"Should…should we interrupt them?"
Sandy, who had been studying the kissing human couple with his and Pitch’s faces with a look that Pitch found worryingly thoughtful, started visibly and blushed sunset orange, looking everywhere but at Pitch. Pitch had to repeat the question before Sandy, looking up as though he’d forgotten Pitch was even there, shook his head vigourously. No.
"But…" Pitch gestured towards the couple, only to stop and have to stare as the smaller and rounder of the pair broke away from his taller, more angular partner’s mouth and began to nibble at his earlobe, drawing a moan from the taller man that Pitch felt positively filthy to be listening in on, unseen and uninvited. “I really think we should interrupt them,” he managed, at last, through the heat rising up his neck and along his cheeks, with a quick glance over at Sandy.
To his surprise, Sandy wasn’t watching the spectacle. Instead, the little dreamweaver was staring at a spot just to the left of Pitch’s face, by Pitch’s ear, with a fascination a little too close to the way he’d watched the couple kissing for Pitch’s comfort. “Um, Sandy?”
Sandy bit his lower lip, his blush growing so bright that it actually cast a dim glow against Pitch’s bared chest and since when had Sandy been so close? Why had Pitch decided to wear this robe anyway, why had he thought it was such a good idea to have so much bare skin on display?
He didn’t notice the symbols that were flickering into life over Sandy’s head for several seconds.
"What? No, I am not sensitive there!”
for the three-sentence AU meme
"You can’t begin to imagine the power, old friend,” Pitch - or whatever is wearing his body - sighs, solid black eyes slipping closed in an expression of ecstasy that Sandy doesn’t doubt would turn to murderous rage in an instant if Sandy so much as shifted in the bony claws that hold him in place.
"I think maybe I can," Sandy says with a pointed glance at the animated raptor skeleton holding him, before turning his attention back to searching the high galleries around the main room of the library for any flash or flicker of blue, hoping against hope that his research assistant hadn’t made it down with the book he’d gone up into the galleries looking for before Pitch’s skeleton army had torn down the doors.
Pitch’s chuckle is low and dark as chocolate, familiar enough to yank painfully on a handful of Sandy’s heartstrings while at the same time bearing just enough of a strange, hollow echo to make all the hairs along the back of Sandy’s neck stand to attention; he shakes his head slowly, fixing Sandy with those eyes like black holes as he sways across the short distance that separates them and presses one long finger, strangely cold and dry as the pages of the old books he’s always loved, under Sandy’s chin to tilt Sandy’s head up to face him as he breathes, “But I could show you.”
for the three-sentence AU meme
When the little golden creature that honestly, more closely resembled a Shiba Inu or perhaps an overgrown Pomeranian than a wolf had sat back on its haunches, cocked its head to one side, and, without fanfare or ado, suddenly turned into a little golden man, Coz had jumped up so quickly that he’d banged his head on a pipe, popping it out of its socket and soaking himself in freezing water. By the time he’d managed to get the pipe back in place, he’d realised that the unabashedly naked man who had definitely been a dog moments before was laughing silently, which flooded Coz with relief; he didn’t know much about supernatural creatures, but the one thing he did know from various movies, books, and TV shows was that werewolves and vampires were supposed to have some sort of instinctive, ancestral loathing for each other, and he was wildly relieved to find that this did not seem to be the case in real life.
"Um, hello," he said, at last, trying not to look too long at the naked (surprisingly cherubic, chubby, golden-haired, adorable) man, in case he saw something he didn’t want to see, “I’m…uh, I’m new.”
(I’m gonna continue this for this one!)
"I feel like someone’s about to ask me why I haven’t turned to ash in the sunlight yet," Pitch grumbles, his scowl having seemingly no effect on the dreamy, delighted smile that Sandy always wears; it’s wider today, and sunnier (if that’s even possible), but then this festival is what Pitch presumes is to Sandy and his ilk what Halloween is to his. “Tell me again why we paid all this money to come stand in a muddy field and listen to a bunch of bands you can barely even see because we’re so far back in this positive flood of humanity - what?”
It takes him a moment to process Sandy’s request, and a moment longer to protest, but in the end, Pitch capitulates, as they both knew he eventually would; after all, Pitch would do anything to keep that sunny smile on Sandy’s face, and short though Sandy might be, he gets a pretty good view of the band from atop Pitch’s shoulders.
Pitch took great pains to get his cosplay perfect for the convention, to look the part of an angry, hardboiled police officer; the only prop he didn’t bother with were round spectacles to switch out with his silvery aviators because there was no way, even in costume, he was going to be friendly.
So it absolutely irked him to run into a boy his age who was far too round to be pretending to be an astronaut, even if his costume was just as detailed as Pitch’s and his wide smile seemed perfectly in character.
The blond grinned through his cracked helmet and said, “Do you wanna build a spaceship?” and Pitch blushed, rapidly rethinking his attitude towards what sort of body type was appropriate for Lego cosplaying.
(This prompt reminds me strongly of emeraldembers' Crime Lord Husbands AU, which I suggest you check out if you’re not already familiar with it! That said, because the prompt does remind me so strongly of that AU, I tried to go in a somewhat different direction with this…)
Pitch had a feeling that his new employer’s activities weren’t exactly all legal and aboveboard, but he didn’t know just how deep he was getting in over his head until his apartment tried to kill him. He was shaking by the time he managed to hack through the firewalls that someone else had put into place in his beautiful custom mainframe and shut the entire apartment down, and he was still shaking when the door burst open and two strangers in dark suits (droids, Pitch could tell by the iris-cams and the copyright stamped inside one’s wrist when it helped him to his feet) scooped him up and out into a hover-limo, where he was somehow not surprised to find his new employer waiting, with a look of deep worry on his youthful, innocent face.
"I didn’t think they’d target a lowly programmer," Sandy had apologised, as they sped through the night, the windows set to full opacity, cocooning them in a quiet, private dark; he hadn’t been able to meet Pitch’s eyes as he added, "They must have known that you - you are so, so much more, to me," and Pitch, overcome with something he couldn’t name, had reached out before he could stop and think and overanalyse the situation, and kissed Sandy as hard as he dared.
A look around the mirrored dance studio and Sandy held back a sigh; he was late to his ballroom dancing class, which meant that all of the other students had already paired up, and although Sandy liked his teacher, a sweet, energetic woman who was fond of feathers and sequins, there was something a little humiliating about being the “teacher’s helper” and not having a partner of one’s own.
His teacher smiled at him, and having arrived at the same conclusion (minus the humiliation, he hoped) was about to gesture him to the front of the room, when another latecomer suddenly stormed in, and Sandy couldn’t hold back this second sigh — this guy a least a foot-and-a-half taller than him and had an attitude that could peel paint — but their teacher beamed at the inevitable solution and gestured for the two of them to pair up.
“I suppose you’ll want to lead,” Tall, Dark, and Jerky purred sardonically, and Sandy looked up to issue some sort of snappy comeback, but when their eyes met, the taller man fell silent, his pale skin suddenly taking on some color; Sandy replied, “Naturally,” and felt a warmth that had little to do with the temperature of the room.
Sandy looked up from her textbook to see a dripping-wet Pitch standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel and a scowl and waving a plastic bottle, and had to immediately turn back to her textbook to try to hide her face as Pitch demanded, “Have you been using my shampoo?”
"No, I have my own, it’s specially formulated for curls," Sandy countered, staring at the word ‘polychromatic’ as though it had offered her a personal insult.
There was silence from the doorway for a moment, the kind of silence that Sandy imagined was heard in Pompeii shortly before the eruption, and then Pitch said, “Well, if I find out you have been using my shampoo, you’re buying me another bottle,” before turning and storming out of the room, leaving Sandy to faceplant into her book and contemplate just how little work she’d be able to get done with the mental image of Pitch, soaking wet and naked, burned onto her mind.
Pitch and Sandy’s circus was not one of those slapdash, fly-by-night performance troupes that used to be the norm, the ones that were all smoke-and-mirrors, that treated the patrons like fools and the workers like slaves — it had rules, and oversight, and a crew that took their work and the safety of themselves and others seriously.
But accidents happen, and Pitch is just lucky enough to bear witness when a defect in the frame of a tent causes the whole kit-and-caboodle to collapse, just a few feet away to watch in shock as Sandy disappears underneath the falling wreckage; Pitch dives into the mess of canvas and metal, yanking away what he can until Sandy is uncovered, alert but pale and trapped under a heavy support pole.
Pitch grabs it without thinking and heaves, the muscles in his back straining — he’ll feel it later, but he won’t regret it, because he gets just enough leverage to free Sandy, and when the smaller man laughs breathlessly and says, “Maybe you could do my job after all,” he knows that everything is going to be okay.
Assuming that Sandy also gives dreams to both children and adults, well…
Let’s just say that he knows what everyone’s secret fantasy is.
Can we have a 5+1 where Sandy gives each of his fellow Guardians (North, Bunnymund, Tooth and Jack) and Pitch their sexual fantasy in a wet dream and one time someone did that for him.
Something with whips, maybe?
On a siden note: Guardian meetings must be pretty awkward for him, poor guy.
In which Sandy is actually super casual about sex dreams because, well, this really isn’t anything new. (What’s new would be someone asking him about his.)
Everyone/Sandy is vague and one by one.
anafieldelaunay turned twenty recently, and asked
!!! could I get some dinner date blacksand :DD (feel free to apply this prompt rather liberally)
The turning of the year (well, marypsue writing about the turning of the year and making me wish for it, it’s still 100 degrees during the day here) and thismightyneed's Harvesting AU, combined with more than a touch of whentheoceanmetsky's Fearspinner and Dreameater AU led to this.
The One-All-Light and the One-All-Dark meet when the One-All-Light completes his harvest.
The One-All-Light drove his heavily laden wain slowly to the meeting place, pausing every so often at shacks or cabins far from other human dwellings to complete his harvest.
By the time he reached the crossroads under a live oak dripping heavy with moss, the full moon was already high in the sky, and the One-All-Dark was already standing at the edge of the tree’s shadow. He stood still and silent, the dust of the road not daring to cling to the hem of the long black coat, his hands hidden in his long black sleeves, his face hidden under the wide brim of his flat black hat.