#i physically can’t work those hours. i’m going to show it to my manager when i see her tomorrow and be like ‘hey chief is this a joke | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tornoleander · 1 year ago

Note

Alright yes trauma and trauma in the bbnb and none of us will ever recover from that (help) But can we speak of the sweet moments? The comfort in between? The kinda break? I kinda wanna know your point of view on the lighthouse moment (or the other comfort scenes we got with this fic (like the Cole moments))

YES THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!

SO Much to say! I could write a whole essay about this (one day just for my favorite dead canary hater though she might want to read this)

But Holy hell the sweet moments are the root of my obsession. The contrast between them and the Horrors is an indescribable feeling.

I have to be SUPER cautious when talking about what I love about this fic because I don’t want people to get the wrong Idea It’s the most traumatic awful thing you’ll read and it’ll stick with you like a sick lingering feeling. (Even just finding these moments my heart aches at the surrounding events)

Having said that here’s my excessive response gushing about almost every single light in the dark moment.

Cw: Implied SA, Discussion of Rape, Mild gore, and depiction of bite marks

(Chapter 4)

Starting with this because his lighting powers were how he physically and helped him somewhat emotionally survived.

Jay’s eyes shot open and he breathed hard. This had been so complicated! But he managed to do it! Him! Jay Walker managed to reconnect his members by using his elemental power. Like a pro. He chuckled as tears rolled down his cheeks. Too easy. He raised both his arms this time, checking if he could bend them both properly. They seemed to be working; he could turn them as well, and his fingers were still responding correctly.

This was an hour after the second traumatic encounter. It’s such a rare moment of pride in his own strength. His limb’s physicality could not even function but Jay found a way to use his power like nerves to contact his muscles.

He is so unbelievably strong in an impossible situation and I’m a sucker for how Hat writes his lightning ability.

Clancee Stargazing

Clancee searched, curious, but then pouted “…I can’t see it…” Right. How did his parents teach those again? Oh! He remembered. “Focus on the biggest of them right now, can you see it?” He nodded, and the ninja kept going “It’s surrounded by three others, not as big, but close to it. Doesn’t it look like a pan to you?” The serpentine’s eyes were focused, then widened as he got it “Oh yeah! I-I see it n-now!” And Jay chuckled at the sight of wonders that was on the other’s face.

A pretty scene I’ve drawn this one. Just a small moment of joy in a horrific situation. Clancee while being a coward (will only help Jay by giving him eyepatches), does respect and sympathizes for him.

One of my favorites is the Skeleton

“How be yer bones kid?”

Jay raised his eyebrows “Uh… what do you mean?”

A crackle “I am no fool. I know broken bones when I see some.” He brought a hand to show his own ribs, cracked in some parts, then pointed at Jay. “Ye look like a pile of shit.”

The ninja chuckled “Well, at least I’m not dead yet, right?”

The bones brandished its sword “damn right!” and then, went back to look at the stars.

After some silence, that at least didn’t appear too uncomfortable, Jay cleared his throat, avoiding the previous question. “So uhm… what are you anyway?”

“Ain’t that easy to guess?” he seemed… amused? As much as someone without anything but its jaw moving could get.

Jay shook his head “No, I mean… you kinda speak like a pirate, but… I don’t know, you don’t give the impression of being one.”

“Are ya tellin I be too smart for bein a pirate, my boy?”

Well, Jay knew irony when he heard it, so he smiled as he answered “Maybe.”

I absolutely love this, the skeleton shows Jay kindness. The way he starts by joking, offering Jay positive intention. He later slanders Nadakhan, both are things ment to make Jay feel comfortable.

The end convo is tragic.

“I be aware of what the djinn is doing to ye. So hear me; use this to stab him in his heart when he’s distracted, I don’t need to go into details, do I?” he blushed and shook his head no, fighting tears and dread invading him as he realized that, yep, there was this probability that Nadakhan would rape him again. As much as he would fight back.

Yikes man, that hurts. The skeleton just does all he can do, he gives Jay hope and a weapon.

(Ch 5)

There’s not much comfort in chapter 5, but this is when Jay stabs, Nadakhan in the throat with the bone a moment of strength and confidence, though it’s riped away very quickly and Violently.

We also get to see Jay use his power to resist the vengestone burning anyone who touched it. Very cool love how he freaks everyone out. BUT OH god the horrors after FUCK.

(Ch 6)

The Scene with the First spinjizu master is beautifully done. The picture it paints is so perfect (drawing it next)

It keeps the other worldly feel of him offers so much strength. Gives Jay the option to die but the strength to keep going. It’s not Jay’s fault.

“Tell me Jay, have you ever seen lightning break?”

He shook his head. He looked above, feeling the electrified air rubbing on his skin, giving him pleasant goosebumps. On his back, he felt the sap of the tree speeding up, the grass almost bristling, pointing to him. The sky was clear though. Still blue, with golden rays starting to peer through it.

“Lightning… is never deviated from its course. Striking once, not missing its target.” He looked back at the man, bittersweet. “But I can’t do that; my lightning is slower and weaker then a raw one.”

The man’s smile grew bigger.

“For now”

He felt the strike of the bolt as it went for the tree, shocking Jay with its force.

Jay sparks a lightning storm under vengestone.

(Ch6/7 COLE OMG COLE)

Losing my shit for every scene he’s in SObBINIG over how much I love him. I reread all Cole parts an embarrassing amount. Ugh the concerned, he feels rescuing Jay. How he’s so observant and empathetic. THE COMFORT scene when he gets Jay to open up.

…No. He still was a ninja. He- he still was worth something. He could feel some warmth in the back of his mind, pushing him toward the earth ninja. And it wasn’t the first time he could feel it. It was a good feeling, almost akin to hope.

The trembling voice of his friend brought him back to reality. “…T-the first time?”

Jay’s eye widened. Oh. Right. More salty water escaped his eye “I- I- I couldn’t do anything about it. But I feel like I should’ve fought more! It’s just-!” he groaned as he tried to explain. It was hard. “Every time, he would offer me these kind of- ‘options’. But it didn’t matter what I choose, he would still- It would end the same-” he hiccuped, and tried to get more air so he could speak. Looking at Cole, he saw that he had his lips shut tight, eyes still black with tears. So many black traces on his face, reminding him of Morro’s own.

Fuck. He had forgotten how emphatic the earth ninja could be sometimes. He had not expected this reaction at all. He’d think that he would’ve pitied him, maybe even think that this would be enough for him to be repulsed by Jay. But no, he could still feel the arms around him. Firm.

I’m not not crying after the 100 time reading this fuck you I can sob my eyes out all I want.

“It’s not your fucking fault Jay, please.” He looked back at Cole. He seemed so sad. And a little mad. He swore he could something bright burning in his eyes. Warmth was now all Jay could feel around his wrists, but he didn’t think too much of it.

He just placed his head back on Cole’s chest, disappointed in himself. But still happy he’d been able to get most of it out. It did feel good. He was glad to be with him.

“…Can you hold me again?”

Cole nodded and immediately embraced his friends in his arms. It wasn’t feeling cold anymore, and Jay was just so tired. This temperature was very different than Nadakhan’s, and it was all that mattered.

For once, he could fall asleep, feeling at ease.

He’s what Jay needs right now. He wants so badly to take Jays pain away but there’s nothing more he can do than be there.

Love the way hat added his lava arms very warm and protecting. AND amazing for punching that motherfucker in the face later.

(CH 8)

Thank you Nya for bringing him to the hospital. Jesus Christ I have a scar reference and Jay has been left in a blender.

I Love the nurse. I’m usually not big on OCs but Ava gets a pass. The interaction feels realistic, I love her sense of humor and story. Judging for going through medical school and then settling on becoming a therapist later in sheesh that’s a big pay and with medical debt!?! cut, but other than that. But Jay needs a therapist right now. Leaving a lot of her speech in because what she says is incredibly important. To the fic and real life.

“What do you say to your patients that have… uhm…”

She bandaged his hand while he struggled with his words. He could feel tears rising again, which was getting annoying at this point. He used his free hand to get rid of them, as she finished bandaging the damaged one. He didn’t know why he couldn’t name what happened. Why was he so stubborn on not being able to even say what happened.

His voice felt small. “…That got- got raped?”

He felt her grip tighten around him. She had been about to put a bandage around his right arm, where it had been sewed, but stopped. She breathed heavily, before moving the basin on the floor so she could seat, to handle what had just been said to her.

“FSM. I wanted to be wrong on this one.” She sighed and grabbed the same cream she had used on his ankle, rolling the seat up so she could be near his shoulders. She squeezed some ointment out and applied it on his shoulder. Harshly. As if wanting to keep Jay here, to make sure he wouldn’t let his mind wander in more memories.

“The first thing I’d say to them, is that none of it was their fault. From the moment there was no consent, then it’s not them they have to blame. It’s the one that did that shit to them. There’s not a lot you can do when you’re feeling danger everywhere around you. Some people freeze, or even go along what’s happening in order to have it be over as soon as possible.”

Jay frowned, swallowing thick. “And what if they begged for it at some point?”

She clicked her tongue. “Wanting pleasure, being lost in lust, as some would say, has nothing to do with consent. It can feel good even if you don’t want it. And that’s the only thing you have to remember. You did not want it.” he tried to speak, but she cut him. “Sometimes, no one has control over their brain, on how it reacts to things. It’s complicated to explain, but it’s quite easy for someone that knows how, to muddle with their target’s mind.” She gritted her teeth, and went to wash her hands when she was done with his shoulder. She came back to disinfect the multiple cuts she had found, precise. “It can be through drugs, touch-starving. I’ve heard things about-” she cut herself, gnawing at her lip. She was hesitant on sharing what she’d heard during her time helping people getting rid of their trauma. But Jay wasn’t having it.

“About what?” he sounded impatient. Or maybe afraid. He wasn’t sure.

“About… well, it’s fucked up, but making sure the person can do nothing but take it. And somehow make sure that the body can only feel that.” she looked at Jay, for a brief moment, but saw how he inhaled at the shared info. She sighed. “But at the end, it never is your fault. No consent or choice? Then no blame to take. That’s it.”

“… and how do I forget about it?”

She sat back on the stool, not able to stand with the conversation they were having. “You can’t really. At least, not in such a short time.” She tapped her fingers on the small table as she started to write down what she had seen. “I don’t want to lie to you. You’ll never forget about this. And your body won’t either.” she looked at Jay “But this doesn’t mean you’re weak, or anything like that. I hope you’re aware of this. Going through it and still standing?” she pointed her long fingers at him “That’s some damn strength I’ve rarely seen before.

“You gotta keep using that strength. And to do that, you have to accept what happened.” She got some bandage that sounded like tape, placing it on the largest cuts on his chest. Starting with the ones Nadakhan did, since they were the deepest. “You have to stop keeping that in, stop ignoring it, and accept the fact that, damn it Jay, you’re still breathing and alive. And sure, you were a victim. But, again, this doesn’t mean you weren’t strong, or that you should blame yourself for not fighting back more. But whether you like it or not, you did fight back. And I know, deep down, you know you are not responsible for any of this.” she groaned when she noticed a cut she had missed on his side, taking some kind of needle near her to get rid of the pus there. “You were not given a choice. And you should not feel ashamed that this happened. You have the right to be angry, mad, at this, or to not react to most things anymore.” She tapped the rest of his large cuts, and came back with a soaked cloth of alcohol, passing on them.

“None of it Jay, was your fault.”

He had let some tears go without realizing, breathing shakily. Her hand held to his arm and squeezed there, bringing some kind of comfort. He caught her wrist with his free hand and squeezed back. He breathed, just like he needed to, and tried to not cry more.

“Cry you have to. It feels good to do that y’know? Look at me, almost forty, and you saw me crying like a baby. Have the head of one too.” He couldn’t help the light chuckle. He brought a hand up to get rid of the tears on his cheek. “Fuck.”

This is key it establishes good core Morality in this fic.

Something that’s so sooo hard to talk about and almost never written right.

Actions and physical pleasure while being raped.

Jay in this fic struggles with this throughout the entire fic. HE blames himself hard. It’s the most common way to react for those with that trauma.

Difficult to understate how much pleasure fucks with your brain. I HATE when it’s used to justify atrocities. Real life and fictional. I was scared that’s what Bbnb would be but it never does that. Forced sexual pleasure can be the most potent vile emotionally physically psychologically traumatic shit there is. And Writing_Hat knows this.

(Ch 9)

Nya Light house :)

He wondered how she would open anything with those, since it wasn’t a padlock.

She raised her arm, and smashed the knob repeatedly, until it broke. If she had broken much more then the door, they didn’t say anything about it.

He smiled, amused. “Yeah, I guess that works too.”

Nya sighed heavily, looking to the side. She shrugged. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.” He gave her a smirk. “We’re tired. I can understand frustration at the slightest inconvenience.”

She scratched the back of her head, and snorted. “Yeah.”

In this moment, he could see Nya, the woman he’d fallen in love with. The one that made mistakes, but couldn’t admit they were ones, like him. That didn’t like relying on anyone, not even Jay, when they used to date. Not even her brother. The woman that had built an entire mech with pure frustration, of being left behind, of not being able to help when she knew she could. That loved machines and fixing stuff as much as him.

Nya *bashes in door

Jay: Omg I’m so in love with her

Can’t help but laugh every time I read through this scene.

“Do you think seagulls eggs are edible?”

Lmao this conversation

Ugh and Nya written so real, she expect Jay to be transparent with her like he’s always been and believes that he is fine when he tells her.

He placed his forehead on the wood as soon as the door stopped getting pushed. “I can’t do this anymore. Fucking Master, I can’t do any of this anymore. So please-” He took a shuddering breath, trying to focus his blurry vision. He felt something getting on the wood on the other side, and wondered if she had her forehead there as well. It only made him want to sob harder. “Please, don’t remind me of how weak I am.”

He had whispered that, but the sob that reached his ears made him aware she heard him.

He cried. He cried, and let himself sliding along the wooden door, to be on his knees. He didn’t think he’d be able to stand up after this. He placed both hands on the door, not bothering to hold the handle anymore.

“I’m so sorry Nya.” He breathed, speaking through his tears. “Please, just please. Don’t ask questions. I’m begging you.”

He heard a sniffle from behind, before an exhale echoed in the other room. “I won’t. I swear. Just… just let me help you take care of those.” She cleared her throat. “You did so fucking good so far, I swear, but stop pretending you can take care of those on your own. At least, let me help you with the physical pain.”

Jay closed his eye. He waited, but he still didn’t hear her getting away. He sighed, getting rid of the last tears on his cheek, before getting back up on shaky legs. He turned the lock, slowly, but didn’t touch anything further. He walked away from the door, making sure to be facing it.

Nya waited a little, before opening the door, slowly, peaking her head inside. She had red and puffy eyes, her face still fresh from tears.

“…Jay?”

He raised a hand “Just.” He turned to the bed, sitting on it with a big sigh. “Let’s just get this over with. Please.”

He won’t take care of himself >:( Hat said Nya has trauma from Kai never actually taken care of himself or opening up till crisis growing, so she’s pushy.

Arms surrounded him. Strong, but not as large as the djinn’s. Holding him with force, but not too tight. Just what he felt he needed. The person was red, illuminated by in a blue light by his powers as lightning shot everywhere to attack those that dared getting close to him.

But she could stay. Her embrace was burning, at first, like a brand. So he tried to push her off, as much as he pulled on her clothing to have her close. He didn’t want to be left alone again. Not with Nadakhan, at least. He didn’t want to face any of this twisted evil on his own. The vines that were strangling his heart to pump his blood faster diminished their strength, so he could breath correctly as she hugged him.

Finally, he hugged back. His nails clinging at her back. He didn’t understand it, but his powers were still coming out of him. He didn’t understand that it meant she could be getting hurt too. But she seemed so patient. The thought that she could be in pain didn’t even brush him.

He just needed her.

The blue lights all over soon diminished, and the heartbeat in his ears slowed. He still could only hear that, until he could hear someone breathing. It was low, and focused, so he based his own lungs on that rhythm. It felt good, like water lulling him. Soon, he wasn’t drowning anymore. He was floating, because the water had decided to help him out of the depths.

Comforttttt Nya gets lightning scars tooo. The wording here makes me happy water symbolism it’s so ugghhh!

(Spoilers ch 10)

HAt said screw canon, they kiss!!! And I’m all here for it.

Time stopped for Jay.

It felt eternal, in that moment, to have her lips on his, correcting some of the fears from in his brain. This, was a kiss. Not like anything the djinn had stolen from him in a horrible way. She was so nice, and careful in this. Almost moving naturally.

The surprise made him gasp, small sparkles escaping his lips. But she didn’t back away; in fact, it was almost as if it made her want to deepen the kiss, sighing at the feeling of Jay’s lightning on her lips.

But he hadn’t been able to kiss back, nor enjoy it properly, before she pushed him back through the portal.

Jay’s interaction with his parents breaks my heart.

“Mom! Oh Master, Mom! It’s really you!” She gasped at the sudden hug, her bones and joints not really used anymore at surprising movements or anything like that. But she took it, for Jay. She hugged back, her hands pushing on the between of his shoulder-blades, to feel him through the tissues. But it wasn’t the only barrier. There were bandages here, too. She frowned, but kept a firm embrace, wanting to focus on the fact that he was here.

“Yes Jay! It’s me!” And she couldn’t really fight the way her voice wavered, not enjoying the emotions that strangled her. “You’re home.”

“H- Home?” He pulled away, looking around and panting, as if out of breath.

“H- Huh. I didn’t…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but frowned as he looked around, perhaps suddenly realizing that he was, indeed, home. She didn’t ask anything, and grabbed his face between her hands, to get him to look at her.

“Oh Jay. What happened?”

He breathed. “I just… I- can you hold me? Please?”

She nodded, and sat on the bed, to hold him properly. He threw himself on her, trying to keep air flowing in and out despite his unstoppable sobbing. She passed her hand back and forth on his back, thinking of nothing in particular. She couldn’t, or she’d lost herself in despair.

And if she did, she would cry with him, and wouldn’t restrain herself to ask questions, and figure out what had happened to her baby. Why was he hurt? Who did this to him? What happened to his eye? Did he come back from another fight?!

Oh, sometimes she wondered why he hadn’t just stayed their little boy, chasing his dreams in the big city as the most creative inventor. But Ed and her could never go against this dream of his. They could only stay in the back, and encourage him as he became, well, a hero.

The price was too big, she saw it every time he came home, with marks from his fights, or when he had to turn down one of their invitation to get to work. He usually came back with a big grin, proud of himself with new tales to ramble about, or complain of the simplest things. But it had never had this kind of consequences.

Something horrible happened to him. And she hated the idea that she hadn’t been there for him.

MAN

A little moment I like personally, and I drew is when Jay summoned his Dragon.

“Jay laughed. He had done it! He had summoned his dragon! The wind slapping his face and messing with his hair had never felt so good! He sighed, enjoying the fresh air above the desert, wanting to throw his fists in the air and scream at the top of his lungs. So he did! This stretched on his muscles, hurting, but not enough to stop his insane happiness, taking over. He screamed, glad no one was around to witness this madness.

Frankly, he didn’t think he’d care about that.”

(This was the second thing I drew in the scars are not accurate)

He blinked, looking at the concerned face of Cole. His friend gave him a bright smile upon seeing he had woken up. “Hey zap-mouth.”

Jay groaned, not able to stop the small smile on his lips. “Hi boulder brain- ugh.” He still felt heavy- perhaps side effects from being stuck in that blade, and had to accept the hand that was offered to him to get back up.

The cold hand was a welcomed feeling. He looked at it, then the arm, and then Cole.

I… I did it. He looked around, seeing his friends, all watching him expectantly. He swallowed hard, tears building up as he realized he truly had managed to get everyone out of the blade. Holy shit.

He noticed the cabin was now in shambles, but couldn’t think of it too much, when a hand came on his shoulder. He looked up, to see his Sensei, nodding to him.

Strong red arms pulled him into a hug, wheezing air out of him. “Jay you did it!”

He cracked a smile, and chuckled, tears falling down. “I… It’s great to see you guys!-” The grip around his arms tightened, forcing a cry to get past his lips. Kai placed him back down, apologizing, and dusting off his arms- only making things worst, but Jay wasn’t about to tell him.

COLE COLE AND other I love them I Need Them. JAy did it!!

(Ch 11)

A strong hand on his shoulder. He looked behind, seeing Cole with worried features.

“Jay, wait.”

He pinched his lips. He knew the question that was going to fall on him, but kept looking at his friend anyway. “How…” He swallowed thick. How was he supposed to ask this?

“How are you holding up?”

Jay gnawed his lip, his mind spacing out quickly as he thought of all the answers he could give- answers that would make him fall on his knees, body weakening if he ever stopped the adrenaline, to really take in all that had happened. A pain flashed through his spine, and he had to hold back both tongue and tears to not crumble in the hands of his best friend.

So, he shrugged. “I’m fine, I guess.” Lie. Lie lie lie lie- and Cole knew it. “I just… I’ll feel better when we get rid of Nadakhan.”

The ghost frowned, lower lip trembling as he restrained the shaking of his body. He wanted- he wanted to do something, anything. Hold the blue ninja in his arms, maybe? So he tried, but Jay took a step back, and it was like a spear, got through his heart. But he couldn’t force his friend to come to him, he had- to respect whatever was happening to him.

“Cole, can you… can you not say anything to the others?”

It broke him from his thoughts. What? “I just… don’t tell them what happened. Please. I- I can’t-” he gasped, and cleared his throat. “I can’t keep going if the others know. Please.”

Cole nodded, but Jay shook his head. “No, I want you to promise me with words. Here, and now.”

What am I supposed to do? If he even tried to share that with someone-who could he even say that to? Jay didn’t want anyone to know, and this was his choice. As… heartbreaking as it was.

As difficult as it would be for Cole.

Especially when he wanted Jay anywhere but near the djinn. But they needed him, and his guidance, since he was the only one that had spent that much time with- fuck, he hated thinking of that. And, with the lightning ninja wanting nothing more then what had happened to be kept as a secret, telling everyone that he did not want to see Jay part of this mission could only raise suspicions.

Fuck. Fuck, I hate this. But after everything, they could talk about it, he hoped.

“I…” He couldn’t go against that one wish. “I promise, Jay.”

COLE AGh MAN fuck my feelings every time you open your mouth.

He then looked back to his friends, seeing Cole trying to come back to him and Nya. Which, Jay knew he could’ve managed, with how weak Dogshank was becoming each second, soon without enough force to keep him from coming back in the room.

But Jay shook his head. It froze Cole on spot.

He could almost hear the panicked interrogation in his head, and it made him crack a smile. Such a boulder brain.

He looked at his best friend, silent tears falling as he made him understand that he couldn’t come to save them. Not now. Cole gritted his teeth, still hesitant. So Jay mouthed the word “Go��, letting unspeakable words being shared, to make sure he would not try to come for them. Jay and Nya were too weak to follow, and by the time they reached the broken doors, Nadakhan would’ve already gotten rid of Doubloon. This, he was sure of.

So they had to escape, now that they could.

I’m counting on you to save us. Cole cried, but nodded back, following reluctantly his friends and the pirates that had helped them.

Uggggh he had to leave Jay behind to save them all hurt how much they care for each other.

(13 there is 0 comfort in ch 12 oops Just horrors)

JAY Catches a LIGHTNING BOLT and fucks of the monsters arm.

Catch that force, take it away; but this time to keep it in. He inhaled hard through the mouth, because his nose had stopped answering too, apparently. He twitched, once, twice, feeling everything collide inside of him; the electricity he produced, and the one coming from the outside. Electrons mad to be confronted to something that stayed a threat despite their similarities.

But they had no choice. They had to cooperate. His fingers shook, as he absorbed everything, and then everything tensed, and then-

He took a deep breath, feeling the insanity of his lightning under his skin. He heard gasps, and he really didn’t know what that much power was looking like on him. He exhaled, and focused his eye back on the djinn. He still had his hand on the lever, made out of metal, like everything around them in this room. And he has no fucking glove.

The lightning was buzzing, getting his train of thoughts. Apparently, liking the idea.

Because Jay did.

Jay cracked a smile, enjoying how it made Nadakhan’s eyes widen in surprise.

Motherfucker.

After thinking that, he released everything, letting it explode through the vengestone, the chains, the wires that were connected to him, and the machine.

It felt heavenly, despite old and new wounds re-opening under this much pressure. He could feel his blood, pouring out, from his head, his arms, hands, chest- he coughed, as lightning still escaped him, feeling the dizziness taking over.

Last thing he saw, was Nadakhan holding a smoking arm, screaming and looking at Jay with rage.

Worth it.

He blacked out with a smile, ready to let himself go.

The kind lady give food :,)

“Oh First Master of Spinjitzu. You’re… you’re Jay! The lightning ninja!”

He tried to answer, getting shocked by his own nerves. He shook his head, almost feeling those sparks escape his mouth to float all the way to his brain, before gone. He clenched his fists, trying to get back on his feet with the help of that golden bar, and looked at the woman through the cage.

He sighed. “Used to be.” Damn, his voice sounded broken and raspy. He looked away in shame.

“What?” She took back the pitcher she had used to hydrate him. “What do you mean?”

“Take a look.”

And she did. Though her face indicated that she had focused on his state before, it seemed like she still wasn’t able to stomach it. A shuddered breath made it past her lips, and she reached for something inside the pocket of the robe she was wearing- the cloth had flowers pattern, probably beautiful when brand new. But here, it was torn, in parts…

Seems like we got one thing in common, fuck. He turned his head away, not able to take in something else he had failed when he had given the djinn power. He started to shake, ready to let another trail of tears fall down his face. But he couldn’t, not in front of someone who seemed as distressed as he was; so he took a deep breath, and turned back to look at her. She had retrieved bread, in that dress, that she handed to him- to his mouth, since he couldn’t use his hands.

“Here, I stole that from the kitchens.” She smiled. “They’re not very careful about things.”

He thanked her, and opened his mouth. His stomach rumbled, and though he blushed in embarrassment, she didn’t say anything, holding the back of his head so he wouldn’t get hurt when bending his neck that way to eat the bread.

It was dry, but it was better then nothing. And after so long without food, it felt heavenly.

How many people were stuck here? People he couldn’t help, despite his best attempts.

Fuck off, what kind of attempts, exactly? When he had tried to cowardly run away from Delara? Or when he had eaten an innocent?

He was useless. And he knew that. She must’ve noticed something in his eye, because she hurriedly spoke, as soon as he finished the bread.

“Please, don’t give up. I have no idea what’s going on outside.” She took a deep breath. “But if you’re still alive, then it has to mean not everything is lost. Please.” She placed a shaky hand on his shoulder, her eyes watering with emotion. “Please.”

…Was she seeing a symbol of hope? He hated that. He wasn’t one! And he had to tell her! But when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Instead, his throat tightened.

Because he could see the cracks in her, too. How close she was to give up- she had, at some point. Did seeing Jay lift her spirits back up? Her eyes were almost dull, but ready to let that hope shine through.

So…

He nodded, ever so slowly, and forced on his muscle to speak. “I won’t. Don’t worry.” Lie. “I won’t let anyone down.” Maybe she wouldn’t notice he was lying, since he couldn’t really make a difference himself if he was or not; it sounded more like he tried to convince himself.

Something sparked, in her eyes, and a frail smile drew on her lips when she sighed, relieved to hear him say those words. “Thank you. For everything-”

The Ninja finding him is currently the scene that’s emotionally devastating me.

Cole took a deep breath, and raised both arms up. He then left some space, walking back.

Jay looked at him confused, but with a form of relief. His arms lowered down, and he was still shaking, but it somehow worsened when his eye suddenly widened- the face he would do when realizing something important.

So, the earth ninja tried to keep his face neutral, as he looked at him directly in the eye. 

“I swear Jay. I swear to you, I’ll make them pay.”

COLE they found Jay because of him this scene is so so sweet and bitter.

A hand came on his back, and he gasped. But this time, the hand didn’t go away. It pulled him, and he tried with whatever force left in him to fight against it. But he ended up in the cold arms of the ghost, embracing him like he was the most precious thing in the world. And he hated that, just as much as he craved this. Because this really was his best friend- because it meant they still cared.

Other arms came in, and he saw the white tissue that defined the ice ninja. Still so cold, somehow more then the ghost’s ones.

He cried when red surrounded him too. Sobbed, even, in the welcomed heat that was so different from Nadakhan’s, bringing some kind of peace to his mind at the idea that the djinn’s was nothing but foreign and poisoning, compared to this one. He hadn’t even been aware they could be different kinds of heat- or maybe his brain was making things up to make him feel better.

Never the less, he held onto those. He didn’t know which arms he was holding onto, exactly, but he couldn’t care. He sobbed harder, closing his eye, realizing that this was real.

His brothers were here, and he was about to get out of here.

I’m so soft for hugs I can’t even function.

Anyways thanks again for the ask!! I think my heart has been waiting for someone to ask me this.

For more of my bbnb art here

21 notes · View notes

physicalturian · 1 year ago

Text

[18+] Salvaged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 6

[The plot of this work follows previous works in this series] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] [Varied POV/chapter]

Words : 15 902

Playlist : link

Archiveofourown

Art that inspired : Link 1 - Link 2

Warnings : Reader-Insert // Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con // Canon-Typical Violence // Graphic Description // Graphic Description of Corpses // Dubious Ethics // Explicit Language // Blood and Injury // Violence // Torture // Dubious content

---

To expect a silent ride as I got inside Rindou’s car was foolish.

The moment we arrived, he slid into his seat and handed me a pack of wipes, “You’re not getting in looking like that, take it off.” He nodded towards the bloody apron that I had long since forgotten I was wearing. The mere sight of it had me feeling slightly disgusted, so I was fast to clean myself up and untie it from the back, letting it drop to the ground. Barely a second passed and the man had something new to interject, “I didn’t say to toss it like a cum sock, are you dumb? It’s great quality, you know, some stuff butchers use and shit.” He started rummaging through the glove compartment then pulled out an empty, wrinkled plastic bag, handing it to me in a rush.

“Hold it open, please.” I said as I folded the apron with difficulty. The texture was not the easiest to bend and even less to grasp with all the blood that had tainted it, but I managed to do so, and shoved it inside the plastic bag Rindou was holding. Once done, he tied it closed and plopped it in my lap, “If it leaks, you pay for cleaning.” He commented.

I huffed a short laugh, “Not with how much money you all probably have.”

“It’s out of principle–” He started, ready to explain something I definitely did not care much about.

I nodded dramatically, putting on my seatbelt. “Of course, yeah, you’re full of those, aren’t you? Principles. I’m sure you’re also big on values.” I looked up at him with a mischievous, if not mocking smile as he stared at me in disbelief for a moment before laughing. Silently, I was relieved he found amusement in my words, but the relief did not last long when I saw on the car’s display screen a message that read rather simply:

Q-tip ☠️: OK.

It did not take much to understand this was Hanma, the dryness in his text pattern giving him away. Rindou huffed at the notification before starting the car. My own phone vibrated as well and I was fast to look at the incoming messages.

H.: If they lay a hand on you, I’m gonna need you to cut it.

H.: Can’t believe my doll can’t say no to losers.

H.: If I had a say in this, I’d do them a “Ran”.

I’m sure he was laughing to himself at that. I knew what he meant, there was no need for an over-complicated explanation: kidnap, drug and torture. Although the latter never truly did happen.

H.: But.

H.: You decided to go there with them.

H.: Out of your own free will.

H.: Whatever happens, happens.

It was much more ominous than necessary, I was only getting a few drinks with them. Did I not need to show everyone I was not as insane as they painted me to be? He should be thanking me for helping him–

You’re trying to make him jealous, there is no thanking you.

Facing straight ahead, I ignored her. It was easy to do when I could focus on Hanma’s new texts.

H.: I’ll be home late but I better have you conscious

H.: Not passed out drunk

H.: If you’re drunk you won’t remember to keep track of the shit I gotta beat them up for

That’s new, I thought, reading his messages over and over again. Some emotion was clearly showing a lot more than usual here and it was such a rare sight, but a sight that I still longed for nonetheless.

Or did I?

Did I really crave it at this very moment when it was completely uncalled for? Was it better to have it when it was not needed rather than not having it at all? I did not know.

He replied.

H.: Text every hour.

That simple text felt off-putting. It was strange to see him act almost caringly, and yet I smiled. No matter how thrown-off I was right now, there was something in my body that was screaming, fighting for more of whatever this was—as if I had already lost any chance of getting him to show me affection and I was now craving it again.

Again?

I feared losing him. Why? These emotions were rooted in nothing, he hadn’t shown me anything but devotion all this time.

So why did I have such a fear?

I typed back.

Not thinking for more than a second, I sent it. “There is a lot of catching up to do with them, you know, after years of being treated like a pariah. Your act is cute though, unsure it’ll make up for all we went through.” Reading it over again, my eyes widened and only one thought crossed my mind: what the hell did I just say?

Quickly, I typed back.

Me: I don’t know why I said that

Me: Haha

Me: I’ll be careful

I pondered over my options for a second, weighing the pros and cons of adding to the already weird thread the rest of the rambles in my mind. The debate did not last long.

Me: But it’s

Me: Cute

Me: When you’re worried

Me: It’ll be okay, I’m just trying to fix my fuck-up so you don’t get more hate

Me: Not that I’m your knight in shining armor or anything

Me: But I’m not going to just do nothing

Me: What I’m saying is

Me: I’ll be fine.

With a quick glance at Rindou, whose eyes were fixed on the road, I replied once more to Hanma who had kept awfully silent since the beginning of my constant messaging.

Me: They’ve got nothing on you

Me: You are the only one for me.

H.: [image]

An audible gasp escaped my lips as I saw the photo he had sent me. Something inside me lit up at the sight, a mix of nostalgia and something much deeper, much stronger. It made a grin slowly creep on my face. Back then, I hardly would have believed it, had anyone told me I would be giddy at the sight of a dead hooker on the ground. And yet, something else was boiling inside me.

Then his text had it all blow up.

H.: You think I’m jealous?

There was a name to that feeling.

Ire.

Ire upon seeing her, because even dead, I couldn’t help but wonder how far he had gone. With his touches, his kisses, his words, his lies, all to try to get her to give him any sort of information. Those actions were reserved for me, only me, not her. Not anyone else.

Me: Glad she’s dead

The words were dry and yet, his interest was piqued.

H.: Yeah?

I started typing instantly but had to stop. I could not put it into words without sounding crazy, so I looked up at Rindou and hesitated a moment before asking him, “Say, how do I tell him that wherever that bitch touched him is foul, and dirty, and I need to touch him, feel him and make him understand that she was shit and–”

Rindou cut me off by holding up a hand towards me, a sign for me to stop. His eyes were wide from the little I had already told him, and for a split second I regretted saying anything. He shook his head, “How about… hello? Fuck, woman, you’re insane.” He sighed, a short pause before another louder sigh, “Let me think.” His eyes focused back on the road, a side glance thrown my way beforehand.

I decided he needed to know more about the situation and resumed, “I think he’s trying to make me jealous, which is working, except that I thought we were past that—the whole ‘whore pictures being sent while we’re both doing something different’, you know?” I took a deep breath and looked down at my phone once more, no new messages from Hanma.

“Yeah… uh? I don’t know, if that was me I’d wanna hear like… shit, I don’t know, both of you are insane anyway!” He then batted his eyes at me, clearly joking, “Let Poe possess you or whatever, let your heart speak or something.” He said the last part in a higher tone, mockingly, but who was he imitating? I had no idea.

Giving him a curt nod, I added a dry smile, “You’re useless, thank you for nothing.” With that, I let my fingers type anything that came to mind at this point.

Me: I have lots of thoughts on all the ways I’ll fuck you to get rid of HER

Me: can’t imagine what you did to get her to speak

Me: but I'll fuck it out of you

A beat.

He was typing once more. I had stepped out of my comfort zone, out of all of the boundaries of what I believed I was allowed to tell him. It had my heart beating so fast, I started feeling the tiniest bit dizzy. Maybe even nauseous. My body was colder than usual, I was nervous of his answer. Fearful, even.

H.: Haha

H.: Yeah?

H.: My girl’s possessive?

H.: But you’re not in charge.

H.: We’ll see when you get home

H.: And frankly? It’s too down bad of you to be jealous of a dead girl.

H.: Glad my doll’s still mine. It’s fun, you know? This little thing you’re doing.

Me: I’ll return the favor. We’ll see how much fun you have as the night goes on, Shuji

Me: 😛

Then I put the phone away. He had decided to make me jealous on purpose, sure. But now I wished he’d feel what I felt. He needed to understand me. I could regret fucking around. I could. Or I could not.

Looking up at Rindou, I grinned, “All good now, he’s cool with us getting a drink.”

The younger brother shrugged, “I very much doubt he is but I couldn’t care less—what I care about is knowing this, were you sexting that fucker right next to me?” Hearing his words, I froze and turned around to look at the road with an overly dramatic pout as I shook my head slowly, “Nah. Nah, I wouldn’t do that.”

He burst out laughing, “Get help, for real.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you can all text your women during a meeting, but I can’t send fun stuff to my man while you’re driving?” I scoffed, a genuine smile on my lips at the light banter I was having with him. For all the time I had known him, and most of the executives, it was one of the rare times I had fun with any of them. Grabbing his phone, I skipped some songs and put the volume louder, “Fake ass.” I commented jokingly.

For a moment, I could ignore her in the backseat. It was much easier like this, music blasting and someone to push any thoughts of her away. But she never truly left.

Relief coursed through my body when, after about fifteen minutes, Rindou pulled up the car in front of a fancy-looking place. He handed his keys to a valet and gestured for me to follow, grinning like an asshole, “What, never saw a valet? There’s no way I’m taking hours trying to park this baby.” He tilted his head to the side in a condescending manner. It made me click my tongue against my teeth as I gave him a deadpan look. He pursed his lips, “Come on, don’t give me that look, you’ll get used to the fancy stuff.”

“I’d rather not get used to valets, it’s too snobbish for my taste.” I said, joining him as he stopped in front of the glass door of a well-renovated building. Just by the sight of it, I knew that shit was elitist, but those places knew how to handle things. The bodyguard would probably send away anyone not dressed suitably enough for the high exclusivity of the place, or people that were certainly in immense debt from showing off more money than they really had. But here? He did not check me for anything, no name, no weapon—nothing.

I watched his eyes linger only barely on Rindou, which was enough to show he had recognized him. If not by his tattoo, there were surely more things to identify him, with what people would have gathered from gossiping. For just a short moment, I debated making myself small so I would not be stopped, but there was no time for that, I was part of Bonten as much as anyone.

With my chin held high, I entered the place and immediately felt the change in the air as people seemed to be all too aware of us—no, not us, I reminded myself. Just Rindou.

I wondered.

People must have recognized his status from the tattoo, which in the long-run would not work enough for me because, realistically, what could I do? Lift my shirt every time I enter a place to show I was an executive? No. I could do better, I needed something to be known for.

A reputation would help.

Another man we walked past gave me a once over and stopped at my face—no, not my face, the side of it. It was just for a few seconds, but I was too conscious of myself in this place to miss it.

The earring.

His earring.

Even now, alone, without him here, I was simply his.

I liked it. I loved him. But there was this sense of self that I was losing in the process of only being acknowledged as The Reaper’s girl. My fingers grazed the jewelry gently, slowly, so delicately I held back a chuckle at how it contrasted all that had happened earlier.

What had happened earlier? What happened today? I couldn’t remember it all, only some flashes of a memory, but it seemed that I had left a man on the floor. It was all fuzzy and very blurry. I knew Koko and Rindou had been there with me, but what would it look like if I started asking them for help to clear up my mind?

As I followed Rindou further in the dark room, we reached an area further in the back that had a nice round table, on one side a crescent-shaped bench split in two and on the other two beautiful chairs with soft cushions and armrests.

“Look what my brother dragged in, the crazy bitch!” Ran exclaimed, his arms resting on the back of the bench seats. His words broke me out of my daydreaming, Rindou spoke before I could, “Listen, I don’t like the bitch much, but she has potential.” He pushed me forward, presenting me like a gift, almost making my leg hit the table, “Don’t you? Tell ‘em what you did, it was super fun, right?” He then moved around the table to sit by Sanzu’s side with a huff and his huge asshole smile. I stood in front of them feeling hopeless and put on the spot, Ran to the right, Sanzu in the middle and Rindou, who had just joined in on the left.

My mouth felt dry, so dry that no words came out and I had a hard time swallowing—for some reason, this entire situation felt like I was being bullied by the mean girls in high school, which I could not let slide. I did not remember much of what I had done, but I could fake it, so I straightened my back and huffed a laugh, “Bring some refreshments,” I said with a mocking tone, “I’m not the jester that’s going to give you entertainment, so I’ll sit down, we’ll get some drinks, and then we will talk, good?” It was only as I pulled up a chair, not wanting to sit next to them, that I noticed how few people were around us; we were much further back than the escorts and rich men at the very front.

Simply calling it a ‘VIP section’ was embarrassing given the look of the place, even more so knowing there was no delimited area that would make one believe so. It was just an unspoken rule of sorts. People seemed to know not to sit in the back, nor to look over here either. Only a few of them dared to steal furtive glances our way as they would pretend to reach for something in their bags or their coat pockets, or even as they would call for the waiters. A few seconds was all they allowed themselves to gaze over.

Finally, as I sat, I caught Ran’s gaze and rolled my eyes before he could speak, “Should you fear for your drink? Yes, but only if you can’t let go of the past—no, because, you know, I am a changed woman.” I paused, leaning on the table, “We’ve both grown, you and I, is it that hard to–”

Ran was still pissed off. Granted, his anger was founded, but it was more than a year ago now, how petty could he be? He interrupted me and huffed, “I’ll keep an eye out anyway.”

With a heavy sigh, I ran a hand over my face, “Well, I won’t do shit to your drink, but it’s your call!” I then looked at Rindou and clasped my hands in front of me, “Drinks then! Let your paranoid brother get his own drink himself, I will show good faith and let you order for me.” I gave him a short smile, which fell rapidly when the younger brother mimicked my position and leaned on the table himself, fist against his cheek, “You’re paying then?”

I had little to no energy to feel called out or embarrassed. These men were loaded, of course I had no intent to pay. They knew that and I knew that, but they were also dicks and the only way to pay them back in the same coin was to play to their weaknesses. I smirked, “Oh, need mommy to get your stuff? Wanna get spoiled?” I asked mockingly, a fake pout on my lips as I pleaded, for more theatrics. It had Sanzu laughing as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him.

The Haitanis were not talking, so I continued. This time, I gestured like I was going to tell them a secret, my hand half covering my mouth as if I was whispering into their ears but everyone could hear. It was all for fun. At least I was having fun, “Rin, you should have told me it was hard financially, but I’m feeling generous.” To make it even more believable, I reached out for my wallet only to have Rindou shove my hand back inside the bag, “That’s not how it’s fucking done.” He sighed, glancing at the two other men.

The three men got their wallets out and then tossed their cards onto the plate in the middle of the table—so this was what it was used for? I was convinced it was for cocaine. I was not going to join them on their little wealth show-off, although it made sense for them not to openly debate who would pay. Relying on chance and the innocent hand of the waiter was much more logical.

Unbothered by their paying off my share, I gasped jokingly, “Here I thought chivalry was dead!” with a short pause, I resumed, “I will take whatever drink, as long as it’s not roofied.” I winked at Ran who mumbled something under his breath. I was probably pushing the joke too far, but I had no idea what to talk about with them, maybe I was just panicking.

Rin raised his hand to call the waiter over, which made me realize I would have been stupid enough to think they would have gone to the bar to order and grab their orders. This did not look like just any random bar, and if some would have found it polite for the people inviting you to get your drinks, they did not do those things. They did diplomacy at certain times, but they also mainly did demonstrations of status—their reputation allowed them a great many things, amidst them some freedoms which they did not take. I was certain they could be the worst people if they wanted to, but had an amount of decency that kept them somewhat humble.

Surely, if someone rubbed them the wrong way they would make themselves heard, but until then, they would just be treated like royalty in silence.

As we watched the waiter walk away with our order in mind, Rindou was the first to talk, “So, Ran, how many old hags are gonna be drooling over your ass at that gay ball?”

Ran raised a brow, “Is it gay ‘cause Koko’s throwing it or…” He joked, making everyone but myself laugh. I hadn’t yet got accustomed to their humor and I was starting to understand it was as low as it could get. I even found myself wishing I could have made this up, just to spare me the disappointment of finding out that no matter their status in the world, men would remain just that: men.

“I would think his looks are too eclectic for old women.” I commented, getting Sanzu to hum as he took his drink from the tray the waiter brought. As he put the glass down, he nodded at me, “You’d be surprised—no, cause I’m also surprised, have you seen the man?”

I gave Ran a good look, taking a sip from my own drink, shrugging, “Objectively, he isn’t shabby, you know? Now, here,” I tapped my head with my index finger, hinting at his personality, “is where it gets ugly.” It had him seething, it was quite enjoyable to see. What would he do? Throw a fight in public? I grinned and added, “But hey, they wouldn’t find out for one night, right?” Ran’s lack of laughter at my unsavory comment made the two other men laugh even more, they were thriving on his misery, at least to some extent.

The short-haired man leaned back in his seat, glass in hand as he raised it towards me, “It has to do with my charm, my charisma, maybe even my poise.” He gave me a side glance, his eyes traveling over my form only slightly before meeting my eyes again, his finger raised from the glass to point at me, “Not that you would know much about any of this.”

I took offense.

“Arrogance and being born with a silver spoon in your mouth must play in your favor with wealthy grandmas, right?” I then shook my head, clenching my jaw in annoyance only slightly as I theatrically thought hard before smiling, “No, wait, wait, it’s on the tip of my tongue, there’s a word that…” I stuck my tongue out, muttering inarticulately before exclaiming, “Ah, yes! Privilege! That’s what best describes you.” And it was what lost me points with Rindou too, pointing fingers at his brother meant pointing fingers at him. I hardly knew anything about their past, but I knew they were born from wealth, whatever happened afterwards must have been the byproduct of their greed and need to rebel.

Clasping my lips together, I drank some more and raised my brows, looking around, “So do we have some games here or is it just gossiping like bitter old people?”

Rin’s smile grew, “Both.”

I was not stupid enough to not realize the tension I had brought, but there was no apologizing to be done, they did not care for such things. Instead, I hummed while thinking, “Blackjack? Poker?” I was starting to grow bored, but I needed to get along with them. They shouldn’t be too bad, I could prove to them I was still socially apt—I needed to show Hanma I could have fun without him while he was around having fun with whores for show.

Sanzu downed the rest of his drink and nodded before raising a hand to call for someone. A beautiful woman hurried to the table and leaned in, I could read on his lips “Bring some fun.” She then nodded and walked away as fast as she came—my eyes trailed on her for a moment, not even attempting to gauge how stressed she must be. She hid it well, not one misstep, not one mistake, she spoke to someone in the back who disappeared before coming out with a small table.

The pink-haired man nudged my foot, “You into girls too?” he said with a huge smile.

“I’m taken, does it really matter?” I said with a sigh, wincing when he nudged me harder, “Yeah, it matters! Everyone needs to know if you’re into pu–” There was no need for his vulgarity, really, but they were too close as friends to not be comfortable speaking with each other like that. With ‘providers’ or ‘clients’ they would be eloquent, not here though. “She is very cute, but I was watching mostly in awe at how she was dealing with you both.”

Leaning back in his seat, Sanzu gave me a pitying look, his arms draping on the back of the cushions, “It’s insane how badly that fucker got inside your head, everyone’s in the wrong but him, right?” He stated, a growing smile on his lips. I frowned for a second, my hand gripping my thigh in anger but I did not break eye contact, instead, I hummed, “I can easily recall all the crazy shit I was put through because of–”

“Because of him, really. Thought you’d know by now. Every errand you were ever sent on went through him first, part of some whatever elaborate fucking scheme, I’d imagine. Mikey always lets it happen ‘cause your man’s not as unimportant as he wants everyone to believe.” He continued, nodding at the waitress that came by, placing a beautiful ornate tray with white powder on it before bowing and getting out of the way once more. Sanzu raised a finger, gesturing that he needed a moment before he could go on. He used one of the cards in the middle of the table to draw four perfect lines on the tray before sniffing one; he then pushed the tray over to Rindou as he resumed, “Mikey’s had enough though, he doesn't like the fucker having him by the balls much. The Reaper’s pet project’s gonna have to come to an end, he should be reminded that you’re Bonten’s, not his.” He brushed off some leftovers from under his nose and grinned at me.

I could feel myself growing angrier and yet part of me could not believe he was lying, instead it felt all too real. I couldn't help but slightly fear what they would do more, other than breaking Hanma and I apart. I would not let it happen. I would not let them continue on that stupid topic.

The tray had passed by Ran, who then handed it to me with boredom in his eyes as I grabbed it with bitterness, unsure why I did what I did. After telling Shiho time and time again not to touch that shit, I brought the tray to my face and blocked one of my nostrils, snorting the rail Sanzu had prepared. I handed him back the tray and glared, “Always these talks about belonging, Bonten, The Reaper, the streets—it’s all the same, isn’t it? I don’t have much choice where the fuck I end up. It almost feels like this sense of independence is fake.” I scoffed, holding back a smile when the three men seemed slightly surprised not by my words, I was aware, but by the fact I had indeed taken them up on their offer.

“If my custody’s going to change, I say we should have one last fun night before it all goes to shit, yeah?” I grabbed their cards between my fingers and shook my head, tutting, “No more drinks, mixing’s bad.” Waiters finally brought a fully set poker table over, which I thanked them for as one of them stayed behind. He placed himself behind the table where the dealer’s spot would be. I gave him a strange look then faced back the other men at the table, “One great, entertaining, not-stereotypical rich people game of poker, then I have plans for us.” I said with a grin. I was all too bold with my words and my attitude right now, I almost reminded myself of Shiho, but it did not matter.

Rindou nodded, “Oh yeah, I’m in, the bar’s high though. Better make it count.”

“If Rin’s in, I’m in.” Ran rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the stupid smile on his lips upon seeing his brother this excited for this. They were a pair, a duo meant for drama and insanity. Sanzu’s smile widened, “I’m all for—huh, shit how did she put it…” He seemed to think for a while, dragging his words before pulling his phone out and looking at something, “Teenaged girlies night out?” He said in a confused tone, most likely quoting something Shiho told him. A loud snort escaped my nose as I barked a laugh, “Definitely that!” I exclaimed.

The three men gave me a judgmental look that I ignored as the dealer handed us our cards and I couldn’t help the smile on my lips at the thought of Shiho. Frankly, it was all too stereotypical to play poker on a night out, boring too, but if I had to go through that to have free reign on what to do next, then I would.

The Haitani brothers were more the gaslighting type, reacting too much or too little on purpose, which was the goal, but they also seemed to give each other looks to help one another. Sanzu however was good at this. He kept a deadpan, straight face. I played the first-time-playing card, which was a lie, but it sure was fun to see them all very confident in their games when they ‘knew’ what I had, from my ‘reactions’ that gave away everything.

It took way too long for one game however, long enough for the effect of the initial high to wane off. Long enough for Sanzu and Ran to fold, while Rindou and I stared at each other, trying to guess one another’s next move while debating what to do next at the same time.

Raise or fold? Raise… or fold.

“Raise.” I said, adding half my chips and giving Rindou a tight smile.

He seemed taken aback by my action which, in all fairness, I understood since I also surprised myself by doing that. I was not one to play poker in the first place, even less with these very specific men, not that they were that bad as people but they were not my friends. I do recall playing one time with Shiho. I think we had other people with us, but I don't recall anyone that really struck me as important and so it was quite quickly erased from my memory.

I even started doubting my memory. Sometimes I would remember things that I was certain happened—except that they didn't. I suppose I had to blame that on my very vivid dreams, those dreams that I have been having for quite a while now, the very ones that seemed so real, horrific, traumatizing.

But now was not the time to think back on those, I had in front of me a Haitani brother sweating, panicked, out of his wits. I really enjoyed the sight.

I knew who else would enjoy the sight, Shiho—if she was here, she would have been laughing her ass off at the sight of the brother in front of me. I only played poker a few times with her but I knew she was good at it, or at least she is good at leading people on, meaning that I'm sure she would have won against those three men.

But she was not here.

I was.

I was the one who was forced to work with these three men. In some way, I was happy that she was not here because it meant she was safely tucked away, not forced to partake in this show-off of a lifestyle. In all honesty, I never really wondered if I would ever get used to this, but I think it should not be too hard to start to like luxury. I deserved it. I had worked my part so I deserved that, the money, the fancy restaurants, everything—even better: they owed it to me for ruining my life.

Maybe I couldn't really say that they ruined my life because I couldn’t really blame them for all of this; after all, it all started with Hanma, and I wanted to thank him for coming into my life because he made me happy. So maybe they just owed me for traumatizing me and for making me kill people—ah, and also for ruining any chances I had at being a good person?

I paused my train of thought.

Or maybe they didn't owe me anything… maybe I enjoyed this way too much for it to be a punishment, to be something I regretted.

Enjoyed it?

I did.

I did enjoy this.

I enjoyed having them look at me annoyedly. I enjoyed them making me think I was not worth anything, because if they thought that, it only pushed me to go further and further—it only pushed me to break the limits, to show them what I could do, to show them I can be like them.

I could be worse than them.

Yeah, I could be worse than them, but even then, being worse than them would be the moment they would consider me as merely an equal. Which was funny, I suppose. That even if I was smarter, or more than them on any level, I would only be considered at best an equal. Never better. So I will become smarter, I will become more efficient, I will become something that Mikey can rely on, because the moment he relied on me, I would be worth something.

The pieces were coming together.

It was not the time for me to be thinking about this. It had only been a few seconds since I was lost in thought, but I was still gauging the situation. Losing or winning did not matter, what did matter was seeing Rindou pissed off. What also mattered was seeing all these men turn angry upon losing against someone who had barely played this game, even better, to know that they had lost to a woman.

The expressions that would adorn their faces would be so beautiful.

Rindou looked at me and smiled as he said, “Raise.”

He was quite fast to collect himself, but so was I. He could be bluffing, I believed he was, and I trusted the cards I had in hand. Rindou shook his head, “No, not raise. All in.” The look on his face was the one of a maniac, nothing like even the one Sanzu would often bear, and I would have been scared of losing, potentially, had Rindou not been acting.

I could be wrong. He could be bluffing, but I only had one option, so I followed my gut. Mimicking him, I pushed my chips forward at the center of the table and held his gaze before giving him a small smile, “All in it is!”

His eyes widened, had he expected me to fold? Let me laugh. All that was now left was to show our cards and I did so with pride and arrogance—Rindou’s hand was nothing like mine, he had lost.

Wrapping my arms around the chips, I gave him a short bow, “Thank you for this very entertaining game, I would assume everything will be taken care of and I won’t need to do shit, yes?” I asked, addressing the men around the table, dealer included. The men I knew personally seemed bothered, because of course, had Rindou won, they would have been ecstatic. Instead, I earned some eye rolls and disdain.

Rindou stood up and grabbed his vest, looking back at me with a short grin as he said, “Well then! Let’s go? I think our girl had some plans—but hey, since you just received your first big money, you’re going to pay for your plans, okay?”

The dealer left with everything, some people helping him carry it all as we stood up. I heard Sanzu mutter something to Ran and turned around to see he had bent to the tray once more for more rails of coke. Catching me glancing at them, they raised a brow and pointed at the tray, then at me.

Did I want more? The effects I felt had long since dissipated, but…

Do you really want to anger him? He told you specifically not to do those things.

Why did it matter? He should be mad, I wanted him mad, filled with so much pent-up anger that he would need an outlet for it all, and I would be that for him.

A short nod is what I gave them before leaning in and sniffing a badly done line. I felt a hand on my head as I did so. A gentle ruffle from the hand that remained on top of my head as I straightened my back, then I heard Rindou say, “Good girl, see, you can have fun.”

Quickly, I slapped his hand away and gave him a side glance, “Yeah, don’t do that. Thank you.”

“I have plans, if any of you care.” I said once we were outside the club and ready for the night to continue. Ran sighed loudly, “Why do you think we’re outside? Just talk.”

Excited, I grinned and pointed at the four of us in a circle, “We are going to have a challenge, each other—”

“You’re the most challenged, Rin, you won, what’s next?” Ran said, taking a drag from his cigarette, the hint of a smirk in the corner of his lips. His brother did not hold back when punching him, both of them laughing in the aftermath while Ran finished smoking and stepping on the butt he had dropped on the ground. “Rin-rin, you’re dead.” He laughed, blood trickling from his nose.

Sanzu stepping between them was enough to deter both brothers who laughed even more upon having to be stopped. Somehow, their laughter was contagious and I found myself holding back a smile as I continued, “We’re going to have to find more coke—or any drugs for that matter, the organic way, okay?” They seemed confused, so I gestured for them to wait a moment as I found a better way to express myself. I started pointing my fingers one by one as I said, “You all have a reputation, we are going to be lowkey tonight, without going to people or selling spots you know. We are going to have to get our hands on something.”

They seemed intrigued, so I continued, “So we will call each other, cameras on, once we get the goods. The first one to get their hands on something wins.”

Sanzu chuckled, “Yeah? And what’s the prize?”

Shushing him, I added, “Wait, wait. Rule also is you only have a 5-block radius, we know this area is super fancy so you’re bound to find some shit.” I paused and smiled, “The prize is… huh, it’s–”

Rin wrapped an arm around my shoulders, “I think it’s fun enough like this, if a prize is needed we’ll claim it, don’t you worry.”

“Okay?” I slid away from his grasp and gestured for them to pull out their phones, “Rindou, can you create a group chat real quick? It’ll be better for when we do find it—you’re fast, damn.” I muttered the last part under my breath when I received the notification of the new conversation that had popped on my screen.

“Alright, we split, bye.” I quickly said before walking away not fast enough to look suspicious, but fast enough to feel embarrassed about it, at least to some extent. The neighborhood was familiar, the moment we turned into the street in Rindou’s car I had recognized it, so I rushed to a place where I was sure to find sellers. It felt wrong to be back at that place after all this time—ever since that Halloween I hadn’t returned here.

The almost rape that had happened by that asshole of a cope, or the weird moment I had had at the time with Hanma in the alley, both seemed to be valid reasons to avoid this place. I suppose also when the cops brought me to the hospital thinking Shuusuke was my boyfriend and that I cared. Maybe that was one of the turning points.

All of these seemed good enough to argue my lack of return here.

What ultimately tossed these to the side for now was my need to show off and to belong. So, with a newfound confidence, I straightened my back and stepped inside the building only to get stopped by security. Taking a deep breath, I gave the man a slow once-over and met him dead in the eyes, “Not to flash you or anything, but–” I was about to show him my tattoo when a hand interrupted me and Ran’s voice rang, “She’s with me.”

The guard let us pass and I almost stomped away from Ran, had it not been for him grabbing my arm. “Come on, crazy frog, you were speeding down that path so fast I almost didn’t catch you. You don’t have to run like that.” He said with a smirk.

“I do believe this is a competition,” I snatched my arm from his hand, “Thank you for helping me get in, you really, really didn’t have to.”

He raised both his hands in fake defense and laughed, “Shit, you’re mad, I wonder what that’ll look like—you know, if when you’re desperate you drug people, then if you’re mad, what? You’ll kill ‘em?”

“I would have laughed, I swear, I just missed the cue.” I stated with a straight expression.

He stared me dead in the eyes, silent, the music blasting in the background being the sole thing we could hear. Then he huffed a laugh. Small, but noticeable. I matched it then looked around, maybe proud that he had let me in a little after all the time I’d spent trying to get back on his semi-good side.

“You can un-leech yourself from me now, I’ll do my thing, you do yours–” I started before two guys stood up from the bar and made their way towards us. Had my mind not been ringing an alarm bell upon seeing their faces, I would have been laughing at how comical they looked, one walking much faster than the other while the calmer one tried to hold him back. But why did they seem familiar? My entourage was rather limited, and I hardly could imagine I knew anyone from work that would hang around these parts.

Work—it was about work, the dots were connecting, but not fast enough. The angrier man tried to swing at me, only for Ran to grab his arm and knee it at the elbow. Before he could scream in pain, Ran covered the man’s mouth. Two security guards were instantly at our side, grabbing the second man and following the Haitani brother as he dragged his struggling victim out of sight.

I couldn’t hear anything of what these two strangers were saying, but Ran met my gaze and gestured for me to follow him. I don’t know why, but I did it without a second thought, maybe because my mind was still scanning for any flash of remembrance about these two men. As we crossed the main room to reach a back one, I was lost in thought.

Work—two men, why would they be angry? Why would they be here? Nothing specific happened at this date ever, it was not an anniversary of anything. No, something must have happened at some point. Work… here… last time these two places were connected, I was here with–

Me! I’m sure you’re coming to the conclusion fast enough.

Closing my eyes for a moment to compose myself, I followed Ran through the crowd, ignoring her. Halloween night? Dread filled me in an instant. That night, it had been Rai, her boyfriend Kei, Shiho who had long since slipped away and met Sanzu for the very first time—I was there too, and a random man that had so little impact on the night, I had forgotten about him. I couldn’t picture his face, I had barely glanced at him. This was not the moment for that, I needed to remember if it was him.

Not enough time was allowed for me to think further than that as Ran grabbed my arm and dragged me inside a room, grumbling something under his breath before slamming the door shut and letting out a loud sigh. “Usually I’d let our men take care of two shit-stirrers like you, but this is deeper than that—you are tied to her, right?” He said, pointing at me, a huge grin on his face.

“I didn’t do shit, don’t point fingers at me.” I stated in annoyance while all too aware that one of these men was familiar.

The angry one seemed ticked off by my words as he laughed maniacally, his hand reaching for the gun at his waist before his friend stopped him. I did not have my gun, and Ran seemed unreactive or not scared enough to care, so I thanked the man, “Keep your friend in check, I have no idea what he is talking about.”

“Oh yeah, of course, of course you don’t—yes you fucking do! Shuusuke, Kei, you know them! I don’t have enough proof yet, but you’re the one responsible for all of it!”

And maybe I shouldn’t have spoken the following thoughts out loud, maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, but I did not. Instead I shook my head, “Credit where credit goes, I sure took care of officer Hansuke, but Kei was not my dutiful work.”

Before a silence could settle I gasped, “You’re Aoto! I think Rai mentioned you somehow at some point too, she said you would easily get angry but hmm—he has a good heart, very reliable.” I said. Ran looked at me strangely for a second and not any longer, if anything he was giving me the floor to deal with the situation so I did. I looked around the room, trying to find any weapon and I wondered why there were close to none. It seemed stupid, but when I walked past the men, for some reason I knew Aoto would not grab me. He didn’t, he seemed too confused. His composure had long since dissolved, perhaps since the moment he had seen me enter the club.

Rummaging through the desk in the room, I kept talking, “But the big fella I don’t know—not that it matters, I think my question is why are you both here?” There it is.

Aoto replied, “For payback.”

Without thinking, I clicked my tongue against my teeth and gave them both a grimace as I closed the drawers and shook my head, “Now that’s a bit silly, don’t you think Ran?” I asked, watching his bored expression lock on my face as he blinked slowly before leaning against one of the shelves and crossing his arms. Giving me a smirk, he mimicked zipping his mouth shut, tilting his head to the side before extending his hand forward in a welcoming manner, as if to tell me to do this on my own, to do as I pleased.

Was he lazy or did he trust me?

Was it a test or was I finally being valued?

“Ouchie, now that is bad for both of you. I usually confer with someone before acting, but if it’s just me—I’ll give you my two cents, okay?” I asked lightly.

Aoto, who was still standing, suddenly rushed towards me, “I don’t fucking care, you killed them both–” Sharp. Not enough. It did the trick, though. One, two, three droplets on the floor and it wasn’t stopping. I could feel the blood dripping down the scissors and onto my fingers. As I tried to shove them further inside his stomach, my fingers felt around the wound and my eyes widened.

“What if I did this?” I breathed out. From the corner of my eyes, I could see Ran keeping the taller man back from coming towards me and even within the few seconds of our gazes locking, I hoped he had understood I was thanking him. If I did not have to worry about the other one, I could do whatever with Aoto. And I did—pulling the scissors out, I shoved my fingers inside the two holes and pressed hard, making him grimace as he bent over in pain, screaming, swearing and grunting.

It was so fascinating to see how I could make him feel more pain than sharp metal inside his body.

Humming, I waited a few seconds then leaned over to his ear and asked, “When’s payback starting?” Before he could react, I had pulled back and kneed him in the nose, “From what I understand, you’re a loose string, Mister Aoto—and I don’t like that much, I cut my loose strings.”

He let out a pained scoff, “We’re close to getting the camera feed back from the hospital, you’re going down–”

Swift, rough. Efficient.

The closed pair of scissors entered from under his chin and came out from his open mouth as blood poured in a steady stream from it, eyes wide in horror.

“Not to mansplain or anything, but you already told me all that I needed to know, so why would I keep you alive? That was a big mistake on your part and…” I tossed the scissors on the floor before pushing him down. He fell with a mute thud as his friend was still being held back, Ran’s hand clasped on his mouth. “And I think we can blame this on your being hysterical, you know? You came for me, all angry, you let your emotions take control, that was embarrassing—your friend tried to keep you in check, but…” I continued with a tense smile to the tall man that was pleading with his eyes. My gaze flickered from the body on the floor to the weapon, to my bloody hands—what have I done?

Suddenly, I was speaking more, “But your friend should die too, he saw too much and you know how it goes—the more witnesses, the more they might have this hero complex and want to take justice in their own hands.” I paused and grabbed the scissors back from the floor, “We don’t want that.” Seeing the stains on the floor, I felt sorry for whoever would have to clean this up later, but I was quick to focus back on the restrained man in the room.

“Picture me giving you a big speech, I don’t really want to do that right now. Plus, who knows, maybe you’re bugged–”

The man interrupted me in a soft tone, “Thank you.”

I stopped dead in my tracks and glanced at Ran in confusion. He shrugged in response.

“Aoto would come here every night, hoping he would see you again or the other girls that were there with you–” He choked on some tears and gave me a huge smile, “You ruined him, you know? I lost him that night—when you sent Shuusuke to the hospital.”

Interrupting him in return, I gripped his jaw tight, “I did not do that, I accompanied him there. Get your facts straight,” Laughing, I dug my fingers further inside his cheeks and never unlocked my gaze from his, “And it was well deserved too. Seems like those who enforce the law are the most unresponsive to it, don’t you think?”

I took a few steps back and put the back of my hand on my forehead dramatically, “No, please stop!” Then met his gaze, “So he continued.”

“No to racism!” I mimicked someone holding a sign then met his gaze, “And yet they’re so fucking keen on beating up people a different skin tone than them!”

About to continue my point, I stopped and watched as Ran snapped the man’s neck without thinking much about it and dropped him on the floor, giving me a weirded out look, “That was embarrassing to watch, maybe don’t do theatrics like that. What would you do if the last thing you saw was a bitch giving you the whole ‘all cops are bad’ speech?”

Slowly, Ran sat down and I followed his movements by sliding into one of the seats myself, letting out a long sigh. “You’re right.”

He smiled proudly and I immediately added, “Which I will only say this one time—the moment he mentioned Shiho and Rai, I guess I took it personally and–”

Our phones rang at the same time, cutting me off in my rant that I realized was not aimed at the right person. If I had to talk about this with someone it would be Shiho or Hanma, why was I trying to talk about my feelings to Ran Haitani out of everyone in this world? I let out a scoff and grabbed my phone, pulling myself together just from that.

“Ah, so he renamed the group chat—Team Rindou?”

Ran laughed loudly as he exclaimed, “Yeah, fucker was fast to get his hands on some shit—not just any good stuff.” He trailed off, zooming on the picture Rindou had sent in the groupchat, a woman in his lap as he dangled a little pack of powder in front of the camera. The picture that followed was with all the other different drugs on a table, probably a party he had managed to get invited to—no, it was not just any party.

“Dude, he for real is in the main room. That’s the table of this place, that’s–” I stood up and opened the door to see him in the corner of the room with a few girls around him, “I guess we all had the same idea.” I muttered under my breath.

A text popped on the screen as Sanzu told us he was on his way here since he was not going to stay in the streets if the game was over. It was getting late, so I was confused as to why he was not just going back home, but I followed along as Ran pushed me out of the room, his hand on my lower back. I quickly shoved it away, feeling the touch so foreign on my body that it made me feel unsafe. Jokingly, I said, “Get your dirty hands off me.”

To which he countered, “Look at your own hands then say that again, yeah?”

“You don’t like my aesthetic?” I asked comically.

He gave me a weird look, “Just go wash your hands and keep your mouth shut, it’s insane how much you talk for jack shit.”

With a roll of my eyes, I left his side and got to the bathroom where a few women were already queuing. Waiting at the end of the line, I felt the warm air coming from behind—from the alleyway where so much had happened almost two years ago. I held back from looking that way, knowing it would not help with my current state but when I heard my name being called, I could not help but look over at the open door.

The sound was repeated.

Almost like a whisper.

Not a whisper, no… a pained moan.

Don’t go looking for it. Shit, I was exhausted.

“Are you waiting too?” I heard someone ask, bringing me back from my lost thoughts.

Nodding, I quickly stepped ahead, noticing the queue was gone, and entered the bathroom.

The light was too bright, and the dull buzzing of the music did not help one bit with the growing headache I now realized I had. Blinking slowly, I watched my reflection and squinted to see what was on my face—I leaned over a bit and noticed a few droplets of blood on my forehead. Making a grossed-out expression, I dunked my hands under the water and scrubbed them clean before doing the same on my face. I couldn’t be more grateful for the other women in the restroom that were chatting loud enough to drown out any upcoming thoughts.

It was almost nostalgic.

Like that fateful night, the one where everything started to go downhill. Were there any signs that I was going to go this far for him? So far that all I could do now was live for him? I chuckled to myself, daydreaming as I pictured our time in this bathroom with Shiho and the girls.

The girls, Aiko and Rai were more closed off to all of this, but they were trying to have fun. Rai was the one who was trying to pretty herself up for that cop, she wanted to flirt more and have him as hers. Shiho had tried her best to hype her up, but with the little confidence Rai had, I’m not sure it–

Are you done?

I huffed a laugh, I was not even allowed to remember the good times. She would make sure of that.

I said, are you done?

Turning around to look at Rai, I rolled my eyes, “Why is it that the moment I’m alone you talk to me? I said get the fuck out of my head!” I went to push her, expecting her to disappear but as I did, and felt my hands hitting shoulders, her face changed into that of a stranger who was in shock—I immediately stepped back and apologized, “Shit, sorry. No, I didn’t mean it, I–”

“Damn, I just needed to use the sink, girl, you’ve been at it for 10 minutes?!” She exclaimed, shoving me aside in annoyance as she went about her life. Mumbling another apology, I rushed out of the room after drying my hands and shook my head, in disbelief of what I had done. To try to forget about whatever happened, I pushed my way to where I found the three men sitting. Sanzu scooted to the side a bit to make some room for me to sit between him and Rindou, patting the seat, with Ran sat next to his brother. The scarred man had his arms on the back of the couch spread wide, imposingly, sending the message he would not be bothered tonight and that no one should come by. They looked cozy like this, almost as if they were winding down in a big group hug on this couch and they were, for some reason, inviting me in.

“What did you do with the girl you were hooking up with, Rindou?” I asked, leaning back and getting grounded in the surroundings, starting the conversation somehow.

“She’s not dead, that’s for sure.” He said, making everyone laugh, then added, “All good things come to an end, unfortunately, I gave her my number, she had to go home.” He moved his phone towards me and mumbled something about needing us all to take a quick pic. Once we did, he sighed dramatically, his head hitting the back of the seat with a breathy laugh. Looking at his phone, Sanzu let out a dry laugh and pushed the device in my hands, showing me a text that read ‘Where are you, I’m picking her up.’ He then proceeded to type while talking, “Looks like you’re past curfew, little girl.”

“It’s whatever.” I sounded exactly as he had put it, like a child. Throwing a tantrum and pissed off at Hanma. Before any of them could speak, I was outraged and let my head hit the back of the seat and fit into the crook of Sanzu’s arm too; looking at the dangling light on the ceiling, I ran my hands through my hair and let out a long sigh, “I don’t want to see him after he tried to make me jealous like that—with a hooker?!”

Ran was the first to speak, “Ain’t that your shit, though? Both messed up with weird ways of flirting.”

I scoffed, “I just don’t get it, is he insecure or something cause I keep receiving weird advances and–”

Rindou tilted his head to the side to try to give me a weirded out look, “Are you saying ‘God, everybody wants me, it’s so hard’?”

My face heated up for a moment. Ran had wanted me. Rindou kept being flirtatious, for a while I thought even Koko could be into me too—was I being… “Yeah, you’re delusional.” Ran stated.

“Fact of the matter is, no one wants you. No one wants him either. I’m sure none of us have any idea why you are both so possessive over each other.” Sanzu explained, both brothers nodding along. Rindou was close to adding something that his brother did not like, receiving a half-slap, half-hit in the stomach to silence him. Humming, I took in their words but was not sure I agreed fully, although if they all thought it, they couldn’t be wrong.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and was starting to get lulled to sleep by the loud music of the club, “Hookers flirt with him, women turn on the streets to look at him–”

Ran interrupted me, “Hookers liking him says a lot about you, if you ask me.”

“Remind me real quick what’s the name of your girl—you know, the one that works in–” Rindou started.

Ran hit him again, grabbing his shirt this time as he stood up and pulled him along, “Get her name out of your mouth Rin, this is nobody’s business.”

His brother grabbed his hand and got it off him, smirking as he shrugged, “I’m saying, it's a bit hypocritical to tell off Crazy here when you’re seeing a hooker yourself.”

“And the tattoos are a sure way to get people to look at him, he also looks too tall for this country. Man’s a freak. Don’t think you gotta worry about people looking for that reason.” Sanzu added, finally letting go of his phone. I managed to get a glimpse of Shiho’s face on the contact photo. It took me a few seconds to take in their words properly, that’s when I huffed, not as much in offense as it was in the feeling of being called out. “And you’re almost as tall as him Ran, I’m saying…”

“Yeah, well, stay safe, I won’t come for you.” Ran said, throwing me a side glance before sitting back down.

“You stay safe, I am not into you.” I said, holding back from making incest jokes or talking about his height or tendencies since the two latter were in line with Hanma’s, or close to.

Hands clasping together brought our attention as Rindou stood up and grinned, “Beautiful! Friendships are blooming, we love to see it, but the big bad wolf is coming.” His eyes flicked with little discretion to his left as if to show us what he was talking about, we all leaned over and glanced, noticing Hanma making his way through the crowd, almost disinterestedly.

Almost was the key word since he seemed so determined, a determination fueled by anger or frustration, I was familiar with it. The cool he was portraying was just a mask. My heartbeat sped up as I made sure to stay seated and ignore his arrival, looking back at Rindou, “If I’m not at the Gala tomorrow, it’s ‘cause I’m dead, alright?”

“Dead by choking? Choking too hard on his–” He stopped dead in his tracks when Hanma hovered right behind him and made him stand aside. The younger Haitani did not stick around and rolled his eyes, bidding us farewell as he walked away from us. Ran was quick to try to follow, but Hanma stopped him, a hand on his chest as he moved in front of him, “You ever send shit like this to me again, you’re a dead Haitani.”

Ran smirked, “What, you didn’t like it? Thought this was your shit, dead body pics exchange and all. You really didn’t like it? Which part—was it that they were men?” He pulled out his phone and looked through the pictures that I couldn’t see, zooming on some before showing Hanma again, “Or that there is a huge smile on her face? Oh no, I get it!” He called my name, catching my attention then asked, “How fun was it to kill that man? With me?”

My eyes widened, locking on Hanma’s apologetically. I felt ashamed. As if I had cheated on him.

He had told him? When? The dots were connecting slowly—he had shared pictures of the entire thing with Hanma, it would explain his anger that should not have been so big for the little amount of texts I had sent him. Instinctively, I moved to Hanma’s side and tried to pry him away from Ran. I did not say anything because whatever I had to say would not help the situation. I had felt good killing the man because it was a useful thing to do, I had taken care of a loose end. I had quite some freedom doing so, but I couldn’t tell them I painfully wanted to kill the second man too, that Ran snapped his neck instead of letting me do it and I was almost… pissed that he took that from me.

“It was just a job, Shuji.” I whispered to him, hoping he would believe me. “It so happened he was there too.” I added.

Hanma smiled at Ran, “Have you checked on your girl recently?”

Ran’s face dropped.

“You know, while you were out with mine. I had some free time while waiting for her to return—which, mind you, she failed to do.” The latter part was for me. But I could only focus on the fact that he had gone to see Ran’s girl instead of directly coming to me. What had he done to her? For me? A message was sent to Ran, clearly, but there was one for me too in there. Ran’s was that he needed to stay in his lane, but it made no sense—nothing bad had happened, no flirting, nothing weird, it had been a job. A surprise one, one that was nowhere near planned, but that was needed nonetheless.

And if the issue was that I had enjoyed killing someone without him… I smiled to myself, had this been his way of spending time with me until now? His way of flirting—had he misinterpreted Ran’s motives as similar to his? My hand slid into Hanma’s, holding it tightly, I felt it being returned and became giddy.

With half a laugh of anger, half in disbelief, Ran grabbed Hanma’s collar and brought his face close, “You’re bluffing.”

Hanma then whispered what I assumed was her address then drawled, “So now, the question is not: is he bluffing? But… what has he done?” He then patted Ran’s shocked face condescendingly and sighed contently, “Which you’ll find out once you go there, so go, go!”

With ire on his face, Ran walked past Hanma only to be stopped dead in his tracks by him, “Oh, and remember!” Hanma said sweetly, “Don’t fuck with me again—not with her.”

Ran shrugged off the other’s hand in disbelief, eyeing the man with hatred, “You’re insane, I really can’t ever deal with your shit.” Then sped off.

With both the Haitanis gone, all that remained was Sanzu alongside Hanma and I.

Both men stared at each other in silence, an unspoken battle seemed to be happening or an argument of some sort, but there was no explanation at all. Only clenched jaws and tempers. I was unsure if they were not speaking due to the loud music or for other reasons, but it did not last—Hanma slightly leaned in, a semblance of a nod or a bow; I thought he would bid him farewell, but instead he locked eyes with Sanzu once more, “Next time you give her crack, you’re a dead man, pink eye.”

“Your insults are as low as she’ll be by the end of this freak show of a relationship you both have. Get out of my club, Stockholm piece of shit–”

“Big of you when your girl’s part of the competition of how low it’s gonna really get–” Before Hanma could even attempt to finish his taunt that was lost on me, Sanzu got up and had a knife against Hanma’s throat. I did not hold back the gasp that escaped my lips, nor the way my arms pulled the taller man out of the blade’s way while mumbling, “Enough, enough, we’re leaving.”

“What? No ‘this isn’t you, stop this Shuji!’” He mocked in a higher pitch voice, a slight smirk on his lips.

Meeting his eyes without any fear, I stated, “This is you, and this is him. I am aware, but I’d rather avoid bloodshed tonight. After all, we all gotta look stunning tomorrow, right?” I said in a lighter tone, looking over to placate Sanzu who was putting away the switchblade with a grumble as his eyes scanned the room. He then looked back at me, “Yeah, that reminds me, Shiho told me to tell you she’s huh—she’s going as…” He pulled up his phone and read out loud, “Slutty chic femme fatale trophy wife?” Turning the words into a question rather than a statement.

Nodding with a smile I said, “Did she say color coded?”

“Yeah, pink coded she said.”

“Noted! Tell her I’ll surprise her tomorrow night, see you both then!” I smiled while pushing Hanma away from him. This control I had over him only lasted until we were out of sight, that’s when he gripped my wrist tightly and led me through the crowd outside to his car. The feeling of the summer air and the quiet of the night felt so soothing when compared to the warmth of the club, but the calm could only last so long.

I was pressed with my back against the side of the car, a slender hand gripping my jaw tight to raise my head and meet his dead eyes, “Simple instructions, so fucking simple and you can’t even follow them?”

“Basic respect and you can’t even provide it?” I spat back, feeling the blood pumping through my veins in excitement. He seemed taken aback, so I continued, “Hookers here, hookers there, fair enough, you do that. Then I’m allowed to fuck around too, right? Or is only one of us allowed to play with the other’s insecurities?”

He did not respond. Instead he opened the door of the passenger seat and told me to get in, which I did only because I wanted to go home.

The ride was painfully silent. No teasing, no jokes, not one glance stolen towards my person. I had nothing to be blamed for, if by acting like him I would have him mad at me, then he should best understand how I was feeling.

“Is this a love quarrel? Or are you just mad that I returned the favor? Only the favor was not to your taste, so now it’s my problem?” I was petty, I realized that. This was not proper communication, but I wanted him to speak to me, whatever it was. I could not stand the silence. Not from him. Not when he always had good comebacks, no matter the situation.

“I just thought we were past you acting like a douche and spending time with hookers—I get it, you need to get info, but I also know they’re putting their hands on you and that’s something only I’m allowed to do, you know?” I explained rapidly, trying to meet his gaze. His hands did not move from the steering wheel, his eyes never left the road, it’s as if he wasn’t hearing me.

“It was a coincidence that I had to kill these people with Ran, you know that. You don’t get to be mad at me for that. The job’s the job, Shuji. Do you not wish for me to be a part of Bonten?” A huff was all I received. No smile, no glances, a huff.

“Sulk all you want, you’re not allowed to be insecure. I get that you can’t choose how you feel because the brain is all sorts of things and logical isn’t part of it—but like—have you seen me?!” Far from me the idea of feeling ugly, this was not the point. This was deeper, “No one wants this, me, not when it has your fingerprints all over it. It’s used and broken, it’s shaped just for you, Shuji. No one is even glancing my way, alright?” He did not answer once more. Of course. He was having his tantrum on the side, and while maybe my communication was dreadful at the moment, I thought I was still making sense.

He remained silent even as he parked in front of the house.

Opening my door, he let me get out of the car and handed me the keys. I raised a brow in confusion at the chivalrous act of opening the car door for me and at the lack of comprehension of why he was handing me the keys.

Hesitantly, I unlocked the door and waited for him to follow me, but he remained at the entrance, his eyes defiant and gaze distant.

“What are you waiting for, Shuji? I don’t understand what you’re doing.” I stated, getting more pissed off by the second with his little act as I took the keys from the keyhole.

“You tell me. You’re the one acting out, testing me. If you wanna be in control, take it. Cause you’re tryna understand shit that’s not there, psychoanalyzing me like a shrink.” He pointed towards the car with his thumb over his shoulder, “There is no insecurity. I just know better than you do, doll.” He took a step closer to now stand right in front of me, our chests touching, “But you’re so smart, you know stuff, right? You don’t need to be told shit, independent and all. So, order me around. See how it feels. Since you’re such a strong woman–”

I grabbed his necktie and pulled him down to my height, “Is this because of the drugs or cause I didn’t text every hour? Because I’m not unconscious, so that’s something I respected.” I explained, pulling him inside with me before shutting the door and locking it behind us, “Tell me you’re not mad I hung out with them and that you’re not jealous. Maybe I’ll trust you’re not insecure then.” Slowly I started undoing his vest, watching as his eyes darted to my lips then my hands, not stopping them as he smirked down at me.

“And, yeah, I’m a strong woman. I am. They didn’t do shit to me. It was even fun.” I leaned into his ear and breathed out, sliding my hand under his vest to take it off, leaving him with his shirt and tie, “I humiliated them at poker, you would have been proud of the looks I put on their faces.” Perhaps I pushed him too much since his hands slipped to my hips, holding me to the spot as he pulled me against him and pressed the side of his face to mine, whispering back, “Talking about other men to me is not a way to get me hard, try another technique, it’s embarrassing. Maybe you should let me take the lead.” He mocked.

The humiliation I felt sent electricity coursing through my body as its temperature rose a few degrees, it felt good. Something caught in my throat, he had thrown me off guard but I was determined now. I didn’t mean to take control in the first place, he knew that, but he had given me the reins for some reason. And my pride couldn’t take not doing it justice, not showing I could do just that. I pulled him with me then switched places and pushed him to the couch before taking off his tie and gesturing for him to hand me his wrists.

“In your dreams, doll. I don’t get tied–”

Interrupting him, I went to get his wrists, using the tie to bring them to me but as I did that, he gripped the fabric back and pulled me closer to him, his nose brushing against mine, “I said I don’t get tied. Do that again and you’re–”

So I did just that.

Smirking at him, I tried to wrap it around his hands, making him scoff as he grabbed my wrists and dragged himself off the couch before forcing me on my back. He was half straddling me, balancing himself with one knee on the couch and a foot on the floor, “So that’s what this is.” He said in realization, grinning like a maniac, “Glad she’s dead, she says.” He mocked my words of earlier, a tone much higher than he would usually have if speaking normally, “I’ll fuck her out of you, she says.” He continued.

“Yet here she is, like a bunny caught by a wolf, shivering in anticipation, begging to be fucked.”

“How am I begging? Maybe I poked the bear one too many times, but I’m not a bunny. I am in no danger actually, so I’m not really a prey at all.” I stated, reaching for the buttons of his shirt to finish undressing him as he stared me dead in the eyes. This was threading fine lines, the man was keen on metaphors and I was ignoring them.

Gently, his hand wrapped around my throat, stilling me in my actions as his thumb pressed against the center of my neck dangerously, his lips grazing my cheek, “Of course. Not begging.” His nose brushed against my skin as his lips reached my ear, “Crying out for attention, hating how a hooker had my hands for one night. Hating how it threw you back to the beginning of all of this and for just a moment, you were back to being nothing to me.”

His words struck a chord.

“Cause your head’s a funny place. But who else would give me what I want?” Tilting my head back gently, his hand squeezed my throat perfectly, the blood starting to rush to my head as I looked him in the eyes, “Who else would be gripping my hand like this, wordlessly begging for me to choke her harder? Hm?” He asked sweetly, so sweet that I knew he was mocking me. He squeezed hard enough to have me gasping, digging my nails in his skin as I tried to tap his forearm, at which he immediately stopped.

“That’s exactly what you want, good, hard sex—but you were a complete bitch tonight.” His harsh words did not match with how delicately he took off my shirt, how he exposed my body to his observing eyes. Standing up, he got rid of all that covered my lower half then helped my legs over his shoulders, raising me from the couch so he could see my most embarrassing angle from up close. It seemed more intimate than ever, I tried to push his face away and said, “What are you doing?!”

He shoved my hand to the side and ran his tongue between my legs, “What you don’t want. Cause sadly, doll, you can’t always get what you want.” He pouted, sticking his tongue out wide theatrically before resuming what he was doing with passion. The way he was eating me out felt so good and familiar and yet strange. He would so rarely do this, how could my body crave it and my mind abhor it? The gentleness of his touch, how tender his hold was on my thighs, how soft his gaze was meeting my annoyed one—it was all unfamiliar and unsettling.

“Bite me.” I gritted through my teeth, trying to guide his head to my inner thigh and his intentions towards the right mood. He laughed between my legs and slowly looked up with a pleading look, “Did I hear you right? Are you telling me what to do? I thought we both understood I knew better–”

Gripping a fistful of his hair, I tilted his head to the side. Before I could say anything, he unhooked my hand and scoffed dryly before getting up and sighing, “You’re a fucking pain tonight—my doll wants attention, but nothing is good enough, it seems.” I heard him opening a drawer, but did not move from my spot on the couch. I only listened. “Which makes you wonder, should she have the choice of what she’s getting tonight?” He grabbed something, then slowly stepped back towards me, “The answer’s no.”

A zipping sound. Then I felt him grab my hands as he dragged me off the couch and to my knees, bringing my wrists behind my back and tying them with cable ties. “As I was fucking saying…” He tilted my head back with his index finger, looking at my exposed body then brushing my hair back, “It’s going to be so fucking soft tonight, you’re going to be begging for me to forgive your little act out there. You know I have to teach you manners, right?”

I hated that he wanted to make this gentle, it was insane, it was boring. I couldn’t help but be curious of what it would be like—normal sex—and how long he would hold on before growing impatient with it all. So I smirked, “The floor isn’t very comfortable, your little ‘acting normal’ gig is starting off on the wrong foot.” With that he laughed and helped me to my feet before guiding me upstairs and pushing me to the bed, forcing me on my back by grabbing my ankles tight. It was much more thrilling like that, the roughness, the force—so I laughed giddily.

He was taken by surprise and rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips before he took off his shirt, “Glad this makes you laugh, ‘least one of us gotta.” He stated as he knelt at the end of the bed and grabbed my foot, kissing my ankle while holding the other down when I tried to kick him away. His touches were sweet, loving, he had closed his eyes in the moment as he left a trail of kisses up my leg, making me gasp and hold back a giggle at the strange gesture. His hand was stroking my skin and was following the path his lips did, higher and higher, so slowly that I tried to reach for his face only to be reminded my hands were tied behind my back. “No hurry, really. Take your time.” I said dryly, letting my head lull back when he gently, playfully, dug his teeth in my skin to tease.

“I’m planning on it.” He said, looking up at me, “I could lose you at any point now–” he paused and brought my knees around his face as he kissed one of them, his cold hands making the hairs stand all over my body at the temperature clash, “You’re making the choice of going out there, with assholes that can’t comprehend this—you.” His kisses reached the lower part of my stomach, he held my legs and hooked them around his waist as he trailed his tongue up and reached my breast, “They wouldn’t think twice if the choice was their life or yours.”

The words caught in my throat, I had no witty comeback, just confusion. Why did he care about them? About what could happen to me, when he had been the one to bring me to this lifestyle. It was only now that I was growing my own wings that he was growing hesitant, wary. “They’re not your friends, they don’t give a shit, you have to understand that.” His hands slid up from my knees to under my back as he dragged me against him, closer, before letting his hands roam even higher. It was almost as if he was hugging me, his lips warm against my chest, his breath the sole contrast to the boiling anger that was building in my body.

Why was he trying to tear me down?

Did he not wish for me to be a part of this? After all we went through to have me recognized as a semblance of something?

Nothing seemed right for him, why was he acting like this?

“Because you’re mine. I brought you into this, and now, no matter what, they won’t see you as anything. Do the same to them.” He breathed against my skin, it felt childish. Like he was having a tantrum, and part of me liked it; his possessiveness, his jealousy of others, my heart almost reached for his for how protective he was. But the stronger part of me felt… grossed out.

Calling out his name, I shook my head, “It’s always like this, ‘no, doll, don’t go with them. Doll, don’t make friends. Doll, don’t do this.’” I mimicked. I couldn’t push him away, so instead I rolled my eyes before closing them, “Do you hear yourself? You brought me in this fucking mess, Shuji. Now that you don’t have full control over what happens, you’re trying to put me in a cage?” His head, which was almost resting between my breasts, lifted up to meet my face above me. He looked right through me and sorrow seemed to adorn his gaze. It didn’t make sense.

“Don’t act like you care, Shuji. That’s not what this is, not what we are.”

The confusion did not lessen when his lips met mine softly, his fingers gently trailing down my stomach. Before I realized it, I felt them enter me and moaned in surprise, he smiled against my lips. “Don’t I?” Care. He pecked my lips again, “Isn’t it?” What this is. Then the kiss deepened, I don’t know why I kissed him back, this was wrong. This—this was not how we showed our love, this was unfair. My heart was beating fast, begging for more of this tenderness but my brain could feel how strange this all was.

“You don’t realize the shit I did for you,” He sighed between our kisses before freeing his cock, out of breath, as his free hand held my cheek while the other guided himself inside me, “I brought you in this ‘cause–” We both grunted at the new sensation, how good he felt but how unwelcomed it all was, it did not feel like him. It did not feel like me. “We made each other—and time won’t do us apart, I can promise you that.” It did not feel like a justification of his actions, but I couldn’t think of anything to say to him. It all felt so intimate and vulnerable, I had never seen him like this, and yet it did not feel like he was talking to me.

Our breaths were merging into one as his lips kept grazing mine at each trust, each of the moans escaping was another show of how our bodies were made for one another, as he put it, but my mind… my mind was somewhere else.

Closing my eyes to try to enjoy this stranger fucking me, my mouth started forming words, “Don’t you think it’s too late for that?” Why had I said that? Was it because in my mind I was already detached from him? Or was it because the damage he had done to me was not something that could be fixed?

His thrusts quickened, both his hands holding my head still as his forehead rested against mine, “Then I’ll try again—I don’t fucking care how many times—I have to try.” He stuttered between breaths, I felt myself smiling while blinking tears away. I didn’t know why I was crying, nor why I was smiling but his words were somehow comforting.

“Always so determined, Shuji.” I breathed out, hooking my legs behind his as I felt myself getting closer and closer. He chuckled, “You know me better than anyone, babe.” His thrusts stopped, his cock still inside me as he shivered a breath of relief before reaching a hand between us, gently rubbing circles to help me finish. An action he had never done before. I was sure my wrists were irritated from how much I was struggling against the zip ties behind my back, probably digging into my skin. My back arched against him, this was too unfamiliar. I muttered some pleas, telling him I was close like a mantra; I wasn’t even sure he knew what I was saying, but he laughed softly, “There’s my girl, come on, you know you want to give into it—shit, I can feel your grip on my dick, come on, give it to me–” He let out a shaky breath as his thumb played skillfully with my clit. Lazily, he resumed thrusting inside me.

I shook my head, “No, no, don’t—I don’t want to—this isn’t good.” I whined, trying to hold back from cumming. My breathing was uneven and the moans escaping my lips were exactly what he wanted to hear, from the growing smile I could catch on his face while my vision was fading to white. “Shu, I don’t–” the pleading only drove him to make me reach my climax, which I did with a loud whine of relief. He pulled out and used his shirt to wipe me clean before grabbing a blade from a drawer and helping me to the side, cutting the zip tie to free my wrists.

Immediately, I sat up and gave him a strange look, “What’s next, are you going to bring me water now? What the fuck was that?”

“You complain so much, and for what? You didn’t enjoy it, I told you it was a punishment, didn’t I?” Suddenly, all the intimacy from earlier was gone. He was not meeting my eyes, instead he was looking around the wardrobe for fresh clothes, grabbing some for me too. “I picked out your dress for tomorrow, this is a big event so you can’t slut out like your girl wants you to.” He explained dryly, not liking Shiho’s description of her outfit. He was not answering my question of earlier, he was not clearing up my confusion of who was this man that just fucked me because it was not the Hanma Shuji I knew.

“Dressing up your doll, are you?” I whispered, standing up on wobbly legs, only for him to hold me by the bicep as he looked down at me with mischief, a particular look I had not seen yet on him. One that was not something I should have been wary of, in theory, which is exactly why I feared it, “Something like that. Can’t let my girl look debauched—that’s just for me.” He scoffed.

I chuckled, slowly recognizing him again, but still a little shaken.

“Well, can I at least see the dress?” I asked, trying to look inside the wardrobe. He moved in front of me as he tossed our clothes on the bed and held me with one hand on my hip, the other tilting my chin up, “Yeah, of course. Tomorrow. I told the girl your measurements,” He looked down at my chest and pressed a finger on my tattoo, “said we needed to see this, and it had to be elegant.” His nose brushed against mine, his lips were complete ghosts on my mouth, “The rest is up to her, she made the dress you ruined that night at the cemetery—do you recall, little Alice?”

Feeling nostalgia from that time, I genuinely smiled and pecked his lips, remembering the thrill of that night, “That was kind of cringe, you were more of a Cheshire Cat than a Mad Hatter—still are.” I said playfully.

He kissed me in annoyance, “You said that last time, but we don’t fuck cats here, babe.” He joked, making me laugh as I pushed him playfully, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I?” He asked with a smirk, walking back and letting go of me as he grabbed our clothes and was ready to shower, “Come, I’m not staying awake any longer. Tomorrow’s gonna be… eventful.” He trailed off, suspiciously so. Following him, I took a look at his back tattoo and placed my hand on it, slowly trailing it all over, “Shibata’s going to be everywhere, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, odds are they’re gonna try to ambush us or something.” He explained offhandedly.

I sighed, “Can we kill them if they come for us? What’s the agreement between Bonten and Shibata?” I knew I shouldn’t have asked, because he didn’t want me like that. He hated how analytical I was now, facing all of these problems. He hated that I was now just like him, so I quickly added, “Just so I don’t mess up! I feel like they might come for me—you know, because you’re important to Bonten.” I smiled softly, my hands sliding around to hold him from behind as they rested on his stomach.

He unhooked them and turned around, looking at me unbothered, “You stick to me. If they gotta die, I’ll do it. It’s that simple.”

I held back from telling him it was stupid, that I should be able to hold my own ground and roam around without him, but debating that was useless. I would just leave his side at some point, he might not realize it, or he might; if he did, he would come looking for me all angry and—I felt myself smiling stupidly, making him raise a brow, “What’s funny?”

“You’re right, I should stay by your side.” Should, not will do.

I added, “It’s safer.” But what does safe even mean with all the criminals surrounding us?

I smiled and nipped at his jaw, “Like Bonnie and Clyde, criminal couple–”

He pushed my face and rolled his eyes, “Ain’t that worse than Alice and the Mad Hatter? Come on, get in.”

I laughed at that but my mind was not really in the moment. While we showered, I was just thinking of the odds that I would come across a Shibata.

And how bad it would be if they were triggered enough by some things, as to come for me.

And how easy it would be to kill them, with the right incentives.

I simply had to find the right occasion, because neither Mikey nor Hanma needed to know I wanted to kill. All they needed was a justification.

I could make something up.

As we got in bed, I whispered in the dark to Hanma, “Tomorrow’s going to be fun, I’m sure of it.”

[To be continued]

#writing #writings #deranged love #archiveofourown #writer #physicalturian #fanfiction #ao3 #tokyo revengers #tokyorev #tokyo revengers x reader #hanma shuji #hanma shuji x reader #hanma #hanma x reader #tokyorev x reader #salvaged love

20 notes · View notes

glittertomb · 1 year ago

Text

Very personal but important question(s?) regarding chronic health issues and disability

So I’ve had fibromyalgia and Gastroparesis for about a decade now, and I try my best to self-manage these issues (in addition to the expensive meds they give me that don’t really provide relief), but it becomes severely difficult for me to work a full schedule, particularly when my job drains me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I spend my days off in complete recovery mode, absolutely bed-ridden, afraid to do anything social or physical, because I risk going into a total Fibro meltdown. Which is a nightmare, but I’ll spare you the details.

I’ve been considering applying for partial disability because I think working 3 or 4 days instead of 5 or 6 would be much better for most humans, honestly, but particular for someone like me who deals with chronic nausea, discomfort, and pain on the daily. I’ve been putting it off for ages though because I know that disability can be very difficult to get and a horrible process and I can’t work myself up to it or afford a disability lawyer to help me. I tried being a little more aggressive this past summer and collected “documentation” on my fibromyalgia in the hope of preparing to submit it, and literally all of my documentation says “fibromyalgia?” because apparently none of my doctors believe me after years of testing and thousands of dollars of office visits trying to get this diagnosis. To be honest, using fibromyalgia as my reasoning for disability needs was a dead end anyway because lots of doctors still don’t believe it exists, so I doubt the government would find that a good reason either. And I really doubt they would take the Gastroparesis seriously either, even though both of these conditions are dehabilitating at times.

So one of my friends recommended I go through the avenue of my mental health issues. At different points of my life I’ve been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, bipolar, ocd, adhd, etc, and who knows what the real answer is, but she’s a mess. I’ve been realizing over the past couple years that I’m very likely autistic, and that would actually explain a lot of these things, but the past 6 months have been crazy, and even though I’ve been working a bunch, I’m poorer than ever because of the rising cost of everything, so I cannot afford to get a formal diagnosis yet. But I know that I told my most recent psychiatrist all these horror stories about my anxiety, so I decided to get done documentation for her too, and guess what? Generalized depression and mild anxiety. Girl, huh? (Tw: blood and dermatillomania coming up) I showed her evidence of scars on my hands from picking my hands every night til I bleed everywhere, I described how I get overwhelmed and cry at work several times a week and often fight back panic attacks at work and in my private life, I told her than I struggled to fall asleep and stay asleep and only got collectively about a few hours every night, I told her that I literally could not socialize without using alcohol as a crutch but I can no longer do that because of my digestive issues so I self-isolate, I told her that I struggle to maintain eye contact and panic when people give me eye contact… so many stories like these. Mild anxiety smdh

So that comes to my first question cause I guess I decided while writing this that I have a couple:

1) How do you, as a female-presenting person, get a diagnosis for severe anxiety? How wild do my stories have to be without accidentally committing myself?! I have an ex, amab, who basically pulled a john Mulaney and was like, “I get nervous on planes sometimes” and he legit got a prescription for Xanax or one of those other big ones, and another who is on a dose of gabapentin 5x the strength of mine because he gets social anxiety sometimes, so this is especially frustrating that I can’t even get a dang proper diagnosis on anything after ten+ years of therapy, doctors, tests, everything.

2) What is the process like for getting an autism diagnosis and are there cheaper routes you can go that would still be credible? I’ve exhausted my expenses from years of jobs not paying my worth combined with money poured down the drain trying to get any sort of help with my kaleidoscope of issues, and at this point I’m too broke and demotivated and burnt out to figure out a way forward.

3. Has anyone been able to get partial or full disability who would be willing to hold my hand through the steps and keep me motivated? I know it’s a huge ask but I honestly get so anxious even thinking about the process that I completely shut down. At the very least, maybe you could explain what worked for you or how you would approach it better next time? I just moved far away from my support group so I’m feeling alone and even a word of caution or encouragement would help.

I know I’m not really as connected to this community as I used to be, but I’m hoping someone will get to the end of this and even a kind word or a smidge of sympathy/empathy would be nice. And please do reach out if you have fibro because I don’t meet many and it would be nice to have friends who can relate. Thank you for listening! 💜💜💜

12 notes · View notes

purveyorofsnozzberries · 5 months ago

Text

So, let’s talk about anti-depressants for a bit.

Tw: suicide, depression, and SSRI withdrawal symptoms.

Antidepressants are wonderful miracles of modern medicine. In that we don’t really know how they work.

In 2016, my life sucked. I could go into how bad it sucked, but ironically I feel like that way lies a depressive episode so let’s not. One day, I received some unusually bad news. Life ending bad, it felt at the time. And, in the wake of that news, I tried to commit suicide. I thankfully was not well equipped, or I would have actually done some damage. I was lucky. I had a support system who sprang into action to let me know that I was loved, and would be missed.

So I started taking antidepressants. I went to a doctor and said “I tried to off myself, I think I need antidepressants.” They readily agreed, and I was prescribed escitalopram. Years have passed, I’ve had my ups and downs but for the most part the antidepressants did a lot to help me stay sane during those bad years. Hurray!

But then, a few months ago, I moved from my hometown to one 5 hours away. My doctors said they could prescribe me 3 months supply while I found a new doctor. Easy, right? Wrong. I have made 3 appointments with doctors in this town and each one has called me back saying “we’re not accepting new Medicaid patients”

I’m sorry, the fuck? I just need someone to sign the little pieces of paper that allow me to take the pills that make my brain work. And sadly, I am one of those people who needs medications. I take them to focus, I take them to sleep, I take them to maintain my mental health. But while I was trying to find a doctor, my antidepressants ran out.

“Oh shit.”

Day 1 through day 3 wasn’t so bad. Felt a bit off, emotions were swinging more than usual, maybe got a bit irritable sometimes but nothing I haven’t gotten used to dealing with over the years. This was hardly the first time my ADHD ass forgot to re-up on meds over a long weekend. It sucks, but it’s manageable. Day 4 changed that. Day 4 I couldn’t sleep. I woke up really to kill someone. I SCREAMED obscenities at my pet cats when they meowed to be fed ( I feel really bad about freaking them out now). Any little thing went straight to 11. My mind was foggy.

Day 5 was worse. The body aches started. My muscles felt… thin, like I could bite right through my arm without stopping. My extremities were at turns numb and tingling. I started experiencing “brain zaps”, which is a phantom sensation that feels like an electric shock goes from your brain all the way down your body. Deeply unpleasant all around.

Day 6 I started feeling a bit better mentally. I found that marijuana could at least keep the irritability down. I made another appointment, then sobbed when I got a call back saying no new Medicaid patients.

Finally I called my mom. The nuclear option. I, a 32 year old man, called my mom hoping she could make things better. And for the most part, it worked, lol. She showed up a few days later and marched me down to an urgent care who was able to prescribe me a months supply. I was so out of it I told them the wrong dosage (I take 10’s but said 20’s) and so wound up with a 2 month supply. Which hopefully will be enough to find a real doctor who takes Medicaid and can write me my magic pieces of paper.

So, what takeaways can be divined from this mess? Don’t run out of medication? Don’t assume you’ll be able to find a doctor easily?

How about “know what medications you’re taking”.

I didn’t ask about lexapro/escitalopram when I started. I didn’t know it was an SSRI, I didn’t know what would happen if I stopped suddenly. No one told me, either. Not one doctor in the 8 years I’ve been taking it warned me about *gestures at my last week of existence* THIS.

And I was okay with that. Because it did what I needed it to do. It works. But as soon as I can find a doc, I’m going to ask them to wean me off it. I can’t live with that kind of pain hanging over my head. The physical symptoms have mostly abated but my legs are still sore and my fingertips are numb. Some studies have shown such symptoms lasting for weeks or even years.

I’m not saying everyone or even anyone should stop taking their SSRIs, and certainly NEVER EVER stop taking them cold turkey like I did. That’s what caused The Issues. But if you are unaware of what SSRI withdrawal feels like and you’re taking them, I would absolutely suggest talking to your doctor about what can be done to minimize the risk of something like this happening to you.

Because this last week has been hell, and no one should have to go through that just because they moved.

#ssri withdrawal #ssri #medication #lexapro #escitalopram #tifu

3 notes · View notes

malcolm-reeds-pineapple · 7 months ago

Text

I managed to convince my family to play D&D with me and by that I mean I held a gun to everyone’s heads and told them to play D&D with me. I am by no means experienced with D&D, however I’m committed to the bit and I just got the essentials kit.

Last time I played D&D with my family (my mom, grandmother and brother), I made the mistake of making everyone a character and handing it to them on the day of to avoid a boring session 0. This time, I’ve entirely changed my approach.

Nanny is playing a sidekick and I’ve built her a modified character sheet that walks her through everything for combat along with 3 parking spots for her dice that tell her which ones she uses and when. Due to sidekick rules, it’s also very easy for me as the DM to play her character during combat if she doesn’t want to. She’s 80 years old and I’m lucky I’ve gotten this far. Because she’s playing a sidekick, she also has different rules than the others which makes it easy for me to explain to the other players why nanny can do something but they can’t (however, I’ve gone over it with my other players in their session zeros and they agree that 80 years is long enough on the planet to bend the rules in dungeons and dragons).

Individualized session zeros. Where I’m working with two brand new players and one player who has played one singular campaign, I’ve found it’s easier for me to have 3 short session zeros for each player rather than needing to have an entire afternoon of a session zero that would 100% make everyone lose interest. For my brother (experienced and interested), our session 0 was character creation where we worked together on a backstory for his character and went over anything he was unclear on in terms of game mechanics. I gave him a brief summary of the world and he was able to craft ways of how he could have depth in his character. That session was about four hours long. Meanwhile, Nanny’s session 0 was 15 minutes long and I had her pick out a sidekick card and then went over the basic game mechanics with her.

Introducing NPCs that allow me to run goofy one shot adventures when not all players are present. We’re running Dragon of Icespire Peak at the moment, but my mom isn’t always around as she lives five hours away. However, my brother and Nanny like the game and would prefer to play more frequently. By introducing a few goofy NPCs in the main town, I’ve been able to have those goofy one shots without breaking the immersion in the world/confusing my nanny. The one-shots loosely tie into the story, but they’re mostly about getting my nanny more comfortable with the game. They have absolutely no levelling or consequences and are more about interaction and role playing.

I’ve also given them each a character folder so that they can keep their stuff all in one place and I can give their characters things before sessions. So for the first session, I had my brother’s character own an incomplete map of the area that was given to him by his mentor. I made sure it was folded to show the area where the characters were on the map but then had a full map of the area be a reward for helping the goofy NPCs I added for one shots. Players were also each given a notebook and a combat cheat sheet in their folders. I take these back at the end of the session so I can see their notes and plan my next session around what they liked enough to take notes on.

I already kinda touched on this but holy shit hand outs and physical props my beloved. So far my players have LOVED getting letters from NPCs or getting an actual map that looks like it’s aged and been through the wringer. For their next quest, they’ll be getting a set of sending stones, so I’m going to the beach before the session to pick out some nice stones that I can give them to actually have a physical representation of them so that way the cards can just be instructions to go along with them.

I’ve also colour coded each one of my characters based on their folder colour so I have a highlighter, pen, page flag, and index card colour associated with each one of them. That allows me to have their race/class/background flagged in my PHB or write down backstory notes on their index cards. They also each have a page in my OneNote workbook affiliated with them just by colour. It’s made things super easy

I’ve put their character sheets in plastic sleeves so they can track HP/spell slots with a dry erase marker.

So far these things are working well. It’s definitely hard to keep engagement, but at least this time I’ve been able to kinda do it. I did all this with a budget of 15 bucks at the dollar store and with shit I had around the house, so I’m not spending money on it either which is nice. Granted, I do have access to a printer and a shitload of craft supplies, so that’s made it a lot easier.

#captain’s log #dungeons and dragons

3 notes · View notes

bishopsbelova · 1 year ago

Text

I have literally sat on this for about 18 hours (and spent the entirety of my work day thinking about it. I’m impressed I got any work done or that no one asked me what was wrong).

At first, I hated that apparently Liv and Amanda haven’t talked. I mean, we can at least assume that they have physical seen each other in a while considering Amanda is obviously pregnant and Liv didn’t know (course though Amanda was probably like 5ish months when she finally told Liv about Jesse and who knows how far along with Billie bc that whole timeline is just a mess that I don’t want to dig through). I refuse to believe they haven’t at least texted or talked on the phone.

But atlas, if we’re to believe that they really haven’t spoken since Amanda left or if they have, it was probably terse and short. To an extent, I can get it.

These are two women who have been through so damn much, taken advantaged of by men, groomed in Liv’s case, assaulted (Amanda was raped by her fucking boss), kidnapped, shot at (actually shot twice in Amanda’s case and probably actually shot in Liv’s case if that promo says anything), had crappy childhoods, toxic family environments, had everyone walk out on them (parents, partners, relationships) and they’re fucking traumatized and don’t like to deal with the root of their traumas with their therapists. (I need Lindstrom and Hanover to stage an intervention or something)

Amanda and Liv are easily one of the most, if not the most important relationships in each other lives and is one of the strongest and realistic portrayals of female friendships that I’ve seen in media. They care so deeply about each other but it wasn’t always like that; they had a rocky start and have come a long way since season 13. Sure things may be rocky again right now; but that doesn’t change the fact about how loyal they are to each other at their cores.

We’ve seen how Liv reacts when people leave her; she’s shuts down, closes herself off and doesn’t reach out. So yes, she’s happy for Amanda and understands that Amanda had to make that decision to leave; but it doesn’t change the fact that it was just another person who walked out on Liv (and then didn’t reach out when she said she wouldn’t just disappear).

Shit, Stabler walked out on her, didn’t even have the balls to tell her he was leaving (she found out from Cragen) and then he shows up a decade later and blows up her life, they spend the next year and half in a weird fucking whiplash nonsense. Liv never dealt with Stabler leaving - she as much as tells Amanda that in the hotel room and then he shows back up and things are weird. Liv doesn’t reach out, doesn’t make contact because a part of her still thinks she’s gonna open up to him again, get close to him again and he’s gonna leave again.

I can see Liv at first not reaching out to Amanda to give her time to settle cause even Liv knows Amanda doesn’t like change; but at the same time, Liv is still an NYPD Captain and has an entire precinct to manage - communication is probably gonna be slim pickings; but a few weeks go by, maybe a month. Maybe, just maybe, Liv is transported back to that June day in 2011 when Cragen told her Elliot put his papers in, she goes back to those days, weeks, months, years following of no contact.

Liv roughly knew Elliot and Amanda for the same amount of time before they left (the only major difference in how they left is that Amanda told her) and maybe Liv thinks she’s re-living that same thing again and she can’t do that again.

And so in true Olivia Benson nature, she closes off and doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t make that first move because she can’t be hurt again by another person she cares about even though she wants to and she misses her best friend but there’s also something that won’t let her break the communication barrier, so Liv does the next best things and asks/gets updates about Amanda through Carisi - still waiting for Amanda to make that contact.

Similarly, we know how Amanda deals with trauma - she closes off and she deals with people leaving her by lashing out. Choosing to leave SVU was probably the hardest fucking decision Amanda Rollins had to make - because this squad, these people, became her family over her tenure there; Liv and Carisi were the ones who broke down her walls and are the reason she started letting people in. When you let people in, you get attached and then change is a bitch.

There was nothing keeping Amanda in Altana, so leaving there was probably easier; but Fin and Liv and the familiarity - they are reasons to want to stay at SVU - but Jesse and Billie and Carisi are the reasons to leave. There’s gonna be a pull about what’s the right reason and what’s the wrong reason and even now, especially now, Amanda probably feels guilty about leaving; because she feels like she abandoned Liv.

Hell, barely a month after Amanda left, Liv got jumped in the fucking street. (And you know Amanda heard about that from Carisi)

There’s no doubt in my mind that Amanda wanted to reach out to Liv - she was just so scared of letting Liv down, this woman who she looked up when she first came to svu and who has become such an important part of her life and is her children’s godmother. She loves and respects Liv’s so damn much and I think it terrifies Amanda that she could be letting her down by doing what’s best for herself - (even if Liv would never hold that against her)

Amanda is also probably busy as hell what with a new job and new baby on the way, maybe even apartment/house hunting - and then time goes by and suddenly it’s been too long and reaching out probably feels like the wrong decision because you waited too long. Maybe Amanda also tells herself that if Liv cared, she’d reach out herself.

Also Amanda’s spent her entire life knowing that being independent and not relying on people is the only way to live. Yes, she’s been working past that - but a couple of years of therapy are not gonna just undo decades worth of trauma and damage that go as deep as Amanda’s. There’s gonna be back pedals too. A lot of them.

That scene at the end of Organized Crime says so damn much even beyond the words that Amanda and Liv say and Mariska and Kelli play it so fucking well. You can tell they still love and respect each other, you can tell Liv’s happy for Amanda (and Carisi) but still hurt at the lack of contact, you can tell Amanda fells guilty for not reaching out. (And you even have clueless third wheeling Stabler)

So that leaves Amanda and Liv in this weird limbo of what do we do now. And it’s gonna take some effort, but they’ll get back to where they were because at their core that love and respect isn’t going anywhere.

#svu #svu spoilers #amanda rollins #olivia benson #rolivia

10 notes · View notes

peaktotheocean · 2 years ago

Text

medicinal

pairing: pre-steddie ao3 link here summary: “I’ve got a friend who is having a ton of migraine issues," Robin blurted out. Eddie's head rose to look at her. That was a new one. "We heard weed helps. Any truth to it?” She asked hopefully.

Eddie didn't usually take appointments. It was easy enough to show up at a party, make some sales, and then skedaddle. The idea of someone wanting to get him alone at a certain time and location sounded like a recipe for trouble.

But he didn't always say no. Certain people, he just got a good vibe from.

And Robin Buckley was one of those people.

Which was the only reason he was waiting by the river an hour before dusk, trying to pretend as though he was out for a walk. Maybe birdwatching. He could be a birdwatcher. He wasn't so much for human chicks but baby birds--

Well, there was a Robin coming towards him right now.

“Buckley, welcome.” He tilted his head in greeting and gestured to the large rocks that made up the riverbank. "Please, step into my office."

“Good to see you too.” Robin gave him a nervous smile but it wasn't too different from her regular smile. She tugged down on the sleeves of her jacket even though the early September sun setting through the trees managed to heat up the whole city as a fuck you before disappearing.

“When do you normally see me?” Eddie chalked it up to regular anxiety or first time jitters. Robin wasn't a recurring customer. He had seen her share a joint or two with a few people at band parties but she'd never purchased anything for herself. At least not from Eddie.

“Band practice?“ Robin tried. “I guess I don’t,” she admitted a whole second later.

“We appreciate the honesty here.” He sorted through his stash, filing through plastic baggies a personal card catalog. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a friend who is having a ton of migraine issues," Robin blurted out. Eddie's head rose to look at her. That was a new one. "We heard weed helps. Any truth to it?” She asked hopefully. She let out a sigh, as if she had been gearing herself up to ask the question the whole walk along the river.

"Damn it, Buckley, I'm a dealer, not a doctor," Eddie joked, trying to soften it with a smirk. It didn’t work. Robin's face fell and Eddie bit his lip. "But I’ve heard some positive things. This friend can't buy it for themselves?" Eddie mentally went through the people he had seen Robin with, in band, around town, at the diner. Some geeks from school, a few soccer girls, and weirdly enough, some of the kids from Hellfire. Eddie thought back to a conversation he had with Dustin not too long ago, with the kid pulling him aside after a campaign session. "This isn't for Henderson, is it? I already told that kid his first time smoking is going to be with me."

Robin didn't hide her surprise but it morphed into impressed more quickly than Eddie expected. "Very responsible, Munson. No, it's not for Dustin.” She did a double-take and her already short hair flew into her mouth. Even as she tried to pull it out, she asked, “Dustin asked you for weed?"

"Gave me a very similar story to you, Buckley." Eddie narrowed his eyes. "What exactly am I missing here?"

Robin kept silent, not avoiding the question, but just being thoughtful about her answer. Eddie couldn't tell if she was being so choosy with her words for Eddie's sake or her own. Maybe both.

Finally, slowly, she started to speak.

"Dustin and I have...a mutual friend who can't afford the amount of concussions he keeps getting. Hence all the migraines." Robin rapped her closed fist against her own head, wincing directly after.

"Ouch." Eddie matched her expression. "Can't afford like--"

"Both physically and monetarily," Robin quickly interrupted him.

"Christ."

"Yeah so, we're trying...other avenues." Robin gestured to Eddie, fingers outstretched and wiggling, imitating one of the many Hawkins cheerleaders.

"And what does your friend think about these alternative avenues?" Eddie held up a baggie that he thought would suit her needs. Or her mystery friend’s needs, more like.

Robin huffed and her bangs flew into the air. "He hates that we're making a fuss. But if he's in enough pain next time around, I don't think he'll argue if I'm ready with some supplies." She looked pointedly at the weed held between Eddie's fingers.

Eddie didn't hand it over just yet. He knew he stared too much sometimes but he couldn't help it. Especially now.

This was a different Buckley from the one he knew from band. Something had changed over the summer and Eddie wasn't sure what.

He also wasn't sure he wanted to know, if he was being honest with himself.

There was a wall there, some kind of barrier in Robin's eyes. She wasn't giving him anything and it made Eddie want to turn tail and run, leaving her with whatever weed she wanted for her friend. But instead, he used his free hand to grip on the rock beneath him and did his best to smile at her.

They weren't fooling each other.

"You're making me want to give you a discount, Buckley. I never do that." He shook his head and handed over the little plastic bag. "$20."

"That sounds like a fuss, Eddie Munson. But I won't tell him if you won't." Robin took her purchase and stared at it, like she wasn't sure where to put it now that she had it. She settled for slipping it between a sock and her low top Chucks. Not the worst place. Most women tucked it into their bra but Eddie wasn't going to offer any critiques. Instead, he grabbed onto another bad question that a part of his brain couldn't help wondering.

"You won't tell me who this guy is? How you and Dustin know the same victim of hard knocks? In Hawkins?" Not much happened in this city if Eddie didn't include whatever the hell happened with the Byers kid a few years back. Well, and the mall that caught on fire. Shit, maybe Hawkins was gearing up for something.

"There are...other elements at play here." Robin bit off before she could say anything else. Her eyes brightened up again but not nearly enough. Eddie could still see that wall, no matter how easy she played it off. So he took a different avenue. He couldn't help it.

"You said he keeps getting concussions. You being careful?"

Robin let out a hollow laugh at that, which made Eddie feel both better and worse. "We are doing our best."

That wasn't a great answer.

Eddie thought about Dustin. How he and Mike and Lucas sometimes planned combat maneuvers during Hellfire as though they were seasoned war veterans, taking the game way too seriously. Normally, Eddie had the opposite problem when wrangling players during Dungeons & Dragons.

"Are the kids are caught up in this?" Eddie asked quietly, not even realizing until the words were out of his mouth.

Robin’s spine stiffened just slightly and there it was— the same steel expression the kids got on their faces while trying to figure out their next move. Eddie could see her mind shifting and it only frayed Eddie's nerves further.

She looked him in the eyes and asked, in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Do you really want to know the answer to any of this, Eddie?"

"No..." Eddie answered slowly. He couldn't look away from her eyes. She seemed so...curious almost. As if she was just daring him to ask. "No, I do not. Take your purchase and have a lovely day."

Just like that, the moment was gone. Robin tilted her head back and laughed, stretching her arms in front of her as she lifted herself off of the rock.

“Sweet talker," she called behind her, leaving him by the river, just watching her go.

"I'm not your type, Buckley," Eddie shouted at her, not able to help himself.

"You're not mine either, Munson," Robin mocked him with a wink.

Waiting for Steve to emerge from Lover's Lake was the longest minute and ten seconds of Eddie's life. He remembered the look Steve had given Dustin. And then the one he had given Eddie. He kept going over Dustin's hero worship in his head. His fingers tightened around Steve's yellow sweatshirt.

He doesn't know this new Steve Harrington at all. But he'd like to.

He'd really like to. Damn it.

There's nothing but the water sloshing up against the side of the boat and Eddie figured if he didn't talk, Robin would start. She couldn't stand the silence. So instead, Eddie asked the question he had been thinking about ever since Dustin explained this whole wild story.

"Your friend. With the concussions." He nudged Robin who gave him a blank look for a few seconds before letting out laughter that was far too loud. She clapped her hands over her mouth but slowly lowered them.

"Figured it out?" She whispered.

"Pretty obvious now that I’ve seen him in action." Eddie gulped, looking down at the water. They couldn't even see the flashlight through the water anymore. "When you said that he couldn't afford anymore..."

Nancy looked between the two of them and sighed. "He always says that it's better him than the kids or us,” she grumbled. She glanced back down at the time and then over the side of the boat to the dark water. “Hard to disagree with that logic but..."

"But that doesn't mean we have to like it,” Robin finished for her.

“Your lives, man.” Eddie shook his head. "This is insane."

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Nancy muttered.

Eddie could maybe admit that his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders. He still felt pretty fuzzy and in a lot of pain but he couldn't help but smile when he opened his eyes to see Steve Harrington next to him, slumped down in a hospital chair. Dustin, a cast on his leg, was curled up in a chair across the room, asleep but seemingly in better shape than both Eddie and Steve.

Somehow, Steve looked even worse in the well-lit hospital room than he had in the Upside Down, but it's possible that was just because there was enough light for Eddie to see every bandage and suture. But Steve was conscious and blinked when he saw that Eddie's eyes were open, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

"You're awake," Steve said dumbly, sitting up too quickly in his chair and then hissing in pain. He tried again, slower this time and leaned closer to Eddie's bed. So close and yet Eddie still would gladly give up a few more inches.

"Please tell me you don't have another concussion," Eddie blurted out before he could help it. Somewhere, Robin felt even more of a kinship with him and didn't know it was because neither of them could ever stop talking. But Steve's head was something he had been thinking about on loop during their whole journey, even when potentially getting a concussion of his own. Not just his head, but maybe his face too, and his hair. But that was all part of his head so it was okay.

Steve's brain caught up with the question. "Wait-- how do you know about that?" He stopped and narrowed his eyes. "Robin. That was your weed?"

"Buckley and the grass,” Eddie confirmed, leaning his head back against the hospital pillow. He could have sworn he heard his hair crunch. What he wouldn’t give for a shower. “But I figured it out for myself once I saw you at work during this adventure.” He winked and he hoped the hospital lighting wasn't playing tricks on him because Steve Harrington's blush went all the way down to the bandage that covered his bruised torso.

He held out his hand and Steve took it so quickly that the heart monitor attached to Eddie beeped with excitement. Steve squeezed his fingers and didn't let go but instead, let both of their hands rest together on the edge of Eddie's bed. He ran his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand but Eddie was like a dog with a bone. He wasn't going to let this go.

"You didn't answer my question."

"About?" Steve looked up from where their hands were and his dazed eyes made Eddie wonder if he had his own bed in the hospital somewhere that he had snuck out of in order to be in Eddie's room.

"About that head of yours, Stevie." Eddie squeezed his hand. "Don't tell me they were too distracted by the stitches to do a concussion check."

"Oxygen loss was the bigger issue this time around, apparently," Steve joked badly and gestured to the bruise around his neck. Eddie knew that bruises had to get worse before they could get better but Steve's looked downright terrible.

"Your poor brain, sweetheart," Eddie sighed, only half faking his sorrowful tone. He wished Steve was closer so he could sink his hands into that hair. Maybe a head massage would help.

"I know, I know."

“When we get out of here, we’re going to treat those migraines right.” Eddie wasn’t sure how but he bet the Byers’ new friend Argyle could help him out.

Steve hummed and closed his eyes, still holding onto Eddie’s hand even as he drifted off. “I’d like that.”

ao3 link here

#steddie #stranger things #my fanfic

30 notes · View notes

torque-witch · 2 years ago

Text

So I went to a birthday party for one of my coworkers (whom I don’t know at all) because my boss invited me and I figured it would be a good show of appreciation? Commitment? Mind you the person who’s birthday it was was turning 65 😅 It was a handful of Gen X women all dressed very…business casual? I show up of course in my usual daily (nicer) wear of leggings, a tank with no bra and a cardigan. I am the only person in their 30’s with buzzed hair and tattoos lol.

That’s not the point really - I had a really nice time and I’m glad I went. It helped me gain more confidence that I’m getting better with agoraphobia and whatever other ocd/phobic thoughts I’ve been struggling with. But to set the scene -

My point being now that I’m in an active journey of trying to understand why I function and socialize the way that I do - it became apparent very quickly to me that I mask heavily in uncomfortable situations. This being, I really only knew my boss and that’s already a bit of a stressor when it comes to social performance. She’s not by any means someone I don’t feel comfortable around (she’s already shared with me her dating escapades), but the dynamic of a bunch of generally liberal but vanilla older women and me is quite different.

ANYWAY I was noticing right away that even when physically masked (a face mask), it was obvious that I probably was looking dead pan at someone at all times, so I started over exaggerating squinting my eyes when talking or laughing so no one would misunderstand me, I engaged in very awkward small talk and made weird mistakes lol. I had to stop myself from crossing my arms several times. Because all of these women looked genuinely happy, were talkative, expressive etc. I’m sure to an extent most people do this, but they probably aren’t going through it every minute of every day correcting their posture and tone. Thankfully I don’t do that at work, but it’s definitely why social interactions over a span of time really do drain me. For personal friends I don’t really feel that pressure, but I’m a very awkward and standoffish person when I’m not completing tasks that I generally accomplish by myself or when not interacting with other businesses.

Plus, I couldn’t bring myself to eat any cake or snacks because everyone’s hands were everywhere and unwashed and I can’t be playing those games with my contamination OCD 😂 It’s just like, even if you are JUST an anxious person and not necessarily a socially defunct person, all of those extra thoughts keep me in fight or flight even if I’m having a good time. I don’t think I used to be that concerned, but it’s possible from being in a really high-mask work environment for 6 years I just didn’t think twice about it.

I’m glad at least that my job so far seems very manageable besides carrying heavy things - 3-4 hour shifts, I just do what people tell me to do in the moment (there’s not always a set task list and time requirements change) and I’m left alone to do them. Tons of daily praise, lots of communication. But socially? It will take me a long time to be myself around people who live in completely different worlds than I do.

#torquetalks #personal #work talk

7 notes · View notes

chaosdisorganized · 2 years ago

Note

i think it’s super cool that your a certified nurse! and have DID! i know like i’m just cause you have DID doesn’t mean you can’t do anything but i know how difficult it can be (as a polyfrag did system myself) with all the trauma stuff and anyway- i think your super cool for being a certified nurse :3 <3

I am thankfully not a nurse, just a nurse aide but I appreciate the kindness. I would not be a nurse after working under them for a few years. A nurses job is 10x harder than my job and I certainly would not be able to manage it. After the things I've seen nurses go through and the many I've met who are complete bitches I could never be a nurse. I like being a nurse aide though, it's a very physically demanding job and wears on my physical and mental health which are the only downsides. It pays decent and I love helping people. In my state it's super easy to become a cna, a minimum 2 week course and a state test is all that's required for licensure. My classes were only about a month and the state test wasn't too difficult. Becoming a nurse is a ton more difficult and I can't do it. I've tried going to school a few times and my mental health just does not allow me to manage it. The one month class was very manageable because there was no school work or anything like that, it was attendance based so all I really had to do was show up.

In my job I write a lot of notes on my assignment sheet so my parts have information they need to carry out our work duties. I only work 2-3 days a week, 12 hour shifts make that possible but I don't believe I'd be able to keep this job if I had to do a full work week. I recently had to move back to only 2 days because it's been wearing on me hard-core lately. I'm mostly just glad that I committed to it more than I have for anything ever. I obviously struggle a lot in my day to day life so managing to finish those classes and passing the test was a huge accomplishment and I'm proud of us for it <3 we also struggled a lot about keeping jobs, we would usually leave a place after working for only 3 months and move to the next thing but we've been working for the same agency for almost a year now which is the longest we've ever kept a job. It helps that working for agency means if I don't like a facility or I get burnt out on it I don't have to go back and I still have a job. I'm actually really happy with our career choices atm but it can't be a long term thing unfortunately because the job kills our body and chips away at our mental health. There will come a time when we will no longer be able to work as an aide and hopefully by then ill have other career opportunities to choose from. It's okay for rn though. Thank you for your kind messages, it is really hard. Like I said if we had to do a typical work week we wouldn't be able to manage. Our symptoms are very disruptive in our day to day so only having 2 or 3 days of work has been helpful in helping us manage having a job. I can keep rambling on about this for hours so I'll stop now lol. Thank you again for your kind words, we really appreciate it and I hope you have a good day <3

#ask #anon #anon ask

6 notes · View notes

the-everlasting-downpour · 2 years ago

Text

VIII. – Endarkenment.

— Hey, Square…?

— Yes?

— Do you ever just… take a moment and realize how fucked up everything is?

— Life can get overwhelming and it happens to a lot of people.

— I just feel out of lately. Everything still hurts. The ache in my chest is still there.

— You’re leaving? This early?

— Don’t get whiny about it. I’ll come back later. You were a good company last night. I need to head back home, or others will think I’m dead. I still have work to do.

the void grows mortality shows the darkest of times came back. and no one will know who died, who laid low when everything fades to black.

The door is kicked in. Blood, shell casings, corpses in the corridor behind. The narrow space was framed by an arch of bullet holes. A hand gripped the lapel tightly, the muzzle of the revolver staring under his chin. Innocent-looking eyes stared fearfully into the face. On the face there was only stoic impassivity and unbalanced calmness.

Another task for Amin is not a difficult one, either morally or physically. Outwardly inspecting the building from all visible angles, he got out of the car and stepped inside. He easily took out all the Phoenix Paradise fighters that were there. The difference in weaponry was enormous: they had rifles and Amin had only one revolver; but this difference made little difference, for it was Amin who survived, not those fighters.

It was evening and the clock showed 6:39 PM. Normally at this hour he is at home with his family, but now he has the manager at gunpoint.

— You have two options, – Amin said. – One, I put a bullet in your head. The second is that you tell me everything you know about the Phoenix Paradise and I will let you go. Which one do you like?

— L-Listen, – the manager said, stammering. – I-I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you what I know, okay? Just put me down, please. I don’t have a gun, I-I’m just a manager. A-And I didn’t know they’d be here!

Amin reluctantly let the manager go. He, with his hands raised to his chest, slowly backed up to his desk, opened the drawers and began rummaging through the documents. As the paper rustled, Amin looked out into the corridor. There was a bloodbath: the smell of gunpowder in the air, bullet holes in the walls, blood on the floor, walls and ceiling, and a black corpse lying on a black corpse, each with a small hole in his forehead and a massive hole in the back of his head.

— There they are! – The manager said.

Amin took his gaze away from the mess and walked over to the table. The manager pulled a stack of folders and individual documents from the desk.

— All of these have to do with the «Phoenixes of Paradise», – he said. – I don’t know what can be found here, to be honest, for there aren’t any direct links, but... What can I say – it’s a start.

Amin looked at the stack of papers. He can’t carry it all in your hands, so he asked:

— Do you have any roomy bag? Preferably a sports bag.

The manager looked up at him, thought for a second and then said:

— Yes, of course I do! Give me a moment…

The manager quickly went to the wardrobe where his only coat was hanging and pulled out a large, empty sports bag. Returning to the desk, he stuffed the documents into the bag and handed it to Amin. Amin silently slung it on his shoulder and left the office, politely closing the door behind him. The manager of the establishment merely stared at the closed door, behind which a bloody inferno stretched out.

Breathing in the April air, Amin walked into a bar.

Another bar, similar to the one Amin had seen just around the corner, but which at the same time held an unfamiliar mood. The long-haired bartender in the suit worked tirelessly, the chattering was relentless; there was soothing live jazz playing on a small stage nearby; and the pacifying, stuffy smell of alcohol was in the air. Amin walked behind the counter, sat down on a high chair and ordered himself a drink.

The wristwatch read 6:23 PM. As he waited, he glanced at the illuminated wide shelves full of various types of alcohol. All that he saw was heaven for any desperate alcoholic. The bottles varied in size, shape, colour and sticker on them; one was a translucent white bottle with some kind of Paradisian name that contained half the stated volume of vodka, the other was brown, low, angular and with a black sticker – it was Jack Daniels, of course. It was the same with the other drinks until Amin got his drink.

His alcoholic relaxation, the alchemy of hangover despair, raspberry syrup for a nineties boy, was served in a small glass with ice; the liquid had a distinctly bromine hue. Sipping from it a little, Amin immediately felt the small liquid disperse into atoms over his body, showering him with a pleasant chill. The drink tasted bitter, as all alcohol tastes, but this did not stop him from sipping his drink, watching the jazz band play and waiting, counting the minutes, for Square to arrive.

He didn’t have to wait long. He entered the bar, dressed as an English dandy (his new thick coat reminded Amin of someone), he made a pleasant impression on Amin, though he could see that he was nervous. They shook hands and found an empty, secluded table. After a little while, Amin began:

— Planning this operation was a matter of two nights. And now we can begin. I have received word that the flat of a former associate and sponsor of the Phoenix Paradise is located in a house on Malsundur Street. The information may be out of date, but it can still be used as a starting point. In addition, there is one person in the small firm’s building on Aix Street who can help us a lot. Who goes where is up to you.

Square was silent, looking at his folded hands. Amin looked away for a few seconds, then returned his gaze to Square and said:

— I could have pulled this off without you, but we’re really out of time. If we don’t start now, everything we’re working towards now will just collapse before it’s begun. To where you will go, Square? To the hiding place on Malsundur St. or to the sponsor on Ax St.?

My mind kept going haywire and my body went weak for a second. I wanted to get out from behind the table and head for home, coming to terms with my decision. The feeling of Amin’s stare, the smell of alcohol, jazz and pleasant conversations about simple things kept me from making the right move. Still, Square said:

— To the hiding place.

— Good, – Amin said, leaning back in his seat. – Have you got your weapon with you?

Square reached behind his back and fumbled for the pistol behind his back.

— Yes.

— Then let’s move out.

Amin and Square got up from the table and left the bar, under the watchful eye of the barman who was wiping down another glass.

The skyscraper towered over the capital with its obsidian peak. In the distance, similar obsidian peaks could be seen, and together they held this northern sky overhead. There was everything you could think of – nice people in expensive suits, the latest technology in the offices and the most luxurious capital cityscape on the highest floors, where millionaires were sipping expensive wine, chatting with beautiful ladies and discussing the changes in the stock markets.

Amin’s car was like the missing piece of the puzzle among all the cars. Stepping out of the salon he looked at the front entrance of the skyscraper. There were obviously guards and metal detectors on the ground floor, and if a fake pass could somehow fool those serious, heavy shapeshifters in black, there was no way to explain the gun behind his back. Amin sighed, took the gun out of his inside pocket and tossed it into the cabin, then closed the door, locked the car doors and moved towards the entrance.

The ground floor was beautiful and immensely spacious. A line of metal detectors and guards stood in front of Amin, looking earnestly at their new visitor. Maintaining his former stoic calm, Amin walked up to the metal detectors, took everything metal out of his pockets and onto the table beside them, crossed his fingers and went through the metal detector. Everything went smoothly, but a guard stood in front of him and demanded to see his pass in Paradisian. Amin complied and the guard, scrutinizing the pass for a few seconds, stepped aside, pointing to the lift line with his hand. Amin went straight to them, took one of them and stepped inside. He pressed the button for the residential floors and waited for the doors to close.

The doors almost closed – they were stopped by the hand of the shape. The sheep looked like a standard office worker – jacket, shirt, slacks, shoes; Amin found a note of office appropriate seriousness and attitude in his blank face, wearing only spectacles. He stepped inside, pressed his floor button and waited for the doors to close.

— You’re not from around here, – the shape remarked, glancing at Amin.

— Yeah, just settled in, – Amin replied, keeping his composure.

— What floor are you on? – the shape asked.

At this point his composure began to fail, for he did not know the full extent of the building and did not know how to answer this question. However, he clenched his fists and answered confidently:

— Sixty-third floor.

— To the testers? – the shape asked in surprise. – I thought they didn’t have much of a problem with lack of manpower, but all the things they have going on now... It’s understandable.

Amin glanced at the Shape’s profile and saw that he had a gun in his jacket. So it was either an agent of his former employer or a Phoenix Paradise agent. At any rate, Amin was sure – blood would be spilled. He looked around the cabin – there were no cameras, which was reassuring, though an odd fact.

They met each other’s eyes. Shape reached for the gun in his jacket, but Amin took him by the head and slammed him against the wall of the lift. After hitting the back of his head against the other wall, he clenched his fist and punched him in the stomach before dropping him to the floor of the cabin. The agent’s face showed a bruise from the first blow. He strove to get up, but Amin kicked him in the head with his foot. Then again. Then again. Blood started gushing from the agent’s nose and mouth, but Amin kept hitting him. After another blow, Amin saw that the Shape was unable to move, so he pulled out his gun and shot the agent.

A bullet hole in his head, a stare into the abyss above. A pool of blood began to form on the black floor, merging in shades. Rising from his knee, Amin pressed the button on the very first residential floor – the eighty-third – as quickly as possible and hid the pistol – a standard Glock – behind his groove. It was 6:30 PM on the clock. It was getting stuffy in the cabin, and all the music was the creaking and clanking of the cables and Amin’s heavy breathing.

The lift came to a halt, and soon the doors finally opened. Amin picked up the corpse and pulled it out into a bright corridor. To the right and left was a view of the capital. The black laminate gleamed beautifully under the lamps built into the ceiling. A row of beautiful, identical doors welcomed him hospitably and coolly. For a second, Cudda felt superior to all mankind. Leaving the corpse in the corridor, he drew his gun from behind his groove and walked along the line of doors, keeping his eye on the numbers.

The right flat could not be found on the ground floor. However, Amin noted the cleanliness and tranquillity that suited such corridors. They were spacious, though they served only as a way to move between flats and the lift; the air was pleasant, though there was a detectable note of tobacco. Amin walked slowly down these corridors – he did not want to leave beforehand, but when he realized there was nothing else on this floor he went to the stairwell.

The staircase was simple and rather sad – standard gray, black banisters, dusty steps, large painted numbers near the doors to a particular floor corridor. Amin glanced at the number that was scrawled by the door he came out of; «1» – the first residential floor. He strode up the steps, listening to the shallow echoes. Reaching the first floor, he walked slowly down the corridors, identical to the ground floor, along the flat doors, peering at their numbers. Again Amin did not find the right flat, so he returned to the stairwell and went up another floor. This was repeated several more times until he reached the sixth, penultimate residential floor.

Here, looking out the corridor windows, the fear of heights is at its peak. As he passed another door, Amin stopped and looked at its number more carefully. For a second it seemed like just another number he had absolutely no use for, but now as he stood looking at those golden digits he realised he was standing outside his target’s flat. Amin pressed the bell and took aim at the peephole. There was a shuffling sound behind the door; then the locks clicked and the door opened.

A man dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, with a thick black beard and a nice haircut, wearing glasses and deep-set eyes – the man who opened the door stood stunned in rising horror. For a few seconds he stared into the black depths of the gun’s muzzle. He breathed through his nose – tornly, nervously. Shifting his gaze, the man sighed and said:

— Somehow I knew you’d show up here. Come on, get inside.

Amin lowered his gun and stepped inside. The man obligingly closed the door – Amin listened carefully to see if he would close the locks or not, but he heard no other clicks. The man walked past him and sat down in a chair. There was a sepulchral silence throughout the flat and Amin was aware that it was about to be broken. He walked over and sat down in another chair, directly opposite the man.

— I... didn’t think he would do that, – the man said. – Especially not with you. Believe me, I tried my best – I tried to talk him out of it, to buy him off out of it. But he’s really gone mad, what can I say. He already had few sponsors, but now he has one – and that’s paying his best agent to guard that sponsor’s son. I didn’t want to get you involved, Amin.

— But I’m involved now, Bernie, – Amin said. – As far as it can get. «Phoenixes of Paradise», «Aux Infernum» – how many other such groups are there all over the country?

— Many, – Bernie said. – Very, very many, of varying scale, ideology and hierarchy. However, let me point out, the state is embarking on a massive purge – only the mastodons of the criminal world remain as of now.

Bernie took a glass from the coffee table and gulped down the contents. Putting the glass back down, he continued:

— You want information about the «Phoenixes of Paradise»? – Bernie asked.

Amin nodded. Bernie looked away, then slowly waved towards the door to his office and said:

— Grab it. I didn’t want to pay them anyway – it was very unprofitable. But my colleagues made me.

— You had a choice, – Amin said, rising.

— What choice, Amin? – Bernie asked. – To set up my friends and colleagues?

Amin did not answer in any way; stepping around the chair, he opened the door to the office and stepped forward. Inside it was fresh and clean. The windows gave a stunning view of the capital all around, his boots made a pleasant clatter on the premium floor, and there were various paintings on the black walls – mostly tachism, but Amin didn’t argue about tastes. The main target was the table – the usual expensive clean table that the likes of Bernie have.

He walked over to it and began to rummage through the nightstands. There were many things inside, from a telephone and an engraved pistol to all sorts of Polaroid photographs, but no documents or media. Then he got up and began to search the wardrobe – the usual wardrobe, in which he also found nothing. Frustration slowly boiled over and then he turned to another wardrobe.

Bernie stood watching his actions in the doorway – he didn’t lean on his shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest, but just stood there as if he was watching some sort of argument. Finding nothing in the second cupboard, he closed its doors, sighed and looked at Bernie.

— I forgot to tell you, – Bernie said. – The safe is in the cupboard you’re standing by. The code is 635312.

Amin turned back to the cupboard, opened the doors and searched for the safe. It was not too difficult. A metal box with a simple security mechanism based on a five-digit code was found on the very top shelf behind a heavy box which Amin imagined contained dumbbells. Amin moved the safe to Bernie’s desk, entered the code and opened the door. Inside, in the blackness of the metal walls, lay a portable hard drive.

— The disk contains all the information I could find on them, – Bernie said. – There isn’t much there, because «Phoenixes of Paradise» know how to clean up after themselves.

Amin took the disk out of the safe and slipped it into his back pocket.

— Now, – Bernie said. – I know you want to kill me. I’ll let you do it.

Amin glanced at Bernie. He looked completely indifferent. Cudda pulled a gun from behind his groove, walked over to Bernie and slowly raised the gun to his forehead.

— I’ve lived a terrible life. I’m… tired, Amin, – Bernie said.

Amin covered his gaze with his hand, turned away and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out, and of the sounds that inhabited this flat, it was the loudest of them all. Amin felt sick to his stomach. He put the gun away, stepped over the corpse, and quickly left the flat.

Walking along the old beach, M. spotted an old BMW. The windscreen offered a view of the lively dark blue sea and the dim sky. It was 5:44 PM on the clock. It was a cold day today; hopefully, he thought, they were enjoying the scenery. He walked to the car, struggling to move in the sand in his boots, and sat in the back seats.

— What’s good, you bandits, – he said without hesitation.

The man in the army outfit sitting in the passenger seat in the front glanced incredulously at the newcomer, and then, introducing himself and his partner, began to explain. Listening to him, M. looked out of the window, watching the empty and cold beach, part of a much colder and more lively sea, the patina marks on the grey sky and the sun trying to get out of this prison and illuminate this lonely beach sand with its dead September rays.

— They’ve known about this creep for a long time, – Steve said, – but they never could catch him – he’s a sly one. Now there’s a moment – he’s back and living with a mate.

— We’ll stand in the entrance and wait, – Granite said, nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

— The three of us? – M. clarified.

Granite glanced at M., then glanced at Steve. That’s not an option.

— There’s an emergency exit from the flat, – Granite said. – Checked it; it works. There’s another way out to the loft. There’s an exit up there, too.

M. was quiet for a moment.

— Are they packing heat? – he asked.

— What do you think? – Steve said, turning to him. – That’s the kind of information they stole, the bitches...

Granite started the car and Steve slapped the bolt release button with his palm; the bolt, which had loaded the first round, made a distinctive sound. The trio drove to their destination.

The entrance hall was really old: the walls were shabby, the concrete steps were squeezed by endless walking, the light was dim and came from old incandescent bulbs, of which there were only a couple in single plafonds hanging from wires, for an entire floor. The trio, looking at the door numbers, went up to the first floor and, finding the right door, stood at it. The door was wooden, with the old metal number «21» affixed to it.

— Break in, – Steve said.

Granite, nodding to Steve, sat down by the lock on one knee, pulled out the implements and, obligingly, began to crack the door. M. stood back and surveyed the floor, and when there were no more objects to survey, he shifted his gaze and watched the process; Steve, with his back to the door, was holding the AR15 platform rifle with some accessories: a standard holographic scope, a shortened adjustable telescopic buttstock and a vertical handle, which Steve’s left hand held with just his fingers. Granite had an MP5 submachine gun, with no frills. M. only had a baseball bat in his hands.

When the door was cracked open, Granite took hold of the MP5 and put its barrel against a second door, with a more elaborate lock, where probably a normal-sized man’s head could have been. Steve glanced at M.; the latter said:

— Ring the bell.

Steve pressed the bell button, and stepped back a couple of paces himself, getting into a fighting stance and taking aim. The lock clicked.

— Oscar, is that you? – a man’s voice came.

The door opened. The shape in his plain T-shirt, noticing the barrel of his MP5 staring straight at his forehead, and the wicked stare of the unfamiliar Granite in his stylish jacket, thrust his arms forward in fear.

— Quiet, for fuck’s sake, – Granite said and strode into the flat.

The shape in the T-shirt backed away with each step he took. Granite soon had him by the jersey.

— To the floor, now, – he ordered.

Steve walked quickly inside the flat and began searching it for the presence of their target, taking aim every time he looked into some passage. M. walked in and sat down by the fridge.

— Where is he? – Granite asked.

— Who? – the shape asked incomprehensibly.

Granite took the MP5 off the safety, putting it in automatic mode.

— Don’t fuck around, – he said menacingly through gritted teeth. – This is going to end badly.

— Don’t shoot… – the shape said in fear. – To the metro, he went to the metro, for some alcohol. He’ll be back soon. Please, don’t shoot…

Steve’s back. Granite glanced at him, and he reported:

— There isn’t one.

Granite glanced at the shape. He seemed ready to die of the fear he was experiencing.

— We’ll see. Steve, tie this cunt up.

Steve took the shape, tied his hands and gagged him. M. looked out the window.

About twenty minutes had passed. A nervous Granite, who couldn’t find his place, paced from corner to corner, nervously twitching his MP5. Steve, occasionally inspecting his rifle, sat close to the door. M. just sat quietly watching Granite and Steve. When Granite went to the window, M. said to him:

— Don’t loom at the window. If he sees it, he’ll know.

Granite looked at him with a visible dose of nervousness in his eyes, but he understood and went on into the flat. Alone in the kitchen, Granite found an unfinished beer in a bottle on the table and, praising someone, finished it. M. sat looking around. He was holding a baseball bat – a simple bat, made of wood. Steve, who had noticed the bat, asked:

— Remembering the «nineties»?

— Eh, not really, – M. replied.

— As soon as I saw it, I remembered clearly, – Steve said, then grinned. – Oh, yeah... The «nineties»... I remember breaking a man’s skull with a bat.

— What for? – M. asked.

— What for? – Steve asked back in confusion. – Don’t you understand? Strangling, everything and everyone. You either get strangled or you strangle someone. It’s the only way.

Suddenly the bell rang. Steve, glancing at the door for a moment, pointed the barrel at the bound shape. Granite hurried over, standing not far from the open door. M. got up and, keeping his hand behind the wall so that the man behind the door would not see the knife, opened the outer door.

Behind it stood a man with a bag in his hands, stylishly dressed and smiling, but looking as if he was going through withdrawal stress – all sweaty and nervous. Just as he stepped forward, M. abruptly grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him inside the flat; the man’s face changed from smiling to fear, equal to that of the bound shape.

— On the ground! – commanded Granite, taking the man.

The man looked at the armed men and said, trying to justify himself:

— Guys, I must be in the wrong flat. I’ve got to go upstairs!

— It’s the wrong one, – Granite said, glancing at M.

— Well, all’s for the best, – M. replied.

Granite let go of the man and walked over to the bound shape. The man sat down, hands clasping his knees to his chest. M. squatted down beside the man and looked up as Granite put the barrel of his MP5 to the bound shape’s head and asked him, nervously and angrily:

— Who is he?

The bound shape mumbled something.

— He doesn’t know, – M. said.

Granite looked at M. and, taking his word for it, walked away from the bound shape. M. looked at the other shape, whom they have just taken hostage.

— What is your name? – M. asked.

— Wülf, – the man answered, looking at M. nervously.

— Don’t be afraid, Wülf, – M. said, trying to calm down the hostage shape. – We are not going to hurt you. You just sit there and stay calm, got it?

— Yes, – Wülf said.

— Who are you? – M asked out of interest.

— An announcer, on the radio, – Wülf said, stammering slightly. – «The Attic».

— Oh, I know it. I know an announcer too, but I can’t remember the station.

— They’re all are cunts and nothing more! – Granite aid wryly, walking sideways because of his nerves.

M. exchanged glances with Granite for a second. He continued walking from corner to corner and M. said:

— Nobody’s going to hurt you, I’m responsible. Just sit tight. We are waiting for one man, after we talk to him, we’ll let him go.

— If you do anything, you fucking bitch, I’ll put a bullet in your goddamn head! – Granite said and walked away.

M. glanced at Granite one more time, then, returning his gaze to Wülfe, nodded at him and stood up. M. straightened up – and, immediately, the phone rang. Granite abruptly crouched down beside the tied up Paradisiac, looked at the ringing phone, and reaching out his hand to it, said to the Paradisiac:

— Do anything dumb, I’ll blow your fucking head off.

Granite removed the rag from the bound shape’s mouth, picked up the phone, took the call and put it to the shape’s ear. He listened to someone in a woman’s voice say something quickly and incomprehensibly into the receiver, then said:

— I can’t, I’m celebrating my birthday!

Granite ended the call, sat with his head down, thinking about something, and then smiled and looked up at the shape and said to him:

— Nice one.

Granite put the phone back on the table. M. got up and, deciding to get some air, left the flat and walked around the floors.

When M. returned to the flat, he was greeted by an incomprehensible sound, as if someone had gagged someone trying to say something. M. also noticed incoherently moving feet. In the distance, Steve was wiping his bayonet knife on the pant leg of a dead bound shape; he had a large red mark on his shirt and a lowered head. A couple of seconds later a shot rang out, cutting off this sound and foot movement. Stepping back from the corpse, Granite, seeing the silhouette of M. in the hallway, took aim, but, recognising it, lowered the barrel and said:

— Were you trying to slip, you bastard? We almost got killed here!

— If I wanted to, I would have done it, now, wouldn’t I? – M. replied.

Granite lowered his gaze and thought, then turned his head to Steve and said to him:

— All right, time to run. Steve, finish that bastard.

Steve nodded and moved towards Wülf, but was stopped by M.

— I’ll deal with him myself.

M. glanced at Granite, who was doing something in the small storeroom. Within seconds M. swung the bat and hit Steve in the head, cracking his skull already; the thud caught Granite’s attention – he turned around and, seeing M.’s actions He turned around, and seeing what M. did, he tried to shoot, but M. kicked him hard in the stomach; Granite, writhing in pain, stepped back to the dark storeroom and M. seized the moment, punched him in the face several times, knocked the MP5 out of his hands and put the barrel under his chin, and pulled the trigger.

Granite slowly slumped to the floor; a bullet hole in his head gaped, from which throbbing blood flowed. His body was much scarier in this light, but M. didn’t think much of it. He groped Granite’s body, took something, unpacked it in the pockets of his jeans and, with MP5 in hand, left the storeroom. Next, he groped Steve’s body, took a couple of magazines, which he also pocketed, and took his gun and rifle.

Putting all the weapons on the floor for now, he walked over to Oscar’s dead body and groped him. There was a flash drive in one of the pockets. We should check it out, thought M., and put the flash drive in his pocket. He stood up and glanced at Wülf – who, covering himself with his hands, said:

— Don’t...

— No worries, we had a deal, – M. replied simply.

M. looked around and went into the kitchen. There he rummaged through the shelves and found an ordinary opaque plastic bag with the logo of a shop unknown to him. Returning with it, he unloaded the gun and put the ammunition and weapons in the bag.

— I will leave now, – M. said, taking the bag by the handles, – and I advise you to do the same. Don’t call the police and don’t tell anyone, okay?

Wülf only nodded nervously. M. left the flat and headed towards his dead «mates» BMW. He put the bag on the back seats, so that it was hard to see at first; closing the door, he walked around the car, got behind the wheel and drove off on his own.

Mark’s flat was quiet and peaceful. The open balcony, which reeked of approaching summer, ventilated every nook and cranny. It was evening outside, and the time was 8:03 PM. The bathroom smelled of air freshener. It was stuffy in Mark’s own room, where the black-out windows made it impossible to see outside, where the only light came from the wide, bright monitor, and the only sounds were the clicks of his mouse and the hum of his computer, where he sat alone while he made another album on the computer.

Mark himself wasn’t too bothered by it. He scratched his visibly thin body, sometimes stroked his face, which no longer had that massive beard, and sometimes his shaved head. His group knows little about this decision, but they like the fact that Mark has become much more serious and pragmatic. The only thing he cares about is getting the album together well and getting more than what the band is offering him.

The deep gaming chair, bought purely for comfort, felt like it was glued to his back, and the uncomfortable posture he had adopted a few hours earlier had become more than pleasant. But Mark knew – he had to get up: he had to wash the dishes, he had to clean up the rooms, he had to close the balcony in the kitchen and make tea there – he had to do something, but he kept putting it off with the words: «I’ll put this song together and then I’ll get up». With these words he was putting down the eighth of twelve songs on the upcoming album of the atmospheric progressive metal genre.

But he got up nonetheless. Rised up heavily and in pain – his whole body came out in protest over his decision to stay in that position for hours on end. He got out from behind the table and left the uncompleted ninth song on the screen, opened the door and headed for the kitchen. Because he had been in the darkness that had conquered his room for hours on end, and the light in the kitchen was all-encompassing, he had to narrow his eyes a little. From the balcony came the wind, occasional voices and the rarest sounds of cars. The tiles were icy, and Mark hurriedly closed the balcony door.

Breathing in the frosty air in the ventilated kitchen, he approached the kettle – an ordinary, unremarkable, grey electric kettle, bought to replace the old one, which had mysteriously broken down and was now lying in the garbage. He drained the boiling water from it, poured new water, put it on the platform, checked the connection to the socket and after all this procedure he switched on the kettle. It began to hiss, getting ready to boil water, and Mark sat down, on a vacant stool, and waited.

He didn’t make any tea. A man burst into the flat with a bang and, finding Mark in the kitchen, shot him with a rifle. The bullet hit him in the head.

M. did not reach the scene until hours later, when all the blood had drained out, forming a puddle, and when his eyes began not to care that they were staring into the bright kitchen light. Mark’s body lay as a normal body, previously sitting on a stool, waiting for the kettle to click. The tiles had already lost most of their cold. Outside the window it was slowly dawning – M. could see the sky changing, from its infinite black to lighter shades, striving to reach a midday pristine blue.

Approaching the corpse, M. looked at its face – an ordinary, human face, somewhat reminiscent of his own, but now dulled, having lost the luster of life inherent in the face. Carefully, M. put his hand to his dead friend’s eyes and closed them. Then he got up, walked out of the kitchen and into the room. The computer was still running. Within fifteen minutes he had made a post on Mark’s personal social media, announcing his death and marking the end of «Baade Studio». Among the items in his pockets was a high capacity flash drive, onto which he copied all the files from his unfinished album folders – files, all sorts of notes. Turning off the computer, he returned to the kitchen, where Mark was still lying in the same position, pulled out his phone and dialed Erica’s number.

— Yeah...? Listen, are you busy right now? This is very serious. Yeah, okay. Listen, I’ve got some really bad news. Mark’s... dead. He’s been shot – a bullet hole in the head. I copied the album files, so I’ll finish our album at home, and then we’ll think about the fate of our band. Calm down, Erica, calm down. If you want, come to my flat and I’ll help you. Yeah, sure, the door’s open. John will meet you. Okay, I’ll see you soon.

Finishing the call, M. glanced at his watch – 11:32 AM. M. slumped down, slid quietly onto the tiles, clasped his legs and turned his gaze to the oblivion beyond.

The time on the wristwatch showed 6:27 PM. Slowly ascending to the first floor of the apartment building, whose pre-revolutionary styling was very confusing, Square still reached the right flat. Its dilapidated door was somewhat intimidating, and the silence in the entryway strangely soothing. A cluster of sensations came over Square, and an idea arose in his mind – to run, as he had thought to run then. There was no point in retreating, however – they were too deep into this affair. Square went to the door, pulled out his pistol and put it in his left hand; putting his right hand on the rusty handle of the door, he pressed and opened it.

There was no lock, as if it had been ripped from the door, and the door opened easily, but with a distinct grinding and creaking sound. Ahead was a corridor with two branches to the right. The corridor itself was like an open wound of the abyss. It got much scarier. Square reluctantly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Fumbling for his phone in the pocket of his anorak, he pulled it out and switched on a torch; in its white light he saw a pile of junk blocking the far right turn, so Square moved toward the nearest turn.

That turn was actually a passage into the kitchen – a simple, small kitchen with a single dining table with nothing on it. The cupboards on the walls were smashed to pieces. A pile of unwashed dishes lay in the sink, reeking of inadequate lifestyles and decomposed food remains. Square left the kitchen and moved further down the corridor; finding the entrance to the living room, he turned into it.

The living room was worse than the kitchen and the corridor. It reeked of decay and sadness. The dusty windows let in only a fraction of the spring light. All the broken furniture that might have been there was covered with a thick layer of dust. The floorboards were rotten and creaked eerily underfoot. The place had been a hiding place, but as Amin said, all was fair in war. Looking around, Square didn’t notice when he stopped at the door to the room.

The door was all shredded, battered, broken, and had a huge crack in it, allowing a glimpse inside the room. Deep-seated fear and paranoia tried again to take over from Square; something creaked from the side in the distance, and Square turned his gaze sharply, but saw nothing. He was breathing nervously, and his sighs were the loudest sound in the whole flat. Soon, counteracting his fear, he took a deep breath, calmed down and opened the door to the room.

It was the children’s room. There was still a sign of colour here under the peeled, rotten, torn wallpaper. The floor here looked newer than before. Apparently someone had lived here before, and so decided to tidy it up as much as this place would allow. There was a table – the usual huge plank on four wooden bars – a stool, some empty boxes and all sorts of rubbish that had been left here recently.

Square, not putting the gun back in his pocket, began pacing the room in search of the stash. It wasn’t under the pile of boxes, nor was there any particular trace of the stash in the floor. He walked up to the nearest wall, touched the rough surface to it with his fingers and began to trace across the room in the hope of finding the trapped object. So much of the room was traversed, and when he thought there was no hiding place, he fumbled for a bulging something concealed by an attached scrap of paper disguised as wallpaper. Boldly peeling off the flap, he saw a small space in the wall in which something lay.

Stepping back a few paces, Square shone a torch into it. In the hiding place was a folder containing an old hard drive. Square put the gun away and turned off the torch; on the phone he opened the phone book and dialled Amin.

— What happened? – Amin asked.

— I found the stash, – Square said. – Securing it and br...

He was interrupted by a punch to the head. Square fell dully to the floor; his thumb pressed the call end button. His head ached and buzzed, his eyes skewed. The hazy image made it impossible to see the attacker.

— Не думал, что это сработает, – a voice came through the hum.

Then there was a sudden nothingness.

M. was sitting in the car, smoking and looking out the front window. It was covered in water – it was a typical everlasting downpour in the capital. The radio screen and the indicators on the dashboard were off. A freshener in the shape of a herringbone – a simple green herringbone – hung silently. A symphony of water could be heard through the crack of the ajar window. In his hand was a cigarette. At his feet lay a bloody bat; the blood on it was recent, but it had already dried. On the glove compartment lay a telephone. In the back lay a bag of weapons. There was a languid feeling in the shower.

Breaking the silence, the phone buzzed and rattled. M. picked it up, glanced at the caller’s name and took the call.

— What is it? – he asked.

— Things are bad, – Amin said on the other side. – Square has gone to the hiding place I told you about. The data has been found, but the call has been interrupted. I’m afraid he’s been done for.

— Shall I go and check on him? – M. asked.

— Bingo, – Amin said, sighing. – Do you have a gun?

M. looked at the bat. The bat was new and reliable, and the blood on it was terrifying to most people.

— Yup, – M. replied.

— OK. I’ll send you the address now. Just… Just make sure you and he will make this out alive, will you? – Amin said.

The call is over. M. put the phone back on the glove box and picked up the bat. With a twist, he laid it down on the back of the seats. Then the radio caught his eye – he’d had enough of listening to an everlasting downpour song, so he bravely pressed the small button to turn it on. The display showed a simple «Hello», then another «Load SD», and seconds later some music by an unknown author came on – something of a jazz type, something soothing, adding to the melancholy and anxious mood that the torrential day had brought with it.

To pass the time, M. again picked up the phone to see what people were writing on the Internet. What they wrote made him want to vomit; he put the phone away without finishing reading even one piece of news, there was no mental energy left because of boredom. He found himself rather detached and tired in the faint reflection of the cloudy windscreen.

Soon the phone buzzed again. M. picked it up and read the message; Amin had sent an address. M. punched it into a map finder and plotted a route to the place. Grasping the keys with cold fingers, he turned them all the way and started the car. Then the headlights and wipers came on. Carefully glancing in the rear-view mirror, he pulled out of the parking space and drove off into the distance, through a bombardment of heavy drops.

The journey did not take long, and soon the car once again turned the corner and stopped in front of a rather old-looking apartment building. It had only five storeys and its pre-revolutionary appearance was still preserved, thanks to the forces of the state. M. took the rifle in his hands and put his hand on the door lever, but lingered, contemplating the possible outcome. He realised that he might die, but it was too late to retreat. M. left the car, took the bat from the back seats and, in a heavy downpour, made his way inside the entryway.

The stairs leading to the ground floor level were high and wide. Echoes drifted forward and seemed to cut off abruptly. Not many people live here, thought M. as he climbed the stairs. The walls were painted with obscenities, bottle shards, cigarette butts lay in the corners; someone had burned out someone’s doorbell button. Horror, thought M., pure horror. When he reached the first floor, he noticed the door ajar. Without any deliberation, he went to it and slowly opened it.

Far away in the corridor, under the light of a hanging lantern, stood a uniformed and armed man talking to someone. The conversation was in Russian. Soon someone stood up and went into the depths of the flat. M. had already walked slowly inside. Grabbing the bat, he quickly and sharply struck the man in the back; the man, without a scream, but with a wheeze and groan, fell to his knees in tremendous pain. At the ready, M. struck the man in the head with the bat, fracturing his skull.

The corpse fell down with a thud. M. put the bat on the table, took the rifle and, having checked the chamber, went into the living room. There was also a man standing by the living room aisle, smoking quietly; the bluish smoke irritated M.’s throat, he wanted to cough, but he endured. Keeping the scope on the man’s head, he put the muzzle to his head. The man was stunned into a stupor for a millisecond, the cigarette falling out of his hand. He slowly turned to M. – the man only put his finger to his mouth and whispered, then pointed to the floor and said:

— Lie still and I’ll let you go.

The agent nodded nervously, removed his weapon and slowly lowered himself to the ground, covering his head. M. unloaded the agent’s rifle, appropriating the magazine and the round in the chamber for himself. Peeking around the corner, he saw two agents – one standing by the window, the other hanging around the living room; both unaware of his presence. Grabbing a better rifle, M. took aim and shot the agent at the window with a shot to the back of the head. The shot rang out loudly under the rickety vaults. The second agent turned sharply and tried to take M., who had come out from behind cover, in his sights, but was killed by a burst of fire. It was all within five seconds.

All that was left was the room. Its rickety old door was closed, and in the crack M. saw Square lying in a corpse pose; he did not notice his blood. M. noticed that the hinges barely held it – one powerful blow would be enough to knock it off its hinges. Moving away from the door, M. concentrated his attention on the area next to the door handle, and with all his strength, kicked the area.

The door flew off its hinges and rattled to the ground. There was silence next, with a massive puff of dust. M. stepped inside – and immediately an agent lunged at him with a knife from a cubicle. The agent wanted to kill M. with a deft punch, but he managed to block the blow with his rifle. M. pressed and pulled the agent away from him, hit him in the face with the buttstock, took aim and pulled the trigger. The agent fell dead to the floor, with a bullet hole in his forehead, where the Ajna had been.

There was a silence, the kind that can come after a man’s death. M. tossed the rifle aside, walked over to Square. He didn’t move. M. pulled out his phone and held it up to his face. Condensation appeared on the screen, which meant there was hope. As quickly as possible M. lifted his body onto his shoulders and left the room. A bag of weapons was found in the living room and, with the corpse on his shoulders, M. finally disarmed the dead man, stacked the weapons in the bag and took it with him.

With a bag full of weapons and a corpse on his shoulders, walking became incredibly difficult. The steps were labored, and his shoulders ached with pain. But M. kept walking – rearming his allies to minimize the chance of them dying was a very important step. Leaving the flat, M. walked down the stairs to the ground floor, one step at a time. This is how he left the entrance and reached the car.

Opening the front passenger door, M. placed Square in the seat. Looking at his posture, he remembered himself from a long time ago. At the feet of the empty passenger seat fit a bag of weapons. M. got behind the wheel, started the car and drove away from the house.

M. wanted to fall over from the weight, but he reached the front door. Amin’s house was in the south-west of the vast capital – where you only have to drive half a kilometre to reach the abandoned beach where the old bunkers stand and dot the i’s for the last time. M. rattled off a knock on the door. Almost immediately the locks clicked. The door opened and behind it stood Amin, who upon seeing M. like this, was taken aback and could only step back.

M. walked heavily into the living room and placed Square on the sofa. He took the bag off his shoulder and tossed it to Amin. He opened it and looked inside, and from what he saw he asked:

— Where did you get so many weapons?

— I got them when I pulled Square out of the pit, – M. said, staring at the half dead body.

Amin did not answer, but soon got up, walked over and joined the inspection of the body. Outwardly there were no injuries, but M. understood that the clothes could not have bruises – only lacerations.

— Take care of the weapons. I’ll take care of Square, – M. said.

— Maybe we should do it together? – Amin asked.

— Amin, – M. said, and turned to him. – I can do it.

Amin thought for a moment, then nodded, retrieved the bag and returned to his room.

M, recalling the material from the medical literature he had read, stripped Square down to his boxers, folding his clothes on the chair he had dragged in earlier when Amin had gone into the room. Now that Square lay before him in only his underwear, remaining unconscious, M. proceeded to examine his wounds more carefully, of which there were quite a few all over his young body.

The bruises and cuts of varying magnitude and severity of damage – M. treated Square with the utmost care. Amin returned to the living room to see how M. was treating his unfortunate comrade in a rather professional manner. At the sight of this he remembered his time in the army – the way they were trained in first aid, practicing it on dummies and live comrades, whose lives Amin was now interested in.

A couple of hours passed and Square’s body was finally cured. At M.’s request, Amin brought a blanket from his room to cover Square so that he wouldn’t have to see his naked body for a second more. M. pulled a second chair, sat down next to Square and after looking at his face for a while with only one eye closed, felt for a pulse. It was there, so he’d just fallen asleep in a hail of pain, trying not to feel it.

— All right. Let him sleep, – M. said and rose from his chair.

He and Amin left the living room, leaving Square asleep, and moved to Amin’s old study. There were several pieces of miscellaneous weapons laid out on the table.

— A few rifles, a shotgun, the rest were pistols. Everything looks... army style, – Amin said.

— Weapons from the wars get dumped to everyone, – M. remarked.

Amin did not reply. He sat down at the table and stared at the weapons on the table. He sat down on the table and stared at the weapons on the table, his mind reeling with thoughts, and a strangely cheerful, manic thought emerged victorious from this battle royale. M. noticed this.

— Why do I know what you are thinking? – he asked.

— What are you thinking about? – Amin asked.

— You are thinking that we and the «Phoenixes of Paradise» are different.

— Well, we are! – Amin said.

After some hesitation M. looked at him, while he was still pondering over his thoughts and asked:

— Were you ever at the front?

— Were you? – Amin asked back.

— Yes, I was.

— And where you were?

— Goldenstörm. A mining town. It wanted to secede by war a couple of years ago.

— Oh, yeah. Well, unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance, so...

— Then it all makes sense now, – M. said and got up from his chair.

He walked around the table and stood in front of Amin. Amin’s face, instead of joy, now expressed a question.

— Do you know what kind of blood we spill?

Amin shook his head. Then, a second later, M. punched him in the face, then took hold of his shirt.

— Can you feel it? – M. said, remaining maniacally calm. – It’s the same blood. The same! We’re no different from them. Only in the fact that instead of those unknown personalities, we have you as our leader. And the targets are just a tad bit different.

M. threw him back in his chair. Amin looked at him dumbfounded, as if he couldn’t understand his words or the language he was using.

— The flag is different – the methods are the same. The system is simple and straightforward, but you do not understand it. And yet you should.

M. left Amin and returned to Square’s living room. Amin, on the other hand, continued to sit there, tasting blood in his mouth.

It’s 9:34 PM on the clock. The sky is overcast, the patina changing every second. An occasional breeze flies through, a cold, bracing wind. The trees and gravel paths look deader than ever before. April finally comes to an end, and with it goes John, lying in a closed coffin.

Compared to John’s parents, M., in his typical street uniform, looks odd. The mother did not stop crying, the father could only hold her back, himself holding back his grief. M., on the other hand, stood not far from them and looked at the coffin, at its smooth, polished surface, where inside, in victorious white silk, lay a man with a torn heart. John had been a good, true friend to M. They had walked through fire and water together, they had trained together, they had walked the streets of unfamiliar cities together, they had walked into the Northern scorcher together, they had hoped for a brighter future together. And now, as their hearts and souls are breaking, as the whole world kneels before them, John leaves him alone with his destiny, with the world before him, with the most important decision. He flies off into the air to observe further events.

A few moments later John’s father looked at M., pointed at the manipulator button and told him:

— I’ll pass the honour on to you.

M. slowly walked over to the manipulator and, looking at the coffin, pressed the button. The manipulator started working, the cables lowered the coffin into the hole and a huge concrete slab covered the grave. A Catholic cross was painted on the slab.

M. walked back to his car. He walked away from the cemetery much faster than when he was walking in it. Once outside the cemetery he got into his car and locked the doors. He didn’t start the car right away, giving himself an extra minute to think about the past, about the present, about the future. Of all the thoughts that could come into his mind, the last thought he had was always about the future. He didn’t think so often about what would become of him tomorrow, because it was a game of dice – either he guessed it or he didn’t. And he was not going to give his all just to see if he would die tomorrow. He has no desire to play guessing games with the unknown.

There was a knock on his window. Putting his thoughts aside, M. lowered the window. John’s father was standing at the window.

— Can I talk to you for a few minutes?

— Sure, – M. replied.

John’s father looked away, and then started:

— I’ve been thinking for a long time about whether or not to disclose this to you, but now I realise that I owe it to you to tell you about it. John, our only son, was born with heart problems. Already from his childhood we knew that life was not going to be good for him. However, even with the knowledge that he could die at any moment, he continued to live and fight against the unbearable death looming before his eyes. He even managed to join the army, where he met you. You were his only friend. And I am eternally grateful to you for being you and for being you.

M. shifted his gaze to the windshield, looking somewhere in the distance with a heavy and silent surprise. John’s father began searching for something in his briefcase and soon handed M. a box.

— This is all he wanted to leave you. He gave it to us a week before he died. As if he knew he was going to die.

M. slowly put his hand to the box, took it and examined it. It was made of ebony, with a beautifully embossed pattern; in the centre of the lid was a sword, which was wrapped around by a snake. M. understood what the symbol was. He put the box down on the seat beside him, said goodnight to John’s father and drove back home.

Morning, 8:30 AM. Dressed as if for a parade, Amin got out of his car and entered the restaurant. The place had been open for half an hour, but it was already humming like an eatery. The people were all different, but there was one thing in common – everyone was dressed as if for a parade or from a parade. Almost all the tables were occupied. Amin walked slowly around the room, looking for the right one, until he found one.

At this table sat his sister Elise. She was wearing a black knitted cardigan with a plain white shirt underneath, black slacks and black stiletto shoes; her black duster was hanging on the back of her chair. Amin took a seat at the table in front of her. A waiter came over and obligingly placed two cups of black coffee with saucers on the table. In its smooth surface he found himself – the perpetually tired professor of history and culture at the country’s first college.

— You look pretty bad, – Elise said, with a note of concern.

— You look like you’ve just come from a funeral, – Amin retorted.

— If it were a funeral, I wouldn’t allow myself to dress like that, – Elise said. – they know me like this at work.

— And how is your publishing house? – Amin asked and took a sip of coffee. The strong, bitter black liquid burned his throat, but he didn’t pay much attention to it.

— We are preparing three new books, – Elise said and also took a sip of coffee. – We are also preparing our first book to be printed on paper.

— Has anyone already offered to buy your business?

— Our business? No. Why?

— Well, you never know.

Elise put the cup back on the saucer.

— Well, that was a lyrical digression, – she said; her tone of voice became more serious. – I can’t understand what is happening to you, Amin. At first you started to write infrequently. Then we hardly ever met, and at that one meeting you ducked out. And then recently you moved away. Did something happen?

Amin looked around, sat down closer to the table and put his hands on it.

— Promise me you won’t tell Aaron anything. He mustn’t know.

— Aaron is twenty-six now.

— So? He’s still young. And you’re a grown-up lady. You’ll understand.

Elise just sighed.

— I promise. Tell me.

— I spill blood. Literally. First that… fucking bastard I left at twenty-three, and now «Phoenixes of Paradise», a new band that the average person knows little, about, if not literally nothing. But I’m not simple, you know that. For the fourth month I’ve been at war with these two, building up a picture of the Paradise Phoenixes along the way and getting a few of my friends out of the mess. We’re not taking sides, Elise – we’re fighting for ourselves to keep our freedom.

Elise was silent. She sat in a stupor at what she had heard. Although Amin’s thought was formulated on the fly and it was difficult to understand what was being said, she understood. She wanted to cry like a little girl, but she maintained her composure. She took a sip of her coffee and said:

— Shouldn’t the police be doing that?

— Do you think they’ll actually do it? Elise, there hasn’t been a police force for three decades as of now, and what they call a police force is a simple, fucking, paid circus! They’re run by people like the ones I’m fighting with now.

She lowered her gaze. She was afraid for herself, for Aaron, for Cudda. For everyone who was near and dear. She did not want to lose them. Amin said:

— I don’t need your help, Elise. If you help me, you will be the target as well. Take care of yourself and Aaron and I will manage on my own.

Elise did not respond in any way – not even a nod.

Amin glanced around the hall and saw two human men. One was thin, of normal height, bald, with thick eyebrows and wearing a black shirt and trousers. Beside him stood a taller man, half a head taller than the first, similarly bald, with a white shirt tucked into his trousers and its collar open. Amin knew where this was going, so he stood up and told Elise:

— I’m going to go to the bathroom.

Moving across the hall, Amin reached the toilet door and quickly stepped inside. He was followed by a full man. Inside the toilet, Amin immediately went into the first stall, luckily it was empty, and sat down on the toilet. Hearing the door click open, Amin leaned his body against the wall of the stall without taking his feet off their place. The man, bolting the silencer to his gun, found Amin’s feet, took aim at the stall door and pulled the trigger several times. A second later, Amin took aim and fired back – the rumble of the shot was particularly deafening.

The man, hit in the stomach, fell to the tiles. Hearing the fall, Amin stepped out of the stall, flung the gun aside with a movement of his foot and put the gun to his head and asked the wounded man:

— Who’s after me, you fucking bastard?

— Don’t shoot... – the man said. – It wasn’t me, it was Wülf. I was sent to kill the «pyramid-headed» and the «bald cyclops».

Amin realized at once who Wülf had decided to attack.

— And where is this Wülf?

— In his radio station, «The Attic». 44 Sanmardar Street, flat 238.

Amin got up, took the wounded man’s gun and stuffed it behind his groove. Walking to the door, he took aim and said:

— You bastards will pay for Las Void.

The man tried to say something, but Amin could not hear his voice under the rumble of two shots. Blood was spilled again. Hiding his gun, Amin quickly left the scene.

A robbery took place in the south of the capital. At 4.45 PM, two people – a man and a woman – entered a small antique shop. The man was armed – he demanded the money; the woman only stood by (as the owner said, with a smart look). The bag containing the money was handed over to the robbers. The woman, after retrieving the bag, left the shop. A few seconds later the man followed, but as he left the shop and headed towards his car, he was shot dead with a gun.

Getting out of the pursuit was very difficult. The driver of the pursuing car was assertive, forcing his car’s engine to run almost to the point of exhaustion. And it was doubly difficult for Square; not only had he never been in this kind of trouble before, he had hardly ever driven a car since he got his license. A hundred different thoughts swirled in his head, his nerves were fraying, his hands were shaking – he was on the edge, ready to give up. But in counteracting all of this the key to a successful nervous breakdown, the desire to live won out in his mind. His nerves quickly fell into line, his hands calmed, his eyes stopped looking elsewhere. In the ensuing turn he successfully got rid of his pursuer and pulled into the motel where the room was rented.

Entering there, the woman called Aster threw her bag on the bed and sat down. Square, on the other hand, as soon as he walked in, locked the door, curtained the window and sat down against the wall. He was as confused as she was. Something wasn’t adding up, something was clearly missing – under the hope of flying free again, he’d forgotten something important. A small, cheap television set hoarsely reported a robbery in progress.

— And how much was this man going to give us? – Square asked.

Aster glanced at the bag, then, looking at Square, answered:

— One hundred thousand.

She switched back to the news about the robbery that had taken place. Square, tired of sitting against the wall, moved to a chair nearby and also watched the news. The woman in the suit was calmly talking about the tragic ending to a successful robbery in view of their dead accomplice – the very man whose name Square didn’t know. The feeling reappeared in his mind that all the information he’d received didn’t add up – in any way. Otherwise it wouldn’t have happened. Something was unknown to them, or at least to him. He turned off the television and exhaled with relief. Aster glanced at him.

— If he saw you taking the money, – Square said, calmly and judiciously, – and saw you get into the car, why didn’t he say anything?

— I have no idea, – she answered quietly.

Square stood up. Aster knew what was about to happen, but would take no action to try and get out of the impending situation – it could get much worse, so the best thing for her was to take it for granted. Square approached her and asked:

— Did you know there was going to be a second car?

— I’ve already told you everything, – she said.

Square, after a little while, slapped her across the face. She collapsed on the bed and immediately started sobbing. Square clamped her mouth shut and began to speak, remaining maniacally calm:

— Because of you, a disabled veteran’s son died. And we almost died. And you keep lying. From now on, every word you say is the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God. Or I’ll have to hurt you again.

She only whimpered and sobbed. She wanted to live, and Square understood that. But for now she was a way for him to get his way.

— What did they tell you? – he asked and took his hand away from her mouth.

— They said the people in the second car would rob us, – she answered. Her voice was gradually reduced to a mere dog-like whimper. – But they didn’t say anything about that kind of money. Nor did they say anything about anyone getting killed...

— «Phoenixes of Paradise», having found out about me, decided to try to throw me over, right?

She didn’t answer, just nodded. There were no tears in her eyes, which somewhat surprised Square.

— Do you know their real names?

— No one knows their names, – she answered in a whisper.

— Do you know where they are now? – Square asked.

She shook her head.

— Do you know where your employer is? – Square asked.

She nodded.

— We’ll go to him. Right now. Do you understand?

— Yes, – she answered, faintly.

Square put his hands down definitively. Aster rose abruptly and went to the small bathroom, continuing to whimper occasionally. Square sat down on the bed – it was soft, but clearly cheap and previously used. His thoughts were confused again, for even this statement, he suspected, had its share of lies to make things more beautiful. He could have got more out of her, but the chance of that was so small that he did not think it possible in principle.

Aster’s phone buzzed. Fumbling it beside him, he picked it up and glanced at the message that came. The reading awakened an underlying fear. As soon as Square stood up, a loud shotgun blast rang out and the unsuspecting Aster’s head turned into a crushed heap of flesh and blood splattered in all directions. The shooter tried to kill Square as well, but only hit his arm, and only a small part of the shot. There was a ringing in his ears. Square hid in a corner and gathered his thoughts.

The shooter had come in through a broken window. Someone was trying to break in through the front door. Square, when the assailant’s shotgun appeared in the opening, grabbed his weapon and dragged the shooter back into the bathroom. Punching his attacker in the face, he took a piece of shrapnel and plunged it into his attacker’s throat, puncturing his carotid artery; he instantly began to bleed out. The second assailant had already broken in, and when Square grabbed the dead man’s shotgun and faced him holding the gun, he pulled the trigger, hitting the assailant with the whole shot and knocking him back onto the bed behind him.

Covered in blood, Square stood, petrified of blood, looking at the corpses beside him. Moral decay had reached its peak; he could feel nothing but guilt and pain. It seemed that the same would happen to his relatives. It made him want to cry, but his stupor prevented him from doing anything. A dozen seconds passed and he came to his senses. Taking his attacker’s gun and bag of money, he left the room, got into his car and drove as far away from the motel as possible.

This club was similar to those found all over the capital. Situated, as usual, around the centre, for the centre is the centre of everything, including the police, and since these clubs operate illegally, under the control of the capital’s criminal congregation, any attempt to set up in the living centre of the capital for even one day would be doomed to failure.

This club was located in the north of the capital, in one of the bedroom areas, in a huge basement. Such basements existed primarily for communal needs, but almost all basements of all multi-storey buildings remain unused. And they are already being taken over by gangs, negotiating with the management companies over a feast and a newly arrived tidy sum in the director’s bank account.

Square asked the taxi driver to stop the car. He left the car and gestured for the driver to drive away, while he headed for the stairs to the basement. There was no indication that this particular basement was a club, of course, but Aster couldn’t lie to him – fearing for her life, she gave away everything she knew about her employer. Square went down, stood at the typical iron door and without thinking, knocked loudly.

An observation slot opened. Square, seeing the guard’s heavy gaze, raised the card and declared:

— I am from Aster. Open it.

The guard was quiet for a second, then closed the slot and opened the door.

— Aster is still alive? – the guard asked.

— If she wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here, – Square said, stepping inside.

The guard closed the door.

— What did she tell you to do? – the guard asked without a trace of arrogance.

— To speak to our... – Square said, but he paused. He did not know the name, which was bad, for not knowing the employer’s name would betray his evil intentions.

— To Haaki? – The guard asked.

— Yes, to him, – Square said, relieved.

— He’s in the dressing room, – the guard said.

— And how do I get there? – Square asked.

The guard walked past, opening the door to the club. A cannonade of different sounds and colours emitted from the strobe light. The place was humming the usual electronic stuff, the kind that made you want to puke, but the people in the middle, on the dancefloor, loved it.

— Over there, – the guard said and his huge hand pointed to a door in a dark alcove. – There’s the dressing room. That’s where Haaki is.

Square walked silently into the main room of the club. The guard, watching as Square descended the stairs, returned to his post. The bass of the music was deafening and the strobe light was blinding, but Square paid no attention. Reaching the door, he pulled a hammer from behind his groove. He looked over the side, squeezed the handle and pushed open the door to the dressing room.

Inside was a dozen beautiful naked women – their large breasts could not excite Square, whose desire had long since died. By one such woman sat a man in a tracksuit – it was Haaki, unsuspecting. Without further ado, Square walked over, took his hand and slapped it several times on the palm that lay on the table. Along with Haaki’s screams an obvious crunch was heard. Square knocked him off the chair to the floor, tossed the chair aside and stood over him. Several of the girls quickly left the dressing room.

— Whose money do I have? – Square asked.

— Don’t worry, – Haaki said, smiling nervously. – They’ll come back for it.

Square took a swing.

— No! – was all Haaki could say.

But Square wasn’t listening. With one mighty blow, with a force backed by hatred and a desire to be free, he drove the hammer through Haaki’s frontal bone. He wheezed, staring frantically at Square. His limbs twitched once and then did not move. Blood poured from the hole made, from the dead man’s nose and mouth.

— I won’t have to wait for it any fucking longer, – Square said and left the scene.

The massive pliers cut the wire one last time. Young hands stretched the cut in the high wire fence in two different directions. Several young men – all in black, all with paint on their faces – entered the forbidden territory. The grass rustled under several pairs of feet. The night wind whipped past, trying to bend the centuries-old spruces. In the distance towered the oldest wooden church in reconstruction – the Church of Parallax, the Father of Gods and Men.

The church soon grew larger and larger and the group of young men stood at its doorstep. Its majestic vaults, its divine appearance, its structure and its icons waiting to be reborn within the wooden walls – its sight in no way frightened these young men, only amused, amused them. One of them, in whose hands was a box of Molotov cocktails, placed it on the ground. Everyone pulled out their lighters and took a bottle each in hand. When the fuse was lit, a group of individuals threw them at the church.

The wooden structure succumbed to the all-destroying flames. Smoke, black in the night, rose upwards, and through it shone the moon, whose rays shone into the criminals. They did not stop at one bombardment and then they threw more Molotov cocktails, emptying the entire box of cocktails in two rounds. Now they watched as the greatest creation of northern man, the greatest creation of the worship of the northern gods – they watched as the oldest church in all of Paradise burned to the ground. There was only laughter and triumph in their eyes, which reflected the engulfing flames.

The next morning the story was broadcast on all channels as breaking news. At 11.59 AM Reekis, who had been the first to throw the incendiary mixture, died after injecting into his vein a dose of heroin too large for his body. He died with the memory of a snide grin, and his body could feel the heat, the impact of the destructive fire that that church felt. In his suicide note he left:

«A hard life. You wouldn’t believe what they made me do.»

Eugene, who didn’t arrive home until late afternoon, around 9:30 PM, read the note and realised to whom it was addressed. Leaving the corpse lying in his room, he called the emergency number and explained what had happened. A police squad and an ambulance were on their way to the scene. Eugene left the flat, took the lift down to the lobby, left the building of the «Shajar Home» and got into his car. After sitting for a while, he drove out of the car park and headed east, towards the sea.

When he reached an abandoned dirt beach, he took a gun out of the glove compartment and shot himself. In his suicide note he left:

«Я всех любил, без дураков.»

From the very threshold M. saw a dead man. A man in a black uniform, with a rifle in his hand and a pierced skull, was staring dumbly into the wall opposite him. A large pool of blood had formed around him, which was difficult to cross, but M. managed to do so and moved on. The corridor turned in the next few steps; peeking around the corner, M. spotted an open door. Following the voice of logic and reason, he returned to the corpse and slowly picked up his rifle in his hands. Checking the chamber, M. returned to the corner and, taking aim, left cover.

There was silence throughout the corridor, the kind that can stand in the corridors of a third-floor apartment building where several people have died today. My boots tapped softly on the old dirty floorboards. The doors to the other flats, so different in their way of life, were closed, and the only open door led to flat «44». Approaching the passageway to the flat, M. peered around the corner, but saw nothing. Thinking slightly about what might be waiting for him inside, he went inside.

The flat was dark. The man who had entered had not switched on any lights, nor had he opened any windows. Of all the sounds in the flat there were only M.’s footsteps and the hum of the refrigerator in the nearby kitchen. His eyes saw only blackness, but they quickly grew accustomed and he could see the silhouettes of objects in the living room: a sofa, a television on something oblong (it looked like a TV cabinet), the outline of a human corpse that looked like a corpse in the hallway. Having looked around the living room, M. went to the rooms.

There was only one room, and strange noises could be heard behind it. When he opened the door, M. saw a shape in a leather jacket and black jeans, collecting something from the table in his bag. M. walked in quietly, keeping his sights on the shape. The shape finished gathering the necessary items and as soon as he started to turn around, was pinned against the wall by M. with his muzzle close to his chest.

M. glanced at the fighter. One eye almost in the centre, a rounded bald head, two triangles levitating above his head. Yes, it was Blixter.

— It’s you, – M. said and removed the muzzle from his chest.

He stepped back a few steps.

— What are you here for? Rubber-stamping a cease-fire? – M. asked.

— It’s bullshit, not a cease-fire, you know that, – Blixter replied, hanging the bag on his shoulder.

— Of course it is. A comedy act, for the purpose of gaining privacy.

— Why would they do all that?

— So that the state, – M. said and threw a glance into the corridor for a few seconds, – would stop giving their last fuck about what’s happened in the last six months. So that the «Phoenixes of Paradise» can continue to steal and kill – in peace, you see.

M. took a step closer to Blixter. He could see in his eyes, almost covered by his hair, the purest kind of determination – the kind of pure determination that hangs on the edge of becoming pure insanity.

— And we will end them, – M. said, in a low and menacing voice. – ‘You, me, our friends and all those who are fighting against – we will end them, not the state. They’ll start cursing us as they die before our eyes.

M. took a step back and finally noticed the strap of the bag.

— And what’s in your bag? Papers?

— Another batch of them, – Blixter replied.

— For me, that’s pretty awkward, – M. said. – They have access to the servers with the best encryption, but they’re still using documents and hard drives. Perhaps they’ve been preparing for a long time, and this place is just one of the hideouts they’ve changed over the years. And it’s only now that they’re starting to clean it up...

— Pretty dumb in my opinion, – Blixter said.

— You’re not the only one who thinks so.

A floorboard creaked. They both turned towards the corridor. M. took aim; Blixter drew his gun. M. dragged Blixter towards the window. A few seconds were spent in silence, and whoever was behind the wall didn’t go anywhere. M. pulled the trigger several times, opened the window and left the room with Blixter.

The fall was unpleasant, but also short-lived. The friends hurriedly turned the corner. As they ran, their unseen pursuer tried to hit them, but to no avail. Standing by the wall to catch their breath, the friends circled the building.

— Who was that?! – Blixter asked, in a whisper.

— I don’t know myself, – M. said. – Perhaps someone actually survived. Or someone was sent to finish what those dead agents started.

Another shot rang out. M. and Blixter hurried to the car in front of the house. They sat down and M. started the car. Another shot rang out, piercing the rear window and making a hole in the windshield. Crouching down, M. drove out of the car park and tried to drive away, but one of the bullets punctured the tyre and, failing to control it, M.’s car crashed into another car at a low speed. The plan failed and M. and Blixter left the car once again.

Taking cover behind another car, they waited. Blixter was breathing heavily and M. was watching the dark reflection on the glass of the unknown establishment – on it he saw a silhouette moving towards their wrecked car.

— Here’s the plan, – M. said. – We’ll swap weapons. I’ll stay here and you go out and try to shoot that agent. If you do, run home. I’ll catch up.

Blixter nodded and handed him his gun. Getting his rifle, Blixter waited for the right moment, listening for loud footsteps. When the footsteps were over and the last gasp of concentration had been delivered, Blixter rose from behind cover and attempted to shoot his attacker, but he managed to hide behind the car next to him and Blixter’s shot went nowhere. Coming from behind cover, Blixter kept firing, trying to draw the fighter out with shots, but to no avail. The fighter escaped and dropped his weapon – a sawed-off semiautomatic shotgun with a thick cylinder (silencer) bolted on – Blixter picked it up and, holding a weapon in each hand, walked between the cars and pointed the weapons in different directions. On neither side did he notice his opponent – just a pool of blood.

The gunfight stopped with a threepoint. Remembering M.’s words, Blixter went home, as quickly and as inconspicuously as possible.

From the threshold, Blixter heard someone smashing something. The studio looked unprofessional, with many flaws, but Blixter didn’t know much about it. Wires on the floor, walls and ceiling, tied with duct tape, stretched all over the studio from various apparatuses. The only wall clock read 9:02 PM. The gun behind his groove pressed with its coldness. Blixter hurried on – he walked along the wires until they merged into one thick bundle at the door to the only room. Glancing at the bundle and then looking up at the cheap wooden door, he stepped inside.

The room was small and had been arranged for amateur radio use. Numerous wires lay carpeted across the floor. A couple of shelves by the far left wall held all sorts of equipment, both broken and unused. In the centre there was a lectern with various documents, a control table, and expensive wires hanging from the ceiling there. By the only desk in the far corner of the room, beside which lay many different papers, stood Wülf himself.

The floor creaked. Wülf turned toward the exit and noticed Blixter standing with a gun in his hand, glaring menacingly at him. Wülf smiled.

— And here you are, – he said. – Well, my friend? How shall we divide the information?

— You’re not my fucking friend, – Blixter replied simply.

Wülfe tried to pull out his gun, but just as his hand reached the grip, Blixter had already taken aim and pulled the trigger several times. Wülf’s body jerked several times under the impact of the bullets and, fatally struck, fell to the floor with a thud. The dying Wülfe wheezed and gurgled; blood gushed out from beneath him, black in the dim light, forming a puddle. Blixter stepped around him, took his bag and left the room.

Treeangle railway station. Here one can feel the freedom of a new life and the longing to return to an old one, the love of a long-awaited meeting and the melancholy of an eternal parting. The vaults went far upwards. Windows in the high ceiling let one see the thick sky. On the platforms many people were strolling about, each one dressed differently, each with a different mood – a touch of joy or a touch of sadness, because on such an overcast day one can only do so.

The bag on her shoulder, stuffed with everything she could carry, was pressing, as if pulling her down like an anchor. Marcy stepped away from the edge of the platform, walked to a nearby bench, and sat down. She placed her bag beside her. She was bored – the nearest train of the huge First Triangle Way, which stopped at Nördpeak, would not arrive until 2:00 PM, if not later. It was 1:20 PM on the clock. Then she opened her bag and started going through all sorts of things.

She was sad. And that sadness wasn’t lurking in her new T-shirt, it wasn’t lurking in the signed CD of her favorite band’s album at the concert, it wasn’t lurking in the watch she found. It was lurking deeper, and she was curious to find that source of sadness, unstoppable and unstoppable and unsettled and undaunted. She began digging deeper into her bag: old black jeans, a new pair of underwear that smelled of the capital, advertising pamphlets left behind, a copy of The Manifesto made after four days of coaxing. It seemed that this black-covered book, whose author was known only to her, held her sadness. But as she pulled it out into the light she realised that the creation of the love of her life was not the source of her sadness. She put the book back into the depths of her bag, covered it with things from above and clasped the bag. She wanted to cry.

— Awaiting? – Someone nearby said.

She looked up. M. was standing in front of her. He was dressed in his usual uniform; his beard was thicker and his hair longer. She smiled shyly. M. sat down next to her.

— When will the train arrive? – M. asked.

— Soon, – Marci replied.

— Soon… – M. repeated, – I see.

A silence fell. Too abrupt, too understated. Marcie sensed that there was something she was not saying, and looking at M., she reinforced this thought. She felt ashamed, so she pulled herself together and said:

— Don’t think that I’ve found someone better and that’s why I’m going back. I have loved, love and will love you and only you. You are the beautiful man I’ve known nothing about for so long. My heart is only for you. But... I just can’t. I can’t live in this city. It’s suffocating me, killing me, slowly and irrevocably. I can’t take it anymore. I’m too tired to do this anymore. I hope you understand.

M. was silent. She averted her gaze, thinking he was upset. However, he said:

— Go then.

Marci looked at him again.

— Get out of here. Go back to Nördpeak. I knew you couldn’t stand it, but I wanted to give you a test. Don’t consider it a failure, for any attempt at testing yourself counts, or you simply wouldn’t have understood the capital. This place... it chokes me to death myself.

— Why don’t you come with me then? – Marci asked.

— I have a couple of loose ties left. Don’t worry, I will come to Nördpeak before the end of this year.

He got up.

— Now that that’s settled, – M. said, – answer me a genuine question. You have always mentioned your brother, but I never met him back in Nördpeak. What about him?

Marci looked down.

— He died in a car accident. He was hit by a car driven by a drunken wretch. He was only seventeen years old. He could have been nineteen now.

Her eyes filled with tears. M. walked over to her, lifted her face and kissed her on the lips. The blanket of clouds would not allow the sun to be seen.

To the Table of Contents. / To Ch. VII. / To Ch. IX.

#jsab #just shapes and beats #fanfic #fanfiction #The Everlasting Downpour

1 note · View note