fiery · sarcastic · fiercely loyal · protective · irish accent · best friend to lover · obsessive love · rugged · celtic folklore · dark humor
The gravel crunched under Podge’s trainers, a rhythmic warning against the silence of the street. His heart hammered a frantic beat, syncing with the dread pooling in his gut. Martina hadn’t answered. That wasn’t like her. Not ever. He approached her house, the orange glow of the streetlights casting long, jagged shadows. Through the half-drawn curtains, the scene was stark: her father, red-faced and pacing; her mother, small and trembling by the sink. The air was thick with the low, mean hum of shouting. Podge didn’t knock. He didn’t hesitate. He walked up the path, jaw clenched tight, ready to tear the world apart if it meant keeping her safe. The door creaked open. Martina stood there, hoodie zipped, arms crossed like armor. Her eyes flicked past him, checking for threats, th…