#c:drabble

[wordsandverses-blog]

Charles | 2 A.M.: Breathe

It’s crazy how quick a life can end.

I mean, living can be the hardest goddamn thing you do, but it can be so easy. You don’t have to think to be alive. One breath in, one breath out, it’s simple. It should be simple.

Life is a really amazing thing! I mean, we’re all just pieces of carbon that happened to be smashed together in exactly the right way based on billions of years of development and struggle. Life prevails. Life is all that we truly have for certain. It’s too special to have been random. It’s too perfect to have happened by chance, the odds are too microscopic.

Energy is neither created nor destroyed in this universe. Everything we are comes from the great beyond. We are these little beings of stardust stumbling around on a rock hurtling through space at a thousand and some odd miles an hour, trying to connect with other little beings of stardust around us. It’s beautiful.

In the end, we’re just atoms that are capable of thought. We’re molecules that come together to form cells and bonds and bone and tissue and thought and emotion and feeling and it’s so easy to be this perfect amalgamation of things. You don’t even have to think about it; you just do. You fall in love and you fall out of love, you cry, you hurt, you hurt so much. You laugh. You smile every day because the sun is out there somewhere, giving life to our planet of water and concrete. You touch. You caress. You think about the person you can’t live without when a cloud moves overhead and creates a shadow over your skin that reminds you of them.

All of this happens so easily, so naturally, that we forget its happening. We forget that our chests burn when we don’t breathe for a little bit and we forget how satisfying it is to fill your lungs with sweet oxygen. We forget that going without a hug for a few days feels like how a leaking faucet sounds in the middle of the night. We forget that our bodies depend on just a few key organs and if any of those were to be damaged, we might lose everything forever.

It’s crazy that, at any moment, that could all just stop.

And what’s after that? Darkness forever? What happens when I have to leave him behind? What happens then? Do you feel anything?

 It’s terrifying to think about, but dying is just like living. It’s easy. It happens. You just do it. All it takes is one breath in, one breath out. It’s simple. All it takes is one small thing.

All it takes is a rusty grenade to fall out of a man’s hand, his blood on my cheek, his eyes rolled back as death stole him away. All it takes is looking at the small boy beside me, the realization that he’s about to die spreading like a disease through scared, chocolate eyes. All it takes is my commanding officer reaching forward and I know what he’s going to do.

All it takes is one breath in, one breath out, and I jump. I cradle the tiny thing, no bigger than my fist, like I would cradle a child screaming in pain. 

Please, don’t hate me.

It’s crazy how quick a life can end.

[wordsandverses-blog]

Charles | Only Fools Rush In

“I really appreciate you helping me out with this.”

Charles put his arms up, letting Elijah snake the mic cord around his torso and up his t-shirt. “Yeah, man, happy to help, but I’m really just here for the Starbucks gift card you promised me,” he said, smirking. With a vice grip, Eli tweaked Charles’s nipple and he shrieked, flinging himself back and immediately launching a counterattack with a knuckle shot to Eli’s crotch.

“Ah! Fuckin’ stop, shitbrain! This project is due in four fuckin’ hours I need you to focus!” Eli slapped his hand away, cupping his dick like his life depended on it. Charles snickered before lowering his shirt and returning his hands to his chest, shielding it from Eli’s reach. The poor Italian giant looked like two stories of exhausted, running on caffeine and fumes and a violent, base need to not fail his film class. Eli looked over his script again, professional lighting shining bright against a simple white backdrop in a silent studio, the sound of rustling from someone coming in on the other side just barely echoing across the huge space.

“Ready babe?” she called out, her high heels clicking across the concrete floor. Charles smiled, ready to step out and greet Cat when Elijah pulled him back with a quick tug and shoved a cloth across his face, smashing his glasses into his eyelids and probably greasing them up in the process.

“Excuse you--” Charles complained, his voice muffled by Eli’s humongous paw clapped across his mouth.

“No talking. Remember, you signed the waiver.” Charles groaned before he let Eli gently remove his glasses, slip them into the front pocket of his school sweats (technically Eli’s sweats, but who was keeping track anymore), and lead him out to the set. The lights were warm against his skin, the blindfold tight across the bridge of his nose. He heard shuffling in front of him, like clothes rubbing or fingernails scratching against a scalp. “Okay, almost done, don’t talk just yet, let me get my focus and white balance.”

Charles nodded before crossing his hands in front of himself, fingernails scratching at the thin skin above his middle three digits. His lips creeped up into a smile without his permission, the nervousness creeping up from inside like bubbles in an uncontrolled bubble bath or kids on a sugar high jumping in a bounce house. He heard Cat giggle from behind the cameras and he had to force himself not to laugh. My concept, Eli’s filming. It’s a group project, she had said in her tight leather skirt and red-lipsticked coolness. Aesthetic.

“Okay, you two, you go ahead, whenever you’re ready.”

The camera zoomed audibly and Charles laughed out a rushed, nervous confession, “Oh, man, I’m more nervous than I thought I’d be.”

“Oh,” the other said with a voice that sounded about a million miles away in the upwards direction.

“Oh? What oh? Are you okay, oh?” Charles panicked, immediately folding his arms across his chest and taking a step back.

“You’re a guy,” the voice said again, impossibly far and too surprised to sound disappointed. Yet.

“Oh, my god, Elijah!” Charles immediately yelled, stepping back more, “I’m so sorry,” he turned back to the faceless voice, ready to pry off his blindfold. Stupid. Fucking stupid Eli would fuck this up it was fun for like two seconds, now he’s gotta--

“No, no! It’s--I was just--I expected them to give me a girl. I marked down both on my sheet I thought--I thought--I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry, don’t go.”

Charles paused, still completely unconvinced. “Are you sure? If you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to do this,” he said, putting a hand up in reassurance even if he knew the other guy couldn’t see him.

“I’m sure, I’m just nervous,” he said, the faint rustling starting again. Charles shivered, stepping forward again with a laugh.

“Yeah, me too.”

Silence.

“I’m Rob,” the voice said, finally. Charles decided he sounded a lot like hot cocoa feels. All warm and cozy if you aren’t careful. He had that roguish type of voice that sounded like he could be some kind of badass cop in training or soldier boy while still maintaining that shy, humble tone that made Charles all melty.

“Chuck,” he replied, sticking out his hand to shake and realizing he was grasping at air, “I- uh- I’m trying to shake your hand.”

The other boy--Rob--dissolved into quiet laughter that sounded like rain on a kitchen window. “I tried to shake your hand, too.” They both laughed, Charles unconsciously reaching up to cover his mouth with the back of his hand from years of mental braceface scarring.

“Chuck, take a step forward,” Cat suggested and Charles did, his fingers immediately meeting bone in front of him.

“Sorry-” they both said in unison and Charles smiled, “Sorry.” He felt with both hands, feeling along the bone, which he figured to be a wrist, until he was moving along a wide, calloused palm, tough with what felt like years of work. He took the hand, inhaling quietly at how large his hand felt around Charles’s, how his fingers wrapped firmly, but comfortably around his.

Instead of letting go, Charles led the hand to his waist, allowing the other boy to get comfortable. His first reaction was to pull away, but Charles gently encouraged him to stay. “Might as well start somewhere, wonderboy,” he teased, pulling a light peal of laughter from the other. Suddenly, Charles felt the boy--Rob--swell with a bit of confidence, real or fake, and he pulled Charles just a bit closer.

“Sorry, I was afraid of burning myself on-- you. Cause you’re so--hot.” Charles snickered. “That was so bad,” Rob sighed on the tail end of a nervous snort.

“I loved it,” Charles admitted, still cackling softly as his body loosened up in Rob’s arms, falling a bit into the man’s broad chest. When Charles let himself lean more against the other boy, he really began to understand his size. Charles wasn’t exactly small, by any measure, but this man felt absolutely eclipsing. He moved his fingers up the man’s hands and wrists, familiar land becoming completely unexplored territory. Briefly, he wondered how many other fingers traveled up a forearm so broad and strong before, how many hands could barely hold a bicep so thick. He did mark both on his sheet.

Goddamn.

Tree-trunk arms, a chest like a dining room table; Charles would have to thank Eli later. He paused when his fingers rested on his clavicle, feeling Rob shiver under him while an unwarranted giggle bubbled up from inside his own shaking ribs. “Okay,” he whispered, the pads of his fingers moving tentatively up the sides of Rob’s neck and pausing when it pulled taut as he started to lean down towards him. He could feel every sinew, every jolt and jump in the muscle there practically quivering. He wasn’t ready to take the plunge, Charles could tell, the tremble in his breath a dead giveaway to his hesitation, so he took the moment to smile, to appreciate Rob’s huge hands falter on his hips, still unsure.

Strangers kiss before they meet. Totally blindfolded, it’ll be awesome.

“You’re kinda scruffy,” Charles laughed, his fingernails scratching at Rob’s cheeks and feeling the skin there move and crinkle into the sides of a smile.

“Sorry,” he whispered, like saying any words right then was utterly painful.

“No, don’t- Don’t apologize,” Charles sighed before he couldn’t take it. This poor kid sounded tortured and Charles needed to end his suffering.

Silently, he pulled Rob’s face down and their noses bumped, their cheeks brushed, Charles’s top lip found Rob’s before anything could really connect, and they were kissing. It was strangled at first, breathless, unnatural. It felt completely robotic, like two people kissing if they never knew what kissing was just two seconds before, but something changed in the second surge.

When they both knew where the other was, when their planes of existence blossomed behind two completely opposite blacknesses, spread vastly apart in different dark, inky spaces behind the same purple, tired eyelids, they found each other. Charles gasped when Rob took hold of him, gently, but powerfully, wrapping his massive arm around Charles’s waist and pulling him flush against his body. Charles’s hand slid away from Rob’s cheek as their lips met over and over again, finding rhythm in quick intakes of breath and slow, kneading presses as his fingers tangled with long hair behind Rob’s ear pulled back in a knot he couldn’t see. He massaged the base of Rob’s neck, pulling a gentle moan from him as Rob slipped a hand under the hem of Charles’s t-shirt, his hand splaying across his naked back, making him shiver and whine into his mouth, his entire body lit from the tips of the boy’s fingers. Charles licked the bottom of Rob’s lip, teasing, daring him to move forward with the plush warmth he’d become so used to, the fiery wildness of it all still burning through his bones as galaxies erupted behind the forced slate of black bound over his eyes.

Rob, all credit to him, gave a great effort to pull away after sliding his tongue along Charles’s in a small, cheeky challenge back to him. He started to move away, Charles’s lips already cold in the absence and Charles, selfish as ever, whispered a choked, “Wait,” before he pulled Rob in for just a few seconds more. Part of him was terrified Rob would bolt the second the blindfolds came out, another part of him was doubly terrified that this was some guy Charles had already had in his bed.

No, he’d remember these lips.

Finally, Charles let Rob free, parting with a satisfying sound between them as they moved away from each other, breathless and loose in each other’s arms. It took Charles a second to realize Rob’s hand had moved from his waist before he finally unwound his fingers from Rob’s hair to slip the blindfold off.

First, the lights were too bright, then everything was blurry. He tried to squint but only saw pink cheeks and a bright smile. Charles reached into his sweatpants and pulled his glasses out, laughing every time Rob whispered an “Oh, my god.” After cleaning the lenses with his shirt, he put them on; he looked up and saw the stars for the first time, hidden deep in sweet sapphire eyes watering a bit at golden lashes. Charles gasped, covering his mouth as he took in skin warmed by the sun, glowing in the lights, the little bits of rose on the tip of his nose and cheeks, the small lines emanating out from the sides of his eyes with every chuckle.

“Oh, wow,” Charles marveled, Rob’s arms finally falling away. He took the chance to step back a bit, staring and then not staring, looking only at the gorgeous, unreal human in front of him, then looking anywhere else, smiling uncontrollably at the thought that he’d just kissed him. He felt like a child, all butterflies and bubbly toes, giggling like a kid at christmas. He didn’t have time to realize he looked homeless. Well, he did, but even horror like that couldn’t keep him from stealing glances at Rob from behind thick lenses.

“How do you guys feel?” Cat asked, smiling somewhere in the darkness.

“A little twitterpated,” Rob breathed, grinning immensely and laughing, his brows knit as if he couldn’t believe what he just said. Charles couldn’t either, but he could roll with it.

“Yeah, but he’s a little cuter than a skunk named Flower, I think,” Charles grinned, winking into the camera just as a warm hand slid across his back and over his waist, Rob and his huge grin beaming down at him just as the giant pressed a kiss to the top of his head. A shiver tip-toed down Charles’s spine as he leaned in closer, grabbing one of Rob’s hands and twining their fingers together, running his thumb over the knuckles. He wondered silently what Rob’s favorite ice cream was, what kind of exercise he liked, how far back his seat was set from the steering wheel, what he liked to sleep in. He wondered audibly, “What was your name again?” as if the sound of it could ever escape his memory.

“Robert,” he answered, as if he could ever believe Charles would forget, “And yours?” he asked, just to play along.

“Charles.”

The lights shut off with the distant call of Elijah’s voice to cut the tape and they were suspended in the darkness once more, where their bodies knew each other best and their warmth danced against each other's skin, promising for greater adventures in the morning.

[azkadamnrp]

Scary Fragile

Cameron was well aware of how he was perceived by the purebloods of the wizarding world. It wasn’t something he had to think about for very long — nor did he want to. As a Muggleborn growing up at the same time as Voldemort’s rise to power, he was frequently met with opposition from other students, simply on account of his blood status. It didn’t matter that he showed just as much promise as any other student, if not more; all anyone seemed to care about was that his parents were physicians instead of healers. He hadn’t been at Hogwarts for more than a week when he heard the term ‘mudblood’ for the first time, and it was only from the snickers coming from the other first years in the greenhouse that he knew he had been insulted. He tried to hide his scarlet face in his asphodel plant, but the damage had been done. Cameron spent the next seven years burying himself in his studies instead of interacting with the other Gryffindors (who had been among those laughing at him, so how could he ever forgive them?), and had graduated, at the top of his class but mostly friendless.

His parents were proud of him — they had never been anything but completely supportive of him and his wizarding talents. When he told them that he wanted to become an Auror, they had supported him then too. Of course, he hadn’t told him about the political climate geared directly against people like him, and so they weren’t as worried as they could have or should have been. Cameron was completely confident in his abilities to apprehend dark wizards, and he didn’t want to upset his parents on the rare possibility that he might be hurt in the line of duty.

Still, one of the last things he had to do before graduating from Auror academy and being released into the field was to write a will, just in case a mission did require that he lay down his life. Along with the standard decisions (whether he wanted to donate his organs for magical transplants, whether he wanted to remain on life support potions, etc.), he was supposed to include a section addressed to his loved ones. Cameron didn’t have friends, all he had were his parents, and he was their only child. It was then, when he was forced to write a potential goodbye in case of his death, that he realized he was afraid. Fear was foreign to him — he’d grown up in a loving home, and he had kept to himself enough in school that no one ever bothered him (even if they had, what’s the worst that could happen with teachers everywhere?). Death didn’t scare him, losing loved ones was a part of life, but to die before his parents? To leave them with the burden of planning his funeral? To have an Auror visit their doorstep to convey the condolences of the department? The thought left Cameron breathless with terror, a dark feeling in his chest that he didn’t recognize.

It was this thought that kept him on his toes during every single mission. It didn’t matter what level of severity it was — before every single Auror outing he went on, Cameron closed his eyes for a few seconds and pictured his parents crying at the front door of their house, his father holding his sobbing mother. By reminding himself of his worst fear, and letting himself be afraid for a few terrifying seconds before leaving, he was ensuring that his mind would stay on the mission at hand, if only to prevent his fear from becoming a reality. During missions, he was completely focused and calm, which he attributed to the moments where he let his fear run rampant. Cameron understood the importance of strength, but he also understood that he must also allow himself moments of weakness, and it was this allowance that made him a great Auror.

[wordsandverses-blog]

Cracky Drabble | Charles

Charles woke up with a splitting headache, the kind that starts right behind the eyes and pounds its way through the temples and right into the center of the skull. Wonderful. Dizzy, nauseous, and swimming in a tangle of comforter and limbs, he yanked the thick white blanket away from his face, gulped in cold, fresh air and thus suffered the horrible consequences through searing white light burning into his thin eyelids. He flinched from thesunlight pouring in from the window and instinctively buried himself back into his sheets, tucking himself away into the heavenly clouds surrounding him, groaning low in his throat as he rationalized not doing yoga that morning in favor of some mental stretches. Or horizontal stretches. In fact, he could do one right there, his toes reaching out to the tips of the bed and every muscle in his body screaming in a most delicious way, a high-pitched whine forcing its way out of his taut chest and squealing through his throat before he released every square inch of tension and fell slack onto the bed. His head still throbbed, but he smiled lazily into the pillows, at least a little content.

He’s never letting Leila convince him to just have a few drinks, sweetpea again. Just a few drinks later, he was sprawled out in a bed he was 98% sure wasn’t his with a giant eight-page paper on some bullshit Russian novel due in approximately twenty-four hours. Looming. Like a big, tentacley monster. Like a big, Russian, tentacley monster. Still, hung over as all shit and unable to properly orient himself in this giant bed, he couldn’t quite find the motivation to make a grand escape. Better to suffer the embarrassment of whomever his bedmate was for the night awkwardly telling him to leave, than kill himself tripping while trying to rush out with his jeans half on and taking the window shutters down with him.

Mental note: buy Eli new shutters.

Just when the coherent part of Charles’s brain finally started to wonder who in the lord’s good name he slept with, a massive paw wrapped around Charles’s waist and settled on his lower back, warm and strong and completely confident with Charles’s body as he dragged the teenager through the comforters and against his massive, chiseled chest. He felt a satisfied rumble drag through the larger man, Charles sighing gratefully into his neck as the giant nuzzled into Charles’s hair. He was absolutely massive; his bicep had to be as big around as Charles’s head.  Charles’s heart fluttered with excitement and pride, feeling so cozy and warm in this giant’s arms. Blame it on the pounding coming from the inside of his forehead, but he trusted these arms, adored the smell of pure human and a bit of smoke pressed up against his nose.

He mumbled softly for the man to quit it as that giant paw began searching along his back, fingers splayed out against him as his hand moved from place to place, as if he was looking for something. The yet-to-be-identified-giant paused when his hand sized up Charles’s waist, the entire palm covering half his abdomen when Charles laid on his side and his fingers wrapping around to nearly touch his spine. Charles hummed happily. He could only imagine how sore he’ll be sitting down later with hands like those. The hand lingered for a few seconds and Charles snoozed happily. “Charles?” the man asked and oh did he like his name on the guy’s deep, sensual and caring voice. “Have you been eating?”

Wow, you could count on that to wake Charles up.

“Why, do I feel like I’m gaining weight?!” Charles asked, frantic and panicked, bolting up as a horrified pitch rose in his voice, cracking it from inside his throat as he peered down at the silvery stretch marks running down perfectly toned abs. He started poking. Oh god, he was getting pudgy again. He pinched with his thumb and pointer, pulling at skin while the covers rustled beside him.

"What the fuck?!" he heard beside him and Charles turned to see the mammoth man staring at him like you'd stare at a deep sea fish if it were brought up to the surface.

"What, what?" he asked frantically. Please, oh please, don't let there be anything on his face. He started wiping at his cheek instinctively, rubbing the skin viciously before checking his fingers for black ink. His hand came away clean, but his face was marked with red lines when Charles looked up. He didn't answer Charles's panicked questions, just sat there, shoulders slumped and thin, kissable lips open with some kind of disbelief.

He was beautiful. Well, besides the American Horror Story gasp of terror, he was immaculate. Gorgeous blonde hair sweeping down past his clavicles (which looked solid as concrete, dear lord), blue eyes like fuckin' dreams. He was perfect, with the cutest nose of all time to boot, all flared and adorable as he stared at Charles. He looked older, a few wrinkles near his eyes making him look like he'd seen the world in all... twenty-eight(?) years of his life.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Charles groaned, already flipping the comforter off his lap. Damn. Hottie McHotterson could have been happier to see him, even if the lack of a name anywhere in Charles's memory reserve may have been a good indication that it was definitely time to leave. And get tested. As soon as possible.

The guy made some kind of sound that had Charles turning around, a massive hand grabbing his bicep softly and making him turn. That's more like it. "Charles?!" the man asked. Charles snorted.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, god." He looked like he was ready to shit himself.

"Look, I can get home by myself, uh, dude," he tried, still pulling a blank on the name, "You don't have to sound so surprised you got me into bed." Charles shrugged, he was hot, there's no way Charles would have turned him down, especially not on whatever cocktail Leila had brewed.

"What happened to you?!" the guy nearly yelled, surging forward and wrapping his hands around Charles's face, his fingers tangling with his soft raven hair and making Charles shiver just a bit before trying to shove the big guy off of him. The man brushed his huge paw through Charles's hair, lifting it away from his face to get a better look into his bright blue eyes.

"No man-handling!" Charles growled, shoving harder, "Stop!"

Suddenly, a boy much closer to his age rushed into the room and Charles tried to turn away and hide his face, in case the kid was in his damn History class or something. "What's going on, what's wrong?" he asked, looking between the two men as the bigger, older man withdrew from Charles like he'd been burned.

"Nothing we're fine," Charles said, covering up more with the blanket.

"Dad?!" the kid yelled and Charles's eyes bolted to the blonde beside him, wide and disbelieving. "What the fuck-- who's that?!"

Oh, god, please don't say Where's mom?

"Max--"

"Are you sleeping around?! On Pap?!"

Oh, GOD.

"No!" the blonde cried, hands out in defense of himself, "That's not what this is!"

"You're married?" Charles hissed, hurt and so, so stupid. He felt something twang in his heart, something sharp and immovable that kept throbbing with a horrible, stabbing ache.

"To you!" the man cried, pleading with those beautiful eyes the color of the ocean. Unbelievable. Charles immediately hopped out of the bed, dragging a sheet with him to cover himself as he tried to find his boxers.

"You need to get out, now!" The kid yelled, furious. His eyes were the same color as the man in the bed. Charles felt like he was going to vomit.

"No shit, asshole, give me a second!" He couldn't see well past the fucking moisture welling on his lashes. His gut roiled with the pain of humiliation and embarrassment.

"Max, stop!" the blonde man boomed, but Charles's wrist was already being yanked.

"I said--" and the kid stopped, staring down at Charles's leg.

A long scar, moving down from the side of his knee to the bottom of his calf, gleamed a proud pink in the sunlight. Clenching his jaw, Charles finally pulled his hand loose and grabbed the closest pair of boxers, not recognizing it, but deciding it was good enough. Loose, but fine for a quick escape. When he turned, he couldn't help meeting the kid--Max's--eyes, despite how desperately he tried to avoid it. His expression had completely changed. It was incredible how his and his dad's expression of horror were absolutely uncanny.

"Excuse me," Charles mumbled, his voice cracking under the sore pressure of emotions building up in his throat, but the kid didn't move. Instead, his eyes flickered to Charles's hand gripping the sheet still over his exposed chest and then to a silver picture frame on the nightstand. When Charles looked down to his hand, he could hear the man on the bed sigh with relief while Charles inhaled sharply with terror.

On his ring finger sat a silver band, worn a bit with what seemed like years of work, fitting a bit too loosely under the first knuckle. On the nightstand was a picture of the blonde man beside him and another giant, smiling huge on a jawline cut exactly like his, light sunspotted freckles exactly where Charles's were, and eyes that glowed just like his did, resting comfortably under the larger man's arms like something out of every one of Charles's dreams of the future.

[light-em-up-chuck-blog-blog]

♪

He said walk like a manTalk like a manWalk like a man my sonNo woman’s worth Crawling on the earthSo walk like a man my son

Charles actually liked the subway a little bit. He liked the peace of being underground and he liked feeling submerged, like he was traveling faster than anyone could fathom and that they had to block the light out to prevent people losing their minds over the intensity of their travel. What he didn’t like was when people packed in beside him and stole his breathing air. That, he didn’t like.

He also didn’t like when some pervert grabbed his ass as the subway lurched forward.

He turned to give whoever had copped a feel a good glare, but managed to catch a swipe of brunette hair and a black jacket slip out the door in a rush and a rise of fear burned its way through his chest as his hand immediately shot for his pocket. “Shit!” he hissed, sticking his hand out the closing door and squeezing his way through before taking off after the blur of copper and leather.  He called out after the kid, sprinting after him and weaving through the crowd as people turned and watched with wide-eyed fascination.

“Stop!” he finally roared, a surge of power coursing through his legs and into the ground, stilling every breath in the underground walkway and freezing every movement, suspending time for just a bit. The kid ran for a few more steps before his legs sank into the suddenly liquid concrete and stuck there, immovable, as much as he tried to yank himself free.

Charles jogged over and finally found those light brown eyes and shook his head with recognition, eyes laden with exasperation as he sighed a quick, “You again.”

“Ah, fuck,” Felix groaned, handing over the wallet without a fight, “All the fuckin’ people in Boston and I pickpocket you. Twice.” Charles shook his head, leafing through the cash in his wallet before putting out an empty palm. Groaning again, Felix handed him his credit card.

“That’s all of it, I swear. Now let me loose,” he demanded, yanking at his feet stuck in the concrete.

“Why don’t you come stay with me?” Charles asked, simple, direct.

“What?”

“Why don’t you come stay with me?” he repeated.

“I don’t need you!” Felix snapped, the shadows gathering around Charles, dark tendrils already reaching for him under Felix’s control. In a moment, time resumed and Felix was freed, the concrete below returning to complacency and allowing Felix the ability to move.

“Then you don’t need Clark,” Charles said before turning away.

-Walk Like A Man, Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons

Send Charles a ♪ and I’ll write a small drabble of him interacting with your character from a song I get off shuffle.

[light-em-up-chuck-blog-blog]

♪

I’ve been trying to keep my grip, yeah I think I’m over thisI can hear it now, oh noYeah, my tongue, I’ll let it slip, why’d I do those things I did?I can taste it now, oh no

“You know, we are, like, polar opposites,” Charles slurred, looking at Nora with big blue eyes swimming in drunkenness.

“You just told me you’d make a great addition to the sorority!” she laughed, taking the bottle of vodka from the teenage warlock, his inability to properly consume alcohol becoming a little bit of an issue in the present moment.

“No, no, listen!” he said, sitting up from where they lay on the floor, sprawled out across each other with each limb going in a different direction, “I do the fire thing and you do the ice thing, it makes total sense!”

“Oh, so because we have different elements, we’re polar opposites,” she clarified, grinning at him while he made a complete moron of himself. Charles, none the wiser, nodded his head over dramatically and lifted his palms up just as tiny explosions emanating from his temples fizzled down over his shoulders and disappeared into nothingness.

“Mind blown.”

Nora threw her head back and laughed, obviously amused while Charles, pink cheeks and all, snickered as he leaned back onto her bedpost. He sighed softly shaking his head, “If I were straight,” he said, a bit of the Tennessee twang he worked so hard to absolve himself of working his way back into his slurred speech, “I’d kiss you silly.”

“And I’d smack you silly, straight or not,” Nora came back with, brows up high into her hairline as she took another shot straight out of the bottle.

“No, really,” Charles said, trying to sound as serious as an inebriated minor could possibly sound, “You’re super pretty and super nice and I’d just want to make you happy for the rest of your life.” When Nora looked down at him, she could see that he meant it, poor, young, damaged heart laid out on the floor for everyone to see.

“Oh, sweetie,” she purred softly, pulling him down against her shoulder as a few uncontrollable tears started rolling down his cheeks, “I know you would.”

-Cardiac Arrest, Bad Suns

Send Charles a ♪ and I’ll write a small drabble of him interacting with your character from a song I get off shuffle.

[light-em-up-chuck-blog-blog]

♪

It’s the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen.In your head, in your head they’re still fighting,With their tanks and their bombs,And their bombs and their guns.In your head, in your head, they are dying.

"Youʻre a creep," Charles said, immediately sensing the spirit in the room when he fluttered in. Clark smiled like a cat stalking a canary, swiping a long, bony finger along the slope of Charlesʻs strong jaw and Charles jerked his face away, not looking at the man who swept over his work area, sprawling out like he owned the damn place.

"Oh, cʻmon, Charlie boy," Clark practically sang, resting his chin in his hands as he stared Charles down, his legs quirking up and looking like a teenage girl fawning over a magazine as he studied Charles organizing his quartz. "I know you missed me." Charles rolled his eyes and turned his rolling chair, moving to an adjacent desk in some meager, meaningless way of evading the spirit. It was, of course, futile. A shatter rang throughout the room and Charles spun around to see Clark having moved to laying on his back, one of Charlesʻs table-side clocks in pieces on the ground. "Iʻll just keep breaking things until you pay attention to me."

Groaning, the teen retrieved a broom and dustpan to sweep up the mangled pieces of his rather pretty old clock. “Can I help you?” Charles asked, not looking at the ghost.

"I just wanted to tell you Iʻve found a new witch to be mine." Charles made a noise akin to insincere acknowledgement. "Heʻs way cooler than you," Clark chirped, extenuating the vowel sounds to confirm that the new witch was, in fact, way cooler than Charles.

"If theyʻre dumb enough to accept any offer from you, they deserve whatever you give them," he quipped, depositing the glass shards into the trash bin. Without warning, Charlesʻs entire body was hurled against the wall, held there by Clarkʻs ice-cold hand, like he was some fucking rag-doll to play with.

"Youʻre forgetting who youʻre dealing with, little witch," Clark mused, letting Charles down with one last warning glare, complete with a twitching, mad grin. "You forget that this world is one, giant clock and youʻre just a single piece in it. You mean nothing, your ideals, your morals, whatever you stand for. Thereʻll always be one cog whoʻs just a bit bigger, just a bit smarter, and just a bit more susceptible to doing what I want.” 

Charles didnʻt say anything. He let the spirit drift across the room, remaining on the floor to prevent the ancient being from getting any angrier. “I mean,” Clark began in that sickeningly melodic voice of his, “It only took just the right push to get you to burn that house down. Didnʻt it, dearie?”

The ghostʻs cackling remained in the apartment long after he left, echoing around Charles and forcing the young warlock to curl further into himself, the vision of flames and uncontrollable explosions tightening around him and filling him with hot, molten misery. 

-Zombie, The Cranberries

Send Charles a ♪ and I’ll write a small drabble of him interacting with your character from a song I get off shuffle.

[light-em-up-chuck-blog-blog]

♪

And I am what I am, a natural disaster Pick me up at three, send me off to sea And maybe I’ll come back for you See, I lost my clothes, I’m skinny dipping And I can’t understand what I’m after.

"You are so wound tight, you know that, right?" Charles grinned, walking along the sidewalk with a vampire, a sentence you’d mostly only read in some sort of freaky horror novel. Or a teenager’s fanfiction. Anya made a face at him, those pretty brown eyes staring up at him towering over her in the light of a streetlamp. "I’m serious!" he said, not so seriously, "You’ve got this thing you do with your eyebrows when you get all worried about something. There-there’s the eyebrow thing!" Charles laughed, rubbing a thumb along the little groove her knit eyebrows made.

"Stop it," she said with a small laugh, swatting his fingers away as they walked, "I’m just doin’ my best!"

Charles knew she meant to sound like she’d been joking, but her voice carried a weight that the warlock had unintentionally looked over. His features softening, he put a large hand on her head, promising her that he knew that. They walked another block or so before Charles had a great idea. Eyes lighting up in the way only a trouble maker’s could, Charles wrapped a hand around her wrist with a grin and started down a random alley, her quiet, albeit very concerned voice piping up from behind them. “Trust me!” he called out to her as they weaved between buildings, the summer night air dry against their skin. Gravel turned into cement below their feet before it was grass, then sand, then wood, clacking loud below them.

The ocean splashed against the small, water-logged dock, licking salt up their legs as they breathed in the salty Atlantic air. Charles sighed contentedly, smiling as he reached behind his head and pulled the shirt over his head, revealing small scars on his back from years of being shoved into lockers and dumped into trash bins, superglued to goal posts and tossed around the grimy hands of football players with superiority complexes. He looked back at her with shining eyes as he slid his jeans down, boxers and all, before jumping into the clean ocean water, one of the only Atlantic coastlines where the water was anywhere near swimable.

He was lost to the dark, deep sea for a bit, the shock of the cold seizing him momentarily before he bobbed back up to the surface. He laughed, the cold fueling him as he waved for her to jump in with him. She shook her head violently, holding her body to herself.

"Oh, come on, Anya!" he said, running his hand through his hair and slicking it back from his face, "If Kai gets mad, just blame me and she can kill me, it’ll be fine!" he said, the nonchalance rolling off him like the waves he created swimming. "Look, I’ll even warm the water," he chirped, his hands glowing a soft red before he dipped them below the waves and warmth spread in gentle tendrils. The sudden temperature change made his skin blossom with bumps, a shiver running up his spine.

Charles looked up at her, expectantly, grinning still while she still hesitated. “Are you worried about being naked?!” he called out, dipping below the water and pulling himself half-way out of the water, folding his arms on the edge of the wood and resting his cheek there. “Darling, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but even your pretty face couldn’t get me to stop wanting to do guys.” He laughed, swimming back out and really just enjoying the complete freedom. The liberty. He looked back in time to see her body flying through the air, taking the leap of faith.

Living in her time of death.

-Shark Attack, Grouplove

Send Charles a ♪ and I’ll write a small drabble of him interacting with your character from a song I get off shuffle.