#the first time i realized that it was a clock ticking in the background and why it was there i lost it

[gilligans-islands]

i love the music that plays in amaurot

the relaxing but kind of sad piano, the light violins that play in the background, the constant ticking in the background counting down the time until the end, the way the song stops and starts again just before it seems it will reach the climax and crescendo, before amaurot is destroyed and the world ends!!! so good!!

it all just combines to make a fantastic piece of musical storytelling and is also a banger!!! genuinely one of my favorites pieces from the whole game

[meazalykov]

new years baby

ingrid engen x pregnant!reader

summary: your baby decides to arrive two weeks late

the air in the apartment has a mix of excitement and calm. 

you were perched on the couch, your feet tucked under a soft blanket, sipping from a juice box while ingrid and alexia chatted lightly over their glasses of wine. the christmas lights still twinkled along the edge of the window, and the faint hum of music played in the background, setting a cozy new year's eve atmosphere.

you shifted slightly, your growing belly making every position a balancing act. ingrid’s eyes flickered to you often, her gaze soft and adoring. 

"how are you feeling, love?" she asked, her norwegian accent wrapping the words in warmth.

“same as this morning,” you replied with a small laugh. 

“still pregnant.”

alexia chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“i don’t know how you’re still walking around. december eighteenth, then christmas—now new year’s eve? iris is really taking her time.”

you smiled, resting a hand on your belly. 

“if she doesn’t come by january second, the doctors said they’ll have to induce me. but she’s probably just waiting for the right moment.”

ingrid leaned over to press a kiss to your temple. 

“she’s dramatic already, just like her mom.”

“and patient, just like her mamma.” you respond. 

the three of you laughed, and you reached for another sip of your juice. the warmth of the moment made the days of waiting feel a little lighter.

then, as the clock ticked closer to 10:00pm, something shifted. you felt it suddenly—a strange, uncontrollable sensation. at first, you thought you might have peed, which was embarrassing enough, but when you excused yourself to the bathroom, the realization hit: your water had broken.

a rush of adrenaline swept through you, but you kept calm, padding quietly to the bedroom to change into more comfortable pajamas and grabbing the hospital bags you and ingrid had prepared weeks ago.

as you emerged from the bedroom, the sight of alexia and ingrid staring at you with wide, questioning eyes almost made you laugh.

“uh, my water broke,” you announced, holding up the bags as if to prove it.

ingrid was on her feet instantly, her wineglass abandoned. 

“what? now? are you okay?”

“yes, now,” you replied, feeling the first faint stirrings of contractions. 

“i’m fine, but we should probably get to the hospital.”

alexia jumped up, her usual calm demeanor replaced with an almost comical fluster. 

“okay, bags—car—uh, do you need anything else? snacks? more juice?”

you shook your head, smiling at her concern. 

“just the hospital bags, alexia. and maybe some shoes.”

within minutes, the three of you were in the car, the streets of barcelona unusually quiet for new year’s eve. ingrid sat beside you in the backseat, her hand tightly gripping yours, her face a mix of excitement and worry.

“are you sure you’re okay?” she asked for the fifth time, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.

you nodded, exhaling through another contraction. 

“i’m okay, promise. it’s not too bad yet.”

when you arrived at the hospital, things moved quickly. you were whisked into a delivery room, and ingrid stayed glued to your side, her presence a steadying force. 

alexia, after ensuring you were settled, made her way to the cafeteria, where fridolina joined her, both of them eagerly waiting for updates.

the labor progressed faster than you expected. by the time the clock struck 11:45 p.m., the contractions were intense, and the nurses were preparing for delivery. ingrid held your hand through every wave of pain, her voice soothing as she whispered words of encouragement.

“you’re so strong, mi amor,” she said, her own eyes glistening with emotion. 

“our baby is almost here.”

by 12:01 a.m., you were pushing. the effort was exhausting but focused, every ounce of your energy channeled into bringing your daughter into the world. ingrid’s voice anchored you, and after just three pushes, the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s cry.

“she’s here!” the doctor announced, carefully placing your daughter on your chest.

tears streamed down your face as you looked at her tiny, wriggling form. ingrid was beside you, her face alight with wonder and tears of her own. the doctor glanced at the clock and smiled. 

“12:03 a.m. happy new year!”

“happy new year, baby,” ingrid whispered softly, leaning close to kiss iris’s forehead. the sound of her voice seemed to calm the baby’s cries for a moment.

you let out a tired laugh, looking down at your daughter. 

“of course she wanted her birthday to be a holiday.”

ingrid chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. 

the moments after were a blur of joy and relief. alexia and fridolina came up to the room once things had settled, their faces lighting up when they saw ingrid cradling iris in her arms.

“she couldn’t wait for january second?” fridolina teased, leaning over to get a better look at the baby. 

“was 2024 not a good year to be born in?”

ingrid grinned, glancing down at iris.

“exactly what i was thinking. she had to wait for the new year.”

alexia laughed. 

“at least we’ll never forget her birthday. it’s a built-in celebration every year.”

you smiled, feeling the warmth of their words as you reached for iris. ingrid gently placed her in your arms, and you marveled at her tiny features—the button nose, the delicate fingers curling instinctively around your thumb. she looked just like ingrid. 

“she’s perfect,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. iris’s eyes were closed, her face peaceful as she nestled against you.

“she really is,” ingrid agreed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the two of you admired your daughter. 

“happy new year, mi amor.”

you leaned into her, feeling the overwhelming love and gratitude of the moment. despite the long wait and the unexpected timing, everything felt exactly as it should be. 

masterlist

[noneorother]

The secret timeline inside of Good Omens season 2 revealed, *part1*

Part 1 l Part 2

If you’ve ever watched a ballet or an opera, you know how the rhythm in the music is used throughout to determine not only the movements of the dancers, but also when lines are sung or spoken. This is almost unheard of in television, but what if I told you it was hidden in season 2 of Good Omens? If one were to, say, meticulously cut together only the scenes set in the present day into one big timeline, you would get one long video that is exactly 2 hours 22 minutes 00 seconds and 00 frames long. An ineffable cut that is so perfect it defies all logic. (I’ve burnt a timecode into this ineffable edit to help pick up the rhythm.)

Even though there are large swathes of the second season with no music, there is a constant tempo weaving its way through the show: What if the seconds ticking by in the runtime itself was the music? Here’s an example of what I found. Behold a supercut of every single time Shax shows up, or Hell is mentioned in series 2 in the ineffable edit. They always arrive on a 6 in the time stamp (ex: 00:XX:X6).

(SOUND ON is an absolute must here, otherwise you won't hear any of the triggers)

Shax rings Crowley on a XX:X6. Shax miracles herself into the car on a XX:X6. Shax knocks on windows on a XX:X6. Shax’s big scary moment at the bookshop happens at 66 minutes exactly (lol). Crowley calls out for Shax on a XX:X6. Beelzebub starts spewing flies on a 6. People mention hell and it’s always on XX:X6 etc. etc…(Bonus: I also left in Maggie flipping the damned the double-bird on a XX:X6) I’ve also left in the only appearance of Shax or hell at all in the whole series that isn’t tied to a six: the park bench scene with Crowley. Shax seems to be off by one line, showing up on a XX:10, then back to XX:X6 on her second reply: “Bills, mostly”. I can only theorise that this scene, while technically in season 2, is not supposed to *be* in season 2 (even just judging by the trees, sun and the overcoats, it’s not summer like in the rest of the season). And it’s not only sixes! Every time I go through I find more and more little beats that line up exactly with ineffable timings. I can only do one video per post, so I’ll have to cut it up into sections, but Gabriel, doors, car horns, bird calls, Aziraphale, food, drinks, Angels, dialogue, Maggie, Nina, jokes, clocks, bells… The list goes on and on. 

Neil called this season “The bridge”

Because we all know how much Neil loves double meanings and wordplay, I just have to ponder the idea that when Neil said this season was “the bridge” between seasons 1 and 3, he meant it double-literally. First, as in the bridge Aziraphale and Crowley have to cross in order to get them into position for the second coming. We even see the physical manifestation of this bridge leading everyone in the background of the opening credits. But this season is also a bridge in the sense that it’s a musical section that introduces new ideas or material in the middle of a song. This whole season is the music that deviates from the familiar, and re-contextualizes the chorus and the verses so we can appreciate them in a new way. 

Let’s not forget that 2:22 is also exactly the same timing as this (and only this) track from the good omens s2 album (read all about the soundtrack here):

Why is this so bonkers? I think GOS2 might be the first ever “Total” series of television.

Having everything in the series timed and choreographed would actually make it a very faithful adaptation of the Powell & Pressburger film The Tales of Hoffmann (read about the movie and it’s effect on all of s2 here). If you watch the tales of Hoffman, you will realize that the entire film is actually done more like animation, with the music and vocals all performed in a studio, mixed and edited first, and then the actors came back to act out their choreographed and lip-synched parts for the cameras afterwards. The result is "Total film": a movie that feels more like a ballet, with every movement, action, and line happening in time with the music. As far as I can tell, very few films have ever attempted this, with The Tales of Hoffmann and Playtime being the only two “complete” films I could find in this style. (The Red shoes has one section, and An American In Paris has a few)

“Why would ambitious filmmakers simply film an opera? Many admirers of the work of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger have assumed that their decision to make The Tales of Hoffmann (…) was in some way an admission(…) that they couldn’t go on making their edgy, over-the-top melodramas after the rejection and interference they’d suffered, (but) there’s a case for considering The Tales of Hoffmann as one of the finest and boldest works that Powell and Pressburger produced, so far ahead of its time as a wholly “composed” film... Late in his life, Powell himself said that he thought it was one of the best films that he and Pressburger had made.” - Criterion review, Tales of Hoffmann

Here’s a simple example from An American in Paris

If season 2 *is* scripted and choreographed to line up with specific timings, I’m pretty sure that would make this the first ever “total” or “composed” season of television ever attempted. Not only does this take an ASTOUNDING amount of planning, scripting and editing finesse, not to mention a completely controlled set, it takes a real understanding of how to perform as an actor using rhythm and metre, which would go a long way to explain why all of the main actors coming back for season 2, with the exception of John Hamm, are well regarded theatre performers, (especially of Shakespeare).

I’ll leave you with one last surprise I found in the discovery of the ineffable edit: remember Aziraphale’s smile at the very end if the credits? It happens on 02:23:03, as the first step off the bridge, and into season 3.

I will have much more in the next ineffable timeline post. Stay tuned…

__________________________________________

Thanks for reading all the way to the end. It’s taken me a solid month to get this perfect. There are so many hidden cuts and jumps to take into account, and I had a frame rate issue that kept exporting to 29fps instead of 25fps, but I’ve finally nailed the ineffable timeline enough that I am confident sharing in it.

Credits to @thebluestgreen and @embracing-the-ineffable for all the support and help with editing and just general good vibes. 

[adnauseum11]

M.I.A. (John Price x Reader)

John finally arrives home after a successful mission.

1.2 k words

CW: swearing

Feedback welcome!

Thanks for the support over this series - it's hugely appreciated!

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series - Masterlist pinned to my blog.

While not explicitly written for @glitterypirateduck O Captain challenge it does fit the criteria (sorta). It's already got a lot of wonderful submissions, go check it out if you're looking for new Price fics and drabbles.

Masterlist

O Captain challenge

Ao3

The street is lonely and dark when John arrives home again. It’s late, so he’s not surprised to see the lights off in the flat. He parks and sighs, pushing his fingers through his hair. He pauses to take stock for a moment, his forearm bandaged beneath his sleeve, the dull throb almost unnoticeable unless he focuses on it. His innards are unsettled with nerves, more nerves than he felt about returning to the field. The idea that he’s still more used to the dangers of his work, life threatening as they are, than the quirks of his domestic life strikes him as terribly backwards. He debates sleeping on the couch before rejecting the thought and scooping his rucksack from the trunk with a heavy sigh and heading inside.

It's quiet in the gloomy flat, the ticking of the clock on the wall way too loud to John’s recently recalibrated ears. He carefully sets the rucksack off to the side and takes his boots and jacket off as quietly as he can manage, creeping down the hallway to the bedroom. It’s nearly pitch black, and he moves through the space on memory, shucking his clothing. It isn’t until he’s carefully lifting the covers that he realizes he can’t hear breathing.

Reaching cautiously across the cool sheets, John’s heart gives an extra hard kick when his hand doesn’t collide with a warm, sleeping form as expected. It collides with absolutely nothing, swiping through the sheets unimpeded. Panic spikes in his brain and he’s stumbling off the bed to hit the light switch, needing his eyes to confirm what his body has already discovered.   

Light floods the room and reveals the empty side of the bed. For a moment John feels like he can’t breathe, his lungs emptying without the ability to refill. The panic swirling through him feels too large for his body and he can’t stop the surprised wheeze that ekes out, unbidden.

His first instinct is to check for a note, and he vaults over the bed to check the bedside table. When that turns up nothing he heads for the bathroom, his eyes scanning across the countertop and mirror, only to find his own alarmed reflection. John forces himself to take deep breaths as he moves back into the bedroom, opening his drawers and pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans by rote. He’s exhausted, not having slept in a real bed in days, but adrenaline is coursing through him with a sharpness he can’t refute. Sleep will not be had any time soon.

He methodically checks the rest of the apartment, turning lights on and finding the blanket on the couch unfolded and abandoned, half wedged under a cushion. It doesn’t take a genius to see you had slept on the couch at some point before your departure. There’s no sign of a struggle, just an empty wine bottle and one glass with lip prints all over it. John repeats that there’s no signs of a struggle to himself, over and over as he pads back down the hallway to his bedroom, collecting his phone.

He pauses, internally debating whether or not to press the call button that his thumb is hovering over. The weight of the last few days lands on John’s shoulders firmly and he hits ‘call’ with a deep sigh that rattles the lining of his lungs. It almost goes to voicemail before the call connects.

“This had better be good.”

The familiar but groggy voice on the other end grumbles by way of greeting.

“I fucked up, Kate. She’s gone.”

“Wait, wait, what?”

John can hear Kate’s heaved sigh and rustling over the line, a hushed but urgent conversation being had in the background.

“She’s gone. I got home and she’s not here. There’s no sign of a struggle but I just…I can’t sleep. I won’t be able to sleep. I need to know she left by her own power, not dragged out of here. Please Kate. Can you pull CCTV footage, there’s one across the street-”

“Alright, hold on. Hold on, John.”

Kate’s trying to interrupt John’s flow of information. John finally stops talking, the silence on the line unnaturally tense.

“I’m up, I’m logging in, just…give me a second to play catch up.”

John grunts an affirmation, pacing back and forth at the end of the bed, the neatly made linens ramping his anxiety up. Either you never slept in the bed after he left, or you took the time to make the bed in John’s exacting military style. If he was a betting man, he knows which of the two options he would pick, which only serves to heighten his agitation.

“Ok, let’s go over this again. You say she’s gone?”

“She’s not fucking here Kate.”

“Ok, alright, let me look, I’m locating the CCTV across the road from your place now. I’m going to go ahead and guess your conversation did not go well before you left?”

“No. She said I’m making choices for her without involving her in the discussion first.”

“Well, that tracks, to be fair, John. She’s not under your command, remember.”

John’s sigh turns in to a growl, pushing his fingers through his hair while he paces, waiting for more information. Kate’s end is silent for what feels like an eternity as she works through the footage cache of the past few days.

 “Looks like she left the day after you did. A car picked her up in the morning – she took a bag. No note or anything, saying she’s visiting someone?”

“No, I’ve looked. Nothing.”

There’s silence again on the other end of the line for a minute before Kate speaks.

“John, I’m saying this because its Christmastime and you’ve had a hell of a run lately and I can tell this woman means a lot to you. I know what you are about to ask me. Tracking civilians without any cause is very much frowned upon, as you know, and if she didn’t tell you where she was going, she might not be happy to see you if you decide to follow up. Understand? Don’t sabotage yourself. Try to sit tight for a few days. If she’s still not back, get in touch and I’ll see what I can dig up. Right now, respect the distance.”

There’s a warning in Kate’s hushed voice, and John does his level best to reign himself in and heed it.

“Kate- “

“Listen, It’s alright John, she’s moved in now, right? She’ll be back. Figure out how to make it right in the meantime. Try to get some sleep if you can.”

Kate isn’t saying anything John doesn’t already know, but hearing it from her solidifies it somehow.

“Shit. Shit. Yeah. Yeah, alright. Thanks Kate. Sorry.”

“I’ll pass that ‘sorry’ directly on to my wife. At ease, Captain. Nothing more to be done right now, unfortunately. Get some rest.”

Kate is the voice of reason, even though John knows he’s unlikely to sleep and everything in him is screaming at him to find out more. He forces himself to swallow his arguments and listen to his old friend.

“Rog that, Kate. Thanks, again.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch @magsmagic @chickennn-soupp @h0n3y-l3m0n05

[man-im-so-high]

kimi writer era i am SEATED.

for the prompts!!!!: “You pretending that cushion is me?”

//EMPTY BED// - m.h. x reader

warnings: none! pure fluff!

w/c: 1k words

a/n: this is my first official blurb!! i'm shitting my pants posting this 💀 ANYWAYS THANKS JAYE FOR BEING MY FIRST REQUEST ILYSM

//masterlist//

the clock kept ticking, driving you mad.

on the one hand whenever there's shitty moments or nothing happening at all, time won't pass - it stretches like gum. on the other hand, the good moments pass way too quickly. time itself is pacing, always.

right now time won't pass though.

you've been alone at matty’s concrete bunker of a home for a month already now. the longer you spend your time here, the more you realize that it's actually quite cozy somehow. everything in itself seems cold and harsh but together it creates some sort of comfortable, relaxing and balanced atmosphere.

but without matty it's once again cold and harsh. it's like the whole house loses its charm when he's not here.

the bed is colder than usual, everything is quiet - no music playing from his vinyl player, no typing on the typewriter, no jamming on his guitar, nothing - there's no smell of pancakes in the kitchen, the bathroom doesn't smell like his perfume and there is no mess. you're surprised that a thing that usually pisses you off has now become something you miss.

so here you are, on his couch, cuddling with a pillow while the TV is on in the background. there's some sort of reality tv show on but you didn't pay attention to it, you just need noise, the feeling of not being alone.

matty is currently on tour in north america. with you having to stay in london, seeing him is nearly impossible. only nearly though, but seeing him on facetime or hearing his voice on a simple call is surprisingly very hard as well.

on his days off it's easier. he's more flexible with his time management when there is no huge concert at night with the sound checks and everything beforehand.

he's currently in new york, playing one of their biggest shows ever tonight. he's excited, you know that. he has been excited for months now, basically ever since he found out that they could play there.

“i can't wait, oh my god. i will literally- explode!”

“on stage?”

“fuck yes i will, just imagine: we play sex and i just explode.”

“twitter would eat that up.”

“right?!”

but he has also been worried.

worried because it's a huge venue, worried because it's being recorded, worried because you're not there to calm his mind.

you glance at the TV - advertising, of course. you peek over at your phone. it's 3:24 am. usually you'd be lying in bed together at this time, cuddling, in deep sleep.

but right now the bed is cold - ice cold - and the cool concrete walls don't make it any better. you love this place but it's not the same without him.

you calculate in your mind. he's in new york, you're in london so the concert must be over by now. thus the waiting continues.

you look back to the tv. the reality tv show is over and now there's some sitcom playing. it's friends! finally, something funny to help you pass time.

a few minutes pass and your phone lights up. 3:31am.

“hey, you awake?”

another text

“concert’s over”

you instantly grab your phone.

“i'm awake! hope you had fun xx”

he quickly answers and asks:

“you wanna ft when i'm at the hotel?”

“of course :))”

finally you decide to turn off the TV and let silence and darkness take over the room. you take the cushion you've been lying on and holding and make your way up to the bedroom.

instantly, you miss matty. he's a living heater - and a comfortable one to say the least.

so when you lay back down, you lay on the cushion as if you were lying on matty's chest. if you squeeze your eyes shut, just enough, then you can almost hear his heartbeat. or maybe it's just your lack of sleep, who knows.

the tiredness comes creeping in, a yawn escapes your lips. in the same moment your phone lights up.

a facetime call by no other than matty.

happily you pick up.

“good morning, sunshine” an exhausted smile on his lips. he's happy to see you but the weariness from performing is evident.

his hair is damp, he probably just came out of the shower.

he's in bed as well, the bedside table lamp illuminating his face with a warm light from the side, throwing soft shadows on his face.

“good night” you tiredly greet him, a smile adorning your face when you see him.

“how was the concert?”

“oh it was great!” he started to ramble about the crowd, how the band harmonized, how the security and the whole team was great and how everything was perfect.

his soft voice and his endless talking could send you to sleep right then and there-

“hey! no sleeping yet! tell me about your day… or night.”

“uh, i didn't do anything special. i just laid around and was on my phone, i watched some TV and laid on this cushion because you're not there.” you point at the cushion that you're currently lying on.

matty seems to recognize the way you're lying on the cushion.

“wait, wait, wait, are you pretending that cushion is me?”

“maybe, i did. but then i had to realize it's a better cuddler than you are.” you tease him.

he laughs at that. “you're just saying that because you already forgot how good i am.”

a loud yawn leaves your mouth.

“is someone getting tired?” he chuckles and grins. you're so cute when you're tired.

“what do you expect? it's late.”

“get some sleep, sleepyhead.”

“can you stay on the phone with me?”

his grin grows even wider, he could melt at your cuteness.

“of course i will.”

a short moment of silence.

“so, what do you want me to do?”

“i don't know, just talk. tell me a story or something.”

and that's what he does. he knows you know all the stories, he loves talking - you love listening. he talks and talks, his voice almost as soft as the cushion you're resting on, slowly lulling you to sleep.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hi, I just feel you’d be the rightest person to submit this too… ajaf James x reader, where she is his childhood friend and she’s been with them through thick and thin? Maybe they even live in apartments next to each other and she does the cooking, laundry, etc for him cause she loved him since high school but of course he never noticed. But cause he’s a rockstar now, he starts to ghost her? Like cause they got groupies now, he doesn’t invite her to shows anymore, doesn’t hang out with her, but she has enough when he promises to spend her birthday with her but doesn’t show up? And she waits in the restaurant until it closes but next morning when she comes to his apartment for explanation she realizes that he ditched her for two groupies? That’s beyond that she can forgive so she cuts all the ties and moves to a different place. But a few weeks later James realizes that she’s the only woman who liked him as a normal person and not cause he’s a rich rockstar? And he realizes that she was always by his side cause she loved him more than a friend? And they do reconcile (I’m a sucker for heavy angst with happy end)))

I hope you like it😘

Always you

Every morning, I crossed the hallway to James’s apartment, a quiet ritual I’d maintained for years. It felt almost like home—the scent of coffee brewing, the sunlight streaming in through his windows. I let myself in with the spare key he’d given me back in high school, only half awake but always at peace in his space. I made him coffee, folded his laundry, and tidied up his ever-growing stacks of records and sheet music—all things I did for him without thinking, a way to show love I hoped he’d one day see.

We’d been close for so long, bound together by late-night talks and small gestures. Loving him was easy; he was my constant, my best friend. I was the one who cheered at his first gig, stayed up with him after a rough show, patched up his dreams when they got battered and bruised.

But as his band’s success surged, I felt him slipping away, pulled into a world of flashing lights and groupies who clung to him after shows. At first, it was subtle—canceled plans, unanswered calls, casual get-togethers he suddenly avoided. I tried to convince myself it was just a phase, that his new lifestyle demanded more of him. But then he got even more distant, he wouldn’t invite me to his shows anymore, he doesn’t hang out with me, he spends more time with some groupies.

When he promised he’d be there for my birthday, it felt like a lifeline, a chance to bridge the growing distance. I dressed up, ready and waiting, my heart pounding with excitement and nerves. I arrived early, hoping to catch him first, imagining the smile he’d give when he saw I’d reserved our favorite table.

As the minutes ticked by, I glanced at my watch, the hands moving far too slowly for my liking. My heart raced as I looked around the restaurant, hoping for a glimpse of him walking through the door. But as the hours wore on, hope melted into heartache, and the clock became my worst enemy.

I tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. By the time the restaurant closed, I felt foolish and numb, clinging to a piece of a friendship I wasn’t sure existed anymore. The laughter of other diners faded into the background, replaced by the echo of my disappointment.

The next morning, fueled by hurt and anger, I made my way across the hall. I needed answers, or maybe just an apology—anything to show me I hadn’t imagined what we used to have. I knocked harder than usual, and after a few moments, he finally answered the door, looking disheveled and barely awake.

“Hey…” he greeted, blinking at me in confusion. “Didn’t expect you to be here.”

I stepped inside, my eyes sweeping over his place. The remnants of a late-night party were scattered around, and there, on his couch, two half-dressed groupies were pulling on their jackets, giggling to themselves. My stomach lurched at the sight.

“Were they worth it, James?” My voice trembled as I forced the words out.

He looked confused. “What? Worth what?”

“For you to leave me sitting alone last night,” I continued, my voice barely a whisper. “For you to ditch me on my birthday?”

His face paled as he took a step back, his expression shifting between guilt and frustration. “Look, I… I didn’t mean for things to go like that. You know how it is—things got out of hand, the night was a blur.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound catching even me off guard. “You didn’t mean for it to happen?” I shook my head. “I was there, waiting for hours. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to sit there, hoping you’d show up?”

He stepped forward, reaching out as if to touch my arm, but I pulled back. His face twisted, and I thought I saw a hint of regret, but it was far too little, far too late.

“Forget it,” I said, my voice thick with tears I didn’t want to shed. I turned away, reaching for the door. My hand was on the knob, my heart breaking with every step I took away from him.

--------

It had been weeks since I’d left, but somehow I was still haunted by him, by everything I’d tried to walk away from. I told myself it was over, that I’d moved on, but there were moments—like tonight, sitting alone in this quiet apartment—where I could feel the ache settling back in. I’d spent years by his side, but he hadn’t thought twice before trading me for the thrill of the stage and people who didn’t know him at all.

The knock at the door came as a shock, breaking the stillness. I took a breath before opening it, bracing myself. But nothing could have prepared me for seeing James standing there.

“What are you doing here, James?” The words came out cold and clipped, sharper than I intended. But after everything, he didn’t deserve any softer. His face looked worn, like he hadn’t slept in days, and his usual swagger was gone. For a moment, he just stared at me, and I could see his shoulders sagging under some invisible weight.

“I… I messed up,” he said quietly, his voice barely holding together. “I didn’t realize what I was losing until you were gone. I don’t deserve it, but… please, just let me explain.”

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding. “An explanation for what? For forgetting my birthday? Or for not even noticing me?”

He winced, his hands still shoved in his pockets. “For everything. All of it,” he admitted. “You were… always there, you were the only thing that felt real, and I didn’t see it. I just—” His voice broke. He took a shaky breath, his eyes pleading with mine. “I took it all for granted. How you were always there for me, even when no one else was. How you’d bring me coffee in the morning, your perfume filling the room. I wake up now, and it’s like… like the place doesn’t feel like home anymore. None of it feels right.”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the familiar pull of my heart, the memories of all those small things I’d done for him because I loved him. “Do you even know how many nights I waited, James? How many times I hoped you’d come around? You were everything to me, and you couldn’t even see it.”

He stepped closer, his hands shaking. “I see it now. I swear, I do. And losing you made me realize how much you mean to me, how much I need you. I love you.” His voice was soft, breaking on the last words. “I always have. I think I was just too scared, or maybe I thought I didn’t deserve you. But these weeks without you… it’s been hell.”

There was a long silence as I looked into his eyes, my heart torn. The man I’d loved for years, who I’d given everything to, stood there, looking as lost as I’d felt for so long. Against every ounce of resolve, I felt something softening, the smallest crack in my defenses.

I took a shaky breath. “Do you even understand how hard it is to forgive you?”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you,” he whispered.

I let out a slow, uneven sigh. “One chance, James. Just one. Don’t make me regret it.”

Relief flooded his face, and he stepped forward, his arms wrapping around me tightly, hesitating only until I nodded. He held me as if he was afraid I’d disappear, his grip warm and familiar. I leaned my head against his shoulder, letting myself relax, letting the weight of his embrace ground me.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “I love you,” he murmured, the words like a confession, soft and vulnerable. “And I’ll spend every morning for the rest of my life proving it to you.”

I felt tears prick at my eyes, but they were mixed with a smile. I touched his face, letting my fingers trace the worn lines, the way his eyes softened as they met mine.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine, gentle at first, then deepening as if he was finally claiming what he’d been missing all along. The kiss was soft, sweet, and full of a promise I could feel in my bones. When we finally pulled apart, he held my hand tightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I promise,” he whispered again, “to never let you go.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I believed him.

[tu-sugar-mami]

Could a queer bitch possibly ask a solid?, remember the “heavily injured s/o” you did for Alcina …….

……but Donna

Holy cows, I'm sorry for being so late but work has had me on a chokehold 😩 I tried to make it a lil longer than Alcina's one for your reading pleasure and for your patience, so enjoy! 💖✨

Words: 1,910

Tags: Light angst, fluff, happy ending, neutral gender reader

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The Beneviento estate had always been a quiet place, occasionally disturbed by a tornado of chaos named Angie, but aside from that and the roaring of the nearby waterfall, the place was pretty serene. Quiet but in a good way, there were always light sounds such as the ticking of the grandfather clock creating a pleasant background noise enough for the silence to not be overwhelming, and Donna liked it that way. Although, when you arrived, Donna learned that silence wasn't everything. With you she learned the joys of a fun ruckus on a chase and its balance with the quietness of reading a book near the window after it. 

Despite stirring Donna's routine into a 'whatever will it be next?' lifestyle, you became Donna's constant, the only thing that she could count on that wouldn't change, always being there by her side and showing her a whole new side of her world.

Although, you developed a tendency to wander through the manor. At first it was difficult for Donna to allow you to do so, since her inner demons always tried to convince her you did it as an attempt to "escape" from her, but when you -through patience and love- showed her that you were going nowhere, she encouraged you to explore the home that little by little became also yours. 

Sometimes though, the feeling of restlessness and anxiety returned when she didn't hear the noises you made while exploring. The sound of the heel of your shoes scraping against the floorboards, your distant laughing or the creaking of the old stairs under your weight became her anchor, something she could rely on to know that you'd keep loyal to your word and stay with her. 

But all the nice and calm things can't last long in house Beneviento. 

It was the silence that alerted her. A cold and echoing silence that made a chill run down her spine in worried anticipation. Not even Angie could be heard running around in a hurry. The birds outside were not singing, the clock ticking seemed to have lost its strength and with them all the waterfall roaring also dimmed. The entire house and its surrounding gardens seemed to hold their breath expectantly, and Donna in her many years living there had never witnessed such horrid and deafening quietness.

It took her a second after she realized something was wrong to go looking for you, checking every room and frowning when she didn't spot any speck of your face in the halls. Even the rest of her dolls, always scattered all around the manor, weren't able to tell her anything about your whereabouts, much less about what was happening, but she tried to stay serene, although there was only so much she could handle.

Desperation slowly clawed at the Lady, you weren't answering to her calling out your name with urgency. The thought of you leaving her despite reassuring her many times that you wouldn't do it stabbed her heart. Did you break your promise? Where were you? Where was Angie? It had been a long time since she was last completely alone, only before you arrived into her life. Even Angie, her beloved doll had always been by her side, and if being glued to her side wasn't possible, she was at least always close, why wasn't she answering either? 

The lower level was empty aside from her dolls, and she didn't know where else to look. Her knees felt weak from all the running around in your search, and her lungs stung with the effort of yelling your name.

That is until a quiet voice called out to her. Distant but strong enough for her to react. Her connection to her dolls had always been stronger the more they were close, and the further away they were, the more difficult it was for the connection to be clear. But this voice, inconsolable, reached for her with a level of panic that had Donna stumbling against the furniture and walls in her path as she hurriedly ran towards her doll calling her.

Help

The sweet voice repeated the word again and again, and Donna's heart clenched every time. 

The plea came from the lowest level in the basement, a place not even Donna herself -being the owner of the estate- would visit frequently. The only thing there was darkness, cold and… a stone well. 

Her doll's calling became louder, and she didn't waste a moment before climbing down the stairs bringing an oil lamp to illuminate her path. 

It was hard to see at first, but the light provided was more than enough to illuminate your limp body onto the well's bottom.

Her blood ran cold. It was so shocking to see her beloved like this, her always resilient and full of energy sunshine who brightened every room, now defeated on the ground before her. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought that crossed her mind briefly as lightning but not any less painful. She couldn't bear it if she lost you, she had lost so much in her life, she couldn't possibly lose you too, it would be her last straw.

Donna fought the tremble in her knees to approach you and settle down at your side, defeated, before noticing something.

Your breathing was shallow and Donna  would have missed it were it not for the whistle that came from your nose every time you exhaled, but that was enough to bring new tears to her eye and with them renewed hope.

She decided to be careful in her approach, and gently analized the situation. She couldn't believe it, your arm was bent in an awkward position, one that definitely shouldn't be possible unless something was broken, and that was enough to let Donna guess you had fallen from the well border, but the question was how?

Not only that, but when she brought the lamp closer and the rest of the shadows crawled away she could make out Angie's dress peeking from under you, and it's only then that she noticed her beloved doll being held protectively in your embrace, but also unmoving. 

Donna knew she had to act quickly, and she lifted you easily -her strength thanks to the Cadow was one of the things she was grateful for in times like this- in sort of an inverted piggyback style, to allow her to climb up the stairs, careful to keep Angie and your injured arm cradled in against both your bodies.

Only god knows how long you were out before your eyes, albeit groggily, opened again. It took you a moment before realizing you were in your shared bed with Donna, who was lying next to you far enough to not disrupt or accidentally hurt you, but close enough for you to feel the dip of the bed from her weight.

Your shifting made her come out of her light slumber in a blink, and her eyes widened as soon as she realized you were awake. Her sight became blurry, and she let out a sigh of relief and reverence. How were you so beautiful even in this state, she couldn't understand, but goodness her breath was taken away. All she could do was try to keep her relieved tests at the sight of you being alive and well again.

Gently, almost as if scared of hurting you, Donna's cold hands found their way towards your face and her thumbs began to caress your cheeks. The touch made you feel better, soothing the uncomfortable warmth of your cheeks, and in return you held one of her hands with your free own and tenderly kissed her palm. At that moment, Donna swore she could never live without you.

The Lady felt a pang of guilt and sorrow every time you winced away from her touch, not because of her, but because your body still complained about your wounds, but the sting in her heart made her promise she wouldn't let you get hurt again. You had become so important to her that the mere thought of not having you in her life made her sick. 

After getting out of the well and successfully carrying you to the bedroom she had needed to clean the bleeding wounds from when your skin was scratched by the pebbles and stone and made use of her first aid knowledge to fix your arm and secure it. Tears would blurry her sight every time you winced at the sting of the cotton and antiseptic and the movement of your mauled bone.

Although, both basking in eachother's presence in a lovely rosy-orange afternoon in the comfy bed, it felt like heaven, and even if you were aching everywhere, you weren't complaining, not with the way Donne looked at you, with such love and wonder.

If Donna was shy about kissing you too much before, that definitely wasn't the case after the incident. Every hour your face and lips would be peppered by soft kisses and tender touches, and who were you to deny them? Your blush did speak a lot. 

She would check your bandages far too often, but you can't really blame her. It was quite the nasty fall, and your arm did suffer an ugly break, but Donna's care was tender and patient, loving and effective. Besides, you discovered that if you let out a fake pained whimper you would immediately be granted comfort in the way of your Lady holding you close and letting you hide your face in the crook of her neck and sweet words to accompany her sweet scent. While it might have been amusing, you could guess that the calls she gave Moreau every half an hour to consult about your broken arm were starting to tire him, and you tried to keep her attention on you rather than smothering your friend Sal with health questions for your sake.

Also, the arm you fell on had been your dominant one, and while you had no problems trying to use the other in your daily activities, Donna insisted on feeding you herself. Your favorite spoon would be wielded by her while she fed you your favorite meal that she made with such care, and snacks were not lacking either, your bedside table drawer became full with every little thing you had told Donna you liked to munch on. Honestly, you didn't even know how to thank her anymore for all the effort she put in taking care of you.

For a faster recovery, Donna took it upon herself to ensure you had the best sleep you could have, but between wanting to not accidentally hurt you and her need to be close to you, she decided that the only solution would be letting you sleep on top of her at night, with her arms secured gently around you while humming sweet melodies and gently cooing you until you were knocked out by such comfort.

Angie (after recovering too and explaining that you went after her to prevent her from getting too close to the well's border but accidentally slipping and cushioning her own fall with your body) helped as best as she could, bringing compresses and new bandages along with medicine and soothing cream. 

The next day after the incident the well was sealed shut, and you spent the rest of the month being spoiled rotten by a very affectionate Lady and her energetic doll.

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If you'd like you can also swing by my kofi

[honeycloudz]

Perfect Storm | Chapter Three: Trapped with Truth and Dare

Content Warnings: MDNI, Mentions of blood on Sanzu (not his), Mentions of a gun, Sanzu teasing but hes also an ass, being stuck in an elevator, Smidge of angst if you squint, Sanzu is a menace while playing truth or dare, Ran teases too, Emotionally Constipated Jealous Sanzu, Fem!Reader has very brief wet dream (I promise Ill do actual smut soon), Mating press

Back to- Perfect Storm Chapters Next- Chapter Four: WIP

Today had been an unusually boring day without the normal banter of your coworkers as well as the strange quietness of not having Sanzu around. The Haitani’s and him had gone on a mission with Takeomi, leaving you with the usually quiet Mikey who shooed you away to your office to get paperwork done, just as Mochi and Kokonoi were doing in their own respective spaces. Bored, you sigh, walking to your office ready but dejected for the long day of paperwork ahead of you.  You stare at the clock ticking hung above your door, counting down the seconds before you can go home after long exhausting hours of signing documents and crime. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the clock strikes midnight as you let out a silent cheer and pack your belongings into your purse to then make your way to the rickety old elevator. You press the button that lights up beneath your finger and hum contently, excited for your plan to sit back on your comfortable couch and catch up on your favorite show. When the elevator opens, you step into it, continuously pressing the button to the first floor (as if it were to make the doors close faster) and just as they were about to shut- a hand suddenly makes its way between them- startling you. Your hands quickly make their way to your purse, where your gun is resting, on instinct. 

You curse under your breath in anger when Sanzu steps foot in the elevator, dress shirt covered in blood which you knew wasn't his own. Noticing your shift in attitude, he smiles smugly, and to your dismay speaks. “What? Didn’t miss me today princess?” he voices sarcastically. He watches you closely, trying to get a rise out of you. “Yeah, of course, just as much as my gun misses your big ass forehead. All that room up there and still not enough to make one coherent, well adjusted thought.”, you hissed back just as sarcastically, ready for the interaction to end as the elevator slowly descended. “My forehead isn't big” he grunted, turning away from you, picking and choosing what hears as per usual. “Is too” you spat back at him. As he was about to retort back, the elevator shook aggressively and grinded to a halt. “W-what is happening” you questioned out loud in fear to no one in particular. When suddenly the red emergency lights glowed and the audio system boomed with Rindou’s voice, answering you. “Hey uh, i know we would all love to end this night peacefully but unfortunately for you both, you'll be stuck in here for the next hour”- panic set in as you realized you'd be stuck with Sanzu alone - “please don't kill each other in there, we are all working to fix it (you hear slight snickering in the background, probably Ran laughing at your current predicament) dont worry itll be okay in no time”. Rindou finishes, sounding uncertain, not helping your current crisis. “Fuck” you curse out loud, hope dimming quickly. He turns to you, annoyance on his face. “Really?”. He exhales out of frustration, “Well, we are here together whether you like it or not, what do you wanna do to pass the time while they work to free me from hell?” You look at him, anger and shock written all over your face, “Free you from hell!? Go fuck yourself, and go to that corner, dont even breath near me asshole.” You reply and take a seat in the corner, opposite to his. He (surprisingly) listens and takes a seat away from you, “Pff, whatever, take that stick out your ass, I'd like to make it known I don't wanna be here either.” he huffs out. Choosing to ignore his comment, only a few minutes pass in silence, and to your dismay he starts repeatedly tapping the wall with his fingers in a rhythm, the sound getting on your already worked up nerves. “Oh my gosh, ok we’ll pass the time with whatever but you have to stop with that shit”, you glare at him. He laughs back in response, stopping his finger drumming. “Hmm..” Sanzu pauses to think before turning to you and declaring, “Lets play truth or dare”. You look at him, surprised by the childish remark when you notice the mischievous glint in his eyes. After a few seconds of thinking it over you respond, “Sure, but I start”. He nods, giving you the go-ahead. “Truth or dare?” you question, his answer being ‘truth’. With another short pause of thinking you ask him, “If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?” and for a second you swear you see a look of hurt on him, before its masked with the smug smile he returns quickly, and you feel guilt for some reason. He looks away from you for a moment before whispering “my scars” quietly, but loud enough for you to hear. You frown and look away, thinking when he breaks you out of your thoughts, questioning “Truth or dare?” to change the subject. “Uh.. dare” you boldly decide, quickly regretting it when he dares you to lick the floor. “Yeah I'm not doing that.” you say, unimpressed. “Fine, then it has to be truth!” he retorts. “Well there isnt many dares we can do in here anyway, so lets just keep asking truths”. You respond. And for the first time probably ever, you both agree on something.

“You ever fuck anyone that works here?” Doing a double take and staring at him in shock he only looks back, completely serious. Exhaling you answer, “Good God, and no.” You look over at him and he almost seems relieved? Knowing it's your turn, you ask him something almost equally as strange, “Have you ever practiced kissing in a mirror?” He looks at you weird, then laughs and you feel a small smile making its way to your face. “What? Thats so weird, why do you ask?” he runs his hands through his tuft of pink hair giggling at you. “I don't know, its a very you thing to do, and you didn't answer!” you defend yourself playfully. A few seconds of silence and him looking away is all the answer you need. He continues to look away before he hears you trying not to let a sound out, when he faces you he notices the wide smile on your face, that you tried to hide with a hand clasped tightly around your mouth, clearly you couldn't control it when he hears your laughter. And although its at his expense, he would usually respond with something mean, yet, for a moment Sanzu forgets he hates you. “Yeah whatever, laugh all you want, I was a teenager and now I can get the real thing and more, whenever I please.” He defends himself while you swipe the unshed tears from your eyes, calming down. 

Trying to change the subject, he questions, “If you had to pick someone from our team to fuck, who would it be?” Sanzu continues to ask out of pocket questions to try and embarrass you. Your face heats and your stomach drops and for a moment you think of him, on top of you and you decide to throw the thought of your head permanently. You look away, trying to think and all the comes up are filthy thoughts of him. “Ch-change the question.” You cough out. He leans in, “Nah I think I wanna hear your answer, princess”. He directs his complete attention on you, stare unwavering. A few seconds pass before you whisper “Ran”. For a reason unknown to him, Sanzu feels angry. Not at you for a change, but at Ran as if it were his fault. He masks his irritation by asking “Why him, of all people?” Quickly you respond “He was the first that came to mind” you lied, when suddenly the loud audio system answers, this time by Ran himself.

“Really? I'm honored sweetheart.” He giggles out to your complete shock and horror. “YOU CAN HEAR US?!” you question.

“Yeah, I'm surprised Sanzu didn't tell you.” You turn back at him with betrayal in your eyes and he only shrugs. God what an asshole, and to think you were starting to enjoy yourself even a little bit around him.

“I would've never answered that if I had known they can hear us! I don't wanna play anymore” you huff and cross your arms. “Aww the fun was just starting” Ran teases you, earning a quick shut up.

Sanzu decides to call it quits too, your answer the only thing replaying in his mind. You both stay silent for the duration of the period. Thankfully, before you fall asleep, a tired sounding Kokonoi announces that the elevator will work in the next minute. You stand, stretching and yawning, ready to get home when you notice the grumpy look on Sanzu’s face.

He stands too, and when the elevator dings and the doors open, he shoves past you walking- almost stomping away. You recollect yourself from the powerful push and make your way to your car. The only thoughts on your mind being him and his stupid face, his stupid smile, his stupid laugh too. You replay the soft look on his face in your brief moments of getting along, the thought being soured when you remember how he pushed you.

Exhausted, you finally get home, kicking off your heels somewhere random, not even bothering to undress you hop in bed quick to crash out.

Even in dream land he wouldn't leave you, your sleeping mind conjuring up the vulgar images of Sanzu groaning from on top of you, grabbing the under part of your legs that were wrapped around his torso, to put your knees to your shoulders, effectively trapping you in a once again, this time in a mating press, before he leans in and whispers “Cum for me, pretty girl”, while speeding up and deepening his thrusts, the filthiest grunts and praises leaving his pretty lips. Moans and whimpers leaving your own. “Hngh- Hah, I love those sounds, make more princess.”

A/N: omg? me updating so soon? once in a LIFE TIME, im sorry i think this chapter kinda sucks, forgive me </3, anyway some of you were wondering how my nipple piercing went, and it went fantastic! I really love them and im glad it went well lmao, anyway PLEASEEE send me requests, it can be smut or anything!! holy shit i forgot about the taglist too im just remembering, ill bring it back for next chapter <33 Love you guys, thank you for the support and reading!

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening pt. 19 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/Vampire Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, abduction, mentions of blood/gore!!!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Hello and welcome to part 19! We're closing in on the end very soon and it is making me a little sad! I haven't felt so attached to anything I've written before so its all so weird! I'm sure I'll write random blurbs about Vampire!Elvis in the future so he's not going anywhere😉 Hope you enjoy this next part!

A reminder, this is Vampire!Elvis so there is going to be mentions of blood/gore from here on out. If that's not your thing, sorry but it's needed for the story.

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here I hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think!

You paced aimlessly upstairs, trying to plot your escape out of there. Every scenario you came up with, ended up with you getting bit by one of these vampires luring in the house. The number of them in the house was unknown to you and that made it even more dangerous to try to escape. Your stomach growled and your head felt weak. You honestly don’t remember the last time you ate a meal. So much has been happening and you haven’t made time to take care of yourself. You peer out the window and see two men at the front gates. Getting through them would be tricky and almost impossible. You look down and see it would be a far fall from the second story and you’d probably break a bone making your escape an impossible one. The city lights illuminate in the background of the dark desert. You had to be a few miles away from the hotel and there wasn’t much foliage to hide behind if you made it that far. Vampire’s eyesight was perfect even from miles away, you knew you were going to get caught either way.

You curse under your breath and close the curtains again, making the bedroom pitch black. You turn on the lamp on the side table and sit on the bed, covering your face in your hands. Your mind wandered and missed Elvis more than anything right now. He was looking for you, you were sure of that. You just wished he could find you sooner. You look down at your bandaged wrists and see blood coming through the wrapping. The stinging still coursed through your arms and winced if you moved your wrists a certain way.

The clock on the wall ticked menacingly, reminding you that you’re running out of time sitting here. Your head continued to pound and the added nerves didn’t help anything. You had to eat something or you’d pass out. You were too afraid of that happening in a house with starved vampires. The possibility of there not being any food in the house made you ill at ease. Why would there be anyway? Usually, the food comes to them…

You had to go and look anyway. Hopefully, Raphael wasn’t downstairs and wouldn’t make you stay down there with him. You quietly make your way down the carpeted stairs, taking one step at a time. You were sure it was pointless being this quiet as they could probably hear your heart racing away. Peeking over the banister, you don’t see anyone in the living room and you let out a slow sigh of relief. 

You remain stealthy and try to not make any noise once you’re in the kitchen. The space was huge and the cold marble floors made you shiver as you carefully treaded on. There was hardly anything on the countertops other than a few small arrangements of white azaleas on the far ends of the counter. There was a butcher block of knives by the sink and various items of cooking utensils in a container next to them. 

You find a pantry closet and peek inside. It was dark and the air smelled musty. You open the door a bit further hoping the light will light up the pantry more. The first thing you find is a box of crackers. It doesn’t look like they’ve ever been opened, which is a good sign they haven’t been tampered with. You carefully rip the plastic wrap off of them, trying not to be too loud. 

“Surprised you left your dungeon,” a man’s voice says behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin. 

You quickly turn your head to look at who it is and find yourself disgusted when you discover it’s Daniel. 

“What do you want,” you say through your teeth. 

“You really must work on your manners. That’s no way to talk to a man,” he grumbles. 

“Go fuck yourself. I don’t owe you anything and do not need to talk to you nicely. Not after everything you’ve done to me.” You spat. 

“There’s so much hatred inside you. You were never like this when you were with me,” he says smartly. 

“Trust me, I was. I just knew how to hide it better.”

He takes a few more steps closer to you in the kitchen. His eyes were still red and he looked gaunt. You scoff at his current state. He looked pathetic and weak. Nothing like how powerful Elvis looked. While he was a new vampire and one whose power was unparalleled, it still didn’t scare you. 

“So this is what you wanted? The entire time you wanted to serve someone like Raphael? Because that’s what you have done to yourself. There’s no free will with him.” You seethe. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” He grumbles. 

“No?! Try me. What was the purpose of being with me if you knew that all you wanted was to be a vampire? That doesn’t include me at all in that picture,” you yell quietly. 

He stays silent and looks at you with disgust. 

“You weren’t going to be in the picture. I was going to leave you,” he says low. 

You nod your head and try not to laugh. 

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Selfish bastard,” you mutter under your breath. 

“How did you find out? What they are?” You continue. 

“After some time of working for him, he told me. He said if I wanted to work for him, I’d have to handle the truth of what he is. He showed me his fangs and it scared me to death. But I pulled it together and tried to not let it freak me out. If it did, he said he’d compel me to forget and I didn’t want to,” he explains. His admission was surprising to you, the slightest amount of change that came into your lives freaked him out and he always deflected issues when you both were together. You were shocked you never noticed any strange behavior from him when he found out about Raphael. But then again, you two were never together and always working.

“What was your job with Raphael? Because you were gone all the time,” you ask annoyed. “Vampires don’t need ‘bouncers’ to protect them 24/7.” You say snarkily.

He takes a pause and starts explaining nervously, “I was the one bringing him… food whenever he wanted. That’s why I was never around.” He explains. 

“And how the hell does Raphael think he’s better than Elvis when he goes around doing that? He says Elvis has a control issue when in fact it’s him who has the problem. The only difference is he made you do his dirty work,” you say with disgust. 

Daniel stays quiet and clenches his jaw. 

“It wasn’t like that,” he says. 

“And you call me stupid. That’s exactly what it is,” you scoff. “But now what? What are you going to do now that he changed you?” You ask. 

“I uhh… I don’t know. Raphael hasn’t really explained anything to me yet,” he says timidly. 

You laugh at him, not surprised at all by Raphael’s actions. 

“Typical. I guess nothing has changed in the last fourteen years.” You mutter.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He snaps at you. 

“When Raphael bit Elvis in the army, he left him to figure out everything on his own. He went crazy because there was no one to guide him or knowledge of how to live with this newfound strength he possessed. I wouldn’t doubt you have the same fate,” you say. 

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” he grumbles. 

“Mhmm sure. Whatever gets you to sleep at night,” you say rolling your eyes at him and then realizing what you said. “Oh wait never mind...” you say smartly. 

He stares daggers at you, anger boiling off of him and he takes another step closer to you.

“Be honest with me, what do you see in Elvis? How could you possibly want him?” He asks.

You chuckle softly and shake your head at him, “That’s funny, Elvis asked me the same question in regards to you.” He looks at you annoyed and clenches his fist at his side. You continue, “But I’ve told you before, it’s none of your business. He takes better care of me than you ever could, that’s all you need to know,” you say coldly.

“You have to be lying. There’s no way that man would ever show a human any mercy,” he laughs at you.

“You don’t know Elvis! All you have heard about him are lies and rumors from either the newspapers or straight from Raphael’s blasphemous mouth,” you seethe, “How can you hate someone this much?!”

“The moment I knew he was fucking my fiancee! That’s when! I already didn’t like him, so it didn’t take much for me to push me over the edge. But when you told me what you let him do to you, I had never felt such rage. You were supposed to be my wife,” he growls.

“No! You already said you’d leave me once you were turned so you have no right to think you had a claim on me! You just became jealous of what you couldn’t have anymore. I didn’t want you anymore. It took me a while to come to terms with, but I can’t undo the past. We were not meant for each other,” you sneer. 

"All he ever does is lie to get his way darling. He might say he cares for you, but that can all be over in a blink of an eye," he snarls.

“You know nothing! Did you ever meet him before the night of the after party or was this hate you have for him based on only what Raphael told you?”

He shoots you a confused look and you sigh realizing he doesn’t remember any of it.

“He compelled you, the night of the afterparty we went to. I know you don’t remember obviously but I’ve always wondered… what made you lose your temper so bad? Do you remember any part of the night? I had never heard you yell like that…” you ask.

Daniel’s eyebrows furrow and he searches for answers.

“I don’t know… I’m sure it was because I knew things about him I had thought you did not know of… That entire night was such a blur… I remember what you wore and…I do remember watching how he would look at you from across the room. That hungry stare he had, the way he was practically drooling, taking in every last square inch of your body… that was enough to set me off. I guess in a way, I knew then he was having his way with you,” you say disgusted. 

You hum quietly to yourself and have to look away from him. The events of that night flood your mind and you can’t let him see your reddened cheeks.

“But now, you’ll have to live with the memories of him and that’s all. Raphael isn’t letting you out of his sight and won’t let you go back to him… guess you’ll be stuck with me after all,” he laughs menacingly. 

“You should probably get back upstairs. Unless you want me to tell Raphael his meal is waiting downstairs for him," he growls. 

You scoff at him and shake your head. 

“You don’t scare me. You’re the same pathetic excuse for a man that I met years ago. The only difference now is you have fangs.” You hiss at him. 

He gives you one last look of disgust and turns to leave you in the kitchen. You take a pack of crackers with you and throw the box in the pantry quickly. Before heading back upstairs, the glint of the stainless steel knife handles catches your eye. You had no idea how to hurt a vampire, but you knew they bled. That was part of the process of changing a human into one. You had to drink their blood to complete the process. If you could get close enough to Raphael and use on him… maybe you had a chance to run. Cause him to slow down in some way so he couldn’t hurt you as easily. You chose a shorter-bladed pairing knife and hoped it wouldn’t be as noticeable and would be easier to hide somewhere on you. 

*

Nibbling on the crackers you found, you watch as the clock’s minute hand inches closer and closer to six o'clock. You knew you had to get down there eventually or you were going to be dragged out by your ankles. You weren’t going to change clothes or anything. He didn’t deserve anything nice from you. You hid the knife under the mattress in the meantime just in case anyone decided to come in unexpectedly. You lift the mattress and take it out. You step in front of the mirror and slip the blade in your sleeve. The sleeves were already long on the sweater so it wouldn’t look out of place that your hands didn’t show very much when you walked. You test it out in the mirror and make sure you try to move as casually as possible. 

There was a sharp knock at the door and it makes you gasp. 

“What is it?” You ask, quickly glancing over at the clock to see it is a quarter til six. 

“Raphael wants you downstairs now. Don’t keep him waiting,” the voice says darkly. 

A chill runs through you and you know you have to go. This was the time to try and make your escape. It would haunt you if you didn’t even make the effort. It was a long shot, but it was worth the try. You prayed Elvis was coming. He has to find you or it might be too late…

You tread slowly down the stairs, gripping the knife handle firmly in your hand. The air felt thick and it felt like you could cut the tension clean with your knife. You struggled to breathe and every breath you took felt like poison going into your lungs. Every last instinct told you to run away from this man and not take another step. It wasn’t that simple and you wish there was another way. 

“Hello, honey. How are you this evening?” Raphael asks as you take the last few steps down the stairs. 

“Fine, thank you,” you say courtly, making your way to the couch he’s sitting on. 

“Please, take a seat with me. We should talk,” he advises, making a gesture to the spot next to him on the sofa. 

You hesitantly make your way to the sofa and leave space between the both of you. He was wearing a suit tonight and a red rose tucked into his jacket’s top left pocket.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” You ask carefully. 

“I was planning on giving you a proposition,” he says as his eyes look over you hungrily. He carefully pulls the rose from his pocket and hands it to you. It had thorns on it still and you handled it gently, making sure to not prick your skin and cause yourself to draw blood. You give him a forced smile and set the rose down on the small coffee table in front of you.

“Okay? In regards to what?” You prod. 

“Your future. You need to decide what you want.” He explains.

Your heart drops because you know what is coming. Anything he was going to offer you was going to be awful and you didn’t want to hear it.

“I-I’ve already told you what I want,” you say shakily.

“Yes but you see, that isn’t an option. So I’m giving you an alternate,” he continues.

“You can either work for me and do as I say or, I turn you and you live freely as you wish…” he says darkly.

You hold your breath, not liking anything that he’s said to you. Both options sounded terrible and seemed like your life would end either way. His gaze is intense and unwavering, piercing into your very soul; the thing he wants most.

“Work for you… as in getting you something to eat whenever you wanted or?…” you ask carefully.

He chuckles amused, “Mhmm… that will be one of your jobs… and anything else I desired…” his eyes trail down, taking in your body with his eyes. You feel repulsed, not wanting to be here another second next to him.

“How long would I have to decide?” You ask.

“Sooner the better my dear,” he says darkly.

You want to hurt him right here and now, but you have to be patient. 

Wait for the right moment.

You take a deep breath before speaking and soften your eyes when you look at him.

“I’d really appreciate… if you gave me a little more time. This is something I should give some thought to. You do understand, don’t you?” You say sweetly, cracking a soft smile. You boldly reach out to touch his knee, trying to get him to trust you and get him distracted. He quickly looks down at your hand on him, puzzled by your physicality. You quickly take your hand off and try to play it off as an accident.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep,” you say quickly.

He looks at you stunned, unable to say anything right away after your bold move.

You keep smiling at him, your eyes pleading for him to keep looking at you.

“No, not at all…You are fine. How much time do you need?” He asks softly.

“Maybe a day or two? Is that okay?”

“I don’t know-,” he says hesitantly.

“Please,” you interrupt, “give me some time. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll let you feed from me whenever you please, just give me more time,” you instigate, getting closer to him, and placing your hand back on his leg, a bit higher than before. Your thumb rubs soft circles there and you can feel him tense up. 

His eyes wander, looking at every inch of you and his breathing is beginning to hitch. You couldn’t let your nerves get the best of you. You had to act now or there would never be a tomorrow. He places his hand on top of yours and slowly lifts it up to his mouth.

“How about now? Can I take a bite?” He asks darkly, looking intensely into your eyes.

Your heart races and your head pounds away. You can’t control your breathing as you look back at Raphael. His eyes start to change in color and the monster inside him starts to gain full control.

“Yes,” you softly whisper. 

“Come closer. Sit down,” he says patting his leg softly. You clench your jaw, trying to not show the disgust you have. 

You carefully get up and sit down on his knee, displaying your wrist out in front of him. Your other arm drapes along his shoulder, making sure to not let him feel the cold blade of the knife.

“Go ahead,” you say with the most reassuring smile you can conjure. You couldn’t prepare yourself for the pain he would cause you again. The wrist you had reached out in front of him was not one he’d bit yet so he would have to open up another wound or bite on the mark Daniel left.  

He greedily grabs your wrist closer, taking a deep breath, and licking his bottom lip. He quickly unwraps the bandage on your wrist and squeezes your forearm tightly. You squirm a bit, the pressure making you uncomfortable, and not prepared for the agonizing pain. 

His fangs pierce your skin before you can look away and the pain shoots through your whole body like a lightning bolt. You close your eyes tight and let out a loud scream. His bite felt like he was about to take a chunk of your arm out. He wasn’t just drinking your blood, it seemed he was trying to mark you with the imprint of his fangs. Making it known that he bit you. You hear him start to gulp down your blood quickly, feeding much more than he did yesterday. The pain sears through you like a hot branding knife.

Your eyes shoot wide open and fear takes over every last thought. You feared that if he fed like this for much longer, his venom would enter your system, beginning your change. Your head pounded away and your vision began to blur. You grab onto the handle of the knife tighter in your other hand, knowing you have to act now or it’s going to be too late.                                                                                            

He takes a pause and takes his fang out of you, taking a look at your fragile and weak state. He grabs your face, making you look right in his dangerous eyes.

“Jesus, I don’t think I can ever get enough of you. You’re absolutely delicious,” he growls.

You whimper out in agony, not ready for him to take another bite. He lets go of your face and sinks his teeth in your fragile flesh once again and drinks more. Your body felt limp and your breathing was labored, you knew there was not much more time for you. 

You cry out again and feel the tears fall down your face. You knew it was time. You mustered every last ounce of strength you had left in your body and took a deep breath. In one fluid motion, you pierce the blade into his neck, forcing the knife to go as deep as it will go, and watch as blood seeps down his skin. He makes a loud gasp followed by a groan and lets go of your wrist. Still having a hold of the blade, you pull down on it as you get off of him and try to make your escape. He falls back onto the couch and groans loudly. 

Your legs can’t keep up with your thoughts and you stumble at every other step you take. Your vision was doubled and your head felt like it was going to burst open. You can see the front door, or at least you think that’s the front door, and hobble to it as quickly as you can. You fall and the cold marble floors make you feel paralyzed. Your blood smears on the floor and leaves a trail behind you. You had no more strength in your legs and could only crawl from here on out. The door seemed closer and you could taste freedom.

Suddenly, you feel a hand grab a fist full of your hair, and your body gets thrown against the banister of the stairs. You gasp as more pain radiates through you and through heavy eyes, you see Raphael walk toward you. You can see him pull the knife out of his neck and he grunts as he does so. The clank of the knife hits the floor and he kneels in front of you. His blood was still gushing down his neck and he looked like he was about to go on a rampage. His hand wraps around your neck and pushes you up against the railing.

“You fucking bitch! Did you think that was going to hurt me? For a second I thought I could trust you!” He yells, tightening the grip he has on your neck. You gasp for air and try to push his arm off of you but it's no use. You’re so weak you can barely keep your eyes open. He shakes you, making you look at his bloody red eyes.

“You’re going to clean this up. Guess I’m not giving you a choice anymore; I’m turning you now. Drink. Now.” Raphael commands, pushing your head to his neck.

The metallic smell of his blood filled your nose and it felt like you could vomit. You groan in protest and try one last failed attempt to get free from his grip. He doesn’t let you move and pushes your lips into his bleeding neck. You try to keep your lips shut, hoping none of his blood will be tasted.

You feel your body weaken and your eyes droop heavily, no longer being able to keep your body working properly. His fangs enter your neck with a crunch and the front door bursts open. Your body goes limp and your head hits the floor. The taste of blood hits your tongue and you try to spit it out. Through blurry vision, you see Elvis standing there in the doorway, eyes red and his face and hands covered in blood.

“El…” you weakly whimper, feeling your eyes close and your world start to go black around you.

*

Pain ached through your bones and you didn’t want to open your eyes. You were too afraid the pain would only get worse and be too much to bear. You hear a loud beeping coming from the side of you and you feel something covering over your nose and mouth. Moving your fingers, you felt rough sheets and a cold shiver ran through you.

Slowly, your eyes flutter and the bright luminescence of the overhead lights burn your eyes. You wince and slowly lift your hands to your face but cry out in pain. Cold hands grab your wrists and you scream, afraid it is Raphael who has you in his clutches. You thrash your hands and head, trying to get him off of you quickly. 

“Baby, baby it’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t move too much, you’re going to hurt yourself,” a man’s voice says. The southern twang in this man’s voice made your heart flutter in ways you couldn’t describe. 

“Baby, open your eyes. Please, let me see those beautiful eyes,” he pleads. 

You take a deep breath, hoping this was all a bad dream. Your eyes flutter open once again and try to adjust to the harsh lighting. 

You look up into gorgeous cerulean eyes, soft and loving. His black hair fell in small strands on his forehead and he looked at you like you were the only soul on earth. The glint of gold that hung around his neck sparkled even in this lighting.

Elvis.

God you missed him. He looked like an angel standing over you. Maybe you had died and gone to heaven. You had always thought he looked like an angel, too perfect to ever be real and living on this earth. Maybe, just maybe, he was your angel and was ready to guide you into the next life.

You raise your hand slowly up to his face, caressing his cool, sculpted cheek. You sigh when you feel he’s real and not some hallucination.

“El… you’re here,” you whimper.

He smiles at you, letting out a relieved sigh, and softly caresses your face. 

“Yes baby, I’m right here.” He coos. He hums pleased and kisses your forehead.

Your throat hurt when you tried to speak but you wanted to talk to Elvis. Ask him all these questions that were floating in your fuzzy head.

“El…w-what,” you hoarsely say and start to cough. You reach for your throat and feel it burning. It hurt like never before and then it hits you.

Did Raphael turn you?

You grab onto Elvis’ forearms tighter, fear encapsulating every fiber of your being. You try to clear your throat to try to speak again but it hurts too much. He calms you down, hushing you softly and tenderly.

“Shh, baby It’s alright. Don’t talk I know your throat hurts. It’s okay now, you’re safe,” he assures you.

It still didn’t answer your question. Were you turned? Was this what it felt like? The burning and the pain that you are dealing with right now?

Your eyes plead for more information from him. You needed answers.

The door swings open and you cry out, scared it was someone coming to hurt you. A woman in a nurse's uniform comes in with a clipboard and stops in her tracks when she sees Elvis hovering over you. He slowly stands up and straightens out his jacket.

“Not now. Come back later,” he instructs. Without blinking, she turns around and closes the door.

You look up at him and stare, watching the power radiate off of him so easily.

You wince as the pain in your neck increases and grab for his wrist. He looks down at you concerned and kneels down again next to you. You groan in pain and your eyes are full of panic. 

He calms you, rubbing his hand in your hair, pushing the loose strands out of your face.

“Shh honey stay calm. You’re alright. You lost a lot of blood, you almost died on me,” he says weakly, tears pooling in his eyes.

“You’ve been out for a few days honey. Your body was so weak. He nearly broke you…” he says through his teeth. You feel tears start to form in your eyes and the throbbing pain on your neck doesn’t cease to stop. Your fingertips lightly graze the bandage on your neck and look up at him with concern.

He closes his eyes like he’s in pain too, rubbing circles on your hand.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry he did this to you. I should have protected you.” He says sorrowfully, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. Your heart pounds frantically, scared that your worries have come true. He turned you.

He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“He didn’t turn you. I got there just in time. I’ve never seen such horror… What he did to you… I’m just so glad I was able to stop him,” he says with a sigh.

“The way he bit you, caused a lot of damage. He bit too deep and it leaves a mark on the skin when a vampire does that. That’s why it hurts so much to speak. He was trying to mark you… as his…” he growls. Your tears fall freely and sigh in relief and pain.

You weren’t a vampire at least. But now you carried Raphael’s bite mark. Making it known that he bit you and to taunt Elvis about it forever. You’re heart sank, not only did the pain that wracked through your body hurt, but your heart ached for Elvis. This couldn’t have been easy on him seeing you in this condition and now have to deal with another man’s bite mark on the woman he believes is his Chosen.

You sniffle, wishing you could talk to him and ask him more but you felt so tired and knew it would only cause you more pain to try and speak. He wipes some of the tears away from your eyes and smiles at you.

“Don’t you worry about a thing baby. No one is going to hurt you now. Raphael is… taken care of.” He assures you, looking away momentarily. You were relieved to hear such words and it gave you a bit more ease to relax.

“Please, rest honey. I’m not leaving your side. When you feel well enough to travel, we’ll head home to Memphis okay?” He asks with a smile. You nod your head and feel your eyes grow heavy, no longer able to fight the need for rest. You feel him kiss your hand and you fall back into the peaceful arms of sleep.

*

*

*

Tagging:

@powerofelvis @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @loving-elvis @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog. @myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything . @ohjustpeachy

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7 @lettersfromvenus @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938 @50sexyshadesfashionista @oldh0llyw0od @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Pick a fic 2/5

Green In My Costume: Dick Grayson talks about his parents' death to Donna, referencing an old circus superstition to place the blame on himself. (batam/fab five)

Quintennial: Tim invites Owen to visit their fathers' graves on the fifth anniversary of their death. (batfam/flashfam/flash rogues; canon divergent)

the ticking of the clock: Jason doesn't remember enrolling or arriving at his new boarding school, but he quickly realizes he's more of a prisoner than a student. (batfam; dark academia/boarding school AU)

under an indigo sky: AU where Natalia Knight is a movie star who does a movie with rags to riches actor, Jason Todd. She develops a close bond with him, wanting to become his mother. (batfam; actors AU)

Never Clearer Than This: AU where Jason witnesses/causes Bruce's death the night he steals the wheels off the Batmobile. (batfam; canon divergent)

Stage Lights: Lonnie works the lights and special effects for the Gotham Dance Academy. He notices something strange going on with one of the dancers, but he's conflicted on whether or not it's a good or bad change. (batfam; JayLonnie; ballet AU/no capes AU)

Shuttered Windows: On-again off-again couple, Jason and Laney meet up for a family trip after a prank forces them to share a room for the weekend. (batfam/superfam; JayLaney; no capes AU/no powers AU/vacation AU)

✨Fic Previews Under The Cut ✨

Green In My Costume:

“I think back to when everything started to go wrong, and it started with that costume,” Dick whispered. Donna reached out to touch Dick’s shoulder, but she drew back, knowing it would only make things worse. He drank orange juice out of the bottle as he took an aspirin. 

“You know that’s not—.”

“What if it is? Maybe I’m cursed because I dared to laugh in the face of tradition. I told my mom it was a silly superstition. I insisted on it. Now, she’s dead. Dad’s dead. Jason is dead. What do I attribute that to? Do you really believe it’s a coincidence that everyone I love that puts on that costume dies?” Dick interrupted. Donna sat on the other side of his kitchen island, frowning as he took swigs from his orange juice bottle. “Jason was fifteen years old, Donna.” 

Quintennial:

“Oh no, I don’t drink—.” 

“You do tonight. Just hold onto it if you don’t want to,” Owen replied. 

Tim took the flask, holding onto it as he sat on the rooftop of the mausoleum overlooking the graveyard. Owen sat beside him. “Why did you invite me?” Owen questioned. “I thought I was the last person you’d want to—.” 

“We both lost our fathers, Owen. It wasn’t your doing. It wasn’t mine. You tried to put it aside for me the last time I saw you. I wasn’t ready but I am now,” Tim confessed. 

“Okay. I know we might never be friends, but I—. It’s okay to grieve together. Isn’t it?” Owen questioned. Tim nodded, and Owen took the flask.

the ticking of the clock:

This doesn’t make sense. The only time we don’t hear the white noise machines is during lunch. I thought I heard a metronome in the background the first day, but I’m not so sure now. 

I sit at a table with children my age, and I wonder why they’re so calm about all of this. I’m so nervous I realize I’m not breathing, but everything in me feels tense and tight. The four girls at the table talked amongst each other, but one of them stopped to look at me. I caught the look in her eye. It wasn’t flirtatious or malicious. She acknowledged my worries. “Look for the breaks,” she whispered, “But for now, they’re talking about the morning bulletin.”

I took a breath, trying to relax, and she smiled before returning to her conversation. I didn’t understand what she meant, but I knew she saw the same problems in the school that I did.

under an indigo sky:

“It’s a lot of work, but I liked it. Actually, there was a minute where I was a little bit scared… Because there was a minute where I really had to tear into her, and they cut the scene, and I couldn’t stop shaking and crying. I was under the assumption that you cut the scene and it just stops, and you go back to normal. That was something 

“I had to get used to it during filming, but Natalia was super supportive. After scenes, she’d sit with me for a minute—. And she insisted on it. She would take me to wash my hands, and it was like um—. It was like we were washing our characters off. Natalia’s great with the mental part of it,” Jason complimented me. I smiled at him.

Never Clearer Than This:

“I know it’s my fault,” I whispered. Nightwing looked at me, blinking hard. “I can’t turn myself in because the whole city’s gonna want me dead. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared to go home—.” 

“Hold on. Hold on… Wait. How do you—? I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” Nightwing interrupted. 

“I stole his tires last night. I know—. I know he would’ve been safe if he could’ve used his car. I took his tires… He couldn’t get away. I didn’t mean to get him killed. I—. Honestly—.” 

Nightwing extended a hand to me. “You can’t stay here by yourself… Do you wanna come with me? I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” Nightwing promised. I don’t know why, but I believed him. I took his hand, and he led me out of the boiler room. I followed him up the stairs and out into the alley. He gave me a helmet. “I’ll get you something to eat once we stop… And how do you know Batman’s dead?”

Stage Lights:

His lithe form glides across the floor, his arms stretching out toward a blur of color. The girls sped around him, but he was the star of the show. There was an agony on his face that could not be feigned. Starry sparkles of dewdrops in his eyes. I hate to say it, but every time I switched the lights from blue to purple, I hungrily awaited the single perfect tear drop that escaped his eye. I loved rehearsal because it gave me an excuse to watch him in all his glory. Mysterious and more raven-like than boy. 

Every moment on stage felt special. After rehearsal, I’d turn the lights off, and he’d stay. Sometimes, he’d sit downstage and eat a sandwich, letting his feet dangle. I wasn’t afraid to approach. I knew he didn’t want to be bothered. Something kept him separate from everyone else, and it wasn’t any of my business… Until it was.

[otipe]

Neuvillette x Fem!Reader

Coffee shop AU

[Fallin in love is hard. Falling in love with someone who is away from your reach and possibly in love with someone else is even harder.]

— x — x — x — x — x — x — x — x —

Tick-tick-tick 

Glancing at the clock, you sigh a shaky breath, feeling your body sag from the nervousness when you realize it's time.

You start the shift at the bar with clean cups and soft voices from your co-workers in the background, brewing the fresh coffee for the upcoming clients with carefulness, and ignoring the sudden palpitations of your heart as the seconds pass by and the awaited moment approaches.

And then, after retrieving your apron and carefully putting away your tools, the bell from the door echoes with a soft clink in the background while a man walks in the shop.

As if memorized a script, and never breaking in character nor actions when he comes closer with his usual calm demeanor and expressionless eyes, you cannot take your sights off him the first few seconds, mouth ajar and cheeks warm with embarrassment when you catch yourself in the act—because it's impossible to react differently, when all the man does is impress you with his elegance and beauty.

Is like a practiced play.

She knows the answer, the man never asks for anything different since his first visit, but she purposely tries to prolong his stay for as long as she can to seek the opportunity to start a conversation in hopes today will be different.

The girl at the register smiles brightly at his presence, unbothered and swiftly taking charge, and asks the same question she's programmed to do to every customer. 

“What would you like to order?”

You watch from afar their interactions with nothing but contemplation, heartstrings tugging the edge of your heart and getting lost on the way his silver hair flows like a cascade and frames his broad shoulders like a shield from the sunlight.

His lilac eyes watch the list of beverages rapidly, as if deep in thought and indecisive, as if he were considering choosing another item to try out despite having a routine.

“One black coffee.” Is his reply, the usual. His voice is deep, curt and cold, but it makes her blush nonetheless, smiling behind her hand and tucking away a strand of hair while ringing the order.

The reaction she has is ridiculous, yet you can't find in yourself to blame her.

You're embarrassed to admit he has the same effect on you, after all this time, even when you've never crossed words—but you'd rather die than let anyone else know you fancy the mysterious man from your morning shift just like the register lady.

The man seems unfazed by her attitude though, paying for the order before retrieving his figure to the nearest available window and sits there in silence.

And now is your turn, the next act follows.

You have three minutes until you have his order. 

Three minutes to take advantage of your position and glance over whenever you want to admire him from afar without his knowledge, to enjoy and indulge in the fluttering of your heart and warmness spreading to your cheeks when you think about striking a conversation to the man you’ve found liking for a long while.

Would he be kind, or perhaps rude? 

Is there something else beneath the persona he sells when he goes out of his house and into the world? Or does he know about the enchanting aura he carries flawlessly anywhere he goes? 

Does he know you exist beyond the display of pastries? A singular person pinning for a stranger they found infatuated with since day one?

The answer might not be something you wish to know, already regretting your weakness into daydreaming about said man with him present. 

But dreams are free and painless, and the safest way to cope with your unrequited feelings.

“Did he talk to you?,” one of the cooks whispers to the girl. 

She shakes her head, “Cold as ever, but I think he's just pretending.”

“He was looking your way a few moments ago! Maybe he's shy.”

Alas, it's all but a fantasy in your head.

He's beautiful, a gorgeous being out of a fairy tale, and enchanting on his own. It would make more sense to ask the pretty cashier about her growing crush on the man and its advances than the coffee girl who never dares interact with the crowd. 

You suppose that's how it's meant to be. 

Everything has an order and law, the handsome lead and the pretty girl together. They look like the main couples from romcoms about to have their destined encounter and waiting for the right time to develop their romantic relationship, with obstacles and problems in between to make it the more entertaining.

And every romcom needs to have the antagonist, someone who also desires to be with the leads, to have their own fairytale and love to cradle with gentleness without regarding anyone but themselves—but you don't want to play that part, you don't have it in you to be brave and jeopardize your own feelings nor be mean to get in the way of two destined people.

Is something you've accepted a long time ago and try not to dwell much on the thought.

“Is the coffee ready?" 

Nodding your head, you lend her the cup with the lid tightly closed. She smiles and thanks you, jogging to the man at the window and delivering the beverage before returning behind the register.

So deep in thought, you are unable to tear your sights off him when he gets ready to leave.

And then, both of your eyes meet in-between.

The air gets stuck in your throat from the sheer surprise. His eyes are enchanting, like a sweet siren’s song, melting your insides and penetrating to the depths of your soul in silence.

The man blinks slowly, lips parting and turning his body to face you, and you feel your heart leap in your chest when he takes the first step in your direction.

Suddenly, you are too aware of your surroundings and what it means for him to still maintain eye contact after an uncomfortable time. So to save yourself the embarrassment, you turn around to face the wall and try to calm down your hammering heart.

It takes a while, but when the bell from above the door echoes once again, you look over your shoulder and notice the man has since left the coffee shop.

It is said it takes eight seconds to fall in love at first sight.

You wonder if that's how long it lasted for you to end up bewitched by his presence.

— x — x — x — x — x — x — x — x —

The boss arranges a gathering with all the coworkers to celebrate the coffee shop's anniversary since the grand opening a few years ago. 

He says it's nothing out of this world, but a celebration he wants to have to not forget all he's worked for and that dreams come true for everyone if they work hard on it—besides, it's a way to get back at his roommate, whatever that means.

Is a cute incentive, and you'd be more than eager to participate if it weren't on your only day off of the week. But what could you do? Coming one more day to interact with people and blend in with the joy they'll share shouldn't be that bad.

Besides, you appreciate the boss just like everyone else. He's a good man, he deserves the attention and love from his workers. That's the reason you accepted going in the first place.

“You should come this Saturday!”

The cashier extends a little pamphlet to the beautiful man, to Neuvilette, in hopes to establish a conversation.

You have half the mind to ponder about her attempts when you've finally acquired a name to match the face.

Neuvilette, that's a really pretty name, unique on its own, and fitting.

“I'm not a worker.”

“But everyone is invited to celebrate! You should come by, since we will have discounts on drinks and all.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “I know you usually don't come on Saturdays, but it would mean a lot to have the usual clients celebrating with us.”

Neuvilette reads the pamphlet in silence, as if pondering and giving it a thought, but gives it back to the now pouting cashier after a second, “Thank you, but I must decline.”

At the pit of your stomach, you feel disappointed. If she was unable to convince the pretty man, who says anyone else would have a fair chance at talking to him?

Being in love is hard when you are actively seeking it, you realize.

“Hey! Boss is asking for everyone's favorite color, need yours, too!” 

Despite the interactions with Neuvillette, she doesn't seem deterred by the failure and carries on with a smile and notepad in hand after delivering his order. 

You avoid any sort of comment towards her behavior after the rejection—the least you want is to converse about him and give her the wrong idea. She's kind, but a gossip at heart. You want your little crush dying with you instead of being outed to the rest of the crew for saying something out of pocket.

“I like blue.”

Raising a brow, she shakes her head and sighs.

“The colors are for custom cups the boss is making for us to share this Saturday,” she replies, “What about a light green? I think that color would suit you.”

“I like blue.” You repeat like a parrot.

The cashier purses her lips, shaking her head and writing down your request. 

“Don't blame me if the cup comes out ugly.” 

You wouldn't dare, since it is not her job to ensure the aesthetic. As long as the requests arrive with no delay and on time for the little event, you will have no complaints about it.

“That would be everyone, then.” she mutters, looking longingly at the window, “Hopefully, we will have better weather by Saturday.”

Is raining quite heavily outside, with the pit-pat pit-pat hitting the glass in a harmonious melody.

The sound is soothing alongside the machines surrounding you, vibrating under your hand when you pour another cup for yourself on this fine morning and watch the pouring outside in silence.

Neuvillette stands from his chair when he gathers his thing, catching your attention once again: an umbrella hooked to his arm, and the other holding his suitcase and cup of coffee. You try to not follow him with your eyes when he walks towards the exit, but you are unable to when he suddenly stops at the door, turns around and walks with quick steps to the counter to take one pamphlet and exits the shop hurriedly.

The squeal from the cashier is hard to miss when she jumps and runs to the kitchen to tell her friends about this development, assuming the meaning behind his actions.

Alone and with the silence vibrating, you think that yeah, that certainly was something.

— x — x — x — x — x — x — x —

The morning is cold.

Clouds are overtaking the sky menacingly, gray and blues fighting to take control over the city, and there is a faint humidity in the air that warns you enough about the upcoming rain about to pour.

The cashier is helping you out unwrapping a box containing the personalized cups and organizing it in alphabetical order for better handling for the toast. Most of the colors are bright and colorful, some with pastel tones and gentle details on the sides that you find adorable.

You’re surprised to see your cup, a soft baby blue with tiny white stars in the corner, being handled by the girl with a gentle smile on her face. 

“It ended up being cute.” she says, an apologetic smile on her face. 

You only nod, taking it from her hands and placing it under the coffee machine. You never minded her comment in the first place, so you find yourself ignoring her embarrassment to make the most of your morning and finish quickly.

Understanding you don't want to talk, she starts humming under her breath while picking up the tossed paper wraps and putting them inside the now empty box. She nods to herself, giving you a thumbs up when you deem you've finished and you return the gesture with a soft smile.

“Do you think he's going to come today?” she asks, standing up. There is a pout in her glossy lips, and you blink owlishly at her sudden change in mood.

“Um, not sure.” 

“Should I have told him to come later? He comes early every morning, but never on weekends. The paper never says at what time we are celebrating.”

She sounds so sad you don't know a thing to try and comfort her. Finding it difficult to interact with the cashier outside work-related stuff, you pat her back shyly in an attempt to reassure her.

“He always comes around this hour,” you continue saying, catching her attention. You feel your face warm, “Sometimes he takes his time, but he always comes, doesn't he?”

She nods, sighing and sagging against the register. “Yeah, but today is Saturday! And I'm sure he's coming, moreso because he took the pamphlet with him.”

Wearing your apron, and readying your tools, you end up being her focus to pour her feelings about Neuvillette and how pretty he is, since none of her friends were coming today until later.

Is a little tiring, but you are kind enough to nod or give short replies to let her know you were listening.

Despite feeling a little jealous over her feelings for Neuvillette, you know this is just the immature and childish part of you that cannot speak freely just like she does, and for that, you commend her for her bravery.

Gushing over someone sure does seem fun, in truth.

When she starts talking about…not so decently about him, it is when the bell above the door rings loudly in the empty coffee shop and gets you both attention.

When Neuvillette comes through the door and the cashier is ready to greet him, both of you fall silent. Because you are faced with blue, instead of silver. You are faced with a Neuvillette dressed up like this were his wedding, instead of his usual casual attire.

There are a few streaks of blue on his hair, all brushed back and tucked behind his ears. He’s wearing a low ponytail, loose strands of hair framing his long face, and the gasps from the cashier echoes what you’re currently thinking: He looks gorgeous.

The sudden change in his looks has the both of you flabbergasted and blushing on different levels. 

He seems composed as ever, if not slightly nervous for the way he fidgets with the cuffs of his suit constantly while he walks up to the cashier, stopping and clearing his throat to catch her attention.

It suddenly crashes on you, oh.

He has dressed up. For her.

The realization of such a small, but meaningful, action makes your heart throb in pain and jealousy, biting your lower lip and avoiding to look at him for even one more second.

Disappointment was the first emotion to swirl in your mind when smashing the coffee beans on the machine, loud enough to avoid listening to their conversation and focus solely on your job.

There is the urge to cry, too, and you almost scoff at the absurdity of your reaction upon realizing that her feelings might as well be reciprocated by the beautiful man. And you’re once again standing behind the curtains of a play.

The doors open with a strength that has you breaking out of your thoughts, raising your head nervously and thinking that the last thing you want is to deal with troublemaker customers.

“Good morning, my lads!” Your boss walks through the main entrance, blindingly beautiful and energetic as always. He graces the two of you with a smile of his and a simple bow to Neuvillette who seems startled by such a greeting. “Ah, my dear ____, you didn't have to work today. You could have come later in the evening for the celebration!”

Oh, your saviour.

His outburst is enough to override the sadness tugging at your heart and entertain you while finishing his usual order.

“Is okay, Kaveh,” is all you can reply, a forceful smile on your features. “I like doing this.”

He nods, “Of course you do! But I can replace you if you get tired, yes? Is a miracle itself you've come today, I don't want you to regret it because you felt pressured to work.”

“The cups came earlier today, just before we opened, and she was helping me arrange them.” The cashier chimes in, ringing the order for Neuvillette who hasn't moved an inch from his spot since Kaveh entered. “I roped you in, sorry about that.”

Shaking your head, you take the receipt and read the order despite knowing what it is already. 

Kaveh takes that time to rummage through the cabinet to check everything is in order while the cashier curses under her breath when Neuvillette leaves to sit by the same window as always. 

“Everything in order, yes.” he nods to himself. Craning his neck a little, he smiles up to you, “Could you make me a caramel macchiato? I think I'm going to work here until the rest of the crew comes.”

“Sure,” reciprocating his smile, you begin working on his beverage, “Hot or cold?”

Taking his things to the back of the kitchen, he yells, “Cold, please! Thank you, love!”

You roll your eyes at the pet name, but don't argue it. Despite Kaveh being so affectionate with his crew, you know he does it with good intentions and the love he has for his workers. He's said so himself, and you believe him. 

Still, you cannot help the blush covering your cheeks at being addressed so lovingly.

“Oh, the ingredients have come!” You can hear the excitement in Kaveh’s voice from inside the kitchen. Is not long until he comes through the door, motioning to the cashier to come in. “I need to make an inventory and a pair of hands might help!”

“O-oh, I—uh,” she looks bashful for being targeted. She looks between you and Kaveh a couple of times, pondering whether to reject him and offer you as a help, instead, but nothing comes out of her mouth in time.

Kaveh, blissfully unaware of her inner struggle, happily takes her wrist and drags her to the back with a peppy step, leaving you now at the front to take care of the register and the orders.

It was just your luck no one else was here to distract you. Being Saturday morning, the influx of people coming in so early were pretty low, so you had all the time to relax and make the order to the utmost best despite knowing what happens next.

Do you approach Neuvillette and give him his drink? Or do you call him to take his beverage? 

A part of you wanted to go and strike the conversation you've always wanted, now without the prying eyes of your coworkers, but the anxiousness and nervousness were getting the best of you—besides, it would only hurt you further if you keep longing for a man who is clearly not interested in you. 

“Neuvillette?” 

Your call seems to break him from a trance, blinking up once, twice, before registering you were calling out to him.

Neuvillette approaches with the slowest walk you've ever witnessed—time stopping for you to admire him from close and afar, making his way to the counter and gingerly picking up his cup.

But he doesn't move.

He stays still at the same spot in front of you, clearly flustered and embarrassed. But for what reason? Neuvillette isn't speaking, nor looking at you to guess what he needs.

Does he want sugar? A napkin? Another shot of espresso?

If he asks me for her number I swear to god—

“What is your name?”

The question quells your irritation quite easily, blinking up at him confused and lost.

His lilac eyes maintain eye contact with you for a long time where you don't answer, opening and closing your mouth like a fish out of water and unable to understand his sudden want to…talk.

“You don't carry a tag,” he continues, a finger tapping to the side of his coffee, “I was wondering what your name was, since you know mine.”

Is a stupid attempt to satiate his curiosity, and you've known because you have thought of the same before.

You tell him your name, breaking eye contact and continuing to work on Kaveh's order with your heart hammering inside your ribcage. But curiosity gets the better of you and when you glance back, he smiles at you. He smiles so blindly.

It takes all your self-restraint not to swoon right then and there.

“Such a fitting name,” he says, “It's beautiful.”

Where is this coming from?! 

Panic seizes you for a moment when your brain short-circuits from his compliment. Warmness spreads through your cheekbones and you yelp, embarrassed and suddenly in pain, when you realize you dropped the hot shot of coffee on your free hand and not on the cup you were aiming for.

“Fuck,” running to the sink, you do your best to conceal the pain from the burn and ignore the sudden warmth at the back of your neck for committing such a careless action.

The cold water makes you hiss in pain, and that is enough to make the man break out of his shock.

Neuvillette walks around the counter and tresspasses the station where you deem as worker's space to hold your wrist gently between his gloved hands to see how bad the accident has been.

“Is nothing serious,” he twists your wrist gently to the other side, and nods to himself, “keep your hand under the water. Do you have a towel we can use for your hand? I'll place some ice on the towel and wrap it to keep it cool on your skin to lessen the burn.”

“The towel on top of the coffee machine, you can use that.”

He goes to retrieve the object, leaving you with your hand tingling from his touch. He turns the faucet off and dries your hand gently before taking a few pieces of ice, wrapping them up, and lays it on your skin softly to ease you into the sudden change of temperature. Neuvillette never backs off, but walks a little closer, making it obvious the difference in sizes, and suddenly making you aware of his warm touch.

“I-I can hold it myself,” you mutter, taking a step back. You don’t know how much you can handle the closeness without fainting, “Thank you.”

Blinking owlishly, he nods, returning to his previous spot behind the counter. But just like before, he doesn't move from there.

Slightly anxious from his out of character actions, you clear your throat, peeking up at him.

“Do you need something else?” you dare ask, fingers twitching under the towel.

Neuvillette seems pensive, eyes roaming your injured hand to your face. His stare is unwavering, and it makes a slight shiver run down your spine from the intensity of his lilac eyes examining your features.

“It has come to my attention that…you seem involved in some sort of romantic aspect with your boss, yes?” He begins.

What.

“And whatever I might say will come off as rude or simply crossing boundaries, so I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me for my indecency.” Neuvillette seems bashful, “If you could give me some of your time to hang-out, like the young say, I can prove myself worthy of your affections and daresay, your love.”

Huh?

“But if your relationship with your boss is on a serious note, a respectable commitment and admirable, I won't meddle in between the young love and will proceed to exit the establishment for I have overstayed my visit.”

The fuck.

The silence that follows is so dreadful you think you're dreaming. You are the only one who seems affected by such claims of love and misunderstanding of the situation, because Neuvillette looks composed as ever if it weren't for the blush on his face betraying his nervousness.

What could you even say? 

Is like the spotlight has suddenly shifted to where you’re standing; you’re suddenly the main character to this story where you believed wasn’t even to have you as part of the play. With the main lead, nonetheless!

Most of your thoughts don't lead you anywhere and confuses you further. It looks like this is some sort of joke, a distasteful one, and the dread of uttering a single yes might break you apart from the seams until you’re drowning in your own self-pity.

“If my words have made you uneasy about my presence or uncomfortable in any way, I can see myself out,” He whispers the last part, as if regretful for giving you the option, “But, if you also harbor the same feelings as I do, please do tell—”

“Why did you dress up today?,” you blurt, cutting him mid-sentence. The bitterness in your voice doesn't go past him, “Why…why did you come…like this?” 

Is such an innocuous question but nags the back of your head, eager to hear the reply because, whatever his speech has told you, he has made aware that he likes you, too.

He likes you.

Neuvillette brushes a loose strand of hair behind his ears where you can make out the silver lining of an earring decorating it. You cannot help but think: Does this man have anything that is not hot and gorgeous on himself?

“I asked a close acquaintance how to win the affections of someone I haven't had the pleasure to meet yet, and they called me a buffoon for attempting a ridiculous thing. Despite their insult, I searched through the internet to find a solution to my plight.”

Cocking your head to the side, you raise a brow, unable to comprehend the correlation, “What…does that have to do with you dressing up?”

“You said your favorite color was blue.” He says, the corner of his eyes crinkle when he smiles, “I don't own anything blue, so my next good suggestion was to dye my hair. Sadly, I underestimated the amount of hair dye I’d need, and the kind lady at the store didn't know it was for the entirety of my hair. Despite the little mishaps, I believed it would be nice to present myself more elegantly to make a better impression.”

His heartfelt confession does nothing but accelerate the rate of your heart, fanning your face because of how hot you're starting to feel.

“If my attempt wasn't clear, I apologize for that matter.” he chuckles, Neuvillette's smile broadening, “Can't help a man who is smitten, for all he will do is embarrass himself further without good communication. But I couldn't wait any longer after listening to your conversation with your boss, believing I have lost a battle that never began...”

“...I dare say, I was feeling defeated, and very jealous, over the fact that he calls you love. I thought: maybe one day I will get to call her mine.”

How can he say this…so shamelessly! 

Neuvillette speaks without shame and so earnestly, baring his heart and intentions to you when all this time you've deemed him as someone who comes out of a fairy tail and out of reach. The kind of man who wouldn’t bat an eye at your presence just because, but he’s gone out of his way to look appealing enough to your tastes to get your attention when all this time he’s had it.

“Perhaps this comes as a shock to you, but I've been intending to court you since the first time I came here.” 

“...What?”

Nodding softly, smiling, he offers his hand for you to take. Unable to resist his attempt, you extend the good hand and burn from the inside when he holds you gently, caressing the skin of the back of your palm affectionately.

“It has been an agonizing journey for me. To understand my own emotions and intentions for me to act accordingly has been taxing, but it has given me plenty of time to finally see that I would love to have you in my life.”

And this is it.

Neuvillette has given you the whole story in a plate of gold, sincerely and open-hearted, that there is no doubt in your mind that he wants you, and no one else.

No tragedies to come, no twists in the story for more excitement, it's you and him, and no one else.

“I’m not dating Kaveh,” is what you say, lips trembling from the emotion, “I’m not dating anyone. He’s just, very loving to his friends.”

And oh, to rejoice in his open expressions and the relief that courses through him from hearing that yes, you’re available and not straightly rejecting him. 

“Oh, that’s good to hear,” smiling apologetically, he shakes his head, “Sorry, that must have sounded rude.”

You laugh, brightening up at him, “Don’t worry, you are just fine.”

The coffee has gone slightly cold by now, too deep in words and confession through a little accident, that the beverage has become less important. A little voice at the back of your head tells you that Kaveh is taking a long time sorting things out with the new delivery, but you don’t mind, you are in good company, anyways.

“I think you deserve a proper question now, don’t you? Now that everything has been cleared up,” he asks, raising a brow. Clearing his throat, he straightens his back, never letting go of your hand, “Will you do me the pleasure of going on a date with me?” 

Covering your mouth with your free hand, you nod. The hold he has on your other palm tightness slightly, showing the excitement he feels.

“I would love to go on a date with you, Neuvillette.”

— x — x — x — x — x — x — x — x —

“By the way,” you ask, leaning on the counter. You delight from the sudden blush on his cheeks, “how old are you?”

“Ah, I’m forty-seven, love.”

Oh, lucky you.

[atamascolily]

Notes on Walpurgisnacht's mandala

I realized something interesting last night - Walpurgisnacht's mandala is drawn in the same style as her countdown signs. It's just difficult to see because normally her body is in the way, but you can clearly make it out in this shot from the "Prologue in Heaven" sequence in episode 1:

For comparison, here is what her countdown signs look like. As you can see, the little circles on the outside with the pattern that reminds me of a peacock's tail are present in both imagines.

The next ring in on the mandala appears to be spirals that could be a stylized 6 or a 9, or a stylized hurricane.

The third ring has something that could be stylized runes--my guess is 'Walpurgisnacht', which the Puella Magi Wiki says is written in the countdown signs--but I have not been able to confirm that yet. And at the center is a stylized flower, from which a dark triangular shadow appears to issue.

(I have so many questions about what is going on in the "Prologue in Heaven" sequence and why it was included in the first place, but we'll leave it at that for now.)

By the way, the technical term for these signs is "film leaders"--they were inserted into the film to give the projectionist time to thread the projector. Once the countdown reaches the end, the film would often switch to a test image known as a "China girl" for color calibration. Is that what we're seeing in the Prologue, and that's why the colors seems to fluctuate for a moment? I don't know, but it's interesting to think about!

You know who else gets countdown signs? Homura! Here's one that the animators added to one of the recap movies immediately after a new scene where she walks through a skeletal forest:

These have the same basic form as Walpurgisnacht's but are not as elaborate, and take the shape of Homura's shield. Note that they also have the similar spiral pattern as the second layer of Walpurgisnacht's mandala, too.

Both Walpurgisnacht and Homura's countdowns also have stuff going on the background--very stylized, ornate drawings that resemble nineteenth-century European engravings. Homura's also has cogs and gears, which are a recurring visual motif, while Walpurgisnacht's includes a star-shaped sigil that looks an awful lot like that of the Law of Cycles (minus the wings at the base):

Here's a version of Homura's countdown from Rebellion, with a better look at the surrounding marks. Unlike Walpurgisnacht's, these are much less elaborate, but the ones at the compass-points take a diamond-shape, just like Homura's soul gem.

Note also that these move in time with the ticking of a clock--this is a time-keeping device, after all.

Just for fun, here's the Law of Cycles version, which combines elements from Walpurgisnacht's mandala with the circus pennants that Walpurgisnacht's familiars use to drag her along in the original series:

The obvious question for me is why Madokami has so many symbolic motifs from Walpurgisnacht--yes, we saw her absorb the witch at the end of the original series, but why use so many of those attributes, especially when Walpurgisnacht herself does not appear in this movie? What exactly is their relationship?

So what does this mean? I mean, I have my own theories, but for now, it's certainly interesting how much Walpurgisnacht and Homura (and Walpurgisnacht and Madokami) have in common, and these are details I hadn't noticed before. It will be interesting to see what, if any of this, is expanded upon in Walpurgis no Kaiten...

[drdemonprince]

I’ve written before about the concept of The Grudge Clock, and here’s a brief review: The first time or several times you realized that you didn’t like something specific Mary did (or her whole deal as a person), and you didn’t speak up or take any action beyond retreating into a mask of politeness, it’s like a timer got turned on for you. That timer has been ticking loudly in the background of all your interactions with Mary this whole time, reminding you how annoyed and unappreciated you feel and reinforcing how much you don’t like her. But Mary’s timer is currently set at zero. She doesn’t realize that this is a problem. She’s not thinking about you or analyzing your interactions in the same way. The stakes are completely different for her. People-pleasing isn’t nice and it always backfires eventually, because we resent people for all the time we spent faking deference that either nobody asked for or that somebody felt entitled to well beyond anything they were owed, and the longer it goes on the more we reach a point where the only options feel like blowing up the relationship or retreating permanently from the entire social scene. But people-pleasing tendencies don’t just come out of nowhere, and it takes conscious effort and solidarity (from people like Captain Awkward readers) to resist 300+ years of highly gendered cultural conditioning that rewards fake niceness more than honesty and suggests that it’s only okay to dislike people as long as they never find out about it. With that pressure in mind, ultimately the grudge clock is a tool for re-calibrating the scale of a grievance before we communicate about it so that we don’t punish other people for our own inability to set boundaries that they had no idea they were crossing. To reset your own grudge clocks, ask yourself what is the thing that you need to be different in the future? What does the person need to know so that they can make good decisions about that? If you can deliver that information without a heaping serving of pressure or judgment on top, and give them a little time to adjust, you’re giving everybody the best possible chance to operate in good faith and find something that works better in the future.

[callsignthirsty]

#17 "When I get home I expect you to be undressed and waiting on all fours for me." With Cyclone 🫣

@deadratio — come get your man Also, big thanks to @purelyfiction who helped me a whole helluva lot with this. You're the best ❤️

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x F!Reader Word Count: 1830 Warnings: Masturbation, dirty talk, phone sex (kinda-sorta-almost), daddy Minors DNI

Smut Prompt #17

There's something about coming home to an empty home that makes you just… well. As your keys find their home on the hall tree, you fail to place the feeling that falls over your home like a shadow each time Beau leaves. Even the armchair in the living room — your usual perch, book in hand as the wall clock ticks in the background — feels wrong now as the quiet lingering and longing settle deep into your bones.

"Yearning," you mumble as epiphany strikes. You've given up on your book, having only gotten a couple of pages in before realizing that you'd absorbed none of the words.

He's been away at conferences since you'd gotten together, but this is the first time a conference has been delayed — curse the weather in upstate New York. As it is, the conference began the very day it was supposed to end, and now as the sun continues to blaze a trail through the sky, there's no time to pop open a bottle of red. You help yourself to a heavy-handed pour and check the time in New York.

7:48 PM.

It isn't even 5:00 PM on the west coast, and Beau's undoubtedly seated around some dinner table making polite conversation with some admiral or another.

Beau would've been home by that time had your time zones been the same. Khakis creased from a day of desk work, skin tacky from roasting in his office with nothing but the admin building's ancient AC unit to combat the San Diego sun. He'd slide into his spot behind you while you finished dinner. Press a kiss into the curve of your neck as his arms wrap around you, biceps testing the limits of the cotton twill as the lingering scent of his body wash lights up something in the fuzzy reaches of your hindbrain, and he towers over you. Cradles you to his chest. Praises your efforts for the day and beckons in the night.

It's hardly night now, though, as you, your glass, and your pinot finds your way to the bedroom. A sigh escapes your lips when you see how empty the bed is. It's not that you're surprised. You knew it would be empty. But it's one thing knowing and another seeing.

You feel like a new woman after one incredibly indulgent bath and three glasses of wine. Not a less lonely one, but certainly different.

You don't bother dressing as you return to your shared bedroom and make a home for the remaining pinot on your bedside table atop a coaster. A smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush the coaster. You couldn't have given two shits about condensation rings on your furniture before Beau, but Beau had opinions. It was one of the many ticks that had you smitten with the vice admiral.

Stretched out on the duvet, you sigh again in defeat, boredom, and yearning. The wine and the bath have made everything warm, but you aren't ready to go to sleep yet, so instead, you stare at your phone's lock screen. Your finger traces over his cheek, and the phone's screen warps. You click the screen off and back on until Beau smiles back at you. This photo is a closely-guarded favorite. A side of your Beau that no one else gets to see immortalized in 4K. The Beau who stirs beside you in the early hours of the morning and rouses you with whisper-soft kisses across your shoulders. Some mornings, those kisses move in one of two ways.

Lashes flutter closed with an alcohol-fueled whine. You'd give the world to feel the mattress dip beneath Beau's weight beside you. His steady breathing at your side as he slips into one of his deep sleep sessions. To trace mindless patterns across his arms until he woke with a shiver. Until he'd gather you to his chest and roll on top of you, voice raspy as he asks if his princess needs attention.

She does, you think to yourself, blinking back to your lock screen and Beau's smiling face. It takes fumbling hands long seconds to unlock your phone and tap on Beau's contact. The phone rings, and you can see him in your mind's eye. Dressed in his service blues, a political smile, Warlock at his side.

A second ring. Your tongue feels heavy as you try to think of what you'll say past the 'baby, I miss you' that runs on a loop through your mind. Would you ask him to step outside and entertain you for a while?

"You've reached the voicemail box of Rear Admiral Beau Simpson. I am currently unavailable. Please leave your name and number, and I will return your call as soon as feasible. Thanks."

Beep.

Your lips move before your brain can catch up. "I think you know my name, Admiral," your voice sounds like velvet brushed backward to your own ears. "It sounded so pretty coming off your lips when you were unavailable with me before you left." You bite at your bottom lip even as it curls into a grin. This is different from where you thought the night would take you, but the wine appears to have both you and Beau's voicemail along for the ride. "I wish you were here with me," you confess as your fingers trace the folds of the duvet. "Beside me. Inside me."

Your cheeks heat, suddenly hot between your thighs. "Fuck," you whine, "I'm so empty, Beau." Your legs fall apart of their own accord as you roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to conjure images of his handsome face. The spark that lights his eyes when he has you exactly where he wants you. Wanton. On your back. Calloused hands inspecting every inch of your body as if he expects there to be a test later. His tongue leaving cold trails across your skin. How perfectly he melds with you, stretching you wide. The little grunts that sneak out as he husks your name into the curve of your neck.

Oh, if only he were here. But he isn't, so it's your hand that drifts to your splayed legs, your fingers that gather and spread the slickness that accumulates at just the thought of him. "God, Daddy," you gasp, "wish you could feel how wet I am. See how much I've missed you." The last word trails off on a moan, lost as two of your fingers slowly enter your aching cunt. It's nowhere near the satisfying burn of his fingers. There's simply no comparison. Another whimper falls from your lips as you try to satisfy your burning desire. "Can you hear it, daddy? How wet your baby is?" you ask as you drive your fingers back in with a wet squelch that you hope the phone picks up.

"It's not the same," you gasp, brows drawn in disappointment. "My fingers are too small." A third finger joins the two already pumping in and out of you, and your breath hitches. "They don't feel the same. Don't feel as good." Your head tips back, mind recalling pleasured snippets of past encounters, touches that continue to burn you even though he's an entire country away. Your legs tense, shaking at the recollection of endless nights, his cock splitting you apart, your own voice echoing, calling his name in the pleasured silence of memory until a quiet, desperate "Beau" slips past your lips and onto the recording.

'Look at what a good girl you're being for Daddy.' You can practically hear him, and the imagined praise has your back arching, fingers curling. 'Aww, Princess, you feel so good on Daddy's cock.'

The air in the room is thick, hard to gulp down as your fingers continue to work at your core even as a cramp builds in your wrist. Sound leaves you freely, your mind and body too loose from the wine to be self-conscious as you writhe and whimper. "Daddy," another lewd cry.

You have no idea how long you've been like this. Ear pressed to the phone as you chase your high. You don't dare pull away for fear that you'll break the spell that's fallen over you, and the ball in your stomach is so tight. "But you're not here," you say, and a breathless laugh almost leaves you at the absurdity of the situation. "Guess I'll just have to take care of myself tonight." You wet your lips with a flick of your tongue. "Sweet dreams, Daddy."

The phone slips from your hand as the call ends, and your attention narrows until you're solely focused on the pleasure zinging through your veins. Each movement of your fingers is strategically matched with a hand-picked memory from the vault in the bank of your mind. Your palm rolls over your clit, knowing that your fingers won't be able to reach the spot within you that Beau can — the one deep within you that makes your stomach flip, jaw fall slack, and eyes roll back. The way his cock pushes deep with each thrust, hips crashing into yours as if he can't stand to be anywhere but buried to the hilt in your heat.

Your legs twitch to circle his hips, desperate for it. For him. This doesn't compare. Not in the slightest. But it does the job.

A hiss and a silent cry escape into the early evening, splotches of white obscuring your vision. It's nothing compared to the heights Beau will take you to when he gets home, but the pleasure rolls through your veins all the same and makes your lids heavy.

It's sometime later that your phone buzzes from its place on the ground, and you scramble to pick it up. But it's only a promotional text.

It's 10:07 PM in New York.

If previous conferences are anything to go by, Beau's night is still going strong. And you had called him in the middle of it to desperately plead for him to come home and take care of you. Begged. Whined.

Wine.

The pinot sits where you left it on the nightstand, the glass empty but enough of a nightcap left in the bottle to carry you back to dreams of brawny arms wrapped around your waist and hot breath puffed against the back of your neck as you press your nose into Beau's pillow and breathe him in.

When sunlight spills across the bed to wake you the next morning, you find yourself refreshed. In your pre-caffeine haze, you go about your morning routine before you return to bed with a piping cup of coffee and the book you'd abandoned the night previous.

Your phone buzzes on the bedside table with several notifications. Among them is a photo of an updated ticket from ALB to SAN. But that's not all.

Daddy: When I get home, I expect you to be undressed and waiting on all fours for me.

[ackermelon]

double shot espresso

nanami kento x reader

word count: 1.47k

tags: tooth-rotting fluff, so fluffy you might suffocate (I'm sorry)

*˚:✧｡ After a long night of gaming, you find yourself being pulled back to reality by the pigeons' coos outside your window. Your eyes gawk at the purple sky, the golden flares of the emerging sun peeking through the soft tufts of cloud. You go to admire the view from the balcony, but quickly remember the soundly sleeping man inside. Dragging him out of the warm confines of your shared bed and into the chill air of dawn, Nanami wordlessly holds you while you marvel at the start of a new day. *˚:✧｡

A/N: I genuinely cannot express how much fun I had writing this one. I was definitely NOT giggling and kicking my legs. I love him *cries*.

the comfort café masterlist

this series is inspired by the teacup collection by @seokmingiggles

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

You pried your eyes off the bright screen at the first coo outside the open window to your right, only for the early rays of the morning to greet you from behind the cotton-candy clouds, a pinkish-purplish hue to them as the sun began to rise.

You let the controller fall onto the couch beside you, rising to your feet – your toes had started to go numb as you sat in the same position for the past hour. Taking a few steps forward, you reached out to hold onto the windowsill, taking in the sky in all its different hues, birds scarcely flying across the wide expanse of it.

With your job picking up its pace before the holidays began, you found less and less time to engage in hobbies you used to enjoy – and even lesser time to stay up all night building a Sims household. You thought you would regret it, wishing you had gone to sleep when your boyfriend did; but with this view spread out before you, you’re beginning to think otherwise. While your boyfriend enjoyed going to sleep early when he had the time, you enjoyed gaming all night and watching as the sun peeked through the horizon.

You made your way to the balcony door, but your fingers paused at the handle. Abruptly turning around, your soles padded softly against the hardwood floor as you made your way through the short hallway of your apartment. You twisted the knob to the master bedroom, peeking your head inside, an easy smile curving the corners of your lips. Despite being a proper, well-kept man, Nanami slept as if he had a personal vendetta with the sheets – limbs all tangled up with the blanket, his pillows beaten and thrown all around the bed and floor. Aside from the one under his head, and the other between his legs – or under them, as he laid on his stomach. His shirt had ridden up in his sleep to reveal a slither of his toned torso, one of his pant legs halfway up his calf. Amidst the chaos he had brought about the bed and its surroundings, his face looked the exact opposite – at peace. Soft puffs of air left his nose, the faintest of snores that he will swear up and down, left and right, are nothing but a hallucination. Because Nanami Kento does not snore, and saying he does is considered profanity in his book. So you play along, taking his side when Gojo and Geto – his managers – decide to team up and tease him, leaving him helpless as he refuses to talk back to his superiors.

You found yourself leaning on the doorframe, the ticking from the clock on the wall acting as background noise as you took in the steady rise and fall of his back. Then you snapped out of it, standing up straight and clearing your throat, realizing that if he were to wake up right now – as unlikely as that was – and encounter the dreamy eyes being directed at him, he would never let you live it down. That, and the fact that if you were to stare for any longer, you would miss the bewitching scenery just outside your window. You wondered if it was cruel to wake him up when he looked so at ease, but realized that it would be even crueller enjoying the sunrise without him by your side.

You gradually made your way to the bed, sitting down by his waist and resting a palm on his shoulder blade. You shook him once, twice, and he was up, bolting upright and sucking in a deep breath of air, as if he had been deprived of it in his sleep. You flinch even though you had expected it. The man may sleep tranquilly, but never wakes in that manner.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, nearly panting, bleary eyes looking you up and down. His voice was hoarse with sleep, brushing off the remnants of his dream. You wondered if he had been dreaming of you.

You smiled fondly, reaching out to squeeze his hand, the gentle touch calming his racing heart. “Let’s watch the sunrise together.”

Nanami Kento – a man loved and admired for being prim and elegant – rubbing his eye as you led him by the hand through your apartment, blonde locks tousled and pointing in different directions, pant leg still halfway up his calf. It was almost adorable – a man of his stature, following you like a lost puppy.

There were only a few things Nanami loved in life: finishing work on time, deli sandwiches, sleep, and – most of all – you. Why else would he allow you to interrupt his beloved slumber, dragging him out into the crisp air while even some birds remained dormant?

He waited for you by the balcony door as you collected a few cushions from the couch where you had spent your night. Nanami felt more awake after he had rubbed his eye dry, with enough awareness to go through the linen closet, tucking a few blankets under his arms. He walked outside where you had laid the pillows down, taking the blankets from him with a grin splitting your face. Cute, he thought. You were the most beautiful when you were excited, even at the break of dawn. You built a makeshift fort on the tiled floor, his hands warm as they brushed against yours. His body more so as you finally settled against it, your back flush against his chest while you stared ahead.

The sky was more orange than pink now, the glowing arc of the sun parting from the horizon. The stars that once scattered the breadth of the sky now swallowed up by the golden flares. The chill of the night still stuck around, not yet ready to part from the earth for the day, and a shiver ran through your body. Nanami unravelled himself from you momentarily, reaching behind him for a spare blanket before wrapping it around his shoulders, bringing it around to close around your frame. His arms held you tighter, waves of heat rushing through your skin. His head rested on one of your shoulders, warm breath blowing against your skin as his chest rose and fell against your back.

You half-expected a chiding on his end for staying up so late, but he remained silent, breathing in the early morning breeze while you watched the start of a new day.

“This is nice,” you spoke, voice soft as if not to cut through the quiet. Your smile was just as soft, an easy twist to the corner of your lips, eyes unwavering as you watched the sky change colours – from a bright magenta, to a fiery orange, and gradually to a radiant yellow.

Nanami hummed, planting a tender kiss to the crook of your neck, your skin cool against the warmth of his lips. He places a few more – on your nape, your clothed shoulder, your cheek. Anywhere he could reach without disturbing the comfortable position you were sat in, legs tangled and fingers interlocked under the fleecy blanket. His head found its way back to your shoulder, relaxing against the cotton of your shirt.

“It’s beautiful,” you added, eyes wandering, moving from one side of the sky to the other, taking in the view as though this was your last chance to do so.

Nanami hummed again. “It truly is.”

You continued to stare ahead, but Nanami’s eyes lingered on you. He would never tell you, but for the entirety of the hour you had spent on that balcony, Nanami didn’t look at the sky once.

After the sun found its rightful place between the clouds, and the sky lost its yellow hue, making way for soft blue, Nanami forced you into bed. Although you felt wide awake, you found yourself dozing off rather quickly, engulfed within the warmth of Nanami’s arms. And yet, you rose before he did. The blackbirds and robins had long since ceased their melodies, the shining star smiling at you from the centre of the sky as you stared out the kitchen window. Your hands worked while your thoughts remained elsewhere, perhaps musing about the man resting just a few doors down the hallway. Plucking out his favourite mug from the cupboard, you placed it in its allotted space in the machine, watching the creamy stream of coffee pool into the ceramic. The fresh aroma of the espresso danced through the kitchen – a scent you associated entirely with Nanami.

He should be up soon, you thought. Considering you saw him every day, you figured the giddiness you felt whenever you thought about him would fade away. And yet, here you were, smiling at the fresh cup of coffee you had brewed, hoping he would wake soon, ready to spend another day enveloped within his warm embrace.

[ace-of-gay]

Hi Idk if you take requests or not but I was wondering if you do a daddy strange with the reader having he/him where he is cooking in the kitchen and the reader comes in and accidentally injures himself like burning his finger or something and Stephen at first is slightly upset with him for messing around but then tries to comfort him and maybe ends with them cuddling together as Stephen tries to get rid of the pain and Stephen uses names like little prince

Let daddy fix it

1,233 words

Doctor strange x little male reader

Warnings: age regression, Mention of sippy, stuffie, naps, Names like daddy, baby, little prince, baby boy etc. Burning hand on hot kitchen appliance

He/him pronouns

No skin tone, hair type, ethnic background, weight or height mentioned

Age regression is a therapist reccomended coping mechanism so if youre uncomfortable with it than dont read it.

Dont like it keep scrolling

Edited to the best of my ability.

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Youd spent the week in and out of your little headspace, it wouldn’t set in completely, nothing worked, you had tried so much already, from bubble baths with bath crayons to movies with your stuffies, nothing worked, youd been waiting so patiently for your boyfriend to return from his mission.

Not being fully your big age nor your little age and constantly shifting made you feel uneasy but the best idea was to try and get some rest, settle the storm in mental difference by focusing on neither instead.

Turning on your comfort show you don’t even have to actually watch it anymore just the sound of it brings you comfort at this point, and thankfully so because within a few minutes of your head hitting the pillow you were out.

Due to your headspace not setting in you’d been lacking sufficient sleep so the idea of him being home soon brought a very excited wave of sleep over you, needing the rest so you can spend lots of time with him, he’s hours away from being back and coming over to your apartment, he practically lived here now.

Having been so tired you didn’t realize you’d slept through his messages, your alarm and the smell of breakfast.

The smell of breakfast? You put two and two together, the smell of breakfast means he’s home!

Hopping up out of bed a grin from ear to ear spread wide across your face, a childlike glow in you eyes, wandering slowly through the hall to the living room, peering in to the kitchen to see your boyfriend, your caregiver dressed comfortably, something no one else has ever seen but something so simple you’ve grown used to.

Excitement overflowing, you finally give in to the urge to get closer, it feels as though you’re dreaming and once you finally get close enough to touch him you’ll wake up and it’ll be back to day one of his mission.

Just a step away your mind feeling smaller and the clock ticks he’s more than aware that you’ve been in the room but wanted you to initiate the contact knowing it’s a big thing to process, constantly worried your mind is deceiving you. Your mind is paralyzing, stuck and he knows.

“G,mornin love, I promise im actually here” he soothes turning to you, letting you fall comfortably into his hold, the tremble in his hands telling you that its all real, melting against him, arms wrapped tight around his waist.

“You’re just in time, all the food has to do now is cool down for a few and the biscuits in the oven have to finish up, you have my undivided attention” rubbing your back he leads you to the island, helping you up onto the counter

“Missed you, so much, don’t like when you’re gone”

“I know my little prince, I don’t like having to leave either, I miss my bubs when I’m not with him”

Tickling your sides, a shrill giggle erupting from you, legs kicking a trying to wiggle away

“There’s that smile again my happy boy, you stay put for just a moment”

Nodding you watch as he turns around, switching off the stove and oven, pulling the biscuits from the oven and grabbing a couple plates.

He than heads off to the fridge grabbing fresh fruit and drinks.

Right on time your tummy growled announcing to the room that you were indeed ready for breakfast, that’s your cue to hop down, now listening to your thoughts already forgetting what he said, but not to worry, you’re not completely little right now, you grab one plate setting it near the stove, filling it with a fare share of your favorite breakfast, taking the other and carefully dishing out the same moving on the biscuits trying to pick one up, it takes a moment and a good tug, the bottom of them is stuck to the pan, you finally get the first one off, going for a second one you gotta pull as well and by instinct you pant your other hand down on the baking sheet to stabilize it.

A sharp burning hot sensation seers through your skin, pulling you hand away quickly, your eyes welling with tears you bite down on your tongue, doing your best not to cry, but your daddy saw it happen, he heard the clatter of the pan and saw your eyes glisten with tears.

He quickly sets everything down rushing over to you, “oh my prince that was hot, I’m so sorry baby, here let daddy see” he reaches out and just as quickly you turn away cradling your hand, “no don touch, is hurtin” you whimper.

“I know baby but we gotta make sure its not gonna need medicine, daddy is a doctor and he’s burnt himself many times, I can make it feel better, just gotta let daddy take care of you”

Thinking for a moment you reluctantly turn to him letting him look at it, taking your hand in his he takes a good look and makes a conclusion.

“just gotta clean it up, put some burn cream and wrap it up, it’ll be good as new in no time” he leads you to the sink running the water as soft as he can, scared the cold water will hurt even more you flinch when you feel it bit realize its warm water, after a moment he turns the temperature down a little cooling the burn slowly but surely, by the time you get to cold water your hand has finally started to feel more normal.

He than leads you to the bathroom finding the Neosporin.

Leading you to sit down on the lid of the toilet, he takes your hand gently into his own, opening the Neosporin and putting a decent glob onto the tip of his finger, his trembly hand goes to carefully lather up your owie but as soon as he touches your hand you pull back a little.

“I know baby boy but its important for it to heal and feel better, can you take a biiiig deep breath for daddy? “ nodding you take a big breath and he quickly smooth’s the ointment onto your hand, taking a piece of gauze, setting upon the owie and wrapping it up.

“Good job baby! Perfect job for daddy, such a brave boy, how bout we watch cartoons while eating breakfast as a treat hm?” You take off back to the kitchen, grabbing your sippy of juice and plopping yourself down on the couch, his cloak comes moseying into the room bringing your favorite stuffie, followed by your cg with breakfast.

All you wanted to do was relax into your headspace today so after breakfast you spent plenty of time building cities, knocking them down, and building more, at one point you even built the stark tower with help from your daddy, which he took a picture of you still in your cozy jammies and big hoodie putting the last piece of the tower on top.

You watched movies, cuddled and he even took a nap with you instead of putting you down for a nap and doing house work, you head resting ontop of his chest, the rhythmic rise and fall and the thrum of his heart putting you to sleep.

And just like stated your burn healed up in no time.

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Long time no post, i have an entire list of reasons but if you scroll through youll realize i was skippin down the sidewalk with death gambling my cards in many ways (many ways not stated aswell) ... welp im good now, apart from the inhaler overdose on accident... enjoy lmao much love <333