#picks someone in the room and stares at them and mentally documents their bones. as one does

[bcnes]

"let's listen in on our inner thoughts"

Send "let's listen in on our inner thoughts" to hear a thought my muse has had but would never vocalize.

...caphoid, lunate, triquetrum, pisiform, trapezium, trapezoid, capitate, hamate... radius, ulna, humerus - he fractured that seventeen months ago, incident in the sparring room - scapula, clavicle...

[gosecretscribbles]

Rise August Day 7: Disco

Donnie and Leo walked into Hueso’s, hotly debating the chronological order of the Jupiter Jim movies.  They didn’t even notice April sitting in a booth until she called out to them.

“Hey guys!” she waved.  “You eating here or to go?”

Donnie broke off his absolutely correct argument by shoving Leo face-first into the booth seat.  “Oh hey April!  What’s with all the paperwork?  Is it the systematic documentation of your descent into becoming a human drone?”

“Nah, I’m done with homework.  Hueso wanted me to brainstorm ideas for theme nights from the human world.”

Leo popped up from the seat.  “Ooooh, you’ve got an aquarium idea!  I’d love to see how that would work.  Fill the place with water?  It’s not like skeletons need to breathe, but I don’t know about some of the guests.”

All three of them looked around the room.  Most of the yokai present were obviously mammals, but a few were reptilian and one looked like an axolotl shaped out of bright green slime. 

Leo rubbed his chin.  “How mad do you think Hueso would be if I dumped water on the slime lizard?  In the interest of testing aquarium feasibility.”

“I am entirely in favor of scientific testing,” Donnie said thoughtfully.  “And also of becoming Hueso’s favorite in two seconds flat.”

“Aw…”

April rolled her eyes.  “Guys, he’d just bring in an aquarium and hire a few mermaids.  So far I’ve got ideas for Geocaching, Dungeons and Dungeons, Gothic Horror, Disco –”

Donnie gasped.  “<em>Disco Night?!</em>  April, this is by far the greatest presentation of sick beats I have ever laid eyes on outside of my own brain!  You <em>have</em> to pick this one!”

“It’s an automatic ‘no,’” said a voice from behind them.  Hueso had appeared with a pitcher of lemonade in his hands and a dour look on his face.  “I do not trust the judgement of someone who repeatedly encourages the idiota azul.”

“Hey!”

“I unintentionally deterred him less than five seconds ago!  Also!”  A few quick taps on his vambrace and a holographic slideshow appeared in the air.  “I already have a plethora of playlists and equipment that I’ve been saving since that time I used the mental intelligence reprogramulator!  I’ll design and install everything myself!  I’ll even have Mikey create a few disco-themed desserts.  I bet he could make cream puffs that look like disco balls!”

Hueso looked dubious.  “The last time I let two of you operate in my restaurant, it was half-devoured by unicorns.  Frankly, I’m only consulting with April because she’s the only human I know who hasn’t made a bone pun in my general direction.”

Leo whistled.  “Impressive, when there’s so much to work with.  206 things to work with, in fact.”

“This is why you are not my favorite.”

All three of them stared at Hueso.

“I don’t know what that look is for.  It is very clear he has <em>never</em> been my favorite.”

They continued to stare.  April raised an eyebrow. 

Hueso rolled his eyesockets.  “Your collective sense of humor continues to confound me.  Ms. O’Neil, let me know when you have picked the best two or three topics.  And keep in mind that their success will determine whether I use your ideas again.”  He turned on his heel and strode away.

April shook her head.  “Never seen denial so bad.  How much longer do you think he can fool himself?”

Leo shrugged.  “I mean, Hueso Jr. gave me a ‘Best Big Brother’ mug, so not much longer.”

Donnie grabbed them both by the shoulders, grinning maniacally.  “Enough with your emotional mockery!  This time next week, Run of the Mill will have transformed into an authentic discotheque!  WE MUST SUMMON OUR BROTHERS AT ONCE!”

April had to admit, the disco idea was fantastic. 

Donnie designed almost everything and spent the night beforehand doing minor renovations (minor, the way Splinter had a minor infomercial obsession).  The walls had been spraypainted hot pink and the ceiling purple with matching violet lights.  Three discoballs of varying sizes hung from the ceiling.  The tables had been pushed aside to make room for a custom-sized dance floor with checkerboard yellow and purple tiles that lit up when stepped on.  Donnie had a DJ setup in the corner. 

Per Donnie’s instructions, his brothers also had their assigned roles.  Mikey designed disco-themed desserts, including gingerbread men with bellbottom frosting and the disco cream puffs.  Leonardo and April went shopping in the Hidden City and thrift shopped items that guests could wear.  They stuck rhinestones onto tacky glasses and cut up fabric to make Velcro bellbottoms, crop tops, and adjustable metallic skirts, depending on the yokai’s anatomy.  Raph had done a lot of heavy lifting with the installation and was manning (or turtling) a small photobooth in the corner. 

April found Hueso about an hour into the event, taking a short break against one of the booths.  Correction: It was so packed that he couldn’t get back to the kitchen, and was waiting for a song break to make a dash for it.  April sidled up to him and grinned. 

“So, whadya think?  Human Theme nights a success?”

“Much moreso than I expected,” Hueso said.  It was hard to tell without facial muscles, but he looked stuck between excitement at the business and dread at who had brought it in.  “I had no idea the Hamatos could be so…industrious, given their usual destructive tendencies.”

There was a crash over the music.  Leonardo and Mikey had started dancing together, jumped onto a table, and overturned it. 

Hueso sighed.  “I brought it upon myself.  Although they are unusually tame tonight, all things considered.”

She shrugged.  “This meant a lot to Donnie.  And I told them they could take turns picking the next theme night if they were on their best behavior.  Mikey really wants an origami competition, and Raph is really into wrestling.  I think Leo’s caught between skateboarding and a comic book expo, but the others want him to go last since he’ll get two in a row.”

“He will get no such thing, as he is still not my favorite.”

April just laughed.  “Sure, Hueso.  Hey, you wanna try crowd surfing to the kitchen?  I don’t think Donnie’s going to let up the music anytime soon.”

Donnie shouted something over the crowd.  The music transitioned smoothly from ‘Le Freak’ to ‘Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now.’  Mikey threw a glowing chain over one of the ceiling beams and hoisted himself into the air.  Raph gave him a shove and he went soaring above the crowd, high-fiving every hand, flipper, and tentacle below. 

Hueso sighed.  “I’m glad we charged admission at the door, since only half the patrons have ordered anything.”

“Less clean up for your crew!”

Hueso grumbled something inaudible.  April just laughed again and jumped, reaching up with both hands.  Mikey caught her and they swung through the air together.  Finally, a party that went right – as long as there were no animatronics in site!

@sariphantom

[cordria]

Gloves

Jack Fenton sat down in the uncomfortable chair, his bulk moving slowly and carefully to avoid scaring the girl sitting on the other chair. There was something odd about her, the way she held herself, the little glances out of the corner of her eye, the way her hair didn’t quite fall right. Jack couldn’t quite stop himself from cataloging all the little differences about her, even as he tried to stop himself and see her as just a girl. A girl in need of help. “Hi,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

“Hello,” she said. 

Jack opened his mouth to say something more, but nothing came out. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He let his mouth close again, his lips twisting in frustration. There was certainly plenty that needed to be said. 

“Why are you here?” the girl asked, her thin fingers digging into the cushion of the chair. Although her knuckles turned white with the pressure, the stiff vinyl didn’t seem to notice the effort her hands were putting in.

“I like Seattle,” Jack said. “Nice city. Always wanted to do the haunted tour…” He trailed off, wondering if bringing up ghosts was, perhaps, a bad idea.

She scoffed. “Seattle’s not haunted.” The IV machine she was hooked up to beeped loudly, and the girl flinched. She studied it for a moment before sighing and sinking back against the hard chair. “That’s not what I meant. I called Danny, not you.”

“Danny couldn’t come.” Jack sort of fudged the truth. Danny could come. Danny had come. But not being 18 yet, the hospital didn’t particularly care what Danny had to say in the matter, requiring Jack’s presence. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” she said, shoulders crunching up around her ears.

Jack shrugged, falling silent, watching the girl glare around the small room. He had only the briefest of explanations as to who this girl was - a genetic malfunction, an aberration, a splintered example of a not-quite-human - and he understood almost none of it. His gaze fell to his bag, and he reached down, pulled out his latest needlework project, and quietly got to work. Jazz had said to do that when he was at a loss for words. She’d thought it might be helpful. 

It was nearly twenty minutes of silence, the girl watching him slowly work through his project, before she spoke. “What is that?”

“It’s going to be a quilt,” Jack said, turning the scrap of fabric so she could see a bit better. “All the different types of ghosts from stories around the world. This one’s a banshee. Sits under windows and cries and screams, usually associated with someone dying.” 

She studied it. “You’re… pretty good at that.”

“Lots of practice,” Jack said with a shrug. 

“You don’t seem like… like a guy that would do something like that. Art stuff.”

“It’s calming and good for the mind,” Jack said, tying off the string and picking out a new color. “Jazz got me started on it years and years ago. I’m hoping to have the whole thing done by August, so I can put it in the county fair.” He chuckled. “I won’t win, not compared to the artwork of other people, but it’ll be nice to finish a project.”

Her eyes were blue, just like Danny’s. But there was a shadowed, haunted feel to them - and a blankness that hurt Jack’s heart. 

Perhaps Danny was right. Maybe Maddie should have come instead.

The IV machine beeped again, and this time a nurse knocked and entered the room. “Hello,” he said, walking over to check the machine. “The battery on your IV is getting low. Gotta plug it in.” He smiled at her, holding out a hand. “Back to the bed, please.”

The girl sighed, but reached out for the assistance. She was unstable and barely able to hold her own weight. It was only a few steps, but Jack had to bite back the offer to carry her. She settled against the bed - too skinny, too broken, too empty - and laid her head on the pillow.

Jack was quiet as the nurse fussed for a few minutes, plugging in the IV machine, taking her blood pressure and temperature, setting the blanket over her legs.

Then he turned to Jack. “Parent?” he asked.

Jack wondered how to answer that. He set down his needlework, dug a paper out of his bag, and held it out. It was fake, of course; there were no real legal documents in the world for her. But the stamp was real, and the judge’s signature was real, and that was enough. “Legal guardian, for now.” 

The girl on the bed flinched.

The nurse glanced at the papers. “As of yesterday, huh?” he asked. “Nice to meet you, Mr Fenton. Wanna chat in the hall?”

Jack leveraged himself out of the chair and followed the man into the hallway. “She’s going to be okay?” he asked.

“Eventually,” the nurse said, walking him to a quiet alcove. “How do you know her?”

“She’s a relation,” Jack said, trying to avoid being specific. “Her and my son are very close, although I haven’t had any real contact with her yet. She called him two days ago and we’ve been figuring out how to best help her.”

The nurse nodded. “She was found in a park, unconscious. Came in massively dehydrated, malnourished.” The nurse glanced around, his voice quiet. “She’s not saying much, but she definitely hasn’t been treated right.”

Jack frowned. 

“I’ll send the doctor along, but it doesn’t seem like there’s anything permanently wrong with her, physically anyways. Really fragile mentally.” The nurse frowned. “The police have been around a few times to chat with her. Don’t think she’s said much to them. She’s in for a long road.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder, through the cracked-open door. She was picking at her sheets, staring at the sky through the window of the room. She looked so small. Twelve years old. Her third year of being twelve, if Danny’s explanation was right. And she’d be twelve until her broken body stopped working, whether that was next week, or five years from now, or ten, or twenty. “Anything else I should know?” 

“Gentle, slow, careful. She’s a nice girl, when you can get her to talk. I’ll be around every fifteen minutes or so, checking on her.”

“Can she have visitors?” 

The nurse hesitated, but then nodded slowly. “If there’s one or two people you think would do her good, I can’t see how that would hurt.”

“My son will probably scale the outer walls and sneak through the window if you try to keep him out any longer,” Jack said with a smile. “He’s worried out of his mind about her. He can probably get her to talk like nobody else.”

“Sounds great. You let me know if she needs anything,” he said.

Jack stood in the hallway for a long minute, trying to decide what he would say. From what little Danny had told him, the girl had been literally programmed to hate him. Created, somehow, in a lab from a mix of Danny’s genetic material, donor tissue from the corpse of a dead girl, and a ghost. Created and programmed, like a computer, for a task - to be used and then thrown away.

He walked closer, standing in the door, frowning at how little of the bed her frame took up. Her arms were too skinny against the hospital blanket - almost skin and bone. Whoever had created her had certainly not taken care of her.

She noticed his gaze, turning to study him with those sunken, haunted blue eyes. “You don’t have to be here,” she said.

Jack hummed, walked in, and dropped back down into his chair. The vinyl squeaked. “I want to be.”

“Because Danny told you to.” She sounded sullen. “It’s okay to hate me, you know.”

“I don’t hate you,” Jack said, surprised at the thought. Where had she decided that he hated her? What had he done to make her think that?

“I hate you,” she shot back, eyes narrowing. She leaned forwards a little. Little sparks of green shone against the blue.

Jack shrugged. “Join the club,” he murmured. He rested his arm on the bed, but drew away when she flinched away from him.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” she snapped, clearly uncomfortable. 

He nodded and kept his arms to himself, careful to keep his arms to the small armrests. “I plan on sticking around, just so you know. And Danny’s planning on stopping again by after school.” He picked up his needlepoint, studying the messy shadowing job he’d done with a frown.

“Again?” came her soft voice after a minute of silence.

“He was here… day before yesterday,” Jack said, squinting at the banshee’s arm and trying to decide the easiest way to fix it. “You were out cold, and the hospital wouldn’t look twice at a 17 year old. Came and got me instead.”

“He told you who I am, right?”

“Yup.” Then Jack shrugged a half-shoulder. “Okay, a little. Getting anything out of Danny is only slightly easier than storming Fort Knox.” He grinned at her. “I got that you’re important to him, and that you’re family, and that I can help. That’s enough.”

“I’m a monster, you know that,” she said. 

Jack pointed at his needlepoint. “This is a monster. You look like a scared young woman in need of some help. Maybe you’re not as human as me, but that doesn’t make you a monster.”

She bristled, but didn’t respond.

Jack let the quiet last for a few minutes, slowly fixing the bad shadowing on his banshee. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she said.

He glanced at her. She’d drawn her knees up to her chest, and was hugging them close. She looked lost and broken, and somehow even smaller and younger than before. “I don’t want anything from you,” he said, confused. 

She frowned.

“Danny said you wouldn’t trust me,” Jack said, deliberately keeping his gaze on his needlepoint. Jazz had been correct in packing it for him - it did seem much easier for the girl to talk when he wasn’t staring at her. “But you can, you know. Jazz has already cleaned out her bedroom for you, and Danny-”

“Bedroom?” she asked.

Jack blinked at her. “Room. With a bed in it.”

She scowled. “I know what a bedroom is-” she cut herself off, like she was going to say something more. She let out a breath through her nose. “You make it sound like I’m coming to live with you.”

“You are!” Jack grinned. “See, we got the legal-”

“I’m not coming to live with you,” the girl snapped. “We’ve been over this. I hate you. I don’t trust you. Why should I live with you?”

Jack twisted his mouth into a half-frown, turning his eyes back to his needlepoint. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Take off your gloves.”

Jack hesitated. He didn’t take off his gloves. “Why?”

“Because I’m a monster. I’m contaminated. I’m broken, and seeping radioactive liquid, and, and, and I can hurt you just by touching you.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her eyes burning a toxic, horrible green. “And I want you to take off your gloves.”

He watched the way the light gleamed off the black glove, slowly twisting his fingers. He didn’t take off his gloves. He just didn’t. Since learning how contaminated Danny was, Jack had even gone to great lengths to not touch his own son. 

But Jack knew, in the depths of his being, that Danny wasn’t a monster. And neither was this girl. Yes, she could hurt him with just a touch. But...

Slowly, he took off one of his gloves. His skin was extremely pale, fingers a bit wrinkled from the moisture inside the gloves. His fingernails were in need of clipping. He flexed his fingers and ran them over the intricate stitching of his needlepoint, feeling details he couldn’t through the gloves.

Then he held out his hand to her.

[plush-rabbit]

Can I Ask You Something?

Part 1 | Part 2 |

A/N: I’ll properly link this and fix it tomorrow or technically later today. I’m tired and bleh. I’m also a boomer when it comes to tech so like, take pity! Part 3 will be tomorrow too

When you log back in a few days later to play solo missions, you notice that he’s on, and before you can chicken out, you send him a hello and ask if he wants to go another mission together.

On the other side of the screen, he raises his eyebrows. Did you think that he was friends with you? He’s going to ignore you, leave you on read and continue with whatever he’s about to do. When he continues to scroll through the mission list of the month, he sets his eyes on particular interesting mission, he notices that the mission he’d set his eyes on, requires a minimum of two players. He throws his head back and decides to throw you a bone, only if you’re willing to play his game.

Eagerly you type back, agreeing to what he wants to try and so you begin. Ten minutes into the game, an almost friendly banter starts to exchange between the two of you but when your avatar gets nipped in the leg, causing you to miss the hit and let the high ranking monster run away, you let out a string of curses. He’s surprised at that; he never took you to be so vulgar. He’s distracted for a split second by you, and his avatar gets picked off and then he’s cursing into his headset.

You stare at the screen a bit stunned, you knew he was vulgar, you’ve heard him say much worse than what he was saying right now so that wasn’t the issue but you really couldn’t believe he would get picked off so easily; he was the best player that you had seen and to see that made you giggle hysterically.

“What’s so funny dumbass?” He growled into his headset.

“Nothing, nothing,” you shake your hand in front of you, trying to control your laughter, “I just didn’t expect you to get picked off so easily. You’re usually so focused.” A giggle cuts you off, and you stifle your laughter with the palm of your hand. You clear your throat and let one more laugh slip out before controlling yourself, but he can still hear the smile in your voice as you spoke. “What happened there Tomaraki?”

He narrows his eyes at your words, there was smugness and playfulness laced in your voice. His teeth were already bared, ready to point out that you had gotten taken out before him but you cut him off before he could get his words in.

“Ready for another round? If we hurry, we can get into the next batch. I’ll even let you get most of the loot.” You purred out, feeling more comfortable and openly teasing him.

He’s silent for a moment. He’s unsure how to proceed but when you ask him ask him again, your voice still playful but a hint of concern is laced in, he replies, his voice nonchalant. “Whatever. Let’s go.” The grip on his controller loosens slightly for a quick second, only to be gripped harder, the plastic creaking in his hands and the buttons digging into the pads of his fingers.

-

Afterwards, you two begin to do missions together and in result, you two begin to talk more to each other- never branching out to talk about personal lives but more to talk about upcoming events or to complain about other members. Usually it’s you who mentions the upcoming events while he complains about how incompetent so-and-so is. And as the missions in group increase in difficulty, you do solo missions to raise your level, occasionally joined by Shigaraki, still referred to as Tomaraki, who offers you backhanded compliments, taking half of your rewards because, as he states, “He might as well get something out of this,” to which you reply, that he invited himself to the mission. He only ever tells you to shut up whenever you bring up that point and not wanting to fall into his bad side, you do as you’re told, sometimes letting out giggles only to change conversation to something else before he can snap at you. Oddly enough you’ve began to think of him as a friend, teasing him if he were to miss a shot and he would spit back a comment, and while it was harsh, it didn’t hold the same type of malice as it did before.

-

The group has been waiting for ten minutes for you to arrive. When those ten minutes had passed, a few of the members had started to say that they might as well start the mission since your icon is still black and white signifying that you aren’t even online and they might as well get started. So they do. Shigaraki frowns as the load up screen starts, and his frown only deepens, when you don’t pop up mid-way into the mission. He had half expected you to pop up, your voice frantic, apologizing for being late and coming up with some excuse- but you never do; instead, he hears everyone talking above each other, barking out orders and the occasional insult.

-

Everyone is laughing in relief at the quest being completed, members talking about how they’ll upgrade their armor while others advise to save up for better armor that is supposed to come out in the upcoming months. Shigaraki is as always silent, just waiting for everyone to say their goodbyes but then your voice pops ups.

“Uh, hi?” Your voice is hesitant, like you’re unsure if your microphone is even connected.

“Oh!” Another member begins to talk, their voice full of fake cheer. “Look who’s back!”

You groan into your headset, “I know, I know. And I’m sorry! But I had to help my friend—” You get cut off.

“What’s the rule?”

You throw your head back, gripping the controller in your hand, feeling the buttons dig into the pad of your fingers. “Don’t be late and no talk of the “outside”. You make air quotation marks as you say the last word and annoyance drenched in your words.

“Exact—” It’s their turn to be cut off.

“Look that’s a stupid rule anyways. Plus my excuse has something to do with the outside so like shut up and listen.” You take a deep breath and smile when you can hear the others laugh and say ‘ohh’. “Okay, so like I was helping my friend move into another apartment because their old place sucked and I mean it sucked, ya know. Anyways, afterwards, me, my friend, and my other friend went to go get smoothies, and let me tell you, if you ever have the chance, go try BlueBird’s smoothies because wow! They’re smoothies are amazing!” Shigaraki’s eyes narrow slightly at the mention of the establishment but he shakes his head, it was a chain, there was going to be more than one in the area. “Anyways, flashing forward, we’re all going home and like this van just fucking zooms past us. And y’all know the pro-hero Endeavor?”

Shigaraki straightens his back, pulling away from the computer, his body aching from being hunched over for so long, and your voice becomes distant, it grows farther away as he searches in his mind the plans of the League for today.

“What was tonight?” He thinks to himself. He checks his mental calendar and he realizes that he sent Twice and Mr. Compress out to steal documents. Had they taken a van? Were they back yet? Did the pro-hero Endeavor try to stop his team? Did Endeavor really appear or were you just coming up with some grand lie? No. Of all the things you could have said, why would you settle on a pro-hero?

His door creaks opens. He turns his head, his neck aching in protest as he watches Dabi stand there, a bored expression on his face with his hands shoved into his pockets, his head cocked to the side resting on the door frame. “We got a meeting. Twice and Compress are back already.”

He stares at Dabi for a moment, his fingers twitching in anticipation, his neck already burning and the blood that rushes in his ears is deafening. He blinks once, then twice, and nods his head, his eyes never once leaving Dabi’s. When the door clicks close, his face returns to a neutral look, and he forces his attention back to the game, trying to catch your last words.

“And that’s why I’m late. Valid excuse right?” You finished your story, and let out an airy chuckle, as if the story was funny and Shigaraki can only sneer at you.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then as someone speaks up, their voice in awe, Shigaraki interrupts them. “Shut the fuck up.” His tone is steady and menacing, it’s said between bared teeth, and he leaves no room for a reply. “One of the rules is to not mention personal shit.” His words are sharp, and he says the last words like they’re burning hot. “So shut up.” He closes his mouth and his lip twitch open, his words come out through gritted teeth and he logs out, throwing his headset onto his bed.

The group is silent. People had slipped up with the rule before, mentioning that life was kicking their ass or that they had a date, so you weren’t the first to talk about your personal life and even then it wasn’t personal, it was just some story about how you saw a villain and hero; but he had never threatened to kick someone out before and you were aware of this. And by the tone of his voice, you were all aware that this wasn’t some empty threat.

You can only mutter ‘sorry’ before you log out, the words dipped into shame and feeling bitter on your tongue.

-

In another part of the city, Shigaraki is scratching at his neck, listening as Mr. Compress talks about the mission and that it was a success even though Endeavor had appeared. Twice is tending to his wounds, offering the occasional commentary companied by yelps of pain when he accidently knocks the first aid kit onto his knee, the contents spilling everywhere. Shigaraki only stares blankly, telling Spinner to pick it up, and he walks to his room, his nails digging deep into his flesh on his neck reopening old wounds that had long been closed.

So were in the city, and relatively close. Close enough that you were able to return home, boot up your PC, and log in, telling everyone about your almost encounter with a pro-hero just as Twice and Mr. Compress returned home.

He doesn’t like that.

-

You lie in bed that night, your mind swimming with thoughts about what you did wrong. Under the covers you can feel yourself start to drown in doubt and humiliation, your mind grows heavier and louder, your insecurities screaming at you. You two had been good so far. You were joking with each other and he had even seemed to enjoy your online presence given that you never did a solo mission when he was around. You know it’s dumb, but you had even begun to gain some sort of crush on the gamer, even if you hadn’t seen his face, he seemed like the bad-boy-with-a-soft-spot type and like most people that was a weakness for you. You frown and you feel dumb for wanting to cry but then that just makes you feel worse. You toss and turn that night, and before you can let sleep consume you, you open up the personal forum and type out a message, your lips pulled into a frown as you check for typos. Your finger hovers over the send button, and take in a deep breath, the air filling your lungs and clearing a bit of the storm inside of you for a moment, and you press your finger down, your message popping up on top on the forum.

-

The next day, he waits for you to log on, waiting to start a mission together as has become tradition in the past few weeks but your icon remains black and white. He waits for another ten minutes, picking at his neck and when another ten minutes pass by, he goes on a solo mission, killing NPCs and random players.

-

You don’t show up during the next group meeting and he acts like he doesn’t care. He only replies with an “I don’t know” when the group asks if they’ve heard anything about you, and someone mentions that you haven’t been active for two weeks. Some random member, which Shigaraki can’t be bothered to remember the name of, offers to maybe check the group forum- that perhaps you’ve posted something there and maybe they all just missed the notification.

The second in command replies that that’s a good idea and Shigaraki runs his nails down his arms to prevent himself from going to itch at his already raw neck. The only sign that something was written there, was when the second in command gives an exasperated sigh.

“You were right. They posted something there.” His voice is monotone, if they had the video function on, the rest of the group could see his lips being pulled into a frown.

“And?” Shigaraki not wanting to waste any time, tries to speed the conversation.

“They uh, they posted that they won’t be playing for a month.” They hesitate before continuing. “Something came up apparently.” Shigaraki could hear the other player click their tongue. “They also mentioned that if we want to kick them out, we can.”

The headset is filled with the clacking of the keyboards, no doubt going to check the forum, and seeing your message there. He’s no different. This time, he gives into his curiosity, his typing slow and quiet and as the page loads, he drums his finger impatiently on his desk.

<User_Name>

“Hi guys! So I won’t be online for a while. ‘Bout like a month or so. Don’t worry I’m all good, something just came up:P Anyways, if y’all wanna like kick me out or whatever because of it then whatevs. Catch ya on the flip side… Or not;P”

Shigaraki stares at the message date. The same day when he threatened to kick you out. Are you really that sensitive? Are you going to give everyone the silent treatment simply because he had snapped at you?

“Hey Tomaraki!” Shigaraki is snapped out of his thoughts.

“What?” He sneers, trying to sound threatening over the headset.

“So what do we do? Do we kick them out? It’s your call since you’re leader and all. We’re all good with them staying but for certain missions we might need another member and we can’t just go around on forums asking for spare players for the next month or so.”

He can only stare at your words on the screen. You had told him that you liked the group- that you didn’t want to leave. For fucks sake, you had even gotten choked up when you had offered to leave and you simply typed a “whatevs” to the outcome of whether you’d stay or not? And now he had to make a decision? You were so fucking annoying and you weren’t even there.

“Like I fucking care. Give them a month.” His voice was laced with annoyance and anger, and it seeped through the headset.

“All right. You heard him. We give them the month and afterwards, we’ll look for someone new.” The second’s voice was nonchalant, he was probably leaned back in his chair, shrugging his shoulders looking bored at the whole ordeal. “Now, let’s go kill some fucking guys!”

At that, the whole team cheered and began their new mission. You were already an afterthought; no doubt some of them had even begun to think of where to get a new member if the situation were to call for it. You had already been replaced, you could be easily replaced, your skills weren’t special, there were probably hundreds of people in game with the same skill set that you had and even if there wasn’t, the team was fine before you came into the picture and they could just let the newbie gain all the experience to just bump them up to where you were at. You weren’t special. And Shigaraki kept repeating that to himself as his avatar ranked up experience points and kill count.

[khhunniewriting]

The Others (10)

[ Mafia/Gang AU ]

Beenzino stood guard outside the front door of the new house Dok2 had boughten only days ago. It was new yet it already housed his growing collection of vehicles in the vast parking lot- a feature that was essentially a deciding factor for him.

This home was much larger than his condo or the home he had “shared” with his wife. 

Beenz sighed in relief when he saw yet another car pull up into the driveway. Ash and Zene stepped out of either side in awe of the mini-mansion. 

“Woah, so do we live here now or what?”

“Yeah, why did you ask us to bring our stuff?”

Their questions were answered in the form of an assignment. “From now on you are to guard them 24/7, you will accompany Mr. Kwon, and you will report any suspicious behavior directly to the Boss.” Beenz opened the door leading the two ex-recruits through the herd of maids that were rushing to put everything in order. He instructed a couple of them to get their luggage from the car outside.

“Does this mean we have been officially promoted?” Ash sped up to be in stride with his superior. It all seemed too good to be true.

Beenzino wasn’t too fond of the idea that they were given such an important task right out the gate. This seemed better fit for veterans like Changmo and Hyoeun who, despite coming from Ambition, had the experience. “Don’t make the boss regret that he entrusted you with his sons.”

“Sons, as in-”

“As in two,” Beenz interjected turning their attention to the living area, of the open floor plan. “It was proven through undeniable DNA evidence that Lee Leo is also the boss’ son.”

“Sh*t,” Zene casually voiced his surprise while his younger associate picked his jaw off the ground. It was shocking but not so unbelievable. “I thought it was strange that the young boss was so friendly with that kid-” He caught himself realizing now there were two young bosses. 

While they discussed there was complete silence on the other side of the room where Ji-hoon and Leo sat on opposite sides of the white leather couch. Leo had reverted back to his silent ways around Ji-hoon. While the usually loud and pushy teen maintained the distance Leo had set. He was too deep in thought.

He knew all along that his father and mother were only bound by duty. Now he wondered what kind of relationship his father and Leo’s mother had. Obviously, it was also messed up some way or another if he never knew about Leo.

Ji-hoon glanced over at Leo. His elbow rested on the armrest, propping his head up as he stared out the floor to ceiling windows. “Hey...”

Leo did not move or respond. He was overcome with worry for his mother. You were the person he depended on and now you were in the hands of a man you disliked enough to keep him away from. 

“Leo,” Ji-hoon tried again.

“Don’t talk to me.” 

He did not want to talk to anyone associated with that man. Even if it was Ji-hoon.

“Listen up,” Beenz called their attention breaking the tension that engulfed the room. Zene and Ash followed behind him making their presence known. “I have a lot of work to do so I’m going to leave you two in the care of your guards.”

“Sup, young boss.” Ash had grown familiar with Ji-hoon since the past summer when he was only a recruit hanging around the Boss for direction. When Ji-hoon took an interest in him and gave him the opportunity to do more, he took it. Zene came along not long after and also grew familiar with Ji-hoon.

After the incident, both recruits were well aware of Leo and his unusually close relationship with Ji-hoon. They got along well despite the difference in personality. As if there were an invisible bond between them, pushing them towards each other.

Zene had always tried figuring out why they were able to get close so soon. Now he knew, now they all knew.

 Ji-hoon and Leo were connected by blood.

\\\

Like any good crime organization, Illionaire had their own doctors. There was even a medical ward in the building. That is where he took you to get your hand checked.

“Well, good news, it’s just a sprain.” The doctor announced after looking at the x-ray of your hand and wrist. There were nor fractures or bruising to the bone, only the ligament had been impacted.

You looked up from your lap where you cradled an icepack against your wrist. It felt a lot better now that the ice was working its magic. Although it might also be the painkillers the doctor gave you upon arrival.

“The bad news is that it's still going to hurt like hell for a while.”  He opened a drawer pulling out some bandages and a compression glove. “We’ll have to wrap it to restrict your movement until it fully heals.” 

“How long will that be?” You were worried, your hands were your livelihood. How would you show up to work tomorrow when you could do nothing with your dominant hand? Even paperwork would be a hassle if you typed with one hand.

The doctor took a hold of your hand adjusting so your palm faced up as he began to expertly wrap the bandages. “Mild sprains tend to heal in a few days. More severe sprains take weeks or months if you do not limit the strain.” 

Your eyes widened unable to fathom the thought of missing weeks of work. 

“After three days you can remove the bandages and start using the glove instead.”

“Thanks, doctor-” Dok2 felt guilty for what he had done but relieved it hadn’t been much worse.

“No problem boss.”

On the way out you realized the doctor avoided asking how you had gotten injured. You guessed it was just the way things were done around there.

Inside his office, once again, you found yourself staring down the father of your son. It was strange how much lighter you felt now that you had nothing to hide. The last time you were here you were crushed by the weight of your secret.

“Why didn’t you tell me the last time you were here?”

“Because Leo is my son and no one else’s.”

“You refuse to acknowledge that I am his father yet you gave him my name?”

“I-” your lips tightened into a thin line. At the time you were still hopelessly in love with Joonkyung so you might have not been thinking straight. After all, Leo was his son. you figured that much was okay. “You should be satisfied with that much.”

“I’m not, that’s why I corrected this.” Dok2 slid the new version of Leo’s birth certificate with his name clearly legible in the section that asked for the father’s name. 

Your eyes scanned the legal document with skepticism. “You can’t do this.”

“I already did.” Dok2 was influential enough to bypass procedures that required time and legality. He was able to change his son’s birth certificate without your say so, something that would be impossible- if he were the average citizen.

You sighed, of course he would do as he pleased. This is what Kylie warned you about. Clearly, you weren’t meant to be with someone like Joonkyung. 

It was different when you knew nothing of his “business”. Back then Joonkyung was extremely cautious of keeping his other life away from you. Although there were times when his personality would shift you thought nothing of it. You wrote it off as a bad day.

“Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?” You sighed figuring it was a stupid question.

“I do, that is why I did it. Leo is my son and I want him to live with me.”

“What?”

“Did you think I would let you take him back after you kept him from me all these years?” Dok2 would never get those years back but he would secure his position in his son’s life from now on. 

He was his son after all.

A son born of what he suspected to be the closest he would ever get to love.

“Joonkyung you can’t take my son away from me.” You understood that he felt robbed of his rights as a father. Even now you stood by the decision to back away, to forget about the person you loved.

“I would never separate you from our son.”

The statement had some bite to it although he meant no ill will from it. “I have every intention of bringing you as well. From what I’ve seen Leo doesn’t intend to hear me out unless you say so.”

“Wait-” You were still trying to process the fact that he planed to house you once more under the same roof. 

“I want him to recognize me as his father.” He didn’t allow you to dwell on his statements. Now that he had an excuse to keep you close he would exploit it for his gain until he could decide how to move forward.

“Joonkyung I can’t make him-”

“When you left did you ever think about how this would affect me?”

“Of course I did!”  You became defensive. “Everything I did back then- from the moment we met- was for you. I was so stupid and young that I let my heart do as it pleased even though in my mind I knew it was wrong.” You shied away realizing what you were saying. “Just forget it...”

You didn’t realize Joonkyung had gotten up from his seat until you felt his hand under your chin, coaxing you to turn and face him. Your heart could hardly take it, this warm feeling felt almost foreign by now. All these years you strayed from men, from romance thinking that part of your life was over. 

Joonkyung knelt down at your side in a rare display of submission. He would never kneel before anyone else. 

"Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? I would have given you everything...”

Your eyes widened slightly at the confession. There was no way to prove what he said but you recalled the distant look in his eyes when he told you of his wife’s pregnancy. 

The lack of emotion caught you off guard then.

“I still want to give you everything.”

Now you were mentally exhausted wondering if this was all some sort of scheme to get you to hand over Leo. You refused to believe he was expressing genuine emotion. 

“Saying that all of a sudden... what do you want from me Joonkyung?”

 “I want you to think about me.”

\\\

It was getting late and with no sign of his mother, Leo was getting anxious. He got up from the spot he had occupied since he first got there feeling exhausted. His body ached with a need to move around.

Zene followed close by as Leo walked out the front door. 

All Leo could see was the vast land of the property. He walked along the driveway trying to get a look at his surroundings. Nothing looked familiar, he had no idea where he was in comparison to his home. 

He approached the large black iron gates lined by several guards he failed to notice on his way in.

“Sorry young boss but you can’t leave the property.” Zene could tell Leo did not like the new limits that came with being the boss’ son. He glared at the maids who approached him using the title. Before Beenz left he warned them Leo might try and leave.

Leo turned that same glare towards Zene. The teen was a fast runner with good stamina and a decent climber. He figured he could climb those iron bars and hop over if they wouldn’t let him through.

“Sorry, I can tell you don’t like it but the rules around here are pretty strict.”

Ji-hoon ran out to catch up to Leo when he saw him from the window of his new room. The whole situation seemed to be taken out of a movie. While he struggled to wrap his mind around it there was one thing Ji-hoon knew for sure. 

He liked the idea of Leo being his brother.

“Leo wait!” Ji-hoon knew that look of determination. One way or another Leo would get his way. “I know this is some f*cked up sh*t...”

Ash and Zene eyed the two teens as they stared at each other in the middle of the driveway. Both were ready to intervene if necessary.

“Whether you like it or not from now on you have a target on your back. There are many people who will try to use you to get to him.” Ji-hoon hesitated knowing how much Leo cared for his mother but knew it would be the only way to keep him from leaving. “And they will use your mom to get to you.”

Leo didn’t get to respond when the gates behind him began to open.

Dok2 drove up to them stopping the car there allowing you to get out. 

“Mom are you okay?” Leo immediately dropped his guard around you and showed his concern when he saw the bandages. 

You smiled to ease him, “I’m okay.”

“Then let’s go.”

Your smile quickly fell knowing he wouldn’t like what you were about to say. “Leo, I think you should stay here.”

-end-

A/N: "I want to give you everything” is basically a confession. Am I right?

BTW the next chapter will be a flashback.

[fanficslutforsmut]

Walking Blind (Daryl Dixon TWD) Chapter Four

When one of the new douchebags came I left the watchtower, walking away, quicker than usual to see if Monet had stayed where I had left her, sitting up on that damn perch. 

By the time I got there she wasn't even there, damn girl was just gone. I looked around to see if I could spot that mop of long blonde hair or that dumb dog she's got but I couldn't find them anywhere. 

"You seen Monet walk round here?" I asked Carol as she mixed some food. 

"I showed her to the showers a while ago, she hasn't been back since then." Carol scrunched her eyebrows together, realizing how long it had been. I walked away before she said anything else, walking towards the musky wet smell, the metal door was closed but I could hear the water still going. I hit the door a few times, calling her name before I heard Bear barking from the other side. I pushed the heavy door and walked in, Monet was on the floor face down, naked and wet. Her skin looked almost blue and was ice cold to the touch like she was sittin in a fucking freezer or somethin. 

Bear cried and whined while licking her. I tore the flannel from my body, covering her with it and then her bottom with one of the white towels. She was bleeding from her head, a gnarly cut from the concrete. I shut the water off, picking her freezing body up and holding her close to me, nudging the door open with my foot and nearly running out the door with her. 

"Hershal, Hershal need your help out here," I yelled, Bear on my heels barking. I pulled her body up and even closer when my grip turned to shit, breathing heavy while I turned to the side to get us in the door of Hershals cell. 

Hershal shoved me outta the way, his fingers on her neck, then looking at the blood coming from her head. 

"She'll need stitches for sure, what happened?" He asked, not even bothering to look away from her while he moved her blood-stained hair from the cut.

"I dunno, she probably fell or something, I found her like that in the showers." I breathed, trying to look over Maggie as she pushed a smaller towel to her head, wiping away the blood. Hershal started to thread a needle, and I watched as he tied her skin back up together. 

"She's gonna need some clothes, come with me and we'll find her some, let my dad take care of this," Maggie told me, trying to pull me away as he checked for any other injuries. 

"I ain't goin nowhere." I scoffed, puffing out my chest and staying guard. She rolled her eyes, knocking my shoulder as she went past me to get some clothes. 

"You should keep her in a cell instead of that perch, keep her away from the stairs," Hershal told me, he was trying to cover her up more with a cheap blanket. I nodded but kept my eyes focused on her. Bear was at her feet, licking them and crying for her. 

"It's gonna be a while until she wakes up, why don't you and Carol fix her up a cell." He offered, even though it sounded more like an order, but Hershal knew what was best so I nodded, taking one last look at Monet and walking out and towards the perch. 

I knew I looked at the least pissed of by the way everyone seemed to slide right on through as if I wasn't even there. That's how they probably wished it was, that I weren't even here, I know what they think of me. Just a dumb hick who can hunt some meat. 

I cleared everything out of the cell trying to make room for her, I put my stuff on the top bunk, I knew it was wrong to go through her shit, but I couldn't help it. Mostly it was horrid smelling dirty clothes, two cans of food, a half-empty water bottle, a small black book filled with pictures. 

I sat on the bottom bunk, looking around for a minute, opening the front cover. 

There was a couple in a hospital room holding a baby, a caption written next to it. "Monet Ophelia Charleston Born May 6th, 1993"

The next few pages were various stages of her life, all with a small one or two-sentence description. I couldn't see the resemblance until around her highschool years. A picture of her next to a few other girls wearing a red and black cheer uniform, jumping and holding a big trophy. "Mo, Rachel, Samantha, Teagan fall of 11' regionals, first place!!!"

Every milestone was documented, her first steps, her first tooth, learning to ride a bike, every first day of school, dances, prom, graduation all of them with the same guy standing beside her for years, some douche named Carter, whose hold on her always seemed so wrong, but the fun memories turned sour a few months after graduation when there were numerous hospital pictures. Mo with broken arms "Monet King county hospital, 3rd broken arm this year 2012", and legs "Monet 2012 'fell' again", big bruises covering her face "Monet 

'ran into' the door 2013", cuts on her forearms and legs "Monet 'fell into' the bushes 2014". My breath caught on the second to last page. 

It was a hospital band with numerous sized pictures of her face. Her eyes were bleeding and unbelievably swollen, it was sharp purple and black bruising around her eye, the bad one. Then there was recovery photos, some pre-surgery, some with her eyes bandaged, ones with her wearing glasses and using a cane. Carter was still in the background of all these pictures too, standing and watching her. "Monet 'mugging accident', broken orbital bone, almost completely blind. May God bring her peace and heal her. 2015,"

 Bear soon came into the photos "Monet' seeing eye dog Bear! 2016", then there were family photos, holidays, and everything seemed to be normal besides a littering few hospital pictures in between.

I scoffed and through the book down when the last page came to sight, a wedding invitation for Monet and Carter due sometimes next year. 

I shoveled her thing back into the book bag before taking the dirty clothes to Carol, asking for her help in washing them. We washed in silence and listened to the almost peacefulness of outside, other than those diseased ridden bitches gnawin at the gates. 

We wrung them dry and hung up the clothes, I passed Carl and several others on the way back inside before Rick stopped me, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me aside. 

"The fuck you doin' man?" I seethed, tearing my arm out of his grasp and standing back.

"Don't you see, she's nothing but problems. Someone has to babysit her all the time, she can't even take a shower herself without almost dying. We can't keep her." He told me, looking away from me and towards the fences. 

"The hell you tryna say then? Dump her somewhere, she'll die." I was mad, pissed even. Rick wants to go out and save some kid who was shootin at him, Glenn, and Hershal, keep him around but we can't keep Monet? 

"We can give her supplies-"

"She won't survive out there and you know it." I shoved, puffing my chest and standing tall. "Thought you were all about not killin the living." I hissed, spitting at the ground by his feet, stocking away and heading into the prison. I passed everyone silently, heading to Hershal's cell. 

"I've got her stitched up, she'll need painkillers when she wakes up, which I assume you have?" I nodded "She'll be out for a while, why don't you occupy yourself, I'll watch her." I nodded, turning around and walking towards Carol. 

"She might need a few things, you and Glenn could run to the store and get her stuff." She suggested, looking towards the cell she was resting in. 

"Like what?" I gnawed on my thumb, harshly chewing the skin off and preparing myself to make a mental note. 

"I could come with instead, make sure she'll have all of her, womanly things." She smirked, I rolled my eyes, barely nodding and walking outside towards the cars. I was going to take my bike until Carol stopped me. 

"We should take the car, in case we find food or other things for everyone." I nodded, we stood for a minute, filling the gas while I eyed up Rick who was also staring right back at me. Just as Carol and I were getting in the car Maggie and Glenn came out running. 

"She's awake, I think, yeah she's awake," Maggie told me. I looked at Carol and the car. "We'll go, you and Carol check on her, we have to get little ass-kicker some formula anyway." Glenn finished up as they already started getting in the car. I half-ass nodded before jogging inside. 

"I thought it would be a while," I asked Hershal, watching as he hovered over Monet. "I did too." He looked at me. He was dabbing a cloth at her forehead while she nodded around. 

"Daryl?" She asked for me. My chest felt tight and hot and I pushed my way through to be up close to her. 

I hummed, giving her a nudge with my hand, she grabbed me tightly, squeezing my fingers with her tiny soft hand. Hershal pushed a small metal chair behind me, I sat down waiting for her to say anything again but she didn't she just hummed and looked towards me. 

She had a blue eye, dark almost grey color but the other was white and cloudy, you could barely see any blue at all. She had a small scar under her eye that was so thin I never noticed until now. She was so pale, not just now but even when I had first gotten her. There were clothes on the floor by the bed, I'm assuming Maggies. 

"We'll leave you two to get decent," Carol told me, pulling Hershal out of the cell and leaving the curtain to fall in place, blocking us from the outside. 

"Here are some clothes, I won't look or nothin," I told her, putting the pile on her lap.  She groaned, squeezing my hand harder as she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest to keep it from falling. 

"I might need your help, I'm so light-headed right now." She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning forward. 

I hummed and started grabbing back at the clothes, I tossed Maggie's shirt to the side and grabbing the flannel I had covered her with, off the ground. I grabbed a small grey bra from the pile. 

"Here's your bra." I looked away while handing it to her. Monet slowly took it from my hands, and I look back when I heard it clasp together. 

"Shirt" I whispered, fluffing out my shirt and helping her button it up once it was wrapped around her. She sat with her head back and her eyes still closed. 

"You got a lot of marks on ya," I mumbled, she sighed. "Thought you wouldn't look." She didn't sound mad, or even sad, just tired. I kept my mouth shut, handing her a small rolled-up bundle of panties. I watched as she rolled them around in her hands for a second before realizing what the were. She didn't even stand, just pulled them up her legs and lifting her ass for a second as they slid up her hips. I handed her the last item, making sure the jeans were the right way, helping her slide her feet in and letting her use my shoulders to stand up, before sliding them up her waist. 

She swam in my shirts and Maggie's pants were baggy and loose on her.

"You eat much?" I asked. All I could think about was how horrible her body looked when I found her in the bathroom. 

She was so pale white that every bruise she had was so noticeable, even the ones in that god awful yellow color. Her legs black and blue, her sides and back purples and yellows. I could see her spine, her ribs, her hip bones. She looked like a skeleton. Fuck, the walkers outside ate more than she did. 

She just hummed along to me, laying back down once I put some socks on her. 

"Want me to get you anything? Need some food or something?" I asked, nudging her feet. She moved to grab my hand, now facing me. 

"I already ate some of the meat you brought earlier." She told me, clearing her throat. I hummed, letting her hold my hand, grunting when she let it fall. 

"What happened in there?" 

"I fell looking for the soap, ironic to drop the soap in a prison huh." She laughed, it was lazy and breathy. I just hummed along to her. Bear whined and Monet patted her side, "Up Bear." and he listened, jumping up and laying next to her.

"Daryl, we might need you out here," Carol told me from the cell door, I looked to Monet. "It's ok, you can go," Monet told me, I couldn't even say how she knew I was waiting for her but she did.

"I'll be back, holler if you need me alright." I nudged her side before leaving, following Carol. 

[vantejeon]

oneirophrenia | kth

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre | angst, angst baby

word count | 2.7k

summary | isn’t it lovely, all alone? heart made of glass, my head of stone. tear me to pieces, skin and bone. hello, welcome home.

author’s note | inspired by the song ‘lovely’ by billieeilish & khalid. so i had this idea and started writing a long time ago but only just got around to developing it and managed to finish it after months of it just sitting around in my word documents. & what better way to debut my writing on tumblr than good old fashioned angst eh! let me know what you guys think? i’m new to this writing fiction on tumblr thing — feedback is always appreciated!

They say loneliness is living in a house with a person you used to love. If that was the case, then what was the feeling of no longer breathing the same air of someone who used to love you?

There’s a slight ringing in your ears as the sounds of steady beeping and water pitter pattering filters through your hearing senses. Visions of black and white flashes before your eyes in a dream-like state, an outburst of red striking your visual perceptions before you are roused from your sleep.

Slowly, you wake and already you feel the bed is empty.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, your palm applying pressure to alleviate the slight headache forming behind your closed lids. The constant breedle of sound is coming from your alarm clock which you absentmindedly turn off with the swat of your hand.

Reaching out towards the side of the bed where a body normally occupies, you feel the cold, empty space where he laid down mere hours ago. A sigh escapes your lips, your ears registering that the light drumming of water you heard moments prior was coming from the shower in the bathroom.

Your fingertips glide above the sheets and judging by the coolness on his side of the bed, he’s been in the bathroom for quite some time now and he’s probably finishing soon. The familiar ache in your chest starts to bloom — his side of the bed is always colder nowadays.

As if on cue, the door to the bathroom opens and he steps out, still dripping wet from his shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and a smaller one between his hands.

“Good morning.” Your voice is slightly groggy from sleep but still, you offer him a smile. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes but he doesn’t quite notice that. His attention is elsewhere, eyes seemingly fixated on anywhere and everywhere but you.

Sitting up from the bed; you stretch yourself awake, already making mental notes on things you should say — the appropriate topics to discuss. The flow of conversation that usually ran the smoothest between you is nothing but a trickle these days.

Communication has been a problem lately and you’re not quite sure on whose end.

“Oh.” He’s slightly taken aback. “You’re awake.”

He’s stationary for a brief moment, the smaller towel he’s using to dry his hair still in his hands as he looks at you, a somewhat distant look in his face. Your heart constricts as he turns away despondently and you feel the heavy ache in your chest plummet to your stomach.

“Should I make you breakfast?” You ask, making a move to leave the bed as you push the covers away from you. It’s true that you’ve spent far too many mornings surprising him with early morning breakfast only for him to rush out, claiming to be late for work. But you know he always leaves far too early to ever be late for work.

“I’m actually heading out.”

You still your movements, confusion marring your features. “So early?” You try to meet his gaze but it’s more than content with staring at the floor now. The digital clock on your bedside table read 06:38AM. It puzzles you that your body seems to be familiar with waking up at such early hours — you don’t recall ever getting a good night’s sleep recently. You don’t recall ever sleeping at all. “It’s really early.”

“Yeah.” His curt replies are daggers lacerating through your already wounded heart but you mask it with a nod of acknowledgement. “Jungkook’s birthday.”

Your eyes are trained on the planes of his back, the way his shoulders are tensed as he rummages through the wardrobe you both share. He’s looking a little sickly, a little paler as if he hasn’t slept for days but then neither of you have. Sleepless nights and weary hearts are becoming a routine for both of you.

“I see,” Your mouth moves to resemble something akin to that of a smile but it falters as he looks away from you. “Where are you going?”

“Busan.” He replies. Just like they did last year. Just like they do every year. You had a feeling he was going to say that but you want to keep the conversation going.

“Is everyone going too?”

“Yeah.” Of course, you know all seven of them would be going. You were quite familiar with all of them doing pretty much everything together. So, of course, all of them celebrating Jungkook’s birthday would be no exception.

“I see,” You watch him turn his back to you as he starts getting ready. You refrain from asking him too many questions but it was the only way to keep him talking, the only way to keep hearing his voice. “When will you be back?”

His movements are slow and staggered, somewhat lifeless even. He pauses his actions as he turns towards you, your gaze meeting for the first time.

“Tonight.” He replies; his voice hollow, the tone flat.

You will your heart to stop its hurting as it cries out for the man you once fell in love with. A long pause settles in the air between you both as he picks out black trousers from the wardrobe and lazily puts it on.

“Would you like me to cook dinner?” You ask him.

He continues to get ready, buttoning up his shirt before tucking it in his trousers. You’re not quite sure whether or not he heard you the first time and you were about to repeat yourself when he finally settles for a quiet, “Sure.”

There is silence in the bedroom and you’re both quiet for the next twenty minutes as he gets himself ready. The atmosphere is stiff and the air between you is haunting.

You watch him move to the mirror on the other side of the room, your presence is seemingly forgotten.

He fixes his blonde hair, dark roots peeking out after having bleached it a few weeks ago. You remember the days when you would style his hair — you used to sit him down and fuss about it; laughing and smiling as he distracts you with his goofy facial expressions and loving kisses. Nowadays, he fixes his own hair like you attempt to fix your own heart.

He doesn’t say a word as he leaves the bedroom, only leaves the door open as he walks out and you follow him into the hallway.

“Are you sure you don’t want breakfast?” Your voice is just above a whisper as he reaches the front door. Taking his jacket from the coat stand as he swipes his keys from the hook and into his pockets, he shakes his head.

“I’m fine.” He responds inanimately.

“Okay.” You watch as he opens the door and steps out. “Take care.”

Turning back to meet your gaze, you think you see the ghost of a smile on his face but your vision is hazy and it morphs back into an insipid expression.

“You too.”

“I…” You pause, not quite sure whether or not you want to say something neither of you has heard for a very long time. “Say hi to the guys for me. Tell Jungkook I said happy birthday.”

“Will do.”

“I…” Your heart is screaming for those three words (to come from whom, you’re not entirely sure) as your head attempts to sedate it.

“I’ll see you later.” He pulls you towards him and, at first, his touch doesn’t register as it seemed so… foreign. But it’s there and he has you in his arms, his phantom touch cradling you as if he hasn’t held you in months.

“I love you.”

It’s barely above a whisper and you’re not quite sure who said it. Whether or not you imagined it, as you imagine him saying those three words to you so many times.

But as quickly as it came, his affection left as he bounded out the door— the hollow atmosphere in your two bedroom apartment remaining the same.

—

It’s fast approaching night time before you know it.

Staring at the clock on the kitchen wall, you’re left puzzled as the time on the clock differs to the sky outside. The shorter hand on 6 and the longer just slightly before the number 8 signifies it’s early in the evening but the colour of the sky was a dark, dark navy.

That’s strange, you muse.

The whole day was a blur to you, the same routine befalling you; as if you’d relive the same scenario day in and day out. After trying to reach out to Taehyung to check if he reached safely in Busan only for it to go to voicemail after the third try, you gave up and instead did chores around the apartment to kill time.

Missed calls and unread messages fill up your phone but you didn’t have the energy to read through them all. There’s a familiar tiring ache in your bones. The kind of tired that sleep can’t fix despite you attempting to take intermittent naps the whole day.

You don’t recall making dinner but before you know it, it’s all set up on the table.

You’re hoping he comes home soon as you sit on the sofa, a blanket over your lap and a book in your hands. The news is on in the background about some sort of anniversary. An accident. Someone’s passing. As of late, the news has been nothing but dark and morbid (then again when is it not?) so you tune it out in hopes to peacefully carry on with your day.

You look at your phone with unanswered calls and unopened messages. Frowning at the double-digit missed calls AND unread messages, a sudden ringing brings you out of your reverie as the No Caller ID flashes on the screen.

“Hello?” Clearing your throat as you answer, there’s a pause on the other line.

“Y/N…” You hear a breathless voice and you strain your ears a little in order to make out clearly who it was.

“Jungkook?” You question first and as soon as you heard a noise of affirmation you smile. “Hey, happy birthday.”

“Y/N, we’ve been trying to reach out to you all day—“ his voice trails off but comes to an abrupt stop. “Wait? Birthday?” He sounds confused at your greeting.

“Yes, sorry for not greeting you sooner.” You apologise. “I’ve had one of those off-the-grid days.” You hear shuffling on the other end and a long pause. Not liking the static ringing on the line as it was giving you a slight headache, you carry on. “How’s Busan?”

“Busan?” The voice on the other end morphs and you’re not quite sure who’s speaking now. It sounded like Jimin but it was hard to tell.

“Is Tae still there?”

“Taehyung?” A voice cracks and you hear a hard swallow. Was that Hobi? Hearing faint murmurs on their end of the call, you feel a sudden pain shoot through the back of your head.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you massage your temples as you feel a headache starting to form. “You guys, I can’t keep up.” You joke. “Who’s on the line now?”

“Y/N he’s not—” You vaguely decipher Namjoon’s voice this time and you’re about to playfully scold the boys for playing pass the parcel with the phone when you hear the front door.

The sound of the keys in the lock and the door opening distracts you from the current conversation you’re having as you hear footsteps down the hallway.

“Nevermind, guys, he just got home.”

“Y/N? No wait, Tae’s—“

“I’ll catch up with you later.”

Closing your book as you place it on the coffee table, you rise from the sofa to greet Taehyung but he beats you to it as he enters the living room.

“You’re home.” He stands before you seemingly illusory in all his glory. Walking towards him, you reach out slowly to take his coat from his shoulders and you take in the overcast look in his eyes.

You tiptoe up to greet him on the cheek with a kiss and you feel him freeze. His cheek is cold against your lips and he made no effort to reciprocate. Feeling the ache in your heart intensify, you say nothing.

“I made dinner.” You offer. “It’s on the table.”

“Have…” he pauses before looking at you directly. “Have you eaten?” With a gaze so tense, it’s the first time he’s acknowledged your wellbeing and your heart can’t help but skip a beat despite the aching in your chest.

You can’t quite remember whether or not you have so instead you shake your head as you reply, “Not yet.”

“Do you want to join me?” He looks at you, the eidolic expression you’ve been accustomed to warping into something more tender.

“Of course,” You nod towards him. “I’ll heat it up for you.”

Dinner is quiet as you both sit down. He doesn’t touch his food, merely plays with it as you study the unsettled expression on his face.

“How was Busan?” You fall back into the same pattern of asking him questions and he answers them with the same distant interest.

“It was good.” He answers, almost robotically. Then, as if to sense his mistake, clears his throat and pitches his voice higher to add the misplaced liveliness. “Really good.”

“How is everyone?”

“They’re doing well.” He says somewhat sadly. “It was nice to see them all.”

Silence settles and not only does your heart still ache but now your head is agitated as you can hear a hammering in your ears.

“You’re home quite early.” You attempt to distract yourself from the pulsing pain that’s increasing in your skull. “You got back quite late last time.”

Last time. Why does this all seem familiar to you?

“Y/N…” He starts. And your heart can’t help but constrict at the sound of your name coming out of his mouth.

You look at him, really look at him this time. Your eyes are searching for a sign— anything at all to ground you back to him. Or to ground him back to you but the pair of brown eyes that are staring back at you are dark and seemingly void of any emotions.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

You hear something shatter in the distance, you’re not quite sure what exactly but it reverberates throughout the entire kitchen— no, the entire apartment and your headache intensifies.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” His voice is seemingly distorted now — a lot more hollow in tone, a lot more empty in resound. There’s a haunting reverb to the words he is uttering.

“Tae…” You begin to reach out towards him but he seems so far from you. “I don’t understand.”

His mouth is moving but no words seem to come out as the weight of his words and the reign of reality suddenly come crashing down on you.

The floor beneath you starts to feel like its caving in and you start to feel dizzy, the drumming ache in your head only growing in intensity. Suddenly, everything is spinning and you tumble forwards.

“I’m sorry.” You can hear the pounding in your more clearly now as you hear his voice again in the distance. You begin to stand, your entire body shaking as you attempt to make sense of what was happening around you.

“No,” You’re shaking your head as you feel his reality take over the reality you conjured up on your head. “No no no,”

“Please wake up.” His voice breaks and along with it the illusion of your make-shift existence shatters. All at once; your vision is blurring, his silhouette a fuzzy outline and you find it difficult to breathe.

“T-Tae…” You see your hand reach out towards him and he’s reaching out towards you but suddenly he feels so far away. Unexpectedly, your body is paralysed and your heart is compressed tightly in your chest as you desperately reach out towards him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” His voice is distant, reverberating in your skull as the last words he speaks echoes in your head. “I can’t keep coming back, baby.”

There’s the same ringing in your ears as well as the soft sounds of steady beeping and the drumming of rain echoing in the distant. Your vision further darkens, flares of black and white flashing before your eyes in a similar reverie, an outburst of red striking your dream-like before you are roused to reality.

—

there we have it! interpret it however you guys want it (although I feel like the majority of you would have guessed what’s happening/what happened). there’s a part two (if anyone’s interested??), just let me know. i thought it appropriate to end in angst but should anyone want part two, it’s a slightly happier ending (though slightly longer).

© vantejeon

[fishxx]

Se Qing and the Naked Truth

February 24th, 2017

Below the rooftop of a Beijing building that shudders against a glaucous sky of factory moans is an unextraordinary office building. In it, perhaps on the sixth floor, sits a man in a suit at a desk. The phone on his desk rings. He probably picks it up. Maybe he shifts his weight in his seat, undoing the buttons on his cuffs. Maybe he texts his wife, tells her not to wait up, a client needs this or that document tonight.

It’s 11 degrees Celsius, and a pair of broad-boned feet rest on the ledge of the rooftop above the office building. The owner of the feet crouches over them, back bent round as if in a snail shell. He looks down to the street below, speckled with pedestrians bundled in scarves and cars blaring their horns. He thinks about what kind of people might be in the office building.

Seven months prior, he’d written in a series of diaries published online:

           我总是能听到开枪的声音，开始的时候我有点害怕，时间久了，也就习惯了，那声

           音也像有人在用槌子往我脑袋里钉钉子，好像有一个建筑工地，有人要盖摩天大楼

           ，盖了这么多年也没盖好，好多无家可归的人在我的脑袋里面哭啊闹啊，我要被吵

           死了，他们不让我睡觉，也不让我出门。不睡觉也好，不出门也好，反正每天出门

           前，穿上精心挑选好的衣服，照着镜子怎么看都觉得像要去参加自己的葬礼

           I am always hearing gunshots. In the beginning it scared me a little, but over time I’ve

           grown used to it. Someone has taken up a hammer and is knocking nails into my head,

          ��it’s a construction site where someone is erecting a monstrous skyscraper, they’ve been

           building it for years and it still isn’t done yet. The many homeless people in my head are

           crying and jibing, they won’t let me sleep, won’t let me out the door. Staying home and

           awake suits me just fine, because every day before heading out, after putting on the

           clothes I’ve selected so meticulously for myself, and looking into the mirror, it looks to

           me as if I’ve dressed to attend my own funeral.

It had always felt this way. For much of his life, since his childhood in a suburb of Changchun, the capital of China’s northeastern province of Jilin, Ren Hang had felt as if he was stumbling through a shadowy psychosis, a jammed film reel in disparate shades of gray.

Still, through the fog of voices and visions clouding his consciousness, in Ren’s pulsing circuit board of veins, he has always felt a deep connection to his family, to his hometown, to China.

And this has never wavered, even as he moved what seemed continents away to study marketing at 17, to live in the 4-to-a-room cramped quarters of Beijing’s university housing, high from the ground, amidst the haze and cancers and pollution of a city of chaos.

–

Fragmented light splashes across the bare thighs and torso of a man whose face cannot be seen. Each hand holds a disco ball, whose mosaicked faces refract the flash’s exposure. Between the disco balls, an erect penis. In another photograph, from the last series Ren published, two nude men sit curled atop one other on the ledge of a building, pasted against a jumbled, silver skyline. Their eyes meet the camera’s gaze steadily.

As Ren crouches on the windowsill, many of these photos are already on exhibition at Foam Fotografiemuseum in Amsterdam. Museum curator Mirjam Kooiman says of the work, “It’s visual poetry. It’s without limits.”

Ren is not without limits.

The man in the office shuffles a stack of paper, maybe. He sighs when the phone rings again. Perhaps he stares at the minute hand on the wall clock.

Ren, some days, can’t tell wall clock from whiskey.

He rises slowly in the frame of the window. Stands, looks. Maybe he is naked, like so many of his subjects are. Maybe, as always, he’s meticulously selected what he believes to be the proper attire for the occasion. In one month he’ll be 30. He is always hearing gunshots.

He steps into the air.

–

January 15th, 2010

           我只会注意那些病态，结巴，物质，2维思维，单亲家庭的男孩。有一种男孩是我

           在涨潮几个小时之后会打电话给他，听到他的声音我知道虽然我还在水底，但是我

           还没有溺亡。

           I will only pay attention to those morbid, stuttering, material, two-dimensional- thinking

           boys in single-parent families. There is a kind of boy who calls me after hours of high

           tide. Hearing his voice, I know that although I am still underwater, I am still not dead.

Huang Jiaqi has the broad, hopeful eyes of youth and lips full as if they’d been stung by honeybees.

It’s been nearly a year since he ran away from home, leaving his university entrance examinations unfinished, his childhood tucked somewhere in diaries with thick-pulp pages, like those still made by tired men in the Qinling mountains.

At only 18, Jiaqi is slight of build, and can often afford nothing more to eat than a box of fried rice with a cucumber for five yuan. He devours the meal shoulder-to-shoulder with his lover, beneath the opaque and oppressive Beijing sky.

Jiaqi and Ren sleep in a house with five or six others who pad silently through the space like apparitions, also hungry.

Ren takes Jiaqi to rooftops. He snaps his shutter.

And with friends pitted naked against mosaicked Moroccan-style floors, between red curtains backlit by pale light, in reeds and bushes, amidst the haze of cigarettes in dingy apartments, Ren snaps his shutter. Boys and boys, girls and boys, girls and more girls mingle, mangled in limb and wire and branch.

Ren graduates from his compact analogue camera to a $29 Minolta X-700 film model. He is not interested in digital cameras. He says, “I like film. It’s exciting to wait.”

His work is featured in small group shows in Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Nanjing.

Still, it seems no one in the art world knows Ren Hang’s name.

Jiaqi knows Ren Hang’s name, his mother’s name, the pock-marks of his left cheek, the sound of his heartbeat. In and out and in and out like the tide.

Jiaqi is Ren’s greatest muse, the reason for all things.

In eight years, an image of his face will splash the cover of an international art book published by Taschen and Ren Hang will be dead.

–

June 8th, 2008

           写给周耀辉的信

           每个人都是同性恋，每个人都是霸权者，每张脸都打上马赛克，每颗心都穿上防弹

           衣。所有的亲吻都是一味毒药，所有的拥抱都是一个牢房。

           Letter to Zhou Yaohui:

           Everyone is homosexual. Everyone is a hegemonic person. Each face is marked with a

           mosaic. Each heart is wearing a bulletproof vest. All the kisses are blind poisons, and all

           the hugs are a jail cell.

Ren books his first solo show in 2010. It opens in July under the name “Eat Naked Lunch!” at Yuyintang, a cozy underground live house in Shanghai.

One photograph features a young woman lying on her back, her knees drawn against her bare chest. Between her legs sprouts a tangled bouquet of leaves and red wildflowers. No genitalia can be exposed in the photographs on display, though the work Ren produces is often explicit, featuring cigarettes with seething red heads protruding from vaginas and lilies with their stems tucked into anuses.

He begins to exhibit quietly in other galleries and live houses.

And gradually, like a moonflower unfurling, Ren Hang’s work begins to bloom in the art world. The influence of boundary-pushing erotic photographer Robert Mapplethorpe becomes increasingly apparent, yet curators and collectors insist they have never seen anything like it before.

They are eager to comment on its starkness, its unapologetic sensuality, its balance and color, and its function as a bold fuck you to the Chinese government.

–

In the spring of 2018, Chinese social media platform Weibo announces a three-month “cleanup” effort of its site, a censorship initiative launched on the heels of President Xi Jinping’s new cybersecurity jurisdiction. Weibo quietly begins removing all content related to homosexuality. In response, social media users storm the platform with the hashtag #Iamgaynotapervert.

Though homosexual sex was decriminalized in China in 1997, members of the LGBTQIA+ community continue to face prejudice and a dearth of political discourse about their rights. Today, gay marriage is still not legally recognized in a single continental Asian country.

The Dream of the Red Chamber, the Qing dynasty-era novel oft considered the peak of Chinese literature features a number of steamy same-sex relationships, and passages of dialogue brazen enough to make even the most indiscreet of patrons blush: “What’s it to you if we fuck asses! It’s not like we fucked your dad,” says one character. Hand scrolls of the same time period depict what appears to be recreational sex between male friends, one colorful panel portraying a man hiking up his robes, sitting upon another man’s lap while they enjoy a cup of tea.

So whence came the disdain for homosexuality in China? Anthropologists argue that the influence of Western socio-cultural norms and exposure to foreign media rendered the subject taboo, casting shame over same-same relationships as the perverted product of delinquency or mental disorders. Others assert that the filial values of traditional China that have dominated social life since the era of Confucius are to blame.

Ren says, “We hide the body in our culture,” because it is “a demoralization to show what they think should be private.” But instead of hiding, Ren rebels—worshipping both the sacred and the sacrilegious in the human form, twisting and contorting it into geometry and shadow.

Everything about Ren’s photography is charged with the electric current of sexuality. Much of it is homoerotic. Much of it is not. As one curator puts it, “There’s no hierarchy between the female and the male model in his work. It’s very telling about these tendencies of sexuality and queerness in Chinese society and how his generation is dealing with it.”

What does this one represent?, they ask. It must be a commentary on the political state of modern China, they whisper.

When asked whether his pictures are meant to inspire or incite a sexual liberation in China, Ren responds flatly, “A sexual liberation? No.” He says, “Nudes have always been around. We were born nude. So I don’t think there’s anything to revolutionize. I just photograph things in their more natural conditions.”

Ren Hang didn’t intend to become a photographer. He became one accidentally, toying with a compact camera in the ennui of his days at the Communication University of China, snapping photographs of his roommates here and there, often naked, scuttling to the showers from their room with four bunks like narrow coffins stacked atop one another.

Perhaps he didn’t intend to become a poet either, although after his death, Tim Crowley of the KWM Art Center in Beijing says, “He was, in a way, a poet who just happened to be a great photographer.”

At times, he writes:

           "My cock"

           When soft, it’s like a piece of meat

           When hard, like a knife

           I give you soft when you eat

           Wait for you to eat hard

           Use it to kill you

And, at other times:

           "Real desperation"

           I found

           My breasts are bigger every day

           My vagina is wider day-by-day

           I can be ashamed

           I can hold hundreds of rivers

           My time is finally coming

           But I also felt for the first time

           What real despair is

           I stand in the highest place

           But I dare not take a look below

And as Ren Hang comes barreling into the world of contemporary Chinese art with images that incite gasps, fury, and arrests, he perplexes and enchants by straddling, unapologetically, the worlds of straightness and gayness, of kink and custom, of truth and deception, of masochism and tantrism, of woman and man.

–

May 9th, 2013

           还有一次连续几天晚上我都觉得我的隔壁睡了两匹马，我能听到他们的喘息，还有

           那种马的“突突”的鼻音，我每天回到家都小心翼翼地怕吵醒了他们，有一天我的朋

           友来家里住，我跟他说，我的邻居是两匹马，他们一直在睡觉，你今晚还是不要洗

           澡了，洗澡的声音太大了，我们说话走路也小声一点，不然会吵醒他们的，我已经

           三天没洗澡了。我朋友说我疯了。我说，他们不是一般的马，他们会说人话，会躺

           着睡觉。开始他以为我在开玩笑，但是我的表情越来越严肃，他说你真是疯了。后

           来我也不知道该怎么跟他解释，他再也没有住过我家。

           For a few days in a row, I felt like there were two horses sleeping next to each other. I

           was very careful not to wake them. One day, my friend came to stay at my place. I told

           him that my neighbors are two horses. They have been sleeping. You shouldn't take a

           shower tonight. The bathing sound is too loud. We can only speak quietly. Or I will wake

           them up. I haven't bathed for three days. My friend said I was crazy. I said that they are

           not ordinary horses. They speak ‘people’ and lie down to sleep. At first he thought I was

           joking, but my expression became more and more serious. He said that I was crazy.

           Later, I didn't know how to explain to him. He never stayed at my house again.

In China, mental illness is like homosexuality. It exists. We don’t talk about it.

–

April 5th, 2016

           我适应了逆来顺受，就像掷骰子，每次都掷到同一个点数，后来你发现，其实每一

           个面的点数都是一样的。这个房间里我最熟悉的就是头顶的那块天花板，它就像我

           的天空，白色的天空，没有任何阴晴变化的天空，我幻想过楼上的邻居就是住在天

           上的神仙

           I have adapted to obey just like a die that is rolled over and shows the same number every

           time. In the end you realize that each side of the die is exactly the same. I am most

           familiar with the ceiling from my room. It’s like my sky, a white sky. There is no

           pleasant change in my sky. I imagine that my neighbor from upstairs is an angel living in

           heaven with the gods.

“I love China, and I like shooting Chinese people,” Ren tells Vice Japan. “The more I’m limited by my country, the more I want my country to take me in and accept me for who I am and what I do.”

Ren is arrested a number of times—for shooting nude models in public places, where indecency is punishable by up to six months’ jail time, and, perhaps more scandalously, for self-publishing.

The Chinese government exercises nearly complete control over the press, and the country’s commitment to extensive media censorship is a well-documented phenomenon. Self-publishing, while technically legal, is a highly regulated procedure requiring an ISSN number and authors’ compliance with mandatory censorship policies.

Ren begins publishing his work underground in 2011 with the help of a friend who works in printing, knowing that he will never be able to publish his work otherwise, as the distribution of explicit photo or video content in China is illegal. The Communist Party once dubbed pornography “spiritual pollution.”

In 2015, in the vindictive heat of a Beijing summer, when asked about if he considers his pictures erotica, Ren tells a magazine intern, “I don’t like the word ‘erotica’ (in Chinese, qing se). I prefer ‘pornographic’ (se qing). I think it’s more direct.”

In China, a lifetime behind bars may await anyone who produces, disseminates, or sells “obscene materials.”

Naturally, Ren sets out to do all three.

Within five years, he produces 16 of his own zines and monographs, filled with glossy pages of penises urinating into corded telephone receivers, bodies twisted into fantastical shapes, vaginas splayed open like raw wounds. Many of the earliest of these books were sold underground in small shops whose owners knew his work.

A posterboy millennial, Ren has generated cult followings on his Weibo, Tumblr, and Instagram profiles. He publishes his photography freely on his website, alongside collections of poetry and an unassuming tab on the sidebar menu bar labelled “My Depression.”

His website is shut down unexpectedly. Once. Twice. Again. Law enforcement officers swarm Beijing galleries in wailing Volkswagen Passats, calling for the stop to his exhibitions. A man attends an exhibition and spits on one of the photographs.

He is arrested, but never imprisoned. While Ren operates as an anomaly, a dark creature inhabiting the fringes of Chinese society, authorities seem ambiguous about his status as a criminal. Is he a political rebel? Is he subverting the zhengfu?

They hesitate further because the mind of China is evolving. The economy, taking new shapes.

Chinese citizens born in the 1980s were taught that the country’s “pillar industries” included the automotive, construction, mechanical, electrical, and petrochemical sectors. But these categories are not static. In recent years, biotechnology, advanced energy, and IT have made their way to the forefront of the economy. These new pillars are China’s loyal heed to the call of science. Yet—more than anything—they’ve become the cherubim upholding the god that is capitalism to this country of atheists.

What is largely unexpected is the State Council’s 2009 announcement to make “culture” one of its pillar industries by 2020. In 2016, the Ministry of Finance earmarks nearly four and a half billion yuan in funding for cultural development initiatives. Beijing, Shanghai, and Shenzhen are booming. The art world, rising.

“The market in China has greatly matured, and this has enabled us to present exciting, emerging artists from China and across the Asia-Pacific region,” says Alexander Montague-Sparey, the Artistic Director of Photofairs Shanghai.

It’s no wonder that authorities cannot put their thumb on Ren Hang with enough accuracy to stamp him out like a cigarette butt. Instead, they fumble with his burning edges.

–

May 19th, 2011

           这几年你一直在寻找一张失踪的桌子，生活在一只倾塌的杯子里，逐步进化成愤怒

           的杯底。这世界就是离你这么近，却摸不着，又看不清楚。就像一束光要和影子做

           爱，那么难，我活得像一个影子。却只能再黑夜里出没。

           In the past few years you have been looking for a missing table, living in a falling cup,

           and gradually evolving into an angry cup. This world is so close to you, but it can't be

           touched. Just like a beam of light to make love with a shadow, so difficult, I live like a

           shadow. Only to haunt the night.

Ai WeiWei is China’s most beloved and most despised political dissident. The irreverent artist is known for designing the Beijing National Stadium for the 2008 Olympics and for his controversial visual arts challenging the institutions of modern Chinese society. In 2014, he exhibits an entire collection featuring only photographs of his left hand pitted against the background of famous global monuments and religious buildings, his middle finger raised in bullish protest.

The state media deem him a “deviant and a plagiarist.” He’s arrested in April of 2011 and held for 81 days by authorities. Officials allude vaguely to his “economic crimes” without filing specific charges. His assistant, Wen Tao, mysteriously disappears and is never seen again.

In the consistent spirit of controversy, he champions the work of underground photographer Ren Hang.

In 2013, he curates an exhibition called “FUCK OFF II” at the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands, featuring the works of Ren and 36 other contemporary Chinese artists, many of whom are pioneering a neo-avant-garde driven by a need to challenge the sociological, environmental, and political climates of modern China. It contributes to a burgeoning, global Ren Hang following.

Ren always maintains that he is simply making pictures the way he wants to make them.

“Politics is interested in me,” he tells the press at the OstLicht Austrian photography gallery in 2015, “but I am not interested in politics.”

–

March 23rd, 2015

           我昨天在超市

           偷了一管牙膏

           前天把邻居的锁孔

           用口香糖堵住

           上周把小区门口的

           一排垃圾桶

           全都踢翻

           每次我做了坏事

           都觉得生活好像

           又变得美好了一些

           I was in the supermarket yesterday,

           I stole some toothpaste

           The day before yesterday,

           I blocked the neighbor’s keyhole with chewing gum

           Last week, at the neighborhood entrance,

           I kicked over

           A row of trash cans

           Every time I do bad things

           I feel like life

           Is getting better again

Ren hasn’t spoken much to his family since he left Changchun at the age of 17.

He calls his mother. He paces the length of his apartment slowly, watching one foot move in front of the other, the pattern in the floor’s wood grain rendered into clusters of tiny faces.

“I’m wondering if you’d like to model for me in a photo shoot.”

His voice hangs in the air like a bird riding a current of wind.

“Do you want me to take off all my clothes?” she finally laughs.

He is jarred by the realization that his parents must know everything. Here, all along, he believed they couldn’t have suspected a thing.

Of course he doesn’t want her to take off her clothes—she’s his mother, for goodness sake.

She doesn’t mind.

He insists that a bra and underwear will do just fine.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She smokes a cigarette. Ren snaps his shutter.

Expressionless, she holds a pig’s severed head. Ren snaps his shutter.

–

February 2nd, 2010

           《我爱你》

           想在你身后，

           看你走路的姿势，

           盯着你并不丰满的屁股看。

           想去你家。

           想跟你睡一张拥挤的铁床，

           在半夜突然醒来，

           舔你的眼睫毛，

           摸你冻裂的嘴唇。

           想在早上抢着穿你的内裤，

           让你穿我的，

           看你站着小便，

           拍下你用过没冲的厕所。

           "I Love You"

           Want to be behind you,

           Look at your walking posture,

           Stare at your not-so-plump butt.

           Want to go to your home.

           Want to sleep with you on a crowded iron bed,

           Wake up suddenly in the middle of the night

           Lick your eyelashes,

           Touch your cracked lips.

           Rush to wear your underwear in the morning,

           Let you wear mine,

           Watch you standing, urinating,

           Photograph the toilet you used without flushing.

Sometimes Ren darts into traffic, or lunges himself ahead of an encroaching bus, only to leap backward at the last moment. Sometimes he stands too close to the platform’s edge in Beijing’s swollen subway stations. When he swims in the chlorine-blue pools of hotels around the world—places where his work is championed, where he receives bottles of wine and dinners of black caviar and foie gras from museum directors—he keeps his eyes closed, lets his body sink to the bottom of the basin, listens to the muted sparkling of the water.

He feels most at peace when he is close to death.

“Since I was seventeen,” says Jiaqi, “the most important thing for me has never changed—to protect you and to protect our love.”

Jiaqi is well on his way to establishing himself as a leading fashion stylist, editor, and model. He makes his own pictures, too. In 2018, his photography glosses the cover of Tatler Hong Kong.

He snaps an iPhone photo of Ren. Beneath the glow of a red umbrella amidst geometries of sunlight, Ren stands in a blue Umbro soccer tank top. He looks into the distance blankly, his broad and elegant cheekbones lending to his perpetual appearance as gaunt, as exceedingly gentle, as older than he is. It seems so far removed from the world of art that they both have learned to inhabit in different ways.

–

January 10th, 2013

           《最亮的光太快》

           我从来不想变成最亮的光

           最亮的光太快

           比流星还快

           我愿意变成黑夜

           我愿意缓慢得就像静止

           我愿意经常被你遗忘

           偶尔被你仰望

           即使在那仰望里

           我只是一张背景

           “The Brightest Light is Too Fast”

           I never want to become the brightest light

           The brightest light is too fast

           Faster than meteors

           I would like to turn into night

           I am willing to be slow like static

           I am willing to be forgotten by you often

           Occasionally you look up

           Even in that gaze,

           I'm just a background

Ren Hang steps into the sky.

The gray of Beijing’s carbonate heavens flashes against fragment of glass, of skyscraper, of silver branch. Perhaps a bird darts past, cutting through the air careless—careless as one must be to have been given the great gift of flight without cognition of one’s privilege.

Perhaps before peace,

He sees his mother’s face. Her harsh mouth in a line, a stream of smoke curling around her.

Perhaps

He sees a boy with bee-stung lips.

The boy says: “I didn’t even know about this thing called depression the first time I saw you crying and telling me you wanted to set the flat on fire so we could die together.”

Maybe he hears the boy’s voice ringing in his ears, a kind of private, radiant sonar.

“You said you were my home, and I was yours.”

These words are true.

But these ideas are all simulation, are all romantic projection.

The BBC runs the headline: Ren Hang: Death of China’s Hotshot Erotic Photographer.

It is all romantic projection.

He is not an erotic photographer. He is, unapologetically, a se qing photographer, an artist of the bizarre and the beautiful, unmarried to any creed or movement, an artist brazenly throwing forth pictures of a violent peace, an artist, an artist, an artist. A mere observer of his world.

And he is, by no means, a hotshot. He is simply a student of the human condition—what his lover calls, “a kid who loves life, but lacks the skills to live it.” He is only human, diseased and obsessed, incurable and in love.

So more than likely,

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He does not take note of the clouds reflected in the windows of the office building tearing through space, or the dusky thrush floating above him. He does not see his mother’s stern face or hear the voice of Huang Jiaqi.

More than likely,

He thinks of nothing.

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He refuses to become the brightest light.

The brightest light is too fast.

Kendra Clark is a New York-based editorial content creator and part-time residential student in the creative writing master’s program at the University of Cambridge. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in or are forthcoming in Into the Void magazine, The Evansville Review, Emrys Journal, and more.

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 11

Why are they like this?  Why?  What is even their issue?  

Ao3

Astrid is a believer in hard work.

There are very few obstacles in life that can’t be overcome with determination, willingness to get her hands dirty, and dedication to the cause. However, deciphering her feelings while sitting across a dingy bar table from Hiccup’s sharp jaw and green eyes, holding a beer she got from her best friend’s cousin who now only owes her forty-seven dollars while said best friend and Hiccup’s cousin hook up might be one of those outlying obstacles.

And that’s not even unpacking the fact that she only met Hiccup because he was giving serial killer tours to her apartment, the past tense being because a new set of twin murders interrupted his route with the promise of further interruptions. And then that gets even more complicated because not only did she and Hiccup kiss while she was at work, but later that same night she was with him when they discovered the second murder victim, seconds after she accidentally called him sexy.

Or not him specifically, but something he did, and that’s almost worse.

And she might be able to scrape together some plan of attack for all of that, but adding the fact that he also happened to discover the first body after a middle of the night private serial killer tour he gave her where they were caught trespassing and practically hugging on camera pushes it over the edge.

She’s lost.

And there’s the whole thing he’s been in custody twice in as many weeks but she still can’t stop thinking about how he looked at her, like he absolutely couldn’t handle not kissing her for another second. Even though she was being stubborn and loud and forcing her opinion on him. Maybe even because of those things.

Neither of them knew what to say while they finished their drinks and their interaction devolved into silence occasionally punctuated by people watching commentary. He offered to walk her home, but she took an Uber because as safe as Berk’s new condo developments brag about being, she doesn’t live in one of those.

She lives in yet another Grimborn murder site, likely on a list to be revisited.

Yet another complication.

“You’re thinking about that ship roster really hard,” Fishlegs sits down at his desk, flicking through his meticulously maintained planner.

She half wonders what Fishlegs would say about her current conundrums. He’s got the kind of analytical approach she can really admire, but his opinion of Hiccup is clear and deserved. It was Hiccup who pushed her against the bookcase and threatened his precious encyclopedias, after all.

“It’s complicated.”

“Want to talk about it?”  

She thinks a minute, “no.”

Astrid doesn’t want to talk about it. She wants to do something about it, she just doesn’t know what to do.

Hiccup (4:23pm): hey are you at work?

She hates how the silent implication makes her cheeks burn.

Astrid (4:24pm): yeah

Hiccup (4:25pm): oh cool, would you mind if I dropped by and got a copy of that Al, I. Safe picture to laminate? The one you gave me is wearing out quick and it’s smeared not that you care I’m sure it smeared in your fervent quest to prove me wrong

Astrid hates how she can’t deny that her stomach flips. If Fishlegs repeated his concern right now, she’s not sure what she’d say, but he disappeared into the back room to organize new donations.

Astrid (4:27pm): sure

Hiccup (4:28pm): be there in like 5?

Her heart stutters and she tries not to care. She can’t help but hate how she left it at the bar, the weird backward walk towards the door, the insistence that she get a ride rather than walk. And now she has to deal with another random, instantaneous meeting? She needs time and planning and for it to occur away from Hiccup’s undeniable pull.

She tries to focus exclusively on her work but every time she hears the door open she jumps and has to reread at least a paragraph. The first is the mail, the second is someone lost and hoping for the library upstairs, but the third is Hiccup, determinedly faking casual as he trots down the stairs with uneven strides she still wants to ask about.

“Hey!” He says too brightly and Astrid purposefully takes a second too long to look up.

“Hi.”

He pauses a couple feet in front of her desk and swallows hard. He shaved recently, and he looks younger and sharper and somehow more likely to catch her off guard.

“Are you doing something super important for the future of Berk’s history’s maintenance or…”

She can’t quite stifle her smile, “not really.”

“Great,” he grins wider, all crooked teeth and genuine excitement and everything would be so much easier if Astrid’s heart didn’t skip like a turntable in a hurricane. “So, Al. I, safe message? If you don’t mind…”

“Right, sure,” she stands up too quickly, chair rolling back a few feet and smacking into a bookshelf.

“No rush,” Hiccup laughs, shoulders rigid and hands waving at her chair, “wouldn’t want you to break something in your excitement to help me copy something.”

“I haven’t put it away since last week, I still need to talk to Fishlegs about how we’d recategorize it as Grimborn-related,” she ignores his comment about breaking things and leaves her chair where it is, leading him down the familiar aisle between old yellowed papers to the table she set her findings out on.

“Does that mean there’s a special stack you send Grimborn-ologists to so that you don’t have to talk to us?”

“Well, that would be my solution,” she flips carefully through the paper to the picture, trying not to think about the vague wrinkles in the print from his hand clenching as he kissed her. “But currently Fishlegs’s solution is to just send them all my way.”

“Let me guess, it’s been busy?” He skirts around mentioning the recent murders, but it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it feels like all she talks about lately, as she leads curious, insensitive people to documents she then has to make sure they don’t take as a souvenir.  

She nods, “I hate to say you’re right, but you are pretty well adjusted, considering the crowd as a whole.”

“What makes you say that?” He cocks his head, reverently taking the paper from her and following towards the copier. The encyclopedias mock her when his hand brushes against her arm.

“You know, there was the guy who wanted his girlfriend to lay on the floor to pose like Elizabeth Smith,” she wrinkles her nose, “but I don’t know how even that compares to the guy who got angry at me because I didn’t magically produce modern crime scene photos to compare to vintage ones. He claimed this was a ‘decaying institution’ because I explained we obviously don’t have access to current police case documentation.”

“What an idiot,” Hiccup snorts, “this is a historical archive, there are obvious environmental controls to prevent decay.”

“That’s bad,” she doesn’t understand how he can melt more stiff tension than she can think through with a bad joke, it must go hand in hand with how he made her feel safe in dark alleys when logic and reality continually affirm she was anything but. “Come on, that was lame.”

“It got a smile,” he says, self-satisfied but not smug, and his eyes narrow when he sees the copier, “we meet again, old friend.”

“What?”

“The copier and I have history, remember? I tried to copy a comic book three years ago and jammed it up,” he sets the paper down picture up on the work table and pats the top of the copier with a careful hand, “the foundation of Fishlegs and my blood feud, as you put it.”

“Right,” she takes the paper and carefully folds it back to align the picture with the corner, “maybe I should press the buttons then, I wouldn’t want to involve myself in that drama.”

The copier is probably older than some of the archive’s collections and it takes a minute to turn on, its wheezing fan turning the silence awkward as Astrid’s worries whir back to life along with it. Hiccup is alternating between staring at his feet and the side of her face, brows furrowed.

“Thanks for letting me come by, by the way, and for the picture. And for finding the picture, in the first place, even though you were only doing it to prove me wrong, which you did, it clearly does have punctuation—but that’s not what I mean.” He doesn’t pause to breathe so much as to let the mental gears behind his eyes rotate fully so that he can pick back up where he got off track. “I uh…I guess I understand all the very real reasons you probably want nothing to do with me—”

“What?” She turns to face him, frowning.

“I’m just saying I get it, and I appreciate you being cool about it even as I’m…practically having a spasm over here trying to talk to you,” he laughs, high pitched and nasal, his arms flailing and smacking the copier. It coughs and she has to press the start button again. “And considering the size and scale of ass I made of myself at Gruff’s the other day, I get that other things that might have ummm…been said or occurred are likely voided, as it were—not that there was any kind of contract when you said and did them, I was just amazed someone as, you know, astounding as you seemed to be starting to like me, maybe—”

“Hiccup,” she reflexively puts her hand on his shoulder, sure that if she doesn’t hold him down he’ll vibrate into another dimension, “I let you give tours to my apartment, do you think I’d do that if I didn’t like you?”

“Oh,” he thinks on that for a second, eyes darting to her hand on his shoulder, and she carefully retracts it, flushing as he half smiles. She gets that bone deep feeling she’s going to regret what she just said as he opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it and presses his lips together in a tight line.

The copier spits out a single, un-smeared picture and he reaches for it, already leaning away from her like he’s planning a great escape. That isn’t allowed and she grabs it before he can, setting it on the small table behind her and crossing her arms.

“What’s your problem, Hiccup?”

“Problem?” He blinks, long eyelashes adding to the innocent façade, “I wouldn’t say I have a problem, I think I just—the long and short of it is I met someone really…amazing, but I pissed her off before I even officially met her and for some reason she forgave me enough to go on a private tour with me and it felt—I don’t know, like we—but it doesn’t matter, probably, because then there was a murder. Except maybe it does matter because then we kissed and it was,” he’s so red he’s practically glowing but his frantic energy is dissipating with every word, like he’s exorcising himself of it, “and then we found another murder victim, together, which isn’t my ideal date or not date or…activity.”

“Mine either.”

“It’s not the association I really wanted, you know?” He winces but his chuckle is real, “but at the same time I don’t blame you if you look at me and see, you know, a modern times Grimborn murder re-enactment scene.”

“I don’t,” she looks at him a little too hard, taking in his open, nervous expression and the hope there that he’s trying and failing to put out. “You know, your problem sounds pretty similar to a problem I’m having right now.”

“Yeah?” He isn’t bad at pretending to relax, but his stiff upper body doesn’t fool her, “did me blurting it all out like an idiot help?”

“Maybe,” her small smile feels tired, “at least we’re on the same page.”

“That’s all I’ve been hoping for since you found this picture,” he points at his copy, “which is still amazing, by the way, I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”

“Just another thing wrapped up in Grimborn.” She shakes her head, “my apartment, my job, my…” She looks at him importantly, fumbling for a word that could encompass everything he just said and the way she feels when she looks at him. Excited and comfortable at all the wrong times.

“So we just don’t talk about Grimborn then,” Hiccup shrugs, shoulders forcefully easy as he leans back against the copier, knuckles white where his hands are gripping his upper arms.

“What else are we going to talk about?” Astrid pulls the original Enquirer out of the copier and folds it carefully on the table next to it, trying not to feel his eyes boring into the side of her head.

She knows he doesn’t ignore advantages and this time it makes her hold her breath.

“We could talk about the fact that you like me,” his voice dips at the end, conspiratorial, and Astrid can’t shake the feeling that the papers are listening, adding information to their tightly stacked volumes and storing it for later. “I’m kind of still wondering how I managed that.”

“Who says it’s not your Grimborn knowledge?” She wishes he was wearing the hat. The hat makes him bold and winking and silly, an act she can act back at. He’s vulnerable in an unzipped jacket and band tee-shirt she wants to ask him about and it’s an invitation to be vulnerable too.

She usually clicks tentative yes on those, hoping people get it means no.

“I thought we weren’t talking about him.”

Astrid can imagine all of those stories in all of those papers, all the people largely forgotten and lost in their own environmentally controlled, ink preserving worlds, turning away out of a well-deserved kind of respect. She keeps their secrets legible after all, the least they can do is keep her secret.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can be a little intense,” she edges closer, finger messing with the copier buttons while she drags her eyes to his. Green even in the dingy corner of the room, soft and shy and locked on hers like he’s not going to let either of those things stop him.

“A little?” The corner of his mouth quirks into a quiet half smile, eyes squinting with that eternal curiosity that feels heavy and light and warm when directed at her. She could bring up Grimborn and re-direct it, but as convenient as that would be, she doesn’t want to.

“Most people want me to back off,” she tucks her hair behind her ear and watches him suppress a smile, “you don’t.”

“Back off? As in decrease the intensity?” He laughs, long arms flailing, hand brushing her arm and shrinking back, cautious and hopeful and jittery. “Never, why would—if anything increase it. More is better, right?”

She lets it hang long enough for him to get nervous, for the hope to condense into worry and indecision and the urge to open his mouth to keep convincing, “more intense then, is what you’re saying?”

“I umm,” he clears his throat, eyes scanning her face like he’s checking that she’s real and giving her reason to prove that she is, “wouldn’t mind. I welcome it, actually.”

Somehow, he still manages to be surprised when she grabs the back of his neck to pull him down to her, hands flailing and hitting the copier again when she kisses him.

Astrid will never admit to anyone, personalities trapped in hundred-year-old papers included, how many hours of sleep she lost not to thinking about murder, but to lamenting the fact that Hiccup kissed her before she kissed him. The cheek doesn’t count, that was impulsive and embarrassing and looking back with what she knows now, everything would be a lot less complicated if she’d acted on her full impulse then.

He wouldn’t have been stumbling on a body fifteen minutes later, for a start.

Kissing him first is better, she likes his shocked pause and sharp inhalation against her cheek before coming back to life with soft, careful lips.

It’s good for a lot of reasons that Hiccup recovers quickly from shock, but right now the only one that matters is his hands settling warm on her hips and pulling her closer. He kisses like he talks, meandering and endless, lips pressing trailing anecdotes along her jaw while she desperately wants him to get to the point.

The copier creaks and chimes when she leans harder against him, one hand in his hair and the other sliding under his jacket to feel the sharp lines of his shoulder blades. He feels stronger than he looks and his light grip on her hips feels teasing, half the story when she needs it all now. She nips at his lower lip to hurry him along and he manages to stumble while standing still, fingers digging into her sides for support at the sharp snap of breaking plastic behind him.

“Shit,” Astrid pulls back and Hiccup kisses down her neck, nose dragging along the collar of her shirt and making her shiver, “we’re breaking the copier.”

“I’ve fixed it before,” his breath is cool against the damp trail he left under her jaw and she closes her eyes, willing herself to pull back.

“Astrid is the one to talk about Grimborn with, it’s not really my specialty,” Fishlegs voice shatters the tension and she stands up too fast, straightening her shirt and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Hiccup is not as quick, staring at her with a dazed, open expression, lips kiss swollen and hair sticking up on one side. She grabs his hand and pulls him away from the copier, swearing when one of the plastic trim pieces clatters to the floor, the clips on one side snapped off.

“Fix it fast,” she shoves it into his limp hands, trying and failing to pat down his hair as another voice joins Fishlegs’s.

“Ah yes, Astrid, I’ve been waiting to meet her,” it’s accented and polite, but something about it sends a chill up Astrid’s spine that has nothing to do with Hiccup struggling to make the trim piece stay in place.

“Oh?” Fishlegs is defensive, again, and she’s really going to have to talk to him about that.

“For the investigation.”

“Do you have duct tape?” Hiccup whispers, but it’s too late as Fishlegs is coming around the corner with a tall man in a gray uniform that matches the sinister undertone in his voice. Hiccup thinks fast and leans back against the copier again, holding the trim piece in place and waving at the newcomers.

“Hey Fishlegs,” he says brightly, despite Fishlegs’s scowl, and then his voice drops flat and unimpressed, “Mr. Grisly.”

“I should have expected to find you two together again,” the man in gray holds out his hand and when Astrid shakes it, it’s icy, not even vital enough to be clammy. “Mr. Grisly, head of the Neighborhood Watch Force, I’ve been invited to help investigate the recent murders and I understand you were unlucky enough to encounter a victim.”

“Yes,” she resists the urge to wipe her hand on her pants when he lets go, “I gave my statement to the police.”

“Of course, I’ve read it.” His grin is as dead as his touch, everything animated about him condensed in his eyes. “You have an interesting perspective on all of these unfortunate happenings.”

Saying luck and fortune too many times too close together makes them sound like badly veiled intention.

“I wouldn’t say I have much of a perspective at all,” Astrid shrugs, tucking her hands in her pockets, “all of it is in that statement.”

“You were hear to ask about Grimborn,” Fishlegs cuts into the conversation and Astrid is surprised that she doesn’t mind his protective tone for once, “I can actually help you with that.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ll be needing your help, not with the real Hiccup Haddock expert right here.” Mr. Grisly gestures at Hiccup with those waxy fingers and he raises his eyebrows, shifting against the copier with a scrape of plastic that would be funny and awkward in any other tense situation. Here though, it just sounds like a pin dropping during a stealth mission, a weakness on display to someone looking out for one.

“I wouldn’t call myself a Hiccup Haddock expert,” Hiccup laughs, deflecting, “I know myself maybe a five out of ten at best, you might want to talk to Officer Jorgenson about that one.”

“I was speaking of the Viggo Grimborn suspect Admiral Hiccup Haddock,” Grisly’s chuckle is gravel thrown through a window, all solid malice and sharp edges, “although it does inform the current case to hear how clueless you are about your own actions.”

“Not my actions so much as my intentions,” Hiccup blanches, shrugging like there’s some hope of pulling this situation back towards the casual. “And my reasoning. Basically my trajectory in life, but I’m pretty solid on my own actions. What do you want to know about Admiral Haddock?”

“I’m just curious about the connection.”

“There’s no connection, the original book is fiction,” he elbows Astrid for corroboration, “right? You’ve read it.”

“Bad fiction,” she agrees and Mr. Grisly smiles.

“My favorite. Can you recommend me a version?”

“Uh,” Hiccup looks at Astrid out of the corner of his eye, realizing he’ll have to move, and she tries to look casual putting her hand on the piece of loose trim. Her fingers brush a little low on his back when she does and she can’t hide her blush with a stoic expression so she just tries to avoid Fishlegs’s eyeline. “Sure, I know where they are in the library upstairs.”

“How helpful,” Grisly’s approximation of delight is more menacing for his dedication to it.

“Anything for the investigation,” Hiccup steps carefully away from the copier and looks at Astrid seriously for a second, “talk to you later?”

“I’m sure you will,” Grisly and Fishlegs say in unison with exact opposite intonation, Fishlegs’s arms crossed as he purposefully stands in the way and forces Hiccup to walk around him on the way to the stairs.

Hiccup and Mr. Grisly are barely out of sight when the other side of the copier trim pops free, waving in mid-air.

“And he broke the copier, again.”

Astrid sighs, taking the trim piece off and setting it on top of the machine, “to be fair, we both had a part in that.”

“He broke the copier,” Fishlegs raises an eyebrow, “and I told you to check out a study room.”

“Nothing happened, we were just…arguing about Grimborn.” She rubs the back of her neck, willing the heat to dissipate from under her hair.

“Right, that always gives me a hickey,” he looks pointedly at her neck and she pulls her hair forward to cover it.

“It won’t happen again,” she nods, “and he said he can fix it.” She doesn’t mention the duct tape comment, there’s no way that would go over well. They don’t even have scotch tape at their desks because glue and old documents is such a bad combination.

“What do you see in that guy anyway?” Fishlegs oversteps, yet again, but Astrid’s almost glad that someone finally asked. “You used to be so determined to get him away from you, what changed? And why does he have to be here so often?”

The last question dents her last clinging scrap of resolve and she lets it go.

“Has anyone ever thought you were a little too academic, Fish?” She tries out the nickname, letting this feel like friendship even though that risks more awkward questions.

He snorts, “there was a time in elementary school that I legitimately thought my middle name was ‘get your nose out of that book, young man’.”

“One second it was something to be proud of that I was the first Hofferson to go to college,” she shrugs, faking noncommittal even though that word has never applied to her, “but when I came back having learned things, suddenly I was uppity, disrespectful. Hiccup…he seems to like it when I’m right. He doesn’t even mind when I’m loud about it.”

“Here I thought we were bonding,” Fishlegs smiles, “I thought you were finally going to admit you’re just fascinated with the top hat.”

“You caught me,” she punches him in the arm and he winces, “come on, that did not hurt.”

“I barely know you Astrid, and I’m as sure that you are freakishly strong as I am that you aren’t uppity or disrespectful,” he rubs his arm and weighs that, “well, disrespectful to priceless collections of Brittanicas, maybe—“

“Shut up about the encyclopedias or I’ll hit you again,” the threat is empty and friendly and final, getting Fishlegs off of her mind and letting her wonder about Mr. Grisly with her full attention. She doesn’t hesitate as much as she would have thought before texting Snotlout, hoping for a little illumination, as he doesn’t seem very good at keeping his mouth shut.

Astrid (5:02pm): some guy calling himself Mr. Grisly just came by my work

He doesn’t answer right away and she tries to focus on work, but documentation isn’t really holding her attention after all that happened in the last hour. Especially knowing Hiccup is just upstairs with ostensibly the creepiest man she’s ever met while her lips are still tingling from that kiss.

“So this is the glamorous job that lets you afford your own place,” Ruffnut interrupts, strolling down the stairs and perching on the edge of Astrid’s desk, wrinkling the corner of an old shipping manifesto.

Seeing Ruffnut hasn’t brought on so much relief since that first night in her apartment when someone downstairs started yelling murder.

“My job is to keep stuff like this safe,” Astrid pokes her friend’s butt until she scoots off of the paper and then sets a heavy book on it to press the creases flat.  “And my apartment is cheap.  What’s up?”

“Tuff needed to drop off a check upstairs so I thought I’d come say hi, like the thoughtful and attentive friend that I am.”  Ruffnut’s smile says otherwise and Astrid sighs, still ultimately glad for the distraction. Her eyes were starting to glaze over trying to find a reason to name a stupid shipping manifesto for thirty bushels of apples as important in any way, especially when so many other things obviously are.

“You’re here to brag.” Astrid doesn’t expect the flash of frustration, bordering on jealousy, given that she and Hiccup have been on however many not dates by now and Ruffnut is the smug one.

“I was going to say gloat but brag works too,” she laughs, “also, I did forget to get his number so if you could help me out with that…”

“You’re telling me you never found a moment of pause to get his number?”

“Nope.”

“Ok, gloat is a better fit, I see that now.” Astrid’s phone rings, Officer Snotlout Jorgenson flashing on the screen, “speak of the devil.”

“Wait, why’s he calling you?” Ruffnut tries to snatch the phone but Astrid beats her to it, “he should be calling me.”

“Then you should have given him your number,” she picks up, too aware of Ruffnut leaning down on the other side of the phone to listen, “what’s up?”

“I’m not actually a weirdo who calls people, I just don’t want a written record of bitching about Grisly as long as I have to see his stupid face at work every day,” Snotlout starts, “what was he doing talking to you?”

“Just asking about the investigation,” Astrid glares at Ruffnut, turning her office chair away so to try and minimize the eavesdropping. It seems smart given she can’t trust Ruffnut not to run around threatening disembowelment. “The investigation that you’re calling about, the one with the current murders and I happened to find one of the bodies, so it pertains to me.” She drives in the point.

“Duh, Astrid, keep up,” Snotlout laughs and she grits her teeth.

“Not having a problem with that, thanks, but who is this Grisly guy?”

“Thought you were all caught up,” he teases but apparently thinks better of it and continues, “no but it’s probably good you know because Hiccup won’t remember not to antagonize those NWF fucks—“

“NWF?”

“Again, since you’re so caught up, I’ll pause and explain that Grisly douche is the leader of these pseudo-police assholes acting like they own the place because a few condo developers are paying him out the ass to keep the streets clean, because apparently public cops aren’t good enough for rich people.”

Astrid groans internally, remembering Hiccup mouthing off while trying not to remember his mouth.

“Well, I wish I’d known that a minute ago because he left with Hiccup—“

“Shit,” Snotlout sighs, “I love the guy but keeping him out of jail is a full time job.”

“Ugh, you guys bonding over your boyfriend being an idiot is boring,” Ruffnut groans, “give me the phone, I’ll ask for his number.”

“No,” Astrid shushes her, but it’s too late.

“Is that Ruffnut? Is she there with you?”

“No.”

“Give her your phone, I have to tell her something,” he pushes and Astrid rubs her temple.

“Is it your number? Because then I could stop being your go-between.”

“Nah, it’s about last weekend—“

“No, I’m hanging up now,” Astrid doesn’t wait for an answer before doing exactly that and turning back to Ruffnut. “Are you done gloating?”

“Since I can tell you’re done listening to it, sure,” she shrugs, “the gloating was mostly just a bonus anyway, I was going to ask if you wanted a ride home.”

That’s almost sweet enough to mute her annoyance and she starts to thank her for the offer and decline, but then she thinks of what Snotlout said and the hollow, manic look in Grisly’s eyes. The idea of him being in command of people doesn’t scare her, but it makes her nervous. She’s never been less sure that this whole situation is only going to get worse and she hates it.

“Sure, I’ll take a ride, I was just about to pack up anyway.” Astrid declines an immediate call back from Snotlout and texts Hiccup instead.

Astrid (5:21pm): how’d that go?

“Sweet, more time to get that number out of you,” Ruffnut grabs Astrid’s bag for her.

“Not a chance.”

[xaphrin]

Injury

Part One

Something was wrong, she knew that much at least.  

Something was very, very wrong.

Raven pried her eyes open and stared at the blinding white light that practically burned her eyes. She winced and pulled away, burying her face into the stark-white pillow beneath her head. Around her she could hear the sounds of machines trying to keep her alive - beeps and barks to monitor every aspect of her body. Raven shifted, her head heavy and filled with broken memories and phantom sounds that didn’t quite make sense. She clenched her hand next to her side, the muscles and bones aching and creaking with the movement, as if her body was healing but much slower than it usually did. Nothing… nothing felt right.  

Raven wracked her thoughts, trying to piece together exactly what happened, and how she ended up here. The last thing she remembered was… was what? She remembered hitting her head. She remembered Blood, standing over her spouting out nonsense. She remembered another follower of the Word of Trigon muttering something thick and viscous in the back of his throat, but then… then her memories went blank. No lights. No sounds. No words that she had to try and piece any of this together. There was nothing there but darkness and pain. So much pain. As though her soul was being stripped from her body one thread at a time.

Raven sat up and held her head in her hands, wondering how in the world her spine could hurt so much. It felt like someone was trying to pull it out of the back of her head, and every part of her seemed to vibrate with pain. She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There was something at the back of her memory, a spell or a whisper, or… or something. She couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong, but she knew something was -  she didn’t feel right.

“Raven!”

Dick’s voice sounded like a rock in the middle of a storm something she could cling to while she was tossed around on wild waves, and she forced her eyes open to look at him. He was standing next to the bed she was on, his face contorted into an expression of worry and frustration, and that made her realize that there was something wrong. She swallowed and turned to him, the pain in her head melting into a dull thump that seemed to bleed into every part of her. She took another breath, her ribs aching as she moved.

“Dick… what… happened?”

He looked at her, but there was nothing in his eyes. No, that wasn’t quite right. There was pity in his eyes. Sorrow. Apologies. There were things in his stare that Raven didn’t know how to name, only that she saw them and she didn’t want to. It felt like darkness was wrapping tight around her, but this time she didn’t see that shadows pull towards her like they normally did. The room stayed blindingly bright, and nothing around her stuttered or cracked. Her heart picked up speed, and the monitor behind her beeped in unison.

“Raven…” Dick’s voice was soft, his sentences swallowed by the stillness in the room. “How are you feeling?”

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. She thought for a moment that she felt the burn of her magic at her fingertips, but it was never there. There wasn’t the crackle of power running through her, or the rush of spells that came so easily, there was… there was nothing. Just an aching void where there had once been magic and power. She swallowed, her throat sore, and glared at him. “That’s not what I asked.”

Dick winced and he looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her while he spoke. “There was… I… I… Blood… and…” He stumbled over words, his voice cracking and breaking as he fought to find something that made sense to her. He had probably rehearsed this a hundred times, and yet when he actually had to tell her the truth, he was weak.  

Raven kept swallowing breaths, uncertain if she was going to hyperventilate or not. Her head felt dizzy, full and empty at the same time, and she couldn’t pin down what was wrong with her. She knew something was wrong, knew that there was something she needed to fix inside her, but she didn’t know what it was. She reached out for the comfort of her shadows again, but nothing moved. She was still bathed in light, still not herself. Raven’s hands shook, and she looked up into his face, a slow realization settling in her chest.

“My… my powers?”

Dick looked back at her for just a fraction of a second, and then turned away, saying nothing.

That did nothing to ease her fears, and panic started to strangle her, force her forward whens he didn’t even understand her surroundings. “Dick… what happened to my powers? What happened to me?”

He finally looked back at her, his expression telling her everything she needed to know. “I don’t know.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and he finally met her stare. “I’m sorry, Raven… I don’t know.”

Raven just sat there, swallowed by the bright, sterile lights of the room, and without her staunch control to keep herself together, she wept.

-

Five Weeks Later…

“I swear it reeks like church after he leaves.” Dick cringed as a shiver ran down his spine and he settled next to Raven on the sofa, kicking his feet out in front of him. “Constantine smells like incense and bad spells.”

“It’s fine.” Raven shrugged, picking at her nails. The aching feeling in her chest spreading out until it threatened to consume her - again. It was a recurring feeling now, the low dips of sadness that eventually led to acceptance. Up and down. Up and down. Her human emotions were a rollercoaster she didn’t want to ride anymore. Sighing, she looked down into the thick packet Constantine had given her, more out of concern for her mental well-being than an actual fix to her problems. She chewed on her lower lip and read her name printed on a label on the envelope. “It could be worse. Once he smelled like actual death for a whole two hours until a spell wore off.”

“Gross.” Dick’s lip curled back in disgust and he cocked his head to the side, looking down at the envelope. “What’s that?”

For a brief moment, Raven considered not telling him. It would be easier to say nothing at all, she felt alone in this anyway, so why should she trouble Dick with her problems? Besides, he had his own to worry about. Her fingers ran along the edges of the envelope and she sighed, finally looking up at him. “An acceptance letter and welcome packet. Constantine helped me fill out my college application.”

Okay, that was a bit of a stretch, actually. He had coerced someone who owed him a favor into creating false documents about her so she couldn’t be traced back to… what she had been before. So, now she could do normal things like get a job and go to school and learn how to file taxes. All the things Constantine told her to get used to while he looked for a fix for her. There was still no ETA on a cute for her lack of demon and all the powers that came with it.

“Where… where are you going?”

Raven looked up at Dick and saw the concern rest heavily on his face. She thought he would be excited to get her out of the tower and out of his hair, but he actually looked… disappointed. He looked like someone had punched him in the gut, and he stared at her for a long moment, waiting for a response that he wasn’t sure would come. Raven looked away, running her fingers through her hair and trying to focus on anything other than that darkness that was spreading through her veins.

“Just to the local college. I… I thought it might be okay if I stayed around for a little?” She wrapped her hands tight around the packet and sighed. Everything felt uncertain, as if the world was crumbling under her feet and she wasn’t sure if she’d find solid ground again. “I know we’ve got some new recruits, and I just… I don’t really have anywhere to go right now, so… is it… is it okay? I-”

“Raven.” Dick turned to her, his eyes dark. He looked hurt that she had approached him with caution, and hadn’t told him the truth. “Did you… did you honestly think that I wouldn’t want you here? With the rest of the team? You’re… you’re part of our family. Of course we want you here. Of course. I just… I want to help you however I can.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, fighting to find words that made sense. “I want you to feel good again… I know… I know that I can’t fix this and make things better, and I know that this is a wound you might never heal from-”

Raven didn’t want to admit that Constantine’s own opinions were starting to lean that way.

“-but no matter what, I want to be here for you. We all do. You’re our friend, and we love you.”  He leaned closer to her, resting his hand over her own. “I don’t ever want you to think that you don’t have a place here, and I don’t ever want you to think that this isn’t your home. We care about you. I care about you, and I want to help however I can.”

Her heart turned over, and for a moment Raven could feel the emotions well inside her and tears prick her eyes. She wanted to believe him so bad. She wanted to trust him, wanted to think that things were going to be okay, but every part of her was screaming that this was a lie. There was nothing that could fix this, or help her. She was human - frail, fallible, broken - and she was going to stay this way for the foreseeable future. Right now, she could barely help her team with ops, and she nearly got Gar killed on a mission last week. She was helpless and hopeless, with nothing to save her or her teammates from herself.

“I… I need some time, Dick.” Raven pulled her hand out from under his, and she made her way to the door. “I need some time to think about… this. About what this means.”

Dick looked like he wanted to protest, like there was something else waiting to be said. He stood up, shifted, and finally nodded silently. It was acceptance of her situation - an understanding that there was nothing he could say that would make this right. And, honestly? Raven wanted it to stay that way. She didn’t want him to try and fix her, when she didn’t even know how she was broken.

“I’m going out… I… I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“But you’ll be back, right?” Dick followed her for a few steps, his voice just above a whisper.

She nodded, more out of defeat than acceptance. “Where else do I have to go?”

Dick reached out to her, but pulled his hand back. She had asked for space, and he was going to try his best to give it to her. “You always have here, Raven. Your home will always be here.”

[tickedpiggie]

Chapter One: Birthday Parties

         Jin stared into the mirror. There was something so off about his own reflection. He didn't look any different either. His broad shoulders were still prominent while his thin wrists were still pale. Jin poked at his crooked nose that had been broken many times in his adolescence. His face was still tan and the sun spots scattered along the bridge of his nose were still there and were still a few shades darker than his face. Jin poked at his hair, "It's still just as frizzy as it was yesterday," the young man leaned closer to the mirror that stood tall and proud against his wall. He bit his lower lip as his left eyebrow rose. Jin turned and quickly picked up a dark yellow t-shirt his friends had bought him for Father's Day last year. They were always so thankful to Jin for caring for each of them in their time of need. Jin smiled to himself as he slipped on the worn out shirt. His boxers hung loosely on his hip bones, just below the mole that rested against his left hip. There were small scars littered along his thin legs, gathering around his shins. He pulled thick, expensive brand name socks over his ankles before he struggled to pull on his too tight black skinny jeans.

` As Jin left his room, he grabbed his phone from the charger. 

     "We're all waiting for you at McDonald's," Jin read out loud from his notifications. A small boyish grin covered his usual emotionless face. As he slipped the cracked phone into his back pocket he checked his reflection once more. Jin twisted his loose curls that he could never tame. He huffed before giving up and quickly turning to open the door that lead to the rest of his empty apartment. Before he could touch the doorknob, Jin had clumsily slammed his toe into the small suitcase that made its home next to his mirror. The picture frame that held his favorite picture fell and broke into pieces as it hit the hardwood floor. "Dammit," his temper flared as he watched the pieces of glass scatter all over the floor. The thin man knelt down in order to clean the mess he made. His lower lip twitched as he grabbed each of the shards of glass. Jin began to rush as his phone vibrated in his pocket. "Jungkook" flashed across the screen multiple times as he continued to spam Jin's phone.     As Jin swiftly tapped against the screen, his foot slipped and pressed against a sharper piece of glass. He flinched before lifting his foot only to see blood dripping from the sole of his sock. "I'm already fifteen minutes late, I'm sure they'll be fine for another ten," Jin sighed as he finished cleaning up the glass and placing the broken picture frame back onto the suitcase. He slipped off his bloody sock before wrapping his foot and applying a bit of healing ointment onto it. He opted for a pair of Nike slides instead of his usual pair of sneakers as it would be more comfortable for his injured foot. Grabbing his house keys and a pair of earbuds, Jin ran down the sidewalk and to the local fast food restaurant where his friends had patiently waited for the young man.      While nearly sprinting down the dirty sidewalk of New York City, Jin stared down at his phone, desperately trying to reply to Jungkook as quickly as he could. The boy was kind hearted, but impatient. Yet today his continuous jabs at Jin would be the death of him. As Jin slowed down to a jog, he bumped into a woman holding what looked to be a pile of important papers in office-like manila folders. The loose papers slipped from her plump fingers. She let out a small gasp as her documents flew into the middle of the busy street. Jin could only give an apologetic stare before he started to run again. "Sorry! I swear if we run into each other again, I'll do you a favor," Jin shouted over his shoulder. He refused to be any later than twenty-five minutes late for Jungkook's 18th birthday. 'I'm finally turning into an adult so just don't blow me off like you did with everyone else,' Jungkook had begged him over the phone the night earlier. 'I promise I'll be there.' And with that thought in mind, Jin began to sprint once again with a small grin on his face.

        "Do you think he's gonna show?" Yoongi mumbled as he nearly inhaled his fries. He gave a quick concerned look at the birthday boy. ‘I need a smoke’ Yoongi thought to himself as he bounced his right leg out of habit. If Jin wasn't known for his cockiness, then it was his amazing ability fall back asleep in less than 5 minutes. “Don’t go putting those idiotic pessimistic thoughts in Kookie’s mind, Yoongi. He already is starting to act like a blunt dickhead since he’s been hanging out with you.” Jimin sharply interrupted. He pulled at his sleeves to cover his fingers before averting his eyes from Yoongi’ gaze. Taehyung rolled his eyes before lightly sucking on his teeth. “Both of you, shut the fuck up. Jin is sprinting across the damn street in those old ass slides he bought his freshman year.” Jungkook, Yoongi, and Jimin turned their heads and stared at the lanky young man roughly take off his shoes and limped is way into the fast food restaurant. Jin slammed open the glass door before wildly searching for his group of misfits. His harsh breathing calmed to something that was somewhat normal when he made eye contact with Jungkook.   Jungkook’s smile broke through his once solemn face and a dimple on his right cheek was something that made the rest of the boys smile. “Over here! We’re gonna go to the bridge in a bit,” the boy yelled as he motioned Jin over towards the booth in the corner where the four boys sat at. “Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, Kookie,” an apologetic smile rose to Jin’ tanned face as he started to play with the hair that lie on the back of his neck, purposely avoiding the frizzy mess that sat atop his head. Taehyung pulled out his earbuds, giving Jin a thin smile before turning to talk to Jimin. Jin watched Taehyung as he quietly whispered and played with the frayed edges of his sleeves. His lips parted as he began to voice his concern toward Taehyung, but Yoongi cut him off. “So why were you so late?” the dyed redhead asked, his voice sharp and stern.“You knew it was Kookie’s birthday today and you knew he was gonna hurt if someone else were to let him down again.” Yoongi’ fingers tightened around themselves under the table. His dark brows were brought down at an angle, nearly touching the bridge of his nose. His breathing became heavier as anger rose from within him. To others, Yoongi might have been over reacting, but within those five boys it was expected and in reason. Before Jin answered, he gestured to his injured foot.

“I was on my way out and I dropped some glass.” Jin’s reply was sharp, he didn’t want to go any more into what he had dropped before his mental stability drops as well. “I really and sorry I’m late though. I’ll make it up to you later tonight, I promise.” the tan young man smiled at his friend before holding up his right pinky. Jungkook’s inner childishness was brought out and he linked his own finger with Jin’s.

The group of friends sat around a small makeshift bonfire that was just under the noisy bridge. Taehyung pulled out a small purple package from the pocket of his hoodie. As he ripped it open, Yoongi had pulled out a small baggie filled to the brim with a green substance. “Are you guys gonna smoke?” Jin asked while he tossed his empty bottle of some cheap alcohol he had bought the earlier that day out into the woods that were just a few feet from them.

Yoongi hummed quietly before handing the bag of bud to the younger man. Taehyung expertly rolled a blunt in his hand before lighting the tip of the Backwoods blunt on the small bonfire in front of him. “Clearly. I got 3 grams of some AK-47 for five dollars,” Yoongi bragged to Jin. He took the blunt from Taehyung’ boney fingers and placed it between his plump lips. Jimin turned towards Yoongi and watched as the thick cloud of smoke slipped through his lips. “Bitch could’ve just made me pay the full price and let me fuck instead of giving me a whole discount.” Yoongi spoke up once again.

“Why’re you acting like this?” Jin and Yoongi were only one year apart, and had they never dealt with a similar past, they would’ve never been friends. “You’ve haven’t always acted like this much of a dick before.” Jin’ voice was soft, he waited for the blunt to finally reach him before he continued speaking. “I’m serious though, what happened? You know you can tell us,” Jin finished, his tone as soft as it could ever be when he was smoking. Yoongi was quiet, he didn’t know how to react or maybe he was too high to even know what Jin was talking about. Jin stared at his closest friend with sad eyes. He felt the warmth of the smoke in his lungs escape through his parted lips. Yoongi turned away without a response. The rest of the group spoke amongst themselves, complaining about the workload of their classes, oblivious to the sudden drop in the atmosphere.

“Have either of you guys passed that one human anatomy class?” Taehyung said. He might be higher than a kite, but he was still worried about his own grades as he was trying to leave the Big Apple, and in order to do that, he needs to get into a good collegeー granted if he had the money, Taehyung would have moved long ago. Jin looked up at the high school senior, he opened his mouth to respond, but instead he laughed. “You good, Jin?” Yoongi still hadn’t spoken since Jin’ question. Frustrated, he pulled out a cigarette from his back pocket before placing it in between his pink lips. Dammit. Where’s my fucking lighter? A yellow lighter was suddenly shoved into his face. Yoongi’ eyes flashed upward from his cigarette, Jungkook. Since when did he start carrying lighters with him?

[rebel-band]

Track 2. Here on the Starting Line

At 7.38 in the morning a train woke Yoo-mi up from a rather jittery and watchful sleep.

It was always going to be rough first nights, he knew, as he adjusted to the sounds of the new surroundings. But all things considered, he felt good. Laying in the futon he reached to his phone to see an unread message from yesterday written all caps.

"LET ME KNOW WHEB YOU GET THE RE."

He smirked. That old man will never learn to use the phone.

"I'm here. She's nice," he sent a text in reply, and tossing the phone to the side, looked at the stack of papers Mika handed him yesterday. He still had some time to have a look.

It was the first tenancy agreement he'd ever had in his hands but from what he'd learned, googling all things that seemed unclear, it was pretty standard. Minus maybe one thing -- Mika didn't include the rent payable. Instead of the monthly sum, a simple "n/a" occupied the row.

Yoo-mi frowned at the sight. She had better had made a mistake here. He's been on charity long enough, this was supposed to be different.

It was a contract for an indefinite time but at least the notice period was only two weeks. Long enough to plan a getaway, not long enough for someone to make him change his mind.

Toothbrush in hand, he rummaged through the kitchen cabinet taking mental inventory of the items at hand. Two pots with lids, a frying pan and a small square one for tamagoyaki, a matching set of two coffee mugs and a bunch of mismatched Muji and Ikea plates, bowls, and cutlery were more than enough. It would be nice to have a rice cooker for once, he smiled at the thought, but all in all it wasn't necessary for when he stayed.

If he stayed, Yoo-mi reminded himself.

He pulled a basic t-shirt on, jeans, and a black hoodie on top, specifically to have a place to keep his hands.

He skipped the onigiri for breakfast, this time going for a katsu and yakisoba sandwich. It wasn't the best, he liked the ones from 7eleven better, but the carb on carb combo at least would keep him sated until he finished the walk he had planned to get to know the hood today.

Quarter to nine, he decided there's no point stalling anymore. Since he'd heard the shutters pull up outside already, with two boxes from the kitchen heavy in his hands and the envelope with documents rolled into the pocket of his parka, he slowly braved the staircase. The cold morning wind rustled his hair.

It was warm in the coffee house, and he was greeted with the smell of ground beans as he maneuvered in with the boxes. The cafe seemed bigger again today in the light coming through the giant front window, and felt fresh and modern with the whitewashed brick and black steel details around.

The grinder was working so Mika didn't notice him from behind the counter at first. She also seemed occupied with doing something close to the floor, occasionally disappearing low behind the bar.

"A, good morning. You didn't have to yourself," she gestured in embarrassment at the boxes as she finally turned to face him.

"It's fine. Where to?" he asked, looking around.

"Just here by the counter. Kotarō is in the car."

He placed the boxes by the wall between the counter and one of the tables.

"Hi."

Out of the employee door a toddler ran up to Yoo-mi and looked at him leaning from behind the boxes, as if playing hide and seek. She was barely sticking out from behind the cardboard hideout, curiously watching his reaction.

"Hi yourself," he answered, a bit surprised. "What's your name?"

"Mei," she said, a row of pearly baby teeth exposed in a grin. "Are you a big brother?"

Mika chuckled. "This is our daughter. Sorry, we're teaching her about family. She asks everyone around now."

Yoo-mi waved his hand. He didn't mind, it was cute.

"Yea, I can be," he said, still crouching on her level, a small smile curling on his lips. "I'm Yoo-mi."

"Yumi nii-chan," she laughed pointing a finger out towards him. "Mama, it's Yumi nii-chan."

Mika tried to contain a squee but didn't quite manage to, and Yoo-mi rolled eyes at her. Mei ran away giggling for no reason as toddlers do, and her steps were accompanied by the sound of a toy tambourine she was carrying.

As Yoo-mi straightened up, Yamaguchi entered the cafe also carrying in a box of what smelled like baked goods. He placed it on the counter, and Mika started unpacking the various croissants, sandwiches, and pies to a patisserie display case to the side.

"Ko-kun," the man nodded good morning to Yoo-mi, taking off his coat. He had a black polo on this time and was currently putting on an apron.

"Yamaguchi-san," Yoo-mi answered and, shit, it came out just so faltering, with his voice almost timid at the sight of the tattoo again, there was no way the man wouldn't notice.

"Problem with the name, kid?" he crossed his arms over the chest.

Yoo-mi shook his head, and nervously turned to the coat rack to take off the parka and escape his gaze, bumping into a chair by the table in the process. He swore silently at the noise he made.

"This doesn't help," Mika slapped her husband over the shoulder with a dishcloth, and he relaxed the posture ever so slightly. And when Mei ran back from the stage room and tugged his leg to be carried up, he relaxed completely. With a heartwarming smile he placed her on the barstool. Mika handed the girl a croissant.

"Do you want anything? We have them from a local bakery down the block," she addressed Yoo-mi.

"Sorry, no wallet. I had breakfa--," he didn't get to finish when a croissant and a mug of coffee landed on the counter for him to grab, Mika rolling her eyes at the mention of money.

"Eat up. You're skin and bones."

That wasn't true, and he wasn't particularly up for anything sweet for breakfast in general but her tone didn't leave much room for negotiation.

The croissant was still warm, sweet and flaky, simply melting in his mouth. The coffee tasted different than yesterday, almost silky this time.

As he finished his plate, and handed it back to Mika to the dishwasher, the door to the café swung open again.

"Good timing, got you a coffee ready," Mika beamed at the woman going in, and almost jumped through the latch door to the common space.

"Sorry, my car didn't want to start. Had to wait for Satoshi to get back from his shift," the woman said with a slight accent.

They hugged and Mika coaxed her to the table by the window, where she placed a cup of the same coffee she poured Yoo-mi before. The woman took off her coat and steadied a grey felt hat on the coat rack, then faced him with a smile.

"Ko-kun, I'd like you to meet my colleague," Mika addressed him.

"Hikaru Shǎnyào, nice to meet you."

She was rather petite, with hair white as snow not really matching her age, cascading down the sides of her face. Her eyes framed in a pair of rose gold glasses were watery blue. Dressed in a grey sweater dress and black overknee boots, she looked stylish yet approachable.

Yoo-mi caught himself staring at her with mouth wide open.

"Nice to meet you. Ko Yoo-mi. Sorry...I didn't mean to stare," he mumbled upon reflection and blushed slightly.

"That's alright. It's not always you get to meet someone with albinism, hm?" she answered with ease, as if she had a tried and tested reply ready at hand for such an occasion.

"Hikaru-san is a counsellor. We work together at the Promise House."

Yoo-mi gave Mika a questioning look.

"It's a foundation. We help kids off the streets, and those coming into adulthood from institutions. You know, things like shelter, crisis intervention, legal."

"Sounds better when you don't say I'm simply a lawyer," Hikaru laughed, then addressed Yoo-mi, "What I do is give advice and deal with legal matters that are too hard to untangle for someone in your situation. I think you might have a thing or two I could help with."

Yoo-mi put hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

"I can't pay," he said, eyes fixed on the white haired woman.

"We're non-profit. You don't have to."

That was a first, he thought, a lawyer not wanting to get paid.

"Since you're still a minor, you're gonna need the help with the legal stuff," Mika encouraged, seeing his uptight expression.

And he knew it, alright, tried to figure out what to do on his own, but without a parent or guardian he wasn't gonna have, there was only so much he could do legal wise.

He tapped his foot, sending a nervous glance at Yamaguchi, and the man finally caught his gaze.

"Come on, rock star, time to play," he picked Mei, with her croissant and tambourine, and piggybacked her to the stage room. In a minute or so you could hear the banging of drums and a toddler laughing with the sound.

Hands still in pockets, Yoo-mi sat down at the table with Hikaru's coffee mug already waiting. Only then she joined him down, and Mika grabbed another chair to sit as well.

"I'd like to know anything that helps us manage your situation," Hikaru reached to her expensive looking bag and came up with a set of documents and a mini notebook. It flashed a green LED light as she opened the lid.

"Usually, I help with residency, ward office, getting a hanko, a social number, and a bank account."

Yup, he needed all of them.

"But first, I need you to agree to set me up as your proxy."

The form she handed him wasn't long, it already had her name written down in it.

"Did you do it?" he addressed Mika, scanning her face for a lie.

"Had a representative?" she asked surprised. "No, not really. Kobayashi is after all family."

Right. He forgot. There was no resemblance between them whatsoever.

He shifted in the chair trying to get more comfortable, to no use.

"I'm just here to face the officials," Hikaru added. "Won't do anything without your consent but I'll spare you the boring details and waiting times."

Pen tapping the paper, he finally decided to write down his name but didn't move to the dotted line to sign anything.

The lawyer made a small sound seeing katakana and Hangul instead of the kanji in his name.

"You're Korean then?" to Yoo-mi's surprise, she switched to the language with ease.

"No. I'm a half," he answered in Japanese, voice flat.

She gave him a knowing glance and typed down "Father unknown?" in her own notes but knew better than to push him to explain further. "Nothing to worry about. We're all kinds of different here. I know from Mika you were in the Amagasaki Children's Home."

Yoo-mi clenched fists at the name and straightened up as if by reflex. "Long time ago."

"Sorry, gramps sent me the information so that we can try to sort out your papers," Mika apologized after seeing his reaction. He just sent her a quick glance.

"Was it because of family issues?" the lawyer asked.

He half smirked and looked straight into her eyes. "It was because my mom died."

He wanted to make her uncomfortable with the deadpan tone but she didn't really look fazed.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," she replied instead, compassion in her voice. Then typed away at her notebook again.

It was Yoo-mi who felt suddenly uncomfortable. When did he hear someone say it? His brain raced through memory and came out with nothing.

"Any living relatives?"

The question kind of took him by surprise and just for a second he thought he wanted to mention Yoo-ki. "No."

"Were you ever in foster care?"

He hesitated for a minute. "With one couple, they didn't really like me much," he settled on saying finally.

"So you left?" Hikaru asked, no judgement in her voice.

Yoo-mi looked away. Was it okay to say he had run off?

"Don't worry. I'm not here to pry. I know there's usually a reason behind it, and a good one. Do you remember their name?"

He shook his head.

"When was that?"

"First grade middle school."

"And after that?"

"Pretty much on my own." It wasn't a complete lie.

"Regarding the ward office, we'll need to deregister you from your previous address and register you in Tokyo. Where did you live?"

Yoo-mi squinted at her. It felt like a conversation he already had years ago, and he didn't really like it.

"You're gonna kill me, but I messed it up a bit already," Mika made a pained sound, addressing Hikaru, not letting Yoo-mi speak. The lawyer shot her a questioning look.

"He needed this address for the school. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to take the exams," she sighed.

"So you signed yourself as sponsor but didn't really register him officially," Hikaru narrowed her eyes. Mika made a face and shook her head.

"Never one to play by the rules," the lawyer sighed. "We'll fix it, no worries," she said and Mika mouthed "Thanks" in reply.

"We still need the old address," she looked into the form in front of her, and finally took a sip of the coffee.

"How about Kobayashi's place?" Mika suggested to her.

"I wasn't registered there officially too," Yoo-mi said, not even trying to hide the irritation in his voice at them talking over his head.

"Sorry," Mika replied. "Didn't want you to feel left out. So his place is no good?"

"No."

He didn't want Kobayashi's address recorded anywhere in his paperwork anyway, just in case.

"What about Osaka? Do you remember?" Mika asked. Yoo-mi felt his stomach tighten.

That one he could hardly forget. But the address in Nishinari was out of the question. He stared blankly at the white sheet, face growing pale as well.

"You have to give us something to work with. Even if it's just the ward with the school district you attended," Hikaru coaxed him, handing over the form.

After careful consideration, he wrote down the address for Mama Han's. It would match his school paperwork, if anyone would ever check, though Yoo-mi doubted there was an official record of him staying anywhere near Sung-hee's place.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, after handing Hikaru the form. This was all kinds of wrong, he thought.

"Nothing's wrong with you," Mika leaned in to him, voice steady and soothing. "It's the system that's flawed. Doesn't seem to be very friendly to those who have different circumstances," she made sure to avoid saying special. "Like the both of us.

"My records were a mess too when I moved to Onjuku. But things got sorted out. And now, look at me go," she shot him a smug smile. "It's just bureaucracy, nothing you can't handle."

"If anything, its inefficiency gives us leeway. You just have to know your way around," the lawyer's blue eyes gleamed with a flicker of excitement.

Mei's cry for a drink snapped Yoo-mi out of thinking. Mika stood up to the counter, while the girl tugged at Yoo-Mi's sleeve.

"Pick me, nii-chan," she demanded, scrambling into his lap. He obliged with a sigh, and she pressed her face against the glass.

"Look. Kit cat," she pointed out the window. Yoo-mi spotted a black stray crossing the street.

"Mika already mentioned school," Hikaru stared at him holding the girl with a smile. "Thoughts on that?"

"I know you promised gramps to try," Mika set down a paper cup with water and a slice of lemon for Mei and shot him a challenging look.

"Can you--," he gestured to the envelope sticking out of the parka on the coat rack. Mika stood up and took the documents. "It's inside," he said, hands busy securing Mei from falling as she was standing up on his legs.

"You didn't sign the agreement," Mika gave him a sharp look going over the papers.

Yoo-mi made a face. "You forgot the rent."

"No I didn't," she shrugged. "I know how starting from scratch feels. Believe me, it's a lot easier if you don't have to worry about things like money. Then you can focus on the important bits," she seemed to ignore his objection completely, and just shoved the agreement in front of him with a pen on top.

She then looked at his report card taken out of the envelope and whistled.

"That's quite a lot of absences," she said and Yoo-mi frowned again and looked away.

Mei giggled at her mom whistling and tried to copy. Then she jumped off Yoo-mi's lap and followed Yamaguchi behind the counter as he entered to grab himself a coffee.

"But considering all that time off, your GPA is the more so impressive," she winked at him and Yoo-mi straightened up in the chair. He felt almost a blush crawl up his ears.

"There's a school nearby I thought I'd try," he addressed Hikaru.

"Yes there is, and quite a good one," she smiled.

"The exams are mid Feb. I don't even know if I can attend," he shot Mika a pained look.

"I'll follow up on it. But I sent the paperwork on time so I don't see a reason why you shouldn't."

"What if you don't get in?" the lawyer asked, taking another sip of the coffee.

He startled at the sound of the grinder shattering the coffee beans.

"I'm gonna get a job," he shrugged. "I think I'm gonna have to get one anyway, part time, if I get to school."

"Sorry to butt in, but that reminds me," Yamaguchi raised a hand and ducked down the counter for a moment.

"What's that--?" Yoo-mi asked cautiously as the man handed him an envelope.

Inside was money, almost 5,000 yen.

His mouth went dry and his heartbeat pounded loud into his ears.

"Your wages from yesterday. You've worked your honest hours so there you go," the man smiled. "I also have a contract for you, if you'd like."

"Contract?" Yoo-mi repeated, brows pulling in. He was beginning to feel a headache.

"Yea, a job," the man eyed him with amusement. "But since he's a minor," he addressed Hikaru, "I didn't really know if it's appropriate."

"Let me see." She took the papers and scanned them. "There's nothing here he can't do. It's a good deal," she smiled and handed Yoo-mi another set of documents.

Yoo-mi leaned away from the mountain of papers in front of him with an uncomfortable swallow. He somehow felt like he was going to be crushed by the stack any second now.

Instinctively his eyes darted towards the glass door. He counted to three.

Hands no longer in pockets he rolled them into fists on his knees, whole body tense like a string on a fingerboard.

"I'm sorry but I can't sign these," he said, voice insistent.

Mika and Yamaguchi opened their eyes wide. Hikaru just gave him an attentive look.

"It all sounds promising. But the truth is, you don't know me, and I don't know you," he gave them a look one by one, stopping at Yamaguchi.

"For all I know, this might be a scheme. For all I know, you might be a..."

"I swear, if he says 'gangster', I'm gonna change this fucking name today!" the man erupted angry, addressing his wife.

Yoo-mi paused mid sentence. That was exactly what he was meaning to say.

"Kotarō, language," Mika laughed, trying to diffuse his anger, pointing at their daughter running around, while he addressed Yoo-mi with a tone of someone who is tired of explaining things over and over.

"Kid, have you ever seen a yakuza run a hipster café?"

Café, bar, club, same thing, different name, Yoo-mi thought but didn't say it out loud.

"Scratch that, have you ever seen a yakuza at all? Gangsters don't run around in broad daylight scamming people."

"Unless in Osaka," Yoo-mi smirked, his eyes serious all the same.

"Well this is Tokyo. We may be Yamaguchi but we're not the Yamaguchi," Mika replied matter of factly.

"It's the 14th most common name in Japan. Do we even look like we'd be trying to scam you?" he added raising his hands in disbelief.

Yoo-mi narrowed his eyes at the man's tattooed arm.

"And before you answer, kid, for the sake of clarity, this is all her doing," he replied defensively, pointing first to the tattoo and then to Mika who nodded with an amused grin.

"Yeah, I made him get it when we met. To prove he's serious about me," she laughed. "Never thought the idiot was so in love to actually get that tattoo. Kurōta, you know, like the blackbird, was my maiden name," she explained with a smile.

Yoo-mi swallowed and shot them both a look again. He shifted on the chair, tension in his muscles letting down a bit.

"I thought the café is a Beatles reference," he noted, clearing his throat.

"It's both," Kotarō exhaled, his anger already gone. "But mostly a tribute to her family. This place is her house turned into my dream."

Mika sent him a blow kiss.

Yoo-mi crossed his arms, and furrowed his brows.

"It's not that I think you're gonna scam me," he started carefully, looking for the right way to put it. "It's just...too good to be all true.

"I mean, first the flat, then free legal advice. Now the job. Things in life aren't free. There's always a catch."

He felt suddenly tired and disillusioned, the seventeen years of his life feeling more like seventy.

Quickly, he checked himself and straightened up, defiant, under Mika's worried gaze. He didn't want her to think he was hurt or weak, or he needed anyone's compassion, like maybe some other kids she'd worked with before.

"Would it help if the rent at least wasn't free?" she asked.

He looked at her surprised.

Seeing how he didn't reply, she dug out the sheet from the pile in front of him, and scribbled a monthly sum on the tenancy agreement, then handed it to Yoo-mi.

"But that's like -- barely 100 yen a day, it's nothing," he protested after a quick calculation.

"Is it? Oh you know, I'm not very good with math and accounting and all that market economy crap," she made an exaggerated, confused face.

Of course he knew she was lying, she was running a business after all.

"Well, I think I'll have to raise the rent at some point," she added in a carefree manner. "Just gotta do some research first. I mean, it's a good neighbourhood and there's demand, and I don't know..."

"Okay, fine. I get it," he rolled his eyes.

He inhaled, exhaled. Loudly. Twice. Then he cracked the tiniest smile.

Now that looks much better on you, Mika thought. "Yumi-kun," she addressed him quite casually by the Japanese first name.

Though surprised at first, he let her go with it.

"It may be hard to believe but people are generally not trying to screw you over all the time," she added with a reassuring smile.

Yoo-mi looked around at the group of people he was surrounded by. The lawyer, the wife and husband, the little girl who wouldn't stop calling him big brother. No ill intentions, no hidden motives. Happy to have him there, meaning to help.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly again.

He knew there was no way all his insecurities would disappear in a day or two here, and that he'd be able to simply discard all the safety measures, emotional or otherwise, that kept him alive for the last year.

But if he was going to really start things over, again, now was as perfect a time as any.

The dotted line on the paperwork felt almost like a starting point to what he, yes, hoped to be a new kind of long distance run in his life.

Holding a pen in hand and a heart on his sleeve, he couldn't keep still on the edge of the seat.

[bloodyredbluerose-blog]

Saizos confessions Ch III

WORNING: This chapter contains very graphic content, so continue at your own risk. Also if you are a sensitive person, do not , DO NOT read this chapter!

‘What a beautiful morning!' I thought to myself as I was wanting for your arrival. I don't know how but you always manage to find me, even now. I was on the lake side, admiring the view of the crystal water, if I looked closely I could almost see the fish swimming gracefully without a care in the world. The Sun was rising lazily, painfully slowly, to cascade it’s golden rays between the cracks of the mountains. The Red Lake was truly a wonderful sight, I spent a couple of hours just listening to the comforting sound of the silence with my eyes closed.

“It’s time, she is wanting for you at the Caffe Shop!” that sound, that voice I know oh so well, the possibilities to drag her next to me and do the things I want with her were endless, but now it’s not the time for that so I gave myself a mental shake to get rid of those thoughts.

“You are getting better at this little lady” I said with a bored tone, not opening my eyes to see her. She was sitting behind me, but if I turned around and see her , I know that all my control will be broken. It’s funny how she can turn me into butter after all these years.

“Shut your mouth, get your ass up and get going! The sooner you go the sooner you'll come back!” the tone in her voice was inviting, triggering my imagination, not in a good way, in a playful way.

“You are right little lady I’ll go now, but first….” I turned around with the intention to grab her and plant a kiss on her velvet lips but she was already gone. Woman you are tasting my patience! Left all alone again and with nothing to do, I too vanished in thin air and come to see you.

10 minutes later I found you in the shop, sitting alone at the table with your cellophane in hand. Judging from the look on your face, you were reading something you should not in a public place. Your cappuccino stood beside you, long forgotten and cold by this point. I went to place my order and came back to find you in the same position cheeks slightly flushed and lips patterned enough for me to slowly insert a cold finger between them. I wander what reaction I would manage to coax out of you with this gesture, but I reframed myself from such alluring action , instead I took a seat in front of you, enjoying my black coffee , the cute faces you were making and also enjoying the sweet sounds that were escaping your mouth from time to time. As they say 'All good thing must come to an end' and so did my coffee, I was wondering how much more time you were going to ignore me, I started to grew tired, in a blink I was up and behind you. I let my hands ghost over your exposed shoulders, the simple dress you were wearing leaved nothing to my imagination, it hugged your corves perfectly whit a cute flower pattern and a red ribbon in the middle to accentuate your waist. Cute. I land over and whispered in your ear

“Little ladys should be punished for making such lewd sounds in public! “

“Whaaa…..eeeek. ……where….how…..?”I gave you a low chuckle and returned to my seat in front of you.

“If only you will put away your phone for a few minutes and stop to take in the world around you, you will know!” I saw you turning a few shades of red before you put away your phone and mumbled an apology.

“So little lady, can we continue our story now?”

“To be honest I didn't expect to meet you here…”

“I’ll take my leave then!” just I was leaving your table, you sprung on your feet and grabbed my sleeve.

“Stay!”

“Ok little lady, let us begin. This happens 2 months after we returned to Kai. Life was simple enough, it started to become more of a routine for me and MC. When I wasn’t on a mission we would spend the day together, I’d help her with her daily duties , I’d tease her from time to time then we would stay the night together, you know… a bit of kissing, a bit of sex, a bit of teasing, that’s how life gone for us. She was happy this way, I was happy… One late night I was woke up by a familiar sound, careful not to wake MC , I eased myself from her grip and went outside, after I closed the door to our room Hanzo spoke

“ The elder has summoned you!”

“What is it this time?” I’d asked with a bored tone

“I don’t know…” it was rarely for him not to know things, this cannot be good. I went back inside to get changed, before leaving for my new mission I kneel beside MC and gave her a brief pick on her lips and murmured a low ‘I love you’ got up and started to go to the door again but something was tugging my leg. I looked down and saw MC hand

“Be careful!” it wasn't a plea it was an order.

“You know little lady, night time is…”

“Quiet time, now I’ll stop being so cute and put myself to sleep.” She took the words out of my mouth with a tender, welcoming smile.

“I’ll be back before you know it, little lady! “ with one last kiss on her lips I was gone. As expected Hanzo was waiting for me outside and we arrived at Iga village before sunrise and with no problems. Though the elder was very clear in his orders, I still had a bad feeling about it. The mission was even clearer, go to the woods, find the missing ninjas, bring them back, dead or alive. I didn't knew who they were but if they betrayed the village I was the one who will take their lives.

Soon enough I stumbled upon Yuki’s hide out in the forest, the place racked of death. What the hell had my sister done this time? I approached the door with caution and tried to open it but something was blocking it. A small box maybe, with little effort the door was opened and the sight was…. Well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. My eyes, my stomach and all my internal organs started twitching and turning. In this job I've seen it over and over, a corpse is a corpse . Under the wintry light of the woodland the corpse is utterly still and more than slightly frozen. He's been dead for sometime. Pool of blood that was almost dried and gave the room a sickly-sweet butcher shop odor. They lied like dolls over the wooden floor, limbs at awkward angles some of them missing and heads held in such a way that they cannot be sleeping. These bodies, once the repositories of people as alive as I am, are now abandoned shells left to rot in the open. Some will be consumed by the wildlife and others simply decay, slowly giving up their flesh to the soil and showing their white bones to the sun. Yuki was a woman capable of many things, but this… how can I describe exactly what I was seeing in that moment? Hmmm… rotting, decaying, dead, pallid, icy skin, ebony flesh, pale, grisly, tragic, lifeless, soulless, milky eyes staring blankly, bloody, silent, cruel, cold fingers forever trapped into a defensive fist, dead, masses of decomposing bodies carelessly piled atop each other, left to the flies and birds, heart-wrenching, departed, stiff, bloodless, breathless, cadaverous, haggard, ghastly, defunct bodies. Some of them were dead for at least for a couple of weeks some were fresh and some were flayed. That particular flayed body attract my attention, even in that state I was able to recognise it. Who in the world would be capable of such acction? Flaying was rare amongst ninjas, not even Yuki was able to master the technique perfectly so that excluded her from the equation. “

“Saizo! “

“Yes little lady. “ I looked at you and your face was full of concern and confusion. What could possibility be bothering you this time?

“W-what does flaying m-mmean?”

“Ok little lady, I guess it's not a common thing to hear this days so I’ll explain to you. Being skinned alive also known as "flaying" is first documented as happening around 800 BC, and it is used as a form of torture in just about every century since. While flaying is rarely seen nowadays, that doesn't make the concept any less horrifyingly fascinating. As you might expect, peeling the skin off of an entire human being is kind of a difficult task. Given this knowledge you may find that, when someone flays you, you're in for a bit of prep work first, to make the skinning easier.

Some cultures liked to warm up the skin, to loosen it from the muscles and make it more easy to peel off. Then the torture begins with some very specific and calculated cuts. In general, the first skin to be peeled off is that of the face; after that, your body has to be scored in various places to allow the skin to remove easily in one piece or at least, in as few pieces as possible. This involves relief cutting around the arms and wrists, the chest and neck, and sometimes the feet.

These cuts will not be incredibly deep, but they will extend through all the individual layers of skin, so as to reach the area between your skin and the muscle itself. This means you can expect horrifying amounts of pain. It is said that the sharper the knife used, the less painful it will be, so you'd better hope your torturers do regular maintenance on their blades.

When you are flayed, your skin is literally ripped off, not cut little by little. This ripping motion means that your nerve endings are not severed cleanly; instead, they are torn to shreds, one by one, in a long train of agony. You're going to feel your skin be pulled off your muscles, and you're going to feel your nerve endings dying. In other words, you're going to feel all of it.

Assuming you're hanging upside down, as is often the case, you'll see and feel the blood rushing past your face and onto the ground, and it'll be coming from all over your body. Not exactly a great thing to see as you feel someone peeling the skin off your entire body. When the brain is faced with extreme pain and stress, it begins to release chemicals to counteract these negative feelings. Some of these chemicals are called endorphins, and they help to transmit electrical signals throughout the body. They act similarly to morphine, numbing you and giving you a feeling of happiness. Of course, these feelings probably won't be enough to even slightly counteract the horror and agony of the experience, but at least your brain is trying. In some cases of flaying, people only take an outer layer, and in other cases, they even take some of the flesh underneath the skin, as well. In other words, you had better hope your torturers are doing it right, or else the pain could last much longer than expected. One question some people raise is whether you could survive after being flayed. The answer is that you unequivocally could not. Although it might not seem like it, your skin is one of your vital organs. It keeps out infection, protects your muscles and blood, and acts as an overall barrier between you and the elements. What's more, you can only regrow so much skin so fast, and when you are flayed, much more is taken away than your body can possibly replace. So, exactly how long are you going to stay alive during and after being flayed? Unfortunately, this is rarely a quick death. It's true that some people die from shock or blood loss within hours, and many lose consciousness so they don't have to experience the rest of the pain. But more likely, you'll be awake and aware throughout the entire ordeal, and may last a while even afterwards. There are reports of people surviving hours and even several days after being skinned alive, presumably in excruciating agony the entire time.

In these cases, it is not actually blood loss that proves fatal. If you survive a day of being skinless, infection and hypothermia are going to get to you. Your blood may turn septic, or you may just be unable to keep yourself warm enough to survive. Either way, you'd be better off wishing for a quick death from shock - or just wishing for literally any method of torture other than flaying.”

One look at you made me realize that maybe I shouldn't have said these things to you. Your beautiful face now was wiled eyed, bewildered, hands over mouth, nostrils flaring, blood drained from face, mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish with no sound coming out, still as a statue, ridged as a board, face stuck in an incredulous expression, unblinking stare, shaking head in disbelief, sent reeling backwards, brain desperately scrambling to make sense of it all, rendered speechless, temporarily incapacitated, stood as if paralyzed from the neck up, gibbering nonsense, unable to comprehend what had just occurred, stood as gormlessly as a guppy.

It made me feel bad for doing this to you, I always tend to forget that I’m in an era with less terror and suffering. I need to choose my next words carefully, but what can I say in order to not damage you any more than I already did?

While I was chewing over the situation I could sense you moving, neither you didn't knew what to say from the looks at it. Then you stood up and bowed deeply,

“I-I….. sorry I got to go. Do you think, that is if you …… I mean…” it was almost amusing seeing you stumbled over your words but I know what you intend to say.

“Sure little lady, we will continue this some other time.” I assured you with a kind smile. The next second you were gone ‘Kids these days, always in a hurry’ Left alone once again I decided to return to the Red Lake, at least there was some peace and quiet, so I too, took my leave.

Once out of the shop I navigate by intersection and aromas. Otherwise it would be impossible to know where I am. I move along in the thick crowd, mostly several inches to a foot shorter than everyone else. I can't see the bright shop signs, or the buildings to orient me - only backpacks, coats and hair. I am frequently jostled, but then I don't weigh much more than a child. With the smell of coffee I know I need to turn right next and start to weave my way over. The crowd parts around a newspaper dispenser but I fail and am instead left smooshed up against it for a few moments, my smart cream suit brushing up against the traffic dirtied glass. Unlike a child there is no Mom or Dad to pull me away and instead I must inch sideways until once again I am in the current. I veer into the next street to the aroma of samosas. If I can get close enough I'll buy a few to take home. But I can't see the cart, once again I am adrift in the moving bodies... After a few more agonizing minutes, the labyrinth called city, came to a halt and before me I could see a mass of green land with patches of trees here and there, it's really fascinating how urban environment can be combined with the rural one. As my feet took me closer to the lake, my brain screamed to me to turn around and run like there is no tomorrow. Only one person could gave me this feeling, and she was right there, the one that haunted me in every dream since I was only but a kid, the one that braked all my walls no matter how many times I build them up again...She was the kind of girl that women loved to hate. She was an adult but so young that she still had the exuberance of youth. She had that movie star look, not overly tall and willowy, but more like an action star. Her muscle definition was perfect and she walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. She wasn't just flawless in her bone structure, her skin was like silk over glass and she radiated an intelligent beauty.

When I close enough she sat down and patted her lap, I took her silent invitation and rest my head on her knees.

“Idiot! Now you’ve gone and done it!” the venom in her words was more damaging than any other poison that I had ingested. While her left hand was combing thru my silver hair I took her right one, gave it a kiss and than placed it where my heart used to be, that’s a story for another time.

“ I got carried away, next time I’ll do better.”

“if there is a ‘next time’”

“There will be!”

I pushed myself onto my elbows and kissed her-really kissed her. It was more than just a precursor to sex. There was no war between our mouths. My hips rested lightly beneath hers, not pressed tightly. Our lips moved in soft, perfect harmony with each other. This time it meant something. What that something was, I didn’t know , but I knew that there was a real connection between us. Her hands stroked gently through my hair, my thumb grazing her cheek and it didn’t feel sick or twisted or unnatural. Actually, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. No rush. This time things were slow and earnest. This time I wasn’t looking for an escape. This time it was about her. About me. About honesty and compassion.

[jumarit38]

THE THEORY OF LOVE - MAYUKI OS

[fandomlife-giver]

The Job of A High School Chef!: 3

Summary: Though it was incredibly difficult and challenging, you succeed in pulling of the biggest climax ever at Ouran Academy.

Pairings: Eventual!Kyoya x Reader

@animallover1089

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3891

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"Ugh!" "Hold still!" "I don't like how this feels! It's so girly!" "It's a dress! It's not manly! Hush up and for Pete's sake, stop moving!" You flinched when she pulled the fabric tighter together and zipped up the back of the dress. And once it was over, you didn't even realize you were holding your breath until you heard her sigh in relief. She grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to where you were seeing yourself in the mirror.  "There. See, don't you look pretty?" You looked yourself up and down, on the outside showing a frowning disgust, but on the inside...you thought you looked kinda nice. "I hate it." She sighed and held back an eye roll. "Come on, you're used to wearing dresses, you shouldn't be so negative every time you put one on." You twisted your neck to look at her and smile. "I hate it." "Ow!" You yelped and rubbed the center of your forehead, where she flicked in you out of annoyance. She plopped a hand bag in your hand and smiled warmly at you. "I know this will make you uncomfortable, but just smile and at least try to have fun." And with a kiss on the spot where she abused you, she was practically pushing you out the door. "And try bringing home a cute one, okay?" Your eyes widened as you looked back, but she was already shutting the door. Glancing around at the empty street, you sighed deeply. And with your arms crossed, you began walking down the street. "Wait, Y/N!" Furrowing your brows, you turned around and once you saw the running figure of Haruhi, you smiled. "Hey, Haruhi. You're walking too, huh?" She shrugged as she stopped and you both continued walking. "My dad's not home around this time. So, you're stuck with me."

She stepped in front of me, moving her legs so she was walking backwards and looked you over. 

"Wow, you look great, Y/N. You should wear dresses more often."

She looked up and her happiness faded once she saw the frown on your face.

"No, thanks."

You took the moment to look over her outfit. Of course, it wasn't some poofy dress. It was a suit, most likely one provided by the host club. And you were sure that if anyone from school actually saw you both together, they'd assume the most logical thing.

*honk* *honk*

You both slowed down and looked back. You mentally groaned.

"Oh, great."

By the look of the sleek, long black limousine, you already guessed it was some group of girls ready to jump Haruhi's bones and stampede over you to do it.

But that thought left when the sun roof rolled down and two familiar faces poked out.

"Hey, sis! Hey, Haruhi!"

As soon as the car came to a stop, the door to the side facing you opened up and you both peeked inside, to see Tamaki relaxing in the seat right in front of it, Kyoya sitting beside him, and the legs of the two boys that first greeted you, standing beneath the exposed top.

Tamaki spread his arms.

"Good evening, ladies. It's far too cold to be walking out here. Care for a ride?"

Haruhi rose an eyebrow. "Uh, it's, like, 70 degrees out here."

Without giving her another moment to speak, you grabbed her arm and pulled her into the car with you.

"Come on, Haruhi. As if I want to do any more walking in these heels."

The door shut behind you and you felt the car begin to move again.

Tamaki was, of course, the first to speak.

"You look absolutely breathtaking, Princess."

He glanced over at the man next to him and chuckled. "Don't you agree, Kyoya?"

You gulped and turned to Kyoya, stiff as you awaited his response.

He glanced up from his phone call, then pressed the end button on his phone.

"Y/N, have you picked a song to perform tonight?"

Your excitement slowly faded and you looked away with a bid.

"Yes. I did."

He smiled in approval. "Good. I have high expectations, so don't mess this up."

You glanced back to him, eyes narrowed. "That I can promise. I won't let myself fail."

The twins poked their heads back inside the car and Tamaki looked up, while Haruhi also looked between you and Kyoya, pointing a finger between you.

"Wait. So, are you saying Y/N is actually singing tonight?"

Kyoya was typing away on his phone, then put it up to his ear.

"Well, it is what I'm paying her for. What kind of event singer would she be if she didn't?"

You were glaring daggers of death at him, and the car felt tense the entire car ride to the party.

*****

"It is so good to see you here tonight, my little lambs."

Tamaki rubbed his chin as he stared out at his audience.

"The Ouran Host club would like to bid you..."

Placing a hand under his chin, he bowed his head.

"Welcome."

At that single word, the light that made up one of the 3 chandeliers lit up, followed by the other two. The orchestra of violins filled the room, and the applause of the audience, that was only made up of women, rang in the air.

Stepping forward, you tied your apron around your waist and folded your hands behind your back as you addressed them.

"As always, ladies, the host club is here for your entertainment. So we invite you to dance to your heart's content. Based on your dancing skills, one lucky lady will be chosen as tonight's Queen."

You then outstretched your arms and gestured them over to the man standing above you on the second staircase. "The Queen's reward will be a passionate kiss on the cheek...from our King."

Tamaki smirked at them all and crossed his arms. "Good luck to you..." He then brought his fingers to his lips and blew them all a kiss. "My darlings."

Just that fantasy alone was enough to send the sea of girls into a frenzy. A few actually fainted. And it made you sigh through the smile on your face.

"Look at them. I'm almost embarrassed to call myself one."

Kaoru came up next to you and bumped your side. "Oh, cheer up, sis!"

Hikaru ruffled your hair and rested his elbow on your shoulder afterwards. "Don't worry, we'll make sure you'll have someone to dance with."

"Oh, yay, great."

Fortunately, their attention was moved over on to Haruhi as she was moping at the crowd.

They both appeared behind her with their hands on their hips, speaking simultaneously.

"Haruhi, show some enthusiasm!"

She sighed at them. "Well excuse me you guys, sorry. I'm not used to this sort of thing. I've only gone to the festivals held in my neighborhood park."

You crossed your arms at her. "I don't really think you can count that as a party. Only, like, 15 people even come to those."

Kyoya spoke up as he wrote on his clipboard without looking up at her. "Well, since you're already here, you might as well get something to eat. I'm sure one Y/N's dishes can raise your spirits. She's put out quite a spread."

Haruhi perked up and turned her head to you. "A spread? With....fancy tuna?"

The sound of Kyoya's pencil breaking by too much force out of surprise made you flinch as the twins widened their eyes.

You furrowed your brows, incredibly confused by what she meant. "Fancy tuna?"

And out of nowhere, Tamaki jumped down from where he had been standing above you and pointed at Kyoya in a commanding tone.

"Get some tuna here right now!"

Which resulted in Kyoya sharply turning his head to you, a voice of seriousness. "Y/N, prepare some deluxe sushi."

You were even more confused as to their reactions and why sushi was now such a high priority. Yet, you still smiled, though your eyebrow was twitching.

"Uh, okay." And off you scurried, towards the kitchen.

Haruhi shook her head and reached her hand out in an attempt to stop you. "Y/N, you don't have to-"

She was interrupted by the twins crushing her in a hug, which only made her frown.

Damn these filthy rich jerks.

*******

Once you had finished preparing the last minute load of fancy fish, you hopped out of the kitchen and made a beeline for Haruhi, who was leaning against a pillar, and being painfully unsocial. Once she caught sight of you, she smiled and waved.

You skid to a stop and outstretched the fresh platter to her with a wide smile.

"Her you go, fancy tuna!"

She giggled a little, bur still took the tray. The entire tray, might add.

"You didn't actually have to make it, you know."

You smiled wider. "It's my job to make those around me happy."

She shrugged. "Well, thanks."

And when she turned around to eat her treat, she didn't notice the whiff of air that came as a result of two figures flying by and you were gone seconds after. And when she did feel the air, she turned back.

"Y/N?"

******

You were kicking the two jerks that kidnapped you, and you were yelling at them to let go of you as they ran away, but it was muffled by your face being buried into one of their backs.

Until finally, they stopped running and you heard one voice.

"Great work, boys. Sozushima will be ready any minute, so let's hurry up and make her look presentable."

Kyoya?! 

As soon as they let you down, you were looking at the three of them in anger. 

"What is going on?!"

Instead of an answer, you were shoved back into a small cubicle and landed on the carpet. You winced at the impact, before looking up to see Hikaru holding a pile a folded dress.

"Get changed, we'll explain along the way."

And after tossing them inside, the curtain attached to it shut. You groaned when the dress landed on your face. However, when you took it off and looked it over, your eyes widened.

"T-This is beautiful."

Kyoya scoffed as he adjusted his glasses. "Obviously. The plan wouldn't work otherwise."

"What plan? What the hell is going on here?"

Kaoru leaned against the wall. "To sum it up, the guy you met yesterday, Sozushima, because he's Kanako's ex, we have a plan to bring them back together. Sozushima just arrived and we need you to change his mind and go after Kanako by charming him."

You paused with your dress halfway over your shoulders. "What kind of a plan is that?"

As one of them was about to answer, they were interrupted by what sounded like Haruhi yelling into the room. And all you heard next was Kaoru's voice.

"There she is."

Followed by the sound of Honey's laughter, then Haruhi's voice.

"You didn't have to be so forceful!"

"Never mind that, go get changed."

"Yeah!"

And with a gasp from her, the curtain opened back up and she nearly fell on top of you if you hadn't caught her.

You huffed as she turned around to start getting herself dressed.

"And why is Haruhi a part of this?"

This time, Hikaru began continuing what he was saying.

"There was a last minute issue. We didn't count on Princess Kanako's new fiance to show up this evening to look for Kanako. So, Haruhi here is going to distract him while you talk to Sozushima and the boss talks to Kanako. And when they're both convinced, we will send one after the other. Simple!"

Your eyebrow twitched as you were about to start ranting, but Kyoya's collecting voice beat you to it.

"You can't refuse this, Y/N. I am in charge of you and I say you have no choice to go against it. It's your job as a host club member to make every girl happy. And you hate to disappoint, don't you?"

You tensed up, then sighed out of defeat.

"A little accident towards the end of the night might make the evening more thrilling for everyone."  He chuckled to himself.

"Remember, ladies. There are only twenty minutes remaining before the party reaches its climax. And Y/N, once you finish your part, you need to be on stage to perform for the crowning of the Queen. Haruhi, Kanako's fiance is in the library downstairs, thinking Kanako is coming. Y/N, Sozushima is  waiting for you in the classroom across the hall."

Once you looked to see if Haruhi was done, you were shocked at what a wig, dress and some heels could do. "Woah..."

You slid the curtain door open and once the twins got a look at you, they gasped. "Sissy looks so pretty in that dress!"

But once you stepped aside, they practically yanked Haruhi over to the other side of the room. They forced her to sit down beside a table of various makeup items. 

Honey came over to you and pulled you over to sit beside her next to a hair styling station. Mori stood behind you and began brushing your hair, which you didn't expect at all and it admit ably made you blush a bit.

Honey sat down in front of you. "Now remember, you have to ask him how he feels, okay?"

You smiled down at him. "Don't worry, Honey. I know what to do."

And after Mori finished putting your hair into a loose side ponytail, there was the sound of the room's door opening.

"Here you all are! What are you doing? The guests are-" 

As you turned around in your seat, you saw the starstruck face of Tamaki as he watched Haruhi stand up and turn to look at him.

You followed after her and saw the more love struck look on his face and it made you crack a smirk.

Someone's in looove.

The twins appeared on either side of Tamaki with proud smiles. 

"What do you think?"

Honey looked up at the both of you in awe. "You both look so cute!"

While you began walking uncomfortably out of the room, Haruhi walked beside you, frowning.

"My face feels heavy and it's hard to walk in these shoes!"

You groaned. "You get used to it."

The twins waved you both off as you walked down the hall.

"Good luck!"

******

As soon as you opened the door to the classroom, you saw the back of Sozushima as he gazed out the tall window. And when he heard the door close, he turned and once he saw your face, his eyes enlarged with surprise.

"Y/N? You're the one who wrote this letter?"

You were confused when he held up a folded piece of paper.

"Letter?"

******

'I'm in love-love! From the first time I saw you, I've been head over heels in love! Hehe! It's like my heart is stuck in a never ending typhoon! All these feelings of love keep whipping around in my heart like the breaking waves! When the typhoon's rising water's come, I want to rendezvous with you on Noah's ark! I do! I do!' 

Your face was filled with embarrassment as you finished reading the letter.

I am going to kill those boys.

"Y/N, I didn't know you actually felt that way after we met. I admit there was some sort of connection, but..."

Your head shot up. "N-No! I-It's not what it - I mean I didn't-"

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I do like you and I am flattered, but I only saw you as a friend. You're a great girl, but I don't feel the same way."

When you actually saw his face, it was one of guilt, but you knew it wasn't for you.

"You see, another girl already has my heart."

You gave a weary smile. "I understand. I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

He actually looked up at you, then out the window.

"Unfortunately, she's not my girlfriend. In fact, I don't think she wants anything to do with me. In all honesty, she'd be better with someone more self-confident than me."

 He sighed to himself. "That's why I decided to change. I want to see the world. Hopefully, become a better man. I know it's selfish, but I wonder if she'll wait for me."

"Yes, that is selfish."

His head snapped back to you, a look on his face as if he had just been stabbed in the heart.

You crossed your arms and shook your head at him. "Do you even realize how much she already cares for you?"

He furrowed his brows.

"It's Kanako, right?"

He froze up. "H-How did you-"

"Oh please, anyone with working eyes can see that. Look, you can't put yourself down because things didn't work out for the best between you two. You don't need to have self confidence, just confidence in her that she will accept you the way you are. You can't keep making excuses because you’re too afraid to just talk to her."

You folded your hands together and glanced back up at him.

"You can't hope for the best, you need to guarantee it. That won't happen by wishing. You already know who you should be talking to right now. And it isn't me."

His lips parted as he breathed out a response. "Thank you, Y/N."

You smiled at him right when you heard the door creak open. Looking back, you smiled bigger when you saw Kanako's heartbroken face at the sight of you two, before she quickly apologized and ran out of the room.

"Wait!"

You turned back to him and nodded your head. 

"Go get her."

Without a second thought, he ran out of the room, screaming her name.

"Kanako!"

You hugged yourself as you walked towards the door. It's our job, as members of the elite host club, to make every girl happy. And my job as the host chef to make every person satisfied with our service.

"Show time."

******

Standing atop the staircase outside in the cool evening air, you all waited patiently for them to come out. Honey was looking over the edge.

"Do you see them yet?"

You shook your head as you adjusted your mic. "Any second now."

And you were right. Not a second later, the figure of Kanako running out onto the gravel came to sight, with Sozushima right behind her. 

"Now?"

"Not yet."

The moment Sozushima grabbed Kanako's hand and forced her to look at him, Tamaki's hand shot up.

"Now!"

3 spotlights came on what at a time and brightly shined down on them. This left them staring up at the crowd of girls surrounding them, and the host club members that stood atop the staircase.

You stepped forward to the mic.

"Ladies and gentlemen. It is now time for us to have the final dance of this evening's festivities. The last waltz of the host club has been chosen for..."

You gestured down to them.

"This couple."

When Kanako realized what was happening, a look of fear came on her face. She stepped back from him as he pulled his hand from hers and closed his eyes. He put out his hand to her and bowed his hand.

"Princess Kasaka...May I have this dance?"

Her eyes widened with terror as a blush came on his cheeks and he looked back up at her.

For a moment, he thought she would refuse, until she softly smiled and put her hand in his.

"...Yes."

The sight of it made a grin spread on your lips as you nodded to the band to start.

When the rain is blowing in your face And the whole world is on your case I could offer you a warm embrace To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear And there is no one there to dry your tears Oh, I hold you for a million years To make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet But I will never do you wrong I've known it from the moment that we met No doubt in my mind where you belong

You opened your eyes to see the happy smiles plastered on their face, along with the awe of the twins at your voice as they devoured the banana sundaes from your spread. Though you couldn't laugh, your smile grew larger.

I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue And I'd go crawling down the avenue No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do To make you feel my love

The storms are raging on the rolling sea And on the highway of regret The winds of change are blowing wild and free You ain't seen nothing like me yet

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true There's nothing that I wouldn't do Go to the ends of this Earth for you To make you feel my love, oh yes To make you feel my love​​​​​​​

Feel My Love ~ Adele

Once you finished your song, the music changed into something more upbeat and Tamaki outstretched his arms.

"Ah! May this awkward couple be forever blessed!"

You signaled the band to lower the music as you placed your hands on the mic.

"An now, we'll announce the Queen of the ball. Congratulations, Princess Kanako Kasakasazaki!"

The audience erupted into applause as the happy couple stopped dancing, yet more shock to register on their faces.

The twins popped up in between you and Tamaki. Hikaru pointed at Tamaki.

"And for her reward, a kiss on the cheek from the king!"

Said person smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. 

"You ready?"

Kaoru poked in between you and Haruhi.

"Haruhi Fujioka will stand in for Tamaki!"

They both froze up with dropped jaws.

You giggled. "Kyoya did say that a little accident towards the end of the night might make the evening more thrilling for everyone."

Haruhi's eyebrow twitched. "There is no way I can kiss her."

Kyoya spoke up from beside you. "If you do it, we'll cut your pay by 1/3rd."

She perked up almost immediately.

"Well, it is just on the cheek, right?"

Everyone watched in anticipation as Haruhi stepped down the stairs and went up to Kanako.

You tapped your chin as a thought came to mind.

"Hm, I wonder if this is Haruhi's first kiss."

Once he heard your comment, Tamaki snapped his neck to you. "What?!"

Just as Haruhi was about to kiss her on the cheek, Tamaki ran down the stairs with his arm outstretched. 

"Wait, Haruhi- !"

Unfortunately, he didn't notice the banana peel on the ground left by one of the twins, and when he tripped on it, instead of falling, his outstretched hand pushed Haruhi closer to Kanako, resulting in a full on kiss on the lips.

Their eyes widened as they quickly pulled away from each other. You quietly laughed at the look on Tamaki's face.

"Not bad for your first event."

You turned to look at Kyoya as his eyes moved on you. "You juggled a total of 5 tasks just for tonight and you accomplished them all flawlessly. Congratulations. How do you feel?"

You shrugged as you smiled widely and glanced at everyone.

"I think I'm gonna like it here."

[sariasprincy]

The Choices We Make - Part Three

The Choices We Make MadaSaku

Part one Part Two

Part three

A deep ache throbbed in the pit of Sakura's stomach, causing her grip on the edge of the sink to tighten and her knuckles to bleed white. She slipped her eyes closed against the pain and focused solely on inhaling and exhaling until it slowly dwindled and dulled into a more manageable pang. It wasn't the first time she had experienced light cramping since she had discovered her pregnancy and just like before, she pressed a chakra-laced hand to her abdomen to ease the muscle pain until she was left with just her usual, hindering morning sickness.

Days like these made Sakura take a second look at her life and question just what the hell she had been thinking when she slipped into bed - or rather onto the counter - with Madara. However, she didn't allow herself to dwell on the matter this time. She had agreed to meet him this morning for tea before she headed to the hospital for her shift, and she needed to leave shortly to make it on time.

Swallowing back the bile rising in her throat, Sakura raised a hand from where they had been braced against the counter to turn the faucet on. She splashed some cool water on her overheated skin and took a moment to collect herself before she exited the tiny bathroom connected to her bedroom to gathered her paperwork for the hospital. Once she was certain she had everything she needed for the day, she swiped her keys from the counter and headed out into the awakening village.

With the early hour, there were few venders and even fewer citizens out and about, leaving a hushed sense of tranquility over the village. A cool, dawn breeze was blowing through the streets and stirring the dust upon the sun-dried road. It powdered the toes of her boots and swirled around her ankles, but Sakura didn't pay it any mind as she read through the patient file in her hand, her gaze only drawing up to smile in greeting at the occasional shinobi as they passed.

Her journey to the teahouse was otherwise uninterrupted. Sakura had frequented it with the Uchiha Head on a number of previous occasions and her feet followed the familiar path without her having to stop and recall the way.

Sakura was less than a block away when nausea threatened to overcome her again and she paused under the shade of a shop's awning to press a hand to her mouth as she tucked the chart safely under her other arm. The bile was thick and hot in her throat but she pursed her lips together, refusing to give into her body's demands.

'Mind over body, mind over body,' she repeated mentally. The last thing she wanted was for Madara to learn of her pregnancy by puking all over him. 'Although it would be fitting,' she realized with a soft snort.

Her sudden amusement chased the worst of her sickness away and she swallowed thickly as she distracted herself by entertaining the comical image. It would certainly be a story worth-telling, that much was certain.

Sakura was still smiling softly when she finally arrived at the small teahouse. The doors were wide open in hospitality and she stepped inside before she scanned the dining room in search of Madara. She quickly realized he wasn't present in the empty room, and she turned expectantly when an employee approached her.

"Welcome, Haruno-san," the young woman greeted respectfully. "Uchiha-sama has reserved the private room for you this morning."

Sakura bit back a snort. Of course he did.

The hostess silently gestured for Sakura to follow her before she led them down a small hallway and away from the rest of the mainroom. They stopped before a traditional shoji and the young woman made their presence known before she slid the door opened and entered. "Uchiha-sama, Haruno-san has arrived," she bowed.

Sakura followed after the other woman but paused just inside the room as her gaze finally settled upon Madara. He had dressed up for the occasion in a dark grey robe made of the richest silks with the Uchiha fan stitched into each side over his breast bone. The color matched the smokiness of his eyes and complimented his handsome face. He was kneeling before a low-sitting table with his arms folded eloquently across his chest, his normally wild mane of hair pulled back into a simple ponytail that emphasized his strong jawline and broad shoulders.

Sakura swallowed hard as her mouth went dry. Next to him, she likely resembled someone who had just crawled out of bed, and she suddenly regretted her decision not to wipe the dust from her boots before entering the establishment. It felt as if she were in the presence of royalty.

Oh yes, she decided. It would be a very bad idea for her to puke on him.

"Thank you, Mito-san," Madara said. "You may leave us."

The young woman bowed again before she retreated out of the room, softly closing the shoji door behind her.

Alone with Madara, Sakura became the sole victim of his penetrating stare. His gaze seemed to pierce through her, causing her skin to prickle warmly, but she met his gaze evenly as he gestured towards the cushion across from him. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me. Please sit."

Without the additional audience, Madara's voice had taken on a warmer tone and just like that, her earlier amusement faded like dew in the morning sun as the weight on the situation settled upon her shoulders. She fidgeted minutely with the files in her hands as sudden nerves struck her, but she kept her expression in check as she carefully lowered herself down onto the offered seat.

Sakura placed her documents on the floor beside her before she finally settled her full attention upon Madara. There was a steaming pot of tea laid out before him with two porcelain cups on either side, but neither were touched. He had been waiting for her.

"I took the liberty of ordering white tea," Madara informed her as he picked up the serving spoon and began to fill her cup. "I recall you saying it was your favorite."

"It is," she nodded.

The subtle tension in the corners of his mouth lessened upon her answer and he offered the tea to her before he served himself. "I can order us something to eat as well if you are hungry."

"No," Sakura said a little too quickly. The fragrant scent wafting from her cup was already making her stomach churn. She doubted she would be able to even sip her tea without getting sick, let alone swallow any solid food. "No, thank you," she amended. "I can't stay long. I'm needed at the hospital soon."

Madara hid his disappointment well, but she had seen the small tug in the corners of his mouth just before he drank from his cup. "Of course. I do not wish to keep you." He placed his tea back down on the table before his heavy stare landed on her once more. "I requested a meeting with you to simply have the opportunity to apologize."

"You already apologized," she said not unkindly.

He nodded. "Yes. However, given the circumstances at the time, I felt another was necessary. I hope you will forgive me for the words I spoke to you."

Whatever grudge Sakura might have still held melted at the sincerity in his voice. The disappointment and regret he held towards his own actions was radiating off of him so strongly, it was nearly tangible, and his desire to set things right gave her a newfound respect for him. The tension in her chest faded and the minute frown pulling at the corners of her mouth vanished until all of her remaining hostilities disappeared like smoke in the wind. He was trying. It wouldn't be fair for her not to do the same.

"You're an ass," Sakura finally said, causing Madara to blink in surprise. Then her expression softened. "But at least you know when to apologize for it. I forgive you."

A smirk slowly spread across his face and he chuckled softly as they came to an understanding. "Thank you. I have something I have been meaning to return to you."

Her brows furrowed curiously as he reached into the inner lining of his robes, only for her eyes to widen a moment later as he withdrew a kunai and placed it upon the table. She didn't have to ask to know it was the very weapon she had thrown at his head only a few days earlier and she stared at it with wide eyes as he pushed it across the table to her.

"You have remarkable aim."

"I should probably say sorry about that," she said sheepishly.

Madara merely chuckled again. "There is no need. However, if you truly wish to make it up to me, you can agree to a spar with me sometime. I may even let you get in a punch."

The tension drained out of her at his clear amusement, and a smirk played at the edge of her mouth as she slipped the weapon into the holster at her hip. "I don't need your handicaps to win."

"That I do not doubt."

Sakura warmed under the weight of his compliment. She knew Madara to be a proud man, one who didn't give praise lightly, and the fact it had rolled off his tongue so easily made her feel light with pride. She had worked hard to become the kunoichi she was and for her abilities to be acknowledged by someone who had flee-on-sight orders in five different countries, caused a feeling to bloom in her chest she hadn't felt in weeks now. Genuine happiness.

But it didn't last long.

Guilt slammed Sakura back to reality as the heavy burden of her secret pressed upon her shoulders. She was carrying the fetus of the man across from her and he was completely unaware by no fault of his own. She knew Madara had the right to know - he had the right to voice his own opinions about the future of their child - but the truth caught in her throat.

He looked so untroubled as he raised his cup and drank his tea. She didn't doubt Madara would make a good father, but she was concerned for her future as both a kunoichi and a medic. A child would change everything - her career, her reputation, her life. Their lives. Would it be selfish of her to terminate her pregnancy?

The answer was yes.

But she had always been selfless, sacrificing her time and her energy for both people she deeply cared for and for those she didn't know. As was the life of a medic. Would it really be so horrible of her to put herself above others just this once?

Could she live with it if she did?

Sakura opened her mouth but was unable to speak past the first syllable of Madara's name before he set his cup down. "Perhaps you are available this afternoon? I have a meeting with my clan's elders and I am only more than happy to reschedule it for another time."

Like a slap in the face, Sakura was only too well reminded of who Madara was. He wasn't just the man she had spent a night with; she was the Head of the Uchiha Clan, and his priorities were to his people and what was best for them. Everything else came second.

Her stomach flipped again. She didn't know if it was anxiety or her pregnancy that was the cause, but in either case she felt the bile rise in the back of her throat again. "I'm sorry, it'll have to wait until another time. I have patients all afternoon."

Sakura stared down at her untouched tea, unable to meet his gaze. She was afraid of the disappointment she would find reflecting back at her in the depths of his bottomless eyes and it was easier to hide her fear and uncertainty without his piercing stare pinning her in place.

"Of course," Madara said. His tone relayed nothing but understanding.

A loaded silence passed before Sakura finally cleared her throat and prepared to stand. "I should get to the hospital." She pushed herself to her feet before she bowed, unable to meet Madara's gaze. "Thank you for the tea."

Then she slipped out of the room silently, ensuring the shoji screen was closed behind her, and hurried out of the teahouse. She barely made it into the nearest alleyway before she puked.

##

"Dammit," Sakura cursed for the umpteenth time.

A growl of irritation mumbled low in her throat as she riffled through the nurses' desk. It was the third one she had been to in search of the patient file she'd misplaced that morning. She could have sworn she had brought it with her to the hospital, but with all the chaos that had happened in the last few hours, her memory was a little fuzzy on the details.

Slipping into the vacant chair behind the desk, Sakura pulled one of the drawers open and began thumbing through the pages stacked inside; however, it quickly became apparent that they were only extra blank chart pages, and she slammed it closed before she reached for the next drawer.

Digging through the files, Sakura flipped through folder after folder only for her hands to still as the familiar ache in the pit of her stomach returned. It stretched around to her lower back and provoked a flash of heat to spread throughout her body, causing her skin to prickle uncomfortably and her nausea to rise. With the adrenaline of surgery pulsing through her veins, Sakura had been able to block out the worst symptoms of her pregnancy most of the morning but it all came to a climax now as the high wore off, and she dug her fingers into the edges of the drawer as she fought against her sudden dizziness.

"You working the nurses' desk today?"

Start made Sakura's heart jump in her chest and she snapped her head up just as Shizune approached the other side of the counter with a chart in hand. She flashed Sakura an amused smile as she flipped the file open before she began documenting her notes inside with practiced ease.

"Very funny," Sakura retorted benevolently, only too relieved Shizune seemed unaware of her discomfort, before she continued her search through the desk. "I brought home a patient file with me last night - the kunoichi who came in with a low platelet count the other day - and now I can't find the damn thing. I thought I had it with me this morning, but I was dragged into an emergency surgery the moment I walked through the doors and now I can't remember where I put it."

Angry tears sprang to her eyes in her frustration and she slammed the drawer shut before she ripped open another. Her sudden fit drew Shizune's attention and she paused in her writing to eye Sakura. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Sakura said shortly. She blinked her tears away and forced a calming breath into her chest before she resumed her hunt with far more controlled. "I'm just irritated."

Shizune arched her brow curiously but didn't question her as she returned to her chart. "Did you look in your office? Maybe a nurse put it there for you."

"I hadn't looked. I should do that. Thanks," she said as she closed the drawer once more.

The older woman merely smiled at her before she continued updating her chart; however, Sakura didn't move to stand immediately. Should she tell Shizune about her pregnancy? There was no one else around and it would be such a relief to finally talk to someone else about what she was going through - talk to a woman about what she was going through. They were fairly close and she knew Shizune could be trusted to keep the information to herself. Perhaps she could give Sakura some comfort.

"Hey, are you busy right now?" Sakura asked.

Shizune briefly glanced up at her before she reread her notes for accuracy. "Not anymore than usual," she said as she closed her chart before she fixed her attention solely upon Sakura. "Why? What's up?"

Under her stare, Sakura's words felt heavy on her tongue and she chewed the inside of her cheek before she finally opened her mouth, "I-."

"Shizune-san! The patient in 212 is struggling to breathe!"

Both medics turned as a young intern ran up to the nurses' desk, panting slightly and obviously stressed. Shizune eyed her before she glanced at Sakura with a sigh, "I spoke too soon. I'll catch up with you later?"

Sakura nodded and waited until the pair had disappeared down the hall before she slumped against the back of the chair. The ache in her lower back had barely faded and she maneuvered in her seat slowly, trying both to stretch the throbbing muscles and find a more comfortable position. Her skin still felt hot and flushed, and she closed her eyes as she focused on breathing.

It was about the time she needed her first check up - to 'speak with her doctor about all her options' - but at this point, she only trusted Shizune to do it for her. She didn't think she could handle Tsunade's reaction upon learning Sakura was pregnant and the endless questions that would undoubtedly follow. It was the same reason she hadn't told her teammates, Naruto and Sasuke, or Ino, her best friend. They all cared for her, but secrecy was not their strong suits and none of them would be able to help her in the way she needed.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard."

Sakura didn't immediately open her eyes, having already recognized the sudden chakra signature, and she massaged the lingering muscle pain as she replied, "I have a hospital to help run, Kakashi. I don't get the luxury of time off while I try to sort out my life."

When she was met with silence, Sakura slipped her eyes opened to fix ex-sensei with an unwavering stare. His posture exuded nonchalance as he leaned against the counter separating them, his arms supporting his weight, but his expression was unreadable behind his mask and she knew he was not here without a purpose.

"What?" she asked when he continued to observe her.

"Is that why you're leaving on a mission?"

The disapproval in his tone rang all too clearly in her ears and she pursed her lips together guiltily before she prodded quietly, "How did you hear about that?"

"I'm an adviser with the Hokage," he said as if it were obvious. "I hear about everything."

"Then you should know that all I'm doing is delivering a shipment of medical supplies to Suna. It's non-combative."

He frowned. "It's still dangerous."

"I'm pregnant, Kakashi. Not incapacitated," Sakura said flatly. "I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he said honestly, causing her to smile. But it quickly waned as he added, "I only meant that you don't have anything to prove. To anyone or yourself. You're not less of a shinobi because you're with child."

She sighed softly before she reclined back against her chair. "I know," she murmured.

Kakashi was right but that didn't mean she didn't feel like she still had something to prove - still had to remind herself that she was a strong kunoichi and not just a girl who had gotten herself knocked up. That she was more than just someone who had spread her legs for a man she barely knew.

Tears sprung to her eyes again but she rubbed them away before they could fall. "It's been awhile since the last time I left the village," she eventually said. "It would be nice to get away."

"I see. You spoke with Madara."

Sakura looked up in surprise. She wasn't entirely sure how Kakashi had inferred that from her statement but she nodded, "I did."

"And?" he pressed.

Sakura picked at the hem of her shirt as she recalled her conversation with the older male earlier that morning. Emotion warred within her and a heavy silence passed between them as she searched for her words. "Madara is a good man. He's kind - when he wants to be," she added upon Kakashi's doubtful expression. "And he would take care of our child if we had one. Whether I decide to tell him or terminate is a life-altering choice."

"But you've made your decision."

She nodded slowly, the weight of what would come next pushing down on her and making her feel like the world rested upon her shoulder, like everything she knew and loved was about to change. "I think I've known what I was going to do for a long time. I just need to find the courage to do it."

"Then why leave on a mission?" he asked.

"I just need to process everything. To come to terms with what happens next."

"And you think leaving the village will give that to you?" There was no pressure or accusation in his voice, simply curiosity.

"I don't know, but it has to make me feel better than this."

"Which is?"

"Panic. Heart-gripping panic. Inside these walls I can't breathe. It feels like someone has wrapped their hands around my neck and is squeezing the life from me. I just-I can't...breathe," she murmured, her voice betraying her exhaustion. Her fingered tensed like they were doing exactly as she had described before they fell slack again.

She was tired and had been ever since she had learned of the new life growing within her. It wasn't just the physical aspect that had been wearing on her, but the stress and emotional burden that came with an unexpected pregnancy. Most of the time she just wanted to sit in her room and cry and wish that everything would magically be back to the way it was before. But she was a logical thinker and she was aware that nothing would change unless she did it herself.

"Let me come with you," Kakashi suddenly said.

She smiled fondly at him, warmed by his offer, but she shook her head as she stood. "No. I need to go alone."

Kakashi fell into step beside her as they left the nurses' station and headed to the elevator. "I'm not sure that's the best idea. Let me at least send one of my ninken with you."

A laugh bubbled out of Sakura's mouth as they stepped inside and she pressed the button for the floor her office was located on before she turned to him with an amused smile. "Why do I get the feeling you'll send one anyway even if I say no?"

Her ex-sensei cocked his brow at her as he looked down pointedly. Sakura suddenly became aware she had been unconsciously rubbing at the soreness in her lower stomach and she stopped abruptly as she sighed. Perhaps he did have a point.

"Alright, fine. But I want Pakkun."

Kakashi beamed under his mask as the elevator doors slipped open once more. She deliberately ignored the satisfaction rolling off of him but there was a smile of amusement dancing across her lips and she didn't complain as he followed her towards her office.

Sakura was barely a few steps down the hall when she looked up and came to an abrupt halt upon finding Madara standing at the nurses' desk as he spoke to one of the floor's medics. He had changed out of his formal robes and into a matching pair of grey shinobi pants and a long-sleeved shirt he had rolled up to his elbows. His dark grey, almost black vest, marking him as a commanding officer within the Konoha Military Police was over it giving him the appearance that was he was larger and broader than he actually was.

Sakura's brow furrowed in confusion. "Madara, what're you doing here?"

He turned expectantly at her call and gazed at Kakashi briefly before his attention fell to her. "I was looking for you."

"Why?" she asked bluntly. "I mean, is everything alright?"

Madara nodded. "All is well. I just came to return this to you. You left it at the teahouse this morning."

It was then that Sakura realized he had a file in hand and her eyes widened as she recognized her patient chart. "You found it! Thank you! I have been looking for this everywhere."

Without hesitating, Sakura stepped forward to accept the file from him. She nearly pulled it out of his hands in her relief and she quickly flipped it open to double check that none of her documents had gotten lost. She quickly made her way to the desk, ignoring the tension that was steadily thickening behind her, and glanced at the medic behind the desk.

"Oyone, can you please go retrieve the lab results from the patient in 310?"

The experienced medic nodded. "Right away, Sakura-san."

As she left, Sakura dropped her gaze back to the chart as she continued reviewing her notes from where she had left off the night before. Behind her, Kakashi and Madara spoke in hushed tones, their chakras a low hum, but she ignored them in favor of completing her paperwork. She had some catching up to do and didn't have time to be distracted by their frivolous rivalry.

Sakura inhaled sharply as the familiar pain in her lower stomach suddenly spiked. Her fingers tightened around the pen in her hand and she closed her eyes as she waited for the worst to fade. Only it didn't.

What had only been a deep ache this morning quickly sharpened into a intense, shooting pain that stole the breath from her lungs and made her world narrow until all she could feel was the acute flash of agony as it ripped through her abdomen. It was as if someone had stabbed a kunai into her stomach and was slowly twisting the blade in until it was buried to the hilt, and she gasped as it worsened.

"Sakura! What's wrong?"

When she finally blinked her eyes open again, she was on the floor and staring up into a pair of dark eyes filled with concern. Her vision tunnelled and she fought to remain conscious as she pressed her palm to the source of the pain. With much effort, chakra flared to life in her hand and fear filled her as she realized what was transpiring within her body.

"Get the Hokage." The pain subdued her voice and forced it to come out weak and breathless.

"What's happening?" they asked. Even through her pain, she could hear the anxiety wrapped around their question and she swallowed thickly.

"I'm having a miscarriage."

tbc...