#fic: the strings of fate

[planetkiimchi]

the strings of fate | l.mk

no. 5 of my song collection (requested!)

featuring: mark lee x gn!reader, chenle

word count: 7351

warnings: arson, fire, burning, people die in the fire, death (funeral), rooftops (?) if you're scared of heights, there's mentions of nudity but not described, swearing, you'll probably hate me for this fic but idc

playlist: anaheim - niki; 10:35 - tate mcrae; psycho - jun; adelaide - johnny orlando; let me go - hailee steinfeld + alesso + florida georgia line + watt; after you - gryffin + jason ross + calle lehmann; haunt you - x lovers + chloe moriondo

summary — when mark lee, student council president of riize highschool goes missing, you’re the first suspect. as his best friend and well-known crush, you stood to gain the most from it. you’re also vice-president, and with mark gone, you’ve stepped up to be the president and predicted valedictorian. all eyes are on you, and one wrong move can send you to your downfall. but who’s that lurking in the shadows, tugging on the puppet-strings of fort irwin? the city is small, but you feel smaller as things go spiralling crazily out of control. OR mark loves you more than anything else in the world, but you're too broken to receive his love.

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

5 months ago — if i could, i’d freeze this moment, make it my home

“Mark?” You peeked into the room, footsteps resounding in the hollow space. Mark had promised to meet you at the auditorium, but he wasn’t there, leaving you stranded in the middle of the school in a dark room with only the dark red seats to keep you company.

As you turned to leave, you heard a muffled sound that sounded suspiciously like someone landing on the carpet floor. You looked behind you just in time to see Mark removing his mask, breathlessly calling after you, still clad in his Spiderman outfit.

“Just as I thought I’d been stood up,” you told him.

“Nope. In fact, I would have been early if someone hadn’t tried to mug me on my way here. It took some time to get changed and wrap him up in spiderwebs before I dropped an anonymous tip to the police station.” As he spoke, Mark reached into his back pockets, which were luxuriously deep and could seemingly fit as many things as Doraemon’s bag.

“I brought you the book you said you wanted,” Mark said as he pressed it into your hands. His smile was contagious, and you couldn’t fault him for having a heart of gold. It wasn’t his fault that he wanted to make things right, so you forgave him for it.

“Aren’t you gonna get changed?”

He blushed and made some vague motions with his hands before settling on, “Yeah. If you could just- turn around?”

You turned around swiftly, lips pressed together as you tried to ignore the hot blush spreading across your cheeks. You fiddled with the book in your hands, the thumping of your heart making it difficult for you to hear when Mark told you he was done.

He gave you a thumbs-up, and you saw his mask hanging out from the open pocket of his bag. You walked over to him, tucking the mask inside and zipping the pocket up before reaching up, tiptoeing slightly to reach his head, and smoothed out his hair.

He shook his head slightly and wiped the sweat off his brow with a grin. “Better?”

“Better.”

“Since we’re already here, why don't we take advantage of the projector and watch a movie?”

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “I’m a little busy,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck as you thought about the countless assignments you had piling up.

Mark smiled disarmingly and extended his hand, shooting webs from his wrist. They reached the control room, hitting the “on” button. The screen blinked on, showing the default screensaver. “I didn’t mean it as a question, more like an invitation. I know you’re still not over Chenle, so I thought this might cheer you up.”

You were given little choice when Mark slipped into one of the back seats, procuring popcorn from his bag like a magician, patting the seat beside him as he projected his Netflix account onto the screen, and “Little Women” started playing. You couldn’t lie, you had a soft spot for that movie, and seeing it playing was all it took for you to cave in and slump into the seat next to him, dispelling all thoughts of work from your mind.

“Are you supposed to be using your student council pass to get access to the auditorium for a movie?” You asked curiously, reaching for the popcorn.

Mark passed you the box with a dismissive shrug. “If they didn’t want me to take advantage of it, they wouldn’t have given it to me. Perks of being liked by the teachers, I guess.”

That was Mark Lee for you. Handsome, smart, popular—well-liked by both the student body and the faculty. He was perfection in a nutshell, and his heart was yours. You only regretted never being able to give him the same.

3 months ago — you’re all i want to, want to know

Dangling your feet off the rooftops, breeze soft against your skin as you watched the sunset. Yellow waves of light washed over the red sky, turning it gorgeous shades of orange and pink and purple, if you squinted hard enough.

The sky was a vast expanse of intangible matter, the whispers of the wind calling out to you. Instinctively, you reached out for it, hands grasping at thin air. It felt like it was just out of your reach, and you leaned further, hands outstretched…

You forgot that you were on the rooftop, stomach rising to your throat as you fell from the building, scream caught in your throat which was squeezed so tightly you could barely breathe.

Every second of the fall was torture. You could feel the air rushing past your face, hard enough to chafe but not dense enough to cushion your fall. Your hands flailed about, scrabbling for something to hold onto, desperately searching for holds to grab onto, until you felt a tug on your back.

Mark lowered himself to your height, and you found yourself swinging like a pendulum from the top of the building while Mark leaned into his pants like he was going rock climbing with his friends for leisure, fully trusting his webs to hold him up.

“You good?”

You nodded, gulping nervously. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down…

Mark seemed to sense your fear, one hand wrapping around your waist reassuringly. The concrete touch of his arm against your back calmed you, and you inhaled deeply while staring straight into his eyes, refusing to look down for fear of how high up you were.

“You know, if you wanted to swing around town, you could’ve just asked.”

Your face dropped as you glared at him, your grip around his torso never loosening even for a second. “Ha ha, very funny. Please bring me back up before I throw up.”

“My pleasure.” Both of you shot up suddenly, and you almost collapsed in relief when your feet found hard ground again, but you made sure to move far, far away from the edge that time.

“I think I’m happy just staying here,” you said cautiously from the middle of the roof, as far away from all the sides of the building as possible. You knelt down to feel the ground, afraid that it wasn’t sturdy enough, before falling into a cross-legged position with a grunt.

Mark bent down to sit beside you, guiding your head onto his shoulder as he rubbed your back comfortingly. “I know it’s scary, but hey, the sunset’s worth it.”

Its beauty was almost comparable to Mark’s.

2 weeks ago — i can tell you mean it when you kiss me slow

Your hand tightened in Mark’s as he ran gleefully towards the ferris wheel, dragging you along behind him as he stood in line for the ride.

Autumn was all around you, in the air as auburn leaves drifted past on a breeze, gently gusting over your hair and leaving you feeling chilly but not cold. The crunch of your footsteps against the ground, the smell of apples all around, the earth heralded the third season of the year.

Mark’s figure was stark against the rest, dressed in all black against the neutral tones of fall, taller than everyone else. Mark was your rock, and sometimes he seemed a little larger than life.

The queue moved slowly, but Mark kept you entertained with silly jokes while it inched forward, and you found yourself lost in the sound of his laughter. It sounded muffled to your ears, like you were hearing it while you were submerged underwater. How could you bring yourself to hurt someone like him?

Your knuckles whitened as they gripped the side of the carriage tightly when you boarded the ferris wheel, eyes staring straight ahead—anywhere but down—while you fought to calm your racing heart.

“It’s not too scary if you look at me, right?”

You had to admit that he was right. If you focussed only on Mark, the world disappeared into a blur of white lights and cloudy skies, and the ground felt solid under your feet.

It was a reassuring thought to know that Mark had your back. So when you reached the top of the wheel, sky-high above the rest of the world with no weight on your shoulders, and Mark kissed you, you kissed him back.

You kissed him like your heart didn’t belong to someone else, like you didn’t care if it hurt him. Because you selfishly wanted his heart, even if you could never reciprocate his love for you.

1 day ago — but please don’t ask me, the answer’s no

You woke up in Chenle’s bed, his hands tangled in your hair while you wrapped your arms around him. The blanket was at your feet, having been kicked off in the night. Chenle’s breathing was peaceful, and the steady rise and fall of his chest pulled you out of your trance.

Chenle had done nothing to Mark, yet he had unknowingly hurt him again and again. You kept coming back to him even after you had broken up, slipping into his arms after shitty decisions late at night, clothes strewn over the floor as you willingly hurt yourself again and again.

To Chenle’s knowledge, you were single, and it was true—to a certain extent. You didn’t love Chenle, and he didn’t need to love you either. You had come to a mutual agreement that he would keep you warm on lonely nights, and there would be no questions asked.

In the mornings, you would leave, and there would be no expectations of breakfast or loving words when you woke. 

And so, you became a ghost of yourself, hovering in spaces just long enough for you to be seen before vanishing again, never happy or satisfied.

You pried yourself from Chenle’s hands, slipping into your clothes, running your hand through your hair in the mirror before rinsing your mouth and washing your face quickly. You left no traces of yourself behind, save for the guilt-ridden kiss you left on Chenle’s cheek with a sad smile.

Mark didn’t know what had happened when you met him that morning, reaching out to envelope you in a hug when you stiffened, pushing him away with a grimace. “Don’t- I don’t want to do this to you, Mark.”

He raised his hands in surrender, but you could have sworn heard his heart shatter, the pain in his eyes too much for you to bear. You turned towards the school, firmly avoiding his gaze as your lead-filled limbs brought you further and further away from him.

now — in a perfect world, i’d kill to love you the loudest

mark: can we talk? mark: i feel like there's something you're not telling me mark: i'm always here for you, you know mark: even if just as a friend

(i don’t know if that’s enough for you)

The messages he left on your phone burned a hole through your pocket. You didn’t want to answer them, but you didn’t want to ignore him either, so you opted to climb into a cab and asked it to take you to an isolated area just out of town. It was close enough for Mark to go to, but only as Spiderman. If he took any other form of transport, he would arrive too late.

you: 📍live location you: come over you: please

“Y/n?” Mark was in his Spiderman suit, eyes shielded by the mask. You couldn’t decipher any of his mixed emotions, but you saw his fingers twitch slightly before he reached out to touch the fence that separated you, hesitance laced in his voice. He sounded unsure, afraid even.

“Are you okay? What are you doing out here?” You had never heard Mark scared before. To you, he had always been the brave one, the one who walked first in haunted houses and killed insects while you screamed and leaped away. He wasn’t afraid of heights or those he fought against, and he seemed to shrink in front of your eyes when he was afraid.

“Can you come over to this side?”

Mark scaled the fence and dropped silently in front of you, cautiously moving towards you as his hand reached to pull his mask off.

“What’s going on?”

Mark felt somebody grab his hand, pulling him towards them with his face away while they held him in a chokehold. He felt a needle poking into his neck, injecting anesthetic into his bloodstream. He went limp in his captor’s arms, and was gently laid on the ground while his captor reached for their phone and stopped the recording.

“I’m sorry,” they whispered as they anonymously sent the video of an unmasked Spiderman to the news station they could count on to deliver their news the fastest.

but all i do is live to hurt you soundless

Mark came to in a dark room, hands tied behind his back. He tried to move his feet, and found that they were also tied to the legs of the chair. Defeated, he slumped in the chair, breathing heavily as he surveyed the room. It was small and empty, and he was the sole occupant inside it.

Welcome, Mark Lee. I hope you make yourself at home. With that, the speakers crackled and went quiet.

Chills ran down Mark’s spine as he heard the voice playing. Where were you, and why couldn’t he remember anything? His mind was foggy and he couldn’t remember a thing, except for your text. He remembered receiving it, and going to a shady, isolated place….

Could someone have kidnapped you and taken your phone to trick him? The idea of it caused his throat to seize, heart thumping painfully inside his chest.

The clanging sound of a door opening startled Mark, and he strained to see where the door was. He heard metal grating against the floor and the thump of footsteps, coming face to face with a masked silhouette. The white of the mask was a stark contrast to the dark cell, and it was the only thing Mark could make out.

A spoon clattered to the floor as the silhouette knelt down and set a tray of food on the floor, the water in the cup sloshing out at the impact. The silhouette’s voice sounded robotic when it spoke.

“I will untie your hands, and you can reach down to take your food. This will last you until tomorrow, so ensure that you don’t finish it all in one sitting. If you struggle or try to escape, just know that you won’t like the consequences.”

Mark’s hands felt numb, and he winced at the feeling of pins and needles as the blood gratefully rushed to his wrists, and he rubbed at his sore shoulders. He bent down gratefully to take a bowl of rice and meat from the ground, and when he sat up again, the masked person had vanished like a wisp of smoke.

say you see i’m lying, babe, and let this go

Mark was going insane. An entire day of silence was enough to drive a man to the brink of insanity, but Mark was just barely holding on. He had estimated the length and width of his cell, tried to write it down and realised that the best way was to write it in his food; hopped around, trying to stand up, and fell multiple times; and was growing bored.

He counted the seconds it took for him to breathe one full breath, then held his breath for as long as he could, then glanced back down impatiently at the analog clock he had found on his food tray.

If it was telling the right time, then 12 hours had passed since he had first woken up in his cell. He had fallen asleep in his chair during what he hoped was nighttime, but woken up with a crick in his neck that had been irritating him the entire day.

It didn’t feel like daytime, although it was supposed to be past noon, simply because there was no natural light filtering into the cell, and the only way he could see was by the light of the clock’s hands and numbers, and the dim light coming from what he assumed was a corridor outside his cell.

Mark drummed his fingers against his lap and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. He had eaten breakfast when he woke up, then lunch just after noon, but his water was running low and his parched throat itched.

It was odd, he thought, that the food that he had been given actually wasn’t that bad. It was simple, but the meat wasn’t as hard as he had expected, and he had been so hungry that he had scarfed it down in one go.

He was just about to risk hopping over to the door of the cell and yelling for help when the speaker that had scared him the night before suddenly crackled to life.

Fort Irwin is a little small for mysteries, but the latest case of Spiderman had everyone puzzled. Mark Lee, 17, was reported to be missing yesterday evening. According to reports from 35.7Hz Radio, the unmasked Spiderman circulating on the internet is exactly the same boy that has gone missing.

However, the hero was spotted swinging by a Target today, persuading a teenager to return the goods they had shoplifted from the store. Has Mark simply run away from home but felt obligated to continue enforcing the law, or has he been kidnapped?

And, more importantly, if Mark Lee has gone missing, then who is his replacement Spiderman?

Mark’s heart dropped as the speaker went silent. There had been a video of him being unmasked in his Spiderman suit? But he hadn’t even worn it in the past 24 hours—oh. Mark looked down at himself to check that he wasn’t wearing it anymore, finding his own clothes on his body.

Odd. He had only brought his phone with him when he went to find you, and he never wore his regular clothes under his suit. However, the clothes that he was wearing were definitely his—they even smelt like the laundry detergent his mum used when she washed his clothes.

If he was wearing his own clothes, then where had his Spiderman suit gone? He craned his neck to the side to look for it, immediately wincing in pain when he felt the burning pain sear through his neck. He had completely forgotten about his stiff neck.

He rubbed his neck, and the door creaked open, the masked silhouette standing there. “Good afternoon,” they said casually, picking up the empty bowls and cutlery from the floor. Mark had been bored enough to stack them up, so it was an easy task for his captor to collect the items and place them on the tray.

“If it were a good afternoon, I would be at home doing homework,” Mark snapped.

i can never promise you tomorrow

“Watch your tone,” his captor said. “I could kill you if I wanted to.”

“They’d find you,” Mark said, but he wasn’t very sure that they would.

“I don’t need to set my hands on you to drive you crazy. In fact, you’re already halfway there,” the silhouette sneered, and Mark could hear the contempt in their voice. He shuddered at the thought of going crazy, knowing that the boredom would surely drive him to do things he never would if he were in the right frame of mind.

“You should show me your face.” It was a weak attempt, but Mark didn’t want to hear anymore about his future loss of sanity, and he wanted to at least be able to identify the culprit if he ever got out alive.

“You’re changing the topic. And I don’t think I will,” the captor said. They grabbed the back of Mark’s chair and forcefully turned him around, facing him away from the door as their footsteps retreated out of the confines of the cell.

Later, the clang of a metal tray on the ground informed Mark that his food and water had been replaced, and he found that it had come with a chamber pot.

‘cause i have yet to learn how not to be his

Chenle’s hand traced lazy circles over your back until you turned to face him, legs intertwined in his.

“How are you- what do you think of the… y’know, the Mark situation?” He asked hesitantly. It was crossing some boundaries, that was for sure. Your and his relationship was meant to be free from emotional baggage, romantic gestures, and only meant as a way of comfort for both of you.

But at the end of the day, Chenle and you had dated once. Even if you had hated him for a while after the breakup, and he had ignored you for a good couple of months, he did still care about you, although he didn’t know how to—or whether he should—show it.

“I’m dealing with it,” you responded curtly. The truth was, it hurt more than it should. You were being investigated by the police, and when they found the last texts you had sent to him, it didn’t help your case much. The best you could do was to defend yourself, telling them that you had really only been in a bad place and wanted a friend to comfort you.

What they forgot was that he was still your best friend, and even if you didn’t love him back the way he loved you, he was still important to you. You didn’t want him to come to any harm, though it might seem differently to some.

You were, after all, vice-president on the student council. Now that Mark was incapacitated, you were the acting president. Besides, Mark’s crush on you had never been a secret, and half the student body thought that you had taken advantage of his crush on you to get rid of him.

His parents were the most worried, and you could barely look them in the eyes, knowing that you might have been the reason that Mark was missing. They didn’t suspect you, fully trusting you as Mark’s friend, but you didn’t want to let them down if the police found that you had led the kidnapper to Mark.

Mark’s exposed identity was also an issue. You and his parents had known since he decided to create an image for himself, but he had always wanted to keep it private for two reasons: he believed that good deeds did not need to be rewarded, and he was shy.

He didn’t want people to think of him differently because he was a “hero”. You admired him for that, but you also hated him for it. That he could be so noble and righteous, and you hated the jealousy you felt when you saw him walking around school and waving at everyone.

Superhero student council president Mark, who was only missing a lover in his otherwise perfect life.

this city will surely burn if we keep this as it is

Riize Highschool has been set on fire. 5 bodies have been recovered, and the number of injured individuals is 36 and counting. Authorities are working with the school to investigate the source of the fire. It is suspected to have been an arson attempt.

Mark’s mind ran wild with questions. Who could have tried to set the school on fire? Why? What was going on in the world, and why had his “replacement” not done anything about it?

His hands itched for something to do. The cell seemed to grow smaller by the day, the space constraining him and shutting him in. If he couldn’t escape soon, he would explode, and all the parts of him he’d tried hard to keep hidden would be on display for all to see.

He tried to pull his legs from the metal chains strapping him down for the hundredth time, pushing away from the back of the chair until he lost his balance and fell face-flat on the floor.

Blood dripped from his lips from where his teeth had torn skin, and he tried to push himself up from the floor. But the exhaustion and the weight of the chair on his back combined made it difficult, and his arms quivered from the effort.

He lay on the ground, breathing unsteady as he wondered if it was really better to be left in there alive or to leave the world peacefully.

i'd give anything to stop time

Mark missed being able to walk. He missed the sensation of sun on his face, of light reaching his eyes, he missed the freedom of not being trapped in isolated boredom the whole day. He missed his family and his friends, and most importantly, you.

He missed the curve of your neck and the warmth of you when you leaned into him on a cold day. He missed the way your waist felt in his on the rare occasions you let him hold you, missed your smile when you laughed at a silly joke on your phone.

He missed the way your face lit up when you saw him, missed sending you texts between classes, he missed everything about you. And he realised that lately, you hadn’t even felt like friends anymore.

Mark. You have fifteen minutes to leave this cell. You have been given all you need to leave, and I suggest you do it quickly.

Oh, by the way, your beloved Y/n is also trapped here. If you don't rescue them and leave in time, you can imagine what will happen.

Mark couldn’t tell what was going on in the cell, but it seemed to him that he could smell gasoline and smoke. His head whipped towards the door, seeing a flash of silver in his peripheral vision. A pair of wire cutters lay on the floor near the door of the cell, and he lunged for it, hands shaking as he tried to cut through his chains.

It was hard work, and his arms were tired and sore, and he struggled as he tried to free himself. When the second chain finally snapped, he dropped the wire cutters on the floor as he leaned back, spent.

But the reminder of you in danger spurred him on. He stood up shakily, fumbling for the key on the floor, and his trembling fingers only made it more difficult to unlock the door. As soon as he did, he stepped out into the hallway.

Smoke drifted in slowly, illuminated by the lights along the corridor. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but it was getting thicker by the minute.

“Y/n!” He yelled, voice hoarse from dehydration and misuse, desperately hoping that you would answer.

He almost collapsed from relief when he heard your voice. “Mark?”

“I'm coming! Please just keep talking, okay?”

“Okay.”

He ran down the hallways, your voice keeping him company as he searched for you.

“I miss you. I’m tired. I want to go home. Mark, we’ve all been worried sick while you were gone. I hate the responsibility you shoulder even more now that I know what it feels like, and I can’t believe you had to go through all of that. You’re insane for holding out for this long and I’m so glad you’re alive. Most of all, I miss every part of you. I’d give anything to have you back.”

“You sure about that?” The proximity of Mark’s voice filled you with relief. You turned towards the sound of his voice, and the blindfold over your eyes was the last barrier before you got to see him again. You heard the creaking of the door hinge and felt Mark’s hands land on your shoulders before he wrapped you into a hug.

As soon as he removed your blindfold, you were taken aback by how exhausted he looked. Dark circles were prominent under his eyes, his face gaunt and the cheekbones that used to be covered in a soft layer of fat seemed like a thin layer of skin over bone. His body, which used to seem taller and bigger to you just a week ago, had grown skinnier. He wasn’t taller, but somehow his body proportions looked off. He was smaller, taking up less space.

The outgoing, cheerful, popular Mark was gone — he had been replaced by someone a little awkward and unsure of himself, having grown used to living in fear.

You were in no place to comment on his appearance, however. Neither of you were in great shape; you were trussed up and your wrists were red from struggling against your bonds. Your ankles were bound tightly with rope, and it was clear to Mark that you had not been meant to stay there for long.

“We have to get out of here.”

“Yeah, no shit. Do you have a map or something? What’re you gonna do, navigate us out of here?” You were taken aback by Mark’s tone, and hurriedly amended your statement.

“I know there’s something in this room that you’re supposed to take. I was told that I would be able to get us out. Can you search the room?”

Mark scanned the room quickly before his eyes landed on you. Without a word, he knelt down in front of you, searching your pockets thoroughly. Your jeans pockets were empty, but there were a few surprises hidden in the thick folds of your hoodie.

“Got it,” he said triumphantly. He opened up his hand, and in his palm lay a few crucial items. His phone, car keys, and a sticky note.

“These are my car keys… how?” While Mark looked between his car keys and his phone, the gears in his mind whirring as he wondered how it could be, you snatched the sticky note from his hand and read the message aloud.

“Drive home, and never come back. Your car is outside. Leave.” The note ended on that threatening note, messy handwriting trailing off into a scrawl scratched across the page. Smoke drifted into the cell and you grabbed Mark’s hand.

“Run!”

As if on command, you saw the pathway lighting up. At the end of the corridor, a door opened up into light and with it, freedom. You ran toward it, the fire lapping at your heels. Although it hadn’t touched you, you could feel the blistering heat of it on your back, and the first thing you could think to do was flee.

The signs of freedom continued to greet you in the form of Mark’s car, and you ran over to the driver’s side while he unlocked the doors.

and drive around anaheim at sun down

Mark was blinking furiously, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand while you sped off, unused to the influx of light. Luckily, you hadn’t been in darkness for long, so you adjusted quickly enough to be able to drive safely.

You sat in silence like that for a while, and Mark leaned across to stare at the building, watching it go up into flames.

You said nothing as you turned on the highway, heading towards Anaheim. It was your hometown, and though it was a little out of the way, at least no one you knew would be there. For the time being, both of you needed some peace and quiet.

When the main road branched off, you took the first exit, finding yourselves next to a grass field. You shifted the car into reverse, parking along the side of the road and turning towards Mark.

“C’mon,” you gestured to him over your shoulder and went outside the car, feet sinking into the ground as you laid back onto the grass.

The sun had set on the drive there, and you could see the moon peeking out from behind the clouds, the small visible crescent shyly waving at you. You grinned back in response and felt Mark plop down next to you, one of his arms snaking under your neck and settling on your shoulder.

to teach my mind to put you first

Even if it was Mark’s hands around you, all you could think of was Chenle’s lips on yours and his hands in your hair, and not a single thought your restless mind conjured up was of Mark.

You wanted to rip the grass from the soil and scream into the void. Why couldn’t you just love him back? After all that Mark had done for you, all he had sacrificed for you, all he had given up just for a sliver of your heart? Why did your traitorous heart despise him so?

Perhaps it was because you didn’t deserve him, and despite all the selfish greed you harboured, you knew deep down that Mark deserved so much better.

here you are, a hero

Mark had grown comfortable next to you, breathing quietly as he let loose of every muscle in his body. He could feel every knot filled with tension dissipate, could feel the pain of every cut and bruise on his body finally sinking in, almost as if he’d been too scared to register it.

"Mark-"

"Y/n-"

"You go first."

"No, you."

“I want to kiss you” was his confession, blurted out like a bad choice from the depths of his subconscious, said aloud before he even had time to think it through.

“I’ll try hard not to make this feeling a crime,” he said as he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you tenderly, tears falling silently down his cheeks.

You knew you were only putting salt on the wound when you kissed him back, claiming the parts of his heart you had known were yours all along. You knew he liked you, and you hated hurting him but you never wanted to lie to him. You didn’t want Mark to think you loved him when you didn’t. Though you’d done so much to him, you didn’t ever want Mark to have his heart broken by someone who told him they loved him when they didn’t.

Not with all of their heart, at least. You did love Mark, platonically, but the important parts he wanted were the ones he couldn’t have, the ones that belonged to someone else.

You could feel Mark’s sadness piercing through your heart, his tears saltier than the dead sea. He was so genuine, so raw with his hurt as he kissed you, you almost caved and told him you could give up on Chenle. Almost.

But you couldn’t- you couldn’t do that to him.

you wanna be my new home

He pulled away, and as you stared at him, the pale yellow glow that emanated from him seemed to grow brighter before it faded. Mark, your guardian angel, who had fallen from glory and had been reduced to naught but a shadow of his former self. Everything that had made Mark stand out was gone.

And it was all because of you.

You had first started to want to know how to make Mark's webs synthetically when he first used his powers on you for target practice. His webs were long and unwieldy, and uncomfortable to use. You had been curious to see if you could possess those powers too, perhaps better than Mark.

The point where your intentions went from harmless to harmful was when you were about three-quarters of the way through the process. Mark had told you that he had won a scholarship that you had been eyeing.

It had been a tiresome period of jealousy for you, constantly feeling outdone by Mark. Him getting the scholarship you wanted had been the tipping point for you, and you were jealous that it seemed like Mark had the perfect life, while you were always competing with him. Sick and tired of it all, you had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Your turn,” Mark said, interrupting your thoughts. “What did you want to say?”

“It was me, a week ago, that knocked you out and kidnapped you. I had been planning it since you had gotten that scholarship I had wanted, and by the time I realised that I wasn’t upset with you any more, it was too late. You had been gone for 3 days and I didn’t know how to let you leave without anyone figuring out that it had been me.

“I wanted to come clean, yet I was scared of the repercussions. It took me a few days to come up with a plan to get you to ‘save’ me so you wouldn’t suspect me, and I would burn the place down so no one would ever know.

“I wanted to live your life, Mark. I wanted to know what it was like to have everyone adore you, to be at the top of the world, carefree and loved. I was sick of hiding in your shadow, I wanted to know what it was like to be a hero, to no longer settle for second best.

“But after experiencing it? I don’t think I want that life. It’s not for me. The amount of pressure you must have been under every day of your life is not something I envy. I understand now why everyone admires you. You’re worthy of that, and I’m not.”

Your palms were clammy with sweat, unsure how he would react. “I’m sorry for all I did. I hope now you understand why I would never be worthy of your love. And I hope- I hope that you won’t love me anymore in ways I can’t return.”

You didn’t know what you had expected from Mark, but it definitely wasn’t acceptance, much less his forgiveness.

When he said, "It's okay," you looked at him in confusion. What was he talking about?

"What you've done is in the past. We're both here now, aren't we?" At that, you understood. It was because he was Mark Lee, angelic and purer than you could ever hope to be, with a heart bigger than the universe. Only he would be able to forgive you after everything you had done. You nodded, and when you stood it felt like your feet were weightless against the cotton candy clouds soft under your feet.

but baby, let up

By then it was getting late, and the sun was starting to set. Mark had been silent for a while, and though it worried you, you had other concerns. The most important one at the moment was how you were going to get back home, because you were still stuck on a little road in Anaheim when you lived all the way in Fort Irwin.

It was late at night and Mark’s phone was dead, so you handed him your phone to ask him to navigate. It was an unfamiliar place and you couldn’t wait to be back in the comfort of your home, and you wanted to get Mark back to his parents as soon as possible.

Deep down, maybe you wanted to prove that their trust in you wasn’t misplaced, wasn’t unwarranted. But when you slipped your phone into Mark’s hand, it was freezing cold, and when you turned to look at him, it sent shivers down your spine.

“Mark?” He disappeared before your eyes with a sad smile, fading into nothingness while you grasped at him in a panic, refusing to believe that he wasn’t real. Your attempts were all futile as your fingers met with cold air until all that was left of Mark was your memories and regret.

i won't ever recognize these roads

You sped back after that, unsettled and afraid. If you hadn’t saved Mark, then your guilty conscience wasn’t cleared after all. How long had you been hallucinating him? Had Mark ever been real, or was he simply a figment of your imagination? How much of your reality could you trust?

Your foot on the accelerator never let up, speeding across the highway with a sinking feeling in your stomach. If Mark was real all along, and you had kidnapped him, but he wasn’t there with you, then there could only be one possibility…

'cause i am lost, but not in you

“Chenle,” you managed breathlessly while Chenle looked at you in horror. He was dressed in pajamas, as if he had been about to sleep, and you knew you were a mess.

Your wrists were red from struggling against the bonds that you had tied for yourself, an effort to make your kidnapping look real to Mark. Parts of your hair had been singed in the fire, and you smelt strongly of smoke and sweat. Your clothes were stained brown from the wet soil of the grass fields, and your shoes were falling apart.

“I think I killed him.” You wished the revelation would hurt, but Chenle slamming his door in your face hurt you more. You sank to your feet, defeated, back against his door as you sighed.

Perhaps it would be better if you ceased to exist, too. At least in hell you would get the punishment you deserved.

epilogue.

The sky burns bright like ochre, burnt umber streaks like autumn. As if on cue, as the coffins are lowered side-by-side into the earth, thunder rumbles across the sky. The sky weeps as if haunted by memories, harbouring the guilt of the murderer and the pain of their victim.

The land sings its heart out, crickets chirping and nightingales drifting by as the sky darkens. Chenle tightens his grip around the chrysanthemums in his hand as he watches the disfigured silhouettes descend.

He doesn’t know what to do. Mark Lee had been a friend of his. Granted, not a close one, but a friend nonetheless. And to think that his fuck-buddy had killed him in cold blood was a burden he wasn’t sure he wanted to bear.

He breathes in and sighs. Even if he loved you, it was too late to change the course of things. All that had happened would have happened some way or other, and all he could do was try to right things in his own way.

Chenle watches on in silence as the families of the bereaved pay their respects. He’s hidden under the shelter of the umbrella, drawn to his eye-line so no one can make eye contact with him. He observes silently as the families mourn their loved ones, not knowing that the two best friends hadn’t been kidnapped, but that one had killed the other.

When you had showed up at his door, Chenle had the fright of his life. Your pants were dotted with blood, tears streaming down your cheeks. When he heard what you had done to Mark, his first instinct was to deny it. He slammed the door in your face, head spinning, stunned by your confession.

There was nothing else he could have done.

He could not have stopped you, headstrong as you were, heading back the entire way to Mark’s deathbed, where you hugged him tightly as flames enveloped you, burning away all traces of your guilt.

When the authorities found you a day later, the forensics seemed to match up to logic—the unknown killer had killed both of you, burned you to erase their footsteps, and you two had huddled together in fear during your last moments.

He kneels to the ground and weeps with the sky, umbrella dropping to the side as the downpour drenched him and the earth as if they were one. His sorrow would melt into the soil if it could, but as it could not, it remained heavy in his heart.

Onlookers would see a grieving boyfriend, crying for his lover and friend. It was not far from the truth, but nothing they thought would come close to what had really happened to the unhappy dead.

If only they knew the truth.

fin.

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

[sapphoherselz]

hi do you ever wonder if wyamack EVER met the Foxes before their time? I'm talking any age, any time in their lives, especially the ones where they really needed a paternal figure to help them out or get them out of trouble?

like he goes grocery shopping and sees this quiet kid trying to stuff as much food in his pockets wo being noticed? but David of course does and the kid is already taking a step back, looking at him with pure terror in his eyes as if he's seeing just another person that can hurt him but of course that doesn't happen. what does happen is that david offers to pay for anything the kid wants and then starts asking question like that's one nasty bruise you got there, want to tell me what happened? and then out of nowhere the boy's mother appears and starts tugging the kid away in a not very gentle manner and David tries to interfere but they're hurriedly walking away before he can get the words out of his mouth (he has to physically stop himself from going after them because that would just frighten the kid more)(he goes back to the same grocery store at the same hour for an entire month, hoping to find this short kid hiding somewhere and maybe tell his mother exactly where she can put her hands)

or maybe he's walking home late at night and sees this kid sitting on the sidewalk and he approaches cause shouldn't you be at home? wouldn't your parents worry? do you want to give them a call, you could use my phone but the kid tenses so much that David takes several steps back and starts talking about everything under the blue sky trying to get him to calm down. when that eventually happens, they end up sitting (with some comfortable distance) next to the other in utter silence, until the kid goes "I don't want to go home" and David is like. okay. we can stay here for as long as you'd like. the night is young and I have snacks in my pockets. did I tell you already that I'm an exy coach? what do you mean you don't know what exy is- no I'm not making that up, it's a job and I have it! they even pay me for it! (he ends up falling asleep in a sitting position and wakes up alone, the marble next to him having long gone cold) (he doesn't even remember if he had managed to make the kid smile or if his eyes were playing tricks on him) (if he starts walking home later than usual just to sit on a lonely sidewalk for hours then it's his business and no one else's)(and yes he does bring with him all of the snacks he thinks the kid would like) (no he didn't spend minutes choosing them)

like something something the red string theory something something everyone is always connected something something

[firehose118]

They’re in the back seat of the engine on the way back from a call. Buck has been glued to his phone the whole drive, blushing and smiling like a teenager with a crush.

Buck laughs out loud at something Tommy says and Chimney has finally had enough. “Come on, Buck, if I knew I was gonna have to deal with watching this all day I never would’ve saved Tommy’s life when I first started here. Put the phone down, man.”

Hen tuts at him. “Come on, Chim, let the boy enjoy his queer puberty. It’s actually kind of sweet.”

“You saved Tommy’s life?” Buck asks, his eyes wide and concerned. He’s still texting without looking at his phone.

Chim sighs. “Yeah, he never told you about that?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, he uh. He doesn’t like to talk about his time at the 118. Says he still feels bad about the way he acted back then.”

“Well he’s not wrong about that. We forgave him a long time ago but he’s come a long, long way from the Tommy Kinard we knew back then.” Chim says. Buck looks at him expectantly so he keeps going. “But yeah, a few months into the job I was finally allowed to go out on calls. There was one fairly early on that had all the signs of a gas leak but Captain Gerrard refused to believe it. Tommy was passed out inside so I ran into the store and carried him out just as the building exploded. That’s when he decided to be nicer to me. Not nice, but nicer.”

“Oh,” Buck says. And then he flares his nostrils and turns back to his phone, fingers flying furiously.

“Are you- are you berating him for having his life saved?” Hen laughs.

“No,” Buck says, annoyed. “I’m berating him because I’ve told him about every time I’ve almost died and he never once mentioned that my brother-in-law saved his life. Seems like a pretty big thing to leave out!”

Eddie laughs at that. “Maybe he didn’t want to compare his trauma to yours. Maybe he wanted you to have your space to talk about it without changing the subject to himself. Seems pretty mature, actually.”

Buck thinks about that for a second and then starts backspacing. “That’s actually really nice of him.” A wide puppy love smile washes over his face. “Fuck, he’s so good to me.” He starts typing faster again.

Chim groans. This is gonna be a long drive.

It is, but then it ends. They get back to the firehouse and start removing their turnouts. Buck corners Chimney before he can rejoin the group.

“Hey, uh. I-I should’ve said this earlier but, um. Thank you. For saving Tommy.” Buck wraps himself around Chim in a goofy but sincere hug.

Chim lets out an oof but hugs him back. “Of course. We are in the life saving business, after all.”

“I know,” Buck says, his voice thick. He squeezes Chim just a little harder. “I’ve just- I’ve never been this happy before. I’ve never felt so comfortable in my own skin. It’s not all Tommy, but he’s a big part of it. I think that navigating my bisexuality would’ve been a lot harder without him. If I’d ever even managed to figure it out without him kissing some sense into me, I mean. To think that I could have never had this, that he could’ve died and been such a minor footnote in your life is just…” Buck shudders against him. “So thank you. Thank you for giving me this.”

Chim is unexpectedly moved. Buck frustrates him, sure, but he loves him like a brother. “I’m glad you’re happy, Buck. I’m glad I could play some small role in that. You know I feel the same way about Maddie, right?”

“Ew, don’t talk about my sister,” Buck jokes, but his voice is still thick. It sounds like he’s trying not to cry.

Chim laughs. “I think it’s only fair.”

“Yeah, alright,” Buck chuckles. He finally lets Chim out of their hug but he keeps a hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eye. “Seriously, though. Thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better brother-in-law.”

“Neither could I, man.” Chim points his thumb upstairs. “Lunch?”

Buck nods. They walk up the stairs and join the rest of their work family, grateful that the 118 has become a place they can call home.

[ao3]

[bidisastersanji]

"Zoro gets lost because he uses his red string of fate like a compass- and that's why Sanji always finds him" was one of the first things I posted and now it's real! I got three chapters and here's the first part below the cut. Click here to read it on AO3 if you prefer. each part is around 1.5k words. edit: part 2 here, part 3 here

Zoro has always been a simple man; one of actions over words and of tangible things over what he considers trivial. It’s therefore not surprising that, in a world where certain people are bound by fate, each in their own unique way- some rumoured to share markings on their skin, some with changing eye colours, or even some who feel phantom pains from across the sea- in such a spectacular world, Zoro doesn’t really linger on the red piece of thread tied to his pinky finger. 

The red thread hasn’t ever really been a question in his mind, it just was.  

As far back as he could remember, it’s just been there, infinitely stretching Northwards, unmoving and unseen by others. Subconsciously, he taught himself to use it as a compass to navigate his home island, Shimotsuki. He never had to remember to take it with him, and it reliably was always stretching in the same direction, which was perfectly convenient with the function he’d ascribed it. His odd way of getting around easily became second nature, a habit so deeply ingrained that he barely gave a second thought to the bright cord on his hand. 

--- 

He’s about eight years old when things change. 

The first day Zoro gets lost, he thinks he might’ve missed one of the steps he memorised, jaw tight with repressed irritation at being reprimanded for his lateness to practice. 

The second time he gets lost he’s in the forest, thick trees towering over him in all directions, and when the sun starts to lower in the sky, frustration bubbles up in his chest, tight and sour, stinging his eyes, threatening to spill out as he struggles to find his way back to the dojo. They must’ve cut down some trees or something, he scoffs to himself. 

The third time he gets lost, he’s pretty certain that someone must be playing a prank on him and moved the garden shed from its usual spot. There’s no other reasonable explanation -short of the shed growing legs- seeing as he’s such a natural at getting around. 

From then on, Zoro learns to accept that he lives in a world where people mysteriously move landmarks, buildings and roads around all the time. He tries not to take it too personally, being the target of all these pranks, but he does resent the time he wastes when getting around, as its precious time he could’ve been using to be training. Training to finally beat Kuina. 

It takes him weeks to realise that maybe the string on his hand isn’t pointing in the same direction anymore. 

Once he does notice, he notes that it periodically moves around- sometimes a bit, sometimes a lot, always right when he starts getting used to it damnit and no his sense of direction is just fine thank you. After the first couple of students at the dojo get their asses handed to them for teasing him about it, adults and children alike learn not to poke fun at the glaring, directionally challenged green-haired boy, no matter how often nor absurdly he gets turn around.  

The only person that Zoro reveals his little secret to is Kuina.  

He’s eleven, still a head or two shorter than her, and they’re taking a little break from sparring, sharing some homemade onigiri her mom made her. They’re sat in a tree’s shade, a pleasant breeze cooling their overheated skin, and she asks him about his infamously atrocious spatial navigation. He denies it at first, ears heating up in embarrassment, but after a couple more bites he decides if anyone were to know, it would have to be her. His friend. His only best friend. 

The young Zoro reveals that he’s not really sure why he gets lost in the first place- he's always relied on the thread- not landmarks or maps, as he’s now learned others do- to tell up from down, but one day it just moved. His north star moved, and has kept on moving these past three years, and he still doesn’t know why, just that it’s a real bother. 

“Your... thread?” 

“Yeah.” he eagerly stuffs his mouth with more onigiri. 

Her eyebrow raises quizzically. “I don’t know what you mean by that.” 

Zoro gestures to his pinky with a tilt of his chin and a wiggle of his finger. “You know. My red string. On my pinky.” 

“Zoro, I really don’t. I don’t see anything...” She furrows her brow, thoughtful. “But mom did give me ‘the talk’ last week- maybe this has to do with your soulmate!” Sensing a certain disinterest from her junior, she goes on. “Based on the examples I’ve heard about; I’d say it’s likely that the piece of string on your finger leads to your other half.” 

Zoro shrugs lazily. “Sounds like a drag, couldn’t this just be like, my inner compass or somethin’?” 

Her eyes crinkle at that, a grin splitting her face from ear-to-ear. “What inner compass, moron? You always get lost. And aren’t you the least bit interested in the person on the other end?” She pokes him in the chest. 

“Not really, no.” Zoro tries to brush off the taunt, lips pursed and palming his neck in a nervous tick. 

“Ok, think about it this way,” Kuina calls for his attention, “Somewhere out there, on this wide, wide sea- or a faraway island, I guess, there’s someone meant for you. Your person. Your equal. Isn’t that the least bit exciting?” 

The young boy’s scowl shifts into something softer, a pout. “I... guess?” He sighs. “I honestly don’t know- all I care about is becoming the best. Right now, Kuina, you’re my goal, you’re who I’m looking to. I don’t really care about this stranger, or fate, or anything like that. I’m gonna make my own destiny.” 

Her shoulders shake as she laughs. “Why am I not surprised- Zoro, all you think about are swords and fighting. You’re hopeless. I kind of worry for whoever’s stuck with you-” 

“Hey!” his nostrils flare with indignation. “They’re lucky to have me as a soulmate! I’m gonna be so strong- the strongest- and,” he slows down, realising she’d tricked him into caring, just a tiny bit, “a-and they’ll be the happiest soulmate ever ‘cause I’ll protect them.” 

She hums in agreement, amused. “And you’ll cherish them, right?” 

“Y-yeah...whatever.” he stands up abruptly, eager to change the topic and get back to training. “But my priority is to be the greatest swordsman- and don’t you forget it! I’ll beat you tomorrow for sure!” 

- 

After Kuina’s death, thoughts of soulmates and red threads rarely ever cross his mind. 

At her funeral, he briefly wonders what’ll become of her soulmate, if she even had one, but it just brings bile to his throat. They’d never even met her- why did they even matter. They were the ones mourning her, the ones robbed of their beloved friend, daughter, rival- they were the ones left behind with a Kuina shaped hole in their chests. The bitter burn distracts from the heavy emptiness he can’t shake off, the cold wetness of grief seeping into his skin. He wholeheartedly leans into the fury, grateful for a target, a temporarily outlet for the howling tempest of emotions caused by the loss of his best friend. 

Zoro’s world zeroes in on becoming the best. Pushing himself to the limit. Sparring, training. Constant practice and meditation. After Kuina’s death, there’s no student at the dojo for him to look up to, no ever-progressing goalpost he can set as a target. If he stays, he’ll continue being a big fish in a little pond.  

Zoro leaves. 

He sails the East Blue, seeking stronger and stronger opponents, cashing in bounties to get by. The Demon of the East Blue, they start calling him. But he’s still the same boy who gets lost, the ghost of a red thread distracting his steps and getting him turned around as he travels from island to island. His odd navigating system is as familiar and mechanical as the way his muscles move when he uses his swords, so ingrained he rarely registers that he’s eyeing the thin, tightly corded rope in his peripheral vision. 

Arms tied back with a much thicker, tangible rope, body sore, throat parched and delirious from the burning sun, Zoro doesn’t have much to do in Shell Town’s military yard. For the first time in years, he lets himself contemplate the implications of what Kuina had explained to him- the implications of having a person out there meant for him. He wonders if they’ll ever meet- it seems unlikely if he died here. Which he won’t, of course. Because he’s going to be the world’s greatest swordsman, and not even death will keep him away from achieving his dream. Then- only then, will he maybe think of looking for whoever was stuck with him, he decides. It’ll be his decision. 

For now, he’ll just keep following whatever path he feels will lead him to greatness. 

And what an odd path he stumbles into. Zoro joins a pirate crew. He makes friends. They get into heaps of trouble, fighting the marines, a crazy clown, a creepy butler... Zoro is happy to test his mettle, to feel challenged once again, the rush of battle pulsing through his veins like the sweetest nectar, the comforting weight of his blades grasped in his hands and mouth. 

- 

It’s been a couple of days since they left Syrup village now, and from her spot on Merry’s bridge, Nami has been giving him weird looks. 

“Did you hit your head?” 

He huffs, miffed at being bothered during his nap. “No. Why’re you asking?” 

“You haven’t been getting lost as much lately.” she smirks when she adds, “And I’ve seen you get lost on a smaller ship than this, once.” 

His eyes roll. Fucking witch. “Dunno what you mean, my sense of direction is great.” 

“And Luffy’s a great swimmer.” 

They glare at each other for a moment. Sensing she won’t get any more info from the swordsman, Nami turns away first and sighing, returns her full attention to manning the ship’s helm. 

Truth is, the thread had barely moved since they left Usopp’s home island, always pointing in the direction the Merry was sailing- not that Zoro had noticed. This rare situation enabled him to get the hang of the ship’s layout relatively well, and he’d been enjoying how easy it’d become to move around, even though he chalked it up to personal atunement to the Straw hats’ already beloved ship. 

A few hours before they get to the Baratie, he thinks it’s a funny coincidence that the thread is pointing in the direction the Merry is going. 

[it-happened-one-fic]

Come My Way - Silver

Author Notes: So, this was certainly a thing. I started writing this after the Diasomnia chapter while listening to AmaLee's cover of "Come this Way" from the Inuyasha anime and it kind of spiraled from there. I decided I'd play with the entire red string of fate thing despite it being rather heavy-handed in terms of romance since Prefect and Silver have some interesting ties within the storyline which I have considered writing an analysis of for my analysis blog. (plus I do find the red string of fate to be quite romantic at times and it was a nice tie in for all the other Inuyasha stuff) I came back and edited this fic to the original version of the song "Come" that is seventh ending theme of Inuyasha. All in all, the fic ended up long, but I still found it intriguing enough to post since I didn't have a fic in particular planned for this week. As per usual, reader is gender neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender neutral reader /sfw /fluff /some drama /romance /spoilers for Diasomnia chapter

Word count: 2584

Fated love was something that seemed to only occur in fairytales. An amusing thought for someone from the country of the fae to have. But to Silver, the idea of meeting someone he was fated to be with despite the many obstacles life could hold was beautiful, but also rather improbable.

Especially when he considered his narcolepsy.

It was almost like a fond dream, perfect and wonderful, until he awoke and the dream was shattered.

And yet, when he first saw you, Silver felt a glimmer of something akin to recognition. 

But he knew, for a fact, that he had never met you. There was no way he could have since you were from an entirely other world that was supposedly devoid of magic.

So Silver had initially shrugged that strange sensation of familiarity off. Deciding that you probably just had one of those faces that looked incredibly similar to someone else’s. 

But he’d still wanted to get to know you. Out of curiosity, if nothing else.

The mere idea of even meeting you soon seemed to be perfectly impossible, though. Because it was like the world itself was endeavoring to keep the two of you apart. 

And maybe it was. You weren’t from this world, and, if Silver thought logically about it, perhaps it was best if he didn’t talk to you. 

Maybe he didn’t need to let whatever this pull was that seemed to draw him inevitably towards you have its way. After all, if he were already so intrigued by you without talking to you, then he didn’t see how it could get any better once he did get to know you.

And then, if you did as you no doubt wished and went home, he would be left alone.

Alone and empty, he feared, if the sensation that he was close to meeting someone beyond important to him that swelled within him every time he saw you was anything to go by.

Initially, he’d kept his thoughts to himself. Better that way, since he didn’t want to bother anyone else with the strange, foreign feelings. But when he started seeing you in his dreams, always distant but ever present and seemingly unreachable. That was when it had gone on long enough.

Lilia had smiled at him amusedly when he’d explained the strange sensation that he knew you despite having never met you and the urges he felt to speak to you. To get to know you.

It was as if the ancient fae had already known, and he even nodded like he was completely unsurprised as he’d spoken. His tone oddly pleased, “I had wondered if this would happen. They do remind me of you, after all.”

Silver had felt his eyes widen at his father’s words before he shook his head in confusion, “How are they like me?”

Lilia had laughed aloud at his son’s words, rubbing Silver’s head like he was still a small child as his eyes gleamed with amused fondness, “Why, you’re both diligent, reserved, good children. Humans who don’t judge others by their race and who are capable of forgiving even the greatest of evils. You both serve as a sort of light within the darkness to the hearts of those you touch.”

Silver had felt himself smile, shaking his head at his father’s words but knowing better than to deny what he’d said. Lilia had always doted on his son, and even if Silver didn’t agree with the image he painted, Lilia wouldn’t accept his refusal.

Lilia had sat down next to Silver on the bed, his eyes narrowing with amusement, “Let me tell you a story from another land far, far away.”

Silver had focused on his father’s words, frowning slightly in determination to remain focused without falling asleep.

“In the same land that holds the great Loong dragons, there is a story of a red string.” Lilia had spoken in a soft voice, the one that always lulled Silver to sleep but also held the greatest of secrets.

“No one knows what spinning wheel weaves this string; perhaps it is the wheel of life itself. But legend has it that this thin strand of red ties you to your fated one.”

Silver had nodded, not surprised by the contents of the legend. It was much like other stories that revolved around fate, but he tilted his head nonetheless, “A single string seems an odd choice for a tie that binds.”

Lilia had nodded, giggling slightly before he continued, “It is, isn’t it? But that fragility hides incredible strength. Just like how love can seem fragile, but can weather even the greatest of storms, this single thread of red string is strong. No matter the distance, time, or circumstance, it will remain strong.”

He’d blinked, his pink eyes gleaming in the darkness like some sort of omen. A subtle reminder that there was more to Silver’s father than met the eye as he finished, his voice dropping and having caused Silver to still ever-so-slightly, “Perhaps it could even stretch across worlds, should fate will it.”

With only those words, it became beyond clear what Lilia had met when he’d started his tale and how it connected to Silver’s trouble with you. Silver had shook his head slightly, smiling softly, as he’d realized what Lilia was doing. It hadn’t the first time his father had teased him about romance.

“Father, I don’t think a thread of legend is what is causing me to be fascinated by Y/n,” At Silver’s words, Lilia had nodded. Smiling to himself, like he knew a secret that no one else knew anything about.

Lilia’s hands had found Silver’s, and the ancient fae had looked down at his son’s hands, calloused from the use of the sword, as his own rough thumb had slipped over his son’s pinkie finger, the smile on his face spreading, “Perhaps not… Perhaps not.”

The days wore on, and Silver had thought very little of the discussion he’d had with his father, even as you remained an ever-present thought in his mind.

And then he’d finally interacted with you. 

It had seemed more like an accident than anything. A small blip in the plans of the world as time itself had seemed to slow around the two of you, and you blinked at him in quiet surprise before you smiled.

It had been a very brief interaction, with you almost bumping into him in a doorway as he’d started to enter a classroom. You’d backtracked quickly, laughing slightly as you apologized and moved out of his way even as he’d assured that there was no problem and that he should have been paying better attention to where he was going.

And after that, Silver had found himself bumping into you more and more. Spending time with you between classes. Waking up to find you sitting next to him, like you were protecting him. Before long, he was even walking you back to your dorm.

“Silver, it seems you’ve befriended the Child of Man. You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with them,” Malleus’s smile had been beyond smug as he greeted Silver one day when Silver had only just gotten back from walking you to Ramshackle dorm.

Silver had blinked at the prince’s words, half-startled, before he nodded, “Yes, Y/n and I have been helping each other with classes.”

It was strange, in many ways, to use an evasive remark when Silver had known he hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but something about the way Lilia had smiled at him from around Malleus. His large eyes, narrowing with amusement as he looked at his son, that had Silver faltering.

“They are quite charming, aren’t they? It seems they have won over most of the school by now,” Malleus’s fingers had brushed across his lips as if he were trying to hide the amused grin that stretched across his face.

But his words were true. Silver seemed to have been the last one to reach where you were, and now that he’d been standing next to you, he’d noticed something.

You worried about and for those around you. A little bit too much, in fact. 

Silver suspected that was why you’d wound up in so many situations, to the point where you were something of a celebrity within the school. One that was either hated or loved depending on who you spoke to.

But you went out of your way to help those around you and did your best to keep up with your peers, even though there was no way you could truly succeed in the magic-related classes.

It was like you were running from something and using everything to distract yourself from whatever that thing was.

And perhaps that was why Silver hadn’t been surprised when he’d found you asleep on your couch, where you’d passed out before he’d shown up to study with you.

The fact you had been asleep wasn’t odd; you’d been falling asleep during the day more and had mentioned not sleeping well at night before. What had been concerning, though, were the marks of dried tears on your face that had caused Silver to frown as he’d knelt down beside you.

Because that was what he had been worried about even then. That you weren’t letting yourself rely on others and were instead pushing yourself to support everyone else and avoiding your own problems.

For someone who’d been magically transported to a world that wasn’t your own, you seldom mentioned your home and took a surprising amount in stride.

He’d remembered how you’d looked when Leona had overblotted. Grimly determined and afraid. But Silver had suspected that fear had been less in regard to your own potential injury and more for Leona himself.

He hadn’t said anything, though. Silver knew when someone didn’t want to talk about something. But he also knew that if you ever needed him, he would be here. Right by your side and waiting.

You hadn’t come to him with your troubles, though. Instead, you’d bore them in silence all the way up until shortly before Silver’s entire world changed.

That day, you’d been different.

“Y/n, what is it?” You jolted from your fidgeting motions, as if Silver’s soft voice had startled you, and you’d looked at him with wide, almost fearful eyes that had caused him to frown.

You’d relaxed, though, something that he’d wondered about even then. Was it a natural reaction or forced?

“I… I just feel like something’s going to happen,” Silver had tilted his head at your words, so unlike how usually laid-back you were.

“How so?” You’d met his gaze as he spoke and kept his voice soft and carefully controlled as he’d leaned forward and towards you.

“Do you believe that dreams can sometimes predict things?” Silver had felt his eyebrows raise at your words, and at first he’d honestly thought you were teasing him. But a single glance at your expression, worry-filled as it was, had told him everything.

“Fa- Lilia has spoken of prophetic dreams and people who can see things before; why?” You’d nodded at his words, looking away as if you were deep in thought.

And after a brief moment, you’d looked back toward him. A forced smile sweeping across your face that was nowhere near as natural as the one you usually wore. 

Your hand had found his, surprising him slightly as a tingle had seemed to shoot through him at your mere touch as you’d spoken, your smile softening as you’d seemed to reassure yourself, “I just hope everything stays like this.”

Your words had lingered in his mind, playing on repeat like an omen, until the day had come when Lilia told him he was leaving.

That was when everything had shattered, and suddenly, somewhere in the back of his mind, Silver had wondered: Was this what you’d been worried about?

He hadn’t gotten a chance to ask or even see you until after everything had happened.

Lilia’s farewell party had come; Silver had confessed everything about his feelings and frustrations to Malleus, and then Malleus had overblotted.

Silver knew he was lucky, though. Lucky that, in some small way, you’d warned him. And lucky that the very moment he’d fallen asleep, he’d known something was amiss.

It had been subtle, but in the midst of the slightly off, too-perfect world that was his dream, he’d felt it. A gentle tugging at his pinkie finger, like a thread was wrapped around it, was being pulled.

The sensation sent a jolt through him, and Silver turned, his eyes widening as he caught sight of a bird trailing a strange rainbow light. And then he knew what was wrong with everything that surrounded him.

Where were you? 

If this were a perfect world, you’d be here. And the fact you were missing was why he’d felt so empty. Because you were nowhere to be seen. Almost like you’d never existed.

Light seemed to flash around him, like stars guiding him forth as he ran forward, chasing that rainbow bird and following that invisible thread that seemed to pull him onwards.

It was a sensation he recognized and was familiar with. He knew who lay at the end of this path, even if he didn’t fully understand what was going on.

Somehow, someway. You were calling him, even if you didn’t know it.

Silver had vowed very few things in his life. To defend Malleus, to care for his father, and to protect those dear to him. And finally there was the silent, unspoken oath that now pushed him forward from behind, as the promise of your presence pulled him onwards. The oath he’d made with himself to stay by your side.

It was a selfish oath that he’d made without entirely realizing it until now.

Instinctively, he closed his eyes as he burst forth through the edges of his dream and into the corridor of dreams that would lead him to you. And he saw something he’d never seen before. 

Something he now suspected his father had seen a long time ago, all those days ago when he’d first told him about that legend about fate and threads.

It was a thin red strand, so fragile-looking, but pulled taut as it connected him to something further down the invisible path before him. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, where that thread would lead him.

So he ran. Shouting your name even as he burst forth into a new dream. One filled with inky shadows as it crumbled to pieces around you.

“Y/N!!” At his shout, you looked up. Your eyes wide from where you stood in the center of the collapsing dream, clutching Grim to you.

“S-Silver!” You faltered, having to stop yourself from stepping towards him as you slowly ran out of space to stand in as Grim yowled something that came out garbled in his distress as Silver reached out to you.

“Hold on to me! Both of you,” There was no hesitation in your motions as you grabbed onto his hand, and he wrapped an arm around you as he pulled both you and Grim up against him. 

The words of his spell held new meaning as he spoke them with you at his side, “To the person I met someday, to the person I will meet one day….” He glanced down at you, now knowing that you were that fated person.

“Meet in a dream.”

[thedemonofcat]

Ever since Jaskier was a small child, he had the ability to see the red strings of fate. He noticed the string of the old gardener sever just before the man dropped dead.

When Geralt went to Yennefer, Jaskier saw their strings intertwine and tangle together. He saw the tangle become a knot when Geralt was with Ciri.

Jaskier knew everyone's fate because he could see their strings. Tragically for him, Jaskier had no string of his own.

Jaskier had no fate.

[hauntingsofhouses]

yeah taimizu IS toxic and off putting actually ‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️

EDIT: TO BE CLEAR THIS IS A POST IN FAVOUR OF TAIMIZU!!! I AM A DIRTY TAIMIZU SHIPPER!!!!!

[fabled-lady-twilla]

Shiga in 99.9% of the scenes I've written for my ShigaDeku Soulmate AU fic, lmao!

He's like… ugh I don't wanna sit through any boring PLF meetings plotting to take control of all Japan, I just wanna grab my green-haired boyfriend/reluctant hostage and run away to my room. Heh.

Anyways! Under the keep reading link below is an excerpt from a flirty, slightly spicy scene between Izu and Shiga that happens later on in my fic. It's where they're past the chaotic, angry, violent 'enemies to lovers' stage of the story and Shiga has just discovered that he can touch/manipulate what I'm calling a 'soul-cord' in my AU, which is basically a spiritual link that connects two soulmate's souls together and helps them find each other.

The idea of a soul-cord comes from the concept of the 'red string of fate' and is basically a floating metaphysical cord/thread/string (not 100% sure what I'm calling it yet) woven from strands of each soulmate partner's soul, binding their destinies together and ensuring that always meet. By default, a soul-cord wraps around each soulmate partner's pinky finger, but this can be changed.

The thing is, with the way I integrated the soulmates trope into this AU along with Quirks, only soulmate partners with Quirks can see/interact with their soul-cords. By the time the main story line comes around, Izu has lost OFA and Shiga still has his Quirk (Decay). So, only Shiga can see/mess around with their soul-cord but both of them can feel it. Which is why Izuku is like, what the actual fuck is going on right now in the scene below lmfao. 🤣

Also, do you think the name 'soul-cord' is a good name for this? Or would 'soul-thread', 'soul-string', 'soul-braid', 'soul-weave', etc. be a more fitting name for it? I wanna know your opinion!

Pretty pretty pretty please let me know what you thought of this scene and if you'd like to see any more ShigaDeku excerpts! If you'd like to be added to the tag list for the story, please like, share, comment, or send me a PM. Thank you for reading! ❤️❤️❤️

Keep reading for 900+ words of flirty, slightly horny ShigaDeku interaction below:

“Is there a problem?” Izuku said, crossing his arms across his chest as he glared up at the other man. Tomura’s attention had been honed in on him since breakfast and Izuku had finally had enough of it. "You’ve been staring at me all morning. If you’ve got something to say to me, either say it or leave me alone."

Tomura leered down at Izuku through a half-lidded gaze, crimson eyes glinting in the soft orange lights of the hallway. Paying explicitly close attention to the way their silvery blue soul-cord looped around Izuku's pale throat over and over and over again, all nice, tight, and pretty. Right where Tomura wanted it. Right where it looked the best: wrapped around Izuku’s pale, freckled neck.

Right where it belongs, Tomura thought possessively, his cock twitching in agreement in his pants. The same it had been doing all morning long, causing him to have to constantly readjust his slacks.

The longer Tomura ogled him, the more Izuku’s frown deepened, and Tomura noticed the younger man’s glare taking on a heatedness that caused the green in his eyes to darken, contrasting beautifully against the silvery blue soul-cord wrapped around his neck.

Oh, yes. Tomura could definitely get used to this sight.

"Just admiring my handiwork," Tomura finally said, offering a wolfish grin with far too many teeth.

"Handiwork? What handiwork?" Izuku asked, brow furrowing with suspicion.

Tomura's only answer was a slight quirk of his lips.

Suddenly, Tomura thought of a wonderful idea, and his grin took on such a quality of wickedness that Izuku was immediately put on guard.

It was never a good sign when Tomura smiled like that. If that manic grin was directed at someone else, it meant someone was about to harassed, maimed, or something much worse. If it was directed at Izuku, it meant Tomura was up to something no good and Izuku, willingly or not, was about to find out exactly what that ‘something’ was.

Tomura backed away from Izuku, watching as the distance between them increased the floating length of their soul-cord. Tomura grasped the slack and gently looped it around his hand multiple times until it was almost completely pulled taut.

“What are you doing?” Izuku looked at Tomura like he’d lost his mind, what with his waving his hand around in the air like a lunatic. “Looks like you’ve finally gone completely insan—"

Without warning, Tomura roughly yanked their soul-cord towards himself, like he was yanking a dog backwards on a leash. Izuku found himself being jerked forward by an unseen force, tripping over his own two feet and nearly tumbling to the floor were it not for him crashing straight into Tomura's chest.

Izuku’s eyes widened in shock. Not only from what had just occurred but from the feeling of something warm, ticklish, and wispy stroking the length of his neck as Tomura made strange hand movements in the air.

Bewildered, Izuku ran his fingers over his Adam’s apple and around the back of his neck, where the warming sensations were the strongest. He grabbed at nothing, could feel nothing, only adding to his growing confusion at what the actual hell was going on. Did Shigaraki get a new Quirk?

Tomura hummed, seemingly delighted. He made another quick hand motion, fingers circling around nothing and making to grab at something in the air before pulling it closer.

Izuku felt it again, even stronger than before. A thick, deliciously warm pressure around his neck, not quite cutting off his air supply but toying the line of doing so. He couldn’t stop the flush from entering his cheeks at their sudden, close proximity, nor the shiver that ran down his spine at the feeling of something so snug and… protective closing in around such a vital part of his body.

Izuku bit his bottom lip, chewing at worryingly.

Tomura ate up the sight of Izuku’s nervous arousal with a quiet sort of hunger. With their soul-cord still looped around his hand, Tomura softly, ever so slightly, pulled it just a bit tighter.

Izuku gasped, pretty green eyes growing to such a comically large degree that Tomura could not help but let out a mean laugh at his expense, entertained by the younger man’s reactions.

“You!” Izuku hissed accusingly, snapping out of his stupor and narrowing his eyes into angry little slits, “What the hell did you do to me!?”

Tomura grin grew so wide and predatory it nearly split his face in half. “Maybe if you’re a good boy today and don’t get into any trouble, I’ll come by your room later tonight and tell you all about it.”

At Izuku’s utterly scandalized face, Tomura smirked. He swiftly untangled their soul-cord from his hand right as Izuku forcibly pushed against his chest, propelling himself away and out of Tomura’s grasp.

Izuku grunted from the force of his back thudding against the wall of the hallway. He splayed his hands against it and quickly but cautiously inched himself along the wall away from Tomura, mouth slightly parted as he stared at the other man with an expression that was so distrustful Tomura couldn’t help but let out a huff of amusement, his canines popping out past his cracked lips.

“D-don’t you ever do that to me again!” Izuku managed to stutter out, the words coming out way less confident and threatening than he wanted them to sound.

But god, this unhinged man-child was quite literally driving him up the wall and Izuku wanted no part of anything to do with Shigaraki Tomura.

Izuku took a couple of cautious steps backwards, regarding Tomura like he would a rabid wild animal he didn’t want to turn his back to lest it pounce on him.

Tomura just stared back, crimson eyes gazing at him with an intensity that frightened Izuku more than anything else that had just transpired between them.

Izuku noped out and made a break for it.

Swiftly pivoting on his heel and rounding the corner, Izuku fast-walked down to the end of the hallway towards his room, Tomura’s raspy laughter reverberating off the walls and following him every step of the way until he slammed the door shut.

[livetogether--diealone]

"It was a little bit like I was looking at my younger self.”

@f1blrcreatorsfest -> week 3: creative layouts

[rendnotmyheart]

Soulmate aus are so interesting in an iwtv context. Like for humans it's easy, right? They get their soulmate mark, they find their soulmate, or maybe they don't, and they live their life. For vampires though? Do vampiric soulmates even exist? How could they when the soulmate marks are relics of their human life? When the other person who has the mark will be dead before their life as a vampire has even begun? Or were they always fated to become a vampire? Did the universe take that into account? Will they have to wait some hundreds of years for their soulmate to be born? Their soulmate could be anywhere, any time. Hell, their soulmate could be the person they just drained. Who knows. Even if they were somehow able to find them, what are the chances they'd stay together for eternity? It is eternity after all. Not even the universe or fate can guarantee that.

[kentocalls]

soulless sukuna ryomen author note: red string of fate!au, sukuna does not have a string, technically it should be stringless!sukuna but it’s not the same as soulless!sukuna so pls let me have this. i probably won’t write ever again

Soulless!Sukuna who is sure you’ve lost your mind when he finds you on his balcony, trying to slip your heels onto his expensive outdoor coffee table. He admires the skin peaking through that awfully conservative outfit, watches you sit and lean back dangerously, the city wind making hair hair dance, a shiver crawling up your neck. He’s not intrigued.

Soulless!Sukuna lights his cigarette and pretends you aren’t there. Pretends he doesn’t feel your eyes on him, assessing. Mind vaguely shuffling through what he remembers about you; something in your file mentioned part of the job you hold is analytics? Whatever. It’s not like he kept tabs on you for a year due to interest. You’re simply a very easy piece to fuck up Gojo Satori’s empire with. That’s it.

Soulless!Sukuna who takes his sweet time smoking, enjoying the ambience below him, his street is kept clean and quiet out of sheer fear of his wrath. Those who know, understand it's best to not bother the king of the city with anything stupid. His mind wanders back to you, realizing that you’re not invited to his celebration, how the fuck did you get past his security? He’s not going to ask, he doesn’t care. You’re not a threat.

Soulless!Sukuna who saunters over it’s to use his crystal ash tray, to keep his balcony clean, it’s not to admire your silhouette lit up by city lights. It’s not to make you acknowledge his presence, it’s not to pull you out of scary thoughts, it’s not to catch your eye and watch how you hold your breath.

Soulless!Sukuna who understands the look when he gets it. After all, Sukuna doesn’t have a soul tie. Has no blessed love or scared attachment or whatever the fuck people say it is. He’s the first in years to be born without one, happy to have one less complication given the kind of work he builds his fortune on. Makes him a fantastic one night stand, makes it easy for him to walk away. Nothing to tug him back to bed in the morning.

Soulless!Sukuna who isn’t captivated by the twinkle in your eye, whose fingers don’t itch to touch, whose hand doesn’t want to pull you in close. A taste, he doesn’t need.

Soulless!Sukuna who watches you shiver, serves you right for sneaking into his place unprepared. Clearly you’re bold enough to seek him out, you have his attention now. He's not lingering, he owns the fucking place, he can stay out on his balcony for as long as he wants. You, however, need to say whatever the fuck it is you’re here to say.

Soulless!Sukuna who almost misses your “Thought you’d have better security, being an important figure and all…” you exhale, ready to see if the ever infamous Sukuna is going to chew you like you’ve seen him do before. Your soultie despises the very ground he walks on, refuse to do business within miles of his establishments. He would be so fucking furious at you being here, perfectly content in his presence. He is dangerous, he should feel that way to you but he doesn’t.

Soulless!Sukuna walks in close, the cigarette smoke clinging to his skin alongside something spicy. He leans in, face bored, eyes trailing past your shoulder, down to the road below his luxurious apartment. His voice serious, right in your ear “Don’t have time for games, fall off someone else’s balcony.”

You pout. The most dangerous man in the city is less than 10 inches from your face and you pout at him. “Not gonna fall unless you push me.”

That gets a smirk from him, “Tempting, might want to see the face Gojo Satoru would make when his pretty mate is splattered on asphalt.”

Soulless!Sukuna likes when you hum as you lean further back, despite himself Sukuna is drawn closer, and arm tempted to pull you to his chest, keep you safe from the edge. He doesn’t need another detective on his ass about another murder he didn’t commit.

“You might make things easier for Satoru, the complication simply disappears, the guard tailing me provides photos of us on this balcony, moments before my demise and you’re back in court. Paying your stupid expensive lawyer all over again No, my death wouldn't drive him insane, he'd just use to his advantage.” Now he hums.

“Want to know what actually drives soul ties mad?”

Soulless!Sukuna whose seen what rejection of a soul tie does, knows you're not as calm, collected, and in control as you appear. He’s not nice, he’s indulged enough, should probably push you off the balcony to prove a point. He knows soul ties is an insanity, it’s a weakness. He has and will continue to exploit. You’ve snuck into the tigers den completely unprepared. Oh, the things he can do, should do, will do.

Soulless!Sukuna who cares nothing about personal space, pulls you close, hands burning where they touch skin. “Don’t care.” Lips centimeters from your own. “What do I get out of it? What can you give me?” You don’t cower, you don’t pull back like others have done before, his hands might move higher, one may find the back of your neck and squeezes. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it isn’t “Whatever you want.”

[planetkiimchi]

I just finished ‘the strings of fate’ It was sooooo gooood.

I read into it blind (I forgot to read the summary haha)

I wasn’t expecting that ending. I liked it very much.

hii thank you for this !! i'm so glad you enjoyed it <3

[mx-myth]

Okay hear me out red string of fate mlc au (rough timeline) (you only see your string(s) and who they connect to but no one else's)

(This is long as fuck actually)

Li Xiangyi who grows up in the streets with two strings. One is red and sometimes he thinks about following it to see where it leads but he never does. He meets shan gudao and eventually gets picked up by his shifu (I forgot what he calls him in the show, so) and at some point learns that the grey string tied in a bow on his opposite hand means his other zhiji hasn't been born yet.

(Lxy doesn't think anything about this until one march morning years later the string bursts into colour and unravels forward when he's training (you can fight me on this but fdb is ABSOLUTELY a spring baby born in the morning. Something about the coming of new life and the dawn of a new day and how that's what he symbolises). Because of the mostly-romantic connotations of strings he's guilt-ridden over his zhiji being a decade (or thereabouts? I don't remember the actual age gap in the show) younger than him before he forcibly puts it out of his mind)

Fast-forward to when he meets qiao wanmian. They become close friends and basically everyone thinks they're fated. But a-mian sits him down to quietly tell him that she has no string, none at all, that they really aren't fated and never will be. And lxy, who, in the nights he lies awake, still is guilty about being ten years older than his youngest zhiji (he doesn't know whether his other one is older or younger than him, the string was already red by the time he was old enough to retain memories), lies and says he doesn't have a string either. But he wants to court her because he loves her. That part, at least, is true: li xiangyi loves qiao wanmian.

And then he starts the sigu sect and eventually meets di feisheng. Their first meeting is only in passing but they lock eyes and lxy sees not only the moment when it registers that they're zhiji but also the moment when dfs sees that he's walking arm in arm with a-mian. They both walk away none the wiser to each other's identities.

It's only when they meet for the first time as di-mengzhu, leader of the jinyuan alliance, and as li xiangyi, the number one swordsman in the jianghu, and cross swords does lxy truly realise what this means. Their string spools out between their bodies, fluttering away between their swords, as he realises that he and this zhiji of his are on opposite sides. That their string is the only thing that connects them across their unfathomable chasm.

(It isn't. Lxy doesn't know it but dfs admires his swordsmanship. Dfs thinks they have a lot in common via neili and fighting techniques and their devotion to their crafts but he thinks that lxy knows this. He doesn't say anything about it because he assumes that lxy knows this and also because it's common knowledge he and qiao wanmian are going to get married. So lxy never knows)

Afterwards lxy becomes consumed with red strings of fate. He obsessively starts searching for stories where the zhiji turn out to be enemies. He finds almost nothing (most of what he finds is enemies to friends, or worse, enemies to (friends to) lovers, and all of it he throws out in disgust) and in his frenzy he begins neglecting his relationship with a-mian.

The ultimate betrayal comes when lxy learns that dfs killed shan gudao. A-Mian just recently broke up with him and that combined with his zhiji killing his shixiong is what does it. It spells the beginning of the spiral of li xiangyi.

Switch to di feisheng. He'd thought they had an understanding and sigu sect and the jinyuan alliance were approaching peace talks but suddenly lxy is killing his members left and right. He has no idea what this is about until jiao liqiao congratulations him on killing shan gudao. He grunts in confusion but everyone talks it to mean he did it. So dfs just had to roll with it.

There's nothing he can do about it. Dfs sends people to investigate sgd's death and trains. There is a real and oncoming war soon and so he issues a challenge to duel lxy on the eastern sea.

(The war comes anyway)

(Di Feisheng loses something on that ship anyway)

He spends the next ten years while he's in seclusion recovering thinking about it. About lxy, the bright, brilliant zhiji who was never his. About the fact that he killed his own zhiji. About the moment when, as he sank into the water, he'd closed his eyes and thought that following his zhiji to the underworld wouldn't be so bad.

Execpt that li xiangyi isn't dead. His string isn't white, is still as red as the robes he wore, and it still leads somewhere he doesn't know. Dfs takes a sort of pride in this. Of course lxy wouldn't die in their duel. Of course he's strong enough to come out of it alive.

He doesn't really think about his xiao-zhiji at all, except when he touches that string and wonders if lxy is also connected to this person. He wants to meet them someday to test their skills, to take them to meet lxy. In seclusion dfs makes that deal with himself - he'll make his zhiji meet, and then he'll leave them with each other, because for all he knows, li xiangyi still hates him.

(I picture it going dfs > lxy/llh > fdb age-wise, with dfs only being a some months older than lxy/llh. But neither of them know that because of their childhood circumstances)

He leaves seclusion with this goal in mind.

And then he figures out - as a six-year-old, no less - that his zhiji have already met each other. That they've been traveling in tandem for months and have been solving cases. That li xiangyi is for some reason li lianhua (he knows why. The first thing jiao liqiao had said to him was congratulations on killing li xiangyi). That this stupid naïve little puppy named fang duobing is his xiao-zhiji.

Llh treats fdb kindly. He's mischievous and he teases fdb about inconsequential little things and dfs burns, because he still remembers lxy vividly wanting to kill him. He burns because this is side of him he's never seen and he burns because his xiao-zhiji is already used to this and he burns because he wants that too.

Whether he forgets that after he writes li lianhua's name on his hand doesn't matter then.

Switch to fang duobing. He's really fucking annoyed by the fact that no one is telling him anything. He's been traveling with llh for months, but despite the fact that they both know they're zhiji he won't talk about it. He won't even answer any questions about that kid.

Fdb isn't an idiot. His strings have been red ever since the day he was born. No way is some kid not even half his height his zhiji. The math doesn't work out.

(This is terrible, llh thinks. Of course he knows dfs has been alive because his string never turned white. Of course he recognized that little face as dfs' before he even saw the string connecting them. Of course he realised what was up as soon as fdb started pestering him about that kid and whether or not he has another string. Of course he knows dfs must've clocked it too.)

Fdb is severely skeptical when the Iron Head Slave or whatever llh claimed he was shows up and llh tells him they're old friends. But he's delighted to meet his other zhiji formally - right up until the point when they have their first chopstick battle over the food. At that point he becomes exasperated, and then he becomes ready to throw down once they begin arguing over who gets the guest bed.

(Fdb believes in respecting your elders but dfs is showing him absolutely no respect so guess what? He can sleep on the floor. Not even his handsome looks will help him win the fight)

(They end up squished together on the bed, both of them fuming because llh told then to just share)

(He and dfs never talk about their string, but they both observe enough to be able to tell that they're both connected to llh. They don't talk about this either, but sometimes llh will do something especially stupid or crazy or clever and they'll Look At Each Other)

(And then they can't about it, because A-Fei is learning from scratch)

But then he learns that A-Fei (who used to correct him when he playfully called llh da-ge, saying that he was er-ge and that fdb should be calling him da-ge, and fdb had gotten so tired of him and llh fighting with their eyes that he just straight-up called him gege with his most shit-eatting grin, to which dfs stared at him before dragging him outside to beat his ass) (who, after he lost his memories, would sleep in the bed with him with their backs against each other, and fdb loved feeling like his zhiji thought he could watch his back, and even if A-Fei was a stupid early riser and his half of the bed was always cold when he woke up it meant that he could always smell breakfast cooking downstairs) (who, after all, fdb felt like he was finally understanding) is actually di feisheng, villain of the jianghu, he feels like everything they'd had together was built on lies. He asks llh if he knew, if he knew that his (their, their zhiji, but llh still won't talk about it) zhiji was dfs, and then he has to go on with the knowledge that he was the only one kept in the dark.

And then when he learns that li lianhua was li xiangyi all along it really dawns on him then. His zhiji have known each other for years (and everyone thought they had killed each other on the eastern sea, and something about that is so wrong that fdb can't even think about it) and never told him the truth. They said that they were friends (llh said that) and that they knew each other for years (llh said that) and everything he knows about them is based on lies of omission and half-truths (that llh told him). He's torn and he's hurt and he's angry, angry at himself and everyone else.

(If he had known though, would things have stayed the same? Would he have laughed the same way if he knew the man he was wrestling in the dirt with was dfs, would he have still made the same suggestions on how to improve in cooking if he knew the man making the food was li xiangyi?)

(it isn't until li lianhua/li xiangyi are gone, though, that he realises that dfs was used by llh in the same way that he was)

Except that when li lianhua dies, there's two people who have to look at a red string that's supposed to be white.

(Switch to li lianhua. He crawls back from the underworld but what does he have left? The strings on his fingers are red, red like happiness, and aren't those two better off without him anyway? He's finally burned all the bridges of all of his relationships. It's time that he start over again.)

(Except that he stumbles upon the Lotus Tower anyway. He stumbles upon Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing and even as he asks them why they still even want him, he's crying, reaching for them, and there's tears on all their faces.)

[downybirbs]

My page art for @newscoozines, couldn’t resist bitter marspero hehehe 😊💙🍭

[bidisastersanji]

It's Sunday night so why not read part 3/3 of "Zoro gets lost because he uses the red string of fate like a compass" ? Part 1 here, part 2 here, ao3 here Hope you guys like it ;)

Sanji is being weird. Ever since that day on Thriller Bark, he’s definitely been avoiding him, only interacting with him when strictly necessary (to feed him), never making eye contact for too long, and leaving as quickly as he came. 

Shitty cook. What’s his fuckin’ deal? 

Zoro lets it sit for a couple of days, too injured to move out of the infirmary or to do anything about it anyways, before he comes up with a potential reason for the cook’s strange behaviour. It must be because of the self-sacrifice thing. It can’t be because of that... other thing, he muses. 

Back at the Baratie, when they’d first met, Zoro could immediately tell that Sanji didn’t know. The blonde couldn’t see it, or feel it...nothin’. It was painfully obvious. (It didn’t make him feel hollow at all!) So, he hadn’t said anything- what would’ve been the point? It wasn’t like it mattered to him either way: his goal was already fixed. Become the world’s greatest swordsman. Then, maybe look for the person tied to his soul. 

He didn’t expect to meet them so soon. 

He also didn’t expect for him to come aboard and join the crew. Sure, the ridiculous moron grew on him much faster than he expected, and he took great satisfaction from having someone of comparable strength look over their crew with him, someone who could handle him, his power, his ambition, his rough edges and biting words. He wouldn’t deny that. But he also hated how the proximity made his little...navigation problem way worse. 

Learning that Sanji grew up on a moving restaurant in the East Blue certainly explained why the thread moved around so much. Being on the same boat, however, brought the realisation that the closer they were to each other, the more the thread moved- and when living in such close quarters, stuck on a ship, the thread was constantly bobbing around as the cook moved around his kitchen, the pantry, the bridge, happily serving freshly prepared meals and snacks to his crewmates. 

If there was one good use that he got out of this, it's that he could always find the best time to sneak some booze from the kitchen- the red string a reliable indicator of Sanji being busy elsewhere. The downside was, of course, all the teasing his nakama, especially that witch Nami, made him endure. And it’s not like he could even reciprocate the teasing the day her tattoo turned the exact shade of a certain Miss Wednesday’s hair. He couldn’t risk his debt going up. 

Even when off the ship, Zoro’s sense of direction had never been as comically bad before. Using the red thread to move around was like breathing to him, and it constantly caught his eye, getting him lost- even in the midst of battle- going up the wrong stairs, running off in the wrong direction, finding himself in the most unlikely of places because the damn cook wouldn’t. stop. moving. Around. (Somewhere in his mind, Zoro was aware that he couldn’t expect Sanji to not move- he just was oh so tired of getting lost.) 

He noticed that Sanji never had problems finding him. Zoro’s chest felt light whenever he did. He didn’t linger on it. 

His chest feels anything but light now that Sanji is avoiding him like the plague. 

Strong enough to stand after a few days’ rest, Zoro follows the red thread to the galley. He pushes the door open and catches the sweet smell of Sanji’s stress baking. Of course. 

“I’m not giving you booze, marimo.” Sanji doesn’t look up from behind the counter, hands meticulously working to decorate whatever baked goods he’s whipped up today. 

“’m not here for booze, cook.” 

“Then get the hell out of my kitchen, it’s not lunchtime yet.” 

Zoro regards him cooly, standing between the counter and the dining table, and waits for him to look up. He has time. 

“...You gonna stand here all day, shithead?” 

“Mn.” 

Sanji sighs and meets his gaze with an affronted look, hands finally stilling in his decorating. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Zoro’s not one to beat around the bush. “Is this about what happened with Kuma?” 

Sanji stays silent, absentmindedly worrying his lower lip. 

“Look, I’m never gonna apologise for knockin’ you out and doing what I did- especially since everything turned out ok in the end. The crew couldn’t lose you, curls. This was my burden to bear. How can we move past this-” 

His blue eyes look furious, like burning ice. “We can’t,” he bites out. Sanji reaches for his cigarettes, soothing himself with the familiar motion of placing it between his lips. It wobbles as he speaks. “And the fuck do you even mean, they couldn’t lose me- they can’t lose you, dumbass. You still have to beat Mihawk and become the greatest, right?” 

Zoro sighs, tuning the cook out a bit as he nags him. Why Sanji can never see his own value, his importance to the crew, to him, he doesn’t know. He knows it’s not something he can fix with just a few words. 

“Why would you even,” Sanji starts losing his words from his frustration. His thumb and forefinger pinch his cigarette and he waves it around angrily. “you silly moss- I can’t understand you!” 

“That’s my line. Why did you try to take my place? Spoutin’ all that bullshit about finding another cook, huh?” 

Sanji blanches, mouthing silent words as he looks for a way to answer Zoro’s question. His visible eye flits to Zoro’s hand on his chest. The swordsman notices. 

“Y-you wouldn’t understand...” his face contorts painfully, brow furrowed. 

Zoro takes it all in. Where he’s looking, the way he’s been acting strange...it was more than what happened on Thriller Bark, then. “Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” 

“Not really, no.” 

“All right. Then why don’t I let you in on a little secret.”  

Zoro’s face is impassible as ever, and the cook seems intrigued.  

“...sure, why the hell not.” Then, to break the tension, “You gonna tell me the secret to your ridiculous hair colour?” 

“Better. ‘m gonna tell you why I get lost all the time.” 

“...so you are self-aware. Good job, marimo. Maybe next you’ll figure out basic hygiene.” Sanji’s jeer doesn’t mask how intently he’s waiting for Zoro to reveal his secret. 

The swordsman comes closer to the counter, placing his forearms and hands on the cool granite. Sanji’s eye follows the movement and seems to linger on the thread before returning to meet his own. This helps steel the swordsman in his decision. 

“You see, the reason I get turned around and lost is ‘cause I don’t navigate like most folk do. Growing up, I relied on my inner compass, and it worked just fine- I could always tell where North was, back then. No matter where I was.” 

“What changed?” 

“My north started movin’ around,” he huffs. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Yeah, didn’t make sense to me either. But then my friend told me that the red string on my finger wasn’t a compass.” 

From how close they’re standing; Zoro hears Sanji’s breath hitch. He grins and brings his hand up from the counter, wiggling his pinky. 

“Y-you can see it?” Sanji’s face is twisted with shock and confusion. 

“Always have.” 

“But then why- why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Could tell that you didn’t see it too. Didn’t wanna make a fuss.”  

Sanji’s mouth opens on an inhale- ready to retort, but Zoro cuts him off before he gets the chance. “Think, cook. How would’ve you had reacted if I’d told you?” 

That shuts him up. Head slightly hanging, his unlit cigarette is in pieces, wrung out by his nervous hands. 

Always a contrarian, Zoro feels calm, his chest now warm and light like bread fresh from the oven. He can feel his lips stretch into a lazy smile despite himself. The shitty cook can see it. He can see the thread. It’s a start. 

“Sanji.” 

His blue eyes are cloudy, distant, deep in thought, and it takes him a few seconds to realise that swordsman said his name. His actual name. Zoro’s chest feels a little tight at the cute blush that dusts his cheeks, spreading to his ears. Tempers the urge to tease him about it, watch it deepen. He should probably say the important stuff first, do what he came here to do in the first place. 

“I won’t apologise for Thriller Bark because I'm selfish. I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Zoro prefers to speak with actions, not words, and he hopes that this action was loud enough. 

Listen, cook. Please listen. 

Sanji ponders his words for a moment, eyes searching his face with an intensity that keeps Zoro rooted to the spot. Under his crisp white button up, his chest rises and falls with a deep, deep sigh. He seems to come to a decision, and Zoro can’t deny his sweaty palms are itching to fidget with his earrings as he watches Sanji join him on his side of the counter. His footsteps suddenly feel quite loud, the light a bit too bright- but Zoro keeps his face schooled in a neutral expression and turns to face his crewmate. 

The thread is short, now, their bodies, close.  

“You won’t apologise.” 

Zoro shakes his head no. 

“Then you better be ready to make it up to me your whole life, you shitty marimo.” 

I hear you. 

Zoro’s heart beats like war drums, victorious and bold and indomitable, blood racing, making his body sizzle with restless energy. He watches in awe as Sanji’s hand- the one with a delicately corded red rope tied to the pinky- reaches for his own, interlocking their hands between them. It looks nice, the red string bright and proud against their skins’ neutral tones. Evidence of their unique bond. 

His face must be saying something because Sanji looks handsomely mischievious, pearly whites peeking out from an idiotic grin. 

“So, you’re gonna kiss me or what?” 

Zoro doesn’t need to be asked twice, and for once, does as Sanji says. 

[jinxini]

those who beat the odds call it fate

💙 *・.。* Timebomb Red String of Fate au ゜・* 💚

i.

"Are we sure Powder’s not lying about having a soulmate?”

Forcing her eyes away from the red string tied around her little finger, Powder turns to glare at Mylo.

Vi, who is helping Ekko train on the boxing machine, is interrupted by the comment, too. She pauses the machine. "Shut up, Mylo.”

Mylo raises both hands, his palms towards Vi. "Hey, I think it would be a positive thing if she didn’t have a soulmate!” he continues. "That way she can’t jinx her own fate.”

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