Soap with me?
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:29pm
Thread Topic: Soap with me?
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((This was a story I wrote, but I turned it into a starter. Please read, and know that I'm specifically looking for a romance and angst plot with flashbacks of action, with another male character (boy x boy).))
Brandon Howard was a very sick man. Although, sick seemed to be an understatement. It was more of a disease; a raging sense of failure he couldn't shove away. No matter what anyone told him, no matter the medication he took, the fact that thinking- no, to him it was knowing- that he failed was a weight of guilt on his heart. And the memories of the pain he'd gone through was just too much to bear.
Some of the man's time was spent staring into space; this could go on for hours if allowed. Just thinking, contemplating of what he could have done differently. Other times he'd be screaming, or crying, with seemingly no sign of stopping. And finally, when he was a bit more content, he would play with little green army men action figures or even just act quite normal.
He'd been such a jubilant young man before, healthy and a star student. He was only two years out of high school, and he'd been in army training since sophomore year when one day, he was drafted to fight in Afghanistan. At first he was pretty excited to get in on the action, and proud that all his hard work would be paid off. But, after only one month on enemy territory, he became the sole survivor of his platoon. Every other man, every other soldier, was killed. He'd been held captive by the resistance and been tortured for information. All over Brandon's body, they'd given him scars, angry faded lines that curved around him in haphazard shapes. When the army finally saved him from his period of captivity, he was so scarred from the experience that they had no choice but to send him home and give him free medical care. Nowadays, there was only one person who could even try to bring a smile to the man's face.
Brandon lived with another man who he'd known since before his time in the military. The other dealt with him all day, had even quit his own job to take care of Brandon, forcing them to live off of the money the government provided for them. It was a sunny summer day, but as usual, Brandon was stuck inside. He was sitting at the dining room table, leaning forward with his chin set against the wood staring into space.
Brandon's Description:
Age: 19
Appearance:
and
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((Bump ;3;))
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((Hey you seeing this in recent read this, por favor.))
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(He's a real cutie for being someone who's so.. Lost.
and now Dark really wants to help that cutie >:U) -
((Yay he's very thankful Darky~~
You can make a character and continue where my starter left off ^^ -
Magnus's Description:
Name: Magnus Smith
Age: 20
Appearance:
Magnus entered the dining room, fingering his earring. Once again, Brandon looked lost. Pathetic. It hurt his heart to see the poor guy looking that way. He went over to the table, sitting beside Brandon. For a while, he didn't say a word, and just sat there staring at him.
"Do you need anything?" He said at last, breaking the silence. "Food, water, entertainment?" The blonde stuck a finger under Brandon's chin, moving his head so he could see Magnus clearly. He looked straight into his friend's lifeless eyes. -
Brandon hardly took any notice of Magnus at first. As usual, he was in his own little world. Disconnected from everything and everyone else. It wasn't until his friend started talking and moved his chin that Brandon finally responded to his presence.
"No. I'm fine," he mumbled, staring right back at Magnus, waiting for whatever he'd do next. Brandon himself hardly ever spoke unless spoken to, and even then, he kept things down to simple phrases. -
He stared for a moment longer before releasing his chin. He stood up, holding back a sigh. "Alright, then. You have fun. I'll wait right here until you need anything. Just give me a tap or signal me if you decide you want something."
Magnus grabbed a different chair, pulling it up next to Brandon. He sat in it, resting his head on the table. He stared at the other male, his gold eyes full of worry. He missed Brandon's laugh, his real smile, everything about the old Brandon. Magnus didn't mind that he was gone, though. At least his friend was back in his eye sight, even if he was totally worn out and damaged. Like a toy.. -
Brandon went right back to sitting how he'd been before, staring off at the blank wall. Though, he wasn't thinking about the wall. He was thinking about cold nights spent in a cramped concrete cell, and days in hundred-degree weather with his skin burning in the sunlight he was forced to sit in.
His hands were slowly clenching together, nails pressing to his palms, almost drawing blood. At the same time, his breathing grew a bit more struggled, as though there was a rag shoved in his mouth that he was trying to breath around. -
It didn't take long for him to see his friend's breathing change. His eyes lowered down to Brandon's hands. With caution in his eyes, Magnus reached over to Brandon's hands, gently pulling them apart. He pressed Brandon's palms against the table.
"Hey. Brandon, you're not where you think you are. Look at me. Bran, look at me and tell me that you know you're safe here." Magnus placed his hands over the younger boy's hands. "Say it." -
He payed little attention to the one trying to bring him back to reality. One second after another passed, before Brandon squinted his eyes shut, trying to block away where his thoughts were taking him. A soft whimper escaped, dropping his head to press his forehead to the top of table.
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Omg. SO MANY CUTE BOOOYS. I know I'm interrupting. Sorry!! :C]
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Magnus sighed, closing his eyes. He knew that his attempts were useless. Sometimes, he wondered why he tried. With a frown plastered onto his face, he stood, walking away from Brandon into the kitchen. What made him so attached to his old friend? Was he clinging on to hope that he could fix Brandon? Or was it something else? He rubbed his forehead, sighing. "Oh, Brandon."
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With the weight on top of his hands gone, Brandon clenched them together again. Though the action was nothing new. His palms already had crescent-shaped marks all over where he'd drawn blood before and they cuts were still healing.
To him, the pain was very real. Every moment of searing sun on his back sent an imaginary pain through his body. It was a few minutes before he finally opened his eyes, and saw he was just on the table. Unclenching his now blood-stained fingernails from his hands, he stayed where he was, slowly taking deep breaths. -
*the
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