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sucker-for-sniffles · 26 days

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Did someone order a loyal knight with a bad cold and his prince who loves him dearly trying to get him to rest for once in his life? Here’s 4k words of that, please enjoy these guys who barged into my head and won’t leave

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As if negotiations in Halfford hadn’t gone poorly enough, Prince Robin thought, bouncing about uncomfortably in the back of his carriage, Sir Harper had started to catch cold a couple days into the journey home. Off of the Duke’s snot-nosed son, Robin had no doubt. The brat practically hung off Harper’s shirt all week, as if he were a fawning child rather than a man hardly any younger than Harper.

Harper made his ailment utterly unobtrusive, as always, his service unfailing. Any other company might not have realized he was ill at all. But Robin knew him too well to miss the edge of fatigue to his practiced smile, the soft sighs when he didn’t realize Robin was listening, the sneezes muffled into his cape just too often to pass off as coincidence.

And Robin knew him too well to say anything. Harper blamed himself for the disaster this trip had become, even if he didn’t want Robin to see as much. As if he ought to have prevented the storm that stalled them four days on the way to Halfford, or Duke Edward’s foul mood at the delay. With Harper on edge as he was, Robin didn’t have the words to ask after him without Harper taking it as a critique. He blamed his friend’s father for that. The old bastard was just the sort to wield “are you quite well?” as a blunt weapon.

Robin was in far too sour a mood for tact. On another day, he would walk beside the carriage and talk with Harper, but given the circumstances, he was better off sulking with the luggage. Even if he wound up with a bruise or two, he didn’t have to try so hard to bite his tongue with the creaks and clangs of the cart on the uneven road making conversation difficult already.

“It’s getting dark,” Harper called back. There was a fresh rasp to his voice accompanying the mounting congestion that marred his m’s and n’s. The poor man ought not to shout so. “If we press, we may reach an inn not long after sundown, but…”

“Let’s camp here.” Robin shifted carefully, extracting himself from the corner of the cart he’d wedged himself into. He didn’t want Harper doing any pressing.

“Very well, my lord.” A note of relief in Harper’s voice, well-masked but perceptible. The cart rumbled to a stop and creaked loudly as Harper stepped down from the driver’s seat.

Robin followed suit and crawled from the back of the cart, stretching out stiff and aching limbs. He really did prefer to walk. He circled around, intending to offer help, but paused when he saw Harper seize a fistful of his cape and bring it close to his face. His shoulders rose with his breath, once, twice—

Harper ducked into a rough, throaty sneeze, muffled harshly by the thick wool of his cape.

“Bless you.” Even that much, Robin worried would be unwelcome.

“Ah—tha’k you.” Harper dragged his cape roughly under his nose and sniffed with a determined finality. He smiled. “I am glad to see you in one piece after being tossed about like a sack of flour. What draws you to ride in the cart on roads like this, I can’t understand.” He set to unyoking the horses, leaving Robin to trail uselessly behind him.

“It isn’t so bad without armor clanging about you.” Robin rubbed his arms.

“Hah.” Harper lifted the yoke from the horses’ shoulders, a quick flash of pain crossing his face when the weight settled in his right arm. Was his shoulder bothering him, too? It was awfully cold this far north. “There’s no need to lie to me, my lord. I only wish I could give you privacy with a little more comfort.”

Robin huffed a laugh. “Alas, you are no magician. I am merely grateful my father didn’t insist on sending an entourage after us.” And he was, truly, whatever Harper might have thought. It isn’t as if thirty men could have fought off a storm that Harper couldn’t.

“Your father’s men don’t know how to leave you well enough alone,” Harper agreed, but Robin didn’t miss the doubt that flickered across his face. He set down the yoke and glanced at Robin. “Are you warm enough? The cold comes on quickly out here.”

Robin dropped his hands from his arms. “Perhaps not.” The wind was beginning to creep through the linen of his shirt without the canvas walls of the cart to block it.

“Allow me to fetch your cloak.” Harper strode past before Robin could insist on fetching his cloak himself. It was likely best to let him help, anyhow. If small, unneeded favors were what he needed to prove himself, there was no reason to protest.

Harper returned promptly with Robin’s favorite travel cloak over one arm—a thick red one, almost long enough to drag on the ground, made when Robin was young enough that there was hope he’d grow taller. “I hope you are well, my lord,” he said, fastening the cloak over Robin’s shoulders.

It took Robin a moment to process the question. “I—am. For the most part.”

Harper smiled, honest despite the tired weight to it. “I’m glad. It can be hard to tell, when you draw away from me, when I should start to worry. I hope you will never feel lonely when I am with you.”

And he squeezed Robin’s shoulder and returned to the back of the cart like he hadn’t just stung Robin senseless. He’d made Harper worry for him all this time. Since they first arrived in Halfford, no doubt, and Robin had spent every evening too exhausted by the Duke’s temper to do more than sulk in his guest room and tell Harper to explore the city without him. Harper understood, as Harper always understood, but it was hardly any wonder he’d gotten tense. Robin could be a dense little brat sometimes, he thought bitterly.

A wrenching, tightly muffled sneeze pulled Robin back to himself. He moved around to the back of the cart, where Harper had paused in tying down the rear flap to press his fingers to his temples, exhaustion written plainly on his face. The red cast of his nose was no longer faint, and the poor thing was starting to swell under Harper’s rough treatment.

“Bless you,” Robin said, anxiety creeping foolishly up his neck. Talking to Harper ought to be the easiest thing in the world. Damn this trip, damn Duke Edward, and damn Robin’s own idiocy.

The exhaustion all but vanished from Harper’s expression as he looked up and gave a quick thanks, carrying on with the canvas.

Robin twisted the edge of his cloak between his fingers and dared to ask, “Sir Harper, are you well?”

Harper paused his work for just a moment, too briefly to be noticed by anyone paying the slightest bit less attention than Robin. “I may have caught a chill back in Halfford,” he admitted, his tone carefully flat. “Do not concern yourself, my lord.”

“I shall concern myself if I like,” Robin said before he could think better of it.

Harper pulled a rope taught with a fair bit more force than seemed necessary and barked a laugh. “Of course, my lord.” He sniffed, sharp and wet, and tied off the rope, securing the canvas flap over the open back of the cart. He climbed inside without another word and started shifting things around, laying out their bedrolls and moving fallen luggage aside.

Robin sighed and leaned against the cart, pulling his cloak tight around himself. He’d misstepped already. A cold. What an absurdly unremarkable, temporary affliction to regret. As if anybody could think less of Harper for such a thing. For falling ill, for bowing to the weather. Robin could think of a few sharp words for Harper’s father, though he doubted they would do any good.

He watched the darkening sky as Harper bustled around in the cart. Some clouds were forming to the east—might it rain? The roads would be hell tomorrow if it did. Perhaps they ought to have pushed on to the inn after all.

“Does it look like rain to you?” Robin asked as Harper emerged from the carriage. He’d stripped his cape, tabard, and heavy mail, leaving him in trousers and a tunic with his sword tied around his waist.

Harper glanced up to the east, briefly pressing a gloved knuckle under his nose. “Ah—yes, most likely.” He smiled. “Worry not, my lord. You will stay quite dry in the cart.”

Robin bit his lip. “Yes, but the roads will—I will stay dry?”

“We will.” Harper sniffled and laid a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Worry not. I am hardly infirm. I shall handle the roads tomorrow, whatever condition they may be in.”

“Of course you shall.” Robin sighed, studying Harper’s face, the faint lines of exhaustion his best efforts can’t erase. “I do not doubt your capability, but…it has been a long journey.”

“It has.” Harper squeezed Robin’s shoulder briefly and let go, looking away. Was Robin staring? “Rest in the cart. I will take care of camp and fetch you when there is dinner.”

That isn’t what Robin meant at all, but already Harper was striding away towards the horses. Robin followed him, almost jogging to keep up with his long, quick steps. “No. I will accompany you.”

“No need.” Harper didn’t slow, nor turn to Robin. “You are exhausted. Rest for tomorrow.” There was a clipped insistence to his tone so uncharacteristic that Robin was almost hurt until Harper brought both hands to his face and smothered a sneeze that seemed to tear through him and take a piece with it, leaving him staggered slightly with a few short, harshly constrained coughs.

“Bless you, Sir.” Robin took the opportunity to overtake Harper and reach the horses first. Of course—poor Harper hadn’t had a moment’s privacy since they’d left Halfford. If Robin couldn’t convince him to let his guard down before him, he could at least give him a few moments alone. “I assure you, I am quite capable of watering the horses myself. We shall both to bed sooner if I help.” He took both horses’ leads without waiting for a response and clicked at them to follow.

“…very well, my lord.” If Harper was trying to disguise the relief in his voice, he didn’t manage it very well. He sniffed thickly and dropped his hands from his face. “The river is a short way south of here.” He pointed, but Robin could hear the rushing water already.

Robin nodded. “I shall return soon.”

And he led the horses off. This was absurd. Why should the two of them play these games even when alone? Harper’s father was not here to scold him, nor anybody who might report to him or the King. Why should decorum prevent Robin from speaking frankly with his dearest friend? He ought to order Harper to rest as much as he was able.

The river was further than Robin anticipated, and by the time he returned night had all but fallen, the air damp and bitterly cold, and the rain clouds in the east were unmistakably nearer. At least he was able to spare Harper the trek—the fool would have left without his cloak—but he was relieved nonetheless to see a fire roaring already by the time he returned, a steaming pot hung over it. He secured the horses and joined Harper beside it on a fallen log, noting with pleasure that Harper had remembered himself and donned a cloak.

“Back at last, my lord?” Harper smiled at Robin as he sat down, a touch of mischief in his expression. “I had forgotten how much longer a walk can be on shorter legs.”

Robin shoved his shoulder, gasping in mock offense. “You know perfectly well how quickly I walk.”

“How slowly.” Harper’s grin flashed into a grimace and he turned away from Robin, lifting a fistful of his cloak to his face. His breath wavered perilously for a moment, and he crumpled, smothering a heavy sneeze into the fabric.

“Bless you.” He sounded worse, Robin thought.

Harper coughed roughly before recovering his breath. “Hah. Tha’k you.” An attempt at sniffling audibly caught in stuffed-shut sinuses and Harper cleared his throat, such an unmistakeably unwell sound that Robin wanted to drag him to the cart to sleep and damn his feelings on the matter.

“What do you think of breaking into that mead the Duke refused?” he said instead. “My father won’t expect it back, and it seems a fine night to warm ourselves up.” And perhaps a bit of drink would help ease Harper’s nerves.

“If you’d like.” Harper tipped the pot over the fire towards him with a ladle, his other hand keeping the hem of his cloak pressed under his nose. “Though I hope you don’t need drink to find my company tolerable.”

Robin laughed. “Simply unbearable, being alone with the likes of you. It’s near enough to make me miss Duke Edward’s hospitality.” He stood and brushed dirt from the back of his cloak. “I simply can’t face a sober evening with company who prefers me to a horse’s ass.”

That earned a huff of laughter from Harper. “I’ve been looking at a horse’s ass all day. You’re a far better sight.”

“He doesn’t mean it, Dapple,” Robin called to the horse in question, who flicked an ear in utter disinterest. He patted her side on his way back to the cart.

It was dark inside the cart with the rear flap blocking out the firelight, but it was easy enough to find the mead, bundled up in a spare cloth and tied to the side of the cart to ensure it didn’t bounce around and break. There ought to be some handkerchiefs about, too. Robin recalled seeing a couple at the bottom of his bag, so he took a moment to dig them out.

When he returned to the campfire, Harper had taken the pot off the fire and was doling out stew to travel bowls. Robin offered a handkerchief without a word.

Harper took it with a nod of thanks and swiped quickly under his nose, though by the sound of things that wasn’t nearly enough.

The stew was fine enough, good for being scrounged together from diminishing fresh supplies. Harper called it a last proper meal before returning to dried meat and stale crackers. The mead was better. Robin’s father wasn’t one to spare expenses when it came to obsequious gifts.

“The one gift the Duke’s given us,” Robin said after the two were halfway through the bottle.

Harper snorted. “His generosity shall not go unremembered.” He took a swig from the bottle, then passed it urgently back to Robin. “Pardon—” His breath caught and he twisted away from Robin, though the sneeze seemed to toy with him, keeping his breath hitching uncertainly for several seconds before tearing out of him with a vocal desperation that almost startled Robin.

“Bless you.”

“Ngh.” Belatedly, Harper lifted the handkerchief to his face and blew his nose hard, though, by the sound of it, not to much effect. “Blast this cold.”

He must have been feeling calmer if he was complaining, Robin noted with pleasure. Though whether that was thanks to the mead or to dinner and company, he couldn’t guess. “Poor thing,” he said as lightly as he could manage, rubbing Harper’s shoulder.

Harper huffed, with laughter or irritation. “You needn’t tease me, my lord.”

“I’m not!” With feigned offense, Robin set the bottle on the ground to fold his arms. Harper picked it idly back up. “Can’t a man express his sympathies for a friend?”

“Of course, my lord.” Harper took another swig. “But as I’ve said, you need not worry.”

“Need not worry, need not worry!” However much the mead was touching Harper, Robin was feeling a touch bolder. “Perhaps I want to worry, Har. You aren’t acting like yourself.”

Harper grinned, visibly biting back a laugh. “You’re acting plenty like yourself.” Robin squinted. “Fussy and overprotective.”

Robin scoffed, almost offended. “Overprotective! Says Sir ‘rest in the cart while I do the work of thirty men!’”

“Thirty men!” Harper laughed properly at that until his breath caught in his throat and pulled him double in a coughing fit. “Thirty, Robin, really?” he croaked as soon as his breath allowed.

“My father would send thirty.”

Harper drank again, calming the cough. “Your father really is overprotective.”

Robin could hardly argue with that. He shifted closer and leaned into Harper’s side. “Honestly, what’s the matter?”

“You got me drunk so I’d admit I don’t feel well,” Harper said, vaguely impressed. “Conniving bastard.” But he leaned back into Robin’s touch.

“Answer me, Harper.” Robin let a smidge of princely authority into his tone. “You aren’t usually so…”

He searched for the word, but Harper gave a stuffy, defeated little sigh and sank deeper into Robin’s side. “Your father will have my head when we reach home.”

Robin scoffed. “Like hell.”

“He will.” Harper sniffed and pressed the handkerchief beneath his nose with some force. “You’ve been miserable on this trip—don’t lie to me; you have been—and it is my job t-to—oh, hell—” He leaned away from Robin and crushed a sneeze into his handkerchief, sharp and rough and furious.

“Bless you. I don’t give a damn about your job.” Maybe Robin oughtn’t to have drank. It made it awfully difficult to shut his mouth. “I only care that my friend is ill and you won’t let him rest.”

“I give a damn.” Harper didn’t snap, but the edge to his tone suggested he might have were Robin anybody else. “I haven’t got the luxury of only being your friend.” But he leaned back into Robin’s shoulder nonetheless.

Robin bit down the first words on his tongue, Your father said something to you. Dragging up that old argument could hardly do good. “I’d be happy to see you rest,” he said instead.

“Hah.” Harper swiped beneath his nose. “Less so to see the cart uncovered, dinner unmade, fire unlit…”

“I could have done any of that myself,” Robin insisted.

“And then what use would I be?” Harper’s tone might have sounded playful to someone else, but Robin heard the subtle frailty in the words.

A drop of rain splashed on Robin’s cheek. He put up a hand to feel for more.

“Right.” Harper sat up and pulled Robin’s hood over his head, smiling. As if Robin is the one needed reassuring. “Go stay dry in the cart. I will join you within a half-hour.”

Robin could have argued. A better friend might have. But Harper was rarely so insistent unless he was right, even if Robin couldn’t see it. “I’ll come looking if you’re late,” he said instead.

Harper laughed. “Nonsense, my lord. We don’t need you catching cold, too.” He stood and offered Robin a hand up.

Robin took it. “Then be with me in a half-hour.” The longer he ran his mouth, the longer Harper would be out in the rain, so he nodded goodbye and headed for the cart.

Inside the cart, he lit his fire-light and left it near the entrance, providing paltry light for Robin but, he hoped, a signal for Harper in case the rain put out the campfire. It wasn’t as if he needed to see much to strip off his cloak and boots and crawl under the blankets Harper had laid out.

The rain picked up quickly, and wind along with it. Robin pulled a pillow over his head, trying to block out the roar of the rain hitting canvas and with it the thought of poor Harper caught outside in this misery.

He had no way to tell the time, but he trusted despite his threat that it really had been less than a half-hour when Harper returned. He heard splashing, heavy footsteps drawing closer, then a creak of the cart as Harper started to step up. A pause, then a wet, wrenching sneeze, half drowned out by the rain hitting canvas but for once not muffled. And then another, ripe with exhausted frustration. Harper cursed, gave his nose a quick, rough blow, and climbed into the cart.

“Bless you.” Robin took the pillow off his head and rolled onto his back. “It sounds miserable out there.” As close to you sound miserable as Harper was likely to accept.

“Hah. S’pose so.” Harper turned out the fire-light and tossed it back to Robin, who fumbled it in the unexpected dark. “Were you frightened without me?”

Robin grumbled. “Oh, terribly. I’m a grown man; I’m not afraid of the rain any longer.”

Harper laughed, still shuffling around the cart to get out of his boots and cloak. “And here I thought you needed me.”

Robin lifted up the blankets to his right—prematurely, he realized when the unexpectedly cold air made him shiver. “All right, then. Get under here and protect me from the wind, Sir Necessary.”

To Robin’s relief, that drew more laughter from Harper, until it broke into a couple coughs. “Of course, my lord,” he said, a bit raspy, and slid under the blankets beside Robin.

He was keeping weight off his right arm, Robin noticed. So his shoulder was acting up. Robin waited for him to settle, then moved himself onto Harper’s good shoulder, pinning him down, and tucked the blanket gently over the other before Harper could protest.

Harper laughed softly and looped his arm around Robin’s waist. “You’re fretting.”

“Will you deny me that?”

“I will deny you nothing, my lord,” Harper said with that note of amusement that always left Robin torn between affection and indignation.

He settled on responding with a haughty sniff and pulling the pillow under Harper’s head. “Then tell me what you would have of me.”

Harper’s answer was as quick as predictable. “Nothing, my lord.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Robin settled his head on Harper’s chest and hooked a leg over Harper’s, drawing him close to share their warmth. Harper’s clothes were damp, and he shivered slightly beneath them. All the more reason to cling to him. “I know you hate to be alone when you’re unwell, but you’re hearing anything more than ‘bless you’ as a slight against your honor. Tell me how to care for you.”

Harper sniffed. “It is not your responsibility to—”

“Why did we come out here alone just to act like your father is listening?” Robin bit his tongue, regretting the words as soon as they passed his lips.

He might not have heard Harper’s breath catch without his ear pressed to his chest, but the sound made him want to shrivel up where he lay. “Oh, hell, Har, I—”

Harper twisted his head away from Robin into a vicious, half-stifled sneeze.

Oh. “Bless you. I’m sorry.”

Harper sniffed hard and brought up his right hand to scrub beneath his nose. “Tha’k you.” He sucked his teeth, absently rubbing a thumb on Robin’s back. When he spoke, it was hardly more than a hoarse whisper, as if asking quietly were less offensive: “Will you ride beside me tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Robin could feel the tension leave Harper. “I ought to have done so from the beginning.”

“You needed space.”

“And you needed company.” Robin shifted, pulling Harper in tighter. He’d stopped shivering. “I wish you’d asked for it sooner.” Harper started to speak, but Robin added, “I know you think you can’t, but I wish you would.”

Harper chuckled softly. “Truly, Robin, you worry too much.”

“Only as you refuse to take proper care of yourself,” Robin protested. “Get some sleep, now.”

“At your pleasure, my lord,” Harper teased, but he relaxed beneath Robin and, soon enough, drifted off to sleep.

#bloop #blep #snz ocs #this is attempt FOUR at this fucking fic because they kept developing in my brain so that the beginning of the fic was ooc #by the time I got to the end #they were SUPPOSED to be one-off characters just for this fic. but now they won’t leave my brain and unfortunately I’m obsessed with them

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ghostlychief · 1 year

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First and foremost your writing is amazing ❤️❤️ second (if you’re still taking requests) could you please write something like Ghost first sees / meets Y/N at a bar while they’re riding a mechanical bull and he starts getting some ideas 👀 thank you for all your hard work 😘

Hello sweet anon! First of all, thank you sm for saying my writing is amazing, like that is so sweet of you🤎🤎 Secondly, thank you for sending in this request, it was really fun to write! I took this in a little bit of a different direction, since I'm not currently writing NSFW, so it's just a little spicy. Hope you enjoy! <3

Joy Ride

Oneshot- Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

wc: 1194

warnings: alcohol drinking; bar scene; mentions of "riding" (nothing too crazy calm down); flirting??

summary: You didn't think that riding a mechanical bull was on the agenda for tonight, yet here you are. It might have been all worth it though, when you catch the eye of a mysterious, tall, and burly man that you had been eyeing all night.

You didn’t plan to end up riding the mechanical bull at your local bar. No, you initially were planning to have a few drinks with your friends and wind down from the week.

Despite your initial plans, one drink quickly turned into two, then three, then four, and before you knew it, you and your friends were all taking shots; a second round of shots at that.

As mentioned, this was not planned at all, but the more the alcohol flowed through your veins, the more loose you became, mindlessly swaying to the beat of the music, and dancing with your friends. It was hard not to feel complete bliss; you all were drunk and having a great time.

At one point your eyes noticed a tall, brooding man at the bar. It seemed like he was with two buddies, and is that a black balaclava covering his head? Strange. Since you could only see his side profile, you could barely make out that his eyes were the only thing left uncovered, the rest of the man’s face left a mystery.

Besides the man being tall and muscular, you couldn’t really make anything else out, so your drunk self quickly lost interest, and your gaze reverted back to your friend who was telling a story about running into her ex.

However, you found your eyes drifting back to the man every once in a while. Though, he never caught you staring. You felt a strange ping in your chest as you realized that he hasn’t even noticed you, yet it seemed like you couldn’t stop looking at the man.

Somehow in your blurred vision, you noticed a bull pen, and your eyes latched onto the mechanical bull placed in the very center of the pen. Eyes sparkling, you started to make your way over to it, friends following behind.

“Y/n, what do you think you’re doing?” Your one friend asking you this, concern lacing in her voice.

You turn around to your group of friends, “I’m just going to go for a ride, can’t be too hard. I used to ride horses when I was younger, anyways.” You nonchalantly wave your hand and shrug your shoulders, then go get in line for the mechanical bull, leaving your worried friends to watch you.

By this hour of the night, the bar is in full swing, filled with people all around your age, some even a bit older, some younger, and the bull pen seems to be the center of attention, drawing in quite the crowd.

Were you nervous? Nah. (You were sweating just a little bit as you got closer and closer to the front of the line). Your drunken haze however, proved to help ease your anxiety of actually getting up on a mechanical bull and possibly making a fool out of yourself in front of everyone.

So, by the time you were next, you felt pretty calm; everything was going to be fine.

It’s now your turn, and you climb onto the bull, settling in just like you would on a horse. You place your hand on the handle and prepare yourself for the ride to start. Just as it is about to begin, you glance around the crowd watching you, and your eyes meet with a pair of hooded ones surrounded by black material.

Fuck.

Of course, of course now is the time the man from earlier notices you. Great; guess I just have to give him a show.

You smile at the man and give him a wink. Then, the bull starts to move.

To say you were doing pretty well was an understatement. You guess that all your riding lessons from when you grew up were paying off now, even though you haven’t been on a horse for over three years.

As you were sitting atop the bull, you flexed your legs and positioned your seat so that you had the right balance to not be thrown off.

However, your skills aren’t what drew in a big crowd. No. It just so happened that you were wearing a very lowcut shirt with your biggest push up bra that you own, so of course that was what made the men come running. Typical, simple-minded men.

You didn’t care about any of them though. Just the tall one with the piercing eyes surrounded in black.

You may have gotten a little cocky, because you started to lose your balance, and eventually got thrown off. When you came to, it was announced that you held the record for the night, which earned you a round of free drinks for you and your friends.

Exiting the pen, you run over to your friends and excitedly pull them all in for hugs and they all cheered for you as you made your way over to the bar.

The bartender gives you and your group free drinks as promised, and you all down them in one go, still high off of the events of the night.

When you turn around to place your empty glass on the bar, you notice the towering man, but he was standing right next to you this time, looking even more massive than before.

You briefly glance over at him, but then drift your eyes back to your empty glass, running your fingers along the rim.

“Well, I was gonna offer you a drink after that impressive round back there, but it looks like I don’t have to.” He nods towards your glass.

With wide eyes, you turn to him, well more so turn and look up at the man, surprised at all that he’s talking to you. You’re also surprised that he’s British, and his voice is that deep and gruff.

Your eyes lock with his, and notice that they’re a deep ocean blue, but the shadows surrounding them make them look even darker, like the night sky.

You let out a short laugh, and tuck your hair behind your ear as your cheeks warm.

You smile up at him, “I never turn down an offer for a drink.”

He lets out a hum of understanding, “How ‘bout this, you tell me where you learned those riding skills of yours, and I’ll buy you another drink.”

He’s now turned completely towards you, and he’s leaning on his forearm that’s placed on the counter of the bar. You briefly glance down at his arm, noticing an array of tattoos filling up the space all the way to his elbow, thick veins running up and down.

Your eyes roam up his arm to his broad shoulders, then brawny chest, then back up to his face. Even though you can’t see all his features, you’re enamored by him, and you want him.

Tilting your head, you place your pointer on your chin, feigning thought as you say, “Or, I can show you how I learned all my riding skills.”

You think you see him smirk underneath his balaclava, and he sticks out his hand.

"I think I can work with that."

You place your hand in his and he leads you out of the bar, into the chilly air of the night.

The night concluded with an unexpected ending; Ghost simply made sure you got home ok and left a cold glass of water with Tylenol on your bedside table. He may have also slipped a piece of paper with his phone number on there as well.

He left you sound asleep in your bed with a kiss on your forehead, hoping to see you in the near future.

—

Hope you enjoyed!

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thetriplets3 · 11 months

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melt - muse a holds muse b’s face gently, drawing circles into their cheeks with their thumbs

with matt its so cute

This is so cute I loved writing this please keep the requests coming <3

❊ delicate ❊

If there’s one word to describe how life has been lately it would be exhausting, in every aspect. I spend half my nights awake, restlessly tossing and turning thinking about the long list of things I need to do. I can’t seem to make the racing thoughts in my head stop.

I've isolated myself from my friends and more importantly, you. I’m trying to do a million things and keep my thoughts under control and not drag anyone down with me. Other than the odd text here and there to you we haven’t talked a lot in a week. I can’t help but feel bad. I don’t do this on purpose and you understand that, having experienced the same thing yourself. You give me space and know that I’ll come to you when I need help or when I’m ready.

Which brings me to now. Knocking on your door, I’m greeted by Nick who welcomes me in with a hug. He tells me that you and Chris have just gone to get groceries and should be back soon.

“I’ll let him find out on his own that you’re here” Nick tells me as he retreats to his room.

I send Nick a smile as I head to the comfort of your room. Simply being in your bed and the smell of your cologne is enough to make me fall asleep with ease for the first time in a while.

Matt’s POV:

Walking into my room I’m met with you sleeping peacefully in my bed. “Oh sweet girl” I coo to myself.

Taking my backpack and hoodie off and placing them on my chair, I carefully climb into bed trying to not wake you. I lie there facing you, happy that you feel safe enough to come to me when you need me. My eyes dance over your delicate features. My heart skips a beat whenever I look at you.

I love your eyes. They remind me of an endless galaxy that I never wanna leave, the way your eyes squint when you’re truly happy, how unknowingly expressive you are, the way everything about you's so perfectly suited, just for you. I can’t wrap my head around what there is that you could dislike about yourself. You’re the most beautiful person that has walked this earth and I can’t believe I get to call you my girlfriend.

Noticing you slowly start to wake up I place my hand gently on your cheek and begin softly rubbing circles into your skin. As your eyes open I can see the emotion and the toll this past week has taken on you. You don’t let this stop you from smiling back at me as your eyes flutter shut, taking in the physical contact you’ve been missing.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you honey. Are you okay?” I whisper.

“I’m okay now that you’re here. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I don't mean to do it, it just feels easier to deal with it myself and not put it on other people” you whisper, sadness filling your voice.

“You’re not alone in this, I’m here for you, just like you are for me. Do you wanna talk about your week or do you wanna forget about it?” I ask.

“I know, thank you for being so patient with me. I wanna forget about it and just be with you right now. I’ve missed your touch” you say.

I open my arms inviting you in. You rest your head on my chest, tilting it up to look at my horse necklace as you fiddle with it. Wrapping one arm securely around you, knowing it makes you feel safe, the other makes its way back to your cheek. My thumb mindlessly draws circles on your soft skin. The warmth of my touch makes your eyelids flutter as they grow heavy, lulling you into a much needed sleep.

Even when things seem like they're falling apart, he's right there to pick up the pieces.

Taglist (msg me if you wanna be added)

@d0wnt0wnstu4n1ol0 @im-a-matt-girl @iluvmatt @antisocialties @stxrniqlo

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets

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zeestarfishalien · 5 months

Text

Lingering Souls

CW: Drugs (fear gas being referred to as a drug), Panic Attack (again it’s fear gas)

[Day 2 dpxdc week 2023; Danny Fenton // Full Hazmat AU // Fear Gas]

• MemeLords (Danny Fenton/Stephanie Brown) if you squint.

When the adrenaline hits, Stephanie prepares herself to face the visions of her failures, of people she cares about dying in her arms, or even visions of dying slowly somewhere cold and alone.

What she doesn’t expect is the odd warping of reality where all the shadows move. There’s people, so many people. Most of them have some sort of violent wound on them hanging open but not freshly bleeding. Her eyes can’t accurately judge distances any more as figures seem to loom closer or flick away with the barest hint of movement. There’s a glow from up on the roof ledge above her that attracts her attention even though moving her head makes her stomach turn.

There. Stretching in a blur of shadows and neon green glow, a figure moves. Suddenly all she can hear is heavy breathing filtered through a mask and the sound is so loud. She can’t hear her own breathing. Is she breathing? Panic rises further as she can’t hear her own breathing, feel her chest rise and fall and the breathing gets louder and louder, the figure hasn’t moved yet, watching Scarecrow monologue.

An ice cold hand grips her shoulder without warning but before she can scream, another is pressed against her mouth, silencing her. She can’t see them, but they’re so cold, like her hands that one time she got captured by Mr. Freeze.

“Shhhhh,” the raspy voice murmurs in her ear. “I need you to breathe with me.” Then she hears the exaggerated rattling breath through a filter that’s different from the overwhelming heavy breathing that’s still plaguing her ears.

They’re trying to get her to breathe. She really wasn’t breathing? That thought nearly sends her spiraling into panic all over and the heavy breathing picks up in speed once more.

“Hey, hey…” the raspy voice is soft, soothing even if it sounds like it must hurt its owner’s throat. “Close your eyes, I’ll put your hand on my shoulder so you can feel me breathe.”

She does it, she closes her eyes. She’s not usually one to listen to a stranger’s command but this is not a usual sort of situation. There’s the shifting of what sounds like rubber then her gloved hand is placed on Raspy Voice’s shoulder. She can feel them breathe and she finally drags in a shuddering breath to match their pace after a few moments of fumbling.

The strange breathing plaguing her matches her own shakily drawn breaths and slowly ever so slowly as her adrenaline plateaus, it dawns on her that the breathing matches hers because it is hers. The drugs are altering her sense of reality. She knows this.

She jolts as a crash and a human squawk cuts off Crane’s monologue. She almost opens her eyes, it’s habit. She needs to know what’s going on, but she knows she’ll lose her tenuous grip on her fear if she does.

“We’ve got him,” the voice reassures her. “Just breathe with me. I won’t leave you.”

And she believes them. Something about Cold Hand’s voice cuts through and draws away the drug induced fear. Which logically shouldn’t be possible but far be it from Stephanie to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Crane must have made this strain short acting. She can hear her heartbeat settling back into something resembling a normal pace. It helps that Cold Hands is murmuring reassurances and documenting what is going on so she can relax a little easier. Crane is caught. The material beneath her gloved fingers is odd. She can’t tell the details obviously but it doesn’t sit in her grip the way she’s used to.

“I’m gonna…let me take my hood off before you open your eyes,” Cold Hands says suddenly.

There’s a rustling and a hiss of air being released from closed circulation, more rustling and then a raspy “okay.”

It’s so quietly said that Stephanie almost doesn’t hear it. It still takes another few moments for her to gather the courage to open her eyes again.

She’s looking into a face spiderwebbed with glowing green lines. The lines reach up to their eyes which also glow in that same ominous color. She has to remind herself that it’s the same color as Kori’s eyes, panic is still easily bubbling up.

She notes the black and white hazmat suit, an odd color. Their companion also wears one in the same colors, their mask is still on but their back is turned as they keep watch over Crane and his goonies.

“I’m Phantom, he/him,” Cold Hands, Phantom says obviously trying to pull her attention back to him. She lets him.

“Spoiler, any.”

“Even Neos?” She’s pretty sure he’s only asking to keep her talking, to keep the conversation going.

“Especially Neo-pronouns.”

Phantom’s grin is infectious. She firmly ignores that thought.

“Who’s your twin over there?”

Phantom pauses at that and not the human sort of pause, his entire body goes absolutely still. Stephanie thinks his heart might have even stopped but she’d have to move to check his pulse. After what feels like an eternity (it’s probably not been that long but time gets wiggy when you’re high on mind altering drugs), his gaze flicks away and she knows he’s either debating on whether or not to lie or about what lie to tell.

When he looks back, he meets her gaze steadily (so probably not lying).

“It’s just me,” he says in that low rasp. The other one, the other Phantom turns to look at them even though he shouldn’t have been able to hear the first one’s voice. Maybe they’re connected?

“An illusion?” She asks it just to eliminate unlikely theories.

“No,” Cold Hands Phantom says, confirming her theory. “He’s completely separate from me until we merge back together.”

Well that’s…got to be confusing.

“It is,” he replied.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah, you’re still pretty out of it.”

“That checks out. Why hazmat? Seems cumbersome and not for fighting villains.” She knows it’s probably rude but figures the guy might cut her some slack since she’s drugged up at the moment. She’s not one to miss an advantage where she can get one.

For his part, Cold Hands Phantom doesn’t look offended. If anything he looks a little bemused and she wonders how many other thoughts she might have said out loud instead of in the privacy of her own mind. That could get embarrassing real fast. It’s better not to think about it for too long or she’ll lose her nerve.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

The non sequitur throws her addled mind for a bit of a loop and then she has to think about it for a minute. Does she believe in ghosts? She certainly believes that some spirits linger after death and for people to return from the dead, their souls must have been somewhere.

“I believe that our souls can linger, yeah.”

He nods.

“I’m that; a lingering soul. I died in a hazmat suit so that’s what I’m stuck with. At least until I’m dead long enough to change it.”

“Is that why your hands are so flipping cold,” she bursts out.

He laughs. It’s a cracking horrid sounding laugh, but it’s genuine and filled with his amusement.

“Yeah,” he takes a breath to get the few lingering chuckles under control, “that’s part of the reason my hands are so cold.”

“Hmm…seems like it sucks.”

“Which part? The suit or the cold hands?”

“Both, but I was referring to the suit.”

“Sometimes it does but then again, I don’t have to deal with the stares or the patronizing adults nearly so often. The suit itself is just a part of me so it doesn’t get in my way.”

“You doing alright though?” She doesn’t know what makes her ask that. Possibly the drugs? She’s gonna blame the drugs. But even though she didn’t plan to say it, she finds that she really does mean it. Obviously he’s not gonna want sympathy or pity for his death. It’s something he has to deal with every day. But how many people ask him how he’s doing?

“I…” he fumbles. His face contorts, shifting the glowing lichtenburg figures into interesting shapes and contortions. His fingers come up to rake through his unruly white hair as he takes the time to truly think about her question.

“Some days are easier than others,” he finally settles on. “Being here, now? That’s good. I’m doing good.”

“Okay,” she says and sits back tipping her chin up as she closes her eyes. The nausea is getting worse, but also she doesn’t know what else to say or how to look Phantom in the eyes. So instead she focuses on her breathing.

B would want her to try to find out everything she can about Phantom. But respectfully, screw him. She’s still struggling with the drugs and Phantom did nothing but help her through it and tie up Scarecrow and his goons. While she might want to know how he managed to get her over the effects of the drug so fast and with no antidote, she’s just grateful he did it.

She’ll claim that she was too out of it. Alfred won’t let B get on her case over this.

And well…the dead deserve to rest.

Author’s Note: Steph absolutely was saying much of her thoughts aloud. Will we ever know how much? Who can say. Danny didn’t want her to feel embarrassed about it since she couldn’t really help it.

Also Steph using any pronouns is something you won’t even be able to pry out of my cold dead hands. Thank you for coming to my ted talk

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc week 2023 #potential memelords ship #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort

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notyour-valentine · 1 year

Note

Any headcanons about older Emma and Charlie? 🌷

🍷Join me for a Drink 🍷 - TBITW: Grown Emma and Charlie

[Celebration] [Celebration Masterlist] [Masterlist]

This was written as part of my Series The Boy in the Window and contains spoilers

Warning: WWII, Bombings, Injuries, mention of death and violence, medical treatments, sexism, mental health problems (18/21+). I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Words: 1333

Tommy wants his children to go to the best possible school, which are mostly boarding schools, but can’t bring himself to send his children away. It is tricky to find a school, which takes both boys and girls but he won’t have them separated.

In the end, they find a school which not only has both boys and girls from the age of sixteen, but also a looser boarding system, allowing them to come home on the weekend.

For the first weeks, both parents are living in a rented house barely fifteen minutes away from the school in case the children need their help or want to go home.

Especially Charlie is homesick at first, but he has Emma and knows he can go home every weekend, which makes the transition easier.

At school, Emma excels at writing and speaking, at debating, mathematics and dramatic arts, while Charlie is excellent in biology, physics, chemistry, philosophy, literature and, like Emma, mathematics. He also starts to take an interest in drawing and poetry.

She becomes an excellent equestrian, so good that if she were a man, she could have made the Olympic Team by a country mile. She isn’t though, and there are some things even Tommy can’t change, even if it makes his skin itch with anger.

She is also an absolute heartbreaker, truly. But thankfully for Tommy’s nerves, she is never half as interested in a boy as she is in her horses, at least not until she is in her mid-twenties and falls head over heels

In my mind, independent of this story or any other Charlie becomes a doctor. He doesn’t seem to be all too like his father and I would love to see him pursue a more caring profession. It would also align with the charity work of the Shelby Family Foundation and while during WWII he would see more than his fair share of war, it would be vastly different from Tommy’s.

By the time war breaks out, he would still be studying. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he would not be sent to France but stay in Birmingham and quickly rise through the ranks. He has nerves of steele and steady hands and is soon in the operating chamber day and night to save the lives of the people of Birmingham that are caught in the bombings

He comes of age during that time, not just legally, but emotionally. He sees things just as bad if not worse than his father has seen in France, has decisions to make that are tricker than his fathers, different, yes, but no less easy. Practise makes perfect and soon he has the duties of doctors far his senior. He has the talent, the cool head and the dedication

During that time, he falls in love with a nurse. She is just as tough as she is and not at all content with keeping her mouth shut. She knows exactly what she is doing and is not shy to stand her ground, against anyone, no matter how rich or powerful or threatening.

He falls for her when they are in a bomb shelter and she is helping a woman deliver a child - it is the one time Doctor Shelby is close to losing his cool - an operation is one thing, but an unmedicated childbirth in the middle of an airstrike is a whole other thing, but she has nerves of steel and takes charge.

Within weeks she becomes his closest companion and ally. They pull each other through the war, after which they get engaged, however it would be years before they get married. She goes off and studies medicine in her own right first, and is one of the first women in England to keep her maiden name as a professional name since it would be very confusing to have two “Dr Shelby”s working at the “Shelby Family Hospital”.

The war causes Tommy’s mental health to turn for the worse; he blames himself for everything that happens, every death, every injury, every ruined building in the city. He has plans of course, for evacuation, for rebuilding, but he doesn’t have the strength to carry them out. Guilt, fear and PTSD renders him incapable of most things, even of engaging with the general public - of being the Tommy Shelby the world, and especially the city knows and respects.

In this time, it is (Y/N) that holds him together, if so barely. She is the one behind the scenes, caring for him, caring for others, managing his housing project, that turned into a refugee project, but behind the scenes work is not good enough in a situation like this.

So Emma steps up.

And how she steps up! Having always been a charismatic, charming girl, she had grown into a confident young woman, adopting a signature red lipstick and matching red ribbon in her hair to keep it out of her face. It looks strange at first, but before long it is the single most recognisable style in the city.

Many people are sceptical about leaving their city homes for refuge in the country, but the Shelby name, the Peaky Blinder’s reach, Ada Thorne MP’s influence and Emma’s charm is enough to convince most, even if it means she has to go knocking from door to door.

It isn’t known how many lives they saved, but when the bombs fall on all industrial cities, a large part of Birmingham is already empty, having relocated to all those country mansions Tommy had bought up earlier.

Those are managed by (Y/N), while Emma becomes pivotal for moral and communication in the city. The Major, the MP, the Home Secretary and the War Minister, they are all well and good, but Miss Emma’s word is more often than not the deciding factor. This irks some of the old guard in the ministeries and when they send a young officer from an old family, to investigate, and to ensure that everything runs in the proper order of things while removing “that girl” without any official position from influence. The visit goes as bad as possible, and he makes an utter fool of himself, and has to eat his words within an hour of meeting her. Birmingham is a Shelby city, and he quickly learns that Emma’s word holds much more sway than any official piece of paper.

It is only incidental that he requests leave for a follow up and quickly puts in a recommendation to grant more power and presence to community leaders instead of solely to military officials in this city and others.

When he asked Emma if she would go dancing with him, she said she would only go if he could beat her in a horse race. In the end, after the war was done, she beat him at an embarrassing scale, and he lost his chance to take her dancing. So she took him instead.

The war turns Tommy into an old man. There is no other way to put it, and even after it is finally over, recovery is slow, but still he doesn’t want to let go of the reigns of the company completely.

Charlie was practically running the foundation and the take over was only a formality. He would expand the medical care for impoverished families, healthcare, medical research etc.

And Emma’s charm, people skills and general knowledge are decisive in shaping the company in a post WWII world. They mainly take on the task of rebuilding infrastructure, mainly housing, in the big cities. Before long, he realises that Emma has what it takes to lead the company with Ada. While he never leaves an advisory position, he keeps handing her more and more control. This happens due to his age, his trust in both of them, his acceptance that the world is changing too fast for even him to keep up and the arrival of his grandchildren, who keep him more than busy enough.

End

I want to thank you for participating in my celebration and for expanding on this. I hope you like this little headcanon.

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik

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elliewlums · 1 year

Text

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 [𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠]

pairing: ser harwin strong x fem!reader

summary: harwin takes you hunting and you get squeamish

content warnings: talks of killing, harwin kills a deer, making out, god this man i love him so much

request: Hi, can I make a request for Ser Harwin where he takes the reader hunting and she's all confident that she'll get the biggest animal until she actually has to kill it. Maybe she can be squeamish and he's helps her out. Then when they are on their way back he's all cocky and tells her she's all talk. I can just picture his smirk. Thanks

i have another request for him that i’m starting v soon!!!! (and it’s smut😩) and as always, likes and most importantly reblogs are appreciated

“i’m going to get this one,” you whisper as you draw your bow and arrow taut. the stag stands tall and broad, so far unaware of your presence and your intentions.

“go ahead,” harwin laughs in that rasping voice, so close that it sends shivers cascading down your whole body. you hesitate as the creature walks, admiring the way it moves with such grace and power, the kindness and peace in its eyes that you’re about to destroy with a single movement. his rough hand, calloused from years of fighting, scrubs up and down your clothed arm, rumpling the soft material. “you can do it,” he murmurs.

your arm falters as you bring the weapon back down. there’s a pit of nausea in your stomach that only grows the longer you think about murdering this innocent animal. you shake your head. “i can’t. i can’t do it.”

“alright.” he kisses your temple before moving from his position behind you and - swift and quiet as a feline despite his hulking presence - fires one arrow straight through its head. you screw your eyes shut and turn away as its body crumples and hits the ground with a dull thud — you never realised you were so squeamish. he laughs, this deep bellowing sound that carries across the woods for miles and your brows knit and furrow, lips pushed together.

“come on,” he says. “help me lift this and we’ll start the journey back to the keep.”

your trip back is quiet, the only sound the crunch of the leaves and the muted footfalls of the horses’ hooves against the forest floor. you roll your eyes as soon as harwin glances your way, already preparing yourself for the inevitable teasing.

“you’re all talk,” he taunts. “i thought you were eager to kill it. it’s all you talked about!”

you huff. “i felt sorry for it!” the smirk that cracks his face forces upon you the overwhelming urge to smack him. “you’re a smug bastard, you know that?”

“and you love me regardless,” he goads; you know he’s right.

once you’ve dismounted the horses and you’re back on solid ground, he holds his arms out for you.

“come here, sweet girl.”

you oblige despite your irritation; he knows how to get under your skin every time without fail. once you’re in his arms, pressed against the cool metal of his armour, he kisses your forehead.

“i love you even if you’re terrible at hunting.”

you scrunch your nose and squirm.

“you’re awfully mean.” your bottom lip protrudes until you’re pouting at him and he presses his own lips to the soft flesh, one textured hand on your jaw, rough as sandpaper but tender and doting as though you’re delicate.

“shh.” he quiets you instantly, his tongue slipping out to part your lips for him as his beard scratches against your baby soft cheek. his body crowds you without moving, so massive and powerful that you submit to him without argument— you crave his dominance, his strength. you whine as he pulls away, chasing him with your whole body. he smiles. “shall we continue this inside, my dearest?”

#ser harwin strong #ser harwin strong x you #ser harwin strong x reader #ser harwin strong fanfic #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong x y/n #harwin strong fluff #harwin strong fanfic #harwin strong fic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd x female reader #hotd fanfic #writer #writing #writers on tumblr #fiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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skywarpie · 11 months

Text

Eye For An Eye

words: 7,267

Content: Dad Copia with a lot of angst because I can’t be normal about him.

Summary: Consumption, also known as Tuberculosis --- A disease caused by bacteria that usually attacks the lungs. Highly contagious and almost always fatal.

AO3 Link

this started as a small dad copia fic and i went off i guess

April - 1875

Rain pelts the city for the third day in a row. Not uncommon for Italy this time of year, but certainly cumbersome to the inhabitants. The fat drops bounce off the cobblestones with a vengeance and then pool into ever growing swamps that litter the streets. Street lamps do little to illuminate the night as the rain comes down in sheets, making it almost impossible to see.

A figure weaves its way through the throngs of people, only to break out into a break neck speed once freed of them. It’s only then that the figure realizes they’re right in the middle of the street. They stay frozen in place as the low light illuminates an approaching carriage.

“Shit!” The driver yanks the reins to his horse in a poor attempt to stop. It doesn’t work

Wide fearful eyes stare at the beast that’s now rearing on its hind legs, front legs kicking through the air. And – oh, oh no. It's coming down in their general direction.

The figure, a man, lets out a startled yelp as the spell is broken. He dives out of the way, fearful of hooves connecting with his head. In the process his foot gets caught in his red cassock, tripping him and sending him face first into one of the dirty piles. (Well out of the way of the horse, thank god.)

“Fottuto idiota!” The cab driver screams as he directs the horse back on its path and they stamp off down the street.

The Cardinal sputters as he draws himself to his feet. Something easier said than done when stuck in a soaked cassock. His nose hurts from where the bridge of it connected with the street stones but he doesn’t have time to worry about that. He snatches his biretta from the puddle and starts on his journey once again.

The house (if it can even be called that) that he rushes to is small and derelict. He’s tried to do some improvements himself but they haven’t turned out the way he wanted. The cost to hire someone is something that he hasn’t saved enough coin for just yet. He’s still newly appointed as Cardinal, meaning his pay grade hasn’t seen its increase just yet. (Not that he cares. That’s not why he became a Cardinal but god knows it would help.) The main thing is that the house is warm and dry. He had made it his first job to ensure all holes in the roof were repaired. The last thing they needed was to catch colds.

He yanks the door open with more force than necessary as he drags himself inside, listening to it slam behind him. The Cardinal takes this small moment of ease to gasp for air. Since he left nearly two hours ago it’s felt like he hasn’t been able to expand his lungs to the proper size.

“Finally! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back. Did you get it?” A small portly woman rushes toward him expectantly.

He nods as a gloved hand rakes wet hair from his face. The leather squelching in the process.

The woman looks him up and down. “You look like shit.”

His brows furrow.

“Sorry Cardinale.”

“Is she alright?” His voice is tight.

The woman looks at him for a long moment almost like she’s deciding if she should tell the truth or not. “Do you have the horsetail?”

That would be a no.

“Yes.” He holds the plants out toward her. “It was harder to find than expected.” Remorse fills his voice at the thought of prolonging the suffering of the women in the other room.

“It’s alright.”

It’s not though, is it? The Cardinal can tell by the tense mechanical movements of the small woman before him. The way she puts too much force into grinding the plants with the stone.

“She’s dying.” His voice is flat as he says it. It’s a fact both of them had known for some time. “No cure for Consumption .” The doctor had told them. He remembers panicking and then shouting at the man how there must be something that can be done. “ Copia.” She had laid a soft hand on his forearm. “It’s okay. Let’s just make the most of it.” Her smile was weak as he stared at her with bewilderment. He had opened his mouth to argue but she had beat him to it. “ It’s in God’s hands. Isn’t that what you tell your congregations?” He had felt physically sick then and it was the first time he had actively reconsidered his faith. Would God really take something so important away from one of his most devout followers? The only reason they were allowed to remain married was due to the simple fact that he had already wed her before climbing the clergy ranks. They hadn’t been happy, but Copia was told as long as the two of them lived well away from the church, then he could keep his position. That and don’t mention her to anyone and pretend to be total strangers in public, something that proved to be harder than said.

“Yes.”

The woman’s voice brings him back to reality. She’s staring at him with – remorse…pity? Copia isn’t entirely sure which it is. He opens his mouth but he’s silenced.

“I think the baby should be fine. We just need to make sure it enters the world with as few issues as possible.”

Copia nods as he swallows around the lump forming in his throat. He remembers when they found out. The pair of them had been ecstatic to be parents. “They will be the most spoiled bambino in all the city!” He had proclaimed as they laid in bed in the aftermath of love-making. “Isn’t that against some sort of rule or something for clergy?” Her giggle had filled his ears and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard – it’s not heard very often these days. “An exception can be made. ” He kissed her then and in that moment he had actually believed the lie. That the three of them would be able to live in quiet peace. But it was an illusion. Copia had known from the first mention of it that the baby would have to remain invisible. The church had allowed him to keep his marriage but he wasn’t so sure they’d be so accommodating with an added babe. But he had been able to live with that because at that moment it seemed like everything would work out. However, in reality the pregnancy had quickly proved to be too much on her already weakening body.

“I can see her?” It comes out like a question. A ridiculous thing since it’s his home and wife but just barging in without explicit permission seems wrong somehow.

“Best wait.”

His stomach twists at that but he nods in agreement. Out of the two of them, the midwife is the one who knows what she’s doing. The only thing he’d do is get in the way.

“I’ll come get you when it’s done.” She disappears back into the back room.

Copia finds himself trying to focus on anything but what’s currently unfolding in his home. Their home. The one that even though it had been less than desirable, she had worked to make it feel as homey as possible. She’d collected flowers that one weekend they had traveled to the countryside. The doctors had said the fresh air would improve her health. It hadn’t but Copia loved to pretend it did as he’d watch her traverse the fields, collecting flowers she thought were pretty and bringing them back home. “ I can dry these. My mother taught me how and then we can have some decor!” Her smile was contagious. “I think they’ll look good in the kitchen. How about you?” The kitchen was nothing but the main room to the house, a small hearth occupying the center that allowed for cooking and warmth. “ Si.”

When he’s anxious he fidgets. It’s something that he’s done since childhood. Something that the nuns at seminary were all too happy to beat out of him. However, it didn’t appear to work. Nervousness is part of his nature and it always will be.

He twists his biretta between his hands. The only thing this does is wring the water out of it. It soaks his gloves, more than likely ruining the leather. But he doesn’t care.

Copia loses track of time as he makes laps around the room. His mind racing with thoughts of how she’ll recover and when she does the three of them will move out of the city. He’ll give up his position in the clergy and get a simple trade job. He’s not too skilled when it comes to working with his hands, but he is good at financing. Copia knows all too well there are tons of little shops throughout the country that want a good bookkeeper. He can be that. The new house they will move to will be ten times better than this shack that they seem confined to. Everything will work out. Everyone will be okay. They will be happy.

He’s barely finished that last thought when a blood curdling wail bounces off the stone walls. His head jerks in the direction and he slides on still wet boots as he scrambles to their bedroom. It’s something he almost immediately regrets.

The next moments are a blur to him. One moment he’s at the door. The next he’s by the bed tears blurring his vision as he shouts at the woman tending to the newborn. Then he’s grasping his wife and there’s blood everywhere. It seems impossible but it looks like blood is filling the room. There should not be that much blood. That’s bad. There shouldn’t be —

“Here!” The midwife shoves a wailing infant into his arms and shoves him out of the room, the door slamming in his face.

Copia stands there numbly. His eyes stare blankly at the door. Then, several moments later, almost as if in a haze, he blinks and looks down at the babe in his arms. His brows raise as if to ask “How did you get here?”

That’s all he remembers before the walls close in on him and everything around him turns to darkness.

—------

July – 1875

She’s lingered far longer than either he or the midwife originally thought she would. Copia isn’t complaining about that, he’s more than happy to still have his wife around. Though he’s not so thrilled about the suffering she’s continued to have to endure. Most days she doesn’t leave their bed. On good days she’s awake and coherent, but for the most part she sleeps and coughs. She coughs a lot.

Her coughs are very different than they were when they first started. Then she had coughed up mostly phlegm. The doctor had said that was common but as the disease progressed so would the cough and it seemed just that was happening. Copia found himself grimacing each time he heard it. It was wet and harsh and there was blood.

“ For the most part you will be coughing up the normal things. Phlegm. That’s about it. As it progresses there will be blood. A lot of it. At that point your lungs have had all they can handle.” The doctor had said it so calmly like Copia hadn’t been sitting there with his world crumbling around him. Once again she had reassured him. “ It’s alright. We don’t need to worry just yet.” Then she smiled and Copia had felt nauseous.

Her ever worsening condition had made it hard for Copia to travel to the other side of the city for work. Between her and the babe, he felt obligated to remain with them. There was no way that she could care for their daughter on her own. His absence had been duly noted by other clergy members and the days that he had managed to make it back to work, they made sure he knew how troublesome it was becoming.

The issue with hardly working was the fact that in return he was receiving hardly any money. And with no money came no food which was something he was desperate to still be able to provide her with. It was also becoming abundantly clear that he would have to find a wet nurse for the baby. That also required money.

It was also becoming clear that he was overworking himself. Funny really considering he wasn’t actually working per-say.

On one particularly warm July morning when Lia, his wife, was feeling well enough to sit up in bed and cradle the baby she had talked him into going into work, even if for only a couple hours. “We will be fine.” Her smile had no radiance in it. It felt hollow. In that brief moment Copia nodded in agreement and grabbed his biretta. “I will be back home before sunset.” It had been a promise that both knew wouldn’t be kept. The church would work him overtime for missing his duties. But he was good with numbers and quick with financing. He would be done in no time. Is what he had told himself. In fact, I will make the effort to surprise her and get home earlier than i anticipated. Copia had smiled to himself, mind set.

When he had returned home that night, well past sunset, he was greeted to the sound of a wailing baby and a dead wife.

—--

September 1880

A stack of papers is dropped on his desk with a loud thud. Copia awakes with a start, head shooting up and eyes full of alarm as he looks around for the sound of the intrusion.

In front of his desk stands Cardinal Paolo. His expression is one of irritation as he glares down his sharp nose at Copia.

Copia has always thought the man looked like a fox. Acted like one too. The last person to be trusted with any secret information would be Paolo.

“Sleeping on the job is not allowed.”

Copia’s upper lip twitches. If he weren’t so exhausted he’d gladly provide a witty retort but that requires brain power he doesn’t have right now. “Apologies.”

Paolo continues to sneer. There’s another reason for this impromptu visit. He knows.

“Cardinal Alessio wants you in his office.”

Ah, there it is. Great. Copia gives a sigh of defeat. “Grazie.” Paolo stands there a moment more with narrowed eyes, almost as if waiting for him to take the bait. He doesn't.

The other man leaves his office with a sniff of disapproval. Surprise. Another person that's disappointed in him is added to the ever growing list. Though Copia doesn't think Paolo's disdain will hurt his own feelings too much.

Reluctantly he pulls himself to his feet. He sways momentarily, a hand shooting out to grab his forehead. Even though he's working once more, his earnings are meager, at best. That doesn't mean he has any less of a work load. In fact he'd bet he probably has the most out of anyone and it's solely out of spite. How very Christian of you, dear Pope. More often Copia finds himself questioning his relationship with religion these days.

After what feels like an eternity, Copia drags himself to Cardinal Alessio’s office. He knocks once and is met with a gruff. “Entra!” Oh this is going to be fun.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself. Smooths down the wrinkles in his cassock and places his biretta on his head. Then he paints on the most authentic smile he can muster. It isn’t much.

Cardinal Alessio looks up from his desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Ah, Copia. How nice of you to join us.”

Us? His face turns to confusion until he spots Paolo off to Alessio’s left. Oh great.

“Mi dispiace.”

“Hmm.” Cardinal Alessio motions for him to take a seat in the chair on the other side of his desk. Copia really doesn’t want to but there’s no feasible way to argue his way out of this. So he sets, bunching his cassock so it doesn’t wrinkle under him.

“Cardinal Paolo tells me that you have been slacking on your duties.”

Copia’s faux smile falters immediately. “Mi scusi?”

“It seems your hearing is also beginning to fail you, Cardinale. ” The title is meant as an insult, seeing as he’s rarely referred to it by now.

“I do not know what Paolo told you but I am working as quickly as I can.” God why did that smug bastard have to be in the room too.

“You call sleeping at your desk working?”

Copia chews his lip.

“Asking the kitchens if they have any leftovers to spare?”

He feels like shrinking in on himself. He’d asked a couple of the nuns that worked in the kitchens if they had any spare food only a handful of times. It had been the times that he hadn’t had enough coin to bring something home for dinner. “I’m sorry Cardinal, but we are not allowed to do that.” Several of them still seemed to respect him enough to use his title. “Wait — it’s not for me. It’s for – for –” And Copia had hated the look of pity he received. But it had worked in his favor. One of them had given him a small chunk of bread and bid him farewell. Copia could have nearly cried from joy at just being given that.

Now he swallows. “I don't always make enough to a-afford food for us.” He hates how his voice waivers and the smug look that settles on Paolo’s face.

Alessio steeples his fingertips under his chin as he leans forward against his desk. “As for sleeping?”

“I – I don’t always get to rest.” It was true. He had caught himself doing odd little jobs here and there for a meager coin. After that there was hardly any time for sleep.

“And what would you recommend the solution to this issue be?”

Copia perks up immediately. It’s something he’s been meaning to bring to light. “Per–perhaps if I were allowed to receive at least half of my original payment. It would solve many problems.”

“You do have the work given to you and you expect to be rewarded?”

His face falls, hope immediately diminished.

“Perhaps it is God that you should be speaking to, Cardinal. After all, you have not been that faithful in your vows to him. Taking a wife, your biggest fault.”

“She’s dead.” His voice is flat, lacking any emotion but getting his point across: don’t speak about her.

“Then worse yet, he has that bastard child living in his home.” Paolo chimes in. “Another vow to God you’ve broken.”

Finally he can bear it no longer and Copia jumps to his feet, chair hitting the ground as it falls behind him. His hands plant themselves on Cardinal Alessio’s desk. “You will not speak of her like that!” His timidness from earlier long forgotten. "She is not a bastard. Her mother and I were married!"

"And who performed the ceremony, Copia?" Alessio’s voice digs its heels into him.

"I – I hardly think that matters." He's faltering now.

" You did." It's accusatory and it makes the blood chill in his veins. "First you break your vow of chastity to God. Then you ' marry ' a woman and sire a bastard with her." Alessio rubs at his chin. "And now you sit here trying to put blame on someone else for your lazy work methods."

Lazy? Copia swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. He's anything but that. He's given every waking moment of his life to the church.

"The way I see it, this is God finally holding you accountable for your actions." He feels like he's looking down a tunnel as the words sink in. "Cardinal Paolo will take over your position immediately. Your services are no longer required."

"You – you can't –"

"I believe he just did." Pablo's voice says. "Now do as the Cardinal says and evacuate your office immediately." There's a sickly sweet smile aimed at him and it suddenly sinks in. He orchestrated this whole thing. The man has been after his position for years. He's been accumulating incidents to prove to Cardinal Alessio that Copia's unfit.

His breathing is heavy as he trembles slightly. Not from fear but anger. "How will I provide for her if you deny me of my job?" Despite himself, Copia hears his voice raising. "She'll die! I barely have enough to feed her once a day, and now you want to take that away?!"

"That is out of our control. It is in His hands now."

And that's what does it. That's what breaks the damn that's slowly been building for years, letting everything its ever collected seep through. "And you think God would will the death of children from starvation?! The last time I checked we were here to provide alms to who ever needed it. And now – now you want to stand here and lecture me about how I have failed God?" Copia sucks in a ragged breath between his clenched teeth. "You all think you're better, that your position puts you in higher authority. I've seen how you all take from the offering plates when you think no one is looking. I'm the fucking treasurer, for God's sake! At the end of the day the numbers don't match up and there's only one way that can happen."

"You over sell yourself. No one is good enough with numbers to count the coins as they're collected." Paolo's voice wavers slightly.

"I am!" Copia knows he must look a sight. He breathes heavily as his usually slicked back hair has worked itself free in several spots. By the way he clenches his teeth, he feels like he could break them all into jagged little pieces from just the pressure.

"You are a selfish man Copia, and for that you must now reap what you sow."

—---

He walks home that night a defeated man. Even being fired (something he was unaware could happen to a Cardinal) he still isn't going to make it home before total darkness sets in from the setting sun.

The darkness of the streets feels like it wants to swallow him whole and Copia at this moment would gladly let it. He thinks of ways to play this off. It helps that his daughter is still young but she's smarter than her age would imply. He's seen the way she looks at him on nights where he goes without food. " Aren't you hungry, papa?" Her tiny voice had chimed in and Copia had simply shook his head. By this point he's gone without so much that the emptiness that's constant in his stomach hardly even bothers him anymore.

Now he would have to break the news that even small parcels of bread would be more than wishful thinking.

It's in His hands. A cruel joke at his expense once more.

Copia rids himself of his sour attitude as he finally approaches home. He takes a minute to settle himself with a few deep breaths before he's pushing the door open.

"Papa!" A little redheaded girl is clinging to his leg before he can even shut the door. "Look! Look! Andrea has been teaching me to write my name!" She proudly holds up the small crap of paper to show him.

"I can see that." For the first time that day he's wearing a real smile. His little girl always seems to make everything better.

She giggles and then takes off back to the small wooden table in the far corner to finish her penmanship. To the left Copia catches the girl that Accalia is left with for majority of the time these days. Andrea, a girl of no more than sixteen stands off to the side wringing her hands. It's a nervous habit one that he had noticed almost as soon as he'd met her.

He'd been traveling through the worst parts of the city to provide God's word to the less fortunate, as the clergy described them. Copia had been sent to a bordello of all places. It was there that he'd found Andrea, a child of eleven at the time, playing on the floor. It had honestly shocked him to find a child living in such conditions. " My mother owns this place." She had boasted proudly when he'd asked her why she was there. It had immediately concerned him. The child seemed to be totally unaware of the place she called home. It was after that that he decided to make frequent visits to this place. Each visit he would spend an hour or more teaching her to read. She had been very good at it and he'd found himself swelling with pride at knowing he helped her achieve that. "You can't keep coming around here." Was what her mother had abruptly told him one morning. " It's bad for business if the John's keep seeing a holy man lurking around." The two of them had hardly ever spoken three words to each other before that. " Miss, if you would allow me, your daughter is very bright. I think with the right education she could establish a well to do life for herself ." Apparently it had been the wrong thing to say because he had gone home that evening with a broken nose, much to Lia's concern. After that his wife visited her and taught her penmanship, another thing she'd picked up on extremely fast. Each night his wife would recount the stories of how well the girl did her studies. It made him happy. Andrea was a lovely girl and the thought of her having to spend her life laying on her back to earn meager scraps was something he wanted to ensure she'd never have to endure.

"I hope it isn't an issue. She said she wanted to practice and I –"

Copia holds a hand out to silence her. "Thank you." He smiles but it's weak and lacks any livelihood.

Andrea frowns. "You look unwell."

Well, that's not the worst thing someone has ever said to him. "It…it was just a bad day."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head no. "I don't think you'll have to worry about coming back to watch her anytime soon." Copia sees the way she furrows her brow in confusion before it clicks.

"Oh Cardinale, is there anything I can do?"

Get that fucking idiot Paolo to die. Instead he shakes his head no. He catches the way the concern on her face only deepens. "Here." Copia takes one of her hands and places something inside of it. "It's the least I can do to show my thanks."

Andrea's eyes grow wide as saucers as she looks at the gold ring in her palm. "Oh Cardinal, I can't take this!" She makes to hand it back but he refuses.

"It's real gold. It should fetch a pretty decent amount of money if traded." It's the last remaining piece he has of his wife. Copia knows he should save it and pawn it to help themselves but he just can't bring himself to do it. "It should give you enough to get out of the city and to the countryside."

Her face falls. "I can't take this. You've already done so much for me. It seems –"

"Please," he tries to smile again. "Use it as your ticket to a new life." He thinks back to earlier how he was called selfish. Maybe he was and this was his subconscious trying to get him to make up for it.

Andrea hugs Accalia and then the Cardinal before she leaves and they never see her again.

—--

December – 1880 – Present day

It's an exceptionally cold December day when it happens. Copia has just gotten back from helping one of the vendors in the plaza set up to sell their fresh vegetables. They come every other day and he lends them a hand in exchange for some root vegetables. It isn't much but he's more than happy to accept it.

He kicks the snow from his boots as he enters the small home they live in. His coat hangs on one of the kitchen chairs to dry. "Accalia?" Odd. She usually meets him at the door.

When there's no response Copia begins to feel panic set in. Did she leave? Did something happen? He has to shake his head to make the thoughts stop.

"Accalia?" He enters the small bedroom the pair of them share and immediately he knows something is wrong. Copia rushes over to her.

Immediately her breathing sounds wrong. It grates on his ears. When he places a hand on her forehead and feels how warm she is, he really begins to panic. She hasn't even woken up.

Despite being so warm, Copia notes how she shivers. He wastes no time wrapping her in their blanket and rushing to the main room of the house. He arranges a small place for her in front of the fire. Not too close, he doesn't want her to get burned.

He's looking around frantically for something he has no idea for. He doesn't have enough to call in a doctor. Maybe if he can just get the vegetables warmed up and in a thin stew then —

A wet cough takes over her as she struggles to sit up. Copia helps her into a sitting position and immediately freezes. No. Oh no. No. No. No.

There's blood on her lips. No. No. No. Please you can't take her too.

"Papa, I don't feel so well." Her voice is hardly a whisper.

"I know. I know, baby." He cradles her in his arms as she drifts back off to sleep. He thinks about how when Lia was sick he read dryer climates were easier on consumption sufferers. Apparently in America the newly formed western territories had become a safe-haven in a sense for those suffering. It prolonged the disease and let them have decent lives.

There's no way he can afford tickets on a ship to America. He can barely feed both of them.

Think. Think.

He suddenly remembers talk of a small village not far from here. Copia bites his lip nervously. When he was a Cardinal they had been advised to stay away from that area at all costs. " Satanists call it home. It's honestly disgraceful." He recalls a former coworker stating.

But – but he's also spent enough time within the poorer parts of town to hear the stories passed around. " They are so much kinder than that horrid man in charge of the Vatican." He'd overheard one woman saying. " A shame they can't be as caring." Her friend had added. There had also been talk of miracle work. Blasphemy in his church's eyes but seeming like a beacon of hope in his moment of need.

Copia wracks his brain. If he leaves now then they should make it there by sundown tomorrow. They don't have many belongings and as long as he wraps her warmly in the blanket and his coat, she should be fine.

He's on his feet instantly, slipping on his coat and ensuring Accalia is securely wrapped in her blanket. Copia gathers her into his arms and makes his way to the door but stops. There's a lump in his throat as he turns to take in their small home. Something the both of them will never see again. It makes him feel like he's being dealt another death. The loss once more of something so dear to him.

Copia lets his eyes wander the room slowly, drinking in every little detail and saving it to memory. Then he's out the door with not a single glance back.

—-

The thought that this was a stupid idea enters his head for the third time that evening as he sticks to the streets. At least until they run out and turn into dirt paths.

It's dark and this is no doubt unsafe. The thought of someone attempting to rob them flashes briefly in his mind but he pushes it back. There's nothing for them to take.

People aren't the only issue though. It had started as small flurries and quickly progressed to fat snowflakes that were quickly accumulating on the ground. Copia flexes his fingers around the bundle in his arms. They're numb and the continuously dropping weather isn't doing wonders for the rest of him. He ignores it and continues onward. Even as the same thing begins to happen with his legs. He tells himself it doesn't matter. As long as he can get them there, then they can help his daughter. If he has to be the casualty in this equation so be it.

Eventually the sun begins to rise but the snow doesn't let up. It seems to get worse. There is something he can make out in the dim light though off in the distance. A window? A steeple?

The church.

He's given a sudden burst of energy as he nearly shouts with joy. "We did it! We're here. We –" Copias words die on his lips as he looks at the bundle in his arms. Accalia's lips are a purplish-blue. When did that happen?

With renewed vigor Copia pushes himself up the steep cliff side until he's at the door. Or rather crawling to the door, for lack of a better term. He's unsure how they take to strangers. He never saw a reason to ask. It wasn't like he'd be going there.

Ha. Some luck .

With his last bit of energy he slams his fist against the large wooden door. Its design is intricate and if this weren't life or death he'd be mesmerized by it.

There's a long moment of silence that stretches on and it has Copia thinking he's made the trip for nothing. At least until he hears the door lock being undone and bright light engulfs them. He has to raise a hand to his eyes to shield them.

A woman in her late seventies stands in the doorway and it takes Copia a moment to realize she’s staring at them with a tight expression. The woman glances left then right.

“Are you alone?”

What kind of fucking question is that? Of course we’re fucking alone!

He nods quickly and sees how a visible sigh releases from the woman. “Come in. You’ll both die out there.” Her accent is different and it takes Copia a moment to place it.

“You’re American?” Why this is the first thing out of his mouth, Copia will never know. The woman looks at him skeptical but he ignores it. He thinks he should ask her if what he’s heard is true. That the dry climate of the western half of her country is good for the sick. He should ask but his eyes feel heavy. He’s barely slept in the past few days and he’s so cold and the church is so warm.

He should ask, but instead he falls to the floor in a heap.

—-

Copia sits up as he gasps for air like a fish out of water. His breathing is heavy for several moments as he looks around the room. Nothing is familiar. Where is he?

There’s a sudden pain in his left eye and he cries out as he clutches at it. It feels like someone is driving an ice pick through his skull. He briefly remembers reading somewhere that’s how lobotomies are performed and oh god did he finally have a mental breakdown and did they finally —-

“You’re awake.”

It’s a woman’s voice and he whips his head up to see her standing at the foot of the bed. Copia feels dizzy from the action. He needs to do things slowly otherwise he’ll end up making himself sick.

It takes a moment but he’s finally able to remove his hand from his face. The vision in his left eye is blurred and at first he thinks he sees wrong but — no. The woman is wearing what looks like a masquerade mask, her mouth the only part of her face exposed. Funny. He doesn’t remember being at a party.

“You should rest.” Her voice is gentle. “At least until you get used to it.”

It? What the fuck is it?

“It’s rare for them to turn a complete stranger. You must have had a very compelling argument.”

“I – I don’t understand.”

“It’s alright. It’s all new. It’s going to be troublesome.”

Copia wants to ask her what the fuck are you talking about? But he remembers why he’s here. “Where is my daughter?!” He tries to keep the panic from his voice but he knows his face gives him away.

“She’s fine. She’s –” The woman is unable to finish her sentence as Copia bounds to his feet. He sways and feels like vomiting but he pushes it down.

“Accaila?” He pushes past the woman and stumbles into the hall. “Accaila!?” Copia feels the woman’s nimble fingers clasp at his upper arm, trying to steady him.

“Papa!” The little girl rises from her game of marbles on the floor with several more masked figures and runs over to him. She clutches onto his leg and Copia is taken aback. The last time he had seen her she was — was dying but now here she was playing like a normal child and —

“What happened to your eye?” He’s clutching her tiny face between his rough hands. Copia feels another round of panic set in as he sees the pigment has drained from her left eye, leaving it entirely white.

“Isn't it neat!?” She attempts to smile in his grasp, chubby cheeks bunching up.

Actually, no it isn’t. It reminds Copia of the old man that had once visited the church. He had been blind and his eyes were this milky white but there had been a cloud over the pupil. There wasn’t one here. “Does it hurt?”

Accaila shakes her head. “I can actually see better!” Her expression turns serious. “Is it not working for you?”

Now he’s totally lost. Him? He doesn’t have one his eyes are – they’re —

Copia whirls on the woman holding him. “What did you do to us!?” Her expression is unreadable.

“You asked for our help and we gave it.”

He feels another headache building behind his eyes. This was a mistake. He should have never come here. If they weren’t damned to hell before they sure are now. “I need — I need to lie down for a moment.”

—--

It takes what feels like ages for him to actually grasp the concept of what he’s been told. “The pair of you were half frozen when you showed up here.” Papa Emeritus the Third had explained to him. “ It was obvious what was wrong with her. We see many consumption sufferers seeking relief here.” Then his expression had softened. “Typically I would not have even worried about you, rather make you earn the gift. But it was against my better judgment to let a child slip into being an orphan.” The most hilarious thing was that this wasn’t even the most absurd thing he had been told.

“Vampire!?” Copia’s voice had raised in pitch as he stared with wide eyes at the Third. These people were insane and he had fucked up coming here, but the man had continued explaining and much to his own irritation it had slowly begun to make sense. Not only had his eye changed color but he was acutely aware of the fact that his teeth were sharper. It had made talking incredibly difficult at first, he kept biting his own tongue. “ I know what you’re thinking and no, you do not have to live off blood. Rather just consume some every so often. For the most part you should be able to eat as normal.” Had that been to comfort him? Because it sure as hell wasn’t comforting. Hell, even learning about the ghouls had seemed less daunting than this.

However, as the days progressed, Copia found himself worrying less and less about this issue. Seeing his daughter running and playing again was the only thing he could focus on. The idea that this was an act of selfishness still floats in his brain. Did he do it for her or for himself? Perhaps Cardinal Alessio had been correct and he was a selfish man.

“Pondering too much can be bad for the mind.” Copia blinks out of his stupor. The First, Primo, as he’s called, takes the seat on the bench beside him. “What’s on your mind fratellino?” Copia had found it increasingly odd as over time the three Emeritus brothers began to refer to him as their younger brother but it was comforting also. He’d never had a family and having people around who cared for him felt nice. He hadn’t felt that since Lia died. Even Sister Imperator, the older lady that had opened the door for them, as he later learned, had taken a shine to him. Once she had found out he was once a Cardinal she had started calling him her Cardi or simply C. It left a warm feeling in his chest and he’d quickly began viewing her as a mother figure.

It had also been exceptionally easy for him to earn an income. “You’re a Cardinal?” Terzo had looked at him as if in disbelief. “ Well I w-was.” Copia laughed anxiously. “ But I worked in the treasury and I’m very good with numbers! Uh – that’s if you have a position available.” Terzo had cocked a brow to think and then agreed. “ Deal. But I think it may be better if you become a Cardinal in our church.” And so he did.

“Mi dispiace.” Copia casts a sideways glance at the older man.

“No need to apologize. Something you wish to speak about?”

Copia chews his lip. “I was just thinking.” He sees Primo shift in his seat. Copia turns to face him. “Do you think I made a mistake? With all of this.” He motions with his hand to the area around them. “I – I don’t mean that rude, sorry if it sounds –”

“Cardinale, relax. No one is passing judgment here.” And how odd that was. His original church preaching these same things but never practicing them. But this church, a satanic church, is doing the opposite. “You did what you thought needed to be done.”

Copia sinks in his seat. “But does it make me selfish?” He’s never mentioned it to anyone before. Always keeping his shame buried deep down. “That I did this instead of letting her die. Do – does that make me selfish?” His voice waivers and he has to fight back the tears he feels pricking at his eyes.

Primo’s features soften and Copia feels like a kicked curr. “I think,” he starts slowly, “that you did what you felt was necessary.” A cold hand settles on his shoulder. “Not many fathers would do what you have. I know mine wouldn’t.” Copia nods, desperately wanting to believe those words.

“What if she hates me for it when she gets older?”

“I see the way she looks at you. We all have. I hardly think that she will ever hate you.”

Copia nods and turns his attention back to his daughter who plays with the ghouls in the garden and he thinks that maybe being selfish isn’t so bad.

#the band ghost #skywarpie writes #ghost bc #ghost band #okay to reblog i guess

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

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Picture Number 1 is giving Thick Thighs save Lives vibes.

City girl visits the stables to see the boys but can’t find them. She sees this beautiful horse and starts talking to it and walking forward. The boys walk in and start getting nervous and trying to get her away because the horse tends to have an attitude but she gets near and the horse loves her. Very Snow White-ish 😂

“Boys are off property and outside doing work,” Becca addresses you before you can even get your boots on, sending the directive with a kind of smirk like she knows what you’re going to go before you do it.

“I’m going for a walk, not a…” you bite the inside of your cheek, teeth tugging at the skin that was nothing more than a bad and nervous habit, “…I’m not going to have sex-”

“Save a horse-” Becca chortled, teasing you and even continuing to speak even after you’d left the house and slammed the door.

You stepped off the porch and listened to the gravel crunch beneath your boots that Ari bought you after your first riding disaster. The first time you’d been on a horse, your foot slipped through the stirrup due to a lack of heeled boot, and your toe hit the horse at an odd angle. While your mount hadn’t bucked you off or got spooked enough to run, it had prompted Ari to buy you boots.

The on-site vet was concerned about you, and the horses well-being, and had returned the next day with a brand new pair.

“Save a horse ride a cowboy.” You scoffed and stepped through the open door of the barn, watching the few horses inside either pay you no mind or watching you carefully.

You’d been in the barn with Becca a handful of times before, and of course with Ari, Bucky, Hal & Steve. Being here on your own was a different experience, being here on your own had given you a different perspective of the structure that was a safe place for their horses.

“You’re new,” you crooned at the horse you hadn’t seen before, its plain black and white face peeking over the stall door, “when did you get here?”

Of the horses that were kept inside, you’d ridden one and helped groom the others but the third you’d never seen before. It was beautiful and solid, tall and appeared healthy although seemed to be unsure of yourself.

“You’re so pretty,” you reached for the horse, keeping your hand flat and almost completed unexpecting to have have its nose pushed into your palm, “okay, you want attention. I get it.”

“Baby!” A voice from the other side of the stall hadn’t deterred you from stroking your hand down the horses’ cheek and neck, slowly familiarizing yourself with the gorgeous animal.

“Bucky-”

“Baby, that horse is-” He stepped toward you, just moving enough to draw the horses’ ire.

You were mildly stunned when the horses’ ears had been pinned to its head, turning from you toward Bucky. You stepped back, watching the horse snap its teeth as if it was trying to bite Bucky. It was clear the horse didn’t like him, although when its attention was back on you the horse was pleasant and charming.

“-a beast.”

“Beast? No.” You cooed at the horse, laughing under your breath when it nodded its head and neighed in response to your voice and petting. “You’re not a beast, you’re a beautiful baby. You’re a baby.”

“Its not a baby-“ Bucky took another step toward you, stirring more ire from the horse, and Bucky had stumbled back it kicked the door with force, ears pinned.

“You’re beautiful.” You addressed the horse with nothing but tenderness, smoothing your hand down its neck. “Bucky’s just mean.”

“Clearly he has a favourite.” Ari’s voice came from behind Bucky, the two of them watching you and the horse with no name, one of them was prideful and the other cautious.

“Good, she can have the beast.”

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aajjks · 6 months

Note

TC!dad!JK

“i am not selfish!” you scream back. “he wasn’t going to go back, jungkook—,” you’re cut off when jungkook shoves you onto the horse and it takes everything in you to not cry right now.

it takes you back to when you both first met. he’s still that same person who wouldn’t take his eyes off of you the moment he saw you.

the same person who killed sana, hurt song dongmin, and in the end, killed your father. you can’t bare to look at your son jinseoul who heard everything, sneaking peeks every now and again on how his own father treated his mother.

it hurt him to see his parents like that. for his father to call you selfish when it was, in his mind, his fault for leaving with you. it was all his fault. his inner thoughts didn’t leave him alone for the rest of the day. he slowly began to feel very sad knowing he made things worse for you and not even he could help you.

when you all return back, areum and ae-cha immediately rush to you and hug you.

“mama!”

“we missed you!”

“where did you go?”

“are you okay?”

they say, question after question and you weakly smile “it’s okay. mama’s okay. i just…your father and i have to talk okay?” the nod their heads and ae-cha can’t help but notice her sonder brother. “what’s wrong?” she asks jinseoul and he responds “it’s all my fault” and doesn’t say anything more.

back to you, your in the dungeon which throws you off because you thought he’d send you to the room but once your eyes lock on miriam, you know exactly what’s going to happen.

“MIRIAM!! jungkook, no!! please!! i’m sorry, please don’t hurt her!!! JUNGKOOK NO!!”

the sword slices through her neck, the walls are painted in miriam’s blood and you let out a loud scream.

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! MIRIAM!!!!” you immediately draw the sword and attempt to attack jungkook before guards are holding you back. “I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU!!! I HATE YOU!!” you yell before tears fall down your eyes. “you’re just like your father. you’re a monster” you say, no ounce of love left in your eyes.

“i hope you’re proud of yourself” you say. “because this will be the last time you’ll ever hurt me”

“SHUT UP. I WARNED YOU TO NEVER ESCAPE AND BETRAY ME LIKE THAT BUT YET YOU DID. AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN THINK ABOUT OUR CHILDREN. YOU ARE MORE SELFISH THAN ME. YOU HAVE BROKEN MY HEART- and she deserved to fucking die.@he screams at you. Glaring holes into your soul.

“ I know you’re trying to attack me.. but it is of no use. because you’ve already hurt me. AND NOW YOU WILL ROT HER UNTIL I WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN”

“and you won’t even get to see the children.”

Your husband doesn’t even spare another glance and he leaves. What you don’t notice are the tears in his eyes that he finally lets out.

#ask: tc!jungkook

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gintrinsic-writing · 2 years

Text

Part 2 of That Poor Bastard Ganon lol

—

Ganondorf felt like he could barely breathe. Sweat dripped down his face, and it had nothing to do with the heat. The front of his favorite robe clung damply to his chest, a parallel to the clamminess of his palms. This can’t be happening again, he thought despairingly. How is he alive?

That day two years ago stood out like a brand in Ganon’s mind—the sky had churned a sickly green and orange when the Demon of Courage finally fell, and his blood had oozed and hissed as its Malice was exposed to air. All around them, the armies of Hyrule lay scattered and broken; entire sections of the kingdom were blackened and missing, gouged out by the Link’s horrible power.

Ganondorf had stood at the center of it all, an ill-prepared hero shaking with fear, forced to stand up because no one else could. It had taken half the population to bring Link down, and it had only been Ganon’s fickle attachment to the Triforce that had let them seize victory by the skin of their teeth. He had held the Demon of Courage’s heart in his hand, and he had crushed it.

And now he’s back. Din help me, now he’s back!

Ganondorf needed to get away, to send warning to whomever he could. His horse was tied on the other side of the canyon’s lip, but if he ran for it, then he’d be leading Link straight to…

No. Anything but that. Anything.

Link kept his hands held out in front of him, and Ganon watched them more than anything else; he knew all too well how quick the Demon could be, how swiftly he could draw that terrible blade, or use Farore’s magic to drain the land of its life. “This is all a misunderstanding,” Link said again, speaking in a mockery of gentleness. “I… recognize your name, and somehow you know mine, but… I’m no demon.”

“Liar!” Ganon snapped, shifting his weight. He reached for Din’s gifts, feeling heat pool against the back of his left hand. If the Corruptor wanted to play games, then Ganon would feel no hesitation about taking advantage of the opportunity. It might be his only chance of surviving this.

It might be her only chance.

“I saw the portal,” he went on, using every second to draw on more power. A steady thrum of fiery magic resonated in time with his heartbeat. “I recognized your darkness. How did you do it? Who are the other eight?”

Link seemed to grow warier, realizing that something was happening, if not what. “That portal wasn’t mine, though I did walk through it. My friends and I are on a quest to fight evil, not spread it.” He took a slow step back, careful not to cage himself against the canyon wall. He wasn’t stupid, after all. “What can I do to earn your trust? How can I prove myself?”

Ganondorf grimaced. This was it; there was no more power to draw upon. He had one chance, and he wasn’t sure it would be enough. “You can’t,” he said simply, and unleashed a wave of staticky red and yellow fire straight toward the Demon of Courage, using his blade to guide the flames.

He did not expect the sudden agony that streaked across his back, nor did he have the finesse to redirect his power when he turned around. As Din’s holy fire fizzled out, Ganondorf faced the one-eyed stare of another Demon, his cold and furious face lined by tattoos Ganondorf remembered only from his worst nightmares. This new Demon, his features hauntingly familiar if ultimately different from the other, bared his teeth as he straightened from the last step of his spin attack.

“Hang on, Sky!” the new Demon roared.

Blood streamed heavily from the gash along Ganondorf’s back. A fitting wound, he thought, when he felt like mourning for the world.

#how many parts will there be? GREAT question no idea #listen I write these drabbles to avoid responsibilities #and other WIPs……..#poor bastard ganon lol #Time sees Ganon attacking Sky and assumes the worst ofc #linked universe #lu fic #lu time #lu sky #gintrinsic writing

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cynicalone94 · 2 months

Text

Why Won't It Stop?

Read on AO3 here.

They make an arrest that afternoon, earning themselves a rare early night, and Kim is quick to suggest that they go to the park to catch the fireworks.

Kevin and Adam are quick to agree and Antonio is in once Eva and Diego have agreed to come.

Hailey shrugs, agreeing that it sounds like fun and all eyes swivel to their final remaining teammate.

Jay tenses up as he senses their gazes on him.

“I don’t know…” he says, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“Please, Jay.” Kim begs. “We’ll get so much junk food and it will be so much fun.”

Hailey laughs.

“Trying to sell Jay with junk food? Kim.”

“I’ll bring some of that unbuttered popcorn you like.” Antonio offers. “And Diego would love to see you, discuss a rematch on that game of horse.”

Jay breathes out a sigh.

“Okay, yeah.” he says, and Hailey can’t help but frown at his lack of enthusiasm. “Sounds fun. I’ll uh, see you guys there then.”

And then he disappears before Hailey can ask if he’s okay.

He’s in a much better mood when he meets them at the park that night, thanking Antonio for the popcorn, chatting with Diego and even eating a hot dog.

Hailey isn’t completely convinced but she files it away, deciding not to ruin a rare night out for the team by pushing him.

As the sky begins to darken they spread their blankets out in what Kim had determined to be the prime spot.

Hailey ends up sitting next to Jay and frowns when she realizes that he’s shaking.

“You okay?” she asks, leaning closer and whispering to avoid drawing the attention of their nosy friends.

He nods, jaw set and she sighs.

Why does he always have to be such a tough guy?

The closer they get to the start of the show, the tenser he gets and she’s starting to wonder if whatever is going on with him is related to the fireworks display.

And then the first roman candle shoots high into the sky with a high pitched whistle before exploding, sending brightly colored light across the horizon.

And her partner flinches.

Actually flinches.

She looks over at him, her brain rapidly compiling the pieces of the puzzle now that they’re laid out before her.

A series fireworks go off and she watches all color drain from his face, eyes dilating and glazing over.

It’s a look she hasn’t seen since that day in a darkened warehouse, trying to rescue the kidnapped son of an accountant who’d made the mistake of agreeing to launder drug money.

Shit.

His PTSD.

No wonder he hadn’t wanted to come tonight.

She needs to get him out of here.

Conscious of the fact that touching him might not be the best idea right now, she reaches out, her hand brushing against his arm.

He jumps, looking over at her but she isn’t sure that he’s seeing her.

She leans closer.

“Jay? It’s Hailey. We’re in Chicago.” she says gently. “Can you stand up?”

He blinks back at her but struggles to his feet so hopefully he’s hearing her on some level.

“Where are you going?” Kim asks.

“Jay isn’t feeling well.” Hailey bites out through gritted teeth.

She’s furious with herself right now for not putting two and two together and realizing that this would bother him but she isn’t the only one who’d forgotten.

And everyone else here has known him longer.

“Need to eat more junk food.” Adam teases. “If that’s all it takes to make you sick.”

Hailey wants to rip them all a new one but this isn’t the time or place.

And Jay needs her right now.

She keeps a gentle hand on his elbow as she helps him navigate through the blankets. Thankfully, Kim’s prime spot had been pretty close to the path and she’s able to get him out of the crowds.

But he gets tenser with every firework that goes off and she worries that he’ll slip into some kind of flashback and she won’t be able to get him back.

She sees her jeep and steers him toward it. They can get his truck later.

She wishes she knew what to do for him.

Because she hasn’t completely lost him yet but he isn’t resurfacing either. She’s only seen this once before and thankfully shouting his name had been enough to snap him out of it.

But the fireworks are still going off and will be most of the night. She’s pretty sure he won’t find his way back entirely until they stop.

Thankfully, he’s been compliant so far and that doesn’t change as she unlocks her jeep and helps him into the passenger seat.

She buckles his seat belt for him and then closes the door, jogging around to get in the driver’s seat.

Once her own seat belt is on, she reaches over to rest her hand on his elbow again.

He doesn’t respond and, taking a deep breath, she starts the car and drives toward his apartment.

He’s still trembling and despite the warm July evening she kicks on the heater and turns up the radio.

Halfway there his hands start moving, the motions unfamiliar to her but clearly well practiced to him.

And then he opens the door and jumps out of her car.

She swerves off the road, slamming on the brakes and barely getting the car into park before she jumps out herself, racing toward his unmoving form.

Should she call for an ambulance?

He sits up as she gets closer and she closes her eyes. He’s still conscious. That’s something.

She crashes to her knees next to him, looking him over the best she can without touching him.

His arms are torn up from the gravel and she can see road rash on his side where his shirt has ridden up.

He seems to have at least protected his head somewhat and the thick material of his jeans had kept his legs safe.

She should take him to Med but she knows he hates hospitals on a good day.

Today isn’t a good day.

Scanning over his injuries again, she makes a decision.

Will meets her at Jay’s apartment, eying his brother with worried eyes.

Jay pulls away from her the moment they step through the door, making a beeline for his bedroom.

“Hey.” Will says softly, taking a gentle but firm hold of his brother’s arm. “I know you need your cave right now but I want to check you for injuries first.”

“No.�� Jay says, shaking his head. “Not safe. Need… need to be safe.”

“Just give me two minutes, bud.” Will begs.

“No.” Jay repeats, louder this time as he pulls away from his brother’s hand and resumes his path. “Not safe.”

Will doesn’t stop him this time, following at a short distance as Jay rushes into the bedroom.

Hailey watches him crawl into his closet with tears in her eyes.

All this time spent worrying about his triggers and fighting to make sure that he was okay when he didn’t want to take care of himself and now she’s the one who’d triggered him.

Why hadn’t she said some thing at the precinct? She’d seen how uncomfortable he was with the idea but instead of backing him up she’d just stood there and let Kim and Antonio pressure him.

Will crawls in after his brother, using the dim light of his flashlight as a guide to gently probe for broken bones or indications of internal injuries.

After a moment he sets it down and offers her a weak smile before settling in shoulder to shoulder with his brother.

Jay doesn’t respond to his presence, simply wrapping his arms around himself. His eyes are still distant and Hailey can see him trembling from over here.

She doesn’t even notice Will looking at her until he crawls back out of the closet.

“Why don’t you sit with him for a bit.” he suggests gently. “I’m going to call Voight before it gets too late.”

“Voight?” she asks.

“He’s going to be feeling pretty shitty in the morning.” Will says softly. “Won’t be up for work.”

“I’m such an idiot.” she mutters. “I should have told him it was okay not to go.”

“He could have said something too.” Will says softly. “And now you know. Maybe next year you can help him avoid them.”

Hailey nods, swallowing hard.

There isn’t time for her guilt right now.

Her partner needs her.

She crawls into the closet, sitting next to him and risking leaning close. He doesn’t pull away and she smiles.

“I’m here Jay.” she says softly. “You’re safe.”

She doesn’t know how long they sit there in the dark, the only sound reaching them being the crashing of fireworks in the distance.

Eventually however, they start to taper off and she feels the trembling lessen somewhat.

“Why won’t it stop?”

It takes her a moment to realize that he’s talking to her and even then she isn’t sure what he’s referring to.

Does he want the fireworks to stop or his PTSD?

“I don’t know.” she says softly, reaching out to take his hand. “But you won’t deal with it alone, okay?”

He leans into her, nodding slowly.

“You ready to let Will clean up your arms?” she asks after a minute.

He shakes his head.

“Okay.” she agrees readily. “We can stay here then. As long as you need to.”

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday8 #why won't it stop #jay halstead #chicago pd #whump fic

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skip-phony · 1 year

Photo

By popular vote here is Dr. Scranton, his sanity recorder Red, and SCP 3001 in general.

I like the design a lot but don't really know how to do all the glowing and holograms bits. But this get it across

Headcanons are in the Keep Reading section

I’m segmenting this into two sections one for Scranton himself and another for Red. As for the 3001 reality itself I may make another post about it specifically but I think it is quite self evident what goes on there.

Dr. Robert Scranton

Unicorn, as I can’t help it. I wanting him to be able to make a small ball of light at the tip of his horn. Like how many drawings of SCP 3001 use a red dot to indicate the whole event.

His horn is multi tones with his fur color and some reds.

Because of mlps weird destiny/fate trait, most of his design is around red popping out of a darkness refers back to SCP 3001

His cutie mark however is for the creation of reality anchors.

First character to have horse shoes on this side blog

While in SCP 3001 he became really emaciated. In the drawing he’s not because I want a nicer reference drawing if I draw him again.

He got near just skin and bones near the end.

Didn’t send off his ring with his severed hoof as it is on his horn. Drawing doesn't have this though.

He did finally figure out how to get back. So he’s back working on anchors at the main Site.

Still doesn’t have a hand, or like last two joints of his leg, so he got a prosthetic arm to help. Also has a recorder, Kant counter, and anchor in the prosthetic.

It uses magic to make the hoof. Hold up weight up pretty good.

He got back via reality bender. Learning how to in the conditions was both helpful, with so low hume levels, and detrimental, he was floating in nothingness going mad.

Even though his is technically a reality bender he has no idea how to do any of it outside of adding it to a teleport spell and that normal level of humes fuck up even the few things he knows how to do.

Clef begrudgingly has to teach Scranton how to not unintentionally reality bend.

Scranton is really into the teaching so he can have the prospective of how reality benders function and how they can hide their abilities or even reverse them.

Also would need to go through the occasional evaluation, so more Clef interactions

Just know he still loves his wife

Tail didn't use to be this long it got warped from SCP 3001

Red (Recording Device Panel)

So Scranton may have personified his companion a lot

Wilson ball-ed it

After a while Scranton started to uses his magic to manifest a pony in the light given off to make himself feel a little bit less lonely.

Got made to be an alicorn as a way to fell more at ease and to the fact that it was the only object with light and was the only thing that didn't warp out of existence yet so lording over the reality itself

Also thing might have become slightly sentient.

Sentient not sapient.

No one has an idea if it can keep things in memory, understands languages, or even has opinions on stuff.

Red just like looking at objects and people and seems to sense noise and when send noise comes from a pony.

He does seem to understand that “Red” refers to themselves.

Some research think this, while the rest just think Scranton’s magic also got recorder as he started to reality bend. Which is half true.

Dr. Anna Lang kept the recorder as it wasn't a bloody severed hoof sent back by her husband. That hoof is probably a wet specimen somewhere, I’ll be honest.

She had noticed the weird anomalous effect in the recorder before Scranton came back fully. But didn't know what to do with it.

Now back Scranton keeps Red on his person as a comfort item.

He will talk to it in the middle of the day. Everyone just looks at him with confused to why, but ultimately thinks nothing of it as everyone else in the Foundation is just as weird. This might be on the tame end of weird quirks.

#scp #mlp #SCP Pony AU #Dr Scranton #SCP 3001 #headcanons #unicorn #alicorn #hologram #cutie mark #scp doctors #cw severed limb mentions #cw starving mentions

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alicevandrusen · 1 year

Text

TDLR; Why Seigfried Didn’t Work As A Kaiba Expy, He Wasn’t Neurodivergent

Hi everyone! While I’m writing the next chapter and trying to survive Capitalism despite living its real-time collapse (I work two jobs, why chapter production is slow these days), I’d like to make a post like this while it’s still Autism Awareness month. Now, not to say you can’t enjoy the pink haired frilly goofy man. I never have though. I felt like he was a let down after Dartz, who is my favorite villain of Yugioh, I SAID WHAT I SAID. And I’m also saying you can enjoy your villains of Yugioh, and I will enjoy mine. All that out of the way, I would like to dive into an analysis of Seto Kaiba and who I felt were his good expies, Noa/Noah and Alister/Amelda. Anyone who has autism (myself included, I’m not 100% on paper yet but I’ve had multiple doctors agree with me), you know. There’s a Neurodivergence ESP, when you are talking to someone you just Know when someone else just isn’t neurotypical This is based off of their canon, observable in the show behaviors, trying not to lean into anything headcanon unless it slightly grays the area a little. Using dub names but will tag original names later (I just don’t like Amelda as a name...) But first starting with Seto himself, he’s very blunt and impulsive. Which isn’t helped by the fact he’s got a lot of money. So he can act on literally every impulsive thought he has. Man probably filmed that idea to send Duel Monsters cards into space the minute he had it in GX. He’s very egocentric, which a lot of people get confused with his arrogance. Not that he’s not both, but he really genuinely believes that any time his company is under attack, it’s because someone’s trying to take it over. Not that it’s the one sure-fire way to draw him out of hiding, it’s that everyone is out to get him. Always! (as an example, during Season Four his company gets bought out by the villains. He’s convinced this was ALL a ploy to take it over, when really Dartz needs him out in the open because he needs to kill him.) His special interest is Duel Monsters. Literally all his money comes from making electronics and technology specifically for playing his special interest. And he’s richer THAN the person he pays royalties to because Seto doesn’t own Duel Monsters. Pegasus does. All Seto did was invent the technology to play it, and fixing the rules to actually make the game playable (The rules of Battle City were his, after all.) He’s pretty close to being nonverbal, a LOT of Kaiba’s lines are actually thoughts in his head rather than stuff he says out loud, except when he’s delivering snarky comments or talking to Mokuba. He’s got a perpetually weird relationship with the protagonists because he’s not good with social cues or interacting with people in general. Not that he wouldn’t die for them, he’s not good at expressing it though. They’re his friends, but they gotta squint to hear what he’s actually saying. ----- Noah’s is going to be a lot shorter as far as canon behaviors go since we only have a few episodes with him really, and I’d also think of him as having both BPD and autism (which happens co morbidly, around 15% of BPD patients also meet the criteria for having ASD.) (There’s also that they all have some very intense levels of PTSD, but that’s another kettle of horses.) His biggest sign that he’s both is his emotional state of being when we encounter him in his half of Season Three. Not to say that his environment didn’t help him any, but I think it’d just made it more obvious. Both conditions affect mood stability, which cause intense emotions and a grandiose sense of self at the same time. But there’s also a sense of emptiness and a negative impact on self esteem, a diffuse of self (in TVTropes words, he definitely has a Superiority-Inferiority Complex.) Much like Seto, as well, social cues aren’t something he excels in. The idea of anyone being nice to him is confusing, but he really develops one bond (Mokuba), and he convinces himself he needs to die for him and the people he brought into the Digital World. But a few scenes before he steals Mokuba’s body briefly, he can’t comprehend why someone is being nice to him. He thinks he’s being slow and steady with the reveal he’s about to drop on the protagonists of being Gozoboro’s son, but remember that his entire arc is only a few hours of one day in Battle City (when they cut to Yami Marik being like ‘.... Where the hell did everyone go?’), so they’re not really there long before he starts traumadumping and infodumping about his own monsters. He’s so socially deprived that he’s A) going to tell you all what he’s been through because all he wanted was to be loved by someone who couldn’t possibly love him, and B) He’s going to tell you about his niche interest in computer programming to make the world he’s in more interesting, as well as the extremely niche tidbits of information he has about Spirit Monsters and their development in the game of DM. (Remember, the Deck Master system and the rules of their abilities is the stuff he made up. Pegasus still made the Spirit Monsters, don’t let the rules of the Season throw you. They’re using a database of every known card, they’re in a computer, and it doesn’t trip up the rule of Season Four of the Orichalcos. Because it’s being used by one specific cult and no one else. The cards in Noah’s deck, broken effects and all, actually existed in-universe, and given how all of the protagonists had never heard of them until the duel with Noah, despite Solomon owning a Card Shop and there being more in Domino, that means he was into the REALLY obscure cards of the game.) ---- Alister is probably the most neurodivergent of them all, to start he has a very one-track mind ability to hyperfocus. The only thing on his mind ever is getting revenge on Seto Kaiba because he’s the living body still. If Alister COULD kill Gozoboro still, he would. Unquestioningly. He’s got a very strong sense of justice powered by a black-and-white morality way of thinking. He is definitely someone you want in your cult to destroy the world, it takes very little convincing that someone is evil and needs to be destroyed. And he can’t be swayed from his opinions, either. He’s got very intense feelings that are being taken advantage of. He’s got a very declarative memory and trauma dumps with very little prompting. He’s got a comfort item that ties into his traumas, of course. He’s got some odd reactions too and is strangely very naive despite everything (aside from the normal response of ‘Who are you?’, doesn’t seem to question that he’s straight up hallucinating/receiving a mental link directly to Dartz the first time they ever speak. Not a ‘what the hell is going on, what is happening, where did the world go’, ect, ect. Just ‘This person can tell me what happened and who hurt me? Okay.’ ) Alister’s also got issues with social situations, the only friends he has you can count on one hand. And that comes with its own weird rules of That’s Just How They Talk To Each Other. (He does love Raphael and Valon, even saying that he and his ‘new family’ are saving the world.) Also, this one is semi-canon, semi- head canon, hence the disclaimer earlier. He’s got sensory issues and is sensitive to light (he wears sunglasses inside of buildings, and during the nighttime.) And his clothing, at least to me, suggest he gets hot easily but still needs pressure due to an aversion to touch. (His shirt is midriff exposing, but he also has like eight belts and a huge ass trench coat on. And heat intolerance is a littler-known sign of autism) ---- I never got anything that deep out of Seigfried. He really just that butthurt about his company. While my story doesn’t go past Season Four, I know how I’d fix Season Five.

#my thoughts #My writing #yugioh #Yu-Gi-Oh #yugioh dm #Yu-Gi-Oh!#Duel Monsters #autism awarness month #Autism analysis #seto kaiba #kaiba #noa kaiba #noah kaiba #alister #amelda

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