#this au is not abandoned it has in fact gotten far more complex since the last time it came up

[autisticbobby]

Rising from the grave to wish boafverse Reggie a very happy birthday!!! Fun fact, in boaf he is not only alive but he is three years older than me, having been born in 2002. This means that in 2012, the world was supposed to end on his 10th birthday! As the only friend who believed it, he was lovingly but brutally teased by Alex and Luke for it.

[cinebration]

Magic Ink (Geralt x Reader) [Request]

Hello! I see you are taking requests, I wanted one where Geralt and reader get matching tattoos — Requested by anon

I know this isn’t probably what you expected, but since I couldn’t hack this as a Modern AU, I had to come up with a reason why a woman in the Continent from that era would have a tattoo.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: frodo-sam

Everyone but you had a shtick in the traveling troupe. There was Lila of the dyed green hair, though she told everyone she was born that way, and Gillum of the mismatched eyes, caused by a fist to the face during a drunken brawl. Eloise claimed to be the reincarnation of the Elf Queen, and Bertie could make any of the tattoos on his muscles dance.

Then there was you. You didn’t know what to choose or even how to go about doing it. You acted as assistant to some of the acrobatic acts, juggling for some fools and ensuring costumes fit properly. Bertie was making that difficult, as his drinking had gotten out of control and had contributed to a swelling beer gut.

It was decent work, and you didn’t complain, but you wanted more than to play second fiddle. Not that you could play the fiddle…

It was on a trip to find more fabric to accommodate Bertie’s expanding girth that you stumbled across a reedy man who looked like a vagrant but smelled like a courtesan. As you passed him, studiously avoiding his scrutinizing gaze, he called, “Dear lady! Such unblemished skin. You are the perfect canvas!”

You hesitated. A canvas? For art? Slowly turning back, your hands toying with the stick you carried to fend off anything from starving dogs to lecherous men, you asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, an artist can do much with something so perfect!”

“What artist?”

He swept into a low bow and smiled, revealing startlingly white, straight teeth. “Lechforte, at your service.”

Rolling the stick between your rough palms, you turned over the possibility he was suggesting. Bertie had tattoos, but a woman with some would be more of a marvel. Showing some skin would be required, which always drew crowds.

You could already hear the troupe leader crowing, “Come see the painted lady! The Perfect Canvas!”

“What would you want from me?”

Lechforte smiled graciously. “Merely to have my name alongside yours, so that all may know who had the honor of painting you.”

~~

Geralt trotted into town on Roach, Jaskier bustling beside him. The bard’s cheeks were red from exertion and his eyes wild with exhaustion, but he kept up the pace, eager for the inn. As they entered the town, a man in motley cried at their arrival, “Come see the Unusuals! The Green Lady and the Elf Queen! The Perfect Canvas!”

“Ooo, a new troupe,” Jaskier managed to say between huffed breaths. “We ought to see them, Geralt.”

Geralt grunted in disagreement.

“Come on, the ladies are guaranteed to be randy, if not fine.”

Geralt glared at him.

Jaskier sighed and sagged against the post of the inn in relief. “You are no fun.”

“We’re not here to have fun,” Geralt growled, dismounting.

They were hunting a sorcerer, a man who had escaped from prison the night before he was to be hanged for treason. Geralt had reason to believe the man had traveled through the town, possibly seeking shelter or alms. Storming into the inn, he located the innkeeper and cornered him, demanding to know if he had seen the sorcerer. The innkeeper sputtered out a repetitive “no.”

“We keep moving.”

Jaskier stepped in Geralt’s path. “Absolutely not. I have been walking for days. I deserve a bath and a straw bed.”

Geralt’s mouth pulled into a frown, but Jaskier waved him off to find the innkeeper and secure lodgings.

The troupe crier’s voice carried back into the inn as Geralt vacillate between a nap and abandoning Jaskier.

“We should see them,” Jaskier commented as he waved Geralt over to the stairs. “You could use some entertainment.”

“Your company is enough,” the witcher replied dryly.

Jaskier faked a laugh. “I know you’re being sarcastic, but I will take the compliment.”

A few hours later, they were trudging out of the town to a nearby field where the troupe had set up their camp and stage. Night had begun to fall, chasing away the sunset with deep violet. Torches lit up around the camp as townsfolk wandered into its demarcated circle. The troupe leader began his spiel, his silky voice reaching all the ears in attendance. He was just shy of shouting, but to the witcher’s sensitive ears, it was too loud by far. He elected to tune the man out, trying to focus on anything else.

The players emerged and performed their acts. Boredom settled into the witcher’s bones. He watched a tattooed man ask the crowd which tattoo to dance.

Some drunk asked for an indecent bit. Without hesitation, the man dropped his trousers. The crowd went wild, the women shrieking and covering their eyes as the tattoo in question danced surprisingly well.

“I feel a new bawdy lyric coming on,” Jaskier laughed.

The man was ushered off the stage by the troupe leader, who did his best to salvage the evening. “Our last performer, ladies and gentlemen, is the perfect canvas for an artist’s grand imaginings. She has allowed herself to be painted by Lechforte, whose name you may know from the kingly courts. Behold the Perfect Canvas!”

You stepped out onto the stage wearing a commoner’s dress. A ripple of disapproval went through the crowd as you stood there, very little of your skin, the so-called “Perfect Canvas,” exposed.

Then you raised one hand in a grand flourish and slowly slid off the sleeve, revealing the first of the designs crawling up your arm. A hush descended over the crowd, breaths held in anticipation as bit by bit you peeled off the dress. What had appeared ordinary had, in fact, been altered to allow for you to display yourself without completely undressing, the fabric having been made into removable panels.

The witcher watched with mild interest until you turned and gently shrugged the back of your dress off, revealing a smooth swath of skin all along your spine. Geralt stiffened. Jaskier glanced aside at him, smirking, until he saw the dark cloud covering Geralt’s features.

“What is it?”

Geralt unconsciously touched his chest as his gaze darted around the platform, looking beyond the other performers to see if he could catch the sorcerer. There was no one there.

The crowd burst into applause as you swept into a low curtsy and gathered up the fabric you had shed. Geralt watched you leave, already moving to intercept you outside of the crowd’s prying gazes.

He caught you just as you were emerging from your tent, a cloak slipped over your bare shoulders. You froze, wary.

“Where did you get that tattoo?” he growled.

“Which one?”

“The one on your back.”

Frowning, you slipped the cloak off a fraction and turned to him, exposing the skin. “Which one?” Several crisscrossed your fine flesh.

His finger traced along a complex sigil on your left shoulder blade.

“I don’t have one there,” you muttered.

“I’m looking right at it.”

Racking your memory for the places Lechforte’s needle and brush had touched you, you shook your head. “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been tattooed there. Not the design you traced, at least.”

Geralt frowned, his gloved fingers lingering on the skin. You shivered in the cool night air.

“What…is it? The tattoo?”

“It’s a sigil,” he said thickly. “A sigil made by magic.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have one.” He touched the spot on his chest again. “The same one.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “How?”

“Magic.” Or a sorcerer who has cursed me.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Slipping the cloak back up your shoulders, you faced him. Your gaze flittered over his features, taking him in. “you say it was made by magic?”

He nodded.

“Then it can be undone by magic?”

“Perhaps.”

“Can only you see the tattoo?”

A crease formed between the witcher’s eyebrows. “It’s possible.”

“Then was it meant for you?”

He hesitated, surprised by the question. He searched your calm features, trying to puzzle it out. Could that be its meaning? How else could you have obtained such a tattoo?

“Take me to your artist,” he rumbled. “We’ll find out.”

[leonajasmin-writeblr]

Ten Questions Tag

I got tagged in the same game thrice so while it’s a 10 Questions tag, I have thirty to do haha. Thanks for the tag @booksandsass , @nemothepenguin and @jmichines!

Do you remember your first writing project? What was it?

I do! The first thing I wrote was a 38K novella when I was six. It was about two girls in their young teens (I think one was 13 and one was 14, I can’t remember) who always ended up going to this ice cream shop. Their teacher was their best friend and I named one character after part of my name backwards. It’s cringy, but I’m still proud to say I completed such a feat at a young age.

What do you think is the hardest part of writing?

Finding where to explain things, such as appearance, location, lore etc. I know all of it, I just find it hard to say all I need to without it being an info dump haha

If you could give your younger self some writing advice, what would it be?

STOP GOING ON DAMN HIATUSES GIRL

What kind of research do you do for your WIP?

I do a little research on physics (such as how lifts work) and injuries but most of it is how things look steampunk style since there’s a slight hint at that in my novel.

How many hours a week do you write?

It depends on how much university work I have to do (I study online), whether I’m travelling and how much energy I have. Probably 10 hours tops a week but sometimes I’ll do nothing.

How long do you wait before you begin editing your first draft?

Six weeks, unless I know I’ve made a major booboo niggling in my head. Then I’ll resolve that and leave the rest.

What are your personal ethics when it comes to writing?

I’m not 100% sure I’ve gotten this question right but my stories are quite dark, although not explicitly so. My characters go through a tonne of crap in all honesty, although for the reader, it isn’t as bad.

Do you recycle old ideas or abandon them?

Recycle. I’ve already decided to use the first line of a Fan Fiction I wrote in 2014 later on in the Mastery series.

Which character is your favourite and why?

I tend to shift my favourite character based on what book I’m writing.

In book 1 of the series, it’s Roman. He’s a bit of a mystery to the others and they’re not sure how to react to him, but he’s just a cute little idealist in a world of pessimists.

In book 2, it’s Rylan. Some of his lines are my favourite I’ve written so far.

In book 3, it’s Jonathon. His personality is one of the most animated in the series and his back and current stories are some of the most complex I’ve made. One chapter I’ve written in his POV is one of my favourites too.

What do you love most about your favourite character from your WIP?

 Again, I’ll answer with the same characters.

Roman: He’s an absolute sweetheart despite being surrounded by salty assholes and continues his precious ways even when they insult him for them

Rylan: He’s private and little is revealed about him. But he’s intelligent and could easily become a much worse villain if he wanted to. Dangerous boi.

Jonathon: Kind of like Roman, he’s an optimist despite everything that’s happened to him. And boy, does he have an angsty af backstory.

What would you consider success for your current WIP?

The fact I’m still working on it nearly 10 years later

If you were stuck on a deserted island, which one of your characters would you bring with you?

I guess it’d have to be Sebastian. He’s rude quite a lot of the time but really resourceful. 

What would your characters’ day jobs be in real life? And if your WIP is set on Earth, which jobs would be most fitting for them and why?

Ooooh I love this question! I do have a lot of characters to answer with though and since this is the sort of thing I love imagining, I’m doing it with a huge bunch of ‘em haha

Alex is into the arts and only joined the Protectionary Guard as he didn’t see his art career going anywhere. So if he could make do with his art, he’d do that.

Sebastian would be in some sort of detective agency. One where he’d be able to kick ass. Then he’d get sacked for inappropriate behaviour and become a Martial Arts instructor or something along those lines.

Miriam would do something in the medical profession, but something less people-based. She’d be the sort to sit in a lab all day studying concoctions.

Aiden would have a normal office job during the day (knowing his family, it’d be he’s the heir to a company) and then volunteer as a cubs/scouts leader in the evenings.

Noah would work in IT, probably programming.

Cyrus builds motorbikes to fit in with his idealisms of escape, so he’d be into a travel-related career, such as travel writing/blogging, doing affiliate marketing and writing e-books to earn an income. Maybe an e-commerce store. While he isn’t the brightest, he’s a hard-worker.

Roman is training to be a lawyer and I can see him doing that in a Earth AU as well. 

Phineas would be a librarian or a teacher for older students, probably a university lecturer or something like that, for a social science or language.

Dimitri would be a business owner, one of those really dickish ones.

Luka would probably be in Dimitri’s business, grumbling about his boss every ten seconds saying how he plans to make a rival business when he has enough money.

Rylan lowkey loves fashion and textiles and so I can see him working in a dinky little sewing shop and then selling stuff on Etsy or something along those lines as a side hustle.

Meline would be a professional athlete, probably in tennis since that’s her usual sport.

Jonathon would be the sort to make documentaries out in the wilderness and would take bets on whether he’ll survive doing stuff. He always does, and yet he still has people paying him. Witty prick.

Romulus would drive lorries. They’re similar to, but less interesting, his airships.

Who of your OC’s would break first under high pressure or under psychological manipulation/torture?

It’d be between Miriam and Aiden, depending on how personal the manipulation is. More distant? Aiden. More personal? Miriam.

Would you sacrifice your favourite character if it meant getting published? (As in would you remove them from the book as a condition set by the publisher?)

(I’m doing main instead of favourite okie dokie) Alex would be a nosiree no way whereas I think it’d be easier for me to part with Phoenix and Eirik. I’d still be reluctant though.

What is your go-to scene? (For example, I tend to open my books with the weather forecast to set the atmosphere before going to the characters and actions happening at that time)

A fight with a fairly unimportant antagonist. I always start my POV chapters with a certain style. Miriam’s is questions, Alex’s is dialogue, Phoenix’s is a long drone and Eirik’s is short sentences.

What is your least favourite genre to write in and why?

Contemporary as I get pretty bored. Where’s the death and fighting?

Which author would you like to trade styles with for a single book?

Me, but a good author. If you find out who that is, tell me please.

What was the weirdest thing that inspired a scene/character/story/name/place/etc.?

Miriam’s surname is after my dog as they both have amber eyes (Arnie -> Arnette)

Which POV is your favourite to write in and how do you choose which one to use for a certain WIP?

I prefer writing in first person! If it’s character arc-based then I will use first but if it’s more plot-based I will use third.

What style of writing do you prefer? Simple language, something more poetic, or something else?

I prefer simple but tend to have a philosophical main character so it ends up being a blend once you get to know the character

What’s your pet peeve when it comes to writing - the thing that would make you insta-toss the book?

The main character is a Mary Sue/Gary Stu

What’s your favourite cliché?

If you’re talking about technique, it’ll be rule of three. If you’re talking about plot cliché’s, it’s enemies to lovers/besties.

Which of your OCs would you want to hang out with in real life? Conversely, who would you not touch with a 10-foot pole?

I’d like to hang out with Roman! I’d say we’re similar enough in personality to get along.

Lawrence can LEAVE.

What’s your favourite type of character? (I have a weird thing for anti-heroes and geniuses)

Gonna have to agree with the brackets ;)

Which story do you wish you could have written (can be a novel, movie, game, etc.)

1984 or any good alternate futures. I’m a sucker for this genre so if you have recommendations please tell me.

Which of your OCs just absolutely eludes your comprehension? Like no matter what you do, you just can’t figure them out?

Kristoph.

What are you most proud of when it comes to your writing? Can be a character, a concept/world, even your style of writing.

Being able to come up with a complex plot and keeping track of it without having to write it all down.

Which of your stories do you think would make an awesome movie?

I think Experimentation would be more popular but I’d love to see Schadenfreude as a film!

Lastly (since we all do this), name an OC and your dream casting for them.

You’re wrong, buddy chum pal. I don’t do this.

I don’t watch films or series so know literally no actors bar the really famous ones.

-

To be honest, my creativeness isn’t working at all so for those who I tag, I’m going to let you pick out 10 of your favourites from the questions above. And the three people I’m going to tag are: @westywrites, @ahotpeaceofshit and @thel3tterm!

[neoyi]

Can you tell us about your HLD headcanons please?

Sure. I should also add a small disclaimer that a lot of the headcanons are just story ideas based on an AU where Drifter and Guardian doesn’t die, instead living out their lives in a post-apocalyptic world and their growing romance and eventual family life they create for themselves whilst uncovering Drifter’s amnesic past. I want to also add that much of these ideas are contradictory to canon since I’m just messing around the world for funsies. …It would have been a romantic comedy. Sooooo on that note…*Drifter can be incredibly hyperfixated with their interests. This largely extends to ancient ruins and past history left behind by civilizations of yesteryear, especially from blue-skinned folks like they are. It’s not just a fascination of What People Did back in the days, but an honest attempt to find any clues of their memories. *Drifter likes games, strategic games specifically. They like solving puzzles and unraveling complex mathematics. They play alien tabletop RPGs; they dig epic, long novels and can memorize obscure facts and useless trivia. They’re the kind that’d have a blog and write long-winded essays on Why This Character Had Amazing Character Development. *Drifter has something of a reputation. Having traveled around the world for years has caused the dude to get into their fair share of scuffles. Drifter’s stance is largely Neutral and the most they do is stay in a place, then move on to find more ruins and historic sights. But every so often, there might be That One Criminal who damns an entire town or some Megalomaniac who uses ancient tech to try and blow up the world and Drifter just happens to be there. With their sword and gun. Wasting the shit out of That One Criminal or that Megalomaniac. And perhaps in time, Drifter became a bit of a legend, the “Red-Cloaked Hero”, the “Savior”, “The Crimson Drifter” or whatever inane nicknames the people named ‘em. Drifter has become a symbol of hope and in these struggling times, some people gravitate towards that. For all Drifter claims neutrality, they don’t sit back when people need help, but it comes with baggage and people tend to recognize them - both the decent folks and the jack-offs who seek to kill ‘em for their own means. All Drifter wants is to be left alone, man. *One of the things I’ll never find the time to do is create small, one-off comics of Drifter getting into all sorts of adventure. Most of these would be wordless and the situations could range from anything to Drifter helping archeologists unlock lost history and fighting a giant robot inside or something like saving a princess in a far-off kingdom from a monster or stuck pulling a heist with some well-meaning thieves. Whatever comes to mind.

*Drifter has helped other drifters and archeologists with their research because for some very odd reason, they can unlock specific tech and locales that even other blue-skinned folks can’t…*Guardian is the son of a farmer and a drifter. His mother settled down from drifting life to tend to the farm with her husband (who is far from a warrior as you can get.) He has an older brother who currently travels the world, getting by through trade stories and inventing weird things. Guardian left the farm shortly after his father died (a stack of alcoholic beverages landed on top of him one day) to travel the world to pursue his dreams of studying history of ancient civilization. He settled in Central at some point and has stayed there since. He keeps in touch with his family.

*Guardian’s real name is “Tim.” I got that name from a joke from an HLD thread I read a while ago. He also has a last name, but it cannot be written here for it is very, very, very long, and contains letters that aren’t even in the current alphabet. *Guardian is into kitschy decor. He unironically loves curtains with corn cob patterns or their world equ. of garden gnomes in his garden. I have a jokethat Guardian must be written to be the most blandest guy you could ever meet. He talks endlessly about the potatoes he’s grown in his backyard, goes to bed at a reasonable hour, and can listen to his neighbor talk about the structure and kind of bricks he used to build his house. Guardian is unassuming, but kind.

*Incidentally, this is why Drifter eventually fell for Guardian and chose to stay in Central: he gives Drifter a solitary, quiet life that they want. Drifter’s gotten into enough shenanigans - whether they wanted it or not - and damn it, they’re just tired. Adventure will always come to them because their need to explore old ruins and tech and those tend to invite trouble, but at least they can do it together! Once they’re finished, Drifter also has a home to go back to that gives them the respite they need.

*Drifter totally had a one-night stand with the Dashmaster. This is not scandalous news in Central because a frighteningly number of people have had one-night stands with Dashmaster. Because he’s Dashmaster.

*Guardian has two jobs in Central: he, along with other volunteers, guards and patrols outside of Central for monsters or any signs of danger. He’s also a teacher at the town’s only school. Subjects vary, but it’s mostly history on his end.

*The Swordmaster is Guardian’s best friend. The two (and a couple of other buddies) hang out at the local bar every week.

*Drifter was the one to propose to Guardian. That was the unexpected part because at that point, they’ve already been discussing marriage. They both just assumed Guardian would propose. *Drifter only ever won once against Soccer Kid. Once.

*Drifter only wakes up early whenever they’re not in town because it’s practical (gotta cover as much ground as possible when you’re on the move.) Whenever they’re in inns and other shelters though, they sleep in. (Guardian always wakes up at the crack of dawn. He is often subjected to pillows being thrown by Drifter whenever he gets too happy in the morning.)

*I haven’t decided where Drifter got their current clothing. I think Drifter got their helmet off of a dead soldier, the cape probably off of another drifter’s corpse, and maybe Drifter - in one of their rare moments - splurged a little on their boots. They’re good quality boots and you need ones that last!*Drifter used to own an old motorcycle they used to travel around for a bit. It got too damaged and had to be abandoned eventually.

*Drifter’s favorite food is red meat. Guardian likes potatoes. *Restless and/or impatient Drifter involves them chewing on things, tapping their fingers, or shaking their legs.

*Guardian’s method of organizing is mostly pushing books and materials off to the side as much as possible. Once Drifter gets the hang of daily chores, they tend to go far enough that things must be alphabetized, we are not animals Guardian. *Drifter is practical enough to be able to fix their clothes whenever it’s damaged, but Guardian is the superior seamstress. He’s also better in the kitchen. Course, a lot of this stems from the latter having lived in civilization most of his life while Drifter mostly learned what they needed to survive. The latter tends to take advantage of what towns offer (ex: they eat conservatively when out in the middle of nature, but stuff their face in taverns because they have the opportunity to do so.)

*The stray dog that wanders near the eastern sector of Central ended up following Drifter when the latter, feeling a tinge of pity, gave the pup some food. The dog has never left Drifter since. This bothered Drifter at first since they had no use for a pet, even going as far as naming the dog “Babo” (”stupid” in Korean), but damn if the dog did not grow on ‘em. (Incidentally I actually drew out most of the pages of this comic, but I never inked or posted them up online.)

*Life before Drifter was well, a drifter, was spent during the last remnants of the blue-skinned (yeah, I never thought of an actual name for these guys) civilization: in the midst of the great war that screwed them over. They were the [NAME REDACTED], child of the Librarian (herself a big contributor to the giant Titans) and a cut character from the game: Rivan. The latter was the last King of their civilization and, well, he was nicknamed Mad King Rivan for a reason. Knowing he was off his gourd in his mad pursuit for power, the Librarian stepped off the Titan project and got the hell out with intent on living a peaceful life alone with her than unborn child. Drifter spent most of their childhood with their mother with no acknowledgement on who their father was. The Librarian spent her time creating the pendant (and Drifter’s companion bot), containing memories of their time, and as much information on their culture as possible, slowly realizing over time that the end was nigh. The Librarian sent Drifter to safety during the last days of their civilization. Drifter was placed in a pod, frozen in time until they eventually woke up with no recollection of who they are. Drifter has no idea the pendant and their companion bot has pretty much all the info they could need (it also requires solving a complex algorithm to unlock the info, too.)

*That said, Rivan is still alive and he not only intends to bring his kingdom back (a big reach in and of itself at this point), he knows he has a child…

I think that’s all I can think or muster. Hope this is good enough.

[coffee-for-himchan]

Unable To Protect You (Yongguk mafia/gang AU pt.1)

Requested by: 2 (!!) nice and cool anons

Word count: 6.2 k+

Genre/warnings: Mafia/gang AU (contains a swear word or two. Also contains violence, and contains a lot of flashbacks and emotional pain. But, as always - imo nothing too vivid.)

Summary: Him and Himchan were done with all of the dirty work for the day. Another person down, and the burdens of knowing a life had been taken once again hanging on his shoulders, dragging him down lower to the ground. Yet when he came home, his dangerous and dark attire faded away completely as he let himself be held by your arms, letting your reassuring whispers fill his ears. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a bad person. He simply fought for his own survival and for the lives of his loved ones. Which, looking at the situation, would once again be much harder, since an old, unwanted and uninvited guest had appeared on the scene. Threatening to kill him, and threatening to make you his by rather cruel and painful methods.

(A/N) Three mafia AUs done, three to go! Part two of this should be up sometime tomorrow or on Tuesday. And, in case you like this one and haven’t read the others yet, consider checking out the Himchan mafia AU or the Jongup mafia AU, or maybe both! ^.^

THIS IS PART 1 // PART 2 IS HERE

“Are we done here yet?”

Himchan turned to face him, a playful smile appearing on his lips. He watched the close to fragile figure in front of him, and kept wondering how this guy had managed to get so far.

How his face screamed danger, yet he was the most peaceful of all when he wasn’t shooting. How he looked like trouble, yet moved so slowly and unwillingly when he wasn’t in the middle of an argument. How he had too much soul to handle, and how that drew him lower and lower into the abyss of pain and desperation with every single passing day, as for his line of work, he had a too complex mind, with little space for letting go of things and too much space for remembering.

How he was the strongest warrior of all - Bang Yongguk. The man who could single-handed bring the whole world to his feet, but would never do it, simply because he had too much respect for it.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“No,” his answer was simple and short, cutting through the otherwise silent night air with ease, “I’m just tired.”

“Let me get rid of the last evidence first and then we can leave.”

They did so soon enough, filling the quiet alleyway with their intimidating shadows creeping alongside the walls of the old, abandoned and destroyed buildings as their footsteps echoed down the street, their shoes seeming a little too fancy and expensive for this dirty place.

But that’s who they were. Young, handsome men who looked like the gentleman every girl would more or less willingly want to lay her eyes on. The guys to open doors for others, and talk in a smart, polite fashion that made everyone around them think they were the best kind. The ones who treated people right. The ones who were perfect.

Yet the only thing they were indeed perfect at was shooting. And killing. And getting needed information, and what not else - they were quite multi-talented in their survival. In reality, they were the guys your mom warned you about and guys who knew what mercy meant as a term, but were quite bad at using it practically.

Being the Best Absolute Perfect - the best guys out of all of the bad ones - was their calling. And at this point in time they couldn’t be more grateful for who they’d become over the time, because they knew they’d manage. They’d shaped themselves and made their permanent existence in the area more than simply intimidating and bloody obvious. They were “The King”.

“I’ve never seen you hurrying home like this before, friend,” Yongguk barely noticed Himchan’s a little too loud and all over the place talking, slowly turning his head to eye him up and down.

“Get some glasses then, it’s been like this for a year already,” he answered, tucking his freezing hands into his pockets as Himchan laughed at his unusually sarcastic remark.

“It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

Silence filled the void between them as Yongguk looked into the distance, his breath rising up in the air and making little twirls as it faded away into the night. It was the start of November for a reason, after all, and this was only the start. It was about to get colder.

“Kim Himchan, am I allowed to have a private life?” He turned his head to face his friend once again, even though he knew the answer already.

He wasn’t allowed, because Himchan was a part of it, and has been since quite some time ago when they had nothing but each other and a will to survive left.

“Not on my watch,” Himchan said, smiling as he joined in and tucked his hands in his pockets as well. His standard signature phrase that could almost always be heard only in conversation with Yongguk. He’d spilled it once again.

Yongguk chuckled a little, watching him carefully. God, what he could’ve actually accomplished in life if it wasn’t for the whole gang thing. He’d been gifted with a picture perfect face, and, even though his behavior could be more on the immature side at times, he served good as a leader. Who knows? He could’ve been a local business owner, or a good lawyer or something. He had the brains, and even more than that, the ability to talk with people well. He had the charms to convince anyone who listened to do unbelievable things and to go to unimaginable extents, and his charisma could draw a quite big following of beautiful women to choose one from. And, over all, he had enough honesty and dignity still left to be able to digest that type of life and live it to the fullest.

Yet he was here. Wandering the streets just to get back to a safe place and stay unnoticed after another murder mission alongside with Yongguk. Once again, after more than ten years, they were still at it, refusing to let the other four handle it all on their own.

Because the younger ones could be the main mechanisms and best shots at most of the missions nowadays, but they knew nothing compared to these two. The hyungs would still take upon the most important things, just to keep in mind how having to do the dirty work and coming home with blood stained hands felt like. Because that’s where their roots laid, and that’s where they believed they came from. Never forgetting your beginnings was the most important thing.

“Hey, I don’t blame you at all,” Himchan said, smiling up at the sky a little, “After all, I haven’t seen you acting this way before you met her.”

“What way?” Yongguk questioned quietly, focusing on the main street ahead of them. Soon they’d have to part, walking their separate ways for the night and staying in the shadows until the reports would come on the news and TV yet again. It was the regular, really.

“I’ve got my own fair trade of issues, and you know that. Mental, which keep me from sleeping soundly at night, and physical as well. I didn’t take the last major encounter especially well, gotta admit. It still feels like my left arm is of no use.”

“But fact is, if there was one person who’s been sinking further down with every passing day from the very start, it’s you, my friend,” Himchan said, letting Yongguk devour those words a little before continuing.

“You’re too much of a “Mr. Right” to be a part of this lifestyle, yet you always keep going on with no perspective in mind. You don’t even care if you’re going to make it, which is about the scariest thing there is about you, if you ask me. And for the longest time you’d been fighting with no reason.“

"Hey, I’ve always had my reasons. Who else is going to watch you, leader loud-mouth?”

Himchan chuckled yet again at the remark, looking somewhat pleased with the title Yongguk had gifted him with.

“I appreciate it, really. You know that at this point it’d be hard to continue surviving without each other. I’d made so many mistakes in the past and even the present, just to get all of them fixed up by you while I did vice versa later on. But ever since.. You know what happened.. And since you gave up on your leader positions, you’d become even less invested in this whole thing, which, looking at how you’d never liked this life you’re leading in the first place, is quite dangerous.”

Silence filled the air yet again. They both knew there were just a few more steps till they’d be back on the main streets, and Himchan patiently waited for Yongguk to say something before they would eventually have to part ways.

“Himchan,” he finally spoke, stopping and looking him right into the eyes, “I really appreciate the worry, but I’ll manage. I’ve always did, and nothing will stop me from continuing on the same way. In the worst case, you’ll slap me in the face and make me move, just like you used to. But I will always keep my guard up high and my expectations of the world down low. I know nothing’s fair, despite being so beautiful, and everything hurts and itches. It’s quite tragically devastating actually. I’m aware. I’ll manage.”

“Without a doubt,” Himchan walked out into the street, the street lights highlighting his amazing bone structure and making his gaze look even more amused but yet so dangerous, “You have no choice now, since you took her in.”

“You generally learned how it is to care for someone - someone who’s too vulnerable and fragile to keep herself safe on her own. You learned that not everything and everyone except the five of us would always be against you in this world,” he was already walking away, leaving Yongguk to stand alone and tap his feet on a puddle, “She’s waiting for you right now, and you know that. She’s cutting her sleep short just to welcome you back home like no one else will ever do. While everyone fears you, she loves you. Not caring how many men you’d gotten rid of tonight, and not caring about your intentions. She blindly trusts you, and you trust her. And if that isn’t beautifully destroying, I don’t know what is.”

One moment he was there, and the next he was gone, leaving Yongguk to hang his head down lower and walk back home through the pouring rain. Who needed cars anyways? He lived quite nearby, and walking hadn’t hurt anyone yet.

Himchan had always been right, no matter the situation, and the way back home seemed painfully long because of all of the thoughts creeping into his head. Yet he couldn’t help but agree that all of those statements were true within seconds of thinking. He didn’t doubt it even once.

He doubted it even less when he dragged himself through the door, kicking off his shoes just to wander into the living room doorway and stop at the mesmerizing sight in front of him.

You were dancing. To one of the vinyl recordings from his collection.

Your body looked so beautiful, and he wondered how you ever let it trail against his. How your smooth skin never minded the touch of his rough and scarred one, and how you always found pleasure in the parts of him he hated the most. Your movements were subtle and little, yet quite eye catching and pleasing as your hips swayed from side to side, and your quiet humming could be heard all through the room. Your eyes were closed, and your head was slightly tilted upwards, letting the moonlight shine right onto your chest. You moved, until you felt his presence and slowed down, turning to him in a swift, elegant move and letting your stare meet with his longing one.

He stood there, all across the room, watching you. The way his shirt that you’d snatched away looked so huge and loose on you, drowning out your frame in it completely. How it looked so aesthetically pleasing with your knee socks to extents that made you look like a goddess rather than a hot mess in his eyes. He had to resist not to let all of his senses kick into overdrive and have all of you at once, right then and there.

“Yongguk..”

He heard his name and carefully watched how it left your lips - how it stayed hanging in the air for a little before completely disappearing without leaving a single trace. How it only managed to sound this gentle and soft when you said it. Your feet started slowly moving towards him, but he was too out of this world to see. He barely even noticed when your hands reached to rest on his chest.

“You’re freezing, Yongguk..”

He did nothing and just stood there, his body willingly obeying to every movement you put it through. Your hands slid carefully over his shoulders, freeing him from his jacket slowly. His eyes never left yours even once during this whole time, savoring every given moment. How you undressed him from the cold, wet jacket, being a little too caught up in the moment and simply throwing it to the side, deciding you’d take care of it later. How your arms found their way back around his neck to rest on his shoulders in seconds, as they knew their desired route perfectly. How you simply looked at him, your eyes displaying the fact that you knew.

You knew he was bad. But you didn’t mind.

“I killed a man today,” he quietly said, feeling like he could tell you all his sins and be forgiven for them all at once, “And, because I killed a man, I am no good for you.”

It was going to be one of these evenings. He kept coming home emotionally crushed beyond belief more and more often, and you couldn’t help but simply feel worried about him. He was thinking again. About how bad he was. About all the things he’d done in life. Thinking about how he’d become the thing he initially feared and hated.

“Yongguk.. I thought we had talked it out…”

His hands eventually found the right path to trail down as well, holding your hips tightly in place as he felt he was drawing his face closer to yours once again.

“Why do you keep doing this?” his breath itched against your skin as he let his hand trail up and down your side, feeling every curve, and every part of you that took his breath away oh so often, “Why do you keep telling me it’s alright?”

You had his marks on you, one of them beautifully displayed on your neck for him to admire, distracting him from thinking straight. He could clearly make out the shape of his lips, drawn onto your skin ever so roughly in red and purple lines, and he was amazed by how he could’ve been the creator of something so beautiful. His hand eventually reached to trace the mark, and he ran his fingers over it, remembering how he made that happen. Remembering sinking his lips into your skin, waiting for your approval and allowance to continue. Remembering wanting to go gentle at you, but losing himself somewhere along the way when you told him he could do it all. Remembering your parted lips. Your tiny whimpers of pleasure and slight pain that twisted with it. The feeling of you grabbing the back of his shirt, and eventually his skin later on, when the shirt was removed and you were off to do more serious things.

He remembered apologizing for scarring you the next morning, and he remembered receiving another “it’s fine”.

“Because it really is,” you saw his stare fixated on the bruise on your neck, and knew what would eventually follow, as it happened every damn time he marked you somewhere there. His hand always kept travelling where it shouldn’t.

“It isn’t,” with a swift move, he’d exposed your left shoulder, leaving his hand to rest on it. You knew what was to come, and at this point you were already braced for it. Ready to stand the storm.

“I’m no good for you, babe,” he said quietly, tracing over the large scar all across your shoulder, “Because I was there when this happened. Yet I couldn’t help in time, because I was busy with other things.”

“Those other things being looking out for the members of your team, and I think that keeping everyone alive is more important than preventing me from getting hurt,” you felt how he traced the outline of the scar, and even though his heart clenching wasn’t quite visible on the outside, you knew he was a wreck deep inside currently. Such a beautiful disaster.

“Keeping everyone on our side alive just to take other lives seconds later, babe. You keep forgetting, or rather ignoring that,” he added, and stayed silent for a moment.

You could be anywhere in the world right now, yet you were here. Spending your days with the silent, closed-in monster that he was. Letting him find a place he could call home in your actions and intentions. Allowing him to destroy you in the most beautiful ways just to fix you up later on.

Holding him in a standing position when he felt like collapsing and becoming one with the ground.

His hands made a quick, sharp movement, sliding to rest on your sides as he pinned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and exhaling rather loudly.

“How comes you’re still here?”

“You saved me. And even before you’d done that, I already loved you. So why shouldn’t I stay?”

“You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, right?”

“I’m fully aware. But I want to,” he opened his eyes, looking at you as you bit your lip right before the next sentence.

“You’re not bad at all, Yongguk-ah. You’re the most honest, truest person there’s ever been in my life, and I truly don’t care about your wrongdoings, because at the end of the day, the people you get rid of are the ones who make this world a living hell.”

“And to me you’ll always be nothing but the love of my life and a savior,” you finished, giving him the last little push he needed, in the form of a hand at the back of his head that moved him in the right direction, gently placing his lips on yours.

A savior. That had to be a lie or a joke, right?

Yet it felt like neither one of those when you kissed him, and he couldn’t help but do the same back to you in a similar intensity and fashion. Tugging at your clothes for support. Pinning you against him fully, leaving no space in between your bodies whatsoever. Refusing to take a breath in between, because, even if every sane person would disagree, he was convinced you were more important than oxygen.

Showing you he needed you.

You glanced over at his sleeping frame that evening, admiring his true face and colors. He’d come home once again with nothing but compunction in his heart and mind, and it drew him to kiss you full-force for a while before collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep before you even managed to scold him for not eating dinner.

He wasn’t tired, you knew. He never seemed to be. He just had too much on his mind yet again, and needed to drown all of that out in the most effective ways.

Him shifting and clenching on the blankets a little made you chuckle, as well as wonder how anyone he’d ever had business with would react to seeing him this way. To seeing the intimidating former leader, the one with the frightening gaze and unpleasantly low voice so vulnerable, and so.. hurt.

Yes. He was hurting tons, and you didn’t know what to do about it.

It was a thing he carried from the very past, a thing that had been programmed into his systems and present in his roots all along. The constant realization he was no good, and the thought of doing the thing he was against much too often for his liking.

Hurting people. Bringing violence everywhere he went. Shooting on quite a few occasions instead of talking it out.

Even if it was to make this world an a little safer place, and to guarantee their well-being and survival, he wasn’t having it. Even if the people he killed were no good, and had been wrecking mad havoc and destroying things and lives for years, he wasn’t having any of that. 

He was still no good, and it hurt him to unimaginable extents. But it had been like this forever, and, at this point, nothing could ever change that.

He knew nightmares would haunt him the second he climbed under the blankets. But what he got instead was vivid dreams of how it used to be. A reminder of how he became who he was now.

He’d always been the quiet one, rather standing in the corner and observing than going out to do anything. He never had a lot of friends, but he didn’t mind being lonely at all. He liked the peacefulness, and there were few times he felt like something was wrong with the way his life had unfolded. There were few times he would realize how no one would give him a helping hand in any situation, because there simply wasn’t anyone in his life to do so. And he rarely noticed how he’d always have to deal with it alone.

That is, until he met no other than Kim Himchan.

It was a regular boy’s fight in the yard about a toy. Yongguk must’ve been around seven years old at that point, and happened to be there when a bunch of boys a year or two older than him approached.

“What’s this stupidity?” one called out, snatching the Tigger toy out of Yongguk’s hands before he could react, “Oh wow, this is so lame!!”

“Don’t you have any cool stuff?” another one leaned it, saying it right to his face mockingly, “Like, a water gun or something.”

Yongguk looked up at them with a gaze that made them freeze on the spot for a while, his answer being short and clear, just as always.

“No. This is all I have. Now give it back.”

Needless to say, they didn’t, which lead to Yongguk trying to snatch it away from them and being unsuccessful.

“Look at him! What do you think you’re doing!?” the boy holding the toy laughed loudly, and pushed Yongguk back. He stumbled, almost falling to the ground, but managed to stay in a standing position.

“I think we should show him his place, right, guys?”

The approval could be heard all through the yard, and Yongguk took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was to come.

He knew he would get beaten up. And he knew that in theory he should fight back. But is there any use on doing so, if there’s three of them, and they’re all older, automatically being taller and stronger as well?

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Yongguk heard an unfamiliar voice coming from behind, but didn’t dare to look back. His full attention was still focused on the boys in front of him, and he saw them looking past him and at the mysterious speaker.

“Who are you anyways? Get lost, this is none of your business!” the toy was thrown to the ground, and the boy made his way over to do the first punch.

A punch to the gut, but he was still standing still. His insides hurt at the deep impact with the boy’s fist, yet he managed to hold his grounds perfectly, not saying a thing and simply staring at the ground.

“What an idiot,” he chuckled, giving another punch that seemed to have no effect either, “Still holding on. What for? There’s no one to help you-”

Slap.

It was a moment in time, as everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The boy’s hand was smacked away with quite an unbelievable force, and soon enough he received a slap to his face as well.

“Get away.”

It was the stranger from before - the one who had spoken earlier. He was standing next to Yongguk now, and ready to join the fight.

Still taken aback, Yongguk eyed him up and down quietly. He was a little shorter, and possibly younger than him as well. Yet he was a loud mouth - the complete opposite of Yongguk - as well as someone who couldn’t watch a situation like this unfold and not do anything about it. He was the first person whom Yongguk ever met that had the same perception as him - the opinion that certain people who hadn’t done anything bad didn’t deserve to go through unfair things and conditions in life.

The inevitable happened, and soon the three boys left, leaving behind two beaten up younger ones and a toy carelessly thrown to the ground.

The stranger was the first one to move, sitting up and coughing a bit. With a shaky hand, he reached towards the toy and picked it up, handing it to Yongguk who had already sat up as well.

“Here. A bit dirty, but fixable,” he said, giving an a little pained smile.

Yongguk hesitantly stretched out his arm to grab the toy, and looked at him in disbelief. He didn’t trust him or his intentions at all. There hadn’t been anyone who had simply helped him for nothing out of the blue just yet.

“Why did you try to stand up for me?”

The boy shrugged, tilting his head to the side and thinking, “I mean, are you saying I should’ve left you there alone for them to make fun of? Not on my watch.”

“You knew what would happen. They’re stronger, and there’s more of them. We had no chances of winning anyways.”

“Hah, you didn’t even try,” he laughed, getting up to his feet, “And that’s why you lost so soon.”

“There was no use anyways. There was no way we could’ve won. So why should I try if I know that it won’t do or change anything?” Yongguk slowly took the boy’s, standing up to his feet and wondering what had suddenly made him so talkative. He hated talking, after all.

“Why not? Are you simply going to stand the fact that they’re treating you like they shouldn’t? Or are you going to try and do your best to make the situation fair?”

Yongguk looked at him in disbelief. He was the first person who understood. The first to spark some type of desire in him to actually try, and he couldn’t tear his eyes off of him.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Himchan. I live nearby.”

“O-oh yeah, I think I’ve seen you around.. I-I’m Yongguk..”

The scenery seemed so clear, and it felt like all of that had happened just yesterday. How both boys stood under the trees in the middle of the yard, getting to know each other and thinking of how to explain the bruises to their families later on. It was the first time he met Kim Himchan, and it became far from the last time he’d see him.

A few years is what it took to turn the situation completely around. Left without a family, without a home and a place to go back to, they both aimlessly wandered the streets. Fire. Murders. Police sirens everywhere. And they fled, being afraid of what might follow after everything they’d just been through. Being fourteen years of age was enough, right? They would manage.

Getting involved with gangs happened quite accidentally, but as they got into the business, they weren’t allowed to make a run from it.

“Weren’t you against unfairness?” Yongguk hissed as Himchan got ready for another one of the few missions they’d been on already, loading his gun.

Yongguk had been there for this whole time with him, but hadn’t shot even once. He refused to do so, because that would mean hurting people. And he wasn’t about to hurt anybody.

“I am, I promise,” Himchan threw him a gun, knowing a little too well he wouldn’t use it anyways, “But tell me, what other possibilities do we have right now? What else do you have left?”

“Death.”

“Not on my watch.”

Yongguk sighed, knowing there was no way to argue back. Himchan had been the person to hold him above water level for all of these years, and he wasn’t about to give up on him.

He’d been more than simply useless all this time, tagging along, but not doing anything to help out and fight back. He’d been threatened by the gang that he’d be simply gotten rid of if he didn’t start being useful, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything even after all of that, making Himchan work for both of them.

He couldn’t bring himself to hurt people.

“Do you really think anyone who’s been taken care of so far didn’t deserve it?” Himchan’s question snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Well, they did. But the same could be said about you. You’re doing just the same as them. Killing.”

“But I’m not doing it for wealth or power. I’m doing it to guarantee your and my survival. I’m simply fighting back, and if something would happen to me, I’d accept it.”

A shot in the side. And he indeed did accept it.

Yongguk felt his world breaking apart at the sight in front of him. How Himchan’s frame had been beside him all along, until at some point it crashed to the ground, revealing a rather large, bleeding wound on the side.

“Himchan! W-what-”

“Shoot, you idiot, will ya!? Save yourself at least, since I can’t do that anymore.”

And with tear strained cheeks, he obeyed. His hands were shaking and his aim wasn’t the best, but it was just good enough to cover him and Himchan who’d sat up at that point, breathing heavily and trying not to pass out from the immense pain.

“Hold on, do you hear!?” Himchan chuckled at how shitlessly scared and caring, as well as frightened Yongguk sounded. He’d never seen him that way, and he had to admit - it was not simply unusual, but even scary to some extent. Chucking hurt though, so Himchan simply leaned back, focusing to keep his consciousness. “Yessir,” he quietly muttered, his vision blurry, but his head still clear.

It was the day Himchan could’ve died, but because of a lucky coincidence he didn’t. And it was the day Yongguk first used a gun against somebody.

The first time he killed a man.

He sat next to Himchan who was lying medicated and bandaged up in bed, and thought. He’d killed a man. He’d caused violence, and had broken the morals he’d kept up for so long. But what for?

For the sake of the only person left in his life, who managed to stay alive thanks to his efforts. Alive, because he shot and made sure he’d manage.

Suddenly, all colors drained and he was left in his beloved black and white. The sight in front of him got blurry and twisted into wicked shapes, before clearing up again. Yongguk found himself watching the same event happening from the distance, as if he was a third person watching from afar. But something seemed to be off this time around.

“Yongguk-ah!! I can’t do it on my own,” Himchan screamed, shots being fired his way at an alarming rate, “I need backup!!”

Yongguk saw himself not far away from Himchan, and what this other self he was observing now said left him choking on plain air and unable to speak or move.

“Himchan, why should I?” his voice sounded cold and careless, displaying no emotions whatsoever, “There’s more of them than there’s us, and they’re older, taller and stronger. We won’t win anyways.”

“Yongguk-ah, stop being dumb and help-”

Shoot. Right in the side.

They made eye contact, and Yongguk watched the blood coming out of and dripping from Himchan’s mouth. Dark red, thick liquid stained his chin as he hit the ground. The blood was the only colorful thing in the black and white scenery, and it was a nice finishing touch, making the view more than simply tragical and devastatingly painful.

Another shot followed, and he fell to the ground, gathering up his last strength to shoot a few more times. He struggled to keep his balance, and his eyes seemed to refuse to cooperate - they constantly wanted to fall shut at the immense pain.

He continued shooting just to cover Yongguk - the person he cased about. The person who could’ve prevented all of this from happening, yet didn’t.

“Hold..On… And don’t you dare-Ahhh.” he received another shot, and at this point the ending was inevitable. His body was too damaged to keep him alive for much longer.

“Don’t you dare dying, Yongguk…”

Cold sweat was dripping from his forehead as Yongguk woke up in the middle of the night, his heart racing at an alarming rate.

No, no, no. None of that had ever happened. He shot, and Himchan survived. And from then on, they always shot together. Always worked as a team, to not only keep their lives, but to get rid of dangerous people so they couldn’t harm anyone anymore. But, even though he saved him, he didn’t prevent the most important person in his life from getting hurt though, and now Himchan wore a rather large scar on his skin for the rest of his life that showed off Yongguk’s weakness.

And you did just the same.

“Yongguk-ah..” he heard you mumbling in your sleep, and only now really understood what had really happened.

A nightmare. Thank god.

His sudden movements and heavy breathing had caused you to react, and you buried your face further into his neck as the grip of your hand on his shoulder tightened.

“Yongguk-ah.. It’s fine..” you were talking in your sleep, making him realize that this was probably the phrase you’d told him the most during all this time you’d spent together with him. All you ever did apart from loving him unconditionally was reassuring him that all was fine.

He gulped a little, closing his eyes and trying to calm his breathing. His hand trailed to rest on your arm, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. He didn’t want to wake you up and make you worry about him. There was no need to do so, because it had all just been a bad dream. A horrible nightmare.

“It’s fine, (Y/N), I know. It’s fine..”

It wouldn’t be like that for much longer though.

Himchan crashed his place the next morning, being closely followed by Junhong who always tagged along whenever there was something related to Yongguk, no matter the situation.

You were still sleeping when you heard voices coming from the hallway. You froze at first, realizing there was more than just one voice there and Yongguk wasn’t in bed next to you anymore, but soon you understood who those voices belonged to. You knew everyone in B.A.P just like the back of your hand, and after the fear had died down you recognized Himchan’s nasal voice and Junhong’s fast manner of talking. And Yongguk’s low, inaudible sentences, of course.

Climbing out of bed carefully and taking a few steps towards the door, you listened carefully and were wary not to make a sound. Eavesdropping wasn’t good, but their visit at such a time of day couldn’t mean anything good. And if Yongguk was in trouble or danger, you simply had to know.

“We have to get her away from here.”

“But where to? Do you think keeping her around at the base would be a much better idea?”

“It would be slightly safer. I know the base should technically be a more dangerous place, since all six of us could be there at any point, but it’s you he’s searching for. And it’s her he wants.”

“And this isn’t a safe place anymore, Yongguk hyung. Not after all of those threats..”

The floor creaked, and three pairs of eyes were staring at you within milliseconds. You cursed to yourself a little - shifting on spot wasn’t really necessary, but you still did it, causing noise and ruining your perfect hideout.

It took you only seconds to realize you really didn’t want Himchan and Junhong to see you this way. Messy-haired, sleepy-eyed and with nothing besides your underwear and Yongguk’s loose, big shirt that looked like a dress on you covering you. Remembering the bruises and love bites on your neck only added to your embarrassment, but you couldn’t really go away now. You were trapped, and had to simply wait.

“Yongguk-ah.. Is something wrong?”

He looked at both men at first, earning a glance from them as well. Junhong waved, and Himchan bowed a little before disappearing through the door without any explanations, and it was just you and Yongguk in the apartment once again.

“I heard you talking, and.. I really didn’t want to listen at first, but it seemed like you were talking about something really important, and..”

“It’s fine, (Y/N),” he said quietly, giving you another look before gesturing for you to come out of the room and into the hallway. He watched as your slightly frightened frame disconnected from the doorway, and he carefully listened to how your bare feet hit the floor with little thuds, making close to unnoticeable sounds as you came closer.

“Now listen carefully, babe,” his hands met with yours, and he intertwined your fingers with his, putting you slightly at ease, but just until the next sentence.

“Minjae’s back..”

You felt all of your senses leaving your body as fear strained your vision and you felt like collapsing on the ground.

“No.. Please tell me this isn’t true..”

Your eyes met with his, and his heart started clenching. You looked so fragile, and so unprotected - so alone in this dangerous environment. But he wasn’t going to let absolutely anything happen to you. Putting a hand on your cheek, he drew a few circles with his thumb before pulling your face closer, and letting you bury your face in his chest.

“Do you need time to process, or can I speak on?” He asked quietly, earning a muffled sound from you that he took as allowance to continue.“You know what this means. He won’t let you live in peace, and he won’t let me live at all. So now we have to take care of the situation.”

“How?” you quietly asked, gripping at the back of his shirt as he held you in his arms tightly.

“First of, we have to get you out of here. Himchan is right. It’s better if you stay at the base than if you stay here. There’s six of us there to protect you instead of one that’s rather emotionally unstable and constantly drowning in sorrows-”

“And what then? I’ll be safe, but what’s going to happen to you?”

He stayed silent for a bit, considering. He knew his limits, and they were way below Minjae’s. He knew this was close to impossible, and that he wouldn’t be able to handle it on his own.

So why try? 

But your silent sniffing and the way your body tried to repress sobs as it shook a little against his own was enough for him to want to slap himself all across the face. He was acting weak again, and this time around it wasn’t him who mattered.

You were there with him. In his shirt, with his marks on you and in his arms. With a bruise on your left shoulder that he couldn’t prevent from being left on your precious, soft skin.

You were his. And he was responsible for you, because he swore to take good care of you.

“I’m going to do my best to prevent anything bad from happening,” he quietly said in your ear, making you feel uneasy.

“Yongguk-ah.. Please, don’t put yourself in danger for my sake-”

“I won’t put myself in danger,” you felt his grip tighten around you, and soon your head was lifted by his hand to look back at him.

Rage. Plain rage and nothing else could be seen in his eyes. He wasn’t scared anymore. He wasn’t having self-doubts. He was simply pissed beyond belief and to the last bone.

“I won’t put myself in danger, because I’m going to become the fucking danger,” his tone was harsh, making you flinch a little, “And anyone who’ll try to put a hand on my girl is going to go down. Everyone who will try harming you will pay for it. They will get their bones crushed, and their hearts decorated with gunshot wounds, or ripped out if I feel like it. I will have no second thoughts in doing all of that to them, and if God won’t forgive me for protecting one of the only people who truly matter to me, may hell have all of me, because I’m going to just what I promised. Understood?”

Shaking your head and indicating you’d heard him, you were still a little frightened by his sudden emotional outburst. That was nowhere near his typical nature. Nowhere near his “peaceful guy” aura. Yet he sounded so genuinely true when he said all of that, it made you really believe him.

All of a sudden he leaned in to softly kiss you. All of the anger was gone within seconds, and his kiss was soothing medication, telling you that you’d be just fine, as long as he was by your side. Telling you that he was there, and that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. Telling you he’d prevent you from getting any more scars to remind him every day of how he wasn’t able to protect you back then when you needed it the most. Giving you a safe place to stay at, right in the middle of his heart.

“Go pack a few things, babe,” he spoke against your lips softly, “We have to leave as soon as possible. The guys are waiting for us.”

He watched you disappearing though the doorway, and couldn’t help but clench his hands into fists until his knuckles turned white.

You getting hurt? Not on his watch.

That asshole would definitely pay for all he’d done and all he intended to do.

[mintchocolateleaves]

Requiem (1/??)

And at long last!! The Delinquent AU I’ve mentioned in the past. This is part one, and I hope you all enjoy it!

Summary: When he was a child, Shinichi had thought he’d become a detective. Now he’s halfway there, looking into a series of attacks against delinquents in Tokyo, trying not to become a victim himself. Delinquent!AU

"Listen," Kudo Shinichi says, his tone bored as if he's had enough of the conversation, has had to repeat it multiple times. "How many times do I have tell people around here that the Mouri Agency is off limits?"

There's an edge to his voice, and when Hamada Satoru glances up at the teen, he shudders. The ice in the other boys glare...

"I-" He stutters to get the words out, bites down on his lip. Beside him, his two friends are unconscious, Kudo having knocked them both out with heavy footed kicks and brass-knuckled punches. "I-"

"Let me guess," Kudo sighs, leaning forward in his crouch, squinting at the teen, "you didn't think?"

Hamada glances at Kudo - when he'd first seen the guy, the cracked skin of his knuckles hadn't been enough to make him disregard the hello kitty plaster just beside his eyebrow, hadn't been enough to force him to get serious.

A mistake. They're lowered their guard because of a stupid plaster, and now two of them are out cold, and Hamada's pretty sure that he's next.

"I'm sorry-" Hamada says, and his panic echoes from his vocal chords, guttural, a primal fear that burns under the intensity of Kudo's glare. He feels almost like he's being branded, and maybe, in Kudo's thoughts, he is.

"Good," Kudo says, pushing himself back up to his feet, looming over the other boy. "You'll keep other people from messing with the Mouri's then, meaning no more hassling Ran or her father, you understand?"

Hamada nods.

"Nice talk," Kudo says, the anger fading from his voice. "Don't let it happen again."

There is no time to nod in response. Kudo brings his foot up to Hamada's rib cage, aims a kick that's just weak enough to leave him winded without damaging him. Even though Kudo's holding back, Hamada gasps, attempting to catch him breath - by the time he does, Kudo is gone.

"Oh Shinichi," Ran says an hour later, when he collapses beside her on the sofa. They're inside the Mouri Agency, the heating on, but a slight draft blows from the broken window Shinichi had gotten angry about. "You know that I hate it when you fight."

He doesn't respond, raises his hands so that she can clean his bleeding knuckles. She'll want to wrap them in bandages - she always does - but Shinichi's long since drawn the line at plasters.

"Won't you stop?" She asks after a moment, dabbing at his cuts, moving to get the antiseptic cream she keeps in the first aid kit. She’s bought it primarily for his use, and frankly, it’s extremely useful. They've had this conversation a lot, even though it always seems to provoke the same reactions. Or rather, lack of reaction.

"I don't go out looking for trouble Ran," Shinichi sighs, flexing his fingers while she uncaps the antiseptic cream. The skin around his knuckles is sore, but only if he touches the wounds. Maybe it had hurt once, but with the amount he's fought, he's pretty certain that his nerve endings have become desensitised to carefully timed punches. "I only fight if someone gives me a reason to."

"This is the third fight this week."

"And it would have been five," Shinichi continues, "if I was the sort of person who fought without a reason."

Ran lets out a long suffering sigh, leaning back against the couch. Her feet tap against Shinichi's the movement comforting as they sit together in silence. It's moments like this, simply sitting beside Ran, that makes Shinichi wish he was a better person. He wishes he could walk away from fights, that he didn't skip school for something more interesting, but some habits are simply too difficult to break.

"How's your dad's case going?" He asks, after the silence settles around them like a blanket, warm yet suffocating. He glances at the file that lays abandoned on the table, wonders what crime is being investigated now. Ran's father doesn't necessarily like him, but they've got an unspoken agreement that Shinichi is welcome in the agency as long as he doesn’t drag Ran into any trouble.

He receives a smile, although it's strained. Ran says, "you know my dad. He's not the best at solving more complex cases."

No, Shinichi thinks, he's certainly not.

"So it's a bit rough..." Shinichi pauses, glances away as he adds, "do you want me to get my father's help on it?"

It's an offer he'll only give to Ran. He's not on bad terms with his parents, per se, but there's a distance there that none of them have bothered to bridge since the elder Kudo’s left to live in America. He knows that she finds it touching, that he'd suggest to connect that gap without any ulterior motive.

"Thanks," she says, linking her ankle around his, "but it's okay. Dad will only get annoyed if a novelist were to help him close his case."

"My dad's solved lots of cases though."

Ran shrugs, "that'd probably only make things worse."

Shinichi decides that it's probably best not to question it. Instead, he grins, leans his head back against pillows.

"Can you imagine how pissed your dad would be if I were a detective." He laughs, "I'd totally steal all of his cases."

Ran raises a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shuddering with barely audible laughter.

"Oh my God," she says, "I think he'd actually hate you if you were."

Shinichi doesn't know, exactly, what he's waiting for, but he knows something is going to change.

He's not expecting his everyday life to remain the same, continuous, drone that drags on. Part of him suspects that street fights are going to increase - recently Tokyo seems to be electrified with violence, and he tastes blood on his tongue as if he's been punched, can feel bloodlust at every street corner.

"I don't understand it Ran," Shinichi says, on one of the rare days where she's managed to convince him to play the role of good student. "Everything just seems off recently."

She gives him a look, the expression odd, before glancing at the school gates. She knows something that she doesn't, Shinichi concludes, and he's not sure whether she wants him to ask about it or not. He decides there's no harm in asking, and as they throw their shoes inside their school lockers, swapping for indoor wear, he does.

"Well," Ran says quietly, "Dad said that there's been a rise in street crime recently, and that a few people have been hospitalised already..."

Shinichi is silent as he waits for her to continue. He turns after a short period, eyes widening at the accusatory look he receives. He says, "listen, I may get into a lot of fights, but I wouldn't send someone to a hospital."

The fact that she doubts him for even a second hurts. Three unbearably long seconds of uncertainty stretches out, until Ran nods, offers him a smile and says, "I believe you."

Something squirms inside his stomach - Shinichi is pretty sure that it's not butterflies.

He finally finds out why he's been feeling so nervous.

Sitting in the waiting room of the local hospital, Shinichi bites down on his lip. He's not exactly a gang leader, isn't in charge of anyone but himself, but when you're a delinquent and society judges you for every action you make, it isn't strange to develop a network with other troublemakers. As the one who's not lost a fight against those in his particular faction... he's the current figurehead.

It changes when the current leader loses. So far, no one has taken Shinichi’s role.

There is something about never losing fights: It creates a false impression that a person can be invulnerable. With one of his fellow troublemakers hospitalised, Shinichi finds himself cursing, blaming himself for not sending out word about the delinquents that have been targeted recently.

In his mind, he reminds himself that if Icarus can burn, then they can bleed. It's almost a shocking reality. He should have warned them.

"Visitors are allowed inside now," a nurse says. Shinichi nods, pulling himself up. From the text he'd received during his lunch hour, he'd been informed that the victim, Mioda, hadn't suffered any fatal injuries. A few broken bones - ribs mainly - and while Shinichi knows it's bound to hurt like hell, at least it's not... worse.

Despite this, he still lets out a sigh of relief at the absence of beeping, the heart rate monitor switched off in the corner of the room. The machine isn't necessary - that's good. The attacks aren't escalating at least, injuries yes, but nothing requiring more than a day in hospital.

"Kudo," Mioda says when he notices Shinichi's shadow. His arm is in a sling, his torso bandaged - he'd been right about the broken ribs. Other than the additional swelling around his left eye, he looks like he usually does. "I'm fine, I swear."

There's respect in his voice - the kind that only people who've fought the other and come off worse can develop. Shinichi remembers when they'd first met - Mioda had tried to hit on Sonoko, one of Ran's closest friends, and had gotten mad when Shinichi had intervened and warned him to back off.

They'd long gotten past the fight, and since Mioda has reevaluated the part of himself that believed he was entitled to woman - or rather, after Shinichi had beaten the belief out of him - they're typically on friendly terms.

"Broken bones," Shinichi points, looks over the other boy again, "is your- Did they break your arm?"

Mioda nods, looks down at his cast and sighs. He says, "I'm pretty sure the doctors said part of the bone is fractured. I dunno though, it felt more like my arm was shattering."

It takes a moment for Shinichi to process that someone is going around breaking people's bones. It hadn't quite registered at first, when Ran had told him, but now the knowledge swims in his head, pressure building until it's throbbing against his skull.

"Have you caused any trouble recently?" Shinichi asks, leaning against the wall of the hospital room. It's not a private room, but the other beds seem strangely empty for a Tuesday afternoon. It gives them the privacy to delve into Mioda's story, to learn about whoever's doing something like this.

Shinichi's going to have to deal with whoever it is quickly, before anyone else can get hurt... before it does escalate. It'd be stupid to think that the problem will go away if he simply overlooks it.

Mioda shakes his head, "not anyone outside of the usual group."

Not anyone who'd go as far as this, goes unsaid, but Shinichi's certain it's what they're both thinking. It means either someone they do know has finally gone too far, or the attacker is someone completely new to them. Which... is weird, seeing as Shinichi's name is well known amongst their faction, and he's usually dragged into altercations fuelled by damaged egos and people wanting to claim the title 'best in the East'.

They don't - Shinichi has the title for a reason.

"What can you tell me about the guy? Any defining features so I can find him-" Shinichi pauses, "or her?"

He's learned the hard way from Ran that girls can be just as lethal as boys - more so, even, because of the stereotype that they're fragile and defenseless.

Raising his good arm, Mioda runs a hand through his hair. He tugs at the dyed strands, as if the sharp pain helps him focus on the memory of previous agony.

"A white mask," he says, "pulled up so that I could only see his eyes. And - dark hair. I don't know how long, or if it was natural..." he points to his swollen eye, "I couldn't see properly."

Shinichi takes the information and uses it to filter through anyone he knows. It narrows it down - a large chunk of the delinquents he knows have decided to stand out by dyeing their hair blonde or other outrageous colours - but not by much. Dark hair is pretty common in Japan.

"Anything else?"

"He was angry," Mioda says, glancing away, "didn't say anything, but you could see it - no... not anger... there was this wild energy buzzing around him."

That cuts down his list more than the dark hair does - most of the people he's fought in the past are just looking for trouble because they find it amusing. There are only so many delinquents who fight because they've got a volatile temper - they're the one's at risk of becoming criminals and falling out of the ‘deviant’ group completely.

It's still a large list, but at least now there are less people he'll need to look into.

"And oh-" Mioda continues, "he had a weapon. It was long, stick-like... bulky, but not metal or nothing... It was wooden."

Shinichi frowns - he's pretty sure now that he's got his first suspect... but without a motive everything seems... off.

Leaving the hospital behind, Shinichi decides that he's probably going to have to make his way to the train station at some point. Not today - obviously not today, not when he's promised Ran he'll join her on the dinner date she's planned for her parents.

(Not the smartest idea, Mouri Kogoro and Kisaki Eri haven't shown anything but contempt for one another since the break up eight years ago. Plus, Shinichi's pretty certain that Ran's mother hates him. It's probably due to the judging looks she sends every time she sees him.)

Tomorrow then, he decides. He doesn't care much for a school system that doesn't push him to his limits, is bored of calculus anyway. He just needs to make sure not to tell Ran about it before he's on the train, because, knowing her, she'll risk being late to drag him into another day of hell.

It's kind of her though... to attempt to reintegrate him into school life. Even if it's also irritating.

Shinichi nods to himself, readies himself to head home and freshen up before the meal. He'll need to change into smart clothes, which is going to be odd compared to the messy uniform he usually goes around wearing. If Ran makes him tuck his shirt in again...

A sigh - he knows that dressing up only makes him look like he's trying to be something he's not. He knows that he looks strange in a suit, because there are slowly healing scabs on his knuckles. The scar beneath his lip leaves him feeling mismatched whenever he wears a tie, as if he's pretending to be someone he's not.

Well - his mother's an actor. And she's taught him enough that for Ran's family dinners, he can pretend.

Dinner is its usual disaster.

Kogoro and Eri argue, and Shinichi isn't surprised at all. He's shocked, actually, that they manage to get through the starter without tossing verbal grenades at one another, and it's not even until they order dessert that the dinner table becomes a battlefield.

Shinichi gives Ran a look, pulls at the tie she's ordered him to wear, and offers her a small smile. Her responding smile is weak, and he grabs her hand from where they are sat next to one another. He tilts his head in question, points at the bottom of the table.

Her parents are too immersed in their argument to notice when Shinichi and Ran shuffle from their chairs, scooting under the table like they had once when they'd been children. There's not much room, but they lie next to one another, smiling.

"It's going bad again," Ran whispers, and she's not crying, not exactly, but her eyes are watery. "I should have known. It always ends up like this."

"They got through the starter and main though," Shinichi says, offering another, lopsided grin. Ran smiles back at him, wipes away a few tears, before nodding.

"I just wish they'd gotten through dessert as well..." Ran sighs. There's a wistful echo to her voice, as if she knows that what she's asking for is impossible, but it's something she wants regardless of fact. Shinichi knows it's the thing she wastes all of her wishes on - birthdays, eyelashes, wishbones, Mouri Ran has tried it all.

"It's an improvement from last time," Shinichi tries, "we're just taking slow steps. They'll get there."

Ran nods.

"When we leave, do you mind going on ahead? I want to talk to them about it..."

Shinichi squeezes her hand, tries for another smile. "Of course."

He's halfway down the street from the restaurant when he feels the wind whisper against his neck, chills pulsating against his spinal cord. Shinichi turns, looks around for the sight of any eyes watching him from back alleys, and finds nothing.

It's still light out - one of the good things about summer is that the evenings are lighter, and he doesn't need to worry about any sudden attacks when he can see the shadows of anyone attempting to sneak up on him.

So when he sees the shadow, Shinichi is expecting it. He's ready for the tap on his shoulder – it's heavy, but not painful, and if the shadow had been moving any quicker he'd have dodged it. Instead, he takes a step forward, pivots and looks up at his... visitor.

A self-deprecating smile graces his lips. “How nice of you to make it so that I don't have to pay you a visit later on. Thanks Hattori.”

He receives a sour expression in response. Shinichi isn't sure why he's on the receiving end of such anger – he knows that the guy is usually a wild card, his temper controlling him more often than not, but they've never really had any problems before. The Osakan has always stayed away from Shinichi's business, and he's offered the same in response.

“Listen,” Hattori Heiji says, anger boiling out of him, almost uncontrollable in it's intensity, I don't have issues with ya Kudo, but if ya think it's alright to put two o' my guys in th' hospital–”

He raises the bokken he always carries with him, glares. His point is clear – in his hands it's not just a training sword.

“I thought it was you who put my guys in hospital.” Shinichi frowns, crossing his arms. He's certain that Hattori's bokken can break bones if the force is great enough and if it's at the right angle. He'd been certain, with all of the facts Mioda had given him, that Hattori was the most likely suspect.

Hattori's anger sizzles, but subsides, as he tilts his head. His ponytail swishes behind him, the hair messy, but not overly so. “Why would I hurt yer guys?”

Shinichi shrugs, “apparently, my guys were attacked by a dude with a weapon,” - he points at the training sword - “and a short temper.” - he moves his fingers to Hattori himself. “What'd they say to you?”

Hattori squints, lets out a sigh, and scratches the back of his neck. “Was speaking Tokyo-ben, had th' same weedy but strong build like you do... dark brown hair...”

It takes a lot of effort to suppress his own sigh, but Shinichi does. He says, “it looks like we have a shared problem. The guy's attacking Osaka as well?”

A nod. The movement, although small, leaves Shinichi with a stomach that is churning, unease filling his blood, replacing any adrenaline that might have been present. He feels chills run along his spine, the caress of a ghost brushing fingers against the cord that keeps him functioning.

“Two guys so far...” Heiji shoves one of his hands into his pockets. “Nothin' too severe yet, a few broken bones, but nothin' permanent.”

It matches the M.O of the attacker in Tokyo – a gang then? No. Mioda had only seen one person, and Ran had told him how the other delinquents had only seen a single attacker as well. Either there's two people operating under the same M.O in two different cities... or he and Hattori really do have a shared problem.

Shinichi bites the inside of his cheek. Signals for Hattori to follow after him. “Tell me what your guys know.”

[Next Chapter]

[littlehollyleaf]

Ask a writer!

tagged by @mysillylittlesoapbox (yes I do still write fic... sometimes :p I’m afraid it’s all Gotham now though!) ...I don’t usually do memes about my writing though so, this should be...interesting...

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

my name is holly, holly leaves are a thing, I wanted to just be ‘hollyleaf’ but it was already taken so I figured ‘well hey, I’m also small...’ and voila! (no, I’m so sorry, but the Warrior Cats series was not involved at any point, I still haven’t read them and only know a character has my username, or a version of it, because of all the asks I keep getting about it :P)

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/favorites, follows/subscriptions, visitor hits, kudos)

So I had a quick glance at AO3 and this is something it looks like WAAAAY too much effort for my lazy ass to figure out, plus I dunno how accurate the AO3 stats would be for my stuff anyways because I only very recently put all my fic on there after having most of it posted (and therefore commented on and otherwise interacted with) solely over at LJ for years and years...

I would imagine it’s Imitating Life (spn, deancas), because that’s the one I remember getting the most feedback for. So I’ll just go with that!

3. What is your FFnNet/AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

It’s the same as my tumblr one. Because it’s me and I already had the image saved in an appropriate size. I know, dull right?? (back on LJ I was OBSESSED with finding and/or creating SO MANY different icons to convey different moods and whatnot - they were basically an oldschool version of reaction gifs I guess - but on any other platform I’ve been just... meh about the icon thing... idk!)

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

@vampirebillionaire has been a regular for my Gotham stuff, notable for jumping ship with me into foxma :) (well not jumping... simultaneously enjoying :p), for which I am profoundly grateful xx but generally my fic style and content is a bit... eclectic I guess? so no, no one who is super regular

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

Of my own? Nah. Well... not AGAIN AND AGAIN like on the regular. I HAVE re-read my stuff OF COURSE :p But usually it’s me re-reading previous parts of a series/set to get the feel for the story/characters again as I write new stuff. Though admittedly I have re-read Imitating Life more than most probably, to check it still reads okay.

As to other authors’ fics - I must confess that I read less and less these days, so there is def not a single one I constantly return to.

I have, however, re-read a few by depthsofgreen since I got into Gotham, as well as some by rissalf and silentsinger

Back in the day there was this one spn last unicorn AU I used to re-read the night before each premiere, because it was a deliciously angsty way to get me in the mood for a new season and pass the time while waiting - particularly notable because AUs are not really my thing, so it was an interesting choice for me to keep returning to! Alas I have lost my link to it however :( Should anyone know the one I mean drop me a line! (Cas was the unicorn, obvs, Dean was the Prince, Sam was Schmendrick, Anna was Molly and Meg was Fortuna)

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

I have ONE (1) story bookmarked - because it is a WIP I am following (and I just learnt how to bookmark the other month)

...what even is subscribing and how is it different??

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

None at all if possible. Although most of my fics end up being Canon Divergent in the end ofc they are generally canon compliant (based on my interpretation of the canon anyways) at the time of writing... Sometimes canon changes things while I am in the middle of writing stuff though ofc (*shakes fist at Gotham right now*), in which case I will unavoidably be writing something knowingly Canon Divergent/What If.

(aside - I tried to write an spn x-men AU once, but I got bored very quickly... full on AUs are just not me!)

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

OH THERE’S A STATS PAGE?

*checks*

K - 34 subscribers and 423 bookmarks (whoa that seems a lot??)

hey there’s graphs and stuff with your top five fics based on hits too - that’s pretty cool - my top is in fact Holding On and Letting Go... probably because it was one of my last big spn fics and one of the first I published on AO3...

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

No... I mean... I don’t think so? If there ever has been it’s passed me by and I’ve forgotten about it.

...for a hot minute I was into Eddie/Isabella in Gotham, and that plot was ofc (understandably) received VERY POORLY by the fandom, so I may have at one point been hesitant to explore that idea (and the related Ozzie/Eddie/Izzy thoughts I had) because of that... but I never got as far as wanting to actually WRITE anything that I recall so... I guess not really?

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

There’s a couple of dumb little grammatical things I wish I was better at remembering - like when it’s ‘passed’ and when it’s ‘past’ or when it’s ‘effect’ and when it’s ‘affect.’ Because I forget and have to look it up Every.Damn.Time!

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

Well, the ship I’ve written most for is deancas - so it’s def ‘popular ships’ I write most! (though I would like to point out that it WASN’T ONE when I STARTED :p). 

I’m not opposed to writing rarepairs as well however (she says, in the middle of a huge Gotham rarepair series!). I just write... whatever I’m enjoying most at the time.

12. How many stories have you posted on FFNet/AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

I’ve got 39 works up on AO3. Never published on FFNet. Probably got a few little things that I’ve only ever published on tumblr (like my cracky spn/WtNV crossover :p), so total number published across the board is more like 40ish...

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

(not counting the abandoned spn x-men AU that will remain forever unfinished) Just one. I CANNOT work on more than one fic at a time.

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

In my head (my stories are never especially complex after all). Once I’m stuck into a fic though I do tend to start creating bullet points below the main text of certain things that are coming next - like specific lines or phrases/metaphors I might think up as I go that I want to make sure I include, or the order of certain scenes if there is a series of short ones on the way, or sometimes points with question marks if I haven’t quite decided on something (eg. ‘have Eddie take his hat off here or wait until Ozzie smiles at him?’ that kind of thing...)

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

No. I came CLOSE to co-writing a DCBB with the lovely @takadainmate YEARS AGO but we never quite made it work (I got a distracted by involving Balthazar in a subplot and went on my own tangent, we had trouble even getting together to discuss it, the deadline started looming and eventually we wisely close to call it a day!). 

For a while there were VAGUE murmurings about returning to the idea... but the plot involved Dean and Cas getting trapped together in Purgatory you see aND THEN SEASON 8 HAPPENED!! So we decided to let canon run with it instead :P

16. How did you discover FFNet/AO3?

While I don’t use FFNet and don’t even read stuff there now, I did used to read fics on it early on. I discovered it while searching for info on my very first TV obsession Due South and was DELIGHTED to find a place full of stories about this thing I loved but had no new content for at the time :)

AO3 I remember being talked about and used a little by my LJ crowd, which is how I heard of it. I didn’t start using it myself until recently when I realised it had very much become the go-to hosting site used by tumblr fic writers.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on FFNet/AO3?

Nah.

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

...my personal readers? As in, not the general name for the various fandoms (like ‘spn family’ or ‘Gotham fam’), but for the people who read my fic specifically?

No... that seems... weird...?

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

Actually... no... no one specific. Just... reading lots of fiction by lots of different writers, fic writers included, is what inspired/encouraged me to take a crack at it myself I suppose.

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

Do not listen to me!

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

Um... both I suppose. Only... my plotting isn’t really... plotting. 

Because I just... daydream, you know? And after a bit I’ll realise that I’m coming back to one particular daydream more often than another. And adding to it. And adding to it. Until I’ve got something at least vaguely coherent. At which point I make a decision as to whether I like the scenario enough to write it down or not and if I do, well, it’s already pretty much there and fully formed in my head, so no additional ‘plotting’ necessary (just the ironing out and researching of a few details).

But while I’m daydreaming... well that’s me ‘figuring it out as I go’ I guess.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

My first foray into writing fic was with a Clex re-write of S05 Smallville. It ended up being a sprawling, much too ambitious multi-chapter thing I had no hope of ever finishing. But hey, it kept me out of trouble :p 

Anyways, I was part of a sci-fi society at Uni at the time I was writing and each of us in the group developed these different fictional versions of ourselves over the course of our time together... because we were a sci-fi society and it was fun! And I thought it would be a laugh if, for one chapter, I put all of us into my SV fic. So I did (I made us all kryptonite infected characters who lived at Lex’s secret 33.1 facility - if any SV fans are reading) and prefaced the chapter with some disclaimer about how I was sorry if this part was a bit too self indulgent or ‘mary-sue’ or whatever, but that I couldn’t resist doing it for my friends, and that things would get back to normal next chapter.

And generally it was fine - I didn’t have many readers anyway :p 

But long LONG after the fact, when I had written many other chapters since, I got a comment on this one chapter from someone saying that they felt my self-insert characters came across as too obviously self indulgent and were unnecessary and that I shouldn’t have written them in.

And you know, it was a fair call. But since I’d actually prefaced the chapter with myself saying that’s EXACTLY what they were, it seemed a bit odd to me that this person would bother making a point of the issue. And to compound confusion - this person had actually already commented POSITIVELY on the chapter when I first posted it, so their comment read something like ‘I’ve been re-reading this and on consideration ACTUALLY I think you should know that...’

So... that was a bit odd. Not really bad, but notable enough that it’s stayed with me! Since I was many many chapters along in the story at that point though it was easy enough to just nod and shrug and move on.

I’m lucky in that I’ve never received any actual scathing or horribly negative comments otherwise. I like to think I’d be thoughtful and philosophical about any serious criticism I might receive...

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

Hmmm. Exposition probably. My focus is typically on a character’s emotion at any given time, but when the only thing happening is characters discussing what’s happening and when and why there’s not exactly much strong emotion involved you know? So I struggle, because it’s boring to write and I constantly fear I’m not describing/depicting it in a way that is interesting to the reader and blah blah.

(part of the reason I don’t often write complex stories anymore perhaps - less narrative means less exposition!)

(smut used to be hard... now it is less so... though that doesn’t mean I think I’m good at it now! I don’t think I’ll ever shake the fear that my smut is actually cringe-worthy...) 

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

Just The Fox and the Scorpion :)

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

No. Like I say above - I CANNOT work on more than one fic at a time. How do people do that??? I bow to you all!

I have in the past paused in the middle of longer spn fics (like my DCBBs) to knock out some quick ‘finished in the span of an evening’ FICLETS, usually in response to specific happenings in canon (like when Gabriel died and I just HAD to type something up as an outlet). But I don’t think that’s really quite what this question means? Because those aren’t projects OR stories, they are just... SCENES, you know? Also - I haven’t written a ficlet in FOREVER, so I’m not even sure I could do it anymore...

Having said this - I DO CONSTANTLY DAYDREAM. Which involves daydreaming multiple scenarios not exclusive to whatever fic I’m in the middle of. Some of which may well end up being part of the next fic I end up writing. But that’s hardly ‘planning’ I think? Because at that stage of things I’ll have no desire to make what I’m dreaming part of an actual story/fic.

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

Nah. I just write when I feel like it and keep going until I’m done.

If I’m writing for a challenge this changes ofc, because DEADLINES. So sometimes I’ve had to set goals because of that - usually it’s something vague though, like ‘you need to get to this point in the plot by tomorrow night Holly, come on!’ Nothing so regimented as a specific amount of time and/or words every day.

...generally when I’m in the middle of a fic I end up in a kind of... idk, natural momentum that pulls me on? Like there’s this constant FEELING in the back of my mind urging me to get back to the story. And not in a nagging guilt kind of way, in a ‘this is what I WANT to be doing right now’ kind of way.

Not that I end up easily writing every time I get back to the fic or anything! Sometimes I’ll get back to the page and just... be stuck, find I’m not in the mood or can’t think of the words or whatever. Which is frustrating because I still have that feeling of WANTING to continue the story, but I’ll know that I’m not in the right frame of mind so have to leave it for a bit (which can be anywhere from a few hours to a week). Generally the pull to keep writing draws me back in eventually though. 

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Goodness yes. I think if you’re writing regularly you’re just ALWAYS improving, aren’t you? Naturally my fic today is better than my first attempts, but likewise I think some of my Gotham fics are better than my spn fics in some parts. It’s a constant process isn’t it?

28. What is your favorite story(s) that you’ve written?

Imitating Life remains one of the fics I’m most proud of. Not only did the main story hold up well AND stick to overall canon (when it comes to Dean and Cas at least), so I think anyways, I also wove in a couple of subplots I very much enjoyed seeing through to the end. PLUS I really enjoyed all the meta nonsense, including messing about with the format to make it like look (a little bit) like a screenplay. So yes, that one will always hold a dear place in my heart :)

For Gotham I don’t think I’m ever gonna do better than We Are What We Are tbh

29. What is your least favorite story(s) that you’ve written?

Generally unimpressed by ALL my SV fic now. And considering I spent SO MANY HOURS/DAYS/WEEKS/MONTHS/YEARS of my life on it all I kinda feel like I should feel bad about that but... you know I really don’t? Because if it wasn’t for all the time and effort (and love and fun) I put into those not very good stories, I wouldn’t be enjoying the work I’m proud of and writing today. So *shrug emoji* 

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

5 whole years? Tbh I rather think I’ll have stopped writing by then. I’ve been winding down when it comes to fic for a LONG TIME now and writing for Gotham feels very much like a minor, brief resurgence of the hobby. Currently planning on calling it a day once I’ve finished Fox and Scorpion in fact.

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

The part that doesn’t involve writing.

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

Trying not to be repetitive.

Have I started a paragraph with this character’s name too many times in a row? Am I using ‘furrowed brow’/’bites lip’/’narrows eyes’/’insert stock descriptive phrase here’ too often? Did I use this phrase already or was that in another fic or in the book I was just reading? Is there too much alliteration in this sentence?  - to name but a few of the questions that inevitably pop up related to my paranoia about repetition.

33. Why do you write?

Because I’m insatiable and the stories onscreen aren’t enough for me. 

...well that was exhaustingly introspective so I’m way too tired to tag! Interesting one though, made me think! (and taught me some stuff about AO3 :p)

[winter-oleander]

Some Stuff on What I've Been Up To and Current Projects

Jeepers, I haven't posted anything in forever. Well, here's an update on some stuff, I guess. I've been studying the craft of storytelling for a while now since I am writing a book and would like to write something that is not garbage. Also, I had the worst time trying to figure out how to write a story from start to finish for much of my life. Like, I could come up with concepts for stories all day long and characters, too, no problem. But actually writing an entire story? Most times I'd start and then just get lost and have no idea where to go from there. And even worse was that I had no idea where I was going wrong. But that didn't stop me from continuing to write. It's always been something I enjoyed no matter how little I knew what I was doing. *raises hand* Pantser from birth here. But no more. I discovered story structure. And it blew my goshdang mind. The entire idea of planning a story out at all before writing just blew me away. I could do that? There's guidelines to follow?! Other authors aren't just making it all up as they go along and how to do that is just out there on the web!?! Whaaaaaaat?!?! My brain melted. Just, right out of my nose and off down the street to Why-Was-I-Not-Informed-ville. Like, this just totally devastated me but in the best way possible. Like, "colors are a thing?!" levels of shock. And it still kinda horrifies me that nobody once mentioned this was a thing I could do to me even once while I was growing up. But I can't really blame anyone for that (well, I mean I could, but I won't) because people in general seem to have this weird idea that stories just come into being fully formed. It's the same with all art. Somehow the general public has gotten this idea that talent is this thing you either have or you don't and if you don't there's nothing you can do about it. I mean, I'm sure there are people out there who actually realize that any form of art, including writing, is a skill that can be learned and developed by nearly anyone. (Drawing is a technical skill. Learning that should never have been shocking yet it was to my younger self.) But wherever those individuals are they have never been in my life. Y'all need to speak up and educate all those ignorant people who go around parroting nonsense like "she's so talented!" instead of "she's clearly worked her butt off to be that good!" Because otherwise people all just nod along and never question how creative processes actually work. I'm getting way off topic, though. Story and scene structure, I learned about them and have been developing my grasp of both, slowly but surely. I often feel like I have no idea what I'm doing, yet with each attempt at creating a story I learn more and more and that feeling of confusion and uncertainty lessens. One day soon I will be able to store my notes in a binder on my shelf because I won't need to constantly reference them anymore, and my floor will no longer be a sea of paper piles. Haha. I'll never see the carpet of bedroom again. But at least it'll be because of all the ideas and planning and such that I'm writing rather than because I need to yet again go over the function of the three major plot points or the four quarters of my current narrative or what the hell a pinch point even is why do I need those again oh right. It's 2 am and I am ridiculously proud of the fact that I have learned a thing. Maybe even two. Two whole things. It's astounding. And I am awesome. I learned that thing. Take that, ignorance! But yeah, I've studied and planned out various ideas for stories and written a sea of notes in which my cardboard boxes full of magna drift whilst carrying stacks of the sea upon their cargo. And I think that at last I have gotten enough of the important stuff internalized that I can start actually writing again. Actual prose instead of the condensed / telling form I've been using so I don't go through all of my paper supply in one sitting, destroy my right hand, or waste countless hours rewriting story bits that will ultimately be abandoned because I haven't finished planning the story to the point that everything no longer reads like a transcript of a dream sequence. Actual writing. I'm actually pretty excited for it. I've missed it more than I realized I ever could. And on that note, my current fanfiction projects are two Marvel related things. One is a collection of six Science Bros/Boyfriends/Husbands short stories, each one focusing on an event in a different stage of Tony and Bruce's developing relationship. The majority of the planning is done for the shorts and I'm currently working on the meta narrative that encapsulates the others. I'm also trying to be extra creative and add in some cipher related stuff to the meta narrative because I do love me some cipher related stuff. We'll see how that goes. The second project is a fic that takes place in an AU I've been developing for a little while now. The AU is sort of based on the MCU but with some 616 and other stuff thrown in because I hate myself and like to drown in complexity. This was originally going to be a way more complicated story with far more characters, but I eventually realized I was overloading myself and the narrative and looked for ways to simplify. Fortunately, I found a way to do just that and am quite proud of myself as it's my first time recognizing and solving one of the oldest problems I've repeatedly faced as a writer. Planning for the fic is in an odd early-ish stage due to all the reworking it took to get to this point. But I shall persist and it shall be plotted out in its entirety soon enough! After I've gotten some sleep preferably. The fic takes place pre-Ironman and is about Tony weathering a bad blizzard with only his robots and JARVIS for help while dealing with a young homeless mutant who picked an awkward time to get a nasty cut on her hand while eating out of Tony's garbage. Things aren't so bad at first with the kid turning out to be nearly as big a geek as Tony and all kinds of interesting due to her mutation, though the kid is anxious to be on her way, convinced that horrible things will befall Tony if she lingers too long. When the house loses power along with the rest of the city, Tony finds himself trapped in the dark with the temperature plummeting, supplies dwindling, and a stranger who is much more than she initially seemed. Buy together, Tony and his new housemate may just have what it takes to survive the storm. Assuming the kid doesn't eat him alive first, that is. I've got other projects in the works, including reworking some ancient stuff I started by never finished (I'm looking at you, desert pikachu), but those are on the backburner until I've finished at least one of these two. Hooray for fanfiction being a fun way to develop writing skills! That's about it, so I hope all you lovely people have a wonderful day and enjoy something nice between now and next time. Bye bye!