#he told me he wanted to play me a song

[autisticandroids]

FAMINE: That's one deep, dark nothing you've got there, Dean.

[youtube with closed captions]

dean and his father. dean and his family. dean and how bad it is.

(via @closetoyou1970)

[steveharirngton]

happy birthday dreamboy ♡

[feroluce]

Lucid Dreamer (1/2)

part 2

Gepard notices that it's been. Quiet lately. Like weirdly quiet. TOO quiet. He hasn't seen Sampo Koski in almost a week, which is about the longest he's ever been absent. And he is NOT worried. He's not! So what if they've been getting along more lately! So what if Gepard sometimes looks for him in his favorite hiding places! So what if he's been dreaming about blue hair and green eyes! It's nothing!!

But they're….strange, these dreams. Gepard doesn't usually remember what he's dreamt. It's out of his mind seconds within waking up. But these stick with him, they won't leave him be, they feel different somehow.

He dreams of Sampo bringing food to the frontlines and eating breakfast in his tent with him. Sampo always sneaks him extras. He dreams of chasing Sampo through the alleyways, Sampo sometimes letting himself be caught, Gepard sometimes catching him, and trying to ignore how it feels more like a game now more than anything else. He even dreams that Sampo tags along with him on one of his few civilian days. Sampo runs errands with him, prattles about inane bullshit while Gepard picks out groceries for the week, drags Gepard into some bakery he's never been to but he thinks Serval mentioned once.

And sometimes, it feels so close to reality, that Gepard half expects to see Sampo, shamelessly swaggering into the frontlines with all the guards' breakfast like his wanted poster wasn't only recently taken off the walls of Belobog. He's disappointed when it's always someone else instead. He tells himself his disappointment is ridiculous and if Sampo wants to go prowl around the Snow Plains or wherever he is, then fine. It's not any of his business.

…But it IS his job to investigate any unusual criminal activity relating to the frontlines. And the frontlines are Sampo's usual haunting grounds, and this is unusual activity, and Sampo IS technically a criminal, so it is absolutely part of his duty to look into this - is what Gepard tells himself the entire tram ride down into the Underground.

Natasha tells him he's gone, and Gepard has to steel himself. He knew Sampo made enemies wherever he went, there are a lot of people who would love his head on a platter, but he didn't think-

Natasha corrects him that she means literally gone. As in off-planet. Sampo always leaves her a note before he goes anywhere, so she knows not to expect any supply runs from him. He should be back in exactly two weeks. Thank the Preservation.

Gepard goes back home. He waits.

The uneasiness doesn't leave him.

"Where did you go?" Sampo stops dead in the middle of some story about Seele, and how you'd think someone with as blunt a mouth as her wouldn't have so much trouble asking a woman out, even if that woman IS the Supreme Guardian, and stares at him. He nearly fumbles his cigarette.

"Ahaha, what do you mean, I'm right here?" Sampo smiles at him the same way he always does. Gepard has no idea why he asked. It just popped out. He can never tell when Sampo is lying, anyway.

"I don't know. I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time." Gepard idly mouths at his own cigarette. He almost never smokes, but he wants to ration their stocks of Blizzard Immunity, and it helps with the cold. It's seemed colder lately, for some reason.

Gepard flicks his lighter once, twice, sighs at the third time because a metal prosthetic and thick gloves make the damn things so difficult. Sampo reaches over and wordlessly kisses the end of his cigarette to Gepard's, lighting it. "Thank you."

Nothing happens for almost a full 30 seconds. Something churns behind Gepard's ribcage. Because Sampo never leaves a "thank you" hanging. This is the part where he gives his spiel about how helpful and kind he is and Gepard either brings up how long his rap sheet was before Bronya helped clear his name, or just stares deadpan because seeing Sampo squirm is weirdly satisfying.

"…I'll be back in one more week."

Gepard jolts awake in his cot, mouth dry and eyes bleary.

The hell.

The next dream he has, Sampo looks tired. Sometimes he seems normal. Sometimes he says strange things, like how he wishes he'd gone to some restaurant in Belobog. Ate his favorite food more recently. Brought something with him. Gepard asks why he can't do that now. Where would he bring something? Sampo only shrugs. His rebuttals have less energy.

Gepard doesn't know if he wants to dream more, or less.

He ticks down the days on his calendar. Natasha hasn't told him any different. She promised she would if she got any kind of message. Sampo returns tomorrow, from whatever vacation or seedy business dealings he's been off having. He is not excited about it. He is not looking forward to it. He's not!!

Gepard falls asleep late that night, unable to settle. He dreams again.

He's alone. There are tons of people everywhere, the frontlines are always crowded. But he's alone. They all pass right by him as though he were a ghost. Gepard starts to walk before he realizes his feet are even moving.

He checks the trashcans in the dead end alley. He checks the supply crates that someone always stacks too high because they don't feel like finding more space for them. He pauses to check the soldiers that march past him, watching their footprints in the snow.

He finally finds Sampo on the rooftop along the northernmost wall, the one that looks out over the plains, towards Everwinter Hill, towards where the Stellaron had once been kept. With a full moon and an entire land of white snow, Gepard can almost see clear out to the horizon.

"Found you." Sampo stiffens, and Gepard is almost prepared for him to sprint off the roof. He doesn't. But he doesn't relax either. Gepard sits down next to him and stares out at the wastelands.

"…I fucked up." It wasn't what Gepard had been expecting. Sampo never 'fucks up,' Sampo just gets into incidents that are entirely, supposedly, not his fault and that he just happens to always be within the vicinity of.

"What did you do now?" It must be really bad if Sampo is coming to the Silvermanes for protection.

Instead, Sampo ignores his question completely. "See out over there? Right on the other side of that mountain. There's a safe house that way. It's hidden under a lot of snow and dead trees, but it's there. And in that safe house is a box full of letters. I need you to deliver those letters for me."

Gepard's brow furrows. It's a weird favor to ask. Sampo would never tell anyone where his hidden safehouses were. It defeated the whole purpose of a hidden safe house.

Something is wrong, something is really really wrong.

Gepard turns back to look at him again and startles, all of his questions dying in his throat, because the entire left side of Sampo's head is suddenly matted down, dark and sticky, his skin is dyed red red red-

"In three more months, there's gonna be something big happening." Gepard grabs Sampo's hand and it feels slick and warm against his palm. "I won't be here. So I need you to do my end of things for me." Gepard tries to keep hold, but something is fading, something is slowing, the sun is coming up but the colors are all wrong, everything feels like encroaching fog, Sampo's hand slides right through his. "I was gonna come back with my mask to finish setting the stage, but…" Gepard makes a frantic grab for Sampo's wrist, the air twists, he comes back empty-handed. "They have you. And you're the Iron Wall of Belobog. So it'll be ok."

Gepard finally manages to find his grip, snatches the front of Sampo's dark wet jacket and yanks him forward to hold onto him, and this close up, he can see it better, his colors are bleaching out, leaking outside the lines as if Sampo will become part of the background, as if he's fading into the strange fog that's been closing in on them. His fingers are already starting to feel empty again.

"Wake up."

Gepard jolts awake, uncurls his hands from where they're fisted in the blanket, scrubs the dampness off his face. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Today is supposed to be the day.

He throws on his civilian clothes, and he goes down to the shipyard the IPC had built. He finds a spot where he can see every person that returns to Belobog, and he waits.

And he waits and he waits and he waits.

No one he recognizes appears.

[theflyingfeeling]

Säynätsalo, 13.6.2024

[frenchfrywrites]

You know once I start I cannot stop myself

MINORS DNI

Warnings: switch male amab reader, switch Leona Kingscholar, drug usage (weed), sex while high, ruined orgasm, premature orgasm, (implied/very light) internalized homophobia, scent kink, slight dehumanization, blowjob, not very canon compliant

very loosely inspired by this, continuation of this fic, thank you to @pulpbeing for giving me the littlest nudge to write this :)

"I think I saw somewhere,” Leona begins as he blows smoke in your direction like the asshole he is, before he passes the blunt back to you, “someone said that the bible says it’s okay to be gay, if you’re high or some shit.”

You’re both on Leona’s bed, tangled in the mess of blankets, and buried in the mountain of pillows that smells like the beastman before you in a way that's intoxicating. The two of you started smoking a bit ago, and it’s just starting to hit right now, which makes it all the more difficult to figure out what the fuck he’s saying to you. You squint at him, like seeing him more clearly will make what he said any more understandable, before giving up and taking another deep hit. 

As you exhale, you notice he’s closer to you than he was before. “Are you even listening to me?” he growls, irritated with you, but not by much. His tail curls into a question-mark like shape. Cute.

“Yeah,” you pause to laugh at nothing in particular. Leona frowns, getting more irritated with you.

“Don’t laugh, I was saying something important,” he huffs. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize, but you can’t stop grinning at him, “I just don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” you end the sentence with another long drag. This time, as you exhale, you reach over and snag a hand around Leona’s waist, tugging him into your lap. He falls into you easily crossing his arms on your chest and laying his head on them as he gazes up at you. 

“Didn’t you stop looking for excuses a while ago?” you ask, passing him the blunt back so you can let your hands wander to Leona’s ass. Instead of addressing you, he takes a hit, then cups your face with his free hand. You get the message and part your lips so he can shotgun it to you. 

“Can I tell you something,” he sighs softly, licking into your mouth just as soon as you exhale the smoke. “I don’t even remember what it is I said to you,” he mumbles against your lips. He sighs out a weak laugh that dies quickly once you press your lips against his. 

Leona moans softly, clutching at your face as he sloppily deepens the kiss, then moans again as you grope at his ass. You can feel his cock harden against your stomach, and your own dick is similarly twitching and filling within your pants. 

He lets you lick into his mouth, lets you suck on his tongue and lips, and whines when he feels your teeth scrape against him. Cottonmouth is no longer an issue with Leona’s drool and spit pooling into your mouth. Yes, of course he’s normally lazy, but when he’s high he’s borderline dead weight, letting you touch him all over while his hands stay grasping onto you for support. It’s like he puts all his energy into not falling asleep, falling over, or drooling on you (things that happen a lot when he’s really stoned), and forgets that he can touch you too. 

“Wait, wait,” he gasps, pulling away from your mouth. Instinctively, you chase after him with a whine, but he stops you by pressing his hand hard against your face. “I said fucking wait, let me put this,” he leans over, delicately putting out the blunt in the ashtray on his bedside table. You’d honestly forgotten entirely about it with Leona in your lap. “Don’t want my bed to fucking catch on fire,” he mutters, then laughs as he readjusts himself on your body. 

He settles so that his cock is pressed nicely against yours, and shoves his nose into your neck. Your hands fly from his ass to his head, scratching behind his ears. He inhales deeply, before letting his tongue lick the skin there, moaning at the taste (smell?) of you.

Leona stays there for a while, or maybe only a few seconds; you’re sinking further and further into your high, losing track of time and space around you. The only thing you’re focused on is the man in your lap. He licks and sucks at your neck, his tail swishing back and forth, purring so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts. In fact, your brain feels foggy and sticky with thoughts, except, you think that the inside of your pants must be far more sticky than your brain is. You laugh at that thought, and Leona unlatches from your skin, glaring at you. 

“Sorry kitty,” you coo. He whines loudly at the pet name, jerking his hips against you. You figure that means he forgives you.

Quickly, his hands are under your shirt tugging it up so he has access to your chest. He pushes your pecs together, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples slowly, like he’s mapping every inch of your skin in his mind.

“They’re not tits,” you remind him, holding your shirt up so he can continue to play with your chest all the same. 

“Yeah,” he grins while squeezing and tugging at them, “they are.” You nearly roll your eyes, but he’s leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth before you get to it. 

“Oh,” you hum softly, more than pleased at the feeling of his tongue and teeth sucking and grazing along your nipples. You try not to think about how many girls' chests he’s littered with bite marks and hickey’s in the past. He’s yours now. 

Leona nuzzles his face against your chest, letting his fingers comb through the hair there. “Did I ever tell you how good you smell?” he asks, looking up at you. 

“Nuh,” you mumble, moaning when he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your pec. He hasn’t told you, but he doesn’t really need to. He doesn’t really do a good job of hiding how aroused he is by your scent.

“You smell,” and now it's his turn to moan, licking his way down from your chest to the waistband of your pants– your pants which are now uncomfortably tight with how hard you are. 

“Let me suck you off?” he asks, voice raw and thick with need. 

“Please,” and with permission granted, Leona pulls your pants down and takes your cock into his hand. You’re too far gone to think about grabbing a condom. Leona doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not like either of you are fucking anyone else these days. 

He kisses the tip sweetly, before descending along your length. Leona’s gotten much better at sucking cock since the first time he gave you head in the locker room. He takes you down his throat with ease, especially in the state he’s in now.

“You’re like a fleshlight,” and you didn’t really mean to say that out loud, but it’s true. When he’s high his throat is perfect for fucking. He’s so relaxed he’ll take anything you give him. Leona moans like a whore, swallowing and sucking around you. He pulls off after a moment, but it seems like it takes every ounce of energy within him to do so. 

“Fuck off, that was so hot,” he groans, stroking your length, “tell me more, keep talking,” he tries to command it, but it's him begging though and through. He's quick to suck you back into his mouth, missing the weight of you on his tongue.

“You’ve gotten so much better at this,” you grind your hips gently against his face as Leona deep throats you. “Learning what makes me feel good, ah, letting me use your mouth. Letting me fuck your ass and your mouth all the same, shit, just like that sweetheart, taking it like the bottom bitch you are.” He gurgles around your length, drooling and moaning as you slowly and shallowly fuck his throat.

“Can’t even imagine you topping, can’t imagine you were doing anything but getting your pretty ass railed,” Leona pulls off for a second time, in a rush, getting drool and pre all along his chin. 

“No, I can,” he protests, “I can fuck you, I can top.” You laugh, loud and hard.

“Yeah right,” Leona bristles, bearing his teeth at you. You hum, a spurt of pre leaking from your tip at the sight of him. “Okay, go get the lube then.” 

It takes longer than usual, both of you moving like you’re stuck in molasses, getting distracted with kissing and touching one another, but finally Leona is seated between your legs, naked and fingers coated with lube. He presses two against your rim and shoves them in roughly, making you gasp. 

“Fuck, start with one, asshole,” you hiss. Leona furrows his brows giving you a confused look. “It’s not a pussy, babe, you gotta be slow with me,” you remind him. He bites his bottom lip, looking apologetic, “just–” you shift slowly but surely adjusting to the intrusion that his fingers make. “Think about how I do it,” he nods at that, slowly moving and working his fingers into your ass. It’s majorly uncomfortable for the first few seconds– or minutes?– but then he wiggles his fingers against your prostate and you sigh, sinking into the bed beneath you. “There we go,” you moan. Leona purrs at the subtle praise, leaning in to press his lips against yours as he slowly works you open. 

“Can you take me soon?” he asks against your lips, doing his best to scissor you open.

“Add another finger, and more lube,” you instruct. He does as he’s told, easing out of you, and lathering his fingers before stuffing you full again. Your cock is leaking and twitching against your stomach, begging to be touched, but you hold off because you want him inside you before you cum. 

He might’ve fingered you for a whole hour, and you wouldn’t have realized. Every moment feels stretched, you feel like you’re drifting, and only the curl of his fingers and the press of his lips against your skin brings you back to what you’re doing. 

“Fuck me,” you finally gasp, squeezing around his fingers. It catches up to you quickly, the wave of your pleasure nearly crescendoing, crashing into an orgasm.  

Leona kisses you slow and deep as he gently pulls his fingers out of your hole once again. You take deep, shuddering breaths, trying to ground yourself, to keep yourself from cumming as he drenches his cock with lube. He presses himself against your entrance, and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close as he pushes into your ass. 

“Oh fuck,” he practically growls, feeling your tight heat squeeze and twitch around him. “Oh my god, hah, you’re so tight,” he whines. You beam at the praise, grinning from ear to ear, and then you’re giggling. Leona ignores your laughter, pressing his face into your neck and inhaling deeply as he sinks inch by blessed inch deeper into you. 

He doesn’t wait much for you to adjust, which is fine because yeah, he probably did finger you for an hour (it felt that way at least).

Leona snaps his hips into you, fucking you hard and deep, it feels like he’s in your stomach, hitting all the right spots, it’s so good you can’t focus too hard on any one sensation, simply bathing in the overwhelming pleasure that you’re feeling. And then it’s over.

Even though you don’t have the best concept of time, you know that was fast. His cum paints your insides, and he rides out his orgasm without care. 

“Sorry,” he moans once his hips still. 

“That was quick,” is what you say instead of “what the fuck” because, what the fuck. He whines, 

“I’m sorry alright?” he huffs, “you just felt too good.” 

You suppose you’ll take the compliment, but you’re a little pissed because you’re hard and denied what you know what would’ve been a killer orgasm. Leona pulls out his flaccid cock, and falls beside you on his stomach, shoving his face into a pillow.

“I’m gonna use you to get off,” you tell him before he can doze off. Leona moans, lifting his ass and wiggling it enticingly. It takes some time to convince your body to follow your brain’s demands, but then you’re pressed up behind him, rubbing your cock against his hole. You squirt lube directly onto his entrance, and show him how to properly prep someone. 

Leona’s back to purring now that you’ve got your fingers deep in his ass. His cock is only half hard, swaying between his legs as he grinds himself against your hand. 

“Fuckin’ needy,” you groan, draping yourself over his body– being careful of his tail– to kiss his neck lovingly. 

“Don’t you wanna cum?” he asks, which definitely translates to “fuck me please,” in whatever tsundere language Leona communicates in. 

“I wanted to cum with you balls deep inside of me,” you complain, pressing your fingers in roughly to punctuate your point. 

“Said I’m sorry,” he growls. You kiss his skin again,

“S’okay baby, I’ll give you another chance when you’re sober,” he mewls at that, clenching around your fingers. “But right now I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you’re fat and full with my cum,” it’s a threat and a promise. Leona arches his back further as your fingers leave him, his hole twitching and clenching around nothing while he waits for you to slather yourself with lube. 

Your name falls from his mouth in a long drawn out moan as you slide inside of him. He purrs loudly, reaching a hand behind himself, blindly reaching for you. You cage him in, sliding an arm around his front so he can cling to you as you start to fuck him deep and slow. 

It’s an honest to god relief to be fucking him. His insides are hot, sticky, and tight around your cock, sending waves of pleasure from your loins to your gut. Being denied an orgasm worked you up more than you’d admitted to yourself, and you can’t stop yourself from increasing the tempo of your thrusts, chasing your pleasure. Leona doesn’t seem to mind.

His moans are punched out of him, all high pitched and wanton, with each time that your cock fucks into him and brushes his prostate. His purring is loud, nearly covering up the wet sounds the lube makes and the sticky skin slapping against skin that comes from each thrust. 

You’re not going to last long, but you will last longer than Leona did inside of you. Reaching your arm lower, you take hold of his fully hard and leaking cock. He keens, jerking himself into your fist.

“Fuh-uck, please, make me cum,” he begs, his voice wrecked and weak. You wonder if you’re starting to come down as you stroke his cock with newfound control over your body. The sloppy, desperate movement of your hips sharpens, and you hit Leona’s prostate dead on with each thrust. His moans border on screams now, and you’re just as close. 

“Cum with me,” you mumble, quiet but you know he’s clinging on to every sound you’re making. He hears you, nodding and fluttering around you. 

A couple more thrusts and you’re thrown over the edge, finally finding the climax that you’d been chasing. Leona follows a millisecond later, dirtying his stomach and the sheets beneath him. You follow through on your promise, pumping his insides with your cum, filling him up. Leona babbles something incoherently, his nails digging into where he’d been holding onto your arm. 

“Shit,” he gasps once you’re both soft and tired to the bone now that the adrenaline has worn off. “Shit,” he drags out the word when you ease out of him slowly, and flop onto the bed next to him. 

“I might fall asleep before you, for once,” you admit, feeling like you’ve run a marathon. Leona snorts, 

“Doubt that,” he says as he rolls over to cuddle into your body. “If you fall asleep, then who’ll clean us up?” he bats his lashes at you, like that’ll work. 

“We’re both just gonna have to be filthy, until one of us can carry the other to the bathroom.” Leona shrugs at your words, 

“S’not gonna be me,” he whispers, closing his eyes as his breathing slows and evens out. 

You know you’ll be the one to care for him, and that doesn’t bother you one bit. And you know he doesn’t mind the drying cum and lube that’s smeared along your bodies as you regain your energy.

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[weidli]

i always forget how much i like tödliche tarnung until i watch it again and then it's like OH fuck right. they go haha we're tatort look here see this dead fella? that's fucked up right. now you see this policeman? the one who's new in town? the one where we still don't know what the fuck his deal is? good good now we have ANOTHER guy (this one sells war for a living) make sure you're keeping track. watch him spot our policeman. watch him forget to smile for a second. watch him trip over the wrong name. you know how our dead guy and our weapons dealer are connected? betrayers always get shot in the back and then through the hand. you know how our policeman and our weapons dealer are connected? one used to trust the other, found out he lies for a living, tried to have him killed for spying, for knowing too much. you know how he tried to have him killed? shot through the heart

[shoechoe]

playing rap/hip-hop for family members who like making fun of your music taste and are that "i hate rap i don't consider it real music" type really spotlights how much they do not know anything about or listen to rap and their "criticisms" for it are a bunch of garbage that they wouldn't say about any other music genre

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: February 25

“Watermelon Crawl” by Tracy Byrd

[barkingangelbaby]

venting so much i ran out of tags lmao

[lonely--seeker]

My mom bought the ugliest ass little freak of a 3D printed alien, just because. It's supposed to be like, one of those phone holder thingies.

[dedeuteros]

OH ALSO I MET THE COOLEST STAR TREK FAN TODAY AT THE BATTLE. shout out to tha trekkies

[haunted-xander]

Family bonding is playing Theatrhythm while my big sister infodumps about the FF14 lore

[universestreasures]

Extension / Spinoff Of This Thread With @shacchou

🎶"Looking up at the sky with you, two bright shining stars call to us. Here we are, standing strong. Shining with our Buddy Lights..."🎶

The gentle and soothing singing voice of his friend was pleasant on the young boy's ears. Never in a million years did he think Tasuku had such a hidden talent, and yet here he is listening to him sing a song from the heart just to try and help him feel better. Then again, the Buddy Police Boy Wonder was good at a lot of things: Buddyfighting, school, investigating; just to name a few. So, him being good at yet another thing shouldn't be too surprising by this point to Mokuba.

He really was just like...Seto, wasn't he?

Drawing those comparisons between Tasuku and his brother was what the young boy had begun to do unconsciously since their initial meeting, but such things slowly became more and more common as he spent more time here. In fact, even now as he sits there listening to the other sing his tune, he can't help but visualize a younger Seto there soothing him instead, despite the fact Mokuba's never heard his brother ever sing before in his life.

Yes, the pre-teen seemed to embody the positive qualities that Mokuba associated with his elder brother from the past: warmth, gentleness, selflessness, compassion, happiness, protectiveness, honesty; all of those things he saw in Tasuku. Perhaps it was those qualities in him that had drawn the younger boy to seek out his help specifically during this time. After all, this entire situation came about because of his own feelings regarding the past, a past he can't seem to stop trying to chase despite promises of a prosperous future.

Such feelings did not change ever since being here. In truth, being around the blue-haired boy just made them stronger, the younger Kaiba feeling a semblance of what was lost the day he and his older brother were adopted. That just spoke though to a simple fact, a fact the boy knew deep down but did not want to admit to himself: that Mokuba had not yet fully accepted in his heart who his brother was today, in spite of their improved relations after Duelist Kingdom.

Mokuba wasn't so naive as to think that neither him or Seto wouldn't change over time. That would be nonsensical, especially considering the circumstances of their lives since becoming Kaiba's. No, what Mokuba couldn't seem to comprehend, and felt frustration and sadness towards, was why his brother was still...well...a stick in the mud, to put it nicely, long after their stepfather was gone.

From his viewpoint, that man was the sole reason for Seto's major shift in demeanor. So why did he have to keep acting so cold and grumpy now? Like he wasn't looking forward to the future he had been preparing for them all this time? The question went unanswered in his mind, no matter how much he tried to come up with an answer.

It had taken Mokuba some time to regain his own true smile after everything that's happened, no part in short thanks to Yugi's crew and his own he managed to make. He wants the same for his brother, to heal past the pain of Gozaboru's tryannny and be able to be as happy as he was prior to it. That selfless desire that seemed so far out of reach was a key part of why he was so hurt. He felt like his brother was just keeping himself miserable needlessly, overworking himself to death and isolating himself from and rejecting anyone who dare try to add some happiness into his life.

He just wanted his brother to be happy again like he was before, to play with games again truly for the fun of it and not in pursuit of revenge or victory. Was that so wrong to wish? To wish his brother could try to start to heal after the suffering they both went through, like Mokuba had?

Clearly, that sentiment was wrong. Otherwise, the elder Kaiba wouldn't have rejected his feelings that night so fiercely. In spite of his good intentions, Mokuba's feelings were burdening his brother, trying to drag him to a place he didn't want to go near for reasons not understood. It's something he's felt since a young age and seen time and time again to the point where he questions whether his inclusion in Seto's life was ever a good thing.

If Mokuba wasn't around, then his brother no doubt would have been adopted quickly and potentially not by a monster like Gozaboru.

If Mokuba wasn't around, his brother wouldn't have had to fight so hard to protect and care for him all the time, to secure a future for them both when securing one for a genius like him alone would have been easier.

If Mokuba wasn't around...perhaps he never would have lost his smile to begin with.

The very thought causes tears to come from his purple eyes, syncing up with the end of Tasuku's sweet song. His breaths came out shaky, unable to stop the floodgates from flowing. Without needing to think, his hands move to clasp the pair of lockets around his neck, as if he would die without doing so.

"Why...? Why?! Why am I such a burden?! Such a bad brother?!"

His voice echoed throughout the small apartment room, his voice portraying the inner pain he felt akin to being kicked in the gutts. Why did he have to follow Gao's advice? Why did he have to speak his mind and say such hurtful things? Why didn't he just let things be as they are despite wanting so much more, like he's done before? Why did he do something that would risk his staying in his brother's life?!

Perhaps taking that risk was why Seto had yet to contact him since he left. Because maybe he felt the same thing Mokuba was starting to think: that he didn't want him to come back. That way, his brother wouldn't have to entertain the younger boy's 'nonsense' anymore, and he could live his life without being reminded of the past he clearly was repulsed by.

Maybe...things were better off this way, after all...

"Mokie Mokuba."

The all-too-familiar voice reaches his ears, and an all-too-familiar touch can be felt on his shoulders. Mokuba opened his teary eyes slowly in response. In front of him, with his vision blurred by the water, he...saw him. He saw his brother, but not the one of the past, but of the present.

Did he come here to see him? Did he come here to take him home? Did he come here because...he still loved him?

"S...eto...?"

"You're not..."

"A burden or a bad brother." The illusion Mokuba's mind had created shattered with Tasuku's next words, as gentle as they were. The young Kaiba was now thrust again into reality, purple hues glancing up at his friend who had been the one speaking the whole time. Seems like his mind and heart were continuing to play tricks on him.

How cruel.

"Listen to me. You've done nothing wrong. It's your brother who has. Don't blame yourself for his mistakes." Mokuba is then pulled into the other's arms, him being comforted by Tasuku's warmth. "Never think you can't express how you're feeling or that it's wrong to feel how you do, no matter who tells you."

The embrace lasted as long as he needed to calm himself. After having cried himself to death, the older kid lets go, gently standing up from his position of sitting next to the boy in order to gently try and guide Mokuba to lie down once again. Once he is set, he watches Tasuku grab the blankets, scattered at the bottom of the bed, and attempts to tuck him back in, not realizing his method of tucking was not to Mokuba's preference (it was too tight). Still, the young Kaiba didn't voice anything to the contrary, for he had lost his voice from all that crying.

"Now, try to get some rest, okay? Gao is coming over tomorrow. He said he wants to have a game of Capsule Monsters with you. I'm sure you two will have a blast." Tasuku then moves to the door's exit, Mokuba glancing over at the soft smile he can see through the light coming from the rest of the apartment. "Sleep well, Mokuba. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to call me or Jack. We're here for you."

The door then closes, leaving Mokuba alone in the room whose only light source was a nightlight Tasuku had gotten for him. He reaches for his Blue-Eyes plush, hugging it tightly for support. It's then he reaches with one of his arms to open his own locket, staring at the picture of Seto inside intensely until he passes out from emotional and physical exhaustion.

[rainbow-sparks]

I saw Jay's playthrough of Sally Face today and it made me remember how much I love this game, so I drew Sal :))!!