#horrible retching sobs in the background

[myriad--starlings]

have you ever gotten away, you ran away and it was basically the same but it felt different, you thought you made it out of the place that was killing you. but then the years pass like seconds and you blink and it's all the same somehow? you're still dying. and so you have to put yourself back in the coffin and you don't know if it's going to work it could be the worst decision you've ever made but it's dying this way, maybe, or dying for sure if you don't. so you put yourself in the fucking coffin. and maybe one day you'll break out the other side and you keep thinking you have but the time keeps passing so fast and it's so hard in here. but if you weren't in the coffin you know you'd be dead?

[rove-bogge]

🌌 If your OC has a nightmare, what’s it most likely about?

Content Warning: Some body horror imagery used. It starts with a noise of thread ripping. Collapsing and treading at the seams with horrible pops that make his heart tremble. Slow and agonising like someone pulling bits of skin from his bones with small hooks as he is pulled apart at his literal seams revealing squirming and hissing insects at his core. Falling out like blobs of meat that squirm and writhe on the ground screaming piercing his skull as he feels himself crumbling apart.

Insect drying out once exposed to the air as they wither away into dust and sludge on the floor. His chest tight as he feels like he can't breathe anymore no longer able to grasp anything as his skin flops away like rejected burlap burst open and useless unable to hold his insides in anymore...those insides that are rapidly crawling and writhing trying to avoid the suffocating fate that awaits them as they hit the ground in wet slaps.

The last one is able to hold its breath as it scurries frantically looking for some faint hope of survival. It's dizzying as it squeaks and cries trying to escape from the light and noise. It's so close to getting out of this dangerous place with a background drumming noise he hates so much. Escape is close if his little legs can scurry fast enough.

CRUNCH!

As the boot slams down on him Rove jolts awake, pounding an ache in his chest as he feels like he might drop dead any second as he gulps air like water into his lungs, sweat dripping from his skin setting a tremble down his spine. Lips quivering as dry sobs mix with retching combines a mixture of cries and a sickening feeling stuck in his throat.

Rove doesn't have normal nightmares like most people his age. He doesn't not fear monsters under his bed with teeth ground sharp, snake-like fingers and spider hair... He dreams of words turned truths that scar deep under his skin. His nightmares feel like death an inevitable fate perhaps. Maybe a metaphoric prediction.... one each magic user should fear and head caution of...

Magic will eventually eat them if they are not cautious and for some it is only a matter of when not if...

[whumpmatsus]

Why hello there new blog. 👀 I shall watch with interest. Would it be fine to ask for Karamatsu with a bad stomachache/similar?

hehe, I hope you enjoy watching!

and YES of course! God I'm such a Karamatsu girl 😩

We've got some of everything here, I think? Oops All Matsus! XD ... but the Choukeimatsu is definitely strong in this one haha

enjoooooy! <3

-

It’s kind of a given that in a house with six brothers in close quarters, anything one of them catches is going to end up running its way through all of them.

It’s… less of a given that Karamatsu is going to be the one who recovers last.

Most of the time he’s the first one to push through it, seemingly via sheer power of will because he wants to take care of the others. Or, at least, he’s not usually the one still down for the count when everyone else is on the mend.

This time around, he’s been curled up on the couch since all of them woke up this morning. They’re all feeling fine, while he’s apparently still feeling like crap.

He’s set himself up with a wastebasket nearby and he’s refused everything his brothers have tried to shove down his throat ― water, food, even medicine is turned away. They all might think he’s just being stubborn if not for the fact that he’s so clearly still sick. Regardless, they’ve stopped trying to offer since they know he isn’t going to take any of it.

As far as Karamatsu himself is concerned, if whatever sickness he’s got is going to kill him, he wishes it would hurry up and do so already. He doesn’t know how much more he can take. There’s an uncomfortable, cramping heat in his belly that’s constantly threatening to flip into something much worse. He’s been vomiting for a couple days now, on and off, like the rest of his brothers. Unlike them, however, it hasn’t gotten much better for him.

He tries so hard to be cool and unbothered. This is starting to worry him, though. How come everyone else is back to normal while he continues to struggle not to puke at the mere thought of plain rice?

For as much as Totty claims to hate germs, the youngest has been camping out next to the couch most of the morning, playing on his phone. It affords Karamatsu a view of the games Totty’s playing and the videos he’s watching; distractions as he tries to keep himself from tossing what little there is left to toss in his stomach. He isn’t sure whether or not Totty planned it that way, just that he’s grateful for something else to focus on other than the unbearable nausea.

“Heyyyy, Karamatsu-nii-san,” he suddenly speaks up, holding the phone closer to his miserable older brother’s line of sight. “What do you think of this pretty girl? Is her dress the right color for winter? It’s cute, but, I don’t know… I think maybe she would have looked better in blue…”

Now, Karamatsu isn’t sure what it is about the video clip Totty is showing him. It might be the bright lights in the background, or it might be the twirling motions the woman on the screen is making. Or, quite frankly, it might be nothing at all, since he feels so horrible.

But only a few seconds after he squints at the video clip, his stomach rebels against something. Although he wants to reply to his dearest younger brother, the second he parts his lips to give a clever retort, he feels his stomach clench. Saliva pools in his mouth, and he quickly raises a hand up to his face.

He swallows once. Twice. Three times. He tries to take a breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth like Choromatsu taught him. Nothing helps, because he ends up gagging anyway.

Immediately Totty yelps and launches himself away from the sofa. All the noise, particularly Karamatsu’s heaving, catches the attention of the rest of the sextuplets. Soon enough, someone has hurried over to hold the wastebasket beneath him, and someone else is using what feels like all their strength to help prop him over it so he doesn’t miss.

A brief glance up reveals that the one holding him is Jyushimatsu ― of course, he’s the most coordinated of them all ― and Choromatsu is playing trashcan jockey. Karamatsu’s head swims again, and that small motion is all that’s needed for his stomach to protest again. He retches a few times before whatever is left, which can’t be much at this point, splatters into the can.

“Totty!” he can hear Choromatsu scolding the youngest. “W-what the hell was that for?!”

“What was what for?!” Totty retorts. “I was trying to cheer him up! It’s not my fault!”

Ichimatsu snickers from his spot in the corner. “Che, so you made Shittymastu sick by trying to help. Sounds about right for you.”

“Excuse me?! You take that back or I’ll post that video of you being a drunk asshole online so everyone can laugh at my big, dumb brother!”

“HEY!” It’s Osomatsu who quiets the entire room with one sharp word. He’s knelt next to the couch, one hand trying to keep Karamatsu’s hair out of his face. “Would you guys all shut the fuck up? For God’s sakes, let the poor bastard puke in peace! The last thing he needs is to hear you douches arguing while he’s giving the trashcan a new coat of paint!”

For his part, Karamatsu appreciates his older brother standing up for him when he’s unable to do so himself. It’s just a little hard to convey that when his body is trying to bring up everything he’s eaten ever in his life.

It hurts, too. The sensation in his stomach is tight now, painful like there’s a knife stuck in his middle. Every gag makes a stabbing, all-over pain spiderweb through his whole body. As if he’s made of porcelain and something is repeatedly making cracks.

Finally he thinks it should be over, because nothing else is coming up. He shudders and heaves and it doesn’t produce anything other than an uncomfortable ache in his throat. Honesty, his entire body is aching now.

He lets out a few ragged breaths before slumping back onto the sofa, predictably pulled into a more-careful-than-usual Jyushimatsu hug. “It’s okay, Karamatsu-nii-san! I’ve got you!!”

“Aaah.” Karamatsu lifts his hand and places it, shaking, on his little brother’s head to praise him for a job well done. “Jyushimatsu… I’ll leave it to you… to tell my Karamatsu girls… I loved them…”

He hears Ichimatsu scoff. “You should be more worried that you were puking without puking than your nonexistent fangirls, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, that was weird,” Osomatsu agrees. “You heard that too, Ichimatsu?”

“Mhm. It almost made me want to hurl again.”

“Yeah… he should be better by now. I mean, we’re all fine. And he hasn’t been eating, so it’s not like there’s anything left in there. What’s his stupid body trying to throw up? His Goddamn kidneys?”

Karamatsu hears Choromatsu groan. “Oh, my God, you guys are disgusting!” When Karamatsu looks up, the third eldest is hovering over him with a concerned expression. “Ah… they… might be right, though. Karamatsu-nii-san… you’re just as sick as we all were at the beginning of this. It doesn’t seem like you’ve improved like we have. How… do you feel now? Any better since you threw up?”

He tries to laugh. It comes out sounding more like a sob, though. “N… no…” It feels like even too deep a breath will tip the scale on his nausea and cause another avalanche. “I’m… I’m dizzy… it still hurts.”

“A-ah, gosh…” Choromatsu’s hand sets lightly against Karamatsu’s cheek, then neck, and if his face is any indicator, he doesn’t like what he feels. “You’ve… still got a fever. And you’re sweating and lightheaded and… still throwing up. Shit.”

He moves his hand to gently card through his big brother’s hair as if trying to reassure him. “Karamatsu-nii-san… d-do you think you could make it to the doctor? If we helped you?”

That’s not an idea he enjoys entertaining. Having to get up off the couch, bundle up in a coat, ride the train… it sounds so exhausting. He’s already tired. But… if Choromatsu is even bringing it up, he must think it’s a better idea than Karamatsu continuing to try and recover on the couch.

He manages a nod. “Sure… sure, if you help me.”

“Great.” Choromatsu straightens up and heads for the door. “I’ll go call the office and see if they can get you an appointment today. If they can, I’ll go with you, and…” He surveys the rest of the room. “… I’d prefer at least onemore person go with us, just in case.”

“Yeah, I’ll go, no problem.” The eldest’s voice is one Karamatsu didn’t expect to hear, though maybe he should have. Osomatsu is still lingering on the floor next to him, taking the spot where Totty was, and, now that Karamatsu thinks about it, he can feel his older brother gently rubbing his shoulder. “… Do you think maybe we should try to force him to drink something, too? You can’t survive without water, right?”

Choromatsu sighs; not necessarily because it’s one more thing to add to the list, but it sounds like he’s just worried. He probably doesn’t want to force one of his brothers to do anything ― especially one of his big brothers, and especially when said big brother is already so sick. “I mean… yeah, it’s not good that he hasn’t had anything to drink today, and not much in the last few days. Throwing up so much is probably making him dehydrated… which, stupidly enough, can make him throw up more.”

Osomatsu hums in thought and gives Karamatsu’s shoulder a small squeeze to get his attention. “Hey, Karamatsu. Do you think you could handle some tea?”

“Really weak tea,” Choromatsu hurries to clarify. “You’re not supposed to drink anything too intense after throwing up.”

Karamatsu shuts his eyes in a desperate bid to avoid the worried, pleading faces of his brothers looking back at him. Just thinking about anything going into his body and sliding down his throat right now makes his stomach swirl viciously.

He feels Jyushimatsu hug him a little tighter, which doesn’t help matters. “Aww, please, Karamatsu-nii-san! You can drink some tea for your little brother, right? Riiiiight?”

A groan is what he gets in response, though the giggling suggests he isn’t too broken up about it.

His hair is brushed back, and stroked through a few times. “Well,” Osomatsu says softly, “how about for your big brother, then?”

After a moment of thought, Karamatsu lets out a whimper, leaning his head closer that way in an obvious attempt for more affection. “I… suppose I do only have one older brother, after all…”

He hears Choromatsu chuckle by the door. “Good, good. I’ll make some, then. We’ll try not to make you drink too much… and… I’ll call the doctor while I boil water for it. Hopefully they can fit you in. In the meantime, just, um… try to rest, alright?”

At the very least, he doesn’t have to tell Karamatsu twice. The second eldest relaxes, keeping his eyes shut. He hears Osomatsu quietly urge Jyushimatsu to switch positions, and he scoots himself up onto the couch. Somehow he manages to pull Karamatsu into his lap, letting his younger brother curl up against his stomach.

“Hey, there. It’s okay. Big brother’s gotcha, Kara.” A careful touch runs up and down Karamatsu’s back, bringing the slightest sense of relief. “Get some sleep.”

Then Osomatsu pauses, and with a laugh he adds, “Just… warn me if you’re gonna puke again, okay?”

[amajikilvr]

hi! can you write a bnha sickfic for me? the scenario i want is; tamaki is sick with a stomach bug and gets sick during class time. his anxiety is at it's peak from gettin sick, but mirio is there to help him through it. thank you, if that wasn't too much to ask!

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under the weather - tamaki amajiki

word count 1.1k

contains graphic depictions of illness and vomiting, anxiety, crying, panic attack, comfort

characters included tamaki amajiki and mirio togata

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Amajiki had unwisely dismissed the queasy feeling stewing heavily in his stomach.

It’d been there when he’d rolled out of bed, but he didn’t let himself think too deeply about it and its implications. His anxiety had given him an ultimately harmless upset stomach an infinite amount of times in the past and because of that, he figured this was nothing new or anything to worry about.

He knew he was wrong about that claim from the moment that the idea of eating his usual hefty breakfast made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Amajiki was someone who loved to eat and that paired well with the conditions of his quirk so he ate his food this morning as usual because it was his responsibility to do so.

His work-study, something he couldn’t even fathom doing with his gut constantly churning like this, was relying on his constantly varied diet and for him to show up after school…

Maybe it was nothing and his anxiety had just simply turned it into something. He had to believe that, had to believe it wasn’t sickness to blame.

He couldn’t be sick today. He couldn’t be sick, period.

Waiting for this first class to end is bad enough before his stomach suddenly gives a startling groan that’s both extremely audible and just as nauseating. Amajiki’s eyes go wide with embarrassment as he winces and waits for it to pass. Someone nearby had to have heard that over the teacher’s lecture.

The sounds don’t seem to be stopping any time soon either. The angry burbling noises continue mercilessly on as if the organ itself is yelling at him. He holds a shaky hand to his clammy forehead and tries his best to ignore the sudden pressure that’s building in his chest.

It starts with a loudish belch that Amajiki wasn’t prepared for, his ears fold over themselves and burn with intense shame when he receives several varying glances from the students around him. Some appear merely amused by his surprising outburst and some toss dirty looks his way.

There’s another. This burp is much queasier, wetter, and is stifled pathetically against the hand he slapped over his mouth after the first one. Something truly horrible burns his throat, insistent, and his stomach gives another drawn-out sickly gurgle.

An excess of saliva fills his mouth, rapidly pooling on the tongue that suddenly feels heavy, and he can taste the remnants of his breakfast with every single sour burp that leaks out of him. Reality hits him with a rush of despair.

He’s going to throw up.

The nausea is aggressively overwhelming, but Amajiki can manage to register that one thing he’d been denying, that one thing he’d been trying his best to push out of his mind this entire time. He still can’t get himself to move or do anything for that matter. He’s petrified, frozen in place at his desk.

He whines, low and fearful, before the first gag makes him jolt forward. His stomach clenches, bracing itself. The second one accomplishes nothing more than a final soggy belch and it’s the next violent retch that does it.

A torrent of thick vomit hits the hand that’s still over his mouth, a good portion of it spurting between his fingers and out from under his palm. It gushes down to his desk, half-digested chunks of his last meal splattering the front of his shirt.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh shit!”

“Ack!”

“Gross!”

The various surrounding cries of disgust are nothing more than faraway background noise as Amajiki sputters and coughs up more lumpy sick onto the tabletop. He lets out a wobbly sob when some of it squirts from his nose, burning like the abundance of tears stinging his eyes.

His head pounds like a drum and his stomach continues to ache even after expelling its ill contents. It’s an eternity of sitting there while trying to catch his breath and keep his cries subdued.

Nothing else seems to exist. It’s just him and his mess…

“Hey,” It’s Mirio. He clutches Amajiki’s trembling shoulder with a strong hand and doesn’t look nearly as repulsed as he should be. “It’s okay. Can you get up for me?”

“M’m really sick…” Amajiki mumbles, feeling dizzier by the second and head growing foggier in half of that time.

“I know, buddy.” He feels his shoulder being squeezed. His vision focuses somewhat, for better or worse. “Let’s get you out of here. Do you think you could walk if I helped you?”

Maybe it’s the pungent smell of his own vomit choking him or the stares from his classmates that pierce his skin like needles, but either way, Amajiki finds himself being led, practically dragged, by Mirio to the door.

They’ve nearly made it there when his stomach gives another urging twist and he whimpers as he swallows thickly. Amajiki tugs pressingly on Mirio’s shirt and he gets the message quickly, thankfully, pulling him over to the trash can at the front of the room.

Salty tears dribble down his flushed cheeks as he weakly spits up more liquidity puke on top of piles of pencil shavings and discarded papers. His shoulders shake forcefully from the effort of silently crying before Mirio places a palm on his back and moves his bangs away, effectively stilling some of the hysterical tremors running through him.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. Just let it all out, you’ll feel better, I promise. Keep breathing for me, Tamaki.”

Mirio’s soft comforting words guide him through the necessary actions that his body forces upon him. His stomach heaves for the last time, it’s beginning to really hurt from all of the throwing up, and soon he’s finished up and greeted by the fresh air of the hallway.

It’s a much appreciated change from the humid stench that had started to hang heavy in the classroom. He really does feel terrible about that and even worse for whoever’s tasked with cleaning the source. There’s one more emergency pitstop to the restroom on the way and they’ve made it to the nurse’s after what feels like a slow-moving century..

Now that he’s resting on a cot with a small bottle of Gatorade (and a clean shirt), his tummy still feeling upset and turbulent but somewhat calmed compared to before, Amajiki can’t help but let everything sink in and think about what really happened back there.

“Everyone saw me…” He mumbles miserably, rebirthed horror creeping in menacingly to join his lingering nausea. “Oh my god, it got everywhere… I don’t know why I didn’t move...”

“And? They’ll all forget about it by next week! Tomorrow even.” Mirio replies almost immediately from his nearby chair. So far, Recovery Girl hasn’t even questioned his presence.

“Messes can be cleaned!”

Amajiki voices his disagreement in the form of a single grunt and takes a very tentative sip of his drink. That acidic sick taste still remains in his mouth no matter how much he tries to rinse it out. His stomach grumbles a few times, almost passively.

“Aren’t you worried about catching this from me?” He says finally, disbelieving that he was actually lucky enough to have someone like Mirio with him through all of this.

“Maybe you just ate something bad.” Mirio retorts with an air of confidence that Amajiki can only dream of having. “Besides, best friends who share the flu together, stay together!”

“... You’re impossible.”

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[jimlingss]

Jungle Park [1]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 1.5 OR Chapter 2

➜ Words: 4.9k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

➜ Warnings: depiction of throwing up.

➜ Notes: oh shitttt, here’s finally Hoseok’s slice of life series. buckle up, folks. there’s an entire adventure waiting ahead.

Sometimes life can be so entirely mundane that you forget your surroundings. The routine falls into place, yesterday becoming today, tomorrow a reflection of all the other days until time blurs all together. Your body goes on autopilot, mind operating somewhere else as your skin and bones carry forth. And that’s how sometimes, you snap awake again and wonder:   How the hell did I get here?   Such a moment is now when you’re pulling up on the curb in front of a nightclub.   You scramble out the door before walking over to the two people standing in the street and greeting them. One girl is obviously wasted, mumbling incoherently and slumped over her more sober friend. The latter female grumbles in annoyance and thanks you when you help open the door, guiding her drunk friend inside.   “Where are you off to this evening?” you ask while closing your door, hands gripping on the steering wheel.   “Sixth street, please,” the sober one says in the backseat before she reaches over to her companion and tries to seat belt the girl in. But said girl only waves her off and instead leans over to where the front seat is. Her short blonde haircut brushes against her forehead, nearly pricking into her eyes that are blackened by smudged mascara. Her little black dress rides up unattractively and you realize her three inch high heels are held in her hands.   Every word is slurred and spoken slowly. “Wher’ ar’ we go...i..ng?”   “Home,” her friend answers. She appears a lot more put together than the other girl, sleek black hair behind her, deep blue dress complimenting her red lipstick. “Now can you please sit down so we can go, Choa?”   “No! Don’t wanna!” But the intoxicated female gets buckled in anyhow, despite her little temper tantrum. You offer a sympathetic smile to her friend before nodding and merging onto the street again. “Drive to his house! I wanna give him a piece of my mind!”   “No, you are not going to call him again. You won’t contact him. You most certainly will not go to his house. Come on! You’re better than this.”   “No, I’m not! I’m weak and I love him, Yura!” Choa wails out in sobs and the other girl sighs in exhaustion. “And that fucking bastard took my heart and ripped it into shreds! He cheated on me, can you believe that?!”   You realize she’s talking to you, so you nod, glancing in the rear-view mirror. “Sounds horrible…”   “Yeah! He cheated with my fucking mother!” She laughs hysterically, on the verge of violent sobs. “He’s a motherfucker!”   You raise your brows, finding it difficult to keep your eyes on the road when you’re brought to such speechlessness. “That’s...uh…that’s really unfortunate.”   “He was supposed to marry me!” She’s screaming in both spite and sadness. “I even picked out a wedding dress! It was a Vera Wang! And I lost the receipt! What am I supposed to do with it now?!”   She continues on her rant, spilling all her deepest darkest secrets to you, a stranger. “You know, I thought he was cheating on me with that bitch secretary of his. I know she tried to seduce him on a business trip once, but he told me he loved me and he wouldn’t want anyone else but me. And..and..and I trusted him! But lo and behold, I go back to my family’s house and what do I find?! He’s fucking sleeping with my mom! My mom! Out of all people!”   You swallow hard, moving your hands on the steering wheel, taking a left down the avenue. You don’t know what to say or how to console the girl. It sounds absolutely horrible and you empathize deeply, especially when she’s grieving in your backseat and her cries are bloodcurdling like she lost a child.   “I never liked him anyways,” Yura snaps. “You deserve better, Choa. Good riddance it’s over. He’s your ex now, so there’s no point in being hung up on him.”   “But that doesn’t change the fact that I love him!” She’s yelling and crying, and you snap out of your trance, flinching from her deafening wail. You accelerate a little more to get to the destination faster. “I still LOVE HIM!”   “You’re better off without him.”   “You don’t understand!” Choa sobs without stopping and then she looks at you again, catching your attention in the rear-view mirror. “Haven’t you had an ex that you still love?”   “Choa, leave the taxi lady alone. Sorry,” she says to you before turning towards her drunk friend. “She needs to concentrate on driving!”   This is definitely the most interesting part of your job. Your little career is nothing impressive. It’s dull and you don’t make much. It’s barely enough to scrape by when you’re living in the city. After paying the lease of the cab, the fuel and maintenance, you only get to keep the fare and tips which leads to about three hundred a night. But at least you get to hear people’s stories, happy or sad. You get to see all sorts of different people and their backgrounds, see where they’re going, get a glimpse into their lives. It’s interesting to say the least.   Your lips part, about to give the girl some advice. You want to tell her to talk to him and see if he’s serious about fixing things or see if it’s really over. She also needs some time to heal and think about things, see what she wants and what’s best for her. After all, she can’t move on with her life without some sort of closure.   The first step is to sober up after tonight….   But you don’t get the chance to say these things, not when she suddenly leans over with a groan and the next words that comes from her mouth has a cold shiver running down your spine. “I think I’m going to be sick.”   You whip yourself around, almost hurting your neck in the process. The thought of having to spend the rest of the night on your knees scrubbing polyester seats and cleaning after someone’s vomit makes your blood run to ice. “Is she going to throw up?!”   The stoplight turns green and you’re forced to look back and drive, going over the speed limit by a bit. Yura taps her friends back and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Um...no, she won’t.”   There are gagging sounds.   The girl is retching at the back of her throat. And then it splashes. The bean burrito and vodka shots from earlier regurgitates from her mouth and plunks down in chunks, slapping all over the floor and the backseat. She hurls and heaves, spewing out endlessly. When she’s done, she burps and the putrid stench fills your small taxi all at once, making you want to vomit.   “Sorry…”   This is it. This is the last straw.   You need another job.

“I can’t do this anymore!”   The woman paces around, high heels clicking softly against the carpet as she storms around, arms crossed, trying to walk off her rage. She’s wrinkling her blazer and stretching her dress pants, but the man doesn’t make any comments. He’s too busy rubbing his temples with his thumbs behind the desk, leaning back in his swivel chair. The room is heavy with tension.   “Sunyi, calm down.”   “No! I won’t! Jimin, this is unacceptable!” She stops at his desk, hands pressing on the clean surface. “He can’t just take a case from me when I’ve been working on it for months! They were my clients!”   “Then speak to Hoseok. I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”   “But he won’t listen. You are a partner of this firm. You are his partner. Can’t you talk to him about it? This isn’t the first time and I’m fed up. This is not what I signed up for.”   Jimin sighs, not knowing what to say. His job is already full of mediation, he would rather get rammed by a school bus than deal with workplace conflicts on top of it. Sensing his hesitation, Sunyi stands straight and scoffs. “Can you afford to lose me? I know plenty of other places that would love a lawyer like me.” The threat is loud and clear and he stares back at her with narrowed eyes, not appreciating her tone of voice. “Jimin….talk to him.”   “Fine.” A long exhale escapes his mouth and his body slumps. “I’ll see what I can do.”   The female nods and opens the door, but she lingers for a second. “And can you please talk to Yoongi?”   “What is it now?”   “His attire is disgusting,” she spits. “He wears open-toed sandals around the office and doesn’t cut his toenails and the last thing I want to see before my lunch break is his dirty feet fungus.”   She storms out of the office and Jimin stands up from his spot in exasperation, calling out to her, but no one hears his woes. “Sunyi, I’m a lawyer! I’m not supposed to be dealing with problems like this!”   //   It’s a relatively normal afternoon. People are tapping away at their keyboards, preoccupied with documents and files upon files. A few legal assistants are helping the others, running across the office floor, murmuring things. The photocopier whirrs to life, phones ringing once in a while. It’s the glorious sound of work.   Jimin decides to go for another coffee cup and he times it perfectly to run into his best friend.   “Hey, bud.” They stand in the kitchen at the counter, side-by-side, facing the white cabinets. “Everything going alright?”   Jimin looks at him with a soft smile and crinkled eyes. Even when he’s a professional and dressed cleanly like one, his brunette hair and cute face makes him look like a kind boy-next-door. It’s not such a bad thing. If anything, it’s advantageous to have such a natural disguise, making opponents underestimate his abilities.   On the contrary, his partner’s appearance is as frighteningly scary as his personality. He’s dressed sharply in a black blazer and dress pants, polished and neat. His black hair is styled well with a strand curled at his forehead, strong brows accentuating a sharp jawline. Jimin realizes why he’s the one who appears more approachable in the office. Hoseok is just way too intimidating.   “Fine,” he responds curtly and picks up on what’s going on with his sharp perception. “What is it, Park?”   “We need to talk, Hoseok.”   He nods and looks over his shoulder, stirring his coffee mug before taking a sip. “Do you want to go into my office?”   “No, we shouldn’t alarm the others,” he says and the other male will never understand why he’s so sensitive to such little things. There’s no one in the kitchen anyway. He doesn’t know why Jimin is speaking so quietly either. “But listen, I need you to do something for me and if you don’t, I’m going to lose my shit.”   Hoseok lifts a brow. “What is it?”   “Do you know what I’ve been doing these days? I’ve been doing the job of an HR representative. I’m dealing with issues in this office every single day, all the petty little problems and the stupid drama.”   He scoffs and then laughs, having thought there was something more serious at hand. “That’s because you have no backbone. Do you see anyone coming to me with their issues?”   “That’s exactly it,” Jimin emphasizes. “You are half of the problems around here.”   “Really now…” Hoseok’s curiosity is piqued. “And who is having problems with me?”   “No. We are not going to discipline them or scare them or use whatever tactic you’re thinking of right now. We need to address this the right way. There will be absolutely no intimidation tactics or sweeping under the rug or warnings. We need to keep the tropes happy, Hoseok. Everyone needs to function well for this office to function well.”   He motions him to go on. “So…?”   “We need to hire someone for HR.”   Hoseok laughs. He throws his head back and gets a good chuckle. Then as he shakes his head, he takes his mug and begins walking down the hall towards both their offices. Jimin follows behind him with a growing scowl. “We’re going to open an HR department for fifteen people?”   “This is a high conflict office and you know it,” Jimin reasons with him. “There are problems every other day here and I’m tired. I can’t focus on my real job. We need someone here to solve conflicts and to deal with all the issues that I don’t want to deal with.”   “No.” Hoseok keeps it short and simple. “We aren’t going to do that. It’s unnecessary. Do you realize we would need to clear out another office and pay them? It’s an unnecessary expense in our budget. And not to mention, it’s ridiculous. Have you ever heard of a firm this size having an HR department?”   “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve made myself clear. I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you.” The shorter man stops the taller one, both of them standing in the middle of the hallway and quietly bickering underneath their breaths. “Hoseok, what is the name of our firm?”   “Not this again, Jimin. If you have something—”   “Hoseok. Answer my question.”   He rolls his eyes, tired of the other’s childish antics and getting flashbacks to days in university. Yet, Hoseok gives in with a long sigh. “Jung and Park.”   “Exactly. We’re in a team. It’s me and you—”   “Actually, that’s incorrect.” He gives a shit-eating grin, marring his cold exterior with a playful twinkle in his eyes. “It’s supposed to be you and I.”   “Don’t be an ass.” Jimin pouts. “We’re hiring someone for HR. That’s final. It’s what we and everyone else here needs.”   “Fine.” Hoseok gives in once more and nods his head. “Just hire someone.”   “Oh my god!” Jimin suddenly shrieks and scares the living daylights out of his partner. “You don’t hear anything that comes out of my mouth, do you?! No wonder people have issues with you!”   “What?”   “Hiring is part of the HR job and I’m not doing that anymore!” He throws his hands up into the air. “You hire someone. I’m done!”   “What?” Hoseok is still confused. “You want me to hire someone?”   “Yes! Finally, the man hears!” Jimin laughs manically, causing Hoseok to ponder how many coffee cups he’s had. He ends up skipping away, happy that one out of the heaps of problems is solved for now.   And Hoseok is left by himself, sighing.   Who the hell is he supposed to hire?

You need a job.   After you force yourself to sync your sleeping schedule back to the general public, sleeping at night instead of day as you’ve been doing for the past year, you go on a job hunt. First, you revamp your résumé. When you’re satisfied, you flip open the local newspaper until you realize this isn’t the nineteenth century and no one uses the newspaper anymore.   It’s been a long time since you’ve had to search for a job. Needless to say, you’re a bit rusty. But you still hold a lot of hope as you scour online for job postings. You write down phone numbers, giving them calls to see if they’re still hiring, most of which apologize and tell you they already have someone.   It’s difficult since the economy isn’t doing great, but you don’t give up. Every opportunity of work, you jump at the chance, calling or emailing, even printing out physical copies to go drop it off...that is until you run into a certain post…   Human Resource Manager Jung and Park Full-time $40-60k Salary   It’s right up your alley. It ticks off everything you want and everything that you can do. When you click on it, you get the specifics of the company, the details of the position, responsibilities and requirements. You qualify perfectly and even the location of the firm is only a mere subway ride away. The pay is decent, enough for you to live, and it’s unlike the taxi business where some nights you go home empty handed.   There could not be a better opportunity. It’s miraculous, a chance that fell from the Heavens.   But….you can’t do it.   “Is there a reason why you want to work at McDonalds?” The shift manager looks at you expectantly, voice a bit on the quieter side, making it hard to hear.   “Well, I’ve eaten at this franchise a lot.” You swallow hard, trying to hide your shaking hands and conceal the nervousness. “I think it would be really interesting to be on the other side of the counter.”   “Hmm, that’s nice,” she replies sincerely and nods with a kind smile.   At this point, you’re looking anywhere, any place where you can make some fast money before you search for a real career position. If you’re on a search forever, you won’t have money to pay the upcoming bills. Your savings will only do so much before they diminish into nothing.   “Hello.” You look over the bakery case towards the manager who’s preoccupied with some cakes.   “Hi, can I help you?”   “Um, are you possibly hiring at the moment?” You hold the stack of résumé close to your chest, not yet giving up.   “Unfortunately, no.” They give an apologetic expression. “We’re not looking for anyone.”   You walk around stores on the street and in the malls, bakeries and coffee shops, clothing stores and fast food chains. It feels like when you were a teenager again, looking for a summer part-time job and coming up short every single time. All the interviews done in corporate offices never call you back or they take your résumé without even actually taking a glance at it. And maybe that’s a good thing. You have nothing impressive about yourself. You don’t deserve a fancy job in some high rise or at some luxurious establishment. You’re not cut out for that life.   It’s plain and simple.   They wouldn’t want you.   “Can you handle a stressful environment?”   “I’d like to say I can.” You hum before laughing. “I was a summer councilor back in the day and someone lit a cabin on fire once, so I think it’s suffice to say, I can handle myself during an intense environment.”   The old woman across from you laughs heartily. You could feel it — this interview was going well. You might actually get the job and the excitement was making your eagerness double.   “Last question,” she flips a page and then folds her hands on the table. The woman looks deep into your eyes and is quiet for a moment as if she is trying to truly see the person in front of her and not just a candidate for the job. “Don’t you think you’re overqualified for the position?”   You frown. “Overqualified?”   “I mean, your work experience is very versatile. Your educational background is fantastic. I am quite fond of your personality. You seem like a genuinely earnest and hard-working individual. But, why here?” Her eyes bore deep into yours. “This is an elementary school administration position. All you would be doing is answering phones all day.”   “Well...I...uh….if this is about the salary, I’m completely fine with what you’ve offered. And I like stability. I don’t have plans of looking for something else,” you’re stuttering, not knowing how to answer. “I like working with different people and I like kids too. I..just think I would do well here.”   She smiles softly, a very calming presence in the midst of your panic. “This isn’t about salary and I’m not questioning your loyalty. We’ve spent...what...an hour together? And I can tell you’re a kindhearted person, Y/N. I’ve lived to see enough people come and go. Heck, even before this interview, I had someone come in and the first thing they asked were about vacation days.”   This woman knows nothing about you. At most, she might be your future employer, but sometimes you wonder how people can know you after spending mere moments together. Is your face really that easy to read? Are you just too open about yourself?   But none of these questions matter when what she says hits you the hardest—   “I think you should aim higher.”   The posting still haunts you.   Human Resource Manager Jung and Park   And maybe that’s the reason why you haven’t been doing well in any interviews, except for a select few. Perhaps this is why no one has given you a call back despite your efforts to display your dedication. The posting follows you wherever you go, on the back of your mind, imprinted into your memory. Maybe this is what you really wanted from the start — not stupid jobs at fast food restaurants or running in the streets handing out your résumé or jobs that aren’t of interest.   Human Resource Manager   It’s a bad idea. It’s a really bad idea.   But with one eye open, you go in for the kill.

In the heart of the metropolis are soaring towers, corporate offices and companies, business and enterprises that you have no reason to represent or work for. The firm is large and full of glass, from the giant windows to the glass of the conference room. But despite the modern design, it’s gray. The walls are painted in a gray shade, spaces left empty, cubicles tall and covering people’s faces. There are boxes of files and paperwork stacked up along the halls. It seems like a tense environment and you can hear people hard at work, typing on keys, flipping through papers, sighing every so often.   You wonder if you look awkward and out of place. For the fifth time, you tug on your pencil skirt and smooth out your old blazer, afraid you look weird or tacky. Your grip on the briefcase tightens and you don’t even know why you brought the darn thing when there’s only a squished ham sandwich and more printed résumés inside.   You’re sitting straight in your seat, staring at the receptionist and waiting. When she looks up from her computer, you divert your eyes to the firm’s name overtop her desk on the wall. Jung and Park.   You can do this.   All you have to do is keep it professional.   The door to the left conference room finally opens, someone exiting and holding a file of folders.   Your heart stops right in your chest. Your breath hitches. Something stirs inside of you.   A tall man with dark hair, in a fitted suit, is standing right in front of you. His sun-kissed skin is glowing, high cheekbones, long nose, everything adding to his handsomeness. His mere presence commands your attention. Even when he’s frowning, there’s something about him that makes him so alive.   Hoseok takes one mere glance at you before looking down at his papers. “Y/N?”   You flinch when he calls your name and you stand up, swallowing down the thick lump in your throat, feet together, adjusting your skirt one last time. You can do this. “Yes?”   “You’re here for the interview?” he asks without looking at you, taking a peek at his watch and phone. When you confirm, he nods and pockets his mobile device before gesturing towards the empty conference room. “Come in.”   You’re shaking. Even when you’re trying your hardest not to tremble, hiding your hands in your lap, it’s useless. You can’t stop staring at him either. No matter what you do, you can’t tear your gaze away from his face. It’s too difficult. You want to be professional. You want this job. You don’t want to screw this entire thing up. But the things you want are things you could never have.   “You have a degree in…” He searches the paper in front of him. “Human Resource Management Honours. Wow.”   You mumble, “it’s just a commerce degree…”   “No, it’s exactly what we’re looking for.” Hoseok, on the other hand, has no problems with keeping it professional. He doesn’t notice your staring eyes either. If anything, he only casted cold glances and seems to be disinterested in the whole ordeal. “Do you have any previous HR experiences?”   “Yes. I worked as an HR representative for about a year before the small company shut down.”   The lawyer hums and studies your résumé like your entire existence can be summed up with words printed on the lines. “And your previous job?”   “I was an executive dispatch member for cab services.” It’s a slight lie, a truth exaggerated. It doesn’t sound impressive to say you drove a taxi around in your late twenties and your early thirties.   “And you quit because?”   “Differences in professional goals.” More like you spent three hours cleaning up after some drunk girl’s vomit and had enough.   “How did you hear about this position?”   “I saw a posting online.”   “Right.” It seems like he’s going down a checklist, firing question after question at you. The man never once looks at your face. He treats you rather coldly and you feel like your chances are slim. It’s just a feeling inside that tells you won’t get the job — which is understandable. “Why do you think we should hire you?”   “I...I have a good educational background. I’ve worked in many different areas, so my work experience is very versatile. I’m really hardworking as well.” You mentally thank the older lady from a few days ago who gave you ideas on what to say. “I’ve worked with a lot of different kinds of people before and I enjoy it. I think I would be a valuable asset to your team.”   Yet, Hoseok appears unfazed at your answer, as if he’s heard similar things from other applicants. “What do you consider to be your weakness?”   “I…” You’re having a hard time, palms sweaty, mouth dry. “...I think I have a pattern of underestimating myself. I’m a bit dependent on others too, but I’ve been working to improve myself on that…”   The man across the conference table scribbles something down on his paper, like he doesn’t enjoy the fact you have trouble being independent. “Then what are your strengths?”   “I’m dedicated and hardworking. When I do things, I have to do them right or I won’t be satisfied.” You clear your throat, getting a grip on yourself, reeling from your whiplash of being in his presence. “I’m resilient. I can get back up when I’ve been knocked down. I can survive and make it past hard times…”   “That’s good.” There’s a ghost of a smile gracing his features, warming his cold expression, and you’re trapped in a trance. But it’s interrupted when he suddenly moves back, closing the file. You’re surprised at how it’s over so quickly. “Well alright. I’ll give you a call then. Thank you for coming by, Miss Y/N.”   He stands and you follow after a delayed second, but before he opens the door, you interrupt— “Um...I..”   “Oh sorry.” He turns. “Did you have a question for me?”   “Hoseok, I….I really want to work here.” Your fists are clenched tight, your head is downcasted and you’re sure you look like a desperate mess begging for this job, but you have to take the leap. If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. “I understand if you won’t hire me, but will you at least take me into serious consideration?”   “I’m sorry?” There’s a pause. You look up at his confused expression and you frown, stumbling over your words. Hoseok finds the way you speak to him odd, as if you’re perfectly familiar with him. He interjects with his own question, “Do we know each other?”   “What?”   “I’m sorry. I got into a car accident about seven years ago. There are some things I can’t remember anymore.” He offers a small smile and you’re caught off guard. It came out of nowhere, so sudden, but he says it nonchalantly like it doesn’t affect him at all. Your frown deepens to the point where it hurts and you blink. You’ve been stunned to silence.   His brows are raised and he dips himself down, searching your face and he repeats himself in honest curiosity, “Did we possibly know each other?”   “Not really,” you answer. “We were acquaintances back in university, like twelve years ago. I thought you would remember me, that’s all.”   “I’m sorry.” His brows furrow. “I can’t seem to recall…”   “No, it’s alright.” You nod, returning his smile. “I’m sorry to have to make you talk about your accident.”   “No, I don’t mind.” Hoseok looks down at your application in his hand. Y/N. Your name brings no significance back into his mind, but he’ll make sure to remember from now on. “Well, if there isn’t anything else...”   “O-oh yeah, umm, okay.” You bow your head slightly as he opens the door. “Thank you for the interview.”   Hoseok lifts his arm with an open hand. You stare down at it for a second before clasping your palm with his, shaking his hand. The corner of his mouth lifts and he nods. “It’s not a problem.”   The both of you end up walking your separate ways. The man returns to his office with a stack of files in his arms. And you can’t help but turn around to stare at his broad backside becoming smaller in the distance. Well...either way, the two of you were strangers from the start. You’ve always been strangers to each other.   It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t remember.

[houseofcardsofficialrp-blog]

Prayer Burns - Ch 1 Execution

This was the end. Kenta trembled in place. He stood still among all his fellow classmates unsure of what fate that would befall him. All the actions he had committed led up to this moment. At the very least he got to make some heartfelt friends, get to know people who weren’t bad. The world he knew in Kyoto was so limited, the very bonds he had made here proved that he wasn’t as shallow as he had made himself out to be. But he threw it all away.

From the balcony, King turns to Queen for a moment, as if listening to her, though she doesn’t speak or even move. Then, turning to the stage once more, he gives the order to begin. Surprisingly shakily, Toki pulls a lever, and immediately afterwards, he turns away, nearly retching.

It was then a chain shot from the corner of the courtroom latching itself around the bellfounder’s body. His eyes widened in surprise, a force so strong that it ripped him away from Choko’s embrace. He stretched his arm out wanting to hold onto her one last time, but his arm limply fell to the side. As he was whisked away from the courtroom  he had a  smile on his face. A foolish, stupid smile that looked as if he was saying it’s okay.

[Execution of Kenta Kimura, the Ultimate Bellfounder: Prayer Burns]

A screen slowly descended from atop the courtroom filled with static. Slowly a picture started to pixelate and  familiar face became apparent. A view of Kenta’s face became known to everyone, his yellow eyes seemed to be the only thing separating himself from the eerie, dark background.

Nothing could prepare him for what was coming to him as his breathing grew quicker and quicker with each passing second. The boy ran straight down into the darkness, his breaths rapidly went from anxious inhales to full blown panting. A faint rumbling followed by a piercing chime. From side to side the path he was running down was he aligned with traditional shinto suzus. Three colors ran rampant along this path, gold, silver, and bronze. His eyes went into frenzy, pupils darting back and forth looking at each incoming bell that appeared out of thin air. The very things he adored and created for his community rang with discord. His hands shot towards his ears in an attempt to muffle the blaring chimes that surrounded him. 

Kenta’s head began to pound, a  small buzzing in his ear gnashed at his eardrums. Slowly blood began streaming down his earlobe, drenching his hands in the crimson color as he continued down the path with no disregard as to where he was heading. Everywhere he looked the bells seemed to get larger, and larger, each step made the sounds grew in intensity as they chimed in such a jarring fashion, a symphony of catastrophe unfolded before him. Suddenly the boy found himself going uphill as he ascended upwards, looking to the floor Kenta found himself going up a flight of a cobblestone steps. The bells that followed him stopped appearing as he turned around watching them disappear into the darkness behind him.

As his incline was came to a halt and the boy lied in front of a large red Torii gate. He bite his lip as he passed through the gate praying that this was a path towards safety. Kenta found himself in a courtyard of sorts as he looked in both directions for an exit, only a black abyss greeted the young boy.

With the sound of the bells gone  he looked at the palms of his hands. His face grimaced in horror as he it covered in blood.The only thing that separated him from the darkness that surrounded him were his tearful golden eyes as he began calling out into the void. However, he could only feel a throbbing hum pervade his head. As he looked around in the darkness he weakly mouthed, “HELLO. ANYONE.” The throbbing in his head grew larger like a hammer knocking against metal, he only felt the vibrations of his words. At that moment it dawned on him and he screamed, an agonizing piercing howl.

“I CAN’T HEAR! DAMMIT. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!”

He broke down crashing to the floor his knees cold on the barren floor before him. His eyes   ushering out a waterfall of tears as he the realization that he had become deaf came to be. His sobbing felt like small nails being driven into the wall as  the vibrations grew intense with each moaning cry of desperation. This had to be it , his had to be enough punishment, but clearly that would be a luxury for his heinous crime.

Suddenly a bright combustion amidst the darkness erected from the abyss.. Blinded momentarily by the illuminating glare he found himself surrounded. His face dawned a dark blue hue as he saw them, several animatronic priests surrounded him draped in the traditional traditional  Jôe  carrying a tamagushi.  He stayed still, unsure what they wanted to do. The reasonable answer was to run but, his hands and feet no longer could muster any strength. He was stuck like a crying deer sitting in front of the barrel of a hunter’s rifle.

“Repent and  make haste. Repent for your sin. Tainted, you’ve tainted the sanctity of your kin. Repent. Have you no shame? Shame upon you, look what has become of your actions. Kobayashi would be disappointed in you! Would you believe your talent, your gift absolve you of the guilt of murder? How would anyone look at Sakura-ji with the same pride with you tainting its history. HOW would anyone in Kyoto look at you as its Preserver?!”

[CW: Fire, Burning Flesh]

Kenta looked at them in confusion as blood dripped from his ears. The vibrations were sinister, a slow hum that grew in trepidation as their voices raised with every following line they had said. He reached his arms out to touch them, but the priests began wafting their tamagushi at the boy. When the liquid touched the boy he could feel his skin get hotter to the point that it had begun to smoke. Registering the stinging pain from the liquid being thrown onto him the boy shielded himself with his arms in a vain attempt to minimize the damage.His forearms started to blister and turn a molten red as the liquid ate away at his skin.

“Dammit, dammit. It hurts. It hurts, stop. STOP. Please!”

“Repent. Repent. Learn your lesson and be cleansed of all vile acts. Only through this will we accept you back! Penance is your only salvation. Accept, accept the deed you’ve done!”

Looking through the crevices of his fingers his golden eyes were  bloodshot, engulfed in a sanguine red hue. He couldn’t move, he was stuck trembling  in place, fearful of what of what was to come. He closed his eyes. This had to be a dream, a bad, horrible dream. 

Third degree burns scoured his arms as he sat in a fetal position watching all the priests around him toss the acidic formula onto him. The monks sound subsided and the only thing that he heard was the sound of his heart thrumming. It thrummed harder and harder with each splash of acid. Had his heart beat always been this fast?

He weakly threw his arms to the floor and tried to pull himself up from his fetal position. Thrusting his knees into the ground below he looked forward. But, his legs refused to move as he stared at the priests unaware of the ground’s changing color. 

“Burn!”

The ground beneath him turned a molten red and searing red flame burst forth from the earth.The flames luminous light pierced the darkness, a pillar of fire that looked beautiful in the dark.To die in a place like this, hopeless amidst a burning flame. Pathetic. As the flames dimmed the sound of a Bonshō signaled the priests departure. An echo so solemn, so sad, befitting the end of the bellfounder.

[Kenta Kimura, the Ultimate Bellfounder, Has Been Executed]

[fenfyre]

A Different Breed - Part XVIII

Part I    Part XVII

He lies there for a long time, retching and sobbing and shaking, until there’s nothing left for him to heave up and his tears have run dry. Lance sits up slowly, head pounding and body shaking. He pointedly does not look back at Keith as he pushes himself to his knees and his hands come up to cradle his head between both palms. Sniffling pitifully he tries to open a connection. “Sh-shiro?”, he stutters, voice dry and cracking over the syllables. No answer, just faint static hissing into his left ear. The speaker on the right must have failed sometime during the fight. “Shiro … are you…” His throat closes up and Lance coughs, spits out. Tries again. “Shiro? Coran?” When there’s still no answer he closes the link and tries to reopen it with hasty, trembling fingers. “Allura? Any … anyone…?” There still doesn’t seem to be a connection to the castle so he tries to ping the yellow lion, then the green one. But neither Hunk nor Pidge answer him. “Fuck…”, he curses weakly, hoping that the problem is a broken communicator on his part and that nothing horrible happened on their end. After a few, flighty heartbeats of trying to shove down the panic that’s still simmering just under his skin Lance makes it to his feet, unsteady but standing. He still doesn’t look at Keith when he heads back towards the treeline. The world is spinning around him, gloomy lighting of the forest not helping his dizziness in the least as he stumbles through the underbrush. His toes catch on roots and more than once he almost falls over branches lying across his path but Lance presses on, mind still reeling and holding on for dear life to what he needs to do next. One step at a time. No matter how close he is to breaking down and losing the rest of his sanity. He needs to reach out to the others, needs them to get him off this moon as soon as possible. And if his com is broken he needs to go back and find Keith’s. Not like his teammate will need it any longer. The thought burns like dry ice in his mind, makes him wheeze a hysterical laugh that’s carrying a splitting headache in its wake. He lost so much blood already. It’s still seeping out of the wounds Keith has ripped into him, dripping down his face and gushing out of his neck where he presses a trembling hand to try and staunch the bleeding. It doesn’t help much but he doesn’t have a choice, can’t access the first aid kit stored inside the red lion. If she hadn’t opened up for him before she sure as hell won’t now. Not after watching him… A sniffle escapes Lance, vision blurring with more than fatigue as the tears start to well up again. Shit. He can’t break down yet, angrily rubs at his eyes with his free hand. Not yet. Not as long as he’s still on this cursed moon. Not as long as his team doesn’t know what happened here. Until then he has to hold on to clarity even if it is by the skin of his teeth. Lance swallows around the lump in his throat and presses on. He almost reached the second factory building, only has a little further to go, a little longer to press on, when the static in his left ear picks back up. It’s faint at first but quickly grows louder, more irritating, and Lance is so close to yanking his helmet off when he hears it. A voice between the shrill white noise, distorted but definitely calling out for him. “-ance! Lance! Can ... hear me?” “Shiro?”, he calls back, a breathy sob escaping him as he stumbles to a halt, free hand coming up to press against the side of his helmet. Trying desperately to make out more of the voice. “Shiro, that you?” “Yes … -e … your stat-?” “Fuck, Keith, he’s…” Lance tries to say it, really does. But his throat closes up around the horrible truth and so he just screws his eyes shut and grits his teeth through the pain throbbing in his chest. “I n-need … I need an extraction. You hear me? Get me out of here!” “We … our wa- … be ... -oon. Keep … -ance. Yes? ... -n you…” “Shiro? You’re … you’re breaking up, I can’t…” He better have said they were on their way or Lance would end up losing his damn mind after all. The connection is dissolving further, the snippets of Shiro’s voice becoming more quiet, melting into the background hiss of the busted com. But shortly before he’s gone completely Lance swears he can hear a broken up string of sounds that makes his blood run cold. “-eith … movi-” No. No, no, no. That can’t be. Lance shot Keith. He shot him straight through the chest. Twice. Nobody should get back on their feet after that, it’s impossible. But then again … Lance has seen far stranger things happen today. Who knew how deep the changes Keith had undergone really were? Maybe he could regenerate his heart. Maybe he didn’t even have a heart anymore. Breaking himself out of his stupor Lance extends his hand, turns his wrist. He’s still shaking when he opens the map. The projection flickers to life, as unstable as Lance feels, fuzzy around the edges and proportions slightly distorted. But it’s still enough for Lance to compare his own blue dot to the red one representing Keith. It’s still enough to make out that the red dot is closing in on him. Again. Shit. On instinct alone Lance reaches for his bayard but his fingers close around thin air. Right. He left the rifle on the clearing, next to Keith’s supposed corpse. What a brilliant and tactically sound decision. Lance would curse himself more if his world wasn’t tilting dangerously at the moment. Instead he pulls himself back together, forces his frantic, dissolving thoughts to work with him. Just a bit longer. Just until help arrives or he dies a horrible, bloody death by his own boyfriend’s hand. Lance whimpers and presses on, limping forward. He knows very well that he can’t run and even if he could, there’s nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide. He’s trapped here without his lion or so much as a weapon, bleeding profusely and a deadly predator on his heels. Prospects are … suboptimal. He’s so close to just falling to his knees and waiting for fate to catch up to him when he sees the charred concrete walls of the second ruin. An idea comes to life, a plan falling together in his mind. It’s a desperate attempt at best but anything is better than waiting for death. And so Lance keeps limping.

Part XIX

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[idxhaneul]

Bathroom.

prompt: detail the shittiest moment of your career warning: mentions of verbal abuse and like... throwing up.

Min Haneul was not a quitter. He was called pessimistic a lot, but that was irrelevant. He just liked to see the truth for what it was. In their line of work, one couldn’t expect to get anywhere if they were constantly stuffed full of empty praise and false expectations. You had to recognize exactly where you stood, all your flaws, how to market yourself... if you wanted to succeed. So all the harsh words, he liked to think of them as the driving force behind his improvement. Min Haneul was not a quitter. He was ambitious, hardworking, and talented. Or that’s what he told himself. Sometimes, just sometimes, he was so, so tired.  

It wasn’t even anything hugely devastating. He’d just been scrolling through comments on social media as usual, wanting to check on the reactions to their latest comeback. It was a bad habit, but everyone did it. After all, it was impossible to /not/ want to know what people thought about them, no? In the end, everyone more or less stood on stage because they enjoyed the fans and the fame. That tiny bit of vanity made them curious. Or, if you were like Haneul, then it was out of morbid curiosity. Something like... 'how bad did he do this time?' Or maybe, 'the sun rose from the west and people thought he did well?' He had thought that just reading it wouldn't hurt. After all, no matter how bad it got, in the end they were just words from an anonymous figure on the internet. It was fine.

Until it wasn't. Haneul locked himself in the washroom at three in the morning, eyes blurry after staying awake for what... it had to be more than 24 hours already. He tried to sleep, of course he tried. But ever time the bassist so much so as closed his eyes for a second, words began to flash by. All those comments, calling him disgusting and useless and that he should just leave the band or go die somewhere or worse- The white background of sns sites were too bright, noise drowning out the quite dark that was slumber. They wouldn't even let him rest and it was- terrible. He threw up. Retched emptily into the toilet bowl, the overly bright washroom lights stabbing into his mind like knives. It felt a little like his body was trying to cry, but there was so little substance in his body that after depleting it of whatever fluids it had left there was, and it sounded ludicrous but true, nothing left for him to cry out.

He didn't understand. Didn't understand what was the straw that broke the camel's back, didn't understand why he was so upset over some words, didn't understand why they- people could throw such horrible, horrible sayings about other people, about him. He was trying so hard, he'd probably never even met them and still... Haneul's body eventually stopped convulsing, the dry sobs by now just a quiet buzzing in his ears. He knew he was probably the epitome of pathetic right now- a thin body slumped against the wall of a tiny, slightly run down bathroom. Everyone was probably still sleeping. He didn't know if they'd heard him, he didn't want them to have heard. This was his fault... his problems... his pride demanded that he deal with it alone. He couldn't... let anyone else see him like this. Perhaps if he stayed awake for long enough, his body would finally shut down and faint. That would honestly be better than leaving him alone to his thoughts right now.