#bday fic to come

[isolabellz]

based on this fic

[idonthaveabmxbike]

this one is for all the laloward truthers out there

[hoohoobeanie]

pretty like the sun - a spommy college au

as a little birthday gift to the rest of you, here's a sneak peak into the plts universe!! (the fic will be dropping later, probably february due to exam season) but here's an edit with the song that inspired some of it!!

spencer agnew is a struggling college student, pushing to make his way through his junior year of his film program. when he gets an assignment worth a big part of his final grade, he looks to tommy bowe, star theatre student, for help.

[hanafubukki]

HE’S HOOOOMMMMEEEE

Yesssssss 🥳🥳💞💞💞

I had to literally bring his sons out for him to come home 😂💞💚

Lilia really said, “I’m the father of three. I won’t come home until they are with me” 🥹💚💚

[kkpwnall]

if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all

part one | rated t | 1270 words | cw: parental death

all my thanks and love to my beloved @fragilecapric0rnn for beta-reading 💜 you're a rockstar and your feedback was so so helpful

Eddie was born under a bad sign. That’s what his momma always used to say. Friday the 13th, and in October? He never really stood a chance and neither did anyone else he got close to. He was like a black cat walking across their path. 

[ keep reading below, or read on ao3 ]

His momma was first, of course. Cursed by the fate of Eddie’s birth from the very beginning. And if he hadn’t dawdled on the way home from school that day, if he had gone straight home just like he’d promised, if he hadn’t stopped to pick a bouquet of ditch weed wildflowers for her and got distracted by caterpillars and rollie-pollies— Well, maybe he would’ve been able to tell the 911 operator she was still breathing when he found her.

His daddy was next, not much long after. Eddie worshiped him like a hero in one of his fantasy stories, the charming, devil-may-care, down on his luck protagonist who stole from the rich and gave to the needy. But the first time Floyd brought him out on a real job, just the two of them, when all Eddie had to do was hot wire the getaway car after he heard the signal (three hoots like a barn owl), Eddie panicked. Did he say barn owl or barred owl? Was that two hoots or three? Why did the wires all look the same in the dark?

When the police cars painted him in their flashing red and blue lights, he dropped the wire cutters and ran. Floyd went down in a hail of bullets behind the car Eddie had been trying to steal, and Wayne got his own life sentence when the State dropped Eddie on his doorstep.

Uncle Wayne got the worst of it, obviously. Working himself to the bone, nights and weekends, to put Eddie through school. Not to mention senior year for a second and third goddamn time.

It was too late by the time young Eddie figured it out. By the time he decided to keep everyone at arm’s length.

It’s safer that way, for everyone.

Chrissy was just the latest in a long line. And he’d only lowered his guard an inch, a millimeter, when he saw someone just as lonely and desperate for a friend. He’d only barely started to let himself have an inkling of what an actual friendship with her might be like when—

This is exactly why Eddie doesn’t have friends. He has minions. He has little lost sheepies, he has twerps and shrimps. And that’s it. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

But all that changes the day he dies.

Or maybe it’s the day he finally wakes up. His new birthday, welcomed to the world once again in a cold, bright, sterile hospital room.

And really, the way he sees it, it’s all Henderson’s fault.

The little shit wanders in every day at visiting hours and makes himself right at home. He props his cast up on Eddie’s bed, and steals the remote to change the channel on the ancient, minuscule tv over to cartoons, and then he just… camps out! All day!

The kid will not leave him alone, no matter how cold a shoulder Eddie tries to give him. He even broke down and explained everything to him. How he’s bad luck, he’s bad news. And people who get too close to him end up dead.

But maybe the painkillers they’ve got him on scrambled his brain as bad as the bats scrambled his guts, because Dustin steamrolls right over him.

“If curses were real, which they aren’t,” he posits in his professor voice, “Your dumb curse can’t try to kill me again. It already took a shot and it missed, and the worst I got was a busted ankle.”

Eddie opens his mouth to tell Dustin that’s not how curses work but—

“And what was its goal anyway? To get you alone and friendless, dead in a ditch? Well then, mission accomplished!”

Which is… weirdly comforting when he puts it like that.

Dustin brings with him a rotating cast of the rest of the fellowship. Eddie finally gets to meet Baby Byers and finds out he’s already been recruited to Hellfire before Eddie can even say hello.

More often than not, Steve tags along too since he’s already ferrying them all between the hospital and home. Usually after he’s spent some time with Red and the other kids in her room, he’ll drop by. To check on Dustin of course.

It’s not because he likes Eddie. Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t even know him.

All that… before… it was just some harmless flirting to keep himself from completely losing it while he was on the run from homicidal bible-thumpers. And Steve was just humoring him.

So he hides behind stupid flirtatious remarks, easy to brush off when it’s always undercut with sly winks and salacious expressions. Enough to keep everything surface level. Keep him at arms length.

It doesn’t matter that his eyes still seem to linger on Eddie, even when he hasn’t said anything for a while. Or that he brings Eddie extra pudding cups from the cafeteria. It doesn’t mean anything when he stands in the doorway trying to finish one last story or joke, until the kids almost literally have to drag him out when visiting hours are over.

Because it turns out Steve is an incorrigible gossip. And Eddie’s not about to be the one to corrige him. Not when he brings an extra dr. pepper for Eddie every time he stops by the vending machine for a coke and gleefully tells Eddie which of the doctors, nurses, and shady government agents are sleeping together.

A can of coke he taps on the lid with a peculiar rhythm before he cracks it, every time.

“What’s up with that?” Eddie finally has to ask one day, when it’s just the two of them and the Price is Right.

Steve hums this confused little sound at him, tilting his head with furrowed brows as he takes the first sip.

Eddie repeats the pattern, tapping it out on his own can.

Steve blinks a few times, first at Eddie, then at the can in his hand.

“I didn’t even realize I did that,” he huffs out a laugh. “It’s uh… something my grandpa taught me when I was a kid. Y’know just for luck.”

The blood in Eddie’s veins freezes and he’s stuck like that for a painfully long moment. Propped up against the lumpy hospital pillows with his mouth half open, staring at Steve.

“For luck.” he says flatly.

“Yeah, so the fizz doesn’t explode when you open it.”

“And has that ever happened to you?” Aiming for flirty, aiming for scathing, aiming for anything that’s not desperation.

“Well no,” Steve says with an easy shrug and a conspiratorial smile, “that’s why it’s lucky. It’s like picking up a coin that’s face-down on the sidewalk.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s face-up, darlin,” Eddie says coyly, like every alarm bell in his head isn’t ringing a deafening cacophony.

“Nah see, you gotta leave those ones for someone who really needs the luck.”

“But then you get the bad luck.”

“Nah, doesn’t work that way,” Steve says, and fucking winks at him.

Eddie wants to shake him. What is wrong with him? He’s got it all backwards and it’s dangerous. How is he walking around like this?

Whatever, it’s not his problem. Steve can do whatever Steve wants. Eddie doesn’t need to protect him from himself. It’s not like they’re friends. And really, that’s the best way to protect him.

[ part two ]

[ also on ao3 ]

[astrobei]

happy birthday @andiwriteordie !! love you to the ends of the earth and back <3 here’s a ficlet for a fun little idea we were talking about: au where bob never dies and mike gets a part time job at the radio shack

Mike takes a deep breath, clutching tighter at the piece of paper in his hand. It’s a windy fall afternoon, and it would really suck if after all this– scrounging up a barebones résumé, sitting through one hundred and one interview questions with Nancy over the phone, gritting his teeth and listening to his dad give him the go-getter talk– said résumé blew away in the breeze and ruined all his chances at a halfway decent job before he even walked through the door.

It’s only a part-time position anyway, and Mike’s never really been one for nerves in situations like this– public speaking, parent-teacher conferences, so on. But this feels different, somehow. He glances up at the bright red letters above his head, large and cartoonish against the beige of the storefront, and exhales. Radio Shack. 

It’s just computers. He can do this. He knows computers. Kind of. He also knows–

The bell above the door jingles slightly as he walks in, and at first glance, the store looks empty. It makes sense– it’s three o’clock on a Wednesday, and anyone who isn’t at work is definitely too young to be perusing a Radio Shack in their downtime.

“Can I help you?”

Mike spins around. There’s a guy maybe his dad’s age in the corner, wearing a uniform vest and a wholly unimpressed look on his face. Mike straightens up and tries his hardest to not look like an overly suspicious teenager who’s up to no good, but the man’s expression does not change. 

“Um,” he says, “I’m looking for Bob Newby? If he’s here?”

The man– Daryl, Mike thinks, squinting at the name tag– frowns. “Bob’s in the back. Any reason you’re asking for him?”

“I’m here about the Help Wanted sign? Um. My friend’s mom is friends with him and said you guys were looking for a– well, I’m only sixteen so I can’t work here, like, nine to five, but– yeah,” he finishes, a bit lamely, and Daryl raises his eyebrows.

“Hm.”

“So,” Mike tries again. “If he’s around…”

If his dad could see him now, he’d probably have a heart attack at how Mike is being exactly the opposite of assertive and confident and all of that bull. “Yeah, I’ll go grab him,” Daryl sighs, then gives Mike a contemplative look. “You know anything about radios?”

“I know some,” Mike huffs, because he wasn’t the president of AV Club for nothing, okay, and he wouldn’t even be applying here if he didn’t. Who does this guy think he is?

“Sure,” Daryl says, then disappears into the back room.

There’s a minute of silence, where Mike studies the display up at the front of the store, listening to the faint sound of U2 playing from the store’s speakers, and then there’s the soft creaking of a door opening. 

“Hey!” someone calls, and Mike turns around.

He hasn’t seen Bob in a few years– not since he and Mrs. Byers broke it off– but they’re very obviously on good terms. According to Will, anyway. He looks mostly the same as he did back then, maybe a little more gray in his hair, but the same cheery smile. He’s got on the same uniform vest as Daryl, a nametag. Maybe a couple more lines by his eyes.

“Hi,” Mike starts, a bit uncertainly. “It’s me. Um. Mike Wheeler. Will’s friend. Will is– well, you know Will,” he finishes, all very fast and with none of the professional decorum that his dad and Nancy both pleaded with him to have. 

Bob just laughs. “I do. And of course I remember you, Mike,” he says, then gestures Mike over to the desk at the front of the store, near the register. “I heard you're here about the job?”

“Um, yes.” Mike looks down at the sheet of paper in his hand, a bit wrinkled from how tight he’d been gripping it outside, and frowns. Mike Wheeler, it reads up at the top, and not much else, because he’s sixteen, and AV Club probably counts as some sort of leadership thing, but– “Will told me that his, um. His mom said that I should– you know.”

“Okay,” Bob says simply. Then, not even glancing at Mike’s pathetic excuse for a résumé, “How soon can you start?”

Mike blinks. “Um. Technically tomorrow, I think,” he starts, “but don’t you need to, like, interview me? Or something?”

At this, Bob looks up and smiles gently. “Mike. You knew BASIC at thirteen. You’re a great kid, so the job’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, yeah, I’d love to– yeah!”

“Great! You have school until– two-thirty? Three?”

“Two.”

“I’ll see you here at three tomorrow,” Bob smiles. “We can get you oriented with things, start your training. Bread and butter, so it won’t be too exciting, I’m afraid, but–”

“No!” Mike interrupts, feeling a sudden rush of relief. “No, that’s okay, I’ll be here. Um. Thanks, Bob.”

For some reason, Bob’s smile softens. “Excited to have you here, Mike. I’m glad you came by.”

—

So Mike has a job now. Which is– you know,  nice, but it’s still a job, so it’s not like Mike would come in on a Saturday when he didn’t have to, or choose to be here instead of, like, hanging out with his friends or something. But as far as high school employment goes, Mike figures he probably got a pretty good deal out of it, compared to the poor souls from his history class working at the McDonald’s down the street. Here, there’s no grease and there are no fryer burns, and there’s no embarrassing uniform or visor hat. It’s just one blessedly simple vest and a name tag that says Mike, because the idea of people coming in and calling him Michael made him want to throw something.

Plus, it’s fun. Maybe Mike is a little biased, because he’s him, but it’s fun. It really is. Four hours a day, three days a week, Mike is surrounded by gadgets and gizmos and exactly the sort of stuff that would have made twelve-year-old him burst into happy tears. He can picture it now, if he’d gotten his hands on one of these radios back in middle school– he would have been really annoying about it, maybe, but it would’ve been awesome.

So it’s fun. He’s having a good time, and he’s also getting paid, which is a nice little bonus, and it’s a few extra hours each week that he doesn’t have to be in the house, which is an extra little bonus, so that’s cool.

“Check out these headphones,” Bob whispers to him on an especially slow Thursday afternoon. It’s late November, and Mike’s been working here maybe a month, maybe a little more. The store is quiet and he’s just clocked in when Bob rushes over with a plastic-sealed box and an ecstatic grin on his face.

Mike shrugs his backpack off and drops it onto the floor behind the register before leaning in. “Whoa. Those are headphones? They look so–”

Well, the first word that popped into his head was fancy, but that’s maybe not the most professional word to be using here. Whatever.

“New releases in stock tomorrow,” Bob announces, “just in time for Christmas sales. Now look,” he continues, peeling the box open, “this one’s for the display, but I thought you might want to check it out before I locked it up.”

“Please,” Mike grins, already bouncing back on his heels in excitement. The headphones are more sleek than the ones he has right now, a birthday gift from a few years ago, already battered from overuse. They’re all shiny black metal, the cushions around the ears softer and larger than his own. He looks over at Bob, who’s wrestling with the display stand. “Can I touch?”

“You break it, you buy it,” Bob calls back, and Mike laughs.

“Deal.” He lifts it up with one hand. They’re heavy, solid, cool. Mike has never wanted something more in his entire life. “Whoa.”

“Cool, right?”

“So do I, like, get a pair for free, or…”

“Nice try,” Bob laughs, adjusting the hinges on the display stand. “You get your regular paychecks and your employee discount, but that’s all I can swing you, I’m afraid.”

Mike blinks. “I get an employee discount?”

“Hm, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Could’ve roped you into paying full price.”

“Stop,” Mike says, a smile breaking out over his face. “I get an employee discount? Seriously?”

Bob lifts the headphones up and out of his hands, setting them down carefully on the stand. “You seriously didn’t know? Of course you do, Mike, every employee gets a discount.”

“I didn’t think that counted for fancy stuff,” Mike admits. “I thought that only counted on, like, remote batteries and stuff like that.”

“You get fifteen off the whole store,” Bob tells him. “So, you know, if you wanted to get yourself a Christmas present–”

Mike does. Mike really, really wants to get himself a Christmas present. “Hey, so what are your overtime policies for minors again?”

“Nice try. I’m going to finish setting this up, but I think someone’s coming in,” Bob announces, flashing Mike a you got this smile before slinking away into the back room.

“Anything for the headphones,” Mike says under his breath, then looks over to the door. “Hi, welcome to Radio Shack, how can I– oh. It’s just you.”

“Just me?” Will gasps in mock affront, winding his way through shelves of spare parts and batteries until he’s standing in front of Mike, across the register. “Rude.”

“You know what I mean.” Mike rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling anyway. “You’re taking up all the time I could be using to woo customers and break big on my next paycheck.”

“Why the sudden interest in the paycheck?” Will inquires, swinging his backpack onto the floor so it’s bumping against Mike’s. “You never cared about that before.”

“Excuse you! I am a working man,” Mike says, even as he bumps bodily into one shelf with his hip, sending the radios on display rattling. “Shit– oh no, wait–”

“Very professional,” Will laughs, then he perches atop the chair behind the register and pulls out his physics textbook.

“Shut up,” Mike mutters, looking over the dials to make sure that everything is still plugged in and good to go. “You– get out of my chair, you don’t even work here!”

“Mike?” comes a voice from the back room, and then Bob’s poking his head back out with a small frown. “What was– oh, hi Will!”

“Hi Bob,” Will says with a cursory smile and wave. It’s polite, but a little bit awkward just like every time Will comes to visit Mike at work. Mike figures there’s no way around that awkwardness, because it’s probably a law of the universe that it’s going to be kind of awkward to see your ex-girlfriend’s son, who you saw in a mind-controlled fugue state before he released a bunch of monsters through an interdimensional portal and almost killed you.

But because Bob is Bob, and doesn’t have a resentful bone in his body, he seems to like Will just fine.

Everybody likes Will. Mike thinks it would be hard not to. In a completely unbiased way, of course.

“How are your classes going?” Bob asks, just like he does every time Will comes by.

“They’re okay,” Will replies, just like he always does whenever Bob asks. Mike bites his lip to hold back laughter, because every time they have this exchange, all he can think about is the time Will told him about Bob’s Dracula costume with the fake teeth and couldn’t finish describing it without bursting into laughter. Mike hadn’t thought the Dracula costume was too funny– more predictable and boring than anything, if you asked him– but he did like watching Will laugh like that, all red-faced and giggling until he teared up.

“Physics is really kicking my ass this year,” Will is saying, holding up the textbook he’s already started to splay open on the counter.

Mike raises an eyebrow. Their exchange usually doesn’t get this far. “Oh, I loved physics,” Bob says, a bit absentmindedly, as he brings out the display stand again, now complete with a fully decked-out set of headphones. “It was one of my favorite subjects in high school.”

“Lucky,” Will mutters, squinting down at the pages. “I hate it.”

“It’s not so bad,” Mike says without thinking, tinkering with one of the dials that had gotten messed up when he knocked the radio over. “It’s just math.”

“Yeah, and I don’t like math either,” Will laughs, “in case you forgot.”

“I think if I told you two I also liked math, then you’d shove me into a locker or something,” Bob remarks with a laugh. “Is that– do kids still do that? Shove each other into lockers?”

“Sometimes,” Mike and Will say simultaneously, then they glance at each other and immediately look away before they start laughing again.

“Sometimes,” Mike says, as Will stares resolutely down at his textbook again and bites back a grin. “We both got shoved into lockers so– I’d say yeah, kind of.”

He waits for– okay, he isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but it feels like it should be pity, maybe, or a frown, or some generic adult response like Hey! That’s not cool! Bob doesn’t do any of those things, though. He pulls a face and says, “I know the feeling.”

“What– you?” Bob is an adult, which seems so far removed from petty teenage social hierarchies and hallway fistfights that it’s kind of funny, but also–

“Mike, I was the founder of AV Club. The founder. Meaning that I was such a big loser that I came up with a club that no one had even thought of before.”

“Hey!” Mike protests. “I was president of AV Club!”

Bob just smiles. “Don’t you have a job to be doing, Mike?”

—

So yeah. He’s got a job, and it’s nice, and it’s fun, and only part of the reason it’s nice and fun is because Will Byers comes to hang out with him after school while waiting for Joyce to finish up her shift at Melvald’s across the plaza.

Really, that’s only part of it! 

“I can’t believe thirteen-year-old me thought I’d be cool in high school,” Mike laughs one day. Cool is maybe a stretch, because he’s sure he knew, even then, that cool was something that would always be a little out of his reach. “I thought I’d grow out of my ham radio phase at least.”

“I did too,” Bob says thoughtfully, digging around for a new set of batteries. “And now I’m the general manager of a Radio Shack. I’d say I’m doing alright.”

“Maybe GM of a Radio Shack is in my future too,” Mike ponders aloud. It’s a thought he’s had before, of course, but not like this, exactly. In his mind, his future is daunting, claustrophobic in its proximity. His father’s wheedling about business school, law school– something, anything that could put food on the table. 

The thought terrifies him to his core in a way he can’t really place. Ted Wheeler hadn’t been like Mike in school– pushed over on the playground, tripped, threatened to jump off a cliff or see his best friend hurt in front of his eyes. He hadn’t been Steve Harrington either. Mostly, his father had been nobody. A nobody who married the most popular girl in her grade, a nobody who comes home to a family he barely knows, a nobody who works a job he doesn’t like and pretends like that’s something Mike should want too.

He doesn’t want that. Of course he doesn’t want that. But he’s not sure what the options are, for people like him. The nerdy guys, the losers, the ones sporting scabbed chins and broken arms all throughout middle school, the Bob Newbys of Hawkins, Indiana. The–

He chances a glance over to the corner. Will is sitting at a table there instead of up at the register for a change, because he’s got actual homework to do and Mike’s got a job to be slaving away at. He studies Will’s frown as he stares down his umpteenth physics problem of the day, the way he chews lightly on the eraser of his pencil.

People like him, Mike thinks, the nerds and the losers and the–

“Whoa,” Bob chuckles, and Mike glances back down to see that he’s been trying to screw in the back of the battery pack in way past the allotted tightness. “Someone’s a little distracted.”

“Sorry!” Mike puts the screwdriver down. “Sorry, sorry, I was just– thinking.”

“Must have been something interesting to get you all spaced out like that,” Bob points out, raising an eyebrow. “What’s on your mind?”

Mike glances up again. Will is looking at him already, this time, a bit inquisitively, and Mike feels his face turn ever-so-slightly warm at being caught. Will smiles, raises a teasing hand like hey.

“Oh, nothing,” Mike says, but it comes out distracted, a bit faint. Bob follows his gaze, and Will looks away immediately, out the window. “Just– eyes got tired. You know.”

Bob does not look convinced. “Right.” He pauses, then turns the radio onto its side. “You think you can handle it from here?”

Mike stares. “What, me? Fix this? On my own?”

“It’s ham radio, Mike,” Bob says, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. “You know ham radio like the back of your hand.”

“I– yeah, I guess,” he says, picking the screwdriver back up. It’s an old model that someone brought in for repair that morning. Bob had waited until Mike got there so they could take it apart together.

Bob watches him for a couple of minutes. It’s another slow day, no general-managerial duties to be attended to. Mike focuses all his attention on the plastic and wiring in front of him– sets the disassembled pieces down in a careful row, studies them. He can hear the store’s fan running overhead, the soft rustling of Will’s pages turning from the corner of the room. The wire– he can’t figure out where this wire connects to. Mike lets out a frustrated huff. 

“Nothing,” Bob scoffs. “Amateur radio and you’re still distracted. What’s up?”

“I just,” Mike starts, sighing. “Nothing. It’s dumb.”

General Manager of a Radio Shack. Mike likes it here. He does, seriously, it’s fun and it’s nerdy and it’s the sort of thing that he’d never be able to tell people he really enjoyed without getting so much shit for it. It’s a job made for guys like him and Bob–

But that’s the thing, right– is that guys like him and Bob make do. They end up happy out of coincidence, they don’t end up in love, they need people to need them and yet they never do. No one ever needs them. Not like they might need someone else, instead.

They get love and then they lose love and then they become the General Manager of a Radio Shack and maybe things will turn out alright, and maybe not. 

“Do you ever wish things worked out differently?” Mike blurts out, and then his eyes go wide. “I mean– shit, that’s totally unprofessional– shit, I probably shouldn’t swear while I’m on the clock– I mean–”

But Bob is laughing. “It’s okay,” he says, grinning. “I hear worse stuff from our customers on the daily.”

“Right,” Mike says, probably beet-red. It would suck if this was what he got fired for. “I just meant–”

“I know what you meant,” Bob reassures him, then leans over his shoulder. “And this part should go over here, by the way. They look really similar, so I don’t blame you.”

“Right,” Mike says.

He waits.

“And–” Bob takes in a soft breath. “Sometimes things don’t turn out the way you expect. Doesn’t mean that it’s bad.”

“Right,” Mike says again, vaguely embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean– right.”

One second goes by. Two. Mike twirls the screwdriver around between his fingers and looks back at Will, who’s got his face scrunched up in some complicated, twisted expression that makes Mike want to laugh, and simultaneously want to reach over and smooth out the creases from between his eyebrows. Bob watches him with one raised eyebrow.

“You know,” he starts, and Mike’s gaze snaps back to him. “You remind me of myself, Mike.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Mike snorts. The nerdy guys, the AV guys, the almost-had-it-but-didn’t guys.

Bob shakes his head, chuckling. “I mean, you’re a smart kid. You really are. Not many kids your age would be this excited about taking apart a radio, or– or new headphones, or programming languages.”

The nerdy guys, Mike thinks again, and suppresses a laugh. “It must be an AV thing,” he says instead.

“Sure,” Bob nods. “But if you told me– younger me, AV Club me– about you, he would’ve thought you were the coolest guy in the world.

“I– what? Really?”

“Yes, really! Look, Mike, you’re a smart kid, but you’re also– you’re stubborn and you’re creative, and you don’t take crap from anyone. You fought monsters. And you won. I didn’t have that when I was younger, and I think if I did– maybe if I did, then things would’ve turned out differently for me. God knows I could have used some of that determination. God knows I should’ve stuck to my guns more.”

Mike knows he’s stubborn, but he’s never considered that to be a good thing. It’s always been a point of frustration for people he knows– refusing to cut his hair shorter, refusing to apply to business school, refusing to do shit he doesn’t want to do. He’s never heard it referred to as something to be admired. “I guess I’m a little stubborn,” he relents, in a moment of frankly hilarious irony. “Maybe just a little.”

Bob grins at him. “There you go! I admire you for that. It’s not easy to know what you want.”

“I don’t,” Mike laughs in disbelief. “I don’t know what I want.”

“But when you do, you don’t give up,” Bob presses. “You dig your heels in and you get it, one way or another. And that’s why we’re not so similar after all.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. Guys like him and Bob– they are similar, despite all this bull about him being brave and cool and– whatever else. Guys like him– they’re the AV guys, the losers, the somebodies but in a bad way, the somebodies that nobody wants.

I admire you for that.

“Let me tell you something else,” Bob says, dropping his voice into a whisper and leaning in closer. “Joyce? Mrs. Byers? She said Jim– Chief Hopper– offered to pick Will up from school so he wouldn’t have to wait or bike home.”

“Um,” Mike says, a little lost. “Okay?”

“But Will waits for her anyway,” Bob says. “Only he doesn’t wait there, at Melvald’s. He walks across the plaza to hang out with you. And the days you’re not here, Joyce says he goes straight home after school.”

“Oh.” Mike blinks. He feels like he’s on the verge of something, here, something close. Something important. “I– okay.”

The bell over the front door jingles sharply, and Mike jumps, startled. “I– uh, the radio–”

“This piece goes right there,” Bob points out, then claps him on the shoulder again. “You work on that, and I’ll get this guy. And– Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a smart kid. Brave. Stubborn. Don’t forget that. Sometimes things don’t go the way you expect,” Bob says, a twinkle in his eye. “But sometimes that’s a good thing.”

[mothwingwritings]

Save The Date

F!Reader X Jean Pierre Polnareff

Today is my birthday!!! Yaaay! To celebrate, I wrote this self-indulgent, out of left field, Polnareff-kidnaps-you-on-your-bday-and-tries-to-force-his-love-on-you story because why not? I’ve been wanting to write more Jojo and I love Polnareff’s himbo ass sooo here it is. :D I decided to go back to my roots with this one, it was therapeutic loool.

This was a bit rushed because I want to get it finished by today, but I hope you enjoy!!! Thank you for reading and for being here! Love y’all~ ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Warnings: Kidnapping, imprisonment, reader is restrained this whole fic, forced/nonconsensual touching and kissing, brief mentions of sex, delusional Polnareff, probably horrible butchering of French pet names (I am sorry any French speakers, forgive my google translate indiscretions (；´∀｀))

Everything was perfect.

From the varying balloons and streamers that dotted the room, to the bows he had placed so lovingly in your hair, Jean Pierre Polnareff had worked hard to make this presentation immaculate. It was what his baby deserved after all-it wasn’t like it was your birthday every day.

It took weeks of planning and organizing to get everything just right. He’d spent countless hours calling the best caterers and bakers in town, and spent all his down time consulting with party planners to make sure this soiree would go off without a hitch. He was even able to score the perfect dress for you from the fancy boutique down the street-the very same dress you had been casting wistful (yet furtive) glances at for quite some time. The moment the ornate frock had gone on sale he could barely conceal his excitement and ended up purchasing it right away. He was sure you would be thrilled to receive the gown as a gift, and also be touched by his intuitive nature, his knack for picking up on the things you desired.

It was just your style, and he knew as soon as you donned it you would look nothing short of gorgeous. Envisioning you in it made his heart flutter, the smile that would engulf your face as you twirl around in it, giggling in sheer delight as the fabric swirls prettily around you, was sure to be a sight for sore eyes. It was hard waiting to see the dream become a reality.

When he finally got the chance to slip it on your body, he needed a moment to compose himself before he proceeded with the rest of the party setup. He had been correct in his assumption-you looked breathtaking, exactly like a princess in your new frilly, satin, dress. He wished he could have arranged to also have someone do your hair and makeup to really complete the look, but it was too risky to chance it. As much as he would have loved for you to wake up to a complete makeover, he couldn’t trust anyone to not be suspicious of the arrangement he had currently setup for you, and he dared not muck you up with his own mediocre skills.

But at the same time it didn’t really matter that he couldn’t have a cosmetologist stop by, you always looked perfect and ethereal, dolled up or otherwise.

Everything was splayed out before you, not a single item out of place. The table was neatly set with his finest dishes and cutlery, set at the ready to be topped with the feast that he was preparing for you. Vibrant bouquets comprised of only the fullest and brightest blooms of your favorite flowers sat on each end of the table, and fragrant candles cast flickering light over the scene, exuding a very romantic aura. Dinner (one of your favorite meals) was nearly done cooking in the kitchen, and its scent had begun to enticingly fill the room. He could practically hear your stomach rumble in anticipation.

The centerpiece of it all was an elaborate cake, decadent and rich, your name and a sweet birthday message sprawled on its surface in a pretty, curving script. It was far too large for just two people to consume, but that just meant there would be more to look forward to in the future. Maybe you would want to freeze some of it to share with him again on your next birthday, like some couples do with their wedding cake. The correlation made him blush as he fixated on it, giddy as he fantasized about all that lay ahead for the two of you.

With everything assembled, all he had to do was wait. He parked himself opposite you at the table, dressed to the nines to try and match you. As impressive as his finely tailored suit was, he didn’t hold a candle to your radiance. He sighed dreamily as he took you in, his eyes roving over your peaceful face while slumber still claimed you. You had a habit of incessantly frowning or shooting him questionable glances while you were awake. Whenever you noticed that his attention was turned your way, a grimace inevitably followed. This moment of peace where he could drink you in without any backlash was bliss, and as much as he was excited for you to wake up, he couldn’t help but relish this serene alone time he was sharing with you.

No kicking and screaming, no crying, no unnecessarily hurtful words flung his way when all he’s trying to do is show you love. Right now there was just you, him, and this lovingly crafted display of his affection that he prepared just for you, the love of his life. A small mountain of presents towered behind him, waiting patiently to be picked open by your delicate fingers. Most of them were little things he had picked up for you here and there that he thought you would like, trinkets and baubles he felt exuded a very ‘you’ aura and thus needed to be brought home to you. He used to try and give them to you the moment he purchased them, but you would always turn them away, telling him that he was spending way too much money on you. Silly girl, no amount of currency could ever be a waste on you.

The gift pile was a veritable array of goodies sure to delight you, teeming with big things, small things, and one very important thing that had been weighing heavily in his pocket for the past week. He had always planned on presenting it to you on your birthday (there was no greater gift than a perfectly cut rock signifying your eternal union, after all), but carried it around with him as a good luck charm of sorts, keeping it near till the moment he could give it to you. He kept it in his breast pocket as close to his heart as he could, childishly hoping that the placement would infuse it with the immense love he felt for you, each heart beat coursing through it making it shine more dazzlingly.

Though he enjoyed carrying it around with him, the time was soon approaching for it to go to its intended home, sitting prettily on your ring finger. Musing on it made him glance down at your hands as they rested daintily on the chairs arm rest. He tried not to focus on the straps he had placed around your arms, holding you in place to prevent you from bolting the moment you woke up. You were such a jumpy, shy thing, inclined to run and hide the moment you spotted him. He knew this setting would be overwhelming for you, that you would not take all the extra attention so easily, hence why the sedation and extra restraints were needed. As much as he wanted to do a more natural approach, there was just no way to keep hold of you otherwise. It was a necessary measure, but it was one he hated nonetheless.   

Knowing you would be upset when you awoke filled him with dismay, but ultimately the drugs and confines were all just a means to an ends. After the initial shock wore off, you were certain to be pleased by all his effort.

Hesitantly, he reached out to grasp your hands, holding them gently in his own. His thumb slowly grazed your knuckles, tracing small circles over your soft skin. Were they not strapped down, he would have chanced giving your hand a kiss, his lips yearning to make contact with you in any way they could. It truly was a shame that you were so adverse to touch, for he constantly longed to handle you tenderly, treating you so lovingly you would become putty in his hands, melt at his ministrations. He could clearly picture the expressions you would make while he busied himself, running his fingers gingerly across your flesh, memorizing every inch of you in faithful reverence, kisses following where his fingers once tread.

It was his most avid desire, but he had yet to act on the fantasy. His dream would come true someday, but first you had to get used to him. Ease into your new life.

It was a torturous process, waiting for you to warm up, but he knew it would be worth it in the end. Besides, with how bashful you were he figured he would be your first time for so many things, and that was exhilarating in its own right.

Suddenly, you stirred. Polnareff perked up, his eyes darting to your face as he watched your own slowly blink open. You scrunched your face in discomfort, groaning as your head gradually rose from its lulled posture. The after effects of the heavy drugs made your movements sluggish and groggy, another small groan slipping past your lips as you rotated your shoulders in an attempt to stretch.

Your gaze eventually landed on Polnareff, his face lighting up when you didn’t immediately look away. Still heavily sedated, confusion dominated your features. At this point, you were unsure where you were, what was going on, and probably perplexed by Polnareff’s presence, maybe even so bewildered you didn’t yet fully remember who Polnareff was. A warm smile graced his lips as he watched you come to, your befuddled state too cute to resist.

“Ma chérie,” Polnareff purred, his voice drawing you further from your hazy state, “I’m glad you are finally awake. It wouldn’t do to have you sleep through your whole party now, would it?”

Disorientation was giving way to realization, a look of fear and agitation morphing your lax expression into a sharp scowl. You began to pull against your bindings, your tugs becoming sharper the moment   you felt resistance, alarm mounting when you realized how trapped you truly were. Your eyes locked onto Polnareff’s, the haze that had clouded them gone, replaced with resentful animosity. It was painful being at the end of your enmity, but he reminded himself it was to be expected. You would be filled with contentment very soon, he just had to get you there.

“Jean what the hell,” Your words came out listless and slurred. As the final dregs of the drugs wore off, you struggled to get your baring’s. “Where am I? What is all this? Did you… did you fucking drug me?”

 Panic was starting to course through you, wide blown eyes filling with tears that you tried desperately to blink back. Your breathing grew labored as you started to thrash, trying your hardest to free yourself from the man who had imprisoned you, despite your compromised state.

Concerned you would hurt yourself, Polnareff gripped your hands tightly to try and sooth you, but it only caused your struggling to grow in intensity. Noting this, he quickly relinquished his hold, instead opting to cup your cheeks in a manner he hoped you would find more reassuring. Your skin was moist from your freshly fallen tears, his thumb easily sliding across its delicate surface, trying to wipe them away as best he could. You attempted to recoil from his touch, but the restraints and his firm hold kept you in place.

“Please amoureuse calm down,” he shushed you, worry reflected in his eyes, “You’ll end up hurting yourself if you keep pulling like that-“

“Fuck off,” you seethed between clenched teeth, “Let me go NOW Polnareff, or I swear I’ll-“

He clamped a hand over your mouth, halting any further commentary. A deep frown etched itself into his face as he stared you down, patience waning at the immediate vehemence you directed his way. Today was not supposed to go this way, he expected some backlash sure, but you weren’t supposed to recover from the medicine he had given you so rapidly. It was supposed to take time, fester a bit so that you would slowly come around, giving him plenty of time to explain things to you and have you get used to the arrangement naturally.

All the extra precautions were to help you see this for what it was, a true celebration to exhibit his unwavering dedication to you, and not whatever horrific falsity you had concocted in your anxiety addled brain. He cursed himself for not giving you the larger dose as he originally intended, he was just so concerned you may sleep too deeply and miss out on your special day altogether.

“You need to be quiet now, (Name),” His voice was low, a serious edge to it that froze your thrashing, granting him your full regard, “I know you are upset and confused, it’s only natural with how you woke up, and I don’t blame you for it. But there is no need for your ire ma cherie, look around you,” he released his hold, sweeping his hand across the room to show off his handiwork, “This is all for you bella. I worked so hard to make everything perfect for you because you deserve nothing less. Each decoration, accessory, snack, present-they were all assembled lovingly with you in mind. I’ve been preparing this for months, so please don’t be-“

“I don’t want any of this,” you once more cut him off, your voice choppy as you forced it out through shaky sobs, “I never wanted any of this. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t feel for you this way Polnareff? What you are doing is wrong, this entire ‘party’ is wrong! Please, if you really care about me at all just let me go and-“

Swiftly, he slammed his hand down on the table before you, rattling the dishes so violently it was surprising that none of them broke. Startled by the sudden upset, you lurched in your restraints, instantly shutting up out of fear. Your body quivered in distress, worried that if you said another word it would only further enrage him, and the assault next go around may not stop at just a whacked table.

“Stop it,” He annunciated each word, his eyes holding a sharpness that sent chills down your spine, “You don’t know what you are saying mon cœur, you are just blindly judging things before you even try them.” He took a shaky breath before continuing, “I have been patient, I have been kind, I have given you nothing but love, yet you constantly keep me at arm’s length, turning away from me in disgust even though I worship the ground you walk on. Please for one minute stop being so damn ungrateful and just be satisfied with all the hard work I have put in to meeting your lofty, unreasonable standards, or else you may actually have something to cry about.”

Tears continued to pour down your cheeks as your panic-stricken eyes drank him in. Your bottom lip quivered, sniffles punctuating your breathing, but you didn’t speak another word. He felt momentarily guilty for going off on you (on your birthday, no less), but seeing the success his rare instance of harshness awarded him quickly overshadowed any negativity he felt, instead washing him in a feeling of victory.

Now that he got his point across, hopefully you could proceed as planned and things would be smooth sailing from here on out.

In the other room the oven started to noisily beep, signaling that dinner was ready to be served. He rose to his feet, hovering over you before making his way towards the kitchen.

“Ah, perfect timing,” he forced a smile, doing his best to hide the hurt your brusque behavior had inflicted upon him. He squared his shoulders, composing himself before continuing. “Here is how the night will progress, amour. I will prepare our meals and then we will enjoy them peacefully in each other’s company. Once we are done, we can dig into this cake I ordered especially for you from the gourmet bakery down the street, the one that’s so popular it has a wait list.”

He sighed dejectedly, hanging his head in defeat before continuing, “You may not care, but I think it’s important that you take into consideration just how much of myself I poured into this celebration before you make another snide, thoughtless remark.”

His eyes flicked down to the cake, a brief look of sadness wavering within them before he directed his attention back your way. “It’s lovely though, isn’t it? I am sure it will taste just as good. Don’t worry, if you haven’t calmed yourself in time to be let loose I will gladly feed you chérie. Even when you are being particularly… bratty, I would not want you to miss out on such a delicacy. Then, once our bellies are full you can start unwrapping this mound of presents behind me, and we will just pray that it doesn’t take us through the entire night.”

He chuckled, his demeanor beginning to soften as he spoke, appreciative of the obedience you were displaying and the lack of unwarranted commentary as he got through the itinerary for the night. “Finally, we will end the party with a gift that has been a long time coming, one that is a truly significant mark of our eternal bond. I know you will love it ma chérie, just as much as I will.”

He saw a shiver course through you at his words, a small, sad whimper tumbling from your lips as your shoulders sagged. The gravity of his allusion bore down on your small frame, shrinking you down in a poor attempt at hiding from your inescapable fate. He tutted when he saw your attitude shift, his hand again finding your cheek to give it a gentle stroke. This time, you didn’t flinch away. 

“I know this is a lot to take in ma beauté and I am sorry it frightened you at first,” he leaned down, planting a lingering kiss to your forehead before proceeding, “But you will come around very soon, I know you will. You are my sweet girl, and after you experience what a great time we are about to have you will be so overcome with joy that you will barely be able to stand it. In fact, you may already feel a little silly for giving me such a hard time, am I right?”

Suddenly, his expression turned bashful. A rosy hue illuminated his cheeks as he started to fidget uncomfortably, a slightly embarrassed looking smile gracing his lips. Your body turned cold as his hand slid from your cheek to your shoulder, idly toying with the thin strap of your dress. His roving eyes fell to your chest, a hungry look flashing through them before they found their way back to your gaze.

“And then, after you have finished going through all your gifts, to thank me for what a gracious lover I have been maybe… maybe I can unwrap something too?”

You shudder at his insinuation, a look of pure dread donning your features.

“Polnareff,” you choked out, strained words struggling to form one final, soft plea, “please.”

Before you could utter another word, his mouth aggressively claimed your own. He pressed hard against you, as if to engrain the scorching feeling of his lips on to your flesh. You whined, squirming against him until he pulled away, staring at you with longing, love struck eyes.

“Happy birthday, ma chérie. Let’s make this one to remember.”

[amywritesthings]

i'm currently going through the whole writer's block thing where i can't like... write something for a series but i also don't want to disappoint people who are waiting for updates on SU and TBS, and worrying about disappointing anyone just spirals me, so i've just been knee deep in the mha tags 😅

maybe if i write up some silly one shots i won't feel as stuck? but would you guys be mad if it was like... JJK, maybe some modern Jevi stuff, MHA, etc?

[synonymroll648]

from a vibes perspective, i totally understand why so many people look at keefe and go ‘this guy would be the male equivalent of a wine aunt when he’s older’. 

but. but. 

taking lore into consideration, in my heart, he’s terrified of alcohol (even if he tries really hard to hide it). because. like. his first exposure is almost guaranteed to be through cassius, and cassius canonically threw a glass extremely close to him at least once when he was, like, 8. maybe cassius wasn’t always extra nasty when he was drunk, but there’s gotta be a correlation in keefe’s brain between risking getting seriously hurt (emotionally or physically) and alcohol consumption that’s really hard for him to shake. 

[inhuman-obey-me]

A Jewel Is Born (Chapter 1)

Written for Asmodeus's Birthday 2023! Description: Asmodeus wasn't born as the Avatar of Lust. He hadn't always been one of Lucifer's brothers. He wasn't created to be one of the Seven Rulers of the Devildom. What he was created for, was beauty. That much has never changed. Can also be read on AO3 here!

Day 1 - Awakening

From the moment Asmodeus was born, he knew beauty. It was interwoven into every moment of his creation -- a destiny to be the most beautiful being that had ever lived and ever would.

The Jewel of the Heavens began as a pearl, lustrous and lovely, resting upon a bed of white silk in a jewelry box lined with glass -- mirrors within, with a clear view to the inside from beyond its walls. The entire case was illuminated by tiny stars that filled the space, their crystalline lights reflected infinitely in the glass to highlight the perfectly smooth sheen of the round pearl at its center.

And from this pearl, his Father drew out strands of glittering thread, weaving them through the stars into limbs, a torso, a face. All the shimmering flawless beauty of the gem made up every bit of his new angel's being. Fluttering robes came together over his form, white and purple, every star stitched into shining golden accents. A perfect doll, with the sweetest sherry-gold eyes fluttering back up at his creator.

A sparkling golden halo finished the creation, just the same as all his angels, and with that final touch, gave him life.

As the new angel's mind began to awaken, all around him were the mirrors of the box he lay in. In every direction, he saw himself -- the very concept of beauty given angelic form. Light bounced off his smooth skin, the iridescence of his origins still lingering upon his surface. A soft breath of wonder escaped him at the sight, and as he drew himself up to standing, the walls fell open around him like elegantly blooming petals of a great glass flower.

From farther beyond, he could see another angel standing beside a gateway, spear upright in hand and nodding politely to him. He registered the most beautiful parts of his boyish-faced greeter first -- the smooth arch of his jaw, the muscular curves of his exposed abdomen, the sweetly unassuming smile reaching up to lovely blue eyes behind a dusty ash grey mop of hair.

An exquisite smile slid across the newborn's impeccable features, and a pair of magnificent white feather wings spread out behind him, gliding him forward towards the gate. Taking the other angel's hand in his, he kissed it sweetly, batting his eyelashes up at him. "Well, hello there. What's your name, handsome?"

The other's smile dropped away quickly, replaced momentarily by some mixture of confusion and displeasure. He pulled his hand back before bowing his head again in polite deference, stiffly returning his expression to serious neutrality.

"Welcome, brother. I am the angel Raphael, and I have come to guide you to the Celestial Realm. What is your name?"

The answer entered his mind naturally, without even a moment's hesitation, and sounded like honey and stardust upon his tongue.

"I am the angel Asmodeus."

[arminsumi]

"he's so full of himself now youre full of him" JAY OH MY GO- 🫣😨

i'm giggling kjbhjksjbsj i love coming up with outrageous things like this 😂

[allfortzu]

hold my hand, i'll never let go of it

-- dahyun / tzuyu. 703, fluff. MEN DNI.

like tzuyu to dahyun, and dahyun to tzuyu.

“where are we going?” dahyun asks.

tzuyu grins. she interlocks their fingers, and dahyun falls into step beside her. 

dahyun’s hands are soft and gentle, and they fit with tzuyu’s perfectly in a way that makes her never want to let go. 

“you’ll see.” 

their hands don’t sway, because dahyun naturally presses herself close to tzuyu, until her head is on her shoulder, and there is infinitesimal space between them. they lean against one another – tzuyu’s cheek on dahyun, dahyun’s cheek on her. 

“close your eyes, hyunnie.” 

she can’t see, but she trusts that dahyun’s listening.  

dahyun definitely peeks, because she feels soft chuckles reverberating when they reach the spot, and it spreads all throughout tzuyu’s being.

“a picnic?” dahyun giggles. 

tzuyu doesn’t even care that dahyun’s peeked, she’s too excited herself. “birthday picnic.”

dahyun giggles again, all giddy and silly and uncontrollable. her eyes crinkle into crescents, smile wide and pretty, teeth showing. tzuyu loves nothing more. 

dahyun unwinds herself from tzuyu’s arm, skipping over as tzuyu trails behind. the white and blue mat, the picnic basket bought exclusively for the occasion, the daisies and forget-me-nots scattered around, hand picked from tzuyu’s garden. 

“you didn’t have to do this,” dahyun pouts, recognising the wildflowers. 

“but i wanted to.” tzuyu smiles, and she moves to join dahyun in the middle of the blanket. 

dahyun holds her hand out to help her over the flowers. 

she looks ethereal in the evening light, tzuyu realises, a soft glow around the edges that makes everything else fade away in tzuyu’s mind. when their palms meet, dahyun’s fingers envelop hers, safe and certain, and tzuyu thinks she understands why the earth orbits the sun now; why the waves are enthralled by the moon even if they know they'll never touch. 

they lay out the spread of food, but tzuyu spends most of her time watching. 

dahyun gasps and gapes at anything that looks homemade, and squeals at her favourites. her brows furrow when she’s particularly touched and she takes pictures of everything, all her emotions written on her face because that’s just how she is. tzuyu is completely captivated. 

they don’t end up finishing all the food, but the point was never to eat anyways, so tzuyu isn’t fazed. she laces her fingers through dahyun’s carefully, like they’re two shy schoolgirls all over again, smitten by each other but afraid to admit it. they’re far from that now, but being in public makes her cautious. 

dahyun doesn’t seem to mind, though. 

she moves the picnic basket away from between them and throws her legs over tzuyu’s, finding a place in tzuyu’s lap.

tzuyu encircles an arm around her waist and brings her close, the caution from before waning as she nuzzles into the nape of dahyun’s neck and comfort engulfs her in smells of everything that reminds tzuyu of home. dahyun peppers butterfly kisses on the crown of her head, and tzuyu dissolves into a puddle of pure affection that has her sinking endlessly into dahyun’s embrace. she hums when dahyun strokes her hair, the familiar touch sending a numbing warmth down through to her veins, and relieving itself in a sigh. 

“i love you so much,” tzuyu mutters, letting her eyes fall close. “i don’t think i say it enough –

i love… i love your smile, and the way you make me laugh. and how you hold me like this, and try new things with me, and go new places with me,” she takes another deep breath. “and you’re so patient with me, and soft and gentle. and i don’t know if i tell you all of these enough, but i think about you all the time.”

dahyun tightens her hug, and everything quietens in tzuyu’s ears – the sound of the sea smothers, and her thoughts dampen – but she’s always attuned to dahyun’s voice. 

“you don’t have to say it out loud. i feel it everyday,” dahyun whispers, lips pressed close to tzuyu’s temple. “and i love you, too. you know that, right?"

this is the centre of her universe, and she follows unceasingly. 

i know.

like the earth to the sun, and the waves to the moon. 

like tzuyu to dahyun, and dahyun to tzuyu. 

happy birthday to dahyun, the only woman ever 🫶

thank you for reading! interactions appreciated <3

[hisui-dreamer]

whoopsie kinda disappeared for a while there 👁️👁️

[bored-platypus]

anyways i wrote this for my upcoming lee gilyoung (probably crossover) fic and i'm going insane

Yoo Sangah-noona used to not like it when Gilyoung killed people. He thinks of her horrified face, the way she tried so hard to do it for him when she wasn’t ready. Like a catepillar, trying to fly. She didn’t get him back then, but that was okay. After that, she lined herself with steel, wrapped herself up into a chrysalis until she emerged, deadly and way more like a spider than a butterfly. Gilyoung isn’t sure if she understands, but she’s closer now, even if Sangah-noona still tries to protect him and Yoosung. Dokja-hyung got it though, way more than his auntie, who tried to get rid of him. Dokja-hyung never got rid of Gilyoung, even though he tried really hard to get rid of himself, like a dummy. But the scene was always the same; thick rivulets of blood underneath or on a body, or black and blue, like bruises, when Seolhwa-noona killed sometimes. His mom was like that too, lying on the cold, hard concrete. 

[dollsuguru]

hopefully i can finish the sugu b-day fic by tonight 😭 pray 4 me………