i wrote that!

Imagine being Dean’s daughter and announcing to him that you are dating Jack.

“Him?” Dean’s rough voice broke the heavy silence that had set between the two of you “You are dating him?” he all-but-growled as he stared deeply in your eyes.

“Well, I- I wouldn’t say exactly dating yet, he’s not that familiar with the term and I’m-”

“Yet?!” Dean exclaimed, his voice coming slightly high-pitched “Yet? You mean this will keep going on?!”

“Well, yes dad of course it is!” you huffed, rolling your eyes “That’s why I am telling you, because this is actually important to me. And maybe Jack doesn’t quite understand the terms yet but I know that his feelings are real, that all of this between him and I is real as well.”

“Which again brings me back to my original question: Him?!” he looked at you with so much shock it made you groan and cross your arms over your chest.

“Will you try to be a little less surprised, please? I thought you’d be a little less shocked at your daughter-”

“Dating the son of Lucifer? Oh yeah!” he cut you off full of sarcasm and a hint of angst “Why the hell would I ever mind that (Y/n)?!”

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Kaneki’s Accident Date

I got a little obsessed with finding out the exact date Kaneki went for a date with Rize and I think I have it. Special thanks to @coromoor and @inthesweetmadness for being just as obsessive over this (we originally freaked at the idea of Furuta killing Rize on her birthday)

First the photo from the tkg movie’s twitter. I consider the movie to be an accurate source given how dedicated the director was and all the other details included.

Zooming in we determined his date was on the 23rd so definitely not her birthday. The next clue is that Kaneki mentions he was in the hospital for weeks. 

And we know for certain he was released on October 21 because of Hide’s congratulatory text. That erases any last chance of the accident being October 8th because Kaneki mentions weeks up to his release and the 8th would make it just shy of 2 weeks.

The timeline places the accident between late June/Early July but I wasn’t sure how they got there, but I trusted the meticulous analysis of @randomthoughtpatterns and @smthold when making the timeline. (Thank you for all that work)

I originally zoomed in again on the live action calendar vainly hoping for a 06 or 07  月 on top, but then I noticed there were only 30 days on his sheet. That makes it to be either June or August. At this point I checked the kanji beside the dates and quickly realized his date was Saturday the 23rd.

I quickly plugged in June 2012 on my phone’s calendar and yup you guessed it

The dates match.

So I think it’s now pretty safe to say his date was Saturday the 23rd of June, 2012.

MC is feeling upset


  • Yoosung has his share of difficult days.
  • Today was exceptionally tiring at the clinic.
  • He got home and saw the lights on.
  • He was so excited to see you and have dinner.
  • When he opened the door and was greeted to a gloomy atmosphere.
  • There was no dinner. There was no you.
  • Even when either of you were tired, the first one home made dinner.
  • “MC? Are you here?”
  • He was greeted by silence.
  • He began to call you.
  • Your phone was ringing from the bedroom.
  • He looked in to find you crying into a pillow.
  • “MC? MC? What’s wrong?”
  • Not really knowing yourself, you just continued to cry.
  • Yoosung pulled you into his arms and held you tight, shushing you.
  • Every time you sniffled, he pulled you tighter and stroked your hair.
  • “I’m here, honey. I’m right here.”
  • Once you calmed down, he ordered some food and made you eat.
  • He took the next day off with you and spent the whole day just giving you so much attention, trying to make you feel better.


  • Zen only knows one thing and that’s to make sure his babe is happy.
  • When he saw you come to his set, he was more than thrilled!
  • Wait– Are you? Crying?
  • No, Zen wasn’t having it.
  • He took the rest of the day off to spend it with you.
  • He took you out for lunch and took you home.
  • He pulled you to his chest and softly hummed.
  • The vibrato in his voice lulled you to sleep.
  • When you woke up, he had made you breakfast.
  • And before he left to work, he let you know that “Babe, you are strong. You are amazing. Don’t forget that. And if you ever do, I’ll be here to remind you.” 


  • You were stuck between a rock and a hard place.
  • How could you tell off someone who is offering you help you need.
  • But how could you also deal with someone so toxic that you cry every night.
  • Every time Jaehee saw you, her heart broke.
  • Dark circles, thinning out, life is being sucked out of your soul.
  • One day you just couldn’t do it anymore and just broke down in front of her.
  • She started to cry with you and all she could do was pull you into a hug.
  • You were inconsolable. 
  • She hushed you and held you in her arms until you calmed down.
  • You told her how much you were hurting and she just felt awful she couldn’t do anything.
  • All she could do was offer an ear and her sincere hope of thing to be better.
  • “MC, I know it’s hard, but I can only promise that things can get better. I know you. I know it will get better. You will make it better.”


  • Jumin already has a tough time showing his emotions in a “normal” way.
  • But when he sees you having a tough time, he still tries very hard.
  • He wants to know if there is anything he can do to make it better?
  • Will legal action help? No.
  • Can he offer financial support? You don’t want it.
  • Can he offer emotional support? Yea.
  • He offers you wine, and caresses your head until you calm down.
  • He hums in a low soothing tone to sooth your hiccups.
  • The most endearing thing he does is place Elizabeth on you.


  • It’s been a few days since he last saw you.
  • You both have been busy with work.
  • He called you a few times today but you hadn’t responded.
  • He figured you might be down so he decided to visit you.
  • He prepared himself for an upset MC but not to this caliber.
  • You didn’t even answer the door. He had to use the spare key.
  • He found you crumpled over the couch quietly sobbing.
  • His heart tore in two.
  • “MC, it’s okay!”
  • You could only choke on your words as you struggle to say, “It’s… hard… so hard…”
  • Saeyoung’s arms snaked around your shoulders and pulled you to him.
  • He pulled your head to the crook of his neck.
  • “I know you. You’re going to be just fine.”
  • You two probably stayed that way for hours.
  • When you finally calmed down, Saeyoung even suggested, “If you get fed up at any point, let’s just go travel the world. Even the skies won’t stop us cause we still need to go to the space station.”

anonymous asked:

you think the secret session is a good idea cause you have a chance to go while people who live in another countries know for sure they don't

let me just add all the other anons you sent:

I shouldn’t give these the time of day because you’re on anon but here I go:

I have been a fan for 10 years or so and I’ve run a tumblr blog for 6 years and Taylor followed me two years ago. I have never been invited to anything and yeah there are times it bothers me and I wonder why I’m not good enough to be invited to things. (Which is dumb because Taylor doesn’t look it that way but that’s another rant for another time) I’ve felt jealously. I felt sad and felt like Taylor would never know me and I should give up. I’ve ben annoyed at people who got invited because I didn’t. 

Then this year she started noticing people again after the break and I felt jealousy again. And I felt sad again. And on the first Secret Sessions in London I was so sad because I told myself I would never meet her. On the second Secret Sessions I saw people feeling the same way and I decided I was going to make positive posts and tell people it’s okay to feel this way because everyone else feels that way. The rest of us who aren’t those 300 people feel that way and it’s a completely validated feeling. I did this for a few hours and I refused to post anything negative or reblog negative. In fact when I saw someone say something negative I reblogged a post on how Taylor wants to meet everyone and there is proof. By the next secret session i wasn’t jealous anymore. AND LET ME TELL YOU IT WAS SO NICE. I was so excited for people. Like genuinely excited and it was even better than I had a mutual meet her.

And it’s not like I never wish that was me. I wish it was me all the time. All. The. Time. When I get messages I hope one is from Taylor Nation but it doesn’t happen. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? Never have i wished that those people didn’t get to go. So the fact that you don’t like my blog anymore because I said it was selfish of you to say that no one should get to meet taylor because you cant or a lot of other people can’t is so wrong. I mean by all means unfollow me because I wont put up with that. I have been saying for days that I will validate swifties who are upset about not being invited as long as they don’t send hate. And I will validate the SS fans as long as they don’t send hate. And that’s what I do. In my opinion saying they don’t deserve to meet Taylor because I can’t or you can’t, or anyone else can’t is a round about way to attack them. 

Lastly, if you refuse to see the good in Secret Sessions because you can’t be there I’m not wasting my time in explaining why they’re a good thing. It’s obvious why they’re a good thing but jealousy can really cloud clear judgment. And that’s directed at every person who came to my ask this morning and tried to tell me that it was the SS fan’s fault that they were over hyped over a song. YALL WERE ACTUALLY TRYING TO BLAME OTHER PEOPLE BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T LIKE A SONG AS MUCH AS YOU WANTED TO. That’s is so incredibly petty and i’m sorry it would even cross your mind to actually complain. So many of you are so jealous that you would try and tear down other fans and i’m so over it. I tried to let people down easy but now it’s just ridiculous and the fact that you have sent me four messages and one of which called me “ignorant” and you can’t even come off anon to tell me this does not warrant you my patience.


Not Again

by: mldrgrl
Rating: PG-13
Summary: See chapter 1

Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14

Chapter 15, Day 169:

Reyes calls Mulder and asks him how quickly he can get to Montana.  She doesn’t tell him why, doesn’t want to say over the phone.  Doggett is in the hospital under a short quarantine from possible exposure to a biological agent.  With no one to make excuses to, he tells her he’ll be there right away.

When Mulder arrives in Helena, Reyes gives him the file of a suspect in custody who was arrested the night before for trespassing on a rancher’s property.  While the police were arresting the young man, another call came in from a rancher a few miles away that he’d found a body in a field on his property.  No body was recovered, but the neighbor of the rancher spotted two men coming out of the field shortly before the police arrived.

“The boy in custody, Richie Szalay, claims he was chasing a UFO and followed it onto the rancher’s property,” Reyes tells Mulder.  “He says his best friend was abducted in Oregon, just a few days before the others.”

“That’s true,” Mulder says, nodding.  “I know him.  Scully and I met Richie in Bellefleur a few days before the abduction.  Gary was already taken at that time.”

“I thought you’d be the best person to interrogate him.  He may not know anything about our missing fourteen, but he may still know something.”

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Davey in Eb Minor

Davey Jacobs had lived in New York for a long time.

It was an ideal place for a writer, full of noisy, loud areas and just as many quiet places, tucked into narrow streets with big windows.

There was always something going on, always something to write an article for, always something to add to one of his books, even his day job was full of inspiration, people who came to the library with lives lived and stories to tell.

After almost ten years of living in the City of Dreams, he’d thought he’d seen it all. Naked people painted bright colors, people fighting loudly, strange costumes, every culture he could imagine, artists capturing the city on the page. People walking dogs as big as he was tall, people walking dogs smaller than his shoe, people walking kids on leashes, once a person walking a rat, several times people walking cats.

And yet, he’d never seen anyone quite like the artist that had captured his attention today.

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“Funny, isn’t it?” she nudged, eyes gleaming in adoration.
“What?” he smirked.
“How just two months ago I had no idea you existed yet now I miss you all the time, even when we are skin on skin.”
He grabbed my hand and as he planted gentle kisses on each finger, I silently prayed he would still be doing the same in seventy years time.
—  you are the human embodiment of safety and warmth.
A Challenge

This is a Dirty Dancing au. I got the idea from this post by @avegetariancannibal

Hannibal wasn’t necessarily opposed to dancing, but the idea of taking classes was tedious. Mostly because he had already mastered the basics, being familiar with most of the traditional types of dancing. But his aunt had insisted he find something to do during the time they spent at the resort, and when he didn’t sign up to any activities, she wrote his name on the list to a beginner’s dance class.

Not wishing to argue, Hannibal went. He tried to make enough of an effort for his attendance to seem worthwhile, not wishing to be rude or waste anyone’s time. But he either wasn’t as subtle in his ennui as he liked to think or the dance instructor simply saw through his artificial enthusiasm, because one day after class, he approached him.

“Hey. Hannibal, right?”

Hannibal turned. “Yes?”

“Something wrong with my class?” The dance instructor – Will – leaned against the doorframe. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were raised, but amusement softened the edge in his storm-grey eyes. Hannibal decided to be honest.

“I didn’t volunteer to take it. My aunt signed me up. Your guidance is not at fault.”

“Nor is it of use. You already know the steps.”

“It’s a beginner’s class. The steps aren’t very challenging.”

Will smiled, showing a hint of teeth in a lopsided and almost mischievous smirk. “You want a challenge?”

At that point, Hannibal was so bored with the dull routine of his vacation that he would have said yes to almost anything. “What kind of challenge?”

“The kind your aunt wouldn’t sign you up for.”

His decision was instantaneous.

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stoickovic  asked:

Hi please write that home movie fic your tags are so cute

I was actually typing it up when I saw this! I had to. There was no choice in the matter. For reference look at this post. (This was written while partly inherited and has not been edited. Readers have been known to die from a fluff overload. Read at your own risk.)
This is in that same universe as a couple other stories I’ve written in a universe with Mulder, Scully, William, and a made up child named Gracie.


April 8th 2007- 1:00pm:

Camera focuses then loses focus on a living room.

“Mulder I don’t know how this thing works…”

“Just look for the green light.”

“The green light over here?”

“There’s only one green light Scully.”

“So then why isn’t it working?”

Camera moves to focus on a Mulder’s face squinting into the camera.

“It says it’s on. I don’t know.”

Camera swings around to focus on a Scully who puts her hand in front of the lens.

“Mulder not on me.”

Camera moves again to focus on William.

“Hey Will! Say hi!”

William smiles and waves.

“Say happy Easter 2007!”

“Why? We know it’s Easter 2007.”


“Ok then say something else.”

“Hello future family.”

William gives Vulcan sign to camera.

“Show me what the Easter bunny gave to you this year.”

“Dad, the Easter bunny isn’t real.”

“Hey! Don’t ruin it for your sister!”

Camera pans to Gracie on the floor playing with building blocks.

“I bet even she knows it’s not real.”

Gracie bangs blocks in repetitive motion and sings “Eser bunny- Eser bunny…”

Camera focuses on Scully undoing twist ties as she opens a toy for William.

Lens focuses and un focuses a few times on her face until she looks up.

“Mulder record the children please.”

June 7th 2007 11:00am:

Opens on Scully’s face as she examines the camera.

“Hate this… stupid piece of….”

Camera moves around again until it’s focused on a kitchen table.

Faintly “Mom!”

“One second! I’m trying to work the camera! Hate technology….”

“Mulder for God’s sake just take care of it!”

“Ug! Fine!”

Camera jostles around for a minute until it focuses on Mulder’s hand.

“Fine then you have to figure this out.”

June 7th 2007 1:30pm:

Opens on Gracie in a high chair with a birthday hat on, clapping along to singing.

“Happy Birthday dear Gracie! Happy Birthday to you!”

“Okay baby girl blow out the candles!”

Gracie looks confused and Scully shows her how to do it by blowing out one candle. After some encouragement Gracie blows a few times. Her tires don’t make a difference until Scully blows from behind and helps.

Everyone cheers, Scully begins to cut cake.

Camera pans to William who is getting his slice of cake.

“Say hi, Will!”


William waves and holds up forkful of cake.

“Good cake?”


Camera moves to Gracie in her high chair.

“Hey birthday girl!’

Gracie waves and gives a gap-toothed smile.

“How old are you today?”

Gracie holds up one finger.

“No, remember what we practiced?”

Camera is jostled a bit and Gracie holds up two fingers and smiles proudly.

“Yes that’s right! You’re such a big girl!”

October 31st 2007- 4:03pm:

Camera focuses on William.

“Hey Will! What are you dressed as for Halloween?”

“Harry Potter!” William points a wand at the camera.

“Who’s Harry Potter?”

“Daaaaddddd! Stop joking! You know who he is!”

“Maybe, but what if whoevers watching doesn’t know?”

William’s eyes go wide and he nods.

“He’s a wizard from my favorite book.”

“How many of the books have you, me, and mommy read?”

“All of them!”

“How many of the movies have we seen?”

“All of them!”

“What’s your favorite?”

“I don’t know!”

“Mulder are you ready?”

Camera moves around to focus on Scully, wearing cat ears and painted on whiskers, walking down the hallway holding Gracie, dressed up as Princess Leia.

“Gracie who are you tonight?”


Gracie throws arms in air excitedly.

“And mommy what are you?”

Scully smirks at camera.

“I’m a cat.”

“A sexy cat.”

“What’s sexy mean?”

Camera pans back to William.

“Great Mulder. Thanks. You guys ready to go?”


“What’s sexy?”

“Will are you ready?”

“Yeah. What’s sexy?”

November 22nd 2007 – 9:15am:

Camera opens on Scully standing at the counter cutting vegetables and stays focused on her for a few minutes.

Scully turns, sees the camera, and looks exasperated.

“Mulder! Stop wasting film.”

“This doesn’t use film Scully. And it’s not a waste anyways this is good stuff.”

“Fine, data, whatever it is. No one wants to see me preparing dinner on there.”

“I do.”

“Then you can watch it live.”

Mulder’s arm appears, reaching for her.

“Come here.”

“No, Mulder. I’ve got to keep working. My mom expects us at four.”

“It’s nine in the morning!”

“Do you know how long it takes to roast a turkey?”

“I have an idea. You’re still running early.”

“A little bit.”

“Come here.”

Scully turns and smiles at camera and starts to walk toward it. 

November 22nd 2007- 6:30pm

Camera opens on family room, TV is playing, people are talking, and children are playing.

Maggie Scully comes into view, picking up dishes.

“Hi mom!”

Maggie smiles and gives a small wave.

“Hello dear.”

“Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

Maggie goes back to picking up. Camera pans to Tara Scully sitting on the couch holding Gracie in her lap. She and the toddler wave cheerfully at the camera.

Mulder’s voice can be heard talking animatedly to Charlie Scully.

“-They played each other and that was the World Series.”

Camera pans over the two sitting on the other half of the couch, half watching football.


“Now there’s three different- or four, sometimes four different- sets of series so all these records for runs and stuff like that-“

Camera moves on to Bill Scully who is asleep in an armchair then focuses on William and his cousins playing Monopoly.

End of first disk.

(to be continued?)

cuddlemonsterdean  asked:

(feel free to answer publicly) in 13x01 we saw Jack have some flashbacks of Kelly and stuff that she said to him. but Kelly also video recorded a message for him - do you think it will come into play at some point, even though it mightve been left behind at the house? i keep wondering about it but so far havent seen anyone talk about it. thank you!!


Yes, so I felt like this would be relevant to potentially winning him back around or setting him up as likeable after he maybe started out bad, but given he’s started out the nougat loving munchkin and they did flashbacks to it I’m not sure.

I am not sure if the flashbacks are enough of a link or if the whole thing will be alluded to later on, I feel like the flashbacks we have had are enough? As the video itself was really short… but long story short I’m not sure exactly sorry!

I do feel that he will do bad and good things, probably go dark at some point out of fear or because he’s pushed away / doesn’t feel part of the family. 

The trope that he overhears Dean telling Sam that he’s evil and not part of the family or something or a massive domestic argument between Dean and Cas over him…something big that makes him fearful, abandoned and alone and, similar to Anakin go dark in this way. That would be my bet as of right now, but of course it can massively change :) Then he will need to be brought back, in a more epic version of the little moment in 13x02 where Asmodeus manipulates him and TFW help him back on the right path because they were his friends.

Really it has to be TFW telling him he IS their family and they love him.

They choose him as their family regardless of having powers or not (as a mirror to Cas), regardless of his past mistakes (as a mirror to Sam) and just as he is (as a mirror to Dean).

That’s what I would write :)

Update! I just posted chapter 3 on AO3.

Thanks @hpfanonezillion for betaing this story! :)

“Is it true?” Peeta asks, his voice quiet, almost getting carried by the wind. He walks looking ahead, his steps loud and steady.

“Is what true?” she asks. Something moves inside her, uncomfortable.

The moon shines behind them as they head towards the Meadow, not full yet, but close enough that there’s plenty of light to see. Katniss isn’t sure if she’s the one guiding them, or if both had the same thought.

He still isn’t looking at her. “You know what,” he says quietly.

And truth is, she does. And it is. She lowers her head. “It’s true,” she admits.

He doesn’t answer immediately, turning his head to the forest on the other side of the fence, nonchalant. He already knew that was going to be her answer, but still needed to hear it from her anyway. “When is the big day?”

She’s thankful he doesn’t say congratulations or pretends to be happy for her. But he’s not looking at her and she can’t read him. Suddenly he’s become a stranger.

“We don’t know yet.”

Fictober Drabbles - Day 20

Today’s @stoickovic prompt: “Informant” (@fictober @today-in-fic)

He comes in the house smelling of cut grass, earbuds in and head bobbing, sort of half-rapping under his breath, none of it even remotely intelligible. She looks up from her paperwork with an eyebrow raised, and he pops one earbud out.

“I found a 90s one-hit wonders station on Pandora. You remember Snow? Informer?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“I swear it played on the radio every day for six months. Licky boom-boom down?”

She snorts. “What?”

“Licky boom-boom down, Scully.”

“Mulder, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He leers at her. “Oh, I think you do.”

“this is the last time,” louis says to liam, pushing him against the wall so hard that the door rattles on its hinges.

“okay,” liam manages to say. “course it is.”

“last show,” louis says, nudging liam’s jaw with the side of his face and sinking his teeth into his neck. “last time.”

“uh huh,” liam says. his hands slide down from louis’ shoulders, just making out the dip of his back through the thick fabric of his blazer. he gets a solid grip on louis’ arse and tugs him closer. louis stumbles but lets himself fall into liam’s body, back into the orbit of this same fucking dance they keep doing around each other.

they’re backstage after the x factor, hiding in a dressing room while everyone else drinks and shakes hands and remembers the past. started from the bottom, now we here. last show. last time.

louis pulls back from liam’s neck after sucking what will likely be a very impressive bruise. he’s panting, eyes wild, jaw slack. he shucks off his blazer and shoves his hair behind his ears, then he comes at liam’s face with both hands, holding him roughly in place as he kisses him savagely. liam squeezes louis’ arse hard, probably too hard, and louis mewls into his mouth.

liam frees his lips, tilts his head to nose behind louis’ ear, a patch of skin with no makeup, no hairspray. louis doesn’t smell like anything at all.

louis is nothing if he isn’t fucking impatient, and he’s already unzipping his trousers, stepping back from liam to yank his shirt off over his head. his clothing  plops to the ground in a graceless puddle of inside out suiting and stretched out collars, so that’s he’s stood there before liam in nothing but boxer-briefs and tattoos and a unreadable fierce expression on his face.

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by the throat

Nothing feels right anymore. There’s something wrong with him, he knows it, and it rots in his brain and leaks into his dreams and he fears for the day even Guts can’t quiet it, because he knows that day is coming.

Read it on AO3

Guts awakes to the smell of salt and butter. It’s early, and the mist creeping through the slit where Griffith enters his tent, a tray in hand, licks at the foot of Guts’ bed.

“How did you sleep?” Griffith asks as he puts the food down. Guts grunts in reply; he’s never been much of a morning person.

Clouds of cream billow through the coffee, curling in on itself, like little drops of blood suspended in water. The steam hits Guts’ face as Griffith pushes the cup toward him, eyes not breaking from his task of setting up the table. Guts’ helping is stacked high with meat and jam and cheese and fried tomatoes and eggs and pickles and toast, all foods classically reserved for the nobility. Perhaps Griffith spoils Guts, but he likes to know Guts is well-fed and taken care of - nothing fills Griffith up the way watching Guts eat does.

Griffith plucks a thick strip of ptarmigan and holds it up, bait on the fisherman’s line, watching as Guts takes it between his teeth and it disappears behind his incisors.

“You know, I’ve heard that fingers can be bitten in half just as easily as a carrot,” Griffith remarks, cheek resting against his palm.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Guts replies, shovelling in a mouthful of gruyere, “when I was a kid I saw someone rip another guy’s throat out with his teeth. Looked more like an animal than a person by the time he was through with ‘em - part of the windpipe was still hanging from his mouth, like a link of sausage.”

Hearing of Guts’ past made something ugly twist in Griffith’s chest. The time before Guts’ was his and now aren’t even comparable, they’re two separate periods, barely existing in the same universe.

Griffith hums, then drives the tongs of his fork into the eggs soft belly, yellow oozing from the twin sets of puncture marks. The yolk dribbles down the slices of bread, cutting through the sheen of grease atop the bacon and forming a thick puddle at the plate’s lip.  

“He must have been desperate, to kill someone in such a way.”

Guts shakes his head, “Nah. As far as I remember, they were fighting over a game of cards.”

Griffith is quiet. His eyes don’t stray from the gnashing of Guts’ jaw.

Griffith dreams of Guts leaving, and he wakes up gasping to fill the hollow ache in his chest where it feels like his lungs have been ripped through his sternum. Sometimes, in these brief moments where he totters the line of consciousness, he feels footsteps crunching through snow and a sword swinging towards him and the broad span of Guts’ back blotting out the rising sun, and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

He rolls over and tries to ignore the ceiling gaping open above, an aching black chasm yawning, watching him like the all-seeing eye of a god.

Veins stick out of Guts’ arms like unspooled thread, and Griffith can feel Guts’ pulse through their joined fingers.

“Do you remember the first time we held hands?” he asks, bending Guts’ thumb at the knuckle, running the blunt edge of his nail over the lines in Guts’ palm.

“Uh… don’t think so.”

“It was the night we raided that camp, after I won you. You took up the rear and I came back to get you, then rode us both through the trees and away.”

Guts whistles, “feels like a hundred years ago - but it’s only been three, hasn’t it?”

Time hardly even registers with Griffith any longer. For him the days are measured by the next battle, the next meeting with the king, the next war. It’s been so long since he’s slept a full night through. He nods. “Do you remember what I told you then?”

Guts’ eyebrows furrow, wracking his memory.

“I told you not to talk. I told you not to open your mouth, or else you’d bite your tongue.” Griffith squeezes Guts’ hand and wonders at how warm Guts always feels.

“Honestly, I thought you were gonna cut my tongue out when we fought. When I bit down on your sword, I wasn’t concerned with anything but winning, but later I realized how easy it would’ve been. If you moved that blade even an inch it could’ve sliced me right open,” Guts says, looking away from him.

“I’d never do that to you.” Griffith nuzzles his face into Guts’ shoulder, “I can’t imagine anything worse, really, than having my tongue cut out.” He shivers as the space around his gums suddenly feels empty, a phantom memory of loss there that made his vision blur and slats of pain shoot through his head, like he’s remembering something he isn’t supposed to.

Guts coils a little white curl around his forefinger, smiling halfheartedly in that way he always does when he can tell Griffith’s tense. There’s a tug in Griffith’s stomach, nervous and desperate, and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks again of Guts leaving him.

Griffith lifts Guts’ hand from his hair to his lips, kissing his fingertips, and then closes his eyes as he takes Guts’ third finger into his mouth, all the way down to the proximal phalanx, and sinks his teeth in. Guts jolts and when Griffith pulls away already a mottled bruise is beginning to form there in a full circle, almost like a ring.

The back of Guts’ neck fills Griffith’s vision when he jolts out of sleep. There’s only starlight to guide him but Griffith swears he sees a shape carved into the skin there - a figure-eight with a hand reaching up through the centre, fingers spread, clutching for purchase in unforgiving nothingness.

Griffith blinks, and it disappears. Bile rises in his throat and Guts doesn’t stir as he stumbles away from bed and retches into the grass.

When they have breakfast together now, Griffith piles all the food on Guts’ plate and observes quietly as Guts eats. There are violet half-moons under his eyes and his cheekbones protrude just a little more than they used to, but he still smiles as Guts scrapes the honey from the milk of his porridge.

Having Guts at his side alleviates the malaise that hangs over Griffith. If Guts notices the way Griffith clings to him tighter than before, he doesn’t mention it, yet Griffith knows Guts stares at him when he thinks Griffith can’t see, and he knows that if he were to turn, he’d see worry in Guts’ eyes.

“Want some?” Guts offers a piece of ham skewered on his fork, and Griffith takes it like a baby bird, just because Guts asked. Each bite is tasteless and heavy in Griffith’s mouth. He grinds it into a thin paste with his molars so it doesn’t stick to the lump in his throat on the way down.

This is the place he owns Guts the most.

He has Guts lying supine under him, knees slotted in beside the divots in Guts’ waist, thumbs stroking Guts’ cheekbones.

“Have you ever thought about leaving? About doing something else?” Griffith asks, voice quiet. He watches Guts’ face, as though he might catch Guts in a lie, but Guts doesn’t look guilty - only confused.

“Why would I wanna leave? My life’s the best it’s ever been. And it’s not like you’re gonna be ready to abandon your dream here anytime soon, right?”

Griffith breathes, then nods, then shoves his face into Guts’ neck. The illusion of peace doesn’t last long before he’s reminded of that brand, bloody and raw, with the hand reaching toward him.

Nothing feels right anymore. There’s something wrong with him, he knows it, and it rots in his brain and leaks into his dreams and he fears for the day even Guts can’t quiet it, because he knows that day is coming.

His teeth scrape over Guts’ jugular, and Guts’ fingers twist into the fabric of Griffith’s shirt. Distress drowns Griffith and yanks him under, sending him clawing at Guts’ chest, kissing the length of his mandible, dark bruises flowering where his lips and canines meet Guts’ skin.

Guts snores against him, the marks Griffith bit into him already fading. The bonfires of the Band are fading, too, slowly consumed by their own ashes, but through the canvas walls of the tent, they look more like smudges of carmine. From here, it was as if each flame were a person dancing on its last legs, as if each flame were a part of the Band, struggling to stay so that Griffith could watch them as he pretends to sleep.

All those lives flicker and dim before him. Guts’ is the only one that matters.