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lewkwoodnco · 6 months

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Hii I wanted to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with Invisible string, where they're neighbours for years, and used to play together as children. When Lucy joins the agency, she becomes friends with the reader, so the reader starts to be more around their house. Then Anthony starts interacting with her more, and they become friends, but Anthony realises his falling for her, so he starts to become awkward and shy around her she notices it and confronts him about it, then he confesses.

Invisible String - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: fluffy fluffy, though there is like the baaarest hint of angst which is kind of brief as long as you dont dwell on it too long + most of it gets resolved hehe and its made up for in the happy happy ending! yay!! personally i imagine the song she's humming at the piano to be invisible string heheh wc 5.4k

Lucy is waiting by their garden gate impatiently. They weren't running late for their job, but it was chilly out and she wanted to get in a cab before it got much colder. Lockwood walks out soon enough, holding a letter, but he walks to the fence rather than the gate. Over the fence, there's a girl pulling on her gloves as she walks towards her own gate, but Lockwood waves her over.

"What's this? Another lawsuit?"

"Not for me, at least. Our mail got mixed up again."

"Ah. Thanks."

They talk about their week for a while. Lucy watches Lockwood's polished exterior melt as his body language becomes more casual and fluid. The girl pockets the letter and the two of them look at each other for a while. He lamely gestures to her outfit.

"You look nice. Going on a date?"

"Yeah, with this guy in my pottery class."

"That sounds nice. Have fun."

"Thanks. You stay safe."

"I'll try."

Lucy walks over, looking at Lockwood meaningfully while he stiffens reflexively. "Who's your friend?"

"We're just neighbours." The girl smiles pleasantly, but Lucy doesn't miss the way he carefully watches her. They introduce themselves to each other. They chat a little, and Lucy picks up on her good-natured teasing of Lockwood appreciatively.

"So you must have known Lockwood for a while now, right?"

"Try ever since I was born. Our parents got on so well that we used to have dinner together every other day. And that was excluding brunch on the weekends. Trust me, I've had enough playdates with him to last a lifetime."

"Lockwood! You've never mentioned her, not even once."

"Well, to be fair, that was all years ago. We've been a little busy for the, um, last decade or so." There's a silence.

"Oh, there was that summer..."

"Yeah."

"Hmm."

"That had been nice."

An uncomfortable prickling accompanies the silence this time. She finishes fiddling with her gloves and looks ready to walk away, but Lucy recognises the suppressed look in Lockwood's eyes and tries to salvage the situation.

"You should come over sometime. We're doing some spring cleaning tomorrow, if you want to join."

"Luce. Let's not burden Y/N with chores."

"No, no, that sounds nice. I'd love to help. Though Lockwood never struck me as the spring-cleaning type."

"He's being coerced. We're holding his favourite rapier hostage."

Her lips twitch as she slices the envelope open. "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you from your job. Be careful. Mum sends her love." She says the last part more to Lockwood, who smiles with a warmth Lucy had seen little of. He watches her walk out, skimming the letter, and it isn't until George joins them that he looks away.

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Their case is so exhausting and Holly piles so much work on him the next morning that he forgets that she's coming over. It isn't even until the afternoon that he realises she's there at all, when looking for someone to help him rip the stitches off some old curtains. He walks into one of the spare rooms, calling out for George, but he stops short when he sees an unfamiliar figure standing on the bed, peeling posters off the wall. She glances behind and he suddenly remembers the events of last evening.

"Oh - Y/N. Hello. Have you seen the others lately?"

"Lucy went out to get another scraper and I think George went down to the Archives. Holly just left for the post office."

"Oh. I see. Er, do you need help?" She turns around from the poster she was steadily peeling off, dropping it into the pile with satisfaction.

"Nope, that was last of them. Anything I can help you with?"

He hesitates, and she picks up on it.

"Lockwood, I don't have anything to do until Lucy comes home anyway. I don't mind, really."

He relents and she agrees to help immediately, poising to step off the bed. She pauses before making the step, looking at the floor nervously.

"...need help getting down?"

"No. Just...give me a minute." She tries to hold onto the bed's headboard but still suffers from some internal struggle in stepping down. The image triggers a decade-old dormant memory in him, of the time she had slipped from the picnic tabletop in her garden and twisted her ankle. Instinctively, he holds out a hand, which she grabs thankfully and is down so quick he doesn't even realise until she pulls her hand away. The feel of her fully-grown hand in his is a jarring yank back to the present.

"Still so afraid of heights?"

She shudders. "My ankle still twinges if I so much as think of making a small leap. Now, where are those curtains?"

They decide to occupy the couch in the living room, and it's a bit of a tight squeeze with the piles of linens towering around them, but they manage.

"So you take the seam ripper, like so," Lockwood fumbles with the comically small seam ripper but somehow slots it under a tiny stitch, "and you rip the seam. Just like that."

She rips the stitch on her curtain with greater efficiency than him. He looks mildly startled. She glances at the pile of curtains next to her, and then the one next to Lockwood.

"Looks like I'll be done with my pile first."

There's a pause as Lockwood processes her words and the glimmer of competition in her eyes, and then they both leap into action, tugging down yards and yards of fabric, painstakingly unravelling the seams stitch by stitch. It doesn't take long for them to start playing dirty. She tries to block Lockwood's vision by flapping the dusty curtains at him and he tries to slow her down by holding her curtains down. But by the time the rest return, they're too engrossed to sabotage each other so that Lucy finds them sitting in some weird contorted manner, ripping seams feverishly.

"I was only gone two hours! Both of you've done all that?"

She tries to shush Lucy, already feeling herself slow down as she tries to free up enough mental capacity to answer. She feels rather than hears Lockwood giggle in delight as he picks up his pace. Lucy shakes her head, walking out to the kitchen.

"Find me when you're done, I'm having tea." She groans, heavily enticed by the suggestion of biscuits and sweet tea after an afternoon of stringing her fingers to bits.

"Wait, wait, truce please, I want tea."

Lockwood reluctantly lets up, stretching under the sea of curtains around them. They part ways for the evening, taking breaks or helping out with other smaller projects, but they reconvene after dinner, though with significantly less fervour.

An hour or two past midnight, once his neck had started to ache too much, he looks over at Y/N, and realises she's fast asleep. He moves to shake her awake, but she looks so peaceful and alarmingly similar to the little girl he remembered her as that it gives him pause. Lockwood wasn't one for sentimental doting, but it felt nice to have a piece of his long-forgotten childhood in his home again, safe and warm.

He makes a quiet phone call to her parents before fetching a blanket for her. That night, the childhood memories he falls asleep to are warm and happy.

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Lucy wakes up from her nap in a delightfully warm haze. The house is quiet, likely because of everyone staying up late the previous night. She shuffles to the kitchen, but pauses when she hears a curious sound echoing in the hallway. She blearily follows it to the living room, where she sees Y/N and Lockwood sitting opposite each other at the coffee table, playing poker. She seemed to be trying her best to stop giggling, yet failing, while Lockwood berated her.

"Your poker face sucks, Y/N. I know more about your cards than I do mine."

She shakes with silent laughter, covering her face with her cards ashamedly as Lockwood joins in with the laughing. It's a weirdly surreal sight to see. Everntually, Lockwood's eye drifts and he spots Lucy standing in the doorway.

"Luce. Have a good nap?" Lucy grumbles some incoherent reply, pulling a biscuit out of the biscuit tin. She sits down and watches them shriek at each other (Lockwood was right, her poker face was downright terrible) as they finish the game, and Lucy can't help but smile over the idiots.

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"Where's Y/N?"

The first words out of Lockwood's mouth the next morning were arguably his most poorly-chosen yet, especially without any buffer from the relentless mocking of Lucy and George. One of them alone was bad enough, but with both of them joining forces, it made for a very weary breakfast.

"Cool it, she's my friend. Get your own."

"Then what does that make us, if not friends?"

"Neighbours." Lucy smiles innocently as Lockwood throws a dish towel at her.

The rest of breakfast passes up uneventfully, which makes the incident the first thing out of Lucy's mouth as soon as she steps through the door.

"Morning!"

"Lockwood missed you at breakfast this morning."

"Did not."

Between Lucy's smirk and Lockwood sullenly hiding in the shadowed hallway, she wasn't sure what to start with.

"Did too, he so wanted you to be there."

Lucy turns to Lockwood, daring him to contradict her. Holly steps out of the kitchen, straightening her pinafore, but doesn't pick up on the tension so she just smiles. His eyes dart between the three of them and some part of his body decides that panic is the best reaction of choice.

"DEPRAC wants to steal my papers," he says as some odd form of explanation, before disappearing into his room. Lucy snorts while Holly and her share a puzzled look.

"I think he's talking about our case report."

Whatever it was, it was being tucked away into his coat when she ran into him at the front door about ten minutes later. His smile is part grimace.

"Sorry about earlier." He stops talking, but looks like he wants to say more, so she patiently hovers. "About breakfast - I just feel bad for doing all this free labour, breakfast is the least I could offer-"

"Don't sweat it, I'm fine."

"Well, I'd feel a lot better if you popped by for a bun every now and then."

Her lips twitch. "Maybe I will."

There's a concerned look in his eye and his gaze that lasts a little too long to be comfortable, and it reminds her of the last time he looked at her like that. It had been near the tail end of the summer a few years back, late at night. She had been crying something awful on her front porch after a certain Noah Lewis had dumped her, and he was neighbourly enough to play a good samaritan in talking her through it.

It had started with a lot of unrestrained swearing and dragging of Noah Lewis' name through the mud as soon as she walked through the front gate, the kind that made her father peer out the window in alarm and then disappear back into the house. After a good quarter of an hour of this, her rage faded along with her energy, and she ended up crying embarrassingly on Lockwood's shoulder. "That's it," she had sobbed into his soft, forest green sweater that smelled like clean cotton. "I'm done with dating. It's the single life for me from now on." What flimsy grip she had managed over her emotions started to slip once more, as she burst into a new set of wails.

"Oh God, I'm going to die alone!" Lockwood rubbed comforting circles on her back as she clutched him tighter.

Looking back, she understood the smile on his face a little better, though a part of her still wanted to stay peeved at him for laughing at her misery. At least he had the decency to cold-shoulder Noah when he came around a few days later.

The memory occupies the back of her mind for the rest of the day, and it's still there when Lockwood returns. She doesn't realise it, but it makes her soften around him, though not noticeably so. By then, they've cleared up enough of the house to uncover the piano tucked away in the basement. Holly had spent the afternoon lovingly tuning it and polishing it up, but no one else seemed much interested in it.

After dinner, she sees Lockwood sitting at the piano, watching the keys as if he's too afraid to touch them. She joins him at the bench, taking in the sight of the glossy keys she could barely hear being played from her room when she was a child. Maybe that's what she's thinking about when she asks him to play something for her, and he obliges.

He plays a short piece that isn't extremely elaborate by any means, but it's beautiful and makes her want to rest her head on his shoulder. When he finishes, there's a short silence, and she tells him it was beautiful. She feels him smile against her head. Her fingers meander over the keys and she plays the occasional note as she hums some tune tucked away in the recesses of her mind. He picks up on it after a while, playing a more complete accompaniment to her stilted humming. She tilts her head where it rests on his shoulder to look at his face, and his hand slips on the note. She wishes to stay there forever.

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"Hey."

"Hey." The last one was from Lucy, and it earned her a reproving glare and there was this silent yet intense communication between the girls. It's the next day, and now they've started on the library, sifting through the masses of newspapers dating well back into the past century. Lockwood had just returned from helping George at the archives (all the dust and cleaning was making his allergies act up so he wasn't at peak performance, as much as hated to admit it). She finally looks away from Lucy with the air of washing her hands of her, looking up at a forgotten Lockwood.

"Your coat collar's turned up."

"He does that to look cool. And because you're here. Dunno if you've noticed, Lockwood, but the coat hanger's by the door."

"Ha-ha. I'm leaving for Satchell's soon. Just...wanted to see how you were getting on."

"Wanted to see how Y/N was getting on."

"No, no." But his voice is a little too high-pitched to be fully convincing, and Lucy bursts out laughing, and his annoyance evaporates his nervousness. "Just making sure you haven't bullied her to tears, Luce."

"I've been such an angel."

She traces the outline of Lockwood's coat with her gaze fondly. "I remember the morning you bought it." She leans conspiratorially towards Lucy. "Preened in front of me for a good ten minutes, shifting his weight around to look cool. He only stopped when he heard my dad coming out to get the paper."

"That's awfully patient of you. George and I just try to suffocate him when he gets too unbearable."

"Are - are you hearing this? Admission of assault."

'Oh hush, you big baby."

She smiles as she watches them bicker. Lockwood clutches his chest with an exaggeratedly injured look, and their eyes briefly meet. He looks away first.

"What can I say? When you're stuck with this...peacock of a neighbour, you're bound to be forced into being an adoring audience on more than one occasion. Comes in and disrupts my peaceful mornings."

"Someone had to appreciate it, and you're always up at the crack of dawn."

"So are you, but you don't sleep so it doesn't count."

Lockwood lets out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter. Lucy's eyes look like they're about to fall out of her head.

"Sue me for wanting to share first thing I bought with my hard-earned money with someone."

She chokes on her breath, barely holding herself back from a fit of giggles. Lucy looks as though Christmas had come early.

"Lockwood had a job? Like, a proper one?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd call it a job so much as a cosplay of being working class. But yes, he manned a frozen yogurt cart in the park a few summers back. First and last time i've seen him willingly sit out in the sun."

"Oh, please, at least I didn't spend my days making eyes at Noah Lewis."

She shrugs in mock ignorance in a way that Lockwood can't help but match her smile. For a while the only sounds that could be heard were of the girls shifting through the newspaper with inky fingertips, until Lockwood finally gets up to leave for the client meeting.

It's an uneventful trip and consultation, but looks promising enough in terms of commission. It's tedious enough to make him peckish for a mid-morning snack. When he returns, he walks into the kitchen to sneak a biscuit and finds her fiddling near the stove.

"Oh, hi. Lucy and I wanted some tea but I'm not quite sure I know how your kettle works..."

He fiddles with the plug a little, twisting the wire in ways that make her concerned for his safety, but eventually they hear the kettle hum cheerfully, and they silently wait for the water to boil. She fidgets, trying to make small talk.

"How's George's room coming along?"

"I told him to pick out his favourite biohazards. The rest would have to go."

The kettle starts to crackle louder now. She eyes it apprehensively but Lockwood doesn't seem to even register it.

"House looks...pretty much the same."

"Yeah."

"I like it."

"Thank you. But I'm glad we're doing this. The spring cleaning, I mean. Sometimes I wonder if it's too crowded."

"I like it. I think it's crowded with life."

He gives her a soft smile and when he looks at her, he's not as quick to look away as before. But then he remembers her outing last evening and carefully broaches the subject. After all, it had been a while since they talked about things like this, and she was by no means obligated to, but he tried.

"How was your...date?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. It was alright. He's a nice guy. Patient. Down-to-earth Unlike someone I could mention."

Her teasing smile is back, and Lockwood feels as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. His features contract into a familiar melodramatic expression.

"I'm sorry I disrupted so many peaceful mornings."

A smile slides back onto his face as she scoffs and gives him a shove. "Very funny. You were plenty insufferable before your friends came along. You're lucky I wasn't as creative as them."

"Mm, so grateful."

More silence. "They seem nice, George and Lucy. I see why you spend so much time with them."

And not so much with me, she wanted to add, but she didn't want to cause unnecessary strife, so she just focused on keeping her tone light. But Lockwood still picked up on the subtle edge of bitternes.

"I thought you...moved on to other things in life. You don't stop to chat by the fence much anymore."

"You got so busy with your agency business. I didn't want to impose."

She glances at Lockwood's genuinely puzzled expression, his lips barely parted as she saw the cogs turning in his head, trying to reconcile the idea of their chats being an imposition. She feels awkward in a way she's never felt with him, even when it was just the fence in between the two of them. They went from close, to distant, to kind of close again for that one summer they were 16, and now...now she wasn't sure.

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I...I didn't mean to."

"Yeah, well...you can say hi more often. Or bye. If you wanted to." It was stupid; she knew she was being childish but she couldn't help it. Something still smarted inside of her when she saw the three of them traipsing off most nights, something she didn't quite understand.

"I always want to."

"Lockwood? You better not be withholding tea."

They get startled by Lucy's voice and take a step back. Lockwood fumbles as he pulls off the top of the cottage-shaped container, scooping out piles of teabags. "Look, plenty of tea. All the tea. Please don't tell Lucy."

She shakes her head, bemused, pouring water into their mugs just as Lucy walks in, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Lockwood. Luckily, she gets distracted quickly enough and starts dumping sugar into her mug. She watches Lucy for a while until Lockwood fold his jacket over his arm, brushing her shoulder as he walks past.

"Hm?"

He stops by the door to the kitchen, a familiar easy smile on his face. He looks like home.

"Bye."

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"Why do you call him Lockwood? Surely you knew him when he was 'Anthony,' or - or was it 'Big A'? Please tell me it was 'Big A.'"

She had started to become a regular visitor at the breakfast table, which meant more time for Lucy to spend interrogating her on everything and anything about Lockwood. Even George had joined in briefly; it was too good of an opportunity to pass up for an enigma like Lockwood. All the while, he anxiously flitted around, on guard to brush off anything too incriminating.

He carries the kettle away, mildly peeved. "I think that's enough tea for you, Luce." Lucy makes a face behind his back and the girls share a muffled laugh.

"Oh, he hasn't been Anthony for ages." She smiles briefly, but gives Lucy's hand an intentional squeeze, her eyes asking Lucy to not press it. She doesn't realise how Lockwood has suddenly become much more interested in the paper only because she too is avoiding eye contact.

She remembers it like it was yesterday. Her parents had done their best to help Lockwood, but there was only so much they could legally do (not that it stopped her mother from sniffing disapprovingly at every inept social worker that walked up the garden path). It had been after Jessica's funeral, and for once they were both on the same side of the fence: sitting on the steps to the porch. He was wearing a suit that was a bit too big for him, not unlike his daily attire now, and the smell of burnt rubber hung in the air.

"I don't think I want to be Anthony anymore."

It was a decision that never confused her, not even for a minute. Anyone would have needed a reconstruction of identity after going through such traumatic experiences at an age as young as his. Adjusting to the change had been surprisingly smooth too; he didn't look much like Anthony after that day either. But it was bone-deep agony to watch time drip by, like lazy honey, and only being able to hope that he was getting happier.

Lucy picks up on the hint and starts asking George about the rooms they need to tackle today. Meanwhile, she walks past the kitchen window, nearly bumping into Lockwood. They breathe a reflexive apology and laugh lightly. Her eyes land on the angry red cut on his forehead.

"How's the-?"

"Oh, it's fine. Just a scrape. I've had worse."

"Aw, you poor baby."

Lockwood laughs weakly as she gently tugs at the skin near the cut, which at least seemed to be better than the previous night. When looks away she notices the pink tinge to the tips of his ears. She frowns at the slightly ajar window, closing it firmly. There still was a chill in the air from the frost that hadn't completely melted away yet.

True to his word, Lockwood comes home with a broken wrist a few days later. George is rather miffed and Lockwood insists that he's making it sound worse than it actually was, but that doesn't stop her from wincing when George claims he heard the snap of his bone from the floor below. Despite Lucy's insistence that he had survived much worse, she can't help but fret over him a little.

"I can pour my soup myself, you know."

"Yes, yes, you're a big strong man who needs no help. Now go sit down, I'll bring your toast." It might have been more convincing if she hadn't been absent-mindedly muttering, or even without the pat on his head, but he still took his seat at the table, not entirely unhappy. George had managed to wrestle him into his bed in the afternoon and his body finally succumbed to the beckoning of sleep, making him sleep through dinner. It was just the two of them in the kitchen, one anxiously watching the other sip their soup.

"Really, you didn't need to do this. It's no trouble on my wrist."

"Lockwood, the doctor said not to put any pressure on it. It is, by definition, trouble on your wrist."

He sighs, frowning at how she worries her bottom lip. "You're not...doing this out of guilt, or something, are you?"

She opens her mouth to deny it, to say how preposterous such a suggestion is, but her protests die on her lips. She takes a shaky breath.

"I was thinking about the days after...you know. How exhausted and lonely you must have been. How I didn't care enough to visit you more, to even cross that fence, unless it was to come running to you with my own silly problems."

"Y/N," he looks like he wants to smile but is trying not to for the benefit of the situation, and it rubs salt in her wound. "Of course you cared. You were just a kid, acting like kids do."

"I yelled at you about Noah when I was 16. 16."

"And I appreciated it. You gave me something more normal to be mad about. You made me feel like a teenager again." He reaches out and covers her hand with his uninjured one. "And I don't ever want you feeling like any of your problems is too tiny or insignificant to bother me with. I'm your neighbour, what else am I good for?"

She gives him a watery smile, feeling the tension that had been bunching around her temples all afternoon start to dissolve. He always knew just what to say, the ointment to every wound and scratch. He made it easier to live, easier to breathe.

"Wait, where's Lockwood?"

"Going down to Arif's."

"With a broken wrist?"

"He still has his left hand!" Lucy calls after her, but she's too busy scrambling for a pair of mittens and hurrying to the front door. Luckily, she catches him just as he's about to head out, and a smile cracks open on his face when he sees her.

"Everything alright?"

"You forgot your mittens."

He eyes the patterned woollens in her hands. "Y/N. I haven't worn mittens since I was...six, maybe."

"Obviously, since that's about how long they've been collecting dust in your old coat - which, by the way, is in no shape for the Salvation Army. You didn't set it on fire, did you?"

"Look, when it comes to fires, I may have an affinity for them but not necessa-"

"Fine. Just wear the mittens."

"I'll only be a minute! What's the worst that could happen?"

"Oh, yes, because a cold is exactly what you need on top of a snapped wrist and cut." She holds the mittens out expectantly, and he reluctantly takes them. They spend a few awkward minutes trying to figure out how to get them on without his cast getting in the way, and Lockwood nearly drops them when he gets startled by the brush of her fingertips on his palm, until she decisively puts them on his hands herself. When she looks up, his ears are tinged red again, as well as his nose.

"See, you're already getting cold. Are you sure I can't go to Arif's for you?"

They hear a scoff from behind, and turn to see George watching them. She looks at him questioningly but he ambles past her to the kitchen, muttering words under his breath she couldn't quite understand. Lockwood takes advantage of the pause in her fussing and steps out before she can continue protesting, but the sight of the mittens securely pulled over his fingers gives her some relief.

George turns his snigger into a poorly concealed cough.

"What now?"

"If you keep kissing his scrapes better, he'll throw himself off a cliff one of these days."

"George." Lucy admonishes him while she tries to settle the awkard swooping sensation in her chest.

"It's true and you know it."

Lucy nods awkwardly at her. "I mean...he's got a point."

When she thinks about it, it makes her feel funny in a way she can't deicide.

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Later that evening, she's sitting on her porch, brooding, when Lockwood leans over the fence.

"Home so soon?"

"Thought I'd come here for some quiet thinking."

He nods affably, his flyaway hair gleaming in the setting sun. "You left your cards in the living room."

"Come on over," she says unexpectedly, possessed by a sudden desire to be close to him. It surprises her as much as him, but as she watches him walk out of his own gate, and strangely walk into her gate, the foreign sight reassures her with a distant sense of familiarity. She had been on so many crazy misadventures, but they all led her back to the same place: in his arms. Maybe the universe had grown hoarse from yelling at her to open her eyes to what was right in front of her.

He sits down next to her and hands her the cards. She looks at the quiet face of Anthony hiding inside the sallow face in front of hers, and marvels at how the same time that put her through hell as a child had somewhat healed his wounds. She puts them to the side and links her fingers in his, resting her head on his shoulder as their breath misted in the chill.

"Remember that summer at the yogurt shop?" She feels him relax against her as he hums in agreement. "You looked so fresh in your teal shirt."

"I wondered what you were doing, sitting under that tree all day. Was it really just to watch Noah all day?"

She shrugs. "Maybe. It was a weird sort of year. I had this restlessness in me...this desire to sit outside in the world and wait for things to start happening to me. For someone to find me and for my life to begin." She shifts, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "Speaking of Noah...did you know he got married last year?"

"Someone wanted to marry Noah Lewis?"

"You say things like that as if I wasn't ready to have his children just two years ago."

"To be fair, you weren't the brightest two years ago."

"Anyway, they're expecting a child. Him and his wife. I even sent him a baby shower gift."

"A gift? What, TNT?"

She laughs into his shoulder, and she can feel him metaphorically swelling with pride. And when she stops laughing, there is nothing to distract her from the dull ache in her heart, the string that tugged at it as it desperately reached for Lockwood's. Lockwood, who invigorated her spirit and quelled her anxieties, who was the balmy breeze on a warm summer evening, who smelt of a pleasantly sharp soap. She stumbled and fell a million times with all the wrong people in all the wrong places, but now she felt as though she were being reeled home by the invisible string that permanently and irrevocably tied her to him.

She looks up at the sky, a thousand different shades of blue, purple and pink. The temperature continues to drop, but with Lockwood's arm wrapped around her after a particularly vicious gust of wind, she feels warm enough. She murmurs into his neck and feels the hair at the back of his neck stand against her lips.

"Isn't it just so pretty to think...all along there was some invisible string," she inhales, "tying you...to…me."

#fanfiction #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood imagine #fanfic #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x y/n #taylor swift #folklore #invisible string

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ghouljams · 10 months

Note

imagine Fae!Ghost being forced by love to sit down and do art projects/scrap booking or making little friendship bracelets and he only puts up with it because it’s her and he’s doing her a favor so more hooks! I think it would be so cute! Just this big exasperated Fae man who everyone fears and actively avoids doing art projects with his love because she begged him to.

More Fae!Ghost fluff, the fuckups can be sweet too, please God(my brain) let them be sweet(stop making me horny).

You have completely exploded all over the coffee table. Sitting on the floor sifting through journaling supplies and different colored threads, various scraps of paper from your day and about a million colored markers and little charms. Simon is giving you a wide berth as he tries to find a decent angle to get to his seat on the couch.

"So what're we avoiding here?" He asks, opting to go over the back of the couch to sit down.

"Deadline," you tell him, snipping at the edges of a cream colored paper star. He hums, and reaches past you to pick up a deep red, deeply tangled, bundle of string. He tucks it back against his palm and grabs the pink bundle as well.

"Always good to avoid," You hold your hand out for him to give you your supplies back, watching him wrap the thread neatly around his fingers. "There's a match on soon."

"No footie, I'm trying to focus," Simon frowns with a displeased hum, and settles the neat bundle in your palm. You watch him wrap the next one and are struck with an absolutely brilliant idea. "You could help, it'll go faster and then I can get back to my real work," you bat your lashes at him and rest your cheek against his knee. He stares at you for a long moment before his shoulders drop and he tells you,

"Fine, what do you need?"

Simon is very good with his hands. Which you already knew, but watching him make knots and loop thread is sort of mesmerizing. It's not exactly complicated, but he picks up patterns well, twisting little daisies between his fingers as you abandon work on your own bracelet. You're not sure if he's having fun or just humoring you, but it's nice sitting with him and working on something together.

You rest your head against his knee, writing out your day between scraps of paper. The tag from your morning tea, an event ticket, a sketch of the stamp on your hand courtesy of Simon. You feel so pleasantly warm and full in a way that you haven't since you were a kid. Simon reaches past you to snag a bead and returns to his work, you grab a marker to highlight your favorite parts of the day, the room is full of the quiet sounds of your work.

Simon grabs your wrist off your journal and pulls it to rest on his leg, tying his creation to your wrist. When you're allowed your wrist back you feel your chest swell at the neat little daisy chain, "Love" spelled in letter beads and resting over your pulse. Simon's fingers thread through your hair, scratching the base of your skull lightly.

"Didn't know you could do that," Simon mumbles, and you take your eyes off the best thing he's ever given you to look up at him. You hadn't even noticed until he'd pointed it out, but you're purring.

#Love makes a matching bracelet for Simon and he never takes it off #shows it off to könig who has never been more jealous in his life #me trying to think of the most chaotic hobby to give Love: a journalling #she probably sews too because i sew and i am so messy with it #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #reader x ghost #fae!Ghost #i could make her a doll hobbyist #theres truly no other hobby where you talk about decapitating people and eye removal to that degree

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gloryofroses19 · 30 days

Text

More Than You Know

Nursing her glass of Coca-Cola, [y/n] watched Major John Egan from across the social club. Though she wasn’t privy to the conversation, which had interrupted their time together, she certainly didn’t mind the view. His broad back was on full display as he spoke with a fresh faced corporal. Their evening had been going swell. As per usual, he cleaned up nicely even with the fresh marks of a flight mission. His curls falling into their rightful place and allowing her the pleasure of fixing the few that didn’t.

Seemingly sharing the same thought as her, John ran a hand through his obsidian curls as he rejoined [y/n] at the bar. “Sorry about that. Now where were we ....” Sipping his drink, he narrowed his eyes. “Right, we were talking about me.”

[y/n] rolled her eyes at his expectant look and boyish smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment” John started before moving closer to [y/n] and dropping his voice. “And I was promised a compliment after every mission.”

She had promised an admission after every mission and Bucky Egan would be damned if he missed a single opportunity to hear why she liked him.

Pulling him closer, she rests her hands on his chest and meets his awaiting gaze. “Compliment was not the word that I used. For all you know, maybe I like you because you’re bad at singing.” She has promised to bare her heart but she never said she would hand over that information easily.

With a deep chuckle, John placed his hands on the curve of her waist. With every word uttered, he begins to sway them to the beat. “Where you say bad, I hear, committed, passionate, soulful even.”

“Oh, you’re definitely committed. That bar in Greenland has the scars from it.” She responded dryly, following his lead. Drawing closer, she placed her head against his chest.

“Buck told you about that, did he?” His deep voice rumbled pleasantly in her ear.

“More like Crank.”

Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. “Good ole’ Crank, always looking for a reason to knock a man.”

[y/n] silently chuckled as her eyes scanned the social club. When her eyes fell on the corporeal from earlier, she noticed that he seemed more at ease than he had when he interrupted them. That was the magic of John Egan she supposed. Always willing to use his sturdy shoulders to help his fellow man. “Everything okay with the kid?”

“Don’t think you can get out of this by changing topics, Lieutenant.” He replied, intertwining their fingers.“And yes, just helped make sure his mom got a letter. His pops just died so he’s worried about her.”

“You’re like Atlas” [y/n] stated earnestly. She had promised him a reason, she just didn’t intend to have it slip out as she shocked herself with her realization of the depth of her feelings.

“Hm?” Titling his head in confusion, the pilot was met with a look of admiration in [y/n]’s eyes. She had promised him a reason for her affection, however, he failed to understand how a Greek myth related to him.

“My reason. Well, one of my reasons for liking you.” She amended before going on to explain further. “You’re always kind, always caring for those around you. Even amongst the carnage, you take care of your men. You make sure those around you are okay, happy even when you can and don’t ask for anything in return. It’s admirable John Egan.”

His face was wholly unguarded. He didn’t think it was a big deal to help the kid out. All it required of him was to ask a favor of one of the Captains in the mail transportation unit. And yet, his heart rate picked up at the mere mention of the favor that he did. He supposed it was because of her, she had a way of always seeing him for who he was.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He decides, choosing to end the back and forth they’ve been playing to protect their hearts. It was too late for that. Every flyboy needs a place to perch and nest and she was it for him.

“Please do.”

A shiver ran down his back as he closed the gap between their mouths, first with the utmost gentleness, as he wanted to savor this. This had been months in the making as a nest wasn’t built in a day. A warmth spread in John’s chest as [y/n] leaned in closer, her lips impossibly soft against his own. Then as her lips parted and she combed her fingers through those curls, the kiss became heated.

However, a crash of glasses on the bar pulled their attention and bodies from each other. “I drew the shit end of the stick,” Standing behind the bar, Curt gestured toward the corporal, “from the new kid”.

The couple stared at the pair of glasses full of whiskey placed before them.

“Why are you behind the bar, Curt?” John asked in a dissatisfied tone for the interruption. He had allowed the first interruption of their time with mild annoyance, but the second time certainly wasn't the charm.

“I am a man of many talents,” Placing a hand on his chest, Curt offered Bucky a deceptively humble look. “And one of those talents is keeping poor bartenders from being traumatized by you twos sucking face.”

“Get me a drink then bartender Biddick.” Plastering a fake smile on his face, John stared menacingly at Curt. .

“No can do Major, you already have a drink.” Curt replied unbothered, knowing how much he was getting under the Majors skin.

Placing a kiss on the top of his favorite lieutenant's head, John turned towards his current least favorite lieutenant “I’m not giving a tip for service like this.”

“Now Major, that isn’t right. After I slaved over picking up the drinks and placing them there, you gotta give me something.”

Curt truly was a youngest child, [y/n] thought as she leaned her weight against John. Deciding to join in on the fun, she put her hands on his lapels.

“I’ll give you a tip alright…” John muttered before his attention shifted to [y/n].

“Where’s my souvenir, Major?” She asked innocently, peering up at him from underneath her lashes. She smiled, enjoying watching him try to catch up.

“What? My presence isn’t enough?” Squeezing her waist, he watched an unimpressed look cross her face. “It’s in my billet!” Tracing her jaw with his finger tips, John hoped to distract [y/n] as he declared his innocence.

“Sure, John.” She laughed unconvinced, turning towards the bar.

“Sounds like you’re lying to me, Major.” Curt agreed sipping on John’s free whiskey.

“Give me that!” Grabbing the glass out of the New Yorker’s hand, John asks him. “Who’s side are you on anyway?”

“Not yours, I’ve seen her right hook.”

Sparing him a glance, [y/n] pushed a curl away from his forehead. Enjoying the gentle brush of her fingers against his forehead, he was sure he had convinced her. But his hope was dashed at the teasing smile across her lips. “Sure, John.”

“I swear, doll! You can ask Buck!”

A/N: The title is from an Ella Fitzgerald song. Feedback is always appreciated!

Unofficial official sequel to Fly Me To the Moon

#john egan x reader #major john egan x reader #mota fanfic #bucky egan x reader #john egan x female reader #john egan imagine #masters of the air imagine #masters of the air x reader #mota x reader

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midnightfictionlibrary · 10 months

Text

Silver Springs - Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader/Roy Kent x Fem!Reader

Silver Springs - Jamie Tartt xFem!Reader, Roy Kent x FemReader!

Content - angst, flirting, friends to lovers, love triangle

Word Count - 3k

Summary - Whilst Jamie is in the throes of preparing for the Man City game, Roy tries to show the reader that he's noticed her past just being the coaches’ assistant, even if it makes him feel guilty.

Read Part One Here

A/N - Part 2 of this love triangle fic, let’s gooooo. As always like and reblog if you enjoy and let me know what you think <33

It had been about a week since Jamie had kissed you, and things weren’t official. You couldn’t say you weren’t disappointed, but you understood the mental stress he was under with the upcoming Man City match. Being able to be intimately close to him was enough, because you knew he needed the comfort. Sitting on your couch and stroking his hair as you felt his breathing become deeper made you more than content.

You sigh slightly to yourself and open your laptop, your color coded calendar coming to life. You glance to the corner of your screen, looking at the time. Bright and early with plenty of time to move appointments and schedule other needed meetings. You sat at your desk in the small room off of Ted and Beard’s. Your deskmate wasn’t there yet. He actually grunted every time you called him your “deskmate”, but annoying Roy Kent was one of the perks of this job.

“Hey, love.” You would recognize his voice anywhere, and you look up to see Jamie leaning on the doorframe. He crosses the room and gives you a sweet peck on the lips, then plants another kiss on the top of your head. He crosses through your office to the locker room and you smile to yourself. What a perfect start to your day, a kiss from the man you had wanted to be with for so long. You look back to your screen and start moving appointments, adding in the important dates Ted left on a football shaped sticky note, including the latest visit from Henry.

A slight thud on your desk has you tearing your eyes away from your computer screen. You see a take-away coffee cup with the name “RAY” written in big, scratchy letters. You look up, greeted with a glowering, bushy eyebrowed face. “Can I help you…Ray?” You grin gesturing to the coffee cup.

“Fuck’s sake.” He grunts. “I brought you coffee.” He scoots the coffee cup closer to you, and you raise an eyebrow, Roy Kent was bringing you coffee?

“Thank you…but why?”

“What do you fuckin’ mean why? Cause you’re nice and you’re always bringing everyone else coffee.” He says gruffly, dropping his iconic black leather jacket onto his own chair, revealing his tight fitting black tshirt underneath. You take a sip of the coffee to avoid gazing at him, you had eyes and knew he was fit. You were pleasantly surprised at your drink.

“How’d you know my order?” You say, taking another delighted sip of your drink. You watch Roy’s jaw jump slightly and he shrugs.

“Must have just picked up on it.” He says nonchalantly. In reality, he snooped around your desk the night previous, but he wasn’t going to admit to that. That sounded insane. He felt like a terrible person. He and Tartt were on good terms again, friends even, and here he was trying to win over the girl he knew Jamie was mad about. He was a prick. And a bad friend. But he couldn’t help it. Something about you drew him to you, and you made him want to open up to the possibility of being in a serious relationship again.

You smile slightly at Roy’s back, flattered that he had done this for you. You were still a bit baffled as to why. It’s not as if Roy wasn’t nice to you, he was. But usually he answered you in growls, not full sentences. “Well…I really appreciate it. I didn’t have time to grab coffee this morning before getting to work.”

Roy turns to look at you, one corner of his lips ticking upwards. “Don’t mention it.” He says. “Seriously, fuckin’ don’t.” You openly laugh at this and turn back to your computer screen.

“What is all that shit anyway?” Roy asks, and you can feel him cross the tiny space to stand over your shoulder. When he leans over and places one hand on your desk and one on the arm of your desk chair, you feel your heart skip a beat. Which was dumb. Why would that be your reaction? You ignore the feeling and shrug.

“This is how you get your extra physio appointments, how Ted has time to review game footage every other day, and how Beard knows when it’s time to exchange his library books.” You look up at him. “It’s all color coded for every member of the team. I’m pretty proud of it, if I do say so myself.” You give him a small smile and go back to typing in the extra appointments Ted had asked you to put in.

“Fuck.” Roy says, watching you work the schedule around. “Now I understand why Ted said he didn’t know which way was up without you.”

“Aw, you talk to Ted about little ole me?” You flash him a teasing grin and his heart wrenches. Fuck you and your stupid, pretty grin.

“Uh…” Roy starts, coughing slightly to cover his embarrassment.

You pat the hand resting on your desk before you continue typing. “I’m just kidding, Roy.”

Roy clears his throat, but still hadn’t moved from his spot. He seemed content to watch you work, which was unusual for him, but you didn’t mind. He was a little close, sure, but if he wanted to watch you put in appointments and move Sam’s restaurant re-opening for him then who were you to tell him no?

“Love?” You look up at the sound of Jamie’s pet name for you and smile brightly at him.

“Hi!”

“Am…I interruptin’ somethin’?” Jamie asks, pushing his hair back with his headband, looking from you to Roy. Why was Roy so close to you? That made him feel uneasy, but he wasn’t sure why. He knew that you had feelings for him, but he hadn’t made anything official. He supposed he couldn’t blame you for exploring your options. His eyes meet Roy’s, who clears his throat and straightens up, away from you.

“No.” Roy says gruffly. “I was just looking at the insane color coding she has in there.”

Jamie nods slightly, looking to you, who he was relieved to see, only had eyes for him. He crosses the room to you, kneeling in front of where you sat, and you look down at him, eyebrow raised. He grins at you.

“I jus’ wanted to come see if you wanted to have lunch with me today.” He says, ignoring Roy completely at this point. You nod enthusiastically, pushing a strand of hair that came loose from the headband back.

“Course I do.” You said, smiling at him. “Meet you at the kebab place around the corner?” You ask, to which Jamie nods. He glances at Roy, who is pretending to be preoccupied on his phone and presses his lips to yours in a sweet, soft kiss.

“Great. See ya then, darlin’.” You smile as you watch him walk out, quickly turning back to your work. Next on the agenda, emails.

“So.” You hear.

You turn towards Roy’s voice. “So..?”

“You and Tartt, yeah?”

You shrug. “Nothing is official yet.” You say nonchalantly, trying to hide just how giddy you were about Jamie openly kissing you and referring to you as “love” or “darlin’”.

“Not fuckin’ official?” Roy says, incredulous. This was news to him.

“Not yet.”

“Why the bloody hell not?” Roy crosses the room again and peers down at you.

You look back up at him and wave your hand absentmindedly. “Jamie is already stressed about this upcoming match, I can wait until his head is completely clear to have a serious conversation.” You pick up your coffee cup again, taking a sip of the delicious hazelnut latte.

But you nearly choke when Roy leans down, one hand on each of your chair’s armrests, caging you in. His face is inches from yours.

“That’s fuckin’ dumb, babe.”

You lower the coffee cup from your lips, studying his face intently. Your heart was pounding. Babe? What was he doing? Never in the entire few years you had been here, had the Roy Kent paid so much attention to you.

“Hm.” You say, quirking an eyebrow. “And why is that dumb?”

Roy smirks slightly. “Because if I had you, I wouldn’t even fuckin’ hesitate to claim you.”

You realized you were holding your breath and you laugh nervously. “O..oh.” You say, swallowing. “Well I don’t think Jamie is hesitating to claim me.” You look into his face, because he was making it impossible not to notice how handsome he actually is. Sure, you weren’t public with your relationship, but Jamie didn’t hide how he felt about you, at all.

“Maybe not here. But I would be shouting from the fuckin’ rooftops if I had someone as nice as you smiling pretty at me like you do Jamie.” You can see him studying your face, and in reality, Roy’s heart is pounding. He’s getting a bit too carried away here and he didn’t know when or how to stop.

“Maybe you could have someone with a pretty smile if you weren’t such a grouch.” You counter, leaning in closer to him, aware now that you were having some sort of effect on him. You watch him swallow, his eyes flicking down to your lips. You smirk at him.

He growls in response, catching you completely off guard that you had elicited such a sound from him but making you smirk even more. You press a single finger against his lips, standing up as you push him back.

“See? Grouch.” You tease, moving your finger but before you can rest your hand at your side again, Roy looks down at you, catching your wrist in his hand.

“Fuck’s sake, woman.” He says, almost breathlessly. You look up at him, fluttering your eyelashes innocently, but trying to deny the fact that you liked how his large hand had caught you. The look on your face was all it took for Roy to back you into a wall, his lips on yours. One hand with his fingers splayed across your hip, digging greedily, almost possessively, the other letting go of your wrist to yank you closer to him, if that was even possible. The kiss was sloppy, heated, needy. The heat of your body pressed against Roy’s was making your head cloudy. When he deepens the kiss, your breath hitches and a slight moan escapes your lips, causing Roy to smirk into your lips.

You felt so bad that you kissed him back. When Roy pulled away, he immediately lets go of you.

“I…I shouldn’t have fuckin’ done that.”

What were you doing? What about Jamie? “I..shouldn’t have kissed you back.” You whispered, wide eyed. Roy has stepped back and away from you, but he’s watching you with such a look of longing. “I’m the worst girlfriend ever.” You say.

“Not his girlfriend, technically.”

You shift your gaze and focus your eyes on him. “What?” You say.

“You’re not his girlfriend officially.” Roy grunts, before stepping closer to you again. “I get if you don’t ever fuckin’ speak to me again. Just don’t tell me you regretted that.”

You gaze up at him. No, you’re not Jamie’s girlfriend. But Jamie is everything you ever wanted. And it made you feel horrible that you didn’t regret that little kiss-attack. You shake your head slowly, watching as Roy came close to you again, hovering above you, his torso pressing into you. “Please.” He says.

The gruff, broken plea in his voice makes your knees weak and you shake your head. “I can’t tell you that.” You say, clearing your throat and straightening up, your breath slightly heavy.

“Even if I know you don’t?” He says grabbing your chin, looking into your eyes.

Your eyes flutter closed and you breathe out. “Yes.” You hated him right now. How did he manage to get a rise out of you so quickly? You pull your face away from his grasp and push yourself off the wall. “I need to go.” You say bluntly, gathering your laptop and your bag. Roy steps back and watches you go, rushing out the door.

You cannot believe what had just happened. You were so distracted that you run smack into someone in the carpark, their arms grabbing you and steadying you.

“Woah, love, what’s wrong? You look like ya’ seen a ghost.”

Jamie. Because of course it was Jamie. You can’t even look him in the eye and he moves his head to catch your gaze. “M’startin’ to worry here, darlin’, what’s wrong?” He asks again, his grip tightening a bit on you. He had a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. Like he knew what was coming next.

“We can’t be together.” You say bluntly.

Jamie blinks once, then twice. “What?”

“You deserve someone better than me.”

Jamie still looks dumbfounded, but was becoming almost desperate to find out what you were talking about. “Please tell me what you’re talkin’ about, because I’m gettin’ a little scared.”

“I…” you look away from him again. “I kissed Roy. Or…he kissed me.”

Jamie winces. “Y-what?…kissed Roy?”

“It just happened. And we can’t be together because I’m a horrible person for doing this to you.” You pull out of his grasp, but Jamie grabs you again. “Jamie, please let me go.”

“No.” He says, simply, grabbing your chin much like Roy had done minutes before. “I’m not pleased, but this is almost like karma for how shitty I’ve been in the past.” He shakes his head when you open your mouth. “Do ya care about me?”

“Of course I do.” You almost sob, looking at him with the most pathetic eyes he’d ever seen.

“I know ya do, or you wouldn’t have told me right away.” He kisses your forehead. “M’not happy about it. But I can’t say I blame ya for exploring options when I haven’t even asked ya on a proper date.”

You groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “You being so understanding is making me feel worse. I know we’re not officially together or whatever the hell -“ you pause and look at him. “But I feel so, so, awful that it happened.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Stop that. M’not going to turn my back on you. I’ve cared about ya too long to let the messy beginning of what we’re tryin’ to figure out be the end of us. Besides, I did this same thing to Roy when he was with Keeley. Sometimes you just…like who you like.”

You stare at him. “You’re spending too much time with Ted.”

Jamie actually throws his head back and laughs at that, rolling his eyes once before pulling you in. “Now that you’ve kissed me coach I guess we’re even. Cause I used to be with Keeley and the two of you are thick as thieves.” He really didn’t blame you for any of this, but was making a mental note to maybe punch Roy in his face later. He couldn’t say it didn’t hurt, the thought of you kissing someone else. But he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of what he knows is meant to be. He knew that was corny, but with you he wasn’t worried about any of that. He wanted it all, the house, the love, the kids in the future.

“I’m sorry Jamie. I really am. All I could think about was how much of an asshole I was being.” You look up at him, realizing he’s already gazing at you.

“Be me girl. Officially.” He says.

You blink. “I thought you weren’t ready to have a serious conversation until after the match?”

“Don’t care about any of that anymore.” He says. “Me dad, me reputation with Man City. Don’t matter.” He mumbles into your hair. “Only you matter to me.”

“Okay.” You whisper.

“Okay, ya believe me? Or okay, ya wanna make this official?”

“I want to be yours, Jamie.” You catch the smile on his face and he leans in, cradling your face. The kiss he gives you is so different from what you had experienced with Roy. This was slow, sweet, and loving. Jamie pecks your lips, once, two, three times, and when he pulls back, he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. You sigh, contentedly.

“That’s me girl.” He whispers, holding you close. You realize that this, with Jamie, was what you wanted. He kisses along your jawline, and you can’t help yourself, you smile. “Knew I could coax that gorgeous smile outta ya.”

Jamie was infatuated with you, and if he was being honest, completely in love with you, and had been since you had been the only one willing to speak to him when he initially came back to Richmond.

Jamie leads you to his car, and when you both get in, he pulls you across the center console onto his lap, sliding his large palm up to cup your face as he continues to kiss you. You were breathless, tangling your hands in his hair.

When you both finally pull away, you smile. Jamie tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, just like he did that night in the bar. “I’ve waited so long to be able t’call ya mine, love.” Jamie murmurs, your noses touching.

You stay like that, Jamie nuzzling you in his lap, while you think about everything that had happened. But you knew that nothing made you feel better than when Jamie held you. You stroke Jamie’s hair absentmindedly. You just hoped that you weren’t truly as terrible as you still felt.

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of Jamie’s presence. This was more than enough.

#jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt #friends to lovers #roy kent x reader #roy kent x y/n #angst fic #longing fic #jamie tartt fanfiction #roy kent fanfiction #love triangle

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psychedelic-ink · 5 months

Text

We Fall Like Snow ║ Part ⅠⅠ

After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format

chapter summary: Going on a trip with Dieter and his parents? More likely then you think.

word count: 4.9k

chapter warnings: some family drama, mentions of past bullying, but mostly fluffy moments

**dividers by the amazing @saradika

“I think we all expected some drama to drop when Dieter Bravo was cast as one of the main heroes of the upcoming movie ‘Abyss Burning’ but surprisingly enough this drama isn’t about him but his female bodyguard,” the voice coming out of the phone’s speaker is pleasant, engaging. Your stomach drops at the spoken sentence. “So let’s start at the beginning–”

Dieter comes at you from out of nowhere and yanks his father’s phone out of your trembling hands. Your instincts kicking in (as if those same instincts haven’t caused enough trouble already) you reach out for the device but he’s already across the room, giving the phone back to his dad, a glare directed at the poor unsuspecting man. Mrs. Bravo looks somewhat aware of your distress, her gaze softens with kindness, she smiles when your eyes meet.

Dieter stands like a wall between you and his parents.

“Maybe you two should go out to the balcony, the weather’s nice,” Dieter says, tone full of implication. “I’ll talk to you guys in a sec,”

Mr. Bravo parts his lips, but before words can form, Mrs. Bravo ushers him out to the balcony and closes the door behind them.

You hadn’t realized but you were holding your breath, only now letting go.

“The last thing you should do is watch drama channels,”

The couch dips with Dieter’s added weight, you look down at your hands and witness the constant twitching of your fingers. The ever distressing sound of jingle bells ring loudly in your ears. Despite your focus being elsewhere, you hear him sigh. You feel him curling his fingers around your left hand, pulling it to his lap. You perceive your hand to be detached from the rest of your body, nothing but a lifeless limb between Dieter’s fingers.

“My mom taught me something when I was little, supposedly it helps when you’re feeling nervous,” he says. “Open your palm,”

Life returns to your skin with his touch. His fingers are warm. Heat seeps back into your skin, you can feel again, you move around your fingers before doing as he said. Dieter starts to draw patterns into your palm. It’s ticklish, the sensation forces a smile against your lips.

“She told me that I should write my name letter by letter into my palm and that it would calm me down.”

Dieter is already staring at you when you lift your gaze. His smile is soft, which surprises you. Usually his smiles were wide and broad, full of happiness, be it fake or real. This expression is a gift, a gentle reminder that you’re someone close to him. His forefinger continues to dance along your palm, blood simmers pleasantly underneath your skin. Slowly, you realize that these aren’t random patterns.

It’s your name. You half had expected him to write out his own name.

He repeats it, the tip of his nail catches along your palm, a shudder spreading throughout your body. Dieter’s gaze drops, his cheeks dusted with a beautiful shade of pink.

“Breathe,” he reminds you. “Just breathe and focus on the letters, I promise you’ll feel better,”

Your eyes flutter shut, vague shapes caused by light moves like shadow-play beneath your eyelids. Your mind slowly comes together, you push away the thoughts of gossip. Instead you focus on yourself, on Dieter. You remind yourself of how close your lips were to his, your breaths mingling, your bodies seeking eachother’s heat.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. The sharp pain clears your mind. Dieter’s finger still moves. You feel him drawing another “A”. Deep down you know you can stay like this for hours, for eternity. His finger, despite the lack of sexual connotation, makes heat to pool between your legs. You know that this will be the closest you’ll ever get to feeling him against your skin like this, so you allow yourself to postpone the moment of parting.

Time stretches, you imagine his fingers moving up your wrist, tracing the curve of your muscles until he reaches your shoulder and from there, to your neck.

Your body stiffens, goosebumps settle across your skin. Dieter traces an “I”. How long does he plan on tracing your name like this?

You fear that he can hear your thoughts echoing in the silence. You fear that he can see the pleasure written along your body. It’s a nasty feeling, one that coats your tongue with the taste of bile.

When you open your eyes, his gaze lifts in a way that convinces you that he knew the exact moment it would be too much. As if he knew the moment you would resort to opening your eyes. His smile is still there.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah. Thank you,” his finger retreats, regrettably so. “I like that little trick. It’s nice,”

“Mrs. Bravo is a wise woman,” Dieter’s smile cracks into a grin. “Speaking of, I should probably check on the happy couple,”

You nod, “Yeah, okay.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

You will never be able to forget the look of concern he’s giving you. The crease between his brows is deep, eyes focused like you’ve never seen before. You fight the urge to scoff. You can’t believe it, Dieter Bravo of all people is actually worrying about you. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

You smile and nod, your thumb unconsciously pressing into your palm when he finally turns to leave.

You can see only a small fraction of the balcony. You witness Mrs. Bravo hugging her son, you see Mr. Bravo looking sheepishly at Dieter, his lips mouthing out words you can’t hear. Wanting to give them at least a bit of privacy you look down to your palm.

Your nail had left a crescent shaped mark. You smooth over it, you repeat the motion again and again, with each swipe of your thumb you feel your heart rate escalating. Anger bubbles in your chest. You were fine just a moment ago, this whole thing wasn’t that big of a deal. So what if drama channels were talking about you? So what if everyone was making speculations? You know the truth. You know it was an accident.

When you inhale, the breath you take is shaky and short. You close your eyes, then open them again. There’s an ache in your chest, you breathe and it hurts, you breathe again and again, wanting the pain to disappear.

You mutter out a curse and look back to the balcony, Dieter has his arm around Mrs. Bravo’s waist and Mr. Bravo’s hand is on his son’s shoulder. They must be close. Who would’ve thought? You really should’ve asked for their names before grabbing the offered phone to search what people were saying about the incident. Your gaze drops to your palm, the mark is gone, you remember the trick Dieter recently told you about.

Sighing, you start to drag your thumb in the shape of an “A”. You follow up with the other letters but it doesn’t make you feel better. Maybe I’m doing it wrong? You look back to Dieter and then to your palm again. You write something different for your second try. After each letter you feel your cheeks getting warmer and warmer.

You start to feel better.

The balcony door slides open and Mrs. Bravo is the first to come back inside. You blink dumbly at her, your thumb still moving across your palm. Dieter notices and you stop.

Now that you were aware who this couple was, you take your time observing them. Mrs. Bravo had Dieter’s eyes— though it would probably be more accurate to say that Dieter had his mother’s eyes. Her gaze sparkled more compared to his. Her hair a light shade of brown with soft, honey-like highlights between them. You spot a couple of grays pouring between the honey, making you believe that your initial assumption that her hair was dyed was actually wrong. The soft locks stopped right below her neck, slightly curling at the ends. She has a delicate gold chain around her neck, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.

“Amina,” she calls out to you, smiling wide. “Why don’t you come with us?”

“Mom…” Dieter cuts in, giving you a chance to understand what Mrs. Bravo was asking of you. Sadly, you still have no clue. “She doesn’t want to come with us. I barely want to go. The only reason I agreed to go is because we’re blood related.”

“Your cousin Everett is also joining us,” Mr. Bravo chimes in. “Didn’t you say that you missed him?”

“Like I said; Blood. Related.”

“Dieter, stop it.” His mom’s voice is sharp and clear. “Of course she would want to come. It would be good for her nerves and you said yourself you missed Everett,”

“Me missing him doesn’t make my point any less valid,”

His father talks over him, both parents ignoring him completely.

“Besides, isn’t she your bodyguard? Doesn’t she have to come along? You two have a contract right?”

“Yes but that’s not how it works–”

When the three begin to chatter among themselves, words getting a bit loud and heated, you raise your hand like a kid trying to get the teacher’s attention. You clear your throat.

“Go where exactly?”

“See, she needs this more than you think!” Mrs. Bravo proclaims triumphantly, her gaze moving from Dieter to you. “We have a cabin up in the mountains. It’s a lovely spot, near a ski resort so there’s people but not enough that you feel suffocated! We go there every year,”

“Except for last year,” Mr. Bravo cuts in, eyeing Dieter.

“It’s not my fault, I was working.”

“We would be happy if you came along,” Mrs. Bravo says with the most mother-like tone she can muster. You’re flustered, skin warm and tingling as she stares at you with hopeful eyes. Normally, you have no problem with telling people no —if you did your job would be a lot harder— but as her gaze zeroes in on you, all the excuses you could come up with die on your tongue. You nod with a shaky smile, telling her that you would love to tag along. “Fantastic! Dieter promised to show us around so you can pack during that time. We’ll come pick you up at about 9 PM. Dieter has your address right?”

“Y-Yeah,”

You’re overwhelmed at how fast she’s talking. Satisfied with your mediocre answer, she turns to Dieter.

“We’ll wait for you downstairs dear. Say goodbye to your friend!”

Both parents shake your hand before leaving, Mr. Bravo winks at you while mouthing a sorry, and follows his wife out the door.

It’s only you and Dieter now. The room is eerily silent.

He groans and falls to the couch, his one hand covers both his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. You can’t help but giggle, sitting next to him you touch his shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” he groans out. “I can make up something if you don’t want to go,”

“Nah, your mom’s right, it might be good for me.” Your eyes move towards the door, you can still feel their chaotic energy crackling in the air. “I don’t know what I was expecting your parents to be like, but it definitely wasn’t that,”

Dieter peaks at you from between his fingers, you can see the corners of his smile exceeding the frame of his hand.

“They really are something else. I think they like you,”

“Really?” You sound genuinely surprised.

Dieter’s hand falls to his side as he lets out a hearty laugh, he looks beautiful like this. His head thrown back and a smile as bright as the sun crossing his face. Your heart swells.

“Do you think my mom invites over every woman, or man, she sees next to me?” he shakes his head. “She’s definitely planning something, I’ll tell you that much. I should warn you about my dad though, he doesn’t have much of a filter.”

You hum, “Reminds me of someone I know,”

“Har har, he’s much worse. Believe me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you gently hit his shoulder before getting up, Dieter looks at you confused. “You should get going, and I should go and pack,”

“Ah, yeah, I guess you’re right,”

Dieter walks you to the door, muttering about needing to get dressed first. He leans against the door frame, the gap suddenly looks small with him filling it, his broad shoulders filling the empty space in between as he crosses his arms.

“I’ll see you tonight then,”

Just as you proceed to move away, Dieter closes the door but remembering that you had a job to do, you push it back open.

“We’ll be making it back to the premiere, right? You can’t miss it,”

“Of course,” he says calmly. “Shannon would have my head if I missed it.”

The drive starts out full of excitement and laughter. You and Dieter are sitting in the back while Mr. and Mrs. Bravo are sitting up front. It doesn’t take you long to learn that Mrs. Bravo was a fan of Taylor Swift —and pop in general— which you find endearing.

While singing along to the lyrics of Love Story she turns to you, eyes gleaming with mischief. She asks if you know about Dieter’s singing and that he always wanted to be a singer. Then she proceeds to tell you how she caught him in the act of performing a private concert often while he was blow drying his hair.

Honestly you aren’t sure what surprises you more, Dieter singing, or the fact that a man who forgot to feed himself constantly used to blow dry his hair.

Dieter attempts to hush her but it’s too late, you already know his dirty little secret. Grinning, you beg him to sing. He refuses, a warm blush flaring across his cheeks. You don’t mind him denying you, you know that sooner or later you’ll make him sing.

After the first three hours, the inside of the car gradually becomes more and more silent. The music shifts from pop to something more slow and instrumental, Mrs. Bravo’s snores accompany the music. Meanwhile, Mr. Bravo is focused on the road, his body relaxed as he holds the steering wheel with one hand.

You’re looking outside, eyes following the silhouettes of trees. It’s colder now, an uncomfortable chill spreading from your hands and feet. Instead of opening your bag and wearing your sweatshirt you hug yourself. Your eyelids are heavy with sleep, you find it difficult to think properly.

“Hey,” Dieter whispers to you, his breath warming your neck. “Look, it’s snowing.”

He’s right, it was.

As you look up to the night sky, Dieter shimmies closer. Thick white flakes flutter down from the darkness, making you smile. Snow always makes you smile, regardless of the situation. It has you feeling that child-like wonder again. Your heart beats fast, cheeks warm as your hands and feet continue to freeze. Wanting to tell Dieter your enthusiasm for the weather, you turn, only to find his face an inch away from yours. With shock you jump back and hit the back of your head against the hard glass.

“Fuck,” you hiss out in pain. Your hands move up to touch your head but Dieter is faster. His hands cradle your head, pushing you down, he lets out a silent whistle.

“Shit, that sounded like it hurt. Are you alright? You’re not bleeding are you?”

Seeing that you are only mere inches away from his crotch, you slap his arms away and scutter back until you’re flushed against the cold car door. Your chest heaves. He blinks at you with an eyebrow raised. You take this opportunity to rub your head, wincing at the way it stings. Dieter attempts to move closer but you glue him in place with the raise of your hand.

“Stay there,” you grunt, your voice unwillingly thickening with anger. “I’m fine, you don’t need to do anything.”

“I was just trying to help…”

“Well, don’t,”

Dieter, as if lava suddenly formed between you, shuffles back until his cheek is flushed against the glass. His breath spreads and fogs up the window. Nails digging into your palms, your turn to face the dark scenery outside but as you move, your eyes linger on the rearview mirror.

Dieter’s dad is looking directly at you, not much emotion going on in his brown eyes. Great, I managed to piss off his dad. Guilt rising in your chest, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and turn away, hoping that Mr. Bravo had done the same.

Your head still throbs but you lean down to pull out your phone and sweatshirt from your bag. Soft snores come from your side. Lowering the screenlight, your gaze snaps to Dieter. His cheek is completely smushed against the glass with his lips parted. You envy the way he looks so relaxed, but then again, he’s always been like that. You don’t know how he does it. No matter what happens, he always manages to come out on top relaxed.

It’s kind of annoying now that you think about it.

You scroll through your phone. A terrible idea really, and see that your follower count had shot up while you weren’t looking. You have thousands of comments, mentions, and a couple of hundred messages. You sigh and roll your eyes at the same time. Within the silence the sound comes out louder than it should and with panic your eyes search the reflective surface of the rearview mirror. Luckily you don’t see two very similar looking eyes staring right back at you.

You set your Twitter and Instagram accounts to private.

A lot of people assume Dieter is a bad actor.

Sure, he’s been in a couple of shit movies when he was younger, but honestly, did everyone really think that every production Brad Pitt was in was fucking perfect? Of course not. But god forbid Dieter Bravo does a couple of bad blockbusters. Those are the ones the world decides never to forget. It doesn’t matter really. The world can think what it wants, he knows that he can act. He gets paid extra to do cameos and now he’s actually in a movie with a script he kinda likes.

The world can think that he’s shit, but the proof that he can act is happening right here, in his parents’ car.

You are totally convinced that he’s asleep when in fact he is very much awake.

Dieter didn’t understand your reaction. He just wanted to check and see if you were bleeding or not, the hit had sounded painful. But then your reaction made him feel as if he was doing something downright heinous.

You two are friends right? Isn’t it normal for friends to check up on eachother? Is this one of those social cues that he has trouble understanding?

Maybe you weren’t friends.

No, that can’t be true, she protects me

Under contract

Shut up

Dieter listens to the sounds you make. You shuffle, open up your bag and pull something out. A light burns through the roof before you turn down the screen light. He knows what you’re doing. You’re checking out the gossip. Naughty girl.

He told you not to do that. He knows how easy the masses can get into one’s head.

You sigh, then throw your phone back into your bag. Shuffles and soft grunts echo in the silence. She’s putting her sweatshirt on. Now that he’s thinking about it, it is kind of chilly in the car.

The glass touching his cheek probably isn’t helping.

He continues to realistically snore until all sound slowly fades like the slow finish of an applause. One by one the claps would slow down and stop, the sound taking the shape of a bell. Dieter knows exactly what’s going to happen; first it would be you who falls silent, then his dad would turn off the radio, and lastly Dieter would stop his snoring, burying everyone in silence.

Ever since he was a kid, Dieter had done this—pretend to fall asleep. He’s not sure why he started, or why he does it, but there’s something peaceful he finds in it. He listens to the cars whooshing past them, the sound reverberating the car, light momentarily burning his eyelids…then the silence follows again, until another car passes them by. He hears his dad clearing his throat once in a while, sometimes his bones crack whenever he rolls his shoulders.

Poor old man. I should take him for a massage.

His mom shifts in her seat, and whenever she does, his dad looks over checking to see if she’s alright. Dieter can’t see, but he knows that’s exactly what’s happening. As someone who figured out at a very young age that the best way to correlate with others was to mimic them, Dieter’s observation skills have always been off the charts.

He’s seen the way his dad looks at his mom a million times, full of unadulterated love. It's a look that has always warmed his heart since he was child, then his fondness of the tender moment shifted into something envious, an ugly feeling.

Now, he just tries to ignore it all together.

He’s always been an outsider to people’s emotions, never the cause of them. Except for the moments he got someone in his bed. Dieter enjoys those moments where someone rakes their nails across his back and tells him how good he’s making them feel. When that happens he’s the only reason for whatever they’re feeling, which is pleasure— mostly.

Slowly, he feels the Sandman sprinkling golden sand into his eyes. His eyes water when he yawns. He looks up to the sky one last time before hugging himself.

It’s still snowing.

You wake up to the marvelous scent of coffee.

Looking around the car with narrowed eyes, you see that Dieter is getting back into the car with two coffee cups and a brown paper bag. Last night’s awkwardness completely eludes your mind as you move towards him and take the coffee from his hand. You rub your right eye as you take a sip.

“Morning beautiful,” Dieter says to you stoically, his voice deep with unsatisfied sleep. “We’re almost there.”

“Good morning dear,” his mother chirps at you, she grabs the brown paper bag from Dieter and pulls out a blueberry muffin. “I hope you slept well,”

“I did, thank you Mrs. Bravo.”

She waves her hand in a dismissive manner and shakes her head. “Please call me Adaline. Mrs. Bravo sounds way too formal, isn’t that right love?” He directs the question to her husband.

“I don’t know about that honey. It always gets me excited when people call you that, it’s a nice reminder that you actually took my name,”

Adaline lets out a laughter that you can only describe as being beautiful. Your cheeks feel warm witnessing their love and you take another sip of your coffee. Dieter stuffs a kit kat bar into your hand.

“Darling, it’s been so long. How can you still get excited about that?”

“I wasn’t aware love had an expiration date,” he starts the car and looks at you through the rearview mirror. You suddenly feel very anxious. “By the way, before you start calling me Mr. Bravo, I have a perfectly fine name you can use; Claus.”

“Claus?” you repeat.

Claus raises an eyebrow, his lips curl up with amusement.

“Something funny about it?”

“No no,” you reply with haste. “Just…you know…with Christmas nearing and all–”

The couple bursts out laughing. You’re not sure whether you should be embarrassed or not but you take this time to push the coffee cup between your legs and struggle with the wrapper of your kit-kat bar. Dieter groans, yanks it from your hands, opens it, then gives it back. His eyebrows make a flat line.

For a brief moment you fear that his anger is directed at you but you shrug the feeling away when Dieter addresses his dad.

“Dad don’t–”

“Sorry Amina, dear. We’re not laughing at you. Claus’s name has always been a source for some funny memories. Especially nearing Christmas,” Adaline says, cutting Dieter off. She lets out a sigh that is followed by a giggle. “In fact, when Dieter was a kid–”

“Mom!”

“Don’t interrupt your mother, Dieter.” His dad warns.

You can’t help but chuckle at the way Dieter pouts and leans into the seat with his arms crossed. You only feel slightly bad for him. Adeline continues her story.

“As I was saying, when Dieter was a kid he would tell everyone that his dad was Santa Claus! It was adorable really, he would always be extra nice to his dad during the holidays. ‘I know I’ve been good but just in case’ he would say while baking Claus cookies. I would help, of course, but he would never let me have any,” she smiles fondly at the memory, eyes glossing over.

“But one day he came back home crying, poor thing. Apparently one of the kid’s called him a liar and the rest of the class laughed at him. Honestly, I know you shouldn’t say mean things about kids but that class was full of rotten children. Dieter never could get along with them–”

“Frankly I’m glad he didn’t,” Claus interrupted, eyes fixated on the snowy road. “I would be more worried if he did get along with them.”

You feel Dieter getting smaller and smaller next to you. His mother nods at Claus’s words and takes a bite of her muffin. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, you can imagine it so vividly; A small Dieter , his hair ruffled and face bright with Christmas joy, telling his friends that his father is Santa Claus. Excitedly, telling everyone that his father can bring them all the best presents —because that’s just how Dieter is, he gives and gives and gives until there’s nothing left of him. A shell, until he fills himself with smoke— only to come back home a sobbing mess crying to his parents.

You feel like you’re witnessing a crime at how vividly you can see it all playing out. Him, playing alone at school, his young gaze glancing around to seek anyone that would spend time with him. Him, being bullied for having an overactive imagination and a good heart. Anger pounds in your ears, your fingers twitching uncontrollably around the half empty coffee cup.

“Anyway,” Adaline says between bites. “Furious at this, Claus dressed up as Santa Claus and went to the school. He gave all the children coal! All the parents were furious, so were the teachers, but the principal seemed not to mind as much so nothing happened,”

“You should’ve seen their faces.” Claus grins.

“Yeah dad, thanks, you’re a true hero,” Dieter rolls his eyes. The cold snap of his voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “After that I became the kid who was crazy enough to think his dad was Santa Claus to the kid who snitched on Santa Claus and made everyone get coal. They definitely cherished me after that.”

His sentence hangs heavy in the air. A cheerful morning ruined by the ghost of Christmas past. The back of your throat feels tight, stretched like a bowstring. You shuffle anxiously in your seat, the silence needles into your skin as you pay special attention not to face anyone. Your turn to the window and glance outside; the sky is a marvelous blue, snow covering every patch of soil. You see small white flowers above the snow, a patch of green within the cold. Words of excitement reach all the way to the tip of your tongue but you bite down before you can say anything.

Jingle bells ring again.

You see the ski resort that Adaline had mentioned before the trip. It seems close enough to walk but far enough so that the constant clatter of people won’t bother the locals. The car comes to a slow stop.

“When’s Everret coming?” Dieter asks.

You assume he does this to relieve the tension in the car, which you’re grateful for.

“He should already be here,” Adaline answers.

Claus doesn’t say a word, he simply stops the car and gets out. A moment later you hear the trunk door opening. Dieter mumbles something but you don’t understand, it sounds foreign. He sighs and all the lines on his face deepen. Much like his father, Dieter also doesn’t say a word when he leaves you and Adaline alone in the car. Worry crosses your face. He didn’t even glance at you before getting out of the car, you only needed a look. A sign from him that everything is alright.

Unrelated to your job, you’re also his friend and it’s been like that for a long while. But his life outside of the stage was a mystery to you. He didn’t enjoy talking about his childhood, and conversations about his family were always a fleeting one. Despite the constant eyes devouring his life to the bone, Dieter only shared what he knew other’s wanted to see; his sex life, his flirts, the insane grandiose parties, his fame and fortune.

With the corner of your eyes you notice both father and son carrying the luggage to the cabin’s door. A tall man with blond hair comes out to greet them.

Your eyes snap to Adaline as she sighs. She doesn’t meet your gaze, but smiles anyway.

“Don’t worry, dear. They’ll be just fine.”

You start to trace letters above your palm.

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x fem!oc #the bubble fanfic #christmas fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

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kidstemplatte · 5 months

Text

the greatest

summary: cardinal copia becomes a father.

warnings: brief mention of suicide || wc: 8.3k

notes: reader is terzo's wife. i recommend checking out my other works to learn more about the (now expanding) family! message at the end as per usual, enjoy <3

“You’d be a good Papa.”

His niece’s kind words still echoed in his mind, even after nearly five years.

The Cardinal had wanted to become a father for quite some time now but wasn’t sure if he was fit for the job. He was a bit of a child, which could be considered a pro or a con; the upside being he was fun and pure-hearted, the downside that he could be a tad chaotic.

When Copia was summoned to Sister Imperator’s office, he assumed it was because he had forgotten to turn off the stove again or left the sink running, habits from his youth he was yet to abandon even as a middle-aged man. Bracing himself for another lecture, the Cardinal took a deep breath in and out before knocking three times on the sturdy oak door.

“Come in.” A hoarse voice rang from within the room.

Copia gently pushed the door open and entered the lavish office. Sister Imperator’s office couldn’t differ anymore from the Cardinal’s, sporting a classy yet minimalistic aesthetic decked in shades of brown and black. Meanwhile, Copia’s office had “Copia” written all over it in big cartoonish block letters, thanks to the dozens of figurines and comic books lining the shelves, as well as other dorky memorabilia. Sister Imperator sat behind her meticulously organized desk, her clasped hands resting on the polished wood.

“Hello, Sister.” Copia greeted the woman formally, bowing his head as he took a seat in the plush chair across from hers.

“Cardinal.” She returned the greeting with a brief nod, before instantly diving into her reason for his summoning. “Do you recall, a few years back, when a Sister of the Austrian chapter took her own life?” she inquired.

Of course he did, how could he not? It was a tragic day, each chapter holding its own memorial ceremony for the young woman.

“Oh. Sì, I do.” Copia answered, saddened at the remembrance of the event.

“Well, she had a son additionally, who had an absent father.”

Been there.

“They have done their best to take care of the boy since he was just a newborn- he’s resided in the church his whole life- but as he’s gotten older, they’ve decided it’s simply not fit for him to grow up without a permanent system of support.” She explained.

Copia suddenly became much more alert, his eyes widening and posture straightening. “You mean… a family?”

“C, if you’re interested…”

Sister Imperator noticed a longing in her son’s eyes that she had not seen in a long time- not since he was but a child brimming with curiosity, a subtle glow that surfaced only when he wanted something deeply, most of the time, an answer- but this time- it was more than curiosity, it was yearning. “Now would be the time.”

“Yes.” The Cardinal blurted out. “Yes.”

“The adoption process is not easy- let alone raising a child. This is a massive responsibility. Are you sure you can handle this on top of a Cardinal’s duties?” She cautioned him.

“Yes, Mother.” He reiterated.

She froze.

“I want this more than anything.” He pleaded.

“I will notify them of your consideration.” She nodded.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. Grazie. Grazie.” The Cardinal repeated like a mantra, placing his hands together as he bowed his head in gratitude.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Gently shutting the door to your son’s room, you walked down the hall and into the living space, pleasantly surprised to see your brother-in-law sitting in a lounge chair across from the couch. “Hi, Copia! What a nice surprise.” You greeted him with a smile. “Sorry, I just put Vinnie to bed. Am I allowed to join, or is this a brother talk?”

“Please, join us.” Copia gestured. “Is Violetta here?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s in her room. She’s not feeling very well tonight.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that, let her know I said hello.” Copia responded.

“Will do. So, what is going on?” Terzo asked, reaching to the coffee table in front of him and pouring his brother a glass of wine.

Copia took a deep breath in and began. “Sister Imperator called me into her office today and gave me some news.”

“News that..?”

You elbowed Terzo in response to his impatience. “Let the man speak!”

“Eh, do you remember when a woman of the Austrian chapter, um… She took her own life?”

“Johanna?” You asked.

“You knew her?”

“Not too personally, but yes. I met her years back when I studied briefly in Innsbruck. She was a lovely woman.” You recalled, sadness beginning to tug at your heart. “Sorry, continue.” You dismissed yourself, knowing if you continued, there would surely be a few tears.

“Oh, no, do not apologize. Please, continue, if you are comfortable.”

“Okay.” you sniffled, laughing nervously. “There’s not much else, it’s just- it was sad. My bad, go on.”

Your husband placed a loving hand over yours, a subtle way he reminded you that you were safe with him.

Copia nodded. “Well, she had a son, who has lived in the church his whole life. But, um, they are considering finding him a more traditional… family.” He explained.

“Here?” Terzo inquired.

“Si, ah… with me.”

“You are adopting him?”

“If everything goes according to plan, yes.” He replied slightly hesitantly.

“You’re gonna be a dad, Copia!” You nearly cried, your face lighting up with joy.

He laughed, a smile grazing his face at the idea. “Ah, well, we don’t know for sure yet. The process is a bit difficult. I fear it won’t work out.”

“Copia, you can’t mourn the loss of something that’s just beginning!” You encouraged him.

“Do you think Sister Imperator would ever propose such a thing to someone she didn’t trust could do it?” pointed out Terzo.

“That is a good point,” Copia replied. “I just… even if it works out… what if I am not… good?” He rambled anxiously.

“Not good? Our kids can’t get enough of you.” Terzo reassured his brother.

The Cardinal smiled at the thought of his niece and nephew.

“So what do you know about him?” You asked eagerly.

“Well, ah, that’s actually all I know… And that he’s four years old.”

“Oh my gosh! He’s the same age as Vinnie! It was meant to be!” You gushed, excitedly waving your hands. “Copia. I think it’s gonna happen. I really, really do.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” He expressed his gratitude with a heartfelt smile.

“Mommy?” You heard a voice squeak in the distance.

Turning around in your spot on the couch, a small figure stood down the hallway.

“Hi, Vinnie. What’s wrong?” You asked, a gentle tone adorning your voice. “Excuse me, I’ll be back.” You told your brother-in-law and husband as you rose to your son’s aid.

“Copia.” Terzo addressed his brother, his voice suddenly earnest.

“Yes?”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Pondering the question and recalling no particular incident, he shrugged.

“Exactly. You can do this,” stated Terzo, his words few yet meaningful, clearly touching the heart of his beloved half-brother.

“Thank you, Terzo.”

Terzo smiled, his eyes conveying a depth of sincerity. “I mean it, fratello.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The Cardinal closed the door to his small abode and let out a hefty sigh. His expression softened a little as he caught sight of the large cage sitting on a table against the wall, inside containing two furry friends. Inside the enclosure stood a gray rat, once brown, perched on his hind feet and clutching onto the metal bars, eagerly waiting for his Papa’s return.

“Ciao, Bean.” Copia cooed, opening the drawer below his cage and opening their bag of food. “I’m guessing your brother is…” Copia scanned his eyes around the cage, his suspicions confirmed once he noticed Pesto’s nose peeking out from a small wooden hideout. “Ah, did I wake you up, my Bestie Pestie? I apologize. Buon appetito, little ones.” He said, opening their cage and pouring their food as the little rodents scurried to their bowls.

That night, the Cardinal felt inclined to do something he hadn’t done in a long time.

Overwhelmed with an immense sense of desperation, Copia prayed on his own in the solitude of his room. He knelt beside his bed, knees on the hardwood floor as he placed his hands together and shut his eyes tight, a soft sigh escaping his lips before he began his prayer.

“Tua empietà, so che è passato un po' di tempo. perdonami, ti prego, ma devo chiederti una cosa. per favore, satana, concedimi il dono della paternità, per favore. Farò qualsiasi cosa, viaggerò all'inferno e ritorno, per trasformare questo sogno in realtà. Prego che il ragazzo stia bene e al sicuro e trovi la sua nuova casa tra le mura del clero.”

And just as Copia was lying in bed, about to doze off, he opened his heavy eyes; and through the darkness of the room caught sight of a poster featuring a cat, reading “Hang in there, baby!”, a silly yet needed reminder for Copia to persevere.

He needed this. More than he had ever needed anything in his entire life.

Little did he know, the boy needed him just as much.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Throughout the next few months, the adoption process was proven to be just as lengthy and overwhelming as it was described as, the heightened levels of anxiety meaning Copia frequently had trouble sleeping, finding himself spending late nights in the Clergy’s grand library. Basking in the comfort of a large plush chair a few feet from the crackling fireplace, Copia was nose-deep in a book entitled “Raising Your Children With Satan.”

“Can’t sleep?” A voice said just a few feet from where the Cardinal sat in the plush armchair. Looking up, Copia was faced with his eldest brother, Primo.

“Primo! What are you-”

“I had a feeling you might be here.” The man reckoned. “I understand these are stressful times, but you need to get some rest, for Satan’s sake! You look exhausted!”

“Ay, but that’s why I can’t sleep! I just toss and turn in bed for hours and hours until I give up.” He complained, punctuating his sentence with a sigh.

“You know I have all sorts of remedies for that. Why did you not ask me?”

“I… I don’t know. I guess I felt like I was already asking too much of people.” The Cardinal admitted, sighing and setting his book down on the table beside him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you’ve asked a single thing of me throughout this whole process.”

Copia opened his mouth to respond, but no retaliations were heard as he realized that Primo was, in fact, correct. As usual. “I suppose… that is true.”

“Indeed it is. But I want to let you know you can always ask anything of me, Copia. I am not a father, but you could say I’ve done my fair share of parenting.” He chuckled. “And beyond that, I’m your brother, I’m here for you no matter what the issue is. Even if I cannot relate fully.” He comforted Copia, reaching across and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m just�� very scared.” The Cardinal admitted.

“Why is that?” questioned Primo.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. Parenting. I just… I have- no idea.”

Parenting?

Just outside the walls of the library, Violetta, unable to fall asleep, stood with her ear pressed against the door, her mouth agape as she began to piece together the fragments of the conversation. Her uncle, Copia, had been notably distant lately, and now, standing on the precipice of this revelation, she couldn't help but wonder if this- parenting- was the reason. Primo's laughter, warm and familiar, seeped through the walls, filling the air with a sense of camaraderie.

"Nobody does, fratello. Do you know how scared Terzo was? He was at my door practically every other night, rambling to me because he was too concerned he would further stress (Y/N) with all his worries."

Violetta's heart fluttered with a mix of emotions. Thrilled by the news that her beloved uncle was going to be a father, she couldn't shake the twinge of hurt that accompanied the realization that she hadn't been enlightened of this information. Her young mind grappled with conflicting sentiments—elation for the impending addition to the family, yet a pang of longing for the connection she wished she had shared with Copia. As the weight of the revelation settled, tears began to well up in her eyes, her heart aching while she turned around and silently made her way back to her room.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

6 months had passed since Sister Imperator gave her son the news: There was a little boy in Innsbruck, Austria, who needed a permanent system of support. Or, in normal people terms, a family. And there Copia sat in the very same chair he did on that first day, anxiously leaning forward while Sister Imperator gave him an even better piece of news: he had found one.

“It’s official.”

It was like time froze; the months of meetings and paperwork, and beyond that, years of longing, had all led up to this pivotal moment.

“I- we- it’s been finalized?” Copia exclaimed. “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.”

Sister Imperator suddenly felt a surge in her heart, upon witnessing her son’s ecstatic reaction.

“Congratulations, Copia. You’re a father.”

Thank Satan Copia always kept a handkerchief in his pocket.

“…C?”

“I know I was not a perfect mother. And, I…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I want to do better this time around as a grandmother. And a mother. You are my family, and I’ve been quiet about that. It is the biggest regret I’ve ever had. But you, Copia, are not a secret. You are my son.” She confessed, reaching across the desk to place her hand over Copia’s. “And I am proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“I love you, Copia.”

“I love you too.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Copia spent the next few weeks frantically preparing for the arrival of the new family member. His Cardinal’s suite he had resided in for years was now empty, as he was moving into a larger suite with an extra bedroom and bathroom. The man was beyond stressed- He didn’t know how to properly decorate a room for a child, let alone assemble the furniture. Copia was quite satisfied with the simple layout of his old room, with strikingly lavish decor consisting of a pull-out bed, lava lamp, and a cat poster that read, “Hang in there, Baby!” Yeah, he was definitely taking that. Unsure at first who to ask for help, the Cardinal realized the person best suited for the job was his dear sister-in-law.

“This is such a nice space!” You gawked, following him into the room that would soon belong to the young boy. “And it has such a nice view!” Walking to the window, you were astonished to see the room was just in view of the Clergy’s beautiful garden and somber forest behind it. “Okay, so I think since it’s a twin bed, it should go against this wall,” you suggested. "There’s gonna still be some space after assembling this stuff,” you gestured to the boxes lying against the wall, “but maybe we should leave some space so he can pick what he wants.”

“Okie dokie. Sounds good. Shall we get to work?” Copia prompted.

Your attempt to build the bed was short-lived, you and your brother-in-law soon cackling loudly at your evident lack of skills.

“Damn you, IKEA,” Copia chuckled, squinting at the fine print on the instruction manual.

“What’s going on in here?” You heard a familiar voice echo through the bare room, your husband walking inside and noticing you two were having some trouble with the task at hand.

“We’re just, ah... struggling a bit with this furniture.” Copia laughed, gesturing to the various pieces in front of him.

“I know just the ghoul who can assist,” Terzo replied.

“Oh, it’s fine, we can figure it out-”

“Nonsense! Omega!” Terzo clapped his hands, to which the ghoul quite literally appeared out of thin air. “Hello, Omega!” chimed Terzo, who loved nothing more than to torment the poor man.

“Hello, Papa. Copia. Y/N.” Omega greeted you.

“Would you be a dear and assemble this furniture for my dear brother?”

“It- it has instruc-“

“Yes, and so do you, silly ghoul!” Terzo said, reaching to pat the tall man on the back and holding his hand out towards the unassembled bedframe.

Omega sighed and chuckled, “Yes, Papa.”

“Thank you, Omega.”

Suddenly, Terzo crept behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, your eyes widening in fear of his next words, though your face heated up at his contact. Your husband, though you loved him dearly, often had little-to-no filter regarding intimate matters, and his sudden affection warned you he was about to let something slip. “It feels like just yesterday we were making Omega set up the nursery…” He reminisced.

“Terzo, ‘we’ is you. I didn’t make him do anything.” You laughed.

“You know, maybe we’ll do the next one ourselves.” he suggested wickedly, completely ignoring the innocent bystanders in the room.

“The next one? No, sir.” You swatted his wandering hand.

“I’m going to put this drill through my ears.” You heard Omega mumble in the corner.

“So, Copia! Three weeks! That’s so soon!” You exclaimed. "We're gonna tell the kids tomorrow." You announced, grinning at the thought of their reactions.

"Oh boy. I wonder how they will react."

"They will be beyond thrilled." Terzo reassured Copia.

Through the window, the sky was fading into a hazy orange. “Papa, don’t you have a meeting soon?” Omega asked his boss, who was known for being just a tad forgetful.

“I appreciate your help, dear Omega, but the meeting is on Thursday.” He said assuredly, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Today is Thursday.”

“What- it is?” Terzo exclaimed, checking his watch, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he realized he had a mere minute to make it to his office. “Shit!” Terzo began dashing out of the room, then spun around on his heels as he realized he had forgotten something very important. Leaning towards you, your husband gave you your ritual-esque goodbye kiss, pecking you on the cheek before turning around once again and bolting off.

“If he can do it, so can you.” You laughed with your brother-in-law, beginning to assist Omega with his newly-assigned task.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Violetta couldn’t sleep. She figured there might be someone else who couldn’t either, someone she hadn’t spoken to in a while. Carefully tiptoeing through the dark hall and down the stairs, she made her way to the library with deliberate caution. Entering the library, she caught sight of Copia sitting in a cozy armchair, nose deep in a book, completely oblivious of her presence, as he had seemingly been for the past few months. His eyes darted up as he caught sight of his 10-year-old niece in her pajamas, standing by the entrance with her arms crossed.

“Violetta!” He exclaimed, frantically shutting the book and setting it aside. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I dunno. Sometimes I walk around at night when I can’t sleep. But, uh, I also thought you might be here.” His niece answered anxiously.

“Eh- Why do you think that?”

She shrugged, an awkward silence plaguing the room before Violetta broke the ice. “Is that a parenting book?” She asked, pointing to the book Copia had tossed aside.

“Uh…” Clearly, it was a parenting book. It had the word “PARENTING” engraved on the spine in shiny gold lettering- there was no way for him to play it off. “Yes.”

“Why are you reading a parenting book?” Before her uncle could respond, she immediately regretted asking, feeling uneasy about the question. It wasn't a lie, per se, but it felt dishonest considering she was well aware of the reason. “Actually… I’m sorry. I know why.” She confessed, looking at the ground, a sense of guilt flooding her heart.

Copia was dumbfounded. How did she find out? It’s not that he was upset she knew, he just didn’t understand how that came to be- he was positive Terzo didn’t tell her, nor the other brothers. Had he let something slip?

“How did you find out?” Copia asked.

“I… I heard a conversation you and Primo had in here. I’m sorry I listened. I didn’t tell anyone. I promise.” she confessed, her voice becoming shaky as her eyes remained glued to the ground.

“Oh, Violetta, it’s okay.”

“…Okay.” She said, still feeling guilty.

“I'm sorry Violetta, you do not have to cry, it’s okay. I promise, it is. I didn’t want to keep anything secret from you, I was just scared that if things did not go as planned, it would disappoint you.” He reassured her, his voice gentle and caring.

“I didn’t disappoint you, right?” Violetta sniffled, wiping tears from her eyes as she looked him in the eyes once again.

“No, no, no- I would have done the same thing. In fact, I’m very impressed and honored that you kept it a secret. That is not easy.” He lovingly comforted her.

Violetta smiled. “Thanks.”

“I'm sorry I have not spent much time with you recently... I have been so busy. But he is almost here, after all this time.”

“He?”

“Ay, I really can’t keep my mouth shut, can I?” he laughed. “Well, I might as well tell you more since I’ve already begun…” he figured, patting the arm of the seat next to him.

Violetta smiled, wiping the tears from her eyes as she took a seat beside him. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, my dear Violetta.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Though Violetta unconventionally discovered her uncle’s secret, her brother’s reaction was a drastically different experience. You and Terzo called your son into the living room, to which he bolted in and looked up at you with his sparkling mismatched eyes.

“Vinnie, do you want to hear something very exciting?” Terzo cheerfully asked his son, picking him up and placing him into his lap as he bounced his leg up and down, often one of the few ways to keep him from moving around on his own.

“Yes! Please! Please!” Vinnie begged, giggling.

“You have a cousin that’s going to be here very soon!” Terzo informed him.

“What?!” Vinnie gawked.

“Yes! Your Uncle Copi is going to adopt a boy who’s exactly your age!” You exclaimed, sitting beside them on the couch.

“Yay!!! What’s adopt?” Vinnie tilted his head.

“You know Violetta’s good friend Carmen?” You asked him.

“Yeah!”

“Do you remember her two mommies?”

“Yeah!”

“They adopted Carmen. She was born somewhere else but then she became their baby!” You continued.

“Oh, okay,” Vinnie responded.

“And Uncle Copi is adopting a son from Austria!” You explained enthusiastically.

“With the koalas?”

Terzo chuckled. “You’re very close, Vinnie. That’s Australia.” He said, ruffling his son's hair.

“Oh, I get it. He’s in…”

“Austria.” You assisted him.

“He’s in Austria now and he’s gonna be here! And now Uncle Copia is going to be his Papa.” Vinnie processed.

“Sì!”

“Okay. Yay! When do I get to meet my new cousin?” Your son asked eagerly.

“Two weeks.” You replied.

“Two whole weeks?” Vinnie repeated as you had just informed him he would have to wait a millennium. “I thought you said soon!”

“I know, we’re all very excited.” Terzo added, amused by his son’s enthusiasm.

“I’m so excited! Yay, cousin!” The little boy started kicking his feet, a telltale sign that he needed to let some energy out. Vinnie was a little fireball, constantly moving. While Violetta grew up satisfied with playing in the comfort of her room, her brother was like a windup toy, exhibiting bursts of energy before inevitably crashing and needing to rest. “Can I go outside?” He asked, pointing at the door.

You and Terzo were familiar with Vinnie’s harmless need to release his energy and sought to embrace it rather than suppress it. Terzo chuckled, gently placing his son on the ground, walking over to the door and opening it. Vinnie wasted no time, darting through the doorway at lightning speed while you and Terzo laughed.

“He’s so adorable.” You observed your son, zooming around in circles around the grass like a little Tasmanian devil.

“I hope he never grows out of his spark.” Terzo chuckled.

“He won’t. Not as long as you’re his Papa.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎ��-

Soon, the long-awaited day arrived. Copia and Sister Imperator stood in anticipation by the doors of the entrance. Though he was incredibly fearful, he had been waiting for this day his entire life, he put on a brave face. He couldn’t let his nerves show. Not now. Who was he to be afraid when the poor boy was certainly terrified and confused beyond measure? It was Copia’s responsibility to ensure the boy felt safe and welcome in the Clergy; he couldn’t do that if he himself was displaying unease. The solemn moment was interrupted by a knock on the door, making Copia jolt in shock. His mother, noticing his panic, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft yet reassuring smile.

“In,” she gently instructed, the two breathing in, a ritual they often did when Copia was younger and feeling anxious, “And out.”

Copia exhaled his worries, letting them disappear into the air, smiling at his mother before opening the door and being faced with a social worker and a little boy. He had blonde hair, dusty freckles, and a pair of glimmering blue eyes, wearing a pair of blue headphones of sorts around his neck. His eyes spastically darted around, to the ground, to the door, to the sky, to the walls of the church, and for a brief moment, Copia. The poor boy was visibly petrified, having been through a lot of travel and confusion that was surely enough to rattle his young mind, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly.

“Hello, Augustus.” Copia greeted the boy. We’re very happy to have you here.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The walk to the suite was silent, minus the sound of echoing footsteps in the grand hallway. “How are you, Augustus?” He broke the silence.

The little boy held out a thumbs up. Copia decided to continue speaking, not necessarily looking for a response, but to lighten the air.

“I know you are from Austria. I myself have never been, but I want to go. Maybe one day you can take me. But first you'll have to get your pilot's license. That was a dream I once had: to be a pilot. But, alas, I am afraid of heights. And look! We are here!” he announced, gesturing to the door of their suite.

After a small tour of the new space, Copia finally led Augustus to his bedroom. “I apologize, it’s a little boring right now, but we will fix it up in no time. However you like.” He said, opening the door for Augustus. The room was fairly empty minus the essentials: a bed, dresser, nightstand, rug. Despite the room’s humble appearance, Augustus’s eyes lit up enlivened at the idea of having his own space. “You can either stay here, or we can look around more. Up to you.”

Augustus paused to think for a moment, then pointed to the door.

“Okie dokie, we can explore. Do you want to see the library?” Copia inquired.

His eyes lit up.

“Library?”

Yes! A word! Thank you, Satan! A choir of angels sang in Copia’s head as he celebrated this small yet mighty victory.

“Yes, we have a rather nice library! Would you like to go?” He questioned.

“Yes!” Augustus chirped.

Copia and Augustus exited the bedroom, walking through the living space and to the front door.

“Are you ready to go?” Copia asked.

Augustus seemed conflicted, his gaze drifting off to somewhere else in the room. “Is… is something-“ Copia, lost on what to do, awkwardly looked aside, until a bright blue object caught his eye- something he must have set aside during their tour. “Eh… Oh. You want your headphones?” He asked.

Augustus nodded, a small smile forming on his face. Copia walked to the counter and picked up the headphones, approaching Augustus once again. Crouching down to be at eye level with the little boy, he extended the headphones toward him. “Here you go, good sir!”

Augustus smiled appreciatively and took them into his hands.

“Where we are about to go is very quiet. But, of course, you can still wear them if you’d like.” the Cardinal consoled gently.

“Okay. Just in case.” Augustus replied, placing them around his neck.

“Just in case.” Copia reiterated. “Ready?”

“Okie dokie.” Augustus said, holding out a thumbs up.

Copia and Augustus walked through the halls of the abbey as the boy eyed his surroundings curiously, counting each brick on the wall as they passed through.

"This is our library," Copia declared as they entered the large doors, a sense of pride evident in his voice. Though the library was nearly ancient, he had played a large part in its organization. Augustus’s eyes twinkled with wonder as he stared in awe at the utopia surrounding him, lined wall-to-wall with books of all kinds.

“Very cool, right?”

Augusted smiled wide and nodded, looking up to meet eyes with Copia, which made his heart warm.

“Do you have a favorite book?” Copia asked Augustus.

“The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.” he answered, nearly instantly.

Copia’s jaw dropped. One, because clearly this kid was a genius, two, because that was a book he held dear to his heart, and three, because that was the longest phrase he had uttered the whole day.

“Wow, that’s a big kid book. You must be a very smart boy. I happen to love that book, though I certainly wasn’t reading it at your age. Have you read the others?” he asked.

He tilted his head, not fully understanding Copia’s question.

“The story continues in other books.” He explained.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes widening in excitement.

“Yes, it’s a series. And whaddya know…” Copia trailed his finger across the vast collection of books as he strolled along the shelves, until-

“They’re all right here!” exclaimed Copia, who had led them both to the fiction section of the library.

Augustus’s head nearly exploded at this newly found information, a large smile spreading across his face.

“And there are movies.” Copia informed him.

The boy’s jaw dropped. “Movies?”

Oh, this was gonna be great.

In the middle of their lighthearted conversation appeared Secondo, in the mood for some refined literature. His facial expression molded into a soft smile as he observed Copia and the young boy discussing the classic novel.

Copia caught sight of his older brother in the corner of his eye. "Oh! Hello there!" He greeted his brother as he made his way towards them. "Augustus, this is your Uncle Secondo."

"Hello to you, Augustus. I'm Secondo. It is very nice to meet you.” Secondo said warmly, reaching out his much larger hand and shaking the boy's. “Nice, strong handshake. Good for you.” Secondo praised the boy with a smile. “And what is that book you are holding?”

Augustus, feeling shy, held up the book and pointed at the title engraved on the spine.

“Wow, that’s a grown up book! It looks like we have a distinguished gentleman on our hands. Have you met your other zios yet?”

“Not quite yet. But I was planning on taking him to meet his cousins after he sees the garden.” Copia answered for Augustus, still a tad nervous.

“How fun! Well, I won’t bother you two any longer. Very nice to meet you, Augustus. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” He said with a warm smile, waving and exiting the room.

“I like him.” Augustus commented.

“Secondo is great. Looks like this was a successful trip!” Copia exclaimed.

“Are we going to the garden?” Augustus asked, placing the book in his backpack.

“Only if you want to.” Copia replied.

Augustus nodded.

“Okie dokie, off we go!”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Copia and Augustus paced outside in the grass, Augustus’s smile growing wider and wider as the two approached the Clergy's lavish garden.

“Do you like the outdoors?” Copia asked Augustus.

“Yes.” Augustus answered. “This is so cool!” He exclaimed, in awe of the wonderland in front of him, longing to get lost in its winding path.

Among the vibrant colors of the flowers, an older man quietly tended to the garden, crouching in front of a bed of hydrangeas, an aura of wisdom and insight radiating from him. Hearing footsteps nearing on the gravel, he turned his head towards Copia and Augustus, giving them a soft wave.

“Why hello, there. Very nice to meet you, you must be Augustus.” He spoke softly but warmly.

The boy nodded sheepishly, staring at the flowers in Primo’s hands.

“Augustus. That’s a good name. Better than good. Do you know what it means?”

Augustus looked up to meet Primo’s gaze, and shook his head.

“Great.” Primo revealed.

“Oh. Really?” Augustus asked.

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Do you have a favorite flower?” Primo stood up, Copia and Augustus beginning to follow him along the edge of the the flowing stream.

Augustus looked around the garden for a moment, contemplating which of the many flowers he preferred. “I like the sunflowers.” answered Augustus, pointing to the yellow flowers just a few feet away.

“So do I. They are a classic choice.” Primo agreed. “Sometimes I find myself in here not just to expand the garden, but to find peace in its stillness. It is very quiet out here, but there are many noises to be noticed. The sounds of the stream, birds chirping, sometimes pesky animals that want a snack.” He conversed.

Augustus gasped, his love of animals evident in his jovial reaction. “What kind of animals?”

“Squirrels most often, but rabbits as well. You know who also likes animals?” Primo asked.

“Who?”

Primo pointed at Copia, who smiled fondly.

“I do, that is true.”

“Maybe one day you two will have a little pet.” Primo winked as Augustus looked up at Copia, his hands fidgeting with excitement.

The three continued their wholesome exchange as Primo taught Augustus all about the flowers and plants, curiosity brimming in his eyes. Copia observed Augustus’s interactions with his uncle, admiring the boy’s gentle and inquisitive nature that ignited a sense of youthfulness in his heart.

“Lovely to meet you, Augustus. You are what some would call an old soul. Maybe even wiser than me, even at my age.” Primo chuckled.

“Nice to meet you.” Augustus responded, finding comfort in Primo’s serenity and knowledge.

“Ay, the sun is already setting…” Primo remarked, the garden’s vibrant colors beginning to dull down as the sun prepared itself to rest.

“Ready to go inside and, if you’re ready, meet your cousins?” Copia asked Augustus, to which he nodded, holding out a thumbs up.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

As the Cardinal raised his hand to knock at the door of the suite you and Terzo shared, Augustus suddenly felt a surge of uncertainty, and without thinking, grabbed Copia’s hand.

Copia, shocked by the sudden contact, looked down at Augustus with concern in his eyes.

“You okay?” He checked in on the boy.

Augustus nodded. “Nervous.”

“We don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to.”

“I do.” Augustus decided.

“Okay. We can take a deep breath and go inside. Okie dokie?” He comforted Augustus.

“Okie dokie.” Augustus repeated.

“In,”

The two of them inhaled in unison.

“And out.”

Phew.

“Ready?” Copia asked Augustus.

“Mhm.”

Copia stood up and knocked three times on the door of the large Papal suite, which nearly instantly swung open. In front of them stood a man with jet black hair in a black suit, face covered in white and black paint.

Augustus tapped Copia on the shoulder, waving his hand for him to lean in. He abided, leaning down to hear whatever it was he had to say. Augustus cupped his hand over his mouth and stage whispered, “Is that Dracula?”

Copia nearly cackled.

“No, that’s your Uncle Terzo.” The Cardinal chuckled.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Dracula?!” Terzo exclaimed. “You flatter me! I’m Terzo, it’s very nice to meet you.” Terzo greeted, holding out his gloved hand for the boy to shake.

“Hi. I’m Augustus.” the boy said, taking his hand and shaking it.

“Augustus! So nice to have you in our family. There are a few other people here who are excited to meet you.”

“Feeling up to it?” Copia asked.

Augustus nodded.

“Okie dokie. Your Aunt (Y/N) and cousin Vinnie are here as well. Your cousin Violetta will be back from school soon.” Copia told Augustus.

Just around the corner, you were eagerly listening; after hearing of Augustus’s agreement, you walked down the hall to your son’s room, where you found him pacing in circles.

“Is he here yet?” He asked before you even got the chance to inform him he had arrived.

“He’s here! Come say hi! But remember, he’s nervous, so be very sweet.” You reminded him.

“Okay!” Vinnie agreed as you took his hand and walked him to the living room. As you entered the room and caught sight of your nephew the for the first time, your heart nearly melted. He was utterly adorable, golden hair, rosy cheeks, and freckles dappling his face; he looked like a little cherub. You turned to look down at your son and were elated to see his face lit up.

You gently crouched to the ground to meet your nephew at eye-level, noticing his eyes darting away from your gaze.

“Hi, Augustus. I’m (Y/N). It’s so nice to meet you!” You said, softening your voice. “This is Vinnie, your cousin, who is so excited to meet you.”

“If you couldn’t tell.” Terzo joked, gesturing to his son, filled to the brim with energy.

“Hi! I’m Vinnie!” The boy excitedly introduced himself.

“Alright, Augustus. I’ll be back very soon.” Copia said to Augustus. “Have fun, and if you need anything, just let your Uncle Terzo or Aunt (Y/N) know. And if you need me, you can also let them know, okie dokie?”

Augustus nodded. “Okie dokie.”

“Do you want to play?” Vinnie asked, to which Augustus nodded once again.

“Okay, let’s go!” Vinnie announced, leaving no room for a verbal response as he grabbed Augustus’s hand, fingers intertwining, and eagerly took off to his room.

Though Copia kept a smile on his face, it was evident he was overwhelmed, understandably.

“You’re doing great.” You consoled Copia, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, (Y/N). I greatly appreciate your help.” He expressed his gratitude.

“Of course, you don’t have to thank me.”

“He likes you, Copia,” Terzo observed.

“I hope so.”

“No, seriously, he likes you. It’s his first day here and he’s already holding your hand and clinging to your side. It’s precious.” You added in agreement.

“Sì, Copia, you have nothing to worry about,” Terzo reassured him.

“Thank you. And, uh, Terzo, can I borrow one of your ghouls? I have a little last-minute project for his room I’d love to get done.”

Meanwhile, just down the hall, Vinnie had dragged Augustus to his bedroom, animatedly explaining its contents, from his favorite toys scattered across the floor to the pictures on the wall.

“This is my room.” He announced. “And this is my bed and this is my rug. And this is my bookshelf and these are my books that my Mama and Papa read to me. Sometimes my sister. And these are my toys.”

Augustus listened patiently as Vinnie kept talking, admiring the contents of his room.

“Do you like it?” Vinnie asked once he was finished with his grand tour.

“I love it.”

“Yay, thanks! I like your headphones.” Vinnie complimented him. “Sometimes my Papa wears them when he listens to death music. Once he let me hear. Don’t tell my mom. Cause there’s bad words.”

Augustus giggled. “Can I draw?” he asked, unzipping his backpack.

“Sure,” Vinnie said as Augustus pulled out a box of crayons and a stack of paper, laying them on the ground for them to share.

“Do you like to draw?” Augustus inquired, pulling a beige crayon out of the box

“I’m no good,” Vinnie answered.

“That’s okay.” Augustus pushed the crayons towards his cousin.

Hesitating at first, Vinnie reached into the box and pulled out a green crayon, beginning to scribble on a blank sheet of paper. The boys sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company until Vinnie caught sight of Augustus’s paper and noticed his artistry.

“That’s really good!” Vinnie complimented him.

“Thank you.” Augustus looked up, making eye contact with the raven-haired boy.

“I don’t even know what I have.” Vinnie laughed, looking at the chaos on his paper.

“Grass,” Augustus said, pointing at the drawing, covered in green scribbles. “You can make a house or animals or flowers or trees on top.”

“Oh. Good idea. House.”

"And then you can add people and make it a home," Augustus suggested.

The two went back to drawing in silence until a knock was heard, a girl standing in the doorway.

“Hi, Augustus!” she said. “I’m Violetta. How are you?”

Augustus held out a thumbs up, still concentrating on his paper.

“That’s good. Are you drawing? That’s cool.”

“Duh. He’s really good.” Vinnie told his sister, pointing at his cousin’s paper.

Violetta took a seat beside Augustus on the carpet, peering over at his drawing.

“Wow, that looks really good!” Violetta remarked, impressed by Augustus’ skills; on his paper was a drawing that appeared to be a self-portrait. “There’s a lot of space left. Any other ideas on what to add next?”

Augustus nodded.

“Well, I can’t wait to see!” Violetta said enthusiastically.

The boy smiled and looked up at Violetta, appreciative of her welcoming nature. As his eyes met her gaze, he noticed her black hair similar to her brother’s, as well as a dark red marking adorning the left side of her face. Anxious regarding Augustus’s staring, Violetta suddenly became self-conscious, looking away from the boy and fidgeting with her hands. She mentally prepared herself for a blunt comment, as she had faced many times before, especially from young children.

“I like it,” Augustus said sweetly, pointing to her face.

“Oh.” Violetta said, lost as to how she should respond, not expecting such a kind comment. “Thank you. I like your freckles.”

“Thank you,” Augustus replied with a smile, then went back to perfecting his masterpiece.

Violetta’s heart felt full. The kindness Augustus displayed towards her was unexpected, and caught her off-guard.

“I have homework to do, but it was nice meeting you, Augustus. I’m so excited that you’re my cousin.” She said farewell to Augustus, waving and exiting the room.

“Bye-bye, Violetta.” He said, waving his hand at the girl.

“My sister is cool,” Vinnie said. “She can also draw good.”

“Really?” Augustus said.

“Yeah. She’s awesome. Let’s play spies!” Vinnie declared, a sudden shift in topic, one that didn’t bother Augustus. “But we need something first.”

“What?” Augustus tilted his head.

“We need IDs,” Vinnie stated.

“You’re right! Spy IDs.” Augustus agreed.

“Can you draw them, though?” Vinnie asked, unsure of his abilities.

“Yeah!”

“Alright, let’s do it!”

Augustus’s time spent with his cousin had clearly lightened his mood. By the time Copia had come to pick up Augustus, he was non-stop giggling with Vinnie, his expression soon resting in an adorable smile, dimples on display.

“Hi, Augustus. It looks like you had fun.” The Cardinal smiled, walking into Vinnie’s room.

“Yeah, I did.” Augustus cheerfully responded, looking Copia in the eyes.

“Ready to head back home and have something to eat?”

“Yeah!”

After a fulfilling meal of spaghetti and meatballs- which Copia would have to make more often, the plate was empty in what seemed like a millisecond- Augustus was exhausted, but still enthusiastic upon discovering the surprise waiting for him.

“Wow!” Augustus said, standing in his room in front of the newly added bookshelf. “How did that happen so fast?”

“Magic,” Copia responded.

“Woah.” He said in awe, mouth agape as his ocean eyes glimmered.

“And now you can put your first book on it!”

“Oh!” Augustus exclaimed, taking off his backpack, unzipping it, and taking out the book. He walked over to the bookshelf, standing on his tallest tippy-toes and placing it on the shelf.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“Goodnight, Augustus. If you need anything, I am just down the hallway, okie dokie?” He said, holding out a thumbs up.

Augustus, tucked snugly under the covers, held out a thumbs up in return. “Okie dokie.”

Copia, leaving the door just slightly ajar, made his way back to his room. Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he sighed deeply, picking apart the man staring back at him with tears in his eyes, who still didn’t seem much like a father. The day went well, he thought, but there was no doubt it was all incredibly overwhelming. Did he overwhelm Augustus? What could he do to help him come out of his shell?

“Day one of fatherhood and I’m already a wreck,”Copia mentally belittled himself. In the middle of his spiral, he heard a quiet knock on the door.

Like magic, Copia nearly teleported to the door and sucked back his tears; a superpower that supposedly came with becoming a parent. There Augustus stood in the doorway, tears running down his rosy cheeks.

“Augustus! What’s wrong?” He fretted, crouching in front of him, concern etched on his face.

“I can’t-” Augustus sniffled, Copia’s heart instantly shattering. “I can’t sleep.” the boy softly cried.

“Oh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Copia consoled him. “Can I give you a hug?”

Augusted answered by holding out his arms, to which Copia immediately wrapped his arms around him.

“It’s very hard. I know. I know.” Copia comforted him, though he wanted to cry just as much. Through the sniffles and hiccups, Copia soon heard a giggle escape Augustus’s mouth. Copia gently pulled away from the hug, as Augustus smiled and pointed to the wall behind Copia. Turning around, he noticed his iconic poster hanging proudly - ‘Hang in there baby!’

“Oh, the poster? It is funny, isn’t it?”

Augustus nodded. “I like the cat.”

“So do I. Do you want it?”

“Really?” He asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Sì. We can put it up in your room.”

“Sì is yes?”

“Oh! Sì- Yes. Sì means ‘yes’ in Italian.”

“Okay. Yay!”

“I always seem to catch sight of that silly cat when I need it most…” He remarked. “Speaking of a cat… I know a very good story involving a lion, a witch, and a specific piece of furniture if you’d like to read it together.”

Augustus grinned wide, his joy completely replacing the tears he had shed just moments ago.

Copia followed Augustus into his room, carrying the framed poster, and setting it beside a stack of paper on top of the dresser.

“He will sleep here tonight, but we will put him on the wall tomorrow.” Copia said as Augustus crawled into bed and under the covers. “All snug?”

Augustus nodded.

“Okie dokie. Here we go. The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.” He began. “Once there were…” Copia began, and soon noticed Augustus holding up four fingers.

“Ah, you are correct! Four children. And their names were…”

“Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy,” he repeated.

“And you remember them in the right order, too! Wow. Very good memory you have!”

“Thank you,” Augustus replied, smiling.

“This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air raids. They were sent to the house of an old Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post office…”

Copia continued reading the story as Augustus found his eyes growing heavy under the soothing cadence of Copia’s voice.

“This is the land of Narnia, said the Faun, where we are now; all that lies between the lamp post and the-”

Copia peered above the book and caught sight of Augustus, eyes shut and mouth agape, his breathing establishing a steady rhythm . Augustus had made it to sleep before they even made it to Narnia. Copia smiled, closing the book softly, careful not to disturb the now-sleeping Augustus. The Cardinal remained seated on the side of the bed for a moment, basking in heights of graciousness he didn't even know were humanly possible; he felt blessed that this precious little boy, whos life clearly had not been easy, was safe with the Clergy, was safe with him.

Placing the book on top of the nightstand and turning off the lamp, Copia carefully stood up and began to tiptoe out of the room, stopping when he noticed a sheet of paper sitting atop the dresser. He knew drawings were an important and often personal form of self expression, especially for children, but he couldn’t help but be curious as to what Augustus had come up with; he seemed like a creative spirit. Through the darkness of the room, squinting at the paper, Copia was able to make out two figures with writing on top.

Yeah, he was gonna be be a good Papa. Better than good, great. Some may even say the greatest.

OMG YALL😭😭😭😭

first things first,

i can’t apologize enough for my absence!!! this story became way longer than i thought it would but i hope it was worth it!!! now that this is done i have other WIP stories i can finally continue working on that include augustus!!!

i love dad copia so much y’all omg i can't even, vinnie and augustus are twin flames omg im so excited to show yall more <3

thank you SO MUCH for reading i can’t thank you enough, i love y’all so much!!!! thank you for your love and patience!!! more stuff coming up SOON <3

<3, alice

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manicplank · 1 month

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I'm obsessed with your headcanons I was wondering if the cast could react to them having a secret admirer, like their admirer would send them love letters and gifts like candy, flowers and maybe cash

(We know that our baby Peppino needs that dough)

Secret admirer

Peppino: He is pleasantly surprised. Someone keeps sending him money and vague romantic letters. He is a bit anxious that he's being stalked, though.

Gustavo: He is flattered. He keeps getting chocolates and flowers delivered to his door by his secret admirer. It's nice, and it gives him something to look forward to.

Mr. Stick: It definitely fuels his ego. He feels like a bit of a celebrity. Plus, he especially enjoys that they send him money.

Pepperman: He feels like a god. Finally, somebody appreciates him the way he should be. However, he wishes they would show their face.

The Vigilante: He's bashful. Someone likes the old man enough to send him flowers regularly. They also sent him one of those edible bouquets.

The Noise: It doesn't surprise him. He has lots of fans, some of them even obsessed over him. He's a little worried and wonders how they found out where he lives... (Noisette is FURIOUS.)

Noisette: She's in awe. She can't believe someone is sending her flowers and candy! She doesn't think much of it. (Noise is LIVID.)

Fake Peppino: He doesn't think anything of it. He's just happy to have food.

Pizzahead: He's so happy to have a secret admirer. He feels so honored. He wishes they would come out of the shadows so he could thank them properly.

Pillar John: He is very flattered. The easiest way to his heart is food, ESPECIALLY chocolates.

Gerome: He's happy. He's never had something like it. The occasional anonymous flowers on his doorstep are nice.

#pizza tower #noise #the noise #headcanon #noisette #pizzahead #peppino #peppino spaghetti #fake peppino #pepperman #the vigilante #mr. stick #pizza tower gerome #pillar john #pizza tower gustavo

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violentcouchpotato · 1 year

Text

Just watched prom pact and I have to say: I'm pleasantly surprised. I went in with caution and stepped out in delight.

Spoilers ahead-

I loved that the m/f main leads are bffs and stay bffs, their romantic relationships with other people are not a higher priority than their friendship, and their personal aspirations and ambitions are not invalidated or ignored at any point.

As far as Disney channel movies go, this one was pretty good writing, especially the details. I loved that graham incorporated the risky business dance and one direction into the prom-posal, that Mandy returned the letter to graham, that her guidance counselor sent a letter of rec for her, that graham took a gap year to figure things out for himself, and so many more things that I can't recollect right now. I'm just really happy that kids today get to see relationships (romantic or platonic) that aren't perfect but you're willing to put in work to make them better.

I'm just happy. It's not the best, i agree. It's just a nice movie and I liked it.

#prom pact #milo manheim #peyton elizabeth lee

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blues824 · 1 year

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Hellooo!!! Could I request a Ciel x Fem!Reader where Reader is extremely intelligent and witty. Like she is so smart brooo. She reads HUGE books and can quote almost anything from any book, can solve any math problem, and is literally just a fucking genius. She’s very quiet and very observant too. Please ignore if needed, no pressure at all!<3

love ya!🤍

Love you too! And just so y’all know, this is how I am irl, but it depends. If I’m with people who I am comfortable with, you can tack on sarcastic to the end of the description. We’re also gonna ignore his engagement to Lizzie for the sake of this request.

Ciel Phantomhive

You both probably met at one of the Queen’s royal balls. As the youngest member of a noble family, you had to. It was mostly so your father could find another noble family of the same rank who had an unwed and unbetrothed son for you to be afianced to.

When Ciel saw you, he had to admit that you looked absolutely breathtaking. Oh, how he wished that he could properly waltz just so he could lead you out on the dance floor. But, he opted to walk up to you to start a conversation. Sebastian had the smuggest smile.

“My lady”, he took your hand in his, bowed, and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. You were a bit flustered, but you managed to brush it off. I mean, it wasn’t everyday that the head of the Phantomhive household walks up to you out of all people.

“My lord”, you gave a polite and graceful curtsy. He led you over to the table that held food. He explained that since his parents died, he was never truly given the time to be taught to dance and to excuse him for it. You both got a few sweets on your plates before you stepped aside.

You both had a deep conversation about a case that the Queen had you both working on (but didn’t tell either of you). He was very pleasantly surprised at your competence and common sense, as well as being able to piece together the evidence that he brought to you.

Once the ball was over and everyone was leaving for their carriages, Ciel escorted you arm-in-arm to your carriage to assure your safety. However, before you got in, you leaned towards his ear and whispered something.

I know that Sebastian is a demon.

He went wide-eyed as you acted like nothing happened. You even gave him a peck on the cheek as his butler helped you into the carriage. He made a note to formally invite you over to the Manor the following day so that you both could continue your conversation.

Once he did, you came and you were both locked in his office for hours working on the case. When you visited the Undertaker, he mistook you both as Mr. and soon-to-be-Mrs. Ciel Phantomhive. It was rather embarrassing for the both of you, but it made him laugh 🤷‍♀️.

After a mutual agreement between the two of you, he wrote a letter to your parents saying that he would be glad to be betrothed to you. Of course, the recipients of said letter were beyond ecstatic that their daughter had found a nice and respectable (see: powerful and wealthy) man.

Sebastian often catches you reading many different books in many different languages to Ciel to get him to calm down after a stressful day. Your fiancé is always impressed by the sheer amount of knowledge you store in that wonderful mind of yours.

You would often stick around and help Sebastian with his lessons. You set up a game where for every question he gets right, he gets to choose between receiving a sweet or receiving a kiss from you. I think we all know what his choice is here.

You very rarely get into arguments with each other, but when you do, you’ll wait until you’re both calmed down and you will talk through the issue like responsible young adults. You have both learned from each other and grew more mature with each passing day.

Each and every day, where one goes, they are not without the other in their arm. You both look like a young married couple with how lovingly you both look at each other. The love you have reminds everyone of the love Ciel’s parents had when they were alive.

#black butler x reader #black butler #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel phantomhive #fem reader

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paprotkarotka · 11 months

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A letter to a dead friend.

Dear friend,

In the face of recent events, I decided to visit home, meaning the exact place I was born. Curiosity got the best of me, even though I know such reminiscences very rarely end well for me, as I tend to fall into a spiral of overthinking.

But can you blame me, at my ripe age, for nostalgia? As a human, I am doomed to commit the same mistakes without learning until it bites me in the ass.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover a meadow with an orchard where my house once stood. (Or at least where I think it stood.) I expected more urban development in the place, not a bunch of apple trees and a sea of grass, but I am not complaining. It's nice to rest my ancient bones in the shadow of an apple tree once in a while.

It is a strangely unbothered patch of land, which didn’t help with the nostalgia. It felt familiar. It lingered on the verge of my memories, almost tangible, but not quite. So close, yet too far away to reach. I thought I would feel better and that my visit would soothe my pain and longing for comfort and home. But it left me even more broken and regretful.

With all that lingering familiarity, it felt strangely cold and foreign. Surreal even. At first, I couldn’t exactly put my finger on what bothered me so much. And then it hit me. The feeling of belonging was gone. I have simply forgotten all of it—the people that used to live here, their daily problems and squabbles, and myself in the middle of that. I forgot what I was doing here, hence the strange feeling of a loss. I just couldn’t remember myself in this place. As if I've never been here.

I'm old. I'm very, very old. And I keep forgetting more and more details from my past. Every memory I lose devastates me to the core. I don't remember my mother's, Eleanor's, or Peggy's faces. It's all jumbled and smudged in my memory. It's like I'm in a fog, which grows thicker as I stumble through it. I don't even remember my mother's voice or her sweet lullaby that I used to hum all the time. To keep myself from forgetting. But it happened eventually.

But that doesn't scare me the most; what scares me the most is that I don't recognise the world I once called home. It's all familiar, but I don't have the feeling of belonging. I don't feel alienated, just... alien. Immortality is the best thing that could have happened to me, but human memory is limited. I'm doomed to live forever... And forget. And what are we if not memories? This is what makes me "me". I'm not even sure my real name is Robert at this point. I just remember using it, but since when? Who knows. Am I even the same person now? Or maybe I forgot completely who I was and turned into a stranger. Will I remember this in a thousand years? Five thousand? Those questions scare me. I am scared to lose myself.

I am afraid, dear friend, that I will forget you too, one day. I will fight tooth and nail not to, but as experience has taught me, it will happen eventually. It saddens me deeply, and I know thinking about it is senseless now, but I cannot help it, as from everything I’ve experienced and everyone I’ve met, you’re the one I wish to remember most, for as long as I can.

Dear friend, this letter might never reach you, but if it does, keep in mind that I will be waiting for you for as long as it takes and for as long as I remember. I will be there, anticipating our meetings, until I grow so old that you will have to remind me of what I am waiting for. Promise me that.

Your friend,

Robert

Big shoutout to my friend who not only checked the letter for me, but also did a recording if it, check it out please: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUKTmfK_Sz0

youtube

#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman fanart #ferdinand kingsley #sandman #tom sturridge #my art #paprotkaart

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itsgxsly · 1 year

Text

CHAIN ‘ROUND MY NECK

Summary: Spending a Christmas vacation with your boyfriend and his family is simply the best.

Pairing: arthur leclerc x reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 735

When Arthur asked you to go with him and his family on a trip for the Christmas holidays, you hesitated to say yes. It's not that you didn't feel like going with him, but you thought maybe you could bother there. But after much insistence from him, and taking into account that you had no plan for Christmas, you decided to accept the invitation.

Once on the trip you didn’t regret having said yes. You were enjoying yourself like never before and the Leclerc family had welcomed you with open arms as one of their family. During your stay there, you had spent time with Pascale, who treated you like another daughter and was delighted to spend time with you. The rest of the time you had spent with Charles, Lorenzo, and Arthur, skiing or having snowball fights. Although you weren't very good at skiing, the three brothers had been patient in teaching you until you could more or less handle yourself. Although you had had a painful fall in between.

Today was finally Christmas day and you were all gathered in the complex where you were opening the gifts you all had received. You had bought gifts for the entire Leclerc family, since you thought it was a nice detail to thank them for letting you spend Christmas with them, but you were pleasantly surprised when you realized that you also had gifts from them. You almost started to cry thinking about the fact of everything they were doing for you. Charles had been the last to receive and give his gifts, and now you were all resting peacefully in the living room, covered with blankets to keep the winter chill away. Arthur and you were in your own bubble focused on each other. You were curled up on his side, almost falling asleep from the heat that his body gave off next to his hand caressing your hair. You complained when Arthur stirred and pulled you away from him a bit.

"Sorry baby. I just want to get something” he told you as he put his hand in the pocket of his sweatpants. You looked at him confused as you watched him take out a box wrapped in red paper that was no bigger than your hand. Arthur saw your curious and confused face when you saw the box, so he proceeded to explain what it was.

"Before you get mad, I know you've already had your gifts and we both promised no surprises, but I still wanted to give you this" he put the box in your hand to let you open it.

You looked at him one more time before directing your gaze to the gift in your hands to open it. You tore off the paper that wrapped it and you found a box of what you assumed was jewelry. You looked at Arthur trying to get angry with him for buying something expensive, but he insisted with a gesture that you see what the box contained. Opening it, inside was a delicate gold necklace. From the chain dangled a charm with the letter A on it. You looked at Arthur moved by the gift.

"It's beautiful, Arthur" you hugged him and placed a kiss on his lips before looking back at the necklace, amazed at how beautiful it was.

"I know you like these things, and I also remembered that Taylor Swift song you're always listening to, the one with the initial on the necklace, right?" You nodded to tell him that he was right. You loved that Arthur remembered those silly details, like the words to a song you loved or your favorite food.

“I love the gift, love. I don't know how to thank you" you gave him another kiss. "But next time, you better not buy me more things on the sly, Arthur Leclerc" you warned him. You knew that he was not going to pay any attention to you, and he would end up giving you more gifts whenever he could.

Between your conversation, you didn't notice the rest of the family looking at both of you. They all agreed that you were the best thing that could have happened to Arthur and vice versa and they were so happy that you spent time with them. And maybe a years later, you'll start spending Christmas with them as an official member of the Leclerc family.

#formula 1 #f1 fandom #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc x you #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #arthur #leclerc #charles leclerc #lorenzo leclerc #f1 weekend #christmas fic #fluff

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Text

Imagine being the one who releases Morpheus. - Part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [ENDING] [ALT. ENDING] || Sandman-inspired playlist

[TW: blood, graphic depictions of an injury/illness]

The burning wood in the fireplace cracked pleasantly, reminding one that the cold sea breeze no longer had them in her grasp. In a way, it was that very same freezing wind that made one appreciate the warmth of the fire. The quiet cracking was a nice change from the loudness of the shore.

The inside of your house looked more like a workshop or a laboratory rather than a place where someone lived. Sketches, manuscripts and pieces of newspapers covered most of the walls. The spots where the old flowery wallpaper was left uncovered, had drawings and inscriptions written in chalk made on them. Looking at the seemingly chaotic groupings of all things strange and deranged, one may experience doubts as to the owner's sanity: it was either madness that drove them among cults, botany, astronomy and unsolved crimes or pure genius yet to be recognized. But as it is with all matters that toe this fascinating line, the final decision, whether one was a genius, a madman or a bit of both, belonged to the generations yet to be born; eyes that were yet to blink and tongues that were yet to speak.

"What is this?" Morpheus asked hesitantly as he looked around the room. He deserved a generous portion of understanding for that moment of anxiety: the last time he witnessed those symbols, he ended up imprisoned for a decade. It was only natural that he should react like that. Additionally, the jars with strange contents and dubious labels couldn't be comfort-bringing.

"A monument of my desperation," you answered as you tried to bring even a fraction of order to the papers cluttering your desk. A new, unread newspaper lay among your notes and old books. The front page's headline read 'Louisville theft still unsolved' in bolded letters. "I studied the occult and alchemy to find out what curse my father had put on me but to no avail. Years I have spent chasing after my own ailment, an answer as to what tragedy awaits me around the corner of tomorrow. The question, however, I have left unanswered."

"You have given up," he stated. Despite having no knowledge of your life during those years, Morpheus appeared surprisingly certain in his judgement.

"Yes..." you drew out your answer. Perhaps it was at that very moment that you finally understood it. You nodded your head slightly before continuing. "Yes, I have. But then a new endeavour occupied my mind, one that wouldn't render my studies useless, a waste of time. I wanted to find you."

Momentarily, his attention deviated from the jars, drying plants and unintelligible diagrams only to focus on you. It was a lovely sentiment in all of its romanticism - that the moment your paths diverged, both of you worked to make them cross again and all of that because you were simply curious about one another. Standing under the night sky diagram you had hand drawn in chalk on the ceiling of the room, perhaps it wasn't a stretch to call the two of you starcrossed. There was, however, a certain sadness to that statement: stars, as it befits their whims, align in a specific way only once in a long while. Maybe, just maybe, the gods that watch over stars were going to be merciful towards Dream and you.

Morpheus was standing with his back towards the fireplace. The flame made him cast a long shadow over the old, stained carpet that was already there when you moved into the house years ago. With that bright, dancing halo he appeared both heavenly and hellish like frostbite that feels so cold it burns like the hottest fire. But in all of those contradictory extremes, he never appeared dangerous or you simply couldn't perceive him in that way. Perhaps he was like that fireplace in your house: a raging flame consuming everything in sight but still contained enough to not feel scared of turning away from it. "What for?" he asked in a low voice. For some reason, his tone appeared angered as if he wasn't quite keen on you succeeding in your quest.

"Do not grow anxious, my dear stranger," you spoke mildly with your hands clasped together as if some part of you wanted to beg him to not treat you like a danger waiting to happen. There was something painfully lonely about a man who saw betrayal and ruthlessness in every pair of eyes he encountered. "My heart never harboured any malice towards you. I wished to find you only to ask how you've been doing, whether all those years when you were stripped of freedom had corrupted any goodwill you once had." Unable to help your empathetic nature, your mind began conjuring all possible pain and misery he was forced to endure. Your gaze fell to the floor, for a moment admiring the hue of the flames dancing across the old carpet. "It is beyond my imagination to fantasize about what torment such cruelty must do to a human," you added quietly.

"I am not human."

"I know," you looked back at him but only for a moment. Morpheus had a curious habit of staring at you, maybe at everyone else too, in a very intense way and you found it difficult to hold his stare each time you wanted to or felt like you should. "But that doesn't necessarily mean you're invincible."

Suddenly, a piercing pain struck the left side of your chest - the same area where the blasphemous mark stained your skin. A fit of dry, suffocating cough shook your entire body. Weakness overtook your body and you would have fallen hard to the ground had Morpheus not caught you. Careful and anxious, he lay you on the nearby sofa with a washed-out floral print - it could be roughly his age. With the continued cough came spatters of blood that now stained your clothes and the antique day bed. Terrifyingly quickly, your eyes became bloodshot and a thin streak of crimson run down from your nostril. If Morpheus could get any more pasty white, he surely would have as such cruel magic was unfamiliar to him.

"The shelf..." you strained as your shaking hand vaguely pointed at an antique dresser filled with jars and tins that once sparked fear in Dream's mind. "Madrake... thyme... rosemary... throw in... in fire." Trying to desperately catch a breath, you wheezed between each word, a sickly whitening resounding in your constricted throat.

He didn't know what any of those plants looked like because he never had to. At that moment, when he opened the glass doors of the dresser with enough strength to tear them off, it all went down to the legibility of your writing and whether or not you had labelled the containers correctly. How funny it truly would be - to die because of one's own inattention in their own house like tyrants and heirs do; to suffer the consequences of one's actions with the mercilessness of gods of death. Morpheus rummaged through the dresser, throwing away any jar or tin that was not labelled as mandrake, rosemary or thyme. Perhaps, if you were a little further away from the line between life and death you'd feel a little upset at his carelessness.

When he finally found the correct herbs, Morpheus did not bother with maintaining correct proportions and so he simply opened the jars and threw all of their contents into the fire. He could, of course, dispute your orders as he was a king - not a simpleton to boss around. However, Dream knew better than to disregard a witch when black magic was at play.

The fire suddenly became purple and doubled if not tripled in its size and ferocity. Its flames licked the ceiling but never dared to set it ablaze. Just as swiftly the violet hearth returned to its original form and no change in its appearance could ever suggest something akin to supernatural had taken place inside that fireplace. With the blaze red and contained again, you gasped for air as the pain momentarily subsided. Although only minutes had passed since the curse sunk its teeth into your innocent skin, it felt as if it was the very first time in your life that you took such a deep breath and felt no unbearable, stinging pain. What a blessing it was, to be a victim only occasionally and not constantly.

Morpheus crouched next to you, remaining at your eye level. If you focused your exhausted mind, you could nearly see his face clearly. "Is this the curse your father put on you?" he asked quietly. But, truthfully, he didn't seek an answer. His question was more of an expression of disbelief. And how curious that disbelief was - that the King of Dreams found something unimaginable.

The blood on your shirt was the price of his freedom. If that was the fate of someone who took his side on their own accord, was it not also his affair? Morpheus could have stopped you that day and yet he didn't. Was he not, at least partially, responsible for those crimson stains? Priests often say that 'idle hands are the Devil's best friend' and Morpheus, in his convenient passiveness towards your brave though foolish choice, had both of them; he made a decision of making no decision and you were the one who suffered the consequences as if you weren't human but a figment of Shakespeare's imagination. He knew that if he lets your suffering continue, if he doesn't even try no matter the odds of success, he too could become of Shakespear's fantasy: as though he was the true Lady Macbeth, your blood wasn't going to wash off his pale skin, forever screaming into the void "He could! He could! And he didn't!"

And yet, you never spoke a bad word about your father, at least not to him. Should you not grieve this unfairness? Seeth at the greed and violence of the one man who was supposed to love you above all creation? Your father sentenced you to a cruel, painful and excruciatingly long death and you fed mallards on a winter morning. At that moment, for the first time since he met you, Morpheus finally saw you for what you really were. If you had no fury for such injustice, he was willing to lend you some of his. Oh but his rage... it was aeons old, rotting inside a heart that never dared to acknowledge its severity. It was fury audible in storms that drowned ships and felt in earthquakes that swallowed entire cities.

"Thank you," you whispered to him. "I suppose it's quite rude of me to faint on a stranger." Your words came out a little slurred.

"We are not strangers. Not anymore. You have seen to that." Although he never specified that, you knew he didn't necessarily mean saving your life.

"Good." Your gaze was hazy, vision becoming blurry as restful sleep forced itself on your eyelids. Despite that overwhelming exhaustion, a soft smile entered your face and Morpheus wondered if you gave that kind grin to everyone or only him. "I heard it's a bad practice to let strange men into one's home."

Seriously considering just coming up with a nice title and making this into a mini-series and not a thousand parts of one imagine... Thank you for all the kind words and support!

Tagging people who were interested in a follow-up: @rosaren2498 @jessiboobdbdb @chantzmar @lexi-anastasia @bisexualunicronrunningloose @farintonorth @oo0lady-mad0oo @all-bi-myselfs-blog @piperstofu101 @magic-magnoliaa @kotonei-molyneux @wheresmyboo @supermegapauselouca

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