#just to make sure nobody freaking died

[booasaur]

Vigil - 2x06

[sunderwight]

Scenario where PIDW Bingge had something like the fucked up baby dimension from Fire Emblem: Fates for handling his kids.

For those who haven't played enough Fire Emblem games: in Fates you can hook up various characters who will, once they've bonded sufficiently, get married and have children. Because there is a dangerous war on and nobody has time for childcare, these babies get sent to various pocket dimensions where time moves differently, where they are raised by servants. They then reappear in the story as adults (mostly) who are also just like, barely younger than their own parents. This is of course hilariously fucked up, for even more reasons than what a simple overview can convey, and it's also just kind of shrugged off by the narrative despite the many, many bewildering implications involved.

So I'm imagining Airplane stealing this whole concept and sitting down to write about Bingge sending all of his children away in order to protect them from his enemies or whatever other excuse, creating special nursery dimensions with Xin Mo only to not really spend any time with his offspring at all, resulting in a lot of them growing up extra fast and reentering the story as adults at wildly unpredictable intervals (i.e. whenever Airplane feels like it without having to remember the timelines involved because *waves hand* time passes differently in the different dimensions too). For the daughters, this just gets them married off into alliances (if they're even mentioned at all, because Airplane doesn't want to write incest and there's basically only one reason female characters get mentioned in this story), but for the sons, this usually has them showing up as upstart challengers to their father's throne. With a conclusion, generally, of them getting their asses kicked and then being sent back to their pocket dimensions with their tails between their legs (Binghe killing his own kids would be too reprehensible, after all). Sometimes (rarely) they become loyal generals. One or two have died to fuel revenge arcs. The protagonist halo extends only limited benefits to his kids.

Anyway, Shen Yuan of course reads all of this and absolutely hates it. What do you mean Binghe doesn't even raise his own kids?! What do you mean even their mothers don't?! Shen Yuan understands that Luo Binghe is an important guy with important things to do, but handling it this way makes it impossible to even consistently visit his children on their birthdays! They'd be having birthdays every day because they're all on freaking Narnia time! And of course his sons keep growing up and trying to overthrow him, surely Binghe himself should appreciate that under these conditions, his children are going to see the servants raising them as parents more than some distant emperor they've never met...? Not to mention, if time moves quickly in these dimensions, theoretically Binghe could just stay there with his kids himself and not have to worry too much about things changing in his realm, because only a few months would pass there! He could have it both -- spend plenty of time with his kids and not worry about neglecting his responsibilities! So why doesn't he do that?!

The answer (never actually provided by Airplane) is that Bingge doesn't really feel a strong connection to his children, and because of his reverence for his adoptive mother, he thinks that giving them peaceful lives with simple people to raise and love them is the kindest thing he can do for them. If he could have had an idyllic childhood with his mother in a place where nothing could harm him, he would have never sought power at all.

But of course, Binghe's kids aren't thinking "oh gosh yeah my humble childhood in a magic dimension was much better than starving on the streets!" because that wasn't ever going to be their fate in the first place. Instead they all develop varying complexes about being sent away by their impossibly remote father and his giant harem.

Possible fic ideas involving this setup:

-Bingyuan where Shen Yuan transmigrates into the intended tutor of one Luo Binghe's most troublesome sons. SY arrives in the baby dimension and immediately bonds with the little Luo, gets really mad about the whole situation all over again, and when Bingge shows up for a rare visit, rips him a new asshole about it. Romcom shenanigans ensue.

-Scenario where SV's Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe decide they're ready to adopt, and SQQ figures out a back door into PIDW Binghe's baby dimensions and just sort of, ehm, borrows some of the children he knows had really bad times in the novel (not all of the idyllic upbringings worked out, there were instances of the dimensions being attacked and the servants there being killed and etc). Bingge eventually finds out. Dramatics ensue.

-When PIDW Binghe tries to summon a Shen Yuan of his own to the PIDW world using Xin Mo, it accidentally creates some stability issues with the baby dimensions. Shen Yuan get teleported in and out of these dimensions instead, bonding with the kids there to various degrees, only to be swept away every time Bingge tries to use Xin Mo to find him again. A handful of years later, a bunch of new Heavenly Demon scions emerge as adults with the Luo family's Shizun Complex in full swing, right around the same time that Bingge finally captures Shen Yuan. Hijinks ensue.

[aingeal98]

More Jason and Cass thoughts (sorry but also not sorry) but if I was magically given full control over DC and could write what I'd want obviously I'd make Cass Batman but I've been thinking of what sort of reaction and role Jason would have in response. I think I'd write his version of "Congrats on the new job!" as a test, involving the Joker and civilians and gangs and Red Hood and a ton of explosives. Bruce failed me, and now he's given up. You're his successor, let's see how you handle this dilemma that freaked him out so badly he threw a batarang into my throat rather than let me avenge my own death in front of him.

So obviously Cass will overcome the traps and the puzzles. That's the fun part to show how competent both of them are and sprinkle in little character moments as we go. But then we reach the emotional crux of the matter, probably laid out as some sort of saw trap because it's Jason. Here I am, a victim of murder. You say nobody dies tonight but I did, and I want the man who did it dead. Not only did Batman fail to avenge me but he failed to stop the Joker from going on to create even more victims. What right do you have to stop me from getting justice for myself? What right does this man have to life after what he's taken from me and from countless others? I'm not trying to kill a random stranger, I'm specifically demanding justice for my own death that I never got while I was gone.

There are two ways this could go. The straightforward route if I knew my time on this run was limited would probably be a pyrrhic victory like the ones Cass's og series was so fond of. Just like Bruce in utrh, she acts on instinct and saves the Joker (and Jason this time) . A win technically, but she fails the test. Jason is once again vindicated but with nothing to show for it. The story ends with Cass sending the Joker back to jail and going back to the batcave, where the old Robin costume looms judgementally, highlighting her failure. It would be the most fitting end given their character molds, all tragedy and conviction and unstoppable force meets immovable object etc.

However... I think the option I prefer would be a little different. Cass levelling with Jason, a killer talking to a murder victim. She has no right to stop Jason from getting justice, she has no love for the Joker but she knows any death she allows to happen like this would devastate her, just like that death row inmate long ago she tried to break out but ended up letting go once the family of the victim talked to her and demanded justice. I think... In this specific situation, she'd just be honest. Morally she has no right sure. Personally she just really really doesn't want anyone to die. Give her one chance, please. Let her try it her way. Not demanding, not lecturing or insisting, just... Please. Don't do this. Let me try another way.

And then what? Jason asks.

In the end a deal is struck. Cass will take the Joker and lock him up, ensuring he never harms anyone again while also trying to rehabilitate him. But the second she fails and he gets free, Jason kills him and she won't stand in his way. It's the kind of deal that leaves both of them mildly disgusted and dissatisfied with themselves, neither of them naturally creatures of compromise when it comes to this specific topic. But Cass is willing to do anything to avoid death and Jason did not expect the new Bat to be so... Flexible? Kind of? Of course maybe she won't actually hold up her end of the deal and when the Joker gets loose she'll try and stop Jason from killing him and he'll get his miserable vindication, but right now this is something strange and new and he's mildly confused and curious about where it will go. He doesn't believe in her ability to contain the Joker forever but he's willing to let her try because her reaction to that future failure interests him. She's given him a sword of damocles to hang above her head and he didn't ask for it or expect it. It's the type of power he never thought the Bat would just... Hand to him.

The conflict ends with neither of them fully winning or losing. They both don't really know what to feel about this.

The thing is, the second Cass let's Jason kill the Joker she's hanging up the mantle. She's staking the Bat on this, because it's always go big or go home with her when it comes to saving others, even someone like the Joker. In this magical universe where I have unlimited power, Cass would lock the Joker in a secret bunker and have Leslie Thompkins talk to him daily, mostly because I think her pacifism speeches and debates in the comics would make a fun contrast to the Joker's evil sadism. (But what about his rights? Doesn't he deserve a trial and to be held in a regular prison? I'm going to be honest I think Cass would be very comfortable bending the rules on this specific situation. Morally questionable but I'd have fun with it. She's going to let Leslie treat Joker like her personal pet project to save his soul because yes she wants him to change but also she's got a city to save every night so go crazy Leslie, have fun.)

And the Batman series would continue with Cass as the lead, new challenges and new antagonists and every twenty issues or so for the first hundred we'll cut back to the Joker briefly if his chats with Leslie can help highlight some thematic element of the current arc. But bit by bit he'd slowly fade away onto oblivion, maybe getting referenced every hundred issues or so until eventually no one remembers or cares about him because there's so much else going on. Meanwhile Jason's got a good thing going as Red Hood, primarily based in Park Row and a tentative ally on the occasion when their vigilante work aligns. Unlike Joker he's a much more frequent character in the comics, and after say 10 years (this is my magical fantasy universe Cass's batman run is going to last for a very long time alright) when people think of DC characters they think of Red Hood long before they think of the Joker.

Is any of this realistic? Right now of course not. It's why I'd go with the pyrrhic victory if I actually got the chance, because it would be the best way to tell the story in the larger context of the Bat narrative. But it's my fantasy DC editor and writer daydream and I'm going to dream big. They're never going to be normal happy siblings, their personal demons will never fully let them be free and the looming possibility of losing everything they currently have narrative wise if Bruce comes back as Batman will always be there. But it's maybe the closest to peace they'll ever get. Unsatisfying and tame compromise that probably violates several laws and ethical codes but whatever. Cass has never read the Geneva convention and Jason's not going to shed tears over the Joker. Let him die relevancy wise if not physically.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead On Main part 7

Masterpost

dedicated to @cervinebotanist and @leafyeyes417 for responding so quickly and with such enthusiasm to part 6. Thank you for the encouragement and support.

Danny takes a deep breath. He can hear scrambling from somewhere else in the car, but he can’t pay attention to what’s happening as he focuses inward. He closes his eyes, and reaches inside himself.

Jason has a tiny baby core! Danny almost coos at it, but it’s so underdeveloped that he’s sad instead. Danny can feel ectoplasm in himself, in Jason’s body. But it isn’t enough. This ectoplasm has been reused, reduced, recycled one too many times. It’s got barely enough to stay alive left in it. Jason is mostly being sustained by his human half right now. It feels like play-doh that turns to dust where it should stretch, dried-out and old. It makes him even more sad. And slightly ill. But the sadness makes the rioting ectoplasm calm back down inside him.

Danny opens his eyes. He’s slightly disoriented, but calm now, eyes no longer glowing. They had stopped the car. He looks at Tim, who is leaning against his door and braced against it and Dick’s chair, giving Danny as much space as possible. His hand is almost on the door handle and his tablet on the floor. Dick and Bruce are exchanging panicked looks in the front seat, both now unbuckled for some reason and completely turned to face the backseat.

“Hey, speaking of ectoplasm, this body really needs some.” Danny informs them. “If it doesn’t get some new ectoplasm soon his core is going to cease functioning, and that would be really bad, and possibly irreversible.” 

“Uhhh.” Dick’s panicked look is turning straight to confusion, as is everyone else’s. “What?” 

“I didn’t realize that Jason was, I mean he had mentioned he died, but he- well, I guess I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone either. Does make it easier to talk about since we’re the same, but of course we couldn’t have known yet. But his core needs some help, do you not have access to ectoplasm back home?” Danny is rambling, brain spinning at the thought of how much he and Jason have in common. This big thing that no one else would truly understand by each other. And Vlad, sort of, but nobody likes Vlad. “It’s amazing that we ended up soulmates. He’s only the third person in the world I’ve even heard about with this condition. How long has he been without ectoplasm? Is he having trouble finding any, or does he not know he needs it? Either way, I’m giving him some as soon as possible.” Danny doesn’t know whether he should freak out over that fact that his soulmate is as dead as he is, that he’s currently dying from lack of ecto, or that his soulmate’s entire family is probably going to end up learning about him and ghosts, or the fact that he is currently taking another body that the GIW is going to want to study straight to them. All of these things seem like great reasons to freak out on their own, so all together he is just panicking.

Danny doesn’t seem to be able to breathe. 

“Hey, come on, that’s fine, you can totally give Jason some… ectoplasm.” Dick says.

“Danny, you have to breathe, okay.” Tim is much calmer than Dick, so Danny focuses on him as Bruce and Dick whisper in the front. “Danny, match my breathing.” Danny stares at Tim, who is making very exaggerated breathing movements, and tries to time his breathing to match. “We’ll figure everything out, but we don’t need to do it right now.” Tim is still helping Danny, talking calmly, but he says this with enough force to distract the two in the front seat enough for them to shut up for a second. Danny appreciates the bit of silence.

“You need to start driving.” Danny, tells Bruce. “Right now, his human half is sustaining the rest of him almost entirely. If Jason doesn’t get more ecto soon, his other half will die, and I’m not sure what will happen to his human side if that happens. He may die again completely.”

There’s a beat of silence in the car. Bruce stares right into Danny’s eyes.

“You are saying there is an active threat to my son’s life, ” Bruce asks, voice hard. 

Danny nods. Then everyone is buckled back in and Bruce is pulling them back onto the road. 

“You know what’s happening and how to help him?” Bruce asks, voice steady but Danny can sense all the emotion underneath. Bruce is really worried right now, he looks around the car and realizes that Dick and Tim are as well. They both have phones out, but are tense, tuned into his conversation with Bruce.

“Yeah, It’s a simple enough fix, I’m just worried because he’s really…” Danny takes a moment to think of the right word. “Ecto deficient? His core is definitely malnourished, and his body and mind definitely need it. They are being sustained with human stuff for now, but eventually that won’t be enough.” 

“How urgent is this?”

Danny feels for Jason’s core, feeling like he’s invading his privacy, but without other options to check. It’s not cracked, but it’s not fully formed either. Half starved baby core, not even strong enough to present. Its link to an obsession is strong, but frayed enough that Danny can’t tell what it is. The core is not strong enough to produce it’s own ecto, even in response to the obsession being fulfilled. Everything is stable, but strained.

“I’m not an expert, but he’s sustained himself this long. And we’re already on the way. We should be fine, but I’ll keep an eye on it just in case.”

[marionluth]

Jason guilt-tripping Bruce to the point of malfunction to get Tim and Damian out of trouble.

*Bruce chewing out Damian and Tim for some dangerous shit they pulled at patrol without clearance that could have led to their untimely demise.*

—------------------------------------------------

Bruce: [...] Irresponsible! Careless! You could have both died tonight!

Damian: *mumbling* not like we have a Lazarus Pit or anything…

Bruce: What was that?

Tim: B, it wasn't that bad *secretly activates comm* we wouldn't die tonight. *Cough* Jay sos *cough*

Damian: *mumbling* And even if we did…

Bruce: Timothy I am so disappointed in you. You of all people should think before you act, consider the implications…

*Jason casually walks in*

Jason: Did I hear something about someone almost dying?

Bruce: Damian and Tim did something irresponsible, idiotic and…

Tim: We almost died and B is totally blowing it out of proportion!

Jason: *death glares Tim* Oh you almost died? You ALMOST died?

Jason: *shifting death glare to Bruce* You know who REALLY died once?

Bruce: *OH-DEAR-LORD-NOT-AGAIN mode activated*

Jason: I died. For real. But sure, you have to make everything in this damn family about your golden duo. The replacement and the demon brat!

Tim: Oh not again with the DRAMA Jason. We all know you died, let it rest, man!

Jason: I RESTED IN FUCKING PEACE, DRAKE!

Bruce: Jason, for the millionth time…

Jason: No, cool, it's fine! You can pretend I don't exist, I don't fucking care! Why should you even give a shit about me dying? Not like you avenged me or anything! You're vegnance my ass…

Bruce: Jason we've been over this…

Jason: I bet you'd avenge them. You'd shred into pieces any fucker that killed them. But Jason? No! Hell no! Ain't nobody got time for that!

Tim: Ain't nobody got time for this, zombie drama queen!

Bruce: Tim, please that was uncalled for…

Jason: Tim please? Tim please? Why don't you give him a fucking cookie, too?

Bruce: Jason…

Jason: No it's cool, it's fine, I don't give a fuck that you care more for them than me. Their lives matter. Cool. Cool.

Bruce: *fatal error - ability to talk about complicated feelings and resolve resentment not found-

Damian: Technically if father was to break his moral code to avenge anyone after their death that should rightfully be…

Jason & Tim: SHUT UP DAMIAN!

Bruce: *incoherent grunts*

Jason: Don't know what I was even expecting, B. Your little precious lap-dogs are more important than my stray ass. The billionaire brat and the demon!

Tim: *to Bruce indignantly* You're not gonna tell him anything? Of course not. God forbid you yell at the prodigal!

Damian: So disappointing, Father.

*Bruce retreating to the dark inner part of the cave grunting incoherently*

*Tim, Jason, and Damian storm out of the cave yelling at each other*

*Yelling immediately stops as soon as they step into the living room.*

*Tim & Jason High five with pleased smirks*

Damian: Wait, that was staged?

Tim:

Jason:

—-----------------------------------------------

Every time I start working on a canon-compliant WIP on this fandom I get so freaking depressed and angry that I then start writing non-canon batfam crap just as a pick me up. Sorry, not sorry!

[la2yn0va]

Friends…?

Characters: Jiaoqiu, Feixiao, Male Reader (Moze is mentioned)

(Can be taken as platonic or romantic. If romantic it’s a one-sided crush from the characters)

————

-Childhood-

“Hey! Get a load of this loser!” A boy said as he pushed another against the wall. A pink-haired foxian—Jiaoqiu. Jiaoqiu’s ears stayed down as he shuddered fearfully.

“L-leave me alone!” He pleaded shakily, which fell on deaf ears. “Hah~? But I haven’t even started yet you pathetic fox” the bully harshly tugged on his ears as three others laughed behind him and Jiaoqiu yelped in pain, tears forming as they usually do. “S-STOP!! PLEASE IT HURTS!!”

Once again, no one heard his pleas. He was left alone to cry as his four tormentors laughed at him. “Come on! Do something about it you useless loser~! I thought foxian’s were meant to be smart! But you’re just a pathetic freak!”

Then, a boy seemingly appearing out of nowhere, jumped up and slammed his feet against the back of two laughing bullies. “H-HUH!!? WHAT THE—!!” Before the other one could finish, he was met with a chop to the jugular.

The boy then faced the leader, who had let go of jiaoqiu’s ear and stared fearfully at the boy who had just knocked out his three friends “Who—” a punch to his gut quickly shut him up before slamming his bicep against the leaders neck and bashing him against a wall, successfully knocking him out.

Jiaoqiu stared in awe and slight fear. He had never seen someone around his age so fast and easily knock out four boys under a minute! “You okay foxy?” The boy asked making jiaoqiu jump slightly before nodding. He walked up to him and jiaoqiu tried to back away unsuccessfully, still abit fearful of being hit, however, he was…being patted on the head?

“Huh…?” “So fluffy and soft. I’m jealous of you” The boy said with a small smile, easing the nerves of the bullied foxian. “I’m M/n. What’s your name foxy?” “I-I..I’m Jiaoqiu” “well jiaoqiu. I like you. And you’re my friend now”

From that day on, m/n was always seen by jiaoqiu’s side. Weather it was in the library reading on medicine, or in a back alley, beating down on some bullies or even thieves. “Hey jiaoqiu. If a woman can only produce one gender, does that make their womb weak or special?” “Please m/n.. I’m a chief...stop asking me those questions…”

Jiaoqiu dreamed of being a chief yet also a healer to help the military combat the abominations of the abundance. He tried to convince m/n to join the military as m/n was easily the strongest person he knew… well… besides someone else.

“Hey. Why do you want to join the cloud knights? You’re basically giving up your life to some people you don’t have any connection with.. I think it’s pretty dumb.”

“That’s… not how I see it… I want to get rid of the abundance monsters because.. well.. they killed my mom and dad. Not to mention the borisin who ensalved my kind are apparently working with those monsters… I feel like it’s my duty to be on the war and make sure no one dies”

“Huh… I guess I never thought of it like that… At least your not giving up your life for a bunch of nobodies” M/n said, patting jiaoqiu as he usually did making his friend blush a bit. “Sure.. look if you join the cloud knights-” “I already said no” “You will find a person that can beat you!”

That seemed to catch m/n’s interest “Huh? What’re you talking about? I’ve never lost a fight, even with trained cloud knights” “Well… these this girl in the cloud knights. One who I.. owe a debt to. Her name is feixiao and she’s easily the strongest person I know.. maybe even stronger than you” he said teasingly.

M/n stayed silent. He isn’t actually gonna join for a dumb reason like that.. is he? No. No. He doesn’t care about the people of yaoqing, he doesn’t have any connection with them… but then again… being on the battlefield and fighting… meeting this feixiao…releasing his own anger on the enemies of the xianzhou… maybe it is where he’s meant to go… “Fine. I’ll bite”

“M/n… where are your parents..?” “I don’t have any” “Huh?” “Yep. I’ve been a street kid for as long as I remember.” Jiaoqiu felt his tail fall and his ears flop “o-oh.. I-I’m sorry” “why? Did you take them away from me” “I-What!? No I just—” “Ha. Calm down, I’m joking around… plus… I don’t care… I don’t care… I just really don’t care”

—Young Adult Years—

M/n was thriving in the cloud knights. He was easily the best of the upcoming graduates. Hell probably even the best of those who ALREADY graduated! His instructors showed special attention to him, wishing the hone and sharpen his skills even further to battle the enemies of the hunt.

His fellow trainee’s looked up to him. Even calling him ‘Big Brother M/n’. He fought with multiple weapons instead of a sword or a spear, as he wished to be adaptable and unpredictable in the battlefield. Something his instructors agreed on, yet also reminded him to use his great mind for intellectual plays as well. Something m/n was obviously and already planning on doing.

Then one day, the instructors decided to hold a special little event. They would bring a cloud knight here to fight m/n. Just to put on a little show and give m/n the fun he looked for. That cloud knight happened to be Feixiao.

“At ease soldiers!” The instructor commanded, as all the soilders relaxed and faced their commander. “Now. As I’m sure you’re all aware, we’ve decided to hold a special event. Everyone! Greet your senior. Could Knight: Feixiao” “MORNING CLOUD KNIGHT FEIXIAO!!” “Ah…! Feixiao…! That’s the woman…” m/n remembered jiaoqiu mentioning her being stronger than him.

“Trainee M/n! Step forward, Solider!!” M/n walked forward as he met feixiao, who looked outwardly enthusiastic yet her eyes held a type of boredom and interest. “Feixiao. I’m sure you’ve been informed why you’ve been summoned here” The White Haired-Foxian nodded with a charming smile “Yeah. I’m meant to fight your best trainee. This Him? I’ve heard quite the story about you Soilder”

“All good I hope” “Mhm. Shall we get started?” “Straight to the point. I like you already” The trainees formed a circle around the two as they were handed wooden swords. “I’ve heard a lot about you from jiaoqiu” “Ohh! No wonder your name sounded familiar. Jiaoqiu also told me a lot about you” “yeah. Thanks for being with him in the cloud knights” “Thanks for being with him during his childhood” They nodded before getting ready to battle. They stared intensely at each other before the whistle blew and they ran at each other.

They clashed the wooden swords together, leaning in the glare at the other with determination. They then jumped away and swung their swords at each other while trying to kick the other. Feixiao was surprised, usually no one would’ve lasted this long against her, jiaoqiu really wasn’t kidding when he said m/n was impressive.

M/n swung his sword and hit her sword before ducking and throwing a sweep kick, which feixiao jumped over and m/n quickly spun around, planting his hand on the ground and pushing himself up to send a kick to feixiao who once again blocked it with her own kick.

The two stood stun locked as they stared at the other in awe. However, they quickly shoved each other away and m/n threw his sword towards her, which she dodged as his sword was stabbed onto the ground and m/n ran towards her, his arm out to close line her. She dodged and she swung her sword which he slide under, moved up and jumped at his sword. One foot kicked the sword and he used it and his momentum to swing around and send a kick to feixiao, while grabbing his sword.

Feixiao looked suprised at this but quickly blocked his kick and ducked his sword swing before slamming him onto the ground and planting her foot on his stomach, making her the victor. M/n stared in surprise.. he actually lost? While feixiao stared in excitement. A rival. She had actually found a rival. “Hahaha~! Not bad! You’re definitely cloud knight material! I’m surprised you didn’t join or graduate earlier!!” She said, helping him up. And, a smiling m/n held onto her hand as excitement shined in his eyes “Holy shit!! You’re Fucking amazing!! No ones ever been able to beat me before!!” M/n quickly hugged her from excitement, making the cloud knight laugh in embarrassment and amusement.

The instructor watched nervously.. maybe getting two battle hungry solider to fight against each other who also haven’t lost a battle wasn’t a good idea. The other trainee’s stared in awe at the battle in front of them, feeling excitement of their own rise up as they yelled and chanted their names.

A couple months later, the trainee’s were graduating and they were choosing which division they wanted to join. Y/n had gotten a recommendation from every division, But he only had his eyes sent on one division. Feixiao’s who had recently became the lieutenant colonel of said division. Hell the recommendation was from her. So, without a second thought. He already made his decision.

The next day, he was personally greeted by feixiao. M/n quickly jumped up to hug her, excited to fight alongside her AND possible fight her. Luckily for him, feixiao didn’t push him away but gladly embraced him with a giggle of her own, the favoritism for m/n from lieutenant colonel Feixiao was painfully obvious.

The next few weeks, the new recruits were being tested to see which battalion they’d thrive in. The aviation, Medicare, Army Corps, Special Forces, etc. M/n was personally chosen by feixiao to join her own battalion in the special forces, his potential and skill easily exceeded everyone else. That and favoritism. M/n joined feixiao, jiaoqiu and a man named moze who was apparently a prison breaker/assassin… something told him he’d get along with him the most. Those were the only ones who m/n bothered to remember, everyone else were just another number to him.

“And you’ll be sleeping here” Feixiao said as m/n flopped on the bed gleefully. “Ahh~ joining the cloud knights was definitely the right choice” “I’m glad you decided to join. I’ve been much more excited since our battle back at the academy” “Speaking of which. I want a rematch! Me and you! Wooden swords again! Once I beat you with that— THEN we can use our real weapons!” He said excitedly which made feixiao laugh, patting his head “Hahahaha~ Sure m/n. But not now, I have something’s I need to take care of” “Booo” he pouted which made feixiao snicker “cute” she thought, bopping his nose and walking out “see you tomorrow Solider”

She waved and exited his room as another entered—Jiaoqiu “Hey there foxy” “Hello m/n. How’s your first day” “Amazing! Meeting feixiao just made my life even better!! You weren’t being a sly cunning manipulative piece of shit when you said she was strong!” “Ahaha.. indeed”

—Adult Years—

Years had passed since m/n joined feixiao. He was now a fully fledged vice lieutenant along side Feixiao. Battle the borisin and abominations of the abundance, freeing enslaved foxians. Meeting people from different ships of the xianzhou. However, m/n has been off as of late.

No one knows why and when they try to question him about it he just acts like nothing’s wrong. This was especially worrying for feixiao, jiaoqiu and moze. They hadn’t seen m/n like this ever. He was always excited for a battle yet stoic when hanging out, but now he was just stoic. That child like yet charming excitement had seemingly disappeared.

Jiaoqiu tried to up lift his spirits by asking him some of the strange questions he once asked him as a kid. Feixiao tried to battle him daily yet that seemed to fail again. Moze tried to help by teaching him some criminal actions like how to escape from the shackling prison and things along that line, it seemed to work slightly but still no significant changes.

Moze felt uneasy, feixiao felt her heart ache, and jiaoqiu felt useless and pathetic—m/n was his one and only childhood friend yet he couldn’t for the life of him find out why or what was making m/n feeling down. M/n didn’t even come out of his room unless it was for battling. This would not stand any longer. So, feixiao took initiative.

“M/n. It’s feixiao, I’m coming in” She said, walking in to see m/n blankly staring at the celling. Feixiao called out his name a bit louder which managed to get his attention “Oh.. Feixiao… another battlefield to go to?” He said blankly, which irked the lieutenant even more, she hated that tone, that blank, emotionless, robotic tone didn’t suit m/n. “No. I’m here for you” “Huh?” Feixiao sat down next to her friend, facing him with a determined look. “What’s wrong with you?” “Hmm?” “Your demeanor! You’ve been all robotic for the last few months now! Do you know how worried I’ve been…!? How worried Jiaoqiu and Moze are!!?”

“It’s…I didn’t know—” “That too! Since when are you blind to our emotions!? You’re the first that knows when someone’s acting off!” M/n stayed silent, just staring at his worried lieutenant “Come on m/n. Please tell me what’s been eating away at you. I can’t handle it to see you being like this a second longer!”

“….a few months ago. You sent me on a mission to eradicate a Disciple of Sanctus Medicus commander. He was hiding in a remote town in the countryside. But when I was there… I found a family… I found my mom. She looked.. happy. When I approached her she didn’t even recognize me. Not just that but I’ve been.. I-I was starting to care for the people of yaoqing… I ignored my mission and tried to get to know the mom I never had, along with my half sister. But it seemed like my mom felt uncomfortable by me. Because I ignored my mission, everyone in that town were murdered, but my mom… she was turned into one of the monsters. Then.. her dying words were ‘why did you come back! How are you alive!!? I left you for the borisin to get mauled!! You got my husband murdered now you come back and get me and my perfect life without you destroyed!! You were always a demon brat!! You can’t even die properly!! I never loved you, so why the fuck would you think I wanted to bond with you after all these years!!!’ Her last words, before you guys came and saved me… she didn’t even want me to be born. She left me to the borisin to get fucking mutilated. But since I’ve started to care about the people of yaoqing.. this FUCKING itch has been in my mind that I can’t scratch!! I-I feel like because I started to care IM the reason why those people died a meaningless death!! It’s because I’ve been more emotional that I ignored my mission and tried to get to know my—my….My ‘birther’. I just… I don’t know how to feel. I don’t—”

Before he could continue, feixiao quickly brought him into her embrace, comforting the confused and depressed man as he cried into her shoulder “It’s okay… I got you.. I’m here for you… WERE here for you. Someone like you didn’t deserve such a bitch for a mom” she comforted him as he silently cried, slowly he fell asleep from fatigue and feixiao held him in her arms, picking him up to lock the door before laying herself and him on his bed, sleeping while holding him closely.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Weeks later, m/n seemed to return to his usual self but much less upbeat. He felt much closer to feixiao now and she was definitely keeping an eye on him much more, much to jiaoqiu’s confusion and sliiiiiiight jealousy. Moze just seemed glad that everything returned to normal. Later they’re was a red alert, the enemies of the hunt had teamed up with the borisin to attack a city.

All divisions quickly ran to the battlefield that was the city, massive clash can be heard from miles and miles away. Slowly, the city was being destroyed and both sides were begging to fall. This battle lasted for 3 whole months before the cloud knights came out victorious. Many soldiers fell yet one person was no where to be found. They searched everywhere, every sinkhole made, under every fallen building, and even a 50 mile radius to find him. But m/n was nowhere to be found.

Feixiao, Jiaoqiu, and Moze were hit the hardest by this. M/n had just started to return to normal, and now he was missing. No body, no scrap of dna, no armor or clothing. He just vanished. Feixiao refused to make a burial for m/n. She refused to accept that he was dead, she wouldn’t even humor it, the same for Jiaoqiu, who became even more attached to feixiao and despite to repay his debt to her, Moze became much more reclusive.

Years later, m/n was found. When feixiao and jiaoqiu heard this news, their face lit up like never before. They begged Moze to take them to him. But instead they were handed a paper. A wanted paper for Stellaron Hunter M/n. Bounty— 10,799,000,000

———

[purple-obsidian]

Heyyyyy pookieeee-i saw your Jason todd fic and wanted to ask,what do you think he will be like teaching his gf how to drive?

(Because nobody in my freaking life taught me how to drive yet so I have to sit like a duck and wait for someone to pick me up when I wanna go somewhere pleaseeee let me drivee-)

be brave (jason todd x fem reader) wc 800

⭓ fluff isn't my normal cup of tea. but for you, pookie, i can make an exception ;) sorry this took a while to answer, hope you don't mind i made this specific to driving a motorcycle. that's just what felt right when i was meditating on this prompt so i went with it. enjoy.

"Jason, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"You second guessing me, princess?"

"Yeah, maybe I am. I could kill us!"

Jason scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. "You think I would let that happen? Ever?" With cocky grin, Jason walks over and stares down at you, noting the apprehension on your face. "Remember the day we met? You told me you had a bucket list. Things you wanted to do before you died."

"Yeah, I only told you that because I thought I was going to die. You rescued me. I got plenty of time now, I don't have to learn how to drive tonight. Its already dark." You reach your hand up reflexively to rest against his chest as he gets closer. Its a habit of yours. You always find yourself drawn to the steady beating of his heart. Its grounding, and you need some of that right now.

"The road is well lit. We're miles from the outskirts of Gotham, no traffic out here. Just you and me, baby. Why not now?" His large hand rests over yours, pressing it more firmly against his chest. His heart is beating slow and steady, and his piercing green eyes are filled with admiration. "You and I both know that every day we have together is precious. Why wait to do the things you wanna do? Besides, I'd feel better knowing my girl can drive my bike if she needs to."

Jason knows you too well, calling you his girl like that makes you feel weak in the knees. Your own heart beats faster as you break your gaze away from your boyfriend smiling down at you, looking over at the motorcycle he brought you here on. For some reason, it looks more intimidating than it did a few minutes ago. You swallow the lump in your throat before looking back at him. "I'm nervous."

"I know." He states matter-of-factly. Of course he knows, he can read you like a book.

"I've literally never driven anything before. Like ever. I haven't even-"

"Shhh." Jason's hand leaves yours and cups your face gently. His other hand is on your waist, keeping you close. "You don't have to be good at it right away. I don't expect you to be. But you're smart. And you're perceptive. And I know after a little practice, you'll get more confident. I won't let us crash, baby, promise."

Jason really does know you too well. He can see the rebuttal forming on your lips before he finishes speaking. So he leans down to kiss it away before you can verbally express your doubts. The tinge of frustration you feel at being cut off isn't enough to keep you mind from turning to mush from the kiss. His lips are so warm, his breath tastes like spearmint, and his touch gives you butterflies.

But the kiss ends all too quickly. You know he cut it short it on purpose, not wanting your brain to turn off completely before you try and drive for the first time. "Sorry, babygirl, can't give you too much. How could you drive if you're all drunk from my kisses? Hm?"

He runs his fingers through your hair, taking in how cute you look when you're speechless. A moment later, Jason releases his hold on you and turns towards his bike, walking to it with a bit of pep in his step and smugness in his grin, leaving you stammering for a second as you try and string together a coherent thought.

"F-fuck you, Jason." You say after a moment. He always knows how to shut me up.

"I love you too." He grabs his helmet and puts it on before tossing you yours. It's an easy catch, but you're still giving him a dirty look.

"Why did we have to do driving first?" You grumble, accepting your defeat. "Pretty sure seeing the pyramids was also on my bucket list. Along with an abundance of other fun things, like riding in a helicopter, or swimming with dolphins. Or what about joining the mile high club? I'd think that one would be your first priority."

Jason is beaming, watching you put your helmet on and get ready to ride. Even as you scowl at him and mutter complaints, his heart melts at how easily you folded. All it took was a kiss. He always gets his way. He knows you can't say no to him. Jason Todd has you wrapped around his finger, and the vigilante couldn't be any happier about it. He looks you up and down to admire your body before replying, "Stick with me, princess, and I'll make all your dreams come true." He promises. "One at a time. I'll show you the pyramids. I'll fuck you in a plane. But first…"

He grabs you by your waist with both hands and effortlessly lifts you up off the ground to set you down on the seat of his bike. You yelp in surprise, quickly grabbing his hands to steady yourself. "First, you gotta be brave and learn how to ride your boyfriend's bike."

⭓ masterlist ⭓

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Terzo x Fem!Reader

A/N: Stg if I ever see this purple fucking freak darken the doorway of my mind, I'm going for his kneecaps. He will never be able to slut about on the floor again, and then what will he do? Thanks, y'all, for being so patient as I almost daily had a meltdown over the structure of this. And HUGE thanks once again to @angellayercake for being my ever-patient beta with amazing input and ideas!! I hope I did our bastard boy some kind of service.

Word Count: 8.8K. Sorry, this bad boy is a hydra: For every sentence I deleted, more words would come in its place

CW: Reader has a vagina, hurtful comments from past relationships, reader's mental state is kinda fucked at a few points, hints at extremely uncomfortable interactions to "make the relationship work". Sooo...Vaginismus and its delightful conditions, I suppose. Oh, and a hint of Google Translate Italian. I'm sorry, I tried referencing @/foxybouquet's ever so helpful guide the best I could but alas, I am still a moron. MDNI

Papa III was a notorious flirt, even by the standards of the sexually liberated Church of Satan.

Everybody knew this, from the Clergy to Sister Imperator to the ghouls to his many, many lovers. And yet, when his sights finally fell upon you, everyone knew: Something in him had changed. At the very least, his methods sure had.

Secondo raised a brow when he first saw his brother lightly jogging up to you in the hallways, panting for you to wait up. Primo sported a knowing smirk when he watched the normally suave man sheepishly inquire about the meaning behind certain flower arrangements. Quite the departure from his usual bouquet of red and white roses, the older man couldn't help but note.

A startled Copia quickly became suspicious when the brother that tended to tease him the most came to his office one day, armed with top-shelf juice boxes and nutty chocolate bars – just the starting price for whatever info he was willing to give his dear old fratello about his new favorite Sorella.

The ghouls had a field day whenever they came upon the old man either sulking or even swooning over how a recent interaction had gone. One even swore they had scrounged through his wastepaper basket (don't ask, it’s not worth it) and found crumpled up drafts of sonnets. Sonnets!

It was the Siblings, however, who seemed to take the most notice of his antics. And, unfortunately, the most offense.

Certainly, plenty of the congregation had received a bouquet or two from their beloved Papa Terzo. Many had been wined and dined, and some were even whisked away for a night of passion and excitement in a glamorous metropolitan hub. Terzo had gotten around, and he would probably continue to get around until he either died mid-orgy or until his dick fell off. (And even if the latter did happen, it probably wouldn’t slow him down. Not until his fingers and tongue followed suit, anyway.)

It was cyclical: You would be an interest for a week or two before your time would be up, and you would part ways as he turned his attention to another, leaving you with memories of a whirlwind dalliance to reminisce about for years to come.

This was simply something that was understood and accepted without much of any animosity amongst Siblings. This was just how things were. Or at least up until now.

They must have noticed there was something about the way Terzo pursued you. For starters, nobody could ever recall a time when the man actually needed to really pursue anyone, let alone to the extent and care he currently displayed.

They could tell when a peer was actively trying to heighten the tension, turning their back to him but still glancing over their shoulder to shoot a heated stare. An invitation for him to keep it coming. Really putting the “play” in “playing hard to get”. But generally speaking, most of what Terzo needed to do was snap his fingers and whichever Sibling or ghoul he had his eye on would eagerly crawl into his lap and then into his bed.

Maybe they saw a shine in his eyes that wasn't there when they had him. Or maybe they thought he leaned just the slightest fraction of an inch closer to you than he ever did with anyone else. Or maybe they swore his voice sounded different when he spoke with you. Lighter, but not out of an upturn in pitch to sound friendlier. It was more like it carried less weight. Almost as though he felt less burdened by some unspoken thing. Some thing he never cared to share with them.

Granted, you didn't help matters by actually enjoying the odd conversation or two (or over a dozen) with Terzo. (And by "odd", this meant the animated discussions that borderlined two-person seminars on subjects like the Hays Code, or how viewing certain films through a gendered or queer lens could enhance the suggestion of the story.)

And anyone who spotted you alone on the quad sharing a snack would've been convinced you were on an impromptu picnic, rather than the fact Terzo had found you and offered you pickings from his secret snack pocket.

Sure, it was just a sandwich baggy of cheese doodles, but the point still stood: You had Terzo's full attention, his intrigue, his consideration, his snacks, and you hadn't done a damn thing to deserve them! Any interaction between the both of you, every awkward joke, every instance of eye contact, every exchange of a genuine honest to Satan smile, had the Siblings of the abbey biting and clawing at the walls in envy.

You did your best to appear unaffected by it, preferring to keep your head down and say as little as possible when around them. Nothing to suggest you felt superior to them (not that you did anyhow). Regardless, you were fairly certain that, if it were up to them, they would bring back human sacrifice for the sole purpose of getting you out of the picture.

Thank Satanas, then, that none were present to witness the latest event.

There Terzo stood, his normally focused and powerful gaze fighting hard to be maintained. It was abundantly clear that he wanted to look anywhere but at you. Still, he resolved to keep that nervous on his face. His gorgeous, paintless face.

It was startling to say the least. Actually, no, scratch that: To truly say the least would be to just stand there, gaping like a goldfish as you failed to find the right words – any words – that truly encapsulated even a fraction of what you felt. Which, for better or for worse, was exactly what you found yourself doing.

After all, almost nobody outside of his own family had seen Terzo without his papal paints. They may as well have been tattooed on him the moment he’d perfected the design all those years ago! Not even the paramours he’d collected since then had gotten a glimpse of his bare face, despite the many opportunities they’d had from the nights spent in his quarters. The mystery as to why this was left plenty of room for speculation and imagination, creating a juicy mystique that Siblings and ghouls loved to salivate and chew on.

Admittedly, you yourself occasionally wondered what his deal was, but you ultimately chose not to ponder on it. If Terzo liked how he looked in makeup more than he did without, then that was his business. Honestly, it never even really occurred to you to ask him about it even as the two of you grew closer.

But as you took in the visage before you, you felt you had a good theory going: If Terzo went about the Ministry like this, he’d never know a moment’s peace again!

"Is . . . Is it . . . okay?" he asked quietly. Okay? Okay!? Satan’s taint, if it weren’t for the very apparent tension, you might’ve thought the man was teasing you! The man looked like an old movie star, all debonair and dashing!

The fight to respond in a timely (and coherent) manner was difficult, but you managed to stammer out, “More than okay.” You gulped down some shakiness. “Y-you’re very . . .handsome.”

Internally, you cringed at how wobbly you’d come across but thankfully that seemed to be enough. The warmth in your cheeks intensified as the nerves in his smile carefully evaporated, along with a slight tension in his shoulders.

Unfortunately, the consciousness did not remain, and almost immediately you found yourself delegating focus to other things. Like the beauty mark that lay just beneath the right corner of his pleasantly pink lips. Lips that were saying, “— if you would be interested, of course.”

You blinked. Were you interested? Wait . . . Interested in what, exactly?!

“Y-yeah, sure. I’m down,” you chirped before you could stop yourself.

While you tried your damndest not to look mortified or embarrassed, Terzo looked delighted. Possibly even elated.

“Oh, eccellente!” he clapped his palms together before offering you a mix of a nod and bow. That sharp characteristic of his eyes returned once more, pinning your form as he purred, “I look forward to it.”

Oh, fuck. “Can’t wait!” you replied. Of course, now the concept of urgency settled in.

As you walked back to your room for the night, you knew three things to be certain: The first was that that face of Terzo’s would likely be making many appearances in your dreams tonight. The second thing, branching off this, him showing you his face was a sign you’d let things get far too far.

And the third thing? You had to put an end to your exchanges ASAP.

Sure, you’d peppered this into your thoughts many times before, but after this? This moment of extreme vulnerability on Terzo’s part? No more peppering: It was time to actually pile in everything you had and outright reject Terzo’s advances. No room for stuttering or bending or swaying or swooning and second-guessing!

You repeated this like a mantra over and over, praying that the resolution would still be there in the morning. And it was – but only after you took an icy shower. You’d been spot on when you anticipated that gorgeous, gorgeous face invading your dreams. What you hadn’t counted on, though, was the nature of what all went on:

Snowflakes catching on his lashes as you ice skated on a pond (the power of dreams erasing his waking world clumsiness); his lips smiling around a forkful of the pasta you’d just cooked together; his broad nose nuzzling lovingly into your hair during a quiet night in; those entrancing eyes focused on the movie playing before you as his arm settled warmly around you. It gave you further comfort as you pressed into his side, so perfectly slotted that it was as though you only ever belonged there, right next to him.

You regretted disregarding the alarm bells that blared at the start of this whole nonsense, and now look where that got you: You needed a cold cleanse just because you saw a man’s unpainted face! You were worse than a pent-up Victorian! Did you really want to prolong things until you’d start to "feel" those smirking lips pressed against the column of your neck, or “feel” those large hands skirt along your form, leaving a deliciously pleasant fire in their wake?

Certainly, that might’ve made for a good night’s sleep in theory. But in reality? It was a nightmare in the making!

It was bad enough just wanting to do all those dreamy things and more with the equally dreamy Papa. But that, of course, meant the "more" part would eventually come around. After all, your waking life already wasn't too terribly far off from the things that went on in the dream.

Your days weren't filled with skating on the pond or chatting over romantic dinners but at this rate, they very well could be a possibility. In an ideal world, the wait for these things to happen would be filled with anticipation. But the sad, shower-cold reality was that this wait was weighed down by dread and predictions of what was to come. After all, for all Terzo's patience and kindness, even he had limits. Sometime soon, his patience with your inexactness would run out and he would come to collect. Experience told you that was just how it was.

You may not have had a pursuer as passionate as Terzo, but you’d had enough instances that ran about the same: There was that high, that thrill in an almost honeymoon period-like chase. Then there came the actual vulnerability where you’d tell them of the conditions that came with a relationship – the conditions that came with you. And yeah, they’d start off insisting that nothing about that changed how they felt about you . . .  But then they’d realize your condition would outlast their gimmick.

You felt your face twist with displeasure as sentences of the past began slipping through the cracks and into the forefront of your mind.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Calm down already.”

“Just relax already.”

Then came the pain (both kinds); the giving up; and then you were right back where you started: Alone together, with a body that hated you that you hated right back. The only real difference would be how much your weariness increased, making you more and more reluctant to play along with the idea of any potential romance. Meanwhile, to them, it was a game: You were just playing hard to get, that was all. But you’d surely stop when they and they alone were able to conquer you, to cure you.

Did you really want to wait around and see Terzo become like that?

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

No. Absolutely not. You weren’t sure your heart could bear it, much less your body. Besides, if word got out that he’d shown you his face, then it’d be all over for you. You’d rather incur the wrath of rejecting what many would kill for than face what might happen if they learned how far you’d gotten by doing nothing at all. At least with the former, there was a chance the Siblings let you keep your bones intact.

You had a plan as you prepared yourself to step out and face the day: Keep calm and function as normal until the chance to say those simple words hit you: “Terzo, I am not interested in you in any way, shape, or form. While you are attractive, I am not attracted to you. Please leave me alone from now on.”

A devastating lie, perhaps, but a necessary one. One you would need to deliver by tonight.

But hey, the day was still quite young. There was plenty of time for you to find the courage, right?

. . . Well, you didn’t find it in the hallway when you heard that oh-so familiar, cheerful call of, "Buongiorno, Mia Sorellina !", prompting you to pick up speed and disappear down a different corridor. Nor was it there when you caught sight of a black flutter of robe. It could’ve been a wandering Cardinal’s cassock but you weren’t prepared to stick around and find out.

And even though you spent nearly the entirety of afternoon mass, head bowed, praying for the Dark One to simply grab the strength and shove it into you, you didn’t feel any more emboldened. Apparently, your body meant it when it didn’t allow for anything to enter it – intangible things included, it seemed.

You groaned inwardly from both disappointment and discomfort as you lifted yourself off the kneeler and back into the pew. There was also the added stressor of feeling sets of multiple eyes on you: From Siblings stewing in envy; from ghouls who wanted to take a gander at the Sister who had flirty Papa III wrapped around her finger; and, worst of all, from Terzo himself.

The one time you dared to look up at his seated form on the altar, you caught a hint of a small smile directed at you.

You tried to return it, at least enough to suggest to him you were fine and happy to see him despite your earlier actions, but the sorry attempt lost any pretense of pleasantness when your eyes got caught on something: Even in the sea of his dark robes, you could make out the dull shine of leather gloves poised in his lap. Helping them to stand out more, however, was how each fingertip was adorned with a golden nail.

Correction: A golden claw. The fine barbs would fit right in on the hand of a ghoul or perhaps some other dæmonic creature.

Normally you were fascinated by the accessories but in your increasingly unwell state, these gloves intimidated you. It was like you had been reduced to a fearful prey animal and all you saw was a threat.

A thought, sharp as those gilded talons, slashed beyond your imagination and into the walls of your most sensitive place. They pierced and drilled into the intimate area just long enough for you to know they were there – both in your mind and your body – shanking their way into a place nothing was meant to enter, let alone something so dangerous.

Although a primal need to defend yourself shot through your nervous system, you were too incapacitated to do much more than body-jolting inhale. Your only defense, you had long-since learned, was to freeze. Your brain buzzed in an unpleasant manner as you started to come down from the imaginary fingering.

“You’re overreacting,” scoffed the voice of a past partner. “It’s just a finger.” You hadn’t spoken to them in years, but the disregard in their voice remained fresh, further embittering you to the fact that that was what managed to creep into you rather than the bravery you so desperately needed.

You had to pray once more that Terzo hadn’t noticed anything. A change in your already shifty demeanor, the way your legs twitched inward but not out of lust (not when Primo’s sermon was focused more on wrath today), or how your body’s momentary lurch. Much like your prayer for strength, though, you suspected this plea went ignored. You didn’t need to look up and see Terzo’s smile falter to think that.

The moment Papa Primo dismissed the congregation, you made quick work of the camouflage offered by the uniforms of habits and lace.

When a quick glance back allowed you to catch sight of a confused-looking Papa Terzo, you forced yourself to swallow the pathetic truth: You were never going to find the courage to even say sorry, let alone that you no longer wanted to see him.

What you did find – or rather, what found you – was an overwhelming torrent of grief and frustration as you flung yourself into your room and back into the bed where your day had started with a massive hitch. You shoved your face into your flattening pillow and hoped there was just enough down still left in it to muffle up your screams. And tears. Belial, you told yourself you wouldn’t cry over this sort of thing anymore. Over anyone. You should’ve been used to this type of thing by now, so what was the use in wasting energy like this?

What was the point in dwelling on how nice it all was, how nice Terzo made you feel, or how you secretly looked forward to your conversations, no matter how bizarre or intellectual? You gained nothing but the label of immature whenever you indulged in the schoolgirlish feeling of letting Terzo accompany you in the halls. Indulgence might have been encouraged by the Church, but not when it hurt or disrupted the paths of others’ own pursuits.

There was absolutely no way what you had done wasn’t going to inevitably end in pain of some kind, be it physical on your part or mental and emotional on Terzo’s.

But then again, maybe . . . Maybe you didn’t have to do this after all? Maybe you could make peace with where things were headed. You wouldn’t be able to let him inside of you in the traditional sense, no, but surely that just meant that you would just have to . . . adjust things? Yeah . . . Yeah, maybe that could work . . .

Maybe I could earn his love in other ways? Prove that I’m not ungrateful and won’t waste his feelings? Intrusive visions of you “earning” that love projected onto the walls of your mind. Under more pleasant, more normal circumstances, some of the ideas would’ve been a delight for you in some way. Par for the course of a healthy relationship.

But the possibility that these might be the only ways to grant you worthiness, to allow you to deserve Terzo’s attention and love, to deserve Terzo . . . It felt tainted. It felt like an even worse lie to perform. It burned like a poison through your mind and heart before becoming incorporated with all the other pains rising to the surface.

The knock at your door was a welcome distraction, but only long enough for you to forget the possibility of it being Terzo on the other side.

You contemplated pretending that nobody was home before a muffled voice said, “I can smell you through the door, y’know.” Ah. A ghoul. Better in that it wasn’t Terzo, but worse in that you couldn’t avoid them. To your chagrin, the trek from your bed to the door wasn’t nearly long enough to look presentable or like you hadn’t been crying.

You could practically feel their eyes through the mask, studying your tear-stained ones as they smelled the salt that had settled on your cheeks. Nonetheless, they continued ever professionally with, “Papa III has sent me to come retrieve you.” From the way they barely contained their tail’s amused wagging, it was clear that they were getting a rise out of the insinuations of the invitation.

You may as well have been off to the gallows (or worse, Sister’s office) with how dour your disposition was. Being a part of the Emeritus line, Terzo’s chambers were further away from your humble digs in the Siblings’ quarters. Still, it felt as though there wasn’t nearly enough time from your door to his for you to concoct whatever it was you could say or do. Which, to be fair, wasn’t really much to begin with anyway. You were screwed, your fate sealed the moment the ghoul knocked on one of a pair of the large, wooden doors.

“Entrare,” the room’s occupant answered. Your heart beat icy pumps as you and your escort obliged.

You’d never been inside Terzo’s quarters before, not that you hadn’t been invited. Granted, the first few times had been in the very beginning, before he’d realized that his usual tricks weren’t going to work on an unusual suspect. He never brought it back up again, even as the two of you appeared to grow more comfortable with one another.

It was a shame, then, that you were too possessed with anxiety to properly take it all in: In another, more pleasant mental space, you would have adored the large, framed vintage posters that decorated the rich purple walls, or giggled at just how much purple and gold this guy actually used in one admittedly spacious but still single space.

You couldn’t properly see it, being in what appeared to be more of a lounging area (really, how big was the average Emeritus’s room compared to the lowly Siblings’ quarters?), but you could just make out what appeared to be a bedroom down a small coridor. From what little you could see, there was a bed made of rich, dark wood with a velvety canopy.

Dramatic, but fitting for someone like Terzo, you mused in a split second of clarity before the gravity of the situation returned with ten times the weight as before. After all, here you were, standing in the boudoir of the man whom you’d been avoiding all day. Avoiding because you’d failed to do your due diligence and warn him against pursuing you. And there was his damn bed right freaking there – !!!

That prey animal instinct from mass began to skitter back as you instinctively began to look for ways out of this. Maybe you could leap out that Satanic Tiffany glass window? You’d be killing two birds with one stone if you did: You could get out of a confrontation, and the action would surely unnerve Terzo enough for him to draw back, right?

However, the make-believe agility and will to do so quickly dissolved out of you the moment you heard the voice you’d been avoiding all day once more. “Grazie, Wisp,” he addressed the ghoul. From the sounds of it, he must’ve been in a room off to the side, away from view. Despite Terzo not being visible to them, the ghoul still offered a bow in respect before taking their leave (though not without their nosiness prompting them to sneak one last look into the room).

You winced in sync with the door clicking shut, the soft padding of footsteps on the plush carpeting thundered in your ears as Terzo made his appearance. Even though he made sure to keep some space between the both of you, you still felt increasingly like a trapped animal.

As much as you wanted to cast your eyes down and pretend to be intrigued by the fact that the flooring was black instead of some shade of purple, acting as though nothing was amiss was your best course of action. Even if you felt your breathing hitch both with uneasiness and infatuation over the fact that, yet again, the man’s face was bare of his usual paints. It did, however, carry a small look of concern. While you felt guilty, perhaps him being worried would be easier to work with than him being outright upset?

You tried to predict the sort of things a concerned Terzo might say and what responses would be appropriate when you noticed something else about him: His clothing. You didn’t expect Terzo to be lounging in his own living space in his robes but even then, he tended to favor going about in his suit. This was the first time you’d seen him in anything that could be considered casual and not relating to his position as a Papa. The first time you’d seen him in pants that were actually tailored, actually! It was questionable if a men’s blouse made from what might’ve been silk could qualify as “informal”, but your brain was currently unable to drum up that inquiry.

Instead, it was too busy focusing on how the top was being worn: With only the top two buttons undone, the edge of what was more likely than not an absolute thicket of black chest hairs was visible. (If you were a stronger person – a better, more functioning one – you would’ve absolutely braved that thicket like a safari explorer.)

You gulped, realizing that maintaining eye contact was going to be harder than usual. If you were quicker about keeping your wits, you might’ve tried to speak up first. Maybe with a “Hi, Papa. How ‘bout that afternoon mass, amirite?” But Terzo beat you to it.

“. . . How are you?” he inquired. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of accusation in his tone. “Are you doing alright today?”

I’m anxious to the point of sickness and contemplating vandalism with your window, you wanted to say.

“’M alright. Just tired, I guess,” you shrugged. Judging by the way Terzo’s lips pressed into a thin line, he probably didn’t believe you. However, if there was anything you’d learned in your time together, it was that Terzo wasn’t exactly the type to prod. It was easy to assume from the flamboyant persona that he was far nosier than he really was. But the unfortunate and lovely reality was that Terzo trusted you. Worse was that he trusted you enough to both see his true face, and to tell him how you felt when you were comfortable. Your stomach dropped when you remembered the fact you’d been crying before this. Were your eyes still reddened and puffy? Did he notice?

“Vedo,” he replied before slowly crossing his arms. "Well, if that is the case, then perhaps we must do a bit of a raincheck for the evening, yes?”

Your brows lightly twitched in a nonplussed fashion. It was then that you finally noticed the full scope of the room you were in. It was more like a den than an actual lounging area, complete with a TV on a DVD loading screen and a couch sat before it.

You forgot to blink as it hit you. This was what Terzo had been referring to during his face reveal yesterday: He was asking you to watch a movie with him! And you, in your lovesick stupor, had agreed wholeheartedly to it!

Logic (and a sense of cowardice self-preservation) would have dictated that you leap at the opportunity to leave. You needed time to regroup. Maybe make a sacrifice to Satanas in the hopes that that might win you some courage to do what needed to be done.

But before you could commit to it, you reminded yourself: You needed to act unbothered. You’d already aroused suspicion in Terzo as it was. If Terzo thought you really wanted to watch a movie with him, as you had outright stated, then you needed to watch a movie with him. All you had to do was sit down at a reasonable distance and appear completely invested. Too invested to possibly think about how you wanted to tangle your fingers into his chest hair. Or how you absolutely shouldn’t want to do that at all.

“N-no, I’m good!” you insisted a little too eagerly. “I can stay up, I’m not that tired.”

He quirked a brow but questioned no further. “If you insist. Come: I have a small setup.”

The setup being an oddly-shaped popcorn bucket (why . . . did it look kind of like a pope hat?) filled with cheese doodles and a bottle of red wine to be shared between two glasses. You took only the smallest handful of doodles to be courteous but turned down the wine under the claim that you were trying to cut back. The reality was you couldn’t risk letting alcohol lubricate you into either melting down or melting into his lap as you both settled in.

The Man Who Laughs, read the title card. A name just vague enough to sound familiar though you didn’t really know a thing about it. When Terzo briefly explained that its main character, Gwynplaine, had been the visual inspiration for The Joker from Batman, you expected some early horror flick. Perhaps being treated to an hour or two’s worth of a spiteful man seeking revenge and wreaking havoc on the innocent. Odd choice in what you could only describe as a movie date, but you were already in too deep and far too high-strung to comment.

But as the film progressed, you found yourself surprised. Not only because the plot was far from what you’d predicted, but also because you also hadn’t been expecting a sense of solidarity. Sure, you’d never been a stage performer whose disfigurement made him a laughingstock to the pauper and nobleman alike. But nonetheless, Gwynplaine’s plight resonated with you. Something about being an introverted, soft-hearted person who feared their worthiness of love was thwarted by something they had no control over.

When you’d settled on the couch that evening, your goal had been to merely pretend to take the movie in. But the tenderness exhibited by the film’s two main love interests made that all but impossible for you. You now existed in a strange and uncomfortable middle ground: Too invested to keep your wits, but too aware of how uncomfortable the relation was. If this were some vintage horror flick, there might’ve arguably been a chance to hide any visible anxieties as suspense-born fear.

But between the “smiling” man swooning into the beautiful Dea’s touch, to him hiding into himself when his insecurities got the better of him, you just kept being reminded of your own circumstances, and how Terzo had given you his full face when you couldn’t even give him the truth.

A wave of self-directed disgust began to boil in you, causing you to briefly tic. Otherwise, though, you remained stiff. It was a fair film, after all, and it was a shame that you were corrupting yet one more thing that was dear to Terzo by equating it with your own problems.

But inside you were the beginnings of a nor’easter of biblical proportions: Deluges depicted you forcing yourself through your fears in a pathetic effort to prove to him he could still love you; the voices of failed relationships past split through your mind like thunderclaps; even the howling winds sounded like your whimpers whenever you trapped yourself in the bathroom, determined but failing to conquer Q-tips and dilators and even your own pinky finger. The flood they all created sloshed and battered about your insides and squeezed at your lungs, brutalizing your mind.

Just relax already, they said.

You’re just being difficult! they had accused.

Quit holding out! they demanded.

The film became less and less visible to you as you tried to steady your breathing and cling to something inside. Please, Dark Lord, great Old One, you prayed once more. Did you want silence? Freedom? For the moment to end, or for everything to pause? You couldn’t tell with all this noise. Please –

Forget it.

Despite being born from the storm, it hung over it, breaking through everything and silencing all. Even your prayer felt muted compared to how deafening the command sounded in your head. The voice did not belong to the Dark One, however. It didn’t even belong to the other Big Guy. You knew this voice, actually. It had been years since you’d last seen or heard from its owner, but you still heard it nearly every day since. And they always said the same thing every time:

No one is going to put up with this if you can't fix it!

You fought to contain any reaction from reaching the surface, but you failed: You shuddered. Violently so. You had to quickly cover it up with an overcorrection of tensing, but you thought you’d managed.

You didn’t even have time to make up an excuse when you caught Terzo moving from the corner of your eye. He was getting closer – no: His arm was getting closer. Angling to wrap around you.

There shouldn’t have been anything intimidating about the idea of Terzo, coming at you with 30% of his hairy chest out, possibly aiming to get some over-the-shoulder action. Unfortunately for you, at this point, you were beyond intimidated. This was made clear with your reaction of jerking away, emitting a gaspy, yelpy whimper you never knew you could even make.

And for a moment, everything but the film froze.

It was an odd juxtaposition, the swelling orchestral music playing as you both just stared at one another without a single hint of romance. You truly were like Gwynplaine now, hands covering your mouth as your eyes stared wide. Terzo’s own eyes being wide was rather commonplace, but the way he stared at you now made you feel uneasy. It was almost as though those big eyes of his were suddenly seeing everything in high definition, able to see now see every crack in the structure that was you.

The soundtrack could’ve played on for an eternity before his low voice quietly spoke above it.

“Mia cara. . .? Are you okay?” He sounded even more uncertain than he did yesterday when he asked you about his face. When you failed to respond, he tried much softer: “(Y/N).”

Your breath hitched, icy and cold in your burning throat. You could count the times he’d used your actual name on one hand. Nearly all of them had been during the very beginning of your interactions. Back when he was trying to prove the extent of his interest. Otherwise, it was always a term of endearment: “Mia sorellina” or “Tesoro mio” or “Piccina mia” and so on.

Always “mio/a”. Always his, even when you had no right to be. But now, as he stared at you, having to resort to using your actual name, he must’ve been starting to realize that . . .

Even though it had done you no favors this entire evening, you let panic guide you to spring into action. You stammered and struggled for words as you tried to make yourself untense.

“I-I’m – I’m sorry, I was just so enthralled –” Did that word even fit here? “I was really into the movie, the sudden movement startled me and –” But it wasn’t so sudden, was it? “I’m really sorry, I just –”

But you just what? You did not know, and it was extremely apparent the more you talked.

“I thought you were cold,” Terzo gently reasoned once your words tapered off. At this, the arm you’d feared was coming to corner you shook gently. In his hand was the edge of a throw blanket you’d been leaning against. “I was going to offer you some cover. I thought you’d been stiff this entire while, and then you shuddered, so I . . .”

His movements were notably slower now. Felt the need to be more careful, even if all he was doing was reaching for the remote to finally pause the ongoing show.

His eyes were less wide as well, but what they left in their wake was a firm yet troubled stare. It wasn’t meant to make you feel so afraid, but the feeling was there regardless.

“(Y/N),” he stated carefully. “If you are not comfortable, then I need you to tell me. I am a big boy, I can understand boundaries. If I’ve been moving too fast or made you uncomfortable in any way, I –”

“The problem isn’t you, it’s me,” you interrupted. God. Satan. Whomever had stuck around to witness this travesty. Being the truth didn’t make it seem any less lame. And judging by how Terzo’s demeanor shifted into being unimpressed, he clearly thought so as well.

“To be brutally frank, Sorella, I was hoping for a bit more . . . honesty.” The delivery of that last word faltered somewhat, but it was more than enough to provide a healthy punch to your gut. Actually hearing Terzo express disappointment towards you was far more devastating than anything your mind could have concocted. He’d already implied on multiple occasions how he’d often found himself on the shorter end of a seemingly mutual trust. Now you were just another person who’d failed to uphold their end.

While true, something in you felt the need to still fight back.

“No, you don’t get it,” you hoarsely insisted against the tightening of your throat. Your fingers immediately set to biting into your arms as they crossed.

“Then help me to!” he finally demanded. “You’ve been acting strange ever since yesterday, so what? Is it me after all? My face? What?!” The frenzy, while warranted, made everything inside you curl inward. Everything suddenly felt too big, too loud for the decreasing space inside you. Your lungs couldn’t expand enough, and you could practically feel the hurricane inside you banging at your eyes to be let out. Your teeth sank into your lips just as your nails sank even more into your arms. Anything to bite back and fight back what was quickly becoming inevitable.

He must have realized what he’d done, or perhaps he just used his eyes to see you practically shrinking. His expression uncrumpled into something more tender and apologetic, but creases of quiet frustration remained.

“Cara. (Y/N),” he corrected, his more patient voice from before returning. “I apologize for my outburst. Really. I do. But . . . Please: What is going on?”

If you opened your mouth, you were fucked.

“I cannot fix things if you don’t tell me what needs to be fixed.”

Soft like dynamite. The dam splintered, it cracked, and then it collapsed entirely. Your body was never one to take things in or hold them, after all.

“You can’t fix me . . .” It was quiet and light and it weighed down on your insides like no other.

Terzo’s brows gathered. “. . . Perdono?”

“I said you can’t fix me, okay?!” you repeated, your sentence made jagged and uneven by its sobbing delivery. The sudden explosion left the normally calm Papa taken aback. His lips parted, surely about to question what you could possibly mean, but the flood was unrelenting as it poured from your eyes and lips.

“I’m sorry! I lied! I lied, I lied, I lied, okay!? My body doesn’t work, okay, it’s fucking broken, and I knew it all along but I couldn’t tell you because I’m a f-fucking coward a-and I’m s-s-elfish – And – !” But this point, though, your throat far too tight and painful to even try continuing. Besides, you’d said all of what mattered, right? That you’d lied to him by omission, that you were broken, and that you were a goddamn selfish coward for pretending otherwise.

The truth hurt but you deserved this pain, having only yourself to blame that you were experiencing this on this man’s couch instead of in the privacy of your room. Everything in you screamed to get up and run back there, in fact, but you lacked the will to do anything other than stay put in a near-blinding fit of crying, probably fucking up the sofa with all the tears you were leaking onto it. You might’ve stayed that way even longer if it weren’t for a sudden nudging at your knee.

Apparently at some point during your pity party, Terzo had taken the opportunity to get up and . . . retrieve a box of tissues? Not leave? Or call for a ghoul to come and get you? Actually, that made a bit of sense: He was too much of a gentleman to kick somebody out while they were crying, no matter how awkward the circumstances.

As much as the punishing part of you wanted to reject it, the suffocation of your snotty nose was intolerable. You accepted the tissue box and dug in until your face stung with how much you had to wipe at it.

Terzo meanwhile resumed his seat, making sure to allow you space as you let out whatever nonverbal emotion you needed to let out. He didn’t force you to talk – not that you could, remaining a coughing, hiccupping mess even as the emotional tempest began to recede.

In fact, he himself didn’t say a word until you’d managed to work yourself down to pathetic, wet sniffles and tremors.

“. . . You know you’re not broken, right?” he asked. You almost didn’t hear it about you

You sniffled, perplexed. Terzo watched patiently as he continued, “Look: I don’t know exactly what’s going on. But what I do know is that you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like talking with you. I just. Like you. So clearly, something about you must work, si?”

You shook your head. No. No, that’s what they all said. Maybe not like that, but they all said one of two things:

Either they claimed this didn’t bother them and that they could work with your condition, only to later realize they couldn’t keep up the lie; or they would ask to go your separate ways. He hadn’t done the latter yet, but after everything you’d put him through, he at least deserved specification to make that decision.

“No, I mean,” you took in a deep, shaky inhale. Mostly to calm the discomfort. “I mean. My body – It literally doesn’t – I have a condition, Terzo.” You paused just enough to let the words sink in – for the both of you. It never got easier to say no matter how many times you said it. “I can’t have sex. Not in a normal way, anyway. So, like. No penetrating or whatever. Not even, like, a tongue. Shit hurts so I don’t – I can’t bother with it. And like.” You twisted your fingers. “That feels kind of antithetical to the whole ‘living deliciously’ vibe or whatever you’re supposed to be promoting. So . . .”

So there. That was it. In a sick sort of way, you did feel somewhat of a weight lifted. The heavy, gross feeling of rejection still sat within you, but you had a familiarity with it. In time, it, too, would fizzle back into the recesses of your mind. You could . . . live with it there . . .

“. . . So what?” Terzo practically huffed, barely fighting back a smirk, one you couldn’t tell if it was from his own words, or in response to the stunned expression you now wore. “First off – and forgive me for missing any point – but you do realize that the whole of that whole ‘living deliciously’ shit comes from making choices, right? If sex is what you’re talking about, I don’t necessarily need sex. Is nice, yes, but. It’s not my whole fucking life, you know.”

. . . Well, no, but . . . To be fair, that rockstar persona certainly made that easy to not consider. Before you could argue this, he continued.

“Second off,” Terzo held up two fingers. “You do realize sex is more than just insert-dick-in-pussy, yes? Your Papa is . . . Well, he knows he is no blushing virgin, we shall say. No offense.” (At this, your expression blanked. Bemusement was superior to distress, though, you supposed.) “But do you really think that I think there is only one way to make sex count? Cara, per favore: Sex is sex! So long as everyone is having fun – and consenting! – then what is there to worry about?”

“E in terzo luogo,” he added a third finger before giving all three a wiggle, “do you really think that I would do all this if all I wanted was a quick fuck? I mean, think about it, piccina. Give me more credit.”

Well, when he put it like that . . . Your cheeks and ears burned less from humiliation, but from a much softer breed of embarrassment.

“Well . . . no . . .” you admitted. “B-but going back to the choice thing – I thought the idea was to make choices that don’t hurt anybody.”

He nodded with agreement. “Questo è vero. But here we are. And no one got hurt, si?”

You bit your lip, “But . . . I lied to you. I wasted your time, and – ” At this, Terzo’s hand rose, signaling for you to shut your yap.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, dolcezza,” he spoke, his features tame but stern. “You did not waste my time. Okay? I gave you my time. And I wouldn’t ask for a moment of it back. And do you know why?” He didn’t even allow you enough time to make a snarky response: “Because I chose to spend it with you. Even if I’d known, I’d choose you. And why would I not? Sei una bellisima compagnia, and I already love what we do together, even if it’s not fucking. Now, have I thought about us fucking? Yes! Often!” (You felt your blush deepening at his rather blunt confession.)

“But I have also thought about things we have talked about; things I would like for us to talk about; things I would like for us to do – besides each other, I mean. But it here’s a fourth thing.”

No fourth finger this time. Just him offering you his hand. You felt every particle in your abdomen squish and flip over the simple gesture, but curiosity made you pushed through to accept it. Even as his other hand came over on top of yours, any trapped feeling you might’ve had mere moments before never came forward. If anything, you felt . . . here? And for as buzzy as “here” felt, you didn’t want to run from it.

Terzo gave your hand a grounding squeeze as his eyes remained locked with your own. “I’m never gonna do something that hurts you. Alright?” he swore. “And if I do? Then I need you, I beg of you to tell me. Because if you don’t want to do anything, then we don’t do anything. We do nothing but enjoy one another’s company. That is plenty enough for me, dolcezza, I can promise you this. Do you understand?”

You gulped. You didn’t even realize your eyes had widened until you found yourself needing to blink back a fresh, much smaller batch of warm tears. You could practically feel your mind scrambling, trying to reference past experiences that could help you work off of this. Maybe proof he was lying, an argument you could present – something to make this all make sense!

But it found nothing of the sort. No one, in all those times, had ever offered a third thing, let alone one where you felt like you had an actual say in how things went.

Should . . . Should you nod? Could you be trusted to make the right decision here? You nodded. It was uneasy and uncertain, but the smile it gave Terzo seemed to be the proper answer.

“Good girl,” he affirmed. Oh. Yep. That was the right answer, you decided with a jittery exhale.

“Now!” Terzo exclaimed before giving the back of your hand a gentle pat and releasing it. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to finish our movie. Call me a firm nerd but I’ve waited all night to hear your thoughts on this, no joking.”

The change in atmosphere was dizzying as Terzo readjusted himself into a more comfortable position, as though you hadn’t just bared your soul and literal intimacies to him and had him respond in the most genuine and affirming way possible. Not as though it were nothing, but more like it was just not nearly as distressing as what you’d prepared yourself to face. With the storm settling and the fog of anxiety clearing, it became increasingly apparent just how discolored your thoughts had become by your past experiences. Of course Terzo wouldn’t be so rigid about sex: It went against everything he stood for, everything he was!

Of course, complete acceptance on your end wouldn’t be immediate. But you could work with this. Though, there was admittedly one last concern you had before movie night resumed.

“B-but.” You stopped short as Terzo turned his attention back to you. You had to remind yourself that the nerves you felt now were nothing compared to before. You could do this. “But . . . What if I . . . do want to do something?”

A bushy brow at the insinuation.

“N-not now! Not immediately,” you clarified. Suddenly the fringe of the throw blanket required your attention as you began fidgeting with it. “I just . . . You know.” You gave an awkward shrug and glanced up at him, a look of pleading twinkling in your eyes as you hoped he understood what you meant. Not any time soon, perhaps, but . . . Some day? You watched as the right corner of his mouth, the one where that darling beauty mark lay, rose up into a smile.

“Then, cuore mio, we talk about it,” he answered simply. “And, if you still want to ‘do something’ after?” He leaned in, the warmth of his smile heating into a devilish smirk.

“We do it. Whatever that may look like for us.”

You nearly blacked out when the bastard had the audacity to wink at you.

He then clicked play, shifting back into place as Gwynplaine and Dea came back to life. By the time you’d managed to regain your composure and refocus on the movie, Dea was cradling Gwynplaine’s tearful face in her hands. Assuming you hadn’t missed anything, this was the first time the poor soul had actually ever let her touch his face in all its deformed glory. And judging by her jubilant reaction, Dea couldn’t have been happier.

Good for him, you quietly delighted. It was absolutely what he deserved after all that time spent torturing himself over nothing. As you resituated yourself back into the cushions, you briefly noted how the voices from before, while still there, were much quieter. They lacked the power provided by the storm, and any time one of them seemed to try and get louder, you’d hear Terzo’s voice smother it out.

I’d choose you, he affirmed.

Good girl, he praised.

You know you’re not broken, right? he reminded.

It gave you goosebumps, though not the kind that the throw blanket could pat out. But you had a theory.

It seemed that the Old One had finally chosen now to put some courage in you. Better late than never, you supposed as you began to inch closer and closer along the couch until you could feel the heat radiating off Terzo’s body. The proximity in itself was thrilling enough, but the boldness didn’t stop there.

You tested the waters, leaning a little further into him, only for his arm to calmly come around you. Whatever space that remained was quickly closed as you felt yourself being tugged and cushioned into his side. You had only a nanosecond to catch the barely-contained smile on his face before you practically melted into place. Terzo’s touch, his scent, his warmth, his everything flooded into you, filling you with a simultaneous calmness and a vigor you hadn’t felt in years.

Your dream from before had been right after all: You belonged here, right next to your Papa.

[luveline]

jadey - HONEY - listenlistenlisten, so I feel like you said you'd write for hopper?? but if not (because he's not on the official list) please ignore this request! BUT would you be able to write something about hopper visiting reader in the hospital after she was almost posessed by vecna?? whether this is still early stages of relationship or already established, you pick, gorgeous!! (also ik this means no hopper/joyce but personally I prefer hopper/me??) xoxoxo BIG SMOOCHES

ty for your request, love u! ♡

Nobody would ever believe you, but you know it's Hopper from the smell. You've missed him for months, and though the scent of him wore away from his sweatshirt before you thought you had time to memorise it, you know without opening your eyes that it's him sitting beside you. 

Your heart monitor beeps loud and erratic. 

"Don't," he says quietly. "Don't freak out." 

It won't listen to him, how could it? Not even the oily fog of painkillers can dull the reality of him being here, right here, this close. 

"You're supposed to be dead," you croak, peeling your eyes open achingly slowly. 

"Aren't you a little old for teen angst?" he asks. 

He's real. He's real, you're exhausted, you almost died, but he's alive. Tears well in your eyes of their own accord, not a lick of choice in it as Hopper takes your arm into his hand. 

"You look sick," you say tearily. 

"Nice. You look worse."  

"Where's your," —you gesture to his body— "everything?" 

He's lost a dramatic amount of weight, hollows sunk under his eyes. He grins despite your insult and leans back in his chair, hand sliding down toward yours, fingers pushing between your knuckles to twine them together firmly. "Russian weight loss program. Like it?" 

You're honestly not sure. Maybe when the shock has worn off you'll feel strongly either way, but right now it's his obvious alive-ness that takes centre focus. 

"I missed you," you say. You've not even a syllable into 'missed' when your voice disappears, the agony of your admission knocking the air from your lungs in one callous blow. "I missed you so much." 

He squeezes your hand. "I know. I'm sorry." 

You start to sit. Hopper stands and slips his hands behind your shoulders, helping you up with a tenderness you've dreamt about every night since he disappeared. There was no time to define what you were to one another, all these months you've been grieving a maybe, but you know the connection you had was more than real when he reaches down the millisecond you reach up. His lips smashed to your forehead and his big hands spread and searching like he's trying to stop you from falling away from him, you splutter as the air is knocked from your chest again. 

"Sorry I wasn't here to look after you," he says.

He hugs you for so long you figure you must be dreaming. There's a familiarity to his embrace even if the feel of him has changed, security with a little less padding. "What happened to you?" you ask hesitantly. 

"What happened to me? You just had something– someone in your head. You almost broke your neck, you could've died." 

"I'm lucky. I am. It could've been worse." It was worse for others. Your voice wobbles embarrassingly. It doesn't put Hopper off. You used to worry that being younger than him would make you too different; you aren't a kid but you haven't lived a life as agonisingly detailed as he has. You're scared there won't be room in his head for your weight, too, but there always is. "You're back," you say, relieved.

"I'm back." 

You breathe out. 

"Let me see you," he demands, drawing away to check you over. 

Your skin is clammy and has been for days, you weren't sleeping —sleeping meant dreaming. Hearing the toll. You've chased sleep with coffee and caffeine pills and bad TV, each day going a little more insane with wanting Hopper back. There were moments when you knew for sure he was dead, and moments you hated yourself for entertaining the idea. Whatever you deserved, he's here, wiping your sleep crusted eyes with a careful thumb. 

"Well, you're still a sight for sore eyes." 

"Yeah?" you ask, laughing until you cough. "I look good in the gown, right?" 

"Better out of it," he suggests, kissing the top of your head. He lingers there too long. You can read his mind for that single moment. 

He's not happy with himself for letting you face it alone. Which begs the question. What kept him away?

"Hop, where have you been?" you ask gently. 

"I'll tell you everything after you eat something." 

"Me?" 

"I almost forgot how rude you are," he says, rubbing your cheek fondly. "Shit. Like I could forget a thing about you." 

You take his hand from your face to clear a path. "That's romantic. Hit your head while you were gone?" He nods, hangs his head, lets you cover the back of it with your hands. You pull him forward, searching for hair he doesn't have. "What did they do to you?" you murmur sadly. 

"Don't say that. The neck up is as good as it gets." 

"I don't believe that for a second," you say, though you worry about what he means. "You better go find me something to eat. I want to know everything that's happened." 

"Got a waiting room full of people who aren't gonna like that," he says, lifting his head.

"I really, truly don't care," you say, still so softly. "I've been waiting to see you again for a long time. They can… they can walk a mile in my shoes." 

"Whatever you want." Hopper clasps your elbow. "Anything you want." 

[kenzisthings]

𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 (𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

it’s hard to be in a relationship when your siblings don’t like your boyfriend. especially your older sister mindy. being the youngest meeks-martin had its ups and down. and one of the downs is trying to get your sister to like ethan, your boyfriend.

“i don’t get it chad, she acts like ethan is going to slice me up and kill me.” chad hits you with a “really” look, making you sigh. “ok bad wording, but you know him! he’s your roommate. the dorky roommate who couldn’t even talk to me.” you flop down next to your brother on sam and tara’s couch. chad nudges you and grabs your hand. “look y/n, you have too understand why mindy feels this way. you’re our little sister. we can’t lose you.” you were just about to respond until your phone goes off. you pull it out you pocket and smile when you see ethan’s name and a picture of him anf you on your first date.

“answer loverboy, i’m going to go see if they need any help in the kitchen.” chad gets up and walks towards the kitchen where the rest of the gang was. you slide accept on the phone. “hey e, i was just about to call you. are you close?” you ask, you can hear the busy streets of new york in the background. “yeah i’m like five minutes away, uh i just called to make sure it’s okay im still coming over.” you giggle at your boyfriend. “of course it is why wouldn’t you think so?” you hear ethan sigh and take a breath, “well y/n it’s no secret that mindy doesn’t like me, and quite frankly i’m scared of her.” that makes you laugh. “hey it’s not funny. she can be mean.” you can hear the pout through the phone. “it’s going to be all good, i promise.” ethan reluctantly sighs, “ ok, i’ll see you soon.” you smile even if he can’t see it. “ok bye sweets.”

you hang up the phone and walk towards to kitchen, to see the sam, mindy, chad and tara looking at you in silence. “god who died in here.” you joke which receives a smack on the arm from chad. “oh nothing just talking about you and your romantic lover.” tara says in a sing songish way, making you giggle. you sit down and look at your sister who just glares at you. “oh come on mindy you still can’t be mad i invited ethan.” she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “y/n what have i told you. never trust the love interest!” you shake your head especially because she being hypocritical about this. “oh yeah how about you and your girlfriend, huh?” you retaliate. “ hey my girlfriend isn’t a werid, antisocial, nerdy boy who could be a killer.”

“who’s a killer?” you all turn around to see your boyfriend standing there awkwardly. “nobody’s a killer ethan, although i’d kill for this conversation to be over.” sam jokes but nobody laughs. you look at mindy who’s just staring at ethan and it makes you angry. angry that your own sister can’t trust your boyfriend or you. standing up put the attention on you, “hey tara can me and ethan talk in your room?” tara smiles at you and shakes her head yes. you start walking towards ethan and towards tara’s room. “make sure you keep the door open i don’t want any funny business!” mindy tells you making you give her the middle finger in return. “you don’t think there fucking do you?” mindy asks the group but their silent. “oh they are definitely sleeping together.” chad whispers underneath his breath shuddering as he remembers what he walked into last week going back to his dorm.

you lead ethan through tara’s and go to the door and lock it. you then go and sit on her bed and pat the spot next to you offering it too ethan. which he accepts and sits next to you. “how much did you hear.” ethan shrugs, “oh you know that i’m a werid, antisocial freak who’s also a killer. the usual from mindy.” you sigh and lean your head on his shoulder, to which he puts his arms around your waist. “i’m sorry e, i really am.” he kisses the crown of your head. “it’s ok y/n. she’s just trying to keep you safe.” you laugh how could he be so understanding and sticking up for a women who hates him.

you lay your head on his chest and listen to his heart beat for a few moments. “i know it’s hard for her to accept that i’m an adult now but it’s hard when your sister doesn’t like the boy you love.” you can feel ethan’s heart start to pick up as you said that, making you wonder if you said something wrong. you raise up from his chest to see him looking at you with those brown puppy dog eyes you love so much. “you love me?” you giggle and lean into his face to where your just mere centimeter from his lips. “of course i love you. i love the way you stutter when your flustered or the way you can go on about your favorite tv show. how i can be stuck on any subject and you always help me. i love the way you look at me like i’m the only person in the world, like it’s only us.”

ethan leans in closing the small gap in between you and kisses you. it’s a soft reassuring kiss. a kiss you want to last for ever but sadly it can’t. you pull away and rest your head against ethan’s. “i love you too and i would never hurt you.” he whisperes. you find it weird that he would say he wouldn’t hurt you but you brush it aside not to ruin the moment.

because of course he would never hurt you.

right?

[ihareyhis]

Spideys as incorrect quotes pt2

Hobie: *Kicks the door down*

Pavitr: What did you do?

Hobie: Nobody died.

Pavitr: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

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Miguel: What do you call disobeying the law?

The Squad: A hobby.

Miguel: *crosses their arms*

The Squad: That we do not engage in

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Pavitr: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this?

Hobie: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

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Pavitr, pointing at Hobie: Are they a Freak (derogatory)?

Pavitr, pointing at Gwen: Or a Freak (affectionate)?

Miles: Why not both?

Pavitr, to Miles: You’re so right, Freak

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Pavitr: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective?

Hobie: *crouches down*

Gwen: *kneels down*

Miles: *sits on the floor*

Pavitr: I hate you all

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Miles: How do Hobie and Pavitr usually get out of these messes?

Gwen: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out.

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Gwen: Hey Pavitr.

Pavitr: *punches Gwen in the stomach*

Gwen: What the fuck?

Pavitr: You are one of my very best friends. And I cannot stand by and watch you throw away your life like this. You're too young....YOU'RE TOO BEAUTIFUL!

Gwen: What the fuck are you talking about?

Pavitr: I'm talking about the baby that's growing inside of your belly right now.

Gwen: I'm not pregnant!

Pavitr: Well, not after that punch you're not. I've been taking muay thai classes.

Gwen: I was never pregnant, Pavitr!

Pavitr: Are... you sure?

Gwen: Yes I'm fucking sure!

Hobie: I'm sorry, but why the fuck is everybody yelling over here?

Pavitr: Oh, I found this positive pregnancy test and—

Hobie: *punches Gwen in the stomach*

Gwen: AW, MOTHERFU–

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Gwen: Today at 7 am, Pavitr poured a Monster energy drink in his coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing.

Hobie: I watched him brew his coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think he ascended into the astral realm.

Miles: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me

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Miles: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no idea what to put in them. Any suggestions?

Pavitr: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you.

Hobie: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you two.

Gwen: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am no longer taking suggestions.

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Pavitr: What’s up with Gwen? she’s been laying on the floor for like….an hour now?

Hobie: She’s just a little overwhelmed.

Pavitr: Why?

Hobie: Miles smiled at her.

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Hobie, Gwen & Miles: *screaming*

Pavitr: *runs into the room* Miles whats wrong?!

Hobie: Wait, why are you asking Miles that when Gwen and I are also here?

Pavitr: Because Miles wouldn't scream unless it's an emergency. You two scream whenever you have the chance.

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Hobie: What’s your biggest fear?

Gwen: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Miles: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Pavitr: Zombies.

Gwen: ...

Miles: ...

Pavitr: BUT they can open doors.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is scream (sorry in advance)

(654 words.)

The telltale sign that Remus is back, the crack from his apparating, comes much earlier than Sirius was expecting. He rushes from his and Remus' bedroom, wand in hand, and trying to calm his anxiety. Surely something has gone wrong. Remus could be hurt, or it could be someone else.

Thankfully, Remus is there and seemingly unscathed. That's not enough to reassure Sirius, though, what with the look on Remus' face that Sirius can only describe as shaken.

"Moony? What's going on? Why are you back already?"

It's like Remus doesn't even hear him.

"I- I forgot to apparate through the- through the points," He says to himself, eyes distant. Sirius glances down and realises that Remus' hands are shaking. Hurriedly, he moves forward. He gently pulls Remus' wand out of his hand, before taking both of his hands in his own.

"You're not apparating anywhere. If anyone had followed you, they'd be here by now." He has no clue if that's true, but he's not about to let his boyfriend get splinched.

Instead, he directs Remus to their table, letting him drop down onto a chair. Panic is slowly writhing it's way through him, but he's not going to find out what happened by panicking. Remus is staring into space, and it's enough to freak Sirius right out. He isn't like this. Even after three months with the werewolves, he managed to stay relatively composed. This is brand new, and Sirius isn't sure how to respond to it.

"Hold on, I'll make you a drink," Sirius says calmly, squeezing Remus' shoulder and heading to the kitchen.

It doesn't take long for him to end up sitting beside Remus, a mug of hot chocolate in front of him. Remus wraps both of his hands around the mug, but as he lifts it, the mug shakes with his hands. It's so violent that he has to set it down again.

"Moons, darling, how come you're back early?" Sirius tries gently, and for the first time, Remus meets his eyes.

"It- it went wrong. They knew James and I were coming." Sirius' heart immediately drops to his stomach at the mention of James. His fingers itch to dig into his pocket and check on him, but Remus is rattling like he's about to fall apart. Instead, Sirius reaches out and laces his fingers through Remus'. It's enough to spur Remus on, thankfully. "He's fine," He says hastily, which is enough for some small relief to wash over Sirius.

He squeezes Remus' hand, trying to figure out what else could do this.

"We were... outnumbered. There were five- five of them." He takes a deep, shaky breath, his eyes sliding shut. "We were doing fine, and I- I blasted one- one of the Death Eaters back." Sirius can see the anguish start to flick across his face. "He went into- into the wall behind him." Sirius is still trying to figure out where this is going. Remus meets his eyes again, and it's like the next words wrap around his throat, choking him and tipping him over the edge. "He died, Sirius. I- I killed him."

Just like that, Remus is falling apart at the table. Sirius pushes out of his chair, surging towards Remus and wrapping his arms around him from behind. Remus buries his face into Sirius' arms, sobbing in earnest as Sirius' heart breaks for him.

"James, he- he screamed, and I- he- he grabbed me so we- so we could leave," Remus forces out.

"Moony..." Sirius trails off, opting for holding Remus through it. Honestly? He has no idea what to say. This hasn't happened before. Death Eaters have been injured, vanished. Merlin, a few of them probably have died, but never in front of any of them. Nobody knows for sure if they've killed someone.

Nobody but Remus.

For the first time since they joined the Order, everything feels all too real.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Y'all there's no freaking way the mystery character in 425 is Tenko. I don't think it's any character we've met before. (And it sure as hell isn't Deku's dad, god that theory is so dumb). The identity of this new character in fact is basically told to us in Todoroki's line earlier in the chapter.

This is most likely a new character entirely, a Tenko parallel who is on the cusp of becoming a villain and that needs someone to reach out to him the way nobody ever did for Tenko. Someone that's going to put Deku's new resolve and mission to the test. It's Horikoshi's way of saying that just because the heroes defeated Shigaraki and All for One, that doesn't mean that they're victorious - they've only gone back to square one.

But square one and the status quo is not a win for these heroes. They need to better their world and build towards a bright future that will prevent the creation of villains like the League. And I think the appearance of one last villain in this story is a great way to show that.

Deku and friends had to use the old hero ways to defeat the League, yes. But now they get to decide what the new image of a hero looks like. And maybe they can even get rid of the idea of villains altogether.

So, no. Even as a die-hard Shigaraki simp, I am not putting my bets on the "Tenko is revived" horse. And honestly? I don't even think I want this character to be Shigaraki or Tenko or whatever version of him people think it will be. I think that would actually invalidate his death earlier even more. Because if nothing else, Deku did save that crying child within him. He did heal Shigaraki's heart and get him to let go of his hatred. But look at this guy:

This man is in fucking DISTRESS. He has none of the acceptance or calm or even will to fight that Shigaraki had - during his death or otherwise. I think if this was the Tenko that was resurrected, someone so clearly disturbed and in pain, then it would make the one save Deku did make in that fight completely meaningless.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - I don't technically hate the way Shigaraki went out. I'm glad that in the end, he died as himself rather than turncoating to join the heroes. I'm glad he's not going to be rotting in prison for the rest of his life. And I'm glad his legacy is clearly going to live on in this world through Deku, even if he doesn't personally.

This issue that I have with Shigaraki's death is the pacing of it. That's all.

I'm still not giving up hope that Shigaraki comes back as a vestige/force ghost though. That for me feels like the only way to bring him back that wouldn't totally undermine the climax of the story.

[bluecoolr]

Have a coronation ink doodle

And Bloo's biography nobody asks about her, so I'm gonna take the initiative to yap about her as much as I want

Emmeline is a high elf warlock, whose patron is Levistus.

Part of their contract involved Emmeline bearing Levistus’ child, his eventual successor as the Archdevil of Stygia. That is, once Geryon the Usurper has been dealt with and the child accepts its intended purpose to be Levistus’ puppet.

Emmeline, not willing to condemn her baby to a life of evil, hatred and loneliness, entrusts the child to the cambion Raphael.

Raphael makes a deal with Emmeline: her soul for the safekeeping of her child. He casts a powerful charm to disguise the winged, icy-blue cambion infant as a tiefling, and leaves it for a tiefling couple to find and adopt.

The baby is named Bloo as a term of endearment.

Raphael, however, intends to use Bloo as a pawn in his plot to acquire the Crown of Karsus. He also intends to tempt her with the chance to rule Stygia independently from her father. This is another deception, since he would also use her as a puppet once he becomes the Archdevil of the Hells.

Bloo grows. Everything's daisies and sunshine.

Raphael spies on her (to make sure she hasn't died or something) from time to time.

Then, Bloo starts to show signs of magical abilities.

She starts to sprout gnarly wing-like protrusions on her back.

Her adoptive parents notice that she gets physically sick when she eats anything other than meat.

A pervasive burnt smell seems to follow her, as if someone had struck a match and let it burn down.

She was just odd. She made the villagers uneasy, to say the least.

They called her a freak.

She ends up friendless, shunned by her village, and hated by the father she came to know as her own.

The turmoil of her home life makes her magic unstable and at times destructive. Like a beacon, Levistus hones in on his spawn's energy and despair, tracking her down before making himself known. Not yet as her father or liege lord, but as someone she can find solace in (a manipulation tactic). A strange friend, but a friend no less.

Bloo reaches young adulthood more or less unscathed, embittered by her experiences and dreaming of a life somewhere she's wanted.

Finally, she gets accepted into an apprenticeship. Her father is more than happy to send her on her way with a bagful of clothes and as little money as he can spare. On the road, Bloo gets abducted by the Mindflayers and implanted with the tadpole.

She goes on the journey, companions in tow, but being an outcast makes it hard for her to fully connect with everyone. During the journey, Raphael and Levistus fully reveal themselves and their respective involvement in her life. Basically, both devils bid for her loyalty, banking on their past efforts of manipulation and isolation.

Raphael restores Bloo to her true form - gives her back her wings and unties the knot on her infernal talents.

Levistus lends his own strength and abilities to his spawn, allowing her to channel ice- and storm-related powers.

Bloo, in her desperation to be loved and wanted, to feel useful, to feel in control for once in her life, decides that she would get the best of both worlds. She signs Raphael's contract, promising to deliver the Crown of Karsus in exchange for the Orphic Hammer and the Throne of Stygia.

She deposes Geryon and rules in her father's stead. He remains frozen in his icy prison.

Bloo also agrees to become Raphael's consort - cementing their alliance and strengthening Raphael's claim as Archdevil.

[anonymous-dentist]

Part Seven of the Catboy in the Village AU

Part One | Part Six

-

Once upon a time, Cellbit was an orphan. He was born on the battlefield with a sword in his hand and a corpse at his feet and absolutely nobody to save him and bring him home. He didn't get a family until he was an adult, and that's fine.

Roier, though? He has two slightly-overbearing parents and a younger sister. He even has a grandfather! (Gods, does he have a grandfather...)

Together, they have their own little family. They have Richarlyson and Pepito, of course, and they have each other. They have Jaiden, and they have Roier's parents and sister. They have Pac and Mike and Felps, and they have Baghera and the rest of her family.

They have Bobby, buried in a lavish tomb in the Águila Royal Family's private cemetery.

Cellbit misses his kids. He misses them so bad. It's been almost two weeks, and he can hardly sleep from worry.

But Roier? He's officially freaked.

Roier has lost a child before. It took him years to recover from Bobby's death, and even now he still has trouble keeping calm when the kids are away from him for too long.

"They're dead," Roier murmurs one night, face-down in his pillow and visibly shaking.

It's been too long.

Once, Richarlyson went on a month-long trip to the ocean with Pac and Mike. By the end of that month, Roier was planning his funeral when he thought Cellbit wasn't looking. The night Richarlyson came home, Roier threw that notebook in the trash and pretended it never existed.

Roier laughs dryly; it's just a bit too high-pitched to be natural, and it cracks and squeaks like a broken door hinge.

"At least Bobby has company now," he says, and Cellbit's heart breaks for the millionth time that night alone.

Once, Pepito and Richarlyson went on a trip with Quackity to his hometown so he could introduce them to his own child (deceased, of course.) That trip lasted only two weeks, but Roier spent the second of those two weeks trying to figure out how to explain to his parents that their grandchildren fucking died on vacation because of fucking Quackity. And then the kids came home, and Roier made enough food for dinner to feed an army.

Cellbit is not laying down. He's in bed, but he's sat up and leaned against the headboard reading one of the (dead, deceased, departed) prince's favorite books. The queen had given it to him at dinner, probably hoping that it'll "jog his memory", and it's... fine? It's fine. More interesting than Cellbit had expected, especially for a children's book; he's going to have to steal it and bring it home to read to the kids.

(The kids...)

Cellbit has been married to Roier long enough to know not to touch him when he's like this; it isn't for Roier's comfort, it's because Roier's first instinct upon being suddenly touched is to bite, and Cellbit does not want to deal with that tonight.

So he doesn't lean in to pull Roier to his chest, and he doesn't strok Roier's hair comfortingly.

What Cellbit does do is say, "I wonder why Foolish and Vegetta haven't sent an army after us yet."

Roier's eye roll is audible. "They probably haven't noticed we've been kidnapped yet."

"I'm sure that Bad has told them by now."

"Yeah, but would they believe him?"

"Fair."

Quiet.

Cellbit turns the page. In the corner of the next page in the book is a small symbol drawn in red ink. It's shaky and not exactly correct, but Cellbit recognizes it as one of the symbols involved with summoning rituals.

Cellbit is no stranger to summoning rituals. He has to get his more spectral potion ingredients from somewhere, and he may have spent a couple of months while in prison trying to summon a demon to (be his friend) break him out.

The question is why the prince- someone who objectively has no reason to summon anything, let alone creatures from Beyond the Veil- was writing summoning symbols down in a children's book about worms.

But that's a question for later.

For now, Cellbit just makes a mental note of the page number and keeps reading.

Next to him, Roier shakes. He isn't crying, not yet, but he will be soon. And when he's crying, he's angry. And when he's angry, he's murderous.

And Cellbit really doesn't want his husband to get actually arrested.

So he says, "They'd believe him if he said the kids were dead."

(He's been telling himself this for days now, and it's the only thing that's let him sleep: the knowledge that, if the kids were actually dead, the Gato Kingdom would have been destroyed, and its weirdo queen with it.)

Roier hums in acknowledgement. But:

"Maybe they killed him, too."

"I don't think Bad can, like. Die. I'm pretty sure he's immortal."

"Is he? I hope not. I want to kill him after this."

"When don't you want to kill him?" Cellbit smiles fondly at the thought of his husband covered in wizard blood: shirtless, sweaty, bloody. Ouagh. "I want to see it."

Roier snorts. "Of course you do."

"I'm serious!"

"I know you are! You're weird!"

Roier rolls onto his side and narrows his eyes up at Cellbit. His nose and cheeks are red, and his eyes are redder, but he doesn't look like he's about to cry...

Cellbit closes his book, using his thumb as a bookmark, and he leans down so that his nose is brushing Roier's.

"I don't think it's weird for me to want to look at my husband," Cellbit softly says. He raises his free hand to gently cup Roier's cheek, his thumb just under Roier's eye ready to catch any tears should they fall. "You're gorgeous."

The corners of Roier's lips twitch. "And sexy."

Cellbit nods. "And sexy. When we break out of here, you're going to look so hot doing it."

"Duh," Roier scoffs. He leans into Cellbit's touch, eyelids fluttering shut. "And then we'll go home and kill Bad Boy Halo. And you can drink his blood or whatever."

"His blood tastes like shit, but I'll drink it, anyway, if you ask me to."

Roier sighs an approximation of a purr, wiggling forward until he's pressed to Cellbit's side. His head rests on Cellbit's lap, and Cellbit's back only protests a little as he bends down further to press a kiss to Roier's forehead.

"Why are you so romantic?" Roier complains. "We're kidnapped!"

"I'm kidnapped with you," Cellbit responds. "Why shouldn't I be romantic when I'm trapped in a room with the person I love the most?"

Roier moans, and, in one swift motion, he's plucking the book from Cellbit's hand and pulling him down onto the bed with him. Their bodies smash together, and Cellbit yelps as his elbow hits Roier's skull, and Roier shouts a little as Cellbit's knee hits his clavicle, but they're intertwined with each other soon enough.

Cellbit grins through the pain. "Wow, you're needy."

"Cállate," Roier grumbles. "Stop being pointy, what the fuck? I hate you."

He kisses Cellbit, anyway.

Tomorrow night, they're going to go through this again. Roier won't be better, and Cellbit won't be better, and neither of them will be better until they're home and with their children again. It might be easier tomorrow. It might be harder.

For now, though, Cellbit kisses his husband back.

Tonight, he thinks, they're going to sleep.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

okay okay, it's a lil silly but hear me out konig + phantom of the opera au

man's got it all; need to cover his face, obsessive tendencies, and the need to be a secretive lil (big) weirdo *chef's kiss*

NO NO NO HOLD ON YOU'RE COOKIN. NOT SILLY AT ALL.

Now look here, I dunno if you know this, but I am a sucker for classic literature. One of my top three favourite books of all time is Frankenstein by Mary Shelly. That woman ate when she wrote that book and I will listen to nothing else. I also really want to write an essay about how Frankenstein is Mary Shelly discussing the inherent horror of motherhood in those times and how the lack of a mother figure shapes an individual. I think it's an extremely layered book, but I like to see the parenthood lens of the book.

Now now now, this is about Phantom of the Opera. I do know a bit about the original phantom, and I don't like to think König or reader dies in the end (just personally, I can't write a tragic ending. I really need a happy ending, not for the reader, but because I need a happy ending). So, let me introduce the idea that this is a version where the phantom wins.

This is one where the phantom was fucking right and actually, freak of nature as he is, maybe he had a point!!! Maybe, reader shouldn't be dating someone twice their age. Maybe, though König is a bit older for sure, he's actually not that old and a more appropriate age. Albeit, though now recovered, König still suffered a case of leprosy after being exposed during a war. He considers himself hideous, but maybe reader would be able to look past his sickness?

Now, is König appropriate as a lover? Probably not. He's obsessive, jealous, and a borderline stalker. He's determined to kill off the man who's trying to seduce her ('How dare you try and take my little songbird away from me!!!') and will do anything to keep reader to himself. However, he's also saving reader from a far worse fate with someone worse than him.

Reader is enchanted by Makarov of course, but König knows better and is determined to show her the light. He desperately wants to just talk to her and explain everything to her, but at this point he's committed to what he's doing and social anxiety makes him unable to just knock on her door and talk to her like a regular person.

Once again, like every incredible story in the English language, if you guys just talked everything would be fine but nobody knows how to be an adult.

Anyways, König loves reader dearly. Watching her perform makes his heart ache. His one saving grace is a beautiful voice he uses to enchant her. If his face is nothing but sickness, let him sing to his little songbird and help her connection to music. He'll do what he can to cling to any connections he has to her. He's desperate to hold her, and he'll do whatever he needs to to get to her.

IMPORTANT EDIT:

König with the phantom mask but he has two long red ribbons coming out the bottom of the eyes and the rest of his face is hidden under a dark hood. Consider it.