#i love the wolf skins because FRANKLY i was a wolf boy growing up Always Have Been Always Will Be

[the-deadlock-south]

Rumor Has It hanzo’s okami/lone wolf skin is getting a remixed variant next event and if that’s true... brother what’s it gonna be though.....

[ghostgetter]

That would be Gold Rush

When Keith thinks of Lance, he thinks: loud, eccentric, supercilious. Over the years, he’s had the luxury of learning more about him, like how he’s exceptionally considerate, especially when anyone around him is at their lowest point. Or how passionate he is about the things he loves. Or, even, regardless of his occasional arrogance, Lance was actually pretty good at the things he put his heart to.

Sharpshooter, indeed.

Now, after wars have ended and the peace has claimed everyone’s hearts, there is a certain epiphany Keith has had for his righthand man.

He may potentially, possibly, in some fashion, be in love with him.

It is utterly horrifying.

Keith has fought aliens twice his size, defeated empires, lead the most powerful robot and defended the universe, but this makes his skin crawl.

Whenever Hunk talked about legitimate romance and his love for Shay, Keith never thought twice about what it was like. Love and being with another person never came close to his ideals and imaginations while he was growing up. He needed to be with the stars, to find what was calling him. A lone-wolf that yearned for a family.

Now? Now he yearns for Lance.

Quick brushes of hands, stories of his family, his compassion and support when Keith would feel like collapsing in on himself after a rough assignment with the Blade. His overall being, which has now collected in his own imagination when he lies in bed, or in a tent in a galaxy far from Earth, where Lance is next to him, holding his hand and simply existing.

Keith doesn’t think he’s wanted something more in his life.

Like water rushing his veins, he comes back to Lance snapping his fingers in his face, his own way, way too close as he leans forward on the McClain’s sofa. It almost looks like his Altean marks are sparkling.

“Universe to Keith.”

Keith blinks several times, trying to right himself. He pushes his hand out of the way, “The snapping is unnecessary.”

“It is when you’re in LaLa Land,” Lance says, going back to swigging his beer back. “You weren’t even listening to me about Veronica!”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes, “Long mission.”

“S’okay, I figured,” Lance is always understanding and empathetic when Keith visits the farm. He has his mother make the best soup Keith has ever had in his life, next to Hunk’s own, and gets a guestroom set for him and Kosmo, who is already napping upstairs. He puts a warm hand on Keith’s shoulder, and of course electricity rushes down his arm, sparking in his fingertips. “We can just watch NASA and make fun of them if you want.”

Keith smiles softly. Shiro’s always been the brother he’s needed growing up, the shoulder to lean on, the support he desperately craved. Lance is his own brand of supportive. Carefree and funny and kind. He’s like gold, rare and sought after by hundreds. “I’m okay. Tell me about Veronica.”

“Well, Veronica became an instructor at the Garrison. Took over for Iverson and stuff, so I think the mental health of the cadet’s is gonna be a bit better.”

“Oh, thank the universe,” Keith says, “I hated that man.”

“I figured, hotshot,” Lance jokes, “Wasn’t hard to miss when you tried punching him one time during class.”

Keith turns, only the slightest bit ashamed, “You were there for that?”

Lance flicks him on the head, Keith recoiling and glaring back, “I was in your class, stupid! Geez, I’m still so annoyed you don’t remember me.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m not apologizing for not remembering some of the worst years of my life.”

“The Garrison wasn’t awful,” Lance sets his arms on the back of the couch, fingers brushing Keith’s shoulder. “I mean, Veronica actually wants me to come…join her?”

Keith lurches forward, gaping. “Really? Lance, that’s amazing!” Because from what Keith knows from visits and friends, Lance hasn’t stepped foot anywhere related to space in over a year. Hasn’t gone to the Garrison at all, according to Shiro. Hasn’t had any interest in going to space again, according to everyone else.

“Yeah, as an instructor,” Lance chuckles. “Can you imagine, me? Instructing?”

Yes, Keith thought, Absolutely. And he’d be amazing at it. Because, sure, Keith gave him a hard time back in the Voltron days on his piloting skills, and for some odd reason, Lance showcased some sort of desire to outshine Keith in flying, but he was good. Keith may have been the best pilot, and flew like he breathed, but Lance flew with passion, with pure heart.

Before Keith can voice Lance’s acclaim, his strengths, Lance sighs and shakes his head. He brings his hands to his knees and squeezes them under his jeans. It’s almost like a cloud washes over the living room, and it’s darker. Sadder.

“I dunno if I’m ready for anything…space-related,” Lance says. “With Allura…I dunno. I’m still…y’know?”

Yeah, Keith knows. It’s been a year and a half since the war ended, and Allura left them, left Lance, behind. He knows Lance still holds a torch for her, who doesn’t? He spends his time telling her stories to aliens and humans alike. He nods stiffly, looking down at his own beer before putting it on the coaster sitting on the long table in front of him.

“Yeah, I know.”

Lance takes a drink from his bottle, “Right.”

Right. Keith holds in a long exhale, swallowing instead and pushing himself off the sofa.

“I gotta go outside for a sec,” he says, his mind wandering and his chest constricting.

“What?” Lance sits up, sniffling. “What’s wrong? Um, do you need me to come with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Keith snaps, and he hates it. He hates that it burns off his tongue and how bitter the taste of it is. He walks towards the foyer and turns to look at Lance remorsefully. Lance looks downtrodden and confused, standing up after Keith, because he’s compassionate like that. Because he cares about him. Keith swallows and turns away, then softly says, “I just need to be alone.”

“Oh,” Lance frowns, “Okay.”

He closes the door behind him, and steps off the porch, crossing his arms and just breathes.

Deep, deep breaths, because he will not cry, he will not scream up to the clouds covering the stars he knows shine behind them. He will not break down in front of the hundreds of pink flowers covering the green in front of him, which still gleam in the dark of night.

He hates this so much.

To be with Lance is to imagine myths and legends. Like the juniberry flowers that cover his front lawn, to be in love with him is to wilt and decay eventually. Because, and Keith will attest to it, Allura will always be in his heart. Even if his feelings were to be reciprocated, if ever, he’d always be second best.

Keith never tolerated being second to anything.

He wipes his glove-covered hands down his face, trying to drag the stress with them. His chest constricts and it hurts. He never asked for this, and he remembers telling Shiro that once he figured out he’d fallen in love with Lance after too many recollections of their time together in Voltron, Lance’s support, the fucking abyss that showed the wisps of his past and future; of a scrawny boy with short brown hair standing up to Keith’s bullies, of a taller boy with looking out to the sea with a ring on his finger, slowly turning towards Keith before blinking out of existence, too scarce to tell who it was but Keith knows now it was Lance. It was always Lance.

“Ugh,” he finally voices, fingers grasping onto his leather jacket. “I’m such a dipshit.”

He knew how Lance felt about Allura. And frankly, Keith knows how Lance feels about him: a guy that runs away from his friends, his feelings. It sweats off his body, out of his pores; it’s not like he hides his traits well.

“Keith?”

Because of course he’d follow after him, even when he asked to be alone. That’s Lance, after all. He turns around as the wind whisps at his longer hair. Under the porch light, Lance’s skin twinkles like gold.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Keith chokes out. He curses at himself, emotion wrapping around his throat. He sniffs, rubbing at his nose. “Fantastic.”

Lance is silent for a moment, watching him, contemplating. He tilts his head and looks on sadly, before opening the door behind him. “Come back inside. I’ll grab your 80’s movie pack and make some hot chocolate.”

Keith crosses his arms, looking away, because he can’t look at Lance under a spotlight as if he’s some…some celestial being. His hair even falls into his eyes handsomely when he looks at him, waiting, and Keith doesn’t want to fall any farther than he already has. He needs to reverse these feelings, in anything. Slam on the control shift and buck his ship out of here.

But Lance is like the Sun, and Keith succumbs to him like gravity.

After a sigh, he walks back up to the porch, up to Lance, who closes the distance and brings Keith into a tight hug. He wraps his lengthy arms around him and pulls him in close. Keith’s eyes widen, shocked and overwhelmed with the feeling and the scent of Lance, until his nose tickles against Lance’s soft skin and suddenly he’s calm again. He breathes in deep and wraps his own arms around him, turning his face into a steady shoulder.

At least Keith has this.

[twopoppies]

Hii, thank you so much for all your fic recs!! I was wondering if you could rec some Werewolf fics? As in Harry and/or Louis turn into wolves, and ABO dynamics might or might not apply. Stories where they turn into other animals are also welcomed. Thank you so much!!!

Hi darling. This is a fun request, but I unfortunately don’t read a lot that falls under this trope (even with ABO). But here’s what I’ve got!

The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep by @helloamhere (4-part series, mixed ratings, 128K) Amazing world building, complex characters, beautiful writing. It’s still a WIP,  but it’s so worth reading (and the author says they’re working on more so…fingers crossed)!

domestic monsters by g_uttertrash (WIP, 9 part series so far, mixed ratings, 234K) It’s been ages since I read this fic, but I remember loving the world building, the writing, and the multi-faceted, quirky characters. There’s just so much in this one to love and even though the series says it’s not yet complete, it’s very much worth reading. 

It’s the Little Things in Life that mean the Most by @realitybetterthanfiction (T, 8K) I know this is a crack fic, but I really adore this shapeshifter fic and the way the boys take care of each other. This author always writes terrific dialogue and it really makes this one a pleasure. 

Since I don’t read a lot of fics like these, the rest are recs from @cuethetommo (because she really likes this trope)

You Smell Like by mystic_believexx (M, 185K)

For her part, Jay took everything in her stride, barely batting an eyelid when Louis came into the kitchen the night Harry left and said, “I seem to have accidentally become the pack’s Alpha”.

Ever since Harry left town, Louis’ found himself with the role of pack Alpha, despite being human. So he can’t wait to hand over the reins when Harry returns. Except, it’s not quite that simple…

OR

The one where Louis is the Alpha’s mate and everyone is aware of it except for Louis and Harry. Go figure!

amaryllis by hattalove (E, 147K)

“Where are we?”

“Um. A little while out of London?” Niall tries, seemingly the only one willing to not be mysterious and provide Harry with information, and. Oh.

“London London? As in, the capital of England London?” he asks, just in case he’d misheard.

“No, the other London,” Louis laughs, low and biting. He comes closer finally, the moonlight just enough to reveal a sharp-cut jaw and pale skin. “Sorry, Pup.”

Nobody’s ever called Harry a “pup”. Frankly, he finds it quite insulting, but he lets it slide to try and comprehend his current crisis.

or the one where harry gets bitten by a werewolf. louis is the mysterious not-quite alpha, liam and zayn have Things going on, niall is their token human, and together, they watch a lot of TV.

break open the sky by karamelised (E, 20K)

Being a werewolf isn’t always easy. Especially if you have no idea what you’re doing.

or

Werewolf au. Harry might be a werewolf, but he still wants to experience Uni like everyone else. Turns out he learns a lot.

Just Like The Wolf Before He Bites by WhoKnows (E, 11K)

He’s loud, Louis is, and that’s far from unusual for him, but the volume of it still has Harry pulling back the curtain. There’s a half-formed thought in the back of his brain about telling Louis off, because it’s fucking half three in the morning, but then.

But then Harry’s eyes get stuck on the soft glint of Louis’ stubble in the light, and he’s making his way across the room before he even realizes it.

Louis, for his part, just tips his chin up to give Harry space and keeps talking, waving the joint in his hand around for emphasis. He doesn’t even bother to greet Harry, going on with his story to his semi-rapt audience, just settles a hand in between Harry’s shoulder blades and pushes him down firmly.

Harry just. Relaxes. His eyes slip closed, pushing his entire face into that spot underneath Louis’ chin, where his hair is still growing, neat and prickly. The scent of Louis’ cologne drifts into Harry’s nose, light and fresh, and it’s calming. Comforting. His breathing syncs up with Louis’ quickly, and Harry feels so much better than he had five minutes ago he almost wants to cry.

[imaginesmai]

Hvitserk-His lady

I’M BACK. Lately, I was feeling ‘motivated’ about Vikings, and I wrote this; which I’m really proud of! I hope you like it ❤ This doesn’t mean I’m going to start writting about Vikings, but maybe I’ll in a while.

Btw, this something new I wanted to try! There is no dialogue, is something short but full of meaning. 

Plot: You’re his lady, he’s your prince.

Everyone called Margarethe ‘a great beauty’, and Hvitserk didn’t disagree. She carried herself with poise, her long blonde hair always neatly braided, never a strand out of place. Her milky white skin shone in the moonlight, and it glazed in the sun. Her light blue eyes could be as light as a feather, or as strong as steel. Margarethe was the definition of beauty, for sure.

But was she the most beautiful woman in the world? To many, as his brothers, the answer was yes. To Hvitserk Ragnarson, the answer was no.

The first time Hvitserk had laid his eyes on you was years ago. You were a small, thin child who was playing in the main square, hair unevenly short and matted. While your sister wore a beautiful and expensive dress, you wore camouflage coloured clothing that were intended to make you look like a boy. Face and body covered in dirt, you looked the very opposite of Margarethe. You looked the same as every young child in Kattegat that wasn’t ‘royalty’. Dirty, tired, hungry. Haunted.

But something was different about you, even if you ended up being a thrall just like your sister, and Hvitserk noticed. You practiced with a sword and spoke your mind. Not only did you know how to hold it, you knew how to wield it as well. People said that you were as wild as a wolf, nothing like a woman, and had as much elegance in you as a pig. The young prince saw the bright smile in the dirty face.

Every day, Hvitserk ran to the stables behind his mother’s back, while she was too occupied with Ivar. He had started calling you ‘Lady’ because he had heard it once from his uncle, and frankly he enjoyed the blush on your cheeks. The first time he did, you shoved him into the snow. The second time he called you that was when you were sparing; you got angry and began to quicken your speed, until Hvitserk had tears in his eyes.

Ever day with you felt like an escape for him, and while his brothers fought over Margarethe, he had you. It was an escape from the realism of being forgotten by his father, or from his mother’s death. When he spent time with you, he would focus on your smile, laugh, the stories you told or how you fought. He didn’t spend his time thinking about how his life was spiralling in a hole of disaster.

Then, he left. Hvitserk left with his brothers, and only one of them came back. He thought about you in the cold nights of England, in every battle. He saw in the battlefield in his brother’s side, and for the first time he knew he had done something wrong. He fought, he won, and he got to see as you turned your back at him and followed the other’s battle prisoners.

Hvitserk remembered the first time he saw you smile since he returned to Kattegat with his brother. He had been sparing with a friend, preparing for a war against his brother, while you just sat down and watched them. You didn’t speak, or move; you were still as a statue, and he wondered if you were mad at him for the fight against Ubbe. Your eyes followed his every move. When he was done, he had approached you and asked you about how had he done it; a deep meaning behind a simple question.

“You’re doing good, Hvitty”

Those words meant everything to him, and by the way you kissed his cheek before leaving he knew you were aware of his need of hearing them.

The first time he heard you laugh after the fight, was when he tried to spin as he was sparring with you and he tripped on his own feet, falling face first into the snow. He never imagined your laugh to sound so, cheerful. It was a loud infectious sound that couldn’t be contained. Your laugh had a mouth on its own. Hvitserk wasted no time in pulling you to the ground with him, and copy your laugh.

Days and weeks went by, and the two of you went back to being what you were before the war. Hvitserk would sit in the great hall and eat his meals with you, talking about his brother’s behaviour. You would sit with your feet on the table when you finished eating, much to the thrall’s head annoyment. Many people would cast you weird glances, and talk behind your back, but none of them did it in front of the prince; and he was not ready to leave your side.

It was about three weeks after he returned to Kattegat when he realised that his feelings for you were not on a ‘friendship’ level. He tried to suppress those feelings by joking around and go back to calling you ‘Lady’. Although, that time, it was his lady, and Ivar joked about being a shitty story about a prince and a princess. Hvitserk didn’t bother to correct him.

But no matter how hard he tried, those feelings wouldn’t go away. They would grow, and he wasn’t sure what to do.

When Ivar told him to leave Kattegat, Hvitserk got this crushing feeling on his chest, and he told you about it.

“I don’t want to leave” he told you. “I don’t want to leave you”

You cupped his face, and smiled at him kindly. You laughed vividly, and he smiled happy. He didn’t tell you how Ivar had threatened to kill you if he didn’t left, but he didn’t need to; you didn’t rush him to stay, but told him to do whatever he felt like the gods wanted.

You kissed his cheek, he kissed your lips. Being his lady had sense for a whole night, in which you two laid together tangled in a mass of sheets, sweat and love. Hvitserk called you ‘his lady’ while thrusting into you one last time, and held you close as the sun rose up.

The next morning, Hvitserk left, as happy as he had ever felt. He kissed you once more, and let the moment last a while longer. He had just kissed you a few times, but felt like he could be doing that for the rest of his life. The horse disappeared in the horizon, and he called for you once more.

“I love you, my lady! Wait for me!”

You smiled, he laughed.

You went back to Hvitserk’s house, curled up in the sheets you had laid the previous night, and cried. Hvitserk rode until dawn, you always present in his mind.

The next morning, Hvitserk made a deal with the king, and took some jewels from the place to give them to you; maybe as a proposal of marriage. You walked with Ivar in the great hall, and were burned while he chuckled.

You cried your prince’s name, he chanted his lady’s name.

He lived, you died.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

[cle1024]

dead loss | hhj

member: hwang hyunjin 

genre: fluff, angst 

summary: life was an exhausting and pointless ride for hyunjin, but you managed to make it a little more bearable while you could.  delinquent!au, friends to lovers!au, coming of age!au 

warnings: smoking, alcoholism, swearing, violence, death, drug-dealing (no usage), lots of illegal stuff my dudes 

disclaimer: there are ships within this story. i am NOT trying to force these relationships on any of the boys, nor am i trying to use them as anything other than an aspect of the story. these are purely fictitious scenarios and relationships, i feel the need to add this disclaimer because some people take ships w a y too far (insisting they’re real to the point where it’s uncomfortable and borderline fetishising) and i don’t want to come across as one of those people. 

a/n: anyway i’m gonna go disappear for another 5+ months 

Life in a small town was peaceful in the outsider’s perspective ― everyone knew everyone, there was a strong sense of community and unbreakable bond built on reliability and trust. People who believed that shit clearly didn’t live in a small town, or at least not your small town. No, in your hometown everyone was a stranger. If you look at them for too long ― alternatively referred to as “looking at them the ‘wrong way’” ― they wouldn’t hate to get aggressive, borderline violent or just straight up violent. There was no trust in this town, how can you trust a stranger? It was a shady and hopeless area that people struggled to escape. Many of you have accepted your future, stuck in this abysmal hellhole, but some things just aren’t easy to come to terms with―especially when you hate the future you’ll inevitably be trapped in. 

A slight metallic scent tainted the air as Hyunjin leaned against the wooden planks of the treehouse, a huff passing his busted lips. He had managed to drag his sorry ass back to the rickety treehouse after sending a simple text to you ― something optimistic and charming: “im going to fucking die. treehouse” ― in the hopes you would come fix his wounds. That’s what you always did after Hyunjin had been in a fight, regardless of whether he asked you to or not. Though he had to ask you this time, even if it was the ass crack of dawn, because he genuinely thought he was going to die any second now. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d used all of his energy in the fight, his wounds bled too much, or the result of not sleeping in thirty-seven hours. Hyunjin didn’t think he really cared about dying, everyone has to go at some point, but he did care about whether he would be in pain or alone when he died―and right now, he was both. There was a faint pattering of footsteps in the dewy grass, growing louder until they were gently working their way up the wooden ladder to the treehouse. Hyunjin opened his eyes lazily, watching as you pulled yourself up and into the structure. He smirked slightly and wheezed out a chuckle, “on a scale of one to ten, how dateable am I right now?” You stared at him blankly, scanning over his injuries before huffing slightly and shifting towards him. 

“Losing fights isn’t a personality trait, dipshit.” 

“Yeah, but it makes me seem like a bad boy, huh?” Hyunjin chuckled hoarsely at your immediate eye roll, tilting his head to give you better access to his bleeding face wounds. He winced softly as pressure was applied to the bloody mark on the top of his cheek, a fresh bruise blooming under his soft skin. He couldn’t see all of his wounds, but he could undeniably feel them. His cheek was bruised and bleeding, his bottom lip was busted with blood seeping into his mouth occasionally―he was just loving that―while there were numerous pains to his abdomen, mainly in his ribs and lower stomach. 

“Jeez, you need to stop picking fights you can’t win,” the corners of his lips twitched upwards momentarily, a tinge of smugness painting the action. 

“This is the prime of my life, darling.” 

You scoffed at his excuse, “yeah, you’ll only be young once but you’ll be stupid for the rest of your life, Hwang.” 

“Touche,” he shrugged nonchalantly as your eyes widened in mock offence. 

“Oh, do you want to bleed some more?” The two of you chuckled at the threat, though Hyunjin’s sounded much more breathless and painful than yours did.  

“Nah, only other people are allowed to hurt me. How else would I get your attention at night?” Hyunjin’s comment elicited another eyeroll and soft smile from you. He knew you’d drop everything to be with him, regardless of how sleep-deprived it made you, because that’s what friends did. 

Hyunjin is a delinquent, down to the very definition: “(typically of a young person) tending to commit crime, particularly minor crime.” He does that a fair bit, stealing from different shops run by tired and aging people who can’t be arsed to chase after the mischievous teenager. He smokes, despite his youth, but won’t take a swig of alcohol ― something Jisung often laughs at him for, but that boy was a borderline alcoholic. The tall boy also happened to be involved in fights at least one a fortnight, you sometimes have the displeasure of witnessing them and almost always have the duty of taking care of him afterwards―no one else was willing to do it. You don’t approve of Hyunjin’s lifestyle, frankly you never have, but you know he has his reasons. Besides, he’s a stubborn boy and wouldn’t change even if you tried to force him. He’s reckless and usually impulsive, which became undeniably obvious when he was fifteen, stood in front of a train until the last second so he could dodge it, all with the undying support of his former enemy Jisung ― “You got this, man!” 

“All he’s got is a one-way ticket to the afterlife,” you’d deadpanned, earning a scoff from the other boy. 

“As Teddy Duchamp once said, ‘train dodge, dig it’.” 

“Yeah, but he didn’t stay around long enough to dodge it, nor is he a real person!” 

At the end of the day, it really didn’t matter how Hyunjin acted, he would still be your best friend. He’d filled that position since the two of you were kids, it came naturally when you lived one street away from each other and had fathers with a similar friendly relationship―until work got the best of them. Now they don’t have enough time for their children, let alone each other. They differed in some ways: your father harbours expectations far too high for you, meaning he spends most of his free time reprimanding you for not trying hard enough, whereas Hyunjin’s father was always busy and didn’t really care for his son. As a result, Hyunjin spent most of his time away from home, locked inside that treehouse his father built for him and his childhood friends ― many of them had moved on to other things: moved away, became too good for him, or died, but you and Minho always stuck around, later adding Jisung to the bunch when he and Hyunjin outgrew their petty mutual hatred. Smoking, playing cards or watching scenery while he played with a lighter, it was enough for Hyunjin. 

Sometimes you think about Jisung and Hyunjin’s weird friendship, it’s an evolution you all laughed about from time to time. When the pair were younger, the age of twelve during middle school to be exact, they harboured a burning mutual hatred that continuously burdened their mutual friends ― namely upperclassman Lee Minho; at least, he was the only one of the bunch who stuck around. There was an incident where the pair were ready to throw hands at one another, but Minho and some of his older friends stepped in and told them to squash it, even if momentarily. After Jisung aided Hyunjin in a fight with some older boys from the next town over, the two sparked a short-lived ‘frenemies’ type of relationship ― of course the older boys weren’t scared of two kids who had only just figured out the ego-boost of developing muscle, they were more fearful of Jisung’s older brother as they knew damn well how ruthless he could be; they didn’t want the risk of dealing with someone from the same genes, but Hyunjin and Jisung maintained it was their intimidation that warded the boys off. Jisung initially brushed off Hyunjin’s thanks, but there was a definite shift in their relationship: their sharp insults became sarcastic remarks that garnered a teasing response after the other, then after one incident they were friends. Hyunjin never told you the specifics of the incident and you never pushed, but it was essentially Hyunjin paying back Jisung for saving his ass ― though you later found out the only threat to Jisung at the time was himself. Regardless, Jisung and Hyunjin had discovered their compatibility and Minho had never been happier to see drama fizzle out. He wasn’t a fan of such petty disagreements, “all problems can be solved in this world, either with a fist or verbal expression.” 

“Are you recommending violence?” 

“It’s still honest communication.” 

Lee Minho was truly one of a kind―all three of them were, but it was their varying ability to believe in themselves that set them apart the most. 

The Hwang boy was smart, but he had no faith in himself. At the age of fifteen he’d already accepted that he wouldn’t go far academically, telling you “I’ll become one of those tradies that gets wolf whistled when I’m trying to do my job, and no one will say a damn thing because I’m a male,” you could remember him taking a short drag of the nicotine stick, “that’s my inevitable future.” That was one of the many ways you contrasted Hyunjin. You wanted to make your father finally accept you as his child again, and the only way to do that seemed to be success ― but at this point you weren’t sure what that looked like in his eyes; everything you perceived as a success was a comical failure to him. You didn’t smoke ― you tried once when you were fourteen and found it dreadful ― and you certainly didn’t shoplift chocolate bars or ‘train dodge’ like Hyunjin, but you still had your downfalls. Rather, you bury yourself in work you couldn’t understand, got pent up over the possibility of failure, and then turned it all in like nothing ever happened―nothing’s wrong. There was a lot wrong, Hyunjin and you both knew it, but neither ever voiced it. All you wanted was to make your father proud, but you always wanted to run away from this godforsaken town and never come back. Hyunjin wanted you to stay around, the kid couldn’t afford to lose another person in his life, but he knew it was your choice at the end of the day―you had to do what was best for you. It was just difficult to accept. It was like life had kicked Hyunjin and rolled all over him, yet you managed to bring a tiny little spark of life in his soul, something that brought him to carry on. You were his rock, you understood him more than he understood himself most of the time. He loved you, not romantically, but in the way people who have no one else who get it love each other, you know? 

He realised he loved you in that way when he was thirteen, after he had his first existential debate with you ― it became a monthly tradition after that: one night you’d silently climb into the treehouse with puffy eyes and a red-tinged face, and he’d never question it because he knew you’d tell him it was fine. Then you’d wonder what happens after death and where you went. Hyunjin had always been firm on the idea there was a Heaven and Hell due to his long standing religious beliefs, and he always assumed he was going to Hell, but those midnight talks always made him realise just how unsure he was about everything ― he didn’t know what or who to believe, but he eventually decided he probably didn’t need to. 

Hyunjin realised he had fallen in love with you when you were sixteen, after Jisung and Minho had convinced the two of you to spend your Saturday doing an ‘adventurous hike’ with them ― you didn’t know it at the time, but the two had found out some pricey drugs had been dropped in the woods, and neither of them were in a situation to refuse the money that would come with selling those substances. The two boys were energetically bounding ahead of you and the tallest boy, Hyunjin and yourself dawdling on the train tracks to avoid any shattered glass mixed in with the gravel surrounding the rails, trying your best to avoid being cut through the thin and worn soles of your shoes. Hyunjin squinted at the sunlight, distracted by his own thoughts and daydreams, too distracted to realise Jisung and Minho had stopped dead in his tracks. He bumped into the older of the two, startling him back to reality with confusion, “dude, what the fu―” his voice trailed off as he watched five men ― as in full grown, adult, ‘probably from a gang’ type of men ― snarl at the four of you. Though, their eyes seemed to be trained on Minho. 

“Lee Minho. You said you wouldn’t come around here anymore, didn’t you?”  

For the first time in his life, Hyunjin saw genuine fear on Minho’s frame as he shifted his eyes and gulped softly; clearly they’d made a grave mistake. 

“Y-yeah,” for you, that was the moment you became alarmed. Lee Minho, the self-proclaimed ‘King of Confidence’, doesn’t stutter, “I know, man. I-I must’ve lost track of where we were, you won’t see me around here anymore. I’m not here to cause you any trouble, nothin’ like that,” he spoke rapidly, desperation seeping through his usually nonchalant tone. One of the men eyed the four of you suspiciously, straining his vision on you for far too long―Hyunjin sensed it, pulling you out of his line of vision with a glare. He was always one to protect his friends, reckless enough to put himself in danger to do so, it was nothing new for any of you. 

“I better not see you around these parts anymore, Lee. You got it?” Minho nodded firmly, “good. Now go,” the man waved his hand in a dismissive motion, “run along with your friends.” 

To Hyunjin, Jisung and yourself, that was your que to turn around and never look back; but Minho knew these men, you didn’t. The oldest knew it would never be that simple, and that became evident when he saw the shining tip of a dagger being pulled from one of their pockets. The four of you reacted fast, running purely on fear; Minho frantically pushed whoever he could reach, without looking, in the opposite direction, urging you to run as fast as you could to get the fuck out of there. Hyunjin grabbed your wrist securely, tugging you in the other direction and refusing to slow down for a second, even when he heard Minho and Jisung yelling distantly. Your legs slowed down slightly until the both of you stopped in your tracks, much to the dismay of Hyunjin. 

“Hyunjin, we have to go back.” 

“They can handle themselves, Y/N.” 

“We can’t just leave them!” You pleaded, gesturing to the distant figures of your two friends. 

“And I can’t lose you!” Hyunjin yelled back, startling you into a momentary silence. It was built on uncertainty, confusion and hung heavily in the air for a few seconds, until the sound of approaching footsteps, the sound of frantic running to be exact, and Minho’s frantic yells of “move your fucking asses! Run!” broke the tranquility. 

You didn’t find out what Jisung and Minho had argued about until you were twenty-one years old and attending Minho’s funeral: “When I was sixteen, he was going to risk his life to save myself and my two other friends. We yelled at each other; I couldn’t leave him behind to get beat up or blatantly killed by the people who confronted us, but he couldn’t let me in harms way. I only found out why he cared so much and risked his everything, all the time, three years after it happened. But, that’s a secret we all promised to take to the grave.” 

All four of you promised to keep that secret ― you’d all promised Minho that you wouldn’t out him, have his parents disown him during or after his life, and you all took that to the grave. Jisung lost the ability to love romantically when he was twenty-one; he’d given it all to Minho and allowed it to be buried with him. He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. 

You were officially eighteen and two months, not that the months meant anything. Both you and Hyunjin were anxious about turning nineteen, yet he didn’t want to voice it and destroy the wall he’d built around a certain part of himself―his fears. Being nineteen meant he had to act like an adult: get a job, support his family until his parents found out he had enough money to survive on his own and kick him out, settle down and have his whole life figured out. Nineteen would mean the death of his youth: no more skipping chemistry because it was insufferable or only showing up for woodwork classes, no more train dodging because it was ‘immature’, no more stealing or the shop owners would actually make an effort to ensure his actions had repercussions since he was no longer a delinquent teen. The worst of all was the thought of losing his friends; he already saw Minho significantly less than he used to due to his two jobs ― a barber during the daylight and a bartender during the hours between ― Jisung would probably continue secretly writing poetry ― though the three of you secretly knew he did it ― and work as a truck driver, or something, to escape the dullness of your hometown for a little bit. You, Y/N the bright one, would probably go on to do great things with your life and be added to the list of friends he lost due to not being good enough anymore. Hyunjin wasn’t sure whether you or Jisung felt the same ― Minho excluded since he was already passed nineteen, with Jisung endearingly referring to him as ‘hag’ ― and a part of him didn’t want to know because he didn’t really want to think about it. Of course, that didn’t stop it from being the only thing on his mind twenty-four-seven. Hyunjin groaned inwardly; losing friends. You were just a friend. Hyunjin couldn’t help but scold himself. He could steal from stores without a second thought, stand in front of trains without fear, yet he couldn’t admit his feelings to you. Then again, your friendship spanned across most of his life, and losing that would mean he would lose you. And, frankly, you were the only thing that mattered to him in life. His parents neglected him, other friends had abandoned him over time or just failed to be there for him, but you never left. You stayed, even when you became far more intelligent than him and practically radiated potential. No matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn’t dare risk losing that. He couldn’t lose you, he’d told you that before ��� although, when he thought about it, and he absolutely thought about it, he’d lose you regardless of what he did or didn’t say. 

But, he had to put those thoughts aside. It was a fresh summer, after all, and there was supposedly no room for sadness in summer. There was only room for happiness, laughter, good vibes, getting high on the good vibes, or just getting high and conforming to the sickly summertime syndrome people were often infected with. Thus, Hyunjin had tried to spend the new season conforming to such a syndrome―excluding the fight where he was beaten within an inch of his life and had you fix him up, that probably didn’t fit the mold of a fun summer. It’d been successful to an extent ― the local pool had far too many people, including neglectful mothers attempting to flirt with the underage lifeguard Kim Sunwoo, and the beach was littered with shattered glass, plastic and cigarette ash mixed amongst the sand ― but the weather was still nice, and Hyunjin did play a soccer game in the park last weekend. That was it, though. The rest of his time was spent mowing the lawns of other houses for some extra cash, pocketing cherry lollipops and dealing decks of fifty-two cards for games that would be inevitably cheated in―like you were now. Hyunjin, Jisung and Minho were in a heated game of Go Fish, a cigarette dangling from Hyunjin’s plush lips and intoxicating the midday air, while you half-focused on the game in amusement, half-focused on the dusty comic book you’d flicked your way through. It’d been buried under many other prints of various comics, all neglected as time and puberty had lowered your interest in the bright illustrations. You couldn’t remember ever reading this one though, it was probably one of the rare collections Hyunjin refused to share through his childhood. A huff passed the lips of the oldest as he lost yet again, mumbling something about disrespectful youths and how they had obviously cheated. Jisung snickered, earning a wack in the gut from an agitated Minho. He scooted over to sit beside you, reading over your shoulder in an attempt to show his disinterest in the card game ― though it really just made him look like a sore loser, and it was quite clear he had zero interest in the childish story you held. A frustrated groan sounded as he threw his head back against the wall, as dramatic as ever. 

“I want to go outside,” he complained. 

Hyunjin scoffed, “there’s the door,” gesturing to the entrance with sass. 

“No,” Minho hissed and narrowed his eyes. Man, he was really spending too much time with those cats, “I want to go outside outside. Like, camping or something.” 

Jisung threw his hands up in defeat, “well, why didn’t you say so!” He exclaimed in exasperation, “I’ve got everything you need to go camping! No one in my house uses it.” 

Oh, Jisung’s house. What a nightmare that was―or, rather, looked like. It was dilapidated with a rusty truck parked in the driveway, a large shed in the back acting as storage for years of hoarding, of course there’d be something for camping in there. Jisung had once told you that most of the stuff in the shed belonged to past owners who never returned to get it and he’d, for some reason, seen it as a tradition that has to be carried through each owner. You didn’t press the idea or criticise it, the boy seemed really excited about it after all. 

“Welcome to my shed of wonders!” Jisung introduced. It was so, so, dusty. You were almost certain some of the junk within the metal sheathing dated back to the 19th century, maybe the 18th if you really analysed the dilapidated furniture and crumbling artefacts. Jisung hummed in thought, “there’s gotta be a tent in here somewhere…” He strolled into the shed, seeming to know exactly what to move and how far. The rest of you stared at the collection in awe―you kind of understood why Jisung prided himself on the contents of his shed, some of those things would make a good buck on Antiques Roadshow and keeping them must’ve given Jisung some sort of positive emotional release, perhaps a feeling of “I have a get rich quick scheme, I’m just choosing to be poor”. Probably made him feel better when people gave him crap for not being able to afford cool toys as a kid. You’d never seen the torment Jisung received, nor did he ever desire to speak about it, but Minho had been vocal numerous times in his distaste for the way the younger was treated. Jisung had a heart of gold, something Hyunjin could acknowledge even when they didn’t get along. He was the kind of boy who deserved nothing but greatness; he was destined for greatness. You could always pray the town didn’t suck the potential out of him, as it did to most others, but you knew those kinds of prayers go unanswered. Jisung’s epiphanic “a-ha!” derailed your thought train, your eyes shifting to see the brunette male pulling a large tent from one of the many, almost overflowing, storage units. 

Hyunjin squinted his eyes in confusion, “how did you even find that?” 

“It looks a hundred years old,” Minho added. 

The youngest male rolled his eyes at their comments, dusting off the green tent. An excited smile graced his face as he turned to face the three of you, “alright, where should we go?” 

The sun beat down on you, a light sheen of sweat glistening over your burning skin. How long had it been? Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours? You hadn’t a clue. The last time you ventured down railway tracks you ended up running in fear of men who had a vendetta against Minho―for reasons you’d soon find out. The oldest had evidently learned his lesson, guiding everyone in the opposite direction and away from any men with reasons to stab him for walking in their ‘territory’. Hyunjin dawdled beside you, eyes trailing the railway the four of you walked along. Minho was leading the group, Jisung chewing his ear off in a conversation that probably didn't interest the older, something about the spirits in the woods you were approaching. You could barely make out the faint scoff that passed Minho’s lips, but the younger seemed to hear it clear as day. 

“I’m serious! If we don’t get murdered in our tents then we get murked by demons in these damn woods!” 

“Is there an outcome where we don’t die on this trip?” Hyunjin questioned with amusement, effectively closing the younger’s mouth and halting more words from spilling out. Minho rolled his eyes at the short bickering, trudging through the forest with an impatient yell, “come on! I want to get there before the sun sets.” It was a dark and dank environment, the air felt musty and thick around your lungs. Trees were overgrown, roots seeping along the dirt trail and serving as tripping hazards. Light dimmed under the cavern of green leaves, yet shadows still managed to dance in the slivers of golden rays. It was tranquil, but also unnerving. In retrospect, it was probably the childhood tales of drug deals gone wrong that put you on edge. Even if it was pure fiction, naive belief was enough to trick your mind into feeling unsafe, watched, hunted. If you ventured alone your fear would have pushed you to the other side of the trail at a much faster pace than you currently maintained, but, of course, you weren’t without company. The aura of discomfort and fear gently wafted in the air ― stronger from the likes of yourself and Jisung, though minimal to non-existent from the two other males. Those two had been fearless since you met them―Hyunjin stood in front of trains for an adrenaline rush! Then again, you weren’t entirely sure as to whether that was fearlessness or recklessness. They were one and the same to that boy. 

The group passed through the forest until you found a clearing, a large field with a distant fence to halt you from further adventuring. It appeared to be the outskirts of town, past where anyone would travel for purposes other than hiking or illegal business. Hyunjin stood still with his hands rested on his hips, observing the area, “oh, this’ll do. This’ll do just fine.” 

Your eyes rolled at the antics of your best friend, trust Hyunjin to say something straight out of an 80s movie―at least, it sounded like it would be. Jisung strolled ahead, hot on the heels of Hyunjin as they ventured through the long grass. Minho eyed the ground suspiciously, hesitance floating through his orbs before mumbling, “there better not be any snakes around here.” His words clearly weren’t as quiet as he had hoped, as Jisung stumbled away from the grass with a sharp gasp at the announcement. A huff passed Hyunjin’s lips at the other boys’ dramatics, causing you to shift an eyebrow in question―he had no right to be judgemental, he was the most dramatic of all. 

“Chill out, you buffoons. There’s short grass ahead, we’ll set up there,” well, that made sense. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Jisung stumbled to his feet and worked to catch up with Hyunjin’s footsteps. 

The process of setting up a tent had been… difficult, to say the least ― “Jisung, how the fuck do we set this up?” “Just read the instructions?” “They’re in Russian!” ― though the four of you eventually managed to successfully pitch the tent. Though, in all honesty, the sun had started to set by the time it was standing. That was at least an hour ago. Now, you lay still in your sleeping bags and mumbled descriptions of distant memories and under-developed universal theories. 

“Hyunjin, move your irritatingly long legs so they’re resting somewhere other than my feet,” Minho grumbled. 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Your mind wandered back to the adventures of that day, dawdling across train tracks and praying none of the smoking vehicles came running up behind you. The memory struck you like lightning; you remembered the time you dawdled down the wrong train tracks and ran for your life. A slight laugh passed your lips at the image of your younger self frantically running, “hey, do you remember when we tried to almost got murked by that gang on the outskirts of town?” Hyunjin mumbled an agreement, a fond smile on his face. Jisung piped up to laugh about how he almost ‘shit his lungs out of his ass’. Although you were able to laugh now, you all knew there was nothing funny about the primal fear you felt in that moment. The fear of the unknown; of death. Silence settled over the four of you momentarily before Minho voiced new information softly. 

“I almost killed one of them.” 

Jisung just about shot up in his sleeping bag, “what?” he exclaimed. 

Minho maintained his characteristic calm composure as he explained, “yeah, it was a few months before we went down there. I was still hanging out with Hongjoong and that gang,” ah, the days of Minho being a gang. They were fond―somewhat fond―memories, “one of them had beat up Mingi, got the wrong guy or something, so Hongjoong and I went after him.” 

In all honesty, you never knew Kim Hongjoong very well, nor did you remember much about him. You were never close with him and he’d moved away before any sort of friendship could bud, but you knew Song Mingi well―rather, you knew of him. He was a bubbly kid, tall and friendly with a goofy smile. There was something about him that exuded innocence and happiness, like he was crafted by embers of the burning yellow ball in the sky. 

“We didn’t mean to get him that bad, but we couldn’t stop ourselves,” Minho mumbled softly, his mind wandering off to a different space as he blurted out the words, “Mingi didn’t do anything.” 

The three of you shared a look before turning back to focus on the oldest, his face blank as his eyes clouded over with thought, concern, nostalgia. Hyunjin cleared his throat awkwardly, “well, it’s in the past now. We learnt to never travel down those tracks again,” he shifted around in his sleeping bag and closed his eyes. 

Jisung had proposed the idea of keeping someone on lookout, claiming he didn’t want to get “fucking murked by a coyote or something”. There was the initial suggestion of taking shifts, but Jisung didn’t seem willing to take up the role and Minho said he was “too old to skip sleep”. Hyunjin didn’t give you a chance before saying he’d stay up all night ― of course he wasn’t actually planning on staying up all night, just until Jisung had knocked out for long enough to be unaware of the lack of surveillance. It didn’t matter, though, you both ended up out there after you tossed and turned for a solid thirty minutes. The wind was howling, the tent thrashing from side-to-side at the sharp movements of air. Hyunjin sighed with discontent, “why didn’t we check the forecast before we left?” A light chuckle passed your chapped lips. 

“Because the forecast is never correct,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes at your matter-a-fact tone, a slight smile gracing his moonlit features. It was very clear in that moment — and many others, if you were being honest with yourself — why so many girls had thrown themselves at him over the years. All of that started in your first year of school, when a pigtailed girl claimed it was Hyunjin’s neat cursive writing that attracted her, not his cute face—of course that was a crock of shit, it had always been about Hyunjin’s face. It shouldn’t have been, but people were shallow like that. 

His visuals had never crossed your mind, not until your early teenage years at least. You were thirteen when it first struck you, bundled up in sleeping bags in your best friend’s lounge room watching some teen movie. It wasn’t something you focused on, your eyes had drifted to your giggly friend and refused to move. His hair was black, dark eyes curved into crescent moons as he attempted to stifle laughter at the current scene. Skin smooth, blue winter pyjama shirt buttoned up to the collar and a pillow clutched between his arms. With a tilted head, he turned and stared back at you with curiosity, “what is it?” 

You look perfect. “Nothing,” you smiled tightly. 

“What are you thinking about?” The question passed Hyunjin’s lip in a voice of honey and warmth, comforting in the midst of the vicious whipping wind. 

You shrugged slightly as you formulated an excuse, “just the future. What I’ll do after school,” Hyunjin hummed solemnly. He didn’t like talking about the future, mainly because it brought in thoughts of losing everyone and everything he’s ever loved. He didn’t want to think about a world where that happened, even if it was inevitable, though the words manage to spill out before he could catch them. 

“Will I ever lose you?” 

You were dumbfounded. Lose you? Of course he’d never lose you, “how could you ever lose me? I won’t let you, Hwang,” you attempted to brighten the glum atmosphere. 

Picking at his cuticles, he shrugged his shoulders slightly, “I’m not good enough for you, I’ll never be enough for you.” A frown formed on your lips at Hyunjin’s pessimism, eyebrows furrowing in satisfaction and sadness. You never knew he felt so little of himself. 

“Hey,” the word was spoken gently from your lips, hands reaching out to cup Hyunjin’s face and turn him towards you. He still had a scratch on his lip from that last fight he was in, “you are more than you think, Hyunjin. So much more,” the glaze of your eyes held such sincerity and honesty, “you can do anything you want, man,” yet Hyunjin still couldn’t make himself believe you. 

Eyes downcast, “yeah,” he mumbled distantly, “anything.” 

The four of you walked home in a comfortable silence the next morning, accepting it would be the last time any of you felt this free. 

At the age of twenty-one, Jisung became distant. It was understandably so, Minho had been found dead and was buried within a week of the discovery. There was no proper time to grieve about the loss, everyone expected you to go back to work as if nothing had changed—nothing’s wrong. Everything was wrong, so fucking wrong. Jisung and Minho were never ‘official’ because neither of them had the bravery to face discrimination for being something other than straight. You never knew whether Minho was homosexual or bisexual, even pansexual maybe, but it never mattered. All you could wish was that he was happy, at least once, before he was laid to rest. Jisung closed himself off, became a silent and reclusive man who lived on the outskirts of town. He was a truck driver, swinging between different towns before inevitably returning to the one that seemed to have something against him. It sucked the life from him, it took everything from him; he hated that fucking town. You didn’t see him after Minho’s funeral, not in the way friends see each other, at least. Of course you’d spot him in town occasionally, exiting his house or driving back home after weeks away. Yet, you never spoke a word to him. Never said a ‘hi’, never wanted to speak in case it pushed him too far—broke him, if you will. Rather, you let him seclude himself and suffocate in loneliness; if only you didn’t make that foolish mistake. 

When you were twenty-three you bid your goodbyes to Hyunjin, planning to move away and pursue a career that, frankly wouldn’t make you happy, but it would give you enough money to pay rent for a good place. That’s all you really needed, you supposed. Hyunjin bid his last goodbyes with a letter. It was written in his beautiful handwriting, the calligraphy style he liked to brag when he was younger, but seemed to have forgotten about as he emerged into his teenage years — he never forgot, he still prided himself on such perfect penmanship. It was a letter that contained words you never expected your best friend to say, though always secretly hoped to hear. It was a letter that slapped you across the face for being so blind and cowardly. It was a letter about how he fell in love with you, too hard and too fast, and how he always knew you’d be too good for him, one way or another. You hated when Hyunjin put himself down with such words, but you hated knowing that you caused most of them. The boy was incomparable, so unique and one-of-a-kind. There would never be another Hyunjin in your life, never one to take your heart and treat it as his own. Hyunjin was more than he thought. So, so much more. 

“I love you, more than you know. In more ways than a platonic-friendship-type of love. The kind of romantic love that’s, probably, unrequited,” Hyunjin, you foolish boy, your love has never been unrequited. 

Perhaps you were the fool, not Hyunjin, for keeping your mouth shut about your secret attraction for years. Heaving a sigh, your hands folded the letter closed, you were such a fool. 

In your life, you had three great friends that taught you many lessons — many lessons they failed to learn themselves. 

Minho often preached about staying true to who you are, exuding confidence in your identity and being fearless of others. Yet he failed to accept who he was, though that was fair enough in your opinion. He had his own struggles, many struggles, but never wanted to confront them. Minho never wanted to confront, let alone accept, the possibility of being subjectively weak; he struggled under the pressure to conform to masculinity—no weaknesses whatsoever. Gosh, that boy was one of the strongest you knew. One of the kindest, too, a heart of gold, truly. That boy didn’t deserve to die, none of your friends did. 

Jisung often told you to be careful with your feelings, yet easily gave his away to Minho. The boy had always had an eye for detail, noticing the veins in leaves and miniscule dirt stains on a vintage photograph in his shed, but he tended to overlook the bigger ideas. The things that were right in front of him, you supposed. He failed to notice how he gave away his feelings to one person so easily. He never noticed that he left no room for the regrowth or reacquisition of those feelings, but maybe he just didn’t care. Minho made him feel so peaceful and at ease, how could he find it within him to care? 

Hyunjin, where did you start with Hyunjin? Your friend since childhood, your first love, someone you’d never be able to forget—someone you’d never allow yourself to forget. He taught you to be bold, a little reckless to spice up life — though not ‘stand in front of a train’ type of recklessness. He spent years teaching you to overcome your struggles, though you felt as if you failed to tend to his. Of course, he’d never see it that way, but he was head over heels for you. Just as you were for him. The boy had always been talented, insanely so, with perfect handwriting and a unique perspective on the inner workings of life, ambitions and dreams. There was so much potential held inside his body, marked with scars and bruises from the fights he’d had through the years. He’d always told you to never settle for anything less than perfect. Perhaps that’s why he never wanted you to settle for him: he never saw himself as perfect. You wanted him to do the same, go as far as he possibly can to fulfil his limitless potential. But, that didn’t happen—life could never treat him kindly. Hyunjin never made it out of that shitty town. It pained you to think about it — he could’ve been anything, anyone. He had so much potential, yet that place sucked it away and kept him in an iron grip. When you thought about it, you realised none of your friends got lucky like you. One way or another, they all stayed in that town—dead or alive, it didn’t matter, they all remained. Many would’ve seen that as luck being on your side, but without at least one of them by your side—without Hyunjin by your side—what was the point of going? 

Walking back into that town had never felt so eerie. Nothing was the same as you remembered. Visually, nothing changed, yet at the same time everything had changed. You were no longer a young adult searching for opportunities, no longer a teenager stressing over school work, or dragging yourself to the treehouse in the middle of the night to tend to Hyunjin’s wounds. You wondered if that thing was still intact. That’s not why you were back in town, far from it, but something ate away at you. Was your rickety hangout still standing? Or had it fallen apart after all of you left, in more than one way. 

There was no noise coming from within the wooden confines of the treehouse. You were glad it was still there, even if no one used it. It felt like you were running on autopilot, your feet guiding you up the ladder as you opened the hatch to pull yourself into the space. You swore it was bigger than this. Eyes darted around, taking in the old drawings on the walls, outdated comics and dusty packs of cards. Nothing had changed. You gasped, startled, as you made eye contact with another person, sat in a slightly slumped position across from you. The corner of their lip was slightly bloody, a cigarette dangling from the other side. A reminiscent smirk crawled on their lips, it couldn’t be. 

“Long time no see, darling,” he hadn’t changed one bit, “and just in time! You can patch me up before the service.” 

There was a bitterness in his tone, one you could taste on your own tongue as you contemplated the right words to say. It was mockingly cheerful, like he knew everything was falling apart and there was nothing that could stop it ― who are you kidding, that’s exactly what was happening ― “because that’s the only reason people ever return to this town, right? To mourn the ones that’ll never leave.” 

Words couldn’t pass your lips. There was so much you wanted to say: questions, nonchalant agreements, apologies. It was bittersweet, really, to be meeting like this. It was like old times. A bloodied Hyunjin sat against the wall of the treehouse, nonchalant in the pain of being beaten up, fully prepared to be patched up by your delicate, unbruised hands. But everything was different. Minho no longer whinged over losing a card game, Jisung no longer cheated his way to success in said card games. They’d stopped doing that years ago, and it was an activity they could never engage in again. Hyunjin noticed the despair clouding your gaze, guilt etching your face. A frown creasing his face as he caught your train of thought―you had a habit of blaming yourself, feeling guilty about nothing. 

“It feels weird, doesn’t it?” 

You nodded slightly, “almost... wrong.” 

Hyunjin tossed aside the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe before he opened his arms welcomingly. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed him until the moment you crawled into his arms―you missed all of them. All you wanted was to say one last goodbye to Minho, one last goodbye to Jisung. To thank them for everything, tell them how hard they worked, how incredible they were to be around. Fuck, you missed them so much, you couldn’t help it. Tears were already falling and staining Hyunjin’s t-shirt before you could even attempt to keep them in. A solemn sigh passed his lips, hand stroking your hair as a form of agreement. He’d always fantasised about having a solid friend group that lasted into adulthood, then into the elderly ages. A part of him knew it would never end that way, but he didn’t think this would be the outcome of your friendship circle. When he pondered the potential loss of contact he always assumed it would be a result of moving on to better things, better places and people. He couldn’t help but think back to that camping trip; it was the most carefree time in his life. None of you could’ve ever imagined this outcome ― you could imagine moving away and losing contact over time, you couldn’t imagine being pulled apart by something out of your control. You didn’t want to, but who would? The idea of your friends being taken before their time―before you deemed it to be their time―was almost as upsetting as it actually happening. Life and death, it was a torturous cycle for everyone involved. Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut as fear bubbled in his chest, the fear of losing you all over again. He tightened his grip on you, what tragic lives we’ve led. 

“And then there were two.”

[bentdownspoon]

Blood Wolf// Margaery Tyrell

Interesting Supernatural!AU I thought of in the middle of the night. Don't mind me...

I looked up and before I knew it I had a whole ass, book-length plot for this wtf. Also, Game of Thrones is more like "Game of plot? What plot? Let's just completely do the OPPOSITE of what these characters would do because everyone guessed the ending and now I have to change it so I turned my secret fanfiction into the script"

"You're sure," you glance at Ellaria.

She gives you a troubled look, and you know before she answers, "word came directly from King's Landing. I'm sorry, Y/N..."

You look back out the window, clenching your jaw as you blink heavily against the tears stinging your eyes. You look down as they finally fall.

"And there's still no word about my sister," you ask.

"Sansa remains with the Lannisters," Ellaria confirms what you already know, "and Arya is still missing."

"First my father," you shake your head, "now Robb, Rickon, Brann, and my mother. Who is left of us? A Stark must always remain in Winterfell..."

"I've been informed that Roose has been declared Warden in the North."

The growl that rips from your throat is inhuman, and Ellaria flinches. She's the only one who truly knows your secret...her and Oberyn. Your trip to Essos had ended in what you'd assumed was a tragedy. Virtually unknown to the people there, you'd been an easy target for a Wizard who'd done... something to you. You woke with a craving for unspeakable things...and the strength of a hundred men. You'd fled back to Westeros, landing on the sands of Dorne, back to the Martells that had been your Wardens since you were only 7, and your father had sent you there on the word of Robert Baratheon as a sign of peace.

"They'll pay for this," you vow.

"If you return to the North, those Loyal to you can be raised in your name," Ellaria steps closer, "The Tyrells will learn what a demon their King is, and they may be willing to strike a deal with you in exchange for protection."

"Mace is not so easily swayed once he's made an alliance," you point out, "with Robb dead...what am I to offer him?"

Ellaria's smile causes you to feel a little weary, as she leans in closer and begins to explain her plan...

########

Your newfound abilities and immortality made traveling North easy. You only stopped to trade horses when yours was too tired to ride anymore and to feed when your thirst became too much. Thankfully, there was no small amount of Lannister Soldiers or Roose's own retinue as you made it to the North fully. You started on Bear Island, knowing the Mormonts were true northerners. They'd been surprised to see you, but little Lyanna had bluntly told you the North was a mess.

She bent the knee only after grilling you about your intentions. And with the backing of the Mormonts, slowly the other Lords met you in secret. The Karstarks were wary of you, after what Robb had done to their patriarch. It took convincing but they were honor-bound by your shared blood and devotion to a true Northern ruler. House Flint rallied behind you happily, due in part to their own personal vendetta against Roose, who'd started taking their lands slowly. The Umbers had mostly kept to themselves, trying to regain their armies, and when you arrived they welcomed you as they would have your brother. With the major houses following you, Roose took notice, but so had the other Northern Lords. Their support came flooding in, and it was within a few weeks that you'd been declared the Queen in the North.

You took your newfound army and marched on Winterfell. Roose's Bastard had taken up there, and the first thing you would do as Queen was take back your father's Home.

The battle was bloody, and you'd flown into a frenzy, aided by the taste of Bolton blood and hatred that settled heavily in your heart. Your men stood back and watched as you single-handedly took out Ramsay's personal guards, ripping out throats and bathing your dark armor in their blood. The torches cast light on the black metal, casting a red sheen as it hit the blood. Ramsay was alone now, eyes darting around for an escape.

You moved on him, faster than the eyes could see. His throat felt warm in your hands, and you could hear his heart thundering in his chest as you stared at him with sharp, nearly white eyes.

"Are you afraid," you grin, blood dripping down your chin.

He doesn't answer, instead of staring you in the eyes as he struggled in your grasp. You laugh, tightening your grip on him.

"No need to answer," you assure him, "I can smell your fear. What's the matter, Ramsay? Afraid of a little blood?"

He flinches but remains silent. Your grin turns wolfish as you pull him closer to you.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you yet," you stare him down, "first, I'm going to let you go, so you can tell your pathetic kingslayer father what you saw here. You tell him how afraid you are. You tell him that Y/N Stark has returned home, and they will always be a Stark in Winterfell. And then you tell him this from me personally: I will flay every last inch of skin from his body, and when he begs for mercy, I will show him the same mercy he showed to my family."

You drop Ramsay, who scrambles away, clutching his throat. His eyes are full of hatred as he stares at you in disgust.

"The Starks should have stayed dead," he spits at your feet, before taking off towards his horse, riding off into the darkness.

"Should we give chase, your grace?"

You turn to look at the tiny form of Lyanna Mormont, and shake your head, "no. He will go cower at his father's feet. If Roose doesn't kill him for his failure himself, house Mormont will be given the honor."

"As you say," the little girl looked conflicted but didn't question you. She knew your words to be true about Roose's ruthlessness.

###############

You kept your word to Ramsay and marched on the Dreadfort days later. Roose's men had all but abandoned him, all hearing stories of the Blood Wolf, and how you'd killed nearly a thousand men with your bare hands. Of course, that was exaggerated, but it was effective. The traitor sat within his castle, only his most loyal men guardian him. You saw Ramsay's flayed body handing from the keep entrance and felt a shock of disgust at the display. Roose was a cold, calculating man, and even at your most cruel and animalistic, you could never see yourself killing your own son...

"He said you'd come," Roose looked up from his fire as you stepped into his war room, "at least he could do that right."

"He was almost as big of a disappointment as you are," you flick your sword away from you, spilling the blood of his guards on the stone floor.

"The North needed a proper ruler," Roose stood up proudly, "and quite frankly a foolish boy who knew nothing about politics and refused to see reason was not the proper ruler."

"And a Bolton and his Bastard was," you tilt your head, "I'd sooner see Jon Snow as King than you."

Roose was growing angry, his hand reaching for his sword as he stared at you, "that would make more sense than a Northern Lady turned Dornish whore. Ned would be proud of his oldest cocksucker. At least you're not fucking the enemy like Sans-"

His words were interrupted by a wet squelch, as your sword pierced through his throat. His hands lifted to his neck, as he attempted to struggle for air that he wouldn't get. You pulled the blade out, and he fell to his knees as blood poured out of the wound excessively. He would die quickly, but in agony and fully aware.

"I won't lower myself to drinking your pathetic blood," you kneel next time him.

He reaches for you, choking as he struggles to breathe in, only to inhale blood and choke harder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," you look at him with sharp eyes, "speak up!"

He dies choking on blood, and you order your men to burn the castle to the ground.

###########

Ellaria sends word that Oberyn has been invited to Joffrey's Wedding. She speaks of her suspicions of their invitation and asks you to shadow them just in case. You name Lyanna commander, much to the anger of some of the Northern Lords, and slip out of Winterfell under the cover of darkness. With no time to take a horse, you stretch your powers to their limits, using your inhuman speed and endurance to cut your travel down to days. It drains you heavily, and when you stop to feed, you have to drain full-grown men to satisfy your thirst. You meet Oberyn's convoy just outside of city limits. They've stopped for rest, and you slip into his tent unseen.

"Ah, just in time," he doesn't flinch when he notices you, clad in nothing but his underclothes and a smirk, "wine?"

"It won't satisfy my thirst," he knows that.

"But it tastes so sweet, does it not?"

He pours you a glass anyways, giving it to you as Ellaria enters the tent. She smiles warmly at you, coming to greet you with a kiss full-on, and snatching your wine from your hands. She gives you a mischievous look as she sips it, and you watch her as she moves over to Oberyn, sitting on his lap.

"You didn't tell me our guest arrived, my love," Ellaria shifted her eyes to you, as she played with the hair at the back of his neck, "we've missed you so, Y/N."

"I've been a busy woman," you admit, "the past weeks have not been easy."

"I see," she has a knowing look, "they call you the Blood Wolf now, don't they? A bit on the nose?"

"Perhaps," you admit with a wolfish grin, intentionally dropping your fangs to show her, "but it's better to be feared than loved if you can't have both."

"Only a fool would think that," Oberyn grinned, "love is a wonderful thing. You would be amazed by what it can make a man do."

"Or a woman," Ellaria added, kissing him.

You watch them, a pang of jealousy settling in your heart. You once thought you could have what they have. But that was before you'd become...this monster you are now. A shell of the girl you once were, and the shadow of the woman you could have been...the Ghost of Winterfell. No one could love someone who's done what you have, and will continue to do...

"Stop that," Ellaria's voice brought you back to the present, blinking as you realize how close she was without you noticing, "you must not think that way."

"What way?"

Her hands are warm on your cheeks, "that you are not worthy of love. I know that's what you're thinking, I see it in those beautiful eyes. You will have love, Y/N, and your love will burn hotter than any Dornish summer."

You blink at how easily she could read you, looking away, "that wouldn't bode well for a Stark in Winterfell, now would it?"

She smiles, and shakes her head at your words, "perhaps it will."

Your eyes move to Oberyn, who has grabbed his spear and is sharpening it carefully. You know what he's planning, and you feel your heart squeeze in fear.  The Mountain was no regular man, and though he's skilled you can't help but worry.

"I hope you won't need that," you speak finally, "or this."

You pull out the small vial you'd come here to give him. He looked up at your words, and his eyes shifted to the glass in your hands. Ellaria tensed but took it anyways as you relaxed a little.

"You're sure," Ellaria looked at you, torn between relief and sadness.

"Only if you are," you challenge their resolve.

"We are," Oberyn speaks now, "...thank you, Y/N. Let us hope I won't need it."

"Then don't die," you say it simply, before preparing to leave.

A hand stops you, and you turn to see Ellaria looking at you, "wait."

"What is it?"

"Stay close," she requests, "your sister is still in the Keep, and though it will be impossible for you to reach her, it might not be so hard for me."

Sansa...

"Don't do anything to put yourself in danger..."

"I'm far too careful for that," Ellaria grins slyly, finally letting you go.

##############

Joffrey dies a few days later, and Sansa disappears from King's Landing. Ellaria sends word that she couldn't find any trace of where she'd gone, but that Petyr Baelish had mysteriously gone missing too. You feel your stomach flip and allow your rage to overshadow your fear.

Alarmingly, you get a message in the middle of the night. There's no way of knowing who sent the small child after you, but the note is written in flowy handwriting and is decidedly feminine. There isn't much there, just a time and place to meet. You consider ignoring it, but your curiosity gets the better of you, and against your sane mind, you slip into the city under the cover of a hood, and the moonlight. It's unlikely anyone would recognize you, since you spent so long in Dorne, but there was no such thing as too careful. Especially with Lannisters lurking around every corner.

You're only mildly surprised to see Olenna Tyrell dressed in common clothes. Her eyes are sharp as she watches you, and you sit across from her in the small, rented room.

"Y/N Stark, in the flesh," Her eyes watch you carefully, "what is a wolf doing so far south?"

"Without the safety of the pack, the lone wolf dies," you relax, knowing there was nothing Olenna Tyrell could do to you.

"So it's your sister you seek," she hums thoughtfully, "I'm sorry to tell you that she is no longer in the Keep. Carried off into the night by Petyr Baelish."

"And just where did he take her," You wonder if she knows...

"I haven't the faintest idea," Olenna is being honest, her heart rate hasn't changed once, "but I didn't call you here to talk about that."

"So what did you call me here for," you eye her.

"I've heard the rumors," She pours herself a cup of wine, "we've all heard them. They say you're more animal than woman, that you feast on the blood of your enemies to grow stronger."

"People say a lot of things," you shrug.

"Indeed," she stares you down, "but how much of it is true?"

"If it was true," you smirk, "and I was this beast they claim, do you think it was wise to lock yourself in here with me?"

"Oh please, girl," she waves you off, "if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now."

"Or maybe I'm just trying to determine your value to me," you allow your eyes to flash an icy blue, and your fangs descend quickly, "before I make you my next meal."

"So it's true then," her face hasn't changed, but her heartbeat has spiked in fear.

"Most of it," you relax, teeth and eyes returning to normal.

"Then I have a proposition for you," she seems to have recovered from her shock.

"I'm flattered," you tease, "but aren't you a little old for me, Lady Tyrell?"

She looks annoyed by your insinuation, but brushes it off, "my alliance with the Lannisters is shaky at best. That Tywin is so protective over his legacy, and Cersei... don't get me started on that used up-"

"Lady Tyrell," you frown at her language.

She rolls her eyes, sitting up straight, "the point is, we both stand to benefit together as opposed to what we can lose apart."

"You want an alliance," you tilt your head, "I'll tell you now I can't bear children, and even if I could, men are no use to me."

She studies you, "I suppose your time in Dorne has rubbed off on you. You prefer women then?"

"Precisely," you smirk, "so, I don't stand to gain anything from an alliance with you. I've liberated the North, what can you possibly offer?"

The calculating look in her eyes should probably scare you, but for all her power, Olenna Tyrell has very few options that could truly affect you.

"I have a granddaughter if you recall," she finally speaks, "one that desires a crown."

[petri808]

Fandom: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Higurashi Kagome/InuYasha

@inusecretsanta @coolstormy4  Fluffy Inukag Holiday AU.  Merry Christmas! Hope you like it :)

All Because of a Piney Bough

With Kagome in her first year at Yokohama N.U., as far as mama Higurashi was concerned, the winter break was one time of year she was required to be home for visits aside from summer.  Mrs. Higurashi sometimes missed the days when her daughter and friends would hang out on weekends keeping the shrine home so nice and lively.  But now, they had scattered like the four winds… well sort of, for Miroku had followed his girlfriend Sango to Tsukuba University, and Inuyasha followed his best friend to Yokohama.

Inuyasha… once or maybe still was Miroku’s best friend, yet now her daughters…  Actually, mama Higurashi had given up on trying to understand the dynamics between those two.  She was pretty sure they were both in love with each other since meeting 5 years ago and while they were almost attached at the hip, dated other people through high school.  It made, no sense.  Either way, she adored the Hanyo because as long as he was around, she never had to worry about her daughter’s safety.

Mrs. Higurashi figured that the kids would have plans on the holidays themselves, so two days before Christmas found the shrine home buzzing with life again.  Kagome had come home from college the prior week with Inuyasha in tow.  Sango and Miroku were back from Tsukuba, and Kohaku, Sango’s younger brother had also been able to make it to the party.  It was like old times, Mrs. Higurashi sighed as she finished the last touches on her Christmas Wagashi’s.  

“Here’s the K.F.C.,” Inuyasha places the two large buckets of fried chicken on the counter, “you sure this is enough for all of us?”

She wipes her hands on a towel and checks the boxes.  “Thank you dear, but I have other things already made as well,” she smiles at the young man.

“Mmm, I can’t wait!” he rubs his stomach, “you always make the best foods!”

Mrs. Higurashi just chuckles and shoos him out of the kitchen before he tries to sneak anything. “Could you let everyone know dinner will be ready in 30 minutes?”

“Sure…”

Two hours later now fed and satiated, most of the group relaxes in the living room, centered around watching the two teenagers play some kind of video game on the screen.  The adults chat while sipping tea or coffee, with Sango and Miroku talking about their first semester in a new city. Kagome had just finished washing the dishes for her mom and now stands in the entryway between the two rooms. It was really nice to see everyone gathered together like this, she smiled to herself.  The internet makes staying in touch so much easier, but it still doesn’t make up for the personal contact.  

After taking out the trash, Inuyasha joins her.  Keeping his voice low, “so who’s winning?”

“I think Kohaku… but I could be wrong.”

Knowing the woman didn’t know much about fighter type games, he chuckles.  “You have fun shopping earlier today with Sango?”

“Mmhmm,” feeling a bit tired she leans on his shoulder and yawns, “it was fun, we even stopped at our old ice cream shop haunt…”

Across the room, Sota and Kohaku high-five after another good round against some online competitors on the Playstation, laughing along with Miroku who’s asking to jump in next round. The two boys turn to respond to the older man but stop suddenly and begin whispering furiously between each other.

“What, don’t wanna let me play too cause you think I’ll whip your butts?”

“Nah, that ain’t it,” Kohaku leans closer, so he can whisper, “look behind you.”

“Huh?” Miroku turns his head and immediately grins and nods, leaning over to Sango to pass on the message.

The next thing they knew, the room had gone silent and 6 heads had turned to stare at Kagome and Inuyasha, grins on every single one of their faces.  “What?” the Hanyo growls, “why is everyone looking at us?”

Kagome who is just as intrigued chimes in too.  “W-why is everyone smiling like that?”

It’s her mom who finally speaks up while the 3 younger males snickers.  “Mistletoe ball.”

“Mistletoe?” the young girl repeats what her mother had said.  So, Mrs. Higurashi points above their heads.  Both Kagome and Inuyasha look at the same time, their faces growing paler by the millisecond.  “M-Mistle…”

“…toe…” Inu finishes.

“KISS!  KISS!  KISS!” chants begin to fill the room, starting from Sota and Kohaku but quickly joined by Miroku, Sango, even Mrs. Higurashi can’t hold back her amusement.

“W-Wha…. N-No but he-he’s…. we’re not…” poor Kagome’s face is turning crimson and Inuyasha’s is heating up as well.  “Oh, my Kami!” she hides her face while the chants of ‘KISS’ rage on.  It was so not funny to be called out like that!

“Just Kiss her Inuyasha!” Miroku goads the Hanyo, “you know you’ve been dying to!”

“N-No I don’t!” shaking a fist, “this was trap wasn’t it!  Who did it!”

“No one, it was just part of the decorations,” Sango giggled.  “Aww, Kagome, kissing Inuyasha wouldn’t be so bad would it?”

But the young girl refuses to respond only shaking her head as her anxiety reaches a peak.  “Stop pestering her, can’t you see…” Inuyasha’s growls die off for Kagome had taken off out the kitchen door.  They hear it slam behind her.  “See!” he curses the whole room.

“Oh, dear, maybe be we pushed her too far,” Mrs. Higurashi covers her mouth as she rises from the couch, “I better go…”

“I’ll go check on her,” Inuyasha mumbles, swiping the mistletoe down before stalking out of the house.

As soon as Inuyasha has left, Sango slaps her boyfriend, “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“Oww!” he rubs his shoulder, “yes!  But it was meant to catch you at some point!”  

Kagome flees to the Well House and sits along the worn-out wooden edging with her head hung.  It wasn’t that she was sad or even angry, but this definitely wasn’t how she’d envisioned her visit turning out.  She didn’t know what embarrassed her more, the idea of simply kissing her best friend because of some western-fangled tradition…. Or the thought of kissing the man she’d been pining over for years in front of family and friends who suspected those feelings.  Her mother was always asking in subtle ways, how were things with Inuyasha, oh, still just friends, okay that’s wonderful dear, he’s a great guy to have around….

Ugh!  She felt crappy enough without having to be reminded so often that no, they were still just friends.  I mean didn’t they hear him say he didn’t want to kiss me!  Moisture clouds over her eyes and she squeeze’s them shut.  I wish they’d just drop it already!  Tomorrow is a day for couples and this year I get to celebrate it alone…  Kagome let’s out a shaky exhale as memories of previous Eve’s with her ex, walking around to look at the light shows, how she’d often dreamt it had been Inuyasha instead holding her hand….        

She hears a noise and the door opening, turning her head to hide further, Kagome assumed her mother had come to console her and covers her face.

“Kagome?”  

But when she hears a softened male voice instead of that of her mother, she flinches; what was he doing here!  

“Kagome, a-are you gonna be okay?”  Inuyasha hops up onto the wells edging beside her in a crouched position and places a hand on her shoulder.  Kagome flinches out of his touch and stands up, placing a foot or so of space between them with her back to him.  “Oi, what are ya mad at me for!  I wasn’t the one who was doin the taunting!”

“I’m not mad at you, just wanna be alone right now.”

Inuyasha could hear the held back tears in her voice, smell the salt in the air.  He cringes, ears flattening at the pain it shot through his heart but in his head, it wasn’t fair that she was pushing him away over something he had no control over.  “Sure feels like you’re mad at me for somethin…”

“I’m really not mad okay, maybe confused sometimes, sad but not mad,” Kagome tilts her head up willing back the tears that furiously wish to break free, “you just…. I don’t know…” she lets out a long exhale, “…I just don’t know how to think of you anymore.”

Now Inuyasha was completely confused, what did she mean by how she thinks of him?  “What, you don’t wanna be my friend anymore is that it? If you don’t like me anymore all ya had to do was say something.”

“I like you too much is the problem…” her voice is so soft Inuyasha barely catches all the words, but then frankly he thought he might have heard her wrong anyways.  Kagome tilts her head in his direction this time, a weak smile gracing her features, “and just being your friend is getting to be too difficult to bear.”

Oh, bloody hell, so that’s what she was all upset over!  This chick has never given him one damn clue that she might have feelings for him, even dated his friggen rival for 2 years which is why he went out with hers hoping to stir up jealousy with no results, and now she wants to just break things off before there was anything between them?  Like hell he was gonna let that happen!  

“Kagome,” his eyes flash and narrow as he motions with a claw, “get over here.”  The gruff nature of his voice startles her at first, but she could tell it wasn’t in anger, more like she was about to get scolded.  She shakes her head.  Inuyasha jumps down from his perch quicker than she can turn to run and grabs her around the waist from behind.  “Stupid wench,” his lips are so close to her ear, she can feel the vibrations of his words and the heated air wafting against her skin.  “I have waited almost 4 damn years for you figure out what you wanted.  I stood back while you dated that wolf.  I followed you to Yokohama, do you really think I’ll let you walk away from me now?”

Kagome clenches her fists at her sides.  Was he for real?  They’d been like two idiots waiting for the other to make the first move!  “This whole time,” she breathes out, “are you seriously telling me you never asked me out because I  never made up my mind?”  She turns around to face him and immediately begins to bang her fists on his chest. “Are you serious!  Inuyasha, I’ve been the one waiting for you to make a goddam move on me, but you’ve never ever EVER acted like you had feelings for me beyond friendship!  Just now you shouted to everyone how you didn’t want to kiss me….  So how the hell was I supposed to figure it out!”  

Wow!  His eyes widen at the fury Kagome was trying to unleash on him.  He’s seen her mad before, but frankly this was amusing and endearing at the same time and it was taking all of his willpower not to laugh aloud and set her off even more.  He loved her pure heart, but he was even more in love with her feisty side.  

Inuyasha finally grabs her wrists to still them.  With a slight bemusement in his tone, “I didn’t want to kiss you in there because I didn’t want to take something if you weren’t ready to give it back.”  Kagome stops fighting and just stares into his honeyed hues confused.  Well that shut her up quick!  He drops her hands and scoops her cheeks into his hands, “Of course I want to kiss you…. I wanna kiss you all day, every day!”

Her eyes grow misty, “Inu…. I’m sorry I…”  

“Enough talking,” he cuts her off and crashes their lips together….  A rumble of contented abandon flows from his chest, oh Kamisama how he’s wanted to do this for so long! To nibble at her luscious ruby lips, to taste her as their tongues explore the heated antechamber…. Kagome was the sweetest hanami dango  and smelled as good the blossoms they celebrated.  He leans his forehead to hers after one more chaste kiss, “so…  can I call you my girlfriend now?”

“I…Mph!”

“Shh,” Inuyasha cups a hand over her mouth, his ear flicking in the direction of the house.  Without warning he scoops her into his arms and drops down into the bottom of the well, “don’t say anything yet.”  As his ears scan above, Kagome just looks up wondering what had spooked him.

The pair hears the door open.  “Kagome? Inuyasha?  Are you guys in there?”  A pause in Mrs. Higurashi’s voice, then the door closes again. “Doesn’t seem like they’re in the well house or anywhere on the property.  I hope Kagome’s okay.”

“I’m sure she is,” now they hear Miroku’s voice trying to reassure the woman, “you know Inuyasha, if she left, he could track her down.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.  I guess they’ll come back when they’re ready.”  

Kagome and Inuyasha hear a shuffling of feet back towards the main house.  She turns to Inuyasha confused, “why didn’t we just tell them we were okay?”

“Because I wasn’t ready to go back to the house yet,” his voice is heady and low, “so what’s your answer wench?”  

“Answer?  Oh!” she giggles, “how about… I’ll think about it.”

“Oi!  Think about it!”  Inuyasha runs his claws along her ticklish sides, and with a growl to his tone, “I’ll give you two seconds to say yes,” then traces them along the waist band of her skirt, “1….”

“Okay, Okay!” she spits out, shuddering as his hands have curved behind and nails trail along her spine. “Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend!”

“Let’s start over then,” he pulls the slightly crunched up mistletoe from his pocket and holds it above her head.

Kagome giggles as she stands on her tippy-toes to kiss him, “Merry Christmas to us…” 

KFC & Wagashi info https://favy-jp.com/topics/1421

Hanami Dango info https://www.justonecookbook.com/hanami-dango/

Christmas in Japan simple info

https://www.whychristmas.com/cultures/japan.shtml

[mysticmysterywrites-blog]

Prompt #10

So recently, I revived one of my roleplay from the dead and started gaining replies on it.

The premise was the whole "Two characters getting experimented on" One, and if you dig you can probably find it. However, I think now I want to focus on the doctor character. Kind of. The other two characters are still in the prompt (And hell, will absolutely crop up later, no matter the direction this goes)

Shohel is a man with bleached blonde hair that curls at his chin, toned skin and bright blue eyes. The look on his face is almost constantly one of boredom, and he somehow nearly alway manages to keep a straight face. He's not exactly, in this business to be cruel, but : > that gets touched upon in prompt.

Emer has ashy brown hair, with blue eyes and dark toned skin. She is about 20, but "Is wise beyond her years." Or so she says. She can fuck with technology and dig into the internet and shit, and her powers are as cryptic as she is. Nari has dark skin, with hair pulled back in dreads. He has scars from the time he spent forced to fight, and more wolf like features. Like, his entire experiment was that he was bred to be part wolf. He's 22 at the start of this roleplay.

You can be anyone. Another scientist that's cornering him, attempting to dig information out of him? Maybe they suspect he isn't quiet natural, and are encountering him about it? Or perhaps they really are just the new patient he's suppose to be assigned, and they're about to get caught up in a hell of a lot of bullshit. Regardless, about half way through the conversation at some Random Time, the lights are going to go out, and all systems Will Go Down. That is absolutely Nari and Emers doing, and the plot will go from there.

Doctor Shohel Essa was a simple man.

He was 32 years old, had a fine government job that many were clawing to get at, and was well on his way to climbing the ranks up in the company he worked for. He didn't have a husband yet, but he had the sinking suspicion the man he was seeing was going to propose to him sometime soon. He had no biological kids, he didn't speak to his family anymore, and what little friends he had were met online or through work.

And he..

Well. He didn't quite know what he was doing with his life, anymore.

--

He was assigned to the first one when he was 22.

He'd been such a small thing for a 14 year old. Constantly falling into coughing fits and struggling to keep himself up and alive. Quite frankly, he probably shouldn't have been alive. He'd been born here, raised here. An experiment on splicing genes together, and keeping them stable. The fact that he hadn't died by the time he was ten was a miracle in itself, let alone at least have gotten cancer or something. However, he was strong, far stronger then he'd given him credit for.

"Stabilize him," They'd demanded, watching him with a steady gaze.

So he did.

It took test after test, but eventually he found the source of the instability. Really, he should have seen what would come of stabilizing him. But he was young, and wanted so badly to impress his employer enough to stay. He'd only been an intern, until then, and really still going through school. He'd been his first real assignment, and first REAL success. And they loved it.

And yet, In a way, he regretted stabilizing him as quickly as he had. Because within the year, they were throwing him into pits to have him fight, training him to be a weapon he'd never ask to be. He'd come back with so many scars and bruises, and he'd only have the silence to defend himself as he patched the boy up. He wasn't meant to be a fighter. They wanted to badly for him to train some kind of aggression into the boy, but he didn't have a mean bone in his body.

So, he simply let life go on, and pretended to ignore the guilt that chided in his gut.

--

She'd been assigned to him not even 2 years later.

She'd been the same age as he was when he'd been assigned to him. Two years younger. However, her eyes held a sort of wisdom that held knowledge far beyond her years. It had startled him a bit at first. She looked at him with eyes that told him she knew everything about him. And really, she probably did.

(She'd tell him later, that she could dig through the technology, mind alone. That every bit of 0 and 1 meant something to her, personally. She had all knowledge she could gain access to with a computer. For better, or for worse.)

They'd told him to be careful with this one. "She's powerful. Too powerful for her own good," The woman hadn't bothered to look up from her clipboard as she spoke to him, flipping through file after file as she did, "She doesn't look like much, but with a snap of her fingers she could probably take down all of our security systems. Keep a close eye on her, got it?"

To a degree, she wasn't wrong. However, she wasn't exactly the strongest he'd met physically. Her power came from what she could do to the air around them- The electronics around them. So, in the end she was less dangerous and more or a pain in the ass.

"Look," He'd pressed fingers between the bridge of his nose, staring down at his the blank screen of his tablet, "I don't have much a choice here. If you cooperate with me, I'll have you in and out of here in no time."

"You have a choice on everything," She corrects, voice steady and so, so certain. Her legs kick out, and she leans back, "Besides. I don't want to go back. Theres nothing to do."

A rough sigh, "What, do you want a book?"

A grin, "Please?"

--

Working with Nari had been like working with a panicked riot that didn't know how to calm. He was just, so constantly anxious, his eyes flickering about and ears moving up and down. He held the type of nerves in his eye that only someone who'd gone through years of trauma and pain could attest to. And really, for a while he had to stop himself from digging through files he didn't belong in. It took maybe five years of working with him, but around that time was when the guilt really began to settle into place

And when he found him sobbing in his room at 5 in the morning, waking up from a nightmare, he had to ignore the gnawing sensation in his gut that he very well knew the cause of it. Instead simply offering him a soft, calming rub of the shoulder.

--

His work with her was slow, and quiet, and sometimes he just sat down to have a conversation with her because he could. Comparatively to Nari, working with her had been a peasant stroll. He knew it had everything to do with how she came here. He'd been raised here, tested on all his life. She'd come in, her powers an enigma that none of them knew what to do with. He was, built for his life, and she was born through it.

And when he found her wandering throughout the halls at 3 am, door to her room carefully deactivated and cameras around the area purposefully turned off, he didn't ask questions. He turned a blind eye as she dug through their files, studying all the experiments they were doing time and time again. And when she admitted she could shut down their systems, all of their camera's and electronic locks, and simply open the door without setting off an alarm, he got her hot chocolate instead of writing it in her file.

--

The girl had been 16, and boy 18 when something clicked into place.

"I have a crazy idea," He'd told his administrator, tapping his clipboard carefully as he had, "And you need to hear me out on it."

They were placed within the same room within the week.

--

They worked well together.

She calmed him down, carefully had him interacting more and more with the rare person he'd encounter. He gave her someone to balance herself on, forced her to show some kind of emotion. They forced eachother to flourish.

They'd forced themselves to grow.

However, the two of them made their company. Nervous, they said. They didn't like how defensive they got over one another. Didn't like the fits she'd throw if he came back drugged and sick, didn't like that he'd fall into panic attacks if he was left alone. It was only natural, he'd think. They'd only ever had eachother, so it was natural for the two of them to get close. But it forced him to think. Forced him to really, truly realize the difference in how he saw them, compared to his coworkers. He saw them as people, and they saw them as tools, and it was just.

That.

--

"I don't think he should be fighting anymore," He chewed against the base of his pen, looking down at the file he'd been given about the kids injuries. He'd been placed up against someone who could move the earth under their feet, and had his arm crushed under the weight of the earth. It had been an unfair fight. And really, all of them were unfair fights. They wanted them to be weapons, wanted the most powerful. But sometimes, they just, didn't focus their energy where it belonged. Didn't see that they were forcing them to-

"Oh?" The woman raised an eyebrow at him, smooth and curious, "Are you concerned for him."

"No. I just don't think that a killed experiment is a useful one," The words felt bitter on his tongue, but he managed to continue despite himself, "We wanted to test his limits? We found his limits. Its having his arm crushed under a boulder.

She stared at him, well into his eyes. But, inevitably, she would just nod her head, "Very well. We'll take him out of the ring then."

He breathed easy.

--

See, the thing about spending so much time with someone is that you begin to pick up on things about them.

He'd spent years with these two. He knew that Emer had taught Nari morse code, and that the way their fingers always touched carefully against skin was an excuse to fall into silent back and forths, or that their gazes and blinks were just another way of communicating. He saw the way Nari's eyes always glanced to the camera when he was alone, checking to see if any of the movements were foreign and jagged. He saw how nervous Emer got when Nari tested alone, the way her leg would bounce and jump up and down.

He saw the way Nari flinched back when he was too quick to lift a his tools, saw the way Emer glared at other doctors that tried to get too close. He saw the way her hands twitched into her gown when she lied, or fingers weaved through her hair when she was nervous. He saw how Nari quietly began to get a bit more snippy and confident in talking back to the other doctors, saw the way bitterness turned to rebellion in his eyes.

He saw so many things in those two, and

He didn't

consider the fact that it went both ways.

--

"Shohel," Emer stared at him.

He looked up at the cameras, dot that was normally bright red now eerily gone. The normal buzz and whirl of the computers around him had fallen silent, and the doors had clicked shut.

"Emer. Turn it back on."

"I have a question," Her voice was steady. Calm. A type of control he only ever imagined having. However, within second the illusion was broken, when her next words were sharp, and filled with the kind of worry only a close friend could have. It felt foreign. Wrong. After everything he'd put the two of them through, to hear the worry fall from her voice for him,"And- I don't want /you/ to get in trouble for it."

He took in a breath.

"Alright"

She stared him, directly in the eye, "You're like us, right? Nari says he could smell it on you. I can feel it in the air around you. You're like us," She leaned forward, head in her chin, "So uh. Why are you over there, and not in here."

His throat dried.

--

See, it was easy to lie to himself.

It was easy to go about some arguably mundane life, and put a few more lives in the line, and hide from his own supposed sins. It was easy to lie to himself as to why he'd always turned a blind eye to their attempts to hide their powers,

It was less easy to lie to himself when he feel asleep, and he found himself walking amongst the waking. It was far less easy to lie to himself when objects had shifted and moved around him throughout his childhood. When he could life himself off the ground with such care and precision that he might as well have been a feather floating through the air. When he could throw a person across the room without much a second thought. It was less easy to lie to himself when he believed he had all of it under control, when he thought, for just a second, that he was attempting to understand himself, not hide himself.

Hm.

--

"What do you mean your switching my charges."

"Your work with them isn't giving us results," The woman had shrugged, "And really, at this point I don't think theres much more work that can be given. 306 - 79's arm prevents him to be of any use to us, and 589 - 04 simply refuses to cooperate. You know as well as I do that it's.. dangerous to keep them around, and especially together. And ripping them apart? Even worse of an idea."

"Ma'am, no offense," He'd grit his teeth, ignore the way the pressure seemed to drop in the air around them, "I've been working with them for nearly a decade now. Hell, I HAVE been working with patient 306 - 79 for a decade," Had it really been that long? He had to avoid pinching the bridge of his nose, "And Eme- 589 - 04, She just needs someone that will work with her. Theres a reason that she doesn't work well with any of the other doctors -"

"Doctor. Theres nothing else I can do for them. Their time is up," He felt his heart freeze, stomach drop, "We really would like to keep you on our team- Really. You're brilliant, and you could /thrive/ given more cooperative subjects. We want to put you on one of our other experiments. For example, there is a young girl that freezes the air around her, or a boy that can supposedly speak to the dead. Really, with your current position in the company you could take any other charge under your wing. Why these two specifically? What's so special about them?"

He pursed his lips.

--

Doctor Shohel Essa was a simple man.

He was 32 years old, had a fine government job that many were clawing to get at, and was well on his way to climbing the ranks up in the company he worked for. He didn't have a husband yet, but he had the sinking suspicion the man he was seeing was going to propose to him sometime soon. He had no biological kids, he didn't speak to his family anymore, and what little friends he had were met online or through work.

And he.

          Needed out.

He'd been distracted as he considered it all day. Consider him selfish, maybe, but he found himself unable to care that, within the day he'd be meeting a new subject that he was suppose to be assigned to. Hell, he'd purposefully picked them, having seen the way that their current doctor seemed to treat them. But, he couldn't bring himself to CARE.

It had been something he'd been so, so hesitant to admit to himself, for the longest time now. They were like his children. They weren't even ten years younger then him and-. Hell, the man he was dating had the same age gap as he had with Nari (Fuck, that was weird to think about) But he'd basically raised them, and he would die for them time and time again. He'd done so many God-Awful things to them, and they were like his children. And having them ripped away from him felt- It was-. He could get them out. He could leave. It would cause a lot of shit but..

His head spun for a moment, and eyes narrowed down at his click board. And for the fifth time in the last 5 minutes, he struggled to read what was on the paper. It was fruitile. He needed to just, get through this meeting and figure out some kind of plan. Really, of all the patients he'd ever encountered, he highly doubted that /Emer/ and /Nari/ would be the ones to fight leaving. He just needed to figure out how to get them out...

Quietly, he reached up with his card key and tapped it to the door, then quickly typed in the code to the door. 5649. This was where he was suppose to meet his supposed new charge, after all. "Sorry for the wait," He didn't bother to look up from his clip board, attempting to force his headspace back into reality, "I got caught up in a conversation with a co-worker. Its nice to finally meet you. My name is Doctor Essa, and starting today I believe I'll be your main physician and Scientist."