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janeeyreheresy · 1 year

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Stupid Girl

All the facepalms by all the regulars of all the Star Treks (ALL of them, including all the new shows and the Kelvin timeline) are not enough facepalms for this.

Jane, at the beginning of the story, was a naïve and inexperienced girl. That is no longer so. She bravely escaped the only home she had, with nowhere else to go, fell to an almost literal rock bottom, met people outside of her previous limited experience--not teachers at girls' schools or servants in country mansions--had long talks with a man other than Rochester, lived by herself in a small cottage, therefore running her own household, getting groceries etc, instead of having staff to rely on with domestic tasks. She inherited a fucking fortune, making the commendable decision to split it with her cousins because she felt they deserved it. Yet she has not learned a thing.

You know why I think Jane chose to divide the twenty thousand four ways? Because she wouldn't know what to do with all that money. She made no use of it. The only activity she found pleasure in was giving Moor House a good scrubbing, top to bottom, to make it ready for Christmas, and buying some new furniture and decorations. She started learning German, because Diana and Mary did so, later Hindi because St John asked her to, and occasionally taught at the Morton school, but that was it. Briefly she considered going to India as a missionary, not because it was something she was passionate about, but on St John's suggestion.

When she first came to Thornfield, before the arrival of Rochester, she found life there dull and it was dull. But here she is, all the opportunities for excitement at her doorstep, and she doesn't take them. She does no travelling. She takes no trips to other cities, or to London, to museums, or theatre or opera, or just sightseeing. We know she sneers at fashion, but surely she likes some type of clothes, at least she can't be wearing the same thing every day. In that interrogation by Rochester at the beginning, she admitted she's not read many books and those she did were not very learned, but there's no sign of her buying any new books. The Marmion she reads was a gift from St John. She likes painting, but seemingly has no interest in visiting galleries. To put it plainly, she has no fucking life.

She doesn't open her own school, but I'm thinking she doesn't actually want one--at the time, in the gypsy fortune teller episode, opening her own school was the best it could get for her. Now that she has money she has more options, obviously, she doesn't have to go on "schoolmarming" for the rest of her life. (I mean, who would want to...) Except she doesn't even consider any other option. She's still never visited a city. Or the seaside. All her life experience is limited to countryside; to villages and country mansions. The only men she's ever got close to are Rochester and St John. No wonder she has such a scarcity mentality. She doesn't believe life can get better for her. She's not yet twenty, her whole life ahead of her, healthy and of sound mind and rich to boot. Yet she does an absolute fuck all, apart from listening to St John's long monologues. She thinks she will not marry, not because she doesn't need to depend on a man anymore, or out societal pressure, but because she doesn't believe anyone would ever love her, she doesn't believe there is any man for her, despite talking to all of TWO men in her life.

She likes to paint, yet seeks no new landscapes to capture with her brush. Explore the world, or England at least, Jane! Visit York, see the Minster, the Shambles. Go to the Lake District. Go to the coast. (Anne Bronte loved Scarborough, she died there too, poor soul...)

Yeah, so that double fare didn't cause any dent in her finances. I know that. She was still stupid to pay it, though. Whether she got there on the same day, or on the morning of the next would have made zero difference.

Jane continually looks down on other women for being shallow but it's not that she's that deep herself. Honestly, all she cares about is Rochester. Nothing and nobody else exists for her. During the month of their engagement, she worried she was making him her whole world. She knew being that obsessed with him was not a good thing, but she did nothing to change it. Even after she put a physical distance between herself and him. She was in the prefect position to get over an ex. New life, new friends, and even a new fortune. But no. She passes judgements on everyone that crosses her path, yet brags about not getting over a married man.

There is being in love with someone. And there is being stupid.

The next day, Jane gives an account of what she went through after her escape from Thornfield. Rochester starts asking about St John, as he features so heavily in her narrative (what can I say, I wish he didn't). You know what Jane does now?

She teases Rochester with St John. Because St John was good looking and young and of good character (in Jane's eyes; she likes him, she just isn't in love with him), she is able to make Rochester jealous. Which... girl.

Too little too late. It's like sending a health and safety inspector to Thornfield the day after it burned down. What's the use of it now? She's just travelled all this way to see Rochester, clearly she has no intention to be with another man. She is sitting in his lap, for heaven's sake.

She should have done this when she was still his governess. When the merry company was there and Rochester was pulling that stunt with Blanche. True, there was no suitable guy for that around, but that wouldn't matter, she could have made one up. Say, for example, she comes back from her day or afternoon off and Rochester asks her what she's been doing and she says "oh nothing much, met an old friend from Lowood today for a cup of tea in the village, he used to give us music lessons, he's on his way to Manchester for a new job but stopped by here so that he could see me, we were such good friends back in the day, you know." Even better, ask for an extra time off when the said friend is passing by, so that she can meet him. It doesn't matter if she'd spend the time sitting alone in a village pub.

Another one to file under "what could have been".

And it's not that her teasing goes on for long. Pretty soon she spills out the truth, that St John doesn't mean anything to her and neither does she mean anything to him, that he only wanted to marry her because she would make a good missionary wife.

"But if you wish me to love you, could you but see how much I do love you, you would be proud and content. All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence for ever.”

Sir. And she used "my master" sixth time (to the reader, not to him).

He tries to protest, pointing out his disabilities. He compares himself to that chestnut tree under which he proposed to her, the tree that was struck by lightning. (The tree deserved better. Rochester didn't.) Jane responds by continuing with that metaphor and he thinks she means they would be friends (she just declared her love for him (again) but okay).

“Ah! Jane. But I want a wife.”

Of course you do, Edward. Who else will look after you? Mary does all the housekeeping tasks, but it's only a job to her and she has her own husband.

Marriage is beneficial to men. Married men live longer than single men. Don't believe all the lame "ball and chain" jokes.

So he asks her to marry him and she says yes. He emphasises that she will have to wait on him, but she's happy with that.

Of course she is happy with that. She literally walked back into his life carrying him a tray. She'd give her life to serve him. She's always done what he asked her to do, things that were outside her job as a governess. She sat in the drawing room with the guests at Thornfield, she stayed up at night when he needed her to, she kept running to his bedroom the night Richard got stabbed to fetch things, which included a highly suspicious substance (that everyone seems to ignore), she complied with his demand not to talk to Richard, she didn't advertise for a new job when she believed her stint at Thornfield was coming to a close because he told her not to advertise, she keeps calling him "sir" and "master" long after she is not his employee and has her own money. My master, my master, my master, waah-waah-waah. The good, obedient girl, who will help him bury the body. That's Jane Eyre.

And yes, Jane was in no position to refuse her master's orders, especially not as a live-in staff. But she doesn't even wonder why he gives these orders. So much time she spends in her head, talking to the reader, observing Blanche's behaviour, suspecting Grace of arson, pondering Richard Mason's existence, but she doesn't stop once to think about Rochester's motives. Not "why does he make me sit in the drawing room, what's his game?" Not "why should Mr Mason not to talk to me?" Not "how come he has a vial full of liquid from an Italian charlatan? What does he use it for?" The only time she doesn't comply is when she runs away.

At the beginning, when she arrived at Thornfield, she thought it strange that Mrs Fairfax was so friendly to her, when she believed her to be the mistress of the house. But she showed no such surprise when the real master started behaving like a friend.

I think it's real shitty of her to not even acknowledge that Grace Poole wasn't the bad guy after all. But if she did, if she, only in her head, said to herself, "I've been a real fool suspecting Grace of criminal activity", she'd have to also acknowledge that her beloved master was a piece of shit.

And it wouldn't kill her if she allowed at least one semi-friendly thought towards Richard Mason. She didn't have to like him, or talk to him if she didn't want to (not because Rochester demanded it), but again, she could have at minimum acknowledged that it was nice of him to care about Bertha, despite everything she was. And if she really cherished the hope of meeting her newly found uncle one day, why didn't she ask Richard about him?

After they agree they'll marry, Rochester goes on to say that he was wrong in what he did but--let me copy it here:

“Jane! you think me, I daresay, an irreligious dog: but my heart swells with gratitude to the beneficent God of this earth just now. He sees not as man sees, but far clearer: judges not as man judges, but far more wisely. I did wrong: I would have sullied my innocent flower—breathed guilt on its purity: the Omnipotent snatched it from me. I, in my stiff-necked rebellion, almost cursed the dispensation: instead of bending to the decree, I defied it. Divine justice pursued its course; disasters came thick on me: I was forced to pass through the valley of the shadow of death. His chastisements are mighty; and one smote me which has humbled me for ever. You know I was proud of my strength: but what is it now, when I must give it over to foreign guidance, as a child does its weakness? Of late, Jane—only—only of late—I began to see and acknowledge the hand of God in my doom. I began to experience remorse, repentance; the wish for reconcilement to my Maker. I began sometimes to pray: very brief prayers they were, but very sincere."

I don't know. It's at best a half-assed apology. He found Jesus. And it only refers to his demanding her to become his professional mistress. Nothing about all the other stuff, or how awfully he treated the women he had relationships with.

He called her name--loudly--that time she heard him in Morton. But she doesn't tell him she heard him, so as not to frighten him. I can buy it. It's a gothic novel. Still more believable than her collapsing on the doorstep of the people who turned out to be her cousins.

I would have liked it better had he added "waah-waah-waah".

He swears he will live a clean life from now on.

Not like he has any choice. He can't be running off to London or Europe and chase after women anymore. He can't host parties because: 1. nobody wants to attend 2. Ferndean Manor is a hole and a dump 3. he can't see. Sneak in a 4. what is his financial situation now?

Lovers reunited or not, the real winner of this chapter is the driver who got the double fare. I hope he spent it wisely.

#jane eyre #edward rochester #rochester is a villain #stupid stupid STUPID girl #jane eyre meta

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mermaidinthecity · 1 year

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I'd get me four Harajuku girls to, uh huh, inspire me, and they'd come to my rescue. I'd dress them wicked, I'd give them names, yeah. Love, Angel, Music, Baby, hurry up and come and save me. All the riches, baby, won't mean anything. All the riches, baby, won't bring what your love can bring. All the riches, baby, won't mean anything. Don't need no other baby. Your loving is better than gold and I know. Come together all over the world. From the hoods of Japan, Harajuku Girls. What? It's all love. What? Give it up! What? Shouldn't matter, shouldn't matter. Shouldn't matter, shouldn't matter, what? Come together all over the world. From the hoods of Japan, Harajuku Girls. What? It's all love. What? Give it up! What? Shouldn't matter, shouldn't matter Shouldn't matter, shouldn't matter. What happened to my life? Turned upside down. Chicks dat blew ya mind, ding, it's the second round. Original track and ting, mmm. You know you can't buy these things, no. See Stefani and her L.A.M.B. I rock the Fetish, people you know who I am! Yes, ma'am, we got the style that's wicked. I hope you can all keep up. We climbed all the way from the bottom to the top. Now we ain't getting nothing but love. If I was a rich girl, na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na, see, I'd have all the money in the world. If I was a wealthy girl, no man could test me, impress me. My cash flow would never ever end. 'Cause I'd have all the money in the world if I was a wealthy girl. Na na na na na na. Na na na na na na. Na na na na na na na na na na na na. Na na na na na na. Na na na na na na. Na na na na na na na na na na na na. Na na na na na na. Na na na na na na. Na na na na na na na na na na na na.

Rich Girl (feat. Eve) by Gwen Stefani

#gwen stefani #lyrics #gs lyrics #richgirl #love angel music baby album

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the1975attheirverybest · 1 year

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You're right about youth being the catalyst for change but question is whether that change is positive or negative

Constructive criticism is important because things only seem to be getting worse rather than getting better .the idea was to leave the world in a slightly better position for the next generation than how we inherited it

Gabor mate talks about how we live in a toxic society that breeds mental health issues.and i think gen z is partly to blame for that.They are technologically savvy but also technologically dependent. These apps were meant to foster better relationships but instead we are getting higher levels of anxiety disconnection and depression than before

Their idea of change is to ban books they disagree with, cancel people they dislike and throw paint at priceless paintings to protest against climate change

I totally agree with you that being technologically dependent is not as positive as we like to think it is, sometimes. But I don’t know if the blame is squarely on the shoulders of gen z for that. I think it would be fair to say that none of us, regardless of generation, ever expected technology to be so totally present in our lives. Like, when the internet was first invented, the idea of something like Instagram would’ve blown our fuckin marbles. Hahaha.

But that’s true of any kind of “new technology” not just social media. It’s the exact same problem we had with atomic weapons. We were just so excited by the possibility that such a thing could potentially be invented that we rushed to make it happen and didn’t think about the ethical, psychological, social, or environmental effects. Then we ended the lives of a bunch of innocent people and went “well maybe that was a shit idea” a bit too late. Technological advancements rarely ever come with a humanistic handbook that teaches us how to handle them properly. Sadly, we only ever discover the negative when it’s too late. That’s what happened with social media. We kept saying to ourselves “omg imagine being able to connect with friends, family members, and even strangers, on the other side of the globe! How exciting!” A few decades later: Twitter. I think we can all agree Twitter is a miserable black hole, lmao.

I think Gen z holds the burden because they’re the generation who’s lived enough on this stuff to start showing it’s more long term effects.

Also, I feel like it’s not entirely their fault. The people who are banning books and making these shit decisions are (say it with me everyone) old, rich, straight white dudes. Who, if more of gen z could/ would vote, wouldn’t be in charge anymore. Like, the Supreme Court making the decision about abortions on behalf of all women in the US? A bunch of old white dudes (and Clarance Thomas :( shame on him) the persistent willful ignorance about climate crises? Old straight white dudes? Gun lobbyists blocking any change to fun safety laws? Yup, old straight white dudes.

Who’s trying to do something about it? Greta Thunberg, the March For Our Lives kids, etc. the kids :-)

That said, I do think that sometimes gen z wayyy overdoes it with some stuff. Like “woke culture” and “canceling” people. Ends with society treating Harvey Winestein with the same level of anger they treat Matty Healy, lmao. Like, no, learn to have some critical distance. There’s a difference between an off-color joke and a fuckin sexual assault. That’s why I say some youth culture tends to be an “overcorrection” or reaction to what came before it. They saw that older generations never spoke up, so their solution to be speaking up. Constantly. About everything. With the same level of investment. Whether or not they qualify as experts. Etc. and, yeah, these are the things that gen z does need to reflect on and decide where to go with. But, the rest of it….I’m afraid my generation, and the ones before it, are sort of guilty for putting those kids between a rock and a hard place. They were born into these shitty circumstances and didn’t even stand a chance, lol.

My examples happen to be US-based cuz that’s just where I live, but it seems like Brexit, French nationalism, etc have parallel trajectories in Europe as well. I’m just using things I see everyday as an example.

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

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The MC is a Valkyrie

Demigod MC Series: Intro

Greek: Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares, Hestia, Nyx

Norse: Valkyrie

A bit of a change of pace this time! No worries, I'm not done with the Greeks or anything. I just had this idea and wanted to get it out.

Valkyries aren't really demigods, but are a part of Norse myth as the minor divinities that help choose and deliver fallen warriors to Valhalla to join the ranks of the einherjar (the souls who will fight when Ragnarok comes). Valkyries are depicted as women who are fierce warriors in their own right. Despite their place as the gatekeepers of the Chosen, they've been said to sometimes take heroes and mortals as lovers or take residence in Midgard posing as daughters of royals/nobility.

Lucifer

At first, they thought they grabbed an heiress - which would have been bad enough - but then the MC grew wings, drew a spear, and asked who among them wanted a glorious death...

How hard is it to find ONE damn human on Earth? Isn't that realm supposed to be full of them??

Diavolo was thankfully able to talk their winged friend down from skewering Asmo and accepting the exchange on behalf of the human wo-… Midgard.

Living with a Valkyrie is different for sure. The MC is a proud woman who takes her role very seriously and she's seemingly deemed him and his brothers as candidates for einherjar (despite being demons).

He's tried many, many times to explain to her that they're not interested, but she's unconvinced. Now the MC watches his brothers like a hawk waiting to cart one of them off to Valhalla! Any mortal wound could be an excuse...

He's had to save Beel and Satan twice from getting dragged to that infernal palace… For whatever reason, she seems to have taken to them the most. Is it old Norse culture to favor the brash and strong? He has no idea...

At the very least, she knows better than to try to drag him into her little plans. Though he's sure he could qualify for the einherjar (obviously, why wouldn't he?) he has no interest in leaving his life here behind.

To think he'd actually have to put surveillance on his own brothers for their safety… But they're not going to get drafted into some ancient Norse war, not if he can help it.

Mammon

She’s an heiress… An heiress!!

Well, her human world identity is an heiress to a well-respected (and rather magical) rich family but that still technically counts! She’s crazy loaded back there! He’s in love!!

The only problem is that in the Devildom she doesn’t have a cent.

… and the fact that she keeps trying to get him killed. That’s also a problem.

In a way, things are not as bad and exactly as bad as that sounds. The MC apparently wants him to go to Valhalla (dope) but she can’t just take him there… He technically has to die in some kind of “vallent battle” first.

Her solution? Pick fights with nearly anything that moves and drag him into it!

Honestly, it’s pretty annoying… Sometimes he just wants to have a fun night out without getting into a barfight, you know??

At least the MC can handle herself… Hell, he was her "babysitter" but she barely even needed him. A lesser demon once made the bad idea of trying to cup her ass and lost a hand for his trouble…

Though, what this amounts to is the MC starting something then fighting alongside him like back-to-back badasses while looking for any excuse to scoop him up and fly him to Asgard!

Why does he put up with this? Well for starters human world rich is still rich, all he has to do is get himself a portal then he's living the high life! And secondly, well… what's the harm?

Sure, she technically wants him dead but he's the secondborn! The list of people who can take him down is so slim that it's not like he's in any danger. She even fights with him so things are a piece of cake!

Is this a case where he's 100% more forgiving because she's rich? Yes. Absolutely. But a golddigger's gotta eat somehow, right?

Leviathan

Is it weird to be jealous over someone not wanting you to die...?

Okay, that's an oversimplification but Levi can’t help but feel snubbed that the MC doesn’t have any interest in taking him to Asgard. Like, none! And why not??

He’s strong! He’s tough! He’s part snake too! Don’t the Nords have a thing about that? Like, there’s a giant snake they’re all worried about?? Maybe he could communicate with it!

Logically, Levi knows that he really shouldn’t press her on this… MC is pretty much a Grim Reaper with a Norse coat of paint and Asgard doesn’t really sound like his speed. No anime, no video games, not even cable! It’s just eat, train, and drink all day… Ew.

But still… What makes him an odd one out?

At best, she just knows he wouldn't be happy there. At worst, she's underestimating his skill… or maybe she's gauged him just right? He's always known he was weak!! 😫

Oh well... at least she's not a bore to be around. Far from it. She treats EVERYTHING like a life or death trial - he's pretty sure that if he challenged her to rock, paper, scissors she'd commend him for his bravery and swear on her sisters that she won't lose.

He once made the mistake of inviting her and Simeon for a game of Devil Party and they both got so into it that they nearly had a duel to the death as a tiebreaker…

Thank Devil that the game had a pre-programmed minigame for that kind of thing… It would have gotten messy otherwise.

Well, even if his other brothers go to Asgard, he can just chill out here with Lucifer and Asmo… right…? Actually, no, that sounds horrible! MC, he changes his mind!! Take him too!!! 😭

Satan

How many times does he have to say that he doesn’t want to go to Asgard?!?

Well, okay that’s not entirely true. Out of scientific curiosity, seeing the godly realm of the old Nords would be fascinating but he doesn’t want to stay, which the MC seems to have trouble understanding…

He’s not even sure why she's singled him out for einherjar status… Any one of his brothers are powerful beings in their own right and he’s not particularly, uh, “even-tempered” himself...

His best guess is she saw him wipe out a handful of lesser demons at some point and declared him Ragnarok material. He always ends up throwing around at least three of those idiots a week so checks out…

If he's being honest, her very existence raises so many questions… Does this mean that Ragnarok is real? Will the human world be swallowed up by the sea? Will the gods of Asgard fight and die as a new world is established? When??

Unfortunately, the MC won't tell him when it all will come to pass (he suspects even she doesn't know) just that Loki will trigger it… Someone keep tabs on that guy.

Until then, he just has to put up with her attempts to convince him but his patience is wearing thin… He's pretty sure he threw a bookshelf at her once but she caught it anyway so yeah...

He did challenge her to a proper duel too but… well let's say she's a Valkyrie for a reason and leave it at that. (Being saved by Lucifer was so humiliating… He's done here, move on already!!)

Asmodeus

First things first, she's gorgeous. Beautiful! Divine! (Literally 🤭)

Now that that's out of the way… She may also have a screw or two loose.

Like, he gets it. She's a Valkyrie and snapping up strong souls is her thing but come on… Mammon? Really? Why would he get into Valhalla instead of him, huh??

Why can't he get to go to the beautiful afterlife of the old Norse with all their strapping warriors, lovely maidens, and endless partying?? It's not fair!!

Ugh… and now she's got him sounding like LEVI! How frustrating…

Well, it may not be that bad. According to MC, he'd have to do battle training in Valhalla and that wouldn't really agree with his beauty routine. Like dirt, sweat, blood, and muscles? No thanks! Not for him.

He asked MC if he could get some kind of pass, but no dice… Maybe he could still convince her to let him vacation there… Or go for a visit? Just one? Surely that couldn't be so bad right?? He's heard that Thor looks NOTHING like people think he does and he's so curious!!

The closest he's ever gotten was challenging the MC to a fashion contest for a visit, but he dropped that idea quick when she proposed that they somehow include a wrestling match in the dressing room (and he knows she didn't mean the fun kind...)

As much as he'd love to get skin-to-skin with MC, the idea of getting locked in a chokehold was less appealing for some reason. 🤔

Ah well, he'll just have to make due admiring her wonderful body clothed for the time being… There's something to be said about muscular ladies, no?

Beelzebub

So she’s almost convinced him to join the einherjar like twice now…

He’s not the best at making decisions when he’s hungry and the MC keeps hyping up the food… Apparently it’s really good up there and MC says that she’s never seen an empty platter... Just thinking about it makes his stomach do backflips.

Thankfully for him, Lucifer usually steps in before Beel can sign his soul away and reminds him that he can’t just abandon the family for a meal, even if it is a feast.

You'd think he'd be annoyed but Beel isn't really bothered by her habit of trying to bring everyone to Asgard. At least not on a personal level.

Like Lucifer, he doesn't want to see his family broken up so he'd rather she wouldn't… But she's a Valkyrie right? It's what she does. It's not like she can help it.

In a weird way, he also thinks she means well. She just respects them and wants them to have a good afterlife. It would be kind of sweet if they didn't have to die for it first…

If he's being honest, he's not that worried about it anyway. His family is pretty tough, not a lot in the Devildom can take them down. As long as they're careful, everybody should be alright. 🙂

Maybe he could get MC to make some Valhallan food for them in the Devildom… Or he could get one of those immortality apples?? Though those would extend his life wouldn't they…? Oh well...

Belphegor

Belphie's attempt to kill the MC went something like this:

Belphie: *switches to his demon form* "I can't believe you actually trusted me!"

MC: *blinks* "Oh. So you want to challenge me then?"

Belphie: "What?"

MC: "Ah, now I see! You want to fight to prove your valor then die by my hand??"

Belphie: "What are yo-??"

MC: *summons wings and golden spear* "I like your spunk, demon!! Fight me with all you have and perhaps I'll take you to Valhalla! May you join us in our fight as a brother!!"

Belphie: "What the hell are you talking about!?!"

To his credit, he put up a good fight and probably would have gotten into Asgard if Lucifer hadn't intervened to save his life.

It can be said that the MC's Valkyrie-hood took Belphie completely by surprise. Sure, he thought she was a little weird for a "human" but challenging him to a duel to the death? That came out of nowhere!

His uneasiness about her only grew after he found out that she's been literally trying to get Beel killed! How in the world were his brothers so relaxed about this?? She's insane!!

So say what you will about the MC, but she's managed to do the impossible. She got Lucifer and Belphie to make up and work together on something! (i.e. making sure she doesn't send them all to their deaths)

Between Lucifer monitoring his brothers and Belphie watching the MC, they'll keep everybody in the Devildom where they belong. That's a promise!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me demigods

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wh6res · 3 years

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UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic.

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane."

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears.

"bitch," you mutter under your breath.

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again.

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?"

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway.

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?"

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him.

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath.

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement.

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year.

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her.

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living.

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing."

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done.

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way.

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement.

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears.

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend.

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word.

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel.

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode.

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information.

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics.

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve.

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too.

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?"

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind.

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head.

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest.

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!"

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys.

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history."

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said.

"do you really want to know why?"

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart.

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss.

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone.

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment.

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day.

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor.

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down.

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud.

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand.

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't…

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper.

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused.

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going.

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back.

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video.

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers.

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples.

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration.

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin.

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day.

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder.

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp.

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time.

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside.

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home.

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off.

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung.

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him.

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with.

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it... but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you.

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob.

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face.

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

#hmu if i missed a warning #yandere doyoung #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #tw swearing #tw manipulation #tw violence #tw knife

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lumosinlove · 3 years

Text

Relic Keel

Previously on Relic Keel:

Lily and James sneak out to the Lacrosse fields together. Lily learns about the treasure hunt and Luke’s father’s connection with Pascal Dumais. Her and James decide to, if not be together, than have togetherness for as long as they can.

Finn wakes up in Grimmauld and is reunited with Logan. The crew learn that a hurricane is approaching and Dorcas tries to convince Saint and Sirius to go somewhere else other than Grimmauld, which will get dangerous in the storm. Logan is looking forward to Finn meeting Leo, although he’s confused about his feelings for the blonde boy.

Luke and Saint meet in Rowena where Saint reveals he’s been staying up reading Luke’s notes in the books he’s stolen from his room. Luke wants to know more about Pascal Dumais, and learns that he helped raise Saint and Sirius after they both ran away from their homes. They agree to meet at The Lion later to confront Pascal. Saint apparently likes Luke because he hates surprises and Luke is exactly what he expects him to be—mean. He also steals Luke’s sunglasses.

Dorcas goes to Kasey Winter’s ice cream shop—he also is a safer dealer of Crucio, and she tells him she wants out. He was hoping she would go into business with himself and his girlfriend Natalie. They want to create a medicinal, therapy program for Crucio, where people who are struggling can safely use to to deal with past traumas or grief. They want it to be used correctly, not as a quick fix. Dorcas isn’t hesitant about leaving, she wants to follow Marlene, but she likes that idea.

Remus and Sirius run into each other on their way to the meeting at The Lion, and Remus invites Sirius to stay at his house for the duration of the hurricane. Sirius gets proud and angry and declines. They argue.

Pascal reveals to Sirius, Leo, Remus, Luke, and Saint that Luke’s dad, Victor, and Leo’s dad, Wyatt, were hunting the treasure together—Dumo played a smaller role, had less of an interest other than an interesting discussion about history. They figured out that the Voldemort lay off of the Cradle, a ring of rocks and tiny islands off of Hogwarts Island. They learn that there is a current called the Horcrux that escalates during a storm, revealing the bottom of the sea—or a shipwreck. Leo’s dad was killed by the current, Luke’s father was taken away years after, and the map showed up on Pascal’s doorstep a few days after that. Pascal tries to warn them off of going, but Saint and Luke seem bent on it.

Finn and Logan go to Leo’s house, only to find him crying about the truth of his father’s death. Finn learns of the treasure.

***cw: identity issues, not sure how to tag this but wanting to be alive? briefly implied (and happily concluded) past struggles with that, almost death, past death of a father, mention of blood and wounds***

part ix

Saint felt sweat snake down his bare back as he filled sandbags and shoved them up against the far side of the house. The wind already felt bad tempered. Maybe it was just him. Just Saint, the wind, and the ocean that had gone the graying blue that meant a storm. Saint thought the world should catch up already. His storm had been brewing for a long time. The promise of rain brought goosebumps over his bare back, the sun hidden by clouds, and he shoved another sand bag up against the boards, like some sort of parapet. As if they were preparing for a war.

He looked up when the noise of Sirius hammering plywood across the windows stopped. He rolled his eyes.

“Stop staring out at the ocean like a sailor’s widow.”

“Oh, we’re speaking now?” was all Sirius said.

“No,” Saint jammed his shovel into the bag of sand again.

He faintly heard Sirius sigh. “I don’t know what I did.”

Frankly, Saint wasn’t sure what Sirius had done, either. All he knew was that there was rain thrashing inside him, and wind howling in his ears, and there was gold to be had and death to be avoided.

And Luke.

He had let Luke catch him the night of Pascal’s confessions. Or maybe Luke had just caught up. He’d found Saint at the Howler Cliffs. Saint knew he was there, but kept his eyes closed, letting the wind whistle in his ears. Still, the sound of Pascal calling him his son roared louder.

“If I had known that’s all it took to rattle you, I could have saved myself a lot of time,” Luke had said, coming to stand beside him.

Saint had smiled and it felt like it had stretched his cheeks all wrong. “I didn’t know you were trying so hard.”

“You said it yourself,” Luke had replied. “Dumo took care of you.”

“It’s one thing for me to know it,” Saint snapped. “It’s—“ another thing for him to say it.

“Dumo could know more about my father,” Luke said. “Maybe—maybe the treasure can help me find out what happened to him somehow. Why no one will tell me anything. Why I can’t see him.”

“Sure, Deveaux,” Saint had kept his eyes ahead. “Tell me all about your father.”

“I need my father.”

Saint had whipped his head towards him, only to find Luke looking right back.

Luke’s eyes had been more open than Saint had ever seen them. His pain was like the sun coming through a tiny gap in drawn curtains. He didn’t let much of it show, but the mere hint became blinding. Saint felt it push against his own chest. He kept his blinds shut tight.

Luke’s voice was fainter when he repeated his words. “I need my father.”

Saint swallowed. It was nice, somehow, that Luke was self-aware enough to admit it. “What do you expect me to do about that?”

“I can’t—maybe I can’t figure this out alone.”

“I’m sure your Godlings will help with that.”

Luke shook his head. “James doesn’t understand. He’s too…happy.” Luke winced a little, the wind ruffling his tawny hair. “He’s had it too easy.”

“Lupin?”

“Remus only thinks he’s unhappy. Maybe because I am. It’s…abstract for him.”

Saint raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little rich.”

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Luke nodded.

“So, what?” Saint sighed. “Misery helps misery?”

Luke’s smile, so rare, was sad. “If it has nothing better to do.”

“Well?” Sirius said, flipping his hammer in his hand. “Feel like telling me?”

“Is it weird?” Saint asked. “That we aren’t in love?”

Sirius tilted his head at the age old question that they asked each other. It was half a joke. It was half a plea.

“I do love you,” Sirius said. “And I’d be in love with you if I could.”

“I’d be in love with you if I could,” Saint repeated, then sighed.

“We suck,” Sirius said.

“Yeah,” Saint squinted back out at the ocean, where they could see Remus’ boat.

“I do love you, though,” Sirius said, and walked down to sit on the steps, his gray eyes looking at Saint through the splintered, wooden railing. “Don’t do something stupid. I can’t lose you to the ocean. Or to anything at all.”

“And I love you, which is why we need that gold.”

“We don’t,” Sirius shook his head. “The rest of the world isn’t Gods and Hollows. You aren’t nothing or kings.”

“I have nothing better to do. And we have plain nothing—financially speaking.” Saint gestured towards the house. “Dorcas will leave for the states, and then we’ll really have nothing. We both know she’s paying—”

“We’ll go somewhere else—”

Saint tied off a sandbag with a yank. “I’m not leaving.”

“Saint.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not.”

Sirius stood, eyes cloudy. “You’re not talking to me again.”

“Huh.”

“We don’t do that!” Sirius said, voice raising. “Stop shutting me out.”

“I’m not doors and windows.”

“Saint,” Sirius’ voice held a note of begging. “What is here for us?” He motioned towards the cross that hung around Saint’s neck. “That?”

Saint grit his teeth and began to fill another bag.

“Just,” Sirius took a breath. “Just tell me why—”

Saint hurled the small spade at the side of the house, and it made a satisfying crack. “This is the only place anyone would ever know to look for me.”

The waiting storm seemed to crackle in the air around them at Saint’s words, as though he himself had struck the match to trigger it. Thunder rolled mutedly in the distance. Sirius’ eyes matched the sky.

Sirius walked forward, and Saint let him. He let him press a hand to his face, then their cheeks together as he wrapped him up in his familiar arms.

“Stop waiting for her,” Sirius’ voice was gentle in his ear. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

“We need the gold.”

“We’ll find another way.”

“I don’t want another way. I want a hunt.”

Sirius pulled back just enough to look at him. “One that has killed a man?”

Saint pulled away to retrieve the spade. “Careful is my middle name.”

Leo was embarrassed, but Finn didn’t seem to know the meaning of that word.

He watched him and Logan work wires into loops to hold together shards of found lost things that his mother had scooped up from the beach, while he sat at a workbench, repairing an old ship clock that he could hopefully paint to get rid of the wooden chips and then sell. Finn, as he had regained his strength, was laughter in a bottle. He was as fiery as the color of his hair, with lean fingers that Leo found himself watching as they handled materials, or helped him in the kitchen, or turned the pages of one of Leo’s many books. He went through them like a forest on fire.

And all Leo seemed to be able to do was cry in front of him, as he had the first night, or stare at the way him and Logan were together. Logan had opened up, his eyes lighter, his grins broader. Only his laughs remained as they had been, a soft sound, almost private. They made Leo feel as though he were being let in on a secret.

Leo blinked and Finn was standing in front of him.

“We’re making you dinner tonight,” Finn said, those same nimble fingers spread out over Leo’s work space on either side of the clock.

Leo couldn’t help his laugh. “Oh?”

“What do you feel like?” Logan asked, standing a little ways back, arms crossed over his chest. He looked like some hot gardener out of Leo’s daydreams in his tight white t-shirt and his borrowed pair of work gloves.

Leo leaned back, taking a breath. “What are my options?”

Finn looked back at Logan with a grin. “Ah…peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” He raised an eyebrow at Logan.

“Or take-out,” Logan finished with a shrug.

Finn’s smile was teasing. “Aren’t we the best house guests you could ask for?”

Most tormenting, maybe.

Leo laughed. “Better idea—I make dinner and you two stick to clean up.”

Logan put his hands up and walked closer to the work table. “Fine by me. What are you doing again?”

Leo looked back down at the clock. “Trying to fix this. I think it's missing a gear, though.”

Finn just hummed and sat half on the table, knee propped up. It made his cross swing against his neck for a moment, and Leo looked between his and Logan’s. He wondered, not for the first time, why they didn't take them off. They didn’t have a clasp or a tie that he could see, just a thicker area where the two parts of the string had been fused together with heat. They were too short to be pulled over the head.

“Do you want me to cut those for you?” Leo asked.

Finn looked up. “Cut what?”

Leo hesitantly gestured to the spot where the crosses would have rested on his own chest, and then pointed to Finn’s.

It was like cloud cover. Logan actually gripped his protectively in a fist.

“Ah, no,” Finn said slowly. He stood straight again and ran a hand through his hair. It came to rest on the back of his neck. “No, that’s okay.”

Leo watched Finn glance at the wire clippers resting near them, and reached out to put them back in the tool box. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”

Logan turned away and Finn watched him, too. He swallowed. “Thanks, Leo.”

Leo flushed. It didn’t feel like a thank you. More like an appeasement. “Yeah…”

“Oh,” came a voice from the shop’s open garage door. Leo jumped a little, and looked to see Saint leaning against the side, and Luke, with his arms crossed, a little behind him, looking like a very grumpy sort of bodyguard.

Saint feigned a shiver. “The room just got colder.”

“Saint,” Finn still said the name like he was tasting something knew, but Saint looked almost pleased each time he heard it. “And…”

“Tweedle, meet Finn. Finn, meet Tweedle.”

“Luke,” Luke snapped.

Finn snorted. “Okay?”

Leo was still stuck on the necklaces, eyeing Saint’s still intact one now. He figured the numbers were a way of keeping track of the kids—but burning the string seemed like a bit much.

“What do you want?” Leo sighed. Seeing Saint made him feel raw about the news of his father’s death all over again.

“Well, you ran a little quickly from Dumo’s,” Saint replied, picking up an old lobster trap that they used for spare wire now. “Should’ve stayed. Missed some good stuff.”

“Don’t act like he’s the only one who ran,” Luke mumbled. He and Logan were eyeing each other suspiciously, no doubt remembering the night in Luke’s father’s study when Logan had nearly burned his father’s letter.

“The first wave will come tonight,” Saint said, ignoring Luke. “But if we really want our shot at the Horcrux current, we’ll need the full throttle. Boom, crack, all that.”

“Full storm hits tomorrow,” Finn said from his place beside Leo. Leo looked over at him. He was still torn between embarrassment about crying and something else. Relief? Thankfulness?

Leo tapped his fingers against the clock. “We should figure out what we need for a trip like that. The shops will be boarding up by this afternoon.”

“Kris will have what we need,” Saint replied. “A boat.”

“Kris?” Luke asked.

“He runs the marina,” Leo said.

“What I was going to say,” Saint cut in. “Was that we should run a test trip. Tonight. Before the storm is at its worst.”

“See what we’re dealing with,” Logan nodded.

“I don’t see why we need this treasure, or whatever,” Finn said. He was still fingering his necklace. “I mean…if the trip is as dangerous as it sounds…why risk it?”

Saint laughed a single note, and looked at Logan. “Oh, Lolo. You haven’t told him?”

Logan stiffened, and Finn blinked. “Told me what?”

Saint made a tisking sound. “Logan. All that trouble to get him out and you’re keeping secrets.”

“Fuck off,” Logan growled.

“Oh, you sound like Luke.”

Finn took a step forward. “Lo?”

Logan sent him a pained look, but turned away. Leo glanced at where Logan’s backpack was resting in the corner of the workshop. It had been there for days, he hadn’t been dealing, but that didn’t mean any of the problems it had caused had gone away.

“I think you’re right as far as boats go,” Leo said carefully, trying to draw the attention away from Saint’s jabs. "But he doesn’t have any equipment. Visual or otherwise. If we need that.”

Saint grinned and clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder, having to reach up a bit to do it. “That’s where this one comes in.”

Luke scoffed. “This one?”

“We’re going to visit your too-happy friend, Tweedle.”

James was staring at his computer, trying to will himself into college, when the sliding glass kitchen door, leading in from the pool, flew open. Saint was there, along with Luke, and three boys James didn’t recognize—or no, he knew the brunette and the blond from the restaurant in The Hollow.

“You have two hundred of my dollars,” he said, pointing his pencil at the brunette. The redhead beside him narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“That you offered,” the brown haired boy crossed his arms.

“Yeah, as part of a bargain,” James looked at Luke over his glasses. “Was the other end held up? Don’t think so.”

Luke just rolled his eyes.

“Well you’re going to have to pay up again, Potter,” Saint said, sliding onto the kitchen island stool across from James.

“Excuse me?”

“Not in money this time.”

James looked around at them all warily for a moment before sighing and knocking his computer shut. “Well, you’re already in my kitchen. And I’m already miserable.”

Luke coughed out a laugh and Saint seemed to bite back a smile, too.

“You need what exactly?” James asked.

“Lights Diving equipment. Don’t go running to Sirius, though.”

James raised an eyebrow. “I’d drive.”

“Ha, ha,” Saint rolled his eyes. “Now, can we borrow it?”

“Is this about that treasure?” James asked. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the ocean is fucking deep. Deeper than my summer of sophomore year scuba pastime will get you.”

“Deeper than you?” Logan mumbled, and James glared.

Luke let out a laugh and Saint paused in whatever he had been about to say and turned to look at him. It was almost—awkward.

“What?” Luke snapped, rubbing a hand over some stubble on his cheek. “That was a very Potter statement.”

James had never seen Saint stutter before, or fidget, but that’s what he did when he turned back around to face James.

“Can you get it?” Saint sighed.

James snorted and gestured to the TV mounted above the microwave playing the news. “I’m sorry, am I the only one who knows about the quickly approaching hurricane?”

“Details,” the brunette mumbled.

“It’s for later,” Saint said.

“Then I’ll give it to you later.”

Saint scowled.

James sighed and pushed himself from his stool. “You’re not actually going out into that storm with my help.”

“For Luke,” Saint said. “For his father. This might be our only lead, and our only chance. Until the next storm, at least, at which point you won’t be able to stop us because we won’t come to you for help.”

James yanked the refrigerator open. “Don’t guilt me.”

“James,” Luke said and James didn’t look at him. “Please. I—”

“And this will fix what, exactly?” James sighed. He closed the refrigerator harder than necessary, and the sound of rattling bottles from within filled the silence as he turned on Luke. Luke, who he’d known forever. Luke, who he’d tried to help. Luke, who had done everything except try recently. It frustrated James more than he knew it should.

“It could,” Luke bit out haltingly. “Fix something.”

“What?”

He could practically feel the anger in Luke’s next breath. “My dad was all but—stolen away in the night. No explanation. No goodbye. And now this? A letter, a name, a treasure hunt that turns out to be something more than the fucking bedtime story? J, come on, please.”

James cracked the seal on his drink. “Once again. Hurricane.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Luke said. “We need a storm.”

“You need to get a fucking grip,” James felt heat building behind his words. “Luke, this isn’t—you’re just trying to…distract yourself, or something, and I get it, I do, but—”

“You don’t,” Luke snapped, voice raising.” You don't know what it’s like. You’ve been wrapped in fucking silk and fleece for your entire life. Your parents love you more than anything. You don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t understand anything beyond your own fucking front porch.”

Luke’s words sapped the air from the room like lightning and a dead fuse. His brown eyes widened, just a little, the green dark today. His chest moved rapidly, his cheeks flushed. The three other boys glanced at each other from Luke’s shoulder.

James cleared his throat. He set his drink on the counter.

“How long have you been holding that in, huh?” he said.

“I…” Luke began. He pushed his hair off of his forehead, but it feathered back into place. “I haven’t, I…J, I’m—”

“And the Crucio?” James asked.

“I’m,” Luke’s eyes shifted away. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

Saint seemed to be holding himself very still. They all were.

“J,” Luke had a pleading note to his voice now.

“They’re in the basement,” James cut him off, sliding back on his stool and opening his laptop. “My mom labels everything down there. But I don’t think it’ll help you.”

“Great,” Saint knocked his knuckles on the countertop and was off, the other three following.

James could feel Luke standing there, frozen and hesitant. He kept his eyes trained on his screen, and his blank page, the cursor blinking.

“Just go,” James mumbled, and Luke did.

James didn’t look up when they left.

He didn’t look up as evening turned into night, or when the sky opened up for the winds and rain to begin their thrashing on the island.

Kris Lavolie had his boats and his daughter. The marina was shut tight when they got there, Logan running behind the others as they dashed through the rain to the door. Logan expected Saint to pound on the glass, but instead they only used the slight shard of roof the ran along the edge of the building as protection, the five of them racing in a line around the property until they got to the marina. All of the boats were dry-docked and covered tightly with pinned tarps. Saint surveyed them with steely eyes for a moment. His hair looked like molten gold in its drenched state.

Logan shivered and felt Finn press him against his side. He glanced at Leo, who had his arms wrapped around himself.

“This one,” Luke said. “It’s like my dad’s. I can drive it.”

Saint gave a nod and the two of them didn’t wait to see if Logan and the others would follow before they were walking down the swaying dock. They didn’t have to worry about making noise and drawing Kris out. The storm hid them.

Logan eyed the waves as he stood between Finn and Leo. They were rolling and white-capped. He looked up at Leo to see him staring, too.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Logan asked. He tried to think of a way to tell Leo that, if he did, he was with him. He also tried to think of a kind way to tell him he thought they were insane, now that he was face-to-face with the raging winds. He needed the money, sure, but he wanted his life, too. He didn’t think the Carrows would kill him, but he didn’t know. The wind stung his eyes and whipped his hair off his forehead. He’d lost his hat somewhere, he didn’t know when. He reached up to his temple, his shirt sticking to his skin. He hadn’t even felt it blow away.

Leo shook his head as they approached the boat where Saint and Luke were efficiently untying the tarp.

“No.” Leo took a shaky breath. “He died out there. He wouldn’t want me to—”

Saint looked up, blinking hard against the lashing rain, from where he was shoving the tarp into a storage compartment. “You cannot back out now.”

Leo’s blue eyes matched the dark waves. He put a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a slight pressure to turn him around. “Yes, we can. This is insane, the winds are too strong.”

“Your dad—” Saint began, both of them yelling over the howling wind.

“Didn’t raise me to be stupid,” Leo said. “Or to get my friends killed. I’m sorry, I know you’re doing this for me.”

Saint scoffed. “For you? This isn’t for you. We all do things for ourselves. Bail-outs,” he gestured to Logan, and then to Luke. “Answers. I thought you wanted a few of those yourself.”

“And what would my mom think? Both of us, my dad and me, drowned?”

Saint’s jaw muscles jumped from where he stood beside Luke in the boat. “You wouldn’t be there to know what she thought, would you? What does it matter?”

Logan thought he saw Luke flinch a little, but he kept his head down, fishing the keys from the glovebox.

Logan followed Leo another step back, looking frantically for Finn, only to find him already at his side.

“We shouldn’t,” Finn whispered right in Logan’s ear, breath warm. “Lo…”

“Saint,” Logan yelled. “Leo’s right.”

“Come on,” Finn shook his head. “Let’s go. This is insane.”

“We’re going,” Luke said, eyes on Saint. “We got this far.”

Logan hesitated. He didn’t know Luke. He certainly didn’t like him.

“Don’t be stupid,” he still found himself saying, then swallowed beneath the weight of his next words. “You’re selfish, to risk your friend’s life.”

Logan couldn’t hear Saint’s laugh beneath the wind, but he could see the smile. “Bold words, coming form you, Logan.”

Logan felt Finn’s cold fingers slip into his own and squeeze.

“Come back with us,” Leo shouted over the storm. “Come—”

But Luke pressed the button that would lower them into the water. Logan only just could hear the hum of the machine. Logan watched as Luke jammed the keys into the ignition and lowered the motor. The second the bottom hit water the engine roared to life. Finn took a halting step forward, and Logan had the brief thought of doing the same, prying them from the boat. Leo’s father’s story flooded through him. He felt like he was watching someone die. He gripped Finn’s hand tighter, his other raising on its own to fist the back of Leo’s t-shirt. He didn’t want either of them getting stuck on that boat if they couldn’t get to the keys. The boat rocked dangerously as it tried to get a crest over the violent waves. With one last dark look from Saint, they took off over the wild water.

“They made their choice,” Logan said. “God, they’re going to get themselves killed, I…”

“We need to get the coast guard,” Leo said, and then turned down the dock and ran.

Logan looked up at Finn, whose wild expression matched his own.

“I’m glad we’re not…” Finn said. “I didn’t understand…I don’t understand this.”

Logan pressed a hand to his cheek. “I’m not risking you. Not again.”

Finn pressed his palm over Logan’s. “What aren’t you telling me, Lo?”

Logan closed his eyes. “I will. I will tell you.”

And then they turned after Leo.

It was like the wind was trying to rip the Hollow free of the island. The coast guard boats had been out, and Leo had figured they’d be by the point and so they’d ran half across the islands to The Hollow, where it would be the most dangerous. Sure enough, trees were down, and wires lay in dangerous puddles. Sandbags lay soaked and spilled across the ground.

Logan’s eye caught on the red of the police cars’ lights flashing across Finn’s face, made fragmented and liquid by the heavy rain. He couldn’t help but feel the surreality of having Finn beside him all over again. There had been a time where he had been positive that he would get caught, that he would be sent back to St. Clair in a heartbeat. He had spent so long avoiding any sight of the police. It felt strange to be seeking them now, but Leo was on a mission. His tall frame looked above heads, but the guards weren’t anywhere near their cars. Logan spied Sirius’ familiar dark hair only seconds before Leo did.

“Sirius!” Leo shouted, and Logan and Finn ran after him. Sirius was in the street with so many of the other Hollows, watching the storm try to rip at their homes.

“What are you guys doing out?” Sirius yelled, trying to see them through the rain.

“It’s Saint,” Logan said. “It’s Saint and Luke. Where are the police, where—”

But Logan didn’t think Sirius was listening anymore. Sirius’ face dropped to an expression Logan recognized, one he had felt on his own face when he realized that he had escaped St. Clair, and Finn had sacrificed himself and stayed.

Sirius pushed through them and took off towards Godric at a run.

Luke knew they were insane. He could barely keep his footing the closer they got to the Cradle. The wind was skewing the rain so much that it seemed like they were driving through water, too, the headlights making the steam and pellets seem like a solid wall to be breached.

“Third rock from the left point,” Saint shouted over the roar. “Closest to the Salazar coast!”

“We can’t get caught up in it,” Luke shouted back, wrists aching with the effort of keeping the boat on course.

Saint shook his head, hair plastered down and falling in his eyes. “We won’t be able to see any other way. If it can carry us, we’ll be safer from the rocks.”

They hit a particularly brutal wave and Saint was jolted forward, without the stability that the driver’s seat provided Luke, and right into Luke’s side.

Luke caught him with one arm. Saint’s hand shot out to replace Luke’s, now around his waist, on the wheel, and they steadied the craft together.

“We’re fucking insane,” Luke shouted.

“Insanity likes company.”

Luke looked at him, risking taking his eyes away from the approaching rocks for a moment. “That’s misery.”

Saint glanced up at him. “We’re that, too.” Then his eyes widened as he looked out over the dark waves.

“The Horcrux,” Saint breathed, and Luke could barely speak.

“The middle,” he managed. “Look.”

There was bare sand in the middle of the circle of rocks, the wet grains being whipped into a frenzy as if by magic, the water pulling outwards. He didn’t know how that was possible. It was bizarre. It was too strange.

“There,” Saint pointed as they inched closer. Luke’s neck hurt from the jerk of being lifted up by the waves and crashed back down again. Luke squinted, trying to see through the rain and the small sand storm alike. They were right at the rocks now. “Do you see it? Are they planks? That looks like—”

Luke jolted as he felt the steering wheel stutter and then go loose in his hands. He turned it once, twice, but it was as though the mechanism had snapped. The boat lurched forward.

“We’re being pulled!” Luke said, panic clawing up his throat. “I can’t—”

Luke slipped from the wet leather seats, landing hard on his back on the deck of the boat, Saint beside him.

The steering wheel was useless. They were being carried now. By the waves. By the current. Maybe by chance. It was almost like floating, had it not been for the wind and rain. That made it feel like a free-fall.

Luke had his arms around Saint’s waist, Saint’s around his. It felt like they were pinned to the deck.

“Either the storm will pass,” Luke breathed. He couldn’t keep his mouth from brushing Saint’s temple, with the motion and the way they clutched each other. “And the current will slow, and we’ll be dashed against the rocks from momentum.”

“Or?” Saint’s breath brushed his jaw.

Salt sprayed as the boat jostled and knocked them together. “I didn’t think that far.”

“That Greek myth,” Saint said. Luke could feel his fingers digging into his back. “The whirlpool.”

“Maybe a monster would be a quicker death.”

Saint’s laugh sounded strained. “Quicker than rocks?”

“A better story, then,” Luke replied. “No one to tell, though.”

“We’ll know.”

Luke gripped him tighter as the wind seemed to pick up, howling. His breathing came fast. “You told Leo the dead know nothing.”

Saint picked his head up, looking at Luke through the rain. Their foreheads pressed together. Luke’s eyes burned.

“I don’t want to know nothing,” Luke choked out.

Saint didn’t say anything. Luke had never known him to be silent, but he just stared as the boat lurched beneath them. Then, Saint tilted his chin forward, only a few centimeters, but it brought their mouths together in a firm kiss. It was warm, against the chilling rage above. Luke closed his eyes, and let the feeling of lightning brush through him. Warm heat.

They didn’t pull away so much as were pulled apart then knocked back together, Luke’s lips pressing to the corner of Saint’s mouth, then his cheek. Saint brought his hand up to Luke’s jaw to steady him. For a moment, it had felt like they had stopped spinning round and round.

“Why did you do that?” Luke breathed. He didn’t know how Saint heard him over the roar, but he did.

“What do you mean?” Saint said. His eyes were molten and—afraid, Luke realized. The rain on his face looked like tears, and he traced his thumb over Luke’s lip. “I steal things from you all the time.”

There was a horrible, jagged wrenching sound, and Luke found himself plunged into the water, Saint ripped from his arms.

The rain lashed against the windows of Remus’ bedroom, and Remus looked out into the falling dark.

“What a dick,” he mumbled aloud to himself.

He couldn’t figure Sirius out. He didn’t seem unkind—until someone was kind to him, at least.

It made Remus want to kill him with kindness and just kill him period. He’d been so happy on the Wolfsbane. He’d been horrible at The Lion. Proud.

Remus rubbed his eyes, closing his laptop. It was the storm. That was all. He looked towards the direction of the docks. He hoped the planks survived. He’d kept his boat as safe as he could, cranked up the tracks onto the grass, sails down, tarped up.

He smirked. Luke would laugh at him if he could see him worrying like a mother. Sirius, on the other hand…Remus thought Sirius might have worried, too. Remus sighed. There Sirius was again. Popping up.

It was why he thought he must be imagining it when he looked down and saw Sirius standing at the door he had named to him, in the side of Bane Tower, soaking wet and staring behind him, out at the ocean.

“Shit,” Remus threw his computer to the side, and his bedroom door open.

The old wooden tower stairs groaned beneath his quick feet, and he winced as a splinter ripped at his palm as he threw himself around the bend at the bottom and pulled open the door.

Rain hit him immediately. Sirius jolted around. His eyes were like gray moonlight.

“I…” Sirius began, but didn’t seem able to say any more, just blinked at Remus through the heavy wind and rain. Remus didn’t hesitate, just pulled Sirius inside and slammed the door shut again.

“Are you okay?” Remus asked.

Sirius was just staring at the door. Maybe thinking of the rough ocean still.

“Sirius,” Remus pressed, taking Sirius’ broad shoulders in his hands and giving him a shake. He was hot, even feverish, despite the frigid rain. “Are you hurt?”

Sirius just looked at him with wild eyes and shook his head. His dark hair clung to his forehead, his gray eyes cat-like and afraid.

“Is anyone else at your house? In the Hollow?”

Sirius shook his head again—his entire body was shaking, Remus realized. “No, Dorcas went to Marlene’s. The—everyone’s in the street—Saint—”

“Saint?”

“Saint is out there,” Sirius’ words practically tore out of his throat. He pushed his soaked hair out of his face. “He went out there and—and—the treasure. The—”

“The current,” Remus repeated, and Sirius pressed a hand over his eyes.

“I should have know. I should have known he’d never listen. He’d never—”

Remus didn’t pause to listen to more. He swore and snatched two windbreakers from the hooks by the door, plus a fleece. He shoved the fleece and jacket into Sirius’ chest.

“Put those on.”

“We can’t,” Sirius’ words choked off to catch his breath. “How will we follow them? I didn’t think you would—”

“Why else would you be here?” Remus said. He shoved gloves over his hands. The rope would be wet, slippery, and he didn’t want to deal with blisters and ripped up palms for weeks to come. He handed Sirius a pair, too. “I don’t know why I’m doing this for you. We should call the police.”

“Leo is trying to find them.”

Remus shoved a sweatshirt over his head. “Is that how you found out?”

Sirius nodded, zipping the breaker up. “Leo, Logan, and Finn. They came running up, and said Saint and Luke—”

“Luke?” Remus froze. His stomach dropped. “Luke is out there.”

Sirius’ eyes flickered, but he nodded after a moment.

Remus didn’t have the time to try and figure him out. Not now. He reached for the door. “Come on—”

“Remus?”

Remus froze all over again, his hand on the handle. He felt Sirius shift uncomfortably beside him, and then Remus turned to see his little brother standing there on the bottom step, in his pajamas.

“Jules,” Remus breathed. “What are you doing awake?”

Julian’s eyes flicked from Sirius and back. “I heard you. There’s a storm.” He looked at their outfits. “Where are you going?”

“We have…” Remus trailed off. “We have to pick up a friend. I’ll be right back.”

Julian stepped down the last stair. “I want to come with you. Your gloves. Are you going—on the water?”

“No,” Remus said. “No, no, we’re—It’s…”

“I want to go with you. Can I?” Julian looked at the door. “I never get to. Mom says—“

“Jules,” Remus said, bending down and pressed his hand through Julian’s sleep mussed hair. “Julian. You have to stay. You have to stay here, okay? It’s really, really dangerous outside.”

“But you’re going outside.”

“I know,” Remus let his eyes fall shut for a moment. “I know I am.”

“I’ll tell mom.”

“No,” Remus pleaded. “Jules, please. We have to go and you have—you need to stay. Please. I’ll take you out on the Wolfsbane. I’ll do whatever you want, just—Please.”

Julian didn’t look convinced.

“We have to go,” Sirius’ rough voice came. “Remus.”

Remus rose. “Julian, do not follow us. Wolfsbane, super early, mom never has to know. I’ll teach you. You know I’ve always wanted to teach you.”

Remus ruffled Julian’s hair, and then rose, turning to Sirius.

“Now,” he nodded towards the door.

It was a struggle, getting the tarp off while the wind whipped it back in their faces. Getting the sails straightened, but loose enough so that the mast wouldn’t swing right around once they cranked it back into the water. He kept them low.

Remus peered at Sirius, swiping a hand over his eyes. “We’ll have to use the motor. There’s no way I can control too much of this wind.”

Sirius nodded, but he looked panicked. “They could be—anywhere, already in the water.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Remus snapped. Sirius was all nerves, and they couldn’t afford that. “At least they won’t freeze to death. They’re not far from the coast.”

Remus was breathing hard by the time they swung themselves into the boat and were jetting haltingly away from the dock. The nose bowed this way and that, and Remus risked raising the sails, just a little. It seemed to straighten them out enough. His fingers already ached from the tight, adrenaline-filled grip he held on the lines. He didn’t dare tie it off, the might need to drop them quickly.

“The Cradle,” Sirius shouted against the wind.

“I know,” Remus yelled back. “We can’t go in the Horcrux. We’ll just get stuck. The boat won’t survive it, we’ll tip.”

“Fine,” Sirius said. He was just sitting there, water splashing over the sides and soaking their shoes.

Remus tossed him a bucket. “Bail.”

Sirius did, and pretty quickly, too, but the waves were high.

“This was fucking stupid,” Remus muttered to himself.

The Cradle rose up as if out of mist, and Remus could see its ring of water, swirling within. It was practically a tide-pool, vicious and smooth. It almost looked inviting, like some water-park ride. Remus eyed the sands swirling in the middle with half a mind going to the bedtime stories his grandfather had told him.

“A desert storm in the sea,” he breathed.

The rocks looked like jagged death sentences, and that was when he spied the two shapes, one on the rock closest to them, and the other all the way on the other side of the ring.

“There!” he shouted, and Sirius jolted up. “On the rocks, can you see them?”

Sirius nodded and tossed the bucket down in favor of catching up a rope. He began to fashion it into a sort of hook, a circle that could be slipped around the waist.

Remus wondered where he’d learned that, and Sirius seemed to read it on his face.

“Dumo,” he said, and wiped his sleeve over his face, trying to clear the rain. “How close can we get?”

“I don’t know,” Remus shouted, turning the boat into the next wave and letting it crest more safely over the nose. “Let’s go around, the rocks could wreck us.”

They came to Luke first.

Remus shouted his name twice before Luke looked up. He was clinging to one of the rocks, soaked to the bone and bleeding from a cut to his head. Remus looked to the water. There was no sign of their boat.

“Luke!” Remus shouted.

“Remus,” Luke’s voice sounded far away, though he was just feet from them. “Saint—I—I don’t see—”

“He’s there!” Sirius shouted, eyes trained on Saint’s figure on the other side of the ring. It was perfectly still. Sirius seemed to shake himself and held the rope high, feet spread wide to keep his balance as Remus kept having to turn the boat this way and that to keep their place in the waves. “Can you grab this if I throw it?”

Luke nodded, and his eyes slipped shut. Remus felt panic seize him.

“Yes,” Luke shouted. “Yes.”

“Hurry!” Remus urged. His arms were shaking already, and he still needed to get them over to Saint.

Sirius tossed the rope out. It was a good throw, but he nearly lost his balance doing it. Remus nearly let go of the sails going to catch him, the rope slipping dangerously through his fingers as he lunged to grab the back of Sirius’ jacket.

Sirius shook him off. “The sails!”

Remus leaned back on his heels to get the rope to stop pulling, his teeth clenched. “Just saved your life, your welcome,” he mumbled.

Sirius didn’t hear him.

“Around your waist!” he was shouting, and kept the rope free of the tiller as Remus brought them about again.

Luke followed his instructions shakily, slipping into the water on the outside of the rocks, where the pull would be straight instead of sideways. Sirius hauled him through the waves, and Luke pulled himself up onto the deck coughing.

“Luke,” Remus’ voice broke. He wanted to go to him, but he couldn’t let go. “Luke, Luke—”

“I’m okay,” Luke coughed out.

“Your head,” Remus couldn’t look to long as he let the changing wind guide them out farther towards the horizon, trying to find a calmer path.

Luke touched his fingers to his temple and looked down at the red that came away with them. “Oh.”

“Saint!” Sirius was shouting, but the moonlit silhouette on the rock wasn’t so much as stirring.

Remus had to weave them out four more times before they got close enough to the rock to see Saint’s face. He had a nasty slice that ran from his forehead to his cheek, the red dripping down his jaw and mouth in jagged, rain-washed lines.

“Saint!”

It was Sirius and Luke’s voice in unison this time.

Sirius cursed and tore off his jackets and gloves, then took the looped rope from around Luke, securing it tightly around his own waist instead. He looked at Luke. “You have to—”

“Pull him in,” Luke said, eyes on Saint. “I know.”

“And me,” Sirius snapped, then shouted Saint’s name again. There was still no response.

Remus was struck with the thought that Saint looked like something out of a myth. Odysseus, washed ashore, or a deadly Siren, luring them in, the passing sailors, for his next meal.

Sirius looked back at Remus, who could only stare back, horrified, as he dove into the water.

He surfaced farther away than Remus expected, carried towards the rocks by the powerful current. Luke cursed as the rope slid quickly through his hands.

“The gloves!” Remus shouted, and Luke tied the rope off for a moment, to shove them onto his hands. He kept it hooked around one of the boat railings, letting the boat bear some of Sirius and the sea’s weight.

There was a terrifying moment where Sirius nearly slipped right past the rock, but he held on, hauling himself up beside Saint’s body.

Remus brought the boat about again and whipped his head back to see if they were in the water yet. Sirius was touching Saint’s cheek, his mouth, and then he was wrapping him up in his arms. He slipped messily back into the water and Luke pulled hard. Remus could see his muscles shaking, his wound bleeding. Remus squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of all the times they’d played pirate. This wasn’t any sort of make-believe.

It was harder, getting Saint into the boat. Sirius had to cling to the side with one hand and try to lift him from the water with the other. Luke reached down and hauled Saint up by his arms, knocking Saint’s head against the rails in the process.

“Fuck,” Luke’s wind-snatched voice came.

Sirius tumbled over a moment later, spitting salt water and crawling on his hands and knees towards Saint. Luke was already there, listening for breath. Remus had never seen him look so scared. Not even when his father was taken away.

“Get us out of here!” Sirius shouted at him, and Remus didn’t waste energy being angry at him.

The closer they got to shore, the more scared Remus felt. Without the wildness of the storm would come the stillness of land. And if Saint—if he was—

“Breathe,” Luke was shouting as he pressed in even strokes on Saint’s chest. He plugged Saint’s nose and blew air into his lungs. “Breathe you fucking thief.”

Remus couldn’t watch. His eyes stung but he looked into the full-mooned dark—and he saw a shape. There was a silhouette of a boat, a rowboat, moving back and forth dangerously with the waves. Its sides were so low that it had to be filled with inches in water. They got closer, and Remus heard someone crying.

His heart gave a painful squeeze.

He knew that cry. He knew that boat.

“Julian!” the shout all but shredded his throat.

Julian’s small figure was barely keeping the oars in their nooks. The sailboat’s weak light lit his face in red. His hair was plastered against his forehead and his face was screwed up in fear.

“Remus!” his voice barely carried. “I—”

Remus didn’t even have time to see the wave before it threw Julian dangerously to the side. He screamed, and Remus thought he heard himself scream, too.

The rope slid along his palms as the sails swung around. He ducked beneath the metal bar and drove for the rowboat.

“Julian! Don’t move! Try to stay in the center!”

Sirius was at his side, rope in his hands.

Julian had his eyes squeezed shut as he felt his way through the water, up to his knees now, in the boat.

“Julian look at me! Look at me!” Remus shouted. “You have to catch this. Sirius is going to throw this to you, and you’re going to slip it around your waist—”

Julian’s eyes were wide and golden. “The sharks—”

Remus shook his head, a sob ripping from his throat. “There aren’t sharks now. There aren’t, now listen. You’re—“ The sails swung and he felt Sirius’ palm cover his head and push him down as the boat came around again. “You’re going to put this around your waist and make sure it’s tight, okay?” Then you’re going to jump in and we’re going to pull you up.”

Remus’ throat ached from shouting, but thin tendrils of relief shot through him when Julian nodded.

Sirius’ aim was true, and Julian almost lost it over the side, but he grabbed it quickly. He put it over his head, and pulled it tight, but look over the side of the boat timidly, then up at Remus.

“I can’t see the bottom,” Julian cried. “I don’t like not being able to—”

“Julian, you jump right now,” Remus said. “Right now, come to me, Jules.”

Julian closed his eyes and leapt.

He disappeared beneath the surface for a terrifying second, and then his head broke through again, gasping and spluttering when a wave hit him right away.

Remus distinctly heard coughing from behind him—Saint—and Luke cursing him out in a broken voice.

Sirius leaned over the side and pulled Julian up and into his arms.

“The sails,” Remus shouted at him, and Sirius took the ropes from his hands wordlessly. Remus dropped to his knees and pulled Julian, larger with his life-jacket on, against his chest.

“The row—” Julian began.

“Let it go,” Remus held onto him, maybe too tightly. “Let it go.”

Remus shut the door to Bane Tower too hard. It was blissfully warm inside. Julian was wrapped in every blanket that Remus had been able to find and clutching a cup of hot chocolate from the electric kettle they kept down here. Sirius was crouched beside him, having been holding Remus’ place until he returned from securing the Wolfsbane. Saint and Luke were standing by the stairs, still dripping, with more blankets around their shoulders. There were clusters of bloody paper towels where Luke had been taping up Saint’s gash when Remus had left for the boat after letting them in. Luke’s own wound looked clean now, and more like a bruise.

Remus didn’t look at any of them, just stared at Julian, sitting there with a tear stained face, safe. He’d never known relief and guilt could feel so similar.

“Lupin,” Saint broke the silence softly, then cleared his throat. It was still rough from the salt water that had been in his lungs. He stepped forward “Remus—”

“I almost lost my little brother,” Remus said lowly, and then it was like he really realized it, and he crossed the room to shove Saint backwards. “And you would not have been worth it. You never would have been worth it.”

“Re—“ Luke stepped forward.

“No,” Remus shouted. “No.”

Saint’s lips pressed into a thin line. He swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus turned his back, trying to catch his breath. Sirius stepped out of his way as he went to Julian, clutching his shivering body close to him. He couldn’t look at them, at Luke. Not now.

“I won’t tell mom,” Julian mumbled through his chattering teeth.

“Shh,” Remus whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. He smelled like he had always smelled, even when Remus had first held him as a baby. Even through the salt of the sea. He felt his own lip tremble. “It’s okay.”

The walls creaked dangerously in the winds. At least it was dry. They were all silent, the only sound their panting breaths, until Remus looked up when Sirius rose. He walked straight at Saint and shoved him hard in the chest, too. Saint stumbled backwards like he had expected it. His eyes looked gold in the dim light, and understanding.

“I know,” Saint said.

“What were you thinking?” Sirius’ voice was uneven. Luke looked down.

“Sometimes I don’t,” Saint replied with his familiar evenness.

Sirius just let out a shuddering sound, pushed Saint again, but caught his blanket hem at the last minute and pulled him against his chest. He cupped a hand against Saint’s cheek and kissed him with a bruising pressure. Remus let his eyes trail over the way Saint’s fingers knotted in the back of Sirius’ shirt. Luke turned away. Remus wished he could, but instead he watched Sirius pull away slowly, then brush their lips together once more, with a pain in his chest.

Remus was so angry with himself for feeling any of that at all right now that he almost didn’t stop them from leaving when it was time. But this was just the beginning, the first wave.

“There’s going to be more and it’s only going to get worse,” he sighed instead. Sirius looked up at him. He was at Saint’s shoulder like he couldn’t move away. “You can’t stay in the Hollow.”

Sirius couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a room with AC, and, as if reading his mind, Saint suddenly threw their covers back and cracked both of the windows open, just enough to let the humid night air in without the rain. Thunder rolled. Sirius watched his silhouette squint at the thermostat in the dark, and heard the faint beep as he turned it off. He hadn’t realized how loud the machine had been until all was quiet save for the storm, and Saint was slipping back beneath the covers.

They lay there beside each other, a feeling that was as familiar to Sirius as breathing. So, why did it feel so strange?

“You could have died,” Sirius said into the dark.

“I’m sorry.”

Sirius looked over at him. Saint didn’t often apologize. That was twice in one night.

“I don’t even know…” Sirius shook his head up at the ceiling, trying to get the image of Saint’s lifeless body out of his head. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“I kissed him,” Saint said, and Sirius turned his head. Saint was staring at him already. “I kissed him.”

“You kiss me all the time.”

“You kissed me in front of him.”

“And you wish I hadn’t?” Sirius asked.

Saint seemed to be trying to play it all out in his head, eyes far away. He looked back at the ceiling.

“No. I love being with you. Touching you. Laughing or fucking or surfing. I was just scared. You were just scared, though. Maybe I’m always just scared.”

“Being scared isn’t really a just feeling. It’s important.”

“Maybe he’ll get the wrong impression. Go all—soft on me.” Saint flicked his eyes towards Sirius. “You never do that. You just treat me like I’m me. Not a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a best friend or a lover just…two people.” Saint closed his eyes. “Just two people who are doing what makes them happy. What feels good or right.”

“This is what you’re thinking about right now?” Sirius scoffed. “You almost died.”

Saint took a slow breath in. “I didn’t want to. I wanted live so badly. But for what?” Saint looked at Sirius again, and this time, there was fear there. “I don’t even know who I am. Why should I want things if I don’t even know that?”

Sirius let that sink in. He wanted everything for Saint, but, most of all, he wanted to see that cross ripped from around his neck.

“Maybe living is about finding out who you are. You’re allowed to change, Saint. Your name…anything.” Sirius reached for Saint’s hands beneath the covers and Saint held on tight. “And I’m going to love you through it all. In whatever way, in all the ways, we do love.”

Saint stayed quiet for a moment, and then he turned onto his side and Sirius mirrored him. They rested their foreheads together. Saint’s free hand clutched his cross.

“I’m so tired of being number seven,” Saint whispered.

“You were never number seven,” Sirius whispered back, stroking a hand through Saint’s hair. “You’re you.”

Remus and Luke lay in Remus’ bed. Remus had Julian tucked against his outer side, sound asleep, and Luke may not have been as close, but Remus could feel his body heat as they stared up at the ceiling in silence.

“Thanks for not making me go home,” Luke broke the quiet.

Remus nodded. “Yeah.”

“Saint’s probably going to steal something from your guest bedroom,” Luke mumbled.

“Hasn’t he taken enough?” Remus replied quietly.

He could see that Luke looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“It wasn’t just his fault,” he said insistently. “I went out there, too.”

“And the others?”

“Leo wouldn’t let them go. He said it was too dangerous. Which,” Luke sighed. “Which of course only made Saint want to go more.”

“And you went with him?” Remus turned to look at him, too. They were so close that their noses nearly brushed. “Luke.”

“I need answers, Re,” Luke whispered urgently. His brown-green eyes were pleading. “I can’t stay in that house, not with the way it is. I need…”

“We need to get off of this island.”

“Leaving won’t help my dad.”

“Neither will getting yourself killed,” Remus snapped, then closed his eyes. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry.”

Luke shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You’re right.”

Remus swallowed, focusing on the green in Luke’s eye. He reached up with the hand resting between them, and brushed his finger just below it. “Captain Green-Sea.”

Luke blinked, and the faintest of smiles crossed his face. It had been his pirate name, when they were younger, named after the sliver of green that shone out of the brown in his right iris.

“Captain Wolfsbane,” Luke whispered back. “We loved that game.”

“I’m worried you thought it was a game tonight.”

Luke’s brows drew together. “No. It’s the opposite. I feel—like I’m missing something he left me, Re. Like my dad is trying to…Saint helped me.” Luke swallowed and brought his hand up to Remus’ cheek. “You helped me. Thank you.”

Remus didn’t dare move when he felt Luke’s thumb brush his lower lip.

“You know,” Luke whispered. “Sometimes I wish we…”

Remus nodded gently. “I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“You’re mine,” Remus replied, then smiled, just a little. “That means more to me than anything else.”

Luke smiled, too, and tapped his thumb twice on Remus’ chin before slipping their hands together and squeezing tight. Remus closed his eyes, feeling more settled than he expected to tonight.

“My head fucking hurts,” Luke said after a while.

Remus snorted and held Julian closer. “That’s your own fault.”

“I do love you, you know,” Luke added after another moment.

Remus squeezed his hand again. “I love you, too.”

“Captain Wolfsbane,” Luke’s voice sounded more asleep now.

Remus just smiled.

#relic keel lumosinlove #wolfstar #harry potter #cw above #lumosinlove #lumosinlove ocs #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #Luke deveaux #saint #st tweedle #jily

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only-johnny-deppp · 3 years

Photo

“Whatever I’ve gone through, I’ve gone through. But, ultimately, this particular arena of my life has been so absurd...”

Johnny Depp’s NEW INTERVIEW!

Last saturday, August 14, The UK Times, released a new interview with Johnny for the Sunday Times section. It was realized sometime earlier this month, in London, probably on the same day he and Andrew Levitas were recording for the Q&A for the “Minamata” release in UK. This is Johnny’s first interview since the UK trials in London last year, and released three years after Johnny’s major interview for the British GQ Magazine. Here Johnny and Andrew Levitas speaks about “Minamata”, his future as actor and a thing or two about his personal life, although he cannot talk about the court case.

For those who couldn’t read yet, here is the FULL interview: Enjoy.

***

“I’M BEING BOYCOTTED BY HOLLYWOOD”

Johnny Depp has a new film out this week. In the opening scene his character, the real-life photographer W Eugene Smith, says, “I’m done. I’m tired. My body is older than I am. I’m always in goddam pain. I can’t trust my f***ing dick any more. Constantly in a foul mood. Even the drugs bore me.”

I ask Depp if Smith’s despair resonated with him. Depp stops. Rocks back and forth. “That’s interesting,” he replies with painful hesitation.

“I didn’t approach playing Smith in that way… Although you bring your toolbox to work and use what is available. Having experienced...” He stops again. Depp takes any questions that might refer to his calamitous libel case last year slowly, in a mumbly, croaking drawl. “A surreal five years…”

In the film Smith needs to revive his reputation. In real life Depp’s task is even more daunting. Thanks to the judgment, everyone can call him a “wife-beater”. Now he must convince a Hollywood still convulsed by #MeToo that he’s not toxic — and that any attempt to rebuild his career is a risk worth taking. This is Depp’s first interview since the case.

We are speaking over Zoom, Depp in his London home, in front of a gold-framed painting. The 58-year-old is wearing a lot of clothes. Earrings. Floppy hat. Sunglasses. Bandana. Scarf. Checked shirt over a T-shirt with an indiscernible slogan. If you saw him on the Tube*, you might think he was off to work at the London Dungeon*, to play most of the characters.

PS. For those who are not familiar with British words: * Tube = British slang for London Underground, the subway trains. * London Dungeon = is a walk-through experience that recreates scenes from London's scary history in a mixture of live actors, special effects and rides.

Depp resumes, talking in broken sentences about the new film, Minamata, in which Smith, via Life magazine, exposes the brutal mercury poisoning of Japanese villagers in the early 1970s.

“How do we do this?” he asks rhetorically, meaning how to speak about the elephant in the Zoom. “Well, there’s no way one can’t recognise the absurdity of the mathematics.” He grins. “If you know what I mean?” No. “Absurdity of media mathematics.” He talks in riddles. “Whatever I’ve gone through, I’ve gone through. But, ultimately, this particular arena of my life has been so absurd...”

He trails off again. He is holding a big brown roll-up of some sort. “What the people in Minamata dealt with? People who suffered with Covid? A lot of people lost lives. Children sick...Ill. Ultimately, in answer to your question? Yeah, you use what you’ve got. But what I’ve been through? That’s like getting scratched by a kitten. Comparatively.”

Last July, I went to the High Court in London to watch Depp on another screen — a video from the socially distanced court where the Hollywood star was losing a libel action against The Sun after it called him a “wife-beater”. It was the grottiest showbiz trial of the century. There were photos of the actor passed out in a foetal slump, socks on show. One lengthy exchange involved faeces. Another urination, inside or outside a house, after a violent night with his ex-wife Amber Heard.

This had all been going on for a while. In 2016 Heard applied for a temporary restraining order against him. The couple had long endured a narcotic, booze-filled, childish relationship, but that does not matter — 12 incidents levelled against Depp were proved, said the judge, and abuse is abuse, regardless of how badly they both behaved. Depp wanted to appeal, but the court said no. Next April in the US he has a $50 million defamation case against Heard relating to an opinion piece she wrote about being the victim of domestic abuse. It may be his last roll of the dice.

In the 1990s Depp was a sensitive heart-throb. Cooler than DiCaprio, edgier than Pitt. In this past year he has been stripped of his status and dignity. On day three of the trial Sasha Wass QC, representing The Sun, asked Depp about daubing a penis on a painting. He could not remember. “That would be quite a big thing, painting a penis on a picture?” Wass asked. “Quite a big thing?” Depp asked.

It was a well-delivered line, but Depp was on show. Performing. Now he is more timid, less lucid. His people say he cannot talk about the court case given the looming US trial, yet it hangs over everything. The director of Minamata, Andrew Levitas, is also on our call — as a pub trivia aside, Levitas is married to the Welsh singer Katherine Jenkins.

The two men clearly get on. “With regards to journalism, it was important for us to put across in the film the power of truth,” Levitas says. Depp nods. “The responsibility of journalists to look after citizens of the world. [Our film] coincided with the moment important publications had to put Raquel Welch on a cover to get enough eyeballs to sell enough ads in order to put something meaningful inside. A result of that is clickbait — it’s destroying the purpose of journalism,” Levitas continues.

“You said it beautifully,” says Depp, one of the world’s most pinned-up men, who built a career on magazine covers. “I couldn’t say it better than that.”

Last month Levitas wrote to MGM, which bought Minamata for the US market but decided not to release it. He accused MGM of being concerned that “the personal issues of an actor in the film could reflect negatively upon them”. Then the letter got really strong. Levitas accused MGM of failing in its “moral obligation” to release the film and said it needed to explain to the victims “why you think an actor’s personal life is more important than their dead children”. He then attached Smith’s photos of ghastly deformities that shocked the world 50 years ago.

“It’s important that the movie gets seen and supported,” Levitas says. “And if I get an inkling it’s not going to be, it’s my responsibility to say so. Where it goes from there? I don’t know. But we have responsibility to these victims . . .”

You can see why he’s passionate. The film is good. MGM bought the film because it is good. Depp is good too. He disappears into the role, far from his more recent pantomime parts. It’s being released worldwide, just not in the actor’s homeland.

Depp, who also produced the film, interrupts. “We looked these people in the eyeballs and promised we would not be exploitative. That the film would be respectful. I believe that we’ve kept our end of the bargain, but those who came in later should also maintain theirs.”

“Some films touch people,” he adds. “And this affects those in Minamata and people who experience similar things. And for anything…” He pauses, as he does. “For Hollywood’s boycott of, erm, me? One man, one actor in an unpleasant and messy situation, over the last number of years?” He trails off. “But, you know, I’m moving towards where I need to go to make all that…” Again, he trails off. “To bring things to light.”

The fact, as I think Depp knows, is that for his career, the court that matters is not one of law, but public opinion. On social media, where a lot of minds are made up, Depp’s good reputation will always outweigh the bad, thanks to his frequently blinkered fans.

Outside the High Court, as Heard arrived, I saw Natasha, 30, yell: “Get hit by a truck, Amber!” She is extreme, but the persistent way his fans demand that others think their idol is a saint shows a career revival will happen. After all, most filmgoers do not follow his private life at all. To them, he is Jack Sparrow, Edward Scissorhands. To them, he is a star — and a star can take an awful lot of heat before it burns out.

“They have always been my employers,” Depp says of his fans. “They are all our employers. They buy tickets, merchandise. They made all of those studios rich, but they forgot that a long time ago. I certainly haven’t. I’m proud of these people, because of what they are trying to say, which is the truth. The truth they’re trying to get out since it doesn’t in more mainstream publications. It’s a long road that sometimes gets clunky. Sometimes just plain stupid. But they stayed on the ride with me and it’s for them I will fight. Always, to the end. Whatever it may be.”

Depp will talk like this for ever — about his “truth”. Minamata is the last film Depp has listed on the industry site IMDb, where actors usually have half a dozen in development. So, yes, fans of the actor can see Depp in a new role now — it is a return, but is it a relaunch? The film was finished in 2019, way before last year’s court case. Is that it? His last film? He thinks and looks off to his bookshelves, at biographies of Betjeman and Olivier.

“Er...no,” he says, eventually. “No. No. Actually, I look forward to the next few films I make to be my first films, in a way. Because once you’ve...Well, look. The way they wrote it in The Wizard of Oz is that when you see behind the curtain, it’s not him. When you see behind the curtain, there’s a whole lot of motherf***ers squished into one spot. All praying that you don’t look at them. And notice them.”

I would ask him to explain, but I am not sure he is an explainer. Watch this space, I guess, but he is already taking a first step back. After we speak, it is announced Depp is getting the coveted Donostia award at the San Sebastian Film Festival next month. Some people are just too famous to fail.

~ Interview by Jonathan Dean, in London, for The Times UK (released on August 14, 2021)

#Johnny Depp #New Interview #Interview #Minamata #Justice For Johnny Depp #I Believe Him #Johnny Depp is Innocent #The Times UK

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mimsyaf · 3 years

Text

The Way Of The Fist

“I’m just saying, I didn’t make such a big deal about it.”

Johnny squinted up at him. “You calling me a pussy, LaRusso?”

Daniel threw him one of those sideways glances, something sneaky and humorous flickering in his eyes for a moment and then disappearing down to the murky depths like the big white and orange koi in Sid’s fish pond.

“No one’s calling anyone a pussy,” he said. “I’m merely observing the relative sizes of our hands.”

Johnny felt the inside of his nose get hot and his cheeks prickle in a blush.

“Whatever man,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I wasn’t complaining. Go on and do it.”

Daniel gave him a considering look, then pushed his hands slowly against Johnny’s knees, pressing them back and apart. Exposing him: chest, dick, and asshole. His heart was pounding like he was terrified, like he was being chased, like he was going to punch someone. Daniel seemed so calm and measured.

“Goddamn it, you better not be doing that breathing crap.”

Daniel’s smile hovered between beatific and shit-eating. “It might help if you tried it,” he said softly. “With this.”

He gathered another dollop of lube from that weird warmer machine thing he had - rich people! ridiculous! - and spread it generously over his gloved hand. He pushed his fingers together like a closed flower.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This was happening. Johnny had never wanted to throw himself out the window so badly during sex before. What the hell was his damage? It’s not like he’d never been fucked. He could take a dick like a champ. He could take this. He would take this.

Daniel paused, wariness flashing over his face and leaving him open and young. “Johnny, I shouldn’t have... it’s not something to...”

“What’s your problem,” Johnny spat.

“I want you to want it. It’s no good to me if you don’t.”

Johnny slammed his legs closed, rolled into a ball and from there leapt to standing. He rested his forehead against the cool plaster.

“I do want it. I just...”

He felt the rough fabric of Daniel’s stupid gi against his naked back. Who wore a gi while they were fucking? Arms encircled him.

“I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“How bout if we... look, let me eat you out some more and then we try again.”

“That’s a-“

“Humor me,” he could feel Daniel’s smile between his shoulder blades. He took a shaky breath and nodded.

.......................................................................................

“Oh God, oh Christ, do that again. Please.”

“With the wrist?”

“Y-yeah with the wri- oh, GOD.”

Daniel was pushing into him, all his fingers, slowly slowly past the widest part of his knuckles-

“Fuck-k, oh -“

- then twisting his wrist slowly, careful but inexorable. Johnny felt like he was reaching up inside his ribs and twisting his heart.

“Oh please...”

“Please what?” The smug grin was back. Daniel pulled his hand most of the way out and then ground his knuckles back inside Johnny.

“You know please what, LaRusso, c’mon... ah!”

Daniel took pity on him and his thrusts turned less careful, became sharper and faster.

“Yeah, do me, make me -“

Faster still. Johnny got a hand on his cock and almost sobbed. He was so hard that he couldn’t tell if it felt good or like dying. He made some more stupid sounds himself and listened to Daniel’s breathing speeding up.

“I can’t... I’m gonna... GOD!”

Inside him Daniel stilled, slowing down to some tender little thrusts. “No, Johnny gasped, not knowing why he said it. No, go faster? No, don’t be you? And I won’t be me?

Cum was shooting out of him and yet most of his focus was on the hand inside him, the hand he’d held (but would never admit to holding, would never reach for), the hand moving gracefully in his body like this was a dance, like this was kata, the hand that pushed carefully through his defenses to joy. Pushed joy into him.

Johnny sighed as the pleasure faded to a warm glow. As soft as slicing into a ripe peach, Daniel pulled his hand out, all the way out, stopping only to rub the rim of Johnny’s asshole with careful fingers.

“Pretty badass,” he said.

“You or me?”

“Both,” Daniel said, and laughed.

Johnny thought about it, about how he needed courage to just lie there, even afterwards. How he’d thought of courage as a hard thing, carving and thrusting a path out in the world. How it could feel soft and still like water.

“Pretty badass. Next time, I’ll do you. And I’ll try getting both hands in.”

“That is not a thing! That we will do!”

Johnny listed to Daniel’s sputtering and smiled. He wanted to stay awake but sleep was pulling him down, down, to the ocean floor, to the caves in the rocks, to the secret places only Daniel had been.

#tw: sex #lawrusso #the title gives you an ideas what’s in this #and what is in this is f*sting #cobra Kai #my fic #I’m writing this as falling asleep

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candychronicles · 3 years

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bodyguard // s. todoroki

A/N: my take on the rockstar/band/performer au for bnharem! i’m not a big fan of au’s normally but this one was a lot of fun to write! todoroki is definitely ooc in this one but i took a lot of liberties with his character in order to better fit the au storyline.

CHARACTER PAIRING: Todoroki Shouto x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,091

WARNINGS: mentions of blood, gore, fighting, death, oral sex (f!receiving)

SYNOPSIS: you were in it for the money, he was an unhinged popstar. how could you two ever possibly get along?

want to read more rocking stories? click HERE !

the days at work were tiring, the nights even longer, but the pay was good and it was always satisfying to make a grown man cry as you knocked him to his knees and manhandled him away from your client.

Todoroki Shouto, one of the elite, the famed, the rich, and absolutely fucking annoying. sure, he was hot (anyone with an eye could see that) but he was just like everyone else in his industry: a cocky bastard. you didn’t mind his lifestyle too much except when it interfered with his job, like having to pry off whiny people who clung to him like their life depended on it, and for some, it probably did.

his biggest claim to fame was being in a now wildly famous band, namely the main singer. he was charming with a sultry voice and a personality that oozed confidence but he wasn’t always that way. in fact, he was originally a shy, anxiety ridden teen when he first joined, not sure how to use his voice or deal with people coming up to him in the streets. the life he lived was sheltered before that, training under his dad to take over the family business, but when sweet, innocent Todoroki confessed that he much rather be artsy and sing at the age of sixteen, things quickly changed for him. his father, Todoroki Enji, tried to convince him otherwise, told him that he didn’t know how the real world worked and that he would never be successful, but Shouto wouldn’t budge and eventually Enji caved in, or so it seemed.

Enji immediately enrolled Shouto in lessons, instructing him to shape up or ship out. if he couldn’t become successful in the industry, he would take over his father’s business instead, but that didn’t happen. Shouto excelled in lessons, blowing his instructors away with his timbre and control. he was a natural, and frankly, good enough to be a star. they weren’t so concerned with his stoic yet endearing personality. they had broken enough pop stars, molded them to be perfect model citizens, so what was one more?

the plan backfired immensely. as Shouto’s talent grew, Enji seeked out the biggest in the game, convincing them to give his son a chance at stardom. while reluctant, the board agreed, not wanting to piss off one of the most powerful men in Japan but were thoroughly surprised at the fact that his kid didn’t suck at all. in fact, he was actually good, really, really good.

they signed him immediately, whisking him away into the life of fame and fortune at the young age of seventeen. his range, the slight rasp to his tone and the ability to reach into somebody's soul and pluck the very feelings they try to hide so deeply from it’s depths pushed him towards the life of a rockstar. the freedom he had never been able to experience living at home pushed him over the edge and spiraled him out of control.

Todoroki drank, smoked, and fucked his way through cities big and small, getting himself into a lot of trouble along the way. the behavior went on for years, only getting worse as time went on. nobody seemed to be able to get control over the boy with the pretty hair and wild scar. after almost killing several women and one of his bandmates in a drunk driving accident, his team, label, and most importantly his father had enough.

the conversation between the two did not go well. Shouto was now an adult, legally free and clear from his father’s power. he had his own money, enough to live comfortably for awhile, even if he dropped the band, and all of the repressed rage, longing and anger that was pent up from his childhood. he was not stopping his lifestyle for anyone. that was, until you came along.

you were always a scrapper, getting yourself in trouble more times than you could count. it was just in your nature to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves and you spent many days on the playground beating up the bullies who picked on the sweet girl braiding flowers into her hair, or the boy who liked to play with baby dolls instead of trucks.

as you got older, your fights got fewer and farther in between, at least when it came to the public.

when you turned sixteen and kicked some kid who was trying to look up your skirt so hard in the chin that he saw stars, you were approached by a few men who slid you a card and told you if you wanted to make money fighting, come meet them.

you were a dumb kid and instead of running in the opposite direction and telling the police, you showed up at the seemingly dingy door behind the alley of a fairly run down ramen restaurant. knocking on the door and rocking back on your heels, you waited to see what would happen. it took a few seconds before a panel slid open, allowing you to see nothing but someone’s eyes peering at you in the mid-afternoon sun. hesitantly, you raised the business card in your hand, showing it to the person and jumping in surprise as the panel slammed shut and the door creaked open, inviting you in.

you nodded your head politely at who you realized was a rather bulky, burly man, before a woman dressed in a silky black dress plucked the card delicately from your hand and led you through the hallway. when she opened the door, you were taken aback by the scene.

people of all shapes and sizes stood cheering as two rather muscular men fought in an arena across the room. spit and blood flew across the floor as the two pummeled each other over and over again before one tapped out, the other man raising his fist in the air in victory. you stood, gaze fixed on the scene in front of you, blood racing at the thought of you being in the ring.

“addicting, isn’t it?” the woman whispered in your ear, a knowing smile on her face before she gently took you by the sleeve and guided you away from the screams and shouts into a private room that was much quieter.

you sat down in front of a man who was rather tall and thin, graying hair across his head and a clean shaven face.

“so, i heard you’re a good fighter. how good do you think you are?”

“uh-” you stuttered, not sure how to respond, “i think i can kick someone’s ass if i have a reason to.”

“is money a good enough reason for you?”

“money is a nice reward, yeah, yeah it is,” you confirmed, not pondering the question over for a second.

“good, you start on Saturday. come in comfy clothes that you won’t mind getting sweaty and dirty in. you’re my new ace, a secret weapon. give it six months time and you’ll be defeating guys like that out there in seconds.”

and defeat you did. over and over again, men, women, anyone who thought they were better than you were defeated by your own fists. you worked hard and then some, through literal sweat, blood and tears, to reach the status of champion of the underworld by the age of eighteen.

you were a wild card, unpredictable in your stature. you didn’t have hulking muscles and a sturdy frame, but what you did have was speed, the element of surprise, and the ability to calculate in a split second, all of which allowed you to defeat your enemies time and time again. this relative victory didn’t come without your share of sacrifices: hiding the bruises, blackened eyes and bloody lips from your family as you trained relentlessly, having to figure out a way to manage the steady flow of income that started coming your way as you fought in your first official matches, defeat after defeat as you trained, chipping a tooth and having it promptly filled in like nothing happened, having to learn how to disarm and fire a gun, work with knives and most importantly, losing a bit of your empathy along the way.

it came as no surprise when people who were much more powerful and much, much richer started taking an interest in you, placing large bets upon your head at some of the higher staked matches, a feat you worked your way up to after many years. you never failed to disappoint, knowing that these fights were the ones that mattered the most, the ones that brought you, and your boss, the biggest pools of money.

it was at one of these fights on a dreary, rainy night that you met Todoroki Enji, a hulking man that failed to intimidate you. you were used to people his size and bigger thinking he could take advantage of someone like you and it only made you chuckle thinking of how easy it would be to have him on his knees in seconds.

“i’ve made a proposal to your boss that he couldn’t refuse. he said he couldn’t and wouldn’t force you to do anything, but since you’re quite motivated by money, i think you’ll be intrigued by my offer,” he started, sitting down next to you in one of the VIP booths, sliding his business card on the table with a sly smile.

you were interested and entertained him, listening to him ramble about his shitty kid and his bad behavior. amused, you sipped on your drink as you absorbed his rants and whines about the negative reputation his kid was creating for himself, how he abused his freedom and power to the fullest extent and how his life was spiraling out of control.

“what does this have to do with me, exactly?” you finally questioned, setting your drink down and turning to face him, eyes met squarely with his own.

“i’d like to hire you to be his personal bodyguard.”

“sounds like he needs a babysitter, not a bodyguard,” you retorted, getting ready to stand up and move away from this blathering idiot.

when he spit out a number so outrageous, however, you sat back down, now thoroughly intrigued by the situation at hand. satisfied that he had your full attention, he went into details, laying down a fairly thin stack of papers in front of you as you listened to every detail.

“so let me get this straight. i’m to be his personal bodyguard, keep his shitty behavior a little more under control, whip him up into shape sort of situation. that’s it? and i’ll get paid that much for being a glorified babysitter?”

“you will have to protect him, of course. there are some crazy fans out there that climb windows, seduce themselves into his bed, stalk him, chase him down, but i don’t think it’s anything that, with your expertise, you can’t handle.”

you continued to ponder the situation before gesturing him to continue with his story. he rambled for another moment or two before picking up the papers and going over them with you: standard non-disclosure agreements, a detailed list of your job description and a contract agreement that he was subleasing you through your boss.

after a few minutes of reading the contracts over and discussing them with your boss, you agreed to the scenario, locking yourself into what would be a rather entertaining six months.

the first time you met Todoroki, he instantly tried to hit on you, but when his hand lowered down to grab your ass, you had him on his knees with his left hand behind his back before he could even blink. after that encounter, your conversations were curt. he knew what you were here for and he wasn’t about to let you get his way.

what he wasn’t expecting was for you to be so relaxed about the whole situation. he still drank, still partied, fucked almost whatever girl or guy he wanted, but anytime things got too out of hand, you stepped in, firm but gentle, guiding the crying groupies out of his bedroom after their time was over, driving him every time he got too drunk, cutting him off from any supplies when he was getting out of hand and most importantly, keeping him safe during his travels.

he never realized how much danger he was always in until you mitigated the problems with ease. he just assumed that being assaulted on the daily was something that came with being in the public until you broke some robbers finger when they tried to swipe the wallet out of his own back pocket. after that, he almost clung to you like a koala on a tree anytime he was out in public. you provided stability in a time where he was drowning in his own worries.

that didn’t mean he was ever nice to you though. in reality, he was actually sometimes meaner to you, the simple fact that some girl could be stronger than him set him off, always feeling on edge around you. you weren’t necessarily quiet, offering up any and all small bits and pieces about yourself that he ever wanted to know, but he never really knew you: not your last name, where you were from, if you had any siblings, parents, where you went to school, what your job was, who you were on the inside. it bugged him like crazy to know what your favorite color was and that you liked cheese on your ramen but not anything important, anything he wanted to know.

you liked to keep it that way, however, and would stay as friendly yet aloof as possible. this was a job to you, a job that would set you up easy for awhile and gave you a break from fighting for the most part. you wouldn’t admit to yourself that you liked the man more than you would’ve expected. you felt the way he clung to you as fans swarmed him, the way he always looked to you in reassurance as you walked the streets at night, hearing his sobs in the shower, sobs that were so broken and confused. it showed to you a side of him that was vulnerable, that showed emotion.

he broke down towards the end of your stay, realizing a little too late how much easier it was for you to do your job when he was cooperative and nice. in fact, he began to be more open about enjoying your company and spending time with you. it made it harder for you to continue with your job knowing you were falling for the pretty rich boy, for the man you were hired to protect, for the man who looked at you like you could do no wrong but vehemently would deny it. you began enjoying the little moments with him, the stolen glances, the laughing. you didn’t know what changed in him but you were glad he was someone you could get along with. underneath that crazy exterior, he was just a guy who wanted a friend.

your six months came up relatively quickly. it sucked that your cushy job living in five star hotels, eating decadent meals and working out in state of the art facilities would be over soon but you felt yourself getting lazy, weak and losing your rather sharp edge. it was time to get back into the grind and despite your heart panging at the fact that you would leave the pretty boy with the angry and sad heart behind, you were ready to go.

your last night of work consisted of the final show in Tokyo. tens of thousands of guests were set to attend what would be the bands biggest concert ever. you were calm, cool and collected as always, but the singer, not so much.

he spent the day pacing back and forth, warming up his vocals, hydrating himself, stretching and generally doing his best to calm his nerves.

in a rare act of affection, you reached out to grab your hand with his own, looking him dead in the eye and telling him that this night would be one he would remember forever; and you were right, just not for the way either of you thought.

the show went amazing, the crowd loud and receptive, the choreography flawless, the singing perfect. Todoroki ran off stage with the biggest smile he had ever seen and in his own rare display of affection, twirled you around with ease, adrenaline still pumping through his system.

you congratulated him on the great show and waited patiently for him to remove all the makeup and his costume. he emerged a little while later, hair flat against his head, wet from the shower, sweatpants and an inconspicuous gray hoodie donning his body. you bid a pleasant farewell to his bandmates before escorting him back to the car. he had requested that you drive him back to the hotel and spend one final night in the comfortable hotel beds before you headed back to your hometown.

when you arrived, however, things felt quiet, a little too quiet, and the hair stood up on the back of your neck.

“Shouto, you need to get into the driver’s seat right now, turn on the car and lock it. do not let me in until i tell you to. do not get out of the car, okay?”

he began to question you but before he had a chance to argue, you were pushing him out of the way as a knife sliced towards him, figures cloaked in black emerging from the shadows.

one, two, three, four.

you counted out the four assailants as you shoved Shouto against the car, prompting him to unlock and scramble in through the back seat. only when you heard the click of the lock did you breathe a sigh of relief and begin your attack.

the first man with the knife was tall and lanky, using his height to his advantage, trying to overwhelm you, but with a quick kick to the back of his kneecaps, he went tumbling onto his knees. now shorter than you, you were able to control him by grabbing onto the top of his head and slamming it into the ground, effectively knocking him out.

one, two, three.

the next man thought his muscles would save the day, but his size lacked any true speed, and you were able to land fingers to his eyes, a punch square to his nose. a quick chokehold and he was knocked out against the concrete as well.

one, two.

they both came at once, knives flailing in the air as they sliced your way. one managed to gouge out a chunk of flesh in your arm but you paid no mind, too focused on the task at hand as you grabbed the knife with your hand and used the other arm to knock into their elbow, making them loosen their grip enough to let go of the blade that you then embedded into their shoulder. the other assailant took your distraction to swing the knife your way and as you were trying to dodge the serrated edge, used their other fist to swing up into your chin. you felt your teeth chatter against each other, blood mixing with saliva as you bit your tongue. spitting, you slammed your hand down against their wrist, grabbing the knife with your hand and yanking, not caring that it sliced into your palm as you flipped the weapon around to shove it into their abdomen.

with both men distracted, you slammed your fist against the car door, telling Shouto to quickly unlock it so you could get in. when you heard the telltale click, you instantly dove into the backseat, yelling at him to lock it and drive as fast as he could back to the hotel. he did as he was told with an eerie calmness to him, backing out and around the attackers that were attempting to survey the damage that had been dealt to them.

once you had made the relatively quick trip back to the hotel, you hurriedly jumped out of the car, telling Shouto to carry his own bags so you could be on alert if anything were to happen, scanning each and every corner for a possible other attack. thankfully, everything was safe as you made your way into his hotel room.

you dropped him off quietly, not even attempting to walk into his room, but only fifteen minutes had passed before he was knocking on your door, a first aid kit he had gotten from the front desk securely tucked under his arm.

you let him in without a word, locking the door behind you and turning to face him. before you had a chance to ask what he was doing there, he had dragged you into your rather grandiose bathroom, sitting you on the steps leading up to the jacuzzi tub and pulling out the contents of the kit onto the floor.

he began by assessing the damage to your wounds, cleaning and disinfecting them before wrapping both your hand and arm rather efficiently.

“i had to wrap a lot of my own wounds as well as my siblings. dear old dad let the temper get the best of him sometimes and it wasn’t always so pretty,” he explained, teeth clenching together in an attempt to remain calm.

“thanks for this. i’m sure they’ll heal just fine,” you replied, not wanting to put him in a situation where he had to talk about his troubling past.

“you could’ve died protecting me today, you know?”

“that’s my job Todoroki. i was hired to protect you, i protected you, and i’m fine, thank you very much. this is not my first fight and it definitely won’t be my last.”

he sighed, rubbing his temples as he sat down on the marble floor in front of you, holding your wounded hand in his own, tracing the fabric that surrounded your palm.

“i recognized one of the cars in the parking lot. it was a company car, one of my dad’s cars to be precise. i know they can seem relatively inconspicuous but i memorized every car my dad ever had, big or small. it was definitely his car.”

you mulled over his words for a moment before sighing yourself, slumping against the stairs as your head rested against the rim of the tub.

“your dad sent those men, huh? that’s why you were so eerily calm driving away. you knew you weren’t really in any danger, that those men were secretly there to kill me,” you finally concluded, anger boiling deep within the pit of your stomach.

“yeah, i think they were. i don’t think dad is too fond of the fact that you and i got close. i-i like you a lot more than i let on, i’ve told him so. i thought that would make him happy, knowing i have someone in my life that i could rely on and trust, but he didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t control you after these six months were up, think he wanted to teach me a lesson.”

“wouldn’t be the first time i’ve had a hit out on my head. this one, however, is probably going to be a lot tricker to deal with.”

Shouto sunk deeper into himself, body shaking with rage as he saw the fight flash in his head over and over again.

“i’m going to protect you. if you want to, that is. i’ll sign you on as my own bodyguard, however much money you want. i’ll be by your side always, make sure that nobody tries to kill you, tries to hurt you like that again.”

“i can fend for myself Todoroki.”

“it’s Shouto. and why won’t you let anyone else take care of you? listen, i know i’ve been kind of an ass but i thought we were at least friends, and yet i know nothing about you. i know your favorite color, your favorite animal, that you like sunsets and the rain and snuggling under comfy sheets at the end of the day, that your eyes sparkle when you get a chance to fight but secretly crave peace and comfort, but i don’t know who you are. your name, your story, why you’re really here.”

you heaved as you sat back up, staring him straight in the eye to find no malice, no anger, only confusion, empathy and maybe even a bit of longing. so you told him, you told him everything: who you were, what you were, where you grew up, about your childhood dog and all the scraps you had as a kid, how two strange men in suits approached you and groomed you to fight at the age of sixteen, how it was the only thing you knew how to do, the only thing you were good at, how you scared yourself sometimes because you enjoyed the pain that came with the fights. he sat there watching, eyes wide and unblinking as he absorbed every word you said, every bit of pain and anxiety, of longing for someone to love and understand you, of not having to fight all the time, of wanting to be vulnerable for once.

“let me take care of you,” he declared, standing up and outstretching his hand towards you, helping you up from the cool tile, hand coming to rest behind your head once you had steadied yourself.

he leaned forward, unsure and hesitant, before placing his lips against your own, soft and gentle, tasting of mint chapstick and coffee. you were unsure of yourself, awkward, full of aches and pains, wanting so badly to let go but never wanting to get hurt.

“it’s okay, you’re safe with me. let me take care of you, please.”

that was all it took for you to open up, looping your arms around his neck as he led you back to the bedroom, careful to not run you into anything. your knees hit the back of the bed and you reflexively tensed up, like a deer in headlights.

he shushed you, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, heeding the bandage and wound underneath. you laid back after that, body attempting to relax as his hands ran themselves soothingly over your body, across your breasts, the flesh of your stomach, your thighs, the corded muscles in your calves, slipping your shoes off, your socks, kissing every inch of your body along the way, making sure you were comfortable. you shimmied out of your pants, your tight shirt, bra, underwear, finally bare for him to see, scars, bruises, all the imperfections of your life.

“so, so beautiful,” he murmured, taking his time to kiss every single blemish and scar that you had, wanting you to feel his dedication.

after what felt like hours of soft kisses, his thumb came to rest on your clit, rubbing in quick and precise circles, fingers gently parting your folds to press into your body, back arching at the feeling of him already.

“it’s all about you tonight, okay? just relax, let me show you how much i appreciate you.”

and appreciate you he did. he dropped to his knees, nose nuzzling into your pubic bone as he kitten licked your clit once, twice, three times, testing your reaction. you whined and squirmed at the feeling, already overwhelmed by his fingers lazily dragging in and out of you. you wanted, needed more, but Todoroki wouldn’t hear any of that. you deserved to be treated right, treated gently tonight, to allow your worries to melt away, if only for a few moments.

his fingers began picking up pace, pistoning in and out of you, his fingers curling in all the right spots, fists clenched into the downy comforter as you attempted to ground yourself from the overwhelming situation. his tongue worked against your clit, changing speed and pressure, trying to find what was the right combination to set you off, watching your every move intently as you squirmed around on the bed. before he even got a chance to get into a routine, you were already cumming over his fingers, creamy liquid coating the digits.

he hummed in contentment, pulling his fingers out to lick up the syrup, you watching with your pupils blown wide.

you went to sit up, body aching from the adrenaline of the fight, but he pushed you back down into the plush bed, tutting as he settled his head against your thigh, kissing, sucking and biting along the plump flesh, leaving little marks only he would know about.

his tongue began lapping at your clit again, this time harsher, more in tune with what your body wanted. you clenched your legs around his head, fisting his hair with your good hand as you tried to ground yourself yet again to reality. his velvety tongue felt like heaven against your body, coaxing moans and sighs out of your mouth. you felt your second orgasm hit you like a freight truck, tingles running up your spine. you tried to push his head away but he only held your body down, a frighteningly feral look on his face as he continued to lap against your clit, unrelenting in his pursuit to pull orgasm after orgasm from you.

after, two, three, four more highs, you couldn’t tell where one began and one ended, he was finally satisfied, pulling his face away, chin glistening in the dim light. your eyes were teary and red, overwhelmed by everything he had put you through. you had never been more satisfied in your life, and by the look on Shouto’s face, he knew it too.

your eyelids began to droop and your body relaxed into the mattress as you came back down into reality. Shouto shuffled around the room before settling you into your bed, tucking the sheets around your body and propping your head against your pillow.

he was enamored by your, by your story, how you opened up so willingly to him after tonight. nothing would get in between you two now. he was just starting to truly know you, know the real you, and nothing was going to stop him from wooing you until you were his, not even his father., and if her life was ever threatened again by him, well, Shouto would just have to kill Todoroki Enji.

#todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki #shouto todoroki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #bnharem collab

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