#and I made myself cry writing this

[oflightningandstars]

"I missed you"

Thinking about Milligan being out on a mission for far longer than it was supposed to go. There was some snag or another, or several, and he's been out for multiple days when the mission was supposed to be done in under two. This is during TPD, when everyone is in Mr. Benedict's house, so everyone has been going about their days, the children with their lessons, the adults helping them, and everyone worrying, and trying to pretend like they aren't. They have all sat down for dinner when the unmistakable sound of the front door opening reaches them. Everyone tenses, a little, before Milligan's jaunty whistle follows and sets everyone at ease.

Milligan arrives in the doorway a moment later, visibly a bit battered, but smiling all the same. Kate throws herself at him and he squeezes her tight, never mind the aching in his ribs. This is more important.

When Kate finally lets go, Milligan ruffles her hair and looks up at the rest of the group, who are all watching with relief visible on many of their faces, and Milligan has known them all long enough to see the relief in the others, even if it's less visible. Everyone else remained seated when he entered, except for Moocho, who had half risen out of his chair.

Milligan walks over to him, and is surprised to see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He offers a hand to him, which Moocho takes, standing up fully. They are quite close, and Moocho can see every shade of the bruise forming on Milligan's forehead. His fingers itch to brush it, to check Milligan over and make sure he's not too hurt. He swallows it down, not wanting to break the moment. They are still quite close.

They stare at each other for a moment. The room is silent. Milligan can't bear to imagine what the others are thinking, or expressing silently to each other. He's barely sure what he himself is thinking.

"I missed you," Moocho says, a low rumble for only Milligan to hear.

And Milligan looks at Moocho and realizes that hearing those words from this wonderful man is absolutely heartbreaking. He loves him, he knows this, has known this, but in this moment it crystalizes into a solid weight he can feel in his chest.

"Well, we can't have that," Milligan says. He brings a hand up, almost in a daze, and gently tucks some hair behind Moocho's ear. When he's finished the motion, his hand remains, cupping Moocho's cheek.

A tear escapes, but before it can fall too far, Milligan sweeps it away with his thumb. He wants to do more, to hold Moocho tight, to squeeze all memory of missing away. Moocho inhales sharply, then relaxes. He turns his head slowly, without moving away from Milligan's hand.

If things had been still before, the world now feels frozen as Moocho gently kisses Milligan's palm.

Vaguely, Milligan can hear someone let out a soft "ohh," in the background, while someone else squeals quietly. It is at this moment that he remembers they are in fact standing in the dining room, in front of everybody. He starts, and moves to back away slightly. Moocho stops him, a hand on his arm.

"Milligan," he says quietly.

"Yes." It is barely a whisper.

"I love you."

"I--" the words get caught in Milligan's throat as tears form in his own eyes. He swallows hurriedly, he doesn't want to make Moocho wait anymore.

"I love you too."

The room behind them erupts into screaming cheers, most notably from Kate who, judging by the sounds, has climbed onto the table and started jumping. He meets Moocho's eyes and they share a fond look, and Milligan feels like he's about to either burst into laughter or tears.

"We should... probably go somewhere and talk, I think," Moocho says.

"Yeah."

"You didn't even eat dinner Milligan," Number Two calls, though she her smile is broad.

"Oh. Right. Uh..." But Number Two hands him a filled plate before he can do anything. He takes it gratefully, wincing as his body reminds him that in addition to being hungry, he is also tired and sore from his mission.

Moocho notices this and deftly swipes the plate from him.

"We can stop in the kitchen for some ice packs first," he says, and gently takes Milligan's hand in his free one.

Milligan squeezes slightly and lets Moocho lead him out of the room.

[aesthetictarlos]

No one has ever called Tommy beautiful before. He's been called hot, sexy, attractive, that's for sure, especially by the guys who hit on him in clubs. Someone has even told him he was easy on the eyes or good-looking, and it's not like he didn't have mirrors at his place, but it was always nice hearing those words because he could use a boost of self-esteem here and there, especially in those bad days where he would look at himself in the mirror and saw that chubby young boy who got braces, too many unruly curls, and had to deal with bullies.

People call him cool and competent once they know what he does for a living and that's nice, too, but no one has ever called him beautiful. And it's not like he minds, he hasn't even thought about that until now.

Now that he's laying in bed with his boyfriend, after they made love for the first time (yeah, made love because what he and Evan just did is so, so different from the sex he was used to and he's also a romantic, sue him) and Evan is leaving the imprint of his fingers all over his face. First, Evan traces the outline of his eyebrows, then thumbs at the laugh lines around his eyes and grins softly before his index finger follows the slope of his nose, down to his cupid's bow, murmuring a soft "God, your lips are perfect." Tommy believes him, and sometimes he wishes he could see himself through Evan's adoring eyes. Evan's not done, yet, and his fingers graze every inch of his face, lingering on the cleft on his chin.

"Tommy, you're beautiful," Evan whispers, his impossibly blue eyes filled with so much fondness and affection that Tommy tears up. "So beautiful."

With those few words, Evan fixes something in him that he didn't even know was broken.

[lost-in-fandoms]

"Tell me again."

Max hums, moving his hand in slow circles along Daniel's back, feeling his chest move against his side, his face hidden in the folds of Max's t-shirt.

He bows his head, pressing a kiss against Daniel's hair, shifting against the hotel's pillows until he's comfortable again.

"It's going to be sunny," he says, voice low, letting Daniel's curls tickle his lips and nose. "It's going to be sunset, orange, the trees all golden in the way you like."

Daniel's back shifts under his hand, his fingers twisting in Max's shirt.

"We'll be sitting in chairs, because you have old man knees, and would complain about sitting on the floor."

He twists away from the halfhearted poke in his side, then settles back.

"They will be those garden ones, the ones with the straw?"

"Wicker," Daniel corrects him softly, voice scratchy.

"Yes, wicker." He tugs Daniel even closer, not knowing how it is even possible. "With pillows, so you can curl in them like a little cat."

He smooths his hand down Daniel's back, like he does with Sassy, when she stretches out beside him on the bed, similar to how Daniel is now. Does it again when he feels Daniel's shoulders uncurl slightly.

"We will be drinking your weird beers, the expensive ones that taste worse than all the others."

"Craft beer isn't weird," Daniel argues, just like Max was expecting him to. He sounds like there's something stuck in the back of his throat, and Max kisses his hair again.

"It is weird, Daniel. Beer does not need to be that expensive."

He gives him space to reply once more, but Daniel doesn't.

"We will drink your weird beer, and we will talk about that time we ate pasta in your hotel room."

It wasn't just one time, but Max knows he doesn't need to specify. They're both thinking about the same one, illegal spaghetti ordered from room service, hidden from their trainers, sauce on the corner of Max's mouth, cleaned by Daniel's thumb first, Daniel's mouth later. And even if they aren't thinking about the same, it doesn't matter. Every plate of pasta shared, in every hotel room, would matter just as much, stepping stones in their story, just as important as that first kiss.

"And it will be rainy," Max continues, voice even lower. His t-shirt is damp, stretched by Daniel's tense fingers. Daniel's back is shuddering, even when he holds him closer and closer and closer.

"It will rain, and you will have a blanket, because you always get cold, even more when it is humid."

The thing that was in Daniel's throat is in his too now.

"We will talk about how stupid everyone was. We will say it was all unfair. But we will not be angry anymore, because it will not matter anymore."

Daniel's hair smell like Max's shampoo, even if he usually doesn't use it, because he hates how dry it makes it feel. Max can taste salt on the back of his throat as he shifts his head slightly, trying to at least keep his ears dry, now that his cheeks are a lost cause.

Daniel's breathing is a stuttered rhythm against his ribs.

"We will cook eggs," Max pushes on, pressing every word against Daniel's skin, hoping every one feels like the i love you that it is. "Because we will have chickens on your farm, like a real farm, so we will be good at cooking eggs. And you will drink your wine, and sing your songs."

His voice breaks, sudden betrayal, just as Daniel trembles in a sob, but Max pushes through. They've both always known how to push through.

"And I will ask are you happy and you will say yes," he says, making it sound like a promise, because it is a promise. "And we will not regret any of it."

He knows they won't. Not the angry moments, not the painful moments, not the annoying little moments they will never even remember. They will take all of them and throw them into the jar of their lives, little pebbles, and colorful marbles, and shards of glass smoothed out with time and love and distance, all mixed together.

"We will sit on your chairs, and they will have nothing, and we will have us."

He holds Daniel closecloseclose, because he's never learned how to let go of the things he cares about, has always clung to things with his teeth and desire bared, and he has no intention of starting now. He has no intention of starting ever.

Even if this is not the way he wanted things to happen, he doesn't believe in letting go, especially when it comes to Daniel.

He swallows, clears his throat to try and dislodge the tight knot of feelings there, raises a hand to swipe his thumb along Daniel's wet jaw.

"We will have chickens, and a garage full of dirt bikes, and I will ask Grace to teach me how to make the pasta sauce you spilled all over the carpet when you were five."

Daniel nods against his chest, fingers relaxing. His breathing is still uneven, Max's t-shirt is still damp, but he can feel him going lax against him, relaxing bit by bit.

"We will," Daniel murmurs, voice shaky enough it sounds closer to a question.

"We will," Max tells him, firm. Would be happy to tell him again and again, until Daniel's voice doesn't shake on it anymore. "We will eat so much food, and we will become fat, and we will be happy. We will."

Daniel nods again, then shifts, wiggling in Max's hold until he can properly climb on top of him, pointy elbows planted on the bed, above Max's shoulders, trembling fingers tracing the wet lines on his cheeks, red-rimmed eyes soft.

When Daniel kisses him, they both taste like salt, exhaustion and the future.

[alltoounwellll]

after azkaban sirius notices the new scars. some fresher than others. winding themselves around remus’ body like jagged wire.

“show me your scars” he says one morning. their legs tangled together beneath linen sheets.

“why?” remus asks, shying away.

“because I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn’t there.”

[actuallyitsstar]

grief is not a feeling, but a neighborhood. this is where i come from. everyone i love still lives here. // (insp.)

[mochiwrites]

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

Scar never believed in it, not after dying twice, both times having been caught off guard. He didn't have time to reflect on the life he'd been leaving behind, not when everything happened so fast, not when to Scar it was like blinking before he was surrounded by total black.

But as he lay in the sand, letting the wind sweep over his weakening body, he starts to look back. He starts from the beginning, from setting Etho's tree on fire to pulling Grian into the desert on Pizza. He thinks of his second death to the ravine, how Grian's scream had been the thing to accompany him on his brief journey to blackness. He thinks of holding Grian in his arms as they celebrate a successful trap, or their hours spent digging a bunker.

Scar thinks of their ruined home, the place he'd always return to.

It's funny, how different this death feels to the other two times. Maybe that's because there's no coming back from this one. This is it. This is the end for Scar. His final breath.

He stares up at the big beautiful blue sky, and there is no longer any red to cloud his vision. If he had any energy left, he'd probably smile. All he can muster is the smallest twitch of his lips, blood drying on his chin.

A shadow fills his vision, and Scar has just a few seconds to see Grian's bruised face enter from the corner. He sees tears welling in those red eyes, one or two rolling down his cheeks as he picks up Scar's fading, cold body, pulling it tight to his chest.

Scar wishes he could reach out, he wishes he could press his palm into Grian's cheek and tell him not to cry. He much prefers it when Grian is laughing, when he's smiling. It suits him much better than this guilt ridden expression. Why are you crying? He wants to ask. You won! Scar is happy he won.

"I'm sorry Scar," Grian shakily whispers into his hair, his wings wrapping around the two of them like a shield. Scar isn't sure what he needs to shield them from, not anymore. The ghosts? Surely they aren't interested in this. In them. "I'm so sorry."

It's to Grian's warmth that Scar fades away, eyes fully shutting as he finds he's lost the energy, the will, to keep himself alive. Scar's purpose is complete, Grian is alive and well, and that's all that matters to him. He's okay with saying goodbye.

He joins the living dead, nothing more than a spirit.

He returns to the image of Grian hugging Scar close, yet as a ghost. His body is see through, he is no longer a corporeal being. Even as a ghost, he's returned right to where his heart and his soul rests, he's returned to his home, to his Grian. Scar doesn't question it. Of course he's ended up back here, back to the other half of his heart.

Grian had said once that everything in their story was dead.

Maybe it was just Scar being an optimist, but he liked to think that their story didn't have to end in death. Maybe it had just been Scar looking to a life after this, where there will be more laughter, more pranks and joy, more warmth shared. Scar liked to think that they were in control of their narrative, that not everything was dead, because they were alive.

But looking as Grian grieves over Scar, he wonders if Grian had always thought they were dead from the start.

As a ghost, Scar is forced to stand there as Grian rises on shaking legs. "Just one life left," he says, and Scar's nonexistent heart leaps to his throat.

"Grian, stop," he pleads, but his voice is nothing more than the breeze of the wind. He's helpless, unable to reach his partner as he takes slow, agonizing steps toward the edge Monopoly Mountain, right beside Pizza's grave. "Grian," Scar begs. It wasn't supposed to go this way.

Drops of blood fall from Grian's bloodied knuckles, staining the sand below. He walks toward the edge, and Scar follows, trying to reach out to him. Yet his hand phases right through Grian's back, never making contact.

Scar's heart breaks.

What else can the king of death do but watch his ever faithful knight follow him to where he should not?

[charmercharm3r]

it’s 12am, i have work at 9 but i literally cannot stop thinking about leeknow showering together fluff like it’s invading my thoughts rn

he’d be so sweet and gentle outside of bed (plenty of teasing as always) im just obsessed with the thought

-🌙 <3

i need a little sweetness on my page rn so here’s some food for thought :)

Masterlist

minho’s so gentle natured already, and also very touchy. showering together is a must! at least three times a week! it’s minho-law, strictly enforced or face the consequences (he’d only kiss ur forehead instead of ur lips for two days straight).

he likes to close the toilet lid and sit on it to watch while you undress so he can make you all flustered— we all know he has a staring problem, especially with his beloved. he won’t go out of his way to tease you during these softer times, but if the moment happens to present itself, he’s not gonna shy away. say you forget to grab another towel so you have to share one between the both of you. minho will use it on himself first while you stand there like a soggy lil puppy until he’s done, only then does he hand it to you and runs to get a fresh, clean one to wrap around your shoulders.

but if there isn’t one of those moments (rare), he likes to do everything for you. washing your hair, soaping your body, even helping you shave if you wanted. tbh it’s all an excuse to keep a hand on you at all times cus he’s touchy like that, and his love language is acts of service with a hint of physical skinship. i think he’d be the type to get in the shower with you even if he’d already taken one just to be near you, and encourages you to tell him about your day while you’re stuck in there with him. “you can’t leave, or else you’ll be dirty. so either you can be stinky in bed or you can let me listen to you talk. choose wisely.”

on days he especially misses you, he’ll even dry your hair and help you apply lotion. his favorite part is skin care, sitting you on the nearest high surface to be eye level or taller than him and he can apply all your products with such a delicate touch. for lip balm, he puts it on himself, then leans in to kiss you. “what’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours. that includes lip balm.”

[bidisasterevankinard]

Whatever you do, do not imagine Maddie who cries in the hospital waiting room where Buck was brought to after fire truck bombing, thinking she's losing ANOTHER baby brother, but having no one who knows it. Do not imagine her calling their parents, barely talking, explaining how Buck was brought to surgery and in really bad shape and could lose his leg if he would even make it and hearing the answer "Maddie... You know we hate seeing our kids in the hospital". And she wants to scream that it's HER who raised Buck, but she just ends the call. Do not imagine her throwing her phone into the wall and falling near that wall crying till Chim finds her and hugs her to his chest. Do not imagine her again thinking about killing herself, if Buck dies she thinks I'll do it. Do not imagine her almost fainting in Chim's arms when doctor says that her baby brother made it and rushing to see him even tho he would be asleep for a while. Do not imagine her fussing over Buck too much, especially just after surgery because he's still with me to fuss over. Do not imagine her having it severs times worse years later bc her life just got back to normal. she has a kid and a boyfriend, with whom they bought a house. and her parents finally got around to be better parents, but her baby brother DIED FOR REAL this time. His heart stopped, he's in coma, she has to watch over him looking almost dead and now people know she lost her baby brother, she never raised like Buck, but she still feels like she can break down only in Chim's arms. And she does, every night, yet, every morning she wakes up and chooses to live for Jee, for Chim, for Buck and Daniel. even if she would lose her another baby brother she would LIVE, but please, Evan, please, I need you to stay for yourself and for me. Just stay with us, with me, Evan, please. I can't do it again

[littleplantfreak]

'When', not 'if'

("I'm not a romantic" I cry and scream before dropping the most sickening thing i've written to date. Blame @stunie because i did tell her i would write the most ume thing ever and maybe this is it. The title in my docs for it is 'Fucking disgusting' but i figured i better not title it that here because I'd be seeing it in my notifs lmaoo)

SFW/no cw unless you hate fluff

When you wake up from your nap, one of your slippers is gone, and there's a blanket on you that wasn't there prior. Looking at the clock, it's been about an hour since everyone had left your apartment once your birthday party ended. The day as a whole had been chaotic, your boyfriend shoving you out the door with a note to go see Kotoha.

The note took you farther than that, though, as it seemed Umemiya created a whole scavenger hunt for your birthday that had you running into all of your friends, having dessert at your favorite cafe, and eventually ending up at your shared apartment to find that all that time spent around town was a distraction so that he could set up the space for your party. After it had ended, you were banished to the couch because princesses aren't allowed to help clean up their own birthday parties, which had you huffing and falling face down into the chicken shaped pillow affectionately called Mr.Clucky.

It was a product of your boyfriend's endless cycle of hobbies when he took up sewing. A little lopsided and overfilled with stuffing, you complained to and into Mr.Clucky with your face pressed into him. Apparently, he was soft enough to fall asleep on because before you knew it, you had been drooling on him the entire hour. Prying yourself off the couch took more effort than was almost worth it before your eyes fell on the reason you were so tired to begin with.

Hajime smiles and hums looking at your bleary eyes. "Good morning sunshine, I was just about to take you to bed," he says, folding a dish towel over a chair. You toss off the blanket and grab on the slipper that fell under the living room table before padding up to him. Dipping your hands under both of his arms to lock them together behind him, now your face is in his chest instead of the chicken, which is entirely preferred.

"Don't wanna go to bed just yet," you muffle, sinking even deeper into him when both of his arms wrap around you in support. He smells like dish soap and birthday cake, and you turn your head to hear the heartbeat in his chest.

"What do you wanna do lovey? You know I'd give you the world if you asked," you can hear the rumble of his voice in his chest with your pressed ear. He's cheesy, but half asleep, you feel just as much, if not cheesier.

"I have the world if I have you, they're one in the same. So just you is more than fine." Your eyes are closed, but you feel him shiver a little. "I wanna dance with you, though," you say, voice still soft and kinda raspy from sleep.

"Dunno if I can top what you just said even when I propose," he chokes out a laugh, or at least you think it's one. He shifts his hold a bit and starts leading you both in a lazy sway that starts near the toaster and ends next to the potted plant at the back door before starting over.

"When? Not if?" You tease him, a hand going to scratch the nape of his neck lightly.

"I'll never meet another you, so I'm pretty set on When."

"I'll say yes." Because you will. You can't imagine a life where you wouldn't.

"And I'll still cry when you do." You can tell he's crying now because it comes out shaky and his hold tightens a bit, before you lean back, stopping your impromptu waltz. Both of your hands come up to cup his face and look at his teary grey eyes before cooing at him.

"You big baby! Save those tears for When please. You'll be congested and sniffley all night if you don't stop." You start cleaning off his face with your sleeve, but he stops one of your hands and starts peppering your palm and wrist with small kisses. "I think I'm ready for bed now. Princess's orders," you say, dragging him towards your bedroom. You'll have to figure out tomorrow just how soon When is going to be, but for now you can hear the slow thumps of Hajime's steps as he follows behind you, squeezing your connected hand. It's not pressing in the least, you think, because it feels like there will be plenty of tomorrows too.

-----

When you wake up in the morning, it takes you an hour to realize Hajime had put the ring on your finger while you were asleep.

It takes you five minutes to run through town in your pajamas, barefoot to find and full on tackle him in front of the place he was about to get your breakfast in.

And it takes about two minutes of unintelligible blubbering on both your parts before anyone understands what is going on.

No one timed it, but if they did, it would've taken less than ten minutes for the whole town to find out via texts, calls, and yells down the streets and through windows that you're engaged.

[justanothersanjilover]

Day 8: Death Pact

Zoro never thought he had to go through with his promise. But when Sanji started acting increasingly emotionless, he knew he had to do it soon. After his hair started to change color and he attacked their Nakama one day, Zoro brought him to an island to fight him. The fight was short as if Sanji had not put much effort into it. With the final blow, his emotionless eyes suddenly became alive again.

With his dying love in his arms, Zoro was left with the question of whether he had done the wrong thing. Was Sanji actually slowly coming back, and he killed him before he could make it? Was he even emotionless, or did he imagine it? Could he say it was fine with such a sincere voice if he was emotionless? Why did Sanji comfort him while he was dying?!

It would hunt Zoro the rest of his life…

(If you look closely, you can see Zoro’s tears 😭)

Here is the prompt list with the other drawings 😊

[psychidelias]

There's something so beautiful about Red Dwarf just as a concept and as a series.

Comedy aside, it has one of the most meaningful messages I think I've ever seen. The whole idea of being hopelessly lost and alone in the infinity of space but still having hope and love is just unbelievable. Dave Lister is just the ultimate guy ever.

He's a loser, a nobody, a complete write-off in terms of his career, a depressed, lonely man who is the last of his species, the only one left, three million years away from home.

Yet he still has hope. He still appreciates beauty in the rockiest places. He still believes in justice and life above all else, so much so that his worst fear is losing his morality. He still goes on.

He's so far away from home that there's no realistic hope of getting back, but he doesn't care. He makes a home out of everything and everyone around him, eternally living in the only way -the best way- he can.

He's created his own Promised Land.

[soulless-bex]

was listening to music while driving, as one does, when my brain, the silly little thing goes:

wouldn’t it be funny if dick grayson killed the joker (who stays dead because he deserves to be) for killing jason and goes through a whole breakdown over whether or not jason would approve of what he did, ultimately deciding that no, jason the happy robin would not be happy with his big brother, no matter how strained their relationship may have been before his death, killing a man out of revenge

cue jason as red hood, pre identify reveal, asking nightwing about what happened to the joker (because of course bruce had it covered up, because in his twisted little mind, a vigilante permanently taking out the mass murderer who is singlehandedly the number one cause of death in gotham would break the gothamites’ trust in them). nightwing admits, because since the joker is dead jason doesn’t have a reason to push the dramatics as much, he’s just fucking with the bats and keeping crime alley safe, and jason has his turn at a breakdown because he just found out someone actually avenged him

emotional reunion. everyone is happy. the end.

[nevermeyers]

I can imagine Yuuji pushing Megumi to learn to live for himself and not for others. A slow process in which he must have a lot of patience, because the event has been very traumatic.

Little by little, Yuuji invites Megumi to leave the house and takes him to all the places he once mentioned he liked; they look at the flowers and Yuuji asks him about their meaning, Megumi talks about them, (hydrangeas are so pretty)

I imagine Megumi having horrible nightmares, suffering at night and waking up intermittently, panting and sweaty, and Yuuji at his side, watching closely, giving him space to cry.

I imagine Megumi's scars, which he hates because they are Sukuna's. Now he hates mirrors. Yuuji caresses them when he's next to him, in bed, runs his thumbs over his cheeks, traces them lovingly while whispering how beautiful and strong he is; places tiny kisses on them (you're loveable!) And Megumi sometimes dares to touch Yuuji's scars, murmuring something inaudible.

I can perfectly picture Megumi hiding his feelings, because that's what he's done his whole life, and Yuuji reminding him that he doesn't have to carry the world on his shoulders alone (we're in this together, right?)

I like to imagine them living together, doing laundry, going out to the beach to look at the sunset (it was always this beautiful?), going to the cinema to watch low budget horror movies, playing gachapon.

Making life worth living.

(it's gonna take some time, but we'll get there)

[mydeadgaywizards]

not to ruin anyone’s day or anything, but i often think about how young lily and james were, always forgetting how young remus was too.

remus, who lost his best friends, his boyfriend, his everything. remus, who had to keep living, keep growing up, despite his whole world being dumped on its head. remus, who managed to keep going against all odds.

[deadboyswalking]

It's fall, the turning of the seasons from summer's heat, and Tomura Shigaraki is alive. He got away, able to break the monster's chains and live, free and whole and completely himself. That deadly, cruel summer couldn't touch him in the end. He's alive, don't you know it? And anyway, it's been 22 years since he fought that last terrible battle.

This fall is an important anniversary of sorts. He's now lived more years in freedom than he ever did in servitude.

His house is small, and warm, and his coffee is ready. It's Saturday morning and he's having a good breakfast with someone who loves him and someone he, against all odds, found himself capable of loving in return. He has the day off from his work from home IT job, where he spends his days in comfortable solitude with his two corgis sleeping at his feet. He absentmindedly rubs his wrists and knuckles, age making his joints ache during the descent into winter. No matter, he has support gloves now for when he games.

The old League, the best friends and truest family he's ever had, is coming over for dinner tonight. They try to meet up at least once a month, but it still seems like Toga is always in his house to coo over his dogs and update him on everything going on in her life. He's never said it, but she's been a little sister to him since shortly after they met and her constant visits are one of the most treasured aspects of his life.

It's fall, and Tomura is thinking about curry for dinner and if he could convince Sako to cook it because he's as much a magician in the kitchen as he is everywhere else.

It's fall, and his joints ache, and he has to wear reading glasses now, but he has known the blessings of age and the warmth of a full, happy life of love and comfort.

Can you hear me, Tomura? My deepest heart wants nothing more than this for you. I don't care what that man said. I speak it into existence and I pull you out of the terrible summer that you lived and died in. You will see the seasons change to fall and you will be happier than you ever thought you could be.

[talktonytome]

your every expression, paint you with both my eyes closed

If it will inspire you 💙

Soo, this may be a tad more than a ficlet, consider me inspired! I hope you like it <3

Buck’s feeling a little more than nervous. Tommy had called earlier to let him know he was cooking dinner tonight, told him there was something he wanted to share with him. He came home, after work, to Tommy plating his grandma’s famous pasta, the one with the best sauce Buck had ever tasted (what Bobby doesn’t know won’t hurt him.)

Tommy making the pasta isn’t that unusual in and of itself, but that paired with his earlier statement made Buck feel a little uneasy. He didn’t think it was anything bad, or else this whole romantic dinner setup would be a little cruel. The point is, he’s starting to spiral just a bit, and he knows Tommy notices, clocks his every little micro expression. Still, he tampers his anxiety enough to enjoy the delicious meal his boyfriend made him and they make comfortable conversation about their days.

By the time they’ve finished dinner and cleared the table, he’s all but vibrating out of his skin. He smooths his hands up and down the seams of his jeans in an attempt to calm down. Of course, Tommy’s in front of him in an instant. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He stops Buck’s nervous hands, grasping them in his own.

“N-nothing,” he tries to lie, but folds immediately. Tommy reads him like no other and he's always big about communication so really, it’s pointless to try to lie. “It’s silly, but ever since you said you wanted to share something with me, I’ve been… a little anxious. I mean, logically I know it can’t be anything bad, but I can’t fully convince my brain- unless it is? Oh god, don’t tell me! Wait that’s dumb, of course you’d have to tell me- ”

Tommy cuts his blabbing off with a firm kiss to his lips, more to ground him than to stop him from talking. Buck lets himself sag into his arms, starting to feel a little more tethered. 

“Better?” Tommy whispers in the space between their mouths. 

“Yes, thank you for that,” he chuckles, darting forward for another kiss. Tommy eagerly complies. When they break apart, they stand with their arms wrapped around each other for a minute. Then, Tommy leans back enough to look him in the eye.

“It wasn’t my intention to cause you distress, baby,” he says, rubbing his thumb across Buck’s cheekbone. “I just wanted to surprise you, I promise it’s nothing bad,” he gives him a reassuring smile. “And feeling your feelings is not silly. You’re allowed to do that, yeah?”

“I know- in here, I knew,” Buck mumbles, touching a hand to his heart, “but you know how I get sometimes,” he shrugs. 

“I do,” Tommy nods, a soft smile on his lips, “just know I’m here to be the lightning rod for that big, beautiful mind of yours, as many times as you need me to,” he promises. 

Buck’s heart skips a beat. Tommy always seems to possess the ability to drop these devastatingly earnest and romantic truths on him, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, to love him. “Well, you are good at navigating hurricanes,” he grins and squeezes Tommy’s hand, hoping it’s enough to convey his gratitude. “So, about that surprise?”

Tommy clears his throat and it seems like now, he’s the nervous one. “Right, um, come with me,” he leads Buck by the hand, down the hallway, past their bedroom to office space that had long been converted into Tommy’s art studio. Tommy pushes the door open and flicks the light on, never letting go of Buck’s hand. 

When they walk into the studio, Buck notices what looks to be a large canvas covered by a sheet in the middle of the room. He knows Tommy had been spending a lot of time on a project, but was pretty secretive about it, and as much as Buck wanted to sneak a peek, he respects and understands the sanctity of this space and outlet for Tommy. He knew Tommy would show him when he was ready.

Evidently, he’s ready now. He walks with him, until they’re standing in front of the canvas and Buck waits with baited breath for Tommy to unveil it. 

“Before I show you,” Tommy begins, “know that you’re not obligated to say anything, a- and if it’s too much, you can tell me. It’s just you and me, okay?” 

“Okay,” Buck says, squeezing Tommy’s hands again. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it,” he smiles encouragingly. 

Tommy takes a deep breath and releases Buck’s hands to lift the sheet from the canvas. The piece underneath strikes Buck to his core. He knows Tommy’s talented, knows the years of practice he’s put in to refine his skills, knew whatever it was would be amazing, but this is nothing short of worship and reverence. 

Floating ethereally in the center is a depiction of Buck as- well, as an angel, or a god maybe, with big, bright wings in mid-flight painted in hues of reds, oranges, and golds. His arms are reaching out to the beam of light above him, rays caressing his fingers, like he’s harnessing it in his fingertips. Light highlights the birthmark on his brow and he feels the fondness in the brushstrokes. The background is a magical sunset, done in splashes of purples and pinks with fiery bits peeking through wisps of clouds, blending ever so softly into his wings. The expression on his face is blissful, peaceful, but the slight quirk of his mouth betrays a sense of mirth. 

Buck stares and stares and stares. He doesn’t know how long he stands there; It feels like time stopped, he’s suspended in the sacred warmth of this moment. But he knows he needs to say something. He’s aware of Tommy breathing beside him, the suspense he must be in, after practically taking his heart raw from his chest to display it on canvas. 

“T-This is how you see me?” He finally breathes. His cheeks are wet with tears had wasn’t aware he shed. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, voice barely above a whisper. “Evan- this piece was always going to be you, but it took on a shape of its own, before I knew it. I wasn’t consciously aware until I painted the wings that I wanted to depict you as the phoenix that you are- you bright, colorful, beautiful, brave man. You’ve overcome so much, rising and shining even brighter than before, each time. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I just hope you keep shining some of that light on me, sweetheart,” he finishes with a watery smile. 

“This is the most loving and beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Buck says with a hushed voice. Tears are streaming down both their faces now. “I know you love me- but, god, you really love me,” he lets out a sob, hopes every atom of his being leaks out and fuses with Tommy’s. 

“I do, I really do, forever and always,” Tommy vows, reaching out to pull him in. He wipes away the tears, then cups Buck’s face with both hands and kisses his birthmark, the jut of both cheekbones, the planes of his jaw, then finally, pours as much love as he can muster into his mouth. Bucks feels it down to his soul. The kiss is salty from their tears but it’s the best kiss Buck’s ever had. Tommy rests their foreheads together, when they pause to take a breath. “So you like it?”

“It’s everything, Tommy- y-you’re everything.” 

Tommy smiles and gently disentangles their bodies. Buck’s already mourning the steady, warm line of his body. He watches curiously, as Tommy reaches for something on the base of the easel.

Then, he drops to one knee, eyes crinkling with the force of his smile, as he tilts his face up. “You’re my everything, too, sweetheart. So, Evan Buckley, will you do me the honor of putting this ring on your finger about it?”