#my heart is beating so fast it feel like ive ran a marathon but i feel so ALIVE

[daddy-long-legssss]

save me glastonbury 2013 save me

[tigerdrop]

O_O okay wowy well. sure. full disclosure this feels like one of the more embarrassing things ive ever written b/c there is literally no connection to canon and its just, “well, hes a vampire now, b/c i said so and i think it would be hot”. it is not usually what i do so. heres some shit i typed in a feverish haze and woke up with no recollection of

okay listen. okay. listen. vampire. you know whats great and what i always think about with vampires and always fucking end up writing, okay. negotiated blood exchange

literally nothing is hotter on earth than willingly agreeing to let a vampire suck your blood from your wrist at regular intervals and then deviating from the negotiated terms. sorry this is insanely specific but its my fucking thing Okay

i literally cannot explain why this intensely specific thing is my specific thing but. look. okay. envision if u will, gordon freeman getting the stupidest brain worm in his head and noticing that when benrey sucks blood from other things/people, he always goes for the neck like a normal vampire would. but between the two of them he goes for the wrist b/c thats what gordon agreed to (b/c hes a human who was deeply weirded out by the whole fucking idea, but benrey needs blood, and its better to let him take some from him every once in awhile than having him go out and hunt down god knows what)

and hes like "huh. what if it tastes different when it comes from the neck." and he starts pushing benrey about it and questioning him. like a fucking idiot. a moron

like "okay man but what if you just tried it. just once is fine. i dont care. i just wanna find out" b/c hes a scientist and a researcher at heart but hes also so fucking stupid

and benreys like weirdly reluctant about it (b/c, like, gordon puts on a lot of airs about not fucking liking him and getting all up in a dudes neck zone is scarily intimate but its not like its that weird if hes doing it to a stranger or some livestock animal thats not even gonna be alive to remember it, right) and you know it turns out that that was probably wise b/c as soon as he gets up close to gordons neck he can sense his heart beating faster and the blood pumping harder and, oh, thats why benrey wasnt doing it that way, b/c when those fangs get into his neck gordon lets out a truly embarrassing sound b/c it hurts and it burns like hell but it gets him so hot its like hes been hit by lightning. and his hands instinctually scrabble at benreys shoulders

and like look one of my favorite things on earth is the "incredibly sexually charged" scene followed by both of them realizing "wait what the fuck" and having to stop what theyre doing Right The Fuck Now and then mulling over it/dreaming about it/jerking off about it/whatever and i just want gordon to be plagued and haunted by gay thoughts about okay what if they did it again

[thinks very fcking hard about gordon jerking off about it and at least a dozen times he thinks god dammit why the Fuck am i thinking about this fuck fuck stupid idiot ass as he tries and succeeds in thinking about something else for maybe like 5 seconds before coming back to the feeling that jolted through him when he got bit every time]

YOU GET IT. "gordon freeman having a gay realization and then furiously jerking off about it and hating himself for it after" is my favorite thing on earth 

leans in close to look at the marks in the mirror later and runs his fingers over them and he gets that Jolt in his stomach and he fucking drops his toothbrush on the floor

just. dreaming about it. every fucking night hes plagued by dreams of benrey doing it again, but this time hes crawling closer, a hand at gordons neck, and hes making a low sound while he sucks gordons blood like his life depends on it (well, it does, but you know what i mean) and once hes done he pulls back to drag his tongue up gordons neck and get that last bit of blood that drips down it and gordon tugs him closer and makes that goddamn embarrassing sound again and then he wakes up with the worst boner hes ever had and he jerks off thinking about benrey biting his thighs like that, too 

me: hmmm yes i am a bottom benrey truther also me: god but what if benrey made him a babbling, shuddering mess and bit that neurotic little fucker bloody and railed him within an inch of his life. what if

gordon neck bruising up a little a day or so later and. looking at himself in the mirror and wondering what it would be like if he was just. covered in em. getting bowled over and lightheaded from just how fast all the blood in his body goes to his dick at the thought of being marked. gordon freeman passes out in the bathroom from being too horny. gordon freeman forgot how sensitive his neck was because no ones touched him there in years

literally every other time they had done this he was completely normal about it and the bruises on his wrist were just, like, an annoying formality, but now that door has been unlocked bro. hes done like dinner

and then on the flip side u have benrey absolutely beating the shit out of his meat b/c gordons never, ever let him that close before and that sound he made is burned into his brain and also, you know, gordon did have a point. it did taste different

just honestly what is better than two dudes who absolutely want to bang each other furiously jerking off alone while theyre convinced the other guy would be disgusted if he knew 

and benreys thoughts turn toward shit like......what if it tastes different everywhere. what if its different when its beading up from his stomach, where the flesh is a little softer. what if its different when he sinks his teeth into the meat of gordons inner thighs. and what if gordon sounds different everywhere he bites, too

like. sensitive thighs. the tease of being close to his dick but not there

doing that shit while hes just in boxer briefs (or like short-shorts if you wanna get real slutty about it idk) and gordons so fucking hard and its so fucking obvious how hes tenting his boxers and hes got his fingers tangled in benreys hair while hes biting his thighs (you know. as an experiment. for science. hah ha. ha) and hes so close to gordons dick but benreys not doing anything about it. and its not like he can just fucking ask.......its like the weirdest game of gay chicken hes ever played

gordon freeman absolutely fucking wrecked and red in the face and sweating and panting like hes ran a fucking marathon and this bitch has the nerve to pretend like hes not having a homosexual revelation

Anyway. My final message. Goodbye

[elizabeth-234]

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Ten: For the Great Good Part Two

Hi All. Thank you for reading. This is for prompt ten of whumptober: Internal Bleeding and blood loss.

References to suicide.

Chapter Eleven: Where in the World is Peter? 

???

People were talking around him. They were the type of murmurs you could never hear the exact wording no matter how hard you concentrated. His head lay heavy on the pillow, sunk into the dent worn in it by time. He found the same experience with his limbs. They were all but useless at his side besides the small twitch in the ring finger of his left hand.

Time held no meaning in that state of immobility and exhaustion dragged him back to sleep whenever consciousness creeped back in. Inside the immobile body his cells worked to heal and repair the damage from the attack and fall, though his mind remained unaware. Hours or weeks could have passed, and in some ways they did but Peter wasn’t aware to the consequences of this yet.

He woke up to the sound of voices again. Shaking from the effort, he cracked an eye open. There was a young nurse sitting on a stool near the door. She was on some talking into type of boxed hospital phone. Her intonation rose and fell as skimmed through some paperwork on a clipboard. Peter closed his eyes and panted while trying to ignore the trembling in his neck. He slept again.

Waking moments were more prevalent from then on. He noticed someone was always stationed in his room no matter the time of day. Some stayed in the chair by the door while others came in and watched TV. They sat in the chair beside him and though he would fall asleep, it this strange state of sickness seem less lonely.

The doctor came sparingly but they made sure to give a progress report when they did. “Low urine output still. Give him more fluids” The doctor said much to Peter’s embarrassment. His palms were clammy against the bedsheets but his arms wouldn’t respond to his attempts to move. His mind wanted to claim health, that he was fine and could go back, but his body knew what his mind wouldn’t acknowledge: Peter was hurt and it was taking too long to heal. His heart was beating fast but his pulse pressure remained low. He wasn’t just tired but had full exhaustion and fatigue in his muscles.

Sometimes he pretended they were talking about somebody else so he didn’t have to be embarrassed. Like he wasn’t invisible and they weren’t talking around him. Other times he couldn’t follow the updates from the people. He’d get lost in the numbers and vocabulary, the twisting sentences that almost seemed like they contradicted themselves. A headache formed and he would block out the sounds instead of trying to wake up. Still, Peter slept on.

When he opened his eyes without strain and forethought, it was night. He stared at the moon from his spot on the bed. It hung low and thick in his window. The yellow and dark watercolors of the face casting a strange tint across the room and the blankets covering him. The face stared right back at him all dark eyes and long mouths. Did the man in the moon pity him or was he laughing?

Peter took a mental stock of himself. He tensed his muscles pushing them to see how they functioned after no use. He was breathing hard from his exploration, his legs twitching and restless. With slow, measured movements Peter pushed himself to sit, though his stomach muscles protested the whole way. Hunched over and catching his breath, Peter thought about his next options.

The memories of how he came to be in the hospital were gone, but he knew he had to get out. The more time spent here, the easier it was for the men to come back. They would fine him eventually and such public exposure would work against him. Peter almost caved against the onset of his plans and fell back onto the bed, but he held firm. Rhodey and Tony’s faces appeared before him like apparitions in a ghost story. Their transparent expressions yelling at him to run as invisible enemies attacked them. A branch in the tree outside moved with the wind, disturbing the shadows in his room, and they were gone. He would find a way out for them.

Peter swung his legs off the side of the bed. He gasped as the cold of the tiled floor soaked through his socks and chilled his feet. Some plastic pouch was strapped to his leg. He palpated it and blushed when he felt liquid inside. Pushing away thoughts of his urinary track, Peter tested his balance. He fully placed his feet on the ground and pushed away from the stationary structure of the bed. Back and forth he teetered on the balls of his feet before what felt like the first time in forever, Peter was standing on his own two feet. His muscles burned and shook from the effort, and Peter began sweating but he was standing. It seemed like a time ago he was running on the dock. Had he fallen into the pond? His head pounded. He couldn’t remember what happened next.

Something moved and he saw the heat rustle the papers of the nurse sitting by his door. Her head was bent over to rest on the wall. She was almost asleep. Her eyes kept closing and not even the sounds of Peter’s explorations woke her. He could sneak around her if he moved fast enough. He tried walking but something tugged him back. The IV poll moved forward to catch up with him leaving the metal to scrap on the floor. The nurse woke up with a snort.

“Oh my.” She said when she spotted him up standing. “You shouldn’t be up. Let’s get you settled back in.”

There was no room for argument and he was tucked back in before he knew it. He drooped into the bedding and despite hating to admit it, even to himself, Peter felt like he’d just ran a marathon. Escape stretched further away from him if standing caused this much of an energy drain. He stared at the nurse how was working around him. She was an older nurse, one he might have seen before in one of his brief instances of clarity. She refilled his water and tucked the covers over his shoulders. Before she could move away he stopped her.

“Miss?” He said wanting to ask something that had been bothering him all night. “I’ve been to the hospital a few times when I was a kid and never had someone sit with me. Not that I don’t appreciate it but I don’t think I can sleep knowing someone’s watching me.”



She gave him a critical eye as she checked the IV measurements with the time.

“Well, Mr. Parker that hasn’t stopped you from sleeping in the past 24 hours with other nurses here. I’m acting as a sitter tonight. I’m here to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself given how they recovered you from that lake.”

She patted him on his arm and his mind reeled with startling clarity of her words. They thought he jumped.  They thought he chose to jump into the icy waters and not come back. A shiver ran down his spine. He needed to make her understand.

“That, that wasn’t it. I - someone was running after me and I fell. I - it wasn’t on purpose.” 



She clucked her teeth and pushed the covers up where they had fallen when he tried to get up to reassure her and maybe himself as well.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Parker. I have a job to do until you are cleared with the doctors and you do too. Rest easy tonight and focus on getting better. You’ve had some internal bleeding that they need to look at now you’re awake.”

He nodded and fell back into his pillow all fight and plans of escape forgotten.

“It’s Peter, please. Could you put the TV on? I would feel better with some background noise.” He said.

“I’m nurse Bee. Sleep well, Peter. I’ll be watching over you tonight.”

He closed his eyes and the sounds from the TV filtered into the room. His last thought was he thought he heard a commercial with Shrek come on.

-

“You’ve got some very unusual markers in your blood, Mr. Parker. It’s the reason it took us so long to find a suitable donor to get a transfusion. Now that it’s all set you should be feeling much better. We’ve removed the catheter as well and stopped most of the pain meds. The goal is to get you mobile now, build up any muscles, and, of course, you’ll have to see a psychiatrist. One will be sent up this afternoon. CPS was called and-”

“I’m eighteen, Doc” He said maintaining eye contact. The doctor raised an eyebrow but Peter didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t believe Peter, never mind that he was right not to trust him. It was that or he didn’t care either way. “Plus, I’ll call my uncle and he’ll tell you. There’s no need for anything else.”

The afternoon was filled with appointments. Just thinking about it left him a state of denial. Question after question bombarded him. He was scanned and poked and prodded. He didn’t even know how he was going to pay for everything.

The talk with the therapist was the worst. The hour dragged on. Every question was followed by another. Peter tried to be as honest as possible. Sticking to the truth was best in a lie and it would be easier to remember later, but Spiderman, that place, and May. No, all of those things were off limits. What he did repeat was he hadn’t jumped. He was chased and fell. The man nodded and wrote down something in his notebook before trying to dive into Peter’s past. He had no past here.

In any other circumstances it might’ve been helpful. If Peter was open to the experience he might have found talking about his life to a stranger freeing. But this wasn’t the case. His past was gone here to all outside eyes. It hadn’t happened because it would be dangerous to talk about it. He was increasingly closed off as the minutes went by. His attention more focused on the plaid sweater vest the man was wearing than their session.

Night came again. They must have believed his story because was finally alone. He was parched from retelling everything he remembered and more during the day. Still, something was missing. Dr. Lang suggested it was the trauma but Peter thought everything seemed off somehow. Everything was different from before.

He stuffed the blanket around his feet so the cold air wouldn’t chill them and grabbed the controller. He almost wished the nurse from the previous night was there before he stopped the thought. Escape. He needed to escape tonight. The CPS had been too late to arrive today but he didn’t think he would be lucky enough tomorrow. They couldn’t make plans about him and take him farther away than he was now.

The IV prickled with blood after he pulled it out. He pressed the corner of his gown onto the small hole and once it coagulated, Peter tossed a blanket around his shoulders as disguise. It wasn’t the most incognito appearance but it was all he had until he could find something, maybe a nurse’s zip-up to use. He also didn’t want the cold to stress his body even more in its weakened state.

The memory of the therapist in plaid confirming his time with the CPS tomorrow was enough to get him out of bed and into the hallway. It was empty. Only his heart racing and machines talking were heard at this time of night. Above everything else, he couldn’t be caught. He walked without sound but he was too slow all his thoughts of daring escapes and only managed one hallway when he heard someone walking. A nurse turned the corner wheeling a cart in front of him. One of the wheels squeaked as it rolled. Peter held his breath and pushed himself into the wall but it wasn’t cover enough. As fast as he dared Peter darted into the closest room hoping the patient was asleep. He leaned against the door not breathing until the squeaking grew too faint to hear.

“What are you doing?”

Someone said from inside the room. Peter swallowed. His assessment of sleep was way off base. With a stolen breath he peered around the door wall and into the room.

Papers were strewn over a spread of open books on the bed. It was chaos but the person sitting didn’t seem to mind. They were hunched over one of the papers. Peter waited for them to look up. He wondered if his eyes would be cold or warm but they were shrouded from view. His brown hair longer than Peter’s haircut. It was grown out from his buzzcut but still not longer than his ears. Peter spared a glance at the boy’s mouth and forehead. Both were furrowed and lined as he concentrated.

Peter felt like he was in middle school again waiting in the principal’s office after getting into a fight when one of the other kids called him a nerd. The principal made him stand in front of his desk for five minutes while he finished work. Peter didn’t have time to wait now.

“Well?” He asked again with a raised eyebrow. Peter realized he’d never answered. While the ground seemed infinitely a safer place to look Peter forced himself to look up.

His breath froze in his chest. In front of him sat an apparition. Peter almost pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. His eyes were the same brown with flecks of black speckled throughout, but like the first time it was the emotion that kept his attention. There was a certain duality to his eyes. They stayed focused completely on him and taking in his face but this time there was no recognition of the distance between them. This time Peter felt as though he carried the ocean in him that separated them and, for a moment, he could almost understand the expression in his eyes the first time they met. Maybe he’d been asleep longer than he thought. Peter continued to stare and the longer he looked the more differences he spotted. The lines weren’t the same around his eyes, age hadn’t touched him yet, and he was missing that familiar edge to the brown pupils that had grown over the weeks of Peter being with them.

“I was just hiding - I mean, I was, Tony? What the hell are you doing here?” 



The man’s – boy’s - eyes hardened but the curiosity stayed.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” 


Thank you!

Next Chapter Twelve: The President, Shrek, and Sweater Vests 

[kairoskrp]

                                     — On the wicked wings of time, thy kingdom comes

Meet [ Song Jihyo ]

She is a [ thirty-five] year old  [ owner of safer shores ] currently residing in [ skyhall apartments, #605 ]. Visit  and greet  her today!

Personality: 

Song Jihyo is a force of nature. Regal, proud and strong, Jihyo has a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong. She easily feels taken advantage of and will often lash out harshly to make sure people now that’suna-fucking-ceptable.Generally kind-hearted, warm and passionate, she has a strong temper that flares up like a supernova but is also easily pacified. Above all, she is protective and will do anything to keep those she loves safe. She has seen too many things to still care for fear, let alone let it hold her back. Sweet to most, it is a good idea not to get on her bad side.

Spirit: Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons

Power:

Enhanced condition: The user’s physical and mental abilities are above natural members of their species in that verse, beyond what can be emulated via natural training and with little to no maintaining. This entails that they are faster, stronger, more intelligent and overall superior to fellow members of their species, without being obviously supernatural. (Think Captain America.) Jihyo has no extra mental capacities, though.

porcelain to ivory to steel: Jihyo has an increased resistance to pain and injuries. She is nearly immune to all poison or drugs (to her great dismay this includes caffeine and alcohol). Most people could barely hurt her with a punch, and normal knives while still hurting her will find considerably more resistance on her skin. She can fall from great heights that would kill a normal person, or simply blink as they break a chair over her arm. If normal people’s skill is paper, hers is steel.

even heroes have the right to bleed: even so, Jihyo is not invulnerable. Things like shooting her at point blank will still hurt her. While she may fall from greater height, shoving her out of a plane would still kill her. Giving her a ridiculous amount of drugs will still affect her. To her great dismay, alcohol and caffeine is included in the list, and so are painkillers, so when she does get hurt, it’s usually a slow, painful way to recovery. She heals slightly faster than regular humans, but not considerably so. She is more difficult to harm, but when she gets hurt it usually sucks big time for her. Also while she might be more resistant to actual injury, she is not that much more resistant to pain, meaning that while something might not harm her, it may very well still hurt her.

golden medalist girl: Jihyo is in prime condition, and doesn’t have to train much to maintain it. She is considerably more agile than an olympic gymnast, faster than a sprinter, has the stamina of the world’s greatest marathon runner, stronger than a sumo wrestler, has incredibly fast reflexes, and so on. She has a certain affinity to hand-to-hand and close combat especially.

jack of all trades: due to her all-compassing power, she doesn’t really excel at anything. This means that someone with enhanced strength would still be stronger, or enhanced speed would still be faster. Also, while a lot of complicated moves and human feats may be within her capacity, she still has to actually learn and practice the moves. To maintain her energy she must eat copious amounts of food and she often goes hungry.

my spideysense is tingling: along with her physical condition, her senses are also heightened, meaning she sees, hears, smells, feels and tastes on an increased level. She can smell several layers of scent, see greater distances and during night or through smoke (although she posses no skills like heat vision or the likes, so her vision is ultimately still on a human level.) She also has a heightened awareness of dangers.

hear my heart roar: she can however not stop this skill, much like any other part of her condition. This means that she can get overwhelmed if exposed to too much stimuli as well, which can cause headaches or nausea or send her into a panic attacks. Her danger sense also often translates into a sense of paranoia, where she might consider things far more dangerous than they may be.

Biography:

tw: drugs, violence, murder, implied child abuse, implied rape, prostitution

I.

She is a nameless girl, for all the names she has aren’t really hers. She’s a motherless girl, for all the women that hold her hand aren’t really hers. She is a lifeless girl, for the live she leads isn’t hers at all.

She follows a stranger in the airport and she lets a woman she doesn’t know coo over her. In the morning, her father made her swallow a bag of something white, and a doctor put even more inside. She didn’t cry, because good girls don’t cry. Good girls smile and twirl around in their pink princess dress and don’t throw up before they’re told, no matter what. Good girls help the family.

She is seven, and she knows this.

II.

You’re special, her father told her, his hand on her aching tummy. The bag feels heavy and wrong, but she doesn’t cry. Only you can carry something so valuable inside you.

Something inside her stirs, deep within the hollows of her bones, underneath the cage of her ribs, and she knows that to be true.

III.

If she closes her eyes: golden shores, the waves calm and clear enough to see the vividly coloured fish swim, warm as the water washes over her bare feet. It is a dream, maybe, or a memory lodged in the confines of her veins, a soft thrumming like the humming of a bird’s wings. When she closes her eyes, the world is hers, the sand underneath her feet is hers and she belongs.

When she opens them: the smell of chlorine and car exhaust, she sits quietly like a doll by the poolside of a city she doesn’t know as people talk in a language she doesn’t understand. They have taken what is valuable from within her outside of her and with that, she loses her value. She’s just a girl. Just a kid, forgotten.

Just a vessel.

IV.

No one sees her, until Hayoon does. She will have a name to remember, she will have a legacy. She is beautiful, a mirage in the darkness, starlight eyes with a sunshine smile. They never taught Jihyo love, but she knows that’s what it is, the flutter beat of her heart. They never taught Jihyo love or peace or calm, but she knows that’s what it is.

Hayoon wants to be a dancer. She trains ballet, twirling in the sunlight. She loses her balance and wobbles and Jihyo catches her. Hayoon laughs, but doesn’t try again.

So she grows up like this: playing alone in the corner, pretending the sticks she finds are swords of old, gleaming in the sun. She rages against the sky, besieges the doll castle she got as a gift, conquers a foreign street. Hayoon at her side always, Hayoon twirling in the golden light, Hayoon laughing, Hayoon’s sleepy face smudges against her chest.

Protect, the voice inside her whispers, and Jihyo pulls her closer.

V.

You’re becoming more beautiful every day, they tell Hayoon, and it frightens Jihyo. She knows what that will mean. She is twelve and she understands the ways of the world now. She cannot shield her eyes any longer. Being beautiful means being wanted, and what people want can be sold, but only if the people wanting are important because of their numbers. But Hayoon giggles and she can’t talk.

No one ever asks what she wants. (She wants, more than anything, to go to those golden shores, to hear the birds sing there, to speak in that language that sometime flies through her mind like a fleeting memory, a wisp in the air, a hint of something greater.)

VI.

If she closes her eyes: a white knuckled grip on a kopis, the taste of blood in her mouth but none of it hers, a field of men slewn at her feet as she roars with victory.

If she opens them: Hayoon crying, her eyes swollen shut, blood trickling down her nose. Hayoon screaming they’re going to sell me, they’re going to hurt me. Hayoon crying don’t let them hurt me.

VII.

She is right. They come for her, cursing and forceful. And Hayoon crying don’t let them hurt me, don’t let them hurt me. Hayoon screaming, unnie, save me.

Hayoon screaming don’t let them hurt me, but Jihyo is just a little girl, and she doesn’t want pain either. She is weak and fragile and all alone.

Fight, the voice inside her roars, and Jihyo listens.

VIII.

She is not a girl in a cage, she is not a broken bird. She is a goddess. The blood they have spilled so carelessly is the blood of a queen. Her pulse roars like the rally cry of an army, deafening over her own screams.  In her wake, empires fall. Her eyes have witnessed hundreds of spears gleaming in the sun, coated with blood.

Fight, the voice inside her roars.

She is not fragile. She is unbreakable. She is a tenacious protector, fierce in her wrath.

Fight, the voice inside her roars.

Her anger sparks like a supernova, like a galaxy bursting into life, violent and glorious, a darkness and then the light, her frightened animal heart breaking out of its cage, the golden shores washed by tidal waves.

Fight, the voice inside her roars. I will protect you, the voice inside her promises, and Jihyo is unafraid.

IX.

When the anger subsides and the voice stops roaring, they are all dead at her feet. Hayoon’s eyes are wide and teary-eyed, but when the footsteps sound, she doesn’t hesitate. She takes Jihyo’s hand and pulls her along and together they run into the night.

X.

Life on the street is harder than life in her golden cage, but it is free. She has Hayoon, she has an army of girls just like them, girls who ran into the night with their heads held high, girls with scars and bruises, who fell apart at the seams once, who picked themselves back up. She has Hayoon, she has a stranger’s wallet in her hand. She has a friend and dreams about a woman, strong like a mother, protecting her.

What more could a girl want?

XI.

Of course it is a man who ruins it.

XII.

You are meant for more than this, he says.

This means Hayoon shivering in a corner, this means boys fleeing with broken bones and bruised ribs. This means starving, slowly but surely. This means freezing, slowly but surely. This means living like an animal.

The voice inside her agrees and Jihyo listens.

XIII.

So he teaches her, how to fight, how to destroy. A vessel of another kind. No more deliveries. No more things given, but things taken.

He gives her names.

She makes the names go away.

XIV.

Life is good for a while. They regain another golden palace, Hayoon by her side. No longer a lost girl, but a queen. (And he, her king, in the silent spaces of her mind.)

But Hayoon stops smiling one day. She goes quiet and cold. She doesn’t like it when he comes near her, but she doesn’t tell Jihyo to leave. Jihyo knows, she didn’t like the streets. She didn’t like the fear of it, the uncertainty.

Jihyo knows, Hayoon is too beautiful to suffer like that.

XV.

Months pass and the swelling of Hayoon’s belly can’t be denied anymore. At dinner, Hayoon looks at the table but Jihyo looks at him. He looks away, and Jihyo knows: she should have never trusted a man. No one talks about it, but the truth lies heavy in the air between them, always on the verge of threatening to spill into words.

XVI.

Hayoon doesn’t want to run anymore, so they stay. Her baby girl is healthy, but Hayoon doesn’t smile. Hayoon barely looks. She has his eyes.

A year of silence and Jihyo finds her on the ledge of the apartment building. Hayoon twirls in the golden sunlight of the setting sun and then she is gone.

Then it’s all gone.

XVII.

Fight, the voice inside her roars, but Jihyo is too tired. She knows what fighting means. It means taking more things out of the world.

She doesn’t want anything out of this world. She wants Hayoon in it. She wants Hayoon back. Fight, fight, fight, the voice inside her roars, destroy.

Protect, she tells it. Protect.

XX.

Protect, she tells the voice inside her.

And it answers her. Protect.