#the terrible burden of kissing him on every single run through of this game. it cannot be helped it's out of my hands now)

[vaguely-concerned]

I am so mad about how desperately into pan I am. he was specifically made to fuck me up. they dangled him in front of me like 'hey would you like to see a sad clown trickster with emotional intimacy issues and a heart of, if not gold, then some mysterious alloy with qualities not at all unlike those of gold at the end of the day?' and I went 'boy would I!' and now I'm lost. I'm on my knees he's like if reyes vidal was actually redeemable instead of just a 'release my man he did do all of that but I don't care' situation

[devilrainbunnie]

_ anthurum pt 3 ._

tomura shigaraki x reader

1/2/X

a/n: i was listening to i love you by billie eilish while writing this, i think it fits it pretty well. i recommend to listen to it while reading

cw; anxiety trigger, toxic relationships, manipulation, reader fuckin with giran now aye B)

You reached the top floor, knees nearly buckling under your weight as you anxiously waited for the elevator doors to open. Please, please don’t let him be up here, you silently prayed to yourself. At this point your heart was beating so fast it felt like it was trying to burst out of your chest. You didn’t expect to see him so soon-- more like never again. 

Soon the elevator stopped. It clicked into place as the doors began to slide open. You cautiously stood in the back of the small metal box, launching yourself out to look around the lobby. The sound of pounding foot steps was growing closer however. Carefully you decided to try to run for the door that was only a few meters away. Cursing yourself for wearing those stupid high heels, which made it almost impossible to move around. The screech of an old metal door opening made you jump. “Y/n p-please!” he called after you, you turned to see his panicked, and crazed face. He ran straight at you, giving you no time to dodge his attack. Crashing full force against you, his body caging you into the corner by the door. You struggled against his tight hold, wiggling, whimpering, and growling as you tried to climb your way out of his grasp.

“Shigaraki, p-please!” you choked out, turning your face away from his.

“Stop! I just want to talk to you! S-Stop fighting me!” he begged you, his voice cracking as he stood his ground. It was prevalent to you that he was crying. He never got that upset around you, only a few times. Any time he cried, he couldn’t calm down for hours. He’d sometimes completely shut down, his hands clawing at his face and neck, screaming into the air. 

“I-I can’t do this right now...”

“Please-- I just- I can’t leave you right now. Please. Please don’t go. Please, p-please don’t go. Please... not again. Please...” he sobbed harshly, you looked up to his face. Seeing the tears streaming down the sides of his face. You noticed how his neck was rubbed completely raw, and there were even scratches on his face. He got bad again, and there was no one there to stop it from happening. At that moment, you knew that it was going to get bad unless you calmed him down. His breath was heaving, and his face was a wet mess. Tomura was whimpering any time you moved. 

You felt like he deserved to feel so terrible, after all, he broke you. He made you cry, he fucking cheated on you. But at the same time, all you wanted to do was hold him close to you, and kiss his head. In an attempt to calm him, you snaked your arms from your side up to his face. Softly cupping his cheeks in your hands, salty tears coating your palms. “Okay. Okay. Please, breathe.” you soothed, rubbing soft circles into his cheekbones. Tears continued to fall, but his breathing soon became regulated, and he was calm enough to talk to you. He must’ve gotten himself worked up, you assumed.

He always was bad with coping, if something deeply affected him, he hyper-fixated on it. It never left his thoughts, and he stressed himself to death over it. Tomura was never good with coping correctly. If he really was upset about you leaving him, this reaction was probably to be expected. But you honestly thought he wouldn’t care, or at least barely notice. Before you left, he didn’t care about you in the slightest. Your presence was enough to make him annoyed. He made you feel small. Unwanted. Yet here you were, coddling him. That’s when you recognized the same routine with him. He fucks up, he hurts you, and then you end up being the one who has to fix him afterwards. Every. Single. Time. 

“I... I’m sorry Y/n.” he pleaded, your hands still cupping his face in a way to calm him. “Don’t leave me again, please.” he begged. Putting his hands on top of yours, his tear filled eyes looking into yours.

We’ve been here before, Tomura.

...

“GAH! You fucking bitch! What the fuck?!” he snapped at you, you came in and kissed his cheek, asked him what he was up to, and accidentally knocked off his headset, which caused him to lose focus. You didn’t intend to, you assumed he was just listening to music through them like he often did, because you didn’t hear him talking.

“Tomura, I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t know you were doing something, please--” your heart began to pick up its pace. Flying off of his body. You had interrupted an online game of his, causing him to lose a match that was incredibly important to him and his teammates he often played with. He worked so hard to get to that point, all just for you to come in and distract him while he needed to pay attention the most. He was fuming, his vermillion eyes wide with rage.

“Shut the fuck up! You fucking ruined everything, you fucking idiot! I worked so goddamn hard to get to this point and you just had to come in and fuck it up like you always do! Is that all you know how to do?! Ruin everything?!” he snapped, throwing his headset to the hard wooden floors beneath the two of you.

“I-I didn’t--”

“You don’t mean to do a lot of things and you still fuck up! You’re pissing me off, just shut up and fuck off. Fucking useless.” he snarled, picking his headset off the floor to put back on his head, and sitting down. 

You loudly sobbed as you turned on your heel, walking out of the door and slamming it behind you. Tears pouring out of your e/c eyes as you wondered down the hallway to your room. Fumbling with the door handle, but quickly opening it, locking it behind you and crumbling into your bedsheets. Burrowing your face into your sheets as you released the feeling in your chest. Tomura wasn’t mean to you all that often, but when he was, he knew just how to break you down and make you cry the entire day without hesitation. You didn’t understand why he got so aggressive with you sometimes, even if you messed up and it wasn’t intentional. Sadly, you spent the rest of the day in your room letting yourself cry the pain away, but soon enough you stopped. Enveloping yourself into your bedsheets as you stared at the empty walls in your room. Thinking mindless thoughts, and going over the answers you already knew. 

Soon you drifted unconsciousness, only to be woken up by a sobbing Tomura. He loomed over your figure as he sobbed, scratching at his neck. Muttering things you couldn’t exactly understand. In a half conscious state, you sat up in your bed confused. Not even thinking about what had happened earlier.

“Tomu? Baby, what’s wrong?” you spoke softly to him, reaching your arms out to him.

“I’m-I’m sorry, I’m such a dick. I hurt you. I hate myself.” he sobbed into your chest as you held him close, raking through his periwinkle locks, and kissing his temple. “Please, please don’t leave me. Don’t go. Pl-please don’t go. Don’t leave m-me.” he said in between broke cries, hiccupping as well.

“I’m here. Right here. I love you, so much.” you whispered into his hair. He tensed up, but didn’t respond. Just continued to sob until he calmed down, slept in your room as you smothered him with soft kisses, and your arms around his body. Just like you had many times before that, and after that. 

...

Here you were, for the millionth fucking time it felt like. He hurt you, made you cry, and instead of properly apologizing, he expected you to coddle him. No more would you deal with that behavior of his, it wasn’t fair to you. He expected you to be his, love him, and care for him, when he hardly ever returned it. This will be the last time, you reminded yourself. Dropping your hands from his face. Ready to finally speak your truth to him, no matter how he would take it, you knew he needed to finally understand. To stop being so selfish.

“We-- I, I can’t keep doing this with you, Tomura. I can’t. Can you please listen to me for a second?” you pleaded, looking into his eyes for reassurance. He sniffled, and silently nodded, as a way to let you go on. “I can’t be with you anymore. I can’t keep letting you hurt me, and then I have to be the one to make sure you’re okay, when you hurt me. Every time. I can’t do that, I need someone who is there for me just as much as I am for them. You... You fucking-- you fucking cheated on me for crying out loud! You were having sex with someone else, telling someone else you fucking loved them so easily when it took me a year to get you to say it to me more than once. I was begging you to love me, and you treated me like a burden! I wanted to die! I can’t... I can’t be with you anymore- ever again. I need you to understand that. You really, really fucking hurt me. I left everything behind, for a reason. I didn’t want to, and still don’t want to come back Tomura. I left you, and you need to let me stay gone.” you finished. Finally looking back into his face. He looked devastated, broken. His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth.

“I love you, though... I-I always have I’m-- fucking god damnit!” he snapped, letting a pained noise slip past his lips. “I-I can’t do this without you. Please. One more chance Y/n. Please. I would fucking kill everything in the world for you. You are everything to me. Please.”

“Did you still love me when you were balls deep in miss fire crotch and telling her that you loved her?” you retorted. You knew it was a bad idea to challenge him, but his pathetic attempt to guilt you back into a relationship was upsetting you.

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me Tomura. I’m so sick of you lying,”

“I’m not lying! I’m-I’m not lying stop!” he sobbed, his bottom teeth chittering behind the mop of his hair clouding his face.

“I’ve given you too many chances already, I only can take so much. I care about you, but I will never be with you again in this lifetime. I need you to leave, please.” you enforced. Just wanting him to go away already, and let you cry to yourself now.

“I can’t, please don’t do this.”

“Leave. Get off of me Tomura, I’m serious. Leave.” you growled at him, trying to push him off of you. He was hesitant, and still at first, not letting you move. He muttered something under his breath, which you didn’t catch so you raised your eyebrow at him. He looked into your eyes like he was trying to commit your face to memory, reaching out to feel your skin under his touch. “One last time, please. Just please.” he said quietly, his voice crackling. You were confused, but nodded. Not sure what his next move was going to be. He placed your face in his hands, his hands for a moment just holding you. He was admiring every detail, before moving down to your level. Placing his rough, chapped lips on top of yours. Sealing your final good bye with a kiss, like a pact. 

He snaked his hands to the back of your head to hold you in place. Tears leaking on to your cheeks, his staggered breath against your face as his lips contained within yours. They fit like a perfect mold like they always had, you didn’t want him to let go. It suddenly hit you how finalized this all was, this was really the last time. You kissed him back with fury, as if you could melt your faces together. Stay in the moment forever. It was a passionate, soft kiss. The bitter-sweetness leaving a horrid taste in your mouth but you still, held on to it.

“In another life, Y/n. I will make you the happiest girl in the entire world.” he muttered. Pulling back in to kiss your lips one last time before dropping his hold. Stepping away from your form slowly, looking at you as you were stunned into place. The river streaming out of your eyes not yet noticeable to you. He patted the top of your head like he used to often, smiling a small crooked, heartbroken grin at you. As to say ‘I don’t want to walk away, but I will’. “I love you.” he whispered. You mouthed it back to him, words unable to leave your lips. He turned on his heel, and stepped out of the door you previously tried to leave through.

His words hit you like a ton of bricks as you collapsed to your knees. Holding your arms to your chest, and letting out a loud, painful sob. One that was more aching than you had ever felt. Your eyes shut so tight you were sure they’d struggle to open. Your heart was sawed in half, you didn’t even care that you were in a public space. Even though no one was around. In the middle of the lobby, you let yourself break in half. Alone, and away from Tomura. You left him already, it’s been over a month and you thought you were over it. So why were you crying? You felt pathetic, and weak. You wanted to curl up and die. You wanted to run out of those doors, find Tomura again, tackle him to the ground and smother him with kisses. You wanted to run up to Giran’s office and have him hold you. But you settled for what you were already doing, sobbing by yourself.

After a long while of sobbing. Footsteps slowly approached you, as your hands were covering the sides of your head. They stopped in front of you, kneeling down to your length. A hand with gold rings reached into view. Clasping a hand around your wrist. “Oh dollface, you sweet, sweet thing. I’m so sorry ‘bout that sweetheart, I had no idea he was comin’ in today, just kinda showed up outta nowhere. Let it out baby. C’mere, I’ll take care of you.” Giran had a sympathetic look on plastered on his face, you leaped into his hold. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing soothing circles into your back as you wailed in his hold. 

You both stayed like that until you calmed, he put his hands on the side of your face so you were looking at him once your tears had dried.

“Let’s go home.”

---

You felt alone most of the night, unable to sleep. Painful thoughts corrupting your mind as your eyes tried to drift to the next morning. You sat up in bed, rubbing your face and groaning, feeling your puffy red eyes burning as they adjusted to the small amount of light in the bedroom. Positioning yourself to stand, and make yourself a glass of water. Walking straight into the kitchen, to see Giran still awake. He had a glass of what appeared to be a dark alcohol in his hands as he leaned against the sink in the kitchen. He stood wearing plaid pajama bottoms, and a white tank top, glasses long forgotten about somewhere in his things. Eyes closed and seemingly lost in his thoughts as he swirled the liquid in his glass. He didn’t notice your presence as you stood right outside the doorway, he turned to look out of the small window right above the sink, like he was searching for something out in the yard. A light above his head fully illuminating his features, you smiled at his natural attractiveness. 

“Can’t sleep either?” he called to you. When the hell did he notice me standing here? You thought to yourself.

“No, not at all. My mind is just--jumbled.” you admitted, walking your way over to him. He turned again to face you. Setting his glass down on the counter.

“Can I tell you somethin’?”

“What’s up?’ you replied a bit anxiously.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” he said calmly, stepping towards you a bit. Grabbing your hands in his, you felt your face heat up at his words. “And no one has ever treated you like you deserve to be treated. Do you know how much of a true gem you are doll? You’re like a diamond inside of a sack of coal.”

“Kagero, are you trying to butter me up for something?” you teased, cracking a wide smile.

“There it is-- that bright, beautiful smile of yours. I’ve missed it all day.” he squeezed your hand. “But of course I am. You know doll, I would give you the world and more if you asked for it.” he beamed at you.

“If I just asked? You’re too cheap.” you rolled your eyes, but returning to look into his.

“Whenever you’re ready, let me give it to you. I hate to be so forward at a time like this, and it might be my buzz talkin’, but... you are worth the wait. So fuckin’ worth it, even though I’m some ugly old man who probably doesn’t even actually have even the slightest chance I jus--” you cut him off mid sentence, pressing a soft kiss against his lips in a way to silence him and reassure him. He tensed up before pulling you by the back of your head to deepen the kiss. Sending a plethora of emotions coursing through your veins.

You both reluctantly pulled away, before you decided to speak again. “You’re not ugly, shut up with that talk. And... I’ll let you know, my heart is still healing. You sure you want to wait?”

“I could wait forever for you doll.”

^^^

As time went on, the plants in your apartment you had abandoned were returning to life. Tomura never took care of them the entire time he resided in there, but he noticed their health improving. His apartment was a pig sty, but with the support of Spinner and Twice, he’s been able to maintain it as much as he could. His surgery was in the next week, he was nervous and he wished you were here holding him through this.

He wondered how you were doing, if you were happy, and safe. If things were going better for you, if you were falling in love with someone else, yourself or both. More often than not, he missed you. Talked about you constantly. You were almost an old myth at this point to tell to new members. Tomura smiled for the first time in a while at the thought of you. Pausing outside his apartment door before unlocking it to relax for the evening. As he unlocked the door, he flipped on the light switch. Making his way over to the couch where he’d reside for the night playing video games, and eventually fall asleep. He stopped before he reached it to look over at your plant. Noticing how your anthurium plant had grown another flower, the old flower that resided in it finally wilted and fell on the floor infront of his feet. “You’re blossoming Y/n. I’m proud of you.” he whispered. 

A part of you would always be with him, and watching over him.

[duxhess-kryzewan]

If you are still taking prompts... how about Obi-Wan and Satine at a Senate gala or something and there are a lot of stolen stares and secret touches and our Jedi Master tries to stop himself because he tells himself he can't do that again, he's not a padawan anymore. But then Satine goes somewhere more private and he follows and they basically give into their feelings then and after a passionate angsty make out they leave together. (Basically angsty pining with a bit happy end?)

- illicit affairs - 

If he were being honest, the entire affair was nothing more than for show, something that he had continuously told Anakin though the younger man didn't seem to care in the slightest. He insisted it they attend, rattling off some unconvincing speech about the positive light it would shed on the appearance of the Jedi in the eyes of the galactic republic now that they were no longer fighting in a war and how it had nothing to do with a certain Senator from Naboo attending.

Regardless, he relented, more to keep an eye on Anakin than because he actually thought them showing up would do much for the public opinion of the Jedi. It was nice to not have to worry about imminent death for an evening now that the there had been peace proclaimed throughout the galaxy, even if the entire function was strictly ornamental. Besides, someone had to make sure that Anakin and Padme weren’t being too obvious with what they still thought was a secret affair, 

All in all, it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

That was, until he caught sight of her.

How he hadn't realized that she of all people would be there he would never know. It was a peace summit, for force sake. In any other scenario should would be the one heading it, with her glittering blue dress and jewel woven hair. 

"Master Kenobi."

A chill rushes down his spine at the sound of his name coming from her.

"Duchess."

Satine smiles warmly, "How nice it is to be here and see you not as adversaries in a grueling war, but as allies once again."​

She sips her champagne and he swallows thickly.

"You and I have always been allies."

"Oh of course," She says with a sly grin, "I'd even go as far to say we were a far bit more than allies, wouldn't you?"

He spares a glance to the crowd around them, and while it seemed that no one was listening in on their conversation, he knew there were ears everywhere amongst the republics citizens and higher officials and was rather thrown off by how openly she was hinting at their past relationship. Surely if the war hadn’t been his undoing her words might be. 

"Would I?" He asks.

She bats her eyes innocently, "We're friends, are we not?"

Oh yes, she would certainly be the death of him.

"Of course we are."

Where this newfound bravery came from, he doesn't know, but it's so unexpected that when she reaches forward and smooths down the front of his robes all he can do is freeze.

"A pleasure to see you as always, Master Kenobi."

And with that she turns, fading into the crowd and despite how wildly inappropriate it was (downright scandalous, really) he couldn't tear his eyes off of her, even as she made her way through groups of senators and socialites alike. And it seemed she couldn't look away either, because every time he caught sight of her she was already looking back at him.

So it became a silent game, with the two of them shuffling around the room in a forbidden dance of distance, socializing with whoever crossed their path. But she was always there, watching him watch her as she politely turned down advances of drunk senators and chatted giddily with Padme. Why he ever lets Anakin talk him into anything, he'll never know. The younger Jedi may have flagrant disregard for the rules of no attachment, but he wasn't one to follow the same trend even with Satine here.

Not anymore, at least.

A hand brushes gently against his arm; how had she managed to sneak up on him like that? His thoughts were getting the best of him, never would he be so distracted under any normal circumstance but there she was, pulling his mind in a million different directions. He had been so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn't realize she was passing by him until he felt her skin against his.

"Someone's feeling rather bold." He mutters to himself. ​Never would he have guessed that she would be the one to so dangerously flirt with him in the presence of anyone else. Satine was nothing if not a figure of propriety and decorum. Never has she been one to tip toe along the lines of something so illicit as running the risk of exposing...whatever it was that they were.

He sees Anakin chatting happily with Bail Organa and Padme, Ahsoka standing at his side with a pleasant smile on her face. It seemed that the young Padawan was also roped into attending like he was. How lucky she is not to be weighed down by the threat of exposing a less than acceptable relationship with a diplomatic figure. Not that Anakin seemed to be carrying that too heavily; the young man seemed more than happy to hold what should be a hefty burden.

In another life perhaps Obi-Wan would have been able to do the same; love Satine in tandem with his devotion to the order. But that was not the choice that they made.   

Out of the corner of his eye the flash of Satine's blue gown catches his attention as she slips silently through one of the rooms exits. A brief glance at the time lets him know that it's much too soon for the party to be over, and he knows that she wouldn't be headed back to Mandalore prematurely. She had complained to him more than once about never having enough time to secure enough diplomatic allies for her planet.

And he knows its a bad idea, a horrible idea really, to make his way towards the same exit. And he knows its an even worse idea to actively feel out through the force to find her exact location, because that's truly a choice that he can not return from, but he does anyway.

The building the summit had been arranged in was one of the older ones found in the city; built when the civilization there had first been established. He never saw much use for it within a warring galaxy, there were too many lives being lost outside for anyone to ever consider holding something frivolous as an over glorified party, but here they were, and it seemed that Satine was more than enticed by the primitive designs of the corridors and all that they hold. Not that he can blame her for taking a break to wander, he more than anyone gets tired of the false niceties and stuffy atmosphere that politicians seem to carry with them.

"The festivities not lively enough for you?" He says. If she was unaware of his presence she showed no sign of surprise when he spoke.

"Drunken Senators and war torn socialites do tend to drain a person after a while, and I'm no use to anyone if I'm stuck fending off advances from entitled men instead of securing our independence from our adversaries. Even now I have to resort to talking my way into making political allies instead of just being allowed to rule my planet unbothered."

He chuckles. It was true, though he suspects that she was well versed in the art of talking her way in and out of any conversation.

"Valid point," He concludes, "Such is a prime example of why I don’t like to get involved with politics. Though I am glad you were able to attend. I'd rather it not be years in between us seeing each other again like last time."

There's something both soft and wicked swimming around in her eyes and it both excites and terrifies him.

“I miss you terribly some days,” She admits, “Seeing you brings me a great deal joy, I admit.”

“Me too.”

Looking back, he's not entirely certain who made the first move. He would like to say it was her, and that he had the self restraint not to initiate something so scandalous and code breaking, but he would be lying if he said he was certain it wasn't him. But the end result was still the same, with his hands clinging desperately to her waist and her fingers tangling in his hair. It had been so long since someone had touched him so lovingly and while somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear a voice screaming at him for going against the code he holds so dear, every other sense within him didn't care in the slightest.

"I'm here until tomorrow evening," she whispers breathlessly against his lips, kissing him again before continuing, "Don't leave me tonight, please."

How could he deny her anything? All he’s ever done was leave her in the past; how could he ever take such a simple request away from her?

He grips her hip bones between his hands and pulls her closer to him, his lips dipping down to her exposed neck and the contact produces a contended sigh from her and he wonders how a single sound can fill him with so much warmth. It unlocks a newfound happiness he didn’t know was possible just by knowing he’s the one making her feel this way.  

He kisses her neck one, two, three times before trailing back up to her cheek, pausing to whisper lovingly in her ear, "I wouldn't dare."

[noxsoulmate]

We Are Real (15x18 coda)

by noxsoulmate

Summary:

“As long as I’m alive, you’ll never stay dead. Not truly. Not for long. I will always find a way to bring you back.”

When Dean finally makes it to the Empty, convincing Cas to let himself be saved is not as easy as he had thought…

With only a few hours left until the series finale, I finally got to post my very first coda 🥰 I hope you will like it - the ending we deserve 😉

@deanandcasbingo​, square filled: O2 "Hurt/Comfort"

Read on ao3 or here:

It didn’t matter how he had gotten here. It didn’t matter how he had found him.

All that mattered was that he was here, that he had found him.

“Dean?”

“Hello, Cas.”

“What… how… What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I’m saving you.”

“Why– Why would you do that?”

For a moment, Dean thought about calling his angel a dumbass for such a stupid question. Why wouldn’t he do this? Had Cas really thought Dean would let him stay dead? That he would move on and live a happy life, knowing Cas had sacrificed himself for him and was now in the Empty?

One look into Cas’ sad eyes told him… yes, that was exactly what Cas thought.

“What's the matter, Cas?” he asked with a soft smile as he took a step closer. “You don't think you deserve to be saved?”

Cas’ eyes went wide, obviously catching the reference to the words he had spoken to Dean all those years ago. Right after he had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.

“I… no, I…” Licking his dry lips, Cas was clearly searching for words. “I just… I was under the impression I had to stay dead this time. For good.”

“Cas, buddy. You should know one thing by now,” Dean said, stepping closer yet. So close he could easily grab Cas’ arm. The soft touch had the angel look up, right into his eyes. “As long as I’m alive, you’ll never stay dead. Not truly. Not for long. I will always find a way to bring you back.”

For a moment, there was light in Cas' eyes. A light Dean hadn't seen in a long time.

Hope.

The light dimmed within a heartbeat.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

It came out as a whisper and cut all the deeper, piercing right through Dean's heart.

“Don’t say that.”

“No, but, Dean… I was prepared to die. I’m… I’m okay with this.”

The worst part about this? Dean could tell that Cas really meant it. He really was okay with being dead – as long as it meant Dean was safe.

“But you think I am?" he challenged, unable to keep all his emotions at bay. 

There was a bit of anger. Anger that Cas had just left him, anger that he had never told him about the deal, anger that he had waited until the last possible second to lay his heart bare.

But mostly, there was desperation.

"You think I’m okay with you just dying on me? You think it’s okay for me to lose my best friend in such a way?" 

Cas' winced at his words but Dean had a hunch it was more about the 'best friend' remark than the accusations in itself. Still, he lowered his voice, softening it.

"You think I'm okay with you telling me all these things and then just leaving me like that?”

"Dean, please–"

"No, Cas. It's my turn to talk. You got to say your piece, now I get to say mine."

There was a tortured expression on Cas' face and he wouldn't look at him. But he also didn't pull away, never claiming his arm back from Dean’s grip, which he took as a good sign.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew they should probably leave this place first. Should probably get Cas to safety before discussing all this. But right now, even in the middle of the Empty, there was nothing more important to Dean than making his angel see the truth.

"You say you know how I see myself – but Cas, I know how you see yourself too. You see yourself as fallen and broken. You feel like you need to bleed for us to be of use, that we only keep you around because your powers are useful to us – which makes you useful to us."

He could see tears glistening in Cas' eyes and damn, he was close to tears again as well.

"You sacrifice yourself for us because you think that's all you're good for. Like it’s the only reason we could possibly want you around."

A single tear was softly running down Cas' cheek and Dean didn't even try to suppress his need to reach for him. When his fingertips touched Cas' skin, the angel visibly jerked in surprise, turning wide and stunned eyes on Dean. Not letting himself be deterred, Dean softly cupped Cas' cheek and wiped away the tear with his thumb. 

"And I know, it's mostly our fault – my fault," he amended. "Because I never bothered to stop and reassure you that none of that is true. I've… I've treated you terribly in the past–"

"That wasn't–"

"I know, Cas. I know some of it wasn't my fault, some of it was Chuck, playing his games with us. But not all. Not all, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'll spend the rest of my life reminding you that you're not broken. I'll show you, every day, that we don't keep you around because you're useful – but because we want you around."

His thumb caught the next tear that fell, gently brushing over Cas' cheek.

"I want you around."

Cas broke their eye contact, letting his head hang, gaze turned down. He looked defeated.

"I'm sure you don't–"

"I do," Dean interrupted right away, tilting his head to try and catch Cas' gaze. "Cas, I do."

When Cas still refused to look at him, Dean swallowed. Apparently, he had to spell it out for him.

Then again, so had Cas…

"You were wrong, you know?"

With a shy gaze, head still tilted down, Cas looked up at him.

"You said the one thing you want is something you know you can't have."

Tenderly but also with a sure hand, he cupped Cas' other cheek, lifting his head as he stepped even closer.

"Well, guess what."

He could see Cas' eyes grow wide as he slowly leaned in, tilting his head just enough to catch Cas' lips in the barest, softest brush.

If he had thought his angel would melt into the touch, he would have been severely disappointed. As it was, he had almost expected the frozen posture and shell-shocked look. If the situation wasn't so dire, he might have even laughed.

Pulling back just enough to be able to look back at Cas, Dean still kept his face cradled in his hands.

"You can have it, Cas. Because I want you, too. Not because I need you. Not because you're family. Not because you're my best friend and you always will be."

There was that light again. That shimmer in Cas' eyes that told him he finally got it. He finally understood that being Dean’s best friend – his buddy, his pal…

It didn't mean he couldn't also be so much more to him.

The light of hope was shining and Dean never wanted it to dim again.

"I want you too. Because I love you."

A sob broke from Cas' throat but there was also a smile, slowly stealing itself onto Cas' lips.

"I never… I never dared to hope. And when you didn't say it back…"

"Cas, seriously? Death was literally pounding on the door, God was out there ending the world. You just told me you’d made a stupid-ass deal with the Empty and that it would take you away from me the moment you get to be happy. And if that wasn't too much to take on already, you also said all these– these things that no one… no one had ever said to me…"

It was Dean’s turn to cry now, letting the silent tears run freely down his face.

"And to top it all, you finally confessed your love and… and I just… I couldn't…"

He let one of his hands brush down Cas' cheek and to the side of his neck, his fingertips burying into the softness of Cas' hair.

"I didn’t have time to process a single thing and then, you were just… gone."

"I'm sorry, Dean. I know I shouldn't have burdened you in such a way. But the Empty–"

"No, Cas, it's alright. Honestly. I know why you did it. I just need you to understand why I didn't say it back. I wanted to. My heart was screaming for me to say something. But all I could think, all my brain let me focus on, was the fact that you were about to die. Again! That I was going to lose you. Again. And that, if I told you I love you too, the happiness would only take you quicker."

"I…" Cas began shyly, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I was able to sense that you weren't disappointed or even disgusted by my declaration. It… it was all I needed to feel truly happy."

"Dumbass," Dean replied with affection in his voice. "I'll make sure you soon realize what true happiness really looks like."

When Cas smiled at him, Dean leaned in again, chasing another kiss. This time, Cas timidly reciprocated and the sweet softness of his lips sent waves of warmth through Dean's body, straight to his very soul.

Huffing a shy laugh once the kiss ended, Dean leaned his forehead against Cas', basking in the moment.

"You were right about something else, though," he whispered, stepping impossibly closer yet, winding one of his arms around his angel, while the other hand was still buried in his hair, Cas' own hands sliding around Dean’s hips to carefully hold on.

"What's that?" 

"We are real."

And after a long, long kiss, Dean finally gripped his angel tight and raised him from the Empty...

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Hello if you don't mind could I ask you to do something with Alfie (I love all your Alfie pieces) I was looking at the prompt lists you posted recently and I was thinking that they are not together but obviously like each other she is working for him. And one day Alfie starts joking around with her and she says something thing about the beard and he starts kinda play wrestling her and tickling her with the beard on her neck or whatever which ends up leading to their first kiss. Hope you like the idea.

//I hope this is kind of what you were looking for! Enjoy!

            To the outside world, Alfie was a cold-hearted, sarcastic, violent man. But those who worked in the bakery knew that this wasn’t all true. Of course, he had a penchant for doling out punishments when he saw fit and the sound of him yelling was a common occurrence. Yet a new side to him began to show when he took on a secretary. She was the niece of a family friend. A girl he grew up with on the streets of Camden. Someone he used to know so well but lost contact with after he began working and especially after he left for war.

            Initially, Alfie was hesitant to bring on a woman. He lived in a man’s world, not just by running rum but in a traditional community of Orthodox Jews. But apparently, some of the Camden women were taken by the new age of the ‘20s and wanted to venture out of the home.

            Including Theresa who Alfie hired after meeting her for the first time. He didn’t consider him to be very shallow, but he appreciated beauty.

            And she was beautiful. Alfie wasn’t sure he ever realized how beautiful she was. There were times when they passed each other on the street and gave one another a brief hello. But she truly had grown into herself

            Alfie chalked it up to being a sinner. He was a sinner so he would want a beautiful woman around. What he didn’t realize was that he wanted Theresa around because she was a bright light in an otherwise dreary spot of London. She had always been a cheery person. Alfie couldn’t ever remember her being in a foul mood when they were children. She always seemed to be content even if they were poor.

            She made it very apparent on her first day that she hadn’t changed much. She brought in a little bouquet of flowers to liven up her desk outside of Alfie’s office.

            Alfie sighed, watching her set the vase down with care. “She’s gonna be eaten alive here.” He muttered under his breath.

            But later that day, he passed by her as she was trying to work a hole punch.

            “For fuck’s sake.” She hissed at the contraption.

            Alfie snorted.

            Theresa’s head shot up with a look of embarrassment. “Oh, Alfie, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

            He chuckled. “Love, there ain’t nothing you could say that would make me blush.” He informed her. “Just didn’t expect that from you.”

            “Me?” She raised an eyebrow. “We were raised the same way. I’m sure we were both swearing before our mums could do anything about it.”

            That put a smile on his face. “I remember the first time you swore in front of your mum. She was convinced the devil had gotten a hold of you.”

            Theresa giggled. “That poor woman.”

            Alfie paused for a moment. It wasn’t completely rare that he would strike up a conversation with his employees. He chatted with Ollie and some of the others who had been working for him for a while. He knew their families well, so he respected them for their hard work. But Theresa was much more and he felt stupid that he hadn’t realized that before. This was the girl he was raised with.

            He wasn’t sure whether to be at ease or nervous about the sort of feelings bubbling up inside him. So, he quickly excused himself.

~~~

            As time went on, the longer Theresa worked there, Alfie realized he couldn’t walk away from those feelings. There was a clear playfulness to their relationship. Alfie felt like a kid again around her and Theresa certainly wasn’t afraid of him like most people were.

            But he couldn’t help but feel a little foolish. Theresa was still the bright, uplifting person she had been since childhood. Alfie was now just a grumpy bag of bones who made God extremely angry with every breath he took. At least, that’s what he thought. He didn’t think there were any remnants of the young man he once was. Well, aside from being a troublemaker. He had been one since birth.

            But none of this seemed to bother Theresa. In fact, she was making it very difficult to stay away. She had a habit of making him laugh like no one else ever could. Not to mention when she noticed he wasn’t happy, she tried to ease his burden a bit.

            Despite Alfie’s reluctance, the relationship blossomed very naturally as the year progressed.

~~~ 

            Come springtime, Theresa was in Alfie’s office helping him with his ledger.

            Not too long after they began, Alfie noticed she was catching glances much more frequently than she usually did.

            “Something wrong?” He asked.

            “Oh, no.” She shook her head, not really embarrassed that he was calling her out. “I just was thinking about how it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you without a beard. You never had one before the war.” She remembered.

            “Yeah.” He consciously ran a hand over his right cheek. “Covers up the worst of me scar, don’t it?”

            “No, I didn’t mean I didn’t like it.” She clarified. “It was just something I was thinking about.” She shrugged.

             “Yeah?”

            “Do the women you’re with complain about it being scratchy?” She asked coyly.

            He gave her a funny look. “Do you see me frolicking about with women? You’ve worked here long enough to know I barely have time to breathe.”

            She smiled. There was no use in denying that Theresa enjoyed toying with him a bit. It made her day a bit more fun knowing she could flirt with him and he would either get flustered or send it right back her way. Even though she wanted something more with him, she figured the most she would get was harmless flirting.

            “Or maybe it’s the beard.” She replied casually.

            He narrowed his eyes at her. It was clear she was playing with him. “You’re in a feisty mood today, aye?”

            She didn’t answer. “I suppose it makes you appear older. More manly maybe.”

            “Oh,” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his desk chair as he eyed her. Almost as if he was trying to figure out her strategy, find out what her game plan was, or what she wanted out of the interaction. “So, I weren’t manly ‘til I grew a fucking beard.”

            “When you didn’t have the beard, I could still beat you up.”

            “Now that, yeah, is utter horseshit. There weren’t ever a time you could beat me up.”

            She laughed. “Oh please, I could pin you to the ground better than your own brother could.”

            “Well, that’s just rich.” He shook his head. “I’ll let you believe what you want, love.”

~~~           

            But Theresa wasn’t done. She waited until most of the men in the bakery had gone home. Since Alfie worked late most nights, it would be perfect. She came into his office and shut the door behind her.

            He was at his filing cabinet and nodded at her.

            She didn’t say anything, just came up beside him and poked him right under his ribs where she knew he was ticklish. Just as when they were children, Alfie nearly doubled over and stifled a snorting laugh.

            “Oi!” He caught her hand before she could get him again. “Little minx, you tryna give me a heart attack?”

            She giggled. “Still the same boy, aren’t you?”

            Alfie could argue that he wasn’t. He could list off all the things he had done. The horrible deeds he’d been up to ever since the war. But there was a sparkle in Theresa’s eyes that made his knees weak.

            So, he grabbed her by the waist and threw her over his shoulder. “Yeah, same boy that you used to wrestle, aye? You’d tear your stockings and your mum would chew us all out. Saying we were leading you astray.”          

            “Alfie!” Theresa laughed as he plopped her down on top of his desk.

            “Told her that it weren’t us. Nah, it was you the whole time. Always stirring the pot.” He stood in front of him with his hands on his hips but a faint smirk on his face.

            “You never complained.” She replied cheekily.

            He shook his head. “No one could find a single thing to complain ‘bout you.”

            Theresa chewed on her lip, thinking for a moment before she made up her mind. She stood up and stepped toward Alfie.

            For a moment, he thought she was going to make another go at him, but then she touched his cheek gently. She searched his eyes, waiting for him to push her away. But instead, he nodded and kissed her.

            Everything sank away. Theresa wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss with a soft sigh.

            Alfie’s brain was going haywire. A million different reasons for abandoning her flooded his mind. She would be better off, he was a terrible person, nothing good would come to her, everyone would think ill of her, he would be using her.

            But there was one good reason to keep her near. He loved her.

            He placed a hand on the small of her back to bring her flush against him. Never again did he want her to be so far. Having her close felt far too good to give it up.

            When Theresa drew away, she looked happier than he’d ever seen her before. “I don’t think I mind kissing you with the beard.” She said playfully. “In fact, I kind of like it.”

            He chuckled and pecked her lips again. “So that’s that, then?”

            “I suppose so.” She lightly ran her fingers through his unruly hair. “Although, I never expected you to, well I just thought that you would never want to be with me.”

            “Yeah? What gave you that idea?” He asked.

            “I don’t know. I just thought maybe you would want a woman who’s more…dangerous. Not some silly girl like me.”

            Alfie smoothed a thumb over her cheek, taking in how soft her skin was compared to his calloused hands. “You are a silly girl for ever thinking that’s the case.” He murmured. “This is a job, love. Why would I want to come home to someone who’s just like work, aye? I want to come home to someone loving and warm. Thoughtful and funny and…” He felt like he was losing himself in her yearning gaze. “What I mean is, I want someone like you. I want you. Just didn’t think you would ever want someone like me.”

            “Then you are a silly man for ever thinking that’s the case.” She replied. “I want every part of you, Alfie.”

[drcrushers]

prompt maybe? how seph introduced hades to dominos and the Frustration of realizing that he will Never Play this Game Right, Ever

game, set, match

She hates chess.

Hades had taught her early in their marriage, how to play. Problem is, she can’t win worth a damn - especially against him. That strategic brain that plots every move out like a battle plan and swiftly catches her at checkmate before she’s even made a dent in his pawns. It’s infuriating, and she puts up her best fights - and it is still not enough. Hades enjoys it though, she knows. And it’s an excuse that gets him away from being a damn workaholic. He works too hard, and she’s known that since the beginning of time. She carries those burdens too, as queen, but he still pushes himself too far. Don’t think she ain’t noticed the fine silver hair beginning to show at his temples. She’s had to get creative in her efforts to make him take breaks. Surprise lunches, careful distractions, plus the one or two or three afternoons they’d spent learning just how sturdy that desk and those shelves of his were. 

So she has to think fast, unless she wants to be tormented by chess from here to eternity.

All the games she knows are ones played by running through fields or finding little nooks between the trees to hide away in. Poker is alright, but Hermes is better at it than she is and that ain’t nearly as much strategy much as luck (unless you’re actually playing with Hermes, then it’s a game of catching her damned brother cheating). Except, she thinks, one game. 

She has to rummage in the boxes in her momma’s house that summer, skin slicked with mid-day heat. She unearths a pouch of worn tiles that ain’t seen the light of day in a good century - her ma won’t miss them. She tucks them in her bag when she goes back down home in the fall, and drops it on Hades’ desk two weeks later when she decides he needs a break. His brow arches all curious like, and Persephone smiles. 

“Figured I’d teach ya somethin’ in return for learnin’ me chess.” 

He looks like he might argue, go back to his reports, but he doesn’t. His shoulders ease and he reaches out to find out what’s in the cloth pouch bag. Persephone sets about trying to find a good place to play; their table in his office is all taken up with the chess set that ain’t got a proper home and if she shoves his papers on his desk outta his way he’s likely to have a conniption fit. Real picky, her husband. So she settles on the table on the balcony of his office, usually reserved for their drinks after a long day or whatever book she’s been reading, whatever else. That balcony is their little safe space to look over their realm, enjoy it’s beauty. She feels like a damned queen on a parapet out there most of the time. Hades usually just reads his paper.

“It’s real good, I promise.” He’s tried for a while to find more things she likes that he can learn, that they can do together or something that ain’t tied to the underworld. This, she reckons, is the solution. To his credit, he follows her out to the balcony and plants himself in a seat, even removing his jacket. Least she’ll have his attention for a while she notes, sitting across from him. She dumps the little cloth sack out onto the surface of the table and the porcelain tiles with their neatly carved dots spill out with a clatter. 

She hears him catch his breath in the back of his throat and her head snaps up, worried something’s wrong or -

“Hades?”

“---dominoes.” He rumbles in that gravel tone that could shake the depths of the damn earth. She smiles. 

“You know it?”

“Not - I don’t know how.” He replies quietly. Not at all like him. “---I used to watch Deme and Hestia play together. Long time ago.” Sees him swallow. Sentimental, her man. Even if he tries to keep it secret. She knows it. Persephone’s expression softens. “Well, ‘bout time you learned then.”- - -For all of Hades’ brilliance in chess, he shows none of it in dominoes. 

To her, it’s a simple game. Easy rules, easy way to keep score. But he keeps trying to turn the tiles when he ain’t supposed to and is adding them all wrong. Persephone wonders if it might be an act at first, but after she teaches him and they play a few practice games, she’s decided he just can’t fathom how to play.Is it an excuse to spend more time with her? Maybe. Probably. She doesn’t ask. He doesn’t tell. She tries not to get frustrated - he didn’t lose his temper with her learning chess, so she tries to return the favor. At some point, one of them grabs a decanter from his desk and two glasses and things go downhill from there. Persephone wins, seven games out of ten. The other two were draws because he’d hopelessly confused her scoring that she’d lost track and they’d both given up.Somehow, it becomes their thing.

They stop playing chess all together, they play dominoes instead. Always out on the balcony. She hopes he’ll get better - he doesn’t. It becomes a strategic game when things start growing tense between them, when the winters ain’t what they should be. Each win she gets feels like a hollow victory; they barely make it through a game or two before he’s grown frustrated and gets up and leaves. Or turns back to his newspaper and ignores her the rest of the evening. 

He always comes back to the game though. Eventually. Those tiles become their arguments, told through the way they’re slammed down or tossed carelessly. Not once does he win. And it angers him, she knows. She tries not to look too pleased when he storms off after some games, nearly scattering the tiles in his haste. They don’t play at all the winter that Eurydice comes, that Orpheus comes. That Orpheus leaves. The tiles are untouched, blank backsides worn from use and colored off-white rather than the once pristine porcelain. Persephone wants to throw them at Hades that winter, launch every single damned tile at his face until he listens. She doesn’t.

They’re there, blank and waiting when she returns the winter after. Six months to the day. Somehow they end up there on that balcony after she comes off the train, her fingers jittery from withdrawal and him silent as his shades. They sit. Persephone tries to focus on the realm spread out beneath them. Something’s changed this time, she thinks. 

There’s a clink and when she looks down, Hades has flipped one of his tiles over and placed it at the center - the first move of the game. Waiting. An offering, she thinks as she looks from the tile to his face. Those dark eyes that say so much and nothing at all. She is quiet, then reaches down to move one of her tiles into place against his. An answer. The game starts anew. Things have changed. Tiles are not war, they are peace offerings. Tile by tile as they build the board like they should have built their kingdom. Like they want to rebuild themselves, their marriage. He isn’t as terrible as she remembers, she notes. Gets points pretty well, just as well as her. 

By the end of it, Hades wins by six points. 

Thing’s should be alright, she thinks as she helps him flip the tiles back over to their blank sides for another round. Their hands brush, he catches her fingers in his and brings them to his lips to brush a kiss against them. 

She doesn’t remember the scores after that.

[tenebriiis-archived]

// This was deeply inspired by many things that I think you’ll recognize as you go by. I’m sorry for the delay. This was mostly inspired by this Song: Methods of Madness , and I highly recommend to play it in repeat-mode as you read ♥

Hope you like, Dear! And as always your opinions are more than welcomed ♥ 

Break Me: I will write an angsty drabble about our characters.

[ ♦ ]

She could barely breathe...

Around her everything had turned into crumbles, ashes and dust. Roses were wiltering one by one, surrounded by long pierced torns and ebony feathers all around. Darkened tears falling down her cheeks as the dizziness made it difficult to stand up. The dull sound of sorceres and the harsh screams of the trifarian legions outside of the crumbled Immortal Bastion rang in her ears along with hollow eerie -overlapping & menacing- voices

...Where was him?...

The lullaby of war singing outside, fighting to something they weren't able neither slightly prepared yet to stand against. He had returned to take what was always his. Centuries had passed. It didn't matter, he had been patient and ever scheming, and she had been too blind,  comfortable in her very own precious illusion of power. A lie to herself, and now the only thing remaining inside was the acute pain... both physically and emotionally.

...Where was him?!

Crawling herself in the shattered floor, feeling like torns piercing her skin with every movement, until finally finding destroyed furnitures to grasp to and help her stand. Every step is thousands of needles in her magicless emptity, as the air turns into a sharp dagger cutting her voice. Gasping for air as her golden hues, now a soft amber color & lacking any sense of power, scan the area with despair and agony, with craving, with need...

Until she founds him, there is him...

Thrown on the dark broken marble floor, feathers all around him as burnt mementos of cruel & unreachable glory. Destroyed raven wings, the bird unable to fly ever again. She screams his name in sorrow and torment, echoing against the walls. There's not cunning, nor affection, nor playfulness in her tone... all that could be heard and felt was her inmense turmoil. A maelstrom of desperation as she attemps to reach him, crumbling with every step. One single arm trembles, barely extending in her direction trying to reach her, as his bronze-colored eyes look at her...

She can smell the blood that pools around him, feel the terrifying pain he's into. The claw is lacking, atonishing and glowing red now gone... The demon was gone from his body, by his last tactic and resort, his last remain of a broken hope.

The Sorceress doesn't know where the last remainings of force come from as her pale form quickly reaches his form. They are running out of time, as the world is in flames around them, and the symphony they had played for long becomes a sad melody of farewells. Kneeling by his side, "Jericho... Mon Corbeau..." Her voice is softer that he would ever heard, as her hands gently craddle his head to rest on her lap instead of the cold and coarse floor, running her shivering fingers on his silver hair before caressing his cheek. They share smiles that spoke volumes of sadness and hopelessness, of recklessness, of powerless... and yet there's something subtle in them, as she traces his features with delicate fingertips in a loving gesture... ever-so careful anf gingerly, terrified of only enhance his discomfort even if he take a deep breath beneath her touch.

Both perhaps guess that after all that had been lived and shared, accomplished and obtained, loved and raised, there's not point on pretending any games anymore.

"You gave her the Demon..." Emilia quietly whispers, an affirmation almost turned into an inquirie as her chest tightens, knowing how minutes pas unmercilessly.

"And you... gave her your Magic, didn't you?"

"Our Daughter needs more if we are meant to fall down at the end. I only kept enough to find you..." Even in the closeness of the grasp of Kindred, even if he won't ever worship them, he still had that little grin of his when something would come by as he planned, wished or was simply amusing on tune. "...You raised her to be just as clever and skillful in your arcane sorcery as well as I did with my own prowless... We knew deep inside this day would come, and yet..." Her voice sounds hoarse, even if she tries to cover up for the tiredness.

"...Yet we never imagined it to be so close." He concludes her statement, his remaining hand looking to cover the one on his cheek, grasping it tightly, a signal for her to look into his eyes, to listen to him. "Now she will end this war for us both, for all Noxus..."

There's unmistakable pride in his tone when he talks about her. The strong woman their little crow had became. He could still recall the fragility of her form the first time she was in his arms, the joyful tone of her childhood, the cunning and intriguing ideas as she grew and then the desire to serve Noxus as properly as any other soldier could do. It had killed the hopes of Emilia to her behaving as a Queen in a sense, no, she was bold & far better than that.

And now she was out there, defending all the Noxian Empire for those who it belonged now. After the brieftest of exchanges and the longest of goodbyes. The last command he could give to Raum, the last petition to the Demon of Secrets who on the other hand wasn't a fool after all. There was more and more power hunger in the deal of their Daughter and her immense sorcery quality.

It was heartbreaking to let her go, and witness the crimson glow decorating now her amber eyes. Besides of course, feeling the guilt of passing such horrible burden onto the only light both of him could find in their own darkness. Now it was her time to lead, fight and command. And they knew she could...

Just as they also knew and feel how they were running out of time.

He looks up into her eyes once more. All the masks had fallen, all the games had ended, burnt roses and feathers together at the end of this story. What could be writen of them in books? What could be say of the Immortal Witch & the Raven General? Would they call them heros, tyrants, leaders, foes, fiends? Would they talk about their endless garden, their chess game? Who would place the ink that will carry them into the eternity? Or who would torn them from the pages into oblivion?

"Emilia" He calls her name and she snaps out of her deep thoughts on this little terrible last encounter. He doesn't need to tell her more words to understand as her caresses on his semblance come to a halt. The little last hints of arcane belonging to them still linger, entwining together as she carefully search in the folds of her silken dress. A little vial containing a silver liquid.

Only two drops, no more, was her usual message. A reminder. But now...

"Open your mouth, Jericho. Drink..." The Sorceress whispers with a voice about to break, as her eyes start to glisten on tears she tries not to shed. The pain surely most be unbearable at this point & that was the only comforting thoungt she could grasp from. He didn't hesitate, it was an still promise they would had, and she carried that vial with her everywere... hoping to never needing it.

Carefully, she tooks off her long silken scarves & folds them until being able to do a comforting pillow for her ally, her enemy, her lover, before moving parsimoniously as suffering continues running through her body. Regardless, there's no hesitation on her neither as carefully laying at his side, glazing on his eyes one last time, sharing silent conversations instead they usual games of daggers and coats.

The Enchantress leans in to kiss his lips, gently, lovingly, a farewell that drowns an eagerly whine. A plea. More time... she pleaded, nor matter if any of them were religious, she pleaded and promised to any god willing to listen, to the Kindred if there was any mercy of the Lamb and the Wolf, yet any pray above nor below entity could make the clock reverse.

The poisonous liquid stings her tongue and thoat as she keeps kissing him with all the will and energy she's able too, before her body is collapsing and trembling and the Grand General embraces her & pulls her close to him for her to rest. Emilia feels her tears shedding silently as her head craddles close to the sound of his heart, slowing down. Her pacing mimicking her own. It's in that moment, along with the sounds of what she can recognize as screams of glory from Trifarian Legions and Tropes. As if a Victory had being obtained... All the voices scream in obation their daughter's name.

The clock won't reverse, but time has chosen a new era of Glory to begin, in which they aren't pictured in but a remembrance. It's enough to her to hold on the hope

She looks up at his face, as his about to close his eyes into the painless and dreamless slumber of darkness. Would they encounter themselves there? Once more? Or their souls were meant to part? Crossed lovers like the poems dedicated to stars... together in a point of view, and yet so far in reality...

Oblivion seemed so terrifying, yet she only wanted both of them to find solace. No more horrors, no more maelstroms in their minds & souls, nevermore...

"Je t'aime..." She whispers, as her last breathing seems to come and so does his. It's a last confession on their death bed, as the world crumbled around them, only to offer pass to a new cycle.

"...Pour toujours."

[ ♦ ]

@visionofnoxus​

[magisterlys]

Voices in the Snow Written Cross the Stars: Chapter 2

Summary:

The Commander disappears into an oncoming storm and Jormag is kind enough to cheer Braham on while he searches for her. Past hurts are considered, as the two try to navigate their complicated relationship.

Something had been nagging at Braham all day. He'd tried to wave it off as lingering frustration and confusion about what happened with the commander yesterday, tried to focus on the work in front of him. Jora’s Keep was a disaster; suffering under the constant onslaught of storms and now that the Vigil was short-handed it was all hands to try to patch roofs, repair walls and get the supplies in order.  Having something to do with his hands, something tangible to focus on, usually cleared his mind but he just couldn’t shake it today… something was wrong. Or about to go wrong. He was outside the barracks, holding a plank of wood in place for a Vigil crew member when he heard it.

“She is all alone, and they are closing in.”

The sudden hissing whisper of Jormag’s voice in his head made him nearly let go of the piece of timber, earning a glare from the woman below him. He didn’t have to wonder who the dragon meant, he just activated his com.

“Commander?”

Silence.

“Commander, where are you?”

Again. Why wasn’t she answering? “Commander?”

“These things have been intermittent since the last storm,” Crecia answered, her tone clearly indicating that her answer was less to be helpful and more to keep the norn from yelling again.

“Any idea where she is?” Braham’s response was terse, made more so by the whisper that cut through before he could hear the charr’s response.

“She is calling for you.”

“ - north gate, this morning."

Braham was already making his way across the keep. “Thanks.” He could see Rytlock just inside the gate arguing with an asura in Vigil garb.

“Burn the logistics of it, shorty. We can’t clear passes with our claws. You’re just going to have to make room in the chopper for what Cre and I need.” The charr had risen to his full height, arms crossed over his chest to make a point as he glared down at the asura. The little guy barely came up to his knee, but he didn’t seem remotely cowed.

“There’s another storm on the horizon. We are only making one more trip for necessary supplies today. You will ‘just going to have to’ wait until -”

Braham either didn’t register that they were in the middle of something, or didn’t care. He interrupted, “Have either of you seen the commander?”

The asura gave the rude new arrival a passing glance and waved vaguely toward the gate, ready to continue his argument with Rytlock. “She went that way a while ago.”

Braham growled, clenching and unclenching his fists once and restated his question … slowly. “She went where?” The anger boiling up inside of him wasn’t rational, but it was the only way he knew how to process panic. And that is what he felt right now, inexplicably. Panic.

The asura squeaked, taking a half step backward away from the angry norn. Suddenly understanding which of the two towering figures he should be paying attention to he repeated himself, “She … err, north?”

“... alone?” Braham’s question was borderline threat.

“Y-yes, well … no.” The poor asura sputtered, “She had a really quite big bear with her. She said something about  … finding a proper dinner?”

“Dinner?” Rytlock chimed in now in confusion, looking over at Braham. “What’s got your fur in a knot, kid?”

“ Why are you never there when she needs you?”

Another growl from Braham, a spike of panic rising in his throat. “She’s not answering her coms and she shouldn’t be out there alone. Who just let her wander off on her own, with a storm on the way and the coms half dead?”

It was all Rytlock could do not to laugh and the rolling rumble of response betrayed that,  “Listen, lover boy, she can take care of herself.”

It was Braham’s turn to sputter, in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Since yesterday, when the commander had suddenly kissed him, Rytlock had been giving him knowing grins; wiggling his fuzzy eyebrows at him all the time.  “I’m not…we’re not! … I’m going to look for her.”

“Alone? With the coms half dead?” Rytlock arched a brow, though his point was lost on Braham, who was already heading through the gate.

“Apparently!”

The constantly falling snow made it difficult to follow her tracks, or more aptly, the bear tracks. The commander’s boots were impossible to distinguish from every other human-sized footprint, but Jasper’s were unique. At least she had brought her pet.

“Going to find a proper dinner?” Braham muttered to himself as he turned south, following the trail as it cut away from the road and up toward the mountains. He remembered yesterday while making their way to Raven’s Sanctum. Lys has spotted the vibrant green tops of root vegetables fighting their way through the snow. Braham had found it endearing how joyful finding a bunch of plants made her and had agreed that a nice turnip stew sounded delicious.

“Pact Commander. Slayer of Dragons. God Killer …” The tracks were becoming even harder to follow as the hills gave way to the edge of a forest. “... wandering the bloody svanir covered mountains for turnips. Perfect.”

“The snow is so cold.”

Somehow he felt the whisper this time, crawl up his back like a living thing. Dig into the base of his neck and send a wave of panic he struggled to push down. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself but found a new source of fear as he did ...he smelled blood on the air.

Braham launched himself up the rise ahead, a dozen terrible images flashing through his mind. Snow crunched under his boots as he crested the hill and skidded to a stop - crimson stained the crystal white snow. There had been a struggle, and something was dragged toward the trees … something bleeding heavily.

“It isn’t her, it isn’t her.” He tried to tell himself as he slung his shield off his back, settled his mace into his hand.  “This doesn’t mean it’s her.” The logic of his self-argument did nothing. He was too late. He was going to round this next tree and see her lifeless form crumpled in the snow. It was his fault. She’d been so alive and so close last night and he’d let her go. He should have stayed with her, should have watched out for her. He promised her that she deserved better. The trail led on, more blood than anyone could lose and still survive and he crashed through the forest without a hint of caution until he came finally to its origin.

Hanging from a tree branch, spilling its lifeblood into a pool in the snow, was a slain deer. A puncture between the ribs, a single expertly placed arrow had felled it and based on the tracks a human and a bear had worked together to hang it.  At the base of the tree rested a neat knotwork of grass, woven into the symbol of Melandru - the commander’s offering to the deer’s spirit in thanks for its sacrifice.

“It wasn’t her.”   His legs felt weak suddenly. “Oh Spirits, it wasn't her.”  But where was she? The carcass was cold, she’d felled the deer hours ago. It shouldn’t have taken her that long to forage vegetables.

“You have left her to her fate, the same as you left your guildmates.”

He knew, somewhere behind the panic and desperation, that Jormag was not helping him. Knew that whatever game they were playing at, it wasn’t to protect the commander. If he were less emotional, if this was a few days ago, he might have admitted that he was being tricked, just like at the camps. But yesterday the commander had rolled her tongue around his, slid her warm hands against his bare back and everything had changed. It didn’t matter if he was being tricked, he had to find her.

The wind had started to pick up. Even in the cover of the forest, it was clear that the storm was rolling in. Gusts drove the freshly fallen snow up into disorienting clouds that stung, like daggers of ice. Braham was starting to feel cold, and for a norn, that was saying something. A sudden gust shook a sheet of snow loose from a branch overhead and he had to quickly sidestep to avoid it. As he paused to try to get his bearings the forest echoed suddenly with the roar of a bear, loud enough to cut through the howl of the wind. Braham spun toward the sound. Fifty paces to his left was a large brown bear with a basket strapped to it’s back - and the commander, with her hood down and her staff on the ground beside her, kneeling next to something in the snow.

The wind was so loud that Lys didn’t register the approaching form until Jasper did. She spun around, tried to scramble to her half-frozen feet while reaching for her staff, but Jasper’s grunt and grumble was a friendly greeting of recognition. A look of relief washed over her face as she recognized who was approaching. “Braham! Oh thank the gods, I -”

Her words were cut short as Braham reached her. He said nothing, just cupped her face in his hands - gods above, his hands were so warm, and looked her over as if searching for something. “B-Braham, what …”

“You’re okay?” She was alright. She was alive. Now that he was here, he’d make sure it stayed that way. “You’re not hurt?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I’m so glad you’re here, help me get her -” Lys again didn’t get to finish her sentence.

“What in Wolf’s name were you thinking?!” As the relief he felt when he saw her washed away it turned suddenly into frustration and anger.  “Running out here alone, with svanir and aberrants and Spirits knows what else. No word of where you’re going, no answer on your com -” She never let herself rely on anyone else. She tried to do everything on her own, always so afraid of being a burden or letting anyone see her falter.

“She doesn’t need you.”

Braham shook his head as if doing so would chase the voice away. “What if I hadn’t found you?! What would I have done if you’d froze to death out here? What would any of us do without you?”

Under the unexpected tirade, with her mind numbed by cold,  Lys forget for a moment who she was. She remembered though. “Braham!  Stop yelling, and help me.” The commander barked his name and pointed to the norn woman sitting unnoticed in the snow at their feet. “... please, please help me.”

The way the commander’s voice cracked, the exhaustion and desperation in her voice cleared the haze around Braham. He shook his head, like shaking off a deep sleep and blinking in confusion down at the other woman in the snow. She was norn, golden blonde hair worn in a thick braid down her back, dressed in Vigil robes. She didn’t seem to notice their presence, even with all the yelling, and was just staring into the distance and mumbling.

Lys knelt back down next to the woman, reached out and took hold of her arm. “Please, Annah … it’s Annah, right? You helped me find the book I’d lost the other day, remember? You can’t stay here, you’ll freeze.”

“It’s so easy now …” Annah responded though it wasn’t to the commander. “I just have to rest here. It will be okay, now.”

“What … what’s going on?” Braham moved to the left of Lys, positioning himself to block the wind from hitting her as much as he could.

“I don’t know.” Lys shook her head. “This is Annah. I found her just … just walking through the woods. She was talking to something, hearing something. She kept thanking it for ‘showing her the way’, and said how tired and lost she’d been.” The commander gave Annah a shake. The norn woman showed no reaction, though her mumbled words were growing slower and more slurred. “Then she just … sat down in the snow. I've been trying to get her to move, but she … I could subdue her, but I couldn’t make it back to the keep with her."

“Jormag ….” Braham growled the name, the explanation.  “She is a bit much for you to carry back to the keep on your own, commander. Even with Jasper’s help.” As Braham spoke he reached down and took the commander’s arm, helping her up to her feet. Her hair was caked with snow, her usually rosy complexion faded to a worrying shade of blue. He gently pulled her hood up for her, settled its fur around her cheeks. “... you’re nearly as frozen solid as she is. Come on, I’ll carry her. We’ll get you both back to the keep.”

Lys only nodded and watched as Braham picked up the norn woman as if she were nothing. Annah made to fight him off, but it was a feeble attempt and she fell to mumbling and thrashing as he held her like a child. “Commander?” He turned to look over his shoulder at Lys, “Hold on to the back of my coat, I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” Lys moved behind Braham, stepping close and taking hold of his coat just above his waist.  Even just the break from the wind was a relief. “Tell me if she takes a turn, we’ll stop so I can heal her.”

“Yes, commander.” Braham sighed as he turned toward the bear, “Come on, Jasper. Let’s get the girls home and warm.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening the commander went looking for Braham. She found him sitting alone in the common room. He’d pulled one of the blanket-covered benches up toward the fire and was sitting leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking deep in thought. She paused to watch him a moment; to admire how the shadows highlighted the strength of his jaw, the contrast of the white fur of his coat against his dark skin,  how the flickering firelight shone in his eyes. It must be so difficult for him to be in this place … the last thing she wanted to do was add to that difficulty, she just wasn’t sure if staying or going would be better for him. Before she could decide he glanced over at her and his frown deepened.

“Hey.” She spoke softly in greeting, hesitated a moment more, but then made her away over to settled down on the bench next to him.

“Hey.” His reply was short, laced with uncertainty.  “How is she …?”

Lys shifted in her seat, folding her hands in her lap since she couldn’t decide what else to do with them. “The healers have her sedated. As soon as she warmed and rested she tried to get up and walk back outside. They caught her halfway to the gate … with no boots on.”

“That’s …” Braham exhaled slowly and sat back. That could just as easily be any of them. It kind of had been him, more than once. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah.” Lys didn’t have anything else to offer. She just ran her fingers through her hair and shivered.

“Commander, listen …” He didn’t know where to start. Didn’t know how to explain what drove him today.

Braham was fidgeting, shifting uncomfortably. She reached over and touched his arm, for just a moment. “I’m listening.”

He exhaled again, seemed to relax a bit. “It started here in the keep. The voice said that you were alone and in danger. And then when you didn’t answer your com I was just … blind with worry. Panic, really. I found where you killed the deer and thought …” He glanced over at her, reassuring himself that she was there. “By the time I found you I’d … I’m sorry. I knew Jormag was fucking with me, but that didn’t make it stop.”

Their eyes met as he looked over at her and Lys felt like a foolish schoolgirl for a moment, instead of the Pact Commander.  “When I went quiet in the Raven Sanctum, before we …” She looked away, back toward the fire. “I was somewhere else for a while or thought I was. I know that sounds crazy, but I was in a maze. Dark and endless. And I kept hearing… “ She swallowed, her voice lowering in an attempt to keep it steady. “The whole time I heard you dying. Over and over, Braham. Vividly”

She was turned from him, but Braham could still see the pain that crossed her face as she said those words. It took all his self-control not to pull her into his arms, to physically assure her that he was alive, they were both alive.  But he made do with reaching over to brush a lock of her honey-colored hair back behind her ear, letting his fingers linger a moment on her cheek.

She shivered, from his touch or from the cold, and gave him a half-smile. “I knew it wasn’t real, but … by the time I found my way back, so to speak, I was a wreck. Gods, Braham, you were begging me to help you and I couldn’t do anything but listen. It didn’t matter that I knew it wasn’t real. It felt real. And then when I saw you, alive and well, I just …”

He simply nodded.

It was her turn to sigh deeply.  “Jormag is insidious. They know just the weaknesses to target, just the right words to break you, the perfect way to mislead. “

He leaned forward again, away from her. “Plenty of weaknesses to push with me …”

“Braham.” His shoulders were hunched and he was flexing his fingers, wringing his hands. Tense, like a coil set to spring. She shifted to the edge of the bench, leaned forward to match his posture so she could see his face again. She repeated his name. “Braham.”

He didn’t look at her, couldn’t look at her. “Yeah?”

Lys knew better than to try to beat him with stubbornness so she tried the opposite. When she spoke her voice was soft, as was her touch when she brushed her fingers against his jaw. “You own your mistakes.”

His eyes closed and he reached up to catch her hand, held it against his cheek for a moment. “You don’t deserve to suffer for them though.”

“Suffer?” She blinked, giving a low chuckle. “I’m not suffering, and you are not inflicting anything upon me.”

She laughed? He looked over her, brow furrowed. Her wry smile but just as warm as ever. It made no sense to him. “This whole mess is my fault. None of my guildmates would have been here if I hadn’t abandoned them, you wouldn’t be here if I hadn't lost my god damn bow …”

“That was Ryland’s doing.” Lys countered. “Technically, Crecia’s, since she did such a bang-up job teaching him.”

“Ryland didn’t make me drink myself into oblivion.”

“After everything we’ve been through, you were just letting off some steam. You deserved some fun.”

He was still holding her hand and he traced his thumb against her palm as he spoke. “That sounds like an excuse.”

“It’s forgiveness.” She countered again.

“Why do you always forgive? You shouldn’t forgive - not after everything I’ve done.” He released her hand suddenly,  “Not after I was such an insufferable jackass to you.”

“I just … do.” Lys sighed, looking down at her now empty hand. “Braham, you literally faced down an elder dragon with me. You stared Kralkatorrik in the face, and said  ‘Behind me.’  After all the times you’ve had my back since then, how can I hold a grudge? Besides … After Mordremoth, I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love. And how lost and angry it can make you.”

Braham frowned. That hollow, pained tone of voice is one he’d never heard from the commander. Trahearne … He suddenly remembered. He’d been too caught up in his own bullshit, too selfish at the time to think about anyone other than himself. But the commander and Trahearne had been very close … rumors said more than close. And she’d had to … he tried to imagine, but rejected the idea so hard that he shuddered.

Lys took a deep breath, steeled her voice before she spoke again. “I never want to feel that way again.”

She’s afraid, Braham realized with a start. It was such a foreign concept to consider, the commander being afraid of anything short of the end of the world. But who had been there for her for Trahearne’s death? To see him tortured like that, and then be forced to kill him herself. Who had comforted her? Sure as hell not him, probably no one. She was the one who took care of everyone else. No one took care of her. That was going to change, he promised himself. Whether she agreed to it or not.

She was looking at him, her expression contemplative and he felt the need to change the subject. “I doubt they meant it to end this way, but I’m glad Jormag taunted me into finding you. Kind of a miracle really, if  Jasper hadn't roared when he did I would have walked right past you.”

The commander blinked.  “Jasper didn’t roar …”

Now Braham looked confused. “Yes, he did. I nearly walked right past you, with the storm blowing in. I only caught sight of you because I heard a bear roar loud enough to hear through the wind … are you sure?”

“Positive.” Lys shook her head. The two of them shared a look of disbelief, as they both began to come to the same conclusions. “Jasper … didn’t make a sound until he gruffed at you in greeting.”

The commander scrunched her face up in confusion, but Braham suddenly burst into boisterous laughter. “Bear!” He exclaimed, flashing a wide grin at Lys. “I’ve told you before that you must be blessed by Bear, with how connected you and Jasper are. Unbelievable!”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that, but Braham’s joyful laughter made her blush. “I’m not sure …” She began, but why wasn’t she? If Raven could help them, Bear could too. And she needed all the allies she could get. “Well. That was surely not something Jormag intended.”

“Good!” Braham continued to smile, “I wasn’t comfortable being thankful to that dragon for helping me find you, but I can sure as hell be thankful to Bear. Jormag just wanted to lead me into the storm to freeze alongside you, but the Spirits are looking out for you.”

“For us, Braham.” Lys reminded, giving him a smile.

“Us.” He quickly agreed.

[amerain-k]

[fanmix] the fast train to kyoto

“Is this place even real? I feel like we’re in a story or something.”

“I feel much the same… I wonder what sort of story it is.”

Akashi Seijuurou is tired of people keeping him at a distance. One day on a train platform, he encounters a certain panicky point guard from Seirin. And he gets an idea. A terrible, awful, foolish idea… Naturally, he has to go through with it. The question is, will Furihata accept his invitation?

a fanmix for the beautiful akafuri fic “the fast train to kyoto”, written by @courtingstars​. key lyrics under the cut.

01. this train | 02. midnight coward | 03. make up words | 04. can i call you tonight | 05. sakurabito (cherry blossom viewer) | 06. my time with you | 07. all i wanted | 08. attraction | 09. in my little mind | 10. i wish i was the moon | 11. when it rains | 12. birdcage religion | 13. oozora de dakishimete (hold me, in the vast sky) | 14. au tabi suki ni natte (i fall in love every time we meet)

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1. this train - madeline

[akashi, furihata]

This train’s a moving forward I’m gonna catch a ride O, this train’s a moving forward I’m gonna catch a ride Scared if I don’t board it, it’d be bound to pass me by

Hacksaw, my one hand darling, how do you do now? O, Hacksaw, my one hand darling, how do you do now? I’d gladly lift your burdens, I’m afraid I don’t know how

O it’s a, Strange and Heavy, Strange and Heavy load. O when your, quick to catch it, slow to let it go

2. midnight coward - stars

[furihata]

What can’t be decided? In the morning it will bring itself to you I can’t see what’s coming but I’m not saying it

What’s your middle name? How do you play the game? I’ll be the first to leave

When did I grow up? I don’t want to say too much I’ll be the first to leave

What can’t be decided? In the morning it will bring itself to you What can’t be decided?

Before you enter thinking maybe it will choose But I can’t see what’s coming, I can’t see what’s coming I can’t see what’s coming but I’m not saying it

3. make up words - bedside

[akashi]

pick up

waste your time make up words because I don’t know what to say speak up it’s such a blur tell me how to leave cause you never want to stay

oh how the silence leaves a bitter taste my mouth is moving just to fill the space

I know it’s hard to see but I can’t forget what you have given me

pick up share your mind make up words when there’s just nothing left to say wait up we still have time spare a moment more before you drift away

4. can i call you tonight? - dayglow

[furihata]

I feel close Well maybe I’m not, heaven knows It’s a spotlight stuck on the ceiling Why are these the things that I’m feeling? There’s so much time For me to speak up, but I keep quiet I’ll complicate the most of the mantra The power is out and I can’t turn the fan on

So can I call you tonight? I’m trying to make up my mind Just how I feel Could you tell me what’s real? I hear your voice on the phone Now I’m no longer alone Just how I feel Could you tell me what’s real anymore? Cause I wouldn’t know

5. sakurabito - every little thing

[akashi]

translation: jpopasia and otenkiame

Ahh I was tired of waiting for the spring

I’m wishing to see you When I thought of you today too The wind suddenly enveloped me And dyed me in a cherry blossom color

[…]

There’s not one single thing That is the same as another Embracing the precious memories Of the single petal in my hand I entrusted it to the sky I’ll go with you

6. my time with you (너와 나의 시간은) -  vanilla acoustic (바닐라 아쿠스틱)

[furihata]

translation: sleeplessaliana

I still haven’t told you When I looked at you I pretended nothing was wrong As if I didn’t care

Actually, I’m someone Who spent so much time wanting you Your passing look, your cold smile Sometimes, they make me run out of breath We keep missing each other You and I, our time You’re like the sun inside of me That I hope will rise in the night sky

Actually, I’m someone Who spent so much time wanting you Your passing look, your cold smile Sometimes, they make me run out of breath

These small tremblings, this heart fluttering They are like gifts to me, they make me see you again It’s just feelings that I can’t throw away But my whole world is filled with you

Actually, I’m someone Who spent so much time wanting you Your passing look, your cold smile They stop me from going to you

7. all i wanted - daughter

[akashi]

All that I wanted wasn’t unwanted Oh and I wonder why I’m not wanted All that I wanted was not there But I dared Be wanted

08.  attraction (이끌림) -  tearliner (티어라이너) ft. kim go eun (김고은) [furihata]

translation: sleeplessaliana

I look at my side that suddenly feels strange I’m next to you and you’re caring for me Just like our hearts that we’re becoming more used to I can’t seem to draw it out

Because you held onto me, who shakes with the littlest words You treated me warmly when I was clumsy with everything You held me when I was being foolish because it was my first time

I drawing a blank again Dust is settling Dust is building up again

No one is in my heart Dust is settling

Days when I only looked forward and ran You held onto me, who resembled you

My heart was able to rest because I was next to you I smiled when you smiled

On the way to you, there was excitement On the way back, there was emptiness Loneliness

I want to see you longer Slowly, slowly I wanna hug even your long shadow I wanna embrace you I wanna hug you

09. in my little mind - hodge

[furihata]

Hello, how have you been luv? I hope everything is well with you (Hmm) Don’t mind the little things I feel They sound just a little lame to me (Hmm) Maybe we could be a little bit More honest oh, With me with you, with us Maybe we could go our ways And let it go.

I know that you have given your all Just stayin’ beside me And this is all I’m thinking My thoughts are broken Inside my little mind

10. i wish i was the moon - neko case

[akashi]

Chimney falls and lovers blaze Thought that I was young Now I’ve freezing hands And bloodless veins As numb as I’ve become. I’m so tired. I wish I was the moon tonight.

Last night I dreamt I’d forgotten my name ‘Cause I sold my soul But I woke just the same. I’m so lonely. I wish I was the moon tonight.

God blessed me, I’m a free man, With no place free to go. Paralyzed and collared-tight, No pills for what I fear. This is crazy, I wish I was the moon tonight.

[…]

How will you know if you’ve found me at last? 'Cause I’ll be the one be the one be the one With my heart in my lap I’m so tired I’m so tired And I wish I was the moon tonight.

11. when it rains - paramore [furihata]

And when it rains Will you always find an escape? Just running away from all of the ones who love you From everything

You made yourself a bed at the bottom of the blackest hole (blackest hole) You’ll sleep till May and you’ll say that you don’t wanna see the sun anymore.

And Oh oh how could you do it? Oh I - I never saw it coming Oh oh I need an ending So why can’t you stay just long enough to explain?

Take your time Take my time Take these chances to turn it around And take these chances and make it somehow Take these chances to turn it around Just turn it around.. […] You can take your time Take my time.

12. birdcage religion- sleeping at last

[akashi]

So slowly I’m losing Who I’ve sworn to be. A promise in pencil That years have made so hard to read. I’ve spent my life building walls Brick by brick and bruise by bruise… A birdcage religion that whispered me to sleep.

But time is spinning silk That coils ruthlessly; With the devil’s patience, It binds my hands so quietly That soon it becomes a part of me.

So soften these edges and straighten out my tie

And help me remember

The hope that I have compromised.

Please be a broken record for me.

13. oozora de dakishimete - utada hikaru

[furihata]

translation: lyrical nonsense

On a clear Sunday, the station’s ticket gates Are beginning to fill with color from the cheeks of those waiting for another

Today, I feel like going someplace far away Somewhere I can see the sky

If we could go flying among the clouds Then just hold me, in the vast sky I wonder if you’re still mad with me… But we just can’t help but be stubborn

[…]

So innocent and pure, you’ll misunderstand me So shut my blabbering mouth We’ve both been hurt So just embrace me and don’t complain about it

If it happens that we can meet again someday Then come trouble me once more If perhaps we can only meet again in our dreams Then just hold me until morning

I get it, I get that I’m being greedy But just kiss me, without saying it’s our last If perhaps we can only meet again in our dreams Then, oh stars soaring through the heavens, don’t go out

14. au tabi suki ni natte (i fall in love every time we meet) - BRIGHT

[akashi]

translation: carlenne

Every time we meet, I fall in love and my heart aches yet I can’t help wanting to be with you always even though I ought to have been fine on my own I don’t want to say goodbye

The more I know you, the less I can stop it but I don’t want you to hate me If you called out to me in a gentle voice I’d surely be able to tell you how I feel

If the thread of fate that I’d been about to give up on is the miracle that drew me towards you Even though I just want you to hold me tighter

Every time we meet I fall in love and my heart aches

The restless nights continue on and on I just want you to gaze at me but afraid, so I bite down on my lip

The more I know you, the less I can stop it I wonder what kind of mail to send you I’ll get closer to you in just a moment, so don’t turn away because I’ll softly hold out my hand to you

[fifiliphaser]

love and tumble (Cherik ficlets): 2

[AO3 Version]

1 | 2 | 3 | TBC

A collection of ficlets, based on the prompt list from this post.  Focused on Cherik, with possible appearances of other characters and/or ships. Various AUs, as well as canon compliant stories. There will be information about every story in the notes at the beginning: the setting, rating, characters, etc. Stories are proof-read, but not beta-ed, so I'd be grateful for any and all comments.

So, yeah. Those stories were supposed to be between 100 and 1,000 words. Yeah. Clearly, I'm incapable of writing something short, so have what started of as a short scene from the XMFC road trip, but then escalated to 3k or so words of angst, a lot of emotions, and a lot of cheesiness. I hope you'll like it, because that was a wild ride and I'm not really sure about this story.

2. “Stay here tonight.” (XMFC; Gay Mutant Road Trip)

Rating: T X-Men: First Class, Gay Mutant Road Trip Angst with a happy ending, bickering, angry confessions, mind reading, forehead touching. Warnings: internalized homophobia, an instance of homophobic language (but only one)

“I must say, I thought you’d enjoy our stay in Chicago much more,” Erik’s words break through the haze of pain that Charles does his best to suppress.

Although Erik’s tone is rather mocking, Charles can feel the waves of worry coming off of him, the man’s mind buzzing with uncertainty and distress. It would be truly touching, how much Erik seems to care for Charles’s well-being, if only the telepath wasn’t in the middle of staving off a particularly bad case of headache.

“I do enjoy it,” Charles says firmly, though his voice sounds strained even to his own ears. “There is just so many people here,” he complains, falling into the bed in hopes that the shift to a horizontal position will help.

It doesn’t. Not in the slightest.

“There’s a lot of people at the compound, too,” Erik points out, a single brow raised sceptically, which is equally as annoying as it is endearing.

“But not as many.” Charles grunts, lifting his hand up to cover his eyes and hopefully cut off some of the unforgiving brightness of the ceiling lights. “I like big cities, but they’re exhausting.”

Which is true. He’s never been the one to despise the metropolitan hustle and bustle; at the same time, however, it has never failed to tire him out beyond compare, what with the incessant chatter of thoughts of all kinds; some joyous, some furious, some anxious. Too many emotions, too much information, and even his shields hasn’t been enough to keep it all out. As a result, he’s already ended up with a splitting headache, just two days into their stay in Chicago.

“Any way I could help you?,” Erik asks from the armchair that he’s just sat in, taking his usual spot at the table they’ve been using to play chess.

His room is just down the hall, but they’ve been spending most of the time at Charles’s, their heated discussions and close-fought chess matches engaging enough to keep them up long into the night. Not that there has been anything more to it, Charles muses somewhat forlornly. Erik has no idea about Charles’s less than desirable inclinations, and it’s best if it stayed this way as Charles would rather die than lose so close a friend, the closest person he’s ever got to, perhaps beside Raven, even if it is the most gorgeous man he’s ever encountered.

“There’s really not much you can do,” Charles mutters resignedly, trying not to think about the sharp cheekbones and the piercingly magnetic eyes. “I’ll just have to suffer through it.” He squeezes his hand around his temples, wishing that the soft pressure could somehow alleviate his pain.

“Ever as dramatic,” comes Erik’s cheeky remark, which Charles would probably appreciate much more if not for his agony.

“The pot calling the kettle.” His voice sounds rather small, and yet there’s a strain of annoyance to it that Charles would normally feel sorry for, but he doesn’t have the capacity for it right now, not when his head feels as though it was about to burst.

Charles is waiting for a witty retort, but there doesn’t come any. In fact, the silence stretches for so long that Charles is ready to soldier on and look up, despite the blinding light, as he cannot put a finger on what Erik thinks at the moment, the man’s thoughts humming lightly, yet kept at bay. Luckily, Erik chooses this exact moment to speak up.

“You’re not up for the game, that is?” It’s more of a statement than a question, even if it’s laced with certain uneasiness.

Squeezing his eyes tighter, Charles allows a small sad smile to curl on his lips.

“Oh, I’d love to,” he assures weakly, trying not to make any sharp movements, “but I’m afraid my game would be rather poor tonight.”

There’s another beat of silence, and this time Charles can tell that Erik feels rather troubled and unsure of how to proceed. Charles hears a quiet sigh, followed by the sound of steps which fades as Erik walks onto the carpet. Judging by the way the light above him fades somewhat, Charles assumes that Erik must be leaning over him, even if the telepath’s too tired to open his eyes and check.

“You look miserable.” Erik’s voice is much closer now, albeit softer and more sympathetic.

“I feel miserable, too, my friend,” Charles mumbles, his words barely coherent.

The bed sinks slightly next to him, the light brightening once again, and Charles almost gives in to the urge to turn to his side, away from where Erik is now sitting.

“Is there really nothing I could do?”

Charles feels a feather-like touch on his shoulder, which quickly vanishes. He has to force himself not to lean closer to his companion.

“No.” The word leaves his mouth more sharply than he intended, but Charles doesn’t find it in himself to care, what with his willpower seriously dwindling.

He knows what he really wants to tell Erik, and yet, at the same time, he knows it is the last thing he’d like his friend to hear. Besides, Charles is certain that it wouldn’t help now, not in the middle of their road trip, with nowhere to run to, and with that terrible headache.

“Are you sure?” Erik is relentless in his hunt for a solution to Charles’s discomfort, something that, were the circumstances more congenial, could even be quite sweet.

But all that Charles wants right now is to bury himself beneath the sheets in a futile attempt to make himself disappear. Well, that’s not exactly accurate, although Charles would rather avoid naming all those other things which he so strongly desires—like the touch of those lips, swollen from kissing, on his skin, those elegant nimble fingers running down his spine…

Charles flops himself onto his stomach, struggling to quell the arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach. It’s ridiculous, really—his head is pounding—but his mind manages to conjure those images anyway—so inappropriate, so enticingly… wrong. A quiet groan escapes Charles’s throat. He knows all too well that the attraction to people of your own sex isn’t all that uncommon, and yet there is that venomous voice at the back of his mind whispering to him how unacceptable it is, how deviant.

“You’re testing my patience, Erik,” Charles mumbles into the pillow, pushing all those unwanted thoughts aside.

“You’re a liability to our mission in that state, Charles,” Erik states from somewhere above him, and if it was anyone else, Charles would feel a little hurt at the mere suggestion that he’s a liability. But it’s Erik, who tends to say such things to hide how much he truly cares, which didn’t escape Charles’s attention. Perhaps it’s even one of the reasons why he might be in…

No. He cannot let himself finish that sentence.

“If there’s anything I could do,” Erik continues, as close to pleading as he could ever get, clearly unaware of Charles’s momentary distraction, “I’ll do it. I’d rather not have you so—” vulnerable, Charles can swear that he hears, the thought flowing seamlessly into his mind, though he’s not sure if it’s something Erik has unconsciously projected, or just a creation of his exhausted, aching head, “—unwell,” the man says instead, his voice somewhat strained.

With every passing second, Erik’s worry, washing over Charles’s mind, is much harder to bear. Charles isn’t used to anybody caring that much—even Raven, worried about him as she is, tends to get annoyed rather than envelope him with soothing thoughts. And Charles understands that, he truly does; it is frustrating and scary, after all, if you don’t know what to do to help somebody very close to you. So as not to burden anyone else with his troubles, Charles has quickly learnt how to face them on his own. Now, the fact that somebody might be that determined to soothe his pain somehow is, quite frankly, disconcerting.

“That’s touching, truly,” Charles continues to speak to the pillow, not ready to lift his head and look at Erik just yet, “but trust me, you wouldn’t want to do anything of the sort.”

He’s so drained, tired of his headache and that whole conversation. There has to be a way to convince Erik to let go and simply leave the room, so that Charles can try to face him tomorrow morning, hopefully in a much better shape.

“I said ‘anything’ and I mean it,” Erik says sternly, his tenacity becoming genuinely irksome.

“Oh, for God’s sake…,” Charles grunts, quietly enough that he isn’t even sure if Erik has heard it, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when there’s anger slowly building up in his mind, encompassing it like a nasty fog.

“Don’t be stubborn, Charles.”

This time Charles cannot help himself and he turns his head in order to gaze up at Erik, the reins on his anger almost slipping.

“Really?,” Charles asks incredulously, his voice surprisingly cutting. “Who’s stubborn?”

Erik takes a deep breath, stopping himself from reaching over to Charles, his hand suspended halfway between them. It’s obvious that he’s on the verge of losing his temper as well, but in a rather out-of-character move for him, he manages to rein his emotions in, his whole attention focused on Charles, who belatedly realizes that his own quite uncharacteristic outburst might’ve had the opposite effect to the one he desired.

“What do you want me to do?” Erik’s voice is surprisingly patient, his expression calm, though his distress is evident in those kaleidoscopic eyes of his.

Charles heaves a sigh, knowing well that Erik’s worry is warranted and his anger isn’t. Perhaps he cannot voice what he really wants aloud, but he should at least get himself under control, he owes Erik this much. After all, it isn’t the man’s fault that Charles has developed some undesirable feelings for him.

“You wouldn’t want that,” he mutters dejectedly, averting his eyes as he feels a phantom burning sensation in the vicinity of his heart.

Not seeing Erik’s face, Charles can only hear the hiss of his steady breathing, an old clock ticking somewhere in the background. The telepath hasn’t heard the latter sound before, but suddenly it’s all he can focus on, as if it could take him somewhere else, away from that conversation.

Erik’s voice puts him out of his reverie as the man says, a little exasperated, “How could you know if you didn’t ask?”

For a fleeting moment, Charles is under the impression that Erik can see right through him; that he’s aware of all of Charles’s perverse desires. That is a dangerous thought, however, sparking up too much of the silly hope which has still managed to bloom in his heart. He squashes it mercilessly.

If knowing what Charles wants from him is what Erik so desperately desires, Charles can give it to him and end this ridiculous charade once and for all.

“Stay here tonight. With me.” His throat is tight and feels as dry as if Charles hasn’t had a sip of water in ages. Despite all of that, his voice comes out exceptionally firm, not cracking even once. “Here, I said it,” he adds as soon as he sees the realization dawn on Erik’s face. This time his voice does break, hopelessly, so that he has to whisper the second half of the sentence. “Now you can storm out of the room, appalled that you’ve befriended a fag,” Charles spits out, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

He knows he shouldn’t say that. It’s hurtful—to him, to many other people. And yet, it’s easier if he says it; if he doesn’t have to hear it coming from Erik’s lovely mouth.

Erik stares at him for what feels like an eternity, his face nothing more than a blank mask. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t say anything, barely even keeps breathing.

“Is this what you think I would do?,” he asks eventually, his voice as emotionless as his expression.

Feeling himself breaking under the heaviness constricting his chest and the weight of that judging gaze, Charles just snorts, “Wouldn't you?” Erik’s mind seems calm, but there’s clearly something boiling under the seemingly tranquil surface. Charles doesn’t even want to take a look—he couldn’t dive in, not now of all times. “I shouldn’t…” He turns his head, burying it in the pillow, so he doesn’t have to watch Erik walk away from his room and from his life. “It’s wrong.”

Those last two words are so quiet, a barely audible murmur, that Charles is taken aback when Erik asks, “Do you really think so?”

His voice is disturbingly stiff, but Charles forbears from turning back towards him. He’s capable of enduring that conversation, keeping himself from falling into pieces, as long as he doesn’t have to look into Erik’s face and witness the inevitable rejection and repulsion with his own eyes.

“I can’t have this conversation right now.” Charles doesn’t even know how he manages to speak, yet the words flow out of his mouth tiredly, as if on its own accord. “Just— Go. We can have a fight in the morning.” He buries himself deeper into the sheets.

There’s a sudden shift on the surface of Erik’s mind and it flashes with disbelief, the myriad of scattered thoughts flying around like fireflies, too fast for Charles to catch, his throbbing head successfully preventing him from fully reading his friend’s reaction.

“How could you not know?” Erik asks unbelievingly, his voice remarkably quiet.

Charles can’t help but shift to his side, taken aback by that question. It’s not what he expected, and when he looks up to Erik’s face, he doesn’t find anything he anticipated either—only shock and… hurt?

“Know what?” Suddenly, Charles feels very small, racking his brain for a crucial detail he might’ve missed somewhere among the flurry of the past few weeks.

“You said you knew everything about me.” Erik remains tense, his eyes studying Charles closely.

“I might’ve exaggerated a little,” Charles admits, less bashful than he’d normally be, too tired to care about those things right now. Too tired to stand it any longer. He buries his face in his hands, saying from underneath his palms, “Now, if you please, I’d like to try to get asleep and inevitably fail, caught between my headache and my heartache.”

Charles is about to flop back to his stomach, maybe curl into a ball, when a pair of hands grasp his wrists, pulling them away. The light blinds Charles for a moment, but as soon as he recovers, he finds himself facing Erik, his friend's expression wary, but determined.

"Charles, shut up,” he says forcefully, his mind buzzing anxiously, resembling a huge beehive, which does very little to help Charles ease his headache. “Normally, I would yell at you, but I’ll just say that you’re an idiot.” Erik sets his jaw, searching Charles’s face for a moment. “Get inside my mind,” he demands, his voice unyielding.

“You know I can’t— I wouldn’t—” Charles tries to explain, however, before he even has the chance to finish, he’s interrupted.

“Just do it.” And Charles knows that he won’t talk Erik out of it.

"Okay.” He nods, the skin of his cheek brushing against the pillow. Bracing himself for a wave of pain, he slowly hoists himself into a sitting position. He can’t help but wince when he feels the ache flaring up. “Here I go, then. Just, fair warning, my headache is quite bad, so if I’ll end up—"

“Charles,” Erik says warningly through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” the telepath relents, reaching to Erik’s temple with trembling hands.

As soon as his fingertips touch the soft skin, Charles feels his mind being surrounded by the whirlwind of thoughts of sensations, coloured with different feelings, dancing around him, some of them overwhelming him with their intensity. There’s a current of determination cursing around him, although there are streaks of cautiousness intertwined with it. After a long moment of marvelling over the strength of Erik’s feelings, not as jumbled and chaotic as his own, Charles becomes aware that there is something else behind that determination; something that he’s currently being pulled to. It’s Erik, Charles realizes with a start, who’s drawing him in that direction, as if he wants to show him something. Charles complies with this unspoken plea and what he finds is beyond his wildest dreams.

All of a sudden, he is swept up in a swell of something so intense, so passionate, and so warm that he barely resists the urge to pull himself out of Erik’s mind. Luckily, he stays there long enough to see it—or rather sense it, see it with his mind’s eye—his own face, almost alight, bathed in warm light, a pair of hauntingly blue eyes looking back at him with so much kindness and compassion that he doesn’t recognize himself at first. It can’t be him, that man is simply too perfect.

He’s not perfect, Charles hears, echoing softly in his mind. But that’s why he’s beautiful.

Unable to bear it anymore, Erik’s feelings too deep and astounding, Charles pulls himself sharply back to the present, back to the man before him who watches him carefully.

“Do you really think so?,” he hears himself ask, and only after the words have already left his mouth does he realize that he’s echoed Erik’s words from before.

This time, though, they are far from the shocked hurt that Erik must’ve felt at the moment. Charles’s voice is small, vulnerable, yet filled with amazement.

"Oh, Kindskopf…” Erik slowly reaches out and gently brushes a few strands of Charles’s floppy hair behind the telepath’s ear, clearly using this as an opportunity to stroke Charles’s cheek while retracting his hand, delicately, with just the tips of his fingertips. Even if he knew German better, Charles doubts that he’d be in the right mind to translate what Erik’s just said. And yet, he has a feeling that it wasn’t something particularly nice, though the way in which Erik said it, with so much affection, makes him question that thought. “How can someone so smart be so stupid?”

There’s a small smile curling in the corners of Erik’s lips, and even through the pain, which somehow ended up being pushed to the back of Charles’s mind anyway, the telepath can’t focus on anything else but that minute, yet enticing movement.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Charles asks, not even ashamed of how pleading his voice sounds.

Erik doesn’t mind anyway.

“I will,” the man says simply, leaning closer to Charles, close enough that their foreheads are touching.

Charles allows his eyes to shut, enjoying the warm and soothing feeling encompassing his mind. Basking in it, he notices that his pain is slowly letting go, tuning in to Erik’s mind providing him with a much needed reprieve from all those voices around him. It is a truly exhilarating discovery, that not only didn’t Charles give his friend a headache because of their mental contact, but his own actually alleviated. Or maybe it’s all been thanks to being surrounded by the purest, strongest feeling possible.

Love.

* * * * *

Kindskopf — silly boy (Or that's how I'd translate it to English, at least; sorry, my knowledge of German is quite limited, so I'd appreciate being corrected if I'm wrong.)

[delaware-lemme-smash]

SFW/NSFW All Might headcanons if you haven't done that one yet?

Yesss! The beautiful sunflower man! - Mod Rig

‘Who, me?’

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

SFW- Toshinori probably hasn’t had many long-term relationships. At least, not many that appeared in the public eye, and probably not with civilians. That’s a recipe for disaster, especially in his All Might days when the entire world scrambled for any scrap of information on him they could find. There’s also the danger, since guys like Shigaraki Tomura and Stain would happily use his s/o against him to bring him down.- He’s also hesitant to be with someone when his health is so poor. He’d hate to feel like a burden on his s/o. - But, say you do make the Symbol of Peace fall for you, he’s a warm-hearted man, jovial and kind. There’s a reason he became a Pro Hero, and it doesn’t fade just because he can no longer change the weather with a single punch. - There’s a fine line to walk between helping him look after his health and patronising him. He sometimes still tries to exercise or use the brief seconds of his muscle form to do some heavy lifting around the house. Don’t let him, but don’t treat him like a doddering old man or a child. Remember that this man is still All Might.- He likes to cook, even if he can’t always eat everything he wants to make. You’ll end up with a plate full of spicy food while he’s eating something a little more tame. His favourite foods are traditional Japanese and different types of American foods. A burger looks laughably tiny in his big hands.- While he doles out hugs in his All Might form, Toshinori isn’t quite as used to it in his smaller form. He’s still a very affectionate man, but he’s spent the last five or so years hiding his true identity and appearance from everyone. It still puzzles him that someone would want to cuddle up to his skinny form. Nevertheless, he’s a little touch-starved and relishes the warmth and softness of your body against his. It’s nice to set down the Symbol of Peace for a while and just be Toshinori.- He’ll hold your hand in public if you’re alright with it. It’s quite amusing for him to see your hand engulfed in his. His grasp is light, because he’s still relatively strong.- It’s a little painful to see him tense up whenever you’re at home or out together and there’s news of a villain attack on TV. You can see him preparing to get up, transform, and race toward the crime, then remember, and deflate. He grips the edge of the table or your hand to prevent himself standing. This passes slowly, with time. He’ll still reach for your hand, though.- He’s self-conscious that his kisses taste like blood, since he coughs it up so much. He always has a little packet of gum or mints in the pocket of his jacket. You can find half-empty gum packets tucked away through the house where he’s forgotten them. - It’s hard to find a bed that accommodates his height properly, so he’s used to curling up somewhat or risk his feet dangling off the end. You know what that means, right? Spooning.- He’s a fountain of wisdom. This man has been in the Pro game for decades, has been all over the world. Some of that intelligence is veiled by his oafishness as All Might, but when he’s Toshinori, it’s easy to see how he applied all that instinct and tactical knowledge to win his fights. He uses his hands to gesture when he talks, his voice lower, calmer, explaining things in succinct sentences. No need to showboat or dissemble. (And he’s got an aversion to long-winded lectures thanks to Nedzu over-exposure.)

NSFW- As much as Toshinori would like to use his stronger form in the bedroom, he can’t justify using up his daily time-limit like that. Not when somebody might need rescuing. And he doesn’t like to be his Pro Hero persona in bed. He wants to be Toshinori, not All Might. - As heartbreaking as it is, he thinks he’s ugly, unsightly. It will take a while before you’ve convinced him that you’re attracted to him in this form. Be patient.- The first few times he’s leery of you seeing the scar that takes up so much of his torso, and more so of you touching it. When he lets you, it’s a sign of trust, and faith that you’re not going to be disgusted and summarily reject him. It’s scar tissue, so not very sensitive, but he is overly aware of it being touched, so be careful.- He’s proportionate. On a 7′2 man, that means that his size can be a little intimidating, especially to first time lovers. Hell, it almost looks bigger against his thinner frame. He’s almost embarrassed by it and might try to apologise, the ridiculous man. - His bashfulness, this means that any kind of penetration is going to need a lot of preparation. Which is right up Toshinori’s street, because he’s an old fashioned kind of guy and likes to take it slow. - Lots of foreplay. It’s kind of a tactical move on his part, as well as out of genuine enjoyment. It’s a way to delay the most vigorous and taxing part and therefore increase the amount of time he can spend pleasing his partner without over-exerting himself. - He just really enjoys kissing, okay. That and touching. He could spend hours lying in bed or on the couch, just running his hands over your skin, kissing and squeezing and mapping every inch of you. He’s more than happy to let you return the favour.- His hands are very calloused, so not as sensitive to touch. He might run the backs of his hands over your skin or hair to feel how soft it is, or just kiss it...- He’s terrible with receiving blowjobs. His face, his ears, his neck, even his shoulders go red. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and ends up resting one on top of his s/o’s head, using the other one to either cover his mouth or clutch at the sheets. He’s embarrassed by the little grunts and strangled groans that slip from between his lips, even though his s/o loves them.- Sorry, but he’s hopeless at dirty talk. Ask, if you want to see the #1 Pro in the world stutter and blush.- You’re also unlikely to get any rough or extremely kinky sex. He’s just not up for it or into it.- He doesn’t mind at all if you want to be on top. He gets to rest, enjoy the sex, and admire your body -with his eyes and his hands- as you work the both of you towards climax. Really, it’s a win-win.- He’ll probably thank you after sex. Feel free to tease him mercilessly over it.

[tenecity]

zhangjun

was listening to the sam willows; for love and just suddenly had the urge to write so welp here you go.

for love, by the sam willows

masterlist

zikun: 1 2

cr.@aestheticninepercent for being an amazing BUB AGAIN

❝ too many nights spent home alone, with your laughter in the air ❞       

Zhangjing and Yanjun. Yanjun and Zhangjing. It always been like this. Yanjun and Zhangjing, Zhangjing and Yanjun. Inseparable.    

At first, they just bickered a lot.

“Zhangjing, what’s that you’re eating?”

“....” Zhangjing just glares at Yanjun. “Oh come on! You’re supposed to be my best friend. Don’t tell the staff about this, pretty please? I will give you half of the noodles, I promise.” Zhangjing says as he pleads, eyelashes fluttering ridiculously, hugging his cup noodles tightly to his chest. Yanjun rolls his eyes and pretends to brush him off, but in reality, the pumping of his heart at how long Zhangjing’s eyelashes are and how absolutely endearing the other boy is, causes a flush to spread across Yanjun’s pale cheeks.

Yanjun tells lame jokes, Zhangjing laughs at me. That’s how it works i don’t make the rules. Soon enough, things go the other way round, and Zhangjing becomes pretty much the only reason why Yanjun would laugh hard and high pitched, especially when Zhangjing does something really stupid. For example, walking into a pole.

“Yanjun, stop laughing! Come comfort me.” The elder pouts as he winces when his hand comes into contact with the bruised spot. Yanjun only chuckles and laughs, telling the rest of the Nine Percent members, and Banana trainees (by text) how idiotic the boy is.

Zhangjing, also finds himself generally happier and uncontrollably smiling when around the boy, as compared to when he was with the other members. The edges of his mouth twitch as he tries (but fails) to look at Yanjun sternly as the younger waves a Harry Potter wand at him. He ends up grinning, lips pulling into a cheshire grin, laughing till his voice changes pitch.

However, the closer they get, the more Zhangjing finds himself worrying.

“Yanjun, you were, and still are sick, you had a fever just this morning. Why do you have to over exert yourself and ask a bloody heavy child like Fan Chengcheng to sit on your back while you were doing push ups?” Zhangjing is practically glowering with anger right now, hands on his hips, eyes dark as they flash anger. His heart had ached so much, when he saw beads of cold sweat forming on Yanjun’s forehead as he did the push ups, looking significantly paler than he was 5 minutes before.

“I can’t give up my perfect, handsome image, all just because I’m sick!” Yanjun tries to lift up the atmosphere but to no avail. Zhangjing’s expression only darkens. “Are you kidding me right now Lin Yanjun? Don’t you know your limits?” The boy was so angry that he pushed Yanjun, causing the Taiwanese’s legs to hit against the bed and plop down on the soft mattress. Zhangjing points  his finger as he jabs at Yanjun’s muscular chest. “Know your limits. Stop hurting yourself. You come first.” The last parts come out as a whisper and colour paints Zhangjing’s cheeks as he realises what he just said. 

His chocolate brown eyes travel from his finger to Yanjun’s umber brown ones. They stare back at Zhangjing’s irises with such intensity, that Zhangjing almost reels back, but is stopped by a hand at his elbow. Yanjun’s lips form a smirk and his voice is low and smooth, sending shivers down Zhangjing’s spine. “Is You Zhangjing, who never cared about anything besides singing and food, concerned about me?” “Shut up, Lin Yanjun.”

Still smirking, Yanjun continues taunting. “So I come first?” His eyes challenge Zhangjing’s own eyes and the elder doesn’t back down.

“So you care-”

“Just shut up Lin Yanjun.”

Before he knows it, Zhangjing’s lips are on his, soft, sweet and biteable. A soft whimper escapes the elder’s mouth as Yanjun does just that. Sparks fly at every contact they make, at every corner of their mouths, at every swipe of a tongue. Yanjun feels light headed, whether from the fever or the expert mouth of Zhangjing’s, he doesn’t know. At that, he quickly pulls away.

“Zhangjing, are you stupid? You’re going to get sick like this.” Yanjun fusses as he quickly gets up and pours Zhangjing a glass of water and passes the flushed Malaysian vitamin Cs. A wicked smile makes it way to Zhangjing’s face. He pouts and shakes his head, refusing to eat the vitamin Cs. “Zhangjing, you’re not five. Hurry and eat it, my hand’s tired.”

“I’ll eat it if you feed it to me with your mouth.” Yanjun rolls his eyes as he blushes. He never thought Zhangjing can be so open about his thoughts.

That’s how the rest of Nine Percent found them, kissing, laughing, trying hard to not spit out the vitamin C.

That’s how it’s been like ever since. Late night kisses, midnight make out sessions, caresses, touches, physical contact. But Yanjun never said a single “I love you” or confirmed with Zhangjing that they were in a relationship. Zhangjing never spoke a word about it either, because he didn’t find it necessary. He was fine with how they were, somewhere in between best friends and lovers, with some strings attached. His heart lurches every time Yanjun brushes his fingers over his, every time he catches Yanjun staring at him, every time Yanjun’s dimples appear.

But it just wasn’t enough for Zhangjing. He is greedy. He admits it. He wants Yanjun, he wants the whole world know this beautiful boy was his, nobody else’s. He wanted to tell Yanjun how much he loved him, not just for his pretty face or perfect body, but for his upbeat, firm, solid personality. He longed to whisper love songs to Yanjun instead of sweet nothings that meant absolutely nothing.

But he knows Yanjun is a completely non committal person. He doesn’t commit to relationships. He likes the idea that he has someone, but there is no full commitment. “Burden” he had once told Zhangjing. That was how he felt about relationships. His girlfriends had never lasted more than a month. His incessant flirting was evidence for that. He would flirt with anyone, even a dustbin for god’s sake, and everyone flushes under his words, everyone wants Yanjun’s attention and the boy gives out his affections freely.

Zhangjing can’t help but feel a sour taste in his mouth as he sees Yanjun shamelessly flirt with Xukun, completely oblivious to a glowering Ziyi and a Zhangjing whose eyes are sending him daggers.

He can’t do this anymore. It is either he has all of Yanjun, or none of it. Having something that is half-hearted, incomplete, is too painful. This push and pull game, this constant insecure feeling, this fear; Zhangjing’s heart and mind can only take this much. This is too much. 

Maybe because he love Yanjun so much, maybe it is because he wants Yanjun to love him back equally, that his heart is at the verge of breaking, because he knows the possibility of that happening is a naught. He can’t afford an emotional breakdown. He is terrible at faking happiness; his fans would know something is wrong and create chaos about it.

No, he needs to break it off now. It’s now or never.

Zhangjing goes to bed early, his breath hitching when the bed finally dips down and a body is clinging onto his small frame. 

“Zhangjing…” the whispers causes Zhangjing to bite back a whimper. Hot breath fans across the nape of his neck and he shivers at that mere gesture. No, if Yanjun has so much control of him, even a single breath can send Zhangjing to his knees, then no, Zhangjing can’t continue this. He can’t lose control over himself, he can’t lose control to someone who is likely to be temporary.

Lips are sucking along his pale neck, the chapped texture grazing over the skin, causing the hairs to stand. Yanjun’s hands roam under Zhangjing’s t-shirt, like how they do every night. Only, tonight, it’s going to be different.

“Yanjun, stop.” His voice is too weak, Zhangjing mentally scolds himself. Yanjun misinterprets it as a silent plea for more, so his lips sink down on the milky white skin, marring the flesh.

“Yanjun, I said stop.” Tears almost choke him. But Yanjun doesn’t stop, completely misinterpreting anything and he shifts, allowing his lips to trace the obvious collarbones of Zhangjing’s.

It wasn’t until he want back to give Zhangjing’s lips a peck does he taste salty water droplets and realises Zhangjing’s silent cries.

“Zhangjing, what’s-”

“I said stop.” The elder pulls himself up to a sitting position, swinging his feet over the bed.

“Let’s stop this.”

Yanjun knows exactly what Zhangjing is talking about, and he’s confused. He refuses to believe it. So he asks softly, as if, perhaps, telling Zhangjing to stop joking around. “Stop what?”

Zhangjing’s eyes glisten with tears as he looks back at Yanjun, his brows furrowed and hurt, pain and anguish is spelt on his face.

Yanjun doesn’t receive an answer.

Zhangjing slept outside that night. All the members knew about it. But they daren’t ask about it, when they saw the pained expression on Zhangjing’s face and Yanjun’s lips set in a thin line during breakfast.

That’s why Nongnong had agreed immediately, without questioning, to move into Zhangjing’s previous room.

“What are you doing here?” The sharp words make Nongnong flinch. God, he hates being in between couples, but he sucks it up because his mother is sad, for tian’s sake.

“Zhangjing asked me to change rooms with him.”

“He doesn’t get to bloody choose.” Yanjun’s voice raises a notch and he stomps out of the room, pounding hard on Xiao Gui’s room’s door. “You Zhangjing! You don’t just get to change rooms like this.”

His hand is raised to send down another pound when the person he wants to see steps out. “Zhangjing-”

“Yanjun, go back to your room.” The boy is surprisingly calm and unfazed by the glare Yanjun is sending him.

“You Zhangjing-” Yanjun’s eyes are shining with warning but Zhangjing can see right through hin. He sees a boy, a child, tears running down his face. Why, why, why? Breathe, Zhangjing, breathe.

“Lin Yanjun, go back to your room.” The leader stands right behind Yanjun, pulling the upset boy away from the trembling Malaysian.

Zhangjing takes in a deep breath. No, don’t give in.

The room feels empty. Too empty. Nongnong’s things fill the space, but it is still empty. There is no Zhangjing’s laughter bouncing off the walls, no whimpers ringing in his ears, no one to cuddle with during the night, no one to tell lame jokes to, no one to scold, no one to tease, no one to whine to,

no one to love.

Yanjun is an oblivious idiot. He never knew that he loved Zhangjing. He thought the sweet, aching feeling at the pit of his stomach whenever his eyes traced the Malaysian’s soft features that were bathed in morning light, was just because he ate something wrong. He thought the hiccup he felt when Zhangjing brushed hands with him was because he was thirsty. He thought that having his eyes glued onto Zhangjing, noticing every single thing about him was normal amongst friends. Apparently not.

He never knew until it all became so damn obvious.

“Hi, may I take your order?”

“Yes, um, one caffe latte, one caffe mocha, one double shot espresso, um,” Yanjun squints at the list. “Ziyi, what’s this that you wrote?” Ziyi glances over and then, with a soft smile of his face, recites it like he learnt it by heart. “Iced hazelnut macchiato, more ice, double hazelnut syrup.” Yanjun raises his eyebrow. “It’s Xukun’s order.” Yanjun nods knowingly. Of course Ziyi would know Xukun’s order. “Any more, sirs?”

“Yes. One doppio espresso mocha, Grande, with extra chocolate and extra milk foam. That’s all. Thank you.” He takes the receipt and walks to the next counter to get his drinks. It’s Ziyi’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you were a specific kind of guy, Yanjun.” Yanjun shrugs, replying nonchalantly. “Oh, it’s not for me, it’s for-” The name dies on his lips. OH. Oh. oh.

Ziyi knows Xukun’s coffee order.

Only lovers would know each other’s coffee orders.

And Yanjun knows a certain someone’s coffee order.

The realisation is like a hit in the gut.

Yanjun tries to ignore the pain but it’s a bit hard to pretend that his heart is not being wrenched out of his chest when he sees Zhangjing throwing his head back in laughter; laughter not for his jokes, but for someone else’s.

Nights feel emptier and emptier. The soft snores of Nongnong don’t compare to the small puffs of breaths Zhangjing gives when he is in deep sleep. Yanjun stares at the moon lit ceiling. He used to stare at that ceiling with Zhangjing in his arms.

But the side of his bed that once belonged to Zhangjing is cold and empty.

Nothing seems fun anymore, nothing seems to have a purpose. He watches helplessly as Zhangjing gets carried bridal style by Nongnong. His heartstring are about to snap. He listlessly practices, listlessly answers interview questions, listlessly participate in group activities. It’s not just the pain, it’s the lack of sleep too. How many nights did he spend reminiscing how Zhangjing’s lips felt like? How many nights did he spend recalling all the times Zhangjing laughed and it was like the sweetest melody to his ears? How many nights did he spend thinking about the times he still had Zhangjing? Past tense, past tense, past tense.

And now he is left with nothing, because Zhangjing was avoiding him like the plague, barely sparing him a glance.

❝ how many nights has he spent alone, with Zhangjing’s laughter left in the air, 

like a fond distant memory?❞

❝ if it hurts bleed it out on this guitar ❞

Everyone in the group could feel the shift in dynamics. But no one said a word about it. That’s life isn’t it, people come and go, move and shift, constantly never in the same place.

But Zhangjing doesn’t want Yanjun to just come and go, move and shift, constantly never by his side. Yanjun is not a passerby, Yanjun was supposed to stay.

Why did he let go?

He had thought maybe, just maybe, Yanjun would come running to him, apologises spilling out from his mouth, kissing him, whispering “I love you”. But none of that happened. Yanjun just went on with life, the same nonchalant expression, as if unfazed by the recent events, like they didn’t matter at all.

Was he not worth something, for Yanjun to do something about the situation?

He poured his heart out to the ever listening leader and Xukun’s hands rub Zhangjing’s back as he sobs, waves of sadness crashing on his body. “Zhangjing, Zhangjing, hey, listen to me. Do you want Yanjun or not?”

Zhangjing looks at Xukun, slightly distorted. Of course he wants Yanjun.

“Then why did you let him go?”

Everyone in the group could feel the shift in dynamics. But no one said a word about it. That’s life isn’t it, people come and go, move and shift, constantly never in the same place.

But Yanjun doesn’t want Zhangjing to just come and go, move and shift, constantly never by his side. Zhangjing is not a passerby, Zhangjing was supposed to stay.

What happened?

Did he not give enough?

He poured his heart out to the ever listening leader and Xukun’s hands rub Yanjun’s back as he sobs, waves of sadness crashing on his body. “Yanjun, Yanjun, hey, listen to me. Do you want Zhangjing or not?”

Yanjun looks at Xukun, slightly distorted. Of course he wants Zhangjing.

“Then why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

So he’s going to do something about it. If he doesn’t do anything to get Zhangjing back, he will regret it, forever.

So he practicing, playing the guitar, strumming as he drowns himself in the lyrics of ‘You exist in my song’.

“你 就 这样 出现 在 我 的 世界 里，带给 我 惊喜，情不自已

(you appeared in my world as you did, bringing me a pleasant surprise, that I couldn’t resist.)

可是 你 偏 又 这样，在 我 不知不觉 中

(but you had to be like this, without me knowing,)

悄悄 的 消失， 从 我 的 世界 里，没有 音讯，剩下 的 只是 回忆” 

(you quietly disappeared, from my world, without a word leaving behind only my memories)

Muffled crying can be heard at the doorway and Yanjun whips around, only to see a glimpse of Zhangjing.

He runs after the smaller boy, like his life depends on it, hot tears evaporating as the cold wind cuts his face.

“Zhangjing, Zhangjing, wait.” Yanjun is almost breathless as he crashes into Zhangjing, spinning the Malaysian around, lips ghosting over the other’s, hot breath fanning the flushed cheeks of the elder.

“I love you.”

See, Yanjun. Was it that hard to say those three words?

[flowerpotphil]

Startle The Insomniac (1/?)

Summary: There’s no escape for Dan when his nightmares come to haunt him every night, leaving him to wake up in a panic time after time. He wanted it to go away, it needed to leave him alone. But when he meets another boy at university, he let’s his cold guard down, one that hasn’t been seen through since he was a child. But Dan didn’t feel anything for him, right? It was all a game that life was playing, but he never did know what to do when life tried to beat him down. So what exactly does a university student do when his life is shattered on the floor? 

Having nightmares night after night isn’t something everyone has to put up with, certainly not someone in a stable family with loving parents, a beautiful girlfriend, and a dog, but Dan was stuck in a constant cycle. He’d stay awake most nights, trying to rest with the fear of falling asleep hanging over him, but when he did drift off his mind was a mess with horror and madness. It wasn’t the nicest situation to be in, be he was convinced there was nothing that could change it.

From age 13 Dan had been tied under with his nightly terrors every single time he slept. Sometimes he didn't know what had frightened him, but he'd wake up with a sheen of sweat on his skin and his limbs aching from thrashing around so much at invisible beings that his mind had conjured up and then locked away somewhere where he'd never remember. He was afraid of the dark, and anything supernatural, but his subconscious brought up more things than that and it made him wonder why. Was it linked to his depression? Was he just scared? There were countless questions he could ask, but none were ever going to get an answer, he couldn’t make sense of it himself, so he doubted anyone else would. He'd told his mum about them, out of sheer desperation, and she'd taken him to the doctors, but it wasn't much help, they'd just waved him off and told him that he was making it all up. That response was enough to have Dan shut up about them, and it was it when his dad found out and laughed. He just laughed and told Dan that he needed to 'man up', and it became a running joke for them all except Dan. Whatever he did, the nightmares didn't leave him alone, they were like some demon has jumped inside him and become emotionally attached; it felt exactly like that. There was a constant weight on his shoulders that just wanted him to succumb to it. By 16, Dan had been prescribed antidepressants, so he just blamed his sleepless nights on those. It was a side effect, so people just went with it. Before then, it was difficult to hide the blotches of purple that were permanently marked under his eyes. His mum got increasingly concerned and tried to usher him to the doctors and all Dan could say was that he was stressed from exams and all the work he had to do. When things got bad with his depression, and his mum realised, she'd practically dragged him there and demanded help for him. Glad was a calm way of saying how Dan felt when he got help, but at the same time he couldn't really feel it. Depression seemed to be a part of him that was integrated in his every thought, without it he didn't know what he'd do. It seemed pathetic to tell anyone, but every waking moment was one full of anxiety for him and it was all just too much.

Nonetheless, things began to pick up when he was getting some of the help he needed. He was even nightmare free for a few weeks, dreamless, but there was no freaking out until he woke up from whatever he'd faced in his mind during the night. That’s when Dan was happiest, breaking the routine of nightmares was one of the most relaxing things that could’ve happened, he could go out and mess around with his few friends and then have the energy to talk to his family. Everyone noticed the difference, he wasn’t constantly curled up in his bedroom doing whatever it was they thought he did, he was quite cheerful. People thought they’d got their Dan back – his mum especially – but he’d always been there. Wanting to go out sometimes, tiring himself out to keep ties with his friends and family, Dan had always been there, just with the nightmares hindering him significantly. But they’d finally gone, at least for a little while. When they came back, it was like fate was playing a cruel game with Dan. He ignored them the first few times, but they caused him to breakdown in the darkness of the night eventually. He was on his own with it all - that's what scared him the most. The few friends he did have would just laugh about what he was going through, his girlfriend would call him less of a man and leave him, and then he truly would be alone. He couldn’t be alone. Candice was a beautiful girl. She had thick golden hair that fell in curls down her back and bright blue eyes that anybody and everybody would fall in love with. Dan supposed he was lucky she'd given him a second thought, but he never really did feel anything for her. People cheered when he agreed to go out with her, he'd finally gotten a girlfriend, and a good one at that. Sure, he’d gotten small crushes before, but they’d just gone away with the stress of everything. Candice revelled in the attention, she loved showing off for Dan's friends and her own, and she'd often just pull Dan down to kiss him to put on a show and make people jealous. She left lipstick marks on his lips, and he'd just want to rub them off and tell her that it annoyed him, and that he hated kissing, it just felt messy to him and not in a good way. He did wonder why it didn't feel good, or even tolerable, but he settled it to him just not being mature enough. Deep down, he knew something else was there, but no one needed to know about it when he didn’t know what it was.

GCSEs came and went in a flurry, Dan was rather pleased with his results all things considered - they were an array of Cs and Bs with 1 A. His parents were annoyed and said that he should've concentrated more when he was studying, but they congratulated him later in the day and they went out for ice cream. He didn’t really want it and the attention on him was making him feel slightly nauseous, but at least people were distracted from his pale face and tired eyes for once. His teachers smiled thinly when he went to get his results, they were too glad that Dan was going to be leaving and going to college instead of staying there. He was disruptive in his own little way, he spoke to everyone, but it wasn't because he wanted to distract people, he was just a chatty person who got on with people without being popular. Weird, considering he liked his own company a little too much. He was just like any other boy in school, only he wasn't so pent up about girls, but teachers would sometimes ask him to stay behind so they could talk to him about how he was feeling. All the time it would be 'I'm fine.' Said with a smile and a nod before he practically ran out of the classroom. They knew about Dan's depression, obviously, but he would never ever talk about it to anyone. Days were long, so on the odd occasion Dan would fall asleep in the middle of a lesson. It was always embarrassing when he did, he'd twitch and jolt until the person next to him shouted for a teacher to help. They'd thought he was having a seizure and, the worst time, called the nurse to him because of the violence in his movements.  He remembered his drama teacher, she didn't let him leave one time after class, she wanted him to tell her what was going on. She could see his brown eyes fading and turning dull when she asked what was going on with him and why he fell asleep in the hard-plastic chair. She tried to joke about the plastic chair, saying he could've picked a nicer place to fall asleep. He just chuckled and nodded, never told her what was going on though, he just said he had to leave and darted from the classroom. For someone who made sure he never took part in PE, he certainly did bolt with such haste, it was probably a shame he didn’t take part. Instead there would be forged notes and he’s join the group of others on the wall with his earphones in. That was probably the only time he was quiet when around other people. Times changed, but Dan didn't. The nightmares were just as intense as he moved through college, but the teachers were much less forgiving. They'd go on and on about how he was missing so much time by staying home, then they'd yell when he fell asleep in their lessons. One teacher, his geography one, told him that he'd never get anywhere in life if he was always as 'lazy' as he was. That night Dan cried. He just lay in his bed and sobbed, as it was true, he’d never get anywhere, and it was all due to his own head playing games with him. He was his own enemy. It wasn’t nightmares that kept him up that night, or anything that was imaginary; it was reality, a reality he’d have to face with such a burden beside him. He pledged to stop going out that night, and he didn’t go out unless his family forced him. He’d play video games or study into the night until he was flat out from exhaustion, then the nightmares would attack and leave him inevitably gasping for breath with tear coated eyes. A levels were tough, but Dan scraped by, all the extra studying made up for his lack of attendance to his lessons. He guessed he didn't really need to try anyway, he'd got an unconditional offer from Manchester University, so it didn't really matter about his grades, they could be absolutely terrible for all he cared. He'd just made sure his personal statement was the best, again, it was all thanks to staying up for as long as he could, added some extra information and let them do the rest of it. The acceptance letter did shock everyone, and his parents were reluctant to allow him to leave home when they were so worried about him, meaning Dan had to spin a few lies about getting himself together while he was away and rekindling his life into the shape he wanted it. He'd be living in the student halls with a bunch of different students, all in the same year as him. He applied to do drama, it being his main passion that kept him going when nothing else could. People said he wouldn't get anywhere with it, but who actually used their degrees after university? It was a waste of a few years in Dan's mind, but he needed to make his parents happy by doing it. They’d be proud, then lay off him so he could try and sort himself out, although he had little hope of doing so, he was convinced he’d always be a trembling shell of a person that seemed too timid to even speak to people. Dan was still with his girlfriend despite everything, and she was pretty promiscuous. It wasn't really an awful thing, but everyone thought it was and laughed harshly when Dan never reacted to the news of her encounters - Candice herself had asked Dan why he was still with her, that she thought he’d have left her all alone. He uttered the same excuses of 'I love you', 'you won't do it again' and 'it's okay, as long as you're happy.'.  It was stupid that he was still with her, but again, it made his parents happy. Them being happy was all he really wanted.   The thing about Dan, he wasn't happy, he never really had been. In fact, he quite literally hated life. It was just one big, unfair, disgusting game to him. So university was going to be a clean slate for him, he was convinced of it. 

Without having to worry about college during the summer before university, Dan began to socialise with his family more and spend more time out of his room. His grandma asked him why he wasn’t sleeping, instantly catching on from the look of his eyes and complexion, it made everyone look at him at once to scrutinise his appearance. “Son, if there are issues then you can come to me or your mother, you know it.” His dad clapped him on the back, but it felt too awkward. They’d never been that close, simply because Dan didn’t know what his dad wanted on him. He wanted a masculine son that he could play football with and that would pick up all the girls and have gossip about each of them. He wasn’t that kid. He was tired, sad, scared, and most of all he wasn’t at all tough. His dad wouldn’t think he was tough when he suffered his nightmares, it’d be one big joke to him. “Of course, sweetie, you aren’t alone and we’re your family!” His mother beamed at him, then wrapped her arms around him in a suffocating embrace. It made him wonder how she’d react if she knew about all the times he’d collapsed in exhaustion in his room over the years, the bruises he’d got from passing out, and the constant thing lurking around him that. Ironic that he loved drama, he put on a show every single time he was in front of anyone else, a mask that’d never fall unless he let it, a performance worth his life.

The summer went by and left countless excuses to not leave the house often in its wake. Dan skipped trips to theme parks and zoos and whatever else his family did, he just wanted to sleep. Sometimes he didn’t care, he let himself sleep while they were gone so he didn’t have to worry about screaming when he woke up. It was a messed-up strategy, but he’d gotten himself in a toxic mindset that he just couldn’t break from, and it worked well enough for him. Misery was a persistent feeling, Dan just had to cope with that. 

It was the first day of Dan living in the halls when everything went downhill, he couldn’t face it. He had a supply of cereal bars, energy drinks, water bottles, and a couple boxes of cereal, all stashed away under his bed, so he didn't have to meet the other people he was going to live with. As people moved in, Dan was huddled away playing Halo with his room in darkness, so people wouldn’t disturb him. No one seemed to want to talk to each other anyway, all the communication was just in mumbles and no one shared the main room, Dan didn’t think anyone even used it for the first few days. It wasn’t until he heard one of the guys banging on a pan to get people’s attention that he left the room, apart from needing the bathroom, and everyone wearily came from their rooms. “Look, if we are all going to be living together, we have to at least get to know each other a little bit more.” He sighed, scraping a hand through his hair and looking at everyone. No one wanted to do it, it was unnecessary effort that they’d have to give, plus it’d now seem impolite if they forgot anyone’s names. “I’ll start then, I guess.” The pan banging person said, it was clear he was struggling to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m Lee, here doing psychology.” He waved his hand awkwardly, instant regret filling him when he finished. Then another girl spoke up, she had long brown hair and oval shaped glasses perched on her nose, “I’m Eloise, here for law.” Someone scoffed at that, and Eloise looked frightened and walked away hesitantly. The girl that scoffed was the next to introduce herself, holding herself with such confidence that she intimidated everyone in direct radius of her, “Leah.”. Dan wanted to heave when he saw the gum in her mouth, seeing gum in someone’s mouth was a pet peeve for him, it was a dumb one, but it made him grimace. He just wanted to get away from them, and the only way to get away from the 5 people around him was to speak up. “I’m Daniel, call me Dan, and I’m doing drama. Excuse me.” It came out in a mess of words, and he walked away quicker than Eloise had done. 

From his room, he listened to the other names. Aida, Riley and Reese. There were 7 of them all living together, they didn’t know one thing about each other and were bunched together by pure chance. It was a little scary not knowing anything, one of them could be a murderer for all Dan knew, and Leah made it out like she was going to cause trouble around the place. Trouble wasn’t something Dan wanted, he just needed to get through university and not make anyone suspicious of him. Anyway, no one seemed to want to be around each other anyway, even Lee didn’t want to do what he did. There wasn’t any need for them to speak to each other unless it was dire, and even then, they didn’t exactly have to do it. Classes were going to start up very soon, within days, and they’d all get into friend groups of their own. Dan, however, really just wanted to fly under the radar and stay alone. He sighed and sent a text to Candice, who still wanted to be in a relationship with him for some reason, to ask how she was getting on. She chose not to go to university and took on a job as a waitress, which was fair enough really. Not that it bothered Dan what she did. When his phone vibrated with a reply, he didn’t bother looking at it, Candice could wait for a while, it wouldn’t kill her to put up with him for once. He felt bad thinking that, but it was true.

When his phone vibrated again, he checked it. It was an email from the university with his classes on a timetable, the first one was two days away, on the Monday, and Dan was kind of glad it was all happening so quickly. At least he didn’t have to worry about suffering the company of the people living with him, they’d probably forget he even existed in time.

[andysandfordcomedy]

Becoming the Cigarette Kingpin of Military School

My sixth and seventh grade years were spent at Lyman Ward Military Academy in Camp Hill, Alabama. I feel I should clarify that I was not much of a troublemaker before military school; more of a quiet, weirdo only child. I was, however, terrible at school and a burden on my poor mother. That still doesn’t explain me going to military school, but my mom has said she was worried about me not having any male influence in my life...so what better way to achieve that than sending me to an all boys boarding school (grades 6-12) where everyone was jackin off and fighting all day? I don’t blame her now: she was in a tough spot. She couldn’t know that I’d come out worse than I came in.

Transferring to military school in sixth grade was honestly terrifying. I’d never had older kids and adults screaming in my face before. I’d never had to call a teenager “sir.” I had never been called “scrub” instead of my name (standard for all newbs). I’d never gotten into the kind of fights that don’t get broken up, and now all these things were my life. It weighed on my eleven year old “husky” frame. My saving grace was that I never cried. I had been through a good bit of trauma in my life by then and felt all cried out. Eventually, I learned that you don’t have to be able to beat everybody up: you just have to be willing to fight anyone that’s giving you shit. So that’s what I did. Occasionally, I got my ass handed to me by some bigger, older kid, and then realized it’s not so bad. I don’t endorse military school, but it did teach me how to take a beating, and I think every kid should learn that from somewhere (not their parents, though).

The punishment for most indiscretions was push ups (usually 15 for anything minor). I was always spacing out and messing up, so I had to do pushups all the time. After a while, pushups didn’t bother me. I could do push ups all day long it seemed, and I hardly feared punishment by the end of sixth grade. I was like Gene Wilder in Stir Crazy: unfazed. 

By the start of seventh grade, I knew my way around the joint, so to speak. I was no longer a “scrub” and had risen to the meaningless rank of corporal. I had a summer growth spurt and was a little less pudgy. I also had kissed a girl over summer break and probably had a little confidence boost from that. I was no longer scared of being there, just bored. That’s when I started spending my leisure time smoking in the woods with other bad kids. Not weed: cigarettes. Hurricane Opal had recently swept through and left a lot of felled trees. Climbing felled trees and smoking cigarettes was our easiest means of rebellion. Sometimes we’d collect tobacco from cigarette butts and smoke it out of a corncob pipe (ewww). I don’t even think we liked it, it was just something to do that we weren’t supposed to be doing. 

You could visit home every other weekend if you weren’t in trouble. One weekend I visited home and brought a kid with me named Warren. Warren was a bad egg. He was only 12 but had already done time on the farm (Juvenile chain gang) for breaking & entering. We had nothing to do but cause trouble. We were roaming through a bowling alley parking lot near my house, and there’s this old Trans Am parked with 2 cartons of cigarettes in the passenger seat. Warren jiggles the handle and sees that it’s locked. I start turning and walking away thinking “oh well, we tried,” when I hear glass shatter. Warren had picked up a brick, smashed the window, and grabbed the cigs. We had to run through backyards filled with brier bushes. Got all cut up, but we had the cigarettes.

We knew we’d be searched, so we smuggled the cigarettes back into school by packing them into boxes of Little Debbie Oatmeal Creampies and gluing the box back with model glue, so it looked like they’d never been open. Warren only wanted a couple packs for himself, and I decided I would go into the cigarette business and sell the rest. Packs went for $15 dollars, and you could get single cigarettes for $1 a piece. A lot of kids got money every week ($20 usually), but the only thing to spend money on was the Canteen, which had better tasting food and some arcade games. Most kids would rather spend that money on cigarettes and take their chances with the mess hall chow. 

In order to get rid of the cigarettes, I needed help from my roommate, Cox. We went by last names, and unfortunately for him, his was Cox. You could imagine some of the unimaginative nicknames (smelly Cox, dirty Cox, Cox sucker). To say he was made fun of was an understatement, and it didn’t help that he was a big ol’ wimp about everything. But, alas, business was booming and we had nearly sold all of the cigarettes except for 3 packs. Then, one night, we get called out into the hall along with everybody else for a surprise inspection. I knew the packs were not well hidden, and sure enough, the platoon sergeant comes out of our room juggling the 3 packs and says, “are these yours?” I had to say yes, and he told everyone in our platoon to drop down and do pushups, except for me and Cox. Everyone was pissed at us, which is what they wanted. They knew that a group of boys would get together and do a blanket party on us. A blanket party was where 3 or 4 cadets would put soap bars in socks, sneak into your room, and wail on you. It had never happened to me, but I knew it hurt. 

After everyone was done doing pushups for us, we all went back to our rooms. Cox is freaking out because we both know there was going to be a blanket party. So we devised a plan: We would stay up and hide in our lockers while our beds were stuffed with towels etc. to make it look like we were in bed (I’d seen Ferris Beuller’s Day Off). Then, when the blanket party came in, we would jump out and defend ourselves with the metal bar from our locker that was normally used to hang clothes. Knowing Cox’s reputation, I kept telling him, “you better not bail on me, dude. If I have to fight by myself I’ll come beat your ass after they beat mine.” He kept reassuring me, “I’m not pussin’ out dude. No way.” Finally around 2am, we hear a quiet commotion. It was a group of 4 kids making their way down the hall, ready to bumrush our room. They bust in, head straight for Cox’s bed, and start beating on a buncha towels. As I jump out of my locker, Cox comes full steam, screaming Braveheart style, and clocks one of the kids in the back of the head with the metal bar. That kid drops like a sack of laundry, and all the other kids scatter, frightened. We dragged a semi-conscious kid outside of our door and left him there, along with 3 gym socks loaded with soap bars. We went to sleep, and I dunno what exactly happened to the kid, but he wasn’t there in the morning.

There was a retired Army Captain who lived in the Berrics with us cadets who condoned these blanket parties. Saw it as cadets policing themselves. There’s no doubt he had to deal with this kid, but he couldn’t say anything about it. When I saw him in the mess hall the next morning for breakfast, I smiled and said, “mornin, Captain.” He grumbled back, “mornin, Sandford” and, in that moment, I felt like the most untouchable 12 year old in all of Camp Hill, Alabama.