#i’ll have waited nearly a decade for it so it better be good

[thewillbyersbowlcut]

the byler kiss better be the most beautiful shot in television history. it better be well lit. well directed. well acted. well written. the costumes better be top tier. the hair better be on point. i want it to be worthy of the louvre.

[golden-reverie]

Dewey Decimated

Chapter Two

Author’s note: Chapter two of my first series. You can read chapter one here. Still in the midst of setting the scene, but the next chapters will have more substance so stay tuned! And again, thank you all for the support!!

Summary: Mabel, a part-time librarian, finds solace in her carefully constructed routine—that is until Harry, an atypical library patron, unsettles the order she’s worked hard to maintain.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: Still nothing quite yet, toxic boss, hints of past dom/sub relationships if you squint, brief mentions of complicated family dynamics (alcoholism and abandonment), and hints at a future dom/sub realtionship (if you really truly squint)

By 10:07 AM, Mabel had already swallowed her frustration twice, forced a polite smile four times, and reminded herself at least a dozen that storming out in a blaze of righteous fury was not, unfortunately, a financially responsible decision.

Rick Alderman, her boss, thrived on power for power’s sake. As a senior executive at Northwind Publishing, he projected an image of authority, but in reality, he was little more than a glorified bottleneck—too obsessed with control to delegate effectively, yet too lazy to do the work himself. His office was a shrine to his own ego, cluttered with awards from decades past and framed photos of handshakes with people who had likely forgotten his name the second they walked away.

For the past week, Mabel had been waiting for a response from him. She’d sent an email requesting a meeting to discuss her future at the company. No response. Three follow-up emails. Nothing. Two polite in-person reminders. More silence.

It wasn’t surprising. Disappointing, yes. Infuriating, absolutely. But surprising? Not even a little.

In the two years she had slogged under Rick’s reign, he had never given her a straight answer about anything that didn’t serve his own interests. Every discussion about her career aspirations vanished into thin air, yet somehow, he always found the time to ask her to book his personal appointments or send her cryptic, one-line emails titled “Fix this”—never accompanied by context, or God forbid, an explanation.

She knew she was wasting away in this role, like a plant starved of sunlight, but quitting wasn’t an option. Not yet. The paycheck was just good enough to keep her tethered—to keep her brothers in school, to keep the rent paid, to make the soul-sucking monotony just bearable.

“Mabel, a word.”

Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice.

She looked up to see Rick standing in his doorway, summoning her inside. She followed, forcing herself into the kind of neutral professionalism she had nearly perfected. He shut the door behind her and leaned against his desk, arms crossed.

“How long have you worked here?”

Her pulse kicked up a notch.

Was this it? Was it finally happening? Was he actually going to acknowledge her work? To offer her the promotion she deserved? The faintest ember of hope flickered in her chest despite her better judgment.

She straightened her posture. “About two years now, Mr. Alderman.”

She was ready. She had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in her head, ready to enumerate her achievements, her innovative ideas, and the ways she could help propel the company forward. She would make a case so strong he couldn’t possibly—

“I see.” He nodded, then sighed. “Two years, and you still can’t remember that I prefer my documents single-sided, not double.”

It was like the air had been sucked from the room.

Of course. How could she have been so stupid as to think, even for a second, that this was going to be different? That he would ever change?

Mabel swallowed down the sting of disappointment and forced a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll make a note of that.”

Rick gave her a menacing smile, as if he relished the power he wielded over her. “That’ll be all,” he said.

She turned to leave, jaw clenched, but before she reached the door, his voice cut through the silence again. “Oh and while you reprint these, you can entertain yourself by thinking of a spot to pick up my lunch. I’m in the mood for French.”

She clenched her fists and forced a fake smile. “Will do, Mr. Alderman.”

***

That evening, the familiar hush of the library was a balm to her frayed nerves. Mabel exhaled slowly, willing herself to forget about eco-unfriendly documents, insufferable bosses, and overpriced French cuisine. But as she approached the front desk, something caught her eye.

Her book—the one she had been reading the night before—sat exactly where she had left it. But something was off.

The spine was slightly shifted, the pages bent in a way they hadn’t been when she last held it.

She frowned, picking it up, flipping through until—

A small slip of paper fluttered onto the desk.

Mabel stared at it for a moment before unfolding it, her pulse quickening.

Not practical enough for me, huh? Figured I’d see for myself. Can we discuss over coffee tomorrow? —H

She swallowed.

The elegant script taunted her with its casual confidence. The way he signed it “H,” as if he knew he didn’t need to clarify.

Her fingers traced the edge of the note, her emotions a tangled mix of curiosity and caution.

It was just coffee, she told herself. A simple, harmless meeting over caffeine. Nothing more.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that agreeing to this might unravel the tightly woven threads of her life. Coffee could lead to conversation. Conversation could lead to…

She shook her head, willing herself to focus on the present.

Slipping the note back into the book, she returned to her tasks. But throughout the evening, her thoughts kept drifting back to the note, the words circling in her mind like a melody she couldn’t shake.

As closing time approached, Mabel found herself drawn back to the front desk, the book now a silent testament to her inner turmoil. She traced the spine with her fingers, contemplating.

Her sensible side screamed for her to retreat, clinging to the safety of routine. Yet a quieter, more daring inner voice urged her to seize the chance—a chance to see the man behind the enigmatic “H,” to let the idealized image she’d built up crumble, and then she could go back to enjoying her library shifts in peace.

With a resolute breath, Mabel made her decision. She reached for the stamp on the desk—the one reserved for marking returns—and, with a small, defiant smile, stamped “APPROVED” in bold green letters across the note.

Then, with quick, decisive strokes, she scribbled a reply beneath it, proposing a time and place.

Her heart thudded as she slid the note back into the book and tucked it onto the hold shelf under his name.

As she tidied up the desk, Mabel couldn't help but wonder what she'd just set in motion. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake, but as she locked up for the night, she couldn't rid herself of the feeling that something had shifted—like the first ripple on an otherwise still surface.

***

The next day, as she went about her routine at Northwind, Mabel found herself glancing at the clock more often than usual, her focus slipping despite her best efforts. The hours crawled at a torturous pace, each tick of the second hand stretching longer than it should. She had promised herself she wouldn’t overthink it—it’s just coffee, a casual meeting—but the thought clung stubbornly to her mind.

Rick, as predictable as ever, was too absorbed in his self-importance to notice her distracted state. He spent most of the afternoon micromanaging a project he had only half-understood, making sweeping declarations and then leaving her and the rest of the team to clean up the inconsistencies. It was just another day trapped in corporate purgatory, though today her impatience to escape was palpable.

As the workday waned, she practically counted down the minutes, willing the hands of the clock to move faster. But, in true Rick fashion, just as she was slipping her coat over her shoulders, he called out from his office.

“Mabel, hold on a second.”

She froze, mentally cursing every higher power in existence. With measured calm, she turned back, schooling her expression into polite indifference. “Yes, Mr. Alderman?”

Without lifting his gaze from the screen, he intoned, “I need you to fix the formatting on the Johnson proposal. The alignment is off.”

She blinked, incredulous. “The one I sent this morning? I followed the—”

“I need 1.27 margins,” he interjected with a dismissive wave, “not whatever this is.”

It had 2.54 margins, the company standard—a detail Rick always managed to forget, despite endless reminders from compliance that his revisions were “not in brand.” Mabel had explained it to him more times than she cared to count, but today she lacked the energy for another lesson. Instead, she bit her cheek to stifle a retort and nodded stiffly. “Of course.”

By the time she reworked the document, painstakingly scrutinizing every possible nitpick and resending it, she was already fifteen minutes behind schedule. A hasty email later, she shut down her computer, and practically sprinted out of the office, weaving through the rush-hour crowd like a fugitive on the run.

***

She reached the café breathless, running a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to compose herself before stepping inside. The scent of roasted espresso and warm vanilla curled around her as she scanned the room.

Almost instantly, her eyes fell on him.

In the far corner, Harry sat with one leg casually crossed over the other, his fingers loosely curled around a coffee cup. There was no sign of impatience—no furtive glances at his watch, no restless shifting in his seat. Instead, he seemed content to wait, his calm focus unbroken as he typed away on his phone. Then, as if in response to her presence, he looked up. His gaze wandered over the room for a heartbeat before settling on her.

Mabel’s heart quickened as she forced herself forward.

“Sorry I’m late,” she murmured with a tentative smile, drawing closer. “Work… my boss… well, he’s—”

“A prick?” Harry finished smoothly, a flicker of amusement passing through his green eyes.

A startled laugh bubbled up before she could stop it. “That’s putting it mildly.”

For a brief second, something unreadable passed over his face—something that almost looked like protectiveness, but before she could overanalyze it, he gestured toward the seat across from him.

“Sit,” he said, his voice low, effortless. “I ordered for you. Hope I guessed right.”

Mabel hesitated briefly before easing into the chair, her eyes drawn to the cup that awaited her. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” she said as she took a cautious sip, warmth settling over her tongue.

A vanilla cappuccino. How did he—

“I’ve seen it written on your cup at the library,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “And don’t worry about it—I’m well acquainted with difficult bosses.”

She set the cup down, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Is that because you have one or because you are one?”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She instantly regretted it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Probably because I am one,” he said, cutting off her backtrack with a smirk that made something flicker low in her stomach. “What gave me away?”

Mabel exhaled, forcing herself to relax, to match his ease.

“Well,” she said, leaning back slightly, “the suits for one. Successful businessmen aren’t exactly the library’s core demographic—more of an order-it-off-Amazon crowd.”

She let the words hang for a beat before tilting her head. “That, and your reading material. Pretty sure you’re single-handedly keeping our Business & Economics section in circulation.”

Harry smirked, raising his cup in a half-toast. “Knowledge is power.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Spoken like a true man in charge.”

His gaze flickered over hers—sharp, assessing, intrigued. Something heavy settled in the air between them, like he had caught onto something she hadn’t meant to reveal. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

He cleared his throat. “And what about you?” He asked, breaking the moment just before it lingered too long. “What do you do when you’re not critiquing your library patrons’ choice of books?”

Mabel let out a quiet laugh. “Plot their literary redemption arcs.”

Harry chuckled. “That sounds serious.”

“Oh, it is,” she said, lifting her cup to her lips. “One tragic book choice at a time.” She set it down. “And I work in publishing. Northwind Publishing.”

He let out a low hum. “Publishing. That tracks.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Tracks how?”

“You have the precision of someone who deals with words all day,” he responded casually. “The way you correct yourself, structure your thoughts before you speak.”

Mabel frowned, “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or concerned by how much you notice.”

Harry chuckled, his green eyes glinting. “I’m just observant.”

She didn’t quite believe that was all it was, but she let it go.

“And you?” she asked. “What kind of boss are you?”

His lips twitched. “I run a firm. Investments, acquisitions—things most people find dull.”

She let out a small laugh. “So you’re admitting you have a boring job?”

“I’m admitting most people think it’s boring,” he corrected. “I happen to enjoy it.”

There was something in the way he spoke—an assured, measured cadence—that made her want to trust every word he said.

Before she could press, he leaned back and fixed her with a thoughtful look. “So, what did the prick do this time?”

Mabel blinked. She hadn’t expected that.

In her experience, most men loved to talk about themselves. She had been on enough coffee dates where she barely had to speak, yet somehow still endured the inevitable, clueless "This was fun, we should do it again sometime."

Even with Matt—the only one who had lasted long enough to earn the title of boyfriend—conversations about work had always been unwelcome. He’d roll his eyes whenever she vented, chastising her for complaining about a paying job, as if having an income absolved her of any legitimate frustration.

But Harry wasn’t waiting for his turn to dominate the conversation. He’d deftly steered it back to her, expecting an answer.

Mabel hesitated, her grip tightening around her cup before she exhaled. “Oh, the usual. Death by a thousand pointless tasks. My boss has this uncanny ability to make a simple request sound like the fate of the company depends on it.”

Harry tilted his head, watching her. “And yet, you’re still there.” His tone wasn’t judgmental—just curious.

She shrugged, lifting her cup again and muttering the only response she had been conditioned to believe was acceptable. “It pays the bills.”

“That’s not an answer,” he replied, his tone smooth and insistent.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the ceramic, her instinct telling her to deflect. Change the subject. Redirect the focus back onto him like she always did.

But for some reason, she didn’t. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way Harry was looking at her—really looking at her—like he saw more than she was saying. Like he wasn’t just filling space with conversation, but memorizing every syllable.

She lowered her cup, and along with it, the defenses she’d so carefully constructed—just slightly. “I have two younger brothers in college,” she said finally. “Charlie and Peter. They’re twins. I help cover their tuition. It’s not exactly my dream to work as an executive assistant, but… it’s necessary for now.”

Harry didn’t look surprised. If anything, something in his expression shifted—something quiet and contemplative.

“That’s a lot to carry,” he said after a beat, his voice steady.

Mabel shrugged, “I have strong shoulders.”

His gaze didn’t waver, sharp yet unreadable, like he was cataloging her words and filing them away. She opened her mouth to redirect the conversation—turn it back to him, to his work, to anything that didn’t feel quite so exposed—but he was quicker.

“So, you have Charlie and Peter. What about the rest of your family? Did you grow up in Seattle?”

She hesitated for half a second.

Mabel hadn’t been asked about her childhood in a long time. Not by someone who actually seemed to care about the answer. The words tasted unfamiliar, rusty from disuse—“I grew up in Lake Stevens. About 35 miles north of here. But we moved to Ellensburg when I was in middle school.”

She left it at that, deliberately sidestepping the real question, hoping he wouldn’t press.

Her hopes were short-lived.

A thoughtful hum escaped him as he trailed a thumb along the rim of his cup. “Why did you move?”

Judging by his accent, she had assumed he had little knowledge of Washington’s geography—certainly not enough to question why a family would leave safe, suburban Lake Stevens for somewhere like Ellensburg. But something about the way he asked made her think otherwise.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Cliché story, really,” she said, trying to shrug the weight of it off. “My father left when I was fourteen. My mother lost her job shortly after. We couldn’t afford to stay in Lake Stevens, so we moved somewhere more… manageable.”

She kept her tone even, casual. Like it was just another fact about her life, no different from saying she worked at a library or that vanilla cappuccinos were her drink of choice.

But Harry wasn’t fooled.

His expression didn’t change, but his posture did—just a fraction, like he was absorbing the weight of her words. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, softer.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mabel.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like at that age. Not young enough to be oblivious, but old enough to shoulder more than you should’ve had to.”

She saw genuine empathy in his gaze.

This was a first.

Most people either pitied her or tried to reframe it into some kind of inspiring resilience story. Poor girl. You’re so strong. Everything happens for a reason. But Harry… he simply acknowledged it.

She hadn’t realized how much she needed that. How much she had needed someone to recognize that there was no silver lining, no moral takeaway. That some things just… were.

Harry watched her patiently, like he could sense her thoughts tumbling over one another and was giving her space to process.

She gave him a small smile. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It definitely wasn’t easy. My mother, she’s...” pausing, she let her words drop off. “Well, I did what I could to to make a future for myself. For my brothers.”

Granting her some reprieve, Harry didn’t pry any further. But she could tell— by the way his gaze sharpened—that his interest was genuine.

He exhaled slowly, then leaned forward, resting his forearms against the table. His voice was more deliberate now, like he was at the helm of some metaphorical ship, steering their conversation into uncharted waters.

“So, you’re putting your brothers through college, you’re at the beck and call of the prick Monday through Friday...” His gaze flickered over her, like he was fitting puzzle pieces together. “And I’m guessing there’s more to the story with your mother, which we’ll get to eventually.”

The certainty in his voice caught her off guard. Like he knew she wouldn’t tell him everything tonight, but he was willing to wait.

Then, he leaned in slightly, his voice low.

“Is there anyone who takes care of you, Mabel?”

The words hit like her like a thunderclap, low and resounding.

Mabel’s expression faltered. It was a simple question.

Everyone had someone who took care of them—a parent, a partner, a person who made life feel a little lighter. Didn’t they?

She had her brothers, and in some ways, they took care of her. They gave her purpose, made her laugh when she needed it most. She had Mrs. Whitmore to offer her reassuring words every now and then. But she knew that wasn’t what Harry meant.

She let out a small, slow breath. “I—” She stopped, realizing she didn’t actually know what to say.

Her first instinct was to brush it off with some quip about being perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but if there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s that capability and need were two different things—and something told her Harry knew that too. All her usual excuses suddenly felt thin under the weight of his gaze.

She managed a wry smile, “I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”

Harry’s lips pressed together slightly. “That’s not a yes,” he noted.

Her throat tightened. “It’s not a no, either.”

His fingers tapped against the table, slow and deliberate. The space between them felt charged, both physically small and emotionally expansive.

“No one should have to deal with that all alone,” he said gently.

She let out a shaky laugh, half-mocking, half-sincere. “That’s what people say right before they remind you that, at the end of the day, you do, actually.”

As the words left her mouth, she suddenly felt like crying, but she held it in.

For an instant, his expression shifted—a fleeting tightening around his eyes betrayed his concern at her reaction.

For a moment, the cafe seemed to hold its breath.

“Maybe most people,” he allowed. “That doesn’t mean everyone.”

That quiet confidence again. Like a promise, one she wasn’t sure what to do with.

Mabel felt her pulse quicken, but she wasn’t sure if it was from his words or the way he looked at her when he said them. Like he wasn’t just making an observation, but an offer.

No no no. This is exactly the territory she didn’t want to breach. She needed to break the moment before she slipped too far into it.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I’ll be sure to let you know if I ever need a businessman-slash-library-patron to step in.”

Sensing her walls starting to climb around her again, Harry didn’t press the issue further. Instead, he offered her a knowing expression and nodded.

“Please do.”

Mabel let the words settle between them, rolling them over in her mind as she studied the man across from her. When she agreed to coffee, she had framed it in her mind as a professional courtesy—her civic duty as a librarian, a steward of knowledge, a public servant of sorts. She was simply being accessible to discuss literature, facilitating intellectual curiosity like any librarian should.

That had been the plan, at least.

And yet, here she was—sitting across from Harry, a man she had known for barely more than a handful of library visits—letting him see the parts of her she usually kept tucked away, behind polished smiles and convenient deflections.

In an attempt to hold onto some semblance of her original intentions—she nodded towards the copy of The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet laying on the table between them.

“So, what did you think?” She asked.

Harry’s lips twitched, as if he knew exactly what she was doing but was willing to play along. “Certainly not a business book,” he said through an exhale.

“Very astute observation,” she replied with a playful glint in her eye.

“But I can see why you like it,” he added softly.

“Oh? And why’s that?” she queried, curiosity mingling with caution.

“It’s a character study—about relationships, about finding where you belong. About knowing when to lead, when to follow... when to let people in,” he said, his voice a hushed murmur that made her heart flutter.

She drew a breath, swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat. “That’s a very emotionally insightful response for someone who checked out a book on strategic acquisitions last week.”

Harry’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “I contain multitudes.”

Mabel let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “That might be the first time I’ve heard a finance guy quote Walt Whitman.”

“I doubt it’ll be the last,” he murmured, and there it was again—the expectation that this wouldn’t be the last time they sat across from each other like this.

Mabel was dumbfounded as to how something could feel so safe and so dangerous at the same time.

But here that something was—sitting across from her, making her stomach tighten in ways she wasn’t sure she wanted to analyze.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself stay in it, let the conversation stretch and unfold in a way that felt natural—like slipping into a current instead of fighting against it. They drifted back to books—her recommending novels with actual plots, him trying to argue that business books had their own kind of narrative. He told her about his mother and sister, who still lived back in England. She learned that he studied finance at Imperial College in London, an education that set him up to launch his own firm in America by the age of twenty-six.

“Did you always know you wanted to do that?” she asked, grasping her drink, long forgotten.

“I knew I wanted control over my own success,” he answered, voice calm, resolute. “I don’t do well with other people dictating my decisions.”

A faint blush warmed her cheeks—a reaction he noted with a small, amused smile. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat, “I can see how that might be the case.”

Their conversation flowed on—shifting from hobbies they enjoyed to anecdotes from their college days to their favorite foods and go-to spots in Seattle. They debated the merits of slow-burn character dramas versus high-stakes action films. Mabel learned he had a fondness for old thrillers, and Harry learned she had a deep love for Pride and Prejudice adaptations—especially the Colin Firth version.

It was... comfortable. Terrifying, yes, but easy in a way she couldn’t explain.

Eventually, the evening wound down. Harry pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “If I’m going to be expanding my literary horizons, I’ll need a direct source for recommendations.”

Mabel smirked, picking it up, she entered her number and texted herself an “H.”

When they stepped outside, the air was cool and crisp against her skin.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, easy, assured—like it wasn’t a question.

Harry had a way of doing that—saying things that made them feel like natural conclusions rather than mere suggestions. If it were anyone else, Mabel probably would have rolled her eyes. Yet, there was something about Harry's approach that she found settling and... safe.

Still, she shook her head gently. “Thank you, but I have my car.”

Harry nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Text me when you get home then, yeah?”

It wasn’t a request.

Mabel huffed out a quiet laugh and conceded, “Okay.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, Mabel.”

She turned, walking toward her car, feeling his eyes on her until she was out of sight.

By the time she stepped into her apartment, she was exhausted. She shut the door behind her and reached for her phone.

Made it home. Thanks again for the coffee. -Mabel

She barely had time to set her bag down before her screen lit up.

Good. I had a wonderful time with you, Mabel.

And then another.

Get some sleep. H.

Mabel stared at the messages for a moment longer than necessary, her fingers hovering over the keyboard before she finally locked her phone and set it aside.

She got ready for bed—washing her face, changing into an oversized T-shirt, brushing her hair into a loose knot—but her mind was still at that coffee shop, replaying the evening in fragments.

His voice. His eyes. The way he listened.

The way he spoke.

There was quiet dominance woven into every part of him—his presence filled the space without ever suffocating it. His words didn’t demand but still expected. Sitting across from him, she felt both exposed yet safe, like he was peeling back her layers with gentle precision.

Men who carried themselves the way Harry did—men with power, with control—they were usually the ones who took. Who assumed. Who wore authority and entitlement like a badge—one they never actually earned.

But Harry was different.

Yes, he had an undeniable presence—the kind that made people instinctively take him seriously. But it was also the kind that didn’t require raised voices or unnecessary force to yield.

And he listened. Really listened. He had taken in her words and held them like they mattered. Like she mattered.

She never talked about her past—not with people she knew and certainly not with people she barely knew.

And the worst part? She felt something when those parts of him surfaced—when he told her to text him, when he told her to get some sleep, when he ordered water for them both without asking, as if it was all second nature to him. To anyone else, they might have seemed like nothing, just small inconsequential gestures.

But each time she replayed them in her mind, something stirred deep in her core—a pull, a recognition of a need she had had told herself she had long since buried.

She exhaled, flopping onto her bed, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

Enough, Mabel. She pleaded with herself. You don’t even know what this is.

And yet—

Lying there in the dim glow of her bedroom, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they both knew exactly what it was—an unspoken understanding woven into every glance, every carefully placed word.

And that they were both standing at the edge of it.

Something that, once crossed, would never be undone.

***

More to come very soon! Thank you for reading :)

Read chapter one here.

[apomaro-mellow]

Hawkins Confidential 5

Part 4

Steve was pacing about the waiting room, hoping for new, good news, anything. He was alone for most of it but, eventually his mother did arrive, sitting nearby. He supposed she was trying to be supportive, even though all she did was sit and read her book. She managed to do that for about two hours before getting up and grabbing his hands.

“Worrying yourself isn’t going to help either of them. Sit down and distract yourself with something.”

“How can I distract myself? My pup and my-”

Bianca hissed him to silence. “Do you want the whole town to know how loose you are?”

“Please”, Steve rolled his eyes. “Like they don’t already know.” Chrissy knew, Tommy knew, which probably meant Carol knew, which meant everyone knew but had been playing along for the past decade. Steve didn’t know exactly who was aware of Dustin’s true parentage but keeping up appearances was what their whole town was about. 

“Better for it to be speculation and not outright conversation. You might not care about your own reputation but think about Dustin’s. Children can be cruel. He already has so many disadvantages, you think they won’t point out the fact that he’s a…”, she looked around, making sure they were alone for the moment besides the nurse at the desk ten feet away before whispering, “bastard.”

Steve wanted to argue. He wanted to shout but she was right. It didn’t matter how much he loved Eddie, how much Dustin was a product of that love. All that mattered was status. Of which, Eddie had none. If it was publicly acknowledged that Dustin was Eddie’s pup, his reputation would dip, Harrington name be damned.

Satisfied, Bianca picked up her book and adjusted her shawl. “I’m going home. If there’s no news soon, I expect you there as well. Don’t leave your husband’s bed cold.”

It wasn’t long after she left that the surgeon came to speak with Steve. He held his breath for some kind of news. Like most physicians, this one wore blockers but Steve could tell from her eyes the news wasn’t good. And just his luck, that was when Tommy arrived.

“I’m glad you’re both here”, she started with. “We’ve finished the operation, but there’s been some complications. The donor is fine, but your son hasn’t woken back up yet. Mr. Munson can go home soon, but we’ll have to keep Dustin for another night, at least.”

Tommy put an arm around Steve’s waist, playing the part of concerned husband and father, doing all the talking while Steve felt the ground drop from under him. Then, the surgeon turned to leave and he felt Tommy pull at his waist, as if the leave, and his senses returned to him.

“Can I see them? Please?”

“We’re keeping Dustin in quarantine for now, but you can see Mr. Munson in just a moment.”

Tommy frowned, turning Steve towards himself. “You can’t-”

“Yes I can”, Steve said firmly. 

He pushed Tommy’s arm off and went to where they were housing Eddie. He looked weaker, paler, but he was breathing and smiling at Steve. Steve nearly ran over, sitting on the bed and hugging him as gingerly as he could while also pressing their bodies together.

“Eddie….Dustin he-they said he-”

“I know, I know baby”, the pet name slipped from his lips as easy as breathing. “But if our boy’s anything like you, he’ll pull through. Strong just like his dad.”

Steve felt the sting of tears again. Eddie should be able to walk the streets as Dustin’s father, proud as he did anything else. They shouldn’t have to hide it. He blinked them back and sniffed, watching as Eddie’s smile turned to a scowl while his eyes slid past Steve’s shoulder. Steve followed his gaze and who else but Tommy was at the door. Steve sighed and looked back at Eddie.

“Doctor said you can come home tonight.”

“I’ll stay an extra night. Just in case anything changes with Dustin”, Eddie said.

“Eddie, you don’t have-”

“I do”, Eddie said. “‘Sides, I feel less likely to get my throat slit here. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Steve nodded. “Tomorrow.” His lips ached to kiss him, his hands longed to hold him. But even if Tommy wasn’t glaring daggers into his head, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Steve stood and left with his husband, the walk out to Tommy’s car silent but he let Steve have it the minute they were inside.

“There’ll be no secret to keep if you keep on throwing yourself at him like some whore. I mean Jesus Christ Steve, do you ever think about anyone other than yourself? How do you think that looks? How do you think it makes me look?”

“We were alone in the room-”

“Which was unlocked, anyone could have walked in. Like me.”

Steve looked out the window, unable to face Tommy right now. His son was hanging by a thread and for the second time today he was being lectured on his actions and appearances. The ghost of Richard Harrington was very much alive. Tommy went on the rest of the ride home and seemed to want to continue it even as they walked inside the estate but Steve wasn’t going to let it go on forever. Especially after Tommy’s next comment.

“Think of the example you’re setting for Dustin. You should take a page out of your parents’ book and-”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare. Dustin is perfect and you’re blind if you can’t see that. And if you want me to be just like my parents, guess what? We’re already there!”

“What’re you talking about?”

“God, do you not see it?”, Steve’s voice was bordering on hysterical now. “I married someone my father picked for me, even though I was in love with someone else. A loveless marriage with no passion at all, a husband with only a passing interest in raising my son, while he goes off galavanting with some floozy I don’t know-”

“Hey!”, Tommy’s face got red suddenly and he bit his tongue, lest he say Carol’s name out loud in an attempt to defend her. “What…”, he laughed. “What makes you think I’m going out with some…floozy?”

Steve rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen. He needed something in his stomach before he crashed. When Tommy followed, he decided to answer. “I told you, we’re literally living the same lives as our parents. And I happen to know my father cheated on my mother twice. And those are just the times that I know.” He went into the fridge and saw that a plate had been wrapped for him, bless Scott.

“So just because of that, you think I’m cheating on you? You think I’d do that to you?”

“I know you don’t love me. And I know that we haven’t had sex in years. And I know you haven’t been celibate that whole time.” Steve put the plate in the microwave.

“So you’re the same?” Tommy moved closer to Steve, crowding him against the counter. “Have you been running around on me? Pretty convenient that Munson shows up at your beck and call so easily.”

Steve slapped Tommy across the face. “How…dare you?”, he hissed. “I’ve never-I would NEVER! You think I’d just throw away everything just to sleep with someone?”

“Not just anyone. I know that Munson’s not just anyone to you.”

“But this marriage means something to me”, Steve said. “And Dustin means everything to me. So no, I’m not going to have our dirty laundry out in the street just for a fling.” His gaze turned hard. “So I really hope you’re not doing the same.”

“I’m not”, Tommy said. “I promise I’m not.” He grabbed Steve’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “I only have eyes for you, Stevie.”

Steve held his gaze. He wanted to believe. He wanted to believe that Tommy wasn’t going out and sleeping with someone else. He didn’t have any proof besides this feeling, this sense that the only reason Tommy hadn’t forced himself onto him was because he was getting it somewhere else. He sighed and his shoulders sagged.

“Go to bed. I’ll be up once I eat.”

Tommy nodded and left him there. Steve wished he had someone to talk to about this. But the only one he could think of was Chrissy and for obvious reasons, he couldn’t speak with her. Steve ate, then went to bed, but had a very restless sleep. When the phone rang the next morning, he hopped out of bed to answer it. With each second he felt lighter and lighter. He didn’t even hear Tommy wake up as he sped through getting dressed. 

And then he was out the door, on the way to the hospital.

Steve didn’t even try to hide his tears when Dustin was brought out in a wheelchair. Eddie too, mostly just so they could match even more.

“Dad, chill out, they just won’t let me leave on my own legs. I didn’t like, become paralyzed”, Dustin said.

“No, I know, I know I just-” Steve paused to wipe his tears as he knelt down to hug his son. Eddie had a hand on both Steve’s shoulder and Dustin’s.

It was a touching scene for those who witnessed it. Which included one very gossipy nurse, and he told his girlfriend on his lunch break, who told her hairdresser later that same day, who also happened to do Carol’s hair. So she knew about Dustin’s condition before she met with Tommy at their usual room at the inn.

“Remember, this is what we wanted”, she said as she poured them both drinks. “He’s in perfect health, so that condition of the will is fulfilled.”

“Now comes the hard part”, Tommy said, accepting the crystal tumbler from her. He took a long sip as he looked out the window. In the dark, you couldn’t see but a few lights on the other side of the treeline.

“What’s so hard about it? They could get lost on a hike, slide off the road, we could even hire some goons to take them out during a breaking and entering”, Carol said, swirling her glass.

Tommy lit up a cigarette then, opening the window just slightly. “You think we can get away with it that easily?”

Carol’s eyes narrowed. “I think it’s too late to back out. Not after what you promised me. And think of the life we could have after. No one to hold you back. Not Steve, not that pup of his, not even Madame Bianca Harrington can tell you what to do.”

Tommy chuckle-snorted. “You hate her too?”

“She annoys me. It’s Chrissy I hate. Little goody-two shoes, thinks she’s better than everyone else. Speaking of little prisses, you’ll never guess who’s back in town.”

“Who?”

“Nancy Wheeler and her pathetic husband”, Carol plopped down onto the bed, only just managing not to spill.

Tommy took a drag and blew it out the window. “It’s like a parade of Steve’s exes.”

“And you’ll never guess what I heard about them~”, Carol said in a sing-song voice.

Tommy put out his cigarette. “You remember I don’t come here to hear you yap all night, right?”

“Trust me, you’ll wanna hear this...”

-------------------

Dustin chomped down on a burger. The color was already returning to both him and Eddie’s faces. But that might’ve just been the warm lighting of the restaurant they were in. 

“Just for the record, this doesn’t count as one of our weekly dinners”, Eddie said after swallowing a mouthful of fries.

“Weekly what?”, Dustin asked, although he didn’t swallow, so it came out more like ‘mwekle mwhat?’

“Swallow, don’t talk with your mouth full”, Steve reminded him. “And he’s going to be having dinner at our house once a week. And every other weekend, you’ll stay with him.”

“That’s…awesome!”, Dustin beamed.

“I figured you’d be up for it”, Eddie said. “You seem like the coolest guy in town. Minus yours truly. And your dad of course”, he winked at Steve.

The warmth blooming in Steve’s chest was doused the moment Dustin spoke up.

“My dad? Cool? No way!”

Eddie grinned. “Oh I could tell you stories-”, he paused when Steve cleared his throat loudly. “Age appropriate stories.”

“But you have to eat first”, Steve reminded him. “You can’t get that mountain of ice cream until you finish.”

It was a nice moment of calm before the storm came rolling in.

Part 6

[dreamwatch]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest Spring Break Pop Up

Prompt: I don't do shorts | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Anxiety (briefly mentioned) | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Eddie Munson/Nancy Wheeler | Tags: mild angst, followed by warm fuzzies, Eddie has kids, Gareth is the best friend we all need in our lives, yeah I just wanted to write Edancy, sorry about that

Also on AO3

*Normal Steddie content will resume shortly*

“You said you’d come this time.”

A fat tear rolls down his daughter’s face and another piece of his heart cracks open. Going back to Hawkins has never been such a big deal before; he hasn’t been back to Indiana since 1987, has no intention of going now, thank you very much. The Wheelers still live in Hawkins, Ted too stingy to move them somewhere better after the ‘earthquake’, so Nancy goes back a couple of times a year, often with the kids in tow. That’s fine with him, Ted hates him for trapping his daughter (like anyone could trap Nancy into doing anything she didn’t want) and Karen is civil at best. It’s just Wayne he misses, and Wayne comes to visit as often as he can. So all up he has no reason to ever go back to that godforsaken shithole.

But this year is different. This year they’re all going back.

All except him.

“You lied.”

Eddie counts to five in his head; he’s on a hair trigger these days and he’s doing his best to rein it in. There are days when he feels his anger bloom and he’s worked hard to be less like his dad and more like Wayne. His kids deserve better than he ever got. But they make it so fucking hard sometimes.

“I said I’d try.”

“But you’re not trying!”

He can see Nancy’s about to flip her lid, she’s stressed enough as it is so he waves her off. She’s all about manners and etiquette, but she’s about to go on the road with two kids for the next four hours on her own, no point making it worse. 

Eddie checks Jimmy’s car seat and pokes him on the nose. He get’s a giggle in return. It’s nice to have one child that doesn’t hate him, anyway. 

“Be good for your mom, okay? Give grandpa Wayne a big kiss from me.”

Another giggle from Jimmy. Tabitha doesn’t even look at him. 

“Bye, Tabs. I love you.”

Silence.

“I don’t like leaving you like this,” says Nancy. He always thought she was so stoic, so brave, until they fell in love and she let him in. Nancy’s a magician with her emotions but he knows all her tricks now after nearly a decade together. He cradles her cheek and leans in for a kiss.

“I’ll be okay, I promise.” 

“I just think you shouldn’t be alone for this one, Ed.”

‘This one’: ten years since Chrissy, ten years since he nearly died. 

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.

“Call me as soon as you get in, okay?” He feels her nod against his chest. “And say hi to your exes for me.”

Nancy slaps him playfully on the chest. 

“I love you,” she says. “You know that don’t you?”

He nods, because he can feel his throat tighten and he’ll make a fool of himself he opens his mouth. He knows she loves him, but even now after all these years and two children he still wonders at it, still waits for the other shoe to drop and for her to leave him. He’s made life hard for her and he hates himself every day for it. 

“Nance? If anything happens—”

“I’ll bring them straight home. I swear.”

Eddie’s riddled with anxiety, takes enough medication to fell a rhino trying to control it, but that’s the big one, it all happening again with his family there and him being unable to stop it. Nancy would never endanger their kids, but even she couldn’t stop the world from turning inside out again.

The house feels wrong when they’re not there, everything off kilter, and it always takes him a while to adjust to the gnawing silence.  He spends the day napping and watching TV, until he gets a call from Nancy to say they’ve arrived safely. Half an hour later he gets another one from Steve calling him an asshole and telling him he’s going to teach Jimmy how to play basketball as revenge for not coming. Jimmy is three but the fucker would find a way.

He nods off again, and the next time he wakes Gareth is sitting beside him on the sofa.

“How the fuck did you get in my house?”

“Your wife gave me a key.”

He feels like he’s still asleep and only getting half the conversation. He can hear banging and crashing coming from his bedroom.

“Who—”

“Ask him where his shorts are!” yells Jeff from the top of the stairs. Of course it’s fucking them.

“I don’t do shorts!” Eddie yells back. “What do I need shorts for?”

“We got an RV for a week, road-trip!”

He pinches his nose, hard. They’re all married, sensible adults apparently, but sometimes it’s like they never got the memo.

“I can’t just take off, man, what if Nancy calls? What if she needs me?”

Gareth cups his ear. “What’s that, Lassie? There’s a cell phone in the RV? Good girl, Lassie!”

“Asshole.”

This is nuts, it’s fucking insane, he’s not going anywhere with these bozos and if anything right now he’s furious with them. Clearly Gareth gets the message, as he stills beside him and takes Eddie by the shoulders.

“Ed,” he says gently. “Nancy is worried sick about you, man, and so are we. I know it’s a big week for you, no one wants you here on your own for it, okay? So we’re going on a road trip, we’re going to drink beer and smoke weed like we’re kids and we’re going to forget about the world for one week.”

One week. 

One week in March 1986 was all it took to ruin his life. He’ll never erase the pain of it, Spring Break will always be a time that haunts him.

But maybe Tabby’s right, maybe he’s not trying hard enough. 

Eddie let’s out his best put upon sigh, and Gareth beams at him.

“So, where are we going then?”

I wasn't going to submit anything this time round because I have so many WIPs cooking, but I just had to sneak one in.

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 21

Hello! We're back with more Royal Pain. For the person(s) that thought the kiss meant the nearing of the end of the story: NOPE! We still have a bit to get through plot wise. Plus I don't usually go through past them getting together, and wanted to explore that a little before the end.

Also, where have my commenters gone? I used to get 10 or so comments a post and the last part of "Well Met By Moonlight" only had one. My usual commenters just didn't. If I have suggested in anyway that I don't like comments or don't appreciate them, know that I really, really do! And I miss it when people who used comment don't anymore. I'm not going to name names because this isn't a callout post, just a concern, I guess.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Today we have a replay reaction to the kiss by the Royal Pain crew, Wayne being wise (and mention of a ring that has always been a thing in the story, I just forgot to put it in before this oops!) and Chrissy getting some advice.

***

To say that Steve was practically squealing from joy when he got to his car would be an understatement. He put his bluetooth earpiece in his right ear and immediately called Robin.

“Are you okay?” she asked as soon as she picked up.

“Eddie kissed me!” he giggled excitedly.

“No fucking way!” she gasped.

“Not yet anyway,” he said slyly, pulling into traffic.

“Steven Joseph Harrington!” Robin squeaked. “You don’t get to make dirty puns like that unless I’m in hitting distance.”

Steve laughed. “Joseph isn’t my middle name.”

He could hear her snap her fingers. “I’ll guess it eventually.”

“It’s been nearly a decade and you still haven’t guessed it,” he reminded her. “I can make it harder though...”

“Don’t you dare!” she hissed. There was silence for a moment. “You can’t make it harder, can you?”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I can actually, but you told me not to.”

He could feel her narrow her eyes from across town as she weighed her options.

“Go ahead,” she said haughtily. “I don’t think you can.”

Steve grinned. “I have two middle names and you’ve never guessed either one.”

“You do not!” Robin hissed. “There is no way!”

“My parents were super traditional,” he told her. “My middle names come from each of my grandfathers.”

“Oh my god,” she said, “that makes so much sense.”

Steve licked his lips and waited. Five, four, three, two–

“Don’t you change the subject, Steven!” Robin came back. “Eddie kissed you.”

“He did indeed,” Steve said, “and I will tell you all about it when I get back to the shop. I’m like three minutes away.”

“I want to know everything!”

“I promise.”

*

Steve got to the shop and everyone was standing around the front counter, chins propped up on their hands, blinking at him expectantly.

He shook his head. “Menaces, the lot of you.”

Erica batted her eyelashes. “Yeah, but you like menaces.”

Steve tilted his head to the side and then nodded. “Yeah, yeah. But first I have to tell about my lunch with Wayne.”

Erica and Chrissy groaned, pushing off the counter and rolling their eyes. Robin and Argyle stayed in position though.

“Trust me,” Steve said holding his hands up, “it’s relevant to the story.”

“This better be good, Harrington,” Chrissy snarked.

“Oh it will be,” he said with a smile, “I promise.”

He started telling them everything. Wayne’s approval, the confrontation with Quinn, Eddie coming to the rescue, the kiss.

“Lunch was definitely relevant, dude,” Argyle said. “Getting parental approval is super important in a relationship. Especially if they’re close.”

Steve nodded. “So does the story live up the hype?” he asked the girls.

Robin rolled her eyes. “I suppose.”

Chrissy giggled. “It was so cute, Stevie. I’m happy for you!”

Steve waited for Erica, who sat there tapping her lips for a moment. She cocked her head. “Ehhh...it was all right.”

Everyone protested, talking over each other.

She burst out laughing. “God, you guys so easy. Of course it was awesome. Super sweet, too.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something when the bell over the door sounded, announcing the arrival of his next client.

He turned to greet them as everyone but Robin scattered. As much as he would love to gossip about his newly minted love life, he had clients that wanted tattoos.

*

Eddie kept licking his lips the whole way to his apartment.

“What made you change your mind?” Wayne asked. “About dating Steve? Him saying ‘I love you’?”

Eddie bit his lip and shook his head. “I had made the decision before that. It was just with Seth stalking me, I didn’t want to get Steve hurt if Seth thought we were together.”

Wayne nodded. “If Seth would threaten Steve over being your friend and tattoo artist, I shudder to think what he would have done if your relationship was more serious.”

“In fact I was going to tell him before Seth threatened him,” Eddie said with a sigh. “We had plans to have dinner at his place and I was going to tell him then.”

“But then Seth showed up?” Wayne asked.

Eddie nodded. “And then that night, I was going to at least let him know that after the whole thing with Seth got resolved, I was going to kiss the hell out him, but that didn’t work out either.”

Wayne tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“That was the night he ran into an ex,” Eddie explained. “The ex. The one that broke his heart. Found out a whole bunch of other shit that night, too. I spent most of the night trying to console him.”

“So the stars finally aligned today, then?” Wayne asked.

“About god damned time, too,” Eddie agreed fiercely.

Wayne hummed. “He’s good for ya, Ed. I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy in a long time. Even when Seth was breathing down your neck, you were more solid. You had your friends, but with Steve standing beside you, you looked like you could handle whatever the world threw at you as long as you had him.”

Eddie blushed, annoyed that driving kept him from ducking his head or shoving hair in his mouth to cover the flush on his cheeks. “He makes me feel brave, because he’s been through shit too and he’s still standing. Still moving forward each day. I love that about him.”

“Good.”

They drove the rest of the trip in silence. When they got back to the apartment they chatted as Eddie helped Wayne pack for his journey back to Hawkins.

“I want to see you both come Labor Day,” Wayne growled. “No excuses, you hear?”

Eddie nodded. “Yes, sir.” He gave him a jaunty salute.

It looked absolutely ridiculous coming from a long haired metalhead and Wayne’s snort cinched it.

Eddie grinned but gave him a gentle shove. “Steve wasn’t lying when he said that was the plan, by the way. We had been talking about taking him down to meet you since the first week of us becoming friends.”

Wayne nodded sagely. “I understand that he’s not close with his parents.”

“It was big ole mess,” Eddie said softly. “His parents are very recently divorced, like it was finalized last month, recent.”

Wayne hummed. “I remember you saying something about that,” he said. “At least you had an uncle who cared when your parents decided to be shit, it doesn’t seem like Steve had that option.”

“He was close to his grandpa though,” Eddie murmured. “On his mom’s side. He was really broken up when the man died.”

Wayne zipped up his suitcase. “How old was Steve?”

Eddie shrugged. “Young. Eight or nine. His grandfather got cancer before his mom met his dad. His grandpa had struggled with the disease before it finally took him. Steve said that it had ravaged so much of his body that his death certificate was like a laundry list of possible causes of death. Heart failure, kidney failure, cancer...you name it, it was probably on the damn thing.”

“That ring he wears all the time,” Wayne asked, “that his grandfather’s?”

Eddie nodded. “His dad tried to take it for years, saying it inappropriate to leave to a little boy.”

“Only he wasn’t going to stay a little boy forever,” Wayne said. “I guessing that since he still has it, his mom interfered?”

“Maureen Harrington wasn’t going to be winning any best mom awards at any point in Steve’s life,” Eddie scoffed, “but she did do some shit and hiding that ring was one of them.”

“I’m glad he had someone looking out for him,” Wayne said. “I’m sorry it wasn’t all the time. But he at least had something some of the time.”

“He’s not jealous of me or Robin,” Eddie said, “Or anyone of his friends that have a good home life. He’s happy with his found family. He loves them as though they are blood.”

Wayne smiled. “I’m happy for you, Ed. You’ve got something real special with Steve.”

Eddie blushed. “I love him.”

“I think the whole world knows it’s mutual at this point,” Wayne said with a small shake of his head.

Eddie just grinned.

*

Steve grinned as Chrissy wandered out of her room for the third time today. The first time was that she forgot her purse in her car. The second time it was because she had a question for Robin (completely made up and not something that was essential at all to her job). The third time it was because she wanted to ask Robin if she wanted anything from the deli on the corner for lunch.

Could you tell that Vickie was being trained by Robin today?

Vickie put her hand on Robin’s arm to get her to slow down in her nervous and very rapid fire explanation of the phone system and Steve thought Chrissy was going to explode.

Chrissy was wearing a pink blouse with spaghetti straps and white lacy cardigan over the tightest jeans Steve had ever seen and he’s been to a lot of Corroded Coffin shows. Her hair was up in an artfully messy ponytail and her makeup was tasteful and very pink.

Steve was just grateful she hadn’t paired the outfit with anything high heeled and instead chose white ballet flats. He was always worried someone was going to sprain their ankles in high heels walking on their hardwood floors.

He winced as Chrissy’s poor attempt at flirting fell flat.

“Oh,” Robin said, “Steve already ordered him and me Chinese, sorry.”

“I’d love something though,” Vickie said brightly. “Do they have a turkey club?”

Chrissy sputtered for a moment before she nodded meekly. “Yeah.”

“Great!” Vickie continued. “Just let me know how much and I’ll wire you the funds.”

Chrissy nodded again and with a squeak, dashed back into her room. Steve watched as Vickie’s smile turned knowing.

He shook his head and went to go talk to his apprentice.

“Someone’s got a crush,” he said, leaning against the door frame, with his arms folded.

Chrissy threw her arms in the air. “At least you noticed. I don’t think she has.”

Steve chuckled and made his way over to her, swinging the door shut behind him.

“I love her,” he said sitting down on her client lounger, “but she absolutely loses her head when a pretty girl is around. Gay, straight, bi. Doesn’t matter she becomes an absolute mess.”

“I’ve noticed,” Chrissy said bitterly. She thought about Vickie and Mandy and how Robin was just goo around them.

He hummed, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “Here’s the thing though, you are one hundred percent ahead of the game compared to the other two girls.”

Chrissy scoffed. “What makes you think that?”

Steve grinned. “Mandy has a boyfriend, soon to be fiance and Vickie could be bisexual. But she could also be straight. Robin knows you’re a lesbian. You have the advantage of her knowing where she stands with you.”

Chrissy blinked. “Oh.”

“You want to get the girl?” Steve asked. She nodded. “Then you’ve got to step up your game. Time to woo her and not just flirt with her.”

Chrissy chewed on her lip. “But how do I do that?”

Steve shook his head. “Well for starters, paying attention. Robin and I always get Chinese on Fridays.”

She blinked for a moment, pulled out her phone and then the light bulb went off above her head. “Oops.”

“Yeah...”

She took a deep breath. “Do you think I have a chance?”

“She thinks the cheerleading thing is scary hot, so...”

Chrissy grinned. “It’s short skirt, isn’t it?”

Steve shrugged. “And the cute little socks.”

Chrissy laughed. “Can’t forget those.”

He turned to walk away, but she stopped him. “Thanks for this, Steve. I know you didn’t have to.”

Steve just smiled softly and then walked out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Thoughts on how to get the girl of her dreams.

***

Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​ @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @aizawa-emma @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @archermightbegay @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella

[mara-tevith-solo]

One Enchanted Evening

Just a little Adam Warlock fluff. This MFer restarted my Will Poulter era and I stg... man’s too good for this world

Pairing: Adam Warlock x Ex-Avenger/ Guardian!Reader

Warnings: It’s fluff, mentions of drinking, Blurp being adorable, flirting, established relationship, making out

Rating: 18+

Words: 1.1k+

"C'mon Y/n! Let's go get pretty boy wasted for the first time! Drax, Nebula, and some of the others will be there!" Rocket called from the front door, sounding way too enthused with his little side quest as Adam smiled brightly, and innocently, beside him.

"I can't, I have to take over for Ullette tomorrow; her daughter is coming for a visit." You apologized with a breathy laugh, shaking your head at the two. "Don't poison yourself, Rocket. I'm betting a quarter mil that his alcohol tolerance is about as good as Steve's."  

"I'll take you up on that bet!" He laughed with pride and little foresight.

"Who's Steve?" Adam asked, cocking his head to the side slightly. There wasn't any jealousy there, just pure curiosity.

"He was one of Y/n's Super Soldier Earth pals, worked on the same team together for over a decade, stopped the world from ending a few times, we all reversed the Snap together about three years back. Good guy. Was hung up on a broad he used to know."

"What's a broad?"

"Its a term for a woman, though it's not so respectful. Y'all better get going before Drax pre-games too hard."  

"Alright alright, I'll keep lover boy out of trouble, swearsies."

Adam shifted on his feet, looking at Rocket's retreating form before looking at you like a puppy who didn't know which way to go. You placed your hands on his chest, the fabric of his t-shirt soft under your palms as you raised up onto your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek "Don't let them drink too much. Last time a challenge like this happened, Drax had to have his stomach pumped."

"Should I be worried? Because I'd be more than happy to just stay home with you and we could finish that show and--"

"It'll be fine, Adam. Go have fun with the others. I'll still be here when you come back." You smiled teasingly before pushing him the rest of the way out the door, Rocket's crossed arms and exasperated expression in your peripherals, shaking his head at the two of you.

"Don't have too much fun without me." He finally conceded with a cheeky wink before turning and making to leave with the Raccoon.

As soon as the door closed, Blurp let out a soft little whine, making you turn back towards him with a small pout that turned into a frown as soon as you saw the sadness on his little face, the worry in his eyes that was always there whenever Adam left without him. You swooped up the little fuzzball and nuzzled your face against his "Oh, come on fluff, you can help me make some ice cream sundaes for us." You hummed as you began dancing to a phantom melody only you could hear, his eager agreements nearly busting him loose from your arms. You laughed as you set him on the counter, motioning for him to sit and stay while you went for ingredients.

It wasn't the first time the two of you had done the late night treat, the F'saki watching as you began making two bowls, his topped with Orloni jerky with strawberry sauce while yours was just a simple vanilla with hot fudge sauce. He was vibrating with anticipation as you picked up both bowls and began leading the charge back to the living room, being careful to not trip you on the way. He'd done it once, and only once. He'd gotten too excited and had zipped over your foot while you were beginning to take a step, resulting in you faceplanting into the hard wood covered cement floors, breaking your nose in the process. He'd felt so bad about it, and hadn't zipped anywhere near your feet since. He sat by the couch, tall and pretty as he waited for you to put his bowl down "There ya go, buddy. Enjoy!" You giggled softly as he dug in with a happy chirp. You curled up on the couch to enjoy yours. Afterwards, you didn't bother with the dishes, suddenly too exhausted, laying down just a bit to nap until Adam returned. Blurp was all too happy to join you, cuddling up on your stomach with happy little purrs, falling asleep well before you did.

"Y/n!" Adam's whispered shout pulled you out of a light doze, still curled up on the couch with Blurp, an excited Adam leaning over you both. Blurp didn't even flinch, just grumbling softly in his sleep as he curled up tighter, much like a sleepy, disgruntled cat. "Sorry!" He giggled, still whisper shouting "I figured it out!"

"Figured what out, handsome?" You hummed groggily, smiling sleepily up at the golden man who was smiling ear to ear at the endearment, a dreamy gleam in his eyes.

"Drax helped me figure out why my chest burns whenever I think of you... and when I'm around you... when we're apart... any time you're even mentioned really. He said that's how he felt about his Ovette. He called it 'love'." Your heart skipped a beat, realizing where the conversation was going. "He said that I need to make sure you know how I feel about you, that you never doubt how much I love you. And then he cried... a lot... he's very drunk..."

Your heart felt like it was soaring as you reached up and cupped his cheek, your fingers then moving to trace his jawline and his chin. He moved down with you, like he didn't want you to stop touching him, an intoxicated warmth to his eyes that wasn't from the liquor. When your lips touched you could swear it was unlike any kiss before, it was electrifying to your very core, your very soul. It made your breath stutter as one of his hands planted firmly on the couch by your shoulder as the other gripped your hip. "I love you too, Adam." You murmured against his lips, your voice feather light, just for his ears. His kiss became hungry, devouring everything that you gave him like a man starved, some of his hair falling into your face, the tickling sensation making your toes curl and your heart splutter.

He almost closed the distance between you, but Blurp squeaked in protest on your stomach, almost pouting up at him like you'd both mortally betrayed him "Sorry Blurp. But I need to borrow my love." He was gentle as he picked up the F'saki, usurping him of his position. The fuzzy being only huffed and went to steal your bed. Adam didn't give you a moment to laugh at the situation, swallowing the sound eagerly as his tongue begged for entrance, his hard length making its presence well known against your thigh. He moaned loudly as your tongue came out to play with his, your hips bucking up into him, begging for friction "Y/n, oh gods." He moaned, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss and nip at his neck.  

[fictionkinfessions]

I miss Annabeth so much it physically pains me. She was one of my best friends, even after we broke up (we were not a good pair, easier to admit that now than it was in the past); I relied so much on her for… gods, nearly everything that sometimes I have to sit down and ask myself “what would she do? What advice would she give me?” and sometimes that… doesn’t make it better. I’ve been here for over a decade at this point and haven’t been able to find her, which has got to be some sick prank played on me by the gods. I’ll keep trying, of course, I’ll never stop looking for here, but it gets so unbearably hard sometimes.

Same with Grover, I miss that goat so much. I try to be more eco-friendly and conscious on what I give and take from nature for him. I know it’s small, but some part of me thinks he’d be happy to know I took all his rants and raves to heart, that I listened and really took in what he was saying; not a lot of people wanted to do that, but he was usually right. He was my other bestfriend, carried me and had my back through so much that it’s baffling to think I haven’t spoken to him once in this life. I reread our source and have to shake off tears because of how much I miss him at times, as embarrassing as it is to admit that.

It’s been harder with the live action and all the news surrounding that, especially because of how much Leah and Aryan look like them, sound like them, act like them— I mean, they’ve got their mannerisms down almost perfectly. Wherever they both are, I hope they’re okay. I hope life is treating them kindly and they’re able to do things they wanted to before but either never got around to or were unable to. I hope they’re happy. I hope they know I miss them, that still love them with every inch of my watery being, and that I’ll never stop waiting for them to come home. — Percy Jackson (fictive) (#🔱☀️)

x

[neonblessing]

6.

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT! ⚠️ Click here to read Neon Blessing from the beginning!

Shiv pocketed the phone, then reached out and took Ornarch’s withered hand. “I’ll do it.”

Her god smiled. “I knew I could count on you.” With a twist of his long, thin fingers, a sleek black card appeared and found its way between her fingers. “Twenty thousand credits.”

Shiv nearly dropped the card in surprise. “Twenty thousand?!” The payout for picking a pocket was three digits at the highest: cards would be canceled long before they could be used, and there was always the risk that the mark might have augments or trackers. B&E paid better, but you needed to find a fence who could break into stolen electronics, and they were almost universally scum. The shit she and Raz had looted on the botched job could have been worth a hundred grand, even after a steep cut from both Ornarch and a middleman, but that had taken weeks of planning and cost her an arm. Twenty thousand up front was unthinkable.

Ornarch waved a hand dismissively, rings glinting in the industrial glare. “Grease some palms, hire some muscle, buy a gun. Whatever makes the job easier.”

“Thank you, lord.” She hesitated a moment, realizing she had no idea where to start looking. “Do you have any leads?”

“How were Raz’s finances?”

“About as broke as me, I think. Those implants cost a lot.”

“So they’d need to sell off some of the haul to get away from here. They aren’t safe in the Diluvian, and fare out of here is pricey.”

“I’ll ask around.”

“Wonderful.”

“Any idea as to why they did it?”

“No. No clue.” She almost choked on the words. That was the worst part, the bit that kept her up at night. What could have been so important that they’d just leave her?

“Ah well. Good luck, Shiv.” The dismissal, unspoken, was irrefutable. She would do what he wanted, he would give her what she wanted. The conversation was over. For all his immortality, Ornarch was not a patient god.

Shiv turned to leave, the roar of water rushing up to meet her as she approached the exit of the pipe. Could she even kill them? In a fistfight, even down an arm, definitely. Guns were a toss-up given that neither of them knew how to shoot. But of course, Raz was a skulljack, and a good one at that.

Skulljack. It was a dirty word, the worst kind of mage. Raz’s brilliant blue undercut hid dozens of neurocranial implants–translators and antennae and arcane batteries–all bent towards one terrible purpose: the subjugation of the will. In that dingy waiting room before their first operation, she’d told them not to do it, but she’d come to rely on their skills in the years since: skulljacking took too long to be useful in a fight, but it was priceless in an interrogation.

Of course, skulljacking was easier the better you knew someone, and they’d grown up together. Over a decade and a half, she and Raz had bared every last rotten secret–had aired out every scrap of encryption around their souls. They promised they’d never fuck with her, but would she know if they had? Even if they hadn’t, how long could she hold out against someone who knew her first crush, all her fears, and everything she’d ever dreamt of?

As she climbed the stairs back to street level, her nervous thoughts sublimated into a mantra, repeated with every step. 

I’m not who I was a month ago. That woman could never imagine killing them. I can.

First Page – Previous Page – Next Page

[jodilin65]

I guess I’m gonna squeeze in one last entry for the year (it's shortly before midnight). That is if I can write and edit it before the clock strikes midnight.

Listening to some scattered fireworks now, but not as much as I expected. Haven’t heard any since I last mentioned them, so it hasn’t been nearly as bad as July 4th was. It’s only 46° which is pretty damn cold for Florida, so that may be why.

Again, I’m not looking forward to the year ahead, knowing that I’m most likely in for all kinds of health problems and fatigue. As crazy and as superstitious as it may sound, I still worry something up there wants me tired and to impact my day-to-day life to the point where I’m just existing and not living, and therefore it’s going to block any attempt I make to try to fix it. I don’t expect any success with weight loss either. You have to have a normal thyroid for that. I don’t know if I’ll be in for a mix of the same old ongoing problems and new ones, but hopefully, nothing will be as bad as a decade ago.

Too tired to go on now, so this will have to wait till next year.

Later…

Still exhausted but I watched the ball go down, and instead of being excited for the year ahead, I burst into tears suddenly and unexpectedly. It only lasted for a couple of minutes but I haven’t cried like that in ages.

Later still…

Placed an order on Temu for Swiffer dusters, flower stencils, and hangers for the 18-in doll clothes. I’ve got all this closet space so it would be nice if I hung them up rather than stuffed them in drawers and bins because I want to keep everything in good shape in case I decide to sell anything.

We’ve been talking about selling the treadmill, Bowflex, and the vibration platform but he might want to keep the Bowflex and I think I want to keep the platform a little longer. I’ll offer the treadmill up in the park group but we’ve got to discuss what we want to ask for it.

Anyway, after showering and eating I got a burst of energy and did a little cleaning among other odds and ends. I decided to try not to worry too much about the future of my health because, like most of us, we have little to no control over what may come our way. Even though I don’t normally make New Year’s resolutions because I figure anything worth making a resolution to do would be a good thing at any time of year, I do have a few goals. Now that I have new insurance and new doctors, I want information. I want to know about alternative sleep apnea treatments, I want to know if there’s a way around my thyroid issues that would help get some weight off, and I want to make one last-ditch effort to fight for the N24 drug. As I told Tom, I don’t know that I can live the rest of my life being tired half of the time so if worse comes to worst, I’ll have a serious decision to make but that has to be MY choice to make. But I’m not going to give up until I’ve tried everything I can possibly do that’s within my power to help myself.

The stomach cramp and yeast infection are improving (I think).

Although I’m still wary of the year ahead, I’m hoping that 2023 is indeed the year I slayed the dragon! As in the beast called anxiety that tormented me to no end for the better part of a decade. The beast that nearly drove me to kill myself and that would have succeeded if it weren’t for Tom. I still hate the thought of deserting him but one can only take so much suffering, although the fatigue is certainly the lesser evil. I can’t stress it enough when I say that between the medication side effects and the transition from perimenopause to menopause, it really took the word “anxiety” to a whole new level and gave it a whole new meaning that I had no idea existed. I still don’t want to get my hopes up too high as far as thinking I kicked the anxiety for good. The killer anxiety that sent waves of adrenaline through my chest and fucked with my mind. It hasn’t been a whole year. But the fact that the days I was anxious last year don’t even amount to a month is incredible! I may have to worry I’m not going to have enough energy to get through the day when I get up but no longer do I have to be afraid to wake up and be tortured with what was easily the worst feeling in the world.

I am a little worried about Adonis, though. It was his birthday yesterday and I realized I hadn’t heard from him in ages. The last thing I see on his wall was posted in July. I know he wasn’t in the greatest headspace last time we talked so I hope he’s okay. I sent him a message and posted on his profile so hopefully I’ll get an answer soon. I don’t even know if he left the Netherlands to meet Joy in Vietnam or what’s going on in his life. I know he was upset about some things going on in his country and the world in general.

I get him there! I don’t know what would be worse…to be stuck with Biden again or for Trump to get reelected. Biden has been giving billions and billions of our dollars away to other countries and letting thousands and thousands of immigrants burden our system, but if Trump gets in as I think will be the case, we can count on the loss of freedoms intensifying and maybe even some that affect us.

Just random bits and pieces of dreams lately that don’t make much sense. I don’t remember my dreams as much as I used to but last night I overheard one of Termite Tammy’s bratty kids saying she had a mild heart attack. I’m not going to check her wall as I haven’t in quite a while because I just don’t care anymore. Not about her, not about her brood. They can live, die, be happy, be miserable, be successful, be failures, be healthy, be unhealthy… it’s all the same to me. I’ll never be able to forgive them or the people in Arizona but they’re not at the forefront of my life and mind anymore and they never will be again because I won’t be dumb enough to let them.

I also had a dream that I was supposed to ride my bike to some kind of art class while Tom was out (working?) but I didn’t go because it was too cold and started snowing.

Then there was another dream where we weren’t living in an adult community. Our house was on a large lot sort of behind a larger house in which someone recently moved into. They had a partially submerged basement and I peeked through the blinds to see a guy rummaging through a bunch of tools and other shit. I was worried I was going to be in for all kinds of noise.

In the last dream, I was hitting the road only it was in real life and I was jogging. I was jogging down a street filled with heavy traffic at a comfortable pace.

I miss the days when I was able to do that but I’m definitely not in that kind of shape anymore due to the fatigue holding me back. Even if I was in great shape, that’s not something I could do during the summers here. I’d have to jog in place since the house is too small to really run around much in.

[popentertainmentconcertreviews]

Nikka Costa & Olivia Rubini – Ardmore Music Hall – Ardmore, PA – November 11, 2024

The white soul sister is back, after nearly two decades out of the public eye. Nikka Costa released some totally funktastic grooves in the 1990s and early 2000s. Her newest album has just been released after several years, the aptly named Dirty Disco, and now Costa is out on a club tour to share her new music and old favorites. And it’s good to see that the crowd has been waiting for her.

The opening act was Olivia Rubini, recent alumni from the TV competition The Voice and the daughter of local rocker and music producer Ritchie Rubini (he was a founding member of The Caulfields, and also played with Bon Jovi for a while.) Olivia appeared to be a good rootsy blues rocker with just a bit of pop to keep things interesting.

I say appeared to be because the sound mix of the opening set was just awful. The lead guitar was so loud and high in the mix that it overwhelmed the rest of the band – steamrollering the rhythm guitarist, the bassist, the drummer, and even the vocalist.

Rubini often had to go all out just to be heard over the axe, and many of her subtler moments were just swallowed up by the wall of sound coming from one instrument. Therefore, whether she was doing a tender ballad (“Heartless Woman”) or a cover of a favorite Harry Styles song, sadly you couldn’t totally tell if she was doing them justice or not.

Of course, the sound quality is not her fault – or at least probably not, if she were a more experienced performer, she may have picked up on it and had something done about it – so I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt that she is a better artist than this set showed off.

Ironically, like Rubini, Nikka Costa’s father was also a music producer, but from a different generation, often working with Frank Sinatra, who had been Nikka’s godfather. However, Don Costa died while Nikka was still a child and her music – which was pretty white bread when she recorded a few albums with dad as a little girl, starting at nine years old – became far funkier when left to the artist’s own devices.

In fact, a taped voiceover introducing the band announced “the return of the funky white bitch” to bring Costa onto the stage. Funny thing is, the last time I saw her perform at World Café Live in 2008, she was selling “The Return of the Funky White Bitch” t-shirts as concessions, so she’s been identifying this way for quite some time.

This tour is promoting Costa’s new album Dirty Disco, which is only the second record she has released since that 2008 tour. That’s kind of a shame, because while she never became a hit artist, she had a strong cult following for her first four adult albums. Things like parenthood and pandemics got in the way and kept her out of the studio and off of the road, she explained from the stage.

But now the bitch is back, and it’s good to have her. The show was made up of 13 originals and one slightly eclectic cover of “Dance Wit’ Me” by Rufus featuring Chaka Khan – a great tune, but hardly the most recognizable pick from those funk titans’ fiery songbook.

However, the setlist was pretty spot on, with her old favorites and new tunes coiling like a snake and shaking like a tailfeather. And Costa, despite all these years off the road – or perhaps because of it – had all the energy she has ever shown.

She started off with a trio of hot shots from the new album, “Dirty Disco,” “It’s Just Love” and “Keep It High.” By the time she reached back in her songbook for “Like a Feather” and “Pebble to a Pearl,” the funk was undeniable.

Occasionally some of the songs felt a little padded. “Everybody Got Their Something” had a bit too much back-and-forth vocalizing with the audience which sort of killed the funky exuberance of the tune. “Dance Wit’ Me” featured three instrumental solos: on guitar, bass and drum. Only the keyboardist didn’t get the time to shine, which somehow doesn’t seem fair. Still, that’s about one or two too many solos for any single song. However, mostly the show was fiery and tight.

Nikka Costa reminded us, for one night at least, why the world has been missing her and needing her little shots of soul. Here’s hoping it’s not another several years before she passes this way again.

Jay S. Jacobs

Copyright ©2024 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: November 13, 2024.

Photos by Jim Rinaldi © 2024. All rights reserved.

[cascadedkiwi]

Notes [Comfortember 2023]

Characters: Denki Kaminari x Female OC (Kliome) Manga/Anime: Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Genre: Comfort (but more fluff, I think) Summary: Kliome leaves little notes for Denki throughout his day. Word Count: 1,243

Prompt 6: Notes

Kliome giggled as she lightly hung off of Denki’s neck in the doorway. “I love you,” she said in a cutesy voice.

Denki grinned down at her, holding his hands up. “I love you, too, cutie, but we gotta go.”

Kliome kissed his nose.

He gave her a helpless smile. “Kliome, come on. I’m actually set to be early to work for once.”

She gave a little pout, setting herself back on her feet. “Are we still on for lunch today?”

“I honestly can’t promise but I’ll do my best. Pray no one decides to make my day interesting?”

“Fingers crossed.” Kliome gave him one last kiss on his cheek before sprinting out to her truck. “Bye! Love you!” She called out the window as she pulled off.

Denki blinked, a confused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head as he made his way to his car, pausing as he settled into the driver’s seat. A folded paper was tented on the steering wheel. He opened it.

‘Good morning Chargebolt, I hope you have a wonderful day! You deserve it.  Love, your biggest fan.’

He smiled again. The i’s were dotted with little zig-zags for lightning bolts. Kliome could be so precious. 

He arrived at the agency with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. “Share some of that happy with the rest of us,” called a sidekick playfully.

When he went to change into his hero costume, something fell out of his jacket. Another paper, this time yellow.

‘Thank you for all your hard work. We’re all safer with you on the street.’

No i’s for her to dot this time, but she signed the note with a lightning bolt regardless. He couldn’t help but smile again. Even though he was a pro now, the doubts still lingers at the back of his mind, old insecurities following him from his days at U.A. None knew that better than Kliome.

“Fan Mail?”

Denki startled at the voice in his ear, nearly dropping the note. He whipped around to see Hakurei snickering into the high collar of his jacket. “Moody!”

“You were watching that note pretty intensely.” Hakurei raised an eyebrow and Denki had to remind himself that this guy was only half a decade older than he was.

Denki shoved it into his bag in his locker. “It’s from Kliome.”

Hakurei’s smile grew. “Nothing like sweet words from your soulmate to send you into battle, huh?” He merely huffed a knowing laugh at the red that climbed Denki’s face.

Patrol had been uneventful until two guys decided that Denki needed to get his blood pumping. What started as an antique store heist turned into a foot chase that attracted a gang of known troublemakers just looking for a reason to show off their quirks. It only escalated from there, introducing multiple stolen cars and a giant of a girl with a projectile-type quirk way too similar to Bakugo’s. He definitely wasn’t making it to lunch.

It took them four hours to get the situation under control. Denki looked up as a firm hand gripped his shoulder. He gave Hakurei a wry smile. 

“Need a mood boost?” Hakurei offered, looking a bit worse for wear himself.

Denki shook his head, pushing his hair from his face. “Nah, thanks man. Looks like you need to use your quirk on yourself.”

“If only I could.” Hakurei stumbled, giving Denki a grateful look for not letting him hit the broken pavement.

A pair of paramedics came to check them over, taking Hakurei away in an ambulance. 

Denki plopped down on the sidewalk, catching his breath while waiting to be collected to go back to the agency. The paperwork was gonna be a doozy for this one. He pulled his phone from his breast pocket under his t-shirt. His message app was loaded with notifications, but Kliome’s chat - pinned to the top - was lit up with a tiny "1" in the colored circle. 

‘I heard some jerks decided to make your day interesting, ^^’. Don’t worry about lunch. We’ll make up for it later. I know you fought hard and well. I’m proud of you. And proud to be yours. :P PLEASE go to the hospital, Chargebolt. Even if you think you’re fine. I’ll be mad if you don’t >:(   I wuv you <3'

His lips pulled up to one side and he reread the message again before typing out a response, hitting send just as a set of footsteps approached him. It was time to get back to base. 

Denki was in the camp of agency employees that started paperwork at the earliest opportunity. Mainly so he could get as much as he could down while it was still fresh in his thankfully unscrambled brain. 

A quick shower and change of clothes later, Denki was making his way to his desk. Upon approach, he noticed a container set next to the thick folder waiting for his write up. Taped to the top was a blue paper folded in the shape of a star. He sat down before unfolding it.

‘Yes, I made this. Yes, it’s a salad. You know my salads are never lacking. Hope it can comfortably tide you over until you get off. You deserve every piece of chicken and shrimp in this bowl.

P.S. Eat every legume. Every single one.’

He carefully popped off the lid, taking in the colorful and weighty meal. She had stripped the lettuce, fried the chicken and the shrimp, and he counted three different kinds of beans, chickpeas, and pigeon peas, all tossed in a dressing he couldn't identify. It honestly looked like filling for her homemade naan or a tortilla.

Thankfully, he didn't have to leave the agency building for the rest of his shift so he was actually able to finish all the preliminary paperwork. The drive home was a careful one. He had a medical all-clear but was still sore all over. A fortunate coincidence that he was scheduled off tomorrow. Not so fortunate was that Kliome wouldn't be able to spend the day with him, but he reminded himself yet again that he would, in fact, not perish from Kliome-deficiency over the course of a 24-hour period. 

A pink note greeted him at eye-level on the front door. 

'Good work today, Chargebolt. Rest well.'

He took it inside. His face squinched in confusion at the mess that greeted him. Well, not exactly a mess. But there were folded papers on every surface. Every seat in the living room. The coffee table, the TV stand, the dining table… every chair had a paper folded over the back and one in the center of the seat. The kitchen island, the counters, the microwave, the fridge, even the pile of clean dishes in the drainer and the sink faucet. 

How long had she been planning this?

The bathroom was in a similar state. Folded papers of varying colours on the closed toilet seat, the toilet tank, their - dry - towels, taped to the back of the door... 

On to the bedroom, then. Spotless. Had she run out? He walked in to see their dresser. The mirror was completely outlined in post-its.

He sat on the bed. His phone went off in his pocket.

Good night, my electric love. I landed safely. Bet you won't find them all before I get back. :P

He smiled. He couldn't love this woman enough.

A/N: She also put a note in at least one pocket of all his clothes in their shared closet. He'll be finding them for months.

[thenewfuture]

(Part 2)

Th-The…Izuru…K-Kamukura Project…?!

………….

…These appear to be a record of all of the participants and subsequent victims of the project. There’s hundreds, perhaps thousands of names here, going on for nearly six decades. Most of the subjects here died during the operations, and most that survived didn’t live long enough past the first few weeks to get a decent result.

All of which is approved and signed in your name, Chairman Kazou Tengan.

…………

W-Wait, hold on! Th-There’s no way Chairman Tengan would do something like that knowingly…! M-Maybe he didn’t know what it was for-

Kid. I get ya want to get in the chairman’s good graces. But the facts speak for themselves.

Tengan was the headmaster of Hope’s Peak for years before Jin stepped in. He knew. He knew guaranteed.

……………

…………………

….What would you have me say?

Huh?

What could I possibly say at this time that would have you believe my side in all this?

Try and I’ll judge you myself.

*sigh*......

Izuru Kamukura wanted nothing but the best for our country. He wanted to improve the world and help others in so many ways, alas it was too tall a task for one man alone.

----------------------------------

Tengan: That’s when he had the idea to create Hope’s Peak Academy. To help foster the next generation and bolster their individual skill sets to change the world.

Tengan: But as the years went on…nothing changed. Crime was rampant, diseases still spread, and the citizens still felt a great despair. And so Izuru Kamukura died without his dream ever being fulfilled.

--------------------

Until, one day…many years later when an idea struck. What if instead of relying on multiple people with incredible talents to shape the world, there was one person with every and all talents in existence to shape it instead.

And that was the basis for the Kamukura Project.

Indeed. Ever since then, Hope’s Peak has tried to craft the perfect embodiment of hope. An Ultimate Ultimate if you will. The Ultimate Hope.

By injecting all we knew about talents and the talented students, their body structure, genetic makeup, and brain impulses, onto one singular person. We could make that individual be like those talented students. Perhaps even stronger.

At the cost of said individual losing themselves in the process.

………

Y’know, I keep wondering…. Just what was the plan for Izuru Kamukura anyway? How did the school plan to use them once they were created.

I believe it went something like this… Hope’s Peak would assign Izuru to use his incredible talents wherever and whenever they saw fit. Assist in calculations, help stop disasters, become mankind’s hope for the betterment of the world.

That doesn’t sound like for the betterment of the world, that sound like for the betterment of Hope’s Peak solely.

……….

I…..I don’t understand…. How could you…..be okay with this….?

As I said, I believed it was for the greater good. The potential of all the talent possessed-

Tengan's skeletons in his closet

(Part 1)

*Flips through pages*

Is it really wise to stay here and waste precious time? I can’t see the benefit in reading that file?

Why do you have that file anyway?

What do you mean? It’s a record of every branch leader of the Foundation. Why wouldn’t I have something like that?

I meant have it here. Wouldn’t that be too good information for anyone to have? Especially, if it’s as personal as I’m suspecting it is…

It’s not that, it’s-

A last will in testament.

Hmm?

Or that’s how I’m personally perceiving it with your phrasing here in some of these notes sections. If someone were to find this and read these sections about what you had to say about them, it would fill them with a sense of remorse.

A forced remorse though… From only reading your personal thoughts in this file, instead of from your own mouth.

Almost as if you’re expecting to die soon.

…….

…I have no idea what you could be referring too…

Fine then. Take this section about me for instance. You write,

“Kyoko Kirigiri is a smart, confident, and capable detective. Being the one to solve most of the mysteries surrounding the Hope’s Peak Killing Game even under a stronger memory loss influence than the other students proves she is a prodigy worthy of her family name. It almost gives me no doubt in my mind that she can solve all of the mysteries remaining about Hope’s Peak Academy. But whether I should be worried about that is still uncertain”

…….

……

….Well? I’m right here. What do you want me to potentially uncover?

…….

I’m….not sure what you could be referring to…

You wrote it, my man. Is your memory failing that much already?

…………….

……..

Very well. I’ve already figured it out anyway. 

You have?

Yes. It has something to do… *Click*

*whiiiirrrrr* *Kyoko hits a button under Tengan’s desk. And one of the paintings on the wall splits open to reveal a compartment hidden in the wall with another type of file inside*

…with this.

W-Woah! That’s some serious spy-type stuff right there…!

And what is that exactly?

*Kyoko takes the file from the compartment* This…appears to be about the Izuru Kamukura Project.

[luvhaos]

skate and slip | kmg

pairing: kim mingyu x gn! reader genre: non-idol! au, established relationship, fluff, humor word count: 683 summary: in hindsight, maybe you and mingyu, the two clumsiest people in existence, shouldn’t have accepted the invitation to an ice skating outing.

You swear that you weren’t this clumsy before you started dating Mingyu. You’re pretty sure it just rubbed off on you. You also swear that you never used to be this bad at ice skating but you guess it has been over a decade since your parents last took you to a rink.

Mingyu has your hand in a death grip as you two shuffle awkwardly along the edge of the rink, Mingyu shouting, “Show offs!” as Minghao and Joshua whiz by the two of you. It makes you personally feel a little better when you see Seungkwan trip and fall at the other end of the ice rink, earning laughs from you and Mingyu, but that satisfaction doesn’t last long.

Mingyu stumbles himself and, because of his vice hold on your hand, drags you down with him. “Ouch!” you yelp as you land on him and you huff playfully, “Jeez, Gyu, take us all down, why don’t you?”

Mingyu scoffs, “Oh, please, you would have fallen eventually.”

“Would not.”

“Would so.”

“Would not.”

“Would so!”

“You’re both equally bad,” Wonwoo says, skating over to you.

Mingyu glares at his best friend as you grip the wall of the rink, pulling yourself up. Wonwoo, despite his taunting, helps you haul Mingyu up as well. You hold onto the wall and Mingyu leans against it. You watch as Wonwoo skates away, studying the motion of his legs and his stance. You push yourself off the wall and tentatively move away, gliding at a snail’s pace but at least you’re not actively falling down.

As you move farther away, Mingyu whines, “Where are you going? Don’t leave me here!”

“I think I’m getting the hang of it, babe,” you say and you move a few more inches forward.

“Woohoo!” Seokmin cheers as he slides past you, just a tad faster than you. “Go, Y/n!”

“I thought we were a team!” Mingyu calls from behind you.

You sigh in faux sadness and glance over your shoulder. “Sometimes, we need to leave people behind to move forward.”

You laugh at your boyfriend’s overdramatic cry and Vernon shouts, “Cold, Y/n, cold!”

You nearly tumble down again but you catch the wall in time, keeping yourself upright as you watch Mingyu gradually move himself off it. “Watch out,” he warns you, “I’m coming to get you!”

Wonwoo, who had taken two laps around the rink, settles beside you and mutters, “I highly doubt that.”

Mingyu skates a mere four inches before falling again. You and Wonwoo exchange glances and you say, “I don’t know if I’ll make it back to him without falling and I kind of like my high ground right now.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes good-naturedly and makes his way over to Mingyu on his own, once again helping him up. Mingyu pouts at you and you hold your arms out. “Come on, babe! You’ve got it!”

Mingyu clings to the wall as he shuffles towards you, one painstaking foot in front of the other. You’re barely managing to balance yourself waiting for him and as he draws closer to you, he makes a final push and flies towards you, crashing into you and sending you both down.

When the initial ache fades, you two stare at each before bursting into loud laughs. Mingyu leans down and kisses you, earning whoops and retching from your friends and you swear that Jihoon yells, “Get a room!”

The two of you struggle to your feet and you say, “I, sadly, don’t think we have careers in figure skating, Gyu.”

Mingyu hums in agreement, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his head on top of yours. “I like where we’re at right now.”

“Wow,” Seungcheol says as he passes you two. “Way to make the rest of us feel single.”

“That’s right,” Mingyu says, puffing his chest out. “Be jealous of our love.” He pecks your temple and then your cheek and soon, he’s pressing sweet kisses all over your face, earning another round of cheering and gagging.

“I second Jihoon.” Chan says, “Get a room!”

[severusloveslily]

potions & parchment || snamione AU

Severus stalked back into Hogwarts, a scowl on his face. He had just made the always lovely trek to the Ministry and had, yet again, been thwarted by the dunderheads that make up their government. 

Since the Dark Lord’s downfall, he had spent a year or so recovering from his injuries. He was still trying to work out the odds of how the hell he’d managed to survive. Despite his best efforts, he was still alive, so he decided he ought to at least try and enjoy his freedom. Following his recovery, he dusted off many of his stalled research projects and had gone to work. Nearly a decade later, he was ready to present them to the Ministry. 

However, he was hitting roadblocks at every bloody turn. Though he’d been awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, they still didn’t particularly like ex-Death Eaters. He couldn’t say he blamed them, but it was frustrating. He didn’t want to be stuck teaching for the rest of his life. It was a means to an end at this point. 

“Severus?”

The man stopped and turned to see his boss, Minerva McGonagall, approaching him. He waited for her to catch up, before he continued walking. “I’m not in the mood right now, Minerva.”

“How did the meeting go?” she asked. “Not well?”

“You astound me with your deduction skills,” he muttered. “I want to be alone.”

“Why did they turn you down?” she pressed, struggling to keep up with his long stride. 

“You know why, Minerva,” Severus drawled. “In any case, I suppose I’ll just have to fund my projects personally. It will take much longer, but... one day, perhaps I’ll get there. Unless someone else beats me to it,” he muttered. He was trying to develop a serum to numb the effects of the Cruciatus curse. Though the Dark Lord was gone, his followers remained, and there were still people recovering from the war. It would also help Aurors on their mission. 

He had also tweaked his Wolfsbane recipe and he found it was more effective than the one before. Though he wasn’t fond of Remus Lupin, it opened his eyes to the horribly lonely world of people stricken with lycanthropy. He was trying to help. 

“You know,” McGonagall started, “Hermione will be here for her semi-annual visit next week. Why don’t you speak to her about it? That could be your way in. If you get the Minister for Magic on your side, they can’t say no. Right?”

Severus stopped walking and pondered that. He’d rather rip his hair out than ask a third of the Golden Trio for help, but he had his back against the wall at this point. “Perhaps,” he murmured. It wasn’t a bad idea, but she never really came to speak to him anyway. She hardly even observed him when she was here. He was glad she was taking such a proactive approach to the school, no other minister in his memory had done that. She was doing the world of good for their society, and fit the job to a tee. The country was better off with her at the helm. 

[spaceorphan18]

5 Times Kurt Talks About Sex and 1 Time He Doesn't (Part Two)

A/N: So, this was inspired the other day by a Nonny who was asking about how Kurt interacts with others on the topic of sex and this little idea popped in my head.

It’s a little mini-series, and I’ll post one part a day, then I’ll get it up on Ao3 after it’s complete.

It’s set in a post-canon-ish world when they’re all living in New York. The whole thing takes place over the course of a day.

Btw - for this one, I reference one of my other fics - With Every Broken Bone. You don't need to have read it or anything - but if you're wondering where I pulled the idea that Kurt had a one-night stand, that's where.

****

Conversation Two: Elliott

Kurt finishes the rest of his bagel and throws the paper wrapper into a nearby trash can.  He still has a full cup of coffee to enjoy, and even though the stand’s regular roast is a bit bland, he’ll still take all the cheap coffee he can get in a day.  

“You’re late,” Kurt says as he sips from the styrofoam cup.  It’s nearly eleven and he does have lunch plans, but he and Elliott have been taking a Saturday morning walk in Central Park for half a decade now, and Kurt isn’t one to change his routine so easily.  

“Yeah, I know, I know…” Elliott looks a little haggard.  Despite the spring sun shining around them, Elliott’s lacking his usual energetic demeanor.  “This guy I hooked up with didn’t want to leave the apartment.  He kept wanting to snuggle.” 

“Oh, the horror,” Kurt deadpans.  He motions to the stand but Elliott brushes it off, not seeming interested despite having the knowledge that this little food cart has the best cream cheese in the park.  Instead, they start down their usual path.  

“Yeah, and then he spent an hour telling me about his antique birdhouse collection,” Elliott says.  “I mean, you do you and everything, but I’ve got places to be.” 

“Why did you even pick this guy?” 

“Kurt, seriously…” Elliott stops them in their tracks a moment, and waits until an older woman walking her dog passes by.  “He had the most beautiful cock that I have ever seen.  I thought, when he sent me a pic, that he had doctored it somehow. But nope - good god, it was a work of art.  Okay, why the look?” 

“C’mon,” Kurt shrugs a little as they pick up walking again.  “Let’s not kid ourselves.  I may be fond of them, but the penis, by design, is hardly a work of art.” 

“This guy’s was.” 

“Fine, let’s say it was.  Did you really think the most artistically designed dick was really going to be attached to the world’s most perfect human specimen?” Kurt asks.  

“You know, you can judge me all you want - and, sure we only had, like, a sixty-seven percent match on the app,” Elliott continues.  “But I got to play with the most beautiful cock, possibly, in North America.” 

Kurt rolls his eyes a little, as he shakes his head.  All these stories seem to run the same after awhile, and it’s times like these, he’s glad he’s married and settled.  “Well, maybe next time you should downgrade a little and try a dick attached to a personality that better suits you.” 

Elliott eyes him sharply.  “It’s not like I’m expecting you to understand.” 

“Understand what?” 

Elliott plays it coy a little, which is unlike him.  “The allure of just wanting to enjoy a beautiful cock for what it is.” 

Kurt snaps his head abruptly. “I’ll have you know that Blaine has a--” 

Elliott holds up his hand to stop him.  “I have no doubt that whatever Blaine has is lovely.  But Kurt, how many actual pensises have you seen in real life?” 

Kurt scrunches his nose.  “More than I’ve ever asked for.  I’ve seen yours.” 

Elliott grumbles.  “Yeah, cause you don’t know how to knock before entering a room.  No, I mean, how many have you seen actually up close? Two?” 

“It’s been more than two,” Kurt says defensively. 

“Has it?” 

Kurt grumbles into his coffee, wondering why numbers are even important.  “Fine, if we’re really going to go there… I mean, Blaine, obviously.  Myself.”

“You can’t count yourself.” 

“Ug, alright, well when Blaine and I broke up the first time I dated this British guy named Adam.”

“Oh god, you would date a British guy,” Elliott chuckled.  “Did he also have a tattoo of the queen on his thing?” 

“No,” Kurt shot back.  “He was really pale though.” He slowed his walk to think about it further.  “There was that one-night stand I had the summer after I called off the engagement.  But, you know, I can’t even remember it all that well.” 

“What about that dude who was older than your dad?” Elliott asks, wiggling his eyebrows as if it was a scandalous secret Kurt had kept all these years.

“Oh my god - I had forgotten about Walter…” Kurt replies.  That had barely been a thing. “Yeah, we may have messed around a little.  You know, his dick was much nicer than you’d expect.  But my god, he did not know what to do with it.  I honestly felt really bad for his ex-wife.”

“And…if my calculations are right, that’d bring us back to Blaine, so unless there’s a threesome in there that I don’t know about that brings your total to five.” 

Kurt continues to sip his coffee, still mulling it over.  “I mean…there was the one time I had to do a sex scene in a play, and I caught more than my fair share of my scene partner’s junk.  But he had some weird stuff going on under the hood, so probably not even worth mentioning.  I mean, like, weird piercings weird.” 

“Ew.” 

“I know.” 

“So, there we have it,” Elliott says. He holds his hands out wide, as if some great conclusion had been stumbled upon.  “My point stands.” 

“There was a point to this?”

“What I’m saying is this,” Elliot says.  “You’ve tried, like, five flavors of ice cream and decided you were done when there’s a vast array of ice cream flavors just waiting to be tasted.  And, sure, some may leave you bloated and gross and won’t shut up about endangered birds of North America but my god it was worth it while you were eating it.” 

“Why do people always use ice cream when making their sex metaphors?” 

“Who doesn’t love ice cream?” 

“Lesbians, probably.”

“It’s a multipurpose metaphor, Kurt, and you’re intentionally getting off topic.” 

“I just think it’s a ridiculous point,” Kurt says, a layer of irritation in his voice.  How is this a conversation they even ended up having?  “Have you ever stopped to think about quality over quantity? How many guys, on average, do you think you pick up a week?” 

Elliott thinks it over.  “I don’t know, maybe one or two on a good week.”  

“Wow - I didn’t realize it was that many.” 

“You’re being judgy again, Kurt…”

“Anyway…” Kurt says, with a long gulp of his coffee - lamenting that he’s almost done with the cup. “On average, I’d say Blaine and I mess around three or four times a week.  So, comparatively, I’m having my expensive, always satisfying sweet treat twice as often and always at my disposal while you scrounge around trying to engorge yourself on any freezer burned dessert in a decently wrapped package, trying to trick yourself into thinking that the ice cream sandwich stuck at the bottom is marginally better because it has that chocolate cookie included, but once you try it, it’s not nearly as edible as it initially looked. Well, you can keep your most likely chemically encrusted, cheap ice cream.  I want my gourmet vanilla with caramel sauce every time. ” 

Elliott remains quiet for a long beat.  “I think you killed the metaphor.” 

“Well, it was your metaphor,” Kurt shoots back.  “Besides, would you have preferred me to say that my husband might not be breaking the art world with his cock but his is the most beautiful to me and I would rather be fucked by that than by anything else?” 

Elliott lets out a hearty laugh. “Kurt, I love it when you're poetically crude."

Kurt grumbles again as he tosses the empty coffee cup into a trash can on the side of the path.  “And for the record, there’s nothing wrong with liking birds.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Nothing - Don’t worry about it.”

[97-liners]

more werewolf!scoups x vampire!reader

pointless fluff, some backstory, 1.1k words

same universe as my previous little drabble

@greenlivvie

Chan is afraid of you. Terrified, even, and you’re very aware of it.

You smile awkwardly at him, but you’re not sure it really carries past the large wide-brimmed hat and veil protecting your face from the sun. You try your best to remember what you would have done back when you were a human, but your memory fails you.

“So,” you say, clasping your gloved hands. You’re out in daylight today, accompanying Seungcheol as he runs some errands. He had to stop by a relative’s house to drop something off, and you had elected to wait outside to avoid the awkwardness of needing to be invited in.

Chan was on his way back from the train station when he ran into you, and out of obligation and politeness more than anything, he stopped to greet you. You know it wasn’t his first choice, because you can sense the adrenaline in his blood and the minuscule shift of his muscles, like he’s steeling himself in case he has to fight. Dressed in his school uniform and walking his bike, he somehow seems even younger than you remember him looking a few weeks ago when he came of age and joined the other wolves in the run for the first time.

You know you’re quite intimidating dressed in all black and standing in the shadow of a building, but this is the first time you’ve been face-to-face with the boy without Seungcheol acting as some sort of buffer, and you desperately want him to stop making those terrified deer-in-the-headlights eyes at you. “How is school?”

“G-good,” Chan stammers.

“Are you studying hard for your college entrance exams?”

“Yeah,” he looks down at his feet.

You’re trying your best to seem warm and friendly, you really are, but centuries of isolation really does take a toll on your social skills. 

“You know, you can always come to me for help,” you tell him. “I have four degrees.” A product of having nothing better to do over the past two hundred years.

“Thank you,” Chan says. “You’re very generous.”

The two of you fall in silence again. What are the kids into these days? You’re itching to tell him not to be afraid of you, that you haven’t killed anyone in nearly five decades, that you’re freshly sated and have no hunger for his blood, but a part of your brain tells you that doing so might make him even more afraid of you, so you just smile at him again.

Thankfully, Seungcheol rescues you. “Hey Chan, heading home from school?” He comes up beside you and takes your hand, effortlessly entwining his fingers between your own gloved fingers. 

“Oh, hyung,” Chan breathes a sigh of relief. “Hi. I’m heading to cram school right now.”

“Well, you don’t want to be late, do you,” Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at Chan, who instantly gets the message. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get going,” he swings his leg back over his bike, the numerous little keychains hanging off his backpack jostling and clinking in the process. “I’ll see you, then.”

“Oh, and Chan?”

“Hm?” He looks up.

“Don’t be so nervous around my partner.”

.

.

.

“It’s so embarrassing,” you moan, hanging up your hat as soon as you reach the blessed darkness inside your house. “Your packmates are terrified of me. I’m like, half of Mingyu’s size,” you gripe, stripping your gloves off, “and the other day he still asked me if I’ve ever ripped anyone’s head off.”

“Well, have you?” Seungcheol sets the shopping bags down in the kitchen.

You wave your hand flippantly as you shrug off your long black coat. “Yeah, but that was over a century ago.”

“Don’t worry about it, they’ll come around eventually,” he promises, settling an arm around your waist and kissing your cheek. “Mingyu is afraid of everything. And to be fair, you’re a very powerful being.”

You frown at him. “I’m a socially awkward hermit.”

“You could kill me at any moment if you wanted,” he adds on conversationally, as if he isn’t talking about murder. 

“You’d put up a good fight,” you counter. “We’re pretty evenly matched.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he laughs.

“You’re the only one with no self preservation instinct.” You sigh as you collapse into a chair, exhausted from an afternoon of being out in public. 

Seungcheol shrugs. “Well that’s because we’ve met before. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Hmm?” You look up at him as he puts away groceries. “What are you talking about?”

He pauses, one hand held hesitantly over a bag of carrots. “I met you before. When I was a child.”

You stare at him. 

Seungcheol furrows his brows. “You don’t remember?”

“No,” you respond. “But then again, I’m old. My memory isn’t the best.”

“Hmm,” he turns back towards the task at hand. “It’s fine if you don’t remember, then.”

“You’ll have to remind me about it some time.” You lean your head against the back of your chair. 

.

.

.

(It’s raining outside, and you’re trying your best to focus on the book in your lap, but the persistent whimpering outside your house is distracting you. It’s probably just some wild animal, but something about the sound is unsettling. It’s not right. 

Your eyes scan over the same paragraph for the third time before you sigh and snap the book shut. If you don’t address the whining, you’re not going to get anything done all night.

Tugging on your rain boots and wrapping a coat loosely around yourself, you step out onto the porch to investigate the noise. It’s a full moon tonight, but any moonlight is obscured by the dark storm clouds overhead. You step out onto the creaky old wood and look around, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and then you spot it, the source of the whimpering.

It’s a puppy. No, you frown. It’s not an ordinary puppy. That’s a lost werewolf pup, a young one at that. He’s soaking wet and covered in mud, shivering in the paltry shelter of a flowerpot holding a wilted rose bush. “Oh dear,” you murmur, stepping forward. Without hesitation, you shrug off your coat and wrap the pup up, holding him close to your chest. You know it’s no use, that your body doesn’t carry any heat, but the action must have soothed him somewhat, because the whimpering quiets down into the occasional keen. 

“You’re too young to be out here alone,” you murmur. “There are monsters in the woods less kind than I am, little wolf.” There’s a pack a couple miles away. You’ve never interacted with them, but you’re sure they’ll get this pup back to his parents, wherever they are. “Brave little wolf,” you croon, cradling the bundle against your chest as you set off in the rain, making your way through the dark forest, head lifted high. There are no threats to you here. “Let’s get you back home.”)