#we're breaking the losing streak with this one boys

[emisdetermined]

My 7th year of artfight 💥💫

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOO!!!!

Come fight me if you want! Or I'll fight you? Maybe we'll fight each other? 👉👈😳

[middlingmay]

WOTA Halloween Event 2024 Fic

Long Kiss Goodnight (8K)

Bucky isn't the only one losing himself inside Stalag Luft III. When Gale realises Bucky has resolved to die there if it's the only way to make their imprisonment end, it feels like relief. Because it means he can, too. But he doesn't want to wait and see Bucky suffer for longer than he has to. So he tries to give him the push he needs, so they can finally escape the camp the only way he knew how and be together.

Read on AO3, or read below.

Content warnings: suicidal ideation, alcohol poisoning and vomiting, battery. Potential character death. Themes of murder-suicide.

John had been drifting.

Further than he'd ever gone from Gale over any seas or above any clouds.

The elation he'd felt when John had staggered into their Stalag had withered and died after a few short weeks. Right about the time John realised they were there to stay, and their time in the war was over. They were stuck. Captured and contained. Utterly impotent.

Gale wanted to choke him. To grab his face until the skin purpled under his fingers and bloodied under his nails. He wanted to squeeze that thick neck hard until the veins stood out. He wanted to scream and spit in John's face for coming back—for daring to give him the hope that they were still in this together—when he was just going to leave him here anyway.

Because John drifted. He watched the guards with too sharp an eye. It made the goons nudge each other and look back with narrow eyes. As soon as John's distinctive size and gait loped outside, day or night, they watched him. It worried the boys so much that Brady and Crank took it upon themselves to break that stalemate whenever they saw it happen.

John liked to flirt with the fence line, too. Had figured out, quicker than any of them, where the line was. That point between the bark of a guard and the crack of a gun. And he liked to press up on it real close. Like pushing on a bruise.

Gale was the only one who could pull him back from that line. But sometimes, more and more often, Gale just watched him.

He watched the bright light of the 100th, Major John C Egan, dim and darken. The cheek-splitting happy grin sharpened to a sneer. The glint of mirth in his eyes spoiled to bitterness and desperation.

But never defeat.

Because Gale knew John better than anyone else in the world. Let the others think John was cracked, losing it, most of them putting it down to whatever had landed him on their doorstep black-blue and a few others colours besides, bones cracked and blood crusted and a meaner streak than he had ever possessed in America and England.

But not Gale. He knew when John was plotting something. And he knew what he was plotting, besides.

His Plan B. Or C or D or whatever they were on. If all else failed—continued to fail.

Maybe, in another life, Gale would have been afraid. Frantic to save his best friend's life. But in this one, where he was so dog-tired trying to keep the 100th going all by himself; where the thought of home tasted like ash if it meant going there alone; where he found himself pleading to a God he didn't believe in to just let this end: in this life, John's plotting was a relief.

Only two pilots left in the sky.

We're gonna get through this. I need you to keep believing that.

John wasn't a liar, even to his detriment. He was right: they were getting out of this together. And if John was plotting the quickest way for release if liberation and escape failed, that meant Gale finally could, too.

Because John would have to go first. Gale wouldn't ever leave him behind. He'd see John off, then he'd jump straight into that void after him.

John couldn't know, of course. He'd take it all wrong. He'd take it as Gale trying to get rid of him. Even worse, he'd take it as Gale trying to make things easier on himself with one less person to worry about, one less threat to his happy reunion with the lovely Marge.

He was self-deprecating like that. He wouldn't see it for what it was: Gale trying to keep the promises they'd made to each other and get out of this together. Even if it was a little unconventional.

So, as much as he didn't want to cause John any more suffering, he'd have to give him that little push to tip him, so Gale could follow. Right on his six.

He started by making it clear there were no viable options for escape, cutting Bucky's dwindling hope down even more swiftly. The Brits helped in that regard. Gale resented the fifty souls that got out before him and Bucky, but it served the purpose of sobering any discussion about escape.

Gale caught John's eye in the fading light of a candle as they, together with Ham, Crank, Brady, Benny and Murph, contemplated what this meant for their future at the camp.

"It means," Gale said low and clear and commanding. Like the Major he had been, once. "That escape is off the table. You want out so bad, you may as well walk right up to that fence and ask a Kraut to shoot you."

The boys muttered and filed off to bed, defeated and angry. But John? He sat and started at Gale, and those midnight eyes glittered with fury.

Gale thought it was a beautiful burn. He'd always been in awe of how much and how readily Bucky felt things. How he embraced those feelings so easily, good or bad. Next to him, Gale felt like a moth, butting into the light and the warmth even though it was scalding.

Glowering darkly, John left him there. Despite the pull that had tethered them together all these years, Gale didn't climb into his bunk after him. He didn't want to take John's stewing off the heat.

Bright and early, when the sky was still grey with a coming morning, Gale was woken by the creak of thin wood and the rattle of a door opening and closing.

It was time.

He dressed, thick socks and boots and his overcoat over the clothes he slept in. A quick glance out of the window confirmed it: John was up and prowling already, heading straight for the fence.

"Buck?" Brady's voice, scratchy and thick with sleep called out behind him. Brady: John's devoted co-pilot, like Benny was his. Their perfect balance. Their counter in the cockpit. He'd seen Huglin blanch once when someone said he and John should pilot the same fort together, and he understood it. They fed and nurtured each other's worst impulses. And whilst neither of them would endanger their men, that was about the only line they wouldn't cross.

They needed men like Brady and Benny to keep them level.

But that wouldn't do at all, today.

"Go back to sleep, Brady," he said softly. "Just couldn't sleep is all."

Brady might have listened, if he hadn't cast a habitual glance over to Bucky's bunk and found it rumpled and empty, the covers thrown back like he hadn't been able to bear staying in bed one more second.

Brady's eyes got round and worried and he grabbed a fistfull of his own ratty blanket, ready to launch himself out of the door and track down his errant Major.

"Brady." Gale clipped the order. "I said go back to sleep." He nodded to the window. "I've got him. He's doing fine."

Brady slumped back onto his cot. If he had it in him, if Gale had anything in him anymore, he might have felt guilty about the lie. But it wasn't really a lie. John had strode a whole half-foot over the invisible line separating him from a look from a guard and a beating. He was doing real good. So close to where Gale wanted him to be.

Gale meandered out of the hut. Wouldn't do for Brady to wake up again and get any bright ideas.

The guards were shouting at John, gesturing with flat, gloved hands, jabbing their guns in his direction without touching him. Yet. The few others who were up this early didn't know John well enough to intervene. But just in case, Gale slowly started to drag his feet in Bucky's direction. Even outside of the 100th in this camp the Buckies came as a package deal; it would look strange if Gale didn't throw himself into any scene of John's making. Besides, it was down to Gale to perform the encore.

He didn't think it would be hard. Getting them to shoot him after John. He didn't think he'd have to act like he was out of his mind with grief. It would be real.

But the guards, or one of them in particular who'd been frothing to go toe-to-toe with John for a while, was still and silent and staring. He didn't curl his finger around the trigger of his gun. Instead, he flipped it, the thick butt a gleaming stripe in the bleak landscape.

A flash, and he'd smashed it into John's face.

John didn't go down, and Gale picked up his pace.

The guard lifted his gun again and cracked it on the fleshy rounded tip of John's nose. Gale could see the blood. He heard John laugh, high and cracking. Gale started to jog.

The guard lifted a leather boot and planted it into John's ribs, finally getting him grounded. Between the butt of his gun and the stamp and swing of his foot, he rained hell down on John Egan.

Gale was all out sprinting now. This isn't what he wanted. He wanted it quick and clean, not like this. John had been beaten down enough; Gale couldn't tolerate seeing any more of it. Christ, that was the whole point of this whole thing.

"Hey! Hey!" Gale bellowed and it rang out into the quiet morning, and the guard stopped his boot on the upswing. The look he gave Gale was vicious and displeased.

"Stoppen. Mischen Sie sich nicht ein."

Gale ignored him, ignored the other guards starting to come closer, and threw himself over John when he finally reached him.

"He didn't do anything! He was just standing there!"

The guard spat on the ground. Flecks hit Gale's face on the way down.

"Nimm ihn. Und sag ihm, er soll es nicht noch einmal versuchen. Oder das nächste Mal werde ich nicht so sanft sein." He jerked his gun in the vague direction of the huts, and Gale pulled John out of the dirt and the mud and slung his arm over his shoulder.

"Buck," John trilled in his ear. "Fancy seeing you here. You interrupted my date. Kinda friend does that?"

Gale steered him back towards the hut. "Don't think your date was going all that well, Bucky. Come on, let's get you fixed up."

Most of the boys were some kind of awake when Gale dragged them both through the door. Sitting up in their bunks, or standing with coats on over the long johns as they stamped their feet and shuffled around and tried to get a meagre heat into them to start the day. When they saw John, bloodied up and dirty, they all sprang to attention.

"Jesus, what happened?"

"I thought you said you had him?"

"Where's the med kit?"

"How did you let this hap—"

With his spare hand Gale grabbed Brady by one collar, and shut him up. "Help Crank find the kit. Now."

Brady loitered for a moment, stared at him like a stranger, but took up his duty and helped Crank search through their pitiful supplies to help his Major and his co-pilot.

Gale dropped John into a chair, and pulled another in front of him. A tiny cup of water was offered up—Hambone—and Gale took a mental note to give him his own rations later.

A thin little square of a rag was pressed into Gale's hand, and each and every one of the boys clustered around them in an arc of fluffed up hens.

John waved a hand at them, frowning. "Alright, nothing to see here. Just a friendly chat with a goon. Scram why don'tcha. Breakfast will be waitin' for ya any minute."

They obeyed, reluctantly and without urgency.

"I'll get yours for you, Bucky," Brady said on his way out.

"Yeah, you too Buck." Benny pushed him over the threshold.

Silence followed. Gale broke it only with the tinkling of water squeezed back into the cup. Bucky huffed out puffs of breath as Gale dabbed at the scrapes and cut on the side of his face. Gale had to make sure were clean. Infection and fever was as nasty a way to go as a beating.

Bucky watched him the whole time. His eyes had always been dark for being so blue. And sometimes when they stormed up Gale had found them difficult to look at. But he'd always forced himself to weather it, and he forced himself now.

Bucky who knew him better than anyone. Could he read Gale's plan on his face? In the slight shake of his hand? Were his eyes shining the truth of his guilt into Bucky's soul?

"Not going to tell me not to do it again?"

No. Do it better. Do it worse. Get shot through the head good and clean instead of beaten, you complete fool.

"I'm done telling you to do anything," Gale said instead, flat and unkind. They couldn't afford for him to coddle John, now. In the end it would be worth it. It would be worth it. He'd make up for it, in whatever awaited them beyond. "You ain't listened to me a day since you turned up here, and you're not going to listen to me now."

John hummed and cleared his throat. "Finally got sick of dragging me outta my own messes, huh?"

John's eyes were more open than Gale had seen them in a while. Like Gale's answer was worth being present for. And Gale was so desperately tired of the both of them being pushed down and down in this place, was so desperate to find some peace for the two of them together, that he couldn't tell Bucky the truth. The less he had to hold on to, the quicker their ever after could come.

He pushed back the chair with a scrape. "Yeah. Something like that, John."

He stumbled when he heard the plaintive, painful wisp of sound in Bucky's throat, cut off as the hut door slammed open and the boys returned with their chow.

Starving to death was too slow, too stressful on the rest of the boys, or Gale would have tried it months ago.

John steered clear of the fence for a while.

Gale had been careful to put distance between then, to stop being the pillar for John to lean on and the force pulling him back down to earth, all whilst trying not to be obvious about it. Just enough for John to notice and to wonder if it was all in his head. To give him scraps of what they used to be without any kind of their old foundations.

Each night Gale went to sleep with cramps in his stomach. He wanted to curl up next to John, to hold him through the night and be the first thing he saw in the morning. He wanted to see a way out, a light ahead that meant they could keep breathing each others air, but there was none. Instead there were tree stumps and calculus and fake baseball games and Gale's heart broke every time he was faced with what this place had reduced his Bucky to. What this place had forced him to do because there was no. way. out.

But even so, John was giving the fence a far wider berth than normal.

Which left them both miserable and stagnant.

Gale would have to give John another push.

The idea came to him on mail day. John usually made himself scarce as names were being called out and envelopes pushed into greedy hands. He already knew he wasn't getting one. He'd told Gale once, in an awful moment of clarity, that no one at home cared to write him a letter, and he wasn't about to stick around for the reminder.

Gale had been meaning to ask Marge if she'd write John, too, but it was a moot point, now. He'd written her a letter, explaining everything. He didn't want her thinking he was some victim of this place. He wanted her to know it was his choice. That with John getting further and further away from him, giving up on any possibility of their freedom, Gale refused to do any of this without him. He had to hold on to him the only way he knew.

She'd never forgive him, but that was a problem for the living. They were only half that, Gale and John.

So the next time letters were being handed out, Gale accepted his slip from Marge and hustled after John as he slipped out the door.

He didn't even have to call out. Bucky turned to walk backwards, giving Gale a queer look.

"What you doing out here? Marge finally give the pen a rest?"

Gale brandished the perfumed envelope with as big a smile as he could manage. Something shuttered behind John's eyes and he grinned sharp and wolfish back.

"Then get. Read your letter, Buck, and leave me out of it."

"We could read it together," Gale announced, generous and jovial and hoping Bucky couldn't see the strain at the sides of his eyes.

"No fuckin' thank you."

John turned on his heel and Gale had to jog to catch up.

"Come on," he pushed. "A little slice of home for you."

John scoffed and sneered at him nasty. "Like I need the reminder that I've got nothin' waiting for me outside of this goddamn camp. Gotta say, Buck, it's not like you to rub something like that in a guy's face. It's almost cruel." That darker side of John sounded almost pleased, like it was proud of him, and Gale's throat jumped to think John saw more of him than he let on.

Their good sides were bonded souls. Made sense their bad sides were, too.

Gale pretended offence. "Don't get snippy with me just because you got nobody."

John drew his lips in a thin line and looked away. Sure signs Gale's hit had landed. A bombsight couldn't have helped him land it better.

"Nobody."

Gale shrugged. Inside, that impulse to grab John and make him look Gale in the eye, to tell him he had him, they had each other and that was all that mattered, reared up screaming. But Gale beat it down.

"You were the one that decided none of the dames in Texas, and none of the girls in England were good enough. Any one of them would have been happy to wait for you. No one to blame but yourself, Bucky. So quit feeling sorry for yourself."

And John gifted him with a face he reserved for Colonels: a blank veneer with only the slightest ambiguous uptick at the corner of his mouth. The one he put up when he knew spilling what he really felt or thought was only going to lead to something bad.

Good. I can't take this much more John. Seeing you hurt. God, end it. End it for both of us.

"Fuck off, Gale. Read your damn letter. Jerk off to Marge baking pies or gossiping to the neighbours or whatever mundane, domestic, pathetic shit she writes to you about. Cry whilst you do it, even. You seem the type. Just fuck off."

John marched off without a word, and Gale swallowed the yell of his name he wanted to chase him down with.

Let him feel it. Let him feel alone. He won't be, when it's all over. You'll be together, out of here at last.

John didn't return after the letters had been read and then read again. He didn't return to taunt the men during their shifts on the stump puller. He didn't return to choke down shitty rations with them. And he didn't return when night fell and curfew was almost upon them.

Gale felt the fear of the boys. But all he could feel was anticipation. Waiting for the knock at the door, when a goon would break the news that Bucky had gotten into trouble after lockdown and they'd shot him to make an example. Gale watched it play out in his mind: he'd finally let himself feel something honest and let his heartbreak feed his anger and attack the guard, and they'd put a bullet in him too. They'd toss their bodies in the same hole. Gale could lie in the cradle of John's legs, over the expanse of his chest, forever.

The knock never came. The door was booted in, instead.

John was limp between two men, unconscious. Brady and Crank leapt forward to take him, and Ham and Murph grabbed the fellas by their patchy, dirty jackets before they could retreat.

"The fuck did you do to him?" Ham growled and the fella in his grasp balked at his nasty scar and gleaming teeth.

"Nothing! He's fine—just drunk!"

Brady and Crank lowered John onto his bunk, and Gale could smell the bitter smell of alcohol all the way from his own.

The men were British, and the one Murph pressed against the wall had the gall to sneer at John. "Arsehole came in a wiped out our stash playing cards. Don't know how he's not dead. Stuff would burn the stomach lining right off you."

With a jerk of Gale's head, Ham and Murph tossed the Brits out on their ass.

John didn't move. Gale stared at him. Disappointment tried to swallow him up. He thought, he really thought this would be it, but John had found a way to extend their misery yet again. Gale pressed a hand to his forehead. He was clammy and cold. His breaths were irregular, too shallow more than not. His pulse was slow and sluggish.

Not just drunk. Dead drunk.

Crank shook his head. "Trust Bucky to find a way to get smashed in a prisoner of war camp, Jesus."

Brady stood at Gale's shoulder. "Someone will need to watch him. Make sure he doesn't choke."

Hope sparked up in him again.

"I will. Rest of you get to bed."

Protest rose up in the puff of Brady's chest.

"That's an order, Captain."

Gale watched John as the others got ready for bed, and his resentment grew with each staggering breath Bucky tried to take.

He waited until the bunk was full of the sounds of snuffling and snores until he let himself drop next to Bucky's side. His eyes roved over the pronounced curve of John's nose, the wide arch of his cheeks, the square of his jaw. That bony structure thrust into sharper relief from hunger.

But Gale still thought John was beautiful. He was beautiful when he was bloated and uncomfortable with alcohol. He was beautiful when he was dripping with sweat and stank to high heaven in their early PT days. He was beautiful when he was all but barking at their commanding officers and egging Gale to indulge his wilder impulses. And he was beautiful now, probably poisoned from potent, raw booze brewed deep in bleakest Sagan.

Gale swept back curls lank with grease and dirt and sweat.

"What are you dragging this out for, hm?" he murmured it into Bucky's ear. In case one of the boys woke up, or wasn't as asleep as Gale thought he was.

"Aren't you tired? Don't you wanna rest, sweetheart? Because I do."

He plucked up John's hand and held it.

"We made each other a promise, you and I. That one way or another, we'd get out of this thing together. And thing is—" He swallowed past the lump and the cracking in his throat. "Thing is I think you're right. I don't think we're being rescued, and I don't think we're escaping any time soon. God, I don't even know if we're gonna win this war. What kind of Major does that make me? What kind of man to lead the boys? I don't want to. I don't want to. I'm so damn tired, John. I'm so tired of being the one the boys look up to. I'm tired of bearing the weight. I'm tired of seeing you hurting over and over, dying here right in front of me. I'm tired of pretending there's a life waiting for me out of here that isn't with you."

He pressed a kiss to each and every knuckle. "So, you can stop fighting now, alright? You go, and I'll go with you. I'm just waiting for you, gorgeous. Let Brady or Benny or Crank lead the boys. They're much more fit for it. Let's you and I get out of here, get some rest finally."

Gale cast a slow, careful look around. Not that there was much light to see by, but silhouettes could be just and damning, and that wasn't how he wanted either of them to go. There was an honourable, clean execution, and there were Krauts murdering the queers. But no one was looking, and Gale pushed forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky's lax mouth. Let just the tip of his tongue dart forward and taste the zing of strong booze that could knock out a man of Bucky's tolerance.

Then he slipped back into his bunk, and watched.

He woke to a wretched coughing.

John. He was jerking and twitching and kicking and—

Choking.

And he still wouldn't wake up.

Gale was out of his bunk and had hands full of John before his sleep-deprived mind could catch up. Bucky's dead weight was nothing to sniff at, even with the weight he'd shed since coming to Stalag Luft III. Gale yanked and pulled, but couldn't get Bucky on his side. His heart hammered in his chest, the only though in his mind running round like a carousel.

Turnoverturnoverturnover. You son of a bitch turn over.

He braced a foot against the board of Bucky's bunk and threw all his wait into trying to get Bucky on his side.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't do it and the panic and fear overrode everything. Weak, pathetic sounds fell from his mouth that later he wouldn't remember. He couldn't hear anything over the wet gargling from Bucky.

"Come on, Bucky!"

Gale gave one last desperate heave, and hands wrapped around his waist and his shoulders and others grabbed onto John, too. And finally John was hauled over, and the bitter frothy poison tumbled from his mouth onto his bed, the floor, Gale's pants and boots.

And still he didn't wake.

When he was empty, spitting up nothing but tiny white bubbles, Gale left John in the hands of whoever had come to help. Gale hadn't so much as looked up to see who it all was. He simply got up and shoved through the door, curfew be damned.

He got as far as the corner of the hut and bent double and vomited.

He could have let John die. He should have let John die. That was the plan. Then Gale could have gotten himself killed in the morning and that would have been that.

But it hadn't been a thought, in the moment. He'd seen John thrashing and kicking and had nothing in his body or his mind but the need to make it fucking stop.

He was so damn sick of himself. Of his weakness. Of letting John down time and time again.

A hand gently thumped on his back.

"Ay, get it up, Buck. That's it."

Benny. Faithful Benny. Best damn co-pilot in the 100th.

Buck came up gasping. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Benny grabbed onto his shoulders. "He's got it out his system now. He'll be alright. Hell of a head in the morning, but that won't stop us putting that bastard on stump duty for scaring us all half way to hell. Son of a bitch."

Gale shook his head. He couldn't blink. His eyes blurred and stang and he couldn't blink. "I can't…he can't stay here, Benny. It's killing him, I—I have to get him out of here."

Benny's mouth twisted in a pitying line and Gale wanted to throw up again. "S'killing all of us, Buck. Just some slower than others, is all. But us? We can stay one step ahead of that big goodnight with you at our backs, hm?"

Yeah. They could. Because Gale was gonna give that reaper two souls; keep it fed for a while longer and see if he and Bucky can buy their boys some time.

Gently, he pushed Benny's hands off him. "I'm alright. Let's get…let's get to bed."

Benny made Buck go first. The door closed behind them with a tiny thump, and when Gale took his place on his bunk, he saw John was still on his side, but with one knee curled up and a hand placed under his head.

Gale didn't sleep until the sky outside turned grey.

Like storming seas, things crashed and ebbed at the same moment.

After that day, the afternoon really when Bucky had finally awoken with no apparent memory of the night before, the distance between them stretched as far as it could go without snapping. John's low profile, like a belly-crawling dog been kicked around too much, didn't last long. It wasn't in his nature to be so remorseful. John's itching and his wildness and his restlessness, that far off and empty look in his eyes that only ever really sharpened into the present when a Kraut with a gun got close enough, ramped up. And up. And up.

But never seemed to go nowhere.

Gale wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to throw himself at John's feet and beg him to get it over with. He wanted to drag him and drop him at a goon's boots himself and kneel there until it was his turn to eat a bullet.

His prayers to Bucky sick with drink had gone unanswered, and he was afraid he was going to have to watch John waste away here and die slowly, agonisingly far from the man he was at his core.

Gale had failed him so badly, unable to let him go. Two chances they'd had so far, but Gale was so set on a good quick death for his Bucky, he'd had to step in at the last minute, and keep Bucky stuck here with him. Trapped and rotting.

Good thing they weren't getting out of here alive. Bucky would never forgive him for keeping him going for so long. Gale was never going to forgive himself.

He wasn't an overly religious man, and less so now than ever, but he wondered if that was a penance he'd carry with him in death. But it would be okay, so long as he could look at Bucky whilst he bore it. Youthful and vibrant and more alive than he was right now floating around the earthly realm.

"Come on. Skins versus Bones. What do you say? Skins can be the, uh-the away team. Actually, no. No, we’re all away. Pfft. We’re both the away teams!"

Skin and bones. Away, away. Hurry up and climb down into the dirt, Johnny. It's waiting for you and so am I.

He shoved Bucky down, and there John laid back looking more peaceful in the mud than he did curled up in his pitiful bunk. Like it was a suite at the Ritz. He looked up at Gale, like a lover waiting for him to descend down to his level and join him.

King Cleven.

King and God in heaven: that's how John used to look at him. Now he looked at him like a sinner awaiting judgement, desperate to begin their eternity.

Me too, baby. Just a bit longer.

And because he knew John better than he knew himself, Gale knew he couldn't accept a hand up right now. Wouldn't let himself accept the kindness and fraternity of his brothers in the 100th. Wouldn't let himself accept Gale's touch without snapping at his hand.

So Gale offered it. Gave John the perfect opportunity to bite and hate himself a little more in the hopes that this would be it: this would John's final thread and all of this could end.

"Come on. Get up, you loony. Come on, get up. Get up, you loony."

John had always danced so perfectly to Gale's music, and unlike Gale he didn't let his other half down now. A kick and a thrash and a smack and a tumble and John sent Gale sprawling down into the dirt with him.

Gale was so proud of him. It hurt that he couldn't tell him before the end, lest he accidentally stay John's execution at the last moment. Then his rib cracked under John's boot, and John's nose bloodied under Gale's fist, and Gale finally felt it.

Felt something move. Shift. Break. And start to drift away. He felt his eyes sting with the joy and relief of it.

Then clipped, abrupt German erupted over the camp tannoys, and everything Gale had been holding to was upended in the worst way.

"They landed, didn’t they? We're in Western Europe. It finally happened."

That thing that had felt more than improbable but impossible: liberation and freedom. It was marching on them . For them. And Gale wanted to rage and weep.

They were so close. So close to it being over. So close to being together in the dark and the quiet even if they never made it back to America. And now the Allies had gone and ruined it, yanked it all away by starting a slow campaign into enemy territory that threatened to undo all the painstaking, heartbreaking, torturous work he'd done so far so push John over the edge he loved to flirt with so much. Both of them were hanging on by their fingertips and Gale wanted so badly to just let go and freefall. He'd look at John the whole way down, untilt he met the black and the void.

But then John woke up.

He'd found that last morsel of his will to keep going and used it to gain a foothold, to haul himself back up over the edge, even if it was by an inch. And that son of a bitch tried to drag Gale up with him.

That night in the hut, in as private a moment as they could get by their bunks when mostly everyone else was following a high-spirited card game, John found him. Clear-eyed John extended a gentle hand to brush against Gale's cracked rib and whispered,

"I'm sorry, Buck. I'm so sorry. I hurt you, I—"

Gale flinched and bared his teeth. His eyes shone with frustration and sorrow. How could John do this now? How could he approach with with softness and regret and that awful, sickening goddamn clarity when Gale had been scooping out the best parts of himself just to secure their future together, their rest?

And John saw it, and misread it. "Hey, come on. Come on."

He pulled Buck outside the hut. It wasn't lights out, yet, so the goons didn't usually mind a few men loitering at the door of their huts so long as they went no further.

In the dark, in their privacy against the thin wood that made their shelter, Bucky stood up taller than Gale had seen since England and said, "Hit me. Again. I deserve it."

Oh, this old chestnut.

"Fuck you, Bucky."

John grinned to hear it. And for once it was entirely without edge. It reached his eyes and carved well-worn dimples back into his cheeks. Gale couldn't do this. He couldn't have John back in all his glory for a few fleeting moments on the high of the news of the Allied invasion, only to lose him and be back at square one when he realised how goddamn long that would take. They'd still be stuck here for months. And Gale didn't think he had that left in him when John inevitably drifted away again.

They were barely visible in the dark and John took the cover to lean in close. "Not-so Saint Cleven. I missed ya."

Gale shook. He didn't know if it was even anger anymore.

John's hands came to rest on his hips. He ducked his head like he used to do after one of Gale's more harrowing flights.

"You were right, and I was wrong, Buck. We are getting out of here. M'sorry you were left keeping that belief burning on your own. But for what's it's worth and I know I'm not worth much but I'm here now."

For now—

"—and I'm not going anywhere. We're getting out of here you and me. Alive. Like we promised."

Gale was trembling. Head to toe he trembled and it shook some of the water loose around his eyes. It shook sounds from his throat and gasps from his lungs, and John whisked him even further into the dark around the corner of the hut and Gale gripped John's greatcoat so tight he heard a stitch or two pop.

"Fuck you," he hissed wetly. "Fuck you, fuck you, John. I could have—why didn't you come back earlier? Why didn't…I could have—"

He'd thought John was gone. Dead already, but his body didn't know it yet. And Gale was weary from carrying both their corpses. But John had lied to him this whole time. Had been alive and dormant and that Gale could have killed him, could have put them to sleep in the dirt when something in John still wanted to live.

John gathered him close, or tried to, but Gale thrashed back and only let John get close enough to press their foreheads together, and only then because he felt his skin stretch and bruise with how hard John pushed against him.

"Woah, woah, Buck. It's alright. It's alright. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry—"

"I could have killed you, John." His voice shook and his throat and nose clogged, and to Gale's horror and humiliation, the tears only gained a pace and he found himself sobbing like a frightened child into John's chest. "You could have died. I could have killed you," he heaved into the coarse wool of John's coat.

"I know, I've been an asshole."

Gale clenched his fist and aimed for John's kidney and got him good before John trapped his hand. But he had another and sucker punched John's stomach and reigned hell down on his back, but John still wouldn't let him go and Gale still couldn't stop sobbing, furious and shattered in equal measure.

"Shut up. Shut up. You left me here. You left me and I couldn't fucking take it. You and me: we were supposed to be in this together and you left. I wanted us dead John. I wanted us dead. I thought you were dead and I wasn't about to let you leave me behind I—"

John squeezed him so tight he crushed all the air out of Gale's lungs. His breaths came shallow when he could drag them in between his cries which he finally let himself bury into the crook of John's shoulder. John didn't let him up for air. Didn't let him put so much as a half inch between them. Didn't let them separate.

"I'm not dead. I'm not dead," John repeated it in his ear. "And you're not dead, either. We're alive, Buck. We're alive and we're getting out of here."

Gale clutched the back of John's neck until he felt the skin get stuck under his fingernails and John hissed and jerked under him but still didn't let go.

"I don't want to be," he said thickly. "I'm so tired, John. Can't we just—I just want to lay down and die, already. I've been waiting and I can't..."

John scruffed him and shook until his teeth rattled. "Not a fuckin' choice, Major."

Gale moaned and felt thick trickles of snot drop from his nose. "It's not fair—"

"I don't give a shit. You didn't want me to leave you behind? Well you don't get to abandon me, now. You wanna die so bad? You wanna give in? I'll shoot you my damn self, then put one in my head right after. You wanna make me do that? I don't wanna die here, Buck. Too many people have tried to bury me between here and Germany and if I die here, they win. You gonna make me do it? 'Cause I will. You and me. Here or home. What's it gonna be?"

Gale had cried himself beyond wails or sobs and curses. He hiccupped his sorrow in pathetic bursts all over John.

"I hate you," he vowed into sodden, filthy wool. "I can't. I hate you."

John kissed his crown and Gale jerked his head enough to butt against John's teeth. He hoped they left a mark. "Yeah. I hate me, too. But that's not an answer."

John shoved Gale back, and he felt the cold on the smeared mess on his face. John stared him down unflinching. "Where we dyin', Buck? Here? Or back where we're supposed to be? Behind a yoke or in our beds like we fuckin' deserve?"

Gale used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away the slime and sniffed down a throatful of mucus and snot and other pathetic wetness that hadn't made it out. A glimmer of Major Cleven was able to peek back out. Gale rolled back his shoulders and set his jaw that sharp and stubborn way that made the new recruits shift in place like errant children.

And he stared right back at Bucky. His Bucky. Finally back from being AWOL.

"Don't you leave me here again. Do you hear me? Because if you do, if you go back to that, I won't watch it. I'll tell them we're spies. I'll goddamn tell them we're queer if I have to, but I'll make sure we both bite it here, Bucky. I can't do it without you anymore, so don't you fuckin' make me."

John grabbed a fistful of his hair and kissed him bruising and biting and hard. Gale's skin was still sticky. His lips cut against his teeth and Gale made sure to cut John up to match.

When they pulled back, the inside of John's lip was tinged with red. A shining streak of one of Gale's bodily fluids was infused to the strands of John's mustache. "Deal."

It had taken John getting the closest he'd ever gotten to being killed, for them to finally take the plunge.

The P-51s had fired on them, their own countrymen and allies. Only Alex Jefferson's warning had kept their losses low. But John had seen red, like he used to do at a shitty call from a higher up, or when a rookie had made a mistake that could have cost a fort and ten good men. He was all teeth and snarling froth and the Germans were unholstering their pistols, rifles already aimed and pinned on John's chest. Right at the heart.

It took four of them to pull him back.

"Look at me. Look at me! I'm in. We go tonight. Just calm down before they put a bullet in your head."

John sucked in his lips and didn't take his eyes from Gale even as he pushed off his hands. A self-enforced silence before he did something he couldn't undo.

Just a little longer, Gale pleaded with him silently. Just keep it together a little longer, darlin'.

In the night, passing through the sorry carcass of some village or old work buildings or something, George and Billy ran unseen between two buildings and cleared the wall between their column of POWs and the dark protection of the woods.

"Go on," Bucky said before Gale could. "I'll be right behind you."

You goddamn better be, he wanted to say, threaten, and make Bucky promise. But they didn't have time, and the longer he lingered, the more danger he was putting Bucky in.

So with a final look, he ran.

He couldn't hear anything, his heart hammered so loud. Was Bucky behind him? Was that footsteps he could hear?

The wall was so close, now. A few more feet and Gale could hold his arm out and touch it.

"Hey, no! Stop! Stop!"

Gale's feet, his whole damn body, lurched to a stop. Like Bucky had commanded him. He whirled around and there he was, wrestling with a German guard, drawing more and more attention, trying to get the Kraut's own gun off him.

Men had been killed for much, much less. They'd seen it.

"Go, Buck! Get out of here!"

It was the second time John lied to him.

Gale picked up his feet again, but the wall got further away. John was no slight man, even after their time in the Stalag and marching through the dead of night in the cold European winter. But the guards were better fed, better rested, and armed to boot.

And John was losing.

As the guard made to tip John over on his back and turned his gun on him, Gale barreled into him, knocking him clean off John and socking him in his sorry mouth. Hands grasped at him but they were quickly torn away, and he heard John grunting. It wasn't until his fists were bloody from breaking up the goon's teeth that Gale was finally hauled off him and thrown down into the cold dirt.

John was already there waiting for him.

Panting they drew themselves up to their knees. The Germans were screaming at them, and John looked at him with eyes that burned with betrayal.

"Why didn't you go? Buck why didn't you go?"

"You're a son of a bitch, John Egan. You and me, you said. You promised. I didn't take you for no liar, and that's twice."

John's eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment, but when he opened them they were full of the steely resolved he'd carried for weeks now.

They started this together, they'd end this together. However that came.

They sat high on their knees, eyes and chins up.

"What are you doing?!" The Colonel stared at them kneeling at the mercy of the Germans. "General! Release these men this instant!"

It got the attention of their boys from the 100th. Benny. Brady. Crank. Murph. Glenn. Even Alex and Macon and Daniels. They all raised their voices over the barking and the yelling. They pushed against the line of guards holding them back. They snarled and they screamed.

The Colonel called over it all. "You'll have a damn riot on your hands if you kill these men!"

But Gale and John, they knew what was coming. They'd been caught trying to escape. They'd fought with the guards.

They couldn't be allowed to live if their captors wanted to keep control of the line as they marched deeper into enemy territory.

The Geneva Convention didn't mean shit out here.

John reached out and took Gale's hand. Entwined their fingers and held on. Unburdened. Unashamed. Free.

Gale ran his his thumb over the callouses of John's skin. And decided he didn't want his last sight to be the arrogant sneer of an SS lackey.

He looked at John. He was already looking back.

"Here?" Gale asked him.

John shrugged and smiled that closed-lipped smile he reserved for Buck. For when he was being true. "So long as we're together."

Despite all the clamour, they heard the click of several guns being readied, and then the barrells stared them down.

Gale and John stared at each other.

The night rang out with the scream of what remained of the 100th of Stalag Luft III.

[yxngbxkkie]

i love you (h.j)

so, i found a tik tok that you can watch here of hannie saying i love you. and, i wanted to write a fic based on it. it's kinda sad but it has a happy ending 🥹 i hope you guys like it! 💓

feedback is appreciated 🥰

"Are you seriously being this way?" Jisung asks you with pointed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. "I told you that this month's going to be busy. Our comeback is coming up quickly."

You scoff and run a hand through your hair, getting frustrated. "Okay, and I get that," you tell him. "But, I also thought that you'd make a little time for your fiancé."

The dark brunette rolls his eyes before walking towards the front door. "You're really going to throw that in my face? You said you understood. This is my life. It's always going to be this way," he mentions, putting his shoes back on.

"Where are you going?" You ask him, looking towards the clock.

"I'm going back to the studio. I'm not going to sit here and argue with you over stuff you already know, Y/N," Jisung sighs, opening the door to your shared apartment. "You're being really clingy right now, and I just… I can't handle it."

You purse your lips as tears begin to pool in your eyes. "God forbid I worry about you, Jisung," you laugh, shaking your head. "If you don't want someone clingy, maybe we shouldn't get married."

Silence fills the shared space, and both of you avoid eye contact with one another. Tears begin to slide down your cheeks, feeling a little hurt that he's not fighting to stay with you.

You walk away from him first, heading into your bedroom. You flinch a bit when you hear the front door shut, silence continuing to fill your apartment.

Your lip quivers as you look down at your engagement ring. A sob escapes your lips as you slide the ring off of your fingers, gently placing it on the dresser.

After trying to stop yourself from crying so much, you grab your duffel bag out of the closet. You stuff some clothes into it, packing everything you might need for the next couple of days.

A part of you wants to text Jisung to let him know that you're not going to be home. But, another part of you wants him to worry. Maybe he'll come to his senses and not let this small argument ruin your relationship.

You tuck your hair behind your ears before wiping the tear streaks from your face. You slip your shoes on and walk out the front door, locking it behind you.

~

Jisung plops down in Chan's chair, releasing a deep sigh. He rubs his hands along his face as the argument he had with you replays in his head.

He checks his phone and frowns at the photo of you on his lock screen. Jisung slowly closes his eyes, knowing that he's not going to get anything done in this state.

He scrolls through his contact list and decides to call Minho. He presses the phone against his ear while staring at the white table.

"Ya," Minho answers after the third ring, hearing the sound of oil bubbling in the background.

"Minho hyung," Jisung starts to break down, tears spilling from his round eyes. "I think I fucked up."

"What happened? Where are you?" Minho asks him.

Jisung wipes his eyes while leaning back in the computer chair. "I'm in Chan's studio," he mentions, sniffling a bit. "Y/N and I got into an argument… a-and now I don't even know if we're together anymore."

"Ya, Han Jisung, I swear," Minho sighs. "You need to go back home right now and make up for whatever argument you had. Understand? Otherwise, you're going to lose her."

"O-Okay. I'll head there now," Jisung whispers into the phone, shoving all of his stuff back into his bag. "I'll talk to you later, hyung."

"Let me know what happens, okay?" Minho's worried voice reaches Jisung's ears, causing the younger boy to nod his head.

He hangs up the phone afterward and quickly rushes out of the studio. It doesn't take him very long to get back home. He pulls his house keys from inside his pocket, unlocking the door before opening it.

His heart drops at the sight of an empty apartment. The only light comes from the oven in the kitchen. "Y/N?" He calls out your name, slipping his shoes off.

Jisung's heart races in his chest as he checks each room. He checks the bedroom last and notices the ring sitting on the dresser. He swallows the lump in his throat, tears quickly pooling.

"No, no, no," he mutters to himself, gripping the ring until his knuckles turn white. He grabs his phone with his free hand, typing in your number before calling. He starts to panic when it immediately goes to voice-mail.

He takes deep breaths, feeling an anxiety attack coming on. Jisung redials your number, calling again. "Come on, baby, please," he begs to himself as he tries to call for a third time, getting the same result.

His hands shake as he looks at the screen, seeing your cheery smile break his heart more than it already is. He swallows the lump in his throat, moving to sit against the wall.

"I guess I'll just leave a message…" He whispers, dialing your number.

~

You wake up feeling like absolute shit. A groan leaves your lips, bringing a hand to your forehead. "This is what I get for crying myself to sleep," you sigh, pushing the covers off of you.

You glance around the hotel room you're staying in, your chest clenching at the thought of what happened yesterday. You reach for your phone and turn it on for the first time in twelve hours.

The first notification that pops up is a voice-mail from Jisung. You hover your finger over the message, debating on whether or not you should listen to it. You swallow the lump in your throat and decide to listen to it.

You press play and press the phone against your ear. Your heart strings tug as soon as Jisungs voice starts. "Instead of apologizing, I'll say I love you," he starts, noticing his voice is a bit raspy and you frown. "Thank you for worrying about me, I love you. Really, thank you. I love you. I love you so much. I love you immensely. I love you endlessly. I love you completely. I love you so much. I really love you. I love you the most. I love you the most in the world. I completely, madly love you."

By the time the voice-mail finishes, you're crying your eyes out. You cover your mouth with your free hand, not wanting to be too loud with your sobs. You pull the device away from your ear, not hesitating to call him back.

You click on his contact and press the phone to your ear again, listening to it ring. After the fifth ring, Jisung picks up. "Honey?" He mutters, causing your breath to hitch. "Baby, listen, I-I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to call you clingy. It's just… this comeback is really exhausting, and I took it out on you. A-And I know that's not an excuse, but I don't want to lose you. I won't survive."

"Jisung," you cry out, his words making your heart hurt even more. "I don't want to lose you either."

"Come home, please," he begs before mumbling incoherently. Your lip trembles as Jisung starts to cry on his side of the phone. "I love you so much. I'll work on myself, I promise. Please marry me still."

"I'll still marry you, baby," you whisper, sniffling. "I'm sorry I left. I'm coming home right now."

You stand up from the bed, quickly making it before gathering your things. Jisung's still on the phone with you, and his voice comes through the device.

"You have nothing to apologize about, honey. This is all my fault," he reassures you. "When you come home, can I give you a kiss?"

A breathy laugh escapes your lips, and you grab a tissue to wipe your nose with. "Yeah, baby, you can give me a kiss," you tell him, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. You pause what you're doing as your gaze is fixed on the marble sink. "You pinky promise this won't happen again?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, honey. I will never, ever do this again. I love you."

"I love you, Han Jisung."

~

tagging: @thewxntersoldier @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8

[taylorftparamore]

love's a game, wanna play? -> back when we were card sharks, playin games -> what if none of it was accidental? -> baby let the games begin -> oh no, i'm fallin in love -> i wanna be your first string -> you know i love the players, and you love the game -> the whole school is rolling fake dice -> and i bet you thought you'd beat me -> baby, i'm the one to beat -> fighting with him is like trying to solve a crossword with no right answer -> and she's laughing, drawing aces -> i play em like a violin -> it's poker, he can't see it in my face but i'm about to draw my ace -> you're calling the bluff on all my usual tricks -> the sickest army doll -> just playthings for me to use -> uh oh, i'm fallin in love again -> i wanna be your end game ->

that child's play back in school is forgiven under my rule -> devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes -> with your hair falling into place like dominos -> the dominoes cascaded in a line -> i'm fallin in love again -> but there was one prize i'd cheat to win -> just like any good trophy hunter -> i lived in your chess game, but you changed the rules every day -> begging for footnotes in the story of your life, drawing hearts in the byline -> you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes -> my boy only breaks his favorite toys -> love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right -> video games, you pass me a note -> no one wanted to play with me as a little kid -> i felt more when we played pretend -> i wanna be your a team ->

twenty questions, we tell the truth -> luck of the draw only draws the unlucky -> i've been breakin hearts a long time, toyin with these older guys -> excellent fun til you get to know her -> i've been scheming like a criminal ever since -> pull the string and i'll tell you that he runs because he loves me (he loves me) -> lose something, babe, risk something -> i'm tryna see the cards that you won't show -> we broke all the pieces but still wanna play the game -> like any real love, it's ever-changing -> cause we were born to the pawn in every lover's game -> they're off to the races -> push the reset button, we're becoming something new -> we've been on a winning streak

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Things that come in my head as I play through Diasomnia's chapter (chp 1- 37):

[Potential spoilers below darlings, proceed with caution!]

Lilia using his hatchet, which by Sebek's reactions we can assume is basically at the same level of significance as a magical artifact used by say, one of the great Seven, to cut wood. He even justifies it by saying the hatchet might feel better being used even if for mundane things than sitting and gathering dust somewhere. Is that a metaphor for himself? Is he referring to himself and how he busied himself with raising his sons? To how from a weapon in war, one that brought devastation with every swing of his blade, he softened into a someone, who despite his doubts managed to be a father and mentor to both his sons? Does he think of himself as an object to be used, first in the war and then as a caretaker for Malleus?

Silver losing his cool and shouting that yes, Malleus needs to be there to say goodbye to Lilia. We've seen how Silver constantly wants to be useful and do something to sort of 'justify' Lilia taking him in and raising him as his own. I feel like he doesn't see himself as Lilia's son despite calling him "Father"; he sees Malleus as more deserving of that title, and so every time he's shown some resistance against Lilia going away, he puts it as if he's speaking on behalf of Malleus' feelings. Whereas Malleus believes that he must not be selfish and stop Lilia from leaving just because he doesn't want him to. He's trying to be mature about it all, even if it eats him up inside. Just... why can't these idiots realize how much they love each other?? Also, Lilia asking where Silver got his stubborn streak from like sir, have you seen yourself and Malleus? Both of yall are so stubborn that I'm surprised Silver isn't more stubborn than just this.

Malleus and Silver are so similar in so many ways that it actually hurts. Both are losing their father figure, their mentor. And they're both trying to be so incredibly brave and mature about it. Malleus' general dislike of being compared to a child (even though Lilia says that the Draconias achieve their maturity when they're 1000 years old and are still children at 200 years) and Silver saying that he'll be coming of age the next year when Malleus tells him that all children cry... Both are children, but they don't want to be seen as children. These boys are gonna make me cry istg-

Gonna take a break from the dia boys for a sec because how cute are the first years??? Oh my god I love them all so much. Also, weird freaky things happening to the Prefect... could it be a side effect of being stuck in Twisted Wonderland for so long? Or maybe even an effect of the Prefect starting to become "aware" of how the great seven are the people they see in their dreams? Hm... Also have I told you how much I love Adeuce? Because I love them. Very much. The way Ace shows concern about the Prefect feeling under the weather, and the way Deuce immediately agrees that they should leave after saying their greetings just makes me so happy (and it reminds me of my friends.... i think i just realized why im so fond of the idiots...) Okay now back to our regularly scheduled program...

Love how Lilia basically said, "If people here were well-adjusted individuals who knew how to ask for help gracefully and take the help offered to them gracefully they wouldn't have been chosen by the Dark Mirror" because he's soo right, but also, dear sir, if you recall, you were chosen to attend this very same institute yourself <3

"I haven't the slightest intention of being friendly–" shut it lightning boy we're gonna KO you with the power of friendship and life-or-death bonding situations

LILIA HOW DARE YOU TRY TO LEAVE WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE TO YOUR KIDS ISTG IM GONNQ BITE YOU YOU STUPID OLD MAN THEY FUCKING LOVE YOU HOW DARE YOU SHSVWIDVWYDGWIDVEYWGDGEUDGDH

Oh shit the iconic Maleficent entry– I love you Malleus but Jesus christ you are scaring me rn with that smile–

First battle of the chapter.... wish me luck... Oh wait I was supposed to lose? Ah that's fine, I didn't wanna be stuck on that chapter for the next six months-

Oh god the utter pain in Lilia's voice when he yells out to Malleus.... oh this hurts more than hearing Silver cry.... why can't these idiots just fucking talk and tell each other how much they love each other?!?!?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

HELLO?!?!! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT–Malleus' voice is so pretty while humming the song– BUT HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT?!?! THE FUCKING PROTAGNONIST OF YOUR OWN STPRY?? THE TEISTED WONDERLAND SORT OF TITLE SCREEN THINGY WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK I— WHDYEHWGDGDYW

[yankstrash]

what about #69 with the boy of your choosing but maybe they're ex's who bump into each other a while after the break up?

request for the umich celly extravaganza !

"Is that my shirt?"

You were leaving class when you caught sight of your ex boyfriend walking in your direction. There really was no way to avoid him, so you figured you'd be civil and say hello.

"Nick, hey." You said as you approached him.

"Oh, hey!" He said, taking an AirPod out of his ear.

"So, how's hockey?" You asked, not too sure what to say.

"Good, good. We're on an 8 game win streak!" He said, beaming.

"That's awesome, good for you!" You replied.

He was about to open his mouth to speak again, but closed it after he realized what you were wearing.

"Is that my shirt?" He asked you, pointing to your oversized t-shirt that you were wearing.

You looked down at it, not even realizing that you had it on. When you and Nick were together, you'd borrow his clothes all the time. You ended up losing track of how many you had and which ones you had because you did it so often. When you broke up, he didn't even ask for them back, so you just kept them.

You still wore them sometimes not even registering that they were his. It was just second nature to you.

"Oh, yeah. I guess it is." You said, feeling very awkward.

"I'm sorry, I honestly didn't even realize I still had it. Here, I can go change and drop it off-" You began to say, but he cut you off.

"No, don't worry about it. They always looked better on you anyways." He said, smiling before he turned and walked away, leaving you dumbfounded.

[nikatyler]

Zeph 1.0

oh?

(x)

I love this little shit

(x)

I accidentally threw a bomb at Gale...the one time I take him out with the party and I murder him right away

I'm sorry Gale I love you actually I really do 💀💀

"I threw" no actually it was my boyfriend, I'm innocent 😇 not like I'm controlling him or anything 😇

(x)

magic delulu besties, yay!

(x)

SHUT UP IS HE PROPOSING WHAT I THINK HE'S PROPOSING

I mean...

dsflakjasdklhgfjghadkfl

the giggle i just let out was not human

Oh lord

OH

So that's the bear scene I'm hearing so much about

Well that was. Something

(x)

welp what a night for Zeph because guess what they're bloodless too, good for them

(x)

sounds about right

(x)

Oh. Didn't have this combat the first time around here. Yay. I'm stressed :D

Yay family, what a lovely bunch they are :D

For real though I thought they would kidnap him, I was so worried I'd screw this combat 😂 I just wanna mess around the city before I get to the bigger quests (and also, yes, the battle with a certain evil vampire scares me, I didn't do well there before my big reload 💀)

(x)

oh god here we go again, should i do it for the achievement

this might be the worst thing i have ever done but let's go i guess. zeph i don't know how you're going to face your boyfriend tomorrow but that's a problem for future you 💀

pause i'm gonna go get dinner 💀💀

JFJFKFKFKDKSKKFNFJF WHATHEFUCK

not gonna lie i expected more people have done it 💀

teehee anywayyyy moving on from that back to this

(x)

i made four new besties

(x)

such a dramatic moment and all I can think about is that old "what are those?!" vine

(x)

who gave this game the right to hurt me so much 🥹

(x)

alright i took a break but now i think it's time to try and face cazabitch again. that combat was not going well for me at all before my big big reload but i think i learned a thing or two 💀

(x)

a good luck kiss before we go get absolutely fucked up :D yay :D

(x)

I'm stalling so bad lmao I don't wanna do this. If it wasn't for me getting stupid attached I would've been done by now for sure. 💀

What if I went to play Minecraft now. hole works need to continue you know

(x)

Fucking hell this quest is actually giving me so much anxiety I don't want him to get hurt but I'm hurting just knowing we're near

(x)

place your bets how many times i'm gonna have to reload

well first off i'm taking a break to do some duolingo because i'm not losing my 299 day streak

yes stalling again

wowie 300

besties i'm eepy i might go to bed

I already knew what was coming (the lines said) but phew. This is heavy. Think I'll actually leave the fight for tomorrow though

I did not leave the fight for tomorrow and I failed. Although I think I did better than before, I'm gonna crack this eventually (if not, I'll cry and you'll hear about it)

I may be stupid

Why did I not think of that dammit. If I wasn't so tired I'd go back to my computer now 😭

(x)

LETS FUCKING GO EAT SHIT YOU EVIL ASS VAMPIRE BITCH THAT'S RIGHT YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE MY BOY ALONE FUCK YOU

(x)

rip me i died dead

(x)

That was intense oh my god

(x)

same Karlach, same. smoochies

(x)

and what if my stuck-at-the-age-of-13 brain picked option 3 (I won't, but what if)

(x)

how i feel after this playing session

Jokes and silly aside, this was actually so good. Oh my god I would never shut up about this if I had the words. This did something to me for real

(x)

Shorter playing session today but I hit 200 hours 🫣 I don't have a problem, no no, not at all 🫣

And still not done with my first run 😂

(x)

Yesterday I was like "okay, I'll leave this combat for tomorrow, it'll probably take me ages to get through" and then I was done in 5 minutes? Maybe I'm getting good at this game idk

(x)

Karlach 😭😭😭😭😭

I promise in my next run I'll fix you 😭😭😭

(x)

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP YOU'RE NOT DYING I WON'T LET YOU I JUST WON'T

(x)

I promise in my next run I'll fix you 😭😭😭Duuude this combat is getting way too easy for me 😗 I should choose a higher difficulty in my second run. I didn't expect I'd get a hang of it

(x)

babyyyy ♥

yeah yeah she's a badass warrior and all but she's also baby

(x)

gjkldfjlkdf what

👁️👄👁️

👁️🫦👁️

(x)

bedfellows? we can be too? interesting choice of words 🤨

(x)

I can't be watching this before lunch or ever actually 👁️👄👁️

This game is wild

(x)

I love it when I cast a spell and so many things go unexpectedly boom and my laptop lags more than usual

Like the lag is bad. But it's a sign that the boom was excellent

(x)

i don't want to finish this game i want it to go on forever 😭

i'm acting like i'm not gonna immediately start a new run when i'm done but still

(x)

I was doing the house of hope yesterday btw 🤭

(x)

Okay I feel a little less sad now because I'm thinking of things I'll do differently in the next run and I'm excited but what kind of character do I play with 🤔

I'm really leaning towards bg3-ifying Ross but I still dunno what class I want him to be. Race even. I'm not sure if I want him to be a human here 🤔 half elf I could see but my current tav is a half elf…hmm. Full elf mayhaps? Dunno. I think that could work for him maybe

I might pull out that long ass dnd test and answer it in character for him to help me figure it out lol, work's slow today anyway

Welp I have figured out already that Zeph is a lot like Ross but so much nicer and without the whole "I was a dirty cheater in my late teens and dated half my high school" thing 💀

(x)

[fanficsfreeideas]

this is part of Alastor sold to Adam as his bride.

Vox Confronts Val

Vox and the other two Vees sat in quiet disbelief. Had they heard right? The Radio Demon, Alastor, was an Omega? They exchanged uneasy glances, each processing the revelation. Val turned to Vox, a smirk creeping across his face. "Did you know about this?" he asked. Velvette also turned, noting Vox's half dead expression as he sat on the couch, like the news had sucked the life out of him.

Vox's mind raced, struggling to reconcile the conflicting emotions swirling inside him. Despite his deep-seated animosity towards Alastor, the idea of exploiting his Omega status was deeply troubling. Vox's possessive streak over what he considered his territory clashed violently with his moral code, particularly when it came to the treatment of Omegas.

Suddenly, Vox erupted. "What the fuck? Shit, shit, shit! We can't let this get out or let it be known that Alastor had been sold to Adam."

His outburst reverberated in the tense atmosphere. Velvette intervened quickly, sensing the volatile mix of emotions in Vox. "It might be best to be quiet," she said calmly, trying to diffuse the escalating tension. "Vox seems really pissed."

Val, ever the provocateur, grinned wickedly. "Why keep it to ourselves? You hate the guy. Or do you plan on using this as blackmail later?"

Vox's anger flared even hotter. He stalked over to Val, grabbing his face with a menacing grip. "If you dare speak a word of this to anyone, I'll fucking kill you," he growled through clenched teeth. "Alastor was mine first, and if the others find out, they'll try to take him from me."

Val pushed Vox off with a dismissive laugh, standing up with a mocking wink. "Well, it seems your dear Omega was someone else's before you," he taunted, provoking Vox further.

In a burst of fury, Vox knocked Val down, launching into an attack fueled by betrayal and protectiveness. "You motherfucker, he was never with that asshole! He was never with anyone!"

Velvette, alarmed by the sudden violence, shouted, "Boys, stop fighting!"

Val, sprawled on the ground, smirked up at Vox. "Oh, a shame then," he retorted, seemingly unfazed by the physical altercation.

Velvette stepped between them, her voice firm. "Val, we're not going to say shit. And Vox, cool down; you're having a meltdown. But you can use this information to get what you want."

Vox, seething with rage, struggled to regain his composure. "I want to fight Alastor," he admitted bitterly. "I want to embarrass him by making him lose a fight, not destroy his whole life. I'm a huge asshole who enjoys destroying others, but I would never go after Omegas. That's too low, even for me."

Velvette's tone softened. "He will still be an overlord, but as your Omega. We'll keep it to ourselves if he agrees to join us."

Val nodded, his smirk still in place though he didn't fully grasp the depth of Vox's conflict. The prospect of forcing Alastor into their fold clearly appealed to his desire for dominance.

Vox's frustration boiled over. "I don't want to fucking force an Omega! Do you know nothing? I'm not breaking the law just because I want Alastor. Whoever broke it will pay big time."

Val chuckled, unfazed by Vox's threats. "We’re not going to abuse him," he insisted casually. "We'll make a nice nest for him, plenty of space to move around. The only thing he won’t have is the freedom to do everything he wants, but it's still better than losing everything, isn't it?"

"Go fuck yourself, Val," Vox retorted fiercely. "A nest and some room to move isn't enough. Alastor worked his way into being seen as one of us. I hate him, but he's still an overlord."

Val's smirk widened. "That didn’t stop him from being caught, now did it?"

Vox sighed in defeat, feeling the battle slipping away from him. Despite his anger and frustration, a sense of duty to protect Alastor tugged at him. "Al was my friend first, my best friend until I pushed too far. I owe him this one favor."

Val and Velvette turned to leave, Vox delivering one last barb. "If you can't see that blackmailing an Omega is still abuse, then go."

Velvette shook her head, torn between loyalty to Vox and her growing discomfort with the situation. "Vox, if it means that much to you, I'll keep quiet about it."

Val's grin turned malicious. "Too bad I already sent a clip of Adam calling Alastor his Omega to Carmilla. Now try to keep your little Omega safe when everyone knows about it." As their phones started beeping, Val sneered, "See you both at the next overlord meeting."

"Shit," Velvette whispered under her breath. She turned to Vox, trying to offer reassurance. "Vox, it's going to be okay. You've got this. You can charm them into letting Alastor stay, I believe you can. If not, just hypnotize most of them. Or get Alastor to agree to be with you so he can still take part."

Vox closed his eyes briefly, overwhelmed by the magnitude of their predicament. The Vees had made enemies of most of the other overlords, and he knew they wouldn't listen. "Sure," he murmured bitterly, "because I've got you beside me to make my plans right."

Velvette smiled confidently, though uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "Those old fucks don’t know who they’re messing with. And Val will regret what he’s done."

[cpidsworld]

☆ DAY SEVEN: TORU OIKAWA ☆

dilf!toru x f!reader

wc:700

tw: throat fucking, degredation, breath play

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

a/n: god he's so <3

dilf december collab

dilf!toru - your knees ached and your throat burned. you weren't sure how much more of this you could take. your body was pinned up against the locker as toru pistoned in and out of your mouth. your mind was blank as the tears and mascara rolled down your cheeks. his team had lost. even though it was a friendly match-up with some of his close friends, toru never took failure well.

you met him about 6 months ago in argentina. he was a volleyball coach at one of the local highschools, while you were a student teacher. you had run into him by accident on your first day, confused on where to go. the charming man offered to show you around. small accidental meetups became conversations before practice which eventually lead up to dinner.

you could barely believe a man like toru wanted anything to do with you. the man had brown curly hair and his stubble just made him look all the more beautiful. you could see the streaks of grey in his hair which he never saw the need to cover. he was confident and charismatic and always knew how to put a smile on your face and here you were, opposite him at the table as you laughed and chatted about everything and anything.

toru never thought he'd fall for someone as quickly as he fell for you. your bright smile and the way you'd counter his snide remarks. he loved it all. you were one in a million and he never wanted to give you up. one dinner turned into five. five dinners turned into five more, and an occasional day out here and there. you two were inseparable.

when push came to shove, he took you out for a sunset drive to the beach. you were taken aback by the array of colours as you and toru sat on top of the hood of his car. you stared at the sunset, admiring its beauty while toru's eyes were only on you. it was that day when he asked you to officially be his partner and you've been together ever since.

toru's highschool friends had invited him home for summer break and of course he accepted. it'd be a great opportunity for him to introduce you to them. so six months into your relationship, you and him are packing up and flying all the way to japan. this was one week ago. for that one week the two of you were getting over jetlag, sightseeing on your part and then the friendly match between him and his friends.

that day you met iwaizumi, issei, takahiro as well as the rest of his old team. a few other friends from different schools came to participate, making it quite the fun day, but oikawa's team had lost. he laughed it off with his friends before they said their goodbyes, promising to meet after for a drink or two.

this is what led to him throat fucking you like never before. god did you love it when he was angry, the sex was amazing and he was rougher than usual. he grabbed your hair giving him more leverage as he abused your hole.

"god damnit! not only did i lose, you were making eyes at iwa-chan the whole day. think i wouldn't notice slut?"

now you have to admit, you did take advantage of the situation to maybe have some jealous sex and oh boy did you get something better. his thrusts became haphazard as you felt him getting close.

"you're gonna take my cum like a good slut, hmm?"

all you could do was nod slightly before he grabbed your nose and closed it as he bottomed out inside your mouth, cumming down your throat. he let your nose go and pulled his cock out, allowing you to breathe. he wiped himself off with his towel before throwing it at you.

"clean up. we're meeting them for drinks."

he gave you a quick kiss on the head before taking his bag and walking out of the locker room. after what just happened, you might make oikawa jealous more often.

[hugheshugs]

hockey isn't for everyone | q. hughes

prompt: #7 — "i hate hockey."

summary: the canucks are on a losing streak and quinn messes up their last game, seeking your comfort.

pairing: bestfriend!quinn x reader

note: my first imagine ahh, im not too proud of it but i have to start somewhere. may or may not be inspired by recent events.

you sit on the living room floor of your apartment, anxiously watching quinn and the canucks fight to break their losing streak. they've gone five games without winning, today's the sixth and the pressure is on.

quinn had been talking to you last night about how much he wants to win today. no one likes losing, especially when your fails are broadcasted to the entire world. he's been your best friend since he joined the canucks so you knew there wasn't anything you could say to ease his mind. you simply tried your best to reassure him that everything would work out in his favour as long as he played his best.

which he did. he played his best, skated his best, everything was going well. until the third period.

you watch as someone from the opposing team slams him into the side of the rink, no penalty being called. although you know it's part of the game and quinn can handle it, your heart breaks and the sight of him standing up on wobbly legs. you assume he's alright, the commentators not mentioning that he's making his way to the bench. only a few seconds later, quinn skates up to the guy who pushed him and crosschecks him, resulting in a penalty.

groaning, you watch as quinn and his emotionless face make their way into the penalty box. you nearly scream when the other team scores, the once 2-2 tie game now looking bad for the canucks. you have your phone on standby, knowing your best friend (aka the boy you have a crush on) will be on his way to you as soon as the game's over.

they take a commercial break and you nearly throw your remote at the tv when you hear the sports commentators talking bad about quinn. sure it was a bad penalty, that doesn't mean they have to bash him for it. you know it's a part of sports but hearing people bash quinn isn't something you're fond of.

with only a couple seconds left in the game and an empty net on the canucks' side, elias passes the puck to quinn past their blue line. he quickly skates over and turns to pass back the puck, not realizing two opponents were right on his tail. the pass was intercepted and shot into their net, a 4-2 loss for vancouver.

you know quinn is beating himself up for it. with the 2/4 goals by the other team basically being his fault, he wouldn't stop thinking about everything he did wrong and how he should have played better. mentally preparing yourself for an emotionally bruised hughes to arrive at your doorstep, you begin setting up some blankets and pillows on your couch, opting for a movie night to try distracting his mind.

while putting his favourite chips in a bowl, your phone begins to ring. you grab it from the counter without looking at the caller id, knowing exactly who it is.

"hi, quinny," you greet softly.

"can i come over?" his voice sounds heartbroken and you can't help but frown.

"yeah, of course. how long'll you be?"

"i'll be right there after this fucking post game interview."

"okay, i'll be waiting."

"can we please get drunk as well?"

you laugh loudly, quickly covering your mouth. "no, we're not getting drunk on a wednesday night."

"oh come on, please," he begs, almost whining.

"the only thing we're getting drunk on is hot chocolate and tangled."

he huffs. "fine, i'll see you in a bit."

"love you," you say with every beat of your heart.

"love you more."

you know he doesn't mean it in the same way you do, but you can't fight the smile that makes its way onto your face. your stomach flutters before hanging up.

around half an hour after the call, you finish setting the snacks on your coffee table when a soft knock on your apartment door grabs your attention. you make your way over and open it, revealing a sulking quinn standing at your doorstep.

he drops his duffle bag to the ground and wastes no time wrapping you in his arms. you know he needs in it a different way you do, him wanting your reassurance and you wanting his love. you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck in hopes of soothing him while he holds you tighter. he pulls away after a minute and you both stay quiet as he grabs his bag and makes his way to your washroom to freshen up.

you take this time to prepare some hot chocolate for the both of you, knowing he only likes it when you make it and it'll cheer him up. by the time you finish pouring the drinks into two mugs — both decorated with the letter of your first initials, — quinn makes his way into the living room and plops onto the couch. you make your way over to him with the steaming sweetness in your hands.

"i hate hockey," he groans, not lifting his head up from the pillow it lays in.

"no you don't," you rebuttal, setting the mugs on the coffee table.

"yes i do. i hate it and i'm bad at it and i'm never going to play it ever again," he insists, lifting his head up as you take a seat beside him and snuggle into the blankets.

he rests his head on your lap at you play with his hair. "you're not bad at hockey. hockey isn't for everyone but it is for you. you played your best and that's all that matters."

"i cost us the fucking win," he looks up at you and you pause.

"n-no you didn't," you lie. he sees right through you.

"i know i did. the team didn't say anything but i could tell by the way they were trying to stay away from me that they were pissed," he tells you sadly.

your heart nearly shatters at his words. the thought of quinn being ignored by his best friends is something you're unable to grasp. they loved their huggybear, always. it feels weird that they set that aside today but it's also slightly understandable.

"quinn, it wasn't your fault-"

"i shouldn't have crosschecked him. if i didn't, maybe we would have won," he plays with a stray string on the blanket.

"don't beat yourself up for it. you have another game on friday, right? make up for it then. it's not like this was the last game of your career."

"i don't even care about the loss, i'm just upset i let the team down. what kind of defence-man am i if i can't even stop the other team from scoring?" he nearly scoffs, ashamed by his skills (or lack thereof).

"hey, you're still a very good player. you're my favourite one, that's gotta count for something, right?" you ask, hoping to cheer him up.

he looks up at you with sad eyes. "sometimes i think you're all i need."

you almost don't catch it, but you do. your eyes bulge as you look down at him but he makes no effort to clarify what he meant and has already looked away. he reaches over to grab the remote without a word and presses play on the movie you had picked out earlier.

"thanks for letting me come over," he thanks while sitting up, grabbing both of your hot chocolates and handing your mug to you. he shuffles toward you, trying not to spill the drink and he nuzzles himself into your blanket. you rest your head on his shoulder and sigh.

"i know you're still sad."

"of course i am."

"that wasn't your last chance to win. i know i can't say anything to stop your overthinking but you can't change what happened. focus on right now and think about your next move, rather than your last."

"when did you become so wise?" he jokes, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. "god, this tastes so good."

you giggle and drink some yourself. "what can i say? wiseness comes with the skill of being able to make hot chocolate."

"that's the worst thing i've ever heard come out of your mouth."

a quarter way into the movie, you begin to notice quinn's attention drifting. you know he's still overthinking and you bite your lip as you wonder what you can do to help. if you're honest with yourself, there really is absolutely nothing that'll get him to snap out of whatever trance he's in. all you can do is provide him with comfort.

"you okay?"

"i'm not going to cry," he mumbles to himself.

you blink rapidly, taken aback by his abruptness. was he trying to tell you that or was he trying to convince himself?

"it's okay to cry—"

"i'm not going to cry," he repeats again, his voice cracking at the end.

your mouth parts slightly, stomach churning at the helplessness you can so clearly tell he feels. it's as if his mind's arguing with him, telling him he's a bad player even though he knows he's not.

"do you need a hug?" you ask quietly and he immediately tucks his head into your chest, making no move to hold you in return.

he just wants you.

you wrap your arms around him immediately and he pulls you into his lap. you straddle him, your thighs on either side of his legs while he holds you tight. you play with the soft strands of his hair again, knowing it's something that brings him comfort.

"i just want to be good. i wanna be as good as petey and brock but i can't seem to do anything right," his voice is muffled by your chest.

you hope he can't feel your heart racing against him, the way your skin on your neck is beginning to dampen with warmth as a result of his face on your body.

"y-you are," you take a moment to compose yourself. "you're just as good, quinny. you're not a bad player, you just had a bad game. what's one game out of a hundred?"

he sighs, his breath tickles the sensitive spot above your ear and you begin to wonder why you didn't stop him from nuzzling into you. if you weren't feeling so good in the moment, you would be upset that he doesn't even realize the hold he has you in. practically a chokehold, if anyone were to ask.

"you're right, you're always right. i just don't think i'll be able to stop thinking about this tonight. it really hurt, seeing the way miller walked past me and how petey didn't say bye before leaving. it sounds stupid but i wish i did better for them," he explains, lifting his head up and pulling away slightly.

you almost sigh in relief, now able to see his face properly. your neck begins to cool in his absence and you almost whine at the feeling, missing his warmth just as much as you wanted it to leave in the first place. you can't stop yourself from wanting him, but you can't let yourself fall for him even harder.

you smile at him sadly. "you know they'll be over it by tomorrow, right?"

"yeah but i won't forget it," he shakes his head.

you're about to open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it.

"i'll just.. try my best to forget about it. i have you here, right? you can help me.. distract me," he runs his tongue over his lip, not suggestively but in thought.

"i'm so lucky to have you," he adds after a moment."

your throat runs dry at his previous words, unable to comprehend what's running through his mind. if he didn't have such an innocent look on his face you would have thought he meant something else. something that involved two bodies, a bed and everything but sleep.

"i'm lucky to have you. c'mon, let's cuddle and go to sleep," you suggest, making an effort to wiggle yourself out of his grasp.

his hold on you only tightens and his eyes darken for a minute before returning to look at you softly. unbeknownst to you, his heart beats just as fast as yours.

"can we just stay here? keep watching the movie and fall asleep with it playing in the background," he almost seemed hesitant to ask.

"it might be a better distraction. we can go to your room if you want, though," he adds quickly after.

you smile and shake your head. "we can stay here quinny. whatever makes you happy."

"thank you, i love you."

"i love you too."

[minzart]

Allow me to self project for a sec

Tiktok/vine Yuu

When Yuu is annoyed at one of their close friends they just playfully say "we're breaking up"

As if their videos don't have enough missed signals already they take some where they "break up" with the boys and don't think much of it because they are used to it

And theres this messed sequence of Yuu breaking up with different guys

Some i think got caught on camera and what could have happened

Ace – Probably said something weird or embarrassing

Cater – Flirt and teasing

Ruggie – Pulled a prank on Yuu

Idia – Left Yuu on a losing streak at a game

Floyd – body slamming (this was an intrusive thought)

Floyd took that too personally

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

(Y/n) stands in the kitchen of her mother and step-father's apartment, making the bean dip Smelly Gabe liked so much.

(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the counter but then she lets out a yelp as something hits her in between her shoulder blades.

"Hurry it up, girl!" Smelly Gabe snarls.

"Yes sir," (Y/n) murmurs.

A few minutes later, Gabe stalks into the kitchen, takes the dip without so much of a thank you.

(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the shoe on the ground before she moves to her room. She climbs into her bed, getting under her covers. (Y/n) turns, facing the wall.

She closes her eyes, falling to an uneasy sleep.

(Y/n) watches, disconnected from the others in the dream, as one of her brother's teachers turns into something that reminded her of a demon, or something similar that she'd read books about. The woman had bat wings, claws, and a mouth of yellow fangs.

Then (Y/n) looks around, her eyes widening in shock as she sees her brother holding a bronze sword.

Percy swings the sword, the demon exploding into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot.

A hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder has (Y/n) jolting awake. "Honey? Are you okay?" Sally Jackson asks.

Catching the wide-eyed look of horror on (Y/n)'s face, Sally wraps her daughter in a hug.

(Y/n)'s breathing steadies, and she breathes in her mother's familiar scent - chocolate, licorice, and all the other things she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central Station.

"Did you get all your work done?" Sally asks softly, her thumb brushing over a slightly visible bruise that had appeared at the base of the back of her neck.

(Y/n) hums in reply.

. . .

The next day, (Y/n) is once again lying in her bed, not wanting to have to deal with Gabe throwing more shoes or glass bottles at / near her.

. . .

Percy walks into the apartment, dragging his suitcase behind him, hoping his mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe is in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blares ESPN; chips and beer cans are strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking up, he says around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's my mom? (Y/n)?"

"Mom's working," Gabe says. "The girl's in her room. You got any cash?"

"That's it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

Gabe had put on weight since the last time Percy had seen him. Gabe looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He has about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp.

"I don't have any cash," Percy replies.

Gabe raises a greasy eyebrow. Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which is surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.

"You took a taxi from the bus station," he says. "Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he ought to carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looks at Percy with a twinge of sympathy. "Come on, Gabe," he says. The guy just got here."

"Am I right?" Gabe repeats.

Eddie scowls into his bowl of pretzels. The two other guys pass gas in harmony.

"Fine," Percy says. He digs a wad of dollars out of his pocket and throws the money on the table. "I hope you lose."

"Your report card came, brain boy!" He shouts back at Percy. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

Percy slams the door to his room, which isn't really his room. During school months, it is Gabe's 'study.' He doesn't study anything in there except old car magazines, but he loves shoving his stuff in Percy's closet, leaving his muddy boots on the windowsill, and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne, cigars, and stale beer.

Percy drops his suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home he thinks.

Gabe's smell is almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn.

Percy sits, lost in his thoughts.

Then he hears his mom's voice, "Percy?" She opens the bedroom door, and his fears melt. "Oh, Percy," she hugs him tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas."

Sally had brought Percy a bag of 'free samples' the way she always did whenever he'd come home.

The two sit together on the bed. While Percy attacks the blueberry sour strings, she runs her hands through his hair, demanding to know everything that he hadn't put in his letters. She doesn't mention his getting expelled. She doesn't seem to care about that.

Percy tells his mother that she is smothering him, but secretly, Percy is really, really glad to see her.

From the other room, Gabe yells, "Hey, Sally - how about some bean dip, huh?"

Percy grits his teeth. My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should be married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

(Y/n) pads into Percy's room, and the dark haired boy brightens at the sight of his younger twin.

"I've got the dip, Mom," (Y/n) says softly. Sally gazes at her daughter for a moment, her gaze sad.

"Wait, (Y/n)," Sally says, and (Y/n) turns back to face her mother. "I've got a surprise for the two of you," she says. "We're going to the beach."

Percy's eyes widen. "Montauk?"

"Three nights - same cabin," Sally replies.

"When?" (Y/n) asks, looking excited.

She smiles, "As soon as I get changed."

(Y/n) can't believe it. Mom, Percy, and I hadn't been to Montauk in the last two summers because Gabe had said that there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appears in the doorway behind (Y/n) and growls, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

Percy wants to punch him, but he meets his mother's eyes, and understands that she is offering him a deal: Be nice to Gabe for a little while; just until she's ready to leave for Montauk.

"I've got it, Gabe," (Y/n) says.

"Sorry, honey," Sally says, looking at her husband. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes get small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," Percy mutters. "He won't let us go."

"Of course he will," Sally says evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money."

(Y/n) turns to face Gabe, smiling as kindly as she could. "What if I make a seven-layer dip that'll last the whole weekend?" she asks. "Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softens a bit, then turns back to face Sally. "So, this money for your trip . . . it comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

"Yes, honey," Sally replies.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratches his double chin. "Maybe if the girl hurries up with the seven-layer dip . . . and if the boy apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, Percy thinks. And make you sing soprano for a week.

"I'm sorry," Percy mutters. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important power game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrow. His tiny brain is probably trying to detect the sarcasm in my statement, Percy thinks.

"Yeah, whatever," Gabe decides; he goes back to his game.

"Thank you, Percy," Sally says. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about...whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, (Y/n) can see anxiety in her mother's eyes, but then her smile returns, and (Y/n) figures that she must've been mistaken.

. . .

An hour later, the three are ready to leave.

Gabe takes a break from his poker game long enough to watch (Y/n) and Percy lug the bags to his car. He keeps griping and groaning about losing her and (Y/n)'s cooking - and more important, his '78 Camaro - for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, brain boy," Gabe warns Percy as he loads the last bag into the car. "Not one little scratch."

Like I'd be the one driving. I'm fourteen, Percy thinks.

Watching Gabe lumbers back towards the apartment building, Percy gets so mad that he does something he can't explain. As Gabe reaches the door, Percy makes the hand gesture he'd seen Grover made on the bus, a soft of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over his heart, then a shoving movement towards Gabe. The screen door slams so hard it whacks him the the butt and sends him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon.

. . .

(Y/n)'s POV

Our rental cabin is on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It is a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There's always sand in the sheets, spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea is too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

Mom, Percy, and I had been going ever since Percy and I'd been a baby. Mom had been coming even longer. She'd never exactly said, but I know why the beach was special to her.

It's the place where she'd met my Dad.

As we get closer to Montauk, Mom seems to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turn the color of the sea.

We get there around sunset, open all the cabin's windows, and go through the usual cleaning routine.

Mom, Percy, and I walk on the beach, feed blue corn-chips to the seagulls, and munch on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples Mom had brought home from work.

I guess maybe I should explain all the blue food.

Gabe had once told Mom that there was no such thing. They had had this fight, which had seemed like a really small think at the time, but ever since, Mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes, mixed blueberry smoothies, bought blue-corn tortilla chips, and brought home blue candy from the shop. This - along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano - is proof that she isn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, just like Percy.

When it gets dark, we make a fire. We roast hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom tells Percy and me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents had died in the plane crash. She tells us about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, it seems that Percy gets the nerve to ask about what is always on our minds whenever we come to Montauk - our father. Mom's eyes go all misty. I figure she would tell us the same things she always did, but neither Percy or I ever got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," Mom replies. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle too, like you, (Y/n)." Mom says and I soften. "You have his black hair, Percy, and you both share his green eyes.

Mom fishes a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you two. He would be so proud."

I wonder how she could say that when I'm the girl who cowers from her stepfather. The girl who hides in her room to get away from said stepfather.

"How old were we?" Percy asks, pulling me from my thoughts. "I mean . . . when he left?"

Mom watches the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But . . . he knew us as babies."

"No, honey," Mom replies. "He knew I was expecting twins, but he never met you. He had to leave before you were born."

I try to square that with the fact that I seem to remember . . . something about my father. A warm glow, maybe a smile.

Percy and I had always assumed that our father had known us as babies. Mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt that it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen us . . .

I feel angry at my father. Maybe it is stupid, but I resent him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry Mom.

"Are you going to send me away again?" Percy asks. "To another boarding school?"

Mom pulls a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey," her voice is heavy. "I think . . . I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" Percy says and I flinch, avoiding both his and Mom's gazes.

I glance up to see that Mom's eyes had welled up with tears. "Oh, Percy, no. I - I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

"But you never send her away," Percy says and I look up, eyes wide with surprise.

Mom looks at Percy, eyes wide with shock.

Finally she says, "I have to keep both of you away from each other as much as possible. I thought you'd finally be safe."

"I tried to keep you as close to me as I could," Mom says. "They told me it was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy, (Y/n) - the place your father wanted to send you two. And I just . . . I just can't stand to do it."

"Our father wanted us to go to a special school?" I ask.

"Not a school," Mom replies. "A summer camp."

My head spins. Why would my dad - who hadn't even stayed around to see me and Percy be born - talk to Mom about a summer camp?

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," Mom says, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I - I couldn't send you two to that place. It might mean saying goodbye to you for good."

"For good?" Percy asks. "But if it's only a summer camp . . ."

Mom turns towards the fire, and I know from her expression, that if we asked any more questions, she would start to cry.

Word Count: 2413 words

[paversandplatters]

||𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (5/20)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Reader x multiple

Chapter 5: A Flock Found

They pack a wheel barrow to the brim with the newly acquired supplies they find not botheringing to leave behind much of anything, making sure to cop the twenty five gallon container of gasoline from the tool shed out back behind the building... Lord knows they'll need for the grand task ahead of them. By the time the light in the south western sky began to fade from a light gray to pink over the backwaters of the panhandle they're ready. They slip outside through the rectory's side door and creep single file along the edge of the property. Y/n takes the lead, periodically glancing over her shoulder for any sign of the herd that had crossed the highway or any sign of the group that occupied this space all too recently. She carries a glock with a full magazine just in case. The dusky air gets clammy and cool on the back of the stranger's neck as he follows them to the car. They climb in hurriedly, stowing their provisions in the rear cargo bay. Y/n kicks the engine on as the newcomer clambers into the passenger seat next to her- much to the dismay of the other two- unfolding an old dogeared map.

"They usually stick pretty close to the ocean." He says almost to himself, silently calculating the mileage between them and the gulf. "Probably should start down by Perry or Carwfordville." He senses movement ahead of them through the windshield and glances up in time to see a couple of jagged shadows emerging from the woods about a hundred yards away, drawn to the sound of their engine. Garbled growls can be heard over the drone of crickets. The trace smell of garbage on the breeze, the light and space of the outdoors is almost overwhelming to him. He feels like he's been asleep for a hundred years, locked away in that dank and dirty church- he starts to feel dizzy.

Y/n gooses the accelerator and the SUV lurches away. He sinks into his seat as they roar down the road, swerving to avoid the half dozen or so biters now skulking out of the woods blocking their path. They sideswipe one the creatures, ripping a chunk of its shoulder, splattering fresh gore across the glass of his side window.

"You get used to it." she states after he flinches in disgust. He just stares at the splatter, flecks of bone chips, and a long trail of black bile.

"I don't think anyone can get used to that ..." Nick mutters from the back seat.

Night falls and the darkness deepens behind the trees on either side of the road. Most of the streetlights in this part of the country have gone the same way as the internet or cable TV, so the road only gets darker and darker as they head south towards the steaming thickets and festering swamps of the coastal lowlands. The going is slow, most of the two lanes are crowded with rusted out wreckages ,the carcasses of cars and trucks so old now that the weeds and switchgrass have begun to grow up from their metal endoskeletons. The two young men in the rear breathe heavily, thickly, half asleep while Y/n drives and softly hums some forgotten tune. They had passed the jerky and water around a few minutes ago- their standard fare of supper- and now their bellies growl and their eyelids droop with exhaustion.

"You never gave your name..." His hushed voices rings out from the shotgun seat.

"Hadn't crossed my mind at the time, sorry about that... It's Y/n" She chuckles softly. "The one with the headband is Nick but goes by Sapnap, don't ask i don't know- the other one with the accent is George." he just simply hums in reply.

"What about you big guy? What do they call you?"

He takes a moment to regard the woman seated next to him; his head still trying to wrap itself around this complete stranger who's shown him nothing but kindness. On the one hand, she seems trustworthy enough, friendly, a good listener, courteous and capable of single handedly taking out an entire chapel full of reanimated corpses... On the other hand she seems like a walking time bomb. He'd seen her type before- they type that's too kind until something or someone breaks that trust. A hairline trigger. The sad fact is he doesn't have a large array of options. Staying in that hellhole of a church with those enslavers, listening to the groans of the dead, waiting for whatever those bastards would do next quickly loses its charm... Seeing the aftermath of her cleaning house with that knife had given him an odd charge- a cathartic release. He's also aware that he'd never be able to find the caravan on his own given the sorry state he's in. He really has no choice but to go along with her and her scruffy ass men and hope for the best.

"I don't have a name.. that is, one that I can remember.."

She desperately wants to pry, how could he not remember his own name? But the thousand yard stare and glassy gaze is enough to stop her from inquiring any further. "Well we've gotta call you something big guy." She's met with silence in response. "Alright, I guess Big Guy it is then." He offers only a meek hum in response. In an attempt to silence his own raging thoughts his eyes landed on the red bandanna tied to the rearview mirror for what was probably the hundredth time since he started on this way too long car ride.

"... What's that about?" He points to the red scarf.

"It belonged to a friend of mine a long while back, before Sapnap and George were a thing." Her hands tighten their hold on the wheel. "I was caught by 'traders' and he was stuck in the same hole as me... Couldn't have been any older than fourteen at the time. One night the compound was under attack, their front gate was breached- luckily we were kept at the very back end, so when the opportunity came we managed to escape our holding cell and I hoisted him over the wall. Told him to keep running, to not look back. He got away but I was caught again," She takes in a deep breath before resuming her story.

"I was quickly sold off to some asshole who had these two chained up for breaking into their stores... one thing led to another and we snuck out and snagged this ride... we've been moving around since." It was obvious by her tone there was a lot she was leaving out and probably for a good reason. Notably the two in the back seat were dead silent, so much so that it made the air feel heavy and dense enough to cut with a sharp enough knife. Suddenly he was wishing he hadn't bothered to ask in the first place

"That sign back there," He manages, desprate to break the heavy air "Said 'Cross city 12 miles" He glances up from the map in his lap, gazing out the side window at the stewing darkness of Dixie County Florida. "Got a feeling we're getting close."

The vast patchwork of wetlands passes in a blur on either side of them. The land oozing a low blanket of methane as gray as mold, clinging to the shadows of pine thickets and gullies like dirty lace. The air smells briny and rotten with dead fish. Every few minutes they pass the ruins of a small town or wreckage strewn trailer parks. No sign of survivors in these parts, though only the occasional silhouette of an upright corpse shambling by, it's eyes like twin yellow reflectors in the darkness.

"We can't just keep burning gas all night." Sapnap says from his place in the rear, his voice all cranked up with pain and panic "and we can't just go off of what you overheard those traders talking about- Much less go off of feelings.." Big guy just keeps a neural face.

"We're in the ballpark" He persists "Believe me they'll be hard to miss." Y/n grips the steering wheel, her jaw working overtime on a piece of gum, snapping and chewing complusively as she drives.

"How many vehicles do they have in this convoy?" George questions between wheezy breaths.

"No idea... but it's quite a few ."

"That's pretty general."

"They'll be easy to spot." He replies once more, gazing back out at the darkness. "Our best bet is to follow the coast, they like to keep close to the water.."

"Why's that?"

He shrugs. "According to those 'traders' they keep their eyes peeled for ships or any possible way they might get their asses the hell out of here. Most of the bigger boats around here have been destroyed by the hurricane that hit a couple years ago, so it's a long shot that they'll find anything..."

They're about to give up the search when they start to climb the gentle slope- at first so gradual it's almost unnoticeable - up the side of a vast malodorous landfill- the barren trash-strewn scrubland to their left reaches across miles of sandy berms, all the way down to the deserted ghostly boardwalks that wind their way along the beaches. The sky has begun to bruise pink with predawn light and Y/n has just started to say something when the Big Guy sees the first faint streaks of red dots in the distant haze.

"LOOK!" He points his large gnarled hand down at the far dunes of ashen white sand winding along the coast. The surface is so pocked and windswept it resembles the dark side of the moon.

"Where?" She cranes her neck, slowing the vehicle down to a crawl.

"I don't see anything."

"About Half a mile up there... Look at the tail lights!"

She takes a deep cleansing breath as she finally sees the caravan chugging along the coastal road in the predawn light, it looks like embers throwing up puffs of smoke in their wake.

"Holy shit, I see it." A big smile washes over her face, Glad she decided to follow through with this insane plan.

"What do you think of those boys?" The two young men in the rear lean forward, transfixed by the sight, each of them rapt and silent as they gaze at the convoy.

"What are you doing?! Blaster your horn at them," George stutters anxiously. "Don't let them get away !"

Y/n smiles to herself, in her former life she used to be fascinated by the wildlife shows, often catching them in the late night showings after work before she turning in for the night. She remembers one episode in particular, on the behavior of sheep vs the behavior of wolves. She remembers the flock mentality; the sheep moving almost as one, easily managed by a single sheepdog. She remembers the instinct of the Wolf, stealthy, patient as it and its pack creep up on the flock. She shoots a glance across the dark interior at the larger man sat next to her before turning her head to face the two sat behind them.

"I have a better idea."

Taglist

@the-wandering-pan-ace @hvrcruxes

[fayeimara]

Meant To Be || One For Every Billion

8. Fan Behaviour

Your impromptu group has slowly made way through the long street of vendors over the last hour, sampling different treats and picking up small trinkets and mementos of the festival.

It's been pretty exhilarating not only with the exuberant energy of the younger girls with whom Akari somehow seems to blend right into, but also the odd tension between you and Suna. He's mostly stayed by your side as you stroll behind the others, his watchful eye on his sister and her friends but you've also caught his discerning stare aimed your way many times as well.

In as little as sixty minutes, that's quite a lot of time to make eye contact with a silent and seemingly immovable companion for the night. You don't let his demeanor throw you off, however, and continue on, immovable in your own way. Which means you say what comes to mind but don't follow the urge to stumble or yammer to fill any quiet gaps in conversation.

Somehow, it works and instead of being awkward and uncomfortable, you find myself at an odd peace, even with the feeling in the air as if you're at a precipice.

You haven't felt this level of comfort and familiarity with someone since... well, since Toru, you suppose. At the thought, a prickle rushes over your skin but you shouldn't have anything to feel bad about. You're in no way committed to anyone and you're sure nothing will happen here, regardless.

"Sorry," You look over at Suna's quiet intervention to your thoughts, "I don't have a jacket on me."

You raise an eyebrow before realizing you must have shivered outwardly at your last thought, hm, you really are letting your guard down to have let a physical reaction slip through. And he really is as perceptive as you first thought to have noticed that small movement.

Looking over at his own simple yukata that suits him incredibly well, you feel the corner of your lip lift before replying, "No, but it's so worth it."

He flicks another one of those sideways looks at you, chin lifted slightly and face angled so you can't read too much of it, "Yeah? Like what you see?"

"Oh yeah." You bite down on your lip to stop your smile from breaking into a flirty grin. You really cannot stress how incredible attractive his laid back confidence is to you.

A small smile of his own breaks through and you catch it before he turns his face away to the stalls on his right. When he looks back, it's gone as if it never happened but there's a look in his eyes that makes you feel almost breathless.

You think you actually do lose your breath when he smirks and casually adds, "Me too."

"Y/n-chan! Rin-onii!" You don't get a chance to respond as Rika bounces back to you both, "We're at the end, but Akari-chan found us a perfect place for the best view for the fireworks!"

"Then lead on, brat." Suna huffs out in mock annoyance. Yeah, you've been getting slightly better at reading him over the past hour. It's a gift.

The two of you follow behind them again, heading towards one of the bridges over the river beyond the street you were just on. There are glowing paper lanterns floating in the water below, lazily passing underneath and by in groups across the length of the bridge. Strung up above you all and reflecting in the dark water are similar lanterns, casting a warm glow over your group's chosen little corner with only a few people some distance away from you all.

Even if the view of the fireworks isn't all that great from here, which you're not sure about since you don't know quite where they've been set up, this ambience is enough to make this a perfect place to rest. Suna leans his back against the railing, right beside where you've chosen to lean forward facing the other way, with your forearms resting on the wrought iron as you survey the lanterns that are carried away.

"Do you game?"

You jerk your head up at his random question, looking up at him where he's got his classic side gaze trained on you. Hm, maybe not so random as probing. You answer just as succinctly as he asked his question, "I do."

"Okay." Another smile tugs at his mouth, you're sure he knows you're being stubborn. "Your voice..."

He's baiting you but what exquisite temptation, you can't help but ask, "What about it?"

"It sounds so..." He trails off, as if lost in thought but you think he's just torturing you for your sass earlier.

You're usually patient, you swear, but.. "Suna." but, you're starting to think his patience might just outweigh yours.

"Familiar." His eyes meet yours again as soon as the word leaves his lips and you're called back to the moments you were thinking that being around him felt familiar too.

But that's not what he means is it? You wait for him to speak again and when he does, even though you're expecting his next implication, you're somehow still both surprised and flattered, "I really like your channel."

"You watch GameOverGirls?" Yeah, that's literal disbelief in your voice. You know you and Vee have a lot of followers on the channel the two of you started back in the fall, especially thanks to both your fans from other clubs and activities, but here in Japan? At least any family you have hear that know about it would make sense, they know you from the first degree. But how would Suna Rintaro have found you already?

He shrugs casually, expression unreadable when he answers, "I like your voice. And you actually know what you're talking about." Then, with a smirk, "The streams aren't too bad either."

You don't even know where to start. The audacity of this pretty boy. Now you're flattered, flustered, and somehow offended at the same time. "When did you figure it out?"

"Just now."

"Seriously?"

"I couldn't place it at first. But then I just did."

"Huh."

"Pretty sure this is where you say thank you."

"For what? Entertaining you?" You pretend to yawn with a hand to your lips and a roll of your eyes, "Talk about fan behaviour."

He tilts his head back fully to study the sky, "Guess I can't deny it, huh?"

With a laugh, you mirror his stance, turning around to lean back against the railing and tilting your head up to survey the stars. After a pause, you give him an opening, "Unless you think you can do better?"

"Well, I could have cut some serious time on that run through of Sekiro. And yeah, I'd be the one carrying you through Warzone." He pretends to grimace and you smack his arm in retaliation.

"Please, squad up and let's see who carries who."

"Okay, bet."

You're about to turn to look over at him to see if he's serious or not about his offer to join your party sometime when something streaks over the sky. You've been expecting the fireworks but when you realize what it is, you suddenly reach out to his arm with one hand and point with the other, excitedly exclaiming, "Oh my god, Suna, a shooting star! Make wish, quick!"

Then you're watching its briefly brilliant light slowly disappear, scrambling to think of your own wish without realizing you're already making one by wishing that you could enjoy more moments like this. It takes you a little bit to realize you're still lightly holding Suna's wrist and he hasn't said anything.

After another beat, once the star has completely disappeared, your eyes slip back over to meet his only to realize he's already been watching you. You're compelled to break the building tension and choose to ask, "Did you make a wish?"

The serious, piercing look in his eyes holds you in a trance as he replies, "I did."

Light blooms across his face just as he answers, sharp, bright bursts accompanied by loud booms and pops, but you can't tear your gaze away from his own immovable, captivating gaze. It's better this way, the reflection in his eyes as they echo the light cast by the fireworks.

So the two of you stand there watching each other instead of the fireworks, surrounding by the cheering of your group leaning on the railing across from you both, conveniently facing away from you to give the illusion of a private moment. One that belongs just to you and Suna.

x-x-x-x-x

The rest of the night flies by quick as you and Suna are pulled to rejoin the rest of the group shortly after your interesting moment together. You don't know what it means but what you are sure of is that you'll be replaying it over and over in your head later, unable to stop from analyzing such a poignant moment with a guy that was a complete stranger to you just hours before.

Neither of you really have the chance to explore it further either, as you're both pulled this way and that by the others for the rest of the activities. No more breathtaking moments relatively alone together, but you don't mind too much, you have to think it over after all and need a minute to catch your breath in the meantime.

Everyone writes down hopes and wishes on paper lanterns before setting them afloat to join the hundreds of other dreams that float away hopefully to a benign deity. Your group then stops at the shrine, placed at the apex of the location, to offer your respective prayers before returning to loop around to any stalls you missed.

As you're all winding down for the night, Rika asks for your socials and you happily oblige. Suna, on the other hand, manages to slip your phone out of his sister's hand as the two of you are exchanging the devices back and taps at it briefly before handing it back to you. You smirk and mouth 'fan behaviour' when you see he's added his contact info, including his twitter handle.

He just raises an unbothered eyebrow and replies out loud, "Just wait until it's you asking for my autograph. You'll thank me then."

"I won't need to thank you if you're my friend."

"But you'll still need my autograph?" He smirks at you.

You can't help but tease about something you both had discussed earlier, "Didn't you tell me you were scouted to go to school here? I'm sure I'll be wanting your name on a paper someday."

"You'll want my name, huh? At least buy me dinner first."

You blush as you realize how he twisted your words and, for once, you don't have a comeback. So you make a reckless, last ditch effort to act like he didn't just win this round and do the opposite of denying his words, "Sure, Suna Y/n has a nice ring, I guess."

Holy shit. You didn't think anything couldn't completely break his impassive expression but you think you might have accidentally have won this round as you see the shock roll his expression right before the red of a full blush sneaks up to kiss his cheeks and tips of his ears.

His surprised eyes are wide on yours as if he's frozen solid by your words before he blinks and then it's like a shutter as he recollects himself and suddenly he's completely unreadable again. But you saw it, that moment that Suna Rintaro was completely caught unaware and absolutely flustered.

You both know who won, though somehow, he still gets the last word, "Well, that's definitely one way to get a permanent autograph."

The two of you turn and start to move forward to the exit in mutual silence, neither you nor Suna noticing Rika still by you both, having watched your exchange in delighted surprise and gears now turning in her head as she realizes her half baked idea earlier seems to have worked even better than she could have ever imagined.

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Masterlist

Behind The Scenes!

-Remember Vee's tweet back in the Falling Into Winter Interlude? Sept 18th (21-09-18 timestamp if you're curious) - she was promoting her and Y/n's gaming channel - GameOverGirls :)

-There was still another hint connection in regards to it back in the same episode

-One that may be one or two degrees of relation as to how Suna found the channel ;)

-He really does like Y/n's voice specifically (even though Vee's got a nice one too but he's barely noticed lol), long before he saw the pretty face to match :D

-Y/n and Vee only suffered through Sekiro on a bet from Key and Tee

-Suna realized it was crazy since he just met Y/n tonight but... he kind of liked how his name sounded with hers..

A/N: Seriously, why is everything about him so pretty??? His name, looks, voice. Just...why? Anyways, with this episode, I've caught up to where I'm currently at in written segments for this series so updates might be slightly slower than usual until I can pull back ahead. Additional notes - I don't know why but I'd mixed up the pic for Suna's priv with his main so ended up using the same one for both since it was too late by the time I realized. It'll be fixed from here on. Also, clearly, the yukata pic makes him look older but he's still 14, it's more about the visual of him in his simple (but striking) yukata <3 Finally... can we all guess which precious bby boy is next???

Taglist: @delusivist, @prettyinblack231, @kac-chowsballs, @sakusasimpbot, @hawkthekinnie, @poppi144, @oikawasbuttcheeks

[neo-culture-mafia]

I

Partying. It's all he knew how to do when he was in his feelings. Masking his pains and concerns behind a green bottle of liquor. It happened when he was first kicked out of his home, to now when he was scared he was going to be kicked out of your life. Grinding against sweaty bodies made him feel guilty and craving your own touch.

I'm too emotional

Yet, once he got home he just wanted to curl into a ball and not acknowledge his own existence. Dirty clothes still on as he wrapped himself in a thick blanket; trying to bring warmth and comfort.

The darkness in his room paired with the slow breathing made almost a silent movie flash across his bare and intimidating walls.

I'm sure I've prepared you for every guy you'll date

"Lele! Stop!" You chased after him in his apartment. Your bag being flung over his head, out of your reach. The giggling boy found this hilarious as you just wanted the stupid bag back.

"Gotta catch me first." He taunted, wanting to continue this long game of tag. You stopped where you were and just huffed. He saw the angry look and got angry himself.

"You're no fun." He said, throwing the bag at your feet. He knew his temper was like a flick of a switch in his mind. You knew that too, so as soon as you saw his eyes become squinted and dark you quickly backed off.

Your hands dropped to your sides as his settled over his own chest. "Le~ I just needed the bag back. It's okay, I'm not mad at you." You said, trying to deescalate the situation. The bag was now in your hands and be started softening up the stone thick façade he put up.

"Well I'm mad." He said pushing past you to go to his room. "I don't want to see you or that stupid bag." He knew that you were hurt as soon as he got into his own room. His guilt ate at him quickly, but he was too stubborn to open the damn door and say, "I'm sorry."

He sat on his bed that you made when you first came over and just tried to make shapes in the carpet.

A soft knock was heard from his door. He was happy and hopeful, but he didn't want to apologize to you right now.

"Go away." He said and laid on his bed, facing away from the door. "Lele~ can I please come in?" You asked. "No-" but the door was already being opened.

You apprehensively sat on the edge of the bed, and put a hand on his upper arm. "Chenle~ it's alright."

We're just Romeo and Juliet

You guys were bound to fall off as soon as you both met. The love dousing you both in a euphoric lie. You came from one family and him from another. A literal Romeo and Juliet story; each other's lives mimicking the story...and you both acknowledge the story did not have a happy ending.

"We can go over to my house next time." You smiled, his arm was thrown over your shoulder. "Yeah yeah yeah." He booped your nose as you both walked down the bustling streets.

The movie theater fading away in the distance as you both walked farther away from it.

It held your new secrets of a first kiss with the boy you hoped would be your first and last.

I brush the bangs behind her lovely little ear as she describes in detail how the end is truly near

The tear ridden pillow that laid under your head began getting hot and gross, yet your heart ached and stung throughout your body.

Chenle laying next to you, holding tightly as if you would float away if he were to let go of the only thing he felt valuable.

"please don't leave." Was all he could whisper, your tears and sobs coming forth once more.

Your dad had found out, so he was sending you away for a long time to a 'boarding school' in America. Yet, you know that no distance could keep Chenle from you.

He's proved that he would travel oceans and deserts just to see you smile at his dorky laugh or smile at his squishy cheeks when he smiles.

"I don't want to." You shook your head, your hand coming up to play with his necklace to try and find comfort. "I'm scared." You admitted, throwing yourself into his chest, letting the shakes come from your body.

He could only hold you because he didn't even know what would be happening in the next month. But he knew he needed to act like everything will be fine, which he knew it would be. As long as both of you are on Earth, nothing could come between you two.

He moved your hair out of your face as he wiped your tears away.

"It's going to be okay. I promise."

Dear Shakespeare, could you write a happy ending please. We deserve a happy ending...please.

You both sat facing each other. The anger strung tension could be split by a fork. "You didn't have to do that." You sassed, his eyes rolling at the mere vocslized thought.

"Someone disrespects my queen? I'll make them look like the joker they are." He muttered and his gaze was shook by the sudden wood scraped against wood as you stood up quickly.

"That does not give you the right, Chenle." He knew he was in deep shit. "You can't just go around and destroy people's property because they pissed you off." You condemned and it just ticked him off a little more than it should have.

"Especially my father's. You know he already doesn't like you." Your voice became a little more quiet.

He stood up and you slightly flinched. He was done. He knew he was losing you, as you quickly slip past his fingers and he was the only one to blame.

"...it's 9..." Chenle said as a matter-of-factly.

You looked at him in the eyes, your gaze becoming blurry as you knew what he was doing...and what he was about to do.

"I know, babe." You nodded, your arms coming across to hold your own body.

The first tear fell and he knew there was no going back.

"You walk out that door for that meeting," You point towards the front door, and look at his faltering gaze. "I will not be here when you get back."

You hiccuped and he really had to make a painful choice. Go to this meeting or stay with you.

His life...or his world.

He knew which one he had to choose and which one that would continue to just bring him more pain. His feet carried him towards you...

...and straight past you to the door.

He shakily put his hand out and looked back to see your shocked and saddened face.

He threw the door open and was one foot out when you called out for him, "Lele," the anger had dissipated from your voice as your eyes held a gleam he couldn't describe.

You continued to hold yourself as if you'd let go, you would crumble and shatter into a million little pieces.

"I loved you." You whispered and his eyes were now focused on the floor.

He nodded, swallowing the growing lump of angry years in his throat.

"and I still do." You hiccuped and his eyes slowly trailed up your body to find your tear streaked face. "...and I always will..." you whispered, a small smile arching into your lips. a pained and broken smile he would need to remember for the rest of his painful and broken life.

he needed to stare at the floor to stay composed.

"I have always loved you and always will, y/n." He nodded, looking at you as his own tears fell.

"but this world doesn't love us." And with that, the door slammed and the only thing heard in the hallway was his heavy footsteps and sniffles as he knew you were breaking down in tears by yourself.

and it's tough, 'cause that's the sound of people falling out of

l o v e

[imagine-mr-markus]

Birthday Candles

I had to write sumn for my fave Dad on his birthday, but i got a teeeensy bit distracted watching Hellbenders so its a leedol late, sorry! But yes, here we have some tasty tasty fluff of my boys in honour of The Birthday. And not an all an apology for the fact that the next two I’m working on are just Angst of my Cyberlife Boys, absolutely not

Hank Anderson, at the ripe age of 53 and 364 days, fucking hated birthdays. Hated the smell of cake and frosting and the cheerful wishes of others. What he hated most about them, however, was the birthday candles. The smell of them, the sight of them, even the fucking mention of them was enough to sour his mood beyond recognition, no matter how good it had been before. It hadn't always been like that; in fact, it had only been like that for two years and three hundred and twenty-nine days. Twenty-five thousand, four hundred and sixteen hours. One million, five hundred and twenty-four thousand, nine hundred and sixty seconds. The calculations flash irritatingly behind his eyes like they always have, and he shakes his head as his mood dips. He knows exactly why he hates those brightly coloured little sticks of wax so vehemently.

 They'd been Cole’s favourite.

 It had been a kinda stupid tradition his own mother had started when he was a kid to wake him up at exactly midnight on his birthday with a cake. There would always be another cake later, one for the party and the guests, but at midnight, when the world was quiet and the lights were out, it was just for the two of them to sit and eat a slice after he'd eagerly blown out the candles. Melissa had thought it was the cutest shit to grace this earth and had insisted on carrying on the tradition after they started dating, and he could easily admit that it was appreciated. It'd been part of what kept them together in the long stretch of time when they'd nearly fallen apart after pregnancy test after pregnancy test came back negative. But no matter how bad the fight, every birthday was ushered in with birthday candles and cake at midnight. It had only gotten better after Cole was born, the joy of the new baby and their much firmer foundation on marriage making for a much more relaxed morning. As soon as Cole had seen birthday candles, he’d been enraptured in the way only a child could be, and the new tradition that Cole always helped blow out the candles was born. For a solid portion of his life, Hank’s favourite smell in the world was the smell of the sweet smoke from the vibrant little pillars of wax.

 But not anymore. Not for one thousand and fifty-nine days.

 In the time Connor had been living with him, two hundred and ninety-eight days, his brain helpfully supplies, he's gotten much better at dealing with problems without the use of alcohol. In fact, he hasn't had anything stronger than a beer in months. But tonight, tonight the bar looks more tempting than he'd ever care to admit. He tilts his head slightly as he eyes his keys, fingers itching to make a break for it before Connor gets home. He could do it. Could grab his keys and be out the door. Connor would be disappointed, but he'd understand. Connor was good like that. He could-

The sound of the door startles him out of his reverie, the excited tapping of big paws on the floor following soon after.

 “We're home!”

 Hank turns away from his keys abruptly, mustering a smile as he looks towards the Android stood in the doorway.

 “Hey, Connor. How was your walk?”

 The kid offers him a smile before he bends to undo Sumo’s leash.

 “It was good! It's getting chilly out, but the leaves are starting to change! I like the orange ones best.”

 Some of Hank’s misery eases at Connor’s easy enthusiasm, and his smile is more genuine.

 “That's good. I like the orange ones too.”

 He pauses a moment to gather himself, mentally flipping the bird at his cravings for booze before continuing.

 “So, whaddaya want for dinner?”

 Connor doesn't need to eat, but after the revolution Kamski whipped up some fancy ass robotics that allows him to if he wants. It's nice to sit and eat with somebody again, even if the kid is way too addicted to coffee now that he can taste it. Connor tilts his head as he moves towards the kitchen, an easy grin pulling at his mouth.

 “Can we get Chinese?”

 Hank shakes his head fondly at the kid. Another one of his favourites was Chinese takeaway, and they'd eaten it with fair regularity. Although, Hank is kinda grateful. The kid’s been trying to learn to cook, but his skills aren't…. incredibly tasty as he insists on doing it ‘the human way’. The familiarity of it all helps ease the weight on his lungs, helps pull some of the itch from his fingertips.

 “Yeah, Con. We can get Chinese.”

  _____________________________________________

 “Hank, wake up!”

 His eyes snap open at the sound of Connor’s voice, hand going for his gun as he searches for what made the kid wake him.

 “What is it? What's wrong?”

 “Nothing. Happy birthday!”

 He looks at Connor properly, taking in the sight of the kid grinning at him excitedly from beside his bed. He's dressed in Hank’s old clothes, a hoodie too big even for him swallowing the Android whole and pair of ratty flannel pants from Hank’s much younger days hanging off his frame. He's got flour down his front and a streak of bright blue frosting on his forehead, LED shining a bright, contented blue at his temple as his eyes sparkle with excitement in a warm, flickering light. And before he even looks down at what he's holding, Hank knows it's cake adorned with candles. He can smell it, the sugary sweetness clinging to the back of his throat and the scent of melting wax in his nose. A sharp pang of something ugly strikes at his chest, a deep hurt pulsing behind his ribs and a flare of an irrational fury between his lungs. He can feel his face twist with it, and he sees Connor’s expression fall as his LED spins yellow.

 “Did…. did I do something wrong? I thought this is what family did on birthdays.”

 The kid looks heartbroken at the thought that he fucked up, doe eyes falling to look at the cake as his mouth turns down like he's about to cry. The expression pulls at that softness in him he had kept buried for so long, the gentle instinct to comfort and console. It was an instinct he'd always had; part of the reason people had been surprised he'd taken the promotions from beat cop upwards when he was one of the few cops who could handle kids well. It was where he'd gotten the idea for kids of his own, and that feeling had only grown exponentially once he did have a kid. Melissa had been a great mother, but it had always been Hank who would roll out of bed whenever Cole cried in the night, and Cole had very clearly been Daddy’s Boy. Melissa used to joke that if they ever had another she had dibs, but the fact remains that Hank has always been better with kids because he's a fucking bleeding heart who can never turn down a crying child. And he may logically know that Connor is not a child, but that doesn't change the fact that with his lower lip stuck out slightly and his big brown eyes ready to fill with tears at any moment and drowning in clothes too big for him, he sure as hell looks like a little boy that's been scolded. And that sets off that tender heart of his hard enough he grimaces before what Melissa used to call the “Dad Spirit” switches on. His tone gentles out of reflex, and he adjusts himself on the bed to sit up properly as he sighs slightly. He softens his shoulders, looking at Connor earnestly with forgiveness and apology in his gaze.

 “No, Connor, you didn't do anything wrong. I was upset, but not at you, alright?”

 Connor blinks up at him hopefully.

 “Really?”

 Hank can't help the little curl of his mouth at Connor’s question, nodding a little. He's bracing himself for what comes next, but for just a second, it's alright.

 “Really, kid. Now c’mere, lemme see it.”

 As quick as it had gone, that unbridled excitement is shining out of the kid’s every goddamn pore as he eagerly presents the cake. Finally, Hank forced himself to look at it, and he nearly loses his goddamn mind right then and there. It's ugly, there's no getting around it, but endearingly so in that way that screams of love poured into the batter. The cake is uneven and lopsided, and smothered liberally in baby blue frosting. There are candles neatly sunk into it, and Hank knows without a doubt there are fifty-four of them arranged precisely in concentric circles. And there, in the middle, spelled out in neat lettering that he can recognise as Connor’s own personal font (though the frosting is wobbly and has been badly fixed) are the words “Happy Birthday, Dad!”. A shaky smiley face has been added beneath, and its obscenely cute. There's suddenly something in Hank’s throat. Connor has never called him Dad before, and it makes his own mouth wobble treacherously. He coughs a little before speaking, ignoring how thick his voice is.

 “You make this yourself? I thought you didn't have any cooking protocols.”

 Connor looks almost ridiculously proud of himself as he nods excitedly

 “I did! I was tempted to download necessary coding, but I wanted to do it like a human, so I followed the recipe in the cookbook above the refrigerator! This one was labelled as your favourite!”

 His mother’s cookbook. He hadn't touched it in years, and the only time Melissa had ever gone near it was for that specific recipe. The last time he'd used it, he'd been making Cole’s cake. Connor had found it, he'd made him his mother’s birthday cake, and Hank isn't crying, he isn't goddamnit-

 “Hank? Are you alright?”

 He clears his throat again and scrubs a hand over his face to wipe away any damning evidence.

 “Yeah, Con. I'm alright, just got something in my eyes. C’mon, the candles are starting to drip onto the cake.”

 He crosses his legs so there's room on the bed, and Connor moves easily to perch in front of him. It takes a second of him considering his own legs with a yellow LED before he crosses them like Hank’s, a pleased little grin turning his mouth. You wouldn't know it if you only saw him at work, but the kid was gangly and faintly awkward when it came to anything related to sitting. It had taken months for Hank to break his habit of sitting ramrod straight with his knees together and hands on his thighs. Now the kid would sprawl all over the couch, but he was still like a pubescent boy learning how to use his own limbs and how to arrange them, almost like a fawn learning to walk. It shouldn't have been as adorable as it was, but Hank has given up on trying to deny how fond he is of the kid. He shakes his head as Connor sets the cake down on the bedspread, and he stares at the cake for a long moment with a strange mixture of joy and grief and fondness and sadness in his chest like a bruise. He lets out a slow breath and looks up at Connor with a smile.

 “Well? Are you gonna sing to me or not?”

 Connor brightens and nods, but a brief show of yellow spins at his temple before he turns his head.

 “Sumo! Come here!”

 There’s a quiet boof from the living room before big paws thud towards the room, and the shaggy dog trots into the room to sit beside Connor expectantly. The kid gives the dog a fond pat before turning back towards Hank. His smile widens as he takes a deep breath, something he doesn't technically need, before he starts to sing, and Sumo awoos quietly with him in an odd harmony.

 “Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday dear da-ad

Happy birthday to you!”

 Ok, Hank is crying. He’ll admit it. It's one thing to see it written out in the cake, it's another to actually hear Connor call him Dad. And while it's not a surprise, he's thought of Connor as family for a while now, it brings a painful lump to his throat and a feeling filling his chest to hear someone refer to him as Dad and mean it. It's a feeling he hasn't had in one thousand and sixty days, and he had missed it dearly. He scrubs at his eyes again, sniffling a little.

 “C'mere, kid. Help me blow out the candles.”

 Connor gives him a brilliant grin and scrambles to sit next to him, carefully manoeuvring around the cake. He picks it up to settle it on their knees, Hank’s right knee supporting the left side of the plate and Connor’s left supporting the right.

 “Ready, kid?”

 “Ready, dad!”

 That feeling clogs his throat again for a second before he offers Connor a nod. He bends closer to the cake, and Connor follows suit as they inhale. He blows out a good chunk of them, and Connor catches the rest with ease before laughing a little. It's not exactly a new sound, but Hank feels downright fucking blessed to hear it if he's honest with himself. Connor doesn't laugh too often, not outside the house, and it still feels special to hear the kid be so human. He's still fucking crying, but they’re good tears. Cathartic is the word, he thinks. A fork is offered to him, and he takes it gratefully. The hurt weighing on him hasn't gone away, he doesn’t think it ever will, but it's shifted, moved some, become lighter, and he rolls his shoulders back slightly as he sits up a little straighter. He's moving to take a bit of the cake when Connor gasps beside him, and he turns with a raised eyebrow.

 “What is it?”

 “I almost forgot!”

 The kid plunges his hand into his pocket, pulling out a very familiar, very worn old Polaroid camera. Hank blinks at it, taken aback. He hadn't known he'd still had that around the house.

 “The fuck you find that thing?”

 Connor beams at him.

 “In the boxes in the garage, along with the photo albums! They were shoved in the back, but I found them while I was cleaning over the summer. It's where I got the idea to make you cake!”

 There's that funny rolling in his stomach again, like overwhelming happiness and sadness mixing like oil and water in a shaking bottle. But it's… it's good. Like the tears. Cathartic. He nods, gesturing with the fork.

 “Alright, well let's get this show on the road. I wanna eat my cake.”

 Connor laughs again, and Hank grins at him as he slings his own arm over the kid’s shoulder to bring him closer as he raised the camera.

 “Sumo! Come get in the photo!”

 The dog bounds easily up onto the bed, big head bumping at Connor’s forehead as he sniffles at the frosting there. Hank chuckles and shakes his head as he looks at the camera, making sure the text on the cake is visible as Connor presses the button. The flash is temporarily blinding, but he blinks it away as the camera spits out the sheet of thick film. Hank doesn't shake it like his mother used to, he knows better than that. He wants this one pristine if he can help it, especially because he's going to want copies of this shit. Eventually, maybe soon, maybe not, he'll stick it in the photo albums Connor found. The ones he hasn't had the guts to look at for years. But maybe…. maybe with Connor sitting next to him, he can focus on the good times as he tells him the stories about the photos. The kid is still pressed firmly into his side from Hank’s arm around his shoulders, and it's a good feeling, to sit beside someone. No, not just someone. His son. He knows Cole is never coming back, his little boy is gone, but maybe someday he'll see him again. And with any luck, he'll get to introduce him to his older brother.  Well, younger brother? It's a comforting, if slightly confusing thought, and Hank grins as he transfers his fork to his other hand so he can keep Connor close while he digs into his birthday cake. The photo develops a little while later, and Hank loves it. You can see that he's been crying, but his smile is easy, and Connor has his nose scrunched up as Sumo licks his forehead, and the cake looks even uglier in the flash from the camera and it's absolutely perfect. He’s gonna need a copy for his wallet AND his desk, goddamnit, and he might even feel brave enough to put one of his pictures of Cole beside it. It's only right that both of his boys be present, really.

 The smell of sweet candle smoke is heavy in the air, and he breathes it in. He can see Cole as he was the last time they celebrated together, green eyes sparkling and one of his front teeth missing from his broad smile as he shouted in the dark.

 “Happy birthday, dad!”

 Connor’s voice comes from beside him, and he turns to look at the kid as he smiles.

 “Happy birthday, dad.”

 He leans against Connor slightly, squeezing him gently.

 “Thanks, son. I'm glad you decided to celebrate with me.”

 And he means it.

 ___________________________________________________

 At the age of fifty-four years and one hour, Hank Anderson loves birthdays. He loves the birthday cake that's lopsided and the too thick layer of frosting and the cheerful wishes of the Android beside him. And most of all, he loves his favourite scent in the world.

 Birthday candles.