#*sad bell jingling noises*

[jesterofcryptids]

me when being naturally a little freak and being lowkey offputting doesnt make me mysterious and whimsicial as well:

[katsu28]

to be alone together

pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

summary: steve has to work on valentine’s day, but maybe it’s not as bad as he thought it would be

warnings: none, 1.8k

a/n: u know i had to do a lil something for my steve girlies too <3 went for a more steve centric pov bc he is the definition of pining simp 

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(gif credits to @harringtondaily)

“Kinda sucks that you gotta work tonight.” Robin’s voice through the phone pressed to Steve’s ear was staticky, but still provided a good distraction from the empty video store around him.

It was Valentine’s Day and Steve had been at Family Video since opening, watching couple after couple come in to pretty much clear the romcom shelves, and yeah, he was a little bummed about it, but there was no point moping around about it any longer than he already had been. 

“It’s whatever, honestly. Not like I had any plans to begin with.” He sighed, shifting the receiver so it was wedged between his cheek and shoulder as his fingers drifted down to fiddle with the pen on the counter absentmindedly. 

“Steve, that’s sad.” Robin replied. Steve wrinkled his nose, a slightly offended noise escaping the back of his throat. “No! I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant that you should be out and about, having a good time.” 

“You know what’s actually sad? You talking to me instead of paying attention to your date.” He shot back, only half serious. “Where’s Nance?” 

“Oh she’s right here. Say hi, Nance.” 

Steve heard a faint ‘hi Steve’ in the background and he returned the greeting. “What are you guys doing tonight?” 

“She made this really fancy pasta thing for dinner, we’re just waiting on the chicken to finish in the oven and I thought I’d see what was going on with you.” Robin sounded casual, but he knew this was her way of checking up on him since he was the only one on shift all day and she knew how he felt about today. 

“Rob, I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you, but I’m fine. It’s really not a big deal.” 

“Why don’t you just close up early, come join us for dinner? We have more than enough food.” 

“You’re seriously inviting me to crash your romantic dinner date with your girlfriend?” He snorted, rolling his eyes playfully. “What does Nancy think of that?” 

There was some shuffling on the other end, a bout of silence, then Robin was back on the line. “She’s giving me a weird look, nevermind. Now that I think about it, it wasn’t my best idea.” 

“I love you both, but you know I can’t.” 

The bell above the door jingled softly, drawing Steve’s attention away from his phone call and to whoever just walked in. 

Shit. It was you. 

You were dressed like you were supposed to be on your date, not here, hair and makeup done up all pretty, floaty dress in his favorite color swishing around your knees as you made your way into the store. It made him wonder if you chose that color on purpose, but he knew that you didn’t. You couldn’t have known you’d be seeing him tonight. Wishful thinking on his end though. 

“Rob, I gotta go,” He blurted, straightening up behind the counter. 

“Wait, what—” 

“I gotta go, she’s—someone’s here, I gotta help her.” 

“She? Oh my god, wait! Is it—” 

“Have a nice date, tell Nance I said bye!” With that, Steve hung up, slamming the receiver onto the base with enough force to send it skittering a few inches. “Hey, Y/N.” 

“Steve!” Your previously downturned lips lifted into a smile, one that had Steve’s heart thudding a little faster in his chest. It always did. “I didn’t know you were working tonight.” 

See, you were also part of the reason he decided to take the extra shift today, but through no fault of your own. You’d mentioned earlier in the week while you were hanging out with him and Robin that someone had asked you out for tonight, and Steve didn’t really know how to feel about it. 

You were friends, but had Steve been harboring a crush on you since pretty much the first day you met? Yes. 

Did he feel an itching sense of jealousy that you were going on a date with someone that wasn’t him? Also yes. 

Would he do anything about it? Probably not. 

Okay, so maybe he knew exactly how he felt about it. Hell, he’d picked up an extra shift to distract himself from it. 

“Yeah, I got called in last minute." A lie. "Aren’t you supposed to be on a date right now?” A casual, not at all hoping that it crashed and burned question. That would be mean. (But also a little gratifying for him.)

You chuckled, a tad bitter as you leaned forward, propping your elbows on the counter, the action sending a whiff of your perfume his way. Steve’s knees almost gave out. “Supposed to, yeah. But the guy never showed up.” 

Steve had to fight a noise of surprise. What kind of dumbass would skip out on a date with you? “Really? That’s—that sucks, I’m sorry.” 

“S’okay. Wasn’t really looking forward to it anyways.” 

“Oh?” 

“I didn’t really know him that well, honestly. He was a friend of a friend, asked me out in front of a bunch of people, and I didn’t really wanna turn him down and make it awkward.” 

“You’re way too nice, Y/N. And he’s an idiot for standing you up.” 

“Thanks, Steve.” You smiled warmly at him, patting his hand. Steve had to pretend his pulse wasn’t racing right now. “What about you? Why’re you here and not out with anyone?” 

“I, uh—I didn’t really feel like going out tonight. Don’t think I’d be a very good date anyways.”

“Oh, you’re just being modest. What girl wouldn’t wanna spend Valentine’s Day with Steve Harrington?” 

The one girl he wanted to spend this day with, he thought. You. 

“You’d be surprised.” He muttered. 

“Well then they’re idiots too.” 

A small smile quirked his lips. “Thanks.” 

“Hey, I just came to pick up some movies and spend the rest of my night shoveling down ice cream, but since we’re both here now and alone, d’you wanna…be alone together? Grab a bite to eat or do something?” 

Steve’s shoulders slumped defeatedly. “I’d love to, but I—I can’t. I gotta stay here til the end of my shift, Keith’s been on my ass about taking off early and as much as I hate the guy, I don’t wanna get fired.” 

“Oh, okay. Don’t worry about it, I’m, uh—it’s cool.” Was he hallucinating, or did you look disappointed? 

“Would you maybe wanna, I dunno, stay here? We can watch whatever you want and I know where Robin keeps her work snack stash. That way we can be alone together and I don’t get chewed out again?” Steve blurted hopefully. He was honestly expecting you to say no. Why would you wanna spend the rest of your already shitty night with him in a dingy video store? But then your face split into the biggest smile and you nodded, rocking forward on the balls of your feet earnestly. “Go pick something out, I’ll grab the snacks.” 

You scurried off to browse the near bare shelves, leaving Steve shaking his head amusedly in your wake as he watched you skim the tapes with a look of utmost concentration. He slipped into the back room to grab Robin’s last unopened bag of chips, making a mental note to buy more before tomorrow’s shift before returning to the video area.

He skimmed the store, spotting you in the romcom section, and when he made his way over, you were contemplating the last two tapes on the shelf. 

You beamed at him upon spotting him. “Pretty in Pink or Sixteen Candles?” 

“Am I allowed to say neither?” 

“You said whatever I want, Steve.” You said pointedly, propping your hands on your hips. 

“I did, didn’t I?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. You let out a hum of pleasure, sliding your chosen movie off the shelf and wandering towards the TV in the corner. Steve hurried after you quickly, plucking the tape from between your fingertips and running away, not unlike a child would. 

“Steve!” You huffed, whirling on your heel. He grinned mischievously at you, waving it in the air like a taunt. You caught up with him within seconds, lunging for the tape that he held up above his head and away from your outstretched hand. Your body was pressed against his as you reached for it, as you leaned against him in a fruitless attempt to overpower him. “Steve, gimme the tape!” 

“No!” He laughed, but that laughter very soon trickled off as soon as he realized your proximity. You were so close, he could see the color of your eyes clear as day, looking right back at him. You’d fallen quiet too, as if you’d come to the same realization. 

You were nose to nose, faces a hair’s breadth away from each other, the stolen tape in Steve’s hands long forgotten. Every fiber in his body was telling him to pull away, because the longer he stayed here the weirder it would be when he finally did manage to retreat, but no matter how hard he willed himself to move, he couldn’t. Instead, his eyes flicked down to your lips. Your breath hitched almost imperceptibly. 

“Steve?” You whispered, gaze darting around his own face. 

“Yeah?” 

“Kiss me.” 

You didn’t have to tell him twice.

Steve dropped the tape immediately, closing the gap between you and pressing his lips against yours. His hands came up to cup your face, holding you firm but kissing you soft, like he was preparing himself to pull away if you did. But from the way you were returning his kiss, how your hands clutched at the front of his vest to keep him this close, it didn’t feel like you’d be pulling away anytime soon, and that spurred him on even more. 

One hand slid down to settle at your waist, the other curling around the back of your neck as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss just a little bit. 

Steve’s lips felt tingly when he pulled away, tasted of your cherry lip gloss when his tongue darted out to lick them. He was sure to have a little bit on his mouth now, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Not by a long shot. Cherry might’ve just become his new favorite flavor. 

“I really like you.” He breathed, chest heaving against yours. Your lips curved into a soft smile—the same smile that nearly sent Steve’s brain short circuiting every time it was aimed his way. 

“After that kiss, I’d sure hope so,” You replied, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt as best you could. “I like you too, just so you know. Part of the reason I was so okay with my date ditching me. He wasn’t you.” 

Steve could only beam at you, going in for another kiss. In his excitement, he missed his mark, hitting the corner of your mouth instead, but he didn’t care. The girl he wanted all along actually liked him back, and it only took one failed date and an extra shift to find out. 

Maybe working on Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all. 

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

For some reason the lack of a little jingling bell throws her off.

It’s a quintessential diner thing, she supposes. A little bell above the door. There’s the weird decor and the pressed cotton uniforms and the yelling chef and the little bell. It was in both Back to the Future one and two. That’s how she knows she’s right.

But when she pushes open the door with windows so caked with grime she can hardly see through them, there is no little jingle. And when she looks up at the door frame, eyebrows furrowed, it seems sad and lonely. She’s never been so aware of the lack of a sound, the absence of a noise. It makes the rest of the silence of the diner seem eerie, wrong. Dead.

She takes a hesitant step forward, door swinging shut behind her. She realizes as she approaches the ordering counter that her hand rests palm cupped on her belly, and removes it immediately.

“Hello?”

There are a couple groups of people in the back, talking quietly over their food. It doesn’t make the diner seem any less abandoned, somehow. If anything it feels like a TV playing on mute in a hospital. Saturated static.

“Seat yourself, girl. You ain’t never been to a diner before?”

The woman that speaks is tall and plump and harsh-looking. A very strange mixing of features. They’re at odd with the diner-specific yellow uniform she wears, collar pressed but skirt wrinkled. Apron dusted with flour and streaked with machine oil. Face pinched, eyes hard, black hair resting in dainty ringlets along her shoulders. Her name tag only reads the name of the business.

“A couple,” Naomi defends. “One even had a hostess.”

The woman — who must be a manager — raises an eyebrow.

“You see a hostess’ station?”

“No.”

“Then why haven’t you sat yourself?”

“‘Cause I’m not here to eat.”

“Well, then, get the hell out of my restaurant.”

Naomi holds her gaze, tilting up her chin. She will not be swayed by orneriness. “I need a job.”

The manager eyes her critically. Naomi’s hands twitch, and the top of her head feels suddenly itchy. Summer before highschool she’d wrote her first resume — Mama’d drawn her a bath and sat behind her and spent two hours slowly untangling the ratty mess of curls on her head with nothing but a bottle of cheap jasmine conditioner and her own two fingers, telling her about lasting first impressions.

“Go home, kid.”

“I’m not a fu —” She stumbles over her words at the last second, catching herself before that eyebrow can climb any higher. It does, and the other eyebrow begins to climb with it, but she rights herself and powers on. “I can vote,” she says finally. “I can throw on a uniform and get blown up across seas. I can — I can adopt a child, if I so choose. Right now.”

The eyebrows reach critical height, brushing the end of her carefully teased hairline. Naomi watches them and their inspiring journey with intensity, instead of noticing how the manager’s eyes drop down to her stomach, linger, and then return to her face.

“You gonna adopt it right outta your womb, or what?”

Naomi snaps her mouth shut.

“Well,” she says, and nothing else.

The manager sighs. “This ain’t a charity.”

Naomi barely manages to bite the snark back from her voice before she speaks.“I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for work.”

Eyes shifting to the tables in the back, the manager leans over the counter, long fingers wrapping around the handle of a coffee pot so old the handle has worn right down to plain metal, and walks over to a beckoning customer. She fills a man’s mug with her lips pressed thin, offering a napkin to a child in a high chair.

“And why would I hire some pregnant kid?”

The customer pushes over a stack of plates without moving his eyes from the newspaper in front of him. There’s a woman on the other side of the table, holding a spoon out to the little kid, eyes desperate and tight smile slipping when the kid’s pudgy fist hits and sends the scoop of scrambled eggs flying. The man brings the coffee to his lips and waves the manager away.

“It’s illegal for an employer to discriminate against a pregnant person,” Naomi says finally. That had been drilled into her head by her Mama, too. That and how to keep her finances separate. She’ll have real trouble with that, what with the zero dollars she’ll have by the end of the week.

“Good thing I’m not your employer, then.” The manager sets the plates by a soapy sink, putting the coffee pot back on the hot plate. “Get lost.”

I am lost, Naomi almost says, almost slamming a hand in the counter to catch herself from her suddenly weak knees. She watches the manager watch her, tight little frown furling the corner of her mouth, through the blur of her eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.

“Please,” she says, too quiet, then tries again: “Please.”

The manager disappears behind a short half-wall, following the sound of an oven dinging. Naomi gasps silently, bowing over the counter, breathing heavily. She curls her hands into fists and presses them, hard, one to her chest and one right under her ribs. Ka-thump, ka-thump, kickkickkick. Kickkick ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-kickthump.

There’s an echoing clatter as a hot tray slams on a stove top. Scrambling upright, Naomi lifts the little door on the counter, scanning the space. The register is ancient and yellowed, buttons so worn with use the labels have worn away. There’s a thread-thin mat at the base of it. The counters are clean but scratched, walls stained but dust-free. The coffeemaker gurgles pathetically. An apron hangs from a hook nailed to the wall by the kitchen window.

As quietly as she can, Naomi slips it over her head. It’s tight around the waist, so she folds it once and ties it around her ribs, instead, letting the straps dangle loosely at the butt of her jeans. She ties her hair quickly behind her head and steps up to the creaky sink, silently moving the pile of dishes to the empty counter. When the clatter in the kitchen starts up again, she turns the water on as quick as she can — hack gurgle rush — and squeezes the mostly empty soap bottle as hard as she can to make up a lather.

“Hell are you doing?” says the manager gruffly, two pies balancing on her oven mitt hands.

Naomi shrugs.

“You deaf, or stupid?”

She thinks if laughter like a lyre and sun golden hair, plucking at her out-of-tune guitar string and asking a similar question. The ghost of a smile pulls across her face.

“Not deaf. And that’s rude.”

A pie plate crinkles under the press of a knife, and the scent of candy cherry mixes with slightly-burnt coffee. Makes her think of Grammy’s house, the smell of the jams she spent sixty years making soaked permanently in the wooden foundations. The manager finishes plating the pie slices and sliding them under the display glass around the same time Naomi suds up the last dirty mug. She watches her red-painted finger tap, tap, tap on her bicep out of the corner of her eye as she rinses it off.

Unplugging the sink, dirty water gurgling as it drains, she points a hesitant elbow at the dishtowel tucked into the managers pocket. She grabs it, threading it around her fingers, twisting the worn pink tail.

“Freezer broke two days ago.” She picks at a loose thread ‘til it pulls clean from the rest of the fabric, balling it up and sliding it into her pocket. She tugs on the fabric one last time, then tosses it, bundled, into Naomi’s waiting hands. “Tables in the back better have their bill by the time I get back from fixin’ it.”

Naomi hunches over the sopping dishes to hide her smile, listening to the scritch scritch click of the manager’s shoes as she stomps away.

———

Di doesn’t believe in paycheques.

“Great way to get ripped off,” she likes to grumble, slapping a stack of 20s bundled in a stapled piece of notebook paper into Naomi’s hands every Friday. She doesn’t think much of taxes, either, or lawyers, or racecar drivers. Naomi doesn’t quite understand that last one, but she knows better than to ask. As far as she’s concerned she’s still on probation, and probably will be if she works at the diner for another four months. Or the rest of her life.

On one hand, Naomi doesn’t have a bank account, so a cheque would be useless to her anyway. The cash she can use immediately and whenever she needs it. On the other hand, which is currently occupied with sewing back closed the hole she gouged in her backseat for the seventeenth week in a row, she has nowhere exactly to put that money, so it stresses her out.

Maybe she should look into an apartment.

Of course there are no apartment buildings in Sheffield. But she’s pretty sure Iraan is a big enough town to have a couple, as squat as they may be, and it’s only a twenty minute drive. There’s more to do there, too, so maybe she’d actually have a reason to take a day off every week. It’s not like she can buy a damn house with the less-than 3000 dollars she has saved up.

Waddling out of her car, she ducks into the diner. You’d think she’d be used to the lack of bell, now, but she finds that she still anticipates it; finds that her brain still quietly signals to her ears to prep for it. It always sets her off, a little.

“You’re late,” says Di critically, uniform hanging over her arm, foot tap tap-ing on the linoleum floor.

“I don’t have a starting time,” Naomi says lightly. “On account that I am not your employee.“

Di huffs, rolling her eyes. Naomi rolls them right back, snatching the uniform from her arms on the way to the bathroom. She has to wear Di’s, now, because she doesn’t fit into her old one. Di is much taller and broader than her and the stupid thing hangs down to her mid-calf, awkwardly drowning her shoulders, but it’s the only thing wide enough to cover her belly and Di refuses to let Naomi just wear her regular clothes.

(“You’re indecent,” she always says, sneering at her jean shorts, but Naomi has learned to translate you’re indecent but also you can’t have bare legs around hot oil, which she’s come to appreciate. Sure, Di makes her clean the bathroom whether or not she needs to crawl around in her knees to stay balanced, but she doesn’t want her burned to death, at least. That’s something.)

“And your hair’s unwashed,” she adds, as if Naomi had not walked away. She reaches up and adjusts Naomi’s collar, like that is going to do anything to change the fact that she looks like she’s wearing a collapsed tent. “You’re going to drive customers away.”

Naomi doesn’t say, you open before the community centre does, so I can’t shower in the mornings. She does not say, I spent last night trying to change the oil on my car when I couldn’t lie down to reach it. She doesn’t say, I’m too scared to sleep in the community centre parking lot, because my windows aren’t tinted and I don’t know what’ll wake me up.

She says, “The only thing scaring customers away is your busted attitude,” and scurries into the kitchen before Di can order her to clean the friers.

———

Naomi’s favourite part of the diner is the radio.

She can’t believe that Di allows it, what with her general distaste for joy in all of its forms. But it’s balanced on the window sill watching over the oven, antenna extended out the torn screen, dials permanently stuck on an old forgotten country channel. Naomi likes to hum along as she works, frying potatoes or kneading dough, twirling around the kitchen with a mop or a broom. It’s nice even when she’s cramping, even when her feet are sore — she likes hollering along to Dolly Parton when she knows Di is listening, want to move ahead, but the boss won’t seem to let me, likes the way her little parasite goes absolutely buck wild whenever Willie Nelson comes on. She can hear it even when she’s in the dining area, plates balanced all up her arms (and on her belly, too, which is one of the many things she has discovered it’s useful for), humming along to scratching dorks and scritching napkins, working 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’.

She amuses herself often by making up lives for the various patrons. They’re close enough to the main highway that they get all sorts driftin’ in, from families with bratty kids who upend their food on the floor for Naomi to clean to men in starched suits who never leave a tip. The regulars she’s gotten to know, like the older, stocky, short-haired woman called Bella who smiles softly at her and leaves more than double her bill every breakfast. Or the two young men, college seniors, she thinks, who come in every Saturday afternoon and laugh loudly and talk about strange subjects and rope her into their conversations when there’s no one around and she’s bored.

Other patrons, though, strangers, she speculates. Like there’s a man in the farthest back corner, now, hunched over in the peeling green vinyl seats, scrawling frantically in a tiny notebook. She imagines he’s a private investigator, chasing a lead, about to discover that the woman on a date on the other end of the diner is cheating on her husband of fifteen years.

“Naomi, if you don’t get your ass back to work.”

She throws her hands up. “There’s nothing to do!”

Di observes the half-empty diner, noting the clean tables, neat counters, sparkling kitchen. Each customer sitting satisfied in their table, coffee mugs full, plates still hefty with food.

“Clean the grout.”

Scowling, Naomi stomps to the kitchen, wrenching open the cupboard under the counter and yanking out the Mr. Clean and scrub brush. It’s an ordeal and a half to get on the floor, wincing at the extra weight on her knees, sitting back on her heels with every spray and keeping one hand on her belly while the other scrubs. I Got Stripes by Johnny Cash starts playing through the radio, and she grits out the lyrics with every drag of the brush through the tiles.

“— and then chains, them chains, they’re ‘bout to drag me down —”

A pair of worn black boots come stomping into her line of vision. Naomi finishes scrubbing at a stubborn smear of grease, relishing in how it submits under her power, then rests her weight on her tired hands and tilts her chin up to glare up at her boss.

“I got stripes, stripes around my shoulders,” she sings defiantly, “chains, chains around my feet —”

“I should whip you, you damn drama queen,” Di says darkly, glaring right back. “Had three separate customers come on up to me askin’ me if I’m mistreatin’ ‘that poor young pregnant girl’.”

Naomi smiles triumphantly.

Di scowls, rolling her eyes hard enough to visibly strain her face, and drops some kind of foam pads at her feet. She stomps off without another word, scowling at the radio.

Poking at the pads, Naomi discovers they’re meant to be strapped to her knees. She slips them on, immediately noticing the relief.

For the rest of her shift, she’s an angel.

Di even almost smiles at her.

———

“Naomi, go home.”

“What happened to kid?” Naomi pants, knuckles going white against the counter. She breathes slowly and carefully through her mouth — in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, in, two — and grits her teeth, staring determinately at the sticky tabletop until the dizziness fades. “I didn’t even know you knew my name.”

“I don’t.” A roughened hand rests on the small of her back, loosening the too-tight apron straps. “You’re sick, kid.”

“I’m fine.”

She tilts forward. Di barely manages to catch her, settling her slowly on the floor without so much as a comment about how heavy she is.

“The diner is empty, Naomi.” The same roughened hand moves up to the back of her neck, untangling the sweaty strands of hair that stick to her skin. Her voice is unusually soft. “You’re nine months pregnant, kiddo. You need to go home. You need to rest —”

“I need to work.”

With great effort, Naomi shoves her away, standing slowly to her feet. The world is still wobbly and bile climbs up her throat, but she pushes forward, hands half-extended beside her. She reaches back for the wet rag, swiping weakly at the table. An onslaught of nausea makes her pause, mouth clamped shut, breathing quick and deep through dry nostrils.

When she speaks again, Di’s voice is hard. “I’m not asking. Get out of my diner. Go home, or you won’t be allowed back. I won’t be accused of killing some dumbass kid who doesn’t know when to quit.”

“I can’t —” she gags, tears springing in her eyes, desperately trying to wrestle back some control of her body — “there’s nowhere, please, Di, let me —”

She slaps a hand to her mouth, heaving. She hasn’t even — she hasn’t eaten all day. The smell of anything makes her want to vomit. The idea of putting anything more in her body makes her want to peel off her skin. She feels — bloated and freakish and ugly; like an unsuspected astronaut on a sieged spaceship.

Like she’s about to burst.

“Oh, for the love of — Naomi, please tell me you are not nine months pregnant and sleeping in your fucking car.”

Naomi says nothing. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think of Mama’s peony-scented perfume.

“Jesus Christ.”

Stomp, click, stomp stomp. Rattling chain, swishing cardboard. Flicking switch. Turning dial, fading music. Stomp, click, stomp stomp.

Two callused hands on her biceps, dragging her upright.

“C’mon, up you get. Where’re your keys?”

A hand digs around in her apron pocket.

“What, d’you fuckin’ run these over or somethin’? The hell’d you fuckin’ do to these things?”

No jingle on the door. A flipped sign.

“No, obviously you can’t — go get in the fuckin’ passenger seat, dumbass. God.”

Di mutters something about stupid kids and stupider adults, for putting up with them. Naomi smiles tiredly. Daddy used to say that all the time, flicking her on the forehead.

“Roll the window down. You need fresh air.”

The slight breeze coming in from the window is helpful, actually. It’s been a disgustingly hot summer, and Naomi has had to sleep with her windows down to avoid suffocating. She wakes up to mosquito bites in places she frankly did not know could be bitten.

“D’you think you’re going into labour?” Di asks quietly, over Dolly’s crooning. Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m takin’ with me.

Naomi sighs, shaking her head. Already, the nausea has faded into the background. The sweat cools against her skin, and she stops feeling quite so much like she’s going to die.

“No. It’s only been eight months and a little less than two weeks.”

“…You remember the exact date?”

Well, hello, feverish flush. How I’ve missed you so. Will you do me a favour and cook me alive, while you’re here?

“It was a very memorable occasion,” Naomi mumbles, shrinking back into her seat.

“I see.”

Naomi’s never seen Di look quite so amused before. Her whole face softens, and her brown eyes look warm, for once. Naomi would attack her if she had the strength.

Di cruises slowly down Main St, conscientious of the kids ducking in and out of the shops, laughing with their friends. A tween girl looks over at an older boy and whips back over to her friends when he meets her eyes, the whole group of them descending into delighting shrieks. Naomi watches them with a smile and an ache in her chest. She wonders how Molly’s doing. How Esther’s holding up, how Leela is faring. Jen’s at school, now, all the way up in NYC. She hopes they’re well and tries not to hate them for not being here.

Sheffield’s small, and there’s not a street Naomi hasn’t driven down. She spends most of her free time in the community centre pool or the desert around the diner, sure, but she’s been around. When Di turns on Pine St and follows her all the way down, though, she frowns, looking over and asking a wordless question.

Di doesn’t answer. She’s driven them all the way to the other side of town in less than five minutes, pulling into a gravel parking lot and killing the engine.

“C’mon,” she grunts, climbing out of the tiny car and waiting, arms crossed, for Naomi to do the same.

“Sure, sure, let the pregnant woman crawl out of her own seat. Don’t lift a finger or anything.”

Di rolls her eyes.

As soon as Naomi has struggled her way out of the car, which takes her a good four minutes, Di stalks off. In her harried attempt to follow her, Naomi feels like a duck hopped up on an energy drink.

“What kinda money do you have?”

Naomi looks at her strangely. “Uh, what you pay me.”

“Yes, obviously, I meant savings.”

“What you pay me,” Naomi repeats.

Di purses her lips. “Well.”

She does not finish her thought. Instead, she strides down the gravel driveway, heedless of Naomi’s struggle behind her, until she approaches a squat looking building with ‘OFFICE’ printed on the little window.

“She needs a room,” she says to the clerk sitting behind it, gesturing at Naomi.

Naomi looks at her in alarm.

“Di, I can’t —”

“Fifty a night,” responds the man quickly.

“Try again.”

Di’s response is swift and immediate, ignoring Naomi’s tugging hand. She pulls away, resting her hands on her lower back, swivelling her head between Di and the man.

“Rate’s a rate, Di.”

She’s not surprised this man knows Di — everyone knows Di. But the slant to his eyebrows is unfamiliar, the hands clasped easily behind his head. He relaxes back into a leather office chair, heeled boot hiked up to rest in his knee, whistling absentmindedly in the face of Di’s glare.

“Two hundred a week.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’m not asking, Jed.”

The man — Jed — finally starts to look irate, meeting Di’s jaw-set stare with one of his own.

“I’m sorry, I musta missed something. Did you up and buy this place?”

Di doesn’t answer him right away. She never slouches, always standing at her full height, and she’s mighty tall for a woman. For anyone, really. She has a way of planting herself right in front of the sun, no matter where she is. Jed stares up at her, squinting, cast in Di’s shadow everywhere but where he needs to be sheltered.

“You gotta laundry list of shit you done owed me your whole life, Jed.”

Jed just his chin out.

“I don’t owe her shit.”

Blunt fingers wrap around her elbow. “She’s mine.”

“Ain’t how this works, Di.”

“Says who? You?”

For all her intensity, Naomi doesn’t think Di’ll actually fight anyone. If she would, Naomi would’ve gotten her ass kicked months ago.

(She’s mine. Kiddo. You need rest. Roll down the window.)

(…Well.)

Regardless, a flash of fear flits across Jed’s face. He cuts his gaze from Naomi to Di and then back again, pupils shrinking, and then invariably comes to a decision.

“Two fifty,” he snaps, scowling. “Not a penny less, Di.”

Di nods once. “Fine.”

She tightens the hold on Naomi’s elbow, dragging her away from the window. There’s an echoing bang, bang, bang, interspersed with muffled curses, before Jed stumbles out of a door on the side of the scaffolding. He stomps away without looking back, and Di tugs her along to follow.

“Laundry is your own problem. Clean your own shit. If you miss a payment, I’m kicking you out. Clear?”

Naomi stares. Jed standing in front of another low, old building, but this one is much longer, a door posited every dozen or so feet. A plastic chair sits in front of every door, and every door is numbered.

A motel, Naomi realises.

“Clear, kid?”

“Crystal,” Naomi manages, throat dry. Jed practically throws the key at her head, stomping back to the office. Numbly, Naomi slides it in the lock, pushing open the door.

The room isn’t big. There’s a double bed in the middle, a window in the far side and a dresser under it. A TV rests in a dugout shelf in the wall, and there’re two small doors next to it; a closet and a bathroom, Naomi assumes. Smaller than her bedroom back home.

Much, much bigger than her car.

“You’re gonna have to work another ten hours a week to afford this place,” Di says critically. When Naomi looks back at her, she’s lingering at the doorway, staring resolutely at Naomi’s face. Not a spare glance for the room itself.

Naomi does the math fast in her head.

“Twenty hours.”

Di scowls. “Don’t insult me, kid. Ten more hours a week; make sure you’re early tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if you’re sick again, either.”

Naomi swallows. She smooths a hand over the quilt tucked neatly over the bed — it’s soft, if not warm. The pillow is plump.

God, she’s missed pillows.

“Thank you, Di,” she says quietly.

Di makes a small twitching motion with her head that may, in some lighting, be considered a nod, then stalks off. Naomi sinks into the mattress; surprised at how much her feet aches now that she’s off of them.

She swings them up, kicking off her boots, to rest on top of the blanket. She leans against the rickety headboard. She rests her hand on her swollen stomach and slowly, silently, begins to cry.

“You and me and sheer fuckin’ will, kid,” she mumbles, face crumpling. The constant ache in the small of her back lifts, slightly. She stretches her toes as far as they’ll go and cries harder. “We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there.”

———

next

naomi art

[demonicbaby666]

Birthday Expectations

One shot | Once Upon a Time Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Regina Mills x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Words: 3k+

Summary: Just some birthday fluff, reader doesn’t like to do much for their birthday but when Mary Margret throws her a surprise party, she starts to realise just how badly she wants one thing, to leave. 

A/n: Not proof read well cause it's me so I apologise for the mistakes <3

Walking into Granny’s you knew what awaited you. Whilst Mary Margret may have been known for not being able to keep a secret, she certainly kept this one quiet. It was the gathering of cars and less than subtle shuffles that came from inside that gave it away, there was no doubt about it, a horde of people were waiting inside to ambush you with birthday wishes. 

The bell chimed and there was barely a second between the jingle running through the room and the off key singing that came from what looked like the whole of Storybrooke. The smiles that were stretched across everyone’s faces brought a warmth to your chest and you desperately wanted to enjoy this moment, but tears were welling up in your eyes and you hadn’t had the heart to tell the pixie haired brunette next to you it was from a sad longing to just be alone. 

The truth was you weren’t a fan of your birthday, it seemed to only bring disappointment and it was just safer keeping your heart under lock and key, never expecting anything, and certainly not expecting a whole town to gather to celebrate with you. Getting your hopes up only meant one thing, you were going to get hurt. So, you told yourself to enjoy this small moment for what it was, temporary. 

Heels clicked in the distance and when you looked to the opposite side of the room, eyes darting past a sea of strangers, there she was. Candlelight illuminated her olive skin, fire dancing in her chocolate eyes as she concentrated on holding your birthday cake whilst Emma barged through the crowd making a path for Regina to gracefully sashay through. 

“Happy birthday!” Emma exclaimed through a wide smile, offering a small hug, and quickly moving out of the way; revealing the breath-taking sight of Regina in a tight fitted red dress. 

Chanel perfume and vanilla icing permeated the air around you, suddenly no one else mattered. Suddenly, it was just you and her. A smirk appeared on her lips, looking down to the cake then back at you, she quirked an eyebrow. 

“I think this is where you make a wish.” Emma said, lightly nudging you with her elbow. 

Jumping back into your body you realised the singing had come to a halt and you were gawking at Regina, drool practically making its way down your chin with a full audience. 

“Oh, ummm, right.” You stumbled. Leaning forward, trying not to stare at the full display of cleavage directly at eye level, you closed your eyes picturing where you wanted to be and blew out your candles, sending a wave of cheers across the swarm. Painted in your mind were the stars above you and the solidity of the ground colliding with you back, the true image of peace and solitude, that was your wish. 

Almost an hour had passed, and it wasn’t surprising to see everyone had dispersed into small groups, talking amongst themselves, laughs and chatter filled the small diner, though somehow, you’d managed to end up alone.

Looking out to the barren street, the clatter of dishes and voices faded into background noise. No one had forced you into the little booth or put you on a time out, you couldn’t be mad. So why was there an all-consuming battle taking place within you? Some distant longing begging for someone to notice your absence. 

It was an odd feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while, feeling alone whilst being surrounded by people. It was safe to say, the feeling hadn’t been missed, creeping up on you and consuming all the self-dependent thoughts you’d spent years working on. Everything in you wanted to run, use the fact no one was looking your way to your benefit. The brush of skin against your hand erased all thoughts of a quick exit, especially now that you were wedged between the window and- perfume, spiced apples, and a faint whiff of hairspray- Regina. 

Her fingertips tenderly brushed against your hand for mere seconds, but by fair or by foul, they left behind a tingling sensation that somehow craned its way into your bloodstream, sending sparks flying through your whole body. 

“I can hear the cogs you know.” 

Finally finding the courage to look away from the window, you turned to Regina. With the room lit far more sufficiently than when you’d last been so close, you could see her fully. Breath-taking. That’s what she was. A thin layer of foundation, straightened silky hair, lined lips coated in blood red to match her dress and just above them, that scar. Night after night that scar seemed to haunt you, the feeling of running your lips along it, kissing the perfect imperfection. 

“What?” you finally choked out, still half dazed, and helplessly trying to ignore the twitch in your fingers that so desperately wanted to reach out, to familiarise themselves with the indented portion of skin you were trying to pry your eyes away from. 

“In your head,” she quirked, a soft smile gracing her plump lips accompanied by a light shoulder bump, “What are you thinking about, sitting here by yourself?” 

Stringing a simple sentence together had never felt this hard, “I, I was just, ummmm.” Great start. You could tell her the truth, though that would require digging into your mind and actually thinking about why exactly you were sitting by yourself. A lie then. “I just needed to rest my feet.” 

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow moved skyward by only a centimetre. “I can see how one would miss all the other free booths and randomly find themselves sitting at the only one that’s deserted,” she turned her head, scanning the room, “closest to the door.” 

There wasn't much else to do other than avert your eyes to your hands and awkwardly shuffle in your seat. The rug was pulled from straight under you, leaving you free falling in mid-air whilst someone in the distance kept singing about a whole new world; one you’d yet to discover. In fairness, Regina was right, of all the booths that had free seats you’d managed to conveniently pick the one that was farthest away from the happy crowds and with the easiest exit strategy. 

“Crazier things have happened.” You mumbled, keeping your head hung low. 

An amused huff came from beside you, a breath of warm air brushed against your cheek, sending another myriad of sparks flying through your body. It was as though you had no control of yourself when your eyes darted to Regina, and not a morsel of regret was found when you saw the gentleness in her eyes and the comforting velvet smile adorning her painted lips. 

“That they have. But you still haven’t truthfully answered the question.”

Guess there was no escaping this one, lying clearly wasn’t an option. “It’s easy to feel invisible with a whole town cramped into one small space, so I just let it happen. I know Mary spent a lot of time on things and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this isn’t really what I do, parties, crowds, the whole shebang. It’s better to keep things low key and quiet because,” because there’s no chance of getting hurt, you wanted to say it, god, you wanted to just let it all out, but the words sounded too pitiful, too small and weak, “It’s just easier that way.”

Her eyes glazed over, like she was a world away, lost in a distant memory, “because there’s no chance of being disappointed or forgotten when it’s just you?” 

“I-” 

There was no time to tell her she’d hit the nail right on the head, purple smoke engulfed the two of you, rendering you all but blind in a haze of smog. With your vision obscured your senses were suddenly heightened, earthy smells filled your nostrils, the sharp smell of grass accompanied with soft, delicate, welcoming floral scents filled your nose. The smoke slowly cleared, revealing an open field with nothing but the night sky above you, the moon illuminating and bouncing off a vast array of coloured petals. 

“Regina?” 

Before you could wrap your head around what was happening Regina knelt on what looked to be a tartan blanket, slowly easing herself down with - as always - the grace and composure of a queen. She arched her neck to look up at you, tilting her head ever so slightly, beckoning you to join her.

The moonlight shone down on her perfectly, her eyes glistened in the meek presence of lunar light, stars danced in chestnut irises, mapping out a linear path to dilated pupils that remained focussed on one thing only, you. How someone could be both intimidating and downright adorable was completely and utterly confounding.

Slowly she reached a hand out; not knowing exactly how long you’d been stood getting lost in her eyes, you slid your hand into hers, attempting to ignore the butterflies that were flittering low in your stomach. Regina laid back, letting her head peak over the edge of the blanket, whisps of brown cascaded over shards of green. Thoughts of running your finger through her hair filled your mind, letting them disappear, just as the grass did, into thick brunette locks to graze gently over her scalp. 

Following in suit you discovered the ground to be uneven and slightly bumpy, mud piles prodding at your back. After shuffling a little you found an agreeable position, the fingers that remained interlaced between your own seemed distraction enough from the cold earth that bit down on your thin clothing.

When you stole a glance at Regina her eyes were shut, chest rising and falling at a steady pace, maybe a little faster than normal, but then again, you had not often found yourself assessing the rate of someone’s breathing. Her face muscles were relaxed, it was like her cold mayoral exterior had melted, swept away by the cold evening breeze, and left behind was only her, only Regina. 

How anyone could look at her and not see beneath the facade bewildered you, it was plain as day, she was good, she is good, pure, caring and kind. Everyone in town had a past, things they wished to forget, and the more time you spent with her, the more you saw she was the same, just another tortured soul scathed by a harrowing past, though townsfolk readily liked to forget that. Day in day out she battled inner demons, inner personas that demanded to be set free, and she did it without so much as batting an eyelid. 

“I notice when you’re not there.” Her eyes were still closed whilst yours doubled in size, if it wasn’t said with such sureness, you would have missed it completely being too lost in thought. The butterflies in your stomach that lay dormant were woken, weaving between them a rope that was being endlessly knotted time and time again, her words echoing in your ears. 

“I- That’s-,” taking a crisp gulp of air in, you let the cold fill your lungs, still your beating heart. Then set to releasing the warmed breath of air back out, watching the small cloud of condensation float away into the night, and hopefully with it, the inability to form a sentence, “How do you always know what to say? And how on earth did you know I wanted to come here?” 

“I can read minds.”

“I’m being serious Mills.”

“So am I.” 

Turning her head to look at you, a wide smile broke out across her face, her cheeks protruded out and a full set of pearly whites revealed themselves before the both of you burst out laughing. If one sound could feel like home, it was that laugh, low, hearty and raspy as the symphony passed through her lips, rumbling in her chest. The weight of the world that pulled you down was suddenly alleviated, gravity ceased to exist, the laughter pumping you with helium until you were floating on cloud nine. 

Laugher echoed through the field, fading into comfortable silence. Distant longing eyes looked into one another, peeling back layer after layer of armour you both hadn’t known the true weight of. Smile lines faded and a serious expression washed over Regina’s face, she shifted her back off the ground, her knees brushing against the side of your thigh as she settled down to lay on her side, never for a second unclasping her hand from yours. 

“I know what it’s like. To be alone I mean.” a soft sigh left her parted lips, her eyes were darting across your face like it was the first and last time she’d ever get to have you this close. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and when her eyes finally re-emerged from their endeavours, offered up a sweet smile, encouraging her to continue.

And she did, “My whole life I've been on this mission for revenge, and it was a lonely one at that. Then I found Henry and, well, you know the story. But no matter how much the band heroes said I was one of them, I found myself alone amongst a crowd of people, and I knew, circumstances be damned, I could always slip away, and it would go unnoticed. I’ll never really be one of them.”

“Fucking birthdays.” You huffed. 

“I don’t even think anyone knows or remembers my birthday, other than Henry.” she chuckled out. “I think I prefer it that way, like I said, there’s no chance of being disappointed or forgotten when it’s just you.” 

Mimicking her position, you turned onto your side. Regina’s eyes were a sea of unshed tears, almost instinctively you reached out to brush a stray hair off her face, letting your fingers linger over delicate skin for a few seconds longer than necessary. Fingertips grazed over the back of your hand, guiding you back to the powdery skin of Regina’s cheek, which you gladly took into the palm of your hand, and she humbly leaned into. 

“Regina, you're the first person I look for when I enter a room.” you half whispered over the sound of your heart pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to continue, “I feel like you’re the only person that sees me sometimes, and tonight, poofing me away, you may not be a hero to them, and without meaning to sound too corny, you’re my hero.” 

Her cheeks flushed under your touch and her eyes shimmered, taking a rushed breath in, you kept going, “There hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t craved to turn a corner and be greeted by that pragmatic smile you wear so proudly, every time I hear a pair of heels, I can't help but hope they’re from those ridiculously expensive stilettos you wear. I search for you everywhere; I can’t help it. You are everything Regina Mills and the fact you can’t see that amazes me.”

Eyes flickered to your lips and the world stopped, pipeline dreams filled the intimate bubble surrounding the two of you, tender hearts caught wind of each other and beat in rhythm with one another. Blood rushed through your veins, moving so fast you could feel the molten fire coursing through capillaries and burning a direct path to your cheeks, that were now tinted with a rogue hue.

Your hand abandoned its post, moving to the back of Regina’s neck and weaving small circles in damp hair. In turn Regina’s hand found a new home on the small of your waist, setting fireworks ablaze in surrounding area. Your bodies drew closer until there was only a slither of space between you, and you lay still for what seemed like hours, peering into tear-stained eyes. 

“I haven’t felt like this in a long time.” you muttered, the words falling from your mouth directly into Regina’s, cavorting through her until she realised, they resonated deep within her too. 

“I know.” her lips trembled before quirking up into a smile. 

In the milky light she looks so young, untouched by the cruelty of the world, her smile was youthful, and you’d never seen her look more innocent then she did at that very moment. There was no weight between the two of you and for the first time you felt like someone truly saw you and accepted you as you were, and you saw them. 

Leaning a fraction closer till your lips lightly brushed against Regina’s, you closed your eyes and breathed out, “1st February.”

Her whole body froze, “What?” she whispered.

“Your birthday, it’s the 1st of February.” 

Doubt filtered through your mind and for a split second you felt the world crash and burn before you. The contents of your stomach began to churn. Had you pushed too far too soon? Did you say too much? Overstepped? 

Run. That was the only option, then hide out in a desolate cabin forever and never show your face in town again. Yes, that was a good plan, a very good plan. Never have expectations, because that way there’d be no chance of being disappointed, those were the rules, and you knew them all too well. You were too busy silently kicking yourself for getting your hopes up that you missed all the emotions that were plaguing Regina’s face. 

Backing away and fumbling over your words, you tried to choke out an apology, but the hand on your waist glided up to your back and pushed your body flush against her. All panic was washed away when plump lips ghosted over your quivering pout and wet tears brushed against your cheek. 

“Don’t apologise.” she cooed. 

It was Regina who closed the miniscule space between your lips, tentatively kissing you, delicately using her thumb to caress the back of your hand. The kiss continued, filled with more passion and desire. There under the stars you both lost and found pieces of yourself, held within the slow kiss was an exchange of vulnerability, shedding away responsibilities, memories, and the mere idea that you were ever going to be alone again. 

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[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

1k request: Stede has his own version of a merman dream. But. Ed's a catboy instead.

You are an absolute genius. This possessed me mind body and soul. Absolutely inspired.

--

Stede Bonnet was dying, probably.

The world was hot and strange, and their bedroom felt weird and empty. His head felt swimmy. The last thing he really remembered was Ed trying to feed him some soup and looking terrified when he couldn’t finish more than a few spoonfuls, and he remembered wanting to fight the entire world for making Ed look so scared.

He remembered Ed putting a wet cloth on his forehead, and it had felt like heaven, and he remembered Ed whispering that he was just burning up, begging please don’t leave me - he wasn’t sure he’d been meant to hear that part.

And now the world was dark and hot and strange. He registered being in his bed, but it was lonely, and he tried to focus on breathing. He didn’t want to go, he wanted to hang on, but it was so hard. He wanted to rally his strength, find the will to choose to live, but he was so fucking tired.

He felt the world start to slip, bleeding away at the edges-

“Stede?”

Stede gasped as he opened his eyes. He was used to the sight of Ed in bed with him becoming the new most beautiful thing he’d ever seen every morning, but this was on a whole new level.

The Ed that crawled into bed with him had big, adorable, soft-looking gray kitty ears, and a long, fluffy tail that curled up into a curious hook, and his movements jingled with the bell on his collar. Stede’s heart absolutely melted at his big, adorable eyes, and the way his ears were slightly folded back with concern.

“You can’t leave me,” Ed pouted, curling up into Stede’s side, fingers starting to knead nervous biscuits into Stede’s chest. “I love you, I need you! I’d be so sad without you!”

Stede reached out to touch his adorable, soft ears, and Ed headbutted his hand, leaning into the contact with a cute little mrrp?

“Please don’t go,” Ed said, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek cutely against Stede’s shoulder, the bell on his collar jangling. “You promised you’d never leave me again.”

Stede had promised him that. It would be an absolute dick move, to abandon his boyfriend when they’d only been living together for a couple months. Stede Bonnet, taken out by a little head cold? Ha! If his throat wasn’t so sore, he’d laugh at the thought.

“Please come back to me.” Ed pressed his nose under Stede’s jaw, purring softly, an adorable little noise. His fluffy tail thrashed anxiously over the covers. “We’ll keep each other safe. We promised each other, didn't we? I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I can’t lose you.”

Stede took a deep, rallying breath, and he tried to sit up. All he really managed was a groan in the back of his throat and a twitch of his hand.

“Yes!” Ed’s ears pricked forward with excitement, his eyes getting somehow even bigger and more adorable. “You can do it, babe, c’mon! Fight it! You’ve got this!”

Stede thought he might be able to manage a word. “Ed,” he groaned.

“That’s it!” Ed wiggled happily, pushing his head against Stede’s shoulder before doing this sort of adorable stretch onto his back, his shirt riding up to show off his adorable, soft tummy. As usual, the sight made Stede want to brush his fingers adoringly through his happy trail, bite gently at the soft skin there to make Ed squirm and giggle…

He couldn’t be finished. He wasn’t going to die before burying his face in Ed’s tummy one last time.

With a prodigious effort, Stede opened his eyes.

That was a little strange. He’d thought his eyes were already open, but when he opened them again, the cat-Ed in his lap was gone, and their bedroom felt more real than it had just a few moments ago. He could feel the soft quilt under his fingers, and as he sat up, the cloth that had been placed on his forehead, which had long since stopped being so pleasantly cool against his skin, kind of flopped down into his eyes.

And…there. Stede’s entire body relaxed when he realized Ed was still with him, asleep in a chair at his bedside. He’d fallen over so his head was resting on Stede’s thigh, his soft snores like a cute little purr.

Stede reached down to pet Ed’s hair. “Ed?”

“Mm - Stede?” Ed rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles as he sat up, starting to smile at him automatically before the realization hit. Shit - Stede! How do you feel?”

Stede let Ed press the back of his hand to his forehead. “Pretty great, actually.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ed groaned in relief, climbing into bed next to him so he could hold his face and pepper his cheeks with kisses until Stede was laughing. “You were so warm, and I couldn’t get your fever down, and I didn’t know what to do-”

“It’s alright.” Stede held Ed’s hand to his chest, letting him feel the steady beat of his heart. “You saved my life, I think.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stede sighed in fond reminiscence. “I was thinking about how I felt like absolute shit, and then you just appeared to me.”

“Woah,” Ed breathed. “Like a mermaid? What color were my scales?”

“More like a cat,” Stede said, scritching at Ed’s beard, smirking at the way Ed’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into it. Still very catlike, really. “You were so cute. You had these big soft ears, and a cute fluffy tail, and I knew why I had to stay alive.”

Ed humored him. “Why’s that?”

“So I could do this.” Stede lunged forward, gently pushing Ed over so he could press his face into his soft, adorable tummy. Oh, yeah. The world felt right again.

Ed snorted, wrapping his arms around Stede to hold him close. “Never change, Stede.”

[visiosatanae]

Trying to overcome my sadness and anxiety with smut, so here's a short little something with heavy daddy Papa kink Copia.

MDNI - Smut under the cut

It was quiet. Too quiet. Copia hadn't heard any noise from you in the last few minutes, which meant someone wasn't doing as they were told.

"Dolcezza…" his tone was edged in warning.

He heard the tell tale jingling of a bell from the other side of the room. His lip twitched.

"I can't do it, Papa," your voice was soft.

"That doesn't mean you're allowed to stop."

He heard you sigh, the tinkling of the bell starting up again as your tired hips ground into the pillow on the bed. You were completely bare except for the collar hanging around your throat, and connected to it was the source of the jingling. You had come to Copia with an ache and needing relief. But Papa had work to do, so this was his solution - having you grind yourself on one of his pillows while the collar let him keep an eye (or ear) out for you.

You whined internally. The friction from the pillow was nice at first, but it could only get you so far before you were needing more. And he knew it. The amount of sleepless nights where he had done just the same gave him some perspective into your frustration. But your whines and whimpers were all too amusing. And arousing. He wasn't sure he could focus much on his work anyway.

Standing from his desk, the look of desperation on your face turned to one of anticipation as he came closer. He looked down into your eyes, frustrated tears threatening to spill over.

"Keep going, Principessa," he murmured, his gloved hand coming to gently caress the side of your face. You leaned into his touch, lust and adoration all too evident in your eyes. His thumb stroked your bottom lip before pushing itself inside, making you moan as you sucked on the soft leather. The dinging of the bell increased, your motivation returning with his attention. He watched as you sucked the digit in your mouth, feeling himself grow harder at the feeling of your tongue laving over the pad of his thumb. "Brava ragazza," he hummed, finally removing his hand.

You looked up at him questioningly before you felt him softly push you down onto your back, the bell clanging harshly as you fell onto the bed. He grabbed the pillow that had previously been between your legs, raising it up while never breaking eye contact with you. Your breath caught in your throat as he pressed it to his face. Inhaling deeply, his eyes finally closed leaving you to look back at the black sockets of his papal paint. He exhaled with a growl, tossing the pillow back to the bed before crawling towards you.

"I guess you do deserve a reward, after all," he groaned as his clothed erection brushed against the mattress. He brought his face towards your waiting pussy, his eyes taking in how it weeped for him. You were practically panting in anticipation as he finally, finally, gave you what you needed.

Your hips bucked up into his mouth with a cry as his lips met with your folds, the bell tinkling again at your neck. But he didn't devour you as he normally did. Instead he worked over you slowly, methodically, intending to savor your frustrations as he deliberately avoided your clit. Your supposed reward felt like even greater punishment. Soft whines and moans escaped you as you attempted to grind your cunt into his face, but he held you down in place with ease, causing a sob to wrack through your chest.

"P-Please, Papa, please," you begged, delirious with your need for release. But he ignored your cries to attend to his meal instead, groaning at your taste on his tongue. Tears fell freely now as you felt yourself begin to break from his cruelty. "Oh, Papa, please…"

He finally lifted himself up, black paint smeared across his lips and chin. "What is it you are wanting, hm?"

You didn't have the usual reservations you normally would when he wanted you to use your words, the torture had been too great. "I want to cum, Papa, please make me cum, please." Your words spilled from you without restraint, begging for relief. "I've been such a good girl, please Papa…"

"So polite," he teases, finally relenting. The thumb that had previously been in your mouth finally came in contact with your clit, your back arching with a cry as he made soft little circles there. You sobbed as you already felt yourself near the edge, his touch alone giving you the push you needed. His mouth came back to your folds, working his tongue down inside you. Your hands fisted into the sheets as you neared closer, and closer still. "Cum for me," he growled, his own need breaking his composure, "Cum on your Papa's tongue, dolcezza."

His words were the final straw as you felt yourself be flung over the edge with a scream, wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you as you came. The bell jangled as your body shook from the force of it, finally able to grind yourself onto Papa's face as much as you needed. He moaned into your cunt, drinking up everything you had to offer him like a man dying of thirst. Pulling back ever so slightly, he watched the last of your orgasm die down, your pussy contracting and clenching around nothing. It made his cock ache.

"Papa, oh Papa," you babbled almost incoherently as you came down from your high, not even realizing as Copia freed himself from the confines of his pants. You only did once he grabbed your hips, pulling you to him so his cock rested against your folds. You looked down at it, eyes still hazy from your tears. But even through the obscurity, arousal shot through your core.

"Don't think we are done yet, Principessa."

[haeseolar]

it's no coincidence, it's a kitty-incidence

for @mau-month day 12 - kink: pet play 😺, foot stuff

summary:

“You don’t like your paws being touched?” Kinn asks, his voice thick and deep. It sends shivers through Porsche, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. Kinn watches him, contemplating, and brings his other hand up to curve around his heel, the one holding his ankle moving to pinch his toe instead.  Porsche makes a sad, wounded noise, overwrought and sensitive from the teasing. Kinn hums, “I guess they are quite a sensitive part of cats.” “‘m not a cat,” Porsche slurs, his tongue too heavy for his mouth.

kinnporsche / rated E, 1.9k words

Porsche feels winded partially lying on his back, propped up on his elbows and legs splayed wide so Kinn can fit himself in between them as he comes up to the edge of the bed. He feels petty, spiteful, full of humiliation from wearing a damned collar and fluffy cat ears, and before he can stop himself from acting out, he kicks his leg out and Kinn comes to a sudden stop, Porsche’s foot planted squarely on his chest.

Kinn’s eyebrows raise, clearly not expecting Porsche to misbehave, sure of the fact that he’d already broken him down and bullied the fight out of him. Porsche is anything but a quitter, though. He feels ridiculous, dolled up and - he can’t even say it in his head, can’t even fathom the words Kinn has been feeding directly into his ears, the way his fingers have left imprints of their reverence and want in his skin so much that it feels like he’s burning from the inside out with the knowledge.

“Do you think this will stop me?” Kinn asks, grabbing a hold of his ankle. The grip is tight, unforgiving, and cruel.

Porsche wants to bare his teeth in defiance, but he holds back, not wanting to add any more fuel to the fire when it comes to feline characteristics, so he just clenches his jaw instead. It aches, his teeth feeling like they’re shifting in their places with the pressure on them. It stops him from hurling choice words at Kinn for now, at least, or voicing just how much he’s enjoying this despite how much he hates it.

The silence stretches on, Porsche not willing to give up for a second, and Kinn waiting for him to move his foot on his own accord. Porsche knows Kinn would immediately let go if he felt him retreating, but he doesn’t, so the fingers around his ankle get even tighter, digging in until he completes a circle around it. He feels his pulse thump in his foot, his circulation restricted.

They’re at a stalemate, standing off as they stare at each other with calculating eyes, waiting for the other to make the first move. Porsche feels stuck, undecided on if he’s ready to completely give into this new thing they have, or hit the brakes for a bit. He wishes his brain would shut off already, but he can see the ridiculous white frilly socks he’s got on, the colour contrasting with the dark shirt Kinn is wearing from where it’s still planted on his chest, and he feels like he can’t let go just yet. 

He hates how he doesn’t hate it. He hates how all he wants is to sink into the feeling and indulge in the way Kinn wants him, even looking like this. The bell on his collar jingles as he shifts, pressing his foot more into Kinn’s chest, the sound of it breaking the thick tension between them. The pink paw pads printed on the bottom of his socks crinkle with the movement, and that sound alone is almost enough to get his hackles up again. Porsche holds his breath, keeping those roiling emotions at bay, realising that Kinn is waiting patiently for him to decide, giving him the time and space to do so.

Something in his chest finally cracks, his bottom lip trembling with splitting his desire open so clearly, and he breathes out. The tinkling of the bell this time is hypnotising as he moves again, but this time it’s to curl his toes, catching on the fabric of Kinn’s shirt. 

It’s permission, and Porsche sees the second when Kinn realises it. His expression softens, settling into something more relaxed rather than on edge, and Kinn moves his foot for him. But instead of pushing it away like he assumed, he pulls it higher and higher, until the tips of his toes brush against his lips, and then even higher still. Porsche’s heart jackrabbits in his chest, his breaths getting shorter as it feels like the collar around his neck is constricting his airflow until he’s barely breathing at all when Kinn’s tongue flicks out at his heel, the feeling of it over the thin cotton of his socks makes his whole leg jerk and his stomach bottom out.

“Kinn!” Porsche gasps, unable to hold back any longer. He squirms at the tickling sensation - it’s not like anything he’s felt before, like an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s as if it’s connected directly to his cock as it twitches within the confines of his panties while waves of heat wash over him. 

Kinn hums against his skin, the vibrations rippling down his leg and reverbing around his body. Porsche can’t look away, not even to blink, even though his eyes are watering from pleasure. 

He worries that he might kick Kinn in the face, but he’s holding onto his ankle so tightly that it doesn’t budge in the end. Once again, Porsche has no power, forced to just lie down and let Kinn do whatever he wants. Each lick and nip Kinn leaves on the sole of his foot as he works his way up makes his calf muscles jump, the place behind his navel tugs dangerously, and his hips twitch. It’s not just his body he can’t control now, it’s his voice: whimpers and mewls spill from his lips, his eyelashes fluttering with each sound. 

Kinn grazes his bottom teeth across the arch of his foot, the drag of the sock and his hot breath makes his spine curve upwards, his mouth dropping open so wide, a moan caught in his throat. It’s the wrong move - it shifts the butt plug inside him, forcing it to press down harder on his prostate.

His whole body jolts as if shocked by electricity, throwing his head back as his arms finally give out from holding him up as he collapses onto the bed. Porsche’s brain fizzes out, his skin buzzing with static as he loses himself in angling his hips down to nudge the plug inside him as Kinn continues working, clutching at the bedsheets just for something to hold onto. He knows he can’t touch himself, even though he’s desperate to get a hand around his cock or even palm over it just to feel the scratch of the lace over his length. But he also knows that if he did, Kinn would stop – pulling away and leaving him there with nothing but the disappointed set of his mouth. That scares him more than anything, so he hangs onto the sheets like a lifeline and rides each wave and pulse of arousal that shoots through him. 

 

Porsche can’t help it when his toes begin to curl, hooking over Kinn’s bottom teeth, his mouth open and trying to get enough air in that saliva begins to slide out the sides of his lips, pooling in his hairline and making it feel even stickier than it already was with sweat. He can’t tell if it’s too much - if the way Kinn’s hand around his ankle is too tight, too hot, too heavy, or if it’s the only thing keeping him anchored down to earth. 

Mournful noises begin to filter out, dazed and caught between wanting too many things while not getting enough at the same time, but still, Kinn doesn’t stop; if anything he just doubles down – tongue pushing in between his toes as his lips close around the tops of them to suck. The material of the sock is so thin already, and with the added saliva, it’s practically translucent. Porsche’s panties aren’t any better off, ruined and stained, coated in his own pre-come and copious amounts of lube that soaked through the heart-shaped cut out in the back.

Kinn bites as if sensing that Porsche is hanging on by a thread, and he groans in pain. He should find it gross - he’s worn these socks in the bathroom, and then across the plush carpet of their bedroom, but Kinn’s eyes are hooded and impossibly glassy as they stay zeroed in on his face. Each pass of his tongue and graze of teeth tickles, sending thrills through him. It feels like it’s something dirty, something that feels against the rules to like so much, but he does, and that fills him with even more excitement - the type that floods him with shame, prickles at his cheeks and makes more beads of pre-come gather at the tip of his cock.

The sound of when Kinn pulls away from his mouth away from his foot is filthy, and along with his lips swollen and red, thin threads of spit still join them, keeping them connected even with the distance. Porsche has to bite down on his bottom lip so hard that it feels like it’s bleeding to stop himself from coming on the spot. Kinn’s eyes are blown out, his chest heaving just as much as Porsche’s is, his hair mussed and ruined beyond saving, worn and frayed around the edges as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing as his eyes rake over Porsche still splayed out on the bed.

“You don’t like your paws being touched?” Kinn asks, his voice thick and deep. It sends shivers through Porsche, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. Kinn watches him, contemplating, and brings his other hand up to curve around his heel, the one holding his ankle moving to pinch his toe instead. 

Porsche makes a sad, wounded noise, overwrought and sensitive from the teasing.

Kinn hums, “I guess they are quite a sensitive part of cats.”

“‘m not a cat,” Porsche slurs, his tongue too heavy for his mouth.

Kinn raises an eyebrow at him, his eyes drawn down to the tail that’s draping limply over the edge of the mattress, catching on his ruined panties as he moves them back up to the pastel pink collar fitted snugly around his neck, and then to the pair of ears on top of his head before he finally meets Porsche’s gaze again.

Porsche feels a whole new wave of humiliation redden his cheeks and heighten his temperature at Kinn’s stare, knowing exactly how much his words contradict his appearance. He wants to hide, bury under the covers and call off this whole thing, but -

“You’re so pretty, Porsche,” Kinn’s earlier words echo in his head, his ears ringing. He’d seen Kinn look at him with a multitude of emotions, but the one he had on his face when Porsche first stepped out of the bathroom after getting changed was unlike anything before. He feels that rush again just remembering it: that high, the way he can feel himself preening, wanting to show off and let Kinn experience how lucky he is, how good he has it with Porsche, that the endless depth of desperation comes roaring back to life in him.

Kinn takes his silence as continued resilience, his eyes narrowing down at Porsche and pinning him to the bed with that alone. His muscles seize up, joints locking as his breath catches in his throat with the intensity of it. 

“A pity,” Kinn says simply, his voice terrifyingly neutral as he drops Porsche’s leg, letting it fall back down onto the bed as if he’s discarding him, “I was looking forward to you hearing you meow again.”

Porsche has nothing to lose anymore, nothing at all, and if doing that one small thing is what it takes, he’ll do it.

“Meow,” The sound is off-pitch, cracking in the middle, his mouth drier than ever, his head feeling like scribbles on a piece of paper. 

---------

if enough people like this, i'll write a whole fic for it! ^^ but for now it's just this scene hehe. lmk what you think on here, or on twitter! 🥰

[oblivionsdream]

you said you wanted jingly menace content? fine. here's a drabble i wrote instead of writing my sociology essays. (i am so sorry if i horribly mischaracterised your lovely babies, you can kill me if i have.)

He Jester sees the back of the Knight’s head and—well, you can’t really pass up an opportunity like that, can you?

“My dear Knight,” he purrs, and leans against his back like he would against a column, and throws an arm above his head. “I’m ever so bored. Would you want to play strip poker with me? Maybe I’ll finally see your pretty little face.”

At first there’s no response, and the Fool wonders if the Knight’s fallen asleep at his post, which is unlike him, but the Jester wouldn’t really find it that surprising. He could use this opportunity to make ‘we had sex ‘til sunrise’ jokes, and those are always the best.

Before he can start planning any jokes, however, the Knight turns around and stares at him. Well, he assumes he stares at him, because that stupid helmet is still blocking his identity and the Fool wants to melt it on the witch-burning pyres.

“Cat’s got your tongue?” He asks, and touches the Knight’s arm and he swears—he swears—that the metal is hot, as if the Knight is blushing so hard that—

Oh, that is fun! The Jester starts to cackle and he moves closer to the Knight and stands on his tip-toes, almost chest to chest, and rings his face closer to the Knight’s. “Awe, you’re so excited to see me!” He cradles the Knight’s face with one hand. “Be careful not to put your sword down your bottoms, otherwise,” he laughs as the Knight looks away before he can finish his sentence. Oh! He’s so easy today. 

“Uhm—” The Knight says, and his voice is a few pitches higher than usual, that’s odd. And the Jester wonders, maybe—

“How about you abandon your post and visit my bedchambers, hm?” The Jester grabs his arm, “I’m sure the King won’t min—”

“Are you cheating on me?” The voice of the Knight calls, teasingly, which makes no sense because it’s coming from behind him, and the Knight’s face hasn’t moved at all. 

The Jester decides that his honour cannot be lost like that.

“You’ve gotten so boring,” he replies, and trails a hand down the other knight’s chest. The other knight squeaks. “I’m just having some fun. You can’t blame me.”

“That’s a shame. And I was just trying to find you to give you something.” Then there’s a clear, distinct jingling, and the Fool all but pushes the other knight and turns around to see his favourite bell—which he’d lost, sometime around the Knight’s last tournament, and he was so disappointed about that—jingling between the Knight’s fingers. 

“My baby!” He squeaks, and jumps into the Knight’s arms, which causes a bit of a hassle as the Knight almost drops the bell to catch him. He hands him the bell, and the Jester reattaches it to his hat, which now jingles fully, instead of the sad little noise it's been making for the past few days.

“Oh, how can I ever thank you enough?” He wraps his arms around the Knight’s neck, and kisses the helmet, which earns him a startled snort. 

“Well, you can start by being a little less annoying,” the Knight says.

“You love that, really, don’t deny it.”

“I hate that I can’t even argue with that.” 

The Jingly Menace laughs, and the Knight can’t seem to bring himself to drop him.

(this was meant to be ~200 words. it's 500+. what have you done to me.)

AHHHHH OH MY GODDDD I LOVE IT. I am so sorry about your sociology essay but this is incredible and I am just delighted to have content of my boys!!!

[the-bar-sinister]

Chains of the Dragon (13992 words) by thesavagesabretooth

catch up here Consider this a sequel to Spirit of Justice.

-

October 1, 2028– 6:40 pm Khura'in time

That afternoon when Apollo dragged himself to the palace after the day's trials were done, he paused at the end of the hall, hearing voices.

The younger voice of the two was raised, and sounded on the verge of tears as it replied to a question he hadn’t heard.

“I just said I was tired! That’s all, I still must do the dance of devotion later today and I wanted to…to take a break. I know horn head’s been….”

"You're making excuses again, young lady," the former queen's sharp tone rang out clearly in the long stone hall.

Apollo grimaced, realizing what was going on. He hadn't wanted to walk in on an argument– and he contemplated just turning around and coming back later, but…

Rayfa’s voice hiccuped, and he heard the ringing of bells as she most assuredly stomped her foot.

“I am not! I have been doing nothing but etiquette lessons, and …and…and holding court, and signing pardons, and attending classes, and being told that I’m still not polite enough! I have been working hard all morning, mother! I want to see my flowers!” 

"Rayfa, dear, I don't think that you understand. What you want does not come first. Or second. Your people come first. The country comes first. This is simply your duty as a princess and a queen– and your attitude is showing me that you are simply not up to the task!"

Rayfa made a quiet gasp, and the quiet jingling of bells sounded as if they may have come from her shaking with how rapid and soft they were.

“Not…Not up to the task, mother?” Rayfa’s voice quivered. “Father…father would have let me see my flowers..” 

"Your father did nothing but indulge and spoil you, Rayfa. He was raising a housecat, not a queen! Do you understand that?"

Apollo felt frozen, his heart was in his throat. The way Amara was talking to Raya– surely that wasn't right? Everyone saw how hard Rayfa was trying to keep up with all the demands put on her.

And who was Amara to talk about responsibility?

“A…A… a HOUSECAT?” Rayfa’s voice had gone shrill, and the jingling of her bells grew worse. “Mother, how dare you! I am Rayfa Padma Khura’in and…and…you KNOW I’ve always done my best to be a priestess of the Holy Mother AND a princess!” 

"Well I am sorry to tell you that your best simply is not measuring up, so you are going to have to try harder!"

Something in Apollo broke, and he charged forward down the hall into the scene.

If they had wanted privacy, they should have been arguing in a more private space then!

He rounded the corner to see Rayfa, in her cloak and priestess garb, holding her hands in front of herself as they shook. Tears were running down her face as she stared up at the former Queen Amara with something between anger, sadness and betrayal.

“So what am I supposed to d-do, if I am not good enough? How am I supposed to try harder when all I do is try to impress you, mother!? I haven’t tended to my flowers in weeks, I haven’t visited my pet! I have done nothing but what you’re asking me to do.” 

Amara was about to answer when she saw Apollo there and froze. He felt like he was under the gaze of the medusa the way the withering look seemed to hold him in place.

"And now you've embarrassed yourself," the former queen snapped. "You should apologize to Mr. Justice for exposing him to one of your temper tantrums."

Apollo made a choked noise. "I don't think–"

Rayfa had turned, looking at him with shock and surprise before she sagged under her mother’s reprimand.

She folded her shaking hands before herself and dipped into a little bow. 

“I…” she hiccuped. “I’m sorry for exposing you to one of my …” She grimaced and muttered out “temper tantrums, horn h–Mr. Justice.” 

Apollo sputtered and shook his head. 

"No, uh, no don't worry about it." He glanced between Amara and Rayfa for a moment, and finally said. "I uh, I know you're busy, princess, but I really need your help with a detail about the upcoming trial. If- if you could spare a few minutes?"

He watched as Amara just barely inclined her chin toward Rayfa.

“Of course M-mr. Justice.” Rayfa glanced nervously over her shoulder at Amara , as if looking to see if it were the right answer. “As…as the country’s finest defense a-attorney, It’s my royal duty to assist with such things.”

Amara seemed to give her approval. "I look forward to continuing our discussion later, princess. When time allows."

Without another word, she swept off down the hallway, leaving the two of them alone.

Rayfa quickly reached up to dry her eyes with her sleeves. Her breath went just a little too quick for a moment before she stilled it to a deep intake and slow breath out to steady herself before she looked up with her familiar serious pout.

“Sorry again, Mr. Justice. I forgot myself for a moment…as for your request, I am at your disposal.” 

Apollo leaned in toward her, and quietly said, "Why don't we talk in your garden."

Rayfa’s eyes widened and she jumped, her hand raising to her lips in surprise. 

“Oh! Ah, if you insist, Mr. Justice!”

Despite the formality of her reply, some sparkle of excitement came into her eyes again.

He smiled wanly and rubbed his face as he nodded, heart still pounding in his chest. 

"I definitely insist."

October 1, 2028– 6:55 pm Khura'in time

Rayfa led Apollo down the familiar path towards The Royal Courtyard and garden of the palace. The space still held the now vacant suite of the former Minister of Justice, as well as the now known to be quite empty ‘Tomb of Queen Amara’. The former, Apollo knew, had been given to Nahyuta to make his home in. The latter was still a point of contention in matters higher than his current position.

Rayfa seemed to lighten considerably, walking with a bit more of a bounce in her step as she wheeled towards the overgrown balcony covered in beautiful and vibrant flowers that spilled into the Royal Garden– a collection of local and rare plants in brilliant pinks, yellows, and a whole rainbow of other colors.

Rayfa nervously looked over her shoulder, before she hurried over to look them over. Beyond the flowers, Apollo saw rows of well tended herbs and vegetables growing in discrete patches– all, at one point, tended to by Princess Rayfa in her spare time.

“Oh no…” he heard her murmur when she bent down next to one of the flower beds. 

Apollo followed after her, and knelt down beside her. Had they died from inattention?

"Are they okay?" he asked.

A number of the flowers had wilted, dead from neglect on their withered stalks. What was worse, some of the soil had been disturbed with the mark of bootprints nearby…

“No.” Rayfa said in a low and shaky voice. “looks like nobody’s properly watered them…and some of the guards may have been a bit too brutish while passing by.” 

"That's–" Apollo bit his lip and hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder. "That's terrible, I'm sorry. They don't have, like, a gardener? For when you're busy?"

The idea that there wouldn't be a palace gardener to take care of the flowers made him worry that this was some kind of … punishment.

Rayfa was on her knees in the dirt, holding one of the uprooted and withered flowers with a pensive frown.

“These were fath…” she visibly shuddered as she stifled a quiet noise. “Inga’s favorite. They made a nice tea that he’d like to have during his injections, and he liked a bouquet of them on his desk during meetings.”

She sighed quietly. “...I don’t know why Mother didn’t ask one of the monks to tend to it for me.” The frown on her face didn’t help Apollo’s first worrisome impression. 

Inga's favorite. If the idea of it being a deliberate punishment didn't explain it, then them being Inga's favorite certainly did. Every impression that Apollo got was that Amara hated the man, and resented his place in Rayfa's life.

"Do you think there's any chance we could save them?" Apollo asked. "I'll have Nahyuta ask someone to tend to the rest of them, too."

“Maybe…” Rayfa’s shoulders started to shake again, and he heard her stifle another cry. “I can. I promise I can! After my duties, I mean. When…when the people and the country are satisfied, I’ll try and save them.” 

"Hey, no, Rayfa–" Apollo felt his stomach lurch again and he put his other hand on her shoulder too. "Why don't we just try to take care of them now?"

Rayfa twitched just a little, but looked up at him with tears she was clearly trying to suppress. 

“Horn head!” She brushed her fingers through the dirt with a pout “didn’t you have a question you needed me to answer?” 

"Well, yeah," he murmured. "But I mean– it can wait. You have so much on your plate already…"

He felt a knot in his stomach. It had seemed like an important question at the time. But now it seemed like Rayfa was just as busy as he and Nahyuta were– just as burnt out. Maybe even more so.

Rayfa’s eyes looked back at the ruined bed of flowers, and she pointed to a small ornately decorated cupboard inset into the wall. 

“...get me my supplies out of there and you may ask me as I work, since you’re so concerned for my flowers.” 

Apollo nodded, and hurried over to get them. "Sounds great."

October 1, 2028– 2:45 pm LA time

Trucy had called Klavier and added an extra two tickets to the itinerary just before he and Ema had finished up with the travel plans, but that didn't bother him one bit. As far as he was concerned, the more the merrier. A couple of extra hands could only help– for instance if they needed to drag Apollo Justice physically onto an airplane.

He'd parted ways with Ema for the moment, and spent the early afternoon offloading his case schedule to other prosecutors in the office. He was just about to head out when he noticed someone by the coffee machine.

Diego Armando. The newest prosecutor in the office, technically. He'd been out of jail for a few months now and had returned almost immediately to the office with a demand to start work as soon as he could.

The whispers had all wondered why he didn’t return to defense, but Diego Armando seemed dead set on returning to this side of the courtroom…bringing his former co-conspirator and fellow ex-con Iris Fey along with him as his assistant in the process.

He was a handsome, older man…his hair prematurely white due to the shock of his brush with death, and a handsome salt and pepper goatee sharply and neatly shaved under a wolfish smile and the gleaming, three lined prosthetic mask he had to wear to see. It’d gotten sleeker since his imprisonment, the design refined into something less bulky and closer to flush against his face.

Right that moment he was glaring at the coffee machine in absolute disgust. “...look at this piece of shit.” 

With a statement like that, Klavier couldn't help but be intrigued and stick his nose in. It wasn't as if he didn't have a little time.

He leaned in and looked the machine over, lifting his sunglasses performatively to do so.

"Exactly what am I looking at, mein Freund?"

Diego looked up at him, and the mask on his face hummed as the internal circuits and lenses readjusted to his proximity.

“This fucking coffee maker, Klavier.” Diego rarely called anyone by their last name, or ‘mister and miss’...but even a few months later, Klavier knew if he did, it meant he was distinctly unhappy with you.

“You’d think a guy like Miles might at least lay out a better option than this coffee-flavored water dispenser.” 

"Ahhh," Klavier nodded. "So this is the reason you've been bringing in your own coffee? The coffee maker is not up to snuff for you? It looks expensive to me."

Klavier might not have known exactly why Diego had returned to prosecuting, but he was glad he had. He liked the older man, and over the last few months he felt like they'd developed a little bit of a rapport.

Diego slung an arm over Klavier’s shoulders. 

“It ain’t about the price of the machine, Klavier. It’s about the quality. Rich guys…they’ll blow all kinds of cash on fancy gizmos that’ll churn out something mediocre with the veneer of something great because of the damned price tag.”

Diego chuckled. “remind me to invite you to my office, Piano Man. I’ll show you how to brew the best damned cup of coffee of your life.”

Klavier smiled and put his arm companionably on the other man's shoulder in return. There was something irresistibly fatherly about him, and Klavier suddenly wondered if he'd have any advice about his current predicament.

"If you have the time, I am free now," he offered with a bright grin. "Of course, I'm sure you're busy. Such is life in the proescutors' office."

“Unlike the defense.” Diego laughed “actually…I got a case coming up but Iris is working on some investigative work for me before I can actually prepare. Tell you what…come on down, I’ll make you that cup of joe and we’ll chat for a bit.” 

Klavier smiled with a sudden feeling of relief.

October 1, 2028– 2:55 pm LA time

Every office in the prosecutorial building had its own prosecutor's personal touches. Diego's, while still in the process of a man moving back in after some time away, was no different.

He’d set a coffee bar to one end, beans in jars and brass and glass machines and pitchers laid out neatly near quality mugs hanging from a rack. Aside from the coffee, several posters sat in frames lined under a drawn red curtain, one for a classic western, one for the movie Taxi Driver, and another for a film loosely based on the career of Sirhan Dogen the assassin. His desk, which had among other things, a framed photograph of himself when he was younger and a woman with long dark hair and a magatama over her chest…and a set of small plastic horses set near a small frame turned down on its face.

In the corner, a smaller desk set with its own peculiarities, which must have belonged to Miss Fey, his assistant.

“Welcome to my home away from home, Klavier." He made his way for the coffee bar first.

"I'm impressed by your taste, mein Freund," he said, swaggering after him toward the coffee bar and looking over the unfamiliar tools laid on it. "The movie posters are a nice touch."

“Someone important to me got me a little hooked on the cinema, she was a regular cinephile.” Diego chuckled as he started the water heating, pointing to the poster of Taxi Driver. 

“She had that poster hanging up in her office for years. Had to grab another copy of it for here, when I moved in.” He whistled casually as he laid out a filter, a glass bowl and a few mugs. “Do you want a regular cup or an espresso? I could start that up if you need it.”

He gestured to one of the machines– one of the few Klavier was actually familiar with.

"I had an espresso at home this morning, so unless you're indulging I'll stick with the basics, I think. I'm already more jittery than I'd like to admit." He leaned on the counter, curiously watching Diego at work.

Diego pointed to him with a wolfish grin. 

“A man of taste, keeping a machine at home. You’ll have to tell me what one you’ve got.”

He placed the filter and strainer atop the clean glass pitcher, as he got to work selecting beans .“Jittery eh? What’s got you worked up.” 

Klavier fussed with his necklace and shrugged performatively. "I'm afraid I can't tell you much about the machine. I inherited it from my brother, who would probably have a more learned appreciation of what you're doing here…"

He glanced away. "As for what's got me worked up, ah, Diego mein Freund, now that is a story. I shouldn't burden you with gossip."

I shouldn't. But I hope you ask anyway.

“I’m an old man.” Diego laughed as he grabbed a handful of beans he was satisfied with and dumped them into a wood and brass grinder, starting to work on grinding them down.

He wasn’t actually all that old, but– sometimes it seemed he liked the joke well enough to pretend. “There's nothing I enjoy more than a little gossip from a friend over coffee. It’s traditional.” 

"You're barely old enough to be my father," Klavier laughed with him. And certainly not nearly unpleasant enough to be my father. "but if you'd like to know then I'll share. It would be rude of me to tease you when you're so graciously and laboriously making coffee just for little old me."

“I’d say I’m a saint, but that’d be a lie.” Diego smirked under his mask as he ground. “Given I’m fresh out of the clink.”

"I think that makes you more of a saint, Diego," he said, leaning on his hand over the table. "Saints are known to suffer, atoning for their sins. The people love a redemption story, ja?"

Diego stopped, looking at the fineness of the grind before he went back to it for a moment with a wry smirk. 

“So they do, Saint Armando of the Church of Justitia just sounds a bit fancy for a guy like me.” He pointed with a chuckle. “...but you’ve got a story to tell, and I’m all ears. My eyes don’t work for shit, but my ears sure do.” 

"Thankfully, I don't need your eyes at all today, Saint Armando," he grinned. "For they say that love is blind, don't they? I have a certain lover who is troubling me, I'm afraid."

Diego started tipping the grounds into the filter.

“Classic stuff. A troublesome lover’s like a fine cup of coffee.” He did not explain exactly what he meant by that. “So what's going on?” 

"You're a man of the world, Diego, so I won't bother to pretend that this lover is a woman," Klavier shrugged. "Or that we have what you would call a typical relationship. But either way, it's a problem of distance."

Lots of people would have been embarrassed to admit to a male lover, but Klavier didn't care. He wouldn't have cared even if his famous 'rockstar' status didn't carry with it the tacit assumption of bisexuality that he happily fulfilled.

Diego certainly didn’t seem to mind. No, he looked up with that sharp toothed grin of his, as he began to pour steaming water in a slow circle from a goose necked kettle into the filter.

“Ahhhh. Well Klavier, this man of yours…are we talking emotional distance, or physical?” he leaned on his hand with a grin. “I’ve got a bit of experience to draw on either way.” ” 

"The one has turned into the other," Klavier sighed. "First he iced me out emotionally, ja? He doesn't like to talk about his feelings. Now the distance is physical. He's run off on some kind of spiritual journey without so much as a call or a text."

“A spiritual journey.” Diego said dryly with a flicker of the lights in his mask. “Without sayin’ a word to you?”

“This boy of yours seems mighty considerate, would you say this is…” he waved his free hand as he poured “typical, for the way he deals with his shit?” 

"Unfortunately I have to say it is. Once the shock wore off I was not surprised in the least." He sagged over the table as he watched the steam rise from the full coffee filter, the freshly made brew slowly trickled down. "He comes and goes as he pleases, when we're together. He doesn't talk about his life. He cries, sometimes, and he won't say why. I ask, but he'll change the subject."

“A man of secrets.” Diego tapped the side of his nose as best he could with the mask in the way. The last of the water trickled down, and he leaned on the counter to look at Klavier with the three staring lights, never blinking and always glaring. “And a past full of pain. Hard to get a man like that to open up to you, even if you love ‘em.”

"Terribly hard," Klaver agreed, staring into Diego's red mask. "I had hoped that loving him would be enough. That if I gave him time and space, he'd open up to me on his own. But… that isn't what happened."

“And now he’s on a spiritual journey.” Diego asked as he poured Klavier a cup from the pot. 

"Halfway across the world, in fact," he said, straightening up and brushing his hair back as Diego poured the coffee. "And I know I shouldn't blame him. Times have been hard– very hard. Since I knew him, really, but even more so in the last year. But– Diego, he didn't even text me."

“I’m gonna say this now.” Diego pushed the coffee cup towards him as he poured his own “...you got a point being upset. Even if things haven’t been easy for the guy…vanishing without a word hurts. Not having the chance to even say goodbye hurts more.”

He sighed “He’s probably too wrapped up in his own pain to see the pain he’s puttin’ on others. Easy mistake to make. I’ve been there.” 

Klavier nodded and picked up the offered mug, taking a sip and tasting it carefully. It was rich, and subtle. Without a doubt some of the best coffee he'd ever tasted.

"This is amazing, mein Freund! Your coffee skills are peerless I'm sure," he said with a little smile. "And… Thank you. I have been wondering if I have any right to feel so heartbroken."

Diego spread his hands with a grin. 

“And it ain’t even hard. Pick the right beans, grind it the right way and pour– and you’ve got yourself Diego’s Blend #85.” He chuckled before he leaned on the table. “thanks. But…I think ya do. Love is a complicated tango, kid. You’re allowed to feel heartbroken when the steps don’t go the way you hoped…especially when your partner’s changing the dance halfway through the song.” 

"Changing the dance halfway through the song, ja… when you put it like that…" he heaved a sigh and took another sip of coffee, shaking his head. "I think perhaps part of the problem is we never even agreed on what dance it would be."

“And that’s the issue, kid. Communication…which your guy made hard from the start.” Diego lifted his coffee mug to his lip ‘..a relationship built on miscommunication’s gonna suffer from neither party knowing what the other expects. Just like a relationship built on a lie’s going to carry the baggage of it forever.” 

"I've always been honest with him," Klavier sighed, thinking back on it. "Sometimes I worry too honest for his taste, which perhaps is why I stopped being so open, and tried to let him come to me. You're right. It's communication, and he hasn't made it easy. I didn't ask because… I think i worry I want more from him than he wants to share, you know, Saint Diego?"

Diego nodded as he brushed his fingers over his mask in thought. “Sounds like a lot of the prison romances I knew, my friend.”

He spread his fingers and gestured towards Klavier. “you’re an open man, someone who wants to share thoughts and feelings with your lovers. He’s a man who wants to dance away from them any chance he gets…the question becomes… what do you plan to do about it?” 

Klavier smiled and rubbed his jaw. He gestured over to the wall of Diego's posters.

"The same thing they would do, mein freund. Purchased a plane ticket to chase him halfway around the world and beg him to come back to me."

Diego grinned widely and pointed his finger at him. 

“....and that, my friend, is the right choice. I would do the same exact thing if my partner…s…pulled the same tragic mess on me. Give or take the use of the word ‘begging’, of course.” 

Klavier chuckled and rubbed his face again. "Not very manly of me, I know. What word would you use?"

Diego rubbed his chin for a moment. 

“Lemme think for a second.” He sipped his coffee, before he pointed the whole cup at him. “Plead. I already took a plea bargain, so hey. Damage is done.” He laughed out loud, his grin growing wider. “Stole that one from Lana.” 

Klaver laughed along with him. "That's a good one. Plead. Maybe I'll do that one too. I have already considered merely grabbing him and hauling him on the plane by force. Terrible idea of course."

“Ah yes…” Diego nodded with a wry smirk. “the ‘villain of a romantic drama’ plan. Never quite works out the way the guys hope.” 

"Very occasionally it does. but usually those books are in an antique shop with titles like Strange Tales, and Men's Adventure. Not very modern of me. I won't stoop to his level and act like this is the forties" He chuckled and shook his head. "Mein Freund– I did notice you said partners?"

“Whoops.” Diego said with a lazy and carefree grin. “I’m a man of the world, as you said, but I guess the secret’s out.”

He lifted the coffee cup to his lips. “I’ve gotten myself into quite the little circle…part of it’s a rekindlin’ of something that came before…back when Mia was alive. The rest, well–bonds are formed and the heart wants what the heart wants.” 

Klavier smiled and once again felt a warm swell of kinship with the man. He lifted his cup to him. "Cheers. It's nice to know it's not only a rockstar who engages in these kinds of complications."

Diego raised his coffee cup with a chuckle and a flicker of his mask’s lights.

“Cheers, my friend. And from the bits and pieces you’ve shared…and what I’ve seen about the office…” he took a long sip of coffee before he sai.d “we share a certain something in our circle of complications.” 

Klavier raised his eyebrows, flushing a little as a number of possibilities came to his mind.

"Consider me intrigued, ja? Something or someone?"

“A cloudy Skye.” Diego laughed loudly at his own joke. 

Klavier chuckled at the joke too, even as his cheeks burned. "Ah yes, you did mention Lana Skye. The two of you must have known one another during your time in the great dark hole in the ground, yes? Or did you mean her sister?"

Ema had never mentioned a tryst with Diego, but Klavier wouldn't completely rule it out.

Diego held his hand up with a chuckle. He sipped his coffee 

“I mean Lana. She and Mia were…close. Even before the clink and…well.” He smirked with a shrug. “when we both wound up at the same long stay, maximum security motel…one thing lead to another.” 

Klavier smiled and nodded. "Nice to know the both of you had some comfort through the dark times, Saint Diego. Can I pry a further private question, purely for my own curiosity?"

“It’s certainly a comfort, that’s for sure.” He chuckled and leaned on his hand with a tilt of his head. “All ears, kid.” 

"Just ladies for you, or do you occasionally enjoy the company of gentlemen as well?"

Klavier wasn't exactly cruising him, no matter what his answer was. Not that he would necessarily say no to the man's roguish charm. But it was just nice to know when one was in good company. A relief, even.

Diego’s smirk hitched a little upward at the corner. 

“Looking to spend a night in the office?” he purred teasingly, before he took a long sip of his coffee.

“But no, ain’t just ladies for me by a long shot, though I would forgive the misconception.” he tilted his head , almost like a wink. “I got a fella I’ve got my eyes on…so to speak, for a bit now. Someone I got a score to settle with in a way I think’ll end more amicably than it did last time.” 

Klavier chuckled, and finished his coffee in a long sip, setting it down on the counter. "I hope you have better luck in that endeavor than I've been having in mine, ja? Or rather– I wish us both luck for the future. As for a night in the office, I admit I'm a little preoccupied right now, but who knows what the future holds. I am not immune to the charms of an older man."

Diego raised his mug with a laugh “thanks, kid. I hope so too…who knows what the future holds, like ya say. Let’s hope Lady Luck smiles down on both us hopeless goddamned romantics.”

He leaned on the back of his hand with that wide and nearly feral grin. 

“You ain’t, eh? Good to know. Handsome fella like you? I’d be happy to show you a thing or two.” 

"Well, Mr. Armando, I am always eager to learn. But first I must solve this little communication issue you've helped me with so much."

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Beautiful Soul: Eddie Munson

Stranger Things Masterlist

word count: 1.1k

Reqeust:  Okay read has ADD and eddie is the only one who knows how to handle her....

Y/N has ADD and Eddie is the only one who knows how to handle her since they had been best friends long before they started dating. He can read her cues like when she is angry or sad or depressed.  She is also a hyper-sensitive person meaning sometimes she had to be mindful not to take into too much violence, and death often gets overstimulated by noisy crowds or sounds.

Okay, so she has a really hard time focusing so studying is a challenge. And she can become frustrated with herself for not remembering anything. She is always failing maths but loves her history art and English. She is super talkative her stories almost never have an end. She isn't really hyper but there are days when she has a lot of energy so Eddie has to help her keep her calm from exploding all that energy. So he will take her on walks or dance with her in his room or play games like they are 5-year-old kids. Like playing tag with her. She can sometimes super focus on a thing and just zone out. She daydreams a lot so much that she just stares at Eddie who of course doesn't mind he likes it when her eyes are on him and one day Dustin asks why does she that and Eddie just says she is daydreaming so she will zone out completely. She hates crowds and loud noises.

So she has sensory issues. Eddie did discover that she liked Bells. It's just a thing for her so he started keeping bells in his lunch box to give to her during lunch or times when her anxiety is a bit much. She will hold it up to her ears and just jingle them and it sometimes annoyed the group but Eddie found her so cute when she jingles her bells so he told him to leave it alone. Sometimes she does it subconsciously and will zone out and just mindlessly jingle her bells and when she doesn't have bells she will play with his hand and make his rings clink together and she likes the sound Eddie does not mind and just continues a conversation he was having or she something she will she just have him talk to her she loves his voice and laugh. She could listen to him for hours and physical touch is a big thing for her so sometimes while she plays with his hand she will just bring his hand to her face and keep it there for a while. Again physically touching is a big thing for her she adores hugs and according to her Eddie and Dustin give the best hugs. And that's one thing that Eddie loves about her is that she is super affectionate him being super affectionate as well and her long hugs are always a win for him.

Despite what everyone thought Eddie did genuinely love and care for Y/N, so when she started to act differently than she did he knew something was up immediately. She was quiet, almost zombie-like she didn't talk much and she barely touched Eddie or her bells which worried him but when he asked her about it, she just shrugged her shoulders at him and this is how it went for the rest of the day as poor Eddie wondered what was going on with her.

She on the other hand been over think all morning well more like all weekend since her parents said that they had gotten her put on better meds that would in their words "help you act your age so nobody would have to deal with a five-year-old 24/7", and she couldn't but help but wondered if Eddie felt the same way so she took them in hopes to be normal and not have to be babysat all the time due to her ticks.

Eddie had hoped the drive home would be different, but after twenty minutes of driving and she still hadn't something, he looked over to her before pulling into a parking lot and parking his van so they could talk.

"Sweetheart, you are officially worrying me now, your never this quiet. Please tell me what's wrong." He said looking at her and when she looked at him he could see the tears forming in her eyes which caused Eddie to pull her into his arms.

They sat there for a few minutes as Eddie let her cry while rubbing her back trying to keep her calm while also worrying about her. He felt her breathing go back to normal and then she pulled away from him and looked at him.

"My parents put me on new medication for my ADD so that it would help me act normal and so nobody would have to babysit me 24/7 but it only made me overthink." She said as Eddie sighed.

"Like I know that I can be annoying, super sensitive and that you start getting annoyed with me and that you should dump me cause of how I am and that I'm not good enough for you." She said going into a rant about how immature she is making Eddie's heartbreak at hearing how low she spoke about herself.

"Stop it please." He said grabbing her hands and making her look at him.

"You are the most beautiful person to me and I love you and all your ticks." He said looking at her before going into this rant about how amazing she is from how she lights up his day with her silliness and endless stories that never seem to end because of all the mini-stories in between or things she remembers and that he finds it cute when she does that. He tells her how he loves when she plays with his hands and gives him super long hugs. He tells her how beautiful her mind is and how she can think quickly on her feet.

"I love can you can come up with new and fun storylines for dnd.  I love cute it is that you walk into a room and forget why you walked in only for you to walk out again and come back a few minutes later having remembered why you walked in there the first place." He said.

"I love you and your diamond mind, and there's nothing I would change about you. You are more than enough for me and I couldn't ask for a better girlfriend than you." He said as her heart swelled at his words bringing her to tears which made him laugh knowing they were happy tears.

"I love you, sweetheart." He said placing a kiss on her forehead.

"I  love you so much Eddie." You said smiling at him.

[drmflm]

summary: one day, you decide to treat yourself to get your nails done. little do you know, you’re in for a huge upheaval in your life—filled with so much comfort, patience, and paper cranes. And it’s all because of that purple-eyed nail tech.

pairing: nail tech!seungkwan x gn!reader

wordcount: 2.0k

genre: fluff, barely-there angst

au: nail salon, origami, low fantasy

rating: pg-13

warnings: mentions of an ex, mentions of revenge (but it’s for comedic effect), brief frustration

note: i had so much fun writing this one! (it’s totally not inspired by my new nails hehe) i hope you enjoy! and pls comment your guesses for what you think seungkwan and the reader are! i’d love to see them

The bell jingled, signalling your arrival. You smelled antiseptic cleaner and chemicals as soon as you walked in, paying no mind to the few patrons getting their hair or nails done. You heard pieces of conversations as you walked by, and the sound of low chatter was near-constant background noise which added to the salon’s entire ambience. When you reached the front counter, the receptionist gave you a welcoming smile, before sliding his glasses up his nose and directing you to sit down.

You looked around aimlessly as you waited, eavesdropping on some conversations happening around you. After a while you got tired of doing that, so you started drumming your fingers as you watched the clock tick down.

“Y/n?” A voice called out, before a brunette strolled out from behind the counter. You nodded. “Welcome, my name’s Seungkwan. What are we doing today?”

“Gel extensions, and a little nail art,” you replied as you stood up.

He nodded before he directed you to take a seat at his station. He plopped down on the other side of the table, and while he was setting everything up, you looked at all the bottles neatly lined up behind him.

There was everything from hair serums to fake talons and clay polish. You weren’t sure where to look because there was just too much to look at.

“Before we get started, did you have any—sensitivities or preferences I should be aware of?” he asked, reaching for your hand.

You took a moment to think it over before nodding once, “you can just do regular gel nails, as long as there is no glitter, gold, metallics, or precious metals in it.”

You saw a flash of recognition in his eyes as he tried to figure out what you were before he smiled and assured you he would accommodate your preferences. After talking over your chosen colour and shape, he started working diligently as he prepped your nails for the first base coat.

“What made you decide to get your nails done today?” he asked casually, trying to fill the silence with small talk to make you more comfortable.

You just shrugged back, “nothing really. I just thought it’d be cool to have long nails, especially ones with a cool theme or something.”

He made an affirmative hum as he nodded his head, “yeah, I’ve seen some really cool designs in Hongdae. Some people go really crazy with them.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” you laughed before refocusing on your hands, so they wouldn’t bump into anything, “I’ve seen people with nails as long as a walking cane—“

“Oh man, you wouldn’t even want to see the Guinness World Record for longest nails,” he said with a shiver. “I felt kinda grossed out when I first saw how long they were.”

You grimaced before he quickly changed the subject, chattering about work, and you in turn proceeded to tell him about your own work chronicles and love life.

“Dang, your ex sounds like a jerk,” he muttered as he filed your nails down. “I hope you left him after that.”

“I did, don’t worry,” you replied quickly. “I still feel sad, though. I wish I could’ve gotten revenge on him or something. I know it’s petty, but I just wish I could’ve gotten the last laugh.”

His bottom lip jutted out in concentration before he furrowed his brows and looked at you. “Why not? You can just go to his house and clog all his sinks with origami cranes.”

You blinked at him for a second, “are you serious? Paper cranes? I don’t even know how to fold a piece of paper without ripping it.”

“Maybe it’s time to learn,” he shrugged, before directing you to put your right hand into the dryer once more. “It’s said in Japanese legends that you will receive a wish if you fold a thousand paper cranes by the time you die.”

“What would I even do with all those cranes if I made them?” you muttered to yourself.

“Clog your ex’s sink with them,” Seungkwan replied with a mischievous smirk. “That’s what I did and it worked. All the affection I felt for them disappeared the moment they turned into a literal Godzilla and started smashing things.”

You nodded, “I’ll consider it.”

He smiled, “and if you ever need help folding them, just let me know and I’ll be happy to help.”

You couldn’t hear anything for a moment as you looked at his bright expression, duly nodding along to his words. As he painted little designs on your nails, time was nowhere to be found. The minutes flew by traitorously fast, and you were surprised when he eventually proclaimed them done.

When you checked them over, there was nothing you could find to extend your visit any longer. Your nails looked great—long, but not too long, in a shade that complimented your skin tone and made your hands look bejewelled in colour.

“They look perfect, thank you,” you said at last, before getting up and bowing politely.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, returning your bow and directing you toward the front counter. “I hope to see you again soon, so you can enrapture me with the continuation of that story.”

He winked at that, before going back to his station and cleaning up. You grinned at that.

“These things are stupid!” you exclaimed, as you failed for the nth time at folding an actual paper crane. You were just about ready to chuck out all the special origami paper in your house out of frustration. No matter how many YouTube tutorials, origami manuals, or lessons you went through, you just couldn’t wrap your head around how to make the beak look like, well, a beak.

“This is stupid, why do I even bother?” you sighed, crumpling up another failed attempt. Why did you even bother? For a cute nail tech? Because you wanted to upset your ex?

Nothing really made sense to you—how could you let a nail tech’s charm and affinity for mischief sway you into doing something so immature and stupid? Maybe he was doing something magically—perhaps he was a goblin or a nine-tailed fox out to wreak havoc in your life.

But something told you he was being genuine. You weren’t sure what it was—maybe it was simply that intuition which came with living so long in a world as unpredictable as this.

You looked back at the crumpled papers messily thrown around your table. It pained you to do this—yet, you trekked on. You searched for another tutorial, following it down to a T, pausing often to make sure everything looked right.

Before you knew it, you had finished a few cranes, not noticing the passing of time. Your new nails made it so easy to fold—they were great for making the folds more defined and crisp.

It was actually quite therapeutic you realized, as you continued to fold and fold, no longer thinking about your frustrations or anything else that was bothering you—like your ex. It was a welcome change, since every time you looked around your apartment, you’d always see all the little things he left behind, and it reminded you of when he left you.

But today, your attention was completely focused on the cranes, which continued to populate your table. They sprawled all over your living room, covering up the tablecloth he gave you, spilling past the rug he bought you on your second anniversary, and overflowing into the flowerpots his mother donated to you when you first moved in…

It was like the space grew homier, as though the missing person who resided in your walls had finally come home. The little cranes greeted you when you came home after a long day, they chased away the loneliness that used to seep into the doorways, along the baseboards, and through the walls.

It was like you had a thousand tiny friends waiting for you, always waiting for you.

Over the next three weeks, your house was completely overflowing with hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny little cranes. You often folded them on your breaks, when you got home from work, or while watching videos in the morning. Soon, you lost count of how many you made because on every vacant surface, there were colourful little cranes waiting for you. You even gave a few to your friends and family thank you gifts. Your friends were surprised, to say the least—nobody ever expected you of all people to enjoy origami.

Safe to say, when you returned to the nail salon to get your nails filled, you had enough paper cranes to fill an entire apartment in the middle of Seoul to the brim. Literally—everywhere you stepped, you somehow managed to step on one of your tiny paper cranes. Every inch of your apartment was crawling with them.

“Ah Y/n, you’re back!” Seungkwan exclaimed once he came out from the back. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” you replied as he set up, “I have an update for you.”

He raised his brows before recognition lit up his eyes as you handed him a purple and green crane. “You made them! How was it?”

You smiled, looking at him warmly, “It really helped, actually. Even if I didn’t trash my ex’s apartment with them, folding them really helped me feel better.”

“I’m glad,” he said warmly, returning your smile.

He started working on your nails, removing the remnants of colour and filing them down to a more manageable length. You two continued to make small talk as he worked, and when you showed him the next design you were looking for, he complimented you on your taste—which made you blush profusely.

“Hey, can I tell you something?” you asked after a moment. He hummed to show he was listening as he painted. “You asked me last time why I got my nails done that day, and I just said that I liked the designs I saw.”

You hesitated for a second before continuing, “Actually, it wasn’t just about the design. I felt really low, and I just couldn’t help but internalize everything my ex said to me when we broke up. I just felt hollow and like I was leading a very meaningless life. He was a part of my hoard, and losing him felt like I lost one of my most priceless treasures. But I don’t know, I just wanted to say thank you?” you took a shaky breath before looking at him. He paused painting for a moment. “You really made me feel better about everything, you even gave me something new to add to my hoard. And I just think that being able to talk about it and fold those cranes really gave me a boost.”

He smiled, “You don’t have to thank me Y/n. I’m glad I could help, but I think a lot of your improvement and growth happened because of you. Please don’t discredit yourself because this is your own achievement. I hope you know that I am proud of you.”

You couldn’t control the tears that slipped out, and he just smiled softly, nodding at your whispered ‘thank you’ before you instinctively reached to wipe them away. But before you could completely pull away, he let go and offered you a tissue. “May I? I don’t wanna wreck your beautiful nails”

You nodded, as he gently reached over to wipe your tears, “You’re gonna be okay Y/n.”

You didn’t need to see the purple in his eyes to truly believe him because you trusted him more than anything, “I know.”

Every fibre of your being agreed—your heart, your brain and most importantly your nails, which (if you looked at them closely enough), showed the fluttering wings of a purple and green, origami crane.

© 2022 svt117 . all rights reserved.

[tinyzoologist]

Um… who let me watch The Bear and The Terror in the same week? Anyway. Welcome to Hickey’s cursed little sandwich shop, where the prices are low and the meat is… something! 

modern AU, 556 words.

cw: implied cannibalism, fantasized violence, all around creepy behavior. 

He sees her through the frosted glass of the shop window. Must be 12:15, then. Every day, like clockwork - wrapped in fur, eyes like frozen concrete. Never speaking and never alone.

“Henry, check the walk-in for extra lettuce, yeah?” Hickey calls over his shoulder, honey-sweet and not a moment too soon. Can’t have Goodsir sniffing around behind the counter, making those big sad eyes at one of his only regulars. Not like Hickey’s still got him chained up in the basement overnight. Not like it’s his fault med school dropouts are pretty damn excellent at cutting meat. Goodsir could leave - so far he hasn’t. And Silence doesn’t need to come and get her lunch here every day - and yet she’s jingling the bell above his door right now. Peculiar thing, that. 

“The usual, love?” he asks, just to see her features curl into a hateful frown even as she nods her head. The dog beside her growls, low and deep in its chest. She doesn’t even have that thing on a leash but it sits there all the same, unmoving on its powerful white haunches, fixing Hickey with eyes that are too blue and too human and just… wrong. 

Coins clack on the countertop. He doesn’t need to count them to know it’s exact change for a tuna melt and a slice of beef tongue. He counts them anyway, flashes his customer a satisfied smirk that makes her flinch. The dog growls again.

“All good out here, boss?” Solomon, that protective idiot, pokes his head out of the kitchen, bread knife in hand as he nervously eyes both woman and beast. 

“Just peachy,” Hickey smiles, gaze still locked on the animal. Pets aren’t allowed in his shop but he’ll gladly make an exception for this one. He’s spent more than a few nights lying awake, wondering what it must be like, walking the streets with that kind of creature at your beck and call, crowds parting for you, knowing in your very bones that those powerful jaws answer to you and you alone… 

“Order up!” Thomas calls from the back. The sandwich is hot in Hickey’s clammy grasp, even through the wrapper. Silence snatches it from his hand, diligently avoiding his skin. He cuts the strip of tongue himself, paper-thin and pink as it curls in the woman’s palm, watches the dog swallow it down, nosing and lapping at its owner’s fingers with so much tenderness… Does it know it could take off her hand with one bite? 

Silence slaps her thigh once and the beast stands, turning to leave. Hickey knows he could tell one of his men to follow her. Knows any of them would jump at a chance to wring a noise, any noise, out of that eternally unmoving mouth. Well, maybe not Goodsir - weak stomach on that one. And scheming little shits they might be, maybe they deserve a bit more of his trust than he’s been willing to give them. After all, they’ve kept their traps shut about the men he’s been fucking in the storage closet, about this place’s previous owner and all the unlabeled hunks of meat in the big freezer chest. They’ve been good. They deserve a bit of fun.

“Tomorrow,” Hickey mutters to himself as the door jingles shut again. He wipes his counter and smiles. 

[eldritch-spouse]

holy shit I think there’s something wrong with me… I can’t stop thinking about Vinnel chasing me from some random place and chasing me into the clergy. Like the worlds most fucked up horror game of hide and seek. Where i’m crawling and scrambling to hide away in a spare bedrooms closet or small crevice to try to get away from him. Hearing the jingle of the bells and holding my breath knowing damn well he can float and is making noise on purpose to psych me out… I can’t stop thinking about the delicious adrenaline and fear thinking about all the horrible things Vinnel would do to me if he caught me… the way he would giddily mock me while trying to find where i’m hiding, knowing it’s nothing more than a fun little game to him. oh noooo I hope he doesn’t find me in a small enclosed space where there’s no where to run or hide, that would be terribleee

[Great taste, anon. 👌]

Any escape attempts of yours absolutely are treated like nothing more than a silly little game. Because you have no chance, no advantage, no weapons to fight with.

Oh poppet, it would almost be sad, if it wasn't so hysterical.

Part of his taunts involve making offers. If you come out now, he promises he will let you choose where he carves his name. It's a pinkie promise, and Vinnel swears he'd never break one of those! Shucks, maybe you're more of a branding iron type of dolly, that's more than fine! He's a jack of all trades, after all.

Any perceived enjoyment of yours from this will immediately get scrutinized and mocked severely. Naturally not because he's genuinely disgusted by it, but because he wants to hit where it hurts and have you bawl your eyes out in shame.

Speaking of, always remember that one of the surefire ways to make Vinnel lighten up his treatment is to cry. This jester loves a good crybaby.

[steviebears]

Okay read has ADD and eddie seems to have be the only one who knows how to handle her. They are dating. He can read her cues like when she is angry or sad or depressed. She is also a hyper sensitive person. (https://www.verywellmind.com/highly-sensitive-persons-traits-that-create-more-stress-4126393 here is a bit more information on HSP) So she has sensory issues and eddie descover she likes the sound of bells so he will always keep bells on him. She will bring it up to her ears and jingel it. He will give them to her when her anxiety it's to much for her or when she overthinks. The group find it annoying when she mindlessly jingles her bells but eddie finds very cute. When she doesn't have her bells she will play with his hands. His rings klink together and she loves the sound they make eddie doesn't mind and let's he play with his fingers while he will just continue talking to who ever he was talking with. When she isn't play with his hands she will have him talk to her she loves hearing him speak and laugh she could listen to him all day. Physical touch is a big thing for her while playing with his hand she will bring it up to her cheek and keep it there for a while. She is really affectionate and loves hugs. According to her eddie and Dustin give the best hugs. Eddie loves her long hugs. He loves her affection and never say no to her hugs.she will always be touching him in some way. Eddie loves that when she is up set she will just crawl into his lap and just sit there for a while holding onto him he gladly holds onto her kisses her face head and neck and just sits with her playing with her fingers and whispered sweet nothings in her ears.

Okay so she as a really hard time focusing and she get super frustrated when she is studying. When she does eddie will just holder or take her mind off studying by making her laugh or he will play fight with her. She is super talkative and eddie loves it. He could listen to her all day with her never ending stories . She isn't really hyper but there are days where she has alot of energy so Eddie has to help her keep her calm from exploding all that energy. So he will take her on walks or dance with her in his room or play games with like the are 5 year old kids. Like playing tag with her. She can sometimes super focus on a thing and just zone out. She day dreams alot so much that she just stares at eddie who of course doesn't mind he likes That her eyes are on him. And one day Dustin ask why does she do that and eddie just says she is day dreaming so she will zone out completely. She hates crowds and loud noises. So one day her parents put her on ADHD medication and she became a complete zombie. She became quite as in really quiet and eddie obviously noticed this so he asks her why is she all quite and stuff. Reader doesn't want to tell him she is on meds so she just shrugs she shoulders. As the day goes on he noticed she isn't her self and becomes super worried. So when he is driving her home he stops his van and speaks up about it. He notcies how she is on the verge of crying and embraces her he let her cry for a bit till she calms down. As she explains that she is on medication her overthinking mind start to take over and she goes on about how annoying she can be and how sensitive she can be and that he finds her super annoying cause it's like taking care of a 5 year old. That her start getting annoyed with her and just dump her cause of how she is and how she isn't good enough for him. She goes on about how in mature she is and that she will never be woman enough for him (this is what my ex told me in real life after cheating on me) Eddie's heart breaks as he hears how she talks bad about her self and just tells her to stop. He tells her how she is the most beautiful person to him. How she lights up his day with her sillyness and endless stories that never seem to end because of all the mini stories in between or things she remembers and that he finds it cute when she does that. He tells her how he loves when she plays with his hands and gives him super long hugs. He tells her how beautiful her mind is and how she can think quickly on her feet. How she can come up with new and fun storylines for dnd. He tells her how he loves dancing with her in his room and their deep late night talks about the most stupidest things like if a vegetarian became a zombie would the eat other vegetarians or what. He tells her how he loves when she walks into a room and forgot why she walked in then watch her walk out only for her to come back into the room rembering what she wanted He loves that fact that this is part of her and of who she is. He tells her how he love all of her. her beautiful diamond mind included. He tell her how se means the world to him and he wouldn't change one thing about her. He tells her how she is more that enough for him and he couldn't ask for better girlfriend than her. She just listens with such interest that she starts crying again because of how sweet he is being crying again he just laughs knowing they are happy tears and just hold her tightly and says aww sweetheart I love you so and just kisses her head. So she calms down and looks at him and tells him she loves him very much. He kisses her and smiles as he does.

Pronouns are she/her

there isn't much i could add you basically wrote this yourself 😭 i'm sorry

[fairycosmos]

i was convinced that my room was being haunted for a few months last year because there were just so many little things that kept happening… i sort of forget them now but things would just randomly fall over without me touching them, big things too, like jars of makeup and stuff, and my things would go missing, especially hair elastics (and i would usually blame that on my cat but she isn’t allowed in my room) like i would purposely leave them places that i would remember but then they would disappear. i think honestly it was just messing with me a bit. and also i would feel really really intense feelings of being watched, especially when i was falling asleep, like i could pinpoint where i was being watched from and everything, but of course nothing was there. i would also hear things — my theory was that it was a little ghost girl and her pet cat (??😭) because i’d always hear the sound of a bell jingling, just slightly, sort of like a cat toy, but there was nothing around that could make that noise, and i used to hear it almost every night but since then i haven’t heard it. and this was like a 4 month period last winter, and near the beginning of it i had my first nightmare IN MY LIFE — like i had literally never had a nightmare before and i haven’t since but i think the ghost did it 😭 but i think after a while it got bored of me and moved on. oh my god wait i just remembered the biggest thing… basically at first i was convinced that herobrine had escaped from my xbox and was haunting me…. yeah it was a joke at first but this all started happening after i opened some of my minecraft worlds i hadn’t used since i was a kid, and at some point i got a hamster and named it herobrine because he “needed a sacrifice” (i was still joking atp) but then the hamster fucking died 😭 and i was taking PERFECT care of it, like i’m a bit obsessive when it comes to pet care and i do intense amounts of research, there was genuinely nothing that could’ve killed it other than….. herobrine 😭

herobrine 😭😭 imagine the ghost that was fucking with you really is that old urban legend from minecraft like imagine this is how we find out ghosts are real lmfaooo please that's so funny. the idea of a little girl and her cat is so sad and cute though im :(( maybe she was watching you and your cat and joking around with you lol. i've read that hearing bells can be a sign of dead loved ones, angels and fairies too, but ofc that's all just like old wives tales and stuff. anyway i'm with that one anon who said check your house for gas leaks co2 leaks etc etc because they can really make you feel like youre being fucked with but honestly the hamster dying is sooooo i teared up a bit reading it lmfao. rip <3 wonder what happened to the poor little baby. agh, tysm for sharing!

[starry-skies-116]

Mutant!Afton Children AU- Part 3: The Fleeting Calm Before The Storm

The jingling of bells. The creak of a door. A fox with small eyes of pure, encapsulated beads of sunlight- dwelling upon the hill, staring straight at him as the grass bent lazily in the wind.

The gentle fluttering of a breeze nestled up against the shutters, and yet the twilight was silent.

The strange sadness remained as dusk continued to also remain on the precipice of falling- like dangling over the edge of a cliff with crags and dust laden upon its rough and unseemly, raw earth. There was a town, teeming with the brilliance of life and majesty, an elegance and sophistication- and then there was ruin, the canyons and mighty mountains painted red with blood.

The scarlet bloom lasted only a second before Michael blinks, and the sight is gone again, replaced by the sight- the smell and taste of home. His eyes darken- his hands slacken and fall at his side, lip thinning, eyes transfixed as he is locked deep into an ethereal, otherworldly stupor of vertigo and the sensation of falling and flying all at once.

There are voices echoing in his head- whispers of pasts and futures, phantom visions akin to memories that he didn’t recognize. Michael’s ribs are on the verge of fracturing- were those his? Were they not? Perhaps they were from a different lifetime altogether that also once belonged to the same soul?

There was a tingling heat- his skin burning and boiling like liquid lava from within and around, blood alight and bubbling like water on a stove. The peculiar choking noise that escaped from Michael’s throat is palpable, making his own throat dry and the pounding in his chest grow faster still as the heat crackles into newly born electricity.

Memories both familiar and foreign are reflected in shards of glass upon the dilapidated floor, a tingling upon the tip of his tongue- blooming akin to color amidst a black and white canvas, brilliant thunder streaking across dark skies once a dull and unassuming led grey, mighty and sublime and oh so glorious.

And yet, even as his thoughts swam like scattered schools of fish in his mind, Michael felt a strange fondness glancing upon the thunder- a peculiar enlightenment of sorts, the feeling was. The heavens were being rent asunder, fettered and disturbed, rage being quelled only to rise again like a calamitous tide, and yet the sight was calming- soothing the troubled soul, in many ways.

And as the storm crested over the overcast skies, drowning the world in shadow and the light drizzle contrasting the roar of the flashing light amidst darkness above Michael, it scared him to his core how at peace he truly felt.

And just as it began, the dream was over.

Transient, like lightning.

The world, all but fleeing embers and shadows.

Michael awoke with the taste of faint rain and the numbing burn of a chill in his mouth as he clicks his tongue, tsking and glancing around to his room laden with posters, musical instruments, action figures, haphazardly scattered papers and comic books, and a variety of merchandise.

The dusk of the previous night and the subtle paleness of the hazy moonlight had not yet faded- dawn hadn’t even broken. The murky, overcast embers of twilight clouded the lens of his vision as he blinked multiple times to clear his head, to no avail. The full moon was a bright coin in the sky, stars attending and flanking it perfectly, some of the celestial bodies masked by coffee-dark clouds- the calm before an upcoming storm. 

The vertigo still remains faintly, and the brunette, with burning blue eyes staring upon his trembling hands, cannot quite recall or discern whether or not what he experienced was a nightmare of sorts- if anything, it felt more like a vague omen of what was to come. The lightning soothing him, entrancing him in such a hypnotic manner that he leaned in, craned his neck and closed his eyes against the light, phantasmal sensation of a drizzle on his face to listen to more.

That fox on the hill… the mighty storm cresting the heavens above him as dusk was barely about to fall… the lingering taste of rain on his tongue and a comforting dampness upon his body as the draft let his soul float happily adrift…

“I’m going crazy,” the disgruntled teen grumbles as he hauls himself out of bed and tiptoes to his younger brother’s room- this was one of the rare occasions where he was locked deep in slumber, entranced and perfectly peaceful, as calm as the prophetic dream had made Michael feel. As sick as he was, it appeared he was relatively fine as of now.

Feeling an odd sense of satisfaction for unknown reasons upon glimpsing his sleeping brother, he finds himself navigating carefully across the floorboards of their house to his sister’s room- Elizabeth’s room.

“Liz?” he tentatively calls, resisting the urge to recoil as the door unceremoniously opens with a loud and unbecoming creak. No soft moan or the shifting of fabric meets him as the usual response due in kind.

“Lizzy?” he calls again, chiding himself for following through with such a poorly thought out action- what was he doing, waking his younger sister up at twelve in the morning just because he couldn’t sleep. 

In yet another poor decision, Michael fumbles around to flick the light switch on and finds her room just as messy as it was, with ballerina slippers, dresses and toys strung around its perimeter… and yet no sign of Elizabeth. Not even her curly ginger hair peeked out from under the obnoxiously bright pink and white-patterned covers.

“Elizabeth!” Michael practically whisper-yells, jacknifing into a panicked and hunched over position as his eyes darted around the room. Where in blazes could she have meandered off to at this hour? Before a storm, no less!

“Mi…el…!”

Huh? The sound was coming from above, the brunette realizes as his alarmed gaze shot skyward. “Liz?” he calls hoarsely- even his voice was failing him.

“Michael!” the voice shrieks from above, and the older’s heart plummets into his chest with dread. She sounded frightened out of her mind. Before any reasonable decision could be made, Michael finds himself sprinting out the front entrance in his pajamas, throwing the door open and scrambling frantically out onto the porch, barefoot and wide-eyed, mouth dry with raw fear.

“Elizabeth!?” he tries to scream amidst the howl of a faint, dangerous breeze bordering on the edge of a storm, only to be met with the same shrill, frightened cry from above: “Up here! Above you!”

Michael almost choked and doubled over from shock.

“What the HELL are you doing on the bloody roof of our house!?”

Indeed, there she was, still dressed in her pink pajamas with those signature white heart patterns. Her hair was tied up into a haphazard, messy ponytail done with a red scrunchie to keep it out of her face.

“I don’t know!” she cries, verdant gaze wide with tears as the brine edges out and flows down her cheeks, looking sick to her stomach. “All I know is that one moment I was in my bed, and I feel a whoosh and a surge, and the next thing you know I’m on the roof of the house! As if I teleported!”

Teleported!? This girl, honestly. “And you expect me to believe you!?” Michael calls, louder this time- the howl of the winds around were growing stronger with each passing moment, he realizes with alarm. The ginger-haired girl spreads her arms in exasperation, already incredulous, brows furrowed and mouth in an ‘O’ shape as if she took great offense to such a rhetorical question. “Well do you see a flipping stepladder propped up anywhere nearby, you half-wit! Just get me down from here already, lest I freeze to death up here!” she wails, stomping her foot against the roof’s surface.

“Hush! I’m on it!” Michael replies, rushing inside and back to his room to try and climb up to the roof, his surroundings a blur. He winces as he feels the wind howling around him, dampening his clothes and forcing goosebumps to spike on his skin, clenching his teeth as he glances down to his frightened sister. “I’m coming to get you, alright?” he yells, voice hoarse from all the screaming. “Just don’t be scared, and be careful!”

“What in blazes is going on here!? What are you two doing up on the roof!”

The both of them freeze. “Father’s voice,” they say in unison, not knowing whether to feel saved or threatened as they made eye contact- once this whole ordeal was over, they were both dead. “Please, no,” Michael groans, facepalming. “I’m already grounded!”

“He’ll ground you till you’re middle aged, then,” Elizabeth croons mockingly with a scowl on her face, to which Michael glowers back. “Oi! Shut up and let me save you!”

There was a small gasp that escaped from his throat as he tries to slip further, further, her figure growing closer as he arrives just within reach. Father running around anxiously without a moment’s hesitation to grab a stepladder to bring them both down to safety. There was a crackle- a scream ripping clean from Elizabeth’s throat akin to a ringing bell.

“What!?” he yells before he finds himself screaming as well.

Screaming in pain, screaming his throat raw.

Then there was the sensation of the periphery of his eyes going a pure, brilliant white- of the darkness in the sky now practically nonexistent as Michael only saw pure, heavenly brilliance. There was his body crumpling, figures rushing out of their houses to watch on in horror, the entirety of his already fleeting life chronicled in but a few short lines as his breath left him, as his blood, flesh and bone turned to liquid bubbling lava.

Yet he… wasn’t melting? 

No. He wasn’t injured in the slightest. He was crackling, alight, glowing from within, pure and raw energy incarnate coursing through his body, power surging and rising from within as he sees a symbol emblazoned onto his chest glancing downward- beyond mortal comprehension yet encroaching him, also within his grasp. 

His gut was crackling from within, rumbling with the roar of thunder, exhilarating and yet terrifying, painful and yet feeling so powerful containing such massive amounts of energy, thrumming in his blood and coursing through his veins. Would he die if he made one wrong move?

“Help-!” Michael shrieks, except his voice wasn’t quite his own- no, he spoke with the voices of a thousand souls. “Michael!” someone shrieks- the voices are muted, behind a thick pane of glass, fifty feet underwater- he can’t tell who it is, nor can he see through the brine edging out from his eyes and the sheer amount of light.

The horror of it all… it forces his body, finally, to convulse and force his gaze skyward as his body shivers and spasms, arms trembling, and he stretches his arm towards the sky, the fabric of his pajamas torn. A sublime strike of lightning, brightening the heavens in unparalleled and near-divine brilliance, the moment stretching out into forever- and vision fails him as he loses balance and stumbles right to prevent himself from falling.

“F…ather…?” he desperately calls out as he feels multiple hands grabbing him, taking his limp and shivering, damp body into their arms and helping him down from the surroundings he could no longer see.

What is going on anymore.

***

Author’s Note: yooooo they gained powerssss~