#The Author Regrets Nothing

[midnightanxietytm]

He takes his whiskey neat

A/N: Look, I think i was possessed while writing this one /j. It was like 1 am and I was procrastination on college work, I dunno what happened but this is the ungodly spawn of my imagination mixed with sleep deprivation, caffeine and stress. Enjoy and don't question it too much

Contents: Ford Pines x reader, pinning (lots of pining), I pictured reader in their late 40s to early 50s so there is an age gap but nothing extreme. There's some plot in those holes. uhhh lots of tension and no payoff because im pretty sure I passed out before I got to that part.

Word count: 996

There’s this look on his eyes now that you can’t quite figure out.

Ever since Stanford Pines came back from the portal, ever since weirdmageddon and the end of that fateful summer, something about him fundamentally changed. There’s contempt, relief, sure, but there's more to it, something that he keeps deep in that rattling metal-protected brain of his.

And god forbid sometimes you just want to pick him apart entirely, figure out every detail, note it down, absorb it, maybe then his mere presence won’t entice you, mess you, so goddamn much.

It culminates, as all events are bound to do, right before that year’s summer vacation, you blame the heat. 

Soos and Melody took a vacation for themselves, entrusting the shack back to Stan’s less than trustworthy hands, just like old times. Ford slips back into the basement so easily you almost follow him; your mind briefly longing for that nostalgia of being freshly out of college, when you and Ford were easily impressed by the oddness of the world.

You were a prodigy; a good ten years younger than him yet still doing your masters while he did his doctorate, and in the same area with similar themes! Back then, you two were just bright-eyed yet very tired academics… Then Gravity Falls presented itself on a silver platter, and Bill followed through.

You were there, on the day of the portal, or at least, almost there, going back for the thousandth time, expecting no answer to your knocks at the door as usual, only to be met with the fallout of something far worse than refusal.

And then he was back, less jittery, less paranoid and less sleep deprived than he was before at least. But there was that thing in his eyes, that inherent distrust, detachment…? You struggled to find the words and if there’s one thing that you as a scientist can’t deal with is a question that goes unresearched.

So it began; your “research” depended on experiment and to experiment, you firstly decided to get close to your unwilling subject. And you go down the rabbit hole.

You find him in the basement, of course. He’s drawing on loose sheets of paper, some of the discarded pieces lay on the floor, and the cd player by his side is playing just loud enough to muffle your footsteps as you approach him by his right side. “Updating the journal?” You ask, nonchalantly, as if you hadn't obsessively turned each page of his journals before, as if your own handwriting wasn’t squeezed in the first ones before his old muse took all the space left.

Ford just hums, raising his chin slightly, but not his eyes, just to acknowledge the question. “Not really, just trying to get some proportion practice. Looking back, some of my work on the first journal was… Not the best.” 

A chuckle leaves your mouth; “If you say so…” You hum, picking up one of the filled out pages that were pushed aside in the table and pretending to look it over as he places his pen down and looks up at you.

“Any advice?” He asks, and once again you pretend to be paying attention to anything but him and his every movement.

“Not really… I think you’re good.” You place the paper back at the table, leaning against it. “Thought you’d be going through your abstract phase by now, honestly.” And you smirk down at him.

He leans back, crossing his arms; “I fear I’m too logical to have an abstract phase, even my craziest dreams have math and science behind them.” And you both laugh, and your curiosity itches more and more every millisecond.

The next words that leave your mouth were planned and inwardly rehearsed, but they come out natural as a summer breeze. “Every tortured artist has an abstract phase, get on with the times, sixer!” It comes out as a joke, it's a test. And suddenly you’re too nervous to stay there, staring at him and waiting for a rebuttal. You push yourself off the table and zipline to one of the bookshelves, reaching towards the back of it, you pull the ‘eureka whiskey’ and the two cups.

He just watches you for a second, then accepts the cup as you pour him one, then one for yourself. 

And it’s truly the eureka whiskey, because goddamn you just found something in those eyes. 

He takes a sip; “Yeah I guess those portal days would do for some good surrealist pieces at least.”

“I can’t even imagine.” You say.

He smirks, lips inches from his cup. “You can’t…” He takes a sip. “That’s the point of surrealist.” You want his brain under a microscope, you want his breath mixing with yours, you want to never see him again, you want to wake up near him every day.

The curse of science is that in the endeavor to figure out the world, the scientist often loses sight of themselves. 

The witty remarks, the planned lines, the psychological strategies, all fly out of you head and you lean back against his desk. He’s leaned further back now and his chair is turned diagonally towards you and he watches with a smile and those eyes. “What did you see?” It’s almost a whisper, because you think he might actually tell you, and that scares you more than anything.

“Too much…” He swallows, sighs, takes a swing of whiskey and rests the empty cup on the desk. “It was very chaotic, honestly that’s all I want to say…” You sigh, pushing yourself up to sit at his desk, and his head tilts as he watches you. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” You settle, even though it doesn’t even come near to all the things you want to express. He smiles, and his eyes travel down, landing on your hands, holding your barely touched whiskey glass. You follow his gaze, and chuckle. “I’m more of a whine person.”

“I know…”

[doraminatook]

Whatever (Put My Body to Work) (a fanfic)

Specifically, a Good Omens fanfic.

Synopsis:

Aziraphale chooses his words carefully. He doesn't shag or f*ck...he makes love. But Crowely knows that he's wants to explore activities beyond "the vanilla stuff". When a terrible storm blows in, the demon decides today would be a great day to do WHATEVER his angel wants. After all, how dirty could Aziraphale’s mind be, anyway? ;)

Words: 4,368

:::

They had planned to go on a picnic that day, but the weather had other ideas; a terrible storm had blown through the city, bringing with it a torrential downpour of rain, thunder, lightning, and even hail now and again.  Staring out the window of the bookshop, Crowley was mixed with emotions: on the one hand, he knew that Aziraphale would be disappointed as he had spent a great deal of time planning this excursion, but, on the other hand, a terribly perfect idea had been sitting on the backburner of the demon’s mind.  Today might be the day.  

He broke away from the sight of the awful tempest and meandered back to the kitchen.  To his great surprise, Aziraphale was still busy at work, packing up various pieces of fruit, cutting cheeses for sandwiches, and deciding whether today was a Château Margaux kind of day or a Dom Perignon Brut kind of day.   

Crowley raised an eyebrow as he inquired, “Whatcha doing, Angel?”

His beloved was inspecting a wheel of Reblochon as he answered cooly, “I’m getting ready for our date.  Do you prefer French cheese or Italian cheese?”

Thunder cracked.

“We aren’t going on the picnic today, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, “In case you hadn’t noticed, The Almighty is apparently sending another flood out there.”  

The angel looked genuinely caught off guard, and Crowley began to wonder if maybe he’d been so invested in planning the perfect spread, he hadn’t noticed the weather.  

“Oh, I just…I just assumed…” Aziraphale began weakly, “I just assumed that you’d be able to do something about that.”  

Crowley shook his head, “I can do short bursts of weather manipulation, but I can’t make a godforsaken squall dissipate.  Sorry, Angel,” he walked further into the kitchen and sniffed the cheese in Aziraphale’s hands, “That smells disgusting.”  

If he was attempting to begin fun banter, the angel wasn’t taking the bait.  He still looked disappointed beyond belief, even heartbroken.  The slight pout on Aziraphale’s lip only furthered Crowley’s resolve.  He took the disgusting cheese from his angel’s grip, set it on the counter, and purred, “It’s alright.  I have an idea of something else we could do today.”

:::

Want to read more? Check out my Archive of Our Own page below:

[alkaisheonhelp]

A Sagau, with reader being the disguise omnipotent being.

It's not quite much, just the usual Sagau AU where reader is the creator or something, no cult or that the archon have 'divine revelation' that The Creator is there, it's just omnipotence reader hanging out with the twins and paimon (yes the three of them know what you are.)

Its been awhile since you go down to check up on one of your beloved creation: Teyvat, it's not that you don't know what's happening around this creation of yours, you just never really have the time to actually go down and check, luckily your fellow fated companions are always traveling and checking on each nation and lands.

Aether and lumine are their name, also with their little companion, paimon.

You spawn on an open field in monstadt, walking towards one statue of the seven, you have already signalled for the twins that you have came down and wished to be guided in this journey through Teyvat.

You see a white blob in the distance, alongside 2 goldens. !!!

"Paimon!!" With an incredible speed, paimon zoom towards you, stopping just inches Infront of you before she straighten herself and bow

"your highness the creator! I'm- er- We! are here by your call!"

Not long after the golden twin joined her, also bowing. You fret a little, panicking, explaining that you just want to be more closer to Teyvat more.

"I see.... then, since we're in monstadt already, we might as well visit monstadt while showing you around, your highness" lumine thought already planning their journey.

"but your highness, if it's alright with you, your disguise may have to changed a bit" Aether chimed in, assessing the garment that you wore from your world. Understanding what he meant you asked what type of possible disguise that's not too flasy not too invisible.

"maybe something like what we have? People already knows us since long ago, so maybe if we told them you are our relative or that you are from the same place as us, it'll be believable enough?" Paimon thought, giving you the bestest idea she has in her tiny little brain.

That is quite a good idea though, so for now you just roll with it and change the modern clothes you are wearing to something akin to what the twins or paimon are wearing.

And now you're on your way to one of your beloved nation, the nation of winds and freedom!

Um..... hello? Oh well, it's been awhile since my last post, and I'm not sure if I'll continue that one nor this one, but I'll try my best, anyway~

This one is just my brain begging for some platonic/non-tragedy Sagau where reader is just like, chilling, and everyone knows they have a creator but don't know the creator is you, and that only the approved one knows that you are their creator.... I felt like I'm going on a loop.

Okay, that's all for now, it's late and I'm tired, I wanted to sleep. Good night.

[zemkzone]

I’m not sending Scarlet in there without knowing what he’s getting into.

— Leonard Snart to Mick Rory, Ch18 of That Rare Arctic Thunderstorm

Chapter'll be up on March 29!

[i-am-bella-donna]

Debrief

AO3

Story Summary:

Sir Pentious was not an expert at handling emotions, be it his own or those of others. But he would be damned a second time if he let his doubts prevent him from helping a friend.

Pairings: Platonic Charlie x Sir Pentious

Word Count: 2,125

CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

A/N: At last, this story is done. It has been in the works since Dad Beat Dad came out.

I wish the fandom gave Sir Pentious more attention. He seems like someone who is well-meaning and compassionate, but very awkward about showing it. Additionally, he was born in the 1800s. He has a lot of life experience, and may be the only main character who can rival Charlie in terms of age (assuming it is still canon that she is 200). My point is, I think he has the potential to be more than just comic relief. Hence—this.

Also, I have missed writing hurt/comfort. Enjoy!

~~~

Sir Pentious would be the first to admit it—emotions were not his strong suit.

He experienced them, of course. He had yet to meet a Sinner who lacked emotions—even Alastor was prone to bouts of irritation whenever the subject of his television rival arose.

But having emotions was one thing. Talking about them was another thing entirely.

Five months ago, he would not have dared. But those past five months had made all the difference.

So here he was.

Squaring his shoulders, Pentious summoned his courage and knocked on the door.

Only a few beats passed before it flew open, and Charlie grinned up at him brightly. “Hello, Pentious! Did you need something?”

Her smile was contagious, as it had been since Lucifer departed earlier that day, and Pentious found himself returning the expression when he replied, “Actually, dear, I was hoping to speak with you. Do you have a moment to chat?”

Charlie was stepping aside and ushering him into the room before he could even finish his sentence. “Of course!”

He followed her inside and was instantly greeted by an explosion of belongings scattered about. Following his gaze, Charlie laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of her neck. “Sorry about the mess—I was just packing for Heaven.”

“So soon?”

“Well, yeah!” She bounced on her toes. “We don’t know when the meeting will be yet, so it’s better to be prepared. I just can’t believe this is really happening!” Charlie laughed, equal parts excited and disbelieving. “I can’t believe most of today, actually.”

For just a second, Charlie stilled, her normally bottomless energy coming to a halt and her smile slipping off her face before being immediately plastered back on. It was so quick, Pentious almost thought he had imagined it.

Almost.

“So!” Charlie exclaimed as though nothing had happened. She sat on her bed with a bounce and gestured for him to join her at one of the chairs. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Actually,” Pentious began, taking a seat and a moment to steel his nerves. “You already brought it up.”

There it was again—for less than a heartbeat, Charlie faltered.

Pentious was an engineer, first and foremost. Machines and gadgets were his domain. On the contrary, people confused him greatly. A flicker of emotion could mean anything, with tells varying from person to person like favorite colors or coffee preferences. That being said, he was an expert at gathering evidence—and regardless of its meaning, the expression on her face when Charlie froze was an obvious sign that something was wrong.

Probably.

Maybe he should have pushed harder for Angel to come up here instead.

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked, and Pentious internally winced at the note of caution in her tone. It was barely there—he might not have recognized it at all, had he not already seen the same glimmer of emotion that morning. When Charlie had been on the phone with her father, no less—the last person who should have inspired such caution in her.

It was sad at first. It was even sadder now.

But instead of voicing his thoughts, he decided to start with a simple question. “How are you feeling, Charlie?”

Charlie blinked.

Pentious waited.

He could be patient, far more than the others gave him credit for—if he had been one to give up easily, his beloved Egg Bois would never have progressed past the stage of yellow gunk on his laboratory floor.

Finally, Charlie pulled together an answer. “I’m happy.”

Despite the cheery tone, it was a testament to her exhaustion that Charlie did not punctuate the statement with her usual exclamation points and verbal emojis. She now bore a closer resemblance to the anxious demon doing Lucifer knows what in the Hotel lobby that morning.

Perhaps he should have brought his concerns to Vaggie instead of approaching Charlie directly. What if his involvement only made the situation worse?

Well, it was too late to turn back now.

“Of course,” he said nervously. “Just…”

What was it that Charlie always said about healthy relationships?

Be honest.

Pentious took a deep breath and tried again. “I noticed you seemed incredibly worried when we were preparing the Hotel this morning. More nervous than any young lady should be at the thought of seeing her father.”

Charlie laughed awkwardly, turning away from him slightly and tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think I really count as young, Pentious—”

“And the two of you improved your relationship today—which is truly wonderful!” He continued at a hurried pace, averting his eyes as he spoke. “But, dear—you can’t deny that you’ve had quite a day. So…” He swallowed. “After all of that, how are you feeling?”

Charlie stared.

Before he could react, she was lunging from her seat and wrapping her arms around him.

Pentious startled but returned the embrace, worry morphing into something more akin to alarm. “Are you…all right?” he asked her tentatively.

She pulled away, both her smile and eyes bright. “Sorry!” she said with a laugh, swiping at her eyes. “Sorry, just—that’s so sweet!” Her smile softened. “I’m so proud to see how far you’ve come, Pentious.”

Had the circumstances been any different, Pentious would have taken the opportunity to bask under the praise. However, he had come here with a mission, and he could not help but notice….

“You’re deflecting, dear,” he pointed out gently.

Charlie stiffened, her smile growing sheepish, and Pentious watched with an internal wince as she all but deflated at the callout. “Is it that obvious?”

“You were a bit of a wreck this morning,” he admitted, watching her carefully. “Both Angel and I have been quite concerned.”

“Angel?”

“Of course!” Was she really so surprised to learn that they had been worried about her? “He would have come here himself, had he not needed to check on Husk.”

Charlie blinked, back straightening. “Wait, Husk? What’s wrong with Husk?”

Shit.

“Nothing, dear!” he quickly backtracked, trying to steer away from that precarious topic. Now was not the time. “Husk is fine—Angel just needed to speak with him about something.” It was technically true. A little more firmly, Pentious continued. “And we aren’t talking about Husk right now. We’re talking about you.”

Charlie blinked again. “What about me?”

“Are you okay, Charlie?”

She smiled.

Pentious returned the gesture with a tentative smile of his own.

Her smile fell.

Pentious silently extended a hand, allowing her to collect herself as she set her hand in his. She blinked rapidly, taking a shuddering breath before she spoke.

“I’m happy Dad and I made up,” she finally tried. Her voice was high, as though she was asking a question. “Really, I am! But it’s also…”

Charlie faltered, eyes darting around.

After a moment, Pentious offered, “Bittersweet?”

“I…yeah.”

Her eyes were glistening slightly, but she did not seem to notice, and Pentious squeezed her hand lightly. When she did not continue, he cleared his throat and decided to try a different approach. “Did you know I was a father in life?”

Now that got her attention.

Her head snapped up. “You were?”

Pentious smiled fondly at both her reaction and the memories. “I was,” he said. “I had two beautiful children—a son and a daughter. In Heaven now, hopefully.”

Almost certainly—he had spent the majority of his afterlife scouring Hell for a sign of them. Over a century after his own death, Pentious could finally rest easy with the knowledge that his children had most likely made it past the pearly gates.

“I may not have been the best man, but I like to believe I was a good father.” His children had both adored him. After his wife died, he did his best to keep a roof over their head and food on the table—no matter the cost. “And…” His voice grew more serious. “Even after all these decades in Hell, if my daughter ever worried about interacting with me as much as you worried about interacting with your own father, I would know I had failed as a parent.”

Charlie froze.

And then she erupted.

“It’s not like—it’s nothing like that!” she blurted out.

“Charlie—”

“My dad was never exactly a bad parent—and he’s already doing better, too—”

“Charlie—”

“And I really didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea! Really, it’s fine—”

“Charlie,” Pentious interrupted, and she miraculously fell silent.

He swallowed hard, regret twisting his gut. Why had he decided to lead this conversation? Why could he not leave well enough alone?

Unfortunately, it was too late to have doubts—and Pentious was not a quitter.

“Charlie,” he tried again, speaking more calmly this time. “I…I am not trying to say that you shouldn’t love your father. And I’m not calling him a bad man.” Even if Pentious really wanted to judge his parenting skills. “Watching you two reconcile was heartwarming. What I am trying to say is…your relationship improving doesn’t mean it has to be fine just yet. If…if you have mixed feelings, that is completely understandable.”

Was he explaining himself correctly?

Despite the temptation to backtrack, Pentious swallowed and focused on Charlie as she mulled over his words. It was a testament to her doubt that she did not meet his eyes when she spoke. “I want to move on from the past.”

“And you can,” he promised, his heart aching for her. “You and your father can have a genuinely happy relationship. He clearly adores you.” He hesitated. “But…well, it’s like you’ve said before: communication and trust are the most important parts of a relationship. Right?”

Was he remembering that correctly? After all the speeches Charlie had given on the topic, he certainly hoped so.

“Things may not be okay right now, but they can improve. You just need to talk to him more. Have an…an open conversation about the past.”

With his thoughts finally out, Pentious let out a breath. There—he had finally said it.

Charlie was silent as she chewed on her lower lip. It was a far cry from her usual optimism. Pentious was sad to see her looking so lost. So…young.

He knew Charlie was technically older than him—but Hellborn demons aged at a different rate, did they not? In some matters, he was more experienced than her, and that realization hit him like a train.

Charlie hesitantly broke the silence, drawing him from his thoughts. “What if I only make things worse?”

She appeared visibly embarrassed by the question. Still, this was one question Pentious could answer with certainty.

“If your father loves you—and we both know he does—then he’ll be willing to listen to you,” he reassured her, setting both of his hands on her shoulders. “And he’ll be willing to put in the effort to fix your relationship.”

Despite his attempt at encouragement, Charlie still watched him with wide-eyed worry, and Pentious itched with the urge to do something to help. Without thinking about it, he moved forward and hugged her tightly, and any fears of overstepping dissolved when she immediately returned the hug tenfold, slumping against him.

Pentious let out a breath through his nose, ignoring the memories of a young girl with dark hair hugging him with the same fierce desperation, well over a century ago. Now was not the time to get lost in his head—not when he had a goal to achieve.

And if the way her previous tension was practically falling away Charlie in waves, he was well on his way.

You’ll be okay, Charlie. I promise.

Finally, Charlie moved to pull back, and Pentious released her, clearing his throat.

“Now then,” he said awkwardly, averting his eyes and straightening his clothing. “I’m very glad we had this talk.” An uncomfortable beat of silence. “I should let you finish packing! Goodbye!”

Having completed his task and reached his emotional limit for the day, Pentious was ready to leave and spend the rest of his day hiding out in his room. However, a hand on his wrist stopped him from bolting, Charlie staring up at him with earnest eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, full of sincerity. Her smile was calmer than before—now that Pentious could see the difference, he wondered how he had not noticed it before. “If—if this was the kind of father you used to be, then your kids are gonna be so happy to see you again in Heaven.”

He returned the smile with one of his own, ignoring the way his eyes welled up just slightly.

Did she know how much it meant to hear those words?

“Of course, dear. Anytime.”

Realistically, he doubted he would ever reach the pearly gates. But as long as Charlie believed in him, he was willing to give redemption a try.

~~~

A/N: The short mentions of Angel and Husk are references to another story I am working on. While Pentious is speaking with Charlie in this story, Angel is speaking with Husk regarding his interaction with Alastor. The latter story will be linked here when it is complete.

[starlightt8]

BSD 109

Soukoku nation,how are we feeling?

Here’s a fanfic!

“We are destined to die together “

🥀900k words only

🥀Major character death of course

🥀Nakahara Chuuya is not ok

🥀 References from stormbringer

Sharing is appreciated 💕

[peachym00]

✨Chapter 4 is posted✨

✨28k❗️Explicit❗️Graphic Depictions of Violence❗️Strangers to Lovers✨Businessman Vegas💻Student Pete📚Falling in Love💘

Vegas doesn’t usually spend his evenings being punched in the face while preventing his brother from being kidnapped. So when this very scenario happens one balmy Friday night, he is wholly unprepared. And when a handsome stranger comes to his aid, he’s desperate to find him again when he disappears without even staying to tell Vegas his name. Or, the one where Macau helps Vegas use the power of the internet to find his soulmate.

hands up if this took way longer than a week to finish lol ✋🏻✋🏻✋🏻 sorry folks, but here's a 10k chapter to make up for the wait! (Also, if you're wondering how I imagine Vegas to look in his business suit, just look at those photos of Bible in that YSL suit from the other day lol)

Link to chapter one ➡️ Here ⬅️

[sotvtaughtmehowtofeel]

Joel and Ellie stood huddled together in the corner of the Tipsy Bison, arguing. Joel wanted her to go talk to the group of teenagers at a table nearby. Ellie wanted him to shut the fuck up and eat dinner with her.

“Are you and your dad gonna come say hi?” one of the girls in the group called over.

Ellie and Joel both turned to her, speaking simultaneously.

“He’s not-” “I’m not-”

Both stopped speaking, looking at each other. Neither finished the sentence.

[bg-sparrow]

This is your annual reminder that a very fun and beloved BttF/Elf crackfic exists, and you should read it:

Title: Pennies From Heaven Rating: G Genre: Found Family, Humor Words: 18K Summary: When Marty the Elf discovers that he is, in fact, not an elf, Papa Doc sends him on a journey to reunite with his long-lost mother, Lorraine – a corporate scrooge that’s no stranger to the naughty list. Marty has a lot to learn about life south of the North Pole, but Lorraine has even more to learn about family. Can Marty’s effervescent love restore her Christmas spirit? In the magical land of New York City, anything is possible.

(Hope you're all having a great holiday season! I'm swamped but still smiling!)

[shiftingwithmars]

Author: *Casts actors that look like how they imagined the character and wanted the character to look like* Fandom: YOU’RE WRONG YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!! *Writes entire essay with slurs included*

[allbrainsnosense]

Do Not Leave Me In This Abyss

My EMILY movie inspired Tomione fic can be read here.

[doraminatook]

Tell me you're a writer without telling me you're a writer...

[onedaughterofman]

Untitled vignette #4

Summary: Glowing eyes, sharp fangs, cold breath and thick accent... You know what Papa is.

Pairing: Papa Emeritus x g/n reader.

Tags/warning: Humor. Crack fic. This is an ode to those cringy fics we used to read when we were teens. Please don't kick me out of the fandom.

Under the pale moon, Papa's eyes cast a faint glow. Almost like a feral animal, his blown pupils burn into your body with an intensity capable of shaking you to the core.

Down your spine, the shivers trace a pattern over your skin. It's cold in the Ministry's backyard, and the shadows have made of every corner they room. It's also incredibly silent, only the eerie whisper of the wind breaking the slumber.

"Walk with me, my love."

Papa's commanding voice leaves no room for hesitation. As in a trance, your feet follow him through the stone path without your mind being completely conscious of their movement. The dark tree tops sway and dance to an eternal melody. You wonder if just like the leaves inevitably get tangled in the wind and become one with it, you have no choice but to perform this dance with Papa.

Whether you are trapped in his raw strength or caught in his subtle charm, it doesn't matter. Your hand clings to the arm he offers, nails scratching the soft material of his finely detailed habits.

Bathed by the moon and embraced by the shadows, Papa resembles an apparition, a phantom ready to sink his claws on you and drag you to the underworld.

Is it purgatory your destiny? Or will you rejoice in Hell for eternity? If hell is the answer, you pray to the Dark Lord to let you bring Papa with you.

To be forever, as one, hugged by the eternal flames. What a bliss.

"We are alone," Papa speaks up, musing on his words."Are you scared?"

You are. Much like a mouse trapped between the paws of a playful cat, you feel like he is only leading you to your demise. And worse, you are following him willingly.

"Yes," it's the reply. Papa's pupils burn on your face as he comes to a stop, one eyebrow twitching in a small surprise.

"Why?" He asks, breathless. Hidden by the darkness, his face looks gaunt and sharper. Still, his teeth cast a faint reflection of the moonlight. "You are aware of my feelings for you."

"That's the problem." The sound of your frantic heart muffles the words. "Often I fear your feeling will consume to the core."

"Would that be too bad?" The sharp nails barely graze on your cheekbone. "Wouldn't that be romantic? To get completely undone under my yearning for you."

Standing on the patio, Papa appears to be divine. There's something wrong with him, you know it. You have known it from the beginning, but chose to ignore it in favor of letting yourself fall for his charm.

His deadly, mocking charm. And you lie to yourself every day, ignoring the harsh truth behind devilish appeal.

"We can't keep doing this," you plead with him, turning around to escape his stare. "I can't keep ignoring the warning signs inside my head."

For a long moment, Papa absentmindedly nods. "You have noticed it, then."

Step after step, he moves closer. The grace of his body makes it seem like he's floating down the stone path. When he's behind you, his arms curl on your figure, trapping it.

Your heart jumps inside your chest. Papa doesn't let go, even if you squirm. You have become his prey, and he's an avid, hungry predator, ready to sink his fangs on your tender flesh.

"Say it," Papa commands. Cold air hits the exposed skin of your neck before he tilts his head to press his lips over the same spot. "I need you to say it."

"I know what you are," you gasp. His lips press again on your neck, teeth lightly grazing it.

"Say it."

Swallowing doesn't untie the knot in your throat. You can't speak, for the weight of your accusation might be too heavy for your tongue. Papa isn't a regular man, that's for sure. He is entirely something else. Something far more scary.

"You are…" You begin, trembling. If it weren't for the firm support of his arms, you'd be falling on the ground. "You are…"

The wind stops. In the night, not even the cicadas dare to sing. Papa squeezes tighter, holding his breath

"You are an Italian."

The sudden absence of his body behind yours is cold. You turn around, ready to meet his eyes. And there, a few steps away, he stands. There's surprise on his face, a bitter acceptance mixed with relief.

"Only a part, my love."

It doesn't matter to you. To love a man, an Italian one, is something you are not sure to be able to bear.

Still, when he looks at you full of yearn and the moon falls on him like a veil, it's hard to say no. Papa's extended hand finds yours, and he kisses the back of it in a silent invitation to love him, to stay for eternity.

Fuck. If he's the devil, or worse, you don't care. Everybody carries a curse with them in this world, and this is yours.

Ps: this is what a full day of job hunting does to a mf. I'm rejecting my humanity. I apologize for what you just read. Also, no offense intended towards the Italians.

Well, only a bit of offense 'cause that bureaucracy is personally haunting my ass. Fuck the ASL man. Fuck them

[baronlovesblogging]

Chapter 3: It happened, again

It’s a sharp pang in Mike’s neck that doesn’t guide him awake, but strikes him. His eyes are smeared with eye crust, and his hair is splayed in complete disorder. As he slips back into consciousness, he notices light, but firm marks on his arms, cushioned beneath the pillows, which he considers as sure evidence that he’s slept well. He feels, oddly warm, and safe, he doesn’t know when, but he’s been bundled up in blankets, and he can feel the faint rumble from the heater in the corridor. The window off to the sight is emanating a warm, yellow glow, and he can vaguely see fluffy white clouds drifting through the sky.  

The aroma of vanilla-cinnamon is spread throughout the room, pleasing his senses as he looks to the kitchen island, eyes catching a candle placed carefully onto it. The TV has since been closed since his untimely nap, replaced by the low roll of music, coming from Will’s room. Mike feels as if he never wants to leave his comfortable space on the couch, basking in the peace and the silence and the warmth produced by the sun; a space so quiet, so gentle, he’s sure Will could paint a scene like this, fully capturing every emotion Mike is grasping from it.   

He stays there, for two, three, or five minutes before, slowly sitting up, searching for a real reason to escape from the heat that encompassed him in the heap of throws. Mike decides to release himself, finding that amount of heat was making him sweat, the discomfort of his jeans and sweat-soaked shirt becoming too much to bear, to change. He feels a wash of frigid air over him as he swiftly stands up, and shivers, walking to his room.  

The vanilla-cinnamon follows him as he opens his door, walking directly to the dresser, grabbing a pair of khaki pants and a purple sweater. Mike inspects his appearance in the mirror before pacing quietly to Will’s room and knocks because he truly is a civilized man, a truly responsible adult if you will.  

“Hey, Will.”  

“Oh, Mike you’re awake!” Will says, “As soon as the movie started, you were out.”  

Mike blushes, “Hey, it wasn’t that fast. And we just ate, so the food made me drowsy.”  

“Yeah, whatever,” Will opens the door, gesturing to Mike inside, “You slept for like, two hours. I really didn’t want to wake you up or anything, so I just left and hung out here,” Will exclaimed, going to turn down the volume of his record player on his desk.  

 As Mike steps into Will's room, it looks almost the same as the preceding year, all stacked books and records on shelves and his bed tucked neatly to the right. Over his bed, fairy lights were hung, and posters were draped on the walls. His easel stood as the centerpiece of his room, and on the floor were an array of canvases, sketchbooks, and other materials. It was honestly surprising how fast Will had settled in, in comparison to Mike's room, which wasn't decorated yet in the slightest, he had kept putting it off.  

“Sorry,” Mike said, going to sit on Will’s bed.  

“No, no don’t be sorry, I was just saying, I don’t mind,” Mike nods  

“That candle you lit really made me hungry, y’know that? I was sure you made something, but it was just your candle, I was so disappointed,” Mike pouted, leaving space for Will on the bed  

“Ah yes, my whole plan was to lure you out of your slumber with my scented candles to specifically make you hungry,” Will smiles, and sits next to Mike on the bed.  

“Yes, exactly,” Mike turns away from Will, feigning mock anger. A comforting silence fills the room as he turns back to lay down, looking up at Will. He seems, concerned, he can always tell; by the way, his brow is furrowed slightly like he’s drumming up the courage to say something, and the way he’s fiddling with a loose string on his jeans. Mike braces himself for what he knew was coming, but didn’t think it would happen so quickly. He supposes he’ll never get used to how thoughtful Will is.  

“Hey, you alright?” Oh no .  

“What?” Mike asks, really hoping he was wrong, that Will would let what happened float in the air and disappear. But Will was persistent, yet careful.  

“Come on, Mike, you know exactly what I’m talking about,”  

Mike stared, “I don’t know what you're talking about, I’m fine, look at me, I’m just-” He didn’t have to utter the words, because Will was already staring at him, firmly, seeing through his glass wall as if it wasn’t even built, not with Will.  

“Mike," that really shut Mike up, because now he was sitting up, briskly shutting down any excuse he was about to speak, “I know you really, really hate talking about your panic attacks as of late, but, that one was sudden. You don’t have to say anything, but I’m concerned, Mike, I’m your best friend, okay? Nothing you say will make me see you any different, you know that, right?”  

“Yeah, Yeah I do,” Mike looks down.  

“Then you can tell me, yes?” And Will’s really trying to look at him now, leaning into his space, just to see his eyes, almost trying to will him into believing he’s safe, here, with him. Mike believes him.  

“I don’t know- it's just, I really thought you said something else; I don’t know? I guess it just set me off? These things are hard to track lately-- I thought I was doing so well, y’know? Haven’t had one of those in a couple of months. But, this, it was so sudden, it’s like- every time I feel like it’s getting better, something always happens. Always,” Mike finishes his statement and looks at the boy next to him, whose face has been washed with care and empathy.  

“Oh, Mike,” He wraps him into a tight hug, then whispers, “can you tell me what you thought I said?”  

“It’s not important, really, Will-”  

“Mike,” Will pulled away far enough to stare at him, with eyes cast with a warning, not a menacing one, but the sort where he’s willing him into bringing his walls down, down, down. Until he can walk in with no forced entry; he doesn't have to try, he’s been there, the only capable of doing such.  

“I thought you said ‘Well look how far that’s gotten you’, it’s stupid—I know, but Jesus, I don’t even know what that's supposed to mean, but really, it’s “fine, I’m fine.”  

Will doesn’t seem convinced, because now he’s coming back into the hug with full force, squeezing him, rubbing small circles into his back, and Mike’s heart skips because he’s overwhelmed.  

Overwhelmed by how devastatingly good Will is to him; he feels a sharp pang in his stomach and without warning, he’s crying, not sobbing. He doesn’t even understand why he’s crying, nothing terribly bad has happened to him, maybe it's because he’s really understanding the love Will’s big heart can give, or that his shake was sour this morning, or maybe it’s just that Will’s is an anchor and coaxing Mike into letting him see him, really see him, and he doesn’t hate him or scrunch his face in disgust at how ugly he can be, but he wraps his arms tighter, letting him know he’ll never leave.  

And Will’s not helping, no, not with how his whispering a mantra of gentle reassurements in his ears, not questioning, not interrogating, just being there, existing. It makes, even more, tears overflow and Mike's not sure whether his crying because of joy, or the all-consuming anxiety he endures on day-to-day bases, finally reaching him, because of course it did.  

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, what he does now is that his face must beat red, his hair mussed, and his eyes glossy. Will all the while soothing him, pulls away to wipe the tears from his eyes, fixing his bangs on the way.  

“Feeling better?”   

Mike nods, “Yeah- yeah I really am,” he smiles, and Will really seems to believe him, because he brings Mike in yet again for another quick hug, then releases him.  

“Good,” and Mike’s smile seems to be contagious, because he smiles too, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” standing up, pulling Mike with him, dragging him into the bathroom, he even picks him up, placing him on the bathroom counter (holy shit, when had he gotten so, strong?).  

Any attempts at convincing Will he’s fine and can do it himself, are at once shot down by a glare so petrifying, saying “If you don’t let me do this for you, I will kill you,” and Mike really thinks he will, and stays silent. Something in Mike internally groans at his firmness but allows himself to be taken care of.  

Will rushes for a paper towel, wetting it, and gently dabs it onto Mike’s face, leaning into his space, yet again. Mike could honestly cry again at just that, feeling so loved, so cared for, he loves it, and could die just like this, being someone's center of attention, Will’s center of attention.  

Will finishes his work, throwing the towel away and propping Mike back onto the floor and he says, “What do you want for lunch, I mean- we bought pizza so there’s that, and I’m really hungry- it'll only take like ten minutes to cook, yeah?”  

“Yeah,” and for the millionth time, Mike smiles.  

-  

Lunch was quick, short, and easy, they don’t talk about why Mike had cried, Will giving him just the right amount of space for that, but they do talk of anything and everything, settling into their usual college routine. They had fewer and fewer free days, classes would be starting soon. The pair had decided to save on time, and collect their textbooks for the year, heading to a large open store, full of merch of all kinds: mugs, flags, shirts, pencils and, pens, even shoes. They reach the book section and search through the aisles, together, having Will hold most of the load because he’s just so, strong.  

They’re almost out of the store when Mike hears a familiar voice call, “Will?” they both whip around, confused at the sudden call. It’s Gabriel. Oh, fuck him, it’s Gabriel, with his stupid tossed hair, and disgustingly perfect smile.  

“Oh, hey Gabriel! Funny seeing you here, huh?” Will is smiling, giddily smiling, he looks like a schoolgirl ready to twist her hair in every direction. It irks him.  

“I mean, not really, classes start like the day after tomorrow, I’m just here to grab my last book, they didn’t have it the last time I was here and I had to place one on hold. Can you believe it? I have an Eco gastronomy major and they ran out for that? Of all things,” He scoffs, crossing his arms, and he, oh fuck him, he shakes his head hair moving with it.  

“Shame, what a world we live in, I guess,” Mike mumbles  

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, that really sucks,” Mike resists the urge to roll his eyes, “at least it wasn’t when school actually started, or you’d be toast,” Will laughs, he actually fucking giggles, despite nothing about this situation being remotely funny. Gabriel’s gratuitous showing had really sparked something in him, he didn’t understand what.  

“Yeah, but I’m getting it now, so I’ll be alright, glad I ran into ya’,” Something in his eyes shines, looking down at Will, Mike feels sick. He really hopes that was an opening for his inevitable exit, but he just keeps fucking talking, “Hey, if you around later, want to head down to another party? With me? I know it’s short notice but, well I have the address right here, I guess I kind of hoped I’d run into you.”  

He hands Will a slip of paper and, right before Will has the time to respond, Mike cuts in “Yeah, sorry, but uh, we’re busy man, we’re trying to get our textbooks and all we really have to do is pay, and we have plans later, so if you don’t mind, we’ve got to go,” Mike grabs Will’s wrist and marches away.  

Will ponders him for a moment confusion spread all over his face, but he doesn't question it, no, not for the time being, just allows himself to be pulled further into the store by Mike’s firm hands. They reach another aisle, and Will finally ask, “What the hell was that?” Mike shrugs  

“Nothing, we’re just busy, besides you're not even interested,”  

“What ‘plans’, as far as I’m concerned, I have a whole free afternoon.  ” Mike didn’t think that far, to be honest, so he juts the first thing that comes to mind, “We’re... Going to have coffee, with the party in a bit,” 

“Since when?  

“Since,” he clicks his tongue, “now,” Mike muses, feeling proud of himself, Will just looks at him, disbelieving.  

“Sure, alright,” Will moves to walk in front of Mike, searching for the rest of their items.  

-  

Mike somehow, manages to gather up the rest of the party for a quick coffee date, at this small, local, joint in the far corner of their town. It owned two stories, and had large open windows, welcoming the shine of the sun inside. The shop had a subtly rustic value, all muted browns, dark grey, and white. A hint of yellow decorated their menus, indicating a variety of drinks, coffee, and sandwiches on it. The party, Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max, and El had sat at a round table, talking aimlessly, until Dustin remarks, a coy smile plastered across his face.  

“So, Will, how about that guy at the party yesterday?” It was kind of ridiculous how fast Will blushed, and everyone notices. Max has a Chesire grin on her face, Dustin smiles grows even wider, if even possible, “Something did happen, huh? I knew something was up! We couldn’t have just gotten randomly invited to a party. You took way too long to get that pizza, and you got so flushed afterward. And then there was that person that was gonna walk you home, it couldn’t have just been a coincidence.” So they did notice, Mike thought, some friends they are for not mentioning it earlier, and now they had to address, here altogether, a knot grew in his stomach.  

“I mean, it’s nothing, really,” Lucas raises an eyebrow, “Oh hush, he just gave me his number.”  

The whole party, except for Mike, exclaims “His number!?”  

Lucas is really losing his shit, because his eyes widen as he says, “Holy shit Will! ‘Just his number’ What are you talking about? That’s a huge deal!”  

El nods, “Yes, from what I understand, that’s not just something that happens, Will.”  

“It happens to me, he invited me to another party tonight too, why are you all so surprised?” Will shrugs, the whole party looks dumbfounded, and they have their mouths hanging open.  

“Because you have the most game out of all of us! We are mere peasants compared to you, valiant Will,” Dustin intervenes, leaning across the table to bow to him, or trying to.  

“Shut up,” Will says, swatting his hands away, “I don’t know, he’s cute, but I’ll be really busy this year, and I can’t carry around a heavy phone with me all the time, I have enough art supplies to carry already.”  

“Will I’m sure you can add one more item to your list of items you’ll need on your ventures,” Lucas says, taking a sip from his cup of coffee.  

Will shakes his head, visibly thinking, “No, probably not,” the party collectively groans.  

“Will, you can’t do this to us,” Oh yes, he can, and hopefully will, “This is the most exciting thing that has happened since like, senior year of high school.”  

“Oh, well I hope my dating life is great entertainment for you all to watch,” Mike’s stomach twists from the latte he’s drinking.  

“Yeah, Will’s love life shouldn’t be picked apart,” Mike interjects, the first comment he’s added to the conversation upon arriving.  

“Look who’s finally decides to speak,” Max commented.  

“Yeah, Mike, you’ve been so quiet, it’s weird,” Lucas looked Mike up and down, scrutinizing Mike’s careful expression.  

“Can’t get him to shut up,” Dustin mumbles.  

“What? No, I haven’t, what are you guys talking about?” Mike defends.  

“UH, yes you have, you haven’t said a word all day,”   

“Yeah, did something happen? You’re not usually this, quiet, and you're the one who invited us! I really thought you’d have a lot more to say,”  

“No, no nothing happened, Jesus. Nothing interesting has happened, that’s it, point blank. You guys have just been pestering Will all afternoon, it’s sickening,”  

“We’re not pestering him!” Dustin scoffs, Will places his head in his hands, warmth spreading to his face.  

“Yeah, we’re simply interested in his current ~love~ situation,” Lucas wiggles his eyebrows, and Max giggles,   

Mike shakes his head, "You guys are so gross, shut up.”  

“Someone’s in a mood,” Max exclaimed.  

“Yeah, jeez,” Dustin turns to Will, attempting to pry his hands from his face, “Come on Will, you don’t mind, right?”   

Will slumps in defeat, looking in between his fingers at the rest of the group, and murmurs, “Yeah, I guess so,” the whole party cheers.  

“Oh, that is so unfair! Will can’t stand up for himself for shit, that’s why it’s my job!” Mike argues.  

“Who said it was your job,” Max asks.  

“Me, that’s who,” Mike huffs, crossing his arms.  

“Yeah, whatever Mike, Will, what’s your take on this?”  

 Will looks sheepishly at the rest of them, “Honestly, it’s kind of annoying.”  

“See, that’s literally what I was saying,”  

“But Will, we love talking about this, you can’t take this away from us.”   

“He can, and he will, right Will?” He nods, “Exactly.” Mike hums, proud of himself.  

Dustin groans, “Why are you even so worried about this, it’s not like you’re dating him or something.”  

“I- what? I’m his best friend.” Mike stammers.  

“And we’re not?” Lucas states  

“You know what I mean! It’s my responsibility to keep you guys from weaseling into his love life,” He extenuates his points with a finger pointing to all of them around the table.  

“Hey, leave me out of this,” El says, bringing a hand to her chest  

“You're not completely innocent here either, El.”  

“I so am,” EL scoffs, rolling her eyes, he ignores her.  

“The point is, Will is sick of your shenanigans but he’s not saying anything about it to keep you guys happy. And you should apologize for your wrongdoings,”   

“We’re sorry, Will.”  

“Yeah, so sorry.”  

“I apologize, Will.”  

“Didn’t realize we were making you uncomfortable, our bad. Will you ever forgive us?” Dustin says, pouting as he turns from Will’s direction  

“Yes of course, can’t stay mad at you all for long,” Will playfully rolls his eyes.  

“You were mad!?” Lucas questions.   

“Well, no duh, sometimes y’all are insufferable,”  

“But you love us regardless,” Dustin smiles, and Will playfully rolls his eyes.  

“Of course,” and he smiles, and Mike’s not so mad anymore, either.  

-  

The next party they head to is a substantial upgrade from the last. Situated in a house, and not an apartment. Bright colors invaded their vision as they stepped inside, all neon yellows, magentas, and purples. No one greeted them this time around, the door was left unlocked and you could hear loud pop music playing from two miles over. Large crowds were spread everywhere, and Mike swore he thought he saw a band playing.  

Their expectations had been significantly lowered by the previous event, so to say upon entering silent awe flowed through the party. Dustin frantically looked around in astonishment, “Holy shit, Will! You’re amazing.”  

“Yeah, this is fucking wicked,” Lucas exclaimed, gently holding Max’s hand, and ushering her further into the room with her, “Come on, Max, we need to go find some people,”  

“No, no, no, I’m staying with El, relying on the buddy system. Have you seen how many people are here?”  

“El can come with us! Right El?” She nods  

“Fine, come on,” Max says pulling Lucas by the sleeve of his collared shirt. The trio disperses into the room, leaving Mike, Will and Dustin in the corridor.  

“Well, they just abandoned us, didn’t they?” Mike scoffed.  

“Come on, let’s get something to drink,” Dustin said, moving past them to find any alcohol possibly present.  

Mike finds out a lot of things about himself, that night.  

The party lasts a lot longer than Mike had hoped it would. By his standards, he should have been stoked for this night, being the promise that their social lives would finally take off. All Mike feels is as though he’d rather be at home, he presumes he just isn’t the party type.  

At some point, he encounters Gabriel and watches him flirt with Will some more, and he can’t bear it. Despite that, he stays with Will, having no one else to talk to, Dustin had left them hours ago.  

Mike finds out he’s a drinker.  

Mike drinks and drinks and drinks, for the whole four hours the party lasted. He’s beyond out of his mind, seeing nothing but the flashing colors and hearing nothing but low music in the back of his mind. He’d left Will at some point, murmuring a half-assed excuse like, “I have to head to the bathroom,” and promptly skidding off.  

 Distantly he remembers turning around, seeing Gabriel out of the corner of his eye, golden hair contrasting with the magenta-purple light, talking to Will, beer bottle in hand, not knowing how much Will hates it, the smell, the texture and taste, and other elements he’d prefer not to talk about.  

Mike thinks he’s not one to talk.  

The sheer amount of alcohol he’s consumed has come back to bite him, hard. Every now and then, he feels a surge of something growing in his belly as he stumbles aimlessly in the house, upstairs and downstairs, back upstairs again. Eventually, it’s too much.  

The light pointing in many directions, every direction, the music blasting so loudly yet not at all, the way he can hear everyone around him talking, it’s too much. He rushes upstairs, into an expensively crafted bathroom, but he has no time to appreciate it because everything's too much.  

He hurls into an electric toilet that night.  

-  

By some sheer force of misfortune, it’s Gabriel that finds him, clutching to the toilet, waiting for more disasters to come. He’s never felt so pathetic.  

“Holy shit, are you okay dude?” Gabriel asked, and he seems genuinely concerned.  

“Shit, yeah,” Mike sniffles, then coughs, “Just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all,” Mike shrugs, not budging from his position, not daring to look at the meandering look Gabriel probably has on his face right now, judging him, mocking him for his incompetence.  

“A bit too much’, yeah sure,” cocky dick, Mike thinks, “Come on, get up, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? Then I’ll get Will, he was telling me how worried he was, saw you drinking all night.”  

“Kay’,” Mike slurs, though the buzz is draining slowly from his system, he feels a lot better, actually.  

Gabriel sits Mike up, upright, then he fishes a water bottle from his tote bag and hands it to him, and Mike’s sure he’s never seen a tote bag in his life, aside from the occasional store. “Here, you’ll need this, for the taste,” he says, and goes to find a tissue, handing it to him, “to wipe the, ahem, vomit off.”  

“Thanks,” Mike cautiously takes the tissue and bottle, and Gabriel sits up.  

“Well, I’ll go get Will now,” then, slowly, he adds, “like I said he’s worried. Been talking about you all night.”  

“Really?”  

“Really,” Gabriel grimaces and leaves the room.  

In no less than a minute Will comes rushing into the restroom, Gabriel trailing behind him.  

“Mike, shit you, idiot. I knew I should’ve gone with you!”  

“I’m okay, Will, really,”  

“Yeah right, come on, I’m taking you home.”  

Will drags the rest of the party along with them too, muttering a “Safety within numbers,” on the way out, they all say their goodbyes to Gabriel, and other friends they’d made during the event. Before they knew it, they were back in their building, separating into their distinctive dorms.  

“Goodnight, guys,” Lucas said, rummaging with his keys as Dustin tapped impatiently with his foot.  

“Goodnight, I’m gonna make sure Mike over here can actually make it to bed without out passing out,” Will responded, gently opening the door and simultaneously balancing Mike’s weight as he leans into him.  

“He looks out already,” Dustin jokes  

“Am not!” He retorts, and the group utters, “Yeah, yeah,” as they enter their dorms.  

Will directs him over to his room, seemingly thinking having a drunk Mike made his forget where he’s supposed to sleep, but he appreciates the sentiment behind it. He’s plopped Mike into his bed, knowing he simply doesn’t have the energy or willpower to change, and takes his shoes off for him, unlacing his converse carefully as he throws them into a random corner.  

Will’s tucked drowsy Mike in, about to leave when Mike suddenly grabs his wrist to get him to not leave, to just stay.  

“Do you need anything else?” Will asks, and because Mike’s not thinking clearly, the bed is warm and Will’s wrist is too, he answers, “No, just you.”  

“Oh,” Will says, “Oh, well I’ve got to head to bed, so if you don’t mind,” He tries to pull away, but Mike’s grip tightens.  

“No, stay,  “What? 

“Stay, here, with me, come on, Will. Like the old times, back when we shared a bed,  

“Okay,” Will ponders, “Till’ you fall asleep?" The force with which Mike shakes his head makes it sting.  

“No, sleep here,” Mike adds because he’s so close to slipping into unconscious, “I need you,” Will complies, kicking off his shoes and settling next to him, tossing the sheets onto them both, staying at a steady distance away. Mike doesn’t like this, because he presses against Will, slinging a shoulder around him and humming contentedly at his presence because he’s utterly lost his mind.  

When Mike wakes up the next morning, Will isn’t anywhere to be found.  

[zemkzone]

I can’t do this. I can’t go back further in time. What if you can’t heal fast enough?

— Barry Allen to Leonard Snart, Ch21 of That Rare Arctic Thunderstorm

What's this? A new teaser? Looks like there's finally going to be an update next week!

[ivlymonii]

it is currently 11:30 pm

i have no idea why im typing this out i am beyond exhausted i have class tmr