human au, Sandmann is a single father, he and Pitch Gold were high school sweethearts up until Gold had to move away, they couldn't keep contact and haven't seen each other for years, until this tall blonde crashed againts him in middle of the supermarket
There was a lot Sanson loved about being a father, but grocery shopping with a grabby three-year-old was not one of them. “Ferdinand, put back that box of cereal. No, I am not getting you any fruit snacks, we have clementines at home. Ferdinand, I swear I will put you in this cart and strap you in if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
He didn’t bother watching where he was going, figuring that any other shopper with half a brain would avoid the harried-looking post-punk dad and his whirling dervish of a son, but just as he turned into the dairy aisle, another cart smacked into his.
It’s too dark, way out here in the middle of nowhere, and he’s forgotten his flashlight, but he couldn’t use it even if he had it with him, because both his hands are full, and the roll of carpet would be heavy enough even if it didn’t have that - that - that thing inside it, and it’s too quiet, and there’s something rustling in the bushes up ahead there…
Sandy stops, stock-still, listening, but he doesn’t hear anything more; he goes to take a step forward, and suddenly, there’s a light, just a small pinprick in the vast darkness of the forest, but enough to reveal another person, tall and slim and covered in something dark and blotchy with something dark and bulky at his feet, something that looks suspiciously like a body. “Don’t kill me, I’m still a virgin!” Sandy whisper-shouts, dropping the roll of carpet and putting his hands in the air, and immediately curses himself for such stupid last words; the stranger lets out a low, sinister laugh, which stops abruptly when his flashlight beam falls on the carpet, which has unrolled just enough to let an outstretched arm fall free, and Sandy can’t help a sudden wild thought that maybe, just maybe, he might survive this encounter after all.
this is the most wonderful thing! AHAHAHAHAHAH omgosh I love you Mary!!
oh man, you already saw me fangirling in real time the other day at skype, I still can’t with how super amazing and steamy this is man! ahhhhhhhhhhhhh
all my love for they evilness, such wonderful and decadents pair!!!!!!!
all my love for you emerald! you are a super cute muffin who writes things that make me roll out from my chair and let me literally laying in the floor until I can manage to stand again!!<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
Laaate birthdaygift for thismightyneed o3o She asked me to draw her what we’ve decided to call the Steam Punk Old Men (because concept!Pitch looks like a Steampunk Pirate).
And here’s a mini drabble for it too:
It is not often they meet like this, but when they do, it always takes place on Sanderson’s Island. It is calm and peaceful there, and it is one of few places where the Shadows know not to cross a line.
It is the one place where Pitch knows he can shed his armor, and not have to worry about being knifed in the back as a result.
They have a ritual about this, but it all ends in the same way, with the two of them resting in Sanderson’s large bed, the two of them wrapped up in warm cotton robes, that are made to be uncorrupted by nightmares or dreamsand. It helps keeps things neutral in a way, which suits them both.
It is also the only place, where Pitch knows he can rest peacefully. He admits this to Sanderson one time, as the other sits with the Nightmare General resting up against him, while Sanderson gently massaged his face and scalp.
“You have no idea what it feels like,” he mumbled tiredly, gently soothed by the others touches, “to fear the coming of another day, or another night. To be afraid all the time… You know nothing about that.”
~I know that I am your friend.~ Sanderson replies in a gentle whirl of sand. ~And that is enough for me.~
people don’t understand how much I love old couples au, is like, the most precious thing in the whole universe, I just love it
MIGHTY MIGHTY LOOK FROSTINTHEWARREN GOT INSPIRED BY YOUR PICTURE AND WROTE MORE FABULOUS STUFF ABOUT LINGERIE
(I’ll leave your personal comments out of this but thank you so much you’re a totally sweetheart and lingerie muse and general upstanding member of shipping society bless <3 <3 <3)
Pitch opened one eye lazily. “Sanderson, what are you doing?” Sandy paused with his hands on Pitch’s ankles, a wholly innocent expression widening his eyes in a show of, ‘Who, me?’ Pitch breathed deeply through his nose, and raised his upper body onto his elbows. Craning his head, he glanced over his shoulder at the far too-innocent star. “Sanderson, I’m trying to sleep.” Sandy nodded, blinked too sweetly, and pouted. Pitch rolled his eyes and lay back down, humming contently at the feel of Sandy’s cool sheets beneath his naked body. “Fine, do what you want. But make it swift.” Pitch didn’t have to be able to see Sandy’s face to know he was smiling. He could feel it in the kiss Sandy pressed to his ankle. Pitch closed his eyes, falling into the cusp of a light doze while Sandy’s hands traced up his legs, over the roundness of his bottom, and across the pale expanse of his back. The silken brush of dream sand tickled on his skin. He was almost surprised when he felt it slip to the front, running across his pelvis, chest, and between his legs. Sandy tapped his shoulder when he finished, and Pitch hummed as he pulled himself from the temptation of sleep. He rolled over onto his back, and with Sandy perched serenely at his left, opened his eyes once more. “Finished?” he questioned, raising himself up onto his elbows again. He looked down and blinked in surprise. Much like Sandy’s own robes, which were made from his dream sand, Pitch was now wearing the bright gold sand-cloth across parts of his body. A bodice laced up his sides, the top of the bodice stopping just above his nipples. Smooth, sand-cloth underwear cupped him intimately, sweetly gentle. Over-top the underwear a garter belt was slung across his hips, the straps cutting a bright line of gold down his pale thighs, where they clipped onto long, fine gold stockings. “I didn’t take you for a lingerie man, Sanderson.” Pitch lifted a leg, pointing his toes upward, tilting his foot this way and that to better see the stockings. Sandy nodded, his eyes lidded and skimming over Pitch’s body. Pitch smirked, lowering his leg. “But you know, I don’t think gold is quite my color. Perhaps just a touch of…” He tapped the center of the bodice’s front with his index finger. Veins of black branched out through the gold. Pitch nodded. “Much better.” Sandy skimmed his hand up Pitch’s arm, tiny fingers eventually tracing over the sharp lines of his clavicle. His smile spoke of approval. Pitch reached out, walking his fingers up Sandy’s chest until he could get a grip on the other’s collar. He pulled Sandy’s face down to his, giving a slow, heavy kiss to his lips. When he pulled back Sandy looked slightly dazed. “You realize,” Pitch said deviously, “that this means I get to make a set for you.”
Posting second of three fics in honor of Rise of the Guardians Day!
Summary: Pitch is down but is he out? Now that Jack’s a Guardian things should be getting better not worse! Things are going wrong for each and every one of the Guardians of Childhood and these aren’t the kinds of things any one of them can just handle on their own.
Bunnymund is fully aware of all these things but having that knowledge still doesn’t help him when he has to go investigate the disappearance of a few mini-teeth, all on his own.
Now he’s trapped inside a living labyrinth with no easy way out, cut off from any help, but he is certainly not alone…
Anyway, instead of a fill for the meme today I have some primarily fluffy blacksand, in which we learn who taught Pitch archery and Sandy is inclined to grant a wish or two. Happy Valentine’s Day!
***
Even though it’s Valentine’s Day, and Sweet Nothings Bakery and Café is otherwise quite crowded, one small, two-person table set back in a corner remains inexplicably empty. Or, at least, it appears empty to most of the people there. The children who do notice that the table isn’t empty tend to not remark on it.
“What? That doesn’t have anything to do with the original title! There’s no reason for them to have changed it.”
“I don’t caaaaare.”
“I’m just saying, Garder Quelque Chose Pour la Bonne Bouche worked perfectly well! And what else will have been pointlessly changed, then?”
"I’m sure you’ll tell me. But we’re going to watch the movie dubbed because I want to knit.”
“But the narrator…”
“In the dub it’s Jim Dale. Come on, the movie night was your idea.”
***
Pitch Black, resident of a small neighborhood in a grand city which we shall not name, the opening shot having definitively established the location—to say nothing of the content of this story and the music currently playing behind my voice—had, for many years, followed daily the same routine.
Sandy has been looking forward to the field trip for weeks, so naturally it rains the day of. The unlucky few without umbrellas are given the option of partnering up or staying in the classroom for a free day, and as much as Sandy wants to go, almost everyone -including his friends- have partnered up already. Being mute is sometimes quite a pain all on its own, but in this case Sandy can’t even call out to see if anyone is still free to share! He slumps a little bit, silent in a way only he can be, and prepares to settle in for the long haul of a boring day in the classroom.
Perhaps that’s why it comes as such a surprise when solitary, dire-looking Pitch Black taps him on the shoulder and firmly asks if Sandy wants to share his umbrella. Sandy has never talked to Pitch Black before, caught up in his own hovering solar system of friends, but decides that it can’t hurt. After all, Pitch has never given him the impression of being a bad person. He’s very quiet and can disappear into the background as easily as Sandy does, but sometimes Sandy can spot bruises on his knuckles and peaking out of the collars of his sweaters. Sandy thinks about it briefly, and concludes that it probably took Pitch a lot of courage to come up and ask to be partners!
Sandy puts on his best grin and nods, and Pitch loses some of the tension that always seems to hunch his shoulders. He even manages a small, tired-looking smile that Sandy does his best to encourage, despite how quickly it vanishes. A short ways off the teacher calls for everyone to get ready and line up, and the pop of umbrella’s unfurling sounds all around them. Sandy, with nothing better to do, turns to watch as Pitch begins to unstrap and unwind his own.
With a quiet click the umbrella opens wide like a bat’s wings, black canopy stretched wide over wire and taut around its large frame. It comes as such a shock Sandy’s heart skips a beat and he doesn’t notice it at first, but when he finally manages to focus his heart is sent pounding for an entirely different reason. Underneath the dull polyester fabric of the umbrella, there’s yellow. Well not yellow, precisely, but mustard and gold and yellow-green don’t glow like this color does. Pitch holds it up over their heads, and there’s just enough blue-grey light in the air to push through the canopy and wash them in that color.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it? I love rainy days,” Pitch mutters quietly, happily, but Sandy is barely listening. Under the umbrella’s low-light, Pitch is shining. His olive skin, normally pale-ish and faded, is picking up glittering highlights and color. He looks healthy and vibrant; his hazel eyes turning a shimmery gold color and his black hair shot through like the rays of the sun. Even the dark fabric of his sweater is affected, little lights glittering and jumping around on tiny loose threads. The sharpness of Pitch’s cheekbones softens and the mottled bruises beneath his eyes don’t seem quite as harsh; all his shadows turn a hazy violet and everything seems warmer. Intimate.
Sandy clears his throat and turns away, hoping the cold air will help the burning of his cheeks. It’s relief is minimal. When he manages to swallow down the pounding in his chest and turn around, Pitch is looking at him strangely. Sandy simply shrugs and grins and is for the first time thankful of his muteness, because it enables him to grab the umbrella by the handle (half overlapping Pitch’s hand) and use it to steer the other boy over to where their classmates are lining up. Pitch doesn’t say a word, but neither does he protest when Sandy never quite lets go of the handle once they’re in place. His hand is very warm beneath Sandy’s, despite the chill, and he is kind enough to pretend not to notice when the shorter boy takes peeks at him.
By the end of the day Sandy’s cheeks are sore from all his smiling and he is contemplating how to go about adding a new planet to his solar system.
Asked by xxdaimonxx
