#i really enjoy how the irregular floor seems to want to break the pattern of everything being an obvious 16x16 grid

[claire-starsword]

Galam Castle bg from Shining Force Gaiden - Final Conflict.

[kissjane]

JUST A HOOKUP / Short fic

#17 from this prompt list

Which one of you anons wanted David pinning Matteo to the wall?

“I think I’m in love with you.”

It’s been like this forever. They go out together, and after a few beers, David disappears amongst the masses on the dance floor, while Matteo hides away in the darkest corner of the room, trying to watch David without being creepy. It lasts until somebody inevitably approaches David, and David smiles widely at whoever it is, his eyes sparkly. They then dance together for a while – a few minutes, an hour – it doesn’t matter, because Matteo knows the end game. Week after week David leaves the dance floor with somebody pretty and confident and experienced – exactly like Matteo isn’t – and comes back with his hair mussed, his clothes disarranged, his eyes flushed and his lips swollen and red. And then they go home, and David will ask Matteo if he had a good time, and Matteo will say yes, and David will ask him if he will dance with David next week, and Matteo will shrug, and ask David if he had fun, and David will wink. And when they reach the flat share – David always walks Matteo home, never the other way around – they will bump fists and with a cheery wave and a “Good night” David will be off, leaving Matteo to suffer in silence. Matteo will lay awake for hours thinking about what David did this time in the bathroom, or against the wall, or in the broom closet, or wherever he took this week’s hook up.

Matteo is well used to the pattern by now, and he has also learned to ignore Jonas, who will at some point bring him a beer, and lean against the wall next to him, and sigh deeply.

“I know I say this every fucking time, bro, but just tell him already. Or stay home next time. You don’t enjoy parties, and even you are not masochistic enough to torture yourself like this every fucking week.”

Matteo accepts the beer with a small nod, but otherwise ignores Jonas. He delivers some variation to this general spiel every week, anyway. He should know by now Matteo won’t listen.

But apparently, Jonas has had enough of their ritual, because suddenly Abdi and Carlos show up, and the three of them force Matteo to move. They push and pull, and he is no match against the three of them, so he lets them maneuver him to the dancefloor, right next to David. He can absolutely refuse to play along, though, so when they urge him in low voices to dance, he just stands there, not moving, rooted to the ground.

But David has other ideas, it seems.

“Matteo!”, he exclaims giddily. “Finally you have come to dance with me!”

And he grabs Matteo by the waist and pulls him against his body, undulating in cadence with the heavy beat that pulsates through the club.

Matteo knows he needs to get away from this, before his body gets ideas about being this close to David, but David is strong, and he doesn’t let go. All Matteo can do is will himself to remain calm, to not react to the way David is pushing his hips against Matteo’s, or the way he tangles his hand in Matteo’s hair.

He desperately tries to signal Jonas to save him before he embarrasses himself, but the traitor just shrugs, and ignores Matteo’s pleading eyes.

So he keeps reciting irregular Spanish verbs in his head, to keep his attention away from the way David has turned Matteo around in his arms, and is now full-on grinding against Matteo’s ass, his hands low on Matteo’s hipbones. If Jonas thought watching David from the corner was torture, he doesn’t know how to describe this. This is so much worse. The only remotely positive part about this is that nobody else comes up to David, and David doesn’t vanish with a stranger.

Matteo loses track of time, trying not to concentrate on David’s body, his fingers on Matteo’s skin, his breath in his ear as he whispers something Matteo doesn’t quite understand.

“What?”, he stupidly says, turning his head slightly, and then regretting it when he realizes how close David’s face is, how dark his eyes.

David stares for a long heartbeat at Matteo, and then tugs at his hand. His lips form some words, and Matteo thinks David is asking him to come along, so he does. He will do whatever David wants. There’s nothing new there.

And then, before Matteo’s brain has had time to catch up, David has pushed him against the wall, and has pressed his full length against Matteo, and is kissing him with abandon.

Matteo’s rational thoughts short-circuit, and he kisses back, immediately hot and bothered, opening his mouth for David, and spreading his legs when David moves one knee in between them, and pushes against Matteo firmly. Matteo cannot keep himself from reacting any longer, and he feels himself harden. He knows David must be able to feel it, but David doesn’t recoil in disgust, but instead presses even closer, as if he wants to crawl inside Matteo.

Matteo has no idea how long they are kissing, but when David pulls back and groans Matteo’s name, suddenly his brain starts functioning again.

David looks exactly like all those times he came back from some make-out session – and Matteo’s heart breaks. With a surge of strength he didn’t know he possessed, he pushes David away, and when David, surprised by Matteo’s actions, stumbles backwards, Matteo bolts.

He runs as quickly as he can, knowing David is faster, but hoping David will just go back to the dancefloor.

But his hope is proven idle, when he hears David call out his name, and his footsteps approaching.

Panting, breathless, both from the sprint and from the kiss, Matteo stops and waits for David to catch up.

“What was that about?”, David demands, not out of breath at all. “Why did you take off like that?”

Matteo doesn’t know how to feel. He is embarrassed about his reaction to David, and suddenly he feels nothing but anger – at David, for kissing him like that, at Jonas, for putting Matteo in this situation, and mostly at himself, for being in love with his friend, who he knows is out of reach.

So in his anguish, he lashes out.

“Why wouldn’t I? You got your heavy petting for the week. We always leave after you got some, so why would this week be any different?”

And David’s eyes narrow at Matteo’s cynical words, and his face hardens. Slowly, but deliberately, he steps closer towards Matteo, and Matteo helplessly retreats, until he feels a wall in his back, and David closes him in with two arms next to his shoulders.

“Who says I was done with this week’s heavy petting?”, he sneers, emphasizing the words, and he presses his lips to Matteo’s again, hard and bruising. And Matteo, at first, reacts – opens his mouth, pushes his hips towards David, arches his back to rest his head against the wall – but then it all becomes too much and with a sob, he pushes against David’s chest.

“Stop,” he cries, “stop, stop, David, stop, please…”

David, who at first moved his lips towards Matteo’s neck to suck at the tender skin there, suddenly stops, and his whole demeanor changes. His face turns worried, his hands cradle Matteo’s face with care, and his voice is soft when he speaks.

“Sorry… sorry, Matteo… I shouldn’t have… But I just wanted you so badly…”

Matteo is crying now, tears and snot running over his face, and David pulls him into a hug, and at first, Matteo wants to step back, but then he gives in to the familiar comfort, and leans his head on David’s shoulder. They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, and when the sobs stop racking through Matteo’s body, David speaks again.

“I am so, so sorry, Matteo… Please, forgive me… I won’t ever try anything like that again. I know it’s no excuse, but I just wanted to kiss you so much, and I thought you were into it too…”

“I was,” Matteo whispers, vulnerable, but deciding he needs to be honest. He might lose his friend, but after what happened just now, he doesn’t know if they can ever be the same unless he finally confesses.

“I was, David, but I – I don’t wanna be one of your dirty hookups…”

David blusters at Matteo’s words, ready to defend himself.

“There is nothing wrong with hooking up with people, Matteo!”, he retorts, sounding upset. “You’re – it’s like you’re implying I’m acting like some sort of monster. It’s not dirty. I don’t take advantage of them, or whatever you might think!”

Matteo shakes his head violently.

“No… No, that’s not it. It’s just that – Well, I don’t know about those others, but I – I don’t want that – I don’t want just some grinding against a wall…”

David immediately sounds remorseful again.

“Yeah, I realize that now. I should have asked permission first, Matteo, I’m sorry. I just… I thought…”

He seems at a loss for words, and Matteo holds on to this strange mix of vulnerability and courage coursing through him.

“I know. And you were right… I mean, I was into it, I guess… I just – I – It would kill me to do this with you now and then watch you do it with somebody else again next week. I hate watching you with other people.”

David remains very still, and Matteo fears he has ruined their friendship.

“Why – why?”, he finally asks, on a trembling breath.

“Because I – I think I am in love with you,” Matteo says, equally unsteady, his voice so low he is not sure David can hear him.

Neither of them moves, or speaks, and it seems like time stopped, until a car honks somewhere in the distance, and they both are shaken out of their turmoil thoughts.

“Do you know why I hook up with somebody else every time we go out?”, David suddenly says, his voice almost loud in the silent night.

Matteo shakes his head, unsure where this is going, wondering if David hasn’t heard his confession, or is just ignoring it.

“Because I didn’t think the person I really want to kiss wanted me.”

Matteo swallows, and tries to say something, but no sound comes out.

“But now… Now I think maybe he does.”

Matteo stares at David, and David stares back.

“Matteo… If I promise it’s not just a hookup, if I promise I will kiss you again next time, and the next, and every day in between… If I promise I will never even look at anybody else… Will you please let me kiss you again?”

Matteo cannot do anything but nod dumbly. But when David smiles, and steps closer, and backs Matteo against the wall for the third time, he feels his heart speed up and he closes his eyes. Maybe – just maybe, this is how it’ll be forever, from now on.

[thepetulantpen]

Pirates/Dancing

(Struggling against some writing block this week, but here’s some fjolly shenanigans for day 3 of @mollymauklivesfest !)

Molly has done a lot of inexplicably stupid things with the Mighty Nein, but this is probably the stupidest.

I mean, seriously, how does one accidentally steal a boat?

Nonetheless, he’s thankful that their stupidity has at least brought him closer to the ocean. It’s fascinating to look out across the horizon and just see water for miles and miles and miles. He’s seen oceans on maps and he obviously knows what they are, in theory, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the scale.

There’s just no end.

Hoping to get an even better view of the infinite water, he scrambles up the ropes on the mast, swinging and grabbing handholds with no regard for the risk of falling. Even when he stumbles, slipping out of footholds and forcing his arms to bear his weight, he easily recovers and it only makes the process more fun, more challenging.

He’s grateful that everyone is too busy dealing with the repercussions of their impulsivity to nag him about being more careful. Without other people fussing, he can just enjoy the thrill and the satisfaction of being able to confidently rely on his own strength and dexterity. It makes him feel alive, acutely aware of every movement he makes.

From this high up, he can see the whole deck full of the panicking Mighty Nein. Nott is drinking, Jester is casting Mending on scorch marks, and Caduceus is recovering from his brush with death while Beau and Yasha are trying and failing to help Fjord control the ship.

Oh, Fjord. He looks so stressed as he dashes from disaster to disaster that Molly feels bad for not trying to help, but he thinks he’d only make it worse with his lack of experience. He’s been in a boat... twice? And neither of them even had sails.

No, it’s best for Molly to just stay up on his perch and watch the sea. The waves are his favorite part, rising and falling in an irregular pattern like a song with a consistent beat but a chorus that wavers in volume and passion. They move as the ocean breathes, a slow heartbeat that never stutters, up and down and up and down. Some rise higher above others but they all fall just the same, crashing back to become one with a larger body.

It’s a beautiful thing to be a part of. Despite being such a small drop in a large ocean, Molly feels bigger here, like one important wave in the movement of something impossibly large.

Everything about the ocean seems impossible, the waves, the animals, the plants, the salt (he had to taste it for himself, even when Yasha told him not to, and discovered it really is as salty as people say it is. He’d always thought Gustav had been messing with him when he told him about the ocean- why is it salty anyway?) and the sea floor.

Walking in the shallows of the beach had been an experience, feeling it change from carpets of seashells to patches of slimy seaweed and being startled by sudden shifts in depth. It really is a whole other world down there, with its own mountains and valleys. They just can’t see it through the darkness and sand and salt.

The underwater world only shows them hints of its landscape, mere shadows of things just below the surface, like the jagged silhouette of a rocky reef just ahead of them—

Oh, shit.

“Captain!”

Molly swings to another rope, positioning himself over Fjord on the deck. At the shout, Fjord looks up, tired and resigned to hear about yet another disaster. He watches, dumbfounded, as Molly secures his right hand and foot in the rope and lets it hold his weight so he can lean over the deck and gesture to the reef they’re rapidly approaching.

“Rough waters ahead of us!”

Fjord turns around in a hurry and does something with the wheel and something with the masts- boat stuff, Molly can’t really keep track- then they’re doing a bit of a dramatic turn, as dramatic as these slow, giant boats get, and they’ve safely made it around their obstacle.

“Thanks!” Fjord turns to give Molly a thumbs up and then, inevitably, frowns, “What’re you doing up there?”

“Amusing myself!”

As if to demonstrate, Molly does a complicated thing that involves shifting his weight and wrapping his foot in the rope- acrobat stuff, Fjord can’t really keep track- then he’s hanging upside down by the one foot and waving his arms as if to say “look- no hands!”

In spite of all efforts to suppress it, Fjord smiles, shaking his head at Molly’s shenanigans. He hopes they live long enough for him to see Molly do even more ridiculous things.

“That’s mighty impressive, but it’ll be even more impressive if you could keep a lookout as you do it.”

Still upside down, Molly straightens and does a stiff salute.

“Aye, Captain!”

Fjord rubs a hand over his face. It’s going to be a long night.

...

Late night turns into early morning and Fjord just about collapses when he hears Molly shout “Land!”

Thank the gods.

It’s the smallest, shittiest island he’s ever seen but it’s a place to anchor the damn boat and a place to sleep, so it’s good enough. He honestly can’t believe he managed to sail the thing by himself all the way here, but he suspects it has something to do with pure luck and merciful waters.

They’ll have to sail back and get a cheap crew (anything is better than the Mighty Nein alone on a boat) but just the thought of sailing back makes him shudder so he opts instead to add it to the long, ever-growing list of bridges he’ll cross when he gets to them.

He stumbles off the boat in a daze, finds a spot next to the island’s single tree, and sleeps through the whole day, not caring if he’ll fuck up his sleep cycle.

When he wakes, it’s to the sensation of Molly poking him in the face and the sound of a fire crackling, which makes him sit up immediately, nearly knocking heads with Molly.

It’s just Caduceus, cooking over a campfire.

“Wake up, Cad is making crab for everybody.”

Given what he knows about Caduceus, particularly that he lived in a landlocked forest and that he doesn’t eat meat, Fjord is prepared to encounter some extremely questionable crab. Molly doesn’t seem to have the same reservations, immediately diving into the meat placed in front of him, ecstatic to taste something so new.

Fjord admires his wonder for the world, a welcome reminder to enjoy the little things he never realized he takes for granted. The crab isn’t that bad, all things considered, and Caduceus promises to heal them if it accidentally ends up poisoning them.

As the campfire dies, and everyone begins settling down in the sand to sleep, Molly and Fjord are the only ones left awake. There’s no watches, since they’re on the only land for miles, and everyone is trying to prepare themselves for the journey ahead.

Molly pokes at the fire absently, pondering something. Fjord shifts a little closer, sitting next to him on the sand.

“What sorts of things do people do at the beach?”

“Uh,” Fjord blinks once, unsure how to answer that, “Lots of things. Swimming, tanning, making sandcastles, collecting shells.”

“And at night?”

“Bonfires, parties, I guess. I was never much for the nightlife.”

Molly hums, then smiles, the mischievous one Fjord knows means trouble.

“Do they dance?”

“Dance?”

“On the beach. Do they dance?”

Molly stands and offers Fjord a hand. He takes it, having learned it’s best to go with the flow, especially when it comes to Molly.

“I suppose they might.”

They step a few paces away from the campfire and Molly takes position as the lead in a traditional dance, leaving Fjord to follow him.

Molly, for the record, does not know how to dance and is making it up as he goes along, which means Fjord has to become very skilled in improvisation or trip over his feet. He does the latter. Many, many times.

It’s fun anyway.

Their feet slide against the sand, cool in the night air. It’s a slightly shifting, dynamic dance floor and Molly is loving it, breaking off from Fjord to do his own thing and dance to the music in his head. He spins, shuffles, shakes- whatever he feels like, unaware of or indifferent to how it looks.

“C’mon Fjord, you’ve got to have some signature moves you can show me.”

Fjord shakes his head. “No, I... I’m not the dancing type, I’m afraid.”

“No need to be afraid, no one’s watching. And besides,” Molly slides over, leans in close, and whispers, “we’re pirates now. We can do whatever we want.”

“We’re not pirates.”

“Aye, Captain. Best to keep our cover. Arrr.”

Molly winks, grin bright and impossible to argue with. Fjord rolls his eyes and shakes his head, knowing he won’t sway Molly.

“What else would you like to do, on the beach?”

“Well,” Molly has gone back to dancing like nobody’s watching, twirling and experimenting with movement in the sand, “since we’re pirates, and totally above the law, we can do anything, hm?”

Fjord nods cautiously, unsure what Molly means to do, and Molly grins wildly back at him, teeth reflecting the moonlight. It’s then that Fjord realizes how late it is, looking up at the pitch black sky, full moon hanging over head, and stars twinkling out of the abyss. The rest of the group is asleep and so is the world.

Fjord should be sleeping too but he’s wide awake, either from his midday nap or sight of Molly stripping off his clothes and running off towards the ocean for a midnight dip.

Maybe it’s the dubious crab that makes Fjord follow him, taking off his armor and shoes.

Molly dips his toes in the water then yanks them back, looking up at Fjord.

“It’s cold!” He laughs, delighted, somehow, just from that, and steps into the water, watching the ripples around his feet.

“Yeah, it... it does that.”

Molly smiles at Fjord and then looks back out at the water with a sigh, wild smile softening into something more... wistful.

“It’s beautiful.”

Molly stares out at the water, wishing he could capture the sight of the moon’s wavering reflection on the dark water and carry it with him in his pocket. Fjord stares at Molly, the moonlight washing over his face and giving him an ethereal shine.

“Sure is.”

Molly snickers, wise to Fjord’s gaze without even looking. Fjord would say he’s glad for the darkness hiding his blush, but he’s sure Molly can sense that too. Not much gets past him, not when it comes to Fjord.

Molly looks back at Fjord, eyes traveling once over his body then landing on his face, eyes serious but mouth twisted in a smirk.

“I wish I could see what it’s like underneath. I’m sure it’s stunning.”

Fjord’s mind stalls for a second, eyes darting downward to Molly’s bare body and Fjord’s clothes, then Molly tilts his head toward the ocean and he realizes he’s been had.

“Ah, well,” Fjord bites his lip, feeling the sting of his growing tusks, and considers whether this is wise, “I think I could help with that.”

“Oh?” Molly bats his eyelashes, exaggeratedly flirtatious in normal circumstances that do not already include his naked body.

Anytime Fjord considers casting a spell, it’s a shot in the dark, based on impulse and hope that it’ll do what he intends it to. He has no idea what he’s doing most of the time, especially when he’s standing in the ocean with Molly in the middle of the night, after they’ve stolen a boat.

So, he’s started following the lead of other people who seem more put together than him and, believe it or not, even amnesiac, ex-cultist Molly has a better grip on this arcane thing than Fjord. He has reason to believe that Molly would absolutely take the risk and waste this spell. So he does.

“This’ll let us breathe underwater. Come on, I’ll swim us out.”

It’s not long until they’re deep enough to submerge themselves, the island has a rather sudden drop off, and it’s a fairly pleasant swim because, although he learned how to swim yesterday, Molly is a fast learner and does everything with confidence, not an ounce of rational fear in his body.

Fjord realizes he should’ve brought something to weigh them down but Molly doesn’t bother commiserating over lack of preparation, just dives under and finds a handhold on the rock holding up the island, a sort of underwater clifface. He anchors himself like he would in an acrobatic act, as if the force of the water is the same as gravity and wind resistance.

Molly is nothing like Fjord, who always feels like a fish out of water in this group. He makes every new environment his home, adapts as if he’s had all the experience in the world instead of a few short years worth.

“I don’t know how all this is so easy for you. We’re on an island in the middle of the ocean, on the run from the crownsguard, and you’re as relaxed as you always are, ready to take a swim as if nothin is wrong.”

Molly laughs and waves a hand through the water, observing and experimenting with movement underwater. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re nearly as impulsive as me, the perfect partner in crime.”

“But that’s just impulse. You’re,” Fjord shifts, readjusting his awkward hold on the rock, “adaptable. Anything you start, you can finish.”

“And you’re the same. The only thing you’re missing is confidence.”

“Confidence or competence?”

“It’s the same isn’t it? If you act like you know what you’re doing then, for all intents and purposes, you know what you’re doing. Besides,” he smirks at Fjord and moves closer, face inches away and hand cupping Fjord’s cheek, “all this is coming from the man who sailed a boat all by himself yesterday. You were more competent than all the rest of us put together.”

“It was luck, really—“

Molly closes the gap and kisses him. Fjord shuts his eyes and feels the currents of the water gently shift around them, their hair flying in a slow motion halo around their heads. Underwater, it feels like being the center of the universe and completely hidden away all at once. The stars of their own show, with no audience in the stands.

Molly smiles against Fjord’s mouth. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“What, kiss underwater?” He pulls back enough to look Molly in the eyes, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “How long have you wanted that?”

“Well, when I saw the ocean I wanted to get in it, then when I was in it I wanted to go under it, then once I was under it I wanted to kiss you. So ever since the idea popped into my head, which was a few minutes ago.”

“Right. So, ten minutes is your idea of ‘always’?”

“Ten minutes is a long time, dear. That’s a whole Identification spell and you know how agonizing it is to wait for that.”

Fjord laughs and smiles, always happy to just be near Molly and talk, whether it’s ridiculous or serious (though, it’s usually both). In a quiet moment, they both turn to stare up at the surface of the water, seeing the moonlight meet them in weakened, interrupted shafts. Molly was right about it being beautiful, even from down here in what seems like a whole new world.

“Should we head back? The others will be wondering where we are.”

Molly nods slowly, still staring, as Fjord was, up at the moonlight.

“I suppose I can check ‘midnight skinny dip’ off my bucket list,” he holds onto Fjord as they swim back to the surface, and mutters, under his breath, “That one goes out to you, Moonweaver.”

[jbankai89]

Never Let Me Go [39/41]

A/N: Next update scheduled for May 3rd, aka my birthday ^.^

All the italic segments in this chapter will cover Otabek's experiences. These scenes will contain Electroconvulsive Therapy, torture, violence, starvation, sleep deprivation, disassociation, infanticide-related hallucinations, gory hallucinations, abuse, and some gross things that I'm not totally sure how to categorize. If you wish to skip over it all, just avoid the italics.

Chapter Thirty-Eight – Otabek's Tale

The floor of the police car rumbled. It vibrated so hard that Otabek thought that he was being transported over uneven road or a bed of rocks, but after a moment, he realized that it was not the car trembling, but him.

Otabek stared ahead. His fear was so acute that though he was aware that the policemen were speaking, he could understand none of the words. They were oddly muffled, as though he was hearing them from behind a thick pane of glass.

Yuri was gone.

Yuri was pregnant.

Yuri had betrayed him.

The three thoughts did not aid in calming him, and he felt his eyes sting at the thought of it. It was true, as Otabek had always suspected—Yuri had never loved him, and only used him as needed to keep himself safe.

Otabek blinked. Tears leaked from his eyes and streaked his cheeks. He heard the policemen laugh, but he ignored it as he allowed the tears to drip from his chin and into his lap. He felt as though he was traversing the road to Hell, and nothing helped to calm him or bring him peace. Everything he had ever done was a selfish act; everyone he had ever loved had either left him or never loved him in return.

Sheshe, Otabek thought miserably, I wish I knew what to do.

The police car stopped in front of a grey, rectangular building, with bars on its windows. It was surrounded by a thick fence made of brick walls, and it was topped with curls of barbed wire. The interior of the landscape was strewn with bodies and splatters of blood staining the snow. Some of the figures were moving feebly, others were still and screaming, while the rest were black—frozen and dead, left to rot in the harsh elements of Russian winter.

Otabek was dragged from the cab of the car, and though he could hear the tone of the police officers' voices as they spoke scathingly to him, the words refused to register, and he would not answer them.

Angry and disgusted, they shoved Otabek to the ground. The alpha grunted with pain as his chin bit into the asphalt, hard enough that he felt the skin break, and a thin rivulet of blood trickled from the small wound and down his throat, before it soaked into his shirt.

Dragged to his feet again, Otabek was frogmarched to the door, where he was transferred to the care of a thick, heavyset man, visibly strong despite his girth, with a bald head and small, beady eyes.

Otabek was shunted into a locked cell with thick bars over the window and door. Once inside, he was forced out of his clothes. It was only then that Otabek realized that the inside of the building was almost as bitingly cold as the outside, and as he looked around the cell, the gravity of his situation began to hit him.

Nothing.

Save for a pail in the corner, Otabek had no bed, no blankets, and the floor was made of ice-cold concrete.

What is going to happen to me? Otabek wondered as he rubbed his hands up and down his arms, and gazed out of the barred door of the cell. One year in this place...will I even survive it? Do I have any reason to?

Otabek had no answer, and shifted back to the farthest corner of the cell, the move reminding him chillingly of the only time he had beaten Yuri in punishment, and he felt a sick sense of bitter irony wash over him. Yuri had been so scared—terrified—during that encounter, and now he was getting his just rewards. Otabek sank down into the spot, buried his face in his knees, and tried to forget Yuri Plisetsky.

 Days passed. Otabek was given no food or water, and his stomach ached in protest. His lips were cracked, and the inside of his mouth was sticky and uncomfortable. Swallowing was difficult, and his head spun from the lack of nutrients.

On the fifth day, he was given a bottle of water. As desperate as he was, he chugged half of it down too quickly, and threw it all back up again into his bucket. The second half he took much more slowly, but his stomach still ached and protested the sudden intake, and Otabek struggled to keep it down.

No food. Otabek began to try and not look at himself as his body fat and muscle seemed to dissolve, and after twenty days of no contact—save for the occasional bottle of water or scant bite of food—he began to wonder if they would simply allow him to starve to death.

“Time for your education to begin,” a scathing voice said, jerking him from a fitful sleep the very next morning, exactly three weeks into his incarceration.

Otabek was marched still naked and shivering down a narrow hallway. He was too weak to fight even if he wanted to, and felt a wave of panic nearly overwhelm him as he was led into The Room.

A wooden chair sat in the centre. Steel cuffs upon the arms and legs of the chair were affixed to curls of wire, and there was a steel dome set upon the top like a hat. More wires with suction cups dangled from the wall, and upon a table there were a row of dowels, all marked with deep tooth marks in the pale wood.

Electroconvulsive Therapy.

“No,” Otabek croaked, and tried to back up, but the man at his back merely laughed and shoved him forward.

“You seem to be under the misapprehension that you have a choice, Mr Altin,” the man sneered. “You don't. A lowly omega deprogrammed you, and it is our job to fix that crass mistake. When you leave here—”

The man broke off, and laughed.

“Or, should I say, if you leave here, you will be a better, stronger alpha, and more than capable of taking an omega, and keeping him firmly in his place.”

“And my child?” Otabek rasped shakily, “my omega—Y-Yuri, he was pregnant, I—ah!”

Otabek crumpled to the ground as the man hit him across the face. His cheek ached, and he looked up at the man as he wiped off the hand he'd used to hit Otabek with with a handkerchief, as though Otabek was carrying some sort of contagious disease.

“You have no child, and no omega,” the man snapped. “You shall never see that beastly omega ever again.”

 ~*~

 The electricity of the chair was not designed to kill, only to hurt—but excruciatingly so.

The dowel in Otabek's mouth muffled his screams. His body was frozen by the electricity as choked cries escaped him from a blinding pain that he had never previously known. During his sessions, he tried to remember how much electricity the body could take before the heart gave out, but he could never remember. His skin was pink and smoking when he was finally freed, and he always had to be carried back to his cell at the end of it.

His feedings were sparse and irregular. He could discover no pattern, beyond the fact that they were meant to keep him feeble of mind and body. They were small, barely a mouthful at first, and gradually they went up to a roll of bread every couple of days, fed only when it became impossible for Otabek to stay conscious without some form of sustenance.

 “Today we're going to have fun, fun, fun!” chirped his guard in a terrifyingly chipper voice one day, though Otabek had no idea when it was—the days had all begun to bleed together, and Otabek was no longer able to pick one out of the din. “It's a movie day, isn't that exciting? And, on top of it, we got you a front row seat. It's called, A Good Alpha.”

“Somehow, I doubt this film is one I'm supposed to enjoy,” Otabek rasped as he dragged himself across the floor, far too weak to stand on his own. “I think I'll pass.”

“Now, now, we've discussed your backtalk. If you keep it up, you'll have to be punished again. Is that what you want?”

Otabek fell silent.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” he sneered. “You're too weak to withstand multiple beatings, and we don't want you to keel over on us. So if you keep it up, I have a really nice punishment in mind for you.”

“I can take it, do your fucking worst,” Otabek snarled, though his voice was so soft and whispery that it did not sound very threatening.

“If you wish,” the man said with a high giggle and clapped his hands twice. “Vladimir! Dmitri! Punishment Number Fifty-Three for Mister Mouthy Tough Guy.”

“Oh, another one, eh?” chortled one of them as they sidled into view. Otabek had anticipated another guard, and he felt a cold chill run through him as a doctor and nurse stepped up to his cell. “Shall we do it here, or would you rather we do it in the examination room?”

“I shall have one of the guards help you move him,” he said, “there will not be enough space in the cell once he starts thrashing around.”

“Oh, yes, stitching a mouth shut certainly gets messy...”

Otabek froze, and his guard smirked when he spotted the reaction out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, did we not tell you?” he asked sweetly, “that's the punishment. You wanted our worst, well congratulations, we're giving it to you.”

 With the two guards bracketing him, Otabek was dragged screaming and thrashing out of his cell, down the hall, and up two flights of stairs to the infirmary. A number of the beds were already filled with alphas recovering from burns, severe frostbite, and a number of broken limbs, but there was one empty bed at the end that there were dragging him towards remorselessly as he continued to cry out.

The guards all but threw him down onto the cot, one holding his wrists, the other his ankles as he was strapped down onto it. Otabek struggled, but in between his weakened limbs and the strength of his captors, he could do little more than scream as the nurse grabbed his head and jammed a needle into the space around his mouth, numbing his lips.

“Can't feel...I can't feel...” he mumbled, his words clumsy and slurred.

“Of course not, idiot,” the doctor scoffed as he stepped up to him, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves as he went. “Wouldn't want you to faint, now would we? This is supposed to be a punishment, after all, and it is not very punishing if you're unconscious for it.”

“No...” Otabek moaned as he watched the doctor thread a thick suture needle and bring it close to his face.

“Now, hold still,” the doctor said, “if it tears, this will take twice as long, and I don't want that local anaesthetic to wear off...”

Otabek stared at the ceiling with tears streaming down his cheeks. He could feel no pain, but he could feel the faint tug of the thread as his mouth was steadily sealed. He tried to move it experimentally, but half of it would not open, and that fact sent a horrifying chill through him. Otabek began to hyperventilate while the doctor and guards laughed merrily, and soon, he couldn't open his mouth at all.

“All right,” the doctor said abruptly, “gas him.”

Before Otabek was able to react, a mask was placed over his nose, as well as his bloody, sealed mouth. He blacked out, and when he woke again there was a capped tube jutting from the base of his throat, surrounded by thick suture thread—a feeding tube inserted into his throat, and he could feel it go all the way down into his stomach. Otabek buried his face in his hands, and let out a muffled scream.

 The months progressed with a new torture every day. His mouth remained stitched shut, and it took what felt like ages to heal. He was fed through the tube, tiny portions of some sort of liquefied meal and water, which made his breath taste like the inedible parts of a chicken. It made him feel sick, but he couldn't vomit it up—he'd lost the number of times he fought his own gag reflex to keep the vile meals down.

He was shown the video after he'd acclimated to his sealed mouth. Special dull hooks, like paperclips, were slipped under both lids of his eyes, forcing them to stay open, with an eye-drop apparatus above it, misting his eyes periodically to keep them from drying out. The video in question was nothing short of horrific.

Not unlike the fifties-style American how-to videos, it showed graphic images of an alpha beating and raping his own omega, with an upbeat narration paired with every action.

“This is Kyev,” the narrator said, “he is The Good Alpha. Kyev rules his household, and keeps his omega in line...”

“Here we see the omega acting out. Shame on him! Kyev knows what to do, and punishes his omega accordingly for not preparing the evening meal correctly...”

“And once a month, the omega goes into heat. Here is the naughty omega resisting the advances of Kyev, but Kyev knows what to do! Tying down an omega is an easy way to stop his pesky struggling, and shows the omega that the easiest thing to do is just give in. It is more pleasurable for everyone involved...”

Foolishly, Otabek thought that if he just shut down, it would help him to cope with everything that was happening. His mind descended into a dark void, and he stopped listening to the film. When he brought his mind back to the present, it wasn't by choice, but by painful cold. He was outside, still naked, his skin red and blue from laying in the snow.

His pained cries were muffled, and he blacked out again. When he woke, he was back in his cell, his skin red, but thankfully, all his limbs were still attached. He disassociated again.

His disassociation was not looked on kindly by the educators and guards. He was ripped from his peaceful dark by any means necessary—beatings, whippings, cutting, boiling water thrown on him, food restriction, and at last—sleep restriction.

The sleep restriction, while technically painless, was the worst. His yawns tugged at his mouth sutures and made them bleed. Every time he started to nod off he was beaten into wakefulness, and felt sick and dizzy from the lack of rest. Dark shapes floated into his vision, making him scream inside, still unable to vocalize the horrors of what he was seeing—visions of Yuri with no eyes, Yuri with his stomach cut open, and a bloody infantile corpse in his bloody arms. Vacant, dead faces of his friends and family, every horror imaginable brought before his sleepless eyes.

When he was to be moved, Otabek was convinced that the vision of Georgi was simply another illusion. He was like a messenger of death, and Otabek welcomed it.

Except, it wasn't death. It was a doctor—a real doctor. He mended Otabek's wounds, he carefully removed the tube from his throat and sealed the hole. He snipped the mouth sutures away and cleaned the wounds, on the cusp of infectious, they'd barely caught it in time. Otabek's various wounds and broken bones were tended to, and under the doctor's care, he was taken care of day and night, until he was deemed healthy enough to travel, and brought to the airport where his friends were waiting.

 ~*~

 “You know the rest,” Otabek said dully, while Yuri stared up at him with wide eyes, his mouth dropped open in horror. Otabek would not look at him, and instead kept his eyes down in shame. His shoulders were slumped, and he was picking at a loose thread on the blanket, his entire form tense, as though he was bracing himself for something.

He's bracing himself for me to leave him, Yuri realized as he gazed at his alpha. In the dark, it was difficult to see all of Otabek, but Yuri had seen him enough times in recent months to know that he had many new scars, and knowing where they came from made Yuri ache with sadness.

Yuri reached for his alpha, his hand skating over the back of Otabek's arm lightly, and though he jumped at the sudden contact, he did not pull away.

“I love you, Beka,” Yuri murmured as he trailed his fingers down the alpha's arm to his hand, and threaded their fingers together. “Knowing what you went through...I can't help but be in awe of you; you're so strong for enduring that and coming out the other side of it in one piece. You've been here for our daughter, and for me, and now it's my turn to be here for you. You don't have to carry this all on your own, not anymore. Thank you for telling me.”

Yuri leant in to kiss him on the forehead, and felt his alpha trembling like a leaf. Like he'd done so many times with Alvinia, Yuri pulled Otabek close and pressed the alpha's head to his shoulder. He rocked Otabek slowly, and a choking sob slipped past his mate's lips. Yuri rubbed his back, hushing him gently while Otabek clutched onto Yuri and wept.

“It's all right, my alpha,” Yuri murmured as Otabek continued to cry and clutched to him desperately, as though he was afraid that Yuri might suddenly disappear. “You have been strong for long enough. I'm here, I love you—I will always love you. Just let it all out.”

Otabek wept, holding tightly to Yuri as all the pain, all the anguish, and all the trauma was leached from his body like poison from a wound. Yuri held onto him, rubbing his back and rocking him like a child while he tried to process everything that Otabek had told him. It was even worse than he could have imagined, even knowing beforehand all of the tortures that Otabek had been exhibited to, it could not have prepared him for the horrifying truths of what Otabek had endured for the sin of treating an omega like a human being, instead of chattel.

The alpha was quick to exhaust himself, and once he seemed to have finished crying, Yuri eased him to his feet, walked him back into the house, up the stairs, and into their bedroom. Once inside, he helped Otabek change into his pyjamas before putting him to bed, then returned to the back deck to retrieve the blanket and baby monitor and extinguish the candle, just as the first few drops of rain tickled his nose and began to paint dark spots upon the wad of warm fabric in his arms.

Yuri made it back inside just as the rush of heavy rain began to fall, while the sky rumbled with thunder and flashes of sheet lightning, which, amazingly, did not disturb Alvinia—if the silence on the other end of the monitor was anything to go by.

The omega headed upstairs in silence, Minami and Phichit having apparently gone to bed, and amidst the soft rush of summer rain and rumbles of thunder, his mate and his daughter slept on peacefully.

Yuri draped the blanket over Otabek, and smiled as the alpha let out a soft sigh of contentment as he rolled over, hugging the blanket like a treasured childhood toy. Yuri smiled at the sight, and reached out to brush his fingers across Otabek's forehead before he leant in to kiss him gently, and finally changed out of his own clothes and into his pyjamas before he joined his mate, curling up and smiling more broadly as Otabek hugged him close, the demons of the past finally abandoning their host, and it seemed as though Otabek was finally beginning to forgive himself for enduring such a horrible ordeal.

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NLMG Masterpost

[dierwolves]

bran stark; together

request: can you write some bran stark x reader fluff? something like where they’re just lying together and stealing lil kisses and admitting how happy they are together?

 notes: I dunno if this is okay??? But I really love bran so I hope I made him justice xxx

 “Y/N!” You turned when you heard Sansa Stark’s voice call your name. She walked swiftly towards you. She had probably just finished supper.

“Lady Sansa.” You curtsied politely to the Lady of Winterfell. You had grown up in the castle while your mother worked as a maid. As she got old and you turned into a grown woman, you took over her job.

“Could you please prepare a room? One on the first floor, if possible.”

You nodded your head, but you couldn’t not ask. “May I know for who is the room, my lady?”

She smiled sweetly at you. “It’s for Bran, Y/N. He’s back home.”

Your hands fell over her mouth. As a child, you had been the closest to Bran, Arya and Rickon. You were always the closest to Bran ,though. Running around together through Winterfell. Back then, you didn’t understand of titles, nobility or smallfolk, so your friendship was fine.

“So, Sansa and Joffrey are going to get married?”

You nodded your head. You were hiding in one of the towers, looking at people pass by, when you saw Sansa and Joffrey walk together. In front of the royal family, your mother had suggested you stayed away from the Starks, but Bran had found you anyway.

“Do you think I’ll have to leave Winterfell when I get married, Y/N? I wouldn’t want that.”

You shook your head this time. “You are a boy, Bran. It’s girls who move to their husbands castles.”

He nodded, but soon enough he turned to you with a worried expression. “But you’ll have to leave Winterfell then, right? You can’t leave me, Y/N!”

You sighed and shrugged. “If my mother decides that, I’ll have to. But I don’t want to leave you either, Bran.”

You both sat quietly, until his eyes lit up with some idea. “We could get married, Y/N! That way we’ll stay in Winterfell forever.”

You nodded your head vigorously. “We could do that! Although we have to wait till we are older.”

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “It doesn’t matter. I know I already love you.”

You beamed at him and he grinned back. “I love you too, Bran.”

You shook your head, making sure the furs were well tucked in the bed and the pillows fluffed. Your flattering heart and irregular breathing was the only thing you could hear till the door opened. He was there, sitting on a wheelchair being pushed by Sansa. He was covered in furs. He had grown up –just like you– and he seemed lost in his thoughts. You went to launch yourself at him, although you hesitated, as Lady Sansa was still in the room. She nodded at you understanding and left the room. The moment the door closed your arms were wrapped around him. He held your waist with one hand while he petted your head with the other, trying to sooth you. You hadn’t noticed the tears that had started streaming down your face.

“Don’t cry, Y/N. We are both home now. Like we wanted.” He was whispering, trying not to startle you more than you already were, but his words only made you spill more tears. After a few minutes you stood up, dried your tear-stained cheeks and unwrinkled your dress. He was watching you all the time with a small smile on his face. You were about to start crying again, but he spoke to you first. “Would you mind helping me get in my bed?” You shook your head assertively and you did so, meanwhile remembering the few days after he woke up from his terrible fall.

“You are going to be alright Bran, you’ll see.”

“But I can’t walk now, Y/N! I’m just a burden.”

You moved your head from side to side. “Don’t say that Bran. I’ll always be your friend. And your parents and your siblings still love you very much. And Summer too.”

He smiled slightly at this. “Do you still love me, Y/N?” He was hidden under more than a couple of furred blankets that reached his chin, but you could imagine the blush covering his cheeks.

You nodded your head. “Of course I do. You’ll see, when I’m older I’ll be very strong so I can carry you around. That way we’ll always be together!”

This seemed to cheer him up, as you could see his eyes wrinkling with a smile.

He was lying on the bed. Eyes closed and breathing still, but you could notice he was awake. You had known him long enough to know. “Would you care to join me, Y/N? I just… don’t want to be alone.”

You just nodded and helped yourself into the bed. He needn’t justify himself. You had shared a bed as kids, when the summer storms would make the sky roar and you could only hide under the blankets.

You knocked on Bran Stark’s door, and opened quietly, although it cracked anyway.

“What took you so long?”

“My mother was watching my door. I had to sneak under her nose.” You crawled under the blankets and he swiftly grabbed your hand. As soon as a lightening illuminated the sky, his hand tightened around yours and his breathing fastened. You got closer to him and wrapped your arm around his chest, and kissed him on his temple, the same way you had seen Lady Catelyn do with his two youngest sons. You caressed his arm soothingly while he laid his head on your chest. “Do not worry, Bran. Not even the strongest lightening can break through the walls of Winterfell.”

He nodded sleepily, as his eyes had started to become heavy. You closed your eyes too, keeping your arm protectively around your best friend, and neither of you saw Catelyn Stark watching from the door with a soft smile on her face.

You sighed. Here you were, years later, with your head resting upon Bran’s chest. Your mothers weren’t with you anymore to scold you for your mischievous behaviour. In the little time you have been with Bran, you had seen how the light of his eyes had seemed to disappear. But he wasn’t the only one. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, a pair of sunken eyes that you could barely recognise as your own looked back at you. You could see how your face had become sour, with a permanent scowl and frown on your face, always watchful of your surroundings during the continuous times of war.  You tried to separate yourself from him so you can properly see his face, but his arms tightened around you, not wanting you to move.

“I’m glad that you’re back, Bran.”

He kissed you lightly on your head, while he draws random patterns on your back. “I’m glad to be here. I missed you.”

You raised your head slightly, and smirked at him. “I’m sure with all your adventures you barely had time to miss me.”

He huffed. He pecked you on the nose. He seemed to get closer to your lips, but looked at you dubiously, so you got closer to him and your lips met. When you separated his head rested against the pillow, his eyes closed and a content sigh leaving his mouth. You bite your lip, seeing him so relaxed. You start peppering kissed around his face, making him giggle at your affection display. “I missed you every day since you left. I thought of how you always made me feel safe. Of how you always had an answer to all of my questions. I’ve always considered you the smartest out of both of us, Y/N. Every time we were in danger I thought of how you’d probably find a way to get us out of trouble. The first time I had a... vision, or the first time I got into Summer’s head, I wanted to go and tell you. You were the first person I wanted to tell. And then I realised you weren’t there... it made me so sad.”

You pursed your lips, overwhelmed with emotions, trying to hold your tears. So many years apart, you had barely forgotten what it was like to have Bran by your side. The feeling of wholeness and happiness it gave you. You kissed him again, desperate for the contact you had been missing while he was away. “So... should I worry about some wildling girl you met on your trip beyond the Wall?”

His eyes widened, but he relaxed when he saw your teasing grin. “I’ve just told you how much I missed you and that’s all you have to say?” You giggled and pinched him on the cheeks, knowing how much it annoyed him being treated like a child.

“You’re avoiding the question, Bran.”

“Of course I haven’t. I had no time for that. And even if I had, I’ve only ever loved you.”

You nodded, although you had guessed so. None of you had been able to rest while you were away from each other.

“I love you too Bran. I was so scared, thinking you might have died... I got terrible nightmares almost every night since you went away.”

He cooed at you, trying to keep your tears at bay. “It doesn’t matter; we are together now, like we always planned. It doesn’t matter what happens, we always find each other.”

You hummed. You rested in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. His hand run through your hair, and soon you noticed his shaking hands and his unstable breathing. “Hey, are you okay, Bran? What’s wrong?”

“I’m just... scared. What I’ve seen. What is coming our way. I wish we could be together during more peaceful times.

You shift on the bed, moving aside so you are the one lying on your back. You pat on your chest, and he does rest his head upon your chest. You surround him with your arms, like you used to do when you were children, and hold him tight against yourself, hoping that after so many years it still had the same calming effect.

“You just said it, Bran. It doesn’t matter. We stay together Bran. Like we always do.”

[namjoonchronicles]

Torches - [BTS] Boyfie!Namjoon Au

[A/N] Writing about my bias as a boyfriend/husband? Lovely tol.

He walked in as quietly as he could, trying not to wake you up. Don’t her neck hurt from sleeping like that? Look at her burying her face in the books. That’s my girl.

Why is this room so bright when she’s sleeping? Should I dim the light? Would she hate that? Did she plan to continue studying whenever she comes awake?

Namjoon shakes his head, looking at your state. Notes everywhere, even on the floor of your study room. The curtains are left open to let you know whether it’s day or night. You hardly leave the room. He didn’t remember if you’ve eaten or not. You better not be living on coffee alone.

He spoke too soon. There’s two unwashed mugs. One is empty, the other is half-filled. “She’s gonna have migraine at this rate.” He commented, picking up all the notes from the floor, carefully arranging it in his hands. “Isn’t this too much.” He was complaining on his own. Namjoon was very worried. He knew that you were desperate, but he didn’t know that you’d go to great lengths. Not eating, barely sleeping, not leaving the house. It a downright, highway to self-destruction, if he’d put it out honestly.

“Harness the great.” One of the notes you wrote. “I have to stay awake.” You wrote at the bottom of the second paper. “This is not studying. This is killing yourself.” Namjoon pinches the paper and held them up. The laptop has shut down on its own due to inactivity, and your paper bin is full of crumpled notes. Namjoon took them out for you, tying the plastic bag and placed a fresh and new set of bin for you to use.

Does she have enough pens to use? What is this laying around? A coffee candy? Seriously. Can someone die from caffeine overdose? Yes. It happens from over acceleration of heart beat, a tachycardia. A medical conditions where the heart has irregular heart patterns if tested on ECG.

What 7 years in medical school could teach Namjoon. It’s his only day off, and the hospital granted him another day because he asked for it. As one of the most aspiring surgeon, and one of the youngest, the hospital would grant him pretty much everything. Namjoon is a humble, intelligent doctor who happens to be a boyfriend to a struggling has-been student. But he believed in you more than anyone else. Even if you shake him, break him, push him, he always returns. He wore his heart on the sleeves when it comes to you. Love is an investment, anyways. Whether it becomes profitable or a huge failure, Namjoon is prepared for both. But for now, Namjoon wants to love you. His heart chose you.

Examination is in three months. It explains the mess. You’re doing the all-out session for yourself. Going back to college-entrance exams is difficult enough. You were the oldest in the bunch and by the time you’d be doing your degree, you’d be a grandma, metaphorically speaking.

You think Namjoon hasn’t talk you out of it? It was all Namjoon ever did.

Don’t have to do the degree. I’ll work, you stay home. I’ll make the money. You spend it.

But this was never about the money, was it? No. You had potentials only you could see. And after awhile, Namjoon starts to see it too. So he made you pursue your dreams. Time is just an illusion. “Just don’t go running to your younger classmates.” Namjoon warned. And you’ve been faithful. It’s very nice to have Namjoon around, a very understanding boyfriend, someone you could have fun with, who is up for cuddles at any given time of the day. Namjoon himself a smart young men, who would never understand the struggle of a mediocre class such as yourself. Namjoon looks at you and sighed inwardly, putting one knee on the floor, as he cleans up the mess you were in. “I really hope you’re not tormenting yourself.” He prayed.

His random humming finally stirred you awake in your chair and you slapped your hand to the back of your neck, easing the constant strains on them. The muscles felt sore and very stiff. Blinking your eyes a few times, you caught Namjoon standing up, turning the chair you sat in to face him. “Morning.” You mewled, hugging his arm, and nuzzling your face to his soft knitted grey sweater. It’s warm and fuzzy just like he is. “It’s actually 6pm. In the evening.” He corrected you. “What?” You were dazed. He fetches your phone from the desk and showed you the time, 6.30pm. Shit. You had to cover three chapters today. You did two yesterday, how many more left?

You started to fake cry, “...I was supposed to study chapter 3 today and now look at the time. It’s all done now, I’m finished. Now the schedules is in shreds…”

Namjoon brought your head to his stomach and rubbed it gently. “No it’s not. You need to take a break, you’ve been studying continuously, your brains needs a break.” You clawed his shirt, tugging it, “I don’t need a break I need a degree.” You cried. Namjoon sighed and backed away from you. “Remember when I tell you that, when you stress level is here,” he puts his hand on the level of his chest, “I will take you on a spontaneous vacation?”

You nodded as an answer. “Well, it’s up to here now,” Namjoon makes a bomb motion with both his hands, “...I don’t think a vacation is going to save us. We need to leave this country.” Namjoon said, in a serious tone and you bursted laughing. He tends to be over-dramatic with these things and it’s just so funny, the way he makes them, out of this world. But that’s why you love him. He makes things that seemed important, to look petty. Getting a degree is important. Studying is important. But nothing is more important than mental health. And that was something you have been struggling with, for awhile. Mental health of a student. You absorbed knowledge like a sponge but it doesn’t stay for long.

That’s why repetition is important for you.

Namjoon carries you out of the room. “The moon, the sun and the stars misses you, so you’re going to go and say hi to them.” He places your feet on the balcony and you almost fell after not walking for far too long. You glued yourself to the chair for so long, stepping was difficult. Namjoon held your arm to balance you as you approached the rail. “I want to buy groceries.” You suddenly say. And Namjoon beamed a proud smile. “We’re not eating instant noodles today.” You fisted the air, jumping, skipping on your way down the alley, much to Namjoon’s happiness. Seeing you joyfully enjoying life is feeding his soul. It’s been awhile since I saw that smile.

Making your way to the nearest convenient store, you were at awe at everything. Has this moon been this bright? Has it been this many stars all along? And when you caught Namjoon’s face shone by his cell phone screen, you smiled appreciatively. Namjoon is just texting Taehyung about how he can’t attend the dinner tonight because he had something to do. “I’m so in love with your beautiful soul.” You whispered. Namjoon perked his eyebrow, catching some of his attentions on you but wasn’t quick enough to decipher the words you just said. “What? You said something, honey?” He asked, tapping close on all the tabs of his phone. Without saying anything else, Namjoon took your wrist and loosely held your palm, lacing his fingers with yours, as you swung his hands, walking down the street.

“Do you regret being with me?” You asked. “Honestly?” He asked. You nodded. He continued, “No.”

“Handsome guys likes pretty girls. Smart guys like intelligent girls. I’m neither pretty or smart.” You hummed to yourself. Insecurities were something that has been around you for years. It was something that grew within you, through the upbringing of a highly-criticizing family members, that constantly compare your beauty, intelligence and possibility to succeed with others. It’s soul-draining and emotionally-damaging. The words of encouragement that didn’t come from the source you trusted fully. All they know is that, you’ll work hard for they want. And when you moved out of your parent’s place, things were difficult in the beginning. But solidarity brought something else out of you: peace and serenity.

This time, you study, not because of your parents, not because of the degree, but to prove to them the power of determination and the deadly feeling of vengeance. You study because of you, and that was what made the difference. Namjoon is the cherry on top.

“Do you know why I stayed around?” Namjoon started.

“Because you’re so determined. You don’t care about failing, you only know how to move forward. You think it’s easy to pick up all the pieces and try to live in a very discouraging world? You think it’s simple, to just take the criticism and all of that negativity, and turn it into a driving force? No. It’s not easy. But you were doing it. You’re doing everything I would have been frightened to do. You’re so brave. And I know I pay no credits to all that you are today, and I hope…” he pauses in his steps and waited for you to face him.

“...that I’m not too late to join the ride to your road of freaking awesomeness, my queen.” He brought your knuckles up his lip and kissed them, tenderly, closing his eyes as he does. “I am nothing but a low servant to your reign.” Namjoon depicted words from a medieval novel and just made your heart skipped a beat when he stares you down with those inviting pair of orbs. “...Did I make your heart flutter.” He perked an eyebrow at you and you slapped his chest before escaping to the convenient 24 hours store.

“Guess I did.” Namjoon grinned.

Namjoon is a torch in the dark. When everything is dark and cold, he was the only thing that’s shining and warm. Breathing in Namjoon, is like a breath of fresh air. His presence is like a missing piece inside of you, that found home. It settles and fits in, like the space is made for him. You have been waiting your whole life for someone who felt like him.

“Namjoon, thank you. For believing in me when no one else does.”

[thekaleighdances18-blog]

Final Piece Process

Thursday November 30th, 2017

To fulfill the requirement of my final piece for Dance Composition 1 I chose to expand on a contrasting themes study I did recently, which did not have a title. What drew me to this creation was that it pushed me stylistically, while still allowing movement that was similar to ballet. This made me feel comfortable with my ability to produce a quality piece. Furthermore, I simply enjoyed what I had created. It was fun to take straight movement to the extreme and see what different ways I could move my body with my limbs extended. What I did not like about my original piece was that the bent section was considerably shorter than the straight section. Also, the straight section was too even and monotone, it needed accents to keep it interesting and yet still get the point across.

I incorporated the entirety of the original piece toward the beginning of my final piece and then expanded on it in both directions. For movement I also took individual steps from other studies throughout the semester and incorporated them sporadically in the new creation. However, the meaning behind the movement came from several different sources. When I started choreographing there was absolutely no meaning behind what I was creating. I was simple creating movement just to create movement. This was ok, as that was my original intention. I simply wanted to focus on applying all of the concepts we learned in class and creating a visually appealing and intriguing piece. However, as I choreographed a storyline began to develop in my head. A story of a character who has been conditioned to be a soldier and is unaware that any kind of individual life exists. As they go about their life as a soldier they suddenly become aware of themselves as individuals and that they have been controlled by some outside force. After slowly moving toward the controler they become frightened and begin to walk away before making up their mind to face this unknown restraint head on. This is followed by a brief period of free, organic, individual, celebratory movement before retroverting back into a soldier again. When I think of the story I have created the dystopian book series Divergent comes to mind and is a place I began to draw inspiration from once I realized the story was developing. Overall, the story became a general representation of people who feel trapped in an oppressive situation they do not realize is happening and decide to break out and become their own person. Unfortunately, it is very difficult to get out of these oppressive situations and often as soon as someone feels a little bit of freedom they get sucked back into the problem again. My final piece is also loosely based off of my life time as a ballet dancer and my transition into more modern movement. My final source of inspiration was my general frustration and stress over the end of the semester. This was translated into the intense nature my piece took on.

The incorporation of class concepts:

Space-

Floor pattern:Going off of one of my professors recent comments I knew I did not want to start center stage as my original study had. I also wanted the movement to move more down stage as I moved toward more bent and organic movement. This is meant to represent moving toward individuality and away from the soldier like movement at the beginning. As I began to choreograph I started in the upstage left corner and created an arch down toward center stage. Later on I realized that I needed more straight movement at the beginning of the study. I could not come up with anything in the corner and stepped into the swing at the beginning before starting and liked it. I still wanted the original swing to start in the left corner so I decided to walk across the back of the stage. The walk across the back also can represent soldiers marching in a line.

Levels: I use a lot of the middle and the low level. The middle level goes with the straight soldier like movement. It is very straight up and down and controlled. As I go to the low level I get into the more bent and organic individual movement. I use little if any high level as I am restricted in my jumping and use of releve from aggravating my achilles a little over a month ago.

Facings: I attempted to make all of my facings have a purpose outside of practicality. My use of front and side facing movement comes at the beginning with the straight movement. These are very sharp and clean lines that can be associated with soldier like movement. I also incorporate facing front when my character is focused on facing the thing forcing her to be a soldier. In my goals listed in the last post, I said I wanted to face the corner more. This is an ongoing and difficult process for me. I mainly use it in the organic and individual section of the piece. I mainly face the floor when the movement feels passive or submissive. Facing the ceiling is used when I am reflecting and thinking.

Shape-

Body parts/Isolation: I utilize my arms and legs a lot in the straight portion. This allows me to make the straight movements bigger and more overdramatic. In doing this I wish to portray how unnatural the movement is. The isolation of my arm in the lunge which bends and straightens it at the elbow is meant to signify the change from straight to bent movement. The isolation of flipping my hands over is then when my character makes the decisive decision to become an individual.

Scale: A lot of my movement is on a large scale. This is mostly because it is the movement I enjoy the most. Big lines look and feel good on my body. However, I also use these big lines to contrast the smaller more isolated movements and make those have a large impact.

Organic vs. Angular: This is the theme of my whole piece. The entire first section is meant to be angular movement, while the second section is more natural, human, and organic movement. The ending takes the movement back to angular movement.

Time-

Tempo: The tempo is slow throughout most of the piece. This helps not only to let meet my time requirement, but also portray how the transition from soldier to individual is a slow and ongoing process.

Momentum: Overall the piece is very slow and gradual. However, when I get scared of confronting my controller and then decide to confront it the energy picks up and the tempo along with it and builds intensity.

Irregular vs. Regular beats: The soldier section is more sharp and full of irregular beats, while the organic section is more smooth and mostly regular beats. This creates another layer of ironic contrast. Even though soldiers are generally associated with consistency this soldier is not.  

Accent: As a dancer I enjoy performing accented movement. I did not realize this until now, but those accents are reflected in my choreographic style. My entire final piece has a smooth quality, but I accent it heavily. This breaks up the very similar and monotone movement that I tend to use.

Stillness: I am a very musical person and this is usually how I prefer to choreograph. However, for this class were are not allowed to use a musical selection. To compensate for this I have begun using my breath as a supplement. It can act as a tempo, but also can change the energy or quality of the piece. Furthermore, the music normally determines when there is going to be stillness. However, in this situation when I feel a big breath is needed I tend to place pauses. Stillness can also be used to fix awkward transitional moments. The stillness in my piece is meant to represent hesitation and reflection.

Energy-

Force: The force of this piece is very strong and intense. This helps to show the determination my character has for breaking out of the soldier mode.

Dynamics: Sharp, straight, etc.

Movement Quality: The movement quality overall is smooth. However, the accents show part of the fight the individual has inside.

Percussive vs. Sustained- The purchase and sustained qualities of movement fit perfectly with the contrasting themes of my piece. The soldier section is more percussive and the organic section is sustained.

Overall, I feel the storyline works really well in my piece. Even if it does not read to the audience it helps me to dance it with more meaning and purpose. I also feel that I came up with a creative and interesting way to portray a soldier. It is literal without being overly obvious.

The organic section does not read as well as I would have liked it to. It all kind of blends into general accented movement. In turn I was not able to explore my contrasting themes to the extent at which I originally intended as I got stuck in a specific style which works, but was not my original intent. I was also unable to explore the high level as much I wish I could have due to my movement restrictions. This made the joyous section of my piece more grounded than I wanted.

When choreographing I had a hard time switching between the straight and bent movement. Once, I got going in one movement type I became stuck and could not come up with anything in the other. This made it difficult for me to come up with the transition between the two sections. I also found it difficult to use the diagonal facings which I challenged myself to incorporate in my goals for this piece. When using diagonal facings I had to think about the way my line would look versus what it would have looked like facing the front. This caused me to change some of the lines I originally intended to use. However, I was surprised to find that using a diagonal facing can reveal some things other facings cannot and allowed me to portray my character in a slightly different way. The struggle that took the longest time to work through when choreographing this piece was the ending. Originally I wanted the piece to end happy and free, however, I could not seem to figure out exactly how to end it in that way. Furthermore, I began to run out of content and still needed to fill up a good bit of time. After contemplating my decision for a while I decided to have my character retroverted back into a soldier.

The soldier movement was fun for me to come up with and is an interesting movement quality to perform. I had fun coming up with that section of my piece. The aggression in the piece came easy to me. In fact, choreographing this piece allowed me to work through and express some frustrations I have in my life.

[dongtanmassage-blog]

Dongtan Massage

Relaxing Your Body With Thai Massage

I'm right here 수원태국마사지 because a friend told me this could be good for me," Harvey advised me at our first meeting. "I don't know what you do, but when it really works to maintain the stress down, effective 수원타이마사지 .

At 80 years of age, Harvey maintained a slim and trim bodily look with a regular personal training regimen. Regardless of his physical health, private challenges at house brought a wall of emotional stress, which coloured every thing in his life.

Therapeutic massage Therapy is a widely known and effectively-documented treatment for inducing relaxation and reducing mental stress. Particularly, conventional Thai massage with its sluggish meditative and rhythmic compressions, yoga-like stretches, and passive joint actions seemed to be an ideal software for someone like Harvey.

A part of Harvey's secret to youthful look was his self-discipline with himself. At 80, he nonetheless went to work every day, running his successful enterprise. Every day, he was dedicated to maintaining optimum well being in his physical body. He watched what he ate, and remained open to new health developments and concepts, keen to incorporate them into his life.

Harvey was still sporting his enterprise go well with and relayed to me that he was here on his lunch break and that he only had precisely one hour. "No downside", I assured him. This confirmed my resolution to go ahead with Thai massage.

Traditionally, the Thai massage recipient stays fully clothed as long as the clothing supplies for a full range of movement. In addition, no oils are used, so there isn't a need to take a shower afterward to scrub the oils off the hair and the pores and skin.

As his enterprise trousers looked free sufficient, I asked Harvey to take away his footwear and jacket solely. As he looked a bit of puzzled, I informed him that he won't also have a crease in his pants. And not only will he feel relaxed, but in addition energized and ready for the remainder of the day.

After a brief dialog, our Thai therapeutic massage session began with my careful examination of tightness and weak spot all through the entire physique. I thoroughly labored by and tested all major muscle teams and joints for any irregularity. Harvey's body was stiff with many holding patterns, or areas of power stress, particularly across the hips, and the chest.

"Do you stretch?" I requested while working on his Hamstrings. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" Harvey responded. "Do you stretch commonly?" I repeated my question. "Are you asking if I am harassed?" Harvey couldn't hear my softly-posed inquiry. But he answered the actual query I had in thoughts. I smiled and proceeded in silence.

In yoga and in Thai massage, the hips are believed to carry quite a lot of emotions. For this reason, innumerable strategies have been developed over the centuries of Thai therapeutic massage practice to launch the hip muscular tissues and joints.

It's a custom in Thai Theravada Buddhism to domesticate compassion, loving kindness, and mindfulness via many religious practices of prayer and meditation. The art of Thai massage isn't any exception. Thai therapeutic massage with out compassion and mindfulness is like a car without a driver.

As fantastic as it's to have such noble values be a part of Thai arts and culture, long hours of daily seated meditation and prayer stiffen the hip joints and the decrease back muscle groups. Again, Thai therapeutic massage is the commonly sought treatment.

Many Thais spend a number of time sitting on the ground, consuming, speaking, and working, or simply watching TELEVISION. It was solely natural to create a mode of therapy that may also be practiced on the floor. Usually, a gentle thick mat and plenty of pillows are used for consolation, particularly within the facet-mendacity positions.

I decided to address all muscle groups across the hips for Harvey: the hip flexors, the aspect hips, the inner thighs, and all the rotators and the glutes within the 수원타이마사지 back. Utilizing numerous yoga-like stretches and such methods as palm pressing, thumb springing, foot pedaling, and elbow pressing, Harvey's hips began to release.

Next, I moved on to the chest and shoulders, one other space of deeply held feelings. Breaking apart scar tissue around the muscle attachments at the sternum induced fairly a few involuntary flinches and protecting impulses. I inspired Harvey to breathe. 홈타이 후기 When he felt an emotional launch or a very sensitive space, I might see him tensing up however then his ribcage would fill up with breath. Any sharp sensation would immediately subside and the persistent stress would slowly start to dissolve.

I might inform that it was here, round his heart, where Harvey was holding most of his emotional trauma. "It would take a couple of sessions to release it", I assumed to myself, making a mental note to encourage Harvey to continue with our remedy program.

I continued to work the chest and shoulders within the facet-lying place. We tested each possible angle, stretch, and vary of movement to search out Harvey's holding patterns. Respiratory consciously by way of the whole session, we discovered and released a number of set off factors, areas of concentrated rigidity and restricted blood move, that formed in the Pectoralis muscular tissues within the chest and the Scalene muscles on the side of Harvey's neck.

As he received up after the session, he shared with me that this "therapeutic massage on the ground was pleasantly surprising" and that he could feel more ease, freedom of motion, and power already.

Harvey decided to make a commitment to return in once every week. I did not have to clarify to Harvey that consistent therapy, like regular exercise and common nutritious diet, are the keys to health. We wouldn't want to eat just one wholesome meal per week and anticipate to be wholesome. Likewise, the advantages of therapeutic massage therapy are cumulative.

A year later, with regular Thai Massage remedy and private coaching routine, and at eighty one years old, Harvey maintains his youthful posture with open 수원타이마사지 chest and upright back. He has realized to calmly face any emotional challenges that may nonetheless be current with full breath and persistence.

When you suppose going to a spa house for a Thai Massage will probably be identical to any previous therapeutic massage therapy experience, think once more. Here are several reasons you should give this type of massage a try:

- Physique conscious? You do not have to take off your garments to get a therapeutic massage. Thai therapeutic massage is different from the popular Western idea of massage in that the recipient of the massage remains fully clothed. Not like in most therapeutic massage types that have develop into prevalent in Western international locations where you're asked to take away a number of or all of your garments and are coated both with sheets or towels, in a Thai therapeutic massage session you do not have to be unclothed. The truth is, should there be a necessity to do so, you'll merely be requested to vary into unfastened-fitting clothes.

- No lotions and oils that stick to your physique. It goes with out saying that since you will not be asked to shed off your clothes, no fragrant and/or medicinal oils and/or lotions will likely be used in the middle of the session - one thing that likewise units this type of therapeutic massage apart Dongtan Massage 출장태국마사지 from other varieties. This is excellent news to those that only have a couple of hours to spare since their free time might be maximized, as well as to people who've extremely delicate pores and skin and are wary of getting any kind of oil or lotion from coming in touch with their pores and skin.

- You get to do yoga, too. In most places, Thai Massage is alternately known as "Thai Yoga Massage", and with good cause. One of many six essential points on this type of therapeutic massage remedy - along with acupressure, meditation, train, therapeutic, and reflexology - is yoga. If you're wanting then to increase your flexibility whereas on the identical time relieving your self from stress caused by your busy schedule, you would possibly need to take into account getting this kind of therapeutic massage frequently.

- There are quite a lot of benefits available. The usual record of advantages one can enjoy in other Dongtan Massage types of massage remedy naturally applies to Thai massage, too. This list includes the following:

o leisure

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o improved blood circulation

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o overall feeling find out this here of well-being

- It can provide you a lot extra. Apart from the above-talked about advantages, should you decide to try out this form of massage, you might be in for different, distinctive advantages. First, you get to extend your flexibility by means of the passive yogic positions that the practitioner will help you into doing. Second, a genuine Thai massage session - that is, if it is facilitated by a educated practitioner who follows the process to the letter - can reward you with a sense of self-healing that may assist alleviate not solely physical but likewise emotional, psychological, and non secular pressure. This is because of the fact that the primary objective of Thai massage is to result in harmony amongst the three features of an individual - thoughts, physique, and spirit.

As I journey fairly incessantly I really enjoy finding an area Thai Massage centre wherever I could also be, and seeing how their service varies from the many I've experienced, and specifically how they evaluate with an authentic Thai Massage expertise in Thailand. So on my last trip to NSW Australia, I believed I would see if I might find an incredible experience of my favorite kind of Therapeutic massage in Sydney.

Of all of the types of massage therapy that exist, none intrigue me so much as Traditional Thai Massage. Although I am a certified massage therapist myself, the system that the Thais have developed still fascinates me more than every other. Possibly the only factor that fascinates me much more is how those moderately small Thai girls can manipulate a person of my dimension with such energy! That was definitely my expertise in Thailand, I puzzled if it would be the same if I acquired a Thai Therapeutic massage in Sydney.

Thai therapeutic massage apparently started in India. It is a system utilizing each Meridian strain factors and stretching in tandem with an ancient respiratory Dongtan Massage m수원태국마사지 method referred to as "Pranayama." The respiration techniques cleanse and calm down the muscle groups while on the similar time strengthen the nervous system.

Many Asian massage systems are actually historical therapeutic rituals which had been created and developed over lots of of years in India and the Far East. Asian massage techniques have gotten increasingly extra widespread in western nations. This is along with the west's growing interest in holistic types of relaxation and train similar to yoga and pilates.

I think that is one of many causes I really like Thai Therapeutic massage a lot, I love the historical past and tradition that it stemmed from.

So back to my story. When final in Sydney I needed to find a Thai Massage Remedy centre that was not one of many extra commercial centers that I might discover advertised within the daily paper. So I just asked around wherever I occurred to be, and after a number of days I used to be informed, "you will need to try this little Thai Massage place not removed from here". Ah ha, this could possibly be what I was in search of.

Properly, after discovering it within the suburb of Burwood, not far west of Sydney CBD, I was greeted by a small woman, clearly a native Thai and I immediately felt very comfy in this small purchase very cosy place. I resisted the urge to go for the extra stress-free oil massage or reflexology, and booked an hour long Conventional Thai Massage.

By no means tried a thai massage, but keen to offer it a go? For certain, in order for you a deep leisure therapy, a standard thai therapeutic massage can assist soothe your aches and stress, and extra importantly, show you how to escape from your every day grind at residence and from work. Under are 5 simple ways that will help you discover a good thai massage enterprise:

Go to a few Thai Therapeutic massage locations - Let's face it, if it is your first time, you want your thai massage to be nice. Hence, visit just a few of the companies and see if it suits your expectation or necessities. While you are there, read more on wikipedia here ask questions and see if the place are clear. This is a chance to observe the customer service level and discover out in regards to the range of providers which might be out there. As well, ensure the business is absolutely licensed.

Apart from asking the obvious query like charges, one of the large query you need to ask is - are their therapists or masseurs qualified and trained to offer a standard thai therapeutic massage. If they aren't certified, then this isn't the corporate for you, and if they flirt with their reply, suppose twice. You need your expertise to be nice, not traumatic.

Don't stick to one business. Instead shop around for the most effective worth and the very best service that can fit your liking. If one enterprise occurs to be dearer or cheaper, inquire about it. You might uncover that they're providing more worth or simply beneath quoted their offer. In the event that they do offer extra value, then it is price paying slightly more for an ideal experience. But at all times stick with your finances!

Swap in your pc and start your research. With resources like Google locations, Yelp and different local directories, it is straightforward to find extra details about the company, and find Here is Social Network candid feed backs concerning the service. The customer opinions are a number one indicator of how the business service their purchasers. So pay attention to those feedback rigorously.

Ask your mates, family members and folks you recognize who may have tried the service before. Their experience are an excellent supply of knowledge, and suggestions. Nothing beats references from people you belief.

The above tips are simply some of the ways you can find a very good Thai therapeutic massage service. All you could do - research, analysis and research. It is only by way of researching that you'll find knowledgeable therapeutic massage remedy, and one that can assist you actually calm down and de-stress out of your busy work.

[becausesecondsnotthesame]

If you could only hear what I said

A/N -  A little fic thats been sitting in my drafts for a while now for Day 6 of Stormpilot Week - Any AU. It’s basically a modern AU where Finn turns to Poe for comfort sex, but Poe has been in love with Finn for months - and let’s not forget all the angst. The generally idea for this was fairly heavily inspired by the song ‘Haunt//Bed’ by the 1975, and I’d recommend listening to it while you read! I also pulled the title from the song as well... Anyway, enjoy :)

Finn’s mother hadn’t been perfect by any means. She was forgetful, she was antagonistic, and she spent most of her time high, drunk, or a combination of the two, but she was still a mother nonetheless, and with no father to care for him, she was all he had.

Finn remembers her coming into his room to put him to bed, stumbling a little as she walked across the room, before sitting gently on the edge of the mattress, soft hand reaching out to gently stroke his face. She cooed a soft lullaby, and whispered to him that she loved him, before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek and turning off Finn’s bedside light. 

He also remembers the first time he walked in on her, needle ready, and arm outstretched in anticipation, hands shaking slightly as she pushed the needle through the thin skin of her arm, pressing down the syringe to inject god-knows-what into her veins. Her eyes filled with horror when she looked up to see him hovering in the doorway of the only bathroom in their cramped apartment. She ushered him out, needle still clutched in her hand, and told him he couldn’t tell anyone what he saw. He was nine years old. She started locking the door after that.

She died just two months after Finn moved out to go to University. Overdose.

He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone, knowing full well that she barely remembered to eat without him around, let alone go to work, a job at a small newspaper that she had somehow managed to keep. But she had insisted, telling him that he shouldn’t disrupt his ‘bright future’ for her sake. Maybe he should have fought back harder.

When Finn gets the news, Poe is the first person he calls. Poe had been the first person he met when he arrived at University, and they had become fast friends, best friends even. So Finn doesn’t think twice when he picks up his phone and dials Poe’s number, still reeling from the news.

Poe is there in ten minutes, arms wound tightly around Finn’s still-sobbing form. Poe holds him, sat on the floor in the middle of Finn’s cramped dorm room, and he tells Finn that it gets better, eventually, and that he understands how absolutely shit it feels right now. Finn’s hands grasp desperately at Poe’s shirt, keeping him close, as Poe’s hands draw soothing patterns on Finn’s back, and run gently over his head, cradling him like a small child.

Eventually Finn manages to cry himself to sleep, still curled up into Poe’s body, sobs drifting slowly into hiccups, then sleepy sighs, until he’s sound asleep, with tear-tracks still glistening on his cheeks.

Poe presses a soft, gentle kiss onto Finn’s forehead, before cautiously manoeuvring himself out from under Finn and scooping him up into his arms to carry him over to his bed. 

Poe sleeps on the floor that night, to make sure he’s there if Finn needs him. He continues to sleep on the floor for the next few nights after that, until Finn eventually pulls him up into the bed - which is small enough with one person in it, let alone two – with him, for both their sakes. Finn admits he needs the contact, as he pulls Poe closer so that Finn’s head rests on his chest, and that he knows that sleeping on the floor must be hurting Poe’s back. Poe agrees quietly, and hums a soft lullaby to Finn, until he dozes off. There, in the darkness, Poe’s thoughts begin to wander in ways he rarely allows them to, spurred on by the closeness between him and Finn.

Poe sleeps in Finn’s bed with him every night for the next week, but it isn’t until the funeral that Finn pushes it further. 

The ceremony was hard on Finn; Poe can tell simply from having judged Finn’s facial expressions throughout. It had been small – near empty – it seemed his mother didn’t have many friends. She was cremated, because Finn couldn’t afford a plot, in fact he couldn’t afford most of the things people usually provide for a funeral, given that he was living on a student loan, and his inheritance had been next to nothing.

Poe drives Finn home after that, and comes up to his dorm with him. Finn – who hasn’t cried since that first night – breaks down in tears again as the door clicks shut, collapsing in to Poe’s waiting arms. Poe’s heart breaks for the younger man, as he repeats the same soothing motions he did last time, whispering calming words and holding Finn to make sure he knows that he isn’t alone.

Eventually Finn’s sobbing slows to slightly irregular breathing. He raises his head from where it had been nestled into Poe’s shoulder, and looks up at him.

“Thank you,” Finn’s voice is hoarse and it cracks a little as he speaks, but he manages to tilt his lips up into a small smile. Poe smiles back at him, but before he can respond Finn is leaning in, and Poe doesn’t have time to react, to stop it.

Finn’s lips press insistently against Poe’s, hands coming up to cradle his face, the kiss laced with desperation. For a moment Poe caves into the kiss, realising that this is everything he has wanted for the months in which he has known Finn. And then reason comes back to hit him full force, and he’s pulling back out of the kiss before it can escalate.

“Finn,” Poe sighs, “we shouldn’t,” He doesn’t want Finn to stop, but he doesn’t want to start anything when Finn is like this – so vulnerable, scared even.

“Poe, please,” Finn begs, and there it is again. That absolute desperation in his eyes and his voice, “Please, I need this tonight,”

Poe reasons with himself that if this is what Finn needs, surely it would be better that it was him, and not some random stranger taking advantage of Finn. A stranger who could hurt him, or steal from him…

Poe purses his lips, before looking back to Finn, “Are you sure? Really sure?” Finn nods, and Poe sighs in defeat, before nodding back, giving Finn the go ahead.

***

Afterwards, when Finn is asleep again in Poe’s arms, Poe feels the guilt curl deep in his stomach. He doesn’t regret having sex with the man he’s been in love with for the past few months, but he regrets letting Finn believe that it didn’t mean anything to him. He regrets it, because he let Finn think they were just doing it as friends.

They have sex the day after, and the day after that, and every evening that week. Each night it begins with Finn leaning in for a kiss. Poe asks if he’s sure again, and Finn nods. Then the clothes fly off for a fast, and entirely unromantic fuck. And each night Finn curls up in Poe’s arms, and thanks him for being such a good friend, and Poe lays awake, staring at the ceiling, wishing for just a little bit more.

He understands that Finn yearns for contact, and closeness, but with each passing night he starts to question his ability to keep just being ‘Finn’s friend that he fucks when he feels like it’. He keeps those thoughts to himself though, until another week has passed and he’s going silently insane.

All he wants is to be there for Finn. To care for him, and hold him, and protect him. But if this is what it entails, then he doesn’t think he can do it any more, for his own sake, to save himself from destroying his heart completely.

When Finn leans in for a kiss that evening, when they’re sat on his bed, Poe pulls away. Finn looks confused, hurt even, when Poe explains to him that he can’t do it anymore.

“Did I do something wrong?” Finn asks, voice small.

“No,” Poe replies quickly, “No, this one’s on me. 

“Why? What is it?”

“I just…” Poe struggles for the words to explain it politely, “I can’t keep pretending that this is what friends do, Finn,”

“Why can’t it be what friends do? Why can’t it be what we do, Poe?”

“I think you know why, Finn,” Poe smiles sadly at him, “Because I love you, and I know that’s not what you want,”

“Poe, I-“ Finn starts, but then he pauses, defeated, “you’re right, of course you are,” He shuffles back to lean against the wall, not looking at Poe. The two of them sit there for a moment, neither of them quite looking at the other, before Poe speaks up again.

“I should go,” Poe swallows, “Will you be okay tonight? I can ask Rey to come over if you need someone…”

“I’ll be okay,” Finn glances over with a small smile.

Poe nods and stands up, making his way over to the door, his hand hesitating on the handle when Finn calls out to him again.

“Poe?”

“Yeah?” Poe looks back over his shoulder.

“We’re still friends, right?” 

Poe pauses before he answers, trying to hide the pain in his voice, “yeah, of course we are,” he forces a smile for Finn’s sake, before ducking out of the door so that Finn won’t see him cry.