#I want to sink my face into those cheeks- whoah who said that

[rottiens]

toji gives u a lil squeeze to make ur luck even better

sighs. you make me wonder what his reaction would be,,,

[thiswasinevitableid]

sea monster indruck nsfw? maybe including one of them masturbating while fantasizing about the other one and confessing all their dirty thoughts as they're actually having sex? scary protective monster is also always hot if you're down for that

Here you go! I wasn’t able to fit in everything, but this one was fun!

This is all the hangman's fault. 

Indrid could be pleasantly dead right now, not trapped in a gibbet on a clifftop, if the man had bothered to check his ropes ahead of time. But no, instead he failed to see the rats had been gnawing on them and the blasted noose snapped clean off the instant it took Indrids weight. To the villagers, this was a sign that Indrid was indeed a witch (and the son of a demon, a rare charge that drags his poor, deceased mother into this mess). To Indrid, it meant a new set of bruises and the worst possible death. 

They locked him in the gibbet, the Atlantic crashing in angry, grey waves far below them. The man on his right is dead, eyeballs already plucked out by an enterprising bird, and the man on his left is getting there. If his visions are accurate, Indrid has a good five days of suffering the elements, the wild-life, and his own hunger and thirst before he joins them. 

A lifetime of visions breeds resignation in the face of fate, so he closes his eyes, follows the futures of luckier men as a temporary escape. The screams of his neighbor rouse him with a start. Their source is wholly unexpected. 

Looming at the edge of the cliff is an immense monster. From his vantage point, Indrid spies the creatures’ lower body still submerged in the sea, making it well over a hundred feet tall. It’s skin is green, it’s fingers webbed, and it’s crowned by a frill of wave-shaped spikes. The face is humanoid, with green eyes and hair of black water and a squid-beak where a mouth should be. Strange tentacles appear and disappear along its torso, as if they have not made up their mind as to whether they wish to exist. 

The monster sighs, “Fuckin hate it when they leave their dead like this. Unsightly, and I ain’t sure it’s good for the seagulls to be eatin humans.”

“The dead and, ah, almost dead do not enjoy it much either.” 

Upon hearing Indrids voice, the creature peers into his cage, “Huh, guess you ain’t dead. Either of you.” He turns his eyes on the other condemned man, who starts screaming again, “why’d they stick you here?”

“Witchcraft, specifically foresight and dabbling in ‘black magic.’ Well, that and a failed hanging” He tilts his head to show the visitor the rope mark. 

“Damn, that looks like it hurts. Wonder if I can..” the tip of an immense claw extends towards him. There’s a crackle of power that makes his ears pop, and the monster pulls his hand back, “nope, fuck, was hopin it’d be a small enough thing to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The monster sighs, “Long story short, my kind ain’t able to interact in an, uh, altruistic fashion with humans unless they’re acolytes. Can’t even open that damn cage without gettin zapped. Never mind that some of us don’t even wanna be old gods or whatever the fuck, still ain’t allowed to help. Maybe if I get a real big stick..”

“How does one become an acolyte?” Indrid presses his face to the front of the cage.

“Uh, you gotta swear loyalty and servitude to me, specifically, and the ‘old gods’ in general, live in a place I set up for you, and do stuff when I need you to.”

“Very well, are there specific words of the oath or…”

“Whoah, hold up now” the creature raises his hands, “this shit is real bindin’, rather you not rush into it.”

“Given the alternative is death, a rush is rather necessary.”

“All I’m sayin is you might wanna think for more than two seconds before you agree! And there might be other ways for me to get you out.”

“Do..do you not want an acolyte?” Being rejected by a sea monster feels like a fitting end to his life. 

“Not really. It ain’t personal or anythin; I’m just now leanin into the whole god thing and I still ain’t all that comfortable with parts if it. Last thing I want is an acolyte who saw me as ‘not as bad as death.”

“And the last thing I want is to die of exposure, so we are at an impasse.”

The monster clicks his beak once, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You take until sunset to think over whether you wanna be stuck servin’ this” he gestures to himself, “for a long-ass time, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” Indrid resigns himself to several more hours of misery as the creature sinks from view. He glances at the other prisoner, “what do you think? He seems very considerate for a sea monster and I for one would like to keep living.”

The man stares, babbles incoherently for a moment before shouting, “You, you conversed with a devil! You are a witch, just as they say!”

“He spoke to both of us.” Indrid blinks, puzzled. 

“I closed my ears to his lies, you offered yourself to his wickedness! Speak no more to me from your black tongue.”

“Hmmph” Indrid does his best to ignore the ongoing beration. He’s not sure the creature is a god, but then again the creature seems uncertain on the matter himself. Serving a maybe-god seems no worse than serving the king, a life among the depths no less tolerable than his small home in a town torn to pieces by accusations of witchcraft. 

After a time, the storm clouds fulfill their purpose, a downpour battering him from all angles. Then a shadow falls over his shut eyes, and no more rain touches him. 

“Seemed awful rude to leave you stuck in the rain while you thought things over.” The god explains, one massive hand shielding the human. 

“Many thanks. Ah, I do have one concern about being your acolyte. Would...would I have to hurt anyone?”

“Don’t think so. I ain’t fond of hurtin folks, and if someone did need to be hurt, seems real strange to make the tiny human do it.”

Indrid puts on his most hopeful, charming smile, “I am very cold, very hungry, and my whole being feels as though it’s been stomped on by a team of horses. Perhaps I could give my answer early?”

A chuckle, like bubbles in deep water, “Hard to say no to that face. Okay, you got a deal. I checked with Joe while I was gone, to make sure I knew the right thing to do if you said yes. I’m gonna say the oath, and you’re gonna repeat it.”

Indrid nods, makes his way laboriously through the incantation in a gurgling language he does not know. The god patiently guides him along, cracks open the cage when the last word is spoken. 

“Do I get to know your name? If it was one of those words, it will take me some time to master it.”

The monsters’ cheeks rise, suggesting a smile, “You can call me Duck. It’s a nickname. C’mon” he holds out his hand, “let’s get you outta the rain.”

“One moment.” Indrid moves to the other gibbet, undoing the lock, “you can get free if you wish. If anyone asks how, tell them it was the witch.” With that, he settles in Duck’s cupped palms, the skin smooth and cool to the touch. 

“Down we go.” Duck sinks. 

“Wait, how will I bre-” water fills his mouth, but only for a moment. A clear bubble forms around him, let’s him gulp in air as Duck dives further into the sea. More jarring than the spell is the sight of the monster unfurling behind him. He assumed Duck had legs, but instead his lower body is that of a sea-serpent, green with bronze rings and undulating in the dark waves. 

“Like what you see?”

“Yes” he wonders what touching that tail is like.

“Yeah, this is a real beautiful part of the sea. If you want, some time I can take you further out; some spectacular lookin creatures out there. Here we go, home sweet home.” They surface at the base of a much shorter cliff, Indrid woozy from the change in depth. Three cottages--one red, one gold, and one blue-- stare back at them from a grassy hill. 

“Let’s see if I can do this” Duck sets Indrid on the ground, closes his eyes, and hums. The world shudders and splits, and then a fourth, emerald green cottage sits alongside the others. 

“Ha! Pretty damn good for a first effort.” His frill flickers with silver light.

“It’s wonderful.”

“All yours. You get yourself settled, I'm gonna go find out from the others what else needs doin’ now that I got an acolyte.” He lowers himself so the two of them are roughly face to face, “see you soon, Indrid.”

--------------------------------------

The cottage holds more possessions than Indrid’s ever had in his life, including a large feather bed that he stretches his aching body across before falling asleep and dreaming of seaweed twining up his legs. 

Voices from the window rouse him some hours later. At the side of the red cottage sit three other humans, two of whom are at work in a vegetable garden. Indrid ventures down to introduce himself. 

“Hi!” One, a woman with golden hair, waves to him, “you must be Indrid. I’m Dani, this is Barclay” she points to the bearded man harvesting potatoes, then to a tattooed man polishing a pile of gold and silver jewelry, “and that’s Boyd.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are all acolytes as well?” His stomach rumbles and Barclay pauses his digging to slide him a basket containing bread and cheese.

“Help yourself, those are leftover from lunch. And yeah, we are. Or were, in Dani’s case.”

Even with foresight, Indrid is surprised when the woman says jokingly, “Got promoted to ‘wife’ a few months.”

“Congratulations.” It seems the appropriate thing to say, given her smile, “ah, what exactly do you all do for your gods? Duck is rather unclear on the details.”

“Some of it is spellwork. Beings like Duck have some innate power, but they can get more of it from an acolyte doing rituals or making offerings. Joseph, that’s my monster, Duck, and a few others aren’t sold on the idea that they’re meant to destroy humans, so they spend a lot of time keeping other monsters from doing just that. Our spellwork gives them an edge. Other than that, it really depends on who you’re working for; I spent a lot of my first month helping Joseph understand that hauling himself up onto a random dock to ask questions is not the best way to learn about humans. Boyd spends a lot of time maintaining Ned’s treasure.”

“Only because he bloody tricked me into workin for him. Just bidin my time until the deal runs out. You hear that Chicane!” Boyd yells towards the water, “don’t care how much you steal, I’ll get my share and run one of these days.”

To Indrid’s ear, the sea laughs in reply. Boyd grumbles and returns to his work. 

“He’s just annoyed because he and Ned thought they could outwit each other; Boyd was on a prison ship bound for Jamaica and Ned offered him an out. Apparently they spent hours haggling over the terms.” Dani leans closer, whispers, “Boyds left twice, comes back every time saying he’s bored without someone to challenge him.”

They talk a while longer, Dani promising to bring Indrid some hens and a goat from town, Boyd giving him some firewood, and Barclay explaining the network of sea caves in the surrounding hills. When there’s a knock at the door, he opens it expecting another human and jumps when this is not the case. 

“Evenin’” Duck smiles as he slithers into the house, “brought you a few more things.”

“You got smaller.” 

“Can change my size some, though this is about as small as I can get.” He’s still two heads taller than Indrid, who notes that the ceilings are just high enough to accommodate him, as if the god built the cottage with visits in mind. 

Duck sets a bucket of fresh oysters in the kitchen along with a large slab of butter, some milk, and some sugar, “Had one of my human friends bring me these. And, uh, I made you this” he holds up a cloak in the same colors as his tail. It fits Indrid snugly, shutting out the chilly air and making him feel rather grand indeed. 

“C’mere” Duck pats a kitchen chair, “lemme take care of your neck.”

Indrid sits, shudders when webbing and claws rub sticky balm into his skin. The gods hands easily encircle his neck, a realization that stirs heat deep in his stomach. Duck talks as he works, a meandering story about a shipwreck, and Indrid finds he enjoys his manner of speech. The initial discomfort of the touches subside, the balm washing the pain in his neck away like a wave erasing a message in the sand. Cool hands wrapped around his throat turn as comforting as the fire crackling in the stove. 

“That looks like it healed. Good” Duck’s beak fondly nips his ear, “gotta make sure my servant is in good condition.”

“Mmmm” Indrid bumps his chest with his head, hoping for more; tomorrow he’ll ask the others if it’s commonplace for an acolyte to lounge in the coils of their gods lap like a housecat. 

The beak touches his ear once more, biting it lightly with little kissing sounds.

“Huh'' two tentacles catch Indrid as he tips sideways, his body deciding that the earlier nap was not enough rest, “didn’t think you’d find that soothin. Did it by accident, it’s how my kind show affection.”

“S’very nice” Indrid mumbles, dimly aware of being carried. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, in case I need to reward you for somethin.” Duck lays him in bed, pulls a thick blanket over him, and bids him goodnight. Indrid is sound asleep before the door closes. 

------------------------------------

“Ngahka miskato--ah! Give that back” Indrid wrenches his spectacles free from hold of a far too inquisitive octopus. The creature squirts him with water, then disappears back into its pool. 

Each of the gods has a sea cave in which their acolytes perform their rituals. Since the processes involves ancient, dark magic, all manner of strange sea life makes its way to the caves. Some, like the octopus or the seals that bob in the distance or flop on the rocks to nap, are known to him. Others might be classified as indescribable horrors from the deep, though Indrid thinks they look like crustaceans with a few too many limbs or the offspring of an eel and devil fish. 

His oath to Duck allows him to read the spells, and his pronunciation is improving. Duck’s requests center on defense; letting himself take greater damage from an enemy, be better able to protect his friends, that sort of thing. Indrid even found a ritual that gives the god new cloaking abilities, which he’s used to make the cottages disappear on the hillside and thus keep curious townsfolk away.  He also found one that allows Duck to remain out of water for well over a day.

The Duck who visits him in the cave and the one who stops by his home may be radically different sizes, but his disposition is constant. He talks about the kelp forests and the animals, about his annoyance with his supposed destiny as “destroyer of all man.” He conjures fine clothes from seaweed, furniture from driftwood, and brings Indrid newly made grins embedded with fresh pearls. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one serving you?” Indrid will tease.

“Way I see it, we serve each other. Don’t care what that fuckin oath said.”

Indrid is feeding his hens one evening when his luck catches up with him; his human friends are all standing at the edge of Dani’s house, peering anxiously around it’s corner and down the hill. Joining them, he sees a crowd marching with torches and an assortment of lethal farm equipment. 

“What the fuck are they doing? You were just in town today and everything was fine” Barclay glances at Dani, who shrugs, worried.

“My visions tell me that as they get closer we will hear them yelling about witches and that I will recognize many of them. I suspect my fellow gibbet-occupant told them about Duck.” He sighs, “I’ll try to lead them on a chase, get them away from all of you.” 

Indrid runs into the evening before the others, or his own common sense, can stop him. Keeping to the cliffside, he lets them glimpse his hair and his red glasses, both used at the trial as proof of his wicked nature. His plan is to take a secret tunnel down into the caves, but his visions alert him a moment too late to the fact there are two, not one, groups of villagers. He’s outflanked on the cliff, holds up his hands to show he means no harm.

“I understand my continued existence alarms and confuses you, but that is no reason to go running about with weapons. Would you kindly leave me alone?”

“No, witch, we will not.” The head of the party shouts over the wind. 

“I have a name, you know.” He grumbles, looking behind him and wondering if his status as an acolyte grants him immunity from death by falling in the water. 

“You have already confessed to your black work, and we have on good authority you have made a pact with the devil. There is nowhere to run, and if you come quietly I promise we will hang you properly this time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We shall see to it that your body is scattered about this cliffside before the night is out.” The mob moves forward and Indrid stumbles back, the earth giving out beneath his feet. 

He lands with a yelp in a smooth, large hand. As Duck rises more fully from the waves, the crowd freezes, struck dumb with fear. 

“Y’all ain’t gonna touch him, y’hear? Indrid’s under my protection and in case it ain’t obvious, I could smoosh the whole damn bunch of you without breakin a sweat. So, what you’re gonna do is turn around and go back to your village, and I’ll forget this ever happened. If you come after him again, I’m gonna start taking out ships in your harbor. We clear?”

The panicked flight of the mod downhill suggests he’s made his point. 

Duck carries Indrid home, joining him in the cottage once he can fit through the door. The monster follows him upstairs, pulling him into his arms.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.”

“That makes two of us.” 

Duck nuzzles the top of his head, “You mind if I stay here tonight? Little worried some of them might get it into their heads to come back and hurt you.”

No futures show this, but Indrid nods all the same. Duck curls up near the bed, not leaving until the morning sun shines through the window. He does the same the next night, and the night after that, and soon it’s been two weeks of the god talking softly with Indrid as the human falls asleep. 

When Indrid shyly asks if Duck will join him, his monster lays as comfortably as he can on the right side of the bed. Indrid is now used to waking up with a tail looped around his leg or a tentacle clinging to his arm. 

------------------------------------

Indrid is just drifting off when the covers slide aside and weight slithers up the bed. He opens his eyes; Duck is on his side, facing him, annoyed. 

“What troubles you, my dark excellency?” Indrid nudges Ducks’ lower belly with his toes. He’s taken to calling Duck increasingly absurd things, and the monster calls him “faithful servant” or “esteemed attendant” in reply. 

Tonight, Duck just sighs, “Y’know how I was supposed to do somethin important tonight, bein’ that it’s the second full moon in the month? Turns out that somethin was, ‘spread my seed among the beds of men’ so our kind will gradually overrun the surface.” He clicks his beak with a snort, “don’t that sound fun?”

“No.”

“Smart little thing, ain’t you?” Duck teases, cups Indrid’s chin, “Yeah, I said no. Problem is, apparently a second full moon makes my whole body wanna fuck, which is why that prophecy was supposed to happen tonight.”

Indrid looks down, sees something rippling under the skin at the upper part of Duck’s tail. 

“I’m gonna try sleepin it off.”

His visions give him courage; Duck turns him down in most futures, but none of them end in death or bodily harm, which at his point in his life is all he asks. 

“Or you could, ah, allow me to help you.”

Green eyes blink, slow and calculating, “‘Drid, that ain’t part of your job.”

“No…” Indrid scoots across the sheets, tentatively runs his fingers up Duck’s side, “but that is not why I’m offering.”

“No?” The rest of his tail joins them on the bed, curving so it traps Indrid against him, “Then why are you offerin, sweet human of mine?”

“Because I, ah, I want, that is I would very much like to know you in that way, and I thought it was allowed based on the others, I apologize if it’s not, I did not mean to-” He freezes as Duck cups his face, nipping his ear and throat with a kissing noise.

“‘Drid?”

“Y-yes, my lord of the depths?” He’s breathless, drowning in Duck’s gaze. 

“Stop apologizin and take off your clothes.”

Indrid flails until nothing is between him and his monster. 

“Thats better” Duck’s voice deepens, washing over him like rough waves, “now, come serve your god.” He pats what Indrid thinks of as his waist, the point where his human qualities disappear entirely. 

“As you wish” Indrid tries for a coquettish smile as he straddles him, but it gives way to surprise as the slit in Ducks skin parts. 

“I was not expecting tentacles. Which, given the rest of you, was naive.”

“Not usin that future vision of yours to see what’s comin’?” The webbing of Duck’s fingers is like velvet as it caresses Indrid’s chest.

“It is difficult to focus on such things when you are here. You command my attention. You always have.”

Duck flicks his tongue across Indrid’s lower lip, “Now that kind of devotion I could get used to.”

“It is yours whenever you want it.”

A tentacle emerges from his side, petting Indrid’s face, “My Indrid. You been so good for me, so faithful and true. Letting me babble about seaweed and when my claws through that pretty hair. And you just keep gettin better.” 

“Please” Indrid rests his head against Duck’s chest, hugging him as best as his size will allow, “please teach me how to serve you this way too.”

“I can do that. You don’t gotta lift a finger.” Several of the tendrils that comprise his cock twine together to form a single appendage. The tentacle on his face gains a twin and the pair slide down to his ass, parting it.

Indrid’s thighs are uncooperative, struggle to get and keep him in the right position to sink down. He curses, reaches down to adjust only for a thicker tentacles to bind both wrists and yank them up above his head. 

“Uh uh, I said no finger-liftin and I meant it.”

Indrid moans, his cock filling as he discovers there’s no way to free himself. He expects Duck to guide him into place with his hands. The end of his tail encircles Indrid’s hips while his claws trace arcane shapes on his skin. 

“I, I did not know it was quite so dextrousOH, oh god.” The tip of that strange cock pushes in, pulsing little by little to stretch him open without pain. 

“Right here.” Duck nibbles his hair with that same kissing sound, “I got you. Take such good care of my faithful human.”

“Oh god” Indrid can’t come up with anything else to express the sensation of Duck sinking deeper into his body, of how safe he feels stretched out and stretched open in the monsters hold. He tips his head back with a cry as Duck bottoms out and his cock moves fluid and disjointed all at once. It’s pulsing, thrusting him full on each inward push, yet it’s individual tendrils curve and curl within him independent of the whole. 

“More, oh god, please, please never ever ever stop.”

 A fond chuckle, “That good huh? Maybe that prophecy was wrong. Maybe what I’m supposed to do is fuck you full and then drop you in town so you can spread the word of how good my dick is. Be my consort and prophet all in one. Get everyone clamorin for the chance for me to fuck them.”

“No” Indrid squirms, petulant, “you’re my master. Not theirs.”

A louder laugh this time, “You gonna take the amount of fuckin I was supposed to do to a whole town yourself?” A tendril curls around Indrid’s aching cock. 

“Yes” He wails, rolls his hips “you may have me as often as you please, I want you too, I’ll, I’ll be your faithful servant always.”

“You’re already somethin better; you’re my ‘Drid.” Duck twists the tendril and Indrid’s lost, his orgasm knocking breath from his chest and tears from his eyes as white spatters the green of Duck’s abdomen. 

“That’s it darlin, lookit you bein so good, cummin for your master. Think it’s time for you to make good on your promise to take whatever I give you.” The tail lifts Indrid up and down as Duck cums, the monster not so much as pausing before thrusting his hips harder, “fuuuck that’s good, my perfect servant, my ‘Drid, takin me so well.”

Indrid sobs as another burst of cum enters him and a strange feeling fills his chest; he’s buzzing with blindingly bright power. It’s coming from Duck, he knows this, and in the haze of his submissive state he understands the depth of his divinity.

“Duck” he whimpers as more tentacles twist around his limbs, the god losing himself in his pursuit of pleasure, filling Indrid until his belly twinges and his eyes fight to remain open. When the god groans out the humans name a final time, Indrid is so enveloped by him he wonders if they’ll ever fully disentangle. 

The monster carries him to the washroom, Indrid still squirming on his cock, and gently pulls him free to set him in the tub. A flick of his hand fills it with warm seawater.

“You okay?”

“I doubt I will be able to walk tomorrow.” Indrid smiles to show he relishes this fact.

“Guess I’ll be spendin tomorrow waitin on you.” Duck joins him in the tub, coiling protectively around him as he washes his chest and thighs.

“I thought I was the servant here?” Indrid cuddles closer, kissing Duck on the tip of his beak.

“Nah. Far as I’m concerned, we take care of each other.”

[vindicatedvirgil]

only fools rush in / part four: we deserve happiness, too

WHOAH HEY SLOW DOWN! have you read parts one, two, and three yet? no? go do that and then come back. it’s fine. i’ll wait.

okay now for those of you who are all caught up, it’s Sunday, so that means a new chapter!! this chapter is focused on Janus and Logan and (hopefully) it will answer some of your questions about timelines and stuff.

this is my first time writing about a queerplatonic relationship, so if i messed up in any way please let me know (they’re also both aromantic but they are not ace and this is important to note okay cool).

TW: mention of sex (no descriptors though), mention of suicide attempt

read to the end for the title of part five as well as a teaser~

Logan sat at their usual table at the café, his laptop in front of him as he typed quickly. With every opening of the door, the bell above it dinging annoyingly, he glanced up, but found himself disappointed when he didn’t see his partner. He worried that Janus’ oolong tea would grow cold as he took a sip of his own black coffee, and turned his focus to the research paper he was working on. Eventually, he felt Janus’ lips press to his cheek and then his body slid into the booth to the left of him.

“Sorry that I’m late, Lo. Virgil was having a rough night and I needed to make sure he was going to be okay,” he explained, picking up the mug of tea in his hands and taking a sip. Janus made no indication that the tea was too cold or hot, he just smiled before pulling his own laptop out of his bag. “How’s the paper coming?”

“Almost done, just need to edit the footnotes,” Logan responded plainly, taking another sip of his coffee. It was almost to the point where it was too cold to drink, but he needed the caffeine if he wanted to finish his work for the weekend. “Is Virgil going to be okay now?”

“I think so. Roman was arriving to practice for the auditions as I left, though I don’t think he saw me, he seemed pretty focused as he ran up the stairs,” he responded, starting to type on his laptop. “Have you eaten anything, Lo? You can’t just have coffee.”

“I’m not hungry,” the taller man responded, pushing his glasses up further on his nose. Janus frowned, then slid out of their booth and walked over to the main counter. Logan sighed, switching tabs to his research notes. He skimmed for the information he needed and by the time he had inserted a quote into the main paper, Janus had returned with two muffins; one blueberry, one banana nut. Logan wanted to ignore the grumble in his stomach but he knew Janus would bug him until he ate something, so he picked up the blueberry muffin and unwrapped it before taking a bite. “Thanks, Janus.” He continued writing, taking occasional bites of the muffin, and Janus was also working hard, his banana nut muffin consumed rather quickly, the oolong tea drained from the mug. Finally, Logan spoke again. “Did Remus tell you where he was planning on taking Patton today?”

“The botanical gardens and then here for lunch, I think,” Janus responded. He seemed to be in deep thought, his thoughts miles away. “He’s going to tell Patton about his past, I think.”

“He should, before Roman beats him to it,” Logan said, loosening his tie. “He almost did last night when we were helping him pick out his outfit.” He sighed, and felt Janus’ fingers trail on his thigh, and met his eyes.

“They’re all falling in love, aren’t they? How weird is that? Love and romance. Such silly concepts,” Janus mused, a playful smile crossing his face. “But… they all deserve it. Happiness. We found our own kind of happiness, they get to find theirs now.” Logan nodded, stretching his arms a little bit.

“We’re not broken, right?” Logan’s voice was hesitant when he asked the question, and Janus frowned at him, taking his hand.

“Lo, we’ve been over this. Just because love and romance aren’t things we want to or can feel, doesn’t mean we’re broken,” Janus’ words were like a song that Logan needed to play over and over, and he wondered if that feeling would ever disappear. Sometimes when he curled up in Janus’ arms he almost felt whole, like he realized that there wasn’t a black hole where his heart should be. There were days where he shut himself off from the world, hiding in his room that was littered with papers and science equipment, because he wasn’t sure that he could ever deserve the happiness he felt when Janus was next to him. “Lo,” Janus’ voice was calling him back into himself, out of the fog of his mind. “Lo, did you sleep at all last night?”

“Uh… I slept for an hour or two,” he admitted, eyes glancing down. He was ashamed of his own insomnia sometimes, but being a double major was draining. Luckily, Janus always knew how to take care of him, make him realize that there was more to the world than just romantic love. 

“How much more schoolwork do you need to get done?” Janus asked rhetorically as he grabbed Logan’s planner, flipping to the page for the day. “Hmmm… not much, plus it’s only Saturday morning. Okay.” He closed the planner and then shut Logan’s laptop and then his own. “Come on, we’re going to your apartment to rest.”

“Jan–”

“Not mine, because Virgil and Roman are practicing and I want to give them space,” he explained, putting his laptop away. “No arguing this time, please. You need to take care of yourself.” Logan knew better than to argue, so he packed up his things and then the two walked to his apartment, fingers interlocked.

-

“Janus, this really isn’t necessary,” Logan grumbled as his partner removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the plain t-shirt underneath. “I need to get work done.” The shorter man ignored him, going to Logan’s dresser and pulling out some pajama bottoms. He threw them at his glasses-clad partner, raising an eyebrow. 

“You need to rest,” was the only thing he said before resting his hands on his hips, glancing around the cluttered bedroom. There were papers littering the carpet, books stacked everywhere despite the open spaces on the bookshelves, and empty coffee mugs all over the desk, and Janus noted some spilled coffee stains on the surface. He was about to shrug out of his coat when two arms wrapped around his waist and Logan’s chin rested on his shoulder.

“You could… help me rest, maybe,” he suggested, voice low. “It helps my mind slow down a little bit.” Janus knew this, and he spun around in Logan’s arms, pressing his hands to his partner’s face. “If you don’t want to–”

“You know I’d do anything to help you, Lolo.”

-

Afterwards, Janus slipped back into his shirt and a pair of Logan’s pajama bottoms. He got Logan’s help in rubbing lotion over the left side of his body, hoping to quell some of the pain brought on by his eczema. Then he brought over his laptop, putting on one of Logan’s favorite space documentaries, and the two snuggled, Logan dozing sporadically. Janus ran his fingers through the other’s hair, feeling calm and collected, a smile plastered on his face. When he heard Logan’s stomach grumble with hunger, they ordered Chinese takeout and ate it in bed, Janus smirking when a noodle stuck to the other’s chin. They watched a few more documentaries, the sun lowering itself in the sky, and eventually, Logan dozed off.

Janus pressed a swift kiss to Logan’s forehead, the other softly snoring, then got to work tidying up the room. He started by putting the books onto the shelves, but he didn’t follow a certain order, he just wanted to reduce Logan’s risk of falling over the stacks. Afterwards, he organized the scattered papers into different piles and then put them into the file cabinet, labeling them for the class or purpose they held. He wiped off the surfaces in the room with wipes he had stored in Logan’s desk, and then carried all of the mugs in his arms and out to the kitchenette.

When he exited Logan’s room, he saw Roman lounging on the couch, flipping through the script. When the actor noticed him, he raised an eyebrow, but smiled.

“How’s Virgil doing?” Janus asked, setting the mugs on the sink and turning on the hot water. Roman got up from the couch and sat on one of the stools at the counter, watching. 

“He…” Roman sighed, resting his hand under his chin. “He’s nervous about it all, of course. He doesn’t want to fall on stage, he doesn’t want to mess up.” His voice was hesitant, and Janus could tell that he was holding something back, but he didn’t want to pry; he focused on washing Logan’s mugs, smiling when he noticed the ones he had gifted him with nerd sayings on them. “Janus… did Virgil really… almost kill himself?”

The mug that Janus was holding slipped out of his hand, clattering into the sink. Thankfully, it stayed intact. He felt his throat constrict, the memories of that day rushing back through his mind, and he gripped the edge of the sink tightly, using one of his shaky hands to turn off the water. “He did,” Janus’ breath was heavy, too, and he couldn’t bear to turn around to look Roman in the eyes. “I… found him. It was… the worst day of my life.”

“How old were you at the time?” Roman’s voice sounded pained as the words left his mouth, and Janus chewed on his lower lip.

“We were 16,” he said, turning around and leaning against the sink, his eyes focused on his feet. “He’s… better now. Therapy and medication and all. But… I almost lost him.”

“He thinks he’s losing you,” Roman’s words came out before he could stop them, and Janus’ eyes snapped up to meet his, a frown on his face.

“What?” It was almost a hiss, Janus was feeling constricted again, and his defenses were rising. Roman held his hands out to try to calm him down.

“He just…” Roman sighed, lowering his hands, “Now that you’re in a partnership with Logan, he… thinks he’s not a priority in your life anymore. I did my best to tell him that couldn’t be true, but… you might need to talk to him.”

Janus ran a hand through his hair, sighing, but he nodded. “Thank you for telling me, Roman. I’ll… talk to him.” Roman nodded, then pursed his lips in thought.

“Our audition is a week from Friday… do you think that maybe… you and the others could sit in the back, where Virgil can’t see, and then be there when we’re done?” Roman’s voice was hesitant. He didn’t know Janus very well and had only spent time with him in small increments; it was Patton and Logan who spent more time with him, and Roman always found the sociology major to be… odd. But he meant a lot to Virgil. “He’s so nervous, I think he could do with some support afterwards.” Janus wondered why Roman was hesitant to be the only one providing the support to Virgil, but maybe it was a sign that Roman knew of his own limits.

“I… yeah, of course, Roman. I’ll make sure that we’re there.”

-

“Virgil?” Janus opened the door to their apartment later that night. Remus hadn’t returned yet, and Virgil was laying on the couch, holding a pillow close. Janus stepped out of his shoes and set his bag down, walking over. “I think we need to talk.”

“...do we?” Virgil made a move to sit up but Janus shook his head, pulling Virgil’s legs up and onto his lap as he sat down.

“Roman told me that you feel like less of a priority to me,” he said, eyes focusing on the taller man. Virgil’s mouth opened to respond but Janus shook his head.. “Virge, I need you to know that no matter how significant Lo, or anyone else, ever becomes to me, no one will ever be more important to me than you. Okay?” Virgil looked away, frowning, and Janus sighed, rubbing his feet.

“It’s just…” he took a deep breath, twisting his fingers in a manner that seemed very uncomfortable to Janus, but Virgil made no indication that it was. “You’ve got… someone to care for now, someone who cares for you in an equal manner, and… I’m just getting in the way.”

“V, you could never get in the way. Just because I’m with Logan doesn’t change the fact that if you needed me, I would drop everything to be there,” Janus’ voice was calm, and he rubbed Virgil’s feet and legs in a way that he hoped was comforting. “V. Look at me.” Virgil did, because he knew that Janus would keep at it until he did. Janus smiled warmly, his eyes meeting his best friend’s. “Please don’t forget how much I care for you. I know… things have changed, lately. I’m still figuring out the balance with Lo and everything, but… you’ll always be at the top of my priority pyramid.” Virgil smiled, recalling the drawing that Janus had made for him back when he was in the hospital for his attempt.

-flashback, six years ago-

“They don’t care, they never did,” Virgil was sitting up in the hospital bed, finally, bandage-covered arms crossed and a frown on his face. His parents had just left from their obligatory half-hour visit. “I’m not a priority to anyone.” Janus scoffed. He was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, notebook in hand.

“You’re a priority to me, V,” he said, starting to scribble on the notebook. Virgil raised an eyebrow, peeking over to see a pyramid with words on several levels. “Okay, see? Bottom level is basic necessities like a roof and food. Then school and my family. Then me. And look, at the very top of the pyramid, it’s you. The most important thing.”

Virgil brought his hand up to his mouth to stifle the laugh that he felt rising up inside him, and he ignored the bandages on his wrist as he did so. Janus was surprised at the laughter; he hadn’t heard the noise coming from his best friend in weeks. “Jan, the most important and necessary thing goes at the base of the pyramid. Like in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs?” Janus frowned, glancing down at his pyramid. Virgil reached his hand out, taking the notebook from him. “But… I understand what you’re trying to say. Thank you.”

-end flashback-

“I still have that pyramid drawing you did,” Virgil said. He moved from his laying down position to sit next to Janus, and despite their height difference he leaned his head on the other man’s shoulder. “Maybe… maybe I won’t need to rely on only you, J.”

“What do you mean?” Janus found himself not liking the idea. Of course, ever since Remus had pranced his way into their little group, into their apartment, Janus knew that it could never be the same as it was when they moved in together right out of high school instead of living in the dorms. 

“I mean…” Virgil took a deep breath, a small smile taking over his facial features. “Maybe… maybe Roman will… care for me, too.” Janus turned his head a bit to give Virgil a confused look. “I think… Jan, I think he likes me.”

“He’d be a fool not to,” was the only response that Janus could muster up, but he felt strange about the whole thing. 

-

Janus had just finished eating his breakfast when there was a knock at the door. Virgil was still in bed, and Remus had left early to go on a brunch date with Patton. He opened the door, and saw Logan standing there, a sheepish smile on his face. 

“Hey, Lo, you okay?” He asked, pulling his partner inside and giving him a swift kiss to the cheek.

“I just… wanted to spend time with you,” Logan explained. Janus smiled, pulling him in for a warming hug. They moved to sit on the couch, Janus curled into Logan’s chest, an oceanography documentary playing in the background. “I was, um, thinking about the day we decided to… get together.”

“Oh?” Janus mused, playing with Logan’s fingers gently. “What about that day?”

“Just… the way you made me feel like I wasn’t broken. Like I deserve happiness.”

-flashback to early in the summer-

“I can’t help but feel… broken,” Logan sighed, laying on the floor of Janus’ room. “I know being aromantic is valid. You’ve helped me realize that, Janus. But… seeing people in romantic relationships are... they always seem so happy, and… will I ever feel happy like that?” Janus sighed from where he was propped up on his bed, pillows surrounding him. He clambered out of bed and then laid on the floor next to Logan, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers.

“You deserve the utmost of happiness. Regardless of what other people think, people like you and me do find happiness in our lives, even if romantic relationships aren’t appealing to us,” he said, voice soft and soothing. A few moments passed before he spoke again, “Logan… do you know what a queerplatonic relationship is?”

“Vaguely.” Logan asked, turning his head to look at the other, who was staring right up at the ceiling. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I… thought maybe you’d…” Janus didn’t finish his sentence, instead closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Logan propped himself on his elbow, laying on his side to look at the other one more closely.

“Janus, are you asking me to be your partner?” Logan asked. They’d grown closer since meeting in class and getting to know each other, and when Janus found out that he also identified as aromantic, they began to spend even more time together.

“I… yeah, I think so,” Janus replied, looking at Logan again. “We’d need to establish boundaries. But… I don’t know, I think… it could work, and maybe we could… make each other happy.”

“What kind of boundaries?” Logan pressed, not yet stating if he wanted to enter the partnership. “Like… sex stuff?”

“I- I mean, only if you want that, we don’t have to do any of that, and if there’s something you want we can try it, and if it makes us uncomfortable we stop, it’s… all subjective to change,” Janus kept tripping over his words. He’d been thinking of asking Logan this for months, and had planned so many things out to say, but Logan never ceased to amaze him with the questions he didn’t anticipate.

“Well…” Logan started, taking a deep breath. “I would like to try… because you deserve to be happy, too, Janus.”

-end flashback-

“Anyways, I have something for you,” Logan reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a rounded ring that looked like a galaxy. “You don’t have to, but, um, it’s kind of like…”

“A promise ring?” Janus took the ring into his own hands gingerly, a smile creeping onto his face. Logan nodded, then buried his face in Janus’ hair, mumbling. The smaller man said nothing but slipped the ring onto his finger.

“You make me feel happiness,” Logan said, face still buried in Janus’ hair. “I thought I couldn’t feel that, that I didn’t deserve it. But you and I deserve it, just as much as anyone else.”

---

teaser for part five: power outages can lead to some very bad things

When Roman got back to the apartment, all of the lights were out. Patton and Logan were nowhere to be seen, so he figured that they were both spending the night at the other apartment. He showered then got into bed, but laid on his back staring up at his ceiling until the sun started to bleed through the break in his curtains. He fucked up.

---

part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

---

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[papa-nikki-writes]

Rowvember day 17-Aware

Definition

1.having knowledge or perception of a situation or fact.

2.concerned and well informed about a particular situation or development.

Summary After Shea wakes up from her coma, she heads to the Streetfighting circle. Carlos told her to soak up as much info as possible? So that’s what she’s gonna do. She’s wake, aware, alive and pissed the fuck off.

Words 2,924

No matter how many years have passed, she knew that The Circle would remain the same, she needed that right now, seeing the corporate shell The Row had become had rocked her to the core and she was scared to see what had happened to the area first hand, to see what they might have done to the church.

         Some of the best days of her life lay with The Row, some of the most life changing events she had gone through were all tied to there, and maybe it was cowardice and fear that was keeping her away but she didn’t know if she was strong enough to handle the change when it felt like she had only been to her Row yesterday. Seeing the shell The Row had become only seemed to back up what Carlos had been saying: The Saints were gone. The buildings she knew were gone. But going there and seeing it would mean that everything she’d fought for, losing Lin, that had all amounted to nothing.

She only wanted to pretend for a little while longer.

          As she got to the back alley where the entrance lay, she noticed two men, one smoking a cigarette, the other eyeing her carefully as she approached, and she smiled, hoping they wouldn’t mind the bright orange jumpsuit too much, she couldn’t wait to see Alan, or even Luke, she just needed a friendly face right now. Instead of passing by, however, Shea was grabbed and slammed against the nearest wall, another indication that maybe things had changed even more than she thought.

“Ow! Hey what the fuck? I’m a regular!” she snarled, her cheek scraping against the brickwork as she struggled.

“Oh really, never seen you before in my life.” one said, as the other patted her down and found her two pistols.

“I don’t get it Mac, guns say pig, jumpsuit says convict, tatts say gang-banger.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and you won’t believe what else.” said not Mac, and she felt her hair being swept from her neck, probably to stare at the fleur-de-lis tatted there.

“Wow. Haven’t seen one of those in a while. How about you tell us who you are, little lady?” he asked, lifting her higher off the floor when he noticed her planting her feet ready to fight back, she changed tack, instead she threw an elbow out, catching the guard in the face so he dropped her. “Whoah, we ain’t going to hurt ya, just need to know who comes and goes now.”

“Touch me again and I’ll twist your fucking balls off!” she warned, her chest heaving, and she doubled over, lamenting how weak her body had gotten now, she used to be able to push herself for way longer than this, this was not good at all. What, she only had one good jailbreak in her now? What the fuck was this bullshit?

“Why don’t you ask Alan Carlisle?” she snapped, and she heard them fall silent, tension in the air before there was a beep.

“Er Boss? We kinda need you up here to deal with this one.” Not Mac said, “We got a fighter.”

“Oh you have no idea.” Shea replied, pacing back and forth on the spot. There was a few moments as they stood, staring at each other before they heard footsteps come up the stairs, and Shea turned to see who it was. Her shock was mirrored in his face as he laid eyes on her too.

“Shea?!” He asked, and a whole wave of emotions surged through her, relief, joy, fear and guilt, and she ran, throwing her arms around Luke’s neck, felt him freeze before lifting his arms to hug her back loosely, so Shea coughed and stepped back, feeling the awkwardness.

“Not gonna lie, I thought you’d be a little bit happier to see me than this.” she said, her heart sinking, in her world they’d fucked for the last time two weeks ago, but with five years in between, he’d have to have realised that it was for the best right?

         He stared at her, and he was just as handsome as when she’d left him, maybe even more so now, he’d had more tattoos done, and he had cut his long hair shorter, shaved at the sides, where his dark hair was starting to grey already and Shea liked, Shea liked way too much. He tore his eyes away to regard Mac and not Mac, giving a nod.

“I’m taking her upstairs, tell Jase to mind the bar.”

“Sure thing.” they answered, and Luke nodded again, before clapping a hand to his neck and grimacing as he cricked it out. He still did that apparently, one time he had cricked it without supporting it with his hand and had hurt himself for weeks after.

“Come on, and keep it down, my kids are asleep.”

“Kids?!” Shea blurted out before she could stop herself, and he turned and glared, “sorry.” she apologised, then followed him into the old shop above The Circle stairs.

       Well it wasn’t the old shop anymore, it was quite a spacious little house, with clean white furniture and greenery and by God, Shea didn’t belong here at all. She perched carefully on a sofa, and Luke disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with some clothes and throwing them at her.

“What are these?” she asked, and Luke crossed the room to his drinks cabinet, by the looks of things, seeing as though he poured a hefty whiskey and downed it in one, cringing.

“Clothes.” he said.

“Funny, you” Shea replied, rolling her eyes, “any excuse to get me naked, is that it?” she teased.

“Er no. Unless you want to forever wander in a bright orange jumpsuit?” he asked, then pointed at the third door on the right, “bathrooms there.”

“We could skip the bathroom and head to the bedroom?” she asked, still keeping the flirty tone, and Luke, now throwing down a second drink down his throat, choked. He wheezed and spluttered, and Shea moved to thump him on the back but he moved back and held his hands up, he turned the left one round when he’d calmed down, and there Shea saw it, the ring on his wedding finger. He was married.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry-is she-?”

“In that room there-yeah.” he nodded, pointing at the door he’d emerged from with the clothes and Shea hid her face with them, cringing hard.

“Fuck!” she whispered, though the swear lost none of the intensity.

“It’s alright….it’s not really your fault is it? If you could have come back before now...you would’ve come back?” he asked expectantly, and Shea lowered the clothes.

“Been in a coma until about...maybe three hours ago?” she said, and Luke sighed, looked at her and shook his head, close to tears.

“I can’t believe it.”

“What, that I wasn’t dead or I’ve just come out of a coma?” she asked, and she saw his eyes well up by the moonlight streaming in through the window.

“I lost you.”

“Wasn’t my intention.” she said, as if that helped.

“Well no, I don’t think you intended to get blown up on a yacht with Alderman Hughes, but it happened,” he replied, heat lacing his tone before he placed his face in his hands, “I’m not mad at you, by the way, it’s just that it’s been...difficult. I honestly don't know what I'd have done without Rach...sh-, she’s an angel.”

         He wasn’t looking at her when he said it, dragged his hands over his face and looked at anything but her, as if he was ashamed to even admit how he’d struggled, probably never thought he’d be able to tell her just how much everything had affected him. Fact was, back then, they’d never have talked like this anyway.

“Where’s Alan? Surely he’s been about?” she asked, and he froze again, and his eyes darted to her, and her heart jolted, she knew that look well, “no.” she denied it, shaking her head, saw Luke’s face grimace again and he promptly turned and marched back to his liquor cabinet as Shea struggled to process yet another hit to her emotions.

        She watched him for a few moments, before she couldn’t stand it anymore and hurried into his bathroom to get changed, flicking the light on and rushed to the sink, breathing fast and heavy, she fought herself for control, her fingertips white on the edge of the sink. She looked up, and caught her reflection in the mirror for the first time. And it was strange.

         She looked like herself, but she didn’t at the same time- she did look older- not hugely, but enough to make her stop and pause and stare. Her hair was too long, and uncared for,  the black waves a little bit feral looking, and her eyes were a little sunken in, making the amber truly stand out against the dark circles. Who thought that sleeping for five years meant you’d still look tired at the end of it? She tiptoed closer to the mirror, running her fingers over her face to reacquaint herself with it.

        She turned her head, her fingers continuing to trail downwards, over the fleur-de-lis on her neck before moving past her collarbone, pulling the jumpsuit zip down, seeing the raised bullet scar in between her tits. It was completely healed now, no longer red and angry. She touched her fingers to the scar too, she didn’t remember a time where it didn’t hurt to touch it, but here it was now, raised and bumpy and a shiny white, but physically not painful any longer..

          Sighing, she stepped away from the mirror and shifted out of the jumpsuit, and what she saw took her breath from her then too. Her legs were covered in gnarled, twisted skin, darker in some places and lighter in others. She raised her shaking hands and ran them over her thighs, and felt where smooth skin met burned, She sobbed before she could stop herself, but she had barely enough breath to sustain it so it came out as little more than a yelp before it died, and she covered her mouth, remembering that she was supposed to be quiet right now. Luke didn’t want her waking his wife and kids up too, and with good reason, she’d hide herself away too, what, with their history and who Shea was. She should be feeling lucky to be alive, but she didn’t know how any of this could be a blessing.

       There wasn’t any part of this that she didn’t hate, and tears fell and splashed on her thighs, and Shea, angered again by the state of herself slapped her hands on her legs, digging her nails into the flesh, or trying to- the skin graphs meant the skin there was tougher, so all that happened were the white indents her nails left. That pissed her off too so she balled her hands into fists and beat on her legs instead.

Bam

Hey you woke up, everything you know and love is gone, hope you’re over lin’s death!

Bam

Hey, you know like Lin’s dead? Alan’s dead now, and so might Johnny, who fucking knows?

Bam

Hey, why do you care your fuck buddy moved on, you ended it you stupid fucking cow.

Bam

Why did you even bother waking up? You knew you were on borrowed time since you left Lin like that.

Bam

And you know you fucking deserve all this too.

And Shea just wrapped her arms around herself and cried.

          There was a tiny knock on the door and she hissed back at Luke in reply, she was pretty sure it wasn’t any coherent language, but she figured that it’d convey what she needed it to do, and dragged the clothes on with intent. It wasn’t actually a bad fit, the clothes were worn, and old, Shea assumed they were probably Luke’s wife’s old clothes. A simple white vest top and some jeans suited her fine just now. Sighing and swiping the tears from her face, she turned to leave the room, ignoring the heavy feeling in her heart, or trying to. Luke waited outside.

“Are you OK? Were you crying?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You were crying though.”

“No, my old bullet wounds hurt, that’s all.” she lied, and the lie did nothing to ease the concern in his eyes, or the sheer disbelief. “What do you care anyway?” she asked casually, turning away from him to inspect the house, stopping to look at the picture of Luke and his family. Rachel was stunning, fiery red hair and dark eyes, looking into the camera with a baby boy sleeping in her arms. The little girl, she was no older than three, and looked just like her dad. Shea smiled at them, her heart melting.

“What do you mean, do I care, of course I do. We were messes back then I’ll throw my hands up and admit, but you didn’t deserve to get blown up, or put in a coma, but we told you didn’t we? We told you this gang shit would kill you.”

“I’m not dead yet.” Shea replied, she felt like shit, so she had to be alive somehow, she stopped at another picture, this time one of her, Alan and Luke, Alan in the middle with his great big smile and twinkling green eyes, the old scar running down his face from a knife fight with the Carnales’ own Victor Rodriguez. Guy was a tough bastard, but he was getting on in years, and Shea wondered if he’d gotten into one fight too many. She touched her fingers to the photograph wistfully, and Luke moved to the side of her, to see what she was looking at, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, “How’d it happen?” she asked, and Luke tilted his head to one side and sighed heavily.

“The Sons of Samedi. They came to The Circle one day, demanding protection money, Alan refused and they hacked him to death with machetes.”

“What.” she asked, shocked. “Gangs don’t interfere with The Circle.”

“You did.” Luke pointed out. “I think that’s what attracted the Samedi in the first place.”

“How can you pin this on me?!” she spat, and Luke shrugged.

“You built up a reputation, trouble was, you were no longer there to reinforce it, and therein lies the problem of everything. Whether you like it or not you shifted the balance so much it took three more fucking gangs to move in to even cause the amount of destruction you did on your own.”

“That’s not fair.” Shea growled, and Luke shook his head,

“Point is, this is where we are now. We warned you, and you didn’t listen, Alan died because they knew about his connection to you, and you weren’t here to fucking save him.”

“I was in a coma!” Shea hissed, it was difficult keeping the argument on the down low, and anger burned through the blood in her veins, and Luke nodded as though that were obvious.

“Exactly! This is the thing with this gang shit, it seeps into everything else around you, everybody else suffered just because you went on this self righteous crusade with Julius Little. Do you think Alan wanted to see you beat up as much as he did? Do you think his heart didn’t break when you told him what happened with the Rollerz? Not even nearly fucking dying could get through to you.”

“We had to take the city!”

“Well congratulations, was it worth it?”

         Shea stared at him, only becoming aware of her tears when they were rolling down her cheeks, and he closed his mouth and looked away, tears rolling down his too.

“If that’s how you really feel, then why the fuck are you helping me out?” she asked, and he looked back at her, swiping at his eyes.

“Believe me, everything was telling me not to. Those little humans in there depend on me to keep them safe Shea, I’m daddy. And I can’t put them anywhere near danger, and you are danger Shea, you have a target on your back. When the news breaks that you’re alive every gang fuckers gonna be pointing their guns at you and everyone around you.”

“Then why fucking help me then?”

“Because I don’t know if you’ve realised Shea, but you have nothing. Nobody’s waiting for you in that church-”

“Then if that’s your attitude then I’m going to make this real easy for you Luke.” she cut across him, she’d heard enough, she knew alright? She fucking knew and didn’t need anybody to tell her that. She shrugged dramatically and turned on her heel to leave, wrenching open the door.

“Shea-” Luke called after her, and Shea stopped and backed up a bit,

“Just be there for your kids Luke, you’re right, they need you.” she said before she closed the door and headed back into the night, feeling like she really needed a fucking drink right now. A drink and a cigarette.

    Dawn was rapidly approaching, painting hues of reds, purples and blues as birds chirped overhead. There was only one place that she knew nearby that would still be open. And so she headed straight for TeeNay, it was a strip club yes, but at least it was somewhere warm she could sit for a while as she tried to figure out what to do next.

[elvendara]

YOORAN Week Day 1 First Meeting/First Kiss

Man, after reading all the fics that have already been posted, mine doesn’t seem as good! LOL, but, here ya go @yooranweek my Day 1 contribution. First Meeting/First Kiss? Why  not both???!!!

Yoosung had never been more frightened, the man standing in front of him was disheveled and crazed. His dark hair was greasy and lank. He was much bigger than him and the knife he held in his right hand was already coated with Yoosung’s blood. He held his hand over the wound on his left upper arm, it began to slip through his fingers. He’d already given the man his bag with his laptop in it, and any money he had on him, which wasn’t much, yet the man would not leave him alone.

He stepped up to him and Yoosung pressed his back into the wall, turning his face away. The man dropped the bag and dragged the blade of his knife through Yoosung’s hair.

“You’re a pretty boy…. if I squint, you look just like a girl, how bout it? Those lips wrapped around my junk would be sompin to see.” He slurred, his alcohol infused breath made Yoosung gag. He whimpered and tried to push past the man. But he grabbed Yoosung’s hurt arm and yanked him back against the wall, pressing himself against Yoosung. Yoosung gasped at the shooting pain, the man didn’t seem to mind getting blood all over himself.

“Stop! Please!” Yoosung yelled, his good arm between them, trying to keep the bigger man at bay. The man slid his leg between Yoosung’s and ground himself against him. Yoosung screamed and desperately shoved against him. His struggles only made the man laugh. Suddenly the press of his body was gone and Yoosung could breathe again. He gasped and bent over, his stomach lurched and he divested himself of what small amount of lunch he’d had hours before. He began to dry heave, his head exploding with the effort.

He was somewhat aware of the scuffle happening just behind him, but his ears were muffled and he was busy trying not to die as his body attempted to dislodge his stomach and spit it on the ground. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked back, hitting the wall hard, his arm out in a warding motion.

A taller man with shockingly red hair, dressed in leather pants and a leather jacket stepped back, holding his hands up.

“Whoah, hey, calm down. You ok?” he asked in a low husky voice. His amber eyes scanned Yoosung and lit on his right arm that was now covered in blood. “Can I?” he gestured to Yoosung’s wound. Yoosung dropped his arm and nodded, he felt woozy and used the wall to keep him up. He glanced around the area, the man was gone. He gasped as his savior lifted the sleeve of his shirt to check the wound. It felt as if he had had to pull the fabric out of the wound itself.

“Sorry.” His voice was soft and gentle, Yoosung studied his profile. He looked older than him, his cheeks were rounded, his chin pointed. His lips were full and pink and he couldn’t help but admire the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He wore a thick line of eyeliner around his eyes and there were several piercings covering his ear. He wore a thick black choker around his neck that matched the rest of his leather apparel. Yoosung had never seen anyone like this man before.

“It doesn’t look too deep, but, we should clean you up right away.” he stepped away from Yoosung and looked him up and down. He leaned over and grabbed the bag, handing it to Yoosung.

“Uh, thanks…” Yoosung wiped his hands on his shirt, attempting to dislodge as much blood as he could before grabbing the bag. He clutched it against his chest, his heart still pounding. He was shaking and tears were slowly trailing down his cheeks.

“Hey.” The man stood in front of Yoosung and he looked up at him with frightened eyes. “You’re ok now, take a deep breath.” He suggested. Yoosung closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then let it go slowly. He felt slightly better. At least his body had stopped trembling. “Uh, we can call the cops if you want. But you’d be standing here or down at the station giving a statement for the rest of the night. I’d ask you to keep me out of it, not feeling like hanging out with cops right now, ya know what I’m sayin’?”

Yoosung blinked at him and slowly shook his head. He was still shook up, and he probably should report the man, but, he just wanted to forget the whole thing.

“OK, if you’re sure. Come on then.” the man said and started walking. Yoosung was rooted to the spot, confused.

The man stopped and turned back towards the blonde, he walked back and grabbed his good hand, pulling him gently. Yoosung began to follow. They stopped in front of a motorcycle. The man handed Yoosung a helmet. “Put this on.”

Yoosung looked at it and blinked. He pulled the bookbag strap over his head and across his chest, pushing it to his back. He gingerly took the helmet and set it on his head. The strange man straddled the bike and sat as far to the front as he could. “Get on.” Yoosung did as he was asked, wondering at how easily he trusted this man. What if he was like the other one? Could he blindly let himself be led to a different location? He supposed that yes, he could, since he sat behind the man and wrapped his arms around his waist. The bike roared into life and jerked forward so fast that Yoosung tightened his hold and pressed himself against his back.

Soon enough they were in a nicer neighborhood and he followed the man up some steps into an apartment building. They took the stairs three floors up and entered one of the many doors in the hallway. Yoosung was still in a fuzz, not really paying any attention to much.

He let the man lead him to a chair and sit him down. He went into what appeared to be a bathroom and came back with a first aid kit.

Yoosung glanced around the apartment, it was small, but extremely tidy.

“I’m Saeran by the way.” The man introduced himself.

“Y…Yoosung.” Saeran looked up at him a small smile on his face. “What?” Yoosung asked.

“Nothing, it’s, it’s just a pretty name.” he grinned. Yoosung closed his eyes and gulped. He was used to being teased.

He opened them again and kept his gaze away from what Saeran was doing. He hissed when he felt the antiseptic being applied. He focused his attention on the apartment. It was pretty sparse, yet appeared to well lived in. There were several books scattered around the surfaces and a small bookcase next to a small TV.

“What?” Saeran interrupted his musings.

“Huh?” Yoosung asked, confused.

“Something wrong with my apartment?” his eyes narrowed.

“No! No, not at all, it’s just, so…clean.” Yoosung finished lamely.

Saeran laughed, “What did you expect?”

Yoosung shrugged, “I don’t know, beer cans littering the floor, cigarettes in an overflowing ashtray, pizza boxes all over the coffee table.” Yoosung smiled.

Saeran chuckled as he wrapped Yoosung’s wound and taped it. “Nope, I don’t drink, or smoke, but I do love pizza! There, how’s that?” he sat back on his chair.

Yoosung moved his arm, it still ached, but the burning pain was gone mostly. “Better, thanks.”

“What were you doing there anyway? You don’t belong around here.”

“Oh, I’ve been interning at the vet clinic. I’m not familiar with the area yet, so, I took a wrong turn somewhere trying to get back to the bus stop.”

Saeran nodded. “Vet clinic huh?”

“Yeah, I’m studying to be a vet, it’s part of my clinical trial.”

“How old are you?” Saeran suddenly asked.

“Uh, 22.”

“Wow, older than I thought, but pretty young to almost be a vet.” Saeran sounded impressed.

“I guess. What about you? What do you do?”

“A little of this, a little of that. Right now, I’m a bouncer at a local bar.”

“Wow, you must be pretty intimidating.”

Saeran laughed and stood, cleaning up his mess and tossing it in the trash.

“Nope, people underestimate me cause I’m not as muscular as some big bouncers. They are quickly disabused of that impression though. Want something to drink? I have water, soda, maybe some tea? I can make tea.”

“You don’t have to go through any trouble.”

“No trouble, uh, but first.” He went into a different room, Yoosung assumed it was his bedroom, and came back out rapidly.

“Here.” He tossed a clean t-shirt at him.

“Thanks, uh, can I use your bathroom?” he asked.

“Yep, go ahead.” His back was to Yoosung, rooting around the kitchen.

Yoosung closed the door to the bathroom and leaned against it. His hands went to his hair and tangled his fingers in it. What was he doing here? Who was this guy? His heart was still racing and he couldn’t think straight. He should leave. Make an excuse and leave. But he had no idea where he was. He stripped his shirt off and turned the water on. He scrubbed his hands and arms, ridding himself of the caked-on blood. The water ran crimson as it swirled down the drain. He scrubbed his face and tried to get the dried bits of blood out of his hair. His hairpins were nowhere to be seen, he must have lost them in the ally. Finally, he put on Saeran’s shirt. It was huge on him. Yoosung sighed, feeling as if he still had a boy’s body. He peered into his own eyes in the mirror above the sink. There were dark circles under his lavender eyes and they looked puffy and red from his tears. He splashed water on his face once more and dried it with the towel hanging on the wall. He unzipped his pants and let out a sigh as he relieved himself, he was thankful he hadn’t wet himself as well. He was sure Saeran’s pants would not fit him at all. He giggled at the mental image that had brought. Shaking himself he zipped back up and flushed. Washing his hands, he finally felt ready to step back outside.

Saeran was setting down two cups on his small kitchen table, he looked up and smiled when Yoosung stepped out. His stare began to make Yoosung uncomfortable, but before he could say anything, Saeran looked away and walked back towards the stove. He took the kettle off and poured hot water into the cups, a bag of tea steeping in the steaming liquid. He set the kettle back on the stove burner and grabbed a plate full of cookies and candies. He set it in the center of the table and sat, waiting for Yoosung to join him.

Yoosung cleared his throat, well, he’d already gone through all the trouble, it would be rude for Yoosung to just leave. He made his way back to the chair and sat.

“Sugar or honey? I brought them both out, I didn’t know which you preferred.” Saeran said, he pushed the tray towards Yoosung. “You might be hungry, after losing everything in your stomach.” He teased.

“You really didn’t have to.” Yoosung said as he reached out for a cookie.

Saeran shrugged. “It’s not a bother. I have a sweet tooth, so, my pantry is always full of this shit. I don’t normally have people over though, well, except for my brother, you’re the first person to even set foot in my apartment.” He chuckled.

“Really?” Yoosung said, surprised, even more surprised by the fact that he felt special all of a sudden. He felt his face flush and lowered it to keep Saeran from seeing how flustered he was.

He could feel Saeran’s eyes on him, but he nibbled on the cookie, his eyes down, hiding.

“You have a brother?” Yoosung asked, to fill the silence. Saeran leaned over the table on his forearms, hands clasped in front of him.

“Yeah, twin actually. If I ever need a lot of cash I ask him.”

“Oh? He’s rich?”

“I guess? I don’t know, but I mean, I don’t get a hand out, I help him sometimes with what he does. He works for some agency or something. He just tells me what to do and I do it.” “What kind of agency? Is he a criminal?” Yoosung asked, his cookie forgotten.

Saeran laughed and leaned back on his chair. “God, no! I mean, he likes to skirt the edge, maybe dip a toe on the other side, but no, he’s not a criminal. He mostly gathers information, it’s all there on the internet if you know where to look, and you don’t even have to do anything illegal to find it. People put everything online these days.”

“Oh, So, you’re a hacker?”

“Sometimes I guess, yes. But, unlike my brother, I’m not that into it, you know? I’d rather work with my hands.” He held up his hands and Yoosung couldn’t help but notice how nice his fingers looked as he waggled them.

They sat, drinking tea and eating sweets, Yoosung found himself spilling his life story, such as it was, to the yellow eyed man. He became rather comfortable with him when he realized that it had gotten extremely dark outside. “Oh, man, I should get going. Thank you for helping me, but I should get home before it gets too much later.”

Saeran stood with Yoosung and handed him his bookbag. “I tried to get the blood off, but you can still kinda see it. Uh, why don’t I give you a ride home.” He suggested.

“Thanks, for everything, I owe you my life.” Yoosung exclaimed.

“That’s a bit dramatic, at the most, I saved your virginity.” Saeran grinned.

Yoosung blushed from the tips of his ears to his toes. How would he know Yoosung was still a virgin?

Saeran laughed, “Hey, don’t worry about it.” Yoosung’s face flared even redder as he realized Saeran hadn’t known, but Yoosung’s reaction had told him the truth. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“No, uh, I don’t want to be any more trouble, if you could just tell me where the nearest bus stop is, I’d appreciate it.” Yoosung shuffled his feet, more embarrassed than he had ever been in his life, he had to get outside and into some fresh air.

“OK, if that’s what you want, I’ll walk you there.” Saeran stepped around Yoosung and pulled open the front door, holding it open for Yoosung.

“Alright.” Yoosung agreed and stepped out, making his way towards the stairs. They were out on the street in no time and Yoosung took a deep breath, letting the wind ruffle his hair. He opened his eyes and was startled that Saeran was gazing at him intently, a small smile on his face. He lowered his gaze immediately. “Uh, which way?” he asked, his nails raking the strap of his bookbag. He scanned the street up and down, anything to keep his gaze away from the taller man.

Saeran turned and began walking down the street. “This way.” He stuck his hands in his jacket and Yoosung followed his long strides. He kept glancing at the other man, his profile highlighted by the streetlamps. There were few people on the streets at this hour, but most of them acknowledged Saeran with a wave or a ‘hello’. Saeran would just nod or extend his chin in greeting.

“You seem to know a lot of people.” Yoosung said, even more curious about the man, he seemed so aloof, nothing like what he had been like in his apartment.

Saeran shrugged. “I guess. I don’t really have any friends though. Just my brother, and, well, I can only take him in small doses.” He grinned as he thought about his brother.

“He’s different from you?”

“Yep. Kinda fun though, people like him a lot.”

“People seem to like you too.” Yoosung observed.

“Nah, I mean, yeah I guess, but not the same. I prefer hanging out on my own. I’m pretty boring.”

“I don’t think you’re boring. I…I enjoyed spending time with you.” Yoosung blushed again, what was wrong with him? Instead of freaking out over the assault he’d experienced, all he could think about was how cozy and comfortable Saeran’s apartment was. He’d felt so safe with Saeran.

Saeran smiled, “Thanks, but, I think you’re different from most people.”

Yoosung stopped walking and turned to the taller man. “Me? Why?” his eyebrows furrowed.

Saeran shrugged again, but Yoosung noticed that there was a splash of blush across his cheeks, highlighting his brown freckles. Yoosung’s heart thudded against his ribs and he swallowed painfully. He said nothing but turned and continued to walk. Saeran kept pace with him. He could see the bus stop up ahead. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

They reached it in silence. Yoosung stood in front of the bench, Saeran leaned against the post of the overhang. Yoosung didn’t know what else to say and he felt Saeran’s eyes on him. the back of his neck broke out in a sweat and reached around to wipe it. He could hear Saeran shuffling behind and to the left of him. He saw him peripherally but couldn’t bring himself to turn towards him.

He saw the big blue bus down the street and realized he would soon be on it and might never see Saeran again.

“Hey.” He heard behind him, Yoosung turned and Saeran was so close Yoosung took a step back. Saeran took the step with him, he slid his hand around Yoosung’s neck and leaned in, less than an inch from his face. He cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. Yoosung’s breath caught, his adams apple bobbing up and down rapidly. He closed his eyes and parted his lips. What was he doing? His first kiss wasn’t supposed to be like this. For one, Saeran was very much not female, for another, his heart should be pounding, his hands sweating, his toes curling, he gasped into Saeran’s mouth when their lips met and the realization hit him that all of those things were occurring. His heart felt as if it was going to tear a hole through his chest. His wiped his hands on his pants but it did not get rid of the dampness that had settled there. His toes were digging into the soles of his shoes. He grabbed a hold of Saeran’s jacket and sighed. Saeran slid his tongue inside Yoosung’s mouth and it tasted sweet, like the peppermint candy he’d popped in his mouth more than an hour before. He vaguely heard the rumble of the bus at it settled behind him. Saeran pulled away too soon, a half smile on his lips. He stepped back, “Maybe you can come visit me sometime.” He said.

Yoosung’s head was still swimming.

“You getting on kid?” the bus driver prodded.

Saeran snickered and winked at Yoosung.

“Uh, yeah, ok.” In a daze he turned and stepped onto the bus. He pulled his bus card from his back pocket and swiped it easily. He found a seat quickly. He turned to watch Saeran as the bus lurched forward. He was still there. He lifted his hand and waved. Yoosung placed his palm against the window and stayed that way until he could no longer see Saeran. He sat back and closed his eyes. As far as life experiences went, he was sure he was going to remember that kiss long after he’d forgotten the assault.

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