This is another oneshot for Firelocke (Abolish x Pyro). Once again, this is sort of a What If? scenario. What if Abolish had taken Pyro's open invitation to meet in their mineshaft?
Peering down into the dark pit, Abolish wondered if his mission was worth it. Based on the haphazard wooden supports, this was the mineshaft Pyro had described. The way wasn’t lit, probably due to the inhabitant's night vision. The mineshaft was by no means sturdy, and Abolish felt a sense of unease as he stepped forward.
Abolish shouldn’t have come here, but he hadn’t been able to shake the image of Pyro’s terrified eyes as they begged for help at the town border. Letting his emotions guide him was a terrible idea, but Abolish’s plans had been discarded a long time ago.
When Abolish stepped into the mine entrance, he lit a torch, casting flickering light on the lichen-smeared stone. A slight dampness shone against the cave walls, the timber swollen with moisture. Abolish’s footsteps echoed among the occasional drip from an unseen place. As he went deeper, the air warmed up, the humidity causing sweat to bead across his face. If only he could wear something more practical than this suit…
Eventually, the cramped tunnel opened up into a sort of room. A hodgepodge of seats surrounded a poorly crafted table. Abolish remembered Pyro admitting that he was no good with his hands when they first met. They certainly weren’t lying.
Besides the flimsy furniture, the room was empty. Pyro wasn’t anywhere to be found. Why would they be here? Abolish never told Pyro to meet him here. In hindsight, that was probably not a good idea. He didn’t even know if Pyro lived here, or when he would be back.
Since he’d already made the trek, Abolish decided to wait for a minute, cautiously sitting down on the most stable stool.
The cave was quiet. Even if Pyro didn’t end up coming, Abolish appreciated the peace. Normally Abolish would find solace within the walls of his house, but the rest of the town had taken to “sticking in groups”, which meant they would anxiously knock on his door if no one had seen him for a while.
Thankfully, Abolish didn’t have to sit in silence for long, since the sound of hurried footsteps soon reached his ears. As they grew closer, Abolish realized he didn’t know if it was Pyro or not. Should he pull out his sword, just to be safe? But if it was Pyro, that might scare them.
Abolish didn’t have time to decide. Appearing in the entrance to the cave was a familiar silhouette. Pyro stopped in his tracks as his eyes landed on Abolish, a shocked expression on his face.
“What are you doing here?” Pyro asked, glancing behind them as they spoke.
“You said to come if I wanted to talk,” Abolish reminded him.
Pyro walked toward Abolish, a haggard look in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Abolish stood up, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t sure why Pyro had seemingly changed their mind, but if they tried anything, he’d be ready. “And why is that?”
Pyro looked back again, before turning to Abolish. “He could be here. I- I don't want him to hurt you.”
“Scott?” Abolish guessed. While he didn’t know much of the elder vampire, he’d seen how Pyro talked about him. With admiration, awe, and an unspoken fear.
Nodding, Pyro once again checked the cave entrance behind him. “He- He heard me when I was talking to the town. I don’t know what he’d do if he found you here. You should leave.”
Abolish hesitated to listen, still concerned for Pyro. Even though Pyro was clearly terrified of Scott, Abolish had probably handled worse than him. He wasn’t in danger. “What about you?”
“Just go back to town,” Pyro responded. “Pretend you never saw me.”
When Abolish still didn’t move, Pyro took another step closer to him. On instinct, Abolish backed up, but Pyro reached out, grabbing the sleeve of his suit, tugging him toward the exit.
“Wait.” Abolish reached for the satchel by his side.
Pyro continued pulling him, claws digging into fabric. “Just go, Abolish. Please.”
“Wait!” Abolish pulled back, dragging Pyro closer to him.
Hearing Abolish’s raised voice, Pyro froze, blinking silently. They were inches from each other, Pyro’s hand still clutching Abolish’s arm, their touch stinging.
Abolish took a book from his satchel, one of the copies he’d made of the cure books. Like Pyro, he wasn’t sure who was listening, so he just shoved it into their chest. “Take this.”
“What-?”
“Just read it.” Abolish urged.
Hesitantly, Pyro released Abolish’s arm, gently taking the book. “Okay. I will.”
“Good.” Abolish absently touched his newly freed arm, which was a little sore. His hand came away unexpectedly wet, blood clinging to his fingertips. “Oh.”
Pyro’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you that hard.”
“It’s fine.” Wiping his hand on his pants, Abolish shrugged off his injury. It was partially his fault, trying to stop Pyro from pushing him out the door.
“Let me see,” Pyro reached for Abolish again, hand carefully pulling back fabric to look at his wound.
Abolish didn’t move this time, letting them get closer. “It’s not a big deal. The bleeding’s probably stopped by now.”
“It has,” Pyro confirmed. “I still must apologize. I was… stressed.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Abolish repeated. Pyro’s concern was nice, but it was only a scratch.
In that moment, Abolish realized how close they'd gotten, being close enough to hear Pyro’s heartbeat pounding. Pyro’s hand was still resting on his arm, the simple touch sending a sudden shiver down his spine. The silence was quickly filled with Abolish’s harsh breaths. What was wrong with him? Abolish wasn’t scared of Pyro, so why was he feeling this way? What about Pyro made him so… nervous? Why couldn’t he just-
Oh. Oh no. Abolish quickly backed away from Pyro as the realization hit him, as if the distance would somehow fix this situation. So much for putting his emotions aside. Looking at Pyro, he saw a blush spread across their unnaturally pale skin. If the sudden warmth in his face was any indication, Abolish was matching him in hue.
Maybe Pyro was right. Abolish shouldn’t have come. There was no way this ended well. How could this have happened? Out of everyone in Oakhurst, he fell for Pyro? “I should go.” Abolish spoke, but didn’t move.
Pyro moved closer again. “Wait.”
Abolish listened. After everything he’d had to go through, hadn’t he earned a moment of selfishness? A few more seconds with Pyro couldn’t compromise his mission, could it?
Like he was on a mission to prove Abolish wrong, Pyro tossed the book on the table before firmly gripping Abolish’s shoulders, his eyes boring into Abolish’s with something close to desperation. “Abolish,” he gasped.
“Yeah?” Abolish felt his heart skip a beat at the contact.
“Abolish.” Tears were welling up in Pyro’s eyes.
“Yes, Pyro?” Abolish repeated, unease creeping down the back of his neck.
“Abolish.” Pyro leaned forward, closing the remaining distance between them. Their chin dug into Abolish’s shoulder, claws tightening slightly.
Abolish didn’t know how he felt. Pyro was everything he stood against. But they were trembling, holding him like there was nothing else. Hesitantly, he patted Pyro on the back, closing his eyes.
When Pyro eventually pulled back from the embrace, tears were marking trails down his cheeks. Without thinking, Abolish gently wiped them with his sleeve. Their face was cold.
“Why?” Pyro asked, placing their hand over Abolish’s, holding it in place.
“Because I care.” Abolish didn’t know what to do about anything, but he knew that.
There was a few seconds where they just stayed like that, Abolish’s hand cupping Pyro’s face, Pyro’s hand clinging to Abolish’s.
It wasn’t clear who leaned in first. Maybe they both moved at the same time, allowing their lips to connect.
Abolish knew he was violating every rule and regulation he’d agreed to with that kiss, but he found that he didn’t care. All that mattered was sensation, the feeling of Pyro’s heartbeat through their coat, the soft skin beneath Abolish’s hand, the taste of Pyro’s lips as they deepened the kiss. Every inch of contact burned, singing with a desire that could finally be named. A feeling that couldn’t be killed.
And, just for a moment, it was worth it.
------------
Author's Notes:
This is my first time properly writing a kiss scene, so it might be a bit scuffed. This took much longer to write than I expected, and because of that, I had to change the entire plot. Originally, this was going to be the first of several meetings between Abolish and Pyro, kind of like Wither Rose (<- other oneshot), but the "opening" scene eventually became too long, so I turned it into the full story. The original direction would've been them meeting, then (potentially) a blood-drinking scene, then Owen and Abolish having their conversation about not being able to leave, then Abolish asking Pyro to turn him. I might recycle that concept, but I ended up running out of space.
Also, if you like my writing, I've written a different Firelocke oneshot and am currently in the process of writing a longer fic (Also Firelocke) here!
A breeze whistled between your footsteps, ambling in a slow, thoughtless pace that had him thinking both of you had all the time in the world, even if the road ahead was just another meandering path to a farewell.
“You'd stay in Black Dragons for a long time, right?”
content tags: companion piece prequel to green light and spin-off to couldn't tell. first gen black dragons ultraviolence era. gender neutral reader. summer coming-of-age ft. gangs. lots of bromance and bickering. mostly friendship. growing up together and growing apart. beach trip. preemptive grief.
tw: violence (and glorification of violence), shady gang behavior, underage drinking and smoking, and minors getting tattoos. there's a weird age gap scene with college-aged women showing interest in someone younger, nothing sexual happens but still. everyone is 17-18 here.
a/n: like my waka fic, this is mostly platonic!first gen black dragons x reader but more benkei and bromance and beaches. also no one man-crushes harder than benkei lol. btw it's not necessary to read my other installments for this and lots of flashbacks interspersed in the plot!
couldn't tell ❁ green light ❁ read on ao3
From the highway to Chiba, it’s like all of you parted the sea on your motorcycles.
Benkei smelled salt everywhere. There was no end to the ocean that surrounded the road ahead, the industrial plants no more but distant daydreams back in Kawasaki, and then he realized he hadn’t been exposed to open water like this, swore to have never ridden a ferry in his life.
His heart was too landlocked in the city to care, but this was all Shin’s idea.
Said he wanted to go to a real beach, all white sand shores, shaved ice, and hot babes.
The journey was still more than an hour-long drive, and Benkei would love nothing more than to throw himself underwater right now. Takeomi wouldn’t stop ranting about the heat and truck traffic. Ignoring his tirade, Wakasa was tanner for baking under the sun. You’re almost caught speeding for badly needing a restroom break, which Shinichiro had to prevent along the way to Umihotaru.
The pitstop was short but unhurried. Takeomi was still at the register while Benkei and Shinichiro soaked up the frosty air of beverage coolers until the store manager told them off. Chewing gum, Wakasa waited with you outside the convenience store. Your gaze was elsewhere, drifting in the waves, and the trance went on upon arriving at Onjuku Beach, crowded in the summertime.
Benkei never got to know what was on your mind, riveted by a statue of two camel riders from a distance.
A water bottle was tapped on his arm, and after he exchanged his thanks, you asked him, “where do you think they’re going?”
“Who knows? The sea maybe,” he replied, uncapping the bottle for a drink and dumping the rest on his face, dribbling cold water all over his collar.
“There are showers here, you know.” Your lips quirked up amusedly, and then you pointed at the shoreline crested over with blue, radiant waves. “Or you can go over there.”
“Got excited.” Benkei grinned, finally shrugging off his open shirt and balling it up to wipe himself. The tattoos on his chest and arms flexed from the motion and it caught the curious eye of a child, building sandcastles. She wasn't old enough to turn them into a wall yet. “Aren’t you gonna swim too?”
“Maybe later. No one’s guarding our stuff,” you said, jerking your head at the beach blanket pile-dumped with bags, a haphazard mess. There's a sweaty t-shirt, a tube squirting a bit of sunscreen on the cloth, and some mixed garbage of snack wrappers and half-empty bottled drinks shoved inside a plastic bag.
Benkei cringed, about to comment, until he got a good look at you. Traded for your glasses was a pair of shades from the bargain bin, making you look like a poser, though with the way you quietly huddled and sat on the blanket, arms tucked to your chest, the obnoxious air dispelled. He joined you, ducking under the umbrella; yellow and blue pinstripes, like the ones rented by couples entwined under the shade. You scooted over to give him more room, your elbows brushing each other.
“Where are the others anyway?”
“Waka went somewhere, I don't know. Shin dragged Takeomi to, well,” a long, expectant sigh, “girls.”
You snorted. “It is a beach. Sure they’re trying to get their dicks wet too.”
Benkei laughed. You never withheld yourself for those two. Perhaps it came from knowing them since childhood.
“Hey, what are the odds? Maybe our weak king might have a chance this time.”
“Or come here crying, same old.” You already sound done though there's a sort of rough affection grating through your words, “Shin's a baby like that.”
“A baby?” Some crybaby who had Tokyo in the palm of his hand. Someone who Benkei had sworn to follow for the rest of his life.
“Yup. So how well do you take rejections?”
“Pretty bad. I’ll cry too if I had to lose someone that way. You?”
You mulled over it for a bit. “I don't know. I haven't confessed to anyone before.”
“Me neither.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Probably would’ve scared ‘em off before I could try.”
“You don't know that yet,” you refuted. “But I think you’ll fall for someone who's brave enough to let you try.”
His lips curled up at that. His vice-captain told him something similar after gaining the love of his now girlfriend, lucky bastard. “You know me that well?”
“Sure I do,” you said cheekily before tilting your head on one side, humming in thought. “At least I know it’d hurt a lot to lose someone like that . . .”
Benkei was unable to add more because it's just as you put it. He didn't mind listening to you most of the time. There's something revealing about your input that he hadn't taken into consideration himself.
Wakasa would've labeled him a blockhead unlike Takeomi who'd been wise enough to not slip aloud that Benkei wasn't the smartest in their group. It's not the reason why he’d been expelled from his first middle school and he didn't see it as a point of shame if he could smite some sense into anyone who thought otherwise.
Benkei just fancied himself a big picture kind of guy, preferring to focus on the broader strokes of something, but maybe that's why he valued your tangents. He wondered if wearing fake glasses helped with your attention to detail, even though he couldn't take you seriously in them.
You pushed up your shades and he sighed. Or in any tacky eyewear you own, really.
“You should talk to some girls,” you prompted suddenly, making him let out a huff, c’mon man, and you shrugged. “Or go surfing then. It's better than cooping yourself here with me.”
“Now you sound like you want me to go away.”
“Never. Just meant you should enjoy the beach while you can.”
“I enjoy being with you.”
A meek, baffled pause. He’d always caught you off guard with big statements like that, wondering if people say that enough to you other than Shinichiro.
You recovered with a simper. “Me too,” still awkward after reciprocating, you changed the subject, “it’d be so nice to swim . . .”
In an attempt to cool off, you're tugging the collar of your t-shirt to fan yourself but it's futile when sweat had already curled on the hairs from the nape of your neck. You hadn't changed into any swimwear yet, and then a more intrusive thought caught up to him.
“Yeah, we should go together.”
“Sure . . .” this time, you removed the stupid shades, your eyes sincere as they met his. “But just so you know, I won't be mad at you if you went ahead of me.”
Blinking, Benkei felt a bit misled by that, and before he could insist on waiting for you, you beat him to it.
“I’ll definitely follow after you till someone takes my place,” you reassured him, gazing back at the sea. “One of us has to stay behind.”
True to your word, you did catch up to him. Wakasa tailed after you from the shore, calf-deep into water.
"What are the two of you doing?" asked Benkei, wading towards you. The sun prickled his damp neck.
"Jellyfish hunting," you stated. "Waka agreed that if he gets stung by one, I get to piss on him. Or the other way around, whoever gets stung first."
When Benkei gawked at you, you offered with a straight face, "wanna join in too?"
Bemused and wide-eyed, Benkei turned his gaze to Wakasa.
"So you're that kind of guy."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Wakasa wasn't really into the kinky stuff. Though for all his standoffishness, he was a lot smoother than what Benkei gave him credit for persuading you to come out here when the bastard had been better at ignoring a person as if they never existed. Or destroying them.
It's more amusing to see him sweat for something – someone adamant as you – which granted Benkei so many chances to sneak in not-so-subtle jabs at him in moments like this. Moments where everyone's dumb and careless and in love with their youth.
"I think I saw—fuck!"
You slipped, about to fall into water, until Benkei grasped the back of your collar and Wakasa caught you by the wrist. All of your shorts were wet from the splashing.
Your shades fell in an awkward drop and you craned your head up at them with a grateful grin, murmuring, “uh, just seaweed . . .”
This didn't deter you in your search. In fact, it made you more motivated. Benkei didn't tell you that there weren't any jellyfish in Onjuku Beach, so did Wakasa. They agreed that your efforts were sort of endearing.
Benkei asked Wakasa if he'd let you piss on him. He didn't answer for awhile until he settled for a shrug.
Sparing him a retort, Benkei didn't repress a chuckle.
Benkei met you when he hurtled himself headfirst into a fight that wasn't his.
It was yours. Though it just didn't sit well with him that those Kodo Rengo pricks had the gall to step into their territory so the enemy of my enemy was my friend and he went along with that logic when he abruptly joined in with the impact of a boulder.
You didn't seem like you were a part of any gang at all. Just a random middle schooler but a target regardless. Not an easy one, that's for sure. You fought like you'd been at it for years, all blood and grit.
You were strong and Ragnarok happened to be in search of that kind of strength so he figured he should recruit you first before someone else did.
The thing was you weren't just a target when you earned quite a reputation, tied to your older brother who was the leader of a gang that ruled Kanto with an iron-fist from some glorious past. His seniors never shut up about it, him and them being a part of something that used to make them invincible.
Someone who you despised and even with the proposition of taking him down after he’s released from his jail sentence, you'd still decline his offer, not giving it much thought. "I'm sort of helping out my friend. Said something about making a gang."
“Ah, so you're already in his gang . . .”
“No, he just always gets into a lot of trouble! If I’m not there, who’s gonna protect him?”
“Protect, huh.”
But that meant he'd have to fight you too one of these days. You didn't tense over his reply, neither a threat nor an insult.
Behind those glasses, there's an edge to your eyes. Your brother's eyes, but they weren't cold and wretched.
Benkei couldn’t recall the last time anyone had insistently called him Arashi-san or had bought him a steamed meat bun out of politeness, even though he’d known for years that polite people would rather not hold his gaze, passing over him in an attempt to shun what didn’t fit in the mold of what defined their monotonous, undisturbed lives.
Regardless, he’s not one to refuse free food and taking another bite of his meat bun, he looked at you closely.
You were terrifying but you seemed sort of nice. In an uptight way.
So Benkei suggested that you and your friend should just join his gang and you blinked at him before wheezing out a short, honest laugh, claiming that he had already set out his dream.
Learning he never equaled you in a fight, it only registered to Benkei that he's a weak guy because strength dictated everything in this brutal side of life. Strength like yours and his. When Benkei asked how he was going to lead a gang, you stood against the brilliant glare of the evening and he thought he saw a glimpse of it.
You smoldered in those colors, one he likened to glory. There was promise in your words.
"You'll see," you said, staring back at him from your shoulder with a smile. "You probably haven't met anyone like him."
The red sun fell on the name from your lips.
Sano Shinichiro.
There’s no history behind his name like yours and it intrigued him so much that he agreed to meet him so that he could beat him up in a fair fistfight, bringing up that whoever's the victor would have you in his gang.
Benkei didn’t lose but the favor went to Shinichiro just because he was the most interesting guy he'd ever met.
He had never met a man who won from his losses. How could one be so triumphant and pathetic at the same time, Benkei didn't know. Though he understood what you meant when you stood by him.
Shinichiro held the things closest to him sacredly and once he called you his friend, he wouldn’t give you up for anything. Benkei didn’t complicate himself to define what kind of relationship you had. All he had to know was how he fought for you against him, against rival gangs, and even against your brother.
Everyone held him in reverence for being a pillar of the delinquent world. Except for you.
Your gaze for him was more familiar, softer, though unlike Takeomi, you disagreed with him in too many instances about his reckless lifestyle and the proposal as one of his captains. Shinichiro would come back to you a second time, third, fourth, perhaps more as to measure the desire to have you join them officially. They were convinced he'd be on his knees if this went on though he held up strong in a battle of fortitude.
Both of you, however, just happened to have the thickest skulls when you butt heads over each other's stubbornness.
"Of course, you're going to be a part of the Black Dragons. Hell, you're even a founding member!"
"You already got what you want! I don't see why you still have to drag me in your gang too."
"I thought we'd do this together? Why not go all the way when you could be my—"
"Should we break them up?"
Wakasa was the one who suggested it after mentioning that you looked like you're about to duke it out. Sensing the escalating tension too, Benkei was about to step in until Takeomi shook his head, cigarette in his hand.
He assured them that you wouldn't hit him for something like that. Another drag of smoke and a sigh.
"Just give 'em time."
Everyone split on a big bowl of mango shaved ice.
Two of you were against red beans mixed in at the suggestion of matcha flavor. It wasn't as fun when the syrup couldn't stain your tongues, but it was refreshingly cold and milky sweet when swimming had failed you under the afternoon scorch of 2 p.m.
Prioritizing dessert didn't ruin your appetites for chatter over lunch: comparing sunburns, college girls in bikinis that were way out of everyone's league, and then a callout about Takeomi having his hair tied back into a bun because it actually drew attention. The scar gave him an edge and inflated his vanity. Some more waffling about what women were into, even though no one probably knew what they're talking about.
You found it weird because they're older than the rest of you and Takeomi brought up that you weren't when you had that dragon tattoo.
“It's not for showing off to have a hookup.”
“Then what’s the tattoo about anyway?” asked Wakasa and his sudden interest had you flustered.
“Yeah, tell us about that.” Benkei smirked with him, cornering you into a hot seat.
“Bet you cried like a pussy when you had it,” retorted Takeomi.
“Bet you are a pussy when you don’t even have one.”
“Hey, you little—"
“Anyway,” Shinichiro cut in, clearing his throat. He plucked a piece of karaage dipped in mayo from your plate because he's the last one waiting for his food and it’d already been thirty minutes. He was nibbling on Benkei’s fries awhile ago. All of you agreed to feed him out of pity. “Why do you have one?”
“You already know!” you hollered, bumping your fist on the table from the betrayal.
“Huh? Don’t remember,” he feigned obliviousness. “I wasn’t with you when you had it done.”
“You’re still sulking about that?”
“Whatever. C’mon, just tell us—”
“Number 105!”
“Finally.” Shinichiro stood up, taking his stub with him before shooting back at everyone, “you better not start anything without me!”
He headed to the popular food stall that had the longest line in the area. Probably was the reason why he was in the mood for grilled eel.
“So how long did you have it?” went on Wakasa, casually chewing on a yakitori stick like a toothpick.
“Hm, it’s been four weeks, I think? It isn’t that sensitive anymore.”
“That’s fine. It’s the same for me when I had mine the first time,” Benkei chimed in.
“It's a hassle to cover up in school, though.”
“Aren’t you committing yourself more to the gang?”
Takeomi interrupted, scrutinizing you under his hard stare. You returned it with an unblinking one.
“Nah, I’m just attached.” You shrugged before leaning back on your palms, smiling a little. “Figured it was kinda obvious.”
On the day Benkei brought you to the tattoo parlor, he thought the dragon was botched when it's facing the wrong direction.
He’d been more indignant about it than you were, not even realizing his voice raised in complaint, until you touched his wrist and censured him for being too loud, apologizing to the frightened artist for the trouble and paying for his service.
He was a new hire, a nervous wreck of face piercings, from somewhere. The tattooing business was still the underground kind and getting hold of an artist often came through word of mouth, shunned for the craft as much as the one whose skin had been inked. It always ran deeper for Benkei. He was ten when he first had his on the cusp of his shoulder until they proudly bloomed all over his chest, surviving his adolescence.
Even behind the saran wrap, the detailed blackwork on the tattoo was impressive, curving around your right calf like a painting. Still . . .
"It's fine. You're looking at me like I'm kinda lame now."
"You're not." Then he gestured his hand at the fallen dragon. You told him before that he articulated his emotions more with his body. Everything around him became askew for it. Passersby twist around a different route from his direction. "Just—it just looks off, you know? Dragons should be flying up and all."
You scoffed. "So you're upset about some bit of symbolism? Yeah, Inoe-san got it wrong but you didn’t have to be an asshole because—"
"I'm upset that you regret this and you can't take it back anymore," he admitted, head hanging low. "And I brought you there . . ."
"I don't want to take it back,” you said, unrepentant of how adults would appraise you for once: a kid with a tattoo, a kid heading nowhere good in life.
There's a war in your eyes. He’s more ashamed of himself for doubting you than letting you down.
Benkei was damn sure there wasn’t an inflatable he hadn’t stepped on or an umbrella he left untipped.
They were scattered everywhere but the beach stretched wide enough for a stroll to not feel so cramped. He’s just avoiding the sunbathers and families who were spread all over the area, waiting to watch the fireworks display tonight.
Because of that, he joined in with you and Takeomi, retreating somewhere in the parking lot.
Benkei didn’t often see you two alone, much less without Shinichiro defusing an argument, though he found a rare solidarity between you smoking together. You were nodding. Takeomi's arms were crossed after sharing a few words with you, stopping short when Benkei stepped in after coming back from the restroom.
He asked if he disrupted something and Takeomi answered that he wasn't, stomping his cigarette with his shoe. You followed after him when your eyes narrowed at the strangers emerging before you in serpent-emblemed uniforms, some gang from Kansai judging from the accents. Jormungandr.
You seemed more annoyed than anxious about getting jumped. Takeomi didn't mind an introduction through a bloodbath because it’d been a long while since anyone challenged Black Dragons and Benkei had already charged forward for the brawl.
It ended with you.
Jormungandr’s leader met his defeat with a kick so high the last thing he saw was the dragon soaring up.
Your sandal flew off, landing on the heap of mangled bodies that had been dealt by Benkei. His knuckles still smarted for being outnumbered. Takeomi was just as scuffed-up. With his hair down and disheveled, it made his face more severe after pressing a warning on the leader’s hand with his newly lit cigarette.
Don't mess with us again, trash. The extra measure was for insurance, but there's a cruel streak to his apathy for letting skin burn. Benkei had seen him done worse. You didn't speak against it after overhearing a threat on Shinichiro's life.
Sensing another presence lurking near you, you swung your leg up and Wakasa reacted fast enough to sidestep away, a hairbreadth close.
Sadly, your foot missed his face.
He whistled. “Nice reflexes.”
“Shit, I could’ve gotten you! Stop coming up behind me like that!”
“No.”
“You three were taking so long. Figured we should check up on ya,” said Shinichiro, strolling towards them amidst the battle; fallen adversaries on his feet. He acknowledged Benkei and Takeomi with a nod, and then picked up your sandal when he approached you. “We should've come sooner, though.”
“You would’ve missed out the action anyway.” The insult wasn't without a light, teasing note, and Shinichiro didn't take it personally, letting you snatch the sandal from him. “We handled it pretty well by ourselves, don't you think?”
“Brutally,” he sighed, unable to hide that disarming grin slowly peeling up his mouth. “You look like hell. Let's get you all patched up—”
A sudden, fluttering burst of light from the distance.
Shocked, all of you looked up at the sky.
“The fireworks . . .”
“Oh wow, it's starting now.”
“It’s still going on. Let’s make a run for it!”
It hadn't been long since Benkei told you about Ragnarok and you taught him what nostalgia actually meant.
Natsukashii. The end of summer, he believed, sweltering with memories under his childhood sun in Oizumi, until you scrawled the characters on the back of a gym flier and kindly corrected him, oh, it's natsuku, not natsu. As in to become, you know, attached.
懐かしい
Your ballpoint pen lingered on the heart radical, lacking the character of a season.
Benkei wasn't chagrined about it; he's enlightened.
The end of summer, you repeated, finding it more fitting, and pondered on how summers had to die like sunsets as you scraped the horizon with fingers in the color of twilight.
Then he asked how much you were well-versed in Norse mythology.
You shrugged. "I'm more familiar with apocalypses. Why'd you name your gang after something like that?"
“It’s inspiring,” said Benkei, omitting the part that he wasn't a founding member and the true meaning of its relevance might've been lost to him when Ragnarok sounded more like a gang that was meant to bring destruction to the gods from an older generation. “The kind that could define our era.”
“You guys are so obsessed with that,” you pointed out, but not to mock him. It’s just a measured observation. “Shin never shuts up about it. Takeomi goads him on because it's getting in his head too. Even Waka wants to be a part of it and you . . .”
“You don't want it too?”
“I just don't get it,” you blurted. “What's an era all about anyway?”
“You could say it’s how we want to be remembered,” he said it with his chest. It's how we want to show people how we fought and lived.
Benkei didn’t understand why you wanted to be invisible. Or keep up with all these social pretences to be accepted.
When he asked you why you wore fake glasses, you didn't give him a reason. You just shot back why he had his eyebrows shaved instead. He found the exchange amusing, concluding that nobody probably had the balls to ask both of you about it.
He couldn't help but smirk how you got a bit defensive from his observation as if you had never stood out around them.
You're the only person he’s ever known to be conflicted over the dichotomy of your life. He’d seen you enjoy listening to the rap mixtapes of his bootleg CDs, stress over college applications more than fights, denounce delinquency and yet.
It took him a long while to figure out why you looked so out of place in the gang but it still felt as if you belonged there. The otherness spoke to him, really. Guys like him just couldn't seem to find their place in anything after falling through the cracks and it hadn't always been as grandiose as it was until Shinichiro granted them a reason.
Not a lot of them gave a crap about being honorable but they sure did when it felt good to be a part of something greater than themselves.
It's the stuff of legends, our era.
Takeomi said it with pride and Benkei couldn't have worded it better himself. He glanced back at you, no longer giving in to chase when you let them go on without you, a fond, distant smile on your lips.
Wakasa sprinted ahead of them. Shinichiro still had a slight limp from getting it broken months ago so he fell behind until Takeomi turned to him and offered him his back, waving at him to get on and make it quick.
Despite them joining forces, Takeomi wasn't all that strong or fast for both of them and no one could ever beat Wakasa in a footrace, but they ran, howling out wild laughter as if they won anyway.
Benkei slowed down to your pace, walking with you. “So attached, eh?”
You blinked at him before letting out a chuckle. “Well, yeah.” You stretched out your tattooed leg a bit. “I took it quite literally too . . .”
He was distracted by the startlingly tender expression on your face, your lashes lowered, longer, until he snapped out of it and nodded.
“Benkei.”
“What?”
“Would you hate me if I told you that I'll quit the gang?”
“No—” The word slipped, and there was something about the urgency that felt like a tug, a step forward. Calmer, this time, “no, not at all.”
You registered his answer for a minute, too quiet next to him. He realized he should back away a bit, collecting himself to offer the reassurance you probably needed to hear more than he did.
“Hey. Whatever decision you're going with, just know we're all rootin' for ya.” He gave your shoulder a pat and felt himself unwind a breath the moment you untensed from his hand. “You probably have your reasons. Good, I hope?”
It took so much from him to not demand why but you're smiling at him again. Maybe a little sad, a little scared, but it's still your smile, something regained. He’d hate for it to go away.
“Yeah, thanks. That means a lot to me,” and then hesitant, you opened up more, “think Shin will hate me?”
“Idiot, he won't,” Benkei replied. “His heart's too big for him and he cries like a baby for it. You think that's the kind of guy that'll hate anyone?”
“No.”
“There you go.”
“But it's just that I haven't told him yet. I haven't told anyone, just you,” you confessed, wistfully glancing down at your tattoo.
“You know, I was actually terrified when we went to the tattoo parlor. Like what if something goes wrong? There's always something. I couldn't go by myself. Yeah, the tattoo didn't turn out perfect but I like it. I'm glad you were with me when I had it. Then Shin made this stupid tantrum over why I didn't bring him along, but he got over it when he was all giddy and excited over the tattoo. Cheered me up a lot when stuff at home was . . . ” a short breath sucked through your teeth. “Seeing him like that matters so much. I want him to always be like that . . .”
A breeze whistled between your footsteps, ambling in a slow, thoughtless pace that had him thinking both of you had all the time in the world, even if the road ahead was just another meandering path to a farewell.
“You'd stay in Black Dragons for a long time, right?”
“Yeah, it's my everything now.” Benkei stared at the dragon on your skin, and then back at you. “And even if you leave, you're still a part of it.”
You huffed at that and looked onward longingly. "Jeez, you sound like him."
“He isn't wrong about that,” he said, following after your gaze where everyone was, waiting and waving and yelling at the two of you to hurry up; behind them, the fireworks sprung like a flurry of stars in the midsummer night.
It's a moment he felt in his chest too.
Guess we're all just attached.
Unfortunately, the fireworks ended too soon.
All of your stuff was left untouched while the people were already packing up and departing from the beach.
They ignored your wounds. More plasters were bought from a cornershop nearby when your first-aid kit wouldn't suffice. Some schmucks brought bats and brass knuckles though there wasn't any serious damage on your end, even less serious on boasting each of your body counts. Whoever ratted out your location was still an unresolved issue, but your vacation wasn't totally ruined.
Shinichiro was into the idea of heading to Choshi after learning it's Wakasa's hometown. There were grunts of protest though his whim was met with little to no resistance after the downturn of events and something about the spontaneity was exciting.
Whatever heart to heart they had, Benkei couldn't fault Wakasa for giving in to Shin’s persuasion as much as he did when he agreed to merge their gangs a lifetime ago. Embark on something new together in a last minute excursion, not knowing what to discover in your destination.
Your motorcycles were left in the parking lot to stay overnight. There were few passengers on board and three of you were already snoozing away after switching to a new train at Naruto Station. The landscape shifted behind the window; a nocturnal outline of bedtowns and cabbage fields. Wakasa's face was neutral all throughout.
Benkei broke the silence.
“I didn't know you grew up here.”
“Once,” Wakasa shrugged, looking less like a mystery. “Didn’t feel like something I should bring up anyway.”
Wakasa regarded Chiba like it's foreign land and there's no place for him here. Benkei couldn't imagine him coming home to parents – anyone.
With their paths colliding the way they did, he had always assumed they were orphaned in Tokyo, meant to split it together or conquer more for themselves. It didn't matter which with all the devastation they had caused, leaving a red trail of history in their wake, and sometimes that's enough proof of their existence than a birth certificate.
Wakasa never asked Benkei about his past. There's more of it branded in their mutual blows and bruises. Benkei knew the brunt of his kicks, his temper. His tendency to be a loyal asshole. How he had the worst sweet tooth ever because, of course, all of you came on this long journey just for him to lead you in a dango shop. The room inside was shabby but cozy in a lived-in sort of way; the menu unvaried.
The old lady who owned the place gladly obliged, fanning fresh skewers on the grill, after Wakasa approached her with your orders.
Look at you, being a good grandson, Shinichiro joked about their overfamiliar interaction, and Wakasa quipped back that yeah, he's sure to rebel and get an earful like him with his elders.
Curious, you asked Wakasa if he'd been here before. He was chewing his dango thoughtfully when he offered each of you a stick, glazed in sweet soy sauce, and told you he hadn't with no sense of nostalgia. Just craving for some.
Inubosaki had coarser sand, a harsh, rocky coastline. A white lighthouse stood atop the cliffside, reminiscent of a twelve-pointed beacon that once ruled East Kanto.
The inspiration didn’t go unnoticed. The old monument had been relegated into a tourist attraction but it still glowed in the dark.
It’d been the one thing that seemed awake after passing a row of shops on your way here; most closed for the night, others for good. There were places in town that looked rundown, abandoned, similar to the ones in Tokyo. Black spots of a failing economy.
Takeomi was the most informed about how the country was in deep shit under debt deflation. He asked Wakasa for spare change and the Sanrio-themed gachapon machine almost ate his 150 yen coins until he cranked it up again, coughing up a keychain souvenir. Benkei guessed it's for his sister. It's your second time napping, sitting next to him in the waiting shed with your head on his arm.
Shinichiro didn't wake you after catching sight of the bruise on your jaw, exposed by the dull lamplight, as if realizing how he could have missed that, among other things.
Benkei sighed. There's a heaviness hunkering down his shoulders. A part of him wondered if he told Shin now, could he convince you to change your mind?
“You uncomfortable there?” asked Shinichiro.
“Nah, I’m good.” Benkei replied, as your warmth curled on his side. Sleep made you clingy.
He wasn't the only one terrible at subtlety. Shinichiro perched on the space next to you when he couldn't steal you for himself this time. He’s got it all wrong, though.
Benkei didn't like sitting on what they would still lose.
The train station wouldn't be open until a few more hours.
Shinichiro’s cheap hair gel failed his pompadour, flattening his hair over his ears, as he leaned on his fist, dazed, with something unspeakably raw to him.
Deep down, he must know there's a future in his dream but humble as always, he’d deny this and nod off to you for having the superpower to carry and crush it. He had unshakeable faith in the way you wielded the future. It wouldn't change how he still saw you everyday. It's probably what gave you that ability in the first place.
Benkei had this urge to wake you and tell you that you’d be okay, but suppressed it once Shinichiro spoke up, a note somber.
“I don't want to go back yet.”
“Why?”
“This is a nice change of scenery,” which was bullshit because his boredom was painfully obvious.
“Sure, the ocean again.”
“Okay, okay, I didn't think things out before wandering here,” he admitted, huffing an amused exhale under his breath. "But maybe I just wanted to escape and drag you all with me somewhere faraway.”
“You runnin' away from something?”
“Not really,” he murmured, stalling for another minute to brood over it. “We’ll get busier soon. It sucks. Does that count?”
“Things’ll just go back to normal,” Benkei said without withholding his sympathy. “The beach was fun, though.”
Shinichiro agreed, meandering on bringing his siblings along someday because he rarely spent his summer without them. He got away a lot more with you guys, gulping down cheap beer wherever, getting all this sand in his underwear. There was still other stuff you hadn't tried yet, if only you had more time.
“There's just this sinking feeling like something’s gonna catch up to me, don't know what it is, when, but—” his gaze landed at you, him, a flit of a smile on his lips, before staring at those endless waves, as if all of you had finally reached the end of the world.
The sunrise bled through the horizon, and Shinichiro watched listlessly. "Whatever happens, I want to be here for awhile."
In the early hours of the morning, his bike swept past 80 km/h on the road; not a lot of cars and cyclists, busybodies.
The motions didn't stop until everyone had to pull over at a gas station nearby a remote industrial area in Ichihara. Factories still gave off strange smells no one could recognize, but Benkei had already revved up his engine to flee. It didn't matter anymore in another city.
The world woke up a bit after a mile while all of you were dragging yourselves through the travel tolls of yesterday. One moment it's a blame game, and then it snapped into a "screw this" and "this is stupid" next to a punched vending machine because you were incapable of deciding where to eat in a testy mood.
A common trait, despite having uniquely different, unbearable personalities. Aside from the energy drinks, Benkei's gut felt queasy from the mean, collective silence until you reached the last stretch of Tokyo Bay Aqua-Line. It's a miracle how everyone could stand each other, sometimes.
But you're still driving together to the path, the multiple crossings crowded by people from all walks of life, striving to make theirs a little fuller. The urban streets blurred after each turn. Somehow riding back to Tokyo almost didn't feel real. The day wasn't over yet but it felt as if he's missing something before it's gone.
Benkei didn't know how to explain it, eyes on you marveling at a wall graffiti of profanities from an unfinished construction site. Shinichiro was repeating what he was saying but it's left unheard, lost to the shrill of the track signal. The sun hung high and hot while all of you waited for the train behind the railway gate.
There's a faster route to Shibuya, but none of you took the expressway. The road back home was long and unwinding.
a/n: title is inspired from the same namesake, referring to a whole generation of japanese youth who were gravely affected by japan's lost decade in the 1990s to early 2000s. first gen bd is in that group but ironically, they were at the top of the delinquent world at the time until their eventual disbandment.
‼️CW/TW: Gus curses like a sailor, you have been warned 😂 If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add (to this piece any/or any work in the future), please let me know!
While I adore both, I'm much more comfy with writing as a medium than drawing. So I thought I'd write a quick lil ticklefic to introduce Gus a bit more organically than my typical habit of infodumping. 😅 This fic ended up being much longer than I anticipated, but hey - what's wrong with extra tickles? Nothing I can think of.
Hope you enjoy! -🐧
"You want some cocoa, hun?"
I don't wait for an answer - I've already made two mugs. Gus will never refuse cocoa (not my cocoa, anyway).
Besides, he's staring out at the rain, which means he's too lost in thought to register anything I say anyway. His reverie only breaks when I set his mug beside him on the end table, directly in his line of vision, and plop myself down on the sofa beside him.
"Did you tell them about me?"
Look at that. Bailey owes me five bucks. He thought it'd take Gus a couple minutes before he started fretting about my new project.
"I gave them a little introduction." I pat his hand. "There's an awful lot to know about you, hun."
"Right, but did you tell them about... you know..."
How 'bout that! Bailey owes me ten.
"Vaguely." I set my mug down on the coffee table. "I said you went off the deep end for a bit."
Gus manages a mirthless little scoff of a chuckle. "There's an understatement."
"I mean, that's what happened," I shrug. "You just... lost your head for a while."
"I dunno, Pen. I think there was a little more to it than that."
"Mm. That's a topic for future posts."
Gus looks away.
He's right, of course - there's a lot more to it. Just... not a lot that matters to us now, in my cozy living room, listening to the rain patter on the window. The only problem is that Gus can't stay present to save his life.
But that's why I made the cocoa. Nothing heals like cocoa, in my humble opinion (especially my cocoa).
Unfortunately it's still too hot to drink. I gotta think of some other way to distract him before he starts ruminating on-
"Are you sure you don't wanna start with Hazel?"
I stifle a sigh. "Gus, love, we talked about this, remember?"
"I'm just saying, the villain isn't the one who deserves a-"
"You're not the villain."
"Well, I was sure acting like one!"
"Because you were high as a kite on Dr. Jekyll's axe-crazy-monster juice."
"That I made myself!"
"You didn't intend to drink it." I lean back. "You just needed it for... you know. Vengeance..."
Gus throws me a flat look. He's right, this conversation isn't really going a productive direction.
"Look," I try again, " You're not in that story anymore. You were never even supposed to be in that story in the first place. If anyone deserves a soft epilogue, in a new place, it's you."
"But so do you." Gus meets my gaze for the first time in the whole conversation. "Your life got fucked up, too. If you're gonna go to all this trouble, you deserve to focus on your own epilogue."
"Why do you think you're sitting in my living room?" I squeeze his hand. "You're my comfort character, Gus. We're in this together."
"What's that?"
"Comfort character? It means you make me feel safe."
He blinks. "...Oh."
"You're my comfiest comfort character." I scoot closer and rest my head on his shoulder.
I can feel a bit of the tension in his muscles ease at the cuddle. "You're makin' me sound like a stuffed animal," he mutters good-naturedly.
"Mm."
"I think Hazel's a lot better at comforting that I am though, personally..."
This man. Cannot. Let anything go.
Which means it's time to switch tactics.
"Hey, you know what I forgot to tell them about you?"
"I mean, Hazel's a fairy godmother." He's no longer listening. "Comfort is her whole-" At least he isn't until right about here, when he freezes mid-phrase.
He hadn't even noticed me slip my arm behind his back, but he's definitely noticed that I'm now walking the fingers of both hands up his sides.
"Don't let me interrupt you, hun..."
"Ohhh no, you don't!"
"You were saying...?"
"Pen, cheheh- cut that out!"
"No, no, continue, I insist!"
"Pen!" His voice cracks even on this one syllable.
"I'm just demonstrating a little detail I forgot to mention to our readers."
Finally, twisting to face me, he manages to snag both my wrists and hold them still. "Wh-What do they need to know that for?!"
"What do they need to know what for?" I smile sweetly.
"That I'm-" He's so flustered he just barely catches himself.
I flash him a wide grin. "You wanna tell 'em, honey?"
He just squirms - struggling with an uncharacteristically silly grin of his own that he doesn't entirely seem to realize he's making. "Over my cold, dead-"
Mm, I don't need to hear the end of that threat. I easily break my wrists from his grasp and set to work on his adorable little belly.
The detail I forgot to tell you is that Gus is devastatingly ticklish.
"WaitwaitWAIT Pehehen, staHAhp!!"
Gus isn't a loud guy. Even his full-out cackling barely makes it above most folks' normal speaking voice. But what he lacks in volume he makes up for in intensity - he's got the most contagious, helpless laughter I've ever heard in my life. The best I can describe it is quietly maniacal.
"Stopstopstopit-getOFFmehehe!!" He also has an adorable tendency to babble incoherently when he gets nervous - or flustered, in this case. Especially if I get 'im right up under his ribs...
"ACK! Pehehen! Penstop I cahan't- Ihi-"
The nice thing about this spot is that I can wiggle my fingers right up under his diaphragm, so his own giggling starts to tickle.
"I can't st-stop! AHahaha- plehehehease!!"
It's definitely a spot to use sparingly, else he'll run out of air. I give him another few tweaks before sitting back, beaming as he catches his breath.
"This is... heh... c-completely unnecessary," he mutters, his hands wavering defensively over his midsection.
"If only there was something you could say to make me stop," I sigh, throwing a sorrowful glance to the ceiling. In reply I receive his best attempt at a scowl (which, since he's still grinning like an idiot, isn't a very convincing attempt).
Gus is so sensitive - both physically and emotionally - that I'd never dare touch him if we didn't have a safeword. But I've never in our entire friendship heard him use it. This boy soaks up physical affection like a ticklish little sponge.
And right now, in my expert opinion, he could use a little more of it.
I can't help but coo over the way his tummy deflates in anticipation as I hover one hand over his waist. All I have to do is rest my fingertips against the soft fabric of his sweater, and he collapses into helpless giggles.
It occurs to me, I don't think I've mentioned Gus' accent yet either. It's little more than a slight lilt most of the time, but when he's flustered like this becomes much more pronounced.
I'm not quite sure what it's supposed to be, exactly - technically it's Drearish, the regional dialect from the fictional village where he grew up. Whoever directed the movie he came from seemed to be going for some vague German-Slavic-Transylvanian hodgepodge.
Regardless, it's cute as heck. Especially when he's so overwhelmed that he starts trying to curse me out in Drearish.
Not that he doesn't have a perfectly sufficient vocabulary of English curse words to throw at me...
"I svehehear to - shihit, fuck! - I vill breheak your FUHUCKING - heheheh! - your fingers!! Your... dammit, getoffme!!"
...But the trick is to sneak my hands under his sweater and start scribbling directly against the soft pudge of his lower tummy. That really does him in.
"What did you just call me?!"
"I saheheh-" [incomprehensible] "you fuhuckin'-" [unintelligible] "if you don't-" [...frankly this could be English or Drearish, it's so garbled by laughter I can't tell].
"Sorry, didn't catch that," I tease.
He lapses into silent laughter for a few seconds. "Okay, okahahay, enough! Enough!"
Enough isn't our safeword (that would be nightshade) but it's kind of an informal one since he doesn't use it very often. It's become a code for I'm getting tired.
So I withdraw my hands from beneath his sweater, and start rubbing slow circles on his tummy. Even this still tickles him, but only enough to elicit soft little breathless chuckles. I'm mostly doing it because his tummy is just so irresistibly soft and warm... but also my hand is trapped so tightly beneath both his arms that I'm starting to lose feeling in my fingers.
Our cocoa has gone cold by the time we return to our mugs. Neither of us mind very much.
So anyway I want to kiss someone into trance and keep my eyes open so if they look at me they get ensnared by all the pretty swirling colors
And of course once I pull away from them they won’t even bother to close their mouth and they’ll just drool all over themselves from how pretty I am, completely unable to resist me or look away
And I can make their pretty little head nod in agreement with every word I whisper because they have to follow my eyes everywhere they move
spring, need and dream for any oc of ur choosing!!
Thank you so much for the ask <3 I'll answer for Humayra Nazari since she's the one I've done the most for.
dream: does your OC have a driving dream or goal? what is it? how far would they go to achieve it?
Humayra doesn’t spend much time thinking about dreams. She raised her two younger brothers after her mother died in childbirth, and then started taking care of her father when he got sick. She takes over their family’s farm, and keeps it running. Her two older brothers went to Coruscant to send money back to her for their father and little brothers. Her goal has always been to ensure her brother’s get an education, and get to choose their lives and what to do. She does everything in her power to achieve that goal.
It kind of comes crashing down around her following Order 66. Her two older brothers are killed on Coruscant during the chaos of the order, and as she and her younger brothers are trying to make sure they can take care of their father and keep the youngest in college, a jedi and the one-and-a-half year old baby he saved from the temple crash on her land. She saves them both, and takes care of the baby while the Jedi recovers in one of the spare rooms. Humayra doesn’t know yet that he’s a Jedi.
His name is Ertugrul (the baby she names Rayyan after Ertugrul tells her that the baby doesn’t have a name and he has no idea), and he ends up staying with her, and they fall in love and get married. Her father passes away a few weeks after they get married, and after that Humayra’s main goal becomes ensuring her husband and daughter’s safety. She and Ertugrul have a baby girl (in addition to Rayyan) who is also force-sensitive. They end up leaving Mirial to keep them safe.
need: has your OC ever experienced desperation? how has it affected them? what do they do when something they need is out of their reach?
She experiences it all the time trying to make ends meet and get her father the medications he needs while also trying to ensure her brothers are supported and succeeding, and running a large farm entirely on her own. It’s made her incredibly strong, resilient, creative, and adept at solving problems. But it’s also made it so she’s entirely blind to anything she may need, including incredibly basic things such as rest and food.
The closest thing to a need she’s ever had that has been out of her reach has been the safety of her husband and daughters. But to achieve it, she leaves her family farm to be destroyed by storm troopers, and flees the only planet, the only city, she’s ever been to with her husband and children to go on the run from the Empire.
spring: what does your OC miss most? will they ever be reunited? how would they feel about that?
The family she’s lost. Her parents, and especially her older brothers. But while they’re on the run, she misses Mirial and her younger brothers desperately. She was, for all intents and purposes, their mother, so for her it’s almost as if she has to leave her kids behind.
And she misses her farm and family home. Most of their family heirlooms were destroyed by the Empire when they burned down her house and barn. While she does get to go back to Mirial after the fall of the Empire, her family’s house and farm no longer exist. However, she does get to see her younger brothers again.
#project hail mary
#world cup
#lana del rey
#photography
#artfight
