#SO psyched for tonight but i will be thinking about what the dash must look like while i’m there

[annarubys]

i love you theory posts about night five i love you refreshing the dash every two minutes to see pixels i love you liking posts by the same five tumblr users on the dash for two hours straight i love you all the people i’ve forced to blacklist mcr i love you seeing the same urls in my notes every concert night even though we don’t follow each other because we’re experiencing something together i love you random teenagers dedication i love you everybody hates the eagles i love you streamers i love you people who scream and cry in the tags of posts i love you going crazy about deepcuts i love you welcome to the black parade i love you documentary/live album truthing i love you gerard i love you frank i love you ray i love you mikey i love you my chemical romance

[teddy06writes]

Greek Myth Series: Eros and Psyche Part One

Eret x afab! reader

trigger warnings: yelling, mentions of pregnancy

premise: so the story of Eros and Psyche is kinda complicated, and no that many people know it, if you want to find out about it in a different context you can here or if you want to go into this blind, go ahead.

list of Greek Gods/characters for this work

Eros- Eret

Aphrodite- Puffy

Zephyrus- Philza

Zeus- Dream

Pan- Tubbo

{I tried to keep this gender neutral, but in the myth Psyche does end up pregnant, and its kind of a big plot point, I'm sorry.}

{also I forgot how long this story is, so I'm going to split it in two, on one hand so that I don't leave yall without content, and two because it'll be easier for me that way}

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a city state, long ago, near the sea, that was known for its beautiful royal family. The eldest daughters of the king had been considered the most beautiful in all of the land, until the youngest child, (y/n), came of age.

It is said that their beauty surpassed that of everyone in the kingdom, and where ever they went the people flocked, eager to earn their favor.

(y/n) knew of their beauty, but they did not look upon themself in vain, but they did know that this beauty caused jealousy among many, especially their sisters.

What they did not expect of this, was when the people of their kingdom began to worship them, as if they were the goddess of beauty, Puffy herself.

Now this was never something that (y/n) wanted, all they had wanted was to live a normal life, but now they had to stay shut up in their chambers, trying to ignore the cries from outside.

They were admired by all, yet wanted by none.

And as Puffy grew jealous, and planned with Eret to exact her revenge, (y/n)'s father sought help from the good oracle of Delphi, what was he to do if everyone in the land loved their looks, but no one wanted their hand in marriage.

As the months passed, and their chambers seemed to become even more like a prison and their sisters married other monarchs, (y/n) began to loath their beauty, wishing there was some way to be rid of it.

Having returned from his journey to Delphi, the king entered their chambers, "My child," Said he, "I have sought an answer, and answer, the oracle has given."

"And what answer is that?" (y/n) asked.

"In three days time we will hold your wedding," He took a shaky breath, "You are to be wedded to a dreadful monster, and in three days time, we will take you to the rock spire, at the edge of our kingdom, and leave you to him."

A gasp rippled through (y/n)'s throat, and they fell to their knees, "Father please don't leave me to die!"

He shook his head, "It is already done."

The three days passed in quick succession, and soon, (y/n) found themselves being led through the kingdom, dressed in a blackened wedding gown.

As their parents wept, they held their head high, having resigned to their fate.

Upon reaching the top of the spire, their family tearfully departed, leaving (y/n), wind whipping through their hair, dreadfully alone. Slowly, they inched closer to the edge, staring down to the rocky shore from which the pillar had grown.

A partially strong gust of wind caught them in the back, unexpected, and as they toppled over the side a scream ripped through their throat.

It took them a moment to realize that they had not made impact with the ground, that rather, they were floating, flying, being carried across the lands.

"Fear not," A disembodied voice assured them, "I am Philza, the west wind. No harm shall come to you."

(y/n) remained terrified until they were at last gently set upon the soft grass of a meadow.

"Go now, explore your new home." Philza urged.

Slowly, (y/n) moved forward, gaping as a huge villa came into view at the other end of the valley. As they drew further up the path, more disembodied voices greeted them.

"What is this place?" They asked softly, looking around in amazement.

"Why do you wonder so much of this finery? It is your own, do go inside, and rest and bath, and then there shall be a great feast." A soft, breezy voice returned.

Hesitantly, they did, enjoying a fresh bath, and much food and entertainment, but slowly, as night began to fall, the gayety died away, and they were urged to get ready for bed.

Having changed into night clothes, and climbed into bed, the lights were dimed by unseen servants, and they were told, "Rest now dear, your husband shall arrive soon."

"My husband?" They asked, confused, but there came no answer.

They laid awake, anxiously, until footsteps sounded on the floor.

"Who are you?" They demanded.

There was a soft chuckle, "Worry not, sweet (y/n), I am not here to hurt you. A husband should never have such intentions with his betrothed."

"Who are you?" They asked again, shuffling away as a weight settled on the other side of the bed.

"Your wife," she repeated, "I must admit, I didn't think of the consequence you might have faced upon hearing that dreadful fake of a prophecy. My dear, I am sorry, but could find no other way to take you away from the prying eyes of some."

Slowly, he retold the story, of how he had fallen in love with them, for the way that they had carried their burden, and when she had heard the plans of many, that they had to get them away.

"Alas, my sweet, you may not know my name, nor may you ever be permitted to see me, for it might tear us apart. For that, I am sorry."

There was a note of sadness in his voice, enough to tug at something in (y/n)s chest.

~~

He had away-ed at dawn, long before (y/n) awoke, leaving them to their thoughts of what had happened that night.

The following days seemed to follow the same pattern, until soon a week had passed, and then the weeks began to blend into months.

Back in the kingdom, in which (y/n) had lived, word had reached their sisters of what had happened, and each day they began to gather at the spire, calling for them, wishing they hadn't disappeared.

But, their husband warned them, that even though (y/n) could hear there voices, they must never call back, and the sisters may never be allowed into the valley.

For some time, (y/n) worked to comply, but hearing the despair in their sisters voice wore them down slowly, to the point where even when they were remind of how cruel the women could be, they did not care, and only wanted to see them again.

It got to a point, where one day, after their husband had left, they slowly crept from the villa, and dashing across the valley, called to Philza, begging him to take their sisters to the valley.

"Are you sure, (y/n)?" He asked.

"Yes, please, I'd do anything to see them again!" They begged.

Reluctantly, Philza's winds carried the sisters to the valley, where (y/n) embraced them, "My sisters! Don't weep! I'm safe!"

They hugged them back just as tightly, before letting go and looking around at the valley, and the villa.

"You live here?" The eldest asked.

"Yes, it is my husbands villa." They replied with a smile, "Come, I'll give you the tour, and then we may walk the gardens."

As the siblings moved from room to room, and (y/n) gave their tour, the sisters became increasingly jealous.

They had been married to old men, hardly holding onto their titles as king, why should their little sibling get all of this?

Soon, they were seated in the garden, nibbling on the food the servants had prepared.

"You certainly live in luxury (y/n)." The middle sister remarked.

They nodded, "Yes, I suppose I do."

"How does your husband afford all this? What does he do?" The elder asked.

"Well..." They trailed off, thinking, "I'm not sure."

"You mean you don't know?"

Slowly, (y/n) explained what had happened, and their husbands conditions of never being seen.

"Oh (y/n), honey," she pulled a sympathetic face, "He's clearly hiding something from you, and such a shame, you being pregnant with his child."

They glanced down at their stomach, they weren't showing that much, were they?

"It might turn out to be a monster, for all you know. You've never even seen him."

"No! He's not a monster!" They insited.

The sisters continued to build up the idea of their husband lying, or disguising himself, both in a subtle agreement to ruin everything (y/n) had.

"he's not!"

Frowning, one sister leaned forward and patted her hand, "Maybe, but you don't know. Just to be sure, when he has gone to sleep tonight, light a lantern, and look at him, just to be sure."

"I think you should go." (y/n)s voice was hard, and soon Philza was returning them to the kingdom from which they had came.

Night returned, and along with it, their husband.

She had fallen quickly to sleep, though (y/n) lay awake, their sisters voices filling their mind.

What if they were married to a monster?

Slowly, shakily, they rose, and finding a lamp, carefully lit it, before turning to their wife's side of the bed.

In the flickering lantern light, (y/n) beheld their husband for the first time, dark brown hair falling in curls about their head, and large feathered flings pooling at her back.

They gasped in amazement, turning to find a set of quiver and arrows at the foot of the bed, suddenly it made sense. The bow, the inhuman beauty- they had wed the god of desire, Eret.

Some how, all at once, they fell in love, toppling over the metaphorical cliff they had stood near for sometime, as the lamp suddenly felt to heavy for their hands.

Shaking, they moved to set it down, but not before a drop of oil spilled, landing on the gods shoulder.

In a cry of pain, she awoke, and looked up at (y/n) with wide eyes.

Without another word, they stood, gathered their things and began to leave, as they had come flying through the open windows.

"No! Please don't leave! I love you!" (y/n) cried, seizing his arm.

"You fool!" He roared, dragging them along with her, "I risked everything! I went I against mine own mother! She told me to punish you! and yet I fell in love! I created all this! All of this just to get you away from her prying eyes!

"Now the magic is fading you poor poor fool! She will find you now! You won't have much time! You- you listened to your sisters didn't you! They wanted this! I told you to not listen to them! You lie! Regard me as some beast to peak on in the night!" At last they shook (y/n) off, and they went tumbling to the ground.

"No love can exist with out trust."

With that they flew away, leaving (y/n)s cries for her to stay. And Leaving (y/n) alone, so terribly alone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag list: (send a request to be added, it will only be for this series)

@dreamslittlebitch

[maxwell-grant]

Thoughts on the Shadow's Doppelganger, Lamont Cranston

The funny thing about Cranston in the original stories is that, yeah, one of the most famous scenes across all Shadow media is the “Lamont Cranston Talks to Himself” chapter in The Shadow Laughs, where we learn that The Shadow is not Lamont Cranston, but has usurped his identity, and now shows up at his bedside looking like him, talking like him, knowing more about his own life than he himself does, and ordering him to leave town, effectively blackmailing him into letting him use his face. It’s a very iconic scene that exemplifies a lot of what makes The Shadow unique as a character, and you can imagine why so many adaptations have gone with the idea of Cranston being either a hapless stooge bullied into submission, or an actual villain, because that whole scene is very much a horror movie scenario. 

Thing is, none of them seem to remember how Cranston and The Shadow’s relationship developed past this. I’ll post this excerpt from Atoms of Death:

"Good morning, Cranston," came a quiet tone from the foot of the bed.

"Good morning, yourself," returned Cranston, rubbing his eyes without noticing the visitor.

"You should say: Good morning, myself," chuckled The Shadow, dryly.

Cranston was pulling down the sleeves of his pajama jacket. He sat bolt upright, staring. Then a slow smile showed on his lips; one that was almost a replica of The Shadow's.

"So it's you," remarked Cranston, sleepily. "Well, I knew that last night. It was about time we crossed paths again. Well, old man, you landed me in for plenty this trip."

Cranston shoved bedclothes aside and perched on the edge of the bed. He found cigarettes on the telephone table; The Shadow supplied a flame from a lighter before Cranston could ignite a match. The millionaire noted that The Shadow's lighter bore the initials "L. C." 

"You handle every detail, don't you?" questioned Cranston in admiration. “Jove! I remember the first time I met you. In this very room. You dropped cloak and hat and left me looking at my own face as plainly as if I had seen it in a mirror. Just as it is today."

"And I advised you," recalled The Shadow, in Cranston's own tone, "to take a trip abroad, while I used your identity. You were a bit exasperated at first."

"I must admit that I was. I threatened to have you arrested, as an impostor, until you proved that you knew more about my affairs than I did. I really believe that if it had come to a showdown, I would have been proven the impostor and you the genuine Lamont Cranston. Jove!"

"Jove," repeated The Shadow, quietly, "You have acquired that expression recently, Cranston. I shall remember it for future reference. You have a penchant for acquiring anglicisms during your sojourns in British colonies. Jove!"

"Bounder and blighter," laughed Cranston. "Don't forget those. I still use them occasionally."

Or this excerpt from The Hydra, which is an incredible book where the chemistry between the two really shines:

Lamont Cranston woke up and wondered why his head still whirled. It took him about half a minute to learn that the motion came from the fact he was riding in his limousine. Someone must have put him back in the limousine and Stanley was driving him home. 

He didn't have to guess who had helped him on his way, for at that moment Cranston heard a low-toned laugh beside him. He turned to see the black-cloaked figure of The Shadow.

"What did you hit me with?" asked Cranston. "All four of your automatics?"

"I'm only carrying a pair tonight," replied The Shadow

Look at these two dorks, just palling around and getting into shenanigans and The Shadow outright joking around Cranston, like they are just two old chums having a laugh at the weirdness of their lives. The “real” Cranston didn’t show up very often in the original stories, especially in the last stories when Lamont Cranston essentially became the real identity of The Shadow, but when he did, part of what makes him stand out as his own character is that he’s funny. Gibson gets a lot of mileage out of Cranston as this guy who is completely nonchalant and chill about all the weird shit that happens to him, even in The Hydra after he kills a man with an elephant gun, he’s still more or less the same, he largely just walks out of it with a newfound realization. 

Relieving Cranston of the elephant gun, The Shadow steered his friend into the closet. Hauling the big weapon with him, The Shadow opened the door to meet and dismiss arriving servants who had dashed upstairs when they felt the house quake. 

"Whenever I see this gun," began Cranston, coming from the closet, "I'll remember what I did with it -" 

“Quite right," interposed The Shadow approvingly. "What you did to Mance will make amends for any elephants you may have killed. Too bad Mance didn't bring along a few more Hydra Heads.”

Slowly, understanding dawned on Cranston. He'd never compared his big-game hunts with The Shadow's quests for men of crime. He felt that The Shadow's cause was justified, but it had seemed outside the field of sport. It still was, but Cranston, now that he had dealt with a murderer who deserved to die, was realizing that his game hunts were more deserving of rebuke.

His encounters with The Shadow gradually changed Cranston from a useless millionaire wasting his resources and talents on idle pursuits, to...still largely a useless millionaire, except his resources and talents are no longer wasted and he’s gradually grown into a useful ally and friend to The Shadow. The Shadow tends to have that effect on people who work by his side and even Cranston, the guy whose main role in his organization is to just stay away and be useless somewhere else, can’t help but change a little into a better person when he appears. 

There’s an interesting article written by Bob Sampson called “The Third Shadow” which refers to the Bruce Elliot run of The Shadow Magazine, which is incredibly maligned by fans and not without reason, the stories all largely suck and the Shadow bears little resemblance to his former self, instead mostly feeling like a diet take on the radio show Lamont, more of an average detective. The theory Sampson puts out is that, during this period, it was actually Lamont Cranston who became active as The Shadow while Allard was busy overseas, and I definitely like this theory. It makes sense specially considering The Hydra sets up for Cranston to become more pro-active and serious:

While not the towering master-mind of Allard, he does become the next best thing: A post-war sleuth. He even indulges in wearing the cloak and slouch hat from time to time (to varying degrees of effectiveness), while trying to laugh like Allard (also to varying degrees of effectiveness) as if to fulfill that forbidden fantasy until he finally gets it out of his system. After all, The Shadow pretended to be him, why not the other way around?

As Bob Sampson put it: “It is always Cranston who explains all and takes the credit”. 

Probably very cathartic for Lamont, who for the last 18 years was relegated to being a distant supporting player in his own life. Cranston is still in contact with the agents however. He even receives "assignments" from Burbank. 

This entire arrangement could only be with The Shadow's tacit approval. Let us remember, Cranston was not merely some insipid fop. He certainly had done his own share of exploring and was indeed a hunter. He could handle a variety of firearms, was familiar with exotic peoples and their customs, knew how to stalk dangerous animals through the jungle and veldt, but he was not, nor ever claimed to be, a master secret-agent and soldier.

I think it is fitting that the writing is completely different for this period as well. Not the enigmatic journalistic style of Allards exploits, but the witty, modern champagne fizz of Cranston's odyssey in a Post-War world. He feels a full range of emotions. In the Gibson stories, The Shadow is at arms length. In the Elliott stories, Cranston is sitting right next to you on a train or an airplane or roadster. 

It’s also interesting to consider how Lamont Cranston has basically become the true name of The Shadow in pop culture. Often times it’s the name people use when they specifically want to reference The Shadow, the supposed “Ghost of Gay Street” hauntings in Gibson’s former apartment took the form of Lamont Cranston, and even in the stories, more and more people became aware of it as the years went by (which also helps reinforce the idea that the “real” Cranston eventually took to acting as a fill-in for The Shadow, to draw attention away from the real Shadow’s operations), and Gibson even mentioned a few times that Cranston was The Shadow’s “favorite” identity along with Arnaud. Which is kinda fascinating to think about and does hint at some weird underlying aspects of The Shadow’s psyche, that his favorite identity is one not his own.

And at last, there’s these passages from The Whispering Eyes, a book that does not mention Allard once, and the very last Shadow novel: 

From beneath the seat he was taking his black garb. Cloaked and hatted as he stepped from the cab, Cranston merged immediately with the darkness. He had become The Shadow. 

Cranston's switch to his other self could well be attributed to a hypnotic mood. The mental lapses produced through hypnosis were the sort that would often cause a subject to revert to habit. Now, as The Shadow, Cranston was still in what might be termed a haphazard mood. He was skirting through darkness, pausing, changing direction, behaving generally as though avoiding something that did not exist.

Lang had flung away his glasses; his eyes now showed the shining, hypnotic force that the lenses normally softened. He recognized the eyes that met his above a leveled gun muzzle.

The Shadow's eyes, yet strangely Cranston's, for this was one time The Shadow did not care to disguise them.

Which begs the question: Did Cranston succeed in fully becoming The Shadow? Or did The Shadow succeed in fully becoming Cranston?

[stellacolletore]

i know this much (you will never be enough) summary: Mashima Reiko is crazy, and rich, and the mother of the person she loves. note: title and blurb inspired by the film ‘crazy rich asians’ because reiko is basically eleanor

“If you’re not doing it, I will.”  

Chihaya didn’t dare breath. A single move from her and she knew—she knew Sumire will see through her threat. Her thumb was perilously close to pressing the dial button. Should Chihaya say the wrong thing, she might end up having to answer to Mrs. Pressure without any mental preparation at all.

“Wait!” She pleaded. “I’ll call tonight. Promise.”

Sumire narrowed her eyes. Assured that Chihaya was completely serious about her resolution, Sumire handed the phone back to her.

Everyone in the club room exhaled. No bomb was unnecessarily detonated this afternoon, fortunately. “Man, you’re almost as scary as Mashima-san just now, Hanano-san.” Nishida remarked, finally able to swallow the pork bun in his hand.

Sumire sighed, still exasperated. “It’s been three days since I gave Ayase-senpai Mashima-san’s number. Forgive me if I sound impatient right now, because I totally am.”

Chihaya prostrated on the tatami. “Sorry, Sumire-chan!”

“Don’t be like that, Chihaya. We understand,” Kanade patted Chihaya’s head lightly. “But Sumire is right. Mashima-kun has been sick for three days already. We’re all very worried about him, just like you are.”

Komano fixed his glasses. “And as his unofficial girlfriend, the task to check up on him falls on you.”

Chihaya exhaled in defeat. She had ran away long enough.

It was time to face the inevitable.

*

Chihaya felt like coming down with the flu herself as she searched Mashima-san's contact number on her phone directory. It was a good thing she delayed eating dinner—her stomach was in knots just thinking about finally calling Taichi's terrifying mother and asking her a favor.

"You're a Queen, Chihaya," she muttered to herself, "You can do this."

Momentarily psyched up by her pep talk, she pressed the CALL button.

Clutching her Daddy Bear to her chest, she nervously waited for the other line to pick up.

"Moshi moshi. Mashima residence."

The voice unmistakably belonged to Mashima Reiko. Chihaya instinctively froze at the recognition, failing to follow through with a greeting.

"Hello? Who's ca—"

"It's Chihaya!" she blurted. Voice slightly shaky, she chattered, "Um, this is Chihaya. Good evening, Mrs. Pre—Mashima-san."

Reiko's voice instantly turned ice cold. "Ah, Chihaya-chan. It's a pleasure to receive your call at dinnertime."

Chihaya's eyes latched on the clock. Of course she'd end up calling at an absolutely inconvenient hour. She instantly replied, "I'm so sorry! It's just—I'd like to ask if Taichi's okay..."

She could hear a disappointed sigh. "If he is still unable to message you and your friends, I believe that means he's currently unwell. Now, do you have other questions, Chihaya-chan?"

Every nerve in her body was desperately begging for her to drop the line already, but if Chihaya would back down now, she's sure Sumire would find a way to still make the request, which may make things more difficult. Steeling herself, she took the plunge. "May I come over tomorrow?"

When she was met with silence, Chihaya rambled on, "I was asked by Tsukue-kun—I mean, his classmate—to deliver the notes for the lessons he missed. And our club members bought him oranges and apples and—"

"You may come tomorrow at five. You can help me prepare dinner."

Chihaya almost choked her stuff toy. This wasn't on the plan. "Sorry?"

"I believe you have excellent hearing, Chihaya-chan. Surely I won't need to repeat myself."

Like a soldier under scrutiny by her commander, she automatically replied, "Y - yes, Ma'am."

Pacified with her answer, Reiko said, "If that is all, then I must be going back to dinner. See you tomorrow."

"Thank you for your time, Mashima-san. S - see you tomorrow."

As soon as the call disconnected, Chihaya collapsed on the bed, energy spent. A minute later she got up, exited the room, and dashed down the stairs.

"Mom! Please teach me how to cook!"

*

"Woah—is meeting Taichi's mom really that scary for you?" Nishida inquired, staring at Chihaya's bloodshot eyes. "And what happened with those?" He pointed at Chihaya's freshly bandaged fingers.

Chihaya blinked rapidly, moistening her eyes. In between yawns, she explained, "I slept late. Mrs. Pressure asked me to help her with dinner so I had to learn how to chop vegetables. Perfectly."

Nishida gave her a comforting smile, "Ganbatte, Ayase. If you survive tonight, I'll treat you with pork buns for lunch tomorrow."

Resting her head on the desk, Chihaya muttered, "Thanks, Nikuman-kun."

*

Had Chihaya been a lucid dreamer, she would've realized that the castle was simply a representation of the Mashima house, the sleeping prince was Taichi all along, and the fire breathing dragon guarding the gate was definitely Mashima Reiko. If she were, she may not have woken up with a start, embarrassing herself in the middle of Fukasaku-sensei's class.

Looking at how messed up Chihaya was, Nishida began to doubt if he'd be able to buy her pork buns the next day.

*

It's okay, Chihaya, she's not really a dragon, she inwardly declared. She pressed the doorbell with her free hand, and then sighed in relief when she found Rika peering excitedly at her from the entranceway.

"Welcome, Chihaya-chan!" Taichi's younger sister greeted. Quirking an eyebrow at her, she then questioned, "Do you want some water? You look pale."

Chihaya waved her worry away. "I'm fine."

Locating Reiko at the kitchen, Chihaya presented the basket clutched in her hand. "G - good afternoon, Mashima-san. This is from everyone in the club." She proceeded to extract Komano's papers from her bag. "And these are the notes from Tsukue-kun."

"Please extend our gratitude to them, Chihaya-chan." Reiko took the basket and began to put the fruits inside the refrigerator. "You can leave the notes on Taichi's desk later."

Chihaya's heart skipped a beat. For all the stress she had gone through in the past twenty-four hours, the prospect of actually visiting Taichi had been at the back seat on her mind, overshadowed by the daunting ordeal of dealing with Mrs. Pressure without her son's intervention. Her thoughts led her to look in the direction of Taichi's bedroom.

She had never seen Taichi this sick, and she dearly hoped she could help him recover, if only a little.

She heard Reiko clear her throat. "You may see him as soon as we finished making dinner."

Chihaya's gaze snapped back to Reiko. "H - hai."

Reiko seemed to consider something, staring at her with a surprisingly concerned expression. "Would you like to have some tea first? Your face is pale."

Chihaya slapped her cheeks in response, giving some color to them. "I'm okay!" Encouraged by the thinly-veiled worry for her wellbeing reflected in Reiko's eyes, Chihaya attempted a smile, "I'm ready."

*

Having tried her hand in kitchen work for the first time last night, Chihaya could recognize how admirable Mashima Reiko moved through the space, retrieving cooking tools from the cupboards and ingredients from the refrigerator with exceptional grace. Taichi must have inherited his poise from his mother.

Chihaya put the vegetables in the strainer and headed to the sink. "I'll wash these up, Mashima-san."

Reiko hummed in agreement. "I'll be seasoning the meat." She turned to her daughter perched on the dining table stool, happily watching over the two of them. "Go work on your homework, Rika. You have nothing to do here."

Rika started to protest. "But I wanna see—" her words were cut abruptly, and from behind her Chihaya could guess that Mrs. Pressure had given Rika her intimidating gaze.

If Mashima Reiko were karuta Queen, Chihaya was sure she'd never become a challenger. If she did, she would have to play blindfolded, just so she can avoid that look.

"Fine," Rika relented. "Ganbatte, Chihaya-chan." She proceeded to go upstairs, leaving Chihaya and Reiko alone.

Finishing her first task, Chihaya deposited the vegetables on the container next to the chopping board.

Time to show what I've practiced. She picked up a medium-sized knife and was about to slice the head of a cabbage when Reiko suddenly ordered, "Stop."

Chihaya stared at her, dumbfounded. Was she already deemed a failure? That fast?

Reiko withdrew the knife from her hands. Then she remarked. "Your fingers are hurt."

Chihaya blinked. "They're all right. I can still—"

"Take a sit over there and just watch me, Chihaya-chan," Reiko instructed, her tone clearly expressing that Chihaya have no other choice but to follow. Flustered, Chihaya merely nodded, settling on the stool Rika had previously occupied.

Reiko continued preparing the meal, making Chihaya feel more and more anxious at being utterly unhelpful each second that passed. She knew she should attempt to make small talk, but her mind can't come up with any dialogue, not even about the weather.

It was Reiko that broke the silence. "If I remember correctly, you've injured your hand once before. Was playing karuta that challenging?"

Taken aback by Reiko's recollection, Chihaya failed to filter her thoughts. "Harada-sensei trained me harder so I won't get injured like that again. I, um, got these last night chopping carrots."

As soon as the words were left hanging in the air, Chihaya bit her lip. Please don't think much about it please don't think much about it please don't—

Reiko stopped swirling the ladle in the pot. Chihaya held her breath, preparing herself for whatever it was that will come out of Mrs. Pressure's lips.

Her imagination couldn't have predicted what she had finally said. Not in a million years.

"You know, I never disliked you, Chihaya-chan." Reiko resumed her motions, "Just how early you arrived."

Even though they were merely two sentences, Chihaya couldn't begin to grasp what Mrs. Pressure was telling her.

Even without Chihaya's prompting, Reiko elaborated, "When I became a mother, I promised to myself that I will raise my child with the same standards that my parents had set for me." Having finished cooking the broth, she turned off the stove. Reaching for the box of genmaicha tea, she continued, "Fortunately, I hadn't had much trouble with Taichi. He is naturally brilliant and determined. He listens to my demands and takes on the challenges I set for him. But then one day he came home saying he wants to be good at playing this obscure game,"—Chihaya straightened up, ready for a lecture—"and it worried me, not just because it wasn't in my plans, but also because the game came from a girl that has taken more than his attention, even though he's unaware of it at the time."

Reiko poured hot water on two porcelain cups, then submerged the tea kernels in them. "Just as how my parents had given me freedom to choose the person I like, I must give the same choice to my children. But you happened to come into Taichi's life far earlier than when Oligo came into mine, and I can't help but treat you with unwarranted hostility for that." Reiko gave her a stricken smile, "But maybe it was for the better. If I had Taichi controlled for all these years, he might have been leading a broken life by now." She slid one cup towards Chihaya. "I suppose I owe you both an apology and my thanks, Chihaya-chan."

Unable to completely digest the sudden disclosure from Reiko, Chihaya could only refute her last statement. "That's not true! Taichi is the person he is right now because of your efforts, Mashima-san." Chihaya recalled a moment from way back their first team tournament as a seven-membered club. She relayed the details of the event to her, narrating how Taichi had uncharacteristically snapped at Tsukuba for arguing with the word 'but' all over his sentences, declaring that a man has no use for the word. Chihaya had then commented how Reiko's strictness with Taichi had disciplined him, allowing him to become strong in his own way.

This time it was Reiko who was rendered speechless. Chihaya sipped the tea, finding her nerves settling. After finishing her cup, she shyly ventured, "If you will, I'd like to take up Taichi's dinner with the notes now, Mashima-san."

Composing herself, Reiko nodded, then started assembling the food.

*

She found Taichi covered under layers of blankets when she entered his room. Setting the tray on the study desk, Chihay tiptoed towards his huddled figure.

She rested a hand on his arm, finding it awfully warm. "Passing Todai must've been so hard, ne, Taichi?" She swapped the dry towelette for a cool one, setting it on his forehead. Feeling the sudden chill, Taichi stirred. His amber eyes connected with Chihaya's, and he muttered weakly, "Now I'm delirious."

Chihaya chuckled, placing a hand on his cheek. "Not yet. I'm real."

Taichi sounded genuinely lost when he insisted, "You can't be. You'd have to get past my Mom to be here, and you're terrified of her."

Chihaya perked up, "About that..." she decided against telling him about her upgraded relationship with Mrs. Pressure. Taichi would be more convinced that he was hallucinating if she did. Instead, she took his hand. "Everyone was worried about you. Please get well soon, Taichi. I missed beating you in matches."

Taichi grinned mischievously, "You could leave out the beating at matches part."

Chihaya felt her face warm. "Fine, just because you're sick this time. I missed you, Taichi."

Satisfied at her admission, and perhaps still feeling very much unwell, Taichi began to drift off again. Checking her wristwatch, Chihaya noted that there was still an hour before he had to take his medicine.

Reaching up to gently caress his head, Chihaya found herself narrating, "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful prince who was stuck in a castle. There was a big, fire breathing dragon at the gates and everyone in the land was afraid of her. It turns out, the dragon wasn't bad at all, and so when the princess..."

[ifyouvegotthemoneyhoney]

Sunset Love ch. 1: Roomies

"Fuck! This stuff weighs a fucking ton," grunted Duff, shoving the bass drum into place at the back of the room. Steven twisted the screws on the hi-hat and gave it a little roll with his fingers. A pleased grin crossed his face.

"That's me all set up," he said, throwing himself onto his stool and spinning his sticks in the air. Izzy scowled as he bent to plug in his Marshall amp.

"At least this place has fucking electricity," he grumbled. He threw his guitar strap over his head and banged out a few chords. He grimaced and crouched down at the amp. "Yeah, the sound in here blows."

Duff was picking out rumbling notes on his bass, his head to one side. "Hey, this place is costing us four Benjamins a month," he replied. "Let's appreciate it, yeah?" He looked across the room as someone came in. "Speaking of which, you gonna get me your share of that, Axl, yeah?"

Axl had his head down, hands in pockets, sheets of red hair shielding his face as he kicked a lump of concrete on the floor.

"Yeah, sure, man," he replied absent-mindedly after a moment. He looked up, sweeping his hair back out of his eyes. He surveyed the room and pursed his lips. "It sure ain't the Sunset Hyatt," he said moodily.

Duff rolled his eyes and stretched out his arms. "What's with you guys, pissin' and fussin'?" he demanded. "We had to twist the guy's arm to even let us have it. Quit bitchin' and let's do what we're here to do."

The others mumbled assent and continued setting up. Electric twangs, beats and thumps filled the space, disappearing into the bare-brick walls.

"Where's Slash?" asked someone.

"He's here," said Slash, who had just dashed in the metal door. He stomped across to the other side of the room from Izzy and set down his guitar case and amp. "What'd I miss?"

He looked around at the other four. "Hey, Axl, you still got no PA?"

Axl was mooching in a corner, hands still in his pockets, whistling scraps of tunes. "Fuck you," he shot back, "You know I don't."

"Right, so, how we gonna hear you?"

"Guess you'll have to stand right up next to me if you wanna hear me," said Axl in his smooth, deep voice, tilting his chin at Slash. The others watched warily. Axl may have been small and skinny, but they knew his temper, and his fists.

Slash said nothing. Guitar on, he strummed out the opening chords of the new song they were working on. Like the others, he grimaced at the awful acoustics in the room, then grinned.

He was playing it cool, as always, but Slash was psyched that they finally had a place of their own to rehearse, day and night, whenever they wanted. This was going to take the band to the next level, he thought. The level where they could get a whole set down and really start pushing to play the clubs on Sunset, and beyond. He already had an idea in his head for their band logo. Two guns, their handles intertwined with two thorny roses.

"We ready?" came Axl's voice, cutting through his thoughts. Duff gave the nod to Steven, who clapped his sticks together, and they were off.

***

They played until they were too hungry and tired to go on.

"I'm outta here," called Duff, swinging off his guitar. "I promised Mandy I'd take her to the Rainbow tonight. Who's coming?"

Steven was already up from his drum kit and at Duff's side. Izzy mumbled about having to go see someone and was gone. Duff looked from Axl to Slash, then laughed.

"Right. You guys live here." He was grinning madly. "So this is like, your first night in your new home? Like a house-warming?"

"Fuck off," muttered Slash through a cloud of smoke and turned towards his amp. Axl said nothing, just lit his own cigarette and blew out a long lungful, staring at the wall. For a moment Duff thought he caught something of what Axl was thinking. Duff knew he sometimes slept rough around West Hollywood: stairwells, doorways. This place was a roof over his head.

"Just fuckin' with ya," said Duff easily. "See you guys tomorrow sometime."

He and Steven stepped out into the alley and left into Gardner Street, the thrill of their new rehearsal space putting a spring in their step as they headed towards Sunset Boulevard.

There was silence in the room for a while as Slash and Axl smoked, perching on amps, looking around at the place that was newly theirs: four bare cinder block walls and a sheet metal roof. It was storage space, advertised as such; they hadn't exactly made it clear to the owner that they were a rock band intending to rehearse. The guy had made a big deal out of the fact that there were electricity sockets and a shared toilet in the lot.

The floor was bare concrete. The drum kit and guitars looked odd, standing around unused. It was 10 P.M. on an August evening, the sun had gone down and the day's heat was seeping out of the walls. The reality of their situation was beginning to dawn.

"Guess we shoulda got ... mattresses or something," said Axl, looking around.

Slash chuckled, nodding. "Yeahhh," he drawled. He reached over to a paper bag by the wall and pulled out a familiar brown bottle.

"'Least we got our friend Jack to keep us company."

Axl looked up at Slash and smiled slowly.

Slash busied himself popping the lid, taking a swig and handing it over. He felt suddenly weird - was he embarrassed, shy? It was true that he and Axl hadn't spent a lot of time together since Axl moved out of Slash's mom's house a while back. But that smile of Axl's - it looked like it had been more than just a casual facial expression. Or was he imagining things?

Slash knocked back more of the Jack, passing it back and forth to Axl. It did its magic, as usual - with every swig, the awkwardness he felt faded. He knew that many people drank to feel different, to feel less like themselves. He did it to feel less awkward, more sociable - more like himself.

Fortunately, Axl was a good talker. It never took much to set him off on one of his long, rambling musings about life, music, art, whatever he was digging at the moment. Slash provided nods and comments here and there as that voice filled the small space.

What a voice, he thought. Many singers he knew had speaking voices that didn't resemble their singing at all. Axl was different. When he spoke, the tones were just as smooth and deep as when he sang. Thoughts of thick caramel and warm, melting chocolate came into Slash's mind. He found himself trying not to stare too long at Axl's face, especially his lips as they moved. He noted their feminine curves and their natural pout.

Suddenly Slash realised what he was thinking and was annoyed with himself. What was he, a fucking fag? He took another gulp. It must be the whisky. He shivered.

"Yeah, it's getting fucking cold, man," said Axl. He cast around the room and squinted into a corner where Duff had propped his bass. "Hey - what we got here," said Axl, jumping to his feet and picking something up from the floor. He held it up. It was Duff's voluminous red and black leather trench coat. He had brought it from Seattle and thought it was the coolest thing ever.

Axl spread the coat down on the floor by the wall and lay down. He closed his eyes and appeared to be going to sleep.

Slash seized up with awkwardness again. He drained the last drop from the bottle.

"Sure as hell beats the fucking Tower Video stairwell," said Axl with closed eyes.

Slash said nothing.

"You going to sleep or what?" said Axl.

Slash got up and flicked off the light. He moved warily in the dark towards where Axl lay. He crouched down and clumsily stretched himself out on the leather coat, leaving as much space as possible between himself and Axl.

"Night, fucker," came Axl's voice, sounding half-asleep already.

"Fuck you," fired back Slash, turning onto his side, away from the other man.

It might have been better than a stairwell but it was still fucking uncomfortable. Slash dozed fitfully, turning to one side then the other against the concrete, his drunken mind filled with disturbing half-dreams. At one point, God knows what time, he jerked awake as he felt something heavy on his chest. He gradually realised it was Axl's arm.

The other man appeared to be sleeping deeply, his steady breathing coming through his nose.

Slash froze. He clenched his teeth in anger. We fucking agreed this wouldn't happen again, he thought.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Bluegrass-Chapter Sixteen

                        Special thanks to @statell​ for all your help and wisdom

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Sixteen

Claire leaned her back against the wall and applied her bright red lipstick with a small mirror. Jason whistled at her and made a joke about lipstick for a horse race. Already in her silks, she waited to be called to interview. She would rather be reviewing video of this race with Michael, but he too was pulled away to talk to reporters about their super horse Runner. She saw Jamie wave as she started walking toward the entrance to the track. She was totally focused on the race, but Jamie could steal her thoughts with just a look. He kissed her.

“I need to prepare ye, lass. Ye have a lot of fans in the stands today. Ready?”

She nodded and held Jamie’s hand as the bright Florida sun made it hard to see at first. People were cheering and calling her name. She turned and smiled giving big waves.

“Jesus Jamie, the fans have doubled during the break.”

Jamie introduced her to a reporter for a horse racing magazine and they both sat down for the agreed five questions. She would do a round-robin with reporters before the race. As the hour wore on Claire was getting antsy to be with Runner for a pre-race pep-talk. She had shown him pictures of the horses to beat during the previous week and he was excited, asking everyone to race him.

Jamie walked her back asking if she felt okay, she seemed quiet today. He would never be comfortable with the element of danger in this sport, but he was very proud of her. Runner was in top condition and had even put on some weight over the winter which Michael was very happy about. He hoped they would do well but deep inside he had the same doubts he always did.

Jason walked Runner to the track and the stands went crazy. Runner’s head jerked up from the loud shouting and then looked at the crowd. Jason couldn’t see Claire yet, so he walked the Horse of The Year to the end of the stands and back to the delight of his fans.

Jamie kissed Claire before launching her into the saddle. One more wave at the crowd and her final twist in the saddle to look at Jamie and smile. Runner loaded into the gate like a perfect gentleman and then told Claire over and over to watch him beat each horse. He was pawing the ground with his hoof. The first race in three months and he was ready.

When the gate slammed open, eleven horses made a mad dash for the track. Horse number twelve was not out of the gate and Claire rolled her eyes.

“I think now is a fine time to start running.”

Like an afterthought, Runner trotted out of the gate looking ridiculous. Claire was afraid he might just stop or go the other way.

“Runner they are nearing the first turn!”

He told her to grab his mane and took off at a hard gallop. Compared to the bunched-up horses coming out of the turn Runner looked like a black streak as he thundered up behind the pack on the outside. He lowered his head and stretched with every stride, had the perfect lead going into the second turn but still had five horses to pass before the finish line. Claire tucked in and yelled for him to hurry. When she sent images of them flying across the finish line, he turned the power on and Claire saw horses falling away on the left side. For a split second, it seemed Runner was just playing with the other horses and Claire wondered how fast he really was. They won by one length and Claire stood in her stirrups, crop held proudly over her head and her victory smile shined for all to see.

Michael clocked them in and looked at the track record, Runner was a fraction of a second from taking it for himself. It was time to have a hard conversation with Claire. He ran down to the track for the winner’s circle picture and to congratulate them.

Michael walked into Runner’s wing hearing the conversation between Claire and Jason. They were talking about the previous weekend race and how Runner stood still at the gate for an extra-long time.

“Do you ever wonder if he just won’t break out one of these days?”

“Him? Never. He wants to win too much. In fact, I think part of that is some kind of psych joke with the other horses. Hi, Michael, we’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Claire, I need to ask you about something, ah, well this is awkward. Ah, there’s a difference between passing the other horses and running as fast as he can. Right? Does Runner know the difference? I mean, could you tell him to run his fastest?”

“As I’ve said before to you Michael, that would require a gift to understand and talk to animals.”

“C’mon Claire, I know you communicate somehow, I’ve seen too much not to believe that. However, you do it, I want you to teach him that it’s more than passing all the horses. I think he has more, a lot more power than we know.”

Claire smiled at Michael, feeling a bit victorious, remembering how Michael accursed them all of being crazy in the beginning. So, he was a believer now.

“Of course I will. I have had a thought about the same thing from time to time. I will let him know we want the full power, but it will have to wait for the race in two weeks.”

As the morning training was almost over Jamie walked outside to watch Runner for a bit. Just breezing he was so fast, he wondered what it must feel like to ride him over the finish line going twice that speed. Claire looked like a spec of something on his back, making Jamie realized how much Runner had grown in the past year. They only had two races scheduled and then the derby. Jamie wondered if he actually had a chance to run for the roses, then shook his head to clear his mind. He was a loving advocate for Claire. Her health, her mental happiness, her willingness. Runner had a team of people to watch out for him and Claire had Jamie.

With their win last weekend in Florida, they were sure to have enough points to be contenders in the Derby. He was willing to let that record stand and retire them both but what if they actually ran in the race? It would be their toughest and most dangerous race yet. They were accustomed to the stakes races, which are rarely more than twelve horses. For the Derby, there would be twenty of America’s best Thoroughbreds, one from Japan and one from Europe. Twenty-two horses busting out of the gate together was absolutely terrifying to think about.

Jason ambled out of the barn, ready to take Runner when Claire jumped off. He walked toward Jamie and silently watched for a few minutes.

“Michael thinks she talks to animals now too, did you know that? It feels like the whole world has gone crazy.”

Jamie laughed, “I suppose it would feel like that because it’s just the team ye see every day. Maybe ye’ll feel better going to town now and then, where the normal people are.”

Jamie kept laughing as he caught Claire jumping into his arms. He tossed her over his shoulder and walked away with a wiggling female protesting amid giggles. Once inside the shade of the barn, he set her on her feet and kissed her before unsnapping her helmet and pulling it off. His huge hands slid down her back and squeezed her ample rump.

“Ye started somethin this mornin that’s been brewin for the last few hours. Suppose ye come back to the house with me and finish it.”

“I can’t, I have to help Jason.”

“Do ye now. I can bend ye over right here if ye want.” The teasing continued.

“God, I love it when you do that, just like that, a little more, yes like that.”

Jamie grabbed her hand and ran with her to his office and locked the door where he could tease her until she agreed to the midday tryst. There were five mares ready to foal, so he always anticipated being interrupted, but it was worth the gamble. Jamie prevailed and when Claire was naked in his arms the whole world vanished and it was just him and her, delighting each other with a well-practiced dance.

Claire fell to Jamie’s side panting for her life and reached out to hold him. They curled up together for a blissful minute before his cell phone started ringing. He shook his head no, but she promptly grabbed it and held it to his ear laughing at his pout. While he talked, he flicked on the monitor in their room and saw a mare down in her stall. He handed the phone to his veterinarian to ask the pertinent questions.

“We’ll be right there Jason.”

That afternoon and evening brought a filly and a colt into the world and the barn was upbeat and full of happiness. Claire had given Jason enough instruction to adequately help her with foaling dams. He reminded her of Dustin with his enthusiasm and readiness and it warmed her inside to have his help.

Jamie was beaming with his first two successful births of the year. In truth, each dam had a proven history of producing two-turn winners making the value of these tiny babies upwards of a million dollars as yearlings. The value, won or lost with birth made the process unnerving and tense, especially for Jamie, who gambled huge sums on stud fees and maintenance of the mares for their eleven-month pregnancy. The second foal dropped at midnight. It was a long day for Claire and Jason and they both stuck to their task taking birth records and checking the dam and foal until two in the morning.

“Jason, you are my miracle. Thank you so much for your help. Be sure and tell Molly all about what you did today, she will be thrilled. Get home and to bed or you will be sleeping through chores in a few hours. Do you want to stay in the guest room tonight? It has a private bath and it’s next to the kitchen?”

Jason blushed crimson at the compliment. “Thanks Claire, but I don’t have any clothes, and these are hopelessly gross. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

While Claire was finishing up, Jamie went to Runner’s stall and stroked his neck, speaking softly to him in Gaelic. His relief and joy with two births today made him remember Claire and Dusty pulling this colt out of his dam. He remembered feeding him around the clock and sleeping with him at night. When Angus or Rupert tried to relieve him for a night, something would happen to bring him back. He didn’t mind all that much. He fell in love with the colt and it was less time laying next to Isobel. The baby would whinny for him during the half-hour trip home to shower and dress, but he always came back with a warm bottle to soothe his shattered nerves.

Runner was weaned from the bottle, and the overnight sleepovers stopped, causing four months of distress in the big colt. It was a difficult time for Runner as his duress caused weight loss and hoof problems. Jamie worried about him constantly and a morning hug was first on his list every day. They made it through those terrible months of forced autonomy and the colt thrived finally on weight gainer supplements and the most nutritious food. It was always Jamie who calmed him when thunder rolled above their heads, walked him out to the pasture each day, and held him for vet checks. When Runner saw Jamie, even at a distance, it was time for some love and the colt would practically crash through his bars to get to him. Jamie smiled at the memory of hiding in the equipment barn when Claire first came to work with him. It was the only way to keep the colt focused on her.

“Look at ye now. Yer grown and fierce on the track, just like ye were supposed to be. She made ye understand ye were born to race and yer all that and more. She’s right about what makes ye happy, it’s racin and winnin. Do me one favor Runner, protect her from harm, please.”

Runner was sound asleep from Jamie’s soft voice and stroking. He closed the stall door quietly so it wouldn’t wake up either horse and went to find his love. Claire held him close and told him the likely timing of the other three dams before she kissed him goodnight and drove home to sleep for a couple of hours. Jamie pulled out the cot and laid close to the stalls where he could see the babies suckling their exhausted mothers. He dozed until something brought him up in a hurry. He blinked at the darkness and heard it again, a horse in distress. Reaching for the overhead lights he found another dam down and it looked like she was pushing.

Claire heard the ringing in her sleep and it worked its way into her dream of chasing someone, holding her phone out to them. When the ringing started again, she opened her eyes and reached for the phone, then reached to turn on the monitor. She could see the dam down in her stall and didn’t like her position, something was wrong, it wasn’t natural. She threw her clothes on as fast as she could and sped down to the barn. Jamie was pacing outside the entrance. Yes, something was very wrong.

“She’s in duress lass, I don’t see anything comin and its been fifteen minutes of hard labor.”

Claire ran into the dam’s wing and examined the mare who had successfully pushed out one leg and the muzzle of the tiny baby.

“Jamie get her up on her feet, help me get her up!”

When the mare was standing, Claire put her hands on its cheeks and told her to be calm, she was there to help. Letting go she turned toward the stall door and saw Jason standing there watching with wide eyes. The sun was coming up and he was here to get Runner ready.

“Jason I need the sterile rope in my truck and the ventilation kit, on the double.” She pulled on sterile gloves and gently pushed the foal back in down the birthing canal. Jamie stroked the mare and spoke softly to calm her.

“I brought the long gloves too.”

“You are good! No, you are a great assistant Jason, you remind me of someone I used to work with. Thank you. One of the foal’s legs is folded back so it’s impossible to deliver it. I pushed it back and I will find the bent leg and tie the rope to it. We will pull a bit to right the legs, and hopefully, get this foal out in the next five minutes. God willing.”

Claire was moving very fast while she spoke and Jamie’s worry shot up, fearing the foal would be born dead. Claire reached into the mare as carefully as possible searching for the legs. It took several minutes to tie the limb one-handed with a very slippery glove. Once secure she pulled the limb into place and pulled the rope lightly to rid the slack. The mare was obviously in pain and fell to her knees as soon as Claire pulled her arm out. This was the tricky part as she kept tension on the rope to keep the front legs together. If birth did not happen in the next several minutes the foal wouldn’t survive.

“Come here Jason, put your hand around mine, feel how taught the rope is, you have to do this part. Keep it taught as she pushes the baby out. If you see two front legs we’re good, if you see anything else let me know asap.”

Claire put the rope in Jason’s hand and he moved into her position. Claire ran to the front of the horse and on hands and knees, she touched her head and cried. What started out silent gave way to Claire telling the mare it was time to push with all her might. Through Claire’s tears, Jason heard the impossible.

“I know you’re scared and I know you hurt. Get it out then, push, you have to push.”

Claire forced herself to stop crying. It broke her heart to know how scared the dam was, but she needed to be the hero right now. The mare was resisting her instinct from her fear so she kept talking to her, encouraging her to not to fight it. Claire ran back to Jason and took his place again. She looked at Jamie,

“Which one Jamie?”

He looked stricken with the question. If it came down to saving one or the other, which one?

“The mare.”

Claire snapped on the two fresh long gloves and reached into the birth canal gently holding the foal behind the front legs and pulling slowly while she talked to the mare. When the front legs emerged, then the tiny muzzle of the head, the mare shifted her position and pushed the baby out into Claire’s arms.

Claire was tearing the sac from the baby and Jason held out the instruments she would need at exactly the right time. Jamie watched them work and had a memory of her and Dustin working with the same practiced coordination.

“Sassenach, is it alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive, for now.” Jason rubbed the foal with a large towel pressing into his sides hoping to stimulate the breathing response. The mare stood up and inspected her baby as Jason worked.

“Let’s start resuscitation. Press into the esophagus right here to prevent the air from going to the stomach.”

Claire pressed the ventilation tube over the colt’s mouth and squeezed the bag then released it. Five times she repeated this as Jason pressed into the baby’s esophagus and Jamie looked on, praying in Gaelic. Claire pulled the tube and listened to the colt’s chest. She heard a weak breath and saw the sides flare slightly.

“Thank God, he’s breathing on his own. Let’s get all this to the side so he can stand up.”

The colt still looked dead to Jason and he looked up at Claire like she was crazy. Before he could speak the tiny head popped up looking for its mother who was right there to lick his face.

Claire cleared everyone out of the stall so the mare could do her job enticing the baby to get up. They were observant and hopeful as the colt made several attempts to stand up, and then he was exhausted. The mare continued to lick him and after several minutes of rest she pushed him with her nose, hard enough to provide a head start and the colt stood up. She positioned her body so he could suckle, and Claire exhaled in relief while her tears left wet tracks on her cheeks. Jason stood absolutely still. He was still holding all their equipment and the towels under his arms because he couldn’t look away. They watched until the colt laid down in the straw and went to sleep.

The mare walked to the front of the stall where Claire was standing and pushed her nose into her neck. Claire put her hands on her head and said: “you’re welcome, I’m so proud of you.”

Jason felt the hair on his arms and neck stand up and a shiver go through him. He stared at Claire pressing her face into the mare’s cheek. The impossible beckoned, persistently banging into his brain requesting admittance. He opened his mind to the evidence of a miracle in play. He looked up at her sharply.

“You can talk to animals, Claire,” said with awe and reverence.

Claire looked at Jason with a sleepy smile, “yes, I can.”

Jason’s eyes reflected the knowledge of magic as he hurried to catch up with his chores. He told Michael that Claire can speak to animals and got an “I know” back. What a glorious day, he thought, they saved the colt and Claire can speak to animals! Wait until his friends at home hear about this.

Jamie hugged Claire close and thanked her for saving the foal. “I’m indebted to ye lass, again. Pick yer favorite restaurant, maybe a bit of rest this afternoon and then we celebrate a bit.”

Michael passed by them with a saddle over his arm and asked why she was so late this morning, followed by “I’m just kidding Claire, but seriously, get on your horse for an hour of breezing please.”

Claire rolled her eyes and gave Jamie a quick kiss before walking to Runner’s wing. Michael was getting a bit nervous about the approaching races and wanted every minute of training they had agreed on. Claire’s rest was not a consideration when they were this close to glory.

Michael and Jason had pieced together the reason for Jamie and Claire’s split and it left Michael steaming mad. He almost quit and went home but they were back together by the time he returned so he stowed the argument that raged to come out, and kept the peace. He had not drawn a salary in the months he had been working for them. Jamie had offered but it was almost embarrassing with the wealth he had. They did owe him though, after promising him first rights to Runner’s story, which was now a story about Claire and Runner, and the magic they made.

Runner was looking spry this morning and Michael allowed himself to fantasize about watching them break out of the gate at Churchill Downs in a month. It made him so excited he forgot to watch Runner’s lead around the turn until Claire barreled up on him, snapping him out of his daydreams. He looked up at her stern face and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, Claire.”

Later that afternoon, Claire asked Jamie for a rain check on dinner because she wanted to stay close to the newborn colt. She realized that someone had to stay the next weekend to monitor the two remaining mares. She estimated they had another week or two at least but wondered if Jamie wanted to risk being away. She would talk to him later when they were home and relaxed.

Jamie leaned back in his chair and smiled his gratitude to Claire who was carrying dishes away and wrapping leftovers. He replaced her at the sink, and she sat down for their much loved evening conversation. Sometimes Jamie hardly let a word out of her mouth before he captured it for his own lusty purposes, other times the conversation was deeply philosophical, but tonight it was planning for the upcoming race and deciding who would stay back to watch the mares. Claire assumed Jamie would stay until he reminded her that first, he would never miss a race, and second, the owner was required to check-in and pay all the fees.

“Who then?”

“Rupert or Angus will stay and Doc Anderson is on call if one of the dams starts to foal. It will be fine Sassenach, and I will watch ye cross the finish line at breakneck speed like ye always do. I’m sure it’s burned in yer brain that the Derby is in one month and ye have two races in between.

“Yes, Michael has already increased Runner’s fat supplement and upped the carbohydrate calories to help him with fatigue. He started the diet change at the beginning of the week, so we’ll see how hot it makes him. As long as he uses the excess energy to go forward instead of up, I’m good.”

“Are ye worried, love?”

Claire looked like she didn’t understand the word. “No, not worried, I just don’t want any cuts of broken bones loading him into the gate.”

“Ye look dead on yer feet lass. How does a hot bath with bubbles sound?”

“Okay bubbles, let’s go.”

Claire laughed at her joke all the way upstairs and into the tub where Jamie held her close and whispered his love into her ear. The bubbles were luxurious and six inches deep allowing them to play and relax through two additions of hot water.

Jamie wrapped Claire in thick towels and chuckled at her eyes closing while she fought to keep them open.

“Get into bed mo chridhe, and I will check the babies and be right back.”

When Claire’s face felt the soft cotton pillowcase her eyes closed and she hardly moved when Jamie slipped in next to her. No dreams, no waking, just restorative sleep.

Jason pulled up to the barn in the pre-dawn darkness to help Jamie pack up their gear and get Runner ready for transport. An hour later they were walking him into the trailer, and then off to the airport.

Runner’s flight took longer than a flight for humans because the captain took very wide turns which added air space, and a very long approach to the runway to keep the plane as level as possible and avoid an abrupt change in altitude. The handlers sometimes outnumbered the horses so there were plenty of people to attend to their every need. It was quite a production and at five-thousand dollars each way, it better be.

The two men stood on the tarmac and watched the plane take off, as they always did. The walk back to the truck caught Jamie off guard like it always did. There was a natural buffer of people and horses that existed between Jamie and Jason. Alone together on the tarmac, anything was possible.

“Michael sure was pissed when he found out you tried to pull Runner from the track after the first race in March. I thought he was gonna box you. Man, he was pissed.”

“Why? I can’t imagine he is dependent on a job that pays nothin.”

“No, you promised him he could write a book about Runner winning the Triple Crown.”

“The trip…” Jamie couldn’t hold it in, the laughter burst out of him until he was doubled over and holding his stomach.

“I swear I did not promise him a Triple Crown. That is ridiculous Jason. There hasn’t been a Triple Crown winner in thirty-seven years. There’s a reason for that, it’s impossible. C’mon Jason. He’s really fast and a local hero on the track, but he’s not good enough to win the Derby, let alone all three races for the crown. I’m surprised Michael could think such a thing, I thought he was smart.”

Jamie kept laughing until they got to the truck and trailer. Jason was quiet but Jamie was having too much fun with the topic to notice. When they were on the road again, and Jamie was lost in traffic and his own thoughts, Jason spoke up.

“Do me a favor, Jamie? Don’t talk like that in front of Runner, or Claire. They believe in miracles and you should let them.”

Jason had a deep blush on his face for standing up to Jamie that way and turned his gaze out the window to avoid his contempt. Jamie tried to fill his mind with other thoughts, but he was unsuccessful. He couldn’t believe Claire had such aspirations and he wasn’t the one to bring it up with her. He promised his support of any race she wanted, and he would keep his word.

Claire made a last phone call to Doc Anderson to update the condition of the last two mares and promise there would be a manager sleeping with them that night. It would be a fast trip, just one night away. Jamie was tense about leaving and Claire soothed him with her latest exam findings, they weren’t ready to drop yet.

Flying to New Jersey and the chaos of greeting Runner at the track, getting work out time tomorrow before the race, registering, weighing in, and a vet check for Runner was exhausting. One thing that put wind in Claire’s sails was each person she spoke to knew about Runner and gave an extra helping of respect during the process.

Claire was in her silks, bent over the track program the next day, studying the other horses. Runner was favored to win and had drawn a crowd of fans even in New Jersey. The morning workout had gone very well because he was ready to race. Jamie launched her into the saddle in front of screaming well-wishers and Claire laughed at the curious look Runner gave them. As she was led away to the gate she turned and smiled at Jamie. The bile coming up from his stomach felt like his insides were melting from acid, but he managed a smile.

Runner was quiet, no boasting or looking for other horses this time. Claire didn’t know what to make of that. When the gate slammed open and the other horses were away, Runner gave an impressive gallop to catch up but was soon surrounded by the pack. There were two horses, one on each side of him getting dangerously close as the jockey’s boots were within a foot of each other. Claire was getting scared from the aggressive posturing of the jockeys and wondered if they were trying to unnerve her. The jockey on her left brushed her boot and scared her half to death. Runner was pinned down in the pack with no opening. Claire knew if she collided with either horse it would be deadly and she screamed at Runner.

“Get me out of here Runner, please help me!”

Runner threw his head in the air to get away from the bit and slowed his speed by lifting his upper body. He told Claire to hold his mane and tuck. When he was free of the pack he took off on the outside and passed half of them by the second turn. A hush fell over the spectators before they erupted in shouts. True to his nature, he sped past each of the three horses in front of him running neck and neck with the lead horse before he pulled away and won the race by three lengths.

“Oh my God Runner, that was incredible! You are amazing!” Claire stood in her stirrups for a brief moment and came back down to slow Runner. It felt like he was still in the race until she sent him lovely pictures of a job well done. When she passed the guys on the rail she laughed at their stunned faces. Why are they always so surprised she wondered?

When Jamie saw Claire get pinned into the pack by those other two horses, he almost had a heart attack. His field glasses were pressed into his eyeballs and his breath was held until he almost passed out. What Runner did to get away from them is something Jamie had never seen. When he knew Claire was safe, he looked at Michael with a questioning face.

“What the hell was that Michael?”

Michael was shaking his head from side to side. “Looks like he picked Claire over winning. It’s only a guess because I’ve never seen a horse purposely decelerate during a race. I’m going to find out who those jockeys are and the owners. I have a bad feeling about how they pinned her in. The jockey on her right had a clear opening and he didn’t take it. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Jamie transformed into a snarling, deadly beast in the blink of an eye. “Do me a favor, find out before they get away and tell me first. When the winner’s circle picture was taken Claire slid off Runner to jump into Jamie’s arms like always, but he had vanished and so had Michael. She looked at Jason like she was shocked, and he opened his arms pretending he would catch her like Jamie always did. Claire laughed at him as they walked back to the clamoring crowd where Claire signed autographs and talked with fans while Jason held Runner close to the safety bars so people could pet him.

Claire looked for Jamie and Michael feeling worry creep into her happiness. Jason pushed her along and told her to wave before he led them both under the shade to the stalls.

Runner was stripped of his tack while Claire held his head and thanked him over and over for saving her.

“Thank you Runner for saving me from those two horses, God I was scared but you saw me to safety.”

“And I still won!” he shouted into her consciousness and she laughed at his bragging.

Michael found a track steward to file a complaint against the two horses that boxed Runner in. The steward handed him a form and Jamie almost pulled the man off his feet.

“We need to see the video playback now before they can leave the track, where do we go for that?”

The steward looked at Jamie with boiling anger in his eyes for the audacity of holding him against his will. Jamie growled NOW at the man and they were directed to an office where they could watch the playback with another official. The men crowded around the monitor and the official closed in on the three horses, watching the two jockeys make a beeline for her and crowd her into the pack coming dangerously close. Jamie watched the terror on Claire’s face and saw her screaming at Runner right before his upper body came up and his haunches bulged with his effort to slow down. The rapid deceleration almost unseated Claire and Jamie felt his legs go weak. He knew the jockeys and he vaporized from the office.

Michael was telling the official they would file a complaint against the owners of the two horses before running after Jamie.

The jockey on Claire’s right walked into the bathroom to call the owner who had disappeared during the race, the piece of shit.

“You left too soon to see that fuckin powerhouse of a horse pull an incredible deceleration mid-race and break out to the outside to win the race. I didn’t like doing what you demanded and I quit your horse, fuck you, I could have killed that girl with what you told me to do. You can’t stop that horse, even with chicken shit moves like you made me do. Send my check to my home address and pray they don’t question my motives today.”

The jockey drove his fist into the mirror when he clicked off and then ran his hand under cold water for five minutes before leaving. Unfortunately, the exit was blocked by one huge, pissed off Scot, who wrapped an arm under his chin, physically escorting him out to find the officials. The jockey was practically dragged toward the stairs with Jamie paying no mind to his ability to breathe. Michael ran up behind him.

“Whoa, whoa there buddy, the dudes got to breathe. C’mon Jamie, he’s not goin anywhere with us on either side of him. Let him go man.”

Jamie looked down at the jockey like he was not human, just a specimen being taken for identification before extermination. He loosened his hold and the jockey fell to his knees taking huge breaths of air. The small man raised his hand above his head like he was warding off further assault. Michael helped him to his feet and kept Jamie away until he caught his breath.

“You have one chance to make it right dude. I can let Jamie strangle you to death or you can tell the stewards what you did and why.”

The jockey relented and a report was taken by track officials that would heavily penalize the owner of the two horses and the jockeys. Runner was well known around the world, especially after winning Horse of the Year, and it was bringing out the ruthless, jealous, hateful, nature of some people in horse racing. The bile thickened inside Jamie’s esophagus and suddenly he had to find Claire.

[happypledis]

Into the Dark: Minghao (Rivals to Lovers)

Summary: You and Minghao are competing for the last place as permanent staff at a Haunted House. You are given one night to prove yourselves by scaring the most people. Genre: Fluff (I write fluff exclusively... fight me) Members: Minghao x reader, Seungkwan Word Count: 3,742 Warnings: Haunted House/Halloween-related creepy content/fake blood decorations Caratober: Day 1 Dark (just posted late, sorry! I’m a college student!)

Where is he? You wonder. I can’t believe he's my competition. I guess this already means I’ll get the spot?

“We’re open in five, everyone! Places!” Your manager calls. As she darts from room to room, her ragged, blood-colored cloak trails out from behind her like a shadow.

From across the room, Seungkwan, one of your closest friends (and someone you hope will be a future coworker) laughs. He is playing a servant, shirt and breeches tattered and smeared with dark-colored goop. His face is smeared too. “It’s always weird to see someone as cheery as her dressed as something so creepy. Did you know that every year, she always picks the creepiest costume?”

You laugh too, picking up the train of your long dress as you walk towards your hiding spot: an old, gnarly tree tree with a little panel that swings away when you push it, so you can hide inside. “No way, really?”

 “Yup! It’s weird.” He disappears into his hiding spot: right behind a recess in the wall next to the door, which currently has been designed to look like it’s falling off its hinges. Seungkwan pops his head back out a second later. "Hey, Minghao is my friend... but so are you. So I’m wishing you both the best of luck tonight.”

“Thank you,” you say. “But I already like the environment here, so I’ll have to destroy him. Do you think I’d be a good fit?” I’m on time, at least, you add silently.

“Yes, but at this point, we can’t decide, so that’s why we’re trying to both out tonight to see.” Seungkwan breaks into a mock-serious expression. “ And please, no physical destruction. I don’t want either of you hurt.”

“Fine,” you say, faking a sigh.

“Are you ready?” Seungkwan asks.

“Well, I’m a little nervous, I have to admit,” you say, honestly. You’ve heard the stories from other coworkers: that some customers get mad when they get scared, and will take it out on the first person they see. You’re glad your spot has a panel that you can pull shut if you need to.

He frowns, opening his mouth to speak, when a rush of cold air passes behind you and a low voice tickles your ear. “Why?”

You force yourself to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you jump. Instead, you try to keep your voice nonchalant as possible, which is hard considering the scare, and how close he is. “Oh, there you are. I suppose you must not feel ready either, if you’re already getting a head start on scaring, hm?”

From across the room, your coworker laughs. “Admit it--she got you, Minghao.”

You swirl around to face Minghao before he can retort back, your velvety cloak awkwardly swinging against your back. His eyes are narrow and mouth open as he prepares to bite back, but he blinks quickly, taking a step back, as you meet eyes.

I guess I really did scare him that time? 

“Two can play at this game,” you tease, encouraged. Your heart is still beating fast as you take a second to look at his costume--to judge your competition, you need to know what you’re competing with, you tell yourself. He wears a loose-fitting blue robe with gold trim, and dark makeup is messily smudged around his eyes. His hair looks like a rat’s nest, which is very different than the usual way he styles it. You find yourself smirking. He doesn’t really look like he belongs in a haunted house at all. There’s no gore on his costume whatsoever. In fact, it looks almost good. Flattering. If he picked it himself, he would definitely have an eye for fashion.

From behind the door, you hear what sounds like a snort, but you don’t really think your teasing was funny enough to warrant one. You try to peek over and look, but Seungkwan is nowhere to be seen.

The lights overhead flicker off, and the fake torches and candles overhead begin to glow softly, marking a minute til. You turn back to your competition. The lights cast strange shadows across his face, and you are forced to admit that you do find him attractive. Despite... everything.

You shake your head, clearing it, and step away. “Now’s our cue,” you say, ducking down behind the carriage. He finds his spot, a cobweb-covered old-timey carriage, and quickly disappears. The sound system clicks on, and the room is full of owls’ hooting and bats’ screeching. A wolf’s lonely howl is thrown in every once in a while, too.

If you and Minghao had met under any other circumstances... well, you know you wouldn’t hate him. In fact, he had a personality that complemented yours well--before the two of you were told that, with only one spot left on the permanent team, you’d have to compete to earn it. Before that, you’d actually hoped to at least befriend him, what with being the two newbies trying to prove your places. But apparently you’re both competitive by nature...and apparently that nature beat out anything else that could have grown between you.

“Good luck,” Minghao suddenly calls. “You'll need it.”

“And why is that?” You ask, expecting a punch line.

“Because tonight, you look more pretty than scary,” he says, so quiet you almost can’t hear it. “So the odds don’t look good for you. Even if you do.”

And this time, it’s you who is left with their mouth hanging open, because the first customer steps through the doors. And then another one right behind them. They must be a couple, because the slightly shorter figure dashes up to keep pace with the first, and grabs their hand.

He’s trying to get into my head, you think, as you watch their approach. I have to time it right, and he’s... saying stuff like that. Ugh.

You carefully lean towards the panel, and wait until you can hear the couples’ whispers. Then you swing it open and let out a shriek. The couple jumps away, squealing, and you settle back inside the tree.

Sighing, you stare at the hinges of the panel, waiting to hear what Minghao does. Seungkwan is here to gauge the loudness of the screams the two of you earn, and whichever one gets more, will win the spot.

You’re not sure what Minghao did, but you hear the couple squeal even louder for him. If you’re only going to get squeals, you’ll basically be handing the job to him.

I do look scary, you think. I don’t know what he’s talking about. He has to be trying to psyche me out because he knows he doesn’t look the part. You’d spent forever on your dark makeup, and it will pay off.

Then you hear Seungkwan, with his two years of experience, let out a very scary groan. The couple screams, their footsteps fading fast as they start to run.

When they’re gone, Minghao calls your name. You sigh again. But since you know there’ll be another few seconds before the next customers come in, you grudgingly peek out.

“See what I mean?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Just give me some time and I’ll easily prove you wrong.”

“And why would you win against me, when I obviously am the better candidate here?” He cocks his head, messy hair falling into his eyes.

“Because I could say the same for you,” you sputter out. Chill, you tell yourself. Don’t let him make you lose your cool.

He crosses his arms against his chest. “What does that mean?”

Ugh. “You look too good to be scary,” you hiss.

“Wha--” he stops, and something flashes over his face--and you realize what you just said. How it sounded. What it revealed.

He opens his mouth to speak again.

And then you both hear the laughter of a large group of customers coming. So you turn and fling yourself back. Back inside. Back into the darkness to hide your face as it starts to burn red.

Stupid.

                                                        * * *

 The hours pass, and your throat starts to hurt. You hope Seungkwan is keeping good track, because to your ears, the reactions sound pretty equal. At least right now.

You’ve decided to switch things up sometimes--to leap out of the tree instead of sliding, to let the panel burst open instead of silently glide, or to duck low or stand high, depending on the people. It seems like switching it up causes better reactions, once you get a feel for who would be scared more by what. You wonder if Minghao has caught on to your tactics--because you know he can see you. But because you can’t see him, you don’t know.

In the slow periods, your brain keeps running in circles. Why did I say that? What he said... that’s just him getting to me. But the way I said it? It’s obvious I feel something. Maybe that’s why Seungkwan snorted earlier... was I staring too long? Oh, man. I guess I was staring if he noticed from all the way behind us.

You lean your head against the panel. So stupid.

                                                      * * *

Finally, finally, it nears the end of the night. Instead of seconds between customers, it becomes one minute, then two, then three. You know the line is dwindling now, and soon you’ll all be able to head home. And you’ll find out whether or not you won.

I don’t even know if it could be me anymore, you think, sighing.

Your phone buzzes in the little pouch you’re wearing at your hip (since your dress didn’t have pockets), and since you can’t hear anyone coming, you pull it out and read the message. It’s from Seungkwan and it says Almost time now. He’s put you and Minghao in a group chat.

Yup, you text back, unsure why he said that when you can keep on eye on the clock yourself.

Do you feel it? I can.

You stare at your phone, confused. But he always does this sort of thing--staring conversations with random, dramatic sentences like this. He lives for the dramatic.

Feel what? Minghao types.

Seungkwan sends back an annoyed emoji. The air of the room.

What is he talking about? Shaking your head, you text, what about it?

You hear him groan from the over side of the room and almost laugh.

The typing bubble pops up immediately. The tension!!!!!!!! he sends.

You blink, still confused. No one texts anything else for a moment, even though you and Minghao both have read it.

Minghao finally sends in an annoyed emoji, too. What are you even talking about?

Yeah, you’re being weird, you add.

Seungkwan spams the chat with literally all the annoyed emojis on his keyboard. You roll your eyes.

When he stops, he sends a message in all caps. THE TENSION BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU!  And then, Seungkwan leaves the chat.

Minghao sends a confused emoji. You don’t say anything back, just turn off your screen. Oh boy.

“Yeah, cause we're competing,” you say out loud, making sure no footsteps are nearing.

“That’s right,” Minghao says.

Before anyone else can speak, you hear a group of customers and the three of you go quiet, waiting.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan sighs. “Fine, yeah.” He pauses, and you look down at your phone. Seven minutes until closing.

“But,” he pipes up again, “that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Minghao sounds like he’s standing up. “Then what are you trying to say?” he asks, his voice strangely tight. Maybe his throat hurts too.

“You guys were... friendly... before our manager announced the news that day,” he says slowly. “Some might say very friendly.”

“I wouldn’t,” Minghao butts in.

“Yeah, not really.” You add, agreeing. You have no idea where this is going, but knowing Seungkwan... it worries you.

“Fine, would you rather me say close? Flirty? Romantically interested? That the tension between you is sparks flying?” His voice gets louder and louder as he goes.

That, right there, shows that your gut is always right about Seungkwan. You love him but sometimes...he’s too much. You bite your lip, trying to ignore how his words affect you. You can’t believe someone else--especially the wrong person--noticed what you’d been doing. Because you had to admit that you actually had been flirting back then.

“Shut up,” Minghao says. You can’t judge his emotions from just his voice so you have no idea how he feels. But his words...you are glad to be hidden from view right now. Otherwise he may see the truth.

“Why? Because you know it’s true?” Seungkwan demands. “I’m close with you two and I’m not going to let--” he is forced to stop because Minghao shushes him.

“No! Customer,” he hisses.

You wonder why you, the closest to the door, didn’t hear him earlier, because it sounds like a youtuber who’s vlogging a mile a minute. “And this is the first room... here we go, guys. Oh, it’s dark.”

You wait until he’s right beside the tree before leaping out and screaming. You scare him so bad he almost drops his camera--which you would have felt awful about. But he laughs. “Oh my gosh, guys, did you just see that? Only the first scare and I almost smashed my lens.”

You settle back into the tree and are happy to say that he screams much quieter for Minghao. You shake your head, looking down at your hands. Sometimes you’d thought Minghao had flirted too, back then, but you’d never really been able to tell. You normally were a bit too shy to flirt first, but around him, you’d always felt comfortable. Or, at least, the good kind of shy.

You sigh. Obviously it’s different now. The competition ended everything. If you had the chance to go back and fix it... but I don’t.

You look down at your phone. Three minutes. The youtuber will be the last customer of the night.

Seungkwan realizes this too, and he steps out and into the main part of the room. “Alright, guys, I’m going to go talk to management about which one of you won.”

“Wait--you’re not going to tell us first?” You ask, stepping out of the tree.

He shakes his head, grinning. “Nope. And technically you’re required to stay here for--” he paused and looks down at his phone--two more minutes and thirty-five seconds. So, I’ll head out so you two can... talk. Or whatever.”

“Boo Seungkwan, what do you mean by ‘whatever’?” You call after him. He turns around, winks...and then starts running.

“You better run!” You yell.

You stand there, listening to the recorded spooky animal sounds you’ve grown to hate, and try to hold what’s left of your pride together. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been this embarrassed. But you do know that the last time was definitely because of Seungkwan, too. You sigh. Minghao seems--wait, where is he? You turn, about to see if he’s still inside the carriage, but he’s right behind you. Like earlier.

You take a step away. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs, pausing for a second. But then he steps closer and clears his throat. “We probably should talk.”

“There’s no need,” you say. “One of us will get the spot. One of us won’t. We won’t see each other again. Like I said, no need. And it’s not like he’s right about what he said--I mean, he’s wrong all the time, so why not now? That’s... yeah. That’s what I think.” You’re babbling now. Is he even going to believe this? I wouldn’t. But that could be because I know it’s not true.

“It’s strange we’re both so close with Seungkwan but the two of us never met before the training,” Minghao says suddenly. “He’s steered me wrong a lot before, too, honestly.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, not sure how to respond.

“But... he’s good at reading emotions. Reading a crowd. A vibe. Whatever. And... I dunno. I just wanted to talk. Because of that. Maybe there’s some truth behind it.”

You cross your arms over your chest, turning to face him. “Well, you know, I’m pretty good at it too and I never... never felt anything 100% like what he was saying... from you.” You look up, into his eyes, which are strangely intense--and not just because of the makeup. He actually looks quite scary now.

“Then I guess you’re not that good,” he says, speaking quickly, but keeping the same facial expression. “Because even tonight, I was. Doing that. About the luck thing.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your cool under his gaze. Is he saying...? “Huh?”

He sighs, and looks away. You feel like you can take a breath again, with his eyes on something else for a moment. Just as suddenly, he looks back at you. “What I said, about you looking good. Pretty. I meant it.”

Somewhere in the back of your head says that the two minutes and whatever-seconds is up but... you’re not in a rush.

“Oh,” you say, in a small voice, because words have escaped you.

“Yeah,” he repeats, because words have escaped him, too.

It is quiet. The animal sounds have shut off. You suddenly miss them, in the silence. “Well, then...I guess it’s time,” you say.

“I guess so,” he echoes.

You both turn away, and start towards the door..

“I meant it too,” you suddenly blurt out. “What I said about you. Obviously. The compliment, I mean.” Oh no. Oh no. You panic and keep talking. “But... I don’t think you’re right for this. I’m not saying that as competition anymore, I just... You’re supposed to look creepy and scary, right? But your outfit looks... kingly. And you were just meant to be some haunted duke or whatever. Not even a king. But you look so fancy. And you just slapped some smudgy makeup on and messed up your hair and hoped that was enough. It’s not, though, so... yeah. But regardless of whether it’s scary or not, like I said earlier, I still think you look...” you stop then. You don’t know if you can finish.

“I look...?” Minghao is staring at you now.

And it’s still making you nervous. And when you’re nervous, you talk. Like you just finished doing. “What I said earlier,” you mumble.

Minghao furrows his brows. “And what did you say earlier?”

You turn away from him, for real starting for the door. “Good. You look good.”

He matches your pace with his long legs, and gently grabs your shoulder. “I know what you said. I remembered.” He grins, his voice quiet. “I just... wanted to hear you say it.”

You shake your shoulder out of his grip. “How rude,” you say, narrowing your eyes. But you stay beside him. And crack a smile, too.

“I know,” he says. “But... I wanted to be sure.”

"Sure?” 

He shrugs. “I didn’t know how you thought of me. We were rivals, you know.”

You laugh. “True.” You shake your head. “So Seungkwan... was right.”

“For once! Just kidding, he’s right about a lot. Yeah, he... he was right. I definitely was flirting the first day we met. At training.”

You start to bite your lip, but then you just let yourself smile. “I see.”

He elbows you. “Hey, don’t say you weren’t, back.”

You two are at the main entrance now. “I was,” you admit.

“I thought so. Even then. That’s why I sat next to you the next day.”

You smile again. “I remember. I was looking forward to working with you, then.”

Minghao nods, smiling back. “Me too, honestly. But... I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

You start to ask, why not? But then you remember. “Oh, yeah, that’s... true.”

Out of nowhere, Seungkwan appears, acting totally normal again. “Hey, ready, guys?” He asks. “Minghao, you’ll be second. Ladies first.” He brings you over to the manager, who smiles when she sees you.

“Congrats, girl! You got it! Seungkwan told me you were the winner. We’re glad to have you.”

You smile, shaking her hand, and after she gives you a few papers you need to fill out for your next shift, you’re out in less than five minutes. Minghao is waved over, and you decide to wait by the exit for him. What will he do? The haunted house pays pretty well... you wonder what he’ll say when he gets out. What you’ll say.

And then, he materializes besides you, a strange expression on his face. Before you can say anything, he immediately says, “Well, first, congratulations to you. But it’s not bad news for me: I guess they thought I looked good too, because they said they had a spot open for costume department.”

You make a face when he quotes you, but then the rest sinks in. “Wait, what? We just grab our clothes from the racks, though,” you say, confused. “We don’t have a costume department. I guess that explains why your costume was so off from your role...”

“I’ll choose to ignore that last thing, because now, we do! They said they want more of a cohesive look for everyone.” He smiles. “Like us, for example. We look totally different than everyone else. Just look.” He points at Seungkwan, and the manager. As they should, they look...scary. Goop and fake blood are smeared on their faces and clothes. You look down at yourself... and realize that you are only minimally smeared compared to everyone else. And Minghao isn’t at all.

“Oh,” you say, and you both break into laughter.

“I guess we will get to work together, then,” he says, looking into your eyes. But this time, you aren’t nervous, because they’re warm. Happy.

“I’m glad,” you say, because you genuinely are.

“Me too.” He’s still looking at you, and it makes your cheeks heat up. You notice that his are pink, too, and your heart beats fast like it did when he scared you earlier. “Here, let me walk you to your car.”

You nod, and he opens the door for you, and you walk side by side into the darkness. Unbeknownst to you, Seungkwan is standing at the door, watching. “See? I know stuff,” he whispers, smiling almost as big as the two of you.

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT.4

A/N JUST ENJOY!

Genre:Romance/Smut/Fluff/Angst

Rated: Rated-R

Pair: Kwon Ji Yong(aka G-Dragon)x reader

Word count 5,527

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5

Kiss me damn it! I implore him, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by him. I’m staring at Kwon Ji Yong’s exquisitely sculptured mouth, mesmerized, and he’s looking down at me, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening. He’s breathing harder than usual, and I’ve stopped breathing altogether. I’m in your arms. Kiss me, please. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives me a small shake of his head as if in answer to my silent question. When he opens his eyes again, it’s with some new purpose, a steely resolve. “Y/N, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you,” he whispers. What? Where is this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at him, and my head swims with rejection. “Breathe,Y/N, breathe. I’m going to stand you up and let you go,” he says quietly, and he gently pushes me away. Adrenaline has spiked through my body, from the near miss with the cyclist or the heady proximity to JiYong, leaving me wired and weak. NO! My psyche screams as he pulls away, leaving me bereft. He has his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length, watching my reactions carefully. And the only thing I can think is that I wanted to be kissed, made it pretty damned obvious, and he didn’t do it. He doesn’t want me. He really doesn’t want me. I have royally screwed up the coffee morning. “I’ve got this,” I breathe, finding my voice. “Thank you,” I mutter awash with humiliation. How could I have misread the situation between us so utterly? I need to get away from him. “For what?” he frowns. He hasn’t taken his hands off me. “For saving me,” I whisper. “That idiot was riding the wrong way. I’m glad I was here. I shudder to think what could have happened to you. Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?” He releases me, his hands by his sides, and I’m standing in front of him feeling like a fool. With a shake, I clear my head. I just want to go. All my vague, unarticulated hopes have been dashed. He doesn’t want me. What was I thinking? I scold myself. What would Kwon Ji Yong want with you? My subconscious mocks me. I wrap my arms around myself and turn to face the road and note with relief that the green man has appeared. I quickly make my way across, conscious that Kwon is behind me. Outside the hotel, I turn briefly to face him but cannot look him in the eye. “Thanks for the tea and doing the photo shoot,” I murmur. “y/n… I… ” He stops, and the anguish in his voice demands my attention, so I peer unwillingly up at him. His brown eyes are bleak as he runs his hand through his hair. He looks torn, frustrated, his expression stark, all his careful control has evaporated. “What, JiYong?” I snap irritably after he says – nothing. I just want to go. I need to take my fragile, wounded pride away and somehow nurse it back to health. “Good luck with your exams,” he murmurs. Huh? This is why he looks so desolate? This is the big send off? Just to wish me luck in my exams? “Thanks.” I can’t disguise the sarcasm in my voice. “Goodbye, Mr. Kwon.” I turn on my heel, vaguely amazed that I don’t trip, and without giving him a second glance, I disappear down the sidewalk toward the underground garage. Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light, I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? Unbidden and unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. Why am I crying? I sink to the ground, angry at myself for this senseless reaction. Drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller I am. Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over the loss of something I never had. How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was – my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations. I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting field. Romantically, though, I’ve never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity – I’m too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in my chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest – no one except Kwon damn Ji Yong. Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Paul Clayton and Song Min-ho, though I’m sure neither of them have been found sobbing alone in dark places. Perhaps I just need a good cry. Stop! Stop Now! - My subconscious is metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. Get in the car, go home, do your studying. Forget about him… Now! And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap. I take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. Get it together Y/L/N. I head for Rin’s car, wiping the tears off my face as I do. I will not think of him again. I can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on my exams. Rin is sitting at the dining table at her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me. “Y/N what’s wrong?” Oh no… not the Min Hyo-Rin Inquisition. I shake my head at her in a back-off now Min way – but I might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute. “You’ve been crying,” she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious sometimes. “What did that bastard do to you?” she growls, and her face – jeez, she’s scary. “Nothing Rin.” That’s actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to my face. “Then why have you been crying? You never cry,” she says, her voice softening. She stands, her green eyes brimming with concern. She puts her arms around me and hugs me. I need to say something just to get her to back off. “I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily from… him. “Jeez Y/N – are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds me at arm’s length and does a quick visual check-up on me. “No. JiYong saved me,” I whisper. “But I was quite shaken.” “I’m not surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee.” “I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why he asked me.” “He likes you Y/N.” She drops her arms. “Not anymore. I won’t be seeing him again.” Yes, I manage to sound matter of fact. “Oh?” Crap. She’s intrigued. I head into the kitchen so that she can’t see my face. “Yeah… he’s a little out of my league Rin,” I say as dryly as I can manage. “What do you mean?” “Oh Rin, it’s obvious.” I whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway. “Not to me,” she says. “Okay, he’s got more money than you, but then he has more money than most people in Korea!” “RIN he’s– ” I shrug. “Y/N! For heaven’s sake – how many times must I tell you? You’re a total babe,” she interrupts me. Oh no. She’s off on this tirade again. “Rin, please. I need to study.” I cut her short. She frowns. “Do you want to see the article? It’s finished. Mino took some great pictures.” Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Kwon I-don’t-want-you JiYong? “Sure,” I magic a smile on to my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there he is, staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking. I pretend to read the article, all the time meeting his steady Brown gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why he’s not the man for me – his own words to me. And it’s suddenly, blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and from two very different worlds. I have a vision of myself as Icarus flying too close to the sun and crashing and burning as a result. His words make sense. He’s not the man for me. This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept… almost. I can live with this. I understand. “Very good Rin,” I manage. “I’m going to study.” I am not going to think about him again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my revision notes, I start to read. It’s only when I’m in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my strange morning. I keep coming back to the ‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing’ quote, and I’m angry that I didn’t pounce on this information sooner, when I was in his arms mentally begging him with every fiber of my being to kiss me. He’d said it there and then. He didn’t want me as a girlfriend. I turn on to my side. Idly, I wonder if perhaps he’s celibate? I close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe he’s saving himself. Well not for you, my sleepy subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams. And that night, I dream of brown eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and I’m running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t know if I’m running toward something or away from it… it’s just not clear.

~

. I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. I feel the Cheshire cat grin spread over my face. It’s probably the first time all week that I’ve smiled. It’s Friday, and we shall be celebrating tonight, really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I’ve never been drunk before. I glance across the sports hall at Rin, and she’s still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the end. This is it, the end of my academic career. I shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside I’m doing graceful cartwheels around my head, knowing full well that’s the only place I can do graceful cartwheels. Rin stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her Cheshire cat smile too. We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final paper. Rin is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys. “Y/N, there’s a package for you.” Rin is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel. Odd. I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon recently. Rin gives me the parcel and takes my keys to open the front door. It’s addressed to Miss Y/N Y/L/N. There’s no sender’s address or name. Perhaps it’s from my mom or Ray. “It’s probably from my folks.” “Open it!” Rin is excited as she heads into the kitchen for our ‘Exams are finished hurrah Champagne’. I open the parcel, and inside I find a half leather box containing three seemingly identical old cloth-covered books in mint condition and a plain white card. Written on one side, in black ink in neat cursive handwriting, is:

IWhy didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me?

Ladies know what to guard against,because they read novels that tell them of these tricks... I

I recognize the quote from Tess. I am stunned by the irony as I’ve just spent three hours writing about the novels of Thomas Hardy in my final examination. Perhaps there is no irony… perhaps it’s deliberate. I inspect the books closely, three volumes of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I open the front cover. Written in an old typeface on the front plate is: ‘London: Jack R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891.’ Holy shit - they are first editions. They must be worth a fortune, and I know immediately who’s sent them. Rin is at my shoulder gazing at the books. She picks up the card. “First Editions,” I whisper. “No.” Rin’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “Kwon?” I nod. “Can’t think of anyone else.” “What does this card mean?” “I have no idea. I think it’s a warning – honestly he keeps warning me off. I have no idea why. It’s not like I’m beating his door down.” I frown. “I know you don’t want to talk about him, Y/N, but he’s seriously into you. Warnings or no.” I have not let myself dwell on Kwon Ji Yong for the past week. Okay… so his brown eyes are still haunting my dreams, and I know it will take an eternity to expunge the feel of his arms around me and his wonderful fragrance from my brain. Why has he sent me this? He told me that I wasn’t for him. “I’ve found one Tess first edition for sale in New York at $14,000. But yours looks in much better condition. They must have cost more.” Rin is consulting her good friend Naver. “This quote – Tess says it to her mother after Alec D’Urberville has had his wicked way with her.” “I know,” muses Rin. “What is he trying to say?” “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I can’t accept these from him. I’ll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book.” “The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?” Rin asks with a completely straight face. “Yes, that bit.” I giggle. I love Rin, she’s so loyal and supportive. I repack the books and leave them on the dining table. Rin hands me a glass of champagne. “To the end of exams and our new life in Seoul,” she grins. “To the end of exams, our new life in Seoul, and excellent results.” We clink glasses and drink. The bar is loud and hectic, full of soon to be graduates out to get trashed. Mino joins us. He won’t graduate for another year, but he’s in the mood to party and gets us into the spirit of our newfound freedom by buying a pitcher of margaritas for us all. As I down my fifth, I know this is not a good idea on top of the champagne. “So what now Y/n?” Mino shouts at me over the noise. “Rin and I are moving to Seoul. Rin’s parents have bought a condo there for her.” “waee, how the other half live. But you’ll be back for my show.” “Of course, Mino, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I smile, and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close. “It means a lot to me that you’ll be there Y/N,” he whispers in my ear. “Another margarita?” “Song Min-ho – are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think it’s working.” I giggle. “I think I’d better have a beer. I’ll go get us a pitcher.” “More drink, Y/N!” Rin bellows. Rin has the constitution of an ox. She’s got her arm draped over Louis, one of our fellow English students and her usual photographer on her student newspaper. He’s given up taking photos of the drunkenness that surrounds him. He only has eyes for Rin. She’s all tiny camisole, tight jeans, and high heels, hair piled high with tendrils hanging down softly around her face, her usual stunning self. Me, I’m more of a Converse and t-shirt kind of girl, but I’m wearing my most flattering jeans. I move out of Mino’s hold and get up from our table. Whoa. Head spin. I have to grab the back of the chair. Tequila based cocktails are not a good idea. I make my way to the bar and decide that I should visit the powder room while I am on my feet. Good thinking, Y/N. I stagger off through the crowd. Of course, there’s a line, but at least it’s quiet and cool in the corridor. I reach for my cell phone to relieve the boredom of waiting in line. Hmm… Who did I last call? Was it Mino? Before that a number I don’t recognize. Oh yes. Kwon, I think this is his number. I giggle. I have no idea what the time is, maybe I’ll wake him. Perhaps he can tell me why he sent me those books and the cryptic message. If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grin and hit the automatic re-dial. He answers on the second ring. “Y/N?” He’s surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I’m surprised to ring him. Then my befuddled brain registers… how does he know it’s me? “Why did you send me the books?” I slur at him. “Y/N, are you okay? You sound strange.” His voice is filled with concern. “I’m not the strange one, you are,” I accuse. There - that told him, my courage fuelled by alcohol. “Y/N, have you been drinking?” “What’s it to you?” “I’m – curious. Where are you?” “In a bar.” “Which bar?” He sounds exasperated. “A bar in Gangnam.” “How are you getting home?” “I’ll find a way.” This conversation is not going how I expected. “Which bar are you in?” “Why did you send me the books, Ji Yong?” “Y/N, where are you, tell me now.” His tone is so, so dictatorial, his usual control freak. I imagine him as an old time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old fashioned megaphone and a riding crop. The image makes me laugh out loud. “You’re so… domineering,” I giggle. “Y/n, so help me, where the fuck are you?” Kwon Ji Yong is swearing at me. I giggle again. “I’m in Gangnam… s’a long way from Seoul.” “Where in Gangnam?” “Goodnight, Jiyong.” “Y/N!” I hang up. Ha! Though he didn’t tell me about the books. I frown. Mission not accomplished. I am really quite drunk - my head swims uncomfortably as I shuffle with the line. Well, the object of the exercise was to get drunk. I have succeeded. This is what it’s like – probably not an experience to be repeated. The line has moved, and it’s now my turn. I stare blankly at the poster on the back of the toilet door that extols the virtues of safe sex. Holy crap, did I just call Kwon Ji Yong? Shit. My phone rings and it makes me jump. I yelp in surprise. “Hi,” I bleat timidly in to the phone. I hadn’t reckoned on this. “I’m coming to get you,” he says and hangs up. Only Kwon Ji Yong could sound so calm and so threatening at the same time. Holy crap. I pull my jeans up. My heart is thumping. Coming to get me? Oh no. I’m going to be sick… no… I’m fine. Hang on. He’s just messing with my head. I didn’t tell him where I was. He can’t find me here. Besides, it will take him hours to get here from Seoul, and we’ll be long gone by then. I wash my hands and check my face in the mirror. I look flushed and slightly unfocused. Hmm… tequila. I wait at the bar for what feels like an eternity for the pitcher of beer and eventually return to the table. “You’ve been gone so long.” Rin scolds me. “Where were you?” “I was in line for the restroom.” Mino and Louis are having some heated debate about our local baseball team. Mino pauses in his tirade to pour us all beers, and I take a long sip. “Rin, I think I’d better step outside and get some fresh air.” “Y/n, you are such a lightweight.” “I’ll be five minutes.” I make my way through the crowd again. I am beginning to feel nauseous, my head is spinning uncomfortably, and I’m a little unsteady on my feet. More unsteady than usual. Drinking in the cool evening air in the parking lot makes me realize how drunk I am. My vision has been affected, and I’m really seeing double of everything like in old re-runs of Tom and Jerry Cartoons. I think I’m going to be sick. Why did I let myself get this messed up? “Y/N,” Mino has joined me. “You okay?” “I think I’ve just had a bit too much to drink.” I smile weakly at him. “Me too,” he murmurs, and his dark eyes are watching me intently. “Do you need a hand?” he asks and steps closer, putting his arm around me. “Mino I’m okay. I’ve got this.” I try and push him away rather feebly. “Y/N, please,” he whispers, and now he’s holding me in his arms, pulling me close. “Mino, what you doing?” “You know I like you Y/N, please.” He has one hand at the small of my back holding me against him, the other at my chin tipping back my head. Holy fuck… he’s going to kiss me. “No Mino, stop – no.” I push him, but he’s a wall of hard muscle, and I cannot shift him. His hand has slipped into my hair, and he’s holding my head in place. “Please, Y/N, yeobo,” he whispers against my lips. His breath is soft and smells too sweet – of margarita and beer. He gently trails kisses along my jaw up to the side of my mouth. I feel panicky, drunk, and out of control. The feeling is suffocating. “Mino, no,” I plead. I don’t want this. You are my friend, and I think I’m going to throw up. “I think the lady said no.” A voice in the dark says quietly. Holy shit! Kwon Ji Yong, he’s here. How? Mino releases me. “Kwon,” he says tersely. I glance anxiously up at Jiyong. He’s glowering at Mino, and he’s furious. Crap. My stomach heaves, and I double over, my body no longer able to tolerate the alcohol, and I vomit spectacularly on to the ground. “Ugh – joesong haeyo*, Y/N!” Mino jumps back in disgust. Kwony grabs my hair and pulls it out of the firing line and gently leads me over to a raised flowerbed on the edge of the parking lot. I note, with deep gratitude, that it’s in relative darkness. “If you’re going to throw up again, do it here. I’ll hold you.” He has one arm around my shoulders – the other is holding my hair in a makeshift ponytail down my back so it’s off my face. I try awkwardly to push him away, but I vomit again… and again. Oh shit… how long is this going to last? Even when my stomach’s empty and nothing is coming up, horrible dry heaves wrack my body. I vow silently that I’ll never ever drink again. This is just too appalling for words. Finally, it stops. My hands are resting on the brick wall of the flowerbed, barely holding me up - vomiting profusely is exhausting. Kwon takes his hands off me and passes me a handkerchief. Only he would have a monogrammed, freshly laundered, linen handkerchief. KJY. I didn’t know you could still buy these. Vaguely I wonder what the J stands for as I wipe my mouth. I cannot bring myself to look at him. I’m swamped with shame, disgusted with myself. I want to be swallowed up by the azaleas in the flowerbed and be anywhere but here. Mino is still hovering by the entrance to the bar, watching us. I groan and put my head in my hands. This has to be the single worst moment of my life. My head is still swimming as I try to remember a worse one – and I can only come up with Ji Yong’s rejection – and this is so, so many shades darker in terms of humiliation. I risk a peek at him. He’s staring down at me, his face composed, giving nothing away. Turning, I glance at Mino who looks pretty shamefaced himself and, like me, intimidated by Kwon. I glare at him. I have a few choice words for my so-called friend, none of which I can repeat in front of Kwon Ji Yong CEO. Y/N who are you kidding, he’s just seen you hurl all over the ground and into the local flora. There’s no disguising your lack of ladylike behavior. “I’ll err… see you inside,” Mino mutters, but we both ignore him, and he slinks off back into the building. I’m on my own with Kwon. Double crap. What should I say to him? Apologize for the phone call. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, staring at the handkerchief which I am furiously worrying with my fingers. It’s so soft. “What are you sorry for Y/n?” Oh crap, he wants his damned pound of flesh. “The phone call mainly, being sick. Oh, the list is endless,” I murmur, feeling my skin coloring up. Please, please can I die now? “We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you,” he says dryly. “It’s about knowing your limits, Y/N. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?” My head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do with him? I didn’t invite him here. He sounds like a middle-aged man scolding me like an errant child. Part of me wants to say, if I want to get drunk every night like this, then it’s my decision and nothing to do with him – but I’m not brave enough. Not now that I’ve thrown up in front of him. Why is he still standing there? “No,” I say contritely. “I’ve never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again.” I just don’t understand why he’s here. I begin to feel faint. He notices my dizziness and grabs me before I fall and hoists me into his arms, holding me close to his chest like a child. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he murmurs. “I need to tell Rin.” Holy Moses, I’m in his arms again. “My brother can tell her.” “What?” “My brother Taeyang is talking to Miss Min.”(boi i hope you get the refrence u know taeyang and min hyo rin...) “Oh?” I don’t understand. “He was with me when you phoned.” “In Seoul?” I’m confused. “No, I’m staying at the Heathman.” Still? Why? “How did you find me?” “I tracked your cell phone Y/n.” Oh, of course he did. How is that possible? Is it legal? Stalker, my subconscious whispers at me through the cloud of tequila that’s still floating in my brain, but somehow, because it’s him, I don’t mind. “Do you have a jacket or a purse?” “Err… yes, I came with both. Jiyong, please, I need to tell Rin. She’ll worry.” His mouth presses into a hard line, and he sighs heavily. “If you must.” He sets me down, and, taking my hand, leads me back into the bar. I feel weak, still drunk, embarrassed, exhausted, mortified, and on some strange level absolutely off the scale thrilled. He’s clutching my hand – such a confusing array of emotions. I’ll need at least a week to process them all. It’s noisy, crowded, and the music has started so there is a large crowd on the dance floor. Rin is not at our table, and Mino has disappeared. Louis looks lost and forlorn on his own. “Where’s Rin?” I shout at Louis above the noise. My head is beginning to pound in time to the thumping bass line of the music. “Dancing,” Louis shouts, and I can tell he’s mad. He’s eyeing Jiyong suspiciously. I struggle into my black jacket and place my small shoulder bag over my head so it sits at my hip. I’m ready to go, once I’ve seen Rin. “She’s on the dance floor,” I touch Jiyong’s arm and lean up and shout in his ear, brushing his hair with my nose, smelling his clean, fresh smell. Oh my. All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that I have tried to deny surface and run amok through my drained body. I flush, and somewhere deep, deep down my muscles clench deliciously. He rolls his eyes at me and takes my hand again and leads me to the bar. He’s served immediately, no waiting for Mr. Control-Freak Kwon. Does everything come so easily to him? I can’t hear what he orders. He hands me a very large glass of iced water. “Drink,” he shouts his order at me. The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music casting strange colored light and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. He’s alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. He’s watching me intently. I take a tentative sip. “All of it,” he shouts. He’s so overbearing. He runs his hand through his unruly hair. He looks frustrated, angry. What is his problem? Apart from a silly drunk girl ringing him in the middle of the night so he thinks she needs rescuing. And it turns out she does from her over amorous friend. Then seeing her being violently ill at his feet. Oh Y/N… are you ever going to live this down? My subconscious is figuratively tutting and glaring at me over her half moon specs. I sway slightly, and he puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me. I do as I’m told and drink the entire glass. It makes me feel queasy. Taking the glass from me, he places it on the bar. I notice through a blur what he’s wearing; a loose white linen shirt, snug jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a dark pinstriped jacket. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and I see a sprinkling of hair in the gap. In my groggy frame of mind, he looks yummy. He takes my hand once more. Holy cow – he’s leading me onto the dance floor. Shit. I do not dance. He can sense my reluctance, and under the colored lights, I can see his amused, slightly sardonic smile. He gives my hand a sharp tug, and I’m in his arms again, and he starts to move, taking me with him. Boy, he can dance, and I can’t believe that I’m following him step for step. Maybe it’s because I’m drunk that I can keep up. He’s holding me tight against him, his body against mine… if he wasn’t clutching me so tightly, I’m sure I would swoon at his feet. In the back of my mind, my mother’s often-recited warning comes to me: Never trust a man who can dance. He moves us through the crowded throng of dancers to the other side of the dance floor, and we are beside Rin and Taeyang, Jiyong’s brother. The music is pounding away, loud and leery, outside and inside my head. I gasp. Rin is making her moves. She’s dancing her ass off, and she only ever does that if she likes someone. Really likes someone. It means there’ll be three of us for breakfast tomorrow morning. Hyo-Rin! Jiyong leans over and shouts in Taeyang’s ear. I cannot hear what he says. Taeyang is quite short with wide shoulders, short black hair, and light, wickedly brown gleaming eyes. I can’t tell the color under the pulsating heat of the flashing lights. Taeyang grins, and pulls Hyo-Rin to him, I am shocked. She’s only just met him. She nods at whatever Taeyang says and grins at me and waves. Jiyong propels us off the dance floor in double quick time. But I never got to talk to her. Is she okay? I can see where things are heading for her and him. I need to do the safe sex lecture. In the back of my mind, I hope she reads one of the posters on the back of the toilet doors. My thoughts crash through my brain, fighting the drunk, fuzzy feeling. It’s so warm in here, so loud, so colorful – too bright. My head begins to swim, oh no… and I can feel the floor coming up to meet my face or so it feels. The last thing I hear before I pass out in Kwon Jiyongs’s arms is his harsh epithet. “Fuck!”

a/n it is fun for me to edit these chapters so please leave a like and reblog to share it!

[nurseyxbitty]

*wheels in projector*

Chris Chow is hyperempathetic. He talks to the pucks and doesn’t like touching them outside of a game because he feels guilty for the hopes of the opposing team and their fans he dashes when he makes a save.

He had to learn to overcome his hyperempathy to become a great goalie, through visualizations and mind tricks; he made himself believe they were like those tiny dark dustbunnies in that Miyazaki film, and they were just being mischievous, and it was his job to keep them out of the net. Because the net was dangerous for them.

It worked, it’s worked for years, but he hasn’t told anyone this ridiculous fact. A lifetime of people telling him he’s “too sensitive” and “a crybaby” and “childish” has taught him exactly how much acceptance there is for the way his brain works in the male world, in sports.

Until he and Caitlin are discussing a psych elective she’s taking summer semester. It slips out, “--think you’ll love having fewer people in class with you, especially with that one. It’s like overwhelming sometimes.”

“Overwhelming?” the volleyball player glances up at from her iced latte.

“Yeah, like...all their opinions and feelings swirled around me or something when I took it last fall. People talked about their trauma histories and it was a lot to deal with and--why are you looking at me like that?”

Cait’s face is impassive, and Chowder wonders if she’s confused, embarrassed at having him babble nonsense at her. Wonders, shamefully, if he sounded childish. Later that night, he sneaks through fields so SMH won’t see him to Samwell’s dive bar where he knows the owner and he doesn’t get carded. He leaves early to cry a bit in his dorm room facing the wall. Around midnight he Facetimes his sister.

“I...I drank again,” he says to the woman in uniform on his phone screen.

“So? It’s just one beer.”

“I’m scared...”

“You won’t go back to how you were, tyke. You were in a bad place back then. Look at you now.”

“No, I’m scared...there’s this girl..I..sounded like a kid today...I don’t know if she wants to keep dating me now...and...the team is always acting like I’m a kid...I wish I was normal...”

After they talk for a while, the Navy officer listening mostly, he’s encouraged to text her tonight--no, tomorrow morning. “And--don’t worry about what the team thinks, you can’t control that. Practice not giving a fuck.”

Chowder mulls over the best way to phrase his text that morning at team breakfast. Holster stuffing boiled eggs in his mouth makes him roll his eyes.

Yo, hope your morning’s going well.

Chowder sends the text and tries to get back to his scrambled eggs, but half a minute later, his phone buzzes.

It is now. Why do you have to look so handsome?

An explosion of warmth and passion and gratitude fills Chris to his fingertips. He can’t help his glowing smile. Like his sister always said, his emotional sensitivity is a gift as well as a curse.

Thank you, Caitlin. That means a lot. I wanted to know what you thought about my weird word salad yesterday actually. I forgot exactly what I said but it must have sounded odd.

His heart pounding like a piston, like a crankshaft, and the noise and crowds in the dining hall getting to be too much, Chris stands up from the table and heads for the exit. He gets into the hallway and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s like the crowds in the bleachers. Sometimes he can get in the zone and tune them out, but when he can’t, and their experiences wash over him--

A hand taps his shoulder. It’s Cait. He turns away from the wall to her. Was he looking weird, staring at a corner?

“You told me you were an empath,” she says slowly, meeting his eyes. She looks...embarrassed? “And I said I’d heard of them on Oprah. And...I sort of didn’t get much sleep last night because I kept thinking of how stupid that must have sounded. Someone tells you an important thing about themselves, and you respond ‘oh, like on TV!’ like good job, Farmer.”

Chris presses his fingers to his forehead as she says “I was afraid to text you. Like...you’re a catch, Chris. Also I may or may not have gone down to the lake with the girls and slammed some Mike’s Hards. I’m going stee-raight to hell.”

“Well,” Chowder slips his arm through hers, “At least you’ll know someone in the area when you get there.”

“What I meant to say was probably like...thank you for trusting me by being yourself and helping me learn about you,” Farmer says as they walked out onto the quad. “Like, you’re mad understanding about how I’m sensitive to some stuff cuz of like...douche ex.”

The way her body stiffens a bit and the wash of fear that covers Chris for a moment makes him want to wrap her in his arms, but instead he just nods.

“And about that course...I want to take it, but, I’m kind of nervous some of the readings might be too much, like you said...might remind me of stuff.”

“Yeah...by the way, how do you feel right now?”

Caitlin smiles at him. “Like a hug from a certain hockey goaltender.”

Chris lifts her into the air as she laughs, and then he starts spinning around gently.

[minusram]

under the cut: trans reigen ends up going to his high school reunion (~3.5k?)

-just a few short scenes, it kinda streamed out of me this morning. 

warning for MAJOR headcanoning (fanon ahoyyyy), high school bullying (unrelated to transness!), misgendering, deadnaming, and some minor homophobic language, but it’s really not an angst parade; i just want you to be safe. kinda bittersweet i guess. takes place 1~.5 years before canon

“I’m serious, that’s what happens,” Reigen says, walking next to Mob on their way to an assignment. He still isn’t used to the new uniform, like having a little black shadow keeping pace beside him whenever his student is following him around.

“But how do they get it in?” Mob asks, quietly skeptical.

“A big syringe, and then the carbonation makes the marble swell so it doesn’t fall out.”

“But—”

“I’m telling you, Mob, that’s how they make Ramune bottles. Listen to your master.”

“Reigen-shishou, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Reigen?” a woman says from behind him, “Reigen from Saffron High, is that you?”

Reigen can’t move, petrified by panicked shock that someone from back then has recognized him, even after everything; he loses his chance to abscond when she comes around to stand in front of him. Oh fucking hell, it’s Ooka Minami. She was in his class all through high school. He hated high school.

“Hey! Airi-chan! I can’t believe it’s you! Wow you got butch—look at that suit! Guess you really were batting for the other team, ne?”

Then she laughs. And that would be why.

“Gosh, Minami-chan, it’s been years!” Reigen gushes, “And it’s so great to run into each other, but I have to be going, so sorry; huge deadline, business to deal with, you know how it is...” he says, sweat popping up as he manoeuvers to make his belated escape.

“It’s okay, Shishou, I can deal with the spirit. You talk to your friend,” Mob says, extraordinarily and unhelpfully obtuse. If Reigen isn’t going to be able to get out of this conversation he at least doesn’t want Mob hanging around to hear it. Reigen shoos him off, and Mob goes silently into the park to deal with whatever’s been bothering the retirees who sit on the benches there every afternoon. It’ll be fine; this job is small fry, nothing he hasn’t handled before.

“Spirit? ...Shishou?” Ooka asks, skeptical.

“Yes,” Reigen says shortly, “I run an exorcism agency. He’s my student. We have a job. So I should really—”

“Spooky Airi-chan deals with ghosts now? And you were always such a skeptic.”

“Well, it’s a living,” he says, resigned to at least a few niceties. “And you?”

“I’m just out taking care of some errands, picking up stuff for dinner tonight. I know, it’s a little late, but running a household is hard work, especially with two kids around the house. You know how it is,” she says, with a gloating smile.

“I can’t say that I do,” Regein replies, light and dry.

“Oh, you’re not married?”

“No.”

“Better get on that, christmas cake.”

“Thanks for the advice. Well, Minami-chan, this has been spectacularly fun, but unfortunately I do have to go, sorry.”

“Oh, no problem. It was nice to catch up! Do you have a business card?”

“According to social convention,” he says, reluctantly digging out the case to hand one over, “I must admit that I do.” Ooka takes it and skims the contents greedily before tucking it in her wallet.

“I’d return the favour, but I don’t have any. After all, I’m a housewife,” she says with a sweet smile, the same one from back then, when she’d asked him if he had a crush on her in front of the entire class.

“Congratulations. I really must be off now, Minami-chan.”

“Bye, Airi-chan! See you soon!”

Unlikely, Reigen snarls in his head, and “Have a nice day,” pleasantly outside it, face smooth and bland as he turns to go find Mob.

Either there was nothing here or Mob’s taken care of it already, because the kid is being mobbed by a bunch of geezers that practically totter on their feet. Surrounded, he doesn’t notice Reigen until Reigen’s gently elbowed his way to the centre of the throng of old people cooing over Mob’s adorable face. If his student were half as popular with people his own age as he is with grandparents, Reigen might have to do something to prevent his esper from succumbing to the peer pressure of spending time with people not fourteen years his senior.

Reigen tows Mob to freedom, says goodbye to the group, collects payment from the park manager, and sets off back to the office, Mob beside him.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and hears his heartfelt desire for Mob not to mention the encounter like a chant in his head.

“Who was that?” Mob asks, dashing his hopes. Reigen blows breath out through his nose, and answers:

“An old classmate.”

“A classmate?”

“From high school.”

“Oh. Was it nice, to see her again?”

“It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Why did she call you -chan?”

“Ahh, it’s an old joke from high school. You… had to be there, ha.”

A joke—yeah, sure.

That’s a good word for it.

-------

A week later, the office gets a letter from his alma mater, and Reigen regrets. Why didn’t he just lie? Nobody from Saffron would ever have thought about him again, but now that Ooka has his contact information it seems he’s been brought back into the mailing list’s fold.

It’s probably about money, isn’t that the sort of correspondence you get from high school?

He opens it; it’s an invitation to his ten-year class reunion, happening soon. It’s a bit late notice, but from the date printed in the corner of the photocopied sheet the rest of the letters were sent out months ago.

Reigen smirks as he balls up the page; there’s nothing in the world that could make him go to that shitshow.

But when he reads the second one, he drops into his seat.

-------

Reigen toys with the zipper on his jacket, sitting on the edge of his bed, ready to hang up if the wrong person answers the phone. He’s relieved when his target picks up on his first try.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ma.”

“Arataka! Have you finally learned to call me without wild horses dragging you to the phone?”

He lets out a silent sigh and shifts on the mattress to lean on his free hand.

“No, sorry, I’m still trying to find my feet at the ranch. Are you free to talk?”

“For you, always.”

“Great. I have a bit of bad news, we’ll have to reschedule those plans we have in a couple weeks.”

“But why? If this is something to do with that shady business of yours…”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just thought I’d go to my class reunion, and I just found out. It’s the tenth anniversary, can you believe it?”

“Ten years, really? Oh, time goes by so fast. But Arataka, I’m so pleased! I know it was hard sometimes, but after you graduated I was so sad you lost touch with all your friends.”

His friends, such as they were, were delinquents and thugs who introduced him to smoking, cutting school, and violent self-defense. His parents never knew about them. But they were loyal, and now, years down the line and far too late for it to matter, he finds that he’s a little sad too.

“Well, I can go say hello and goodbye, anyway.”

“Apricot, are you sure? I don’t want you to get hurt...”

“Geez, Ma, what’re they gonna do, beat me up? I can handle myself, don’t worry about it.”

“I am happy you’re going. Fine. You still won’t cut out this psychic nonsense and get a real job?”

“Nope.”

“So when are you going to settle down, then? I don’t care who it is, although I’m aching for grandchildren, Taka, aching, but you need someone to take care of you—”

“Wow look at the time, I’m late, sorry, love you, gotta go,” Reigen blurts, and hangs up. He falls back to bounce against the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

An inelegant retreat, but hey—it works.

He hauls himself up to look into finding an appropriate suit.

-------

Weeks later, Reigen stands just outside the door and listens, pretending he’s scoping out the room and not psyching himself up to face people he thought he was done tolerating a decade ago.

“Eh? A spirit agency, really?! And after all that shit about how ‘ghosts aren’t real’ and ‘there is no afterlife’. God, she never shut up about it!”

“Enlightened Reigen-sama, better than everyone else.”

“Ha, remember when she ruined the haunted house? During the cultural festival… our second year, I think.”

“Oh my god! I completely forgot about that!”

“And when—”

“Yeah! Damn, what a nightmare.”

A pause.

“...I hear she’s a dyke now.”

“Whoa, watch your language, dude.”

“Fine, fine, but still.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m with Ooka-chan on the planning committee, she’s the one who found her.”

“No way, Minami-chan said that? I don’t buy it.”

“They really hated each other back then, it might just be a rumour.”

“But Reigen-chan confessed to her, didn’t she?”

“Whaat? No, no, that was just bullying.”

“Girl bullying, brr.”

“I don’t know, she always seemed kind of weird to me.”

“That’s just because she kicked your ass when you asked her out.”

“Ha!”

“Hey, shut up!”

“You had bruises for a week!”

“She didn’t kick my ass… it was those assholes she always hung out with.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sure.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m not lying! It was!”

“Okay, dude, whatever.”

Reigen sucks in a slow breath during the lull in the conversation, his back to the wall just outside the door, and remembers the assholes he used to hang out with. One less now, and the thought clenches something stricken in his chest.

“But seriously, she’s a psychic now? What a load of crap.”

“A crossdressing psychic, even.”

“What was her stage name supposed to be again? It was something like… sparkling.”

“Oh wait, it’s on the tip of my tongue—”

“Splendid, marvelous, amazing…”

“Arataka!”

Reigen jumps.

“Yeah, Arataka, that was it.”

“Reigen Arataka, psychic extraordinaire.”

Well it’s hard to ask for a better opening line than that. Reigen steps out, into the gymnasium—patchily decorated, brightly lit—and smiles.

“You rang?”

They startle, all four of them, spinning around to stare. He doesn’t recognize them really, vague faces that populated the halls long ago; except for Honda. He did kick his ass, actually, for asking him out, but also for trying to cop a feel on the roof.

“Holy shit! Did you— I mean, how the fuck are ya, Reigen-san?”

“Yeah, how’ve you been? It’s great to see you.”

“I can’t believe you came!”

“Oh, likewise,” Reigen says with a wintry smile, “It’s so nice to hear from old friends.”

“Haha…” one of them goes, weakly.

Reigen isn’t overtly hostile, but exchanging pleasantries is tense; about who’s working where now, and who got married to whom, and whether that nasty old Mori-sensei died or just retired without a trace.

“This has been very enlightening—you all have so much to say, it seems I’ve really been out of the loop—but I think I see someone over there I can’t get out of saying hello to, if you know what I mean. I’m glad we could catch up.”

“Um, sure…”

“You too…”

“Yeah, go for it…”

Reigen walks off, and hears them start up again behind him.

“What the hell—”

“Was that really her?”

“No way, that was a damn dude! What happened to my cute Reigen-chan?”

“Your Reigen-chan? Honda, man, give it up.”

“Yeah, even if she was into guys, there’s no way she’d pick you.”

“I dunno, I think that suit looked pretty good…”

Their voices fade into the crowd.

-------

Reigen wanders the halls, and comes across a gallery of photos, those that made it into the yearbooks and those that didn’t. He’s surprised to find one of himself, printed out and posted with everyone else. But then, they didn’t all hate him, and even if they did this is all ancient history by now; it’s impossible that everyone on the reunion committee’s as petty as Ooka and those assholes he was eavesdropping on earlier.

It’s Reigen, sixteen years old and staring into the camera, unimpressed. Slim, fierce, blond, flatchested, and wearing the girl’s school uniform, but altered; without the kerchief, and the skirt lengthened down to mid-calf. Hair short, as short as he wears it now, but the cut looks different framing a youthfully feminine face. Tall—for a girl, ha; Reigen got his height early in life—and stance confrontational, feet planted and only half turned to look, photograph showing signs of movement in his clothes and hair like it’s a candid shot. For all he knows it was, he doesn’t remember ever seeing this picture before. Reigen can just make out the cigarette in his younger self’s hand, smoke trail snaking behind the sleeve and ember hidden by the swirling fold of the skirt.

He remembers that kid, remembers living that way; he doesn’t resent being that person even if life was shitty beyond measure the entire time he was.

“Ah, Reigen-kun.”

The voice is familiar, if more warbled than he remembers. Reigen gladly turns to meet it.

“Hey there, Teach,” he grins.

“Still with the hair, I see. When are you going to give that up, you look like a delinquent.”

“I keep telling you, Ikeda-sensei, it’s natural,” he says, grin widening until it’s shit-eating.

“Mmhmm,” Teach hums, skeptical, “That old line. You shouldn’t lie to your elders, Reigen-kun; I’m old, not blind.”

“Honest. I swear,” he says, hand to his heart, perfectly composed into earnestness except for the smile still on his face.

“Oh get over here, you hooligan, and let me look at you.”

Reigen gets over, to be inspected by a spry woman, age only slowly catching up to her under the cardigan and dyed hair, arms folded across her chest.

“As rough as ever,” she concludes with a small smile, after a detailed visual inspection, “Airi-kun, you haven’t changed a bit. Although the suit is new, I suppose. But it looks good on you, very charming.”

That name in the mouth of someone he respects twigs him something awful. Reigen looks at her, considering, and though his heart pounds he decides to go for it.

“Well, Teach,” the nickname comes out a little croaky, but he musters and continues, “I have changed a little bit. Or, I suppose you could say I’ve grown more honest with myself.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, um, I— I go by… Arataka… these days,” he says, and is immediately filled with regret. He shoves a hand up against his mouth, trying to seem pensive and patient rather than freaked out and on the verge of running away. He can’t stand to watch her, to see if it hits, so he snaps his head to the side to look at the pictures again. If that was too subtle for her he’s just going to give up; there’s no way he can say it again.

“Oh,” she says, and his pulse jumps even higher with the word, “Arataka...

“Well, Arataka-kun, you look very handsome, then.”

The laugh bursts out of him, one tense bark before he gets a hold of himself and turns back to look. She’s gazing at him calmly, seemingly unruffled. She doesn’t scream at him, or assume he must be joking, or berate him for growing into such a disappointment. Maybe this is fine, maybe he hasn’t just ruined one of the few things worth keeping from his troubled adolescence.

“R-right. Thank you,” he says, a little shaky.

“You’re welcome to it, Reigen-kun, I promise. And… I’m sorry about Abe-kun. I know you were friends.”

“Yeah,” Reigen says, personal revelations forgotten as he looks down at the scratched linoleum, head full of ghosts and memories. Of people from back then, the last time he was here.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing, “Me too.”

-------

The memorial service for Abe Katashi is short, awkward, and perfunctory.

An only child whose parents have been dead since he and Reigen still ran together, there’s no one to put together anything better than the impersonal effort of the Saffron High planning committee.

Reigen looks around as someone he doesn’t remember drones on apathetically about tragic loss and road safety to an uncomfortably shifting crowd, and doesn’t see anyone else from their little gang in attendance.

Depressingly, he finds only school employees and former classmates with even less claim to closeness than his own.

No friends have come forward from outside the school; Abe lived alone.

This will be the only funeral.

-------

After the feeble sham of a service, everyone parties; lights dim, chatting loud, bad dancing and standard karaoke combining in an unholy musical mess.

Reigen gets drunk at the bar.

Ooka finds him there, slumped, plastered already from half a glass of sake, and sits next to him.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, signalling the bartender for another glass.

“Are you kidding me?” Reigen replies, inebriated and indiscreet.

“Oh, well, it is such a shame about Abe-kun, of course. He had a sort of rough charm, back in school. Shiori had such a crush on him, you know.”

“I didn’t. Shiori… was she the one with the weird nose? Or the one who couldn’t keep her eyes of Fujioka-sensei’s ass during P.E.?”

Ooka laughs as the bartender comes back, putting her glass on a napkin in front of her.

“The second. Although between you and me, I have no clue what she saw in that man. He was already going bald ten years ago.”

“Some people like old things,” Reigen mumbles into his arms, folded on the bartop, “but he always kinda looked like beef jerky.”

Ooka laughs again and holds up the bottle. Fuck it. Reigen drains the glass for her to pour.

He sits up to return the favour. Why is she talking to him?

“Why are you talking to me?” he asks. Whoops. Possibly downing the sake wasn’t such a good idea. Well, he’ll nurse the next one.

“Aren’t we friends?” Ooka asks, disingenuous. Alright, they’re doing this then. Might as well, it’s not like he’ll ever see any of these people again.

“No, we’re not. You made that pretty damn clear when we were fifteen. I thought we were, though, until then.” Shit, too honest, too honest. This was definitely a bad idea. Reigen moves to disengage, to hell with the drink. It’s an open bar anyway.

Minami catches his arm before he can push away from the counter. Reigen stops, frozen, breathing picking up from the hand dangerously close to his wrist. She squeezes, just a little, and he rips away, almost toppling off the stool before he catches himself on the edge of the bar.

“Don’t, um, I don’t— like. Being touched, there,” he says, eyes wide. Minami looks startled, and suspicious, but visibly brushes it off.

“Fine. But it’s rude to just walk away, we were talking.”

“You know what else is rude? Calling someone a lesbian in public.”

“Even if it’s true?”

“It’s not— Agh! It’s not, I’m not a lesbian, I like both, okay, now will you cut it out?”

“Oh.”

“What. After all that, you gonna tell me you didn’t know?”

“No, I’m just surprised you’re admitting it to me.”

“Well, I am pretty drunk.”

“Yeah, Airi, I can tell.”

She’d know. He was fourteen when he tried booze for the first time, in Minami’s room the last summer before they thought they’d part forever, trading sips from a warm beer they stole from the stash hidden in her parents’ apartment; talking about how grown-up they’d be, once they were high school students.

“Why did you do it? That, to me? We were best friends in middle school, but once we graduated it was like you just fucking despised me. You made my life miserable, Minami, and I’ve never understood why.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It was so long ago.”

“What the fuck,” Reigen says. He can feel himself getting worked up, he’s always been a terribly melancholy drunk. “Is that shitty cop-out supposed to mean something? ‘Oh, it was a long time ago. Why don’t you get over it already?’ I can’t believe you did that to me, it was horrible. Everyone hated me! No one would talk to me, not a single person, for weeks! And it was all your fault. I thought you were my friend! And after what I did for you, even, after your dad—”

“Shut up,” Minami snaps, low and intense.

Reigen’s teeth click shut.

“Fine,” he says quietly, half to her and half to himself, “Fine, I’m done. I don’t know why I came here, what I thought would happen…” He sighs. “Bye, Minami-chan, have a nice life. I don’t think we’ll meet again.”

She huffs, and pinches his sleeve to stop him from walking away.

“I don’t know, Airi. I just… did. It was a weird time for me.”

“Whatever, Minami. For the record, it was a weird time for me too.”

and.. yep *shrug* that all i got (well, except a few spare lines that don’t have scenes attached...) this is basically just a write&dump 

ended up with a lot of dialogue, and none of my favourite parts of ‘high school reunion’ fics. may or may not continue, we’ll see

feel free to point out typos, or concrit, or whatever. i’d actually love to hear any thoughts! (as always)