#except he hasn't had any peace since then

[qcomicsy]

Everytime I think about Dick Grayson having to constantly beg after Ethiopia to Bruce act like a father not only for him but all of his siblings I want to open a crater in the ground with by bare nails.

[kudossi]

Tigerclaw and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Senior Warrior Position AU

In a world where deputies can only be named after their first apprentice has been granted their warrior name, Tigerclaw struggles to keep an apprentice alive long enough to earn their name.

or, a comedy-tragedy AU in which having an apprentice isn't enough — you have to see them to their warrior name, and Tigerclaw cannot fucking get any of his goddamn apprentices to live, damn it.

—

It starts out mostly normally, except for the fact that Tigerclaw hasn't gotten any apprentices to their warrior name, and he needs that so he can accomplish his (very noble, of course) kitty genocide goals. And also be the supreme leader of the world or something. Darkpaw died stupidly, he hasn't had a chance since, and now he's got some tiny thing that's afraid of his own shadow.

Well. It'll have to do.

So naturally this man is so protective over Ravenpaw that Ravenpaw barely even leaves his sight. Firepaw and Graypaw think that this is adorable. Look how much Tigerclaw cares about his apprentice!!

Ravenpaw, of course, is fucking terrified and also slowly losing his mind, just in a different way.

—

"Redtail assigned us to go on a patrol to Snakerocks." "OH NO HE DID NOT. WE'RE STAYING IN THE SANDY HOLLOW WHERE IT'S SAFE."

"Nothing matters more to me than making you a warrior, Ravenpaw. Nothing." And the terrible thing is that Ravenpaw is sure he's being sincere.

—

Ravenpaw disappears and Tigerclaw nearly fucking has a conniption because the timing was all RIGHT and he was going to finally get the position AND HE NEVER GOT HIS DAMN NAME FUCK.

"Do you think I could convince the elders that Fireheart was my apprentice?" "Fireheart was Bluestar's apprentice, as approved by StarClan. You're going to have to wait for the next litter to be apprenticed."

So he begs and begs and gets Cinderpaw and then she accidentally falls into the trap he'd set for a better deputy candidate at the Thunderpath. Fuck.

—

Well. Time to resort to drastic measures.

"I was thinking that Darkstripe would have been a good name. Because he had dark stripes." "Again, Tigerclaw, it's admirable that you loved your apprentice so much, but I cannot grant him a name." "Are you sure?" "Honestly, Tigerclaw, I'm not sure he ever would have gotten a name. Missing quite a few feathers from his nest, that one..." Fuck. The worst part was that she wasn't even wrong.

— Swiftpaw and Brightpaw get mauled by the dogs he set up to happen like right after he got the title and they sprang it before and he's like FUCK NOW WHAT DO I DO WITH THESE DAMN DOGS? His world domination plans literally never come to fruition because he cannot keep his apprentices alive/in the clan/his own.

— "Brightheart counts. She HAS to count." "Actually, Cloudtail took over her training…" [demented noises]

—

Turns out that Ravenpaw is alive and no one — no one — in the Harper Collins Extended Universe is happier than Tigerclaw.

"You're alive! …You deserve your warrior name!" "Actually, I've come to peace with my name and my way of life. I have no need for a—" "GET YOUR FUCKING NAME RIGHT NOW RAVENPAW OR SO HELP ME STARCLAN—" "I know you really wanted Ravenpaw to become a warrior," Barley says gently, "but he's made his decision. It's very kind of you to acknowledge that he deserves it, though. You must have been so close as mentor and apprentice." Tigerclaw's eye twitches. "Yes. Close. Very... close." —

He finally, finally retires as an elder after his plans go absolutely nowhere for years on end. And maybe StarClan is still like "Brambleclaw would be chill actually, we can forget that pesky little law" and Tigerclaw is sitting there like "excuse me what the actual fuck?" —

But at this point Tigerclaw is about as dangerous as Ashfur without a freak forest fire. Which is to say about as dangerous as using a leaf as a weapon. Which is, incidentally, how Darkpaw managed to get himself killed in the first place.

—

"Is this the Dark Forest? This has to be the Dark Forest. It doesn't look like Thistleclaw described it, but it must be. This Clan is all an elaborate punishment meted down by StarClan for my sins." "Tigerclaw, sir, I'm just here to help you with your ticks. See? I have the mousebile right here." "…Yes, thank you, Alderpaw." — Graystripe joins him in the elder's den and he's like, "You know, Ravenpaw thought you were up to some… scheme, back in the day. Crazy, right? You've been a model Clanmate as long as I've been alive." [muffled screaming] "Huh, what do you think that is? It sounds almost like someone killed a rabbit, but they know not to come this close to camp…"

[leviismybby]

If only I knew

Levi Ackerman x fem!reader, angsty angst, slight fluff but not too much

With the titans being gone and the world healing, people move on Levi Ackerman is no exception, he sits outside on the balcony, his eyes looking at people who pass down below. Every single one of them has their own story, their own struggles and challenges. He wondered sometimes what the story was of that old baker down the street that sells those sweet pastries he brings to the kids he is helping sometimes or that woman who always went on evening walks. He sees families, couples, mothers with their children, all of them with a different life than his own. 

Levi wasn't going to complain, this was the peace he fought for, he wishes sometimes that the people he cared about were still here but he learned to accept his freedom and stop feeling guilty about it, this is what they would want for him. As he looks at a young couple pass by, his thoughts wander back to you. How were you? Have you been doing good? Have you moved on from him? He thinks about you way too much and wonders if you think about him too. What if it was different? What if you were here with him? Enjoying the morning air just like he is....

He shakes his head and takes the now cooled-down cup of tea on the table next to him, he catches himself doing what he told himself not to do, going through all of those what-ifs that do nothing but put him in a spiral of thought. It's a habit he is working on getting rid of, there is nothing he has if he keeps living in the past. Levi has no regrets, that what he tells himself but, you were his regret, he regretted not going back to you and if he could go back in time for only one minute, he would go back to you.

His memories of you are still crystal clear, he hasn't forgotten what you looked like, how could he? You were his first and only love.

The underground wasn't a pleasant place to live, Levi scoffs as he cleans the floor, he tries to be quiet not to wake you up as you're still sleeping. His eyes look at the clock from time to time, he wonders if Furlan and Isabele have managed to get themselves a decent breakfast, he left them a note where hid some of the food supplies. He spent the night at your place, recently finding it a guilty pleasure of his. Does he feel bad for lying to his friends about where he is? Yes, he does. Does he feel like it's a need to keep you safe? Yes, he does. Both of them know about you and that you're Levi's girlfriend but Levi likes to keep your relationship a secret as much as he can.

As he continues to clean the floor, he eventually hears footsteps coming his way and looks up to see you leaning against the doorframe watching him clean. Your place wasn't big, you had two rooms, one was used as your bedroom and the other as your kitchen. "Well good morning, handsome." You smile as you speak and Levi rolls his eyes as he stands up. "Didn't I tell you to stop with the nicknames?" The smile doesn't leave your face, you can't help but tease him, it's your favorite thing to do. "No, you're handsome."

He approaches you and gives you a quick kiss on the lips. "Since you're already trying to suck up from the early fucking morning. Have about you make the bed while I make breakfast?" You groan. "Fine, we did leave it a mess." Levi can't help but let the side of his lip quirked up slightly, you two were rather intense any time you made love, he enjoyed it thoroughly. "Of course we did, you're a wild one in the sheets."

That morning when you two were eating breakfast, he noticed a discomfort on your face. "Name, what's the matter?" You rub your neck, feeling nausea again, the fourth morning in a row. "I am...fine just.." You stop for a second taking a deep breath. "I feel like I have to throw up." Quickly you stand up from the table and bend over the skin to throw up, Levi follows swiftly behind you, holding your hair and rubbing your back gently. After you're done, he reaches for the napkin and wipes your mouth before cleaning the sink as you sit down. "It's most likely a flu, Furlan had it last week." Levi says as he kneels before you and puts his hand over your lap. "Rest, I'll take care of everything."

Levi's memory trip is interrupted by his doorbell ringing, he stands up and takes his cane and makes his way to the door, cursing his leg. Opening the door, his eyes go slightly wide as he sees Jean and Connie, now both even more mature than the last time he saw them. They were in their early twenties now, both mature men, well as mature as Jean and Connie can get anyway. "You two...this is a surprise." Levi says and steps aside to let them in, usually when any of them visit they sent a letter prior so something must've happened for them to come all the way here.

"How's your leg, ca- Levi?" Jean almost face palms at Connie's slip-up, he didn't blame him however, it was a force of habit and long years of Levi being the Survey Corps captain. "It has its days. I don't need the shitty wheelchair today, at least not yet." He says as he leads them into the living room to sit down, they sit down on the sofa opposite Levi who sits down on a chair. "Do you two want something to drink?" Levi asks despite the fact that he can see that the two were in a hurry to tell him something. "No thank you. We won't be long." Jean says and takes his hat off. "We uh, the reason for our visit is tho." He pulls out a photo from his coat pocket and puts it on the table in front of Levi.

Levi arches an eyebrow for a second before taking a look at the photograph. There's silence for a few moments, this time it's Connie that speaks again. "We got it from Historia, she got the file for the newest recruits who just signed up for the military and when she came across the photo, she immediately called us." Of course, the new rule on Paradis is that you have to be 16 years of age to sign up to train for the military, Historia can't do much about the tight grip that the new regiment has on people but she made sure that kids no longer have to train at early age.

Silence falls over the room again as Levi observed the person in the photo. “This boy…..he looks familiar…” Levi takes a look at the photo better, thousands of questions going on through his mind. Jean and Connie look at each other, not knowing how to approach the situation, Jean clears his throat before speaking. “That's why we brought you that picture, we thought you might be able to tell us who it is.”

Levi keeps looking at the photograph. “And how old is he? Do you know?” He looks up, his face showing curiosity. “He is 16.” Connie’s words seem to leave Levi thinking even more. 16 years old…he saw you last 16 years ago. “16….” Levi sighs and looks at the photo again, his eyes pay close attention to the boy’s hair, jaw and eyes. His eyes darted over the mirror in the hallway then back at the image in his hand. 

Dammit name. Levi says in his head, this boy had his features, his gray eyes, his sharp jaw, the dark hair, those nose all of it, his. He looks at Jean and Connie who are both waiting for an explanation, an explanation that Levi does not have, he does not doubt that this is his kid but he cannot tell them something he didn't even know about. Now he starts to feel stupid, no wonder you were having all of those sick mornings and suddenly started to crave food that you usually had a dislike for, you were pregnant, pregnant with his baby. Another money creeps into his mind...

"Be careful." You say as you watch Levi put the gear on. "Why are these people after you anyway?" He doesn't answer you as he focuses on strapping his gear on the right. "I don't know. All I know is that I have to go above ground to kill that blondie." Blondie? He must be referring to that tall blonde guy, the one you saw last week wearing a dark green cloak with wings of freedom on it. "I am doing this for us. If I get my hands on those papers we can finally go live above ground." He approaches you and wraps his hands around your waist, his eyes locked with yours. "I'll be back." Levi says, taking your face in his hands when he notices your eyes get watery. "When?" Your voice is shaky. "I'll be back." He repeats his words before kissing you passionately.

"We just, never saw you with anyone that way so it was a surprise to see the photo." Jean's voice interrupts Levi's train of thought, he sighs putting the photo on the desk. "There was someone before I joined the Survey Corps....Name." The way your name rolled off his lips after so many years makes it almost painful for Levi, as much as it's hard for him to speak, he continues. "She was someone I met when I was young in the underground, we were together for a long time before I went above ground with Erwin and Miche."

Connie knows that he should let Levi speak but his curiosity gets the best of him. "What happened? Did you not go back for her?" That question hurts Levi, not because he didn't try to go back to you but because he did and when he went back, you weren't there. "I did, so many times. I let myself be stopped by the suffering of my comrades too many times but I did. About two years after writing letters to her and her never responding, I went back and she...was gone. Her stuff was still there, most of it scarred across the floor like someone had broken in. I went back above ground and accepted two options, one that she was either dead, killed by the criminals in the underground or that she parished into the dirty streets and died of illness.....she was feeling ill before I left and of course, it never clicked in my mind that she was pregnant with my child."

Jean and Connie listen as Levi talks, even they can feel the dread and longing from his voice. "So I left it. Buried it deep in me with only memories of her to hold. But this.." He takes a photo of his son in his hand again, he closes his eyes for a moment trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. "Changes everything. Do you know more about him? His name?" They shake their heads, maybe Historia did tell them a name but they were too in shock from seeing the photo to react. "I think Queen Historia would be welcome to speak with you over the telephone, the problem is it's hard to reach her."

"No." Levi says. "I will speak to her personally, I need to know more." It was a sentence Levi didn't think he would ever say, going back to a place that considers him a traitor. His son may be one of those people for all he knows, he did grow up on Paradis but he has faith in you, that you told him about his father. He would understand if you didn't too, you had every right to after how he left. "Are you sure that's smart? People on Paradis are rather hostile with former members of the survey corps." They were telling Levi what he already knew, he reads the newspapers and listens to the radio, he knows better than anyone the injustice the new regiment does to him and his fallen friends and comrades however, it's his son, his flesh and blood. As much he wishes that he was strong enough to let it go, he can't, even if you remarried, even if you forgot him, he had to see you again, to meet his he didn't know even existed until about thirty minutes ago.

"I know and it probably isn't smart. That won't stop me, now that I know about him...I can't let it go."

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

Levi can't move, it's like he is stuck in one place. He holds onto his cane as he watches from afar, his breath hitches in his throat. His son is just a few steps away but it's like something is holding Levi back as just stands there, looking at him. Regret starts to creep in again, he was 16, and Levi has missed so much of his life, he missed his first steps, his first words, his first day of school. Leo, that was his name, Armin told him when he came to Paradis.

It has changed a lot, there are a lot of familiar places but yet they seem so foreign, he can see his comrades in every corner, hear their laughter. He can see himself in Leo as he trains, very clearly skilled and fast. Levi wanted nothing more than to talk to him, what would he say if he does? He was 41 years old now, will his son hear him out? Does he ever know about him?

There's a loud whistle suggesting that the training is over, Levi's eyes follow Leo as he walks over to the bench and drinks some water. It's like looking in a mirror a few years back, they looked so much alike, it wouldn't take anyone who knew Levi personally to figure out who Leo was. Levi looks away for a moment thinking to himself. If he goes over there and talks to him, he will figure out everything. What happened to you, he would hear his son talk, get to know him if he lets him to.

Instead, Levi turns around, he gulps, trying to surpass the tears in his eyes. Or maybe it's better that his son doesn't get to know him, that you don't see him again. Maybe Levi isn't as strong as he thought he was, he looks back and sees that Leo is talking to his peers, clearly enjoying the company of his friends. That makes Levi smile slightly, he seems like a good guy, he didn't expect otherwise, you raised him. Levi was about to call out but then he sees someone approach Leo again, this time he knows who it is, it was you.

Levi's eyes go wide and he moves a little closer, not enough for you two to see him but enough for him to hear your conversation. "Hey ma." Leo smiles at you as you sit next to him. "Here you go, now remember to return the basket after you're done." Levi watches as Leo takes a look at the basket, his hands going through it. "Ma, I told you not to bake. I can't have too much sweets in my diet." Despite his words, he takes a bite out of a cookie, Levi knows himself how good of a cook you are, he can almost taste the flavor in his mouth.

You were stunning, you matured and Levi couldn't find you more beautiful. He is happy for you, happy that his son has so much respect and love for you. Leo finishes the cookie and then takes the basket from you, his mouth full of food. "Leo, slow down." You scold, putting your hands on your hips. "Sorry ma, missed your cooking." There's something that you feel on your back, like someone is looking at you from afar and what's worse is that it feels like deja vu, like you have felt that type of stare before.

You turn around and Levi is quick to hide behind a wall, he sees that you keep looking for a couple of minutes. "Ma? Is everything okay?" Leo asks his mother, trying to see what she is looking at. "Yes, it's all fine...I just felt someone looking at me is all." You turn back to face your son and Levi finally sums up the courage, he comes around the corner slightly and starts walking towards you until....

"So ma, how is dad doing?" That stops Levi in his tracks, dad? But he...he was- "He is doing good and remember that next time he will be the one visiting so try to act more.... Like a soldier." Leo rolls his eyes at that. "Like hell I will, I am the most skilled one here, it's not like I can't act human just because I have duties to attend." Levi hears the words, unlike him, Leo is putting the people dear to him over duty. You laugh a little and then pinch Leo on the cheek. "Alright now, don't be rude to dad he cares for you."

It was like a dagger to Levi, you did move on, and you did forget him. He turns around not wanting to listen to that conversation anymore, it was killing him inside. His son...doesn't even know about him. If only he knew, if he visited you earlier all those years ago. If only he stayed...while you would've been in the underground, you would've been together and he would have a son that knew him.

-------------------------------------------------- Taglist: @youre-ackermine @the-milk-anon @humanitys-strongest-bamf @romantichomicide95 @mrsackermannx @sixpennydame @svftackerman @hhighkey @cometlevi @notgoodforlife @levisbrat25 @randomlevithoughts @ackermendick @saenora @loveackermannn @levismylover @laurenzitaa @missyasma @sad-darksoul @thebobaprincess @la-undercover-latina @levilxvr @bpdtistic

[sanjisboyfie]

day in the life as a strawhat pirate

-> very messy, very cute, very fluffy.

-> i don't think any pronouns are used except for "you" but i had a male reader in mind when i was writing it...SHOUTOUT

you wake up - luffy's foot is in your mouth, but also at the same time, his other foot is wrapped around your legs??? he stretched in his sleep and has trapped you in some very odd body trap...it takes you yelling at him to even wake him up.

sanji is the first to wake up, usually, and when you get to the kitchen the breakfast is waiting for you. now you have to sleepily fight for your share of the food because luffy is hangry (his default mood when he wakes up is hangry because he hasn't eaten yet...since he just woke up...) and then also there are 9 other hands that are fiending for all the dishes on the table.

after surviving a war in the dining room, you hope to take some time to relax. but that doesn't exist on the thousand sunny since chopper and usopp are quick to get into their shenanigans. they call you over, wanting to show you a creation that the sniper made, only for you to get a pie of whip cream to the face. they called you over so that they could prank you and now were rolling on the deck laughing about it.

instead of skewering them alive, you decide to take the peaceful route in going to the bathroom to wash your face off. oh, but franky is already in the bathroom taking his morning shower.

you get a face full of cyborg and a very girlish scream escapes his mouth when he realizes that you are standing at the entrance, watching him sing into the shower bottles - naked and all. he then screams out for how he can get no privacy, but you're just too determined to clean your face of the whip cream that you don't really pay him any mind.

when you get out of the bathroom, now having peace in mind, there is a rabid sanji and zoro fighting each other. they're at each other's throats for whatver reason and when they catch you walking down the hallway, they involve you in their fight...for whatever reason.

they're asking you to take a side, who was right in their idiotic fight, but they're both shouting so loud and at the same time you can't even process what either of them are saying. you can only blanky stare back at them as their huffing and puffying to regain their breaths from their nonstop yelling.

and then their expressions go back to being angry, but not at each other - at you, for seemingly being too neutral and not staking a claim to one of their sides. it's all just their adrenaline ramped up to a thousand (even though it's barely been an hour since they've woken up) and now they're trying to make your reaction the same.

you can only sigh, shoving your palms into their faces, and making them clear a path for you to leave the hallway. this makes their bickering turn back to each other instead, their shouts echoing all over the thousand sunny.

just when you finally think, maybe robin or jinbe could offer you comfort in peace, no! brook and nami are actually fighting about something on deck. as you listen in you hear about how brook is the one stealing their undergarments at night - that's enough for you to step in and deal with the perverted skeleton. a punch to his skull is enough to knock some sense into him (nami laid out a couple of her own on his head before you arrived)

nami thanks you in a sigh of exasperation. she offers you a slice of the tnagerine she had peeled, which she gingerly feeds you when you accept. and her face mimics that of an angel, eyes closed as she smiles kindly at you...before she barks at brook to make up for his odd, perverted actions by playing her her favorite song.

and even though you do enjoy brook's violin playing, that is just not your definition of peace right now. maybe any other day, but just not right now.

so you go below deck and finally find your favorite people: robin and jinbe. you practically collapse on jinbe, murmuring about how tired you were despite the day just starting, and robin laughs at your fatigue. she begins to read aloud for the three of you whilst jinbe's hand comfortingly goes up and down your back. she looks at your figure, observing your peaceful expression, before fluidly going back to reading aloud the history book she picked up.

jinbe is laid out against the cushioned seats so really, he's acting as a big bed for you and you definitely do not pass up the chance to catch a quick cat nap. and hopefully this time when you wake up, your captain's foot won't be in your mouth <3

(tags are platonic - its just to reach the audiences)

[love-toxin]

File 11 - Miguel O'Hara

plot: as much as it hurts, he knows you were meant to be together, even if you don't remember the man you once loved.

cws: miguel pov, fem!reader, atsv spoilers, smut mentions, interdimensional romance timelines, lovers -> strangers -> lovers, casual hookups, kids/pregnancy talk, angst + fluff, denial of feelings (man's got it so bad), mutual pining, character death mentions.

word count: 2.8k

Every morning he wakes up without you is torture.

Plain and simple. Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture that cripples his heart each morning he cracks open his eyes and finds the place beside him empty. It's cold even on the hottest nights, bristling the back of his neck no matter how much he sweats in the long summers. It's always been terrible–ever since that day that you, your daughter, and his whole world ceased to exist, Miguel hasn't truly found peace even in passing moments. Eating his favourite meal from the commissary to finding a breakthrough in his plans for the spiderverse, it just doesn't feel right.

And while he'd long gotten used to that feeling, the dull ache has soared into a sting now that he faces you each day he comes into work.

It's not "you" per se–not his version of you–but the you that stands in front of him each and every morning has your face, your smile, your laugh, your cheeky sense of humour, everything. You have everything. Everything except a memory of him, even a shred of it, because as much as he wants you to see him and throw yourself into his embrace, you have no memory of him. You don't see him as a husband, a father, a friend, you see him as Miguel–not to say that you don't also consider him your savior, which you certainly do. He rescued you from a dying dimension that some other hero screwed up, and broke his own rules in doing so because he just couldn't watch you die twice. He still can't bear watching it replay in his mind every time he falls asleep, that first time when he truly wished he had just died alongside both of you to spare himself the pain. To spare himself from hearing your screams and your daughter's terrified sobs as his world disappeared from within his very arms.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he wonders if there was a Miguel in your own dimension. If you loved him or were destined to love him, but you never got the chance to live out your life together. Maybe he was just a normal guy. Not a hero, not a spiderman, not anyone. Just some average joe with a crush on someone he never imagined he could actually settle down and have a family with. Maybe there was–and maybe nothing ever happened because he just simply can't have anything good last in his life.

That's why, despite how heavy that ring feels on his left hand, and how much his heart aches at knowing that you're right there, Miguel goes to bed every night alone. In the beginning he rebuffed you, shut down any ounce of flirtation, didn't even take it when you made lighthearted jokes or someone else did in your place. He can't go through those losses again, but more importantly he can't put you through those losses again. That dimension was one thing, but what he's built here can't be replaced or broken down. He's mapped out the avenues and deduced that if he pursues you, he loses. So instead of allowing himself those simple pleasures of being close to you, he pushed you away so frequently he could tell it was starting to wear on you. You wondered if you even belonged in the society, your delicate self with nothing but a wristband that still didn't always keep you from glitching on occasion.

But that all changed just a few months ago. It's still burned into his brain, that first time–his muscles still itching for the feeling to meet them again. The feeling of you.

It hadn't hit him until then just how long it'd been since he'd taken care of those needs. He'd spent so many long nights with the company of no one, or the satisfaction of nothing but his hand, that the promise of being with a woman again both frightened and exhilarated him. But it wasn't just any woman, because he's well worn out that mat, it was you. You who might not have remembered him, but you remembered the way you two always made love because it came to you so naturally. You pleased him like it was a second skin, did it without even trying and when you did try it was nothing short of heavenly. You were and are godlike in every which way, your body so soft he worries he'll cut you on his own hard, jagged frame, yet so pliable it's second nature to press your knees back to your shoulders and pipe you like you're a pretty little milking cow and he's a raging bull in heat. There's been times he genuinely couldn't help himself and just gave in to his desires to breed you, his cock straining for your deepest, most vulnerable spots that you gladly gave up the moment he begged to knock you up. Yes, begged–he was at your mercy even in his rawest moments, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Even if the conversations afterward were awkward and filled with cheap laughter as you both sobered up from your lustful haze.

God, you felt so good. Every occasion is better than the last–every chance to feel you pressed against his skin is nothing short of a blessing.

"Mr. Miguel?"

His hand twitches at the interruption of his thoughts, his cup tipping off the desk but stopping with a quick shot of his webs–luckily for him his instincts are still rather crisp, or else he'd be making a mockery of himself in front of the very object of his desires and spilling water all over his floating monitors.

"Mh? Yes?" He turns his head, and there you are in all your radiant glory. Pen tucked behind your ear, outfit of the day clean and prim, eyes sparkling as they always do even when you look at him with concern. How precious. It's just a cup.

"O-Oh, sorry! Nice catch," You add rather hastily before holding out a stack of files, each one labeled and organized by name just as he asked you to do since you started. "Here's the paperwork for the newbies. Do you want it anywhere specific, Mr. Miguel?"

"Set it on the counter there, I'll have Parker look it over. Might busy him and May for awhile." He grumbles that last part under his breath, finally turning around completely from his screens and rolling out his shoulders from hunching so much over them. Fully facing you now is a problem…it's always a problem with how tight this suit can be.

"Oh, you love her, don't even lie." Lie. Lie. Lie. For god's sakes, just lie.

"I tolerate her presence in my workspace."

"Isn't she just adorable, though? She gives me baby fever like mad–don't you feel it too?" One look at you, one shared glance is all it takes in that moment for him to crack.

"...Maybe. Just…a little bit, though." And you just grin. That big, dumb, pretty grin that has him turning away from you in a hurried bid to hide the restlessness stirring beneath his spandex.

That first time was barely memorable in clarity not because of your performance or his, but because you were both drunk out of your minds after Peter's birthday party and couldn't peel yourselves off of each other when he took you back home. You'd gotten on top of him, he'd tugged your dress off, you kissed and the rest was history–rough, drooling, heart-pounding history as you rode his lap and whispered things into his ear that to this day he wishes he had recorded. No precautions, no inhibitions, no worries about your lives as they would go on, just the two of you getting yourselves off and spilling out some foul compliments on the way there. How he loves the way your eyes roll back when you cum and how good his tongue feels inside you, how you want him to finish inside you, please Miguel-

"Don't forget to eat, Miguel. You're still human, you know–not just a worker bot." A pat on his shoulder, a whiff of your perfume, and you're gone again. A wisp of memory that mingles with the heated sweat trickling down his neck as he remembers what you looked like on your knees.

In reality, it's been more than that one time, more than twice or even three times. For a couple months now he's found comfort in you after hours, had his needs taken care of completely by the person that so embodies who he was in love with not so long ago. It's taken him awhile to accept it but he knows for sure that you are that person–you and her are one in the same, the only difference being that you haven't yet fallen for him and started your family together. Well, maybe you have, for all he knows. He can't get his hopes up….not quite yet, at least.

Could you be pregnant already? The idea passes over his head and the mere thought of it pools a heat into his lower stomach that he's quick to drown with a sip of water. It's possible, that's true, but…well, you've certainly forgone protection together a couple times after that first encounter. You could be. But if you are, he's got a whole world of problems coming his way. But it would make him so happy. So would Parker, he'd have a friend for Mayday to play with–but he has to shake it from his mind with total urgency, because that's not his purpose and it's not what he should be focusing on at all. You're a coworker and a fling. Nothing more. A piece of meat to sink his teeth into when he feels the urge, a bloodbag to drink from when you so graciously allow him to, an assistant to shut up and do the work he demands of you without question.

He's trying so hard to convince himself of that that he can barely keep his eyes on the screens. Because the moments where he feels you twitch around him and when he sinks his fangs into your throat during the heat of the moment don't nearly affect him as much as those other moments; the softer ones, the ones where he brushes some hair from your face and you laugh at his cheesy attempt at a joke, when you fall asleep in his arms and he cradles you close like he did when you were married, when he lays awake and ponders not taking you back to your room but keeping you under his arm all night. Warm. Safe. Here. Not just in his memories, but in real life.

Maybe if you did fall in love, and if you did get married, and if you had his child, he'd even get to see his precious Gabriella again. His life. His love. His fingers flicker towards the secure files on his hard drive without him even noticing, and in moments he has those videos up and playing like he hasn't watched them a thousand times over. Those darling smiles and that precious laughter…he would just die to hear it again in real life and not through his speakers, and who's to say it wouldn't happen? If he'd allow himself a moment to indulge, how could he be sure that you wouldn't have Gabi in your lives again if you tried for her? Would you even object if he told you the truth and showed you these videos as proof? You have such a kind heart, he'd struggle to believe you wouldn't offer to give him his dream if you knew it even existed.

But a better question is; is the fate of the spiderverse worth it? Would his act of subverting destiny again ruin even more lives than the ones in his own dimension? Is it worth…..no, it's not worth the risk.

With a sigh, Miguel closes the videos and, for the umpteenth time, hovers his fingers uselessly over the delete key. Those memories of you and her are all he has to cling to, but as always, he's reminded of the cost of dwelling too far on times he'll never get to relive. Gabi's gone, you are gone, and no matter how often he entertains it in his mind he'll never have the life he wants back. Ever. It's just not possible, and it's not fair to expect the sacrifices of every other hero in these dimensions while avoiding his own. He has to be a pillar of strength, even though it feels like he'll always be worthless as his hand lowers and he moves the files back into his storage. Gabi's voice crying out "Gotcha, papi!" on that last video as she smushes her dessert into his face, his gaze halting as he watches his past self and his daughter laughing while you hold the camera. You're so beautiful you transcend your own image; your mere presence is absolute beauty and the thought of you is as pure as the joy in those videos.

"She's adorable, too."

In a split-second, Miguel's head whips over his shoulder and he locks eyes with the one person who he swore he could never let see these videos–you. You, who clearly didn't leave when he thought you had, and had casually wandered up behind him completely unnoticed as he got wrapped up in the past. Like a man possessed, he throws his hand out to slam the pause command on the hologram and stop you from witnessing any more, because if you realize that it's you that's also in this scene, then…well, he has no idea what to do, then.

"Y-You weren't supposed to–puta madre–I thought you left, what're you doing sneaking around?" A twinge of guilt hits him at the rejection that dims your eyes, but you lighten up almost as fast and skirt around him to peer closer at the video, still paused on himself and his daughter propped up on his shoulders.

"Nothing. Is this your daughter?" You ask it so casually he almost falls victim to offense rising inside him, up until he reminds himself that the you he's talking to isn't Gabriella's mother. You have no recollection of her, and it…it's very difficult not to want to talk your ear off about her like she's still here, and he's still her papi.

"I…yes, this is–was–my daughter-"

"Gabriella?" Your eyes flick up towards the file name, something unusually placid about your gaze.

"Yes…Gabriella. Gabi."

The silence beckons him into anger, to turn to rage in the absence of a proper answer to this predicament. But instead of raising his voice and shouting you away, he waits and watches you watching the hologram because it isn't moving, but there's something there. Dare he consider that the depth of your gaze is because there's some flicker of recognition in your eyes? This video is, after all, from your perspective, so would it be so far-fetched to think that maybe you might be seeing yourself in that little girl that shares your smile?

"...Y'know, I miss people from my world, too." You finally turn your head to look up at him, your head full of clouds like always. "It's not all bad to reminisce, Miguel."

I know that. That's what he wants to say, how he wants to react; with a bitter amount of snark that would turn a lesser companion away. But for now, for once, he just shuts his mouth and turns his eyes away. He can't bear to meet your gaze no matter how much he wants to bask in it.

"Are you busy tonight?"

"I…I don't think I have plans." Those words choke themselves out of him by force but they don't turn you off. The heat on your skin, the furrow of your brow…somehow you're only dialed all the way up.

"Mmh. Sounds good. Let's hang out, yeah? I'll help you loosen up." You pat his shoulder with more impact this time, you actually mean it this time as you step down to take your leave. But you're not gone yet, you still linger for him to wish you were and weren't all at the same time. When you look at him, as conflicted as he feels, all he sees are stars in your eyes. "....Gabriella, right? It's a really cute name. I like it."

Maybe you know. You giggle just as sweetly as the you in that tape–maybe if you don't know, it's just as good. Regardless of who he was and who you were before all this, despite everything, he still has you. That's more than he could ask for in any world, and in any lifetime.

[da-rulah]

Confessional - Cardinal Copia x F!Reader [Part 2]

Summary: Cardinal Copia is driven out of his mind when you disappear from the Ministry. He cannot find you anywhere, hasn't seen or heard a peep of you, and it's beginning to take its toll. But he's not the only one who's noticed your absence…

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Pathetic Copia, panty-sniffing kink (except it’s not panties...), masturbation (male), endless pining, a very scheming Terzo

A/N: I cannot believe the response I got to Part 1 of this fic... it was my first ever Ghost fic, and yet y'all blew it up! Thank you SO MUCH. 🥹 You wanted a part 2, so here's your part 2. And soon, part 3...

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

How much torture can one man endure before he breaks? How long does it take for a man to go insane?  

The Cardinal supposed it was six days worth. Six days of torture, and he was dangerously dangling over the edge of sanity... And if he was being honest with himself, the majority of it was self-inflicted. 

He didn’t mean to torture himself. He never meant to debase himself so, and somehow managed a full six days before he gave in the first time. And if you hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth, perhaps the guilt that had made a permanent home in the pit of his stomach would have been enough to stop him – but just those first six days of not seeing nor hearing anything of you around the ministry were enough to drive him utterly demented. 

But the longer he went without seeing your pretty face in the halls, or hearing your sweet voice when you sang at Mass with your siblings, or being in any kind of proximity to you, the more confident he became that he would never be found out. You would never catch him in his filthy little secret... 

The first time had been a mistake – or so he told himself. Something he did in the heat of the moment, one he couldn’t control and felt utterly miserable over after.  

Those six days he had been on high alert, hoping to see you in the halls or in his seminars but nothing. He wanted so badly to apologise to you, his shame of what he felt was him corrupting your sweet nature in that damned booth but he’d not been given the chance. You’d simply evaporated...  

And so, after he had done a lap of the ministry in search of you one last time on the evening of the sixth day, he sulked back to his quarters trying with all his strength not to pull his greying hairs from his temples in frustration. He slammed the door behind him, frisbeeing his biretta from his head and to some distant corner of the room before he threw himself down on his bed with a huff. 

After a few deep breaths to calm his irritation, he stood and shook the coat of his cassock off, tossing that somewhere else in the room – frankly, he could care less where it landed, as well as the shoes he kicked off. He sat back down against the headboard of his bed, head laying back against the wall as he stared at the ceiling, closing his eyes for a moment of peace. 

But since confessional, he hadn’t been granted a moment of peace at all. No, his mind was occupied.  

Whether it was the guilt, the shame, the unprofessionalism... or on better days, the images you had planted in his mind of your sinful dream... even the sounds of your mewls and whines from beside him and the smacks to the wood as you’d met your end, kicking out involuntarily as you’d climaxed... His mind was always occupied. 

That evening had been no exception, his mind wandering over those pretty little noises you had made, the way you’d said his name almost breathlessly, the sounds of your fingers sliding through your slick as you practically cried for him.  

The Cardinal found himself once again struggling to control himself – he'd managed to for the last six days but by this point he was just exhausted by it all. How could he hold off anymore? How could he sit here and torture himself with vivid memories of you fucking yourself beside him without allowing himself to indulge in the privacy of his own quarters? 

His thick cock had already swelled in the confines of his pants, as it had many times since your encounter but this was the first time he would allow himself the depravity of actually touching himself to the thoughts of you. It had felt too filthy, too impolite to you to do such a thing and yet after six fucking days of no interaction at all, he was too frustrated to deny himself a moment longer. 

His gloved hands slid to his belt, skilfully unbuckling with one hand as the other palms himself through the material. Before long, he had freed himself, and the black leather of his glove was swallowing his cock over and over as his hand stroked languidly, a low hum emanating from deep within his chest. 

How he wished it was your far softer and more delicate hand, perhaps your mouth if he was lucky enough. But this was the best he could do, pathetically stroking himself behind closed doors to the mere memory of you. What he’d give to worship you, to feel you and to taste you, to smell you again.  

His eyes shot open, his mind cruelly reminding him of the unwitting gift you had left behind... He looked guiltily to the side of his bed, to his bedside cabinet where if he was not mistaken, the drawer knob was glowing at him. But hey, that could just be his descent into madness...  

And it was that madness that had made him do the unthinkable, right from the beginning. He had kept that glove of yours – the glove you had left in such haste, the glove you had baptised with your juices. It sat in his bedside cabinet, under a stack of old Beano comic books he hid from plain sight in case a member of the clergy came to his chambers and judged him for the one thing he kept with him from his childhood. 

He’d be lying if he said that it had sat there and been forgotten about; it certainly hadn’t. But tonight was the first time he had considered retrieving it at all... He couldn’t, could he? He certainly shouldn’t... But his mind had been swimming with could haves, should haves and would haves for six fucking days and frankly, he was done with it.  

To hell with it.  

He reached over to the drawer and yanked it open, shoving the old Beano comics to one side and rifling until he found that discarded piece of lace he’d stolen. He rolled it in his hand for a moment, the other resuming the slow strokes to his cock. He shut his eyes again, head lolling back as he stroked, over and over, moans rolling from his half-painted lips between gentle curses and whispers of your name. 

As if the Cardinal couldn’t become anymore unhinged in his blissful state, he brought your glove to his face, catching the lasting aroma, a delicate bouquet of sin. He growled to himself like an animal, fist pumping himself to the point of no return, his cock angry and red, profusely leaking over his own gloved hand. His abdomen tightened, a garbled groan muffled by his fist pushing the lace against his face, cock jumping in his hand. 

It was quite pathetic really, how quickly Copia came as soon as he pulled that glove from its’ hiding spot. He’d made a mess over his shirt, whimpering into the glove as spurts of his seed landed as far up as his chest. And yet, he continued to fuck his fist into overstimulation, cock pitifully attempting another orgasm as more cum simply dribbled over his glove this time around. Even then, he only stopped himself because the stimulation was becoming painful... Although he was sure he probably deserved that.  

As he sat limp on his bed, the haze of his release fading quickly as realisation of what he’d just done hit him. With tired limbs, he balled the glove back up and threw it back into the open drawer beside him, smacking the drawer shut in anger at himself. How could he be so debauched? So disrespectful? 

So perverted.  

It was bad enough he was thinking of you. It was bad enough that he was masturbating over the thought of you. But that... he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for acting this way. It didn’t matter how he felt about you, didn’t matter that he was transfixed on you or infatuated with you. This should never have happened... 

And yet, there was a next time. And another time after that.  

In fact, as the days passed and turned into weeks – still without so much as a glimpse or a whisper of you around the ministry – he found himself going back to that drawer more and more. The last time was never the last time, no matter how much he promised to stop, to behave himself. 

There was always a next time...  

You’ve been hiding for almost four weeks. How you were getting away with it, you weren’t sure... Perhaps you had memorised your Cardinal’s movements a little too well in the time your fantasies had begun to take hold, and so now you were able to avoid every possible encounter that may have been.   

After all, how on earth could you face him? You were absolutely mortified at yourself and the thought of being anywhere near the Cardinal made your skin crawl... Not because you despised him, or held any animosity towards him at all – how could you, possibly? - but because you felt like a fool; an idiot who got too caught up in the moment, confessed something that overstepped every conceivable boundary a person can set, and had managed to make the poor Cardinal stoop to your pathetic level.  

You had utterly humiliated yourself. 

In your efforts to avoid Cardinal Copia, you had in turn ended up avoiding most of your duties as a Sister of Sin. No seminars, no services... You had skipped on your work duty more often than not for fear of bumping into him in the hallways, faking some terrible stomach flu for longer than could be believed.   

You had even skipped out on Black Mass – a big no-no in the Ministry. Unless you were on the reaper’s death bed, you were to be at Black Mass.  

As the service was held, Papa Emeritus III took to his pulpit and noticed immediately that one of his siblings was missing. How disappointed he had been to come to realise it was you who hadn’t showed. You were one of his favourites, so sweet and virtuous. Whilst he did enjoy corrupting his Sisters of Sin, somehow he always felt you had been off limits... Still, a harmless flirt to keep you on your toes had never hurt. His soft spot for you was nothing if not platonic and playful. 

The Cardinal had noticed your absence at Black Mass also, and frankly it concerned him. Had he driven you out? Had you left the Ministry altogether? He’d not seen you for three fucking weeks, and he couldn’t help but feel a panic rise in his chest, that ever-nagging guilt growing into a nauseating feeling of utter self-hatred. He’d never forgive himself if you had left...  

After Mass had ended, Terzo grabbed the Cardinal for a quiet chat in his office. He knew damn well that you never missed a Latin seminar, that Copia likely saw you more often than most.  

“Cardinale, forgive the intrusion on your plans for the day. I’m sure you have places to be,” he began as he sat behind his desk. Copia stood in front of him, wringing his hands nervously. Part of him wondered if he were to be chastised for his behaviours, as if somehow Terzo had known... Had you told him what had happened at confessional? Did you tell him you were leaving... because of him?  

“Non è un problema, fratello. (It’s no problem, brother.) My only plan was to prepare for the week’s seminars.” His voice wavered slightly, and yet Terzo never noticed as it wasn’t unusual. Copia tended to be a little nervous around Terzo. He looked up to him so much, always had... But to Terzo, Copia was the annoying little kid he would make eat the bugs as a ‘joke’ while he and his older brothers looked on and laughed. And all Copia had ever wanted was to be just like Terzo.  

“I merely wondered if you had seen Sister _____ in your seminars lately? I noticed she wasn’t at Black Mass and... well, that’s not like her, is it?” Terzo asked, leaning on the desk on his elbows, waiting for an answer.   

The Cardinal could feel a drop of sweat forming on his brow. This felt like a trick question, like Terzo was expecting something of him. 

“Uhhh, I... I haven’t. It’s not like her, hai ragione (you’re right) .” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning back in his chair. “I wonder what the matter is? I’ll be sure to look out for her, make sure our piccolo topo (little mouse) is alright. Please let me know if you see her in the next few day, sì?”  

Copia let out a quiet breath of relief, the conversation seeming to end without suspicion. “Sì, fratello. I will update you. Would you...” he stopped himself, wondering if this might be overstepping, implicating himself somehow, but deciding to continue, “would you mind letting me know too? If you see her, I mean...” 

Terzo looked up at Copia with eyes narrowed and a smirk playing on his painted face.  

“Why would you like to hear, Cardinal? Hai una cotta, eh? (You have a crush?)” he teased. Copia’s eyes widened, panic clear on his face.     "N-no! No, I just... This is unlike her,” he panicked. 

 “I wouldn’t judge, Cardinal. She is a pretty young thing...” he mused, winding Copia up further just as he had since childhood. 

“No, fratello... I mean, well, sì, she is but... I don’t...” Copia stumbled, making himself to be more obvious.  

“He doth protest too much,” Terzo laughed, “I will tell you if I see our pretty little Sorella around. You can go back to planning your seminars, Cardinal.” Terzo waved his subordinate out of his office and gladly, Copia took the chance to leave with his head hanging low. 

Outside the halls had quietened after the end of Mass. Copia leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat from under his biretta on his sleeve. He felt so burdened, so absolutely horrified at the thought that now even Terzo had noticed your absence in the ministry. God, he hated that he called you pretty... He hated that Terzo called you ‘piccolo topo’. His reputation proceeded him, and Copia would be damned if he got to corrupt you... 

In the days after Black Mass, Copia tried desperately to find you around the Ministry – with no success. He would end up defeatedly walking back to his chambers late each night, having hoped that maybe he would find you in the kitchens or the library. If you had been trying to avoid him, perhaps you would be eating later, studying in the middle of the night... But nothing. 

But at least he could go back to his room, to his bed, to your glove.  

The knock at your dorm door remained ignored by you, forcing Sister Katia, your bunkie, to get the door with a roll of her eyes. She’s just about had enough of your shit, having to pull twice her weight lately to accommodate whatever this episode was. The only reason she hadn’t lost her cool at you was because she knew this wasn’t like you, and whatever was causing this – it had to be bad. 

“______, it’s for you. A ghoul,” she sounds exasperated... Perhaps you should make the effort to at least see what the Ghoul wanted, praying to Sathanas that it had not been Copia who sent him your way.  

You pulled yourself from your bunk, your depression-outfit of three-day old sweats and a faded old graphic t-shirt making even the Ghoul at the door look at you in vague disgust. He said nothing to you though, his eyes following an arm he stretched out, holding a note with a very telling red wax seal over the fold – a ‘III’ in roman numerals that screamed Terzo...  

“Oh, shit,” Katia was not one for subtlety, clearly seeing the same wax stamp and realising that it was, in fact, a summons to visit Papa in his office the next morning. Dread filled you, the colour draining from your features... Papa only summoned Sisters of Sin for two things, and in your current predicament, both options felt like an option you would rather avoid.  

He was either about to make a move on you, to have his way with you if you were to let him, or he was to chastise you and dish out punishment as he saw fit for your little disappearing act.  

“Thank you, Ghoul. I uh, apologise... for my state,” you smiled weakly. He bowed his head slightly with a flutter of his eyelashes, as if to say ‘no problem, Sister’ - a ghoul of few words, this one... - and he turned to leave, walking down the hallways as Katia closed the door.  

“Well, open it... You know Papa doesn’t mince his words. Are you in trouble, or about to get laid?” Katia smirked as she tried poorly to lighten the mood. You rolled your eyes and popped the wax off the paper, unfolding to read your summons. 

“Sorella _______,  

It has come to my attention that you have been missing from the ministry for quite some time now, your duties going abandoned.  

Should this note find you well, I expect you in my office at 8am sharp with a very good explanation as to why.  

I look forward to your company,  

Papa Emeritus III”  

Had you not thought of yourself as such a tiny little insignificant cog in the Ministry, maybe Terzo’s note wouldn’t have come as such a surprise to you – but knowing your Papa had noticed your absence and was, shall we say, less than impressed unnerved you.  

“Suppose you’ll have to shower now,” Katia bumped your shoulder with hers. “Oh and wear that short habit with the red stitching you’ve got! You’ll need to butter him up a bit, by the sounds of it...” she winked, climbing into her bunk and picking up her discarded magazine.  

Perhaps she was right... If nothing else, perhaps it may distract him just a little, to give you enough time to weasel your way into an excuse for your absence. Terzo could easily be swayed if you indulge him just a little, without having to compromise your own integrity. 

Your hands shook as you lifted a fist to lightly knock on the large double doors of Papa Emeritus III’s office, fear setting in that you were about to have to fight for your place at the Ministry. Terzo was known to be ever so slightly more diplomatic than his brother’s, but a blatant disregard for duties always riled him up the wrong way – and in your depressed and embarrassed stupor, that was exactly what you had done for four weeks. 

“Entra,” you heard from within, the deep timbre of his thick Italian accent sending a shiver down your spine. 

You did as asked, barely opening to door to slink in as if hiding – like any sudden movement would alert him and have him pounce. You waited at the door, practically backed up against the wood and waited for instruction. He was furiously typing at his typewriter, the keys echoing around the stone walls until a loud ping sounded, and he pushed down the carriage release that had it loudly creaking back to its place. He looked up at you then, papal paint freshly adorned over his masculine features. 

When he saw the fear on your face, the shame you already harboured, his features relaxed slightly – not that it gave you any relief to your anxiety.  

“Sorella ______, how I’ve missed that pretty face in the halls, eh?” he smiled at you, monochrome gaze sweeter than you had expected. Sister Katia’s words circled your mind... 

“You know Papa doesn’t mince his words. Are you in trouble, or about to get laid?”  

While you prayed for neither, at least one was inevitable. 

“Come, stand here for me, hm? Let me see you,” he beckoned you to stand before his desk, leaning on the wooden frame by his elbows. 

Cautiously, you stepped forward, standing on the ornate rug between the two chairs he had facing him. He hadn’t invited you to sit, and you knew better than to do something you had not been asked of right now.     “There, bellissima (beautiful)!” he leaned forward, outstretching a hand to pinch at the hem of your skirt, shorter than usual. He ran the material between his fingers, tracing along the red stitching, the hair of his knuckles tickling your upper thighs. It was only now you realised he wasn’t wearing his usual white gloves. You cursed Katia for this idea, hoping not to give the wrong impression. “I like this one, Sorella. The red stitching is....” he took a deep breath in, “quite something.”  

“Th-thank you, Papa...” you stuttered. Terzo looked you in the eye, and sat back in his chair again.  

“Do you know why I called for you, Sorella?” he asked, his fingertips meeting as he leaned back.   

“I-I... I think I’m in some trouble, Papa,” you admitted, looking down at your feet, twiddling your fingers for something to focus on.    “Sì, I’m afraid so. You see, I noticed that you were not at Black Mass on Sunday. It worried me, and so I spent a few days attempting to run into you, to perhaps see you in a seminar or the library but... poof, nowhere in sight,” he made a gesture with his hand, like a puff of smoke had left his palm. 

You remained silent, biting your lip.  

“Even Cardinale Copia has not seen you, so he tells me - his top student!” Your cheeks reddened at the mere mention of his name. “He seemed quite dismayed, actually...” 

You swallowed nothing, gulping down the guilt that threatened to rise. You had caused that, upset your precious Cardinal with your desperate lewd actions. Probably made him reconsider what little authority he had in the Ministry, what with the overshadowing of the Papas.  

“Do you wish to tell me what has forced you to become a mere figment of your poor Papas imagination, tesoro?” he pouted dramatically, a flirtatious glint in his pale white eye. His approach was somewhat light-hearted, and that unnerved you more than if he had been yelling at you. Was he not angry at you?  

“I... I’m sorry, Papa. I haven’t quite been... feeling myself,” you all but whispered, head hung low in shame.  

“Oh, tesoro...” he stood from his chair and rounded the desk quickly, a look of pity and worry etching deeper lines into his paint than usual, “are you sick?”  

He stood close to you – so close you could feel his warm breath grazing over your facial features – and placed the back of his bare hand to your forehead, testing your temperature. You stilled, not a single breath falling from past your lips as you couldn’t help but watch him closely. You could understand why many a sister before you had fallen for his wiles before you, but whilst he made you nervous, you simply could not fathom the idea of intimacy with Papa Terzo.     Not when Cardinal Copia still occupied your mind... 

“Hmm, you’re warm enough, sorella. Not a thing wrong with you physically, eh?” he winked and curled his finger under your chin, stepping back and sitting against the edge of his desk. 

“N-no, I’m quite alright physically.”   

“Then what is troubling you, mia cara?” 

Your palms felt clammy, the weight of the truth on your shoulders almost unbearable. There was no way you would ever tell Papa the truth, you’d burst into flames on the spot out of sheer humiliation. No, you were to keep that to yourself. 

But words failed you, and before you knew what you were doing, your eyes had filled to the brim with tears, silently spilling down your reddened cheeks.   

Terzo panicked... The only tears he was used to were that of the sister on her knees or in his bed for him, and entirely pleasure induced. But this was you, and you were neither of those things to him. He rushed to you, his hands hovering somewhere around your head as he contemplated what to do, how to help you. Hugging you felt unprofessional, awkward almost. He settled for wiping your tears from your cheeks with his thumbs as you began to sob. 

“Mi dispiace (I'm sorry), Papa...” your thoughtful use of Italian swelled his heart, “I... I’ve been in a dark place. I will do better, I promise. A-and I'll take whatever punishment is fitting.”  

Terzo contemplated for a moment. Sister Imperator had been quite insistent on some kind of penalty, especially for missing Black Mass. They had only a brief conversation on the matter when having their weekly meeting, in which Imperator suggested he decide on a fitting punishment himself, but that one should be given. 

But you looked so broken. Your behaviour was so unlike you, so out of character and whilst he didn’t know the cause of this low period, he was no stranger to the idea of depression taking hold for no reason whatsoever. He put it down to that – merely a chemical imbalance in your pretty little head. In good conscience, he could not punish you for the hole you had been in recently. At least, not without giving you a chance to bounce back. 

“Sorella, there is no punishment for you today. But I must ask you to return to your ministerial duties, sì?” You were stunned to silence – that you had not been expecting.  

“I’ll have to keep an eye on you, be sure you attend seminars and Black Mass again this coming Sunday. But you must find an outlet, sì? Something good for the soul. And if I find you have not been attending...” he drew in a deep breath, puffing his chest out, “...Sister Imperator will have my balls in a jar, no?” he laughed. “Don’t make me look like un debole idiota (a soft idiot), tesoro.” 

You nodded quickly, promising you would do your duties.  

“Brava ragazza (good girl),” he smirked, the flirtatious look back in his eyes. “You can start with today’s Latin seminar. The Cardinale will be pleased to see you!” His eyebrows pumped upwards twice suggestively, and rounded his desk once again, sitting back down and typing on his typewriter once more.  

“You are dismissed, Sister. Ready yourself for your Cardinale,” he smirked, eyes focussed on his paper. 

Your blood ran cold at his words, the only heat between your thighs as you were forced to picture yourself literally readying for him... You wondered if the innuendo had been intentional or not; for your own sanity’s sake, you had to choose not.  

You couldn’t bare to imagine the repercussions of Terzo, your Papa, knowing of your little... predicament. 

But you left as he dismissed you, dread filling in the pit of your stomach at the notion you had to not only face the ministry again, but you had to face him.  

Your Cardinale...  

A/N: Again, thank you guys SO MUCH for reading and loving part 1. I hope you love part 2 just as much, and look forward to part 3... (coming real soon, i promise!) In the meantime, you can submit drabble requests HERE

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

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[emiliaalonsosainz31]

secret Feelings - OP81 x Y/N

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Y/N

warnings: nothing except pure fluff (maybe a bit angsty tbh)

Summary: Y/N is torn about confessing her feelings to her close friend, Oscar, during a birthday party. Despite her fears, she decides to tell him. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Authors Note: Please note that English is not my native language, so please be kind. It hasn't been proofread. I am open to any suggestions, ideas, comments, or criticism:) Thx for reading <3 

Does he know? Does he not know? Should I tell him? Or should I wait and hope he figures it out himself? Would he even notice? Maybe he already knows and ignores it because he doesn't feel the same… Ohhh nooooo. We’re not thinking about that now, Y/N! This is Oscar – if he didn’t at least have some feelings for you, he wouldn’t be so close to you all the time. He wouldn’t always save a seat for you next to him, or put his hands on your shoulders when he stands behind you. He wouldn’t regularly try to make eye contact at social events to check if you’re okay, and above all, you wouldn’t talk on the phone every day.

I look beside me. Oscar and I are sitting in the garden with friends, celebrating a birthday. The sun is setting, and the last golden rays of the day shine through Oscar’s light brown hair. His cute side profile looks even better in this light. I just sit there and watch him with a slight smile on my face. Since he started driving for McLaren in Formula 1, he’s been traveling a lot, and moments like these, where I can just look at him in peace, are rare. That’s why I cherish this one even more. He’s living his dream, and I couldn’t be prouder of him! Oscar and I have known each other for about 1 ½ years, and I’ve had a small crush on him for just as long. Okay… maybe a big crush, but that’s not important.

He turns his head towards me and sees me smiling. He smiles back and takes my hand, which is resting on my lap, in his.

Oscar leans slightly towards me. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

I look into his eyes and nod. “Yeah, I can’t complain about anything!”

“That’s very good... yeah, really good. Um, I’d like to take a walk around the block before I leave later, just to stretch my legs a bit before I drive back to Oxford. Will you join me?” he asks with a friendly grin on his lips. I say I’ll come, and follow him out of the garden. Oscar offers me his arm, saying, “Would the lady care to link arms?”

“I’d never say no to that offer!”

I link my arm with his, and we walk a few meters in silence. It’s a very comfortable silence. I don’t think I’ve ever had an awkward silence with Oscar because he exudes such calm that you can just enjoy the moment without talking. It’s really good for me, and I notice that every time, as do the people around us. I’m very excitable and emotional. I talk a lot, and when I’m nervous or stressed, I can be quite exhausting. In those moments, Oscar is always my anchor. Even though I’m a very outgoing and extroverted person, I often need a retreat to recharge and feel safe. And that safe place is definitely the man walking next to me.

Oscar looks down at me with a slight frown, half-hidden by a strand of hair on his forehead.

“Are you sure everything’s okay? You’ve been so quiet and lost in thought all day. That’s not like you at parties,” he says with a slightly worried tone.

We’ve gotten closer over the past few months, but I’m afraid of losing what we have if I tell him I feel more than just friendship. I look away slightly, blinking away the small tears that come at the thought of possibly losing him. He stops, stands in front of me, and turns my face towards him with his hand.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Please talk to me, I’m really starting to worry, sweetie.”

I look into his eyes, which now seem very concerned. There’s no way out of this now, and I have to tell him. “Osc… I… there’s actually something on my mind,” I say, sniffling. A few small tears escape from the corners of my eyes. “Please don’t be mad or put off. I really don’t want to lose you, you mean too much to me. But not just as a friend, more than friends, if you know what I mean. I really, really like you. But I understand if you don’t feel the same way. Oh God, of course you don’t feel the same way, but I hope I don’t lose you because of this. Why am I even saying this? I’m just ruining everything. Oh God, oh God...,” I ramble, tears streaming down my cheeks. Oscar looks at me and starts laughing. First quietly, then louder. 

Wow, I expected many reactions, but not this. My sad expression turns into a slightly angry and confused one. Just as I’m about to turn and leave, Oscar grabs my arm and turns me back to him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. That reaction wasn’t the best choice. But did you really think I didn’t know? It took exactly two weeks, and my friends were already telling me about the hearts in your eyes when you look at me. And from that point on, I couldn’t miss them either. And don’t worry, I feel the same way. I know how insecure you get with deep feelings. I’m the same way. That’s why I didn’t want to pressure you and just let things develop naturally between us. So no, I’m not mad, I’m not put off, and you definitely won’t lose me, quite the opposite. Did you really think I wouldn’t feel the same way?”

I exhale in relief and nervously wring my hands before Oscar takes them in his.

“Somehow, I knew you felt something for me because the way you are with me is different from how you are with your other friends. But I couldn’t be sure. And oh God, was I really that obvious? How embarrassing. I’m sorry. But you have no idea how happy I am that you feel the same way. I should have done this much earlier, with the whole open communication about feelings and stuff.”

“Yeah, there are a few things I would have liked to do much earlier...”

I raise my eyebrows questioningly as his face gets closer to mine. Oscar looks into my eyes and then at my lips. His gaze keeps shifting between the two. My heart starts to beat faster, and my mouth goes dry. His lips meet mine, and my eyes close. It’s an explosion of emotions, and I kiss him back. Our small kiss turns into more until we hear cheering and clapping from behind us. Oscar pulls away from me and laughs as he looks behind me. I turn around and see some of our friends a few meters away, grinning widely. They’re whistling and clapping, shouting cheers.

“Seems like this conversation wasn’t just overdue for us, right?” Oscar says, laughing as he wraps an arm around me.

“Yeah, and obviously I wasn’t as subtle with my feelings as I thought. Haha, I really need to work on that!”

“No! You never need to hide your feelings again, they’re far too precious!”

He leans down and gives me a very heartfelt kiss on the forehead.

[pitviperofdoom]

So it's been a hot second since I took a break from my full series reread, but I found myself once again thinking about Outcast of Redwall and the raw deal that Veil Sixclaw got.

What kills me is that before the poisoning, the one thing Veil got in trouble for--the only thing, in fact--was stealing. This kid didn't even get into fights, he just stole food from the kitchens, which as Bryony points out is normal Abbey kid behavior. Another character shoots back that stealing is something most kids outgrow implying that the fact that Veil hasn't is suspicious, which is frankly a wild thing to say to the great grand-daughter of Gonff the Mousethief.

(In a kinder version of events, the adults in Veil's life might have shaken their heads with long-suffering fondness and remarked that he was following in his adopted ancestor's footsteps.)

The whole point of Redwall is that it's the woodland utopia where no one goes hungry and everyone has what they need, which is why kids stealing pies off the windowsill is no big deal... except when Veil does it, apparently. Veil's the one that gets physical punishment when he's suspected of stealing--not even proven! I can't recall off the top of my head any incidents in the rest of the series of corporal punishment in Redwall beyond idle threats that the kids know not to take seriously. But Veil gets scrutinized from the moment Redfarl and Skipperjo pick him up out of the mud and they and Bella look at this literal infant and say "oh yeah, he's gonna be evil for sure."

And then a thought occurred to me: it's generational trauma.

Most of the characters in Outcast are two generations removed from the characters in Mossflower. Bella of Brockhall is in both books. Verdauga and Tsarmina are still within living memory. Until the end of Outcast, as far as she knows, Bella lost her entire family to vermin warlords. Mossflower opens on a scene in which a ferret kicks in the door of a family of subsistence farmers, threatens their children with slavery, and takes all their food as taxes leaving them with none for the winter--and the Stickles were the last holdouts. The other farmers in the area had already run off to join the resistance at that point, so this kind of treatment was normal.

And we're left with a close-knit society of people who've grown up with this shared history, with a venerated authority figure who still carries the scars and memories of what they lost--and suddenly another warlord comes within a hairsbreadth of discovering the peaceful society they built in the aftermath, and leaves behind a starving neglected baby whose first impression is eating frogspawn in the mud and biting his rescuers while being the spitting image of the warlord they just narrowly avoided.

All of that gets thrown into this caustic mixture of fear and paranoia that gets projected onto a literal baby and results in their completely out of pocket response to a child taking food from the kitchens in the We Share Everything Abbey.

It also might explain why Bryony, who's young enough to be three generations removed and may have been born after most of the survivors of Kotir had already passed, is the only one who isn't scared and suspicious of Veil on sight.

[cosmic-crybaby]

Break My Heart Again- Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 3

Summary: After being childhood friends, you and Thomas made a promise one day to get married, but when he returned from France, he came back a completely different man.

Warnings: Angst, mutual pining, betrayal, emotional manipulation, emotional whiplash.

It was 1919. Over a year since she left Thomas and the betting shop behind. [Name] was stuck in solitude for days, and each day her mother comforted her, easing her daughters cries until she slept. The first person to reach out to her since she had left, was Ada.

"Please talk to me [Name]," She had asked her friend, sitting across from her at the small dining table.

"There is nothing to say, Ada...I can't go back, not now," She picked at her nails anxiously, the deep burgundy lacquer slowly chipping away.

"Believe it or not, it hasn't gone completely to shit, but Aunt Pol is having a hard time finding reliable people to do your job-"

"That's not my job anymore," [Name] reminded her. "Listen I'm sorry...I really am,"

"Where will you go now?" Ada asked. The girl opposite to her thought for a moment, she could be a barmaid but the chances of running into the Peaky boys were high. Jobs for women were scarce now that the men are back. So she just opted to respond with a shrug.

"No idea, Ada..."

Over a year later and she managed to get a job at the local library. It was quiet, of course, but at the very least she was able to put some of her knowledge to good use. It paid well enough for her to live comfortably and it kept her hidden away from running into the Shelby Family. She was just glad she didn't have to resort to becoming a prostitute. Her mother would have a heart attack is that was the case. With the exception of Ada and Polly, who would often drop in to have tea with her and her mother or bring treats and gifts. Sometimes [Name] felt they only offered these gifts as peace offerings, of behalf of what Thomas had done. It was as if they still couldn't forgive him, and they would understand if she couldn't either.

Because in the last year, she had changed.

Physically and mentally. She had grown into a beautiful young woman, the stress of illegal betting and horseracing, the stress of Thomas Shelby had left her life, which in turn rewarded her to grow even more. In only a year, she begun to finally get noticed by the other young bachelors of Birmingham. Little did she know, she had them turning their heads all this time, she was busy with her eyes on someone else.

It was one afternoon when she met her current suitor. His name was Daniel and he was the sweetest man she had ever met. Considering she had only surrounded herself with the three Shelby men and the Peaky boys, that was a big change. While she was working at the front desk of the Library, he requested some aid in retrieving a couple of maps of the world. She didn't pay any mind to Daniel at first until the third and fourth week he had come in, still asking for her help.

"I remember you, I would assume you knew where the maps were by now," She quietly cut him off. This caught him off guard, making him flustered as he tried to search for his words. [Name] only smiled as she watched the dark auburn haired man blush more and more.

"I-I am sorry miss...I just," He cleared his throat. She arched her brow at him for a moment. He was at a loss for words as he admired her beauty. That day he had asked if she'd like to accompany him to some dinner in London, to get to know each other more.

It had been a very peaceful and cherishing month with Daniel, she found that he was a traveling business man and was looking to expand his company in America. But, like all good things it came to an end when Thomas Shelby came into the picture once again. While in London with Daniel, he took her to the shops to buy a new dress to meet his family one night. She had broken away from him as he spoke to the salesman about the dress he was about to purchase. Stepping outside to look at the lightly clouded sky, examining the different shops on the street.

"[Name]?" The voice sent shivers down her spine. She quickly turns at the mention of her name towards the deep voice.

"Thomas?" She asked, surprised to see him.

Seeing the man that broke her heart and betrayed her trust right in front of her eyes was like a whirlwind of emotions. She didn't know if she should stay, run, or beat him until he was blue and on his knees begging for her forgiveness.

But, she was better than that. She was with a man who actually loved her.

"It's nice to see you again," Thomas told her, stepping closer. She subtly takes a step back, clearing her throat as her eyes dart to the shop entrance, praying to God that Daniel will emerge soon so the two can leave the awkward interaction and never turn back.

"Yeah, sure, Thomas..." She nods slightly. Thomas Shelby didn't forget what happened between them over a year ago, but he was perplexed that she would still treat him like a stranger, even after all these years of being as close as they once were. Within that year of missing her by his side, he refrained from showing up at her home to see her, refraining from asking Ada and Polly to tell him what they had discussed when they visited her. Part of him hoped that her and her mother still took those evening walks in Uncle Charlies' yard after dinner. Thomas often found himself at Charlies' yard nearly every night, hoping he would run into her.

But that's exactly what she had avoided. [Name] did everything in her power to avoid every little place and thing Tommy knew about her. IT seemed to work, until this very moment.

"What brings you here?" She asked curiously. Hoping she didn't have to put her favorite dress shop in London on a list of places to avoid Thomas Shelby.

"Just...doing some business in London as it seems...until I saw you leaving the dress shop...thought I would come and say hello," He shrugged. [Name] looked down at her gloved hands, pondering her next words.

"I see...well, goodbye Thomas," She nods once, still avoided his eyes, afraid that once she sees his eyes again, it will start all over again. The warmth he gave her, the butterflies in her stomach, the cure to all of her hardships. She makes hasty steps past him, but his hand reaches out to grab her arm...it was gentle but firm as to not hurt her. He always knew how to be gentle with her.

"[Name], please..." He said quietly. She felt the tears brim her eyes as she slowly turned to him again. Slowly lifting her gaze to his eyes. Once he saw her tears, it was like everything around them had stopped. It was just them two together and no one else.

"What Thomas? What could you possibly want from me now?...After all this time, when I am finally happy you come into my life again, why?" She asked, sniffling as the small tears rolled down her high cheekbones and onto her chin. Her skin blushed, and her eyes were red with salty tears. He was at a loss for words at first.

He gently spoke her name again, reaching down to pick up her hand in his, testing the waters to see just how much she will accept from him. Her hand twitched and nearly jerked away as he slipped her glove off. Feeling the warmth of his skin made her comply. His hands were rough now, from the years of digging tunnels and fighting. She had no doubt that his hands and mind were both distressed.

"I...I'm sorry for how things ended between us...frankly I can't stop thinking about you," He told her regretfully. Her eyes were shining in the dim light of the London sun, the tears glistening as they roll. Each one looking like diamonds.

"You're sorry...After a year you're finally sorry," She almost laughed. Thomas only sighed.

"Yes of course! and...and I regret everything I said, I can't live my life without you, [name],"

"You should have thought about that before you asked me to marry you!" Her voice raised just a bit, before realizing that she was still in public, as to not bring attention to herself. For once, Tommy didn't know what to say next. His eyes darted across her face. Her cheeks were red, her brows were furrowed in frustration, and her lips... Oh those lips he had always wanted to kiss deeper each night upon his return, they were downcast in a frown. He released a sigh when he realized her eyes had not left his this entire time. He knew she still loved him deep down. She just couldn't bear it. His thumb ran over the top of her hand gently.

"I hurt you, I know that now and...There is nothing else I can say other than I am immensely sorry, give me another chance [name], I can prove it to you that I am a new man, as friends or more I need you in my life,"

His words made her lips tremble as she closed her eyes to think and steady her breath. She opened her eyes first before she opened her mouth to speak.

"[Name]?" A voice called, and suddenly the bubble bursts. It was like the busy street surrounding them suddenly became clear again. It wasn't just the two of them in the world anymore. She turned her head from Thomas to Daniel. The man she adored more than anything, as he searched for her. Thomas also managed to sneak a glance at the stranger, and his cold heart sunk a little deeper into the pit, leaving a sour taste in his mouth and a clenched jaw. She looked back at Thomas.

"Think about it," He whispered before walking off.

[Name] stood in her place in stillness as she tried to process what just happened to her. Daniel approached her, smiling widely as he informed her that he purchased the dress and reassuring her that it will look lovely on her for the dinner party with his family. She gave him a small smile before it quickly faded when he looked away from her.

The days leading up to the dinner party, she had thought of Thomas. It was like he himself had infected her mind as she had no more room to think clearly of anything else besides him and the words he spoke to her. But could she really trust him again?

Should she trust him again?

Every day and every night she had spent with Daniel, she tried her best to reciprocate the love he had for her, but somehow something was wrong. She didn't love him the way she loved Thomas. The night of the dinner party, she waited for Daniel to pick her up. Wearing the dress he had bought her, the jewelry she borrowed from her mother, and the hair and makeup she spent hours perfecting just to impress his family.

"What's wring, dear? Your hands are shaking," Her mother pointed out as she helped her daughter prepare.

"I...I don't think I can do this," She swallowed thickly. But before her mother could even ask, there was a ring at the door. [Name's] stomach was in knots and her blood ran cold. Her mothers words of encouragement were drowned out by her own raging heartbeat. When she opened the door, her mouth was agape. Expecting to see Daniel, instead Thomas stood at the front door.

Out of breath and panting. No words were exchanged as they stared at each other. She nearly leaps into his arms as she engulfs him in a tight embrace. It felt right, being in his arms again. Like they were kids again.

The following days, she kept her distance from Daniel, much to her mothers dismay. She had written him a letter.

To my Darling Daniel, I am sorry things had to happen this way. You had shown me the love no man has ever shown me before. But I am afraid I do not deserve it. Our time together was more than I could ask for, but I simply cannot keep loving you the way you want me to. I will forever cherish our memories together in my heart, as you were the only man to treat me a way a woman should be treated. I hope you find love again, and the next woman you find love in will be a very lucky to have you. I will always have you in my heart. [Name].

With the letter, she returned the dress he had bought her, she thought it would be ill-mannered to keep it. She hadn't heard from him after that. Not even a letter back, but she knew why. She would never hold that against him.

The following week, [Name] had began showing her face around the betting shop again. Here and there popping in to talk to Ada and Polly, slipping away into Tommy's office to speak with him when he wasn't busy. It was a but of a shock to the Shelby women when they saw her. They thought she was crazy for showing up again, but she had reassured them that everything was fine.

For months on end, [Name] and Thomas would spend their time together. Hand in hand as they drunkenly walked along the streets after visiting a pub on the weekends. Dancing to records in her home, holding each other close as they slow danced in the fire-place lit room. One night they went to the old hill, the same hill they used to go to when they were kids. Laying beside each other, drinking a bottle of cheap wine as they star-gazed. It was the only place where the sky wasn't absolutely covered by the smoke and smog of the city.

"I forgot how beautiful the sky was at night," She spoke softly as she sat up, eyes scanning the sky.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" He asked, leaning his shoulder against hers. She takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly with a nod, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Thomas?" She asked. He hums.

"I missed you,"

"I missed you too, [Name]," He spoke truthfully. That night, they shared a kiss.

A week later, she approached him in his office.

"Pol said you were going to the derby..."

"We are...It's an important matter of business, [Name],"

The girl sighs. "I know that...I also told you I would go with you if you needed me to,"

"No..."

"Uh- no?" She asked, perplexed.

"Absolutely not, Kimber is a dangerous man, you're not coming with us," He argued. She aggressively rolls her eyes and throws her hands up in the air before putting them on her hips.

"I was hoping to come talk to you without being interrupted-" She mumbled.

"And I was hoping you would know better than to ask to join on this mission-"

"Then who are you taking?" She interrupted him, crossing her arms. Thomas sighs, shaking his head in disbelief at her childish attitude.

"The barmaid,"

"The barmaid? Why the fuck would you take the barmaid?" She asked. He widened his eyes at her for a moment. She bit the inside of her cheek as she waited for his response.

"It's all a part of the plan, please trust me," He stood as he slowly walked to her, placing his hands on her shoulders to calm her mind. She pursed her lips, a solemn look on her face.

"I don't care who goes with you to the derby, I just can't sit here and hope you'll come out alive one of these days...I-" She pauses. "I adore you too much, Thomas,"

He pulls her into a tight hug, his hand caressing her hair as he kissed her forehead. "Everything will be okay," He reminded her. Lifting her chin to slowly look at him. Her eyes, as alluring as they were. His lips attack hers in a rough kiss. Pushing [Name] against the wall as her fingers pull at the fabric of his white shirt, his body pressing against hers. She could practically feel his heart beating against her chest. His hands slipping down her body, her waist to her hips to the roundness of her ass. His strong hands gripping every curve of her as he started pulling at her dress with his hands. Pulling away to catch their breath, but before she would dive in for another kiss Finn had burst through the door, inquiring that their Aunt Polly needed to speak to Thomas at once.

Begrudgingly letting him handle his business, she was left alone in his office, blushing and fanning herself with her hands as the heat began to rise, biting her lip in bafflement.

She wanted to see him again and ask about the kisses they had started. What they meant, what would have happened if they weren't interrupted. But Thomas too involved with conspiring against Billy Kimber. Fucking Billy Kimber. Hearing his name made her clench her jaw. He had been the talk of every family meeting since he found his way into Birmingham just weeks ago. But Thomas was just too busy. Too busy to talk to her. Eventually, too busy to even see her as frequently.

She recognized the pattern. It was what happened to her before he left for France. If only she could just read his mind, find out exactly what was going on in that head of his. From seeing him and his eyes, his smile every day, to seeing him at least once a week. This time he would still act the same with her. Kind, gentle, caring, but somehow she knew it was different. He wouldn't touch her, or kiss her like he used to. [Name] thought that maybe, just maybe, if she told him how she felt everything will go back to normal. Perfect even.

She just had to wait for the right moment.

When Thomas had come to her home for an evening tea with her and her mother, she decided that she would tell him then. The tea was nice, the conversations went well. [Name] was eager to finish, to get it all over with, waiting for their moment alone. Later that night, after her mother excused herself to bed, the two sat on the couch, sharing a whiskey as they talked. She sat her glass down when he called her name to get her attention.

"I need to tell you something,"

Her ears and cheeks grew warm as she looked at him, eyes brighter than ever.

"I actually need to tell you something too...but please go first," She smiled. Thomas turned his body slightly towards her, seemingly less enthusiastic as her. Thomas clears his throat before he spoke.

"I want to start off by apologizing for not seeing you as much these past few months, but I promise everything is going to work out for the better in the end, not just for my family, but for yours as well..." He paused, holding one of her hands in his.

"Thomas," She glances at their interlocked hands before looking up at him again. His blue eyes didn't look as bright in the dim lighting of the room.

"You have been with my family since the beginning, and you helped us out when we needed you the most, when everything takes off, I want you by my side through it all, promise me that you will do that for me [Name]," He requested. The young woman stares into his eyes once more and nods silently.

"I can't imagine leaving your side...ever," She stated quietly. Thomas looked down again, smiling slightly. As far as she knew he rarely smiled now...the only time she saw him smile was when he was with her.

"There was another thing I wanted to talk about," He started. She nods, urging him to continue. "There's a woman,"

His voice dropped low, the way he said 'woman' rumbled as her cheeks flushed. At the drop of a pin, her lively face slowly dropped at his words.

"A woman?"

She sank into the sofa as he spoke, but his words fell upon deaf ears. Her mind went numb, buzzing as she blankly stared off into the shadows of the room. He loved her, convinced her to leave Daniel, kissed her, treated her like she was the only woman for him...almost married her. All those years together, meant nothing to him. Once again. She should have known better than to get attached to a man like him.

A man only out for his own good.

"[Name]...You're crying," He pointed out, stopping mid-explanation to wipe the tear. She wanted to tell him. Tell him she loved him, that she wanted nothing more than to be with him for the rest of their lives. She looks at him and smiles.

[Name] shook her head and sniffled, chuckling and looking away to wipe the tear.

"I'm just...really happy for you Thomas...She seems like a nice woman," She didn't hear a word he said about her. The mystery woman that had stolen his heart.

'If only you knew what I felt'

After Thomas had left that night, she went to her room, sobbing in her bed. The heaviness in her chest weighted her down as she was held into place by rocks. The agony she felt, not only for herself but for hurting the only man that loved her. All for nothing. It was too late to go back now.

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[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

Eddie hasn't moved from his spot on the Harrington's living room floor since El placed Steve back in his hands two hours ago except to switch his weight from side to side, depending on which buttcheek is currently numb. The mass exodus from the Byers-Hopper house to the Harringtons had taken less than 15 minutes and there has not been peace since, hence the remaining-on-the-floorness of it all for Eddie.

People stop by his stop in the living room to talk to Steve, looming over Eddie in their uncertainty. He stopped offering for people to take Steve after the third rejection because Eddie gets it; he's still the most chill about this (except Argyle, but Argyle is currently high, and Eddie is exceptionally sober and perhaps resenting that fact a bit) but he gets it. The situation is fucking freaky and maybe the thought of holding their transformed babysitter slash older brother figure slash hero might be a bit harrowing.

Of course, there's always an exception, so when Max lowers herself to the living room floor next to him, cane set down between them, and says, "Give him here." Eddie obeys, instructing her to hold her hands out so he can place Steve in them upright and facing her. Max's bones had healed alright, but she'd never get her vision back.

"Am I looking at his face?" She asks, gripping him around the waist with two hands like he's a messy hamburger.

Eddie can't actually tell from this angle if she's looking at his face but it's got to be close enough, so he says, "Yeah."

"Hey Steve," Max starts. "Everyone else is too much of a wuss to hold you but don't worry. They'll get over it. Not going to lie to you, though, this is pretty weird, but, like, mostly because I expected your body to be squishy, like a stuffed toy or those babydolls Holly drags around and forces us to take care of when we all hang out at the Wheeler's house. You know, the ones that are like soft with the plastic head, hands, and feet? That's what I expected." She runs one thumb up and down on his torso before tacking on, "ugh, this feels like a polo. Eddie, is he wearing a polo?"

"Yeah. I think he's in the outfit he was wearing when whatever happened happened. The polo was tucked into his jeans but Robin untucked it to check if there were scars on his lil' porcelain tummy."

"Are there?"

"Yeah. Painted on, Robin says. It's pretty accurate."

"Like, chest hair and all?"

"I... don't know? You'll have to ask Robin. She was the one holding him like two inches from her face."

Max's attention goes back to Steve. "I bet your tiny polo looks cute, simply because it's tiny. Only way a polo could be cute, Steve. I still can't believe you dress this way because you like it. And worse, I can't believe you actually pull off the look."

Eddie looks on, amused, as Max rambles from there. Which is an experience. Max isn't quiet by any means, but she's not a talk to fill the silence type, which is what this seems like. The topics are mundane, like how summer school is going, and about her plans to try and teach El how to skateboard using only verbal directions, and debating the pros and cons of trying to convince her mom to let her get a seeing-eye dog. Then, they make a turn Eddie didn't expect.

"I think I'm going to be mostly on babysitting duty instead of active research and rescue. You know, on account of the blindness and all. So, like, I hope you're going be okay just hanging out with me and listening to Kate Bush for hours."

He should not be feeling a twist in his gut of jealousy at the fact Max wants to take Porcelain Steve from him, and yet. "You gonna look after him, Max?"

She shrugs, turns her face towards Eddie, "I figured we'd all take turns babysitting. Might get boring for him otherwise. He'd drop everything to watch us, if this had happened to us. He has done that. We have to do the same for him. Plus, Steve likes to check in on us, don't you Steve? What better way than to give you, like, a day with everyone in rotation."

"Always the savior, never the saved, huh?" Eddie is trying to joke but Max's face twists into a frown and her arms lower for the first time, lower so Steve's little porcelain face stares up at the ceiling.

"No. Not always."

"Oh?"

"I saved him, once. From Billy. It was my fault he was even in danger," Max says, voice sad.

"I doubt it was your fault-"

"It was my brother trying to beat him to death," Max snaps and it shuts Eddie up quick. "And the only reason he was in the house, beating Steve to death, was because I couldn't follow the simple instruction of 'stay away from the window'. Steve could probably have gotten Billy to leave if I had. But I didn't listen, and Billy got in, and then he was threatening Lucas. He'd said 'you're dead, Sinclair' and then Steve had to be super lame but super cool at the same time by saying 'no, you are' and decking Billy in the face with, like, the full force of his body."

"That is a very lame thing to say."

"Right? Anyway, he was winning that fight until Billy cracked him over the head with a plate. Then it just went downhill so fast for Steve, and I was so sure I was about to watch my stepbrother murder someone. I-I don't even know what came over me, really. I'd never stood up to Billy before. I just knew I had to do something. There were these syringes filled with something that put you to sleep and I grabbed it and then I stabbed Billy with one and then threatening him with Steve's nailbat to never touch any of my friends again."

"Holy shit, Red. Metal as hell!"

She gives a small smile at that. "Well, the boys were basically useless so." She gives a shrug that suggests that sentence should have ended with what can you do?

"True. I've seen you girls in action. Scary and deadly."

Max looks down, then, back to Steve. "Alright, Steve. This is enough floor time for me. I'll yack your ears off later."

She holds Steve back out to Eddie, and he returns Steve to the place in his lap. She gathers her cane and pulls herself from the floor, calling out to see where El is, then presumably going off to find her.

"You really do have a tit-for-tat thing going on with these kids, don't ya?" Eddie chuckles, falling back into the quiet.

His mind does go back to Max and her story. Saving Steve from Billy. He's heard that story but never that part. Steve had given him a watered-down version that left out the fact Billy had threatened Lucas, and that Max had come to his rescue. He wonders if Steve even knows that part.

Had they told him? In Steve's version he's getting his ass beat, and then he's coming to in the back of Billy's car with Max at the wheel. It seems out of character for Steve to not take the time to brag about the kids.

Given the events of spring break of last year, and Max's complicated feelings towards Billy, maybe Steve does know the full story and it was left out intentionally. A thing left up to Max to tell or not, to have to relive. She's been better, doesn't bottle up the hard things anymore, even though it's not Eddie she talks to.

It's Steve.

Eddie feels a bit worse about his jealousy earlier. Of course, Max wants to spend time with Steve even if he can't talk back. He's been the stable male figure in her life for years, just like he's been for Dustin.

He looks up, really taking in the people around him. All the people that have gathered because they care about Steve. All the kids, their peers, Joyce, and Hopper, and some guy Eddie's never even heard of before named Murray.

Does Steve even know how much he means to everyone here?

He's going to ask Steve just that but Robin shouts from the dining area at the same time he opens his mouth, so he snaps his jaw shut and focuses in on that.

"Absolutely not! Those assholes dealt with StarCourt by burning it to the ground and that's it! What do you think they'll try and do to Steve!?" Robin's back is to Eddie, so he can't see her face, but he can see Nancy's, who she seems to be yelling at. Nancy looks determined.

"I'm not saying we go asking the shady government for help immediately! I just brought it up as an option for if we hit a dead end, or can't figure this out, or-" Nancy argues back, and Robin cuts her off.

"Shut up! We'll figure it out! We have before."

Nancy's face softens, looks sadder. "I know, Robin. I do. But how long do we try ourselves? How many days, weeks, months, do we just keep trying ourselves while Steve is stuck? We don't even have a starting point for fixing this, the least we can do is plan a time to ask for help."

"Nancy's right," Hopper says, even if he sounds upsetting about admitting it out loud. "We can trust Owens at least. He helped us."

"No, I'm with Freckles there. You cannot trust anyone in the government, Jim. How many times do you need to learn that lesson?" Murray says in a condescending tone (though Eddie hasn't heard any other tone from him, so maybe that's just his voice?).

Eddie finally stands from the floor. This feels like an argument he should join.

[0man]

And I love, love, I love you

Artwork: Melancholy - Edgar Degas

Word count: 1409 words

Pairings: Toji x reader (can also be other characters since no names are mentioned)

A/N: inspired by Icarus' Irony by @suna-reversed i hope you all enjoy. English isn't my first language so if there are any grammar errors my bad you never saw it

Warnings: Angst, cheating, slight nsfw themes i would've written the smut but i suck ass at that department

He feels so warm, the way his arm blankets around you, the entirety of your being pressed close to his chest. The heat radiates off of him, all from the exertion from before. It feels so nice, comforting, safe, it feels like home in his arms, but all you want to do is get away from him.

Why leave such solace?

Indeed, why leave such solace. But at some point we all have to.

It doesn't matter anymore, it makes you feel sick in the guts, telling yourself you'd never put yourself in this position. It's difficult being a hypocrite. The exhale from his nose gives a gentle gust of air on your hair every time. He's so peaceful right now, fallen asleep and all. His cheeks look so soft, his lips into a small pout, he looks ethereal in the dim light of the moon and you're not surprised as to why you changed your ways for him.

But you can't bear it anymore, the bile rises up your throat as tears try to fall. Slowly and gently you try to get up and to the bathroom, and when you reach you collapse on the floor. There's moans, wails, screams, and cries stuck in your throat but you refrain from waking him up. There's nothing else to do but to silently scream it all out.

How long is this going to happen? Hasn't it been long enough?

It has. But every time you try to stop you fall in deeper, deeper and deeper and even he knows that, he knows how much you fall and he falls deeper too.

But does he? He doesn't seem to, if he did, wouldn't he end it with her? End the pain of being the other woman, end the shame and guilt that comes back every morning as you search for him on your bed, only to find out he's left in the middle of the night, like he always does. How many times has he fooled you?

"You're awake"

He's sitting up on the bed, sheets having slipped down to his abdomen, serenity in it's physical embodiment covered in loving bruises and bites. Serenity looks up from where his hand had been laid, thinking back to the actions of the night, and he rakes his hair with his hand as he looks.

To you he may have been ethereal, the most serene beauty of a man, but to him you were so much more. Divine beauty in it's most enchanting form, especially now as you're standing in all your glory. And like that he breaks more and more from the confinements he's set.

But you don't know that, he wishes to show you but to you, you're only a past time of his he dotes on, sugars up and devours through the night. Because even if you try to think otherwise, the reminder always stays there. Glistening from the moonlight as it lays still on the bedside table, it's silver encasing will always bring you back to the reality that you are nothing more than a past time.

"You went away, couldn't sleep without you." There's an ache in your heart when he says that, because you wish he would say that under different circumstances, with that silver ring on his and your fingers, and not his and hers.

There will always be a reminder.

You don't reply, you don't want to either, there's nothing in your body except the hurt he brings with him every time he comes back. Always inviting him in again because you can't help but need him.

Your legs move, back to the bed as he watched you with intent eyes, you don't know what he thinks of as he watches you but the way you move to him is so sensual with the way your hips sway and he can't help but want to go again.

And he doesn't fight the urge.

Because the moment you reach the bed, the mattress sinking from your movements, his body moves on its own accord and he reaches up and kisses you, his big hands enveloping your face, pulling you to him.

And you, you let it happen all over again, because somehow he always ends up convincing you to let him have his way.

His head rests on the crook of your neck as he tries to retain his breathing. He still feels euphoric but reality has abruptly set in for you and the tears come back again.

What is the truth?

He tells you that you haunt him, plague his mind 'from wake till slumber', tells you all sorts of praised and consumed you absolutely and then leaves, pretending to never have met you in his life one time you happened to pass him in the street.

"Sorry you must've mistaken me for someone else, if you'll excuse us i have a reservation with my wife.”

You can't tell what's real and what's fake anymore, but in the end you're only just a play toy, to please him.

How many times had he promised you freedom?

How many times has he told you he doesn't even love her?

How many times had he made excuses for not ending things?

He takes your silence for exhaustion, as he cleans you up, as he sinks back into the bed ready to pull you back into his arms-

"I want this to stop"

He halts immediately, your voice sounds so frail and weak, like its glass on the brink of shattering. "I can't do this anymore" A sob almost slips out with your words.

But it's true, how much longer could you endure it? In the end he always goes back to her and never you, no matter how many times he comes, he always goes back to her. He turns you over, his hands holding your wrist, you start thrashing, repeatedly saying no as the tears free fall from your eyes now. He pulls you close, disregarding your thrashing as he closes his hold on you.

You sob and sob, crying out how much you hate him. He doesn't have to ask why you're like this, he clearly knows why. And soon your sobbing and wailing ends, your hateful spout gone.

He stays like that, until he's sure that you've fallen asleep from how your sniffling has stopped. He doesn't want to hurt you, he can't bare the idea of you being hurt by him, he never wants that to happen ever again. The look of disgust and the hurt in your eyes make him want to ask for repentance and endure every sort of suffrage there is in the world, but he knows it will never hurt as much as the way you looked at him.

Small circles traced on your back as he kisses your forehead, in every form he has seen you you'll always be his divine entity, but of all the forms he has seen, he never wanted to see you in pain again.

And as he drifts off, he confesses his affections, something he'd never tell you face to face.

It takes him a second to realize it.

You're gone. The bed is empty, it feels cold and ominous without your presence. He immediately gets up, using the blanket as a drape.

Bathroom? No

Living room? No

Closet? No

Balcony? No

Kitchen? No

You're gone, you've left him all alone. What is he supposed to do? He's so used to seeing you in the morning it doesn't feel right. You never left when it was his house, always stayed and made something, and he'd always have to make the coffee because you didn't drink any. Everywhere is so empty, there's a hollow, cold, ominous feeling to every room he enters without you. Is this you telling him it's done? He knows what you said last night but he hopes you didn't mean it, that you'd listen to him like always and stick around.

What was he supposed to do?

He couldn't bear the idea of living without your presence. Go back to that woman? There is barely anything between them anymore, there's no use in the marriage now. He wishes he ended things early, maybe you wouldn't have left, maybe you'd stick around and he could finally say that he loved you. He wonders if this is how you were every morning when he left before you could wake, now he knows how it feels.

[sunkissedscribbles]

Prejudiced - Chapter One

this is only a part of the series, the next chapters can be found here

a/n: hey lovelies! i’m starting this ff called ‘prejudiced’ and am gonna be posting the chapters here, as well as on wattpad (more info on my page). i only made a minor change compared to wattpad because i’m going to be merging 2-3 wattpad chapters when posting here. so, here is the first one, i hope you’ll like it!!

word count: 3478

tw: my bad writing.

summary: cassie and mattheo bonding

next chapter>

dividers by @chachachannah

Empty and half-empty bottles of firewhisky all over the place; on tables, under the chairs and the sofas, and loud music — this is how the Gryffindors celebrate a win against any of the other Quidditch teams of Hogwarts. These are the only nights we are "allowed" to stay up late, celebrating and drinking as if we were in a pub. More like, this is the only occasion the teachers don't bother to send us ruthlessly to bed.

The smell of alcohol in the air is sickening and I feel a little bit dizzy as there is no air left in the common room. I get up from the floor where we are sitting in a circle, playing the most cliché game ever; truth or dare, then head toward the portrait hole.

As the portrait shuts behind me, I no longer hear the people who are partying in the common room, nor do I hear the music that is playing in there. For a few moments, the sudden silence is deafening and my ears need a few seconds to recover from the internal beeping in my head.

Now it's silent.

There's not a sound except for the quiet snickering coming from the portraits and for my breathing. The castle is still and as always, it feels like someone's or something's watching me. But I know that's not true as long as I don't spot Mrs Norris. I turn around to see if she's there but as I make sure not a soul is here to catch me sneaking out of the common room at this ungodly hour, I make my way towards the Astronomy Tower, hoping to find peace and some fresh air there.

The noise was too much for me in the common room, the too many people made the air hard to breathe for me, and I started to feel like I didn't occupy my own body, as if I was watching my life and actions from outside my body. It happens quite often, my senses get overwhelmed, and all the impulses I got in the past hour made me a little sleepy and disassociated, that's why I decided to hunt for some peace and air.

As I reach the top level of the tower, I stop for a moment. I can see someone smoking by the railing. How did I not notice the smell of smoke when coming up here? I tend to zone out; I can't even recall my way here and it's so weird when I think about it.

From behind, I can't exactly tell who I'm looking at other than figuring out it's a boy and I'd leave as he must be looking for some alone time if he's here this late, without company but he turns around to see who's interrupting his me-time.

Do boys even have me-time?

It's Mattheo Riddle. My eyes meet his dark brown ones that reflect the moon's bright shine. He stiffens in his whole body as he locks his gaze with mine, the cigarette he was smoking already by his foot, stomped on and I can see his features harden, his hands clenching into fists warningly like he was about to throw punches without hesitation if needed. He probably would, though — he's the kind to get his hands dirty the Muggle way.

I feel sorry for him as I realize only being in someone's company whom he hasn't really talked to before is enough to make him go defensive in a split second. I have honestly always felt a kind of sympathy for him for being instantly prejudiced against by everyone only because of his father. I got judged too, but he for sure has it worse.

I recall the moment from earlier today when Fred and George played a prank on him. I hadn't seen what happened or what the prank was and only got to know anything had happened at all when getting ready for the match. Those two are one year ahead of me and have been my best friends since my first year at Hogwarts. As soon as I overheard they did something to Mattheo that he hadn't even deserved, I scolded them instantly and reminded them how similar my situation is to his; being prejudiced and judged by everyone when learning your surname. They always think of the worst things when they learn I'm a Black-descendant.

For a second, I get quite bold and without even approaching Mattheo, I look into his eyes.

"I want to apologize in the name of Fred and George for what they did today. I know you didn't deserve it and now they know it too." I tell him, not frightened by him a slight bit like other students would be.

"Why would you do that?" he barks back, his tone harsh and incredulous.

"Because those gits are too proud to apologize themselves. The perfect stereotype of a Gryffindor, I guess," I offer him a light smile as I shrug.

He seems cold as ice and it would probably be the best option to leave him alone but staying here is so tempting and I'm willing to earn at least the smallest of smiles from him. There is something in him, in his presence that makes me want to stay here.

I approach and join him leaning on the railing with my forearms as I look up at the sky.

"I thought the sky wasn't so cloudy tonight." I try to engage in small talk with him, getting him to say something but the ice he got himself locked into seems unbreakable.

I must admit we both are in our fourth year at Hogwarts so we are classmates but have talked probably once or twice before; we have never really got the chance to. I have always wanted to talk to him and maybe become friends but he seemed way out of my league; we aren't in the same caste, in spite of having mutual friends. He's the reserved, cold Slytherin boy, Riddle heir whereas I'm a rather cheerful Gryffindor — quite an annoying one, I must admit. But I have always set my hopes high and this moment seems like the perfect chance to try to break the ice. To see what's under that cold gaze, ruthless and mean facial expression. Because from what I've seen so far, he's almost stoic, restrained in a way of keeping any emotions under control — except for his anger. This boy clearly has problems with keeping his temper in check; but don't all who've grown up into families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?

"You come here often? Haven't seen you here yet." I try to talk to him again and to my biggest surprise, he does answer.

"We don't have to talk. We are only at the same place by pure accident."

His tone is snarky, clearly not in the mood to chat with me but yet again, I am determined.

"You know, you're not the only one with a troubled family line." I turn my head in his direction, my tone somewhat low and serious.

I catch him off guard with this statement and the sudden change in the subject, I can tell that just by how his gaze softens for a moment, losing his indifferent, stern look for a slight second before regaining his will over his expressions.

But as he doesn't reply with anything, I keep on going.

"I get prejudiced a lot too."

"Doesn't seem to affect you," he mumbles under his breath.

"Not a hard thing to cope with," I shrug — it's a lie.

"Easy to say if you're in Gryffindor," he huffs, becoming defensive once again.

"Those are just stereotypes." I brush it off with a bitter undertone to which my shoulders visibly tense up. "I could be in Hufflepuff and be a Death Eater as well. Your house doesn't define you. Slytherins can be good people too. They are just misunderstood."

He thinks about what I have just said. His gaze slowly but surely softens a little.

He lets out a small, bitter laugh that's barely more than the air he blew out through his nose.

"But isn't being in Slytherin in my case a bit..."

"Sinister?" I ask. He nods. "I guess it sounds that a little bit, yeah. But it's up to you what you do with it. I mean, isn't being in Gryffindor as a Black a little..."

"Ridiculous?" now he asks and I nod. "It is. Not ordinary for a Black to go against their family's will."

"My family can suck it," I say straightforwardly. "They are just people who think a big dynasty makes them greater than the rest of the world's population with inbreeding and following the same old-fashioned pureblood-maniac views."

He looks at me, a little taken aback by my bluntness but the side of his lips curl up into a small smirk. This is what I call progress.

"The black sheep of the family, are you then?"

"Could say so," I shrug with a sly smile that's my body's natural reaction to seeing someone smile at me. Plus, I'm happy I've got him to talk to me. I'm making history tonight. "What about you?"

"Me? I thought you know who I am," he smirks humourlessly; I can see a hint of bitterness and pain in his eyes.

"I know who your biological father is but that's only blood, isn't it? That doesn't define you," I smile, trying to enlighten his mood with a sympathetic facial expression.

He bites his bottom lip as he lets out a little chuckle, but again, a humourless one.

"I know you have heard the rumours. Last year, everyone thought I opened the Chamber of Secrets. I'm bloody sick of them thinking they know me only because I'm the heir to the Dark Lord. They think I'm untrustworthy and will stab them in the back as soon as they turn around. And the Slytherins that are Death Eaters' children? They expect me to lead them, they want me to be the next Voldemort now that he's gone," he turns his head facing away from me for a moment, biting his lip again before sighing and looking back at me. "I just want to be normal for once, y'know."

I nod with understanding shining in my eyes. I've been through this too and I'm glad he opened up at least this much; to not become defensive at my every look and word and telling me he's had enough of the judgemental people he's had to face in his life.

I also remember last year, when people were convinced he was the one to open the chamber under the castle's basement until they'd seen and heard Harry interact with the snake summoned by Draco during the duelling lesson.

"Thank you," I say.

He looks at me, confused, "What?"

"You were honest," I smile lightly but genuinely, and to this gesture, his eyes light up a bit but I'm not sure if he's aware of that. "But you didn't answer my question. Who are you?"

A small smirk, that could have easily been missed, appears on his face, "You'll have to figure it out."

The next few days go by with only a slight difference to how it has been before. Due to the amount I have to study, I don't even seem to balance my study time and my free time and I feel like I'm going absolutely insane.

But that is not the difference I'm talking about.

The contrast is, that we always say hi to each other with Mattheo in class and when walking by each other. I know it's not much but I'm just glad we are actually going somewhere and small progress is still progress, isn't it?

Currently, I'm studying in the library, writing my essay for Astronomy class but I just don't seem to be able to force myself to concentrate anymore so I quickly decide to get some fresh air and head to the Astronomy Tower instead. And, listening to Lavender gossiping only a few tables away from me also bothered me so I am glad for a good reason to escape the four walls of the castle too.

I'm pleased to see there's no one up in the tower so I sit down with my back against a large column, and opening my books, I start to finish my essay about myths that have something to do with astronomy. For this topic, I chose the myth of how Perseus saved Andromeda and of course, the antecedents of it; how and why she got on that rock which was her parents' fault — Cassiopeia and Cepheus. Is it egocentric to tell the myth of the woman I got my name after? Those bloody Blacks and their favouritism over fucked up names!

I could've just written about Hercules and include Leo, Taurus, and Hydra. Or could've just put the main focus on Medusa. Screw it...

I get lost in my thoughts somewhere in the middle of a sentence whilst staring up at the sky with my head tilted back against the column. I am completely at ease, zoned out, so much so that I don't even notice the footsteps approaching me, only when I hear someone call my name.

"Black?" Mattheo's voice shakes me out of my thoughts as he looks down at me.

"Hiya, Mattheo," I smile up at him before he sits beside me, looking curiously at the parchment in my hand.

"Whatcha doing?"

"My essay for Astronomy. You done it already?"

"Didn't even know there was anything to do," he shrugs it off nonchalantly. "What's the topic?"

"Myths that have something to do with astronomy."

"You chose Cassiopeia, I suppose?" he looks at me softly, and I nod. I love to see how he let down his shield a little bit already. But I can't get over the fact he knows about the myth. He smiles as he notices the confused look on my face. "You got your name after her?"

"I did. Most members of 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black' have their names after objects in the sky. My cousin's got his name after Draco, the dragon. He's a year younger than us."

"Yeah, I know him. He's annoying," he nods and I chuckle at his statement.

We stay silent for a little while, processing the things said between us. My mind is racing, just as usual. Now that I think about it, I think it's unique and a great tradition to name your kids after such things as stars, galaxies, and constellations but I would've preferred a name that's not after a cruel woman like Cassiopeia; I know it wasn't her choice to sacrifice her daughter but if I were her, I'd rather jump into the mouth of the Cetus myself than doing that to my child. But still, I must agree with the fact that my name is beautiful and the meaning of it suits me pretty well; she, who chooses to excel.

"Do you know what your name means?" I ask out of thin air as I shake myself out of my thoughts.

Mattheo looks at me with a confused look on his face; I really did catch him off guard with this question. Me and my impulsivity (and my rushing thoughts), I guess.

"I-I don't know? Never thought about looking it up. Never really cared. Why?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking," I smile lightly, shaking my head, thinking about it. "Could be either the Hebrew or Italian version to the English Matthew which means 'gift of God,'" I squint my eyes slightly while thinking.

He furrows his brows slightly at my explanation and he looks up at the sky. It's becoming darker and darker outside and I can see a bright star already. Must be Sirius, judging by how we are already in February.

I then remember the rumour of Sirius Black being in Hogwarts. How would that even be possible? I mean-

"What is the meaning of your name?" he asks me after a few seconds, interrupting my train of thought.

"She, who chooses to excel," I answer without thinking. The sides of his lips curl into a little smirk.

"Fits you," is all he says. A small smile creeps upon my lips.

We don't talk much more for a long time and I go back to finish the sentence that I stopped writing in the middle, now really intending to finish the essay.

After a few minutes of simply staring at the sky, Mattheo gets up from beside me and walks to the railing, grabbing his pack of cigs. I don't even need to look up to know what he's about to do. His fag is already between his lips but doesn't seem to have a lighter on him, I assume by how he's looking into all of his pockets.

"I think it's a sign to stop damaging yourself, especially at fourteen," I comment in a rather annoyed tone. One thing I could never bear is people smoking around me. They really don't care about the consequences of it, do they?

"Live fast, die pretty," he shrugs. "Plus, I'm fifteen."

I roll my eyes with a little smirk.

"What difference does it make?" I ask but as soon as I say it out loud, a song with the same title starts playing in my head and I can't help but think "What's wrong with me when this happens?" Because it happens a lot.

"Got no light, anyway."

"You've got a wand, dumbass," I chuckle.

He rolls his eyes and pretends to be annoyed as he pulls out his wand from the pocket of his jeans. I look up at him from the bottom of the column with my almost-finished essay in hand; he's wearing a white short-sleeve with a black long-sleeve under it, blue jeans, and his black Converse. We have matching shoes, I think as I look at my feet. I can't hold back a small smile at this coincidence but I can't seem to manage to make up a good reason as to why this triggers such a reaction in me — honestly, I don't even really care.

From the corner of my eye, I sense him looking at me right after I get back to my homework. These are my very last sentences before finishing the essay, now for real, and I can't help but notice how my butt hurts by now; I've been sitting here for almost an hour by this time.

Stretching out and cracking my neck, I get up and walk up to the railing, leaning on it with my forearms next to the boy. The light wind plays with my brown hair as I look down at the water. I shift my gaze up at the sky, admiring the stars that are barely noticeable just yet.

He looks at my face and I don't look at him until I pop out the question that's been bothering me for a while now. "Do you think we have a choice on who we'll be? Like, our kind?"

"Our kind?"

I nod. "Those who come from troubled families and families with great past. Do you think we'll ever be able to just... live a normal life without people thinking we'll bring destruction?"

He thinks for a moment before answering, "I thought you said you'd shown people your family doesn't define you?"

"That's never enough," now it's my turn to let out a bitter laugh. "I could do anything to prove them wrong, they expect me to show up with a Dark Mark one day and cause people's deaths. Just because I came from a pureblood-maniac family with views that support Voldemort even after his fall, even if no Blacks have raised me, even with dancing on the edge of getting disowned, that's not enough."

"No Blacks have raised you?" he asks. I hope that's not the only thing that he caught from what I've said though.

"Dad died shortly after I was born. Grandparents dead, uncle in Azkaban. I mean... he was. Mum has raised me on her own-"

"So Sirius Black really is your uncle," he realizes before stomping on his cigarette and I nod.

"His brother was my father," I answer shortly. "People say I must've helped him escape behind my back."

"Yea, I've heard. So did you?" he asks with a sly smirk to enlighten the mood.

"Shut up, Riddle," I nudge him with my elbow with a grateful, easy laugh. It feels natural to talk to him this openly, for some reason.

"Make me, Black," he leans closer with a grin and I roll my eyes before turning my head to face the sky again. He seems like he's getting comfortable around me by the second which makes me quite... happy.

thank you for reading the first chapter! i intend to release chapters every wednesday. comment if you'd like to be tagged<3

[luimagines]

HELLO HELLO !!!!!!!! can i request a continuation of the boys non confession angst where in the part 2 they go to their world and have to deal w their feels about not confessing before reader left? ty ty!!!!

Well yes I can! :D

Let's make it worse before it gets any better :)

Masterlist

Part one will correspond to the first half which you can read right here!

Part one will include Sky, Wind and Four.

Content under the cut!

Sky

He's been kicking himself ever since he returned.

The goodbyes between the rest of the group was less than lackluster. No one else had it in them to give long fanciful speeches about their time together or to drag out the moment longer than necessary.

He kinda wished they did though. It would have made the pain of the currently reality a little less real. He would have been able to play it off as a short time thing or get a little more closure.

Sky pulls on the rope to help set up a wall to a new house they're building on the surface. He's had to learn fast about a lot of thing it takes to survive.

Sure the surface is a lot safer than it used to be. The destruction of Demise, the sealing of the darkness, the victory over the monsters made it so there was little left to fear for the rest of his life. But he still needed to eat and there was still the weather to look out for.

Life of Skyloft was a lot easier. He was more than happy to admit that.

But something tells him that it would all be worth it.

There would be people here after him. There would be an entire kingdom and peace and adventure and love.

You love your home and your people and your friends.

It all starts with him.

So he has to make sure he gets it as perfect as physically possible. Sky has never been more afraid of failure than when that thought crosses his mind.

The older ones start to question if he's going to settle down and start a family and be the head of the tender village- but he can't bring himself to think of that kind of future.

Not when he wanted you so badly to be a part of it.

However, that would be rude. To hold onto the idea of you when you were never given a chance to respond to him was a crime onto itself. Sky knows that he's more in love with the idea of you or what you both could have been than with you as a person, even if he loves the memory of you still.

He curses himself for being a hopeless romantic. It would be easier if he could bring himself to move on. To mourn you and the life that would never be.

Zelda and Groose are worried about him. They try to get him to be excited about everything that's been developing around them- and he smiles and laughs and waves them away. He doesn't want to let them know.

But it aches. He knows you would have loved to see it too.

Sky kicks himself once more.

How can you love someone that hasn't come into existence yet? You might as well be dead.

He cuts his finger on the rope and drops the wall.

Sky flinches and goes to pick it up once more. Maybe if he held on tighter-

Wind

Getting back home after everything was strange. It felt like some unforgettable dream. It felt real but also not. He knows that he didn't have that scar before he left through the portal- but he also knows that maybe things would have been a little more different. Right?

His sister and grandma welcomed him with open arms and a homecooked meal. Tetra and the pirates and let him sail for a few week again and the island treated him as if he hadn't gone missing at all.

Then again, he supposes that they are quite used to him disappearing for weeks or months on end at this point.

He knows that the others were real, though. They all left little nick nacks. Either from when they visited prior or given right before he went through the portal. He has a little keep sake from everyone.

Except you.

Did he dream you up? He couldn't have. He wasn't that crazy?

Did he dream all of them up?

Everything goes back to normal a little too easily. When he came from his first adventure, there was no normal for months. Every day was spent keeping close to the house and trying to keep an eye on the sky and his sister at the same time.

Wind finds himself frowning constantly these days.

He can't stop thinking about you. He wants to know if you've found something cool today, or if you've gotten a new scratch. He wants to go exploring again. He wants to hold your hand as you both go through dungeons.

He wants to make you food and try your own. He wants to make bracelets with you again and play in tall enough grass where you both could hide in. He wants to take you out on his boat and show you all the little things his keep discovering in his world.

He misses you.

Even if the others saw him as a little brother, you were his equal. You trusted him to look after you just as much as you were looking after him.

Wind thought that he would have been a better at this. He knew that he would miss everyone, but he was going to be fine. He grew up. He learned from them. He got stronger. Faster. More durable. Everyone gave him something to hold dear to his heart.

Yet... if could choose one person to see again, he would pick you in a heart beat. Hands down. No questions.

He sniffles. He didn't know loving someone could hurt so much. Would it have better or worse if you knew?

It doesn't matter. He blew his one chance to find out.

Did you miss him too?

Four

Four got back to work as if nothing had happened.

After he cried his heart out by the side of the portal, the others went in as well. He's not sure about the order they all went through. He thinks that he was somewhere in the middle.

He was dropped off right outside his home. It was late. Just before dawn.

He opened the door and went right to bed. His pillows was soaked with tears when he woke up- but he felt strangely empty.

Four tried to go back to his usual routine. Word of his arrival was quick to spread and soon the commissions were rolling in faster than he could keep up with. He had to put a hold on them once more so that the customers wouldn't be waiting for long periods of time.

It was therapeutic almost, getting back into his craft. It's mind numbing to an extant. He doesn't have to think much outside of what he needs to do to bend the metal to his will. If he was being honest with himself, these were some of his greatest projects yet.

Somehow though, each project traces back to you.

How you would have reacted to this? Would you have liked this color? you mentioned that this leather was the most comfortable in your hand. Would be proud of this one? Would have used something like this? You weren't a fighter. Would it have been light enough for you to use?

Four slaps himself each tie he catches himself curving a project to fir something that you would have liked or used.

It's not as mind numbing as he would have thought.

He gives his latest project to the customer and receives the other half of his pay. He's wrapped it in a white clothe and tied it with a small red ribbon. It looks like the one you would have had on your bag.

They take it without a second thought- shattering his little flashback.

Four waits until they're out of his shop before he groans loud enough to shake the whole building and promptly slams his forehead against the front desk.

"Tough customer?"

Four winces at the voice but refuses to look up. "...Something like that..."

"Got the job done?" Zelda pokes the top of his head.

"...Yes."

"At what cost?"

Four feels bad about lying to her. He hasn't told her a thing about you. Knowing Zelda, she would pity him. And the last thing he wants is her pity. Even if she is his best friend. "Everything."

"Well that's a bit dramatic, Link." Zelda smile, albeit it's a small one. She's noticed that he's been off and she knows that he's hiding it from her. She can't figure out what went wrong though. Zelda sighs and brushes his hair away from the counter top so that it's draped over his back. "Rupee for your thoughts?"

Four bites his lip. It's been months now but he still can't bring himself to say anything specific. "....I miss them..."

"You were of the same spirit." She says gently. "It was a whole group of heroes who no doubt went through similar things that you did. I'm sure it was the most you've been understood...As much as I try..."

Another wince. He hasn't really thought about the rest of the group all that much. "I know Zelda. I appreciate you. You know I do."

Zelda sighs. "I came to see if you would be willing to have lunch with me."

Four finally lifts his head up, eyes tinged with a red ring around them. Maybe some time with Zelda would do him some good. He needs to get out his own head for once. "...I'd like that Zelda..."

Part 2

[wil-dearest]

cathers-world asked: NSFW stalker!wilbur?

yeah why not, i always love a good stalker, me.

trigger warnings: 18+ for sure. stalking, duh, but still, be careful. gender-neutral reader. non-con, because you're asleep, so again, be careful while reading. leaning into simpbur. sorry. also mentions of suicide ideation, so there's that.

wil-dearest presents:

The Angels Made You For Me

If he'd been counting the days since he's started following you home, he would say it'd be a problem. But since his nasty habit began, he could confidently say it's been going on too long, perhaps, without much to show for it. He knows everything about you, about your schedule, about your habits, your friends- fucking. Everything.

He would consider trying to be more subtle about it but several times you've seen him, made direct eye contact with him and smiled, and yet nothing. He hasn't been arrested, hadn't been tackled by a concerned friend. Nothing has happened. And despite his lucky track, he still wanted more, wanted more from you.

He saw you first in the spring, when the flowers were blooming and he'd been in the park like you, except it was supposed to be his last day. His last day to live because, quite simply, nothing was really that fucking worth it anymore. Not the media, the music, definitely not the people, nature wasn't his last chance to convince him everything would be peaches and rainbows, it was his last meal. (Not physically, he'd ate two days ago and he could almost feel his ribs.) This was his last peaceful moment. He hadn't been entirely sure how he was going to go out, by gun or by jumping or by a vehicle- the possibilities were endless and with some sort of end in sight, it was easier to breathe in the park air and look around.

There you'd been, sitting with on a picnic blanket with a dog, bathing underneath the careful sun and soaking the day in. He had a brief moment of euphoria when you opened your squinting eyes completely and smiled, waving hello at him. Your smile froze him in his spot, where he'd been walking down the path and you tilted your head as he continued to stare. He started walking again, head forced to look straight as he tried to will away the blush dusting his cheeks and ears, as his mind couldn't focus on anything but your smile and the way you looked so damn... happy. Peaceful. Downright angelic, even.

Light footsteps crunch on the gravel louder and louder until they stopped behind him and he feels a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, it's you, your smile not as bright but just as genuine as your hand held out a phone. He sucked in a breath from his teeth, reaching out to take out the familiar device. He hadn't meant to but his fingers grazed your own and he couldn't help the way his heart leapt into his chest. Why was he feeling this way? Why was his chest contracting and why couldn't he breathe any easier? You said something and he feels almost bad when he asks you to repeat yourself.

Your smile widens as you glance downwards at your feet before looking up at him, "I said you better be careful with that thing, people won't always return it, you know." He nods.

"But you did," he says, rushed like he hadn't meant to say it at all.

Your smile doesn't dim, doesn't shrink, it deepens and he can see the beginnings of a laugh bubble inside of you. "I almost didn't." You say, and a hand reaches up to cover your mouth as you back up, laughing. Then you wave and you say goodbye and walk away back to your dog and your picnic blanket.

An old movie scratches inside of his head and it's as if he was transported back in time, listening to the music play and watching you sit back down, scratching the dog's back.

So this is love.

This particularly night, yes he lied he kept count, marks the six month since you had saved his life. Truly, without you, he would've been dead. He would've been another person to sink into the earth, forgotten and rotted. He would've taken his life and parted everyone with but a stench to his name.

There are days he regrets it but when he sees you again, it puts things in perspective.

So, he wants to do something special. He wants to be near you again. Following you home doesn't necessarily mean anything if he's more than a block away, keeping to himself and making sure no one else fucks with you. (If you deserved anything, it would be a peaceful, uneventful walk from the gas station to your home. And he would make sure of it a hundred, thousand times.)

It doesn't take much planning, he already knows so much about you already, if anything, slipping into your house feels... easy. Natural, despite it being anything but. In the end, it doesn't matter because your home is warm and smells so good, he knows you cooked before bed. Stepping lightly, he traces the walls with his fingers, taking in every detail he couldn't before, the photos framed on the wall, the decorations that, yes may be early, but you deserve happiness where you found it. Fall and Halloween, though already on the cusp of falling into season already, would have to be an everyday thing with how much you loved it so much. He wouldn't mind. He would never mind.

Your door already half-way opened, he peered around the edge, eyeing the form in your bed. It was you. You never took anybody home. (As if you knew he would be yours in the end, his mind whispers, logic bending and melding to his rose-colored feelings.) Never slept in anything more than a large, loose shirt. He doesn't immediately step in, watches as your chest rises and falls with every passing moment. You're... bewitching. Being near scratches an itch he only recently figured out. Being near you is so peaceful and so nerve-wracking at the same time, heart pounding, beating against the cages of his ribs, begging to tear its way out and settle into your hands, that were of no doubt, softer than any fabric the world could manufacture.

He steps into your room, hands shaking as they come up to lightly graze the walls in there too. With every step he takes closer to your bed, the more his hands shake and the more he chokes on his heart. There are thoughts racing inside his head, begging to leave and begging to leave you forever but how can he leave when you've done so much for him already? How can he leave right now, right now when he's come so far? He's lived without you for so long, he's not sure he can accept a life without being near you again.

The intoxicating scene of your room dizzies his head, spins his vision till he almost collapses over you, managing to catch himself after his knees buckled under his weight. You breathe deeply in and with every bated breath, he watches as you sigh out, shuffling in your sleep as your neck extends the other way, leaving it bare to him.

His head spins further as he releases a stolen breath, choosing to stand stock still, eyes catching onto any new detail he could see now, even in the dark. His fingers come over the edge of your bed and they burn when they touch your bare arm. Warm, soft. Just like he'd thought, like he remembered. His free hand comes up to cover his mouth, imagining it as yours and imagines that you've caught him, that you flip him onto the bed on his back, straddling his hips and pressing with a warm hand into his underwear, whispering sweet things into his neck and before he realizes it, his hand that had touched you- it had retracted back to his body, slipping underneath his pants and briefs, and squeezes around his cock. He almost couldn't contain himself, feeling the hardest he'd ever been, wanting nothing more than to sink the tip between your lips and send his seed down your throat. He wanted nothing more than that. The hand that covered his mouth lowered down, reaching out to brush the hair away from your neck, out of your face.

He leans down and inhales, soaking in how close you are, how you overwhelm his senses completely. His tongue darts out to wet his lips when an idea flashed in his head. It's there for a second before he leans closer, his tongue relishing in the taste of your skin, how hot you burn and how you sign against his touch, almost arching into it. He presses a kiss there and you move in your sleep again, almost hitting him in the process of batting whatever the hell was tickling you.

It's too much, too fast. His come coats the inside of his underwear and he has to pull away before he groans right into your ear.

He can't get any closer without waking you but you were nowhere near being ready for him. He slips out of your bedroom door, lips burning from where he kissed you. Yes, he kissed your sleeping face, from your forehead and cheeks, nose and chin to your lightly parted mouth. It didn't even last three seconds before he had to pull away, dragging himself out of your home and towards his.

His heart is pounding inside his chest but he knows you hold it, even whilst sleeping. And he hopes to one day hold yours.

And with hope and love, it could be soon.

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

how do all the lackadaisy characters react to getting sick/how do the handle the situation. Thanks!! :3c

Lumping these two asks together as they are the same request. Ask and ye shall receive! (A collaborative effort between multiple of our authors as it does involve the whole cast.)

ROCKY

Sick? What do you mean sick. In his over twenty-two years of living thus far he's never been sick once. He has the immune system of a titan, what are you talking about.

Questions he whilst leaning heavily on the bar counter for support lest he is knocked to the ground in a feverish pile by this sudden earthquake that apparently no one else is noticing like seriously you guys shouldn't we evacuate the place?!

In his defense, he's right about one thing: illness seems to avoid him as prevalently and miraculously as death itself. He could get stuck in the rain, take cold mud baths, sleep outside in winter snow, hug someone with Spanish flu, taste the pavement of a rat-infested alley and drink raw sewage and still come out of it all fit as a fiddle.

(Whether he carries anything is a different question, though with the various microorganisms inside him he seems to live in an overwhelmingly peaceful coexistence.)

But every rule has exceptions. And since he frequently does end up in all those situations, when once a millennium he comes down with something it's hard to tell the cause.

How he handles it can be summed up in a short answer of: he doesn't. He refuses to acknowledge it until he's physically incapacitated. If asked about it he keeps insisting that he's fine, a-okay, dandy as can be, never has existed a more invigorated healthy young man on Earth. At best he may invent a perfectly unconvincing excuse, like allergies acting up. (Inside underground caves. In winter. When he's never been allergic to anything in his entire life.)

Aside from perhaps unsuccessfully forbidding him from causing more grievous disturbances than usual, people usually opt to just leave him to it, because once he's set his mind on being "fine" logical reasoning and sound advice are only breath wasted. Ever well-intentioned, Mitzi still tells him to get some rest every now and then, yet keeps stumbling into the boy as he's fumbling through whatever that unresting intent has currently possessed him to be doing.

This wouldn't be such an issue with, say, a cold, because regardless of his masochistic eagerness for activity it inevitably does pass, but if it's something that necessitates any amount of bedrest... well, good luck.

For one he hasn't really a place to rest. I mean... there's the car. No one but Ivy at the Lackadaisy seems to know he technically lives in there, and he's not too enthusiastic to disclose it himself; besides anywhere else actually suitable, like in Mitzi's apartment, he'd just feel like a capital nuisance.

But let's suppose a scenario with the ideal location and someone who cares enough to stick by and ensure he actually does stay put. Shouldering such a responsibility, they must be prepared for a minimum of two things.

For one: he's going to be even more unbearably talkative than usual. Because what else is there left for a restless spirit if the flesh is restrained? Nothing but to complain and lament and versify and prattle on incessantly about whatever comes careening hither along a changeful stream of consciousness. Albeit unwittingly, driving others insane with his aimless rambling is how he keeps himself... well, something.

It's like if his mind had to stop running at maximum speed for just a few minutes it would promptly crash for good. Which, for all we know, may really be the case.

(This is just my two cents, but: I think giving him drawing implements and a coloring book or just plain paper might keep him very nicely occupied, as well as relatively quiet. Be sure to provide plenty of paper though, if you don’t want him to start drawing on other things not meant to be drawn on when the supply runs out like an unsupervised kid... unless you welcome the idea of your walls and furniture being covered in doodles.)

The other, possibly more arduous challenge is keeping him inside the room in the first place. Not understanding nor agreeing with his special treatment largely experienced as imprisonment on his end, he seizes each arising opportunity to attempt to weasel away somehow.

And he's a trained escape artist.

Watch him closely but look away for even a second, and you'll find no trace of him left in the room when you look back. Lock him in there, he'll pick the lock in a pinch - or attempt the window, which depending on the floor number may carry various levels of risk. Tie him down (because you're getting desperate by now) and you're likely to stumble into him minutes later by the front door, having already wriggled his way out. Doesn’t matter which knot was used, he knows most of them by heart. (And even if he didn’t happen to, he’s resourceful enough.)

Like I’ve said before, he perseveres in resisting his confinement for as long as he's capable of moving his limbs around and some vague semblance of coherent thought. Even with his brains cooking with delirium one may have to rescue him as he's crawling along on the floor dragging with him the tangle of blankets he was last left swaddled in, not entirely clear on what direction he's headed but by all means dedicated.

He's not above manipulation either, in order to divert his warden’s attention or make them relinquish his firm supervision rooted in concern for his well-being. Because it's not like he's concerned about it; so why should anyone else be? In addition he's unshakably certain that his role in the Lackadaisy's rumrunning force as well as there in general is absolutely vital and requires that he always be available for employment regardless of if he’s even in a proper state for it. (Just look at the latest comic arc, for crying out loud.)

But psst. Here's a little personal tip, for (Y/N) specifically. If reasonable advice hits deaf ears, and cuffing him to a bedpost yields little results other than another mildly baffling escape attraction, there remains one other thing to try with better chances of success... a more hands-on approach, if you catch my drift.

(Cuddling. I'm talking about cuddling. If you've got a good grip on this string bean of a man he is certainly not going anywhere so long as you're vigilant. Doing so, of course, means risking your own health, which he won't fail to coyly point out either; but he'll otherwise put up minimal resistance and ultimately cave in because God knows he’s touch deprived and doesn't get held enough otherwise. Well, by not enough I mean not at all, ever. But that's exactly why it's a good thing you're here, isn't it?)

Overall, as amusing of a story collection to recount as his commonly absurd ailing escapades might provide later down the line, the fact that they very rarely happen is no doubt for the best. He engages in enough troublesome shenanigans as is.

FRECKLE

Surprisingly pragmatic about it. Yep. He's getting symptoms. Looks like he contracted something.

Best be careful about it... mostly because Nina wouldn't allow him running himself ragged anyhow.

Along with other moral virtues he's had honesty drilled into him from kittenhood. And although it's not always an option in... other matters... he's upfront about how he's feeling physically if not much else, and eventually does come to terms with it. (Once he’s confirmed with certainty that it’s not just the general nauseated feeling he gets whenever he thinks too deeply about his “work” nowadays.)

He doesn't want to infect other people, or incur the stern concern of his mother, so at the very least he stays around the house, doing small, mostly undemanding chores. He's aware it's not expected of him nor recommended, but he has a bit of restlessness to him too.

Mostly because, were it bad enough to confine him to bed in a blanketed bundle of suffering incarnate, all he'd be able to think about is that God's wrath finally caught up with him for being a horrible person and this was part of his rightful punishment. Even worse if he got a nasty fever; it's like he's already burning in Hell.

Distractions may be scarce, but if he's been told off from chores for sneezing on the washing-up or exhausting himself with much too overzealous hammering, he opts to read instead. Over the years he's amassed quite the collection of books, renowned classics and youth literature, and most of them still give off the fluttering remnants of a good kind of nostalgia when flipping through the pages.

And besides, immersing himself in someone else's story is far more pleasant than fretting over his own current predicaments.

Some company, from a safe distance of course, will do him wonders as well. Nina is not the most conversational woman around, and aside from checking on him regularly and ensuring his wellbeing they don't make much meaningful contact.

Rocky likely pops in from time to time however, forever enthused to just run his mouth for as long as allowed, and although he may get a bit too bombastic for Calvin's comparative lack of vitality sometimes he appreciates the distraction more than he's able to express it. And, believe it or not, it's not entirely one-sided either. Rocky has developed a keen sense for his quiet cousin's intent to contribute and will more than gladly listen to what he has to say.

He’ll also forward Ivy’s wishes for Calvin to get well soon as she’s just dying to be able to meet with him at the speakeasy again. (Definitely also attaches a teasing remark or two to the message.) Then he’s eventually ushered out by Nina and as soon as his hasty goodbyes are swallowed by the outdoors Calvin finds himself missing the noise already.

The paralyzed stillness of being sick gets to him a lot more than it shows… seeing as it leaves him a little too alone with his own mind. So he sinks into the comfort of old books until he’s incapacitated by a headache and sore eyes, and diligently rakes those seven leaves that had gathered across the back lawn since he last attended to them two hours before, and lingers outside in the garden until warmer hues overtake a sun-painted sky and the evening chill starts to bite, taking in all things green and alive and in motion to remind himself that he’s not a walking corpse. Not yet, anyway.

Due to his mom’s supervision as well as his own eagerness to follow instructions in order to escape his personal limbo as soon as possible, he does tend to recover fairly fast; and he’s a pretty hardy young lad, thank goodness, so it’s all quite uncommon of an ordeal. In short it’s back to the ol’ grindstone in a jiffy; you know, the kind of grindstone that pulverizes mortal lives and churns out dripping blood.

But hey, best not stop and mull over it too long.

IVY

Oh, it's a nightmare for her.

You mean she can't go out in the evenings anymore? Can't go shopping with friends? Can't procure booze with her criminal coworkers? Can't attend dates with her cute new boyfriend? (Well, those last two are one and the same, really.)

These are all vital activities for a young woman like her to pursue! What else is she supposed to do? Rot in her room and steer clear of all fun whilst everyone else keeps going on with their lives?!

Some flimsy cold is nowhere near enough to keep her away from the beloved Lackadaisy. She can still man the café counter with a little sniffle (taking care to sneeze on no one's food) or look absolutely gorgeous on the dancefloor decked in glimmering pearls and feathers with a slightly paler constitution. But if it's bad enough that she simply must stay put...

During classes the still life of an empty dormitory fills with upbeat contemporary tunes from her bedstand radio as she lies upon crumpled bedsheets, clad in her prettiest pajamas, surrounded by an almost ritualistic circle of tissues and magazines whilst flipping through one of the latter with her legs girlishly dangling in the air. This is likely the scene any visitors are greeted by as well.

She looks like she's coping rather well... until verbal contact ensues and she begins her long string of complaints about how she's feeling utterly miserable. Runny nose, sore throat, grating cough, an unshakable sense of fatigue and she can't even go anywhere! Her classmates are off studying or having fun themselves (as well as deliberately avoiding contact with her for obvious reasons), and she's got nothing to look at but patterned wallpaper and pictures of pretty clothes she currently can't even visit the boutiques for.

But once the grievances are shared she promptly guides the spotlight in their direction, upon which they are to share every last bit of information and news about all most recent ongoings in the world of the healthy. It is a requirement (she will not let them go until they oblige), but also an opportunity; they're welcome to spill the beans on how their week has been and any noteworthy things that happened to them and also to just chat with her about whatever else comes up in the process.

Another way she keeps herself involved with the outside world is through the telephone. The local operator can already tell if she's under the weather by the prevalence of hearing her slightly weathered, juvenile voice squeak for connection to mostly one line throughout the day.

Her calls may also be scheduled to a certain hour so that everyone can come up to Mitzi's office and say hi. That "everyone" overwhelmingly ends up being Rocky, who lingers around there a bit more insistently than usual nearing that time frame and never fails to make his presence known by shouting his own greetings and cheerful encouragements of perseverance into the receiver.

She always asks him about Viktor and Calvin since the former disappointingly refuses to engage with her calls, and the latter doesn't visit because boys aren't allowed in the dormitory... and because he's afraid of catching her sickness. (What a chicken.)

You’d better believe they both get a scolding once she’s recovered for not contacting her at all… though you can’t really stay mad at sheepishly apologetic, babyfaced Freckle McMurray, now can you

Supposing the presence of company who’s emotionally close enough, she may also get clingy in the physical sense. Yes, she knows it’s not very courteous to rub your germs all over someone, but oh, her head is just killing her and she’s exhausted and achy and utterly sick of being sick, hence she desperately needs to rest her chin on someone’s shoulder and latch onto their soft warmth. Really, they brought this upon themselves by daring to enter the sniffly lion cub’s den. Now they’re likely not allowed to move for… let’s say the next two hours. Alternatively, until she has to go to the bathroom or ask them to get her something to drink.

Yes, she’s a bit of a princess; and especially when she’s miserable she may occasionally indulge in showering a willing servant with her various requests. Fetch her this, throw away that, bring hot chocolate and snacks, take out the trash, give her attention. But how could you say no to those big, innocent eyes?

If it’s a schoolmate she will absolutely persuade them to skip their classes for the day and spend time with her instead, offering cuddles and gossip. Forgetting, or ignoring rather, that not everyone can afford to be so lax about their education. Though surely, full-time service as a personal maid slash stuffed animal is making a much better use of their time. She promises to do the same when they inevitably catch the illness themselves, if that’s any consolation.

Nightly adventures and consequent loss of sleep aside, she takes decent care of herself overall, so the understimulating agony of quarantined solitude luckily isn’t something she suffers more of than the average person… albeit that little she’s an expert at suffering luxuriously.

VIKTOR

No, he's not sick, you're just lying. The great, the indomitable, the fierce Viktor Vasco never gets sick.

Denial is definitely a big part of it. He will not admit to getting sick until he's too weak to stand, and even then he'll fight anyone who tries to get him to rest.

The boredom is somehow scarier than actual health concerns. Staying at home and being too ill to do anything except think means he'll think. And thinking leads to a whole load of other things that he doesn't want to get into.

Essentially, getting sick is a liability to everything, from his job to his sense of self.

However, good luck on trying to make him better. He will also stubbornly refuse any help that comes his way, will slam his door in the doctor's face and threaten to tear apart anyone who so much as suggests getting him medicine.

His colleagues from Lackadaisy have taken to asking Mrs Bapka, his neighbour, to administer anything they want to give him themselves (he will draw a line at punching an old woman and fellow Slovakian immigrant), or Ivy (no one can successfully dispose of Ivy and her headstrong attitude. No one.)

The last person he had actually listened to when he was sick was a certain Mordecai Heller. Needless to say, that's not the case anymore.

Maybe that's what really makes him so grumpy and reluctant.

ZIB

His immune system is either rock hard or absolute dogshit, there is no in-between. He can go through a crowd of cats with nasty 'bouts of the flu without catching it, but gets bedridden by something as small as a head cold.

Said wonky immune system may be because he tends to drink stuff cut with the most ridiculous ingredients (radiator fluid, coffin varnish, paint, water, mud, you name it he's probably tasted it)

When he gets laid up, he gets laid up hard (innuendo not intended). He has to drag himself out of bed during the worst parts of it and may not even bother, electing to curl up and shiver/cry from the pain/die where he's comfortable. His band members have to literally drag him out of there on those days and force food down his throat so he doesn't wither away

Goddammit you lanky noodle bitch look after your sick ass don't make everyone do it for you

MORDECAI

He hates falling ill with a passion. It's one of many reasons he drinks tea so often: if he does get sick, it won't hit him so hard.

He tends to try and shrug off small stuff (runny nose, mild to moderate headache, aches and pains) to go to work anyway; but he's no fool. If he really feels icky he'll stay at home and look after himself. As much as he hates to do it, he's only got one body and somebody has to look after it.

The Savoys bash/tease him relentlessly whenever he comes in sick. If the mild headache becomes something worth staying at home for, they'll go as far as to try and visit him (or get him to come to them). Is it guilt about ragging him about it, them missing him or just boredom? Hard to tell with those two.

Serafine once teased about playing as his "mama" and looking after him until he's better. Mordecai, in his sickness-muddled mind, flew off the handle at her...Though all the Savoys saw was him almost break a glass in his paws before telling them flatly to get out.

Neither one realized Serafine had hit a nerve until he refused to let them in for a few days after. Whether it was something about his past or Serafine betraying his trust to get him into her group, they let it go and pretended nothing happened once he was back in action (though there was a noticeably thicker wall between him and them)

SERAFINE/NICODEME

Meet the "clingy" duo.

They don't get sick often and have impressive immune systems, what with their past roaming the swamps and other dangerous conditions, but when they do? Oh boy...

They'll either cling to each other in private, or play it up and annoy a hapless colleague.

And by "hapless colleague", I mean Mordecai—because of course it is.

Sickness is less of an actual, preventive ailment, but rather an excuse to show off some dramatic acting skills.

"Oh, cher, I simply cannot move until you bring me some nice warm tea and chocolate!"

"If I die, tell the world I was warm and safe, because of our dear ami, Heller..."

"For crying out loud, you've both got nothing but a cold."

They'll still play it up.

Just because your nose is stuffy doesn't mean the rest of you has to be.

The show must go on, mon cher.

WICK

He gets sick really, really easily. He stays up late at night often, so he doesn't get much rest and his immunity suffers for it.

(Licking rock walls probably doesn't help with that. Muffinhead (affectionate))

He still does work and goes out when he's sick, which results in papers with shitty writing and his friends urging him to go and rest up, "we can go with you another day".

When he's not thinking straight he'll whine to Lacie about how no one wants to see him when he's sick; ignoring the fact that she's either making him food, putting a cold cloth on his head or literally came by just to say hi to him

He's a bit dim sometimes, but he's a loveable dim.

The easiest way to see how sick he is is to mention putting the work on pause or crack a joke at his expense. If he rapidly objects to not working or good-naturedly shrugs off the joke, it's a small thing, nothing to worry about. If all he has to say in response to not working is "I can't" and he tries to defend himself from the joke (or even worse, agrees with it), he's feeling god-awful.

Lacie tends to hide the alcohol away until he's feeling better. During the week or so he's really feeling foggy this actually works, since in his addled state he can't properly look for them.

MITZI (BONUS since she's been getting a fair bit of attention)

Mitzi doesn't get sick. She becomes inconvenienced.

She's also a real bitch when she's sick. It's less of a slipping mask and more of a "I can't be nice when my brain feels too big for my skull"

She'll still grin and bear it for Rocky. He's positively devoted to her, after all; the least she can do is swallow her nasty remarks and come up with something softer for him.

Some cats swear that she never falls ill or has anything happen to her...Usually because once it does happen she locks herself in her office and won't open the door if you're not Horatio or Viktor.

If another cat somehow gets through her door, can put up with her attitude swings and goes out of their way to help her through her illness, she may very well open up a little and talk to them easier. Something as small as a cup of tea during a ravenous headache will convince the then-bitchy queen that you're not all bad-and later that since you put up with her ravenous insults and still helped her, maybe you're worth swallowing her pride for and confiding in.

[sleepyone2three]

This has been sitting in in my drafts for forever so I decided to finally finish it up! Thus, may I present:

How the demon bros would react if Lucifer had locked them away instead of Belphie

Can we talk about how lucky Lucifer was that it was Belphie he locked up and not one of his other brothers? Of all the sins, sloth is probably the best suited to being trapped in an attic. He can sleep the entire time and be giving into his vice at the same time. Meanwhile, if it had been any of the other brothers things could've been so much wilder! Just thinking about it has me rolling to be honest, so I decided I had to write this 😂

Mammon

Mammon would go stir crazy so fast. The only reason he hasn't completely lost his mind is the fact that Lucifer didn't bother to take Goldie away when locking him up. He has so many mental lists of the things he'll buy as soon as he's out.

Honestly, Mammon would probably whine a lot the entire time he was there too. He'd be bored out of his mind and unable to spend/get any Grimm. What kind of torture is this???

Lucifer honestly might get so annoyed with it that he'd resort to cursing Mammon so he can't talk. Ah... peace and quiet finally. This probably only leads to Lucifer feeling uneasy though since Mammon being quiet usually means he's thinking up new schemes or causing trouble.

You think Belphie got lucky with how trusting MC is? Mammon is probably one of the worst liars... ever. Mams is doomed, no way MC would be falling for any of his tricks.

This doesn't mean MC still wouldn't help though. They're horrible about sticking their nose in other people's business, even if it is well intentioned. So you know they're still going to get involved in all of this somehow.

I think Mammon would use MC to the point of getting out, but I can't see him planning to kill them. Lucifer already locked him away for being pissy about the exchange program, imagine what he'd do if Mammon killed Diavolo's precious exchange student *shudders*

Even if Mammon did hate humans, he's too soft to stick with that hate after getting to know MC. He'll probably try to rationalize that this one is an exception to the rule, his amazing influence being the reason of course.

The only plus side to all of this is that the witches and debt collectors can't find him.

Levi

Why did Lucifer lock him away in the first place? Dude is already a shut-in so he wasn't actually planning on doing anything. Maybe saying he would sick Lotan on Diavolo before allowing a normi human in their home was taking things too far though...

Honestly, as long as Lucifer at least left him with a gaming console and some anime, he'd probably be fine. Though, he would be very upset about not being able to keep up with the latest releases.

Levi would stress so much over if Mammon had sold his games and merch. The only way to stop him from spiraling with this would be if Lucifer promised to lock Levi's room with an equally powerful barrier.

Also freaks out that nobody will feed Henry 2.0 and his best friend will starve to death. Lucifer isn't totally heartless though, so he promises he will make sure Henry is well cared for until Levi has come to his senses.

Would probably plan to kill MC once out, but after talking about anime/games with them he isn't as sure anymore??? They seem to like the same stuff as him and don't call him gross... no! It must be some sort of ploy to gain his trust! This was just like in an anime he'd watched a while ago, Help! I've Been Locked Away By My Strict Older Brother And Now A Human Is Taking Over The Underworld! Ah, how life immitates art sometimes...

Satan

Oh geez, Satan would be furious if this happened. You think, he hated Lucifer before? Get ready for a whole new level.

Where does Lucifer get off, thinking he can get away with this!? Locking him away like this program isn't utterly delusional from the start anyway! If Satan didn't know better, he'd say that the elder brother had planned this from the beginning of even developing the exchange program. But that would require Lucifer to pull his head out of his own ass, so it's definitely not the case.

I mean... he'd have plenty of reading time at least? He's fuming to the point of having destroyed the entire room already, but he'll still be able to read plenty afterwards.

Lucifer tries to nudge Satan in a more positive direction of thinking, dropping off books that try to exemplify the beauty and potential of humanity. For the first time in his life, Satan refuses to even consider reading multiple books. Would possibly even consider destroying them in front of Lucifer, but I'm not sure he could actually go through with it.

Would 100% plan on and go through with killing MC once out. They'd have to really make an impression and connect with him if there's any chance to have things go otherwise. Even then, it's unlikely to stop this outcome. Consequences be damned, he will have the satisfaction of seeing how delicious Lucifer's expression will be upon seeing Diavolo's little pet project go up in flames.

Would take not getting to see his kitty friends pretty hard. He misses them and sometimes worries there isn't anyone else feeding/giving attention to them with him gone. If MC really wants to get in good with Satan, offering to check in on the feline population of the Devildom might be a solid starting point.

Satan does have to admit though, MC is an interesting human if nothing else. Unafraid to go against Lucifer's orders? Likes reading as much as him? Snuck a cat in to see him??? M-maybe they aren't the worst...

Asmo

I'm pretty sure his online following would form a search party if this happened. Radio silence from Asmo's accounts is unheard of and Lucifer better have an official statement about Asmo being in the exchange program if he doesn't want hordes of lesser demons showing up outside of the House of Lamentation.

Asmo's never really had to "rough it" and living without all his beauty products within reach is going to make him even angrier at Lucifer. This only gets worse the longer he's kept there, every flaking skin cell fueling his rage.

Gets a single zit and somehow finds a way to blame it on a human being in the house. Dramatic sniffles and crying commences as he's trying to sway Lucifer with his theory, though the elder seems less than convinced.

Would probably consider agreeing to the program once he's been without his products long enough, but is also called out on lying by Lucifer.

Baby boy would just be all smug and waiting for Solomon to try summoning him, thinking there'd be no stopping him from leaving at that point. Too bad Lucifer took this into consideration. Solomon is now mildly concerned and very curious what the heck this exchange program actually entails of the participants that could null the effects of a pact. Asmo's just whining about how cruel and unreasonable Lucifer is to do such a thing. And would you look at that? Lucifer's headache just got worse.

MC won't have to do much to begin swaying Asmo if we're being honest. This is especially so if he's feeling like he's become less attractive due to not being able to keep up his hourly daily self care routines and regimens for so long. Just sitting down and treating him like he's worthwhile even when he's "an abomination," will go a long way. Sneaking him some decadent lotion or products he mentioned offhandedly will seal the deal though.

They cared enough to actually listen when he looks like this? Even though they're not affected by his powers?? Maybe he was a little quick to shun the idea of the program... at the very least, they could make an adorable new plaything! Just thinking about all the makeovers and sleepovers had him feeling a little excited!

Beel

He ate his way out.

I don't know what else to say, even Lucifer isn't powerful enough to stop such an appetite. Besides that, no demon in their right mind at RAD would be down with their star Fangol leaving for an exchange program!

But in all seriousness, Beel is a simple demon with simple pleasures. MC just needs to bring him some food and show him that they aren't a monster who's out to hurt his family. Man just doesn't want to lose anymore family and was a lil hangry is all. Lucifer's the one who overreacted to the whole display.

On the plus side, the House of Lamentations food budget actually managed to build up a decent reserve while Beel was locked away. So you can be sure there's going to be the most amazing and decadent feast anyone has ever seen once he's out.

Belphi

Just glad it's not him I suppose 😂

Though he may actually be low-key jealous that it's not him. Just thinking of how much he could sleep without being woken up has him rethinking his stance on the exchange program.

But MC is so sweet and makes a good cuddle buddy/pillow for his naps, so he can't be too upset.