#drabble extension

[wickermayne]

I've linked the drabbles below :) They are all NSFW!

A Day in Hinata's Life

Sharing 

Red Eyes

Frog Kata

Desk

[johnslittlespoon]

plsssss can we talk about bucky getting his revenge and edging gale

gale edging john post | yes we cannnnn !! eta: ykw. i need to just turn this into a proper oneshot since this ended up being over 1k words. new wip created </3

john may be a man of little self control, but after that incident, he decides he can be at least a tiny bit patient so he can catch gale off guard with it when he gets his revenge. because the next few times they're fooling around, gale's expecting a retaliation, john can see it in the way he tenses up and glances at his face before he comes like he's waiting for it, but john never follows through with it. he wants gale to let his guard down, and that he does.

so a week or so later when john's kissing him and feeling him up and asks ever so sweetly if he can tie gale's wrists behind his back, gale doesn't think anything of it. john likes to take control occasionally and gale sometimes likes the feeling of not having to worry about making decisions, getting to let john call the shots, and john always puts extra time and effort into the way he touches gale when he's restrained because he likes to watch his darling blondie squirm.

john has him sit in his lap facing him, letting gale lean against his shoulder to take the pressure off his legs while john works him open on his fingers, already riled up from the pretty gasps gale's making against his neck but reigning himself in because he's gonna need to have some self control for once.

he sweet–talks gale through it, telling him how good he sounds, how well he's doing as he sinks down on his cock, guiding him with hands on his hips so he doesn't unbalance himself without the use of his own hands where they're tied behind his back with a belt. he stays still at first, letting gale ride him slowly, keeping his hands loosely on his waist while praising him and talking him into that foggy needy headspace until gale's thighs are trembling and john takes pity on him (and frankly is so hard he doesn't have the patience to keep his own hips still anymore).

so he runs his hands down from gale's waist to his ass to hold him in place while he rolls his hips up into him, watching the way gale's eyebrows pinch and his pretty lips fall open in a silent oh as john angles himself in a way gale couldn't with his own movements. lets his mouth run as he slowly picks up his pace, all the coos of "so pretty", "you're taking me so well", "you feel so fucking good", loving how reactive gale is to every word and every thrust.

he moves his hands to gale's hips to get a better grip, can tell gale's getting close because he gets noisier, losing his filter and letting out breathy little "fuck"s and "john"s, head rolling back on his shoulders to bare his neck, rocking his hips down to meet john every time he fucks up into him. and then just as he gets the warning of "close", he pulls gale down by his hips to bury himself deep in him and stops moving completely.

the whine of desperation that tears out of gale's throat when he lifts his head has john knocking his skull back against the wall, cock twitching hard enough inside gale that he's sure the blond can feel it. he watches gale's biceps flex when he instinctively tries to get his hands free, feels his hips try to squirm out of his hands to keep moving, but he keeps him pinned firmly down, dizzy at the way he clenches down around him.

a plaintive "john" pulls a groan from him, but he composes himself, lifts his gaze back up to gale's face and lets the corners of his lips quirk up, purrs out a "yeah, sweetheart? something wrong?"

laughs at the way gale cusses him out, a rare sight of his little spitfire with a mouth on him, though the effect is a lot closer to being hissed at by a kitty than actually being convinced to move. john lets him run his mouth, murmurs a "cute" once gale's done, and then promptly hammers his hips up into him just once, swearing under his breath at the way it punches an open–mouthed moan from gale. rocks his hips up into him a few times before going back to a quick and rough pace, the sound of skin on skin getting both of them flushed.

it only takes a minute before gale's hips are twitching into his hands and whispered pleas are falling from his mouth and john thinks he's never had to use as much self restraint in his life as he does when he forces himself to stop moving again, once again yanking gale down against him, holding him still in his lap.

gale really fights it this time, enough so that it's a merciful distraction for john from how close he himself is (trust his idea to backfire as he ends up edging himself along with gale, he thinks) when he has to use proper strength to keep him in place. any blood that might've still been lurking around his brain rushes south the moment he sees gale's eyes getting shiny with frustration, cheeks all pink and lips red and flushed from biting down on them.

"not so fun, is it?" john taunts, but his voice comes out a bit more raspy than he would've liked, evident how much the stop and start is getting to him too. it's probably karma, because he knows he's being more mean than gale was to him, but he can't help it; those blue eyes look so pretty when tears are threatening to spill over when he's desperate and needy like this.

gale wriggles in his lap the best he can, still furiously chasing his orgasm, head finally falling back in frustration before he lifts it again, looking john in the eyes, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and letting it go. he whines quietly and whimpers out the sweetest "please, johnny," almost crying in his impatience, and fuck.

john doesn't mean for his hips to twitch up at that, but they do, hard. gale sobs out a broken sound at the way john's cock hits just where he needs it to in his accidental movement, and gale spills over his stomach completely untouched, just like that. john swears and drives his hips up into him in an attempt to quickly amend his slip up, moaning loud at the wrecked noises that immediately start bubbling up out of gale as he fucks him through his orgasm.

he tips over the edge himself from the desperate sounds the blond starts to make as he crosses the line into overstimulation, feeling gale's hips jerk frantically in his hands, fighting to get away from the incessant rhythm of his cock inside him as john shudders through his own orgasm, fingers digging into gale's sides.

he slows down to a gentle grind of his hips when gale collapses against his chest, face pressed to his neck, shivering at the slow drag inside him and whining pitifully when john eventually pulls out, settling him down on his thighs while he reaches around to undo the belt and free his hands. his heart bursts at the way gale instantly wraps his arms around him, clinging to him as they both catch their breath, john petting his hair and showering him with praise.

he eventually huffs out a laugh, murmuring a "sorry buck. payback's a bitch, but that was an accident, i swear." gale groans against him in complaint, lightly nipping at his shoulder in retaliation, too tired to fight back, but john's sure he'll pay for it eventually.

it's confirmed with the "better watch your back, darling" that he gets when they're both pulling their clothes back on, but to john, that sounds less like a threat and more like a good time, and he shoots gale a crooked grin to let him know as much.

[gavramous]

i know ghost's actor said that ghost listens to fucking classical music of all genres (idk, maybe i'm just not cool enough to understand), but in my heart of hearts he's a grunge/metalhead who has a weird relationship with being a grunge/metalhead.

there's periods of time which can last for weeks (but usually last for months) where he doesn't listen to his music at all, because the sound remind him too much of who he was and what he went through. the thought of trying to find new music to listen to seems like an irritating task, though; a task that would only leave him frustrated with himself for letting this be an issue in the first place. of course, he does understand why it is an issue: it's association. he, on his bad days, has trouble disconnecting the music from his father. but it's also music that he likes, and on his good days enjoys listening to. these oscillating moods irritate him to no end, and he doesn't see a clear conclusion for them.

- - -

ghosts and gaz are in the kitchen, sharing each other's company and the last dregs of communal sugar in their tea, and they're talking about music. gaz is explaining what makes him so passionate. it turns out to be because of his father and his zeal for music of all genres. he explains how there was always music on in his house growing up; they always had a cd or a vinyl or a casette playing, and it was always something new, something unlike what they had listened to the week before.

ghost listens intently to gaz. he enjoys hearing about his normal childhood and his positive relationship with music. he enjoys hearing about his not perfect (in gaz's words), but loving family. he asks gaz what the weirdest album his father got obsessed with was, what genres his siblings enjoyed, gaz's favourite song, and gaz answers all his questions happily.

eventually, gaz asks ghost about his relationship with music, and it's ghost's turn to open up and sour the good conversation.

ghost explains that it can be a bit... tense sometimes. his father had a huge impact on his taste, and unfortunately that means some of the time he has trouble listening to his music without sordid feelings arising. ghost tells gaz how he's unwilling to try and find anything different, as it would just overwhelm him, so he makes do. he tacks it off with "it's just music. not the end of the world." that is, in his humble opinion, an acceptably casual (but also not too undermining) way of ending his answer.

apparently not to gaz. he looks at ghost seriously for a beat, then says, "i could always recommend you some music."

ghost thinks on this for a bit. where's the harm? gaz has good music taste. the worst that could happen is a deflated ego on gaz's part if ghost happens to not enjoy his recommendations. gaz might take that as a challenge, though, and spend a lot more effort trying to find something ghost enjoys. the thought of gaz putting in so much effort for him bothers ghost, but ghost also knows that gaz wouldn't offer to do something he doesn't want to do. gaz would probably also get a huge kick out of reccomending something to ghost that he'd end up liking.

"why not," ghost says.

gaz's face lights up, and he asks, "what type of music do you wan't to try out?"

ghost furrows his brow. he hadn't thought about it in that much depth. he just knows that sometimes he wants out. he guesses that something soft would suffice. something he can put on and not have to fight to listen to; something that carries him. but not something too light and airy. something that's grounded. he tells this to gaz, slightly embarrassed with his wording, but gaz tells him that's a perfect description, and he already has an album in mind for ghost to check out. gaz sends him a text with the album linked and says he will look for some other recommendations for him. ghost thanks him, and their conversation continues, and eventually moves onto something else.

- - -

it's a week later that ghost finally has time to sit down and do nothing for more than 5 minutes. he's relaxing in his room, and he remembers the link for the album gaz sent him. the message is still sitting unseen in his inbox, and he decides that there's no better time to give it a listen.

he grabs his shitty earphones from his desk and lays on his bed, opening up the album and starting it.

it starts off slow, but it's strong and sure of itself. it's flowy, and if he's honest, ghost can't really tell when one song ends and another starts. the lyrics are there in random intervals, and they're much softer than the sound of the music itself, but the voice that sings them is strong. it's obvious the focus is on the instrumental, and ghost apprciates that. it allows him to relax fully.

this is exactly what he has wanted.

he listens to the whole album and lays there after it finishes. he sends gaz a text, thanking him and letting him know it's a wonderful recommendation.

ghost still enjoys the music he's grown up with. but gaz has helped him more than he can know. he has helped give him options for the days he struggles with, and that means so much to ghost.

[ghcstao3]

part 1

Things get worse before they get better.

Soap’s nightmares get worse. More violent. By the time they’re at their peak of his torture, he doesn’t think he’s managed to sleep a proper wink of sleep in well over a week.

His bullet wound ends up mildly infected, which isn’t much of a surprise. It still sucks, though, and when he lets slip mention of his injury to his mother over the phone, he ends up hanging up on her mid-tangent because he already feels bad enough as is.

There’s no missions. Nothing significant to do. Soap feels purposeless for a while, and the shrink he’s forced to visit hardly does anything—he’s reduced to something of a tired, vacant shell, trying to work past that mission but he just can’t. He’s exhausted.

Soap stops calling his family some time during that period. Gaz does his best to support him, lift his spirits. Price offers the help he can between his own work.

And Ghost… is Ghost. At first, that’s all he is. He keeps to pleasantries as if he and Soap hadn’t shared some moment out in Las Almas. As if he hadn’t saved Soap’s life in Chicago, and plenty other occasions.

As if he hadn’t stuck beside the sergeant as soon as they’d been reunited after that one last job, almost like he was afraid if he left Soap out of his sights, something bad might happen.

Which it does. Because back on base Ghost disappears, and Soap is left alone, hollowed out and changed.

But when Ghost notices that Soap is different, isn’t Johnny, he returns. And something shifts.

They work into a proper friendship. Soap regains a sense of purpose if only to spend more time with Ghost, like he could never get enough. Smaller missions are assigned again, and that bond grows stronger. Grows into something more.

They work into something of a tentative relationship. Soap’s nightmares lessen, the comfort of a solid presence pressed against him in bed more grounding than thought possible. Soap starts calling his family again, talks to them about finding his person. For once, their disliking of the military serves him well—if only for them to not question the rules about fraternization that Soap has definitely, definitely broken.

His family doesn’t approve of Ghost, for a while, but not because he’s a man—rather, because he’s military. They don’t like that he’s given another reason for Soap to remain in the line of fire. They don’t like that he encourages Soap to reach his potential in the career they all loathe. The first time they meet Ghost they try to be friendly, but everyone is prickly at best. It takes time for them to warm up to the lieutenant, which isn’t made any easier by Ghost’s own demeanour.

It’s fine, though. Ghost understands. And Soap’s family, in the end, can’t help but be thankful for him—because Ghost is the reason Soap is able to piece together any parts of his former self that had chipped away. Ghost is the reason Soap is whole again.

They’ll never be happy with his decision to join the military, it’s just a fact of Soap’s life. But he’s done more than enough good to accept it.

And Ghost makes sure to tell him just as much.

[angie-long-legs]

TW: Drugs, relapse, trauma/flashbacks, emotional abuse (technically it's happening in his head - think that scene in ep 2 when he's going through the voice notes) This is a part 2 to this drabble but can be read as a standalone piece.

Fuck it.

Angel didn't care anymore. He was done. He tried, and he felt so fucking stupid for it, for thinking that this might actually work. He was an idiot for entertaining the notion that, all along, all he needed was to talk about it, that Charlie's moronic, touchy-feely bullshit was anything but that - bullshit. Nothing was working. Nothing was worth it.

Two weeks. That's how long he had been clean. And, fuck, if it hadn't been miserable. Reality crystallised with a brand new clarity, time became cohesive and linear, familiar emotions felt guttural and raw and revolting. The worst of the physical symptoms had been contained to the initial withdrawal, which had been a hazy Hell within Hell of shaking and sweating, screaming and sobbing, throwing up and passing out and begging for something, anything, to make it stop. All that remained now that Angel had seen the other side was the trembling, an ever-present reminder that his body wouldn't so quickly forget what it had been through. Spoiled rotten on a century of chemicals, it shivered - a gentle, persistent nudge to be fed.

But the tremor was merely background noise. The thoughts and feelings that hijacked Angel's newly lucid brain were less easily ignored. Without the emotional anaesthetic provided by the drugs, there was nothing to dull his tender wounds, nothing to stand between the spider and the reality he refused to look in the eye. The past stained the present, vibrant and intrusive - old blood that wouldn't dry. There was no euphoria amid the sickness, no hope of relief from the memories that bombarded Angel with unrelenting cruelty.

Oh, it infected everything. Sobriety truly emphasised that there was not a single part of Angel's life that the cracks did not extend to. The smell of his perfume transported him from the hotel to his dressing room, the clouds that formed around smoking sinners had him grabbing at his wrists and his throat in search of the chains he felt manifest around them. He stripped the silk sheets from his bed and shoved them in his closet, collapsing onto the bare mattress in exhaustion, but it still felt soft and smooth beneath his touch.

He hated who he was like this. He hated feeling weak and on edge, feeling helpless. There was no escaping it. He was stuck fast and fading as the world around him rolled forward. No hope of receding, no signs of softening. Time marched on, but the dust would never settle.

Angel was on his feet before he had time to register what he was doing, autopilot driving him to the loose floorboard under which he had stashed the last of his supply. Inside, he felt placid - indifferent. He had done this a million times. It wasn't like anyone expected him to stay clean, right? It was understandable, wasn't it? He would be forgiven.

Wouldn't he?

It was fine. One hit, that's all he needed. One little bump. Just to make the thoughts go away.

Carefully, Angel lifted the floorboard and extracted the stash. He watched himself tip out a line of powder along the back of his hand, his trembling causing the substance to spill. He felt cynical of himself, almost laughing. He's doing it again. 'Course he is. Knew he couldn't hack it. Fucking pathetic.

The disconnected voice that mocked him in his mind warped and shifted, adopting the familiar Latin lilt that dripped with venom. Stupid junkie. Dumb, worthless addict. Did you really think you were better than this, amorcito? Oh, Angel, that's so funny. It's adorable. You really thought being sober was something you wanted? To impress your little friends, make them think you were someone you're not? I know you, baby. You're not better than this. You're nothing more than a drugged-up whore. That's all you are, and you love it. Why are you fighting it, angelito? You know you can't fight it. This is who you are.

Angel's teeth gritted, swallowing the angry, hateful lump in his throat. He couldn't fight it. This was who he was. He couldn't do this sober.

The dust wouldn't settle. The blood wouldn't dry.

The wounds wouldn't heal.

Without another thought, Angel brought his hand to his face and inhaled.

[firedrakegirl]

Meeting Odin

“Odin Allfather.” Fire started to bow, realized a curtsy was the correct choice for a female, then managed to tip over when she tried to do both at once. She could feel Loki’s amusement as he helped her up silently, then they bowed and curtsied in unison.

“Mortal. Why are you here?”

“Loki and I are bound, majesty. He could not come without me, nor could I stay without him. Sedir binds us closely for now.” She said, head still down as was proper.

“Rise, both of you.”

“Loki!” A female voice rang out as Frigg walked in just barely within acceptable speeds. She looked at her for a moment, then through her…then beamed. “Daughter!” She rushed to us as quickly as etiquette allowed, kissing both our foreheads. “Husband, this is a joyous day!” There was an edge to her voice as she called odin husband. “Prince Loki has returned to us, and found us a daughter as we always wanted. Why is Loki in chains?”

“He attempted to take over Midgard.” Odin began, though Frigg quickly cut him off.

“Did not Heimdall say he was under the control of the Tesseract?”

“Aye, but…”

Loki put a hand on Fire’s arm to keep her from reacting inappropriately. “Your majesty, may I approach? My human throat does not do well speaking so loudly for so long.”

Loki squeezed her arm in warning, but Frigg answered for Odin, eyes twinkling. She knew her son, and any who would bond with him would be as full of mischief. “Yes, daughter, you may.”

Fire walked forward with a grace that she hadn’t possessed before Loki. “Thank you your majesty.” She curtsied again to Frigg before turning to Odin and letting a kick fly…right into his groin. The Allfather let out an extremely pained sound, while Loki let out a laugh. Even Frigg had to cover her grin.

[nurseydexunsolved]

Imagine your entire life, you’ve been running a race. Everyone else seems to be doing fine; those at the lead are putting in consistent work, those in the back are choosing to take it easy. You, however, are barely scraping by in the middle of the pack and are exhausted. You’re pumping twice as hard as those in front of you, sweating buckets onto the relaxed faces behind you, and you can’t even keep pace, let alone catch up.

One day, someone comes along and says: maybe racing isn’t for you, but I see you’ve been running with 10lb weights on your legs. Have you tried a sport that’s about strength?

You look down. You are the only one with weights on your legs. You switch to weightlifting, and the precise thing that made your life impossible is what now allows you to thrive.

This is what it is to be Evan Buckley when he discovers he was born to be a firefighter.

[ukigumos]

UKIGUMOS - »❝浮雲❞« ANGSTOBER - AGAIN

Each pink petal scattering about the school warps into pitch black, sucking Kyouya's psyche into an inescapable event horizon of humiliation. His body stiffens as it recalls the paralytic helplessness, and his vision blurs. Despite being cured from that pesky disease, the mental damage had planted itself deep.

With a stumble, Kyouya retreats into the halls. His body may have been numb, but his emotions ran wild.

This was pointless. And yet here he was, unable to switch it all off. No amount of rationalizing could dispel this.

Again and again, he recalls the terror and the utter mortification of his downfall.

Again and again, he carries it on his own.

Again and again, he fails to overcome.

[raytm]

masterlist of zed related hcs & drabbles. - spirit blossom verse explained. / more spirit blossom thoughts - odyssey verse 1 & 2 ( building hsr verse from here with venom & red ) / more odyssey thoughts. - drabble depicting how the sharing of zed's shadow powers is passed on from master to pupil. - more thoughts about zed's shadows. / and then more thoughts again. / about controlling the shadow magic. - modern au drabble about when zed leaves home at 16 / more modern verse info - languages he can speak. ( main verse ) - some thoughts about zed's feelings regarding shen

[heartheaded]

It was Osysa the androsphinx who sent them here--to the Axiom caverns, and ultimately it was also Osysa's mention that saved Vox Machina from an eternity of freefalling the infinite void. To prove their worth and venture forward, a test was established by Kamaljiori--the estranged husband of this encounter--to wound him.

In all his years, as was explained, he'd never felt the sting of pain.

If one of them managed, they would all be let go and perhaps awarded with a vestige if all pans out. And all would pan out, if their plucky group had anything to say about it.

Given Kami's incredible and striking nature as a monstrosity, most of them were quickly bested, tossed over the edge of the pocket dimension's arena to fall infinitely unless one of them were to succeed.

With everyone quickly dropping like literal flies around him, Scanlan options waned. If Grog couldn't draw blood, how could he? If there were no visible--eh hem, externals... how was he supposed to get the cheap shot?... and then, Kami spoke his end, that he didn't understand why Osysa sent such weak tokens and all at once Scanlan pulled forward his lute. Fingers poised, the bard played an awe-inspiring, melancholic anthem based on the lovers' separation, being so close to touch and yet...

Well, no one would ever quite believe him--and even in the few moments he has to talk with Kami, he doesn't think it'll be enough even when time and space are set right. For now, the brilliant concert lights settle and Scanlan finds himself in a comfortable statis, sitting on a plush cloud and leaning against the soft fur of the androsphinx.

❝Wise, old Rosemary...❞ he begins, and it hits like poppy dust, the realization of abrupt stillness and drowse.

❝It is nice to meet again. The time of ages is etched into your bones, allowing you to see clearly the heartbreak that lies within the realms... and sworn your infinite lives to solve it.❞

Scanlan tilts his head up in question to find a strand of long, brown hair tickling his nose--his hair is out, his chest is glowing a calm lilac, and everything feels heavy & hazy, like the best high-induced dream he's ever had. No idea what the pretty words quite mean, but they sound as exquisite as the finest instrument. Lulling violet eyes drift upwards, giving a sleepy cheshire smile.

❝... but kindness without limits is self-destruction.❞

He frowns, and there's a sudden heat to his face, the sole discomfort. Kami sounds heartbroken for him, and pulls him closer with a delightfully weighted paw.

❝Oh, little leaf... Strong and wise, you seek to bring peace with your presence, and I'd be wrong to say you fail at this effort. In fact, you burn so brightly I fear you may continue to set yourself on fire to keep others warm. In this, you believe to be protecting everyone... but if you shield the saplings from the sunlight, they will never grow.❞

Scanlan can't help but instinctively disagree, In his own mind, what sort of protecting is he desperately trying to do--? What sort of protecting can he do? And to what vain is it going too far?...

... maybe this is a prediction of the future?

❝--and you one day will wither.❞ Yikes. ❝Protect yourself, as you know best there are no happy heroes... so do not exhaust in being one. Be a friend, Scanlan Shorthalt. Before you slay others' demons, you must first slay your own.❞

He deflates slightly, looks disheartened by this conclusion--so he is at fault, huh? A fucking andro-guardian is telling him that to his face and everything. Almost like Kami reads his mind though, he's placed on top of the sphinx's head with a careful clawed grip.

❝Oh, true-hearted paladin--you are brave, you are good enough. One cannot do anything saintly if they do not tend to their own wounds first.❞

And it's with this last realization that the scenery changes for the final time, fading white back to that dingy cave entrance from before. In their final moments before the others crash in, Scanlan finally gets the ability to talk and immediately leans into writing a song with the possibly the only being in existence that could see into Scanlan Shorthalt's soul.

He saw where the music box was carefully tucked away and hidden, and brought it out. Cleaned it up. Tuned the abandoned prongs. Gave him back to the found family that nearly lost him.

... but who knows if it'll stay clean, really.

[unclekaz]

My Guardian Angel Missed The Memo

FNAF Springtrap x Y/N

Word Count: 2,321

Summary:

Things have been good. Not great, but good. Your actions had been haunting you. Your selfish desires. You tried justifying it, but you knew what it was. You'd do it again no matter what. It was hard to sleep at night without dreaming of it again and again. You'd wish it stopped. When you wake up, you'd have bigger issues. Something you can't easily run away from.

[noonaishere]

Me, a silly fool person: I'm going to learn the RIIZE Siren choreo in the 30 minutes I have before going grocery shopping

Me, ten minutes later: *dripping with sweat like an idiot who knew this was going to happen*

.

Also, fic update from yesterday:

Me: *a quarter of the way through the making the texts for my new smau*

[silvcrignis]

This is it, this is peak New Auradon chaotic energy

[xrphansrevival]

See You Later

[TW: self harm, suicide]

Day in, day out, classes on classes, work on top of work. He even met L, recently. Together with B.

Despite this, there's only one thing that's been on After's mind.

What is something that he can know, that L can't? What's something that he's always wanted to study, something on the brink of impossibility? Something that only someone as bold as him could truly imagine tackling?

Backup has been following him around more than usual, yet, After has not noticed. He's been preoccupied with figuring out how he would even begin to document this idea of his. Does it matter if it's documented? Does it matter when this is a personal matter?

Isn't it funny, that by doing this experiment, he'll also cause a tremor to go through the L Program?

April 7th, 1999

Another day in class, B on one side, Obelus on the other. It's shop class. Obelus is actually trying to craft... something. After hasn't tried to figure out what it is. B is also idly working on something, but in reality, he's just watching After.

After puts his cardboard project down. Backup watches carefully.

"Have you guys ever wondered what's on the other side?"

Obelus snorts. "More cardboard."

After shakes his head. "When you die. What's there?"

"Well, I believe in heaven and hell. And purgatory. For you... I'm betting on purgatory."

Backup is silent. After shrugs.

"I'm going to find out."

This grabs Obelus' attention. It's too late. With speed Backup and Obelus always forget he has, After pulls out an X-Acto knife. It's almost graceful how quick it happens. After brings the knife down on his wrist, cutting deep into his ulnar vein, and slices it up his forearm. The amount of blood that pours out just as fast is enough to tell anyone one very important thing.

There is no saving Yuri Soria.

Beyond Birthday is transfixed, still in his spot, Yuri's blood spilling onto him. The world is white noise as he watched the name and number's disappear from above his rival's head. A commotion starts, but Beyond pays no mind. All that matters is that Yuri Soria killed himself, in front of him, in class, because of mere curiosity.

Obelus, however, is playing crowd control. Just the same, one look was all it took for him to understand that Yuri Soria was a helpless cause. He's put all his attention into keeping the others away.

"B killed A!" Someone shouts.

"He's got blood all over him!" Another shouts.

Obelus shoves someone away from the table. "It wasn't him, After-!"

He turns back at B, and at A. Lifeless A. Obelus can feel his panic start to rise, but he remains calm. He has to. For his best friend, and for A. He shoves someone else away, too, before he carefully pulls his flannel off to wrap it around A. Then, he pulls A from the seat, cradling his lifeless body in his arms.

"Doc, we have to go! Come on!"

Backup follows, but only because in Obe's arms is the boy Backup has been obsessed with for years. To the infirmary they go. It's not like they could take him anywhere else.

[bakerysnake]

so i may have gotten everything taken away from me again

[gothsuguru]

i think i need to create a proper wip list… like FR