what you want.”

“Oh?” Dream crosses his arms. “And what do I want?”

“The discs,” Tommy says, and Sapnap feels his jaw hit the floor. “And I’ll give them to you. No scams.”

Dream has gone still. Shocked, Sapnap thinks. “You’ll give me the discs?” he says. “Just like that, you’ll give them to me?” He’s disbelieving—but he’s interested. That much is plain as day. And Sapnap still doesn’t understand why Dream cares about those things so much, because sure, Tommy was being really annoying about them, but at the end of the day, discs are all they are. Music discs like any other music discs.

“I mean, no, not—not just like that,” Tommy says. “This is a deal, man, I want something from you. But that’s what I’m offering. The discs. Both of them.”

Sapnap scans his face, his posture, searching for any sign of a lie. There is none. Tommy’s lips are drawn in a thin line, his expression more serious than any Sapnap has ever seen from him.

“Okay, what is it?” he asks.

“L’Manberg’s independence,” Tommy says. “Independence for the discs.”

And that’s—that’s laughable. This revolution of theirs has barely been going on for a month, and it’s already painfully obvious that they’re going to lose, and badly, that they don’t have the resources or the manpower to defeat Dream. They’re going to crush them; they’re not about to let them form their own country right in the middle of the Greater SMP just because of a couple of music discs. That would be stupid.

Except Dream’s still interested.

“You’d be willing to give up the discs?” he asks, an odd note in his voice, and—he’s considering it. He’s actually considering it.

“Oh, come on, Dream,” George says, apparently thinking along the exact same lines. “You can’t just—”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and shifts his weight between his feet. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off Dream. His whole body is tense as a bowstring. “I mean, you know. Sometimes you’ve got to think about what’s important.”

“Did Wilbur ask you to do this?” Dream says.

Tommy stays silent. For a moment, Sapnap takes that as a yes, as agreement, and a burst of anger flares, surprising him. But the core of it is this: sure, Tommy’s irritating, but the discs are important to him. That much has been made extremely clear. So for Wilbur to force the kid to give them up for the sake of his grand country would be messed up.

But Dream laughs, soft and low. “He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he?” he says, and Sapnap starts, looking back to Tommy for his reaction.

Tommy winces.

Did the child really waltz into enemy territory without telling anyone where he was going? That’s stupid, even for him.

“What Wilbur doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” Tommy snaps, and then scowls. “Well, usually. I take that back, actually. But I’m not here because he told me to. I’m here because this—this is the best choice. It’s the best outcome. So how about you just take the fucking things, and then you go away and leave us alone forever, eh? How about that?”

Dream hums. “And how do you know I won’t take the discs and then raze your little country to the ground anyway?” he asks. “What would stop me?”

Tommy levels a flat stare, and for a second, it’s like there’s someone else peering out of his face.

“I’d fucking stop you, you bitch,” he says. “I’m not—I’ve got news for you, buddy. You think you’re some kind of god. Well, you’re not. You’re just some guy, just like the rest of us, and so what if you’re all strong and shit? There’s always someone stronger.” He pauses for a moment. “There are worse monsters out there than you, Dream. More powerful things. And if you start trying to play your games with me, I’ll take you the fuck out. Don’t even try me. I don’t—I don’t have time for this.” His voice cracks suddenly, and Sapnap looks on in horrified fascination, trying to make sense of anything he’s saying. “Look, you still want the discs, yeah? You can have them. Just give L’Manberg its independence. I won’t try anything. They’re yours to keep, forever. I won’t fight you. So c’mon, you green bastard, do we have a deal?”

Throughout this speech, Dream has gone very, very still.

“More powerful things than me?” he asks. “Tommy, this is literally my server. I think you’re underestimating me here.”

“No,” Tommy says. “No, I’m really not.”

Dream stays silent for a moment. Sapnap would bet anything that underneath his mask, he’s frowning.

“Alright,” he finally says. “Show me that you have them here, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Sapnap would protest. He feels like he should. A couple of discs aren’t worth allowing a whole new country to form in their server. But Dream’s tone brooks no argument, and more than that, there’s definitely something wrong with Tommy, something that grabs his attention and keeps it, even though he can’t put a finger on what it is. So he just watches as Tommy brings his enderchest out of his inventory, and pulls out two music discs, staring at them both for a long second.

And then, he holds them out toward Dream.

“The discs for L’Manberg,” he repeats, and his voice is colorless.

“The discs for L’Manberg,” Dream replies, and takes the discs from Tommy’s hand. Tommy jerks his arm back quickly, face going pale as a sheet as he stumbles a bit.

“Don’t,” he says, and he’s shaking, shaking hard, “don’t you fucking, don’t fucking touch—”

Sapnap’s not sure what the issue is. Dream’s fingers might have brushed Tommy’s when he accepted the discs, maybe, but he doesn’t know why that would cause such a reaction. Dream freezes in place, startled, and it’s impossible to tell where he’s looking, so Sapnap exchanges another glance with George and steps forward, intending to calm Tommy down, perhaps, to guide him out of the base so he can get back home. Maybe he’ll walk him himself; he’s not sure he trusts the kid not to get eaten by a zombie on the way, in the state he’s in.

But Tommy wheels on him, stabbing a shaking finger at him, and he stops in his tracks.

“Don’t,” he says, and he’s near tears, barely getting the words out, and Sapnap feels so lost. “Don’t get near me, just, just fuck off, why don’t you?”

“You’re in our base!” he says incredulously. “Tommy, what is up with you?”

Tommy just shakes his head. His eyes drift back over to Dream, and the discs in his hand. His face contorts, and Sapnap can’t even begin to interpret the expression he’s making, something sad and angry and desperate all at once, but with something else, something… weird. Everything about this is weird, though, and he doesn’t particularly want to admit that he’s slightly worried about TommyInnit, but frankly, he’s not sure he has a choice.

Because he’s slightly worried about TommyInnit.

“It’s for the best,” Tommy says, quietly, as if to himself, but his voice sounds so wrecked that Sapnap’s first instinct is actually to give him a hug. It’s easy enough to refrain, but still. “It’s for the, it’s for the best. For L’Manberg. It’s, um—” He glances up, right at Dream’s mask, and flinches again. “Right. I’d say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but it never is. Bye, Dream.”

And then he’s backing out the entrance, and he’s gone.

“Bye, Tommy,” Dream says, somewhat belatedly, and then they all stand there in silence for a good two minutes. Dream turns the discs over and over in his hands, a repetitive motion. Sapnap recognizes it for what it is—a self-soothing mechanism, something to calm himself with. He’s rattled.

“So, that was really weird, right?” George says, and Sapnap lets out a long breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’d say that was weird, George.” And then he whirls on Dream. “And you! Are you serious right now? You’re just going to, what, let them make their country, just like that? Over a couple of discs? Seriously?”

Dream takes a moment before replying, and when he does, his voice is low, considering.

“I want to see where this goes,” he says. “I didn’t see this coming. I didn’t think that Tommy would be willing to give up these discs for—well, for anything. And the fact that he did this on his own? Without even telling anyone? You’re right, it’s weird. I want to figure it out.” He shrugs, posture untensing. The discs vanish into his inventory. “Besides, I have the discs now, which means I have power over him. And we can always declare war again later if we want. I promised him L’Manberg’s freedom, not that they would get to keep it.”

He frowns. “I guess.”

Power over Tommy. Normally, he’d agree. Holding the discs over his head in the past has worked wonders. But the way Tommy looked, the way he came to them of his own volition, suggested giving up the discs himself—something about him has changed, and Sapnap’s no longer sure that it will be that simple. Because sure, his face when he gave them up was agonized, but then there was everything else, too, everything he said, the way he was acting, like he thought there was some bigger threat on the horizon, and that it wasn’t Dream.

Weird. Just, so weird.

“Alright, I guess we see how this goes, then,” George says.

“Yeah, we’ll see how it goes,” he echoes, and wonders why the words inspire such dread in him.

They go back to their movie. But though they sit together again, pressed into each other’s sides, none of them relax. The tension in the room does not leave, and he knows that none of them are paying attention to the movie at all, that all of them are lost in their own thoughts, and he resents it, a bit. He wants that easy camaraderie back. Wants his friends, his friends and simpler times, before war, before discs, before Tommy-fucking-Innit and all the rest of them. Just him and Dream and George, messing around, doing what they want, making a server into a home.

Simpler times seem like a long way away. Sapnap thinks about it long into the early morning, long after the credits stop rolling, and can’t come to a conclusion that satisfies him. Can’t find peace. He doesn’t think the other two can, either.

But then, he’s not sure what else he expected. Sometimes, he thinks he’s forgotten what peace means.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #sapnap #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #/rp #cw swearing #cw violence mention #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au

[ickle-ronniekins]

when all hope seems lost

desc: George finds himself to be lost: his business, merchandise and home have been destroyed in the war and his twin brother is still healing from a battle wound that could’ve been fatal. He’s living temporarily in a flat in a desolate looking neighborhood, and he’s desperate for anything to feel like it used to be. It seems as though all hope is lost, until he meets someone who reminds him that he’s got to endure the darkness to be able to appreciate the light.

A/N: yaknow i hate myself sometimes because whenever i just wanna write ~one fic~ i always add WAY TO MUCH INFORMATION and need to make it either a two-partner or a series smh why can’t i write shorter pieces man??? also this is me just feeding my feelings sorry.. i know some other friends need some light too so hopefully this two part (maybe more?) mini-series can help you a bit, too

pairing: george x fem!american!reader

word count: 1.9k

warning(s): mentions of war, anxiety, mental health

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley | message me to be added!

When it seemed as though every bit of light had been drained from the universe, you wondered whether the pavement beneath your feet would implode, catapulting you into some other world, some other place where maybe the darkness wasn’t so evident.

George was wallowing again, letting his unhappiness swallow him whole, the happiness he always seemed to emanate now diminished by the hollowness he felt inside of his chest. What had happened to him? How had it come to this? How had he let his desires go by the way side? Why had he given into the melancholy feeling overtaking him?

You wondered whether things would ever go back to normal. Though the war had taken place in England, it hadn’t stopped the following of the most dangerous wizard in all the world to make their way to America. They’d stopped at nothing. Not that you were surprised, really. You’d heard just how awful things had been across the pond. It was no wonder that they’d seemingly wiped out half of the population and then headed for the states, looking to inflict more damage upon the Wizarding community.

A sharp honking noise came from round the bend, but George didn’t move. He stood, feet cemented firmly into the cobblestone as he peered up at his shop; or rather, what was left of it. A few measly bricks and the siding that had been blasted open, showcasing the inner lining of the shop, their flat above it, and all of the products that had been destroyed along with it. The following of Voldemort hadn’t been kind. If he’d been there, if he hadn’t been at Hogwarts, he could’ve saved it -- Fred could’ve saved it --

You peered around the desolate little street you now found yourself on. Though the war had ended, the damage was still very prominent. Here you were -- halfway around the world, no job, no home, no life plans on the horizon, for they’d been smashed to smithereens the same way your tiny little home had been. You wondered if England would be the better choice than America. A wave of doubt surged through your bones, and you very quickly scratched at your head to try and ignore it as you made your way toward your new home.

Fred was busy at the Burrow. After his almost near experience with the great beyond, Molly had insisted that he come home. He hadn’t been too resistant, actually. He reckoned he could use some time there. George, however, desperately searched for a new place -- at least for a little while. A new place for himself, until Fred got better, and they could go back to their plans. Though, now, as he angrily clenched his fists inside of his pockets, the foreboding feeling of doubt swept through his mind, and he wondered if he and Fred would ever be able to replenish all that they’d lost.

Your suitcase clicked rather annoyingly against the cobblestone. You stopped and took an exaggerated deep breath, threading your brows together as you looked up at your new home: a tiny little apartment right on the outskirts of London. It was freshly painted a very stark white; it was beautiful, but nothing like what you were used too. It wasn’t just a new apartment -- it was a whole new world. England was too far from America, and every aspect of home felt as though it were light years of miles away.

George opened up the door to the room of his new flat: it was desolate looking -- bare walls, muted colours, a sort of dryness he wasn’t fond of, and he knew Fred wouldn’t be either. There was absolutely nothing exciting about this place. He set down his trunk in the corner and stood there for a few moments, half in a sort of daze and half in denial. He then threw his jacket onto the bed and made way toward the kitchen to make himself a much needed cup of tea.

You were busy tracing your hands over countertop in the kitchen when someone scared you. A redheaded man stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with confusion as they glanced over you. He was tall and lanky; he desperately needed a haircut (or a hair taming, rather) and appeared as though he hadn’t caught much sleep in days. You stuck out your hand to introduce yourself: right. You forgot you’d be sharing a home. With a stranger. From England.

“Hi.” George’s voice sounded weirdly firm and unfriendly in his own ears. He cleared his throat a bit and forced a smile onto his face; in his desperation to find a place to temporarily live, he’d forgotten that he’d agreed to another flatmate. He slid his hand into yours and shook gently. “I’m George. Nice to meet you.”

By the puzzled look on his face, you wondered if he knew he was going to get a  roommate. A female roommate. An American female roommate. You figured probably not, because he seemed to be caught rather off guard when he walked into the kitchen and nearly froze on the spot. The startled expression cleared from his face, and he offered a rather genuine looking grin. You introduced yourself right back. “Nice to meet you.”

George found himself in a better mood when he realized that you were bound to be a good flatmate: you were tidy, didn’t have as many belongings as he’d imagined, and offered to shower either morning or night, it didn’t really matter to you -- whatever worked best for him. He was grateful to how accommodating you were being right off of the bat, especially when he felt as though his entire world was collapsing. But when he wandered past your room that first night and saw you sprawled out on the floor, hurriedly going through your belongings and peering down at what seemed to be some type of photographs, he wondered if you were possibly going through something, too. He pretended not to notice when you dabbed at your eyes.

It was nearing midnight, and you forced yourself to place back into your suitcase all photographs of your home -- or, the home you once had. It wasn’t doing you any good looking through them; if anything, it was just making the move to London that much more difficult. Suddenly, a gentle knock pulled you from your thoughts: George was standing at the entrance of your room, two cups in his hands. “I normally have a bit of tea before I head off to bed, and well.. you looked like you could use some. Hope I’m not overstepping.”

George was glad to see the grin that appeared on your face at the sight of him holding two steaming cups of tea. He watched you quickly got up from the floor and pull your hair back into a ponytail. “Thank you,” you told him, cautiously blowing on your tea to cool it. George figured now would be a good a time as any for a casual conversation, since it didn’t look like you’d be going to bed anytime soon. “So -- America? What brings you to England?”

He caught you off guard when he asked this. When you turned back around to look at him, he was casually leaning against the doorframe. His eyes looked much more awake than when you’d first met; it seems as though your foreignness had piqued his interest. Gently, you offered, “My home was destroyed. In the war. Crazy how everything that had started over here wandered all the way over to the states. Lost my job. Lost other...personal things.” You cleared your throat a bit and watched as George bit down on his lip; he seemed to understand. “Figured it was time for a fresh start, you know? New place, new adventure. Though I suppose I could’ve just moved to another state instead of across the country. But hey, England seemed as lovely a place as any, right?” You chuckled a bit before continuing, the first genuine laugh you’d had in months. “How about you? What brings you to this little apartment?”

“I’m so sorry. That’s awful.” George felt a tightness in his throat at your words. He hadn’t expected you to be so frank right off the bat. He wondered if all Americans willingly told intimate details of their lives to complete strangers. Though it was sort of strange to him, he felt as though it was an opening. He bravely took a step forward. “My reasoning isn’t any happier than yours, I’m afraid. I own a business with my brother -- the war destroyed nearly all of it and my flat above it. Fred’s back at my mum and dad’s; he was poorly hurt. I’m kind of on my own for the time being, struggling to find which way is up. That’s how I ended up here.”

“I’m so sorry.” A sudden wave of sadness took you over. You wanted to reach out and grab his hand and squeeze it, seemingly letting George know that you knew, sort of, how he felt. You’d both lost things due to the war. You’d both had to find a way to start over. You resisted the urge and instead sipped again on your tea. You lifted your eyebrows in shock. “It’s strange, the aftermath. It’s startlingly much worse over here than it is back home.”

George found himself laughing, genuinely giggling, for the first time since before the war. “England hasn’t scared you off, has it? I promise, it normally doesn’t look this bloody dismal. And, well, this little area on the outskirts of London really did take quite a hit. Not my first choice in terms of places to live, but I reckon for the time being, it’ll do.”

You swore you caught a bit of a glimmer in his eye, and you wondered how long it’d been since it had been there. George didn’t seem like a particularly melancholy kind of guy, but you knew that with his business destroyed, his brother hurt, his home demolished that he was entitled to a few (or more than a few) bad days. You peered out of your window to see the little rain covered cobblestone street, lit by nothing but the pale light of the street lamps, and breathed in gently. No, England hadn’t scared you off -- dismal looking or not. It had actually turned out to be much nicer than you’d imagined. You nodded at George, who offered up another small grin. “It’ll do.”

When George went to bed that night, he fiddled around with a few test products he and Fred had been placing the finishing touches on. He sucked in multiple breaths to stop himself from crying and just tried to remind himself constantly that they’d work it out. Fred would get better, they’d repair the damage, they’d create new products, their flat would be fixed. When he said all of it in the same breath, it sounded like too much for two blokes to handle. So he tried to focus on one thought at a time. Right. Fred will get better, after some much needed rest. George could handle being in this flat. It would give him time to work out logistics and design more products in all this new free time he had. He glanced to his bedside table and noticed a copy of The Quibbler underneath his wand, and his trunk in the corner of the room. The furnishings actually sort of reminded him of his dormitory at Hogwarts, and he chuckled to himself before shutting his eyes. Perhaps you were right. This new life? This time for all to heal? This time spent in a new flat?

It would do. It would do just fine.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley fluff #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley one shot #fred weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins fanfic #weasley twins fanfiction #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction