𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 .

❛  the bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars did wander darkling in the eternal space, rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth. swung blind and blackening in the moonless air.  ❜ a writing and inspiration blog for: 𝙻 𝙾 𝚂 𝚃  𝙲 𝙾 𝙽 𝚃 𝙰 𝙲 𝚃

[upgradcd]

#𝚄𝙿𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙳 : dependent original character, 𝚕𝚞𝚔𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒, for lawlessfm.

pinterest. connections. playlist.

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 lukas kaito ohtani.

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞(𝐬) luke.

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 august 29th.

𝐚𝐠𝐞 thirty-eight.

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡​ manhattan, new york city, new york.

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 lower manhattan, soho, new york city.

𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 heterosexual.

𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 the dead hand.

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 dead hand capo / card shark at old world casino.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝚘𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒. 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒, deceased.

𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 an only child.

𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝚕𝚢𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚢𝚊𝚘-𝚘𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 a son, 𝚛𝚎𝚗, deceased.

𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 virgo sun, scorpio moon, scorpio rising.

𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 death, the tower, three of swords.

𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 english / japanese.

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 protective, vengeful, impulsive, resilient, cunning, compassionate, adaptable, sardonic, overly suspicious.

𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 hand-to-hand combat. classically trained in martial arts, taekwondo and kung fu. expert card player. decent marksman.

𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 6'3.

𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 muscular. lean.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 has a prominent scar under his right eye and scattered scarring on his back, upper arms, legs, and chest from the car crash that killed his son. walks with a somewhat noticeable limp ( also from the accident ).

𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 grey trace ( upgrade ), frank castle ( marvel ), kimura ( bullet train ), ah sahm ( warrior ), the narrator ( fight club ), jason todd ( dc ), a.i. artificial intelligence.

tw: parental death, child death.

in the heart of gritty new york, you are born in the ebb and flow of the city’s pulse in 1993, emerging from a turbulent childhood marked by the harsh realities of life. your early years were a precarious balance between navigating the chaotic streets and finding solace in the city’s underbelly. your parents, immigrants seeking a better life, struggling to make ends meet, instill in you a resilience forged in the face of adversity. a rebellious teen, you frequently clash with your father, who harbored dreams of a better life for you. enticed by the allure of rebellion, you veered off course and fell in with what he deemed the wrong crowd…

the dead hand. the rain-slicked streets of the city became your playground, and within the shadowy folds of this clandestine faction, you discovered a new kind of family. as your ties with the dead hand strengthen, the relationship with your father continues to deteriorate. the fractures deepen, reaching a critical point when your mother unexpectedly passes. in the wake of this loss, you find solace and escape in the electrifying realm of high-stakes card games at the old world casino, further widening the chasm between you and your father. the neon-lit nights become a refuge, a place where the shuffle of cards is a welcomed relief to the strained silences at home.

within the shimmering lights of the old world casino, you encounter lydia yao. your complete opposite. the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. a romance, rich and poignant, blossoms, sweeping you into a whirlwind and exchanging of vows. in lydia, you found an ethereal connection, a kind of love that etched itself into the very fabric of your being and only deepens with the arrival of your little boy, ren. with your son’s birth, a shadow lifted, and even your strained relationship with your father seemed to mend… for a time.

in the quiet recesses of your mind, the night six-year-old ren was violently snatched from you echoes, relentlessly. the details blur as grief intensifies, and the pain becomes a relentless tide. the accident, the fatal crash that spared you and lydia while claiming the life of your son — it’s a festering wound that refuses to heal. life spirals, you descend into a drunken mess, and the marriage that once held the promise of forever is now at its breaking point. a sinister suspicion gnaws at you, an eerie feeling that this tragedy was not a mere twist of fate. something doesn’t sit right, and a determination, fueled by grief and desperation, grips your splintered resolve.

as the weeks morph into months, you become a relentless hunter consumed by the quest to unveil the truth behind the accident. your father’s words about a man’s duty to protect his family haunt you each night. was it an act of retaliation? retribution for one of the many evenings at the old world casino you caught desperate patrons in your web of cards? the nights are spent in pursuit, the neon glow of the city mirroring the burning intensity of your heart as you attempt to piece together the fragments of a shattered existence.

connections.

lukas has been incessantly pursuing what happened to his son, so any muse in law enforcement has probably seen his face enough times to want to yeet him into orbit.

any other dead hand members or old world casino colleagues. he's been in and out the past few months and acting chaotic so lukas has no doubt been A Problem as of late.

friends, acquaintances, anything really! my brain is fried so i'll have to come back to this.

[spiltwines]

@upgradcd

for  the  last  six  months,  the  only  tangible  proof  that  lydia  has  to  prove  that  she’s  alive,  in  whatever  sense  of  the  word,  is  the  grueling  migraine  that’s  plagued  her  every  single  morning.  for  the  first  few  weeks,  it  accompanied  the  wretched  hollowness  that  carved  itself  deep  in  her  chest,  but  as  days  turned  to  weeks,  weeks  turned  to  months,  she’s  grown  numb,  apathetic,  bled  dry  of  all  emotions.  she  knows  that  plenty  more  tears  and  heartache  could  be  discovered  deep  within  the  well,  could  be easily  excavated  with  a  few  therapy  sessions  she’s  purposely  missed.  but  she  doesn’t  want  to  feel,  because  to  experience  joy,  even  the  slightest  sliver,  in  the  same  world  ren  is  absent  from  feels  like  utter  betrayal.  how  does  life  go  on?  for  lydia,  it  goes  on  mechanically,  coldly  —   it  has  to  be  empty,  because  if  she  dares  to  think  about  any  of  it,  she’ll  fall  to  pieces.  

lukas’s  absences  had  been  understandable  at  first  —  in  fact,  she  savored  them,  appreciated  that  he  could  give  her  the  space  to  withdraw  from  it  all  without  too  many  questions.  as  time  trickled  by  and  she  became  more  familiar  with  her  emptiness,  that  appreciation  turned  to  embittered  resentment.  why  couldn’t  he  face  her?  why  couldn’t  they  find  solace  in  one  another?  what  had  been  so  fundamentally  fucked  up  about  her  that  lukas  had  to  run?  why,  why,  why?  tonight  is  no  different,  sat  alone  in  her  kitchen,  deluge  of  rain  slamming  over  the  city  while  a  glass  of  wine  is  clutched  between  her  digits,  barely  touched.  she’s  only  briefly  alarmed  when  she  hears  heavy  footsteps  amble  down  the  hallway,  and  the  sight  of  him  is  sheer  agony:  bruised  and  littered  with  dried  blood,  eyes  so  sunken  she  wonders  if  he’s  sleep  in  days.  a  week,  wasn’t  it?  that’s  how  long  it’s  been  since  she’s  last  seen  him.  a  whole  week,  and  —   “this  is  how  you  come  back  to  me?”  every  word  is  clipped,  a  gathering  storm  as  she  rises  to  her  feet.  “you  disappear  on  me  again,  and  this,”  so  broken  it  could  break  her  heart,  though  she’s  incapable  of  saying  it,  “this  is  how  you  come  back  to  our  home?”  in  a  flash,  the  wine  glasses  is  thrown  to  the  marble  floor,  merlot  pooling  along  the  tile.  “where  the  fuck  have  you  been,  lukas?”

[upgradcd]

in the kitchen doorway, lukas stands battered and weary, clothing drenched, hair slicked wet, meeting lydia’s gaze with eyes that carry the weight of the world. each word she hurls at him is a lash, a searing reminder of the tumult that has unfolded in his wake. it’s been six months of this, of this disease, this malignancy that’s bored itself a small cavern in his chest, spreading through him like violent, torrid wildfire. the nights blurred by in the amber glow of countless bottles, each sip a futile attempt to drown the sorrow that threatened to consume him. yet, amid the haze of intoxication, a persistent determination took root — an unyielding pursuit to find who was responsible for their son’s death. it started benignly enough, or so it seemed, following those he suspected into the quiet corners of the city, into dimly-lit, smoke filled bars, into the old world casino itself. this evening marked a turning point when lukas trailed a man to his home, one of the regulars at the casino who'd lobbed threats on more than one occasion due to his own misfortunes and ... well, now lukas stood before his wife, blood ( some of it his, some of it not ) and rain dripping off him and pooling at his feet to make a soupy rouge with the wine trickling between the cracks and crevices of the marble.

“why,” is what lukas finally manages, merely glancing at the glinting fragments of glass scattered across the floor. it didn’t matter. in this meaningless, exhaustive aftermath of ren’s absence, nothing mattered. “so i can come home to this? to see the way you look at me?” his voice carries a raw edge, a palpable ache of guilt that knots itself in the pit of his stomach. these past few months, in lydia's silent gaze, lukas has sensed the unspoken accusation, the grappling undertow of reproach, that she holds him accountable for what happened. and perhaps there's some truth to it. maybe he'd plunged one too many johns into debt at the casino, and in this godforsaken city, this could very well be his penance. "you don't have to say it. we've known each other too long, i can see it in your face." turning towards the hall, steps marred by the uneven gait earned from the crash, he heads in the direction of the bathroom. just before he departs, though, he partially faces her. "you blame me for ren. sorry i'd rather drink myself to death than come home to your silent judgment."

[andrewkojisblog]

Andrew Koji| GQ (July 2023)

📸: BenJamesAdams/StewartBywater

Thank you @kojiandrew ❤️