#do heed that tw though. i get a little intense in this one

[mars-ipan]

Mars i fear i may be dying of the plague. I have coughed blood into my sink twice now and my throat feels like I gave really aggressive oral to a scrubdaddy spongue.

Do you have any priest au thoughts/scenarios/rambles to sooth a troublde lad such as mysrlf🙏🙏

hemo. as a guy who has also coughed up blood somewhat recently. it may be time to go to an urgent care and make sure it’s nothing serious. there’s a pretty nasty pneumonia going around rn and if that IS what it is the sooner you get those antibiotics the faster you’ll recover.

as for priest au stuffs: the election kinda killed my creative flow (we’re ballin but we’re stressed) BUT i’ve been trying to flesh out hajime’s backstory a bit for the the past few days so here’s some bullet point brainstorming on that :D

check under the cut for the goods, as per usual ^_^ tw for mentions of child abuse, and also a general warning for priest au-typical horny talk and homophobia

i’ve been thinking abt hajime’s childhood/past a lot, partially bc i don’t feel fully confident writing him until i have the details of his backstory fleshed out. i think his dad was more of the aggressive “no son of mine” type of homophobic, where his mom was more of the “hate the sin love the sinner” type of homophobic. it’s cliché maybe but like. traditional catholic family values yanno. his family does differ from traditional catholicism in one way though: hajime is an only child.

i don’t think hajime was ever The Manliest Man growing up. yeah he was strong from helping on the farm, but he never felt the need to flaunt his masculine attributes. he never wanted to impress girls, he never initiated an arm-wrestling contest, and once he hit teenagerhood he quit wrestling with his friends altogether. when his friends asked him why he never roughhouses with them anymore, he tensed up and mumbled something about it being “weird” and “immature.”

he showed a lot of delicacy towards nature as well, a trait he carries into adulthood! rescuing turtles from roads, gently rehoming bugs, taking care not to step on wildflowers, that sort of thing. he was teased for this growing up :( he’d be compared to a disney princess and the like or just be called a pussy for Caring About The World Around Him. while he still loves nature and knows there’s nothing wrong with that, he does get embarrassed if his gentleness is pointed out— he’s anticipating some sort of reprimand.

been trying to think about hajime’s gay awakening. i imagine once he hit puberty he started having vague… thoughts. they weren’t attached to anyone but he kept it secret anyways since Lust Is A Sin and Masturbation Is A Sin Too and he’s not interested in growing hair on his palms or going blind (he later finds out that those are myths, but for now he heeds the tales), nor is he interested in the scolding he would get from his parents if they found out. from there we have two main options as i see it.

option A: in a parallel of the magazine he finds in Jabberwock, teen!hajime comes across some sort of gay porn. it’s completely accidental— he finds a mag or some other paraphernalia in a log or something, opens it, Realizes what is is, looks around for witnesses, and quickly stuffs it into his jacket. he’s not even sure why, but he knows he’s curious. as soon as he gets home he hides it between his mattress and his bedframe, and that night, when he’s sure his parents are asleep, he grabs a flashlight and starts to look through it. he doesn’t understand why he’s so fascinated until he realizes: he’s breathing heavily, hot in the face, absentmindedly rubbing his thighs together, and, most incriminatingly of all, he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life. mortified, he shoves the magazine back under his mattress and tries his best to forget about what he saw, tossing and turning as he tries to calm down and go to sleep.

option B: hajime is really close with one of his peers. they’re childhood friends, and they’ve gotten along great forever. at some point, though, hajime starts feeling weird around him. not BAD weird, but… he’s nervous, and his skin seems to buzz whenever they touch, and his heart flutters when he makes his friend laugh, and… he can’t make sense of it all. not until he wakes up one night from a particularly vivid dream, chest heaving, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his sheets soiled with the evidence of his subconscious sin. he realizes what’s going on, and his heart sinks into his stomach. he does his best to ignore it, but it haunts him.

we could also combine these options and say both of these things happen, but idk yet. i like the loneliness of the porn but i also like the guilt of having to talk to your close friend and pretend you aren’t feeling confusing and frightening things for them.

hajime lives at home until his early adulthood, when he is Caught. if we went with option A for his awakening, then he comes home one day to find The Porn sitting on the kitchen table, its pages now crinkled from years of viewing, and his heart sinks into his stomach. he’s not sure how they found it— maybe his mom was cleaning his room and lifted his mattress? but it doesn’t matter— they Know now, and he has no way to explain himself.

if we go with option B, hajime is caught with that “good friend” of his. he had snuck in via hajime’s bedroom window, at a time they both were sure hajime’s parents would be asleep. unfortunately, hajime’s dad comes up to his room (hajime never learns the original intent of this visit) and opens the door to find his son, hair and clothes a mess, with the neighbor boy straddling his thighs, hands clearly paused in the middle of lifting up his son’s shirt. it’s silent for a bit, and the tension in the air is so heavy hajime feels like he can barely breathe. still, he breaks out of the stupor first, muttering a quiet “you need to go” to his friend without breaking eye contact with his father. the friend gets the message and bolts, leaving via the same window he came from. hajime is now alone with his father, so guilty and scared that he feels nauseous.

regardless of which of these events occurs, the outcome is the same. hajime’s father responds first, yelling and berating. hajime is terrified— he’s seen his dad mad, but never like this. never shouting obscenities and vile words at him. when told to explain himself hajime stumbles over his words, eventually landing on some variant of “i don’t know.” eventually, his father decides words aren’t punishment enough, and hajime gets the shit beat out of him for the first time in his life. he tries to defend himself, but he’s never been much of a fighter, and he doesn’t want to hit his dad, self defense or not. when his father finally storms off, his mother comes near, her eyes brimming with tears. she holds her arms out to hajime, tells her baby to come here. hajime, aching and bruised and perhaps with a freshly broken nose, collapses into his mother’s arms, silently crying into her shoulder as she pets his hair. she holds him close, rocking them from side to side, before she speaks. “oh, hajime, darling,” she starts, voice thick with tears and love, “i’m sorry. we’ve failed you, haven’t we? that’s why you’re doing this to us.” hajime’s stomach curdles at those words, and he quickly excuses himself, washing the blood off his face in the bathroom sink before he locks himself in his room.

regardless of the guilt he carries— he knew he was sinning, after all— hajime knows he is no longer safe at home. his father had never beat him like that before, and he doesn’t know that he would be able to walk away if it happened again. he doesn’t want to leave his mother, but he could tell that she was disgusted by him, too, her words still echoing in his mind. so, hajime packs as many of his things as he can fit into his suitcase, and the next day he leaves town, never letting himself look back. he job hops for a bit before he manages to get his house in Jabberwock— he got really, really lucky with the price of the property.

hajime hasn’t talked to anyone from his hometown since he left, and while he still has his parents’ landline number memorized, he doesn’t dare call. his dad’s probably disowned him, anyhow. sometimes he wonders how the people he grew up with are doing, but he can’t bring himself to go back. it’s not home anymore.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

From an old WIP of mine that I might well revive :) TW for implied pregnancy horror

So, that night, I stood out in the field, wearing nothing but my nightdress. The fresh spring air made me shiver, but I would not abandon my post. "Lord Eril'sarniel, angelic messenger of the Father-King, hear me," I hissed through chattering teeth. "I beg you, great angel. Please."

He did not appear. "Your holiness," I murmured, desperate, "Great, wise angel, please, deliver me from my suffering."

He did not respond. "I have been a loyal follower of the Haven-King my whole life," I practically wept, falling to my knees in a prostration that would have awed the most senior nuns. "Heed me, for the sake of my beloved sister. Simply show yourself, and let the world hear His message."

He did not care. Why would he, that sanctimonious, self-righteous little prick? "Eril'sarniel, get your flamboyant arse over here now!" I practically screamed the words, fed up and tired as I was. "Fuck you and your stupid messages! Get off your high horse and do something for one, damn you!"

The angel materialised in a sudden gust of wind that made me chilled to the bone. "Yes, child?" His demeanor was icy cold, but… Was that the hint of a smile on his lips? "You have summoned me, as few mortals may. Now, explain yourself."

I stared at him, startled out of my wits. For all my anger, I had not truly expected to summon him. It had simply been a way to rage at the unfairness of it all, to vent the coiling spring within my chest. "I- I need you to repeat your message to my family. They don't believe me, or Sally."

He shrugged elegantly. "I deliver my message to the one who is to receive it. It is not my place to interfere in the lives of mortals beyond my messages," he said, and his eyes, eerily pale and devoid of emotion, bore into me.

"Than what are you here? What stupid message do you have for me?" I hated him with a stunning intensity, the same rage I reserved for the useless man who had knocked up Suzanne.

"My message," he said, leaning in closer, "is to stop shooting the messenger. I cannot help you. It is not permitted." He looked up, as though searching for a sign. Or a god in the sky, looking down upon us. "I must deliver my message, whether I like it or not. I have as little choice in this matter as your little sister." He swallowed, a barely perceptible bobbing of his throat. "But I will tell you this. Do not bother convincing them. They will see the truth soon enough. If you truly mean to protect your sister, look for a witch doctor. They can rid her of her unborn child."

I gaped. "Are you… Helping me?" I had simply thought to yell at him, or perhaps to prove to my mother that I was not lying. Aid, true aid, I had not even dared hope for.

"I am merely delivering a message, from one Angel Eril'sarnial to one Sharron Westerly," he said smoothly. Yes, he was definitely smiling, I realised. It was a small smile, more visible in the eyes than in the lips, but it was there nonetheless. "I would never dream of disobeying His Majesty, even should I disagree with his choices."

I could not help but smile back at him. For all the grimness, I had someone on my side. Someone who believed I could save Sally. "Thank you," I whispered.

"Godspeed, little warrior," he told me, disappearing before I had time to realise he had not called me 'child'.

Xena’s Share Day

i want to see your characters beg! show us a passage in which they’re begging for something, someone maybe. do they have a hard time asking for anything? will they get on their knees and plead? let us see!

[yanyanimagines]

Yandere Alphabet: Naoto Shirogane (Persona 4)

This is super scuffed...I wanted to write something to celebrate my return really quick. Asks are open, am writing for P4 and P5 as well as many other fandoms, don't be afraid to ask!!

Alphabet taken from @dear-yandere

------

------

tw: abuse, obsessive behavior, implied r*pe

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Naoto often shows their love and affection through small gifts, chocolates, notes, etc. They never get too intense…unless your relationship is going poorly.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

They are more than willing to get messy if it comes down to it, they are generous enough to send a warning first. If said warning is not heeded, they’ll find themselves part of a deadly accident.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Naoto would never mock their darling, they treat their darling with respect and care.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Naoto does pretty much everything for you, they feed you, clothe you, bathe you…so you really shouldn’t be surprised when they get a little bit handsy with you, especially after a long day.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

They bare a surprising amount to their darling, especially when they are cuddling close to you on those special late nights.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

They hate it, they go through all this trouble to take care of you and this is how they get treated? They do understand though, they’ll be patient…for now.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

This is hardly a game, this is very serious business. Although a small part of them does seem to take some sadistic joy watching you attempt to escape…perhaps they should make a game out of it~

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

The absolute worst experience is one late night, Naoto had been working on a particularly frustrating case, one with no leads in sight. They were drinking, something they don’t often do. It had been fine…up until you sarcastically reminded them of your current predicament. Their patience finally runs out and they absolutely lose their shit. Screaming, hitting, and drunken rambling ensues.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

They really, really want a domestic darling, one who stays at home and cooks, cleans, greets them with a kiss after a long day of work…the whole nine yards, they can’t help but fantasize about it as they snuggle up next to their darling.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Although they reiterate over and over that they’re not jealous, they most certainly are. Often they can cope by just being around you, but if you’re not there well…hopefully they’re in a good mood that day.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

They’re very handsy, always trying to be connected with you in some way. Always holding your hand, always cuddling or resting their head on your shoulder.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

They love to leave you cryptic love notes, along with little ‘tokens’ of their love. They’re too embarrassed to ever really confess in person.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

They’re certainly a lot more affectionate and open with their darling when compared to other people, but otherwise not much different.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Isolation, whenever their darling gets ‘naughty’ they get brought down to the basement and forced to spend an indeterminate amount of time in the dark, cold, cramped confines until they deem them ready to come back out.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

They want their darling to be free, they really do. But they have to take away certain rights in order to make sure that their darling is nice and compliant.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

They’re patient to a point, if their darling starts misbehaving and they’ve had a bad day, there will be hell to pay.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If their darling ever leaves or escapes, they could never let them go. They’ll go to the ends of the earth and whatever resources they have at their disposal to find them. If their darling ever died, they’d be absolutely heartbroken, and would never be able to get over their end.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

There are certainly times when they feel guilty about taking their darling away, but they always remind themselves of why they did this in the first place, to protect them from the dangers of the world.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Simply their protectiveness, in their mind you are too innocent for this world. They need to protect you, they’re the only one who can.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

They feel guilty, it hurts to see you distraught like this. They don’t want this, they didn’t want this. But they’ll be patient, they’ll sit and wait for you to calm down so they can comfort you.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

They’re a lot more reserved and quiet than your average yandere. They hardly ever acknowledge your rivals, believing that they are the only one for you.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

There’s not much exploiting a detective, they can see through your feeble attempts at bargaining and manipulation.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Only if their darling is acting up, then they might get met with a slap to the face. In general however, they don’t like seeing their darling in pain.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

They love their darling so so much, they would do absolutely anything for them. They really do worship their darling in that regard (as well as in some less than sfw concepts buuuuuut)

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

It really does vary, all it takes is one incident for them to steal you away from the world, away from anything that could even come close to hurting you. They won’t let you get hurt.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not on purpose, they love you for you, if you ever broke they’d be beside themselves with guilt. Some of their punishments however, just might break you…

[cdroloisms]

Do you think c! Quackity are skilled on the mastering of "necessary convincing" on a person? And man the stream yesterday was so intense dark theme.

hello ! 

this is testament of how behind i am in asks, haha, considering this was sent basically at the beginning of q’s visits and it’s been ,, uh ,, several months since then ASJKFLJAS - but im going to try to answer it now while pretending that we dont have months proving that c!quackity is very willing to do whatever the hell it takes to get the revive book from someone.

i think that the ,, technicalities? of the torture were never an issue - everyone in the dream smp universe has to know how to use a weapon in its most basic form, after all, just to defend themselves from mobs and stuff, tho some people are clearly more adept at using them than others. torture is ultimately just hurting someone until they do what you want them to do (way oversimplified, but this definition works here) - physically, if you’re able to kill a zombie, there’s functionally little different with inflicting harm on a defenseless unarmed human with no means of defending themselves.

the real challenge, as with most things in the minecraft roleplay, comes from the mental side - how far is c!quackity really willing to go? obviously he *can* hurt someone, but doing so also tends to go against a lot of our most basic instincts as humans. defying that becomes the real question to consider - and c!quackity, in his increased willingness to hurt not only c!dream, but everyone as he’s manipulated people more and used people more for his own gain in the last few months, seems to providing as much of an answer as we’re going to get. 

this obviously isnt to say that he isn’t conflicted, or that he’s pure evil !! but c!quackity, by his own admission, seems to hold little trust for other people and ideals anymore. his main goal is Las Nevadas and whatever he needs to make it great - anything and everything else is either a means to his end or an obstacle in his way. i dont doubt that there are chinks to this mindset to exploit, things that he cares about enough to take his single-minded focus off of Las Nevadas. as of now, though, i don’t think that torturing c!dream and the violence it’ll require of him will be that breaking point.

anyway, have a really dark snippet exploring c!quackity some more !! he’s really fun to write, though i don’t think i’ve really mastered his voice yet - practice makes perfect, i guess. heed the warnings and hope you enjoy! 

tw: torture, abuse, blood, injuries, branding, violence, death mention, abuse apologism, mental deterioration, dark content, dark imagery, very dark portrayal of c!quackity, pandora’s vault/prison arc

There’s a certain learning curve that comes with torturing someone.

It sounds obvious, thinking back, as much as it sounds morbid as all hell, but it’s not like he’s in any position to judge. Quackity swipes another stack of iron from a chest, momentarily grumbling about the cost, before melting down three ingots for the blade of his next axe. He could just do it in a crafting table, but there’s a degree of calm in the monotony of doing it all by hand, slowly watching as the iron begins to glow red hot in the heat of the furnace and then hammering it into shape on his anvil. He hadn’t been good at it before, had let Sapnap do the majority of the smithing for the three of them in the past, but. Well.

When you’re eating through several sets of iron tools a week, either from bending them out of shape against unforgiving obsidian or melting the blades past saving in lava or burning them all entirely, when he’s too tired to be bothered cleaning off the blood and simply chucks the used tools after a session into the molten rock outside the cell, you kind of have to figure out how to make your own shit so others don’t get suspicious.

He beats the metal into a block, humming softly over the clangs of his hammer. There’s definitely a learning curve to crafting weapons, too - he’s pretty proud of the ones that he can make, now, even though he’s still no good at any of the fancier furnishings and finishes (nor does he particularly care about them). Figuring out how to torture someone effectively was a similarly slow process - finding their limits and how far to push before something, inevitably, gives. He hadn’t exactly handled it the best in the first few visits, usually retching into the nearest wastebasket at the smell, at the feeling of blood coating his fingertips, at the screams ringing incessantly in his head. It wasn’t all that long before he forwent sleep altogether, devoting all of his time on paperwork and calls and anything that would deafen the cries that would’ve haunted him otherwise. He was no good with his tools, either - more than a few times, in those early visits, did he end up slicing too deep or going too far and needing to cut the session short for Sam to come in and administer health pots before Dream died and rendered all of their efforts useless.

(Sapnap had been the one to first teach him how to wield an axe, correcting his stance and his grip with gentle, calloused hands. He remembers them training on the newly laid dirt surface of Mexican L’manburg, sweat dripping down his neck from the sun beating against their heavy armor, Sap laughing at his unbalanced, heavy-armed swings and demonstrating with his own weapon, movements fluid and graceful as if it was an extension of his own arm. In the cell, he thinks of Sapnap’s voice, firm in his focus - feet at least shoulder width apart, hands braced on the axe handle, left sitting just above the end and the right just a few inches below the head - and swings.)

It had been...a process. A bloody, often painful process - his hands are calloused, now, in ways they never were before, from the constant handling of his many tools. His back aches constantly from bending over, and his shirt - more often splattered with blood than not - now bears some permanent pink stains that he can’t get out no matter how hard he tries. (The laundry, he thinks wryly, had been a hell of a learning process as well.) He picks up the metal with a pair of tongs, easing it back under the fire’s heat until it glows a soft pink, and then places it back onto the anvil to work - slowly beating the metal into shape.

He’s had to learn a lot. The lessons are fascinating, in a gruesome, morbid sort of way. He’d brought a brand the other day, painstakingly carved into a fancy, curlicued Q all on his own, used in his work at Las Nevadas originally to finish furnishing a few pieces of leather furniture he had scattered around the city. As Dream struggled under him, skin blackening under the white-hot metal, he’d immersed himself in the sight, far more similar to his past leatherwork than he might’ve originally expected. He almost wanted to do it again, just to compare, but the stress of it all had been enough to knock the prisoner into shock, which had put a significant damper on the rest of his visit. He watches the iron glow contemplatively from his anvil, not nearly as hot as he works at it.

Another dip in the furnace later, it’s heated just enough to work out the finishings, and he carefully knocks the ends into a blade. Picking it up with a pair of tongs, he holds it up to a nearby piece of glowstone, grinning at the finished axe head. There’s still quite a bit to do, technically - he still needs to sharpen it along with the other ones he’s finished, as well as fasten them to their handles, but even so - it looks good. He examines it, back and front, against the light. It’s probably his best one yet.

Quackity smiles to himself as he puts it down with the rest, pulling out his calendar from behind him and carefully marking another red X over the date. Learning to torture someone takes a hell of a lot of time, but. Well.

He has all the time in the world.

[meta-squash]

So, last night I had a thought about self-harm (and addiction) and the reaction or framing from the press re: Richey Edwards vs Peter Doherty.

(This went off on a tangent, I’m sorry if it’s a little nonsensical and also I know my opinions are maybe kind of controversial.)

[Blanket TW for discussion of self-harm, eating disorders, and addiction in this post]

My best friend and I were having a conversation last night about self-harm as a coping mechanism and how people who have never self-harmed before don’t understand it and don’t know how to react to it, among other aspects of the subject. Later that got my brain on a different train going in a similar direction but a different destination.

I was thinking about the difference between the media interest surrounding Richey Edwards and Peter Doherty, and how the media framed their struggles and problems etc. (There is a slight difference between the two given that the Manics never got huge in the media and Richey wasn’t around for the explosion of internet tabloid culture.)

But my thought starts out with this: Peter and Richey seem to have done similar types of self-harm in similar amounts, and yet it is Richey’s self-harm that got all the media attention. Richey’s alcoholism and anorexia were not as chaotic or as....public?...as Peter’s drug problems, but it was all but ignored by the media even when he was fairly open about it.

Aside from the original 4REAL incident, which was a complex combination of situationist spectacle, self-expression/release of frustration, and intense message to the industry, Richey’s other moments of self-harm seem to be a more (for lack of a better word) normal level; they seem to have mostly been smaller, shallower cuts or cigarette burns. Aside from the one other recorded incident in Amsterdam ‘94 where Richey cut his chest enough to need stitches, there are no other instances on record of moments at the level of the 4REAL incident. Richey’s moments of self-harm seemed to typically be a more moderate coping mechanism rather than a tendency towards grievous injury. And yet the media’s main focus when it came to Richey was his self-harm and the spectacle of it rather than his lyrics or his other obvious struggles with alcohol and eating disorders.

And it’s interesting to compare that to Peter’s self-harm. I don’t think he’s ever had a moment like 4REAL, but he has used moderate cutting and cigarette burns presumably as a coping mechanism. His “strop” at Brixton ‘04 being the most outwardly dramatic and maybe the closest to 4REAL. But there are plenty of photos or footage of him with visible cuts and/or cigarette burns. And yet it doesn’t seem to be something the press really cared about.

On the flip side, there’s Peter’s addiction and all the media craze surrounding that. (As an aside, I cannot imagine how awful it must have been to have the media obsessing over your drug use while telling you to get better while essentially being its cause.) The press practically documented Peter’s every move re: his drug use and addiction. It was sensationalized and plastered everywhere and this obsessive attention was placed on it.

Which is the opposite of what happened to Richey’s problems. He talked fairly openly about his alcoholism in a number of interviews but rarely was he directly asked about it. Off the top of my head I can’t think of any interview that directly asked him about his eating disorders either, but he did mention some aspects of that in a few interviews (most notably his last ever TV interview for some Swedish channel).

Part of this difference in media focus kind of makes sense. The media picks the thing that’s more dramatic and crazy-sounding and a bigger spectacle. For Richey, it was self-harm, because he started with a proverbial bang by coming out the gate with the 4REAL incident that catapulted the Manics into the eye of the industry proper (despite the fact that he never reached that intense level again). For Peter, it was his drug abuse partly because of its more widespread chaos (drinking alone in your room is not as interesting or glamourous as smoking crack at wild parties, plus a dramatic band breakup draws readers) and partly because of his proximity to Really Famous People (ie Kate).

I guess it just interests me how the media decides which thing is more “concerning” and how that false concern in fact fuels the very thing it pretends to be so worried about.

The 4REAL incident was a shocking thing; it seems as though over the years the remaining Manics have come to acknowledge that that was pretty much the point. Nicky called it an “amazing, fantastic statement” in the 98 Up Close documentary. It’s something that was outside of Richey’s other self-harm because it was very much for a spectacle (JDB does say in the same docu that he was pretty sure Richey had sort of planned it). But none of Richey’s other moments of self harm were as public or as performative. I’d even say his Bangkok chest-cutting was only partially performative, considering how horrific the band considers that trip to have been. But really, his self-harm seemed to be mostly a private, personal thing, a coping mechanism. And yet it was pretty much all the press focused on, ignoring the alcoholism and anorexia that a) were likely actually affecting his ability to function and b) were likely bigger problems that the self-harm was used to balance out. The remaining band have talked about Richey’s drinking and how it affected him and made it difficult for him to function, and none of them ever really talk about Richey’s anorexia but looking at photos of him in 1994 you can really see the toll it takes on him. But the press weren’t interested in that.

And again, similarly, Peter’s drug use was fascinating to the press because it was dramatic and chaotic and an interesting spectacle. But after reading the Books Of Albion etc it sure seems like the press were major instigators of a lot of Peter’s problems and his need to use drugs to cope and/or escape. They ignore his self-harm because it’s not as interesting as his addiction; the opposite of the “mundanity” of Richey’s introverted alcoholism.

The press chooses which problem it’s “concerned” about depending on which one is a more interesting, easily-maintained spectacle. If it can flaunt “concern” in order to goad or stress their victim into doing that thing more, it can perpetuate that cycle: “we’re so concerned about you, look we’ve written an article on your drug-induced antics/your dramatic self-harming tendencies with pictures and misquotes and misunderstanding, oh we’re so concerned we’ve parked ourselves outside your venue and/or house to ask intrusive questions about your problems rather than your art, wait why are you still struggling with this drug/self-harm problem we said we were concerned about you, look we’ve written another article about how you’re struggling and we’re concerned but we haven’t actually asked you what’s wrong or how to help or done the most obvious thing which is leave you alone” ad nauseum.

Plus, these things are always appropriated by the press rather than a request made for clarification from the person. The victim’s candid thoughts about their hurt or their reasons for needing this coping mechanisms are not actually heeded but are twisted round and into part of the “story” rather than taken seriously as an explanation or a plea for the media to fuck off because they’re exacerbating the problem.

And now I go into more theoretical ramblings.

(Side note and/or clarification or...something: I can speak from long-term experience when it comes to self-harm as a coping mechanism etc, but I have not personally dealt with drug addiction so when I’m talking about that, it’s definitely as an outsider. I have friends who are recovering addicts and who I’ve known during their more intense struggles but I have not experienced it myself, like, in my own brain/body.)

Something my best friend and I were discussing in the conversation that triggered this entire thought-train is self-harm as seen by outsiders/people who have never self-harmed or thought about it in any seriousness. (And here comes some more serious discussion, as a warning.)

We talked about how there really isn’t a good argument against self-harm as a coping mechanism. (And I know my opinions here are probably controversial.) Most seem to center around “healthy” coping mechanisms vs “unhealthy” but if it’s your own body and you aren’t hurting anyone else, who’s to say what’s what? The other problem re: “healthy” coping mechanisms (like taking a bath, treating yourself, etc) is that the concern against self-harm seems to be that it isn’t addressing the underlying issue that requires the coping mechanism. But neither does doing some skin care or eating an apple (that is, if the problem is a stressor outside of needing sustenance or being able to do something “relaxing” enough to actually relax). That isn’t to say that self-harm is a good reaction to every stressful moment, but it truly is a very singular type of stimulation and release that is sometimes the only effective method of reacting to and coping with an internal or external stressor.

As a clarification, most acts of self-harm are not to the severity level of 4REAL. Cigarette burns and collections of minor-to-moderate cuts are much more common, neither of which are particularly threatening to the overall wellbeing of the person.

The other thought about self-harm and the reason for the media’s focus on it is the discomfort of and fascination a “badge” of struggle. When you’re depressed and you can’t get out of bed, it’s not like you get up a few days later and there’s a big sign that says “Was Depressed, Couldn’t Move,” or if you feel stressed and overwhelmed so you go drink wine in the bath, you don’t spend the rest of the day with some sort of sign telling other people that you felt bad so you bathed. But self-harm is a personal coping mechanism with evidence attached. And that evidence makes people who can’t understand it uncomfortable. Self-harm leaves a mark which other people are confronted by and they don’t know how to react because they cannot imagine how that can be something that helps. Self-harm is a “badge” of struggle and/or coping--not that it’s a proud mark or anything, just that it’s visible to others in a way that stands out and is singled out. I’ve gone out in public in my pajamas after not getting out of bed for 5 days and nobody looked at me funny or asked me why I looked all rumpled. But I’ve had random strangers at the grocery store ask me about the self-harm scars on my upper arms. Scars are a sign of hurt or stress etc that are visible to others which means they feel compelled to confront their feelings about it and often come up uncomfortable and not understanding and confused.

Similarly, I think drug use/addiction can sometimes be a similar “badge” of struggle, especially if it’s apparent onstage or during various public appearances. It’s something that people outside of it don’t understand. Likely they don’t understand the use of drugs as something other than “for fun.” People don’t understand the depths of using drugs as escape from or coping with (or both) stressors. Raw dogging reality is kind of a tall order if reality is overwhelming and stressful to a degree that’s difficult or impossible to control and/or manage. Not to mention using drugs for coping or escape then can lead to dependency and addiction and that’s a whole new game. Because, you know, that’s the thing: it’s not just about kicking an addiction. If you try to kick an addiction without replacing it with something else, you can pretty easily fall back into it because it’s not just a physical dependency, it’s a way to deal with reality. If you’re trying to go from a using a crutch to deal with reality to straight up raw dogging it without a fallback crutch, it’s gonna be real hard. In terms of a “badge” of struggle I think that use of drugs where intoxication is more obvious or more intense than, say, weed, people are uncomfortable. With a drug’s effects on behavior, I’m sure, but also with the outward signs that the person is obviously using a coping mechanism to deal with stresses or hurts.

In both situations it’s an exposure of this internality that outsiders can’t fully understand or touch. Everyone’s reasons for self harm or drug use are going to be different. The “benefit” that the coping mechanism brings is going to be different for everyone. And it especially means that strangers who don’t have experience with these things cannot fathom them and cannot comprehend them. There’s that desire to understand, that curiosity, (and sometimes an actual desire to help), but no one can read another person’s mind or understand their internality completely, and the visuals of self harm or of drug use are a very intense and forward reminder of that.

And I think those “badges” of struggle are something the media loves to capitalize on, because they can be turned into a spectacle and can be monetized due to outsiders’ discomfort. People watch horror movies or read tabloids because it makes them uncomfortable from a safe distance; these things aren’t happening to them, but another person’s obvious pain/fear/sadness/struggle/etc is just discomforting and strange enough to evoke a dark fascination rather than a total rejection. And the cycle continues as the media capitalizes on their victim’s stress and their coping with that stress, and which then causes more stress which then causes a need for a more intense coping or escaping mechanism, etc.

To bring it back to my original point, the reason the press focused on Richey’s self-harm (despite it being not too terribly excessive or intense) and not his addiction or ED problems, and the reason the press focused on Peter’s addiction and not his self-harm is because of the degree and type of fascination/discomfort those things brought. Richey’s self-harm was interesting enough and obvious enough that they could show lurid photos of his scabs and scars and talk to him about it, but he did his drinking in private and didn’t really cause any sort of scene onstage. And Peter’s drug use was interesting enough and public enough that they could show lurid photos of it as well as collect all sorts of gossip and rumour and twisted-around tales while his self-harm clearly wasn’t as dramatic or fascinating to them. People can read the tabloids and be darkly fascinated by a person cutting themselves up but maybe not by someone drinking at night in their bed (because that’s boring to read about). People can read the tabloids and be gleefully horrified by abuse of class A drugs and the actions/behavior surrounding that but that’s going to be more interesting than a person stubbing a cigarette out on their arm in frustration and despair. It’s all about what can be painted in a more dramatic light. It’s all about what internal things can be made public.

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s Notes: Edit 4/27/2021: Modified a few scenes and added more bits of conversation!

TWs/CWs: mentions of past abuse, abusive parents, noncon elements courtesy of Niragi

III

hey girl, open your walls / play with your dolls / we'll be a perfect family

A tense silence had befallen the car.

Niragi had finally kept his mouth shut while Saiko drove in peace. Last Boss is staring blankly ahead, and Yamane’s sneaking wary glimpses at him. Across the horizon, the Seaside Paradise Tokyo comes into view, and Yamane almost jumps out of her seat.

“The Beach is Seaside Paradise?” she asks no one in particular, mouth agape as they approached. The walls had been spray painted red with the katakana for “Beach”, and Yamane can feel the bass pounding through her chest, even from their distance.

“What, a rat like you never been to a place this fancy before?” Saiko interrupts.

“...my father used to bring me with him while speaking to his business partners in the resort. The resort got their amenities from his company,” Yamane mutters in response, averting her gaze and choosing to look out the window again.

At her admission, Niragi and Saiko turn to her. “Was that company by any chance called Yamacorp? Oh, don’t tell me…” Niragi starts, smirking. Saiko is squinting, and after halting the car, she reaches back to squeeze Yamane’s face, taking a good look at her.

“You’re that disgraced Yamacorp heiress,” Saiko blurts out, letting go of Yamane’s face and setting her eyes on the road again. “Now I know why your name seemed familiar. Shit, and I almost didn’t recognize you because of your getup. Your story was all over the tabloids.”

The admission opened a can of worms and Yamane grimaced at herself. As she slumped back to her seat, she groans and leans her head against the backrest in resignation. “Can we not bring that up?”

“The tabloids said you flunked all your classes in university because you partied too much, and your parents cut you off, then you started sucking old men’s dicks so you can still afford all that shit you put on your face,” Saiko continues, smirking, not paying any heed to the other woman’ request. At that point, Yamane’s temper is starting to simmer underneath her stony expression.

“All the tabloids ever publish are sensationalist bullshit, and I already had the feeling that you’re the type to eat that all up without a second thought. I suggest you shut the hell up before I ruin your pretty face with my good arm.”

Brakes screeching, Saiko sneers and points a gun at Yamane’s face. “Niragi, control your new pet. She’s getting too mouthy.”

“Don’t tell me what to fucking do. Get her to shut up yourself,” Niragi says in response, pointing the barrel of his rifle at her, and his tongue slips out of his mouth, licking his sneering lips.

“I mean it,” Yamane challenges, temper flaring further.

Fingers itching for the dagger on her hip, Yamane gives the other woman a good look. Saiko’s taller, legs running for miles from what she can see; if the circumstances were different, she would’ve been Yamane’s type. It doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman, she preferred the tall ones. However, Saiko is being unnecessarily hostile. Being held against her will, coupled with the pain from her injury gave Yamane the urge to carve her face off.

She shudders at her own thoughts. They’re not a stable person’s urges.

“Take her word for it.” Last Boss says, and everyone’s attention shifts to him. Then, he turns to Yamane. “Yamaneko killed a man in our game, and assisted me with another.”

Upon hearing the new moniker, Yamane turns to the tattooed man, her eyes meeting his. The backrest is still warm when she leans back and looks away. “Wildcat? At least it’s better than ‘rat’,” she thought. She still didn’t expect it to come from Last Boss, of all people.

“Shut up and drive already,” Niragi scolds Saiko, and she rolls her eyes at him as she withdraws the gun from Yamane’s face. Fuming, Saiko steps on the gas and they continue speeding towards the Beach.

“So, are the rumors true though? Did you really suck dick to survive?” Saiko asks.

“What’s this, an interview? You don’t have one, so I guess you’ll never know. Next question.”

Niragi snickers, mumbling something to himself, while Saiko rolls her eyes.

“For some sheltered princess from a rich-ass family, you seem awfully calm with a gun pointed to your face. Care to share why?” she comments.

“Okay, interview’s over. I’m done talking about a life I’ve already left behind.”

To Yamane’s relief, the car was quiet once more. However, the thoughts of home continued to linger in her mind.

“Hey oneechan, when are you going to come visit?”

Truth be told, Yamane didn’t know what to say. All the other person on the other side of the line can hear is silence.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’m still here Mai,” replied Yamane, barely concealing the crack in her voice. “You know why I can’t go home again.”

“Mom is dead. Her funeral is tomorrow.”

Breathing in deep, the exiled daughter closes her eyes. “Mai, the last time she saw me, she slashed my arm with my own sewing shears.”

“I know, I know. You know, I admire you. I didn’t think I had it in you to defy our parents. You were so… pliable. No offense, sis.”

“Well, that was how I avoided punishment. Try to please them and hope that it’ll be enough for them to lay it off.”

Mai gives her sister a nervous laugh, and the conversation almost dies. In the background, a baby’s cry pierced the quiet and left both sisters speechless. If one listens close enough, they can hear Yamane’s breath hitching in her throat.

“Mai, was that a baby? Don’t tell me you got knocked up, dammit.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a baby. But it’s not mine. It’s dad’s. A boy, just six months old. He’s our little brother. His name is Riku.”

Pacing around and rubbing her face, the phone squeezed between her shoulder and cheek, Yamane groans. “Well, he finally got the damn son he wanted. So father is having an affair after all. I fucking knew it!” Yamane curses, pacing around.

With frustration, she kicks the metal trash can next to the kitchen counter. “Mom didn’t even need to hire that private investigator. I stalked father and that girl for months, and the first time I brought it up, mom gave me a beating for ‘daring to speak that way about my father’. Fucking waste of money confirming what we already knew.”

On the other side of the line, Mai chokes and sobs. “Hey, sis, can you take me with you?” Mai asks with a tremor to her voice, desperate to change the topic.

At that point, Yamane can feel the headache settling in. “Mai, please, not this again. We’ve talked about this before. You’re safe where you are, don’t make the same mistakes I did. Use our parents’ resources to get ahead, then cut them off when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, I’m safe, but I’m not free, like you. Poor Riku’s life is probably going to get micromanaged by father too. I don’t want to wait anymore. You know, I think I’d rather be working like you instead of being here. It must be nice, being free from my obligations as a daughter and a sister,” Mai huffed and sniffled.

Hand curling into a fist, Yamane does her best to stay calm despite the hostile shift in Mai’s words. “Cut that shit out, Mai. I already had a lecture on how I’m a terrible daughter from mom and father. I don’t need a lecture from you about how fucked up I am, I already know that.”

“I didn’t mean for it to come out that way,” Mai defends herself. “I just mean… I can’t take it anymore, oneechan. I’m at my limit.”

After a few tense moments, Yamane speaks again.

“I’m sorry Mai. I should be there, protecting you from father, but I chose to run after my pipe dream of going into fashion design,” Yamane continues, pulling the refrigerator door open to fetch a can of beer. She squeezes the phone between her cheek and shoulder again to open it, and she takes a long swig of the bitter beverage.

“I just miss you so much. Having you around made life a little easier. You were always there to defend me.”

Eyes blank and lips stained by beer, Yamane holds back the tears, opting to clear her throat. “I miss you too.”

Mai chuckles. “Hey, don’t forget about me once your clothes are on the cover of Vogue and Nylon, okay?”

Bitterly, brokenly, Yamane laughs. What a cruel joke it was, the punchline being her wages barely covering her expenses, and the fact that her savings are almost non-existent. At that rate, fashion design school seemed like something she’ll never set foot in. Not that she’d fit in there too; street fashion had always been her thing, not haute couture.

The bitter reality of her situation made Yamane give up on her own dreams long ago, but it seems Mai never gave up on her.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll come snatch you away from father.”

“Hey, maybe I could model your designs for you. You could model them yourself too.”

“Mai, my asscheeks are too fat for me to model anything.”

Laughter echoed in Yamane’s apartment that night. That was the last call she ever had with her little sister, and now that she’s in this world full of death games, it’s almost guaranteed that she’ll never hear her voice again.

The thoughts dissolved away piece by piece as the car halted. The bass was more intense than ever. Niragi and Saiko step out of the car, and Last Boss follows suit. Saiko begrudgingly opens the door for Yamane, and as Yamane ducked to get out of the car, the taller woman clamps an arm on her good shoulder. “You better watch your back, mouse girl.”

“Is that a threat?” Yamane asks, looking her in the eye.

“Advice. This place looks like paradise, but there are serpents crawling about.”

Exhaling sharply, Yamane scoffs, and they follow the two men inside the resort. The mouse’s eyes widened at what she saw. People are drinking, partying, and fucking under the sun, and it’s not even noon. People were clinking drinks together. A naked couple walks right past them and Yamane feels her face flush.

Without warning, Last Boss kicks a speaker over, abruptly stopping the music, and Niragi shouts at the crowd.

The sea of people parted as they made their way through, onlookers wary of the armed men. Seeing how the crowd reacted with fear at their arrival made Yamane’s pulse race. These men had to be dangerous for them to draw that kind of reaction, and she is getting involved. Instinctively, Yamane wraps her arms around herself.

“Stop acting like a damn wimp,” Saiko berates her, and Yamane snaps out of it, straightening her back and walking a little more taller.

“I’ll speak to the chief for now. Get her to the Hatter,” Niragi instructs.

“Hatter?”

Then, Niragi turns to Yamane, grabs her face, and gives her a parting lick.

“You need to fucking stop that,” Yamane hisses, though her body still trembles with fear. “At least ask for some damn permission.” Niragi responded by tugging at her bad arm, and the mouse couldn’t stop the soft hiss of pain from escaping through her teeth.

“The righteous and moral have no place here, where human nature reigns. You best learn it as soon as possible if you want to last here, mousy. I can fucking drag you to my room and take you as I please if I wanted to,” he sneers in Yamane’s ear, dragging that damned tongue on the sensitive skin of her neck.

The little dormouse found herself shuddering at the contact and she hated it.

Sure, he looks good, but he’s a bastard. Yamane’s hand curls into a fist, and she looks at the other two. Saiko is smirking, the look in her face telling Yamane that she’s amused by his discomfort. On the other hand, Last Boss just stares again, mouth twitching at the corner.

To Yamane’s shock, his arm shoots out from his side, and grabs her by the elbow. His grip was strong but it wasn’t uncomfortable, and he had the decency not to go for the injured arm.

“She’s your problem now,” Saiko says nonchalantly, and walks away. Grinning, Niragi looks at his companion and walks away, rifle slung over his shoulder.

People in the hallways stayed close to the walls, whispering amongst each other as Last Boss dragged Yamane inside the building, whose legs were having trouble keeping up with his strides.

“Move, he’s one of the militants,” one of the residents whispered to another.

“Who’s he with? Someone new?”

“Probably the military sect’s fresh meat. Or a toy.”

Mouth dry, Yamane gulps at the comments. She looks up to the man holding her by the elbow, her mind racing, wondering if he’s anything like Niragi, or if he’d force himself upon her like Niragi had threatened to do.

One thing was certain, however. Yamane preferred his silence to Niragi’s loud mouth. Silence isn’t a thing she had the luxury of enjoying in her previous life.

And speaking of her previous life, it’s probably something she should stop thinking about now. Yamane needs to worry about what’s happening now. Surviving both death games and life in this “Beach” needed to be her top priority. Getting her shoulder treated is the first step, and somehow, Yamane is thankful they brought her here.

Last Boss brings her into a large room, where several people have gathered, pushing her down a chair. A man with shoulder-length hair and facial hair stands at the end of the table, grinning.

“What’s this? Another addition to our lovely paradise! Welcome to the Beach,” he announces, pacing around with his arms wide open. “I’ve heard good things about you, girl. Helping our military sect members clear a Seven of Clubs game? Quite an impressive feat for a newcomer. Who are you?”

“Minami Yamane.” She pauses. “You must be the Hatter.”

“I am indeed. And I,” he pauses, pointing to his tag, “am the number one player in the Beach.”

Yamane takes note of the tags on the Beach members’ wrists, and for the first time, sees the numbers on them. Her eyes then flick towards Last Boss’ tag. Number eight.

“What do these ranks mean? Are there benefits to them?” Yamane asks him.

“These ranks,” Hatter starts, circling Yamane, “are the order of who gets to return to the original world. I have heard from a reliable source that collecting all playing cards would grant one player the ability to go back. Then, when another set of cards are completed, the next person shall follow them.”

The red curtains in the middle of the room parts, revealing a tally of the cards the Beach has collected.

“Those who can clear more games and contribute more cards have higher ranks, and are closer to leaving this country. For helping Niragi and Last Boss clear a Seven of Clubs, we’ll consider moving your rank up higher.”

“That’ll take forever,” Yamane comments, earning her an amused grin from the number one player.

“Which is why this utopia is created so that players can combine their efforts until there are none left on the Beach,” Hatter explains, triumphantly shaking a fist. Yamane shakes her head.

”I guess it can’t be helped. Is it safe to assume that I am allowed to visit the Beach as long as I keep contributing cards?”

Hatter laughs, striding towards her. “Smart girl. You’re already figuring out how things work here. But you got one thing wrong: you’re not just a visitor. You’re a member now. And membership comes with its rules.”

The doors swing open, revealing Niragi, a few more militants, and a man who is leading them. Judging from his looks, Yamane thought he might be in law enforcement, or even the SDF.

“Ah, Aguni. You’re late,” Hatter groans. The bald man grunts and takes a seat at the table.

“I had matters to attend to,” replied Aguni, terse, gruff. Yamane couldn’t help but feel nervous.

“Sure you do,” Hatter replies, chuckling. “You’re just in time. I was about to explain the rules to the newcomer your underlings brought us.”

“The military sect’s chief,” Yamane mumbles, and Niragi steps closer to smirk at her face. “You’re figuring that out just now?” he asks, mockery dripping from his voice, and he attempts to lick Yamane’s face again. This time, she dodges, giving Niragi a glare.

“Ah, ah, as number one, I am obligated to maintain order. Niragi, back off from the little lady. We’re digressing from our purpose of being here!”

Niragi gives Hatter a dirty look and steps away from her.

“Yamane, listen closely. Rule number one, always wear a swimsuit.”

Yamane gave the leader of the Beach a bewildered look. “Huh?”

“Can’t hide weapons in a swimsuit now, can’t you? But of course, if Aguni accepts you as a member of the militants, you’ll be allowed to carry one. Isn’t that right?”

Aguni doesn’t speak, only offering him a grunt. Hatter then walks towards the windows, sunlight streaming through the curtains. “Rule number two. Be free to live your life exactly as you wish. Hell, you can drink, do drugs, have sex as much as you want!”

The prospect piqued Yamane’s interest. Freedom to live her life as she wished was something she didn’t get to enjoy in the real world.

“I accept the rules,” she declares, earning her a chuckle from a few of the members.

“Ah, but you’re getting ahead of yourself, dear Yamane. There’s a third rule. Remember what I said about you being a member of the Beach now? Membership is for life. And if you should choose to run away, hide a card from the Beach, or refuse to surrender a card to the Beach? Well…”

Last Boss gets behind Yamane’s chair, and he tilts Yamane’s head with one hand, while angling the sword under her chin with another. Yamane gulps, looking at the sharp blade that’s mere inches from her neck, and goosebumps are forming on her skin from the tattooed man’s cold fingers.

“Rule number 3. Death to traitors.”

Yamane looks up to Last Boss, then her eyes flick towards Niragi, her body trembling in indignation. “You. You two brought me here so I’ll never escape your sights,” she seethes.

“What are you talking about?” Niragi asks her, feigning innocence. “We lost a man in that club game, and we needed a replacement, remember? But I guess, now that you’re never allowed to leave, why don’t we have some fun while we’re all here?”

Refusing to give Niragi any more attention, Yamane turns to the Hatter. “I take it back. I refuse to stay here.”

“You can’t refuse the Beach now. Besides, you have an injury. Only we can help you. We have doctors, we have specialists who maintain the plumbing and electricity, and we have enough rooms. You’ll have food, medicine, and comfort here.”

Grinning, Niragi comes closer again, crouching to look the mouse in the eye. “You should be thanking us, mousy.”

Sighing, Yamane relents. “Fine.”

The Hatter smiles. Another soul is successfully lured to this “paradise”.

As the meeting adjourned, Aguni approaches Yamane, sizing her up.

“Niragi. This one better not disappoint,” he grunts. “Last Boss, get her to the clinic. She’ll be a liability with her injuries.”

At the order, Last Boss grabs Yamane by the elbow again and they set off. Yamane looks back to Niragi, then to Aguni, and proceeds to do her best to catch up with the tall, tattooed man’s strides once more.

Upon their arrival at the makeshift clinic, the bustle of the clinic fell into a hush. Patients and medics alike stop to gawk at the militant dragging a young woman inside.

He says nothing and waits by the door. A doctor wearing a red one piece swimsuit underneath a coat approaches Yamane carefully.

“How can I help you?”

“I have a dislocated shoulder,” Yamane mutters. “I need it treated so it won’t hinder my future games.”

“I’m Doctor Lilian Sunohara,” the doctor introduces herself. “If you ever get hurt in one of the games, you can come here to get yourself patched up.” Cautiously, nervously, Sunohara approaches Yamane and begins to administer her care, starting with setting her bones.

After applying a sling, Dr. Sunohara stands up and fetches a bottle of painkillers from the cabinet. Yamane couldn’t help but gawk at the stockpile of medicine. “I haven’t seen you around before,” said the doctor, voice low.

“Him and another man called Niragi brought me here,” Yamane explains. The look of concern in Sunohara’s face and the cautious look from the other patients says it all.

That’s when it finally sinks in; Yamane’s aware that she’s associated with the militants now, and people are avoiding her like the plague.

[forgedirons]

              *     so  like.  yeah.  it  me,  cc.  i  can’t  read,  spell,  or  write  –  &  yet  i  joined  this  anyway  because  i  am  are  in  love  with  you  all.  anyway.

❛           𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬     ›     𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔     .  

the   communication's   chair   of   the   yale's   elite,   they're   twenty-two   and   a   senior   undergrad   student   majoring   in   print   journalism.   they   are   as   vigilant   as   they   are   importunate.

blackmail  :

(i).  despite claiming to be a journalist that holds the truth over everything, she's being paid off by an embezzling official & keeping the funds for her own personal spending. 

(ii).  she won her current internship by sabotaging her competitors with “strategic investigating”, which she then used against them by creating a gossip buzz under an anonymous pseudonym. 

(iii). death tw: claims that her parents passed away her freshman year of undergrad and uses it as a way to avoid talking about how they’re in prison ( & how it’s her testimony that landed them there ).

 ❛           𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬     ›     𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒     .    

you  wear  sorrow  well,  grief  is  not  a  compliment  –  nor  is  it  to  be  romanticized.  your  heart’s  always  been  broken  &  you  doubt  it  was  ever  whole  to  begin  with.  behind  closed  eyes,  maroon  rose  petals  fall  onto  a  fresh  blanket  of  white  snow;  your  fingers  are  pricked  by  the  thorns  while  you  open  your  eyes  to  the  flickering  lamp  in  your  room.  cloaked  in  shadows,  red  string  is  strung  across  a  board,  connecting  clues  that  nobody  else  but  you  seems  to  see.  you  are  meant  for  so  much  more  than  this  run  down  shack,  you’ve  always  told  yourself  this  –  you  wonder  if  anyone  else  is  listening  (  but,  you’ve  always  been  alone;  your  words  have  always  bounced  back  onto  your  own  skin  ).

 ❛           𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦    ›     𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒     .  

                           ✧  *   core  

↠  full  name  .  isabeau  hwang  . ↠ nickname(s)  /  alias(es)  /   title(s)  .  (  off  brand  )  nancy  drew,  isa,  is,  beau  . ↠  age  /  dob  .  twenty  -  two  /  march,  19  . ↠  hometown  .  ?  idk?  kansas  somewhere  . ↠  current  location  .  yale  idk  what  city  it’s  in  don’t  @  me  . ↠  ethnicity  .  korean  . ↠  nationality  .  american  . ↠  gender .  cis  gender  woman  . ↠  pronouns .  she  /  her  . ↠  orientation  .  bisexual  ,  grayromantic  . ↠  occupation  .  undergraduate  student  . ↠  face  claim  .  kim  sojung  (  sowon  )  .

       ✧  *   countenance

↠  height  .  five  feet,  eight  inches  (  172  cm  ) ↠  build .  slim,  well  toned  but  tall  –  slim  /  athletic. ↠  tattoos  .  be  good,  on  the  inside  of  her  left  middle  finger.  also,  this.  ↠  piercings  .  ears  . ↠  scars  .  a  couple,  none  too  prominent  . ↠  hair .  kept  long  &  though  she  seems  to  sport  a  different  color  every  year  since  arriving  on  campus,  she’s  recently  dyed  it  back  to  a  natural  shade  of  black.  it’s  always  in  place  &  always  styled  neatly,  whether  it’s  pulled  back  or  curled  (  to  pretentiously  imperfectly  perfection  )  . ↠  eyes  .  dark  brown  &  often  inquisitive,  like  she’s  trying  to  solve  a  riddle  that  nobody  else  is  in  on  except  herself.  half  of  the  time,  they’re  hidden  behind  gold  -  rimmed  glasses  that  look  a  little  too  expensive  for  someone  of  her  background,  but  she  otherwise  wears  contacts.  has  really  bad  vision,  though,  &  is  a  blind  bitch  . ↠  clothing  style  .  best  described  as  business  casual,  semi-formal,  professional  but  make  it  chic.  lots  of  skirts,  lots  of  turtlenecks,  long  coats  &  expensive  fabrics  that  all  coordinate  to  make  her  look  either  like  she  just  walked  out  of  a  dark  academia  novel  or  a  meeting  with  the  president  of  the  school  where  she  did  nothing  but  argue.  very  rarely  seen  in  sweats  or  anything  “bummy”  –  maybe  she  cares  too  much  about  her  image. ↠  usual  expression  .  resting  bitch  face  –  but  promote  it.  she  just  looks  unapproachable  in  general,  her  usual  expression  is  something  between  disgust  &  apathy,  it  makes  her  look  like  she’s  consistently  looking  at  her  surroundings  &  being  very  displeased  with  everything  around  her  (  it’s  because  she  made  the  face  too  much  as  a  kid,  now  it’s  stuck  that  way  )  . ↠  speech  .  elegant  &  well  -  thought  out.  everything  she  says  sounds  like  it’s  rehearsed  &  practiced,  like  she  wakes  up  in  the  morning  &  writes  a  script  for  her  entire  day.  she  very  obviously  thinks  before  she  speaks,  always,  &  tries  to  sound  like  she  looks,  but  catch  her  without  anyone  around  &  she  speaks  a  lot  like  the  trailer  trash  she  really  is  . ↠  distinguishing  features  .  intense  eyes  that  make  her  look  like  she  always  knows  someone’s  secret,  the  slight  lopsided  grin  –  she  might  be  smirking  or  maybe  she  just  knows  something  you  don’t,  finely  shaped  eyebrows  idk  dude

       ✧  *  ruminations    

↠  (  +  )  positive .  vigilant  ,  heedful  ,  aspiring ↠  (  -  )  negative  .  importunate  ,  reckless  ,  impetuous ↠  moral  alignment  .  true  neutral  -  neutral  evil ↠  likes  .  her  designated  corner  of  the  library  –  especially  late  at  night  when  she  can  sigh  super  loudly  without  anyone  glaring  at  her,  iced  americanos  but  only  on  rainy  days  &  only  on  rainy  days  where  she  wears  her  glasses,  the  feeling  &  the  smell  of  solid  cash,  putting  together  the  pieces  of  a  puzzle  that  she’s  been  working  on  for  a  long  time  (  investigations  or  not  ),  stargazing  but  only  on  beaches  &  only  during  the  wintertime  . ↠  dislikes  .  any  other  journalist  ever,  any  pop  beverages  (  because  she  also  doesn’t  like  to  burp ),  the  smell  of  chlorine  or  gasoline  or  freshly  cut  grass,  being  touched  by  strangers  in  any  sort  of  instance,  waking  up  before  ten  in  the  morning  (  staying  up  until  10  am  however,  different  story  ),  know  it  all  TA’s,  professors  who  can’t  debate  her  for  more  than  fifteen  minutes ↠  quirks  .  always  has  a  small,  moleskin  notebook  on  her  person  that  she’ll  pull  out  to  write  little  notes  in,  has  amazing  penmanship,  speaking  of  –  only  ever  writes  in  pen  &  never  uses  anything  else  to  write,  squints  &  digs  her  front  teeth  into  her  tongue  when  she’s  really  focusing  on  something  . ↠  hobbies  .  disappearing  for  long  periods  of  time  just  to  resurface  &  act  like  nothing  happened  (  solving  mysteries,  like  nancy  drew  ),  being  the  first  to  let  her  opinion  be  heard  by  anyone  who  happens  to  be  nearby,  starting  fights  &  finishing  them  by  cheating.

❛           𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲     ›     𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄     .

trigger  warnings : death  ,  lots  of  illegal  activity

       ✧  *  ISABEAU.

        *     she’s  born  to  a  wanted  pair  .  with  bounties  &  rewards  attached  to  their  mugshots,  they  bring  a  baby  into  the  world  &  decide  to  bring  her  along  for  the  ride.  named  isabeau,  her  first  memory  is  watching  the  door  while  her  parents  count  money  on  a  motel  bed  behind  her.  her  first  word  is  “fuck!”  while  she  rides  in  the  backseat  of  a  stolen  pick  up  truck,  a  toddler  clutching  a  stolen  baby  toy  while  wearing  clothes  that  definitely  don’t  belong  to  her.  whether  it’s  inherited  or  not,  she  grasps  greed  &  holds  it  as  her  biggest  sin.  much  like  her  father,  in  that  aspect  –  there’s  nothing  more  she  craves  than  having  more.  more  money,  more  lust,  more  power,  more  reputation  –  more,  more,  more.  it  sits  in  her  gut  like  a  waning  hunger  she’ll  never  get  rid  of  –  but,  she  doesn’t  know  what  to  call  it  for  almost  her  entire  life. 

she’s  not  the  eldest  of  the  crew.  her  sister  is  three  years  older  than  her  &  much  more  kind  than  anyone  else  in  the  family  will  ever  be.  where  isabeau  takes  after  their  parents  (  often  described  as  ruthless,  greedy,  selfish  &  reckless  ),  pippa  was  her  own  person  through  &  through.  she  was  soft,  &  sweet,  &  she  always  did  what  was  right.  though,  she  was  raised  to  believe  that  lying  to  the  police  was  right,  &  that  stealing  in  the  supermarkets  was  the  right  thing  to  do.  growing  up,  though,  isabeau  always  sort  of  knew  that  it  was  really  just  her  &  pippa  against  the  world.  their  parents,  however  eccentric,  were  often  absent  &  left  them  alone  for  days  on  end  –  only  to  return  with  more  trouble  on  their  hands.

eventually,  they  decided  to  settle  in  buttcrack  nowhere,  kansas  in  the  smallest,  shittiest  trailer  park  they  could  find.  it  was  one  small  trailer  that  kept  the  hwang  family  together;  isabeau  &  pippa  sleeping  on  a  couch  -  turned  -  bed,  their  parents  on  the  big  one  in  the  back.  she  gets  enrolled  in  school  &  is  taught  to  never  tell  anyone  who  her  parents  are  or  what  they  do  for  a  living  (  which,  including  robbery,  dealing,  blackmailing,  etc.  is  a  lot  )  otherwise  she’ll  get  in  a  lot  of  trouble.  but  isabeau  is  a  curious  girl,  she  watches  everything  unfold  in  front  of  her  &  always  wants  to  know  more  (  &  more,  &  more,  &  more  ).

one  of  the  brightest  of  her  class  in  the  small  town,  she  grows  to  be  somewhat  of  a  nancy  drew.  people  of  the  town  know  her,  they  give  her  their  problems  &  missing  cats  &  disappearing  letters  &  mismatched  shoes  to  solve.  isabeau,  no  matter  how  troubled,  is  smart  &  the  townspeople  know  it.  looking  back  on  it,  she’ll  always  remark  that  they  were  trying  to  help  her,  but  she  only  ever  saw  it  as  something  to  do.  her  biggest  case,  finding  a  missing  girl  in  the  seventh  grade  –  her  smallest  case,  finding  a  coin  purse  that  someone  misplaced.

in  eighth  grade,  she  starts  her  own  newspaper  at  school  where  she  publishes  stories  of  her  investigations.  initially,  it’s  just  something  to  keep  her  at  school  longer  (  because,  home  isn’t  really  where  she  wants  to  be  –  she’s  old  enough  now  to  realize  home  isn’t  home  ),  but  she  learns  how  good  she  is  at  it.  creating  pieces,  interviewing  people,  just,  plain  writing  –  it’s  her  thing.  her  english  teacher  (  mrs.  kenningston  )  encourages  her  &  gets  her  a  freelance  spot  with  the  town  newspaper.

things  are  great  for  isabeau  in  high  school.  she’s  popular,  editor  of  the  school  newspaper,  amateur  detective  &  freelance  reporter  for  the  town  newspaper.  her  goal  is  to  get  out  of  town,  to  get  far  away  from  her  family  &  become  some  sort  of  lois  lane.  freshman  year,  her  sister  graduates  high  school  &  is  set  to  go  to  ksu  –  before  sophomore  year,  isabeau’s  burying  her  sister  in  the  graveyard  of  a  town  they  both  hated.  a  freak  accident,  the  newspaper  reports  –  &  for  a  month,  everyone  believes  it.  but,  sophomore  year  starts  &  isabeau  anonymously  testifies  against  her  parents  in  court;  their  recklessness,  along  with  their  shady  dealings  led  to  the  death  of  not  only  pippa,  but  a  group  of  graduated  teenagers  in  town.  the  hwang  parents  go  away  for  life  on  isabeau’s  testimony,  &  she’s  never  seen  in  town  again. 

by  dumb  luck,  she’s  adopted  into  a  middle-class  family  somewhere  in  vermont  &  sent  to  a  very  good  school  that  looks  very  good  on  her  transcripts.  she  goes  into  overdrive  trying  to  bury  her  past,  carefully  crafting  herself  a  new  identity  with  each  year  that  passes  in  her  high  school  career.  things  get  buried,  people  are  swayed  –  isabeau  hwang  isn’t  the  same  isabeau  hwang  from  that  small  town  in  kansas  who  saved  a  group  of  children,  she  isn’t  the  isabeau  hwang  who  befriended  the  unfriendly  folks  on  the  outskirts  of  town  that  people  thought  were  possessed.  isabeau  hwang  from  vermont  is  a  very  lucky  girl  with  a  troubling  past  she  doesn’t  talk  about,  but  manages  to  graduate  top  of  her  class  with  offers  from  three  ivy  league  colleges  &  every  other  school  she  applied  to.  that’s  all  she  offers,  that’s  all  most  people  know.

at  yale,  she  works  even  harder  to  maintain  her  reputation.  she’s  the  girl  who’ll  go  places,  a  poor  girl  who’ll  get  into  yale’s  elites,  the  girl  who  nobody  wants  to  argue  with.  on  campus,  she’s  loud,  she’s  opinionated  &  she’s  (  or,  thinks  she’s  )  powerful.  a  member  of  the  school  newspaper,  her  pieces  are  quick  to  be  published  &  even  quicker  to  gain  traction.  isabeau,  a  nosy  investigator  at  heart,  chooses  to  publish  stories  that  grab  attention  &  often  expose  a  thing  or  two  –  she  gains  a  small  following  just  because  she  tends  to  always  know  a  thing  or  two  about  a  thing  or  two.

it’s  obvious  she  had  her  eye  set  on  the  elites  from  the  moment  she  stepped  foot  onto  campus,  &  after  fighting  tooth  &  nail  to  gain  a  reputation  (  as  an  opinionated,  over  -  achieving,  pretentious  shrew  of  a  person  ),  she  argues  her  way  into  the  elites.  in  her  own  words,  it’s  much  better  to  have  her  on  their  side  rather  than  have  her  against  them  (  empty  threat,  what  she  gonna  do,  she  have  no  money  really  ).  at  the  moment,  it  looks  like  she’s  really  gotten  everything  she’s  dreamed  of  –  but  isabeau  hwang  deals  in  greed,  &  all  she  wants  now  is  more,  more,  more

[asteraegis]

i dont know what to say for myself honestly.

for the love of god take heed of the tags before beginning. i really fucked edward up and ive written a smut specifically about choking him out.

its from edward’s POV btw

Tags: Deimos! Alexios/ANGST/mild to moderate violence/assault TW/choking/slapping/M|M/blowjob/cream pie/rimjob/spanking/biting/breathplay/aggressive dom/masochism/sadism/forced submission/rawing/knifeplay/top dom! Alexios/bottom sub! Edward

6122 words.

I felt his stare burning into my skin. Why was he so interested in me?

I had just introduced myself to him as one should to new recruits, that’s all. He had nodded in response, looking down on me with those dark eyes I’ve learned to fear. If I had known Alexios’ past beforehand, well, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so casual when greeting him. This man, he was a murderer of hundreds of people, if not thousands. I mean, I know I’m not one to judge seeing as I was a pirate, but the people I killed then were mainly by canons on a ship, not with my hands. And now I’ve had this brooding shadow looming over me every day since I met him, his glare following me everywhere I go. I’m usually one to confront this sort of behavior, but with the rumors of his temper…

Needless to say, this Alexios fellow would not let me out of his sight. Even in my own room at night with the door locked and curtains drawn I felt his intensity. Had I done something to anger him? Why can’t I shake this brute from me?

However, this night was something different. It had been lashing down rain all day and with dusk approaching the weather still wasn’t letting up. I had been stuck at one of my usual haunts since the afternoon, stopping in originally for a couple quick drinks afore heading home. But being holed up in a pub for so long causes barflies to swarm around you. A couple rough looking gents with scars to suggest they’re naturals at picking fights had been looking me up and down for the past hour and it was beginning to get on my nerves. Figures, I can’t go anywhere without some kind of nasty look tossed my way. I turned my head to look out the tavern’s window at the rain. It had lightened up slightly but that wasn’t saying much. But seeing as I left my phone back at my apartment there really was no reason for me to pissed about being soaked during the walk home. I sighed and handed the bartender a tip.

“Don’t seem like it’s letting up any time soon, mate, I’ll just suffer through it,” I muttered, finishing my third drink of the evening.

“Aye, just don’t drown, Kenway,” he nodded and with that I left the bar.

I had only gone about a block before I heard gruff voices call out and heavyset footsteps approaching with haste. Blast it, those codgers are lookin’ for a brawl, I thought as I looked over my shoulder to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, the two men from the pub that were glaring at me were chasing after me. I began to run, not in the mood to fight them in a storm and hoping me speeding my pace would cause them to give up. Unfortunately, they didn’t give up and began cackling behind me.

“Where you goin’ blondie?” I heard one of them holler. “We just want to chat!”

I stepped wrong while running and it sent a surge of pain up my left leg, making me stumble a little. I hadn’t fallen, but the mistake did hurt quite a bit. I tried to bare the feeling long enough to turn the next block’s corner into a secluded road only about a block from my apartment. Once I reached the dirt path, I hurried behind a dumpster and massaged my knee. It must have popped from a bad foot placement. A slick sidewalk is never good running conditions, and it doesn’t help that I was wearing sandals. I slowed my breathing, expecting that the men would’ve just ran past this road. That is until one of the blokes took a fistful of my hair and dragged me from behind the dumpster in front of their partner. With his boot pushing me into the sludge I just wanted to slap myself for thinking they wouldn’t see the muddy foot prints I had left behind while I ran for cover.

The one that had caught me kneeled down over my back, lifting my head up to look at the other while restraining my arms. “Well, what d'ya think, man?”

His friend grinned, unbuckling his belt. “Yeah, this punk’ll do just fine.”

Ah. So, it wasn’t a fight they wanted. I writhed under the man and managed to buck him off, only for his accomplice to quickly grab me by the throat and pin me against the wall. He had a sick grin on his face and the sinister aura of it was only heightened by his grey eyes and the rain dripping down his cheeks. The other one punched me in the jaw while grey eyes held me still. I grunted, the hand on my throat flexing.

“Thought you could just run off again, sweetheart?” grey eyes sneered, leaning into my face in a way I’m assuming was meant to intimidate me. “Why don’t you just play along and we’ll let you go when we’re done, eh?”

Now, spitting in those pretty eyes of his probably wasn’t the smartest thing I could have done, but shit, it’s what I did. He grimaced and I managed to knee him in the crotch. He let go of my neck and I began to run off again but his pal tackled me to the ground. He held my face in the mud to stifle my yelp while grey eyes stomped on my ribcage.

“You ugly son of a whore!” he snapped. “We tried to play nice but now I’m gonna kill you and set your body ablaze in that dumpster once we’re finished!”

My head was lifted from the ground so I could look at him. I spat mud out of my mouth and smirked, knowing it’d only piss grey eyes off more. “Like you and your buddy have the stones for that.”

I wonder if he felt strong when he kicked my cheek. It’ll leave a bruise yes but I think me biting his cock off when he tries to force it down my throat will hurt him worse. I regrettably never got to enact my revenge on him though.

“Get off him,” a rough voice demanded through the rain.

I don’t remember much of what happened next. Grey eyes ordered his friend to knock me out so I wouldn’t run off while they dealt with the man. Shame. I would’ve loved to watch the fight.

When I opened my eyes next, I was at my apartment in my bath tub. The curtain was open and a man was standing in jeans and a white tank top. Red splotches dotted and splattered his clothes. He was rinsing his hands in my sink, blood washing off them, his knuckles raw. My eyes explored up his scarred arms to his face and that’s when my heart dropped. Alexios was in my bathroom. Why was he here? Why was I naked? Why was he covered in blood? How had he got in here? I must’ve made some sort of noise trying to figure out what to do about this situation because he looked at me in the mirror. I sunk down in the water, afraid of his plans with me.

“Hmph. You’re awake,” he huffed.

I recognized the voice. He was the man in the alley that intervened. That only brought up more questions in my head. “Why–”

“I hope you don’t mind me letting myself in while you were out–”

“Why am I naked?” I blurted out.

He looked confused about me interrupting him at first, but a snide smile spread on his face. “You were covered in mud, Edward.”

“How’d we get in here?”

“You’ve got keys, don’t you?”

I bit my lip and glared at him. Sass, huh? I studied his shirt again and noticed dirt down his right shoulder. He must have carried me here after giving those blighters what for. Still, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him stripping me while I was out cold. He lifted off his tank top and tossed it in my hamper, using one of my towels to wipe the smudges off his arm. It was my first time seeing him without something over his torso and all I could think was that he was chiseled like a damn statue. He put that rag in the hamper, too, then turned his attention to me.  

“You could at least thank me for saving your skin and washing you, boy,” he said, a blank expression I couldn’t decipher on his face.

My ears got hot. He washed me? Just thinking of his hands rubbing down my body… Jaysus… “Uh, right. Thanks.”

He nodded and moved over to stand over me. “You’ve been soaking long enough; I think it’s time we got you out and dried you off.”

Alexios reached down to lift me out of the tub but I squirmed out of the way. “I-I can stand myself, mate. Just… can you fetch me some trousers?”

He huffed, almost seeming disappointed in my competence. After he left the room I stood and dried myself off with a towel. I wrapped it around my waist, bending over to drain the tub. I flinched when I heard the floorboards creak outside the bathroom door. I knew he was standing there but he wasn’t saying anything, just watching me with those shadowy eyes. When I turned around, he handed me some bottoms—a pair of white swim trunks that wouldn’t even reach mid-thigh. I sighed but took them from him regardless.

I went to slide the shorts on but his stare not breaking from me caused my hands to hesitate. “Do you mind, mate?”

“No,” he said, still not breaking eye contact with my skin.

I blushed and positioned myself away from him, but even with my face away from his I could still feel his gaze. I attempted to wriggle into the trunks while I had the towel around my waist but right before I could pull them all the way up it fell to the floor. I hastily tugged the shorts on, now more than ever unable to look Alex in the eye, though based off the low snicker behind me he enjoyed my mishap. Figures. I shifted to have my face toward him but still wouldn’t look at his face. He seemed able to detect that I was unsure of him. From the mirror I was able to spy his grin as his own gaze met mine in the reflection. Against my own wishes my eyes instinctively darted away to the floor and he laughed louder.

“Tell me, blondie,” his voice sounded like a wolf’s growl as he approached me slowly. “do you fear me?”

I didn’t answer him. Both because I couldn’t find the courage to say no and even if I said so I’m sure he could detect I was lying. Now standing inches from me I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I’ve never felt so terrified and I’ve had swords to my throat, been beaten half to death, and survived multiple shipwrecks. I’m not sure what I was expecting him to do to me, but grab my pony tail and wrench my hair down so my neck was straining to look at him wasn’t it. He looked livid with me. I pushed away from him but he shoved me against the wall, the back of my head slamming up against the tiles. I yelped but Alexios slapped me across the face with the back of his hand and grabbed my jaw to keep my eyes focused on him, his fingers digging into my skin.

“When I ask you a question, answer me,” he snarled. “Got that?”

I tried to speak when he asked; I really did. But my body was trembling and it didn’t help when he shook me. I could feel that there was water in my eyes but I couldn’t tell if I actually had started crying when he shook me the second time, I just started shouting out an answer. My voice felt like a foreign object in my mouth, I couldn’t control anything I said to him. “Yes! All right? I am afraid of you mate! And why shouldn’t I be? I’ve heard plenty of stories on how ruthless you are and now I’m pinned to my own wall half naked being shouted at by you, you fucking knave! Now either kill me too or let go of me!”

Alexios stood like a brick wall when I attempted yet again to push him off me. There was nothing in his expression. He was just, watching. His grip on my face didn’t change for what felt like hours so I stared back at him, wondering if he could crush my jaw in his hand. From this close to him, mere breaths away, I studied him as he always did me. Alexios’ eyes were intense, but I could feel there was something behind them, something that almost felt like innocence broken by misplaced trust. He had a scar on his left cheek that cut through the top of his eyebrow. There was sleeplessness under his eyes creating dark circles. With all this mutual observing I wondered if he felt anything looking at me. After an eternity he at last blinked a few times and his hands dropped to my shoulders. His visage softened and I realized I still had my hands pushing against him. When I began to take them away, he suddenly wrapped his arms around me in a hard embrace. My face was pressed into his neck while he held me, his head against mine. I could feel his heart beating against my chest as he made an effort to pull me as close to him as possible. I was baffled. This man just slapped and shouted at me, I just admitted I feared him, I can still feel his fingers and palm’s sting on my face, and now he’s hugging me?

“I… I am sorry, Edward,” he mumbled into my hair. His voice seemed to crack for a moment and I heard him sniffle. Was he crying? “I didn’t mean to harm you, I just… I—I can’t control myself.”

If I was puzzled before I was utterly lost now. “Alex—”

“I needed to know how I made you feel, whether or not you trust me, if you feared my presence. And here I stand, with you shuddering in my grasps. I never wanted you to feel this way, Edward. I—I never wanted you to—I never—”

He was crying, choking on his words like I had before. Was this a confession? I blinked off any tears my fear might have brought in and pushed back from him to look him in the eye. He held his head down but I could still see a tear stream down over his scar. He spoke of me quaking in his arms but nothing compares to the quiver when I took his head in my hands to make him look at me. He appeared so distraught by his own actions. When I moved my hands to his broad shoulders, he slumped against me, something I’ll admit I wasn’t quite ready for. He wasn’t that much larger than me, I’ll admit, but I wasn’t prepared to support his weight and we fell to the floor, half in the hallway and half in the loo. He laid on top of me and I wormed around but it seems his revelation exhausted the man. Sighing, I settled into the floor, pondering how long I’d be stuck there under Alexios. His cheeks had dried from his fit of emotion and his breathing had slowed to a normal pace. I endeavored to run my fingers through his hair, but his dreads were too thick to comfort this brooding baby in that way. I stared at the ceiling with my arms stretched out over my head, questioning why I was even still laying here, I’ve moved men heavier than him off me before. Was I just afraid to wake him? I looked at him sleeping on me. For once I didn’t feel fear from his presence, in fact I pitied him. He clearly needed something like this, though if all he wanted from me was to relax on my body, I felt bad for avoiding him for so long.

I think I may have drifted off a little while we laid on the floor. When I woke up it was significantly darker in the apartment, the only light being the bathroom’s. I must have made some sort of noise or shifted slightly because Alexios suddenly groaned and lifted his chest off me. He had his hands planted on either side of my shoulders and my arms were still reaching above my head on the wood. While we slept our legs had also joined in on this compromising position, my thighs resting over his with his groin against me. We blushed when our eyes met and Alex sat back on his heels to let me sit up as well.

“Sorry about that, Edward,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

“No worries mate, I didn’t mind it at all!” I laughed, trying to break the tension between us.

Alexios raised an eyebrow at me and cocked his head. “At all?”

“Not in the slightest!” I need to stop talking without thinking.

“Is that so?”

“Yep!” Oh my god.

He seemed to have this queer plan forming in his head. I wanted to bite my tongue off. Considering how he reacted when I was naked earlier, I’m sure me saying I was completely comfortable having him pressing on top of me was only adding insult to injury. He looked me up and down with an inquisitive nature, almost debating his next move. I gulped when I noticed his lips form a smirk. I stayed on the floor while he got to his feet, my body stuck in this pose looking up at him like I was a submitting dog. That snide mien returned to him when he stood over me. I tried to smile at him in the friendliest manner I could, though I think he misunderstood what kind of friend I was trying to come off as.

“Well, in that case, blondie,” he lifted me into his arms in a fisherman’s carry and marched me into my room after turning off the bathroom light. I was dropped on my back in my sheets and watched Alexios hold his belt buckle. “You wouldn’t mind getting to know each other better, now would you?”

I think I put the most thought into this answer of any I said all day. I felt my stare glued to his hands on that buckle and my tongue pushed itself against the roof of my mouth. For the first time since the day I met him I gave him a genuine smile. “No, I certainly wouldn’t.”

He returned me with a satisfied leer, quickly getting to unbuckling his pants, whipping his belt off so swiftly it made a whooping noise. Alexios grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me to the foot of the bed, putting the belt on around my neck like a collar and leash. He didn’t secure the buckle so it felt more like a noose, but regardless I felt ready to melt into anything he put me in, be it this leather strap or a rope. He tugged on the belt and it tightened around my throat, causing me to groan. He sat on the bed next to me and patted his lap for me to rest my head over. I was on my stomach and he placed a hand over my ass whilst his other took his cock out in front of me. He began stroking it to get it fully erect with me watching through a hungry gaze, biting my lip as his fist rubbed down the veiny shaft, his knuckles still raw from his brawl. Once hard, Alexios took the belt to yank me towards his dick and I immediately got to work, my lips kissing his tip before licking it in a circular motion. My tongue traced down his skin then back up to the head and I heard him sigh as I moved my mouth down around his cock. I went slow at first, going straight to the base and from his light muttered swear I could tell he wasn’t expecting I could deepthroat him. I got cocky and began sucking him with more force, moving my head back and forth down him. My showing off seemed to be working for Alex as his hand became snugger on my ass. I moved my left hand down to go to town on my own member, but he noticed me rubbing myself and spanked my ass with the same force he slapped me with earlier. I whimpered and instinctively withdrew my hand, him amused by my retreat.

“Good boy, you’ve been trained well,” he whispered to me.

He’s right, I’ve learned to be wont to being used like this. He spanked me again, and he appeared to enjoy my muffled yelps as he did it again, and again, and again. My skin felt numb and my cock was begging me to stroke it. I decided that if he was just going to continuing slapping me like this I might as well try to rub myself once more, just to see if he was willing to let me. I quickly learned he wasn’t, as when I started moving my hand down once more, he grabbed the back of my head and choked me with his cock, my lips pressed to the base of his groin. I attempted to push my head back so I could breathe but his hold was far stronger than my neck. I began gagging, wondering if he was going to let me breathe any time soon. Perhaps he liked how it felt to have his cock in my throat while I choked. He switched up his hands so he no longer was holding my ass but unfortunately for me he grabbed the belt with his other. Alex pulled it skintight, compressing my throat and I felt tears forming in my eyes. I moved my hands to hold his thigh, digging my nails into him as if to ask him if he was trying to kill me already. There was a low chuckle when I struggled to pull away from him, like he was enjoying my scriking. I was becoming more desperate to move off of him, but it was too difficult with him being so much stronger than me.

“Scared, are we?” He leaned in over me, yanking my head back so I could look into his glare. “Next time don’t touch yourself without my permission, understand?”

I moaned in response to him, hoping he’d finally let me catch my breath. He patted my head and finally released me, my body moving on its own to get away from him, gasping for air while I backed up against the wall on the other end of the bed. Alexios had a wicked grin on his face, grabbing the belt to pull me back to him.

“Aw, I really did frighten you. You’ve got your mascara running down your cheeks like a scared little whore,” he said while wiping my face with his thumb.

I was still winded and with my panic subsiding I began to see red. “You… what the fuck were you trying to do? Suffocate me?”

He frowned, clearly able to detect my irritation with him. “Sorry, I had gotten ahead of myself.”

Alexios was looking down at the floor like a guilty dog and I rolled my eyes, kicking him in the side. “Well shit mate, don’t stop, just give me a damn warning next time.”

I saw his entire body perk up and he shifted around, taking the ‘leash’ in his hand and tugging me closer to him. He noticed me wince from how taut the belt was around my neck and loosened it slightly for me which made me groan again. Honestly, either be rough with me or play nice, don’t keep switching up. I lurched forward and shoved him down on the sheets, kissing him and smiling against his lips at the startled noise he made. I grinded my pelvis over his cock, his hands slapping down on my ass to jerk me into him. I felt his fingers caressing the seam on my trunks but I shrugged it off, not realizing he was looking for the best place to grab a hold of so he could rip open my shorts. It was one quick tear and it’s fair to say I wasn’t ready for it. Alexios grabbed my flesh, toying with it in his palms while I rocked back and forth on him. He kissed me back as he rolled over on top of me, but only for a short time as he soon moved his mouth down to kiss my jaw, my neck, and then my shoulder. At my shoulder, he bit me and I yelped, my hands and legs wrapping around him while he tore my skin. He lapped at the blood from my fresh wound like he was a wolf.

Alexios’ eyes shot me a harsh glance, though before I could think about what that look meant he answered my question with his cock up my ass. I cried out, wishing he gave me more of a warning than just a simple stare before going in raw, but I guess he wasn’t used to being accommodating. He continued this trend of being unaccommodating while he fucked me, his strokes inside me being ruthless and deep. I couldn’t control my voice; I was just a whining mess at his mercy. Alex shook my arms off his back and pinned my arms down next to my head, his weight being pressed into my wrists. My legs tightened around his waist in response to the way he was dominating me, still aching to touch myself but knowing there was no way he’d let that happen. He seemed to love my wailing; his grunts tainted by low laughs. I see his life as Deimos has made him have a fetish for causing pain in others. Hmph, schadenfreude.

I continued trying to free myself, but damn was this guy strong. I couldn’t even manage to lift my pinned wrists, and that’s with the added adrenaline of my ass feeling like it was being torn to shreds by his lack of empathy. Alexios didn’t once seem to want to slow down with me. He just wanted things done his way and couldn’t careless about how much pain I was in. Perhaps I gave him the impression I could take a beating and that’s why he’s been eyeing me the way he has. I could hear his grunts deepening; he must have really been feeling this semi-torture session. His love of completely dominating me made me wonder if he just viewed me as prey, a toy for him to use and then he’d throw me away. The idea of that must’ve turned me on quite a bit as I felt precum from my cock drip onto my pelvis. I’m not surprised I was into being used; I just wish I had standards for how I was treated in bed. Honestly, I wish I wasn’t wincing through this dealing so I could keep my eyes open long enough to properly see the expression on Alexios’ face. What I’d give to be able to watch this beast fuck me before my eyes…

Alex’s speed somehow went faster and his grip on my wrists turned into an almost crushing feeling “Oh god Edward…” I heard him moan.

I swear I was about to bite a hole in my lip. I had bit myself to stifle an actual scream from the pain, but luckily for me after Alexios came I only had to suffer through a few more rough pumps. After those he slowed to a halt, both of us catching our breaths for the moment. I finally got a good look at him, sweat soaking his brow and his cheeks red. He pulled out of me and I felt his cum dripping out of me as he did. He finally moved off from holding my wrists and sat back, looking at the clear hard on in my shorts and the mess he made of my rear. I tried to give him a little simper so he’d know I enjoyed it, but he just kept staring at my bottom with the same gaze I was giving his cock earlier. I gulped, knowing he still wasn’t finished with me.

“Roll over,” he demanded and I obliged with haste.

I had originally been on my hands and knees but Alexios knocked me down to my elbows afore grabbing my thighs. He bit my inner thigh before licking up my leg to my ass where he bit me again. I winced, this guy really liked using teeth, huh? I felt him lick the bite, stinging my flesh before his tongue traced to the rim of my ass. Is… is he going to eat me out?

Well, it wasn’t a question for long. Sure enough, Alexios started lapping away despite having just came inside me. My stomach fluttered, he just kept surprising me. My cock was twitching uncontrollably, I was moments away from climaxing myself. And then he stopped, grabbing my hair by the pony tail, wrenching my body backwards. The back of my head laid on his lap, his gaze meeting min. Alexios wiped his mouth and shot me a jeering leer, sending a shiver down my spine. My heart was beating quickly as his stare moved down my body.

“Look at you, dripping like a girl would,” he taunted, flicking my cock’s head. I yelped which he seemed to like. “Let me guess, you want to cum, don’t you?”

I nodded. I’d want nothing more than to finally finish. He’s been toying with me for so long I felt numb. Usually I’d feel happier about lasting longer than my partner but this was just too much, I was losing my mind.

Alexios took my wrists in his fingers, those rough hands pinning my arms against the sheets. “Beg for it, blondie.”

I didn’t even try to fight him. I just bit my tongue and swallowed any remaining pride I had. “Please, Alex,” my voice was quivering as I spoke but who could blame me, I was desperate. “I want to cum, I need to, please let me, mate, it’s driving me mad. I need it, Alex, I feel numb. Please, please, please, let me—”

Alexios had grinned right before he slapped me across the face. Judging by the laughter, I must’ve done something right. Even so, my skin was left with yet another one of his handprints on it and I only wished he’d stop playing these games and just cut me the least bit of slack so I could just—

A knife pressed up against my throat. Alexios had pulled a switchblade from his pocket while I was recovering from his palm’s burn. My breathing changed to become shorter and more rapid. I could feel the edge grazing my skin. One slip of his fingers and my throat would be cut, be it on accident or purpose, I wouldn’t be able to tell with him. All I had to go on was that same old snide smile. His other hand stoked my hair, twirling strands around. He used the blade to tilt my chin back so I had to look down my nose at him. His thumb graced my cheek in a soothing way, almost making me forget all about the weapon in his other hand.

“You may touch yourself now, sweetheart, but keep those blue eyes of yours shut,” he whispered to me.

My heart rate was still speeding but, somehow, I managed to calm myself enough to shut my eyes and move my hands down to my groin without moving my neck, a feat harder than someone who’s never had a blade against their throat might think. My cock was peeking out the waistband of my trunks so I just finished pulling down the shorts so I could rub myself. The feeling of my fingers finally touching me was pure ecstasy. I bit my lip while I finished myself off, Alex still petting the side of my head. While I couldn’t see his face right now, I knew he was grinning from watching my spray myself with my own semen. As soon as the blade moved from my neck, I began panting like a thirsty dog to catch my breath. He swiped the blade over my abdomen carefully so he wouldn’t slice me while I breathed, though at this point I don’t think I’d have cared if he did.

Alexios patted the side of my head. “Open your eyes, my little puppy, and stick out your tongue. I’ve got a treat for you.”

I opened my eyes slowly, still panting but now with my tongue out I really felt like his mutt. In front of my face he held his switchblade, it glazed with my cum. He wiped the blade over my tongue.

“Good boy. Now, swallow.”

I did, even opening my mouth to show him, which he seemed to get a kick out of. He chuckled, rustling my hair. I smirked back at him; glad to see I had done a good job for him. He leaned back against my pillows and I rolled over on top of him, moving up his body so I could lay on his chest rather than his legs. He looked overjoyed, his forearm over his eyes while he shined a grand smile.

“Hey, Alex,” I said, trying to get his attention without success. I flicked his arm, though he didn’t even flinch. Pouting, I grabbed his jaw and pulled him to face me. “Oi, Alex.”

He looked a little surprised that I had suddenly grabbed him, but he was still grinning. “What, Goldilocks?”

Goldilocks, oh how many times I’ve heard that. “’Fraid I don’t fear you no more, mate.”

Alexios’ fingers brushed through my hair. “Aw, what a shame. Guess I’ll need to reinstate that later, huh?”

I knew I was dancing with a devil at this point, but still I gave him a cheeky smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

He and I shared a fit of giggling banter before falling asleep. When I woke up, the side of the bed he had slept on was empty. I frowned for a moment before hearing clanking coming from the kitchen and him groaning. I snickered, shaking my head. Can’t believe I was scared of him just hours ago. When I stood to go help him out with breakfast, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Torn shorts with cum staining the fabric, bruises dotted my skin alongside a few bitemarks. The worst of these marks were the bruises wrapping around my neck and my swollen ass. The shiner from the kick in the face I took yesterday wasn’t nothing either, but judging by the amount of blood Alex’s shirt was drenched with I couldn’t really complain. I changed my pants to some clean striped boxer briefs before heading into my kitchen where I found Alexios running his hand under water.

I grinned while watching him, walking towards him silently. Once behind him I slapped his ass, making the brute jump and swear. I laughed at his reaction, leaning my body up against his shoulder while he covered his face in embarrassment.

“Come to help me then, blondie?” he sighed.

I pressed my head against his shoulder and wrapped my arm around his waist. “Shit, if you’re really struggling that much to fry a couple eggs.”

He groaned at my snark, though I helped him anyway, not wanting him to burn himself making scrambled eggs again, even though his brief incompetence was kind of cute. The eggs weren’t that bad, just a tad burnt. We parted ways about an hour later, though the next day I saw him those dark eyes looked more afraid of my ability to bounce back from his beating than anything else. At last, it was my stare burning his skin, not his on mine. I grinned at him and his eyes darted away from me.  He was scared of me.

Good.

[littlelieshq]

hey my loyal readers, ALISE here, your one and only source of gosan’s finest. aren’t you curious about what i have in store for you today? don’t lie, of course you are! well, today’s highlight happens to be the only and only MICKEY ROH. the mickey roh? yes, that’s right, him. you know him, don’t you? TWENTY-THREE, SENIOR AT GOSAN U? no? well—i don’t blame you if you don’t, if you’ve seen one gosaner, you’ve seen them all. but this one, he’s a little special—not everyone feeds their drug addiction in high school by dealing improperly cut drugs, after all.

                                       interested? well why wouldn’t you be?

                                           lucky for you i always deliver.

             ( TW DRUGS, ALCOHOL, DEATH, SUICIDE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS )

THERE’S nothing very outstanding about the roh family. two wealthy parents who are in love, trailing behind their sons, all proud smiles and praises that will come to force weight onto their shoulders in the future. but for now, they are just the picture of sophisticated domesticity. tom and mickey wear cared for, well maintained uniforms and walk the five minute trek to school in double file. that way, they’re always safe; together they stand a better chance against whatever outside fears might creep up on them. the natural rhythm that formed was because of something along that train of thought. incentivising a fear of the unknown dealt them both a very different hand of cards in life.

soon, mickey comes to realise that he was more different to his brother than he would like to be. he doesn’t understand why he should spend his mornings watching and playing pokemon, or teasing the girls that play in their apartment complex’s garden. why he should be louder in certain situations but quieter in others, and why he didn’t just stick with one the whole time. why he was always wrong no matter what he did. why everyone told him that they were getting sick of all his questions and that ‘curiosity killed the cat’.

but, all is never lost. he comes to find solace in the math classroom, of all places. his peers are skeptical and his parents overjoyed, the blossoming sprouts of an academic thrilling their conservative beliefs to no end. he’s so smart; it’s not that he spends hours studying in his father’s study for the old man’s attention, slowly familiarising himself with the assortment of fine whiskey and bourbons that glitter behind his desk lamp. not at all. though, it’s like they were made to fool an observer. they were so pretty. running his fingers along the delicate edges of a hennessy cognac bottle becomes a reminder of home and affirmation to mickey. that he was working hard. the only four words his dad could get out in his constant tipsy stupor.

the addiction heeds to rehab and divorce, but the scar tissues remain deepest set within mick. perhaps his obsession with a paternal relationship reflected something deeper, something worth exploring and exploiting in art or sonnet. perhaps he could’ve found more within his self pity and genius than a poor effort at emulating his old man’s habits. letting women and men alike drape themselves over him, fake id burning a warm square against his breast pocket in the depths of new york’s club scene. if you were to ask him then where it all began, he might say ‘with the money’. he’d never admit to anything past that. holidays spent locked inside with a pen to paper soon morphed into hours watching gossip girl, high out of his mind, giggling over the plights of his fellow upper east side delinquents.

fashionably late, mom and dad finally arrive to the realisation that their youngest is a burnout. so beautiful, with his gloriously pallid complexion owed to a budding cocaine addiction and not a consistent spf routine. it’s their worst nightmare (not that they’d ever expected it). his pocket money falls depressingly low, and you can’t feed a habit without cash. but mickey is a smart boy. there are plenty of ways to make a living in manhattan as an unassuming 17 year old. now, it’s really gone wrong. he finds the reverence of his classmates for the first time ever, the go to dealer for any and every event that requires subtlety and so much money it could make your stomach stir. mickey is a smart boy. and at this point he’s pretty far strung. so when he’s obviously duped by a distributor with a faulty batch of crack, that once curious cat pops his head out again in question. ‘what would happen? what could happen?’

frankly, he wouldn’t touch crack with a two-metre stick were he not the plug. it was cut different. he could tell when he took it so he avoided it with fervour, but the same couldn’t be said for his peers. they knew he upsold, and since he refused to settle with the good stuff (the smart businessman he saw himself as), all in one prom night he sells out.

after the brunt of the night passes, mickey leads the already inebriated ragtag squad he’d come to affectionately call friends to some patio. carefully guiding them away from one of the senior’s afterparties to clean his hands. he watches from a few metres away as they initiate their routine, opting for a cigarette as it begins to hail lightly on the city’s rooftops. it’s been dipped in something, 60s style, and was ‘a compliment of the chef’. it might be why everything that happened occurs so quickly in his memory. like a time-lapse.

something is very wrong from the moment he smells that foul scent wafting over, but he’s far too gone to say it. something in his head preserves his safety in that moment by telling him to wait. to see. not to preempt and endanger himself with a social blunder. and he still wants to know what could happen. but in the thickening air between that second and the next, his eyes watching the sky fall in violet and fuchsia, jacob romney is pronounced dead. he spends his entire comedown locked in a wardrobe that is far too big for him to be comfortable, satin covering his face as he tries to unsee every single happening leading up to the ‘untimely passing of such a promising boy’.

that assembly is the most he’s been sober in 2 years.

he can’t stay in new york. he can’t stay in america. if he had the choice, he’d be six feet under himself. it’s exactly what he deserved. but instead, his parents send him to spend a year in korea. that entire time he is locked away in an intensive care rehabilitation unit. with group therapy daily, 365 days a year, maintaining a straight face as he stared down a middle aged man with a mild marijuana habit. he’s discharged a month before his make-up senior year. in his parents’ eyes, healing was important and all, but only if it ended in his success. in some decompensation for the embarrassment he’d caused to their reputation. he doesn’t like to think about it. any of it. what happened. what was happening. what would happen. who was calling and what they were asking about. he kept a steeled gaze on himself and his day to day routine. meals and class periods were rigid markers of progress and change or spontaneity were shunned by him first and foremost; to be honest, all of it bodes quite well with the education system there.

gosan is the oasis his grandma finds for him. then again, mickey is extremely codependent nowadays. something about it’s clear air and bluer skies widen his eyes. the lecture halls shape to his spacial sensitivity perfectly. his professors and tutors know him like family would, should, and that sense of safety begins to return. slowly, slowly, like to the lark at break of day arising. mornings and evenings are looked forward to alike, and his medication no longer haunts him for it’s similarity to what once picked him up (or so he claims). routine and normalcy become interchangeable words in his vocabulary. maybe, finally, life is giving him a proper chance. to do some good. to meet people with a proper smile and personality to back it up — however adolescent it may be. maybe—

“hey, mickey! have you heard about this ALISE thing?”

“what?”

“here, it’s called ALISE. hold on, let me show you!”

/close your eyes, have no fear — the monsters gone, he’s on the run and your daddy’s here. beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.

[tomans-darlings-au]

The Incident Part 2

TW: Abuse Mention, Character Death, Lots Of Unpleasantness

EMT’s finally arrived and took both men in, Dean was in critical condition and rushed to intensive care to try to stabilize him. Axel underwent some painful checks of the wound the bullet was easy enough to remove thought it didn’t feel like, all he needed now was stitches and a blood transfusion after the amount he lost. It was relatively easy and since his family had been called and everyone rushed to be with the young man, Luka immediately offered his blood though it wasn’t really necessary they had his blood type in stock. The whole pack was just relieved their birdy was alright the doctors informed them he would be kept overnight for psychological analysis and so police could take his statement of the incident.

The day calmed everything had been such a rush, after having friends and family in and out of his room Axel decided to get some much needed rest with Warren sitting in his room. When he woke up again it was dark outside Axel grabbed for his phone to check the time 10:30pm he’d slept quite a long time. The singer glanced around his dark hospital room, the emptiness made him feel a bit lonely, he quickly noticed a note left by Warren.

“Hey I left to take the kids home and pick up some dinner. I’ll be back in about 2 hours so you won’t be alone for long. If you feel scared or anxious call me or one of your bandmates, we’ll rush right over.”

It was a bit relieving still Axel felt to anxious to stay in bed all alone. He grabbed his crutches and got out of bed struggling some, he hopped down the long hall to the nurse receptionist station.

“Oh Mr. Watanuki did you need something? Are you hungry? It’s a little late but i’m sure we can bring something warm for dinner. If all the flowers are bothering we can take them out of your room, you’ve received so many.”

The nurses wanted Axel’s comfort as top priority especially after the attack. The star appreciated it but felt a bit embarrassed to be fussed over so much, he knew why after such an incident everyone was on edge about his health. Friends and fans alike had sent flowers and gift to try and ease his pain, he felt guilty for making so many worry over him.

“Ah no I just…” He didn’t want to admit his loneliness. Then it dawned on him.

“Um is Dean Watanuki out of surgery?”

The singer asked wanting to check on his father. Even after everything the two went through he did save his life, at the very least he could check on his well-being. He didn’t owe him anything but he felt an unstoppable obligation thanks to hs conscience and in his state he didn’t have the mental strength to shrug it off.

“Oh Mr. Watanuki senior was just stabilized but… Well he’s been terminally ill for awhile according to our records and we’re not sure how long he’ll remain stable. We can take you to his room if you want though Mr. Rogers instructed us to keep him away from you.”

Axel contemplated it for a moment he definitely wasn’t aware Dean was terminally ill, is that why he’d been seeing him so often, this wasn’t a trick of the eye after all? What the hell was this man’s train of thought was this some guilt tactic now, one last manipulation tactic to permanently scar him?! Questions flashed in the young man’s head as he simply nodded and was led to Dean’s room it was now or never for some much awaited confrontation.

The nurse knocked on the door before opening it, Dean was laying in bed all sorts of contraptions connected to him after being shot twice he probably needed them all. The man opened his eyes glancing at the nurse and then at Axel, after the nurse checked to make sure everything was still running smoothly she gave the two privacy. The hybrid sat in a chair in the dark room and the two were in silence for awhile, there so much he wanted to say.

Axel felt everything swell up face to face with his past abuser but most of all he felt anger, his blood was boiling, he wanted to yell at the top of his lungs everything Dean had done and why he deserved to die. But still he just sat there glaring at the man he once called a father in his weakened state, helpless the way Axel had once been. The atmosphere was heavy the dark room illuminated by the moonlight seeping in from the window, the light showed the inside of the hospital room just enough for the two to continue their intense gaze.

“Sorry.”

One weak word spoken by Dean broke the silence it was almost so quiet itself but it broke the ice between the two, Axel grit his teeth some.

“Sorry for what? Turning on us? Beating me? Throwing away my meds?! Trying to legally take us away from a family that actually wanted us?! Treating us like shit for years and never showing an ounce of regret for it?!”

He lashed out at Dean his resent for the man gushing out overflowing from years of repressing, he continued to rant at him as all his emotions were suddenly being set free and he was not stopping until he said everything he’d wanted to. Years of therapy and this was his one chance to express himself to the person who needed to heed these words, he’d wanted Dean to hear everything. Dean sat there listening without a word or response he took everything, every painful, harsh, sharp word and insult towards him. He watched as Axel poured his soul knowing he deserved every minute of it, he watched and waited for a chance to speak but only after the other was done he wouldn’t dare interrupt him. Tears streamed down the young Watanuki’s face sobs of anger, resent, frustration, confusion, and even sadness it took awhile but after about a half hour of ranting and crying he’d finally calmed down enough to speak with again.

“ ...Have you gotten it all out?” Dean asked weakly not even turning his head towards the boy.

Axel was still frozen and numb after such an outburst, he nodded in silence shivering from the intensity he’d released.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t love you the way others did.”

He spoke in deep raspy breaths like he was struggling to even speak in the first place.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t accept you like everyone else did, I know it was wrong… No, I know it is wrong from then and now and in between. I hurt you and yer brother and I can never take that back.”

The singer was shocked by his words he wanted to say something but it felt a lump in his throat unable to respond, what could he even say to that?

“I wasted so much time… It’s too late now.”

Dean continued making his son frazzled by his statement, the young man sitting in his chair twiddling his thumbs unable to fathom a response even. Dean was well aware of his condition and Axel realized he was accepting his imminent death, he’d given up and the idea of such a thing had the boy’s stomach in knots. He could hear raspy breaths from the bedridden man and the beeping of machines next to him despite the low tones of it all, within the silence between them it felt like explosions of sound.

“You still have time.”

Axel finally said clearing the silence almost insistant in his words, could he really reconcile with his father? Even if he did would it all be for nought? This man was terminal and the idea of that was terrifying, can’t things change? Can’t things get a little better? Still Dean chuckled at his words an almost sad sound of acceptance that crushed his heart.

“Always optimistic… Even though I never believed you.”

“You succeeded in the things I said were a wasted effort. But still some things don’t change because I still… I still can’t believe you.”

The young man felt a sting of his words not because of the past but because he realized Dean didn’t want hope he had none left not in living. There was nothing he could do to change that, nothing Axel could say that would bring it back. No amount of optimism in the world could give him hope now and the young man realized he was trying to die with no regrets.

“You-”

“Axel… I’m also not asking for forgiveness from you. You don’t have to forgive me but I want to apologize even if I can do nothing else.”

That was the first time Dean used his new name how bittersweet, it was like a jagged knife being turned. It hurt so much Axel wanted it to stop, why do people do the right thing when it’s too late.

“No! No I don’t forgive you!”

Axel shouted jolting up from the chair knocking it over and dashing to Dean’s bed, he grabbed the man who was slipping away. Heavy delayed breaths and difficulty speaking, he was dying right in front of his son. The boy shook him trying to keep him there and awake, he couldn’t slip away not now.

“I don’t forgive you, you have to make it up to me! You have to make it up to me and Luka, you have to live and be a better person. You have to say sorry to Luka and Warren!! They have to see this too! You have to use my real name more, you have to say sorry to Ezra and come to our concerts more!”

Axel felt like a child again helpless as he shook Dean who only looked at him with blurred dulled eyes.

“I’m sorry I don’t think I can do that, I can’t make it up to you that’s why you don’t have to forgive me.”

Dean responded in a whisper.

“NO STOP IT YOU HAVE TO! YOU HAVE TO YOU SAID SORRY!”

Axel responded, he looked for the button to buzz the nurse though the station was empty as they tended to an emergency in pediatric care. Dean carefully placed his hand on Axel’s head making the boy flinch, the touch was gentle though unlike one he’d ever known from his father before.

“I wish I could have known you as my son.”

Dean kept his hand tangled in Axel’s hair as his eyes closed and his hand finally fell cold and limp. Pale, lifeless, his machines beeped a steady line and Axel could hear running, he called out to the man but received no response from the corpse before him.

Everything went numb as he was moved out the way for doctors and nurses trying to bring him back, Axel left the room and saw Warren just returning from home. The wolf only saw his desperate expression just like the day he’d found him and Luka, Warren dropped everything rushing over to the boy catching the collapsing young man. No words exchanged Warren embraced Axel who sobbed in his arms, he carried the him back to his own room and waited comforting his adopted child. He listening and held him tightly so Axel would feel no fear in letting out his emotions, it was all he could do at the moment. The pack father was both angry but somewhat satisfied with Dean’s long awaited apology he’d been wanting it for years but not like this, as much a failure he was at the very least he finally did one thing right. He didn’t leave his son with an eternal wound but instead left something easier to heal, he wasn’t a good father but at least he acted like a father for once.

[youcantclipmywings]

another crazy ass super late update w waaaay too much info

Hey y’alll... I’m kinda back? Sorry again for never being on this account. I want to be on it more but I get so consumed with my life and then I forget... not an excuse but an explanation. 

TW for all the usuals (drugs, etc) plus fun high school bs cropping up 2 1/2 years later :)

So last time I updated I was excited about going back to school and was feeling really lost and alone, as well as hopeless about my romantic life and my really intense cravings to smoke weed. A lot has changed since then... lol

My school decided to only do online schooling, understandably, but it sent me into a horrible spiral when they announced that. The idea that I’d be stuck at home for another 5 months... I just couldn’t take it. There’s a reason I went to boarding school after treatment. My parents fucking suck!!!! So I was venting to one of my best friends (C) who lives in another country even though she goes to school in the US (we met in treatment) and she invited me to come stay with her and her family in that country for a few months just so I could get away from my family... and now I’m there! I have dual citizenship with that country and the US because one of my parents is originally from there, so she applied for me to get dual citizenship when I was born, and I still have family here. Anyways, I’m now starting week 2 of my quarantine (which ends on Sunday (sep 20th) but I’m so happy to be here. I needed to get away and COVID just isn’t as bad here and I feel less depressed and like life maybe isn’t that hopeless, which is exciting!!!

I have smoked a bit more recently but I’m trying to lessen it or make sure I’m only doing it when I’m interacting with friends (either in person or via facetime). 

So, since I got to this country, there’s been a couple slightly interesting things occurring, relationship-wise. C is dating this guy and has been for the last 2 months and I guess he has a friend (J) who’s single and got really hyped when he found out C had a friend coming into town. C told him if he wanted to even attempt to be with me in anyway whatsoever he had to be my friend first and take things hella slow, but apparently he’s kinda a himbo so who knows if he’ll heed that warning. He added me on snap and told me he’s gonna take me out to a meal and later C told me he was bragging to her bf about how impressive it is that he said that (I think he’s kinda a fuckboy but C said her bf was initially too). Idk how I feel about any of this. I’m trying to not pass any judgment until I meet him a few times. 

A few nights ago, I got a snapchat message from this dude (JB) I knew from junior/senior year of high school (after treatment). Now, when we were in high school we were best friends. I had a small group (A, M, JB, and myself) and we all hung out all the time and were super close. A and JB dated junior year and then almost dated again senior year but she kinda ghosted him last minute and started dating someone else. JB also dated two other girls our senior year (this info is all relevant I promise). JB and I were kinda like brother/sister- we got along really well and had similar sense of humor but there wasn’t any attraction between the 2 of us. He liked skinny, kinda crazy (in the whole “omg I’m so fucked up pay attention to me” obnoxious way where they aren’t actually mentally ill, just annoying) girls and I was overweight and even though I’m legitimately mentally ill, I’m stable and high-functioning, and also... he’s short (well the same height as me but I’m tall) and skinny and just not my type... but anyways there was no attraction there. After high school, we all kinda stopped talking. M was a freshman while we were all seniors (I stayed in contact with him and still consider him to be like a little brother- I love him sm he’s my lil baby), but I haven’t talked to JB or A much since. We all went off to college and started new lives... JB and I talked a bit over that summer between senior year of high school and freshman year of college and he did call me a few times throughout freshman year (holy fuck that’s when I started this acc......) but whenever he’d call he’d only talk about himself. He’d talk about how he was drinking too much and smoking too much and he’d say kinda racist shit about his girlfriend at the time’s exes (since they were black... I guess that reflected poorly on her in his mind... fucked up mindset in my opinion) and he’d never ask me about myself. I was in overwhelming, immense pain constantly because of my ankle... I was high all the time and drinking regularly too, while hiding it from everyone, including my therapist. I was in a dark place and there he was calling me to talk about himself for really long periods of time. 

Anyways, I started avoiding his calls after awhile and then he stopped calling. He doesn’t know I had my ankle surgery. He doesn’t know I took a semester off of college to recover. He doesn’t know I met my genetic mom. He doesn’t know I’m struggling with some issues still. Then, in December 2019, the day after my mom had a heart attack, he started frantically messaging me on snapchat, begging me to talk. I told him that I couldn’t, that my mom was in the hospital and I was overwhelmed, that I had a ton of dr appointments and meetings and needed to make sure my mom was okay, but he wouldn’t lay off. I guess I felt some sort of loyalty towards him since we used to be so close, so I said “okay, you can call me anytime in the next 30 minutes, but that’s it” and he responded immediately, saying “I’ll call you in 5 minutes”. He never fucking called. After that, I decided I was done. He’s no longer my friend. And we hadn’t spoken since until a couple weeks ago where he messaged me and told me he missed me and I responded with a “yeah it’s been awhile” and then left him on read after he responded back with some other bs. 

Then this past weekend, he messages me out of nowhere talking about how he misses me and again, I say “yeah, it’s been awhile”. He says that there’s been something he’s wanted to tell me for a long time and he wishes he would’ve said something when we were in high school. I asked what the fuck he was talking about and he was like “I wish we could’ve dated. You were always so nice to me and we got along really well. I thought you were beautiful, caring, funny, and sweet. We had the sense sense of humor and enjoyed doing the same stuff. I liked you a lot and wish we could have dated.”... I was like.. “Uhhh... what made you realize this?” and he said “Idk I just realized it now” and I was like “yeah I’m just a little shocked because it never seemed like there was any type of relationship vibes there” and he was like “really?” and I was like “dude... you literally dated 2 girls and almost dated a 3rd...” and he was like “I feel like I knew I liked you then” so at that point I facetimed my friend M and was like “did JB like me in high school” and he was like “nah he liked A and those 2 other girls” and I was like “yeah, he’s saying some bs and I just need confirmation that I didn’t miss any signs” and he was like “yeah you guys were just really good friends” so I messaged JB back and was like “so what motivated you to tell me this” and he said “I don’t know I just felt like I should tell you” and I was like “well where do we go through here”... now, I said this knowing he’d say he wanted to date. I didn’t want to date him but I did want to let him down easily. M had told me while we were facetiming that JB had dropped out of college and gone to rehab so he was obviously struggling. I think he’s just super lonely during quarantine and he’s reflecting on high school (when he last felt happy) and is creating something that wasn’t there in hopes that it’d be reciprocated and he’d feel less lonely. He and A both had relationship/intimacy issues and were both really hyperfocused on always being in a relationship, so I’m not surprised he’s still like that. I am surprised it’s gotten to a point where it’s delusional... 

Anyways, he responded saying “where do you wanna go?” and I said “I asked you first” and he said “I want you wbu” and I said “I don’t know dude... I’m a super different person than I was 2 1/2 years ago and I’m sure you are too and I’m just not sure if we’d be compatible now that all this time has passed... also I live in a diff country now so we’d never actually see each other.” I know saying I live in a diff country now is kinda lying because it makes it seem like I moved permanently but I think it was necessary to get my message across so I don’t feel bad. He responded and he was like “yeah I guess that’s true” and I said “yeahhhhh” and he was like “I really want to be with you” and I said “I guess timing is everything” and he said “yeah I guess :(” and then I left him on read and that was the end of that conversation. I feel like a really good person for letting him down as nicely as I did because I felt like saying “nah I’m not fucking into you” especially since he’s been such an awful and selfish friend since we left high school, but I decided to be the bigger person because I know he’s struggling right now. And I feel sad that he’s reached a point in his life where he’s creating something that never existed because he’s so lost and alone and confused. I wish I could be there for him but I just can’t... 

My therapist says I can be too loyal to people sometimes. Even when people hurt me, I’m still there and I feel like I owe it to them to stick around and support them. I pretend like I’ll drop anyone that hurts me, but it’s obvious I’m loyal since I’m still willing to treat this dude with more kindness in this one interaction than he’s given me in 2 1/2 years. I want to be a kind person but I don’t want to be loyal to a fault... I think it’s harmful and self destructive. I need to work on it. 

Anyways, last night when I got out of the shower I had a towel wrapped around me and felt something weird and looked down and a giant spider was crawling around on my tiddy... I screamed so loud I’m surprised the family I’m staying with didn’t come running into the guesthouse from the main house to make sure I’m okay lol. I killed it with my textbook, which is now sitting in the corner of the room because I’m not in the right mental space to clean spider guts off a textbook after that whole ordeal. 

C’est la vie...

[lifeaftera-blog]

Congrats, Bee! Your application has been accepted! Stellar writing samples, thank you so much! We’ll be waiting your accounts for both Ali & Erin to be submitted within the next 48 hours. Really excited to have you!

Name/Alias: bee/b Age: nineteen Timezone: est Activity Level: 7.5/10. i have finals to finish but once they are done i should be free because summer and then may be spotty occasionally on the days i babysit/work that haven’t figured out yet. but i’m an insomniac so i’m like always around tbh. Character(s) Applying For: alison dilaurentis & erin fitz Preferred Ships: (if any)- emison, spalison (ali), ezria (erin) Anything else?: banana! it’s what my fam calls me lol

Writing Sample – i’m super extra and included three like the writing dweeb i am. 

1) first a lil bio i made

estates enclosed by iron gates, glamorous garments only fashioned by those of the highest caliber, and gilded lifestyles of unfeigned extravagance – this is the life you’ve always dreamed of – or at least some semblance of it. your parents, however, lived lives of utter deprivation. they were deprived of the financial stability they worked so hard to provide for you, and in their youth, they weren’t exceptionally well off but you were

it was your father who saw to your family’s content. and though at times he could be a hard and somewhat brutish man, he was an honest worker – never once succumbing to depravity in order to make a living. although, with all that he endured throughout his life, it wouldn’t have been outrageous if he had. he had enough of working part time to make ends meet and began to pick up acting gigs among his shifts at the station.

your mother was once a woman who thrilled in losing herself to blissful displays of ignorance. she was like a feather forever floating in the wind, with no moral compass pointing her due north. no one ever expected she’d bear a child, let alone raise one. it was always presumed she’d flee, merely adhering to the whispered tales of her heart and its demands that she avoid responsibility – to always know full fledged freedom. nevertheless, she did settle down, and she found that having a family filled her life with monumental joy. it gave her a sense of purpose, something she had long felt her life was lacking.

they were always two very different people, ramona and santino vasquez but they brought you into the world, thus many years ago, they found love despite their differences.  you inherited your father’s intense desire for control and your mother’s innate beauty (some of her more notorious traits as well, though they hadn’t yet developed). you used both feats to your advantage and sought to conquer the world around you – to flip it inside out and make it something better – prettier. however, it was always a question of whether you desired to make it better for yourself, or those around you.

you inherited your father’s intense desire for control and your mother’s innate beauty (some of her more notorious traits as well, though they hadn’t yet developed). you used both feats to your advantage and sought to conquer the world around you – to flip it inside out and make it something better – prettier. however, it was always a question of whether you desired to make it better for yourself, or those around you. you found that it was easy to make things work in your favor with the unmistakable allure you possessed. still, your puppeteering endeavors were always innocent, as you never harbored any ill intent, and it was enough for a little while – making yourself out to be the victim so others might be like putty in your hands, or exaggerating your benevolent nature so they’d feel obligated to be at your disposal. unfortunately, as storm clouds loomed above, you began to shed your beautiful and vibrant, yet aged petals, blossoming anew. your desire and need for more heeded to the change of season as well; specifically your sense of self-righteousness. 

she, claudia was a dreamer – always had been, for her parents taught her to be – her father especially. santino relentlessly stressed the importance of perseverance and self expression, as such a thing was a commodity throughout the span of his youth. both of his parents were junkies, and he grew up not knowing love, for he was born out of hate into a painfully lonely existence. he might have been condemned to the same fate as his parents had it not been for his exceptional drive and meeting ramona.

the tale of her father’s upbringing and her parents’ ultimate love story has always been claudia’s number one motivator. that’s why when she looked up at the stars in all their ethereal beauty, searching for clarity, and procuring an almost psychedelic sensation, she knew. knew that she was destined for greatness, for she was born only out of love, hope, and pure intentions. she was born to make her parents proud and affluent in wealth, happiness, and everything in between. not the struggling part time actors, waitress and cops, so as the world around  fell into a deafening silence, her “calling” came to her like a whisper in the wind – head conjuring up some hazy, crepuscular depiction of her name up in lights. she drank in that image like it was a tonic of bottled sunshine, for it was soaked in liquid, golden glory. that particular magical day marked the beginning of something new. something white and pure like winter snow, something that made her heart reverberate and swell with a deep and perceptible yearning.

though she sent money back and forth to her mother, alcohol and drugs fueled a habit of her own; a deep resentment, a fear, an anger she hasn’t gotten rid of. though she is reckless, in meeting the ones she connected with, claudia shed her newly developed exterior – the sad, angry, bitter girl and adopted a new one. or rather, a plethora of exteriors, as it didn’t really matter who she was, so long as she wasn’t sad claudia who everybody ignored. she hated it – feeling like she could simply disappear and no one would notice. she hated the world, she hated that her father’s affair  had affected her so greatly and transformed her world into an ugly, bleeding thing, and more than anything, she hated that she carried so much hate in her heart. maya didn’t want to be herself anymore, so she decided not to be.when you are made up of nothing but a series of plausible facades you lose sight of yourself, and everything you’ve ever been. you lose your moral values – and ultimately, you lose everything that ever made you you. so you pour yourself into work. into applications and writing and loving someone, your childhood friend who somehow managed to keep you whole.

2) tw: death mention

baby, i’m not moving on, i’ll love you long after you’re gone…“You’re a fucking idiot.” She mumbled into the air, her eyes going over the name that was engraved into the stone. It shouldn’t have been there. She shouldn’t have been reading ‘Calliope Salazar’ on a place like this. “But I miss you..” Bailey choked, rubbing her eyes as she didn’t want to cry. Callie was worth her tears, she always had been, but she felt like she needed to show her that she was strong. Strong for her son, Calliope’s godson, strong enough to accept that she was the one that got away, strong enough for  their families, the community– everyone had been having such a hard time with it all and she had been everyone’s rock and she just wanted to prove to Calliope that she was doing okay without her there– that wasn’t exactly the case though. “Dylan misses you.. he’s gotten so big since you l-left.” She whispered to the stone, sinking down to her knees before she sat in front of her. The five and a half year old didn’t understand that Calliope wasn’t ever coming back and she didn’t know when it would sink in for him. Auntie Callie was different, not like his daddy. Waiting for that scared her– she didn’t want to see her boy go through the grief once he realized it, dealing with another loss,  but it would just be another bump in the road. It was something that would eventually be okay, even though she thought nothing would be okay. “He started little league last week. I made sure he got there on time and he tried out for shortstop. I know how much you wanted that.” She mused with a small laugh, chewing on her lip as she moved to pull out a picture of her from her bag. She didn’t want to talk to a rock, she wanted to talk to her. A few seconds passed by and all she heard was silence. No birds, no wind– there was nothing. It was like the world knew she was gone.  Setting the picture in front of the tombstone, Bailey finally let a tear roll down her cheek and a shaky sigh escaped her lips. “I hate you. I hate you for everything you’ve put us through. How could you d-do this to me? To Dylan? It’s… I-It’s miserable without you, the absolute worst..” It wasn’t her fault in anyway and she knew that she would’ve been by her side if it was her choice, but she was angry at her, at the universe for taking away the love of her life, and hated even more that after a week of mindless dating under the warmth of the summer sun, later on,  a failed one night stand with Dylan’s father and other mindless relationships, she could never build up the courage to tell Callie her true feelings. That she wanted those warm afternoons that summer back, that she wanted an us. “I fucking hate crying, you jerk. You fucking know this.” She growled, shaking her head as she tried to remove off the evidence of tears from her cheeks although they kept falling from her crystal blue orbs. “I’m sorry…it’s just, I lost Martin after Dylan was born and god..ever since that summer…that week, we tried things…I know I said I did..b-but..I never got over it, over you.”  After a few minutes of silence, she moved from the ground with a few sniffles. “I, uh.. I gotta go pick Dyl from school.. he started school, can you believe that? Anyway, I, um, don’t wanna be late cause the school gets all pissy and then they yell at me about being on time and it’s just a mess and.. I wanna show them all I’m a good mommy and that I can do this still even though it’s hell without you, without your guidance, advice, babysitting.” She rambled on, running her fingers through her hair as she looked from the picture to the stone and she leaned down to pick up the tattered piece of paper. “I’ll bring Dylan by this week to see you.” Bailey mentioned, kissing the photograph before she simply began to back away from the grave. Her eyes went up to the sky and they trailed the clouds as if she was looking for a sign from the woman she missed so much. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Cal..” She mumbled to her, letting out a small laugh as she bit her lip and she moved further away from the site to leave. “Forever and always…for life.. remember that…it should have been you, it always was, always will be. ”

3) tw: domestic violence, graphic descriptions of violence

The last thing Delaney could remember was waking up on her hardwood floor, choir dress torn, lip bleeding and surrounded by shards of glass. As she sat up on the cold floor, she winced as noticed her freshly bruised ribs, now a nightly occurrence. Her head throbbing and vision blurred, the young girl could hear nothing but the crashing of kitchen utensils hitting the floor over the venomous screams of her father. He had come home angryagain.And when Brian was angry, there was always consequences. If dinner was still in the oven when he got home, it was a black eye or a bruised stomach, a few dishes in the sink, slammed against the wall and a kick in the ribs. But worst of all, if she didn’t seem happy enough to see him. Then it was all of the above plus forcing himself on top of her, holes in the wall and endless screaming.This was Delaney’s norm. But it hadn’t always been this way. When her parents  first got married, the summer after high school graduation, they were madly in love. All set to build a life together, Brian off to work at his father’s legal firm and her mother Katherine to a local college to major in English and eventually education. That all fell apart when Brian’s father died, leaving him penniless and in no way to support their suddenly growing family. To make matters worse, her mother died during childbirth leaving her husband with a newborn as he spiraled into a funnel of alcohol and prescription drug abuse. So here Delaney was, the white picket fence and all, forced to keep the dark secrets within. No one could ever know what her father did to her. Not now, not ever. She had worked so hard to escape the clique of the freaks and geeks, putting all of her focus into dance, using makeup like the older girls and most of all, abandoning her former friend Aubree. The sound of the doorbell startled her from her thoughts on the floor, as she pushed herself off of the ground, wrapping her shreds of a dress around her body. Dazed and confused, she opened the door, the cold air biting at her bare legs and feet; she was startled by the police officer standing there. “H-How can I h-help you?” she stammered.As the officer rattled on and on about the little girl’s obvious bruises, frail disposition and the crashing sounds around her, Delaney ran a tired hand through her hair. “Officer, thatreallywon’t be necessary. You see, our next door neighbors are elderly so they don’t really know what they hear. I dropped a glass while I was headed to the kitchen and it startled both me and my dad. I’m an absolute klutz.  I’m fine, he’s fine, we’re both just fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go help him clean up.” the young brunette lied effortlessly as she began to close the door, her stomach tightening with nerves at the sight of the gun.How on earth could the officer know this much and so quickly? Did she really look that bad? That didn’t matter, all that did was that the police had been called because Edith and Maxwell McDonald  had been worrying about her again, Edith was bringing her casseroles and sending her teenage granddaughter over to “befriend her”. She would just text and ask about school and the thirteen year old would always feel uncomfortable but she know she meant well so  there was nothing she could do about it. She had to get back inside before her father noticed the silence and brisk air amidst his tirade.