#wherever it fits. wherever it's safe. wherever ill find it after who knows how long Tumblr posts

[icannotgetoverbirds]

i was gonna be all lonely on main until i realized that my friend is literally doing the exact same thing id be wanting from a partner so this post is now officially a shoutout to him. dude, i cannot tell you how much i appreciate you just vibing with me when I haven't got the energy to really participate in or contribute much to the conversation. you are my best friend and I love you /p.

like i've got no spoons rn so i was a bit worried id have to spend the afternoon alone bc who wants to hang out with me while im like this but then i realized you. you want to hang out with me even when im like this. you're like a damn brother to me. you're family.

you're a piece of home.

[king-finnigan]

If you're still doing prompts... Maybe Geraskier 9 and 21? ;u; I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort.

9. “You really thought I was dead?” 21. “I…I can’t do this without you.”

Geralt is in Temeria when the news first reaches him: Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount De Lettenhove, has died. 

It happened several months ago - news doesn’t travel south as fast as it used to, now that everyone is fleeing north, away from Nilfgaard. Geralt doesn’t believe it at first, refuses to believe it for even a second, as a matter of fact. After all, Jaskier is young and healthy and perfectly safe in Lettenhove, last Geralt heard, so why would he die so soon, so unexpected?

But, he figures as he travels north, towards Lettenhove, it’s been ages since he’s last seen Jaskier, since they parted ways on the mountain. Maybe he fell ill, maybe he got hurt someway, somehow. Maybe his death wasn’t as unexpected as Geralt would like to think it was. 

The closer he gets to Kerack, the more he learns about Jaskier’s supposed death. And the more he starts to believe it.

Jaskier apparently fell sick several weeks ago - no one’s sure what it was that took him down, even now - and he fought a long and hard battle against his illness, before eventually succumbing to it in the middle of the night. His funeral was held several days later, his body laid on a pyre under a blue and gold shroud, every precaution taken to make sure his illness couldn’t possibly spread to anyone else. His ashes were scattered in the forest behind the Lettenhove estate, a gravestone placed under his favourite tree.

They say that in his final hours, he begged to see an old friend one last time. 

The silence weighs heavy on Geralt, now, as he makes his way to the north, to Kerack. More so than even during the first few weeks after the mountain, he misses Jaskier’s voice, the idle strumming of his lute, the constant chatter and too-fast heartbeat following Geralt wherever he goes. Wherever he used to go.

More than ever, he regrets what he said on the mountain. Wishes he could’ve taken it all back before the end, or could’ve at least told Jaskier how much he regrets his words. 

He wishes he could’ve told Jaskier how much he loves him.

Loved him. 

When he rides into Lettenhove, the town is clad in black, still, even after all these months, and he can tell how much these people loved Jaskier, too. Dozens of eyes follow him as he rides through the strangely quiet streets, towards the estate, whispers rising in the silence, of the Witcher, master Julian’s Witcher is here. 

He pays no mind to them. Instead, he keeps his eyes ahead. He leaves Roach behind at the edge of the forest, setting out on foot to find the tree with Jaskier’s headstone.

He finds it soon enough. It’s under an old willow tree, next to a small stream cutting through the tall grass. It’s truly beautiful here, a final resting place fitting for the the bard.

He falls to his knees in front of the large stone, trails his fingers over the letters carved into it, as tears slowly fill his eyes. He can’t help but curl in on himself, the pain in his chest worse than any wound he’s ever endured, every muscle in his body quivering with the effort not to scream out his agony for the entire world to hear.

“Jaskier, I- I...” He doesn’t know why he’s talking, now. Twenty years Jaskier’s spent by his side, and never once has Geralt been able to truly talk to the man, but now that Jaskier’s gone, Geralt suddenly can find the words? He nearly laughs at the bitter irony of it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice raw, tears unshed at the back of his throat. “I’m sorry for everything. For yelling at you, for abandoning you, for not coming here sooner, for everything I’ve ever done to you. I’m so sorry, Jaskier. I... I can’t do this without you.” His voice breaks on a quiet sob, bitter tears spilling down his face as he clutches his stomach with one hand, the other clenching around the stone.

“Geralt...” 

His eyes fly open, and he turns his head so fast he hears a few neck bones pop. There, behind him, not ten feet away, is Jaskier, alive and well. Geralt nearly slips in the tall grass in his hurry to get up, but in the blink of an eye, he’s holding the bard against his chest, drinking in the familiar scent of lavender and sandalwood like a man dying of thirst. 

Jaskier protests softly, hands coming up to tug at Geralt’s arms around him. “Alright, alright.” His voice is muffled by Geralt’s shirt. “Good to see you too, but can you give me some room to breathe?”

With an effort that leaves Geralt’s head spinning, he slowly loosens his grip on the bard, letting him pull back to look at him. “Jaskier,” he whispers.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, a playful smile dancing across his lips as his arms settle around the Witcher. “Geralt,” he whispers back in the same tone. He grins, and the sight leaves Geralt breathless with relief and joy. “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm and that little speech you gave just now at...” he frowns “my father’s headstone for some reason. But I have to ask. Why?”

Geralt frowns, turning his head to look at the stone. “Your... your father has the same name as you?”

“Yes, he does. Wait- you thought that was me? You really thought I was dead?”

Geralt doesn’t respond, merely burying his nose into the side of Jaskier’s neck, letting lavender and sandalwood calm him down as the bard quietly laughs.

“Sweet Melitele, Geralt, if I’d known you cared enough to cry over my grave, I would’ve...” He’s suddenly quiet, and Geralt can smell the faint heat of embarrassment mixing in with Jaskier’s familiar scent.

He pulls back, frowning at Jaskier, who’s now blushing a bit. “You would’ve what?”

Jaskier swallows thickly, blue eyes searching Geralt’s face intently, as if he’s looking for something. “I would’ve kissed you sooner.”

Geralt blinks, not sure how to respond. But, he figures, sometimes the best response is no response at all. He pulls Jaskier closer, crashing their lips together unelegantly, and the bard lets out a surprised sound, before melting into the kiss. 

Eventually, Geralt pulls away, gasping in lungfuls of sweet summer air, his head filled with lavender and sandalwood and bright blue eyes. The last golden rays of sunlight illuminate Jaskier, casting a halo around his head, the first chill of autumn creeping into the air.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me this winter,” he says before he can think twice about it. “Please.”

Jaskier huffs out an incredulous laugh. “Gods, I’d thought you’d never ask, Geralt.”

He frowns. “So... is that a yes?”

Jaskier laughs, bright and crisp and sweet, the sound of it washing over Geralt like a gentle breeze. “Yes! Of course that’s a yes, you absolute idiot.” He pulls Geralt closer, and Geralt lets himself be held, the weight of the last few weeks falling off his shoulders, finally, Jaskier alive and well in his arms.

[hangedalladalla]

Hello everyone this is a fanfic commission for someone. I do fics about different ships and reader inserts as well. This is part of my COMMISSION FOR A CAUSE for my mom’s previous chronic illness and to support her medications and medical needs (please see my pinned post for images of mri scans and interpretations).This is a short fic about Levi and Hange. Please message me if you want to donate or commission me.

MIRACLE

hangedalladalla

Hange Zoe was one to find out that death is definitely not a one way trip. She had always wondered what is to happen once death comes to you.Was there going to be tranquility and hope? Was there some place wherein your soul can finally rest? Was it some place wherein her soul will meet those that she have lost along the way? Or will she just turn into dust and just let her remains just scatter around into the air. The truth was half of her assumptions was true, half of them were not. Just like how she always thought when she was a child they were there those that she have lost along the way. She can name them not all of them but she can name them.

Her ever loyal assistant squad leader Moblit, her dear friend and former commander Erwin, her comrades and friends Nanaba and Miche. Her old squad Nifa,Abel and the others. She even saw Sasha whom she felt like she have failed. Hange looked back to how disappointed she was of herself when Sasha died. She was supposed to live a long life. With those whom she have loved but she felt like she took that away from her. Nonetheless, all of her fears and anxieties all went away when Sasha turned at her and engulfed her in a huge bone breaking hug if she wasn’t dead she would have groaned in pain but in all honesty she did not feel anything at all but relief, that Sasha wasn’t blaming her. She can finally feel at peace there in that tranquil silent place wherein she can spend the rest of her not-so-life with her comrades.

There was something missing. Hange had been spending a few days now there in the afterlife but something was missing. She cannot fathom the feeling of emptiness and sorrow but there it was, why was it there. Why is it that at the back of her non existent beating heart there was a voice calling out her name in agony. She then felt a surging pain on her left temple followed ny her arms and back. The urge to scream was too strong and yet she couldn’t. She couldn’t ask or scream for rescue. She tried reaching out to her dead comrades but they all just stared at her in solitude. She tried reaching out to Erwin’s hand but he just gave her a sullen and knowing smile, something she had grown accustomed to. The warm sullen smile of his comrade who was now letting go of her hand to kick her back into her reality.

The agonizing painful moment of silence wherein Hange Zoe realized that she was alive and barely breathing. The pain in her back keeps growing stronger and stronger and the screams of Gabi and Annie were muffled by the long deafening ringing in her ear.

There was a name, there it was the agonizing pain in her heart it wasn’t just a voice it was his. It was Levi’s. What was she even thinking trying to find peace in an own realm she created for herself.What was she even thinking leaving Levi all alone when all he had was her and all she had was him.

Everything was just blurry she cannot even decipher which was real and which was her imagination,all she knew was she was flying with Gabi yelling her name while Annie tries to bandage her burnt back that is far from being healed. Maybe this was her imagination as well, there was no way she would be flying right at that very moment because the reason of her death was solely for the flying boat to fly. But there she was being held by Gabi and Annie as they screamed out her name. It doesn’t even matter all she knew and all she could ever think of was the person whom she left. The person who dedicated his heart to her and vice versa. She could only laugh with a fitting cough as she miserably tried to ease the pain of her burning back. Then everything went black.

The next thing Hange knew there was a battle on going already. Who wins and who loses it does not even matter anymore wether it be them or Eren or the Marleyans or the world it does not even matter anymore. As she opened her eye and see through the horizon there he was. Riding a flying titan while here she is being held by Onyankopon. The rumbling had stopped everything was just in shambles and there he was silver orb staring at her own brown one. She does not even know if Levi lost his other eye as well or if the others were fine all she knew at that moment was that returning was the right choice. She does not need the eternal tranquility when right there at that moment of chaos everything just seemed to fall right into place he was there and alive and so was she and that’s all that mattered. Nothing else did it was just Levi and her and the two of them staying alive for each other.

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Hange does not even remember when the war ended, or if it already ended all she knew and remember was Levi’s right arm reaching out to her and her taking it then everything just went black. She immediately rose from where she was laying and pain immediately resurfaced from her back. It felt like it was burning again and it was just really painful. She immediately reached out for her glasses that was at the bedside table when Yelena entered right at the moment.

“Hey, Hange you’re awake.” The blonde said as she placed a cup of water beside her then later on helped her drank it.

“Thanks Yelena.” She said as she looked far away. “Where are the others?”She asked as she continued sipping from her cup. “Where’s Levi?” Again, she asked as panic ate her whole system.

“Fine. They are fine Jean and the others were all still healing as they try to fix the damage of the rumbling. If there even is anymore to recover.” The blonde said with a scoff as she looked faraway. She looked different,tired and empty.

“Your Levi is resting as well. He’s just in the room next to yours. He was so beaten up that I don’t think he will ever fully recover.” The blonde stated still looking in a far distance.

“What happened? How did we all end up here?” Hange asked again to gain Yelena’s attention.

“You don’t remember? Falco’s titan grew tired and fell, luckily all of you who were riding it was okay. Pieck and the others are fine as well. Reiner is still recovering alongside the other shifters.”

“And, Eren? Where is he? What happened to him? Is he okay? Did you get to him? Did you manage to capture him? Was he safe along with the others?” Yelena looked at Hange dumbfounded. Eren was the sole reason why she nearly died and here she was asking about his whereabouts and conditions.

Yelena just raised her head up and looked into the ceiling while shooking her head no. It was more than enough of an explanation. There was no need for further elaborating about where Eren was and how he was. Yelena’s sullen expression was more than enough for Hange to understand and for tears to well in her eyes, because in all honesty she had raised Eren even if only for just a few years. She created a bond with Eren and it breaks her heart to see him that way. Maybe, they will never now what his sole reason is. Maybe, it was just for him to know and for them to never find out. It doesn’t matter anymore. She shook her head, wiped her tears and looked up into the window staring at the bright horizon, with an empty wish that hopefully wherever Eren is he had reached the freedom that he is fighting for.

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It has been three days since Hange had gained consciousness. She have been visiting Levi’s room from time to time tending to his wounds. Her wounds still hurts as hell but being with Levi, it just somehow lessens. She stared as his face as she wiped the towel down ro clean his wounds. There was nothing wrong with,minus the wounds nevertheless Hange felt guilty, of trying to leave him when he needed her most. For trying to escape from all of her responsibilities and just be there in that tranquil solitude with her comrades. She felt guilty for trying to leave him alone in chaos when the world was in shambles and there she was trying to hold on to the solitude that she probably created for herself. How selfish of her. She heald Levi’s knuckles close to her face and leaned into it before heading out and speaking to Jean and the others.

“Hange! What brought you here aren’t you supposed to be resting? You can barely walk.” Jean said as he guided Hange to the sofa in their shared room with Reiner and Connie as well as Falco. We are still trying to see what we can fix. The other Eldians from Paradis also flew here to help with what they can to rebuild Marley. Afterall, not long after Historia gave birth through the help of the scouts and alliance that Hange built Historia is working with a truce with all the people around their world. To avoid impending wars and such.

“I want to build something.In the forest, near the sea, just a small cottage. Just enough for two people.” Hange said as she fidgeted with her makeshift clutches.

“It does not have to be perfect, just enough to be able to live comfortably in it.” She went on as she explained what she wanted to build. In a span of two weeks do you think you can finish it? Hange asked as she picked her clutches and held the two boys by their shoulders and smiled. The two boys shocked their heads in disbelief then agreed with what she wanted.

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Levi awakened with a sickening pain throbbing in his head. He felt like it was being broken into half. He does not even remembered when was the last time he was awake all he knew was that his body was aching. He checked his body for any signs of bleedings or injuries, turns out they were almost completely healed. He tried sitting up when suddenly Gabi and Falco entered his room to bring him some water.

“Mr. Levi!” Falco shouted in panic as he grabbed the bottle of water from Gabi and went to Levi’s side to allow him to drink.

“You’ve been out for more than a month Captain. Everyone else was already up and about. Reiner and Pieck are helping in rebuilding Marley, or what’s left of it. Mikasa and the others are building whatever they were working on.” Gabi rambled as she carefully placed pillows at the back of Levi.

Levi just stared at the two of them. The others were alive and well and he was the only one who had not awoken for more than a month. Him, humanity’s strongest soldier, took the longest time to recover, what was wrong with him. He started having flashbacks of the previous memories of him when he stopped at his tracks. He stared at the two kids in front of him. Where was she, he was so sure that he was reaching out to her before Falco’s titan came crashing down. He was sure it was her. He will never forget those brown orb afterall. Levi noticed something about his vision as well. He can still see from both eyes, although the other one was really blurry and barely functioning but it can still recognize figures.

“Hange? Where was Hange?” He asked, afraid that they will give him an answer that will break his heart again.

“She was with Jean,Mikasa and the others, they were trying to build something we’re not really sure what it is though, just that it’s-” Gabi immediately kicked Falco in his legs when he was about to continue.

“Won’t you shut up! You’re just going to ruin everything!” She yelled as she pushed Falco out of Levi’s room while waving Levi goodbye and rambling on about training and things.

Three weeks have flew by faster and Levi could already feel himself regaining his strength. Everyone already visited him. Everyone except her. She was nowhere to be found. There was even no news about her. Whenever he would ask about her they would just shrug their shoulders and change the topic about how they are working on the truce. Or they will just simply answer ‘she’s fine’ or ‘she’s doing well’ like it’s something that is going to ease his mind that easily. Every single day that he was not seeing her his anxiety just grew larger and larger. What if she really did not survive and they were just lying for his sake. What if he was just hallucinating and the others were just going through with his craziness. He abruptly stood up thinking that it was enough and that he had to see her for the sake of his sanity.

He was about to go to Jean’s quarters when Gabi came in bringing a rolled up paper that looked like a map.

“Hey! Someone tasked me to give you this!” GAbi said as she immediately ran out of the door. Levi stared at the piece of paper. It was a map. At the side of the map was a tiny scribble with a note that says ‘meet me here’. There was no name or signature but he knows too damn well who wrote it. He felt his heart beating loudly with just the sight of her scribbles. He immediately took his bag and began travelling. With his condition riding a horse is no big deal already. That is why he immediately took off to go to the said place. The place was suprisingly near. Just a three hour ride from a horse to there and it will be quicker if he had used the innovative car that the Marleyans and the others used.

The forest looked peaceful and serene seems like the part of the forest where his travellung at did not get damaged by the rumbling. It was also near the sea and it brings solitude to his mind. Soon, he already reached the said cottage. IT was a very simple cottage,just enough for 2 or 4 people to live in. It was neat as well and there were fruits,vegetables and flowers growing outside the garden. He immediately reached out for the door knob, heart reaching in his throat he carefully twisted the knob. Nervous and panic, anxious of what he will really find there. Finally he succeeded in opening the door. He didn’t dare to look straight, he did not want to get disappointed immediately. Lucky for him he wasn’t, because right there was the love of his life, the person whom he dedicated his heart for. His other half. Smiling at him tears brimming in her eyes as she looked at him with her beautiful brown orb.

“Hange.” It was like a whisper, he did not know to whom he was calling to. He felt his legs buckle and he fell on his knees. Hange as well let go of her crutches as she held on to him. Levi who was holding tightly to Hange just kept on calling her name as he held he body tighter to his. In return, Hange had muttered a series of apologies for being selfish and trying to leave him alone. They just stared right there on the floor just holding on to each other muttering apologies and promises that only they will know and remember.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was selfish wanted to escape. I wanted to be free so I left. I’m sorry” Hange continuously said as she buried her face on Levi’s shoulder. Levi in return just stroked her hair as he continuously try to calm her and saying that he was forgiving her.

Soon there were no more tears left to cry and they just sat there in the silence, just the two of them feeling each others warmth. Levi tried to touch Hange’s back when she flinched because some of the burns haven’t dried up yet.

“Sorry.” Levi muttered while Hange just smiled at him and laced her head on his shoulder again. “Does it hurt?” Levi asked as he carefully traced her back.

“No, just sometimes. How about yours?” she asked as she carefully touched his damage eye softly with her fingers the reaching out to place a sullen kiss into it.

“No it doesn’t hurt anymore” he stated as he continued stroking her hair.

“What’s the purpose of this place Hange?” He asked as he stared at her. “I told you that we will live in the forest. I made myself a promise as well that I would run away with you once we both survived, and we did. Welcome to our new home, Levi. That is if you accept.” She explained and stated with a small and embarrassed smile.

“You know I can’t say no to you right four eyes?” He stated as he smiled lovingly at her and reached out to her face. There were no more need for confessions. The two of them already knows it. No more words was to be said for what they have was something that not everybody could have. For what they had was a chance and a miracle.

[dadsbongos]

Alright, so, I'm well aware that the antag series revolves around her and Hajime, but I kinda wanna know more about her relationship with Nagito, Mikan, and Kazuichi during the tragedy and after the neo world program

I'm really hooked to this series, but can you blame me lmao-

i can’t blame you nonny, antag reader series is literally all i think about anymore, literal brain rot. this is basically just like?? a character analysis essay type thing? i’m so sorry it’s so long, i just got soooo into it

Request for: antag reader (Mikan Tsumiki, Kazuichi Souda, Nagito Komaeda) Warnings: despair things, face swap mention, spoilers, manipulation and bad friending :( ~~~

Mikan Tsumiki (and like a pinch of Junko Enoshima):

The Tragedy: So basically the whole thing with (Y/n) is that her parents were just so overcritical to the point where it rooted her complex and felt like they never loved her, right? So basically, Junko was able to attack that by showing her the bare minimum affection and introducing Mikan into the mix, who was in a similar boat with being unloved. Junko made them both feel as though she was the best love they could ever have and then made them compete for it at any opportunity she could.

Mikan always loved Junko but she doesn’t love (Y/n) the same way and vice versa, despite that, they do both care for each other very deeply. They desire no relationship in each other and even view each other as rivals who happen to find somewhat of a friendship together. Mikan thinks, and always has, that (Y/n) is much more talented and worthy of Junko than she is. However, (Y/n), being deeply insecure far below the surface - never stopped thinking that Mikan was more beautiful and worthy of Junko than she was.

They find both comfort and hatred in each other due to Junko making them act as competition. They both know the pain of Junko’s rejection but they also both know that if the other was out of the way, they could have Junko all to themselves.

When (Y/n) found out Mikan took Junko’s womb, it was a betrayal due to the fact that she didn’t know beforehand, Mikan had never said anything about taking Junko’s uterus. And on top of that, she found out that Mikan had tried conceiving a despair child during their separation. Even though neither of them loves each other, they know their relationship can be viewed as lovers - they often view it as such themselves - and so, (Y/n) felt as though Mikan had cheated on her. She basically had. Even so, she still knows that nothing could make her hate Mikan, she doesn’t love her as she did Junko, but she loves her more than any other woman she’d ever known. Mikan is the only grounding she’s ever known and the only person to ever relate to her on such an intimate level.

Going back to the feeling of Mikan being prettier than her, (Y/n) stole Junko’s face entirely because of that feeling of inferiority. She never told Mikan because she was ashamed to admit that she was insecure, it would make her imperfect to be insecure.

Overall, she’s never loved Mikan as a girlfriend but they’ve always been all the other had during The Tragedy despite their ‘rivalry’ and insecurities surrounding the other.

After Neoworld: (Y/n) is definitely nervous to be around Mikan because of their history with each other and Junko. Before Mikan wakes up from the program she’s constantly worried about if the nurse will hate her or be disgusted by her. The way Mikan had treated her right before her execution hinted at some tenderness buried beneath discontent, but that could always change. When Mikan wakes up she immediately looks for (Y/n) on pure instinct.

They definitely try to help each other heal and cope with Junko’s manipulation and lies. They both have come to realize that Junko never loved either of them and they didn’t love each other - any of the comforts they had gathered in The Tragedy was a lie and they help each other through that realization.

“You’re more than what she made you.” is a common phrase between them because they know she only made them compete for her own entertainment and their despair.

It was cruel and they have to live with every emotional and physical scar from that time. But they still have each other.

Any sense of rivalry has dripped away from their bond and is now wholly intertwined by genuine friendship and connection. By their experiences and how they’re growing away from Junko and into themselves. Eventually, all their conversations stop being about Junko and healing and start being about a pretty shell Mikan found on the beach. Or how the water looks so inviting, they should go for a swim.

Or how the chairs need repainting.

Or how some flowers outside the front door would be lovely.

Or how good breakfast was this morning.

Kazuichi Souda:

The Tragedy: Kazuichi wasn’t as “enamored” with (Y/n) as he was Sonia, but he respected her Ultimate and higher intelligence enough to also refer to her as ‘miss’ when they went to school. Though he largely stopped calling her ‘Miss (Y/n)’ during The Tragedy he still respects her a lot and is even a little scared of her sometimes. Again, she’s way smarter than he is - she’s not a super genius like Izuru but she’s a smart cookie and he’s not so delusional to think he’s near her in intellect. So the fact she can copy his Ultimate status and be smarter than most people in their class is quite intimidating for him at times.

Because of the confidence she projects and her charisma and, again, higher intelligence than his, he often follows her word and example without much thought. Like if he saw her jump off a cliff, he would probably go along with it because he knows she probably has some plan to get out of the situation safely.

(Y/n) views Kazuichi sort of as a little brother - but one that follows you around like a puppy and always bugs you. She doesn’t expect much other than blind support from him and kind of accepts that he’s her “sidekick” so to speak. They didn’t view each other as equals or even true comrades - (Y/n) was always just better and that went unquestioned. She definitely used him to gain without putting much thought into the long-term of their relationship.

After Neoworld: Kazuichi had regained his memories in chunks as they left the program and at least could recall being so-called friends with (Y/n). When they awoke, they didn’t talk to each other that often since Kazuichi was extremely bitter about how she’d treated them all in the program (and him as a Remnant) and so she was left alone with Hajime.

It’s only as she actually begins healing and expressing more humane traits that he starts talking to her again. Neither apologizes for anything specific, they just aren’t those kinds of people and both parties can let it go easy enough - they’d both done horrific things and they know that. He invites her into his warehouse to take apart the Monokumas, he offers to go on walks along the beach with her - he finds it nice to be in her presence again.

Because even after what they’d been through, I feel like he does still deeply respect her due to her talent. He just also has gained more confidence in himself while in the program and therefore has more sense to not let her control his actions. Which, he finds that she hasn’t tried doing and that always encourages him to keep coming back.

Kazuichi thrives on positive feedback and (Y/n) knows this, so every time she can she’s expressing how much he means to her as a dear companion - both of them being hesitant to actually label themselves friends. Especially Kazuichi, who had already been hit by poor friendship and trust issues, remembering that (Y/n) used him during The Tragedy makes his brain go fuzzy on how he feels about her. Sometimes he’s angry and other times he forgives her wholeheartedly because he knows she’s sick and he wants her to be able to maintain the friendships that he’s able to.

I think it’s after she apologizes to everyone, pre-Nagito waking up but post Gundham and Nekomaru, that he really just lets go of everything.

It’s not easy to forget that he was just her tool but he knows that she’s better now and they start hanging out more often, by themselves, having a good ol’ time talking about absolute nonsense.

Respect turns into admiration.

Nagito Komaeda:

The Tragedy: So I’d already mentioned that (Y/n) influenced him into becoming Servant, but I wanna expand on that before digging into anything else. At heart, Nagito is a people pleaser to the Ultimates, and none more than the copycat who can master pretty much anything she wants. During their school years, she didn’t see anyone as her equal and that resonated with Nagito’s inferiority complex and while she hates people who have no confidence, she would hate to be like everyone else more. So she kinda just accepted the servitude that came with befriending Nagito on the first day of school up until The Tragedy where he practically begged her to take him with her wherever she went.

She was the first one to really hold onto his chain, both literally and metaphorically. He joined the Ultimate Despair with Junko to create a despair to overcome, but only (Y/n) was allowed to actually touch him - or else he started throwing a huge fit. 

In order to spread despair and crush Nagito’s everlasting obsession with hope, she probably intentionally ignores and neglects him when he needs her.

This largely means when he’s mourning/remembering his parents and dog or his illnesses or when he’s falling into despair and needs her to pull him out, she’s just watching and doing nothing.

In fact, when Nagito had brought up his plans to join the Warriors of Hope he was really hoping she’d speak against it, and she didn’t. She actually encouraged it. Pushing him to leave her alone and join the WOH. It hurt, of course, it would, but he left all the same and they hadn’t spoken since despite their ‘friendship’. (Y/n) never bothered going after him, again to crush his love of hope. 

She left him unhinged, alone, sick to fend for himself until he found the WOH, and even when he found them - she didn’t seem to care whether they let him live or killed him.

After Neoworld: Honestly? To say that she mourns Nagito, and her entire relationship with Nagito, is a huge fucking understatement. Especially as the others begin waking up and Hajime helps her grow, she just gets more and more depressed over her situation with Nagito. And as he takes longer and longer to wake up, she begins to accept that she was horrible to him and doesn’t deserve his forgiveness.

Before The Tragedy even, since they’d met. She always treated him with as little human respect as she could - she did it with everyone but especially him. He was basically just a little errand boy she liked to talk to and she didn’t treat him as more. During their time in despair, she was barely around for him, only holding him together when the others pushed her to do it because he was being annoying. She was so awful to the man she always claimed was her closest friend. And she wants him to hate her for it so bad.

Then he wakes up and he sees her and he smiles. He could never hate her and it only makes her feel worse.

Nagito sees how much she’s changed and he begins changing too, she tells him about how Hajime has helped her so much and he begins to follow her around with Hajime. She’s worried he’ll consider himself her lapdog again but it’s cleared up when he doesn’t run to her side one morning out of the few left before they leave.

In fact, it’s when he doesn’t speak to her for hours on end she realizes that every interaction they had was under his free will and choice. 

He doesn’t do her chores for her. She doesn’t watch him fall apart silently. They talk like friends do. Not about how talentless people are worthless or how hope is all that matters but about how they can’t wait to rebuild their favorite hangout spots and make better memories there together.

They sort of have an unannounced “restart” where they just wipe the slate clean, mostly on (Y/n)’s part so she can treat Nagito how he deserves. As a true friend rather than a pawn.

[southslates]

we fell in stages / ao3 / 1474 words / one-shot / canon-compliant / kanej, one sided kaz/jesper, inej & jesper / rated T

Inej didn’t need to ask Jesper if he liked Kaz. It was obvious. He knew he was obvious. He couldn’t see the boy’s stupid face without having a heart attack, and that fact pained him.

Jesper knew Inej was good at uncovering secrets, so perhaps his ill-wanted crush wasn’t as clear as he thought it was, still. He hoped it wasn’t. He didn’t know how he would face the belief that Kaz knew how he felt about him and didn’t care—or used him for it.

All the Saints.

He loved Inej, but he hated it was Inej. He loved her and all that she was but he resented her for having Kaz. Because she had him—neither of them knew it, but Jesper knew both of them well enough. It was always Inej at Kaz’s windows, in his rooms, walking through the streets with him at night. It was always Inej who Kaz’s eyes traced over the rooftops, it was always her who he chose to be alone with.

Kaz Brekker was a terrible guy. Jesper knew it, and that had drawn him in towards him in the first place, had him say yes to the deal Kaz had attempted to strike with him. But he was attractive and his ruthlessness had its own kind of charm. But then Jesper grew to learn that confidence was not callousness. For a long time he’d had his doubts that Kaz was even human.

But of course he was—of course—Inej—

And Inej was perfect for Kaz. That pained even more. Inej and Kaz fit together in ways nobody else in the Dregs did—they could speak with their eyes and just their lips. They could speak facing away from each other. Wherever Kaz went, Inej followed—and though the bastard of the Barrel would be loath to admit it, the opposite was true too.

“Why?” Inej asked Jesper, leaning on his bunk. She was fluid as water, and they were talking about the raid they’d led the previous night on a house in the Geldin District. Kaz had wanted documents from a mercher’s house, some kind of correspondence, and he and Inej had gone to find them while Jesper stayed outside as backup, twirling his guns in the nightlight. The roles made sense—he would have been terrible at committing the crime—but seeing them both disappear up a window together made his heart pound.

He'd comforted himself with the fact that Kaz was a monster and that Kaz could feel nothing. He needed to stop pining for someone who wasn’t capable of returning his feelings. It had been fine. He had been coping.

And then on the way back they’d been quietly bantering, the three of them, in a way they were almost prone to do. Kaz had said something about Ghezen and kruge—his true loves—and Inej had shook her head at him, said something disparaging about religion, and fell while she was staring at him.

Kaz didn’t move to pick her up. Kaz Brekker wouldn’t do that. But his eyes tracked all her limbs as she lifted herself off the ground, as though checking if she was safe, and then flew to her face when she laughed the blunder off. Inej turned away after that, but Jesper saw the look in Kaz’s eyes as he followed the light sound of her voice.

They almost softened. He hadn’t seemed like a monster in that moment. He seemed like a teenager, as though he could follow that sound for the rest of his days.

Jesper had felt a bullet in his chest, because Kaz was his best friend, but he had never looked at Jesper that way. Kaz hadn’t seemed to notice—or care—about his attitude for the rest of the night, but Inej noted his sullen behavior. And now she was here.   

“What?” he reclined on his bed and twirled his pistol around once. Inej sat in the corner, legs crossed, facing the door. She was always ready for someone to come for her—that was the life she had with Kaz. He thought about the coil of her hair and the fondness he felt for her, as a sister. He thought about everything but what she meant.

“What happened last night, Jesper?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m aware Kaz is severely lacking when it comes to emotional intelligence—”

“And you’re that for him.”

Inej’s dark brow twisted. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing—I just—nothing happened, alright. Do you want to go—”

She took out a knife and tapped it against the ground. It wasn’t a threat, just a quirk—like him pulling out his revolvers—but it made Jesper take in a deep breath. “Jesper.”

“Yes?”

“Speak to me.”

“I am.”

She seemed disappointed. “You were angry at Kaz last night.”

“Aren’t you? Aren’t we all? Perpetually?” he tried.

She stepped forward and onto the bed with him, pressing a calming, warm hand to his thigh. She reminded him of his mother, in a way. Their presences felt familiar. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He gave up. “You know, already,” he groaned. “Do I have to say it?”

Inej loved words, far more than Kaz did. She never showed him anything—she said what she felt out loud. She was nothing like Kaz in that regard, and Jesper knew she could do so, so much better than a scheming, dark, monstrous man with dirty hands. He wanted to tell her that, but he couldn’t. Not when he wanted the same.

“No,” Inej said. “You don’t have to say it.” She reached out for his hand and held it, and Jesper wanted to cry. It did look like his mother’s, against his skin. It felt like peace. And for a moment Jesper took in the gravity of his ridiculous, stupid life. He liked the worst criminal in the Barrel. His best friend was a spy. He was a murderer.

He used his other hand to twist his guns. He’d left his father behind and now he just wanted to feel wanted. He didn’t know why he felt this way for someone who—even if he returned Jesper’s feelings—would be terrible at doing so. Kaz and Inej fit together. He knew it. He’d find someone to fit him, eventually. “I don’t get why it has to be him,” he said miserably. “There’s so many people in Ketterdam and I don’t know why I think about him.”

Inej fit her head against his shoulder. The way she pressed her body calmly to the side of his pistol, trusting him, felt odd and made him want to act hysterical. “I don’t, either.”

“He loves you,” Jesper said. Inej scoffed, but he pressed further. “He doesn’t know it, but he does. He cares about you.”

“He doesn’t know how,” Inej said, but Jesper knew that he’d gotten in her head. He wondered if he could give her all that he felt.

“You deserve better. Than this life, than him, than me.”

“I don’t have him,” Inej told Jesper. “I doubt anyone ever will. He drives me mad,” she admitted. “I don’t know what we’re doing. Either of us. I feel like I’m reading him wrong. I hate it. I feel like he knows everything about me and I have to wring everything from him. I—I don’t have him,” she repeated. Then she bent against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jesper said. “It happens.”

“The Suli like to say,” Inej turned her face to him, “that to love can—”

“I don’t love him,” Jesper said quickly, blushing, glad the blood going to his cheeks wasn’t quite visible. He didn’t love Kaz. He’d thought about it, but he didn’t.

“To feel, then,” Inej almost winced, “can sometimes be worse than the pain of a thousand bullets. It hurts in a different place than a wound. It cannot always be healed. But I know you will be, Jesper. You’re very strong.”

“You’re the best,” Jesper said. He meant it. They sat there for another few hours, and Jesper thought about Kaz’s terrible, beautiful face, the way he limped, how powerful he seemed—he was younger than Jesper—how he was always seeing the world in different dimensions, four steps ahead of everyone else, and yet didn’t understand people so well. “He needs to realize that.”

Inej got up to leave, but before she did she turned to him. “I hope he will. I know who I am.”

Her voice almost cracked and Jesper set his pistols down and laid down in his bed. Kaz and Inej hurt to think about, but he loved them enough to place his own feelings aside for a bit. Resentment had no place here. He could grow past this. He could trust them enough to figure each other out, too.

[s11e17]

thesis 5 is THE sam fic i think about it all the time. 7 and 21 for that one?

WAHHH thank u anon!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 and thank u for the ask!!

7: Were there any ideas you had for [Thesis 5] that you couldn’t make work? What were they?

Thesis 5 was originally going to have a young!Sam pov conversation outside the bunker in addition to the conversation that's in the final fic, but I couldn't really make it work without being repetitive. I scrapped that conversation and took pieces of it to fit into young!Sam's inner monologue in the Castiel section of the fic or into the old!Sam pov conversation outside the bunker. Here are some excerpts that didn't make it into the final draft:

Christ. Sam heads out the garage door for some air. Fuck Kansas. Fuck Kansas and its shitty gray springtime skies. He drinks his coffee and looks out at the field next to the bunker and thinks about taking a bus. He misses public transit. He misses fucking going to a cafe and doing readings on his laptop. He misses his life. After all those years— after all those years of Dad pushing them around, and doing God knows what to Dean when he thought Sam wasn’t looking, and putting a gun in Sam’s hand and telling him where and when to shoot— he’d gotten out.

Sam drinks his coffee. The warmth doesn’t do a damn thing for him. Fuck. He thought he was free.

“Hey.” It’s the guy who’s supposed to be him in fifteen years. Sam turns around.

He’s not much taller than Sam, maybe only an inch or two. But he looks so different. His haircut’s shitty, first off. And he’s kinda— he’s broader than Sam is now. He looks like he put on a ton of muscle and then lost it, and it left him wiry and mean.

Sam… Sam hates him.

“Mornin’,” Sam mutters, turning back to the road.

The guy shifts in his peripheral, and then steps forward, closer to Sam’s line of sight. “How— how— how’re you, how’re you holdin’ up?”

His stupid fucking stutter. Sam doesn’t talk like that. He gets it, this guy’s probably been through some shit, but— fuck, Sam can’t fucking look at the guy. “Fine.” And then, ‘cause he’s not an asshole, “what about you?”

and the original ending (which was just sam and dean, no castiel) was a lot sadder than what came out in the final draft:

Dean finds him in the library when it’s finished. Sam doesn’t feel safe enough to go outside.

“Been lookin’ for the kid,” Dean says, “you see him?”

“He’s gone.” Sam looks at his brother. His brother who raised him, who told him to tie his shoes and who picked him up from the one ill-advised high school party he went to and who ruffled Sam’s hair with bruised knuckles. His brother, who held his hand over Sam’s mouth and put evil inside him because he didn’t know how to live with the hurt of Sam’s absence. Sam sees the long history of a Winchester’s fear in his brother, and he hates him and he loves him for it.

“Well.” Dean clears his throat. He blinks. “Jeez. I— I mean, if I had to pick, I’m—”

“I would’ve picked him.” Sam looks at him, and Dean looks back. They both know each other, now, after Hell. “If we could’ve picked. We both would’ve picked him.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I’m— Jesus, you think I wanted you gone? You really think I’d rather have—”

“But it’s not about you, is it.”

Dean sighs. “Fuck.” He stands there for a second, deciding, and then he sits down across the table from Sam. “That was a mind fuck.”

Sam nods. He thinks about that kid. Thinks about him alone under the sky. He wouldn’t have lasted a day in this world, but he could’ve— he could’ve tried. That kid could’ve tried to put pieces of a life together, could’ve got a new name. He’d been hankering for one anyway. Could’ve split from his past and— he couldn’t have become a lawyer, but he could’ve done something good. Maybe.

“‘Smite with thine hand, and stamp with thy foot, and say, Alas for all the evil abominations of the house of Israel! for they shall fall by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence,’” Sam recites, thinking of it.

They both know their Bible, after all these years. Sam looks at him, and Dean frowns. “Ezekiel?”

“It seems fitting, doesn’t it?” Sam looks at his hands. “A prophet, who becomes the Lord’s watchman and sword. Eating of God and laying waste to his people.”

“Jesus.”

“I hadn’t read the Bible back then.” Sam laughs, suddenly. “I prayed every fucking day, and I hadn’t even read the fucking Bible. I didn’t realize that the first time I read it straight through was— was for the apocalypse. I guess I thought I’d already done it.”

Dean looks at him, confused. “When the hell would you have had time to do that?”

“I don’t know, I just— feels like it’s always, I’ve always been. You know.”

“Hm.” Dean tries, “You know, uh. Fuck, Sam. You— you know I’m glad you’re here.” Then he laughs. “But shit, he was a fuckin’ riot, sometimes. I’m sad he’s gone.”

That kid. That kid who looked at him strange and unpracticed, unused to being on display, as if Dean’s eyes scanning over him was the only touch he knew.

“Hope he’s okay, wherever he is,” Dean says.

Sam shrugs. “He wasn’t real,” he figures. In this world, less real than the Cage, even crueler than Sam’s old faithful, his truthteller, his lightbringer, his Lucifer, that kid was a dream. He never had a chance.

anyway yeah, those are some bits from the first draft which didn't end up working!!

21: If you were a character in [Thesis 5] where would you fit in?

Oh wrow what a question!! I think I would be Cas, or I would be the person who sold Dean a salmon sushirrito. Unless this question is asking where ME aka tumblr user s11e17 would fit into the fic, in which case unfortunately the fic would simply have to become a meta fic where sam learns he has spent his life on display being a puppet for others

[allmights-right-boob]

Not fic: Cursed Twilight addition

So I’m about to have my BNHA rights revoked but I just finished Midnight Sun (at the time when I started writing this) and started thinking about the characters and that Rosalie and Bakugo are weirdly similar so now here I am outlining a Twilight Au that no one asked for (except me but I’m garbage) that I will never write because I can’t focus long enough to write an actual story (fun fact this outline is taking months to complete). To be honest though this is more of a background on all the characters as opposed to an outline of the Twilight story (oops) which may or may not come later. Author’s notes are in parenthesis if you haven’t figured that out.

Basically I’m replacing Twilight characters with BNHA characters, not everyone will have the same back story, it’ll be blended(future me: um so that was a lie). Everyone’s quirks are still mostly the same but as their vampire gift with some variation to fit the word. It still takes place in the Pacific north-west because I’m not super sure if there’s a place as cloudy as there in Japan besides the mountains like Mt.Fuji (but that’s more misty I think) but there’s too many people around places like that I feel. But then again I’m not actually writing this whole fic so you’re welcome to imagine them still in Japan. If I did write this as a fic I would actually do proper research to decide where to put them but meh, this is a not-fic. As it is I’m calling the town it would take place in Forks/Crossroads cause that would be a cool alternative name. The backgrounds take place all over the word but I never actually say where. My bad.

Also if you do read this I love you very much and I am so sorry, this is ramble-y and has way too many run-on sentences and is written as if I were speaking to you as opposed to an actual written story. It’s also taken so long to complete things I wasn’t sure about in the beginning become solidified later but it’s also written out of order so probably reads really bad. Again my apologies.

So the characters are as follows:

The Olympic Coven/Cullens - The Might Coven/Aizawa-Yagis

Carlisle Cullen- Toshinori Yagi

So obviously I made Toshi Carlisle because suave blond everyone loves is both of their MO. Toshi is probably around 500 years old and like Carlisle was turned while hunting vampires. I still want him to have two forms but I’m not entirely sure how to do that within the confines of the Twilight universe. Maybe he was injured in a battle where he literally lost parts of himself and can’t fully heal so he’s become weak but still can’t die? He’s a doctor but might be semi-retired because of his injury, the cover story is an undisclosed chronic illness. He’s also a part time stay at home dad. He definitely used his vampirism to help and protect humans in the past.

Probably had a coven when he was younger with Nana and Torino but Nana was killed and Torino sent Toshi away for his own safety. He may or may not have started out as vegetarian, I can see Nana as veg or only eats bad people, Torino is an eats bad guys type but will eat anyone when pressed. Toshi either started out as a vegetarian before meeting Nana or if she found him immediately and took him in he would go animal based pretty quickly, She always respected his lifestyle. Grand Torino respects it to an extent but now that Toshi is hurt wants him to drink from humans because he thinks it’ll help Toshinori heal or at least be better for his body. He was in his 40s when turned.

Esme Cullen- Shouta Aizawa

It should surprise literally no one that I’m making this Erasermight because I am soft for my boys and anything is an excuse to ship them. Shouta is honestly the person who has taken the longest to work out along with Shinsou. Like so, so, long. These two are also related, they’re cousins or uncle/nephew or something. They’re also the most different from their counterparts, probably because it’s taken so long for me to work their stories out I’ve just completely changed them from original Twilight.

So the time period is really vague with him, it’s either the late 1800s or WWI. Hitoshi was an orphan around the age of 12 and Shouta his guardian is 30-31. Either way there was a war (and I looked at the wars in the second half of the 1800s, it’s just so many wars. What is wrong with this world?) and it could have easily been the civil war (and if so they were Unionist, obviously.) But wherever he and Hitoshi lived there was a war happening and he was probably not in the army at the time, just protecting his home and neighbors. At the same time Toshinori and Izuku were in the area trying to help civilians because wars suck and they’re basically un-killable so they can help and with the chaos of everything if someone started to suspect something of them they could fake their deaths and leave. And they probably did. But while traveling through they stop in a town/village and meet Shouta and Hitoshi.

Shouta is his gruff no nonsense self and Hitoshi is a little in awe of Yagi because this is still pre-injury so he’s this huge imposing man who’s gentle and knowledgeable about medicine. Eventually even Shouta comes around to liking Yagi, who has the nickname All Might because of his strength, even though he thinks his over the top enthusiasm in front of others is exhausting. In private Toshi ends up letting his guard and persona down with Aizawa because he realizes he doesn’t have to keep it up, he doesn’t need to make Aizawa like and trust him the way he does with the others, it’s just natural the way they click. Toshi probably fell in love first, vampires fall in love fast and long and all encompassing in a way that if they were human would be rather unhealthy (and probably is anyway because this is fiction but I don’t really care because this is fiction and I relate to unhealthy love way too much). Shouta was more reserved because he is a cautious man by nature and probably loves in a similar but more healthy way to vampires, long and devoted, but he must be careful to whom he gives his heart. I still don’t think he meant to fall for Toshinori, loving a man in the time that they lived was dangerous and inadvisable if one could avoid it. But Toshinori Yagi is the kind of man one cannot help but loving.

They didn’t tell each other how they felt though. A few months after Izuku and Toshinori’s arrival there was an attack on the town, Hitoshi they found safe but Toshinori caught wind of Shouta’s scent and followed, finding him mortally wounded. Desperate to keep him Toshi turned him and split off from Izuku and Hitoshi while Shouta adjusted to vampire life. They quickly became lovers, though Shouta had a brief stint as a human blood drinker as revenge for the destruction of his village. But it started to test their relationship and in the end Toshi and his own morals were more important to him than human blood. The four of them reunite a year later and they try to keep their relationship a secret but both of the boys figure it out pretty quickly. Izuku accepts it immediately because his dad is finally with someone and is happy while it takes Hitoshi a bit of time because period typical homophobia and it’s going to take a while for Yagi to earn his trust back after turning Aizawa in front of him.

Aizawa has an erasure power same as in canon. Since he doesn’t need to blink he’s a bit op but opponents who are faster than his eyes can track and multiple opponents are his weaknesses. He’s a history teacher at Forks/Crossroads high but purposefully does not have his own kids as students. He’s a mystery to most of his colleagues who probably haven’t even figured out he’s got five kids in the school.

Rosalie Hale- Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo has a pretty similar start to Rosalie but because what happened to her is so awful and  I have problems doing that even to fictional characters that part is different. He’s still a rich kid from the early 20th century, probably turned in the 1920s, but he and his explosive temperament pissed off the wrong people who jumped him in an alley and beat him almost to death, like actually thought he was dead so they left him there (I know this isn’t that much better than what happened to Rose but man she had a horrific end to her human life). He was around 17-18 when he was turned.

While human he had met Dr. Yagi, who was probably treating one of his parents for a chronic ailment, along with his son Izuku and his ‘companion’ Aizawa and Aizawa’s ward Hitoshi. All of the others gave him the creeps but Izuku was a relatively normal boy, a bit younger than himself and accompanied his father when visiting the Bakugos. Their relationship is pretty much the same as canon where Izuku likes Bakugo a lot and Bakugo is nothing but awful to him. They end up with a sort of ‘I hate you but you’re my best friend’ relationship except neither actually hates the other. When Yagi finds Bakugo half dead in an alley he turns him because he was weirdly fond of the angry young man and more so because he thought that the relationship between the two boys was growing into something more, he and Izuku hadn’t talked about it, as he was waiting for his son to come to him, and he didn’t have time to ask. He realizes later that no, Katsuki and Izuku are not star crossed lovers like he and Shouta but he can’t say he regrets turning Bakugo other than Bakugo’s own hatred of being a vampire. He loves his angry son okay.

Bakugo had a life goal which was probably taking over the family business though based off canon that would be fashion and I can’t see him interested in that. Whatever it was he was pursuing it with the same single mindedness that he possesses for heroism and since he can no longer achieve his goals as a vampire he resents it along with the fact that the decision to become a vampire or die a human was taken away from him. He does have a good relationship with Toshinori and Shouta even though he still acts like a brat. His cover story is that he’s Toshinori’s cousin’s son and is an orphan who they took in. He kept his family’s name.

Like a number of vampires Bakugo has a talent or gift. His is his incredibly powerful and dangerous explosion ability. He can cause explosions from his palms. So far the League has not discovered him but everyone worries that one day they will and the Might Coven will be hunted and slaughtered for Bakugo’s power.

Emmett Cullen- Eijirou Kirishima

Sometime around the 1930s  Bakugo was hunting and found a bleeding almost dead Kirishima. It was either an animal attack like canon or an accident where he fell off a cliff (that feels like something he would do). I don’t think he decided to turn Kirishima, he just smelled blood and lost control. He’s still ashamed about how he reacted to this day as he’s typically better than that around humans. Luckily the others were hunting with him and were able to pull Bakugo off. He’s never held what Bakugo did against him and his enthusiasm and friendship actually endeared him to Katsuki despite his guilt. Eijirou was turned at 19 and has never had issues with being a vampire, it sucks that he had to leave his human family behind but he loves his vampire one just as much and he got the love of his life out of it. It took awhile but Katsuki and Eijirou eventually admit their feelings and they start dating. They’ve been married a few times now because Bakugo is extra and Eijirou loves confessing his love.

With Kirishima’s gift it doesn’t work the same as in cannon where you can tell it’s activated. In fact they still might not know Kiri has a gift or if they do it’s only a suspicion. He’s just harder than the other marble like vampires. Where the others have almost certainly had mild injuries (mostly from Bakugo’s explosions) like cracks that heal immediately, Eijirou has never been injured as a vampire. At all. He’s also immensely strong, because he was as a human, and that has been enhanced but he’s nowhere near as strong as Toshi was pre-injury. His cover story is he’s a foster kid they took in and he keeps the last name Kirishima.

Alice Cullen- Denki Kaminari

Like Alice Denki spent the end of his human life in an insane asylum (I refer to it as such because these were not hospitals and more like institutions of torture). I honestly can’t figure out if mental health care was so bad in the early/mid 20th century that a 15-16 year old boy with ADHD being sent to one is unrealistic or not. I’m pretty sure it was similar to Alice where he saw something he shouldn’t and was put in it to silence him.( I should probably figure out what that was sometime) Either way that’s where he ended up and of course he had to deal with electroshock ‘therapy’ which both severely messed with his memory and sorta brought out a natural resistance and even control over electricity, so he had to receive stronger and stronger sessions. This manifested in Denki’s electric power when he was turned into a vampire.

While hunting in the woods surrounding the institution, Hitoshi spotted Denki in the window and was instantly taken by the boy with eyes as golden as his inhuman family’s. He would make trips by the asylum just to get a glimpse and eventually took a night job there to meet him against his family’s advice. When they met Denki recognized him despite how careful, and honestly far away, Hitsohi had been and instead of being creeped out he was happy just to make a new friend. They would talk as long as they could and Hitoshi would bring Denki little bits of the outside world like flowers or decent snacks. And he would take care of Kaminari when his ‘therapies’ would leave him incapacitated and the nursing staff would neglect him.

Even after his family moved away to a location where the weather suited them better Hitoshi stayed working at the asylum not willing to leave Denki to his fate there (And to note this is around the time the others realized how serious Hitoshi’s feelings are and start planning how to help Kaminari or bring him into the family. Before this they were starting to suspect but kinda thought he was being weird about a guy he saw in a window. To be fair though he was being weird about a guy he saw in a window.) One night after an ice bath ‘treatment’ Denki developed a fever and over the course of a few days had full blown pneumonia. In his delirium he confessed his feelings to Shinsou who reciprocated and decided he would steal Denki away when he knew the trip back to his family wouldn’t kill the sick boy. Of course being a poorly run and over populated institution his condition was overlooked and ignored especially since a ‘specialist’ was coming to perform procedures on several patients, aka some guy with no degree was going to lobotomize as many people as he could fit into one day. Shinsou didn't find out until he came in that night and found out Kaminari was already in the procedure room. He flipped out and killed most of the staff there and took a severely injured Denki home to Toshinori in the hopes of saving him.

The change seemed to take longer than it had for the others but does end up working, though when he finally comes to Denki is much more quiet and subdued and remembers almost nothing about his past. All he knows is his name, Hitoshi’s name, and that he loves him. He also has weird headaches periodically for decades later and slowly becomes more like himself before the lobotomy. He never fully recovers his memories, a bit here and a piece there, all moments shared with Hitoshi. He decides he doesn’t need the rest, everything he needs is here and in his future with his family.

His cover story is typically as a foster kid so he keeps his last name Kaminari. Sometimes he decides to change things up and goes as a Yagi or even Bakugo’s brother when Katsuki is feeling generous.

Jasper Hale- Hitoshi Shinsou

Hitoshi’s early years were spent in his small town or village (I think the difference is size but I’m american and I don’t think we have villages no matter how small a place is so...) Everything was uneventful up until the war, I don’t know which war, civil war in US or WWI in Europe, but around the age of 12 his village was destroyed, his guardian was turned into a vampire and he had to go live with Izuku while Aizawa learned to manage his bloodlust. During that time he and Izuku grew really close and even now they have the most brotherly relationship out of all the siblings.

So after a year the four reunite with a vampire Shouta and an overly protective Izuku and a very weary Hitoshi. Everything goes on as it did for Toshinori and Izuku before they split but now with their two new additions. Yagi gives Hitoshi the best education he can without sending him to boarding school although they had discussed it. They were in a precarious position with a human boy knowing their vampire secret and they couldn’t run the risk of news getting back to the League, the governing body of vampires run by a mysterious head known only as All for One.

Years pass but unfortunately news of the Might Coven’s human pet gets back to the League and due to past history involving Nana and Toshi, AfO comes himself to deal with the situation and brings his two most powerful underlings, his adopted son and second in command Tomura Shigaraki and . A fight between Yagi and All for One happens and AfO rips out a piece of Toshi’s side and Toshi ends up crushing AfO’s head, killing him (maybe but probably not). Tomura, who had been fighting against Shouta and Toga who battled Izuku, realize they can’t win.

Now the vampire known as All Might is pretty popular amongst his kind but the Might Coven was at the time nowhere near strong enough or influential enough to fill the void that would be left by the dissolution of the League, which would happen if they killed all three of the vampires there. So they took a gamble and spared Shigaraki and Toga thinking their loyalty to AfO was limited, since most vampires don’t form bonds the way ‘vegetarians’ seem to, and that they would be happy with their promotion. They also agreed at Hitoshi’s insistence that he would be turned so they would no longer have a human knowing the secret about vampires. So Yagi turns Hitoshi and they let Toga and Shigaraki go and continue about their lives as much as they can with Toshinori’s injury.

Just like the rest of his family, Shinsou's quirk is the same as canon. If someone answers his question he can control their minds. It’s probably a little stronger than in canon too, at least against humans. Vampires have better resistance. His cover story is the most truthful, he’s Shouta’s orphan relative. He sometimes takes on Aizawa’s last name though in this school he decided to use his original.

Edward Cullen- Izuku Midoriya

The more I plot this out the more I’m taking Twilight, stripping it down to the bare outline, and making it into something totally different. Like the only similarities are Izuku and Shoto’s relationship follows Bella and Edwards, somewhat. Izuku is the tanned skinned, freckled, green eyed boy in a family of pale golden eyed outsiders. He seems completely human even to other vampires, til you get him in the sunlight where he literally shines.

I’m not sure when Izuku was born, maybe the 1700s, but he was still the first of the Might Coven besides Toshinori. Sometime after Nana’s death Toshi finds an ailing pregnant woman named Inko Midoriya who’s bizarre husband still hasn’t come home from his business trip to a foreign country. She’s convinced she is going to die before he returns and her pregnancy is so hard and so seemingly fast but her baby feels strong enough to survive so she begs Toshinori to please take care of her son till his father returns. Inko dies before she can give birth to her baby so Toshinori takes the baby out himself as a last ditch effort but there’s something not right, not with the baby or the amniotic sac that’s almost as hard as Toshinori himself. And when the sun shines through the window Toshinori’s arm glimmers and so does the new born baby. Dread at the thought that he’s holding an immortal child wells in him but he’s never heard of an immortal child being born and he’s especially never heard of a vampire with a heart beat. So against his better judgement he takes the child and runs, he can’t wait for Inko’s husband, and he can’t risk someone seeing the child and reporting back to the League. So he and Izuku, a name Inko had picked out before her death, stay on the run for years as the boy grew until he was at an appropriate age to be around at least vampire kind. Conveniently the half vampire boy doesn’t need blood to survive and seems to have very little if any bloodlust at all. Or so it seemed.

Now some differences I’m making will be Izuku’s aging. I know Rennesme ages fast and stops when she looks 21-25 but I’m thinking Izuku either ages very slowly or stopped when he looks closer to 15-18? Probably the first one. Also I think male half-vamps have red/gold eyes but Izuku has green because I said so.

His cover story is that he's Toshinori’s son from a previous relationship. They tried to call him a foster child in the past but they’re too close and Izuku uses Toshinori’s given name and dad interchangeably. He likes to use his mom’s last name as a way to honor her. Not every school but it is a pretty common thing for him to do and he’s using it in Forks/Crossroads this year. He doesn’t seem to have a gift but he’s a half vampire, his presence is a gift.

Humans

Bella Swan- Shoto Todoroki

Time for ‘technically main character number two but I preferred everyone else in Twilight over Edward and Bella so he and Izuku get put down lower on the list’. So Todoroki and Bella’s similarities are: new kid comes to live with other parent after the parent they lived with got married. I really don’t think there’s a lot else similar? But Bella doesn’t have that much back story to begin with.

So Shoto’s parents grew up in Forks/Crossroads but moved somewhere sunnier before he was born. He grew up in a city, maybe Phoenix (almost certainly Phoenix for the name alone). His parents had an unhappy marriage but I honestly don’t think it was full on abuse, I feel like Enji still neglected them but never physically or verbally hurt anyone. And since Shoto moves back in with Rei I don’t think she gave him his scar either, I think it was an accident where young Shoto pulled maybe a hot kettle onto himself? It probably was the catalyst for his parents divorce but ultimately that was happening either way. Both parents blamed the other for his accident but I think the courts realized it was just that, an accident, maybe some negligence (I don’t really know how custody courts work and what happens when a kid gets hurt and this isn’t a real fic so I’m not researching) but either way Enji gets Shoto (maybe all the kids but Rei gets visitation, comes down for the summer like Charlie? Kids go up there for vacation and holiday? Or split the kids 50/50? No idea this is still more backstory than Bella got) Enji is still a workaholic and Toya ends up running away/leaving probably shortly after the divorce anyway and Fuyumi and Natsuo eventually leave for college and are still closer to Rei even if they lived with their dad.

So when Enji gets remarried Shoto asks to move in with his mom since she’s all alone and Enji wouldn’t be and ‘wouldn’t it be nice to just be two newly weds with the house to themselves’. He makes a very convincing case and Enji is trying to let his youngest make his own choices so he agrees. Shoto moves north and it isn’t the worst, he likes both the heat and the cold unlike his parents, Rei hates the heat and Enji hates the cold. School is weird because people actually want to be his friend; there’s a group of stoic, pale, intimidating students he’s 90% sure are vampires; and there’s a  beautiful boy who hangs out with them who looks partially horrified and disgusted by him, or like he wants to eat him alive, literally.

Renee Dwyer- Enji Todoroki (Technically)

So I ended up making Enji considerably less awful.

After the divorce Enji figures out his sexuality and eventually starts dating a much younger model who goes by Hawks after he saves him from a burning building (Enji is a firefighter). Shoto offers to move in with Rei after Hawks and Enji get married, he has nothing against Hawks and they get along as well as can be expected but they are newly weds and Enji might be going into semi retirement to travel with Hawks for his career. And the thought of being around his dad so much, who can get a little overbearing when not working, is just not something Shoto wants to deal with. Though it is weird his dad is married to someone so much younger, Shoto knows several other people in his class in Phoenix whose dads did similar and they cheated on their wives and didn’t even have a sexuality crisis in their forties so he’s letting his dad slide on this. Shoto definitely has a better relationship with Enji in this than canon Shoto but they don’t have Enji’s shity eugenics baggage here either. Overall Enji in this is just a neglectful workaholic who’s learning to work on himself with the guidance of the love of his life and is letting Shoto make his own decisions like living with his mom and this is all growth.

Charlie Swan- Rei Todoroki (Technically)

So Rei after the divorce moves back home because she hates Phoenix and hot weather. Maybe she gets custody in the summer or has Fuyumi and Natsuo since Toya took off and they split the kids? (I still haven’t decided how the custody went with those two but they don’t live in Forks/Crossroads or Phoenix so it doesn’t matter.)

After returning home she either started working at or opened up a yarn shop, I see her enjoying needle craft and she’s definitely not a sheriff type. She’s just a quiet, keeps to herself woman with a few close friends; children mostly grown and just happy to spend more time with her youngest.

Phil Dwyer- Keigo Takami

He’s a model who gets saved by Enji when his apartment burns down. He offers to take Enji to dinner and keeps offering to reward him until at Moe’s insistence Enji agrees. They hit it off and the rest is history.

Things I would have said in the tags but there’s a limit so I put the actual important stuff there and ramblings here:

It took me three weeks to finish this (midnight sun) audiobook. I literally drive for a living and couldn’t finish it in less than the entirety of my library rental time. Jake Able deserves more money.

I have read twilight three times now and it never gets easier. Yes I do have terrible taste.

I hope someone reads this. It took like three months to finish this post. I still have so much in my head. I haven’t even started talking about the League. Please ask questions, I want to actually write this but my brain won’t let me write full fics so this is what we get.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

If Bombshells ever returned, maybe to explore the aftereffects of the war. Here are some superheroines and supervillainesses that could join the fight into the new era. The Cold War.

Jesse Quick; Jesse would totally join the families providing their homes to the displaced Jews of Europe while at the same time protecting her city from all sorts of crime. But her storyline might come with learning that in her need to help everyone and solving everyone's problems since she has the technology and the privlege, well... kinda appears as a white savior. At least to Lisa Snart which brings me to... 

Golden Glider: Well I think we can all guess that Lisa has a Jewish-like last name and while her big bro, Captain Cold, Leonard was working with the Nazis, I am so arguing that he was just conveinately converting in order to save his skin and his sister's. Anyway with her brother in jail and Europe in shambles after the war, Lisa can travel to America with other displaced Jews. Some families were kind enough to "foster" these peoples which is where Jesse comes in. Well Lisa isn't the type to accept the "pity" and dislikes how priviliged a life, Jesse leads. Then comes a whole new yet classic Flash vs the Rogues rivalry.  

Nyssa ah Gul: How can we forget another misplaced Jew. Well not Jew but Ra ah Gul's other daughter, Nyssa, whose entire adopted family died in the concentration camps while Ra was off whatevering with the Lazerus Pit. But since Ra's long gone from the picture, I suppose Nyssa will have to seek answers from Talia about why she didn't try to help her or contact her after finding out they were sisters. 

Mya: Meanwhile after WWII, India is revving up for a revolution after being used and abused by the British Empire in a war they didn't even want to be in. And after being in the war, STILL treated like second class citizens. That's why Myra, prodigy of Shiva is up to lead a revolution for her people.

Gypsy: Let’s not forget about all the other groups that Nazis were prejudiced against. Cynthia Reynolds or "Gypsy" as the SS slurred against her and her Romanian family. But with Europe's landscape in disarray, Cynthia can use her earth-bending powers to help and educate people that she is more than the fortune telling, pick pocketing stereotype that the world believes.

Volcana: Now I know we didn't really get into Italy's part in WWII, but someone with volcano powers would totally be working in Italy, specifically Pompeii. The one issue is that, like in her origin story, she was working for Mussolini against her will and the Italian still wants their "super weapon" under lock and key in case of WWIII. 

Thorn: Meanwhile the late 40s-early 50s is totally not a time to be woman with a mental illness. Especially when the "understanding" doctors try to lobtomize you. So Roselyn Forrest's double personality disorder is a big problem in her life. Especially since her second personality is a scythe weilding maniac and her uncle wants to put her in an institution. Added to the fact that she is still suffering under Irish discrimination. Hopefully the Batgirls can help, not only change child labor laws, but views on mental illness too.  Giganta: A gorilla turned into a girl. Why shouldn't that be an experiment by the crazy Americans or Russians in a way to beat each other as the world superpower. Well technically the Russians wanted to send a gorilla into space and beat the Americans, but they thought a woman astronaut (or as they called cosmonaut) would make them look better. (All true look up Valentina , first woman in space). But besides being part of the space race, Giganta can bring spotlight to Africa where she was born, and which is being divided by the major world powers for exploitation. 

Crimson Fox: Constance D' Amis, French heiress would be part of the small army of woman workers during the YALTA conferance trying to get their say into how to rebuild Europe for the benefit of all. Who knows, maybe she even talked to Selina Delgatti. Hey French heiresses and Italian heiresses must know each other. Plus she expels hormones that can make anyone under her thrall which leads me to...

Queen Bee: Another pheromone expelling woman. A villainess though. Africa wasn't the only one being exploited and colonized. The former Ottoman Empire was being exploited for its oil and Lebenon is taken over by the French (Basically ample reason for Constance to go to Lebenon and fight Queen Bee). And the former queen is certainly not above going to the Russians to fight the US/Europe to get her country back. Or just team up with Lex Luthor to take down Supergirl and get her country back. I just imagine Lex and --- to be like an evil Mr.Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet okay. All suave, witty banter. It makes sense in my head.

Catherine Colbert: A bit like Lois Lane, Catherine is an everygirl. Well if the everygirl was a daughter of an dimplomat and had her sights on making a name for herself in NASA and trying to avoid the pressures of mysgonistic men that woman aren't fit for government. Being told that she is too emotional and should stay in the kicthen, Catherine rebelled by becoming a stone faced, cutting ice queen in the diplomacy track and also a horrible cook. Artemis and Cheshire: I'm taking a bit from the YJ story in that Artemis and Cheshire are half-french, half-Vietnamese. Since their abusive father was loyal to the Nazis, he disowned them and cast off their Vietnamese mother in Japanese concentration camps. While Artemis made it to America and tried to stay on the good ol American democratic way (while fighting petty looters in the streets of Gotham as one does), Cheshire went to Vietnam where she works as an assasin, for the communists and the non-communists. It doesn't matter to her as long as she gets paid. But times are changing in Vietnam as the fights about communism between the North Vietnamese and South escalate. 

Lady Blackhawk: Zinda Blake, hero of WWII and the Blackhawk brigade comes home to nothing. No money. No pension. No respect. Life as a veteran has no perks since no one has money to pay in Europe. Plus she'd still be trying to adjust to civilian life after nonstop combat and the inevitable PTSD while the Germany she loved is split into two. Hopefully Rudi and Helen will help to keep her in a safe place until she can get back on her feet.  Miss Martian: While I don't know whose in Harley, Ivy and Viktoria's circus, I feel like Miss Martian would find a safe haven there. While she did not experience the WWII, she did experience a similar prejudice and genocide on Mars being a white martian so I bet she can help with reprations. Or just join Starfire on the fire squad...wait nevermind. Fire is Martian weakness. Well at least have her and Starfire being alien girlfriends exploring the strange Earth world together.

Rocket: Again, haven't had the joy of reading the final vol of Bombshells United so I don't know exactly what Bumblebee has been up to nor the racism she had probably experienced. But Raquel would be in a similar boat. An African American teen in an unjust pre-Civil Rights movement society with the added difficulties of teen mom hood. I really want some spotlight on her whether she joins the Batgirls or strike out on her own or helps Icon just like in the comics.

Mercy Graves: Alongside Lex wherever he is, I want a similar debut to what Mercy did in JL. Mercy takes over LexCorps during Luthor's absence, absolutely crushes it and makes it more of a success than Luthor ever did because she is not obsessed with the Kryptonian heroes. Maybe she even teams up with Waller? Who knows? Or even have two heads, Mercy Graves and Lena Luthor, making millions and making plans, evil or no, always ending on top.

Silver Banshee: A woman whose screams causes people to age. How they could NOT use her in a war, I do not know. But I picture Siobhan's arc going something like after her family dies in battle or something or other, she taps into her genetic banshee powers. Fueled with grief/cynicsm/vengeance she travels around the Iron Curtain, causing death since death is a mercy compared to living in destitute misery.

Plastique and Roxy Rocket: One is a Canadian explosives expert, another just really, really loves rockets. Both would be very useful on either side of the Cold War. They're traditionally illanesses so I could see them as double agents like Cheshire, working for whoever pays the most for their time.

Roulette: Roulette’s big thing is gambling on illegal cage fighting activities. Well lets up the ante by having her big gamble being stoking US/Russian tensions. After all the longer the war goes on, the more she gets paid for her information on the other side, her contacts for weapons, her spies etc. She'd be rolling in dough, and loving it even when under threat of nuclear destruction.

Fire and Ice: No idea how the heck they would fit in to a post WWII world. But let's suppose they want to escape Brazil and Antartica respectively to be able to help out in the aftermath after doing nothing during the war. Jessica Cruz and Aresia vs Star Sapphire Meanwhile with Hal Jordan out of the picture, let's have the infamous Green Lantern vs Star Sapphire rivalry again.

Lady Shiva: Street fighter, assassin, mother of the future Batwoman, Cassandra Cain. Lady Shiva must be part of the Cold War. She is bit of a anti-hero so I doubt anyone would know where her loyalties truly lie, but she'd be on the side of whoever her daughter wishes to protect.

Cassandra Cain: The new Black Bat, continue Katy Kane's work, and the Batgirl's work, and all the work that needs to be done after WWII. She's the new heroine.

[guidedbynors]

Quest RPG Adventure: The Realer of Two Worlds

Premis/Setting

The Realer of Two Worlds Takes place in any mine within your own campaign. It can take place as part of a small town, city, or even Kingdom that is built near a mine as its main source of income and work. It can also be a great starting point for a campaign as long as all the Questers agree to be connected to the mine in some way and have stakes in its continued existence and the profits it provides.

Feel free to name the town and mine anything that fits into your campaign, but for this short module, we’ll call it Phos Mine, named for the Phos Crystals that grow within its depths.

Opening Scene

Start your Questers in the local tavern near the mine, called The Purple Swill. It’s the local watering hole for all the miners, where they all swap tales of cave-ins, things within the deeper shafts that go bump in the night, and other tall tales. For a mine, Phos Mine is a pretty safe job other than the fact that the Phos Crystals project a person’s fears, desires, or needs as phantasms for all to see if touched with bare skin.

As the Questers drink the Purple Swill brew that the tavern is named after, the door to the tavern creaks open and a little girl, no more than 10 years old stands in the doorway. She is dirty and disheveled and looks ill-cared for. She shuffles up to the bar and asks for something to eat, but has no Phos Crystal dust to pay for it. The bartender is a gruff and uncompromising half-ogre who has little empathy or sympathy (if any). He launches into a talk about how nothing in life is free and at some point everyone has to make their way in life as the little girl begins to sob. The half-ogre doesn’t understand humans well and will think the little girl is laughing, as he often forgets that tears are typically a sign of sadness. If someone reminds him of this he’ll launch into another talk about how ogres, and especially half-ogre sweat profusely when they are sad, and he’s never cried in his life because the ogre in him means he has no tear ducts. For all intents and purposes, his name is Chuk.

When the little girl begins to let out a long wailing, Chuk will offer anyone a night's worth of Swill if they get the little human out of the tavern and stop it from making that noise.

(Optional: If you want to toss in some added tension to the quest, introduce an NPC band of adventurers who want that night of free Swill for themselves. When Chuk offers it up, they will try to stake claim to the child and get her out of the tavern, though not to help her. If your Questers are trying to help her, they may run into some competition with this other adventuring party.)

Eemknot Seeintings

The little girl is Eemknot Seeintings, and her father is a well-known miner named Eeam Seeintings. One or more of your Questers might know him. Eeam is well-liked, but some months ago his wife, Eemknot’s mother passed away.

As Questers question Eemknot the little girl will tell them that 10 days ago her father went to work in the mine and never came home. She’s eaten all the food in the house and has only now left because she’s gone hungry for the last day or so.

If/when pressed for details about her father, Eemknot will tell Questers he has been very sad since Mom died. If asked if she’s seen him do anything strange or if has been acting differently, she won’t name anything specific until she gets some food. Once she has something to eat her mind can get off food and she’ll begin to remember bits of information about her father. First, Eemknot divulges that she has seen and overheard her father speaking to himself while at home. When asked further she’ll tell Questers about the purple dust he puts on his food. Phos dust is purple, and the Questers would know this. Lastly, Eemknot will remember that when her father left for work ten days ago, he took a large backpack with him,

Manager Gorbuck

The Phos Mine has many shafts and adjacent tunnels that end in dead ends. Workers are there 24 hours a day, so no matter what time Questers go to the mine there will be a manager in the small office at the entrance.

Manager Gorbuck is a hardy woman of callused hands, grubby cheeks, and a can-do attitude. She spent years down in the Phos Mine until she lost her left eye in a bizarre bowling accident at the local bowling alley. She now is a pencil pusher and time-card tracker at the mine. Despite this, she keeps an eye on pretty much everything going on around the mine, even if she doesn’t know what’s going on below the surface.

When Questers come to speak with her about Eeam, she’ll nod as though she already knows what they’re talking about. She’ll tell them the same thing Eemknot told them. That Eeam went into the mine ten days ago with a big backpack. Reports from other miners are that Eeam went down into the deepest tunnels where there aren’t any lights set up. Gorbuck will just tell the Questers that Eeam is down in one of the deep shafts by himself in the dark, and nobody has been able to get him to come out.

The Phos Mine

The Phos Mine is a busy place with rail cars and workers. If your Questers are miners, they’ll know how to get to the deep shafts, but they may want to stop along the way to ask workers if they’ve seen Eeam and to learn about why he’s in the deep shafts.

The Phos Mine looks like any other mine until Questers come to places that are actively being excavated. In the most active places, Phos Crystals as small as a thumbnail and as large as a head are being dug out of the ground. Every worker wears long sleeves and gloves to protect themselves from the phantasms that will spring from their minds if they touch a Phos Crystal with their bare skin.

If Questers touch a Phos Crystal to their bare skin, it is up to you how you want to handle the event. You can ask the player to describe what phantasm appears or, if you know the character's backstory well, you can use the event to drive some character-centered narrative.

Finding Eeam

Eeam is a chamber which the deepest shaft of the mine opens onto. There are no rail cars that take Questers down the low, and so they’ll have to walk, eventually. They’ll also need to take some form of light with them, whether by magical means or a torch.

Questers will hear Eeam sooner than they see him. His voice echoes in the large chamber he is in and floats up the deep shaft as Questers approach. It sounds as though he’s having a conversation, but as so often happens with echoes it’s difficult for Questers to know what he’s saying until they enter the chamber.

As their light floods the large cave-like chamber they will take in the following:

The chamber is wide and roughly curricular, perhaps 100 feet, give-or-take, in any direction from wall to wall. It has a tall ceiling as well. Near one side of the chamber is a small underground stream. Presumably, this is how Eeam has stayed alive without dying of thirst.

More startling, and perhaps what should be focused on, however, is the scene near the stream. Eeam is bustling around a kitchen that seems completely out of place in the chamber. At a small table is his daughter Eemknot and a woman that could only be his wife, and Eemknot’s mother, Daunt. Eeam is talking to his family, but when the family responds they their mouths move but no sound comes out. However, Eeam seems to understand them. What’s most startling is that wherever Eeam walks, a scene appears for all to see, and the scene behind him fades. It’s as though anywhere he goes a phantasm of his desire is manifested before him, creating a replica of the life he lived before his wife died.

The Solution

In my experience, the best Quest sessions are ones in which questions are posed to players without a clear idea of how they will achieve their goal. In this case, the goal will likely be to get Eeam to see the phantasms for what they are and return to his daughter. While he has chosen to live in a dream world, he will acknowledge Questers and try to make them feel at home as though they are visitors to his house.

There are a few options I can imagine Questers taking. First, they can try to discover the Phos dust Eeam uses on his food, and take it away from him. Second, they can just kidnap him and pull him out of the mine by force. Lastly, they can try to reason with him through clever roleplay and abilities. There are some skills that let Questers dissolve illusions. It’s up to you, the Guide, to decide if this will work on the phantasms. Since they are springing from Eeam himself, there could be a case made that magic won’t work on the phantasms themselves, but only on the person.

Note that if they try to force Eeam to leave his dream world made of self provoked phantasms, the trauma may drive him mad. Instead, it may take something more subtle in order for him to leave--perhaps even bringing the real Eemknot down into the chamber, in order to make Eeam see what he has done to his real daughter.

If Questers are unable to convince Eeam to return to the real world, they may have to find someone to take Eemknot in or adopt her themselves.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #7 - Nonagenarian

AO3 Link HERE

=====

"Where are you going, Nonna?"

Vita bas Laevinus smiled at the eager and upturned face of her young grandson - followed the sharp track of a pale blue gaze half-concealed beneath a forest of pale gold curls - and bent her attention back to lacing up her pattens. 

"Into the woods, dear," she said, "to prepare for tonight's dinner."

"By yourself?"

"And who else would be coming along? Your sisters are still at the schoolhouse and you've your chores to finish."

"Father says women and children mustn't go into the forest alone. There are monsters." The child shifted uneasily from foot to foot, as if he had something to say and not yet enough wherewithal nor courage to say it. "My chores are done, so I'll come with you, Nonna."

"Will you?"

"Someone has to protect you from the monsters."

"That's very brave," she said. "You don't even yet know why I'm going."

"...Are you gathering kindling for the hearthfire? Wait, but no- we have plenty of wood." His little brow knitted, a tiny line indexed from third eye to brow, before a sunny, triumphant smile replaced it. "It would be... would be gratuitous."

With a laugh she reached for the worn wicker basket hanging on the hook next to her shawl.

"Goodness, child, am I to be subjected to yet another of your large words?"

"I read it in one of Octavia's fairy tale books," he said, with an air of practiced indifference. "It means 'unnecessary'."

"Does it?"

"I can spell it, too. Want to hear?"

He was already rattling the letters off, swift and precise, before she could acquiesce. Five going on ninety, Vita thought with no small degree of amusement. The boy had mastered his letters before he was out of diapers and had feverishly consumed the contents of every book he'd laid hand upon since.

Vita ruffled his wild wind-tossed hair. "I'm going mushroom-picking," she said. "You can tell me some more of your words on the road. And if you watch and listen as well as you talk, you'll learn how to find the best caps for eating."

His eyes lit up.

"An adventure!"

"An adventure," she agreed, smiling.

~*~

Three winters passed and Vita was six and eighty.

Three winters had passed since her youngest daughter's death - since she'd come to live with her son-in-law and help care for the children - and she was starting to feel every turn of the seasons deep in her bones. Winter had lingered this year, and her difficulties remained even with the arrival of the warm months.

Safely unseen, watching from the window over her cookstove, Vita uncurled her aching fingers with the unhurried and experimental hesitancy borne of long experience with chronic pain. Her hands didn't hurt half as much as her poor hips; more often the chill left her too lame to forage in the wood alone for fear of falling. But she suspected it would not be so very long before she would be unable to cook the family meals without aid. 

She was starting to slow down for good. It was only to be expected. Happened to everyone eventually, she supposed. Even if she worried what would become of them after she was gone, whenever that might be. 

At least I have a willing and eager young assistant, she told herself, glancing at the boy dutifully slicing a small block of cheese. And that was true enough; her grandson's early promise seemed only to blossom with each passing day, his fine and agile mind paired with a penchant for observation.

Although she wished he would make some friends his own age.

"Don't you want to go play with the other boys, Nero? It's a nice day and everyone else is outside."

"I can't. Father wants me to help him plant the north field, so I'm not to play today." Wiry shoulders lifted and dropped in a single abrupt and listless motion. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to associate with them." 

"Whyever not?"

"...Because they're envious of me," he said, in as flat and factual a manner as she would have expected to hear had he informed her the sky was blue. He rolled up the sleeves of his secondhand dalmatica, faded and oversized, bulky in the waist but already too short in the arms; it was tight about those shoulders, knobby but broad. "Nonna, can you show me how to make your pasta?"

The boy's voice was curiously brisk. Vita's brows arched upwards in a silent question, but the calm and shuttered expression he wore told her she'd get naught else of importance out of him. 

At just eight summers he was already learning how to hide himself from the world. She sighed.

"Yes. But not before you wash your hands." 

"I know." He was already reaching for the water bucket. 

Her gaze sharpened at the sight of his forearms. They were mottled with fingerprint bruises, the marks made by hands much larger than any of his classmates. But before she could remark upon it, his arms dropped to his sides and the voluminous sleeves hid them from sight as he turned away and made a quick exit.

The old door latched shut at his back, and like an errant cloud crossing the path of the sun, Vita's smile faded. ~*~

"He's not taking any bleeding test and that's final." "What? Of course he'll take the placement test. Why wouldn't he?"

"There's no point. He's not going to any blimmin' Academy, either. Long past time he got his head out of the clouds and learned his place in the world." Atticus bas Sceava was well on his way into another stupor. The unlovely paired scents of sweat and stale gin hung around his haggard features like an invisible cloud, his bloodshot grey eyes squinting at her out of sallow sockets. "Anyroad, I need him for the harvest. Eleven summers is plenty old enough for him to start properly earning his keep."

"We can hire extra hands for the harvest if that's what it takes, Atticus."

"Thresher's broken. And I've not the money to hire extra hands, let alone send the boy to some high-priced school in the capitol. He belongs on the land-"

Vita's lips tightened.

"He belongs wherever he wishes to go. If his future is elsewhere then I'll do what needs must to help him find his path."

Her son-in-law drew himself to his full seven fulms of height, looming over the worn surface of the table. She tensed but held her ground; the drink always turned his temper sour but he had always stopped well short of raising a hand against her. "Old woman," he growled, "mind your place and stay out of my affairs. I am the head of this household. You have no right-"

"They are my grandchildren! I have every right."

His teeth bared, like the hackles of a rabid dog.

"You'll hold your tongue if you like it in your head. You've always encouraged him in these fool notions about his tinkering. He's had plenty of book learning -- more than any of his sisters -- and now it's time he learned how to be a man and help run the farm." A petulant sort of animal cunning twisted at his lips. "Besides, there's no one on either side of the mountain knows how to fix a thresher of that make and model. He'll be staying whether he likes it or not."

Vita's expression remained carefully impassive, but as Atticus slumped back into his chair and reached for his bottle, all she could think about was the way her grandson's eyes came alight every time he could do what he loved- and the shuttered coldness in them when he couldn't.

We'll see about that, Atticus, she thought, hobbling away, ignoring the grinding ache from shoulder to wrist as she leaned upon her cane. We'll see about that.

~*~

"Father wasn't awake to see us leave, was he?"

"No, dear."

"Good," Nero said forcefully. His long legs kicked to and fro and his sharp eyes were fixed upon the timepiece overhead.

It was a warm morning, this day of her ninetieth summer: very still and humid, and Vita and her grandson sat alone on the small platform to wait. In this remote part of the province, the train that eventually ran on a route into the heart of the imperial capitol came only once a day. 

She studied him, a boy with an intellect too large for his still-growing body. The clothes he wore were ill-fitting - more secondhand items from his sisters, worn and patched where the threads had run bare, too narrow in the back, too short in the arms and legs - but the texts in his lap were new, a farewell gift from the mayor who had acted as his patron when his acceptance letter had arrived from the Imperial Magitek Academy. 

"You have your iden... your card."

"My identification card, yes."

"And your train pass."

"I've checked twice now."

"Mind you pay attention to your route. I've heard they have soldiers on these trains that will be very rough if you try to get back on the train once you're off." She fidgeted nervously with the embroidery in her lap. "Do you have your lunch box?"

"It's right here." 

He patted the package that sat alongside the big leather bag holding all of his personal belongings, securely wrapped in plain hempen cloth, his initials sewn into the corner. Vita's smile was sad. 

"The very last meal we cooked together before you went away to your new school," she said. "Think of your poor Nonna when you eat it."

"I will."

"And mind you write often. I want to hear all about the city."

"...Nonna?"

"What is it, dear?"

"You needn't worry for me. It's an adventure," he said. "Right?"

For just a moment she saw something of the boy he'd once been, for the first time in years. Worry lingered there in the tilt of his mouth, perhaps. Bitterness. Or the anxiety that ever came upon the cusp of the unknown- and then like a passing cloud, it was gone and he was grinning at her: mouth stretched wide and exuberant, pale blue eyes twin stars.

It would be more difficult without his hands to help at the farm, but it was the right thing, she understood: to let him go his own way.

"One of many," she said, smiling at last.

[sleepingrenjun]

nervous | ML

the gorgeous banner was made by the one and only @hyuckiebabie

Genre ♡ angst, badboy!Mark Lee 

Length ♡ 16.9k

Pairing ♡ Mark Lee x reader

Warnings ♡ character death, violence, making out, mild swearing, mild alcohol consumption, kinda mafia, uhh shitty parents? Basically just angsty badboy!Mark, it’s rather tragic I do apologise.

Playlist ♡ nervous playlist

Summary ♡ You find yourself falling deeper and deeper into Mark’s fiery touch despite the dislike you once felt for him. But Mark Lee is dangerous and nefarious despite his gentle desire to love and protect you; the two of you are star-crossed and you will forever be damned into the very pits of hell.

-

Your clothes were beginning to stick to your skin, the rain blurring each and every neon sign into one big mess of colour against the onyx canopy of the sky above the city. The faint sound of cars screeching along distant streets could only just be heard over the music blaring through your earphones. You stumbled ever so slightly against the sudden outcry of wind as you rounded a corner and looked up through your lashes to see the refreshingly familiar street which housed your favourite late night coffee shop. You looked down again in order to give your cloudy eyes a break, eyeing your slightly scuffed, and now very soggy converse as you trudged a little further until you made it to the door of your beloved safe haven.

 You used your right shoulder to help you push the heavy door open, relieved to see that the lights were still on. You pulled your earphones out, shoving them into your tote bag unceremoniously.  

 “Oh hey, y/n,” you looked up to see Donghyuck smiling sleepily at you from his position behind the counter as he raised his golden hand in a small wave.

 “Hi Hyuck,” you threw a lopsided smile in his direction before carefully drying the soles of your shoes on the mat which lay before you.

 “It’s a little late for you, is everything okay?”

 “Yeah, yeah, I just got caught up with uni work, I guess,” you tell him as you take your phone out of your soaking wet hoodie pocket, before tapping on the screen, thus confirming that it was indeed later than you had realised, 10:53pm. He hummed in understanding as he continued to steam-clean the tea cups which sat on the polished granite in front of him.

 Donghyuck studied at the same university as you and so he understood that sometimes the workload would cause you to spend hours on end in the dusty, old university library situated on the top floor of the main building. His major was in English literature, and if he wasn’t in the coffee shop working then he could often be found studying with his nose buried deep in a coffee-stained book with his exhausted round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Donghyuck was lovely, in every sense of the word. His strawberry blonde hair looked gorgeous against his honey-stained skin. He was warm and flamboyant and just, quite simply, alluring. His raspberry-stained lips were soft and full, just as his cheeks were. Donghyuck was the type to wear tight black jeans paired with an eccentric, ill-fitting jumper and a pair of beaten up doc martens, yet he wore it so well.

 You weren’t exactly friends, but you had a sort of routine. You confided in eachother more often than you liked to admit, but only inside the safe environment of his workplace, you didn’t really speak at any other time. Every Thursday, without fail, you would stop by to order a latte from the lonely coffee shop that he worked at. You were studying fine art, which meant you had to spend a lot of time at the university, whether it was using the studios for various workshops, or losing yourself in copious amounts of books in the library in order to help you write extended essay after extended essay. With that said, it was usually between 7 and 8pm when you stopped by to order your coffee on your way home, hence Donghyucks concern.

 “The usual?” he spoke up after a moment of tranquility.

 “Mmm, please,” you hummed in response as you fiddled with the slippery metal of the rings on your fingers while you waited for the coffee you had been looking forward to for several hours prior. You took out your money and left the correct amount by the till and then proceeded to make your way quietly over to your usual round table before flopping down languidly, the table was situated by the window, allowing you to watch the world outside go by peacefully as you tapped your nails along the surface of your phone screen restlessly.

 The coffee shop was warm and cozy, the smell of coffee beans welcoming anyone into the glowing space. Your weekly visits were something that you looked forward to now, although you did sometimes make an appearance at other times, Saturdays, for example. Occasionally you popped in for a cup of tea in the morning and engaged in polite conversation with Taeyong, the owner of the place. Taeyong was delightful, in a different way to Donghyuck, though. He was sharper and had a witty sense of humour to match the bubblegum shade of his hair. He was kind and wise beyond his years and so much more – but you didn’t have the same unspoken understanding with him that you had with Hyuck. Perhaps that’s why you looked forward to Thursdays, Donghyuck understood you without even trying, as did you with him.

 Donghyuck slid the disposable cup onto the table in front of you, snapping you out of your daze.

 “Thanks,” you smiled up at him before you realised that he was, in fact, now sitting opposite you at the table, with a coffee of his own in hand.

 “What’s on your mind, princess?” he asked you with a cheeky smile as he leaned back into the chair before sipping a little of his coffee. You chuckled at the nickname and hummed as you thought of how to reply.

 “I’m just exhausted, Hyuck,” you said as you let your head flop softly onto the rough wooden surface of the table before closing your eyes gently.

“Uni deadlines are exasperating; my parents are driving me mad and I just really need to sleep” you breathed out drowsily as you peered up at the boy through half closed eyes.

 “Yeah, I feel the same. Uni has me really stressed too,” he cupped his steaming coffee with both hands and leaned across the table, “what’s up with your parents, though?” he squinted at you, genuine curiosity adorning his friendly face.

 “Just the usual, you know,” you sighed after taking a long gulp of coffee, not feeling up to explaining everything to him at 11pm on a Thursday. Donghyuck vaguely knew about your relationship with your parents, if you could even call it that, although you liked to avoid bringing your friends into that side of your life; you weren’t proud of it.

 “Care to elaborate, princess?“ Your reply was soon cut off by the sound of the front door opening suddenly and the fierceness of the storm outside immediately filled the peaceful room, the sound of the ‘open’ sign hitting against the wall alerting you to the fact that you were no longer alone in the coffee shop.

 You looked up in surprise and proceeded to try to fix your composure at the realization that the person who had entered the premises was none other than Donghyucks best friend; Mark Lee. The two were polar opposites. While Donghyuck was late nights by a crackling fire and cups of steaming hot chocolate, lazy afternoons spent surrounded by blankets and makeshift pillow-forts and summer evenings spent reading during the golden hour. Mark Lee was everything that Donghyucks general aura protested against – he was burning hot embers and cigarettes, sunrises and motorbikes screeching along empty streets at 4am. Mark Lee was cold yet hotheaded and harsh and a lot to take in. You had only seen him from a distance, picking Donghyuck up from the university on the back of his bike. The two were so different but they were the best of friends and it baffled you.  

 “Hyuck, what the fuck is taking you so long? Let’s go-,” he voiced as he ran his hand through his damp hair and shook his head a little, completely ignoring your presence. He was clearly irked about something, his eyes were dark, black almost, and he was clutching his bike helmet under his arm tightly. Hyuck looked across the room to the vintage clock which was perched just above the coffee machine behind the counter, before muttering a profanity to himself and looking up at you with apologetic eyes.

 “Shit sorry y/n, I completely forgot, I was meant to close up 10 minutes ago,” it was nearing 11:15pm now.

 “Oh yeah, it’s fine, I should probably get back home anyways” you offered in acceptance before tearing your eyes away from the two boys in front of you to look out of the window at the storm you would have to brave once more. Mark cleared his throat as he made eye contact with you for the first time,

 “are you two done now or…?”

 Mark opened the door, a subtle hint that he was leaving and that Donghyuck should hurry up if he wanted to accompany him to wherever the two were off to at this hour. You scoffed as you took in his appearance, his damp, jet black hair was falling into his eyes in soft curls, his tanned skin was wet, and the neon yellow hoodie he wore under his signature leather jacket had darkened by at least two shades from the rain, as had the black skinny jeans which were tightly clinging to his legs.

 “Will you be okay to get home?” Hyuck asked you as he turned off the coffee machine and motioned towards the door with a light tilt of his head. You nodded and replied with a “yeah” as you swiftly picked up your takeaway coffee cup and headed out the door which mark hadn’t managed to hold open for you. Hyuck followed you out after turning the lights off and grabbing his own helmet, locking the doors behind you. You nodded towards Donghyuck, turning away from the boys you clutched your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm as you walked in the direction of your shared apartment.

 “See you, y/n.”

 You turned your head and waved in return at Donghyuck who was smiling at you as he put his jet-black helmet on whilst he leaned on the back of Marks motorcycle. Mark offered you a smirk as he took a long drag from his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and putting out the glowing stick with a swift movement of his foot, his tattered black converse catching your eye. You continued forward in the torrential rain and not a minute later you could hear the revving of the engine as Mark and Donghyuck pulled away and sped past you, Mark deliberately not avoiding the growing pool of floodwater on the street next to you, splashing dirty water at you in the process. “Fucking fantastic,” you groaned in exasperation.

 -

 It was the following Tuesday when you next saw Donghyuck with his best friend in tow. You were packing up your things after a long day in the library, sneezing and sniffling every so often; you had managed to catch a rather bad cold after walking home in the pouring rain last Thursday. You had just turned around after placing your last book in your beaten-up bag when you heard Donghyucks contagious laughter coming from your left, he and Mark were walking towards you and away from a small group of three boys you often saw Hyuck hanging around with between classes, you weren’t sure of their names. Mark was once again holding on tightly to his helmet as he mumbled something to the velvety boy beside him and ran his other hand through his disheveled hair.

 You fished your phone out of your pocket and turned it off airplane mode before stuffing it back into your pocket and looking up, just in time to hear your name being spoken from a few feet away.

 “Hey! y/n!”, Donghyuck exclaimed, looking surprised to see you, “you got home okay then? On Thursday?” he queried, stopping before you, causing Mark to roll his eyes at his friends genuine concern.

 “Yeah thanks, Hyuck. What are you guys doing here?” you chuckled in reply, it wasn’t unusual for you to greet him in the library as you both spent a fair bit of time there, Marks appearance, however, was a little less common.

 He was obviously there to pick Donghyuck up, probably just to take him home or to a party or something; what was unusual was that he didn’t usually come inside. If you ever saw him at the university, he would be leaning against the outside wall, by the doors, often holding a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other. He was a couple of years older than you, only a year older than Donghyuck, and although you knew that he had graduated from the same institution that you attended, you didn’t know what his major was, not that you particularly cared. Your train of thought was interrupted by Donghyucks reply,

 “Oh, Mark just needed to talk to Jaemin about something,” he gestured towards his friend, who was clearly already bored with your conversation.

 Just as you were about to speak, your phone started ringing. You took a deep breath once you saw the caller ID, before picking it up and holding it to your ear.

 “Dad?” you breathed out, his timing could not have been worse. You had a complicated relationship with your parents; your father was controlling to say the least, and it frustrated you to no end.

 “So, you finally decided to pick up the phone then?”, he greeted you harshly. “I’m sorry, I’m in the library, my phone was off,” you offered him an apology, hoping it would suffice. You looked down at your shoes and wrapped your free hand around your waist, turning away from the two boys who were waiting patiently before you, hoping to gain some privacy for what would most likely not be an enjoyable conversation with your father.

 “You’re always sorry, it’s not good enough y/n,” he complained, “anyway, I called because I need to ask a favour from you.” He only ever called you when he needed something, and he certainly wasn’t one for pleasantries, he always found a way to try and make you feel bad about yourself – although you’d grown a sort of immunity to it now that you knew what he was trying to do. You remained silent, signaling for him to go on, “your mother and I are hosting a dinner party tonight” you place your hand on the back of the chair in front of you, “and we expect you to attend, can you be at the hotel for 7pm?”

 Your grip on the chair tightened to the point that your knuckles were beginning to turn white, you looked at your watch and groaned softly so that he wouldn’t hear, it was already 6:47pm. “Dad I don’t think-“ you started, knowing perfectly well that you wouldn’t be there on time – it was nearly a 40 minute walk to your parents’ hotel from the library.

 “Great! See you then, don’t be late!” he cut you off, not allowing you the time to tell him that you wouldn’t make it for 7 before he ended the call. “Jesus Christ,” you exclaimed as you let your iron grip on the chair go, moving the same hand to push your hair out of your face.

 “Is everything okay?” you turned around to see Donghyuck and Mark both staring at you in confusion.

 Your parents frustrated you a lot. They could never be bothered to make time for you but the second they had the opportunity to use you to their advantage, they would milk it. Your father loved to patronize you and put you down while your mother loved to brag about all the wonderful things you were supposedly doing, she loved to make you sound like their perfect child, when really, they were nothing but disappointed in you. They were disappointed in your art major and disappointed that you chose not to intern at your fathers’ company – you wanted as little to do with his illegal activities as possible - so disappointed that they actually felt the need to lie about practically everything you did.

 “Oh, yeah I just-,” you paused, trying to clear your head and come up with a way of fixing the mess you were about to get into, “sorry but I have to go, I have to be somewhere in like 10 minutes and it’s a 40 minute walk so-,” you rushed out, panicking as you grabbed your bag, flung it over your shoulder and proceeded to walk quickly down the hall towards the staircase. You didn’t make it very far however, as Donghyuck managed to grab your wrist and turn you around.

 “Hey, wait!” he exhaled deeply, “do you need a lift? Mark can give you a lift, right?” he suggested, turning to his friend in question.

 Mark looked as horrified as you felt at the thought of being perched on the back of his bike, “yeah, not happening,” he exclaimed, “she doesn’t even have a helmet or anything-” Donghyuck cut him off by thrusting his own helmet into your arms unceremoniously “now she does!” he retorted cheekily, throwing a smug smile in Marks direction.

 “No, Hyuck really-” you started, the idea of being in such close proximity to the stranger not sitting right in your stomach.

 “Donghyuck, what the fuck?” Mark exclaimed in obvious annoyance at the lively boy who had seemingly already made the decision for you both as he sauntered off down the hall, leaving you alone with his best friend.

 -

 Mark didn’t speak to you as you made your way down the stairs side by side. You felt your heartbeat speed up as you walked through the automatic doors and saw the back of his motorcycle come into view. The model was sleek and rather elegant, the matte black of the main body suited Marks nefarious persona perfectly and the egg-yolk yellow accents made it all the more beautifully daunting.

 “Ever ridden a bike before?” Mark exhaled at you, already knowing the answer to his foolish question.

 You shook your head, “I haven’t. But you already knew that”.

 Mark nodded his head in response before putting his helmet on and climbing onto the bike in front of you. You mirrored his actions and secured Donghyucks helmet into place with shaky hands; the jet-black helmet was a little big for you, but you managed to fight against the strap until it was tight enough that you felt somewhat protected. You shuffled into the small space behind Mark and had barely just lifted your feet off the ground when he revved the engine and kicked off, sending you surging forward into his firm back in order to not fall off.

 Mark snickered at your immediate reaction, “you might want to hold on, sweetheart,” he told you in amusement as he turned his head towards you slightly. “I’m gonna need directions,” he announced as he turned back to the road and pulled out of the university car park, the sudden acceleration encouraging you to grab onto his shoulders firmly in an attempt to balance yourself.

 “Yeah, okay. Continue down here for a bit and then take a left just before the gym.” You instructed as you assessed the road before you.

 “Alright,” he responded casually, veering off to the right to overtake a car, causing you to stiffen even more.

 Sitting on the back of Marks bike was rather unnerving, but it was also thrilling and rather freeing. You could feel the wind in your hair and you were able to let yourself go a little. You closed your eyes for a moment and embraced the carelessness you felt bubbling up in your stomach; if your parents ever found out that you’d been on the back of a boys motorbike they would be livid, but in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You leant forward and informed Mark about the next turn he needed to make, to which he responded with an okay and as if sensing your sudden carefree nature, he applied a sudden pump of pressure on the gas and sped up even more. He was trying to scare you, to irritate you, and it was working. The wind in your hair suddenly felt too cold, too loud, and the traffic surrounding you too fast.

 “Mark,” you warned him as you moved your hands from his shoulders to wrap them tightly around his waist. “Hey, slow down!” you shouted in his ear once you realised that he wasn’t letting up.

 “Relax, baby. You’re alright,” he chuckled over his shoulder, sounding completely unbothered.

 You tightened your grip around him and closed your eyes as you tried to calm down, no longer finding the experience enjoyable. You could feel the soft flesh of his toned stomach through his shirt; the vibrations of Marks laughter as he felt your grip tighten and your forehead press softly into his shoulder. He was warm and deadly and you could feel your hot blood rushing through your veins. You breathed him in slowly; his aroma was cigarette smoke and peppermint; his shirt stained with the faint scent of his cologne and cinnamon. You hated to admit it, but Mark Lee smelled heavenly despite being the embodiment of Hades himself, and it was intoxicating.

 “Sweetheart, you need to look so you can direct me,” he said blatantly, you opened your eyes briefly before closing them again with a shake of your head.

“Take the next right and then pull up on the left just before the hotel,” you breathed out.

 Mark was soon slowing to a halt and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in. “Thank fuck that’s over” you exclaimed before releasing your grip around the devilish boy in front of you, feeling slightly embarrassed that you’d been holding him so tightly. You swiftly removed your helmet and thrust it into Marks arms with a mumbled thank you before turning on your heel and heading towards the front door of the building. You faintly heard Mark calling your name, but you weren’t really listening as when you reached the door you felt your stomach drop, your dad was waiting for you and he was furious.

 Ten minutes later, you were seated next to your mother and opposite to your father, you were trying to settle the growing pit of nerves in your stomach as you knew you would be confronted by your dad soon enough. Around an hour into the meal, one of your parents’ guests decided to ask your mum about how you were getting on at uni, they were trying to make polite conversation, although your mothers response irked you rather.

 “She’s doing great! She’s loving her classes, aren’t you honey?” she directed at you with a knowing look in her eye. You simply nodded and replied a polite “yes, it’s great.”

 The same guest then went on to ask what it was you were studying, to which your parents simultaneously responded with ‘law’, as if rehearsed, which it most likely was. You knew your parents had never been happy with your decision to study fine art, and you couldn’t say you were surprised to hear that they were lying about your major, but it pissed you off, nevertheless. You clenched a fist underneath the table as they continued to brag about how well you were supposedly doing at law school. The evening continued like that for the next hour; your parents telling their ‘business partners’ about all the achievements you had made and how proud of you they were. Your family was built on a mound of lies.

 You knew that they were careful about what they told you about their business, but you were alert enough to be aware of the fact that the deals they made were not what might be expected of a typical hotel chain. They lied in front of you to try and cover the illegal activity that was going on, and while you weren’t entirely sure what that involved, you had an idea.

 Your parents walked with you to the entrance of the hotel when the dreadful dinner party was over, and you braced yourself for what you knew was coming.

 “You’ll never guess how our y/n arrived here earlier, love.” Your dad gestured to you while speaking to your mum.

 You looked down at your feet and fiddled with the hem of your jumper in anticipation. Your dad was business suits and stainless steel while your mother was sterile surfaces and fake smiles and you hated it, you hated them and the stupid lifestyle they had dragged you into. Nothing about it was real, nothing about it was fair.

 “She arrived on the back of a boy’s motorcycle,” he informed her with disgust evident in the tone of his voice, his facial expression unsettlingly straight. Your mother gasped in horror and you had to hold back from rolling your eyes at her dramatic reaction. “y/n what the hell were you thinking?” she asked you with a raised voice, anger evident.

 “I needed a ride, it’s a forty-minute walk otherwise!” you responded honestly. You weren’t going to let them manipulate you into apologizing to them.

 “Imagine what the guests would have thought if they’d seen you arrive in such a bedraggled way!” she screeched at you, to which you just responded with a shrug; not having the energy to argue with her.

 “You will reply when your mother addresses you, y/n.” Your father seethed through his teeth at you, anger taking over his stout features. You turned away from them in an attempt at getting away from their suffocating presence, talking back to them was not going to get you anywhere. But before you could walk through the now half open door, he grabbed onto your wrist harshly, “if you pull another stunt like this, there will be consequences, y/n, and stay away from that boy, he’s bad news.” He spat the coarse words into your left ear no louder than a whisper.

 You could feel your eyes beginning to water a little, “don’t touch me.” You breathed bitterly before yanking your wrist out of his forceful grip and slamming the glass door behind you.

 You finally let yourself go once you were outside, the tears flowing freely and silently down your cheeks. You were tired, exhausted even, of trying to mask how much their actions hurt you. Nobody at your university had a clue, not your roommate, Lisa, none of your art class acquaintances, not even Donghyuck, who you often found yourself confiding in when things got a bit too much and you found yourself on the verge of a breakdown.

 You were looking forward to getting home, your apartment was cozy and warm and just what you needed after dealing with your exasperating family. Your parents had bought you a 2 bed flat on the top floor of a crumbling apartment building, which you had the pleasure of choosing. After being brought up in a mansion-like house that didn’t even look lived in, you opted for something small and homely so that you weren’t rattling around in it. Two weeks after moving in, it still felt a little empty to you and so you advertised for a roommate – that was when Lisa came into your life. The two of you had your differences but you loved each other, you supposed she was probably your best friend, not that you were one to give people titles. Lisa was away on a two-week trip to Florence with a few of the people from her major, meaning you had the place to yourself; you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

 “Dinner party went well then?”

 You turned around and were met with the sight of Mark leaning against the wall next to the door of the hotel, he was somewhat hidden from view, his dark clothes melting in to the ebony of the sky. He held a cigarette between his lips and a lighter in his left hand, he took a long, slow drag before plucking it from his lips with his free hand and blowing the smoke in your direction.

 You stifled a cough and rolled your eyes at his actions before continuing in the direction of your apartment, “why are you still here, Mark?” you asked him as you lifted a hand to wipe the tears away from your rosy cheeks, curious as to why he’d hung around for you.

“I thought you’d want a ride home,” he shrugged as he caught up with you, lifting the cigarette again and this time leaving it hanging from his pink lips, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

 “The last thing I need is for my parents to see me on the back of your fucking bike, again.”

 Mark chuckled dryly in response, “did your dad give you a hard time?” he cooed, clearly finding your upset state funny. When you didn’t show any signs of amusement, his cheeky smile turned into something more sincere.

 “I heard what they said to you, you know,” he gave you a pitiful look, “I’m sorry that they treat you like that.”

 You raised your eyebrows and bit back a laugh, “cut the crap, Mark.” He looked a little taken-aback by your curt response, giving you a questioning look as he slowed to a stop beside you. “Don’t act like you suddenly care,” you sighed at his obliviousness, turning to face him.

 Mark Lee was not known for his kindness, caring nature. He was known for being cold and troublesome, he was like a snake; constantly shedding his skin and becoming a different version of himself. One minute he was dangerous and sinful and all things devilish and red, yet the next, he was soft like the feathery wings of an angel with kind eyes; and it was impossible to tell which version of himself he would present to you each time you met.

 You looked at him, really looked at him and took in his appearance. His soft dark hair was falling in his eyes with a slight parting in the middle, his sun-kissed skin rich and deep under the soft, golden light of the street lights you were bathing in. Your gaze fell to his cherry-stained lips and to the glowing stick he held between them, soft clouds of smoke occasionally leaving his lips as he exhaled. The heartbreaking truth was that Mark was attractive, you found him attractive and you didn’t know how to stop the way your breath hitched when you looked into his dark eyes. He was looking at you, observing you in the same way you had been observing him, and it was unnerving. His eyes flitted between your own and your lips briefly before he pulled his gaze away from you and towards the now-familiar motorbike which was sat just a few feet away from where you were stood.

 “Come on, let me take you home.”

 You didn’t talk to Mark as he drove you home aside from directing him to your apartment, it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. You were exhausted, and you found yourself feeling a little numb as you clutched Marks waist tightly and pressed a cheek into his back as you closed your eyes. You couldn’t find the energy to think about your father seeing you on the back of Marks bike. If he saw you, then so be it. You were utterly sick to your stomach of the way they pried and warped you into what they thought was the perfect child, the child that their fellow businessmen and women would want to hear about. They objectified you and they underestimated you and it royally pissed you off.

 You found yourself almost enjoying the feeling of betraying them, perhaps you’d take it up as a hobby. Perhaps you’d befriend Mark just to get under their skin, you’d undoubtedly relish in that feeling if you were a little more like the boy who you currently had wrapped in your tight embrace. But you weren’t like that, you were good and caring and you had so much love to give yet nobody to give it to. You couldn’t intentionally play someone like that, it wasn’t within your capability, nor was it your true desire. You didn’t want to use Mark, no matter how perfect it would be or how much it would irritate your parents. So, you pushed your delirious thoughts aside and tightened your hold on Mark as if to thank him for not asking too many questions or rubbing in your ill-fated situation. In response you felt a tight squeeze on your left thigh as he reached back to comfort you subtly, and that was all that was needed for you to begin to feel a little better.

 Mark pulled up outside your apartment building after what felt like forever. You heaved your heavy body off the padded seat behind him, your worn shoes scuffing against the edge of the pavement as you did so, causing you to stumble forward briefly before a strong hand gripped at your waist and pulled you back. You turned around at the sudden feeling of Marks arm wrapping around you, only to notice that you were standing a lot closer to the raven-haired boy than you’d anticipated. He had leaned off his bike a little in order to reach you and you now found yourself brushing up against his jean clad thigh.

 “Easy there, princess,” you could feel his hot breath on your cotton-candy stained cheeks and you struggled to appropriately place your gaze. You’d never been this close to him, face to face anyway, and you found it unsurprisingly intimidating. You observed and noticed his perfectly placed eyebrow piercing, the two silver balls gleaming even in the dark of the night. Marks eyes were deep and dark, black almost, a heavenly contrast to his honey-stained skin. They were half lidded and verging on sultry as he blinked and brought his eyes to meet with yours, his tongue briefly darting out to wet his lips before he gently brought the hand which wasn’t wrapped around your waist up to eye level. He hesitated briefly before he lifted his hand and started to unfasten the strap on the helmet you had borrowed from Donghyuck, “here, let me get that-”.

 Your breath caught in your throat as his hand brushed against your soft skin, the rough texture of his calloused hands contradicting your own smooth, milky complexion. You looked into his eyes as they were concentrated on removing the heavy helmet; he looked so innocent like this, so pure and refined. It was almost like the fire inside him had been dampened momentarily and the ice around his heart was beginning to melt, of course that wouldn’t last. You knew that the next time you saw him, it would be like this hadn’t happened. He would go back to smirking at you or blanking you entirely. It would have been a moment of utter serenity if it weren’t for your caged heart beating at ninety to the dozen inside your chest. You were nervous. Mark made you nervous.

 Once he’d lifted the helmet off, he realised he was still holding you and quickly moved his hand from your waist to rub the back of his neck, you became suddenly all too aware of your close proximity and took a small step back, clearing your throat and crossing your arms in the process. He roughly planted said helmet into your arms with an “I’ll see you around” before he kicked off and left you standing by the side of the road, looking a little flustered.

 Needless to say, the second your head hit your pillow that night, you were out like a light.

 -

 You entered the coffee shop two days later, Thursday, at your normal time of 7:15pm. Only this time you had more of a purpose; you, of course, were looking forward to your latte, but you had also brought Donghyucks helmet since Mark had left it with you.

 “Donghyuck!” you greeted the familiar face as you made your way towards his position behind the counter. “Here” you lifted the heavy black helmet onto the counter for him to take. He thanked you as he took it from you and went to put it in the back room.

You took the chance to look around the room, noticing a few familiar faces, mostly students huddled over their laptops or buried in a pile of dog-eared books. You spotted your usual round table and smiled at the site of the empty chair sat by it. You would soon be just like most of the other customers in the coffee shop, head down and engulfed in a heap of Gustav Klimt books, your chosen artist for this semester.

 “Hey, have you seen Mark around?” you were brought out of your thoughts by the return of the radiant boy in front of you, who was now busying himself with making your coffee.

 “Not since Tuesday, why?”

 “I haven’t seen him since then either, he normally drops me off for my shift today, but he didn’t show,” he replied sounding a little concerned for his troublesome friend. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” you hummed in response.

 You thanked Donghyuck with a warm smile as you paid him for your coffee before taking it over to your table and getting your notebook and a couple of books out of your scruffy bag. The next hour went by relatively quickly, you alternated between writing notes and actually annotating the books in front of you; you had a bad habit of defacing books. Whether it was folding pages or actually drawing on the pristine pages, you enjoyed making them look used and a little haggard.

 You had been so engrossed in your work that you hadn’t noticed Mark’s brief appearance in the cozy coffee shop, he was only present for about 30 seconds before Donghyuck excused himself and stepped outside to talk to his friend. You had your head down when you left through the heavy doors, you weren’t listening as they hushed their conversation at the sight of you, and you didn’t notice when Mark, who was sporting a bruised cheek and a bloody lip, cast his gaze over to you from behind his friends’ shoulder.

 You were living in your head as you walked home that evening, thinking up your future, where you wanted to live, and what you wanted to be doing. You’d just decided that you liked the idea of settling in Paris or somewhere similar when you felt the first sign of rain hit your cheek. You cursed to yourself as you pulled your hood up over your head in an attempt to shelter yourself from the inevitable downpour. You were never prepared when it rained, you usually just wore a hoodie and jeans to uni and you had never got into the habit of carrying a jacket or an umbrella around, you should probably change that, though; it rained a lot in your city.

 Not even two minutes after the rain started, you heard the screeching of tires on the wet road as a familiar looking bike skidded to a stop alongside where you were walking.

 “y/n get on!” Mark yelled over the deafening downpour surrounding you, taking his helmet off as you jogged over to him.

 You weren’t sure why you decided to listen to him, especially after he tried to scare you the last time. Perhaps it was because you knew you’d be home in a fraction of the time if he took you, walking would be at least another twenty minutes. Or maybe part of you actually liked the idea; somewhere deep down in the burning embers of your soul, you quite enjoyed the cryptic boys’ presence. He was everything you had stayed away from up until now, and although you would never admit it aloud, you found yourself reveling in the risk of it all.

 You tried to refuse his helmet, saying that he needed it more, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Just put the damn thing on,” he argued, only moving off once you were sat behind him with his helmet sat snugly on your head.

 Your arms curled around him in the same way you had recently become accustomed to. He was soaked through to the bone and cold, so cold, it seemed Mark wasn’t one for dressing according to the weather either. While you were at least wearing a hoodie, he was only wearing a t-shirt, a white one at that. His muscular back suddenly became painstakingly obvious through his soaked shirt and you tried to focus on the road ahead as you rested your chin on his left shoulder.

 Not even 10 minutes later, you had arrived at your apartment building.

 You jumped off the bike as soon as it had stopped moving, keen to get inside and rid yourself of your drenched clothes as soon as possible; a hot shower sounded absolutely wonderful right now. You expressed your thanks and looked up at Mark to return his helmet to him once you’d wrestled to get your wet hair untangled from the strap, only to see that he had his head hung low and turned away from you.

 “Hey, Mark?” he hummed in response, seeming somewhat distracted. “You good?”

 “Huh? Yeah, I should really go-”

 “Why won’t you look at me?” you hesitantly reach across and hear a sharp intake of breath from him when you grip at his jaw, turning his head to face you for the first time that night. Your breathing faltered at the sight of his black and blue cheekbone and your eyes scanned the rest of his face to discover that his lip was also rather swollen and coated with dry blood.

 “Mark…” you whispered as you ghosted your hand over the tender skin, blinking down at him as his hand gripped at your wrist.

 “It’s fine, y/n,” he gritted his teeth, still not looking up at you.

 “Who did this to you?” you thumbed at his puffy lip gently, the question more rhetorical than anything else.  

 You had never seen the boy before you look so worn out. In fact, you weren’t sure if you had ever witnessed someone being hurt like this before. You blinked twice and moved your hand away from him in order to brush your own disheveled hair out of your eyelashes as you realised that the rain was only becoming heavier.

 “Come inside,” you said unexpectedly, surprising both yourself and the bloodied boy sat before you. You tugged at his sleeve, “just let me help you, as a thank you of sorts”.

 “I really shouldn’t, I-,” you didn’t let him finish, you instead found yourself dragging him away from his beloved black and yellow bike and into shelter.

 He followed you up the stairs until you were on the top floor, you had your key in one hand and his bike helmet in the other. He didn’t speak as you walked up the five flights of stairs, the only sounds were your sopping wet shoes squelching each time you took a step and the shaky breathing coming from the pair of you.

 You stepped into your small apartment with Mark in tow, switching on the lights as soon as you were in the door. You placed your stuff down alongside Marks helmet on the long wooden coffee table in your little living room before disappearing into Lisa’s room to find something for Mark to change out of his wet clothes into. When you walked back into the living room, he was still standing there, hands clasped together and rocking back and forth on his toes lightly.

 “Here, I think this stuff should fit you.”

 Lisa sometimes had boys over, usually they were just one-off flings but sometimes they’d come often enough that she had managed to accumulate a growing pile of their clothes. You’d found a pair of loose black shorts and a large light-grey hoodie that looked around Marks size.

 You directed him to the bathroom so he could change, before turning to your own room and stripping off your drenched clothes, changing into a pair of sweats and a loose fitting shirt as quickly as you could. You grabbed some wet cotton wool and a bag of frozen peas to help take down the swelling, you didn’t have a first aid kit in your apartment, so this would have to suffice. You found Mark sitting on your sofa when you returned, his head leaning on one of his hands whilst he texted someone on his phone with the other. He heard your fluffy sock-clad feed padding against the hard wood floor as you neared him, looking up and instantly turning his phone off and placing it next to him once he realised you had reappeared.

 You knelt down in front of him, placing the frozen bag on the floor beside you and turning your attention to the injured boy.

 “Stay still,” you could feel Marks eyes following your every move. You dabbed at his wounded lip, trying to help take the edge off the sting he must be feeling. You steadied yourself by placing your free hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn his attention to you rather than whatever he found so interesting behind you.

 “Where’d you get the clothes from?” he gestured to the hoodie he was now wearing.

 “Oh, they’re from Lisa’s- my roommate’s ex, I think,” he nodded at your reply.

 “Don’t move,” you whispered as you held his head still and wiped away the remainder of the blood. “It’s not like they’d be from my ex, given that I don’t have one. Or a current boyfriend, for that matter.” Your weak attempt at a joke fell flat as you suddenly realised the implications of what you had just said. Your eyes grew wide, “that was stupid, I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

 Your ramblings were cut short when Mark gripped your arm and took the bloody cotton wool from your hand, dropping it to the floor while keeping his half-lidded gaze on you. He moved your hand to hover just above his heart, resting it there. You kept your eyes on his hand as it covered yours, not daring to look up at him for fear that you may crumble. You felt like putty in his hands and all he was doing was touching your hand. Your face flushed as your hands began to tremble subtly.

 “Do you feel that?” you did. You could feel his heart beating rapidly, just as yours was. “Baby?”

 You dragged your eyes up to meet his and nodded delicately as you let yourself tug at his hoodie a bit, trying to cease the nerves rising up from the pit of your stomach to the very tips of your fingers. Mark lowered his head until his forehead was brushing against yours from his elevated position on the sofa. You could smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke coming from his lips, which were now barely three inches from yours.

“What are you-,” he rubbed his nose against yours and murmured a barely-there “shh,” as his eyes fluttered shut.

 Mark pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips and moved his soft grip from your hand to angle your face up towards him, bringing his other hand up to cup your jaw before moving to plant a slow peck on your plump lips. “y/n?” you hummed when he pulled back a couple of inches, keeping your eyes closed. You didn’t want him to stop and you hated yourself for it. You tugged at his hoodie again, hoping he would understand your signal for him to continue. You didn’t have confidence in words, opting to not say anything and instead moving your left hand up further to reach the nape of his neck, pulling him into you.

 The feeling of having another’s lips pressed against yours was unfamiliar and yet, strangely addictive. Your breathing was getting heavier in sync with his as he left long, drawn out kisses on your lips, alternating between your bottom lip and your top. You found the angle was getting a little awkward and so, with the help of Mark, you sat up on your knees, only staying like that for a moment before you found yourself situated on his lap with your legs on either side of him.

He barely paused for breath before capturing your lips again, this time prodding at your entrance with his slick tongue. The sensation was effortless with him, your lips slotting together over and over again with such ease and precision. His tongue massaged against yours as he relocated his calloused hands to rest around your waist, squeezing the soft flesh as your shirt rode up slightly.

 You let out a soft whimper as his cold hands touched your hot skin and you threaded your fingers through the damp locks of hair at the back of his head, your other hand clenching and unclenching, taking fistfuls of his hoodie as you tried to make the feelings in your chest evaporate. The air was hot and sticky, and you gasped into each-others open mouths, you couldn’t get enough of him.

 Kissing Mark Lee made you feel more alive than you had ever thought possible, it was both heavenly and sinful, and he took all your breath away as if it was nothing. He tasted sweet and smoky and he was enthralling for he was the devils incarnate, yet the most celestial being you had ever laid eyes on. You hated him, you wanted to hate him. But he was radiant and god-like and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, for Mark Lee was magnetic and you will forever be drawn to his sacrilegious self.

 You were panting and breathless as you took his lower lip between your teeth and looked into his amorous eyes, but he winced, and you found yourself pulling away from his swollen lips as a coppery taste lathered your tongue. You were flush against him; your immediate proximity making you blush, given the circumstances. “Sorry, I forgot- about your lip I mean,” you stammered out, feeling rather flustered.

 “I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Mark leant forward to press his lips to yours again messily as he dragged his hands along your thighs, he couldn’t seem to sit still.

 “Mark,” you tried to pull away again, you knew he was using this situation as a distraction. He hummed as he ran one hand up your side until he was cupping your jaw, trailing his wet lips down the side of your neck. “Mark, stop.” You said firmly just as he nipped softly at the flesh under your ear, pushing him tenderly by his shoulders until he was far enough that you could look at him properly.

 “Did I do something?”, his panicked eyes searched your own for an answer.

 You sighed, “no,” as you slid off his lap and made yourself comfortable on the sofa next to him. “I just- why?”

 “Why what, baby?”

 “What did you do to deserve this?” you asked him tenderly as you crossed your legs and turned to face him, tracing your fingers from his harsh eyebrow piercing to the soft skin of his cheekbone. Under the soft light of the lamps in your living room his bruises were faint and indistinct, but they were still there. The black and blue painted on his skin somehow looked pretty, it was a deep contrast to his normal warm tone, but it didn’t exactly look bad – just sore.

 “Can we not talk about this, please?” he groaned as he dropped his head into his hands.

 “Just tell me what happened!” You argued, your voice raised a little in exasperation. You didn’t understand why he was so reluctant to talk to you about it. Everyone knew about Marks reputation, he was known for sporting the odd black eye and not holding his tongue when he should. But as you were sat next to him, you realised that you didn’t actually know why.

 “I can’t-“

 “You can, please-”

 “No, you’re staying out of this y/n,” Marks voice was deep and hoarse as he spoke loudly to you, letting you know that his decision was final.

 “Why won’t you talk to me? Doesn’t this mean anything to you?” you breathed out, as you covered your face with your hands in frustration, letting your elbows rest on your knees, you looked up at the boy before you. “Is this an act of pity or something? Did you only come in because you felt sorry for me?”

 “What? No I-,” his phone ringing cut him off before he could speak further. Mark cursed once he saw who was calling him, “I’m sorry, I have to go, I’ll see you around.” He grabbed his stuff from the table before rushing out the door to answer the phone, leaving you alone and bathing in the now strangely silent room to process everything that had just happened.

 -

  “So, tell me about Florence!”

 Lisa was finally home from her time in Italy, and she’d somehow managed to persuade you that catching up over a drink or two was a good idea. You’d never been the type to drink to get drunk, not that you hadn’t been drunk; it just didn’t happen very often. You were more of a coffee lover, that’s where you and Lisa were different. While you would spend your free time slaving over a book with a steaming mug of coffee, she would spend hers sharing secrets with strangers over a bottle of beer.  You supposed your dynamic wasn’t so different to Donghyuck and Mark, like earth versus fire, air versus water; you were somewhat dependent on eachother, the perfect contradiction.

 “It was incredible, the architecture was phenomenal, as was the art and gosh you would’ve loved the culture!” She gushed excitedly after taking a long gulp of her fruity cocktail.

 If you didn’t know her personally, you might have been jealous of Lisa. Upfront, she seemed unmistakably perfect, her hair was thick and shiny, her skin was clear, and she flourished in social settings. But you did know her, well enough to know that her happy exterior wasn’t always genuine and that she too found life to be rather stressful at times, she was just better at relieving that stress than you were; hence her tendency to party and pick up boys every now and then.

 The two of you talked back and forth about her time in Florence and your time without her, although you failed to mention anything involving Mark, the last thing you needed was Lisa breathing down your neck about something that you weren’t entirely sure about yourself. She raved about the museums and galleries she’d visited and made sure to recite each and every individual piece of art that she’d enjoyed; yes, you were jealous. You were jealous of her freedom and you were jealous of her carefree nature, you wished you could be like that. Perhaps if it weren’t for your family, you would be a little more like Lisa. You thought back to a few days prior when you were sitting behind Mark, clinging to him tightly as the two of you rode through the rain; that was the most unburdened you had felt in a long time.

 You were snapped out of your train of thought by Lisa standing up from her seat next to you at the bar, “I’ll be back in a minute,” she signaled to the bathroom before traipsing away from you, leaving you with your thoughts and a half empty glass of vodka and lemonade.  

 As you waited you found yourself casting your gaze around the busy room; the bar seemed to be teeming with students like you, apart from the odd older guy. You spent a lot of your time observing people and their actions, it was almost like a hobby, being a bystander. There were booths filled with youngsters, chanting and laughing and having the time of their lives, there were bar stools filled with friends downing shots and getting plastered, and then there was you. You, who would rather be at home, curled up and watching a movie with a bowl of shitty popcorn. So, when you were approached by a sleazy looking man who seemed to be rather under the influence, you were somewhat bewildered.

 “Two shots for this lovely lady and I!” He hollered to the barman over the blaring music as he gestured roughly towards you. He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a rather nasty combination which could absolutely not be considered attractive.

 “Oh, no I was just leaving-”

 “C’mon, just one drink!” he interrupted you, sending a ratty smile in your direction.

 “No really, I’d rather not” you raised yourself off the tall stool you had been perched on, reaching for your bag as you desperately tried to remove yourself from the situation. This was why you didn’t like going out, you were terrified of exactly what appeared to be happening right now. You felt vulnerable as soon as he appeared next to you, your instincts quickly telling you that the man before you was bad news.

 He grabbed your wrist firmly, making you wince at the abrupt action. “Don’t touch me,” you seethed as you tried to pry away his painful grip on your wrist.

 “You’re a fair handful,” he slurred as he moved closer to you, moving his other hand to clutch around your waist under your shirt, making you feel uneasy. You could feel tears of panic begin to sting at the corner of your eyes as you looked around frantically in exasperation at the fact that nobody seemed to be aware of what was going on. He pressed himself against you and you were struggling to get away from him as you felt him begin to trail his hand to your backside.

 “Get your fucking hands off her,” a familiar voice threatened from beside you, although you couldn’t quite figure out who it belonged to.

 He didn’t comply. You felt sick.

 He was suddenly ripped away from you as a large hand grasped at the neck of his shirt and a swift punch was thrown, and then another two. “I warned you,” your eyes widened at the scene which was playing out before you.

 “Mark, stop!” you shouted as soon as you recognised the dark mop of hair that you were now well-acquainted with. Of course, he didn’t listen to you.

 The drunk man tried to retaliate but was soon rendered defenseless as he took one final hit to the face and staggered backwards with blood dripping down his chin, “sorry man, didn’t realise she was yours,” he laughed as he spat blood onto the floor and disappeared into the crowd.

 You looked away from the man who was swaying away from you and, sure enough, standing before you was Mark Lee in all his grandeur. He was dressed from head to toe in black and his bruised cheek was mostly faded now, barely visible unless you were really looking for it. His knuckles looked red and sore as he splayed his hand out to check for any broken skin.

 Your devilish savior ignored his distasteful comment as he diverted his attention to you, “are you alright?”

 You shook your head, “I just need to get out of here”. You felt claustrophobic, like you couldn’t breathe. And, god, you were itching to shower and scrub off the feeling of that man’s grimy hands on your body.

 You pulled your gaze away from Mark for a second, just long enough to see Lisa walking your way from the bathroom. “Y/n? What’s going on?” she asked as she looked between you and Mark, who was standing so close that you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

 She undoubtedly knew who Mark was, everybody at your university did. He was striking in both appearance and in demeanor, although not always for the right reasons. And so, she would most likely be wondering what someone like him would be doing speaking to someone like you. The two of you were so drastically different; if he was the devil then you were the purest sinner to walk this earth. He was dripping in warning signs, he radiated bad news, yet you found yourself being drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and it would appear that he too found himself unable to shake you from his mind.

 “Nothing, it’s fine.”

 “Why is he here?” she nodded to the boy standing behind you, sending you a look of questioning.

 You heard Mark scoff under his breath as you glanced round to him, trying to think up an excuse to leave the bar that wouldn’t lead to a lengthy conversation with Lisa later.

 “Something came up, I’m sorry. I can’t stay,” you offered her with pleading eyes, praying she would understand your need to leave, even if she didn’t know the reason behind it.

 “Alright, be safe,” she responded with a sigh and a quick hug, and with that, you turned on your heel and walked quickly out the door.

 You could feel Marks presence behind you as you walked along the pavement with your head hung low, your feet dragging and scuffing along the stone as you sifted through the multitude of thoughts that had gathered in your head. The two of you walked in a comfortable silence for a while, you breathed in the cold city air and exhaled heavily through your mouth as you tilted your head to gaze up at the dark sky which was faintly painted with the warm glow of the city lights.

 You could breathe clearly out in the fresh air, the sticky heat of the bar finally cooling on your skin; it wasn’t a particularly nice feeling but it was better than being coated in the sensation of a strangers touch.

 Your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your trance-like state, you reached into your pocket and fished it out, stopping dead in your tracks as you read the message on your lit-up screen.

 [dad]

One of my business associates just saw you leaving a bar with that boy, remember what I told you, y/n.

 You rushed to turn around as you looked back along the long stretch of street in search of someone looking at the two of you, but you saw no one. You were nearing the canal just to the west of the city centre and the street lighting was limited, not giving you the best view of the road you’d just walked down. Mark looked at you in confusion as he lifted his hands to rest on your shoulders and looked into your fiery eyes, “is everything okay?”

 You shook your head and shrugged off his hold on you, already beginning to walk again, more hurriedly this time. “You have to leave, Mark,” you told him firmly as you breathed in shakily.

 “What, why?” he questioned as he crept up beside you, easily matching your determined stride.

 “Please just- it’s for your own safety, I can’t be seen with you,” you told him truthfully, knowing that it sounded a little harsh. Your dad was, however, a powerful man, and you didn’t doubt for a second that he would do whatever he deemed necessary to get what he wanted; and if he wanted you to stop seeing Mark, then he would not hesitate to dispose of him in some way. All for his stupid business and riches. All your parents seemed to care about was their reputation, as long as their names, yours included, were untarnished, the company would keep raking in stacks of money and numerous money-making deals. And they would do whatever they had to, get rid of whoever they had to, in order to keep it that way. They’d been like this for as long as you could remember and there was no part of you that would ever be able to challenge your father’s threats. Because that’s what they were; threats. And he meant every word that he said.

 “Y/n, what the hell are you talking about? If this is about the bar or the other night then I’m sorry I-,” he shut up when you turned to face him once more and gripped both his hands in yours, lacing them together intimately. His brows furrowed as he looked down to your interlaced fingers and then back up to your eyes.

 “Please, Mark.”

 “I don’t understand?”

 You sighed up at the dangerous boy before you, trying to think of an appropriate way of telling him that your father probably wanted to kill him just for being near you. “My dad doesn’t – he doesn’t like you”

 “Your dad? I haven’t ever met him, though?” his face twists as he processes the information, struggling to fathom how your father could possibly have an opinion on someone who he’d never even spoken to before.

 “That doesn’t matter, you don’t exactly-,” you paused and chewed at your bottom lip, tilting your head to look at your feet and lowering your voice to a whisper, “- have the best reputation.”

 He squeezed your intertwined hands comfortingly as he sighed, dragging your hands up to rest around his neck gently before circling his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him.

 Mark wasn’t particularly proud of his not-so-perfect character, he knew that people talked about him, he knew that he didn’t do himself any favours by consistently sporting some form of bruising or blemish and getting himself into fights. But Mark was soft, too. He had a heart of gold when it mattered; he was like the purest form of oxygen in a smoky room, he never failed to show his good side when his loved ones were in need.

 “I’m not all bad, you know, princess” he chuckled soothingly, his breath tickling against your face.  

 Your fingers played with the soft tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “I don’t want you to get hurt-,” you started, stopping to think quickly. You weren’t sure where these feelings were coming from. You’d barely known Mark until a couple of weeks ago, the two of you having never payed eachother any great amount of attention before, but Donghyuck had introduced him into your life and now you couldn’t seem to shake him from your mind.

 “-because for some reason, I care about whether you get hurt or not,” you laughed breathlessly, rolling your eyes as you looked up to the sky once more, perhaps searching for the answers to all the questions swimming around in your head at the moment.

 “Can I kiss you?”

 You shook your head, chuckling nervously at his question, it was so very Mark. He managed to completely ignore your concern, instead opting to act on his own thoughts. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said?” you said in exasperation, feeling somewhat frustrated.

 “Yes, I have, but I don’t care, y/n. I’m not going to leave, your dad doesn’t scare me, and you make my heart beat far faster than I’d ever care to admit - I know you feel it too. So please, y/n, let me just have this,” he pulled you closer by your waist as he let himself wear his heart on his sleeve momentarily, pleadingly looking into your eyes.

 “He’ll kill you, you know,” you warned faintly.

 “I can take care of myself.”

 “I know I just- I think you’re underestimating this. He’s powerful and he warned me to stay away from you. Hell, you barely even know me, Mark, I’m really not worth this-,” you gasped as you felt one of his large hands squeeze your waist and he used the opportunity to shut you up completely, mumbling a soft “stop talking,” before pressing his lips to yours in one swift motion.

 You stayed like that for a moment, your body flushed against Marks chest as he held you tightly to him, as if he were afraid that you would disappear if he wasn’t too careful. He soon pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. You admired his dark lashes fluttering against his satin skin and the way his lips were full and wet from your kiss, he was breathtaking. You couldn’t deny your attraction to him, your heart practically begging to be released from its cage whenever he was close to you like this; he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

 “This is dangerous,” you whispered, encouraging him to open his doe eyes as he parted his lips a little in thought.

 “You look so good right now, I just- I can’t,” he stumbled over his words, his voice breaking under your gaze. “God, I like you so much.”

 You would have giggled at how he sounded like a schoolboy if he hadn’t kissed you again, gliding his right hand up your body until he was cupping your velvety skin and pulling you closer still. He kissed you with so much feeling and emotion, you barely recognised him as the boy you had first met anymore. His cold, harsh exterior completely melting away under your gentle touch. He let himself groan as you kissed him back with just as much ardour, letting your tongue gently pry his lips apart as you tried to convey your feelings for him. You let yourself momentarily forget the posing threat from your dad, enjoying Marks successful attempt at distracting you from it.

 His touch was fiery-hot, his hands leaving a burning trail in their wake as he touched you delicately, as though you were a doll who might break if you fell into the wrong hands. He pulled away once more and grasped your hand in his before leading you away from the canal and towards his home.

 -

 Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of a hushed voice nearby, propping yourself up with one hand and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the other. You blinked groggily several times before you managed to keep your eyes open for long enough to sit up with your legs dangling off the side of the unfamiliar mattress, the cool air of the room making your hairs stand on end. You looked down at your cold legs and noticed that you were only wearing an oversized shirt with your underwear – the shirt, you recalled, was Mark’s.

 He’d brought you back home with him last night, you didn’t really feel like going home and explaining the events of the night to Lisa. Your brain was still half asleep and hazy as you tried to recall all that had happened yesterday; you could remember Mark offering to sleep on the sofa, but you also recounted that you’d asked him if he could stay with you, his presence alone helping you feel at-ease. He made sure to keep his distance, to keep to his side of the bed, even if he was itching to reach across the sea of sheets to hold you. He made you feel warm and safe and at-ease and that scared you a little – how quickly he’d earned your trust, if that’s what you could call it.

 You couldn’t make out the muffled voice coming from next door, but you imagined he was probably just on the phone to someone. You stifled a yawn as you reached for your phone, which had been thrown onto the carpeted floor by the mattress in haste before you knocked out fast asleep last night. The time was only just gone 7am, you wondered who Mark could be speaking to this early, a friend possibly? A parent? It was when you thought about things like this that you realised just how little you really knew about him. You knew that he liked living more dangerously than most, that he had an unhealthy love for driving his motorcycle too fast, too late, and too often, you also knew of his friendship with Donghyuck; but after that, you struggled to find anything you could add to the list. You barely knew the boy.

 “Sorry, did I wake you?” he called from the doorway, startling you out of your tired thoughts. You looked up and felt the air leave your lungs as you saw him; he looked ethereal. He was leaning with his left shoulder against the flakily-painted frame, his navy-blue hoodie was too big and his honey-coloured collarbones were only half hidden by the drooping neck of his bed-attire. His boxers were fitted to his thighs and you had to pull your gaze away to stop the inevitable blush that would otherwise creep up your neck. He’d probably already noticed your staring, anyway.

 “Yeah, but it’s okay,” you said groggily as you stretched your arms back to relieve your aching shoulder-blades – you must have slept on them funny.

 You made the effort to stand up but were swiftly turned back around as Mark placed his warm hand on the small of your back and guided you back to the plush mess of bedding and blankets. You lay back down on your side, with your head facing the door and your back to Marks side of the bed. The sheets smelled of him, you realised. A little musky perhaps, like cinnamon and spice. His aroma was warm and comforting as you pulled the duvet up to rest just beneath your chin to try and keep out the chill of the room, your hands clasping together just below the covers. You felt the bed dip as he sunk into the pillows beside you, his breathing was shallow and yet you could somehow still just make it out over the quiet sounds of the city outside waking up.

 “Do you mind if I- can I lay with you?” he asked you, sounding unusually shy, although maybe it was just his lack of sleep.

 “You lay with me last night, Mark” you chuckled.

 “No, I mean-,” he cut himself off, shuffling around behind you until you felt his arm reach around your waist tenderly. His chest was radiating his body heat, just a couple of centimeters from touching yours. “Like this,” he whispered in your ear, softly pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear as he grasped your clasped hands in his blindly.

 “Oh” you replied, barely there. He made your brain go mushy and you were still so tired, having not gone to sleep until late. You wiggled yourself backwards a little, just enough so that you could feel his heartbeat on your clothed back as arm tightened around you. “Let’s just stay like this forever, it’s so nice,” you murmured, letting your eyes fall shut as you basked in Marks warm embrace.

 A few hours later, you find yourself back in your apartment. You’re nestled into the warmth of your sofa with your legs tucked into your chest and a pillow hugged tight to your chest. Lisa was sat next to you, in an equally relaxed position, her fluffy socks tickling at your side faintly.

 “He gave you a ride? Twice? On his bike?” she repeated fragments of what you’d told her back to you. You’d told her more than that, but her eyes grew wide the second you had mentioned Marks name. You nodded in response, “yes?”

 She breathed out heavily, “he’s hot too, do you know what you’re getting into?” she wiggled her eyebrows at you, making you laugh and throw the pillow you were hugging at her. She shrugged, “hey! I’m just saying, the attractive ones always cause the most trouble”.

 You didn’t reply, instead you placed your head in your hands and lulled to the side, looking up at her and sighing like a lovesick puppy. “I really like him, Lisa,” you mumbled, the atmosphere turning more serious, “I just don’t wanna get hurt”.

 “You have to see past that. Live a little, y/n, let yourself loose for a bit,” she told you. You knew that she was probably right, and that she was only encouraging you to do what she knew best. It was easy for Lisa to say that, she was renowned for her extroverted, care-free personality, and you did sometimes envy that. But maybe it was time to take a leaf from her book, you didn’t know what would happen with Mark, you just knew that there was a strong connection between you two that you couldn’t ignore anymore. You couldn’t keep fighting against it. No matter how much you willed yourself to hate him, you never could. He was so much softer than you thought, there was more substance to him.

 He was bright and full and carefree, almost the exact opposite to you. He was a little similar to Lisa, actually, just more devious. More devilish. You could see that his harsh front was beginning to melt around you, though. You seemed to have some kind of effect on him, and he hated that. You loved it. You found yourself wanting to get to know the boy hidden beneath all those layers of toughened-up skin. “Maybe I will,” you replied, with a knowing smile on your face.

 -

 Your lips parted as you panted, out of breath as you pulled back for air, throwing a quick glance to your buzzing phone, signaling yet another call from your father; you ignored it. Marks lips trailed lazily down your neck as he kissed faint flowering bruises into your soft skin, his teeth occasionally nipping and biting at the juncture of your neck. You closed your eyes in bliss and threaded your fingers through his curly, raven hair, tugging at it to signal your enjoyment.

 Your father had been texting you and leaving you voicemail messages frequently over the past week. At first you were concerned for Marks safety, but it seemed that his threats were empty as nothing had come of them yet. And so, you found yourself seated in Marks lap for the third time that week. He let out a low groan as you tugged at his hair once more and shifted slightly in his lap, “stop moving, baby,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly as he squeezed you into his embrace.

 A knock at the door of Marks small, one-bed apartment stilled the pair of you. He lifted his head up to look at you with a cheeky smile, “what?” you looked down at him with wide eyes.

 “You’ll see,” he replied as he placed a soft kiss on your plump lips before picking you up off his lap and placing you down on the warm blanket-covered sofa, you crossed your legs and looked up to him in anticipation.

 He padded over to the front door, just out of your line of sight, you heard him open the door and engage in conversation with the visitor. You glanced around the room and took in your surroundings, observing, as you always did. You’d been in Marks apartment two or three times by now, he seemed to keep it relatively clean, everything seemed to have its place.  You squinted as you noticed a sliver of silver on the bookshelf in the corner of the room, it seemed to be an expensive looking watch, a rolex, perhaps. It looked to be of that sort of style. You wondered briefly how Mark would come by such an expensive watch but didn’t think much of it, perhaps it was a family heirloom?

 Your gaze trailed down as you noticed a hard, black case protruding from its space under the shelf. It didn’t look like a briefcase, in fact it looked to be rather heavy-duty and you wondered what on earth Mark would have one for, you’d only ever seen things like that when people were housing weapons or something similar. You knew this because your father liked to keep cases full of handguns around your house, not that you were supposed to know, you were merely a curious child who went snooping where you shouldn’t have.

 “Hey, so pepperoni or cheese?” you snapped your gaze from the case over to Mark who was just emerging from the hallway to the front door, two greasy pizza boxes in hand. A warm smile lit up your face as the delicious smell of pizza filled the room, “you ordered pizza?”

 “Yeah, I figured you’d be hungry, you do like pizza, right?”

 “Of course,” you hummed, shuffling over to make room for Mark to sit next to you.

 You spent the next two hours sharing the food between you and talking, laughing like normal youngsters should. It felt good to finally be in each other’s company without watching your back or worrying about the future. You had the television on in the background, it was playing an old black and white film that you weren’t really paying attention to, and you felt at home.

 Mark placed the empty boxes on the coffee table once you’d finished with them, pulling you into him and tangling his legs with yours as you rested your head on his chest and listened to his quickened heartbeat. “What do you do? You know, when you’re not causing trouble”

 He visibly tensed at your question and looked away from you as he thought of what to reply “I work for a company, just running errands. It’s nothing special,” he shrugged, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You mind if I smoke?” you shook your head.

 “That sounds a bit boring,” you yawned into his chest, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he let out a soft laugh. He leaned over you momentarily to reach for his pack of cigarettes before leaning back again and fishing his lighter from his pocket.

 “Yeah, I guess it is,” he replied as he caught a cigarette between his lips and brought his lighter up to encase the stick in a flame, leaving behind a glowing tip. He took a long drag, letting his eyes flutter shut in bliss for a second before blowing the smoke out, angling his head up so as to not blow it in your direction.

 “Why don’t you quit?” you coughed a little, fanning away the smoke that had snaked its way down to you.

 “Smoking or work?”

 “Work,” you chuckled, glancing up at him and tracing a finger along his jawline. Admiring the way his jaw flexed as he exhaled another plume of smoke.

“It pays well”

 “You get paid well for running errands?” you raised an eyebrow at him, not quite believing his reasoning.

 “Yes?”

 Before you can say anything else, Marks phone rings from its place on the floor by the empty pizza boxes. “Shit I better get that-,” he lifted the cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table after taking a final, lengthy drag from the glowing stick.

 “It’s okay, I should probably head home anyway,” you cut him off, it was getting late and you didn’t plan on staying the night, you had a 9am lecture the next morning.

 “Alright, baby. Get home safe,” he stood up, pulling you up with him and pulling you in to press a peck on your supple lips, and then another slightly more drawn out kiss before you dragged yourself away from him, not wanting to get carried away. He tasted like wispy smoke and peppermint again and you could so easily get lost in his lips, the effort to pull away proving to be gallant.

 “I’ll see you later,” you blushed up at him, fiddling with the sleeves of your jumper. You turned your back and walked towards the exit, hearing him pick up his phone and answer the incessant ringing. His voice was muffled through the thin wall of his main corridor, and although you knew it was wrong, you found yourself listening.

 “Hey, Sicheng. What’s up?”

 “No, not yet. Hey, can we talk about this later? Now’s not a good time, man.”

 You could picture Mark furrowing his brows in frustration as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, smiling softly to yourself as you slipped on your shoes.

 “Yeah, y/n just left, actually”

 “Yes, Sicheng. I know”

 “I’ll do it soon, I swear”

 Your ears perked up at the mention of your name and you suddenly felt like you were invading his privacy by staying and listening to this conversation. You didn’t feel comfortable hearing information you probably shouldn’t have been privy to. And so, you slipped out of Marks warm apartment as quietly as you could and walked home at a brisk pace, eager to jump into the comfort of your own bed and fall asleep.

 -

 “That’s all for today, don’t forget your deadline next week!” you stood up from your seat in the lecture hall and stuffed your laptop and notebook into your scruffy bag before walking down the stairs to the exit. You’d just finished a two-hour lecture on the history of fine art, the one part of your major that you didn’t absolutely love. It’s not that you didn’t find it interesting, you just felt that it dragged on sometimes; half an hour felt like twice as long in that class.

 You left the room as quickly as you could, already imagining how good your Thursday latte would taste once you made it to the coffee shop. You were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to notice the boy walking in your direction until you bumped into a firm structure, far broader and taller than your own.

 You looked up and smiled as your eyes were met with the pretty sight of Mark’s curly black hair - messy as always, yet still so perfect. “Hi” you grimaced up at him through your lashes.

 “Hey, princess-” he chuckled, “-mind if I join you?” He didn’t give you time to reply as he took your hand in his and pulled you out of your lecture building. “I’m guessing you’re heading to Hyuck’s café?”

 “Yeah” you replied quietly as you glanced down at your intertwined hands, a rosy blush spreading its way up your neck and onto the apples of your cheeks, you tried not to smile too much. You hated the effect he had on you. He had the ability to turn you into a blushing mess at the drop of a hat, and he made it look so easy, it’s like he didn’t even have to try. You wiggled your way out of his grasp, remembering that you were in public. The last thing you wanted was for one of your dads associates to report something back to him, again.

 “How was your day?” he peered across to you, ignoring the way you had separated yourself from him.

 “It’s been alright, pretty standard. How did you know where to find me?” you replied in question, wiggling your eyebrows up at him, “stalker” you giggled, watching as he opened his mouth to respond, shutting it before he could say anything. He looked like a fish.

 “You mind if we take the bike?” he nodded his head towards the striking motorcycle just ahead of you, it wasn’t parked very carefully. He had obviously just pulled up and jumped off in a rush.

 “Oh, it’s okay I can just walk-”

 “Nonsense, baby. Hop on,” he picked up his helmet, placing it on your head and fastening the strap under your chin. “Perfect” he smiled once he was done, admiring how you looked in the soft light of the early evening for the first time. His smile was sad, though you didn’t really think anything of it.

 The two of you usually crossed paths when the sun had set, and the stars were visible for the night, it was nice to see Mark in the golden hour of the day for once. His skin was glowing as he bathed in the light, his black curly hair a stark contrast as his messy locks fell against his forehead and into his eyes. He looked breathtaking, although you supposed that shouldn’t really come as a surprise to you anymore; Mark always looked breathtaking, ethereal even. It was as if he was sculpted by the gods themselves, his beauty truly not of this world.

 You rode through the city, the warm air blowing your hair over your shoulders as your arms automatically wrapped themselves snugly around Marks toned core.

 You found yourself in a state of serenity when you were close to him like this. His warmth and his intoxicating aroma were the deadliest of all combinations. Truthfully, if Mark was an erupting volcano, you would most likely swim towards his lethal inferno. You didn’t understand why you felt this way; he had some unknown, invisible control over you and you were sure you were already addicted.

 “Oh, crap,” you heard under a hushed breath from in front of you. Mark was looking from side to side in a frantic motion, his sudden state of distress immediately alarming you.

 “Mark?” he muttered something that you didn’t quite catch, ignoring your questioning plea. The air around you turned static at the revving of an engine or two coming from right behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck raised into goosebumps and you called out his name once more.

 “It’s fine, baby- shit-” you heard a sharp intake of breath and you lifted your head slightly so that you could rest your forehead on Marks shoulder, letting your eyes screw tightly shut.

 The bike swerved violently to the right as you heard the first gun-shot ring out, it’s deafening sound leaving a painful ringing in your ears. “What the fuck was that? Was that a gun-shot? Holy crap, oh my God-” you stopped yourself and were now verging on terrified as you buried your face further into his warm body. “Mark? What’s going on?”

 “Just hold on real tight, okay?” he briefly glanced back to your quivering, hunched over figure, placing a reassuring hand on the lower part of your thigh, hoping to send you some form of comfort – it didn’t really work. “We’re gonna be fine”

 He seemed determined to get you both out of this mess unscathed, urging his bike to reach dangerous speeds as he steered you both through the bustling traffic of the city, weaving between cars and turning down backstreets, trying desperately to lose your unwanted companions. His entire body was tensed - you could feel it. The adrenaline that was rushing through his blood was causing his veins to pulsate and protrude and his arms were firm with concentration, his grip on the handles of his motorcycle never wavering.

 Another shot rang out. The bike juddered speedily along a small one-way street as you both felt the impact of a bullet nestling itself into the framework; luckily not hindering your getaway speed. “For fucks sake” he cursed as he noted the damage to his precious motorcycle.

 You were muttering a mantra under your breath as you prayed to the Gods that you didn’t believe in; you prayed to Ares and Dionysus and Hades. You chanted and begged to Marks Godlike entity, willing the gunfire to end and for you to be able to have him in piece. You just wanted to be with Mark. That was all. You wanted to enjoy his presence without constantly feeling the watchful gaze of someone lurking in the shadows. You’d been on edge about it ever since you’d received that text, maybe this was your punishment. Perhaps you’d have to endure this as your comeuppance, your retribution for disobeying your fathers’ wishes. What you didn’t realise, however, was that your father wasn’t your greatest threat.

 The wind only grew colder as you sped along the quiet streets, it seemed that Mark was leading you out of the city and away from the bustling streets. The cloud of polluted air covering the city faded until you could only smell fresh, salty air and the never-ending traffic blurred into the soft sound of waves crashing against the sand of the nearby beach. Mark had brought you to the sea.

 “They’re gone” he called over his shoulder as you slowed to a halt at the empty end of the beach. You didn’t dare move from your place behind him, holding him so tightly you feared you may be suffocating him, but he didn’t complain. He instead hung his head low and released his grip on the handlebars, opting to drop his head into his hands and let out the breath he’d been holding in for the past fifteen minutes. “C’mon”.

 You took the hand that Mark offered you once he’d stepped onto the rotting wood of the boardwalk next to you, letting him help your shaking form stand up. You looked up at him with fearful eyes, you didn’t know what to think. Who were they? Had your dad sent them after Mark? After you? You weren’t sure if you wanted to know, you were just glad to be standing back on your own two feet and by the safety of the ocean. You felt safe with Mark, regardless.

You let him guide you down the grassy dunes and onto the soft white sand, neither of you exchanging any words for quite some time. You were in shock, perhaps. You weren’t really sure where to begin. The two of you took your time drinking in the lengthy stretch of sand before you, hands loosely linked together in an attempt to reassure one another that you were both okay.

 It was Mark who spoke up first. He let out a shaky sigh after you’d been walking aimlessly along the beach for several painfully silent minutes. “I guess I should probably start talking, right?” he let out a nervous laugh and lifted his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, something you’d picked up on as a nervous habit of his.

 You looked up at him, the look in your eyes enough to tell him that he should explain himself.

 “The company I work for, the errands I run aren’t exactly legal” he started, not even able to look you in the eye as he spoke. “I’m so sorry you’re caught up in this, y/n,” his voice breaking as he spoke.

 “What do you mean? I’m not caught up in anything. We lost them, Mark. We’re alright.” You stopped walking, tugging on his hand until he turned around and stood in front of you. The almighty, Godlike figure you’d first met suddenly looked like a trembling mess, his tough gaze breaking under your scrutiny.

 “God, I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.” Mark whispered softly as he looked into your eyes, his pupils flitting around your face, he seemed uneasy. You weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him correctly, though. Mark loved you. He loved you, and you were too stupid to see it. “Why did it have to be you?”

 As you looked up at the raven-haired boy, you realised something. Or rather, you understood something. You understood what it felt like to have something that you never wanted to lose. In the few fleeting weeks you’d known Mark, you’d grown to care for him. His towering frame made you feel small and helpless but being in his presence somehow also made you feel powerful and free. When you were with him, it felt like nothing else mattered, he was everything; he was the air that you breathed, the drug that you were addicted to, the celestial being that you didn’t know you craved so badly until he’d first kissed you. You needed him, and perhaps you did love him, even after only a short time, you’d grown so attached.

 He plucked his phone from his pocket and looked at the text he’d seemingly just received, swiftly putting it back in his pocket before you could see, “Not now, God. Not yet.” He muttered frantically, he was manic, the look in his eyes unlike anything he’d ever expressed to you before.

 “This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t meant to happen. I’ve fucked this all up and I cannot express how sorry I truly am-,” he cut his rambling off when you reached up to cup his face in the smooth palms of your hands, stroking your thumbs lovingly over his cheeks. He was a wreck, a trembling cage of beauty in your hands, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss his fears away.

 “They gave me an assignment and I don’t know what I was thinking when I accepted it,” he searched your eyes in panic, lifting his own large palms to cover your dainty hands, pulling your hands down to rest on his broad chest. “They’ll kill me if I don’t deliver, I always complete my missions, I-” he heaved out a deep breath and gave himself a moment to think. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

 “Baby, it’s okay. We can figure this out together, alright?” you were calm as you spoke, although your heart was racing ninety to the dozen. You were scared, yes. But Mark made you feel safe, you had nothing to fear when you were with him, that much you were sure of now.

 You grasped his hands tightly in yours as he held them against his own chest, the thundering beat of his heart hard to miss. “I love you.”

 “Let me love you, Mark,” you trained your eyes on his lips and leaned into him, melting into his embrace completely the second your lips met his. You kissed him so delicately, letting your feelings mold into every fibre of his being with each and every peck, each time your lips met becoming more and more heavenly. He wrapped you up in his arms and you couldn’t possibly be any closer to one another no matter how hard you tried; your chests were pressed flush against each other, your hands touching every inch of skin as your tongues met in a passionate dance.

 “Don’t shut me out any longer,” you gasped as you broke away for air momentarily, before reattaching your lips to his in a drawn-out kiss. “I can’t get enough of you, Mark,” you panted, digging your fingertips into his shoulders in utter, blown-out bliss.

 Marks hands travelled from yours to meet around your waist, your lower back, your hips, your neck. He was touching you everywhere, like it was the last time he would touch you, kiss you, like this. His lips sucked on yours and his kisses were feverish and open mouthed, his thigh propped between your legs as he tried to keep you both steady. He finally settled one of his hands to rest between your ear and your jaw, pulling away to admire your wind-swept state in the heat of the moment. “You’re beautiful, y/n. You know that?” you could see tears beginning to form in the corners of the gorgeous, doe eyes you’d fallen into so deeply, his gaze leering so heavily into your own.

 He pressed a final, barely-there kiss to your supple lips before dropping his head into the crook of your neck languidly. His hot breath stuttered against your neck, your hairs standing on end as you bathed in his being. His hold on you felt like molten lava against your skin, his very touch burning hot onto your sensitive skin, leaving red trails wherever his fingertips travelled.

 “I love you, please forgive me,” he sounded distraught.

 You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, and another shiver once you felt the cold metal come between your bodies, although you didn’t have time to react before you felt it, before you heard it. The sound in itself would have been enough to make you faint, it was piercing and deadly and you were gone. The gun between you fell to the floor as Mark shook violently in horror at your now limp body, which had now fallen, crumbled lifelessly into his arms. Your heart. He’d shot you straight through your heart, he’d put a bullet through all your love for him.

 “I’m so sorry,” he was hysterical, yet unnervingly tranquil at the same time.  

 “They told me I had to kill you. Your fathers’ company is our biggest threat and I-,” he paused, shaking his head as the tears began to cascade silently down his cheeks. “I had to do it. I had to make him vulnerable, I had to put work first.”

 “I didn’t have a choice, I’m so fucking sorry, y/n,” he lowered himself to the ground and sobbed as his arms thrashed into your unmoving body, his fists clenching at your blood-soaked clothes. The colour drained from your skin and in turn, Marks face paled in trepidation, his heart felt heavy, yet so incredibly empty. He loves you, but he’d shot you. You were dead.

[megashadowdragon]

It has been called many things- the unwalkable disease, gutta (drop), podagra, arthritis of the rich, and the disease of kings (which sounded suitably dramatic for a title).

But we more commonly call it gout.

Doran Martell suffers from an advanced stage of gout, perhaps even exaggerated, since he has had his movement restricted to such a degree that nearly all motion is difficult without severe pain. (I'm not a doctor so, I can't say for certain)

Gout as a Facet of Doran's Character

We know that Doran is in constant pain, that it prevents sleep, and he finds no hope in medical treatment curing his disease.

The prince turned his chair laboriously to face her. Though he was but two-and-fifty, Doran Martell seemed much older. His body was soft and shapeless beneath his linen robes, and his legs were hard to look upon. The gout had swollen and reddened his joints grotesquely; his left knee was an apple, his right a melon, and his toes had turned to dark red grapes, so ripe it seemed as though a touch would burst them. Even the weight of a coverlet could make him shudder, though he bore the pain without complaint.

For comparison here is a testimony from a patient with gout in a single leg:

"The patient goes to bed and sleeps quietly until about two in the morning when he is awakened by a pain which usually seizes the great toe, but sometimes the heel, the calf of the leg or the ankle. The pain resembles that of a dislocated bone ... and this is immediately succeeded by a chillness, shivering and a slight fever ... the pain ..., which is mild in the beginning ..., grows gradually more violent every hour ... so exquisitely painful as not to endure the weight of the clothes nor the shaking of the room from a person walking briskly therein."

That is what Doran endures each day, constantly. Even the weight of a sheet would make the man shudder.

It is no wonder to me that he loves watching the little children splash and laugh and play in the Water Gardens. I imagine each glance must be bittersweet- imaging a time when he could run and splash with the other children, or watching Oberyn and Elia do the same. Knowing that now, his mobility, his autonomy has been taken from him, just as his siblings have been taken, leaving him unable to move, and unable to act.

Doran must be quite aware of how the children view him, and he takes special care to put them at ease, even at his own increased pain.

Then nought would do but he must say farewell to several of the children who had become especial favorites... Doran kept a splendid Myrish blanket over his legs as he spoke with them, to spare the young ones the sight of his swollen, bandaged joints

That splendid Myrish blanket sounds heavy with adornment (or even fabric) knowing that even a light coverlet's pressure pained him before this must be agony. It is my opinion that this blanket is as much for Prince Doran as it is for the children. He invites many children to the Water Gardens, a virtual safe haven free from class differences, a near oasis, the Prince entertains them, and it seems he must speak with them and come to know many of them. So much so, that he must say good bye.

Prince Doran carefully guards his image, this is part of the reason they left Sunspear nearly two years ago- he was getting sicker and needed to retreat from the whispers that filled the Shadow City. In the Water Garden's he is better able to project strength and wellness- his people clearly are unaware of how far his gout has progressed.

That this performance also extends to the children speaks to some form of painful self awareness on Doran's part- he doesn't want to expose his legs and upset them. I think he also doesn't want to see the children's faces and face their questions if they saw his legs.

Mobility and Autonomy

Something as simple as walking, is a thing we often take for granted. Doran can't get up to pour a glass of water, he needs help sitting up each day, he cannot support his weight enough to stand. It's paralyzing, it shrinks your perspective down to minute motions where every move is weighed by how much pain it will cause.

I think we can see this same restriction in his political moves as well- a painful reflection of his limited physical autonomy.

Hotah slid his longaxe into its sling across his back and gathered the prince into his arms, tenderly so as not to jar his swollen joints. Even so, Doran Martell bit back a gasp of pain... Hotah bore him up the long stone steps of the Tower of the Sun, to the great round chamber beneath the dome

The Prince of Dorne had to be carried from his seat, in the arms of his guard, up the steps of a tower to his bedroom. For a man in such a medieval martial society, that frames its conceptions of strength over acts of physical strength and war, which scorns physical disability, this must be a humiliating experience.

A Thimble of Poppy

It's after this day of bad news, of constant increasing pain, that we finally see a true crack in Doran Martell's armor. First the letter, which brought news of his brother's death, then his nieces repeated threats and calls for war (Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene), and humiliation from each we see him ask for a thimble of milk of the poppy. I'm not certain why, but these words (even after watching Maester Caelotte worry over possible poisoning) were very sad to read.

Doran has reached a wall, a point where he doesn't care anymore about keeping a clear head and frame of mind. He just wants relief, that constant spike in every joint, to be muted and fade to the background for a while.

Treatment

It seems that his gout has grown quite worse in the last few years:

Two years ago, when they had left Sunspear for the peace and isolation of the Water Gardens, Prince Doran’s gout had not been half so bad. In those days he had still walked, albeit slowly, leaning on a stick and grimacing with every step

Although gout has been treated in our own history for more than 2,000 years, it does not appear that the more advanced medicine of westeros (compared to our medieval history) has developed even basic treatments.

Since the time of Hippocrates we have known that gout was linked to lifestyle, and since Galen we've known that there are genetic factors associated with its development. For both of these periods gout was treated with a flower called the Autumn crocus- a powerful purgative (colchicine) was derived from it.

Strangely, there doesn't appear to be much help for it in westeros.

Maester Caleotte remained behind. “My prince?” the little round man asked. “Do your legs hurt?” The prince smiled faintly. “Is the sun hot?” “Shall I fetch a draught for the pain?” “No. I need my wits about me

In my opinion, this implies that the treatment automatically given is milk of the poppy. A pain reliever which would impair Doran's judgement- and milk of the poppy seems to fit (barring a more specific remedy we haven't heard of).

We also have reference to:

the maester helped Doran Martell to bathe and bandaged up his swollen joints in linen wraps soaked with soothing lotions

Although, I don't expect Hotah to be knowledgeable about the exact methods the maester uses to treat Doran- Hotah is in the third best position to know how the Prince is being treated (after Maester Caelotte, and Doran himself).

Lifestyle

Doran does not appear to have been given treatment options regarding his lifestyle.

A serving man brought him a bowl of purple olives, with flatbread, cheese, and chickpea paste. He ate a bit of it, and drank a cup of the sweet, heavy strongwine that he loved. When it was empty, he filled it once again.

This is, perhaps, the worst dinner Doran could have eaten in regards to his gout. Yet, it also is terribly mundane (by which I mean- likely a meal consumed regularly and not an indulgence). It is a staple meal- flatbread, cheese, and hummus. Simple, and certainly not King's Landing fare. But it is loaded with sugar, salt, and alcohol. All things which make gout worse- much worse.

We have another example:

He had decided to break his fast before he went, with a blood orange and a plate of gull’s eggs diced with bits of ham and fiery peppers

This is just as bad- sugar and meat- another food which exasperates his condition. One of the first lifestyle changes used as treatment was the elimination of alcohol, sweet foods from the diet.

It doesn't appear that Doran is remaining sick with gout to raise his popularity (as it was in our own history)

Gout (Everyone's Doing it These Days)

"The common cold is well named – but the gout seems instantly to raise the patient's social status", and to another in Punch in 1964, "In keeping with the spirit of more democratic times, gout is becoming less upper-class and is now open to all ... It is ridiculous that a man should be barred from enjoying gout because he went to the wrong school."

Nor does it appear that the gout is being used to ward off other more serious diseases (the gout seems extremely concerning)

In earlier times, attacks of gout were also seen as a prophylactic against more serious diseases. According to the writer Horace Walpole, gout "prevents other illnesses and prolongs life ... could I cure that gout, should not I have a fever, a palsy, or an apoplexy?"

My Takeaway:

I took a course on the intersection of disease, medicine, and history a while ago as a fun class- after reading this chapter again (Hotah I AFFC) I don't find him boring or lackluster anymore. If anything, Doran is incredibly human, and extremely relatable once you break him down.

He lives very much inside his own mind, I imagine wherever he is, Doran is always in the Water Garden's in his own head, seeing himself, Elia, and Oberyn shouting and splashing, as they were never able in childhood.

(Note: This is all said in the context of this one chapter, I haven't reread the next in the Dorne storyline yet.)

comments : I am not a medical student, so probably take my words with a grain of salt. Based on the source I listed below, it’s very universally known that sweets, alcohol, and meat (even sugar from fruit) exacerbate gout. The “drops” (Uric acid that builds into crystals in joints) is worsened by large amounts of sugar. (Like in the strongwine that Doran enjoys)Cherries do have sugar, not as much as other fruit, but I think they might have been referring to a combination of cherries and allopurinol which is used to reduce the amount of uric acid.Some older treatments of gout (that originated in the 19th c) basically attempted to purge the body of uric acid through urine. To my knowledge they use other methods today, but it must have been at least mildly effective (I remember reading about negative effects of such purgative treatment- so I’m not entirely sure).

[sisterpiranha]

The Art of Snake Charming, ch. 8

Pairing: Lawrusso, Daniel Larusso/Amanda Larusso (at the start, I mean, they are engaged) Johnny/Shannon, mention of Johnny/others

Summary:  Johnny is a stripper. Daniel has a bachelor party. Louie is an idiot.

MASTERLIST

(translations for the Spanish text at the end)

I've been struggling with this story a bit since I'm in two minds about how to end it. And this is a decision I should make before moving forward. So just to give myself time to mull this over, I wrote this chapter from Johnny's perspective and about his history. It's extra self-indulgent and has little to no dialogue. So I'm very sorry.The good news is that it can be skipped without affecting the reading of the rest of the story. So enjoy! (or not!)

As usual, not beta. And I didn't have time to edit this as much as I wanted, so there might be more mistakes than ever. And the tenses are all over the place.

CHAPTER 9

Johnny saw Daniel leave. He saw the door closing behind him and wondered if he would see him again. Probably not. Or if he did, it wouldn't be the same. He’d be married by then, maybe had kids of his own. And Johnny would be nothing but a stupid mistake of his past. He wondered what would happen if they were to meet in 15 years. Would Daniel avoid him? Pretend he didn’t exist? Or would he say hello like they were old friends and ask him how he had been, like he had never begged Johnny to stay the night with him or ask for a kiss goodbye? Would Johnny still care? He didn’t doubt that he would. He had carried Daniel in his heart for the past 17 years and he had little doubt that he’d be a weight pulling him down for 17 more.

Johnny felt tears running down his cheeks and rubbed them furiously with his hand. He was stronger than this, he had to be. It’s not like he hadn’t known it would end this way. From the moment he had seen Daniel’s big Bambi eyes staring at him in shock a few nights ago, he had known that whatever happened, he would have ended up broken-hearted.

Daniel had been his first crush, the one that had made him realise that he wasn’t as straight as he would like to be, the one that catalyzed everything. Even back then, he would think of what things would have been like if they were different. What if Johnny had had balls enough to break away from his friends and Kreese and extend an olive branch to Daniel? Would the boy have taken it? Would they have become friends? Johnny liked to imagine so. 

But his olive branch had come too late. After the tournament, he’d wanted to go see the other boy to apologise, make amends, show him that he could be better than he had shown himself to be, but he always put it off. After the poisonous haze of Kreese had cleared from his mind and the bruises from his face and neck disappeared, shame had taken control. It was only six months later that he managed to gather enough courage to go find him.

But he was nowhere to be found. His old apartment was not occupied by someone else, and no one answered at Miyagi's place.

Johnny would come back to the old man's house and wait outside for a while in case he had missed them, in case he had caught them when they were away, but they had all been gone. And Daniel became a ghost alive and real only in Johnny’s memories. 

The last time he had waited for him was after being thrown out of his house. Sid had caught wind of the kind of clubs Johnny had been frequenting. Between that and him quitting school, it had been the last straw. He didn’t remember much from that night, but amidst the pain from Sid’s punches and the sound of his mother crying still ringing in his ears, what he remembered the most was sitting on the hood of his car for hours and hours, drinking beer after beer and looking at every passerby in the hopes that he would recognise the big brown doe eyes that he craved. As if by just wishing, he could make Daniel materialise in front of him. He had slept in his car that night and had woken up the next day hangover and with the certainty that Daniel had left for good. 

That had been the start of his downward spiral. 

Much of his twenties, he had spent in a haze of alcohol, drugs and sex, making the worst decisions possible and trying very hard to purge every single memory of his last year of high school from his brain, and yet, countless times, waking up in bed with dark-haired men with big soft brown eyes and tan skin that looked nothing like Daniel in the harsh light of day. 

There were many wake-up calls during that time: ending up in the hospital with an overdose or after getting beaten up, getting arrested for stealing and solicitation, almost being sent to prison. Without friends, without his family and without a sensei, he looked for the worst company he could find and let himself be dragged down with them. 

One call, however, had changed it all. 

He’d barely recognised Sid on the phone, but his words still struck him like a knife. His mother was ill. The kind of ill you didn't recover from. Sid was willing to let him come back as long as he promised to clean his act and leave his more "undesirable proclivities" in the past. Normally Johnny would have sent the man to go fuck himself, but the word ‘cancer’ was still rattling in his head. He wouldn’t abandon his mother again. So he accepted and, like the prodigal son, he went back to Encino and to the arms of a mother who was barely strong enough to hold him.

Things moved fast from there. He went to rehab and met Shannon, someone who was as broken as he was and who didn’t flinch whenever his mask showed its cracks. She had deserved better than him, but, at the time, they had clung to each other like a lifeline, hoping that the other was strong enough to save them both. But they hadn’t been strong at all and the pregnancy had ended up destroying what little love had been left between them. 

When Laura died, Johnny’s heart broke once again and he went back to the only refuge he had known. The end of her mother’s life had almost put an end to his, but it didn’t. The moment his son had been placed in his arms had changed everything. Robby had saved his life. Shannon hadn’t been so lucky.

And Johnny remembered clearly the first time the boy had grasped his hand, his little hand looking tiny next to his. He remembered crying more than he had cried before, he cried for Shannon who would never know her son. For Laura who would have loved to be a grandmother. For the sacrifice, her mother had made just for him to throw his life away. For Robby and his bad luck of not being born to a better family. Even for Daniel who, years later, still haunted his memories.

Turning his life around had taken a lot, but he knew Robby was worth it. Many times, he was tempted to go to Sid and ask him for money or some help. But his mother’s death was still too fresh and his wound still too raw for him to take the humiliation. Without meaning to, Laura had taught him a lesson that he never managed to learn herself: money, and a mansion and a position were not worth having to live with the constant abuse of someone like his stepfather. 

So Johnny rented an apartment and struck on his own. Things got difficult then. For one thing, he wasn’t someone people were eager to hire. He worked odd jobs as a handyman here and there. He occasionally got some money playing pull. And when things got really tight, he wasn’t above doing other things for money, too. He wasn’t proud of that, but he needed to provide for Robby and it’s not like he hadn’t done it before. 

But that wasn't his only problem, he also knew very little about babies. In that sense, the Diaz family had been his salvation. They had moved to the building two months after he did, fleeing the violence of Carmen’s husband, who remained in Ecuador.  And Carmen and Rosa had had no qualms to take him under their wing. Rosa would look after Robby when he had to work and teach Johnny how to take care of him. And he would take Carmen to work and accompany her wherever she didn’t feel safe going alone. 

Working at a strip club was something he had never expected. He had met Lenny one morning when he was exercising. He had seen Johnny doing some katas in the park wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and struck a conversation with him. When he made an offer to come work for him, the blonde thought he was full of shit, but it turned out that it was a legitimate job offer and not just a way to get Johnny on his bed. Johnny knew next to nothing about stripping, other than he was meant to take his clothes, but the money was better than anything he could make on his own, so he was willing to learn. In that sense, karate had been a huge help. So when it came the time for him to create his stripping alter-ego, the decision had been obvious. And the jacket still had fitted like a glove.

Johnny would be lying if he said that, throughout this time, he had never thought of Daniel Larusso. Dating was hard with a baby. Even worse in his line of business. He’d tried a few times, but nothing had come of it, so eventually he just stopped trying, other than occasional one night stands. But his mind couldn’t help going back to Daniel. He imagined a thousand different little scenarios in which they would meet again. He didn’t even know if Daniel had come back to the Valley, but he imagined maybe they would bump into each other in a shop or the park. They’d get talking and maybe Johnny would ask him out for a coffee or a drink. 

However, in all his fantasies, Johnny was never a stripper. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of it, necessarily. But Daniel had seen him at his peak, he had been a king back then living the life of a rich Encino kid. And now? He lived in a shit apartment and he made ends meet by taking his clothes so people could stuff money in his jockstrap. He couldn’t imagine Daniel’s face if he ever found out.

And sadly, he didn’t have to. 

Seeing Daniel again, in the flesh, had shocked him more than he had let on. The man had been a construction of his imagination for so long that seeing him actually standing before him seemed unreal. Johnny felt like he had walked into a daydream where anything could be possible. That was the only explanation on why he had behaved the way he did, staying when he knew he should have left, and carrying something forward when the only possible outcome had been Daniel leaving. But there had been something in Daniel’s eyes that first night that called to Johnny. The eagerness with which he had followed him outside and sought after him the following day, and the obvious jealousy whenever Robby came up in conversation had given Johnny a strange hope that maybe he hadn’t been alone in his inability to put his old rival out of his mind.

And Johnny was even ashamed to recognise that, even though rationally he knew that Daniel was going to get married, there was a deep, hidden part of him that had also wished that maybe Daniel would end up not going through with the wedding. That the time they spent together had made him change his mind. And when he opened the door of his apartment to see him standing there, that stupid part of him roared in his chest. But just as soon as hope flared, it died down. Sure, Daniel was attracted to him and, under different circumstances, maybe things would have been different. But it was the money that made him come back, money that Johnny had forgotten all about. That and closure. Daniel wanted to move on with his life, put Johnny and everything else in the past and carry on with his new life.

The sound of the door opening pulled Johnny out of his thoughts and two excited toddlers threw themselves on Johnny at the screams of ‘dada!' and 'tío!”. Rosa, on the other hand, had only to look at his face to guess what had happened. 

“Ay, Johnny,” the woman said getting closer and caressing his cheek. “¿Por qué no vienes a comer con nosotros? Te haré los plátanos que tanto te gustan.”

He nodded and followed the woman out of the apartment, carrying the giggling boys in his arms. Daniel had decided to move on with his life, and maybe it was time he did the same. 

[for-amoment]

╰ ✧ ˔ ⭒ magic is in the air ! oh wait - that’s just our newest neighbor, MELODY ATLANTICA, the EIGHTEEN year old AQUARIST. they’ve been relocated from pastoral city, and so far the locals claim that they’re INDEPENDENT and INSECURE, just like MELODY from THE LITTLE MERMAID: RETURN TO THE SEA. if you ask me, they seem like the type to enjoy MESSY BANGS AND THE SMELL OF THE SEA. apparently, they are UNSURE about entering rome pines, and i don’t think their power of AQUAPATHY will help them this time. let’s just hope they can adjust to the new neighborhood…⭒˔ ╮

( Trigger Warning: Mentions of Mental Illness, Disease, Parental Death, Bullying, Underage Drinking )

S T O R Y:

She was an accident. They were too young, too dumb - it just happened. Melody’s mother, Marina, was barely eighteen at the time and when she told Geoffrey, Melody’s father, he left abruptly. 

Marina was alone to deal with a difficult pregnancy, in which she struggled with prenatal depression. During this hard time, she heavily relied on the support of her older sister Athena and her husband, Triton. She moved in with them and the couple, with their seven daughters did everything in their power to help the young woman get back on her feet. Grateful and touched by the kindness Athena and Triton showed her, Marina offered them the position of her daughter’s godparents, which they gladly accepted. 

Few weeks before going into labor, the woman decided to buy a locket as a gift for her future daughter. It was beautiful, with their last name engraved on the front and a picture, taken just a few weeks after her birth, inside it. The whole family was together, smiling. Marina decided she’d give it to her on her first birthday.

Melody became, from her first breathe, the apple of Marina’s eye. She just knew she’d do anything for this little baby. If she could choose, she’d never leave her side. But real life came along, and with it, the bills. As Melody completed eight months, the woman took two different jobs to provide for the child. For the first two years of her life, Melody spend most of her time in her godparents house with her cousins and with babysitters. The weekends, however, were exclusively for time with her mother. These were Melody’s favorite days.

Athena’s death was a very painful moment for everyone. Marina made sure to keep close to Triton, to honor her sister’s memory and help him raising his daughters anyway she could. He was thankful to have her, and became something of a protector, a father figure, for both of the girls. They were family. All they had was each other.

Melody was a rather shy and observant child, only allowing herself to open up near people she trusted. It took a while for her to warm up to anyone, but as soon as she did, they could count that her big blue eyes would follow you wherever they’d go. From a young age, she found comfort in being near water. Pulling her off a pool or a bath tub were difficult tasks. Luckily, this was a familiar feeling, that her mother encouraged as best as she could. The first time her mother took her to the beach, her powers manifested. She was three and enchanted to be able to understand all the creatures there. She felt understood by them. She felt like she truly belonged there.

Years passed. They were able to move to a place of their own, not far from Triton and the girls. As Melody started school, Marina got promoted, which allowed her to spend more time with her daughter. They were inseparable, a truly dream team. Nothing could go wrong. Until it did.

It was the day after Melody’s eighth birthday. It started as a series of migraines. A few days latter, some black dots in her vision field. She told herself it was stress, work was asking too much of her. Nothing out of the usual. The symptoms came and go. Until the day she passed out in the middle of the living room. 

It all happened too fast. Melody called her godfather, desperately crying, and minutes later, he was there, driving them to the hospital. The doctors did everything in their power, even magic wise, but they just couldn’t tell what it was. Three months latter, she didn’t resist.

Melody felt like her world was crumbling under her feet. She’d refuse to talk, eat or move, sometimes for days straight. Triton, worried for the girl’s health, made a decision. He hunted Geoffrey, told him his daughter needed him, and after a not-so-friendly conversation, with threats included, he agreed, reluctantly, to take care of her. 

So she moved in with him. It was rough. They were getting to know each other as father and daughter. She had to get used to moving to a new place, a new school, to be far from her godfather and cousins, while still dealing with her grief. He had to get used to having a child around, a challenge he’d never imagine he’d have to deal with. At first Geoffrey tried to be as supportive as he could. He’d help her pick what she wanted to decorate her room, buy her school supplies, drive her to and from Triton’s house to see her family. But it didn’t last long. Their relation became closer to that of two roommates. He was absent most of the time, providing her with money and disappearing for days or even weeks. She was stuck there, alone. Melody learned quickly that she’d have to rely on herself for anything she needed.

That became especially hard once she started in her new school. Her father had enrolled her in a private school and people there weren’t as nice as she hoped. They’d judge everyone by their appearances and their powers. Melody didn’t quite fit in, not really worried about brand materials or how she could make money with the power she had, honestly she’d much rather use her comfortable clothes and spend the afternoon sitting near the water, talking to the animals there. The other students started to bully her, severely. They’d make jokes about her lack of money, her aquatic friends and her dysfunctional family. They’d call her a ‘charity-case’, a ‘weirdo’, a ‘burden’. Little by little, the girl started to believe them.

Melody dreaded going to school, having to talk to other people. She started to daydream of a different reality. When her cousins called and asked about her life, she’d lie. She’d describe one of her illusions and tell them all about how wonderful her father was and how she adapted easily to school. After all, she barely saw her cousins anymore. She didn’t want to burden them with her problems.

By the end of Elementary school, Melody would spend most of her free time alone, walking around the city. She didn’t feel safe at school and didn’t feel comfortable at her father’s house. One of those day, she got lost and ran into a gang of teenagers who tried to rob her. However, they took pity on the young, nervous girl, and decided to welcome her into their group. 

They weren’t the greatest influences, but they would protect her and she finally felt like she belonged somewhere. The group spent most of their time drinking and causing trouble in the street - Melody realized that alcohol made it easier for her to communicate and be friendly. Even though she wasn’t involved in most of the action, learned how to pickpocket someone, to break into cars, and even houses. The group was known as frequent visitors of the police station. Luckily for Melody, she could get away easily, being the younger and having the sympathy of one of the officers who worked there and always let her off with a warning and a mild scolding. Little by little, their group disintegrated. Some were arrested, some just sort of fade away. 

Melody was almost seventeen, and she felt more lost than ever. One afternoon, one of her cousins called presented her with the opportunity of working half-period in the town aquarium. Nothing seemed better for the girl than the chance to spend countless hours near their marine friends and get payed for this. Her powers helped her immensely and as soon as she graduated high school, they offered her the position full time. She accepted, enthusiastically. She was a part of the team. Things were finally starting to look up.

N O W A D A Y S :

The fire took everyone by surprise. It was terrifying. They were evacuated and, overnight, they found themselves in this whole new place - Rome Pines. The government did all they could to help the relocation, but Melody felt the anxiety of having to adapt to a new home, having to meet people setting in.

At first, she looked for her godfather and her cousins and was relived to see they were all safe - for them, the feeling was mutual, once it had been a long time since they last saw the girl. Once she met with her father, they agreed there was no point in living together anymore. He promised to send her some money monthly so she could start her own life and left. This was the last time she saw him. She found a place near the university campus, for the first time after a long time, she had a place where she felt truly at home.

She got to keep her job. Rome Pines aquarium is not a sight to behold, none of that. It’s a very simple place, but at least she’d still have a paycheck while being able to be close to the water and talk to her closest friends.

P E R S O N A L I T Y :

Melody is still very quiet and observant, and sometimes she gets easily lost in her own thoughts and lose track of time. The girl has a sarcastic sense of humor, which doesn’t cross the line to be malicious. She’s not the most sociable person - she spends most of her time by herself and it’s very rare to find her outside without her earphones at max volume - but she’s also very loyal and kind to the people who gain her trust. Melody has an aura of a person who had to grow up too fast, and sometimes people are surprised to learn or be reminded of how young - and fragile - she really is. She’s got a sweet tooth and an addiction to caffeine, and sometimes has to be reminded to have a regular meal instead of just living off take-out fast food and jelly beans. She uses lots of Converses sneakers and wears her mother’s locket around her neck - she never takes it off.

[hashtagartistlife]

Maybe fate was called fate because some things weren’t choices; some things were simply written into his DNA, woven into the very fabric of the universe. World orders. The sky is blue. The sun is hot. He is in love with Kuchiki Rukia.

Kuchiki Rukia is dying.  

Ten years after the defeat of Yhwach, it’s time Ichigo and Rukia started facing some truths— about the world, about themselves, and about each other. 

this is all i have of this fic for now (this and a tiny little bit of chapter 3), i guess it’ll be updated when i woman the fuck up and wrack up enough nerves to keep writing which im hoping will be sometime this decade :’/ but i might post chapters i have for other unfinished fics i have over the next few days so if you’re into unfinished fics (read: literally nobody) then stick around!!! 

premise for this fic | chapter 1 here | this is chapter 2

________________________________________________________________

f r a y

by hashtagartistlife

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Two 

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9:12 am 

Kurosaki Clinic

When Renji wakes up the next morning to find Rukia safely asleep beside him, he feels the tension across his shoulders ease somewhat. They’d both been a little worried about how her sleepwalking habit might fit into this visit (even though neither of them had voiced their concerns out loud), he more so than she for reasons he had yet to disclose to her. Her breathy sigh of ‘Ichigo?’ rings in his ears. He hadn’t seen a point in telling Rukia about that, not when she was still refusing to admit she had a problem in the first place. She’d just feel needlessly guilty and isolate herself even more. Renji knows how Rukia works. What he doesn’t know is how to break through that shell she builds around herself, how to draw her out of it and get her to face her problems head-on. 

No, he admits (and he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a trace of bitterness in the way he thought it), that’s always been Ichigo’s specialty. He looks across the rowdy breakfast table to his friend, who is sitting uncharacteristically silent with a mug of something dark and unappetising in his hands. His eyes are shadowed, tired, and when he meets Renji’s gaze he starts almost guiltily before curving his lips into an uneasy smile. 

The hell’s all that about? Renji thinks, but then Ichika slams into his knee, shoving a glass of orange juice into his face, and he puts the moment out of his mind. The rest of the morning is filled with trying out some godawful beverage called ‘coffee’ at Orihime’s behest, wrangling Ichika into human world clothes, and sending the children off, along with their mothers, to go meet Sado. He and Ichigo stay back, Ichigo to tend to his clinic and he to go see Urahara. Since gensei visits were so few and far between, even on what was ostensibly a holiday they had been saddled with checking in on the shopkeeper to exchange news and technology. Renji figures he might as well get that out of the way first, and catch up with Sado later. 

At least, he figures that until Ichigo corners him just before he walks out the door, a dark expression on his face. He looks uncomfortable, standing in the doorway of his own house, a hand on the back of his neck, and Renji notes with a kind of detached surprise that if Ichigo hadn’t been slumping, they’d be more or less at a height now. He raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question. 

“A— about Rukia—” Ichigo stumbles over the syllables in her name, and stops, wetting his lips, looking nervous. A sense of foreboding settles into Renji’s gut; Ichigo hasn’t looked this worried in— well, a decade. He stays quiet, letting Ichigo finish his question. “Has she ever— has she ever sleepwalked before?”

He freezes in his tracks; frantically, Renji rewinds last night in his mind. It’s no use; he’d been out for the count for a solid eight hours. If he hadn’t been so tired lately, he’d have thought someone had spiked his drink. Try as he might, he can’t remember Rukia slipping out of bed at all. But she’d been back in bed by the morning, so someone must have intercepted her—

Ichigo. Rukia’s voice, ghostly in his mind, calling his name. Ichigo. Ichigo. Ichigo—

His breath leaves him in a long, long sigh, and Renji closes his eyes before gesturing for Ichigo to sit. 

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6:53 am

Ichigo doesn’t go back to his bed after the kiss. Instead he sits outside the clinic, on the cold hard asphalt, for one eternity— two— til the sun starts lightening the end of the street and the moon grows paler in the sky. He can still feel Rukia on his skin, in his veins, lingering like a drug that refuses to clear. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be empty of her touch now that he’s known it. 

When the moon finally disappears and the sun well and truly risen, he picks himself up from the ground and stumbles back into the house, feeling like he was the sleepwalker now. The sight of their children sprawled out together in their blanket fort brings the reality of what he’s done rushing back to him. He can’t help the reflex that brings his fingers up to ghost over his lips, like a lovesick teenager. The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched, and he turns away from the kids, sleeping angelically side-by-side. He can’t bear the thought of facing either of them, of facing anyone in this household any more. 

What does he do now? Does he go back to bed, pretend nothing ever happened— slip into his place beside Orihime and forget the fact that his heart is beating again for the first time in ten years? Does he come clean to her and beg forgiveness, tell her he loves her and it won’t ever happen again, or does he lock this away in a dark recess of his mind, just like he’s done with his shinigami powers and everything related to her for the last decade? His mind casts around frantically for excuses — he was tired. It was the middle of the night. Hell, he doesn’t even know if it really happened anymore — was everything a fever dream, triggered by the immense relief of seeing Rukia again? But his blood is thrumming in his veins, and the power he’d spent his entire adult life crushing down is once again swirling and eddying just under his skin, exactly like it had when he was seventeen. His hands are shaking, and his skin feels hot. He can’t lie to himself. Rukia was here. Rukia’d kissed him. He’d kissed her back. 

He drags his trembling hands over his eyes, down his face; slumps into a chair in the kitchen and attempts to evade the question that becomes more pressing with every second. What now? It was clear that Rukia had no idea what had happened. The weight of this transgression was his alone to carry. Even if she had remembered, the fault lay with him— she’d been asleep, but he’d been wide awake and had pulled her towards him. 

A part of him— the good part, the noble part, the part that had once forced its way through layers of hollow to tell his zanpakutou to fuck off out of his fight with Byakuya— is yelling at him to confess, to lay himself at Orihime’s mercy and take whatever comes from it. But a larger, more insistent part of him is asking, for what? What does telling Orihime accomplish, but the breaking of four hearts? He has never deserved Orihime, with her soft smiles and kind words to his rough edges; the fact that he is, once again, an awful person to her— for her— is not news. What is the point of ruining her spun-sugar smile with something that will never happen again—

liar

—especially when it doesn’t just involve him? If he confesses, it’s not just his head on the line; it’s Rukia’s, too, no matter the fact that she was asleep at the time. And he might be willing to risk everything he ever is or was for far less than this, but there is no way in hell he will do that to Rukia. Not for some one-off sleepwalking incident that she had no control over, and if it happens again he’ll just push her away—

liar

— and oh, god, was this a thing that happened often? Rukia’d always been a deep sleeper; she was, despite everything she insisted to the contrary, very clearly not okay if she was sleepwalking like this. 

As his thoughts spiral back to the cause of his turmoil, Ichigo becomes acutely aware of her reiatsu upstairs, thrumming rapidly like a hummingbird’s wings. It seems lighter and more unsettled than he remembers it being, and the tinge of instability to it as it flares and retreats irregularly unnerves him. Rukia’s reiatsu control has always been top-class, so this distinct lack of it triggers alarm bells in his mind. He swallows, and attempts to smooth down the ragged edges of her power with his; but wherever his reiatsu brushes against hers, it just flares brighter and more powerful and he has to give up, lest it disturb Renji or the kids.

It's been a while since he's felt someone else’s reiatsu like this, but he knows this isn't normal; concern eats at him even as it wars with an urge to ignore it and bury everything about this incident as deep as possible. Rukia isn’t an idiot, she would have gotten help if it was something serious—but would she, really? He knows better than anyone how stubborn she can be when she thinks she’s being a burden. She’d die before she let someone else take the fall for her. 

He closes his eyes. 

He scowls; ten years it’s been, and she’s still so— so— so her. Longer hair, a husband and child, a Captain’s haori, and nothing matters; she’s still stubborn, still a bitch who lives to help everyone else but won’t let anyone help her. It's evident in the way she refuses to say she’s tired, the way that Renji’s eyes follow her around everywhere, worried. She’s still the self-sacrificing idiot she’d been from day one, and he—

He is still the coward he’d been twelve years ago, when he’d watched her bleed out on the concrete before him and only then been spurred into action. 

This isn’t about him. If Rukia is ill, then he has to let someone know— someone who can actually do something about it. His feelings — whatever they are— does not factor into the equation. This is about Rukia—

— so, he needs to talk to Renji. 

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.

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10:18 am

“Has Rukia ever sleepwalked before?”

A moment of tension across Renji’s features, and then a long, long sigh; he gestures for Ichigo to sit, and the two of them shuffle over to the recently vacated kitchen table. Renji rubs his face tiredly, and Ichigo’s sense of foreboding grows. 

“... Last night, huh?” Renji says, and Ichigo almost jumps out of his skin; did he know? Could he see— was the mark of Rukia's lips on his visible, indelible, the way it felt like to him? Could everyone read it on his face, that he and Rukia—

Renji’s voice is weary as he continues. “Yeah. Yeah, she's sleepwalked before. The past few years, actually. What did she do last night? How did you find her?”

— kissed—  “She— she walked out of the clinic and I heard the door open. Renji, is she— is she okay—”

Renji leans his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands. “I don't know,” he breathes, frustration dripping from every syllable. “I don't know, she won't tell me, you know how she is—”

Did he ever. Ichigo remembers with vivid clarity the time she'd sustained a stomach wound, back in the days before Soul Society; she hadn’t told him for three days, and had only agreed to go see Urahara when she'd finally collapsed in his arms. 

“ — don't think I've tried—? God, doctors, healers, we've tried everything, Kuchiki-Taichou’s worried out of his mind. But she won't have any of it, says she won't let us waste time fussing over her when there are better things to worry about—”

“That fucking idiot,” Ichigo mutters, and Renji barks out what is almost a laugh. 

“Right? Drives me up the fucking wall. Wouldn't be Rukia if she didn't.”

“Guess not.”

Renji cracks a strained smile before it fades away into seriousness again. “It wasn't this bad before,” he says, and Ichigo sits up straight. 

“Recent thing, then?”

“Depends what you'd classify as recent. I mean, she's never been a heavy sleeper—”

At this, Ichigo interrupts. “Wait, really? She's always slept like the dead—” 

Renji gives him a look, and Ichigo remembers who it is that is sharing her bed now. He shuts up. 

“ — as I said, she's never slept too well, even during our Rukon days, and it got pretty bad after the war, but it wasn't— wasn’t to this extent, you know? At least, not till she had Ichika. And then— it was like a switch flipped. She couldn't get to sleep at night, and she could barely keep her eyes open during the day. It started interfering with her work, and you know how that would have killed her; we started to go see a bunch of people for it but nothing seemed to help. And then she started sleepwalking—”

Something cold crawls up Ichigo’s spine.

“She— at first, we didn't know where it was that she was going in her sleep. she wandered the Kuchiki Manor gardens a lot, sometimes she just paced around inside the house. Sometimes she got out of the Kuchiki property and was well into the streets before we found her and brought her back. I didn't know where she was trying to go—” 

Renji breaks off, and looks Ichigo dead in the eye. 

“— till one morning I woke up, and found her at Sokyouku Hill.” 

Ichigo’s blood turns to ice. 

“It was bloody Sokyoku Hill, Ichigo. Every single time— inside the Manor, in the gardens, on the streets. She was always trying to get to Sokyouku Hill. North-north west from the Kuchiki Manor. I—”

Renji’s expression turns supplicating, as if asking him for an answer, but Ichigo has none to give; he’s rooted to the spot by the sheer horror he’s feeling, Rukia strung up against the Sokyouku vivid in his mind. That collar around her neck, a red slash splitting her throat open; her eyes, glazed over with tears. Her skin dyed orange and yellow from the heat of it all. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her, Ichigo, for fuck’s sake I can’t even get her to admit that there’s something wrong. I just—” 

Renji drops his head into his hands. Very softly — so soft that Ichigo is sure he isn’t meant to hear these next words— he says to himself: 

“Ten years. Ten years, and I’m still not enough.” 

Ten years. Enough to fell mountains; enough to dry rivers and move oceans. 

Not enough to change a heart. 

When Renji looks up at Ichigo again, his gaze is edged with steel. 

“She says your name.” 

“I— what?” 

“She says your name, when she walks out to Sokyouku Hill. She says your name.” 

A memory, in his mind: Rukia, ethereal in the moonlight. Ichigo? 

Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. 

Ichigo doesn’t know what to say. 

Eventually, Renji breaks their impasse; he sighs and raps the table before getting up. “I’m not such a small man as to beat you to a pulp over that, Ichigo, stop looking like you think I’m going to bite your head off.” 

“I’m not—” he protests automatically, but Renji shushes him with a wave of his hand. 

“You are, but that’s not the point.” He ambles over to the door and looks over his shoulder at him, one hand poised on the handle. “If— if there’s anything you might be able to do for her—” 

“Renji—”

“Please,” Renji says, and even though this time, he isn’t on his knees half-dead before him, Ichigo knows what it’s costing him to make this request. “Please… help her.” 

Of course, Ichigo wants to reply, She’ll be fine, I’ll save her. Rukia’ll be safe—

But he isn’t fifteen anymore. 

“I’ll— try,” he says, lamely, and that is the best they can do. Renji nods. 

“Gonna go see Urahara. He might have some tricks up his sleeve,” he says, but he doesn’t look like he believes what he’s saying. Ichigo waves him off, and Renji slips away.

The sound of the clinic door swinging shut echoes in his wake. 

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3:02 pm

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Click.

“...Hello?”

“Kurosaki-san?”

“...... Urahara-san?”

“Ah, Kurosaki-san, thank goodness you picked up. If you aren’t busy, I’d appreciate your presence at the Shoten as soon as possible.” 

“What? Me? Why?”

A pause; Ichigo finds, for no good reason whatsoever, that he is holding his breath.

“Ah, well. You see, that is—”

Between one accelerating heartbeat and the next—

“Kuchiki-san has collapsed.” 

[penwieldingdreamer]

Sneak Peek

As promised this is a sneak peek of what is going to be happen in Just died in your Arms. I hope it will tide you over until I can get back to writing again.

"John?" you asked, watching the former assassin carefully. "What's going on?" 

He leaned on the counter, his hands supporting the body that looked like it would break any minute. "The hospital-uh" he broke up, clearing his throat. "They called to let me know about Helen."

His dark eyes turned to yours, tears glistening but he fought with all he had not to let them fall. 

Biting your lip you moved toward his form, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, reassuring him that everything would turn out as it was supposed to be. 

***

Rain. 

It seemed to follow wherever you went. The weeks after Jonathan had married Helen, the day he had left you again after seeking your comfort. 

Now it was pouring again. 

Friends and family were gathered around, mourning the loss of John's wife, who had died only two days ago. 

Hands clasped together you stood in front of the grave, watching as the casket was lowered and how the mourners put flowers and earth into the hole his wife would lay for a long time. Not once had the neighbours asked why you were there, all they knew was that you were a close family friend helping him to care for his sick wife. 

Giving his fingers a tight squeeze, you leaned your body into his side, seeking warmth and giving him the strength he needed to get through the day. All he did was stare down, lost in space, not even acknowledging when everyone left the cemetery. 

"John?" you tried to rouse him, but he didn't budge, the umbrella still tightly wrapped in his left hand. "Johnathan!" He blinked, turning his head in your direction. "Let's go home." 

***

"Oh my god!" 

You smiled, pulling the puppy into your arms and turned to John who was reading the letter Helen had left him. 

The beagle lady watched you with interest, softly biting at your fingers as you played with her. 

"What's her name?" John grunted when he finally turned to you. 

You searched her collar for a tag and grinned, when you found it. "Daisy." you said looking at the puppy in your lap, licking your hand. "That's right, that's your name and it fits you so well, little lady." John just shook his head, a soft smile gracing his lips as he listened to you cooing at the dog. 

He still held onto the letter, not wanting to let go. One of the last pieces of his deceased wife. 

John, I'm sorry I can't be there for you. But you still need something, someone, to love. So start with this. Because the car doesn't count. I love you, John. This illness has loomed over us for a long time, and now that I have found my peace, find yours. Until that day, your best friend, Helen.

PS: Y/N is precious. She is good for you. Keep her by your side and please keep her safe.

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