#under the rug and defend them till their death.

[snekdood]

can you even bring yourself to see things from my perspective? can you even bring yourself to imagine i didn’t do anything? can you even bring yourself to imagine im innocent??

or does everything come collapsing down when you try?

[offda-rails-art]

Been a while since I’ve enjoyed art. I finally finished my story-no color becuase paint is expensive and I can expand more by doing what I love most-sketching. Slight gore warning, like typical horror movie gore⚠️

Thank you for anyone following me recently, even though I haven’t been very active. I hope this makes up for it. Peace and love. Lochlan’s story part one👇

The countryside of Hennessy had a horrible storm roll in. It poured endlessly all night and into morning. The seemingly endless pounding rain made everything a muddy slippery mess, and with that the tracks were overflowed with water. Travel for any engine was dangerous so it was decided that everyone would take the day off and wait out the storm inside. Old Red, Donner, and Cracker Jack had already been in the roundhouse that night and early in the morning they were told “no work for today. Too dangerous.”

Lochlan had still been on his job pulling a long train all night. Something that had been expected to be finished by early morning was delayed by the rain. Lochlan went along the tracks carefully and managed to deliver his train by late afternoon meanwhile the rest of the engines back at the roundhouse were confined to their berths all day. And with that the group of 3 were very bored.

Lochlan backed his way into his respective berth, he was soaked from being in the down pour all day. He was also visibly tired from his tedious journey of start stop all through the wet slippery tracks. Before the poor big engine could get a word out Cracker Jack piped up. “About time! Reds been going on and on about silly stories. We’ve traded back and forth on interesting ones of our own. Well, Donner and I at least. Reds giving the whole “Wild West romance, forbidden engine/human love” spiel again.” Cracker Jack groaned.

“My recounts of pistol packing cowgirls are not romance stories! I’m simply making it clear that women are just as dangerous as men! That’s all!” Red growled quick to defend himself. His face turning slightly pink.

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that you old fart.” Cracker Jack smirked. Even Donner gave a slight chuckle in agreement.

Lochlan smiled and shook what water dripped down his face off. Cracker Jack grinned up at Lochlan expectantly. “Suppose you have anything of your own to share?” Cracker Jack asked, his grin widened hoping that Lochlan would have a story to tell. At least one that wouldn’t put him to sleep. Or any about his love interests.

“Me? What kind of story? I don’t do much that interesting.” Lochlan sighed and tried to think of anything worth telling.

“Lochlan. You’re huge. You see the world from a different point of view everyday. You do the more than any other engine on the railway. You’ve been everywhere, you must have something?” Cracker Jack retorted. Lochlan frowned and clicked his tongue in thought. A loud crack of thunder boomed in the background and shook the roundhouse. The 4 engines jumped at the sudden loud noise. The natural fearful reaction to the loud noise gave Lochlan an idea.

“What about a scary story?” He smiled and knew exactly what to share. The other three raised their brows in interest. Cracker Jack noticeably grew attentive.

“Yes! I think we can all agree that horror over a whole romance novel is sure to help pass the time!” Cracker Jack grinned. It took Red a second to process the slight dig made at him. He only grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“Good! I have just the one! It happened the very first week I arrived here.” Lochlan grinned and cleared his throat to begin.

When Lochlan first arrived at Hennessy he was immediately tasked with pulling long trains of heavy and important cargo for distances many other engines couldn’t travel. He traveled from late at night till very early morning so naturally his rest time in the afternoon was spent in any noisy bustling yard he could manage to get a break in. Most of the time Lochlan couldn’t sleep with all the noise. He didn’t mind not napping but peace and quiet was something he could definitely enjoy. It seemed that wouldn’t be an option for a while with his break schedule. So, Lochlan decided to eavesdrop on his human counterparts. They did after all have interesting things to share. While in a yard one afternoon the prefect opportunity to eavesdrop came in, a group of engineers decided to take their break not far away from him. They sat down on some old flatbeds and joked around for a while. The oldest man in the group began talking about his past colleague who was a Native American. He recounted all kinds of interesting things his colleague shared. From ancestral meanings to cultural symbols, but then he brought up something strange. Lochlan grew curious and listened in best he could. The engineer asked the others if they ever heard what a “wendigo” was. The two men shook their heads. Lochlan listened in as the man explained to them what it was, and the reason for bringing it up.

The engineer grew serious before beginning, “ a couple years back a rancher went missing out by his home just a good ten miles from the south side of Hennessy. No one knew how he could possibly go missing, he was in touch with the locals and was a very smart man. He knew the wildlife and his homeland well enough to where an animal attack was ruled out. He carried a gun on him all the time to stay safe and no one would want to harm a lonely rancher with not much of anything to give anyway. Robbery and murder was ruled out too, especially after his home was found kept well with nothing out of the ordinary or missing. He just seemed to have vanished along with his horse and dog. The sheriff decided he could’ve left unannounced for private reasons and perhaps he would turn up soon. It wasn’t until a week later a hunter stumbled across what was left of the poor rancher. He was so severely mangled that the only thing that showed proof it was him was his hat, horse and dog. Whatever creature that did that couldn’t possibly be a bear, or even a pack of wolves. Only the rancher looked like something had eaten parts of him. His horse and dog were for the most part untouched, the possibility a rabid bear attacked him was brought up due to the massive claw marks and slashes embedded in his horse and dog. And how badly the man was shredded. But what bear could be that big? A search for whatever rabid bear or sick pack of wolves was put out but nothing was recovered.

No one wanted to admit but they were scared. The scene was so brutal it seemed almost impossible another living thing could do that. It was swept under the rug and everyone tried to forget about it in hopes it would just go away. It seems there’s no answer for what happened right? Well your wrong, that’s were this “wendigo” comes in. Wendigos have an insatiable hunger for human flesh, they crave taunting people and torturing them until giving them a brutal horrible death only to feast on their scared poor souls. They tower above the tallest pine trees, make blood curdling screams, and can strip the flesh from your bones instantly. He wasn’t attacked by a rabid animal, he was murdered and eaten alive by one of those foul beasts. Only something that big and mercilessly brutal could’ve done such a thing. And why eat just the person? An animal would’ve taken all it could get. Dog and horse would’ve been part of the main course as well.”

The two other men who listened in shuddered upon the end of the tale. Lochlan was intrigued but was interrupted by his crew coming to fetch him from his break. He needed to get back to work and couldn’t listen in anymore. He sighed and set off to collect his train, he had plenty of time to ponder what he just heard on his long quiet journey.

Lochlan enjoyed the unexplainable, everything had an explanation. An answer. While the story of the wendigo was interesting to him he couldn’t help but believe it was simply a tall tale. Even with how big and goofy the engine could be, he wasn’t gullible. The only way he’d believe something is if he witnessed it first hand. And as far as he knew he never saw any forest animal that towered over pine trees or had a specific desire for human flesh. But for some reason something inside him wouldn’t let go of it. The story was kept in the back of his mind and not forgotten.

Lochlans first week on Hennessy’s railway was almost over. He already gotten familiar with the area and his routes in the short time he was there. His job went swillingly and it was something he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his days doing. Oh, and no strange gigantic monsters hungry for human flesh appeared. There was one route Lochlan hadn’t traveled yet, and the unkept longer line of tracks was only taken if necessary but no reason was ever really given as to why it wasn’t used. But with only almost a week of experience on the railway he had a lot more to learn and explore.

While Lochlan pulled a long train of cargo with the morning newspaper edition, important mail, and dairy that needed to get to its destination quickly in order to not spoil he came to a stop when he realized his normal route back into Hennessy was blocked. Someone had derailed and a big mess of tar trucks were scattered everywhere. Lochlans engineers grew frustrated and argued with the crewmen in charge of cleaning up the wreck. “Listen pal, it’s going to take all night to clean this mess up. You’ll just have to wait until morning to pass through or go through the south side.” The agitated worker groaned and pointed up ahead to a route Lochlan wasn’t familiar with.

“Well. We most certainly ain’t got time to wait. I’ve got the morning paper to deliver and dairy that will spoil! Come on big feller we’ll just have to go through the south side which will still delay our schedule because some incompetent idiot can’t operate an engine worth Jack shit.” Lochlans engineer growled and made his way back to his cab. Lochlan looked on curiously up ahead at this new route. The grass ahead was severely overgrown, and by the looks of the track no one seemed to have been down it for a decade. His cow plow would come in handy to shove away any overgrowth that littered the track up ahead. Lochlan puffed down the track without incident. He sliced through any overgrowth that littered his path, and was thankful for his bright headlamp because it seemed any lights that lit up the track before had been left not repaired. Lochlan had come upon something odd as he plunged further down the unused route. A herd of deer were stopped close by the tracks, what was odd to him was that the animals didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. It was normal for the forest animals to hurriedly clear the way when any loud engine chuffed close, to the animals an engine was another predator to run away from. But the large herd of deer stood stalk still, their backs turned towards him and their heads cocked up looking into the distance at something. They didn’t dare move and their fear was focused on something Lochlan couldn’t see. Lochlan raised a brow and chuffed by but the deer didn’t move. Even as steam whooshed out and his own massive frame rumbled on the rails shaking the ground. The deer seemed to care less about him. It was one of the most peculiar things he had seen, but he had no idea it was about to get worse.

Tumblr limits posts and I have to many illustrations to do one part. So I’ll have to skeet part two in another separate post. Stick around for the second part if you enjoy so far. Thanks so much for people who’ve stuck around my blog and actually wanted to read my stories. I really really appreciate it.

[yandere-mha-blog]

Chapter 5: Interrogation

Words: 2065

Fumiko was at a loss right now, first, he gets attacked by a villain then he gets killed by the villain the second he gets out of the hospital, things just weren't adding up, did the villain mean to kill him the first time, not according to the records of his patterns, Just the thought of Akio last moments begging for his life made her want to throw up, Genji came up and sat next to her

“Hey, Fumiko.” He said, “Lot on your mind huh.”

“Yes, I just don't understand why he is dead.” She said, and Genji rubbed the back of his neck

“Well, I came by this morning to see him, we all got some drinks and left with another group so I came to see if he had a hangover, but when I came in, he was slumped against the wall, with a large gasp in his throat,” he said

“Why would you tell me that?” She yelled at him

“Well think about it okay, who do we know that hated Akio and has a quirk that can slash someone's throat.” He said

“They say it was the Nighthawk who came back to finish the job.” she said “But that doesn't make sense either.”

“I’m going to tell the police about (name).” Genji said, “I think she might have something to do with this.”

You were longing on your bed re-reading a textbook passage when there was a knock on the door, oh what now. You got up and opened the door only to see the police

“Hello,” you said

“Hi (name), right?” He asked

“Yes,” you said crossing your arms

“Well we have a tip that you and the victim were not on good terms and you may have a motive to kill him, so we are going to have to have you come down to the station for questioning.” He said,

“Okay,” you said as the two officers lead you away from your dorm, and down the steps, people look over and whispering as you got into the back of the car, and headed down for questioning. They sat you down at a table and got started interrogating you.

“So (name), how is school going for you, you are in school to become a surgeon.” He asked

“Yes,” you said

“So we got word that you and the victim aren't on good terms.” He said

“That is true,” you said

“Why would that be?”

“He tried to assault me in a back alley,” you said

“Did you go to the police about this?” He asked

“NO because the next day he was in the hospital,” you said

“Yes, we noticed that along with the cuts from the attacker there was another wound around his wrist, puncture wounds.” He said

“Yes I tried to defend myself with my quirk, all under legal stature.” you said “Are you saying I can't defend myself?”

“Not at all.” He said, “But how did you escape?”

“Someone threw a can at his head and he ran away with his tail between his legs,” you said

“Was the person who threw the can, the attacker?”

“How would I know that?” you said

“Well when we examined the puncture wounds on his wrist with the way his lock broke, they match up.” He said

“Okay,” you said

“That puts you at the scene of the crime with a motive,” he said

“I was out for a walk and saw him bringing a drunk girl to his dorm, I broke in to help her.” You said, “He got upset and strangled me.”

“Proof?” he asked, as you took your scarf off to reveal the handprints on your neck

“This enough proof for you?” you said

“And you didn't call the police.” He asked

“No, I got the girl out of there and dropped her off at the female dorms,” you said

“Well you know what I think, I think you attacked Akio got into a scuffle and killed him in self-defense.” “You are wrong, I didn’t kill him,” you said

“(name) if it was in self-defense you can tell me, you won't get a harsh punishment if you just admit to killing in self-defense.” he said, you rolled your eyes

“Did you just come up with that story now?” You said, “How did he die again?”

“SLash across the front of his throat,” he said

“Okay and was it a knife slash,” you asked

“No. He said

“And you think it was my talons?” you asked “I'm sure that can be proved wrong a test gives me some fake flesh and I'll show you what it would look like.”

Hawks on the other hand was a bit worried about you getting taken away by the police so he attacked one of his feathers to the bottom of the police car then had it sneak in through a vent to listen in on the conversation. He would have to do what was necessary if they were closing in on you, but you were smart not to give up any information about him, still, were you going to get thrown under the bus for him, that didn't sit well with him either.

“Well, they don't match.” He said, “but your talons were still used to break the lock did you have an accomplice?”

“I left the door open when taking the girl away, so if someone came by afterward I wouldn't have known.” you said “I didn't bother to close the door after the whole almost suffocated to death.”

“(Name) my quirk is being able to tell if someone is telling the truth or not, you are telling a partial truth but you aren't telling me the whole story,” he said and you rolled your eyes

“You expect me to believe the bluff.” you said “I bet you are another weird growth quirk grower, a dime in the dozen who didn't have flashy quirk so you decided to interrogate people.”

You were digging under his skin, people were so easy to rial up and it was even more fun to see him try and keep his composure

“(name) you do know hiding information about a high stakes villain is a federal offense, especially if it is a villain the Hero Public safety commission has been after.” He said

“What possible information would I have on such a scary villain,” you said almost mocking him.

“(name) this is serious, we believe that Nighthawk killed Akio.” He said, “Don't you want to get justice for this man?”

“After what he did, and the second he got out of the hospital started to try and take advantage of drunk women, not so much.” you said “Justice was served for me and every other nameless victim he hurt.”

“There have been no police reports on him-” ``Because no one would listen, some heroes you are.” you said, “He was a scumbag and he would continue to be a scumbag, I don't care if he is in a body bag, All I did was save a girl from being another victim, what happened to him after is none of my concern.”

With that the cop left to go inform his colleagues you weren't being cooperative and maybe they should bring in someone who could talk some sense into you, Hawks rolled his eyes.

You were left in that interrogation room for the night, what a way to spend your day, you were going to miss so much school because of this damn mess. You waited and waited till the door opened and the cop came back in.

“Hey, I need to use the restroom,” you said

“It can wait someone is here to see you, someone important so behave yourself,” he said and you had a thought to just use the restroom right then and there, till the president of the Hero public safety commission came in

“Hello miss (Last name).” she said as you just started on

“(name) is fine,” you said

“OKay (name), you two can leave us be, like there wasn't a two-way mirror to see this, as she sat across from you, her blond hair was pushed back and she had a very stern face, “So how have you been?”

“Terrible,” you said

“Look let's cut the chase, I know Nighthawk saved you that night in the alleyway from Akio.” She said, “And I know that you know that, and I know that you have talked to him afterward.”

“Is it your job to come up with crazy stories?” you asked as you coughed “I need some water.”

“Bring her some water.” She said as the door opened and a pitcher of water was placed down with two cups, you happily drank it.

“Look you aren't the first person he has dragged into his mess, he has a way of getting into people's minds and making them feel understood, and special to him.” She explained, “I think you have been manipulated by his more charismatic  personality, so if you know anything about his whereabouts or any information I can sweep this under the rug for you.”

You let out a long sigh of defeat

“Ma'am, I'm in medical school to become a surgeon.” you said, “Look that night I was attacked by Akio, someone came to my rescue by hitting him in the head with a can, afterward when I heard Akio got out of the hospital I was worried he would try to hurt someone else, so when I was walking I saw him caring a drunk girl home, I broke his lock I went in and stopped it, he tried to strangle me, I kicked him off and ran with the girl.”

You weren't exactly lying, but omitting some parts of the story

“Then it is highly possible that the NIghthawk is stalking you.” She said, “It appears to have been a misunderstanding, so I'll have the police let you go and write you off as an innocent bystander.” She said getting up “We will get you back to school momentarily.”

You were a bit surprised your bluff worked, but you were happier to be able to leave with your name cleared, although this probably meant that Hawks would think you snitch and would leave, it was interesting while it lasted you supposed.

“President, how could you believe such a bad lie.” An officer said

“Who said I believe her, no she is hiding something about him, I want survalance on her immediately.” She said, “I have a feeling she is going to be a great help in finally catching that meddlesome bird.”

“Right away ma’am.” He said, as the police followed you back to school and you were finally back on campus, maybe you would be able to catch the last half of your class if you rushed over. Everyone's head turned when you did enter the classroom mostly in disbelief, you walked over and sat right next to Fumiko, it was more a way to intimidate her since you knew it was who snitched on you and nearly got you thrown in the slammer. So when class ended you put your hand out in front of her

“I need to talk to you, now,” you said

“(name), I can explain,” she said

“Oh I would love to hear it.” you said as you got closer to her face “I know you tipped off the police, well news flash, I didn't kill Akio, you nearly cost me to miss 23 days of school.”

“(name) I was talking to Genji that's all.” She said

“Fumiko you need to learn how to grow a backbone soon,” you said slinging your bag over your shoulder, and stormed back to your dorm, and collapsed on your bed, a fluffy bed always felt nice after a rough day, god you felt like ripping your talons through something, maybe a pillow, but pillows cost money so you held it in.

“Just great, Fumiko scared off the one interesting thing that was happening and I'm so bored.” you thought something still didn’t make sense to you, why was she so sure of your story when everyone else was doubtful, no she must have let you go on purpose, she must think she is so smart, she was probably going to use you as a means to catch Hawks, you were going to be ready.

[ly-canthropewrites]

Love or War

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2998

Rating/Warnings: SFW. Brief mentions of previous season drama.

Summary: “I saw you staring at each other, I wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage” 

You can feel the heavy gaze from across the field. Intense eyes fixated on your figure as you rattle the chain-wire fence that surrounds the newest section of Alexandria. The post-apocalyptic town has been thriving since the end of Negan’s reign and with the undead being the town’s only consistent antagonist, it has given the community an opportunity to expand their borders. The chain-mesh fence was scavenged from the Sanctuary before the community fell off the map and serves as a strong protector as the new plot of land gets tilled. But it remains fragile when leant against and it has become a daily task during guard duty to rid the walkers that stumble near the temporary fence, a job you jump at to vent your frustrations. 

The deliberate noise draws the attention of the few walkers close by and they turn, growling as they catch your scent in the wind and they shuffle your way. It’s second nature now, muscle memory, to shift your grip on the knife handle and strike at their heads, using the fence for leverage and stability. The motions do nothing to quench the frustration and fire that rages inside you and you growl, yanking your knife from the last walker’s head with more force than necessary. The bloodied blade gets cleaned on the rag that is tied to your belt loops and then you are left with nothing to do, no more walkers to distract you from the boredom or the swirl of emotions that fester inside. 

You find yourself glancing over in his direction, succumbing to the gravitational pull of the universe and you don’t find yourself surprised at all to find him still staring at you, a dark scowl painted across his face. You sneer back at him, standing strong with your own gaze. 

“Stupid, fucking redneck,” you mutter under your breath and the fire that burns in your chest grows hotter, feeding off of your anger. 

The swishing of grass on your left distracts you and you are met with Carol only a few feet from you. You nod at her, giving her a tight-lipped smile as well before turning to look at the perimeter, finding nothing in the wilderness has changed and you sigh. 

“I saw you staring at each other, I wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage,” Carol says lightly, walking to your side and mirrors your stance; arms crossed and back straight. 

You scoff, openly showing that you aren’t in the mood for her banter today but it doesn’t deter the older woman. 

“Most definitely murderous rage” you grit.

“See, I don’t know about that - I see a lot of passion,” She teases.

You throw her a withering look, disdain heavy in your eyes and if Carol isn’t careful; some of that murderous rage will be pointed at her soon. 

“So if it is murderous rage, how long are you going to remain angry at him?” Carol tries a gentler approach, obviously getting the message and you wince, guilt beginning to set in as you mentally chastise yourself about your unrestrained attitude. 

Shrugging, you refuse to make eye contact with your old friend. “I don’t know Carol, he humiliated me,” you breathe.

“He didn’t mean too, he was worried,” Carol begins to defend him but when she sees you shaking your head and the flash of hurt across your face, she stops herself. 

“But he did it anyway. He humiliated me, he berated me in front of everyone, undermined me, treating me as if I am some soft fucker who hasn’t been beyond the walls” you spit and you render the woman silent, unsure about what to say next. 

When the silence between the pair of you becomes stagnant, Carol realises it’s time for her to leave and she steps back a few feet, mulling over her next words. 

“Talk to him,” she pleads and you snort, “Fuck no,”. 

Carol says your name in warning, making you roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking submitting. If he wants to talk, then he can man up and come to me with a goddamn apology,”. 

You hear her heavy sigh behind you before her retreating footsteps, leaving you to stew in your malcontent alone. It is your stubborn pride and bruised feelings that prevent you from talking with your old companion, from making amends and burying the hatchet, an ideal that is important in this world because life is too short and unpredictable to be so petty. And yet, you cannot help yourself this time. He hurt you, deeply, a stinging wound that will take time to heal. 

It’s not like you have done anything wrong in the first place. With the apocalypse a decade old, resources are unimaginably scarce, leaving only items that are grown, hunted or handmade to be used. It was commonplace for you to be the first person out of the gates in the morning and the last to return in the evening, spending hours and even days hunting, refusing to go back to Alexandria empty-handed. You are too stubborn for your own good, too arrogant in your capabilities to survive and adapt to the dangerous world. As a repercussion, your last run was almost the death of you. 

Enemies are like hydras; one falls and another takes its place. Negan was once considered Alexandria’s greatest threat, but that fear was usurped by the latest peril; the Whisperers. Negan ruled with fear and violence. The Whisperers rule with death. Their ability to influence herds is an obstacle that the community does not know how to overcome. The capricious nature makes every run, every scouting mission, every patrol dangerous and life-threatening. Therefore, it became law that no-one is to go outside the metal walls without a group and without informing the council. It should have been expected that you would struggle with this rule, never been one to abide by strict regulations, but the thought slipped the minds of the council and you kept slipping outside the gates. 

Your last run is a perfect example of why the rule is in place; you got caught by the herd with Whisperers dotted within. Perhaps they tracked you down or perhaps it was just shit luck that you ran into them, but it resulted in a fight for your life and an injury that planted fear on sight. It was sheer, dumb luck that allowed you to escape with your life; an old tree fell whilst you were in the midst of swiping at walkers and humans alike, and caused a great enough distraction that gave you the opportunity to bolt. You damn well shocked Rosita who stood on guard duty that evening as you came sprinting towards the main gates, coated in two types of blood and clutching at your side, out of breath with wild eyes. 

That night you had Siddiq inform you that you got lucky the knife wound at your abdomen was free of infection but he was stern to chastise that only one hour more and you wouldn’t have made it, wound too deep to be stemmed by only pressure and the combination of exhaustion and blood loss would have defeated you. His words didn’t shake you that night, instead, you shrug nonchalantly and smirked, telling him that death in this world is inevitable and you would greet it like an old friend.  

You refused to stay in the infirmary that night, scrunching your nose at the thought of being surrounded by sick people in a sterile environment, rather opting for the privacy of your own place. He was unable to stop you, letting you go with an armful of supplies and a sigh, watching you stagger down the pathway. You made it only halfway home before you were halted by a loud yell, the noise capturing the attention of not just you but the other residents that were milling in the nearby courtyard. 

“What the fuck wer’ ya thinkin’?” Daryl yelled, storming towards you with a glare that would frighten Hades. “How fuckin’ stupid are ya?” he adds. 

He berated you in public that night, practically screaming in your face about your stupidity, your lack of respect to the council and their rules, your selfishness and conceited attitude. He didn’t let you get a word in to defend yourself as he raged, words becoming harsher by the second. You could handle the words but it was the venom in his voice that surprised you. It was filled with so much anger, so much hatred and spite that you lost the words that you wanted to scream back at him. Instead, when he took a moment to catch his breath, you just walked away, your eyes on the ground as you stifled the bewildered cry that ached in your chest. 

The incident happened two weeks ago and you haven’t spoken since, avoiding each other like the plague but the distance hasn’t stopped either of your from directing heated glares at each other, consequently deepening the rift in your friendship. 

                                                          ----

The guard changeover occurs on dusk and when your replacement comes, you greet them with a tight smile as you pass over the unused rifle before quickly leaving the post. You don’t head home after the shift and instead, you go down to the armoury with hopes that working maintenance on the weapons will distract you from the words Carol has lodged in your mind. Daryl worried? You scoff at the thought. In a previous time, those words would have made sense - you and Daryl have been partners in crime since the fall of the world, similar in too many ways and it made sense that you were friends. But after seeing the pure acrimony he directed at you, you fail to believe it stemmed from a place of compassion. 

It was well past midnight when the doors to the armoury creaked open. It was probably someone on shift wanting to pick up more ammo or something alike. What you didn’t expect was to see the rugged hunter ease into the room. You stared at him with furrowed eyebrows and a twist in your lips, hands paused on the shotgun you were working on. 

“You weren’t home when I knocked,” Daryl states simply, gruff voice a melody to your ears after the long radio silence. 

“You know I don’t sleep when I’m alone,”

It’s true; you struggle to rest when there is no-one watching over you, a position that is usually filled by the man in front of you. 

Daryl nods, biting down on the inner side of his cheek as he reflects. Of course you don’t, you never have and he knew that. The poignant silence weighs heavily between you and Daryl shifts uncomfortably, moving further into the room to take a seat on the chair that sits in front of the sole workstation. You never sat at the workstation, preferring to sit on the floor so you had more space to work with but at this moment, you hated how you were positioned lower than the man. 

“Yer gonna use that thing on’ me?” There is a ghost of a sly smirk upon his lips, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes but you aren’t having it, you won’t befall to his sparse charm. 

“Don’t tempt me, Daryl Dixon,’’

The full use of his name and the stern attitude makes Daryl wince, the severity of damage he inflicted to you now evident before him. He nods silently, gnawing anxiously at his lip as you both fall back and stew in silence. You resume cleaning the weapon in your hands, needing to keep busy in an attempt to distract your mind from the chaos that sits in front of you. Daryl watches you, this time without the hatred and disdain, but his gaze is just as heavy as before. 

“Why are you here, Daryl?” 

He notes the tiredness in your voice, not the physical exhaustion that is a permanent state in this new world, but the emotional weariness that burdens you. 

“‘M here to apologise,” 

“Are you here because Carol told you to or because you actually want to?”

His hesitation is a loud answer and you scoff, glaring up at him with your teeth bared.  

“Of course not. Daryl Dixon never apologises because he actually wants to, no, someone else has to puppet him. You are so fucking incompetent,” you growl, “You can’t even do the right fucking thing. Whatever ‘apology’ you have concocted to make this all better; forget it, Daryl. I don’t fucking accept it!”. 

You take a predatory satisfaction in seeing the raw hurt flash across his face at your words. Your words are harsh, digging at old wounds that the man harbours but you can’t even conjure up the guilt or regret; hungry to dish out the same pain that you have received. Vexation and wrath raise its ugly head and you furiously rub at the long barrel of the shotgun, as if you would be able to transfer your rage through kinetic energy. 

“Yer keep sacrificing yerself for the group ‘n’ and I fuckin’ hate it,” He breaks the icy air. His voice cracks despite his whispered tone but you catch it the little hitch. 

Your cautious gaze meeting his is the signal he needed because he keeps going, as if the dam inside breaks and the words come spilling out; unrestrained, pure and honest. 

“You’v’ done it since the beginnin’. Take the burden of the group on yerself ‘n’ takin’ all the risks. We’v only survived this long b‘cause of ya. You’v always kept us goin’. When the prison fell, you wanted ter round everyone up ‘n’ then Terminus happened and..” he breaks off, eyes squeezing shut as he recalls the horrible and degrading things the savages there threatened you with; how they held the machete to your neck and how powerless he was to stop everything. You were so close to death that afternoon as well, mere seconds away from being just an empty vessel. 

“Then all the shit that's happened since. You’ve never stopped, never broke down. Just kept trudgin’ on. But it all caught up and you could’ve died out there… without me. ‘N I wouldn’t have known until it was ter late”. 

“But I could have died in here and you still wouldn’t have been able to do anything, Daryl - that’s life,” you argue.

Daryl’s head whips up so fast, you are sure he could have suffered whiplash, but you get distracted by the flames in his eyes. 

“It’s not life. You ‘ave no fuckin’ idea what yer do to me, woman,” Daryl groans, looking at you so helplessly, almost insulted at how you don’t get it. 

“Apparently I piss you off!” you retort, “Ya know, with my selfish attitude and lack of respect” you parrot his own words back to him, a glare resituating across your face. “You yelled at me, Daryl. You screamed in my face, in front of everyone, and then gave me the cold shoulder. Me, out of all people, your fucking friend”. 

He shakes his head while you speak, an action that only infuriates you more. You are ready to attack him about that, mouth already open as you reveal your disgust, “Stop fucking shaking your head as if I’m playing the vic-”. 

In your rant, you don’t acknowledge the scrape of the metal stool along the concrete, given barely enough time to react to the new stimulus of rough lips upon yours and a hand that grips your chin. Daryl swallows your surprise, mouth unyielding as he crowds into you, pushing you back against the back leaving you no room to run. He kisses you desperately. Frantically. It is messy and unruly, a bruising kiss that steals the breath from your lungs and makes your head spin. You can taste every single secret that has ever danced across his lips, taste the fear that dwells within him but has never been uttered to another soul. You learn more about Daryl in this instance than you ever will in a lifetime. 

You both are slow to break apart; lips barely separating as you catch your breath, greedily sucking in as much oxygen as you can to sate the burning of your lungs. 

“‘M so fuckin’ sorry,” he cries against your lips. 

His hand still has a firm grip on your jaw, which is sure to leave finger-shaped bruises in its wake, but like his kiss - his touch is desperate as well. 

“You’v neva been a victim. I was just so fuckin’ scared that I would lose ya. I can’t lose ya,” he stresses, a voice that sounds so pained and winced; it sounds as if the wounds were personally inflicted upon him. 

He drops his death-like grip on your chin, bowing forward to rest his head against yours, never straying too far from your space. Your arms wind around his hulking form; bringing him closer and Daryl lets himself slump against you, his head slipping to rest on your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck and his body, although heavy, feels like comfort from a warm blanket. You can feel him utter endless apologises into the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your skin and you memorise the soft tone of his voice as he echoes “‘M sorry,”. 

You hush him, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to the dark tresses, whispering “I know,” to every apology he mutters. Eventually, the apologises fade and you are submerged in peaceful silence, curled into each other. You don’t need to ask why he couldn’t have just told you all those words at the beginning, to save you both the agony and trauma of the last few weeks. But your Daryl is complex, a stunning mosaic of intricate emotions that aren’t easily given and you accept that this is who he is. The man would go to war for love; for you.

Tags:

@guywithacrossbow​

@oncemorewithfeelingg

@rachelxxraucous

@gaenahelleborus​

[thesharondefenseleague]

tbh i find this whole Sharon alternate death scene scandal kinda refreshing.

I think so many people assume that only fanfic writers create stories that are very biased. And writers who write canon could never say be driven by petty fandom bs.

People will say oh no it's just how they characterize this character or its less screen time because because this story just wasnt about them. And that could be true, but if you dont like a character you dont wanna explore them. Or see them in a positive light or keep them alive.

This is kinda inevitable tho you cant insist writers be incapable of having negative opinions towards characters. Only that you not be blatant about it if that character is well liked and tbh if that interview wasnt a thing that dislike was hidden real well. Sharon fans thought it was a good depiction of her till the interview.

I dont expect Marvel to do much bout it tho. Yes this interview caused controversy but like think by comparison how much contreversy Steve going back in time caused. Or the Loki Sylvie thing. Basically I dont think its enough fan backlash to make them act. Just imagine the backlash from the fan base if what was said about Sharon was said about Bucky. That might be enough to make them act ( Maybe).

The writer talked shit about one white lady while preferring another white lady. While what was said was mysogynistic its in this less clear cut way. So MCU can write it off as a writer just having a lukewarm fandom take and brush it under the rug.

If it’s in the writer’s room, that’s it. It’s there and it’s staying. Marvel has to keep pulling from wherever they can find people willing to work for them, and they end up with people who let shipping overtake writing (What If) or writers boxed in by Feige’s demands and can’t branch out of it and this make bad writing choices and are forced to defend themselves when Feige denies any criticism (FatWS) or writers who don’t really know what their endgame is with their story or characters but got really lucky with a season two for them to figure it out (Loki) or hold on to the two worst writers and let them fuck up their own past writing continuously (Markus and McFeely).

And a lot of this is because the criticism of the MCU has been minimal for years. What really opened the floodgates was the Pratt defense incident when everyone watched how badly actors like EVC, Larson, Mackie, Cheadle, etc. have been treated for no reason whereas everyone defends the guys with legitimate criticism (that still ignores that he was in his 20s dating EVC when she was 17 but whatever, people still defend his ass). And now that Marvel has decided to move into television “officially”, they’re open to people who don’t have to pay more than a monthly subscription to watch and rewatch their episodes to see all their flaws.

And their criticism is fully deserved, whether or not they’ll acknowledge its existence.

~Mod R

[dawnshadowlegacies]

Demetrius Dawnshadow

Face Reference: Jon Snow, Dante from the Devil May Cry series, Tom ellis, and Kate Beckinsale Mix.

Name: Demetrius Dawnshadow

Race: Sin’dorei

Gender: Male

Age: Adult

Class: Demon Hunter/Rogue

Height: 6’0 

Weight: 175 lbs

Body Shape: Athletic

Occupation: Demon Hunter, Adventurer, Rogue, Lord, Captain, Spy (formally)

Nicknames: Deme, Dem, bastard, Tatsu Longwei, Pain in the Arse

Titles: Lord of House Dawnshadow, Slayer, Dragon of the Illidari, Captain of the Red Siren Count of Starhaven (fromaly)

Alignment:  Chaotic Good

Appearance: 

Demetrius is a toned athletic elf with long dark shoulder length hair and a pale complexion overall with a reddish demonic hue around his hands and lower arms.  He has a rugged roguish look to his facial features that some may consider charming especially when he dons his trademark grin showing the barest hint of his tiny fangs.  He has a black Dragon tattooed on his right shoulder, while on his left is an elvish sword that bears a resemblance to his own weapon.  His eye sockets are an almond shape with fel flame that can turn crimson when excited.  He keeps a well groomed goatee on his face further accenting his roguish charm.  He has various scars across his body from years of fighting, the most prominent being the scars under his eye sockets, a scar near his heart, and a burnt scar tracing up his lower right arm.  Clawed nails tip his fingers and from time to time his reddish wings are out and folded round him like a cloak.  While in his demon form his skin takes on a dark red color, his feet become cloven hooves, and horns grow from his head.

He wears dark black and red leather clothes with minor nether dragon scales on the sides and a coat made of the same materials with a sewed on black hood. An onyx etched dragon shaped pendant with ruby eyes hangs from his neck while his onyx and ruby shaped wedding ring that bears his house's emblem rests on his left ring finger.  He keeps his family heirloom dragon hilted sword Dragonkin at his side.  His belt holds his bag of holding as well his trinket to summon his fox friend Dexien. He wears the standard black Illidari blindfold as well.   From time to time he can be found wearing his coat tied around his waist and a set of warglaives on his back.

Personality:

Demetrius’ personality can be best described as outwardly as both brooding and fun loving as well as bold, creative, mischievous, and reckless.  Dem is devoted to his family and his friends doing what he can to safeguard and protect them.  He follows his own code of honor choosing to defend the innocent and avenge the dearly departed.  While he is known to brood and seem standoffish once he gets to know a person he tends to open up more and show that more playful side of his.  Dem tends to enjoy a good fight and will taunt and display a devil may care attitude to most foes unless the fight is deeply personal or what he would consider serious.  He is creative and will improvise new ways to attack enemies and look good doing so as well as create strategies on the fly.  He is reckless and impulsive to the point sometimes he will do something because it seems fun to him at the time.

Dem enjoys swordplay, riding on the back of a dragon, fox, or his mechano hog, adventuring, writing, reading fantasy novels, sailing, games, and playing his lute.  He hates monsters and people who would prey on the innocent, Blood Knights, demons, undead, and most void entities as well as all their former minions though he is not above giving them a chance to redeem themselves. 

Gear:

Dragonkin:  Dragonkin: A prismatic elementium, titansteel, and dragon bone runeblade crafted in a joint effort between the Kaldorei and the Black Dragonflight before the War of the Ancients in the arcane forge of the aspects in the elven style.  The curved blade is 27 inches long and was folded 16 times to pound out the impurities in the metal. The blade has a dull silver to blackish sheen to it after being polished. The Hilt is made of the fang of a dragon and coated in the same material as the blade and is 13 inches long.  The hilt is shaped in the head of a dragon with the tail wrapping along the groves of the hilt. The eyes of the dragon are made of hardened sapphires that depending on the mood of the wielder can turn blood red in an instant. The tsuba or hand guard is formed into the shape of a dragon claw plated in true silver and gold.

The curved blade is enchanted to drain the life of its wielder’s enemy if they are living.  It used to choose its owner binding itself to them until their true death.  It was gifted to the Starshadow family by a Black Dragon before their corruption and contains a fragment of his soul.  The blade would be passed down to the Dawnshadow family till Demetrius obtained it.  Recently it was broken during the first battle on the broken shore  and then reforged by the Netherwing Pyreaku and now is bound to Demetrius’ own soul for eternity and thus is able to deal shadowflame damage as well as appear in Dem’s hand with a thought.  If Dragonkin is broken or destroyed Dem can still call on it again after a period of time has passed.

Demetrius’ Clothes and Waistcoat (Grab of the Dragonfox): Demetrius normally wears a pair of black leather pants with netherwing scales swon between the leathers and inside the cloth of the pants.  His black boots are made of the same material with white fur lining on the top and elementium steel toes.  His shirt is a simple black shirt with an exposed neckline and sleeves that reach to his forearms.  His waistcoat is a sleeveless red and black leather piece with high collar and a black hood within it.  This ensemble is dubbed the Garb of the Dragonfox.  It is heavily enchanted to protect him in battle as well as repair itself should it become damaged as well as adjust its size when he transforms into his demon form.  The hood is enchanted to withstand mind based attacks and compulsion while the mask filters out poisons and diseases.  Despite the nature of his boots, when he clicks them together the sound from his footfalls is muffled to be near silent.  Minor slits in the back open up so that Deme’s demonic wings can push through when needed.  Due to the inherent properties of the outfit, Deme can summon it back to him through his bag of holding.

Jewelry:  Deme wears two rings, an amulet and a piece of eight.  His amulet is an onyx etched dragon shaped pendant hanging from a true silver chain.  His ring on his right hand is a true silver band and red dragon eye gem. On his left he wears an onyx and ruby shaped wedding ring that bears his house’s emblem.  It was given to him by his wife Gwenda'lyn Starshadow.  It is enchanted with fire resistance and a magical link private mind link between him and Gwen.  The Piece of Eight he wears is an enchanted Elunite Coin signafing his place on the Midnight Corsair’s council.  It is enchanted to defend him from time magics, and should the need arise hasten his movements for a limited time.

Miscellaneous Items:   Deme wears a black leather belt that has three pouches one of them being a bag of holding.  His bag of holding contains food, water, tent, bed roll, healing potions, first aid kit, a set of thieves' tools, a small portable alchemy station among other things.  The rest of his pouches contain various other tools.  He wears simple black gloves, a white wrapping on his upper right arm down to the top part of his lower arm.  From time to time he wears a black and white furred cloak.

Armaments and Trinkets: Besides his own physical and magical abilities as well as Dragonkin, Deme has a few other weapons at his disposal to help in his adventures and quests.  

Clipped with an elementium and netherscale wrapped chain is a white fox tail.  With it Deme can summon to his side the Fox Spirit Dexien from the Emerald Dream to fight beside him or mount for 24 hours.  If Dexien is knocked unconscious his essence will return to the tail and Deme must wait 24 hours for him to recover.  If lost or stolen Deme can concentrate to pull the tail back to him.

Abilities:

Besides his own physical and magical abilities as well as Dragonkin, Deme has a few other weapons at his disposal to help in his adventures and quests ranging from an array of swords, daggers, and his own set of warglaives.  

Demetrius is a Demon Hunter and thus has the physical abilities they all possess.  His strength is at the point he can stab a dagger into a bolder down to the hilt.  His speed, agility and dexterity has been boosted to be greater than mortal standards .  His body also heals faster due to his damned blood, healing most wounds in a manner of seconds and some of the greater wounds in minutes and the most severe in a matter of hours or days.  He can call upon his own wings to glide and fly around if needed and bite down on an enemy with his fanged canines.  His skin though not scaled is thick enough to ward off some cuts and slashes.  Thanks to his furthering demonic nature Deme can grow bone spikes or as he calls them hidden blades from his wrists and has claws for fingertips.

Due to his training and adventures as well as being hailed as a prodigy with the blade he has become a master swordsman, a competent assassin, a master of parkour and freerunning, as well as having knowledge in the Temple of the White Tiger style of unarmed combat, and an adapt marksman.  He has developed a keen sense of tracking, deductive reasoning, and a knowledge of anatomy.  He has also learned how to navigate and sail a ship as well as fight on his fox or wolf mounts.  He is also a Dragon Rider and has learned to use his glaives and felmagics when riding on Pyre’s back.  He is a decent writer though has terrible handwriting thanks to his claws.  He is also a master swordsmith and has begun to study more alchemical pursuits.

From a magical standpoint thanks to his blood he can control and bend shadows to the point of fading away, shadow stepping and dropping a field of shadow to conceal himself and others.  Like other demon hunters he is able to conjure green fel fire and the chaotic forces of the fel and has the ability to temporarily become a demon elf hybrid. He has begun to master combining his fel flame and shadow flame together due to his link with the darkness flame.  He can manipulate it to form the shape of a black and fel accented dragon to devour and burn away his enemies. He has begun to learn how to create barriers using his magical abilities or soul magic as well as create sigils with his fel, shadow, or own blood.

History:

Demetrius was born alongside his twin Ambrose into the Dawnshadow minor noble family.  Being born a bastard most of his life he was looked down upon by others his age for his heritage and not knowing who his father was.  He had few friends growing up.  Dem and Ambrose were raised by not only their mother Lana’thel, but also by their Grandparents Avadeth and Kayleen Dawnshadow.  While Ambrose took more to a studious education, Dem felt more at ease with the sword which helped him channel his intal childhood running along the walls' energy.  This didn’t mean he wasn’t educated in history, writing, reading, and his least favorite subject math.  Under his Grandfather's guidance Dem grew into something of a child prodigy with the sword.

In time Dem would spend time with the more criminal element of Silvermoon during his late late teens and early adulthood.  His tutelage from his Farstrider Grandfather paid off and he fell in naturally with the more roguish elements of the city and became something of a spy for one family or another as to make some coin while at school and away from home.  Eventually his mother and Grandparents found out thanks to Ambrose who since childhood never approved of Dem and his antics.  Dem was soon steered towards another more noble path, that of the Farstrider.  And thanks to his roguelike skills and swordsmanship Dem was made a scout in the order after another year of training.  Dem would excel in it and find his new role adventurous especially when it came to skirmishes with the Armani.  Eventually Dem would meet a young Priestess his own age named Gwen and became smitten with her.  After a humorous first meeting with him failing a backflip landing thanks to a log with mud on it he began to court Gwen and eventually marry her.

Over the years Dem would rise within the ranks of the Farstriders as a Captain and join Alleria Windrunner’s unit to fight in the second war.  After the War he and Gwen would finally have a child of their own named Melisande.  Minus skirmishes here and there Dem spent the rest of his time with his family in peace.  That was till Arthas came leading a tidal wave of death through Eversong with his Scourge army.  Dem witnessed a Dreadlord named Dagrim slay his Grandparents during the chaos of the time.  Ambrose and his mother also disappeared in the carnage.  Dem took up his family's Elven dragonforged runeblade Dragonkin and eventually chose to leave Gwen and Meli and venture forth with Prince Kael’thas’ forces eventually fighting up in Northrend and forced to retreat to Outland. 

Dem was chosen to undertake the trials in becoming Demon Hunters.  As part of Dem’s trial he was confronted by the Nathrezim Dagrim, the one who killed his Grandparents.  After a battle that nearly claimed him, Dem used Dragonkin to carve out the Demon’s heart and ate it as well as drank its blood.  After a long battle of wills and seeing the horror of the Legion and their involvement in creating the scourge, Dem pledged his life to the Illidari cause.  He was tasked with hunting demons and rogue Illidari who turned to the Legion.  Over time He along with other adventurers including his Great Great Grandfather of the same name as him; would free enslaved Netherwings and he would befriend the Onyx Netherwing Pyreaku.  For this Dem was sent on separate a mission as a form of semi exile from the rest of the Illidari.  This act saved Dem from being captured alongside his other Illidari by the Wardens.

Dem soon killed the demon he was sent after and learning of the Fall of the Black Temple he returned home and blended with Sin’dorei society as best as he could.  He would stay with Gwen and Meli as well his recently discovered Kaldorei ancestor.  Pyre would join him and together with Gwen he would answer the call to arms and head up to Northrend to take the fight to the Lich King once more.  Dem and his group would find themselves helping the Red Dragonflight in the Nexus war, Witness the calamity of the Wrathgate, fight near the Titan complex of Ulduar where Dem would discover the titan forged void corrupted sentient blade Blackrazor.  Eventually Dem would discover a horrible truth.  A Death Knight loyal to Arthas confronted him up near Icecrown.  The Death Knight was his long lost twin, Ambrose who had willingly submitted himself to the Scourge for more power and as he stated a more natural order.  The twins would fight before Ambrose stabbed Dem through the chest.  If not for his demonic healing factor and Ambrose just missing his heart he would have died.  Instead he was imprisoned within the Crimson Halls of the San’layn with the Darkfallen draining him of his demonic blood and attempting to figure out a way to convert him to their order in undeath.  Being bound to a Dreadlord which was for all intents and purposes a demonic vampire Dem did already show signs of vampiric tendencies.  Luckily Gwen came and saved him along with Pyre during the Siege of Icecrown Citadel.  Dem would heal up and immediately hunt down his brother and find him.  It was then that Dem learned Ambrose as part of a show of his allegiance had killed their mother.  The twins battled once more with Dem seemingly killing Ambrose with Dragonkin and Blackrazor.

The next couple of years were spent with Dem and his family, both Sin’dorei and Kaldorei aiding in the defense of MT Hyjal where Dem saved and bound the spirit fox named Dexien to an item to preserve his soul from death for all time.  All the while thanks to his time captured and the whispers of Blackrazor Dem would eventually begin to lose control of his inner demon before locking up Blackrazor after the defense of Wyrmrest Temple.  When Garrosh bombed Theramore and Dem’s cousin Darron’s died in the defence of the city, Dem planned and failed to hatch a plot to assassinate Garrosh Hellscream.  Recovering on a Bloodsail ship the Demon Hunter began to find it hard to control his inner demon once more.  It didn’t help that the captain of the ship was also a slaver.  Once recovered Dem killed the captain and took the ship for himself and released the slaves in Alliance lands before finding his wife and daughter.  Dem became a privateer assaulting Garrosh’s ships.  He also hatched an Onyx Cloud Serpent named Shen’long whom Pyre considered a little brother.  Dem would even sail to Zandalar after one of the Garrosh loyal ships where after a misunderstanding and a valiant escape, Dem found himself with a portal curse and wanted on Zandalar.  Dem, Gwen and others would soon join the Siege of Orgrimmar on the side of the Alliance the Vol’jin’s resistance.  There they would save a young enslaved Sin’dorei child named Seraphina.  The husband and wife would adopt her and even take in her menagerie of wolves.  

Instead of initially going to Draenor Dem sought out and received a pardon for his privateer actions against Horde ships.  He would also make new friends and along with Gwen’s sisters learned to control and merge his soul fully with his inner demon.  Yona provided him her expertise as a monk and trained him in their ways despite his lack of control of chi.  As for Gwen’s older sister Farei she would provide him a hood that would protect his mind from intrusions and the whispers of the void and other sources though it would cost her her life eventually.  During Dem’s training with Yona he would befriend the Orc named Zuggrum Skullspliter and the Matriarch of House Shadowfel Valanthriel.  Gwen would also take up the path of the Monk after Blackrazor resurfaced and nearly destroyed Dem, herself, and their friends.  With her last act as a Priestess she shattered the blade.  Dem would eventually discover his birth father named Antheleos who tried to bring forth the Legion but failed thanks to Dem bringing in friends and allies alike.  Part of that Alliance would fall apart after Dem broke a blood oath with the Lady Shadowfel and ultimately her potential control of him.

Eventually the Legion did return in full force.  Demetrius would clash with his father on the Broken Shore and once again was nearly killed with Dragonkin shattered.  Thanks to Pyre Dragonkin would be reforged and forever bound to Dem.  Afterwards he would rejoin the Illidari and learn of a special form of fel and shadow magic fused together as shadowflame.  Dem with the rest of the Dawnshadow clan would join forces with an Old Rival House known as House An’velas and their head of family a Blood Knight Knight Champion named Admmari An’velas.  Despite House An’velas’ pledge House Dawnshadow found itself alone till Dem found his Great Great Grandparents once more, Demetrius and Gwenda’lyn Starshadow.  The united family would help fight the Nightmare before heading to Suramar.  An’velas would soon show up.  Instead of helping the people of Suramar from the Legion, they would instead commit war Crimes something Dem stopped them from doing and planned to report to Silvermoon.  Before he could two major events happened.  Dem and his friends and family were greeted by Antheleos once more and after a long battle including a frostwyrm and a portal to the ruins of the original Dawnshadow estate, Dem was able to slay his father and trap his soul in a soul stone, but not before he revived Ambrose from the dead.  The other event was Dem and Gwen adopting the Shal’dorei orphans Aliden and Leysase.  An’velas took these events as a boon for themselves and framed House Dawnshadow for the warcrimes they themselves commited such as murder and pillaging of the people of Suramar.  Dem and his family were forced to abandon their home but luckily the Starshadow clan took them in.  Dem and Gwen would soon discover she was with twin children.

Despite it all Dem focused his attention on the Legion.  Soon he would hear rumors and along with others part of a group called the Raven’s Watch would discover Ambrose undergoing the ritual to become a demon hunter.  With the help of the Heridents, a group of traitorous Illidari Dem sent to the nether with the sole exception of their leader Sensi; Ambrose succeeded and became a hybrid of a Death Knight and a Demon Hunter. The Heridents along with Ambrose would head back to Argus. Dem along with the Raven’s Watch steal a legion ship dubbed the Millenium and would hunt each of them down.  Despite it all, Ambrose feigned seeking redemption and together, he and Dem would fight Sensi only for Ambrose to steal Antheleos’ soul stone and take all of the twin’s father’s power for himself.  Sensi was slain and Ambrose took his spot as leader of the remaining Heridents betraying Dem once more.

Dem knew he couldn’t defeat Ambrose at that moment and instead focused on his training.  Over time he would begin to control a variation of shadow flame called the darkness flame thanks in no small part to Pyre.  During his training Gwen would give birth to baby Darron and Anastasia.   The time had come at last and during the final battle on Antorus the twins battled once more and Dem with his new control over the Fel and Shadow used a special type of shadow flame called the Darkness Flame which in honor of both his bond to Dragonkin as well as with Pyre he molded into the shape of a dragon’s maw.  With his new technique in hand he would confront Ambrose during the final siege of Antorus.  The twins would battle nearly killing one another.  Despite being the better swordsman Dem was still at a disadvantage against Ambrose and his new powers.  When all seemed lost the Demon hunter would unleash the Darkness Flame having it consume Ambrose before falling into a coma.  

When he awoke from his coma, Dem discovered Meli his eldest daughter along with his Great Grandmother Darcynia had been consumed by the void and became Ren’dorei.  He also learned Meli had become engaged to her childhood friend Nihlis, a Sin’dorei paladin pledged to the Silver Hand.  Due to his mastering of the Darkness Flame and the shape it took along with his efforts against the Legion, Dem was bestowed with the titles of Slayer; the highest honor a Demon Hunter can achieve with only a few before him obtaining the honor and, Dragon of the Illidari by the rest of the remaining Illidari.   For a time Demetrius Starshadow had given Dem the title of Count of Starhaven and he looked over it before handing back the title both because he longed to restore his own House and also to spend more time with Gwen and the children.  Once Azerite was discovered some began to appear in the Starhaven mines which drew the attention of House An’velas.  Dem longing for revenge against this house found and fought Admmari and slew the man breaking his ancestral sword Kel’faloom.  Thanks to the notes and letters found on the ship Dem found the evidence he needed to prove his and his families innocence for the frame up as well as discovered Admmari was the last of his own line due to his wife dying before giving birth during the war with the Legion.  Before he could bring the evidence to the Magisters of Silvermoon the call to war was sounded once more.  And once again Dem was forced to watch and be on the losing side of another elven genocide as he along with family and friends tried to defend the Kaldorei people from Sylvanas’ Horde.  Dem fought as a Privateer for the Alliance and learned more about the Inquisitors of Drustvar and the Drust as well as deal in piratetics in Freehold.  

He would join the Kaldorei and Starhaven forces in their retaking of Darkshore thanks to a gambit created by Demetrius the older.  It was then that Dem discovered Ambrose survived Argus and was working with Sylvanas but for his own secret goals and mission.  Even in winning Darkshore Dem knew he would be forced to face Ambrose again in the future.  Before he could follow Ambrose’ trail he joined his Kaldorei kin in Nazjatar and after the fall of Azshara he provided the proof of the An’velas family and their cohorts framing the Dawnshadows.  Dem continued to aid both the Alliance, and Saurfang’s rebels where he could till the end of the fourth war.  Despite his Kaldorei kin still wanting vengeance against the Horde he was able to convince them to focus their efforts in hunting Sylvanas and their loyalists instead of blindly attacking the Horde for the time being at least.  With his family and himself acquitted of the war crimes they were framed for and the Alliance and Horde establishing a tentative peace, Dem for the first time since the start of the last war with the Legion returned to Silvermoon City openly as a Demon Hunter and also as a Grandfather.  Meli had married Nihlus and gave birth to a child of her own.  With his return Dem began to focus on three things, finding and reuniting with his old friends and allies such as Zuggrum, restore his house and finally embrace his role as Lord of House Dawnshadow, and find Ambrose and try to redeem him or put him down forever.  He would eventually discover his sister Ash and became close with her during an accidental trip through with the rest of his family save Ambrose and Meli.  During the time travel adventure Dem and Gwen would separate and upon their return divorce.

After his divorce Dem focused on the House and hunting down evil before the Shadowlans opened up.  He would go on an Odyssey leaving his twin children in his sister’s care.  During his odyssey he would discover the part of Ambrose that remained in the Shadowlands, a Foreworn version who nearly killed Dem and tossed him into Torghast.  Dem endured various tortures before escaping and ending the soul of Admmari An’velas once and for all.  He would find his way to the plane known as Revendreth and reunite with his mother.  After overcoming his open pride and envy and going through Venthyr training Dem fought the Foresworn Ambrose one last time and win.  He returned with that portion of Ambrose’s soul and began to focus more on his family leaving the heroics to others for a time.

@elvenwitches-things​

[biiscione]

               INTRODUCTIONS: Panagiotis  &&  Konstantinos                  “ Κατα μανα κατα κυρη κατα γιο και θυγατερα                                        De tal palo tal astilla.                        The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. ”

***please check the end of post for tw/cw before continuing Background Panagiotis, preferably Panos, is of Greek and Armenian descent. His parents, formerly Greek nationals, immigrate to the United States after the birth of their first child, Jocasta, and it is in the Olympia, Washington that their son is born. His early childhood is happy though odd as he grows into two worlds: one of his revolutionary refugee parents exiled from their homeland and the other of American Suburbia. Death continuously alters his course, distorting a happy childhood into one of pain and suffering. Forced to live with his father’s brother and his wife in New Jersey, he endures abuses hurled at him until his late uncle’s death. Hardened and barely a teenager, he travels northward to the Big Apple. In Brooklyn he finds a way to make money, not in the most honest of ways, but hey, it keeps a roof over his head. While collecting rent for some big mucky - muck landlords in Bushwick, he ends up meeting who will be the mother of his son. She’s a few years old than he but just as calloused to the world. There time together is short - lived and a few months after Konnie is born, Panos is a single father. Strapped for cash and getting to know the truth of his parent’s past as anarchist revolutionaries, he endeavors to travel to his distant family in Macedonia where he then leaves his son and travels to Athens. Following in his father’s footsteps is quite easy and he takes to the streets just as he had to fight tyranny and fascism. This dreamlike sequence of valor ends with the death of a close friend, collateral damage to the volatile politics in Athens, and Panos’s own incarceration in his own failed attempt at a revenge killing. After serving his time, he returns to Macedonia to find his infant son already a smart, sensitive little boy. In a quarter-life crisis and realizing he needs to get his shit together for his son, he finds mercenary work in Central Asia and the Middle East.... and he hates it. There’s just something about assisting a private military organization stage de facto wars on resource - rich regions that didn’t sit right with him. So, after ensuring his payment, he throws a wrench or two into his employer’s plans and dips as fast as he can. He returns to Athens briefly, hoping to find permanent work that didn’t necessarily compromise his morality. A friend informs him of a mercenary job in Italy as a glorified bodyguard so he takes it upon himself to travel there with his son and what little money he has left. There’s nothing like an in-person interview, right? Panos lands the job working for a reclusive, wealthy man ( mostly on account of him being somewhat attractive and a single dad ) and the rest is history. Personality Abrasive and aggressive doesn’t necessarily mean bitter and unkind. He can be loud and a little too friendly at times ( a mask for his borderline - crippling anxiety and undiagnosed mood disorder ) but just chalk it up to his blended accent. Overtly sexual jokes and blunt questioning is meant to vet any weakness in the prospects of friendship, while also being a handy - dandy tool to be antisocial. He dislikes authority figures but as he ages, he tends to keep his cool as long as they leave him alone. While he airs less on the polite side of socializing, he does hold himself to a high moral code, nothing too chivalrous or anything, but he would defend another’s human rights with his very life. He’s loyal to a fault and has a hard time distancing himself from those he has grown fond of, even when their morals do not align with his own. Appearance He stands 6′ (give or take a half inch) with lax posture and lean frame. Tawny - colored hair, long - topped with a short undercut, is typically dressed in pomade and slicked back. He has blue eyes, icy or azure dependent on lighting. Olive - toned skin stays paled as he keeps away from the sun. Nose is shaped in the classic hellenic fashion, rather, it was . . . it’s been broken so many times that it sits crookedly upon his face, a bump breaking the Greek silhouette of his bridge. Full lips settle into a pout on his rarely expressionless face. His face is quite square, accentuated with a wide jaw. High cheekbones are accentuated not by makeup but tattoos, a broadsword along the hollow of one cheek. Misc. tattoos dress his arms and neck. A tattoo of a Roman/Sol Invictus diadem and ‘Κωνσταντῖνος’ along the crown’s band is on the left - side of his chest. Fingers are tattooed with anarchist and subtle anti - fascist symbols, blurred and faded with age. The juxtaposition of his rugged physical appearance with his bespoke wardrobe accentuates the starkness between his past life as a revolutionary and his quiet life as a mercenary/gun-for-hire. Notes ● is a devout member of the Greek Orthodox Church, despite his negative relationship with his priest uncle. ● avoids romantic and sexual relationships ● physical affection that he doesn’t initiate himself his wholly unwanted and is often violently rejected ● uh... heterosexual? sort of? ● loves to paint ppl, especially portraits ● thinks knives are pretty cool ● good at making things look like accidents Background Konstantinos, fondly Konnie, is American - born like his father and mother of Puerto-Rican and German descent but he doesn’t remember much of where he was born, his mother, and the apartment they lived in together. His earliest memory is of his father’s grandmother, the scars upon her flesh concluding stories she could not finish herself. In Macedonia, he has many mothers; though they remain faceless in his mind, they carry with them the same sweet scent of chrysanthemums. He does not recall his father being in his life till he’s just learning how to read and write, when he takes him away from the comfort of his many-mothers. As he grows, the gentle boy is troubled with this realization but cannot come to resent his father for his decision. He is whisked off to an unfamiliar place where unfamiliar people speak in an unfamiliar language. However, he is still young enough to teach, to mold, and he takes to this new language so easily that he almost forgets the tongue of his many-mothers. In his time in primary school, he earns the badge of polyglot. As he grows and becomes an acceptable age to be sent away, he is offered the chance to go to several prestigious boarding schools by his adoptive grandfather but, much to his relief, his father softly declines this generous offer. As he has been torn from comfort before, he holds the pain of the trauma of being taken from familiarity, causing him to be anxious and he is, although he excels in much that he does, unsure of himself, even at the tender age of eleven. He clings to his father and grandfather and the many people who work/reside upon his grandfather’s estate, for everyone there is gentle and keenly aware of his nervousness. Even now, at fifteen/sixteen, he still finds himself most comfortable in the quietest corners of his grandfather’s estate. Personality Those who are unfamiliar with him, especially extroverted adults, may find him, not shy, but haughty on account of his observant quietness and stature. He does not interact well with children his own age and, if he does find himself accepted into a friend group, he is the reserved listener. However, timidness is overshadowed by his morality, defending others valiantly and with a vulgarity that almost completely mirrors his father’s. Silence is complacency, his father taught him, and he is steadfast in his actions in the face of injustice and cruelty. Opposite his father, he is soft - spoken and educated in his speech. He is quite agreeable in mood and disposition though is considered “irregularly emotional” for a teenage boy by those stuck in the Old World. His emotional intelligence was nurtured by Panos, whose own emotional intelligence was stunted, and he is particularly empathetic and kind, with others and himself. Maybe that could get him in trouble later in life. Appearance At sixteen, he is 5′11 but looks taller with his stately posture and lean build. His face shape is much softer than his father’s with rounded jaw and fuller cheeks. He has his father’s full lips and his mother’s narrow, bowed - bridged and wide - tipped nose. Head is topped with light brown, tawny - tinted waves, hair long enough to curl around his ears, at the nape of his neck, and on his forehead. He has his father’s color-changing, light hues and they are further accentuated with his olive - toned skin that darkens easily in summer under an Italian sun. His attire is always shifting and evolving though always echoes the softness of his personality. Notes ● though raised in a Roman Catholic household, he is a practicing member of the Greek Orthodox church ● loves animals.... so much. often babysits his grandfather’s pet snakes (though he prefers the furry sorts) ● a casual art historian ● wants to be a mary wollstonecraft shelley historian when he gets older ● dad taught him how to shoot and he’s a very good marksman ● because his father constantly changes his own last name, panos and raphael agreed that konnie would take raphael’s, if not for stability, for social prestige

Shipping p: it’s rare that there’s chemistry for a sexual/romantic ship but i’m pretty open to trying! love enemy ships for him tho! k: no sexual/romantic ships since i’ll play him as a minor both: platonic and familial ships, ftw Selectivity/Activity p: always active/ will interact with everyone and anyone k: quite finicky/ will interact with anyone ***Trigger Warnings talk of: physical, mental, and sexual abuse, violence, death, graphic sex, death, mental illness, disordered eating, anxiety, weapons actions: physical and emotional violence, murder, body horror, disordered eating, weapons (guns and knives) Panos’ childhood was full of abuse: mental, physical, and sexual. I won’t bring up specifics in my writings unless prompted and will tag them accordingly. Panos does engage in a lot of violence and uses violent language. Panos suffers from disordered eating and a mood disorder, the earlier shown in less than subtle ways. Konnie has generalized anxiety. If any of these things are a serious problem, message me and I’ll be sure to constantly tag them. If you find yourself overwhelmed or know you will be, please don’t be afraid to soft block. I really wouldn’t mind.

[ladyideal]

Our Love 2/3

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Word Count: 3359

Warning: Whoo boy. Cursing, fighting, alcohol, slight fluff at the end, mention of character death, mostly angst and couples arguing

Summary: Two years since you met Leonard at the cafe, and you were together. Now working together on the Enterprise, you were happy. He was CMO, and you were First Officer on board. Concerned over Leonard’s health, you forced him to take a few days break, only to have it backfire in your face. 

A/N: Each part can stand on its own, if you don’t feel like reading it as a series. This is the second part where I chose “The Good Stuff” By Kenny Chesney which I love. Hope y’all enjoy, and you too @cuddlememerrick. ~ Italicized are the lyrics!

Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

That was two years ago when you first met Leonard McCoy at the cafe.

Since then, Starfleet had called you back to serve on a ship. With tears, you hugged your mom and the rest of your friends, and bid them a good bye with the promise of calling when you can. Your dad died serving aboard the USS Valiant when you were five. For you though, this was a family tradition. Every generation had served in Starfleet, and you were the fifth. 

Tearfully, you had told Leonard the news. Only to hear that he too was going into space. With luck, maybe you two could serve on the same ship one day. It was easier knowing he was in space, that there was a chance you get to meet him. However, it was a double edged sword, as anytime you could lose your boyfriend to the dangers of what space was known for.

Surprise, surprise though. 

You surprisingly met Leonard on the Enterprise. You explained that Starfleet sent a message saying that you were going to serve as First Officer. Almost immediately, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, and introduced you to his best friend and Captain James Kirk.It wasn’t long before you made friends with him too. 

Now two years later, you had everything you could ever want. Friends, a loving boyfriend, and working on the best place you could ever be.

“Dozed off there, Commander?” Jim grinned from behind you. 

Chekov had taken a sick day off. After some bribing from him, you agreed to take his shift. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the same thing to you too, Jim,” You frowned down at the notes from the previous ensign at your console. “You drool most of the time.”

“You wound me,” The Captain gasped in mock disbelief, putting a hand over his heart. 

You snorted loudly. “If only that can wound you, then a killing blow must be the actual truth. Isn’t that right, Len?”

“What’s this about the truth?” The doctor asked, looking between you and his best friend as he entered from the turbolift, before settling a scowl at Jim. 

“Bones!” Jim hastily turned to his doctor. “Your girlfriend has been spreading rumors about me.”

“Our Jimmy boy over there disagrees that drools when he naps.” You cut in, ignoring the spluttering from Jim. “What do you say?”

“Infants,” Leonard scowled. “What do you want, Jim? I’m busy.”

Two years brought you more happiness than you’ve ever imagined. He was CMO, and you were the First Officer. Both you and him held busy lives, but you’ve always made sure to find time and try to be with him. After the first year, you moved in with him. 

As a couple, you’ve had your fair share of arguments with him. How you were the one doing the laundry, how the way he cleaned his dishes, how this and that, but nothing big. You were fully grown adults, and you and him did your best to try to reconcile in the middle. Win some, lose some.

Till now. 

“Sweetheart,” Leonard frowned down at his PADD. “Why did Jim put me on a two day leave?”

You tilted your PADD downwards to watch him angrily toss his onto the nightstand. “Yeah, you have a bad habit of overworking yourself, love.”

“You went behind my back, Y/N!”

You put your PADD down entirely, having a bad feeling that was going to go south really soon. “You need a break, Len. Every time you always come back exhausted, and almost all the time, I have to tow you out of your office so we can eat together,” You defended yourself. “I’m only looking out for your well being.”

“I don’t need a. Fucking. Break.” Leonard stalked towards your side of the bed. “What the hell gave you the right to look out for my well being?!”

“Because I'm your goddamn girlfriend!” You stood up. “And that gives me the right to look after you when something isn’t right. You and Jim are the same! You put on the weight of the entire fucking crew on yourself and more, without thinking of yourself first!”

“That does not give you the fucking right to go behind my back!” He stopped, mere inches from you. His face was set in angry lines, red, and even a vein popping out at his anger. Involuntarily, you took a step back and gulped. 

“Len, please,” You tried, eyes widening as he continued. 

“I can’t believe I trusted you!”

“Damn it Leonard McCoy,” You immediately shot back at him. “Would you listen to yourself for one damn minute? You can’t look after the goddamn crew if you can’t look after yourself first!”

“Forget it, Y/N.” Leonard spat, storming out your shared quarters.

When the doors slid shut, you stood there in shock. Before long, you spun on your heels and marched back towards the bedroom. Tears came streaming down, falling quietly onto the carpet below. Crawling into bed, you hugged your knees to your chest and bawled loudly, shaking as you did so. 

All you could do was cycle Leonard’s hard words over and over again, as if the repeat button was broken in, and there was nothing to stop it. It was never easy from the beginning. You knew this, Leonard knew it too. You enjoyed your job, and so did he. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself utterly break down.

“Doctor,” The bartender greeted when Leonard sat down on a bar stool. 

“Bourbon, on the rocks.” 

Wisely, the bartender left. Leonard held his head in his hands, not a single sound was uttered as he sat. A glass of bourbon sat untouched in the quiet bar.

Well, me and my lady had our first big fight 

So I drove around till I saw the neon light

The corner bar, it just seemed right so I pulled up

Not a soul around but the old bar keep

Down at the end lookin' half asleep

But he walked up and said, what'll it be?

I said the good stuff

He didn't reach around for the whiskey

He didn't pour me a beer

His blue eyes kinda went misty

He said you can't find that here

He was ready to spend the rest of his life with you. He was sure you were the one. After the divorce with Jocelyn, you had been there with him since that small cafe. It was easy being around you, almost as easy as breathing. Your smile shone as bright as the stars, your laughter was infectious, and he could get lost in your eyes every time he caught your gaze.

He’d fallen head over heels quickly, and you did too.

Cooking recipes together, eating burnt dinner, enjoying a brief time down at the holodeck. There was nothing you didn’t do on the ship together. He was nervous speaking with your mom the first time when you introduced them to each other. You were a mess when he did the same to you with his mom, Joanna, his sister, and his grandparents. 

Everyone got along well, and were hopeful that he would be it. Every time you went down for an away mission, he would be the one to patch you up. When he went down, you micromanaged up until he returned back into your arms once more.  

The ring was stuffed deep inside his pocket, an uncomfortable constant reminder that he’d made the choice. The subject was brought up after a drunk night, at the same bar he was in now. An old song played, and you told him what you wanted.

Marry him. 

Leonard had never thought that he would ever hear the words again. You had to be kidding, you couldn’t mean what you said. In the morning after, you assured him that you were 100% serious. If you were ever going to marry anyone, it would be him. No one else. 

You were his.

He was yours. 

He’d chosen the ring during one of the shore leaves, while you were out with your friends relaxing at the beaches. Jim had teased him the entire way there and back. It was a small market that he had looked around for. An artisan jeweler brought out the pieces, and after much thought, he had chosen a modest one. 

It was a promise. A promise of more in the future, and a life full of happiness. But now, it felt as if everything he’d worked for was crumbling down. 

“I apologize for intruding, doctor,” The bartender hesitated, barging into Leonard’s thoughts. “A fight with the Commander?”

'Cause its the first long kiss on a second date

Momma's all worried when you get home late

And droppin' the ring in the spaghetti plate

'Cause you're hands are shakin' so much

And its the way that she looks with her eyes and her hair

Eatin' burnt suppers the whole first year

And askin' for seconds to keep her from tearin' up

Yeah man, that's the good stuff

It was just a relationship hurdle Leonard had to go through. Everyone did.  He wanted you and him to work, badly. Jim was no help, and so the only logical thing was to explain it all. He didn’t know how long it was since he last asked for help.

Him and Jocelyn went to marriage counseling, but that fell through immediately. It wasn’t long before they were arguing again, bringing the whole house down. As the rift widened, he knew it wasn’t long before they separated. 

He was right. Now, he didn’t want a repeat number two. 

“Doc, I met my wife five years ago,” The bartender started placing the clean glasses away, reminding of how Leonard first met you. “Lost her after a year together on the Valiant. It was a new planet, and she was a scientist that wanted to know as much as she could. I regret it all, spending my time drinking at a bar when I could’ve been with her.”

Leonard frowned, rolling his glass around in confusion. “I don’t-.”

“Alcohol changes nothing. The problem at the end, is just swept under the rug where hopefully no one ever notices it,” The bartender continued, as though he didn’t hear the doctor in front of him. “But what you don’t know is that turning a blind eye only makes the problem grow bigger.”

He paused. “If I had known that Morgan would be brought back home in just a year, I would take it all back. All the arguing, all the anger, just to be able to see her smile again. It’s not worth it, worth the shouting, worth the pain.  I’d do anything to keep her happy, and I’m sure that’s what you want with Y/N also.”

Leonard nodded, taking a sip as he listened. 

“I spent it all at the bar here. We fought. I drank. We fought more. I drank more. It was a continuous cycle of love and hate. Eventually, we would crash and burn. We would forgive each other, and try to move on. In the morning before she died, we fought too. I told her it was too dangerous, that someone else could go in her place. But my wife was stubborn, said that it was her job as a scientist and to document it all. She later died in my arms, thinking that I hated her.”

The bartender took a sip from his water, looking forlornly out the window. 

Leonard stared down at his empty glass, contemplating the words. When he and Jocelyn started fighting, he had ended up turning to alcohol. Too close with alcohol in fact. Being a resident kept him busy, almost always around the clock at the hospital. It was always work, went home to sleep, and then went back to work again. He took it all for granted, and he paid the price.

Now, he was noticing the pattern again. Working down at the medbay, and only coming back to his quarters dead on his feet. He knew what he had to do. 

He grabbed a carton of milk and he poured a glass

And I smiled and said I'll have some of that

We sat there and talked as an hour passed like old friends

I saw a black and white picture and it caught my stare

It was a pretty girl with bu-font hair

He said, that's my Bonnie, taken 'bout a year after we wed

He said, I spent five years in the bar when the cancer took her from me

But I've been sober three years now

'Cause the one thing's stronger than the whiskey

“Now all I have left of her are my two kids that I raised on my own, and I’ve told them the same that I’m telling you now. Life is too short to focus on the small arguments, to waste it all away on something far less precious than the one you want to be with the rest of your life. Even more so, when no one knows when we will pass out in space where our control is out of our hands, doc.”

Leonard looked back up at the bartender, who was now leaning against the counter. 

“And your kids now?”

 “Morgan didn’t watch them grow up into the adults they are now, and didn’t hold what would have been our grandchildren. All I could remember was drinking all the time in order to drown my sorrows away, and hopefully forget it all.They keep me sober for two years now, and I do it for them now.   Both have their momma’s eyes. But I still miss her like crazy. I miss her laugh, her smile, her jokes, her eyes, the way she moves, everything. What I have left now are memories and a picture of her.”

He indicated a small colored photo propped up against a shot glass with a slight nod. “I keep her on me at all times. But most of my memories were hardly good. So I live with the regret of yelling and arguing at her for the rest of my life. I hope she’s up there somewhere though, in a better place and have forgiven me.”

“If I had the chance to do it right, I would take it within a heartbeat. Don’t repeat what I did. You never know when the good Lord will call your loved ones home.”  

“I understand what you’re tryin’ to say,” Leonard quietly spoke. 

“Here,” The bartender slid a glass of water over to the doctor. “I hope you keep this in mind, doc. We’ve only got one chance to get this right.” 

Was the sight of her holdin' my baby girl

The way she adored that string of pearls

I gave her the day that our youngest boy Earl

Married his high school love

And its a new t-shirt sayin' I'm a grandpa

Bein' right there as our time got small

And holdin' her hand when good the Lord called her up

Yeah man that's the good stuff

“I-I should go,” Leonard stood up, reaching over to pay for his drink. He drained his glass of water quickly. 

“It’s on me, doc,” The bartender waved his offered credits away. “For my wife Morgan.”

Thanking him, he hurried back to his shared quarters, desperately hoping you were still there. He knew what he had to say. All he needed was you to not have left. It would crush him even more if you did. No, he convinced himself. You were still there of course, but unhappy and upset. 

Rightly so. 

You didn’t know how long it had been since Leonard left, but you assumed it must have been a bit by now. Your mind still echoed of his anger, and it was all you could think about. The crying hadn’t exactly stopped either, only enough for you to suffer in the silence. 

It was silent enough that you heard the doors slid open though, and curled up tighter into a fetal position. You hid deeper under the covers, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t be able to immediately see you. You shivered as you heard his footsteps approach. 

“Still here, sugar?” Leonard called out from the hallway. He waited a moment for a reply, a sound, anything, but heaved a heavy sigh in the silence. “Thought so,” he mumbled, slowly making his way towards the bedroom. 

You kept your eyes on your pillow, one side of your cheek brushing against the wetness of the pillow cover. It was easier to not meet his gaze, or anything to associate with him. You whimpered quietly, eyes glassy and faraway. When the mattress dipped beside you, you kept your eyes focused on the other wall, refusing to look at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. 

It’s all you’ve known previously. You’d hoped this time, it would be different. Clearly not. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear,” He murmured, slowly sliding his way into the covers beside you. His voice always soothed you, and this time it was no different. Yet, you still didn’t move.

Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around you in an effort to bring you closer to him. Wrenched out of your mind by the sudden contact, you flinched and jumped, before finally turning around to fully face him. 

Leonard looked wounded. For a moment, the self loathing crossed his face before it disappeared as quickly as it came. You knew Leonard, knew him enough that he would never hurt you. Therefore, you trusted him more than you had ever trusted anyone outside your immediate family. 

The mind was cruel that way. It twisted and turned, whispering words of pain and distrust after the fight. Playing a trick was how the mind defended itself, but his time, it was hurting you in its path of self defense. Sniffling, you slowly looked up from his blue tunic and up to his eyes. All you could see reflected in his eyes was apologetic, understanding, and most importantly, love.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice soft and gentler than he had ever used on you. You whimpered once more, and he squeezed you tighter in his arms. “I know. It’s alright.” You ducked your head back down, letting out a sigh of relief that you didn’t know you were holding in, and laid your head on his chest. 

And cried once more. 

“I’m so sorry, sugar,” Leonard spoke lowly. Bit by bit, your tears stopped falling. Quieting down after some time, you let Leonard gently wipe away tear streaks upon your cheeks. You cleared your scratchy throat, hoping to get the words.

“Should’ve told you,” You managed out, looking tearfully back up at him. 

“Let me hold you for tonight, worry about that tomorrow.”

He said, when you get home she'll start to cry

When she says, I'm sorry, say so am I

Look into those eyes so deep in love and drink it up

'Cause that's the good stuff

“I’m not going to break up with you.” Was the first thing you said in the morning over breakfast. You’d taken the day off, knowing that even if you went back to work in the state you were in at the moment, Jim would just take you off anyways. Plus Leonard mattered more to you than a job. He was your everything, and you would do anything to fix this together.

Leonard came first. Job came second.

Leonard frowned, nearly choking over his spit at your words. “You should be furious with me.”

You only shook your head, poking your eggs around before taking a bite. “It's not the first time I've gone through this, Len.” A pause. “And I should’ve known better.” 

“You were looking out for me, sweetheart, and I’m sorry that I yelled at you.”

You reached out with your other hand to grab his, rubbing circles into his skin in an attempt to soothe him. “Thank you.”

That's the good stuff

ST Tags: @mournthewicked​ (You’re the best, thank you.)

[dearkaelsman]

Ultimate Ship Meme: DEAMIRI!!! (As if you would expect anything less from me)

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME!

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship!

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - They have some ups and downs, but they’re endgame. Til death do they part.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Dearka fell faster than Miriallia did. He thought she was cute right off the bat, but she interested him, too, being the only Natural he’d met, at that point, that he’d seen defend Coordinators. But with her getting over Tolle, it took some time for him to charm his way into her good books. 

How was their first kiss? - Sweet, if a little tentative.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Dearka

Who is the best man/men? - Yzak. Maybe Athrun. In an AU where Rusty and Nicol live, them, too.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - You mean bridesmaids? Murrue? Possibly Meyrin since they seemed to be close.

Who did the most planning? - Miriallia and Dearka’s mom.

Who stressed the most? - Miriallia.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Flay Allster because she’s dead, any members of Blue Cosmos/LOGOS, 

Sex:

Who is on top? - Depends on the position. Dearka usually is ‘top’ in respects to dominance, but he enjoys when Miriallia takes charge every once in awhile.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Dearka usually.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head (They’ll try a lot before they completely shut it down. Light bondage is a favourite. Not into anything that would hurt each other.)

How long do they normally last? - Depends on the situation.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Dearka would try and make sure she got off more. Men supposedly have limited bounce-back capabilities, so to speak.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. (Again, this depends on the situation, so I picked the middle ground)

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - 2

How many children will they adopt? - 0

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Miriallia. Dearka’s a military man, after all. But he does change his fair share - especially with their second. Who knew it was a 50/50 chance their son would start to pee every time they went to change a diaper?

Who is the stricter parent? - Depends. They’re stricter about different things, but Miriallia would likely be more strict.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Miriallia

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Dearka. Miriallia can’t cook so if the kids want to eat, he better do it.

Who is the more loved parent? - Depends. They’re loved in different ways. But Miriallia would be more present, so leaning towards her.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Pretty sure PTA meetings are only on movies. But Miriallia.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Miriallia.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? -Dearka. It would align with his job.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Dearka

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Miriallia

Who does the grocery shopping? - Miriallia

How often do they bake desserts? - They go through binges where they’ll have dessert a lot, then other times not at all. 

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Dearka is definitely a meat person, and Miriallia a salad person, so they compromise and have ~*BaLaNcEd MeAls*~

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Dearka

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Miriallia.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - Miriallia. 100 per cent.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Miriallia

Who is really against chores? - Dearka. You expect him to follow the strict rules and procedures of the military and then come home and do the same there? Not happening.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Both.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Neither.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Miriallia

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Miriallia

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Miriallia

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - How dare you insinuate they’re dog people. Their lives are too busy for the neediness of a dog, and Dearka’s Egyptian heritage has to show somewhere, so they have a cat. It stays outside, but Dearka likes taking it into the backyard so it can frolic in nature supervised.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - They go big on Christmas. Not really much decorating any other holiday, except a few jack-o-lantern’s at Halloween. 

What are their goals for the relationship? - In the public sense, to show Coordinators and Naturals can live together peacefully, but often on a personal level, it’s to find balance between their jobs and the risks that come with them. Most of their fights stem from one of them doing something too dangerous and making the other worry. Also to have children, because it’s my personal headcanon that it would be super important on the PLANTs given the infertility issues with Coordinators. Having a relationship with a Natural would prevent their kids from having the same issue.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Dearka, if he’s at home.

Who plays the most pranks? - Dearka

[marshmallow-phd]

Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: Soon after your second birthday, your parents were killed and you were adopted by your father’s best friend, taken away to their home country where you lived your life in peaceful ignorance. As far a as you knew, your parents simply left you large fortune to be released to you once you reached your twenty-third birthday. At least, that’s all you thought you were inheriting. When a famously ruthless mafia boss discovers your existence, you are left at his mercy. While under his roof, you learn more about your father than you ever wished you had, including the part of your inheritance that made you the most valuable person in the underworld. Hidden in a bank in New York City were files that held the darkest secrets of the mafia families and everyone in their pocket. With another terrifying leader’s eyes trained on you, you’ll learn to watch your back… and guard your heart, before your father’s past becomes your doom.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I Final

**

All night you tossed and turned, unable to shut your brain off from every possible scenario that could be waiting for you the next morning. You were too anxious, too worried about what could be happening to your adoptive parents that you didn’t know about. At point, Minah threw a pillow at you for all the noise you were making flipping from one side to the other.

The conclusion you settled on as the most likely was that you were going to be asked to move out in order help ease the expenses. And that was understandable. Taegun had always been able to provide well above the necessities, but if the company was suffering lately, then it could mean his paychecks were feeling the impact of it. You wouldn’t fight if they asked you to move out. There was plenty of money in your bank account and you had a steady job that kept you busy. Besides, maybe having your own place could be good for you.

You’d come to terms with it by the time you woke up the next morning. To make things easier, you wouldn’t get upset and would quickly agree to start searching for an apartment. There were plenty of places for you to go where you could still be near your family.  

The smell of bacon was the first thing you brain registered as your eyes slowly cracked open. Stumbling out of bed, you didn’t bother to freshen up before walking out into the hallway. Since you didn’t have a shift to prepare for, you stayed in your oversized t-shirt and sleeping shorts that you had slept in.

Hyunmin was in the kitchen by herself, listening to old trot songs while she kept an eye on the bacon and pancakes she was cooking. That within itself confirmed your suspicion. It must really be bad.

The delicious combination was your favorite breakfast. You loved it so much that Hyunmin would only cook it on special occasions such as birthdays and graduations in order not to spoil you. No rice and seaweed, no marinated meats or healthy kimchi; just pure fluffy batter and sweet, sticky syrup. After racking your brain just in case, you confirmed that there was nothing special about today’s date to explain away the meal.

You greeted Hyunmin with a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning.”

She stopped singing and patted you on the head. “Good morning, (y/n). Did you sleep well?”

“Yup,” you lied, giving her a smile so she could be reassured.

Hyunmin smiled back halfheartedly, turning back to the pancakes to sprinkle in a few chocolate chips. The twins soon shuffled into the kitchen, confused at the breakfast set out on the table.

“What’s this for?” Mingyu asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hyunmin snapped, causing her son to drop into his chair hastily. “Just eat so you can get to class.”

“I don’t feel like going today,” he whined.

Hyunmin slammed the pan down on the stove. “You are going to school! Do not argue with me!”

That shut him up. Usually Mingyu had two or three helpings of every meal, but today he scarfed down his two jacks and ran to his room to get ready and to get away from the fired up Hyunmin. Minah didn’t eat quite as fast, but she eyed you curiously, knowing the rarity of this. When she was finished, she too went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

You forced yourself to have a second helping to not offend Hyunmin even though your stomach was in too many knots to really want that amount of food. When you tried to help her clean up, she simply slapped your hands and shooed you out of the kitchen. By half past eight, the twins were practically running out the door. You had moved over to the couch to continue reading your book, careful not to let Hyunmin see that it was new.

Fifteen till nine, Taegun walked through the front door. From the look of his attire, he hadn’t gone into work this morning. Where had he gone to? The bank, maybe? You kept your eyes down, hoping to possibly put off the conversation just a little while longer by staying invisible.

“(Y/n)?”

Reluctantly, you looked up from the novel. Both of them were standing in front of you, their eyes giving off a glossy look. You started to stand up in order for them to have the couch, but Taegun gently pushed you back down as he sat on the edge of the coffee table. Hyunmin didn’t scold him - she hated anyone even putting their feet on it - instead simply sitting down beside you on the couch and taking your hands in hers.

“(Y/n),” Taegun started. He ran his hands through his salt and pepper hair, tapping his foot against the rug. “I’m sure you know what it is I do for a living?”

However you expected this conversation to start, a quiz on Taegun’s job was not it. “Of course. You’re a corporate lawyer.”

“Yes, I am.” He cleared his throat. “However, the company I work for– they aren’t exactly the most… golden of companies. Their CEO, Mr. Jung, has a gambling problem, causing him to rack up debts. Debts I can’t even begin to fathom. In order to pay off those debts, he tried to cut corners and sever contracts that would make him a hefty profit.” Taegun pulled at the collar of his shirt nervously as he paused in his confession. “Unfortunately, his clients found out and they sued. And I… I lost the case.”

Reaching out to him, you patted his knee. Perhaps this was leading up to the financial issues. “That’s not your fault. All you can do is state your case. It’s up to the judge to decide the outcome.”

“I lost on purpose.”

“Oh.” You withdrew my hand, unsure of what else to say. Hyunmin started to rub circles on your back. You could understand the morality issue and why he might have lost on purpose, but actions like that can have dangerous consequences. “Did they fire you?”

If he lost his job… maybe they weren’t going to ask you to move out. Maybe they were going to ask for your help. And of course you could help with the bills and other money issues. It was the least you could do after all they’ve done for you. They could have it all, if they needed it. You wouldn’t sacrifice your dreams for most people, but for them – absolutely.  

“No,” Taegun sighed. “But the CEO knows that I did it. He blames me for not securing him the win he thought he deserved and making him pay back the clients. The man he is in indebted to is powerful and doesn’t forgive easily. While his men were beating up Mr. Jung, he told them that I was the one who lost them their money but that I could pay back the debt.”

You scoffed. “How are you supposed to pay back his debt? Maybe he should sell one of his houses or a few of his cars. I’m sure he can live without them.”

Hyunmin started sniffling beside you. She covered her mouth to try and silence it, but you could still hear it clear as day.

“It’s not that simple,” Taegun corrected. “As far as the debtor is concerned, when I purposefully lost the case that would have settled the money, I took on the debt myself. After mentioning me during the beating, Mr. Jung also told them about you.”

“A-about me?” you stuttered. There was no way you heard that correctly. How could he even know anything about you? You’d met him once, at a Christmas party a few years ago. Why would a single mention of you ever leave his mouth? How could you be of any value?

A tear spilled over from Taegun’s eye. “Yes, you. (Y/n), your father was not the saint I led you to believe he was. The inheritance you set to gain in a few months was because of your father’s dealings with people like this. He profited by covering up their crimes and defending them.”

“What do you mean ‘people like this’?” you asked hesitantly, already having a feeling as to what the answer could be.

Neither of them could look at you when you tried to meet their eyes.

“People who deal in organized crime.”

You jumped up, not believing a word of it. “No! My father did not defend the mafia! Besides, he didn’t even live in this country! How could he defend them when he wasn’t even around?”

Hyunmin pulled down on your arm, forcing you to sit back down. “You won’t remember, but your father was gone most of the time, making several trips back and forth. And, he didn’t directly defend the members in court, but he consulted for them, found the loopholes and backstreets they needed to be acquitted.”

“Cover ups were your father’s specialty,” Taegun growled.

You threw your hands in the air. “So, what? They want to use my inheritance to pay for the debt? Fine! They can have it! I don’t want it anymore!”

“It’s not the money they want anymore. This man who’s owed the debt is the son of the man whose greatest enemy was the group your father worked for.” Taegun moved forward, cupping your face in his palms. “When I took you in, I hid you from your father’s group. The head had hoped to marry you off to his son, but I didn’t want that life for you. I wanted you to have a happy life, one that wasn’t surrounded in death and crime. It seems that my effort was pointless in the end.”

You wrapped your fingers around his wrists, unable to fully understand. “I don’t get it. What do you mean it was pointless? What else do they want if not the money?”

Taegun pulled you into his arms. He was crying now, heavy broken sobs vibrated his chest against your cheek. “If there was any other way, I would have taken it. But it was either this or they would kill us all and take you anyway.”

“What?” I whispered. “What are you talking about?”

“Soon, they will be here to take you,” Taegun sniffed back. “To marry their leader.”

Everything stopped. There was no way you heard that correctly. Marry? They wanted you to marry the leader of a mafia group?

No. No, you refused.

You tried to shove Taegun away but he held on tight, denying your escape.

A pounding knock came from the front door.

Finally releasing you, Taegun stood up to answer it. It was Hyunmin’s turn to wrap you up into her embrace as her sobs filled your ears. Three strangers in suits walked past Taegun and into the apartment without a word. All of their faces were void of any emotion, almost as if this tasked bored them.

“Is she ready?” the tallest one sniped. He had blood red hair and wore a long overcoat that stopped at his knees rather than the traditional suit jacket the others were clad in.

“We just told her,” Taegun replied quietly. “She didn’t even know until just now.”

The one with white blonde hair scowled. “Well, hurry up and pack something. We’ll have someone come tomorrow to pick up the rest of her stuff.”

You jumped up out Hyunmin’s arms. “No! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“(Y/n), please!” Taegun stared at you with pleading eyes. In all your years, you’d never seen him cry - not at this magnitude - but right now it seemed like he would never stop.

Your jaw dropped, unable to believe that the two people who raised you were giving you away just like that. To marry not just someone you had never met, but a criminal who threatened and killed people for his own personal gain.

The shortest of the men stalked up and grabbed you by your upper arm, dragging you down the hallway.

“Which one’s yours?” he asked roughly. When you didn’t answer, he stared you down to let you know patience was not a virtue he possessed. “Which one?”

The fight slowly dying out of you, you pointed to the door that led to you room. Opening the door, he shoved you inside.

“Just pack what you can for now,” he ordered. “We can get the rest later.”

You may not have had a say in your life anymore, but you were determined to fight in any way you could. So, like the brat you never got to be, you followed his order, but slowly.

Taking your time, you heaved the suitcase down the shelf of the closet. You could feel his silent scowl burning holes in the back your head, but you refused to look at him. Laying the suitcase open on your bed, you packed away the things you could immediately think of. You shoved in your underwear and bras along with your small toiletry bag after you’d grabbed your favorite clothes. Wondering which books to take with you, you stared at your shelves. It was like trying to pick a favorite child.  

“Hurry up!” the man barked. His black hair was starting to fall onto his forehead from its previous, slicked back position. He leaned against Minah’s vanity, not caring if he knocked a few of her precious items over.

With your suitcase as full as you could get it, you zipped it up and placed it down on its wheels. Then you crossed your arms, glaring at the intruder.

“You done?”

“Packing? Yes.” You sat down on your bed, being as defiant as possible. “Do you mind leaving so I can get dressed?”

His eyes raked you up and down, making you sick to your stomach. “Nope. You’re fine as you are. Let’s go. The boss doesn’t have all day.”

Gripping your wrist in a suffocating vice, he hauled you out of the room, barely giving you enough time to grab your suitcase he’d forced you to pack in the first place. The wheels kept catching on the back of your heels, tripping you up. All that earned you was a few glares that didn’t resemble anything close to sympathetic.

Back in the living room, the two other men stood near the door as Taegun and Hyunmin sat on the couch. Hyunmin’s face was in her hands, her shoulders shaking from the sobs she couldn’t hold back.

“Ready?” the tall one asked.

Your handler nodded. The blonde opened the front door and started to head out.

“Wait,” you begged, looking desperately back over your shoulder at the people who’d raised you. Ignoring you, the short one kept going. “Wait! At least let me say goodbye!”

“We don’t have time for this,” he growled. With one last glance, your eyes met Taegun before the door closed on that part of your life forever.

The elevator ride was silent, not even music playing to break it. You refused to cry in these men’s presence, no matter how much you wanted to crumble and break down. The grip on your wrist never loosened and you were sure that there would soon be bruises.

Out in front of the building was a fourth man leaning against a black Cadillac and checking his watch. He was on the shorter side as well, a permanent smirk on his mouth. He, too, looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on your exposed legs.

“Not bad,” he commented.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” you growled.

All that did was make him laugh. “This is going to be fun.”

He popped open the trunk and took your suitcase, throwing it carelessly in the deep space. The back door was opened and they shoved you onto the seat when you didn’t enter quickly enough for them. Smart-Mouth slid into the driver’s seat. With the tall red-head climbing into the front passenger’s side, you forced to sit between the blonde and your handler.

You hugged your arms around yourself, trying to make your body as small as possible. No one spoke on the way to wherever it was that you were going. Too nervous to do otherwise, you kept your eyes down, wondering what you ever did to end up here.

It was all planned in your head. The day after your birthday, you were going to say a proper goodbye to your family and then hop on a plane to America. Once all the accounts were properly transferred in your name, you would go back to the airport and pick a random plane that would take you anywhere, a place that was new and foreign. You thought of your photo album that was hidden under your bed, filled with travel brochures and pictures you’d cut out of magazines, displaying the different places you wanted to experience. Now you never would and those pictures would remain as distant dreams.

Now, being forced into whatever this was, you could only see two possible ends. Either you ended up dead and your fiancé just pocketed the inheritance, or he kept you around for amusement, locked away forever. Whatever he decided to do, you would fight him the whole way. No matter what, you would not just lay down and be submissive. Even if it might seem ridiculous or insignificant, you would give yourself little victories.

“We’re here.”

You barely acknowledged any of your kidnappers as you were pulled from the car. The dimly lit parking garage was filled with six-figure cars that you would have never dared to even go near. Your bare feet slapped against the cold concrete as the group headed towards the elevator. The driver kept a tight grip on your suitcase while your handler kept a tight grip on you. The one time you dared to look over at the driver, he wiggled his eyebrows at you teasingly.

The elevator doors opened up into a small hallway with a large wooden door on the other side. The tall red head scanned his thumb on a pad next to the door before opening it and ushering everyone inside. The driver disappeared with your luggage down a hallway to the left while the tall one and the blonde drifted off to who knew where.

Glancing around as you were forced through the different rooms, you concluded that you were in a very expensive penthouse in the part of town that you’d always avoided. It was the kind of district reserved for multi-millionaires and celebrities. From abstract paintings to canvas photographs, large artwork covered the walls, but nothing personal. Nothing that gave a hint to what the owner – your future husband – looked like.

Finally arriving at the hellish destination, your handler knocked on a door at the end of a long hallway.

“Come in.”

Still not letting you go even though there was nowhere for you to run, he pushed open the door and led you inside.

The office was dark. Not due to lack of lighting – a large window that overlooked the surrounding skylight gave more than enough to fill the room - but because of the hues and shades of all the décor. The carpet was a deep gray, the walls a heavy navy blue. Even the wooden desk and chairs out in front of it were made of a dark wood. But the layout and furnishings of the room only held your attention for a few seconds. At the desk sat the real surprise.

You only ever saw him twice, but you knew that face. It seemed life was playing one last little joke on you. Behind the desk was no GQ model or fairy tale prince, but a mobster. Staring him down, you imagined jumping across the desk and landing a punch on his sharp cheek, but you were never that brave.

“Hello, (y/n),” he greeted with a smile. But this smile wasn’t friendly at all. It was calculating with a hint of victory. He motioned to the chair in front of him. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. My name is Junmyeon. Please sit.”

You didn’t move. A pair of hands on your shoulders that you were too weak to fight against made you take the seat. Your fighting spirit seemed to just amuse him.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked teasingly.

Through gritted teeth, you replied, “Someone - who has nothing to do with me - used me as a bargaining chip to clear away his debt.”

Junmyeon clicked his tongue. “Only partially true. Your adoptive father lost that case on purpose, which then led me to not get my money. But I hardly care about that.” He stood up and walked around the desk. Leaning against and leaving hardly any space between the two of you, he crossed his arms. “What I really want is the daughter of the Closer.”

You scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“Your father was famous among the families,” he explained. “He could close any case, get anyone off without stepping into a courtroom or a jail cell. Of course, that kind of quality work came at a hefty price.”

“What does that have to do with me?” you argued. “I didn’t know my father. My parents died when I was two. I didn’t know him as anything but a corporate lawyer until an hour ago.”

“As the daughter of the Closer, you were promised to Lee Junko once you were old enough.” He leaned down until you were nearly nose to nose. “While everything else that comes with you will be sweet indeed, the greatest prize will be to see Junko’s face when he learns he will never have you.”

How petty. You rolled my eyes. “There’s no point in having me. I know nothing of my father’s business. Sure, you’ll get your hands on a big inheritance. Big whoop.”

Junmyeon laughed. “You don’t even know, do you?” Taking his hands out of his pockets, he placed them on either arm rest, trapping you in. “When you turn twenty-three, you won’t just get a big check. Hidden in a bank somewhere in New York, there is a large safe deposit box with your father’s files on all his clients; their dirty secrets, their setups, who they have in their pockets. Whoever gets their hands on those files will have the entire underground world at their fingertips. You are the only one that bank will give the key to. You are the most valuable human being to any of the families right now.”

You wanted to join him in his laughter but for a different, more ironic reason. Being insignificant was your way of life. You didn’t want any of this. This wasn’t your life. This wasn’t your world. But maybe….

“If I get you those files,” you murmured, eyes trained down on your hands before looking up at him, “if you get what you want, will you let me go?”

For the first time, that smile faltered. Something soft flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before you could interpret it.

“No, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” you screeched. There was no point in keeping you prisoner here after he got what he wanted.

Straightening up, Junmyeon walked back around his desk, opening a drawer and throwing down a stack of papers half an inch thick and held together with a clip. It landed with a hard thud, making you flinch.

“That,” he pointed to the papers, “is a contract. They might not have told you, but your adoptive parents were in debt to us, too. Nothing too big and they always made their payments on time, never any problems. But this contract they signed cleared it, along with his boss’s debt. The stipulation in it is that we get married and you stay with me. If for any reason those two things are not followed through, the contract is null and void and the debt is due in full immediately.”

With a shaky hand, you picked up the contract, flipping through its pages. The words were all legal jargon, nothing you could understand. What you could absorb, however, were the little water stains that dotted the pages. They were even more collected on the final page where the signatures were. Each little drop was a stab to you heart. You knew they didn’t want to give you away, but they did. You weren’t a human being anymore. You were property.

Angry, you threw the contract back at him. “Fine. You win. Whatever. I’ll be your little pawn in your stupid game so you can be the reigning king. But it’ll be in name only. I refuse to be your trophy.”

Junmyeon nodded. “Deal. I didn’t actually want to be tied down. It’s all just legal maneuvers. You don’t have to worry about that.”

You stood up, just wanting to be alone. “Are we done here?”

He nodded and motioned to the other man in the office. “Show her to her room.”

This time you were allowed to just follow the man out of the room and down the halls rather than being dragged like a disobedient dog on a leash. Stopping in front of the the last door on the right, you were relieved that it sat on the opposite side of the penthouse, far from that snake.

“You’ll stay here,” he informed you. “Better get used to it.” He opened the door, shoved you inside, and shut it again with a slam.

Your new resting place was the kind that people dreamed of. The walls were a dark blue, somehow making the room feel bigger than it was, although you were sure two of your old rooms could fit comfortably inside here.

The décor just added to the extravagance of the room. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the far wall, flanked by matching nightstands on either side. Corresponding to the color scheme perfectly, the comforter looked fluffy and soft, resting without a wrinkle on the silk sheets. The empty walk-in closet housed a round ottoman and built in drawers. Martha Stewart couldn’t have designed it better.

You hated it.

Without a second thought, you would trade it all just to go back home. How would you sleep without the soothing breaths of Minah just five feet away? No longer would you be waking up to Hyunmin’s singing as she cooked breakfast. You would never again be interrupted in your reading by Taegun yelling at Mingyu to take his school work seriously. Little things that used to annoy you or drive you insane were suddenly things you wanted to be bombarded with again.

The weight of the situation finally baring down, you collapsed onto the floor. Pulling your knees in close to your chest, you cried harder than you ever had before, cursing the father who brought this upon you.

[windless-hurricane]

Pennywise and the Dancing Girl

Chapter 4: The Boy with the Clouded Blue Eyes

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SUMMARY: Emma has an unknown past with the clown of many names. IT to the ones he haunts, Pennywise to himself, and Robert Gray to her. Although she hates and regrets this, she lives with it anyways. However, that begins to change once she meets Henry Bowers, the local asshole.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a longer chapter compared to the previous ones, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it and the newfound spiciness!

WARNINGS (for the entire series): Explicit language, violence, graphic scenes involving blood and/or death, some sexuality, and some underage drinking and drug use.

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

PENNYWISE AND THE DANCING GIRL MASTERLIST

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I picked at my salad, all appetite gone. After yesterday, I could hardly gather the will to eat anything. Normally, I didn't care when I saw Gray feeding, but this time it was different. I felt like I was the direct cause of it. I jinxed Patrick and it got him killed. It was my fault. If I had never met him, I wouldn't be feeling this way. Now, it even pains me to confess that I never liked him. Why? Because he was so off putting and much more maniacal than Henry ever could be.

Although Henry was running the show, deep down Patrick was evil. He was more sadistic and uncaring. If Henry was a time bomb, Patrick was a bear trap. Anyone could cross his path and become a target. It didn't matter how long you stood still, you would've inevitably ended up getting hurt and losing a limb. With Henry, there was some control, but for Patrick there was none whatsoever. He was unhinged, unpredictable, and in a way, deserved to die. However, I couldn't believe that anymore. Not after seeing that look on his face. It was the most he ever looked...human. That's what ate me up the most.

Patrick had finally become the victim.

I couldn't help but continue to ponder as I stared at the lettuce. I would've packed some chicken with it, but meat was becoming less and less of an option. I continued to the stab the leaves, completely unaware that I was being approached by someone. I heard someone slide into the bench opposite of mine and let out a large sigh. I almost forgot that I was at the park.

"You should probably stir clear of me before I get you sick," I informed them, lying sweetly.

"You don't have to worry about that, sweetheart," they cooed and I stopped my actions. I knew that voice. I raised my head only to be met by the sight of Henry. I scoffed loudly, even though internally I wanted to melt away.

"Still not over me," I asked annoyedly, eyeing him.

"Well, I can't get over a girl like you. Not after you kicked me in the nuts," he explained. I honestly expected some form of dread in that sentence, but he only had a small smirk on his face.

"I kneed you actually," I grumbled softly.

He shook his head, "Cute." I cocked an eyebrow. What?

I cleared my throat pushing aside my confusion, "So, are you here for your revenge? Somewhere out there, are your little minions waiting to jump me?" He raised his eyebrow in amusement. "Cause if you are, you better get it over with now. Last time I went easy on you because honestly, I just thought you were a pussy."

"That's so considerate of you, Emma," he commended a little too kindly. "But you don't have to do that for me. I like it rough." He winked.

"If this is your new way of messing with me, I'd rather take the knife. Just make sure this time you aim for the heart."

"Why would I ever want to do that to such a beautiful girl?" Beautiful? Ok, now this was getting weird. Cute, now beautiful? Does he really think he could get me this easily?

"You seemed to enjoy it last week," I snapped. Although this conversation irked me, I couldn't help but hate how smooth and alluring his voice sounded. It made me want to like it, but I couldn't.

He spoke almost effortlessly, "I realized that was a mistake." Mistake? "Cause what I really wanted to enjoy was you." My eyes widened. Yes, those words just left his lips - Henry Bowers' lips. You know what this was? Bull shit.

"Stab me now," I muttered, causing him to huff in annoyance.

"Got a death wish or something?"

"I don't," I started. "But this, it's not gonna work. Not on me. Whatever you do, whatever you throw at me, I'll still fight back. Because like I said before, I'm not afraid of you and I'm also not gonna fall for your shit. Got it?"

He grew red in the face and I didn't notice that we both unintentionally kept moving forward as we conversed. He was pissed off. I could tell by his glare that stunk of frustration, but I wasn't having it either.

The moment he started flirting, I knew he was trying to get under my skin. His threats and violent behavior had failed, so he tried using what little charm he had to seduce me into giving myself up to him. Saying the fake lies I wanted to hear and committing the fake gestures of kindness to set me at afire. Then, he could taint and break my heart just as easily. That was his intention. I was supposed to fall for it and him, but I didn't.

He clicked his tongue angrily and looked away from me, "You're impossible."

"Sorry for being no fun," I apologized sarcastically. "I don't like being messed with and I can tell you don't either."

We sat there for awhile in awkward silence, refusing to look at each other. I thought he would've left awhile ago, but I guess he had nothing better to do. I could've left too, but there wasn't a better place for me.

I started to play with my salad again until he spoke up,

"What happened to your neck?" His voice was low and beat.

"You happened," I mumbled.

"Yeah, I left one cut by accident," he defended. "But everything else was already there."

"Why does it matter to you," I interrogated.

"Because that's the real reason I didn't keep going," he barked, startling me. Did I hear that right?

"What," I asked confusedly, disbelief in my eyes.

"If I didn't see your neck, I would've kept going," he repeated discreetly.

"Since when has Henry Bowers ever been considerate towards people?"

"I'm not a complete dick, Emma. I saw you walking by even before we almost hit you and you were a total mess. And when I saw your neck, blood was still fucking coming out of it."

"It could've been something else," I suggested, knowing it was a terrible claim.

"If it was something else, you wouldn't have been trying to hide it so badly," he declared.

"Maybe I was scared of you taking advantage me."

He rolled his eyes apathetically,

"Bullshit." That sounded familiar.  

Then, he pulled something from underneath him and placed it on the table. It was my sweater that I left behind. Had he been sitting on it this entire time?

"I don't believe you because first off, you weren't scared of me pulling a knife on you. You weren't even afraid of taking on four guys at once. And two, what explains this?" He revealed the sleeve of my sweater that was drenched in dry blood and the collar that had splotches of crimson on it. "Hmm," he hummed and I bit my lip. I couldn't necessarily fight that. It couldn't have been red juice or even paint. Different consistencies, but I also didn't owe him anything.

"Well," he pushed.

"It's none of your business," I growled.

I stood up to leave, but he caught my wrist, already standing himself and moving in front of me. My cheeks burned from the sudden contact and closeness. I gulped deeply and glanced up at him. Our faces were inches apart and if I was any closer, my forehead would've grazed his cheek. His breath was lightly fanning the bridge of my nose while he still held onto my wrist.

His eyes gazed onto our hands till finally locking with mine. I let out a silent gasp as I stared into his eyes - those cloudy blue eyes. If I didn't look away now, I would've lost myself in them, being forever trapped. Instead, I settled for our hands.

He loosened the once tight fist I had with his free hand and although his touch had been initially harsh, the feel of his hand was incredibly soft. Calloused, of course, but soft. A tad bit dry, but smooth.

They did look quite different. His hands were bigger by a lot. Much paler in comparison to mine. More veins were apparent. While my hand looked mostly clean, his was scattered with bruises along the knuckles. He must have gotten in a fight with someone recently. Who? I don't know; but altogether, he did have nice hands. Not the best looking, but nice.

I shivered as his thumb ran down the burnt part of my hand. He reached for the other and I let him. Now, he was taking my hands in his as he examined them and the sight couldn't have been more satisfying.

"What happened?" And for once, he didn't sound pushy or accusatory. His voice was soft and genuine. My eyes widened for a split second.

Emma, you're getting yourself stuck. You know you don't hate him, but you act like it to keep him at bay. His personality was anything but pretty, but you've seen and tamed it before. It would be so easy for you to help and get him out of his hell. So, the real question is: Are you willing to risk everything? You know that despite your promise, if you answer now, you'll tell the truth. You'll let him in. Are you really prepared for that?

I looked up at him again. For those eyes...yes. Without a doubt, yes.

"It's really nothing," I whispered. "Just rug burn."

"And your neck?" That was the million dollar question. "Did someone do that to you?" I bit my lip.

"Yes," I mumbled and his body stiffened.

"I'm sorry." Pardon? Did I hear that correctly?

I smirked the slightest bit,

"Did an apology just leave your mouth, Bowers?"

"Shut the fuck up," he responded and a smirk found its way onto his lips again. "I-"

"Henry," a voice called out, causing us to both jump. Our heads simultaneously turned in the same direction and it was his 'minions' - Victor and Belch. Victor had been smiling suggestively, while Belch was utterly shocked. It had to have been Belch that spoke.

I gave Henry a quick shove away from me, losing his hands and closeness.

"Are we interrupting something," Victor asked teasingly and my gaze switched between him and Henry.

"Nope," I answered boldly. "I was just leaving."  

This time, I was able to step away with ease. Of course though, I heard feet scuffling behind me. I rolled my eyes and turned to Henry.

"Listen, pretty boy. You tell anyone about this, I'll skin and gut you alive." He only smiled smugly. "And I will also tell your friends over there that you're aren't as good of a flirt as you think." With that, the smile faded away. That's more like it.

"See you around, Bowers," I waved, shooting him a fake smile before walking away.

(HENRY'S P.O.V.)

"What the fuck was that about," Belch asked from afar, irritation blatantly lacing his voice. He was still mad at her.

"Nothing," I lied, stepping towards them.

"It didn't seem like nothing," Vic shrugged with a smirk.

"Questioning me?"

"No, no," he waved his hands. He wasn't convinced, but I brushed it off.

"Let's get outta here." And like obedient dogs, they followed. I couldn't help but smile. Not because of them, but because of what Emma had called me.

She really thought I was a pretty boy?

__________________________________________

(BACK TO EMMA'S P.O.V.)

It's been a few days since Henry and I's encounter and I've still been contemplating whether or not I made the right choice. In the moment, it felt completely right. I did consider all the consequences, but what if I didn't consider them enough? What if this ended up blowing up in my face? There was no guarantee this would end nicely. Had I really been that lonely? Had I really missed those eyes that much?

There was no use in asking these questions now. Nothing had even started yet. I just told him one truth and that was all. Who knows if he'll even act differently. He could still be an asshole, but another reason I told him was because I was confident he wouldn't be. I'll just have to wait and see what happens like I've always done. For now, I could just relax.

I had been at the quarry for awhile, hanging out on one of the rocks along the shore. This was my favorite place in Derry. It was soothing, quiet, and secluded. Beyond that, it was beautiful with light reflecting off the soft waves of the pond, vibrant greenery, and birds singing. It was the most undead place in Derry.

I was reading, but started drifting off midway. It was so easy to fall asleep here. I was so warm and comfortable in my lying position. I wanted to, so I did, my book falling onto my face in the process.

Everything black until there was the sky. It was blue, wide, and framed by swaying leaves while light peaked through every so often. Everything was moving forward by something unknown.

This scene almost played out like rolling film frames. It was choppy with no sound, but you could still make out the movements.

Then, the sky was covered, but not by clouds. It was by a boy. A boy with eyes that resembled a cloudy day - still blue, but not quite. They weren't the cliche kind of blue and they weren't the "beautiful" translucent kind of blue. They were the kind of blue that swirled with pain and gloominess. They were the kind of blue that wouldn't be considered gorgeous because of their cloudiness.

Nonetheless, who ever said that?

I loved clouds. They didn't just mean sadness, they meant redemption. As the old saying goes, every cloud has their silver lining. Every cloud wouldn't just stay in pain, it would grow to be strong and I found that more beautiful than any clear blue eyes.

I found his eyes more beautiful.

I only wanted those eyes and him himself. Him and his smiling face, button nose, and caramel skin. That's what I wanted. No, that's what I had wanted. The possibilities of ever having him were gone and they have been for a long time.

Now, I began to hear. Screams, cries for help, and words of betrayal and deceit.

"IT killed me because of you."

My eyes tore open and I was still met with the same darkness. I groaned as I pulled the book away from my eyes and stared up at the sky.

It's been awhile since I dreamt about that, even him in particular...

Out of nowhere, the sounds of splashing and masculine yells overpowered the peaceful surroundings. I sprung up from my spot, still holding the book to my nose and mouth. From afar, I saw figures in the lake and water being thrown up in the air, but I couldn't tell by who. As they kept swimming further out, the image became clearer. One figure disappeared into the water, before their head popped out again, running their hand through their wet hair. My eyes widened. Oh, no.

Maybe my eyes were deceiving me.  Let me look again. Ok, there's a blonde, a chubbier face, and...a mullet. Fuck. Maybe I could get outta here before any of them say something.

"Well, what do you know?" Fuck. Of course. Bowers.

He swam closer with a smug smile playing at his lips. "If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could've just asked," he suggested confidently and I moved the book away.

"In your dreams, Bowers," I retorted sassily.

"What happened to pretty boy?"

"I didn't know you liked my insults."

"I took it as a compliment, sweetheart."

"Well, whatever pleases your ego." I  clenched onto my book and crouched down to stuff it into my bag.

"Why don't you come in," he called out, causing me to raise an eyebrow.

"And why would I do that," I questioned.

"Because you're not afraid to." I shut my mouth because for once, he actually left me speechless. "Am I wrong?" I simply shook my head and continued to zip my bag. "If I'm wrong, what happened to the ballsy girl that doesn't take shit from anybody?"

This was becoming extremely difficult to deny. I was ballsy and I wasn't afraid. No one could say otherwise, not even myself.

He hummed, "It's disappointing." I stopped my actions as I heard him swimming away. I looked up as his retreating figure, then Victor and Belch waiting for him, and finally back to my bag.

"God damnit," I muttered quietly.

I tossed my bag to the side and began to unbutton my jeans. Good thing I always wore boy shorts. It'll make it less uncomfortable. I pulled them down and stepped out of them quickly while my cheeks burned intensely. I knew Victor and Belch were facing my direction, so they were getting the full show. Soon, Henry would be getting part of the show.

I groaned internally, screamed internally, and did everything internally. I wasn't mad, just nervous and crazily embarrassed. I pulled my shirt over my head, finishing it off. Luckily, my shorts and bra were matching too. Both were black.

I looked up and all three boys were staring me, utterly entranced. The most affected, Henry. His mouth was slightly agape while he was actually turning red? Now that was a sight.

"Am I ballsy enough for you now, Henry," I yelled, a smirk reaching my lips. I didn't expect a response. It was just buildup for what I was about to do. I jumped in.

I held my breath as fell into the water, the coldness engulfing my entire body. I came back up and inhaled deeply, flipping my hair out of my face. I looked ahead and that somewhat woke them up. Boys, I rolled my eyes.

I swam over to them as best I could, stopping in front of Henry when I made it.

"Cat got your tongue," I joked.

"No," he mumbled, glancing away.

"No flirty comment?" He scoffed.

"That's a surprise. Seems like you were really enjoying it."

"Tease," he finally said lowly.

"I didn't quite hear that," I pushed, but instead I earned a splash to the face. "Really?" He simply smirked. I splashed back in retaliation and it turned into an all out splash war. It started out with Henry and I, but eventually Victor and Belch joined in much to my surprise.

It stayed like that for awhile until we started pushing each other into the water. I struggled a lot with Henry more than I liked to admit...and I enjoyed holding his hands more than I liked to admit. I was able to get him down just for a bit, until he drove me under completely.

I popped back up and watched as he moved onto Belch, leaving me with Victor. His platinum hair was the messiest it's ever looked, going in opposing directions and clinging onto his forehead. There was something oddly nostalgic about it.

He looked over to me and it compelled me to talk.

"Were you the one I, uh, headbutted," I asked innocently and he chuckled, shaking his head.

"It was Belch and he's actually still mad at you," he responded. He was more chill than I expected him to be.

"So you're the one I stomped on?"

"Yeah, but I - I deserved it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we did almost hit you with Amy."

"Amy?"

"That's what Belch calls his car."

I laughed and a real laugh at that. I don't why I found it so funny, but I liked it. Little did I know, Henry had stopped his roughhousing to look. He was mesmerized, but also jealous. Mesmerized because he had never heard me laugh or seen me smile so generously. He thought it was adorable. And jealous because he wasn't the cause of it, Victor was.

"Ok, then," I smiled, wiping my face. "Well...I was thinking of..."

"Apologizing? Don't," he finished and I hummed.

"Ok." I honestly was considering apologizing. It was odd for me, but I was genuinely having a nice time and I didn't want it to be a forced nice time. I didn't just want this to be a moment and have me turn back into a target a few days later.

As much as it didn't seem like it, I would prefer this over being chased all the time. This wasn't me giving up. It was overcoming. It was overcoming obvious differences and the lack of understanding to one another. Maybe instead of having a permanent enemy, I could have a temporary friend.

A small splash interrupted my thoughts and I found a smiling Victor. I splashed back and seconds later, our hands were intertwined as we tried pushing each other into the water.

__________________________________________

All four of us were now sitting on the rock that I had been sleeping on, spitting into the lake. Well, I just watched as they did.

"I gotta take a piss," Henry announced, causing me to snort.

"Charming," I whispered and glanced as he walked away.

"I'm gonna get something from the car," Vic stated abruptly. I gazed at him and he gave me a knowing look, gesturing to Belch with his eyes.

"Oh," I breathed out, nodding. He got up and walked away too, leaving me with Belch.

His body was stiff and he was clearly uncomfortable. He wouldn't even glance at me.

"Um," I started awkwardly. "Suh-sorry about your head." I didn't mean it, but it seemed like he worked differently than Victor. He was more stubborn and petty. A good minute passed until he decided to respond.

"Oh, you're sorry," he questioned.

"Yeah and just letting you know, I had a big bump on my head after that. So, you weren't the only one suffering from something." He wasn't convinced and it wasn't hard to tell. He was going to need more than an apology. I sighed deeply.

I tilted my head away from him,

"Lay one on me."

"What," he voice sparked.

"Lay one on me," I repeated.

"Like hit you?"

"No, kiss me. Yes, hit me."

"But-"

"Just do it. Yeah, you almost hit me with your car and called me a bitch, but I hit your precious Amy. So do it." I half expected him to, but I also didn't expect his knuckles to just gently push my head to the side.

"There." And I actually smiled. Did he realize that he was in the wrong?

I jumped slightly as I heard a few branches snap and we both looked back instantly. It was Henry and Victor, eavesdropping. I raised an eyebrow at both of them before Victor spoke up,

"I actually thought he was going to punch you."

"Well," I shrugged. "What do you know?"

END OF CHAPTER 4

[xtruss]

Opinion/Racism

On Ahmaud Arbery and the Video

What does the video of Ahmaud's murder show and was it wrong to post it?

"A white supremacist public will not be moved to action after viewing videos of anti-Black murders. It is their cinematic tradition," writes Yannick Giovanni Marshall for #AJOpinion.

— by Yannick Giovanni Marshall | May 11, 2020 | Al Jazeera English

Ahmaud Arbery, who was shot and killed by two white men in Brunswick, US on February 23, 2020, is seen in an undated photo provided by Marcus Arbery

One of the first things one notices when looking at the photographs of lynchings in America in the first half of the 20th century is the faces in the crowd. They are smiling.

Although the more popular descriptors used when referring to anti-Black terrorism are "sad", "tragic", "horrific", the word that should most readily come to mind is "pleasure". Lynchers smiled. They enjoyed the killing. They divided up the body, kept parts as souvenirs and used photos of the lynching as postcards. White supremacist society takes pleasure in the display of prostrate, vulnerable, tortured and murdered Black people.

In such a culture, it is easy to think of the circulation of the Ahmaud Arbery video as continuing that tradition. And it is. Most viewers watch the video with sadistic curiosity in their private spaces even if they later declare their outrage and let people know that they are upset in public.

Despite what some activists will argue, a white supremacist public will not be moved to action after viewing videos of anti-Black murders. It is their cinematic tradition. They are the directors, the producers, the stars and the consumers.

Images of Black people dead and dying is the raw meat that sustains a Negrophobic world. Kenyan social media was livid when photographs of the dead bodies of African people during the Dusit Hotel attacks in Nairobi last year were published before the friends and family of the dead were notified. Black people are not seen to be property owners of their own deaths. Their deaths are meaningless but their dying is clickbait and newsworthy. The Black corpse is a spectacle - not private, not wept over.

Of course, Black people are humans and there are many who share the racist erotophonophilic curiosity of the wider society, even if they represent their circulation of the video as an effort to demand social change. But appealing to white supremacist society betrays a faith in white supremacist society. It is faith in a society that has demonstrated a profound disinterest in the value of Black life every hour of the past four centuries. It is faith that this society is now on the cusp of being anti-racist.

That faith is misplaced.

It was misplaced when groups of enslaved people argued that if they smiled wide enough they would be let go. It was misplaced when new Black political representatives in the post-Civil War Reconstruction era believed that a non-racist America was on the horizon. It was misplaced when Civil Rights marchers believed that their singing sounded the death knell of racial discrimination. It was misplaced when people shouted "never again!" after Trayvon was killed. And it is misplaced now.

Racism does not grow old and die. It metastasises. This public will not be moved to action by Ahmaud any more than it was moved by Trayvon, by Sandra, by Eric, by Aiyana, or by the name we will hear two weeks from now, or the name we will hear two weeks after that.

This public can pull the plug on the economy, it can take the planes from the sky, but it will not willingly disband its lynch-mobs - uniformed or non-uniformed.

Do not offer up the bodies of the killed to win the sympathy of an unfeeling public. Decommission your hope. It polices you.

Many Black people have demanded and pleaded that the video of Ahmaud's murder not be shared due to its re-traumatising effects. They are hoping not to discover what they already know is the reality - that Black pleading is about as action-spurring as Black killings.

Black trauma is, however, real, intergenerational, and should be taken seriously. Our ancestors were gathered and forced to witness lynchings and floggings as well, be they in Basra, in Nairobi, in Cape Town, in Bahia, in Port-au-Prince or in Alabama. This is to say nothing of the millions of Black people who at this moment are being groped by police, separated from their families in prisons, or condemned to suffer the indignities of American totalitarianism in housing projects and ghettos.

Racist murder was the knife-point of racial oppression that drove waves of Black people from the American South during the Great Migration. Black people fled both the murderers in pick-up trucks and the local courts and governments that harboured them. They fled because the men who owned the white gun stores refused to sell them the arms they needed to defend themselves after Black-owned gun stores were broken into and the guns confiscated. Black people fled Ahmaud's killers tens of thousands of times.

Conservative media, like the white supremacist rags of the centuries before them, will instinctively search for a way to protect the murderers and to dehumanise and criminalise the victim. It does not matter how the Black person was killed.

The right-wing intelligentsia will try to frame them for their own murder. They will demonise and tar and feather the body, and problematise the dead person's choices in order to feed white supremacist talking points to their yapping audiences.

This while the mainstream liberal press will try to pass white supremacist bothsidesism off as objective journalism.

But these efforts work less effectively on most Black people. We can still see that a person is being killed. Killed arbitrarily, in broad daylight, and in the open. We see a family being killed. We see us being killed.

Still, Emmett Till's mother said leave the casket open.

Parallel to the radical desire for the protection of Black mental health and wellbeing runs the demand for the interruption in the regular procedure of sweeping Black corpses under the rug. To show their faces, #saytheirname, stay the broom. The discourse of white innocence and the notion of America's fundamental goodness are accomplices in white supremacist murder.

They work in tandem to quickly paint every incident of anti-Black violence as an exception to the rule. When this is persuasive, the anger is defused, and the incident no longer threatens to become a catalyst.

Mamie Till flung open the casket. In pain, she interrupted their arguments and forced a stop to the slow-walking of change.

It should not be assumed that all Black people who ask for the video not to be circulated are acting out of concern for Black mental wellbeing. Some of the loudest voices asking not to circulate the videos have made a career out of preaching the possible rehabilitation of the settler-colony. They too, do not want to be interrupted. Every open casket drops into their "HOPE" mugs and they recoil like an English lady finding a Hottentot's skull in her soup tureen.

These people know very well that Ahmaud was killed in February to absolute silence. They know that it was this very same video that led to the arrest of the killers, led some Black people to become genuinely fed up, led to #justiceforahmaud's trending, and led some to speak openly of revolution.

These people are whom Frantz Fanon, the pre-eminent theorist of the white supremacist settler-colony, called the colonised intellectuals. These are the Black academic influencers who are always nearer in proximity to white power than they let on. It is their task to compose the dull prose and type out the hot takes with which they intend to barricade the doors of the state against an incensed people.

It falls to them to convince the outraged natives that the abattoir in which they have been living - and which has not for one hour in the last 400 years churned out anything other than their misery - will one day spew out roses.

I have not made any determination about whether, in the end, it is good for this video to be out there or not - but I don't have to. It is not my decision to make. The decision about whether or not the video should be circulated (or whether it should have been published in the first place) rests with Ahmaud's loved ones. Only Ahmaud's loved ones.

But it is folly to think that bringing about the end to the circulation of videos depicting racist murder is an achievement. Whipping people in the privacy of the slave quarters rather than publicly against a plantation tree in front of the enslaved is not the victory we might think it is.

Enslavement in prisons and on prison farms is allowed to grow in size and atrocity because they are imagined to exist in some hidden away place, somewhere else. They are thought to be outside of society - even if they are located in the centre of Chicago. Hiding anti-Black atrocity from Black people is a poor substitute for ending anti-Black atrocity. Worse, it dulls our ability to see its full magnitude. If prisons were in the town square, their walls knocked down and their conditions and demographics were laid bare, there would be a Watts uprising every day.

It is also true that we must make a world where the photos of Mike Brown Jr's body left on the street for four hours inspires at least as great a bodily shudder as the mental image of a white person, say Shirley Temple, dangling from a lynching rope - an image many would find more disturbing. But that world is not made through silence. It is made through trauma.

The video, and the debate surrounding it has also, for me, revealed something about how I have been trained to see (and not see). It has taken me a while to recognise what is so clearly there in plain sight. The video is not a video of a Black person being killed.

The video is a record of a Black person fighting back despite being outnumbered and out-gunned. A Black person who fought back against the white supremacist culture that attacked him from nowhere and for no reason. It is a record of Ahmaud standing up, like Trayvon Martin, like Mike Brown, like Sandra Bland, like Eric Garner, like countless others who defended themselves against a murderous culture that has never in its existence been able to conceive of the noble, nor a fair fight.

It is disingenuous to pretend to know Ahmaud outside of the few seconds of tape that is circulating. We did not know him as he lived and so we cannot claim to know him in death. It is for this reason that it is crucial that we not reduce his life to his death. He lived and fought in that video. He lived and fought against overwhelming, unfair odds. In this, he embodied another tradition that has always run counter to white supremacist culture - resistance.

Ahmaud is not reducible to his death and the video is not merely or even primarily a record of his murder. It is a record of him outgunned, outnumbered, and valiant.

100 years ago, Ahmaud might have been the inspiration for Jamaican Harlemite Claude McKay's poem If We Must Die, written during the Red Summer of 1919:

"If we must die, let it not be like hogs

Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot...

Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,

Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!"

The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera's editorial stance.

— Yannick Giovanni Marshall is an academic and scholar of African Studies.

[queercapwriting]

Meeting the Queer Parents

prompt from the wonderful @adamn1324

“So I know you’re absolutely not taking prompts right now (so you really can do this whenever) but the one year anniversary of my moms death is on the 12th and I didn’t figure out I was trans till shortly after and never really got to introduce any significant other to her. Anyway, I was wondering if you would write something about Adrian introducing a girlfriend to Alex and Maggie. Adrian has been such a huge help to me in figuring out who I am and I can really connect with his character. #GiveAdrianHisOwnShow”

Alex picks him up on her bike because his car’s broken down, his girl lives in National City, and she and Maggie don’t want him to have to pay for a train all the way back from Star City.

And, instead of shelling out the money themselves -- which they’ve had no problem doing on numerous occasions -- Alex decides she’ll finally give in to his persistent requests to learn how to drive a motorcycle.

“I’m not teaching you to drive today, kid, but we’ll see how well you can take in the turns with me -- you gotta move with me, but not too much or I’ll spend all my time overcompensating, okay?”

Adrian nods with the same big eyes he gets when he’s working on a physics equation with her.

“Oh, and here,” Alex says with practiced nonchalance, pressing a package from her saddle bag into his hands.

“Alex, what -- “

His response is lost in his sob, in the bone-crushing hug he pulls Alex into. She kisses his cheek and makes a big show of pulling back from the scratchiness of his scruff, which makes him bounce on the balls of his feet.

“Alex, it -- why -- “

“Maggie and I decided if you’re gonna ride with me, you need a proper jacket to go with it. Synthetic leather, of course.”

And what a proper jacket it is. Thick and masculine, sheer black with just the right amount of toughness, just the right amount of softness. Just the right amount of everything.

He hugs her again and when he pulls back, a mischievous grin combines amusingly with the tears in his eyes.

“Maggie has no idea, does she? That I’m riding with you, that you bought this for me.”

“Had it made, actually. And pfft, no. Why would she -- “

“Because she’s terrified of me riding a bike.”

“Dude, if you’re old enough to ride a girl, you’re old enough to ride a bike.”

Adrian doubles over with laughter and Alex has to resist patting herself on the back.

“Come on, kid,” she says, putting his helmet into his hands. “Let’s go meet your girl.”

They drive right to the restaurant, because Adrian and Maggie had decided that for first meeting his first girlfriend, a public setting would be less intimidating than his queer moms’ den.

“Seriously, Danvers?” Maggie asks with a tilted head and quirked eyebrow when Alex pulls up smoothly and revs the engine as Adrian holds onto her shoulders and swings off shakily but smoothly.

“Hey, listen, first girlfriends are a big deal, I wanted him to be able to pull out all the stops,” Alex defends herself as she pulls off her helmet and shakes her hair out.

“Slash you wanted to look like the cool mom,” Maggie mutters with a grin and wink at Adrian as she smooths his jacket and pulls at the rugged collar affectionately.

“It suits you, Ade,” she kisses his cheek, and he beams as he slips his phone out of his pocket.

“Myra should be here in a couple minutes, so are you two gonna kiss out the sexual tension now or wait until appetizers?”

They both mock glare at him as Alex steps into Maggie’s space tentatively, and Maggie looks up into her eyes and smooths her hair while she shakes her head.

“I love how much you love him, Al. And if I’m going to trust him on the back of anyone’s bike, of course it’s yours.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Only if your next ride’s with me.”

“Ew, Maggie, come on, innocent child’s ears here!”

“How come you’re a grown-ass man when you wanna be and a child when it’s conven -- “

“Adrian!”

“Myra!” He jumps and his voice lowers an octave and Alex and Maggie exchange nervous, excited, happy glances.

“Hey, glad you made it -- “ He touches her arm and kisses her cheek sweetly, and when she beams, Maggie nods slowly. “Sorry I couldn’t bring you flowers or anything, I uh... Alex picked me up in style.”

He gestures to the bike and Myra oohs and Alex mutters “see? Total girl magnet” and Maggie nudges her in the shoulder and mutters back “Fair enough. Worked on me, didn’t it?” before stepping forward and extending her hand to Myra.

“Detective Maggie Sawyer, NCPD. And this is my girlfriend, Special Agent Alex Danvers, FBI.”

“Thought we talked about introducing yourself with titles, Maggie.”

“You talked, Ade, I didn’t say I was listening.”

Myra giggles as Adrian and Alex roll their eyes at each other.

“No, it’s good. You’re protective of him, I... I like that. He deserves it.”

Alex grins as she shakes Myra’s hand while Adrian gulps and beams and tickles Maggie’s sides behind them.

“Shall we?” Maggie sweeps toward the restaurant, and Adrian steps back to let Myra pass.

“Such a gentleman,” Alex murmurs, and Adrian only beams brighter.

“Reservation for four for Sawyer,” Maggie leans on the welcome table casually, disguising the way she’s scoping out Myra’s body language with her easy body language. Alex notices, of course, and kicks her softly.

“So kids, get whatever you want, okay? Tonight’s on Alex and me.”

“See, I told you they’re basically married.” Myra giggles again as Alex blushes and looks at the ceiling and Maggie squeezes her hand and kicks Adrian gently under the table.

“So Myra, you’re from National City, too?”

She nods and gulps at her water to quell her nerves. “Adrian and I actually went to the same elementary school. We had Ms. Beckendorf together in second grade -- “

“Ms. Beckendorffffff,” Adrian groans, and Myra puts a casual hand on his.

“And have similarly traumatic memories of gym class. But he went to a different high school than me, so we sort of fell out of touch until um...”

Adrian nods supportively and runs his thumb over the pad of her hand. “It’s okay, they know how we reconnected, they’re cool.”

“That drag show?” Maggie supplies with a head tilt and a soft grin.

Myra nods. “Sorry. I guess I’m still not used to adults who are...”

“Queer as all get-out?” Alex offers, and Maggie shakes her head at how far her girlfriend’s come.

“I guess so, yeah.”

“And what drew you to Adrian?”

“Maggieeee!”

“Sorry Ade, queer mama’s gotta do what queer mama’s gotta do.”

“His kindness. All the other boys were all raucous and crude, and Adrian knows how to have fun -- “

“Oh, we know -- “

“But he was always so respectful, you know, of the performers, and he just... he stood out.”

“Also didn’t hurt that I was the only brown boy in the bunch, I bet.”

“I mean listen, it wasn’t the best venue to find people, but we both wound up there, right?”

Adrian puts his forehead down to hers and kisses her hand.

“We did, yeah.”

Alex squeezes Maggie’s hand under the table and Alex’s grip is the only thing keeping Maggie from sobbing because her little boy is growing up.

And even if it’s not forever, it looks like he’s found love.

A strange and unfamiliar feeling sweeps over her, and it’s with a jolt that she realizes she’s only ever really felt it on game nights with the Superfriends or grocery shopping with Alex, Kara, and Adrian or Sunday mornings with Alex’s glasses and the newspaper and burnt toast and coffee at midnight.

Family, she realizes.

It feels like family. And when Alex squeezes her hand again, when Adrian meets her eyes and reaches for her hand across the table, she knows they both feel it, too.

“Good answers, Myra. Good answers.”

Myra beams and maybe, just maybe, she feels it, too.

Maggie sure as hell hopes so.