#then sullenly tightens his feathers.

[nyenyerle]

Manwë blows out balrogs like candles on a birthday cake

#💨💨 #🔥🔥 #i will not be taking criticism #manwë #clueless birddad armed with deadly sneeze #eonwë holds on for dear life #then sullenly tightens his feathers.

[regulusfate]

One loose thread doesn’t take the roll down

Hinny

Prompt : You’re safe now, I’m with you .

Requested by @alwaysmagica1 <3

the title is playing on the idea one bad day doesn’t mean they all will be.

It had meant something different once, to be safe. To be safe. It had been a thousand and one possibilities, of testing boundaries, of warmth, of a breath of fresh air and her falling body and his solid arms, like an anchor.

Somewhere that had changed for both of them, she wasn’t entirely sure when she stopped being scared of that thought, or if she ever had. Even there, in the light of the lampshade watching the over the marks of their children’s presence scattered across the living room, the handprints of paint etched into the walls, the toys knocked beneath the table, there came a hint of unsettlement within her chest.

Not quite placeable, the word danced between her tongue and her teeth, on the edge of spilling over like drops of red fine wine against a cream carpet, she never could find the right word for it. An ache, yes, and her fingers massaged through the cotton of her top to the callous skin, an ache but the feeling that came with it detached like a half formed thought cast to the fringes of her mind.

She wonders when they became so complacent. How they could forget so quickly, the world in all its fragile glory, the single tap of one man to shatter the globe encasing them.

It was dangerous, to pretend so sullenly, that life had moved on as though it could never happen again and yet, they all forget, their war had not been the first.

Her husband doesn’t forget. He cannot, and she will not, tracing the scars on his chest and the blackened edges of numb flesh where he could not feel, those long term effects of evading death and that striking curse.

She sees Harry. Not the boy who saved her in the chamber, but the man that built a pillow fought with his kids. Not the war hero still fighting in the ranks of the ministry, but the man who kissed her freckles ‘like the stars’, and plays with her hair, and that body that holds her close under the sheets.

They are a reliance on each other, letting the world drift in its complacency, they are upon their own mound of earth, a whole other wave.

.

sixth year

“Weasley !”

The sun struck the air and it dazzled, as she weaved through the beams cast her way as the blue of the ocean sky seemed to shimmer, froth on water.

Ginny laughed, billowing up from her lungs into the breathless air, embracing the rush. Harry lunged for her, their bodies swooping, swooning, clambering through the clouds about the sea of green and tiny etched houses. He missed. Their game of cat and mouse.

“You know for someone with an ‘elegant disposition’ on a broom-“

She laughed harder, arching out of his stretching hands, pitching her voice to mimic the report of the latest witchly weekly article, and his face fell into horror pulling his broom up short.

“You read that!”

The mortification in his voice and it cracked an octave higher. Ginny grinned, the wind brushing through her hair.

“Did you know you have an elegant disposition Mr Potter?”

She teased and his eyes sparkled despite the groan from his lips, their chests heaving with pleasure and panting breaths and flushed cheeks.

“Did you always want to be a poet, Miss Weasley?”

Harry quipped back and she choked on the breeze that cascaded her hair in waves of sparks.

“I was eleven !”

“Are my eyes still as green as a fresh pickled toad?”

He laughed, and Ginny scowled, watching his head tip back and eyes flutter closed, the soft cylinder of his giggles echoing in the breeze.

“Is my hair truly as dark as a blackboard?” Harry wheezed

It was quickly followed by a yelp, as he narrowly avoided a strike to the head. Darting forwards, he soared away, and she snatched up the quaffle once more.

“Don’t throw it at my face !”

“Scared to mess up that nose?” She teased back, and they were chasing through the clouds and the sunlight sky.

“Hey it’s straighter than Eloise Midgen’s”

Spurring her broom forwards, his voice tailing back, and she smirked

“Let’s see that elegant disposition then, I’ve always wanted a moving target”

“This is harassment, Weasley,” the distance closed between them, her eyes narrowed on his mop of hair, and he took a sharp left closer to the trees.

“Only until you forget the poem-“ Ginny warned, half teasing though her eyes were bright and smiling as her lips twisted into a determined frown.

“His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad.”

Harry chanted with a bubbling laugh, dipping between the clouds

“Keep talking Potter !”

“At least I have a Hungarian horntail on my chest”

She snorted, thrown off guard by the sudden change, her hand slipped against the polished handle of the broom as a rogue bludger spun her way and she fumbled, off balance and unable to keep a hold as she veered to the side.

Falling was second nature to quidditch, but still a surprised noise escaped her lips as the air pushed past her, and her fingers gasped at nothing, as though the wind was fighting against gravity and losing and sinking and her hand would not reach her wand in time.

She didn’t want to die.

And then arms snatched at her waist, forcing the final breaths of oxygen from her lips in a startled jerk that bruised her ribs, and she was latching on to the stable body that kept her afloat. Something that might have been a laugh but detached from her ears and a tinge of hysteria as her fingers wound into the shirt and the world was burry in front of her eyes, woozy and sweeping, but she knew those arms as her chin connected with his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Harry murmured, a different chant, more to appease his own racing heart as his feet touched the ground gently but he didn’t attempt to remove his arms and for that Ginny was glad. She needed that anchor against her own pounding heartbeat.

“You’re safe now, I’m with you.” He mumbled, and she felt the soft graze of his lips pressing against her head as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Holy crap, Ginny I’m so sorry !”

Fred, his voice bursting forwards like a galloping horse and she could move again, the leaded feeling that weighted her legs seeped as they finally pressed fully into the grass.

“You’re an ass.” She snaps, voice partially muffled by Harry’s shoulder.

Fred’s face crumpled from horror to a kicked puppy, and Ginny sighed, not removing herself from his arms but twisting her neck to meet his eyes.

“It’s fine, it’s not the first time.”

His face remained plastered in worry, until a smirk lept on to her face.

“I’m fine,” her smirk grew wider “but I think you just gave mum a heart attack.”

His eyes snapped round to meet Molly Weasley white face in the doorway and gulped. His lips moved inaudible for a moment before his eyes found George with a pleading look. ‘Save me Georgie’

It was only when Molly’s yells began from the muted walls of the burrow, did she pull away, and met Harry’s own pale face with curious brown eyes, that bordered on teasing once again.

“I’m really sorry-“

“What did you mean?” He blinked, taken aback and frowned in confusion.

“You’re safe now , I’m with you?”

The colour returned full force to his cheeks, a blush riding up and he shifted awkwardly for a moment with a bashful shrug.

“I- I dunno” he mumbled sheepishly

“Okay then , Mr Chosen One,” she grinned and grabbed his hands, intertwining their fingers and moving towards the burrow and he groaned.

She was never letting him live it down.

.

There’s a shadow at the door, a creak and he’s stood there. It’s always his eyes. Brimming with an expanse of pain and loss and his fingers jumped against the side of his leg even as he shifted weight. His throat moved beneath his skin, swallowing in air, swallowing in silence. His lips not fully closed, she knows he wants to say something, anything, she can feel the tightness of his voice just in the shuddering breath he clambered to retain.

“You’re up late,” Ginny offered gently, and a part of her wished his face would crack into that roguish godforbid sexy smirk, stride forwards and tug her up against chest with an arching eyebrow. She wants to hear his low husky ‘maybe I was waiting for you’ breathed down her neck.

She wants it, because she knows the pain that takes hold is so much worse.

“Well I-“ he bites the inside of his cheek, and turns his head. His voice is rough, but it’s grating behind the force of every swallowed scream battering in his dreams and she can see his eyes blinking, the sharp line of his jaw in the light softened by the growth of his beard and jumping in place.

“Hey,” Ginny rose silently, into the shadows of the room and slips her fingers into his larger ones. They shake slightly against her. “Harry.”

He shakes his head for a moment, the muscles in his face gripping at his skin for control and she sees the blink of his eyelashes, thrice, before he folds into her embrace. His beard is ticklish against her neck, as his head presses into her shoulder and his arms curl tightly and Ginny knows he’s clinging to the heartbeat.

She reaches through his tense and tightening biceps to rub his back. His hair smelt of roses, it’s soft petal texture, feathered against her cheek, she liked it. His hair always seemed to smell of roses.

“Hey , hey it’s okay.”

He shudders, and her fingers find gently into the soft locks. The muscles in his back tense, rolling like the cup of raindrop slipping down the veins of dying leaves, and a sob follows.

“You’re safe now,” Ginny whispered, and he presses closer. “I’m with you.”

The always is left unsaid , but she knows he hears it. For a long moment they are simply held in an embrace, his body and hers, intertwined in limbs and a shared grief.

“You’re with me,” he mumbles, “you’re with me, you’re with me”

A pause, and her chest aches more to take his pain away. He pulls back first, pressing a sleeve to his eyes with another shaking breath, and exhaling slowly. She keeps a hand on his back rubbing up and down, as her mother had done , as he had done to her.

Ginny doesn’t ask if he wants to talk about it, as they gravitate slowly towards the sofa where there’s light cast out of the shadows and their tired bodies slump into the cushions. She doesn’t need to ask. They told each other everything they could , some things had taken years to speak of, others only seconds. Sometimes it would be silence, times where neither one will speak of what came crashing, tearing through their mind, it’s a story for another day.

Harry rubs a hand down his face, their knees touching, legs almost overlapping, and torso’s inclined towards each other. He leans an arm on the top of the sofa, and his fingers brush lightly over the scar , that scar , that ripples through his skin. He does it automatically, and sometimes purposefully. It’s strange how they could find comfort in the things that haunted them most.

“I’m scared for them.” He speaks after a while, and she fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

Them being the kids and Ginny knows he means, that ever present fear that their children should grow and witness the same horrors they had seen, as their parents had before them.

“James is almost five,” and the number comes out almost breathless, as if he can’t quite wrap his head around it, a wistfulness and a yearning. She sighs and moves, and he accepts the gesture instantly, opening his arms and she curls up against his chest.

It’s not something she likes to think about, truthfully.

“I’m scared too,” Her hand rubs against his chest, watching the creases in his shirt. “But our babies are growing up, and we get to see that.”

He hums, and she moves to glance upwards and meet Harry’s eyes, still those beautiful green.

“We get that.” Ginny whispers, and the echo of a smile wraps around his lips as his fingers drift up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We do.” He murmurs, like clarification and they lean into the touch the other offers instinctively. Her head presses back against his chest, and his fingers wind their way through her hair and they’ve stopped shaking now.

“I saw you in the mirror this morning,” it’s been plaguing her all day.

“Oh?”

She can almost hear the smile in voice now, and relaxes a little more.

“You’re not getting rid of the beard.”

A deep chuckle reverberates from his chest though soft into the quiet of the house and she grins.

All was , sometimes , well . They could live with that .

#post war hinny #hinny #hinny prompt #harry potter #hp golden era #hp next gen #hp fandom #hinny fanfic #harry and ginny #hp fanfic #post wizarding war #I’ve realised I’m not actually sure when in sixth year this could have happened #but let’s just go with it anyway

[hidden64]

Stray Tales | Worms #1

Contents: Light consensual hypnosis, m/m

Rating: SFW, romantic

[Note: This is the first of what I'm calling my "Stray Tales", stories about my characters from the various tabletop RPGs I'm in. They will be named for which character they star, and I may give some of them actual titles. My goal is to give enough context so you can understand who the characters are and what the setting is supposed to be like, without front loading every story with exposition. If something is unclear, please feel free to ask questions!]

Warnextres "Worms" D'varri opened the curtains of the inn suite he was staying in, just a crack, to glance out of the window. It was early evening, and the torches around the city were being lit as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. From the fourth story window, he could see the merchants packing up their wares as the market closed for the day, farmers returning home from the field, mothers calling their children home from playing. Indeed, all was well in the city, as was his room. The fireplace was lit, filling the room with warmth and the pleasant smell of smoke. The door was locked, as was the window, and this inn was easily the nicest and most secure Worms had ever stayed in.

Still, he could not shake the tension that tightened his shoulders and twisted his stomach. He closed the curtains again, and turned to face his boyfriend, Oak. A tan elf with short brown hair and eyes, Oak's appearance definitely contrasted Worms'- he was short, pale, with white hair he kept in a long pony tail, and Oak's clean shaved face opposed Worms' mustache and goatee. Worms' most striking feature used to be his lavender eyes, but now it was the pair of large, snow white wings with black spots that grew from his shoulders. Oak didn't mind Worms' new appendages, as he himself used to be a harpy before he was magically reincarnated into an elf. That, and the two had been through much together, a bond forged by the heat of battle and a long journey.

"See anything interesting?" Oak asked, seated on the bed.

"No, not really," Worms sighed. He ambled a few steps from the window, then began pacing back and forth across the room, swinging his arms forcefully.

"What's wrong?" Oak asked, tilting his head. "You've been like this at every inn we've stopped at since we parted from your friends. There's no one after us, and we haven't fought anyone or anything since the ritual with the hag. We've got plenty of money- what's there to worry about?"

Worms sighed again and ruffled his feathers. "I know, I know, I know. I guess I'm just not used to all this. Usually when I get a room somewhere, if at all, it's the cheapest possible one. I'm used to sleeping in a bedroll or on the ground or something, nothing like this. That, and..." He shook his wings. "I'm still getting used to these. I know everyone we passed was staring at me. I don't like all the extra attention."

Oak smiled, trying to stay cheerful despite his lover's anxiety. He patted the bed beside him. "Come, sit next to me."

Worms crossed the room and sat down on the bed. Oak wrapped an arm around him, and in return Worms extended one of his wings to hold him, resting his head on the elf's shoulder. Oak gently ran a hand through his long hair, delicately removing the knots.

"I'm sure less people were staring than you think, Worms," Oak assured him. "Besides, they probably think you're an aasimar, if anything- maybe a weird tiefling or something. Few people would guess you got cursed by a hag."

"I know..." Worms repeated sullenly. "I just... I just can't get myself to stop worrying."

Oak was silent for a moment, then murmured into Worms' ear, "I might be able to help with that."

"You're obviously going somewhere with this," Worms said. "Go on."

"Well, I didn't lose all the powers of my voice when I changed," Oak explained. "So there are some... Harpy things I can still do. I'm sure you've noticed how my singing can be... captivating. I think that I might be able to use that to help you relax."

Worms looked up at him, lips pursed. "You want to enchant me? Don't harpies usually do that before, you know, eating people?"

"Well, yes," Oak admitted. "But you know I don't eat people anymore!" He stroked Worms' face softly with his thumb. "We don't have to try it if you don't want to. I just hate seeing you so unhappy, and I want to help in whatever way I can."

Worms shifted slightly and wiggled the tips of his wings while he thought. He did trust Oak; if he wanted to hurt Worms he had had plenty of opportunities to do so, and would have by now. He had never considered a harpy's song being used for the benefit of the listener, but if it really could help him feel some peace, he was willing to try.

"No, I want to," Worms replied with conviction. "It's worth a try, at least."

Oak smiled and squeezed Worms a little tighter in his arms. "Great!" he chirped. "Before we start, I want you to get comfortable for me, okay?"

"Okay, sure," Worms agreed. He laid down on the bed and spread his wings out.

"Good. Just listen to my voice and focus on me," Oak instructed.

"No problem," Worms said with a wink. "I can always focus on you."

Oak's face turned slightly red and he rolled his eyes. "Hush! You're supposed to be listening, not talking."

Worms put up his hands, then made a motion of zipping over his lips.

Oak took a deep breath and began to softly sing. His voice was deep and smooth, and reminded Worms of a string bass. At first, nothing special seemed to happen- at least, nothing special beyond a moment alone with his love. Then, as the lilting legato tune continued, Worms felt the rest of the world around him begin to fade away. Even the words in the song disappeared from his awareness, only the beautiful sound remained. His breathing began to slow down, matching the soothing tempo of the song. His limbs grew heavy, like iron weights had been attached to them, and the tips of his fingers were filled with a pleasant tingling. Tension he wasn't even previously aware of melted away, too; his jaw unclenched and his shoulders sank into the bed below him. Every blink of his eyes became longer, and keeping his eyes open became a struggle. That, and he had to tilt his head forward to keep looking at Oak. He had to keep looking. He had to focus, even though it was getting harder and harder with each passing second.

Then, while still singing, Oak crawled across the bed until he was looking directly over Worms' face. Worms sighed with relief at not having to crane his neck anymore, and a sleepy smile spread across his face. Oak began to move his fingers above Worms' face, making sweeping, circular motions. His eyes instantly focused on them, heavy as they were. The motions were constant and repetitive enough to be soothing, but changed every so often, just to captivate him further. Up, down, around, left, right, swirling and twirling this way and that. Every time his fingers moved up, his eyelids fluttered and strained to keep open, exhausting them further and further until his fingers traveled up, up, up and suddenly swooped all the way back down, gently touching Worms' face and closing his eyes on the way.

The second his eyes shut, Worms felt his consciousness crashing down, down, down into darkness. The only thing he was aware of was the beautiful song, letting it drift across his mind and lead him further down. He felt like he was floating and sinking at the same time, completely relaxed and free from worry. Occasionally he felt himself nodding, or felt movement around him, but it didn't stay in his mind long and he soon forgot it. Every part of him felt blissfully weightless and relaxed, and his mind was wonderfully empty.

Eventually, the song stopped. With the music no longer captivating him, Worms' thoughts began to slowly form again. As the feeling returned to his limbs, he blinked a couple times, taking in his surroundings as if they were new. The room was darker now, the sun having set while his eyes were closed. Oak was laid down next to him, looking at him expectantly.

"Hi," he said softly. "How do you feel?"

"Really good, actually," Worms answered. He stretched his arms and wings, then rubbed his eyes. "A little foggy. Like I just woke up from a nap."

Oak smiled. "Did you like it?"

"Oh, yeah!" Worms smiled back and nodded. "I can't remember being that relaxed in my life."

"That's great!" Oak hugged him tighter and laughed. "You looked like you were enjoying it, I'm really glad you were." He pressed his forehead against Worms'.

Worms nuzzled him in return. "I loved it. Any time you wanna do that again, I'm game." He paused to yawn. "For now though, I think I'm gonna go to sleep."

Oak chuckled. "Good idea." He kissed Worms on the cheek and snuggled closer to him.

Worms sighed with comfort. "I love you, Oak."

"I love you too, Worms."

#my writing

[redcrossroads]

Floral Reminiscence

„You’ve just woken up from months of bedrest,” 

Exasperation colors Nea’s voice as they come to a stop, both breathing heavily after running so far. Mana wheezes for breath, hands braced on his knees. Nea narrows his eyes and warps a hand around his brother’s wrist. “Don’t you think you should take it easy?”

“You’re such a worrywart,” Mana grins and stands, wiping the sweat on his brow away with his sleeve. “I’ve spent enough time confided to my bed. I missed running around with you like this.”

“Yeah,” Nea drops his wrist with a frown, deeming the pulse beneath his hands steady enough for now and flicks Mana on the forehead with his fingers. “and that’s why you should take it slow. I don’t want you to end up sick again.”

Mana rubs the spot on his forehead and pouts. “But it’s fun!” He whines.

“It’s dangerous,” Nea scowls, reaching up to lay his hand onto his forehead before reaching out to do the same to Mana’s. The skin beneath his hand is damp with sweat, a bit warmer than what he’s comfortable with but not scorching hot to cause alarm.

“Alright, alright,” Mana takes Nea’s wrist into his hand, pulling it back down and takes his hands into his own. His fingers curl around Nea’s knuckles and he squeezes them. “I won’t run off again, I promise.”

“You better not,” Nea hisses, glowering but he squeezes back without hesitation. “You gave me a heart attack, running off like that.”

“Sorry,” Mana leans forward to bump their heads together, foreheads pressing againt each others, with a sheepish smile. “I got carried away.”

“I can see that,” Nea muses, glancing around to see nothing but a swath of gold and grass. He squints and thinks he can see a familiar leafless tree in the distance and pulls back. “Mother won’t be happy if she finds out we ran so far. You know she doesn’t want us out of Cornelia’s line of sight.”

“She’ll be more than happy if we bring some flowers back to her.”

“Is that what’s all this about?” Nea slaps a hand to his forehead and groans like he’s in pain. “You could have said that instead of running off in the middle of our conversation, you know.” He pulls his hand away, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with singing her a song?”

“We always do that on her birthday.” Mana huffs out, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I wanted to do something different this year. Who says we can’t do both? She’s looked after me the whole year.”

“Fine,” Nea sighs. “Let’s look for some flowers but if we don’t find any in the next two hours we’ll go back.”

Mana grins and nods. Despite Nea’s reluctance, he rolls his sleeves back and climbs onto the nearest tree to have a better view. The gusts of wind have made his unruly hair a bouncy mess and he shoves it back away from his face.

He’s always been soft-heartened. Combined with his ambitious nature, Mana is sure if they won’t find any in the next two hours, Nea would walk him back only to sneak away to get some. Even if he’d have to crawl through the wheat fields for hours on end.

The thought brings a smile to his face. 

“There’s something red over there,” Nea shouts, pointing in the other direction, one hand shielding his eyes from the glaring sun. He begins to climb back down. “I don’t see anything else.” 

They trudge through the fields, glancing around.

“There,” Mana perks up at the flash of red peeking through the wheats. On a closer look, there’s a bunch of them hidden from view because of the wheats coming up to their upper legs. He brushes them aside. “Which ones do you think she’d like the most?”

“Why are you asking me?” Nea raises a brow. “Just pick some and get it done with. We haven’t gotten all day.”

“She likes the songs you pick out, so I’m sure she’d like the flowers you pick.” 

He’s curious about the choice. To him, the flowers all look kind of pretty. The yellow one he sees is nice to look at or the small blue ones barely visible through the grass. They smell good too and he knows if he has to choose, he’ll end up picking them all or taking too long.

“The red ones,” Nea says and carefully breaks of the stem. He breathes in their scent and smiles. “I like these ones the best. They’re pretty.”

Mana sniffs at the flower Nea extends to him and sneezes. The smell is sweet, reminding him faintly of lemons and vanilla, but not heavy on his nose. Petals soft to touch, he nods.

“They are,” He agrees, picking out a bunch of them, adding a patch of greenery to make the bouquet thicker. “She’ll love them.”

“C’mon,” Nea holds out a hand. “Let’s go back before she notices we ran off.”

Mana takes the hand, interlocking their fingers as he swings it back and forth, humming a tune as Nea picks at the shirt sticking to his skin with distaste, tugging him along with a fond sigh, eyes soft and warm as he shakes his head at his brother’s antics.

Katerina is waiting for them, leaning against Cornelia and basking in the shadows she throws to block the blazing heat of the afternoon sun. Any hint of stern disappointment melts out of her eyes when they bounce up to her with the flowers in hand.

“Oh my,” She gasps, taking the flowers with a smile. “What a surprise!”

“Nea picked them out for you.” Mana throws himself at her, hands fisting her dress as he snuggles into her arms, face pressed against her stomach.

“It was Mana’s idea to get some.”

“They’re lovely,” She says, brushing back hair out of Mana’s face. “Thank you.” And presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re welcome.” They chorused.

“But don’t wander so far again without asking first.” She chides. “No matter the reason. You know I worry.”

“Sorry.”

“How about some tea, now?” She ushers them towards the residence. “You must be thirsty after spending hours running around.”

“I’ll drink the whole teapot.” Nea deadpans as he turns to Mana. “You’ll have to drink out of the water hose in the backyard.”

Mana laughs, lunging forward to wrap his arms around Nea’s neck. Nea startles, choking at the unexpected weight slamming onto his back and stumbles. He doesn’t fall, but it’s a near thing.

“Mana,” He groans, tugging at the arms around his neck with a grumble. “Get off.”

“No,” Mana whines, nuzzling into Nea’s neck. “Carry me, I’m tired.”

“I told you not to overstrain yourself!”

“Don’t be mean.” Mana mumbles as Nea’s hands hoist him up so he’s carrying him on his back. Nea grunts at the effort, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not.” He says sullenly, wrinkling his nose. “It’s gross carrying you when we’re soaked with sweat. My shirt’s sticking to my back and you’re making it worse.”

“This is nice,” Mana fights back a yawn, hearing Katerina chuckle. “You’re comfortable and warm. I missed this a lot during the last year.” He confesses, feeling Nea stiffening under his hold. “You’d make a good pillow.” He pats Nea’s hair, eyes growing heavier.

“Hey, don’t go nodding of just yet,” Nea protests in annoyance, blowing a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. “You’ll need a bath and you should eat something before going to bed—”

“But we’ll do that together, right?” 

He’s missed this more than anything. Nea hadn’t been allowed to sleep in the same bed since he’s fallen sick in fear of catching whatever had made him sick in the first place. His time on at Mana’s bedside had been cut short, Katerina taking his place to soothe his ruffled feathers at being denied access to his brother’s bedroom. He’s missed Nea, with his lullabies and smiles, sitting next to his bed and holding his hand until he fell asleep. 

He doesn’t want to be separated from him for so long ever again.

Tightening his hold around Nea’s neck, he doesn’t care if he’s being clingy. 

“Of course,” Nea says it like it’s a given and Mana is stupid for even thinking otherwise. A promise and reassurance in his voice Mana takes strength in. “Just like everything else…who do you think will make sure you don’t fall face first into your food? I’ll be right by your side—"

With a gasp Mana jerks awake. Lying on his back, shivers wracking his body all over, he tries to calm his racing heart. The ache of loss sinks into his bones, heavy and heartrending familiar and his throat closes up. A sob chokes him and the image in his mind vanishes, a pot of spilled ink washing away the watercolor painting he wants to cling to. Something hot spills over his cheeks and he stares unseeing at the ceiling, hands fisted into his sheets. His chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath until he calms, the panic fading slowly.

“…Nea…”

The name is bittersweet on his tongue. Full of longing and grief. A dead name lost to the shadow of history stained with blood.

He doesn’t know how long he lies in the dark, unwilling to leave with the raw wounds torn open and the phantom sensation of warmth in his arms, staring at nothing while waiting for his tears to dry. Soon he becomes restless, shifting on his pillow, uncomfortable in his skin. The blanket is stifling and he tears it off, legs swinging over the bed to touch the floor.

He doesn’t want to stay in bed any longer. Mana buries his face into his hands. The dream had shaken him despite it not being a nightmare. Rising to his feet, he paddles out the door. No use staying in his bedroom when sleep won’t come to him for the next few hours.

The thought of spending a minute longer in the room makes him sick.

.・。.・゜✭・・✫・゜・。

She walks through the halls, following the echo of the piano, on bare feet. Dress bouncing with her steps, blanket dragging along on the floor, she comes to a stop in front of a familiar room. She glances around the wall, peeking into the room to see a man hunched over the keys, hands dancing to create the melody responsible for rousing her from her slumber.

He doesn’t notice her presence.

“Millenie.” 

The piano comes to an abrupt stop with a sharp cry of the keys.

Road paddles into the room. “Bad dream?” She eyes the tear tracks on his cheeks with a frown.

“No,” The Earl replies in a steady voice, staring at his lap. “I don’t think it was. Quite the opposite.” 

She takes a seat next to him on the bench, pulling up her legs and cuddling into her blanket. The Earl doesn’t react as she leans onto him, the back of her head resting against his upper arm. She glances from his face to the piano, taking note of the vase standing in the center.

“They’re pretty,” She comments as the Earl’s head snaps up. She gestures to the vase and he seems to brighten. Though his smile reaches his eyes, there’s a sadness lurking beneath the surface. 

“Ah,” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I’d thought they’d brighten up the room. They’re quite lovely, don’t you think?”

She hums in agreement. “Who are they for?” 

“It’s bad manners to ask question you already know the answer to.” He turns to look down at her head, watching her. She mirrors his smile before closing her eyes. A hand comes out to stroke her hair and she leans into the touch with a sigh.

He’s right of course. She knows exactly for who these flowers are and what they resemble. It’s the reason she’s determined to stay here to keep the Earl company even if she isn’t the company he wants.

She cannot deny for all the pain they must bring, the bouquet of red poppies sitting in the vase light up the room of the Ark with their beauty and color in a way she cannot remember seeing in years.

#d gray man #nea d campbell #mana d campbell #katherine eve campbell #road kamelot #dgm #my writing #dgm fanfic

[insane-control-room]

brash

He really should have counted those pills before shoving them in his mouth.

[WARNING: OVERDOSE]

Willy groaned and put the pillow against his head harder, trying to sooth the pain, succeeding in only making it spread. His cell buzzed again, making him wince and curl up tighter. His head pounded. Not in a dull, deal with it headache kind of way, but the sharp, don't move or it'll break you kind of way. He hated it. It made him feel different to his normal preferences and values. For instance, normally he loved spending time with his brother and Shawn and Eska, and all the wonderful people at the studio, but when a migraine hit him, he honestly could tell them to go fuck themselves. Usually, he tried to be as courteous as possible, but today, he was snappish and lashing out. Airgead, the puppy Eska had given him out of the blue the day before, whimpered empathetically, curling up by his chest. He pressed his face to Airgead's chest. Like owner, the dog had already infused with a smell, however, unlike Willy's ever present lavender, Airgead smelled of mint. Willy's head continued to throb. All he wanted to do was sleep. Even, excuse his curtness, death seemed unappealing in comparison to just closing his eyes and falling asleep. He forced himself up, feeling the blood rush in his skull. He gripped some of his hair as he stumbled to the bathroom, pulling open the medicine cabinet, squinting through his pain to find the sleeping pills, grabbing the canister and bringing it to his bedside. He hadn't had any since before his basic training days, and he really should have thought of the consequences of taking them now. He poured some into his hand, putting the bottle on his bedside, it rolling off and clattering to the floor. He closed his eyes as another wave of nausea crossed over him from the slight noise. He was breathing hard when he opened his eyes. He saw three pills in his hand (weren't there more before?) and popped them in his mouth. He felt the drowsiness kick in instantly through his pain, and his lips twitched into a smile as he flopped back onto the bed, not bothering to cover himself with the sheets, legs hanging off the side, he was too damn exhausted. Airgead curled up beside him. And he fell asleep, and at the last moment panicked even as he lost consciousness. There were three major problems:

There had been seventeen pills.

He put back none.

He was a narcoleptic with memory lapses.

All of those added up to the fact he overdosed and could do nothing about it.

The worst part was that they were all going to think he did it on purpose.

*****

Wally came back with a bundle of groceries. Shawn helped him carry some in, followed by Sammy and Thomas. Sammy was gushing over a performance he had seen the day before, Thomas gladly listening. Airgead rushed into the room, instantly jumping on Wally, nipping the bottom of his jeans, whining and trying to drag him to another room.

"Hey, hey," Wally chuckled, patting the pup's head. "Just a sec, air head."

"Airgead!" Shawn indignantly corrected. "Say it right, you air head!"

"Aw, shush, you lace curtain!" Wally insulted in Boston. Shawn looked confused, as did the other's. Airgead howled, headbumping Wally's ankle. "Okay, okay, I'm coming. Sheesh. Demanding, aren't ya?"

Airgead lead him to Willy's room, jumping on the bed and nudging his master's face with a whine. Wally sighed.

"He's just takin' a nap, is all," he reasoned, reaching for Airgead. The puppy yipped, leaping away and running under the bed. Wally made an agitated noise, getting down to get him out from there. "C'mon, Airy, you can't stay down he..." his hand brushed the pill bottle. Pills were scattered all over the floor. He looked closer at his brother. His chest was rising and falling irregularly. He grabbed his brother's hand. Inflamed and hot, pulsing way too fast for someone to be just sleeping. Wally's eyes widened; "holy shit... dammit! Wake up, Wilbur, you dunce! Someone, quick! Call an ambulance!"

"What happened?" Shawn demanded, running in, cell phone out, emergency number punched in already. His jaw dropped, and he turned to speak into the receiver. "Overdose! Uh, he's twenty two... what type of pills are those? Benzedrine Sulfate... for narcolepsy and depression... I don't know! I wasn't at home, or this wouldn't have happened!"

He was yelling now, on the verge of breaking down. Thomas snatched the phone away.

"Excuse me, but we need an ambulance," he rumbled authoritatively. "We do not know when the overdose occurred, and we don't want this to turn fatal. No, he's his..." he looked to Shawn for permission. Shawn nodded. "boyfriend. Yes, he has a brother, and yes, he's here, but he's panicking over his twin! Now, can you please send someone? Thank you."

"He'll be fine," Sammy assured Wally, who appeared to be in a shock. "At least, I'm pretty sure he'll be fine."

"I know," he replied sullenly, gripping the orange bottle. "I'm... kind of... mad, y-ya know? Heh, he promised he'd talk about doin' stuff like this if he wanted to... and he said he wouldn't just jump on it... ya get me?"

"Yeah," Shawn breathed, gazing out the window. He stirred out of his thoughts, pulling out his phone to contact Eska. As much as he wasn't the most comfortable around the guy, he still was Willy's best friend. "But we don't know the whole story. He is a narcoleptic, after all. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and say this was an accident."

"I agree with Shawn," Thomas muttered. He wrapped an arm around Wally. "Also, Willy is scarily more... planning. If this was on purpose, he never would have left the pills out. He wouldn't have been sloppy about it."

The ambulance arrived. Willy was taken on, Wally going with him and without any objections. Wally held his brother's hand. Willy's fingers tightened around his. He prayed it was an accident.

*****

The room was bright and unnatural, and made Eska recall bad times. Willy looked defiant and soft compared to the hard synthetic around him. Eska calmed when he saw his friend, going over to his bedside to loom over him. Wally dozed in the chair. Willy flinched, as though trying to wake up. A smile touched Eska's non-visible lips. He nuzzled Willy's head, inhaling lavender. His heart twinged, scars crisscrossed on his best friend's arms coming into view as he shifted. Shawn quietly entered, acknowledging Eska with a nod and sitting on the edge of the bed. Silence for a few minutes, until a gasp, Willy shooting up, waking Wally with a jerk.

"I didn't mean to, I swear!" he shouted, the first thing that came out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, I just wanted three! I didn't mean to take seventeen!"

"Well, there's that answered," a young doctor joked, coming in with a clipboard. "I'm Dr. Gratuity Shannor, trauma specialist. And, Mr. Wilbur Franks, since you're up, I'm pleased to tell you that you can go out of here tomorrow. Not today, since it's too late for us to let you out. Also, visiting hours are over, sorry. Only one can stay overnight."

"Um..." Wally hesitated. "Shawn or Eska can. As long as you promise to talk to me tomorrow, 'kay bro? You gave me a scare."

"Sorry," he mumbled, leaning back onto the bed. "Yeah. I'll try."

Eska pointed frantically at Shawn. There was no way he was spending another night in a hospital. He waved to the two as he left. A small hand touched him.

"Eska, right?" the doctor gently asked. He stared. "Um, in case some of the freaks in the mental ward lock you up again, you can count on me to get you out of there. I hate them too."

Eska blinked, then nodded. And then he was gone.

Shawn got up, briskly walked to the door, exchanged a quick few words with Gratuity, then closed the door, locking it behind himself. He got onto the bed, crawling over to Willy with a glint in his eye. He leaned down to hiss into Willy's ear, sending chills up his spine.

"Never do that again," he growled. Willy held his breath as Shawn nipped his ear. Shawn wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close to spoon him. Willy pressed his back against his chest. Shawn smelled lavender, hugging Willy tighter. "I love you, but you did scare me, too."

"Sorry," Willy whispered, dozing off again. "I love you."

*****

Willy woke up to Shawn pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck. He pushed back a smile, amused... until Shawn licked him. He let out an indignant squeak.

"Shawn!" he hissed, blush creeping onto his face. "We are in a hospital!"

"So?" he spitefully asked, hand sliding forward to fondle Willy's hip. "It's one AM and there are no cameras. I asked."

"What the hell Shawn?!" Willy asked, unsure if he should be bemused or appalled. Shawn only replied by slipping his hand onto Willy's stomach, feather light touches before dragging his nails down. Shawn gagged him by covering his mouth with his free hand. He growled into his hand, before Shawn's hand moved to explore (and exploit) his chest. His back arched, Shawn pulling his hips back. "Mmm! Swnn! Mfph!"

"Moanin' my name already?" Shawn chuckled, groping at Willy's hip, feeling down his leg. The dark skinned man groaned at his touch, but pulled away from him anyways. Shawn pouted. "Aw, c'mon."

"Uh uh," Willy pushed away. "What's gotten into you? Are you alright, Shawn?"

"I'm fine," he replied, but his voice wavered. "Just... fine."

"Love, please tell me what's wrong," Willy cupped his cheek. "I'm so sorry... about earlier. Is there anything else eatin' at ya?"

"No..." he answered, looking away. He moved closer to Willy, hoping to get a kiss. Willy ran his hands through chocolate hair, one stopping at the back of his neck to tug him close, lips meeting. "I just love you so much... you're so beautiful and I don't want to loose you."

"You won't," Willy murmured, pulling him closer. "I'll be right here."

*****

Willy and Shawn returned home together the next day, both of them quiet and gentle. Shawn's arm was slung around Willy's waist. Wally greeted them, before going on a tangent rant to Willy about communication. Willy wholeheartedly agreed. Eska appeared at some point, scooping Willy up, hugging him tightly and not letting him go, growling when Shawn came near. Willy laughed at Shawn's bewildered expression.

Willy set up a mental sleep schedule. At least, he planned to. Right after this doze. He'll get to it, eventually, probably. Then again, napping with Eska and/or Shawn always sounded like a nice idea. Who needs healthy sleep patterns, anyways? His eyes slid over the room. They rested on Wally. Yeah. His brother would benefit from not having to worry about him more than he does. A sleep schedule. Right. He'll make one. His eyes drifted shut. He was exhausted. At least his head didn't hurt. That was one minor plus.

*****

Jericho helped. A lot. The bar tender actually had a multitude of tips for sleeping right. He helped him set up an actual sleep schedule, and some hours for sleeping weren't at night, and Jericho explained "t'at way, ya narcalapsy ain't ganna bather ya so mach." It was a solid plan. Willy thanked his half brother profusely. Jericho laughed it off, telling him to thank him by actually using the schedule.

*****

Petunia really tried her best to help, but seemed to have more trouble with sleeping than Willy. He directed her to Jericho.

*****

Wally helped the most, just by being around. Willy wanted to keep his brother happy, and if this would help, so be it.

Also, he did enjoy waking up and not wanting to go right back to bed.

#tw: overdose #narcolepsy #willy franks #wally franks #Jericho Vanston #petunia #shawn flynn #sammy lawrence #thomas connor #Control Art #control writes #modern au #bendy and the modern machine

[waaaadfsef]

He can have his pick from the company steel

It's really strong and kills all bacteria. Myself I would get a new one or chaussure rando salomon homme decathlon use something else in the mean time until you can get another one. It's up to you though. The man wore the mask of a Brazen Beast, the fearsome likeness of a tiger. It was a futile effort. This storm was too big. “Why, for love. The same reason that I stewed that singer.” He thought of Shae and the look in her eyes as he tightened the jean coquelin chain about her throat, twisting it in his fist. No. Fake bags often come with serial numbers but, have either too many or too few. You can also tell the difference by the font Gucci uses. It will always be the same and can really help in figuring things out. One day you will know.”. He can have his pick from the company steel. The girl too. One thing to keep in mind while shopping at the Coach Factory Outlet is that for the most part you will not see the same bags at the factory outlet that they sell at the regular retail stores. Approximately 90% of the bags sold in the outlet are specifically manufactured for the Outlet. However, if you are really looking for a retail Coach bag at a great price, persistence and knowledge will pay off because off season or overstocked retail handbags will definitely end up in the factory outlet stores. A quick look at Belmont Hill and Brandram Road on Google Street View will tell you that these roads can't take even the cars. If you let the cars up these road how would you stop the vans and trucks? It would take time to put in width restrictions and change the parking regime to allow this. It would be a nightmare!Because the hole is in the A20 South Circular road along which buses, lorries, travel as well as cars. “Death,” he heard himself say, “there will be death, aye. Your lordship lost a son at the Red Wedding. Masloboev had always been a capital fellow, but cunning, and as it were precocious; he had been a shrewd, crafty, artful dodger point de croix chalet from his school-days upwards, but he really had a good heart; he was a lost nike jean jacket man. One of the Freys stepped forward, a knight long and lean of limb, clean-shaved but for a grey mustache as thin as a Myrish stiletto. “The Red Wedding was the Young Wolf’s work. Or without her. I wish novolux 60 led you to write to no person in this state but myself. Kephart and myself are determined to go the whole hog for any negro you can find, and you must give me the earliest information, as soon as you do find any. Enclosed you will receive a handbill, and I can make a good bargain, if you can find them. Whatever their sires or their grandsires might have been back in Westeros before their exile, the men of the Golden Company were sellswords now, and no sellsword could be trusted. Even so …. Swaying in his wicker basket on Hodor’s back, the boy hunched down, ducking his head as the big nike mercurial nere e gialle stableboy passed beneath the limb of an oak. Changing his own skin for a raven’s night-black feathers had been harder, but not as hard as he had feared, not with these ravens. Sam and Gilly stood nearby. Her eyes were red and puffy, but the boy was in her arms, bundled tight. First, Gucci bags are of high quality and impeccably well made. There will most likelynot be loose threads, cheap materials or easily broken hardware (clasps, snaps, etc) There will also always be a leather 'Gucci', 'Made in Italy' tag usually with an 'R' surrounded by a circle, sown in right below it's inner zipper pocket or pouch. On the bottom side of the tag, oneil mellény there will always be a serial number containing the reebok reverse jam low date the bag was made. Coach, Inc. (Coach) is a marketer of accessories and gifts for women and men. The Company offers a range of modern, fashionable handbags and accessories. He kissed them each upon the cheeks and told them of the honor that awaited them, though they did not understand his words. Then he had them put aboard the fishing ketch that they had captured, cut her loose, and had her set afire.. Rowand on a former visit; it is an appropriate remedy for nervous disorders. I bought 2 coach bags from an outlet for the first time this past weekend. I usually shop at a coach boutique and I also shop online. Although the prices are great at the outlet, I prefer the atmosphere of the coach boutique, the staff are calmer, more knowledgeable and you do not have 6 different people coming up to try to sell you on every purse you are looking at. “We want no battle here.” His men could bring the giant down, he knew, but not without cost. Once blood was shed, the wildlings would join the fray. Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. The High Sparrow was not done with her, however. “These are common sins,” he said. Dany had wanted criminal szoknyato ban the tokar when she took Meereen, but her advisors had convinced her otherwise. Thousands of those who fled the battle were desperate enough to believe her. Mother Mole has led them all to Hardhome, there to pray and await salvation from across the sea.”. What … who … A quarrel was sunk almost to the fletching in his chest.

calça kickboxing

I never turn a deaf ear, but listen patiently to their communications. The burden of your care, toils and responsibilities, is much lighter than that which God has imposed on your master. The most enlightened philanthropists, with unlimited resources, could not place you in a situation more favorable to your present and everlasting welfare than that which you now occupy. Neither to forget it nor to conceal it. Of course our time will come too, and it’s coming quickly indeed, but we’ll leave that for now. 6th. Its head and long ears drooped sullenly forward. In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow.

[fantasyimmortal]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! @pixxelbell I hope you have a wonderful day!!!!! (have my mic charging for Smite night!!)

This is a small one shot using Pixxel’s band AU. The Best Birthday. I hope you enjoy it ^^ <3 <3

               I looked at my phone, for what seemed to be the thousandth time, and sighed. “I know he’s busy but…” I sighed again. I knew I was being selfish wanting his attention. Being part of an up and coming duo in the music industry meant hectic schedules. I understood that but… I was just hoping to see him on my birthday at least.

               I looked out the window and saw that the sun had set. “I mean, it’s not like I’m never going to see him again.”

               My back straightened, and I clumsily caught my phone before it fell to the floor when I heard a loud knock at my door. I cocked my eyebrow and glanced at the time as I walked to the door. Who could be here? I opened the door and my eyes widened as very familiar arms wrapped around me.

               I paused, frozen from slight shock. Shaking my head, I came to my senses and hugged him back. “Saeran! You’re here!”

               “Of course.” He said as he put a knuckled under my chin and raised my face. He placed a small, feather-light, kiss against my lips. The kind he always gave when he wanted to tease me. “Why would I not see you on your birthday?”

               “You remembered?”

               His brows furrowed, and he raised his chin, looking down at me. “I’m insulted that you’d think I would forget. But I didn’t come here to lecture you on the apparent lack of knowledge you think I have. Let’s go.” He said quickly as he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my home.

               “Wh-Where are we going?” I asked him as I practically jogged to keep up with his long strides.

               He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled as he gave my hand a light squeeze. “You’ll see.”

               My cheeks grew warm at his smile and my heart fluttered at the anticipation of where he was taking me. He kept his head down not making eye contact with any of the people we passed. If any of them began to point at him and try to talk to him he would increase his speed. My heart swelled at the effort he was putting in to just be with me.

               It wasn’t long before we were walking through the park, which was now empty. He let go of my hand and I held it to my chest as I tried to catch my breath. “The park?” I whispered to myself and looked around as I follow him.

               I continued to look around, slightly shocked at how empty the park was. I had never been here after the sun had set. It was then the realization struck me. Saeran brought me here so we wouldn’t be bothered by his fans. “Saeran I—” My words cut off when I saw him sitting on a picnic blanket, holding his hand out to me.

               I put my hand in his and he pulled me onto his lap before he wrapped his arms around me. I shivered slightly as he nuzzled the crook of my neck and took a deep breath. “I’ve missed you. The past week has been hell not being able to see you.” He whispered as he tightened his hold on me.

               I closed my eyes and smiled as I reached up and placed my hands on his arms. “I’ve missed you too. I really thought I wasn’t going to see you today.”

               He chuckled and placed a kiss against the side of my head. “I told everyone I was going to see you. To hell with whatever was happening.” He unwrapped one arm from around me and reached into the picnic basket that sat beside him. “I’m not sure if you’ve eaten but I…I made some things.”

               He pulled out two sandwiches and handed one to me. I smiled to myself knowing full well he was probably blushing. I tried to get up from his lap, but he silently tightened the arm still around me, keeping me in place. My smile widened as he let out a contented sigh when I leaned back against him.

               I held up the sandwich and pulled back the cellophane wrapped around it. We both ate our sandwiches in silence, simply enjoying the closeness of each other. He reached up and took the balled-up cellophane from my hand and placed it in the picnic basket. He then pulled out a bottle of water, took a sip, the handed it to me. I took the bottle and looked at the rim, hesitating.

               “Don’t tell me after everything we’ve done you still get embarrassed on that ‘indirect kiss’ mess.”

               “N-Not at all!” I stuttered and put the bottle to my lips and quickly drank down half of the contents inside.

               His body shook as he threw his head back and laughed. “I’ve really missed you.” He said as he wiped tears from his eyes. Reaching into the picnic basket once more, he revealed a plate of cookies. “Your favorite and swear to god if you say something about being shocked I remembered, you won’t get any.”

               I quickly closed my mouth and waited patiently for him to hand me a cookie. My eyes widened as he held a cookie to my lips. When I gasped he slipped it between my lips and waited. I took a quick bite and held a hand to my mouth as I spoke with my mouth full. “Why would you do that?!” I shouted as I turned to look over my shoulder at him.

               He slyly smiled at me and took a bite from the same cookie. “I like seeing you flustered because of me. You have some chocolate here…” He leaned forward and licked the corner of my lips. He smirked as I jumped and let out an embarrassed squeak.

               His smile faded however, when his phone began to chime. With a frustrated groan he answered and put this phone to his ear. He handed me the half-eaten cookie and I absentmindedly nibbled at it. My shoulders slumped sullenly. Well it couldn’t last forever, right?

               “Yeah I’ll be there in a minute.” He said to whoever was on the other end of the line, his annoyance evident. “I have to run to the studio. Will you come with me?”

               “But isn’t it work stuff? I thought your manager didn’t like me there because I distract you.”

               “He can shove it up his ass. So, let’s go.” He smiled and kissed my cheek before lifting me off his lap, so he could gather up everything from the picnic. “It would’ve been better if we could stay longer but we’ll come back again.” He grabbed my hand and laced his fingers with mine. He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. I couldn’t help but smile as he winked at me before we made our way out of the park.

               I looked up at the building that housed the studio. I glanced up at Saeran who tugged my hand when I paused. I gave him the most reassuring smile I could and followed him inside. I didn’t want him to get in trouble because he brought me along.

               “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”

               I screamed and hugged Saeran’s arm at the sudden shout. “If you could not give my girlfriend a heart attack that would be great Saeyoung.”

               I nervously laughed while placing my hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. “I-It’s okay. Thank you, Saeyoung. Whoa!” I tripped over my own feet when he pulled me into a strong hug.

               “Hey, hey, hey!!” Saeran yelled as he pulled me away from his brother. “Get your own girlfriend.”

               Saeyoung’s eyes narrowed mischievously as he smiled. “Somebody is possessive.” He said in sing-song voice.

               Saeran glared at Saeyoung and then looked at me. “If he touches you let me know.” He told me before he turned and walked into the recording room.

               Saeyoung put an arm over my shoulders and poked my cheek. “Why the long face?”

               “I just wish I had more time with him today.”

               Saeyoung clicked his tongue and gave me a smile. “Sure, sure. Makes sense. He’s a wreck without you around. I think the manager is about to crack and let him bring you around more often.”

               “Really?!” I couldn’t hold back the excitement in my voice. Saeyoung laughed at my reaction and I felt my cheeks heat up. “I-I mean I would like to be around more.”

               “Just give it time. Hmm?” He gave a quick glance into the recording room and nodded. “Looks like he’s all set. C’mon.” Saeyoung simply gave me a smile before he covered my eyes with his hands. I immediately held my arms out making sure he wouldn’t run me into anything. Thankfully he didn’t prank me and helped me sit in a chair instead. “Shhh… It’s starting.” He whispered when I tried to ask him what’s going on.

               He pulled his hands away and my eyes widened in shock when I saw Saeran standing before me. He gave me a small smile before his fingers pressed against the keys of his keyboard.

               I rose a brow in confusion as I listened. I haven’t heard this song before. Its…a love ballad. I leaned forward in my chair, enthralled in his performance. Tears pricked my eyes when he got to the chorus. His eyes never left mine as he sang with all his heart.

               When he finished, I shot to my feet and clapped as the tears I had held back slipped from my eyes. He pulled the strap of his keyboard over his head and placed the instrument to the side and walked over to me. Smiling softly, he held my face in his hands and wiped away my tears with his thumbs. “Happy Birthday, _____.” He whispered before ducking his head and gently pressing his lips to mine.

               Best. Birthday. Ever.

#birthday gift #hope you have great day!! #happy birthday!!! #Pixxel's band AU

[talesfromthepayload]

I Keep Falling For You Part 1

A/N: So this is a request for McCree, Hanzo, Soldier: 76, and Genji. This part just has McCree and Soldier: 76 because I made it a lot longer than I thought. Stayed tune for part 2 sometime.

McCree:

For somebody who has spent as many years in combat training as yourself, you’d never understand why you had such troubles keeping on your feet. It wasn’t like you weren’t coordinated or anything, but sometimes, when out of combat, you found yourself tripping over everything. Normally, in the shower this wasn’t a problem because you’d placed a mat on the floor of the tub months before after you’d nearly given yourself a concussion. Now, however, your room had been taken away for the time being after an accident regarding some training (fighting) between Hanzo and Genji.

McCree had offered his room up suspiciously fast. While your cheeks had heated up at the prospect, you’d graciously accepted, if only because of the feelings you’d harbored for the cowboy for quite some time.

He’d been kind in giving you his bed last night, you mused, the hot stream of water cascading down your back. In fact, he’d been almost too kind. You’d ventured to guess that maybe, just maybe, he felt something a little more than friendship with you. Insecurity shut that thought down immediately.

He was damn near perfection, and you paled in comparison. Your eyes shot the shower ground, watching as water streamed up the sides like waves on the ocean. Someone like him could never like someone like you. He was strong and charming and handsome. You couldn’t even make it down a hallway without falling.

You sighed, crushed that the man you’d fallen in love with would never love you back. Sullenly, you stepped forward to reach for the shampoo. You lost balance, your feet slipping out from under you. In fear, you reached out for anything, twisting and turning your body to stop the fall. Instead, all you’d managed to do was change your position, causing your shoulder to take the brunt of it.

You heard a sickening pop, your heart frozen in fear and your body frozen in pain. A painful whimper bubbled up from your chest, echoing around the small bathroom. You couldn’t move, too afraid that the sharp, stabbing pain would worsen in intensity if you did. Tears pricked your eyes.

Mentally, you were scolding yourself. You’d gotten hurt worse than this on missions, the pain wasn’t so bad if you didn’t think about it. You tried like hell to focus on anything else, your lips stuck between your teeth.

“(Y/N)?” A voice called, tentatively.

You knew that sweet voice with all that Southern charm. It was McCree. You wanted to call out, instead, only a cry of pain was released. Your vision was swimming, whether with the steady stream of water still beating down on your soaked form or the oncoming tears, you weren’t entirely sure.

McCree hadn’t waited a second longer, the door flying open as his wide, alert eyes scanned the room. He noticed you in the tub, mouth open in wordless cries as you couldn’t seem to move.

“Darlin’?” He questioned, fully aware of your state of undress, but keeping his eyes on yours to protect your modesty.

“M-Mc-” you couldn’t speak, pain skittering down your spine.

You knew he could see your whole body, and it nearly caused you to breakdown right there. You wanted to run away from his eyes, even though they were locked with yours. He would think you looked disgusting, he wouldn’t even want you to be in his room anymore.

As soon as he saw the first tear roll down your cheek, McCree rushed over. He had a towel thrown over one forearm, the other reaching out to shut off the steamy water.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, wrapping the towel around you while still managing to look into your eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ to worry about, sugar.”

You couldn’t hold yourself together anymore. You fell into his shoulder, tears falling by the dozen. You’d forgotten the pain in your shoulder, the pain of embarrassment replacing it. McCree just held you, fingers running soothingly along your hair as he shushed you.

You kept that position for nearly 15 minutes before you began to calm down.

You must look like such a mess, you thought bitterly, red eyes downcast.

“Now, you goin’ to tell me what’s the matter?” He inquired, his lips dangerously close to your forehead.

His heart ached seeing you like this and all he really wanted to do was kiss your forehead and assure you it was all going to be okay.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He wasn’t having any of it. He pressed two fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“(Y/N)?” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

You sighed, dropping back into his embrace. As soon as his arms wrapped around you, you melted into him. It didn’t take long for the pain and mental exhaustion to catch up to you. Before you knew it, you’d drifted off.

Jesse noticed your change in breathing. It wasn’t until he lifted you into his arms that his suspicions were confirmed. You were asleep.

His lips lifted into a soft smile as he carried you towards the bed. He placed you down gently, standing above your form. His heart sped up, and, unable to help himself, he placed a feather of a kiss on your forehead.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave you like this, so he sat up beside you. Your form molded around his, as he positioned himself to be more comfortable. He couldn’t keep a smile off his face as you unconsciously cuddled into him.

“Goodnight, darlin’,” he whispered, silently promising you that he’d solve whatever had you so sad, after visiting the doc about the pain, of course.

With your sleeping figure curled up against him, Jesse McCree fell into the most peaceful sleep he’d had in years.

Soldier: 76:

Your stubbornness on the battlefield was one of your greatest assets. Off the battlefield, however, was a different story. It often lead to fights with Jack about your health as well as your attitude.

You didn’t know if it was a superiority complex or what, but Soldier: 76 was constantly in your business. Although, you didn’t seem to mind most days, seeing as you’d been head over heels for him for as long as you care to remember.

Today, however, was not a day where you found Jack’s concern endearing. You had shaken him off after the mission long enough to sulk back to your bedroom. Even though you slammed the door and locked it, he still followed you in. You’d simply rolled your eyes, proclaimed you were taking a shower, and smiled smugly as you ended the discussion.

You’d been wrong.

As the steady stream of the shower rolled down your back, steam drifting up over the curtains, Jack grumbled on the other side of the door. You’d long since tuned him out, inspecting the new injuries you’d sustained instead. Most were just little cuts and bruises, nothing that a little R & R couldn’t take care of. One, however, was particularly concerning.

You’d been hit by some stray shrapnel that’d managed to lodge itself between your ribs. The skin around the metal was bruised and bloody. Though you weren’t sure how deep the shrapnel was, it’s length was startling. Some illogical part of you convinced yourself that if you removed the shrapnel, you’d be able to stitch it up and be good as new without bothering the already-busy Angela.

Jack’s voice offered comfort as you pulled sharply at the piece of metal. It budged, sliding swiftly through the flesh. Your vision swam at the sight of how big the metal was and you couldn’t quite seem to keep your balance. You sucked in a breath, panicking when it just felt like little bubbles of air.

Unable to stand, you fell to your knees, finally noticing the shower floor. It was covered in your warm blood, the copious amounts of water not able to wash it away.

Jack must’ve heard your knees slam against the ground because he was before you in seconds, eyes full of worry. Your heart was pounding against your chest, arms scrambling to cover yourself. Even with all the commotion in your mind over the amount of blood and the pain, insecurity reigned supreme.

Tears pricked your eyes in embarrassment. You were bare before him. He must think you to be absolutely horrid looking. Not to mention, he probably thinks you’re awfully weak.

“I’m fine, Jack, just go please.” You managed to whisper, backing away from Jack’s hands.

“You’re not fine,” he said, stopping his movements when he saw you flinch. “Jesus, you need to see Mercy.”

“Please,” you whimpered.

You must look pathetic. There was no chance Jack would ever feel the way you felt about him now.

“I’m not going to leave you,” he stated.

You swallowed, eyes pleading. The pain was getting to you, your head was beginning to feel lighter.

“You need Angela, now.” He warned, offering a hand to you.

You looked at it with trepidation, though your lids were growing heavy. Your resistance was fading as you teetered forward, Jack’s arms catching you without hesitation.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he soothed, throwing a towel over your body to protect your modesty.

He was sprinting towards the med bay, not particularly considered for anything else except you in this moment.

“I love you, Jack,” you whispered, sure it’d be the last thing you’d ever say.

At least this way you wouldn’t have to deal with rejection. Jack’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his grip tightening.

“Listen to me, sweetheart,” he began, voice gentle, “I need you to wake up so I can tell you I love you for the rest of my life.”

#soldier 76 x reader #soldier 76 imagine #jack morrison x reader #mccree x reader #jesse mccree x reader #jack morrison imagine #jesse mccree imagine #mccree imagine #overwatch imagine #these titles are always going to be cheesy #im just a cheesy person #like a cheese doodle

[georgiabread]

falling for you ; phan | chapter thirty four

Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.

Tags ; highschool!phan, teenage!phan, plantboy!phil, spaceboy!dan, angel!dan, phan, phan au, phan fluff, phan angst, chaptered

TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.

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"Crash and burn is all I know, I think that's why I made you go. Those three words, you were my first, I can't help thinking—"

dan ;

"You're not Dan."

After that, the alley was overrun by an unnerving stillness, coating the jagged brickwork and rooting shoes into the ground. Rain pattered softly from swelling clouds, soaking into clothes and skin. It was all that could be heard, apart from the memory of Phil's shattered words as they lingered in Dan's ears and mind. They confused him at first, before Dan understood that Phil no longer saw before him the best friend he'd come to know and love. All he saw was a monster seized from a twisted nightmare.

Terror surged behind Phil's eyes, riddled his pallid skin. He kept glancing at Dan, eyes darting over his face, arms, wings, everywhere. Watching him. Afraid that he would strike him or hurt him or do something far worse than what his bullies had ever done. Dan felt he could burst into tears at any moment, seeing Phil in such a state.

He had to say something. Dan couldn't continue to stare at him forever, or they'd get nowhere. He closed his eyes for a moment, fingers trembling against the concrete, and filled his lungs with a deep breath of air. If he was going to calm Phil down, he needed to be calm himself. Dan opened his eyes, finding Phil still pushing up on wall. "Phil, listen to me," he said gently, relieved when his voice didn't shake. Phil didn't reply, chest heaving fitfully. Dan sighed and stared into his eyes, hoping to convey trust. "I know you're frightened," he continued. "Because...yes, I – I have wings. But I'm going to explain everything, if you'll let me."

Phil shook his head furiously, feet slipping on the ground. "N-No, I...I don't know who or what you are, ju-just please don't hurt me," he pleaded, sounding choked up.

"Phil, I'm not going to hurt you," Dan said slowly, heart falling to pieces. "I will never, ever hurt you. I just need you to trust me."

Dan noticed a shift in Phil's expression, a look of uncertainty, flashing across his face if only for a second. He was getting somewhere. He hoped. He just had to try harder. Dan gently crossed his legs on the ground, trying to relax, his wings coming to encircle his torso. "Phil, look into my eyes," he urged, waiting until Phil did so hesitantly. "You know me. I'm Dan Howell. We just graduated from Faraday High together. We were together. I work at The Watering Can with you and Dodie. I was with you when you came out to your mum. We – we had a fight at...Connor's party, remember?"

"I don't..." Phil sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. "I saw a newspaper headline. It said – it said you were...dead. Something like investigations had opened again, I don't know."

Colour drained from Dan's face, and suddenly he could hear nothing but the heavy beat of his own heart. Something like this was bound to happen. Why had he been so fucking stupid? "Phil, I..." he trailed off, lost for words. "It's hard to explain. If we could just get out of here, out of the rain, I'll tell you everything."

"But...but you have w-wings." Phil's eyes rested on the dark feathers brushing against Dan's arms and jeans. "That's not possible."

"It is, Phil," Dan sighed. "But I swear to god there's an explanation. It'll be hard for you to understand, but you deserve the truth and–"

"How can I even trust you?" Phil spat suddenly, doubt and frustration crowding his face. "You could be a...a demon, or maybe I'm just dreaming right now."

Dan stared helplessly at him. "Phil, you're not–"

"No. No, just shut up. The real Dan wouldn't want anything to do with me. Not now, after cutting me off for more than a week. He'd never be here. He doesn't love me anymore." Phil shoved himself to his feet as he spoke, throwing the words at Dan like daggers. They were cruel and disbelieving, but hesitation still wavered behind his eyes.

Dan swallowed deeply. He doesn't love me anymore. What kind of person was he, to make his best friend believe such a thing? "Phil, wait. Listen to me," he insisted, joining Phil on his feet. He held out his arms, silently begging the boy to stop. "He does love you. He loves you more than you could ever imagine. He loves you so much he – he risked everything to be with you."

Phil frowned, yet still obviously affected by the words. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"I..." Dan sighed, ducking his head a little. "I mean I'm a guardian angel."

"Oh, shut the hell up," Phil snapped immediately. "You can't...they don't exist."

"Then what are these massive things on my back?" Dan gestured to his wings, spreading them out a little, the gust sending dust particles flying.

Phil shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know anything," he replied sullenly.

"I can help you understand," Dan said, taking a step forward. Phil took a step back.

"No, I don't need you to help me," he retorted, once regarding Dan with fear. "Just...just don't come near me."

Dan knew Phil only said these things because he was confused, and scared – and it wasn't everyday your boyfriend of nearly five months grew wings on his back. But nevertheless they were like a punch to the gut, tears springing up in the corners of his eyes. And suddenly Phil was walking away, gradually taking steps backward in the direction of the street. Dan blinked, and hurried forward to reach him. "Phil, don't go–" he begged, wings unknowingly flaring behind him.

Flinching at the action, Phil stumbled back and held out his hands defensively. "No, get away from me. I don't want anything to do with you," he cried, the pace of his breathing starting to increase. "You're not Dan, you're not real, this whole...whole thing doesn't exist. Please just leave me alone."

"Phil, don't do this–" Dan implored, vision blurring. "I'm sorry. Don't leave."

Phil took another step back. "Dan...don't come after me again," he whispered.

The rain grew colder and heavier, globs splashing in Dan's hair as he stood powerless, watching the boy he'd fallen in love with turn his back on him. He tried to breathe, lungs hauling in air, and soon he was gasping as sobs caught in his throat and tears slipped down his cheeks. And then Phil was gone.

Dan was too afraid to look down, sure if he did he would see his heart lying in tatters in a murky puddle. But he did, eyes falling to the place where Phil had lain just before, bloody and beaten. And that's when he caught a glimpse of something blue, and when his vision focused, a cry ripped coarse and pained through his throat. A bottle of Advil had been left behind.

This was all his fault.

*

He ended up in the park as evening trundled over to shroud the sun. As expected, no one was there. The swings dangled from their frame, deserted, and the equipment was still coated with incomprehensible graffiti. It was dark as well, an eerie gloom settling over the playground as tree limbs sagged above it. The only light was supplied from the streetlamp, all the way back on the corner. But Dan found a strange calmness in the disturbing atmosphere.

His eyes roamed over the swing-set where he once spoke with the Keeper, the grassy patch where he and Phil had sat and watched the stars and...

This park held so much meaning for him.

Dan sighed softly, as if afraid to disrupt the silence. His wings whispered through the air as he brought them down against his back, the feathers lapping at his jumper. He took to the equipment this time, clambering up the bright red slide now greying in the murk and swinging his legs over the bar. The colourful barriers that lined the platform met his waist; Dan rested his hands on top and his teeth pulled at his bottom lip.

He ended up throwing the Advil pills away. Simply thinking about that blue bottle made his chest tighten, his throat close over. That bottle may have been emptied today. If Finn and his friends hadn't found Phil first, death would've been quick to pounce. And Dan, despite how much he loathed it, knew he was the one to blame.

Phil might have killed himself today. His best friend, gone in an instant. Faster than Dan, perhaps. Phil could've been lying lifeless, limbs stiff, in that alley or somewhere else, and Dan would know nothing, still perched upon his apartment's roof. Tears clouded his vision and Dan glanced down, scrunching up his face as he squeezed his eyes shut. He would not cry, he would not cry, he couldn't fucking cry.

A tear trickled out anyway, splattering over the barrier below him. Dan sniffed heavily and wiped his eyes before glancing up. His breath quaked when he sucked it in. Before it felt as though he was standing on the precipice of a cliff, watching pebbles crumble to a base too far down to see. But now he was plummeting, air flying from his lungs, reaching out to grab hold of something that didn't exist, ready to crash into hard earth at any moment. Plunging. Sinking.

Falling.

He'd destroyed everything. Trampled over the tenderness he and Phil shared, silenced their laughter, crushed I love you's in his fists, tore their fingers apart. He'd tried so hard to lift Phil up and away from the cliff, only to topple over himself. So now it wasn't just himself falling – it was both of them.

Dan sank his teeth into his lip again, letting pain blossom in the sensitive spot, desperately stifling a sob. Soon enough something wet and metallic touched his tongue and Dan brought a hand to wipe roughly at the blood on his mouth. Never before had he loathed his existence so dreadfully.

You're not Dan.

The words banged around in Dan's mind like loose marbles. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't throw them out. They were sharp and biting, reminding him again and again that he had done this. He didn't want to be reminded.

You were no better than Finn, you asshole.

"Fuck," Dan muttered, shoving his fringe out of his eyes and turning towards a mini set of blue stairs. He couldn't stay here. He was standing on children's play equipment, for God's sake. The lights from peaceful homes glowed over fences, peaked through quivering leaves, but they did little to chase the shadows from Dan's heart.

You're a monster.

Feet rattling the steps against the platform. Landing heavily in the bark. Ducking his head, burying his fists in his armpits. Dan shook his head a little, as if to dispel the dark thoughts and memories slowly creeping in unannounced. A part of him wondered where Phil was right now. At home? Still out there somewhere? What if...Dan stopped in his tracks. Dread rose in his throat like lava in an active volcano. What if Phil had found another way to...to...?

His lungs filled unsteadily and deflated. Why had he bothered to protect Phil when he wasn't there to save him from death itself? Dan sniffed and looked around, thinking hard, wondering if Phil would've still gone to the forest hideaway. God, he may have wanted to kill himself there. Helplessness and terror enclosed Dan's heart, forcing the organ to thump heavily, trying to break free.

How can you live with yourself?

Dan moved forward, sliding his phone out of his pocket and switching it on. The blinding white light of the screen pierced him, and he blinked a few times to adjust his eyes. He glanced at the clock. It was past 5pm. Dan unlocked the phone and found Phil's contact, pressing hurriedly on the call button and holding the device to his ear.

He listened to the ring. It trailed on forever. Phil didn't pick up. "Shit," Dan swore under his breath, tucking his phone away again. He'd just have to find the boy on his own.

What was he thinking, coming here instead of going after Phil? His best friend could be anywhere, done anything by now. And all Dan had done was mope around in an old park feeling sorry for himself. Dan let out a trembling breath. Things may have gotten worse in the past half an hour or so he was here.

Go to hell, you piece of shit.

Dan was suddenly overcome by an awful urge to laugh. Well, I'm going there anyway, he thought. And then, as quickly as it had come, the emotionless humour dissipated and all he wanted was to reach Phil. He swallowed and hurried forward, shoes crunching against the bark.

There was a sudden pull on his stomach. Dan stopped, frowning at the strange sensation. Then he blinked, and suddenly he wasn't staring at the bark anymore.

What happened next was something from a nightmare.

The ground twisted, swirling into blurred colours, folding and curving, making him want to vomit. Brown hues transformed into black and grey and smudges of yellow. Dan's breathing quickened, feet rooted on the spot as the floor distorted out of shape around him. He looked up, watching the playground and the trees and the houses – his whole world – rolling and coiling and curling, colours colliding, reality bending through the night. Dan stared at it all with wide eyes and a jumping heart, wind screaming in his ears, terrified, confused, frozen.

He watched the pathway before him twist into a whirlpool shape. And then he began to move. His feet kicked up from the ground and he ran, sprinting towards his only exit, willing himself to escape, get out, reach Phil. The world caved in around him. The sky collapsed above him, the trees intertwined with one another beside him, the ground trembled and cracked beneath him. He had no idea what was happening, and yet, at the same time, he knew.

He knew.

A sob tore through his throat as he ran. No. No no no no. Please god, no. Dan gasped for air, reaching a hand out towards his dissolving reality. "NO!" he cried, the sound prolonged and breaking and ripping past his lips.

His foot caught on something heavy. He couldn't stop himself from stumbling, falling, landing with a cruel thud on the hard ground. Dan squeezed his eyes shut, fingers enclosing on sprouts of dead grass. And he laid there, willing the noise and the turmoil and the spinning to stop.

And it did.

Dan could hear nothing but his own breaths, chest heaving up and down against damp soil. He still had his eyes closed. Biting wind, colder than any air he'd felt on earth, hissed over his exposed skin, growing goosebumps. He kept breathing, in and out, in and out. Then he moved, sliding his legs under him and propping himself up on his arms. His eyes glanced over the ground.

Dan's fingers were pressing into moist, black soil, from which dry grass painted a sickly yellow sprouted. Pale mist slithered through the towering stems and curled around his limbs.

Cold fingers ghosted over his shoulder.

Dan snapped his eyes shut again, cruel tears stinging his eyes. He knew. He fucking knew, and goddamn it hurt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I know," the Keeper replied softly.

The meadow was blanketed in a thin layer of cold silence, only peeled back by the whispering wind and the sound of both their breaths. The mist seemed to waver and fade the longer Dan crouched there in the stiff grass. He didn't want to stand up.

"Why am I here?" he asked instead, refusing to look up. His voice sounded strangled.

A gentle sigh left the Keeper's lips. "You know the answer to that. But I'll tell you anyway," he murmured. "You broke the bond."

Dan's bottom lip quivered. He composed himself for a moment before gradually rising to his feet, wings stretching and eyes lifting as well to stare out at the fields of grass titling in the wind. The copious, sinister forest still surrounded the meadow, trapping him. He never thought he'd be back here again. Dan blinked, memories flashing across his eyelids like a moving picture from the 30s. The crash, wreckage piercing his skin, waking up in the meadow, the old chapel, running blindly from the truth, sealing his fate with a simple black-and-white decision. He drew a deep breath, and miraculously it didn't tremble. "So what's going to happen to me?" he asked softly, motionless.

"You'll be sent back to earth soon enough," the Keeper responded almost sadly, still standing behind him. "And then...when you die again..."

"I'll go to hell," Dan finished, turning around on the last syllable. He met the Keeper's pitch black eyes, eyes that used to hold nothing but cool indifference and spite. But now they were soft and a little glossed over, regarding Dan with the sort of comforting look Phil used to give him.

The Keeper's eyes fell to the ground. "That's right."

They stood in silence for a moment, Dan playing awkwardly with his thumbs as the Keeper took deep breaths. Then the coat-clad man or ghost or whatever glanced up, avoiding eye contact and blinking a few times as he threw his arms into the air. "You know, I really had a lot of faith in you, Dan," the Keeper said with a morose shrug. "I thought...I thought you'd get through this easy, but..."

"Keeper..." Dan interrupted helplessly.

But the Keeper only shook his head. "I wanted you to go to heaven, you know? You deserved it," he said. "Despite everything, you...you're a good person. And now you're going to hell for it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"But it's not, though. I can't cheat the system. I screwed up horribly," Dan sighed. "And now I have to pay for it."

"At least you'll be able to spend more time with Phil before you go," the Keeper muttered bitterly.

Dan frowned, confused by the Keeper's tone. He decided to overlook it. "Yeah, well...I don't, actually. He won't want to see me ever again." Dan glanced down and dug his heel into the dirt, creating small scuff marks. He sniffled. "He thinks I'm a demon now. Funny when I'm...when I was the exact o-opposite."

When Dan's voice broke and tears distorted his vision, the Keeper stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Dan was grateful for it, curling his fists against the guy's chest, almost collapsing into it, as the Keeper secured his arms tightly around him. Dan's cheeks grew wet and his hair was tousled and his nose heavy with snot; he'd now created a small dark patch on the Keeper's coat, but the Keeper didn't seem to mind.

"He still loves you, Dan," the Keeper whispered into his hair. "I hope you know that. He's so fucking in love you, and I know he'll come back. If he doesn't, then you make him. You can't lose him. Because I – you can't lose him."

Dan sucked on his lip and shook his head quietly. "But I'm scared I already have," he whimpered, remembering the Advil pills and the terror in Phil's eyes.

"You haven't," the Keeper replied softly. "He's waiting for you. He always has been."

Dan gave the Keeper one grateful squeeze and stepped back, wiping his eyes. The Keeper's arms hesitated before falling away and he gave Dan an indistinguishable look that lingered, before sighing gently.

"So what happens now?" Dan asked.

The Keeper met his eyes, and the next words that left his mouth seemed to strain against a force holding them back. "Y-You need to turn around."

Dan's eyebrows came together, before he realized what the Keeper meant. He knew, once again. His wings came to brush against his arms almost comfortingly, and Dan relished in the feeling one last time. Then he whispered, "Okay," and slowly swiveled so his back was facing the Keeper.

Just before two hands came to rest on his back, against the grooves where his wings protruded from his skin, Dan swore he heard the Keeper murmur, "I'm sorry."

Then the hands fell away. Pain tore through his back at an incredible intensity, like flames blistering his skin, turning it black. It was hot and raw and agonizing, and black dots dappled the corners of his vision. Lightning bolts of pain arched across his back, snaking ferociously into his arms and legs, forcing a harsh, cracked yell from his lips. Dan squeezed his eyes shut, and at some point he was on his knees, tears leaking from under his eyelashes. He didn't recall falling over.

Ten seconds passed. The burning sensation stretched on, unbearable against his skin, inhumane and torturous. He blurted cries of anguish every few moments, nails digging into the soil. Everything seared, fire licking over his spine all the way to his fingertips. He couldn't handle it, he wanted to fall asleep, pass out and just make everything stop. He could feel his arms trembling violently as they struggled to hold him up.

Suddenly Dan was hit by another wave of excruciating pain, agony more powerful than anything he'd ever experienced, raging through his body like an inferno. He physically felt a wrenching in his back, skin splitting and tearing, but only for a few seconds before he slumped forward and the pain vanished in moments.

When he finally awoke, the first thing he recognized was splintered bark digging into his cheek. Dan grunted softly and cracked his eyes open, wincing immediately at the piercing ache that spread through his back.

He was in the park again, sprawled on the ground like a corpse in the dark of the night. Although, somehow, he'd managed to live through that white-hot agony.

Dan shifted in the dusty bark, grimacing again as the movement jolted the wound in his back. And then he froze. His back. His wings. The tearing in his skin. Dan's fingers trembled as he lifted them behind him, placing them softly against the skin. Flames burst to life at the contact, but he endured it.

Through his thin jumper, he could feel them. A pair of long, deep gashes, shredded at the edges. His fingers came away dripping in crimson blood. A low, horrifying feeling bubbled in the pit of his stomach.

His wings were gone.

No, correction. His wings had physically been wrenched from his body, like an axe from a tree.

Dan began sucking in short, sharp breaths. Loud panic surged into his throat and filled his ears, clouded his eyes. His hands fell to the ground and he struggled against the bark, trying to gain purchase and get up but the pain in his back was too strong.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't move. Night had fallen quickly and mercilessly. He was stuck here forever. Most of the lights from homes had shut off, leaving only dim streetlights in the distance. His lungs filled and collapsed as fast as his heartbeat thudded in his chest. He couldn't move. His wings were gone, his wings were gone...

No one was around to help him. No one would ever come to his aid. He had to lay there overnight.

Dan sniffled and swore quietly as two tears rolled down his cheeks. He crushed handfuls of bark in his fists. Then he raised his head and cried hysterically into the chilly night, "Why did you do this to me? I know you're listening, Keeper. Why did you fucking leave me here?"

He received no reply. Dan breathed heavily, head dropping to rest in his hands on the ground. And then he whimpered. He sobbed quietly into his fingers, at a complete loss of what to do. He was human now, properly human. He had a life to live before he ended up in the dreaded afterlife.

But what possibly could he do?

Suddenly the Keeper's words crept into his mind. He's waiting for you. He always has been.

Dan hesitated, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. And then he reached for his back pocket, thankful to feel the comforting outline of his phone. He pulled it out, unlocked it, fingers shaking as he called Phil.

The ringtone chimed shrilly, stretching out once, twice, three times, four.

And then a voice. "D-Dan? I'm sorry, I can't–"

"Phil," Dan breathed desperately. "Don't go. Don't hang up. Please don't hang up. Please stay, please. You need to listen to me."

"Dan–"

He could hear the fear lacing through Phil's words, but he didn't care. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I need you. You're the first person I thought to call, I..." Dan glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at the blood soaking through his jumper. "I'm at the park. I'm...hurt. I'm really hurt. I can't even fucking move. Please, I need you."

Phil hesitated. "Dan, I can't just...you...why are you hurt?"

"I can't explain, not now. I just need your help, please. I can barely sit up."

"Oh god. Okay. Um, you said you're at the park?"

Dan felt he could burst into tears at the worry now present in Phil's voice. "Y-Yeah. Please come."

"Alright. I will. I'm coming. I'll take the car. I'll be there in five minutes, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you. Thank you, I love you," he sighed, meaning every word. Phil was coming. Phil was coming. He'd be okay.

Phil paused. Dan listened to his best friend breathing softly through the phone speaker. And then he heard a deep breath before Phil replied shakily, "I love you too," and the line went dead.

#highschool!phan #teenager #plantboy!phil #spaceboy!dan #angel!dan #phan #phan au #phan fluff #phan angst #chaptered #dan and phil

[calavir-fr]

Coming Undone by Aaroniero

The village burned around Alfie. The ashes blew around his feet. He watched with undue satisfaction as the denizens fled from him. A wicked smile was crossing his face and his eyes were wide with anticipation. He felt freer than he ever had before. Who knew that Daymion was having all this fun without him? He took several steps forward through the bitter smoke and came across a singed coatl with one eye clenched shut. The Coatl pleaded but Alfie couldn’t understand his language nor did he care to. He flexed his paws and his claws dug into the thin dirt. He stopped and walked on past the coatl. The grin was gone and was replaced with a frown. “Just keep holding on,” Alfie whispered to himself. He wasn’t going to give up so easily even if his head was about to explode. The dark thoughts were more interesting than the good ones anyway. As he stalked out of the ruin that he had wrought, he came across a few villagers in the dirt. They had nothing left and Alfie didn’t care. He had nothing either except for a bag of grain and his scarf. It was dirty and charred though and the bag was half empty. He traveled for hours as the dull glow from the sun dimmed near dusk. A pillar of smoke rose in the distance behind him. He turned back to the path ahead as he came to an old, scorched tree. Atop one of the blackened branches sat a dirty little bird. The little bird looked at him and sang a bitter tune. It sounded like somebody screaming and it was like nothing Alfie had heard up until that point. It was distorted in a terrible way. It didn’t phase Alfie all that greatly but he shook the tree anyway. The bird fluttered away angrily but Alfie still didn’t mind. For weeks, Alfie burned and pillaged everything he came across. Every time he swung his tail or bite down on something, he would feel more and more tired. He soon began to move slowly outside of his havoc. At one point, he came across a heavily, and ornately decorated wildclaw and Centaur duo. The Wildclaw was a whelp and did not last a minute. The Centaur, however, was far more skilled. While fighting, Alfie had seen himself in the Centaur’s armor. He was battered and gaunt. His muscles were still there, but they looked like they were stretched across a wire frame. His eyes were sullen and sunken and were full of cold anger. His face wore nothing but a frown. The Centaur had at one time defeated the exhausted Alfie and held his spear to his chest. Alfie looked at it then to the centaur and smiled, “Do it. Kill me!” He yelled. The centaur shook his head at the skydancer’s response to defeat. He expected him to plead for his life or to cry or just to shut down and be silent. He huffed and threw the spear down and walked away. Regretfully for the Centaur, the spear was not so merciful when wielded by Alfie. That was the point that Alfie had been waiting for. He had begun to come undone now. There were no longer any limits on what he could do. Another side of Alfie resisted though. When he had seen his reflection, he was reminded of somebody. Somebody who he had known long ago. He knew that soon, even this feeling of suffocation would pass and he would be completely lost. He didn’t seem to mind that prospect, however. His reflection was strong and angry, but what he felt was far more fragile. Alfie sat down one day. He looked up to the horizon ruefully. “I thought I would feel better if I were free,” Alfie admitted quietly. What he wanted was not what he needed he felt. He pitied himself, though he knew he shouldn’t. He knew that he was who did this to himself but he couldn’t help but feel like this was Daymion’s fault. That skydancer had done nothing but make him taste sorrow his entire life. Even the sweetness of everything he and Daymion had done had not protected him from it. As Alfie waited, he saw Daymion duck from him. Had he still had patience and compassion, he would have pretended that he had not seen it, but he had and he was angry. He waited a few seconds for the thoughts to fester in Daymion’s mind and then ordered bitterly, “Get out here, Daymion.” Alfie watched as Daymion stood up and climbed over the rock. He looked different. Was he scared of him? His clothing had changed too. He looked ridiculous but had a similar attire feel to what he used to have. Now, he had just donned a cloak and covered himself with thorny brambles. They hurt, but the pain is better than nothing. It wasn’t what Alfie remembered. Daymion collected his words for a painfully long time and then spoke, “I’ve come to talk to you!” He seemed to have some anger hidden in there. If Alfie were to prod harder, maybe something interesting will happen. Alfie’s muscles tightened and he rose his own voice in a taunt. “So? Why should I care?” He hoped it would sting enough to get some sort of reaction out of Daymion. Daymion took a few steps closer. It wasn’t what he had expected, but it worked. “You need to stop, Alfie! You’ve changed so much! You’ve hurt people.” Daymion begged. Begging was not what Alfie wanted. He wanted anger and rage and he would soon get it. He had to give it to Daymion however, he would never have begged before. Alfie smiled and chuckled. It was truly amusing to him to listen to this. “At least you gained some backbone.” He offered sarcastically. Alfie hadn’t registered the next few words from Daymion through his surprise. The whip across the face was progress and he almost congratulated and praised him for it. “Good! Do that again!” He had wanted to say, but he stayed silent for what came next. He could feel the blood streaming down his face and he couldn’t open his stricken eye but he was happy. “You have to stop this now! You’re not like this! I know you’re better than all this!” Daymion ordered. Alfie was excited and angry. Now he was ordering him around. He was being the Hero. That would make Alfie the Villain. He was trying to hold himself together, but it wasn’t working. Simply being ordered around by Daymion seemed to infuriate Alfie. Here Daymion was, acting righteous even after everything he had done too. It was maddening. He lunged at Daymion and bellowed into his face. “This is what your hate turned me into! Look what you’ve done to me!” He could feel the heat radiating from his chest and it made him glow a brilliant orange. The Light faded away leaving Alfie burnt out. He backed away sullenly and admitted, “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice reduced to a whisper as he continued tiredly, “I’m so tired, Daymion.” Had he almost just killed the one person in the world he cared for? Daymion just watched confused. Alfie felt ancient and exhausted. His joints ached and his skin itched. His head felt lighter than a feather His eyes and nose burned and his mouth was dry. His feathers were cracked and dirty. They were burned badly as well. He was in a deplorable state. He felt terrible. He felt worse than he probably ever had. He didn’t feel like he was getting any better though. All those things he had done… ““What have I done, Daymion?” He asked dreadfully. “I’m sorry.” He apologized. Daymion took a tentative breath and then asked softly, “W-what now?” Alfie watched the horizon without seeing it. A tear streaked down his face. He didn’t think that he could ever atone for what he did. Daymion certainly couldn’t forgive him, right? Maybe, he could be the hero again, but maybe, just maybe, Daymion didn’t have to be the villain. He had choked up and couldn’t breathe, but he eventually managed to speak. He was coming undone again but in a different way. “I don’t know.” He finally said with a small sob.

#stories

[banjoker]

Anti-Hero and Villain - Coming Undone

The village burned around Alfie.  The ashes blew around his feet.  He watched with undue satisfaction as the denizens fled from him.  A wicked smile was crossing his face and his eyes were wide with anticipation.  He felt freer than he ever had before.  Who knew that Daymion was having all this fun without him?  He took several steps forward through the bitter smoke and came across a singed coatl with one eye clenched shut.

 The Coatl pleaded but Alfie couldn’t understand his language nor did he care to.  He flexed his paws and his claws dug into the thin dirt.  He stopped and walked on past the coatl.  The grin was gone and was replaced with a frown.  “Just keep holding on.”  Alfie whispered to himself.  He wasn’t going to give up so easily even if his head was about to explode.  The dark thoughts were more interesting than the good ones anyway.

 As he stalked out of the ruin that he had wrought, he came across a few villagers in the dirt.  They had nothing left and Alfie didn’t care.  He had nothing either except for a bag of grain and his scarf.  It was dirty and charred though and the bag was half empty.  He traveled for hours as the dull glow from the sun dimmed near dusk.  A pillar of smoke rose in the distance behind him.  He turned back to the path ahead as he came to an old, scorched tree.  Atop one of the blackened branches sat a dirty little bird.

 The little bird looked at him and sang a bitter tune.  It sounded like somebody screaming and it was like nothing Alfie had heard up until that point.  It was distorted in a terrible way.  It didn’t phase Alfie all that greatly but he shook the tree anyway.  The bird fluttered away angrily but Alfie still didn’t mind.

 For weeks, Alfie burned and pillaged everything he came across.  Every time he swung his tail or bite down on something, he would feel more and more tired.  He soon began to move slowly outside of his havoc.  At one point, he came across a heavily, and ornately decorated wildclaw and Centaur duo.  The Wildclaw was a whelp and did not last a minute.  The Centaur, however, was far more skilled than the wildclaw.  While fighting, Alfie had seen himself in the Centaur’s armor.  He was battered and gaunt.  His muscles were still there, but they looked like they were stretched across a wire frame.  His eyes were sullen and sunken and were full of cold anger.  His face wore nothing but a frown.

 The Centaur had at one time defeated the exhausted Alfie and held his spear to his chest.  Alfie looked at it then to the centaur and smiled, “Do it.  Kill me!”  He yelled.  The centaur shook his head at the skydancer’s response to defeat.  He expected him to plead for his life or to cry or just to shut down and be silent.  He huffed and threw the spear down and walked away.  Regretfully for the Centaur, the spear was not so merciful when wielded by Alfie.  That was the point that Alfie had been waiting for.  He had begun to come undone now.  There were no longer any limits on what he could do.

 Another side of Alfie resisted though.  When he had seen his reflection, he was reminded of somebody.  Somebody who he had known long ago.  He knew that soon, even this feeling of suffocation would pass and he would be completely lost.  He didn’t seem to mind that prospect, however.  His reflection was strong and angry, but what he felt was far more fragile.

 Alfie sat down one day.  He looked up to the horizon ruefully.  “I thought I would feel better if I were free,”  Alfie admitted quietly.  What he wanted was not what he needed he felt.  He pitied himself, though he knew he shouldn’t.  He knew that he was who did this to himself but he couldn’t help but feel like this was Daymion’s fault.  That skydancer had done nothing but make him taste sorrow his entire life.  Even the sweetness of everything he and Daymion had done had not protected him from it.

 As Alfie waited, he saw Daymion duck from him.  Had he still had patience and compassion, he would have pretended that he had not seen it, but he had and he was angry.  He waited a few seconds for the thoughts to fester in Daymion’s mind and then ordered bitterly, “Get out here, Daymion.”

 Alfie watched as Daymion stood up and climbed over the rock.  He looked different.  He was scared of him?  His clothing had changed too.  He looked ridiculous but had a similar attire feel to what he used to have.  Now, he had just donned a cloak and covered himself with thorny brambles.  They hurt, but pain is better than nothing.  It wasn’t what Alfie remembered.

 Daymion collected his words for a painfully long time and then spoke, “I’ve come to talk to you!”  He seemed to have some anger hidden in there.  If Alfie were to prod harder, maybe something interesting will happen.

 Alfie’s muscles tightened and he rose his own voice in a taunt. “So?  Why should I care?”  He hoped it would sting enough to get some sort of reaction out of Daymion.  Daymion took a few steps closer.  It wasn’t what he had expected, but it worked.

 “You need to stop, Alfie!  You’ve changed so much!  You’ve hurt people.”  Daymion begged.  Begging was not what Alfie wanted.  He wanted anger and rage and he would soon get it.  He had to give it to Daymion however, he would never have begged before.

 Alfie smiled and chuckled.  It was truly amusing to him to listen to this.  “At least you gained some backbone.”  He offered sarcastically.

 Alfie hadn’t registered the next few words from Daymion through his surprise.  The whip across the face was progress and he almost congratulated and praised him for it.  “Good!  Do that again!”  He had wanted to say, but he stayed silent for what came next.  He could feel the blood streaming down his face and he couldn’t open his stricken eye but he was happy.

 “You have to stop this now!  You’re not like this!  I know you’re better than all this!”  Daymion ordered.  Alfie was excited and angry.  Now he was ordering him around.  He was being the Hero.  That would make Alfie the Villain.  He was trying to hold himself together, but it wasn’t working.

 Simply being ordered around by Daymion seemed to infuriate Alfie.  Here Daymion was, acting righteous even after everything he had done too.  It was maddening.  He lunged at Daymion and bellowed into his face.  “This is what your hate turned me into!  Look what you’ve done to me!”  He could feel the heat radiating from his chest and it made him glow a brilliant orange.

 The Light faded away leaving Alfie burnt out.  He backed away sullenly and admitted, “I don’t want to hurt you.”  His voice reduced to a whisper as he continued tiredly, “I’m so tired, Daymion.”  Had he almost just killed the one person in the world he cared for?  Daymion just watched confused.

 Alfie felt ancient and exhausted.  His joints ached and his skin itched.  His head felt lighter than a feather  His eyes and nose burned and his mouth was dry.  His feathers were cracked and dirty.  They were burned badly as well.  He was in a deplorable state.  He felt terrible.  He felt worse than he probably ever had.  He didn’t feel like he was getting any better though.  All those things he had done…  ““What have I done, Daymion?”  He asked dreadfully.  “I’m sorry.”  He apologized.

 Daymion took a tentative breath and then asked softly, “W-what now?”  Alfie watched the horizon without seeing it.  A tear streaked down his face.  He didn’t think that he could ever atone for what he did.  Daymion certainly couldn’t forgive him, right?

 Maybe, he could be the hero again, but maybe, just maybe, Daymion didn’t have to be the villain.  He had choked up and couldn’t breathe, but he eventually managed to speak.  He was coming undone again but in a different way.  “I don’t know.”  He finally said with a small sob.

#flight rising #dragon