#might still be some oblivious fellow hiding in your study but guessing now's not a good time to point that out he's just gonna

[multikpopwriter]

Dating In The Modern World | n.y

【ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x female OC

genre: fluff, angst, frat boy au, college au

warnings: none

words: 2.4k

prompt: Yuta desperately needed an extra subject in order to meet the minimum required subject for this semester. He ends up enrolling in this weird class that made its students experience relationship activities and analyze them first hand. The only problem was the girl that was partnered with him was not the type of girl he would ever date. (inspired by Love Playlist, a Korean web drama)

"Hey, have you heard about that course, love in the modern world?" Yuta asked Taeil who was sitting on the couch with Taeha on the opposite side.

 "oh" Taeha was the one who reacts. "A friend of mine took that course a few semesters back"

 "How was it?" Yuta sits beside Taeil, who was absolutely bothered by Yuta's presence bothering their alone time together before Taeyong could come and interupt it.

 "She told me that it doesn't require a lot of time, I heard she just passed a paper at the end of the semester" Taeha tells him as Taeil sat beside Taeha. "And she got a decent grade after"

 "Well I guess it isn't that bad" Yuta stands up and gives a little smirk towards Taeil. "I'll head back up to my room, don't want to bother you love birds" Yuta shakes his head as Taeil shamelessly placed his head on Taeha's shoulder and Taeha tries to hide her blushing face from Yuta.

Yuta leaves the frat house the next day hoping and expecting a chill lecture, but he was sitting in class as the lecturer mentions coupling of random people together. They were coupled together according to the survey of their preferred gender which he took when he enrolled in class that day.

 "Nakamoto Yuta" the lecturer calls his name out and he pauses, he fixes his stuff and even sits up straight. He really wants to drop this subject, but he has already paid for the course and the hassle of refunding is running in his mind. "And Kim Soyoung" once the lecturer mentions the name, the girl sitting a few seats in front of him raises her hand and she turns around to look for him.

 Yuta has never really encountered Soyoung, but he could already tell that she was the type of girl who he would never like or even befriend. Although she doesn't smell bad, but she looked very disorganizes almost homeboy like. Her hair's a mess and from the looks of it her bag was too.

 "Hi, can I sit beside you" the way she spoke was also very kind.

 Yuta only nods his head.

 "I'm Soyoung, I'm from the art department" she pulls out her hand and Yuta look at it for a good few seconds.

 "I'm Yuta from the business department" he pulls his hand out hesitantly, but Soyoung took the lead and shakes his hand. Yuta takes her hand and began to look the other way. He takes a deep breath obviously showing his dissatisfaction.

 "Okay, for your first homework, go on a date with your partner and find out five facts about them. Each individual should send a compiled video of the facts that they got from their partner" the lecturer shows the rubrics on the screen. "But you aren't allowed to directly get these facts out of this person, you should indirectly find out about it"

 Yuta writes everything down on his notebook before turning to glance at his partner, who was writing the notes down on her phone. He sighs. He was told this class was easy.

 The class quickly ended after giving out the information for their project. "Yuta" Soyoung calls the guy's attention before he could even walk away from their seats.

 Yuta turns around and replies with a hum.

 "When will you be free, I'm pretty busy preparing for my final project" she explains, and Yuta looks through his own schedule on his phone.

 "How about this, give me your number and we'll talk about it later. I really need to go" Yuta already opens his app before Soyoung could even say 'yes'.

 "Sure" she takes Yuta's phone and types her number. Before Soyoung could even say good bye, as soon as she returns her phone Yuta runs out of the classroom. Then Soyoung hears how the girls were gushing over Nakamoto Yuta. 'I wish I was his partner' 'I mean he's from NCT so he's probably does well academically, plus, it's a known fact, that every NCT member is a good looking fellow' 'I would die to be in her position'

 The weekend comes around the corner and both Soyoung and Yuta decides that this was the best time the two of them could meet. Yuta was standing outside his car, he parked just outside one of the dormitories of the university. It took a while before Soyoung came out of the dormitory dressed up a bit more than usual. However, Yuta was quick to pin point how late she was.

 "You're late" Yuta rubs his temples.

 "I'm sorry" she bows her head.

 Yuta could only sigh. He opens the door to his car. Soyoung might be the last person he would ever date, but that doesn't excuse being rude to her. "Just get in" he tells her as he noticed she still hasn't raised her head.

 Soyoung looked up surprised to see that Yuta opened the door for her. "You don't have to go out of your way, we're both doing this for the grades" her weak smile towards Yuta hit him differently. Yuta stands there shocked for a few seconds as soon as she closed the door herself.

 "I was just trying to be nice" Yuta mutters to himself as he walked towards the driver's seat.

 The drive to the restaurant was quiet, deathly quiet. They both knew absolutely nothing about each other, but they can't seem to start a conversation with one another. "So..." Yuta tries to start a conversation. "Are you graduating as well?" he asked the most sensitive question.

 "I hope" was her simple reply.

 Then they both fell silent once again. They later arrived in the restaurant without muttering enough words to exchange with one another. The place was rather very chic, it wasn't over the top fancy nor was it just nice interior, the whole place is very chic. In fact, it was easily a very Instagram able place.

 "I love restaurant like this" Soyoung couldn't help but gawk at the beauty of the place. Yuta stops for a second and then he pulls out his phone, "say that again". Yuta puts the phone to her face.

 "I love restaurants like this" she makes a joking face towards Yuta's phone. His heart just began beating very lightly, almost invisible, but it was there. It was small, but it was strong enough to catch his attention. All Soyoung did was jokingly approach his phone camera, but his heart was swayed. Was he always easily swayed like this?

 Then they sat down, silence once again fills the two of them. Once, they've placed their orders Yuta takes his phone out to emptily scroll through twitter. "So, what do you like to do other than studying?" Soyoung pulls out her phone and begins recording Yuta.

 "I do almost everything an NCT member does" Yuta puts down his phone.

 "And what is that?"

 "I sing and dance, I guess" Yuta shrugs and Soyoung captures this moment. She ends the video and puts her phone down.

 "Do all NCT frat members sing and dance?" this was the first time she heard this about this well-known frat house.

 "Some rap instead of singing, others do all three" Yuta folds his arms across his chest and leans back. It wasn't just Yuta who saw that he would never date a girl like Soyoung, Soyoung would never date a guy like Yuta as well. He often acted arrogant, but he has every right to do so, he excelled academically and in sports as well. He seems flawless except his hard to approach personality. In all honesty, if she were to date someone from the same frat house it would most likely be someone like Jungwoo, who was her classmate in a different class.

 "And what do you do with all that talent?" Soyoung decides to put her phone on the side and just record the two of them and just cut out the parts which she needed.

 "We sometimes hold performances, but most of the time we have open lessons and teach kids how to sing, dance and rap. It's one advocacy our frat house holds"

 "Soyoung, how about you? What do you do other than studying?" Yuta returns the question and places his phone just like how Soyoung did with hers.

 "Aside from studying, I draw and paint a lot, even for leisure. Aside from that, I don't think I do anything interesting" Soyoung's empty response caused Yuta to sigh discreetly.

 "I mean other than that--" Yuta sighs, he wanted to directly ask the question, but the rubrics told them to indirectly know about each other. "Are you into music or books or..." he lets the sentence trail off.

 Soyoung pauses, it was easy to read her, and Yuta immediately understood that she knew nothing but painting.

 "You don't have to force yourself" Yuta tells her. Soyoung's thinking expression softens and Yuta's heart beats once again. It was softer, but now, much more impactful. He grabs his chest and slowly looks at her, she still looked the same, but her smile was different. Her smile was soft almost cloud like and then it would feel like it pierces through his heart. What was this feeling?

 "Are you okay?" Soyoung leans in closer as soon as she takes notice that Yuta was clutching onto his chest and his face turning slightly red. Soyoung leans in closer, but Yuta stops her by placing his hand on her forehead, slightly pushing her away.

 "I-I'm fine" he turns his face away from Soyoung.

 "Are you embarrassed of something?" she tilts her head completely oblivious about what was happening with Yuta.

 "No, I'm not! It's just..." Yuta turns his head towards the opposite direction. "You still haven't given me your answer" he tells her without even looking at her in the eye.

 "Oh right" she moves back and nods her head. "I mean, I like idols and stuff as well, but only casually though" she pouts a bit, this was something other than her major that she pays attention to.

 Yuta glances her way and somehow looking at her directly was becoming hard to do. Soyoung is the exact opposite of his type in girls, both in personality and in looks. He has always preferred girls with short hair and was passionate about so many things. Soyoung, who was sitting in front of him, was the opposite of that. Soyoung had long hair that fell to a natural inwards curve and she's only dedicated to painting.

 "Are you just replying that was to have an answer?" Yuta gives her a weird look. Yuta thinks to himself, that she didn't have to force herself to like something she's not into.

 "Honestly, I don't really know a lot of things other than painting" she softly mutters feeling guilty about getting caught by Yuta.

 Yuta bites down his lip, he was getting smitten towards this girl and it was crazy. He can't help but think that he only felt attracted towards her because they were on a date. "Have you dated anyone before?" the question came out of his mouth before he could even process what he asked her.

 Soyoung looks up, she was startled by the question. "I- I haven't" she bows her head after catching her cool.

 The breath Yuta was holding in was suddenly let go. His eyes were stuck on hers, it was like a staring contest, but there was something deeper going on between them. "Yuta, how about you?"

 Yuta bites down his inner cheek. "I have dated a few..." Yuta stops talking when he takes notice that Soyoung's expression changed drastically. "...but I don't think I've ever found someone I wanted to date seriously... yet" he looks her in the eyes when he says that last word.

 "Why did you join NCT?" she immediately asked breaking the eye contact Yuta and her were sharing.

 "There's no specific reason behind it. I was recruited and they offered me a place to stay and the guys are great. Nothing special behind it" he shrugs his shoulders, feeling sort of awkward that Soyoung broke their eye contact.

 "Where do you stay? Are you not in a sorority?"

 Soyoung only smiles. "I'm not, I actually don't live in the campus" Soyoung nods her head, a little habit Yuta took notice of whenever she spoke. "I live with my two brothers in a house just a 15 minute drive outside the university"

 "Oh"

 Then the two of them fell silent. Yuta would sometimes stare outside the restaurant and Soyoung would fidget with her hand.

 "Soyoung" Yuta was trying to gain a little bit more courage. He takes a deep breath when Soyoung looks at her. "If someone were to ask you out on a date would you say 'yes'?" he gulps down after saying this sentence a bit too quickly.

 "D-Depends on the person" she stutters. Soyoung's mind was going crazy. Was he trying to ask her out or was there someone else who wanted to ask her out. She silently hoped for it to be the first.

 "What type of person?" Yuta leans in closer, his eyes much more kinder than when they first met.

 Soyoung licks her lips as she slowly moved back to keep the distance between the two of them. She turns her head away from his gaze. "you" was her soft reply.

 "I didn't hear" Yuta leans in closer.

 Soyoung takes a deep breath and turned her head around to face Yuta only to see him with the widest smile on his face. "You heard it" Soyoung hits Yuta's arm.

 "I did" Yuta was trying to hide a smile, but he couldn't. "So, let's say I asked you out next week, just us two without this whole project thing, would you come?"

 "I need to think about it" Soyoung jokes as she bites down her lip.

 Yuta could only smile at her. Soyoung was the last type of person he would ever date, but here he was completely smitten by this girl. He couldn't wait for them to meet again. He couldn't wait for him to know more about her.

 They both gave a small wave to their cameras that was recording the whole thing. It was not time for them to find out about each other more than the five facts that they need for their class.

【ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

[holystms-blog]

(     allowing  yourself  to  drown  in  others  for  the  sensation  of  being  wanted  ,  uncontrollable  giggles  laced  in  peach  flavored  vodka  ,  sun  kissed  skies  melting  into  crazed  oceans    )     *    ╱    hey  ,  was  that    azura  chesky    i  just  saw    ?    yeah  ,  i  heard  they’re  a    twenty    year  old  and  studying     performing arts  and  that  they  live  in    apollo    .  you  might  be  able  to  recognise  them  by  their    simple  shaped  diamond  necklace  that  sits  between  her  collarbones    ,  but  people  around  campus  describe  them  as    perspicacious    but  also    impetuous    ,  which  i  guess  makes  sense  since  their  mbti  test  showed  up  as    esfp - t    .  their  reputation  would  be  completely  ruined  if  people  found  out  that    out  of  anger  ,  she  stole  her  father’s  lamborghini  and  purposely  crashed  it    ,  but  let’s  keep  that  between  you  and  me  …  for  now  .    +  madison  beer  ,  cisfemale  ,  she  and  her  ,  sophomore  .

im super scattered brained nine out of ten times so please bare with me .. hi hello, im gianna !! and like im basically trash in human form !! okay maybe too harsh but when it comes to introductions?? trash is an understatement. im not the best with laying things down from start to finish ( again im a mess ) and it kind of makes my muses seem like they’re a big ole mess ( which they are but thats not the point asddj ) anyway, this is my angel face azura .. i almost named her azula from avatar: tlab but i decided i did not want to be harassed ! if you want to find out a little more about her please keep on reading ! this muse was purely brought out by cassie from euphoria so !! 

𝖎. 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘

full name : azura josephine chesky

nickname(s) : az, zura, zuzu, aj

birthday : july twenty third

zodiac : cancer

moral alignment : chaotic good

gender : cisfemale

pronouns :  she and her

sexual orientation : heterosexual 

romantic orientation : heterosexual 

height : five ft five

language(s) spoken : english, greek, and spanish. 

title(s) : the baby doll, the benevolent, the halcyon, the reveller.

character inspo : cassie howard, lexie grey, kira yukimura, lara jean covey.

written aesthetics :  allowing  yourself  to  drown  in  others  for  the  sensation  of  being  wanted  ,  uncontrollable  giggles  laced  in  peach  flavored  vodka  ,  sun  kissed  skies  melting  into  crazed  oceans, soft footsteps on hardwood floor as birds chirp, sunkissed skies that bleed into crazed oceans, hushed moans lingering in the air, hickies on faceless bodies, pearly whites capturing glossy lips, a cool breeze dancing on your skin as you ride in the passengers seat the three in the morning, finger tips tracing fuzzy blankets, breathtaking melodies sitting on your ears, baby pink acrylic nails, the sweet scent of vanilla. 

𝖎𝖎. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

to lurking eyes the brunette tends to catch ditzy vibes and shallow tendencies, her major painting her in an self absorbed , “ you want to be a musician? wow shocking ” light. and usually labels such as those, tend to hold some kind of truth. for why would they occur if not? but when it comes to azura, there’s more that meets the eye. she is ebullient in human, is devoured by an ocean of light heartedness and good intentions . 

she this energy that makes you want to lose yourself in her, the power to make your existence seem to meaningful. around campus, she can be spotted in an sea of her fellow cheerleaders, chatter falling from their lips. and at night, you can hear her giggles laced with peach vodka in the air , the sound itself intoxicating. people themselves declare that she herself is intoxicating, suffocating . her hands wrapped around your throat suffocating , but for some odd reason you cannot help but fall in love with the sensation . 

her father used to shake her head at her, tell her she was nothing but trouble and sometimes, she did not deny the title. she made a mess of things, a mess of people. unintentionally , but regardless of her good intentions the mess was still there. 

she is someone who believes in protecting their heart, their soul, and their energy.. but it is only because she loves too deeply, too passionately. and it induces fear. fear that she’ll be touched with love and then left. and it’s the way she loves people, the way she cares that fuels the fear. 

she’s the type to give and never expects to receive. embraces the opportunities she’s given. 

she is sweetness, a girl dipped in honey. romantically or platonically, she will make you her world. and while her unpredictableness moodiness might cloud her pure heart, she always tries to rise above things.. 

her carelessness along with her obliviousness can twist her words, but azura wants to do nothing but grow and bloom. her ambitiousness earning her the titles of more things that she can count, her not so bright moments earning her the talk of the campus. 

she feels deeply, craves meaningful connections and sinks into an ocean of darkness if she feels she lacks them. she’s bold in everything she does, but can sometimes hide her feelings to avoid pain and/or anger. 

she can be jealous, has trust and abandonment issues rooted so deeply she does not know where she begins and they end. she’s affectionate, has a mindset of loving life and the people in it. she loves love, feeling important, and tends to lose herself in others to grasp the sensation. 

𝖎𝖎𝖎. 𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

high school sweet hearts are presumed to crash and burn, their memories being one that are filled with bittersweetness. their future ending with holes in their heart and pain laced within their memories ; azura’s parents were had thought to beat those odds, falling even more in love in college then they dud in high school.. the two graduated times two before settling down and starting a family.. having three beautiful children, azura being their youngest. they were close, all of them. her siblings feeling more like home then people she was forced to be around because of the same blood running through their veins .. her parents being her world, best friends. and despite there being no favorites in her head, she was a daddy’s girl from the moment she was old enough to let the words dada fall from her lips. they were the picture perfect family, and then one day her dad decided they weren’t enough and started sneaking around with his assistance. it was an lustful love story, her father and his mistress being the characters and azura being the reader .. his secret sat in her, guilted her, clawed at her skin for six months . his pleads that he’d come forward, cut the ties being the only reason she kept her mouth shut.. she trusted him, and he betrayed her. instead of confessing, he took off.. moved on, started a new life, and replaced not only his wife but his three children. the loving environment the chesky children were brought up on shifted. her mother fell into this black hole of not being good enough, her only sense of sanity being at the end of an bottle.. she put a facade on during the day, but at night she was an monster of an women who’s coping process began with not being able to look azura in the eyes, nor even acknowledge her unless she was degrading her. her father ghosted her, never answering calls or messages. never stopping in to see her.. and the only people she had left was her siblings, but they could not stay with her forever.. azura made it her mission, from the minute her father left at sixteen years old . that once she graduated, she would run .. escape the four walls that give her nothing but misery and pain and never look back.

𝖎𝖛. 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

( im going to write out a long detailed page but for now .. )

platonic soulmates, childhood friends, friends who drifted away, family friends, cousins on either her mother or fathers side, first love, classmates, friend group she’s inseparable with, ex best friends, ex lovers, friends with benefits, teammates, study buddies, neighbors, someone who broke her heart, college roommates, someone she uses for sex, someone who uses her for sex, bad and good influences, a confidant, her ‘mom’ friend, tutors, friends with lingering feelings, close friends, friends because of shared classes, sibling like friendships, love/hate friendships !! 

[vol-carnage]

It’s a Date (Maybe?)

Characters: All Might/ Yagi Toshinori, Eraserhead/Aizawa Shouta Pairings: EraserMight Rating: G Summery: Aizawa Shouta was never one to dance around his feelings. Yagi Toshinori usually just ignores them, nothing ever comes of them anyway. Or Aizawa and Toshinori go on a date. Notes: Idk what I’m doing. First fic i’ve written in like half a year. It was supposed to be cute and fluffy cut Toshi just had to come in and hate himself so now we get this. It’s dumb and cheesey and has probably been done before. RIP.

All Might closed the door to the staff room harder than he meant too, wincing at the bang. He glances around the room glad to find it empty, noticing there’s no one around to notice his mistake.

Until his eyes land on the dark haired man who’s scribbling on papers at his desk. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed All Might come in.

“Good afternoon Aizawa-Sensei! Grading papers I see! You are always working hard! It’s very admirable!” He grins as he crosses the room to the man’s desk.

“Thanks.” Aizawa mumbles, not bothering to look up at the towering man.

“Hero training went very well today! The children are doing better and better everyday! They will all make fine heroes!”

Aizawa made a noncommittal sound, sounding mostly uninterested in this conversation. But All Might being oblivious to this, plowed on.

“For example! Young Midoriya managed to land an attack and not injure himself! He’s getting much better at handling his power! And Young Uraraka has nearly doubled the amount of time she can keep things floating before she gets sick!”

Aizawa makes another sound and this one gets All Might’s attention.

“Ah! Is something wrong, my friend?” He asks, deeply concerned, bending down slightly so he’s closer to Aizawa.

“We should go out.” Aizawa stated, not looking up from the paper he was grading.

“I- uh- what?” All Might floundered trying to figure out exactly what he meant when he said go out. Like as colleagues? Just two teachers getting lunch before they have to return to their school? Perhaps he was referring to the evenings when most of the teachers would go out and drink and sing karaoke? Friends? A date? Okay it certainly wasn’t that last one.

Keep your fantasies to yourself, All Might. He chided himself.

“On a date. Coffee or dinner.” Aizawa still didn’t look up, adding a fully graded paper to the stack of already completed ones.

All Might sputtered and then coughed in surprise, blood spraying into the hand covering his mouth, and his body releasing a cloud of steam as he deflated.

All his sputtering is what got Aizawa to look up at him finally and blink tiredly.

“Surely it’s not that surprising for you to be asked out.” He responded dryly.

“Oh- ah. It’s just unusually after people know, uh, how I really look.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his clean hand and smiled sheepishly.

Aizawa frowned.

“If you don’t want to that’s fine, I-”

“No, no, no!” Yagi waved his arms furiously. “I’d be very happy to, uh, go out. Uh, either coffee or dinner! Whichever you would prefer, really!”

“Good. Saturday, 4 o’clock. I’ll text you the cafe’s address. Does that work?”

“Yes. That sounds perfect.” Yagi beamed.

Aizawa nodded and with a quiet hum turned back to his papers and resumed grading.

Yagi hovered for a moment before getting that the conversation was over and walking away from Aizawa’s desk.

He stopped by the small kitchenette in the staff room and busied himself with making some tea, before returning to his own desk.

It was true that as All Might he didn’t ever not have a standing invitation for a date or, ah, other things. But as Yagi, well. One look at the skeletal man and people tended to move on. He knew he wasn’t attractive and Aizawa hated how boisterous he was as All Might. So he couldn’t quite figure out why he would ask him out.

Why had Aizawa asked him out? Was it a joke? Someone had dared him to ask the famous All Might out because of how desperate he was around his fellow teacher?

Aizawa didn’t seem like the kind of person who would mess with someone’s emotions for a joke. But Yagi’s anxiety kept up with any logical reasoning.

Maybe it a sex thing? That wouldn’t work out for several reasons if that was Aizawa’s goal though.  That almost made the most sense.

“Everyone wants to get wrecked by the Symbol of Peace!” Kayama had laughed, her drink sloshing out of its cup, bringing her out of her laughter to frown at the sacrificed drink.

Yagi let out a breath and shook his head, attempting to scatter the thoughts and focus on the reports he had to grade.

He reached for his tea, grimacing at how cold it was already.

The worst of it was how genuinely excited he was for the chance of it being a real date. It was no secret to himself that he harbored feelings for the other man. Aizawa might come off as rude and uninterested but he did genuinely care about the people around hims and he had a special warmth that Yagi found himself inexplicably drawn too.

He sighed, letting his head fall against his desk. He’d just have to wait until Saturday to find out if it was some kind of joke.

Aizawa probably wouldn’t even show up. But he could still get something from the cafe and go for a walk. That would be nice, the weather had been cooling down so it would be good to get out before the cold set in too much.

Saturday came, a slight breeze in the air, and if the weather reports were to be believed the last cool fall day before winter set in with its icy grips.

Yagi checked the time on his phone again.

Still ten minutes before four.

He pushed his hands back into his jacket pockets, clenching and unclenching his hands to get the chill out of them.

He huffed. No matter how warm it was he could never actually stay warm. It might not be uncommon with his weakened form anymore but it was still annoying.

“You’re early.”

Yagi yelped and jumped slightly at the sudden low voice next to him.

He laughed good naturedly, choking down any blood in his mouth.

“I could say the same you, my friend!”

Aizawa watched him quizzically for a moment. “For the number one hero you sure are easy to spook.”

“Ah yes! I suppose I should be more aware of my surroundings in this form.” He chuckled rubbing the back of his neck.

Aizawa buried his face deeper into his scarf, hiding the smile the nervous man brought out, before opening the door to the cafe and waving an arm for Yagi to go in first.

Yagi obliged him, bowing slightly as he passed.

The cafe was mostly empty. A few workers and even fewer customers sitting at tables or in the large chairs around the room.

“What do you want?” Aizawa asked as they approached the counter.

“Tea.” He hummed as he looked at the menu. “Just a medium green tea, I think.”

The woman at the register nodded as Yagi went to pay Aizawa batted his hand.

“I asked you out. I’ll pay. I want a large coffee. Black.”

Yagi watched as Aizawa paid for their drinks then stepped down the counter to wait for their drinks.

This was going well.

Aizawa hadn’t made a fool of him yet and if he pushed his anxieties away he could almost pretend they were on a real date.

A young man called out their drinks and they pick them up.

“Do you want to sit down or go for a walk?” Aizawa asks, sipping at his coffee and grimincing.

He moved over to the bar where sugar and other sweeteners were kept and dumped in a concerning amount of sugar before he seemed satisfied with it.

“A walk sounds nice.” Yagi finally settled on.

Aizawa nodded before leading them back outside the cafe. He turned and headed down the street, Yagi keeping pace with him. He directed them to a small park, trees still full of colored leaves.

Yagi lost himself in looking at the scenery around them, and the couples and families milling around them.

That’s probably what Aizawa and I look like.

A couple.

The sudden thought caused blood to rush to his face and he coughed a few times before getting it under control.

“Are you okay? We can find a place to sit if you need to.” Aizawa sounded concerned, studying Yagi for any signs he was about to kill over.

“No, I’m fine, I promise. Just, uh- something surprised me. It’s nothing.” He smiled to settle any worries Aizawa might have.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment and Yagi went back to admiring the trees around the park.

“Do you like nature?” Aizawa asked after a long silence.

Yagi grinned cheerfully.

“Oh, yes, absolutely. Trees are my favorite. Have you ever been to Yakushima Island? It’s my favorite place to visit. I haven’t been in a while. I should go back sometime.” He trailed off, getting lost in the thought.

“I’ve never been a big fan, but I can see the appeal.” Aizawa offered.

“Where would you like to visit if you could? Anywhere in the world  it doesn’t have to be just in Japan.” Yagi asked.

Aizawa shrugs.

“I guess I don’t have anywhere.”

Yagi frowns.

“You should pick someplace close by and go! It’s a great way to broaden your horizons! And going someplace outside of Japan is fun because you get to learn about other cultures! I really liked visiting America. It has such a different energy than Japan.”

“Visiting?” Aizawa hummed, glancing at the taller man. “I assumed you had lived there, judging from your special moves.”

Was Aizawa teasing him? Was this flirting? Aizawa was definitely smiling even if he was trying to hide in his scarf.

“No. I’ve visited several times but by the time I was old enough to move I was too busy with hero work. I haven’t been back in over ten years.”

“That long?”

“I was always so busy. Every moment either out heroing or at a fundraiser or interview. Last time I went wasn’t even my own volition, it was for a charity event. Still wonderful of course!”

“I had always assumed you were part american.” Aizawa confessed, stopping and sitting at a bench.

Yagi dropped down next to him, not noticing the ache in his legs until her was seated. He avoided rubbing the ache out of his muscles, not wanting to expose his discomfort to Aizawa. The man did have a tendency to worry even if he didn’t show it outwardly.

“No, no. Both were Japanese. At least from what I know of them.” He frowned slightly.

Aizawa picked up on his discomfort.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Oh no! It’s fine!” Yagi waved the apology away. “You were just asking. I’m just not used to talking about my childhood. It was not the best so it’s not something I offer to talk about and not many people ask either.”

Aizawa nodded, sipping his coffee and watching the people around the park.

“If you ever want we can swap stories. My childhood wasn’t great either.”

“I’m sorry Aizawa-kun, If-”

“Shouta.”

Yagi blinked.

“Huh?”

“We are on a date. You can call me Shouta.”

Yagi flushed red, swallowing the blood and building cough that was in his chest.

“Shouta then.” He grinned rightly, “But only if you call me Toshinori.”

“Alright, Toshinori.” A small smile crept onto Aizawa’s face again.

“Is this a real date?” Yagi asked suddenly.

Aizawa turned and watched the man, a scowl on his face.

“What do you mean, a real date?”

“Ah, I just. I thought it might be a practical joke. Perhaps someone put you up to it? It’s okay if it is! I just- or maybe it was a sex thing. I’ve been asked out with that in mind before and I just wanted to know for sure.” Yagi ducked his head. “I’ve really enjoyed this. Being out with you.”

“It’s a real date, Toshinori.” Aizawa’s gaze softened. “Why would you think it was a prank. Do you really think that lowly of me?”

“No,it’s not that! I-” He cut himself off, licking his dry lips. “I don’t see why someone would want to go on a date with me.”

Aizawa was back to glaring, not so much at Toshinori but the fact that this was how he thought of himself.

“You said that when I first asked you out. It was just as stupid then as it is now. You might not think so but you are attractive like this. Just because you don’t have a cult following of people who want to fuck you doesn’t make you unattractive.” Aizawa said gruffly, watching the other man as his mind ran with his thoughts.

Yagi took the break in Aizawa’s speech to glance up at the other man who’s glare had softened a bit.

Aizawa sighed, turning back to stare out at the park.

“You’re too hard on yourself.” He finally added, closing his eyes with annoyance.

Yagi sat silently, processing what he’d been told.

He was hard on himself. He knew that. His entire life had warped into trying to be good enough and the ideal always being just slightly out of reach. Perhaps at the height of his hero career, before his injury, he had felt like he achieved it. Had felt happy.

But nowadays.

“Toshinori.”

Yagi glanced over at Aizawa, being pulled from his downward spiraling thoughts.

“I’m going to kiss you now. Don’t spit blood everywhere.”

Yagi blinked owlishly at him before nodding.

Aizawa leaned up slightly, bringing their lips into contact. Their lips were both dry, verging on cracked and peeling, not the most pleasant sensation all things considered but it was soft and gentle and slow. Yagi could count on one hand the amount of actual kisses he had participated in and this one absolutely topped the charts.

It didn’t last long, a few moments, before Aizawa pulled away again.

“We should get going. We have dinner reservations.” He said after Yagi found himself able to open his eyes, moving to stand up.

He held out his hand to Yagi, helping the older man up.

Yagi wondered if he had noticed that his legs were bothering him today. Maybe that’s why he had them sit down in the first place.

That thought was chased away by another.

Shouta’s holding my hand. I’m holding hands with Aizawa Shouta.

“Ai- Shouta?”

“Hmm?”

“What made you ask me out?”

Aizawa was silent for a long moment, and for a second Yagi thought he had broken some odd dating rule he didn’t know about.

“I like you. I thought that was obvious. I’m not some stupid teenager who dances around their feelings. It’s was more logical to ask you out. If you were interested you’d say yes, if you weren’t you’d turn me down and that would be that. Then I could at least move on and not pine after you like some love sick idiot.”

“I see. I suppose that is very logical. Very you.” Yagi teased, pulling a small smile from Aizawa.

“Shut up.”

“I can think of some more logical ways for you to make me shut up.”

Aizawa’s smile grew, he buried his face deeper in his scarf to hide his smile and forming blush.

“Maybe later. If I stop to make out with you we won’t be getting to dinner. Hurry up.” He tried to sound gruff but it doesn’t come out as rough he intended, making Yagi laugh which only made him blush harder.

“As you wish, Shouta.”

[forsetti]

On The Power of Language: Normalizing White Supremacists

Language is the basis by which humans develop concepts and beliefs.  There is an entire field of study and industry built on this-marketing. Media outlets and political groups spend billions of dollars hoping to capture the right language to persuade people.  Yet, many people seem completely oblivious to the power of language.  Maybe this is why advertising is so effective.

One person who really understood the power of language was George Carlin. On his “Explicit Lyrics” album (yes, I'm old enough to remember and know what an album is,) Carlin talked about how changing how we describe things, changes how we view them: I don't like words that hide the truth. I don't words that conceal reality. I don't like euphemisms, or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms. Cause Americans have a lot of trouble dealing with reality. Americans have trouble facing the truth, so they invent the kind of a soft language to protest themselves from it, and it gets worse with every generation. For some reason, it just keeps getting worse. I'll give you an example of that. There's a condition in combat. Most people know about it. It's when a fighting person's nervous system has been stressed to it's absolute peak and maximum. Can't take anymore input. The nervous system has either (click) snapped or is about to snap. In the first world war, that condition was called shell shock. Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables, shell shock. Almost sounds like the guns themselves. That was seventy years ago. Then a whole generation went by and the second world war came along and very same combat condition was called battle fatigue. Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say. Doesn't seem to hurt as much. Fatigue is a nicer word than shock. Shell shock! Battle fatigue. Then we had the war in Korea, 1950. Madison avenue was riding high by that time, and the very same combat condition was called operational exhaustion. Hey, were up to eight syllables now! And the humanity has been squeezed completely out of the phrase. It's totally sterile now. Operational exhaustion. Sounds like something that might happen to your car. Then of course, came the war in Viet Nam, which has only been over for about sixteen or seventeen years, and thanks to the lies and deceits surrounding that war, I guess it's no surprise that the very same condition was called post-traumatic stress disorder. Still eight syllables, but we've added a hyphen! And the pain is completely buried under jargon. Post-traumatic stress disorder. I'll bet you if we'd of still been calling it shell shock, some of those Viet Nam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time.

Conservatives are really good at describing things in ways that hide reality: “Clean Air Act,” “Death Tax,”... they know if they label something a certain way and say it enough, they can alter how the issue is viewed.  They can alter beliefs.  They can turn “shell-shocked” into “post-traumatic distress order.”  FOX News' model is based entirely on this principle and it has helped create a large swath of Americans who believe complete bullshit.

Yet, knowing all this, many people, including progressives, seem unable, unwilling to see how white supremacists are being normalized by many media outlets.  Everyone from Milo to Steve Bannon, Stephen Miller, and the white supremacist next door have been described as something other than what they really are.  They are “provocateurs,” “clean-cut,” “well-dressed, “thought-provoking,”...  No, they aren't!  They are fucking white supremacists and dangerous. Every time these people are described in terms other than racist, bigoted, danger fucks it helps alter reality.

This alteration is done on purpose because for reasons that aren't too difficult to understand, white Americans have always had a hard time grasping and being willing to identify some of their fellow white Americans as deeply horrible people, as racists.  The racists know this and use it to their advantage.  The Lost Cause which allowed the South to completely rewrite their racist history and beliefs which led to their treasonous actions was effective because the rest of white America was more than willing to believe their white Christian brothers and sisters weren't really bad people, evidence to the contrary be damned.

When the Ku Klux Klan came to power in the South and rained terror, death, and destruction on blacks, they were portrayed as “good Christian men,” “pillars of the community,” “good, caring neighbors,”...  These descriptions allowed them to hide their real nature-brutal racists.  

Now we have people in seats of power and influence who believe the same underlying things that led to the Confederacy and the Klan and a lot of white America are falling back on their go-to position of not describing them for who and what they really are.  Every article written about “Joe Nazi” who lives down the street, has a job he's worried about, is married, loves his kids, is concerned for their future... is nothing more than reality Get Out Of Jail Free Card.

Calling someone a horrible person, a bigot, a racist, is never an easy thing to do.  It is more difficult if you are made to feel they are like you.  Just like it is difficult to call your racist grandpa or mom a racist because the relationship you have with them is personal, normalizing white supremacists makes calling them out harder.  If “Joe Nazi” is a lot like you, then you begin to relate, sympathize with him.  If Confederates are “good Christians,” like you, it is easier to relate and sympathize with them.  If the Klan are “outstanding members of the community,” it is easier to relate and sympathize with them.  This is exactly how language works. How we describe things has a direct impact on what we think about them.  Language forms beliefs.  

If an article about “Joe Nazi” spends the majority of the time “normalizing” him and adds a few words at the end about his toxic ideology, what do you think sticks?  There is a reason why drug commercials highlight all the positive aspects upfront and quickly gloss over all the negative side effects.  By addressing the positives first, it forms an initial impression that becomes “reality” that isn't likely to be undone by something negative later.  Every salesperson knows this.  Yet, white America seems unable/unwilling to recognize this is what is going on when it comes to white supremacy even after centuries of evidence to the contrary.

An article about “Joe Nazi” should start with his dangerous ideology, his likely domestic violence history, how he tortured animals in the neighborhood when he was younger, and maybe end with he reads “Goodnight Moon” to his daughter.  Any article or conversation about white supremacists should focus first and foremost on very abnormal beliefs, not their normal behaviors and traits.   These people are dangerous people who believe horrible things who also happen to be your next-door neighbor, school principal, pastor, etc.  They are not your next door neighbor school principal, pastor, etc. who happen to believe horrible things.  If you don't understand the difference between these two descriptions, you are part of the problem.

The first description starts from a premise of normalization and sympathizing.  The latter description starts from a premise of dangerous and disgust.  Under no circumstances should Nazis, white supremacists be viewed as anything but dangerous and with anything but disgust.  I don't care who they are, what job they do, what title they hold, how “loving” a parent/spouse they seem to be.  The toxic nature of white supremacy taints and poisons anything and everything else about someone.  Treating their supremacist beliefs as secondary is whitewashing (pun intended) who they really are.  

White supremacy isn't a peripheral believe or opinion.  It is a core belief that supports major chunks of the rest of a belief system.  It is also a belief that has serious consequences for other people.  In some ways, being a white supremacist is like being an anti-vaxxer. The beliefs you have and the decisions you make will have serious consequences for the whole of society.  Other people's well-being and lives are at risk because of it.  Of course, the big difference between the two beliefs is anti-vaxxers aren't responsible for a Civil War, lynchings, the Holocaust, etc.  

The greatest moral failure in American history was the breakdown of Reconstruction after the Civil War.  After the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Americans fighting for and against a moral cause where the moral side won, we allowed the losing side to reinvent themselves and continue their immoral behaviors under Jim Crow.  The main reason Reconstruction failed is because too many white Americans were unwilling to put the moral and political hammers down on their racist counterparts.  This failure was the cause behind Jim Crow, segregation, housing discrimination, etc.  It was the root cause behind Nixon's Southern Strategy.  It is the underlying cause behind school of choice and privatizing education.  It is the main force behind modern-day conservative ideology.

Even though there has been significant progress with regard to Civil Rights, the underlying beliefs of the Confederacy (white supremacy) are still alive and thriving in the minds of many white Americans. These alone need to, once and for all, be stamped out.  White supremacy all on its own is horrible and should be stamped out whenever it rears its ugly head.  Nazism is nothing more than white supremacy on evil steroids.  The Confederacy used white supremacy to own other people. Sure, they would beat them but they didn't want to kill them because that was losing an asset.  Nazis used white supremacy to commit mass murder of anyone on their “not like us” list-Jews, Gypsies, gays, the disabled...  

You don't normalize this under any circumstances.  At no point is it okay to say, “Sure Nilo wants to create a white-only state but he is an upstanding businessman who votes in every election and keeps his yard immaculate.”  No!!!  Nilo is a fucking Nazi whose beliefs are dangerous and not tolerated in a multi-cultural democracy.  His white supremacist views cancel out everything else about him that is “normal” in the same way a serial killer's views cancel out everything else they believe and do. “You know, Ted Bundy loved to kill young girls but boy could he put out a dynamite eight-course dinner.”  

If people talked this way about a serial killer, normal people's reaction would be, “What the fuck?!  Who cares about his culinary and hosting abilities?  He believes it is okay to murder people. Seriously, WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK?!!!”  Yet, the New York Times and other media outlets can publish puff pieces about Joe and his Nazi friends, the President of the United States can call torch-wielding Nazis “good people,” he can them in positions of power in his administration... and when those of us know how language is tied to beliefs point it out, many of our fellow white Americans look at us as if we are the problem.  Why?  Because white Americans are reluctant as hell to call other white Americans, “racist,” “bigot,” “Nazi,”...  It is easier to overlook reality and come up with reasons to not call them out for who they are than be honest.  It is easier to normalize them because the reality of who they truly might be too painful to admit.  It is easier to write articles normalizing the Nilos who live among us than it is to denounce them because not enough people want to be the ones who call out grandma's racists comments at the family gathering.  You know what?  Too bad.  Grandma's a fucking racist and we shouldn't want her spreading her toxic attitudes to the younger generations.

One argument I’ve heard from some progressives about why these articles about white supremacists are good is because it informs everyone these people live among us.  All anyone with two working neurons has to do is think about the conversations from Republicans during the last election and now and the fact they voted for a white supremacist to be president who put other white supremacists in positions of power around him.  If you need articles written to convince you people who believe and support horrible ideas live among you, you haven’t paid the slightest attention to the world around you for quite a long time and you probably need remedial classes in logic, civics, and psychology more than an article in the New York Times.

Language forms beliefs.  Nazis, white supremacists, racists, bigots... aren't “normal” people so we need to stop using language and writing articles that normalizes them in any way.  If the first words about these people are something like “horrible,” “dangerous,” “immoral,” “evil,”...then you’re doing it wrong.  To quote John McClane from “Die Hard.”-”If you aren’t part of the solution then you’re part of the problem.  Don’t be part of the fucking problem!”

[hipsofsteel]

Find Out For Yourself

A RusCan fic written during FemSlash February 2015 (FrUk and eventual AmeBel as well)

Prompt: Person A goes by an alias, to the annoyance of B. The only way B will learn A’s name is to “find that out for yourself.”

Anya Braginsky has been using an underground social site for years to speak to other members of the LGBTQ community. Her best friend is a user named MapleBabe, who was her first friend online. Two years after their first online meeting, they both agree to go to Hetalia University, and MapleBabe challenges Anya to discover who she really is. While trying to figure out the mystery, Anya meets Madeline Bonnefoy, a fellow member of the school's women hockey team, and develops a close friendship, all while still trying to discover and meet MapleBabe. She might be a bit closer than she thinks.

PS This work features Trans Girl America

[Chapter Masterpost Here]

Chapter Four: Pain

Natalia didn’t seem comfortable. “This house is huge and I don’t know these people.”

“It’ll be okay. They won’t hurt you, and it’s not like the crime bosses swing through here.”

“How do you know that?” She stated, her hands sitting right above where her knives were hidden.

“Okay, they’re definitely not going to attack you because they are gay. Francis is a bit of a flirt, but he is gayer than gay. Also, they have their own daughter, so they’ll respect your privacy. Just consider the difference between this house and home.”

Natalia sighed. “Fine, let’s go in.”

We entered the house to find Maddie talking to Arthur. Given his red face, I knew they’d been fighting. She turned and smiled. “Ah, Natalia. Good to meet you!”

Natalia nodded, a little taken aback. Maddie was all smiles and sunshine however. “You can stay in my room while you’re here, since I’ll be going back to school tomorrow. I think papa and I saved some of my old clothes in the attic, and they might fit you.”

The bubble parade dragged my sister upstairs. I sighed in relief, until Arthur turned to me.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“I’ll shelter your sister because Maddie asked, but I don’t want you in this house. Get out.”

“Angleterre, that’s no way to treat a guest.” Francis said, sweeping into the room in an explosion of color. That seemed to anger the Englishman more. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Anya.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to impose.”

Francis cast a glare at Arthur, and then turned to me. “If you cannot stay for dinner, then I will take you out for dinner. Maddie prepared something for Natalia, but there is a nice little cafe a few streets over that I think you would enjoy…” He said this all while pulling a coat on. “And since you and Maddie have been such good friends, we owe it to you.”

Arthur started to move to the door.

“Angleterre, I thought you told me that you needed to finish the quilt you were making tonight. Why don’t you stay here and do that?”

Before he could object, Francis had grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door.

When we arrived at the cafe, we were greeted by an angry young man.

“Oh, it’s you.” He said, sounding less than thrilled.

“Lovino! How is the business going?”

“Fine, you bastard.”

The place was practically empty, and a slightly older man came out of the kitchens. “Francis! Who’s the young woman with you? Don’t tell me I have to report you to Arthur.”

“I only have the purest intentions for this fine young woman, Antonio. May I have the booth in the back?”

“Only if you answer a question.” Lovino responded, and then turned to me. “What’s the name, beautiful and intimidating?”

I glared at him.

“Okay, fine, try to flirt with a pretty girl and…” Lovino started to say, but the other man unsubtlety kicked him in the shin. This was followed by a volley of curses and a lot of shouting as Francis and I escorted ourselves to the back table.

After placing our orders with Antonio, Francis spoke to me. “Anya, I know that I’ve said a few things that perhaps don’t make me seem like a great parent, but I want to try and get better.”

I paused, and then spoke. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I am a little less rigid in my views than Arthur. I want Al- Amelia back home. I want to support her as much as I can. I want her to know that no matter what, we’ll always be her family.”

“You have to be more sensitive about these things, and listen to her when she talks about it.”

“Yes, I know. I have a lot to learn, for both my daughters. Maddie told me that she was a lesbian yesterday. It’s… well, it’s a lot to take in.”

I nodded.

“Are you and Maddie involved?”

“No, we’re friends, but we aren’t dating.”

He nodded, and then spoke. “If you can talk to Amelia someway, tell her that I love her and want her home, okay? And also tell her that I will fully support her in any argument against Arthur.”

I nodded.

We ate our meals with a constant stream of chatter. Antonio and Francis had been friends for a long time, and despite the flirting, I quickly realized Lovino was in love with Antonio.

As Francis and I finally departed, I asked him. “What’s between Lovino and Antonio?”

“They’ve been friends for years. Lovino’s been trying to drop hints to Antonio this whole time, but he’s been painfully oblivious. Antonio’s the only person in this whole town that doesn’t realize Lovino’s in love with him.”

“That must be a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, it is. Arthur was the same way. You could drop all the hints you wanted, but unless you say it to them directly, they won’t ever figure it out.”

We went back to the house. Francis invited me in.

Natalia came over and spoke. “Hey, thanks for bringing me here.”

She had visibly relaxed somewhat, and was even wearing a new set of clothes, although they were slightly musty.

I nodded. “I have to go back to the dorms now. Are you going to be okay here?”

“Yeah.”

AnyaBee is online

AnyaBee: Hey, I have some news.

LifeNLiberty: Is it the type that makes me leap up and down with joy?

AnyaBee: Francis took me out to dinner tonight and told me that he loves you no matter what. He even referred to you with female pronouns, though once he slipped up and called you Al. But overall, he did pretty well.

LifeNLiberty: What about my biological dad?

AnyaBee: Francis said he’d help you in all the fights you have with him.

LifeNLiberty: That’s not enough.

AnyaBee: Amelia, I don’t want to pressure you, but you’ve been gone for two weeks now. Don’t you think it’s time to come home?

LifeNLiberty: No. I want my dad to love me. Francis might have helped raised me, but he’s not family the same way that dad is. Until dad is at least going to try and accept me, I’m not going home.

AnyaBee: Okay. Stay safe, alright?

LifeNLiberty: Will do. Good night.

Natalia called me every day. Sofia started to visit her at the Bonnefoy-Kirkland house. My parents decided it was good riddance and just dropped all of Natalia’s stuff off in the middle of the night.

I continued at school. It was April now, and spring term was coming to a close. Hockey season was over, and I was able to focus on my studies.

Maddie and I were laying on the floor with textbooks in front of us. I was quizzing myself on my astronomy, she was practicing her explanations of the carbon cycle in nature. Odeta was off in one of her finals already. I didn’t understand how she was able to keep going.

Suddenly my computer beeped. I sighed and went over to see what it wanted.

HONDA_K has sent you a message.

HONDA_K asks: Anya, you need to get over to Mercy Hospital right now. Amelia’s in the emergency room, and it looks pretty bad. Please respond ASAP.

I froze and then typed a reply back.

AnyaBee: Maddie with me. Will be there ASAP.

I turned and slammed my books shut. “Study time is over. We have to go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Amelia’s in the hospital.”

We arrived as fast as we could. A young man approached us. I guessed he was Honda.

“Maddie, Anya?”

I nodded. “Are you Honda?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going on?”

“Maddie, met Amelia’s boyfriend. She’s been living with him since the end of February.”

Maddie paused, and then growled at me. “You’ve been in touch with her the whole time, haven’t you?”

I didn’t answer with the proper response. “Look, we have more pressing things to think about right now. What happened?”

Honda sat down in the nearest chair. “We were standing at the bus stop, and she was crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she was just tired. I went over to get her a cup of coffee when suddenly she sprinted out into the middle of the street. A car just slammed into her…”

His voice faded out, and then he shook with sobs held inside.

Maddie looked terrified. I paused, and then spoke. “Should I call your dads?”

She nodded, sitting down next to Honda.

I called the house and got Arthur. “Hello?”

“Hello Arthur, it’s Anya…”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Anya.”

“Arthur, it’s important.”

He hung up. That pissed me off. I tried Francis’s cell, but it was turned off, because I just got a pre-recorded This number is not available at this time message.

I finally called another cell number, the newest addition to my contacts.

After a few attempts, I was answered. “Anya, I’m at school, this had better be good. My new teachers already don’t like me a lot.”

“Look, I need you to call Arthur and tell him his kid is in the hospital. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen and Francis has his phone turned off. Just tell him that we’re at Mercy Hospital’s ER, and he needs to get here now.”

There was a pause, and then she spoke. “Will do.”

Half an hour later, a stressed Englishman entered the ER. He saw us and came right over. “What’s going on?”

“Amelia tried to kill herself.” I stated.

“You mean Alfred.”

Madeline stood up. “No, we mean Amelia.”

He glared at me, even though he was speaking to Maddie. “Alfred is your brother. He is not a girl, nor was he named Amelia.”

Honda hadn’t said anything yet. I think he was trying to disappear. After all, the angry Englishman didn’t know Honda had been hiding Amelia since February.

I grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him up. He was shorter than I was, and the movement startled him. I stared at him. “Listen to me right now, Arthur Kirkland.”

He tried to pull free, but I didn’t let go. Finally he stopped. “What do you want?”

“I want you to understand something very important. You said that if Alfred became Amelia, he’d be throwing his life away, and end up dead in a ditch. What you don’t understand is how he’ll get there. If there’s no one to love him, no one to talk to, he will be dead. Amelia told me something while she was gone. She doesn’t care how much Maddie, Francis, her boyfriends, and her other friends try to help her. The person whose love she wants most is yours. You’re her biological father, the man who raised her. You say that no son of yours will throw their lives away for some stupid dream, but what you don’t see is who destroyed them in the first place.”

“What are you implying?”

“If you decide you don’t want to be part of Amelia’s life because she’s not what you want, then maybe you’re the reason she’ll be dead in a ditch. She said she was tired. What was she tired of, I wonder, except I don’t have to. She was tired of not having your love, and that’s why she stepped out onto that street. That’s why she let herself be hit by that car. She was exhausted, and you were the reason.”

Maddie stared at me.

“If you don’t want to accept Amelia, then I don’t think you’re going to ever have a daughter or a son. If you continue to hate her, then I suspect that she will never come home. Maybe it’ll be because she’s dead, but I think she’s stronger than that. I think it’ll be because she knew the only way she could survive was to avoid you for the rest of her life.”

He stared at me as well now. I dropped his arm.

“If you won’t love your child, then they don’t need you as a parent.” I stated.

A nurse came out. “Honda?” He stood. “She’s out of surgery now. Is this his- I mean, her family?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur turned towards Honda, looking confused.

“She’s in the ICU. You can go back and see her, although she’s asleep.”

They guided us to the ICU, and Honda and Maddie went in. But I stopped and blocked Arthur from entering.

“What are you doing?"

“Asking you to make a choice.”

“Right now?”

I nodded. “If you don’t want to accept Amelia as who she is, then you are going to turn around and leave.”

“You can’t do this. I’m her father! I mean, his father!”

I looked at him for a long time. He seemed to turn cherry red.

“Arthur, tell me, is that your son whom you’re going to force to be miserable every day the rest of his life, or is that the daughter you’ve lovingly raised?”

He paused, and then leaned against the wall, visibly shaking.

“I just don’t want something to happen. I raised him since he was born, loved him, cooked for him, sang him to sleep. I want him to be safe.”

“Then let Alfred go, and welcome Amelia into your heart.”

At that moment, Francis came down the hall. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anything until Natalia called me!”

Arthur turned and pulled the Frenchman into the hug, and began to cry. Francis looked at me, his eyes growing wide with worry. I mouthed She’s fine to him, and he relaxed a little.

Finally Arthur spoke. “I’ve been a horrible father.”

“Angleterre…”

“She needed me, but I couldn’t do it. God fucking damn it, it’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

Francis started cooing and calming Arthur, guiding him over to a bench and sitting him down. I paused, and then headed into the ICU.

Kiku sat in the chair, staring, and Maddie stood nearby, looking at her sister.

There were still some incredibly obvious masculine features, such as the darkening of her facial hair, but Amelia’s hair was longer. Down to her shoulders in a bob-style, with big loose curls.

There was a cut across the side of her face, and she was bandaged on nearly every inch of her body. Her glasses, cracked, had been set off to the side.

Maddie turned to face me. “How is he?”

“Your papa arrived, and he’s not doing all that great, but I think we’ve had a breakthrough.”

She nodded, and then looked at her watch. “You know, Nat’s at the house right now.”

“I’ll go out and stay with her if you want.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

We both exited the ICU. Maddie went over to her dads. She took Arthur’s hands, and he looked up at her.

“Wanna go see how Amelia’s doing dad?”

He paused, and then nodded. “Let’s go see her.”

I smiled a little. That slight change gave me the smallest hope for a victory, more than I had had for a while.

[kawaiipsycho101srpblog]

Righteous Side of Hell--Ch.1

(NOTE: I’ll only be posting the first few chapters of this fic, so if you want to read the rest, you’ll have to go to my main blog, my ff.net page, or my AO3 [all have the name KawaiiPsycho101]. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!)

1. That! That!

You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

It had taken a while, but with Ryuk’s assistance, I’d finally been able to track down the current owner of my notebook to a local mafia faction. The mere idea of these thugs possessing my Death Note, using it, defiling it, made me sick to my stomach.

“You’re all scum, ya know that?” I said to the oblivious men and women. “Worthless, life-sucking scum,” I could see the back of a head with silken blonde hair extending a graceful, well-toned arm. In its gloved-covered hand was my notebook.

A woman, huh? That’s actually rather impressive. Don’t see many godmothers these days.

“I look forward to murdering you all slowly and painfully,” I continued as I began to head towards her. “Your screams will bring me absolute pleasure, and only when you’ve begged for the sweet release of death will I holy shit, you’re a guy.”

Indeed, sitting before me on a tacky zebra-striped sofa was an attractive young man sporting a pair of tight leather pants with a matching vest. Dangling from the corner of his black-lipsticked mouth was a bar of chocolate that bobbed up and down with the movement of his jaw as he chewed, occasionally bumping against the wooden rosary around his neck. I glanced down and blinked at the most-likely loaded gun snugged securely in the front of his trousers. I looked up at his name and found the words Mihael Keehl floating above his head. Mihael was a boy’s name, last time I checked.

My notebook is in the hands of a blonde, leather-wearing, chocolate-munching, gun-toting, possibly-sociopathic, pretty boy?!

I slowly rubbed a hand down my face and sighed.

“Of course. Sure. Why the fuck not?”

After a few more seconds of staring at the oddity, I decided it was time to make contact.

He can’t see me until Snydar touches it. Guess I’ll have to wait...

A few seconds later...

Fuck this shit!

I plucked the notebook out of the blonde’s hands, giggling at the look of pure shock plastered on his face, and slapped it against Snydar’s cheek before dropping it in his lap. 

“The...The notebook just flew.”

“Heh, it’s a notebook that kills people. Hell, nothing surprises me anymore,” said a fellow mobster named Dwhite Gordan, a beefcake who only wore a suit-jacket to hide his chest.

Nothing surprises you, eh? Just wait...

I watched as Snydar turned around and saw me, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates.

“Ha! You should see your face right now!”

“AAHHH!” He fell out of his seat and pointed at me. “Boss, who is this?! The guy in the freaky costume?! Who the Hell is he?! Who brought him here?!”

“You idiot, don’t you know a shinigami when you see one?”

“A shinigami?” He began to laugh hysterically.

“That’s right. Now if I were you, I’d have the others touch the notebook before the men in white come and take you to the Happy Home.” I pointed at the Death Note. “Go on.”

Snydar picked up the notebook with shaking hands and looked at me, then his cohorts.

“It says you can see it if you touch the notebook! Please, everyone touch it! I swear I’m not crazy!”

Everyone looked at Dwhite, and I realized that he must be their leader, which struck me as strange. I’d been almost certain that Mihael was the one in charge, seeing as he was the one lounging around like he owned the place and examining my notebook like it was a shiny new toy, plus the sense of leadership and authority that practically radiated from him. 

Then again, he’s awfully young...Perhaps he’s a second-in-command...Still though, for someone so young to make it this far in the mafia...

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Dwhite gave an annoyed grunt.

“Fine, whatever. Come on guys, touch the notebook.”

Just as the first person’s hand was inches away from the book, I got a brilliant idea and quickly went through the wall closest to me.

“Well Jack, where is it?”

“It was right there, I swear! Just now!”

“Sure it was.” I heard a mumbled agreement from the other men in the room, figuring that by now they had all touched the notebook, and made my move, sliding through the wall as quickly as I’d left.

“WHAAAAZZZZZUUUUHHHP?”

The screams and gunshots that followed were music to my ears. I hadn’t laughed so hard in years. I was still trying to keep my sides from splitting by the time they calmed down.

“Jack’s right,” Dwhite muttered. “That ain’t no costume. That’s a real-life shinigami.”

“Damn straight,” I snickered.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing really, just my notebook.”

“Your notebook?”

“Yes, my notebook.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How do we know it’s yours?”

“Flip to the inside of the back cover and you’ll find a series of symbols scratched into the material of the lower right-hand corner. Those are my initials, which translated to the English alphabet, would be A.K.A.” The mobsters did as they were told and, sure enough, my initials were there.

“Okay, so it’s your notebook. Doesn’t mean we have to give it back to you.”

“Au contraire, my bald, muscular friend. You see, I don’t have long to live, and if I don’t write down some names in that Death Note soon, I will die. And if I die, that notebook will burst into flames. And if the Death Note is destroyed, you will all die in thirteen days.” The mobster’s faces all paled at my last sentence. If Ryuk hadn’t told me about the fake rules he’d written in my notebook, I wouldn’t have had my bargaining chip. “Tell you what, since I’m such a nice shinigami, I’ll make you a deal. Let me borrow the notebook for a little while so I can write some names down and expand my life-span, then I’ll give it right back as soon as I’m done with it, okay?”

As I spoke, I couldn’t help but notice that the blonde seemed unusually calm considering the situation he was in; not every day could someone talk to a shinigami. But his eyes never left my own, and I could practically see the gears in his head working at break-neck speed.

“How do we know you won’t just run away with the notebook? Or write all of our names down, and then run away?” My attention returned to the head mobster before me.

“A few reasons: one, the human has to willingly surrender the notebook in order for it to be returned to its original owner. Second, I can tell by looking at your lifespans that not that many of you have long to live, so why should I bother killing you if your deaths won’t be that much use to me? And thirdly, do I look like the kind of shinigami that would go back on its word?” I smirked under my scarf and held out my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll only need it for a few minutes, and I promise I’ll give it back.”

“But-”

“Just give it the notebook, Rod. I think it’s telling the truth.”

There was a brief silence before the mob boss spoke.

“Are you sure, Mello?”

Wait, WHAT?

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” Without another word he handed me my notebook, and I took it from him while doing my best to hide my sudden anxiety.

Did he say...? No...no, it can’t be...I must have misheard.

“Thank you.” I pulled a pen from my belt and flipped to a fresh page in the notebook. “Any preferences?”

“No, thanks. We already took care of that.”

“Ah. Excuse me.” I stepped past him and sat cross-legged on the floor facing a TV. It was a news show; an anchorwoman was posing before a camera with a lot of bystanders standing behind her. “Perfect.”

I picked my victims, and the causes and times of their deaths, at random, while throwing in some criminals for good measure, but not enough for the men watching me to notice. After a couple minutes, I’d written down enough names to last me for a very long time.

“There,” I slapped the notebook shut. “I should be set for the next couple hundred years or so.” I stood up and handed it back to Rod. “I told you I was a shinigami of my word.”

“Right...” he said uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong? Still put off by my appearance?” I cleared my throat and threw my voice around until it was a perfect imitation of his. “Or is it the voice? Does the way I talk upset you?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“How...how are you doing that?”

“It’s a quirk.” I grinned, knowing that my voice trick was putting everyone in a state of unease.

I’ll have these pigs in the palm of my hand in no time.

“Umm...Could you please,” mumbled one of the other mobsters. “Not do that?”

“Well, since you asked nicely...” I reverted back to my normal way of speaking. “Sure.”

“Shinigami.” I looked at the blonde on the couch, and was surprised to find that he was still remarkably composed. The way he looked at me...It felt like he was sizing me up, figuring out various ways I could be of use to him, and then when and how to dispose of me once he was through. This was a man used to getting what he wanted, and anyone who got in his way would most assuredly wind up with a bullet lodged into their skull. Normally I despised people like this, and frankly, he was no exception; and yet, the more I studied him, I realized that unlike other pompous brats, he had the skill to back up his bravado. I hated to admit it, but I was starting to respect him.

Maybe...there’s a chance it might be him...But I have to be certain.

“Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me A for now.” I noticed how his brow twitched ever so slightly, as if maybe I’d struck a nerve. “Or ‘Shinigami’, or whatever. I don’t really care.”

“Then tell me...A,” he asked, taking a bite of his chocolate. “Is there anything else we need to know about the Death Note? Any other rules or limitations to who we can kill?”

I got an idea and smirked.

“There are, but I don’t like giving things away without getting something in return. So, how about another deal?” 

“What do you want?”

“That.” I pointed to his chocolate. “Give me some of that, and I’ll answer any questions you have with the utmost sincerity. No lies, no tricks.”

“Done.” He grabbed another chocolate bar off of a table next to him and tossed it to me, which I easily caught. I carefully unwrapped it, the smell instantly making my mouth water. I lowered my scarf and heard quiet mutterings from the others as they saw my razor-sharp teeth. As I bit into the sweetness, letting the taste melt into my tongue, my eyes rolled back into my head and I felt my knees buckle a little. A low moan escaped the back of my throat as I savored every single bite.

Oh, sweet motherfucking Christ, yes.

As I finished it off, I placed my palms together and closed my eyes for a brief second in an almost-reflexive sign of thanks. I didn���t really notice I was doing it until I’d opened my eyes again.

Huh...that’s odd.

I quickly put the thought out of my mind and positioned my scarf back over my mouth with a grin.

“The thirteen-day rule is totally bogus. Also, if I die, the notebook will not be affected; the same would also apply to me if the notebook is destroyed.”

“You mean those rules are fake?!” Rod cried.

“That’s what I said.”

“So earlier,” one of the mobsters grumbled. “When you wanted to borrow the notebook, you were-”

“Playing you for a bunch of chumps? Yes, yes I was.”

“But why? Why would you put in fake rules?” The blonde’s gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t, someone else did.”

“Who?”

“No idea,” I lied. “Most likely another shinigami. Probably did it to mess with a human. Ya know, shits and giggles. Oh, and you’ll probably want to know about the eye-trade.”

“Eye-trade?”

“A shinigami’s eyes can see a person’s real name and lifespan above their heads. In exchange for half of the current owner’s remaining lifespan, I can give him those eyes. And speaking of names, would you mind telling me how to pronounce yours?” His cerulean eyes narrowed as I squinted at the floating letters above his head. “I can read it, but I can’t figure out how you’re supposed to say it. Is it-?”

“That’s enough!” His outburst almost made me flinch. “I go by Mello, understand? Nothing else.”

Ho. Ly. Shit. It is him. It has to be!

“Alright, alright,” I raised my hands in a position of mock-surrender. “No need to get snippy.”

Mello quickly cooled down and resumed his leisurely position on the couch, his body practically draped over the cushions like a model about to be drawn nude.

“Are you serious about this eye-trade?”

“Quite. But I can only make the deal with the current owner of my Death Note,” I turned to Snydar. “That would be you.”

“Make the deal, Jack,” Rod ordered.

“Wh-what?!”

“You heard me. Make the deal for the shinigami eyes.”

“But I’ll lose half of-” It was at this point Snydar noticed the way Rod was reaching into his jacket. “Ya know, on second thought, I’d like to make to the eye-trade.”

“Atta boy.”

“So, uh...” Snydar looked at me. “How does this...umm, happen? What are you going to do?”

“Just close your eyes and hold very still.” He did as instructed and I gently placed my hand on top of his head. “Now, I’ve never done this before, so it may take a few tries,” I didn’t know whether to mock or pity the man as he started to tremble. “But it shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I focused for a second and felt a strange tingling in the hand that was on Snydar’s head which quickly shot up my arm and dissipated. “Annnnnd done. You can open your eyes now.” He did so, revealing bright red irises which quickly faded back to his natural eye color. “Congratulations, you are now that much closer to death.”

And I’m that much closer to getting my Death Note back... 

“What do you see?” Mello asked.

“Names...” Snydar whispered. “And numbers. Are those their lifespans?”

“Yeah, but they’re done in the numeral language of the shinigami. To translate it to human calculations, you’d need a calculator and a great deal of time, depending on how precise you’d want it to be.”

“Excellent.” Rod thumped Snydar on the back. “Now we’re in business.” 

“Thank you, A.” Mello smiled. “You have been very helpful.”

I felt something stir deep inside of me. A quiver just below my stomach that sent tingles up my spine and made my lower extremities throb ever so slightly. The sensation was new, yet faintly familiar. I almost gagged when I realized what it was.

Oh no, nope, nuh-unh, don’t even think about it, don’t you dare feel attracted to him ah shit, too late.

“No problem.” The inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper. “Any other questions?”

“I think we’re good for now.” His smile disappeared, as did the sickening feeling, and I inwardly sighed with relief. “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions, but for now, you can keep watch outside.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t quite believe what I’d just heard.

“It’ll be very convenient for us that you can’t be seen by humans. Go outside and keep watch, got it?”

In another time, I would have pissed my pants and ran at the look he gave me then. It was goddamn creepy. But I had changed since then, and had grown used to these kinds of gazes. If anything, I thought it was extremely humorous.

“Heh...heheheh...” His left eye twitched in surprise as my giggles turned into guffaws of laughter. Everyone stared, bewildered, as my voice rose and fell, cracking in its insane cackles.

“What’s so funny?” Mello asked, irked.

“You are!” I chuckled. “You are without a doubt the strangest human being I have ever encountered! Your appearance! Your intelligence! Your chocolate and leather fetishes! And now you’re givin’ me friggin’ orders! Me! A goddamned shinigami! A being that has every single person in this room terrified except for you! The whole thing just strikes me as hilarious!”

I continued to laugh maniacally as the blonde glared at me with the icy daggers that were his eyes. Eventually, I began to calm down.

“Finished?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ll give you this though, you’re probably also the bravest human I’ve seen; it takes some serious guts to boss around a death god.”

There was a brief pause as my words sunk in. I had a feeling I had said what everyone else had once thought at one point or another. Mello was a very strange person. Brilliant yes, but strange...and maybe a bit psychotic, but hey, I wasn’t one to judge.

“So, are you going to keep watch, or not?”

My lips clenched into a scowl as my good humor immediately dissolved.

“Okay, let’s make something explicitly, perfectly clear here.” I took a few steps toward him. “The only reason I’m here is because shinigami law requires me to be. That does not make me your servant, alright? You do not get to order me around like one of these shit-for-brains asshats.” I motioned to the group of men surrounding us, stopping once I was right in front of him. He hadn’t moved an inch, his face only expressing the slightest hint of emotion. It was really starting to tick me off. “So, do we have an understanding?”

There was a tense silence, the people in the room waiting with bated breath for Mello’s response, until...

“Do it, and I’ll give you more chocolate.”

-snap!-

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed the blonde by the throat and yanked him to his feet. He audibly gasped in surprise and pain as I slammed his back against the wall above the couch. I found it immensely pleasing.

“Listen well, Pretty Boy, because I’m only going to say this once,” I leaned in close until we were perfectly eye-level. “Don’t fuck with me. Fuck with me, and you’ll regret it. You have my word on that.”

I dropped him back on the sofa-cushions and he glared up at me with hate-filled eyes.

“You...you...” He was so angry, he couldn’t think of anything to say. I knew that feeling well.

“Maybe when you’re ready to treat with me some respect, we can try this again.” I placed a hand on his shoulder, tightening my grip when he tried to shake it off, and leaned in again, hissing into his ear. “Your tricks won’t work on me. I’ve been dealing with your type for a long time now. I’m used to it.”

  My type?” Mello whispered, caught off-guard again as I released his shoulder and stood up.

“Anyway, if you have any more questions regarding the Death Note, just give me a holler. Later.”

Black, feathery wings popped out of my back, and I flew up and out of the hideout so fast that Mello’s enraged shouts just barely reached my ears as faint whispers. I smiled in content as I settled on a high tree-branch, but it didn’t last long as I began to think about the recklessness of my past actions, and the young man whom was currently handling my notebook.

Hmm...Short-tempered, calculating, a bit on the arrogant side, chocolate addiction, late teens...There’s no doubt about it...It’s the Mello he told me about...

I held up my left arm and pulled down the shirt-sleeve, revealing a single letter carved into the flesh of my wrist and a list of names beneath it. Using the sharp tip of my pen, I began to add the names of the people I’d sentenced to death just a few minutes prior. I hoped that the familiar pain would be enough to distract me from my rapidly growing feeling of dread.

This might change things...

Alternate title for this chapter: HEYKIDSWANNASEEADEADBODY?

And before you ask, yes, Mello wearing black lipstick is totally canon. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Fabulous, no?

[kawaiipsycho101]

Righteous Side of Hell--Ch. 1

1. That! That!

You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

It had taken a while, but with Ryuk’s assistance, I’d finally been able to track down the current owner of my notebook to a local mafia faction. The mere idea of these thugs possessing my Death Note, using it, defiling it, made me sick to my stomach.

“You’re all scum, ya know that?” I said to the oblivious men and women. “Worthless, life-sucking scum.” I could see the back of a head with silken blonde hair extending a graceful, well-toned arm. In its gloved-covered hand was my notebook.

A woman, huh? That’s actually rather impressive. Don’t see many godmothers these days.

“I look forward to murdering you all slowly and painfully,” I continued as I began to head towards her. “Your screams will bring me absolute pleasure, and only when you’ve begged for the sweet release of death will I holy shit, you’re a guy.”

Indeed, sitting before me on a tacky zebra-striped sofa was an attractive young man sporting a pair of tight leather pants with a matching vest. Dangling from the corner of his black-lipsticked mouth was a bar of chocolate that bobbed up and down with the movement of his jaw as he chewed, occasionally bumping against the wooden rosary around his neck. I glanced down and blinked at the most-likely loaded gun snugged securely in the front of his trousers. I looked up at his name and found the words Mihael Keehl floating above his head. Mihael was a boy’s name, last time I checked.

My notebook is in the hands of a blonde, leather-wearing, chocolate-munching, gun-toting, possibly-sociopathic, pretty boy?!

I slowly rubbed a hand down my face and sighed.

“Of course. Sure. Why the fuck not?”

After a few more seconds of staring at the oddity, I decided it was time to make contact.

He can’t see me until Snydar touches it. Guess I’ll have to wait…

A few seconds later…

Fuck this shit!

I plucked the notebook out of the blonde’s hands, giggling at the look of pure shock plastered on his face, and slapped it against Snydar’s cheek before dropping it in his lap.  

“The…The notebook just flew.”  

“Heh, it’s a notebook that kills people. Hell, nothing surprises me anymore,” said a fellow mobster named Dwhite Gordan, a beefcake who only wore a suit-jacket to hide his chest.

Nothing surprises you, eh? Just wait…

I watched as Snydar turned around and saw me, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates.

“Ha! You should see your face right now!”

“AAHHH!” He fell out of his seat and pointed at me. “Boss, who is this?! The guy in the freaky costume?! Who the Hell is he?! Who brought him here?!”

“You idiot, don’t you know a shinigami when you see one?”

“A shinigami?” He began to laugh hysterically.

“That’s right. Now if I were you, I’d have the others touch the notebook before the men in white come and take you to the Happy Home.” I pointed at the Death Note. “Go on.”

Snydar picked up the notebook with shaking hands and looked at me, then his cohorts.

“It says you can see it if you touch the notebook! Please, everyone touch it! I swear I’m not crazy!”

Everyone looked at Dwhite, and I realized that he must be their leader, which struck me as strange. I’d been almost certain that Mihael was the one in charge, seeing as he was the one lounging around like he owned the place and examining my notebook like it was a shiny new toy, plus the sense of leadership and authority that practically radiated from him.  

Then again, he’s awfully young…Perhaps he’s a second-in-command...Still though, for someone so young to make it this far in the mafia…

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Dwhite gave an annoyed grunt.

“Fine, whatever. Come on guys, touch the notebook.”

Just as the first person’s hand was inches away from the book, I got a brilliant idea and quickly went through the wall closest to me.

“Well Jack, where is it?”

“It was right there, I swear! Just now!”

“Sure it was.” I heard a mumbled agreement from the other men in the room, figuring that by now they had all touched the notebook, and made my move, sliding through the wall as quickly as I’d left.

“WHAAAAZZZZZUUUUHHHP?”

The screams and gunshots that followed were music to my ears. I hadn’t laughed so hard in years. I was still trying to keep my sides from splitting by the time they calmed down.

“Jack’s right,” Dwhite muttered. “That ain’t no costume. That’s a real-life shinigami.”

“Damn straight,” I snickered.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing really, just my notebook.”

“Your notebook?”

“Yes, my notebook.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How do we know it’s yours?”

“Flip to the inside of the back cover and you’ll find a series of symbols scratched into the material of the lower right-hand corner. Those are my initials, which translated to the English alphabet, would be A.K.A.” The mobsters did as they were told and, sure enough, my initials were there.

“Okay, so it’s your notebook. Doesn’t mean we have to give it back to you.”

“Au contraire, my bald, muscular friend. You see, I don’t have long to live, and if I don’t write down some names in that Death Note soon, I will die. And if I die, that notebook will burst into flames. And if the Death Note is destroyed, you will all die in thirteen days.” The mobster’s faces all paled at my last sentence. If Ryuk hadn’t told me about the fake rules he’d written in my notebook, I wouldn’t have had my bargaining chip. “Tell you what, since I’m such a nice shinigami, I’ll make you a deal. Let me borrow the notebook for a little while so I can write some names down and expand my life-span, then I’ll give it right back as soon as I’m done with it, okay?”

As I spoke, I couldn’t help but notice that the blonde seemed unusually calm considering the situation he was in; not every day could someone talk to a shinigami. But his eyes never left my own, and I could practically see the gears in his head working at break-neck speed.

“How do we know you won’t just run away with the notebook? Or write all of our names down, and then run away?” My attention returned to the head mobster before me.

“A few reasons: one, the human has to willingly surrender the notebook in order for it to be returned to its original owner. Second, I can tell by looking at your lifespans that not that many of you have long to live, so why should I bother killing you if your deaths won’t be that much use to me? And thirdly, do I look like the kind of shinigami that would go back on its word?” I smirked under my scarf and held out my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll only need it for a few minutes, and I promise I’ll give it back.”

“But-”

“Just give it the notebook, Rod. I think it’s telling the truth.”

There was a brief silence before the mob boss spoke.

“Are you sure, Mello?”

Wait, WHAT?

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” Without another word he handed me my notebook, and I took it from him while doing my best to hide my sudden anxiety.

Did he say…? No…no, it can’t be…I must have misheard.

“Thank you.” I pulled a pen from my belt and flipped to a fresh page in the notebook. “Any preferences?”

“No, thanks. We already took care of that.”

“Ah. Excuse me.” I stepped past him and sat cross-legged on the floor facing a TV. It was a news show; an anchorwoman was posing before a camera with a lot of bystanders standing behind her. “Perfect.”

I picked my victims, and the causes and times of their deaths, at random, while throwing in some criminals for good measure, but not enough for the men watching me to notice. After a couple minutes, I’d written down enough names to last me for a very long time.

“There,” I slapped the notebook shut. “I should be set for the next couple hundred years or so.” I stood up and handed it back to Rod. “I told you I was a shinigami of my word.”

“Right…” he said uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong? Still put off by my appearance?” I cleared my throat and threw my voice around until it was a perfect imitation of his. “Or is it the voice? Does the way I talk upset you?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“How…how are you doing that?”

“It’s a quirk.” I grinned, knowing that my voice trick was putting everyone in a state of unease.

I’ll have these pigs in the palm of my hand in no time.

“Umm…Could you please,” mumbled one of the other mobsters. “Not do that?”

“Well, since you asked nicely…” I reverted back to my normal way of speaking. “Sure.”

“Shinigami.” I looked at the blonde on the couch, and was surprised to find that he was still remarkably composed. The way he looked at me…It felt like he was sizing me up, figuring out various ways I could be of use to him, and then when and how to dispose of me once he was through. This was a man used to getting what he wanted, and anyone who got in his way would most assuredly wind up with a bullet lodged into their skull. Normally I despised people like this, and frankly, he was no exception; and yet, the more I studied him, I realized that unlike other pompous brats, he had the skill to back up his bravado. I hated to admit it, but I was starting to respect him.

Maybe…there’s a chance it might be him…But I have to be certain.

“Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me A for now.” I noticed how his brow twitched ever so slightly, as if maybe I’d struck a nerve. “Or ‘Shinigami’, or whatever. I don’t really care.”

“Then tell me…A,” he asked, taking a bite of his chocolate. “Is there anything else we need to know about the Death Note? Any other rules or limitations to who we can kill?”

I got an idea and smirked.

“There are, but I don’t like giving things away without getting something in return. So, how about another deal?”

“What do you want?”

“That.” I pointed to his chocolate. “Give me some of that, and I’ll answer any questions you have with the utmost sincerity. No lies, no tricks.”

“Done.” He grabbed another chocolate bar off of a table next to him and tossed it to me, which I easily caught. I carefully unwrapped it, the smell instantly making my mouth water. I lowered my scarf and heard quiet mutterings from the others as they saw my razor-sharp teeth. As I bit into the sweetness, letting the taste melt into my tongue, my eyes rolled back into my head and I felt my knees buckle a little. A low moan escaped the back of my throat as I savored every single bite.

Oh, sweet motherfucking Christ, yes.

As I finished it off, I placed my palms together and closed my eyes for a brief second in an almost-reflexive sign of thanks. I didn’t really notice I was doing it until I’d opened my eyes again.

Huh…that’s odd.

I quickly put the thought out of my mind and positioned my scarf back over my mouth with a grin.

“The thirteen-day rule is totally bogus. Also, if I die, the notebook will not be affected; the same would also apply to me if the notebook is destroyed.”

“You mean those rules are fake?!” Rod cried.

“That’s what I said.”

“So earlier,” one of the mobsters grumbled. “When you wanted to borrow the notebook, you were-”

“Playing you for a bunch of chumps? Yes, yes I was.”

“But why? Why would you put in fake rules?” The blonde’s gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t, someone else did.”

“Who?”

“No idea,” I lied. “Most likely another shinigami. Probably did it to mess with a human. Ya know, shits and giggles. Oh, and you’ll probably want to know about the eye-trade.”

“Eye-trade?”

“A shinigami’s eyes can see a person’s real name and lifespan above their heads. In exchange for half of the current owner’s remaining lifespan, I can give him those eyes. And speaking of names, would you mind telling me how to pronounce yours?” His cerulean eyes narrowed as I squinted at the floating letters above his head. “I can read it, but I can’t figure out how you’re supposed to say it. Is it-?”

“That’s enough!” His outburst almost made me flinch. “I go by Mello, understand? Nothing else.”

Ho. Ly. Shit. It is him. It has to be!

“Alright, alright,” I raised my hands in a position of mock-surrender. “No need to get snippy.”

Mello quickly cooled down and resumed his leisurely position on the couch, his body practically draped over the cushions like a model about to be drawn nude.

“Are you serious about this eye-trade?”

“Quite. But I can only make the deal with the current owner of my Death Note,” I turned to Snydar. “That would be you.”

“Make the deal, Jack,” Rod ordered.

“Wh-what?!”

“You heard me. Make the deal for the shinigami eyes.”

“But I’ll lose half of-” It was at this point Snydar noticed the way Rod was reaching into his jacket. “Ya know, on second thought, I’d like to make to the eye-trade.”

“Atta boy.”

“So, uh…” Snydar looked at me. “How does this…umm, happen? What are you going to do?”

“Just close your eyes and hold very still.” He did as instructed and I gently placed my hand on top of his head. “Now, I’ve never done this before, so it may take a few tries,” I didn’t know whether to mock or pity the man as he started to tremble. “But it shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I focused for a second and felt a strange tingling in the hand that was on Snydar’s head which quickly shot up my arm and dissipated. “Annnnnd done. You can open your eyes now.” He did so, revealing bright red irises which quickly faded back to his natural eye color. “Congratulations, you are now that much closer to death.”

And I’m that much closer to getting my Death Note back…

“What do you see?” Mello asked.

“Names…” Snydar whispered. “And numbers. Are those their lifespans?”

“Yeah, but they’re done in the numeral language of the shinigami. To translate it to human calculations, you’d need a calculator and a great deal of time, depending on how precise you’d want it to be.”

“Excellent.” Rod thumped Snydar on the back. “Now we’re in business.”

“Thank you, A.” Mello smiled. “You have been very helpful.”

I felt something stir deep inside of me. A quiver just below my stomach that sent tingles up my spine and made my lower extremities throb ever so slightly. The sensation was new, yet faintly familiar. I almost gagged when I realized what it was.

Oh no, nope, nuh-unh, don’t even think about it, don’t you dare feel attracted to him ah shit, too late.

“No problem.” The inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper. “Any other questions?”

“I think we’re good for now.” His smile disappeared, as did the sickening feeling, and I inwardly sighed with relief. “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions, but for now, you can keep watch outside.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t quite believe what I’d just heard.

“It’ll be very convenient for us that you can’t be seen by humans. Go outside and keep watch, got it?”

In another time, I would have pissed my pants and ran at the look he gave me then. It was goddamn creepy. But I had changed since then, and had grown used to these kinds of gazes. If anything, I thought it was extremely humorous.

“Heh…heheheh…” His left eye twitched in surprise as my giggles turned into guffaws of laughter. Everyone stared, bewildered, as my voice rose and fell, cracking in its insane cackles.

“What’s so funny?” Mello asked, irked.

“You are!” I chuckled. “You are without a doubt the strangest human being I have ever encountered! Your appearance! Your intelligence! Your chocolate and leather fetishes! And now you’re givin’ me friggin’ orders! Me! A goddamned shinigami! A being that has every single person in this room terrified except for you! The whole thing just strikes me as hilarious!”

I continued to laugh maniacally as the blonde glared at me with the icy daggers that were his eyes. Eventually, I began to calm down.

“Finished?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ll give you this though, you’re probably also the bravest human I’ve seen; it takes some serious guts to boss around a death god.”

There was a brief pause as my words sunk in. I had a feeling I had said what everyone else had once thought at one point or another. Mello was a very strange person. Brilliant yes, but strange…and maybe a bit psychotic, but hey, I wasn’t one to judge.

“So, are you going to keep watch, or not?”

My lips clenched into a scowl as my good humor immediately dissolved.

“Okay, let’s make something explicitly, perfectly clear here.” I took a few steps toward him. “The only reason I’m here is because shinigami law requires me to be. That does not make me your servant, alright? You do not get to order me around like one of these shit-for-brains asshats.” I motioned to the group of men surrounding us, stopping once I was right in front of him. He hadn’t moved an inch, his face only expressing the slightest hint of emotion. It was really starting to tick me off. “So, do we have an understanding?”

There was a tense silence, the people in the room waiting with bated breath for Mello’s response, until…

“Do it, and I’ll give you more chocolate.”

-snap!-

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed the blonde by the throat and yanked him to his feet. He audibly gasped in surprise and pain as I slammed his back against the wall above the couch. I found it immensely pleasing.

“Listen well, Pretty Boy, because I’m only going to say this once,” I leaned in close until we were perfectly eye-level. “Don’t fuck with me. Fuck with me, and you’ll regret it. You have my word on that.”

I dropped him back on the sofa-cushions and he glared up at me with hate-filled eyes.

“You...you…” He was so angry, he couldn’t think of anything to say. I knew that feeling well.

“Maybe when you’re ready to treat with me some respect, we can try this again.” I placed a hand on his shoulder, tightening my grip when he tried to shake it off, and leaned in again, hissing into his ear. “Your tricks won’t work on me. I’ve been dealing with your type for a long time now. I’m used to it.”

  “My type?” Mello whispered, caught off-guard again as I released his shoulder and stood up.

“Anyway, if you have any more questions regarding the Death Note, just give me a holler. Later.”

Black, feathery wings popped out of my back, and I flew up and out of the hideout so fast that Mello’s enraged shouts just barely reached my ears as faint whispers. I smiled in content as I settled on a high tree-branch, but it didn’t last long as I began to think about the recklessness of my past actions, and the young man whom was currently handling my notebook.

Hmm…Short-tempered, calculating, a bit on the arrogant side, chocolate addiction, late teens…There’s no doubt about it…It’s the Mello he told me about…

I held up my left arm and pulled down the shirt-sleeve, revealing a single letter carved into the flesh of my wrist and a list of names beneath it. Using the sharp tip of my pen, I began to add the names of the people I’d sentenced to death just a few minutes prior. I hoped that the familiar pain would be enough to distract me from my rapidly growing feeling of dread.

This might change things…

Alternate title for this chapter: HEYKIDSWANNASEEADEADBODY?

And before you ask, yes, Mello wearing black lipstick is totally canon. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Fabulous, no?