#not sure how i feel about this chapter

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Gates to Heck Chapter Five

Teru had been trudging along the raised bunds of the rice paddy for what felt like at least a half a kilometer, but the fields that stretched out ahead of him seemed infinite. The only light came from the stars overhead, which were shining brightly without the city’s light pollution. He must have teleported all the way to Furikake Village, the agricultural municipality north of Seasoning City, near the border of Flavor Prefecture. 

“Good evening, Kaijin,” the voice came from directly behind him, “or should I say Hanazawa-kun?”

Teru whipped around to see a man standing a couple of bunds down, his feet dry, and his smile ominous.

“Your aura was too depleted to track until now. I only felt it for a moment, but I would know it anywhere. Do you really not recognize me?”

Teru laughed because he really hadn't until then. Final Dog had been the last target in his anti-terrorist speedrun, and by the night he confronted them, he was running on nothing but fumes and canned coffee. There had been too many auras swirling together into a rat king of raw energy for Teru to recognize one he hadn’t encountered since he was ten years old. 

"Well, to be entirely fair, my head was in a bucket for most of our introduction,” said Teru.

Teru hadn't learned how to waterboard someone from Saturday morning anime. He had learned it the hard way, in his own cramped apartment bathroom, while a man who called himself Shiro-san asked Teru if he knew any other espers. 

Shiro-san didn't believe him when he said no.

Shiro-san hadn’t been part of the Fab Five or even the Seventh Division’s upper echelon. He was just some unscarred member of middle-management that Teru had never seen again. 

“You bailed before the Seventh Division went down, huh?” asked Teru. “Did you get fired, or did you just feel like they couldn’t help you reach your full potential as a sadistic asshole?”

“I could see the writing on the wall,” said Shiro-san. 

“Pretty sure that was blood,” said Teru, inspecting his chipped nail polish. 

“The Seventh Division’s leadership was too weak,” said Shiro-san. “Ishiguro couldn't even put a brat like you in timeout.”

Teru didn’t think he could talk his way out of this one. He wasn’t Reigen. He just needed to keep Shiro-san talking long enough to come up with a plan. There was no way he had enough energy for another teleport. He was pretty sure if he tried to put up a barrier right now it would be about as strong as a Pringle. 

Teru had been in better shape when he was ten years old, and he’d still lost that fight. 

Shiro-san had used Teru’s own T-shirt and bath bucket to waterboard him. He hung Teru by his ankles with telekinesis, pulled the collar of his Sailor Moon T-shirt down (or up, from Teru’s point of view) until it covered his nose, and doused his face with water. 

It went up his nose. Teru let out a reflexive gasp and let in even more water. It felt like he’d inhaled hydrochloric acid instead. Everything between his nasal cavity and his lungs was searing with a pain unlike he had ever experienced. 

The third time Shiro-san pulled back the T-shirt for an interrogation break, Teru had bitten down as hard as he could. Shiro-san had been using his hands, because his powers were occupied with the restraints, and he wasn’t a skilled enough esper to multitask. Teru tasted blood before he had to unclench and hack it up, along with what felt like a liter of water. 

Shiro-san released him. Teru lashed out with an uncoordinated blast of energy and bugged the fuck out of there, booking it to his closest bolthole. He didn’t go back to his apartment for over a month.

“I seem to recall giving you some trouble too,” said Teru.  

Shiro-san flipped him off, and Teru saw the stump of an index finger that he had bitten in half four years ago. 

He hadn’t been able to eat raw carrots for years after that. Thank god for broccoli or Teru would probably have scurvy by now. 

Teru laughed airily. “Final Dog’s leadership doesn’t seem to be much of an improvement.”

Shiro-san did not laugh. He clicked his tongue in a way that suggested he had been involved in Final Dog’s leadership. “Well, you know what they say: Third time’s the charm.”

“So that’s when I’ll stop you for good?” 

Now he laughed. “What makes you think you’ll live that long?”

So much for keeping him talking. 

“I would have killed you already,” said Shiro-san, “but I think you deserve to suffer a little bit first.”

“Is this like a kink of yours?”

“I don’t want to waste time with your government watchdog sniffing around for me,” said Shiro-san. “So the question is: How to hurt you as much as possible in the least amount of time?” 

Teru could already feel his heart rate ramp up at the simple implication that there might be something worse than waterboarding. He tried to mitigate the panic by taking deep breaths. While he still could. 

“I think it would only be fair if you lost at least a finger,” said Shiro-san. “but I know from experience that adrenaline numbs the pain, and you won’t be alive long enough for it to wear off.”

“Are you still hung up on that?” asked Teru. “Sorry. I thought you were jealous of the Scars.”

Shiro-san snapped his fingers, or what was left of them. “I’ve got it! I’ll tell you a story.”

“Why don’t we ta- Huh?”

Teru couldn’t believe it. Shiro-san was actually going to do a villain monologue. Probably about his tragic backstory.

“I’m going to tell you a story about a little boy and a big organization.” 

Shiro san gestured when he talked, but it was always with his right hand, like he was trying to draw attention to the missing finger. It was a cheap intimidation tactic that probably worked better on someone who hadn’t bitten it off. 

“The organization was looking for psychics. This was before they had to keep a low profile, so they could recruit publicly. They put up flyers and went door to door, inviting people to join their noble cause. They didn’t find many psychics that way, but even normies could prove useful with a little… help. One day, they knocked on the door of a very nice couple with a very naughty son.”

The panic had gone, or at least it had gone somewhere far away. Everything seemed very far away, even Shiro-san, who was still talking. 

“The couple didn’t care much about the organization’s agenda, but they were interested in its psychic training program. The couple ended up changing their minds, but by then the little boy had caught the organization’s attention.”

Sometimes Teru wondered how Claw found out about him, but he had always assumed it was his fault. After all, Shigeo slipped under their radar by barely using his powers. It was Teru’s dependence on his powers for everything from skipping rope to making friends that had attracted the attention of the terrorists who targeted him for most of his formative years. That was what he got for showing off.  

It made sense. 

So did Shiro-san’s story.

Shiro-san clapped his hands. “Okay! Looks like that did the trick. Goodbye, Hanazawa-kun.”

Teru’s feet were pulled out from under him. He tried to catch himself, but his arms were pinned tightly to his side by psychic restraints that he was still too weak to break. 

He couldn’t go through this again. It was still the most painful thing he had ever experienced, his second-most recurring nightmare after choking out Shigeo. Teru still couldn’t shower for more than fifteen minutes without having to do some serious breathing exercises afterwards, which would have torpedoed his haircare routine if it weren’t for leave-in conditioner.

Teru had attempted to replicate Shiro-san’s torture technique when he helped Shigeo storm Claw’s Seventh Division to save Outoto-kun.

An eye for an eye. That was what Teru told himself, but he hadn’t been able to go through with it. He ended up dunking Terada’s head in a bucket a couple of times, never for more than a few seconds, and never with a cloth over his face. Terada had been able to hold his breath. It was still torture, but it wasn’t waterboarding.

It was, however, a much faster way to kill someone if that was the desired result. 

It was also easier to keep your hands clear if they happened to be a biter.

Shiro-san lowered Teru face first into the dirty water of the rice paddy. Teru tried to turn his head, but no matter how much he craned his neck, the water still covered his mouth. This time there were no questions. There was no reprieve. The water was less than ten centimeters deep, and Teru was going to drown in  it.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Soup solves everything.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

krakoa cherik constantly having sleepovers at each others houses

they never slept alone since day one ☝️ (until the divorce)

Im so sorry this was my immediate first thought

[nonipunssif]

I like the fact that Jax has little moments where his expression shows how vulnerable he is internally with respect to his true feelings.

[starlight-eclipsed]

The only lights besides the eerie glow of malice are the dizzying dance of poe lanterns floating through the halls. Dark will never admit the how those little spots of brightness comfort and calm him, even though he does not need light to see.

Howdy, folks. I'm sleepy and can't think of anything funny to say, so I'm just gonna cut to the chase: Go read A Dark Among the Lights by @luckylectio on AO3.

[rotthepoet]

Invisible String Theory (Anon!Slytherin Boy x Reader)

Chapter 4

warnings; NSFW, Stalking behavior, violence and self-inflicted injury(punching a wall), dumbification for like three sentences, some boys beef, reader has a panic attack, like kinda cliffhanger?

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

To Whom It May Concern,

Please leave me alone. 

Regards.

The folded letter sits on the mantle of the Slytherin common room fireplace. It taunts me. The soft, orange flicker casts long shadows over the room. Like a kid expecting Saint Nick, I wait. Patiently. Even as my eyes drift shut, exhaustion claiming my body, I prevail. Just a glimpse. Just a moment of eye contact. To know, to see, to end. A yawn racks through my body, and I stretch my arms above my head, my back popping.

Pinned.

A shrill shriek escapes me when a strong grip pins my wrists together above my head, and as soon as the scream leaves my lips, I’m released. Panic surges through my body, goosebumps plaguing my skin with a cold shiver, I stand suddenly and whip around to find–

Theodore.

It’s just Theo.

He has a sheepish look on his face, and he moves around the couch to gently lead me back to sitting, settling in beside me. He watches me lean back against the overstuffed cushions, releasing a deep sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry, I thought it was going to be funny.”

“No, no, it was. I’m just on edge,” I assured him, and shut my eyes, just for a moment.

Nott rests a hand on my knee, a friendly gesture, as he starts to rub small, comforting circles on the skin. “It isn’t helpful to stay up and wait for… It. Let’s get you in bed,” He whispers, and I shake my head.

“Just a bit longer, it’s the principle of the matter,” I explain, sighing and opening my eyes again. My eyes lazily scan the common room, abnormally empty, which makes me wonder about the time. Theodore sighs beside me and clicks his tongue. He shakes his head at me and suddenly, his arms wrap underneath my knees and around my back, and I yelp as I’m lifted off the couch. I wrap my arms around Theodore for the safety of my life, kicking my legs in protest.

“Let’s get you to bed–”

“Am I interupting?”

Nott and I’s head both snap towards the sound of a new voice, and a tall body stands in the shadows. Theo’s grip tightens on me, and I can’t help but squeak as his fingers dig into the soft skin of my thighs. The figure steps forward, his hands in his pockets, built like an athlete with wide, strong shoulders. Silver light passes through the Black Lake into our windows, casting an otherworldly glow across his face, and onyx eyes meet mine. 

“Riddle, you scared me,” I let out a shaky breath, slowly dropping my leg to the floor despite Theodore’s best effort to hold onto me. Speaking of which, he looks particularly upset. Maybe he doesn’t like being scared as much as he likes to scare people. “Anyone else planning on jumping out tonight? So far, I have two-for-two,” I try to laugh, but it falls silent as I notice the electric glare between the two. Another spat, I assumed, nothing surprising despite their tight-knit friendship. 

“You aren’t writing back to him, right?” Mattheo asks me, glancing at the envelope on the mantelpiece. Sheepishly, I look away and rub my goosebump covered arm. “It isn’t really writing back to him if I’m asking him to leave me alone–” “Asking?” “Telling. Telling him to leave me alone.”

Theodore scoffs and his hand finds the small of my back. “Let’s go, it’s too late for this,” He suggests, but with the way he gently leads me away from Riddle leaves no room for argument. I cast a glance over my shoulder and mouth a good night, not wanting to further upset whatever Theodore is brooding over. 

“You shouldn’t talk to him anymore,” Theodore mutters, leading me to my dorm room.

“What?” I ask, brows furrowing at his comment, “Look, whatever petty little fight you two are having will blow over,” 

“Not this time,”

“You say that every time, Theo!” I groan in exasperation, “You can’t just tell me who to hang out with just because you’re mad at them!”

Nott grunts in frustration and drops his arm from my back, stopping in his tracks. “Fine. Since, you want to be stupid-”

“Stupid?”

“Did I stutter?” He snaps, and my stomach churns suddenly at his tone, “Since you want to be so stupid, you can figure this all out on your own. No, actually. Go to Riddle. See how far that gets you.” He practically snarls at me, his once welcoming eyes now an angry rapid waiting to drown me beneath its waters. His gaze is suffocating. Angry.

“Fine,” I snap right back at him, but my voice is more confident than I feel, “He’ll be more helpful than you!” 

A sickening crack. That’s all I heard as Nott slams his fist against the stone wall, and a gasp leaves my lips in pure shock. Loose rock crumbles to the floor, skidding across the dungeon floor.

Theodore grips his first, his chest heaving with labored breaths, and blood drips from his balled fist to the floor. Before I can say anything, he turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving me alone outside my door.

Anxiety and anger seep into my stomach, and my brows knit with frustration. I push open my door, scanning my room, and my stomach drops when I find a bouquet of fresh red roses laying atop a heart shaped box of what could only be chocolates. I turn on my heel, but Theo’s name gets caught on my lips as I try to call for him, and suddenly, I feel very, very unwell.

Shit.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I sat next to Mattheo at breakfast out of spite. Maybe it’s petty, but as Mattheo rests his elbow comically against my shoulder, Theodore glares at us from across the table. Draco continues talking at Theodore, unaware of his complete lack of focus on the subject at hand. I make eye contact with him for a moment, just a moment, and it sends a cold chill down my spine.

My eye drifts down to Theo's wrapped fist and wrist, his fingers tapping rapidly on the wood of the table. His stormy eyes never leave me even as I turn my gaze away, Parkinson catching my attention with a call of my name. 

“You got mail,” Pansy hummed, passing out each morning parcel. My anxiety creeps back up my neck, and I swear I feel Theodore still staring at me as I carefully tear open a crisp envelope. My hands shake as I slowly pull the nauseatingly familiar paper out, now stained with a deep crimson, and I hold my breath as I open it.

~

To Whom It May Concern, My Darling Future Husband,

Please leave me alone. I’m so sorry for being an insufferable brat recently. I really miss you, and I love you.

Regards. Yours, even if I need my attitude fixed.

I want that written word for word in your next response, or I promise you won’t like what I do to you. This is your last warning.

Yours.

P.s. You aren’t thinking about taking this to the headmaster, are you? It wouldn’t work out for you, love. Don’t be stupid. I hate when you don’t use that clever little brain of yours. Although, I wonder what you would look like fucked dumb.

~

A sob catches in my throat and fear courses through my body. The letter itself reeks, metalic, copper. I curl over in place, feeling my heartbeat quicken exponentially as I wrap my arms around my own stomach. A wave of nausea washes over me like a tsunami, and tears fall from my eyes as they squeeze shut. 

The outside world drowns away, any commotion muffled into a distant buzz as my ears start to ring. I’m hyper aware of the hand placed on my back, and beyond the buzz I can almost make out the voices of the friends surrounding me. 

Hey.

My brain feels fuzzy, and it flickers from one worst case scenario to the other. Pins prick at my skin painfully, making tears fall harder from my eyes.

Hey. 

I try to steady my breathing, but I can’t help but gasp for air.

Hey.

Hey, Hey, Hey, Look at me, Look at me.

I don’t look though, I can’t look. My body feels too light as my thoughts drift away, and the last thing I feel is strong arms catching me as I fall over. 

[johnslittlespoon]

Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me)

Ch. 9/? – 'I Don't Want You To Go Away'

[WC: 122K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, College AU, The Bikeriders AU, Age Gap, Emotional Slowburn, Hurt/Comfort, Porn With Plot, Set in 2005]

College student John Egan ends up in an old pub on the other side of his small town, where he has a chance encounter with biker and mechanic Gale Cleven. Unconventional circumstances be damned, John is a lovesick fool.

[AO3 LINK]

[tomaturtles]

IT'S KAWOSHIN DAY!!! As well as the last day of Kawoshin Week :') It's been such a blast, gonna miss it when it's over

Kawoshin Week Day 7: Cuddling/domestic fluff! + Sleepover and Spinoffs (again)! Based on the Campus Apocalypse sleepover chapter ☺️

[wyervan]

Have you heard of the AU called For The Children? It’s kind of similar to your slasher one in the sense that Sun and Moon kill abusive parents and such

@formdrop

I have seen @/ayyy-imma-ninja’s serial killer boys around the block! Tho I haven’t yet had the pleasure of reading the few chapters they have out currently.

But I imagine the four of them would get on quite well together, human/robot differences aside. They share more in common even beyond their passions for retributive justice. Both our Suns have an interest in books and creating positive spaces for children. And both our Moons seem to like uhhh slicin’ and a dicin’ :3c.

[lienwyn]

Happy birthday, @a-very-fond-farewell! I figured you would enjoy seeing Mr. Abyss in a silly apron ;)

And Ga On be like: "DON'T MIND IF I DO"

... possibly connected to Who Holds the Devil, I guess, since Yo Han is cooking? The future we're all longing for, or something. Especially Ga On since he finally gets to bury his nose against Yo Han's neck like he's always wanted. That boy.

[bittasol]

clarazz are so strong if i was (vaguely in love with and) slightly possessive of my best friend and the whole world was obsessed with him (like i was) id crash out 😭

[kinokoshoujoart]

the coolest kids in forgotten valley!!☆

(…it seems there may have been a stretch of time where rock and lumina were the only kids in forgotten valley…🥲)

poseref

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[little-shadow-club]

I think the best part about Jinchul in SLr is the fact that they kept dropping small details here and there about just how extremely serious he is about protecting earth, but you dont get the full picture until you get to meeting him that you are just like "oh wow hes gone off the rails OKAY!"

Although I think the part that drove home for me that he was just, not thinking sanely would have to be when he proposed the choker bombs on Villains to be wrapped around their neck. Or you know, when he just gave full on permition to Taeshik and other people to go ahead and kill villains and pay them for that. I mean, its obvious when you hear it from me, right now, that Jinchul was obviously crossing the line way before we got told directly that 'yup hes not well mentally.' but considering most action manhwas and, just the general vibe about action fantasy has about stripping criminals from human rights and simply letting them die a gruesome death (heck even SL had bunch of those moments) I was like "oh yeah Jinchul is just being hyped as this hero of justice following along Jinwoo's steps to guide people"

BUT NO, instead Daul really said "This man is suffering a past trauma that he constantly relives in his dreams, he fears everyday that the war hes seen will come back again, porbably even worse, and for that he wants the world to be prepared. Hes on constant alert, hes choosing to take extreme measures for the sake of humanity, the lonelyness he has held for so long has not made him stronger by any means but instead so much more insecure becuase now the only person he has in his life is basically a god, unable to protect earth anymore as he has always done. And as the only one who knows the past he is consumed by the pressure of doing everything he can in order to not let the earth descend into chaos. He cannot even choose to have the past erased becuase those memories just refuse to leave him, and even if he did have the choice, he would NEVER want to erase them, no matter how much its poisoning his mind, no matter how much he suffers. Becuase he's just a man."

And thats just without the shipping goggles off, with them on it just hurts , it just hurts. To Jinchul, Jinwoo is a friend, a family, a hunter, a hero, a god-- his only one-, a monarch, a human, a survivor and the entire reason the world still persists. (While also not mentioning hes the sole reason of Jinchul's trauma since the more he spends with Jinchul the more hes afected by his aura. same to what happened with Ilhwan.) Brother hes MORE than codependent on that man than anyone of us will ever be.

[lunarharp]

being attached to that moment qifrey held a baby one time and my ideas for the future :)

[purplepeptobismol]

Me reading the latest chapter: I love this, ANOTHER

Everyone’s always like: “when’s the next chapter”, “give me the next chapter.”

But never: “How are you doing today, next chapter?” 😔, “did you take your meds today, next chapter?”