#LOOK GUYS I referenced hat guy!!!!

[wren-dy-flowergarden]

A fairytale we will never forget. (Wanderer/f!Reader)

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ You are a failed writer of the Academia and Nahida gives you something to write about. Post Sumeru Arc! Wanderer x f!academiaReader *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴A/N: OK! LISTEN- I have so much I need to write and My Precious Treasures is giving me trouble. Let me have my small little scaramouche man to cheer me up until my writing gets better (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*). (Side note: not everything is cannon compliant, Im still on last act of story- but have been semi spoiled lol cause Kaveh stole my heart and the event was sooo cute!) *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Word Count: 3.3k *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Tags: if bickering was cute, writing stories together, lots of fluff, light spoilers, writer will do anything for inspiration, poor be'tad

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You've failed again and would you be surprised it's not the first time you have failed.

It might have been the sixth, but you have lost count when your writings could fill ten books worth. You look at the scrolls limply hanging off your desk, the textbooks pilling so high they create a safety hazard of 'homicide by books'.

It's not right. It's not correct. It's not factual. It's not accurate. That's all they say, when they dismiss you with a wave of their hand and close the doors in front of sleepless eyes.

You want to scream, because it's not fucking accurate when a measly academia scholar like yourself cannot even read non-biased readings that do not have the author as Great Sage.

You needed something to take your mind off this.

You needed a break.

"You want to write a fantasy novel?" Aether comments munching on a stick of grilled meat. He looked off put by your comment as his companion Paimon speaks up, "Paimon doesn't understand how more writing is taking a break from writing?"

"It's a break because I can enjoy myself! No need to look at which theory makes more sense than the old. No more citing ancient sages that lived hundreds of years ago that are outdated. A good old fantasy."

Aether rolls his eyes, "And what defines 'good old fantasy'?"

Your eyes shine as you point directly at him. He scoffs as he tries another vendor's dish, "I mean- You have fought literal gods right! Or at least people tell me you have fought monsters that are as strong as gods!" You pause as you comment on your own delusions, "Well- I'm not sure how strong a god is, but it sounds impressive."

Aether is about to stop you as you continue, "Oh! Oh, what about the time you slayed a dragon? That sounds super interesting."

He groans in a way that you sense is that every time someone mentions the words 'dragon', that he must correct them, "For the last time. We didn't 'slay' it. We purified the crystal that made Dvalin sick."

"...So, your saying saved a kingdom from dark magic and that is not fantastical enough!"

You slam a couple mora onto the next vendor as Aether finished his latest dish. Sure, that money was for the breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next two days but what could be better than breathing, live, material!

You plead, "Please! One story, any story! I need something to jump start my brain that is not a library book."

Aether looks up the sky longingly you would narrate it as a 'take me now' moment; but surely not from you.

"Any story?"

You beam nodding as Aether reluctantly says yes.

.

.

.

"So that's the story. Sorry about this but I need to be back in Liyue by tomorrow and knowing (Y/N), she can um- be a lot."

You can't understand the rest of the sentence, but you see Aether talking to a smaller girl with leaves in her hair and flowers that bloomed around her.

At least that is what you say, but behind the boy with a large hat covering his head wore a frown as you could see each flower wilting- dead on the floor fictitiously.

What a buzzkill.

The girl, Nahida is what Aether calls her and she reminds you of sunshine that warms your heart. She smiles as she gives a small wave to you. As she does the boy behind her taps his foot frown never leaving his face.

"I see." And there is an ethereal ring in the small girl’s voice, "Leave it to us, please give the people of Liyue and the him our regards."

"Huh! Us?" A voice speaks at the same time. It was the boy with short purple hair dressed in flowing clothes different than your own. He looked like the wind would parachute him away at any second.

Aether sensing the shift whispered goodbye to you, leaving the room with the small girl and the frowning boy.

The girl speaks up first, "Aether told us of your 'predicament'? She questions because, no, writing a fantasy novel isn't considered a predicament more than getting a thorn stuck in your thumb; compared to how the academia cranks out automatous, encyclopedias of information that are used as the life blood of people’s lives, but in a sweets way she gives respect as she looks in your eyes.

Or so you thought.

"Therefore, he will help you!" And she points her thumb behind her to a balking boy who stomps his foot down. You could have sworn you felt the ground shaking, but that was probably his attitude.

"Wha- I refuse! There is no way I will be helping that baboon." And ouch, because words do hurt but if he had any sense of social norms and could read the room he would not continue. But he did, "You expect me to become one of those mediocre story tellers on the street?"

You glower as you gather any confidence you have in your work, "How dare you. Stories keep people alive!" And he gives you a look as if you are the idiot in the room because stories don't technically keep you alive, but that didn't stop your ramble," They let us share emotional connection with one each other as we can obtain a deeper understanding of people!" Don't say it, remember your manners, “and someone like you that has the emotional capability of a doormat wouldn't understand that!"

You wince as you see the boy’s brow raise underneath his ridiculously large hat, his mouth snarling as he cracks his fingers. It felt like the air was being sucked out of the room.

"Oh, really now?" It sounds like a threat the way his tone bleeds with irritation, "Let’s see who's the doormat once I-"

Nahida, gently places a hand on top of his and the air returns to normal. You let out a gasp that you did not feel you were holding as her voice rings out, "Now children, that's not how to treat each other."

She looks stern? Like a mother that is discipling her child by the way his face writhes into reluctance. She gives you a harsh stare that makes you feel like your own mother is chiding you, "Now, people who ask for favors can't start fighting with the asked. Can they?"

You look down at the floor, digging your heel in, properly chastised, "No... they can't."

She turns to the boy behind, "And people who invite guests into their home..."

He looks reluctant as if this wasn't his first time finishing her sentence, "don't blast them away..."

Blast them away?‌ And you think the right answer should be 'threaten, cause bodily harm, or even joke about causing bodily harm' but the small girl looks content either way.

"Now to start good relationships, we shake hands!" She clasps her hands together smiling.

Neither of you move.

"I rather not take my chances."

"I rather put my hand in boiling water."

Oh yes, this will be wonderful...

You sit down on a bench overlooking the landscape of Sumeru. It was beautiful the way the bustling of the city created a divide between the ethereal beauty of the nature itself to the bustling city life that coexisted with it.

Now that's beautifully said. Wait- but you used the word "beautiful" at least three, not four times now. What could you use instead?

You were about to dive deeper into your thoughts before a voice interrupted.

"Hey baboon!" A voice calls in which you wish was with endearment, because at least that be cuter than plain degrading. The boy pushes a plate of sticky rice plated with different types of fresh fruit, covered with syrupy goodness, "This is disgusting."

He's been doing this a while now, ever since Nahida kicked you two both out of the house with a couple of mora to keep you both full (how nice of her). She commented on 'sharing experiences with one each other', leading you to buy your favorite dessert as an olive branch.

You see the way her pushes the plate off towards the side of the table, "Hey that's my favorite dessert you know!"

And he scoffs folding his hands across his chest, leaning against the chair, "You have the tastebuds of a child then." And of course he continues, because goddamnit he does not know when enough is enough, "Oh- I forgot you are a child trying to create a kid's book."

You don't know which is worse. You going back to your small apartment to keep writing a bleeding thesis paper or you having to deal with this punk.

You take a breath in, you strive for peace, "Well. Then what's your favorite food?"

He rolls his eyes, "I don't have a favorite food."

"Everyone has something they like." You counter because he is not getting off the hook.

He pauses before he replies in pure reluctance, "Tea. The more bitter the better."

Now you're folding your hands across your chest, mirroring him.

"Tea?" You deadpan, "That's not a food."

"Were you not listening? I said I had no favorite food."

This time you scoff, "Well then why don't you like sticky rice?"

"It's disgusting."

"That's not an answer!"

"It is an answer you complete and utterly useless-!"

A third voice, "Excuse me."

You both turn to a server that has seen better days in their effort to survive customer service industry. The man looks at you and then at him, "You need to leave unless you stop yelling at each other. There are others trying to enjoy the view."

You look behind him and indeed others do look frustrated with the boy and you. At least you can read the room before the boy in front of you could, he looked like he was about to argue, and it was an argument he would lose. Slamming a couple of mora with a quick sorry, you grab the boy by his sleeve running out leaving your mango sticky rice behind.

By the time you make it to the top of Sumeru you are huffing and puffing. Air feels like fire as you steady yourself on your kneecaps gasping. Next to you, the boy has every piece of flowing fabric in place, his face not even a drip of sweat upon it. In other words, he looks and probably is way healthier than you.

"How- huff aren't you- dying?" And you say it in a way the means 'how are you standing', 'why are you freakishly healthy' or in a comedic sort of way 'are you even human?'; but his jumps eyes wide as he retorts head up high, "Everyone can run at least that far."

You start to think about your counterparts in the academia and how even a mile run would make you want to never leave your room again, and then you rethink, because Aether is his 'friend?' and that blond hair boy is certainly the least normal boy you know but he might fall into the category of 'everyone' to your interviewee.

That gave you hope.

You sit at a rickety bench underneath tarp that give a nice shade in the sun, fanning your shirt to let air in between all your robes. You notice him standing off to the side, like a cat waiting to be beckoned and that almost makes this time bearably. He must have surrendered, because he sees you eyeing him then the chair across from you and he sit down right on the edge.

"So", you start once you’re sure you can say a whole sentence without wheezing, "I know- that maybe, we got off on the wrong foot," and he opens his mouth for another (probably insensitive) comment and you talk quicker, "but I'm ready to listen to any story you have to share!" There quick and simple.

He closes his mouth, the thin line never shifting in his lips before he huffed, "I don't have a story for you."

And all common courtesy went out the window as you breathe in and out, peace! Peace you say! "Everyone has a story." A twinge of sass, "Like how everyone has a favorite food."

"Fine. I'll be more clear. I have no "fantasy" story that you will want to write."

And you blink, that was not the response you were expecting. You feel the academic spirit ignited in you as you prod for more information, "What do you mean by that?"

He's thinking and you can see thunder clouds brewing in his purple eyes as he clenches his teeth, "You want those dumb fairy tales where idiotic princes go save a damsel huh? Someone who saves you no matter what even though there is no one there!" You describe it as lightning engulfing his eyes as it leaks out with every enunciation in his words. You can feel the hair at the bottom of your neck standing up, "How stupid you all are."

A moment of thought, "Well, if you put it that way it is pretty stupid."

His face contorts in a way that you wonder if your face muscles can do that as well, "Huh?!"

"Yah!" You twiddle you fingers as if trying to connect the dots, "I never said I wanted to write a classic fantasy story! Who gets to say what I will write?" You stand up renewed energy as the cogs move in your mind, "I'm writing this because I want to! Stories are meant to connect us and if I can't hear your story then how the hell am I even supposed to know what to write?"

You don't let him even start. His mouth agape.

"You're right I may be an idiot I will admit. I can't even pass a stupid thesis paper because I am too focused on the fact that every paper I have used as reference sucks the living life out of me faster than I can even graduate." You point a finger towards him, your index finger almost touching his nose and he is spluters, "But Im not an idiot when it comes to sharing others stories."

When you're sure he's not going to start on another rampant of the insipid state of his world you say one last thing. A perfect conclusion.

"We haven't formally introduced ourselves."

His brows furrow, "Ha- I know your name!" He says in a loud voice, but there is less venom this time.

You shake your head, giving little tuts of disappointment, "No silly" he preens at the word but it's payback for him calling you a baboon, "I don't know your name."

The boy eyes cross towards your fingertips as he slaps your hands away, "Get your hand out of my face." You can tell he is thinking.

He gives a sigh, before mulling over the possibility of only one-story telling night vs. a determined author who will bang on his door every day until she gets what she wants. At least that's what you believe he is thinking of.

"You can call me..."

His voice becomes muffled under his hat, and you ask him to repeat again. His violet eyes dart to the side darkening, like saying his name is sooo difficult.

. 

.

.

".... hat guy"

You swear your ears misheard him underneath that large hat he wears as his voice projects to the ground, "Sorry, say that one more time?"

"...Hat...Guy"

This time you blink in incredulous response, "Hat guy?" You give him time to at least say a semblance of a normal name, but he is quiet, hands folded over his chest as his final answer, "Really? Hat guy?"

You throw your hands up, "I thought we were getting somewhere! Like I was trying to open up to you about the whole story thing!" Your hands lower in apocryphal delusion, "Hat guy... what type of parent names them hat guy?"

It's so ridiculous that you start laughing.

"Stop laughing! You're looking more like a baboon than before." A sharp comment breaks you out of breath as you hunch your sides.

You wipe a nonexistence tear from you tear ducts as you look at him. A faint mellow glow is left on his cheekbones- the only word you can use to describe the reaction is embarrassment.

Or anger. Probably anger.

The fleetingness of absurdity leaves you as the last hiccup escapes your lips, he looks like a cat that had water poured on him, "Sorry, sorry! I'll be serious now. Nice to meet you pft Hat Guy!" A guffaw escapes again and this time you have to stop because it looks like he's ready to punch your lights out.

You slip next to him, his face a contorting to annoyance. Pulling out a small journal, that has seen better days, kept in the back of your satchel you find a pen. Clicking the pen as you flip to an open page.

"So. Where do you want to start?"

"Wow (Y/N) you really..." Aether pauses finding the words, "stuck to the facts?" He finishes handing the rest of the paper to Paimon struggling to hold the rest of the pages in her tiny hands.

Paimon struggles to flip through the pages, squinting at the words on the page her eyes flicking to the violet haired boy in the back, "Yeah! Who knew that he was a prince of a continent who was known for dragon slaying? Then went on a thousand-year-old journey to find a piece of paper that hold the secret of a war from a long long LONG time ago...?" Even Paimon was awestruck by your story telling.

You puff up your chest in pride, "Well, the dragon slaying idea had come from you Aether. Gotta switch it around sometimes you know?" And you can see Aether facepalm his face mumbling something that's not worth the effort to narrate.

You turn toward Nahida and the boy of inspiration, "So! How do you like the first draft? I’m thinking of adding more details and vocabulary but all and all pretty good right!"

The girl, Nahida tilts her head in wonder, "I had no idea your story was so rich." She holds a secret behind her smile as she looks up towards the boy who hasn't said a word about the manuscript, "Truly, this has been an enlightening experience."

You nod rapidly, she always knew what to say to lift your spirits. You hop over to "hat guy" as he is staring blankly at your hard work. You give a small poke, and he jerks violet eyes catching yours.

"How is it?" You tilt your head to fit underneath his hat as you point towards a paragraph that has to do with the boy falling out of his kingdom in the first act, "Pretty accurate right? I tried combining multiple classic fantasy stories to create this, like you said."

He doesn't push you away, nor does he voice any acrimony. He does look at you like an adult would look at a child who made a mess of their kitchen before presenting equally a mess of a cake that people have to coo at because- it's a child's cake. Inedible, sloppy cute and the worst part- burnt on one side and raw on the other, but nonetheless a product of hard work made by a child.

Though this could be your imagination but notice him open his mouth after deliberating his thoughts. He decisively says in full confidence:

"I see why you haven't graduated."

[reputable-opportunist]

these mfs CANNOT quit eachother

[skitskatdacat63]

I realized I have the right clothes to dress like young Oppenheimer, so I drew my oc in my suit 🤭

I draw her in suits a lot, so the top drawing is her typical suit! But then the second one is based off my irl one 🤭

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH MY BELOVED WIFE RÜßIE <3 SHE IS SO HANDSOMEEEE <3

I think every time I draw, I just feel more deranged about her(if that's even possible) 🥺 I love drawing her face sm

[wheneverfeasible]

Confession

wc: 3k || rating: T+ || AO3 || cw: referenced homophobia, homophobic language || summary: Eddie comes out to Wayne

Eddie Munson was bi.

Bisexual, meaning liking boys and girls and anything in-between.

What. The. Fuck.

It was all stupid Harrington’s fault. Steve. God, why did it have to be a preppy jock? There were plenty of other guys that could have snapped that realization on him, but no, he had to watch Steve Harrington spit out demobat blood (if it could be called that) after ripping its fucking spine out that made Eddie realize ‘huh, I think I like guys.’

It wasn’t like Steve was the only guy he was attracted to, he was shocked to realize. No, now that he knew that it was a possibility, his obsession with some of the musicians of bands whose music he wasn’t even that fond of started making a lot more sense, as well as how he’d reacted to some of the guys he’d gone to school with, or who had bought from him, and Jesus H. Christ, that guy at The Hideout had been hitting on him, hadn’t he?

So yeah, Eddie was dealing with a little bit of shock at his attraction to his friend, as well as the fact that that attraction was also apparently becoming a legitimate crush. Because that was healthy and safe to do. Especially when last he knew, Steve was still hung up on Nancy. And in a weird codependent relationship with Robin. Seriously, if he had to listen to Dustin complaining about why Steve wouldn’t just date Robin one more time, he was going to pull his hair out.

But so Eddie was bisexual. That was fine. Once he’d had his little crisis—and he’d been given plenty of time to think about it while recovering from being the main course at the all-you-can-eat Eddie Munson buffet—he’d done a little bit of research into the topic. Which was how he’d discovered that he had unintentionally been telling every gay man (if he came across any) that he apparently liked to top and was into inflicting pain with his sexual partners (suddenly the guy at The Hideout made more sense).

And…okay, maybe Eddie left the bandana there. He didn’t know, but the idea of it wasn’t too bad. Maybe. Maybe he should look into getting other bandana colors too, just in case.

It didn’t matter. He was still inexperienced, had only been with chicks before, and even then there had only been three of them. Two of them had only slept with him for the story, and the third one…well, everyone needed a little heartbreak in their life he supposed. Maybe he and Steve could compare notes.

The idea of sleeping with a guy, however, was not…unpleasant. It took him by surprise, sure, but he thought he could be down to trying some things out.

That wasn’t the issue on hand, however. It wasn’t what was eating him up inside, making him nauseous as he gnawed at his cuticles, pacing back and forth in the new double wide trailer the government had bought for them after Forest Hills was repaired. (R.I.P. to his uncle’s mug and hat collection.)

And there it was. The issue. His uncle.

Eddie could keep it a secret, sure. Could stay firmly inside the closet he hadn’t even known he’d been in, sitting safe and secret. But…that went against Eddie stood for. Sure, he knew he couldn’t shout it from the rooftop that he maybe sometimes thought about what it would feel like to have one of his best friends’ dicks in his mouth, but this was his uncle, man. This was Wayne.

Christ, he wished he had Ronnie, his former best friend, here to talk with her about all this. (He had also discovered another identity he hadn’t known about, asexuality, which he thought was right up Ronnie’s alley and wished he could tell her, but that was impossible now. She’d left Hawkins behind for a fresh start and he couldn’t blame her.)

But that meant that he was all alone. He loved the new friends he had, loved his band, but…well, this was something a little more complicated. And he wanted to tell his uncle. But…

Eddie gulped, every crunch of gravel outside the trailer sending an electric current through him as his anxiety spiked. His uncle should be home from work soon. Eddie paced a small circuit, knowing he needed a cigarette but also not wanting to go outside. His uncle had declared the new trailer a smoke-free zone. He doubted it would remain that way after this conversation.

He’d like to think his uncle would be supportive. After all, this was Wayne. His uncle loved him, had been there for him even when his own father hadn’t, and had stood by his side even when the whole town thought he was some psycho satanic serial killer. Hell, Wayne had walked in to Chrissy’s mangled corpse in his trailer and hadn’t once suspected Eddie of being guilty.

But having a queer for a nephew?

His uncle was progressive, but that didn’t mean he’d feel as complacent about his nephew being…what he was. His uncle had taken him in after he’d already grown and never expected him to help with the rent money, though Eddie did anyways with the money he got from dealing. But so Eddie was an adult, had a GED to his name, and didn’t need his uncle’s charity anymore.

Gravel crunched outside, the familiar sound of a truck engine rumbling along, and Eddie knew his uncle was home. Fuck. He hoped he didn’t leave this encounter with a black eye. Or worse. Hell, there were some people in this town that if he told this secret to, he wouldn’t leave the encounter at all. Not alive at least.

He knows his uncle isn’t like they though. He knows. Still, the fear persists. He’d always known he’d be too much for his uncle eventually. Would this be the final straw?

Wayne’s footsteps sounded on the porch.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

Eddie had, in case he had to leave quickly, already packed a duffel. He wanted to trust his uncle, and he did, really, but…but there was that sickness going around, and Reagan, and Hawkins was such a conservative town, and Eddie just couldn’t know, not for certain. Not with something like this.

“Heya kid,” Wayne said with a gruffness to his voice that spoke of long hours at the plant, though there was the small relieved smile that curled his lips when he got home and saw Eddie there. Like Eddie’s presence was a reassurance now. Eddie hated that he was about to ruin that all.

Because sure, there was a possibility that Wayne would accept him, or at least not kick him out, but Eddie had seen too much shit to think that things would ever be easy for him. It was the Munson Curse.

“Hey Uncle Wayne,” Eddie said, and maybe it was the title, maybe it was the way his words warbled in his throat, but Wayne immediately stopped from where he was moving to pour the morning’s coffee into a generic mug and turned to face Eddie with a furrowed expression.

“Everything all right, Eds?” he asked quietly, hesitantly, and took a large stride over to where Eddie was hovering by the coffee table. He froze, however, eyes widening, when Eddie flinched. Wayne swallowed, his gaze darting over Eddie as though looking for an injury. “Eddie?”

He could do this. His uncle deserved to know he had a fucking fairy living under his roof. Maybe he wouldn’t care, or maybe he’d be fine with it as long as Eddie never acted on it, or maybe…maybe…

Eddie thickly swallowed against the rising burn of bile in the back of his throat. He wanted his uncle to know because this was a part of who he was and it was important to be honest with himself and with his only family member still alive that genuinely loved him, just…he hoped he didn’t lose that love with his confession. But he wanted Wayne to know. Even if it hurt.

“U-Uncle…” Eddie wrapped his arms tightly around himself, his tone almost pleading. He blinked back the burn behind his eyes next, willing the words to come out of his mouth. As soon as he’d fully realized the truth, fully known what it meant, he knew that he’d tell Wayne. No matter what, he wanted his uncle to know this about him.

Wayne’s face grew slightly panicked at Eddie’s response, the way he held himself, the tone of his voice, and Eddie could tell the older man wanted to reach out for him but was taken aback by Eddie’s earlier flinch. Christ, would Wayne still want to hug him after this? Touch him? Be in the same room as him? Breathe the same air?

Would he tell Eddie that Alan Munson had been right all these years when he’d continually abandoned Eddie because he’d somehow known his own son wasn’t worth sticking around for?

Wayne took another step closer and Eddie panicked.

“I’m bi!” he exclaimed suddenly, wincing as he withdrew into himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he subconsciously braced for some sort of physical attack. “I’m bisexual,” he whispered, his words shaking.

There was silence, stillness.

Eddie drew in a shaky breath and risked opening his eyes to look at Wayne, expecting disgust, revulsion, perhaps even anger. Instead, all he got was…confusion?

“What?” Wayne asked, his expression full of his lack of understanding what Eddie had just said.

Eddie swallowed again. “I…I’m bi? I like…both girls and boys,” he clarified carefully, though there was a touch of confusion in his own words, his brows furrowing as they only seemed to stump Wayne further. Eddie frowned, figuring he was as clear as could be.

“Did…” Wayne began frowning a little himself, still looking confused. “Okay? But you’re lookin’ like you wanted t’ tell me somethin’.”

Eddie blinked.

“I’m bi,” he repeated pointedly, his arms dropping to his side.

Wayne rolled his eyes to look at the ceiling for a moment in mild exasperation before looking at Eddie again. “Son, did someone say somethin’ ‘bout it?” His lips twisted into a small scowl. “Did that Harrington boy say anything?”

“What? Jesus, no!” Eddie exclaimed, because why the hell was his uncle bringing up Steve when he’d just come out to him? His insides still warmed at being called ‘son,’ however. “Wayne I’m…I…” The panic started up again despite everything and he swallowed nervously. “I like boys, Wayne. I’m a queer.”

Wayne just blinked at him, his scowl turning once more into a confused frown. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s the truth!” Eddie exploded, not having expected his uncle to think he was making it up or lying. Jesus, and what a thing to lie about.

“Obviously,” Wayne snorted in answer, crossing his arms over his chest as he let his gaze roam over Eddie as if looking for an answer. “But I need to know what this prelude is for.”

Eddie felt lost. He stared at his uncle in confusion, his earlier fear and anxiety slowly draining away as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His uncle sounded…sounded like he already…

“You knew?” he asked, voice soft and fragile.

Wayne’s brows lowered, and Eddie felt a little offended that Wayne was looking at him like he was an idiot. “Eddie…I’ve known since you were twelve years old and told me you thought Big Bill Broonzy was pretty after lookin’ through your mom’s old records with the biggest blush on your face.”

Eddie gaped. He vaguely recalled something like that, but that wasn’t…he hadn’t…Jesus fucking H. Christ.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Eddie huffed in sudden annoyance.

“I thought you knew!” Wayne protested, throwing his hands up and looking like he was losing what this conversation was even about. “Wait, you mean to tell me that you’ve been makin’ moonin’ eyes at the Harrington boy and you didn’t even know you liked him?”

Eddie’s blush now could rival any he made when he was twelve. He stuttered, gaped, and dragged a whole handful of hair to cover his face in his embarrassment. “I know that,” he whined. “God, have I have been that obvious?”

Wayne snorted, rolling his eyes as he moved to finish pouring himself that cup of coffee. “Had me worried he finally said somethin’,” he muttered to himself. He turned to point the plain white mug at Eddie. “If he or any of the others do, you let me know, Edster, you got that?”

Eddie softly groaned, burying his face in his hands next as he stumbled back to drop onto the sofa. No wonder Robin had started giving him those looks. He gulped. And…and Steve. Steve had been smiling at him more often, was…was lightly touching him with lingering fingers, had even used that voice on him that he’d use on the pretty girls that stopped by Family Video…

Steve hadn’t been using that voice on any pretty girls that stopped by Family Video recently.

Gulping, realizing that that was not something he had the ability to think about right now, he focused on the truly important thing. He lifted his head to stare at his uncle with wide, shining eyes, his heart fluttering so madly in his ribcage he’d almost thought he’d trapped a bird in there. He licked his lips, eyeing his uncle with wary hope.

“You…you don’t mind?” he asked, needing to clarify, needing to know. “You don’t mind I like boys too?”

Wayne snorted, reaching for another mug and pouring it half full, leaving enough space for him to pour a godawful amount of sugar and a splash of milk in it, just like his nephew liked it, before taking it over to Eddie. He sat down on the sofa next to him, hanging it over. Eddie was grateful for it, even if it was room temperature now.

“Son, I know you ain’t lived here with me long, and I know your father…well, Al’s always had his faults. But we’re family, kid. I’ve loved you since the moment Elizabeth told me she was pregnant with you. Nothing is ever gonna change that, you hear?” He sniffed, taking a sip of his coffee. “‘Sides, ain’t nothin’ wrong with love. You just got lucky, and your chances for love have doubled now.”

Eddie glanced over at his uncle with a shy smile, relief and affection for the older man coursing through him. He cradled his own mug between his hands, drawing in a shaky breath. Wayne knew. Wayne knew and he still loved him. A small, tearful chuckle escaped him and he hastily wiped away one of the tears that fell down his cheek.

“Eddie…” Wayne sighed, sounding regretful as he set his mug on the coffee table and turned to properly face his nephew. “I am deeply sorry if I have ever made you feel like I wouldn’t accept you, like my love for you was conditional.”

Eddie hastily shook his head, setting his own mug down to mirror Wayne’s position, curling one knee halfway on the couch. “You didn’t,” he reassured. “You didn’t, I just…I…” He felt bad now for doubting Wayne. For packing a bag like he was going to get tossed out at any moment. For thinking even just for a second that his uncle would ever hit him.

Wayne studied Eddie’s face before letting out a soft sigh and a small nod. “I understand. It’s not safe out there right now, especially not with everything.” And Wayne didn’t even know everything. He couldn’t, not with all the papers Eddie’d been forced to sign while being patched up after everything. But he knew that he didn’t know, so there was at least that.

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Eddie murmured. “I trust you, Wayne. That’s why I wanted you to know. As soon as I was sure, I wanted you to know.” He huffed. “Meanwhile, you knew before even I did.”

Wayne grinned then, reaching out to clap Eddie on the shoulder, making the younger man grin back. “Here I thought it was just some unspoken understanding between us. Guess I know why you always seemed confused when I bought more mugs with rainbows on them.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie moaned, slapping a hand to his face. “I am such an idiot.”

Throwing his head back with a laugh, Wayne relaxed against the sofa, making Eddie chuckle and do the same. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, boy. Just know that you’re safe here, and so is whoever you bring around.” He huffed. “Even if it is the Harrington boy.”

Eddie quickly shook his head again, his hair fanning around him at the force of it, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Oh no, Wayne. Absolutely not. Steve is as straight as they come.” He smiled a little ruefully at that, and though Steve had been smiling at him like that, it was just because they were friends. Expecting anything else would just lead to more heartbreak.

Wayne gave him a disbelieving quirk of his brows. “Whatever you say, kid.”

Eddie rolled his eyes in response. “You thought he had said something homophobic earlier.”

Reaching for his mug, Wayne gave a one shouldered shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone projected anger at themselves outwards.” He eyed Eddie. “They good to you though? Your friends. You feel…safe with them?”

Eddie thought about that. He trusted them, with his life actually, and not just in the figurative way. They’d proven that they’d save him, time and again. He even had his very own brand new walkie-talkie and call sign to show for it. He was part of something bigger now, something real, which was just what he had always wanted. Even if it was all over, their little group was a forever sort of thing.

Smiling, Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” He glanced over at Wayne with a soft look. “But no matter what, I know have you to back me up so…yeah, I feel safe because I know at the end of the day, I won’t be alone.” He had needed to tell Wayne first, but maybe…maybe he could tell the others too. Eventually.

Wayne gave a short nod. He seemed content with that answer. “Just remember to use protection when you bring your boy over.”

“Wayne!” Eddie screeched scandalized, but his uncle only laughed.

Of course, it still took several months to get there, but when Wayne came home early one day to find Eddie and Steve shirtless and making out on the sofa, all Eddie could do was give his uncle a sheepish smile.

When the next day Wayne came home and chucked a new pack of condoms at his head, Eddie just gave another scandalized screech while Steve, once again next to him, flushed a bright cherry tomato red.

They’d use them, of course, but it was the principle of the matter.

[i-love-ptv]

Pope and reader taking the boat out and soaking up the sun! Reader is like laying out on the boat while pope steers to find a nice place to anchor! Lots of fluff and love sick individuales maybe some smut thrown in there? Anyways bookie adiós!

All Mine, All Mine ㅤᡣ𐭩

Pairing: Pope Heyward x Fem!Reader

You and Pope on the HMS Pougue! - Fluff, hints at sex at the end ;) (thinking abt making another part for smut??)

Wc: 1,067

An: GUYS. I DID IT. Not the longest, but not the shortest. I hope I did pooks justice 😣😣 Not proofread I fear, I didn’t feel like it..

Feedback always appreciated!! xxx

“Pope, honey, have you seen the bottle opener?”

“Uhh- it’s not in the basket?” Your darling boyfriend asks, briefly glancing back at you while he steers.

You rummage through the basket once more, despite already knowing the answer to Pope’s question.

“It’s not in there, y’know what, it’s fine.” You grab your cold beer bottle and angle the cap into your mouth.

You pop the cap off with your mouth, and Pope looks at you with mock horror.

You meet his eyes and ask, “What?” as you take a swig of the liquid.

“That may just have been one of the craziest things I’ve ever seen you do, babe.” He says as he side-eyes you.

“In a good way or a bad way?” You ask while chuckling, quirking your brow over your sunglasses.

He smiles, showing that boyish charm, “I haven’t really decided yet..” He replies.

“Whatever loser, have we found a spot yet?” You tease, as you look up at the sky.

You glance at Pope, finding that he was already looking at you. It seems that he does that a lot.

“Wellll.. If someone wasn’t always groaning about how the sun is ‘directly’ in her eye, we would’ve already stopped and started eating” Pope sasses, but you know that he didn’t mind. After all, he couldn’t let his woman feel any kind of discomfort, especially when he’s around.

You pout at him, and say, “Well, we only have the Pougie for a ‘lil while, we gotta make this perfect.”

Pope beams at this, “I know baby, I think this spot is good.”

He stops the boat and walks over to you. He lays down next to you, and props his elbow up to lean on it.

You peer up at him, having put your sunglasses on the top of your head

“Grape?” You ask as you grab a few from the container of fruit you brought with you.

Pope inches closer to your fingers until you lightly push the grape into his mouth. He hums in delight.

“I got these ones from a new place this time, they’re good, right?” You exclaim excitedly, referencing the last store you went to to buy grapes, where the grapes were more sour than sweet.

Pope faintly drags out a ‘mhm’ while gazing at you, almost as if he can see through your eyes and into your soul.

“You have the prettiest eyes, y’know that?” Pope says, in almost a daze-like state.

You smirk at his words, “Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that one before..”

You continue, “But I have heard that I have the perfect smile, a strong mind, and an amazingggg personality.”

“Oh shush, ‘s not my fault you’re perfect.” Pope says through a whisper, as his eyes flicker from yours to your lips.

He starts to lean in, and you meet him halfway, letting your lips connect and dance around with one another.

One kiss leads to multiple pecks, which of course, leads to a passionate makeout, as your bodies explore each other as if they’re foreign.

You’re arm flies out, accidentally knocking over your speaker, which quietly plays ‘Call Me By Your Name’ by Sophie Castillo.

You feel Pope’s warm hand brush down your back, and squeeze your ass firmly.

You softly gasp at this, and your hand reaches up to his head, grabbing his backwards hat and placing it on your own head loosely.

Pope grins through your shared kisses.

Abruptly, you hear a familiar ringtone.

Pope breaks the kiss with the groan, shuffling through his pockets to find his phone ringing, notifying him that none other than JJ Maybank is calling him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, trying to listen to the faint sounds of JJ speaking on the phone.

Pope looks at you with sincerity. He now regrets keeping his ringer on, despite you telling him to keep it off, like how you did with yours, so the two of you could remain uninterrupted.

But Pope being Pope, he kept it on, thinking that he would only be called for any serious emergencies.

“Yes. Yes. JJ, I hear y-“ You assume Pope is cut off by the blonde, for he stops and releases a deep sigh.

“Okay, yes, we’ll bring the boat back John B, relax.” Pope says, as he hangs up the phone, not wanting to hear JJ or John B continue to speak any longer.

Pope looks at you sadly, wishing that you two could remain at peace by yourselves.

“Well, I suppose we should head back before they have our heads.” You say with a twinge of sadness.

Pope kisses your forehead, and squeezes your hand. He starts to try and pack up the leftover remnants of food that was in the basket, before you stop him.

“Baby, don’t worry about it, I got it. Let’s just start going, okay?” You say as you leave a kiss onto his plump lips.

He sighs, “Alright…” And he walks off to the wheel to start the boat back up.

After you finish cleaning up the boat, and collecting any remaining trash, you go up behind Pope. You mean your head on his shoulder and reach around him to lightly scratch at his chest with your nails, just how he likes it.

Pope gasps, since he hasn’t heard you walk up over the motor of the HMS Pouge.

You begin to leave kisses on his neck and behind his ears.

“Babe…” Pope says softly, trying to turn and look at you.

You turn his head straight as you nibble on his earlobe, “Shhh baby, just keep going, okay? Get us home honey, I have something for you for when we get back.” You whisper out against Pope’s ear, making him shiver from the warmth of the contact; this makes you giggle.

As if he’d been starved of your touch for years, Pope, speeds off, making you laugh loudly, and wrap one arm gently around his neck, while the other holds his hat on top of your head.

Pope looks at the sunset, he thinks about how it reminds him of you. He doesn’t necessarily know exactly how at the moment, but he finds it pretty, just like you.

It makes him think about how you have the most pure, and beautiful soul, as if he could see through your eyes and into your soul.

Tagging ppl who commented on my post abt Pope. (If you want me to remove you, just lmk! <3)

Ps. if you’re name is in yellow, it means i couldn’t tag you :(

@v4mp1rr3 @mirellef2001 @loveharlow @nemesyaaa @cerya @ihe4rttwd @inlovewithpandora @cherriespopsicle

[maxwell-grant]

The Penguin Episode 7: "Top Hat" Breakdown

There’s a constant referencing of stunted childhood about Mr. Cobblepot – a baby grown enormous, grotesque and as needy as he ever was. The Hugh Hefner of crime. But the Penguin’s sublimated the desire for the tit for a desire for cash, power and empire. And this is why he’s Gotham’s greatest – and most outlandish – gangboss - TheMindlessOnes

The Penguin is the greatest Batman villain for the simple reason that he's the meanest. What the Penguin has that no one else has is a simple abundance of pure, unadulterated spite. In Batman's world there's madness, obsession, will and strength - but ultimately it all comes back to crime, pure and simple. The Penguin's motivations are pure because he simply resents the whole damn world and will not rest until he gets his. The Penguin is a criminal, nothing more and nothing less, with avarice in his heart and hatred in his eye. - Tegan O'Neil

(Episode 1) (Episode 2) (Episode 3) (Episode 4) (Episode 5) (Episode 6) (Episode 8)

VLADIMIR CVETKO: We wanted Francis to never allow Oz to use his disability as a crutch, and to always have him be strong and move past it and use it to his benefit. But it is isolating. Like, it is. And so he'll never be the same as his brothers. And so there's an inherent jealousy of just his situation that's there - The Penguin Podcast Episode 7

RYDER ALLEN: He loves his brothers, but he loves his mom way more.

COLIN FARRELL: I think he probably all his life feels a little bit broken, and so he's constantly, constantly, looking for his mother's approval and her love. I think he's seen very up close and personal how his mother has toiled to provide for him and his brothers, and wants to give her a better life - Inside Episode 7

Massive props to all the actors here but especially to Ryder Allen, who is absolutely incredible as young Oz. It would be so, so easy to let this take on Colin Farrell's Penguin slip into pantomine but he makes it work brilliantly without feeling at all like an impression. He is so believable he even makes the adult version more believable. Like, that is the same guy, give or take decades of grime and grit and scars, but that's still the same little turd, just before he was truly practiced in hiding his simmering resentment, but already fast learning.

"My big strong bull of a boy", words that in Episode 01 embody such a dark aspect to their relationship began all the way here with Francis simply encouraging her sad little kid with a bum leg. I said as much in prior entries that it's Francis who lights the fire under him, that she is the force that pushed him from mere self-preservation into city-conquering ambition for her sake, and we see the most innocent form of that motivation here. Just a disabled kid whose mom loved him and wanted him to love himself more.

So the previous episodes had already given us small glimpses of what Jack and Benny were like when they were still alive - that Jack was presumably the older sibling and a baseball player and the de-facto "man of the house", given how readily Francis accepted the idea that he had gone downtown on his own to get the power back, and that Benny was presumably younger and more innocent or sweet, given she mistakes Victor for Benny and asks him to dance with her. The opening scene very much confirms and expands on these traits and already raises up Ozzie having a resentment for them, and where does that come from. That cocktail of self-preservation and insecurity and spite and overcompensating that defines him.

Because it's not even just that his mom loves them and he wants her to love just him, it's not pure greed, it also comes back to how little he thinks of himself, and how he's hyper aware of every advantage others have over him - He can't be the upstanding man Jack is, and he can't be the pure innocent source of joy that Benny is. He can't be trusted to talk to Rex like Jack, and he can't successfully drag her away from work to have fun like Benny. He can't go out and be relied on to take care of his mom like good and strong old Jack, and he can't run around the house like sweet and happy little Benny, can't join the three of them when they play and instead has to sit there and stew in rejection over all this love and affection he can't have.

I didn't think we'd get a glimpse of Rex, but the one we get is so fucking perfect. What we see so far shows he was basically just a piece of shit gangster, a cartoonishly evil Greaser extra with nothing special about him, he was just a guy Oz projected hardcore into because he got stuff done for Ma (and he wasn't even great for his mom, he underpaid her! Same shit Victor complained about with his own dad). Oswald stares at his money and his cigar and his attitude and already wants to be chummy with the guy while Rex doesn't even look at him, he talks to Jack only, and Francis doesn't want Oswald to be involved with him. But even so, he's the closest Ozzie has to an older male role model he looks up to.

And so it doesn't matter that Rex Calabrese's car wasn't actually made of gold,, because Oswald will grow up to tell his next little brother, the next Benny, about the gold cadillac of the man who blessed his block. It doesn't matter that Alberto Falcone was 100% right about Rex Calabrese being just a small-time asshole, because Oz elevated him into a post-mortem myth.

Really, he's doing the same thing Sofia does and that Bruce did, elevating paternal figures into personal saints and guiding lights on their great life missions, with Bruce shattered when he learned about Thomas' mistakes and how said failings shaped everything currently wrong with the city, and Sofia describing her abused scared but loving mother as "a force too great for the Falcones to handle")

I think, way more than the murder, this is the part that most speaks to me about this guy being fated to become The Penguin, that on some level beyond explanation this is just what he was going to be, that he can already think of nothing else but wanting to be this guy. Dude came out of the womb wanting to be a criminal.

Crucially important to where this is going is the fact that there was real love between these brothers. They play flashlight tag instead of regular tag so that Ozzie can be included. Jack is constantly trying to protect him, always shielding him from Rex, warning him that he's a bad guy, taking the two in the tunnels to protect them from the rain, telling them that Ma deserves way better than what Mr.Calabrese plays them. Benny wants to play zombies with Ozzie, wants them to go to the arcade and play Double Dragon forever, puts him up first at tag. And even if all Ozzie wants is to stay and help Ma, even if all his brothers do is get in the way of the only thing he wants, he also wants to play with them, he wants for Benny to think that Rex's car is cool, he is proud to tell Jack that he knows about Rex being a gangster, he wants them to like the things he likes and he wants to be involved when they play.

Just as important is the extent to which Oz was genuinely hurt by what they did at the tunnel - that to him, they pretended to include him in a fair game that was actively unfair, they broke the rules by leaving the area and then broke them further by hiding somewhere he couldn't physically get to and cheating at what they agreed to and laughed all the while, and that's why Ozzie angrily closes the door on them at first, to punish them for doing this to him.

Everything they do here, even Oz's decision to lock the door on them, is childish, because they're just kids playing around. Jack and Benny even apologize and say they'll start over, but then, what will become the pattern of his entire life begins. Naturally, we hear a rendition of his theme when this happens.

KEVIN BRAY: I don't think that Oz had an intention of taking his brothers out in that moment. We've all known that child as a child. We've known the child that just strikes too hard or hits somebody with something and never thought the consequences would cut them open and they'd have to go get stitches. And he didn't have the impulse control, you know, to think this through. - The Penguin Podcast Episode 7

LAUREN LEFRANC: In his mind, they go down the ladder into a deeper part of the tunnel because they know it's hard for him to get down there. That's not true, but that's what he thinks, because he personalizes things. And this is reflective of what we see from Oz in 101 with Alberto. Alberto demeans him, and Oz impulsively shoots him. As the water begins to rise and he knows the rain is coming down and he has every opportunity to stop it, he lets that impulsive act become permanent. It's not that he actively kills his brothers. It's that he actively does nothing to stop it. - Inside Episode 7

Penguin with the Iceberg Lounge built atop the 44 Below where the fucked up shit he's covering up happens / Penguin with the Underground Railroad built atop the foundation of his original moiders he's covering up

Thinking about a description that stuck with me from the podcast, that Francis sent him like a stealth bomber into the world. So stealthy that he even bombed her life and she didn't notice

"They're your boys, and they're freezing" For the entire show this has haunted Francis again and again, even right in front of Oz

I kinda expected, given the Pain and Prejudice mention, that Oswald was going to be indirectly or directly responsible for killing his brothers, and that this was going to have a vastly better idea for that concept, and that it did. I've seen lots of people describe this as the show asserting he was ontologically evil from birth and that's, well that's just dumb, and that would be too easy, that attributes foresight and planning to Oz's decision that simply wasn't there, and wildly misunderstands much of the point of the show. Oswald is not beyond reason or empathy or humanity or feeling, precisely the opposite - he is all too painfully human, all too painfully real, in the atrocities he does and the ones he does nothing to stop.

He just is fearless, and I think it has to do with his empathy. You’re going to go, “God, I hate this guy, but I see where that comes from and that does not make it okay.” There’s a sense of tragedy within all of that. -Matt Reeves

Oswald's decision to lock his brothers in a fit of cruel and stupid spite after they insulted him (even if by accident) mirrors his decision to shoot Alberto after he's insulted and his decision to rat out Sofia after being insulted. Oswald walking home and deciding to do nothing while telling a different story, because it ultimately benefits him to do so, mirrors his decade of silence over Sofia's imprisonment and his complicity in Carmine Falcone's murders while telling Eve a different story. It is, indeed, the worst thing Oz has done yet, but nothing about it is fundamentally different than the patterns by which he's acted since Episode 1.

It wasn't that his brothers were mean, not intentionally anyway, or even Oswald was always planning to kill them, he very clearly wasn't. But A: They did something that really hurt and upset and offended him, and so were the first to find out what happens when you do that to Oz. And B: They were the first people to be in the way of something Oz wanted, the only thing he ever really wanted which is his mother's love, and so it's good they had to go. Not a premedidated crime, not even something he actively wanted, but it was a happy acident turned chance, and he wound up taking it and doubling down on it.

It's evil and fucked up to the degree I think works best for Penguin being evil and fucked up: Not sadistic and over-the-top cruel, not the Joker or any of that fetishistically elaborate revenge bullshit he's had since Joker's Asylum, but as someone who profoundly does not care about what he has to do or who gets crushed along the way for him to get what he needs. Does not go out of his way to murder for the sake of it, but will not blink at whatever body count happens to get him what he wants, more indifferent than actively malicious and that doesn't actually make it a lot better.

I believe Oz to this day still loves his brothers. I believe he means it when he says "I lost em too", it's just he doesn't think about the contradiction involved.

As someone who never liked the hypothermia/forced into always going out with an umbrella origin (always thought the latter one was real forced and dumb as far as justifications for the umbrella-theme went), it's cool they actually did incorporate that classic Penguin origin element so strongly here. In the broadest strokes possible, they managed to work in "Penguin's mother lost her family due to hypothermia and so her smothering concerns for Oswald pushed him into situations where he was frequently belittled and mistreated until he became more and more insecure and spiteful and twisted"

That's the cornerstone around which everything is built, the rest of his life. And it certainly is the foundation, or the springboard upon which he is launched into the world, that decision that he makes as a child in that moment, and the reasons why he does it – so that he can have the isolation of his mother's love directed solely towards him." I think he washes his hands of it totally, and has convinced himself that it didn't happen the way it did. It's that grave. But it's in there somewhere – the darkness. - Colin Farrell

Something I should bring up is also the Portuguese title given to this episode: instead of translating Top Hat (which would be Cartola), they called it Manda-Chuva. Manda-chuva is a conjoined slang term for boss, big shot, head honcho, that kind of thing, but it translates more literally to "Rain sender/commander" (Manda = order/sender, Chuva = rain). Like you're the guy who makes it rain in the village, you command the rain and everything else. Fucking excellently horrible name choice here, like it better than the original title.

To quote @book--wyrm

the juxtaposition of the tapdancing and the raindrops and the slamming and the shooting and then the hum of the TV and the buzz of the streetlights (get back home when those go on) and the rushing of the water into the grillthat shot of the jar outside the window, all filled up with water, two toys floating in themthe highest point in his life. when his mom is still happy and whole and he doesnt' have to share her untainted love and he doesnt' have to think about the consequences of what he's done while his brothers are drowning in a sewer under the city

him literally turning away from the camera after the shot of his brothers screaming underwater, turning away from who he might have been—the steady, honest man, and the bright, innocent child as they drown horrifically, to stare at a glitzed and glamoured version of who he will eventually become

Oswald's first crime, the first time he learns he can get what he wants by skipping the line. That he actually can have everything if he just does things a certain way. It's the first time he won, the first time he managed to take out his enemies/competitors and won what he wanted for it, pushing his brothers out of the nest so he could hog mama all to himself.

Nobody has to know, nothing that could be done, they hurt me first, it didn't happen like that, I deserve this, I'm making her happy, I can take care of her.

"The city took them."

All he was doing was punishing them for playing a mean hurtful prank on him. And then he went home. And then at some point realized they were not going to come back, but he kept going. Isn't it warm here, with Ma? Isn't it everything he ever wanted? Look at the tv, the man with the top hat dancing away the night. Isn't it cool when he shoots down everyone in the back? Isn't it cool, this larger-than-life thing he will map his life around, showing him how much it rules to be like this? His very own Mask of Zorro, in Fred Astaire shooting his back-up dancers, The Gentleman Criminal taking form as he commits the most horrific despicable betrayal of his life. The fantasy he will spent the rest of his life grasping for and projecting on pieces of shit like Rex Calabrese and Carmine Falcone in the hopes of one day taking their place, while he at every turn works to destroy and undermine it.

It sprung from a very base animal selfishness, resulting from a perfectly understandable childish impulse, carried to unimaginably horrific proportions set to define the rest of his life. Ozzie Cobb never wanted to murder his brothers, but he got away with it, because The Penguin can get away with anything.

Oswald commits his first spiteful horrific childish self-serving murder, on the same day a sharp-dressed backstabbing criminal in a top hat dances before him and his adoring mother. He's seeing his future, the reward he gets for his first crime, and he likes it very much.

LAUREN LEFRANC: Without it sounding cheesy, love matters to him, and that doing right by whatever the (mafia) family traditionally would do isn't the most important to him. And that there's a brazenness to it, that he can do what he wants, and he can be with who he wants, and he'll make his family a mixed family. And that there's strength in that as well. That makes him a different man than we may have seen in different iterations of Salvatore Maroni -The Penguin Podcast Episode 7

"Fuck your guilt, just bring me an army" - That singlemindedness that makes Oz such a piece of shit, while also making him someone that you can follow and even look up to, a guy who can plausibly sell himself as Da Good Boss. He doesn't give Victor shit for what happened to his Ma, won't hear excuses and he doesn't care for them, we gotta get this done now. Like at the grave scene in Ep3, he doesn't want Victor's apologies, he wants him to get his shit together if he's gonna stick around (by what he thinks is entirely Victor's choice). He has no time for guilt or second-guessing or a conscience, not his nor anyone else's.

"Gentleman" is a term that's only been brought up once in some episodes and in the most bitterly ironic tones possible, here turned against Oswald by Sal berating him for having betrayed his gentleman's promise and thus now he'll get the same deal, which helped put something in perspective: Sal Maroni is right, he is a gentleman. In fact, if anyone in the entire show, if anyone in Gotham, could be described as a "gentleman criminal" the way Oz so desperately aspires to be, it would be Salvatore. And not only does he fail partially because of that, but Oz has nothing but contempt for him, only sees him as a sentimental preening idiot (exactly the way Carmine did) and not only that, he will spend the remainder of the episode dragging him down to his level and causing him to die for it.

I love that Oz tries twice to turn Sal against Sofia and it never works, not even a little. Zero pretense that she's not in control and Sal is fine with it, he just wants Oz dead more than anything else.

Definitely a good time to bring up that, the first time the name Oswald Cobblepot was ever introduced was in the Batman Sunday Classics newspaper strip, issue #119 in 1946, in a story about The Penguin's aunt who raised him, Miranda Cobblepot, coming to visit him after ten years, and him begging Batman to not reveal to her that he's a crook and hold off on arresting him until she's out of town. It's the first time we were also shown anything about Oswald's background and a maternal figure in his life, here seen as comically overbearing as well as completely oblivious to his criminal life, helping fight off mobsters and leaving while telling him to help his good friend Batman take these hoodlums to jail.

Miranda never really showed up again outside of this strip, but some of these ideas eventually carried over to mainline depictions of Penguin's mom, namely his dutifulness towards her and her control over him and her total obliviousness to his criminal deeds, which has always defined her. I bring this up because, while we've obviously seen before that Francis is his confidant and knows and encourages her son's brutality, dancing in giddyness when she hears about the Falcones being killed by him, it's a brutal contrast to her telling Sofia here that yes, she knows full well about the worst thing he had done up until the opening of this episode, she knows he burned alive a mother hugging her son, and she couldn't be prouder. Even now, she is the ultimate force in Oswald's life, the only authority he answers to and his guiding motivation, even as we learn now she was his greatest victim.

Francis burns with such eternal undying spite and hatred, the force that turned her boy from simple self-loathing self-preservation into city-conquering ambition, and she burns so strongly she trounces The Hangman in a verbal boxing match and cracks the façade that will be later shattered in the episode. Francis is tragic and sympathetic and loving only because she is interrupted with bouts of crushing despair and guilt and delude love brought on by her illness literally forcing these feelings on her, because otherwise she would be as good as, if not better, han her son at this. At steamrolling everything and everyone fueled by hatred, and hers still burns strongly at everything and everyone, except the person who most ruined her life.

Dr.Rush subtly but very clearly suggesting having Gia killed, lmao. I think it's good to have just one total pathosless bastard in the proceedings, when every other character has so much tragedy and history and whatnot. He has 100% wholly sublimated his guilt over the Arkham atrocities he was a part of into a drive to help his victim Sofia no matter what, and not actually improve as a person or rectify the problems he was a part of, thus becoming someone who can justify any atrocity because he's doing it in the name of someone else he must avenge and do right by.

A thing that @davidmann95 brought up for last episode that became extremely relevant for this one

this ep also illuminated Oz's true power for me: he understands more than anyone else the power of This Fuckin' Guy, and thus builds all his rhetorical swerves and master plans around painting someone else as that

he can't make people stop hating him, but he can make anyone the person you hate slightly more

His power is hate and spite, as is true of the Penguin, as he gets from his Ma. The one that fuels him, and the one he can stoke on others. Every reason they gave on that meeting as to why he's the most hated crook in town was twisted into an additional reason why they should hate the people he's up against more. Here, Oz tries to turn Sal against Sofia, and it doesn't work, so he buys a distraction by reinforcing his status as That Fucking Guy. Sal has him dead to rights in every sense, and Oz stokes up so much hatred that the guy actually fucking dies from it.

Hey Vic, don't you hate that your parents died over nothing? Don't you hate that the Falcones get everything and you get nothing? Hey Sofia, don't you hate how these old bastards treat you? Don't you hate how our friend Alberto got killed? Hey Crown Point, don't you hate how you've been abandoned? Don't you wish there was someone helping you get back at the bastards that left you to rot? Hey Gangs of Gotham, don't you hate those bastards up town wiping you out even more than you hate me and each other? Hey Sal Maroni, don't you hate ME? Let me remind you of why you fucking hate me so badly your heart's gonna explode.

Brought this gentleman Salvatore down to his level so hard that he made classic Sal Maroni, the seething vengeful bastard who will burn your face off if it's the last thing he does, into existence.

CLANCY BROWN: Oz is an American. He wants to win, and he wants to win on his terms, and he wants everybody to know it. That's why he throws the body out, you know. He throws the body out, for crying out loud. That couldn't have been easy. He throws the body out where everyone can see it.

LAUREN LEFRANC: No one is seeing this happen, so that then you sense Oz's delusion, right? He's talking to a dead man, and then he shoots him anyway, because he wanted to shoot him because he wanted to. And so, he got what he wanted, and he made it happen, even though it's not actually the way he imagined it. And then, what Clancy's saying, he throws the body out and then takes credit, like, "I killed him. I did it." And from that point on, in Oz's mind, he killed Sal Maroni. There is no other alternative. No one else is going to know that Sal died on his own. This is part of Oz's constructed narrative. - The Penguin Podcast Episode 7

I love how Clancy Brown put it, that Sal was all heart and passion and rage and so eventually it just had to go out. Perfect death. He is not the guy who can burn himself forever in the name of vengeance, he is not Oz and Sofia, he is not a Batman villain - he's the guy who dies to make way for them, and here, he dies denying Oz the satisfaction of taking him out. C'mahn man, twice already the big bad bosses of Gotham die before he gets to actually kill them, first Carmine and now this. Popping punk scrub bitch Alberto just wasn't that satisfying, and Sofia's just making everything too weird. With the Falcones gone, this was the guy he wanted to genuinely brag about killing to his mom, and now it's just gonna be another lie and delusion that Oz spins into reality.

Also further contextualizes why Oz is gonna be the guy who picks fights with Mr Vengeance. All he wants is to prove himself, but all his biggest opponents so far died on him before he could get satisfaction. He's happy to profit from the ring and from taking credit for killing Sal, and he may even rewrite his memory so as to delusionally believe he actually killed Sal, but the truth of that moment was personally wildly unsatisfying. He needs to be the big shot who clawed his way up there, he needs to be alone at the top, and he needs to push everyone out of the nest, like he did his brothers.

The station coin he pulls out of the car attached to his lie that the city took his brothers, and the ring he pulls out of the same car with the lie that he killed Sal Maroni

Just once in his life, he wants to say "I got you, I FUCKING GOT YOU!" to a big bastard who thinks they're better than him and died by his hand, and to actually mean it and have it stick, no asterisks attached.

Rules that even before we can fully understand how deep in Batman Villain territory she is, Sofia is dressing up in wild hair and black furs and heavy eye to visit Gia. It is still visibly her covering up and dressing more conservatively than her past outfits, but she is so inseparable from her trademarks at this point that she goes to a children's mental hospital looking like she's hunting down the Baudelaire orphans for their inheritance money.

Sofia fully replicating the same attitude that was weaponized against her to cover up her mother's murder, and then when she sees the scars and realizes the degree to which she's created another Sofia, pivots instead to embracing her while telling her as openly as possible that yeah, I killed your mom and dad, you should be happy I did, they were scum, please be happy I murdered your family, you're free now like me. She won't accept becoming the same monster that they were to her, so instead she opts to become a different one.

As much as Eve was wrong about Sofia being the Hangman, she was right that she thinks in black and white: her worldview is based around compartmentalizing everyone between Victims and Victimizers. She very much placed Eve in the latter category at first and everything she was doing in that conversation at first, prodding her about performing for men, about her relationship with Oz, about her shallow lies to men, about being good at saying what people want to hear, seeing her as an extension of Oz, everything was to confirm and strengthen her already existing bias and intent to kill her, until The Hangman came and in part she realized that killing Eve would firmly make her a Victimizer.

Everyone she has killed up until this point? Victimizer. Alberto, who was very much complicit and aware of the fucked up shit Carmine did? Victim, because maybe he couldn't have known, he fought to keep her alive and get her out, she loved him, and he was killed by a Victimizer. The Crown Point followers of Oz she'll bomb later in the episode? Victimizers. Julian Rush? Victimizer, but he knows his place. Sal Maroni? Victimizer turned Victim. Oswald? Victim turned Victimizer a decade ago. Francis shook her up, but she can still justify doing horrific things to a mentally ill woman because she raised the monster who did all of this to her and is proud to have done so, ergo, Victimizer. But in Gia, her comic book view of morality shatters, because she's confronted with a Victim who is so because Sofia was her Victimizer and this is not fixable.

And to her detriment, Sofia has enough of a conscience to be aware that she created another Sofia, and so she speedruns self-awareness and reverts to the old Sofia, which causes her to start dying on the spot under the weight of everything that has happened to her and she's become. And so it falls to Dr.Rush to actually do what he should have always done for her and save her, as well as put her back on tracks to do the most fucked up thing she has ever done, steering her back into the mindset she needs to survive this.

She wants two wildly contradictory things, she wants to be free from it all and she wants her eternal revenge on her nemesis and she will forsake the former in pursuit of the latter. Her most sincere desire is freedom and peace away from this fucked up world her dad created for her, but she will never make it if she stops, and the only way she will make it is if she buries the part of her father's legacy that is still actively around and ruining her life. All she wants is to be free and she never will be until she kills him, until she kills everything he embodies in her life, and in her quest to kill him, she will most likely throw it all away.

As @book--wyrm put it, "Oswald is pursuing his dreams, and Sofia is running away from a nightmare". Sofia dreams of Arkham, of the yellow wallpaper, of Magpie chanting Haaangman inside endless dark metal walls. She dreams of her mother's corpse, of being hanged and murdered in her place, of Alberto's murder, and everything that causes her to scratch and tear at herself until she wakes up. Oswald? He dreams of Fred Astaire tap dancing and shooting his back-up dancers, and to even think of anything else is unthinkable. Nothing else matters.

But in spite of struggling with a conscience and an understanding of morality that Oz fundamentally lacks, I also like that Sofia is more imaginative in her cruelty than he is. She is sadistic to a careful, measured, elaborate extent Oz hasn't really learned to be yet. Even the burning of Nadia and Taj, as horrible and sadistic and premeditated as it is, was still rooted in self-preservation and a failsafe in case they backed out on the deal and petty revenge for stealing his shit and ruining his deal. But Sofia took the time to have Dr.Rush hypnotize Francis so they could learn the most thematically appropriate location to torture and kill the two and then engineered an outcome just to psychologically torture him before blowing him up, knowing he'd find a way to survive even that and setting this up just to flush him out of hiding.

For those keeping score at home, in this episode, Sofia Gigante attacked his sidekick with a crowbar, sicced her goons to beat him up and steal his shit, kidnapped his mom and had her sidekick, the Arkham doctor who begged to be her Harley Quinn, do hypnotic mental torture on her, baited Oz into a trap within a trap within a fake surrender and with an accompanying speech about how the old game is gone and she is playing new ones, bombed his Batcave and his loyal army, banked on him surviving that so she could send someone to pick him off as he escaped, and is now taking him and his mom to a showdown at a deeply and thematically important place for them, which is also a fucking theater by the way. I've been raving about her being the real Batman Villain of the show since Episode 03 but at this point, she is more Joker than the actual Joker in this saga. She's fully thrown herself into happily and merrily pulling a grand horrible caper on him and his entire life and everything he cares about with little practical consideration to her own criminal empire but extensive thought given into the panache and thematic meaning of what she's doing, it's amazing.

Fun thing to think about, whether Oz would have left Victor to die down there along with everyone else, or really just if he would have bothered to warn him before he bolted to the hole made just for him. We've already seen Oz quickly sell out one of Victor's friends out to die, someone who could have been Victor himself if he had gotten away. We've already seen in the burning of Taj and Nadia how monstrous Oz can be without Victor around. And now here we see how quickly and efficiently Oz can ditch all "the good people of Crown Point", the people who actively put themselves in danger to save him from Sal, to die at a moment's notice.

Credit to @book--wyrm for pointing how the bottom two rungs of the ladder he climbs are broken. The first two bodies he ever climbed over to get what he wants.

And thus we see by their last scene together how Oswald and Francis's present relationship began. The moment he transformed into the amalgamate of everything she lost and needed in her life, when he needed to step and be everything that Jack and Benny and dad and Rex had to be for her, because it's just the two of them now and forever, Kids raised by financially struggling single mothers often very much have to pull double or triple duty and work to compensate for much of what a husband or uncle or support network are supposed to do (speaking from personal experience here), and so from an early age Oswald already had to transform into the character he'd play as an adult.

He has to be the replacement man of the house who leaves her to get shit done for her, and he has to be her sweet boy who tends to her emotional needs, and he has to be her big strong bull of a boy who survived and stuck around and now grounds her in reality so she won't lose herself, and he has to be the provider and caretaker that her husband failed to be, and he has to be her Rex Calabrese who won't take shit from anyone and make sure she gets what she asks for even if it's by illegal underhanded means, and it's too much. Following his first crime and his first victory, we thus get the first moment that Oz began to spin far too many plates to keep his life in one piece and avoid consequences for the shit he put himself and someone else in.

He broke her due to his need for her love, and she broke him due to her need for his love. He turned her selfish and cruel and broken like him, and she turned him into someone who would never, ever grow up and change past this. Oswald's maturity and Francis' hopes died with the two and now, as Oz said to Benny 2 back in Episode 3, "there is just this - survival".

So obviously the climax of the show / Oz's relationship with his mom is gonna happen in a theater club, of course. Of course it's the same place that he swore as a child his eternal mission to do right by her.

Though he lacks the money and the umbrella gadgets and bird armies and supervillain resources, they've managed to firmly establish what the Penguin has in extreme abundance, the superpowers in his soul that allowed him to make his way through the world and win.

Ozzie's failings are human failings, Ozzie's attitudes are human attitudes, everything done in the flashback, even the closing of the door, was fixable. But The Penguin is unmatched at getting away, with an almost preternatural ability to fuck people over to get ahead, to slip from a catastrophe and land right into another one. This is a guy who is, in his own way, every bit the absurd uncanny freak that any other version of Oswald Cobblepot has ever been, and if his lack of evening wear and verbosity makes him distinct from classically-flavored Penguins, everything that matters to the character is and always has been there.

This is a guy who is better than anyone at "the wiley schemes and the quick, last minute escapes, who always has a trap door, an unbrellachute, some other trick up his sleeve to thwart and evade his dark nemesis at the eleventh hour". This is a guy deep in unshakeable childish delusion and devotion to the hustle, who burns a bottomless black hole of ambition in his gut and who was born with cigarette ash for blood and a top hat instead of a heart. He may not have been born evil, but he was born ready. Ready to be the embodiment of Gotham's criminal element, to be a child's idea of a master criminal in much the same way Batman is a child's idea of crimefighter, born ready to do this shit forever and ever.

[ordowrites]

curses, curses, blessings?

cw: some swearing, Wanderer is referred to as 'Wanderer' in this and sometimes "Hat Guy", some pining, banter, mild flirting, Wanderer being terrible with feelings, this is just crack so there's very little logic behind it, hybrid-ish reader (-ish), gn!reader, minors dni, mdni, SFW, extremely mild but referenced yandere tendencies (possessiveness/obsessiveness, mentions of stalking), user has an Electro Vision, reader is Not the traveler, possible OOC-ness

notes: i hope i didn't make him sound too rude in this fic - i'm still trying to get a taste on how to write him. but enjoy this li'l crack fic while i die in the summer heat~!

summary: in which you encounter an issue and the Wanderer sometimes has issues with keeping is mouth shut.

You were told by your team to not go on your own - to wait until everyone was ready to go but honestly, it was a simple investigation into something strange that had recently appeared. The Traveler was due to arrive in a few days, but you chose to go on ahead to scout and make sure everything was in order.

Unfortunately for you, the Abyss Order had been involved and unfortunately for you, magic went awry and what was supposed to be an easy take down of a Pyro Abyss Magic became something else. Sure, the Abyss Mage was defeated, in the end but at what cost, really?

Your pride, that's what. You could cover the obvious triangular ears on your head but not the tail, so of course you'd hurry through the streets in hopes of nobody stopping you and talking to you. You mostly didn't want any sort of I told you so's from the rest of your team you'd have been working with for this stupid class you're sure you're going to fail anyways.

Relieved that nobody stopped to talk to you - though you're sure you saw Kaveh staring at you - you were able to make it to your destination without too much of an issue. And that's why you're now hunkered down in the library, books scattered everywhere in hopes of finding a way to undo the magic the Abyss Mage casted upon you.

"I didn't know you could read."

Great, your day just got even better. You don't want to look up but you do - the Wanderer, Hat Guy as most people call him, stands there with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What do you want?" You ask with a heavy sigh. Engaging with him is difficult and you're already too busy to focus on him. You hear a soft hmph from him and roll your eyes. "I'm busy, Hat Guy."

"What are you reading?" He sounds so irritated with that nickname and you grin to yourself. "I was told to come and fetch you." He finally elaborates, when you refused to answer his question. It sounds like a lie - he often seems to appear when you're in trouble, upset, or just milling about and always has an excuse for it. But that is a thought for another time. "'cause apparently some idiot when to these strange ruins by themself."

"Well that idiot was merely a curious scholar."

He scoffs at your answer. "Now that I've answered your question, answer mine."

"Why are you so interested in what I'm reading? I thought you were allergic to social interactions." You quip back, looking up at him now with a blank expression. "But if you're actually dying to know, I'm just reading up on...abnormal curses."

"Abnormal...curses?"

"Yup." And without a thought, you look back down.

"That's stupid."

"What is?"

"Why are you reading on abnormal curses? What, did you anger some god?"

You heave a sigh. It can't hurt to tell him, right? Or well, show him. If nothing else, the Wanderer simply just lives and let live and he won't laugh at you. With great reluctance, you pull down the hood of your cloak, letting your cute, furry ears pop up. He stares at you with those pretty violet eyes of his, and watch his mouth quirk a bit. A soft snort from him, followed by a soft heh.

"I'll punch you." You threaten, uselessly.

"What happened?" So you recount your little expedition and he listens somewhat politely - clearly struggling to not make fun of you for your appearance, his eyes still on the fluffy ears. When you finish, he has yet to look away. "Hm. Fascinating."

"Any clue to undo it?"

"How would I know? Abyss power is weird and I'm not sure why an Abyss Mage would do this type of curse."

"Me neither." You let out a heavy sigh. "Guess I'll have to wait it out."

"Yeah," Hat Guy says with a nod. "Guess you will." His eyes have not left your ears for even just a moment.

"You hardly stare at Tighnari like this." You mention, after a moment and his face goes red as he looks away. "Aw, do you like them?"

When the Wanderer refuses answer you, you can only heave a sigh and close the thick book shut. It's time to put your mess away and call it quits - you're very surprised, however, when he starts helping you.

He grins when he uses his own Vision to hover in the air, to reach the higher spots and you glare up at him. Show off is what you think as he lands too gracefully on his feet.

You wonder if you should thank him - he's looking like he's expecting something.

"Thanks, I guess." You turn to leave, grabbing your bookbag as you go. "Will keep looking for ways to undo this tomorrow..."

"For what it's worth, I think you look cute like that."

"I'm sorry?" You stop dead in your tracks to turn to look at him. Did you hear him right? Did he compliment you? The Wanderer, who only ever seems to enjoy riling you up? You stare at him.

For a moment, it looks like he's about to backtrack on his words and pretend he did not say anything so kind to you.

"You heard me." Wanderer answers, gruffly as he crosses his arms over his chest. "What're you gonna do about it?" Now it's your turn to blush and you clear your throat as you fumble to find the right words, a snarky comeback, anything but you can't. Not when he's looking directly at you and with more of an earnest look than he has since you two met. "If it were up to me, you'd keep them."

As he's talking, the Wanderer is already walking away. He stops. "You coming or what?"

"Where are we going?"

"Dinner? Geez, how did you get into the Akademiya?"

You shake your head and quietly follow him, mulling over his offhand compliment. Unconsciously, you reach up towards the ears and gingerly touch them.

Maybe they won't be so bad?

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 9

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 3.4k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut, vaguely referenced past abuse

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 9: A Tale of Three Swords

You sat at the worn wooden table in the bustling galley, your foot tapping impatiently against the floor as you picked at your breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the alluring scent of Sanji's cooking, but your mind was elsewhere, consumed with thoughts of the forge awaiting your return.

The door creaked open, and one by one, the members of the Straw Hat crew trickled into the room, their voices rising in animated chatter as they greeted each other with hearty laughs and wide smiles. Luffy bounded in first, his infectious energy filling the room as he plopped down beside you, his stomach growling loudly in anticipation of the meal to come.

Nami followed, today’s news under her arm as she settled herself not far from you, her sharp eyes flicking between the articles and the crew members gathered around the table. Usopp joined her, his eyes landing on your anxious form.

“You alright, (Y/n)?” He asked.

You offered him a weak smile. “I’m fine, Usopp.” You replied your tone more curt than intended. “Just itching to get back to work” you explained.

Nami shot you a sympathetic glance from across the table, her expression softening with understanding. “I know it’s hard, but you need to listen to Chopper” She chided gently as she turned the page she was reading.

You sighed. “I know, I know,” you muttered, stabbing at your food with more force than necessary.

You didn’t see Nami blanch, only looking up after Robin asked her what was wrong. Your wanted poster had fallen out of the pages of the newspaper.

1 billion Berry.

You knew it was coming. It still didn’t soften the blow.

“Pass me that, would you?” You asked with a small smile, gesturing at the newspaper Nami was holding.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea” She said meekly.

Ah. It was bad then.

“I’ll be alright, Nami” you assured her, prying the paper out of her grip.

The Blacksmith of Hell joins the Straw Hat Pirates after annihilating a marine base. You snorted. Blacksmith of hell? They couldn’t come up with something… better? You continued reading, your eyes settling on the phrase ‘No survivors’. You hadn’t held out much hope, but you’d still wished for something else.

You handed back the papers to Nami, trying to keep the inner turmoil of your emotions off your face. “Not too tempted to turn me in? Imagine the things you could buy with a billion Berry” You joked, the mirth in your voice not reaching your eyes.

Nami’s expression shifted, a mixture of concern and empathy etched across her features. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said firmly, her voice tinged with indignation. She started to say something else, but you cut her off, not wanting to have the conversation she was heading towards.

“What’s all of you guys’ bounties anyways?” you asked in fake cheerfulness.

It seemed to distract them enough. You listened half-mindedly at their responses and arguing. You leaned back as you watched Zoro settle in front of you.

“What about you, swordsman?” You asked him after everyone had answered.

“120 million,” he said under his breath.

“That’s it?” You snorted.

He scowled.

You made a quick tally in your mind. “So… I’ve more than doubled your collective bounty.”

Zoro’s expression darkened at your remark, his jaw clenching visibly as he shot you a withering glare. “Don’t get too cocky, Witch,” he retorted, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. “Bounties don’t mean a damn thing when it comes down to it.”

You raised an eyebrow in amusement, unfazed by his hostility. “Oh, I’m well aware,” you replied, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “But it’s still amusing to think about, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about it (Y/n)! I’m going to surpass you in no time.” Luffy exclaimed.

You laughed. “I’m counting on it, Luffy. Makes no sense for a blacksmith to have a higher bounty than their captain’s”

You pushed your empty plate away from you before leaning forward, an evil glint in your eyes. “Let me study your swords, Mr. 120 million” You demanded.

His eye twitched. “No.”

The crew’s attention went back to what they’d been doing, uncaring of the familiar argument about to take place.

“Aw, come on! I’m not allowed in my forge! Let me study your swords, swordsman” You said with exasperation.

“If you think I’m letting you close to my swords, you’re out of your mind, witch” He retorted, crossing his arms in defiance.

“Do you have to be such an asshole about it?” you asked, condescension lacing your tone. “I’m bored out of my fucking mind, let me study them!”

“Your temper tantrum isn’t going to change my mind, brat” he snarled.

“Brat?” You screeched. That was a new one. “Please, swordsman, I’m clearly older than you.” You scoffed looking him up and down. “I bet you can’t even grow a beard, you fuckin child.”

His eye narrowed at your taunt. “I’ll consider it if you let me hold that sword of yours” he turned the table of the argument on you.

You scowled. “You’re insane if you think I’ll let you do that.”

Zoro leaned in, his gaze unwavering. “Let me hold it.” He demanded.

“That’s enough, you two” Chopper’s voice cut in, stopping the argument as he entered the galley. “(Y/n) you need rest, not… this” He gestured frantically at the two of you. “Try to get along for once.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms defiantly. “Fucking glorified sword rack with an attitude” you muttered under your breath looking at the swordsman unabashedly.

“Temperamental witch” He muttered back, looking away.

Chopper’s exasperated expression mirrored your own frustration. With a sigh you apologized to the small reindeer, unable to withstand the guilt you felt at not listening to the doctor.

You watched as the sun lowered on the horizon. You hadn’t been able to shake off your anxiety nor the contents of the article out of your mind all day long. Everyone had unsuccessfully tried to distract you throughout the day. It was kind of them, but your mind was stuck on your forge, hands itching to create. You groaned, longingly looking at your workbench, visible through the doorway. With hesitant steps, you went in. Your eyes landed on your hammer.

“Soon” You told it, fingers grazing the hilt.

Instead, you turned towards the swords, displayed on the wall. They seemed to call to you. Without much thought, you grabbed them. Turning around, your eyes landed on the pile of steel. You yearned to take one in your hands, but you stopped yourself. Not yet. A deep, frustrated grunt escaped your lips as you turned away, your steps heavy with reluctance.

You made your way to the kitchen instead, the comforting smell of the sea air mingling with the faint aroma of cooking drifting from within. You entered the well organized room, the dim light casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. Sanji was surprisingly out. You grinned at the luck of your timing. You clenched your swords under your arm, careful not to accidentally bump into the various objects in your path as you made your way towards the pantry. Your eyes scanned the shelves, searching for something, anything, to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. Your hand reached out, fingers grazing the cool ceramic of a bottle of sake tucked away on the top shelf.

A small, relieved smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you retrieved the bottle, the promise of its contents offering a fleeting respite from the turmoil of your thoughts. With careful hands, you uncorked the bottle, the soft pop of the cork releasing a tantalizing aroma that filled the air with warmth and comfort.

“I wouldn’t let Chopper catch you with that” You froze, the bottle of sake suspended in your hand as Sanji's voice cut through the silence of the kitchen. With a quick, guilty glance over your shoulder, you found the cook leaning casually against the doorframe, his trademark cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

A sheepish grin spread across your face as you turned to face him, the bottle of sake held aloft like a guilty trophy. "You caught me," you admitted with a chuckle, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping into your cheeks.

Sanji's expression softened, his stern demeanor giving way to a knowing smile. "I won't tell if you won't," he said with a wink, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Relief flooded through you at his easy acceptance, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you recorked the bottle in your hands "Thanks, Sanji," you replied gratefully, a genuine smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He waved off your thanks with a casual flick of his hand, his attention already drifting back to the stove where a pot of something sweet was bubbling away. "Just don't make it a habit," he admonished lightly, his tone tinged with mock seriousness.

You made your way out of the kitchen, looking both ways to make sure the small doctor wasn’t in sight. Satisfied, you let the door close behind you, eyes searching for a good hideout to wallow in your self-pity. The crow’s nest. Yes. That would be good.

You clumsily ascended the ladder, the bottle of sake and your three swords teetering precariously in your grip with each rung climbed. As you reached the top, you pushed open the trap door and peeked into the makeshift gym. The space was empty, only the soft hum of the wind against the windows shattering the silence around you.

Perfect.

With a triumphant grin, you collapsed against the wooden wall, the bottle of sake cradled in your arms like a precious treasure. You set your three swords in front of you in a neat row. Fingers fumbling, you uncorked the bottle and took a long, satisfying swig of sake, the fiery liquid warming you from the inside out.

As the sweet burn of alcohol danced down your throat, you couldn't help but let out a contented sigh, the stress and tension of the day melting away with each passing moment.

Just as you started to get lost in the comforting haze of drunkenness, the trap door creaked open, familiar green hair emerging. Zoro ascended the ladder with his usual nonchalance, his three swords strapped to his side, two bottles of cheap booze in his hand. His eye flickered with mild annoyance upon spotting you, but he said nothing, opting to lean against the opposite wall.

“Couldn’t find a better spot to get drunk?” he remarked, his tone laced with a mixture of boredom and irritation.

You shot him a mocking smile. “Thought I’d enjoy some peace and quiet. Can’t even take a shit without Chopper worrying about it.”

A snort of amusement escaped Zoro as he took a swig from his bottle, the bob of his throat catching the dim light.

Feeling the warmth of the sake coursing through your veins, you erupted into a drunken exclamation. "Ah! If you breathe a word about this to anyone, I'll kill you, swordsman." Your words slurred slightly, the alcohol adding a playful edge to your threat.

Zoro’s eyebrow raised in mild amusement as he took another sip. “I won’t” he said. “Besides you couldn’t land a hit on me even if you tried.”

Your lips curved in a mischievous grin, the effects of the sake making your movements sluggish. “Oh you’d be surprised” You slurred trying to get up unsuccessfully. “I’ve got more tricks up my sleeve than you give me credit for.” You let yourself slump back down.

The swordsman let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “That so?”

The unfamiliar sound of his laughter brought a soft heat on your cheeks before you let out a small laugh at your own condition. “Maybe not right now, and I’m actually shit with swords, so probably not with that but I bet I could land a punch…probably.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You know” you slurred, eyes falling down to the bottle in your hands. “I think you’re a real pain in the ass.”

His brows furrowed in annoyance at your words. His jaw clenched tightly as he glared at you. “Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual” he shot back, tone bitter.

You scoffed, taking a sip of sake. “But you know what?” You whispered against the bottle, your words barely audible over the sound of the wind. “Despite everything, I still think you’re a damn good swordsman.”

Zoro’s expression softened slightly at the unexpected compliment, his features relaxing into a reluctant grin. “And you’re a damn good swordsmith for a temperamental witch.” He muttered, his tone gruff yet oddly genuine.

You smiled.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you.

“What’s with the swords?” He asked after a while.

You looked up at him, an odd look in your eyes. “I thought I should have a conversation with these three” you said after long deliberation. “But I haven’t found what I’ve been wanting to say just yet.”

Zoro arched an eyebrow skeptically. “A conversation with your swords?” He repeated, his tone incredulous. “Are you that drunk, or did I miss something about talking weapons?”

You giggled, the alcohol making everything seem funnier than it was. “Not exactly talk” You start to explain. “But, if you learn to listen, steel will talk back to you. Each one has its own personality, its own spirit.”

Your gaze was soft as your eyes surveyed the swords before you.

“I think I know what you mean” He muttered softly.

“I’ve made over a thousand swords you know.” You said eyes not leaving the blades. “But these three are the only ones I’ve made with haki.”

He didn’t say anything.

“What I do... It’s a dangerous process.” You continued. “If I’m not careful, if I don’t control it well enough or if my attention wanders, the steel sucks in my own life force.”

You spot the slight shift in the stance of the swordsman as he listened to your words.

“My teacher figured that early on, but he was a greedy man.” Your gaze seemed far away as memories filled your eyes.

 Zoro’s eye remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable as you spoke, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air between you. The soft glow of the moon highlighted the sharp features of his face.

You took another swig of sake, the warmth of the alcohol soothing the ache in your chest as you continued to share your thoughts with the swordsman. “Now that I look back, I was still just a child when he asked me to forge Uragiri. But when he asked me to forge him a sword, I was so proud. Proud that he would deem my skills good enough for him to carry it.”

Your hand went to the first sword before you. “I didn’t really understand the consequences back then, so I poured my soul into making this one.” You unsheathed it slightly. The gleam of the black blade reflected the moonlight. The air seemed to still for a moment. “If I had to guess, this one cost me at least three years of my life.” You twirled the blade in your hands, testing the balance. “It’s a beautiful blade, but it’s got a strong will. Very few can handle it.”

You looked back at the swordsman. “They’re not unlike cursed swords, you know.” You sheathed back the sword in your hand. “Ultimately, it drove him mad.” You took a pause, guilt, regret. You put back the sword before you. “He became violent after wielding it for a while. My sister took the brunt of it, but when we tried to escape, he shackled me to the forge. That’s when he made me make Yokubari.” Your eyes shifted to the infamous sword before you, taking it in your hands. Your fingers danced on the pommel for a few moments before wrapping against the silk wrap.

Zoro’s eye widened in alarm as he watched you unsheathe Yokubari, his hand instinctively reaching for one of his swords. The air crackled with tension as you allowed the sword’s power to wash over you, your haki merging with the blade’s soul in a familiar waltz.

For a moment, the crow’s nest seemed to pulse with the weight of Yokubari, its presence palpable in the air. Zoro’s grip tightened on Wado Ichimonji, his muscle coiled like a spring as he remembered his encounter with the sword.

“Don’t worry, I’m drunk, not dumb” you said with a chuckle at his reaction. You set the scabbard on the floor before bringing your hand alongst the sharp edge of the blade. “What happened back at the base…it was an accident. I lost control of my body before I could bring it into control.” There was sorrow in your gaze as you remembered your mistake. Your thumb danced too close to the edge, a bead of blood forming against your skin. “Yokubari and I, we’re one and the same. It’s a result of the suffering I endured at the time. Sometimes I wonder how many years of my life forging this blade has taken away from me… but I think I’d rather not know.”

The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air, the gravity of your words sinking into the swordsman’s consciousness like lead in water.

“In the end, his own greed killed him, when he tried to wield this stubborn sword.” You sheathed Yokubari with a bitter smile. “It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

You took a gulp of the sake, trying to make the ball of emotion in your throat disappear.

“It took me years before I made a sword again.” You pointed at the third sword before you. “Shiawase is the kindest of these three. Doesn’t mean it’s not a temperamental bitch though” You chuckled. “By the time I made it, I’d mastered the process of infusing steel with haki without much consequences but the process of making a blade of this quality is long. It took almost everything out of me.”

Zoro took a swig of his own bottle, his eye not leaving yours. “So.. that one.” He gestured towards Yokubari. “It’s the most troublesome one of the lot?”

You snorted. “That’s all you got out of the whole story?” Your tone was laced with irritation. “It’s not necessarily the most troublesome, but it’s the one that’ll kill you the fastest” You answered anyways.

Zoro’s eyebrow arched as he listened to your blunt response, a smirk playing on his lips. You tried to take a swig out of your bottle, only to find it empty.

“Damn it” You muttered under your breath.

“Here” He tossed you the unopened bottle next to him. The gesture saying more than he knew how to say.

You caught the bottle with a sloppy grab, the alcohol inside it sloshing as you fumbled to open it. Zoro observed your tipsy struggle, a subdued chuckle slipping past his stoic facade. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he reached over, his weathered fingers skillfully unscrewing the cap before casually handing it back to you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, bringing the bottle to your lips for a long, liberating sip. The alcohol hit your senses with an unexpected intensity, a fiery burn coursing down your throat. It was strong. As you lowered the bottle, you glanced up at Zoro, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Now that you know what an amazing blacksmith I am," you began, your words carrying a hint of playful arrogance, "why don't you consider letting me delve into the secrets of your swords?"

Zoro responded with an exasperated eye roll, the subtlest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'll let you study them," he replied, his voice surprisingly soft, "on the condition that you allow me to wield yours."

Caught off guard, whether by the alcohol-induced haze or the unexpected warmth in his tone, you found yourself responding with an uncharacteristically contemplative tone.

"I'll... consider it," you admitted, a surprising openness in your words that lingered in the air like a shared secret between two souls navigating the blurry lines of camaraderie.

A comfortable silence settled over you as you both took a swig out of your respective bottles.

“Glorified sword rack with an attitude was a good one” he admitted, shattering the silence.

You laughed, a clear cheerful din reverberating on the windows of the crow’s nest.

He smiled.

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Masterlist

[padfootagain]

Black Dog Neighbour

Hi everyone ! Today, we’re answering a request made for my 6k followers event by @nobodyshomearchive : “hi hello lovely xxi have been hooked to your blog lately, and to say that is an understatement in all honesty. congratulations on 6k followers <33 so for your celebration can i get an enemies to lovers (ouh massive surprise 👀) with sirius black (preferably post azkaban but it's okay if you don't want to!) cause i'm literally so head over heels for that man. and i'm loving your something good series :) again, congrats and feel free to ignore the request if you don't feel like writing it/it doesn't hit your creative spot.

have a great day/night hun <;3”

Thank you so much for your request, and I hope you like this! I didn’t do post-azkaban Sirius, because he doesn’t exist in my brain. I have been in denial for so long, the Potters are living their best lives, didn’t you know?!

Anyway, still went for post-Hogwarts and post-war Sirius, simply didn’t include anything referencing to Azkaban or… anything canon compliant, to be fair. But as per usual for me when it comes to this character…

Hope you like this! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader

Warnings: A small warning for an ex being an arse and showing up drunk on your doorstep (there’s nothing violent, but you do physically push him away, so heads up on that, just in case). But the rest’s cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute!!!

Summary: God, you hate that guy next door. Bloody annoying neighbour with his noisy motorcycle, his loud friends, his annoying laugh, his charming smile, his amazing hair, his effortless way to sport sexy leather jackets. He’s insufferable, you hate him to bits. The fact that he’s a talented wizard who can magically change into a dog to guard your door when your ex comes bothering you again will not change your first impression in the slightest, by the way. You still hate him to guts. Probably…

Word count: 4592

Sirius Black Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Sirius fucking Black.

Your neighbour, aka worst enemy, aka the person you despise the most on earth.

He is loud. He is annoyingly pretty. He is getting on your fucking nerves... again!

Of course, it is Friday night, which means that his stupid friends are over for a “boys’ night”. What a scam…

In consequence, you are currently casting sound-proofing spells all over your walls in an attempt to shush their idiotic laughs. And especially Sirius’s; his unmistakable bark-like laughter, loud and boisterous and absolutely prone to draw a grin from your face even if you don’t mean to. By Agrippa’s hat, you will soon either cut his throat or call for an auror. Or maybe you could burst into his apartment and shout into his face just so he can see how bloody annoying that is. Or kissing him to shut him up sounds like a plan, too…

You shake your head, grinning at your own genius idea. Sirius and his friends are being rudely loud again, when you have already told them a thousand times – which is to say every Friday for the last six months, since Sirius moved in the apartment next to yours – that the walls in this old building of Diagon Alley are too thin, that you can hear everything going on in Sirius’s apartment despite sound-proofing spells… and that they need to keep it down past 11pm because you have work the next day. The absolute dread of working in retails does not, by any means, spare the Wizards and Witches of this world…

You look through your apartment for the object that would make the most noise. You give a few items a try, but settle for the good old pan and spoon. Ha, what precious allies these two are, never failing you.

You add a little spell to amplify sounds – just for good measure – find some earplugs, and then proceed to bang the shit out of that pan, right by your common wall with Sirius’s apartment.

It goes on for five full minutes before you manage to catch the quietened sound of something against your door…

And sure enough, when you stop and take your earplugs out, someone is banging at your door.

“Y/N!” a voice that you easily recognize shouts. “STOP THIS FUCKING NOISE!”

You open the door wide, and have to bend to the side to avoid Sirius’s fist as it misses the door.

“Merlin! Sorry! You’re okay? I didn’t touch you, right?” Sirius asks with anger instantly replaced with worry.

“I have amazing reflexes.”

And anger is back into his dark grey eyes again...

“What the fuck are you doing in there?! Are you mental?!”

“I don’t know, Sirius. I didn’t notice anything over the cacophony of your friends shouting into my ears all night!”

His jaw clenches, and you hate yourself for noticing the trembling of the muscle there, and finding it terribly attractive…

“And you had to make all this ruckus instead of simply walking three meters to my door and nicely ask us to shut our mouths because…?”

“Because I’ve asked you dozens of times, this has been going on for fucking months, Sirius!”

He rolls his eyes, and Merlin do you want to punch him straight across the jaw… his very sharp, very pretty jaw…

“We’re just having a nice evening…”

“And I am trying to sleep!”

“It’s barely midnight!”

“I work tomorrow, you asshole!”

“Ermm… guys?”

“WHAT?!” you both exclaim, turning to face a shy-looking Remus.

“Sorry about the noise, Y/N. We’ll be more careful next time. We’ll leave for the evening.”

“You don’t have to leave…” Sirius complains, but James is already walking out, helping a drunk Peter to cross the corridor.

“It’s late, anyway. Lily’s gonna worry, I was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago,” James argues, and Sirius has to yield.

“Alright, see you on Sunday, then!” he shoots his friends a grin, and the group waves at you.

You rudely ignore them, crossing your arms before your chest. And as Sirius turns back to you, his frown is icy and he quickly matches your stance.

“You’re such a pain in my ass, Y/N…”

“And you’re a jerk.”

“Asshole.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“You’re one to talk!”

“Oh, you talk plenty enough for both of us. And loudly so!”

Before he can reply, you’ve stepped back into your apartment and slammed the door.

You hear him pestering after you for a moment, then nothing, and finally a door slamming.

Well, that went well…

You are in trouble.

Big… huge trouble.

Your ex has just stepped into your shop, and you don’t know how to react.

You didn’t break up in a horrendous way, on the contrary! He wanted the two of you to remain friends, and you simply didn’t, worried that you wouldn’t be able to get over each other if you stayed in touch. And by the look he gave you as he stepped inside your shop ten minutes ago, and the many glances he’s thrown at you since, you’re pretty sure that you were right about this.

It's not like your relationship was terrible, by any means. Josh was nice, reliable, but also… not for you. You didn’t have much in common, at the end of the day, and if his personality and looks were nice, it was hard to build a lasting relationship on… nothing. It was for the best that you called it quits.

And as if your day needed any darkening, Sirius Black chooses this very moment to step into your shop. You don’t wait for him to aim for the counter to take out a large pouch in which you have gathered all the ingredients for his friend’s monthly brew. He smiles at the sight, moves towards you. And you hate yourself for the leap your heart makes as he comes closer.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi.”

It’s the first time you speak to each other since the ‘spoon and pan incident’, and you both hesitate. How are you supposed to act now? Apologise for being petty and kind of a dick? Ask for his apology for being a dick? Act like nothing happened?

“Thanks for Remus’s stuff,” Sirius says, voice quieter than usual, gentle, asking for a truce.

Outside, it’s snowing, winter claiming the streets of London, and there are little snowflakes caught in Sirius’s hair. It looks lovely.

All of a sudden, you’re longing for some eggnog, and some pumpkin pie.

His fingers are cold when they meet yours, tips brushing over your knuckles as he picks up the bag, and you hate your own heart for stammering.

“No problem. You know the drill,” you tentatively smile, while Sirius hands you some silvery Sickles.

“I would also need pearl dust, please. Here’s the amount.”

He hands you a parchment with quantities written on it, four small packages to be prepared separately.

“How many hearts do you intend to break with so many love potions?” you joke, turning around to get to work.

The brass scale is set on a small table, pushed right against the wall, behind the counter. It is an easy task for a professional like you, measuring quickly while Sirius laughs.

“No one, thankfully,” he replied.

“Oh… some Amortentia, perhaps? Trying to figure out who your crush likes?”

“No… nothing like that. It’s the properties for invisibility that I’m looking for.”

“If you plan on breaking into Gringotts, I don’t want to know.”

Again, a loud laugh. And you wish you could hold back your smile, but you can’t, the sound is too infectious for that.

You’ve forgotten that your ex is here, you’re reminded of his presence only when you turn back towards Sirius and he’s standing right behind your tall neighbour, a bag of potion ingredients in his hands.

You avert your eyes, and Sirius frowns at the sight. He glances over his shoulder, spots your ex, but says nothing. You only notice how he tightens his hold on the pouch.

“Pearl dust’s quite expensive,” you tell him, handing him the phials, before announcing the price.

“That’s alright.”

He hands you the galleons, takes the vials, but doesn’t step away just yet.

“You… you’re okay?” he asks, and you’re not sure what to do with his expression. It’s somewhere between annoyance and genuine concern.

“Yeah, sure.”

He nods, like he’s disappointed. He’s not bringing up The Incident, and so you won’t either.

“Right, good day.”

He turns in a hurry, not waiting for your answer, but you notice the way he throws a look back before stepping out into the street, snow falling over his dark coat and dark hair again. You hate how your eyes linger on his frame until he’s out of sight, walking down the busy street, but you can’t help it…

“Hello, Y/N.”

You’re brought back to Earth as your ex speaks, and you turn to him, your smile turning from genuine to polite.

“Hi, Josh.”

“How are you?”

“Good! Do you need anything else?” you ask, pointing at the ingredients he’s put on the counter.

“Huh… no, nothing else.”

“That makes two Galleons, 5 Sickles and 3 Knuts, please.”

He hands you some money, and you hand him his change. You see him hesitating, before diving.

“Look, I… I came here hoping to see you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about what happened, and… Look, I know I could have done better when it came to us. And I thought… perhaps… if you were willing to give me another chance…”

“Josh…”

“Just… hear me out...”

“No. I’m sorry, but no. We… we were not compatible, that’s all. I like you, you’re nice, but… It won’t work between us.”

Slowly, he nodded, apparently defeated. And when another client cleared their throat behind him, he finally left.

What a mess of a morning…

It is Friday night, and the Marauders are keeping it down. You are surprised by it, but you can only praise these men for being, for once, well-behaved. 11:30, as you slip under the covers, ready for some well-deserved rest before waking up too early to open the shop in the morning. You are ready to fall into Morpheus’s arms and abandon yourself to slumber when someone knocks on your door.

You ignore the sound for a while, but it starts again, and again…

And you thought Sirius was making some efforts. You were ready to commit murder…

You stand up, grab a bathrobe and walk to the door, ready to throw hands with Sirius at this point. Only… only, when you actually open the door, it’s not Sirius who’s facing your wrath.

It’s Josh.

“What… What are you doing here?” you ask, too stunned to think about being polite. “It’s almost midnight.”

But then he looks up at you, and you notice at once that he’s been drinking. His eyes are glimmering, he sways slightly before finding back his balance…

“Josh…”

“Y/N, I… I know that now is not the time, but… please, give me another chance. Please…”

“Josh, we’ve talked about this. Us… it’s over. We’re not getting back together. I’m sorry.”

“But I can try and be better. I’ll be better, let me show you.”

You push him off when he staggers forward, trying to hold you.

“Josh! Stop it!” you raise your voice, trying to get him to let go.

“Please…”

“I said no! Get off!”

He’s finally letting go, but doesn’t take a step back. Instead, he leans against your doorframe, not stepping inside, but making it impossible for you to simply go back in and close the door.

“Josh! Go away! I’m sorry, but this is over between us. You have to leave me alone!”

“But I don’t want to! Y/N!”

“Hey!”

You’re both distracted by the new voice that comes shouting through the corridor. Sirius is standing before his front door, wearing a Queen t-shirt and some dark sweatpants, in what you guess his is nightly outfit. Still, when he comes nearer, hair tied in a bun, glowering, he looks intimidating, tattoos all over his arms on full display, traces of ink peeking above the collar of his t-shirt.

You think for a second that he’s going to make a scene because of how noisy you are right now, not ironic at all given his habits of messing your sleeping schedule, and you’re ready to get angry at him, because this truly is the last thing you need tonight, when…

“You leave her the fuck alone!”

You’re too stunned to react when Sirius comes to stand right by your side.

“She told you to fuck off, so you fuck off!”

“Who the fuck are you?” Josh replied, words a little slurred.

“Her boyfriend,” Sirius lies, but it works wonders, as Josh becomes suddenly very pale. “Now, you fuck off, or I’ll throw you out of the building.”

“You? With him?” Josh asks as he turns to you, and you feel pity for the pain in his eyes, but you don’t regret leaving him.

“Yeah. He’s my boyfriend. Now, please, Josh… leave me alone.”

But he shakes his head.

“I can’t. I can’t. I still love you…”

Sirius looks at you, but you shake your head.

“You have to leave me alone and move on.”

“No… I… I’ll come back later…”

Sirius notices your worry, it almost looks like fear, and he doesn’t hesitate when he grabs Josh by the collar.

“You listen to me now, dickhead,” Sirius growls, it’s almost animalistic, and you’re frozen by this threatening tone of his. “If you set a foot in this building again, if you go see her at her shop, if you so much as breathe in her direction or step in the street she’s in, I will come for you, and I will make sure you can never bother her again. Do you get that?”

“You’re bluffing.”

Sirius grins, something twisted and terribly dark, and even you shiver when he speaks again, voice low and terrible.

“I fought for the Order during the war. I’m a Black. Trust me, you don’t want to fuck with me.”

Slowly, Josh nods, struggling to swallow.

“So… will you leave her alone?”

Again, Josh nods.

“Good boy. Now get the fuck out of here.”

He’s barely released Josh that he’s sprinting down the stairs, stumbling and catching himself against the wall, before disappearing.

But you don’t see that. You’re staring at Sirius, and seem unable to look away.

“You’re alright?”

You’re startled by the softness Sirius’s voice is now wearing, such a stark contrast with the threatening tone he wore a minute ago.

“Y/N? You’re okay? He didn’t hurt you, right?”

“What? No… no, I’m fine! He just… showed up and I couldn’t get rid of him.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Thank you,” you whisper as he gets closer.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, just… a little shaken, I think.”

Slowly, Sirius nods.

“Hey, no need to worry, okay? I’ll keep an eye out tonight. He won’t bother you again. And if he does, in the coming days or weeks, and I’m not around, then you come and tell me. I’ll give him a good fright, and he’ll leave you alone.”

“Thanks but… why would you do that for me? You hate me.”

Sirius chuckles at that, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t hate you. You’re annoying, but I don’t hate you.”

“Oh…”

His touch is infinitely gentle when he rests his hand on your arm.

“You can go back to sleep. Don’t worry, he won’t bother you again tonight. I promise.”

Slowly, you nod, a little too stunned to complain or argue or discuss what has just happened. Instead, you walk back to your apartment, lock the door, and go back to bed, thinking about the way Sirius’s hands looked gentle without his rings…

You’re in a hurry this morning. Your brain has not finished to process everything that has happened last night, but this will have to wait. You must rush to the shop, and you can’t find your bloody wand…

Ha! There! What is it doing under the couch? Never mind, you need to hurry, and you need to hurry now!

Only, when you open the front door, you almost trip onto a large black door sleeping on your threshold. A huge black dog, as a matter of fact.

“What in Merlin’s beard…?!”

His ears perk up at the sound of your voice, and he looks up at you with dark grey eyes that remind you of someone…

But it’s impossible, of course. That must be his dog, though. Since when does Sirius has a dog though?!

The animal slowly stands, a real giant, all dark fur and intimidating growls, until he’s shaken some sleep off its frame, and then he looks up at you, as if expecting a command.

“Hi,” you say, feeling foolish, but finding nothing better to say.

The dog merely comes closer, slowly, ears down in submission, as if he’s worried to scare you away. You hold out your hand, and he hurries to rub his snout into it, licking your fingers.

You giggle at the sensation.

“You look intimidating, but you’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

He barks in agreement, and you give him scratches as a reward.

“Who do you belong to, huh? Are you Sirius’s dog?”

The dog merely licks your fingers again.

“You look the part, at least. You fit the motorcycle-and-leather-jackets aesthetic.”

A few scratches more, and you finally remember that you are running late…

“Shoot!”

You lock the door, hurry towards the stairs. But you stop the dog when he tries to follow.

“No, no, no! I’m going to work, you stay here. I’m sure Sirius will be back soon. You stay here.”

The dog blinks, but sits anyway, letting you go.

For the whole trip to the store, you wonder who this dog belongs to, and who would let him sleep outside like this. If he really did belong to Sirius, he would hear about this…

Your day is a weird one.

After arriving almost late, but not quite, you spend your morning being busy and running around the store looking for the right ingredients for various potions and clients. And yet, several times during your shift, you feel someone looking at you.

The first time, it’s Sirius, who’s squinting on the other side of the glass door. He looks away the second your eyes land on him, and you’re almost certain that he blushes, although you didn’t think it to be possible to make Sirius Black blush.

The second time, it’s the black dog again, who remains sitting by the door under the falling snow for about ten minutes before leaving.

The third time, it’s the dog again, you see him being petted by a customer as she walks out of the shop.

But if the dog belongs to Sirius, then you guess that he’s been around several times throughout the day, which seems odd. Also, you want to chastise him for leaving the animal alone in the cold for extended periods of time throughout the day. Is he heartless?!

So, as you go home that night, you leave your coat in your apartment before heading to Sirius’s.

He answers on the second knock.

“Oh! Hi, Y/N!” he grins a welcome at you. “Need anything?”

“Yeah… I wanted to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

He merely nods, moving to let you inside.

You’ve been here a couple of times before, but you still appreciate the warm atmosphere of the large space that forms his living room. A huge Gryffindor flag is hung across the wall on the right, while windows let you see falling snow over the roofs of Diagon Alley on the opposite side of the room. A large chimney surrounded by comfortable armchairs and sofas, along with a soft red carpet seem to call for you.

“So? What can I do for you, Y/N?”

You turn to him again while he points at the sofa, silently inviting you to sit, but you remain standing. You cross your arms, and he frowns at the sight.

“Where’s your dog?”

Your tone is sharper now, and his frown only deepens, brows knitted together.

“My what?”

“Your dog. Huge. Black. Looks like he could bite my throat off.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Really? He’s been following me around all day. He was on my threshold this morning…”

“…Y/N…” he tries to interrupt you, but you don’t let him.

“No! Listen… Thank you for what you did last night. I was really… Thank you. Josh wouldn’t leave and you were most definitely helpful. But let’s be clear, I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself! I don’t need your protection or anything, got it?”

You wonder why he’s smiling now, but he is all the same.

“Got it. Was just trying to be helpful.”

“You were.”

“Good.”

“Good. But your good action doesn’t mean that I’m going to accept any harm coming to this cute dog of yours!”

“I thought he wanted to bite your throat off.”

“He looked like he could. He was pretty sweet, though.”

“Hmmm…”

“Anyway… what’s wrong with you!? Leaving him outside all night and then in the street while it was snowing!?”

“Y/N, relax. I don’t have a dog, let me explain.”

“Then whose dog is it? Cause we have to find his owner, I’m going to throw hands!”

Sirius laughs, his usual, bark-like laugh, and your puzzled by the sound. It resembles a bark even more than usual.

Sirius heaves a sigh, shakes his head, apparently hesitating, but eventually, he takes a step closer.

“You have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about this.”

“Why?”

“Because if you do, I might be arrested.”

Your eyes grow round.

Oh dear… the…

“…Potion. The potion! You’ve done something illegal with it!”

Sirius laughs again.

“The pearl dust you mean? It’s just a trick for my godson, for Christmas. How do you think the presents get under the tree without anyone carrying them in? The fellow is a rascal, standing watch all night to catch Santa red-handed. We need to get more and more creative each year. No, don’t worry, it’s nothing like that.”

“Oh… but then… what are you talking about?”

“Do you promise that you won’t tell?”

“Have you killed someone?”

“Of course not!”

“I don’t know, you were pretty… scary last night.”

“Did I scare you?”

“No… but Josh was ready to faint.”

He laughs again at that.

“I haven’t harmed anyone.”

“Okay… then, I promise.”

Sirius hesitates some more, before warning you not to freak out. You don’t have time to question him though, he’s already transforming into…

“… the black dog!”

You gasp at the sight, but you don’t back away when Sirius approaches under his animagus form. Instead, you reach out for him, giving him a few scratches between his ears, making him wiggle his tail happily.

“Oh wow… you’re an animagus! This is beautiful…”

He laughs as he changes back into human, the sound still somewhere close to a growl.

“Am I a good boy, then?” he teases, making you laugh. “No need to call for the animal welfare…”

“But… what were you doing around the shop today? And last night? Did you sleep on the porch?”

Sirius averts his eyes, and you have to double-check, but you’re certain that he is blushing right now.

“Ha, that… I didn’t mean to look like a creep or anything. But I… I was worried your ex would come back. Just wanted to check on you, ‘s all. I didn’t follow you around or anything! I just… went to check that you were alright at the shop a few times.”

“Why?”

He looks up at you with a slight frown, as if it is obvious, as if you’re stupid for not guessing.

“Because… I was worried about you.”

“About me?”

“Is it so surprising?”

“You hate me.”

“Again, I don’t hate you. You’re simply annoying the shit out of me. I like it, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

You blink, trying to make sense of all this, and Sirius looks at you with amusement.

“Is that why you were quiet last night? To not bother me?”

“Oh, the boys weren’t here. Busy week. We’ll be back at being insufferable next Friday.”

You roll your eyes at that, but Sirius laughs.

“I’m joking! I understand, okay? We’re too loud. We’ll keep it down from now on.”

“Right, okay…”

He bit his lip, ran a hand through his hair, in what you guess is shyness. God, you would have never thought to use this adjective to describe him. His rings catch the warm light of the fire burning in the hearth as he moves his fingers through his hair.

“Look, I… I’m sorry for the other night. Actually… for all the other nights. We’ll be more careful next time,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow in surprise.

You never thought you would hear an apology from him, even less so an earnest one, and yet…

“Thank you, Sirius. I’m sorry, too. It was petty and uncalled for.”

“No, you… you were right.”

He heaves a frustrated sigh, runs a hand through his long dark curls again, rebel strands falling before his eyes. You hold tightly onto the sleeve of your hoodie, refraining the sudden urge to push the curls away from his face, brush them behind his ear…

“Look, I… I don’t want us to be on bad terms,” Sirius goes on. “Could I make up for being a dickhead by buying you some fancy Christmas drink? My treat. As a token of good faith and a sign for peace in our building?”

He offers you his open palm, and you shake hands with a smile adorning both of your faces.

“Deal.”

“Any afternoon free this week?”

“Wednesday?”

“Then, I’ll buy you the fanciest cocoa I can find. And even some pumpkin pie, if you’re nice.”

“Sounds good.”

You’re reluctant to pull away but have to let go of his hand.

“Actually… scratch that,” Sirius shakes his head. “Would you go on a date with me?”

Your eyes grow round.

“A date? With you?”

“Yeah. On Wednesday?”

“But… with you?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You really think I play bodyguard for just anybody?”

You laugh at that, you can’t help it, even if you’re still quite stunned by the whole situation.

You weight your options, but then you look at him again, and the answer you want to give is obvious, even if he gets on your nerves all the bloody time…

“Okay. A date. On Wednesday.”

He grins, bright and infectious.

“Great! Awesome!”

“Great.”

“Great.”

You remain staring at each other for a moment, both of you trying to hide your excitement, until you finally clear your throat.

“I should…” you begin, pointing at the door.

“Sure… busy day?”

“You can’t imagine.”

“Hmm…”

You hurry towards the door, feeling overwhelmed by his nearness.

“See you on Wednesday then!” he calls after you as you reach for your own door.

“Sure! But it better be the best hot chocolate I’ve drunk, or I’ll ask for a refund!”

He laughs, and when you turn one last time towards him, Sirius is leaning against his doorframe, staring at you with a grin on his lips and mischief painted all over his features. He winks, and your heart skips several beats.

“Oh, don’t worry. You won’t regret this.”

*********************************

Taglist :

@reg-arcturus-black @hells-escapees @omgrachwrites

@wolfmoonmusic

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me 🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - age gap,, i think thats all

all of the songs and celebrities mentioned in here are from the time periods this was written if you are confused🩷

Chapter 1

It was 1956. I was living with my family at the Bergstrom Air Force Base in Austin, Texas, where my father, then Captain, Joseph Paul y/ln, a career officer, was stationed. He came home late for dinner one evening and handed me a record album.

“I don’t know what this Matt guy is all about,” he said, “but he must be something special. I stood in line with half the Air Force at the PX to get this for you; everybody wants it.”

I put the record on the hi-fi and heard the rocking music of “Blue Suede Shoes.” The album was titled Matt Sturniolo. It was his first.

Like almost every other kid in America, I liked Matt but not as fanatically as many of my girl friends at Del Valley Junior High. They all had Matt T-shirts and Matt hats and Matt socks and even lipstick in colors with names like Hound Dog Orange and Heartbreak Pink referencing names of his songs. Matt was everywhere, on bubblegum cards and Bermuda shorts, on diaries and wallets and pictures that glowed in the dark. The boys at school began trying to look like him, with their fluffy hair and turned up collars.

One girl was so crazy about him that she was running his local fan club. She said I could join for twenty-five cents, the price of a book she’d ordered for me by mail. When I received it, I was shocked to see a picture of Matt signing the bare chests of a couple of girls, at that time an unheard-of act.

Then I saw him on television on Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey’s Stage Show. He was sexy and handsome, with his deep brooding eyes, pouty lips, and crooked smile. He strutted out to the microphone, spread his legs, leaned back, and strummed his guitar. Then he began singing with such confidence, moving his body with unbridled sexuality. Despite myself, I was attracted.

Some members of his adult audience were less enthusiastic. Soon his performances were labeled obscene. My mother stated emphatically that he was “a bad influence for teenage girls. He arouses things in them that shouldn’t be aroused. If there’s ever a mothers’ march against Matt Sturniolo, I’ll be the first in line.”

But I’d heard that despite all of his stage antics and lustful, tough-guy looks, Matt came from a strict Southern Christian background. He was a country boy who didn’t smoke or drink, who loved and honored his parents, and who addressed all adults as “sir” or “ma’am.”

I was an Air Force child, a shy, pretty little girl, unhappily accustomed to moving from base to base every two or three years. By the time I was eleven, I had lived in six different cities and, fearful of not being accepted, I either kept to myself or waited for someone to befriend me. I found it especially difficult entering a new school in the middle of the year, when cliques had already been established and newcomers were considered outsiders.

Small and petite, with long y/hc hair, y/ec eyes, and an upturned nose, I was always stared at by the other students. At first girls would see me as a rival, afraid I’d take their boyfriends away. I seemed to feel more comfortable with boys—and they were usually friendlier.

People always said I was the prettiest girl in school, but I never felt that way. I was skinny, practically scrawny, and even if I was as cute, as people said, I wanted to have more than just good looks. Only with my family did I really feel totally protected and loved. Close and supportive, they provided my stability.

A photographer’s model before her marriage, my mother was totally devoted to her family. As the oldest, it was my responsibility to help her with the kids. After me, there were Don, four years younger, and Michelle, my only sister, who was five years younger than Don. Jeff and the twins, Tim and Tom, hadn’t yet been born.

My mother was too shy to talk about the facts of life, so my sex education came in school, when I was in the sixth grade. Some kids were passing around a book that looked like the Bible from the outside, but when you opened it, there were pictures of men making love to women, and women making love to each other.

My body was changing and stirring with new feelings. I’d gotten looks from boys at school, and once a picture of me in a tight turtleneck sweater was stolen from the school bulletin board. Yet I was still a child, embarrassed about my own sexuality. I fantasized endlessly about French-kissing, but when my friends who hung around our house played spin the bottle, it would take me half an hour to let a boy kiss my pursed lips.

My strong, handsome father was the center of our world. He was a hard worker who had earned his degree in Business Administration at University of Texas. At home he ran a tight ship. He was a firm believer in discipline and responsibility, and he and I frequently knocked heads. When I became a cheerleader at thirteen, it was all I could do to convince him to let me go to out-of-town games. Other times no amount of crying, pleading, or appealing to my mother would change his mind. When he laid down the law, that was that.

I managed to get around him occasionally. When he refused to let me wear a tight skirt, I joined the Girl Scouts specifically so I could wear their tight uniform.

My parents were survivors. Although they often had to struggle financially, we children were the last to feel it. When I was a little girl my mother sewed pretty tablecloths to cover the orange crates that we used as end tables. Rather than do without, we made the best of what we had.

Dinner was strictly group participation: Mother cooked, one of us set the table, and the rest cleaned up. Nobody got away with anything, but we were very supportive of one another. I felt fortunate to have a close-knit family.

Going through old albums of family photographs showing my parents when they were young fascinated me. I was curious about the past. World War II intrigued me, especially since my father had fought with the Marines on Okinawa. He looked handsome in his uniform—you could tell he was posing for my mother—but somehow his smile looked out of place, especially when you realized where he was. When I read the note on the back of the picture about how much he missed my mother, my eyes filled with tears.

While rummaging through the family keepsakes I came upon a small wooden box. Inside was a carefully folded American flag, the kind that I knew was given to servicemen’s widows. Also inside the box was a picture of my mother with her arm around a strange man and, sitting on her lap, an infant. On the back of the photo was inscribed “Mommy, Daddy, y/n.” I had discovered a family secret.

Feeling betrayed, I ran to phone my mother, who was at a party nearby. Within minutes I was in her arms, crying as she calmed me and explained that when I was six months old, my real father, Lieutenant James Wagner, a handsome Navy pilot, had been killed in a plane crash while returning home on leave. Two and a half years later, she married Paul y/ln, who adopted me and had always loved me as his own.

Mother suggested I keep my discovery from the other children. She felt it would endanger our family closeness, though when it did become known, it had no effect on our feelings for one another. She gave me a gold locket that my father had given her. I cherished that locket and wore it for years and fantasized that my father died a great hero. In times of emotional pain and loneliness he would become my guardian angel.

By the end of the year, I’d been nominated to run for Queen of Del Valley Junior High. This was my first taste of politics and competition and it was especially trying because I was running against Millie Collins, my best friend.

We each had a campaign manager introducing us as we went from house to house knocking on doors. My manager tried to talk each person into voting for me and donating a penny or more per vote to a school fund. The nominee who collected the most money won. I was sure that this competition would jeopardize my friendship with Millie, which was more important to me than winning. I considered quitting but felt I couldn’t let my parents or my supporters down. While my mother was out looking for a dress for me to wear to the coronation, my dad kept reminding me to memorize an acceptance speech. I kept putting it off, certain I was going to lose.

It was the last day of the campaign, and a rumor began circulating that Millie’s grandparents had put in a hundred-dollar bill for their vote. My parents were disappointed; there was no way that they could afford to match that much money and even if they could, they objected on principle.

The night they announced the winner, I was all dressed up in a new turquoise blue, strapless tulle net formal that itched so badly I couldn’t wait to take it off. I sat beside Millie on the dais in the large school auditorium. I could see my parents with happy, confident looks on their faces though I was sure they were going to be disheartened. Then the principal walked up to the podium.

“And now,” she said, hesitating to heighten the suspense, “is the moment you’ve all been waiting for  . . . the culmination of a month of campaigning by our two lovely contestants: y/n y/ln  . . .” All eyes turned toward me. I blushed and glanced at Millie. “ . . . and Millie Collins.” Our eyes locked for a brief, tense moment.

“The new Queen of Del Valley Junior High is  . . .” A drum roll sounded. “ . . . y/n y/ln.”

The audience applauded wildly. I was in shock. Called up to the stage to give my speech, I had none. Sure that I was going to lose, I’d never even bothered to write one. I walked, trembling, to the podium, then looked out at the crowded auditorium. All I could see was my father’s face, growing more disappointed as he realized I had nothing to say. When I finally spoke, it was to apologize.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m not prepared to give a speech, as I did not expect to win. But thank you very much for voting for me. I’ll do my very best.” And then, looking at my father, I added, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

I was surprised as the audience graciously applauded, but I still had to face my father and hear him say, “I told you so.”

Being elected Queen was a bittersweet victory, because the closeness that Millie and I once shared was restrained. Still, to me that crown symbolized a wonderful, unfamiliar feeling: acceptance.

My newfound tranquility ended abruptly when my father announced that he was being transferred to Wiesbaden, West Germany.

I was crushed. Germany was the other side of the world. All my fears returned. My first thought was, What am I going to do about my friends? I turned to my mother, who was sympathetic and reminded me that we were in the Air Force and moving was an unavoidable part of our lives.

I finished junior high school, my mother gave birth to baby Jeff, and we said our goodbyes to neighbors and good friends. Everyone promised to write or call, but remembering past promises I knew better. My friend Stephanie jokingly told me that Matt Sturniolo was stationed in Bad Neuheim, West Germany. “Do you believe it? You’re going to be in the same country as Matt Sturniolo,” she said. We looked at a map and found that Bad Neuheim was close to Wiesbaden. I said back, “I’m going over there to meet Matt.” We both laughed, hugged each other, and said goodbye.

West Germany

The fifteen-hour flight to West Germany seemed interminable, but finally we arrived in the beautiful old city of Wiesbaden, headquarters of the U.S. Air Force in Europe. There we checked into the Helene Hotel, a massive and venerable building on the main thoroughfare. After three months, hotel living became too expensive and we began looking for a place to rent.

We felt lucky to find a large apartment in a vintage building constructed long before World War I. Soon after we moved in, we noticed that all the other apartments were rented to single girls. These Fräuleins walked around all day long in robes and negligees, and at night they were dressed to kill. Once we learned a little German, we realized that, although the pension was very discreet, we were living in a brothel.

Moving was out of the question—housing was too scarce—but the location did little to help me to adjust. Not only was I isolated from other American families, but there was the language barrier. I was accustomed to changing schools frequently, but a foreign country posed altogether new problems, principally that I couldn’t share my thoughts. I began to feel that my life had stopped dead in its tracks.

September came and with it, school. Once again I was the new girl. I was no longer popular and secure as I’d been at Del.

There was a place called the Eagles Club, where American service families went for dinner and entertainment. It was within walking distance of the pension and soon proved an important discovery for me. Every day after school, I’d go to the snack bar there and listen to the jukebox and write letters to my friends back home in Austin, telling them how much I missed them. Drowning in tears, I’d spend my weekly allowance playing the songs that were very popular back in the States—Frankie Avalon’s “Venus” and the Everly Brothers’ “All I Have to Do Is Dream.”

One warm summer afternoon, I was sitting with my brother Don when I noticed a handsome man in his twenties staring at me. I’d seen him watching me before, but I’d never paid any attention to him. This time, he stood up and walked toward me. He introduced himself as Steven Wright and asked my name.

“y/n y/ln,” I said, immediately suspicious; he was much older than me.

He asked where in the States I came from, how I liked Germany, and if I liked Matt Sturniolo.

“Of course,” I said, laughing. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’m a good friend of his. My wife and I go to his house quite often. How would you like to join us one evening?”

Unprepared for such an extraordinary invitation, I grew even more skeptical and guarded. I told him I’d have to ask my parents. Over the course of the next two weeks, Steven met my parents and my father checked out his credentials. Steven was also in the Air Force and it turned out that my father knew his commanding officer. That seemed to break the ice between them. Steven assured Dad that I’d be well chaperoned when we visited Matt, who lived off base in a house in Bad Nauheim.

On the appointed night I tore through my closet, trying to find an appropriate outfit. Nothing seemed dressy enough for meeting Matt Sturniolo. I settled on a navy and white sailor dress and white socks and shoes. Surveying myself in the mirror, I thought I looked cute, but being only fourteen, I didn’t think I’d make any kind of impression on Matt.

Eight o’clock finally arrived, and so did Steven Wright and his attractive wife, Carole. Anxious, I hardly spoke to either of them during the forty-five-minute drive. We entered the small town of Bad Nauheim, with its narrow cobblestone streets and plain, old-fashioned houses, and I kept looking around for what I assumed would be Matt’s huge mansion. Instead Steven pulled up to an ordinary-looking three-story house surrounded by a white picket fence.

There was a sign on the gate in German, which translated as: autographs between 7:00 and 8:00 p.m. only. Even though it was after eight o’clock, a large group of friendly German girls waited around expectantly. When I asked Steven about them, he explained that there were always large groups of fans outside the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Matt.

I followed Steven through the gate and up the short pathway to the door. We were welcomed by James Sturniolo, Matt’s father, a tall, gray-haired, attractive man, who led us down a long hallway to the living room, from which I could hear Brenda Lee on the record player, singing “Sweet Nothin’s.”

The plain, almost drab living room was filled with people, but I spotted Matt immediately. He was handsomer than he appeared in films, younger and more vulnerable-looking with his haircut. He was in civilian clothes, a bright red sweater and tan slacks, and he was sitting with one leg swung over the arm of a large overstuffed chair, with a cigar dangling from his lips.

As Steven led me over to him, Matt stood up and smiled. “Well,” he said. “What have we here?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just kept staring at him.

“Matt,” Steven said, “this is y/n y/ln. The girl I told you about.”

We shook hands and he said, “Hi, I’m Matt Sturniolo,” but then there was a silence between us until Matt asked me to sit down beside him, and Steven drifted off.

“So,” Matt said. “Do you go to school?”

“Yes.”

“What are you, about a junior or senior in high school?”

I blushed and said nothing, not willing to reveal that I was only in the ninth grade.

“Well,” he persisted.

“Ninth.”

Matt looked confused. “Ninth what?”

“Grade,” I whispered.

“Ninth grade,” he said and started laughing. “Why, you’re just a baby.”

“Thanks,” I said curtly. Not even Matt Sturniolo had the right to say that to me.

“Well. Seems the little girl has spunk,” he said, laughing again, amused by my response. He gave me that charming smile of his, and all my resentment just melted away.

We made small talk for a while longer. Then Matt got up and walked over to the piano and sat down. The room suddenly grew silent. Everyone’s eyes were focused on him as he began to entertain us.

He sang “Rags to Riches” and “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” and then with his friends singing harmony, “End of the Rainbow.” He also did a Jerry Lee Lewis impersonation, pounding the keys so hard that a glass of water he’d set on the piano began sliding off. When Matt caught it without missing a beat of the song, everyone laughed and applauded except me. I was nervous. I glanced around the room and saw an intimidating life-size poster of a half-nude model on the wall. She was the last person I wanted to see, with her fulsome body, pouting lips, and wild mane of tousled hair. Imagining Matt’s taste in women, I felt very young and out of place.

I glanced up and saw Matt trying to get my attention. I noticed that the less response I showed, the more he began singing just for me. I couldn’t believe that Matt Sturniolo was trying to impress me.

Later, he asked me to come into the kitchen, where he introduced me to his grandmother, Minnie Mae Sturniolo, who stood by the stove, frying a huge pan of bacon. As we sat down at the table, I told Matt I wasn’t hungry. Actually I was too nervous to eat.

“You’re the first girl I’ve met from the States in a long time,” Matt said, as he began devouring the first of five gigantic bacon sandwiches, each one smothered with mustard. “Who are the kids listening to?”

I laughed. “Are you kidding?” I said. “Everyone listens to you.”

Matt seemed unconvinced. He asked me a lot of questions about Fabian and Ricky Nelson. He told me he was worried about how his fans would accept him when he returned to the States. Since he’d been away, he hadn’t made any public appearances or movies, although he’d had five hit singles, all recorded before he’d left.

It felt like we’d just begun talking when Steven came in and pointed to his watch. I had dreaded that moment; the evening had gone so fast. It seemed I had just arrived and now I was being hurried away. Matt and I had just started to get to know each other. I felt like Cinderella, knowing that when my curfew came, all this magic would end. I was surprised when Matt asked Steven if I could possibly stay longer. When Steven explained the agreement with my father, Matt casually suggested that maybe I could come by again. Though I wanted to more than anything in the world, I didn’t really believe it would happen.

a/n - thoughts on this story so far? all the fashion and technology and things is still based in the time period its set in but i promise it gets better as the story goes on! i know the age gap is crazy but back in the day it was normal and its the age gap in Priscilla’s book so i just stuck with it. I in no way support this at all🎀

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

[suzukiblu]

👉👈 do you have any more of the dubcon ( ;3c dubKON lol) tim//kon thing with the pining kon?

. . . I actually am not even sure what fic you're referencing so maaaaaybe I have written too many fics, lol.

But like, here's an excerpt from something that at least fits that definition?

Superboy fucking hates Gotham.

Well, not necessarily Gotham, but definitely the Riddler and probably Poison Ivy and, like . . . whoever the fuck else decided to set up a goddamn murder-box puzzle room and lock him in it with a drugged-out-of-his-mind Robin and the worst set of instructions ever.

And especially he hates the fact that apparently the whole damn mess was fucking livestreamed.

"This sucks," he mutters under his breath. Robin stares at him from the other side of the briefing table in the middle of the Batcave, because of course Superboy's first time in the Batcave would only happen because he'd fucked up. Like–of course it would.

"I sexually assaulted you in a supervillain deathtrap in front of the entire internet," Robin says very, very carefully. "And we only survived the experience because said deathtrap had faulty wiring. And that . . . 'sucks'?"

"I mean, very much so, yes," Superboy says. Honestly he's more annoyed about the deathtrap than anything else. Like, he tried really hard to solve that stupid puzzle of Riddler's and it's really annoying that he apparently got it wrong. Which–okay, he was pretty distracted at the time because drugged-up Robin had refused to settle for a handy and had basically bullied him into going down on him, but still. That asshole Riddler and his lame-ass bowler hat had been very fucking clear about how said drugs weren't gonna wear off without Robin getting off and how they'd had very limited time to solve his stupid puzzle in, so Superboy had just kinda tried to . . . multitask it, basically. He'd let out-of-his-mind Robin shove him down and fuck his mouth and just kept his hands on the floor so he could use his TTK a little easier and tried to solve the stupid puzzle with it, just in case Robin wasn't gonna snap out of it fast enough.

It'd very literally been a puzzle, for whatever reason–like one of those weird abstract-looking 3D ones–and probably would've been a lot easier to figure out if he'd actually been able to see it as opposed to having to rely on his TTK feeling it out while the whole thing was all wired up to the table on the opposite side of the deathtrap room, but apparently it hadn't even fucking mattered anyway because of whatever that one fucked up bit in the wiring had been. So like . . . Superboy basically violated a guy he barely knows and already had weird feelings about for no fucking reason whatsoever.

So yeah. This definitely sucks.

"I called you a whore," Robin says, his face absolutely expressionless. Superboy makes a face at him more to be contrary than anything else. "Multiple times. You asked me to stop yanking your hair so hard and I called you a mouthy bitch. And then I yanked your hair harder."

"I mean, I know, I was there," Superboy says, raising an eyebrow at him. And also, like, those are accurate assessments of his character, so . . .

"I made you get down on your knees and shoved my dick in your mouth," Robin stresses, his jaw going tight. "Which was livestreamed and is now on the internet. Where it will never go away. Ever. And anyone who feels like it can just go and google it."

"They probably shouldn't, I'm assuming that'd count as underage porn," Superboy says with a shrug. "At least, I'm not eighteen yet, dunno about you. Actually I'm like . . . two, max. Probably not even that. Although I dunno, I was sixteen-ish when I got out of Cadmus, maybe I do count as eighteen by now? Technically?"

Robin gets up and goes over to the trash can by the computer and throws up in it. Superboy . . . blinks.

"Uh," he says. "You okay, man?"

"No," Robin says. Then he throws up in the trash can again.

Awkward, Superboy thinks, trying not to wince.

[unlimitedhorsepower]

tnb redesigns, since its vaguely an 80s buddy cop movie and sometimes i think about how fun it would be if the designs referenced a wider variety of 80s styles! more under the cut:)

theyre meant to contrast so i wanted kotetsu to have a darker palette and barnaby a lighter one, and obviously green and red, but i lightened red into pink and kotetsus tie more or less matches the green of barnabys eyes.

kotetsu is somewhat professional but most importantly hes goofy, and i miss his hat. i also personally think his suspenders look from the rising is his best outfit... and it would just make sense if he was a bit old-fashioned looking next to barnaby

i didnt want to change his hair too much so i just wanted to emphasize the mulletness of it: its shorter at the front and longer in the back. i also added a mustache because i feel like the fuller beard makes him look more like a dad and is more on brand. gray hairs included. had to keep the vaguely t-shaped beard hole though.

i also wanted to show his silly side by having him tuck his tie into his chest pocket to keep it out of his way, and of course his sleeves are rolled up too

ill be honest i cant remember if that purple pearl bracelet on his hand is anything, but i converted it into one of those cord-woven ones kids can make (its from kaede, obviously). just for me i added a couple of moles/freckles

barnaby on the other hand should have a polished (and purposefully produced) look that relates to his backstory. in canon they wanted to make him look "cool" in a kind of generic way (leather jacket etc), but i think having him wear typical 80s preppy fashion, which communicates both his youth and his snobby old money background AND can be the "handsome guy next door"

hes wearing a sweater on his shoulders because i wanted to show the shirt has similar stripes, but yeah, he has a kinda baggy pink sweater. the shorts also serve to show off his muscular legs to show he prefers to kick where kotetsu punches

very importantly, i wanted to make his hair make more sense. farrah fawcett is undoubtedly the inspiration for his haircut:

so i emphasized the 3-layered structure u can see on the left, since his hair is a bit funny and angular in canon... i also really wanted to give him bigger glasses and browsed through many 80s glasses before finding the perfect pair to reference

i also gave kotetsu a hair parting on the left where he ends up having a bit of a fringe when his hair falls forward, and barnaby a hair parting on the right where his fringe parts, but its less visible because of his hairstyle

bonus with kotetsu with hat + barnaby without glasses

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

This question is based on a reblog I saw of one of your posts. In the reblog they suggested that if Malleus was a normal human them lurking at an abandoned building at night would be viewed as just as creepy as Rook’s behavior and that if someone who had normal creepy behavior like Rook was fae or nonhuman then he would be viewed as less creepy. Do you have any thoughts on this? I’m not sure how to feel one way or another.

[Referencing this post!]

No worries, I think I know what you meant!! ^^ But thank you anyway for clarifying, it's definitely appreciated! asdhlbyioyqiqhubq I didn't mean for my reply to that original ask to be taken that seriously, but this does open up an interesting topic of discussion!

I do feel like this is really an issue of the perception of humans versus non-humans (fae, merfolk, beastmen, monsters, direbeasts, ghosts, Phantoms, etc.). We can excuse a lot of things that creatures of fictional races do because the "standards" for what is and is not acceptable shifts to adapt to the concept that these races are otherworldly and thus play by different rules, have different cultures, or operate under different expectations. Meanwhile, if it's a regular human, we can easily compare them to our real-life standards and expectations for human behavior (even if it is not done at a conscious level). Because of this, it is more "palatable" to hear "oh, this fairy killed someone" compared to "oh, this human killed someone" or “oh, a vampire drank blood” compared to “oh, a human drank blood”. It's also more likely that we attribute what is normally perceived as odd or, as this anon puts it, "creepy" behaviors as something else entirely when done by a non-human race. (Conversely, things considered normal for a non-human race to do may be strange if a human did the same.) Suddenly it's no longer "creepy", and the atypical behavior is attributed to being a characteristic that "makes sense" for that non-human race trying to adapt to life among humans.

As an example, let's consider some merfolk. Jade and Floyd have the hobby of collecting objects from along the seafloor. If you walked into their rooms and saw a chest full of miscellaneous things (combs, forks, pendants, shards of sea glass, etc.), you'd probably go, "they might not have these items under the sea, maybe they're curious about them!" If you found the same thing in like... Trey's room... You might be more confused and put off by it. "Why does he have all this stuff? He doesn't seem to be using any of it, they're just sitting here and taking up space."

Going back to the Malleus vs Rook scenario, let's now consider the original (with fae Malleus and human Rook). We will assume that you have zero prior knowledge of these characters, their backstories, or personalities, so treat it as though you're seeing them for the very first time ever. Think about the circumstances. You're alone in this new world, at the mercy of a headmaster who provides your (precarious) housing and food, and you JUST witnessed the horrors of what magic can do when pushed to its brink (since Malleus first shows up in book 2, not 1). You're in your rickety housing and, in the middle of the night, you cannot sleep. You decide to go on a walk to clear your head, knowing that it should be fine to be out even though the surroundings are dark because no one frequents this part of campus. But then you see a figure that shouldn't be there... lingering. Discomfort would be a perfectly acceptable emotion to have here. In the situation where it's Rook, you might be apprehensive. What's this guy doing here and what does he want from you? His big old hat does not help because the brim of it might obscure his face and make him appear like he's purposefully trying to hide his face. You might not be so eager to confront this guy and instead might look the other way or not engage at all in a conversation. In the situation where it's Malleus, you may also be apprehensive, but you'd also be significantly more curious. Because of his horns (a trait of being a dragon fae), he casts a very unique silhouette unlike any other student at NRC. You might be so surprised or curious that you approach him and try to learn more about the weird horned guy. I'd also like to again point out that the horns are the basis for Yuu's nickname for Malleus, so one of his fae traits ends up being a means of connection and socialization for the two. This would not be so for a human character that shows up on your front lawn late into the day.

Now let's reverse it. Let's say that Rook is the fae and Malleus is the human. Even if we assume that Rook maintains his hat but lacks the horns (since that's a trait of dragon fae specifically), he would still have the pointed ears of a fae and perhaps unique eyes. That alone could draw others in. Malleus would have no discerning physical traits to dismiss his behavior. He would most likely be seen as a weird human who likes to wander the campus at night. Rook would meanwhile be granted the benefit of the doubt, something like "oh, he's not human; is it normal for creatures like him to be active at night?"

In both cases, Malleus and Rook are "trespassers" (Yuu even gets the option to call Malleus that in 2-14). Your perspective would shift considerably based on whether you think of the "trespasser" as human or non-human.

Of course, this is not taking personality, social status, or other behaviors (like Rook's stalking or uncanny ability to collect details about his peers with but a glance, which Malleus does not engage in) into consideration. I'm only giving my thoughts on the first encounter with Yuu. However, I do believe that the change in one's perception due to human/non-human labels does extend into other interactions. For example, maybe fae!Rook's fascination with beauty and even him being invasive toward other students would be dismissed because this would be attributed to "oh, he's a fairy; he's curious about humans and wants to explore the world because his race is usually so sheltered and isolated from it all". Regular ol' human!Rook doing the same things is viewed as stalkerish and unsettling. Human!Malleus might be seen as more of an awkward loner that doesn't know how to interact with his peers as opposed to fae!Malleus, who has these same characteristics chalked up to him being a long-lived fae who hasn't had the chance to engage with people outside of his country.

I think that about sums up all my thoughts on this topic. Please let me know if you think I overlooked anything ^^

[blufox234isadumbname]

me when hombres en el trio

trying to design aldo was so fun yipee, main concept of normal mctrio (honestly just wanted make streamer sonas with theming i couldnt help myself) is jsut standard fast food fare: soda fires borgor. mariana is like a waiter, roier is the cashier and aldo is the delivery guy. i really love the burger aldo liek the hat and bag are so perfect. also fun fact for roier i referenced the fryder from bugsnax

QSMP ver next, i hadnt actually designed roier and aldo both so eitherone was a challenge, roier is a pomegranate and aldo from purgatory2 is rotten tomato (the controverial fruit that everyone thinks is a vegetable). i realise nwo i forgot to put actual crows, i like to think aldo if somehow surviving on egg island alone, he'd have a few other crows following him strangely all the time, definitely not the souls of his team no no no. he has rotten horns and tail to match his status as the "winning sinner" of purgatory, who had to be the sole survivor of the crows adn beating up his teammate against his own will to win. it kinda looks like chocolate so i might change it but ye. i might need to add green for Eherm radiation but i dgiress

meanwhile roier i gotta thinkon that color scheme im still not sure

also other fun fact, their main red colors are all the same. lol

anyways cant wait for velada (is that what its called)

[reachexceedinggrasp]

I have a feeling you might relate to this or you might have even related this on your blog already, but I was just thinking of that Ghoul quotation water water everywhere and not a drop to drink

I think probably my favourite, maybe ever, quiet point of characterisation in a sort of villainous or Beast love interest is his or her having a poet's soul... whether that is conscious or unconscious romantic meditation. It's like Kylo musing to Rey when he says 'You have that look in your eyes. From the forest. When you called me a monster' I love that sort of wistful observation, especially because it evokes such potent imagery ('when we fought together in the forest and then you marked yourself on my face'). Or more literally something like Ghoul citing a line of literature, even when none around except for Lucy would know what he's referencing, it's for his own arrestment and amusement, this is how he sees/interacts with the world

I guess in that way, it reveals something new about their perspective on the world, even when they're somebody seemingly cut off from it - monstrous, othered, repellent, ugly - when they're able to articulate a certain beauty which other characters may not remark upon. It's sort of covetous in that sense, but I think it also sort of helps explain what might interest them about a Beauty, after all, there's something they long for and value (spiritual, aesthetic, existential beauty).

I thought you might be able to relate 🥰

Oh, totally. And with Cooper and Ben, specifically, which is a parallel I hadn't actually noticed until you've just pointed it out, we're being shown their sensitivity as characters. Not in the sense of being considerate, but that they're aware and alert to beauty and meaning in the world despite currently occupying a narrative role which might make us think they're simply destructive or nihilistic figures. And despite the cynicism they're both ostensibly espousing.

Cooper quotes or alludes to literature practically constantly relative to how little he speaks, always knowing people almost certainly won't understand him, and that's especially fascinating because he didn't make those kinds of references in the flashbacks. We could take this in a whole direction about how he created the Ghoul as a character to shield himself from the things he had to do to survive and is living within a meta-narrative deconstructing the reactionary anti-hero who overtook the white hat sheriff he used to play in his movies. The anti-hero he never wanted to be. He makes allusions because his life has become a story he's telling himself to stay sane. He's his own wry Dickensian narrator making asides to an imagined audience about dramatic irony and social commentary.

And an important part of his presentation to others before the war was painting himself as not sophisticated. Just a cowboy and then just a guy who plays a cowboy in the movies. He wants nothing to do with politics either in an interpersonal or broader sense, and disclaims any pretensions to being savvy despite being in a theoretically powerful position as a rich, well-connected major film star. I think he was genuinely naive, but I also think he often played dumb to avoid social conflict. He was complacent and his image helped him remain complacent. Obviously he was very willing to be confrontational when he saw wrong or injustice right in front of him (he goes after Bud Askins directly to his face about marines getting killed by shitty equipment, he challenges Moldaver when she calls him out), but pre-bombs he mostly uses his empathic perceptiveness and charisma to keep everyone around him happy.

In the wasteland we often see him doing the opposite and deliberately riling people up in order to gather information and assess or eliminate them as threats, but he's also only gotten better at disarming people when he wants to. As a handsome charming film star he pretended not to know anything, as a scary intimidating monster he pretends he knows everything.

What I'm wondering about as far as all this goes is whether Cooper always had a secret nerdy side and read all the classics as a teenager or perhaps while waiting between shots when he was working as a stuntman, or whether he wanted to fit in when he started to make it in Hollywood so tried to become cultured before realising that wasn't what anyone wanted from him. Or if he just spent 200 years alone and read anything he could find as a way to cling to his humanity. We know he was at least a bit intellectually curious before the war, because of his reading and retaining some article about studies on torture.

But YES, him quoting poetry and being so interested and insightful about Lucy, specifically is a huge part of how he's framed as a romantic figure. And he's already by far the most romantic figure in the show. If it were solely about his tragedy, you'd think they would emphasise the contrast between his pre-fallen and post-fallen state by stripping him of his heroic trappings, but they don't. He's actually more romantic post-'curse'.

It also gets me because he's an extremely smart, socially adept person who doesn't let others see him for who he really is both consciously and unconsciously on multiple levels and that layers of identity shit is my crack. He was a profoundly honest man who thought he was simple, but actually he was a glorious maze of contradiction and complexity waiting to happen who has now come into his own as a master manipulator.

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 8 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 4.9k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

“Apparently, college boy here did the math. Figured out that we got too many clowns in the car. So, one of us is in here digging, but their seat ain’t guaranteed,” C-Note said.

            Y/N stood in the corner watching this over as she glanced at Michael who looked incredibly stressed. She wanted to reach out to him, hold him and reassure him. However, she held her book in her hand and kept her head down.

            “How’s this your problem, man?” Lincoln spoke up, walking over.

            “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Michael spoke up, hands in pocket with a toque on while looking over the crowd.

            “I’m not gonna dig if I’m not gonna go,” Sucre stated, throwing down a tool.

            “We need to make a decision on who gets cut,” Lincoln spoke out.

            “Well, I think we can all agree who that should be, right?” Abruzzi said referencing T-Bag.

            “I agree,” Y/N whispered, pushing off the wall and standing beside Michael.

            Just then the door opened and T-Bag came in. Everyone glanced over at him while Y/N squeezed Michael’s hand before dropping it, a small sign of reassurance.

            “Pardon me for interrupting,” T-Bag said, hands up as he entered into the storage room. “But, what’s that smell?” He sniffed the air then smirked. “It smells a little like conspiracy.”

            Michael took his hat off and stated, “We need to get back to work.”

            “Yeah, before you do, I have an announcement to make. I’ve been growing leery the way you all talk,” T-Bag said with his hands on his hips. “Like I’m a lesser man. So, I bought a insurance policy,” he told the crowd glancing over.  

            Y/N looked at Michael who focused on T-Bag, calculating and thinking his words through.

            “I called up my guy on the outside and told him about our plan. And I told him in all likelihood I’ll be seeing him next week. But, if he don’t hear from me five minutes before the escape and twenty minutes after, I told him to call up the Warden, blow the whistle on the whole thing. So, if you all got ideas about getting rid of me, I suggest you make other plans,” he stated.

            Michael looked at her and she gave him a look of fear.

            When they left the storage room, Michael and Y/N walked together up the yard. She glanced over to him and whispered, “What are you going to do?”

            “I don’t know,” he responded. “But you’re coming.”

-

Y/N sat in the infirmary, staring blankly at the tiled floor as she waited for Dr. Remington to finish reviewing her chart. The sterile smell of disinfectant and the distant hum of medical equipment made her feel on edge. Her fingers absentmindedly touched the heading gash on her stomach, a reminder of the attack she still had not spoken about.

            Dr. Remington entered, offering her a warm smile as he adjusted the glasses he is wearing.

            “I like the glasses, makes you look extremely dashing,” she complimented as she laid on the hospital bed.

            “I’ve seen you with your reading glasses,” he mused back, “reading those Austen books. Quite intellectual and inspiring, might I say,” he complimented as he sat down next to her. “Now, how are you feeling? Any unusual pain? And do you have anything you’d like to tell me about what happened?”

            Y/N averted her gaze, her jaw tightening. She had no intention of revealing the person who attacked her. If she did, there would be consequences – ones she was not prepared to face. “Nope, nope and nope. I’m fine.”

            Remington looked at her carefully, sensing the walls she had up, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he shifted topics. “Scofield. He waited by your bedside for hours after the surgery. I had to physically pull him out of the infirmary at one point.”

            Y/N couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

            “He’s quite…dedicated,” Remington continued. Y/N knew where this was going.

            “I actually wanted to talk about something else,” she said, crossing her arms. “I need to change my birth control. Or lower my prescription or increase. I don’t know. It’s just not working out. I would rather have an IUD, but I guess that’s not an option.”

            “Not with the funding we get,” Dr. Remington said. However, he rose a brow and glanced at her chart again. “I see. You’ve been on it for a few weeks. What’s going on?”

            Y/N sighed, running her hand through her hair. “I’ve been having deep cramps, and with my endometriosis, I read birth control can sometimes make it worse. Plus, I’ve been moody – like, really moody. I’m tired all the time, and the tenderness in my breasts hasn’t gone away since…well…since I started taking it.”

            Dr. Remington leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Those symptoms could align to your incident. The gash in your stomach is still healing, after all, and fatigue is natural. But I’ll admit the symptoms could also be due to the new birth control.”

            “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” Y/N muttered, clearly frustrated. “I don’t feel like myself.”

            In the next room, Michael sat in a chair, waiting for his insulin shot. His eyes wandered through the small window that separated the rooms, landing on Y/N and Dr. Remington. He could see Y/N’s body language – agitated, tense. He knew that stance all too well. She was getting frustrated. His chest tightened, feeling the distance between them, even though they were only a few feet apart.

            The nurse walked in, pulling Michael’s attention back to the task at hand as she prepped his arm. He winced slightly, but his focus remained on Y/N, watching her lips move faster, her frustration clearly rising.

            As Y/N sat on the examination table, Dr. Remington flipped through her chart once more, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. He glanced up at her, hesitating before he spoke.

            “Y/N, I’m going to be honest, and I don’t want you to get mad. But based on some of these symptoms you’ve described – fatigue, mood swings, breast tenderness – there’s one other possibility we should consider. Especially with the rumours of you and Scofield.”

            “What?”

            Dr. Remington set her chart down and leaned forward slightly. “Have you thought that you might be pregnant?”

            Y/N’s expression shifted immediately, disbelief flashing across her face. “What? No, that’s not possible.”

            Dr. Remington didn’t let it go. “With the symptoms you’re describing, and considering–“

            “No,” Y/N cut him off, her voice sharp. “That’s not it. I’m not pregnant. That’s not possible.”

            Dr. Remington raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Y/N, these things can happen even if precautions are taken, and I understand you’ve been close with Scofield–“

            Y/N’s temper flared, and she shot up from the table, her frustration boiling over. “There’s nothing going on with Scofield!” she snapped, voice rising. “We’re not sleeping together. We haven’t even–there’s no way I’m pregnant.                      

            Michael, who was getting his insulin shot caught the tail end of the conversation. The moment he heard his name – especially connected to pregnancy – his heart sank. His body tensed, and for a brief moment, he stopped breathing as the words echoed in his brain. Pregnant? He had never even…they hadn’t…

            But Y/N’s voice was louder now, fierce and cutting. He could hear the raw emotion in her tone as she denied everything.

            Dr. Remington, still calm and persistent didn’t back down. “Y/N, these symptoms align with early pregnancy, and if you’re sexually active–“

            “–I’m not!” Y/N all but shouted, her hands balling into fists. “I already told you, there is nothing going on. Not with Michael or anyone. You’re wrong.”

            The doctor gave her a long look, realising she was not going to budge on the subject but then sighed. “Y/N, I have to do a mandatory blood test to check if you are pregnant,” he announced.

            Y/N heard him loud and clear, but still clearly agitated didn’t respond. She just crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed on the floor. She has no rights here. Not even on her body.

            Michael sat frozen, his mind racing. Hearing her deny everything – especially the part about him – hurt more than he wanted to admit. He knew they hadn’t been intimate yet, but her vehement denial stung nonetheless. However, he knew she had to deny it.

            When Dr. Remington finally left, Y/N felt like she could breathe again. He went to get supplies. However, her head was pounding, and she just wanted to leave the infirmary. She hadn’t realised how drained she felt until now.

            Michael, still reeling from what he overheard, slipped into her room quietly after Dr. Remington left. He could see the tension radiating off her, the frustration etched on her face.

            “Hey,” he said softly, standing in the doorway.

            “How much did you hear?” she whispered.

            “Caught some of what happened,” he muttered coming over. “Want to talk here or later?”

            “Later. I’ll tell you, but Michael,” she said looking up. He looked at her. “We are something. I love you and I had to deny-“

            “I know.”

            Michael slipped out and she was left by herself with a pregnancy test.

-

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed in her cell, her knees tucked under her as she tried to lose herself in the worn pages of a book. She had been re-reading the same paragraph for the past ten minutes, but nothing was sinking in. Her mind was elsewhere – on the conversation at the infirmary, the pain in her stomach, and the strange way her body had been feeling.

            A knock was heard on the bars of her cell when she glanced up to see Michael stepping inside, his eyes soft with concern. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

            “Can we talk?” he asked gently, stepping closer.

            Y/N nodded, setting her book aside. She knew what was coming – they hadn’t really spoken since the tense scene in the infirmary. “Yeah, come sit,” she muttered, scooting over to give him room to sit next to her.

            Michael took a seat on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. “I didn’t want to bring it up in there, but I caught on with some things Dr. Remington said. Pregnancy?”

            Y/N tensed, feeling the familiar knot of frustration building in her chest. She let out a heavy breath, her hands gripping her knees tightly. “Yeah,” she said, her voice brittle. “He thinks I’m pregnant.”

            Michael’s brow furrowed, his eyes searching her face. “Do you…think that’s possible? Not with me but–“

            “No,” Y/N replied sharply, then softer. “No, I haven’t–“ she stopped herself, biting her lip as she struggled to put her feelings into words. “We haven’t even had sex, Michael. There’s no way. But I guess the symptoms lined up and he jumped to conclusions because of rumours.”

            Michael nodded, slowly, absorbing her words. “Then what do you think is going on?”

            Y/N leaned back against the cold cell wall, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s the birth control they are making me take. I’ve never been on it, plus it’s interfering with my endometriosis. I asked him to change it because I’ve been feeling off. I’ve had cramps, mood swings, fatigue, and the tenderness in my chest – it’s driving me crazy. It doesn’t feel right. But Remington thinks I need to give it more time.”                         

            Her frustration bubbled up, and she started rambling, the words spilling out like a flood. “I feel like I don’t even have control over my own body anymore, Michaek. First, I get stabbed, then I get questioned about my choices and now they’re telling me I might be pregnant when I haven’t had sex in a year. It’s like I don’t have any rights in here. Everything feels wrong and I just–“ She cut herself off, her voice shaking with anger.

            Michael reached out, his hand covering hers. His touch was warm, grounding her as he spoke softly. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. I know it’s hard, and it feels like everything is out of your hands. But you still have control over your decisions. I’m here for you, no matter what. You’re not alone.”

            She looked at him. “When was the last time you had sex?” she whispered.

            He chuckled and smirked. “Long time,” he muttered. “But that’s ok.”

            “I was made to take a pregnancy test over rumours about us,” she expressed. “They stabbed me with a needle to take my blood.”

            “A year ago I was in Greece on a yacht for my thirtieth birthday, sailing all the islands with my girlfriends and my husband. Then I came home, and I made a mistake out of love, and here I am,” she whispered. “I wished my father adopted me. I would have such a different life, but he was too focused on his job in the government than his bastard daughter from when he was young. Maybe if he adopted me, I would never have turned to crime or drugs and met him. However, then a piece of me is thankful because I have you,” she whispered, looking up at him. “Because we’re something, right?”

            Michael nodded. “I changed my plans for you, Y/N, because I want you in my life,” he explained. “We don’t have the answers right now,” Michael said, his tone soft but unwavering. “We’ll figure it out, step by step. And if that means switching your prescription, or standing up to the doctor and they need to hear my point of view, or just letting yourself feel whatever it is you need to feel, then that’s what we’ll do.”

            Y/N blinked, trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill. But she nodded. It was rare for her to feel this vulnerable, and even rarer for someone to actually see her like this. But Michael did. He always did.

            “Thank you,” she whispered, taking his hand and kissing it.

            “Always.”

-

Michael was in the pipes and Y/N stood in the corner while Sucre stopped the hole. The longer this was taking, the more anxiety Y/N was getting.

            Where the fuck was Michael? He had missed PI because he was looking at finding an escape route. However, the more she waited, the more anxious she got.

            “I’m through,” C-Note said as he hit the hole with shovel.

            “Keep it up,” Westmoreland replied.

            ‘Michael, Michael, Michael,’ Y/N muttered to herself, hand in her hair as she tugged at the base. ‘Come on.’

            “Come on, stomp it,” Sucre said as C-Note followed. The hole fell through and Y/N instantly ran to it. Looking down, she tried to find Michael, however just then Lincoln came in telling them that COs were on their way.

            Y/N went to lean back against the wall, legging bouncing up and down as she picked at her fingers. Where was Michael?

            She heard his voice as they placed the picture back on the hole, but she chose to stay where she was. They needed a distraction. They needed time. Therefore, Lincoln did something she thought he never would do and that was punch a CO and was sent to the SHU.

            Michael was crouching in the hole and Y/N went over, grabbing his arm and hauling him up. When he was on his feet, her hand wrapped around his neck pulling him into a hug. He allowed her, rubbing her back as he pulled away.

            “We, we leave tonight,” he announced and huge sigh came Y/N, but Michael met her eyes and he saw the fear in them. The fear of telling him. “What?” Then his eyes went over the team. “Where’s my brother?” he asked.

            “Michael,” Y/N tried, but Westmoreland bet her to it.

            “Michael, we got a big problem.”

            “Linc needed to distract and he…punched a guard,” Y/N said.

            However, not long after the team was outside and saw a gurney with Abruzzi on it. Blood was streaming down his body. They ran to the fence to see what was happening and instantly, Y/N covered her mouth with her hand.

            “Oh my God,” she whispered.

            “And then there were seven,” T-Bag taunted and Y/N looked over.

            “Far as I know, there’s six,” C-Note said as they as dispersed.

            Y/N followed Michael to the other side where there was guards and the warden. She leaned against the fence next to Michael as he chatted with them.

            “He’s in a lot of trouble son,” Pope says as Michael clutched the fence.

            “You have to let me see him,” Michael argued.

            “That’s not a request I can grant at the moment,” Pope replied.

            “Please,” Michael begged.

            “We’re 36 hours away from his execution. He panicked. He got violent. For that reason, for the rest of his time at Fox River, we’re going to keep him in Ad Seg. For his safety and everyone else’s,” Pope finished and began to walk away.

            “But I’m his brother. I deserve to see him. That’s my right.”

            “It’s not your right to see. Until tomorrow, at his execution….I’m sorry, son,” Pope fired back.

            Michael glanced down and then to his right to see Y/N with a solemn face. However, she knew he was calculating. He always was.

            “I’m sorry,” she whispered coming to stand by him, but Michael pushed her off and walked away, leaving Y/N alone.

            Sucre was on the phone as the group stood in the yard together. Michael had his hands in his pocket as his eyes drifted to everyone in the escape team before landing on Y/N. Sucre made his way over and stated, “The hospitial won’t give out any information.”

            “Wonder what happened to that boy,” T-Bag pipped up and Y/N gave him a death glare. “Maybe them Mafia chickens came home to roost after all.”

            Michael ignored him and instead said, “We gotta put this whole thing on hold.”

            Y/N’s heart dropped. Everyone’s heart dropped.

            “Easy, Fish. We’re not putting nothing on hold,” C-Note expressed, voice serious and low.

            “I don’t think you heard me,” Michael pressed with power. “Until I get my brother out of that hole, no one’s doing a damn thing.”

            “God bless Sink, but the man is gone. You got to the tombs, you don’t get out,” C-Note said. “Not until they strap you up.”

            “If you think I’m going to leave my brother behind,” Michael said walking up to C-Note with venom in his words, “you have massively underestimated me.”

            “Really?”

            “Really.”

            “That ain't my fight. I’m through that hole, pretty, with or without you,” T-Bag stated, sauntering over. “Next time I’m on PI–“

            “–We’re not having this debate,” Michael interrupted.

            “We’re not? Now, wait, I–“

            “–We’re not having this debate,” Michael interjected, voice strong and filled with passion. He was telling T-Bag, ordering him, demanding him to drop it.

            The debate went on for a while and Y/N began to walk away. Her hands in her hair. Another day in here, meant another threat could be coming. However, she distanced herself from the group and let the men bicker like boys.

            After a short while, T-Bag said something and Michael was on him. Grasping him by the arms, he pushed T-Bag against the fence and Y/N hurried over, grabbing Michael by the arm and pulling him off with Sucre.

            “It’s not worth the fight,” she stated, brushing his arms off and cupping his cheek. “We’ll figure this out.”

            C-Note talked to the CO. “Hey, it’s good boss, it’s good. We’re just playin’ around. It’s all good.” Geary, the CO walked away and C-Note walks over to the others. Michael was focused on glaring at T-Bag. “You know what, there are two things that everybody needs to get with. First, hillbilly, you have got to learn some respect. The man here made everything possible. And you, Fish? You’re gonna have to get with that we are doing thing this afternoon, as soon as we get on PI.”

            Michael was stressed, running his hands over his head and intertwining them behind his neck. Then he started to chuckle lightly. “So, you’re just gonna make a run for it in the middle of the day?” he mocked.

            “Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, huh, baby?” C-Note replied looking over at Y/N. “Maybe you should talk some sense into your man.”

            Michael pinched his nose and sighed. “You are gonna screw this whole thing up.”

            “It’s not for you to decide anymore. Now, this train is leaving the station, and I suggest you get on it,” C-Note said lowly.

            T-Bag smirked. “Get on the train, Fish,” T-Bag taunted. “Get on the train.”

            “Well, you know what, you son of bitches? I won’t let you do it,” Michael stated, hands in pocket looking over everyone.

            “What you gonna do? Blow the whistle on your own escpae?” T-Bag mocked.

            Y/N watched this unfold and did not know what to do. A piece of her wanted out today, but she knew how much Lincoln meant to Michael. Michael was here for Lincoln and he was not leaving without him. However, Y/N watched as Michael walked away leaving her with the group.

-

Michael made his decision. Today was the day they were escaping. Everyone was in the storage room doing PI. Y/N winced as she tried to fix something on the wall. However, she tried not to think much about it.

            “So, Mr. Pied Piper, what’s the play?” T-Bag asked, holding a tool.

            Michael who was fixing something on the wall replied, “We do what we always do. Pretend to be working. Be model citizens, till the time comes.”

            “And that’ll be?” T-Bag asked.

            “Nine o’clock,” Michael responded.

            “You seem to be forgetting the fact that PI shuts down at 5:00, Pretty.”

            Michael looked over, stopping his work. “We have to make sure it doesn’t, don’t we?” Then he went back to work, pulling the dry wall off the wall and then the insulation. “Hammer.” Michael then began to pound the pipe in the wall.

            “Water,” Y/N muttered from afar. And just like that, water exploded in the area. She walked over to Michael, hand on his lower back. “Smart one, cookie,” she mused with a grin and then walked off. However, something ache in her stomach. It was a deep pain. Michael saw her wince and his brows furrowed, walking over to her.

            “You ok?” he whispered, hand on her lower hip looking down.

            “Yeah,” she muttered, refusing to look in his eyes. “I think I might being getting my period or the birth control isn’t working. I’m just getting cramps,” she rambled.

Michael nodded. “Let me know if it worsens,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

            They all sat in a circle on the floor, very wet and very cold when Bellick came in, stomping in with such power and urgency. Y/N looked down, but the cramps kept happening.

            “What the hell happened in here?” Bellick yelled looking at the six of them.

            “It was me,” Y/N muttered. “Hit a pipe.”

            Bellick looked at her. “I told you women aren’t cut out for men’s jobs,” he muttered.

            “Should have killed the water before we started,” Michael added.

            “Should’ve, huh?” Bellick retorted.

            “It’s not that big of a deal. We can fix it in the morning. I don’t think mold should be a problem before then,” Michael said to Bellick.

            “Mold?”

            “Scofield, shut up, man,” C-Note hissed.

            “No, you shut up. What are you talking about?” Bellick asked.

            Michael smirked. “You get drywall and insulation soaked like this, you run the risk of Stachybotrys mold.”

            Bellick looked at him and then announced they had to work through the night which the team refused. However, Bellick was in charge and that meant it was happening. Then he left which earned a snicker from the team.

-

The hours were going by and soon night crept up. The plan was set, the tunnel completed and every minute felt like a countdown to freedom. She kept her focus on the task, trying to ignore the sharp, twisting pain that had been gnawing at her stomach for hours.

            She winced as she bent down to pick up another tool, sweat trickling down her forehead despite the cool air. The pain was not going away – it was getting worse, creeping up her spine and making it hard to focus on anything else. But she could not afford to be weak now. Not tonight.

            Michael, working nearby, noticed her strained movements. His eyes tracked every wince, every time her hand instinctively went to her stomach. He had seen it before, but now, as, the night dragged on, it was getting harder to ignore.

            He made his way over to her. “Y/N,” he whispered, urgently, moving closer to her. “What’s going on? You’re in pain.”

            She waved him off, shaking her head. “I told you…it’s nothing…just cramping.” Her voice was tight, her body tense as she forced herself to stand upright, but Michael was not buying it.

            “Don’t lie to me.” He pulled her aside, out of earshot from the others. His eyes searched her face, worry etched into his features. “You’ve been wincing for hours. It has to be your stitches.”

            Y/N bit her lip, trying to breathe through the pain. “It’s fine, Michael. I can handle it. We’re almost out.”

            But Michel was not letting it go. He reached out, his hand gently lifting the hem of her shirt, revealing the angry red wound on her stomach – the stab wound from days earlier. His heart sank when he saw the skin are it, swollen and inflamed, the telltale sings of an infection spreading.

            “Y/N…” his voice was tight, almost panicked, as he stared at the wound. “This is infected. Badly. You need to go to the infirmary.”

            The reality of the situation hit Y/N like a sledgehammer, her heart plummeting into her stomach. She had been trying to avoid this, pretending it was not as bad as it felt, but now there was no denying it. If she went to the infirmary, she’d miss the escape. She couldn’t run, couldn’t climb with a wound like that.

            “I can’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Not tonight. Michael, we’re supposed to leave tonight.”

            “You’re not going anywhere with this,” he said firmly, his hand still resting on her side. “If you don’t get help, it’s going to get worse.”

            Y/N’s eyes darted to the tunnel, the escape route they had worked so hard for, the freedom that was so close she could taste it. But she wasn’t going to make it. Not like this. Her chest tightened with fear and frustration, tears stinging the back of her eyes.

            She came to the realisation. “I’ll slow you down,” she mumbled, voice barely audible. “I won’t be able to run, or climb or do anything physical, Michael. You have to leave me behind.”

            Michael’s jaw clenched, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and deperation. “No,” he whispered, shaking his ehad. “No, I’m not leaving you behind. I’ll get you there. There’s a plan – there’s always a way.”

            Y/N looked at him, her heart breaking as the truth settled between them. “I can’t do it,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “I can’t make it. You have to go.”

            The others had noticed something was wrong now. Sucre, C-Note and even T-Bag were watching from the distance, their eyes flickering between Y/N and Michael as the reality of the situation became clear. This as it. This was the end of whatever chance Y/N had to escape with them.

            Michael’s hand shook as he pulled her closer, his forehead pressing against hers. “I can’t leave you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I won’t. You can’t be here.”

            “You have to,” Y/N replied, her breath hitching as she fought back tears. “I can’t live with myself if I hold you back.”

            He shook his head again, more adamantly this time, but she could see the battle in his eyes. He knew she was right, but every fibre of his being was screaming at him to fight it, to refuse to leave her behind.

            Y/N reached up, her hand cupping his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “You’re going to get out of here,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re going to get your freedom, and you’re going to live. For me.”

            Michael’s eyes filled with tears, as he leaned into her touch, his heart shattering into pieces. “I will always love you,” he muttered.

            “Me too. I love you, Michael Scofield,” she whispered back, her own tears falling freely now. “But you got to go.”

            The weight of her words settled between them, heavy and final. Michael pressed a desperate kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if he could somehow make this moment last forever.

            Then he kissed her one final time. Full of passion, lust, love, need and want. His hand grasped her cheek as he pulled her body against his.

            “Goodbye, Michael Scofield and good luck,” she said as she pulled away.

            Y/N looked at the team and then saluted before walking out of the storage room to infirmary.

            “Where is she going?” Sucre asked.

            Michael looked down, licking his lips before gaining his confidence back. “She isn’t coming. Not anymore. But we got to move.”

-

I hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun writing this.

Let me know your thoughts, opinions and comments! :)

Lots of love,

Ava <3

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