#my handwriting is horrible but this one is personal

[ninjas-and-coffee]

[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

I cant show the whole thing cuz yeah

I think I drew this last year

It's not the most disproportionate thing I've drawn. I can and will draw worse

Its pretty bad I kinda agree with the "ew" part

[fxstpace]

nice boys don’t kiss like that

summary: when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.

⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: fluff, developing relationship au, rivals to lovers au, pining, kind of suggestive? idk ⇢ word count: 3.3k ⇢ warnings: profanity, making out ⇢ a/n: inspired by this scene from bridget jones’s diary. reposted from my old account.

It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Kim Mingyu is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.

He lets out a startled grunt and finds himself with an armful of things—a denim jacket, a crumpled grocery shopping list, an empty box of Tic Tacs, a woollen beanie with a questionable brown stain he thinks is ketchup; all presumably from whatever depths of your drawer he can see you hunched over, searching for something that remains stubbornly elusive. The offensive projectile whizzes past his shoulder and lands on the polished wooden floor with a thud.

Mingyu stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.

You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath. 

“Hi,” you say, breathing heavily. “I’m really sorry.”

Then you slam the door shut on his face.

Well, Mingyu thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.

Faced with nothing else to do except wait for your arrival, he drops the Tic Tac box on the floor, hangs your jacket and beanie on the back of the sofa, and almost stubs his toe on the corner of the notebook.

Wincing at the close call, Mingyu glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.

Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea. 

Mingyu shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Mingyu lets his tense shoulders relax.

His eyes zero in on your diary once more. He shouldn’t open it—he really, really shouldn’t. It would be a horrible breach of your privacy. Your trust in him would be broken forever, and even if he somehow manages to win it back, it will always be a stain in the fabric of your still-developing relationship.

But.

One tiny peek can’t hurt, right? He’s only waiting for you to come out of your room, after all. Just one little look, and then he’ll close the book immediately. It can’t possibly hurt. Curiosity is both a blessing and a vice, he figures, and since he’s already stacked up on vices, there is no harm in adding to his karmic points.

So he picks up your diary and flips to a random page, freezing momentarily when he hears an irritated grunt and the sound of something hitting the floor from inside your room. Your handwriting is a lot messier than it usually is; you probably save your best penmanship for official things, and your personal diary is not one of them. That, or you were just frustrated.

12th June I fucking hate Kim Mingyu. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.

Mingyu’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.

14th June Ran into KMG again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.

The strangest thing is that Mingyu actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.

22nd June KMG is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.

Mingyu smiles widely. 

23rd June Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Kim Mingyu is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Kim Mingyu is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.

His smile falters.

The next page contains a similar anecdote—something about how he always vehemently disagrees with everything you say, and how despite his good looks he was a complete and utter asshole. Further investigation reveals the same thing: you hate Kim Mingyu with a burning passion.

And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Mingyu found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.

He assumed you felt the same way. Why else would your smirks, so full of malice, melt into grins that could light up a whole town? Why else would you agree to go on a date with him when he asked you out, one day, after work, tripping over his words like an elementary schoolboy? Why else would you invite him home and ask him to spend the night?

Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.

It’s a diary, he reasons. 

It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?

Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.

Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.

Mind swirling, Mingyu closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.

You must have had a change of heart, then. That’s the only conclusion he can think of. Your diary entries come to a standstill after 27th June, which means you haven’t opened it in a while. It’s also around the same time you stopped picking fights with each other. Something must have changed by then; Mingyu is glad it did.

Satisfied with his deduction, Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over. 

Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”

You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”

Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Mingyu keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted. 

“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”

“Clearly.” Mingyu fights back a smile.

You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”

You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”

Mingyu reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t care about that. You… you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”

You blink. Unable to help himself, Mingyu drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“Mingyu.”

“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.

Mingyu huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”

Mingyu places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”

You eye him suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the new, dark green notebook on the table. He grins, carefree and indulgent. Still wary, you hand him a blue ballpoint pen from the pen stand placed above the drawers to the left. He hums and uncaps it.

Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.

This book belongs to Kim Mingyu and

Mingyu stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”

Confused, but curious, you oblige. Your name, written in your handwriting, next to his own semi-legible scrawl, makes a warm, affectionate feeling bubble up inside his chest. He wonders what it would look like when both your names are signed next to each other on a marriage certificate. Then, he wonders when and where your wedding would take place. A summer wedding sounds nice, but the sweltering heat might be a bit of a problem. Winter weddings are beautiful for sure, but neither of you is a big fan of the cold.

He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze. 

“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.

Mingyu says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

“In your old diary, it was pretty obvious you, uh, didn’t like me much,” he explains, holding up his free hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. We were assholes to each other most of the time. But we’ve moved past that. At least, I hope we have.”

Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”

Mingyu trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”

Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Mingyu’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.

“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.

Mingyu swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, and in the next moment, the breath is knocked out of his lungs when you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight, rib-squeezing hug.  Automatically, his arms circle your waist, and he presses a light, barely-there kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw. 

Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”

“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”

“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.

“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.

You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m being serious, Mingyu.”

“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.

“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.

The kiss makes him feel dizzy, like he’s had one too many bottles of soda—fizzy and light-headed. Your lips are soft, mouth warm; you taste like chocolate, and he licks into your mouth desperately. His fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the material of your t-shirt, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. He’s kissed you before, of course, but something about this time feels important, a core memory sort of thing. Later that night, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and watch as you write in your shared diary, and he’ll make fun of the way you chew on your pen cap when you’re thinking of what to write next and you’ll shut him up with a kiss.

But for now, he indulges himself whole-heartedly. You let out little gasps which he swallows with his mouth. He tilts his head and kisses you deeper. Only when his lungs are burning does he pull away, and even then, not without a parting peck to the space in between your eyebrows.

“Mingyu,” you say, breathless. 

“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.

“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”

“I know.” Mingyu smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”

His eyes dart back to meet yours, and he grimaces. “If you really think about it, I’m the one who should be apologising, not you. I shouldn’t have read your diary, no matter how curious I was.”

“I… don’t really care about that, weirdly enough,” you say thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the fact that you thought I hated you and you were gonna leave me. Not so much about you reading the diary itself.”

“Pfft,” Mingyu says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”

“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s ironic, I hope.”

He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”

When he captures your lips with his this time, it’s with colliding bodies and biting teeth. He runs his tongue across your bottom lip, and you shudder in his arms, moaning. Somehow, you stumble back into the living room, a mess of tangled limbs.

Briefly pulling away, Mingyu sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.

He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”

Mingyu stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”

“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”

When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Mingyu lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”

“What?” 

“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Mingyu, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.

“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”

“Only your face,” you mutter, but you tug on his hair to get him to tilt his head up. When he does, you kiss him again, your hands warm and placed on the junctions where his neck meets his shoulders. 

“I’ll support you in more than just meetings,” he says, pulling back. His breath ghosts over your lips, prompting a shiver to pass through your body. Your eyes widen when you finally, finally realise what he’s talking about. “I’ll tell those stupid clients to shut up and take it.”

You laugh, bright and happy, and Mingyu wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.

He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”

You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.

There’s an odd feeling in Mingyu’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.

He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Mingyu says mischievously.

 Another sound of mortification.

“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”

“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”

To his credit, Mingyu really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping. 

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”

He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.

Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”

His lips find yours again, slower and more languorous this time. After all, he has all the time in the world now—to hold you like this, kiss you gently—and he plans to cherish each second. Your tongue swipes his lower lip, and he parts his mouth willingly. He feels like putty underneath you, as he uses one of his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. Your lips move against his, already familiar, but he could never stop craving it.

When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Mingyu notes with pride.

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.

“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”

[verstappen-cult]

Having an argument with Max, sounds exhausting. Especially when both of you are stubborn, but guess what? He'd willingly beg for forgiveness if you are still upset with him and avoiding him as a result of the argument

“I can’t do this anymore.” You whisper, shaking your head and taking a step back. 

That is what finally makes Max stop dead in his tracks, mouth hanging open with whatever he was going to say next. 

You’re tired. You woke up less than an hour ago and the first thing you and Max did was argue. And you really didn’t want to start the day this way, but neither of you backed away. Things escalated quickly and you just can’t do it anymore. 

“What are you talking about?” He sounds desperate, his chest heaving. Max clenches his fists by his side, like he wants to reach out. 

You turn your head away, eyes filled with tears. “I’m gonna go see my mother. We’ll talk later.” 

Max feels paralyzed, he can’t seem to do anything but watch you leave. 

*

It’s past eight when you get home. 

The first thing you notice is that the house is lit only by candles. A lot of candles throughout the house. 

Max is nowhere to be seen, Jimmy and Sassy are the ones greeting you by passing between your legs. You bend over to pat their heads and give them a few ear scratches. 

The more you walk into the house, the more your heart breaks. There on the table is a big bouquet of your favorite flowers along with a small card with the word ‘sorry’ written in Max’s handwriting waiting for you. The table is also set with the chinaware you only use on special occasions, and a few more candles. 

When you turn around you see Max curled up on the sofa, your favorite weighted blanket —the one you use when you’re feeling down and Max is away for work— around his shoulders. He looks so cozy, you want to curl up next to him, but you are still a little hurt and angry from the argument you two had in the morning. You’re thinking about what you both said to each other when Max stirs, eyes trying to adjust to seeing in the dim light. 

“Hey,” You say as a greeting, trying not to scare him. 

Max turns around immediately, surprise crossing his features. “You’re home.”

“Yes? Sorry I didn’t say anything but mom wanted me to help her with gardening.” You shrug, leaving your bag and keys on the table next to the couch. 

“I didn’t think you’d come back.” His voice is barely a whisper, but you hear him anyway. Max exhales deeply, clutching the blanket tightly around his shoulders. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry.” He blurts out, shoulders slumped. Max shuts his eyes tightly, like he’s in so much pain he can barely have them open. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I should’ve listened to you—I’m really sorry. I don’t want us to argue like that again, I felt horrible because I love you and I promised myself I would never do something like this.” You let him talk, to spill everything he has inside of him. “After you left—I wanted to go after you but I knew you needed time. But it made me remember how my dad used to talk to my mom, how they would yell at each other while Vic and I hid in our rooms.” You are already moving towards him, even before you hear how his voice breaks. 

You sit by his side, leaving some space between you two, hands itching to reach out and touch him, to draw him closer to you and hold him. 

“I don’t want to be like him.”

“You’re nothing like him,” You move closer, taking his hands with yours, thumb caressing the back of them. “Don’t you ever dare to go there, okay? You will never be like him, Max. Do you understand?” 

But he doesn’t look at you, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Max, this is not the first and it’s definitely not going to be the last argument we have. But if we talk about it, if we give ourselves some time to think things through like we did today—this doesn’t mean you are a bad person, or that you are turning into your dad.” You cup his cheek with one of your hands, caressing his cheekbone as you look into his stormy blue eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” He says again, tears in the corners of his eyes. You smile softly at him when he begs for your forgiveness again. 

“Can you forgive me too?” 

“Darling, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“Well, you’re wrong there.” You sniff, already feeling the tears wanting to stream down your face. “We were both wrong, don’t take all the blame.” Max opens his mouth to refute, but you shut him up with a kiss. It’s chaste, full of promises, and leaves you with blood pounding in your ears. 

“Do you forgive me?”

Max nods, gaze fixed on your lips. “Yes,” He directs his gaze back to your eyes, and you can see so much regret in them. “Do you forgive me?” 

“I don’t know,” You tease him by pretending to think about it. “it depends on what you made for dinner.”

A grin spreads across his face and he’s standing up in a second, tugging on your sleeve. “It’s definitely gonna make you forgive me.” He says, pulling the chair out for you to sit. “And if this doesn’t work, I have many other ways to make you forgive me.”

[aemondsbabe]

The Queen

summary: dairy/letters & lingerie kink || alicent stumbles across a secret of yours and is more than happy to make it come true

pairing: modern!alicent x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, pre-established relationship, dom!Alicent, sub!reader, queen honorifics used in the bedroom, lingerie kink, use of a leather crop, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, thigh riding, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.3k

a/n: happy day seven of 12 days of smuff!! i went into a fugue state and wrote 10 pages in 2 hours. the hold that olivia cooke has on me should be studied by science. anyway.

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @olliviacooke

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Alicent’s POV

She was humming, swaying her hips to a new album she’d downloaded earlier that week as she smoothly moved the duster along the wooden surface of your nightstand, careful as she guided it between the lamp and the small potted plant you loved so much. Getting a bit too into the music she was listening to as she tidied up your shared bedroom, though, she accidentally bumped against the growing stack of books on your nightstand. 

“Shit!” Alicent hissed as a few went tumbling to the ground. Sighing, she bent down to grab them, half-heartedly cursing you for insisting on buying new books before you’d finished the ones you had. 

“Huh?” She wonders outloud, pausing the music on her phone when she sees her name scrawled in your familiar handwriting. Her fingers brush over the soft, leather bound book as she picks it up, her lips pursing as she reads the words “Personal Journal” embossed on the front in fancy gold lettering. Her brown eyes widen and quickly glance around the room, despite the fact that she knows she’s the only one home. Biting her lip, she runs a finger over the spine of your diary, weighing her options. On the one hand, she knew it would be a horrible invasion of your privacy to look but… well, what if it was something important? 

She shook her head at the thought. She wasn’t going to be one of those snooping partners! You already told her everything anyway, it’s not like there would be anything in your diary she didn’t already know! You were basically an open book, in fact, it was one of the things she loved most about you – your willingness to be so honest and transparent. 

No, she thought, carefully setting the diary back on your bedside table, I’m not going to! I’m simply – 

Okay, sue her. She’s only human and her name was right there! She’d make it up to you. 

Glancing around one more time, she flipped open the leather-bound book, flipping through it to the page she’d spotted a moment ago. She found it pretty quickly and nervously bit on a nail as her eyes scanned over the page, noticing the date first. It was from only about a week ago. She read on.

I’m not even sure how to bring up the topic, it doesn’t really seem like something you’d just bring up at the dinner table? Like, “Oh, honey, yeah work was great today! Kevin from accounting is finally getting married, I know! Can you believe it? Oh. yeah, one more thing! Can you boss me around in the bedroom like a drill sergeant?” I mean, come on. 

What if she isn’t even into it? What if she wants to be the submissive one? I don’t think Alicent’s totally vanilla, I mean, there have been so many sparks of… something. Sometimes she tells me to do something, usually innocuous like making sure the door’s locked before we leave or to get the laundry hamper from the closet but… God, the way she says it makes me shiver. And when she’s talking on the phone to someone at work? That authoritative voice makes me melt. 

Sigh. I just need to find the courage to ask. 

Alicent finally finished the entry and looked up from your journal, blinking as thoughts raced through her head. After a minute, she closed the notebook and placed it carefully back on your bedside table, just like it was before it fell off the table. 

She could barely keep the smirk off her face as she grabbed her purse and keys and shut the front door behind her, a devious, delicious plan quickly forming in her head. 

She knew exactly how to make up for her actions. 

Reader’s POV

You sigh as you unlock the front door, quickly tossing your keys into the small bowl on the entryway table before kicking off your shoes.

“Babe?” You called, furrowing your brows at how unusually quiet the house was. Alicent’s car was in the driveway and normally she’d be playing music by the time you got home but today… nothing. You’re about to call out again when the sound of heels clicking down the hallway makes you stop in your tracks, your bag falls from your hand as your girlfriend finally appears from around the corner.

“Good day at work?” Alicent asks coolly, tilting her head as she leans against the doorway. Meanwhile, you feel dumbstruck as your eyes scan over her appreciatively, taking in every dip and curve as if you’d never seen any of them before. Your eyes skim over her outfit, a black, lacy bustier perfectly framing her chest, with a matching black thong clinging to her soft hips, fishnet stockings held up by an enticing garter belt, all the way down to black, pointed toe heels. She’d even taken the time to straighten her usually curly hair, smoothing it down into a clean, nearly intimidating style. 

She smirked, brown eyes sparkling at your awe-struck expression, smiling when your eyes finally landed on her face; you couldn’t help but swallow when you saw that she was wearing that expensive red lipstick she only brought out for special occasions, the one you love so much. 

Her heels click on the wood floors as she strides over to you and it’s only then you realize that she has something in her hand – a black leather crop. The sight of it makes your knees weak. 

“I asked you a question, baby,” she says gently, locking eyes with you as she gently cups your cheek with in her hand, “It would be rude not to answer.” There’s a hard edge to her voice that makes you lose what little train of thought you had.

“I… uh,” you stutter, blush rising to your cheeks as you stare helplessly at her, fighting to keep your gaze locked on hers, “W-Work was good, yeah. Same as… as usual.” You finally finish, your chest already heaving as you rub your thighs together, desperate before you even know what’s going on. 

“How wonderful,” she smirks and leans in, giving you a sweet kiss like she normally would, but today it has your head spinning, “What do you think of my little surprise?” She asks, though there isn’t really a question in her tone – she already knows your answer.

“I love it,” you breathe, hardly giving her time to finish speaking as you let your gaze wander over her yet again. “What, uhm,” you cough nervously, “What gave you the idea?”

She smiles again, shrugging; you nearly jump out of your skin when she softly runs the leather crop up the inside of your thigh, starting at your knee and stopping tantalizingly close to your core. “Just got the sense that maybe you’d be into it…” She says casually, like you’re talking about the weather, “Was I right?”

All you can do is nod your head, but that’s not good enough, apparently. Her eyes narrow and she wraps a hand around your neck, not too harshly, mostly just sitting it there but it’s enough to make you whimper in the back of your throat, breath catching as her perfectly manicured red nails just barely dig into your delicate skin. “I don’t think that’s the proper way to address me, is it?” She coos, a faux pout to her lips. 

“N-No,” you say shakily, your eyes searching hers, “No… ma’am?” You try, inwardly cringing at how your voice squeaks. 

She clicks her tongue like a disappointed mother, the sound going straight between your legs, as she fixes you with an intense stare. “Baby, you know how I sometimes call you princess?” She asks, smiling proudly when you eagerly nod, “Well, tell me. Who’s more in charge than a princess?”

Your throat goes dry and you swallow thickly, darting your tongue out to wet your lips before speaking. “T-The queen?” You ask softly, pride feathering out in your chest like the train of a peacock when she smiles and nods again.

“That’s right!” She praises, almost as if she was speaking to a child; perhaps you should be offended at her condescending tone, but, if anything, it just makes your heart beat faster. “The queen. Do you want me to be your queen today, sweet one?” Again, you nod, so she continues. “So, address me properly.”

“Yes, my queen.” You breathe the words, core clenching softly around nothing. 

“Very good,” she praises, leaning in and lightly brushing her lips over the pulsepoint on your neck, “Do you want to keep being a good girl for your queen?”

“Yes, your grace, please.” You say with an eager nod, feeling like you’ll explode if she doesn’t touch you, or so something soon.

“Then be good for me and go to the bedroom,” she nods as she speaks, her big brown eyes looking directly into yours, “And strip.” She finishes coolly, leaving you no room to argue. 

You nod quickly and practically leap down the hallway, blushing when you hear her giggling behind you. As soon as your feet hit the soft rug in the bedroom, you tug at your clothes, quickly shedding your sweater and work trousers before unclipping your bra and sliding your underwear down your legs, haphazardly shoving everything into the hamper because you just know she’ll say something about the mess if you don’t. Finally, not knowing what else to do, you stand by the bed, arms clasped in front of you.

She doesn’t make you wait long and you bite your lip in anticipation as her heels click slowly down the hallway, smiling shyly when you finally meet her gaze again as she enters the room. Just like you knew she would, her eyes immediately dart to the hamper and her smile widens when she sees your clothes from today resting on top. 

“What a good girl I have,” she praises as she saunters over to you, her hips swinging enticingly as she moves. Without another word, she sits on the edge of the bed and gently places the crop down next to her on the bedspread, before she beckons you over with a crook of her finger, “You like your queen’s special surprise for you, huh?” She questions, tilting her head as she peers up at you, her hands resting gently on the curve of your hip. 

“Yes,” you nod, your eyes trailing down to her cleavage before you can help yourself and it’s only then that you notice that she’s breathing nearly as hard as you are, a blush extending down her pale neck and chest, “I love it, my queen, so much.” You nearly whisper, dizzy at the thought that she might be enjoying this just as much as you are. 

“Don’t you think you should thank me for your surprise, princess?” She asks coolly, smirk widening as she sees a look of realization in your eyes. 

“Yeah, yes, please,” you nearly beg, already tempted to sink to your knees.

She smirks at your eagerness, all but laughing when you whine as she pushes herself back further, out of your grasp and into the center of the bed, making enough room for you in front of her. Again, she crooks her finger and you hastily follow after her, kneeling between her fishnet-covered legs. With another smirk, she silently spreads her legs, bending them at the knee enough that the heels of her shoes dig into the bedspread. 

Something between a gasp and a whimper escapes your lips as you let your gaze travel down, between her legs, where you’re met with the shocking realization that the black thong she has on is indeed crotchless. Your eyes stay glued to her center, now beautifully framed by two strips of lace fabric; the sight makes you lick your lips without thinking, taking in the way her folds shimmer, even in the low light of the bedroom. Finally, you manage to rip your gaze away and lock eyes with her again, your blush deepening at the hazy look in her eyes as she leans back on her elbows. 

“Go on, princess,” she breathes, that familiar, aroused rasp finally present, “Thank your queen.”

You spring into action, wrapping your hands around her soft thighs as you lean in, kneeling between her legs. Your eyes flutter as you look up the length of her body while you press soft, sweet kisses to the inside of her thighs, your eyes widening when you see her lean over and quickly grab the crop. 

You jolt as she brings it down, smacking one ass cheek with it, not enough to hurt but enough to leave behind a pleasant little zing. “I don’t believe I asked you to tease me,” she admonishes, a playfulness to her tone still as her other hand brushes into your hair, red nails scratching soothing against your scalp, “Thank me properly.” She commands, guiding your head to exactly where she wants it.

You’re more than happy to obey and you press a kiss to the center of her folds, right on her clit, moaning against her as you feel it twitch against your lips. She lets out a breathy moan as your tongue licks a long, straight line up her center, right down the middle, before your lips gently seal around her bud. 

Your eyes flutter closed again as you softly suck at her clit, moaning lowly in your throat at her familiar sweet taste. You move in just the way she likes, kissing and licking over her heat with a practiced ease, pride blooming in your chest with every moan, whine, and sigh of your name. You shake your head against her, attempting to bury your tongue in her twitching core as the tip of your nose teases her clit, your chin dripping with her when you finally pull back. 

“Princess, fuck,” she breathes above you, head tilted down so she can watch as you feast on her, “Fuck me, come on.” She orders, giving another sharp little spank to your bum with the crop. 

You do as she says, smiling as you flick your tongue over her bud while you glide two fingers through her folds, making sure to get them nice and wet before you slide them carefully into her, relishing the long moan she lets out as you do. You can’t help but whimper as her walls clamp down tightly, pulsing around your fingers as you crook them up in the way you know she loves, your lips sealing softly around her clit again, eyes fluttering as you watch her chest heave. 

“Good fucking girl,” she whimpers, accentuating each word of praise with another slap of her crop against you, the pleasant sting you clench around nothing, “Make your queen come, princess, good girl.” She moans, tilting her head back as you redouble your efforts. 

Your arm aches as you fuck your fingers into her, keeping them quirked up against that small rough patch within her, but you pay it no mind, focusing only on the hand in your hair and the taste of her in your mouth, your hips canting desperately in the air. 

You flick your tongue against her bud once more, in just the right way, and it sends her over the edge with a gasp. You moan into her as the hand in your hair tightens and her walls rhythmically squeeze against your fingers, nearly tight enough to push them out. You move steadily, bringing her through her high as you have so many times before, only stopping when she finally goes lax against you. 

You press kisses against her thighs and hips as she comes down, breathing heavily above you. Eventually, the hand in your hair tightens once more, and you sigh happily as she pulls you up. 

“You did so good,” she praises softly, her voice breathy as she presses her lips against yours; she moans softly as your tongue licks into her mouth before she pulls away to trail kisses down your neck, “So good for your queen, my sweet princess.” You sigh happily, eyes fluttering shut as you straddle her, one of her legs between yours.

Your eyes shoot open as she bends her leg, pressing her fishnet covered thigh firmly against your center with a knowing smirk. “Goodness,” she gasps, her beautiful brown eyes widening once she feels how wet you are against her, “I think you deserve a reward too, for treating your queen so well.”

“Please, holy shit,” you gasp, your hips already moving on her leg, the pattern of her stockings adding a delicious friction, “P-Please, your grace.” You quickly correct yourself when she brings her crop down once more, making your back arch. 

“Good girl,” she whispers, mouthing at your neck. She lets the crop fall to the bed again as she cups your ass with both hands, guiding your hips as you move against her, “Take what you need, princess, you earned it.” She breathes, smirking as you shudder above her. 

You nod mindlessly, swallowing thickly as you already feel the knot in your stomach tightening dangerously, each drag of your clit over her stockinged thigh sends shockwaves up your spine. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier as you get closer and she smiles happily, bouncing her thigh against your wet core in the way she knows drives you insane. 

“My beautiful little princess,” she whispers, red lips ghosting over your chest, “Behaving so well for her queen.” 

You fall apart once her lips seal around one of your nipples, sparks of pleasure bursting behind your eyelids as she carefully sucks the sensitive bud into her mouth, gently teasing at it with her teeth. Your body tenses up as your walls clench again and again, your fingers grabbing at the sheets as you gasp her name. 

Finally, your eyes flutter open as your high subsides. Thankfully, you have just enough presence of mind to roll to the side, cuddling against her as your chest heaves. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe through a small laugh, your face flushed as your eyes meet hers. 

“So, you liked it?” She asks, a shy lilt to her voice now that both of you have had the chance to come down. 

“Liked it?” You question, staring at her wide-eyed, “I… I loved it. That was incredible.” You breathe, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder, “Where on earth did all that come from?”

She giggles softly, a guilty look appearing on her face. “Promise you won’t be too upset with me?” She asks softly. 

“Of course,” your reply is instant as you card your fingers through her soft hair, “Just tell me.”

“I was cleaning a few days ago, when I had that day off,” she explains, swallowing as you nod along, “And I… may have accidentally knocked your diary off the table and then got curious when I saw my name and… yeah.” She finishes, teeth biting at her lower lip. 

Your face reddens a bit, instantly knowing which entry she must’ve seen, but you merely shake your head, about to tell her not to worry about it when she starts speaking again.

“I do feel really bad about it,” she sighs, continuing quickly, “I know it’s a breach of trust but I saw my name and then… I’ll make it up to you, I pr – !” 

She gasps as you cut her off with a sweet kiss, shaking your head dismissively, “Consider it made up.” 

“You aren’t mad?” She asks hesitantly.

“Mad?” You echo, laughing softly, “My sexy girlfriend bought ridiculously hot lingerie, and a riding crop, just to surprise me and fucked me to within an inch of my life and I’m supposed to be mad at her over a little diary?” Both of you dissolve into a fit of giggles as you finally finish, nuzzling happily against each other, “I think not.” You quip, smirking as your eyes search hers. 

“Okay, yeah,” she says with a small eye roll, “I am pretty great, huh?”

“And oh so humble,” you laugh, pressing kisses over the curve of her shoulder before leaning back to smirk at her, “Your majesty.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[morningmask27]

acrylic on canvas 30x40 cm

it is very evil of Belladonna to not bite women when she probably has the entire lesbian community on their knees now

anyways, Dracula's Ex-Girlfriend was so fucking good and despite my hatred of drawing (let alone painting) humans it compelled me to create something.

I'm just going to leave a wall of commentary on the process under the cut because I need to chatter about all of this real quick

I chose this scene at the end because 1. it was super hard to find one still where Bella and Fay are both properly visible (yet somehow Fay's still facing the other direction) and 2. this scene just hits a bit different to me.

the discussion of smoking, a thing that's bad, but it being life, right as Bella drank that bartender dry made me think of a few things I experienced and while I personally will still keep on going against what Fay said here, I still got to see things in a somewhat different light I guess.

Fay's care is also so present here. Bella is self-destructing massively, but Fay still comforts her, even after she "fell back" on her bad habits (she never quit) and this hug just hit me personally quite a lot. the silent care, the "you're warm". I can't fully describe everything it makes me feel, but this scene was good.

on a more technical level. I had to take some creative liberties with the lighting and such because it was DARK and my painting skills aren't ready to make such minute details with extremely dark colors. It would get ugly and muddied, so I had to adapt. the harsh shading on Bella's face is less striking, but I don't know if I could make it better with my current skills.

This was also one of the first times I've really rendered a human face; Last time I "tried" it was 1. without a ref (unwise) and 2. when I was even worse at drawing humans and I ended up so mad at this painting that I Could Not Go Paint Again for a while because of how mad I was lol, so I'm honestly really impressed with how I managed to do this without making a huge mess.

At least until I got to add the blood. It still looks good now, but I had to fiddle a lot with the reds I used and the skintones to mitigate the damage of a few first strokes that got too grandiose.

I also decided that Fangs. I am a bit of a vampire researcher and seeing the different traits they get in different media is always fun and here the fangs seem a bit retractable, but Bella's a vampire and I am a sucker for fangs, so I had to include them.

my handwriting also didn't fail me too horribly, even if I had a few accidents and had to clean them up before I got this "clean" little text. I really don't have good brushes for very thin and precise strokes (nor the capacity to not tremble the entire time honestly)

This was honestly quite fun too. Four hours of listening to some music, having a weird moment with my mother on the phone and just painting. I did really not want to draw Bella's face at first and drew nearly everything else before I began, but once I did I got into the groove and it went fine, so I'm pleased with this.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

We'll heal together: Chapter Five

I Will Wait Mumford & Sons

Sirius Black x Reader (Past) / Remus Lupin x Reader (Ambiguous-Past)

Masterlist

Summary: Reader is still having dreams of her past, while McGonagall convinces Dumbledore to remove the curse on her.

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Mean Remus, Jealous/Jerk Sirius, Fights, mentions of death and murder, minor character death (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 4364

A/n: Starting a taglist! Comment to Dm to be added!

You stayed in Moody’s comfort for what felt like hours. You could have stayed for days more, but eventually the strain to your still throbbing limbs and aching body was doing you in.

Moody practically herded you to the couch, allowing you to sit down, and after some push back with him trying to get you to lay down, he eventually gave in and allowed you to sit across from him. Pillows propping up your sides, a horrible tasting healing potion, a cup of tea for a chaser, and a blanket rested on your lap later, you two figured starting from day one was the best course of action.

“October 29th, 1981. What happened?” Moody asked in a careful but stern tone. You weren't used to him being so gentle with you, you guessed twelve years apart could do that to a person. You gave a sigh and set the teacup aside, relaxing back into the makeshift throne and looked at the ceiling, eyes closing as the pain began to disappear. 

“It was a botched mission. Someone sold us out.” You explained slowly.

~~

“With Mad-Eye out of commission sick, we need someone to go in his place.” Gideon told you, having knocked on your door late at night with Fabian at your gate keeping watch. Gideon took the paper that etched out your address, Lupin’s handwriting scribbled on the crumbled paper, as the elder twin set it in your outstretched hand. With the Fidelius charm that protected your home ever since Voldemort marked you for death, you made an impulsive decision to make Lupin your secret keeper.

You hadn't spoken to Sirius in months after your argument and subsequently, your break up. Peter and you were already the Potter’s secret keepers, the last logical step would be Remus. Especially after what happened to Marlene and Dorcus just a few months prior. He was hesitant at first, but when you pushed he caved. He always made it easy for you.

(“You weren't suspicious?” Mad-Eye demanded and you quickly shook your head. “No, if Lupin had to write my address down it meant something. He refused to do it every time he'd been asked, said it was too easily given to others.”)

You snapped your fingers, and the paper burned to ash at your feet. “I didn't know Moody could get sick.” You tried to joke, and Gideon gave you a grimace and Fabian looked back at you two. Your lips twitched. The twins aren't joking? That's slightly nerve wracking. 

“So? What do you say?” Gideon implored, and you nodded, biting your lip. 

“Let me get dressed.”

~~

“They came to your house at midnight to recruit you for a mission?” Moody asked in a shocked and angry tone. “One you weren't briefed on? My mission?” He implored and you gave a small nervous smile, to keep the peace.

“It wasn't the first time if it makes you feel better.”

“Far worse.” Moody practically shouted and you winced. He huffed and lowered his voice, arms crossing and leaning back in his seat. “So what next?”

“Well, I got ready and we left to get to the rendezvous point. It should have been simple, just ambushing a few dark wizards couldn't have been much harder then what we had been doing. The tip said there should be three, two already there and one coming later with what we assumed to be supplies we could garnish.”

~~

“I don't see anyone.” Fabian announced as you three sat among the trees. His wand was to his throat, so even with him across the clearing his voice was transported to your ear, where the weird snake ear clip they gave you relayed his voice. The twins had always been making trinkets and inventions, ever since you first met them, that was one of their defining traits. That and they were absolute children, who tested them on you any chance they got.

“Shouldn't there be people here by now?” You asked, pressing your wand to your jugular, and you heard shuffling before Gideon spoke up. “Maybe we're early?”

(“If you felt it was off you should have left.”

“Would you have?”)

Suddenly there was a loud sound of apparition behind you. You snapped your head around and went silent. Fuck.

There before you were five death eaters and they didn't seem ready for a simple trade off. Fully decked out in battle gear, they began to walk around the clearing and muttered things between themselves.

Then, a voice boomed through the forest. “Alastor Moody!” He called into the clearing. You knew that voice immediately, your stomach dropped. Antonin Dolohovs. “Moody, come out my old friend!” 

You looked to your sides and peaked at Fabian who tightened his grip on his wand, then to your right and saw Gideon already looking at you. He gestured down hill, as if telling you to run, and you refused. Shaking your head you looked back at your left and the other Prewett twin seemed to have the same idea. You pressed your wand to your neck and lowered your voice, as Antonin went on a manic rant. 

“We need more men. One of us has to get someone.” You implored before you quickly hitched your breath as one of the five Death Eaters got too close to your hiding spot.

“Gideon, you do it.” You heard Fabian command and Gideon gave a huff.

“We should send the kid.” He hissed back. “We can stand our own.”

“Send {L/N}? The girl who is supposed to be in hiding straight to the rat infested Ministry? No chance.”

You held your breath as your back nuzzled closer to the tree root you hid in. The closer he got the louder your heart blared in your ears. You took a deep breath as he began to slip past the root and almost spotted you. That was, until Fabian recklessly shot a spell at him. Everything happened in slow motion. 

Gideon raised his wand, mid apparition, watched as Dolohov raised his wand and shouted. “Crucio!” But he couldn't stop, apparating away from the field as his brother wailed.

Fabian fell to the floor, and you covered your mouth. Quickly shooting your hands to your ears and your body shook out in terror at his blood curdling screams.

“I found another one!” One of them shouted and grabbed you by your arm, dragging you out. Tossing you on the ground by your limp friend. You shuttered and quickly stammered to your feet, hurrying to back pedal away from them, before your back fell against Antonin’s chest. Quickly, you tried to rectify your actions, but he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and tucked you closer. You squirmed and hissed, stomping back to try and hit your heel to his shoe.

It worked and he flinched hard enough for you to get out of his grasp. You went for your sleeve but froze when you looked at the manic wizard and saw him holding up your wand. He had snagged it in your tussle. “Fuck...” You whispered and he bellowed a laugh.

“Moody sent you instead, huh? Pretty thing you are, can't possibly have been on your own for longer than a year.” He taunted but you kept your expression mute. The less he knew about you, the better. 

“Wait, sir.” One of his lackeys spoke up and you stifled a wince. “That's {Y/N} {L/N}.” He declared with a shocked laugh. “Voldemort would be ecstatic if we brought her to him.”

Antonin looked you over before he wet his lip and fiddled with your wand. “{L/N}, hm? Your father has done a lot for our cause.” He gave a sickening curl to his lips as he pressed the wand to your neck. “Thank you for your service, darling. Let's get you home.” 

Before you could even formulate a plan, one of his other lackeys pointed their wand to Fabian.

“No!” You screamed, shoving past Antonin and running towards the two, but halfway there and the words already left his lips. Avada Kedavra. Your entire body froze up as your eyes locked with Fabian's, and you watched the light leave them. You stood there, horrified. The men around you didn't even see you as a threat. They allowed you to stand there, talking among themselves. 

You felt pathetic. Without a wand you couldn't do a thing. You found yourself wishing you studied wandless magic, because you were truly as weak as you felt. Just a girl. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. 'What's your last resort?’ You heard Alastor’s words echo in your ears. Run.

So, you ran. Bolted for the tree line. Alastor always told you, if you had no other choice, you were young. ‘Strip your battle gear,’ You heard him as you tore off the blackened leather wrap around your chest, vaulting over an overgrown tree root. Tossing your bulky boots and sharply turning your direction as you heard their shouts after you. ‘Get out of eyesight, go one direction, leave evidence of the contrary.’ 

You stumbled to a small river and looked around. Their voices that were once fading outgrew closer. You were breathing heavily, your socks were stained and one bloodied from a sharp rock cutting your toe, too filled with adrenaline to notice. You looked around before you took the bloodied sock and wet it, chucking it across the body of water before turning sharply on your heel and ran across the tree line to hide behind a moss-covered rock.

You held your breath, closing your eyes tight and remembered his number one rule. ‘Never panic.’ So, you sat there. Their voices and footsteps passed, and eventually you heard splashing as they ran across the river and soon you couldn't hear them at all. You waited a little bit longer before you looked around. You had no wand, no plan, nothing. All you could hope was that Fabian still had his. 

You shakily rose to your feet and began to stalk back. 

You hadn't realized just how far you had gone. When you made it back, the moon was in the middle of the sky, and Gideon was still not back. You kneeled down by Fabian's body and turned him over. You gave a sigh of relief when you saw his wand. You kept your hand on his chest, it was still warm, like it was taunting you. You thinned your lips and raised his wand to the sky. “Expecto Patronum!” You declared. 

You were weak, so was the disobedient wand, struggling to focus on the good in your mind. You waved your hand, and the fox finally appeared. “Take this message to Lupin.” You whispered softly. “Ambushed. Fabian, dead. Gideon, status unknown. May be splinched.” You panted out. “Running. Five looking for me. Antonin Dolohov.” It's all you could muster, quickly dismissing your patronus and looking back to Fabian. “I just... need to rest.” You whispered as you felt yourself slowly fall against his stomach.

You didn't know how long you were out for, but the first thing you heard was Albus’s soothing voice. You stirred. 

“There you are.” 

You turned to look at him and grimaced, slowly lifting yourself off of your friend and shaking to stand. Dumbledore walked over to help support you. You could have sobbed out, letting your body fall against his chest. You didn't even have time to wonder why he was here, not Remus or Gideon. “H-he-”

“I know. I know dear child.” He hushed and ran his hand up and down your back. You shook and sobbed in his arms, and he looked across the field. 

Albus pulled back and you looked up at him threw glossy eyes, arms still outreached and resting on his forearms, looking for any semblance of warmth and comfort. “We found your letters.” He told you carefully. “We know you have been in contact with Regulus Black via concealed letter since you graduated. Before his passing.” 

The heat left your face. What? How did they find those? How did he know? And why was he bringing this up, now?

“Sir, I-”

“Voldemort knows as well.”

You almost fainted. “Is that why?”

“He is after you? Yes. Now, I have a plan to keep you safer than I have. Keep this conversation renewed in your mind, so one day, we will be able to use this connection.” 

“What are you talking about?” You croaked, looking over at Fabian’s body in a daze. This felt like the cruelest form of whiplash. “Professor-”

“This is for the better, {Y/N}.” He muttered against your temples you sniffled. “What is?” You croaked, and he raised his wand to your head. 

“Obliviate.”

~~

“And that was the last thing I remembered.” You sighed and grabbed your teacup, holding it to your palm for warmth. Moody seemed to be a little slower as he realized what was happening.

“Albus Obliviated you?” He asked in a breathy way, you slowly nodded. “... and you've been alive, all these years?”

“Would seem so.” You mumbled and picked at the helm of your shirt. There was a silence, it wasn't awkward, but it certainly wasn't comforting. 

“Lily, James, and Harry?” You croaked out and when Moody grimaced, your heart broke. 

“The boy is alive.” Moody offered and you nodded slowly, trying to gather yourself. Your voice cracked as you began to speak. “Sirius took care of him, yeah?”

Moody frowned harder and you narrowed your eyes. “No... he didn't abandon him, did he?” You prayed to whichever of the cruel gods was above you that it was a joke.

“He was, until recently, imprisoned in Azkaban.” He mused and your shoulders fell in shock, eyes wide. 

“I- you- I-” You sputtered out. “Whatever for?” You implored and leaned forward. 

“He sold out the Potters and... killed Peter Pettigrew.” He spoke carefully, knowing how close you two were, slow and delicate. Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips parted slightly. 

“... what? Peter is... is dead?” You whispered in shock before your eyes widened. “Wait- Sirius killed Peter?!” You bellowed and snapped up to your feet. 

Alastor stood up and walked towards you, but you began to pace. 

“Why would he possibly need to kill him? And he would never sell out the Potters! He'd sooner die! How did he even manage to tell Voldemort!?” You practically shouted and Alastor scoffed. “A secret keeper can tell anyone.”

Then, your eyes widened, snapping over to look at Alastor. “Moody- no, Peter and I-” Then it hit you. It hit you like a bludger to the chest. Your air left your lungs. 

“Moody, Peter and I were the Potter’s secret keepers.” You whispered in a shaky voice. Moody's expression stayed blank, but his false eye began to flicker side to side showing he was deep in thought. 

“Merlin...”

“Peter would never, he wouldn't-” You stopped and had to think about everything you knew about Peter. He was a coward, but he was bold. He was meek and quiet, but he was confident with you. He was always charming and sweet, but you had heard from Mary and Dorcus how they saw him as slimy when he didn't get what he wanted. 

The more you thought about him, the more traits you came up with for him, the more evidence there was for the contrary. Did you ever truly know Peter Pettigrew? Years ago, you would've laid down your life on the fact that Peter was trustworthy, honest, brave and kind. But the more you pondered it, he was always those things to you. Just to you. You covered your face in shame. “No...”

Moody walked up and patted your back as you tried to come to terms with it all. “But he- I- Rem! What of Remus?” 

“The Lycanthrope?” Moody tutted and you glared up at him. “Don't call him that.”

Moody nodded with an eye roll and gestured to the seat for you. 

You walked back over and sat down. Moody beside you. “After your disappearance, Albus called an emergency meeting. We gathered, and Albus told us of you and Fabian's death. That Gideon was leaving the order and going to America. Molly was inconsolable.”

~~

“No! No no no!” Molly sobbed into Authur’s arms, Albus looked down solemnly at his hands.

A scoff came across the table. “That's it? That's all we get?” Sirius snarled and shot to his feet. “Who did it?” He boomed across the table. He was tired of losing people. But losing you, now, that was a new kind of pain. One he didn't want to discover quite yet, so he lashed out in anger. He hadn't felt like this since he heard of Regulus’s death.

 “Who!?” He demanded as Albus kept a solemn and pitiful look. It burned Sirius up inside. 

“Antonin Dolohov.” Remus spoke up from across the table. He was looking down, eyes bloodshot and clearly distressed. He was in his sleep wear, having been woken up late at night by a glowing blue fox. He could hear what she said over and over in his head. When he got there and found Dumbledore, looking down at Fabian. There was blood, and Remus could smell it. Dark magic and you.

“Ambushed. Fabian, dead. Gideon, status unknown. May be splinched. Running. Five looking for me. Antonin Dolohov.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Sirius sneered and Remus closed his eyes. “She sent me a Patronus.” 

“Of course she did.” He snapped at Remus, slamming his hands on the table. “Of course she'd send it to you, wouldn't she? I bet that makes you feel real special, getting her last words.”

Remus gawked at Sirius in pure shock. It felt like he stupefied him to his chest. “And what's that supposed to mean?” He suddenly snapped back and stood as well. Alice was quick to nudge Frank, both parties standing up to make sure the two didn't jump across the table and shred each other. 

“Do you think I'm daft? Do you think I didn't notice the way you looked at my Fiancé, Remus?” He bellowed across the room and Remus gave a laughing scoff. “This is how you want to have this conversation, Sirius? Now?” He snapped back and Sirius gave an incredulous laugh.

“When else? She's fucking dead, she can't come save you now.” 

“You've gone mental!”

“No one worth being sane for left!”

“Maybe if you hadn't left her, this wouldn't be happening!” Remus shouted and that seemed to physically stun Sirius. “If you hadn't pushed her away until she hit her breaking point, until she had to come to me of all people, you could be at home right now waking up to her! But you didn't, you failed her Sirius.” Remus cut and cut as deep as he could. Sirius was silent for a moment and his mouth grew dry. Suddenly, he picked up a plate and threw it at Remus, the latter just managing to sidestep it before the Black stormed out.

Alice tutted and Remus looked down at her, breathing heavily. Slowly, he noticed the looks of pure horror on everyone's face. He knew he had gone too far. He cleared his throat and muttered an apology, turning to quickly leave.

Through all the chaos, no one noticed Peter leave moments later. He was walking down the street. His hands in his pockets and head down. Lost in deep thought, about you. No one truly knew the snake that was Peter Pettigrew. He was a people pleaser, he wanted validation and clung to the biggest bully in the yard like a vise. Originally, that was why he wanted to get to know you. You were James Potter's childhood friend, but you also managed to befriend several of the most influential Slytherins and purebloods of their school years. You were confident, unashamed to be you, the opposite of him. 

The more he got to know you, however, the more he truly cared. He loved his friends, he loved them all, but there was only one he'd fight for. You. Foolish you. You swore to him you would give your life for the Potters, for Sirius and Remus, himself included, but he never wanted it to get this far. When he first found the letters between you and Regulus, he felt hope. That maybe, just maybe, you were like him. Buying yourself time with information.

He hoped that when he brought these letters to Voldemort, he would finally be convinced of your worth to the cause. That he would lend him more time to let him convert you. Then the dark lord sent out a notice for your capture; he knew he had made a mistake. He should have de-charmed and read the letters himself, but it was all he could think of. Your safety, with him, like he always promised.

Last night was a fluke. A fluke that cost him more than he was willing to put on the line. It should have been Moody. That's what he knew, Moody, and the Prewetts. They should have been the ones to die that night. Instead, it was you. You lost your life, as you always promised, for the cause.

The cause? The cause. The cause that sent in children to die like cattle. His dearest friend falling to the hands of a god he placated. You died for the Potters. For Black. For Lupin. You died for him… Anger bubbled under the surface. The charm was broken, he would go to the Potters to repair it tonight. Then, he would be there the next night, with the dark lord by his side. He wanted them to hurt. To hurt like he was, to ensure they had no one else. No one, like him. 

~~

“But that leaves one thing that I do not understand.” Moody challenged and you rolled your tongue. He opened his coat and pulled out a long box, holding it out to you. You narrowed your eyes before he opened it, revealing a wand. Not any wand, your wand. You gasped and reached for it, before he quickly shut it closed. You glared at him, and he flicked the box onto his lap. The box looked worn, like it had been in his pocket for years. It made you feel warm. He has been keeping you close this whole time. You were not forgotten. But clearly, he planned to make you work for it.

“What is it?”

“What was in those letters? And why were you talking to the youngest Black?” He leaned closer, trying to use the same techniques he taught you about interrogation. You rolled your eyes, you can count on one hand the number of times you lied to Moody since you were 16, you didn't plan to keep counting. Four times.

“He was telling me things. Things about Voldemort’s plans, what he had done and who he had done it to. In exchange, I kept him updated on Sirius, I promised to keep him safe. He also kept me up to date on a few Death Eaters I had known in school. I want to tell you, but I feel I should talk to Dumbledore first. I feel I deserve a proper explanation as to why this happened to me.” You muttered bitterly and then your face scrunched up in a pout. “I also have a certain cat to see.”

“Cat?”

“Glasses.” You mumbled and Moody shook his head in confusion. Tossing the box on the table and you quickly snatch it, opening it up and pulling out your wand with a sigh of relief.

“Until further notice, you are to be on house arrest.”

“What? That can't be true! Isn't Voldemort gone?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. 

“There are some who believe otherwise. Regardless, you are dead, the minister is still working through a story to tell the world about your reappearance.”

You scoffed and rubbed your temple. “And what of Harry? Who has he been with?” You challenged and Moody frowned.

“His mother’s sister.”

“That monster!? No, Moody, I must see him!” You begged. “I have no idea what they could have done to that boy! He deserves to be with family!” You stood up sharply and Moody scoffed.

“The boy is with family!”

“No, for Merlin’s sake he is not! I am his family! Sirius and Remus! I don't care what anyone has said, Petunia Evans is a wicked monster of a woman! I have heard Lily’s horror stories! I am his Godmother! I demand to see him!” Your voice filled the entire house. Lily had spent most of her school years protecting you from your family, you have left her son for twelve years, unable to protect him from her family. He deserved a home, you don't care what people seem to think, people like her could not change.

“And what a Godmother you will be, your home has no wards protecting it, you have nowhere to take him, and your vaults are locked until your Godson turns 18! You must wait until the minister announces you are safe to resume your life!”

“This is absolute shite!” You snapped and stormed towards the stairs like an emotional teenager. “I am going to my room!”

“And stay in there!” He snapped back as your footsteps stomped up the steps and the sound of a slamming door rang through the house.

Even after that argument, Moody couldn't help but sit down and smile at the fireplace. You were annoying and unruly, and he has missed that spunk.

~~  “Make that five.” You muttered to yourself. You walked over to the radio and turned it on. You muttered a small enchantment on a pillow, and it began to levitate. You pushed it out the window and jumped onto it. It began to fall quickly, before you transformed. The sudden shift in weight slowed the descent significantly. You landed in the grass and hurried out into the field. Making sure no one could see you, being a fox was fox was fine, but being a silver, fox is what raised eyebrows. Sorry Moody, I have to see my Harry.

[elsa-fogen]

So. On the topic of Alastor headcannons. What's your opinion on these radio themed ones:

Alastor has an internal radio. Like the concept of having songs play through your head, but more literal. He can tune to stations as if he was a radio himself. And if he really wants to, he can connect himself to other radios in his immediate vicinity and play that music though them instead.

His antlers help his radio powers. So when they get damaged (in battle, sheds them, whatever reason you wanna put here) his internal radio goes bazerk. Think; flipping stations randomly, connecting to other radios when he doesn't want it to, playing loud static at random. All the chaos.

He can hear through other radios. He once had to listen to Vox playing Barbie Girl through a TV right next to a radio in Vox's studio, for a week straight. Surely enough; Barbie Girl is now banned from all radio stations in hell.

What do you think? I got more like these if you like them. Give me a generic topic and I can probably list several under that category.

OHH RADIO HEASCANONS

Yes, but he also can turn it on and off when he needs

Never thought about it, but it's funny (don't think i'm going to use it anywhere but who knows, maybe i'll make some funzies with that)

Pretty much used it in one my comic slihdsdkjfh +headcanon that Vox taught him that, he also can control when and which radio he wants to listen (or his head would be a horrible mess) ut i like headcanon that he has some songs banned on the radio lol

speaking of other radiostations, i actually made an instruction on How To get Your Own Radio Station In Hell, let me just find it real quick... i wanted to share it long ago, but couldn't find a moment

Imagine you're a normal sinner in hell, who suddenly wants to become radio host for one small station. and it's possible! and you won't even die, and get some benefits, if succeed. So, it's kinda hard, but doable

1. You need to write a letter asking for a permission to have your own station to The Radio Demon himself. a) letter should be handwritten, and your handwriting must be at least readable. Or you can use typewriter, if you find one. DO NOT write it on a computer and then print, you'll probably won't be able to get your station in following 50 years b) You should send your letter via post. DO NOT try to meet Radio Demon in person, you'll just lose time, or even if you get lucky, he won't take your letter. b*) Now you can just come to Hazbin Hotel and give your letter to Charlie Morningstar and ask her to give it to Radio Demon. Don't worry, she won't read it. b**) You should leave your contacts, that's obligatory if you want to get an answer - that means you have to have a place to live. c) Do not try to e-mail him, he doesn't even have a phone or computer to receive it. If someone gives you 100% totally real Radio Demon's e-mail - don't trust them, its fake 2. You'll get answer from the Radio Demon in 1-2 weeks, he'll send you set of papers which you have to fill out. You'll probably have to do it 3-4 times so don't worry, he's just testing your dedication. In these papers you give general info about your future radio station - the name, schedule, what activities you'll gonna have and what kinds of music wanna play. Include some jazz, especially if you mostly want to have modern music. You'll also have to tell a bit about yourself. You absolutely should not be connected to voxtech in any way. 2.b) he may simply dislike your ass and become a real bureaucratic monster. Keep trying - you can impress him with you dedication and he may like you in the end 3. When you got your application approved, you'll have to sign a contract, that gives you right to broadcast on a certain radio frequency. According to the contract - your radio station belongs to the Radio Demon, you'll just getting it in unlimited use, until the contract terminated. You DO NOT sell your soul to the Radio Demon. He can broadcast over you any time he needs and you can't do anything about it. He can also ask you to change something in your broadcast schedule, ask to replace of cancel any of your programs, ban music and so on. (Tho, he probably won't do anything of it). But since your radio station is his property, you're as well under his protection while you on your station, so if someone attacks you and you're unable to protect yourself and your station, you'll have a way to contact him and ask for help. You'll have a specific channel for it and list of morse codes for emergencies. You should not use this channel for anything else, or you'll lose your station. 4. After all paperwork is done and approved, you have to get equipment for your station. DO NOT use ANYTHING voxtech related, and you absolutely cannot have TV on your station. 5. After you got all the equipment, invite the Radio Demon to your station. He'll set everything up for you and give you list of emergency codes. Do not try to interrupt his infodumps even if you lost track of it and can't understand shit, it's better if you show enthusiasm. 6. And done! Now you are happy small radio host! The Radio Demon may show up on your station sometimes to check how everything's going, but don't worry about it, he won't be bother you too often after few weeks.

P. S. You are NOT friends with the Radio Demon, even if he acts friendly and calls you "dear" - that's just his normal, not-threatenning behavior P. P. S. Don't be too personal, don't dump on him your problems if they aren't related to the station when he comes to you. Just make him some coffee, talk about weather and tell that everything works just fine P. P. P. S. ABSOLUTELY! DO NOT! TRY TO HUG HIM! He'll just laugh at you, and if you somehow succeed he'll make everything to make you regret every action in your life and afterlife that led you to this moment (and it doesn't necessarily means he will torture you physically, once he run into masacistic freak that got a boner when was tortured) P. P. P. P. S. If you caught feelings for him - suffer in silence and NEVER try to confess. You'll lose your station immediately and will never get it back.

All these instructions are totally written by Rosie who heared so many complaints from Alastor about how people want to become a radio host but can't do it properly

And Alastor is probably making them experience what he went through to become a radio host in life

GOD, TUMBLR WHY UR SUCH AN ASS TODAY WTF LET ME JUST POST MY SILLY TEXT

[inumakis-boo]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ur text (inumaki toge) ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

synopsis ␥ you give toge inumaki your phone number, and you become addicted to your phone, and him (for all good reasons). major fluff + friends ↝ lovers.

version one out of three. Enjoy!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

When you first started texting toge inumaki, if you were totally honest, you werent entirely sure how it was going to go.

You had only caught the subtle hints of his personality during the rare times you saw him in person- and obviously, it was through tone and face expression, becaude most other ways well were.. not optional.

So.. when you finally got the courage to write down your number on a slip of a yellow post-it note, you didn't know exactly what to expect. Just because you thought he might be a cool guy, doesn't mean he might feel the same about you. He may be cool only around people he is used to training with, or is in the same field-level at him.

But his eyes grazed over the neat handwriting (you mustve written the same note about six different times before handing it over), and his looked back at you with smiling eyes, and a thumbs up.

you tried not to wait up all night for the text- why were you so nervous? it was just a phone number, you had given it to everyone basically on campus. he was just the last one.. because you were too nervous to actually give it over.

the phone had dinged you awake from an after school nap, and you groggily picked it up, expecting nothing more than the student group-chat aruging again, but found an unsaved number with nothing more than-

UNSAVED NUMBER: it's inumaki, you gave me ur phone number the other day

UNSAVED NUMBER: idk if you remember haha srry if this is bothering u but i didnt see u at dinner, did u eat?

you try your best to blink out of the sleepiness from your eyes, trying to gauge what you wanted to say.

YOU: hi, and no i didnt forget 🤙🏻

YOU: no i was sleeping, i mustve missed it oops

He had read it almost immediately, which was.. honestly refreshing.

UNSAVED NUMBER: we thought so, so i hope you enjoy whats outside ur door

What? Outside the door? You climbed out of bed, and slowly creeped the door open-

Nobody was out here? Was someone supposed to be coming?

You look down the hall both ways before looking down. A small bag, tied closed, sitting perfectly infront of your door. When you pick it up, the bag is still warm, so it must not have been there for too long.

When you return to your phone, you see even more messages.

UNSAVED NUMBER: everyone thought it was a good idea so you dont miss dinner cause we be doing too much shit to miss out on food

He was right about that one; the days of training and missions had not gotten any easier, and energy was too important to start losing.

YOU: thank you, but how did you know where my room was?

UNSAVED NUMBER: tis a secret

UNSAVED NUMBER: wait that sounds horrible i promise im not a stalker

UNSAVED NUMBER: i just asked someone if they knew

YOU: that kinda sounds like what a stalker would say T-T

UNSAVED NUMBER: NOOOO IM SORRY forget what i said, eat well pls, gn!!

Ah, so under his collar, he was just.. a normal guy.

A funny one at that, with a personality? Nearly shocking for boys your age. The food was good too, with the

When you tell Itadori about last nights dinner, he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Huh, he made you that?" He asks, lips pursed a little. "Thats cool."

"What did everyone else have?" You ask him, as you two both put on your shoes from the school lockers.

"Inumaki made a different dish, a soup."

You had nothing like that- you got salmon and onigiri.

"Huh, thats not surprising." He says after you tell him, "Thats his favorite."

He.. had made you his favorite? and like.. actually made it for you, not just bought whatever from a store. He made something completely different- lighter accounting it being almost bedtime?

So.. he was considerate too.

—

After that, it didn't take long for the messages began to roll back and forth.

What turned from appreciation for his cooking, turned into meme sharing and tiktok sending, then.. into photos, of homework, of a cat brushing up against his leg on the street, a aisle of snacks, asking for what you want. In return, he got imessage games, where he would never lose, opinions on video games and shows, and hypothetical questions about his curse.

YOU: so lets say ur playing a video game

INUDUMBASS: which one

YOU: literally not important, anything competitive

YOU: anyways, ur playing right in a voice chat

INUDUMBASS: yes go on 🙄

YOU: and you start losing, can you say anything

INUDUMBASS: i try not to actively kill people on the mic so no

INUDUMBASS: it will still go through 100%

YOU: nobody said u had to tell someone to do that 😭

INUDUMBASS: clearly you have not been around anybody who is losing in a game before

YOU: god are u rlly that cringy??

INUDUMBASS: are you just finding this out??

INUDUMBASS: and no, i wouldn't ever do that kind of thing, i do have self-control, yknow

YOU: mhm totally

And maybe he did for online players, but he would not hesistate to make the phone drop out of your hands in the lunch room as you two played 8-ball from opposite sides of the table, just to fuck up your aim as you made a winning shot, turning the game over to his benefit.

It's okay, because you got your revenge pulling out the chair from underneath him, and watching him smack his ass on the hard school-floor, and resist not cursing in pain. He would still smile at you- eventually afterwards. He would roll his eyes, but accept the fair play anyways.

It was painfully obvious to everyone else that you two had something going on.

And maybe you didn't realize how much you were admiring him until the personality in his messages shone in him in reality.

Of course, communication was inconvenient but Inumaki wasn't dumb. One eye look told you everything you needed to know. He would snicker at Itadori's occasional mishap while training, then immediately lock in for his own, all the while never sending a mishaped word out of his mouth. And never using more of his curse than needed. Everyone knew he was trustworthy.

Nearly once a day, if he could, he made food (you thought about the first time he made it for you, specially for you, and it makes all his food taste even sweeter) and you watched everyone enjoy it, then noticed as he helped clean up- even though Maki and Megumi urged him to sit. Self-less, kind.

It was really the time on a friday night, after such a long week that everyone decided to ditch the movie theater to instead use the lounges tv (thanks to gojo, was totally decked out for the students), that maybe you start to notice Inumaki- really notice him.

You had been sitting on the food at one end of the long couches, as Toge sat at the other end, his legs draped over the arm rest as he rested his right side against the backrest.

You honestly don't know why you even kept on looking- it wasn't even that serious of a movie, yet he was so intently watching, sweatshirt not big enough to cover the usual half of his face, revealing the thin inky marks on his cheeks, leading to his lips.

He was biting the inside of his lower lip as he watched, probably an old habit back from when he was a kid- he had always been like this, he mentioned once. His arms were lazily crosed, and even his hair had been pushed so strands flicked upwards in tusseled ccondition. His greyish-violet eyes were reflecting all the action scenes, so relaxed but also, analyzing.

For the briefiest moment, you wished it was you that was sitting next to him, not Maki.

Or, the rest of the night, as you tried to focus on the movies, with your arms wrapped around your knees.

It was so odd to think weeks had passed, and suddenly, a boy that you had never known before and were scared to know, had become such a phenomenon in your life. A sustainable source of kindness and excitement that came from a boy that didn't even speak full sentences.

He made your heart flutter. As embarssing as it is. Would probably say it was embarssing, if he knew. Not like it was really ever that serious, right?

You two were friends, maybe an odd pair, but at the very least, very good classmates, and at the best, two people that loved to bully each other and talk even when words were a non-possibility.

—

TOGE: hey btw, you looked great tn.

YOU: lmao i looked like a bum

TOGE: well even if you did, it looked cute

TOGE: anyways, ima going tobed, im sleepy,, night night

was this really all in your head?

YOU: night night, toge :)

TOGE: :)))

It had to be.

The next morning was going to prove difficult for that insanity plea;

TOGE: i have nothing planned for today

YOU: you should be studying 😭

TOGE: nah, i should be hanging out with you

YOU: this is hanging out with me

TOGE: no like, hang out hang out

YOU: where? its too hot outside today

TOGE: in my dorm then?

YOU: with who?

TOGE: with you??

TOGE: At six, you should come hang with me, itll be fun

You swallow as you look down at your phone screen, and take your bottom lip between your teeth. That same feeling was coming back, but not out of any of the reasons before. This felt different. An excited giddiness with freckles of nervousness.

YOU: as long as you got the snacks, i wont miss it

TOGE: ill buy the whole store for you

Ahaha.. so funny right?

Somehow, it was starting to feel like the real joke was how well you were fooling yourself into thinking this was just friendly banter.

You found yourself showering and picking out a comfy outfit, braiding your hair and carefully selecting a perfume. You nearly caught yourself trying to replay the memory of getting dressed the night of the movie-party.

"hey btw, you looked great-"

You wish he could tell you to just stop thinking, would be doing you a huge solid. Especially as you approach his room, which you had found yourself wondering what was on the other side, when the boy stepped out from the door frame.

"Konbu." He waved, with a warm smile. His hair was pushed back from his face a little, and he had a white sleepshirt on, with some baggy grey sweatpants.

"Hi, Toge." You had never really called him by his first name before, and if he thought negatively, the small smile reaching his eyes disobeyed the thought.

He stepped aside and let you take your first look into the room- maybe you had not thought about it so hard, but it somehow made sense.

Band posters on some of the walls, poor taken photos of the second years and first years all together taped there too, an occasional plant dangling off a book shelf or window sill, a dresser, a little worn with character, sits nearby with a tv angled on its edge, towards the bed for easy viewing. A PS4 sits behind it, along with a headset, with the mic turned away from the front.

He has books sitting on his desk, an old fashioned hand-carry radio sits on one of its edges, and it makes for also a side table to his bed, sitting on a metal bedframe with blankets and infamous navy bedsheets.

Its springing with his character, and the smell of a refreshing cologne is in the air- the same type she would catch sometimes lingering as he walked by.

"Its not what I expected."

He walked by her to sit at his spinning desk chair, turning to face her. "Salmon?" He inquires.

"Well yeah, its just your style. With the uniform and your curse, it might not be so obvious to other people who don't know you."

He leaned back in the chair and looked up interestedly at the ceiling. Was that rude to say?

He takes out his phone, and a quick second later, presents the phone screen to you, opened to the notes app.

/i never thought abt it like that/

/well, i mean, i have but im glad you understand it, kinda impressive that you figured it out/

/or im just easily readable/

"That would be a good thing, right?" You leave the phone screen on, but puts it away from your view. "That your friends get to read you, despite everything. That means youve gotten good at what you do.."

Toge's lips quirk to one side as he thinks, and your eyes watch as his marks follow the corners.

He raises his hand to get a wishy-washy motion, and you furrow your brows. When he types, he stops you from picking up your phone aswell, only to present what hes wrote in the text box.

/Well, kinda. no matter what I do to express myself, its kinda hard to be fully understood. i miss out on a huge part of everyday life, even if people understand what idea im trying to get across, its atypical./

/no amount of tone or facial expression can amount to words and their complex meanings. i think i am actually really lucky that my curse does not extend to messages- i think id be screwed./

"I don't think its too different to what people really feel like though." You explain to listening ears. "Most people felt like they aren't totally understood, that people just don't get them totally.. but I understand that, you don't have much of a choice, and we take advantage of what we can do sometimes."

You watch his face change a little to settle on your features more- and you feel yourself being pulled into his attention.

"I think even if your curse had taken away your ability to communicate in ways you do now, youre still worth knowing, Toge. I think everyone agrees."

His eyes soften, and it nearly strikes your heart into a million pieces. His smile too, could he be anymore cute? He wasn't hiding it this time. He shows how much he appreciates your words in the flush of his cheeks and the way his palms meet together.

He lets out a relaxing sigh, and looks away, then his eyes light up to bags sitting by the bedside.

"Sujiko." He urges to look, pointing to the grocery bag, which seems to be loaded with stuff. You walk closer and grab it, then find yourself sitting down quietly on the side of his bed.

The bag is full of snacks and drinks, some previously mentioned in chats, like he had written them all down, and got them for you to see.

"You bought the whole store, huh?" You raised an eyebrow playfully.

A grin and a happy thumbs up in return.

As promised.

You spend the next few hours bambling about his bedroom, looking through all the semi-decent hidden school papers, and letting him explain all the pictures on the wall.

He explained things thoroughly, like each detail was inside of him, kept for safekeeping. His eyes would light up in such appreciation, and it almost felt natural when you were caught in his gaze. Like he could keep you for safekeeping too.

Of course, his PlayStation was clean and ready for use, and by the time you two had gotten the controllers out and opened Ramune bottles, the sunlight was long gone. Outside was quiet, but you two didn't care much as you two sat together, him letting you sit on the bed while he took the floor. Glaringly bright flashes of action splattered against the postered walls, and more than once, your playful nudge with your foot against his arm to mess up caused much whining and laughter alike.

His laughter was like an entirely different language, speaking of his delight. It was not a rarity, but still a treasure. It is infectious and only serves to remind you that he is just a teenager, and he is having so well-deserved fun.

Eventually, Maki knocked against the wall and shouted through muffled barriers "Inumaki, be quiet, I am trying to sleep!" the sound alarmed them both, but only created further snickering.

But, they turned off the game in a half-apology and instead put on some horror flick that was on a student-shared Hulu account, and you both settle down eating gummi worms and flavored popcorn.

Maybe it was being distracted by having such a good time, it takes the calm before the storm of the horror movie to realize Toge and you have gotten really comfortable on his bed, backs against his pillows. They smell like his shampoo.. or maybe you are just close enough to smell it off of him. It's soft, comfortable, and clean, and something new to your senses.

He is warm, you can tell. His body is close enough, legs crossed as they lay straight down on top of the duvet, but his arm supports his head, and is behind you on the pillow. He seems semi-entertained (of course, you had challenged him to watch a horror movie.. but maybe challenging a Jujutsu Sorcerer to not get scared was faulty logic. There were scarier things than makeup and bad wigs.)

You didn't wanna look at your phone- you didn't want to see the time and be guilty for staying so long, you knew it must be close to midnight. Would he tell you that you should go to sleep? Would he bring you back to your dorm and say goodbye at the door?

Ignoring the time for the sake of Toge's soft cologne and sheets? Sounded pretty selfish, although it made your stomach flutter.

"Am I keeping you awake?" It comes out as a whisper, and you lean in closer.

"Bonito flakes." He whispered back swiftly with a head shake no, tearing his eyes from the screen to you. He smiles a little, charmingly, as the flecks of violet in his eyes flash with the TV screen. This was the first time you saw them in all their detail, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

When you both turn away from each other, you can feel his arm shift from his face, and around the pillow you were laying on. It makes you shift inevitably closer.

His shirt bunches towards the side he is lying on, revealing the sliver of skin between the hem and the top of his sweatpants, toned and pale in the soft light. You try not to stare.

It makes you think. Was thing.. flirting?

Was the attraction to the cursed speech user simmering ever since the first message? Since the first time you saw him at the beginning of the school year?

Would anybody blame you? All those times when there was nothing to be scared of when he proved nothing less than just a great friend, kind, playful, selfless, and strong?

You knew that would never change- for as long as he was here and breathing. He wanted everyone to know that's who he was.

Who would blame you, as you let the feeling ride with sliding your hand to the middle of his chest? His white sleepshirt is soft after many rounds of wash, but what is even better is resting your cheek against his shoulder, right at the top where his arm meets, and you can feel his eyes glance at you. It feels like such a relief, although you wonder if this is really normal to be happy about.

"Is this okay?" You whisper.

In response, his hand slips away from the distance on the pillow behind you, and the pads of his fingers rest on your arm, hugging you slightly closer.

"Mhm." He hums in approval quietly, and his fingertips graze your soft skin, up and down slowly. "Salmon."

This tango had endured until the near end of the movie, yet you could barely pay attention to any of the plots because Toge was holding you so securely, and letting you trace circles on the middle of his chest, and the sound of his deep breaths were overtaking your thoughts anyways rather than the fake monster on screen.

You are nearly ready to close your eyes, when you can feel a squeeze on your arm, and when you open your eyes, you can see the same notes app in dark mode, with something written out.

/Are you tired?/

"N-No, not yet." You look at the time at the top of the screen. 12:49 am.

He seems amused by that, raising an eyebrow.

"You're just comfortable." You say as you both totally ignore the last few minutes of the movie. "It's nice being with you."

Toge looks at you like he wants to say something, pursing his lips as he smiles and glances away for a moment.

Is your heart racing? This is the best you've felt in weeks. Why does it feel like your stomach is fluttering?

He presents his notes again, and you honestly wish he could say them himself.

/When we first met, I honestly wouldn't think we would be so close. I am really happy we are. I feel like now is a good time to tell u, since we are alone./

Your cheeks feel like they are burning, and its your turn to look away in feble attempt to hide the flush arising.

"I am happy too." You begin to explain, "You're.. you're fun and kind.. you have always been so nice to me and listen to me snore on about classes and training. You watch all the stupid tiktoks I send you and ask for my opinions. I always feel like you notice everything and youre trustworthy. I can.. only hope that I am half as genuine to you as you are to me."

Toge nods in confirmation. It makes you feel like you're on fire, and the background music with the black credits screen cannot even pull your attention from him.

His chest was rising and falling right below your fingertips, and his face slowly focused on you, the tension feels so good and thick, that you honestly wonder how much longer you will convince yourself that normal friendships feel like this.

He was always honest with you. He deserved it in return, but it might be the most vulnerable you've been in years. He deserved that too- he had never held anything back.

"I think I like you."

The words leave your mouth before you even have a chance to smack yourself into reality. Instead, they sit between the darkness and him.

"More than just being friends."

His grip loosens just a tad, and panic seems to run through your body- he was not interested, you had completely misunderstood the situation.

"I-Im sorry-" You take your hands away and try your best to sit up from practically lying down. You were in a boys room, what were you thinking? You should get some space from him, so he doesn't think you a total freak. "I didn't-"

You can feel a tight bond around your wrist, keeping you right where you sit, and when you whip your head back, his eyes are wide with interest and warmth that you want to melt into a puddle of dumb choices. He opens his mouth, maybe to try to say something, but he considers it over and over again. When he feels sure you wont go, he lets go.

He raises a finger to his eye-

I.

both hands cover the center of his chest, cusping it almost-

Heart.

Finally, one last finger. Pointed at-

You..

Was he trying to say.. I like you?

Your body relaxes finally, and the urge to run away is still lingering, but you can't honestly say you want to. Not with how his eyes are flattering with some kind of emotion, his arms opening.

You can't hold back any longer. Your arms swiftly move around his neck as you envelop him so closely, and he instantly hugs you back, pulling you so close your lips meet the skin of his neck. He sounds like he is humming, his hands rubbing your back soothingly. You sit an appreciate his scent, the feeling of his skin, his warmth, for just a moment or two longer until he slowly departs from you, searching your face for any further comment.

"That's really.. really good to hear." You sigh out, with a bit of a smile, reaching to rub a weary eye; you realize he has taken your hand in the process.

He offers his own hand, letting it rub the corner were some wetness at resided, before letting the rest of his finger skin around you hairline, then through your strands of hair. He follows each motion, as he tries to comfort you.

Your hand reaches to sit atop his, and although its late and if someone knew you two were here together, not only would it at the very least be a detention and school clean up duty and at the very best, be a rumor the other students would talk about, despite this you honestly didn't care when the perfect boy was sitting right infront of you, with tussled hair and red lips, just like that night during the movie-party.

"I know its late." She started to say, but he quickly took out his phone again. "I won't keep you up anymore."

/you keep me up no matter what./

/atleast here i get to hear your pretty voice and see your face./

"What do you think about.. when you think of me?" You needed to know what he had been thinking of you all this time.

Instead of using his phone, his hands gently present themselves, and touch parts of your body chastely.

His hands travel from your palm, fingers skimming past your veins in a kind of silent poetry-

Your scars.. your freckles, your strength, your sunkissed summertime skin.

Then, he brushes past your shoulder to twirl around with your hair-

your beauty, the way you attract people.

Then up your face to your temple-

Your brain, your mind.

Then your cheeks-

Your flush, your sweet smiles.

Finally, the pad of his thumb grazes against your chin, right below your lower lip.

The way you speak, the way you are.

You can feel the urge in him, radiating off his lidded eyes and hesistant touch, quietly as he landscapes your being.

"You can, yknow." His eyes look up towards your gaze, "If you want too. If you are ready, of course-"

"Please," The words stilled you instantly, yet he continued holding your face more tenderly. They were soft and yet thick. "Kiss me."

The curse enacted on you, and although for a brief flash there was some concern in his face that perhaps it was too soon, quickly was dismissed when he saw you come closer by the help of his hand, and for just a moment held the proximity between your pairs of lips before slowly pressing close, your lips gently against his.

It was chaste and quiet on the outside, but it was like adding more gunpower to an already lit firework, the explosion of emotion surging your veins making you never wanting to leave.

His thumb was caressing the side of your cheek, it was making you dizzy with his attention. It was everything you had hoped for the moment you had even thought of him- to be close in every single way, to know every part of the perfect, strong, peaceful boy that you so clearly saw every day.

It felt like a dream, but at the very least, hoped you would wake up on his chest, with the Playstation off and the soft breathing of your boy in the air.

But instead, youre both here, and he is kissing you like he has won the lottery.

You both smile, until you couldn't tell when the kiss ended, and where the laughter began.

Surely, he was smart and kind and self-less and strong and all those things youd toss about in your mind at night.

But the idea that this may have never happened because you were too shy to say hello to the usually quiet and calm boy, made you feel like the stupidest yet luckiest girl in the world.

Maybe it was you that had won the jackpot, just by giving away a simple yellow post-it note.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . . ݁₊

thank you so much for reading! this is only ending one. i have plans for a nsfw verison and an misunderstanding verison. please let me know if any of yall are interested!

see you later pookies!

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! With me focusing on the "Archeologist Merlin" fic on ao3, it's been a while since I posted an au idea! It's good to be back!

Since an au featuring Lancelot won the last poll, here's my Lancelot au that I tried to make somewhat lighthearted, but it ended up being angsty instead. I hope you enjoy this au idea! :D

PS: For optimal reading conditions, go listen to Hozier's song "Like Real People Do", and then come back here. Trust me, it'll be worth it.

This au takes place in the middle of season 4, picking up right after the episode "Servant of Two Masters", which means that "Lancelot du Lac" hasn't happened yet. At that point, Lancelot had died by sacrificing himself to the veil, and everyone believes that he will stay dead. However, while Merlin was in Morgana's hut to kill the fomorroh that she had stuck in his neck, a book on Morgana's shelf caught his eye. He could feel the power oozing from the book, which was drenched in dark magic. Merlin, knowing that Morgana would absolutely be up to no good with such a powerful book dripping with dark magic, steals the book from her hut before killing the fomorroh. To Merlin, taking the book means that Morgana has one less weapon to attack Camelot with, and he would take any advantage that he could get against Morgana.

Merlin was so focused on killing the fomorroh and getting the dark book away from Morgana that he didn't even see the title of the book that he had stolen until he was back in his room in Camelot. As he prepared to hide the dark book underneath a floorboard in his room, he took a peek at the title of the book for the first time: The Arcane Secrets of Necromancy and Thralls.

Yikes. No wonder the book was dripping with dark magic, if that's what it was about. As Merlin hastily dropped the book down on his bed to free up his hands to pry up the floorboard, he noticed that the book had fallen open to a marked page. Merlin sucked in a breath as he recognized Morgana's handwriting on the page, making notes on one particular spell. As much as he wanted nothing to do with such dark magics, Merlin couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn more about Morgana's plans. He could finally be one step ahead of her!

Merlin hesitantly picked up the book and started reading from the marked page. The page itself detailed the ways a powerful sorcerer could raise a dead soul without having access to the deceased person's body and bend that soul to their will. A violent shiver went down Merlin's spine as he read more. These spells and rituals were horrible and cruel, and it seemed like Morgana had every intention of utilizing them against her enemies. Merlin didn't even want to imagine what awful things Morgana wanted to do with these spells, who she wanted to raise from the dead and torture forevermore.

As Merlin turned the page though, he saw something that immediately drew his attention: a ritual that claimed that it could bring someone back to life with their soul intact and not in any pain. Merlin was frozen as soon as he saw it, staring numbly at the page. Could it even be possible? The ritual claimed that, with an animal sacrifice and enough power on the sorcerer's part, the Old Religion's laws would accept the resurrection of the subject without any human's life being taken in return.

The festering pain in his chest, which had been present since Lancelot's death at the hands of the veil and his heart had felt like it had been torn from his body, throbbed once more. Could he... could he actually do it? Could he truly bring Lancelot back as himself, have his dearest friend, his pillar of support, by his side once more?

As soon as that idea had slithered into his head, Merlin's mind refused to let go of it. It followed him everywhere over the following days, never once leaving him alone, until one day he found himself gathering the ingredients for the ritual.

He had to do it. He owed it to Lancelot, who had sacrificed himself not for Arthur, but for him. If there was even the slightest chance of truly bringing Lancelot back, he had to take that risk.

The ritual itself was complicated, but not impossible, certainly not for Emrys. He had to draw a summoning circle on the forest floor under a lightless new moon, place some of Lancelot's belongings in the circle, of which he chose Lancelot's journals and his prized dagger, and then kill the rabbit he had brought as the sacrifice, collect its lifeblood in a blessed chalice, and finally enchant the blood itself and spill it over Lancelot's belongings in the circle.

Merlin could feel the power of the ritual buzzing around the forest as he performed it, but it didn't frighten him, because he could feel it working. As soon as he poured the rabbit's enchanted blood over the journal and dagger, the circle around him started glowing with a harsh light, urging Merlin on. After the chalice was emptied of blood, Merlin started chanting the final spells of the ritual: one to summon Lancelot's intact and healed body, another to draw Lancelot's soul out of Avalon, and a final spell to merge his body and soul, which would leave Lancelot wholly alive and himself again.

Merlin's heart leapt up to his throat as the first spell succeeded, revealing Lancelot's body, still clad in the same cape and armor that he had worn when he walked into the veil. The mere sight of his friend had Merlin faltering, but he needed to continue through the whole ritual. The second spell summoned a glowing blue mist, which sparkled in the light of the circle and hovered over Lancelot's prone form. Merlin felt strangely comforted at the sight of the mist, and he realized with a gasp that the mist itself must be Lancelot's soul, awaiting his return to his body.

At last, all of the pieces were in place, and Merlin performed the final spell: rebinding Lancelot's soul into his body. The spell itself required an immense amount of power, but Merlin could both feel and see that it was working! Lancelot's soul was slowly disappearing into his body. He was almost there!

With the last incantation, Merlin staggered backwards, feeling thoroughly drained from performing such powerful magic. However, his exhaustion melted away into excitement as Lancelot opened his eyes and sat up, looking around.

"Lancelot! You're back!"

Merlin launched himself forwards towards his friend, his joy almost overwhelming. He crashed into Lancelot's side and wrapped him in the tightest hug he could manage.

"What were you thinking, going into the veil?! I thought you'd be gone forever! But enough of that, we need to get you back to Camelot!"

Merlin urged his friend, who still looked rather dazed and disoriented, up to his feet. Lancelot's confusion was petty understandable, Merlin could only imagine how confusing it must have been to suddenly return to the living!

"Lancelot, how are you feeling? You aren't hurt, are you?"

Merlin waited with baited breath as Lancelot opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if trying to get used to having a mouth again. Finally, after several agonizing minutes of silence, Lancelot spoke, his voice rough.

"Mer... Merlin. My... my..."

"Your what, Lancelot? What do you need? Whatever it is, I'm sure that I could get it for you!"

Merlin smiled encouragingly at Lancelot, still helping him stay upright. He waited patiently for Lancelot to find whatever words he was looking for.

"My... my lord. I am at your command."

Merlin's heart dropped to his stomach as Lancelot dropped to his knees, kneeling before Merlin just as he did when he pledged his fealty as a knight to Arthur.

"Lancelot, what are you doing? Get up!"

Lancelot, with a sickening level of obedience, immediately rose to his feet, awaiting further commands. Merlin reeled backwards, away from Lancelot, and doubled over, feeling nauseous. What had he done?

Why had this happened?! He knew that the ritual had worked, he could feel it when Lancelot's soul reentered his body, so how was Lancelot devoid of his own will? What had gone wrong?!

As Merlin spent several minutes bowled over, trying to keep himself from hurling up his dinner all over the ground, a wolf howled in the distance, shocking Merlin back into reality. He took a deep breath and glanced back over to where Lancelot was still standing, wearing a terrifyingly blank expression.

He would fix this. He had to. But right now, they needed to get to safety before they could come up with any plan going forward. Swallowing thickly, Merlin called out to Lancelot.

"Come on, we need to get back to Camelot. Gaius might be able to help us fix whatever's gone wrong with the ritual."

Lancelot nodded without hesitation, and they both set back on the trail towards Camelot. It was slightly harder for Merlin to sneak into the castle with another person with him, but he was able to make it work. Eventually, they made it to Gaius's chambers, who jolted awake at the sound of his door slamming open.

Gaius's annoyance at his rude awakening was terrifying enough for Merlin, but it was completely overshadowed at his fury towards Merlin for performing a necromancy ritual.

"How could you be so stupid?! Of course a ritual from that tome would bring him back as your thrall! Even if he's fully healed and has his soul and all of his memories, he's now bound by your will! Any subject of necromancy sees the magic user who raised them from the dead as their god, regardless of the spell or ritual used!"

A fresh wave of dread and guilt threatened to drown Merlin.

"So, there's no way fully bring him back? No matter what I try, he'll never come back as himself again?"

Gaius slowly shook his head, breaking Merlin's last shards of fragile hope.

Lancelot, on his end, was initially very, very confused. One moment he was floating through an endless darkness, and the next he was laying on the ground in the middle of a glowing circle in the forest.

He looked around, and there he was. Merlin, standing at the edge of the circle. Lancelot smiled, glad beyond words to see his friend again, to know that his sacrifice wasn't in vain

Still, there was some odd, foreign feeling bubbling up inside of him at the sight of Merlin. But he didn't have long to ponder those feelings before Merlin was suddenly wrapping his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

It wasn't until Merlin had helped him to his unsteady feet that the foreign feeling pushed to the surface, taking control of his limbs. The thing taking over was him, but it wasn't him, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world to both him and whatever was controlling him to fall to his knees and pledge his fealty to Merlin, as if there was ever a doubt where his devotion lay.

The trip back to Camelot was a blur to Lancelot, feeling like he was both in control of himself and under the control of something else, but he didn't fight against it. No, whatever was now inhabiting his body alongside him seemed to be working with him, not against him.

Despite Merlin's panic and the unknown entity that was now in his mind, Lancelot thoroughly enjoyed the walk back to Camelot. He never thought that he'd enjoy the simply pleasures that came with having a corporeal body again, so he enjoyed everything from feeling the dirt under his boots to the wind on his face.

When they reached Gaius's chamber though, and he revealed the true consequences of Merlin's efforts to bring him back from the dead. Panic, horror, and betrayal washed over Lancelot in a split second, but those feelings dissipated as soon they appeared.

While Lancelot could chalk up his immediate forgiveness towards Merlin as the work of the foreign entity that now resided within his body, Lancelot knew deep down, in a place in his heart where the entity couldn't touch, that his feelings of forgiveness and acceptance towards Merlin was his and his alone.

Because the truth was that, even before Lancelot stepped into the veil, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for Merlin.

And this post is getting too long, so I'll cut it off there! From here, the au focuses on people's reactions to Lancelot's return and Merlin's tremendous amounts of guilt for what he's done to Lancelot. Lancelot has some days where he's pretty much his old self again, and other days where he's deeper under the thrall's control.

Because everyone can see the very disturbing sight of Lancelot under the power of the thrall, everyone in the castle (except for Merlin and Gaius) believes that Lancelot was resurrected by an evil sorcerer and enchanted by him to try to destroy Camelot, but they also believe that he's valiantly beating back the sorcerer's enchantment with the power of sheer willpower and friendship and is slowly getting better.

It breaks everyone's heart to see Lancelot's will robbed of him, but it hits especially hard for Gwen, Arthur, and the knights to see the strongest, most noble man they know have to fight every single day for his own free will. Merlin, meanwhile, vows never to give Lancelot any orders, as he will not stoop so low as to bend his dearest friend to his will, but even despite not explicitly giving Lancelot orders, the thrall still sometimes takes over his friend and seeks him out. The only order he ever gives the thrall is to just do whatever Lancelot wants to do, but even that sometimes doesn't work and the thrall just stands there, looking at him blankly.

Well, that's enough angst for today! Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation of this au! Until next time!

And as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hey! So, I was totally stalking your account the other day (please don’t ask why, lmao), and I came across that one-shot you wrote for your last fandom. It got me thinking—could you write something like that, but with Donna?

I changed it a bit, but it’s still kinda the same. It’s about the reader having an identical twin who’s basically better than her at everything and way more popular. Like, people in the village are obsessed with her.

Somehow, Donna meets the reader, and they start getting closer, which is a big deal because, for the first time, the reader feels special—Donna, the powerful lord, likes **her** and not her sister!

Then, there’s this moment where Donna finally tries to ask the reader out, but she’s SO stressed that she doesn't even notice she’s talking to reader's twin instead! The reader overhears the whole thing, and when Donna realizes what’s happened, she goes into full-on damage control mode.

If this isn’t your thing or you think it sounds boring, PLEASE , just ignore this!

LOVE U xx

Yessss!!!! Thank you for... Stalking my account? I'm joking, thanks for your support, and for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

Identical, but different

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 7,925

Summary: You want to be more than just "her sister"

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

You never liked going out on errands, and you knew exactly why.

“Hey, Ivana! Ivana!” a voice called out a name that wasn’t yours, but you knew the words were directed at you.

Rolling your eyes, you turned around, seeing a young villager running up to you.

“Ivana, listen, I want to…” the boy said hurriedly, placing an unpleasant hand on your shoulder.

You pushed it away, growling in annoyance.

“I’m not Ivana,” you said, repeating the phrase that, every time you left your house, you were forced to repeat over and over again. “I’m (Y/N)”

“Oh, wow. Sorry,” the boy said, scratching the back of his neck nervously and embarrassedly. “Um, hey, could you give this to your sister?” he asked, handing you a piece of paper with horrible handwriting on it.

 A love letter, again?

“Why don't you give it to her?” you asked, taking the envelope in an unpleasant manner and putting it together with the ones that you had obtained on your walk through the village.

“Well... You are her sister...” he stammered, to which you made a face of displeasure and shook your head.

“Yes, I’m her sister, not her errand girl,” you said with a hiss, walking away from the boy.

“Don't forget to tell her that it’s form Marco!” he yelled, making you shrug and hiss a few curses.

Every day was another occasion for contempt to appear in front of you.

Being born in that dark village, under the tutelage of the Black Gods, Mother Miranda, the Lords... None of that could compare to the bad luck you had in your life. Bad luck with your family? Not exactly.

Your parents were hard workers, humble but normal parents after all. That wasn't the problem, just like living in that place wasn't the problem either. The problem was the whim of fate that hung over you at birth.

You could have been an only child, but you weren't. You had a sister, but not just any sister, completely different from you, no. Ivana was your twin sister. Physically you were identical.

But physical resemblance had nothing to do with personality. All the charisma, the ease of talking to people, of attracting attention, seemed to have been sucked out of your body and belonged only to Ivana.

She was popular, everyone in the village knew her, almost adored her (not like Mother Miranda, of course). There was no young villager who didn't notice her stupid smile, one that belonged to you, but that didn't have the same effect.

Always Ivana, always your sister was who stole all the limelight from you. You simply existed, but nothing else. You existed because you were her sister. People talked to you because they mistook you with her. It might seem like a desperate situation, and it was, but you had already gotten used to it.

Well, you weren't really excited about talking to people either. It didn't matter that your silence, your shyness and isolation were caused by a genetic error that made your sister steal all those abilities from you. You never really liked talking to people. You had other hobbies that were more peaceful than making a name for yourself in that sinister place.

Still, every day you left your house was a new torment, a new parade of refusals and corrections. Maybe one day you would play pretend to be Ivana, maybe that way you could get revenge on her. You just rambled. She stole even your courage.

“Hi,” you whispered when you got home, moving towards the kitchen where your mother was waiting for the shopping like every day. “Here you go, mother.”

“Thank you, (Y/N),” the woman said, giving you a tip much smaller than the one they gave your sister.

You didn't want to think about that. You still had hope that your own parents loved you equally.

“Hey, (Y/N),” your sister said, making you close your eyes slowly to give yourself patience. You didn't know exactly why she was that popular. You loved her, but you couldn't help but think that your sister was a bit… Unbearable. “How were the errands?”

“Very well, I love going out to freeze while you sit there,” you said ironically, passing by her. “Oh, now that I remember… Here, this is for you.”

With a sigh you took all the notes out of the pocket of your dress and threw them at her in an unpleasant way.

“Have you met Marco?” your sister asked, reading each of the letters with amusement.

“Yes, and he mistook me for you, just like all those idiots,” you commented, letting yourself fall into an armchair, taking your knife to continue with your greatest hobby, carving wooden figurines, something your grandfather taught you and that, along with reading, helped you to spend the time.

“Don't be jealous,” Ivana mocked, sitting on one arm of the sofa, getting on your nerves. “Look, he says I'm the prettiest girl in the village…”

“That's great. How many girls are there in the village?” you said with irony.

“Mm, it smells like envy,” she murmured, crumpling the letter and throwing it into the fireplace.

“Envy? Please, we are identical,” you said, shaking your head and looking at the fireplace. “Hey, why did you do that?”

“I'm not interested in that boy,” Ivana commented. “Are you with your figurines again?”

“You're not interested? Wasn't he your boyfriend?” you asked, preventing the girl from reaching your wooden work. “Leave me alone.”

“You said it... He was... I think I need to start aiming for a higher level,” she murmured, looking at her nails in a smug manner. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“When are you going to leave your stupid wooden figurines and look for a handsome boy to hook up with?” Ivana asked, making you roll your eyes and snort tiredly.

“I'm not interested,” you whispered, polishing that wooden cat.

“You're weird, huh?” the twin mocked, getting up, making you stare at her.

“Am I weird for not wanting to break the hearts of half the village?” you asked, leaving the cat on a table and getting up in a bad mood.

“That's because you can't, you don't have my charms,” she said with a haughty tone, pointing at herself.

Your patience was at its limit.

“Whatever you say,” you murmured tiredly, glancing sideways at your mother, who seemed attentive to the conversation. “Should I help you, mother?”

“No, honey,” the woman said kindly.

“Are you running away from the conversation? That's because you know I'm right,” Ivana said, crossing her arms in satisfaction.

You had lost your patience at that point. After a whole morning of being mistaken, your mood was rather delicate. With a groan, you got up from the couch and walked towards the door.

“Hey, loser, where are you going?”

“Where you don’t care,” you said abruptly, bumping her with your shoulder as you passed and walking out the door. “Stupid…”

Going out for a walk around the area could be comforting, you always did it. Relaxing with your sister always present, walking through the village was impossible but… If you went further away, where there was no one, at least you could be calm.

Walking through the trees you cursed and mumbled about the bad luck you had to be born with someone, running your hand over the rocks, looking at the sky, where the cawing of the crows also seemed to want to make fun of you.

“Ivana is perfect, isn't she? To hell with her…” you whispered, shaking your head, walking aimlessly without paying attention. “Oh, Ivana, it's nice to see you, Ivana, I'll give you a discount for being you, Ivana… I can't believe it.”

When you got tired of walking in circles, you stopped in a small clearing that wasn’t familiar to you, siting at an old tree’s feet, along with some of those branches that fell due to the passage of time.

 “Ivana is the best, the prettiest, the smartest,” you mocked with an amused expression, picking up a piece of branch and taking out your knife.

“Look at me: I'm stupid Ivana, the one who can't keep a boyfriend for more than one night, the best in the whole world… Damn it.”

Between grunts you began to carve a small wooden figure hoping that time would pass faster. After all, you would have to go home sooner or later.

“Are you Ivana? You're so pretty Ivana…” you continued to murmur, shaping that little figure that looked more and more like a deer. “I'm sick. Oh, Ivana, it's you, isn't it? Of course it's you, you're so beautiful… Oh, it's (Y/N), wow, what a disappointment… Always the same, damn it… I hate you … I'm not damn Ivana… Do I have to cut my hair so you can stop confusing each other? Stupid…”

“Oh, you're Ivana, aren't you?” a different voice said, one you hadn't noticed. It was a mocking voice that you identified with a treacherous subconscious, or a stupid villager.

Either option was irritating enough to make you get up from the tree and turn around furiously.

“Do I have to put a sign on my forehead? I'm not Ivana!” you shrieked with your eyes closed, squeezing the figurine in your hands.

“Wow, what a bad mood you have…” the same voice said.

You opened your eyes sighing, ready to tell another villager to go to hell, but when you did, your face paled.

It wasn't a villager. It wasn't even a human being. A sinister doll stood in front of you, laughing amusedly. You didn't need to think about who it could be, you knew perfectly well: the Angie doll, inseparable companion of one of the four Lords, Donna Beneviento.

The lady in black stood behind the doll with a cold and stoic pose while the puppet laughed amused by your carelessness.

You immediately lowered your head at the sight of the dark lady, your body shaking in terror.

“Lady Beneviento,” you murmured in fear, knowing you were completely defenseless. “I’m sorry, I…”

“What are you doing here?” the doll asked, causing you to look away from the lady and stare frightened at the puppet. “You’re in our territory, stupid.”

“R-Really? Oh, I…,” you said in fear, looking around.

You were definitely angry that day. You hadn’t even realized where your irrational anger had taken you.

“Don’t you know you can’t come here?” the doll insisted, pointing at you with her finger in amusement. “Ivana?”

 “I-I'm not Ivana,” you said, ignoring the anger that came over you when she said that name. “I'm (Y/N), her sister…”

“Oh, her sister, I didn't know she had a sister,” Angie said with her hands on her hips. “Well, I actually knew, but I'd never seen you. Ha, I thought I was seeing double...”

“W-We're twins,” you said, still scared, looking up to see the lady, who seemed to be watching you in silence.

“Twins, how cool,” the doll said, getting a little closer to you, fixing her porcelain gaze on the small wooden deer. “What's this?” she asked, snatching the half-made figurine from you.

You made a timid gesture to take it back, but when you felt the lady's gaze on yours, you stopped.

“It's…. It's…” you stammered, controlling the incipient trembling of your legs. “It's a wooden deer.”

“Oh, a deer… Did you make it?” the curious puppet asked, pretending to play with the figurine.

You nodded nervously, clasping your hands in front of your body.

“I, I like to make wooden figurines, I, I carve them myself,” you explained in a small voice.

Angie looked at you and turned around, approaching her owner.

“Look, Donna, look, look,” she said excitedly, handing the lady the deer.

 She picked it up slowly, making you notice her hands, which immediately caught your attention. After all, that black veil didn't allow you to see anything.

“Mm,” you thought you heard a murmur coming from the black fabric, but you were so scared that you didn't even pay attention while the doll maker calmly observed the figurine.

She was dangerous, very dangerous. She was a disturbed woman who had no mercy on anyone who came snooping around, someone like you.

“Hey, silly, are you looking for a job?” the doll asked, observing your work of art alongside the lady.

You froze when the lady in black extended her hand to kindly return the figurine to you. You had no answer to that question.

“Um…” you stammered, avoiding making contact with that hand that seemed so soft. “Job?”

“Uh-huh, my Donna is quite the doll artist,” Angie said, pointing at the lady in black, who moved her hand, returning it to the side of her waist. “Maybe your skills as a wood artist could be useful.”

“My skills?” you asked curiously, pointing at yourself. “Uh, actually this, this is a hobby. I'm not a carpenter or something like that.”

“That doesn't matter to us, you have talent, girl,” Angie said, walking around you like a carrion bird. “I assure you that my Donna values ​​talent very much…”

“Oh, I…” you stammered again, scratching the back of your neck. “I-I don't know what to say…”

“Well, don't say anything, silly,” Angie laughed, being picked up from the ground by her owner, who began to walk away from you, passing by your side like a ghost, one that smelled of lavender… “Anyway, think about it, come to our mansion tomorrow so we can get to know each other better, okay?”

“I-I… W-Well, okay,” you said confused, nodding, while the lady turned her head to look at you for the last time, continuing her way towards the wooden bridge.

That encounter with a Lord was strange, but the strangest thing of all was being able to get out of that place alive. You had heard so many rumors about the lady in black that you didn't know if you could believe them.

You survived, and on top of that... You had a unique job opportunity. You, the scorned sister, had been chosen by Donna Beneviento herself.

You should feel special, but what you had was fear, fear of what could happen to you. The job offer was, however, tempting and on the way home, you could not stop thinking about it.

It wasn’t something you could keep quiet and, during the meal, you told your family what had happened.

“What do you mean?” your father asked after a few seconds of deathly silence. “You say that Beneviento wants you to work for her?”

“Yes, father,” you said, lowering your head, drinking a glass of water. “It seems that she needs help with her dolls.”

“Wait, are you telling me that a Lord has taken an interest in you?” your sister asked, her eyes wide. The trouble of going into the forest was worth just to see her face.

“Yes, it seems that my figurines are not a waste of time,” you said with a haughty tone, making your sister frown.

“(Y/N)…” your father sighed. “I hope you're not thinking of accepting that offer.”

You shrugged.

“I don't know, it could be a good job,” you whispered indecisively, picking up a piece of bread.

“A good job? That woman is insane, do you hear me? I won't let my daughter risk her life like that,” the man said, pointing at you sternly. “No.”

“But, father…” you protested with a sad look. “She didn't seem so… Insane to me…”

“Seriously, why you?” your sister added, envy oozing from every pore.

“No… No wa…” your father repeated, interrupted by your mother's hand.

“Vlad… Wait a moment,” the woman said in a cautious tone. “Maybe it's a good opportunity. That horrible woman is a Lord. She’s rich…”

“My daughter isn't worth all the money in the world, Ingrid,” your father said, crossing his arms.

You couldn't help but smile. At least for your family you were something else than Ivana's sister.

“Think about it Vlad, if (Y/N) works for Beneviento, we'll be protected in some way, besides, we have a lot of debts… It could be the miracle we're waiting for,” your mother commented, making the whole family look at you.

“Well… What do you say, (Y/N)?” the man asked, pointing at you with his fork. “Do you want to work for that crazy woman?”

Again, you shrugged, nodding slowly.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” you whispered, eating calmly.

Your sister snorted, crossing her arms.

“I can’t believe it, you?” she protested with a nasty look.

“What’s wrong, Ivana?” you said with an evil smile. “Are you jealous?”

The next day, after enjoying your sister’s protests, you decided to accept, walking, this time with a sure course towards the lady’s mansion. Internally you meditated on your options.

Well, your parents needed money and… Your sister was jealous. There was no harm in trying your luck with that woman. Maybe she wasn't as horrible as everyone thought. You certainly didn't think so.

“Okay…” you muttered, entering through a red door that led to an elevator. Just getting there made you feel lucky. You wondered if you could go back.

When you finally reached the the mansion, your eyes widened in awe at the sight. A splendid waterfall rose to the side of the old house, one you had only seen in photographs.

“It's great,” you said with a smile, pleased by the beauty of the place, by feeling that, somehow, you weren't in danger.

But your face changed when you saw a figure walking towards the house, one that looked suspiciously like you.

“It can't be…” you muttered, walking faster and shaking your head. “Hey, you! What the hell are you doing here?” you asked annoyed, pulling your twin sister's arm.

 She smiled at you arrogantly.

“I see that punctuality is not your strong point, huh?” she mocked, breaking away from your grip and walking towards the entrance of the mansion. “I'm here looking for work, (Y/N)”

“What? You have to be kidding,” you said indignantly, pulling her arm again. “Go away, Ivana, this job is mine.”

“Oh, please…” the girl sighed, rolling her eyes. “Don't be naive, you're good for nothing.”

“Well, it turns out that Lady Beneviento needs my talent for wood carving, one you don't have,” you said mockingly, climbing the stairs with your twin, who laughed ironically.

“Don't talk nonsense, you're useless, (Y/N), I can do many more things,” she said satisfied, putting on her dress before knocking on the door, something you prevented by grabbing her wrist.

“What things? Are you planning to seduce this woman too?” you asked unpleasantly.

“Please, I'm not into women, that would be you,” Ivana said sarcastically, releasing herself from your hand and bringing her fist closer to the door again.

“You're unbearable,” you growled, kicking the ground, furious. “This job is mine, Beneviento wanted me, not you. Can't you let me be the protagonist for once?”

“You? Protagonist? Don't make me laugh,” your sister mocked, crossing her arms.

“I really want to pull your hair...” you threatened, approaching her with a dark look.

“You are so vulgar, and you want to work for a Lord?”

“I'm going to…” you growled, reaching out your arms towards your sister, who struggled with you until, with an ominous creak, the door opened.

“Well, well, well…” Angie the doll hummed, in the arms of the lady in black.

Comically, the two sisters separated, adopting a formal and respectful pose.

“Look Donna, has anyone ordered a two for one?” the doll mocked, laughing amusedly while pointing at you effusively.

“Lady Beneviento,” you and Ivana said at the same time, with a frown.

“Am I seeing double?” the puppet mocked again, shaking her head.

“Lady Beneviento,” your sister said, taking a step forward and extending her hand towards the lady, who lowered her gaze but didn’t return the greeting. “Um, I have come looking for work.”

“You?” the doll asked, with a suspicious tone. “(Y/N)?”

“No, no, (Y/N) is this one,” Ivana said mockingly, pointing at you while you kept your head down. “I’m her sister and it is wrong for me to say it, but… I’m better than her for this job.”

“Shut up,” you hissed in an angry whisper, glancing sideways at the lady in black. Unfortunately, you couldn't know where that mysterious woman was looking.

“Oh…” the doll murmured. “Do you also carve wood?”

“No, my lady, but I… Well, I have other talents,” your unbearable sister said.

The lady sighed loudly, but made a gesture for both of you to enter the house.

As expected, your sister's charisma made her not want to keep quiet, making kind comments about everything in the mansion, she even had the audacity to comment on the beauty of the portrait hanging on the wall of the stairs, one that you also noticed, but you didn't say anything.

The two of you sat on a sofa following the vague and silent instructions of the lady in black, who did the same on an armchair located in front of you.

“I think that color suits the house well, and it has a beautiful floor and…” Ivana said tirelessly while you simply lowered your head, occasionally looking at the stoic lady, who, you couldn't be sure, but you thought was looking at you.

“Hey, shut up,” Angie protested, making your sister close her mouth immediately with a cocky smile. “Let's see… You are Ivana, right?”

“Yes, my lady,” your sister said, blinking petulantly.

“And you (Y/N),” Angie repeated, pointing at you.

Your response was an elegant nod.

“Well, I already know what (Y/N) knows how to do, but you… I've heard a lot of things about you in the village,” Angie said, speaking in a slightly strange way, as if she wasn't really the doll.

 The woman didn't speak, she just looked at you.

“It's an honor, my lady,” Ivana said, bowing ridiculously. “Yes, I'm quite well-known in the village.”

“Uh-huh, okay, why do you want to work for us?” the puppet asked.

“It would be an honor for me to serve you, my lady,” Ivana said, making you look at her with a disgusted face.

“What can you do?” Angie asked again, without looking at you, the complete opposite of her owner, or so you thought.

“Well, among my many talents… I know how to cook…” the girl began petulantly, placing herself in an informal posture.

You didn't move, you simply maintained that mysterious look.

“My Donna also cooks, what else?” Angie said, her tone seeming impatient. “We don't need cooks.”

“I'm very good at washing clothes,” your twin continued.

“That's good, hey, haven't you heard of washing machines? You should try them,” Angie mocked, making you unable to contain a smile.

“I-I can also… I can…” your sister stammered, revealing with her voice that she was starting to get nervous. “I'm very good at conversation.”

“Oh, did you hear that, Donna? She likes to talk,” Angie said, looking at the lady who did the same with a serene pose. “What do you say, Donna? Oh, of course, you don't like to talk…”

“Um, um… I can, I can be your maid, my lady, I'll do anything you ask me to,”

Was that a desperate request? Your discreet smile widened.

“We don't need a maid, silly, why don't you try the castle? Surely there you are useful,” the doll said.

You suppressed an amused laugh, glancing sideways at your trembling sister.

“Get out of my house,” a hoarse, unknown voice said, one that came out from the black veil, which had a soft and melodic accent. It was Donna, you were sure.

You, thinking she was talking to you, lowered your head with sadness in your gaze, getting up from the sofa.

“Yes, get out, you're bothering me,” your sister emphasized with a satisfied smile.

“No, not you, (Y/N),” the hoarse voice spoke again.

You stopped with a cautious look.

“You stupid fool!” Angie shrieked, pointing at your sister. “Didn't you hear my Donna? We don't need a fool like you, you're useless.”

“What?” Ivana asked with a frown.

“Go away, go away, come on, out, out,” the doll insisted, gesturing with her hands while your sister, scared, looking at you with fiery eyes, ran towards the exit.

“Sit down,” the dark voice spoke again and the hand of the lady in black moved towards the sofa.

You, amused watching your sister leave the mansion, obeyed, calmer. A moment of silence tensed the atmosphere. There was no one else the lady could be looking at, there was only you.

“Your sister can't be quiet, right?” the lady asked, with that very special voice, with an almost inaudible whisper.

You smiled kindly, shaking your head.

“Yes, she's an idi... I mean, she's, she's... Like that,” you said, swallowing the insult. She was a Lord, after all.

“She's an idiot, you can say it,” Angie said, amused, getting off her owner's lap and sitting on the couch next to you. “We don't like idiots...” she whispered in your ear.

You smiled again, lowering your head when you felt those invisible eyes looking at you again.

“Do I scare you, (Y/N)?” the lady asked, making you briefly look up and shake your head, lying shamelessly.

“No,” you said with a sleepy, broken voice, playing with your hands and wishing to carve wood to release the stress. The Lord tilted her head slowly, searching for the truth with that simple gesture. “Well, a, a bit... I've never been that close to... One of you.”

“So, what do you think? Is it as horrible as you expected?” Beneviento asked again, running a hand over her knee, as if she were nervous too, which was impossible, of course.

“Not really,” you said in a sincere tone, smiling at the ridiculousness of your perfect sister. “You’re the… First one who doesn’t… Who doesn’t think my sister is… Well, great.”

“She’s not great,” she said in a sharp voice. “You have a talent I need. She’s just a stupida…”

“Oh, well, I…” you said, scratching your head, blushing at the compliment, which was unusual if it wasn’t accompanied by: Oh, you’re Ivana, aren’t you? “It’s, it’s a hobby.”

“A hobby that I find very useful,” she murmured, gesturing to Angie and getting up from the sofa with a tired sigh. “Come.”

You stood nervously on the couch, your legs deciding they didn't want to move. You were terribly nervous. No one had ever paid you so much attention, much less... Someone like her.

“Didn't you hear me, girl?” Donna asked impatiently, turning around to look at you, making her veil dance hypnotically. “Come here.”

“Y-Yes, sorry,” you said hastily, getting up and walking next to her, again, in silence, a terrifying one.

After going down an elevator, you walked through a dark basement that gave you chills, until you reached what looked like an old workshop, surely the place where those porcelain dolls were created.

All the children in the village had one, and you were no exception, although your sister's was much more detailed, as always.

“I suppose you're wondering what I want you to do for me,” the lady in black murmured, walking towards a table, where there was an old sewing machine. You nodded with a formal pose.

“Yes, my lady,” you said in a dry, respectful tone, as much as you could.

“Do you see these dolls?” she asked, pointing at the objects, impatiently indicating for you to come a little closer. “Don't just stand there, come closer, girl.”

You walked slowly, taking the porcelain doll the lady offered you and examining it carefully.

“I've known how to make these dolls since I was much younger than you,” the lady began explaining while you played with the doll's clothes. “It's easy for me.”

“I-I see, my lady, it's a magnificent job,” you said with your best smile, giving the doll back to her.

“Save the compliments. If I wanted someone to flatter me, I would call your sister,” she said in a cold tone, leaving the doll in its place.

You swallowed and nodded, regretting your words.

“The thing is simple, (Y/N)… Wood was never my strong point,” the lady whispered, gesturing towards the restless Angie, who climbed into her arms, as if she had hypnotized the doll. “Look at those joints, the details of the fingers…”

You obeyed, craning your head to look at those hands… And also at the wooden fingers.

“It's very well done,” you said, touching the puppet unsteadily, moving its fingers.

“Don't touch it too much, or she will bite you,” the lady said in a dark tone, which made you move your hand away immediately, making something like a nervous laugh come out from behind the veil. “Sorry, it's a joke. Angie won't do anything to you.”

“Oh, okay…” you sighed, playing with your hands.

“Angie was created by my father, and he was good at wood, a talent that, unfortunately, I didn't inherit,” the lady continued, giving life to Angie again and lowering her to the ground. “I would like to recover that part I lost, to make these moving dolls again, and for that, I need you.”

“I understand,” you said pleasantly, nodding.

“Will you be able to help me, or am I wasting my time, (Y/N)?” she asked, crossing her arms in a challenging pose.

“I will do what I can, my lady,” you said elegantly, smiling, knowing that you had gotten the job, one that your sister was not able to achieve, one in which, at last, you would surpass her.

“My lady…” she whispered, with a nervous laugh, indicating for you to sit on a nearby chair. “Don't call me that, you remind me of your sister…”

“Oh, okay,” you said laughing shyly, taking a piece of wood that she handed you. “Lady Beneviento?”

“Donna, it's much shorter,” she said, sighing and sitting next to you. You nodded nervously. “Well, it's not that I doubt you, girl, but I'd like to see what you're capable of. I want a right arm, more or less like Angie's, can you do it?”

And so, by a terrible coincidence, a new part of your life began. A much better one, one in which, finally, you didn't feel inhibited by your sister's abilities.

You had a job. You worked for a Lord, an achievement only reserved for the privileged or well, for any young girl who dared to approach the castle, and who didn't plan on getting married.

The days passed quickly in the old mansion. Silence always accompanied you as you manipulated that wood, always next to the lady in black.

Yes, she could be many things, she could be a sick and dangerous woman, but she didn't show it with you. She wasn't very talkative, quite the opposite of her doll, but she was kind in her own way, grateful for your formality, for every thing you did well, and understanding if you made a mistake.

You certainly felt better than ever. Finally there was someone who preferred you over your sister, something you never thought could happen. The days, weeks, months passed and those little conversations with the doll maker increased little by little, as did your smiles.

Donna was a fascinating, mysterious woman, but completely different from the other Lords. Surely that was what caught your attention, yes, yes, it wasn't at all her sweetness, her melodic and seductive accent, or the beauty of her hands…

Maybe you were a bit confused, maybe that attraction (yes, attraction) you were starting to feel for the lady in black was simply a thank you from your heart for feeling important, for feeling that, for once, your sister wasn’t the protagonist.

“Good job, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, running her slender fingers through the wooden ones you had just polished while you looked at her satisfied. “I can give this little hand a manicure, don't you think?”

“Yes, thank you, Donna,” you said with a smile, sighing at the work that wooden arm took you.

She nodded, making you understand she had heard you and, surprisingly, she brought her hand to the black veil that covered her face, removing it elegantly.

You looked away at first, but you couldn't help but glance at her face out of the corner of your eye, getting very nervous. Donna was, just as you feared, a beautiful woman. You didn't even pay much attention to the scar, which was probably the reason for wanting to hide her face.

Your mouth opened slightly and your gaze became bolder, going straight to the lady, who was searching through an old glass for a suitable brush to paint your creation.

“Che stai guardando?” she asked without looking at you, knowing that you had become petrified, and why.

“Oh, no-nothing,” you said nervously, returning to the table to play with the leftover pieces of wood.

The lady frowned, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, putting the brush back in its place.

“Did you understand me?” she asked curiously, turning to look at you, to confirm the beauty you had noticed. “Do you know Italian?”

“Um, yes, no, um, I don't know,” you stammered, turning abruptly to look at the table again. “It's just that... I, I've read a lot of books...”

“Do you like to read?” she asked, taking the brush and smearing it with paint.

“Um, yeah,” you said quietly, playing with a piece of wood, carving it to calm your nerves.

“Mm,” she murmured, concentrating on the arm, not caring too much about you had seen her face. She didn’t really have to. One bad word and you would end up at the bottom of the waterfall. “Your sister likes to read too?”

“My sister?” you asked with a mocking smile. “I doubt she even knows what a book is,” you said, forgetting about the beauty next to you.

Donna laughed softly, but kept her face serious.

“Excuse me for asking, but… Why do you hate your sister?” she asked in a soft voice, curious but distracted at the same time.

“I don't hate her,” you said sighing, shaking your head. “She's my sister and I love her, but it's just that… Ugh, she was always the most… Popular… Everyone approaches her, sucks up to her, wants to flirt with her… It seems like I’m nothing but her shadow.”

“There's no one who doesn't know her,” the lady commented, painting in a disinterested way. “But I don't understand why. She's stupid.”

“Yeah, well…” you said amused, rolling your eyes. “But even if she's stupid, I don't know how she does it, but she has a natural talent for people, she has a lot of charisma, and joy and... Well, everything I lack... She's like a double... Or rather, I'm her sinister double...”

“Mm, so you think that being popular makes you a better person,” she commented distractedly, making you reflect.

“Yes, no, I don't know,” you said, nodding and suddenly shaking your head, not sure of your answer.

“Do you think she's better because people want to flirt with her?” Donna asked again, making you blush.

“W-Well, that doesn't matter too much to me, we don't have the same interests,” you said with a shy voice, not wanting to reveal an important fact about yourself, one that you didn't know how Lady Beneviento would take it.

“Mm, that's obvious,” she murmured without looking at you, making you startle.

“Why do you say so?”

“You're not scared of my face,” she said in a darker voice, controlling an incipient tremor in her hands.

“The-there's nothing to be scared of,” you said, nervous, uncomfortable.

The lady stopped painting, smiling strangely.

“Surely your sister would run away terrified,” she murmured, sighing sadly, something that caught your attention.

“No way,” you said amused with a gesture of your hand. “No matter what she thought, she would surely try to seduce you to take some of your fortune. She always does the same with everyone.”

“Seduce me?” the lady asked amused, letting the wooden arm go and turning to look at you.

“Yes, I think so,” you said, looking away. “She would do anything to gain fame...”

“Even seduce a monster like me,” she said in a different tone, pressing her lips together.

A bad choice of words.

“I didn't mean that,” you said regretfully. “I, I just, I mean that, seducing you is not what... Well, I think that... Well, anyone with eyes in their face could see how beautiful you are and... Well, I... Well... I-I better shut up...” you said nervously, red as blood, looking at the old clock, wishing it was time to leave.

“Do you want to seduce me, (Y/N)?” she asked, in a whispery tone, looking at you with a frown.

Your heart couldn't take it anymore.

“Oh, I... I'm not like my sister,” you said avoiding that poisoned dart, avoiding saying what you really thought.

“That's why I like you,” the lady whispered, bringing a soft hand surprisingly to your face, caressing it gently, almost automatically.

Your breathing quickened and your eyes danced nervously, locked on hers, on that bright and beautiful eye as her skin made contact with yours, a sensation you didn't know felt so good (although you shamefully fantasized about it)

“Y-You-You like me…” you stammered, bringing your hand to hers, leaning in the same way as her until the lady, clearing her throat, withdrew, surely embarrassed.

“Yes, um, um… I think, I think you've done enough for today. You can leave,” Donna said, shaking her head and frowning more intensely, gesturing with her hand.

“Okay,” you sighed with an exaggeratedly sad tone.

Nothing was the same after that strange conversation.

You finally admitted that you feel something for the lady in black, that it wasn't the simple illusion of being valued more than your sister. It was something different, a kind of tension, of tense and uncomfortable moments that became routine.

The smiles, the casual contact of your hands with hers became something more and more frequent. You couldn't be more in love, but neither of you ever mentioned it.

There was never any talk of those subtle caresses or those glances. You didn't dare to say what you thought, and neither did she. It was better this way after all, you could be misinterpreting things.

“That's it... Slowly...” the lady said, on one of those days when you weren't working with wood, but you were learning to sew instead, thanks to her advice. The smile was always in the lady's eye, and on your cheeks, the red color settled as definitive.

“Like this?” you asked, showing her the piece of fabric. She nodded amused, without stopping to look at you. “Good, now I know how to sew.”

“Yes,” she said, with a wider smile. “It's not complicated, (Y/N), it's a matter of practice.”

“I see…” you sighed, going over those clumsy seams.

Silence returned to the old workshop.

“(Y/N)… I, I've been thinking,” Donna murmured, moving away from that comfortable proximity, playing with her hands while you continued sewing. “Maybe it seems hasty but… I have, I have to tell you something.”

You looked at her with wide eyes as she grabbed one of your hands. She was sweating, shaking visibly. She seemed terribly nervous.

“Okay…” you sighed, dazzled by her soft caresses.

“I…”

“Hey, you two!” Angie's shrieks interrupted that tense moment, that moment you had been waiting for so long.

“Angie, this is not a right time,” the lady growled, having seen her attempt frustrated.

“What were you doing?” the doll asked in a mocking tone, dragging out her words. “Well, whatever, there's a knock at the door, Donna.”

“I'm not expecting anyone,” she said, frowning again. “Who is it?”

“What do I know?” the doll answered, shrugging.

“Cazzo… Dov’è il mio velo…?” the lady murmured nervously, searching for something on the table.

You put a hand on her shoulder and stood up with a smile.

“I'm coming, don't worry,” you said in a kind voice, making her nod with a weak smile.

“Thank you”

When you got to the door, your smile instantly vanished.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, crossing your arms when you saw your clone, your sister, dressed the same way as you with an almost furious look.

“It turns out that thanks to you I have become the new errand girl,” Ivana said with a cocky tone.

You raised your eyebrows, with a triumphant smile.

“It's a pain, huh?” you mocked. “I've been like that for years.”

“Yes, whatever you say…” your sister said, making an unpleasant gesture with her hand. “Mother gave me this for you.”

“Oh, cookies…” you said with a tender smile.

“Yes, she says she wants Lady Beneviento to try them,” Ivana commented, looking at her nails with disinterest.

“Okay, thanks,” you said, entering the house and closing the door, something you couldn't do, since your sister prevented it.

“Hey, you ungrateful witch, don't you know how much it cost me to get here?” she rebuked you, with a finger on your chest.

“What do I care?”

“You could give me a glass of water, at least,” Ivana protested, lowering her gaze.

“Ugh, fine,” you said sighing and shaking your head. “Stay there and, don't, touch, anything.”

“Whatever you say,” the young woman said, crossing her arms as you went up the stairs.

Grumbling and mumbling you went up to the bathroom on the top floor. You would go down to the kitchen for no reason. Your sister would do nothing but snoop around.

“Oh, there you are,” a familiar voice caught your attention, along with the unmistakable sound of heels.

You leaned over the railing, watching as the lady in black dangerously approached your sister, her face covered.

“Mm?” your twin murmured, blinking in disbelief when the brunette uncovered her face again. She seemed very, very nervous.

You wanted to intervene, but you didn't, you stayed glued to the railing with the glass in your hand, shaking more and more.

“Who was it?” Donna asked, getting a little closer to Ivana. “W-Well, it, it doesn't matter…”

“Um, I…” your twin stammered, surely surprised to see her face.

“W-Wait, let, let me tell you something…” the lady interrupted, moving her hand to reach your sister's, joining it with hers, interlacing their fingers. Ivana didn't move; she remained open-mouthed.

“Um, um…”

“I know it's crazy and I know your answer will probably break my heart, but I can't keep quiet about what I feel, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, making a great effort to speak.

You fidgeted nervously on the railing, a smile appearing on your face, a smile that hid the evidence of what was happening downstairs.

“I… I've, I've been alone all my life until… Until you showed up and… With you I feel, I feel like I wouldn't want to be alone again…” the lady continued, squeezing your sister's hand tighter. “I-I'm, I'm in love with you.”

Your jaw dropped at the same time as your sister's. You couldn't believe it, it was the happiest day of your life, was it?

“Y-You don't have to answer me now, but, but I would like, I would like...” the lady said, still nervous at the lack of response from the stunned Ivana. “I would like you to help me discover what love is... Together, next to you... What...? What do you say?” she whispered, caressing your sister's hair, her face pale from those words.

She gently pulled her, lightly placing her lips on your twin's, kissing her slowly.

That was too much for you.

Your hand became weak, dropping the glass on the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces with an unpleasant sound that attracted the attention of the two women.

“Donna!” you shouted, rushing down the stairs. “Donna, wait, that's not...”

“W-W-What?” the lady stammered, blinking in confusion and letting your sister's waist go.

“Hey, I'm not (Y/N)…” Ivana said amused. “But if you share you money with me I'll be whoever you want…”

“What? You? You?” Donna said nervously, running a hand through her hair and breathing heavily, pointing at one of you each time. “You, you're not… You…”

“Donna, she's my sister,” you said, arriving at the hall in a hurry and pushing your twin away. “Are you an idiot? What are you up to?”

“Hey, hey, I didn't do anything,” Ivana protested amused and nervous. “It was her… Boy, (Y/N) you were so quiet about that.”

You growled, looking at the lady in black, who had a lost look on her face while her body suffered nervous spasms.

“You're…. You're… (Y/N)…” Donna stammered, unable to control her anxiety. “You… You're, you're…”

“Did I miss something?” your sister asked, frowning.

“Oh, you stupid moron…” you muttered, putting your hands on the brunette's shoulders.

Donna was unable to look at you.

“No… No!” she shrieked furiously, pushing you away as she ran off, kicking all the furniture in her path.

“Hey, wait!” you shrieked, chasing her.

“Sis, you're such a flirter,” Ivana mocked, laughing amused. “Who would have thought that a Lord was so stupid as to be interested in you?”

“Shut up,” you hissed as you held the brunette, who struggled against your grip, sobbing. “Donna…”

The lady apparently calmed down, looking at your sister with a furious eye and pushing you away again, walking hurriedly towards her.

“Hey, hey, hey, I didn't mean…” your sister said, running away from the doll maker, who was chasing her furiously. “Hey, I'm sorry…”

A dull thud silenced your twin's complaints. Angie, who had slipped among you, hit your sister with a piece of wood, leaving her unconscious.

“Right in the head,” the doll said, laughing sinisterly.

“Stronza…” Donna growled, approaching you twin’s unconscious body. “How dare you to fool me!?”

“Hey, Donna, wait, wait, leave her alone,” you said, grabbing her shoulders again. “It's not her fault, wait, please…”

“(Y/N)…” the lady sighed, changing from anger to sadness. “What have I done?”

“Eh, eh, it's okay…” you said, glancing at your sister. Of course, she was still alive. “You got confused, it's normal.”

“I, I made a fool of myself… (Y/N)…” she sobbed, throwing herself into the shelter of your arms as she lowered herself to the floor, burying her head in your chest. “I'm sorry!”

“Shhh, Donna…” you said in a comforting whisper, caressing her hair, kneeling. “I've heard everything…”

“I'm sorry…” she sobbed again, clinging to your dress. “You don't know how much I…”

Her apologies were silenced by a kiss, one from your lips, a bold, brave one, the first of your life, but not the last. It was a sudden and disastrous kiss, but it served to silence the sobs of the lady in black, who slowly pushed you away, calmer.

“Those things you said...” you murmured smiling, wiping away the tears of the brunette. “Do you really have feelings for me?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, (Y/N), I... I, I love you...”

“You know what? I've been wanting to hear you say it for so long, that I don't care that you said it to my sister,” you joked softly, cradling the sobbing lady in your arms.

“Cazzo...” she lamented again, burying her head further into her chest.

“I'm going to take my sister home and... When, when I get back I want us to... Well, talk about this... Maybe over dinner?”

[intothedysphoria]

He practically lived in the laundromat.

Steve saw him frequently. Not in like a creepy way. In a sad and lonely way. Because that’s what Steve was. Sad and lonely.

He wore denim and leather and drove an electric blue Camaro and an ornate cross hung from his neck and he was very obviously gay.

The surname was something Steve couldn’t pronounce. Irish. Not anglicised. It had used to be Hargrove apparently. It wasn’t anymore.

The first name was so ordinary though. William. Billy.

Steve sometimes said hello to him, in between watching Rick and Morty on Netflix. Billy would say hello back. Fairly uninterested but polite.

The conversations were usually limited to complaining about professors or the industrial washing machines.

“Alright man?”

“Yeah I’m ok. That new history assignment is a bitch to complete.”

“Damn. See you in next weeks seminar.”

If Steve had half the balls he had in high school, he’d ask him out for a drink. Beer, coffee, hot chocolate. Anything really.

Instead, he gave an awkward thumbs up as that perfectly tanned back walked into the distance.

The next time they met, Billy’s bag split.

There was a significant hole, books struggling to escape as Billy stood, looking crestfallen. And Steve had an idea.

“I could fix it for you. If you want.”

The look on Billy’s face said that Steve could have personally hung each and every star.

The benefits of being a drag queen.

It wasn’t a hard fix at the end of the day but it really was a charming satchel. Pins of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Pokémon sat proudly at the top. He really was a fucking nerd.

Billy hugged him when Steve handed the bag back. It felt soft and warm and genuinely affectionate. None of those things were about to be complained about.

He turned up at Steve’s next drag show. A gay bar Billy never frequented. He was usually at the one which was full to the brim of guys who really liked leather. Not Steve’s one with its terrible 80s night and constant inter club bickering.

Billy told him he liked the show afterwards. The one where Steve had done a cheer routine to Teenagers by My Chemical Romance. He’d make sure to visit again with what Steve thought might have been a wink.

Maybe. He wasn’t 100 sure. Maybe he just had a severe squint.

Billy would now come to sit right next to Steve in seminars. Notebook filled with calligraphy and tiny doodles. Steve’s hopelessly dyslexic handwriting felt exceedingly ugly in comparison. Billy just told him it was unique.

That was one way of putting it. Billy was very kind. And probably went after guys like McKinney or Munson or Tommy. Not Steve.

It didn’t stop Steve from giggling like a schoolgirl whenever Billy gave him a compliment. Which hopefully Billy had chosen to ignore.

Robin set him up on a date after Steve came over with an entire pint of strawberry milkshake and cried on her sofa. Given the amount of time Steve had been on testosterone, he could not just blame it on his period. His period had ended for good like last year.

Jonathan was funny. He was a bit of a nerd, loved old horror films and in any other circumstance, Steve would be enamoured. This was not any other circumstance.

Not when Steve was thinking about Billy being on a date with any other guy. Someone who wasn’t him.

Steve ditched the date halfway through then spent the rest of the evening thinking about how he was a horrible person. Surprisingly, that didn’t help his situation.

Billy asked if he was ok. Of course Steve was ok. Why wouldn’t he be. Nothing wrong here.

Carol asked if he wanted a live laugh love mug and a pink sweater. Steve took the hint.

Telling Billy in theory was easy. Telling Billy in practice was fairly difficult.

He told Billy in the laundromat. Painfully unromantic. Just asked him out for drinks. But Billy was grinning like a six year old.

“Sure. It’s a date.”

Was Billy bouncing on his feet?

When Billy immediately started signing off their texts with hearts and kisses, Steve thought it was.

It is pretty much my two year fandom anniversary give or take a few days and this fic is for @shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 @thatgirlwithasquid @oopsiedaisiesbaby @robthegoodfellow @bigdumbbambieyes @thissortofsorcery and @harringroveobsessed for putting up with the incessant messaging and asks and random brainworms I get at like 5AM

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 6

So ever since my last update, I've gotten a new laptop because deadass the same day I posted chapter 5 like "oh hopefully I'll get it back soon," they told me my old acer aspire is so old they don't even make the parts for it anymore. This has nothing to do with the fic, I just thought it was funny.

Notes: still sfw, semi dysfunctional/controlling family dynamics (I assure you they will get progressively worse), ableism in the form of reader being coddled and patronized by his parents. Check masterlist for previous parts, will eventually make an actual masterlist for this fic.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

You did not immediately tell your parents about your interaction with Pantalone when you finally returned, as once again they were in the midst of an argument. Your mother’s scoldings about how your father knows better, and your father’s arguments about how you’re a grown man who should fend for himself by now could be heard the moment you stepped through the door. Colleen gives you an awkward, sympathetic smile as you shuck off your coat. Before the maid can hang it up, you fish the letter from your pocket, and seeing your name in the Guuji Yae’s handwriting fills you with nervous excitement once more. 

You can’t really hear the fighting from your study. If you try to listen, you can, but otherwise it is very peaceful. You open the letter again and set it next to your typewriter, while also tucking the briefcase with your manuscript under your desk. You proceed to load your typewriter, ready to type a response, when it occurs to you that maybe you should hand write this letter. Would it be disrespectful to just type a letter? Maybe. A handwritten letter is more personal, after all. 

By the time you finish your letter, there are six other letters crumpled up in your bin, and you hear your mother’s voice informing you that it’s dinner time. The tense atmosphere of dinner keeps you from talking, let alone telling your parents about Pantalone. You really don’t want to set off yet another argument with how much these two have grown apart. As horrible as it is to think or say, you will not be surprised if the word divorce comes up in their next fight, and that next fight is probably tomorrow. 

This tense silence continues the next day, and the day after that, until a full two weeks have passed where you have not heard a single argument. Not because your parents made up, mind you, but because they have barely spoken to each other. Nothing beyond standard small talk or informing the other person about meals or receiving something in the mail. The air is oppressive, and you try not to let it show how much it is starting to stress you out. Instead, you have been waiting patiently for a letter back from the Guuji, hoping to surprise them with some good news for once. 

(You’ve also been replaying your last interaction with Pantalone in your head, because you know you did not mishear him.)

The silence breaks when your father throws your bedroom door open one morning, when you are in the midst of getting changed out of your sleepwear. 

“You!”

You jump, having just put on your pants. Your face heats up in embarrassment. “Would it kill you to knock?” you snap. It’s not even ten. 

You hear your mother somewhere behind your father. “Darling, calm down.”

Your father storms inside and an envelope is shoved in your face. “Do you care to explain this?”

You step back and take the envelope. You rub your eyes, shoot your dad a dirty look, and read the envelope. That’s your name and address, but you don’t recognize the return address in the corner. The name, however, you do recognize, and your father does too.

“Why is it that I haven’t had contact with the Regrator in two weeks,” your father asks, “but when I finally get a letter back, it’s for you?”

“Yes, why is Pantalone writing to you?” your mother asks in turn. 

Your brow furrows, and with your father glaring daggers at you, you break the seal on the back of the letter. Before you can actually open it, your dad snatches the letter from you. He tosses the envelope aside and unfolds the paper within. 

“Hey!” You grab your father’s arm. “If you’re going to barge into my room, at least let me read my own mail!”

“There has to be some mistake,” your father says. “There’s no reason for the Regrator to talk to you.”

“While I disagree with his approach,” your mother says, “your father has a point.”

“Maybe if you let me read my mail, I could tell you,” you reply sarcastically. Your father rolls his eyes but hands the now crinkled letter back to you. You straighten it out and let your eyes scan over the words.

Your father’s voice is impatient. “Well?” 

You squint. “It’s an invitation.”

“An invitation?” your mother asks.

“What the hell for?” your father asks.

“An invitation for tea,” you answer, “for… tomorrow, at two.”

“Anything else?”

You flip the paper over. It’s blank. You flip it back over. “No, it’s just tea at two at his estate.”

“No, you fool,” your dad says, pulling the letter out of your hand again. “I meant if he mentions your sister or myself, because I find it hard to believe he’d invite you to his estate.”

You cross your arms. “Why’s that?”

“Your father means it’s odd that you would be invited over when you are not, ah, working with him,” your mother says, making up an excuse on the fly. “You’re not working with your father and sister, so if you were to be invited over, then that would include the rest of the family.” Though she’s out of your limited line of vision, you know she’s glaring at your father based on the way he averts his eyes from you.

“Then why is it addressed to him? It doesn’t address anyone else in the family.”

“I’m not sure, dear. Perhaps there’s been a mistake?”

“Pantalone would not make a mistake like this. Perhaps the post office lost our invites, but not his.”

“Or he just invited me,” you butt in.

Your father gives you a look. 

“Think about it,” you say, “if we all got an invite, surely mine would have said something about it, right? Hope to see you and your family, or something along those lines.”

“Perhaps mine would have it,” your father retorts, “as he’s my business partner.”

More like marriage partner at this point, you think and know better than to say. “You’re also assuming this has anything to do with work,” is what you say instead. “What if it’s just tea?”

“No, a man like him wouldn’t invite someone over for just tea,” your mother says. 

Your father goes to put your invitation in his pocket, but gives it back to you when your mom gives him a look. He clears his throat. “Well, we’ll have this sorted when we visit tomorrow.”

You blink. “Wait, what?” 

“We’re not going to just turn down this invitation,” your father says, as if you’re an idiot for not understanding what he was getting at. 

“We? We?”

“That’s right,” your mother chimes in, “we really shouldn’t go if we don’t know his intentions.”

“That’s not…” You groan, annoyed. You point at your father. “You aren’t on the invite.” You turn and point to your mother. “And we’ve talked about the coddling.”

Your mother shakes her head. “That was about when he visits us, I don’t want you alone at his estate.”

“No, no, we’re not getting into the semantics,” you say, “I have told you time and time and time again to stop treating me like I’m seven! I should be allowed to go have tea with someone else by myself.”

“Watch your tongue,” your father snaps, “and our decision is final. If you want to go to the Regrator’s for tea, then your mother and I are going as well.” He turns to walk off, and stops in the doorway. “And put a damn shirt on.”

The door slams shut, leaving you and your mother in your room. She offers you an apologetic smile, and gets the hint you want space when you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. Her exit is much quiet, a soft apology and a gentle closing of the door. 

It takes you a moment, but you manage to find the envelope your father carelessly tossed aside. It slid most of the way under your bed, only the corner of it is immediately visible. You pick it up and feel your heart thump in your chest.

So this is what your name looks like in his handwriting.

----

While the novelty of Pantalone’s social status has worn off, the estate that comes into view through the snowstorm is a reminder of his intimidating wealth. It’s a beautiful building, and significantly larger than your family home. Your eyes are glued to the sight of it through the covered sled’s window. You can also just see your mother looking at it as well through the reflection of the glass. 

“Remember what we talked about,” your father says, and you make a face of annoyance similar to the face your mother’s reflection makes. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Don’t touch, trip on, or break anything,” you reply, “and only speak when spoken to. I’m aware of the whole routine.”

“And watch the attitude.”

“And you remember what I told you,” you reply, not bothering to turn your head. “If it turns out Pantalone didn’t invite you over, you need to leave.”

“Look at me when you talk to me.”

There’s a thump. Your mother most likely gave your father a nudge with her foot. Silence takes up the last few minutes of the ride as it slows to a stop right outside the snowy steps. You slide over to the opposite end of your seat and open the door, sucking all the warmth out of the sled. You make no effort to wait for your parents before you step down from the stairs. The snow pelting you in the face diminishes your vision, so you only make it a few steps before you trip on the first step. You catch yourself before you tumble forward and smash your teeth into the stairs. 

You hear your mother’s voice from the sled. “Please be careful!” 

You shout back that you’re fine, and climb up the stairs. Pantalone must have just had the steps cleared off before the blizzard hit, as there’s no crunch beneath your feet, merely the puff of snowflakes puffing out of the way with each step you take. Your father calls for you to wait for them as you stand before the door. You grab one of the large knockers and give it a few hard knocks on the door.

You feel your father’s firm hand on your shoulder just as a gust of heat rushes out and envelops you. You find yourself standing face to face with an older gentleman dressed in pristine servant’s attire. The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment he offers a welcoming smile before he notices you’re not alone, then it becomes confusion.

“Oh, hello there,” he says, “this is a little unexpected.”

“We’re here for tea with the Regrator,” your father butts in before you can even open your mouth.

“I had assumed as much, but I was told we were expecting a single visitor,” the man says. He brings his gaze back to you. “Now, you fit the description, but these two–”

Somewhere behind the man, you hear Pantalone’s voice. “Fyodor, what’s going on? Why have you not let our guest inside?”

The man turns around to address his master. “Apologies, my lord, but there seems to be some sort of… misunderstanding?”

You hear heeled footsteps descending a flight of stares and across the floor before your host comes into view. You feel yourself salivate and swallow it down quickly. You’re so used to seeing him in mostly black clothing, so the white lace up shirt with puffy sleeves immediately catches your eye. It’s tucked into a pair of black corset pants, which you make a point to not look at either. His hair is not tied back, and the chain on his glasses seems different. Though he still has his rings, he’s not wearing his gloves. Even in more “casual” attire, the Regrator is the pinnacle of wealth and beauty.

This very beautiful man tilts his head at the sight of your parents, namely your father. “What are you doing here?”

“You… You invited us to tea,” your father says.

“No I didn’t.”

Your father is quiet, and you turn yourself to see the confusion on his face. “You sent an invitation, i-it had our address on it.”

“Yes, and I believe I put your son’s name on it, did I not?” Pantalone asks. When you turn back around to him, you find he’s looking right at you. 

“You did, b-but I presumed you… you forgot to mention us, or maybe the invitations for my wife and I got lost in the–”

Pantalone lifts his hand, silencing your father. “If that were the case, I would have either addressed it to your family as a whole on the envelope, or I would have mentioned it in the invitation itself. Likewise, I did not send this through the post office, I had one of my staff deliver it personally.”

“But, b-but I’m your business partner!”

Pantalone turns to you. “Did you invite them with you?”

You stumble on your words, feeling too humiliated to answer honestly. What’s worse, saying yes, or saying no, but your parents wouldn’t let you leave unless they came along like they were chaperoning a child’s first field trip or playdate? You manage a shake of your head, and fortunately Pantalone seems to understand your plight after having many interactions with your family.

He sighs, and steps aside. “You’ve already made the trip, and the weather is taking a turn for the worst,” he relents, “you may come in.”

Your father pushes past and marvels at the interior of Pantalone’s estate. Your mother gives you an assuring pat on your shoulder. Pantalone whispers something to Fyodor, who nods and goes to help your parents with their coats.

The door shuts behind you, and you turn to Pantalone. You clasp your gloved hands together and lower your voice. “I am so sorry, I tried to tell them–”

“I know,” he replies in a voice as soft as yours, “perhaps I should have seen this coming, but I didn’t think I would need to be more specific in the invitation.”

With that, Pantalone stands up and claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Once you’re all settled, please follow me for a short tour on the way to the tea room.” He turns to Fyodor, who is carrying your parents’ coats. “Fyodor, please be a dear and let the chefs know to prepare some extra refreshments for our unexpected company.”

Fyodor nods, and you give him your coat before he leaves. Your mother is already hovering right next to you protectively, and Pantalone gives you a subtly sympathetic smile, which your mother seemingly interprets as an underlying threat judging by the way she wraps her arm around yours. You imagine your father is rolling his eyes.

The tour is short as promised, only staying in any given room long enough for Pantalone to state what the purpose of it is. You pass through the dining room, where Pantalone points out the doors to the kitchen, before you’re in a corridor passing by a ballroom entryway. You try to have a look at the oddly macabre paintings your host has displayed on the walls, but your mother is practically dragging you along so she can get this event over with quicker. You want to ask questions about what the chandelier in the foyer is made of, but your father already asked that in his never ending ramblings of praise for Pantalone and probably isn’t going to stop so you can actually ask the man anything.

Your father finally shuts up and your mother lets your arm go when the four of you step inside the tea room. Something you notice immediately is, while there are paintings on the walls, a table in the centre of the room, and a large cabinet with various tea sets, there is actually very little decor and furniture here. You passed by some sculptures and house plants and other miscellaneous extravagant pieces on the way, but the small room is oddly empty compared to the corridor just outside. 

When Pantalone takes a seat, your parents end up taking a seat on either side of him. Your father is immediately praising the barely furnished room, while your mother acts as barrier. As such, you end up seated across from him. On cue, you hear two people come in through the door behind you. You hear a soft squeaking, and a servant pushing a cart with a tea set on top of it. The porcelain teapot and cups have a vaguely floral pattern, with the handles shimmering with gold leaf. You jump when the second person, another servant, comes up beside you with a tray of food to place on the table. Your father marvels as they get to work setting the table, your mother politely thanks the staff, and you just sit still as your cup of tea is poured.

“This is quite lovely, Pantalone,” your father says for the millionth time, “really, I expect nothing less from you!”

Pantalone gives your father a smile, a polite gesture that does not reach his eyes. “I’m flattered.” When he looks your way, his smile seems fonder. “How about you? You seem to have something on your mind.”

“Oh! Um…” You lean back and glance around the room once more. “I was just… curious about your decor.”

Pantalone tilts his head curiously. “Oh? And what would you like to know?”

You hesitate to answer out of fear you would offend the man.

“Well? Out with it,” your father remarks.

“This room is a little bit… um…”

“Bare?” Pantalone finishes. “Yes, I had some of the furniture moved around in preparation for your arrival.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your eye condition,” he answers, “you said you used to trip on furniture because you didn’t see it, correct? I figured with a room this size, it would be safer to move some of the decor out of the room while you were visiting.”

“Oh, that’s… actually rather sweet,” you say, “b-but unnecessary. I’m not as clumsy as I used to be.”

“Ah, yes, my suit can attest to that fact.”

You chuckle.

Your father chimes in. “Yes, it’s better we avoid any more expensive accidents.”

Pantalone hums. “While I would rather avoid paying for a replacement or repair job, I was more focused on ensuring your son’s safety. I would hate for my guest to get hurt at an event I invited him to.”

You pick up on his passive aggressive comment, and your father does not. That, or he’s elected to ignore it. “Ah, that too,” your father says. He gestures to your mother. “I would have never heard the end of it if that were the case!”

Your father was expecting someone to laugh. He is ignored by Pantalone and gets glared at by your mother. You just grab a couple pastries, honestly wishing you had just turned down the invite altogether.

Your father clears his throat. “So, about that thing I-I had proposed a few weeks ago–”

“How is the book deal?” Pantalone asks you.

“O-Oh,” you stammer, not expecting him to bring up your book, “well, I’ve decided to go for it, and I’ve written back saying I would like to move forward with the deal. Now I’m just waiting for them to get back to me.”

Pantalone smiles and nods. “That’s lovely to hear.”

Your mother looks at you, confused. “What is he talking about?”

Fuck. You swallow, and nervously, sheepishly smile. “Right, um… I was, ah, saving this for when the deal was finalized, but my book might be getting published now.”

“By who?”

“... The Yae Publishing House.”

Your mother’s squeal could shatter porcelain. “The Yae Publishing House?! Sweetheart, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

You awkwardly laugh, avoiding Pantalone’s knowing gaze. “They’re just s-such a big deal, you know? I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I knew for certain they were going t-to publish the book.”

“Still, you could have at least told me you sent your book to them! Oh, goodness, I’m getting all worked up now. My sweetheart, being published by the Guuji Yae…”

Pantalone chuckles. “Yes, quite exciting. It warms my heart to see hard work being recognized.”

“I’m very excited,” your mother says, “he hasn’t told me what his new book is about, he keeps telling me to wait until it gets published. I was worried I’d never get to read it when your first deal was cancelled!”

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “This one’s kind of, well, different from my usual writing. I wasn’t sure how people would react to it.”

“Your stories are lovely, sweetie,” your mother insists, “you should never worry about what your mother thinks because I will always support you.”

You hear your father lean over in his chair towards Pantalone, and in a room of four people, his whisper is very audible. “He was worried he would have to get a real job, haha.”

“Which would be difficult given my disability,” you add, “seeing as most jobs require you to have awareness of your surroundings, and my eyesight is only going to continue degrading.”

Your father glares, and clears his throat. “... It was a joke.”

“And it wasn’t very original.”

“You’re also one to talk, considering our little deal,” Pantalone remarks. Your mother looks at your father for an explanation, to which he just sips his tea, embarrassed. 

The rest of the afternoon isn’t less awkward. The momentary embarrassment does not stop your father from badgering Pantalone with questions about what he’s been doing the past two weeks (settling some financial matters in Liyue), and praising him for the pastries he’s provided. Pantalone answers out of politeness, but his responses grow shorter and shorter every time your father opens his mouth. Your mother just silently eats, disinterested in conversing with the Regrator. You try to engage in conversation with Pantalone, but despite glares from everyone at the table, your father continues to interrupt you or answer questions Pantalone could not have more clearly directed towards you. You also just keep your answers short, not wanting to divulge too much about your book or true thoughts in front of your parents. 

Your father pops the last cream puff in his mouth. He’s already eaten most of them. There is no more tea, bringing the meeting to a close.

Pantalone claps his hands together. “Well, this has been a meeting!”

“We appreciate the invitation, Lord Pantalone,” your father says.

“What invitation?” Pantalone asks. “Remember? You two never received an invite.”

“... Right.”

Pantalone leans forward, propping his head up in his hands. He’s looking right at you, and he smiles so sweetly. “Would you care to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly overstay our welcome.”

Pantalone nods, acknowledging your father. He then looks back at you. “So? Would you care to stay?”

“We just said no,” your mother says.

“That’s fine, you two are free to leave. I’m talking to your son.”

Your mother and father lock eyes, before your father turns back to Pantalone. “Wait, why are you asking him if he wants to stay, but not us?”

Pantalone sighs, and grins at your father. “Well, I think I’ve played host to you two long enough, so I’ll tell you honestly.” At that, Pantalone drops his smile. The atmosphere immediately grows tense as he speaks, his voice cold. “I invited your son to my home because I wanted to discuss his upcoming book over tea. I did not invite you over to discuss work matters on my day off. Now, I would like to have the discussion I cleared my schedule for, and I would like to do it with the guest I actually invited.”

Your father balks, while you feel your jaw drop to the table and your eyes go as wide as saucers. You slowly turn towards your mother, and she is immediately seething. She stands up, her chair scraping on the floor. Pantalone smiles at you once more.

“So will you be staying for dinner? I have many questions about your writing process.”

“I–”

“Absolutely not,” your mother snaps. She grabs your arm hard and attempts to pull you up to your feet. Your father is torn between being shocked over being called out for his behaviour, humiliated for being scolded like a child, and incensed that your invitation did not extend towards him. Your mother tugs your arm again, and you stand up so you can better shake her off your arm.

“We’re leaving,” your father says. “Come along, you two.”

You brush some crumbs off your lap and sit back down.

Your father shakes your shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re leaving.”

“Have fun,” you reply dryly, “I’ll be home late.”

Pantalone absolutely beams. “Oh, wonderful!”

You flinch at your mother’s shrill voice. “No, you’re not! I am not leaving you with this disrespectful–”

“Violka, he has made up his mind,” your father growls. You feel him glaring daggers into the back of your head, and do not move. You hear your mother start to protest, but then the door shuts behind you.

Pantalone lifts a small plate up off the table. On it is the final little piece of cherry bublanina. He offers it to you with a sly smirk, like forbidden fruit. 

With this in mind, you take it.

[snootlestheangel]

A Very Unique Ghost Headcanon

My friend and I got lunch together today and we went to a bookstore afterwards for a bit. An idea about Ghost had spawned so here's the whole thing.

*Does contain MW3 spoilers towards the end*

When Ghost is on leave, he spends a lot of time at a local bookstore. The staff and other locals began calling him "a ghost" because he's very quiet and appears for several days every few months. He's always very quiet and seems to "appear and disappear" randomly. He eventually spends so much time there, pretty much everyone knows him. Not by name, but they recognize him/when he's in town. They know he's a bit weird based on all the things he reads. He goes from reading really deep books about self-improvement to horror/true crime novels to silly animal fact books and laughing cause "penguins are silly". He's very kind though, everyone knows, and is always willing to grab something off a high shelf or assist an elderly person in carrying their items.

There's a table that's basically reserved for him now, sitting in the back corner of the bookstore's little cafe. There's always a stack of books that he wants to read sitting on the table. Sometimes the stack remains untouched for several months before "Ghost" is seen again. Sometimes, he comes back a bit more ragged than normal, and even sometimes more he comes back with an arm in a sling and a limp. But everyone gets used to the presence that is their local cryptid, even if he isn't much of a conversationalist.

Then they realize he journals everything he reads. He likes to write about all the things he learned while reading that day, and is diligent about dating everything.

This habit spawned from a few years he spent giving himself therapy because the military believed him dead, and he couldn't afford one outside of it. So, he took to the bookstore and it's nice section of self-improvement books and the mental help journals. He realized he actually really enjoys journaling, and likes being able to reflect back on all the things he read that year.

But he leaves the journals at the table with the books he has yet to read. And some people start getting curious. And someone reads the journals. They know it's horrible, but they figure there can't be anything personal if the man is willing to leave the journals unattended for months at a time. And that's when everyone learns he's actually journaled everything he's read for the last 4 years (how long it took him to get into that habit), and it's an incredibly fascinating read.

He's very well-spoken about the things he discusses, and his handwriting is pleasant and easy to understand. Not to mention, he only uses pen, and the fact he sometimes has to scribble out mistakes makes the journals feel familiar in a human way. There's something so personal and intimate about it, and it all adds to the local myth of the ghost that haunts the bookstore.

But then one day, the regular people that read the journals realize Ghost has started to mention someone within his readings. It starts small, a little comment on a book he read about the history of explosives: "I blame JSM for me reading something like this. It's fascinating stuff, and they have grown rather complicated these days. Wonder if there's more on modern explosives."

Just the initials: JSM. What they don't know is the initials belong to one John "Soap" MacTavish, the man to hold Ghost's heart.

And for a while, there's a lot of entries including the initials "JSM" somewhere in their contents. Some entries are almost entirely relating to this "JSM" person. And it's clear, as the mentions of "JSM" increase, that Ghost has fallen madly in love with whomever this is. And the people that read the journals have grown fond of Ghost, and are cheering him on, hoping he gets his happy ever after.

But then Ghost doesn't show up for over a year. The stack of books remains the same, the journals untouched.

But when he does, something's different. He immediately heads towards the section on "Grief and Loss". He stands there for an overwhelmingly long time before picking a couple of books and heading for his little table in the back.

And he reads, and journals, and cries all at the same time. No one even realized he was crying until a staff member passed by and noticed the tears falling from his eyes as he scribbled into the journal. No one bothers him, of course, but there's an overwhelming sadness that passes over the bookstore that day.

No one's brave enough to read the entries from that day, and they let the journals sit overnight. Ghost is back the next day, does the same, and leaves. Doesn't spend hours just simply perusing, but instead sits and reads the books he collected on grief/personal loss and journals.

But one day, after Ghost stops showing up again, becomes brave enough to read the journal entries from the last 3 days.

Word spreads like wildfire.

JSM is now Johnny and Johnny is gone.

It all makes sense, and all the regulars, all the staff that are familiar with Ghost and his journals mourn. They mourn on Ghost's behalf and they mourn for Ghost.

They mourn for him because the way he wrote changed, the way he spoke in his entries changed, his demeanor when in the store changed. They mourn Ghost because clearly Johnny took a part of him with him; his heart.

One day, there's a book about coping with losing your spouse, specifically geared towards younger people (especially ones in Ghost and Soap's age range *25-35*). There's actually no journal entries specified for most of the book, almost like he simply read it and didn't bother sharing his thoughts.

That is until the end of the book, where there's one journal entry marked to accompany the final chapter.

{I've read this book probably ten times now. The first time was actually the easiest. It was new to me, and I enjoy picking apart new books and getting through them. The second time was the hardest. It's when the words I had already read were starting to sink in. Too quickly I had been brought back to that day I lost Johnny. I didn't dwell too long on this book. I didn't want to, at least. But I kept going back to it because I knew it had answers and solutions. In reality, it didn't really help. It more took the mess in my head and sorted it out so I could deal with it more easily. I miss Johnny more than anything else in life. Losing him has been the worst thing I've ever gone through. Which is quite impressive, considering some of the things I've experienced. This book has taught me many things, and I only wish to share the one I feel speaks the greatest volumes. "But like all wounds, it takes time to heal a broken heart." What an incredible lesson. I've had my fair share of wounds to heal from, and I am painfully intimate with the recovery process of broken bones. Never once did I consider my heart something that could be wounded and recovered from. I always figured if my heart had been wounded, then that would be the end. But I was wrong. A heart can be broken and wounded, and like all injured things, it can heal. It's a beast of a recovery process, I won't lie, but the idea I'm merely recovering from a near-fatal injury comforts me. It's morbid, I suppose, to be comforted by that, but I am. It means he didn't die in vain, and that is all I ask for.

~Simon "Ghost" Riley}

[lauvgoods]

hey queen could i request a little angsty rafe x reader inspired by the alcott by the national featuring taylor swift

the alcott / rafe cameron

SUMMARY : rafe has a bad habit of ruining the good parts of his life, including you, but you just can't seem to walk away

PARTNERING : rafe cameron x gn!reader

WORD COUNT : 3916

GENRE : angst , open-ended

WARNINGS : unhealthy relationship, drugs and alcohol, a few swear words, one brief mention of sex

A/N : first request! this ran a little longer and angstier than i'd expected, but i really hope i was able to do this justice and give you what you wanted! i also hope you're okay with it being so open-ended

𐙚₊˚⊹ 🦢 “it’s been a long time, but I really need to get some things off of my chest. mind meeting me at the country club? our spot?”

the text is brief, to the point. you wouldn’t expect much more from rafe given that it’s, well, rafe, but it caught you off guard nonetheless. the distance between the two of you has only grown after everything went down, after what he had done, and honestly he didn’t expect you to respond, much less agree to seeing him. then again, you always seemed to be the only one to see the best in him even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. you’d always–almost always forgiven him no matter how horrible he could act. 

rafe is wringing his hands, sitting in his car, trying to convince himself that this will be alright, though he knows that it’s just you at the end of the day. just you? he internally scoffs at his own thoughts. it has never been just you. the one person who truly made him feel alive, like he was a person outside of his mistakes. what was it you had always told him? “you are more than the worst parts of yourself.” you’d never thought of him as a lost cause, not once, but here he is thinking about how best to go about asking for your forgiveness yet again. 

two years of knowing each other, of loving each other, and yet it had all gone to shit. as usual, he knew, all because of himself. 

there’s a pool shack just near the main building, the one where he’d first spotted you, where you’d peaked his interest. rather than out getting a tan or swimming, you were sat in the corner of the building, a fancy little golden notebook propped up against your knees. it was cooler inside, so half of him couldn’t blame you, but he guesses it was that notebook that had caught his attention. a journal, diary, he didn’t much care at the time, but when he sees you in that exact same spot, with the exact same notebook, the biggest sense of deja vu washes over him. he’s stuck there, staring at you, watching you with that pen probably writing in the nicest handwriting you can. you haven’t noticed him just yet, and that’s how he knows that whatever it is, it’s captured your attention and pulled you into a little bubble like always. he isn’t stupid, though, he’s seen it on your socials, you leaning against someone else in pictures, smiling like how you did at the start of your relationship. not like the end, where everything was clear by the dimmed light in your eyes, smile not reaching them in the way he loved. he knows what you’re writing about—or rather who. 

after a few minutes of admittedly creepy staring from him, you feel that prickling on the back of your neck, that itch of eyes watching, and look up to see him. he looks different, cleaner, more alive than he had before, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s a familiar ache in your chest, a bittersweet taste on your tongue, before the corners of your lips turn up into a warm smile. rafe just stares for a moment, taking you in. you look the same, but that light has come back, and that brings him more grief than you’ll know for the conversation he has in mind. 

a couple of steps forward, and he’s sitting across from you. the sunlight coming in through the window washes you both in its warmth, melting the awkward feelings that might have otherwise arisen. there’s this look on his face, one that you know all too well. his jaw is locked tight, hands clenched into fists, and he’s avoiding your eyes. he hopes that you’ll still believe him this time when he talks, but he wouldn’t be shocked if you didn’t. he half expects you to walk out before he can get a word out, a sickly smirk on your face as you taunt him for ever thinking he could get a positive reaction out of you after it all. 

“i’m sorry.” 

it’s clear the words take effort to get out, and your eyes widen as they hit you. you can’t recall the last time he apologized, genuinely apologized. not something half-assed just to move on from another fight so you can fall back into an old routine again. kissing, falling back into bed with one another, walking on eggshells, the party, the inevitable fight, another fake apology. it was a cycle, an awful cycle that you wouldn’t dare break for fear of losing him. the truth, though, was that you’d lost him a long time ago. 

you can read him like an open book, like an instruction manual leading you to all his deepest darkest feelings that he wouldn’t dare let anyone catch a glimpse of. there’s fear, and you hate the way your heart inevitably softens at it all. you don’t reply though, placing your pen between the pages and setting it carefully on the table separating the two of you. you wait, looking directly at where his eyes would meet yours if they weren’t so carefully looking just above at your forehead. he never was good at confrontation, not heavy ones like these anyway. anger he could deal with. you’ve lost count of the number of times he’d punched a wall, or slammed a door, all out of pure rage. guilt is something he’s been quick to bury, whether under layers of other emotions or less-than-healthy outlets. 

“i hurt you, i know that. i did a lot of things i’m not proud of. i’ve–” he cuts himself off with a harsh sigh, tightly clenching his fist. words or conversations like these have never been his biggest strength. “i ruined what we had. the coke, the drinking, the fighting, and then the way i broke it all off, i never should have treated you that way.” 

“rafe, can we please go home? it’s late and you’ve had a lot to drink and i just think you should cut yourself off for the night.”

it wasn’t the first time you’d asked him that night. as a matter of fact, it was the third. still, he looked up at you with an expression that left you feeling small and insignificant in a way that can’t be described. here you were again, killing his high and, as he would probably be saying later, ruining his night as always. you knew, though, that he didn’t really mean any of it. in the morning he’d wake up beside you, pressing kisses to your cheek and apologizing for how he’d acted, saying he would try to get better, for you. 

tears filled your eyes, yet you held your tongue, knowing that angering him during a high would never be a good idea. you weren’t scared of him, knowing he would never lay a hand on you, but his shouting was almost worse than any physical blows. his words lingered in the back of your mind. 

“rafe, you know how much i hate these parties. you always end up high out of your mind and leaving off on my own to hang out with your friends. can’t we just stay in tonight?” you’d asked, eyes pleading while he turned off the ignition. 

he let your worries roll off of his back like water, shaking his head and grabbing your hand to kiss the back of it with that boyish grin you loved. “c’mon, i promise i’ll stick with you this time. promise it’ll just be a few drinks and then we can head back, ‘kay?”

promises, promises, promises. all empty even if he didn’t know it while making them. the moment he’d had two drinks, he had his eyes zeroed in on the table in the corner, and was off before you even knew he’d gone. you stood there in the kitchen, turning in circles, standing on the tips of your toes to try and spot him out among the crowd of partygoers. he’d left you again, and it took you nearly half an hour to find him. of course, the lines of white powder lined up and a rolled dollar bill clasped between his fingers. his pupils were already blown, that dazed look in his eye, and he smiled stupidly at you before waving you over. 

“c’mere, i want you to try this time.”

that one moment would come up in more fights than either of you could have known. 

you never did a single line, walking out on the party the moment he’d started getting annoyed at your lack of interest in the drugs, having a screaming match that same night, and it was one of the first times you saw him cry. fists pressed into his face, crouched down to his knees as he tried to regain some control over his emotions. there wasn’t much rafe didn’t tell you, especially regarding his situation with ward. his father had always been awful to him, never making him feel wanted. you knew that beneath that tough, hardened exterior was a boy who had been left on his own, neglected and never truly loved in the way he deserved. 

“every time i tried to tell you to hold back, to reel it all in, you’d look at me like i was an idiot, rafe. Like i was horrible for wanting to help you. you didn’t just hurt me rafe, you shattered me. you made promise after promise and then broke it all in the same night. it’s like you looked right into my mind, figured out the absolute last thing i wanted you to do, and just immediately went and did it.”

the smile is gone, the warmth from the sun fueling the sudden surge of emotions. your throat feels tight as you finally speak, memories pulling free from that little wall you’d put up, trying so hard to forget it all. to move on. that small ache in your chest seems to have burst, tearing at everything it reaches. there’s a burning in your eyes, but you blink fast in an effort to keep it all in. once that dam breaks, you know it’ll come out all at once and ruin any composure you have. 

rafe feels that spark of guilt erupt into a blaze, and despite the heat outside the cold pricks like needles at his skin. he’s already caught on to that uptick in your breathing, the way your knee bounces under the table even though he can’t fully see it. there’s a slight shake to your fingers that breaks his heart all over again. he’s painfully aware of it. 

everyone had warned you about dating rafe, how he’d only hurt you, keep you as another notch on his belt before going on to the next poor girl. despite the worries lingering in the back of your mind, you simply couldn’t attach that description to the same man you knew. the one that would ask to stay over, fall asleep with his head on your lap, the way he’d look at you like you were the sun. falling for him was like breathing, but when you hit the ground it nearly broke you. 

“i know i lied, and you deserved better than me. honestly, i wish you’d walked away just so you’d be less hurt in the end.” there’s a strained tone dripping off of his every word, rafe’s eyebrows knitting together while his eyes bore holes into the table. “god, i ruined everything.”

your bottom lip quivers, and you know that you’re done for. your vision is already going blurry, and any breath you take feels like it’s coming through a straw. 

“you ever think that you’re my problem? huh? maybe it’s you, not me. you’re always weighing me down, fucking nagging me for attention instead of going out and doing the things i wanna do. i just wanted a girlfriend that would be there for me, you know? listen to me and not try to drag me down. you hear me? you’re suffocating me!”

the words shouted at you as rafe paced back and forth across the empty parking lot were just that. words. he’d wake up in the morning no longer coked out or angry, but even this was a new low for him. as much as you tried to hide them, the tears spilled over. he didn’t really mean it, you knew that. you knew he had trouble controlling his anger, losing his grip, that he would beg you with tears in his eyes to forgive him. but it hurt. the mornings waking up, your body sore from crying yourself out until you were dehydrated and weak, then covering your puffy and red eyes with anything you could just to make him feel less guilty, knowing he didn’t actually believe the things he said. these moments, though, made you feel like a speck. a tiny speck but yet also the most enormous burden to him. you loved him so much it was killing you, had been killing you for longer than you realized.

“you even sound like my sister! ‘rafe, what’s wrong with you?’ ‘rafe, stop it!’ which side are you even on? why don’t you go ahead and hang out with her and all her shitty friends if you wanna say that shit?”

why couldn’t he ever make it easy on you, not even this one time? he’d taken everything you ever loved and blown it all up like a goddamn landmine, stepping on all the good memories that you had of him and forever tainting any other parts of your life when looking back on what your life had been like when you were dating him. you’d given all of yourself over to helping him, to trying to get him to see himself like you did. now when you try to focus on who you’d been back then, all you can remember is what stage with him you were in. that one time you had tried to spend christmas with your family? all you can think about now is how worried you were that he might be out partying and could overdose instead of truly enjoying your time together. 

your entire life had been completely focused both on loving him and on making sure he didn’t completely ruin his. 

“did you mean any of it?”

your voice sounds less like yourself with the way you’re having to hold it all in. it’s then, hearing you, that he finally looks you in the eye. tears are brimming in your eyes, droplets hanging onto the lashes before finally dripping down onto your shirt. your face has grown flushed, your throat painfully dry and constricted. 

“didn’t mean anything i said when i was high or drunk off my ass. you were never the problem, that was all me.” he sounds earnest as he speaks, and you can tell from the way he’s rubbing his hands against his pants that it’s getting to him just as much as it is you. “i was so focused on getting my next fix, but i promise you you were everything to me.”

that’s when the dam starts to crack, the tears flowing freely down your face, starting that itchy feeling on your neck as you try to wipe them with the back of your hands. 

“did i do any good?” your voice is wavering, on the edge of a full-blown sob. “loving you? did i help you any at all while we were together?”

rafe was laid out on the bed, the alcohol having long since gotten him drowsy. he didn’t get high this time, which was likely what had saved you from another fight. you simply didn’t have the energy. looking into the bathroom mirror, you were a ghost of the girl you’d been when you first started dating him. it was valentine’s day, he had made plans for a date and you’d even bought a new dress to wear out to eat. but, of course, rafe had gotten into a bottle of wine, claiming it to be the more romantic decision to start out the evening. the night had gone sour the moment he pulled the two glasses from the overhead cabinet and poured himself a generous amount. 

it was three glasses later for him–you hadn’t had a sip of yours–when he’d stumbled and knocked the entire glass down the front of your dress. 

“i’m so, so sorry, i didn’t mean to i just tripped.”

it was with tears in your eyes that you reassured him you weren’t upset, that you didn’t feel like dinner anyway. what rafe also neglected to realize was how far past the time of the dinner reservations it was. holding back another crying session, you led him up to bed where he promptly flopped down on top of it all. 

standing over the sink, still in your ruined evening gown, tears left tracks in your makeup, mascara running as your shoulders shook, yet you held in any noise for fear of making him feel guilty. every time, you reminded yourself of how kind and good he could be. you told yourself that you knew the person beneath all of this, that you knew that he had so much potential to be better, he just really needed to try and for it to stick. 

“you were the best thing i’ve ever had.”

rafe’s eyes are red, eyes glassy with tears, and you can tell he’s holding it all in. 

“you saw the best in me when no one else did. you didn’t just see a screw-up, a druggie, a disappointment, or a hopeless cause. you just saw me.” 

it’s on that last word that his voice breaks, and the gasp that he sucks in splinters any resolve you have left. you’ve never had the strongest will to walk away, only doing so after he destroyed it all. 

but rafe knew that he was poisoning you, could tell even if he refused to admit it to himself. he’d heard you crying sometimes, seen you through video calls with those puffy eyes, could see the way he was the one sucking the life out of you day by day. rather than trying to fix it or talk to you, or even get real help, he did what he does best. he self-destructed. 

that night, when he’d been calling you the problem in the middle of that empty parking lot, that was where he blew it all up. 

“i can’t do this anymore.”

red-eyed and frozen in place, you looked up at him, feeling like all the air had been sucked from your lungs. you were choking on it. he’d gone ranting and raving, had raised his voice, but never even came close to ending things. 

“rafe, no, you don’t mean that. you can’t-”

you’d started toward him, hoping that you could embrace him, console him, and things would be alright. it was a curse, the worst kind of curse, yet one that you loved because it was him. you loved him with every single part of yourself even if that meant breaking yourself to save him even in the slightest. he, however, put up his arms in front of himself and took a step back, shaking his head. 

“no, i’m done. we’re done. i don’t want to do this anymore with you, ‘cause i know all you want is to fix me. you don’t care about me for me, this is who i am. i go out and i party and i have the time of my life. it’s clear you can’t handle that.”

your breaths came out short, harsh, trying to backpedal and get him to see reason, more panicked than he’d ever heard you. “ro, rafe i promise you i can, i’m so sorry if i made you feel like i don’t really care about you. we can work on this if you just-”

“STOP!”

you were on the verge of sobbing at this point, unable to figure out where it had taken such a turn for the worst possible end. had you thought about walking away? more than once, but you rationalized that you couldn’t leave him like this. 

and he left. he walked away, back into the house party that you drove him to, claiming that topper or somebody else could take him home. he left you there, crumbling into absolutely nothing with the worst pain you’d felt in your entire life, like something in your chest was ripping apart, holding back screams. 

“i need you to help me forget you, rafe, ‘cause i can’t just go on like this.”

your hands come up to hold yourself, rubbing up and down your arms as you cry in front of the boy you loved. you want more than anything to hate him, to be able to just scream at him or tell him how much of you he’d taken. you’ve been trying to build yourself back up, trying to fix that hole in your chest. two years doesn’t just disappear in a few months. loving someone in that way leaves its mark on you, sticks to you like a second skin, comes back when you think you’re finally starting to be okay again and devastates you. it leaves you walking around as a ghost, all this love and no one to give it to because the person you hold in your heart is gone. 

the problem for rafe is, he doesn’t want to forget. he knows he can’t, that in him is that love that he’s tried so hard to bury for both of your sakes, that anything he wants will just ruin any chance of what you’re trying to achieve all over again. 

“i’m trying to get clean,” he says instead, taking in a stuttered breath. “about two months now, 'cause i know how much you hated it.”

the both of you know it, how no matter how hard you try it’s nearly impossible to walk away. it would be better for everyone, healthier for everyone. you can get with that person you’ve been posting, he can find someone that makes him happy without flashing back to every fight if something starts to go wrong. you two won’t risk falling into bad habits, and can be happy individually. 

instead, you open that golden notebook with shaky hands, your pen having held your place, and you turn it for him to read. 

“can you, um, can you read that last sentence out loud?”

he looks at you, eyes searching for some sort of meaning to how quickly the topic seems to have changed, before letting his gaze fall down to the words at the bottom of the page. 

“i’m trying, i’m really trying here, but i don’t know if i can move on from him, not with all that i’ve still got left in me.” he trails off at the end as he seems to realize what you mean, and lets out a slow breath. 

“rafe, i knew from the minute i got that text what might happen. i knew, for a fact, that i’d be falling back in love with you the minute i saw your face.” 

the air is still, a long silence stretching between the only two people in the room. the sun has gone behind a patch of clouds, leaving the room darker. 🕯️⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

[leonenjoyer69]

Doodle dump 😋 (mostly pen in the most annoyingly lined notebook ever, I apologize profusely) a lot of Harry drawings bc I've been lowkey hyperfixating on him lately

Never beating the horrible handwriting allegations from @kayatoastkkat 😔😔 BUT TO BE FAIR I DID THAT 3RD ONE IN THE CAR-

ANYWAYS, Harry, my silly, my beloved, my sparkly little liar, Lanyon is not believing a single word you say <3 one day I'll sit down and learn how to draw Lanyon better and actually have them interact (and just actually draw Lanyon in general), but that day is not today.

Also, remember that Atlas Seek and Harry drawing I did? Well I think that unlocked something in me bc hands have been so much easier to draw and I have no clue why, I'm certainly not complaining tho

I love my pen doodles, I feel like they have so much more personality than most my other stuff. Idk, I just think they're fun and silly, I'm a pen enjoyer