#made myself cry writing this

[hashtagloveloses]

yes nicholas d. wolfwood is gay bc he looks at vash like that and says gay things and has his tits out while flaunting christian imagery but he's ALSO gay because he's not only doomed by the narrative but represents the existential fear queer people (and other marginalized people) have that in a world where life is SO hard and has been FULL of suffering, the minute you find a purpose or community or people to love it is taken away from you before you can live a full life. he isn't like most characters giving a death monologue where they're at peace or some shit he's like PLEASE i wanted to keep living i'm not ready. he JUST realized something about himself philosophically. he found happiness with vash, and meryl, and milly after a life of suffering in a harsh world that wants him dead and my god does that not represent such a queer feeling? when in your worst moments you fear death because this world has made living so HARD and you don't want to die before you can experience any peace? nicholas d. wolfwood you are so important to me

[questforgalas]

HC in my "everyone lives and the batch are all reunited" la la land

Crosshair engraves vulture wings on his rifle, and Hunter notices it first and asks about it, which after Crosshair explains, Hunter then paints subtle vulture wings on his vambraces.

Then Omega notices the wings on Hunter's vambraces, and she finds out so she puts the wings on her helmet.

Then soon after, Tech, Echo, and Wrecker also have vulture wings painted in their styles in various spots on their armor. All subtle, but all visible when you look closely. No one says anything, it just happens, and Crosshair slowly heals every time he sees his family's reminder that he's always been with them

[merlinsbudgiesmugglers]

Sly and Unseen

Ok, this was very quickly written after I finished watching One Day because I had to do something with those feelings (and Leo Woodall is giving me all the Ted Tonks feels). Apologies for any grammatical errors, this is un-beta'd (and I fully expect @celestemagnoliathewriter to yell at me for not giving her any warning about this).

Read on AO3

Snippet:

He rakes his eyes over Andromeda’s face, taking in every curve and valley as if he didn’t already have them committed to memory. He wanted to remember every single detail of her in this moment. The way her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks, the curl of her hair, the peak of her lips. 

It feels as though a hand reaches into his chest and squeezes his heart. The same hand that had been squeezing since he’d made the decision to go.

It was what he needed to do, what would keep his family safe.

But he didn’t know how to face it.

[ghoultemple]

copia headcanons

sad edition - psa for mentions of anxiety, paranoia and delusiom

cardinal has always been in the shadows. from his days as a deacon until the day he was finally contacted by seestor to take the lead of the band — and the day he became papa; he has always lived in the shadows.

when growing up, he’d try to be like the brothers. everyone looked up to them. they were stunning, charming, had a great way with words, and just had that exquisite aura around them. as much as cardinal looked like them physically — as the white eye was the biggest proof he was somehow an emeritus — it was truly hard for him to find worth inside his heart and self.

during his childhood, copia struggled to make friends, but just because he had too many things to do as seestor insisted he had to take extra classes on things neither of the kids needed. he grew up alone in the library, reading, and learning. his best friend was the silence and the crack of wood burning in the fireplace on cold nights. he used to use his free time trying to make friends, but how can you be friends with people you never speak with?

during his adolescence, it was even harder. the awkwardness and yearning to be part of something consuming him. it was painful, truly. he just wanted consolation, a friend to mess up with, but in the end, he was the one being messed up. terzo felt bad, as he one day saw copia try to say something during the only class inside the ministry they shared, and everyone ignored him. the way he had no one to be with him.

secondo was already on his way, studying to become papa, he knew he was the one to come to be, he has always been nihil’s favorite. but terzo had the charm and way to talk with everyone and he was a true — as in “assumed nihil’s child” — emeritus. people would kneel if he requested. so he started to walk with copia sometimes, near enough people to pay attention to him more often. but it didn’t go the way he wanted.

they’d only start talking with copia for the pure interest of knowing more about terzo and secondo, and copia started to see himself as a bridge and not the final destination.

and as time passed by, things got worse.

copia found himself alone, with not a single person to share a deep connection with. the feeling of not being important consumes him, until the day he became nihil’s right hand.

he finally had a purpose. something that would finally add some value, that would finally fill the void inside his heart, and make him understand he is important and worthy to the world.

but nihil despised copia, who never understood why. but the mental disturbance was consuming him, the invalidation and disapproval on nihil’s part, whenever copia was around, was the equivalent of being stabbed three times in your lungs. it was heartbreaking. but he had to keep the position.

copia developed anxiety, and he started to overthink everything. not allowing himself to have fun, or to be himself around nihil. his only company was his rats, to who he created affection for after all the long nights in the library.

his anxiety got worse each day, but he was so good at hiding, no one noticed. but to be honest, no one cared. he was invisible in the ministry, he was not important; there’s no need to notice that.

then everything changed.

when his brothers died, copia had one more thing to add to his big pile of mental instability: delusions and paranoia.

he felt like he was next, he knows he’s going to die. a change in tone from one of his ghouls triggers him, and they need to reassure him they’re not mad. a small change of behavior will make copia lose sleep, but he won’t admit it. he won’t ask for help. because in his head, no one will ever listen.

he grew invisible, a vine on frigid cobblestone. unimportant. no one will see or care when it starts to develop flowers or thorns. no one will care when he dies from the poisonous perfume or the deadly cut on his fingers.

but regardless, copia remains sweet and caring. he will look up to everyone around him, but break everything mirror he ever comes across: he can’t dare look at the reflection of the responsible for all the failures in his past. he can’t dare to look at himself and feel how unimportant he is. he prefers the image of the people who love him, even if he doesn’t believe in them. he will prefer to see himself as some sort of comfort to others, because he was never a comfort for himself.

[clonememesfrikyeah]

Just had a no good very stinky bad thot. So I’m sure everyone here has seen the trope where a prank goes wrong and someone ends up locked in a closet and having a panic attack for one reason or another.

But imagine, it’s just under a year into the war and Rex is still getting a handle on being a respected captain. Then torrent decides to play what seems like a harmless little joke on the captain to try and get him to lighten up. Little do they know that Rex was bullied and abused by other cadets and trainers as a kid, and as punishment they would lock him in small dark spaces and embarrass him in front of everyone. So obviously when torrent all teams up on him, push him into a supply closet and lock him in while everyone laughs it’s all too similar to the past. Their trick triggers him and instead of being able to hack the door open Rex spirals into a panic attack. He starts to think that everyone was faking being friends with him just to get close to him and hurt him and nothing’s actually changed since he was a cadet and no one will ever actually like or respect him. He’s there for hours until torrent is like hmm it’s been a long time since we saw the captain, you think his soar about the whole thing? And there like nah, everyone gets the closet treatment eventually he would be soar about it. Then it’s the middle of the night and Rex still hasn’t shown up and he could be working late but he’s not answering his com and his helmet is still in the barracks and he never goes anywhere without it so there going to look for him just in case and after a couple hours of looking for him and finding nothing now there really worried and their practically ripping the place apart trying to find him and the last place the look for him is the last place they saw him but low and behold there he is, still in the closet, exhausted, hurt, crying, fists bloody from beating on the door and cutting himself on the doors mechanism’s trying to escape for hours and still caught up in a panic attack. Said attach only gets worse when they find him because now Rex thinks they’ve come to hurt him more and after seeing him like this no one will ever respect him as a captain again. But no that’s not the case and soon enough Kix is pushing himself to the front of the group to comfort Rex while cursing their stupidity. They bring Rex back to the barracks to clean him up and get a cuddle pile going with him at the center and soon enough Rex is spilling the beans about what happened to him as a cadet. Que torrent being supportive but also big time pissed about it and being mad protective of Rex for the longest time.

[aesthetictarlos]

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

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

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

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

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

[writing-for-whoever-listens]

Random Prompts 18

"I love you." "I know you do. I love you too. But we both know this isn't working."

"I can't stay." "I know." "I'll call you." "I know."

"I miss you, sometimes. When it's late and I'm by myself. I shouldn't have called, but you didn't pick up, so I guess it's fine."

"Did I do the right thing?" "I don't know." "I feel so lost without them, but it wasn't working, and..." "It's okay to cry, if you need to."

"It's been two years and you haven't dated anyone since?" "That's none of your fucking business."

"They're married." "What?" "They got married."

"I... Hey." "Hi."

"I hate them, I hate them so fucking much, I wish I never met them!" "You know you don't mean that." "I wish I did!"

"I'm sick of crying. I'm sick of missing them."

"I loved them, dad/mom. I loved them so much and it wasn't enough."

[lost-in-fandoms]

"Tell me again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[alltoounwellll]

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

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

“why?” remus asks, shying away.

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

[actuallyitsstar]

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

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

The sheer bravery Stede had to even go and sit with Ed's body absolutely blows me away.

Yes, there was nothing else he could do. There was no way he'd be able to leave Ed's body alone down there. That doesn't mean it wasn't still hard to do. The way he hesitates at the top of the stairs, looking down-

And Ed looks so small. Broken and hurt and tiny and very, very still. This is a man who, as we know and as Stede's brain is no doubt screaming at him, is very rarely still. Ed, at his baseline, is a cheerful, bouncy person. He fidgets and has trouble sitting still when he's not deeply engaged with something. And now all that playful, easily-excited energy, the curiosity, the life - it's just gone.

Because Ed is, as far as Stede knows, dead. He was hurting so, so deeply that he forced people who care about him to kill him. Stede would do anything for him, but he's too late. The entire world has changed, because Ed is no longer in it.

"You nut," Stede says, "why'd you have to go and get yourself killed?" Affectionate. Stede is in so much pain, you can see it on his face, but it's like he's expecting Ed to respond to the almost-teasing words. It's like he's hoping Ed will just sit right up. "Not all plans are gonna be winners, man," he can imagine Ed responding in the pause. "What did you think I was supposed to do?"

Of course, Ed stays still and quiet and, by all appearances, dead. Stede has to take several fortifying breaths before he can remove the shroud from his face, he actually has to fully look away a few times. And the noise he makes, horrified and somehow almost shocked - gets me right in the chest, every time. It's like he's surprised that, now he and Ed are together again, this could happen. They're with each other; they're supposed to be invincible.

In conclusion: give Rhys Darby an emmy please

[mochiwrites]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scar's heart breaks.

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

[charmercharm3r]

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

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

-🌙 <3

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

[bidisasterevankinard]

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

[littleplantfreak]

'When', not 'if'

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

SFW/no cw unless you hate fluff

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

[curestaarlight]

just thought about s2 and the funeral and how much cheng xiaoshi cried and how much he probably cried later, beside lu guang's hospital bed, and how lu guang probably felt his heart seize up with so much sadness and devotion and love, love, love, because the man in front of him seemed to feel so much it spills out of him, and so all lu guang can do is wipe the tears away as they come, and let them come until soon, later, they dry out. and cheng xiaoshi, tired from all the crying, lays his head in lu guang's lap, and lu guang tells him it's ok. it's alright—he can rest for a little while.