#this must’ve been George first ever stream

[dreamygeorgenap-archive]

“Basically before I even met you, you had like this ginormous impact”

#cut to Dream saying ‘no I didn’t learn to code to kiss George’ lol #this is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen #such a romantic thing to say #George seems flustered #cute little ‘shut up idiot’ too #i wonder if this is another reason why Dream sees them as such a team #because george kinda indirectly made Dream learn to code #this must’ve been George first ever stream #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #dnf #dreamnotfound #my video #my clip #fav dnf #soulmate behavior #in love behavior #1k

[storiesforallfandoms]

small world ~ corpse husband

word count: 2053

request?: yes!

“Can I get a Corpse x fem reader where reader an corpse are both streamers and they meet each other for the first time and realize they used to know each other as kids? I know Corpse has said that he didn’t have many friends when he was younger so maybe have it where reader was someone that was really nice to him? Sorry for the long request and thank you if you do it! 😊🖤”

description: he never would’ve thought that the new addition to their friend group would be someone from his past

pairing: corpse husband x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

“Hey Corpse,” Karl said. Corpse hummed in response, focused on the drawing he was doing for their Jackbox game. “(Y/N) is also from San Diego. Do you know her?”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Karl, San Diego is pretty big. We’re not bound to know one another. Besides, just because he lives here doesn’t mean he grew up here.”

“I did grow up in San Diego actually,” Corpse said. “I don’t think we would’ve known each other though. Even if we happened to be in the same area, I didn’t talk to many people and I dropped out in the seventh grade.”

“I was, regrettably, popular in school,” (Y/N) added.

“Regrettably?” Karl asked.

“Yeah. Looking back, I hated being popular. I hated it when I was popular even. My friends were mega jerks and made fun of everyone, even me sometimes. I would try and make them be nice but they just let the popularity go to their heads. I haven’t spoken to any of them since we graduated. There was this sort of outcast in middle school I used to have a crush on. I tried to be friends with him, but he preferred to keep to himself. I always wished I had been friends with him because I feel like I would’ve been so much happier. I never saw him again either. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

Something about her story triggered a memory in Corpse. The year before he dropped out, there was a girl in is class who was always nice to him and tried to talk to him. He brushed it off as another way he was being made fun of. When it kept up, though, he realized she was likely being genuine. He still kept his distance, but he found himself gaining some feelings for her as well. When he dropped out, he never heard from her again.

I wonder where she is now, Corpse thought to himself. Man, what was her name?

Corpse accidentally gasped, drawing the attention of everyone in the Discord call.

“You good Corpse?” George asked.

“Y-Yeah,” Corpse responded. “Just uh...just realized I fucked up my idea a bit. No big deal, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The game started prompting for everyone to show what they had created. Taking the opportunity of not having to speak, Corpse went to Google (Y/N)’s YouTube channel. She had come into the game as a friend of Karl’s and Corpse hadn’t heard of her channel, but now somethings were starting to click together.

The first thing that popped up with the top Google Image for (Y/N)’s channel name. It was a beautiful girl laying in a garden of flowers with a wide smile on her face. Corpse sucked in a breath as he realized that the girl in the picture looked familiar.

“Corpse,” came Karl’s voice, snapping Corpse out of his trance. “It’s your turn.”

“Sorry,” Corpse said. “I was distracted.”

The rest of the stream Corpse felt like he was in a daze. He continued to play the games and forced out laughs when he realized someone was making a joke. Every time (Y/N) spoke, he felt his heart flutter with excitement. He couldn’t believe that after all these years he had finally been reunited with her. And what was better was that she had actually admitted to having feelings for him too!

Don’t get too excited, he thought to himself. She said she used to have a crush on you. That was a very long time ago.

He tried not to seem too eager when the stream finally ended. He waited for someone else to leave the call first before he exited out of it himself. He waited another few minutes before messaging (Y/N) directly on Discord.

hey. it was fun playing with you tonight. weird request, but can we voice call maybe? just the two of us?

Corpse didn’t expect her to respond any time soon. It was late in San Diego, like nearly 3am late. Most people were going to bed by now. She had mentioned once during the stream that she was starting to get sleepy. He figured she’d see it in the morning and either call, or just ignore the message.

To his surprise, near seconds later, she was calling him.

“Hey stranger,” she said when he answered. “Long time, no speak. You must’ve missed my voice a lot, huh?”

Corpse chuckled. “Exactly, I really did.”

“Makes sense. I do have the best voice on the internet.” She laughed this time. It sounded like such a perfect sound. “For real though, is everything alright? Why did you want to call?”

How did he even tell her? Hey, so you know that outcast you liked? It was me! Surprise!

No, he couldn’t say that. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember, or maybe she wouldn’t believe him. He had to figure out some way to bring it up.

“I kind of wanted to talk more about your popular school days,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and teasing. “It’s not every day I meet a streamer who’s in my own area code. It would be nice to get to know someone who isn’t like a five hour drive away.”

“Oh!” She seemed excited by this response. Her excitement was almost contagious. “Okay, where should I start? The shitty friends or the shallow popularity?”

Corpse chuckled. “You pick.”

She talked for nearly an hour about her high school experiences with her popular friend group. Despite how much she despised being popular, (Y/N) still spoke with a light tone in her voice. She tried to bypass a lot of the more negative details and speak only of the good experiences she went though, which was nice to hear.

Corpse nearly jumped with excitement when she began to talk about middle school unprompted.

“It really was the last good years I had in school,” she admitted. “All my friends, the ones who went on to be super popular with me, they were nice then. Annoying, but all middle schoolers are. We didn’t care about popularity or social rankings. We were just...we were just kids. We didn’t even really know the difference between ‘losers’ and ‘popular’, which was why it was so easy for me to talk to that guy that I liked at the time. My friends weren’t mocking me for having feelings for an outcast.”

“You said you never saw that guy again,” Corpse said. “Do you know what happened to him?”

She sighed heavily. “No, I don’t. He just stopped showing up before we hit high school. I thought he moved, but I knew his mom and I saw her around everywhere. I don’t even remember his name anymore to look him up. Wherever he is, though, I hope he’s doing better. Even if they weren’t sucked completely into their popularity at the time, my friends and the other kids were still awful to him.”

“I feel that,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly the most liked kid in school. Before I dropped out I didn’t even have any friends.”

“That’s awful.”

“It wasn’t too bad. I’m not really a friendly person I don’t think. I’ve worked on it since that time, but the thought of trying to maintain a social relationship still gives me anxiety from time to time. There was one girl who tried to be friends with me the year before I dropped out though. She was nice.”

“What happened to her?”

Corpse smiled to himself. She would figure it out soon, he knew she would.

“I just didn’t hear from her after I dropped out,” he responded. “I guess that’s mainly my fault. I never reached out to her or anything, but I barley knew her name. Just her first time, and she never gave me a number or anything. I couldn’t look her up online. Maybe we just weren’t destined to be together.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you two were just right people, wrong time. Maybe you’ll cross paths again and finally have that opportunity to be friends with her again.”

“Maybe you’ll cross paths with that guy from your middle school, too.”

There was a prolonged silence. Corpse wondered if (Y/N) was starting to put the pieces together. He could barley even hear her breathe. The longer she went, the more worried he was becoming. He was about to say something when she finally spoke again.

“I made him a Valentine,” she said, her voice soft. “Special handmade one. He was the only one I gave it to. It had some really badly written, sappy poem in it. I watched him open it and...I really think he got emotional while reading it. Of course, he’d never tell anyone that.”

Corpse had gotten emotional over the Valentine (Y/N) had given him. It was the first real Valentine he had ever gotten. It wasn’t one of the generic ones that everyone gave out to every classmate so no one felt excluded. It was made from the heart, and that fact alone touched his. Like (Y/N) said, though, he didn’t let anyone know how emotional he had gotten. It would’ve just been more mental ammo for them to use to bully him.

He quickly got up from his chair, racing to his room where he had his box of memories shoved in his closet. It was little things from throughout his life that he kept in a shoebox. Whenever he felt particularly down or depressed, he would open the shoebox and look at all the things that made him smile.

At the very top of the box was (Y/N)’s Valentine.

He went back to his computer and took a picture of the Valentine using his phone.

“That sounds really nice,” he said as he went into the Discord app on his voice. “It must’ve meant a lot to him that you put so much time and effort into a handmade gift.”

“I don’t know if it did. I never got to ask him what his reaction was.”

“Oh, I’d bet anything he was happy.”

He sent the picture through Discord and waited for (Y/N) to open it. The silence between them felt deafening. The seconds felt like they had slowed to hours. He wondered what (Y/N)’s reaction would be. Maybe she’d be weirded out by the fact that Corpse kept the Valentine, or by the fact that Corpse was the middle school crush in general.

What if she’s upset that this is who I am now? he asked himself. What if her crush was just a middle school thing, and the moment you dropped out she moved on?

“I knew it.”

Corpse couldn’t help the smile on his face when he heard the slight excitement in (Y/N)’s voice.

“I knew it was you!” she continued. “Well, I didn’t know know, but when you asked me to call you I had a bit of a suspicion. I can’t believe it...it’s actually you!”

“It is me,” he confirmed. “And it’s you.”

“Small world we live in, huh?”

“Yeah, small world.” Do you still like me? Did you ever stop? Do you know that your kindness stuck with me for so long?

The silence returned. Corpse was starting to get sick of it, but he didn’t know how to fill the void between them. When he heard her yawn, he realized how late it had gotten. “I’ll let you go, you sound tired.”

“We just had this breakthrough and you’re asking me to sleep?!”

Corpse chuckled. “You have to sleep eventually, (Y/N). It’s like 3:30am, normal people sleep at this hour.”

“I am offended you would think I’m anywhere near normal.” She yawned again, cutting off her short lived rant. “But you’re right, I am tired. Listen...promise me you’ll answer when I call tomorrow. I...I’d really like to catch up. Maybe...to pick up where we left off.”

“Okay,” Corpse said, then realized that wasn’t really a response. “I promise. I’ll be waiting by the phone the moment I open my peepers.”

(Y/N) giggled. “I’ll be sure to call you the moment I open mine.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight Corpse underscore Husband.”

kind of a bad ending, but i wasn’t really sure where else to go with it as i wrote it. sorry! :(

#corpse husband #corpse husband imagine #corpse #corpse imagine #corpse x reader #request #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic

[dr3amofagame]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

#tw trauma #tw disordered eating #tw torture #tw abuse #tw blood #tw injuries #tw unhealthy coping mechanism #tw emotional distress #tw murder #tw animal death #tw dark content #tw unhealthy eating habits #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !! #-> my asks

[unlikelymilkshakedream]

We love you

A/n: hello! First off I want to say I am very sorry I have been inactive on here, I have been super busy with classes and work and I have had nearly no free time. I also am working on a lot of pieces currently that are taking longer than I would have liked, but I am working to get those finished very quickly. I hope you enjoy this, I just felt weird this morning so I wrote this

This morning turned out fine, or so I thought. I was excited for today because I wanted to go out with my boyfriend and his friends. We had all become very good friends, so much so to the point that we were all together now.

The day I thought would be perfect, turned into the day that nearly broke me. It had been a while since I had a day like this. No matter what I tried to do I felt as though the world was against me getting out of bed.

My boyfriends, of course, had no trouble doing so. They shouldn't, they don't live with my chronic problems, and I don't want them to experience this. I know I should get up, but just the thought alone is enough to bring me to tears, bawling into my pillow and praying they don't hear.

Twice, it had happen this morning, I couldn't hold back the tears nor the incredible feeling that I would never be able to fight this sadness. Like I said, it doesn't happen often, but the days it does, its nearly impossible to deal with.

It must have been getting pretty late in the day, because I knew eventually one of them would seek me out of the darkness from my bedroom. I was submerged in blankets when I heard the door creak open, I didnt dare breathe. I didnt want them to know that I had this illness that constricted my happiness.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, peeling back my comfortable blanket of darkness that I had built.

"Y/n? Are you awake?" It must've been my boyfriend, George. From the sound of his accent and the softness of his voice, I could tell without looking. There was no doubt in my mind that he could see the tears lines on my face and could tell I had been crying. I felt like I just didn't have the strength to face him right now.

"Just leave me alone," I said in such a broken and wobbly voice, im surprised it even came out to where he could understand it. I don't know if it was the dark room, the marks on my face or simply my vibe, but he got up and he left. When he did, the tears started again, stronger than ever.

Not because he left, but because I felt as though I failed him. He wanted to help me, maybe, but either way, I couldn't be strong enough to let him, I couldn't look at him or enjoy the day with him. And so the cycle continued, the tears, the feelings of hopelessness and the agony.

"Dream, I just don't know whats wrong with her, she's awake, but she wouldn't move or talk, besides saying to leave her alone." As george told the two other boys of his discoveries, everyone in the room seemed to still. Neither knew what to do because they didn't know what was happening.

"Is she okay, though?" Dream asked thoughtfully. George thought for a moment.

"Well, she, she had, it looked like she had been crying. There were lines down her face from her eyes and it looked like tears.

At this, nick spoke up. "Well, should we go get her out of bed?" Dream thought for a moment.

"I mean, George just tried that. It didn't seem to work to well." Sapnap sighed.

"Well we should at least try and get her up, she's been crying and is still in bed in the afternoon. We need to do something."

They all thought for a long while. Then, with one glance at each other, they decided to go upstairs and try to help. They were quiet while walking up the stairs, trying not to disturb the silence of the house.

The knock placed upon the door shook me, I didnt want anyone to see my sadness, I didnt want anyone to know I wasnt okay. I didnt want to see my boyfriends while I was like this. Hearing the door creek open, I started to cry, silently begging them not to see me like this.

Like before, a hand was place upon my shoulder, which caused me to flinch involuntarily. Everything seemed to still when this happened and it just caused more tears to fall, to which sapnap pulled back the covers and sat me up.

"Y/n, whats wrong? Please talk to us." There were still tears streaming down my face. I looked at the three men sitting before me, to which I saw all of them with red, tear brimmed eyes. This caused me to cry harder.

"I'm sorry." I sobbed out.

"For what, baby? You didn't do anything." Dream sat next to nick and held me with him.

"I didnt want to make you cry. I just don't feel well. It doesn't happen often but it did today." At this i shoved my head into sapnaps shoulder.

"Y/n, we just want to make sure you're okay." I cried into Nick's shoulder as clay rubbed circles on my back.

"I'm so sorry. I didnt want you guys to see me like this." George kneeled in front of me.

"Y/n, its okay, we're here for you and nothing can change that, its okay to cry and have days like this. We still love you all the same and more." I stared at george , not believing that anyone would actually stick around through something like this.

"How can you guys still love me?" I sobbed out.

"Because we care about you, nothing can change that. We all have bad days sometimes, its a part of life. You crying isn't going to make us stop loving you." Dream said.

George then opened the blinds and let light into the room.

"How about we all take a shower? Hmm, how does that sound?" I nodded while more tears ran down my cheeks.

"Oh, baby, its okay, come here." Dream picked me up and out me on his lap. Meanwhile sapnap and george went to start a shower.

"Hey, its okay, listen to me, I promise you there is absolutely nothing that could make any of us stop loving you. Its okay to cry."

I felt better with my boys around me, helping me out of my state of sadness, there's no one else I would rather have by my side.

#dream team #sapnap #dream smp #dream #georgenotfound #dreamnotfound #sapnap mcyt #dream mcyt #poly dream team #poly dream team x reader #sapnap x reader #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound mcyt

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (March 2/2021) - The Day After

The server grieves, building tributes to Tommy. Ranboo ponders to himself and confronts Sam about what happened as Sam continues to search for answers.

---

VOD LINKS:

Foolish

Captain Puffy

Ranboo

Eret

Skeppy

Badboyhalo

---

- Foolish builds a tribute to Tommy in front of Tommy’s house.

- Captain Puffy builds a shrine to Tommy.

- Ranboo reads through the Memory Book. On the eighth page is written, “He’s dead.”

- Throughout the stream, “It’s Raining Somewhere Else” plays in the background.

- Ranboo doesn’t understand how it could have happened. How could Sam have let it happen? 

- He eventually decides there’s no sense in trying to rationalize why it happened...it already did.

- The only person who could stand up to the person in that prison is now gone, and there’s nothing he can do about it. But he can’t cry about it.

“Why do I want to? It’s not like he was kind to me...in fact, he was the opposite most of the time...But it was the fact that...he was kind once. That’s really all it takes. That’s really all it takes for me is...one person being kind to me, and then I’m indebted to them. Because I’m indebted to Tommy...although he didn’t really keep up friendship, he was still technically the first person I considered a friend on this server.”

...

“But now...I can never repay him anymore, so...there’s only so much that I can do.”

- Ranboo wanders away into the wilderness, passing by Jack’s restaurant. He goes into the forest to collect flowers.

“Why now are the same people who argued against him suddenly being sad? Because they see it...they see it as a relief. People only really see Tommy’s death as...relief. For them, it’s relief from...well...Tommy. They didn’t want to deal with him anymore, so now that he’s gone, their mourning isn’t sadness. It’s celebration, because no longer is the one person who, if I’m entirely honest, made this server interesting...now people can do whatever they want with little to no repercussions.”

“The reason so many people hated Tommy is because Tommy made them think.”

“For the first time, the people who were so deeply rooted in their beliefs...they had conflict."

- He was stuck in the prison for an entire week, and no one thought to help.

- Now that he’s gone, people are becoming virtuous. Afterwards, he’s now viewed as a reason why people want to help, to not let it happen again.

- Eret jumps down to the spider spawner and heads to the Egg Room to check his kingdom taxes chest. He peeks into the Egg Room but heads out before too long.

- Ranboo continues his monologue. All these people who claimed they were going to “protect the children of the server!” They just assumed that Tommy was safe when he was locked in with a murderer.

“I should’ve done something but I didn’t because I was scared...I was scared to help, and that was my fault, and I know that...I’m being...I’m going back on what I’ve said previously, I’m doing all this because I don’t know how to handle this! I don’t know how to handle this.”

- He forces himself not to cry. He says things that are wrong sometimes, he says things about what he believes that don’t work. 

- Puffy completes her cobblestone shrine for Tommy.

- Ranboo continues.

“Monologues about my beliefs aren’t gonna change anything, right?”

“And who knows who else could be next? ‘Cause it’s not like no one else is going to die...”

“But what are we gonna do? We’re just gonna react!”

“God, I’m such a hypocrite...I don’t know what to do!”

“Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I do anything to help Tommy in the prison? I -- I should’ve, I could’ve...But then why didn’t I? I was aware of it, I could’ve done something, but...what stopped me from going in? And saying something? I mean I know I’m banned, but I still see Sam outside. What stopped me from going inside, or at least telling Sam that...what stopped me?”

- He starts swimming across the lake to walk back.

“I know I’m hypocritical, I know I’m a...non-redeemable character, but...I just don’t know what to do...just doesn’t make any sense.”

- Ranboo walks up the Prime Path to Tommy’s House and begins to plant the flowers there.

“That’s how most people deal with it, right? We’ll just make a quick little shrine and move on...make their shrines, make their statements about how they’re gonna make it better, and then...they aren’t gonna change a single thing. They’re gonna say their piece and continue on. And me, of course, being the hypocrite that I am...I’m gonna do the same thing.”

“...At least I can remember this.”

- He holds an allium.

“Remember this? I gave him one of these and he immediately insulted me...that was one of the first times we ever interacted. I gave him one of these, he insulted me, and then I helped with one of the things that led to his demise...so here, Tommy. A flower...there’s no one there to pick it up anymore.”

- He watches the dropped flower on the ground.

“If you don’t make the most of what you have before it leaves, then you’ll have regret. You’ll think to yourself, ‘why didn’t I do something more?’ Why didn’t I do something more to help?"

- The flower despawns.

“Goodbye, Tommy. You were interesting, but...you were still a friend.”

- Ranboo decides that he wants to figure out how it happened. Because even if he doesn’t need closure, other people might. He decides to speak with Sam.

- He meets Sam (Awesam) at the Big Innit Hotel, asking how he’s holding up.

- Ranboo says he’s confused about a couple things and wants to ask about what happened.

Ranboo: “I’m not talking about Tommy’s final days, I’m talking about the period of time before that. Before...prison. Before even the Disc War, do you know what happened to Tommy?”

Sam: “Yes. Dream...was in the prison, and I would...he...started admitting, telling me about what happened, and...yeah, I know.”

Ranboo: “So you know what Tommy had to go through.”

Sam: “Yeah, I know.”

- Sam insists that there was nothing he could do.

Ranboo: “You never thought ONCE that maybe, maybe, having a visitation with one of the most dangerous people on this server wouldn’t lead to ANYTHING bad for the visitor? So you installed NOTHING about it? You did nothing about it?”

Sam: “I didn’t think that something wouldn’t happen to Tommy specifically.”

Sam: “There’s some people that I never let go and don’t forget. I didn’t let Tubbo go visit him, there’s a reason for that...but I didn’t think that he would kill him.”

Ranboo: “What would make you think that he wouldn’t!?”

Sam: “He admitted himself that he needed Tommy. It’s the only thing that he would talk about when he was in there alone, was Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. And Tommy came and wanted closure...and I thought it would be good for him to move on.”

...

Ranboo: “So you never let him out after a WEEK?”

Sam: “Ranboo, I couldn’t let him out!”

- Sam explains that trying to make more entrances also means more exits, and that he was following protocol. Ranboo protests that Dream had Sam make the protocol in the first place.

Sam: “If I thought there was something I could’ve done, I would’ve done it. By the time I realized Dream was -- attacking him, I headed back there to try and stop him immediately, and when I got to the main cell he had already done it. And then...I was standing on the other side of the lava just screaming at him, and he just laughed. I know I should’ve tried to do something, but you have to understand I couldn’t let him leave. What if Dream left with him, where would I be?"

- Ranboo then asks about the explosions. Sam explains that there’s no sign anywhere of who did it.

Sam: “I need to find who it was. ‘Cause...whoever did that...trapped Tommy in there, and made me leave him in there with him. And they saw what it did, and they knew he was trapped in there, and they still didn’t come...they didn’t tell me that it was them, so they...they wanted him to die.”

...

Ranboo: “I can help you with that. I think, if I see anything, ‘cause...obviously if the person that did it probably had...no...connection with anything. I mean, they must’ve just...someone who was against Tommy.”

Sam: “Someone who was for Dream.”

Ranboo: “No one’s for Dream.”

Sam: “I would hope not.”

- Meanwhile, Eret meets with Captain Puffy at their castle. Puffy asks if he knows...Eret doesn’t. They go on a walk down the Prime Path and Puffy shows them the shrine as she tells them.

- Ranboo then confesses about George’s house.

Ranboo: “It’s kind of my fault!”

Sam: “No, it’s none of your fault.”

Ranboo: “No, you remember -- George’s house, the thing that started all of this, that led everything to this moment? I...helped with that. And...Tommy covered. Tommy covered for me, and he could’ve not, and then everything probably would’ve been fine.”

Sam: “You don’t know.”

Ranboo: “But I do. The only reason why Dream built the prison was because of Tommy’s exile, because he realized how nice someone being away was, on the server. The only reason why Tommy’s exile happened was because of the house, and because of the fact that he covered for me. It’s a butterfly effect, Sam.”

- Sam asks for Ranboo’s Memory Book. He writes a page saying it’s not Ranboo’s fault, Sam is responsible.

- He says that, if Ranboo finds something, to come and talk with him. Sam then says goodbye and leaves.

- Ranboo thinks, maybe there was some evidence that Sam didn’t see around here. He walks closer to the prison.

“But there is at least one thing I can do, and that’s...at least take care of our friends. Like Tubbo, my friend.”

- Eret is devasted by the news. Everything was supposed to be fine! Like the old days before L’manburg! He was only gone for a little while. Puffy isn’t sure what she’s fighting for anymore. They walk down to see the prison as well.

- Ranboo decides to work on the hotel, at least. He sees Sam Nook standing by Tommy’s hotel. Sam Nook asks how Ranboo’s hotel is coming along, and says that Tommy is excited about the competition. Ranboo says he’ll see Sam around.

- Puffy fills Eret in on how corrupted the Eggpire has become. Eret reminisces about the L’manburg War, and the duel Tommy lost to Dream.

- Ranboo sits on the bench for a quiet moment.

- He then remembers something. He descends into the Power Tower war room.

“This is where he told me our plan...of going to burn down George’s house.”

- He mines down and finds the chest, still filled.

- Puffy tells Eret that she tried to break the Egg, but it hurt her back. They make their way to L’manhole. Eret has a theory that, in trying to revive Wilbur, they may have caused some sort of rift that caused the corruption to accelerate -- but it’s just their theory.

- Puffy remembers how Bad and Skeppy had a heated moment where Skeppy asked Bad to choose, the Egg or him.

- Ranboo goes to leave but then...wait...was that...?

- He checks the chest again and finds the allium.

- Ranboo continues walking down the Prime Path. There is one constant, and that’s death. And no matter how you try to run from it...it’ll always come eventually.

“Hardships are hard, death is tough...but...loss is a part of life, chat. You gotta make sure that you’re open to the lesson, ‘cause you never know when it’s gonna be able to help. You never know.” 

- Puffy shows Eret the McPuffy’s.

- Ranboo goes into the Nether to pull a 180 out of the lore and immediately falls in lava. Welp.

- Puffy and Eret explore the Oogway Shrine and then Puffy decides to show Eret Ponk’s Maze.

- They walk around, Eret turns on shaders and Puffy shows them her secret chamber in the mansion.

- Foolish speaks with them.

- Bad does a hangout stream with Skeppy.

- Puffy starts building a statue at Tommy’s house and the others help.

- They decide to have a beach party funeral at Logsted, a celebration of life.

- They place a coffin at the site of the beach party. They say some parting words.

- They then walk around Logsted and explore.

- Bad speaks with George, Dream, Quackity and Foolish too

- Obama lore

---

Upcoming Events:

- Tales From the SMP: “Haunted Mansion”

- Quackity’s business opening and lore stream

- Puffy’s origin story stream

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

[accioxreparo]

ink stains

synopsis: soulmate au in which every mark that appears on your body also appears on your soulmate’s body including, as you discover one day, drawings. Needless to say you’re determined to make your soulmate smile, even if you haven’t found them yet.

pairing: George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

warnings: none

a/n: Hi I’m late to the party but @thoseofgreatambition is doing a soulmate theme night and I’m a ho for soumate au’s so hopefully mine is decent enough lol also I may or may not be writing one for fred too but it’s taking me ages so 

tagging: @the-hufflepuff-of-221b

~~~~~~

When you were six years old you woke up one morning to dark stains splattered all over your face and arms. You were confused and quickly grew panicked, absolutely positive that you had contracted Dragon Pox overnight. It had taken an hour for your dad to calm you down enough so he could explain with a small grin that your soulmate must’ve spilled an inkwell on themselves. 

“What do you mean?” You had asked with wide, curious eyes.

“Well,” Your dad had reached for the bedside table and picked up a quil. “Everybody has a soulmate, Y/N. One day you start being able to see the marks that appear on your soulmate's body, permanent or temporary. For you, that day happens to be today.” He dipped the quil in a well filled with bright blue ink and handed it to you. “Why don’t you give it a try? Write your soulmate a message.”

“What if they don’t write back?” You had frowned then, suddenly worrying that maybe this mystery person on the other end would want nothing to do with you. 

“Well that’s okay,” Your dad had been quick to reassure you. “They might not be able to see the marks yet. But one day they will and I just know they’ll be ecstatic to know you’re here.”

After that day there was a constant stream of doodles all over you. Vines snaking up your ankle. Twisting patterns winding around your fingers. Planets and stars littering your collarbone area. Stripes of random colors all over your palms as you mixed new colors. The most detailed pictures were always on your left arm though, that was where you practiced new drawings. 

Occasionally you wrote a message but mostly you drew. Then one day you bought a book about charms to cast on drawings in Flourish and Blotts and you begged your dad every chance you got to cast them for you. After that at least a few pictures were always moving up and down your body.

When you got your very own wand at the age of eleven they were the first spells you practiced. By the end of your first year at Hogwarts you had mastered the whole book. Since then there was always a constant supply of different colored inks in your bag and pockets. The array of multicolored moving pictures that changed every day was your one connection to your soulmate. 

They had yet to write back. 

It had been ages since you first found your connection to your soulmate. You’d dealt with scars and bruises and occasional scribbled reminders but never once had you ever received even an acknowledgment of anybody seeing your drawings. 

You tried not to let it bother you, you really did. But it seemed like every single person around you had known their soulmate for years, in one way or another. Some days the smile you wore wasn’t quite genuine, the longing you felt growing a little deeper at times, but never once did you fail to decorate your limbs with gentle reminders that you were there for your soulmate to find on themselves. 

Not until that day. You were set to leave for school the next morning and your father had taken the week off of work to see you off. The two of you, your older brother, and your younger sister were probably too focused on the quidditch match you had going against each other in the backyard of your house. So much so that the bludger hit your way completely blindsided you. 

The match ended with panicked shouts, a trip to St. Mungos, and your left arm wrapped tightly in cloth bandages as it rested in a sling while your bones healed. 

It was only when you were sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express that the strangest thing happened. Words scrawled in letters that weren’t your own had appeared on your right arm. 

Nothing new today? 

As you stared at the writing with wide eyes, more words appeared underneath those. 

I’m sure this is bending the rules but I had to know. Something’s wrong isn’t it?

Frantically you dumped out the contents of your bag, scattering them all over the floor of the compartment. You dug around the mess you had made until you found a self-inking quil. Just as you were about to write your response you caught sight of the bandages on your arm and gave a defeated sigh. 

“Would you like some help?” 

You looked up and saw Luna, a friend of yours a couple years below you, watching you with an amused smile. The two of you would always sit up late in the common room together, swapping theories and stories about anything and everything. 

“If you don’t mind,” You gave her a sheepish look and she only smiled before moving to sit next to you. 

“What would you like me to write?” Luna asked as she took the quil out of your hand. You smiled and told her, watching as she took your arm and wrote out your words for you. 

What makes you think something is wrong?

It was seconds later when you received your response. 

Not once in the six years since I’ve been able to see your drawings have you let a day pass where you don’t add new ones. What’s wrong? 

A smile graced your face and Luna was kind enough to help you continue the conversation happening on your arm. 

I’m fine. Just a Quidditch injury. I’ll have the bandages removed by tonight, don’t worry. 

Take your time. I don’t want you to hurt longer than you have to, love.

You were sure it was cheating, talking to your soulmate by writing messages on your arm. But if whatever soulmate forces were out there didn’t want you to talk to them then there shouldn’t have been such a simple loophole. 

That’s what comforted you late that night, now gently scrawling messy words quickly on your arm that had been broken only the day before. Never before had you been more thankful for Skele-Gro. 

Can I ask you something?

The print you wrote with was small on purpose, trying to keep as much room available as possible. It didn’t stop you, however, from doodling new little pictures on the back of your hand. 

Go for it.

Why haven’t you ever said anything before? Why now?

You stared at the words you had written for a few moments before sighing and heading to the bathroom that was connected to your room. Only after staring at the words covering both arms now for a minute or two did you start washing away the ink you had put there. 

For a minute you thought that you shouldn’t have asked. You stood in silence, watching as the remainder of the ink, the part written in your soulmates handwriting, was slowly washed away leaving only faint ink stains. Then to your relief a response came after it was all gone. 

I was worried. And let’s just say I’m not as artistic as you are, my talents lie in other places. 

For a second the writing stopped but then more words appeared, quicker than they had before. 

Also I may have missed seeing you draw new pictures for me a little too much.

You beamed at the words and walked back to your bed. After the curtains were pulled around it you lit the end of your wand and picked up your quil again. 

Do you like them? The pictures. 

The response was almost immediate. 

I love them.

***

“Miss Y/L/N.” 

You jumped in your seat at the sound of a voice calling your name. Slowly you looked up from where you were taking notes on nonverbal spells. Professor Flitwick stood only a few feet away with an exasperated look on his face. Meanwhile both of the Weasley twins sat at their desk looking quite satisfied with whatever they had just done. 

You’d been correct to assume they were behind whatever loud noise had been going on only minutes before. The desk the twins were sitting at was now charred and the other Gryffindors surrounding them were chatting excitedly about whatever it was you missed while your nose was buried in your charms book. 

Neither Fred or George Weasley missed the fact that you were trying and failing to keep back an amused smile.  

“You’ll be getting a new partner to do your project with,” Professor Flitwick lifted his wand and with a single flick a bag and a pile of unused textbooks was flying across the room and into the empty space next to you. “Mr. Weasley.” 

Both boys stood at the same time wearing matching smirks and chorused, “Yes, Professor?” 

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh when Professor Flitwick sighed and shook his head upon realizing that he really should have seen that coming. “Mr. George Weasley. Come meet your new partner.” 

Oddly enough said person didn’t look disappointed by the new assignment at all. Instead he grinned as he approached you, sliding into the chair beside you easily. 

You could count the number of times you had spoken to George Weasley on one hand. The first time had been during potions when he’d asked to borrow some foxglove for a pompion potion. It wasn’t the potion you’d been assigned to brew but you hadn’t questioned it. The second time he’d walked up to you and your friends after a quidditch match to congratulate Ravenclaw on their victory against Slytherin despite the fact that none of you were on the team. And the third time was only a few weeks before when he asked to borrow a spare quil in transfiguration. 

You doubted he remembered any of that though. 

“So partner,” George leaned on the desk, head resting on one of his hands as he looked at you. “What do you know about,” He reached over to look at the piece of parchment you’d been taking your notes on. “Nonverbal spells? That’s our topic?” 

“It is,” You nodded and reached for your notes, hoping he wouldn’t flip over the parchment to see the drawings you’d absentmindedly doodled during the lecture. “Is that a problem?” 

“Not at all,” George’s smile turned softer then as he stared at you, a fact which you noticed. You turned away quickly as you felt your face burn, hoping silently that it wasn’t too noticeable. “On the contrary. From what I hear you’ve already mastered a few nonverbal spells yourself Y/N, dearest.”

You froze then, not sure which revelation surprised you more. The fact that apparently you had developed a reputation without you knowing or the fact that George Weasley of all people knew your name. 

You tried your hardest to fight the temptation to ask how he knew you and why. 

“Class is almost over,” Your words came out rushed and a little too loud to sound natural. It wasn’t a complete lie. In just ten minutes you’d all be dismissed and that was hardly enough time to make even a small dent into your project. “We should meet sometime before our next class to get started if we want to have it done by the due date.”

“You’re so...ravenclaw,” George spoke after a few moments. When you looked at him again he was still giving you that same soft smile, a different sort of glint in his eyes than the one you were used to seeing every now and then.

For a second your thoughts drifted to the words scrawled on your right arm and the pictures on your left. They were covered up by the sleeves of your sweater as they usually were but you could picture the words you and your soulmate had written to each other earlier that day clearly. 

“Is that a bad thing?” You found yourself asking, for some strange reason not being able to bring yourself to pull away from George’s gaze. 

“No,” He shook his head gently almost immediately. “It’s perfect.”

***

You had to give credit where credit was due. When it came down to it, George Weasley could in fact step up to the plate. 

Even now, an early Sunday morning the day after a trip to Hogsmeade, he sat right in front of you. 

You knew for a fact he had been up late the previous night causing his usual mischief alongside his brother. One of the Ravenclaw prefects had been patrolling the halls and you overheard him complaining about having to send the twins back to their dorm for the fourth day in a row when he entered the common room.

It had made you smile. 

You’d spent at least a couple hours each day alongside George for the past two and a half weeks. Some of that time had indeed been spent on your project but you found it easier to talk to him than you thought it would be. You couldn’t even begin to count the variety of tales he told you just to hear you laugh.

That, however, meant that the two of you had developed a tendency to avoid your work resulting in you being behind. The next day the two of you would have to present in front of the class. You had already gotten away with postponing the presentation twice. 

The first time you had told Professor Flitwick that you needed more time to gather as much information as the topic deserved. The second time George had eaten one of the products he had told you he was working on, one he called a nosebleed nougat. It had worked like a charm and the moment you left the classroom with him he ate another candy and it stopped.

It was the only reason the two of you had woken up at that godforsaken hour of the morning on a Sunday. There was simply no other option now.

“I think all of our research is done and I can write up some notes for us to remember during the presentation,” You reached for another roll of parchment from your bag to do just that before dipping your quil in an inkwell filled with bright blue ink. “But we still need to practice some nonverbal spells for the practical demonstration. What do you think we should -”

It wasn’t until you looked away from the pile of books in front of you and at George that you realized he had dozed off.  His head was resting on his arms which were crossed on the desk in front of him and he looked almost peaceful for once. 

The corner of a piece of parchment was sticking out from under one of his arms and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself. Slowly you leaned forward until you could reach the parchment and you began to sketch a field of flowers on the paper in various ink colors. 

You didn’t notice your own smile as you did so. 

Then the end of your quil brushed across George’s face and he almost immediately bolted up in his seat. After rubbing the sleep out of his eyes once more he looked over only to find you biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

“You look suspicious,” George narrowed his eyes at you playfully when he saw the look on your face, still not noticing the addition to his parchment. 

“Do I?” You smiled then as you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms in front of you. 

“You do,” He leaned forward on the desk again and the grin you’d come to see on a regular basis returned. “May I ask why?” 

“No reason at all. I’m just excited to learn some nonverbal spells is all,” You laughed as you stood from your seat, squinting a little at the late morning sun shining through the windows. “Speaking of, I’m gonna go search for some books a friend of mine recommended with some spells we could use.” 

“Do we not have enough of those here?” George said as he glanced at the pile of no less than seven books, none of which he could remember anything about. 

“Those are all on history and theory. We need something on practical application.” 

“Right,” George let out a sigh as he reached for one of the unopened books. “You’re lucky I like you. I can’t remember the last time I did this much reading for a project.” 

You hummed and then shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Don’t I feel honored.” 

“Just get on with it,” George glanced up from the pages of the book he’d been flipping through and at you again, this time with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Faster we finish with this, the sooner we can sneak into the kitchens for a late breakfast.” 

You were quick to agree. George watched as you disappeared behind one of the bookshelves. It was only when he was sure you were gone that he rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and reached for a quil, quickly scribbling a message to his soulmate on his right arm. 

When he was done writing the message he caught sight of the flowers that you had drawn on the corner of his parchment and he grinned. Almost absentmindedly he started drawing flowers around your own, albeit a little simpler than the designs you had made. It took a minute for his eyes to widen, quil falling out of his hand, realizing that the flowers you had drawn on the paper he had already seen dozens of times before. In fact, a variation of them sat on his left arm now.

***

Finally four hours later you and George sat in the kitchens which you’d found surprisingly empty. Breakfast and lunch had come and gone and the two of you had gladly accepted a variety of foods from a couple of the house elves. 

You were completely oblivious to the way George was studying you closely, trying as hard as he could to see if he was right. 

“Puddlemere United,” He said when he caught sight of the patch sewn onto the jacket you were wearing. “I take it you’re a fan?” 

“I sort of have to be,” You laughed a little when you saw the confused look flash on George’s face. “My dad is Puddlemere’s captain.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, promise,” You smiled as you shook your head. Without hesitation you pulled off your jacket, flipping it around so the back was visible, and pointed to a navy blue crest with the Puddlemere United logo and the word ‘captain’ across it in bold, golden letters. “Has been for a few years now and here’s your proof.” 

But when you looked at George he wasn’t looking at the jacket at all. Instead he was staring at the variety of words and pictures covering your arms. You could see his eyes darting back and forth and quickly pulled your arm away and under the table. 

“Wait,” He reached across the table and took your hand in his, slowly turning your arm around so he could see all every single stroke of ink. You could only watch as he gently traced the designs with his free hand. 

The moment was soft, intimate in the purest way. You swore you could hear your own heart thumping louder each second that passed. It reached its peak when George placed your arm on the table in front of the two of you only to pull off the sweater he’d been wearing. It was then that the breath you were holding in left you. 

Every single ink stain on your arms was perfectly reflected on his. Now that you looked closer you wondered how you hadn’t recognized his handwriting right away, you’d spent the last few months writing back and forth after all. You’d been so focused on the drawings and the writing that you hadn’t noticed what, or rather who was right in front of you. 

“I knew it was you, you know.” 

Your laugh was light when you finally dared to look at George once more. He was looking at you with pure and utter adoration and you were positive you wore the same expression. “Did you now?” 

“I did,” George grinned as he took your hand again, more confident than he had previously been. “Remember our first year when I asked you for that foxglove? I was supposed to nick it from one of the shelves but you had your sleeves rolled up and I swore I saw the edge of the stars you had drawn earlier that day. I went to get a closer look but they were covered again.” 

“And I suppose it was the same thing in transfiguration a month ago?” You shook your head with an amused smile as you thought back to the encounter. It all seemed so obvious now.

“It was. Same thing with the quidditch match a few years ago too,” He leaned forward as if what he were about to tell you were a secret. Suddenly it was like he couldn’t let you go, not that he’d ever want to now that he’d finally found you. “What made me almost certain though was the little drawing you left on my parchment earlier. I knew I’d seen those before.” 

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing you’ve kept your eyes open unlike me apparently,” You were beaming as you glanced down at the matching pictures present on both of you. “What do we do now?” 

“I’m glad you asked,” George immediately stood, pulling you up with him. He grabbed hold of your jacket still sitting on the table and started pulling you out of the kitchens. “Now that we’ve found each other we’re going to make up for lost time.” 

“By doing what exactly?” You asked, eyebrows raised questioningly and a slight smirk on your face. 

“Head out of the gutter, love,” George laughed as the two of you walked back up the stairs still hand in hand. He looked down at you with a wild grin on his face. “We’re going on our first date if you’re up for it.” 

You agreed instantly and happily followed to wherever it was George would take you, just as you knew you always would from that moment on.

#the ending is eh but i love soulmates #hp fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter one shot #george weasley x reader #george weasley #george wealsey imagine #george weasley x y/n #soulmate au #george weasley fanfiction #c: george weasley #my stuff #my fics

[citydreamgrls]

a simple favour - part four (final)

fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: it was all in her best interests, fred never meant to catch feelings for her. it had started as a simple favour.

a/n: thank you for all the love on this mini-series, i’ve really enjoyed writing it. as a warning, this last part is mostly smut and doesn’t add much to the story until the end really. hope you’ve enjoyed and thanks again :)))

words: 1,797

warnings: swearing , tw: stalking / stalker , smut (18+)

Fred kicked the door open, the girl in arms, their lips refusing to part as he pushed her up against the small table at the edge of the room. This was what everything had been leading up to, all their arguing and avoiding. He almost laughed to himself as he remembered that they were both just as bad as each other.

Y/n moaned out as Fred stood before her, large hands roaming down her thighs. His touch on her felt like electricity, no longer the fake gentle hands she was used to. Now it was hard on her, like every time he’d grab her there would be a bruise, but she loved it. That pain felt like heaven when it was Fred.

Her legs were pushed open, the sound of a belt buckle echoing through the rickety cabin they had rushed to. Y/n threw her head back when the boy’s lips moved down her neck, sucking deep purple specks all across the exposed skin. His tongue was rough against her, creating a tingling friction every time it swiped over her body, lowering by the second.

“You’re addictive,” He’d mumbled, her fingers grabbing Fred’s hair and yanking his head away from her chest to bring their mouths together again. “So fuckin-”

“Fuck me.” She begged clearly, not needing anything to get her in the mood. It had been months of tension between them, and y/n needed to let it all go.

Fred stood away, hands going back to his belt and sliding out of the small loops of his trousers. The girl looked confused, but watched him silently, pulling off her panties from beneath her skirt. He’d practically pushed it all the way up on her just from his groping hands, but she kept it there, knowing he’d only end up doing the same in a minute or so.

The tall bay towered over her, even when she was sitting on the raised surface. He grabbed both of her hands and pushed her wrists together, the girl quickly catching on and obeying. Fred took the leather belt, slowly wrapping it around her like cuffs and making sure she couldn’t get free.

He smirked at her, so vulnerable to him, and pushed her bound arms up above her head. The girl laid back, still just about able to watch him undress. She’d never had the pleasure of feeling him before, or even guessing how big he would be. But it made sense that he was.

Fred wasted absolutely no time with the panting girl, all laid out perfectly for him on the table, and pushed his cock deep inside her. They both let out a groan, loud and animalistic, neither of them cared seeing as they were so far from the castle. If Fred had little experience with girls, he didn’t let it show in the slightest.

He held y/n’s arms down with one hand, the other gripping her tit like it was his to own. His thrusts were like oil, smooth and thick and seamless. One after the other, pumping himself inside her as if she were some sort of toy. The girl was screaming, senseless, her body on fire from the stretch that Fred’s cock caused. He smirked again, above her, watching her come undone from his touch.

Yet he too couldn’t deny that it turned him on even more, her submissiveness after their fight was beautiful, it made him feel truly in charge of her. He pushed harder and deeper, just thinking of her urged him on more and more. Her pussy would have been more than enough, tight with pressure and full of her cum.

She hadn’t been able to hold back her orgasm a few times now. The first had hit her unexpectedly, streaming out of her body as if there was no control of it. The second was a wave, rising steadily with the more he looked into her eyes and fucked ruthlessly. Then the third was the game changer, a feeling so unique and incredible she felt as though she would have died in that very boathouse, with Fred's cock 8 inches deep.

It had started brewing as soon as the last one had seemed to disappear, like small bolts of electricity sparking her stomach. Fred had watched her each time, revelling in the way her body twisted and clenched when the feeling overcame her, a feeling he was making.

He was unrelenting with his pace the whole time, but as soon as he saw her eyes widen more than before and she gasped out those few words. He knew that he was close too.

“Plea-se Fred it-t’s so good.” She’d moaned out, her hips off the table to force him deeper. The tip of his cock was pretty much in her stomach now, bouncing off her walls like a machine. With those words spoken to him, Fred took a hand and grabbed her throat, encasing it with his fingers and squeezing.

She moaned, louder than ever before, and her pussy clenched. The boy faltered his hips, still fucking her at an unimaginable speed, but gritting his teeth as they locked eyes yet again. Her head was thrown back, moans ripping from her throat like prayers in the night.

“Fred Fred Fred,” She’d started chanting with his hips. He’d never appreciated her voice as much as he did that night, begging for him and crying out his name.

“Scream for me,” He hissed, licking a stripe up the side of her neck.

It would have alerted people to an accident in any other case, but when y/n screamed this time it was for nothing more than the sheer desire of Fred’s cock. He pushed harder and harder, knowing she was close and bit down on his lip, doing his best to suppress a growl.

But it slipped out, as y/n came like a waterfall over him, he released his load inside of the shaking girl. Her body rose as he did, wanting to be as close as possible. He held her, still groaning out as he finished off, and let her slip her cuffed hands over his neck.

They stayed together for a few minutes, neither of them able to process what had just happened. The girl shook in his arms as he let her hands free of his belt, whispering to her, scared to startle her weak form.

“Did we just need to fuck the whole time?” She asked as he silently pocketed her panties and slid his belt back on. Fred nodded, unable to deny that it changed his need for her. He didn’t feel that immense hate or tension between them, that had been released when he came inside her. The cum that was currently dripping down her legs as she tried to stand, not doing a good job.

“Useless,” He huffed, picking her up and holding her legs around his waist. “You’re gonna owe me a new jumper after this,” She giggled at the small wet patch that was already rubbing off on his side as she put her arms around his neck.

-

“It’s weird,” I told Fred as he slowly made his way up the hill.

“That you’re so heavy?” He interrupted, lifting me a bit higher as I slipped down.

“No…” I glared. “I don’t hate you anymore.”

“I never hated you, not really. I just tried to.”

“I didn’t hate you until you were mean to me,” “You told Hermione you hated me,” He said, a guilty look on his face as I realised when I’d told her that. It had been in our dorm, how would he know that, unless it was Hermione? She wouldn’t have dared though.

“I was outside the door, to apologise, but then I heard you.” He explained, stopping for a rest on the courtyard.

“I also told Hermione that I loved you, so do with that what you will.” I laughed, letting him pick me up off the wall to keep going into the castle. He laughed to himself, complaining quietly about how much of a hassle I was, but he wasn’t being mean anymore.

People gave us looks again, Fred not looking like he would be that strong, yet without a hill in the way, he was effortlessly holding me up all the way to the common room. Where Ron gave us yet another groan.

“What have you done to her NOW!” He cried out, catching the attention of the others.

“Y/n twisted her ankle down by the lake,” Fred spoke before I could fumble over my answer, smiling at his brother. The group frowned, not used to seeing us actually getting along. “Make some room for her then, come on shift it.” He kicked George’s foot, making the twin stand up off the couch.

He put me down in the spot gently, with a quick wink, before pushing Ron onto the floor so he could stay beside me. All this subtle possessiveness was coming out of him, and I hated to say that I actually enjoyed it.

“What’s going on with you two?” Hermione asked, her book long forgotten now.

“What do you mean?” Fred smiled, putting an arm around me.

“Well, didn’t you two hate each other?” Harry asked quietly, not sure what to make of the scene before him.

“Y/n and I have worked through things,” He squeezed my arm with a smirk, “It was pretty hard wasn’t it darling?” He was cocky now, making me blush and struggle to hold back a laugh.

-

I woke up the next morning to Fred’s voice in my room, I sat up confused, Hermione was missing from her bed.

“What time is it?” I rubbed my eyes as he came over, pushing me back down and leaning over me.

“Hermione told me she couldn’t wake you up this morning, said you were out cold.” I frowned at him, a teasing look in his eyes as his hands rubbed over my legs gently. “You must’ve been really worn out huh?”

I reached up and stroked my hands through his long hair, moving it from his face. I just smiled and bit my lip slightly as a reflex to the feeling inside of me.

“Come here slut,” He laughed, rolling my body over and placing a piercing smack on my ass, making a moan fall from my lips uncontrollably. “We haven’t got long till they start coming back from breakfast, so be a good girl and take my cock now.”

If it had been hard lying to people and pretending to be in a relationship, then trying to hide the fact that you were secretly fucking someone was seeming a whole lot harder. But when it came to Fred, everything was hard.

#fred weasley #fred and goerge weasley #fred x y/n #fred x reader #fred smut #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfiction #fred and george #the weasleys #the weasley twins #weasley twins #ron weasley #weasley twins smut #harry potter smut #weasley smut #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #hermione #hermione granger #george weasley #stalker #stalking #hero #domminant

[ruby-whistler]

i wrote a short snippet on prison c!dream, hope you like it :]

tw // mental deterioration, slight derealization

(continued under cut)

His dreams had been weird ever since he’d been in the prison.

Day and night looked interchangeable to him often, when the clock was gone and the gold melted into a boiling liquid that was smeared on the walls, golden like the sun, golden like honey, golden like Dream’s hair had once been, brilliant like the sun under morning rays and soft like honey when the golden hour struck on the clock of time, golden like everything out of his reach.

Day and night had never bothered him, he’d sleep when what needed to be done was done, and then he passed out in any weather or time. His golden clock was up in the sky and he knew when was when, but it didn’t affect him - it was normal, to know the time, it was normal to sit in the grass, laughing, crying, exhausted but happy, and shattered until his mind was fine dust slipping between his fingertips. It was normal to run in the rain, through the storm with a bucket and a trident in hand, to stand and let the water sink into his skin, mix with his tears, drip down below his clothing and bounce off of the heavy netherite armour, drench him until he drowned in his misery and regret.

It felt good, to feel. He didn’t want to, but it was normal, once.

There was no clock and there was no sun, and there was nothing golden in the cell’s confines. He carried black bags above his pale cheeks with unkempt hair brushing over them, covering what his mask would usually take care of. There was nothing to tell him how much time had passed, and Dream felt nothing, only utter boredom, only a lack of everything his brain screamed for him to acquire, emptiness and a confusion he didn’t understand.

His world had no “time”. When they had asked him if he gets three meals a day, he couldn’t answer; what was a day, anyways? If he’s stuck in here forever with only lava and obsidian as company, what meaning does time hold?

He thought sometimes, that in a way, he was more free than everyone outside the cell. That he was free from time and free from sanity, from everything that let things make sense.

He started sleeping more, he thought. Or perhaps less. Time wasn’t a constant anymore; perhaps it was never one. He slept, and he dreamt, and his world warped into memories painted in dark red, of yelling and traitors wearing golden chains and golden armour, everything wicked, everything beautiful in shades of gold. Of a boy with golden hair, truly, really golden, who yelled in fear and yelled in anger and yelled victorious, revenge on his tongue and an axe in his hands, and he didn’t blame him, he couldn’t blame him - he would’ve done the same to himself. But he wasn’t Tommy, and that was all that made them different; he was not the hero, he was the villain, and it was natural things would be like this.

It was normal to stand in a vault of possessions holding a knife to a child’s throat, to gloat and to threaten and to laugh.

He woke up in a different vault. Pandora’s was distinct in his mind, and he realized quickly where he was; there was a change, between his dreams, his memories. He relived his final day of freedom once, but it was twisted beyond recognition, something cruel tugging at everything human left in the shell that remained of him.

The ones he was fighting weren’t the same, there was raven instead of sunlight and a white bandana across the head, and goggles on the kid’s head with a blue shirt and an innocent smile. He fought them all the same, furious and deranged, yelling at the top of his lungs in his best performance yet - a climax, everything had to be perfect for the climax, and the villain would win this time, and the story would continue, because he couldn't let it end.

The voices brought up painful memories, but he held the boy with goggles hostage all the same because he had to, because he was gone too far and broken beyond repair, and he screamed, voice cracking, “he’s gonna die, he’ll die if you don’t do anything-“ and the one with raven hair struck him once with fire in his eyes, struck him twice with a desire to protect what he cares about in his heart, and Dream fell past him the third time and fell into the dark, deep void, landing with a sickening crash in the obsidian hell, jerking awake with his heart thudding in his throat and tears streaming down his face.

At some point, his mind got tired and stopped giving him the privilege of knowing what was real and what wasn't.

His thoughts were fuzzy in his brain, and the visits he'd get were few and far apart - it felt like an eternity, or perhaps minutes - all he had to go off of were his food rations, and those he was unsure of as well, because there was really no way to tell besides the pit in his stomach and how much mould spread over the small reservoir he kept in the chest.

He must've slept once, but since then all he could remember was something dark creeping into his dreams until he couldn't see anything besides a cell with lava and screaming his lungs out until they were of no use, for someone, anyone to come save him. It became normal, to wake up and fall asleep in the same place.

Even the visits could be dreams and he wouldn't know. They were all the same anyways, angry and disappointed and sad gazes, looking at him in all his weakness, because he was the cause of all their grief - and that was what he was hanging onto, perhaps, the last strings he could find, to instil fear, to instil rage, so he pulled until everything in his body gave out.

Fear him, because it's the last he has, fear him because he's a man with nothing to lose.

That was what he had always done, take advantage of every inch of strength he had before he had to shove golden apples down his hoarse throat and do his best again, because what else was there for him to do?

One time, his dream wasn't a cell, and it felt like a desperate attempt of something broken to fit together once again, shoving sharp pieces together like those of a porcelain mask. One time, he was in a void, black as the pit inside his skull, and floating around were pictures.

They were photos that were never actually taken, fabricated from blurry smears across his mind, and yet vivid like anything he'd ever seen. His hands reached out to grab the paper, and it shrivelled, burning, withering before he could touch it. They slowly flew around the void, no wind to lift them up or push them along. It was like a slideshow he was inside of, and his eyes lingered on a few pictures that caught his attention.

Memories from nicer days, of building a tank on top of the community house for Beckerson, fishing with Sam and Alyssa in the sea, Dream and George in front of the very first portal, smiling faces without masks, without fear - they looked so much younger, had it really been that long?

Something started pulsing at the back of his head, pure and raw, getting louder the more pictures he saw. He felt a gale pushing from the back, hair flowing in the wind.

Remember what you're fighting for, it told him, and he wondered whether he'd had this dream before.

#dream smp #c!dream #my writing #dsmp fanfic #tw mental deterioration #tw isolation #dreblr

[evermoreweasley]

it was all yellow (fred weasley x reader)

(all images are from pinterest)

summary: fred and y/n are just friends. however, when the two of you go on a camping trip with your friend group you both are pushed to finally tell each other how you really feel.

fluff prompts:

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

song prompt:

yellow ~ coldplay

warnings: brief mention of battle of hogwarts, food, kissing, fluff!

a/n: this is for @theweasleysredhair​ 9k writing challenge!! I couldn’t help myself, this is also a friends to lovers, hope it’s okay that I included a trope :)

You double checked that you had packed everything in your backpack as a soft, familiar voice interrupted your organizing. 

“Are you excited, y/n?” His morning voice spoke out.

You looked up and saw one of your best friends, Fred Weasley, sleepily glancing at you as he made his way into the kitchen, his red hair sticking up in all directions. You had to admit it to yourself, he looked adorable.

“Tired, but excited.” You smiled as you made your way over to the coffee pot.

Today you were going to go on a camping trip with your best friends. This was a trip you all had been planning and looking forward to since the battle of Hogwarts. You all decided you needed to get away for a bit, relax, and unwind since the stressful and heart crushing events that had taken place two months prior.

Ginny was visiting Charlie in Romania, along with Bill, Fleur, Percy, and Molly and Arthur Weasley. So this trip was just you, Fred, George, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 

“I don’t know why Hermione insisted on us waking up at 5 am,” Fred mumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Are you at all surprised that she wanted to get an early start?” You responded as you poured him a cup of coffee. “Here, I know you need this.” You handed him the cup.

And as tired as Fred was, he still managed to smirk at you. “Thanks, darling.”

“Hey,” Hermione started, bolting down the stairs. “We got to get there to see the sunrise and the sunset.”

“But why?” Fred challenged as he sipped at his piping hot cup of coffee.

“Cause it’s beautiful of course, maybe you should be asking why not.”

You walked into the backyard of the Burrow as Hermione strutted right next to you. She was holding a spare piece of parchment as she read out loud the list of items for the trip.

“Sleeping bags?” She called out.

“Got em.”

“Tents?”

“Yes, ma’am.” George called back, sending an unexpected wink your way.

You furrowed your eyebrows in question at him and he simply nodded his head over at Fred, winking once more.

You turned and looked at Fred, who looked back at you, just as confused.

“George, what are you-” You started to ask.

“Wands?” Hermione interrupted.

“George, I swear to Merlin if you-” Fred started as he quickly approached him.

“Yup!” Everyone, except you and Fred, said quickly in unison.

“Who brought the food?” Ron asked as he shoved a peanut butter & jelly sandwich in his face.

Hermione giggled as she playfully pushed his shoulder. “Ronald, you’re eating all of it, save some please.”

“Fine,” He sighed as he wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve.

“Okay,” Hermione sighed, looking around at the group. “Is everyone ready to apparate?”

You all nodded, getting close to one another. Suddenly George lightly bumped Fred into you. “Oops.” George said cheekily as he eyed you both. Ron made eye contact with George and started to chuckle.

Fred lightly blushed as he opened his mouth to respond but Harry interrupted. “Everyone, get ready.”

You closed your eyes tight and felt a quick rush of air pass you. The smell of the sea hit your nose and you felt plush grass tickle at your ankles.

You opened your eyes and saw a bright, beautiful stream of orange and yellow as the sun rose high in the sky over the sea. Your mouth fell slightly open as you took in the beautiful sights of Wales. 

“See,” Hermione hummed. “Now aren’t we happy we came early?” She interjected. 

“We’re tired.” Fred and George said in unison.

“Oh, shush you two.” She responded and you giggled as you started to help her set up the tents.

You pulled away to admire your work.

“Wait a moment,” You started as you turned to look at Hermione. “We only have three tents here, where is the fourth one?”

George suddenly appeared on the other side of you. “Oh no,” He said in a sarcastic tone. “Ron, my dearest little brother, did you forget to pack the extra tent?”

Ron held in a chuckle as he responded. “Oops. I must’ve, George.” He then turned to you. “So sorry, y/n.”

“You two are so not sorry,” you hissed. 

“What are we going to do?” Hermione asked as she folded her arms across her chest. 

“It was going to be Fred and George, Ron and Hermione, Harry in one, and myself in another.” You spoke out, slightly annoyed.

“What a predicament,” George smirked. “Oh well, I guess it’ll just have to be Ron and Hermione, Harry and myself, and Fred and y/n in the tents.”

Fred suddenly appeared behind you as he nibbled at a peach. “What’s going on?” He asked suspiciously. 

“Freddie,” George cheered. “So glad you came by to hear about our new sleeping arrangements.” 

“New?” He questioned as a bit of juice from the fruit ran down his chin. You first looked there, then at his soft lips, then his chocolate brown eyes. You swallowed hard before looking away as you ignored the fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“We’re sharing a tent.” You muttered quickly, before looking down at your feet.

Without even looking at him you could tell a fiery blush had set place on Fred’s supple cheeks. “George-” He started but was cut off by Hermione.

“You guys.” She huffed. “Let’s just eat some breakfast and carry on. Nothing we can do now.”

You blinked quickly, looking Fred up and down as you thought over something quite strange. Fred was not acting like himself. He was fidgety, quiet, and seemed nervous about something. He wasn’t his normal outgoing, goofy, high energy self. 

You shook your head and convinced yourself it was probably just cause he was tired. 

Later that night, you all sat around the campfire. Ron had eaten at least six s’mores and was currently sprawled out across Hermione’s lap as she gently ran her fingers through his red hair.

George suddenly stood up and gave out an over exaggerated yawn. “I’m so tired,” he started.

“It’s not even 10pm!” Fred challenged back.

“Bed!” George exclaimed.

“What?” Harry questioned, clearly confused at George.

George gave Harry a stern look and then Harry suddenly started following him to their tent.

“Us too,” Ron said as he stretched out. “Come on, Hermione.”

“What is going on?” Fred asked, very annoyed.

“Goodnight.” George said to you and Fred with a smirk and a wink as he turned to his tent.

“But-” you started.

“Goodnight.” He said again cheekily as he closed the tent behind him.

Fred looked over at you sheepishly. “Are you tired at all?”

You shrugged in response. “I could try, I guess.”

Fred quickly put out the campfire before he followed you into the tent, closing it behind him.

“This is...” you started, looking around the small tent. “Cozy.”

Fred chuckled in response. “I’m convinced that they gave us the smallest tent.”

The feeling of Fred’s body lightly touching yours as you kneeled in the tent was overwhelming. You had to remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m gonna go look at the stars for a bit, actually.” You lightly smiled as you made your way out of the tent.

You looked up at the night sky. Bright stars shined up above you and you smiled as you fell backwards into the soft, green grass. You were full from campfire s'mores and you were so content.

“Hey y/n,” Fred started as he walked over to you before sitting down. He laid on his back and placed his hands behind his head to prop himself up.

“Hey Fred,” you smiled. 

Silence filled the space around you for a moment, but it was a comfortable silence. You could hear the wind and the sea. Everything around you felt very still and calm but also every part of you felt electric. 

Your senses were heightened. But why?

Why were you nervous, you asked yourself. Fred is your best friend, you’re never nervous around him.

You broke the silence as you looked over into his chocolate brown eyes. “Are you also surprised that everyone else is already in their tents?”

“Not really, no,” he said sheepishly, looking up at the stars instead of over at you. 

“What do you know that I don’t?” You giggled as you cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“Isn’t it obvious, y/n?” He grinned as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What?” You asked as you looked him over, the moon illuminating over his face. 

“Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.” He breathed out.

You giggled as you looked up at the night sky. “You’re joking.”

When you stopped laughing you looked over at Fred to see that he wasn’t laughing with you, just staring at you intently.

You didn’t know this but Fred thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever met, the way your eyes sparkled when you saw the sea, the way your laughter filled a room, the way your smile brightened up his day. The way you made him feel.

He was in love with you ever since your third year, when you helped him in potions class at Hogwarts.

Everyone knew it, everyone but you.

And you loved him too, ever since your fifth year when he skipped class with you to go to the black lake because you just couldn’t handle Snape’s class that day.

Everyone knew it, everyone but him.

“You’re-” you started, studying his face momentarily. “You’re not joking.”

“I’m not.” He scanned your lips, before falling back on your eyes.

Fred knew that now was his moment, right here, right now. Underneath the sparkling stars and moon shining down on your beautiful face. He smiled as he thought to himself, look at the stars, look how they shine for you. And all the things that you do.

The way Fred was looking at you made the feeling in the pit of your stomach intensify. The light breeze blew past you and a trail of goosebumps settled over your skin.

Fred’s chocolate brown eyes scanned your eyes for another moment before taking a deep breath.

“Y/n,” he started, before taking a long pause. “I think I’m in love with you.”

You watched as his chest lightly rose and then fell with his breaths. Your eyes trailed up his chest and then fell onto his eyes.

“Fred,” you whispered as your own chest rose and fell. Your heart beat underneath your shirt intensifying with happiness. “I love you.”

Fred’s face lit up as a smile took over his features. “You do?”

“I do.” You hummed.

Fred chuckled lightly in delight before he leaned forward. He looked into your eyes deeply before fluttering his eyes closed and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

You fluttered your eyes closed and saw stars shooting behind your eyelids. Your kiss intensified as you tangled your arms and legs in his as you lightly rolled over in the plush, green grass. 

The feeling of Fred’s soft, supple lips on yours, his smooth, slender hands on your waist, and the smell of the sea drove you over the moon.

Fred’s tongue grazed your swollen lips and you opened your mouth in acceptance. 

A sudden movement behind you caused you to pull away, your arms rapidly falling to your side as you both bolted to sit up.

You looked up to see George emerging from his tent. “About time, you two,” He smirked. “Oi, Ron!” He called out.

Ron emerged from his tent. “Finally!” He exclaimed.

“If I wasn’t so bloody happy right now, I would chase both of you down.” Fred chimed in, a smirk clear in his tone as he eyed his brothers.

You giggled as you leaned into Fred. He held you close as you looked upwards and you could’ve sworn you saw a shooting star.

#twrh9kwritingchallenge #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you

[onlyfreds]

Hugs and Kisses | F.W.

Title: Hugs and Kisses

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: Y/N is not a big fan of physical contact and Fred finds out why.

Warning/s: mentions of abuse, violence, mentions of physical abuse in the past, mention of a gun, bruises

Flashbacks are in italics.

Like everyone else, I have a pet peeve.

Mine was physical contact. Not that I didn’t like touching others, I was fine if someone rested their elbow on my shoulder, but hugging, holding hands, putting an arm around someone’s shoulder/waist. No thanks.

I was walking out of the library with Angelina when I suddenly felt an elbow rest on my right shoulder.

I breathed in the familiar scent of cinnamon and firework powder.

“Hey Freddie.” I said, turning to ginger by my side.

“Hey Princess.” He said, keeping his elbow on my shoulder as George appeared next to Angelina and the four of us started to head towards the common room.

Butterflies flew around in my stomach at the nickname, hopefully the blush on my cheeks wasn’t that visible.

“You guys remember the first time Fred attempted to put an arm around Y/N?” George asked, out of the blue, causing Angelina, Fred and I to laugh.

“Oh yeah.” Angelina said, “That was so hilarious.”

Snow lightly dropped down from the heavens. Painting the ground white and letting out a small chill into the air.

The twins and I were building a snowman outside, very innocent and calm from the usual chaos and havoc we caused, but who doesn’t enjoy building a snowman?

But that peaceful atmosphere was soon destroyed when George threw a snowball at Fred. Thus, the peaceful activity of building a snowman soon transitioned into a huge chaotic snowball fight.

“Oi!” I scolded as a poorly aimed snowball from Fred hit my shoulder.

I scooped up some snow, it was time to join the fun.

--

“Okay! Okay! I give up!” George said, both hands up in mock surrender as he came out from behind the tree he was hiding.

A smirk grew on Fred’s lips, “See? You can’t beat the dream team.” He teased as he put an arm around my shoulder.

Out of instinct, I immediately pulled away, looking up to see Fred and George both taken aback.

“Sorry.” Fred immediately apologized, “Did I make you uncomfortable or anything?”

I shook my head, “No. You could never make me uncomfortable. It’s just, I’m not a huge fan of physical contact.”

The twins looked at each other, probably using their twin telepathy to communicate.

“Any type of physical contact?” George asked.

I shrugged, “Not all. I suppose that there are exceptions.”

Fred then stepped forward, cautiously resting his elbow on my shoulder, “Is this okay?”

I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay.”

“Fred’s face was absolutely priceless.” George said, aiming a teasing smile at his twin, “He looked he’d been given an electric shock.”

“Maybe he couldn’t believe that the prettiest girl he ever laid eyes on would react like that.” Angelina added.

I rolled my eyes at the both of them, “Piss off you two before I smother you two with the nearest deadly object I find.”

Angelina scoffed, “What? Don’t tell me you don’t agree.”

I tried to stop the blush that was rising up to my cheeks, “Oh for Merlin’s sake, give me a break Angie.”

--

I sat on the couch by the common room fire, the clock had struck one a few minutes ago but I can’t seem to put down the book I was holding.

The quiet rustling of the page being turned mixed in perfectly with the soft cackling of the fireplace.

Just as the climax was put in motion, the tension between the two lovers was growing with each passing moment, and just as if Merlin had a grudge against me, the book was suddenly snatched out of my hands.

“Hey!” I complained, looking up at the culprit to see the grinning face of a certain Weasley.

“Fred!” I whined, crossing my arms over my chest, “Why?”

He chuckled, taking a seat next to me as he took the bookmark from my hands and placed it on the page I was reading before closing the book and placing on the table next to the couch, “It’s already one in the morning and you’re still reading.”

“So?” I huffed, “Just because you have never read a book in a day of your life doesn’t mean I can’t.”

He laughed, “Shouldn’t you be sleeping instead of waiting for the two lovers to just suck it up and kiss at the ungodly hours of the morning?”

I smiled, “That’s because I need answers. Besides, I could ask you the same thing, shouldn’t you be sleeping instead of bothering me?”

Fred laughed, playing with my hair, “When did I bother you?”

I shrugged teasingly, “I don’t know. Perhaps now.”

The two of us laughed before falling into comfortable silence, his hands still playing with my hair.

“Darling, can I ask you a question?” Fred suddenly said, breaking through the silence.

I looked up at him, “Sure.”

He combed his hand through his hair, “This might be kinda sensitive. But why aren’t you a big fan of physical contact?”

I bit my lip, avoiding his gaze, contemplating whether I should tell Fred the truth or not.

The smashing of glass that came from the kitchen could be heard even from the closed door of my bedroom.

The yelling from another one of my parents’ argument echoed through the walls of the house.

Then there was a thud, causing me to wince. He must’ve hit her again; it’s being going on for years. He made her promise not tell, he swore that if she did, he would kill me.

So, she never told anyone. She covered every single evidence up with makeup and kept a smile on her lips at every family gathering we attended. No matter how many times she told me that it was okay, I knew that she wasn’t.

I took in a shaky breath as I heard nothing but silence. I slowly opened the door of my bedroom, the creak probably being the loudest sound in the house.

I was about to head to the kitchen when I was that the door to my parents’ bedroom was opened ajar, I took a peek to see my mum stuffing her clothes into a gym bag.

Her shirt was riding up a bit, exposing the almost-black bruises that was littered across her back and, as far as I knew, the rest of her body.

“Mummy?” I said, the fear inside me growing with every passing minute.

She turned to face me, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Hey sweetie.” She said, her voice a little hoarse as she stooped down to my height, “I want you to pack every important belonging you have. Okay honey? Just like we practiced.”

I nodded, running back to my room as I took the small gym bag I hid under my bed and stuffed every essential thing I could.

My mum held my hand tightly as we tiptoed through the living room, our freedom from this nightmare was just around the corner.

I looked around the living room, it looked like a storm had just passed by. Shards of glass was shattered everywhere, random things that have been thrown laid on the floor. Picture frames that once hang on the walls rested on the cement floor, shattered, broken, just like their promise of forever.

What once was a place of comfort and safety, a home, turned into a place of fear and pain, turned into hell.

Mum was just about to reach for the door handle, the only thing separating us from freedom.

“Where do you two think you’re going?” A cold, furious voice asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mum asked, turning to face my father as she clutched my hand tighter, “We’re leaving.”

My father gave a humorless chuckle, “Acting all tough now huh? What if I don’t let you.”

Mum stepped in front of me protectively, shielding me from my father, “I don’t give a damn on what you think anymore! I had enough and we’re leaving whether you like it or not!”

Before mum could reach the handle, my father pulled her away by the back of her shirt then smacked her across the face. The force had been enough to knock her over to the coffee table.

I stood there, frozen in fear, thinking for a moment that the force was enough to kill her. Once I realized that she was alright, I immediately ran to her side.

I shot my father a death glare, and did what I thought was pretty brave (or stupid) for a toddler, I ran towards him and tried to push him away. Which, obviously, had no effect.

He looked down at me with burning rage, pulling me by the hair as tears started to stream down my cheeks. Next thing I knew, a gun was pointed to my temple.

“I dare you. Walk out that door.” He threatened, tightening his grip on me, “I promise you that your daughter won’t ever be able to see another light of day.”

“Darling?” Fred’s voice pulled me out of my flashback, “Are you okay?”

I looked back at him, not realizing the tears that were dripping down my cheeks.

Without a word, he was about to put his arm around me when he stopped in his tracks. He looked at me for a moment, silently asking me for permission.

I nodded, scooting closer to him as I rested my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

I hated physical contact. But Fred was an exemption to that rule, or at least for now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly.

I sniffed, wiping away the remaining tears from my eyes, “My dad used to physically abuse my mum. Whenever she made a mistake or talked back to him, he would hit her brutally. He made her swore not to tell anyone or else he’ll kill me. One day, my mum had enough so the two of us were supposed to escape but he caught us. He hit my mum then pointed a gun at my head. I really thought that I was going to die. Luckily for us, our neighbor suspected that something was wrong and called the police. They arrested him then my mum and I lived at my grandma’s house. Since that day, I knew that I hated physical contact.”

Fred rubbed my back comfortingly, stunned with my confession, “I’m your best friend and I didn’t know that you went through all that.”

I sniffed, “No one did.”

“But,” Fred continued, “Not every physical contact would hurt you. If you want, I can show you.”

I gave him a hesitant smile, “I don’t know Freddie.”

“Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But, if you want, let’s try it for a week. If it still makes you uneasy, then just say the word and we’ll stop.” He offered.

I licked my lips, “Okay. Let’s try it.”

--

It was a Saturday morning, Angelina, Alicia and I were eating breakfast while discussing Alicia’s recent date with Ravenclaw keeper, Roger Davies.

“He is just absolutely amazing.” Alicia said, obviously swooning over the guy.

“I call dibs on the maid of honor!” Angelina suddenly said.

“Hey!” I complained, taking a sip of pumpkin juice, “You already called dibs on maid of honor for my wedding you can’t call dibs on Alicia’s wedding too!”

I then pointed a finger at Alicia, “I call dibs on maid of honor.”

“What’s all this talk about weddings?” George asked with a teasing grin as he sat down next to Angelina.

“Oh nothing.” I said as the older twin took a seat next to me, “We were just planning Alicia’s future wedding.”

“Wedding huh?” Fred teased, putting an arm around my shoulder, causing me to tense up at first before relaxing into his touch, “Didn’t think of you three as wedding planners.”

No answer or retort came as George, Angelina and Alicia stared at Fred’s arm that was around my shoulder, their mouths slightly agape.

“Fred.” George tried to say, thinking his twin had done it accidentally.

“Don’t you remember?” Angelina and Alicia said at the same time.

He gave them a small, reassuring smile, “Don’t worry guys. Y/N and I talked last night and she willing to give this whole thing a try.”

I nodded, “I told him the reason why I wasn’t a big fan of physical contact and he offered to show how good it is.”

“So, what’s the reason?” Alicia asked.

Fred and I exchanged a look, then he said, “I think that would be a secret between Y/N and I for now.”

His answer was met with the overlapping chatter of the group.

“What?”

“That’s no fair.”

“Why does Fred get to know but we don’t?”

Fred put both his hands up, palms facing outwards, commanding silence, “Look, I’m sure that she’ll tell you the whole story once she’s ready. But for now, we should respect her decision.”

The group nodded in agreement.

Fred clapped his hands together with a small smile, “Great! Now going back to Alicia’s wedding planning, who’s the groom?”

--

Fred and I were hanging out by the courtyard, watching the sunset, his arm resting across my waist.

For the rest of the day since breakfast, Fred would frequently put an arm around my shoulder or waist.

At first, it felt a bit weird to feel his arm around me but by the afternoon I was used to it.

I had to admit, it felt nice.

“You okay?” He asked.

I nodded, giving him a small smile, “Yeah.”

“Are you sure your fine with this arrangement? Because if your uncomfortable we can stop.” He said.

I giggled, “Honestly Freddie, I’m fine. It actually feels better than I expected.”

He grinned, “Oh darling, just wait until I spoil you with hugs.”

His tone then turned serious, “Thank you for trusting me with your secret.”

I smiled up at him, “I’d trust you with my life Freddie.”

--

Over the next few weeks, Fred every physical contact as possible.

He was right, not every touch would hurt me.

I enjoyed every single one of his hugs, whenever he would place his arm around my shoulders or waist. He always seemed to find an excuse just to hold me close to him. I had to admit, there was something comforting about being so close to him, that I regretted not trying this out sooner.

“Penny for your thoughts darling?” Fred asked, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I turned around to face him, “Nothing much.”

“So, how does you feel about physical contact now?” He asked with a sly smile.

“I’m loving it.” I said returning the smile, “Thank you so much for showing me how good it is.”

He laughed, “Well I think that there is another form of physical contact you might like.”

I raised a brow at him, “Oh yeah? What is it?”

He slowly leaned forward and connected our lips together in a hungry and desperate kiss, all those years of pent-up feelings being poured into that kiss.

His hands rested on my waist as I cupped his cheeks in my hands.

Even if it was happening right in the moment, I still couldn’t believe that my best friend, my crush ever since first year was kissing me.

We pulled away for a minute before he reconnected our lips together again, this time it was slow and sloppy but full with passion.

Once we pulled away, Fred rested his forehand against mine, both of us breathless and cheeks painted a deep shade of red.

“I liked you for such a long time.” He whispered, “I have never met anyone so cute, so stunning, so intelligent, so funny and so damn hot and sexy. I have never been so in love and wanted anyone more than you. So, will you be my girlfriend?”

I smiled, “Please tell me that I’m not dreaming.”

He chuckled, tracing a finger over my arm, watching the goosebumps erupt from it, “I’m positive that you’re not dreaming.”

I giggled, “Then I would absolutely love to be yours. I would love to be able to hug you, hold your hand and kiss you. Thank you for showing me how it feels to be loved by someone so perfect.”

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting​​ @gostupid-godumb​​ @fandomhideout @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff​​  @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading​​ @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts​​​ (Send a Message/Ask or fill out my taglist form if you want to be added!)

#fredweasley #fredweasleyfanfic #fredweasleyimagines #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fredweasleyoneshots #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #hp imagine #hp one shot #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley imagine

[wlntrsldler]

where’s my love (fred weasley x malfoy!reader)

PROMPT: Y/N Malfoy is allowed back to live with her family in Malfoy Manor after spending 6 years studying at Ilvermorny. She’s the black sheep of her family and now that she’s attending Hogwarts, she’s doing everything in her power to drive her father mad. Nothing else drives her father crazy than a Weasley, so why not date one? (fred weasley x malfoy! reader; fake dating au)

WARNINGS: none for now. 

WC: 2K+

where’s my love masterlist

HP Masterlist

-

PROLOGUE

“My dear,” your mother, Narcissa gasped, walking over to engulf you in her arms. She hugged you tightly, the tears from her eyes falling slowly on your exposed shoulders. “I’ve missed you terribly.” 

“I’ve missed you too, mother,” you confessed, dropping your bags to the side of your feet to return her gesture. You pulled away, wiping the tears still streaming down her face. “Six years is a long time.” 

Her face dropped at your words, looks of guilt and shame taking over her features. She knew that six years away from your family must’ve been difficult for you. You knew that if it was up to her, you would’ve stayed at home with her and Draco, and studied at Hogwarts as planned. But it wasn’t up to her. 

“He doesn’t know you’re back,” she whispered, her smile reaching her eyes. She squealed in delight, happy that both of her children were now home and for the moment— safe. “He’s going to be so excited.” 

“Do you think he’ll still like having me around?” you asked, nervously chewing on your bottom lip. “Like I said, six years is a long time and he’s a teenager now. What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?”

“Nonsense, he begs us to visit you every winter,” she took the bags from your hands, ushering you to go up the stairs. “Second door to your right.” 

You nodded, swallowing your fears and apprehensions down. You took in a deep breath, listening to the way the floors still creaked under your feet like when you were a child, running up and down the empty corridors with a young Draco behind you. You smiled fondly at the memory, remembering the giggles of a lively boy with the blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Draco was your best friend, your baby brother, the one you swore to protect. 

You knew even from a young age that your family was involved with Dark Magic, a practice you were never truly fond of. Your father hated your disapproval of your family’s history. He saw it in the way you were as a child and he hated the way you tried to get Draco as far away from his birthright as much as possible. 

To Lucius, that was enough to send you off and away from the Malfoy name. 

You stopped in front of the unfamiliar door, heart in your throat. Softly, you knocked on the wooden door, waiting for a response from the other side. You heard an incoherent noise from the other side, taking it as a sign to enter. 

Draco was sitting at his desk, back turned from the door. In his hand was his quill, the ink gliding flawlessly on his parchment. He had a drawer opened beside him and from where you stood, revealed piles and piles of sealed letters. You watched him silently, admiring how grown up your brother had become. He was definitely taller now and his features were more defined. He looked like a perfect mix of both your parents, the perfect Malfoy. You wiped your tears from your eyes, your chest growing heavy as you realized just how much you missed your baby brother. 

“Dray,” you whispered, holding yourself together. Your knees grew weak when he dropped his quill, spilling his ink all over the piece of parchment. 

Only one person called him by that name. He turned around, not believing who it was that called his name. When his eyes saw your figure, leaning on his door frame, he stood up, knocking his knees on the top of his desk. He scrambled up to you, halting quickly in the middle of his bedroom. His bottom lip quivered, “Y/N? Is that really you?” 

Shyly, you waved, not even bothering to wipe your tears rolling down your cheek. You approached him slowly, afraid of his reaction. “Hi, Dray.” 

Draco fell apart, rushing over to you. He towered over you now, wrapping his arms around you as he sobbed into your shoulder. He shook viciously, reminding you of when he was a child having panic attacks after his lessons about Dark Magic with your father. Young Draco would rush into your bedroom, looking for comfort from his big sister who always fought off the darkness with her light. You pushed your own fears aside, an instinct you never lost all those years, and cradled Draco in your arms. 

“I-I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he sobbed, pulling away from you. 

“You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” you teased, holding him by the shoulders. He chuckled at your attempt to ease the tension. You walked over to his desk, staring intently at the now ruined parchment. “Sorry bout that.” 

“No, no,” he reassured, pointing at the opened drawer of unopened letters, “This was actually for you. I’ve been writing to you since you left. Father has never let me send any off so I was going to send them when I became of age.” 

Your heart ached, realizing that the letters you wrote to your brother most likely never reached him. You reached down to retrieve some letters, eyes blurring again once you realized he’s written so much over the years. You placed the letters on his desk, walking over to give him another hug. “I missed you, brother.” 

“I missed you too,” he knitted his eyebrows together, soon becoming confused as to why you were suddenly allowed back home after all those years. He watched as you walked around his room, staring at the pictures on the wall. You took notice of his Slytherin robes hanging proudly in his closet. You stopped in front of the picture of the two of you, smiling at the camera when you were younger. You could almost hear your mother’s voice counting down in the background. You touched the photo with your fingers, cherishing the roughness of the material under the pads of your fingertips. 

He thought back to the final moments of last school year, after the Triwizard tournament, after Cedric’s death, after the Dark Lord’s rumored arrival. He began to remember the harsh murmurs and criticisms that people said about Harry— how he was lying about the rebirth of the Dark Lord and how it was all a part of an elaborate plan by Dumbledore to gain more power. He believed the whispers— of course, he would never pass up an opportunity to make fun of Potter— but now that you were standing in front of him, his sister that he hasn’t seen for six years, he knew that it must be true. 

After a while, Draco spoke up to confirm his suspicions. “Do you know why you’re here?” 

You shook your head, confusion evident in your eyes, “No.”

Draco merely nodded, turning his head to the side, unable to look you in the eye knowing that he’ll be fighting with the side you tried to help him escape from all those years. He didn’t know how to tell you that he'd accepted his fate. He’s accepted it for a while now. The dark forces that you taught him to fight against were now a part of himself. How does he fight a battle from within? 

-

There was only one thing Fred loved more than pranking and jokes— his family. He didn’t mean to walk into their conversation, nor did he mean to sneak around and listen to his parents talk about their struggles. He simply wanted a glass of water in the middle of the night. He stopped on the final step of the stairs when he heard his parents’ hushed whispers from the couch. 

“I don’t know how we’ll be able to afford everything this year,” Molly sighed, leaning her head against Arthur’s chest. The fire crackled in front of them, engulfing them in its warmth. “Ginny needs new books this year. The old ones are too worn out to be considered books. We’ll have to dig into our Christmas funds to afford it.” 

Arthur tightened his grip around her, “I’m sure they won’t mind that they’ll have to settle for scarves and vests instead of sweaters this year.” 

“Oh, I know,” she fussed, “Our children will always be grateful but I just wish they were able to have a good Christmas.” 

“We always make it work, don’t we?” Arthur reassured her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out this year too.” 

Fred tiptoed back up the steps, careful not to make much noise. On his way up, he couldn’t help but start to doubt himself. He and George began to talk about the possibility of leaving school next year in order to start a joke shop. It seemed like a great idea at first, how could it not? It was their biggest dream to start one. But now after Fred heard his mother’s hushed concerns, he couldn’t help but second guess himself. 

Where would they get the money from? How do they know they’ll even be successful? What if outside of Hogwarts their pranks were considered boring and immature? What if they’re meant for nothing else but for the corridors of their school? 

Fred pushed the door to his shared bedroom with George softly, cringing as the hinges squeaked. George stirred in his sleep, an annoyed groan escaping his lips. He was always a light sleeper. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, “Any louder, Freddie?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, tucking himself back in his bed— only he didn’t lay flat on his pillow. He sat up, wondering, guessing. 

George took note of it, copying his brother’s actions. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising one eyebrow, “Well, what’s on your mind?” 

Fred sighed, looking curiously at his twin, “What if we just stayed at school and worked for the Ministry?”

George let out a snort, laughing quietly in the dark. He froze after realizing Fred wasn’t laughing with him. He gulped, “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” he stated, shrugging. Even in the dark, unable to make out the expression on each other’s faces, George knew his brother was afraid. Fred continued, “I mean, would it be so bad? At least we’d make a decent living, right? Help out mum and dad?”

“I suppose.” 

“Then it’s settled.”

“But can you see us working in a cubicle for the rest of our lives, Freddie?” George asked. “Because if you say yes then I’m inclined to believe that you’re actually Percy who drank Polyjuice potion to look like my twin brother.” 

“I’m me, you git,” Fred threw a pillow at George, laughing slightly at his comments. “I just… I don’t know, Georgie. I want to help mum and dad, not add on to their plate.” 

“Believe me when I say that they’ll get a load off once we move out of here.” 

The two boys chuckled at the statement, knowing it was most likely true. They did hog the food, leaving virtually none for Ginny and their parents. However, Ron also ate for a village so in all honesty, it’s not all their fault. A comfortable silence fell upon them, the creaking of the stairs an indicator that their parents were finally turning in for the night. It made Fred smile knowing that they were finally going to get some rest. 

“Georgie?” Fred broke the silence after a while. A half-asleep George mumbled into his pillow. Fred took it as a sign to continue, “You reckon mum and dad would still love us if we started our joke shop?”

“Mate, I reckon mum and dad will love us regardless of what we do.” 

Fred was content with that answer. He moved down to rest his head on his pillow, closing his eyes as he began to drift away. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would start to come up with new Weasley products to sell next school year. New batches and new designs to start the year off strong. He and George will make money, enough to save for their lot at Diagon Alley, and enough to sneak into their parents’ Christmas fund. Whatever it may take, Fred will somehow find a way to provide for his family. He solemnly swears. 

-

A/N: AHHH here’s my fred fic!!! i’m so excited for this fic. this fic will be very heavy on family name/ reputation. also, draco is good in this fic (kinda) he’ll still be canon asshole draco but deep down he’s a good guy (as you can see in this prologue) 

also, this fic is based on where’s my love (acoustic) by syml

i’m tagging everyone who expressed excitement for this fic but i won’t tag you in the next part unless you let me know directly that you’re still interested! thanks guys!

@cappsikle @you-make-children-cry @bonkyboinkybucky @lionlikewolflike @britishspidey @girlbabyvelez @pillowjj

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter series #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x yn #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x malfoy!reader #george weasley #draco malfoy #narcissa malfoy #lucius malfoy #the weasleys #frances writes #frances song fics #where's my love fic

[literaphobe]

plz why is dream dt as adora

OKAY SO FJDJDDJDJ THIS IS ABOUT THE DREAM SMP N ITS THE ROLEPLAY/FICTIONAL STUFF SO YHIS IS ACTUALLY C!DREAM GETTING TORTURED BY DREAMXD (god of the dream smp) WHO IS PRETENDING TO BE C!GEORGE LIKE U KNOW. how double trouble pretended to be adora to mess w catra

anyway this means nothing to you but it means SO MUCH to me so let me break it down for a moment

c!george has been having a hard time on the server. he’s been on Not Good terms ever since c!dream dethroned him (a whole other plot to explain, basically c!george felt backstabbed n c!dream claims it was done to protect c!george), and since c!dream is in prison, there really is No One there to Protect him. everyone keeps beating him up and taking his stuff, even a SPECIAL shield that c!dream used to use and gave to c!george to keep him safe. aka, the last item c!george has that could remind him on c!dream :( he even went so far as to make a deal with the devil (this is lightheartedly played by dream’s irl 14 year old sister, referred to as ‘drista’ by everyone, short for dream’s sister. what happened in the irl setting is that dream n drista were streaming n george came online n asked her to give him stuff because she was in creative mode. she really wanted to but dream said no n they made a bet instead n george got sad and acted dramatic about it when he lost) and he LOST so he had like NOTHING

MOVING ON,,, c!george is shown to us in lore the very next day to be burdened and confronted by all the important stuff he missed in the server, aka by not being there he indirectly has caused a lot of bad shit to happen. c!george is experiencing most of his life stuck in dreams, and he’s gotten to the point where he can’t differentiate his dreams from reality very well, and it’s confusing him a lot. c!george is shown to not remember what happened to many stuff he was involved in, such as countries like mexican l’manberg/el rapids for instance

he gets into trouble because his friend c!badboyhalo got corrupted by a huge evil egg (this is another gay ass storyline fjdjdjdj) and DEMANDS that c!george go to the egg w him n like essentially become corrupted too, and c!george is very scared n doesn’t want to :( suddenly, dreamxd descends from the sky and scares c!badboyhalo enough to stop. he kills c!bad to save c!george n also so that c!george can take c!bad’s stuff

but c!george gets worried that c!bad’s stuff is poisoned and hesitates, causing c!bad to run back and take his things. c!george then begins to shamelessly ask dreamXD for more stuff, since the last time they were together, they were building a McDonald’s, and dreamXD showed an unwavering loyalty to c!george and a willingness to give him almost anything

this is the first time we find out that dreamXD isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. his voice corrupts and sounds demonic as he yells at c!george for having the audacity to ask for more stuff after he had already given him stuff. this side of him continues to come and go, and viewers refer to it as ‘dreamon’. however we don’t know whether dreamon is a separate entity from dreamXD or just a different side to dreamXD. we also find out that dreamXD has some connection to c!dream that is also unclear. some fans theorize it has something to do with why c!dream has the power to bring people Back To Life

c!george, as it turns out, is a little confused by dreamXD. he doesn’t like dreamXD when he speaks angrily and demonically, and he notes that dreamXD mostly seems to show up around c!george, and not other people. dreamXD says this is because “you invite me in // how? // you have a welcoming presence” anyway c!george is confused because dreamXD looks like c!dream and he SOUNDS like c!dream but.... c!dream is in prison. and not there with c!george. and c!george MISSES him, and also keeps talking to dreamXD like he’s actually c!dream

he tells him he just wants c!dream to come back so everything can go back to normal. he doesn’t want him in prison, in fact he is notably one of the only people who wasn’t involved in the plot to put c!dream in prison. dreamxd has to keep telling him “i’m not dream.”, but also at some point dreamxd switches to c!dream’s voice to.... well it is unclear why he says “hi, george, it’s me, dream!” to c!george in c!dream’s voice. but it throws c!george off a LOT n he gets very expectant as he asks dreamxd if c!dream really is there, to which dreamxd says “oh. i think he’s gone now” (it’s possible he pulled out the c!dream voice to manipulate c!george into trusting him)

anyway the episode goes on to essentially show c!george trying to teach dreamxd to act more human and be less of a menace. he nearly gives up several times out of frustration, and this seems to tie in with his frustration with c!dream, who like got power hungry n became darker n evil etc, which c!george wishes werent the case, he misses HIS c!dream, the kind one who protected him and made everyone happier just by being around

c!george attempts to teach dreamxd how to prank people, but dreamxd keeps taking it too far. the tension of that is that dreamxd wants to be friends with c!george, but feels like c!george is just using him to get Stuff. on the other hand c!george is annoyed and just wants stuff. at some point dreamxd calls c!george a GOLD DIGGER and also at some point c!george threatens to just completely leave dreamxd, prompting the latter to beg n coax him for forgiveness. eventually they make a deal, where they become friends, in exchange for dreamxd giving c!george full netherite armor and tools. and then soon after c!george wakes up n he realizes the whole thing must’ve been a dream. but then he STILL has the netherite stuff. he begins to drop n pick up all his stuff n touch the world around him to test if anything is real

c!george is also shown to have stood outside the prison, staring but not going in. c!dream has talked about wanting c!george to visit him, and has talked about c!george a lot to his visitors, notably c!tommy, whos very annoyed by it. anyway. it feels like more Stuff is gonna happen that will make me lose my entire mind. god i love gay shit

#ask #this was so long SORRY #dream smp #mcyt #dnf #georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #dreamxd

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Twelve

He lays there, for Merlin knows how long. And all he wants to do is cry. To break down and sob like a child, but he can’t. Not when Hermione’s brilliant, but absolutely stupid, mind casted this damn stunning spell. 

Even the thought of her pains him now, more than it ever did before. This was all his fault. 

Time doesn’t even seem to be moving because Hermione’s gone and that’s really all that’s resonating in him. Not seconds, not minutes, just nothing. 

The fire must’ve faded away with Bellatrix’s exit because suddenly a multitude of footsteps and yells are bursting through the air. 

“Ronnie!” 

“Harry!”

“Hermione!” 

All chorus through the air. But he can’t answer, he thinks it’d be that way even if he wasn’t stunned silent, because Hermione’s gone and he’s as good as it too. 

“I’m here! I’m here!” Ron hears Harry yell from nearby. 

He can make out the sound of his best friend's body clambering into someone else’s. 

“Over here!” George calls out, causing several more people to enter. 

“Ronnie have you seen him? Have you seen Hermione?” It’s Charlie asking, who seemingly joined the fray. 

“No, no,” Harry sounds rushed, panicked, “Bellatrix, she had Hermione. I stunned Greyback, her and Ron took off running. This is my fault. All my fault.” He was heaving. 

And as much as Ron wanted to lay there forever, pretending everything didn’t just happen he knows he can’t. He has to be strong for Harry, for Hermione. 

So he tries to speak. The sounds of Harry and his brother's voices weren’t that far, he hopes they can hear the pathetic grumbles escaping him. 

“Er-my-knee.” And he doesn’t know why he says it, but it just happens. 

And it happens again, “Er-my-knee.” 

“Did you hear that?” Harry asked, hushing everyone. 

“Hermione.” Ron manages a little stronger, suddenly getting feeling back in the tips of his fingers and toes. 

“It’s Ron.” George says. 

“Ron! Ron, where are you?” Charlie calls. 

 Their footsteps sound closer, he speaks again, “Hermione.”

“Did you hear it again? It sounds like he’s right here, but there’s no one.” George whispers. 

Then, Harry takes a step and seemingly trips over Ron’s invisible form. The movement jostles the ginger, therefore undoing the disillusionment charm. 

“Oh thank Merlin.” Charlie breathes with watery eyes. 

They then notice his arms and legs as stiff as boards. George casts a reviving spell, making Ron sit up with a sharp gasp. 

“Hermione.” Is all he can say again. 

They all exchange looks, “we’re looking for her Ron, do you know where she is?” Charlie asks, crouching down to his level. 

Tears trickle down his cheeks before he can help it, “gone.” Is all he says before meeting Harry’s sad eyes, “she’s gone.” 

“What the hell do you mean she’s gone?” Charlie dares to ask after a moment as he hoists his brother from the ground. 

“Gone Charlie! As in she’s not here!” He explodes, then suddenly, his anger melts into something else, “my fault. All my fault. I’m so sorry. Hermione, I’m sorry.” Ron’s now hysterical. 

Charlie has to slide an arm under his arm pit as George does the same from the other side. Quickly, worried he may be hurt, his brothers, followed by Harry usher him to the house. 

“Oh Ronnie!” His mother shouts happily at the sight of him, tears streaming her cheeks in relief. However, her euphoria is short lived at the sight of him. 

Ignoring Molly, Harry throws open the Burrow door as they set Ron on the couch. 

“Have you found her? Have you found Hermione?” Tonks asks, stumbling after them. 

‘Come find me.’

“Won’t find her. Never gonna find her.” Ron cries. 

“Not if you don’t start talking we won’t!” Lupin boomed angrily as he entered the room. 

“Remus.” Molly chastised. 

“No, he’s right Mum.” Bill said, stepping forward. 

Crouching in front of his distraught brother he spoke soundly, “Ron, can you tell us what happened? Where Hermione’s gone to?” 

Ron’s body continues to shake with cries, “gone. She’s gone. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Ron,” Bill tried again. 

“Told me to find her. Never gonna find her.” His tears subsided as his voice grew sour. 

Bill had enough. He understood whatever happened outside was a harrowing experience, but they were going to get nowhere if Ron didn’t talk. So, he slapped his brother hard across the face. 

“William!” Both his Mum and Fleur yelled in unison. 

“You listen to me right now Ron, we’re never gonna find Hermione if you don’t start talking! You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, waiting around for her to die, or you can bloody well do something about it!” He bit out angrily, knowing the only way to reach him was tough love. 

And like the sting on his left cheek, Bill’s words, it was like a rush of blood to the head. All of  the sudden things became less blurry. 

It was no longer just about Hermione being gone, but also working tirelessly to get her back. 

‘Come find me.’ 

“She’s so stupid. So stupid Harry.” He moans to his best friend. 

“Why Ron? What did she do?” Ginny stepped forward and asked. 

For whatever reason, his mind wouldn’t allow him to speak to any of them, not anyone but Harry. It’s not just because he’s his best mate, but Hermione’s too. 

“Harry, please just let me tell you.” He pleaded like a little kid asking his mother for a new broomstick. 

At this, Harry’s green eyes cautiously found all the Weasley’s. Arthur was the one who nodded first, soon followed by Molly. 

“Take Ron to the kitchen Harry.” Missus Weasley said in her best motherly tone, doing her best not to cry. 

At this, the chosen one grasped Ron’s arm as he ushered him away, the ginger numbly following. 

“Wait!” Fred called out, the loud noise making his youngest brother jump. 

“Is Hermione” he feels his throat close at the thought, “is she alive?” The twin asks, scared for the answer. 

Ron stared into nothingness. He heard Fred, but he doesn’t know what to say. A ‘yes’ wouldn’t be enough, not when she’s probably been taken to hell on earth. He can’t think of her as some cold lifeless corpse either, Lestrange did say they didn’t want her dead, right? 

And maybe he’s barking, but deep down he knows she’s still alive, that’s she’s okay. He swears he can feel it deep within him. 

‘Come find me.’ 

The words won’t stop bouncing off the walls of his head. 

“Ron?” Harry beckons him to answer, needing to know himself. 

“For now.” It’s the best he can give before he stumbles into the kitchen, hearing Tonk’s voice whisper something to everyone about Dumbledore as he exits. 

The Boy-Who-Lived pushed him down into a chair as he pulled one to face him. 

“Ron you have to tell me what happened alright? I know it’s hard, but this, this is Hermione.” Harry doesn’t think in all his years, not when he was old enough to understand his parents death, not when Cedric died, hell, not even when Sirius died, did he think he had to be this strong. 

Ron and Hermione were the first things he’s ever had that resembled family. The fear of losing her, it was almost the worst of it all, but he knew that if he could help her, he first had to help Ron. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry, I should’ve done more.” The dark haired boy could see the sob already bubbling up in his throat. 

“It’s okay Ron, it’s alright, I need you to start at the pond, after I stunned Greyback. What happened next?” He tried hoping to distract Ron from becoming hysterical. 

After a moment, the ginger took a staggering breath and began, “we started running and Hermione, she told me that,” he could feel himself about to crumble, “she told me,” Ron couldn’t get the words out. 

“What did she tell you?” Harry’s voice was like a lifeline. Something he was clinging onto, guiding him through this. 

He hates himself for even putting Harry in this position at all. 

“Lestrange, she-she mentioned something to Hermione I guess about how she didn’t come here for you. She didn’t come for anyone.” He managed, somehow coherent. 

“She didn’t?” Potter couldn't help but ask. 

Ron shook his head, “we stopped, over by the oak tree, the one Herm, the one she reads at.” He can’t find it within him to say her name, “Bellatrix we heard her, thought, she thought we were you.” A tear slid its way down his cheek. 

“You’re doing good Ron. I promise.” Harry said clutching on his shoulder. 

The touch gives the red head the strength he needs, “Bellatrix and Greyback, they were talking. Said that You-Know-Who didn’t want you killed. Under no circumstances were you to be killed, even if they found you.” This part puzzled Ron greatly, so much so, his sadness was replaced by sheer confusion. 

“What?” Harry seemed to feel the same. 

He nodded slowly, “dunno, but she had-she-Lestrange had other ideas.” 

“Such as?” Ron needed these little interjections, they kept him sane. 

“Me, she wanted to ki-to kill me.” He stopped to catch his breath, “but they weren’t allowed to kill her.” 

Harry didn’t think he had it in him to be strong for Ron much longer. The thought of him dying, the thought of Death Eaters having bigger plans Hermione was a horrendous thought. And it was all because of him. 

“She said there’d been talk about-about Her, Hermione.” He chokes on her name, “about how she’s the brilliant one so she must know the most, that they could get the most information from her.” 

He stops talking. A whole two minutes goes by and he says nothing. 

Impatiently, Harry needs more, “how did you end up on the ground stunned with a disillusionment charm.” 

And just like that, the floodgates are broken. He’s scared if Harry knows the truth, knows why she did what she did, that he’ll hate him. The chosen one will blame Ron for her being gone, and he should, but in turn Wealsey will lose both of him. And he needs Harry more than ever right now, he’s the closest one to understand how this feels. How much Hermione means to him, to them. 

“The second Lestrange said it, the second Hermionee looked at me and I knew, I just knew.” He manages between sobs. 

“Knew what?” Harry shakes his shoulder, hoping to ease him so he’d be more understandable. 

“She’s so brilliant Harry, too bloody brilliant, fucking stupid too.” His cries are becoming hysterical as he heaves loudly. 

Both of Harry’s hands find his friend's shoulders and gives them a hard squeeze, too hard, but he needs Ron’s attention. 

“You have to tell me what happened.” The dark haired boy did his best to keep his voice strong and commanding, but it was shaking, he was scared for what was to come. 

“Lestrange- she wanted to kill me she didn’t want to kill Hermione, not yet anyway.” he can’t help but add sadly. 

Harry, knowing Hermione as well as he did, began to frantically shake his head, “tell me she didn’t Ron. Please tell me.” It was now his turn to cry. 

With a harsh gasp, the ginger went on, now trying to be strong for Harry, “I wasn’t fast enough, I knew, but she’s too quick. Stunned me before I could even say goodbye.”  He had so many things he wishes he could’ve told her, but never mind that, he wishes he could’ve stopped her, taken her place. 

“The disillusionment charm?” Harry said, sounding broken. 

“Right after she stunned me.” He sunk his head into his hands, “Bellatrix, she disarmed her. I heard the crack, I heard them apparate away. I did nothing, nothing.” Ron spat, disgusted with himself.

“She saved you. She saved your life.” Harry sounds breathless as tears fall out of his green eyes. 

“She saved me.” And just like that Ron broke down with him, this time Harry joining him. 

Absently, their hands began clutching to one another. Ron gripped Harry’s shirt with fervor as the Boy-Who-Lived clung to his back wildly, burying his head in his shoulder as Ron fell into his chest. 

Ron felt so alone, until right now. They both lost Hermione. 

Time passed, who knows how long, but it couldn’t have been a while because no one has bothered them. 

“Do you think,” Harry’s throat is scratchy from the tears, he slowly pulls away from Ron’s embrace, “do you think she does? Know something I mean.” 

The ginger frantically shakes his head, “dunno, probably,” the black book she’s been clinging to completely slips the pair's minds, “we weren’t exactly on the best of terms.” 

And just like that, he’s reminded of all the mistakes he’s made these past few months. He never got the chance to even say he’s sorry, and now, he doesn’t know if he ever will. 

“Merlin, oh Merlin,” he moaned in anguish, “Hermione, she thinks, she thinks I hate her. I never said sorry, I don’t know if I’ll ever say sorry.” He begins panting, Harry recognizes this as a panic attack and instantly takes Ron’s face in his hands. 

“Look at me,” Ron’s eyes remained closed, “Ron look at me!” Harry roars, fierce determination etched onto his features, “don’t talk about her like we’re never gonna see her again, do you hear me?” 

The ginger said nothing and continued trying to catch his breath. 

“Ron do you hear me!” Harry yells. 

This surprisingly seems to anchor Weasley back to reality. 

“We’re going to find her.” The chosen one states. 

‘Come find me.’ 

“She told me to find her.” His voice doesn’t come out strangled or shaken, instead it’s strong, speaking with such fervor. He was determined to do just what she asked. 

“And we will. But first we need help.”

“We need Dumbledore.” Ron finished Harry’s thought.

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp #hp fanfic #sixth year

[weraceasone]

Ok so my question about Red Bull is: wtf is going on there?? Do they know what they’re doing or are they just winging it? Max is the main focus and eventhough people think he’s very privileged something tells me that Red Bull is just like his father..? Which is not a good thing.

And then we got the second driver thing. The opinions about this are very much all over the place some people think the second drivers suck and some think the team should focus more on the second drivers so they can improve themselves.

And we also got people who think Red Bull is overall very toxic. I mean from what I have seen... I don’t want to call them toxic perse but I do think there’s something weird going on there and I wish someone would speak up about it. For an example last year with Alex was such a rollercoaster for my feelings so I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for him. Yea he wasn’t having a season but there were also many times I questioned the way Red Bull handeld Max his race in comparison to Alex. Not pitting Alex soon enough or switching Max old car parts with Alex... I don’t know. I might be looking too much into but these are some of the things that stood out to me.

And let’s not even begin with Pierre. I just know that if Red Bull gave him some time he would be doing good enough to stay for another year. They were so mean towards him but being “sweet” to Alex. At least that’s how they were coming off in interviews. Acting like they’re giving Alex everything he needed and giving him a lot of “chances”. I think this is one of the main reasons the media was being harsh towards Alex. Becaus in their eyes Red Bull is helping him while he’s dissappointing the team.

Anyway I don’t know these are my thoughts on Red Bull and I hope you can give your insight on this! xxxxxxxxxxxxxx ✨✨

Ps: did not check for spelling errors and I’m not wearing my glasses so please cut me some slack 😂

hey Anon! I love this ask, so I will answer the questions in detail using paragraphs. I just discussed the culture of Red Bull and what I think of that in a previous ask, so if anyone wants to read that, go here. about Max and his relationship to his dad/Red Bull: from what we’ve heard and seen from Jos, he raised Max in a really hard way. it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if that is why Max finds the treatment of drivers at Red Bull justifiable. I think for Max, nothing will ever compare to how his dad treated him anyway, so he isn’t phased by it. I’m not saying that that makes what Max has gone through and what the RB drivers have had to deal with okay, but I can sort of understand why Max would think like that. this is a very heavy topic to speak about and as I don’t know the ins and outs of the situation, I think this is all I will say about it. something that I do want to touch on a little bit is the word ‘toxic’ and the discussion around it. I’ve seen many people, not just on here but also on Twitter, mention how the word is overused. it’s funny because I actually learned about this psychological phenomenon in class the other day; basically, what happens when you see a word repeated a lot, it will subconsciously start to lose its meaning for you, so you will automatically perceive what the other person is saying as meaningless. I think this is something that has been going on in the F1 community, a lot of people have called Red Bull toxic (whether that is justified or not, everyone should decide for themselves) and it has caused a continuous stream of other people saying they’re tired of hearing it. I personally believe that regardless of what our opinions are on RB, whether we actually believe they should be called toxic or not, I think we should still have an open discussion on what the team is doing and how that affects their drivers. I personally don’t really encourage shutting something down that may help us emancipate the sport.

let’s move on to something else: did Red Bull disadvantage Alex in the races last year? well, the simple answer to me would be: yes. is it that black and white though? no, absolutely not. what we saw happening last year, was that Alex would pit at weird times and even drove with different (worse) equipment than Max did at times. I think it’s a shame that this happened, because it gave a distorted picture of reality, which led us to believe Alex was doing way worse than he actually was. however, I also think something that more people should be aware of, is the fact that putting another driver at a disadvantage in a race isn’t necessarily justified, but it isn’t unjustified either. when one of the drivers is clearly doing better and is expected to get on the podium, maybe even win and is way ahead in the championship, it is a logical decision to sacrifice the other driver’s race a little bit in order to help the driver that’s driving at the front. sure, it isn’t fair, but it is understandable why they would do this, purely from a winner's mentality point of view. apart from that, I think we also have to ask ourselves if we would have the same attitude towards this happening, if it was George being the first driver and Valtteri being the second, for example.

did the media treat Alex in a bad way because they believed RB was helping him, when RB didn’t do that with Pierre? I don’t know. personally, I think that we, as a community, sometimes have a bit of a naïve attitude when it comes to the media. as a communications student who studies the media a lot: what happens a lot in the media is that they kind of create personas. e.g. last year: we had Max, who is the young progidy who will get aggressive when he doesn’t get what he wants and we had Seb, who got let down by Ferrari and there was Lando, who is so funny we might as well forget he’s an F1 driver. when you pay close attention to headlines, to how the media writes about certain drivers, it’s all along the same lines. most articles are written and most questions are asked in a certain way, because it fits a narrative. it sells, because it’s easy to understand. from the audience’ point of view; it’s easy to put into a box, when those boxes are already outlined for you. it’s a very natural thing for humans to subconsciously do and the media are just profiting off of that. this is why I don’t pay that much attention to the F1 media anymore, because they aren’t really being that truthful.

to close this off: the truth lies, like always, in the nuanced grey area. I cannot speak for Max or Alex or anyone who works at Red Bull, so I won’t try to do that. I hope this explains my thoughts well, Anon. I hope you’re having a good day! 🧡

#elle answers #tw abuse #jos verstappen

[canyonmoonlily]

| What Goes Up |

live! on tour series

A/N: Here comes the Smut ;)

.....

“Y/N!”

“What?” your entire body lurched upright at the sound of your name. You could hardly see thanks to the blinding sunlight streaming in through the unfamiliar window. You hardly remembered what the hotel you were staying in looked like you’d been so inebriated the night before.

“Alarm!” The same voice that had woken you from your slumber called from beyond the closed door. Oh. It was only then you noticed Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin was playing very loudly. At first, it had worked great as an alarm but you’d grown used to it and could sleep through it like a pro now.

The voice that had called for you to turn it off must’ve been one of your bandmates. According to your phone, it was already 10:30 am so you might as well start your day. You stretched and moved to get out of bed after turning it off only to find you are, in fact, stark naked.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

You hurriedly grab your robe you’d hung on the bathroom door and wrap it around you. You were scared to look in the mirror and see hickies or some indication of promiscuity from the night before. You had nothing against sleeping around, but considering you’d still only ever slept with someone once, you weren’t usually bold enough to sleep with a stranger. Which only means that if you did, in fact, have sex last night it was with someone you knew.

Like Harry.

The last thing you can remember is Harry singing along with George Harrison’s voice as you cried into his chest. Like the emotionally unstable psycho you are! your brain added.

You ripped the metaphorical bandage off and took a glance at yourself in the bathroom mirror only to find no evidence that anyone had touched you the night before. You also didn’t feel sore other than a slight headache. Considering you hardly ate, it took nothing for you to get drunk so hangovers were never really an issue for you.

You feel like you’d know if something had happened the night before. It had been a hot minute since the one and only time you’d had sex before. The only obvious differences in your appearance seems to be the absent of the makeup you’d worn the night before and your clothing. Had Harry taken off your makeup for you? Your chest contracted at the thought of him taking the time to play caretaker to drunk you.

Then you remember the way he’d kissed Kendall the night before, and remind yourself that despite the Game Night events, you were only friends. And that was all you’d ever probably get out with him. You needed to place your mental emphasis on the fact that you had him in your life at all and be grateful for that. There was no point in stringing yourself along on the hopes that one day he’d fall in love with you and the two of you would live some kind of happily ever after. Your life was far from a movie and you were far too old to be entertaining such fantasties anymore.

....

Harry watched you slip out of the green room with a heavy heart. You were like no one he’d ever met before. Last night, with all of your drunken ramblings and your little hands grabbing at his hair, calling him pretty. You had laid with your head in his lap for hours, going on about everything from George Harrison to the inherent good or evil of human nature.

He’d gazed at you adoringly, laughing the night away while the party died downstairs. He’d left Kendall alone but he wasn’t worried about her, she knew he didn’t love her. It was purely a publicity stunt, as always.

Harry shouldn’t love y/n. He knows this. Columbia records was considering signing a deal with your band, a major one that would launch your group even further into music stardom. You’d only released one album, and already had a huge fan base. Harry’s opinion the matter was of great value to the record label, and he’d been given specific instructions not to go and “make any unprofessional or romantic connections with the three of those girls.”

Harry had agreed to those terms, but that was before he knew you.

The first time you stepped into the pre-tour production meeting room he thought he was going to vomit. You’d all stumbled in late, being scolded by your manager, John. You hadn’t noticed Harry was even in the room.

You were slightly shorter than average, with all of the right curves and long, golden hair down to your waist. You donned an old Ben Folds Five tshirt and high waisted denim. You couldn’t seem to keep your hair out of your face. Your bandmates looked pained every five seconds as you whispered what was clearly absolute nonsense into their ears throughout the meeting. The way your eyes sparkled with mischeif, your unabashed goofiness nearly smacked him out of his chair. You were nothing like what he expected when he’d been told he’d be touring with an all girl band. You were the most alive thing in the room.

He knew why you were upset. It was because Kendall was wrapped around him like a fucking sloth after tonight’s show in Cleveland.

His feet didn’t consult with his mind before he found himself following your fleeting figure.

“Y/n!” He called.

You stopped dead in your tracks, refusing to look back at him.

“What is it, Harry?” Your sweet voice was a bit hoarse.

“Where are you going?” Harry’s voice was small, reminding you of your younger brothers back at home. You felt the cold armor you’d wrapped around your heart bend a little.

“To bed.” You responded simply.

“Listen, Kendall and I...it’s not—“

“Harry I didn’t ask. You don’t know me an explanation.”

“I do, though. What happened after game night—“

“—doesn’t need to be talked about it again. I’ve already erased it from my mind. Your secret is safe.”

“Secret? Y/n what the hell are you going on about?” Harry’s voice broke a bit, at that you finally turned to face him.

“I know you probably don’t want her to find out about that—or anyone to for that matter. It wasn’t very professional of us.” The shining of tears on your face took Harry by surprise, as you’d melt your words void of all emotion.

“Y/n I don’t give a shit about her!” Harry nearly yelled. “Well, no, I do care about her but not in that way.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Then why are you two making out every time I see you together? Harry, you’re not making me feel any better.”

“It’s a stunt. It’s for publicity. To keep the paps entertained.”

“Oh.”

“I....y/n, these last few months we’ve spent...” Harry can feel himself getting choked up as he struggles to meet your eyes. When he does, you can see he’s fighting back tears and you don’t know what you expect him to say next. “I think—no. I know that I am in love with you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. The skin tight, bell bottom jumpsuit you’re wearing seems to be 100000x tighter than you remember it being a few hours ago.

“You don’t have to say it back, you don’t owe me anything, I—shit. Shit I’m sorry.” His chin is wobbling now and the world’s biggest rock star is falling apart right before your eyes. But in a second, your lips are on his before the first tear can fall.

His whole body caves into yours, pulling you closer then you think you’ve ever been held in all of your 22 years on this planet. Your hands find his hair as his lips move in sync with your own. They’re soft and sweet and suddenly the only language you know how to speak. He is clinging to you like a man starved, though you know he is anything but.

“I love you. I thought it was obvious already but, I’ll say it a million times if you need to hear it: I love you. I love you. I love you.” You day in between kisses. Harry pulls away slightly to meet your eyes and can feel himself going cold. “What?” Your brow furrows at his expression.

“I just never want to forget the way you’re looking at me now.”

Then your back is against some nearby wall and his lips are on yours again faster than you can register anything that’s happening. The kiss swells into something more urgent, more passionate than before as your tongues begin their dance. His hands are everywhere, and you forget where yours end and his hair begins.

His lips begin trailing to the underside of your jaw and a moan slips out before you can stop it. He groans a response, and you swear you can feel something hard pressing against your lower stomach. Harry’s entire body has caved into yours, you standing on your tippy toes to press yourself more firmly against his willow-y frame.

“Shit-shit. Harry, someone could see—“ it suddenly dawned on you that you’re just passionately making out with in the middle of the hallway.

“Oh—oh.” Harry’s brows furrow and you see a glint of hurt in his pretty green eyes. You gently cup his face.

“No, I don’t mean it like that!” You whisper yell the reassurance. “You know I’d love to be seen with you. I just, H....I’m insecure about this kind of stuff.”

Amusement paints a pretty smirk on Harry’s face.

“You mean....sex?” He teases and you swear you could wrap your hands around his throat and throttle him if you had another 5 inches of height and actually stood a chance.

“Yes, sex, now come on.” You mock his accent and tug him away from the wall, the two of you giggling like horny teenagers.

...

Within a minute Harry has you pressed up against the door of his private bus. He’s fumbling with the strange lock and kissing you like he’s dying at the same time. You’re floating.

Once the latch clicks into place, your feet leave the ground again and your laid against something soft. The warm lighting is hitting Harry in a sinful way—he looks like the color gold personified and he’s smiling at you like you’re the Sun. He towers over you and you’ve never felt smaller. You start to wrap your arms around yourself but he stops you.

“Just let me look at you for a sec, y/n/n.”

With one last heated look he dives back into you and you’re a mess of tangled limbs again. You can feel his hands ghost over your clothed breasts and his lips ghosting over your neck again.

“God, I can’t get enough of your neck. Ya’ve got tha prettiest neck ‘ve ever seen,” he groans with a grind of his clothed, hard cock into your own clothed heat. You’re making noises you’ve only ever made before that time after Game night. And you know you’re ready to give it all to Harry. Anything he wants from you you’re willing to give.

His hands roughly grope at your breasts and you nearly scream. He’s pulling his shirt off and unzipping the top of your jumpsuit before you can do it again. Harry sucks in a breath of air at the sight of your naked chest.

“God—those tits. Just like I imagined ‘em,” he says before taking a nipple in his mouth, suckling on you like some animal. You whimper under his attention and he stops briefly.

“Angel, is this alright?” Harry looks into your eyes and holds your gaze.

“Yes, yes. T-take what you want from me.” You nod vigorously and submit yourself to him. His response is a growl you feel travel straight down to your core.

He goes back to your breasts, leaving lovebites and growling out the occasional “mine.” His lips trail down to your hips, right above your pelvis as he shimmies the rest of your jumpsuit off your legs.

Then the warmth of his breath is on your pussy and a single kiss is pressed to the front of your lace panties.

“H, you don’t have to—“

“I want to. Please.”

You nod and gulp. At this point, Harry’s seen more of your body than anyone else has and seems to be enjoying it. The only other time you’d had sex all the lights had been off and there was next to know ForPlay.

“I’ve just never had someone—do that.” You offer you an explanation. Harry freezes.

“No one’s ever eaten you out?” He asks incredulously, his head poking up from between your thighs. “What the fuck, why?”

Your cheeks heat up and you suddenly can’t make eye contact with him. “Well my ex, he and I only ever did it one time and he just...didn’t.” Harry nearly chokes on his own breath.

“You’ve one ever had sex once?” his hands are gripping your thighs now and he’s subconsciously moving closer to your face.

“Y-yeah. God this is embarrassing.” Your hands cover your now red face and tears gather in your eyes, lower lip trembling. This is not a conversation you wanted to be having but you also didn’t want to lie to Harry.

He pulls his hands away from your face and nearly crumbles at the sight of your glassy eyes. “No, no. Why is that embarrassing? You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” He coos softly, brushing away any tears that had fallen. You felt so small and seen in his embrace.

“Because I thought that maybe I was the problem? That something about me was ...off so he left me after we...you know.”

Harry audibly scoffed and cradled your face in his hands. “I’ve wanted this, I’ve wanted you for so long,” His voice is gruff and honest. “There is no one I’d rather be with right now. And that idiot ex of yours is a fucking madman because you’re never getting rid of me after tonight.”

You kiss him and feel something in your chest ache in an almost foreign way. You didn’t know you could feel like this. He kisses you back harder and the heat between you builds again. His hand cups your lace covered pussy and rubs gently over your clit and you jolt. His lips trail back down to your heat and before you can register what is happening his nose is pressed against your mound and inhaling you like some meal. A growl resonated in his chest and he begins tugging your underwear down your legs.

His tongue delves into your folds gently, teasingly. He finds his way to your clit and then sucks the breath from your lungs. You go pigeon toed and nearly scream at his assault on your most private area. You’re making noises that feel foreign as they leave your mouth but Harry laps them up along with your heat. He’s growling and letting out little sweet comments about how good you taste and you don’t know how you’re going to ever look at him without blushing again.

“H, H I’m close,” you whine out, little body shaking under the weight of his arms holding your torso down. Your hips are bucking up wildly but Harry is comepletely unbothered, giving no indication that he’d heard you at all. It isn’t until he sucks un your clit with a new vigor that he makes his intentions clear.

You’re screaming, toes curling, his name falling from your lips so loudly you’re sure everyone in the stadium can hear you. You’re fucked and you don’t even care, Harry’s cooing in your ear as tears fall from your eyes, descending from your high. He pulls your body into his and whispers sweet nothings in your ear until you come back to reality.

“Are ye alright, angel? We could just go to sleep?” Harry asks gently, warm breath in your ear.

“No, no. I want you. I’m just a little overwhelmed because no ones ever...he didn’t... make me you know.” Your face is heating up again.

“Why are you still talking about sex to me like we’re in middle school, y/n?” He laughs loudly. “I just spent the last 10 minutes face first in your pussy. You can say the word orgasm around me.”

You can’t help but laugh but also swing an arm around to sock him in the chest but he catches your hand and steals your breath with a kiss. His hands slide up the smooth expanse of your back and he straddles you, caging you to the end with his body.

You buck your hips into his, a hand snaking down to palm his rock hard member through his briefs. It feels, much larger than you anticipated. He growls and ruts against your hand like an animal.

“Please, Harry...” your eyes are hazy with desire as they meet his nearly blackened ones. He whips his briefs off and settles himself at your entrance.

“Are you sure? You’ll be stuck with me after this.” He half joked, looking into your eyes with a choking intensity.

“I’ve never been more sure. Please.”

He lets out a loud cry at the feeling of your heat around him and you’re whimpering uncontrollably at the intrusion. But you love it, God it hurts but you love it. Harry had not prepared himself for how tight you would be. It was like bedding a Virgin. Your ex must not have been well endowed, Harry thought.

Harry can’t believe how good you feel, and he’s never been particularly loud, but he’s crying out with every movement. You’re trembling beneath him, whimpering and yelping. Both of you just consumed with the other. You take his hand and place it around your throat, and his eyebrows shoot up in an expression of utter shock. He grips your throat in his hand and builds speed quickly. Milking his cock in your tight heat.

“You feel so fucking good. You’re mine now, mine.” He growls through clenched teeth as his hips snap into yours. You’re practically in tears.

“Yours. Yours yours yours.” His cock has reduced you to a weeping echo chamber.

When the two of you climax it is like the clash of a symphony and he collapses into your body, holding you closer to him than anyone’s held you before.

As you drift off in his arms, one nagging thought plagues you,

What the fuck were you going to tell your bandmates?

#smut #harry x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #rockstar!y/n #on tour #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles multichapter

[kennyisscrewy]

Playing Hard to Want II Webgott

Thank you to @speirtons aka Lily for organizing this #bobtogether fic writing event, and kicking a healthy dose of inspiration into me! You’re seriously a GIFT to this community 

W/C: 5076

Prompt: There was only one bed

   David was already not looking forward to seeing Joe again once he was finally let out of the hospital. Every day that he spent lying on that bed felt like a new nail added to his coffin, yet another tiny spike in Liebgott’s hatred of him. And truthfully Joe had hated David before he’d even done anything wrong, so now that he had… He shuddered at the thought. The street sign boasting Haganeu blared in his peripheral like a neon warning sign. Bitterly, he mulled over the unfairness that his one motivator as he was healing up (returning back to the 101st) was now something of a cold dread in his stomach. His friendship with Joe, too, had been shot in the dirt before he’d even gotten the chance to try.

  The icy ball continued to roll around in David’s stomach as he called out to George Luz, so very relieved to see a friendly face that wasn’t frowning and somber and pitying, only to have the usually animated man respond tiredly. And it just got worse, and worse, and worse. He couldn’t seem to stop his big, fat mouth from opening; asking where’s Hoobler? How’s about Toye or Wild Bill? Where’d that cheeky little Julien kid get off to now? Nobody said a word, and it spoke miles. Finally Foley and Martin ground out something about how thin 2nd platoon had become, and David was shooed away like a buzzing gnat.

  He swore under his breath as he walked up to the next Jeep and was instantly pinned in place by mean, dark eyes. The second Joe recognized him as more than just “anonymous annoyance”, he was rolling those glittering eyes, and David resented him for looking so pretty while doing it. It felt surreal to finally take in those near-black eyes that shone in the foggy french sunlight like pebbles in person once more, rather than just using his best memory to muse over them in his hospital bed.

   David has had a long time to mull over those eyes that narrowed into repulsed little slits as some unfamiliar face finally yanked David up into the remaining empty space. Four months, according to that red sneering mouth, which was news to him. In the first month, he’d kept count, anxious to get back to his platoon and his friends (and Lieb, of course). But around the second time that the nurses had none-too gently told him that if he left, the infection would kill him before he got another chance to play hero, David had become disheartened enough that he just let the days and weeks roll by sluggishly. Joe’s pissy remark: “Must’ve like that hospital.” almost made him collapse into hysterical laughter.

  That hospital room was never ending purgatory; solitary confinement. He lay there in his soaked through clothes and waited to die a meaningless, empty death. Dozens of times he’d pictured his father's reaction upon receiving the letter. Dull, bloodshot eyes would scan over the words: “died of his wounds”, and “taken off the frontline due to his own lack of awareness” and his father would chuckle meanly. Mutter how he’d been right to tell David he’d never make it out there, and “oh I hate to speak ill of the dead and say I told ya so!” The peeling off-white wallpaper and fleshy toned curtains plagued his nightmares still; Normandy felt like a tropical getaway in comparison. He opened his mouth to tell Joe that, and see that shit eating smirk slide off his pale face with satisfaction, but looking at him gave David pause.

  Beneath those pretty, glinting eyes were heavy bags so purple they could’ve been mistaken for bruises at first glance. His O.D.s and face were dirty-which was nothing new- but seeing Joe’s hair a stringy, careless mess sent something of a shock through David. Kind of like Perconte’s dental fixation, David has always been able to spot Liebgott from a mile away simply because it was clear that, even as his bloody bandages soaked through, the man took a few moments each day to make sure his thick, dark hair was still soft and touchable looking.

...Alright, so maybe David was just projecting there.

  Regardless, he looked like HELL. Which felt oh, so wrong. David has always admired how unaffected he’d seemed by the war, both physically and mentally, and his guts twisted as he watched those long, oddly dainty fingers bring a cigarette to his lips. They were shaking . And it’s not like it was exactly cold out.

  Feeling nauseous, his gaze moved unabidden to Heffron. Unkept, ruddy stubble dotted the usually chipper replacement’s thin face, and the shine appeared to have left his bright eyes. Dirty bandaged fingertips poked out of olive gloves that looked like the kid had torn the fingers off of himself. And he was quiet; so fucking quiet.If there was one thing David knew about Philly boys, it was that you could never get them to stop yapping even if krauts were peppering them in an empty field. He was unsettled by not hearing Babe’s squeaking, weird little giggles or Bill’s cartoonish cackling carrying on the wind. Honest to God, it didn’t even feel much like Easy anymore. No Luz attempting what had to be the worst British accent he’d ever heard or Toye bitching about whatever new thing had popped into his head. None of Muck trying out an hour's worth of garish standup while Penkala and Malarkey giggled like prepubescent hyenas. Just empty uniforms and the stench of stale cigarette smoke remained.

  Tracking down Lipton was a welcome distraction, as were the multiple near-death experiences on his way to the abandoned house he was posted up in. Something downright neurotic in him took comfort in the return of the bone rattling violence. Even as he was forced to dive away from a near-direct hit, which sent stabbing hot pains through his thigh, his heart soared with a sick kind of glee at the taste of dirt in his mouth. This solidified that he was really, truly back in the fight; it was as terrifying as it was liberating.

  Lt. Speirs previously from Dog Company and Lipton signed David’s execution by reconfirming that, yes, he was being reassigned to 2nd platoon. And, as a bonus, he’d acquired a squeaky clean West Pointer to babysit! Oh joy. Well, at least by comparison, David no longer felt so much like a replacement. The moment he’d laid eyes on that fancy graduation ring, he was filled with a perverse sense of relief. Oh, the toccoa boys are sure gonna have a field day with you, Lieutenant Jones. David felt like a little kid who’d desperately joined in on hazing the new kid, all in the vain hopes that the other boys might pick on him a little less.

  Any sort of relief David was feeling vanished as he faced down his former friend’s critical gazes, bitterness radiating off them in thick, rolling waves. Wordlessly, he tossed his bag unto an empty upper bunk, and took a deep breath before turning back to the men.

“This seat taken?”

  For some reason, that had Ramirez chuckling and had Chuck swearing and rolling his eyes. Everyone in the little huddle swung their gazes over to Liebgott, who seemingly always had something to say, especially for Webster. He fidgeted anxiously as Joe took his sweet time sucking on his Lucky Strike like a popsicle, blowing a stream of smoke out of pursed, cherry lips so slowly that David dug his nails into his uninjured thigh.

“They’re all fuckin taken, Web. This look like a fuckin presidential fuckin suite to you? I know you’re so used to yer cushy hospital digs what with big canned nurses shaking their tits in your face-“

  He walked away before he’d even heard the end of Joe’s rant, dripping with acidic hatred that made the blood in David’s ears ring. He knew if he stood around any longer that he’d punch Joe right in his handsome, artfully carved goddamned face. And as badly as Joe wanted it, he wasn’t the enemy right now.

Far fucking from it actually.

****

   David could feel drying blood underneath his fingernails as he stumbled back into the dilapidated house, wondering if it were Kraut blood or Jackson’s. His head leant against the side of his/not his bunk with a dull thud that didn’t even register. Mentally, he was still kneeling by Jackson’s side, framing the sides of the boy’s head with his fingers as he pleaded for the kid to calm down. He’d told Jackson it was gonna be okay, that everything would be fine once Doc showed up. But jokes on them; Doc had shown up and Jackson was dead, dead, dead.

  He repeated it aloud when they were quietly asked about the mission’s “success”. The mission’s fucking SUCCESS; god David had to laugh. Two German prisoners captured sure, but it felt like a monumental fucking loss from where he was standing. 20 fucking years old…

“Yeah we heard.”

  Came Joe’s voice, breaking through the haze of blood and shouting and gunpowder. It was surprisingly gentle, softer than he could ever recall hearing him speak before. And for some reason that is what nearly made David crumple. Not watching a kid begging to live, not listening to McClung tearfully screaming and pointing a shaking sidearm at the German’s heads, just Joe Fucking Liebgott not treating him like a smear on the treads of his government issued boots for once. Quietly, David excuses himself, walked casually to the ransacked bathroom, and violently puked up bile until he couldn’t even feel the muscles in his throat.

   A few hours of shaking and vomiting later, and he shuffled in the pitch black room towards the bunk beds. Blindly, he made sure to step as lightly as possible (which was quite a feat for the heavy-footed man), and reached out with searching fingers for his bed. The moment fingertips made contact with scratchy, piling sheets, David hauled his weary body on to the mattress, only to be met by the sensation of something sharp digging into his side. For one crazed moment, he thought he’d stabbed himself with a bayonet that wasn’t on his person, and his hand trembled as he flickered his lighter on expecting to see crimson staining through his jacket. Honestly, he’d have preferred the sight of him slowly bleeding out to what he did see bathed in the orangey dim light.

  Half moon eyelashes so dark and thick they looked like ink blots curved against moonbeam cheekbones. Thin, dark eyebrows not scrunched down in irritation for once, and a smooth forehead oddly absent of worry lines. And of course, chapped but also sinfully flushed-looking lips, thin but shapely, barely parted and emitting sweet sighs. Liebgott, with his ridiculously bony elbows jabbing into his ribs he was so close, looking like a goddamned Rembrandt. Too stunned to speak (or even breathe), he gently grasped Joe’s elbow (“ Christ, so fragile; felt like it might snap if he wasn’t careful”) with the intention of putting some space between them. Cherubic, slumbering Lieb had other ideas, apparently, because the second David started to apply pressure, skinny little fingers were suddenly clutching his bicep and hauling David closer. Mary, Mother of Jesus , it took everything in him not to scream as the unconscious bane of his existence wrapped himself around David with all four of his sinewy limbs.

  He whipped his head to the side fearfully as sleeping Joe wedged his thigh between David’s with such a kittenish little sigh it made David’s face flush neon. Small mercies, all of the other men were slumbering, albeit restlessly. Upon second glance, actually, David was relieved to see he wasn’t the only one sharing a bunk. Heffron lay curled up small and sad on Chuck’s big, barrel chest, but there was something distinctly platonic about the pair somehow. Unlike the little wriggling motions that Joe was using to systematically ensure David’s early grave.

  He double, then triple checked that the slighter man was actually asleep and not fucking with David’s head in the most goddamned insane fashion imaginable as bony, calloused fingers knot themselves into his dog tags with a white-knuckled grip. This had to be a joke, or a hallucination. Maybe he’d been hit by some wayward shrapnel and he was actually bleeding out on the bank like that kraut.

  David couldn’t have imagined this even in his four-month stockpile of wet dreams, which Joe had increasingly intruded upon (read: starred in). In those, it was never this based in reality. Usually it was just snapshots: a long, arcing throat with rather specific scarring; the sharpest and deepest Cupid’s bow lips he’d ever seen wrapping themselves around an insult (amongst other things). Dark, bottomless eyes half lidded and digging all the way to David’s core. A scratchy, hissing drawl: “And whattaya gonna do about it, Web?”

  Actually feeling the faint press of those lips through the fabric of his t-shirt and those gorgeous, dark waves tickling the side of his throat made his head spin in a feverish haze. Not to mention the thin, surprisingly-muscular thigh that was occasionally flexing right up against David’s crotch. For the first time, he was thankful for the sharp stinging of his still-tender wound, as he was sure it was the only thing keeping his body from betraying him. Though, again, the downright coquettish way Liebgott was sighing in his ear was trying awful hard to overcome that hurdle. Blue eyes stared their own makeshift skylights into the slatted roof above their heads as David tried to freeze every muscle in his body completely. After the disaster of a patrol, he’d been pretty certain he wouldn’t be sleeping that night. But this little unconscious stunt of Joe’s had absolutely guaranteed that.

  David woke up the next morning half expecting rust coating the back of his throat as Joe shoved his bayonet down it, or perhaps to the sight of the tendons in those skinny arms flexing as he strung David up from the nearest tree. Instead, David woke up shivering in an empty bed feeling oddly lonely. For 24 years, he had woken up in a bed by himself, but this is the first time it had felt wrong.

  Carefully, he shifted himself into a sitting position and tried to shake the feeling of phantom knuckles brushing against his chest, and warm, moist air wetting his throat from lips that were no longer there. Christ, what was happening to him? Still feeling half asleep, he turned his head and was pinned in place by a bewildering sight:

"C'est bon, mon garçon, ça va. C'était un accident ... juste un accident."

  Had he not had such a distinctive, thick accent, David would’ve found it hard to believe that was Doc pressed so close to Heffron. Sleep-hazy eyes watched, transfixed, as cracked, pale lips pressed sweet french notions into the crown of Babe’s trembling, red-brown hair. Babe’s gangly, long-limbed body was curled up impressively small, with what appeared like all of his weight pressing down on Gene’s chest. The medic, for all of his scrawny stature, hardly seemed to mind having his back flattened to the mattress by his fellow paratrooper. Dark blue eyes shone with so much love, it rattled David to his core. Did the two of them not know David was still in here with them? Weren’t they terrified of being court marshalled, or worse? His skin tingled, feeling starved for the ghost of Liebgott’s skin on his, as his gaze tracked Roe’s fingers carding through Babe’s thin locks. The two men were so tightly pressed together from chest to toes that they melded into one being. And just when David felt like his reality couldn’t resemble more of a fever dream, something impossible happened.

“Regarde-moi, ange.” Doc rumbled in a low, sleep-scratchy voice before slowly moving one palm up to cup Babe’s chin. And then, as though it were nothing, suddenly they were kissing. And the way the duo kissed, searching and deep….that didn’t look like the first time they’d done that before. His cheeks flushed when a soft, sweet little moan slid out of those pressing lips-he wasn’t sure which. Okay, so now David was almost positive Doc hadn’t spotted his sleeping form across from Babe’s bunk. He decided to take pity on the guys; this was obviously a very private moment that David had no business seeing. Shifting his weight and clearing his throat, he sat up very gingerly so as not to startle the men too badly. In spite of his best efforts, he felt like a real bastard as he watched all the muscles in Babe’s back stiffen, the redhead ducking his face fearfully into the side of Gene’s neck. “For a grown man, Heffron was weirdly adorable.” David thought to himself absently, unable to connect the small, fragile boy with the sharpshooting killer on the battlefield.

  Gene slowly turned to regard David with a calm, unaffected aire that confused and frightened the groggy young man. The stony faced medic shushed Babe’s faint fretting while those strong, capable hands rubbed paths through fluffy, auburn hair and down the other man’s back. Those dark-washed denim eyes continued to pierce David’s gaze all the while, as though threatening David to open his big, stupid mouth. Of course, David intended to do no such thing (his nighttime activities from last night really gave him no grounds to) and he tried his best to silently convey that in his face. His mother had always told him “his face said everything for him”, so hopefully he’d be able to recall that skillset. Something must’ve clicked, because he watched the icy stare thaw and soften ever so slightly. And then, then: the smug bastard had the gall to wink at him. Well, that certainly went to show David just how threatening Doc Roe found him!

  Once he’d scrambled out of the house with still-wrinkled ODs and a truly wild look in his blue eyes, David had been kind of counting on Joe not being anywhere near him. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the slighter man brooding in some distant alleyway all by his lonesome, smoking like a coal train with that patented scowl on his face. ‘ Probably brainstorming how best to kill me slowly and painfully…’ He thought stormily, feeling his stomach twisting yet again. He wasn’t sure why the thought bothered him so much; it’s not like that would be out-of-character or even unlikely that Joe had not been doing that from the minute they’d met. But somehow...after what they’d shared last night… the thought stung something fierce. This was what was swirling through David’s head as he clomped through Haganeu, startled out of his thoughts by bumping roughly into Martin.

“Webster, you gotta be pullin’ my leg. After that shit you pulled the other day?” The shorter man looked-okay, well, he always looked pissed, but this was a special brand of vinegar that made him itch to immediately cry uncle.

“Aw, Christ, sir. I’m terribly sorry, honestly, sir. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going…”

“Clearly,” Johnny scoffed, but to David’s surprise, his tone softened as he mumbled, “Well, I’m guessing you probably didn’t get much sleep last night. I...I didn’t sleep a wink.”

  He blinked dumbly at Martin’s abrupt change of heart. Sympathetic words from virtually anybody (but especially Srg. Martin) were so unfamiliar to him that they almost didn’t register to him. Tears threatened to prickle ludicrously at what might’ve been the only show of kindness David had yet to receive since he’d been cleared to go back, and he shook them off so he could offer Martin a respectful nod.

“I mean, if I said yes, that’d mean I was disobeying Major Winter’s direct orders.” He smiled cheekily, also feeling a bit of a rush addressing Dick by his new title. Inside, he wriggled and preened like a puppy when Martin replied with a faint grin of his own. With a faux-exasperated huff, Johnny reached up and rustled David’s mop of wavy, bed-messy hair before moving past him with a shake of his head.

  The brief interaction made David feel a bit lighter, no longer feeling so weighed down by what he knew was coming: a complete and utter shitstorm. Just then, a nasally, california drawl spiked his eardrums; as if his thoughts had summoned the bastard!

“No, no, see, Bobby COULD get with any chick ‘e wanted to, but he’s a lil bitch!”

Oh goodie; Joe appeared to be in yet another scintillating conversation. David couldn’t quite make out Chuck’s reply, but he most definitely heard Joe’s:

“You daydrinkin’ or somethin’, Chuckie?! Iceman’s like, the most badass one! Cyclops is just posturing! He’s a goddamned nerd!”

  Okay, so maybe David was struck slightly that Liebgott even knew what the word ‘posturing’ meant. And that surprise must’ve registered in his face as he did his best to inch past the cluster of 2nd platoon boys, because Ramirez suddenly called out:

“Somethin’ wrong, Webster?” with a mean, little smirk that had Grant rolling his eyes. David had always appreciated how little Srg. Grant tolerated the rest of his platoon’s relentless pestering of David. Not enough to speak up on his behalf, of course. After all, David was pretty sure that Joe was his best friend aside from maybe Talbert.

Liebgott’s eyes slowly swung over to acknowledge his presence, and David flinched in preparation for the barrage of insults he was sure were heading his way. Both parties had stopped walking, everyone apart from David and Joe shifting in slight discomfort as the staredown continued.

“You look like shit, Harvard.” Joe offered finally before bodily knocking his shoulder with David’s. And this one was purposeful.

  The group marched on, gravel crunching beneath their feet in the silence while David stood frozen in the same spot. W-what? That was it? Joe wasn’t even going to-to acknowledge what they’d done?? No, fuck that, what JOE had done to HIM! It wasn’t exactly like David had crawled into Joe’s bunk and-and….

Oh.

 Well, it was kind of like that. But, still! He’d been more than willing to leave and sleep on the frigid basement flooring, but then Joe had started rubbing and sighing and had latched onto David’s arm! Yeah...held him captive...with his slumber-sweet breath and surprisingly petal-soft skin. Jesus Christ, what was he kidding himself? Truth was, they were both at fault here, but only one of them had done so consciously. Did Liebgott think he was some sort of perverted creep now? God, he really wished that Joe had at least made some mention as to his feelings on the situation. Perhaps if he could manage to get the stubborn guy alone.

  David saw his chances and took it after Dick had informed them that they wouldn’t have to do a second patrol that night, snagging Joe by that sharp, little elbow on his way out the door. He ignored the look of unfiltered disgust on Joe’s face for the time being, swallowing his nerve before he had a fucking heart attack.

“Joe, can we talk? Please?

  He pleaded softly, ignoring how Babe was openly staring at them both as he brushed past them. The tips of his ears and high planes of his cheeks flushed at the sudden reminder that Babe knew . What made it worse was Joe’s gaze tracking the color as it spread across David’s face; he seemed unaware that he was even doing it.

“Why should I listen to anything you have to say, Web?” The question came out choked up, and obviously not as vicious as intended.

  Rather than replying, he simply tugged on Joe’s arm and ushered him away from where Nixon and Winters were still idly watching the interaction. The pair shuffled into a nearby alleyway, and David bit his lip, struggling not to comment on how easily he was able to move Joe around. That undoubtedly would set him off, and cause Joe to storm off before they’d even had a chance to talk.

   Instead, he let go of Joe’s arm hastily, and shifted so that his weight was pressing along the brick wall opposite him. Something on Joe’s face shuttered for a half-second, but his expression smoothed over into what he probably thought looked like apathy. Again, David fought off a smile; Joe’s face was always like an open book, and the older man never seemed to not be smouldering over some little thing. Maybe he was going insane, but David had always found it weirdly cute. If he wanted to really ensure his death, he might’ve even gone ahead and referred to it as a pout. That’s what it was really; Liebgott was never not pouting .

“The fuck ‘r you smilin’ for?”

  Oops, guess he’d failed. He wiped the grin off bodily with his palm and tried affecting an air of seriousness. Clearing his throat, his sky blue eyes rolled heavenwards as he searched for the right phrasing:

“I wanted to...apologize, for my actions the other night. It was inappropriate of me-”

Joe prickled instantly: “Jesus- don’t you talk to me like I’m some skirt, Webster! I-you, it’s not like you took my innocence or-”

   He seemed to register the words he was saying and his mouth shut with an audible clack. And David watched in fascination as Joe Liebgott blushed like an embarrassed little boy, shuffling his feet and looking away from him. He’d always thought a healthy flush looked particularly fetching on pale skin, the rosy color bloomed oh so beautifully, in his opinion at least. He continued to watch in baffled silence as Joe began to babble to fill the quiet:

“Not that- I’m not- and you, you didn’t… we didn’t- Look, nothing happened! Okay?”

  His ears got much redder than the rest of his face, and David let himself think it freely now. Cute . It was fucking endearing, the way Joe continued to huff and puff, brown eyes fluttering around the dirty alley. He felt a surge of warmth in his chest, feeling perhaps a little gluttonous as he soaked in the way dark brown locks shone in the dimming sunlight. With Joe refusing to acknowledge David’s existence, he was free to admire the man to his heart's content, appreciative that he was here  in the flesh.

    A sharp, defined collarbone peeked out of Joe’s jacket where the hem had gone askew, and long, pretty fingers toyed with his dog tags subconsciously. His memory recalled how those fingers felt: not rough, like he’d expect of a man so used to heavy artillery, but soft as silk. David recognized, obviously, that Joe was plenty manly. He acted with far too much aggression and seemed to compulsively throw his weight around (not that he had much to speak of). But physically, there seemed to be a disconnect. Joseph Liebgott had been sculpted into a thin, delicate form that clashed harshly with his mean attitude and meaner words. Call a spade a spade, but Joe was pretty . Handsome, sure, but pretty was more accurate. Pretty evoked images of sculptures and artwork to David; something finely crafted and meant to be….

To be appreciated.

“Do you have any memory…? Of anything you did last night?” Anger quickly bled into concern across Liebgott’s delicate features, much to David’s confusion:

“Do? Shit, David, I...I didn’t do somethin’ stupid, did I? ‘S that what’s got you all upset?”

  Wait, what? Now Joe thought he’d-ugh- taken David’s innocence?!? Any fondness he had for the shorter faded into irritation. God, he could be thick sometimes! He fought the urge to shake Joe, less inclined to fall through with this now that he knew how easily he could push Joe around. Hypothetically, of course. Although…

“Wha- I’m not upset, Joe!”

“The fuck you’re not!”

“But, really, I’m not-”

“You’re shoutin’ in my face, Webster! Clearly, something’s got yer panties in a bunch!”

He could feel his face heating up as his anger built, ticking upwards the more they shouted at one another:

“My p- You know what? Fine, yes, I am upset! Because you refuse to talk to me about what happened!”

“NOTHIN’-”

“WE SHARED A FUCKING BED, JOE!”

  Joe surged forward anxiously and covered David’s mouth with his palm, and oh, touching was so much worse. In his haste, Joe’s body was pressing into his own from chest to thigh, and David tasted the acrid nicotine tang and salt of his fingers. As Joe hissed in a tense, barely-audible voice, their noses nearly brushed.

“Are you trying to get us both shot?? Shut the fuck up with that shit!”

He waited patiently until Joe finally removed his hand before saying: “So, you do acknowledge that something happened.”

  He practically felt Joe holding himself back from smacking him, but David didn’t back down. Once more leaning his head back against the bricks, he stuck out his chin pointedly and kept his lips pressed together. Quick, clever eyes took in the picture of defiance he made, and something shifted in Joe. They landed on his lips heavily, blatantly, and David felt the backs of his knees starting to sweat. A sly, wide smirk stretched across Joe’s full mouth that made David feel small somehow, but he couldn’t tell if he hated that as much as he ought to. They were already so close, but Joe shifted his weight so that both sides were pressing him back into the rough, dirty wall rather than just the one. He could only follow along helplessly as he watched Joe’s hand come up to cage him in on the sides of his head, and what the holy hell was going on??

“So, what if we did? Hm, David? Would that upset you, if I did remember?”

He scoffed but it sounded weak even to his own ears, “Yeah right, Lieb. You were asleep.”

Joe hummed, pressing impossibly closer, until he could feel just the barest scrape of chapped lips up against his own, near-black eyes boring holes into David that shone with a delicious mischievousness that had him shivering:

“Guess you’ll never know!” He said brightly, pulling away like he hadn’t pasted himself to David’s whole body with ease, and with a wink, he was gone.    

#bobtogether #bobfic2020 #webgott #band of brothers fanfic #...can yall tell just how badly I simp for Lieb istg #also COUNT how my frickin times i refer to him as DELICATE i hate meself #emma writes