#hope this is Okay ! (!!!!! aaaa)

[devotionbled]

((FlickeringPhoenix)) ‘  it’s not murder if they deserved it,  right?  ’ trying to convince her? trying to convince himself?

Growling Suggestion. || Accepting.

It is an odd concept to deserve something.

Altruism and self-sacrifice are curses learned in the halls of the Undying's sanctuary. It is one and the same as murder. Murder is altruism. It is selfless to deliver men, women, children and everything in between to the loving arms of death in immolation. To end suffering, to drench sickness in oil for beckoning death--it is a kind fate.

They always come back, anyway.

That is the belief of the Undying.

A breathless chuckle graces the edges of Jote's lips, hands fluttering from where they rest in her lap. Her gaze is sullen and dull as she mulls over the question. It is not her place to speak; she fears it is an answer that exposes her heart, the decay of it.

But she speaks regardless.

"Your Grace..." brows pull together in a furrow, fingertips lifting to pull stray dark locks behind ears. It is distracting. It is getting close to time to cut her hair off again; long hair means another boon for those she throttles in the Phoenix's protection. "We all come back. They will have their time again. Murder is such a harsh word. It is so final. It is deception to think such a thing; we are reborn again."

[chococrystal]

Made for @ammo0648 's DTIYS !! Congrats !!

[gaydexvocaloid]

new cover!! HAPPY ANNIVERSARY YOHIOLOID!!!!! 🎙️📺

[awake-from-death]

i finished it! i wasn't able to fill out everything as much as i wanted to, because i wasn't allowed to look at everything, and it was basically completely blacked out! but i did my best!

[A folder is presented to @jollyoldjellie and @vanessa-vostokoff]

[open it?]

[tapakah0]

Well...

Okay… I did something… after all… *looks away* I found out my schedule and I'm not very happy, I hope I won't drop out of life so often. Starting from the 1st of september, I will slowly understand what to do with this

Boosty!

Almost like a patreon, but boosty, I understand that it may not be very convenient, but I have no choice *chuckle* The "Little tot" subscription costs a little less than 5 dollars, because I can't put it in dollars and don't want the price to be above the specified if currency will change. The first month will be more like experimental?.. To understand what to show and how to do it, maybe I'll add something else that I will be interested in to do. There are chats and comments, so of course you can shout me in ears if you'd like to see something, I'll think about it XD

I repeat, this is more like a support fund so that I can devote more time to animating, I don’t sell anything except my desire and moving pictures, I don’t call anyone for anything and I want you to be comfortable in my little chaos. Please consider if you really need it and want it *bow*

A little more information in an open post here ;~;

I hope I didn't forget to mention anything, but if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask, I'll try to answer ;~;

[ydbugs]

Trouble Looks Good on You by indelicate on AO3

beautiful beautiful fic! please go read it!

(edit: wait fuck i forgot to link the actual fic hhjdfhjasd here ya go click me!)

[drivelikeiido]

fallen for you

an impulsive matty admits his feelings for you

word count: 1.1k

warnings: just a lil bit of smoking and a lil bt of pining

notes: this is the first time i've written a fic in years so I'M SORRY, not my best by far but all the writing on here inspired me to try and write again <3 also i wanted to write some nervous matty because he needs humbled so here we go (i also wrote this first thing in the morning so even more apologies for my tired brain) oh! and the reader is in the support band for the 1975 because i'm self indulgent in my writing like that

The stars in the sky were all that occupied your mind as you sat outside the venue. The night was a peaceful calm, a refreshing contrast compared to the show your band had just performed on stage opening for the boys. 

However the night's quiet is disrupted as the heavy backdoor to the venue opens from behind and Matty appears to join you, already in his suit and tie ready to go onstage, only if he knew what that look did to scramble your brain every night, it was almost annoying that someone could look so effortlessly good. 

He sits down and pulls out his packet of cigarettes, inhaling deeply as he lights one up and gestures briefly to you if you want one, you silently raise your hand up in refusal, he’s enough for you right now, your legs side by side as you sit on the freezing steps. The brief contact is enough to warm your entire body.

You sit in comfortable silence for minutes, the only sounds are the slow burning of his cigarette and the tapping of his shoes on the dark ground. You appreciate him silently, wondering to yourself how you even got this opportunity and how messy it's become now that you've unfortunately grown to appreciate the frontman of the band you're touring with in a not so platonic way. Grown so accustomed to the silence and the whirling of your thoughts his sudden speech is almost startling, his confession even more so. 

“I’m totally obsessed with you,” 

“I've wanted to kiss you for ages you know,” he adds after a beat. The shock of his confession causes the breath to seem to leave your lungs but you manage to whisper out “and what’s stopping you?”

“Didn’t think you’d want me to” he states, still refusing to make eye contact and looking into the waves of smoke floating up into the air instead. Despite his steady voice you realise he's nervous and the thought alone is enough to make you smile. Seconds pass and the cold evening air no longer seems to faze you as you build up enough confidence to ask what you've wanted for months now. 

“Do it. Kiss me. Please,” your voice barely loud enough, but he seems to hear. 

Despite his nervousness he bites back the teasing comment waiting to spill from the tip of his tongue; that could wait for later, he’d been thinking of this moment for too long to screw it up, and the boys would never let him forget it if he did.

He pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales one last cloud of grey smoke, the addictive smell that you’ve  grown to associate with him fills your chest as he throws the butt to the ground. His rough hands move to cradle your face so gently as if he fears you could pop and dissolve through his fingers at any moment, as if he was scared you would change your mind or even if this was all a dream. 

The kiss surprises you in its gentleness and as you move together you realise this is something you’ll never bore of, the feeling of needing his lips engraved into your skin is dizzying, a sentiment he seems to share as he leans further into the kiss, his hands cradling the sides of your face like lifelines.

When he pulls back, his brown eyes are twinkling brighter than the stars you're under and the purest smile you’ve ever seen him wear graces his lips as he fixes your hair and places any strand moved back to its rightful place. He steps back, takes your cold hand in his and squeezes, his voice low and affectionate when he says “Come see me after the show, yeah?” and with your nod he disappears back inside the venue, leaving your brain to catch up with what just happened.

You’re glad he’s gone inside so he can’t see the seemingly immovable blush that's taken permanent residence on your cheeks, you'd never hear the end of the teasing if he saw that. You stay in the cold of the evening for a little longer, the chill of the air circling you and helping to slow the beating of your heart, the memory of the smell of his smoke and aftershave and how it now seems to cling to your clothes still working to fluster you despite his absence.

As you head back into the halls of the venue you feel the need to confirm that the moment was real, and not just another cruel daydream after months on the road. You take out your phone and text him,

‘i’m obsessed with you too, for the record’

His reply is almost immediate,

‘i know, love’ .

“Cocky prick” you whisper to yourself, his proud reply so Matty it makes you giggle and works to calm any growing concerns you may have had. Shoving the phone into your back pocket you make your way to the greenroom with everyone else to wait while the boys perform, your heart beating that bit faster as the set gets nearer and nearer to the end, “Come see me after the show, yeah?” playing over and over in your head.

Once the show was over and most of the set taken down, your steps are embarrassingly quick as you walk to the back of the venue, once again to the boys' delegated smoking area, already smelling the intoxicating smoke that hung in the air that was undoubtedly coming from him. He turns as you round the corner, his lips raising into a smirk as he throws the burnt out butt to the ground, stamping it with his dress shoes. He waits for you to walk close to him, his eyes never once leaving yours before grabbing out at your shirt and pulling you flush to him, your arms moving to rest on his chest. Despite the chill in the air the heat between your bodies was enough to make your skin blush immediately. His eyes looked down at you mischievously as his fingers toy with your shirt absentmindedly behind your back.

“So you’re obsessed with me, huh?” 

You huff out a laugh and look up to see that smug grin plastered over his beautiful face, his skin glowing and his curls a mess after his performance onstage. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, we don’t need any more to feed your ego” you tease, poking at his forehead and watching as he momentarily closes his eyes at the motion.

His saccharine grin returns, “Too late for that darlin, you’ve confessed your undying obsession with me there’s no getting rid of me now”

You drop your head to his chest, subtly revelling in the affection as his arms wrap around you, enveloping you in comfort, making it impossible to ever imagine leaving them.

“You’re insufferable, you know that,” you laugh and despite your teasing he drops a kiss to your head, 

“Yeah but I’m yours now, and that’s all that matters”

[glitteringstardust]

💚 ☀��� 💚 | ☀️ 💚☀️ | 💚 ☀️ 💚

will solace stimboard

[boxfullaturtles]

Not sure if you're writing specific versions of the turtles for the angst prompts, but would you be able to do 2003 Raph with 19 (beastly) or 32 (begging)?

"Tell me not to." The villain of the week orders--some new chump the Purple Dragons have on their payroll.

Raph grinds his teeth, hands clenched so hard into fists that they're shaking. The bastard's got a gun pressed against Mikey's shell. And while Raph and his brothers are tough, at that range the bullet will punch right through and then Mikey's...

"I already dropped my weapons, ya' dickweed! What more do ya' want!?" Raph snaps, letting his anger coat the terror thudding in his chest. Anger is so much easier to manage than fear.

"I want you to beg me not to shoot him," The guy's got a sneer like he's the one with all the cards. And right now, he is, "Beg me, come on, freak, I wanna hear you plead for his life."

"Raph--" Mikey chokes on whatever stupid joke he was trying to make.

They both know that Raph will do anything for his brothers. Just like any of them would do anything for him. Raph embraces all the violence and rage and bitterness so his brothers don't have to. Raph will take all the hard hits, throw all the worst punches, and do all the dirty work. If it means keeping his brothers' hands clean, he'll take it.

So it doesn't take much effort for him to bite the words out, "Don't shoot him. Don't do it. Just let him go."

"That don't sound like beggin', that sounded like an order..." There's a click of the hammer pulling back and Mikey shivers.

"Please!" Raph shouts, taking a half a step forward, "Please don't! Please, just let him go!"

"Eh, I dunno if you mean it..."

Desperation burns fuel for rage and Raph drops to his knees, "Please don't hurt him! He--he's just a kid! He's my baby brother! I'll do anything!" Everything's spilling out, he's opened a flood gate and it doesn't want to close. His voice cracks and he hates it but he can't stop, "Take me instead! Let him go and take me! Please!"

"No, Raph!"

"You wanna take the bullet for your pal?"

Raph's breath hitches and his chest is shuddering. He meets Mikey's gaze and Mikey is begging him not to do this. But Leo's always going on about responsibility and Raph is responsible for getting them in this mess. It's his burden to bear.

"Yes," He breathes and has to force his lungs to work louder, "Yes, shoot me instead. Let him go and shoot me instead! I--I can take it!" Pride means nothing in the face of potentially losing a brother, "Please! PLEASE!"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." The chump moves pretty fast for a human. Between one blink and the next, Raph sees the barrel of the gun aimed at him.

Then there's that ear-splitting BANG and agony punches him in the chest, sending him toppling backwards. His ears are ringing but he can still hear Mikey's distant scream. The floor is spinning, the pain blistering over his other senses until he's just a throbbing beat of suffering. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so bad. There's a flower of hurt blooming just below his collarbone, right above his plastron, and it's digging its roots deep into his chest cavity, filling him up until he can't hardly breathe.

"Raph! RAPH! RAPHIE, PLEASE!" Distantly there are familiar hands on him and Mikey's voice screeching from under a film of muddy water, "Please say something! Raph, please! Don't--don't leave me here, bro..."

His vision swims in and out of focus, darkening at the edges, and Raph squints up at Mikey's tearful face. Aw shit, he's made Mikey cry. Leo's going to lecture him for that one.

"'S 'kay, Mike..." Fuck, it's so hard to talk. Raph is nothing but a vessel of pain, pain, pain and pain doesn't have a language, "You s-safe...?"

"R-Raphie, you're bleeding...! I--I dunno what to do! Don's not--no, no, shit, please, please, Raphie, please!"

"M' t-tellin' Leo that you s-swore..." Raph wheezes and lets his eyes close because it's way too hard to keep them open.

Mikey makes a disgusting sound, all gummed up and choked like he's the one who can't breathe. There's water dripping on Raph's face, making him twitch. Did it start raining? Crap, they should get home before it starts to downpour. They were outside, right? Things are becoming slippery. Raph is sinking into a sea of fiery agony.

"M-Mikey?"

"Yeah, yeah, Raphie, I'm right here! I'm right here!"

"...you safe?"

Mikey sobs and Raph feels his baby brother press their forehead's together, "Y-yeah, I...I'm okay, Raph, I'm safe. I promise I'm safe. But--but you gotta be safe too, okay! You gotta stay here! You gotta stay safe and--and you can't go anywhere!"

"M'kay..." Raph mumbles. There's a screech like tires from beyond the veil of pain he's draped in, doors slamming, voice calling, "'M here...stayin' here...I...I'll..."

He wants to say he'll always be here. Because somebody's got to take all the hits that he won't ever let his brothers feel.

But he doesn't manage to get the words out before the roots of the flower in his chest squeeze the last of the air from his lungs. He sinks all the way to the bottom of the pain-filled trench and lets the sea wash him away into darkness.

[merakiui]

Love sick jade is just so !!! He definitely screams in his pillow cause he made you laugh

He’s literally so in love with you!!!! T_T just look at him!! This is an eel whose heart has been pierced by Cupid’s arrow. He’s so,,,,, lovestruck.

[archonofdivinity]

FUCK RESULTS DAY IS COMING UP

[oddberryshortcake]

Still not off of my Diasomnia kick, so I’m gonna point out something I noticed in Chapter 7 part 4 that I didn’t realize surprised me until I read it over again. 

So, when Silver is explaining his issues to MC, he mentions that not only did Lilia take him to multiple doctors/healing mages, but that if Silver’s sleeping issue was cured, Lilia’s worries would disappear. 

The Lilia we know in the present is characteristically easygoing and unbothered by most things. 

Given what we knew, I almost expected Lilia to accept Silver’s issues for what they were and at least keep up appearances that they weren’t a big deal and Silver can function just fine.

But it’s very clear now that Lilia is worried about Silver. 

He plays the role of being lax and chill very well, not making a big deal about it, but he’s clearly concerned deep down. When he took him to those doctors, he was searching for a cure. Silver has probably caught him fretting or whispering his worries to Malleus when he thinks Silver isn’t listening. 

Silver’s wellbeing is what brought bits and pieces of the real Lilia out of his dream self. The moment Silver is in danger, his body willed itself to protect him. 

This confirmation of a strong familial bond + the added detail that this child’s health and safety is extremely important to Lilia unravels a lot of interesting future developments and angst galore. 

Because I can’t help but wonder, how did Lilia trust Malleus to be around Silver? When Silver is so clearly a more fragile human and Malleus is a powerful fae with the tendency to accidentally destroy things out of anger. How could that trust then be broken in chapter 7?

How much of Silver becoming a guard is meant to protect him rather than Malleus, with Malleus clearly leagues more powerful than Silver and Silver suffering from a condition that makes him vulnerable and possibly causes him to get himself hurt. 

It’s still not clear if Lilia is in the dark about Silver’s condition or he’s desperately searching for a way to help him because he knows what’s wrong, but that amount of care and concern that’s hidden underneath his quirky persona makes me so hungry to see more of their interactions. 

Silver said it best himself

[its-a-full-galaxy]

@alootus liked this for a starter!

Darius stood on a balcony, gazing out at the scenery before him. The building he stood in nearly touched the Coruscant sky, towering with its brothers over the busy bridge streets and air traffic below. It was all so familiar and yet so different. Buildings still towered, streets were still darkened below, and the world was still humming with the life of a planet-wide city.

Yet it was still different, untouched and untainted by the Empire that hadn't been born yet. It was a Republic here, no palaces, no Emperors, no Stormtroopers marching down the roads, aliens and humans still milling about together without the prejudice that forced them into Invis Sec...

He glanced back when he heard the door to his borrowed quarters open and turned to see who'd come in. If he hadn't known Lady Lavinia Heraldy was still only a child now, he might've mistaken the young woman for her, though Senator Amidala's hair was much darker than his childhood friend's.

In a move befitting a Videre more than a Mandalorian, Darius bowed as he addressed the young woman. "Senator Amidala," he greeted and straightened. "It's good to meet you."

[daryascurse]

𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧

Jean Kirstein x Reader

for @the12thnightproject's reverse ask game ~ thank you so much for inviting us all to participate! prompt: Three of Hearts - Friends to Lovers

pov : second person, nongendered reader; post-timeskip Attack on Titan ☆ rating and tags: SFW: rated PG-13 for alcohol, some cursing, and implied mature situations, referenced JeanKasa, referenced EreMika, hurt/ comfort, friends to lovers, a little angst, a little fluff ☆ word count: ~2k ☆

“At the bar. Is that him?”

“It is.”

“Are you gonna – ”

“No.”

You pinch your index finger knuckles between your thumbs and crack, wincing less at the pain and more at the awkward turn the conversation took once Jean Kirstein walked into the tavern.

“Well, why wouldn’t you – ”

“No,” you say again, moving on to crack your middle fingers. In this moment, you desperately regret telling your friend about what happened with Jean in that last conversation. You regret it more than what actually happened. But then you exhale a hard, hot breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. That’s a lie.

His back is to you, the shadow of his muscles rippling with the motion of his shirt as he lifts his hand to speak to the bartender. Even across the floor his voice whisks up to the rafters. His order punctuates with a laugh that echoes through the crowd. That laugh is hard to miss.

Especially when you’ve missed it for so long.

“But it’s nice to see him in a good mood again,” your friend says softly.

“It is.”

“Not that anyone could blame him or Connie – ”

“No, never,” you say. But that’s not what you had meant in your initial murmur of agreement, even if the public moments of Jean’s jovial, biting sass had become few and far between. What you really missed were the times when those laughs and shining eyes were directed only to you.

Is that selfish?

“Oh, shit,” your friend swears, and the cacophony of clattered glasses seems to swell.

“You alright?”

You adjust your seat, the crunch under your feet answering the question as you ask it.

“No, I dropped my beer. Dammit. All over my shirt.”

“Go ahead and clean yourself up. I’ll order us another round.”

It had been an automatic offer both made and accepted half-distracted. Otherwise an objection would have been raised by one of you. But as you push through the thinning crowd towards the bar, uncertainty burns through you. He’s leaning against the counter with a boot up on the barstool’s footrest, spinning a stein between his broad palms. And if you had the fortitude, you would listen to that doubt and slip to the left, to the right, rather than walk up beside him with feet guided by naïve intuition.

“Two pints, please,” you say and fish out the coins.

Jean hears you. He kicks his foot down to the dusty straw-slewed floor, pulling the stool back to close the distance between your bodies. One of those strong arms presses into yours as you lean on the bartop with tightly clasped hands. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, stranger,” you say, and immediately close your eyes in a silent wince.

Jean laughs. It rings strong and clear, and no waft of alcohol pushes through the air to your nose. His arm brushes against yours as glass groans and grates on wood, and he spins his untouched beer again.

Even when you open your eyes down to the stained counter, you can’t bring yourself to turn to him. A shyness swallows you. Standing so close like this is too much like the last time he touched your arm. The last time you’d seen him alone, where you stood with bated breath to hear his response to your words - but I love you.

“I need to know,” Jean had said just before that, holding you tightly by the elbow.

His grip hadn't hurt, but the warmth of his touch was unbearable.

“Know what? I’ve said everything, haven’t I, Jean?” The tone had come more bitter than you'd wanted it to. “You already know. What else is there?”

“I need to know that you don’t…” He'd paused, chewing over his words. “That you’re okay.”

You were unable to meet his eyes as you lied, “I am.”

“That’s a lie,” Jean said, ever able to know.

At least he had said it gently, but the softness was almost worse. It was too easy to hear other words fall into that tone, to fill in these terrible sentences with the memories of how he’d spoken to you that way. “Come here,” that silky murmur coming late at night to exchange gossip in whispers. “Have some more,” wheedled gently over another biscuit, another cup of tea poured from his calloused hands. “Trust me,” whispered with his face to yours.

And what he must whisper to her instead, her ears tilted up and hands clutching that worn scarf.

That's when you had said the words.

He had then said, terribly gently, “I love her. I’ve always loved her. I’m sorry.”

You had been doing so good with being okay.

“How’s life?” Jean asks now, and he speaks so normally, so bright and jaunty, forcing the memories of those placid moments back down your throat. You swallow through the lump.

“Things are great. Really good. How about you?”

Jean sighs through his nose, a sharp snort like what you’ve heard in the stables. “It’s good,” he says the same way you did. You swallow again.

“How go things with the great love of your life?” you ask, and finally find it in you to look up at him. The sway of his arm stays against yours as you turn, shoulder bending into the dip of a firm bicep. He’s gotten stronger since you were last friends.

And he’s gotten more handsome. The stubble brushing the underside of his jaw, right where your lips used to caress and whisper “good night” wrapped against his chest in a secretly non-platonic hug, has grown just slightly longer. It shadows his face, his cheekbones prominent above, the thrum of his neck with each heartbeat beating below the pointed collar of his shirt. He reaches up, undoing another button, and blinks slowly. His eyelashes are long, his gaze unfocused.

“Your drinks,” the bartender grumbles, slamming the two glasses down before you. It goes ignored.

Jean tilts his head to the side before shaking it.

“Well. I…”

He pauses, looks down at his hands, and finally looks back at you. His eyes glimmer, dark grey in the dim light. He laughs again, this one sounding more forced.

“I wasn’t the love of her life. Figured that out for myself, hmmm.”

You can’t keep eye contact. You look down at the frothing amber glasses before you. “Hard to compete with that,” you say.

You can relate.

Jean makes a humored sound. “I guess it’s hard to know,” he says, and you tilt your chin back up to him.

“Know what?” you say and remember tasting those words before.

He draws his brows together, and you wonder if he too remembers that so clearly, as clearly as you do.

“Love,” he says at last.

The breath hurts coming out of your lungs. The bar swells around you, and your fingers find the condensed handles of the beer stein, curling around the cold glass like an anchor. “I don’t think we should be having this conversation,” you say quietly.

Jean turns into the bar, angling his body into yours as he towers over you. “Why not?”

You shake your head, turning the beer faster in your hands. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

You know he's not.

“That’s what drunk people say.”

“I’m not,” Jean says, with an earnest edge in his voice. “Trust me. You and I have always been – you and I were always honest with each other.”

“Because I did trust you. And you broke my heart.” You take the glasses in your hands, remembering the reason for coming to the bar, remembering the resolve you’d clung to for so long and that sustained you until now. “It’s been a while, Jean. I don’t even know what’s going on with you.”

You meant the words as a farewell, after already saying too much, but Jean’s hand clasps on your shoulder as you turn to walk back to your table.

“A lot of shit has been going on,” he says dryly. “But come on. You can’t tell me that you don’t remember it. Us.”

When you take a first faltering step, his hand trails down to the small of your back. The touch is so instantly familiar, overpowering as it sends a shudder clear down your body. You briefly close your eyes and exhale shakily through your nose as your heart shudders. Something burns, higher than your heart and deeper than your stomach, some weird feeling of sweet pain and hopeless desire.

Yearning. That’s the word.

At the table across the crowd, your friend watches with narrowed eyes and a satisfied smile, returned from the washroom and pleased at the show. You roll your eyes.

His hand trails away. The lantern lights shift as Jean steps in front of you, casting a large shadow.

“You have to know,” Jean says. “You have to, you know I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Can we not talk about this here?”

“Then can we go outside?”

You shake your head, unable to say what you want – yes.

“Fine. Then can I say one last thing? And can we talk seriously later?”

Jean doesn’t take a step closer to you. The beer steins, clutched in front of your body like a shield, are in his way. But he must have leaned in, because now he’s so close, he’s so close, with the crow’s feet beginning to deepen his smiles above you. His lips press together and throat bobs as he struggles to hold back a landslide of words. His shoulders square, chest rising with his breaths, and there he just is. Jean takes up your sight, consuming your whole world before you, and if you closed your eyes you’d be back there –

Back lying together in the dead hours of morning under a threadbare sheet where two drunk friends had just fallen asleep and just happened to wake up with parched throats at dawn. Your fingers had knit, either consciously or subconsciously, through the shag of his hair as he sighed with warm, hungover breath. In the crook of his arm, his muscles were soft and relaxed, a pillow for your head as his legs turn into yours, kicking you fully awake.

“Leave me alone, I’m asleep,” he’d said with eyes closed, twitching lips betraying his amusement.

You’d kicked him back, and his arms tightened, pulling you so close into him, right where your bodies fit perfectly –

The memories don’t swallow that easily when they come again and again and again.

“Listen,” Jean says before you, and you have to hold the beer so tightly your fingernails bite into your palms to keep you grounded in this moment.

Daydreaming does no good. You’ve learned that. But this is real.

“I took you for granted, and for that I am sorry. I will always be sorry.”

He speaks again in that soft voice, and your vision begins to blur. His hand, so warm, traces down to the small of your back once more, and this time you lean back into it.

“So what do you want?” you ask, the words thick and – once more, betraying your emotions – pleading.

“One chance. One more chance.”

He’s smiling, that much you can make out through your vision clouded with those threatening tears, and you can hear it in his voice. When you blink, the tears prick at your eyes, but sure enough Jean is smiling at you. This beloved smile gone so long, that takes you back to the nights, to those mornings, to every memory between. These crow’s feet are deeper, the stubble rougher, but here he is again, your Jean.

Over his shoulder, your friend nods with clasped hands.

You feel your face break into a smile in turn, and fix your eyes back on Jean.

Your Jean.

He smiles, knowing your answer before you give it, even as you begin to nod.

“Can we start tonight?”

You blink again, and the tears fall through your nodding motions. Jean squints at you, his brows beginning to draw together again, a sardonic teasing frown that you recognize. It’s familiar. All of him is familiar.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” he asks, his voice rising again as he reaches to take the glasses from your desperate hands. He turns the heavy handles with ease in one palm.

“I’m not,” you say with a laugh, letting him take them from you, and taking a step back at last to your table. It feels like your first real laugh in - in weeks, in months.

With his free hand, he takes yours, and squeezes.

Fin.

[timidblues]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ @thebigshotman ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛- What a predicament she had been faced with...to be alone, scared and injured in a place she didn't even know existed. She hadn't even have the time to understand what was happening to her before she'd been sucked into this strange world, and now, here she was― all by herself in a decrepit, dark and lonely back alley, crying to herself. Though...even if her cries were sad, scared― desperate, it remained so...quiet and weak. If someone didn't pay attention, they probably wouldn't even have noticed her weeping, except from the faint tears that were running down her pretty face and staining her round glasses that were threatening to fall off her nose. Curled up and trembling, she allowed herself to express this moment of weakness, since she didn't see anyone passing by here and assumed she was alone. Or so she thought... As soon as the long haired blonde started hearing what sounded like footsteps― her subtle sobs stopped and her body froze, starting to wipe her face dry of her tears and attempting to look normal, even if the way she was huddled against the wall would give it away. She just wanted to spare herself some embarrassment...

[lanternlightss]

wait shut up shut up siffrin has the option to ask loop if they could just stay here for a little bit no one touch me siffrin finding semblance of comfort in loop’s presence they just want to rest im