destructivedeath, F
F. An absent look or touch.
Words: >500
Reaper sharply inhales, jolting as he looks for Error, expecting pain or agony but not finding it. Instead, he is met with a mildly irritated (which is pleasant for Error) and confused glare. “What?”
“… You touched me.” He softly breathes out, his head spinning. Again and again, like a carousel, he replays the sensation of that touch. The lightest warmth between their knuckles. He doesn’t realize he’s stopped moving, because it feels as if the world is rushing past him. The night is dark, only barely illuminated by the street lamps dotting the path through the park. Over them, only the moon is witness to Reaper’s relief.
“… Did I?”
He feels a slight uncertainty at Error’s absent response. Did he really? But he knew he felt it. It wasn’t like the time Error’s sleeve brushed his fingers or like when his scarf ghosted over his chest. He knows this, knew for certain, with startling and growing clarity- it was him. It was that slightest warmth, the strange numb sensation that was Error’s presence. It was everything. They had touched, and Reaper- he needed to do it again.
Slowly, he reaches out his palm, face up, to the other man. It reflects the warm lamp of the street lights around them. Error stares at him with a furrowed brow, his shoulders drawn up slightly. The unsaid offer is clear.
“Please,” and Error’s eyes widen as Reaper fights not to take a step forward. To chase him down and grab him and never let go. His voice is small, contrary to his need. “Give it a chance?”
Mismatched eyes flickers between his slightly shaking fingers and his expression. His brows lower, his mouth stretching into that usual scowl, Reaper braces for rejection-
Warmth. Not warmth, but something scalding hot. Alive, thrumming with life, brimming and sparking and numbing his fingers it was so alive. Screaming and yelling from every height that it was alive, defiant and angry and purposeful, destructive and so, so alive.
He closes his fingers slowly around Error’s hand. His other hesitantly comes up with it. Error warns it off, and it falls back limply to his side.
“Thank you.” He sighs.
Error grumbles, visibly grimacing as his arm jitters with white squares and glitches. “Shut up.”
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Random Questions Ask Game
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❤️🩹: What normal or innocuous thing has their past ruined for them? Are they attempting to remedy this?
(pick your favorite Dracula character for this)
Pick my favorite character? Ha! I refuse. Here, have a collection of post-book characters:
Jonathan - Strong handshakes. It might sound silly, or at least he thinks it sounds silly (Dracula rarely ever held his hand yet a hand on his shoulder etc doesn't bother him in the same way as handshakes, even though none of the grips he encounters among humans are strong enough to feel the same), but after several instances where someone's firm business shake sends him to the edge of a panic attack, he starts trying to find ways to avoid shaking hands. He develops something of an eye for who is likely to have a firmer handshake and tries especially to avoid it with them, coming up with other ways to lead the conversation along or other gestures of greeting. He almost never refuses a handshake when it's offered (that would be too rude) but tries to ensure it isn't offered to begin with.
Mina - For a while, red wine. Specifically, when it left any kind of trace on her lips after drinking it. She can watch other people drink it just fine, she can drink white wine, but a red she can't abide. It's not about the winepress comment or even the sight of Dracula's lips red with blood, but the memory of her own. It makes her feel unclean and wrong. She does try to get over this and for the most part succeeds eventually, at least to the point that she can drink it, but she still prefers other beverages much more and wouldn't seek it out.
Arthur - He can't play tennis anymore. It's not something that really comes up very often, since most of his friends aren't as sporty or at least not in that way. But he just feels physically sick at the very idea. Some of his best memories with Lucy are of games together... some of his last memories of her happy and strong, too. He can only associate it with everything that's been lost and he hates it now. He will never get rid of their old gear, but he will also never play again. He is not interested in changing that.
Jack - Whenever he's tired, he doesn't put sugar in his tea. He used to always do so. He in fact prefers it sweeter and usually puts in more than most people. But he associates sugar with Renfield now, and with distance he starts to feel guilty at how he handled pretty much everything to do with him. In a way, it's silly, because the sugar wasn't even one of the special treatments from Jack, just Renfield saving up the amount he got with his meals like every other patient. But it's where it all began in a way, and it just reminds him of all his screw-ups and he can't eat it. Most of the time he tries to make himself do so anyway, logic himself out of it and not change his habits, but when he's sick or tired or emotional he just can't.
van Helsing - The cold. Ever since that trip through the mountains in early November, he can't stand the cold. He doesn't ever talk about it, just bundles up hugely and if anyone ever comments he makes a joke about his old bones. He likes to spend cold days inside by a warm fire.
.
send me a heart for a headcanon
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Dream and Ink, letter G.
Dunno what happened here but they're buddies
Word count: ~1,500
Dream doesn’t even know why the hell they’re fighting. All he knows is that the past few weeks have been utterly demoralizing. It’s been awful every time he’s spoken to Ink- at first, he really admired and looked up to the other man, but now he can’t imagine why he’d do so now.
“You!” He sputtered. “You are so- so incredibly, astoundingly obnoxious!”
“Hell yeah, I am! Are you gonna swing again?”
Ink grinned up at him from where he’s gotten knocked flat on his ass like a broom falling from its prop on the wall. His cheek was turning a concerning motley of colors, but he seemed relatively unbothered. If anything, his eyes were bright and excited, orange and yellow.
He blinked, registering the stinging on his knuckles, before flushing like a dandelion.
“Oh my stars. I’m so sorry, I-I-I don’t even know what came over me!” Dream squeaked out, clutching his fist to his chest. There was a cold wash of nervous energy through him, one that wasn’t aided by the fact that he couldn’t tell if Ink would be mad or not that he lashed out so violently. It wasn’t like Dream to act that way, especially toward Ink! Ink was his new superior, what if Ink just took him back to Dreamtale and left him there-
“No, no dude don’t be sorry! That’s what you need!”
Dream blinked, wondering if he had somehow hit himself in his brief lapse in control. This would not be the first time he’s wondered if he was concussed. Ink slowly rose to his feet, dusting off his wide pants with a nonchalant attitude. Still, his new partner watched him with caution.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s the realest you’ve been with me since you came out the stone, Dream.” Ink propped a hand on his hip, shifting his weight and cocking it to the side. “I don’t want you to treat me like some kind of boss, ya know. I wanna be your friend too, not just a guide or teacher.”
That was the problem, though. Dream wanted to cross his arms over his chest. Instead, he smiled brightly and made his body open and welcoming. “Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?” He knew how to make friends.
“You’re doing it again.”
His glove caught Ink’s fist. At least the past few weeks have been good for his reflexes, though the constant jumpscares from Ink were not welcome. In fact, they had thoroughly disturbed his sleep.
“What do you mean? And what are you doing?” He exclaimed, throwing Ink’s hand to the side. “Are you not capable of just talking this out with me like a normal person?”
Another swing, and it’s batted away gently, Dream trying to focus on the conversation and deflecting the following hits as kindly as he can. Some of them nearly glance his sides, and Dream feels his body sweat at how the air rushes past from the sheer force. Ink looks to be completely unbothered, as if this is a regular occurrence for him. With the strange relationship Dream has gleaned from his interactions with the Destroyer, he has the feeling Ink only gets worse from here. Or, he would have some feeling, if not for how he’s gotten to know firsthand just how eccentric Ink can really get.
“Come on, Dreamboat, you know by now that I’m not a normal person!”
Dream yelped as his feet were kicked out from under him. The grass rushed to hit the back of his head. “Cheater!” He shouted, surprised at his own volume. Ink grinned down at him, his face flushed with slight exertion.
“Oh yeah, forgot you weren’t like Error. Sorry ‘bout that, buddy boy. I’m just used to fighting dirty.” Ink offered his glove. Dream cautiously took it, only to be immediately betrayed as Ink tossed him over his shoulder. Why! He grunted as the air knocked out of his chest, rolling away from where Ink gleefully stomped down.
“You- is this because I’m-?” Dream attempted, his voice a little wheezy as he stumbled gracefully to his feet and put up his fists. There was no use trying to use his baton against the other Guardian, Ink’s stupid brush was about as wide as his torso and he was deceptively strong. Dream knew the only chance he had winning against him was in a fist fight, and given the glint of Ink’s mischievous grin, he was doing exactly what Ink wanted.
He hasn’t tried something like this since he last got into a scuffle with Nightmare, and that was- well, that would be centuries ago, apparently. And it hardly got as serious as this!
“That’s right! Every time you’re not honest with me, I’m going to punch you! Now, we have a real backlog to work through, so get ready!”
Dream sputtered again, squealing in fear as Ink lunged. “Stars almighty Ink, can’t this be resolved peacefully?” He shouted, dodging the attacks as they stumbled through the grass. He quickly glanced over his shoulder to avoid the edge of the floating island, only to get knocked right on his ass with an ‘oumph!’
“You wanted a little training, didn’tcha?” He quickly rolled aside from Ink’s kick, scrambling back to his feet again with less focus on grace and more on getting the fuck away from Ink’s next vicious attack.
“Not like this!” Dream whined, ducking his head from the swing of Ink’s fist. His soul raced in his chest, and he was panting rather roughly, flexing his jaw. This was all just so- so unfair! He just wanted to know what exactly it was that he had to do, and how to do it right! Was this really how Guardians were meant to be? Why was he being punished for something he had to do? This was how he was supposed to be!
“Why are you- you like this!” he exasperatedly exclaimed, pushing Ink away as they moved further inland, away from the dangerous edges. Ink just taunted him, kicking his ankles again and sending him to the ground. His vision was green and blades of grass again, his gloves splayed out under him to catch his fall. He toppled over onto his side as a foot cleanly dove into his side, yelping in surprise. All of his pent up frustration and fear and confusion was mixing in his chest, popping and crackling like sparks on a wire. And all at once, they exploded, fireworks behind his eyes as he finally, finally gave in and started fighting back.
His fingers wrapped around Ink’s ankle and yanked, prompting a funny shriek from the other as he finally sent him toppling down. Dream drank down the satisfaction without a single reservation, all of his deeply buried pettiness and frustration rising slowly to the surface. The triumph was short-lived, as his face was knocked back by Ink’s fist.
His face! His head spun and he reeled for a second, clutching his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. Oh, Nightmare would normally comfort him by now, but Ink just kept on laughing.
“Oooh, I’m going to get you for that!” Dream shrilly screamed. “I’m so sick of you, Ink!”
“Are you?” he blindly grabbed whatever of Ink was closest, and hissed as he clambered to his feet, swaying as he let go of his nose and let it drip with his ichor. “That looks bad!”
“It is!” Dream tackled him and Ink went down like a cardboard cut out, knocking his head against the ground with a grunt. He tried to get back up, only to get pinned down by Dream’s weight. Ink’s eyes widened as Dream reared his fist back with a shout, and took the second impact with a gasp. There was an undeniable crunch, and fireworks exploded behind his eyelids.
Then, Dream paused, staring down at him in horror. “O-Oh stars. I’m sorry.” His fist uncurled, and he stuttered out more things, his eyes big and round with surprise, before Ink started to laugh again. Of course he was fine. Dream’s tense shoulders dropped and he dragged a hand down his face- before wincing, because ow.
“Oh man, we match now!” Ink beamed up at him, resting his hands on his hips. Dream gave him a look. “Did anyone ever tell ya you look pretty like this?”
“What, beaten up and pissed off?” Dream dryly retorted. Stars, he would never say that, but he just did. He could almost hear Nightmare saying the same thing, though the other always had far less reservations about expressing their thoughts. “No Ink, no one has even told me that I look pretty when I’m tired, pissed off, and have a broken nose.”
Ink’s grin grew, and Dream leaned down, pressing one glove to the grass beside his head to hold him up. The shadow cast over him made his eyes glow ever so slightly, that dandelion yellow present on them both. He felt Ink’s fingers squeeze his hips, and he tried very hard not to be too obvious about how he felt about it. His chest was fluttering. “Just thought you should know, then.”
His head panged. “Much appreciated. Ugh, fuck.” Dream startled himself with the curse, pressing a glove to his mouth. He felt Ink’s hand on his own, pulling it away slowly, and warily looked down at him. The other Guardian just looked at him with that infuriating, addictive smile again. Stars, Dream was so sick of his face, but he was still so…
“We should go inside and heal up.” Dream mumbled, though he kept Ink’s gaze.
“It can wait.” Ink let his head fall back softly into the grass. He cushioned it with his free hand, his mouth quirking into a smile unintentionally in response to Ink’s appreciative glance.
He was pretty sure Ink hit his thick skull on a rock at some point, but the excuse was given to him.
“Can we be friends now?”
Dream laughed a little, the sound falling freely from his chest, and he shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. But no more surprise fistfights.”
“That means everything else is free game, right?”
“No!”
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