#because a) it’s a fire hazard to leave your door OPEN

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

Narcissistic parents are so delicate and fragile that the simple act of turning the lock on your bedroom door from open to closed flips their world upside down and you can literally watch them completely lose their shit right before your eyes.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Face it dear, you need someone like me.

Synopsis: You live a happy life with your husband, Ralph, who never notices you running off in the middle of the night to a certain radio host…

Warnings: Cheating, NSFW under the cut! Alastor being Alastor! Oh and Human Alastor because he will always be my fav <33

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event )

You lived a quiet life. Your husband Ralph was more than enough. He worked in construction and was busy all morning and into the late hours of the night, getting home at eight p.m sharp every evening. The two of you had a lovely marriage, some would say picture perfect even. A small house, living in the city. What more could you ask for?

Well maybe some alone time. Or financial security. But hey you can’t have it all right?

You hadn’t intended on cheating on your husband. Hell you didnt even want to get involved with Alastor, he was just a colleague. But, he had so sweetly convinced you to go dancing with him one night after your husband knocked out on the couch. Sneaking out was easy when he slept like a log and honestly? It was the best night of your life. You felt alive. Like things were okay. You felt so pretty in your dress, with your hair done up. The two of you had even shared a flask on your way back to your home.

But then Alastor turns down the wrong street, and now you’re on his doorstep, the both of you fiddling with the lock, trying not to pull away from each other even though you both need air. But everything felt so good, so right. When he finally opens the door to his home you both stumble in, giggling all the way. He hazardously removes your coat, letting it drop to the floor as he does the same with his. You kick your heels off, while he does the same with his. Garments are tossed as you both make your way up the stairs, sliding into walls and becoming an entangled mess of laughter. His hands are everywhere they shouldn’t be, and yours remain wrapped around his shoulders, manicured nails raking through his hair as the kisses descend from your lips down the side of your neck, where he bites down ever so slightly. He kicks the door to his bedroom open wider, the two of you walking in as he sits you on the bed, pulling back to see your face. Lips are swollen, and the red lipstick you had worn for him was smudged off the side of your lip. The marks down the side of your neck were beginning to form despite only being made moments ago, but he’s a passionate lover who loves to leave his mark on things.

No, you hadn’t intended on cheating on your husband. But he was so gentle with you, so warm and loving, his touch lit you ablaze like if you were a forest fire. Feeling something felt amazing, and he felt all the better.

No, you didn’t want to cheat on your husband. You didn’t plan on taking your lunch breaks just to walk around the park with Alastor. That wasn’t done intentionally, it just happened. The same way everything else did.

You didnt want to cheat on your husband, but when he knocks three times on your door nine thirty you know it’s Alastor. You don’t even think twice before leaving to spend the night with your favorite man. A man who isn’t your husband.

You dont like cheating on your husband. No, not when you hear him talk about how much he wants to start a family with you. How painfully you have to smile back at him, knowing you aren’t even interested in sleeping in the same bed as him anymore. What a cellophane Alastor called him.

“That man is undeserving of you dear. When are you going to be honest with yourself hm?”

He’d say, at the worst damn time too. Slotted perfectly between your legs, asking you these things when your mind is nothing but mush because of him. But isn’t that the best part? Because it’s him you’re doing all this for. It’s Alastor you choose to spend your nights with, and that makes him want you so much more. So you could imagine his pain when he knocked three times and you didn’t answer. No, not when he heard those sweet sounds of yours from the other side of the door. How dare you.

Yes, Ralph was your husband. But Alastor was so much better than him, it was almost hard to fake it. “I love you so much Y/n.” Your husband said with a sigh, sleep finally taking over his body. You just nod, feeling guilty. No, you don’t like cheating on your husband. But how are you supposed to feel when your husband doesn’t feel like your husband anymore? When he feels like a man you sleep with so he doesn’t become angry with you? You gather yourself together quickly, not even recognizing the time, and shut your bedroom door quietly. You make your way to the kitchen in a robe, and almost jump out of your skin when you see Alastor standing next to the counter with a cup of tea in his hand.

“Alastor…- Alastor I-“ You were at a loss for words. How did he even get in?

“Tell me, my dear. Why won’t you leave him?”

Alastor asks, setting his hot cup down on the counter. His smile doesn’t change, but it’s thin. You know he’s upset with you. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to, break the news to him.” You say, looking down. Alastor scoffs, pushing off the counter to walk towards you.

“Do you love him?”

Alastor asks, stopping a few feet away from you. “I do…but-“

“No. Do you love him?”

Alastor asks again. He knows the answer. You both do. “No. No I don’t.” You whisper to yourself, tears brimming your eyes. Alastor smiles wider now.

“Then why do you let him use you? You know he isn’t half as good with you as I am.”

He says, getting close enough to take your hands in his. Tears fall from your face, and Alastor coo’s as he wipes your tears.

“I don’t want to hurt him.” You say, sighing. Alastor just smiles.

“Why don’t,”

He says, moving to tilt your face to look at him. He smiles as you stare at him teary eyed, and though usually he’d love it, right now he wants that sad look gone.

“You get your things, and why don’t we leave?”

Alastor asks. You stare at him wide eyed. “Leave? But, my home-“ Alastor tut’s at you, pulling away from you to walk back to his place by the counter. You stand there, shocked.

“Do you really need to stay?”

Alastor asks with a laugh.

“Darling, you’ve already hurt him enough.”

He says, hoping that will snap you out of it. When he see’s you still, stuck there, he pinches the bridge of his nose, glasses moving up.

“He can’t give you what I can.”

He says, and you shake your head.

“Alastor he’s been a good man to me. I can’t just-“

“Can’t what? Sleep with another man and then try to act like you’re perfect? Dear you and I both know we are far from perfect.”

Alastor says, and it hurts because you know he’s right. You’ve already hurt your husband, so why are you still sticking around as if you care?

“He’s been there for me through so much. He needs me.”

You say in a low voice. You didn’t think this would hurt you this much.

“What about what you need?”

Alastor asks, studying your features closely. He walks back to you again, this time pulling you closer to meet him halfway. This time you’re forced to look at him. He gets closer to your face, and you hate the way you feel butterflies when his thumb traces your bottom lip.

“Face it dear, you need someone like me.”

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Always have but never hold

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n part seven folks. Still blows my mind that people are enjoying this. Will take a little break after this chapter so bear (hehe) with me please! But these two will come back to you as soon as possible.✨🤍

warnings: the usual, past trauma, forceful behavior, mental health struggles, anxiety, fire.

Parts in cursive are glimpses to the past.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Carmen knew he was sinking. The images of his previous chef shouting at him didn't ease up. It was always there. Nagging at him. Eating at him. Putting him down and making him feel small. You're terrible at this. You're not good at it. Move faster. Why are you so slow? You are nothing. You're bullshit. You'll never be good enough. Do you like letting people down? You're great at that shitface. Give up. Give up. You'll never get it. Never have what you want because you are a fuckup. A mistake.

Carmy shot up. Cold sweat dripped down his face. Mouth dry. He blinked his eyes a couple of times. Right as the doorbell rang again. His body stilled. It was already late. He had fallen asleep after he returned from the restaurant. That wasn't the plan. But he had laid down on the sofa for a moment, watching a mind-numbing show on TV. And he must have slipped into that uneasy state of slumber. The doorbell went off again. Carmy dragged a hand over his face. He thought about ignoring it. Whoever that was could fuck themselves. Until he remembered that you didn't have your keys on you, and if...

Carmy tripped over the fallen pillow as he staggered through the apartment. Towards the door. His hands were shaky as he turned the key. Yanking the door open. Chest barely managed to welcome all the oxygen he's been inhaling. Hopeful. Lightheaded. And then nothing. And suddenly, there's not enough oxygen. And his shoulders slumped. And he felt tired from that sprint he just had. He felt heavy. The light tingle in his eyes was dying.

"What do you want, sugar?", he sighed. Standing in the doorway, feeling fatigued from that one, single sentence alone. "That's one way to greet your sister", Sugar grumbled, eyes on Carmy. Carmy looked like he was dragged from hell itself. Leaning against the door for support. Carmy, who looked so tired, even sleep would help. "You won't invite me in?", she asked after a while of standing in the outside hallway. Carmy was barely a human. The last thing he needed was someone barging in.

Yet he still stepped to the side because this is sugar, and he loves her. Mikey loved her too. The three were together against the world. Should have been. Youngest or not, Carmen always felt the need to protect her. Somehow shield her from the insanity that was their family, but it rarely worked because even with all the pleading, all the just drop it, don't ask mom that, just let her be, Nat always went head first, igniting the flames even more.

"Shit, Carm... what... where...", he catches her shocked expression as she looked around the apartment. Boxes were still everywhere. But he doubted that was what had she looking stunned. There were dirty plates all over the counter and empty boxes of freezer meals. Cans of drinks. A tea towel was on the floor. The living room looked like it usually looked when art exams were coming. Carmy had dug up everything. Every single thing that, in a way, removed him from you. Was it a mess? Yes. But it was his mess. Your mess. The mess you two made. The mess of you. It was beautiful to Carmy.

He snapped out of the trance just as Natalie reached to take one of your books that was placed right by the stove. "Don't touch it", Carmy barked almost immediately. "Carmen, this is a safety hazard", Nat groaned, and even with her brother shooting daggers at her, she still lifted the book that held a whole bunch of Monet paintings. Water lilies were glancing at the two of them innocently.

"I said leave it be", Carmen wanted nothing more than to snatch the book from Nat's hands. It felt too personal for her to hold. "Clean out the trash at least", she said, moving to turn the pages. The pages. Carmen cringed. "Put the book down, Natalie. Don't fucking mess with me right now". His voice was bitter. Cold. Demanding. He rarely used it with her. It just didn't sit well with him. But this felt as if Nat was pushing her fingers deep into the wounds that Carmy bore. Turning them as she damaged the skin tissue even more.

Natalie had stopped just watching Carmy now. The eyes were nearly watery. "I thought hanging out with Claire was good for you", she muttered, and she truly couldn't have picked the worse words to say. That name alone now made Carmy sick. "Don't", was all he managed to say. Because it was true, he got excited about seeing her in the grocery store back then. And yeah, it felt almost made up when she popped up. She was a big part of his life back then, yes. And Carmy had thought about her when he just moved out. Even then, they hadn't been talking much. But then you walked in, and he saw no one else. There had always been these voices in his head. These nagging thoughts and Claire was one of them, but you killed them all. Wiped Carmy's head clean.

"Claire's a good...", Natalie stated, but Carmy moved forward straight away, ripping the book out of her hands before pointing his finger at her. "Stop pushing her on me! All of you this time! Stop it!", Carmen barked, brushing his head over his face. "Did you ever stop and considered that I was fucking happy?". Those words made Nat bleed as well. Carmen could see the way something in her chest tightened. Her face changed. He still hoped that she had always wanted what was best for him.

"I found someone who loves... loved me, and...", to change the tense felt wrong. But Carmen wasn't sure now. Wasn't sure if you were still out there. Holding onto that little flame that was the love the two of you shared. "I always wanted what's best for you ...", Natalie muttered, eyes full of tears now, glistening in the dim light of the apartment, "Does this look like the best thing for me?"

Carmy gestured around him. Around all the mess. Around himself, "When I blow my brains out just like Miney did?" Natalie's face paled, and her hand came over her chest. She held her breath for a moment before mumbling, "Don't talk shit like that! That was just some girl....", "Some girl? She's been my whole life. She made me better. She made this world better, Natalie", the sound of Carmy's voice was nothing but a silent sob. Because no matter what he did, life constantly chose to remind him that you weren't there beside him.

"Try this," the kitchen was submerged in different smells. Some old French tunes were playing. You were sitting on a little bar stool as Carmen carefully lifted a spoon toward your mouth. You instantly leaned forward, letting the flavors hit your tongue. Eyes big when the most delightful taste filled your senses, "I would sell my kidney for this", you muttered, motioning for Carmy to give you another spoonful, mouth already open. He let out a chuckle, dipping the spoon back in, "It's not that good". You let out a gasp. "Chef, I beg to differ. That's sublime! You need to add this to your menu".

It was delicate. The act of sharing food. To some, it might seem silly and stupid, but to Carmen, it was a whole lot more important. You knew that much even back then. It was his way of saying I trust you. This is me. Now you are looking at one of the rawest forms of me. Stabbing me now and making me feel like no one would be so easy. So what will you pick? It's his way of saying I love you so much that I'm sharing a part of me that's so venerable.

Your eyes shined as you wait for another spoonful, but Carmen halted his movements. "The chef is still unsure", he says, and you narrow your eyes at him, "He would like some more convincing. How about a kiss?". You watched him for a bit, slightly taken aback by his words because Carmen was so rarely in a playful mood. A smirk spreads over your face. "And does this chef kiss all of his taste testers?" That same half-smirk curves his lips as Carmen settles the spoon in the pot. "No, only the one he really fucking likes". You lick your lip nervously, biting the side of it. "Really, really, huh?", you ask in an almost teasingly innocent manner. Carmen only nodded his head as he leans forward. "Well, then... maybe your taste tester is just as desperate for the taste of the chef's lips", and that's all it took for Carme to lean toward you. For you to catch his lips between your palms as you pulled him closer.

"And then I said... Hey? You're listening?", Sydney's voice drags you out of your head, and you nod your head quickly. Eyes fell on Luca, who was a couple of steps away, making you two dinner. His back and arm muscles moved with every delicate cut that he made. "No, I hear you, and it's... well, shit,", you breathed out. Ever since the call earlier today, you've barely let go of your phone. Marcus and Sydney were both pissed. The beef was more than likely to close. The shit was falling apart. Carmy was falling apart. If he hadn't crumbled completely already...

"It messed with Marcus a lot", Sydney's voice was barely a whisper when she said that, cautiously looking at Marcus, who had slipped out to the balcony for some fresh air. "He was... well excited, you know, and I tasted it. It was fucking great. Who even gets a doughnut almost perfect on like a fourth try?", she continued to rant. Luca lifted his head to the sound of doughnuts, and you narrowed your eyes at him. Of course, that's the first thing he subconsciously reaches for. Oh, these fucking chefs trained more insanely than Pacvlov's dogs.

Silence falls, from the little screen in front of you, you can see a lost Sydney, and oddly enough, you feel guilty. As if this was your fault all along. As if you should have thought more about your flee. "Where are you anyway? Carmy goes mental at the mention of your name", Sydney killed the silence, and suddenly you don't know what to say. The obvious thing would be to say the truth, but...

"Oh am... Just you know", you muttered, but you can tell that she didn't know. "You two broke up or something?", and it's an innocent question. She's like a kid who made an absurd comment and jabbed the grownup right where it hurt the most. You can sense that even Luca stilled.

"We didn't... well, we did..." you let out a sigh, "Complicated. I'm in Copenhagen". Sydney's eyes grow big as she brings her phone closer to her face, and you cannot help but chuckle slightly. You watched little pieces put themselves together in her brain.

"I'm at a friend's house. He answered the call. Luca. He's a baker", You weren't sure why you were explaining yourself, but then something completely different shifted through Sydney's face. "Wait, Luca? THE chef Luca from Copenhagen?", and just like that, the whole relationship drama was swept away. Your eyes met Luca's, and he was already chuckling slightly. "Of course that... it definitely doesn't mean that it's THAT Luca because, like, there must be a lot of Luca's...", and here she was, muttering and falling over her words and it's making your heart clench. That's how she talked about Carmen not long ago. How she looked at him in the kitchen—that admiration. An astonishing thrill to be able to swirl around chefs like that. "Oh yeah, scratch it. It's definitely that, Luca", your eyes fall to the screen, and you see Luca leaning over your shoulder with a gentle smile on his face as he waves at Sydney.

"Hi, it's me again. Haven't called in a couple of days, and", Carmy takes a hesitant breath, "You probably were happy with not hearing from me". Another sigh leaves his lips, "I thought about Ossobuco today. So random, right? But I... I thought about our trip to Italy". The silence this time held this anticipated moment of peace almost. "You liked that dish so much I could make it for you constantly for the rest of the month, remember?", something like an almost happy cackle leaves Carmy's lips. "I'd like to cook ossobuco for you one day again", he says, and the line goes silent.

You were puffing out the last clouds from the cigarette when Luca stepped out onto the balcony. Your phone was tossed to the side. Stains of angry tears were kissed by a light evening breeze. Luca said nothing as he sat down, his hand coming to run your thigh softly. "Penny, for your thoughts?", he said quietly, his eyes now fully on you.

"Do you remember when you came to Libby's that night?", Luca's hand stopped moving; his hand was completely still on your leg now. You could tell that he was clenching his jaw tightly. He didn't want to remember, nor did you, but he still nodded. "I was so confused and scared", you muttered. "You were pumped with shit that ass gave you and dumped for later use", Luca huffed, and you cringed at his pick for words slightly. "Libby "found me", you say air quoting the last two words. "And then he fucked her as a thank you and kept doing so for the next six months till I found out", you let out a bitter laugh. Closing your eyes to fight the stinging in your eyes "Why are you bringing this up?", Luca asked. "Because it's been playing on my mind ever since I came here," you admitted, pushing your cigarette at the ashtray before lighting a new one. "I...", you shake your head slightly, "Carmy made my head less busy ", almost in disbelief. "I was almost set, like, that's it. I found my happy ever after after all that... We will get married, he'll have his restaurant, I'll open an art gallery, and we have a kid or two or twenty, I don't know", you muttered, suddenly getting so angry almost. Not sure at who exactly, but the frustration was bubbling.

"Do you remember what Pop used to say?", Luca asked, almost as if he wasn't listening to the whole random rant you just had. "He said many things, Luca", you grunted. "Love is the best thing we as humans have the privilege to give", your frown at Luca's words. Out of everything, "You love him, bunny; he loves you considering the number of times your phone pings throughout the day", Now it's Luca's turn to shake his head as he considers his next words, "I'm not justifying his actions, but as I've been saying, you didn't listen to his side of the story, and you've always wanted and wished that someone had listened to your side back then".

The restaurant felt more and more unfamiliar to Carmy as the days went by. He was late with paying bills. His brain was buzzing with Richie and his not-so-legal ways of getting the money. The place was shit. He was surprised they hadn't been closed yet. He was short on staff. Especially after Sydeny and Marcus left. Carmy had wanted to call both of them individually. He had picked up that doughnut that Marcus was eager to show him. He picked it right off the floor and put it straight into his mouth. It was amazing. Sure, it needed a couple of tweaks to perfection, but Carmy would have served it like it was.

He hadn't told anyone about... well, whatever the situation between the two of you was. But from the way Tina was looking at him, he was convinced that at least she knew. I mean, she did say, "Ask yourself why, Jeff," and "Boy, I thought you were smarter". And telling himself that he hadn't done anything that bad seemed like such a duchy thing too. Sure, he didn't flirt, they haven't kissed, and there was nothing sexual between him and Claire. They met up a couple of times. She dragged him to one party. He chased this childhood dream with her. Oh, if I just caught onto it, maybe just maybe my family will open their eyes finally too. But Carmy made awful choices along the way.

Carmen longed for you through the days. He found himself going to the office when shit hit the fan, and he would lose track of reality. Hoping to find you there. In hope to be held in your arms. Let the chaos die down. Just the more he stepped into the office, and it was emptier and emptier.

Carmen had let everyone go home earlier. He said it was because they've done an awesome job. The truth was that he just wanted to be alone. Carmen thought about cooking something. Maybe something new, but his imagination had been so dull. Nothing felt right, no matter how hard he tried.

So Carmen opted to scrub the floors, scrub the countertops, and check through the walk-in. Until he was left there. Staring numbly at the clock. Until he reached for the pack of cigarettes before realizing, after tapping his pockets multiple times, that he didn't have a lighter at hand. So Carmy leaned in carelessly, flipping the gas stove on and trying to direct the cigarette to the flame.

Then everything happens so fast, and his mind is so tired. The fire catches the rest of the countertop. Spreading. Hot tongues licking towards Carmy. But all he hears are the same words that hunt him now. You're terrible at this. You're not good at it. Move faster. Why are you so slow? You are nothing. You're bullshit. You'll never be good enough. Do you like letting people down? You're great at that shitface. Give up. Give up. You'll never get it. But it's not his old chef. Oh no, this time it's you. You scream at him through the flames, and his irrational mind panics because you're in the flames and you're... Are you burning? So he nearly leaps forward, reaching for you. And then it's no longer the nagging voices; it's his name that Carmy was hearing over and over. Louder and louder.

And then there are hands pulling him away; Carmen being pulled behind the counter; someone is extinguishing the fire; someone is holding onto him; and someone is still calling his name. But Carme stares at the fire. "Carmen", the voice called out. Pulling at his mind. Trying to ground him. Trying to make him come to his senses. "Carm", and then gentle hands caressed his jaw, pulling his face away from the stove, and there and then Carmen was convinced that he had burned. Went straight to the flames and just burned. "Are you fucking insane? Show me your hands", but he's stunned. He's... "You're not real", he muttered, shaking his head. Doubting his eyes fully "You can't...", He doesn't believe it. Reaching out, he touches the person in front of him. Worried eyes look up at him. "Y/N...", Carmen muttered, and then it's a mantra on his lips, and he's muttering it without a single breath in. And you know you shouldn't. It's bad; it's wrong, but Carmen launched himself into your hands. Arms wrapped around your middle, and you're shaking, and he's shaking, and it feels like an illusion, like a dream you two had walked into. It's probably not real Carmen thinks. And he's waiting for you to disappear to slip past his fingers, but you don't; you're here, and he's holding onto you. And finally, Carmen takes a deep breath in, and his heart kick-starts again.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: Carmy: @nishinoyahhh @thewulf @shewasthelimit @chatitajens @azxulaa @hidingfromtex @randomhoex @hopplessdreamer @lostinheavensworld @jackierose902109 @gallaghrh @gabbycoady13 @harrysmatcha @lady-bellyn @lovejoyenjoyer @infinitelycharmed23 @royalestrellas @hanula18 @thoughtfulmoonchild911 @buckys-winter-child @arieltwvdtohamflash @simsiddy @yezzyyae @hidingfromtex @toptierbunny @rooster-bradshaws @simonsaysyasss @hannahmmarie2016 @ladygrey03 @kyushii

[saphronethaleph]

Sibling Comparisons

Leia rose from her bed, confused, as the door hissed open.

Something seemed off about the situation, she could feel it. But she didn’t want to tip her hand – and a moment’s thought turned up an answer.

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” she asked, thinking about minimum-height requirements that had been instituted in the days of transition from the clone army and never been rescinded.

“What?” the ‘trooper replied. “Oh, the uniform.”

He took off his helmet. “My name’s Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you.”

Leia did a double-take.

“What is Kenobi thinking?” she asked. “He brought my brother here?”

Luke practically fell over.

“Brother!?” he asked. “But – you’re a princess-”

“Yes, yes, excellent cover identity, sheer audacity,” Leia replied. “Nobody would suspect the Senator for Alderaan, and if you’re going by Skywalker then the same idea must be in play for you. Where’s Kenobi? Is he going by Ben or Obi-Wan these days?”

“We were coming to Alderaan,” Luke said. “Ben’s off shutting down the tractor beam so we can leave – look, what do you mean, brother?”

“We can talk about that later,” Leia replied, striding past her brother to the door of the cell. “What’s your exfiltration plan?”

“My what?” Luke asked. “...we’ve got your R2 unit?”

“Hey, farmboy!” a voice called from up the detention block corridor, accompanied by the sound of blasters firing. “We’ve got company!”

Leia sighed. “Where’s R2-D2?” she asked. “He should be able to get us out of this.”

“About… what, ten floors above us?” Luke guessed, then a wookiee joined them along with someone else in stormtrooper armour.

“We’re not getting out that way,” the man said.

“I don’t suppose you brought a spare blaster for me?” Leia asked. “Is there another way out?”

“Let me check with Threepio,” Luke said, reaching for his comlink. “Seriously? You’re my sister?”

“Right now I’m mostly hoping I’m better at planning than you,” Leia shot back, as blaster bolts flashed down the corridor.

“...well, that worked, eventually,” Leia muttered, brushing herself off as they exited the trash compactor. “Which is a marked improvement on your way of getting us out of here, I have to point out.”

“I’m still waiting on an explanation,” Luke protested. “How can you be my sister?”

“What, you want me to draw a diagram?” Han asked.

Chewbacca roared something.

“Hey, he’s from Tatooine, it’s not an animal farm,” Han protested. “He might just not know.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Luke objected, flushing.

“We’re twins,” Leia replied. “Both of us were put into hiding because being known descendants of Anakin Skywalker is a serious health hazard, beyond just being Skywalkers which is separate… how much training did Ben give you?”

“A few hours,” Luke replied. “On the flight to Alderaan.”

“What was he doing with his time?” Leia asked. “My tutor is literally a state secret without any hands-”

She stopped, swallowing.

“Was, now,” she said, before shaking herself. “Anyway, I could only learn from him while on break on Alderaan and I still got a lot more training than that…”

Han made a curious noise.

“What are you talking about, exactly?” he said. “More of this force nonsense?”

“Where did you dig him up?” Leia asked her brother, with a sardonic eyebrow. “He looks old enough to remember the Clone Wars.”

Chewbacca sniggered.

“Laugh it up,” Han countered. “The Clone Wars weren’t that long ago.”

“That’s my point,” Leia replied, sharply. “The Clone Wars had the Jedi literally leading armies-”

She shook herself. “Okay, we need to focus. How exactly did you plan to get off this thing?”

“Once the tractor beam is down, we’ll be able to just fly right out of here,” Luke volunteered. “Han’s ship is more than it looks – which isn’t hard.”

“Hey!” Han protested.

“Well, if you’ve got Chewbacca with you, that’s a good sign at least,” Leia said, then held up her hand. “Wait – not this way, that way.”

“Based on what?” Han asked.

“That thing you don’t believe in,” Leia replied. “Master Windu couldn’t teach me to fight but he could teach me to avoid trouble…”

[covetyou]

🤭 reader is def borrowing condoms from Dieter (she spent so long debating with herself but she also really wanted Frankies dick). But would Dee be curious and follow to see who she's with? 👀 Maybe try to invite himself to join, or hang out outside the trailer? 🥵💦

Would this morally dubious clown follow someone to watch 'em do the nasty? I think we all know the answer here 😌

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x fat contortionist f!reader (x Dieter Bravo) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: voyerism, jealousy, bi Dieter, protected PIV, recreational drug use/reference, Max Phillips makes another cameo word count: 1.2k summary: When the trailer's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'.

A/N: Dieter's POV. takes place after for one night only and fools just wanna have fun.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for fic updates

Bravo had evaded Max by the skin of his teeth - no sooner had his trailer door shut behind him, running around the back pulling his pants over his dick and balls, and Max was there in the clearing, shouting bloody murder for him before pounding on the door. Before any more inaccurate accusations and threats to his life could be made, Bravo the Clown had snuck away into the night, seething.

This was his night ruined.

The condoms were one thing, but this being a family friend show? Psh, his ass it was. He watched greased up men sliding against each other on the regular, and there was that married couple who practically eye fucked each other whenever they performed. Not to mention you, Sparkles, with your ass hanging out every show as you twisted and bulged and looked so damn sinful he'd had more than one back stage wank over the years. Nothing he did was any less family friendly than that and yet here he was, getting chased down by an angry mob of one simply for wanting to relax a little before a show. And maybe a bit during too.

And after, not forgetting the joint still clutched in his fingers. He'd have to find somewhere more discreet to smoke it now that he had Max hot on his ass, but first he needed a light. His was still on the floor of his trailer, because of you.

Maybe that's why he finds himself walking toward your trailer, it being your fault he's currently without a light after all. He knows you like those stupid little candles, a complete fire hazard in a place like this if you ask him - one knock and the whole polyester spectacle is going up in a cloud of sequins and smoke. It's not at all because he knows what you're doing in there, without him. Not at all. He respects you. He could absolutely, totally leave you to your privacy.

It's not his fault if he's concerned for your safety when he hears your incoherent screams from some way away. He's not going to knock of course, but it doesn't hurt to just check in through the window, does it? It's what any good friend would do. A little rocking trailer should never deter anyone from checking in on their friends.

Okay, so maybe it's rocking quite a bit by the time he gets there, sneaking under one window to get to another he knows is right by your bed. Your screaming and moaning is even louder here, right by the open window. He can hear a wet slapping noise too, and before he lets his imagination run wild, he pokes his head up to look in through the open window and straight at the spectacle in front of him.

And holy fuck, it doesn't disappoint.

You're getting absolutely rammed from behind, your thighs jiggling and shaking with each thrust from the man behind you. His face is pinched, staring right down to where he disappears into you over and over, and the rippling of your ass against his thighs. You're scrambling up and down and up again on your forearms as you try, and fail, to take the intensity of it, your voice rising an octave every time he buries himself in you, until he inevitably hits the factory reset and you make a deep, keening groan before starting all over again. Dieter knows that noise - he makes you make that noise. It's the noise you make when your toes curl and you're about to make a mess all over everything. Like right now, your toes curling over and over in a way he's never seen, because he's never seen it from this far away before.

And, fuck, this is jealousy, isn't it? That should be Dieter in there, fucking the ever living daylights out of you. Instead he's stood on the other side of the window looking in at a man that should be him, but is definitely younger and fitter than he is. Still, he doesn't see what this man has on him - messy hair, a little pooch of his belly just like Dieter, scruff on his jaw. Entirely unremarkable, if you ask -

Until that man pulls out fully, unveiling his cock before slamming it home once more.

Suddenly, he's jealous of both of you. Jealous of him for getting to fuck you - and in your trailer too. You'd only ever let him in there once, and it was maybe the most comfortable he'd ever been. And jealous of you for taking that monster of a cock that, quite frankly, should be too much for one person to take. You could take a hand (and a half, on a good day) of course, but fuck, had you never heard about sharing?

Dieter shared his condoms with you, and now you were keeping this all to yourself. What he wouldn't give to be in there, lying next to you as you got fucked to oblivion by this guy you seem to have picked straight from the crowd. He'd quiet your screams with his cock in your mouth, or let you suck on his balls while he waited his turning for a fucking. Even better, he'd lick your pretty cunt while that cock demolished your hole, just so he could taste both of you at once.

Still, the best he can do is watch the condom, his condom, on the man's cock as it slides in and out of you - the closest thing to being between the two of you he'll be - while listening to your screams as they hit a crescendo. Your tits swing beneath you, your belly rippling with the force of the fucking you're receiving. The mans fingers - the asshole - are digging into your plush hips, sinking into the fat there and holding on for dear life, likely leaving bruises that Dieter will have to see for days and try not to get hard about.

The man grunts and groans now, telling you how perfect you are and how hard he's going to come, because you're so, so, so perfect - Dieter fucking knows. He knew it first.

Then, you're coming. Shaking, and moaning, falling forward onto your mattress with your hips still held in the air, making a complete mess of your sheets in the process, screaming Frankie into the air, your trailer positively fucking rattling now as the man - fucking Frankie - finds it in himself to go even harder, battering your cervix so deliciously painfully that he knows your eyes are rolling in your head, even if he can't see them.

And it's over, and everything is still again, and the quiet feels so very loud as you sigh and giggle into fucking Frankie's mouth, and he pulls that massive cock, dripping, out of you and throws away his fucking condom.

His joint is crumpled in his hand, Bravo the Clown's search for a light fucking useless now, just as the symbol of his fucked night falls to the ground outside your trailer ready for you to find in the morning.

Family friendly his ass.

[perpetuallydaydreaming]

Can you do a Sirius x reader where the reader goes to visit him in Azkaban

winter’s only pretty when you’re warm.

tags: sirius black x gn!reader,, soft angst,, azkaban,, ambiguous ending,, mention of yn,, short around 1k wc or so

a/n: thank you for the request,,, i hope you like it anon! <3

“jus’ hand over your wand, empty pockets, that’s it—“ the security, if you can even call him that, was a lanky, gaunt-looking man. he looked to not even bother to weigh your wand before stashing it away and waving you off. though you imagine, there’s hardly any need for him anyway, no one would even dare to step foot in this place.

the stone walls, dusty and narrow. the windows, hardly even considered as such for how small it was, was unreasonably high. like they don’t even want the inmates gazing at the sky. there was no light fixtures in place, except for the small weak fires lining up the hallway.

you hear the howling winds outside, and waves crashing against the the building, the silent echoes of groans, the crying pleas and the manic laughter deep inside the building.

the doors slammed open by the rough winds of the sea. you jumped, whirling to look at the source of the sound, fingers circling around your absent and locked up wand. an occupational hazard, moody calls it. you unclench your fingers, stretching out the tension.

you asked, no, begged dumbledore to do this. to be the one to talk to him, at least once.

the guard called over another, barking out, we have a visitor. as if it was a joke.

it could be. rarely anyone gets granted visits to azkaban, but dumbledore isn’t just anyone. you even had the absolute pleasure of getting bloody tips on where to go and what to say and who to say it to.

it was another guard, a familiar man that once worked for the dmle, though you fail to remember his name.

“i’m here for—”

he clicked his tongue, “i know who,” standing up with a groan and adjusting his trousers, “not like we have a line-up of visitors shceduled in this charming place. follow me then.”

elevators don’ work, always malfunctionin’, someone almost died last year, if you could believe it. ministry didn’t want to be liable so they jus’ removed it. didn’t even think of the older employees working here those bastards, the familiar man ranted.

on a regular day, strangers talking to you would have been your nightmare come to life, but you’ve come to appreciate the noise in your ears rather than the raging heartbeat echoing in your chest.

as you go further, raising floor up to floor, the colder it got, the more unsettled you feel. for once, it wasn’t because of the dementors that caused the chills down your spine but something greyer and darker than they are.

he led you to a room, locking it as he says wait, off to fetch him.

you stare at the scraped up table, the scruffs and scorch marks on the walls. wondering what must’ve happened from past visits before.

you pick at the skin around your nails, biting and ripping, until the red bead of blood seeps out.

the metal door creaks open, murmurs of warning exchanged between prisoner and guard, and then all you can see is grey and dark.

his sunken eyes, holding the once vibrant grey eyes that have now gone dull and misty. the dark luscious waves now in knots and matted down. he looked so different but he brightens up all the same once he sees you.

he runs to you, engulfing you in a hug. one that you know he needs more than anything. you see the guard reach for his wand and you stop him with a shake of your head, assuring that it was fine. he reluctantly nods and leaves you two alone.

you hear sirius take a deep breath in the crook of your neck as he clutches unto you for dear life. “angel, i di-didn’t—“ he sobbed, arms tightening as he did so, “i would have n-never, i would never betray james like that. you believe me, don’t you? please say you believe me. please say.” his voice cracking, body shaking like a damn leaf. he felt so cold, shaking in thin, shabby looking clothes.

you slowly raised your arms around his waist, hugging him back.

“i believe you,” you whispered, offering mere words as a consolation for losing everything, he cries harder. “shh. sirius. i’m here, i believe you,” you breathed, repeating this like a mantra, as he hugs you more and more into his chest. one of his hand smoothing out your hair at the back of your head and the other firmly wrapped around your waist.

the way he hugged you, and looked at you hadn’t changed, why should anything else?

you stay like this until he resembled the warm heat of a living person. sitting in front of each other but clutching each other’s hands. you struggle as you remove your, his, jacket but you did, placing it on his shoulders right after. hoping the heat from your use, can warm him just a bit more before the inevitable arrives.

“i c-can’t believe they let you be here.” he breathed, voice rasping like it was the first he’s used it in weeks. it probably is, you imagine dementors to be rather dull conventionalists.

“they had to,” you laugh bitterly, imagining the loud protests from the order, when you requested a visit. “else i would have never stopped. i had to come see you no matter what.” you look at him, dirtied and thin. chest clenching and something heavy dropping into your stomach as you gulp, “i should’ve come sooner, if i had known—“

he softly smiled, grey eyes looking so tired but actively roaming around your face, as if memorizing every minute detail. every blemish, mark, scar, mole and line. like it was the last time “no, this is perfect. i didn’t even think i could see you—“ he looked down at your hand completely engulf by his, an overtly misplaced fond smile on his still handsome face, “let alone touch you.” raising your hand to his cold lips as if to emphasize his point.

you dragged your chair over to him, clutching at his arms, pulling him to you—hugging him once more, unable to look at him as you bury your face to his shoulder. it hurt seeing him so happy here, of all places, just for the mere fact that he got to hold your hand.

resting your head on his shoulder, and him nuzzling your hair, taking deep breaths in. as if hoping your smell can somehow be engrave into his brain before the inevitable.

it was easy to forget where you were, being with him like this, but the distant moans and screams was just as easy to hear.

running your tongue over your dried bitten lips, knowing of the time and the limit set. “i don’t how to get you out, sirius,” you sniffled, clutching his dirty and muddy clothes. “they won’t listen to reason-”

he whispers back to you, face still buried into your hair, “because they’re afraid, angel.”

“they have nothing to be afraid of,” you scoff. “you don’t deserve to be here. you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“haven’t i?” he laughs, “i mean it was my idea—“

you shook your head, “don’t. you thought of it as a strategy, a damn good one if that. it was him. he was the one who couldn’t be trusted. it isn’t on you.”

“but i trusted the wrong person—“

“that doesn’t make you responsible for his actions, i don’t even want to—“ taking a deep breath, calming yourself down, “i just want to focus finding a way to set you free—“

“jus’ you here is fine,”

you frown, pulling away from him to look at him in the eyes. grey still misty, still dark.

“why do you sound like you’re just giving up.”

not a question. an accusation, a soft one—a disbelieving one.

he reaches to you. rough hands on your cheeks that used to be so soft, sullied after a year. “because it wouldn’t matter, james is gone, lily is gone, pete—“

“i’m not.” you cut in, smothering the rage at even hearing the traitor’s name. “remus either.” you steered your voice to be firm, “and harry, we’re still here waiting for you.”

conversation became quieter after that. less important, less imposing, more normal. like you were in your flat rather than a cell. in front of a comfy fire, rather than the howling sea winds and cold chills of the floating spirits around you.

chatting in the living room, talking about your day and the plans for the week after a hearty dinner.

hands, arms and even ankles twisted and tangled with each other. needing nothing else but to melt and meld with one another, never to part.

but then the inevitable, the door clanking and creaking open, indicating the end.

you pull each other, hugging fiercely just like the first.

sirius kissing your neck and cheek and forehead and nose and mouth. whispering promises, you don’t know if he’ll be able to keep.

he wasn’t shivering now, all warmed up and looking content but this offered no peace of mind knowing what he has to come back to. how sensitive he is to the cold.

he was escorted back to his cell, a lingering look sent to you as he goes, and each step he takes away from you makes you feel a little colder, a little more frustrated and a little more hopeless.

sooner than you’d like, you were already going down again, your jacket warmed by him hanging off your shoulders.

you get your wand and your portkey and leave.

the portkey beeps, counting down the seconds before it activates, as a trickle of snow softly fall down from the sky. snowflakes catching into your sleeves, beautiful shapes and designs in each one. the howling winds, cold and strong, but warmed by your jacket, you can hardly feel it. then you think of the thin, shivering, man holding your heart, trapped in the tower. with his cold lips and tired grey eyes.

[stinkysam]

Eddie Brock - Alien

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : How about being Eddie and venom's new hot tall neighbor who just moved in and them having bi panic and simping over him

Reader : male (you/he)

A/N : bold is Venom talking // Part TWO

Their neighbor had quickly and quietly moved out.

Yeah, the one that played loud electric guitar. He's gone.

They didn't care when or why he left, even though Eddie had a little idea about it.

But now there's someone new that's moving in and despite being reluctant at first, Venom and Eddie quickly warmed up to the idea, especially after seeing you, the new neighbor, through their window.

You had moved in rather quickly before knocking on their door to present yourself. You shared your name and where you came from and exchanged a few more words, Venom silently listening in the back of Eddie's head.

"Holy shit." Venom said in his head.

Eddie said nothing, listening to you instead.

"He's hot !"

Instantly Eddie felt awkward, not knowing how to talk to you anymore. He didn't think of it, but Venom was right, you were kinda… hot.

"Eddie, tell him you like him."

Eddie coughed out a "No" discreetly enough for you to not notice it.

"Then invite him in !"

The inside of this flat flashed in Eddie's mind, showing his trashed kitchen and hanging car tires. He closed the door on himself more, so you could not see it, in a way that made you think you were taking too long and needed to end the discussion.

Which you did, quickly thanking him for his time and leaving to your side of the apartment.

"Good job he ran away !"

"That's your fault, V." Said Eddie, closing the door behind himself.

"How ?!"

He did not answer, feeling like it would be too complicated to explain and looked around. It truly looked like a fire hazard. Holes in the ceiling, claw marks on the walls, the cereals on the floor, ketchup on the walls along burn marks and so on…

"He is a tall one…"

Eddie said nothing, waiting.

"Was he taller than you ? I don't remember, I was lost in his eyes."

This made Eddie laugh. "You, lost in someone's eyes ?"

"Yes ! Beautiful [eye color] like… huh… I don't know."

To invite you in, he needed to clean up first and by the Gods he didn't want to. Especially since Venom would try to help but make things worse instead.

"Eddie. If we're looking for a human mate, it could be him."

"No." He said tiredly.

"Admit he was hot !"

"...No."

"Lies ! Lies ! Your pants are on fire, Eddie !"

"Alright !" He whisper-yelled, "He is hot ! Fucking handsome, even, happy ?!"

"No !! Because you made him leave ! He thinks we hate him !"

"No he doesn't."

Eddie sighed in annoyance "If you promise to help me clean up the place correctly, I promise to invite him in, alright ? Do we have a deal ?"

"Yes !"

And so they spent the next couple days cleaning up the flat and making it more comfortable and normal looking for a human, getting rid of the holes any way they could by hiding them with paint or wood planks.

During that time Eddie couldn't stop thinking of you. Wondering if you'd be happy to be invited. He began to wonder what your laugh sounded like and how big you could smile, trying to imagine it in his head while Venom was rambling.

"Do you think he's gonna like us ?"

"I don't know, Venom."

"He shall like the place ! We made it humanly welcoming !"

"I don't know if we should tell him about you yet. He might not react so well to an alien."

"When !?"

"I don't know…"

"Without me, your chances of attraction are low."

"Oh really ?"

Would it even work between the three of you ? What if he scared you ?

Once everything was cleaned up and replaced with better furniture, Eddie prepared himself. Showered, clean clothes, and freshly shaved to knock at your door.

When you opened, wind was knocked out of his lungs and Venom had to push him to make him say something. You were really something.

"I was- I was thinking, maybe you could come in for a beer or two ? I feel like we left on the wrong foot the other day." He said, looking you in the eyes. Even your eyes were beautiful to look at, Venom was right.

You agreed, closing the door behind you as you followed him to his apartment.

You spent a good hour there, drinking and laughing together until Venom had enough and decided to intervene.

"What is that !?" You yelled, jumping out of your seat and ready to throw your beer at the black gooey thing behind Eddie's back.

"Hello !"

"No ! [Name], don't !"

"I am Venom. Hello [Name]"

"It knows my name !"

"He's an alien, a symbiote. He's nice ! Please put your can down."

You slowly obeyed "Symbiote ? What is that ?"

"A living organism living in symbiosis with another species."

"An alien ?"

"You're the alien to me."

"Are you gonna eat me ?"

"No !"

"No ! Though humans are tasty."

"This doesn't help, V."

"I think I need another beer."

[rxnn]

Bleeding Heart [six]

warnings! tooth rotting fluff cause i wanna, mentions of stalking, mention of a gun for like 2 sentences at the very beginning (it isn't used and no one is hurt)

one, two, three, four, five

❥��❥

...one week later

Banging at his door made Jason jump, setting his well-loved book to the side and reaching for the .45 taped to the bottom of the coffee table. It was one of many he had hidden throughout his apartment, a safety hazard, he claimed.

“Jason!” A familiar voice called through the door. “Sorry to bother you but it’s important!”

He was up in an instant, forgetting the gun, and scrambling to get to the door. As soon as his hand was on the handle, he almost ripped the door off its hinges.

“Hey,” he said, breathless, praying she didn’t hear him almost trip over his discarded boots to get to the door as quickly as possible. 

Shit.

He cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”

Everything was most definitely not okay.

Leia’s hair was messily pulled away from her face, her eyes were wide and quickly becoming glassy, her hands wrung themselves out as she looked up at him.

His mind drifted as she rambled on, he caught every other word, but not the full thing. How could he when tears were collecting in her eyes, a silent plea as her lips trembled slightly. He wondered if she would look at him the same way as he –

“So can you come over?”

“What?” His ears were on fire, they had to be.

“Can you watch Cal for a few hours? I didn’t plan on getting called in today, people just didn’t show up. I promise it won’t be long, I’ll get back as soon as I can. I just –”

“I don’t mind.” Jason interrupted her, shoving down any and all thoughts that were less than appropriate for the situation at hand.

Maybe one day – no.

The woman in front of him visibly deflated, shoulders sagging. She leaned against his doorframe, looking up at him again with her pretty smile.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

Jason’s heart skipped and he smiled down at her, heart feeling like it could burst. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Her mouth opened and closed and she cleared her throat, neither of which Jason missed, a smug sense of pride filling him. “I’ve already got dinner made, feel free to have some. Just…please make sure Cal doesn’t hurt himself.”

Jason hummed, nodding. Easy enough.

Leia pushed off the door frame and walked toward her apartment. He snatched up his keys and locked his door before following her. 

“I really can’t thank you enough for this.”

“It’s not a problem. Callum’s a good kid and you need help.”

“You promise? What about your night shift you were telling me about a few days ago? The one that got you that bruise?”

Jason stiffened for a second. It was a half-truth he’d told her when she saw the large bruise on his cheek bone. With his quick healing (thank you Lazarus Pit), he hoped it would be gone by the time it was time to pick up Callum from the bus stop, but Leia had been off work that day and spotted him leaving in his civilian clothes as she came back from dropping Callum off. She had told Jason to stay put and she ran into her apartment and came back with frozen peas wrapped in a hand towel. She had offered it to him without a second thought and he took it, exhausted and sore from the night prior. Maybe it was because it came from her, maybe he was in more pain than he thought, but he sighed in relief when the pain evaporated. 

“You have to take care of yourself.” She had said, hands on her hips, scolding him. He wondered if she would say the same thing to him if he came home to her every night, if she would take care of him into the early hours of the morning like she had when he’d accidentally stumbled into her room. “How did you get that anyway?”

“I’m a bouncer.” He’d blurted out the first thing that came to mind. To his surprise, Leia just nodded in understanding. 

“Makes sense.” She shrugged then grinned teasingly at him. “Bet the other guy looks worse, huh?”

Jason had laughed, peas still pressed to his cheek. It had hurt to smile, but it was worth it.

“Jay? You coming?”

His heart caught in his throat at the nickname. It wasn’t the first time she’d called him that and he prayed it wouldn’t be the last. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” A cheesy grin plastered on his face, wondering if she’d call him on the nicknames. She didn’t. She shifted on her feet again, holding the door open for him so he could walk in behind her. 

He glanced around, taking in the space. Most of the walls seemed bare with a few boxes stacked in the corner. The walls that were decorated were full of photos of the small family, much like Leia’s room, and two large shelves that housed a few trinkets and books with worn spines. The remnants of Leia’s cooking hang in the air along with the faint scent of her perfume he’d come to adore.

The overall layout was similar to his apartment if not smaller which made him feel incredibly guilty. There were a few stuffed animals and toys scattered across the floor, a coat hanging over one of the chairs at the small table, and a few dishes in the sink, proof of Leia’s hard work.

The soft padding of feet brought him back to reality as he closed the door behind him, 

“Mr. Jason!”

A little body collided with his legs, small arms wrapping around him.

“Callum, honey, lets not overwhelm–”

“It’s okay,” he waved her off and shut the door behind him then crouched in front of the boy who grinned and waved. “Hey, little man. Mama has to go to work, so why don’t you give her a hug before she has to head out?”

Callum spun on his heel and hugged his mother who was smiling fondly at the two. Jason had never seen that smile before. A type of melancholy sweetness he’d never thought existed until now. She picked Callum up, hugging him close and kissed his nose. The boy giggled and wrapped his small arms around her neck. 

It was so domestic, a life Jason thought died in the warehouse. A normalcy that he would never be able to grasp. Now, he watched it stand in front of him and giggle at each other. 

“Go get your stuff and head out. I’ve got this one.” He risked reaching out and gently squeezed her arm, her skin warm and soft under his calloused hands. She let him and nodded, pressing one more kiss on Callum’s head before sitting him down. 

“You be good for Jason, okay?” Leia held out her pinky finger, a faux serious look on her face.

“Pinky promise!” Callum wrapped his much smaller pinky around his mother’s and shook it side to side. 

Leia nodded then gestured toward the kitchen counter where a dish was covered in plastic wrap. “Sorry about the mess, but feel free to have as much as you want.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She chuckled and shook her head before walking toward what he assumed was her bedroom.

Callum took Jason’s hand (the boy’s hands were only able to grab two of his fingers) and tugged him toward the couch where a plethora of legos were scattered across the worn rug. Most times, Jason had no clue how to act around kids, but after the short walks and small meets in the hallway, it became as easy as breathing. 

“What are you working on?” Jason sat on the couch, leaning forward to peer down at the small lego pieces (and make himself not look as intimidating, not that that ever mattered to Callum).

“It’s Star Wars.” Callum responded. “Can you help me do the…” he pointed at the small booklet with the instructions.

Jason chuckled, picking up the small booklet. “Was Mama helping you?”

Callum nodded, picking up two pieces and fiddling with them. “Yeah, but her phone told her she had to go to work…I don’t want her to go.”

“She’ll be back before you wake up tomorrow.” Jason tried to assure the kid.

Leia watched the two from around the corner, heart warming at the sight before her phone went off again, bringing the boy's attention over to her. She texted back, saying she was headed that way and walked over to stand beside Jason, placing a hand on his arm. Electricity shot up his arm from her palm.

“Love you, Mama!” Callum waved.

“I love you too, baby.” She turned to Jason. “Bed time is in an hour. I put his pajamas on his bed, Callum knows his routine. If something happens, you have my number.”

Jason nodded once. If she was paying more attention, Leia would have noticed how he looked at her, the silhouettes of hearts dancing around his dilated pupils. 

“Have fun!” He called over as she left, her responding laugh music to his ears.

“Be good you two!” 

And just like that, she shut the door behind her, her quick footsteps fading down the hall. When he could no longer hear her, Jason turned back to Callum who was fiddling with the corner of the rug, frowning as he looked at the shut door.

“Why don’t we see how much of this we can get done, yeah?” Jason tapped Callum’s head with the instructions. 

The boy’s face changed immediately, grinning widely as Jason pointed out the next few steps, handing him the small pieces he needed. This went on for a while, Jason moving to sit on the floor crisscross so he could reach all the pieces easier. Honestly, it was harder than it looked. With Jason’s bigger hands it was harder to maneuver some of the pieces correctly and more than once Jason thought about throwing the instructions out the window but decided that wasn’t setting a good example for Callum.

The incessant ringing of Jason's phone broke the moment and he frowned, rolling his eyes at the name that appeared and declined it.

They'd be fine without him for one night. Plus, Jason deserved a night off.

The ringing picked up again and Jason groaned, grabbing his phone and standing.

"Sorry, kid, this guy is gonna bother me till I answer. I'll be right back."

Callum nodded; face scrunched up as he focused on finding the pieces for his portion of the step.

Jason walked over to the kitchen, answering the call with gritted teeth.

"What?"

"Where are you? We've been waiting here for an hour!" Tim, Red Robin at the moment, hissed through the speaker.

"Busy tonight. You'll be fine." Jason replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The one night everything was going well for him. Out of all the nights these fuckers could've borrowed him it was tonight.

"And you didn't think to tell anyone?" Tim replied, probably rolling his eyes on the other end. Jason faintly heard Damian's chattering in the background getting progressively louder.

"It's none of your business what I'm doing," Jason replied, leaning against the counter, frowning at the floor. He could feel the start of a headache building in his temples.

“I found the gray one!” Callum cheered, holding up a single gray piece they’d been looking for for the past five minutes.

“Good job, kid.” Jason chuckled, watching him connect the pieces.

"Who was that?"

Jason ended the call, tossing his phone onto the counter. He sighed, his eyes catching a painting in the corner of his vision, and he froze.

Slowly, he turned, finding a crude painting of three people. He easily recognized himself, a smile painted on the face of his character. Next to him, Callum, much shorter and then on Callum's other side was Leia, dark hair framing yet another smiling face.

Despite how it was obviously made by the young boy not paying much attention to Jason's stiff, barely breathing form.

When he finally broke out of his stupor his fingers grazed over the painting, scarred fingertips reaching to grasp the normalcy of a child's drawing.

"You draw this, kid?" Jason called over, swallowing the swell of emotions

Callum scrambled over, peering up at the painting on the fridge and grinning. "Yep!" Then, he glanced at Jason's phone and his smile wavered, and sad eyes peered up at Jason. "Are you going too?"

"No." Jason said immediately, shaking his head. "Just my...uh...brother."

How could he? Especially now, after seeing the painting Callum made. The kid painted himself, his mother and Jason. Most would just glance over the paper, finding it cute and moving on, but Jason couldn't. It was something he never knew he wanted. He hadn't thought this would ever be an option in this second chance life of his. To have a child draw you in a place of care was something Jason had yet to experience and now that he had, he didn't know if he could ever let this feeling go.

"You have a brother?" The kid gasped, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What's that like? I told Mama once that I wanted a sibling, but she said not right now. I heard it's like having a best friend."

Jason bit back any remark about his rather...rocky relationship with his brothers and instead smiled and ruffled Callum's hair.

"It is pretty fun most of the time. Now, let's keep workin', yeah?"

"Yeah!" Callum cheered, going back over to his spot, sitting crisscross on the rug.

Jason chuckled and looked over at the painting one more time, ingraining it in his mind, memorizing the beady eyes and wobbly smiles, the reds, blues, and yellows of their shirts, the sky, and the sun. A beautiful ideal of everything Jason had ever wanted, but never thought he could grasp.

He shook his head and moved to sit down too, careful to not step on the small Lego pieces scattered across the floor.

As they continued, Callum quizzed Jason: what’s your favorite color, who’s your favorite hero (his was Flash which made Jason laugh), what do you do for fun. Jason was as honest as he could be, leaving out a particular violent hobby that originally let him meet the boy’s mother.

“Mama likes reading too,” Callum pointed to the large bookshelves. “She used to read a lot while Auntie Matilda painted.”

“Auntie?” Jason paused putting together the pieces.

“Yeah, she went away after the crash. Mama says she’s in a better place, but we can’t see her anymore.” Callum teared up then, looking toward a picture on the wall depicting another woman with blue and pink hair split down the middle. She was beside Leia who was holding what he assumed was baby Callum wrapped in a green blanket. 

Callum sniffled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey,” Jason suddenly felt guilty, scrambling to stop Callum from crying. He’d never seen the kid cry so seeing the tears falling down his small face made him panic. “Your mom was right, y’know?”

Callum looked up, bottom lip trembling. “But I miss her.”

“I know, bud. But you’ll be okay. She wouldn’t want you to be sad, right?”

The boy sniffled again then leaned his head on Jason’s arm and he went stiff, not sure how to proceed. He didn’t mind that the boy’s tears stained his shirt, no, he could care less. 

“Thank you, Mr. Jason.”

“Anytime, kid. Why don’t you go get ready for bed?”

Callum whined and gripped Jason’s shirt. 

“Can I not stay up a little longer? Please?” 

“Nice try, but you know what your mom said and I don’t think she’d be too happy to find you awake when she gets back.” If Leia hadn’t given him strict instructions, he would’ve bent to the kid’s will immediately, but the last thing he wanted to do was test Leia’s trust in him that tonight showed. He wanted to prove that she could rely on him.

Callum groaned dramatically but relented and got up, going to his room. Jason kept his ears peeled for any sign of Callum getting hurt. While listening, he cleaned up the legos, putting their half finished project on the coffee table and putting the small pieces back in their bags then into the box. 

“Mr. Jason!”

Callum’s shout made Jason rush toward the boy’s room.

“Everything alright?” He looked into the room, quickly scanning for intruders then Callum for injuries. Instead, he found Callum sitting in bed, grinning up at him.

“Can you tuck me in? Mama always does it.”

Jason sighed heavily, shoulders sagging just a little. “Sure, little man. And you can just call me Jason.” He winked at Callum who giggled as Jason pulled the baby blue covers over the pajama clad boy. 

“Okay! Good night, Jason.”

“Night, kid. I’ll be here till your mom gets home, yeah?”

Callum nodded, yawning and snuggling further into his blankets that Jason had just tucked him into per the kid’s request. Jason was honestly a little surprised the boy went down so easily, having heard about how kids his age were little monsters but Callum was the furthest from it. Sure, he had his moments, but he was a child so that was expected. He credited it to Leia’s parenting. 

Jason walked out, closing the door softly behind him. The temptation to wander into the room adjacent to Callum’s was beyond strong. It tugged at his conscience, what he knew would be a direct violation of her trust…but it was right there. 

Before he could give in, he walked into the living room, curiously picking up a book that was on the corner of the couch. There was a bookmark made from a receipt from a local coffee shop that Jason took note of. It was halfway finished, not Jason’s usual pick, a fantasy novel judging by the cover, but he was desperate to have something in common with her. To be able to talk about this book whether Leia enjoyed it, her favorite character, chapter, anything.

He sat there for two more hours, keeping his ears peeled for Callum, but it was otherwise peaceful, calm. The silence was different from his lonely apartment. Their place was whole, warm and inviting while his was bare as bones, the home of a ghost. He clung to this feeling, hearing the shuffling of feet outside the door, he tucked the book back where it was, having gotten a little past Leia’s bookmark. 

He stood, hearing the door creak open. And there she was, exhausted, but beautiful as ever. He walked over, footsteps light but enough shuffle so she could hear him approach.

“It’s me,” Leia called in softly, shutting the door behind her. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag to the side, smiling sleepily at him with her eyes half closed and hair messy. 

“Hi,” he said, peering down at her. “Callum is asleep.”

“Thank you, really, it means a lot. You’ve done so much for us these past few weeks, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you.”

Her confession made his heart soar, but was overtaken by confusion when she pulled out her wallet, grabbing two twenties.

“Stop.” Jason rushed to put his hand over hers, stopping her from trying to pay him. He had more than enough access to money so taking anything from Leia, especially this, left a gross taste in his mouth.

Leia looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. She tried to push against his hand, but he gripped it just tight enough to keep it in place, pressing the money back in before tossing her wallet back into her purse with shocking accuracy. “Then how am I supposed to pay you back?”

Jason had no clue where the confidence came from, but the words came out so quickly, he couldn’t stop them.

“Maybe you could repay me with a date?”

The silence was heavy and thick, but then a smile broke out onto Leia’s face and Jason could’ve kissed her when she responded.

“I’d love that.”

Unbeknownst to both parties that were too in their moment of giddy smiles and warmth to notice the hints of a storm rising over the city’s horizon. A shadow growing in the distance took the form of Gotham’s protector. It peered through the window, curious as to why the Red Hood was absent, only to find him clinging to a civilian like she was the last good thing in the world. Maybe to him, the bloodied vigilante, she was.

Poor thing, the sun whimpered as it disappeared behind the clouds.

❥

“Where was Hood tonight?”

“He said it was something important but I thought I heard —“ Tim caught himself, brain too fuzzy to think of much else than getting in bed but was awake enough to remember that he wasn’t supposed to know what Callum sounded like. 

“Heard what?” Nightwing – now back to Dick Grayson asked, raising a brow at his younger brother.

For once in his life, Tim cursed his inability to rest seeing as now it left him scrambling for an answer.

“He’s with Leia isn’t he?”

“What?” Tim sputtered, not missing how casually Dick leaned against one of the stone walls, crossing his arms.

“C’mon, Timmy. I’m not blind.”

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line and he prepared himself for a lecture. Instead, Dick smiled kindly at him and nodded toward the almost too large computer dutifully named the BatComputer. 

“So…you gonna share with the class or am I gonna have to sort through your shit myself?”

“As if you could get through half of it.” Tim snorted, glancing around to make sure Bruce and Damian had gone away for the night, leaving just the two of them in the Cave. 

Dick shrugged, pushing off the wall to stand behind him. “Fair point, but it’d be easier to compare notes, right?”

Tim chuckled, beginning to type in his many passwords to open his treasure trove of notes and know-it-alls. He wouldn’t show Dick everything, no, Tim was going to be a little selfish, but Dick was right: it was better to compare notes and learn more. Afterall, Dick had already met her and was as observant as any other trained Robin. There was only so much Tim could see – feel from behind a screen.

So, still weary, he pulled up the first, much less in depth version on a smaller screen in front of him, allowing Dick to pour over the information. 

“Thorough as always, Timmy,” Dick muttered as he scanned it.

“You’re not…usually you get onto me for this type of stuff.”

Dick hummed. “Well not this time. First, we’re both worried about Jason especially since he likes her enough to skip patrol.” Tim could’ve sworn Dick’s jaw clenched, but it was gone in a millisecond. “Second, she’s a curious thing, nothing wrong with a little background check. And third, well, if anything this is just keeping her and her son safe.”

Little…right…that’s what all the document Dick was looking at had. 'Just a little background check' his ass, but Tim perked up when Dick mentioned they were just keeping them safe. He was glad he wasn’t alone in that thought. 

It’s to keep them safe, they told themselves over and over and over again.

“Right…now spill.”

Uhhh sorry I dropped off for a sec there y'all my bad.

[darth-mortem]

Here is the next text from my English lessons. It's about '22 Ghost and Soap who are inspecting an old creepy house. The names of Johnny's parents I invented myself. 1157 words.

“Where are ye taking me, Lt.?” Sergeant MacTavish asked, sitting in the front passenger seat of a duty SUV.

He and Lieutenant Riley had come on leave to Soap’s childhood town and stopped at his family house as usual. Johnny’s mother, Islay, loved Simon very much, and his father, Major Douglas MacTavish, had already gone hunting with the lieutenant more than once. However, this time they didn’t come for long, and immediately after dinner, Ghost dragged Soap into the car and drove him somewhere.

“Your mother told me an interesting story about your childhood.” Ghost said, looking at the navigator’s screen. “It’s about one old, scary house, which you and your friends were scared by. Islay told me that you’re still afraid of it.”

“It’s absolute bullshit!” Johnny shouted indignantly. “I’m nae afraid o’ anythin’!”

“Well,” Simon pulled over and killed the engine, “then it won’t be difficult for you to enter that house with me and inspect it from the basement to the attic.”

The sergeant rolled his eyes and got out of the SUV slowly. He walked around the car, stopped by Ghost, and took out his cigarettes.

“Let’s smoke, Lt.!” He said cheerfully. “This bloody house is made o’ wood, sae it’s nae safe tae smoke inside.”

The lieutenant nodded silently and took a cigarette. In his opinion, the reason wasn’t the fire hazard of this old building, but he didn’t focus on it. He stood, leaning on the bonnet, and looked thoughtfully at the house. It looked truly terrifying, not only because of the age-blackened walls and the dark hollows of the broken windows but also because of the collapsed roof and the crumbling left extension. The unpleasant feeling of grief, loneliness, and neglect was intensified by the twilight falling on the small Scottish town. There were lanterns on the plots to the right and left, but this house was plunged into complete darkness.

“Well,” Simon threw away the cigarette butt with a snap of his fingers, “it’s time to go, Johnny.”

“Maybe it’s better tae dae it tomorrow?” Soap asked with doubts. “It’s dark now. We’ll break oor legs in this ruin.”

“We won’t,” Ghost answered, opening the trunk boot, “because I took thermal imagers.”

He took out their helmets with night vision devices attached and handed the sergeant his one. Soap sighed heavily and, taking a cue from Ghost, put on his helmet and lowered the thermal imager over his eyes.

“Follow my lead,” Riley ordered, and went to the house first.

“Aye, Lt.” The sergeant got himself under control and started to move behind him.

They entered the house, and there was dead silence when the door had been closed behind them. There were ruins inside: rotten floorboards, cracked walls painted with lots of graffiti, the crooked interior doors were wide open, and directly opposite the entrance raised the ancient carved stairs to the second floor.

Simon and Johnny moved slowly and inspected all the first floor's rooms. The silence started to press on the sergeant’s ears very quickly, and he tried to start a conversation.

“Ye know, Si,” he whispered, “when ah was wee kid, this house was a test o’ courage fur all the wee jimmies in the neighborhood.”

“Why?” The lieutenant asked. “It’s just an old, dirty house. And why’re you whispering?”

“I dinnae know,” Soap blushed a little and started to talk normally. “Thare were rumors that thare was a ghost in this bloody house.”

“Well, now there is.” Simon laughed, and the shards of glass crunched under his feet.

Johnny rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs first. He was really afraid of this house in his childhood, but now he's no longer a little boy. He was the youngest soldier who has passed the SAS selection. He is a member of TF 141, the best unit in the whole fucking world. He shouldn’t be afraid of the old, abandoned house.

There were some weird sounds on the second floor. The weather was quiet, but the creaks and cracks were heard from all around Ghost and Soap. It was cleaner here; furniture, paintings, carpets, and tapestries were stored here. Johnny tried to stay close to Simon against his own thoughts of courage.

Sometimes they stopped when Riley wanted to inspect some kind of dresser or bedside table, but the sergeant could’ve sworn he kept hearing footsteps. However, Ghost didn’t seem to hear anything and didn’t pay attention to the fact that Soap was nervous.

Suddenly, there was a quick thump in the next room, and then something fell there and broke. Johnny, strained to the limit, involuntarily screamed, and then he didn’t realize how he found himself in Simon’s arms, tightly hugging his neck.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The lieutenant asked angrily but continued to hold Soap in his arms.

“Whit wis that?!” The sergeant exclaimed and closed his eyes.

“It’s a rat, Johnny,” Ghost lowered Soap and set him on his feet. “And what do you think this was?”

“I dinnae know,” the sergeant said, opening his eyes and seeing a small red contour in the corner with his thermal imager. “Stupid bloody…”

“Enough,” Simon stopped him. “Let’s go.”

Fortunately for Johnny, they didn’t go to the attic because the ceiling had rotted to the point of having holes. But then Simon remembered about the basement door, so they went to the first floor and headed for it.

The basement was dark, stuffy, and reeked of rats, mold, and rot. There were an old boiler and a mutilated electrical panel. The mountains of junk hung along the wall with thesmall,l broken windows. Johnny followed Simon patiently until they reached the far end of the basement.

“Can we go now, Lt.?” He asked nervously and looked at Ghost through his thermal imager.

“What’s your problem, Johnny? It’s just a stupid old house.” The lieutenant looked at Soap in surprise and kicked the wall.

The old masonry crumbled, and together with the stones, the human skull and bones rolled under the feet of two soldiers. They froze, staring at their finds and at each other. Then Ghost turned back carefully and said:

“Let’s get out of here.”

It was quiet outside, but when Ghost and Soap left the house, the door slammed shut behind them, as if from the wind or someone from inside had pushed it hard.

“You know, Johnny,” the lieutenant said slowly, “maybe there really is a ghost here.”

On the way home, they stopped at a phone booth and anonymously reported the human remains to the police. And a few days later, while watching TV together with Johnny’s parents, they saw a story on the news about a terrible find in the basement of the old abandoned building.

“Is it that th’ house ye wur afraid o’ as a child, son?” Islay asked, looking at Soap. “No, maw,” he lied because he didn’t want his mother to worry, “it’s not.”

[literary-motif]

VII. Even In Excess Of Misery

In which you find out things. ~3,800 words

Warnings: internalised aphobia

Overview // VI. Vengeance Is Mine, I Will Repay

You stepped into the entrance hall unsteadily, still in a daze. You were worn out despite sleeping away most of the journey back home. Mr. Fint set down your bag. You turned in surprise, having forgotten about him.

“Thank you for everything,” you said, trying not to blend the words from how tired you were. 

All you wanted to do was collapse onto your bed and curl up under the covers. That would not do, however. The quietness of the house reminded you starkly of your responsibility and duties. 

“Please extend my gratitude to— to Rosaria,” you said, wracking your brain in vain to remember her surname. 

He bowed lightly, touching his hat. “Of course,” he said, raising his eyes to smile at you. They settled on your neck for a moment too long. The smile slowly fell off his face, and he swallowed thickly.

You did not notice, too busy keeping your eyes open and careful not to sway on the spot. His sharp inhale snapped you out of your thoughts. He did not say a word, only continued looking intently at you.

“Is everything—?” you began. 

“Good day,” he interrupted quickly, darting out without waiting for your reply. 

You frowned, too tired to make sense of it all. Dragging yourself up the stairs, you paused on the first floor, seeing the library door open a crack. You contemplated slipping into bed without announcing your return — they would see your bag in the foyer anyway — but decided that you could wait another five minutes. You could let Elisabeth know that you were back before retiring.

Walking along the inner gallery, you opened the door to the library.

The room was in complete disarray. Books were strewn around everywhere, some open, some torn to shreds. Candles lit up the room, shakily set on the floor in what you could only describe as the worst fire hazard you had ever seen. Runes and symbols were drawn on the floor in a white powder that looked illegal to possess. 

In the center of it all knelt Elisabeth, raising a cup of dark liquid that you hoped beyond all reason was not blood into the incented air. She snapped her head to look up as you interrupted her doings.

Freezing, she raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

You were gobsmacked. “Elisabeth, what the hell are you doing?” you asked in bewilderment, all thoughts of exhaustion forgotten as you looked at the mess your sister had made of the library.

Shushing you, she motioned with her head for you to leave. 

“Elisabeth!”

She rolled her eyes, only for her gaze to fall to the open door and the dent you had made in the runes, breaking the circle and destroying her careful work. 

“Do you know how long it took me to prepare everything?” she snapped, setting down the cup and throwing up her hands in annoyance. Above all, she was disappointed as she blew out the candles one by one. “Now I have to wait for another waning crescent Gemini moon, Picasso. Thank you for absolutely nothing!”

You blinked, huffing out a breath. You were speechless and overwhelmed by the situation. Sinking to the ground, you minded the white powder she collected in what looked to be an urn. You rested your back against the wall, closing your eyes to gather your thoughts. 

“What were you doing?” you asked eventually, opening your eyes to look at her. 

A part of you feared her answer.

She glared at you. “I was summoning in Incubus,” she said matter-of-factly, “before you rudely interrupted, that is. Have you considered returning to Paris? At least Theo leaves me alone. It would have worked this time, I am sure!”

“Why?” you asked, appalled. She had spent too much time in seances. She was too deep into the occult. You were worried about whatever powers she was messing with. It felt wrong, and you did not want her to get hurt.

“Because I want to!” she snapped. “Because they are beautiful and kind creatures of comfort. You don’t know what it’slike to have this gaping hole inside your heart. You have your art. Theodore has his lover and the responsibilities he devotes his life to. I have nothing, and I yearn to have something— to have purpose!”

Your heart broke. “Lizzie,” you said sadly, wishing more than anything that your relationship had not grown apart so you could pull her into your arms and hold her tightly. “What are you saying? You have a purpose. You— that’s not something kisses or cuddles can give you.”

She shook her head, disbelieving you. “No, they can fix me,” she said, with such fragile conviction that you were unsure if she was trying to convince you or herself. “I have attempted the ritual before, but nothing happened. I must have done something wrong, so I tried again before you came barging in! I just want— I want—” she stuttered, her fists balling in frustration at not finding the words to express herself properly. “They can fix me. I know they can!”

You did not understand her at all. “Fix you?” you asked with a frown, keeping your voice gentle and clear of judgment. “There’s nothing to fix, Elisabeth.”

“But there is,” she murmured, leaning against the bookcase and drawing her knees to her chest. She curled into a ball, resting her head atop them. She looked at the ground. “I do not love, and I am not lovable.”

“What?” you exclaimed in disbelief. “How did you get that idea? Who told you that? Where are they? I will take care of it.” A fury came over you, a feeling of fierce protectiveness over your younger sister that banished all thoughts of your exhaustion. 

Your heart ached at the thought that she had been hurting for all this time, thinking so terribly of herself. You could not phantom how she could believe something so grossly untrue. “That is nonsense, Lizzie.”

“Is it?” she spat, raising her head to glare at you. “Why should I believe you? You just left. You went to Paris to start anew while I was stuck here. You were content and busy and happy — and you forgot about London. You forgot about me!”

“That’s not true!”

Tears gathered in her eyes, hurt shining in them as she felt deeply betrayed. “Then why did you stop writing?” she asked quietly, her voice strangled as if it was a question that had her lying awake at night, silent tears rolling down her cheek as she wondered where she had gone wrong. “You promised!” she whispered. “Why did you stop caring about me?”

Your heart dropped at the tears in her eyes, shattering into a million little pieces. “What do you mean?” you asked softly, feeling your own eyes water. “You did not get my letters? I never stopped— but you did not reply anymore.”

She looked at you, searching your gaze for a long moment. Silence stretched between you as both of you wiped your tears. You ran your hand through your hair, exhaling deeply.

“So, do you think it was mother or father?” she asked eventually, scoffing as she stretched out her legs and crossed her arms, tilting her head to look up at the ceiling in deep contemplation. “I think it was father.”

“What a bitch,” you said hollowly. 

“Elisabeth!” a voice call from outside. Theodore barged into the library a second later. “Have you seen— oh there you are,” he said, seeing you sat next to the door. “I need to talk to you in the study. Clean up here, will you?” He said the last part to Elisabeth, who glared at him. 

You took the hand he held out to you, letting him pull you to your feet. 

“You have come back perfectly on time again,” he said, entering the study. “There is a ball this—”

“I am exhausted, actually,” you said, sinking into the cushions of the settee. A dull pain had settled behind your forehead, making you long for your bed and the sweet oblivion of sleep. Stifling a yawn, you massaged your temples in a vain attempt to starve off the headache. “I will have to sit this one out, I’m afraid.”

Theodore looked at you, narrowing his eyes. He was silent for a moment. “Do you think this is a joke?” he snapped.

You were taken aback. 

His anger always came on like a quiet storm — approaching in the blink of an eye and only noticeable when the thunder finally struck. Theodore rarely got angry. He prided himself on keeping his emotions in check, keeping a level head despite the stress breaking through his composure. 

The cold stare slicing through you with a lack of understanding and icy resentment made your heart clench. 

“I am really tired—” you began.

“We have an image to uphold,” he cut you off, uncaring about whatever justification you tried to convey. 

It felt like the wall he built to keep his feelings and thoughts from spilling out of him had cracked, and he was venting all the pent-up frustration this wretched situation had left him with. 

“Our parents left us in shambles, and you want to take a break? Unbelievable. You’ve had enough of a break in the country and years before that in Paris. This is serious! Maybe you’ve forgotten during your time comfortably hiding from your family, but we need to present an image to society if we want to survive here.”

His words registered slowly, his harsh tone hurting, revealing how he viewed you. Hiding from your family. Did he think so lowly of you? You grit your teeth. “Theo—?” you said softly, failing at keeping the hurt from bleeding into your tone. 

He crumbled into the armchair, a brief expression of horror and shame flashing across his face before he hid it in his hands. “I apologize,” he said quietly, shrinking into himself. “I didn’t mean to— I did not want to insult you or insinuate anything. If— of course— of course you’re tired. Rest, it’s alright. I’ll—” he sighed, keeping his head averted, “I will figure it out.” 

Clearing his throat, he straightened a moment later as if remembering propriety. You eyed him, noting his rigid posture and the tension in his shoulder.

“I—” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair. His expression turned sad. “I have broken off my engagement,” he said. “It has left me skittish and rather on edge.”

“What?” you asked in shock, hurt momentarily forgotten at the news. “Why?”

You had never met his fianceé, but from the sentences Theodore penned in his letters alone, you could tell he was deeply in love. He had a special way of describing her — like the morning sun, breathing life into him like the breeze of spring and melting his heart with a feeling of divinity he expressed in terms bordering on blasphemous. 

This adoration was unlike anything you had read before. If he had not been so taken with natural sciences, you thought hewould have made an excellent poet in matters of the heart. 

“It does not matter,” he said curtly, his voice strangled. You did not like the sorrow encircling him. Melancholy did not suit him. He raised his head to look into your eyes. “This connection with Lord Claiborne,” he asked seriously, “is it deeper?”

Your memories of the estate were hazy, your feelings a mixture of comfort and horror. Every time you thought of him, you saw his deep ruby eyes, shining with pleasure, shining with passion — and his blood-smeared mouth twisted in a content smirk, flashing his sharp teeth. He was a man of insurmountable heights and plummeting lows. You could not tell for certain if you liked Xanthus or if he terrified you. 

Theodore sprang from his seat, interpreting your silence differently. His eyes shone with hopeful excitement as he sat down next to you. 

“Do you both have plans to pursue a relationship?” he asked on the edge of his seat, searching your gaze as if the words you would utter were the solution to all his worries. “Do you want to marry him?”

“Marriage?” you echoed with a scoff. The idea was preposterous. You looked at your brother in confusion, shaking your head with a frown. “I have known him for less than a week!”

Theodore’s expression fell. You swallowed down the guilt for wiping the hopefulness off his face and allowing one of downcast sorrow to take its place again.

“Of course,” he muttered, remembering reality. “How foolish.”

“What is going on?” you asked, placing your hand on his shoulder to reassure him. Something was not right, and you needed to know what it was. 

Theodore was keeping something from you, and you could see him slowly falling to pieces under the heaviness of this secrecy. 

“Talk to me. You do not need to face the world alone, brother.” It tore you apart not being able to help because he would not talk to you.

He shook off your hand. “It does not matter. I will take care of it,” he said, forcing a smile. “Do not worry. I— a temporary lapse in judgment, I suppose. I thought I had seen a spark between you two. I hoped— never mind.”

“Tell me.”

“There is no need to worry,” he said stubbornly, his smile strained. “I will take care of it, Da Vinci.”

“Theodore!” you said sternly. 

He crossed his arms. “Drop it.”

“Theo—”

“I said drop it!” he snapped, biting his lip and averting his head a second later. 

Theodore’s secretiveness and Elisabeth’s attempted ritual left you restless. Despite your fatigue, you went outside to clear your head. 

You sat in the garden with your sketchbook open, looking at the old oak tree. It was beautifully majestic and had towered over the house for as long as you could remember.

You skimmed over the pages, observing the sketches you had done of Xanthus. 

Marriage? You barely knew him! Theodore was right, however, that something more had transpired between you than a purely professional relationship might allow. 

He had a pull on you, enticing you with his ruby eyes and charming smile, but you were keenly aware of the nervousness you felt around him. He made you uneasy. The anxious flutter in your stomach was not the product of some unconfessed affection or the dizzying warmth felt when newly in love — it was the sickening twist of fear.  

Taking out your pencil, you began sketching the tree to banish those unpleasant thoughts.

You captured the leaves fluttering in the wind, committing to paper how they rustled and twirled. They were carelessly free. You captured their weightlessness, wishing you could feel it as well. The world dragged you down, and you sighed deeply, resting your head against the bark. 

Why had Theodore called off the marriage? You could not understand why he would let go of the person he loved. He was loyal to a fault. What was going on with Elisabeth? Your heart ached when you recalled the tears in her eyes.

You finally understood her resentment. It was a misunderstanding at best and a deliberate rift between you caused by your parents at worst. Your blood boiled at the thought that they had thrown out your carefully constructed letters. Why they had done it, you would never understand, and you felt both relief and resentment that you would never confront them about it. 

Shaking your head to wipe them from your mind, you added a pattern to the bark. 

Elisabeth’s meddling with the occult worried you. It was one thing to attend seances and attempt to speak with the dead, but actively summoning something in the fire hazard that was the library made a shiver run down your spine.

You did not want her to get caught up with forces beyond her control, running through void hallways at night. You did not want her to be observed by a creature scaling the walls of a mansion, only waiting for the perfect time to strike and sink its teeth into her neck. He collects souls. You shuddered, running a hand through your hair. He is the devil. You scoffed with a frown. 

What were you thinking?

“Pardon?” 

The voice made you jump. The pencil fell from your hand as a man appeared in your field of vision. He smiled faintly in apology, a brown book under his arm. 

“I did not mean to startle you. How lovely to see you again. Lord Robert Hoare from C. Hoare & Co,” he said, inclining his head as he introduced himself. “Excuse my late calling. I am looking for your brother to discuss finances.” 

You stared at him for a long moment, your tired mind trying to remember social etiquette. 

“Lord Hoare,” you greeted, rising to your feet and extending your hand in greeting. 

Your sketchbook fell to the ground, opening on a random page and showing a piece you had made of Xanthus on the boat. 

“What a surprise. Normally, guests enter through the entrance hall and not through the garden fence.” You added a chuckle for good measure, the words sounding rude in retrospect. 

“It is rather urgent, and nobody was answering the door,” he said drily, his gaze falling to your sketch. He hesitated. “I must say,” he began, “word of your talents travels fast. You know, my wife reads The Art Journal. She mentioned admiring your work on more than one occasion. Say, could I interest you in a commission of a family portrait?” 

“Certainly,” you said, smiling cheerily at him and ignoring the uneasy feeling of having a bank official in your garden. 

Was this why Theodore was so on edge? What did he want? Was he in trouble with the bank?

“I have not been back for long, my Lord, so I might not be fully caught up. I would be happy to help, however. What is there to discuss regarding the finances?”

Lord Hoare sighed, stroking his book. He looked around the garden to make sure you were alone. “To be entirely honest,” he whispered, “they look rather bleak, I’m afraid.” 

You laughed nervously at what you hoped to be a joke. Bleak?

“Surely there must be a mistake,” you said, feeling the blood drain from your face at his pitying expression. “Our extensive fortune—” you trailed off.

“It has been retrieved by your parents,” he said, looking at you strangely. 

“Of course!” you breathed shakily, pretending to have forgotten. “I recall now. Yes, they took it for their travels.” 

Had they emptied the vault? Had they left you penniless? 

“Yes,” he said. “A rather unorthodox thing to do, but not unheard of. I need to talk to your brother about settling the debt they left behind. A sturdy sum, no less.”

Debt? You felt faint.

“Of course,” you said, shooting him the most charming smile you could muster. “I am afraid my brother has complained of a headache and is currently resting” — you felt the pulsing pain in your head worsen at the reminder — “but I will tell him to send word to you about scheduling a meeting as soon as I am able.”

He narrowed his eyes, grunting in displeasure. Opening his mouth to utter what you were sure to be an insistence to see him right this instant, your mind scrambled for something to cut him off.

“I would prefer it—”

“I will do so too, of course,” you said hastily, picking up your sketchbook and leafing through it until you found the page where you had outlined a portrait of a couple in Paris. You showed it to him placatingly, instantly halting his insistence.“This is merely a little sketch. I would love to talk with your wife and incorporate her artistic vision into the portrait. I am sure she has an excellent eye for art.”

His eyes lit up at the praise of his wife, his gaze flickering from the sketch to you and back. “She does,” he said, clearing his throat and brushing down his coat in contemplation. “Very well,” he said. “I am sure that would make her very happy.”

“I will send a note to set up a meeting, if I may?” you asked, closing the sketchbook.

“Yes please,” he said, beaming at the thought. “Feel free. Eva would love that!” Thoughts of finances were pushed asideas you saw him off, asking him about his wife’s preferred art movement and her favorite paintings. 

Your hands began to shake as soon as he was out of view. Stepping into the house hollowly at Lord Hoare’s revelation, you walked into a heated argument between your siblings.

“I am not going to the stupid ball,” Elizabeth snapped, trying to duck past Theodore, who was blocking her way to the library. “You know how much I hate them!”

“You have to,” he hissed. “We need to go together. It is important!”

“I don’t want to!”

“I do not care about what you want right now!” he yelled, slamming the library door shut. “I need you there to preserve our image, alright? You are not 19 anymore. Come on, Lizzie. Be responsible for once in your life!”

Elisabeth glared at him, stepping up to Theodore until they were only inches apart. 

“I am childish, yeah?” she spat. “Who is the one who cried when they left? ‘Oh Lizzi, I cannot do it.’ Grow up! I’ve always been independent while you scurried behind them, always seeking out crumbs of approval like a starved dog! Do you even know what you are doing? What are you looking for in their shadow?”

He gaped at her in shock, working his jaw silently in search of an insult to throw back at her. The hall was deadly silent, Elisabeth’s words leaving a tension hanging over you all. 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Now is not the time for this,” you said, walking up the stairs. 

Theodore let go of the door, stepping aside with a dejected expression, not uttering a word. Elisabeth did not move, watching you keenly as you reached inside your pocket, retrieving Xanthus’ check. You pressed it into your brother’shand. 

He furrowed his brows, looking at the paper in confusion before unfolding it. His eyes lit up in shock, then narrowed in guilt. He ducked his head in shame again — as if all this mess was somehow his fault — not daring to meet your eyes.

“Lord Hoare wants to see you,” you said gravely, squeezing his shoulder. You gave Elisabeth a long look.

She sighed quietly. "Fine," she muttered. 

You were going to the ball together.

Annotations // VIII. Num Scire Volo?

[astorytotellyourfriends]

"I can't let you back on the road in that fire hazard," Eddie says, huffing with laughter. "If there was a mechanic's code, I'd be breaking it." A giggle slips out of Chrissy's mouth before she can stop it. "Is it really that bad?" "Yep," Eddie replies, nodding his head as he sucks his teeth. "It's really that bad." "Well…" Chrissy feels a little thrill of confidence flow through her as she smiles at him, "...then I guess we're even after all."

happy one year anniversary to chapter 1 of if we don't leave this town, we might never make it out 🍾

i loved writing this fic so much and i miss this little universe i created all the time, so i thought what better way to honor the anniversary than to give you guys a little peek at what life's like for Eddie and Chrissy a few months after the last chapter ends. i hope you enjoy 💛

when we begin again

The roar of an engine and the crunch of gravel outside of the garage doesn’t startle Chrissy like it used to. She’s long grown used to all the ambient noise that she hears on a daily basis from Eddie’s garage, even with the door to the office closed. There’s only so much sound that the simple wood can muffle, but it’s okay. Chrissy doesn’t feel the constant need to look over her shoulder anymore.

Sure, sometimes when she and Eddie are out somewhere she’ll get that tingly feeling on the back of her neck that makes her anxiety rise and she can’t help but fear that someone is watching her, but Eddie’s always there to keep her grounded. To protect her.

He makes her feel safe in a way she never thought possible. And yeah, sometimes she wonders if maybe she relies on him a little too much, but it’s only been a few months. She’s still healing, emotionally speaking anyway, and someday she’ll really learn to stand on her own two feet.

Still, having a safety net isn’t such a bad thing.

The door to the office creaks open - Eddie refuses to grease the hinges because it always announces his (and anyone else’s) presence so there’s never a worry of someone sneaking up on Chrissy when she has her back turned - and Chrissy looks over her shoulder to find Eddie rocking back and forth on his heels, fighting a large smile.

“What?” she asks with a laugh, staring at him curiously as she slowly gets up from the desk.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Chrissy tilts her head, feeling excited but nervous as to what this surprise could be. If it was another mixtape, he would’ve just waltzed right into the office and plunked it into the stereo already. It can’t be a meal, given that it’s the middle of the afternoon, but Chrissy can’t seem to come up with another idea of what he could possibly be surprising her with.

“What is it?”

Eddie extends his hand, his palm wiped clean of the streaks of grease that continue from the wrist up, and Chrissy doesn’t even think to hesitate before she takes it.

He leads her out of the office and through the garage, to the bay at the far end that she could’ve sworn was empty this morning after Mrs. Henderson came to pick up her Buick the day before. Whatever car is sitting in its place is much smaller than that, but Chrissy can’t tell what it is because it’s covered by a tarp.

“Stand right… here,” Eddie says as he gently guides Chrissy to stand right at what she assumes is the front end of the car, “and close your eyes.”

“Eddie…”

“Just for a little while,” he promises with a soft kiss to her cheek. “Five seconds - maybe ten. Please?”

Chrissy lets out a little breath and presses her lips together to hold back a smile, dutifully raising her hands to cover her eyes a moment later.

“That’s my girl,” Eddie murmurs, drawing a giggle out of her that she couldn’t have stopped if she tried.

As she listens to Eddie pulling back the tarp she imagines what he must look like; she has no doubt in her mind that whenever she opens her eyes the tarp will be all bunched up and shoved off to the side, making her wonder why he even bothered with it in the first place.

“Okay!” Eddie’s grin bleeds through his voice and Chrissy’s own mouth curls into a smile as she hears his footsteps come closer to her. He puts one hand on her elbow before he steps behind her, pressing his chest up against her back and all but enveloping her as he puts his mouth to her ear. “Open your eyes.”

She pulls her hands away from her face as Eddie’s hands settle on her waist, and while her first instinct is to turn around and look at him, as soon as her eyes focus on the car in front of her, she can’t look away.

“I… Eddie…” she lets out a surprised laugh, “what is this?”

“It’s a car,” he answers with a chuckle. “A 1973 Volkswagen Super Beetle, to be exact.”

“I know that,” Chrissy mumbles, pushing her elbow back against his ribs - not enough to hurt, but enough to show her annoyance at his snark.

“Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants,” he teases as he leans in to press another kiss to her cheek. Chrissy turns her head to catch his mouth, moaning ever so softly as he kisses her back.

“Whose car is it?” she asks when he pulls away.

“Yours.”

Chrissy’s jaw drops. Eddie slips out from behind her and walks back over to the car, his excitement growing more and more pronounced as he starts to ramble.

“I got a real good deal on it because it needs some work, but it runs and it’s a hell of a lot better than that hunk of junk you rode in on—”

Chrissy shakes her head a little; he’s never going to let her Gremlin go.

“—but since you’ve been saying you wanna learn more about cars, I thought why not get one that won’t fall apart and, y’know, it can be our weekend project, or whatever.”

“Eddie…”

He looks up at her, his smile faltering for the first time.

“Do… do you not like it?”

“No, it’s not—”

“Is it the color? We can totally change it, that’s not an issue—”

“Eddie,” Chrissy pleads as she rushes forward, throwing her arms around his neck and pushing up on her tiptoes to hold him tight. “I love it.”

“Yeah?” Eddie lets out a relieved breath and wraps his arms around her in return, laughing when he speaks. “You do?”

“Yes,” she says as she rocks her feet back down to the garage floor. “You shouldn’t have, though. How much—”

Eddie cuts her off with a kiss, chuckling into her mouth when she tries to wriggle away.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

“But—”

“I told you, I got a good deal!”

She frowns at him, but it doesn’t last long when he presses his forehead against hers and nudges her nose with his own.

“I wanted to do this for you,” he murmurs. “I want you to have a car that’s yours. That’ll get you where you need to go if you ever…”

Chrissy’s breath stutters as Eddie’s grip on her waist suddenly tightens. He goes stiff against her for a few seconds before he forces himself to relax, and she quickly brings their lips together.

She knows what this is. He’s giving her an escape route. This is his way of saying if you ever feel like you need to leave, I want you to be able to. He loves her enough to know that she deserves to feel like she isn’t trapped.

“I love you,” she whispers breathlessly as she clings to him, pressing her body against his as much as she can; if she could wrap herself around him any more, she would.

“Love you,” he says, lightning-quick in return. “Love you so much, Chrissy I—”

“I know.” She runs her fingers through his hair and kisses him again. “Thank you.”

Eddie fully relaxes against her but neither of them pull away from the other. Chrissy tucks her face against his shoulder and he does the same into the crook of her neck, and they just stand there for a while in each other’s embrace.

She doesn’t want to leave - she can’t imagine ever wanting to run away from Eddie like she did before - but knowing she’ll have the means to do so with his blessing? That means more to her than words could ever say.

[kosije]

a/n: remind me to never write my drafts onto paper (╥_╥)

cw: hawks x gn!reader, light angst, fluff, 1.5k words, song inspo

the night is blistering, but he continues to fly because he knows he has to. thick tuffs of air leave his lips as his wings autopilot to the only thing he knows. even after a draining month of constant villain attacks and undercover operations, Hawks keeps flying. he wonders if he’s still even recognizable with heavy bags under his dull eyes and ghastly appearance. if it weren’t for the crimson wings unique to him, would he even be identifiable? the stench of death has seeped into his clothes and is carried with him like an anvil digging into his spine. cold and quiet nights like these are usually hopeless and in vain.

but only usually.

because when the familiar view of convenience stores, parks, then your apartment comes into view, a flame of relief is lit under him that keeps him going. he lands on your balcony with a less-than-graceful thump and begins to smooth out his fading jacket and gold hair. without hesitation, the sliding door is pushed open by his gloved hand. your apartment is just how he remembered it. decorated in mementos and souvenirs showing the love there is here. it mirrors you an awful lot. warm with cozy incense and furniture around- he thinks your house is the closest thing he’s seen to a home. the title so close to being something the two of you can share, but with his job, it dissolves just as quickly out of his grasp like sand and a sour feeling flashes through his body.

That feeling triples as he realizes you left your door unlocked. he checks for signs of a break-in on impulse, but everything is in place. everything except for two mugs on your counter -one full and another with lukewarm tea in it that makes his stomach flip in a bad way. In a way that has bile bubbling up to his throat, threatening to come out at any moment. But he can’t sense that a single soul has been here except you.

Had you been waiting here for someone else?

When he hears the patterns of your feet approaching, his shoulders give slightly.

“you don’t always have to be so on guard, know.”

“It’s not very safe to leave your doors unlocked,” he says, trademark smile on, but it’s much more hollow than what you’re used to seeing.

“I was waiting for someone,” you say, long-sleeved sweater bunched into the pockets of your thick pajama pants as you softly land on the doorway with a soft thud from your shoulder.

he wonders he imagining the chill that shoots down his spine and freezes him in place.

“i’m talking about you, the tea, it’s for you.” and just like that, spring has ripped through the cold world and blossomed inside the walls that make up your house. feelings he can’t articulate bloom in his throat and his sharp tired eyes look familiar and tender in the reflection of your own.

“how’d you know i was comin?”

“i heard about the victory over that villain group you’ve been going back and forth with,” you start, “i guess it was just hope.”

“sounds like you missed me,” he says playful, as always.

“not at all.”

when hawks laughs it changes the air between you two. he relaxes and picks up the tea, gingerly drinking it with a smile so faint, yet contagious enough you let one spill on your lips just alike. you lift off your place on the wall and move to hawks, gentle hands move to slide off his gloves, and jacket, then lead him to your bed. there’s a creek of metal springs as he sits on the edge, hands feeling around your comforter. your room is just like how he remembered too. warm lightning preferred over fluorescent ones. he’s always made fun of it being a fire hazard — but it’s so much like you he finds himself in it. and not just in the literal way how he can see himself in some of the Polaroids decorations, or the photo of you two in his wallet, or in the cologne you bought him that he uses every day. but in a less physical sense. like how thoughts of you are relentless. a glimpse of you is woven into any and every mundane task he does.

like when he sees a shirt and thinks about if you’d like it. or when the sunset makes pretty colors, and he wonders if you’re looking at it too. from scents, to songs, to restaurants, and movies. when he finds beauty in something, he also finds you.

you turn to leave, but his hand catches your wrist. your face is sweet and if it weren’t for the hum of your heater overhead, he thinks you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. after he lets go of your wrist, you whisper a soft promise that you'll come back, keeping his eyes fixed on you while you move around the room, pulling things out of drawers. in a few blinks you’ve changed him out of his faded suede hero suit and into soft cotton flannel pajamas with cuts for his wings. rounding the bed, you sit up against the headboard, legs, and arms open, and motion for him to join you. he doesn’t know that he’s already moved until he feels your hands on his shoulders, turning him to turn and lay on you. when he feels you knead at the knots in his shoulders and back, he lets out a pleasurable sigh, amber eyes fluttering shut as he leans his head on you.

when he opens them again, you’re smiling at him. it’s something that feels much more domestic. gentle and dreamy, not to mention the lighting doesn’t help the fact you look cherubic. but he’s not complaining.

“you’re so pretty.”

you’re a little breathless when you say it, but his breathing completely stops. with just your hand moving up to run your hand through his hair, butterflies flutter in his chest and his face goes hot. maybe the bags under his eyes weren’t as big as he imagined. and maybe his ghastly appearance was a hallucination of his sleep deprivation. you’ve always had that effect on him. making him dizzy with just words and even making him forget all the bad of the previous month and just focus on you.

his response is a kiss. re-familiarizing himself with the curve of your lips and the taste of your strawberry chapstick. the feeling is euphoric. he feels the same weightlessness of flight, but he’s still grounded-stable. he thinks of you as his rock but as he turns to face you and calloused hand falls to grip the meat of your thigh, you feel as soft as a cloud. your lips only part for air as he shuffles to get closer and closer to you, devouring you between every gasp for air. the feeling pumping through his veins is borderline confusing. something of a calm wind, or a gentle wave flowing to shore. but it touches him somewhere that leaves him dazed. and it’s not until you pull away and run your thumbs under his eyes does he realize he’s crying. he doesn’t know why, but the tears don’t stop.

and when you bring him into your embrace, whispering it’s okay, something clicks, and he’s sobbing in your arms. helpless to articulate why, with how you press soft kisses into his hair and draw shapes in his wings with your fingers, he can place one feeling.

understanding.

throughout his existence, hawks never felt like anyone could know him. just the thought of being vulnerable made him scoff. but with you, it feels organic. it makes so much sense. and as his breathing evens out, and cries turn into sniffles, the three words that leave his mouth are ones he’s sure of.

“i love you.”

the way your eyes gloss over is heightened by the lamp on your nightstand and after a beat of silence, you tackle him and leave pecks all over his face that have him laughing at the sensation. when you echo his words, they vibrate along his chin and he can feel the smile on your lips without seeing it.

“sorry, what was that?”

“fuck off.”

he’s laughing again. scoffing, you go to pull off him, but he’s bringing you back down with his wings and kissing you slow and passionately. when he breaks it, you’re wide-eyed and a rush of pride surges through him. this time when you move off him, you’re pulling him up with you to move back to your headboard and slipping under your covers. with a single feather, he turns off all the lights in your room except for your fairy lights because he loves how they shimmer off your skin. thoughts of his job and anxieties are cremated in the warmth of your presence and leave him with a lovesick high.

with you in his arms, finally resting for the first time in months, hawks thinks he’s finally figured out what it feels like to have a home. It’s bigger than an idea or a place. and there’s nothing he’s more confident of than the fact he’s found home in you. and maybe this bliss is not as unattainable as he may have thought before.

[delusionsofmid-daymoon]

No!yuu au- Prologue

A twisted wonderland were everthing is the same, except a certain magicless student never came to this world

°•°•°•°◇°•°•◇°•°•◇°•°•°•°•°•°•°◇°•°•◇°•°•◇°•°•°•°•°•°•°◇°•°•º

PROLOGUE

-Grim invades the mirror chamber and wonders which coffin he should open

-he honestly just does eeny meeny miney and ends up chosing one of the coffins close to the windows

-and when he can't open the lid, like usual he blasts the thing with a fire ball

-but since Yuu is not there he would end up picking another first year

-Ace is sudenly waken up by a loud rumble and heat

-he screams, grim screams and ace falls face first on the floor, then quickly kneel and rub his head, damn his forehead hurts

-"w-w-what ?!? what just happened !??! " he gets up,the coffin lid is on the floor and is burning, with blue fire, why is the fire blue ?!?

-"Hey human don't ignore me !"

-the voice came from...down....? he looks at the groud and theres a grey...weasel ? raccoon ? cat ? wait were it's ears on fire ?

-"....seeing a talking weasel... i think i hit my head stronger than i thought"

-"HEY ! i'm not a weasel, i'm the great grim! well whatever, hey human give me those clothes now" he then blows some fire on the floor and smirk "or else i'll roast you alive"

-"WHAT THE HELL ?" ace pulls his pen and uses wind to blow away some flames that were a little too close for confort

-chaos breaks

-ace and grim then start to fight, grim trying to burn everthing and ace defending, ace blowing away almost every attack but his wind magic can't do much damege on grim either, and soon the chamber becomes almost covered in a sea of flames

-grim and ace become more and more frustrated the longer the fight takes

-the doors the suddenly open and the headmaster catch them both with the love whip, kalim uses oasis maker to put out the fire, making everyone soaking wet in the process

-after they manage to stop vil from murdering kalim the headmaster start to scold the troublemaker duo

-lamenting about how the students are more premature each year, causing problems even before the first day, how could they fight like that on the ceremony room ? that fire could have destroyed his precious mirr-*cough* the poor students that are still sleeping on their gates

-"and you mr trapolla !!! how could you let this happen ? you should have more control of your familiar !"

-ace says there's no way that piromaniac weasel is his familiar, grim agrees and just to emphasize tries to set ace on fire

-riddle then steps up and collar the two, unfortunally for ace "why me?", riddle then proceeds to lecture them for 20 minutes straight

-and that just didn't last longer because crowley said they were gonna be late for the cerimony(even he felt a little bad for the two after that)

-ace and grim, now properly traumatized, stayed tied up and by the headmaster side to avoid further problems

-he released ace when his turn came and he was sorted to heartslabyul, riddle felt his soul leaving his body

-grim began to make a scene saying he should be sorted too, "mr trapolla control your familiar !"

-ace then finally had the chance to clarify that no, grim wasn't his familiar, he never saw that fire hazard before and would prefer if things had stayed that way

-grim is kicked out the school kicking and screaming, riddle sighed lightly, alright, maybe that student wasn't so troublesome after all(haha this poor motherfucker)

°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°

-grim tries going to ramshackle to escape the rain, but without yuu there he can't do anything about the ghosts, he aims with his eyes closed !

-he runs away and have to sleep beneath a tree

-next day he goes to NRC again and ends up on the main street, he asks himself about the queen of hearts and surprise ! ace shows up

-ace is kinda rude from the start, recognizing grim as that weasel from yeasterday and insulting he here and there, but he still awnser the questions about the great seven

-by the end ace asks grim why he wanted his robes and grim why he wanted his clothes, and grim tells he is destined to become a great mage, but since the mirror didn't recognize his greatness he just had to enter himself

-ace laughs and says there's no way that could ever happen, that's the stupidest thing he has ever heard

-they fight like in canon, the queen of heart statue gets burned

-crowley shows up, "you two again ?!" he tells ace to clean 100 windows and kicks grim out again

-without yuu there ace manages to sucessifully skip the punishment

-grim keeps invading and getting kicked out, becoming a frequent headache to crowley

-throught sheer persistence grim managed to eventually tire the ghosts and they let him sleep on ramshackle

-he and ace keep coincidently meeting eachother, at the start they aways fought, ace laughing at grim and grim insulting ace the best he can, but not atacking eachother to avoid trouble

-after some encounters they manage to have some normal conversations, when ace encounter grim while skipping class

-grim then complains about how dificult it is to find food and cries about being hungry

-ace felt sorry for him and gave him half of his sandwich "it's only because your crying is really pathetic"

-and grim of course stuck to him like glue after that, they managed to get along, just a little, ace didn't aways bring grim food but it happened more times than he could justify just happening to have something extra

-and hey, teasing and talking to the fire monster turned out to be quite fun, funnier than those boring history classes anyway

-this whole thing lasted more or less two weeks

-then one day crowley found them, he was searching for grim after they notfied he entered again. and no one managed to catch him

-so when saw one of his troublemaker students skiping class and feeding the sourse of his persistent headache ?

-he was anoyed to say the least

-"you know, despite not being your familiar this monster follows you quite a lot doesn't he ?" ace gulped, crowley was so fed up

-Crowley then had a brilliant idea, one that would make that monster someone else's problem and also punish that shameless student (Crowley was very resentful after finding out that Ace didn't clean those windows, bacause of that he had to actually pay people to clean them !!!)

-he smiled and said grim could stay on the school, they looked shoked at him, why of course~ he was so gentle he would let grim remain on the campus and even use the library to study, so as long as he causes no more trouble and stay with mr trappola

-that's right mr trappola ! grim is now your responsibily~! if he causes any trouble you will be held acountable for it

-grim is beaming, it's not the ideal but is still great progress, ace wants to die, he tries to beg, to convince the headmage to see the reason and don't do this

-crowley just gives him a side look and says "oh would you rather be expelled then ?" ace quickly shuts his mouth

°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°•°•°•°

-ace avoids going back to heartslabyul the longer he can, how the hell would he expain it to the housewarden ?

-he then explains to grim that the housewarden is super severe and kiiiiinda psychotic about the rules for some motive, the guy is like a bomb ready to explode so it's best avoid him alright ?

-they get to the dorm past curfew, grim is hungry again, and ace is too, it is really late after all

-they steathily enter the kitchen and search for something

-and on the fridge there's three whole strawberry tarts, oh lucky them~!

-ace cuts two pieces for him and grim

-and while they're singing their praises riddle appears from behind

-ace is stuttering trying to find an excuse(what is he guilty of ? he doesn't know but he saw enough of the housewarden to know that face means no good)

-riddle then looks down and asks "what is he doing here ?", they nervously tell what happened

-riddle faz uma pausa. ele fecha os olhos. ele aperta o nariz e inspira profundamente

-then an scream echoed throught the night

-"OFF WITH YOUR HEADS !!!!"

-the rest is story

[parkerpeter24]

“We got snowed in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.” with enemies to lovers peter like maybe they had to stay there overnight after a mission and are stuck for a couple days

pairing : mcu!peter x reader

2.0 masterlist ❄️

“the joystick is broken and it’s all your fault!”

“it’s not a joystick.” he rolls his eyes, “it’s a manual controller for the quinjet.”

“great. calling me stupid isn’t gonna help us.” you swear sometimes peter parker could drive you so mad.

“i never called you stupid!” he throws his hands up in the air like he’s just heard the most ridiculous thing ever.

you and peter started out friends. really good friends. maybe a little more than just friends but everything changed for some unknown reason. however right now isn’t time to reminisce. you tried to contact tony so many times but the signal on your phone was very week.

your safest option would have been the quinjet but the crash-landing meant a hazard that it could explode at any given time. hence, the two of you find yourselves walking on the snow to both find a shelter and get away from the explosive.

you walk at a fast pace, leaving peter behind along with the faint sound of snow crunching under your feet, “you can’t possibly walk any slower.” you comment, knowing he’s rolling his eyes at you, “roll your eyes all you want, if there’s an explosion, you’ll be fried first!” you yell louder than you meant to, partly because you were mad and partly because the wind was starting to sound like an obstruction.

not for peter though. he hears you loud and clear. and as he does, he runs up and ahead of you, “happy now?!” he yells back.

after another round of you two trying to outrun each other, you find a little cabin, a slight hope that you won’t die of cold at least.

you approach it first. you look in through the windows to see if anyone is in there.

“there’s a lock on the door.” peter points out, giving you a smirk.

you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment before rolling your eyes, “whatever.” before you can suggest any way to open the door, peter’s fist is colliding with the lock and in mere seconds two pieces of the metal are on the ground.

you try to hide your surprise but there’s no way peter will lose a chance to annoy you, “you’ll learn eventually.” he shrugs, making his way inside and leaving behind a groaning you to follow.

fortunately for the two of you, the cabin already had some uncharred wood near the fireplace. your lighter helped you light up the fire.

“you smoke?” you look up to find peter, who now has a quilt wrapped around his shoulders that he probably found in some part of the cabin. he walks over to you and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the new fire.

“no, it’s just a special lighter.” you answer, settling beside him, “my dad’s.”

there’s a quick moment of silence as peter racks his brain for something to say next but all he finds himself saying is, “he used to smoke?”

“you really don’t know how to converse huh?” you chuckle.

“not to you.” he shakes his head, however, you can tell that he wasn’t being mean, “we never “converse”.” he says, air quoting the word ‘converse’.

“well, now we are.” you say, looking over at him. you catch him looking back. you’d meant to smile at him but his soft, brown eyes in the glow of the fire, staring right into yours make it difficult to think straight.

peter snaps out of the moment first. he focuses at the the dusty floorboards, “why do you hate me, anyway?”

“because you’re a jerk?” it comes out like a question, like you don’t mean it at all.

“that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me.” peter rolls his eyes, not looking at you.

“how does it matter, we’re probably going to die anyway.” it was the first time anyone said it out loud and that made it so much more real. you two could probably die tonight and there was no way of communicating to any of your friends, “i-i’m sorry.”

peter senses your anxiousness. your heart is beating louder now but he doesn’t know how to help, not really, “wanna share?” he asks, offering you one end of his blanket.

you think for a moment before finally shifting closer to him, taking the blanket and placing it around yourself.

there is less space between you and peter. so much less space that your shoulders are touching. you don’t dare look at him because your faces will probably be inches apart if you turn. peter wraps an arm around your shoulder when your heart doesn’t slow down, “you okay?”

“well we got snowed in a cabin in the middle of nowhere so yep! fine as i’ll ever be!” you give him a nervous laugh.

“okay...” he says, though, not believing you.

it’s after some time of silence that he nestles against you. you’re tired as well and you can feel his relaxed breath against your skin. for once you don’t mind peter parker breathing down your neck and find yourself smiling as you fall asleep in the arms of the one that you hate. or maybe you don’t.

the next morning tony find the two of you snuggling inside the cabin. he’d finally been able to trace your location. he shakes his head, clicking a picture of you two and sharing it to pepper along with a text ‘told you these two were made for each other.’

taglist | masterlist ✨

taglist : @the-girl-in-the-chair @annathesillyfriend @uwiuwi @spideyspeaches @prancerrparkerr @usergarfields @theglitterymess @quaksonhehe @lowkey-holland @starlight-starks @piscesparker @incorrectsourwolf @wildxwidow @annab-nana @blankspaceblankday @kelieah @arvinsvintage @parkersdahlia @raajali3 @tommyfroggie @saturnpeter @ellabellabus07 @holland-styles

[au-set]

Ranking Mahoyaku wizards as your roommate (HCs + some short scenarios)

its finally semester break, i promise ill read chapter 1.5 of the main story now...

Hey, dear Sage... we just never questioned how the room we will be sleeping in soon was another Sage's? THAT LAD PROBABLY DIED 2 HOURS AGO AND NOW THE WIZARDS ARE CLAIMING HIS ROOM AS YOUR NEW HOME THE SAME EVENING HE SACRIFICED HIS LIFE IN THE CALAMITY.

In the great name of fengshui, you insist on sharing a room instead.

"hm, is this worse than clothes-less knight drunk dancing at 3am..."

20th — Nero

There are certain pros to being his roomie, obviously, but HAVE YOU SEEN THE GUY’S ROOM? Nero does not own a kitchen; his whole room IS the kitchen. Each time after he cooks, the amount of water droplets from the steam would damp your bedsheets... soggy bed... Don’t get me started on the state of the shared bedroom when he decides to fry food. Furthermore, the head of the bed is facing directly in front of the fire stove. That is a fire hazard for your hair, sir. 

Pros: access to unlimited midnight snacks. Go steal yourself a few pastries off his shelf for supper; he won’t mind.

His roommate will always be the first person he shares his new recipes with, which comes with delicious taste tests too. Imagine laying down on the bed and brainstorming recipes with Nero from your original world, it melts my heart.

19th — Smelly Mithra

Mimi bought this place with the price of his pillows (or else he’d be last place). Look at his little moon, I will rob it from his grasp and never return it.

Oh, oh wait he has two... I AM TAKING BOTH.

Cons: holding his hand. I headcanon all wizards originated from the North, the inability to have sweaty hands, yet I think it’s uncomfortable. Sure, Mithra’s happy he got the convenience of amazing sleep everyday when you’re in the manor, I physically cannot think of a position where it is partially comfortable unless he’s hugging you or has you little spooned.

Incapable of doing chores, does he even know what cleaning up after himself means?

Oh and he doesn’t know how to use a napkin so I doubt he showers. Stinky uncle Mithra.

18th — Bradley

Do NOT wake up later than him, he WILL tickle you awake if given the mood. Like Shino, who has a rope beside his bed, this man just has an entire display of guns… Not as scary because it isn't right by his bed… I stand by my point. Throws his jacket wherever he wants, messy roommate (not as bad compared to Murr) in general. I cannot think of a single pro at the moment.

Does not own a bed but SLEEPS ON LEATHER(?) SOFAS??? Countless materials in the world, this is what he chose. Sages, we napping on the carpet for this one.

His love for taking in large amounts of tasty food at once is endearing, not much so when you start to take note of the dirty plates starting to pile up at the corner of your shared room. Habitually, Bradley will tidy it up when it gets overwhelming, you still feel disgusted once in a while.

17th — Faust

In spite of the dark atmosphere in his room, it feels more cosy rather than sinister to me… BEFORE THE SUN SETS. Curseworker or what not, no one should have more than two mirrors hanging in their bedroom’s walls. The only person you are cursing is yourself. Faust will be escorting the Sage (me) to the bathroom past 12am, no complaints allowed for someone who has his room looking like a ritual summoning circle. What if a monster emerges from the inside of the mirror and starts genociding? We take no chances.

Initially, Faust was incredibly against sharing his room with anyone. If not for the Sage’s request otherwise, you wouldn’t be here browsing through his street cats photo albums. So subtle, so slowly that you couldn’t pinpoint when the wise Wizard started bringing you along his trips to his garden.

Almost forgot to mention his feet stabber 3000 and sceptical tied red stringed straw star on the floor...

16th — Rustica

Leaves the door open, like just enough to not be closed or sometimes just wide open. Bugs you about his “hanayome” everyday and every chance. No, my paint palette is not your bride, leave it alone. During unpredictable hours, Rustica fancies hosting karaokes by himself; singing melodies from the bottom of his heart; hoping his "hanayome" will hear him and grace their appearance in the room. Which will most likely be this Nova person because who in this world can actually hear past the sound barrier...

Has the nicest smelling room out of all of the 21 Wizards. Man has plants growing from the cabinet, I bet his cutlery smells like herbs. When you use his utensils it makes dishes taste bitter due to that reason. I hate having bitter food so you’re getting a low ranking.

Having you as his roomie cut off Chloe a bunch of slack, you’re now in charge of buttoning up his clothes and tidying up his ribbons.

15th — Cain

The first thought that came into mind is how Cain periodically gets drunk and starts dancing naked and I don’t want to be chilling or half-asleep with the door slamming open for me to get flashed by a nude knight’s body… Other than that, flawless roomie, handsome lad, would blind your eyes at 8am every morning by opening the curtains then flashing you his sunny smile (hopefully with clothes on).

Potential Owen visits, Owen scary. 15th place it is.

14th — Shino

WHY DO YOU HAVE ROPE JUST LAYING NEXT TO YOUR BED??? IS IT FOR SOME EMERGENCY ESCAPE DOWN THE SECOND FLOOR WHEN ARSON HAPPENS OR?????? I do not feel safe sleeping in the same room as him. What if he tied me up and threw me out the window? NOPE.

Please store it away before I use it to tie you up and throw you out the window instead.

You’re both either arguing over Heathcliff-needs-or-not-to-be-kept-safe-in-my-pocket-related topics or in a mutual agreement of “tasty bread” “valid” “if I can cast spells I’ll name mine delicious blueberry cheese tarts” “great idea” “in Latin maybe” “yeah”. 

Makes every single house task competitive, who can throw out the trash the fastest, who has the tidier bed made (no wrinkles, no accidental folds, no drool marks). As long as a victory title is achievable, he will challenge you. The both of you have a tiny magnet board to keep track of every loss and wins.

Never fail to cook up something unique for you when Nero is away, his forest watcher survival skills shine through the way he freshly hunts the ingredients just to please you with a fresh meal. Totally not because he wants to be praised by the Sage to inflate his ego. 

13th — Shylock

Alcohol. Smells like alcohol and only alcohol. That sly bartender will cast you a spell if it does bother you though. Does not allow you to freely decorate your side of the room, everything you decide to put on your desk has to go through his ‘aesthetic approval’.

Charmed instantly when he puts his hair down before bed, no denials here. Shylock often, and, justifiably catch you admiring his face from seconds to minutes because of how beautiful he looks. And that my fellow Sages, is a pro. Sharing a room with a pretty man! Mwahs!

After showering, Shylock offers to blowdry your hair when he has time to spare. What was supposed to be a little blowdrying routine tends to always escalates to a whole self-care session with the abundance of products the wizard insists on using on your hair. At the end of each session, he would give you the best scalp massage, it usually helps you sleep better at night.

12th — Snow & White (They share a room in the game so I’m putting them together)

Very nice and spacious because they're tiny and they get stuck in a painting at night so the room is all to claim MWAHAHAHA- honestly though, their antics would keep the Sage entertained through boring days and will talk nonstop about their 2000 years worth of life story. One thing I worry about is White screaming at the top of his lungs when accidentally scared—I move around my house without any noises, I might get blood in my ears a lot due to that. 

Their self portrait on the wall is cute but chilling at night, there’s also no windows in their room?!

Ho... faceless Snow and White...

Be prepared for the old じじs to wake you up at odd hours into the night to tell you something completely irrelevant and grotesque: “White is dead as you know, don’t you like having a dead corpse pressed up against your body when you two hug?” Denies everything when you wake up, refuses to take responsibility for mental damage as if Owen hasn’t caused enough.

11th — Chloe

His room is so eerie at night, I would be scared. The walls are under-decorated and have an empty ambience in general. Would be the type to share a closet with you if you’re around the same size as him. If you're smaller, better. Except being terrified of him jumping at me at 3am, I think Chloe makes a cute roomie. 

Frequently returns with gifts that tickle his interests strolling downtown. 

Chloe illogically makes me think that he owns a pet rock and asks you to take care of her. Apparently, a lively human child gave it to him? One day the Westerner discovered the rock grew eyes—googly eyes; you thought it was hilarious and he decided to leave it on from then on.

10th — Murr

Type of roommate to whine for your attention whenever he gets bored, disturbing you from the Sage’s work. On cloudy days, Murr will convert the bedroom into a fort when given permission (or not, he doesn't care) to use your pillows and blanket as walls and roofs. To witness the ceiling turned into a galaxy with his magic; he squeezes beside you on the hammock and reaches out his hand at the illusion moon; hours of his wisdom steals away your sleep and the silence in the chaotic night.

Will start writing poetry of the moon at midnight and force you to listen to him vent about his profuse, lavish and longing of the beautiful moon. Gets zero sleep with him, always tinkering around gemstones late at night. Aren’t cats supposed to sleep through 80% of the day? Meow meow’s room looks super fun, there are many trinkets and magical artefacts laying around. Temporary forgiven. 

9th — Owen

Having him as a roommate is pretty nice in my opinion. Recalling how he enjoys chaos in the city, thus rarely seen in the manor is the highlight of his ranking. Majority of the time the room is all yours, if he’s around, simply endure a few teases and mental breakdowns. Other than that, yeah the room is yours. 

Seldomly asks you out for teatime, never fails to take you to taste the most delicious cream puffs in town. Intentionally forces you to stay up late at night with him so he can tell you all about his wonderful day of being Snow White.

When he comes back I will toss him out the window.

8th — Mitile

Please go to bed Mitile. Purposefully staying up after 12am after being influenced by Shino's superior nonsense. He is determined to prove to the Easterner that he is a 'big boy' too and doesn’t need a set bedtime and curfews now that he is the chosen Sage’s wizard. Will absolutely begs the Sage to keep talking to him to keep him awake even though he can barely keep his eyes open. I need sleep…

Afternoons with Mitile are similar to Rutile, he would act all mighty and knowledgeable whenever you inquired him regarding anything, I repeat, the smallest things in the world! Cheerfully hopping on the sofa with you, his slightly folded notebook on his lap and patiently explains to the Sage about what he has learnt from Dr. Figaro.

7th — Heathcliff

Bet his room smells like coffee and rain, that deserves a high ranking on itself. Very careful roommate, walks quietly when you’re already asleep and makes sure the door is closed at all times unlike some immoral swin-

Do you think he has like 5 heavy mechanical clocks in his room that goes “tick, tock, tick, tock, tick-” that are impossible to ignore? They never shut up, it is constant throughout the day, afternoon, evening, night—endlessly. I will go insane.

Look at his blueprints, I am certain there are clocks resting under his pillow because it's his wish charm.

6th — Riquet

Another desolated-looking room, please put up something more than the… pentagon drawn on papers (are those notes or something to do with his religion?). He definitely prays every night before bed and it makes me feel safe to be sleeping in the same room as him.

Under Bradley’s influence, Riquet learnt how to sneak into the (Nero’s) kitchen. Some mischievous nights, the two of you will blindly grab a few jars and packets of food from the pantry before carefully tip-toeing back to your rooms.

The rest of the night are experiments��cooking up distinguished dishes by mixing two random ingredients together and praying it doesn’t give unwanted stomach aches. When the colour turned out suspicious, Riquet and the Sage rock, paper, scissors to decide which one will be the ‘victim’ of their own Michelin star recipe.

5th — Figaro (hardest for me to write ;; i tried my best)

I would be scared of him doing something suspicious to the Sage—you had witnessed his room antics… he did swear to refrain from any funny business. Genuinely, Figaro is delighted that you chose to share a room with him. Will he feel less lonely to have someone an arm’s reach away at night…? 

Nosy roommate that hovers over your body whenever you’re occupied at the desk, similar to Murr but in a tamed way... as tamed as his patience can handle at least. Speaking of tame, you're again assigned with monitoring his drinking habits. Weekly routine of checking cabinets, beds and his unusually thicker coats.

One of these medicine bottles has to be replaced with alcohol.

Nags at you whenever he spots you have yet to make your bed in the morning, then does it himself. Victim of his endlessly cheesy flirts, needs your constant ratings and approvals as a facade for your attention.

4th — Rutile

I cannot find anything wrong with sharing a room with him, peaceful most of the time. Has a wall pinned with his proud drawings and I will boost his interest in drawing anytime I get. Gently wake you up in the morning, regularly have one-on-one study sessions to help you understand more about this unknown world.

 Not as bad as Cain assuming he will never start stripping while drunk, you’re still tasked with his well-being on festive days.

My little precious...

Enjoys leaving little cute sticky notes with reminders when he is assigned with missions far away from the manor: “I already did your laundry for the week ^^,” “do not skip your breakfast again >:(”. At the corner of each note, Rutile doodles on a chibi drawing of an animal (la cretura) when he has spare time and you get to guess what it actually is.

3rd — Oz

Hear me out, Oz has the loud dad snore that tortures you away from sleep- Ahem, he will put a partisan in the middle of the room separating the two of you alongside a noise barrier. No… he does enjoy your company, most of the time—fond of you even. I picture Oz as this guy who really treasures his personal space. Sharing a room with him grants you the same privacy he wishes. Perhaps after a few more small talks, he will consider removing the barrier.

Being the Sage is hard, a pledge forced upon fate. When things seem to get hard to keep up with your work, all your problems are magically solved. Papers neatly settled on your desk, a candy on top of the stack. “When Arthur was still young, he…” We all know how that goes. 

DON'T THINK YOU CAN BLOCK IT WITH YOUR BODY, OZ, I CAN SEE IT HERE.

Let’s not ignore the fireplace placement too, why is it right behind the bed again? Imagining all the dust from the charcoaled wood already makes me want to sneeze. 

2nd — Arthur

The Central Prince feels like the type of boy that’d be interested in storytelling at the end of the day, harmless chitchats about all the little happy things that had happened.

Brings back food from his professional, royal cooks sometimes and I’m here for that. On some nights, you find Arthur tossing and turning around his bed unable to fall asleep… you wonder why.

His justice and leader-like profile would not last long under your attentive hospitality; you were his ‘guest’ afterall, Arthur felt more guilty after you confronted him. Helping him find courage to open up his heart, letting all the dark thoughts eating up his self-worth inside brought your relationship with the prince closer than ever.

1st — Lennox

It’s bliss guys, you get to cuddle in a sea of fluffy white sheeps and a big guy protects you. Heaven. Please be my roommate. Cleanest room out of all of them, tidy and spotless. Voluntarily helps out with Sage’s paperworks countless times.

Although he might be awkward at first, I think after a few nights, you would comfort each other’s bad days and be each other’s listeners. Sleep so still you thought he died, when you poke him to make sure, his eyes shot open in an instant. Military men, man.

Slight choking hazard from sheep fur but we turn a blind eye to that hahaha…

Conclusion: everyone else is disqualified except Murr and Bradley because all of their beds are facing the door and that is not very fengshui.

If you made it here, thanks for reading~ ☆

[echo-bleu]

Mettarë/Yestarë traditions

In Númenor and Gondor (On AO3)

Today is the winter solstice, which corresponds to Yestarë, the first day of the year, in the King's Reckoning (Númenor and early Gondor calendar) and the Steward's Reckoning (later Gondor). In elven calendars, it usually falls in early spring or at the equinox instead.

Tolkien said little about it, except that the last and first day of the year, Mettarë and Yestarë, fall outside the calendar proper. I wanted to come up with some headcanons for the holiday for my fics.

Mettarë is the last day of the year, and as such, a day of closing and ending.

You are meant to finish as many ongoing projects and things as you can in the week leading up to it to be able to start fresh in the new year.

Mettarë is also the day for the worship of Mandos.

For Men, death is an end and a new start, and Mandos is the Judge and the Guardian of the Halls through which they must pass to go beyond the world. Mettarë is about closure, and remembering the dead and letting go of your grief.

If someone in the household died in the previous year, you spend Mettarë sorting through their possessions.

(personal items, mostly, clothes and such, whatever you can afford to keep untouched until Mettarë)

Then you put them all into the room where they slept (or a room you can associate with them, but it’s usually a bedroom. Depending on who mourns them, might be their childhood bedroom, or even their front door if they lived alone and you could afford to keep the rent up/not sell it until now, etc. If needed, it could be a room they’ve only been to once while travelling, or even a random closet or a cellar with their stuff in it in a pinch).

Usually people decorate the door somewhat, with dried flower wreaths and bouquets that they made in the summer for that purpose.

During the day of Mettarë, the household will also welcome in anyone who knew and loved the deceased, and the guests will bring either something of the deceased that they can afford to give away (or something that reminds them of them) or more dried flowers, maybe also dried fruit.

At nightfall, after all but the closest people have gone, they gather around the door and light a candle, which they put on the floor in front of the door (far away enough that all the dried flowers don’t catch fire, please, we’re trying not to burn down the house).

They say a prayer to Mandos in Quenya that goes something like “please Mandos, give them a second chance and call them again so that they might go beyond the world and be at peace” (but like, archaic).

That is because there’s a belief that on Mettarë, the doors of Mandos might open just a fraction for all the people who didn’t answer the call the first time, and Mandos will call them again.

This is derived from various elven beliefs and traditions, but Men go through Mandos too on their way outside the world, and it’s unclear whether they can miss the Call or not, so better be safe. In any case, that’s how it coalesced in Mannish beliefs.

Then they open the door just a fraction, and they will leave it like this until dawn, with no one going in or out.

(if someone else usually sleeps in that room, they might relocate for the night, but this is why you wouldn’t normally use a kitchen or a living room)

If the candle is snuffed out quickly by a draft, it is believed that this might be the fëa of the dead finally answering the call and going through the crack of the door. If it’s not, they already answered the call, or they never will.

The candle, while it is there to call the loved one’s fëa and light the way, is really more symbolic and also a bit of a hazard, so you don’t leave it burning all night.

It’s not really done to snuff out the dead’s candle, of course, so you should select a candle that will only burn for a couple hours at most.

In third age Gondor, candles that burn for exactly two hours are sold for that purpose, sometimes decorated with flowers, but most people will just use the end of a regular candle.

Often families will reminisce about the dead loved one while the candle burns.

In the morning, on Yestarë, the first day of the year, the family takes down the decorations and opens the door wide.

They bring out all the possessions of the deceased, which they sorted through and stacked in the previous day, and they start handing them out.

Usually anyone who was close to the deceased will take one personal item that belonged to them, so various people will come in through the morning to pay their respects and take an object.

It’s mostly the same people who came the previous day, and left things of the deceased in the room, so a lot of them will just take the same thing back, but they might leave “theirs” and take something else. The family/spouse/children/whatever still normally gets final say over who gets what if there are disagreements, but it’s very bad form to argue over this. Usually they’ve mostly agreed on it the previous day.

People symbolically take one thing but of course, if there is a need, someone might get the deceased’s entire wardrobe or whatever, this is a day of charity.

Then anything left is taken to be donated to people who need it. Large official building (city hall, feast halls, the lord’s reception room, etc) will be turned into a donation space on Yestarë afternoon, where you can bring things to donate and people who need it can receive them.

If you haven’t lost someone during the year, you can still honour Mandos and the dead on Mettarë.

It’s a good day to go through your own stuff and pile up what you no longer need and can donate.

A lot of families will still decorate a door and go through the ceremony, for any fëa that doesn’t have anyone to do it for them. Over the years though, it’s become more and more symbolic and ritualistic, rather than meaningful.

Dried flowers are still popular for the door, but so are other things, like death imagery: various objects decorated with skeletons or skulls, depictions of Mandos and his Halls, and also depictions of Valinor, because death and Valinor have coalesced together somewhat in the minds of Men.

Mettarë door ornaments are a flowering market in the weeks leading up to it.

Those without a loved one to mourn usually don’t light a candle, but they might also add something in the shape/likeness of a candle on the door.

Then on Yestarë morning, people exchange small gifts. You’re supposed to give your loved ones something of yours that you picked the previous day, but many people make or buy new things instead.

It should still be small, inexpensive gifts.

Then in the afternoon, families go to the donation spaces and bring anything they no longer need to donate. Everyone gathers, and it’s a time of collective enjoyment and celebration of the new year.

But there are no drinks or food while the donations are ongoing, out of respect for those who are in mourning.

Usually the local lord (or king) will preside over the donations. If he’s a good lord, he will donate more than anyone else and make sure that the poorest people get everything they need.

Then a large buffet is served, at which everyone, regardless of class, is invited.

In some places, there is a dinner and feast specifically for the court, but the lord is supposed to provide for everybody on Yestarë night, so there will still be a free meal for the lower classes.

In terms of dress code, you can dress up on Mettarë but keep it sober, with little jewellery or bling.

You should also do your hair in the simplest way possible. If it’s long, it should be in a simple plait.

This is derived from the First Age Noldor tradition of braiding the hair of the dead in a single plait as part of the funeral customs, so that they might not be too attached to their body and refuse the call of Mandos.

That’s of course a very Noldorin belief, but it spread to Númenor (probably through Elros, but perhaps also from those who came from Thargelion and Nargothrond) and they’ve kept it up, though they no longer remember the cause.

On Yestarë, you can go all out and dress in your best clothes.

Food is also very simple on Mettarë, with no drinking allowed. On Yestarë, fast is broken at dawn with a large breakfast, but made only of plants and dairy, no meat. Then a large animal (or more depending on the size of the town or place) is slaughtered in the morning and roasted in public for the feast.

The actual dishes vary depending on the area, and change dramatically in Fourth Age Gondor, when the start of the year is moved to the spring.

Yestarë isn’t really a food-based festival though (unlike, say, the harvest festival) so it’s mostly going to be large, filling dishes rather than delicacies.

Note: none of this is canon. I meant to write more details and stories involving actual characters, but I also wanted to post it today, so. Feel free to use it in fic if you want! (and please tell me if you do!)