#He grew up with addicts and the first time he drinks alcohol this happens and if it's not the biggest trauma I don't know what is

[skarkkk]

It was fucking rape. That's my fucking point of view.

What do you mean he liked it? What do you mean it was cheating? What do you mean I like her?

It was rape, there is no other interpretation other than rape.

Robby lived with two addicts and yet he was abandoned in a bar with free access to alcohol, and that's where it started.

He got drunk for the first time, he drank for the first time and he has no resistance to alcohol because he stays away as best he can for the simple fact that his parents were addicts who never cared about him. So he wanted to forget what was happening, to repress all of this and he turned to alcohol because where else would he go when everyone didn't give a damn about him, or his situation with Tory or his emotions? Where else was he supposed to go when his example of dealing with emotions is aggression and addiction? So he drank. He drank to a level where he couldn't formulate a response, a sentence, when Kwon came to talk to him and provoke him, and we know that if he was sober he would have done something. It was obvious on his own face listening to Kwon that he was spaced out, drunk, and then Zara approached him. And took him to her room, from where he came out the next morning. No memory of the night before, a headache, and still looking out of it, as we can see when she kissed him and he didn't even react to it. The level of alcohol this requires is the level of alcohol that prevents someone from giving consent.

— I barely remember last night

— Good thing I do

Can we see the exact connotation that something happened? That she actually took advantage of the boy who couldn't speak to give consent, who couldn't think to say no, who was too drunk for this to be acceptable? The fact that she shows no remorse whatsoever for this happening and yet kisses him again.

Besides the fact that the writers themselves are treating it like it's some kind of cheating with Tory, the characters themselves acting like he's not a vulnerable person being raped by someone who knows better?

I hate her and I hate the writers for making this like it's nothing. I don't want to be that girl, but being that girl, if the roles were reversed, would this be in the show? Would this be treated that way? Or would they actually treat it like the SA situation that it is?

From the beginning, you can see her interest in Robby - starting with that scene in the captains' photo shoot where she talks to Tory. She knows he's in a relationship. All those teasing scenes with Tory. Her taking advantage of Robby. Then the fight scene.

— You chose her over me?

Like, girl, what the fuck did you expect? He doesn't know you, he doesn't like you, you raped him and you're going after his girlfriend - the person he loves? How high is your ego to even consider that he would choose you? Axel's obsession with Sam I can understand more, although I still have my doubts. She was the first person to understand and see his situation with his sensei, she was friendly and he developed a protectiveness towards her. Although his attitude towards Miguel was wrong, he didn't rape Sam or act like a bitch towards her.

Iron Dragons and their obsession with the Miyagi-Do captains.

Zara Malik and the fact that she raped Robby Keene.

[bunnys-kisses]

bulk

capt. john price

cw: smut/pwp, rugby au, rugby player!price, age gap (20s/40s), size difference/kink, rough sex, doggy style, headlock (slight choking), dirty talk & degrading language, breeding kink, is this ticking off boxes for anyone?

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john price was a big man. almost ten years playing professional rugby for the english team, he had bulked up since his early years on the team.  thick muscle and a nice softness over top. he was strong, able to carry all the groceries inside of your shared flat and also get his hulking frame across the field with ball in hand. he was also hairy, patches of hair across his chest down to his belly, didn't mention all the pubic hair between his legs. it obscured a lot of his tattoos that he had gotten over the years, like your name over his heart and his jersey number at his thigh (you knew you'd get too hot if you thought about his thighs too much).  you once told him, with your tongue loose with alcohol that it was the ideal male body. that these ‘dehydrated poor excuses of men’ needed to drink water and eat some carbs. 

price was a man's man. you knew the first time you fucked him, that you'd never ever fuck with those limp dicked boys at your university. you got addicted to the feeling of a real man, one who know exactly how to make your eyes roll back and your tongue hang out, panting heavily like a good bitch you were.

post-game price was your favourite shade of john price. you could feel his electricity while in the passenger seat of the car after the match. when he pulled out of the parking lot, he placed his large hand on your thigh. he played with the edge of your skirt and kept his eyes on the road. you could tell that the wheels in his head were turning. 

  “honey?”

  “been thinkin', love.” he said as his fingers edged up your skirt a little more. like he was a teen boy rather than a forty year old man. he was teasing you, knowing that there would be no way you could both fuck in the back of his car. even it was an expensive vehicle, it would be a tight fit for such a large man and his smaller wife. 

you looked at him and said, “never a good thing for a man to think.” you giggled then yelped when he gripped your thigh suddenly. 

he chuckled a little as he continued to drive, “thinkin' about makin' a baby.” he licked his top lip, “i ain't gettin' any younger, love. and you're almost done school, so i think it's high time we start makin' a family.” his words were honey in your brain. it made you squirm. your much bigger, much older husband was asking for you to make a baby with him. 

  “someone's got baby fever.” you giggled as you placed your hand over his. the air of the car grew warmer, which made price open the window a little.  you squeaked a little bit when he gripped you harder. you felt your heart rate pick up at the feeling of his large hands on you.

he chuckled a little, as he looked at you briefly while at a stop light. he leaned in to kiss you, “of course. part of me's been thinkin' about you walking across the stage at your graduation with my little brat in your belly.” then looked back to start driving again. 

you rubbed your thighs together and felt wet at your core. you couldn't deny your husband, plus you had been subject to baby fever as well. maybe it was your body screaming for your lover. to have a part of him in you. and it wasn't like you two were being the most safe, so accidents could've happened. once back at your flat, you weren't in your clothes for long. 

price had practically ripped your skirt off of you and those large paws he called hands were groping at your plush ass with his lips on your neck.  you could feel his hard cock inside of his white briefs. the pre cum leaked through the fabric as he humped against you. he said in a heated tone, “i need it. i need her.” while made you moan then try to get your bra and panties off. you felt the heat rising in your skin, it was painfully hot for you. it excited you in ways that left you feeling hot all over. 

  “how badly, honey?”

he pulled you right up against him, his clothed cock digging into your abdomen, “more than anythin'. i need ‘er.  i need ’er stuff full. want it to smell like me for months. and if it doesn't, i'll just fill 'er up again.” he slapped your ass and watched you moan with your back arched. he groped the cheek one last time before he took his naked wife to the bedroom. 

his clothes were tossed to the side too, the t-shirt from the rugby league and basketball shorts. once everything was off, you admired your lover for a long moment. seeing all the heft and hair on him. his body that was so strong that he could easily crush you in his bicep or between his thighs. it made your core throb as you got into bed. 

  “nah, nah.” price said as he got onto the bed and grabbed your hips, “i need a deeper angle, somethin' to really show her i love you.” then patted your pussy before he gripped onto your hips once more and turned you onto your stomach. he then angled your hips up then dragged a finger across your achy slit. he chuckled, “there she is.” then leaned in to give your slick cunt a little blow, watching your hole flutter.

  “mmm please, honey.” you arched your back as you felt your husband so close to you. your hulking husband who only hours earlier was running across the field, fighting his way through the other team. his strong legs carried him and you were sitting in the stands with your thighs pressed together with need. 

price replied, “i know, i know. i know you need me” he rubbed his achy cock up against your slit, “always so good for me. knew for the moment i met ya that i wanted ya for the rest of my days.” there was an age gap between you two, but in all fairness, it turned you on even more. knowing that this handsome older man wanted to make sure that his cock was buried in you. 

when he pressed into you, your back arched. you gasped heavily into the covers as he lifted your hips further to get a better angle to sink into you. he laid over top of you, his fuzzy body up against your back. he pressed his weight onto you and kept that heavy cock of his snug inside of you. you groaned loudly, muffled by the pillows under your head. 

  “honey.” you whined as you felt the ache of his cock so deep in you. 

he got one of his hefty arms around your throat, keeping you further pinned against the bed. it wasn't hard enough to choke the lights out of ou. but enough to have pressure that made your head swim. it all felt so good and just just started. your voice was strained when price started to rut against you. his pace wasn't fast like a young stallion, but they were hard. every thrust of his hips were lazily slow but hit the back of your pussy perfectly. his cock had a thickness to it, you had carried rolls of ground beef that weighed less than his cock. not to mention the forest of pubic hair anf his breeder balls. he was a perfect man, body and all. he  took you so well. 

  “she likes me.” he said, “your pretty cunt. i bet you were thinkin' about me on the field. all dirty and roughed up, yeah. bet you wished i fucked ya right in the locker room. let the boys hear how i make my girl feel. bruise that poor pussy of yours.” he said, words hot in your heat. it made sweat settle over you.

you whimpered a little against the covers, “please, john. ah!”

he continued to fuck you, his pace was aggressive and it made you see stars. his arm was still around your throat and you could feel your pulse in your jaw. he left messy kisses on your face, leaving your cheek wet. you whimpered and clenched around his cock which only made him fuck you harder. you were such a good little wife for him. being so good to your man while he wrecked your sweet little hole. 

  "honey! please! you whimpered as you arched your back, but didn't get far due to the impressive size of your lover. you felt pinned under him, his strength. you gasped out another noise as the blunt head of his cock kept bullying your sweet insides. letting it make a huge mess of you, his cock was soaked in your wetness. it dripped down his hairy balls. he loved making his girl feel good. 

he continued to kiss your face, not quite getting your lips. his facial hair brushed against your heated skin and made you over sensitive. his mouth kept running as he kept moving. he felt hot all over, like a heat in his gut as he battered your sweet insides, “my perfect woman.  know how to take me so well. meant to take me. givin' me the privilege to make you a mama. ya like that? showin' up to uni with a little extra next semester. my dutiful little wife. keepin' up her studies while she nursing my babe.” he chuckled as he continued to keep that pussy of yours nice and filled. 

you gasped and moaned into the covers. you could be as loud as you wanted, you were in the safety of your bedroom as price rutted against you. your body was sweaty and your head was swimming. it was so painfully erotic, you felt hot all over. your heart thumped in your chest with a heavy beat as price kept moving against you. 

  “you're lucky you have the ring already. if your classmates saw you with a nice round middle, they might have gotten the wrong idea about you. that you're a dirty slag who can't keep her legs closed.” he chuckled as he licked down the sweat on the side of your neck, “dirty bird. but it's alright, we're married. you're my wife. mrs. jonathan price. about time you got a little one in your belly.” he pressed further into you and it made your head spin. his cock felt like it was pressing into your stomach. 

  “i love you.” you panted.

he finally kissed your lips, or at least the corner as he tightened his hold around your throat, “i love ya too, sweet thing. lettin' my cock bully your sweet insides. made for me, all of me. don't worry, be keepin' that womb warm for a long time. hope ya like 'em big, price boys can be a handful.” he laughed as he kissed the back of your neck. 

he was fully crowded in your space as he worked your sweet pussy. you barely had time to think before you felt the flash of orgasm through your body. it was like being engulfed in a quick heat while your body tensed up and your mind went blank. your pussy drooling on his cock, beckoning him to finish inside of you. 

a good husband always finishes in his wife. 

with a few more heavy thrusts against your limp body price finished inside of you. he pushed his cock all the way inside of you and made sure that your hips were at an angle that made it easier for you to get pregnant. he clutched onto you as he slowed down to a stop. your eyes rolled back a little as he pulled out. the loss of pressure made you whine. you weren't able to form any proper thoughts, your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as your husband rolled you onto your back and kissed you deeply on the lips. 

no need to think, mrs. price. let your rugby playing husband do all the decision making. <3

[ghost-bxrd]

okay so this is an idea I’ve seen brought up maybe once before, but maybe Jason (before the Bats find out who he is) accidentally lets something slip that makes them realize that he’s literally, like, a child (seventeen, sixteen, I’m not sure how old he is at that point exactly, but either works)

and Bruce “adoption addiction” Wayne promptly looks at this obviously traumatized teenager and decides that he should adopt Red Hood.

I just think Jason would be so confused (maybe a little pissed too)

I’ve touched on that a little bit in What you’re longing for (you claim to abhor)!

I think this trope is wayyy underrated. Like, Jason is still so, so young. Basically a child. Even if he died at sixteen and then spent two years with the league (even if we’re counting the time he spent dead as aging). He’s barely even legal when he returns to Gotham. Or if we’re being generous let’s say he’s nineteen.

Doesn’t matter, he’s barely out of his teens (maybe he’s still IN his teens if you bend the timeline of your fic a little) and he’s experienced horrors that would have most people become utterly unable to function. But Jason? That boy takes his trauma and channels it into anger. Which, not exactly healthy, but well.

Anyway, getting off topic:

YES. Jason is still basically a kid when he debuts as the Red Hood, and you know what else he is? A good boy who’s not gonna touch any alcohol until he’s officially 21.

“But why would he do that? He grew up in Crime Alley! Ain’t nobody got time for age limitations!”

Hear me out! Let’s assume he grew up in a household where his father, Willis Todd, drank quite a lot on the regular in addition to his mom’s addiction. Jason experienced the aftermath of this (perhaps domestic violence?) every time his dad returned from a job/jail and he grew to loathe any and all substances, including alcohol. Knowing Jason and his convictions it wouldn’t be too far fetched to assume he’d never touch a single drop of alcohol at all.

So that’s one way he could slip up while taking to his goons (and having the bats overhear) or even straight up talking to one of them where maybe Dick banters a bit and goes “Hey, perhaps you should chill out a bit. Have a drink maybe” and Jason just instinctively goes “Fuck you Dickwing, I’m seventeen/eighteen/nineteen! I’m not allowed to drink!”

And Dick just— bluescreens. And immediately goes to tell Bruce, obviously.

OR

The Bats assume Jason is this old guy (Bruce’s or Drathstroke’s age maybe) and consequently they keep alluding to things that happened way before Jason was ever even born and at first he’s so? Confused??? But eventually it just gets really annoying and eventually he just— snaps.

“How the fuck would I know which Nokia gen hit the market that year? I was born in fuckin’ XXXX, I’m an iPhone kid!”

“Stop referencing the Cold War dipshit, I’m fucking seventeen! I’m glad I remember my own damn birthday!”

“I don’t know, I was like— two back then.”

Bruce, obviously, would take .1 seconds to realize:

“Omg. That’s- that’s a whole child. That’s a whole damn TRAUMATIZED child, killing people and sawing off heads. Omg someone must have hurt him so bad. Don’t worry tho, son, Batman’s got you. You won’t have to hurt anybody ever again. We’re here for you. Would you like the room next to Tim’s or Dick’s?”

Meanwhile Jason: “what the fuck”

[peachdues]

Phantasmagoria (Part II)

Tell Me to Stop (Sanemi’s Version)

Sanemi x F!Reader • Modern AU • NSFW

A/N: read the fucking warnings before you report.

Massive TW: grief • loss of a parent • canon character death • drug and alcohol abuse • panic attacks • implied attempted sexual assault (not described, happens off-page • non-consensual photos being texted around (very briefly described, and then it’s just a mention of a bite mark) • violence between characters • brief description of Douma getting his face pounded in (deserved)

CW: 14k words. MDNI. explicit sexual content ahead (opens mid-fuck) • creampies • oral (f! and m!receiving) • rough oral • throat fucking • cum eating • ass-smacking • hate(?)fucking • toxic ass FWB • swearing • angst

I promise Part III will have angst BUT also lots of fluff/intimacy/care.

Without further ado!

Three weeks had passed since Sanemi first brought her home with him when Y/N realized she was utterly fucked.

Sure, at that moment, the platinum-haired man had her bent over his kitchen table, arms pinned behind her back as he pounded mercilessly into her, but she realized that she was also fucked because nothing had ever or would ever compare to the way Sanemi made her feel.

It had started only as an occurrence whenever they were out at night, with Y/N tugging Sanemi into Kizuki’s seedy bathroom to bounce against his lap. Sanemi had been forced to muffle his groans by sucking harshly on her breast as he fucked her against the bathroom wall, only for her to succinctly pull off him the moment he finished to return to her friends, Shinobu discretely handing her a napkin to wipe the remnants of his pleasure as it dripped down her thighs.

Then, she started letting him bring her back to his apartment from the various clubs and bars their groups visited. She grew content to let him lay her over the side of his bed to swirl that sinful tongue around her needy, demanding clit as his thick fingers steadily pumped in and out of her aching cunt while he fucked her mouth, his seed spilling down her throat with a force that threatened to obliterate any dwindling part of her that had not been utterly consumed by him.

But that still had not been enough for Y/N — or for Sanemi, apparently.

Because their late-night trysts had quickly evolved into near-daily rendezvouses, both stone-cold sober and texting each other in the middle of the day, in desperate need to feel the other’s body pressed flush against their own. And as wrong as it was, Y/N loved it; she craved it more than any pretty Wisteria pill or sticky fruity drink.

Because all it took was one taste for Y/N to end up right back in the scarred palm of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s hand, begging him to fuck her back to life.

And fuck her he did. The top of her sundress had been pulled down to her waist, and the wooden grain of his kitchen table bit into her bare breasts as Sanemi’s hips slapped roughly against her ass. Y/N was close to sobbing because god, it felt fucking good when he got rough with her like that, when he made her feel anything other than the crippling numbness that seemed to spread through her with each passing day.

He released her arms to lean forward and ghost his lips up her spine, all the way to the back of her neck, and Y/N came hard, just like she did every time they came together because Sanemi knew how to set every nerve in her body on fire with his addicting touch and addicting kiss.

One rough hand made its way under her jaw to twist her head back so he could claim her lips with his, coming as he did so, his groan of pleasure muffled by Y/N sliding her tongue into his mouth.

She hated how much she loved him.

—————————————————————————

They’d been sleeping together for nearly a month when Sanemi decided to test her patience.

“So, are we gonna talk about it?” Y/N cringed, because no, she most certainly did not want to talk about it; not then, not ever, and especially not with him.

“Why would we?” She responded flippantly, twirling the straw in the dregs of her drink. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit,” Sanemi snapped at her. “You’ve spent the last two years running away from us, and you think there’s nothing to talk about?”

Y/N met his stare hard, her own returning glare cold. “Running implies effort.”

“D’you really think I didn’t try to find you?” Sanemi grabbed her wrist, keeping her from getting up and leaving the bar. “But god forbid you be vulnerable, huh?”

————————————————————————-

“Oh, God forbid you be vulnerable, ‘Nemi,” Y/N gave him an exaggerated eye roll as she leaned her head against Kyojuro’s shoulder.

“You’re sayin’ you would let yourself get that…close with someone?” Sanemi argued, and with a sigh, Kyojuro paused the movie.

They weren’t supposed to be watching a movie with such steamy scenes, but Y/N’s mother had stepped out to cover a shift for a friend, and the trio of teenagers had been left without supervision.

Really, the movie hadn’t been that bad; but the film’s shining sex scene had been several minutes long, each of the teenagers shifting uncomfortably on the couch as the sound of moans filled the basement where they’d gathered to watch.

The scene had passed, but Y/N’s and Sanemi’s argument over a particular detail had not.

“If you’re already having sex, why does it matter what position it’s in?” Y/N half shrieked with laughter as both boys turned scarlet. “Isn’t intimacy the whole point?”

Sanemi turned his face away, embarrassed. “All I’m sayin’ is I don’t think I’d ever let a woman have that much power over me.” Sanemi was referring to the way the female character had climbed atop the love interest and began riding him, her head tipped back as loud, lascivious moans fell from her lips.

It was Kyo’s turn to laugh. “You’d have to get a woman in that position, to begin with, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi made a disgruntled sound. “Bro code says you’re supposed to be on my side, Rengoku,”

Beneath where her cheek lay, Kyojuro vibrated as he laughed heartily. “I’m not saying I’m not! Just that you’ve got a few steps to take before you have to worry about it.”

“Worry about being too vulnerable,” Y/N screwed her eyes up and stuck her tongue out on the last word as she teased him, settling back in against the couch as she grabbed the remote from Kyo’s hand and re-started the movie.

—————————————————————————

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N said frostily, stomping away from the bar and from him.

She didn’t know why she tried to run away from him, not when it was so pointless. Because an hour later, Y/N found herself on the edge of Sanemi’s bed, as he hooked her legs over his muscled shoulders. Face buried deep in her cunt, he lifted her off the mattress, suspending her mid-air and upside down as he ravished her while she sobbed for him to do more, to give her more until she could not possibly take anything else from him.

Perhaps he was punishing her; maybe she deserved it. All Y/N knew, as Sanemi finally tore his mouth away from her weeping core and flipped her onto her knees before slamming her back on his steely length, was that if this was her punishment for loving Sanemi Shinazugawa, she would gladly take it.   

The last thing she thought, as Sanemi spilled into her for the second time that evening, thumb swirling her clit and his teeth buried in her neck, was that she was grateful to be on birth control.

—————————————————————————

“Do you like doing that?” Kyojuro’s voice was hesitant over the vibration of the music and laughter of drunken revelers gathered to let loose on the Kizuki dancefloor, and Y/N had to lean closer to hear him at all.

Y/N frowned slightly as she pushed her dissolving Wisteria to her cheek. “It’s just a recreational thing, while we’re out, y’know?”

She didn’t know why she was explaining herself to him, or why she felt like she had to, but Kyojuro had always been one of the few people who could pull the truth out of her with little effort, and in the back of her mind, she knew that made him dangerous. After all, he might get her to confess that she’d missed his smile or missed the blazing heat of Sanemi’s stare whenever she spoke.

Kyojuro reached out and brushed a lock of her hair that had fallen loose from one of her space buns behind her ear. “You were always so straight-edge. I guess I’m just surprised.”

Y/N wanted to smack his hand away but found herself leaning into the steadying warmth of his touch. “Things change, I suppose.”

Kyojuro winced, and his eyes filled with a sadness that was too out of place here in this den of debauchery. “Where did it all go wrong, Y/N? What happened?”

It all went wrong when Sanemi and Genya’s parents were killed in that car crash, making the boys wards of the state who were then bounced around from foster home to foster home. It all went wrong when Genya defended another boy in a fight that wasn’t his to begin with and ended up dead on a sidewalk. It all went wrong when Sanemi lashed out at her and condemned her with a few choice words that seemed grossly disproportionate to what she’d actually said. It all went wrong when Kyojuro decided that being there for Sanemi meant he had to abandon her, too, and then they’d both forgotten about her while she’d lost everything.

But Y/N couldn’t unload all of that right then. “Things change, Kyojuro.” She repeated, though her voice was slightly weaker than it had been, wobbling slightly in a way that Y/N knew meant she would cry if given long enough.

“But you’re our friend, Y/N-” Kyojuro pled, but it was the wrong thing to say, and he cringed as he watched her clam up almost instantly.

—————————————————————————

“She’s our friend!” Kyojuro said hotly, though, with his missing front tooth, it was hard to see him as anything but adorable, even as he glowered at the sneering girl, as he helped Y/N stand up from where she’d been knocked over.

“What a weirdo!” Ume, the small, white-haired girl who always looked like she smelled something unpleasant, reached to yank one of Y/N’s pigtails harshly, causing her to cry out in pain. “And you’re ugly, too!”

Y/N had only been trying to join in on Ume’s tea party that she held with the other girls in their class. But when she’d boldly tried to sit down amongst them, the cruel little girl had shoved her harshly out of the circle they’d formed on the blacktop,

Kyojuro smacked the beastly little girl’s hand away. “Hit her again, and I’ll make you sorry!” He threatened, and for once, the girl had the wits to look slightly intimidated at the blonde who towered over her.

“If you hit me, I’ll tell my brother on you!” The troll hissed, but it did little to cow Kyojuro, who shouldered past her as he steered the softly crying Y/N away from the horrid little group of girls.

“Y/N, are you okay?” The blonde asked worriedly after they were out of sight of Ume, turning her around to look her over.

“I-I just w-wanted to be t-their friend!” Y/N hiccupped, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “But they were s-so mean!”

Kyojuro pat her head, just like he did with his baby brother. “You don’t want to be their friend, Y/N,” he said kindly. “Not when they’re so mean. Stick with me and Sanemi! We’ll always look after you!”

Y/N wiped her eyes and tugged at her loose pigtail, all messed from Ume’s harsh grip. “Do you promise?”

Kyojuro smiled as brightly as the sun. “I promise! I will always be here to watch after you – whenever you need me! I’ll be there!”

—————————————————————————

Y/N patted the warm brawn of Kyojuro’s shoulder sympathetically. “I was, Kyo,” her use of his nickname somehow made him hurt more, his mouth wobbling somewhat as his eyes mirrored the resignation in hers. “But it’s just as I said,”

Y/N reached for Mitsuri’s discarded drink on the counter and tipped it back, draining the last dregs of alcohol. “Things change.”

—————————————————————————

Y/N was leaning against the counter of the bar, nursing her beer as she watched her pink friend giggle and murmur sweetly to the black-haired boy dancing with her, the latter’s hands hesitantly gripping her friend’s waist.

“You don’t approve?” A familiar voice rose over the pounding bass of the club music from her side. Y/N didn’t have to turn her head to know who’d sidled up next to her – she would know his blistering heat anywhere.

She tapped her fingers against the sweaty side of her glass. “I just don’t know why he won’t make a move,” Y/N said after a long moment, a frown pulling at the corners of her red-painted lips.

Sanemi followed her line of sight and his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Maybe he wants to, but he thinks it’ll just make things worse.” He said after a moment, voice quiet.

Y/N hummed in disagreement. “He’s making it worse by not doing anything at all – he’s made her think it’s her fault things aren’t working out between them.”

“He doesn’t mean to,” Sanemi offered. “He does care about her. More than she realizes.” He watched as Obanai delicately brushed a strand of Mitsuri’s pink hair from her eyes.

Y/N finally rolled her head to the side to look at him, and idly she wondered if her eyes looked as numb as she felt. “If he did, he wouldn’t keep hurting her; wouldn’t have hurt her to begin with.”

Sanemi stared back at her, and it made her heart squeeze to see the faintest trace of pain in his gaze, even in spite of his small smile. “’S not that simple, though.”

She looked away. “It could’ve been,” Y/N took a long sip of her drink, part of her hoping that he couldn’t catch the jaded edge that crept into her voice. “And now all they know how to do is use one another.”

Sanemi’s gaze upon her was uncomfortable, and not just because it felt like he was stripping down every carefully crafted wall she’d erected around herself during their estrangement. The genuine flash of hurt in his eyes made her feel slick, oily, and so very wrong.

The pair watched as the mismatched couple on the dancefloor swayed together, Obanai’s eyes wide the whole time, as though he could not believe he had the good fortune of holding the beautiful, colorful girl in his arms. Y/N tried to feel happy for her friend, but it was difficult, especially when he knew that the night would inevitably end with Mitsuri in tears, lamenting that her dark-haired lover had yet again insisted he was not good enough for her, and he would leave Y/N to pick up the pieces of her friend’s broken heart.

“They should let themselves try,” Sanemi murmured, bringing Y/N’s attention back to him.

In one smooth gulp, Y/N polished off the rest of her drink, the warm buzz of alcohol loosening her tongue. “Trying is for those who haven’t lost hope.” Y/N squared her shoulders and steeled herself to return to the dancefloor once more. “And Mitsuri is about to learn that lesson.”

Later, just as Y/N predicted, Obanai left but Mitsuri did not go with him. As she wrapped an arm around her crying best friend to steer her out of the club, Y/N looked back to Sanemi, still at the bar, and hoped he could see the I told you so in her eyes.

————————————————————————-

It was July, and Sanemi was getting on her last nerves.

“Y/N, you need to stop,” Sanemi’s voice was gruff as his hand closed over her wrist, restraining her from raising the little violet pill to her lips — her second of the night.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize you were my father,” she tried to turn away from him, but he caught her shoulder, wrenching her back around and swatting at the hand clutching her key to euphoria.

“Cut the shit, Y/N.” He ignored the way she glared at him, as she watched her pill bounced to the floor and disappeared. “You’re destroying yourself; you know that?”

Y/N’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “It’s none of your business, Shinazugawa,” and he flinched at her use of his surname. “Why do you even care?”

Sanemi almost looked menacing as he stares at her under the flashing strobes of the Kizuki. “You’re my friend.”

————————————————————————-

“Because Sanemi,” Y/N sniffed, “You’re my friend.”

Though Sanemi’s bandages covered most of his face, he could just make out the teary sincerity in the young girl’s eyes as she squeezed his good hand where it lay against his hospital bed.

At that moment, Sanemi had felt guilty for snapping at his long-time best friend. He’d known that she hadn’t meant any harm when she asked him if the multitude of lacerations that now covered the right side of his body were permanent. But Sanemi had woken up to the news that he and Genya were now all alone in the world, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself; he couldn’t help his need to wallow in the sadness and misery that threatened to suffocate him.

And so, he’d lashed out.

“Tch, who’d wanna be friends with a scarred freak like me?” He snapped back, though the sourness in his gut intensified as the tears slipped faster down Y/N’s cheeks.

“I do,” she insisted. “We’ve been best friends since we were babies.” Amidst the sniffling desperation in her eyes, the first inklings of anger began to shine through. “You can’t just decide to quit being friends! That’s not fair!”

“I don’t care if you have scars!” Y/N’s voice grew more shrill over the slow, steady beeps of the various machines to which Sanemi found himself attached. “I’ve always thought you were…were… pretty!” She sputtered.

For once, Sanemi had been stumped into silence. The young boy found himself suddenly grateful that most of his face was indeed covered by several layers of thick medical gauze, given the way he felt his cheeks heat at Y/N’s furious declaration.

“And I will always want to be your friend!” Y/N finished dramatically, crossing her arms, and flinging herself back in the plastic chair she’d dragged over by his hospital bed.

“All right,” Sanemi murmured, grateful that he could blame the crack in his voice on his impending puberty. “All right. We’re friends.”

“Best friends,” Y/N corrected, though the sparkle had returned to her eyes.

—————————————————————————

Y/N laughed without humor. “You think, because we fuck when we’re high or drunk, that makes us friends?”

Y/N laughed again, and Sanemi’s grip around her wrist tightened. “As I recall, Shinazugawa, it was you who ended our friendship, well before we ever started—” Y/N grimaced. “Whatever this is that we’re doing.”

“We hook up when we’re under the influence. Nothing more.” She finished, coldly.

A flash of hurt flit across his features, almost obscured by the pulsing lights of the club. “I’ve been sober for the last month, Y/N.”

Sanemi’s answer landed harder than she’d anticipated, in no short part because she hadn’t noticed he’d stopped taking Shinobu’s Wisteria, much less stopped drinking while they were all out together. As he said it, however, Y/N recalled the way it had been more than a month since they’d last hooked up at night, with Sanemi responding to her texts only in the morning or early enough in the evening before she’d had the chance to fall under the Wisteria’s magic spell.

In the back of her mind, Y/N knew she should be concerned with the way the Wisteria was beginning to dull her perception and her memory, but she couldn’t find it within her to care at that moment. She only wanted to make the man before her hurt, hurt the way he’d made her hurt for all these months.

But she couldn’t. There were a million insults on her tongue, waiting to be used, and she knew that he could take whatever it was she threw at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“The sentiment is the same, drunk or sober,” Y/N said, half-heartedly. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a long time.”

The pain in Sanemi’s eyes was overshadowed by his own anger, a sure match to her own. “No? So, I’m just a stranger to you, hm?” He took a step closer to her and reached out his hand, gliding it teasingly up her bare arm. “A stranger whom you call and text every day to come and fuck you the way you like it, huh?”

He pulled her close to him, and Y/N let him because he was right, damn him. She craved his touch, his body, more than any tiny purple pill or acidic drink she could spend her money on. She craved him just as surely as she craved air.

But she could not admit that to him, not then, not there. So, Y/N merely breathed, “Yes,” as Sanemi’s hand wrapped under her jaw, his other one tangling in her hair to pull her head back and meet his eyes directly.

Sanemi kissed her, softly, before pulling away to smile ruefully at her. “Then have your pills, Y/N. But you can’t have me, too.”

He released her, and Y/N stepped back, thankful for the dim lighting of the club that concealed her blush. “I don’t need you,” she whispered, though she knew it was a lie. From the look that Sanemi gave her in response, as he retreated towards the bar, she could see he knew it, too.

Y/N sought out Shinobu for another one of her magic pills, but even before she’d allowed it to dissolve on her tongue, Y/N knew something was off. No longer was her world a vibrant array of colors beckoning her to the kaleidoscopic paradise she’d come to love. Instead, the Wisteria crumbled bitterly in her mouth, and no amount of stinging alcohol could chase away its acerbic aftertaste.

She tried to lose herself on the dance floor as she so often did, but it only worsened the sludge that pulsed through her veins.

Beneath the throb of multicolored lights, Y/N felt as though she was suffocating.

Y/N pushed and elbowed her way dizzily through the crush of people on the dance floor, lungs constricting to the point of pain as she struggled to take a breath, her limbs trembling. Her eyes landed on a pair of lilac irises studying her from across the club, and distantly, Y/N noticed how he straightened, his focus lasering in on her as she stumbled towards him.

She couldn’t deny the irony that she was so used to fleeing from him into the sparkling, sweaty array of club-goers, only to find herself desperate to run to him, for safety and comfort, away from the revelers who were suddenly too loud and too close.

He met her halfway, having moved from his place against the bar counter after noticing her distress. With more relief than Y/N knew she should feel, she collapsed against him, grateful for the steely warmth of his arms as they closed protectively around her. In his embrace, she found that she didn’t even mind the way his lips pressed against her damp forehead as he asked whether she was okay.

She wasn’t, and that was his fault to begin with, but he was there, holding her as if she mattered, and Y/N let herself melt.

—————————————————————————

An hour later, she was back in Sanemi’s apartment, crouched over his toilet while the cold tile of his bathroom floor bit into her knees as she heaved up her guts. Sanemi was there, too, seated behind her on the ground while he held her hair in his gentle grip, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

Between the spasms in her stomach, Y/N wondered if he could see the black sludge of her love for him mixed in with the bile courtesy of Shinobu’s bad Wisteria pill.

————————————————————————-

The next morning, he was yelling at her.

Y/N was confused as to why, exactly, his voice was raised at her, given how gentle he’d been with her the night before; it wasn’t as if she’d been trying to do anything different when he awoke.

She’d just been gathering her things to leave, as she always did. She never stayed after they’d finished, and he knew that — so it wasn’t her fault that he’d woken up and caught her trying to sneak out of his apartment.

“This has gotten out of hand, Y/N. You’re out of control,” Sanemi was blocking his front door, his face hard. If Y/N hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she saw a hint of concern intermingled with the anger that filled his eyes.

“You were lucky last night that you only had a bad trip — but what if it had been mixed with something? What if Kocho’d made a bad batch?”

Y/N’s head was pounding, and the aftereffects from her the previous night were still echoing through her, twisting her world into something dark.

Sanemi’s raised voice wasn’t helping; not in the slightest.

Y/N felt her hands drift to her head as she covered her ears, her breath quickening as her lungs squeezed and spasmed in her chest.

“Stop,” Y/N pled, but her voice was weak and distant, and utterly drowned out by him.

“You’re killing yourself, don’t you see that?” Sanemi continued hotly. “D’you know how gaunt you look? How frail? This shit is killing you, Y/N.”

“For someone who constantly needs to be in control, you’ve completely lost it.”

“Stop, please, stop,”

“What would your mother think?”

“Stop.” Y/N repeated, and she said it again and again until she was half-screaming it, sobbing as she fell back against the hallway wall of Sanemi’s apartment. Distantly, Y/N recognized she was having a panic attack, and she knew it wasn’t really his fault, but his words had stung nonetheless.

Warm, gentle hands closed around her wrists as Sanemi lowered her hands from her ears and pulled her against his chest.

“Breathe,” he said, hoarsely. “Breathe, Y/N.”

It was too difficult to get a breath down as she gasped against him, his chest bare under the shirt he’d thrown on and failed to button in his haste to stop her before she could run. Beneath the warm skin under her cheek, Sanemi’s heart beat strong and sturdy, a lullaby that soothed the roar in her ears.

“Breathe with me,” Sanemi coaxed, peeling back from her, his hands coming to rest on either side of her head as he pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He inhaled, deep, for three counts before exhaling, and Y/N found herself falling into sync with him as her erratic heart slowed.

But as the jittery panic beneath her skin eased, a fire ignited in her blood, and suddenly, Y/N found herself boiling with anger.

“How dare you?” She shoved him away harshly, her eyes wild. “Who the fuck gave you the right to bring my mother into this? Don’t act like you suddenly give a shit about her memory.”

Sanemi stumbled back under her push, and he looked remorseful, more guilty than Y/N had ever known him to seem. “Y/N, I –“

“No, shut the fuck up,” She snapped. “I don’t believe you for a second, Sanemi. Not for one fucking second do I believe you care about me or about her at all.”

Y/N paced in front of Sanemi, still situated in front of the only entrance to and exit from his apartment. Fine, if he wanted to keep her in there with him, then he could deal with her rage.

“Not one fucking call,” Y/N began. “Not once did you or Kyojuro bother to check-in. ‘Hey, sorry we haven’t spoken in nine months, but we heard your mom got cancer, and she used to feed us when our parents wouldn’t, so we thought we’d check in and see how she was doing.’” She mimicked, cruelly. “Do you see how fucking simple that could have been?”

Sanemi only stared at her, his eyes an unfathomable mixture of sadness, remorse, and pain.

“But you didn’t,” Y/N said coldly. “You two fucked off and continued your merry little friendship together, so spare me the bullshit.”

“Y/N – Kyojuro cares. I care –“ Sanemi tried, but Y/N cut him off once more.

“Shut the fuck up!” She exploded, her hands flailing in front of her as she tried to push him away from her once more. “You don’t care, you never did! I’m just a warm body for you to fuck and that’s it.”

Y/N finally shoved past him, hand reaching for the door. “Don’t you dare pretend like I mean any more to you than that,” She spat.

She flung his door open, but Sanemi’s hand shot past her, slamming it shut once more. Y/N stood there, facing the door, chest heaving as she struggled to control her anger. “Let me go, Sanemi.” She said stiffly, refusing to turn around, to face him.

Sanemi’s hand found her shoulder and turned her around instead, and before she could blink, his mouth slammed down angrily over hers, his hands gripping her waist tight as his teeth nipped her bottom lip, demanding entry that Y/N couldn’t help but give him.

He was her weakness; always had been, always would be.

Sanemi pressed her against his doorway, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as Y/N palmed him through the sweatpants he’d haphazardly thrown on.

“Y/N,” he groaned as she increased the pressure of her hand slightly, her lips moving to his neck as she licked one of the small scars that lay near his jaw.

“I need you, Sanemi,” She murmured, and Sanemi’s eyes blew wide as he growled, arms locking around her middle as he heaved her up against his door.

Their lips met in a fiery exchange of tongue and teeth, biting, and sucking at the other possessively as they tore each other’s clothes from their body. Y/N ground down against Sanemi’s thick, bare length as it bounced against the underside of her thigh, the slick wet of her heat grazing him and causing him to moan in her ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Sanemi growled as he spun them away from the door, guiding them towards his kitchen as he laid her out over his counter, an arm only leaving its position at her waist to clear the assorted mail and spare keys he’d had organized there, letting it all fall to the linoleum floor.

Sanemi’s fingers worked their way between her legs as his lips wrapped around the peak of her breast and sucked, causing Y/N’s back to arch gracefully off the surface of his counter. His thumb stroked her aching bundle of nerves as his index finger swirled around her entrance, teasingly gathering her wetness around the calloused digit, before he sunk it into her, curling it so that he brushed against that sensitive spot on her front wall.

“Sanemi – ah,” she panted as he added yet another finger, her eyes nearly crossing at the sensation of his hand scissoring in and out of her, while his thumb continued to play with her clit. “I can’t wait – please,”

He hesitated for a moment, no doubt fighting every urge to sheathe himself within her heat in a single stroke, but he withdrew his fingers, nodding. With a surprising softness, Sanemi flipped Y/N over, pressing her down against the cool top of his kitchen counter, and used his knee to knock her thighs apart. One hand braced on her hip, the other gripped him at his base as he nudged her opening from behind, Y/N nearly drooled as she felt the hot, flared tip of his cock pressing flush against her entrance, and she rapaciously ground against him, eager to feel him inside of her.

Sanemi gradually eased himself into her wet, aching heat, no doubt taking his time because she’d demanded he take her before properly preparing her. Y/N whimpered at the stretch of her walls around him, as Sanemi groaned, loud and unrestrained, as he sank into her warmth, his chest heaving behind her.

One broad hand slid down the side of her leg, lifting it up to rest on the counter. With one long draw of his hips backwards, nearly withdrawing from her waiting cunt, Sanemi slammed back into her with a force that had her choking for her breath.

Sanemi began to fuck her, and she swore she saw the gates of Heaven.

With every sharp push and pull of his steely length, Y/N felt her eyes roll further back into her skull, as a stream of cries and whimpers poured from her mouth. She was helpless to do anything but push herself back against him as he pounded into her, slamming her back onto his cock over and over, as he moaned and cursed under his breath.  

“Fuck,” Sanemi panted in her ear. “Y/N – just stay. With me. Please.”

But Y/N did not answer him; could not, due to the incessant roll of his hips into hers, as Sanemi increased the force with which he thrust into her with every passing second, threatening to snatch every sane thought from her head.

Sanemi pushed her leg further up on his kitchen counter, a hand coming to rest against a cupboard to steady himself as he thrust deeper into her velvet heat.

His lips danced down the back of her neck, biting and sucking. The drive of his hips forced hers to bounce against the counter, the cheap plywood and plaster biting into her hipbones with every impassioned thrust of Sanemi’s cock as he withdrew from her glistening core, only to slam himself back into her.

“Ngh, Sanemi,” Y/N moaned, pushing herself back against him, needing him to go faster, harder, to make her forget all the ways he’d made her feel lonely and unwanted.

He bit down on her shoulder blade as his thrusts grew sloppy. “God, you feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”

Y/N was too enthralled by the hurried drag of Sanemi’s length in and out of her desperate cunt to care that he’d referred to her as “baby.” He could call her anything, anything at all, as long as he kept fucking her the way he was, against his kitchen counter.

Sanemi angled his hips and began hammering at the spot deep inside her that had her vision nearly whitening out.

“Fuck, S-Sanemi,” She whined. “I’m gonna cum—.” The ache in her belly flared the way it always did whenever Sanemi brought her close to her end.

“Not yet,” Sanemi groaned, though he found it difficult to keep holding himself back. “Stay with me a little longer, sweetheart.” One hand left its bruising grip on her hip in favor of reaching around her to squeeze at her breasts, as he rolled one of her nipples between his expert fingers.

“I can’t,” Y/N cried, begging. “Sanemi, please, oh please-,”

Sanemi removed his arms from her and brought them to the front of her knees, straightening her legs so they stuck out behind her, one braced on either side of his hips as he increased his rhythm, the loud clap of Y/N’s skin against the counter as he pounded harder into her threatening to drown out her moans.

Once he was sure she would not lower her legs, Sanemi’s hand came down against her backside, smacking her as he bounced her against him.

Y/N cried out in pleasure, beseeching Sanemi to do it again, and he obliged, bringing his hand down against her other cheek as she sobbed. Sanemi hissed as he felt the eager walls of her cunt squeeze him to the point of pain, keeping his bruising length locked within her as he chased his release.

The slight sting of his hand against the sensitive skin of her ass was too much for her to bear; with a keening howl, Y/N shattered around him, Sanemi following suit as his cum shot into her with a force that made him see white, her name the only mantra on his lips.

She was still in the thick of her orgasm when Sanemi abruptly pulled out, his cum dripping from her spasming core and onto the floor beneath them. She didn’t have time to protest, however, as Sanemi dropped to his knees behind her, where she was still spread wide for him, and began to feast upon her, his teeth and lips wrapping around her clit and sucking so hard, she nearly levitated off the counter, her thighs clamping tight around his head.

Y/N could not find it within herself to feel sorry for his neighbors as she screamed his name, her throat burning with the effort as Sanemi hauled her back to her peak and sent her tumbling over it once more, this time stronger than she’d ever felt.

He did not stop; he continued to suck at her through the prolonged waves of her climax, his warm fingers coming to slide into her opening and massage his cum into her quivering walls, making her see stars as his fingertips brushed the spongy part of her innermost wall, her legs spasming around him.

A gush of fluid sprang forth from her, thoroughly coating Sanemi’s face and he groaned with satisfaction, pressing his mouth even harder against her, as though the mixture of his cum with hers was the most intoxicating elixir ever to pass his lips.

Y/N’s pleasure-delirious sobs were muffled against the counter as the aftershock of her successive orgasms wracked through her, her body quivering from the exertion. As the spasms in her cunt subsided, Sanemi finally stepped away, pressing featherlight kisses against her spine, so gentle in contrast with the delightfully brutal way he’d just reminded her that she’d never be able to run away from this – from him.

Sanemi rocked back on his heels, hands braced against the counter as he caught his breath. “Let me clean you up,” he said after a moment, his voice hoarse.

Y/N’s limbs had been reduced to liquid, so she did not complain as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bathroom.

He sat her gently on the edge of his tub and moved behind her to turn the water on, holding his fingers under the steady stream until it was hot – just the way he knew she liked it.

“I don’t want to take a fucking bath here,” Y/N snapped, turning to glare at him. “Just give me a towel and be done with it.”

Sanemi recoiled slightly, and it made her chest hurt. “Was – was that okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Only in every way a person could be hurt, but not through his actions in the kitchen. She wanted nothing more than to take his face in her hands and kiss him, to assure him that, at the very least, she’d loved every second of the way he’d spread her across his counter. But the love in Y/N’s heart had turned it into a black, decaying lump, and so, her response only matched her rotten core.

“It was fine – we’re not a fucking couple,” She snatched a washcloth from his hand and shoved it under the faucet, dampening it and then moving to wipe it between her legs. “So, stop trying to act like we are.”

Sanemi stood back, his arms folding across his chest and his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

It was the gentleness with which he spoke to her that enraged her even more, even though she knew she was being irrational. “It’s whatever,” she muttered, folding the used washcloth back up and laying it neatly over the edge of the bathtub. “I’ve gotta go.”

Sanemi nodded and left the bathroom, still naked himself, and returned with her discarded clothes and underwear. Once he’d passed them to her, he retreated back to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Y/N tried to ignore the guilt in her stomach when he did not emerge to say goodbye, as she opened his front door and disappeared into the mid-day sun.

—————————————————————————

All of her friends were traitors.

Not one of them was in the mood to venture out with her, not even Mitsuri, who was newly in a relationship with Obanai, the moody, awkward boy having finally plucked up the courage to confess his feelings for the bubbly pinkette.

Thus, Mitsuri no longer needed Wisteria or sticky drinks to feel high; she had love.

Y/N was happy for her – really; but she wasn’t happy to lose her reliable going-out friend.

So Y/N was on her own at the Kizuki lounge, though she didn’t really mind all that much. She’d become such a regular in that dark den of iniquity that a few other lost souls recognized her as their own and were only happy to dance with her. Unfortunately, however, Shinobu was nowhere in sight, and thus, Y/N was left utterly without the comforting lull of her friend’s Wisteria.  

As Y/N pounded back another round of shots, wincing at the burn of the green apple liquor which slid down her throat, a sultry voice spoke.

“Well, it’s rare to see such a beautiful thing like you alone in a place like this,” Y/N turned and saw a familiar yet unnerving pair of eyes – the same she’d seen a few weeks earlier at the club, the first night she’d danced with Sanemi – blinking at her.

He was familiar – she’d seen him around on campus and knew him to be relatively involved with student life. Y/N scoured her brain, trying to place a name on the white-haired man smiling at her like she was something to be devoured.  

“Douma, right?” Y/N recalled, and the man nodded, his smile widening revealing a set of too-sharp canines.

“I’m flattered you know my name,” his voice was almost flirty, if not for the sickeningly sweet edge in it that set the hair on her arms standing. “Though, I only know you as Shinobu’s friend,” he pouted.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You know Shinobu?”

The man with the jewel-colored eyes nodded, smiling dreamily. “Shinobu and I are old friends – business partners, even. And me and her sister go way back.” Douma reached out and toyed with a loose strand of Y/N’s hair, and she fought the urge to shudder. “Tell me your name, gorgeous? I’ve seen you around, though Shinobu always barks before I ever have the chance to talk to you.”

Y/N laughed, softly. “Shinobu’s bark is always worse than her bite, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Douma leaned in close, and his cologne was strong and sensual in a way that made Y/N’s head feel fogged. “And what about your bite? Surely, someone who hangs around with Shinobu is bound to pack a bit of a punch.”

He knew how to flatter, she’d give him that. “I’m afraid I’m all bark, Douma.” And, because she felt lonely, and because she felt a little desperate, she added, “Though I might be inclined to bite if given the right incentive.”

Douma tipped his head back and laughed, deeply, and it made Y/N’s heart flutter. “You are something, aren’t you, Y/N? I can’t believe your friends would let you wander out by yourself.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, and helped herself to the smiling man’s drink, his grin only widening as she polished off its contents. “I need no babysitter, unfortunately for them.”

“No you do not,” Douma purred. “Well, since you’re a free agent tonight, how about you come by my place? My roommate and I are throwing a huge party – I’d bet nearly half the campus is there already.”

Y/N didn’t doubt it; Douma’s parties were something of a campus legend.

“And, I believe I have something that might make it worth your while,” Douma smirked, pulling a small plastic baggie from his pocket. Within it, sat three of those coveted lilac pills, and Y/N’s mouth watered.

“I think that’s exactly the kind of incentive a girl looks for,” Y/N teased, standing with Douma to leave the Kizuki, the latter’s hand coming to rest on the small of her back. Y/N and Douma chatted animatedly as he led her to his car, and Y/N could almost ignore the unease tugging incessantly in her stomach.

She shook off the feeling. After all, if she squinted hard enough, Douma could almost pass as Sanemi.

—————————————————————————

Kyojuro answered his phone with a noncommittal grunt.

“Akaza?” He said, surprise coloring his features. Sanemi perked up at the name of the boy from their hometown but was filled with unease at the way Kyojuro’s face darkened.

“We’re on our way.” Kyojuro clicked his phone off and met Sanemi’s questioning look.

“You know that party on 52nd? We need to go — now.” Kyojuro was already rising, his wallet and keys in hand.

Sanemi didn’t question his best friend, but his phone dinged in time with Kyojuro’s, and both paled at the text image they’d received from an unknown number, sent to each person in their friend group.

It was an image of Y/N, though only half her face was visible — but it was clear she was crying and she looked fucking terrified. Mascara streaked down her cheeks as she held her arms up protectively in front of her. But those too-thin arms could not obscure the blooded, crescent-shaped bite mark just above her breast.

Shinobuuuu your friend is lovely! The message below the image read.

A second, follow-up message dinged. Next time, fucking pay me, hm?

Kyojuro looked back in horror at his best friend but broke into a cold sweat as he beheld the murderous rage that caused his friend to tremble.

“Let’s go.” It was all the white-haired man said as the pair slammed Kyojuro’s apartment door behind them and head for his car.

—————————————————————————

“There you go, Y/N – you should be safe here until we can get you out, yeah?” The pink-haired man opened a door to a hidden closet behind the stairwell in his private room, one he knew with certainty that Douma knew nothing about. “I called you a ride already.”

Y/N sniffled, wiping at her cheeks as she brushed by the man to sit on a trunk sitting in the closet. “Thank you, Hakuji. I owe you one.”

Akaza smiled and shook his head. He’d always liked Y/N – she was always kind to him growing up, and she was one of the few people to call him by his actual name, rather than that abhorrent nickname that he couldn’t seem to shake.

“Nah, I can’t stand that fucker,” Akaza grimaced, checking behind him to ensure no one had snuck in and found them hiding. “Douma always takes things too far. I try to help when I can, but I don’t have eyes everywhere.” He frowned as he considered her. “I’m just glad I saw him bring you in.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, instead only nodding. Akaza sighed. “I’d better get back to the party. Douma’ll go snooping if he can’t find me and I really don’t want to risk him finding you again.” He began to push the door shut. “This locks from the inside. Don’t open it for anyone else – I’ll come get you when your ride is here.”

Y/N nodded. “Thanks again, Hakuji. Say hi to Koyuki for me the next time you see her.”

Akaza smiled warmly and closed the closet door, sealing Y/N safely within.

————————————————————————-

For Y/N, sitting alone in that cramped, dark closet, it felt like hours had passed since Hakuji had locked her away, out of sight from Douma’s unnerving eyes. Y/N was getting antsy, until the sound of gasps and screams from below set her stomach twisting with panic. She began to hyperventilate when she heard footsteps – two pairs, one heavier than the other – rapidly approaching the closet door as the knob began to twist.

Tears were leaking down her face, hot and fast, as a knock sounded against the door.

“Y/N!” Someone hissed. “It’s me – open the door.” It was not Akaza on the other side, but a much warmer, much more familiar voice that had her nearly sobbing with relief.

With a shaking hand, Y/N flipped the lock and the door swung open, revealing the most comforting presence she’d ever known.

Kyojuro stared at her, a mess on the floor of Hakuji’s closet, his expression unreadable. Leaning towards her, he closed a warm hand gently around her wrist and hauled her to her feet, his eyes running over her as those scanning for injury. His nostrils flared at the small dab of blood that had dried on her shirt, concealing the bruising bite mark below.

Kyojuro’s burning grip remained on her as he led her out of Hakuji’s room – the pink-haired man nodding reassuringly at her as she passed him by. Kyojuro halted at the top of the small staircase to the main floor, an eerie silence interrupted only by an occasional gasp below.

He turned back to Y/N, his face stony. “Don’t look,” he warned. “Keep your eyes forward until we get out of here, no matter what.”

A lump formed in Y/N’s throat as the pair descended the stairs, slowly. They almost made it to the front door, where Y/N could see Kyojuro’s car pulled half-onto the lawn outside, still running, when a strange wet thump snapped Y/N’s attention to the adjacent room where party attendees had been dancing only moments before.

Y/N froze as she took in the crowd, gathered, and parted around two men, hunched on the floor, as they all looked on in stunned horror.

It was Sanemi, with Douma pinned beneath his knees, as he mercilessly pounded his fist into her would-be assailant’s face.

Douma was covered in scarlet, and the swollen features of his face were nearly unrecognizable as Sanemi slammed his knuckles into him, over and over. Douma only wheezed out a laugh, apparently egging Sanemi on.

Y/N parted her mouth in horror, ready to call out for Sanemi to stop, but Kyojuro tugged her sharply through the front door and away from the grisly scene.

“Don’t,” he said, softly. “Let him get it out.”

Kyojuro hauled her to his car, pausing only to open his passenger door before gently pushing her to sit down in the worn seat. Y/N didn’t challenge him as he reached over her and buckled her seatbelt, noting the fire raging in his eyes.

Her friend rejoined her on the driver’s side and pulled roughly out of the yard of Douma’s party house, speeding off down the street. Y/N opened her mouth to speak – to say anything, when Kyojuro held up his hand as his other pulled his phone free from his pocket. He read something on the screen, before clicking it off, returning his eyes to the road.

“It’s Tengen – cops have been called.” He explained, his voice low and face hard.

Y/N swallowed thickly. “Sanemi’s going to get arrested.”

Kyojuro snorted. “If Tengen shows up first, Sanemi will be fine. The cops have been looking to bust Douma for months.” Kyojuro slowed at a stoplight and cut his eyes over to where Y/N sat, curled on his seat, looking so small and so vulnerable.

“Y/N,” his voice possessed a gentleness she didn’t deserve, and it only made her mash her lips together in an effort to keep the tears in her eyes. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

She flinched, folding her arms tight across her chest, the spot where Douma bit her aching. Slowly, the memory of a phone camera flashing in her face, mere seconds before Hakuji had exploded into the room, cursing up a storm at Douma as he’d covered her with a blanket, blitzed out of her mind.

“The photos,” she whispered, hands covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, god –,”

Kyojuro’s hands tightened on his steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Y/N,” his voice cracked, just like her heart. “If you’d rather me call one of the girls, I will --,”

Y/N shook her head, urgently. “No, no, Kyo, he didn’t – he only bit me.”

Kyojuro’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed, though only marginally so. “Only bit you,” he repeated, shaking his head in disgust, that cold rage still pulling at his face, contorting the face she loved into something brutal, violent, and unforgiving.

He looked back at her as she trembled in his passenger seat. “What do you need, Y/N?”

Y/N fought to keep her voice steady. “Can – can you just drive, Kyo? Please?”

He nodded, and the two drove in silence for an hour, her friend randomly getting off and on the interstate as the sights of the city passed them aimlessly by.

Kyojuro abruptly pulled his car over to the side of the road, coming to a stop and slamming it into park, before turning to look at her.

“Y/N,” the sound of his voice was so strangled, so pained, that Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her face, and into her lap. “What the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N sobbed quietly into her hands. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, Kyo.” Her vision was completely obscured by the saltwater that would not stop, her breath becoming panicked.

“I don’t even remember fucking it all up. All I know is I was so fucking angry with you two, and now -,” Y/N cut herself off with a hiccup.

“It’s all so fucked,” her breath was choppy as her tears increased, her hands rising to clutch at her chest. “You – you and Sanemi --,”

Kyojuro got out of his car and walked around to her side, opening the door to tug her out of the passenger seat and into his arms, crushing her against his chest.

“Y-you left me,” Y/N sobbed into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. “I needed my friend, and you left me,”

“I know,” Kyojuro’s tears dampened her hair. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“H-how could you do that, to your best friend?” She cried, clutching his shirt in her hands until her knuckles turned white. “You were my brother, Kyojuro.”

“You promised things would be okay, and then they weren’t. And you didn’t even try.” Y/N pushed away from him then, anger burning through the tears in her eyes. “Friends don’t do that; family doesn’t do that.”

Kyojuro looked as broken as she felt. “I broke every promise I made to you, I know,” he said hoarsely. “I swore I wouldn’t let you get too far away --,”

Y/N exploded.

“Get too far away?” She swore at him, hands angrily wiping the salt from her cheeks. “You abandoned me, you left me hung out to dry!”

Y/N’s hands balled to fists at her side, as she shook. “Sanemi at least arguably had an excuse. You had none. Nothing about what I did — what I said — meant I deserved that,” her eyes, angry and broken, met his own teary gaze once more. “I didn’t deserve that.”

“Y/N,” Kyojuro started, but the furious girl cut him off.

“Shut up, Kyojuro,” she snapped, and for once, the flame-haired man looked lost for words. “Do you have any idea what it was like? To watch you and him carry on as though nothing happened – as though I didn’t fucking exist?”

“And when my mom got sick? She used to feed you and your brother, you – you – selfish asshole,” Y/N was nearly hyperventilating in her ire, as twenty-two months of heartache, pain, and rage boiled out of her all at once. “And you couldn’t even check in?”

“I tried,” Kyojuro cut her off, somewhat forcefully, at her last accusation. “I tried to check in, Y/N. During the summer – I saw the ambulance leaving your house, but I couldn’t leave Senjuro by himself.”

“I came by the first thing the next morning, but no one answered. You --,” Kyojuro hesitated. “You must’ve still been at the hospital. I should’ve checked.”

Y/N laughed without humor. “Visiting doesn’t matter. You had a phone. You know how to use it, and you couldn’t send a fucking text.”

The blonde exhaled, and the tiredness on his face softened some part inside of her, made her want to hug him because deep down, she hated that Kyojuro could ever look so worn down.

“Nothing I say is going to make up for it. I know that.” He whispered. “If I could turn back time, I would, Y/N. Please believe me when I say I would.”

Kyojuro dragged a tired hand down his face, smearing the tears across his cheeks as he did so, and he looked toward his old friend, brokenly. “But I’m here now,” He said, pleadingly. “I’m sorry if that’s still not enough; I understand if it isn’t. But please, let me be here for you, now. Even if that means you hate me.”

Y/N did not expect to break so suddenly, but the sight of Kyojuro openly weeping before her, combined with the bruising sincerity of his words, whittled away all of the hardness she’d built up and struck her right in her heart.

“Oh Kyo,” Y/N shuddered a sob, her shoulders shaking under the weight of her tears as Kyojuro stepped forward once more and enveloped her in his arms. “I could never hate you,”

For the first time in nearly two years, Y/N returned Kyojuro’s hug with the same ferocity she once had, and part of her hoped, oh so timidly, that the force with which he embraced her would slowly work to put her back together again – to make her whole.

The two almost siblings melted into one another, each one muttering a litany of I’m sorrys, and I love you‘s. For a long while, the pair stood there, on the side of the road, swaddled in the other’s embrace as they sobbed together, for both the children they once were, and the adults the world had forced them to become.

Eventually, the pair found themselves back in Kyojuro’s car, still driving with no real destination in mind; only this time, the two blasted music from their high school days and loudly sang off-key together, laughing carefree as their broken hearts mended, song by song. They drove until Y/N yawned, and Kyojuro sternly, but teasingly, noted it was well past her bedtime.

“You scare the shit out of him, you know,” Kyojuro said after a long while, eyes still fixed resolutely on the road leading to Y/N’s apartment.

Y/N, who’d been watching the blur of stars in the night sky as they sped down the highway, rolled her head toward him to look at him, her face skeptical. “Sanemi? Sanemi Shinazugawa, scared of me?” She scoffed, turning her attention back to the night sky as it whizzed past her window.

Kyojuro reached for her hand, and Y/N could have cried at how warm and comforting it felt. “He thinks he’s lost you for good. He does regret how things went down, you know; he did from the get-go.”

“I think he’s afraid he’s going to wake up one day and find you’ll just be gone entirely. Completely unreachable.”

Y/N stretched her fingers to play with the series of necklaces Kyojuro had dangling from his rearview mirror, admiring the way they twinkled under the passing streetlights. “He would have to care to be afraid, Kyo, and you and I both know that he doesn’t care about me.” She chewed on her lip. “Not in that way.”

Kyojuro finally pulled to a stop in front of her apartment. He took his time putting his car in park and shutting it off, before turning back to her, his face solemn. “If you can’t see how crazy he is about you, then I don’t know what else I can say.”

The fire in his stare was scorching, and Y/N fidgeted under the intensity of both his gaze and his words. “He barely knows me, Kyo. He doesn’t know what he wants.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Kyojuro said, though not too harshly. “You might want to believe you’re a different person now, but you’re still you. I promise you, you’re still the Y/N we both know – and love.”

Y/N’s tear fell down her cheeks anew, as she’d not realized how badly she needed to hear that she was still herself – that she wasn’t just a shell of the person she once was, never fully present and never fully worth giving a damn about.

“I think you want to believe he doesn’t care because it makes it easier on you to pretend like you’re just using him.” Kyojuro’s words cut through her like a knife.

Y/N winced and opened her mouth to respond, but Kyojuro raised a hand, silencing her.

“I’m not saying you mean to,” Kyojuro’s words stung, but they were earnest. “And I don’t necessarily think you are – but I think you’re running from him, because you are frightened.”

“What would you have me do, Kyo?” Y/N asked, slightly exasperated as her head thudded back against the worn fabric of his car seat.

“Are you still in love with him?” Kyojuro asked, and it took great effort for Y/N not to roll her eyes at him. “Then you must let him in, Y/N. He wants your love – very much so – of that, I’m certain.”

“He has always wanted my love,” Y/N snorted. “He’s like a jealous, possessive dragon that way. The problem is with him returning it.”

Kyojuro sighed, before getting out of his car and rounding to her side, opening her door for her. “As I said before,” he reached a warm hand to muss her hair as she stood, stretching her stiff limbs from the hours they’d spent driving around the city. “If you can’t see how crazy Sanemi is about you, then I can’t help you.”

Kyojuro’s lips pressed against her forehead, warm and steady, and it felt like home. “Give him a chance, Y/N. Let him into your heart, and he will gladly give you his.”

—————————————————————————

After ensuring Y/N was safely inside her apartment, Kyojuro continued to drive for another hour.

The emotions of the night weighed too heavily on his shoulders, and Kyojuro knew going back to his apartment would end in nothing but him tossing for hours in bed, replaying the last conversation with Y/N in his head, over and over.

—————————————————————————

 One year earlier

“Where’s your date, Shinazugawa?” Kyojuro chuckled, reaching for a beer. He was disheartened to see that only one was left, Sanemi having finished at least three since arriving at his place.

“Called off,” Sanemi said thickly, his words slightly garbled as he tried to fake his own sobriety – the surest sign he was already drunk off his ass.

Kyojuro clapped his shoulder sympathetically. “You or her?”

Sanemi took another swig of his drink. “Me.” He looked up at his best friend and Kyojuro was shocked to see how forlorn and sad the hothead looked. “None of ‘em are her.”

It was rare that Sanemi brought her up, especially in the wake of everything that had happened after Genya’s death. But Kyojuro hadn’t been foolish enough to think that a substantial part of the chip on Sanemi’s shoulder hadn’t stemmed from his complicated feelings about her – Y/N.

Their best friend, at least, once upon a time.

Though as Kyojuro supposed, it wasn’t as if Sanemi’s feelings about their friend were really all that complicated. He’d known the abrasive loudmouth had longed for the trio’s only girl since any of them had understood what it meant to long for someone.

Kyojuro had seen his friend’s feelings on display countless times since they were teenagers. He saw it in the way Sanemi’s eyes softened every time she smiled at him, or the way Sanemi seemed to always lean into her touch whenever she brushed something from his hair.

Then, there had been that time after Y/N had her braces put in – they’d been around thirteen or so – and she’d refused to smile with her teeth, until Sanemi had snapped at her and said she’d looked constipated.

Y/N’s eyes had filled with tears, and her cheeks had burned with her embarrassment until he’d squatted down in front of her.

“Why’d’ya wanna hide your smile anyways – it’s too pretty.” He’d said, very matter-of-factly, leaning in close to her face as he always did when he teased her. “C’mon, show me! I wanna see your smile!”

Shyly, Y/N had smiled at him, braces and all, and Sanemi had grinned back, nodding in satisfaction. “See? What’d I tell ya? Pretty as a picture.”

Then, there had been their senior prom, when Sanemi had gotten wind of another boy’s plan to ask her to be his date. Though the big dance had still more than six months away, Sanemi had stormed into the cafeteria, plopped down from her as she ate with the Koyuki girl, and demanded she attend with him.

When the night of their prom arrived, Kyojuro thought Sanemi was going to pass out the moment he saw Y/N descend the stars at her mother’s house, dressed in that floor-length emerald dress. Throughout the whole night, Sanemi had treated their best friend as though she were made of glass, his hands for once hesitant and uncertain as he’d found her waist during a slow dance. Kyojuro had truly thought his friends would finally, finally kiss and admit their poorly concealed feelings for one another. But Sanemi had returned Y/N to her mother, the latter only parting with a soft kiss against the flustered boy’s cheek before disappearing inside.

How could they have known that night, just how far they’d all fall? How could they know how Genya’s death would shatter more than his brother, but indelibly fracture their life-long bond and transform them into total strangers?

————————————————————————

 Ten months earlier

Kyojuro didn’t mind working for the enrollment center at Ubaya-U.

Sure, the work was a little tedious, if not monotonous, especially at the start of a new semester, but at least that meant his shift passed him by quickly.

That particular day, Kyojuro had been tasked with finalizing the class registers for his year – the juniors – as the add/drop period had finally passed, and thus, schedules were to be finalized for the semester.

He’d spent hours tabbing through page after page of student schedules, entering data and clicking the small arrow at the bottom of his screen to move onto the next student ID number, over and over, until the figures on his computer blurred together. But Kyojuro had finally entered the schedule for the last student, and he was eager to hit “ENTER,” and get the fuck home.

His back aching and wrist cramping, Kyojuro hit the command key that promised release.

ERROR. The screen read. ONE OR MORE ENTRIES MISSING.

“Fuck,” Kyojuro muttered, and he hit the “ENTER” key once more, in hopes that the system had merely hiccupped after having been in use for so long.

The same ERROR message flashed across his screen once more.

Kyojuro exhaled, pinching his nose as his eyes screwed shut in frustration, the beginnings of a headache creeping in around his temples. Shoving himself away from his desk, Kyojuro stood and stalked over to his supervisor, who was just as numbly tabbing through a spreadsheet.

“Murata,” Kyojuro said, trying to keep his growing anger in check. It was a Friday night and he just wanted to go home and do stupid college things, dammit.

The tired shift supervisor grunted in answer, turning in his swivel seat towards the fuming college junior.

“I entered all of the student schedules, but the system is flagging some sort of error.” Kyojuro produced a printed-out spreadsheet of every student ID number and handed it to his manager, who took note of the neat, precise little checkmarks next to every line that signaled Kyojuro had finalized the correlating schedule. “Can you take a look?”

“Sure thing,” even though Kyojuro often thought Murata was, at times, a little inept at his own job, he couldn’t deny the college senior was helpful. Murata pulled up the school’s informatics system and entered his log-in, clicking through various prompts until his screen resembled Kyo’s.

Murata tried to submit the same data that Kyojuro had tried, and the same error message dinged on his screen.

“Huh, that’s odd,” the manager said, unhelpfully. “Let me see if I can use my admin key and find out if there’s anyone you missed.”

Kyojuro resisted the urge to point at his spreadsheet once more; Kyojuro, simply put, never missed an entry when it came to plugging in numbers and codes for work. The same could not be said for Murata.

“Ah, there it is,” to Kyojuro’s surprise, a student profile popped up on Murata’s screen in red, though his supervisor’s head blocked the name. “Number ending in 0851. Let me just –” Murata clicked around the screen and quickly tabbed in a couple of course codes, and hit enter, but the screen erred once more.

“What the – ohhh, I know this number,” Murata said, sitting back in his seat. “Yeah. Okay. You need my code to bypass this one. She got special permission from the university to not finalize her schedule until next week.”

Kyojuro sighed. At least the error hadn’t been on his end.

“Got a pen? You’ll need her name to enter it once the screen prompts you. In the explanation box, just type “special permission/family emergency.”

Kyojuro shook his head. “I’ll remember it. What’s the name?”

“Y/L/N. Y/N.” Murata answered flippantly, though Kyojuro’s stomach lurched. “Yeah, I got an email about her a few weeks ago because she hadn’t returned to campus. The Dean said her mom was in the hospital, and she was the sole caretaker, so her professors all agreed to let her attend online until things mellowed out.”

“Never seen that happen before, she must be one helluva student,” Murata commented as he turned back to Kyojuro. “Hey, in the entry box, put her date of return – I think I remember the email saying it was sometime next month, but let me check.” The supervisor turned back to his screen, blissfully unaware of Kyojuro’s wide eyes or his pounding heart.

“There it is – hm, there’s an update,” Murata remarked, though more to himself than to the pale Junior standing behind him. “Oh my, that’s a shame. Looks like her mom passed away last week, so she’s returning after the funeral, which was --,” Murata squinted. “Yesterday.”

“Yup, seems like she’s due back next week instead. Just put down Monday’s date.” Murata turned back to Kyojuro with a kind smile, but it quickly slipped when he saw the sweat that had broken out across the burly blonde’s forehead and noted the way he shook.

“Rengoku, you good, man?” Murata asked worriedly, though Kyojuro barely heard him over the roaring in his head and the sound of his heart-shattering.

“Y-yeah,” Kyojuro’s voice cracked. “Murata, would you mind entering that information for me? I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Kyojuro did not wait for his supervisor’s answer as he grabbed his backpack and stumbled out of the Student Affairs office, as he fought to keep down the bile that rose in his throat.

Kyojuro did not remember the walk back to his apartment; he remembered only the rush of grief, and crushing sadness, as he recalled the kind woman who’d shown him such love and affection after his own mother died, that he’d thought of her as a second mother.

He thought of Y/N – oh god, Y/N, who now lived in a world in which she had no family left. No home to go back to.

Alone.

He hadn’t known; Sanemi hadn’t known.

Kyojuro stumbled through the front door of his apartment, vaguely noting that Sanemi had already let himself in, and helped himself to whatever was in Kyojuro’s well-stocked refrigerator.

“Man, I’ve had a fuckin day,” Sanemi’s gravelly voice rang over the muted sounds of his television as he chowed down on a helping of sweet potatoes Kyojuro had meal prepped a few days earlier.

“Sanemi,” Kyojuro tried weakly, though Sanemi seemed not to hear him over his own, loud complaining.

“-and four papers, and we’re barely a month into school. I can’t wait to fuckin’ graduate and get the hell out of this place --,”

“Sanemi,” Kyojuro said again, more forcefully that time, cutting his friend’s impassioned rambling off. At the serious, monotonous tone in his best friend’s voice, Sanemi fell silent. “It’s Y/N, she – h-her…”

Kyojuro’s voice wobbled. Sanemi dropped his fork into the plastic container that contained Kyojuro’s food and stared at him, eyes wide, as he sucked his breath through his teeth. Whatever news his friend had to deliver, it would not be good.

“Is – is Y/N okay?” Sanemi asked tentatively, his voice shaking slightly. He felt the color drain from his cheeks as Kyojuro slowly shook his head. As childish as it seemed, Kyojuro wanted to run, because if he did not speak those awful words, then perhaps they would not be real.

“It’s Mrs. Y/L/N – she…she died. Last week. The funeral was yesterday.”

————————————————————————-

Nine months earlier

Sanemi barged into his apartment without knocking, nearly toppling over the coatrack Kyojuro kept in the entryway.

“Shinazugawa,” he’d started to chastise, but fell silent at the look on his best friend’s face, a strange mixture of nausea and despair etched into his features.

“I saw her, Kyo,” Sanemi croaked, pale and shaking as he ripped open Kyojuro’s fridge and grabbed a beer, not bothering to ask as he wrenched the bottle cap off and took a healthy swig.

“Y/N?” Kyojuro’s eyebrows furrowed, as he followed his friend into his sparsely decorated living room, Sanemi shakily sitting on the small sofa, head braced between his hands.

“Did you talk to her? How was she?” Kyojuro pressed, but Sanemi refused to lift his head to meet his eyes.

“I saw her,” Sanemi repeated, his voice trembling almost as badly as his hands. “And I didn’t know it was her.”

Kyojuro shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean -,”

“I didn’t recognize her, Kyojuro. Not at first,” Sanemi finally looked up and Kyojuro’s stomach twisted at the tears pooling in his friend’s eyes. “How could I not recognize our best friend?”

Kyojuro threw an arm around Sanemi’s shoulders. “It’s been a while,” he said, gruffly, “It’s just been a while since we saw her –.”

“You don’t get it,” Sanemi said, wide-eyed and haunted. “Y/N looks different – she’s so fucking thin, Kyojuro, that I couldn’t recognize her.”

————————————————————————

One month earlier

“So you – you and Y/N,” Kyojuro began, and Sanemi nodded, dragging a hand over his face.

“I am never touching that Wisteria shit again,” the lavender-eyed man vowed, darkly. “I fucking lost control.”

Kyojuro frowned, his stomach shifting uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

Sanemi flung himself back against the cushion of his sofa, arm draped over his eyes in an attempt to stifle the tears that gathered there. “I fuckin’ hurt her, man.”

The blonde sighed, settling back against the sofa with his friend, thumbs twiddling with a loose string on his shirt. “You didn’t mean to, you know. Sometimes that just – it just happens.”

Trust Sanemi to be this dramatic being Y/N’s first – the man had practically screamed into the phone at him when he’d discovered the small speckle of blood on his sheets and realized that Y/N was nowhere to be found.

Though, Kyojuro never imagined Sanemi would be this frantic about the ordeal.  

Sanemi lowered his arm to stare at his best friend, bewildered. “It doesn’t fucking matter,” he ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I can’t fucking trust myself on that shit, and I’ll be damned if I hurt her again.”

“I’m done with it all, Kyojuro,” Sanemi swore once more. “For her, I’m fuckin’ done with it.”

————————————————————————-

Two weeks earlier

Kyojuro jogged to where his friend stood, smoking a cigarette as his eyes scanned over the various food trucks that had gathered on the street near his apartment, considering the wide variety of choices.

“You’re the only person I know who could make that look somewhat appealing,” Kyojuro grumbled as Sanemi took another drag, grinning. Sanemi had quit both alcohol and Wisteria cold turkey but had become such an irritable bitch as he went through withdrawal that Kyojuro had practically begged him to find something to help him take the edge off.

So, Sanemi had traded one vice for another and had taken to smoking, though he could tell his friend hated it. Sanemi hoped that his shakes would soon subside, and he could kick the nasty habit before it became another problem for him to deal with.

“What are you in the mood for?” Sanemi asked as the pair began to leisurely stroll around the crowded plaza. “And don’t say sweet potatoes – we’ve been eating healthy all goddamn week; I need something greasy.”

Kyojuro chuckled. “I’m quite in the mood for a burger if you’re up for it.” He offered and Sanemi nodded in agreement. The pair joined the relatively lengthy queue outside a food truck grill, the scent of charcoal and meat promising to feed their empty bellies.

The pair made small talk as they waited, Sanemi nearly finishing his cigarette in the time it took them to reach the front of the line. Just before they were set to order, Sanemi’s phone dinged in his pocket, and the white-haired man pulled it free, puffing on the last of his cigarette as he did so.

“Ah, shit,” Sanemi sighed, though he did not look particularly crestfallen as he glanced back to his friend. “Sorry, man – duty calls.”

Kyojuro scoffed at his choice of words. “Duty,” he shook his head. “You mean Y/N?”

“You’d feel that way too if you slept around –”

“Yeah, but it’s not just ‘sleeping around’ to you, is it?” Kyojuro asked pointedly, and Sanemi fell silent. “You don’t sleep with anyone else. Does she?”

His friend shook his head. “Nah, we made an agreement – we’re – well, we don’t use condoms,” at the horrified look on Kyojuro’s face, Sanemi blushed. “She’s on birth control! ‘Sides,” Sanemi swallowed, awkwardly. “With all the weight she’s lost, and all the shit she’s been taking, I don’t think it’s likely she could – well, get pregnant.”

Kyojuro pinched his brow between his fingers. “Pregnancy isn’t the only reason to use condoms, you dolt,”

Sanemi harrumphed at him. “Look, I used protection with the other two girls, and I got tested not long after,” Sanemi quickly drew his cigarette back to his mouth, a sure sign of his growing discomfort with the conversation. “And, as Mitsuri so tactfully pointed out, I was her first, so I know she’s clean.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Sanemi snapped at the reproachful look in his friend’s owlish gaze. “It feels better, y’know.”

Kyojuro only shook his head. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Sanemi?”

Sanemi looked away from him, shifting awkwardly back and forth on his feet. “You know why, man,” he said quietly, and Kyojuro’s heart clenched.

“Look, I love and worry after Y/N too, but she’s using you --,”

“So what if she is?” Sanemi croaked, taking a harsh drag of his cigarette. “She can use me as much as she wants. I don’t mind.”

Kyojuro’s eyes softened. “Sanemi –”

“At least it means I can keep an eye on her.” Sanemi flicked the dying butt to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his boot as he sauntered away, holding his hand up over his shoulder in farewell as he set off back across the lively street.

—————————————————————————

(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N dragged herself up the stairs of the apartment she shared with Mitsuri and Shinobu, a tiredness she’d not felt in a long while settling into her weary bones. Her head ached from the strain of the evening, and she knew her eyes were likely red and puffy from the hours of her crying.

Shakily, she slid her key through the lock and opened her front door, quietly relieved at the darkened silence of her apartment, which meant both of her roommates were out.

Closing the door behind her, Y/N slid to the floor in the entryway, and did not move; for a long while, she stared blankly at the dark kitchen before her, her mind replaying her conversation with Kyojuro on a loop, though the mark on her breast, with its pulsing ache, demanded her attention.

With a sigh, Y/N heaved herself up off the kitchen floor and shuffled her way to her room, silently thanking her luck that she’d managed to pull the bedroom with the in-suite bathroom, which meant she could curl up on the floor of her shower for as long as she wanted, without the fear of either of her friends needing the toilet.

Once she’d stripped herself of the evening’s outfit, Y/N inspected the wound on her chest.

It felt worse than it looked. There was a small bit of dried blood around where Douma’s teeth had broken her skin, and the mouth-shaped mark was angry, red, and already a little purple, but from her cursory examination of it, it seemed like the wound was likely to only bruise, and not scar.

It was the unseen wound that concerned her more; the scar that was assuredly left on her heart.

She’d fucked up – badly.

Granted, she knew it wasn’t her fault that Douma had decided to try and do whatever it was he wanted to do with her – she wasn’t going to blame herself for that.

What was her fault was how badly she’d let things spiral out of control; how badly her use of the Wisteria had become. She wasn’t a medical student by any means, but she knew the tell-tale signs of an abuse problem. Y/N would not venture to say she was addicted, but she feared she was well on her way to that path – unless she did something about it right then.

She braced her hands against the cool porcelain of her sink and looked at her reflection, jolting slightly at the face that stared back at her.

She still looked like herself, granted, but there was an unfamiliar hollowness in her cheeks, a vacancy in her slightly over-large eyes that made her uncomfortable. She stretched and winced at the ease with which she could just make out the number of ribs laying beneath her skin.  

Sanemi had been right – she’d let things go too far.

As she yanked on the shower nozzle to summon the water to chase away Douma’s sickening touch from her skin, Y/N resolved, right there, that she was done with Wisteria. She thought she should be done with alcohol as well, but she feared the symptoms of withdrawal – especially with how great her dependency on the two substances had grown over the last few months.

So, Y/N decided that she would never again allow those toxic little purple pills pass her lips, and slowly – but surely – wean herself off alcohol. She would not go back to the Kizuki, would not let herself give in to the temptations which flashed underneath the colorful strobe lights of the dance floor.

Her life, it appeared, depended upon it.

[muzansfangs]

Blue jeans.

Starring: Muzan Kibutsuji x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, modern au, age gap, reader is twenty-one, sugar daddy dynamics, car sex, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (Muzan receiving), use of alcohol, cigarettes, vaginal fingering, size kink;

Plot: You were his addiction. Young, beautiful and full of life, you made him forget about his problems for hours, whenever you met. The day you two had crossed paths for the first time, he thought it was not going to be anything more than a simple one-night stand. “No feelings involved” he had told you. Then, why did he miss you whenever you left?

Track: Blue jeans — Lana del Rey "You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop, but you fit me better than my favorite sweater".

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

He enjoyed your presence. As he now stared at your smooth, naked back facing him on his bed, he ran one hand through his curly, dark hair and sighed. He was not someone who grew attached to people. Feelings were foreign to him. Maybe he never learned how to love, or maybe love was never instilled into his heart. You, however, you had disrupted his whole life.

He blamed it on your laughter, or on the way your eyes glistened whenever you talked about something you liked. You were so innocent, at times. He loved the way your eyes widened and you hummed in delight, whenever he made you try some exotic dish you did not even know the existence of, until the menu was kindly handed to you by the gloved hand of a waiter.

He did not mind spoiling you.

You were young, your delicate features were a blessing to him. You were the sugar he needed in his sour life.

Glancing at your sleeping frame one last time, he reached his hand towards the nightstand, grasping his lighter and his cigarette pack. Another habit of his not even you could help him get rid of. He opened it absent-mindedly, only to realize it was the last one. Perhaps, it was truly time for a change then.

This cigarette was his last one. And you, you were the last woman he would have ever let step into his life. It was time to settle down, after all. He had spent too many nights in random downtown bars, hooking up with strangers he never remembered the name of, only to search for something he never found: warmth.

You were not supposed to be different. You were supposed to he as shallow as the others, but you were not.

It happened eight months ago. Chatting with your friends, drink in hand, you had caught his plum red eyes that infamous saturday night. Ignoring his presence was impossible. A man like him was too charismatic not to draw attention. The way you had tried to resist him, though, that had made him crave you. He stared at you from his stool, shooting captivating glances at you, trying to make you understand that he was demanding your attention. Defiantly, you barely locked eyes with him, almost making him lose his patience. In other circumstances, he would have probably picked someone else to give him the proper attention he demanded, but there was something about you that made his blood boil.

He wanted you that night.

When you suddenly stood up and slided onto the stool next to his one, still pretending not to see him, he chuckled. You were a delicacy, a rosebud in a nest of thorns ready to wound him, but he was old enough to know how to play his cards right.

“A double whisky, please” you asked the bartender, but Muzan interjected in your conversation.

“It’s on me” he smoothly said, half-lidded eyes staring at the liquid into his own glass.

It irked you. Did he just buy you a drink?

“Yeah, it’s on him” you replied sassily then, averting your eyes from the barman to look at him. He was handsome, elegant, older than you. His cologne pierced your nostrils as you leaned slightly closer to him to search for his eyes, the red eyes he had made sure you would have never been able to shake off of your mind ever again.

“Apparently, you’ve finally got the hint” Muzan lowly said, twirling the rum into the crystal glass before drinking it down in one gulp and gently settling it back onto the counter.

You grinned and propped your elbow onto the marble green surface in front of you, your chin rested on the palm of your hand as you watched the barman grasp a bottle to fill your glass. It was thrilling the way he felt so self-assured, his presence alone was enough to make your head spin.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just thirsty” you said, earning a chuckle from him.

“You could have asked the barmar to refill your glass from the table” he pointed out, shifting his position to turn his body around and face you properly.

Your cheeks flushed up and, when the glass of whisky was slided towards you, you were quick to grasp it to focus on something else that was not him. You failed so effortlessly though.

“What is it that you want?” you asked him eventually, raising your glass towards your mouth and biting down on the rim softly, before taking a sip of the liquor. It burned down your throat, just like his eyes burned on your skin.

Muzan did not miss his chance and let his eyes travel up and down your small frame. You were perfect, perfect for what he had in mind. Smaller than him, delicate and bold. Being a CEO took away his energy, he needed a distraction and you were a good one. Too precious not to ruin.

He leaned forward, his hot breath fanning your earlobe as he grinned and moistened his upper lip thoughtfully. It was clear that you were affected by his actions. He could see the way your breath hitched and the way your grip on the glass tightened significantly as he spoke “Frankly, just your mouth around my cock” he whispered only for you to hear.

Your eyes widened and you inhaled sharply, as his words sank in. He had no filters and you could not blame him for it. Why? It was probably the force of habit. A man like him could snap his fingers and obtain what he wanted right away. The thrill of doing such a dirty, lewd thing to a stranger, to a man like him, someone you would have probably never met again was tickling your most dark fantasies.

It took you several seconds to make up your mind. You sighed, gently setting your drink on the counter and glanced at your friends from above your shoulder. They were staring at you curiously, some of them probably wondering what you were about to do in excitement and some of them were honestly analyzing the scene with wary eyes. Indeed, the latter ones were the wisest.

“I have a dignity” you pointed out, darting your eyes back on Muzan.

“Growning up, you’ll find out there are things far way more valuable in life than what other people may think of you” he promptly replied, straightening his necktie casually. He seemed tired and not the kind of man who wanted to hurt you. He was not going to coax you into giving yourself away, he just hoped you would say him ‘yes’.

And you did.

As you two stumbled out of the bar fifteen minutes later, you knew you were probably going to either regret it for your whole life, or look back at it as an exciting adventure you had had with an older man on a boring night. He had told you his name was Muzan Kibutsuji. He had whispered it over your lips, right before pinning you against his car door.

His lips captured yours in a fervent kiss, holding your face with both of his huge hands, as his tongue entered your mouth with expertise and elicited a soft series of moans from your throat. It was not just his experience that blew your mind: it was him. It was clear as he unbuckled his belt, in the privacy of his car, and tangled his fingers through your hair.

He locked eyes with you, searching for the slightest sting of fear. He would have stopped immediately, if he had spotted it. Yet, there was just the hunger of anticipation in those glimmering eyes of yours and he firmly but carefully pushed your head down towards his crotch. With your eyes closed, you did your best to pleasure him. Your tongue twirled around the tip, right over the sensitive spot, making him groan softly in pleasure.

It was exactly what he needed. As you began to suck him off, you were slowly making his problems fade away and stress flow right into your warmth mouth. You almost gagged as he bucked his hips up in pleasure and he lolled his head back into the leather headrest, exhaling through his nostrils. When you were sure he was just going to let you finish him off like that, he surprised you.

“Stop” he breathed out, shifting on his seat to grasp the wallet from his pocket.

As he pulled out a condom from it and ripped it open with his teeth, you stared at him in both excitement and fear. Was he going to simply take you without a proper foreplay? You were about to point it out, when he grasped your jaw and planted a tender, passionate kiss on your lips to silence you.

“I am nothing like those dogs you are used to. I know how to properly stretch out a woman” he whispered, almost offended that you had thought so low of him.

“I didn’t—” you tried to apologize, but he simply scoffed and made the words die on your tongue as he pushed the thin fabric of your panties to the side and began to draw smooth figures eight on your bundle of nerves.

You moaned, blushing faintly in the dark car as you finally met a man who knew how to touch you properly. What did you expect? He was twice your years, a man of class, of power. He had told you himself he was not like the guys you were used to.

“You are beautiful, by the way” he whispered lowly, watching the way you arched your back as he thought you were wet enough to take another step. You hummed, squeezing your eyed shut as you adjusted yourself to his thick fingers. It was too much, it was overwhelming, and you could not believe what was truly happening.

He was so skilled that you had almost forgotten you were in a car, in a desert parking lot. You wanted him, you wanted him more than that, therefore you opened your eyes and gripped his wrist gently as a sign for him to stop his ministrations. You were ready for him. For all of him.

And as you straddled his lap, allowing him to guide your hips down to perfectly sink onto him, you knew things would have never been the same again. The thing was that, despite the rather brute way he had told you what he wanted from you, he did not just fuck you that night. The way his mouth hovered over yours, the way he held you so close to him, as if he was afraid you were going to slip away from him grasp, made feel something more.

There was loneliness in that passion, a void that needed to be filled.

Bouncing on his lap, you tugged at his hair, your thighs trembling as his shaft kissed your cervix and his mouth kissed the exposed skin of your neck. He had finally found it: the warmth of a young heart.

Now, putting his cigarette out on the silver ashtray he keeps on his nightstand, he grinned and rolled on his side. Resting his cheek on the pillow, he watched you. He never grew tired in doing it. You were a piece of art from a private collection, a gem. His fingertips glided down your naked back, trailing up towards the spine and grazing over the shoulderblades. You were his. You were his and no one else’s.

You hummed at the feeling, gently lifting your head to glance up at him. Your sleepy eyes always got him and, although he forced himself not to smile, you could swear his upper lip twitched.

“Hey…” you whispered softly, half-lidded eyes staring at him in adoration.

He did not say a word, he simply stroked your hair as if he wanted to lull you back to sleep. Yet, you had learned to read him and his poker face. There was something on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” you inquired, not moving an inch but keeping your eyes locked with his red ones.

“Nothing”.

“Liar. I know that look on your face. You want to ask me something. — you replied, sitting up and letting the silky blankets pool down over your waist — Speak up, Kibutsuji” you invited him to talk, poking his biceps with your index.

He loathed your childish ways to make him give up and talk, but he was almost defenseless in front of them. You were his greatest weakness.

“Actually, I got no questions for you. It’s just that… Well, I’m falling for you, I guess” he confessed.

Never in his life he had pulled down his mask like that. However, a love confession from him was overdued. He spoke his mind no matter what. He was not scared of his feelings for you. It was just that, for the first time ever, he did not want to ruin you, as he thought he wanted the night you two met.

You stared at him with your lips slightly parted, your cheeks heating up, as you scooted closer to him and snuggled into his chest. His chest, where you could hear his steady heartbeat, was your favore place to sleep. It comforted you.

“I love you too, Muzan” you mumbled, closing your eyes as you felt his arm flex and wrap you up into a tight embrace. There was no escape.

Maybe it was a trap, maybe it was the highway to paradise. You did not know for how long it would have lasted. All you knew was what you felt and, in that very moment, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

Until you filled the void in his heart. Until it broke your bones. Until it hurt.

Tags: @mrskokushibo @doumadono @yazzzmints @tired-writer04 I dedicate this piece to you!❤️

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Back to black

John Egan X Pilot! Reader

Summary: The relationship of Y/n and Bucky when they're both at their lowest.

Warning: Toxic relationship/ manipulation/ cheating/ mention of sex/ swearing/ use of Y/n/ abuse of alcohol/

Word count: 1.2k

He left no time to regret

Kept his dick wet

With his same old safe bet

Me and my head high

And my tears dry

Get on without my guy.

Their relationship was toxic, they would fight and make-up all the time. Their arguments would always end up with them being naked in the bed. She was a female pilot; he was a pilot too. They were on the same base, so they always saw each other. Some of the other pilots grew tired of them always fighting, but no matter what happened, they’d still be in love with the other, they were addicted to the thrill and the highs and lows of their relationship. It distracted them from the horror they saw all the time, the sex was an occasion to let everything out, it was often raw and real, they tried to get a grip on reality. But when he drank, he could be really mean. Y/n tried to get out of the situation, but she was like a drug addict, always needing more. So, she would cry in her room, her tears represented all the things she couldn’t have with him; a walk in a park, slow dancing together, going on dates and having deep conversations with him. She had to face the fact that the relationship she was in wasn’t the one her mother described, it was the one her father warned her about.

You went back to what you knew

So far removed

From all that we went through

And I tread a troubled track

My odds are stacked

I'll go back to black.

‘’What do you mean you’re going to London?’’ she asked as she looked at him packing his bags. ‘’I need a break from all this, I need to drink, to get out of here!’’ he said, putting his shirt in his bag. He was going to drink in London, getting back to his old coping habit, or he was going to find another woman to have sex with, his ladies-men reputation was well known by the woman. ‘’Right, cause running away is easier than stay and talk about your feelings’’ she chuckled, but it was filled with anger in her voice. He clenched his jaw as she gritted her teeth. There it was, the anger building up in her stomach, she wanted to punch the wall, choke him and hit him, but she contained herself, like always. ‘’I’m going to London, so whatever you say, won’t change my mind’’ he mumbled, with hint of frustration in his voice. Talking to him was useless, he was going to get drunk, probably going to cheat on her, come back with flowers and do it all again. She felt her throat squeeze, she didn’t want to cry in front of him. ‘’Why did I come here, anyway.’’ She whispered. Bucky looked up at her. ‘’Have fun in London, you know where to find me when you come back. Or I’ll probably be rotting in a potato field in Germany, enjoy your weekend, John’’ she said as she slammed his door. The idea of her being dead didn’t sit well in his mind, but he needed to get out of here, he was starting to lose his mind.

We only said goodbye with words

I died a hundred times

You go back to her

And I go back to

I go back to us.

She coiled up against her door, crying again. They had a fight, she looked at the letter in her hands. A woman named Lexie wrote to him; saying how much she enjoyed the night they spent together in London, and it went on with details of their steamy night. He cheated on her many times before, but it was never confirmed, now, to hold a letter, she felt like her heart was shattering with each word she read. Tears fell on the paper as she continued to read it. Bucky could hear her cry when he entered the building, since she was a woman on a base filled with men, her and the other woman had a private building. He knew that she was crying because of him. She thought she was dying, her heart was painful, each breath she took was hurting her lungs, her head was pounding from all the crying. It wasn’t the first time she ‘died’ it happened multiple times before. When he knocked at her door, he didn’t expect her to open it that fast. ‘’What the fuck do you want?’’ she tried to yell, but her voice cracked, showing all the pain she was in. ‘’Darling, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I feel so fucking bad right now, please let me in’’ he pleaded. She didn’t have any energy to fight with him, she let him inside her room, he closed the door, slowly, as he looked at her. She looked so tired, in pain and hurt. ‘’I know you won’t forgive me, and I’ve said it before, but this time, I promise you that I truly fucking mean it, she meant nothing. It’s really hard for me to talk about my feelings, I was about to go crazy, the second I kissed her I regretted it. Y/n, please look at me’’ she didn’t want to hear him, but he sounded so sincere. ‘’How do I know this time is different?’’ she whispered. ‘’I don’t know what to tell you, but I swear on everything I have, I’m going to change, no more messing around, I love you, and I can’t keep hurting you.’’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘’Y/n, I love you and I’m begging you, please you have to believe me, you can ask Buck, I’ve thrown away all my alcohol, and I – ‘’ Y/n cut him off, placing her hands on his. ‘’Just shut up and kiss me’’ she said, her voice filled with pain, again. Bucky kissed her, putting his both hands on her cheek. He tenderly kissed her lips. ‘’I love you so much’’ he praised between kisses.

She didn’t know if that promise was true, but she was going to take whatever he was willing to give, because they needed each other, one couldn’t live without the other. The adrenaline, the love; they craved each other. So whatever he gave her, she was going to take it, or she was going back to black…

[bettyfrommars]

Death Becomes Us//Part 2: When Doves Cry vampire!Eddie x supernatural!fem!Reader//True Blood AU

⚠️18+Only pls⚠️ adult themes, blood, drinking blood, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, violence, reader and vampire!Eddie both get physically hurt--but they end up okay, talk of needles, alcohol consumption, talk of addiction, mention of sex, sanguivoriphobia, talk of the supernatural, death. Word Count: 6.7k

Series Masterlist

Summary: You start your first day at Main Vein, the vampire/human crossover bar owned by Bob Newby, flanked by vampire!bartender!Argyle and you learn what a risk humans can be to vampires as you begin to navigate their world. You and Eddie have to rescue each other as you're forced to share an intimate exchange that brings you irrevocably close. Playlist

Important words/phrases for this chapter: Fanger (derogatory term for vampires) Fang Banger (derogatory term for people who like to be bitten by vampires during sex) Sanguivoriphobia (fear of vampires)

✂️

If you are in the group of people who are familiar with True Blood, parts of this chapter will feel familiar. I won't be sticking to the storyline of the show religiously, but there are so many clever elements I wanted to incorporate. Please read the warnings above, as some of the things mentioned in this chapter might not be for everyone. ❤️

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Death Becomes Us Part 2: When Doves Cry

For years, you tried to cover your scars up with makeup, but then they ended up looking lumpy and odd, and it made people stare even harder trying to figure out what was under the heavy layers of foundation and powder. You’d never met anyone like you before, and it made you feel a type of deep loneliness that you never talked about because you knew no one would understand.

You’d left some tuna on your porch for Dio before you went to bed, and you were pleased to find the saucer licked clean when you left your trailer the next day. You could tell that she was well fed and that your nasty vampire neighbor was taking good care of her, but you wanted to reward her for proving to Eddie that she did, indeed, like someone other than him.

The white BMW was gone, and the old van was back, parked next to Eddie’s trailer. You were more curious and interested in whatever he was up to than you should be, considering you wanted nothing to do with him.

It was still daylight out when you rolled up early to Main Vein, and Bob got you to work writing out the specials on a sandwich board in your best handwriting, to hopefully attract customers in as they strolled by on the sidewalk. You shadowed Bob as he taught you the basics of tending bar while a couple humans (also known as “breeders” in the vampire world, because vampires, of course, could not procreate) came in for a few simple beers, and one guy ordered a jack and coke.

As a child, you were always an emphatic soul; you could tell what a person was feeling, even if they told you with their words that they were feeling something else. It was a trauma response to surviving in the emotional chaos you grew up in. Now, since the accident, you could read human emotions and intentions with ten times the intensity.

Vampires, on the other hand, were impervious to your gift—or, curse, as you often referred to it.

For instance, you could tell that Bob Newby had a heart of gold; his enthusiasm was not a fake front to hide dark intentions. He truly loved his vampire girlfriend, whom you had yet to meet, and he harbored nothing but the best intentions in the brainstorming of his human/vampire crossover bar Main Vein. He believed that vampires were good people who just happened to be dead, and that we were all equals, despite the fact that they were stronger, faster, immortal, and subsided on blood alone.

You were behind the bar, concentrating on putting the exact amount of alcohol in a drink that the recipe card in front of you called for, when Argyle slid in next to you and bumped your arm. His skin felt like ice.

“Careful!” He snickered. “Don’t spill any,” but half of the liquid had already dripped down your fingers. Since you couldn’t get a read on vampire’s emotions, it was a relief for you to be around them. Feeling other people’s emotions often meant that you had to experience them, and that was not to your benefit in many cases. Being around crowds of people sapped your energy in a way you still struggled to recover from.

Argyle wore his black hair straight and parted down the middle; it was shiny and soft and you wanted to touch it. He had on a colorful, button down shirt, and a blue visor that said Main Vein on it. He nodded at what you were working on, wiggling his eyebrows. “Whadda we got going on here?”

You sighed and told him what the customer ordered. Argyle smiled and waved you off. “I got this, foxy dudette. Let the master take over,” he cracked his knuckles and interlaced his fingers, flexing his palms out before he brought things from the under bar at lightning speed.

You were more than happy to shove off and get to the group at the front waiting to be seated.

When you were half way there with menus tucked under your arm, you realized that this group was mean and anxious and desperate; a combination that made alarms go off inside of you as your skin exploded in a wash of goosebumps.

They were nice enough to your face, though. It was a woman with two men, all dressed in denim and plaid; one of the men had an American flag on the front of his t-shirt. The other one had his greasy hair squished under a trucker cap, and two missing teeth in front. The redhead woman wore an Ed Hardy tube top under her flannel, and she was pretty in a whiskey and Marlboro reds kind of way. Her smile was big and gracious as she smacked her green gum, and they followed you to a booth.

They ordered a round of beers with potato skins from the appetizer menu, and just as you excused yourself to give their order to Bob in the kitchen, the woman grabbed your wrist.

You squeezed your eyes closed until you could calm the surge that went through your body when you felt threatened, waiting for the fire behind your eyes to settle before you met her gaze again.

“Sorry, darlin’ but this is a bar for vampires, too, right?” She was bent forward, whispering to you, her pupils tightly pinned in her dusty blue eyes. There was a faded, long stem rose tattoo on her white freckled forearm.

“Um, yes,” you looked around. “Will there be more with your party? Should I bring over a menu with our plasma options?”

The two men chuckled across the table at each other as if you’d just made a joke.

“That’s okay, baby,” the woman said sweetly, releasing your arm. “But, are there any vampires in here right now? Me and the boys were just hoping to see one up close, is all.”

You thought about what they were asking you, and the fact that their emoting of desperation was getting stronger, and decided not to point Argyle out to them. They’d eventually figure that one out for themselves because he loved to show his teeth. “I’m not really sure,” you lied with a shrug. “I never can tell the difference.”

The woman frowned and turned back to the two men as they started to discuss something.

The other waitress, a human named Erica Sinclair, tucked her Main Vein t-shirt into her shorts as she joined you on the floor, rolling her eyes. Bob introduced the two of you in a rush as he flipped a burger, and Erica gave you a bored look, but her gaze did not linger on your your scars like most. “You’re new here, right? You’re smiling, so you must be. Nothing much to smile about around here.”

You told her you’d only been in town a few days as you grabbed a second round of beers for the table that had been asking about vampires. You weren’t paying too much attention when the front door opened, but then some of the other customers seemed to still, conversations coming to a halt, and Erica’s attention shifted over your shoulder, eyes narrowing.

The song When Doves Cry by Prince was playing on the stereo system as you turned on your heel to witness your neighbor Eddie step across the threshold with ease; one initial invitation was all that was needed, apparantly. According to Bob, invitations could also be reversed if necessary. It was the couple waiting behind Eddie for their invitation that alerted everyone to the presence of something supernatural.

The two behind him could’ve easily passed as “regular” mortals. They had a very mom and pop look about them; she was a brunette in a floral dress and he was in trousers, a dark blue button down, and had a receding hairline. She clutched her white handbag at her stomach, and the man with her had his hand at her back, coaxing her in.

Eddie pretended not to see you there as he cupped a hand to light his cigarette and made his way over to the bar to take his normal seat at the end to order a Fang Tang, not even giving a second glance to the vampires stuck outside. Maybe they weren’t his friends? Not all vampires were friends, surely, as you were not close with all humans.

Bob would’ve been the first to greet them and welcome them in, but he was knee deep in the kitchen, wearing his “Bob the Brain” custom embroidered apron, and when you turned to Erica, she shook her head. “I’m not a fan of the Fangers myself. It’s going to take me a minute to get used to this new world.”

Your eyes snapped to Argyle, but he was busy at the other end of the bar doing a Tom Cruise juggling act with the booze to impress two of the local Fang Bangers.

So you straitened your shirt, squared your shoulders, and made your way over to greet them.

Meanwhile, the redhead woman with the rose tattoo on her arm and the two men with her were hyper focused on the new arrivals; you could feel the cold, wet tug of some kind of rot in their veins, surging though them and clouding their rational thoughts.

At the time, you did not know that there was an underground market for vampire blood, not only for its healing properties, but the euphoric high and transcendent experience it gifted the user. It enhanced sexual performance and gave humans the mental prowess of superhuman strength. Needless to say, it was a highly prized commodity; expensive and addictive.

Hunched at the bar in his leather and battle vest, and a handkerchief hanging from his back pocket, Eddie appeared to be ignoring you as you walked to greet the newcomers. You had never professionally invited a vampire in before, so you might have overcompensated with how cheerful your tone was. “Welcome to Main Vein,” you plastered a smile across your face. “Please enter and follow me. I will show you to your seat,” you also added a slight bow and extension of your arm like you were back in theater class again.

They stepped inside with a swoosh—a sound like they were breaking some invisible barrier you couldn’t see. They asked for a booth, and the only one out of the five that was available happened behind the party that was eager to see vampires up close: now they would get their chance. This vampire couple was not at all what you envisioned when people talked of “bloodsuckers from hell”. They seemed grateful to be able to come out to a bar with regular people---perhaps it reminded them of the human lives they’d once lived.

The guy in the trucker hat with two missing teeth turned around in his seat to get a better look as they sat and you offered them the plasma menus. You explained the different categories for synthetic blood, and how each offered the same taste and nutrients as real human blood. They offered replicas of a whole range of blood types, for those vampires with discerning palettes. You frowned at the guy in the trucker hat to make him turn back around and take his seat.

On your way back to the kitchen, Erica caught you by the elbow, her eyes wide. “What did they say to you?”

“They just wanted menus,” you said with a shrug, glancing over your shoulder at the couple in question. “I don’t think they’re all as bad as they seem on the news.”

“Oh, believe me,” She gave you a dire look. “They are evil. Don’t let the Laura Ashley dress and the Newport loafers fool you.” Truly, Erica had not yet properly met more than a handful of vampires in her life, she’d only heard the rumors.

“Have you ever met one?” You asked, assuming that she’d known plenty.

“I’ve met enough of them,” she promised, hands on her hips, and then she gestured to your neighbor at the end of the bar. “I know Eddie. But that’s only because I met him...before the change. And I’m forced to be around Argyle because I work here.”

When Erica walked off, you made the mistake of glancing over at the Eddie in question, and he tried to lower his eyes to his synthetic blood beverage as if he hadn't been watching you.

Argyle was working a metal cocktail shaker over his shoulder when you came back to the bar, and he nudged his chin at you. “What’s up with the freaks?” He asked, referring to the redhead with the rose tattoo and the two beefy men with her. He filled two martini glasses with a dark red concoction and trimmed each with a tiny pink flower.

You leaned forward a bit so you wouldn’t have to yell, tilting your head. “They specifically asked if there were any vampires here tonight,” you glanced over at Eddie again, but he was engrossed in something he was doodling on a napkin. “Do you think they’re tourists?”

“Nah,” Argyle wiped his hands on the rag at his waist, eyeing the table in question. “That’s Angie Klemp and her inbred brothers. They’ve been around forever.”

You could tell by his expression that he was weary of them, and you knew that he had excellent hearing which probably allowed him to listen in on some of what they were saying as they huddled together at their booth.

Wanting to change the subject, Argyle winked at you. “You’re doing a rad job, surfer girl. These are for the vampire couple that just sat down,” he pushed the two martini glasses toward you. “It’s our signature synthetic blood cocktail. Tell them it’s on the house.”

As the night picked up a bit, you took an order to the wrong table and fumbled a glass that shattered behind the bar. While you were cleaning that up, and mumbling apologies to Argyle, a woman wearing glasses and her honey-streaked brown hair in a bob took a seat at the small table by the window. Erica had a tray of drinks in her hand, so you dumped a dustpan full of glass in the trash and went over to wait on the new guest.

“Do I know you?” You asked as you took your pad and pen out to take her order.

She clamped her top teeth over her bottom lip, tucking hair behind her ear, shyly. “I own the bookstore down the street,” she answered. “You were in earlier, but I never got a chance to introduce myself.”

Of course, it came to you almost as quickly as she said it. You’d been so early for work that you took a walk around the block and ended up wandering into the quaint bookshop on the corner with the wind chimes made from seashells in the window. You had mentioned to her as you purchased a used paperback that you were starting work that day.

“The bookstore with the cats,” you grinned, pointing your pen at her. There had, indeed, been two resident cats in the shop, lazily draped over their carpeted perches in the sun, and sleepy, cream colored bigger dog behind the front counter.

“That’s the one,” she nodded, and then she stuck her hand out to introduce herself. “I’m Robin, in case you ever come back in, you can ask for me,” that seemed to fluster her and she shook her head. “You don’t have to ask for me, I’m usually there, but if you ever come by again, that would be nice.” Her cheeks got pink as she fumbled for the glass of ice water in front of her and took a sip.

You met her eyes and told her that you be back in soon to finish the series you were reading, and then she ordered a glass of wine with her salad. You could tell her heart was racing. She was nervous and excited to see you, as if maybe she’d had to give herself a pep talk before she came in. You noticed there was a certain warmth about her that wasn’t present in other humans. Whereas vampires were abnormally cold; Robin was pumping off heat like she had a temperature, and you were instantly fascinated by her.

----------

A bit later in the evening, Eddie said his goodbyes to Argyle, and you took casual note of his departure out of the corner of your eye while you bussed a table.

What you also noticed was the way Angie Klemp and her brothers paid quickly, and got up to follow Eddie out only a minute behind him. They’d had 6 beers and just as many tequila shots between them, and you got the feeling that they were up to no good. The two men were tapping their knees under the table, and scratching their necks and hands as if being actively attacked by ants.

The pulses of emotional electricity coming off of them instantly made your pores on your scalp blossom with sweat at how panicked they were; how hell bent. But again, what would they want with Eddie? To take their picture with him? That was a common tourist occurrence in Hawkins. But, the tourists in question usually preferred the subject to look like a stereotypical vampire; maybe wearing a cape, or dressed like Elvira. As far as you could tell, vampires usually kept with the same style they had when they were turned.

Eddie did naturally have that “vampire” look, though. He was a loner, he wore all black, he had spooky tattoos, and that long dark hair framing his pale face.

You were refilling someone’s water when you overheard Erica tell a guy at the bar to stop staring at her ass before she stabbed his eyes out with her pen, and it made you chuckle, mostly because you knew she wasn’t bluffing.

Ten minutes or so later, you were grabbing napkins from the storeroom in the back hall when you heard high pitched voices, screaming at each other from the alleyway parking lot. You hesitated with your hand on the shelf, wondering if it was just two people arguing and probably none of your business, but then you heard another scream, and decided to crack the door and peek out.

You had to scan the area at first, but then your eyes widened as they took in what was happening: against the brick wall of the next building, in a parking space between two cars, your neighbor Eddie was on the ground, his neck and wrists wrapped in silver chain, pinning him to the ground. You gasped and swallowed as you saw the steam rise up from where the silver was burning his flesh, his mouth set in a grimace.

Angie Klemp made fast work of jabbing a needle into the crease of each of his elbows draining his blood through tubing into clear bags. The brother in the American flag shirt paced at Eddie’s feet, barely able to contain his need for the drug, and the other one with two missing teeth kicked Eddie in the leg and then spat on him. “Yeah? Whadda ya think about that? Not so tough now, are you, Fanger?”

You stepped inside only to grab the fire extinguisher off the wall before heading back out, careful not to make any noise as the door shut. You tip toed around so that you were hidden behind the van next to them.

Angie seemed to be doing all the work, jerking the port out to fill another bag on the filthy pavement. “Goddamn it, I knew we should’ve taken him home first. This is risky as hell.”

“There’s no time for that!” The brother with two missing teeth took his hat off and scratched his head viciously. “I need some of the blood now, can’t I just have a little bit?”

Angie threw him a disgusted look. “You’re a fuckin’ addict, Clyde. How are we supposed to make money on this shit if you drink up all the profits? Get your shit together!”

You peeked your head out from behind the van, and Eddie saw you. His eyes were black and his fangs were out, but the silver had him rendered completely incapacitated. You could only imagine that the amount of blood they were taking was also making him weak.

You lifted up the fire extinguisher to let him know you were coming to his rescue, but he shook his head, trying to warn you off.

The two beefy men were too caught up in the throws of withdrawals and had their backs to you as you came up behind them. With a mighty heave, you cracked one in the back of the head with the big metal canister, and then when the other one turned around, you sprayed him in the face with the foam that comes out of the nozzle, blinding him. He clapped his hand to his face, yowling, and tripped himself on his own feet, going down hard.

Angie slowly stood, realizing that both men were on the ground, dazed, and she gave you a nasty snarl. “Why, you stupid, cut face whore,” she bit out just before she lunged at you.

You were about to swing the canister at her face when, from out of nowhere, a huge, boxy, beige pit bull terrier lunged from the darkness, barking and growling at Angie, barring its teeth, forcing her to back up. You looked down, a bit shocked: you’d never seen that dog before in your life. Would it attack you next? Hesitant, you let the dog move between the two of you, protectively, as it curled its lip and growled.

You pointed the nozzle at the woman. “Try us, bitch.”

The pit bull started barking a loud alarm that would soon have people coming to see what the hell was going on. Angie clenched her hands in the air as if she wanted to wring your neck, and then she was shouting for the two stumbling men to get in the truck.

“Go, go, go, you dickheads,” Angie demanded, grabbing the one covered in white goo by the collar, dragging him along.

The one with the crack to his skull was bleeding down the side of his head. “But what about the blood? Let’s take the blood!”

You and your new, aggressive pit bull friend stepped in front of Eddie, your weapon ready. “Don’t even think about it, fucker.”

You waited for them to pile in the truck and speed away before you dropped the fire extinguisher to the ground with a thunk and got on your knees next to Eddie, bits of gravel cutting into your shin.

The pit bull licked your cheek and stood guard next to you, looking from you to Eddie as if it understood everything that was going on, head tilting every so often. You were too concerned with how the silver was sizzling on his skin like bacon on a frying pan to wonder about your new companion. There were still needles in his arms and you slipped them out, cringing as you did so. You watched in awe as the hole marks in his arms disappeared and healed right before your very eyes.

“Can you move?” You asked him.

Eddie could barely talk, the pain of the silver was so excruciating. That, and he was extremely low functioning after so much blood loss. If those three had wanted to end him, they very well could have. He wondered how many vampires they had trapped and drained over the past few years.

He managed a scratchy, whispered, “no. It’s...the silver…”

With a gulp, you went to work unwrapping the chain from his neck and then his wrists, peeling layers of skin with it. He was an immortal vampire, but you could only imagine how much it must hurt, and yet, he hadn’t even made whimper.

His eyes never left you as you worked on him so diligently, your brows knitted together with focused determination. His neck was kinked forward, as his head and shoulders were propped up against the brick wall.

Unwrapping the last coil from around his wrist, you noticed that the wounds were staying the same, and you met his eyes. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I’m too weak right now,” his eyes flicked away from you. “I won’t be able to heal until I feed.”

At that, the pit bull whined, and took its cue to turn and disappear back into the night.

You looked over your shoulder at the door to Main Vein. “Would synthetic blood work?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head once, rolling it against the wall. “Has to be...human,” he breathed, bangs sticking to his clammy forehead.

His once rosy lips were pale and the mangled wounds left from the silver made you feel bad for him, even though you weren’t even sure if you liked him.

“What if I just left you here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Would you die?”

The corners of his mouth stuck together as he talked. “If I don’t feed soon, I won’t be able to protect myself. More will come to take my blood, and if I’m still out here at daybreak then, yes, the sunlight will kill me.”

Your gaze moved from his ripped throat to his eyes again, hovering there. There was a thick leather cuff on your wrist that you used to cover up your scar, but you undid the buckle, exposing the underside of your forearm. You wondered if he was too weak to expose his fangs, so you used the back of one of your earrings to slice a thin opening across your skin, wincing in pain as you did so.

Eddie’s breath hitched in anticipation as you lifted the bleeding gash to his mouth. He couldn’t lift his arms, so you pressed it there, and his eyes locked on yours as you felt his tongue lick across the cut just before his eye went black and he began to suck, moaning, drinking you as a small trickle of blood dripped down to his chin.

At one point, he got some of his strength back, and his hand with the three silver, chunky rings came up to push your forearm against his eager mouth as he fed, and your heart raced at the sight of it. The passion of his need made your pussy clench around nothing as you knelt there in the grimy parking lot.

When his swallowing finally slowed, you tugged your arm away and clutched it to the underside of your apron. Eddie licked his blood-stained lips and met your eyes again. “Seriously,” he was strong enough now to brace his hands and push himself up so that his back was no longer on the ground. He leaned close as if he could read the answers in your eyes. “What are you?”

Your face was inches from his. “Do I taste different?”

“Yes,” he returned, without hesitation. The mauled skin around his neck and wrists were completely healed. “I’ve never tasted anyone like you before.”

You got to your feet, clipping your leather cuff back on, realizing you’d need to find a first aid kit before you went back to work.

“I owe you big time,” Eddie looked you up and down as he sat for a bit to catch his breath. “If you ever need---”

The back door to Main Vein opened and Erica was standing there with her arms crossed, shouting across the parking lot at you. “What the hell is going on out here? Am I working the floor by myself tonight or what?”

You walked to the back end of the van to tell her you’d be right in, and when you turned back to say something to Vampire Eddie---he was gone.

-------

“What the hell were you thinking?” Erica blanched as she helped you wrap up your arm at the desk in Bob’s office. “You know these Fangers eat people, right?”

She was still yelling, but you were trying not to take it personal. “Well, he didn’t eat me, so I guess there are exceptions.”

“What the hell do you call him drinking your blood, then?” Erica had a very soft touch while bandaging you up, careful to make sure she cleaned the wound and inspected you to make sure you didn’t have a bite mark.

“You girls okay?” Bob came around the corner, flushed, his face red and glistening in sweat from a long night behind the grill.

Erica jerked her thumb over her shoulder at you. “This one decided to play vigilantly in the parking lot to save one of your vampire buddies.”

Bob beamed. “Aw, you made a vampire friend? They’re awesome aren’t they?”

This time, you and Erica exchanged a confused look.

---------

At the end of your shift, Bob and Argyle stayed to finish up with two vampire customers at the bar who were lingering. With a heavy sigh, you took your blue, blood-stained apron off, grabbed things from your wood cubby in the back, and then walked with Erica down to the end of the sidewalk. The two of you had to split up and go in separate directions because your hearse was parked at the curb, and Erica only lived a few blocks away. You offered her a ride home, but she declined. You could feel that she had some personal issues weighing on her heart, and besides that, she had a deep well of emotions inside for the people she cared about, and it took her a while to trust people and open up. If you didn’t have your curse, you’ve might’ve just assumed she hated you.

It was late, but because of growing vampire population in civilized areas, there were several lights in windows, and the low hum of conversations drifting down from higher up apartments. There were streetlamps on each corner, but the dark side of the building cast a heavy shadow on you as you fumbled for your keys.

You were just about to unlock the door when you heard the shuffling of footsteps, and then before you could turn, the hard edge of a rope edge dug into your neck, gagging you, and then you were yanked back, off your feet. You tried to scream, but it only came out as a gargle. Your ass caught most of the fall to the pavement, but then your head clapped back onto the hard surface and it caused a ringing sound in your skull. The person holding the rope around your neck pulled it tighter, and you struggled, kicking your feet, trying to get free.

Angie Klemp and her brother in the American flag t-shirt were standing above you, sneering. She kicked you in the ribs and you wailed at the pain. She squatted down to mock you. “Oh, darn, I guess that fanger boyfriend of yours isn’t around to return the favor now, is he?”

They were dragging you now, pulling you by the neck around into the alleyway where no one could see what they were about to do to you.

Your vision was getting blurry as you heard the woman's voice again. “You cost me five thousand dollars worth of fanger blood, and we’re gonna take it out of your ass.”

The rope burned as it slipped off your neck and you were somehow able to roll on your side and stand, just as one of the men punched you across the face and you went down again, coughing, tasting blood. You were on your hands and knees, trying to catch your breath, and one of them kicked the steel toe of their boot into your stomach, making you double over in pain as they laughed, tears squeezing from your eyes as you tasted bile.

You wondered if you were going to die there.

In a blink, with spots in your eyes, you tried to focus as you swore you saw the guy in the trucker hat get his neck broken right there where he stood. His head twisted all the way around, forced by seemingly invisible hands, and then he slumped to the ground, dead. Before the other two could figure out what was happening, you saw Eddie pick the guy with the American flag shirt up and throw him onto the hood of a car, his head crashing through the windshield with a bloody splat. Angie tried to run, but Eddie caught her by the back of her neck and picked her up off of her feet. With one hand, he threw her into the nearby dumpster and slammed the lid with a bang.

This had all been done in seconds; he moved at the speed of light.

You were on your side, choking on blood, feeling scared as your vision began to tunnel. But then, strong arms were lifting you up as Eddie scooped you against his chest, “I got you, I got you,” he murmured against your bloody head. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You might have blacked out for a bit because when you opened your eyes, you were on the grass in the park across the street, propped up against a tree. You mewed in pain as your head throbbed and you choked on a sticky pool of blood in the back of your throat.

Eddie took his jacket and denim off as he knelt in front of you, revealing the Metallica t-shirt he had on. You tried to hold your head up as he produced his fangs and sank them into his own arm, and then held the leaking bite marks out to you.

“You need to drink my blood, so you can heal,” he said. He didn’t want to scare you in that moment, but you had a serious gash in your skull, and he had no idea how bad that kick you took had affected your internal organs.

You tried to push away from him, your eyes wide. “I don’t want to be a vampire.”

“You won’t be,” he assured you. “Believe me, I don’t want this for you, either.”

There was a tenderness in him then that you were noticing for the first time. You’d been taken by surprise, but under normal circumstances, you would’ve been able to handle the Klemps on your own. You weren’t used to feeling helpless and in need of someone’s care. You could feel the blood dripping down your neck and your vision was starting to fade again.

“Just a little bit,” you breathed, sticky lips parted.

Eddie cupped your head in one hand as he brought his arm over, similar to how you had fed him earlier. The weeping holes from his fang marks were right in the middle of one of his tattoos and you closed your eyes as your mouth latched on, nursing on him like your life depended on it---which it did. It tasted ordinary, like sucking on a penny, but it felt like velvet on your tongue, warming your insides.

Consumed with a sudden lust for the juice in his veins, you sucked harder, whimpering, and you didn’t see it, but Eddie’s eyes went back as he growled in the back of his throat at the pleasure of the sensation. You drank until your brain stopped throbbing, and then you rested your head back against the tree, a smear of his blood across your chin.

You noticed Eddie was close to you, his mouth at your temple as he licked a bit of your blood from a scratch there as it was healing. You jerked to the side, surprised to catch him wanting to sample you again.

Your eyes locked. “What do I taste like?”

He searched your face, aroused by the sight of his blood on your mouth. “Like...memories. Like ice cream and summer breeze and suntan lotion melting on warm skin.”

Your lips were almost touching as he confessed this to you. There was no vocabulary for him to properly explain the many layered depth to your blood; it was sweet and savory, and it also tingled in the back of his throat like pop rocks or fireworks and made him feel alive again if only for a few moments.

You lifted your hand to your throat to find that the rope burn was gone, and your ribs didn’t feel like they were broken. You were just about to ask him another question, but then he was on his feet in a flash, putting his jacket on.

“Also,” he flipped his hair out of the collar of his leather. “Now that you have my blood in you, I’ll always know where you are,” it sounded more cryptic than he meant for it to, and so he added, “just in case you ever need my help again.”

You frowned. “But, how will you know if I need help?”

He busied himself rolling his cuffs up. “I’ll be able to sense your fear.”

You were letting that sink in when he spoke up again. “And don’t be surprised if you have some dreams about me.”

“Dreams?” You raised an eyebrow.

He turned his head and rested his tongue between his teeth as he figured out how to say it. “The sexual kind.”

“Oh,” you looked down, suddenly embarrassed. He stood there shuffling his foot on the grass and you had so many questions for him. How had he become a vampire? Was it something that he chose, or was it forced on him? How long had he been one? You were trying to choose which one to ask when he spoke.

“Hop up,” he said, gesturing for you to get on his back like you were a little girl. “I’ll take you back to your hearse.”

Normally, you hated when men tried to pick you up, but Vampire Eddie carried you across the street like you weighed no more than air. You had your arms around his shoulders and his hands were cupped under your thighs; the vanilla sandalwood of his hair blew across your face in soft tendrils. He lowered you to the ground once he got to the parking lot, and you both looked down the alleyway at the Klemp bodies that Eddie had dropped in his effort to rescue you.

You swallowed. “It’s illegal for vampires to kill humans,” you said in a hush. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for this. I’ll tell the police I was---”

“No police,” Eddie stopped you in a gruff voice. His jaw muscles flexed as he turned to you. “It’s also illegal for humans to drain a vampire for sport,” he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket and bit one with his teeth to pull it out of the pack. It bounced there as he talked, squinting one eye at you. “I’ll take care of them, you don’t have to worry about it, princess.”

Since he’d just saved your life, you decided to let him get away with the pet name.

He lit his smoke and took a tight, hissing inhale before aiming the exhale over your head. “I’ll stay here to make sure you get on the road okay.”

You looked down at yourself. “Yeah, I suppose I should get home and take a shower,” you noticed that your bag was in the gutter next to your front tire and you bent to pick it up, along with your keys up. “Guess I’ll see you around the trailer park.”

Inside the hearse, you watched from your rear view mirror as vampire Eddie leaned his back against the wall to smoke and make sure no one bothered you. He picked something off his tongue as you started the engine, and then you lowered your head to shift into gear.

You were not surprised this time to find him gone when you looked up.

-----

"Dig if you will the picture of you and I engaged in a kiss The sweat of your body covers me Can you my darling? Can you picture this? Dream if you can, a courtyard An ocean of violets in bloom Animals strike curious poses They feel the heat The heat between me and you How could you just leave me standing alone in a world so cold?"

-- When Doves Cry//Prince

------

Part 3: The taste of you

——-

Thank you for reading!

[murmiss]

Headcanons about Yandere Simulator!COD.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Warning: mention of suicide, mention of alcohol, drugs, mental problems, possibly traumatic moments, etc. My personal vision of the character. OOC?

I think he's perfect for the role of Yandere.

His childhood was disgustingly shitty, and you can't blame him for that.

Born into a dysfunctional family, Simon was doomed to a hard life from childhood. His father was a drunk, a bloody alcoholic who prided himself on being able to drink for weeks and stay on his feet. A dirty man, with filthy and sadistic tendencies taken out on those closest to him. A freak who broke everyone he knew, trampling on his own son, turning the poor child into an unwilling broken doll.

Simon remembered those lonely nights in the old shed next to the house, cluttered with trash and rusty tools, like it was yesterday. The cold wind blew through the cracks between the boards, leaving goosebumps on Simon's skin and forcing him to pull his legs tighter together, curling up in a ball to keep warm. A night in the old barn was Mr. Riley's favorite punishment, a man crashing home after another rave binge to find out his son had gotten an F in school? Late for first period? Or maybe spent his pocket money on some silly comic book? - no matter what, Simon will fly instantly to the Locked Shed. No matter what happened, Simon was always drawn to his older brother, who, unfortunately, wasn't as good as his younger brother would have liked. Tommy was a jerk, that bad boy in high school who publicly cursed the teacher, broke the toilet faucet, and did stupid things. But the dumbest thing in Tommy's life was drugs - this jerk decided to prove once again to everyone that he was cool, not realizing that very soon this addiction would consume him, like everyone else who once got addicted. And Simon hovered between two fires, like a child dreaming of a normal family, like a son who had never seen his father smile and never heard praise. And the mother? Mrs. Riley-a dandelion of God, withering rapidly in her husband's dirty hands. She was a beautiful woman, the only person in that family who cared about Simon, and he loved her immensely, and still does. Mrs. Riley died when Simon was 14. It was a cold Sunday morning when a loud gunshot rang out, waking Simon from his sleep. Feeling an animal fear, he rushed to the sound, recognizing a sight that forever shattered his poor mind. On September 6, Mrs. Riley shot herself in the temple.Haunted by her husband's nightmares and torture, she couldn't take any more of this abusive behavior, couldn't watch her firstborn wither under drugs, couldn't see Simon hurt.But her act didn't make it better, hell, that kind of thing never makes anything better. After that day, Simon withdrew more than ever. Hitting his father was nothing, hunger was nothing, being forced to kiss a poisonous snake was a challenge.

Simon grew up, and with it grew his hatred and repressed aggression towards his father.One day in a club Simon watched his father attack a poor girl. She simply refused to spend the night with him and the drunkard, not confused, began to beat her as if he were a wrestler in the ring Simon could not do anything, just as he could not save his mother, stop his father's beatings or convince Tommy that drugs are evil. And he didn't understand why his father wasn't in jail. They'd find the girl, but when they did, no one would really care what happened. The freak always gets away with it.

After the death of his mother, Simon was forced to work part-time at the local machine shop. Old man Carson was happy to help the neighbor boy, so he took him into his shop as an assistant without any questions or demands. Yes, and Simon was a handy and understanding guy.

Simon started out washing cars, and after working like that for half a year, he was promoted to Carson's apprentice: the old man explained and taught the boy mechanics, letting him stay up late reading books about cars.

The old man was able to replace Simon's father, teaching the teenager simple things necessary for basic survival. For example, Simon, at 16, learned how to fix some appliances and how to use tools. But Mrs. Carson had already taught Simon cooking, laundry, and household chores, and he, as a bright boy, grasped everything on the fly. Simon noticed Mr. and Mrs. Carson had a son, which they never had, for unfortunately Paula Carson was barren.

Simon lived as a two-family household, mostly spending his days at his mentor's house, but when his father began to rage and throw himself at the neighbor's door, Simon would return, falling asleep again in his little room.

The work in the workshop brought quite a good income and Simon, having entered the desired college, was even able to rent a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, and finally moved out of his home, so as not to see this den, and not to put, in Simon's opinion, the family of his mentor in danger.

The old man Carson told him fatherly: "Simon, you'll be happy when you find love. Simon thought so, but he couldn't imagine what that love looked like. He couldn't believe it would happen someday, not just pass him by like it always did.

But one day that day has come. First day of college, Simon is walking toward the auditorium when a stranger suddenly sweeps him off his feet like a small tornado. It was just a moment when he looked into your eyes-- He felt like he was going to drown in them. The way your eyelashes fluttered as you stood there, rubbing your forehead after the blow and babbling something, was in his head. From that day on, he couldn't imagine his life if you weren't there for him.

"Finally, I'll be happy."

But is this how it's going to be? Simon can't contain his anger at seeing you talking sweetly to some cocky kid in the back of the class. And the voice in Simon's head whispered sweetly: "eliminate."

[kirain]

oh God I hope, those ‘how dare you pick Gale?!’ anons, don’t annoy you too much or sour Astarion for you. Both are great romances and I’m glad Gale gets some love as well.

Admittedly, Astarion fans have kind of been souring his character for me, but I'm trying very hard not to let that happen. My friend and I were actually talking about this yesterday, funny enough. She's an Astarion fan, but she admits the hateful energy people have for Gale is pretty hypocritical, because everything people hate about him also blatantly applies to Astarion. The insecurity, the emotional outbursts, the trauma, the arrogance—they're literally two sides of the same coin, and liking them shouldn't be a competition.

When I first met Astarion, we didn't really vibe, but I was content with his character ... until I started getting anons and comments on Tumblr, TikTok, Twitter, and YouTube from people bashing Gale; calling him an incel, possessive, selfish, etc., and all in comparison to Astarion, for some reason. It seems like every time I write a nice comment or analysis of Gale, I'm challenged by Astarion fans who berate me for liking Gale more. Or for romancing him at all. I've received the weirdest comments, from people saying Gale supposedly abused Mystra (even though he's the victim in an unfair power dynamic) to someone telling me his grooming "isn't a big deal" because he was probably in his late teens to early twenties the first time Mystra "slept" with him. 😕

Someone even told me he's like an alcoholic who can't stop drinking, and as someone who grew up with an alcoholic father, that's both insulting and completely incorrect. You can't just walk away from an addiction after one conversation, the way Gale can. I know it's just a game and normally I enjoy a good debate, but some of the comments I've received are downright feral, to the point that I'm hit with ad hominems and accusations. I like Gale, therefore I must be a horrible person, stupid, an incel-lover, a glutton for abuse, etc.

There are entire subreddits and YouTube videos dedicated to hating on Gale, as if he's the main villain of the game or something. And even more scary, some fans have taken their discourse to the actors directly. Apparently when Tim Downie was on Neil Newbon's podcast, people in the comments were calling him an incel and telling Neil not to give him a platform. Tim is just a nerdy British guy with a wife and kids, he probably doesn't even know what an "incel" is. Luckily the mods caught most of it and banned a lot of users, but the comments were getting spammed with Gale hate.

But I'm trying not to take it out on Astarion, as I know it's not really fair for me to do so. I also know this is probably just a vocal minority of vicious fans that don't represent the community as a whole. Plus, I think Neil Newbon did an incredible job and he seems like a genuinely nice person. I don't want to hate his character, especially since I know Astarion can change. In fact, I just finished his personal quest and found his little "thank you for saving me" speech to be quite sweet and heartfelt. And thank you for your kindness. You're the first person who's told me you enjoy both characters and that you appreciate both of their romances, so that restores some of my faith. ❤

[kiirer]

Tell me about your ocs >:3

WJSJSJS I PANICKED WHEN I FIRST SAW THIS ASK /pos

cw: alcohol, death/murder, sexual assault (not in detail - but it's there), grooming

okok i have a lot of ocs but ill talk about my three silliest guys!! i have two main oc universes, one called ataraksja/ataraxia (the one ill talk about in a moment) and terra del sole (late medieval fantasy kinda thing)

ataraxia was one of two main ideas epicurus, a greek philosopher, was known for - the other being epicureanism. ataraxia is state in which full peace of mind is achieved, it is an unreachable ideal state.

The "protagonist" (it used to have a plot but it changed so many times theres basically nothing now. im better at characters' personal life stories and relationships than coming up with plots) of ataraxia is Inka Zając, a young adult struggling with an addiction! I came up with his name when i opened a cupboard and saw the child-appropriate coffee tube

Inka is rather reserved and aloof, he does not speak unless spoken to and his social skills are mediocre at best. He's also narcoleptic; he takes meds, but then stops at one point.

As a barely 12 year old child he once helped his friend's sister by assisting her in disposing of a dead body. This is not important at the moment

After the death of his mom an unspecified amount of time ago (probably when he was around 16-17?), Inka's mother's drinking gets worse. Dagmara would occasionally drink recreatively, especially with her wife, Joasia, but now she uses it as a way to drown her sorrows. After prolonged exposure to her behaviour Inka takes after her, his mom's death impacted him greatly as well, and he doesn't want to feel useless and depressed all of the time. A little after his 18th birthday his only friend, with whom he had a sort of weird codependent relationship with, left him. Before this Inka would often steal from his mother (which often ended in her scolding him or sometimes, as her state worsened, physical violence even), but now he could buy alcohol on his own. (How did he afford this? I don't know. There's multiple ways i think.)

Now he's about 20 and he meets his longtime friend again, at a funeral - hyperthyroidism increases the risk of a heart attack and so does alcohol. Inka was hiding in his room at the time it happened, not wishing to have anything to do with Dagmara at the moment.

He recognizes Arlo's stupid face almost immediately. They both have to be there early, considering Inka was currently Dasia's closest relative, as she had no siblings and her parents were long dead. Considering Inka's state Arlo was supposed to give a speech instead of him. As a child he spent a lot of time over at the Zając family's house.

Arlo himself is rather charismatic and friendly, he's easy to make a conversation with. However he has a quite short temper and tends to get overly emotional easily. He's easy to fluster or embarass as well as to irritate, all three commonly used against him.

For his background - he grew up in a very.. tense household. When he was maybe 4 or 5 years old his parents had a divorce and he and his sister stayed with their father while their mother, Karina, left for good (she still had to pay child support, of course, but she just didn't want to contact any of them anymore. Neither did the dad). I won't get into the reasons because there's a lot of.. weird, maybe even a little creepy, behaviours included...!!! but!!! basically their mother was not a very good person. the dad wasn't neccessarily an angel either but he was way less bad at least. Arlo's sister, Alla, is 8 years older than him and she still remembers all of the abuse (from Karina) she had to endure. Arlo barely remembers her. He only really knows her face from the paintings hanging on the walls of the very empty now house.

Alla silently feels envious of her brother for having it way easier than her, but at the same time she reminds herself that he wouldn't have deserved that either. It was worse when she was younger, but considering she is almost 30 at the moment she has long realized that it was just misdirected resentment which was supposed to be aimed at Karina.

Arlo deeply admires Alla, going as far as copying her style, her hair, and even her name, when he came out, around 6th grade. Their father didn't really care and Alla was supportive and except for maybe a bit of trouble at school it went well (in my country elementary school lasts for 8 years, so - Arlo probably sent someone to the hospital once by headbutting them or something and no one really felt like bothering him anymore). There was another incident about 8 years before the funeral stuff - Arlo was assaulted and for about a year he struggled to do anything, he was just a child, and so the support from Alla, Dasia and her wife, Joanna was very important.

Back to the present - Inka was suprised at how tidy Arlo looked. His hair was unnaturally straight and his bangs were parted evenly, he was wearing a proper suit and tie as well. All that didn't fit was the horns that decorated the top of his head. Inka would lightheartedly offer to cut them off, perhaps using a saw, to which Arlo'd react with mock-shock, telling him he's crazy, etc. Then he laughs for a little too long, sending himself into a coughing fit while Inka watches absentmindedly. As Arlo coughed up ooze he simply turned away. Seeing that, Arlo reassured him it was alright and that his throat was just a little dry. Inka rolled his eyes before leaving to join the other guests in the church.

Inka fell asleep halfway but was later abruptly woken up due to cold water being splashed in his face by his dear old friend! He caught a cold later probably. After paying respects to the dead woman it was time for repast, during which nothing relevant happened, Inka just had to make small talk with relatives, which was annoying, but doable. The harder part was pretending to be fully sober, especially as the repast went on.

Pretending to be sober also proved quite difficult as Arlo tried to get closer to Inka again, to Inka's dismay. He felt bad when Arlo praised him for not letting the addiction take over his life and Inka felt guilty knowing that he still drinks, just not as much when he's supposed to meet up with him.

Inka inteprets all this as Arlo simply wishing to be friends once more, and partially that is right, though he did have an ulterior motive as well. That is trying to invite him into this definitely-not-a-cult thing, this being an occasion for Arlo to prove himself

Arlo's mother left and his father was emotionally distant - it wasn't long before he started viewing one of his mother's old acquaintances as a sort of new mother figure. She taught him virtues that she had learned from her mother before. She taught him religion, she taught him fear, she taught him love and she taught him hope. Alla couldn't take care of him when she was in university, he thought he was all alone against the world and so it was not all that hard for him to believe her when she said she wanted to help.

Tatiana taught him about the saviour to come from beyond the stars, to blind all creatures of the day and to fill the world with eternal darkness.

This fairytale did raise questions in Arlo eventually, all of which Tatiana gracefully answered with careful half-truths or dismissed. Most important of all, every time he did this she reminded him that he is special.

Special, special..

She said there would come one day on which the saviour would be born, some day soon even. Arlo doubted this, but seeing it bring Tanya joy and most importantly, hope, he decided to entertain this idea.

Tanya's family had been guarding a seemingly meaningless relic for generations; a simple family heirloom, a flower yet to bloom, though it was like no other.

What happened next is kind of hard to explain, mostly because of it being an uncomfortable topic, but to sum it up Arlo is soon forced to eat the aforementioned snakefruit. It is full of ichor and the outside's texture is very.. fleshy and off-tasting. It's repulsive, to say the least. Like a pulsing piece of meat. He asked for it himself when he heard Tanya mention that it's special, just like he is, but he soon regretted ever agreeing upon this. Arlo's mind was hazy, fuzzy, and all he could remember vividly from this was the fact it was disgusting, it was hard to swallow and he almost choked a couple of times.

Arlo did his best to convince himself that it was his own idea. That all was well. He tried to make it seem, to himself, like he was (still) in control.

(He did it to impress Tanya. She wanted him to do this. She wanted this to happen. Tanya still cares for him and his wellbeing, though her way of thinking is incredibly flawed. Despite caring for Arlo, she vowed to punish him for this heinous act of disrespect against the saviour from beyond the stars.

Inka knows that he's probably boring, that he's hard to talk to, especially considering he is grieving and struggling mentally. Half of the time when Arlo tries to visit him Inka simply sleeps trough the sound of the doorbell. The other half of the time he is drawn out of his house forcibly by Arlo, who keeps beckoning him to spend time together. He doesn't understand what Arlo wants because he feels numb and he knows he's not very fun to be around. He doesn't provide much to their conversations, it's like talking to a wall. Normally he'd be talkative, especially with someone he knows so well, but now even if he was able to get a word out he wouldn't simply because he felt like Arlo abandoned him consciously.

Inka did not blame him for his condition, of course, but he felt betrayed when his best friend of so many years left so suddenly with seemingly no regrets.

Little did he know, Arlo had many regrets! Though that's probably a topic for another time!

Over the course of many months Inka opens up more, slowly, as Arlo continues to pester (/affectionate) him with his presence. Inka still drinks, but a little less (mostly because he can't afford it😔😔 but he'd probably tell Arlo it's due to some way cooler sounding reason like nobility or morality), a small step in the right direction! However, as he drinks less and as the months go by he can easily tell Arlo's mental and physical condition is getting worse. He exhausts himself quickly and he gets coughing fits more and more often. He tends to lean over, especially when sitting, as if he is in pain. A few times he (nearly or actually) throws up or passes out, even if just for a moment.

Finally, sometime, Arlo is able to coerce Inka into joining the weird faith group, unofficially led by Tanya (and a bunch who aren't important atm).

Tatiana declares that Arlo is to be sacrificed for the saviour from beyond the stars. To prove himself as well, she appoints the newest member as the executioner

Arlo's frozen in fear and Inka's terrified as well, he asks whether he really has to do it, whether someone else can't.. to which Tanya simply responds by saying she'll find a different trial for him then. Arlo's even more uncomfortable with the idea of being brutally executed by someone else. As for what happens next I feel like it is summed up well here

As he sits over the dead body, Inka watches something pulse inside Arlo's desecrated body. He watches an unfamiliar white mass tear it apart further as it slithers out in the form of a winged snake

For the first time in her life Tanya experiences true regret.

And now Inka's stuck with a weird star thing that has somehow gotten attached to him.

Weles is a shapeshifter - it's hard to define what they are and the closest is to say they're simply a star. Like the sun.

They can change colour and shape. They can speak, hear, see, taste, feel... when they want to. The bigger their form, the further the "organs" are scattered, the harder it is to be able to keep their senses!

Inka relapses. He tries to sleep trough most of the day, occasionally interrupted by Weles desperately trying to get his attention. Sometimes they'd intentionally take on Arlo's form to just toy with him. Sometimes they'd pretend to be a book, a fork, an apple, whatever! Just to play with Inka, to get a rise out of him.

There's a lot to say about these two specifically but i don't want it to be twice as long as it is right now

At some point Inka becomes used enough to their presence to not react so negatively, maybe. He just grows numb to everything, pretty much, just wanting his moms and Arlo back. Sometimes he'd beg Weles to take on Arlo's form on purpose, to apologize, to hug and to kiss, to just be there...

Weles does have a main physical form that's not supposed to resemble anyone, it's the fully white one with wings and long hair! It does bear some purposeful resemblances to Arlo (in their refs specifically!!) but i'll talk about it another time

ahdjssfj this is so long already but umm i can talk more about their relationships/dynamics! weles and inka actually get married at one point canonically. and i have a happy au where theyre poly and happy - an au where Weles somehow just. exists anyway. if Arlo was alive somehow after Weles left his body he would resent them. if Inka and Arlo switched places Arlo would resent Weles to hell and back.

[mofffun]

Team wings headcanons??? Any????

They are children on the playground and arguing is proof of their "friendship"!!

Headcanons

Rita being the secret supplier to Yanma's antique collection (think government auction, double as one Gokkan's source of income)

Yanma Gast 100% knew about Moffun.

Yanma the hashtag angry mark vs Rita the pool of yarn mark (ahhh I want to doodle)

THEM WITH KIDS: Rita scaring a little girl in N’kosopa vs. the flower twirl with Ishabana boy + Yanma is a good teacher

when did they first hear the king-ohger legend

"You don't even know that?" -> Yanma: yelling at auroras to "turn off your damn speakers!!!" // Rita: can't tell a lightning cable from a type c

I don't think Rita is bad in tech in terms of lacking a sense in it but they just never had the need to study it

Rita will never say the full technical name for Yanma's inventions though (Does he even know his lie detector is called the Thundercarcker behind his back?)

(bringing the actors into this) Rita serectly adding another grudge on their list because Yanma's Moffun voice is actually really good

per manga ch13, the grudge list grew again because the Jealous Judge's retainer has a heart uchiwa for the yankii king

Yanma is smart enough to motivate the judge with words into helping him if necessary but it'll take a minute hour for Rita to begin wonder if it was because they agreed with his reasoning or his choice of words

Yanma is 2 years older but by kingship he is 6 years Rita's junior. Their first meeting happened at 21/19. The number fluctuates because I also really want to see their first meeting at 19/15.

similarity and differences:

teased by Himeno, Yanma turns red and Rita turns white

they are too gay to sit properly

parallel play (they could sit in a coffee shop for hours and people would think they are angry with each other because they're not talking but it's actually the most comfortable way for them to stay together in the same room)

unconsciously hum while working long hours

“what is sleep”/caffeine addicts 

 you KNOW they both have a tendency to fall asleep in their office

Both have a sweet tooth but Yanma in drinks and Rita in hard candy. Rita more so than Yanma because butterfly.

don’t really look at what he’s eating vs. has a gokkan-native comfort food

Yanma doesn't mind trying foods with dry/weird textures Rita is not exactly a picky eater (because gokkan food shortage/low variety of homegrown food) but typical “I need that texture once in a while or I start malfunctioning”

(Gokkan has all sort of weird pickles and dried meats, typical winter country)

Like any northerner Rita has a high alcohol tolerance though without a preference (okay Gokkan harvest(?) festival and the one day the prison complex is allowed fruit punch) and you'll find me beat up before I say Yanma Gast can take more than a beer.

Yanma Gast has a HUGE ego but I think it’s only gotten worse by having an eternal hyper in Shiokara. Does Rita has an ego? long story short, yeah.

Instances:

first meeting

development of king's hotline/ohger calibur/king's weapon

the moffun scalper

development of the lie detector

yanma's arrest and trial

when yanma and rita were castle-mates (?) before himeno and kagu got themselves in jail

jail time

the body swap phone call!!

body swap resolution (admit it canon is not giving it to us)

the voyage back home

maintenance spa day of the shugods

first meeting: I think one reason Rita doesn't like N'kosopa much (and an underlying cause to them randomly arresting everyone in 28 besides stress), is organized crime plagued N'kosopa in the aftermath of Wrath of Gods.

Post-Wrath, the blue king ran away, so N'kosopa is either an anarchy or at warring states where crime bosses and militarists took hold. "Police" exist but took bribes per Shiokara. At that time, Rita just became king themself and has enough on their plate. So even though it's technically a domestic affair, it's a growing potential threat to Chikyuu's order but it's too systemic for a 10-year-old foreigner to take on alone.

I also think Rita would be required to witness the day Yanma officially becomes King. He has the popular vote, but to keep things simple, the monarchy is kept instead of transitioning into procedural democracy. So the yakuza lawyer, Usba maybe, say they have to get the Chief Justice here, to everyone turning blue and silent for a moment from the excited discussion of a big ceremony hearing their name.

but! my initial fic idea in may/june was very simple because I only wanted to put them in a bike + sidecar and sunglasses and comedic road trip. They chase down a McGuffin to help a kid. Their budapest. Where Yanma making "Absolute Neutrality" Rita's name comes from something they said. Maybe that's why the couldn't end the incident in a less legal but more effective way.

another first meeting idea allows them to meet younger as late teens is maintenance day for the shugods. A very random event is if the Yanma needs the Ohger Calibur to stay over temporarily, how is Rita gonna continue with the trials? Did he buy them a substitute pon pon Moffun hammer at the tuck shop??

Developing the henshin system: See I think Yanma is not going to bother putting in a function that he personally can’t use but knowing it’s a team’s weapon, as a good designer, he at least has to ask the other kings what they want as an auxillary. What is his reaction hearing Rita says bow? (i talk as if anything other than HA? is an option) What if Rita didn’t suggest bow, but Yanma just assigned them that because it fits that stick-in-the-mud?

Body swap resolution: Yanma wants to train his body but doesn't know where to start. I mean, he can't ask Rita of course. But if anyone can keep a secret, it's them. Oh of course he doesn't have to go that far and outright get humiliated again, so he has to phrase it like picking a fight. Rita is down anytime to "convince" Yanma Gast so they didn't really register it as a one either. (re: Erica saying arguing is the proof that this two are "friends")

Yanma's arrest:

Yanma's hair got fried blond because of his ultracomputer

N'kosopa mass protest + boast rally that conversely proved Yanma is the culprit

nobody remembers to hire Yanma a lawyer

a particular loud shriek when Gokkan's power black out (lucky for yanma it's summer i.e. long day)

Morfonia and her unsaved files

Yanma's sentence include improving Gokkan TV/Internet reception as community service

Jeramie using the "boys will be boys"/"he's just a kid" defence as Yanma's Grand-Master to mask he secretly contributed here and there

+ power blackout doesn't really affect the bugnarok because they're underground and only beginning to build a power system with Gira and Shugoddom's help

Shugoddom's historic gas lamps!

Himeno breaking down Yanma's door because "if not for my hospitals all equipped with the best backup power!" (solar/wind energy), and that she can't curl her hair that morning.

Kaguragi turned it into a campfire story night/community event somehow

Yanma's trial day is the day Gokkan's immigration and tourism board has to overwork for the first time.

Shiokara and hacker gang arguing for visitation rights. homemade bento

does yanma sentence last for more than two years if he says prison break is an additional charge?

Gira tried negotiations but he knew he isn't being fair and backed down quickly with a Rita stare

Yanma got dragged away with Papi-chan helicopter style, he's yelling at Tonbo to put in a good word for for his buddy and Papi-chan ignore him lol

CHARACTER ANALYSIS

They have two key words: past/present and secrets.

the thing with wings is, they somehow sparked in each other another side. (i.e. they drive each other crazy, and they are the only ones that can do that to the other) But then they spring back like nothing next day like children on the playground.

On a level, these two are actually very similar in terms of being analytical and practical. Yet their conflict comes from attacking problems from opposite angles. Rita represents the past and Yanma the future. Rita will collect evidence and review history while Yanma focuses on what's already in hand and invents something new. I said that right, but in a way Rita is forward-facing when they never let any childhood trauma stay a trauma or haunt them; Yanma is nostalgic based on his antique/physical media collection.

You may say it's partly recognition of the self. That's why they are only antagonistic 80% of the time.

(hc territory) They ended up doing the same thing/making the same choice ouf of completely different reasons. They are more similar than they think they are but no one can name what/why (not even me).

Yanma Gast 100% knew about Moffun but he kept his mouth shut in ep11. He (should) never told anyone about what Rita did in the underworld. I'm lying to myself he trusted the judge won't do something they didn't deem necessary so he turned away in 38.

Rita holds grudges. Yanma Gast is the source of their headache since he stole Gira and kick-started the story. Sometimes they don't get how such an obnoxious person is so popular. But Rita guesses, he's dependable when it's important. Not a very skilled fighter but he's not dumb. At least they can count on him not to intervene if they make it clear they are making a move.

the movie scene: No spoilers, but, I just think that’s a really nice scene to that established how different Yanma and Rita are while providing a base for reconciliation following their argument in 19. Neither of them are acting like their usual self. I don’t mean they are ooc, but you see them perform different than everyday under an unknown situation.

[delopsia]

Del ☕ we know a lot about Rhett's relationship with his father but do we know anything about Robby's? 👀

Now this is something I've been brewing on for damn near a year 💃

The story I crafted isn't pretty, so here is your honorary trigger warning for drug and alcohol use, major age gap relationships, overdoses, verbally abusive relationships, death, and mentions of PTSD.

Here we go

Robby's dad, Glenn, was an ex-Air Force pilot who had served in the Vietnam War; he was 41 when he met Bob's momma, Nellie Floyd, newly turned 19, having run from her small town in Texas, seeking the finer things out in California. At the time, Nellie had her eyes on everyone but Glenn, but they just kept showing up at the bar at the same time, and eventually, that led to conversation. Conversation led to dates, and dates led to something more.

It wasn't meant to last, they both knew that, but they were two lonely people desperate to feel loved. Wanted. So they kept seeing each other. No strings attached, either could walk away when they were reader.

Until Nellie learned she was pregnant. And suddenly, there was a very big string tying them together.

At first, they made it work; their first argument was over Glenn's desire to have Robert take Nellie's last name, Floyd, and by the time her little son was finally born, she was too tired to argue. Robert Floyd, it was.

Glenn made a lot of questionable decisions in his life, but the one unquestionable thing he ever did was love his son unconditionally. Bobby was his entire world, and for a few months there, it was enough to keep him from drinking. They were a happy trio.

Until they weren't.

Nellie and Glenn had absolutely nothing in common; they were so different in every way imaginable. Political views, ages, personalities, experiences. Nellie was a young, free spirit who wanted to explore the world, and Glenn was an old, weathered soul who had seen things no man should see. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his familiarity. His drinking was getting worse, and when Nellie became aware of the drug use, things took a turn for the worse.

They broke up and got back together every few weeks. Nellie would walk away because of Glenn's addiction, Glenn would temporarily clean up, beg for her to come back, and she would return. Rinse and repeat. Over, and over, and over.

During that time, Nellie met another man, one her age but no less toxic, and fell pregnant with twin girls. Where Glenn was a gentle speaker who never raised his voice in front of the children, the father of Bob's sisters had a temper like no other.

And this is where Bobby grew up. Filtering between homes, between being around a hateful man who swore and hollered like no other, and a husk of a soul that turned to the bottle to escape.

Glenn tried to get sober for his son, he really did; he managed to stay clean for the weekend visits. Took Robby to Air Force and Naval museums, even if the very sight of planes made him tremble. He's where Bob learned to love to fly; they got on planes just to turn around and come back right after landing.

They visited ships and built model planes. Glenn was no Navy boy, but he taught Bob to swim better than anyone could. He was the one to get him into surfing. Always challenged him to see who could eat the most dinner; Bob always called him out for letting him win.

Every weekend was an adventure. Bob thought his daddy was just fun like that. Glenn was just trying to keep his son from learning the truth.

But Bobby knew; he was too young to understand at the time, but in time, he would. He saw the bottles and the needles, understood what that funny smell on his dad's breath was.

Glenn passed of an overdose when Bob was eight.

Nellie tried her best to keep Bob from knowing what had happened, but Bobby has always been smart. Not only had he already put two and two together, but he had heard the conversation when the police officer came to tell his momma what happened.

Glenn was supposed to be buried, but before the funeral, Bob overheard his momma talking about moving back to Texas and kicked up a massive fit about wanting to take his dad with them. He didn't want to bury his dad in a place that he could never visit; that wasn't fair!

So, instead, Glenn was cremated, and his urn was sitting in Bob's lap for the entirety of the move to Texas. He has his own shelf wherever Bob moves, some small thing covered in model planes and tiny surfboards.

Bob's childhood was anything but perfect, and it shaped a lot of who he's become. He doesn't drink because of what happened to his father, doesn't swear or raise his voice like his sister's father did. In many ways, he strives to be the opposite of both men, but he's like his dad in so many different ways.

The only reason he ever got grounded was for sneaking out of the house to go surfing at the same weirdly specific hours Glenn did. He shared that love of planes that took him to the Navy; he got into bronc riding because it had always been on his dad's bucket list.

His meal proportions are larger than normal because being a big eater is evidently hereditary. He laughs the same; he wears glasses similar to the ones Glenn did; he unknowingly loves the same books and genres, but he lives his life so much differently.

Bobby is the result of a crippling pattern being broken; he comes from a long line of war-torn veterans on his dad's side and refuses to walk the path created by those before him. He's learned to be strong in all of the places they were weak, and he's far from perfect, but his momma always says he's something close to it.

The only thing he couldn't beat were the sensitive allergies that run on his dad's side of the family 🙄 he's out of commission every spring.

But that's just my two cents 🌼💃

[perrysoup]

Pretext: This deals with Hamas and the US program DARE. Some of you may not like the analogy I am going to use, but frankly you need to think on it too, especially if you grew up in the US.

Long post.

So, story time. I grew up in America, I was born and raised here. Part of American schooling (in Fifth Grade, gotta get them agreeing with a police state early) is a system called DARE you are taught of and by, standing for Drug Abuse Resistance Education. In that (absolute dogshit pro-police anti-addict (NOT anti-addiction, anti-ADDICT)) lesson, a key thing we are taught is that Weed is a gateway drug. If you smoke weed you WILL do crack. You WILL do heroin. You WILL sell your body for the weed addiction. That drug dealers and users and mean and hurtful and will abuse you constantly. Again, this is regardless of the drug. I am not speaking about actual horrors committed on people who are having their addiction taken advantage of. Those are real and happen.

That's not hyperbole btw, feel free to look at your own kids DARE stuff if you have them in that age group.

Anyway, I believed it. Others may not have, but I did. We had to sign things saying we would never do drugs, never drink and drive (which they never defined and I'll tell a fun story at the end about), never do ANYTHING really.

So time goes on, 5th grade me turns into 6th grade to 7th, rinse and repeat til I am a Sophomore in High School (Grade 10). And on a whim, I was offered to smoke a bong in a car in a SUPER white SUPER "well off" neighborhood. And I did. I actually first had to ask how to do it, and shocker, the dude was super nice and friendly. He didn't judge me or anything, he was happy to show me. My inexperience was not a thing to laugh at to him. (One Question raised about what DARE talked about. Technically two since "well off" people never did such a thing, and because of that they are "well off")

He also never offered me any other drugs. Hell he didn't even offer pot. If you wanted it you could ask and buy from him, but he wasn't pushing it. (Two questions raised about what DARE talked about).

I also never craved other drugs. I had seen the effects of heroin on some of my family, so maybe that was a part of knowledge I had and other didn't, but no one I even knew pushed me on it. Shit I hung out with people happily doing coke and sharing it, but ONLY if you asked. No one tried to make you do it. (Three now)

Finally, after discussing it with my parents, I find out that my mother was an on and off pot smoker, and my dad wasn't a drug user, but he didn't disparage it, he just preferred alcohol as his drug of choice. (Which was ACTUALLY a major issue in our family, not that DARE seemed to care)

And in the end, it comes clean that everything they told us about Pot was a lie. Everything they said was either full out false, or left out convenient details that explained WHY. Not that they were "worthless junkies" (actual phrase used).

That started some of my questioning about what we were taught and told by authority figures that had a position of power to hold would tell us anything to nod and agree with them, regardless of the facts.

I didn't think about what other stuff that could affect though. 9/11 happened when I was in 6th grade, and as many other Americans can attest, we were riled up into a fervor to support the troops, that "they hated our freedom", that terrorists were gonna get you unless you pledge your support undying to the United States. And I believe that for way to long. It took me much longer that it should have to see the flaws and lies that were told to us over and over and over by people we were told we could trust.

So how does this relate to Hamas?

As more and more is becoming clear about the lies and abuse we endure, and the lies and abuse we have seen especially by Israel, it is fair to ask I believe, is Hamas the bad guy? Did we take the statements of "Terrorist Group" as fact and "Rebellion against Annihilation" as bullshit?

I don't know. I'm not saying that as a cop out, I am saying I LITERALLY do not know. I have been told the Western story over and over and over and I don't know the truth.

But what if we were wrong? What if it was another lie that was done to make us angry at the wrong people?

This is the issue that arises. After a certain amount of government lies, tricks, torture, abuse domestic and foreign, can we trust what the government told us? They had a chance to tell me the truth when I was young, and they instead chose to lie to me, to treat me as something they could mold into their sick image of a "good citizen" instead of another human.

As I said, I don't know enough about Hamas to say if the labels are wrong, and I encourage everyone (Pro AND Anti) to share information so we can all be more educated.

But we have been lied to many times.

---------------------------------------

Drinking and Driving story: As I said, DARE left out details that made things easier to understand, I think on purpose. One of those that could just be in the "fucking stupid to not clarify" was drinking and driving. So after that class, that weekend, my father and I go to McDonalds, and get our usual.

And then my father *gasp* started driving while sucking on his straw.

I was distraught, my OWN father drinking and driving? And I confronted him on it, and his could only look at me bewildered and say "Son, that's for alcohol, not Coke" and that's how I learned what drink meant in that context.

[jhsplus]

looking out for you

— summary ; an ex lover should always stay an ex lover, but this girl just can’t seem to let him or his present lovers go, and neither can they.

— pairing ; idol!bts x idol!oc

— genre ; fluff, most definitely angst, poly!au, romance, idol!au, exes to friends to lovers!au

— word count ; 3k

— warnings ; subtle mention of alcoholism and drugs addiction, mention of negative past (neglect, self-raising), mention of death of drugs

༉‧₊˚✧

WHO IS KANG AERIS?

On June 11th, 2015, Kang Aeris, a female trainee of Linear Enterprises, a company dedicated to shine the spotlight on talented individuals and groups both young and old, debuted with her best friend of three of five of her trainee years.

Kang aspires to be the reason youngsters choose to believe in something they lost hope in. She, alongside Hyun Jang-Mi, “hope to provide a sanctuary, a safe place, for those who need it. We cannot be there in person for them, but we hope to be there for them through our songs, a sort of… communication from one person to another.”

—Quoted from June 27th, 2017 during an interview found here: www.koreaboo

Kang Aeris was found to be battling with her own mental health after confessing to thousands of fans on her Instagram live (from December 12th, 2017) that she faced many hardships growing up. She revealed to have a guardian, and not parents as they refused to take responsibility for their actions and for their children’s childhood. Kang had also said that there were many times when her father would be present and sober, but he would fall victim to drugs and alcohol once again while her mother was diagnosed with Bipolar and Schizophrenia, making her extremely difficult to deal with and therefore she was found to have died by an overdose of heroin. Her father died of liver, heart and kidney failure as his toxic drinking (and drug) habits finally caught up him. That left Kang in a very awkward situation: what would happen to her and her siblings? The order of the siblings from first to last born: Jae-hee (f), Aeris (f), Lilly (f), Hyeon (m), Hye-sook (m) and Iseul (f). The idol was left to fend for herself and her siblings.

Due to Kang’s refusal of the continuation of detail from her childhood, no other confirmed allegations have been brought up since her physical argument with a saesang, who overstepped her boundaries and was put to the floor after making an inappropriate comment to her face. The saesang was announced to have been fine, only being bruised around the eye, a broken nose and a fractured wrist. She herself had a lot to say about the damage done to her, a lot of which we will not be able to disclose due to the inappropriate language used. But, who’s with me when I say I was rooting for Kang? ‘Cause damn! That woman may only be 5’5” but she has some strength.

Kang Aeris was born October 31st, 1997 and, with photographic evidence, was proved to have attended the same school and class as BTS’ Jeon Jungkook, and even dated him before his debut! It was said that the two were very close but when Jeon continued his path to a bright future of an idol career, the two grew apart, petty arguments aroused frequently — whether at school or on a day outisde of school —, they barely showed affection and the cherry on top: Jeon had fallen in love with his older hyungs, who he is now in a happily committed relationship with — yes, all seven of the BTS members are dating!

Kang’s management confirmed in the early days of July that she had not dated anyone since their breakup, causing rumours to arise between the two old lovers.

To read more on our star of the week, the link below will direct you to our main website, where we reveal the juiciest, the thickest secrets of our beloved idols!

—Article 382, IdolFind

Jang-Mi being angry was an understatement. “What absolute bullshit!” She yelled over the phone. “I can’t believe them right now! You’re in Seoul, without me, and the public are gonna start on you, I just know it!”

Aeris stayed quiet for a second before deciding her next words carefully. “I’ll be okay, Mimi. I have security, and it’s only the MAMA’s, so it’ll be packed with idols so fans, saesangs and the public can’t get to me.” She explained. “They won’t even be able to reach me on stage.” Her eyes flickered to the window that displayed a clear, beautiful view of a sunset over the large city of Seoul. “Plus, you’ll be here soon anyways.”

“Mhm.” She replied. “Sure, sure, and why don’t we just throw in the fact that BTS are gonna be there too!” Jang-Mi was protective over her maknae, and refused any type of harm to touch her because they had a sister-type bond, nothing more, nothing less. “Rumours are gonna spread the second you walk in after them, I can guarantee that.” She huffed, “Just like the moment me and Eloise met in France, and suddenly everyone was all over us.”

Aeris chuckled. “But you two are actually dating, and Jungguk… well—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence because I know you’re acting in the heat of the moment and rethinking everything. Don’t, cheonsa, please don’t do this to yourself. Not again.” Jang-Mi pleaded, voice stuttering with emotion. She sounded like she was going to cry, and Aeris couldn’t blame her. The last time Aeris thought of Jungkook in that particular way, it wasn’t pretty; she became depressive, rarely responded to her older sister and Jang-Mi alike, until she ended up attempting a threat on her life. That attempt was painful, and Aeris was in mental pain whenever she thought of it, she could still feel certain parts of her body shaking with spilling blood and the pain—

“I have to go, cheonsa.” Jang-Mi said, disappointment clear in her voice. She sighed into the receiver and the two said their goodbyes, both wanting to stay on longer, but Aeris needed to get dressed and ready while Jang-Mi was still on her way from the airport, having to get dressed in the limousine on the way. “I’m on my way, so sit tight, yeah? I’ll be with you soon.”

After her best friend hung up, all the lonely woman could do was gaze and admire the sun setting beneath to buildings in the distance, small rays making their way in between the tall structures. Clouds slowly drifted past as the different light shades of the horizon turned darker with the passing time. Before she knew it, an hour had passed and she had two hours before having to make attendance at the award show.

She stood up from the bed, shaking her head lightly to get rid of her sudden dizziness as the door opened, revealing her two other members, make up and clothing artists and her manager. They clustered into the room with a trolly containing their accessories for the night.

“Okay, girls,” Su-Yeon, their manager, started, gesturing for the the three of them to crowd around her, “tonight will be a bit difficult to comprehend but I’ll make sure to explain it while you get ready and again on the way, yeah?” She looked between the girls and they nodded with determined smiles. “Okay, good plan. Now, go.” She responded with a smile of her own as the girls were ushered to their own small station by their team to get them ready.

༉‧₊˚✧

Jang-Mi swiftly closed the door behind her and the car took off almost instantly. “What a call, am I right?” She laughed, and Victoria shook her head at her.

“You’re lucky,” the latter started, “we almost left without you, dodo.”

The former frowned playfully, “I love you too, itty bitty titty vicci.” It was her time to smirk as the woman in question choked on her spit.

Mabel and Aeris shared a look of amusement before chuckling together. The two maknaes were close, but not as close as Aeris was to Jang-Mi as the two of them had trained together for three years. Mabel was closer to Victoria as they shared many interests and factors and enjoyed each other’s company quite frequently, whether it was going for a walk, reading together, dancing, producing or vocal practice, they did it together. Their bond was almost as powerful as Jang-Mi and Aeris’, who instantly hit it off the second they met.

Aeris leaned against Mabel’s shoulder, the older woman softly dropping her head on top. She loved moments like these: Victoria and Jang-Mi playfully arguing while she and Mabel sat back and watched it happen. Moments like those helped her stay calm and relaxed, and she needed all the calming sentiments as possible because MAMA was a big deal for her. Ever since the MAMA’s were created, Aeris was interested. She wanted to do what the artists did, she wanted to sing and dance and perform for thousands, if not millions.

A dream, she called it.

A moneymaker, her parents called it.

She didn’t care about them, though. They did nothing to help her raise herself and her siblings, they didn’t care about any of them because if they did then they wouldn’t have done what they had. She almost felt bad whenever she thinks of the fate they came to be; ashes in an urn, to which no one visits.

Aeris closed her eyes, trying to calm her nerves when the weight of Mabel’s head on her own was lifted and her shoulder suddenly disappeared. She peeped an eye open and there sat Jang-Mi in all her glory, smoothing down her hair before replacing Mabel’s old position. “You okay, bubs?” The elder asked. She received a quiet hum. “Just focus on your breathing.” She whispered, “Suyeon-ssi is going to explain tonight’s plan and I’ll tell you when we’re seated, yeah?” Another quiet, but hesitant hum.

The rapper smiled, before leaning the side of her head on Aeris’, ready to listen to her manager. Victoria and Mabel sat with no spare space between them. They’re like each other’s anchor, Suyeon mused to herself.

The manager cleared her throat. “Now, when we get there, we need big smiles, teeth and even gums if possible. I’m looking at you, Mabel.”

Mabel grinned in response.

“Victoria, you’re the leader, therefore, you’ll be getting out first and it will be absolutely packed — I spoke to Daniel about it, it’s pretty chaotic. You need to make sure these three don’t go wandering, but whatever you do, stick together as much as possible, okay?”

Victoria nodded sternly.

Suyeon turned to Jang-Mi, who immediately perked up, but not enough to disturb her occupied best friend. “Jang-Mi, it is important for you to stay by Aeris’ side all night, okay? If she goes to the bathroom, so do you. If she wants to speak to another group, so do you. If she does absolutely anything, you need to be there as well.” The bleached-blonde shook her head in agreement. “We can’t risk the paparazzi or saesangs getting sight of her. She won’t be able to handle them on her own.”

Jang-Mi smiled, looking down at her maknae. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Great.” Suyeon turned to stare out the window as car came to a slow stop. The flashing and shuttering of the cameras awoke Aeris as she sat up and prepared herself for the worst, mind still slightly foggy from her short trance. She busied herself with preparation of checking up on her make-up and smoothing down the creases in her clothing.

“Oh, and Jang-Mi?” Suyeon asked, opening the door and allowing Victoria to step out, Mabel following.

“Keep her far away from Jeon.”

༉‧₊˚✧

The venue sparkled and shimmered with circling bright lights. Idols from varieties of different groups, and soloists, were crammed into the bottom, near the centre stage as fans of many surrounded the upslope sides, lights sticks raised and waving.

Jang-Mi held tightly onto Aeris’s hand as they walked down the steps, the two girls in sync with the others movements. Victoria led the way, manoeuvring past different people and seatings to find their own space. Luckily, it wasn’t too far from the stage, and therefore, it would be a lot easier access to backstage to get ready before they performed. Aeris scanned the area, a breath of relief escaped her when she realised she was out of the clear and confidence striking her as the coast, she deemed, was clear.

They reached their assigned seating. With twenty or so minutes to spare and the camera’s already rolling, the four of them decided to chatter amongst themselves.

“What… is your biggest flaw?” Mabel dragged out, her chin rested on her open palm as she awaited an answer. Victoria instantly shot up. “Go on.”

Victoria cleared her throat. “Forgetfulness.” She answered proudly. Jang-Mi scoffed. The younger of the two held a sharp look. “What?”

Jang-Mi chuckled. “Don’t worry.”

“No, no. I will worry. Tell me.”

“Share with the group!” Mabel clapped excitedly, a large smile on her lips.

Jang-Mi shared a look with Aeris, who raised an eyebrow with a smirk. The latter turned to Victoria. “Forgetfulness, sure, but you’re forgetting your Egoism.” She leaned back onto the palm of her hands as her best friend placed a hand on her thigh, the placement just above her knee.

Mabel laughed. “My flaw is I have no flaws.” She flipped her long hair back over her shoulder.

“I refuse to believe that.” Jang-Mi scoffed again.

༉‧₊˚✧

Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. They wandered from her face, to her crossed legs and to her boot-clad feet. She was still as beautiful as the day he left her. Fingers appeared in front of his vision, blocking and blurring Aeris’ figure. It was Jimin. His hyung looked at him in concern.

“What’s wrong, kook?” He asked, his hand coming up to rub Jungkook’s bicep soothingly.

“It’s nothing, hyung.” The maknae’s eyes rotated away from his lover to the woman sitting there, legs still crossed, still leaning on her arms. Her smirk was gone but she was laughing. What he would do just to hear her beautiful laughter again.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, following his eye line to see his younger lover’s first love. His heart dropped. If she was here, then rumours will arise, especially with himself and his partners seated so close to hers. Jimin watched as Aeris threw her head back and laughed at something one of her band mates had said. A smile appeared on her face, and he himself couldn’t help the upward twitch of his own lips. He bit his lips to stop his smile, turning around to the others and leaving Jungkook to stare.

Seokjin, Yoongi and Hoseok were conversing about what take-out they wanted after the group got back to their hotel while Namjoon and Taehyung admired the lights and staging. Jimin’s worry only worsened when he realised Jungkook was still gazing at her, his facial features relaxed and adoring.

What he would do to see him not stare at her like that.

༉‧₊˚✧

The dress change had been very quick, along with the make up and hair. Microphones were removed from them the second they finished their routine and disappeared off-stage.

It had been exhilarating.

The four women were released from back stage and made their way back to their seating arrangement. Mabel and Aeris fell behind Victoria and Jang-Mi, who conversed and poked fun at one another, like sisters (just less violent). Aeris smiled unconsciously.

“You did good out there, you know?” Mabel said softly, looking at her maknae with something she wasn’t able to identify.

She nodded slowly, exhaling. “You did too, SB.”

“You didn’t just call me that.” Mabel scoffed in disbelief. They walked past a couple girl groups on their way. “I thought we dropped that.”

Aeris smirked, shaking her head. “Definitely not, it was too good to pass up.” As Mabel went to rant about how she did actually know how to cook smoked bacon properly, and almost burning down the dorms wasn’t entirely her fault, but Jang-Mi’s as well, she locked eyes with brown.

A man. A man she knew all too well.

Min Yoongi, present lover of her past lover.

His feline eyes softened a smidge, before hardening as he stared her down. Her breath had been stolen as she ambled past with Mabel droning on. The second they walked past, she could still feel his eyes on her back, burning through her clothing, through the skin on her back and into her soul.

Aeris inhaled deeply, eyes widened as she moved on. She hadn’t recovered, despite her putting on a mask of calmness, as she sat down. Her eyes scanned the stage, bright lights invading her clear view as another group performed. She dared to glance his way, only to see him leaning forward, elbows rested on his knees, hands lazily clasped between the space, his eyes on her every move. Her eyes averted. Her breath quickened.

“Why is so he so beautiful, but so damn scary.”

“Did you say something, bubs?” Jang-Mi looked over at her, eyebrow raised. Aeris’ eyes met hers as she immediately composed herself. She nodded hurriedly, a sudden yawn escaping her mouth. Her hand moved to cover her action.

“Yeah.” She mumbled, tired, and longing to go back to the hotel and sleep everything off.

Jang-Mi shrugged, nodding. “If you say so.” Yet, her suspicions were hidden, she turned around to continue watching the other two interact, eyes glancing between them and the sight of her frizzled friend.

Hello Hello! :D

I just wanted to quickly say that this is a draft of something I started almost forever ago and I wanted to alter it and work with it as much as possible, so it wouldn’t go to total waste.

If so, I am considering converting it to an ‘x reader’ instead of an original character. Although, I haven’t decided yet and even then it would take a lot to turn a new page and avert everything to something like that. It’s still in considering, though.

I also just wanted to say I have no update schedule and such cause I’m going to be very busy with counselling and personal as such things. I will update whenever can. Hopefully soon though, because I quite like what I’m doing with this work.

But, anyways,

until next time, my loves <3

[blinditcms]

DYLAN RAIN on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid! many say that the 33 YEAR OLD looks like OLIVER JACKSON-COHEN, but i don’t really see it. while the STUNTMAN/FIGHT CHOREOGRAPHER is known for being PROTECTIVE my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be HARSH. i swear, every time i think of them, i hear the song YOU’RE ALL I NEED –– MOTLEY CRUE

BASIC INFORMATION:

name: dylan christopher rain. peter christopher isaac junior. nicknames: dyl, d. pronouns: he/him. gender: cis man. age: thirty-three. date of birth: november 28th, ‘89. place of birth: lismore, australia. ( moved at the age of twenty-four to beverly  hills , united states due to family relocating ) astrological sign: saggitarius. orientation: straight.

APPEARANCE:

height: six foot three. build: broad shouldered, strong muscles, but still relatively slender. hair colour: brown. eye colour: blue. wardrobe style: tends to wear clothes that he can move in, lots of sweatshirts, hoodies, and form fitting but not too tight t-shirts in dark colours. tattoos: none. piercings: none. defining features: bright blue eyes and a large scar moving up his left arm.

HEALTH:

physical ailments: none. mental ailments: PTSD. alcohol use: drinks socially. drug use: rarely - if any, weed. addictions: none.

PERSONALITY:

positive traits: protective, charismatic, honest. negative traits: quick-tempered, cold, harsh. mbti: ISTJ-A

ACTIVITIES & SKILLS:

skills: most sports - specifically gymnastics/acrobatics, long-distance running. weaknesses: anything creative. languages spoken: english, arabic.

FAMILY:

father: pete isaac ( deceased, fifty - five ) mother: meredith rain elain isaac nee scottsman ( alive, fifty - one ) sister: florence rain gwyn isaac ( alive, twenty - five ) ​

CAREER/LIFE DETAILS (tw: military, abuse, psychosis, ptsd, stabbing, murder) :

peter was born to a devoted, very young and ambitious mother, elain, and a military man father, pete. as a young boy, he spent most of his time with his grandparents, as his father was away on military tours and his mother was still studying to become a defence lawyer. peter had not been planned – though he never felt that way. though both parents worked incredibly hard to provide for him and his younger sister gwyn and they were well-off, they were there for every important moment in his life, or his mum had been anyway. he adored his father though and looked up to him immensely. he was a powerful, strong and enigmatic man, absolutely devoted to his children.

as he grew up, his father retired from the force and now working as a fire fighter, his opinion didn’t change one bit. instead, despite pretending otherwise, he had his life planned out for himself. join the army like his father had done and rise up in rank. peter wouldn’t leave the army, no matter what happened. though he could see the mental toll it had taken on his father, to him, that was honourable. that was what a real man should do. he took up every sport he could and excelled in gymnastics and track.

so when his father’s behaviour became more erratic, peter ignored it. it was par for the course, it was proof of how much good his father had done, the risks he had taken. when he finished high school, he immediately signed up for the army. it was only a few days before he was due to set out for basic training that his father had his first erratic episode that turned violent. he had come running inside from the pool when he found his dad with his hands on his sister’s shoulders, pushing her roughly against a wall. his first thought - what had gwyn done? he immediately positioned himself behind his father and grappled the man, holding him tightly until he calmed down, not before receiving an elbow to the face. it had not been fun to explain to his drill sergeant a few days later.

he spent little time at home after that. he immediately went on his first deployment to iraq. he called home as often as he could, his mother often berading him for choosing to go into the military in the first place, his father equal parts proud and disappointed over the phone, and using most of his time to speak to gwyn. he went on deployment after deployment, rarely staying home for much for than two months in between. he was on his sixth tour, the second one in afghanistan, when he had managed to secure some temporary leave. he initially had wanted to delay his deployment - his father was getting worse and he did not like the idea of leaving them alone with him, but he’d had no choice. he’d also missed gwyn’s sixteenth birthday, but it was only a few weeks out - and he still hoped to surprise her by coming back a bit earlier.

as peter made his way up the drive, he heard yelling - panicked and frightened. he dropped his bags in the front garden and ran up to the house and inside, he found a scene right out of his nightmares. his sister and his mother in a fight with his father. time seemed to slow as he sprinted, seeing the second knife, held by gwyn, stabbed into his father’s chest. there were wood splinters everywhere, and a struggle had clearly already ensued. rage bubbled up his throat like bile and he pulled his father off his sister with an effort. she was freaking out and would not stop holding onto him, but eventually he managed. the blood was spreading, but in his father’s psychosis, he still seemed adamant to cause harm. a dangerous calm came over him and he took what he had learned in training and did the opposite. peter locked eyes with the man who’d given him his name, grit his teeth in anger, and he pulled both knives out of the wounds. the bloodflow to increased immediately, and he let his father drop the last few inches to the floor before reaching over and pulling his sister into his arms, soothing her but never pulling his dry eyes from his father.

they moved to beverly hills as soon as the case had been dropped. the case had brought some unwanted attention onto him, but he was honourably discharged, his final rank a major. they changed their names – peter christopher isaac became dylan christopher rain. he was at a loss of what to do, so he found work as an extra and got his personal training license. he stumbled his way into stunt work and found that his gymnastics experience along with his army experience helped. he knew how real fights looked, but he also knew how to make them safe. the last few years, he’s been working on various tv-shows and films for their stunt work, now slowly taking on more stunt coordinator and choreographer work now he’s getting a little older.

[thebasedsaint7]

My experience, strength, & hope

Growing up was fairly normal for me, I don’t have that tragic childhood that ignited my addiction at an early age or anything like that. I honestly think I was born this way, but the drugs didn’t come into play until my late teens. It started with food, and then boys, and so on and so forth.  

My family had its share of troubles, but we also had a ton of fun together. I grew up camping & going on little vacations during the summer. I had friends over all the time & had sleep overs at their houses. I was voted class clown for our senior personalities. I can say I have many memories that I cherish, and some that haunt me. It’s a good mix of both. But I think that pretty much applies to everyone.  

As a kid, I did have my fair share of stressors. I was bullied consistently from the time I started kindergarten until high school. I was also molested as a child by a neighbor kid who was older than my brother & I. The bullying started to slow down when I lost a bunch of weight by my junior year, I had become addicted to working out. I joined the track & cross country team even though I was slower than a turtle. I just liked the way running made me feel afterward.  

The first drug I ever came to enjoy was valium. There was a lot of fighting & things going on at home during high school, and there was one night things got physical. After that I started having a lot of trouble sleeping and having more anxiety than usual. So around 15 years old I was introduced to valium by a family member. At 16 I smoked weed for the first time but wasn’t getting high regularly until I was about 17. By 17 I was stealing the valium from said family member & getting drunk every weekend with a group of guy friends, and I would usually bring a girl friend along with me.  

I started blacking out and getting ridiculously drunk every time I drank, so they slowly stopped hanging out with me because I couldn’t handle my alcohol. The summer after senior year my parents separated for about 6 months, and I didn’t hang out with many people that summer. I just worked. Our school lost one of our classmates to a car accident my senior year, and this caused a good friend of mine to distance herself from me for awhile, as she couldn’t help me with my problems and deal with her grief at the same time.  

That fall she messaged me and wanted to start hanging out again. We’re going to call her A. We started hanging out all the time, at least 2-3 times a week. She reintroduced me to benzos, and I fell in love with xanax. I started seeking it from doctors, and managed to get a small script for .25’s from my family doctor. After he left his practice, I was referred to a psychiatrist. There I managed to get a prescription for .5mg klonopin, 2x daily. Needless to say they were abused, and I continued to look for more pills on the street. Other drugs started coming into the picture along with more alcohol. LSD, mdma, eventually painkillers, cocaine, and eventually meth later down the road.  

At one point, A and I were hanging out almost every day. We developed a codependent friendship.  We needed each other to boost each others’ egos, to trade and get drugs from, and to cosign each others’ bullshit. Whatever connection we had at one point was replaced by our love for drugs & partying.  

21-22 began the height of my addiction. I was drinking almost every night, and committing unspeakable acts while under the influence. Every one of my friends started to notice and slowly slip away, and they continued to get replaced by even worse friends. I was slipping into a dark place and to be honest, I enjoyed it at the time. It’s like I wanted to see how far I could go, how far I could push it until the inevitable happened. Death. I used to always say I would die by the time I was 27, my future looked bleak.  

Around the age of 22 I met somebody that we’ll refer to as C. We hit it off as friends and he quickly became my dealer. After a couple months, I felt like I kind of loved the guy, and he knew it. He started saying how he wanted to get clean, and went cold turkey off of xanax. He never actually totally quit. But, it inspired me to wanna get clean too. I believe he knew this as well, and that it was his goal. He knew how bad I was getting. So I started weaning myself off of klonopin, and stopped buying xanax on the street. I didn’t realize you were supposed to taper off slowly, that it can take over a year and some replacement medication to safely get off of benzos. I didn’t tell my doctor what I was doing because I wanted to still get the prescription so I could sell it. And then the horror began..  

After maybe two months of weaning myself off a 5(?) year bender, I went into withdrawal. I didn’t sleep for almost two weeks, and my body started shutting down. I had hallucinations, irritability, restlessness, depressive episodes, decreased appetite, you name it. The one day it was so bad & my mom didn’t know what to do, so she called for an ambulance. Not only was an ambulance sent, but a couple of police came too. One of them I knew from highschool. Something about seeing a familiar face and his calm demeanor talked some sense into me and I agreed to go to the hospital. I can forever thank him for coming that day, although it’s a bit embarassing. But I'm sure that wasn’t the only time he’s seen something like that.  I just never saw that scenario coming.  

That was my first detox. I relapsed time after time again. I wanted to get clean but I was always doing it for the wrong reasons. I wanted a different job, I wanted this guy to like me, basically any reason except for actually doing it for myself. It wasn’t until 2022 that I realized I was very lucky to have made it past 27, and I was going on 30. I knew if I carried my old habits into my 30s I was going to seriously hate myself for it. So in april of 2022 I made the decision to put the dope down once again.  

This only lasted maybe a little over a month. My jeep broke down, and I got insanely bored being at home with nothing to do. So I started smoking weed again. That was the only thing I did for awhile, and then the boredom continued. At the end of 2021 and beginning of 2022 I had been on a cocaine binge, and I was starting to miss it. So I ended up reconnecting with my old friend J. I asked her if she had any one night in august, and she said no but she had something a little stronger. All I could think was, oh boy. Here we go..

I tried meth one time when I was about 26, didn’t really care for it. But something about it the second time around really did something for me. It reminded me of adderall x20. Needless to say I couldn’t sleep that night, and I had stuff to do the next day. So I came back to her house the next morning to get some more. Eventually I found myself needing some kind of speed all the time. If I didn’t have meth, I had adderall. If I didn’t have adderall or meth, I had cocaine. Then I needed something to kind of level me out, so you’ll never guess what I got into next. Yep, you guessed it, xanax. It was a horrible combination and sent my mental health down the gutter. What happened next sent it even further down the drain.  

One night my friend B invited me over to drink with her and her new boyfriend and his brother. Everything was cool at first, and then when me & JJ (the brother) were alone outside for a minute, he decides to go in for a kiss. Worst kisser in the world first of all. And second of all I told him I was talking to somebody at the time and didn’t wanna go any further. He did not care. Especially after I made the mistake of selling him a xanax bar.  

I knew I was too drunk to leave, and if I stayed he was gonna wanna sleep with me. I felt backed into a corner. So he talked me into staying, and said we didn’t have to do anything. But, naturally, when we went back to his room, he ripped my clothes off and I kept telling him no and that I wanted to stop. At one point when he was on top of me I tried to push him off by his shoulders and he locked himself in place. I felt disgusting. I impatiently waited for it to be light enough outside & for me to be sober enough to drive home, and when I did I realized my clothes had been soaked by his beer. So I wore his clothes that didn’t even fit me home, and immediately hopped in the shower to wash off last nights filth, completely forgetting that rape kits existed. I wasn’t going to say anything about it at first but then I decided you know what, fuck it. But none of my friends cared or believed me. I tried to file a police report but not much came of it seeing as though I couldn’t go get a rape kit done.  

So JJ’s now mad at me for opening my mouth about that, and then J decides she’s gonna try to rip me off on this pair of boots that she got for free. They were worth 25$ and she was trying to charge me 40 at first and then 50. I was already upset and not in a good state of mind from the drugs so I got pissed at her. I put a bunch of random chemicals in the boots and threw them in her ex’s driveway where she was moving out of at the time while it was raining.  

Then come to find out B was talking shit about me at the party we had at K’s house the weekend before. She was telling everybody that I was doing meth, none of anyones business. I started losing it at this point. I lost my job, I was raped, there was drama, I got sick right before we were leaving for florida for the week of thanksgiving. I had been talking about the trip for weeks, so my friends knew when we were going to be gone.  

So the day after thanksgiving, we get a phone call from my sister saying our house had been ransacked. A ton of my parents’ property was missing and my jeep was gone from the garage. This was when I officially hit rock bottom. I knew something needed to change, and my mom suggested I look into rehab.

A few days later we got a call saying my jeep was found behind walmart, but the catalytic converter was missing. So considering we couldn’t afford to get it fixed and make the payments while I was in rehab, we had to let it get repoed. The cherry on top of it all.  

My parents didn’t have cameras or a security system at the time (you can bet they do now), so it was basically our word against theirs. However, there was an empty bottle of budweiser left in my jeep on the driver side door that wasn’t mine. They sent it to the lab for dna, and it came back with J’s dna on it. I could have told you she was involved. They’re still working on gathering enough evidence to indict her on the charge though. Since then she’s caught another burglary and breaking and entering charge, on top of multiple felonies and misdemeanors, and I honestly hope the judge throws the book at her.  A bunch of petty drama does not justify breaking into my childhood home and robbing my parents and I blind. But in hindsight, this was the beginning of my journey for me. The start of an awakening.  

I prayed for years for God to take my addiction from me, but I never really put in the effort. I was ready to make the change this time. So I found a rehab about an hour away from home, and stayed for 2 ½ months. After I was discharged I lived with my sponsor for a few days, and then got a call that there was a room available at a sober living facility nearby, still about an hour away from home. I was ecstatic. I have been getting all the help I need, from counseling and group therapy to figuring out a job and budget, and getting help with getting some things on my record expunged/reduced. I couldn’t be more thankful for the staff at the rehab I stayed at and where I am now, and for all the friends I've made along the way.  

I’ve changed and grown so much in such a short period of time, it’s amazing. All I had to do was take those steps, and then the blessings just kept falling in my lap. I am so grateful for everyday that I wake up and for each new opportunity that arises, so grateful my parents have been so supportive along with most of my extended family. There are those that have lost faith in me and honestly it does hurt, but I don’t respond to the hurt the way I used to. I didn’t realize how much the drugs had stunted my emotional maturity. Looking at the difference of who I was 4 months ago to now is enough to keep me going, because it’s only going to keep getting better.  

God is replacing all the things that the enemy stole from me. It brings me to tears.  

There was one morning, about a year or so ago when I was praying to get better & not knowing where I stood with God because of my addiction, when I was waking up, still half asleep, and I heard a soft voice coming from within me. I heard something in my conscience say, “you are mine, your name is Testimony. You are MINE, your name is Testimony. YOU ARE MINE, your name is TESTIMONY.” I woke up and stared blankly out at the sun beaming in through my window. Perplexed. Exactly 7 days later, my uncle who baptized me when I was 9 sent me a bracelet with a Bible verse on it from the book of Isaiah, saying “i have called you by name, you are mine.” and that’s when I knew that what I heard that morning wasn’t just me, I wasn’t crazy.  

It’s all coming to fruition, His promises and words spoken to me. It’s unbelievable. And all I had to do was start doing the next right thing. I had the key to my cure this entire time, I just had to unlock the door.