#not just his parents but his peers as well once he got back to thailand

[stormyoceans]

LINE READING SO DEVASTATING I NEED TO DIE ABOUT IT

[47-shades-of-hitman]

In Your Likeness | Chapter 5 - A sliver of humanity

“Hey, you down for a run?”

Agent 47 looked up from the folder Diana had given him and saw you standing on the threshold, hands on your hips. Your hair had been tightly tucked behind your ears and instead of your usual Assassin’s attire, you now wore a somewhat more casual fit.

“Why not.” he said, standing up and putting away the documents.

You hummed and plopped down on one of the available chairs.

“Well then, I’ll wait here for a bit until you’re ready to go.”

He frowned. “Wait for what?”

“For you to put on your training gear, or something more breathable.” you said.

After a moment of silence you turned to him.

“You aren’t going to tell me that your plan was to… To run in that suit?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, a lot actually.” you explained, “People will stare. Besides, it’s very hot outside.”

“I function just right in this no matter the heat.”

You arose from your seat and crossed your arms, opposing him. “It looks ridiculous. A man sprinting in a suit like that through ancient Jerusalem. Tell you what, we’ll take an alternative route instead.”

Agent 47 wasn’t sure what you meant – “Alternative route?”

Instead of answering, you turned on your heel and left the room, the hitman soon following. He easily caught up to you and in silence, you left the Brotherhood’s quarters.

Despite the scorching heat, you broke out into a slight jog to warm up.

“Do you do parkour?” you quizzed upon approaching a wall.

“Excuse me?”

You flung yourself onto it, grabbing ridges and bricks that were sticking out, climbing up with practised ease. In about six seconds, you stood on top of a two-story building, peering over the edge to see what was taking him so long.

“I’m not sure if I…”

You pointed at the drainpipe on the side of the wall, shrugging. “Just use that. You’ll learn.”

47 climbed up and dusted down his slacks right after. “Heavily reliant on scaling buildings, aren’t you?”

You chuckled dryly. 

“The Assassins have been doing that since the beginning of the Brotherhood. If anything, it’s one of our most important skills. It’s a fantastic way to go from A to B unseen, and way quicker at that. I don’t carry them on me at this moment, but on one of my bracers I do have a grappling hook which I can use to my advantage.”

Walking over the flat rooftops, you hopped from one house to the other, staying out of sight from balconies and cameras.

“The beginning of the Brotherhood,” Agent 47 repeated. “How far back does it date? Golden Age? Middle Ages?”

A laugh fell from your lips and you jumped down a ledge before propelling yourself up a higher wall, gripping the edge. After hoisting yourself up, you turned back to help 47 out, but he managed just fine on his own.

“No, 47. The Brotherhood of Assassin originates in ancient Egypt.”

“Egypt?”

“In the time of Cleopatra. The Hidden Ones were the first ones, but no one knows who they really were. Eventually, it grew out into a Brotherhood for people carrying out assassinations and protecting our employers. Long story short: through the ages, we spread all over the world. Greece, Italy, America, France, England… You name it.”

47 let out a sound of surprise, since he had never known that it dated so far back.

“Our cause was to fight for peace above all things. Protect the people who needed us to do so. Working in the dark to serve the light. Our motto –  nothing is true, everything is permitted .”

You halted and looked out over the Wailing Wall, folding your hands on your back. Taking in the sight of Jews gathering to pray brought a sense of serenity.

“We fight for peace in freedom. And in that, we differ from our enemies, the Templars, or their more public name nowadays, Abstergo Industries . Once founded in the early thousands, set on claiming back the Holy Land under a veil of Catholicism, but under the surface, a whole lot less to do with whatever peace the church preaches. The Order of the Knights Templar once believed that peace could only be gained through oppression of lesser people and dictatorship.”

You shuddered even though the weather was far from cold – thoroughly appalled by the idea of them.

“And eventually, it became an institute of rich men seeking to become more wealthy and powerful. And then came the Pieces of Eden. Of course they already existed, but the more modern war about them, I mean.”

For a moment, you looked over at 47 to see if he was still listening. His eyes were as blue as the sky and made your heart skip a beat. Every time you saw that colour you remembered that they were the bluest shade you had ever seen.

Deciding to proceed walking, you stepped away, 47 in tow.

“I promise I won’t bore you for any longer.” you said, “If I’m talking too much, just say the word.”

“Well,” 47 began, “I was the one who asked you to teach me about the Brotherhood of Assassins, did I not?”

Your lips quirked upward and you exhaled. “I suppose. Tell me about you first, it would only be fair.”

“If you insist.” he said, “At the moment, I work for the ICA. It’s an organization handling contracts given by clients. I’m their hitman for particularly difficult jobs.”

“Like seeking out a secret organization created by both of our enemies.”

“Correct. As you know, I’m genetically made to be the best assassin one can create, with a very low failure rate.”

You hopped down a few roofs and reached a lower wall, where you jumped off, landing on the cobble street. Your conversation hadn’t made you able to do some parkouring through the town, anyway.

“Since you told your story quite quickly, I shall make mine short, too. I killed Ort-Meyer, who created me through his experiments, wanted to leave the world of killing by living with a priest, but eventually, he got kidnapped and I was pulled back into the trade. After all, I barely know how to do anything else.”

A large grin spread over your face as you two walked down the street, pushing past a few tourists in the process. “A priest? Never expected you of all people to take interest in such things.”

“I tended to the garden.” 47 explained, unsure why he was telling you this – after all, he barely knew you and whatever he was telling could be used against him, for he couldn’t be seen as weak.

But your eyes were kind and glimmered in amusement as you looked at him.

“Look at you, the one purely created to take lives, tends and cares for it.”

47’s gut twisted in confusion at the lack of humour in your voice. Where he had expected you to mock him for it, you were inexplicably accepting. “I suppose.” he mused.

“And here we are.” you added. “This way.”

You guided him outside of the ancient city and went uphill for a while, the Mount of Olives at your right hand.

“The Pieces of Eden, then.” 47 reminded you.

“Oh, yes.” you breathed, “The Pieces of Eden grant the holder great power over others. The Templars want those artefacts for themselves, so the Creed countered by making it their duty to do all to prevent that. And if we know where those artefacts are, we can keep an eye on them, take them to hide them away and most importantly, avoid conflict.”

“Avoid conflict? That clashes with our current mission.”

“Well, if it  can  be avoided. We’re not afraid to fight for it. Peace through freedom, I mean. Sometimes force is needed, and so it shall be done.” you concluded, shrugging a little.

“And you, what is your story?” 47 quizzed as the pair of you halted on top of the Mount of Olives. You were slightly out of breath because of the heat, holding your hand above your brow to shield yourself from the sunlight. The golden Dome of the Rock stood shining brightly.

“I’m (Y/n) (L/n), thirty-five years old, Master Assassin of Jerusalem’s Brotherhood. Nothing that you don’t know of.”

Agent 47 huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Why the interest?” you softly quizzed. “It’s not that it matters.”

“You said you wanted to become acquainted.”

You smirked, folding your hands on your back, closing your eyes to enjoy the light of the sun on your cheeks.

“I was born into the Brotherhood, like my father and his father’s father. Needless to say, we have a long history in the Creed. Not the most prominent or anything, but quite famous. My father’s side of the family consisted of ruthless Assassins, living for their trade. My father fell in love with a young female Assassin and married her – my mother. They had my brother, Joseph, and me. All was well and my parents were loved by the Brotherhood, but one day, my father died while on duty.”

Your voice faltered upon ending your sentence, and you looked at your boots for a moment, exhaling deeply. “I never really got to know the man who he was behind the blade. He trained us, and everything I know, I know from him. In hindsight, he was more a mentor than a father. I respect him greatly, but I never felt like I was his daughter. I suppose it’s a bit strange… Well, not for you. In theory, you killed the man who put you onto this Earth.”

Agent 47 hummed, breathing in the scorching air.

“And your mother?”

“She’s in Thailand, in a retirement home set up by Assassins. There she can live her final days in peace, try to forget about the passing of her husband and her son, but with her later stage of Alzheimer’s, I’m not sure where her emotions are at the moment.”

Gesturing to the side, you told Agent 47 to head down the street.

“What happened to Joseph?”

You halted in your tracks, a few tourists that had been walking behind you nearly bumping into you, muttering something angry in what you recognized to be Spanish –  Perdona , you murmured, shaking your head before resuming your walk, albeit at a quicker pace now.

“I don’t like to talk about it.” you said, “Maybe another time. I’ve already told a lot about myself. Enough for now. We should get to actually working out, now.”

Breaking out into a jog, you started running down the street, passing by tourists every now and then.

“Do you often run?” 47’s voice was unusually steady given that you were dashing forward at quite a pace.

“As often as I can. Keeps me fit.”

He hummed in agreement. “Can’t argue with that.”

You went running through a few streets before speaking again – “Mind if I spice this up a bit?”

Before 47 could respond, however, you were already scaling a high wall on your left, pushing yourself up with practised ease. He spotted a drainpipe and sighed in acceptance, soon following you up the roof.

When he finally vaulted onto it, he saw that you were already a few buildings away, leaping from one with so much as the bat of an eye.

“Are you seeing this?” he asked, then realizing that Diana couldn��t hear him – after all, he wasn’t on a mission and thus he didn’t carry his trackers – and he knew that pursuing you wouldn’t bring him anywhere. Another thing he recognized was that he lacked an important skill he hadn’t realised he didn’t have, until now. You leapt further and further away, gracefully so, as if you were dancing.

Where he mostly blended into the crowd, hiding in plain sight, you were away in the blink of an eye, gone with the wind.

You looked over your shoulder, seeing him just stand on the roof where you had left him. He was watching you with an odd posture, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of your antics.

Smirking, you shook your head, resuming your trip back to the headquarters. Bouncing to the edge, you peered down the side of the roof to see if it was all still clear, and upon seeing that the bushes were still soft and plump enough to fall upon, you spread your arms, diving off.

Agent 47 felt his stomach churn in shock, his breath hitching as he watched you jump. As if snapped out of a trance, he darted to the end as quickly as he could, immediately figuring out the importance of scaling and parkour in the speed at which he was currently going.

He came to a halt at the edge and leaned over it to find you standing with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I thought you…”

“Hm…” you replied. “Come on, let’s get back to the headquarters.”

47 slid down a drainpipe and walked up to you.

“That was… Impressive.” 47 stated as you resumed your trip back to the base.

“Thank you.” you mused, “That dive was a  Leap of Faith. Took a long time to master.”

“I can imagine.”

You turned your face away, smiling in amusement.

Even though it was tiny, a bond was starting to form.

These months were going to become interesting, you figured.

[heli0s-writes]

II. The Binding

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  You return to the newly dubbed Avengers Tower after two years. The Words find you with a surprise. A/N: Part 2 of Mystery of Love.

It took a few months for you to settle in and find a new apartment, but soon enough you were back on a regular schedule. Your work continued to be well-reviewed and circulating, which was a good sign because it meant you could still make a living off it. The merchandise in your store was steadily being bought and it certainly helped that you still had quite a bit of money left over from your last few paychecks. There were invitations in your inbox for exhibitions and requests to purchase original files of your work. For now, you were leaving them unread.

You visited your parents once, to talk to them, but you felt strange in their home. The longer your conversation went on, the more you realized that your parents couldn’t comprehend the importance of your work to you. Nor did they understand why you were no longer enamored with the idea of a soulmate. To them, you were meandering around the world to pursue a hobby, luckily it made you quite a bit of money, but you needed to settle down and find your other half. He was in Manhattan, they believed, so you needed to stay put. When you scoffed and said that it could very well be a “she”, they asked you to leave and think about your actions for a few days.

On a sunny May morning, as you reviewed the hundreds of pictures from your journeys, you received an e-mail from Ms. Potts. She hoped you had a fun trip, and that she’d like for you to come by for another assignment. She promised that there was a surprise.

You thought the surprise was that the Avengers Tower was now called Avengers Facility and was outside of town. It wasn’t. The surprise also wasn’t the chauffer who pulled up the next day to drive you there.

You balked at the size of the estate upon seeing it. She met you once again at the door, first to give you a hug and ask about your travels, then as if she’d done something wrong, Ms. Potts bashfully straightened her skirt and led you in. You laughed and returned the hug, thanking her for the bonus; it had gotten you through more than 5 countries in almost two years, after all.

The contract she slid under your nose was entirely review same guidelines as before. There were new specifications, however, four new Avengers: Samuel Thomas “Sam” Wilson, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Pietro Maximoff, and Wanda Maximoff. You had heard about Sokovia while you were travelling- it happened while you were in Thailand, and Sergeant Barnes’ investigation and trial was on the news during your entire stay in Saudi Arabia. It was very, very recent.

“I thought you might like an additional photo to your Peculiar Pairs Series,” Ms. Potts smiled, “Wanda and Pietro are bonded,”

Your eyes must have looked like saucers. You’d never seen it before- soulmate twins! There were old folktales, of course, but you didn’t think it was real. You gasped in disbelief and ransacked your brain for an appropriate response. What kind of words would they have said to each other? Babies don’t have a concept of language? What was it like growing up together- what is their relationship with each other like? What did their family think?

You sputtered.

“I… Only with their permission, of course!”

Pepper laughed, “Yes, of course. Come on, let’s go see everyone.”

It was then that a wave of nausea hit you, thinking suddenly about Captain Rogers and the awful feeling your stomach gets around him. It was such an embarrassing thing to admit and be helpless to control. You often wondered to yourself if you were reacting so extremely because he scared you? No, he didn’t. Did you like him? Well, you didn’t know him. You were attracted to him, yes, but who wasn’t?

Captain Rogers had been in your textbook since you were a little girl. You went to the museum in Brooklyn multiple times and gazed at his uniform and peered at his photographs alongside Sergeant Barnes. He was handsome in such a honest and gentle way, someone once upon a time you might have dreamt of being your soulmate. He had beautiful blue eyes and a boyish grin, even as a man. You always thought even before the serum, you could have liked him. It wasn’t like you were a very tall woman, anyway.

You rubbed your sternum discreetly as you slipped behind Ms. Potts.

“Please call me Pepper,” she said abruptly, as if she were letting out a too-big breath of air, “Please. And Tony would love it if you’d call him y’know, by his first name too.”

You blushed. You’d just never been that way. But you promised her to try.

“I understand we’re all much older, but just get into the habit, yeah? Wanda and Pietro are your age, and wouldn’t it be weird to call them Mr. and Ms. Maximoff?”

You agreed.

After a few long hallways, the turn led into a large sitting space illuminated by an entire wall made of windows. A large sectional was placed in the center of the room along with some single sofas and bean bags. There was a bookshelf along one wall and a flat-screen across from the seats. All eyes turned to you when you entered. You recognized them- Tony, Natasha, Steve, Bucky Barnes, the Maximoff Twins, and Sam Wilson. Apprehension flooded your core at the sight of the Captain. Sergeant Barnes, who sat beside him, seemed to be glaring.

“Ah! There’s my favorite little P.R. twerp!” Tony Stark cried as he slid across the rug, arms outstretched, “Missed your photos, kid, I’ve got one of me blown up in the master right now. It’s fantastic.”

“Thanks, Tony,” You replied shyly, feeling a bit silly for taking so long to make the switch. Tony gasped dramatically and pretended to be on the verge of tears, punctuating his display with a loud, “Finally!”

Natasha came to hug you as well, whispering a greeting in your ear and congratulating you on all the good fortune with your travels.

The twins regarded you wordlessly, both giving curt nods and gazing at your camera bag. You returned the gesture, placing your hand on the strap to move the bag out of view- you didn’t want to take their picture until they were ready, regardless of what the contract stated. Sam Wilson came to shake your hand and introduce himself. He was very charming, you noted, and definitely knew how to hold a conversation- maybe being the most normal person here.

“I’m such a fan of your work,” he said with a smile, “It’s such a refreshing take on an old, trite thing.” You thanked him in response, grabbing the strap of your camera bag nervously. It was a habit you were trying to let go of, but receiving compliments was still something you handled poorly.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had been standing since you and Pepper entered the room. You noticed that the Captain cut his hair shorter than you’d seen it before. Two years ago, it was longer on top and brushed to the side. He tentatively gave you a small smile and waved, unsure of your reaction.  

When you smiled back, he exhaled loudly, “It’s good to see you,”

“You too, Captain”

There was a sudden sensation prickling at your flesh. At first it tickled, like a brush, but then it hit you like a staccato of needles stabbing into the skin of your chest. Your face contorted into an expression of confusion before the pain hit, hands pulling the strap of the camera bag down roughly to investigate the source of your agony. You backed up into a chair. Natasha and Pepper rushed over. The sweltering feeling grew as you struggled to unbutton your shirt, finally giving up and tearing it halfway down the middle.

As the buttons scattered, you watched in horror as black words appeared on your sternum, all capital letters running up your chest in a straight line: it’s good to see you.

Captain Rogers groaned audibly and fell backwards onto the couch as he frantically rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to see your words appear on his left bicep, cursive script running in a circle to disappear and return around. The room was filled with gasps and clattering chairs as the watchers began to realize what was unfolding. Sergeant Barnes leaned down to examine his friend, fearfully looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Jesus Christ!” He cried, as the Captain’s handwriting stopped carving into your skin. Your gasps were beginning to subside when he called out, but when those words left his lips, you began to feel it again, this time overtaking your arm. You couldn’t remain balanced on the chair any longer as you doubled over in pain, sliding onto the floor, just out of reach of Natasha’s steadying hands on you.

Underneath the loose sleeve of your speckled navy and white button up, the Sergeant’s words appeared in thick, heavy strokes of half-cursive, half-print: Jesus Christ.

The room froze in disbelief. Everyone looked from you to the Captain, to the Sergeant. Even your tears subsided for the time being while your heart hammered in your chest. There was ringing in your ears as you tried to still your panting, your hands trembled as they touched the newly formed Words on your left arm.

Sergeant Barnes slowly rose to his feet, staring at you. The Captain did the same. The three of you knew why this was happening, but not quite what it meant, or what it involved for your futures. Captain Rogers extended his hand first, and you slowly slipped shaky fingers into his large palm. It engulfed your hand in a compassionate but strong grip, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his arm flexed ever so slightly as he pulled you up. The touch had an immediate response. It felt like the first time you stepped on warm sand, or the feeling of an ice pack on your head in the throes of a fever. In Captain Rogers’ eyes, you could see the same emotions overpowering him.

“Say something to him,” he whispered. You gulped, looking at the Sergeant, waiting by his side, lips parted in anticipation. You shook your head wildly, afraid. Your first words to Captain Rogers were so dull already- what could you say to the Sergeant? You were racking your brain for phrases you’d memorized over time when he spoke up.

“Say somethin’, please,” Sergeant Barnes’ icy blue eyes urged you with a frantic plea, “There’s nothin’ that wouldn’t be just exactly how it should.”

Your stomach turned again and you reflexively placed a hand to your torso, suddenly reminded that your shirt was undone, your breasts barely covered by the sides of fabric. Captain Rogers pulled it shut for you, sliding one seam over another, and lightly touched your collarbone before letting his hand fall back to his side. It was a deliberate motion; the desire to pull you up into his arms and hide you away in his room was riotous in his mind, and it was taking all of him to be still.

“I’m not so bad, am I?” the Sergeant took a step forward, expression faltering on the cusp of sorrow. You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find what to say. He was a complete stranger- just another legend you grew up with, like the Captain, like soulmates and the idea of love. But he was right now in front of you, he was proof that the legends you’d been disregarding for the past 4 years existed, as much as you wished they didn’t. His hand brushed your cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear, and leaving a tingling path in its wake.

“This… can’t be real,” You gasped absentmindedly as his thumb traced a line down your jaw. When your eyes started to fill up again with tears, you didn’t know, but they were cascading down your face as Sergeant Barnes sucked in a sharp breath. His full bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he unbuttoned the loose Henley. Your eyes travelled slowly down each button. At the edge of the slit in his shirt, there they were, the Words… your Words: this can’t be real. They were in the same position as Captain Rogers’ Words on your own chest. Sergeant Barnes exhaled shakily as the letters finished their scorching trail on him. The three of you stared at each other, heaving in unison, panting, steadying the furious butterflies in your stomachs.

Sam Wilson was the first to speak up, shattering the silence with the question everyone else thought, “What just happened?”

It shook you from your daze. Both of Pepper’s hands were clasped over her mouth. Natasha looked astonished, but intrigued. Tony slowly made his way to Pepper and pulled her hands down, gripping it tight in his, his eyes remained transfixed on the three of you on the floor the entire time. The twins sat in silence, fingers intertwined with pleased smiles.  

“This is incredible,” Pepper sighed, “I’ve only heard stories,”

“You... all are soulmates?” Sam asked

You looked back and forth between the two men at your side, unsure of how to answer. You could only think of the time you met John in Prospect Park with Francis and Marilynn. Tony seemed to recall that photo as well and spoke up in clear voice over his shoulder.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up the Peculiar Pairs photo gallery on the T.V.” The flatscreen hummed to life as Tony scrolled to the last images of the set. There were three elderly people sitting on the bench together, holding each others’ hands. Francis on the left, John in the middle, Marilynn on the right, all smiles. Tony traced the Words on Francis’ wrist and Words on Marilynn’s collarbone. John sat happily between them, two sets of words etched on the same spaces: wrist and collarbone.

Tony pointed to you, “Same thing,” he said with a slight jerk of his neck, “You got Capsicle’s words on your chest, Count Buckula’s words on your arm… and he’s—” a slide to the right of his finger, pointing to Captain Rogers, “—got your words on his arm… and those words are on his chest…” the finger slid to the other side, at the Sergeant.

Both of Tony’s hands came to rest on his hips as he regarded you almost proudly. “I can’t believe it, kid, you got two soulmates.” It seemed like the speech would end there, but Tony’s eye began to twinkle mischievously, and a deviant smirk overtook his previously harmless smile, “Oh my, my, my, my, my, aren’t you three going to be having some adventurous s- Ah!”

Pepper had punched him before he could finish his sentence, and began to twist his ear, dragging him out of the room with a very sympathetic apology. The rest of the Avengers followed suit, loudly clearing their throats, offering you congratulations and smiles as a dark pink blush spread over your cheeks. The Maximoffs were the last to leave. Pietro strode casually to the hallway but lingered in the shadow as Wanda put her hand on your shoulder with a knowing smile. She pulled up the sleeve of her flowing blouse and showed you her brother’s mark--- a long curved line, punctuation with a frenzy of dashes and dots at the end. “Do not worry. It is meant to be how it is meant to be,”

At her brother’s bidding, Wanda slipped away as well, following him down the hall.

You were left alone with them. The two men standing in front of you stiff like statues, hands clenched tightly at their sides. You didn’t know what to do with your own body, either, as it hummed and positioned to their frequency. There was a vibration that was unmoving, a tune that was noiseless, a thread hanging onto all three of you, stringing you together. Your legs were beginning to shake.

Sergeant Barnes noticed and led you to the couch as Captain Rogers pushed two loose sofas closer so that they could sit facing you. He was careful to give you as much space as you needed, so long as it didn’t entirely take you away. The very sight of you now, etched with his Words gave him the clarity he’d been searching for nearly his entire life. He didn’t need verbal verification to know that Bucky also felt the same way.  

Your gaze slowly traveled up to the sandy-haired man sitting in front, leaning forward with his elbows resting atop of his knees. You’d known this man for years, but somehow in this moment, he looked so strange and unfamiliar. His brow creased with curiosity. You were sure this wasn’t how he – either of them- must have imagined meeting their soulmate. You were just some kid. Christ, fifteen minutes ago, you were still rejecting the idea of soulmates!

The markings on your body began to feel heavy with each acrimonious thought. Your chest tightened up again, stomach squeezing itself inside of you. Tears started to fall from your eyes as the room caved in. Your heart felt so full, as if it could burst from your chest at any minute if you let it. Your hands moved on their own, grabbing at your chest and arm, scratching wrathfully at the Words’ inscription on your body. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want it. You refused it.

In the darkness of the chamber, you heard someone say, “She’s having a panic attack, Buck,”

A warm hand found itself against your back, rubbing large lines up and down your spine leisurely. Another hand was rubbing against the narrow plane in between your breasts, but it was cold and made you shiver. Someone’s hands were tucking your hair behind both ears, sweetly wiping away the tears that ran freely and gathered under your chin. You felt so small against them, leaning sadly into the warmth, shuddering sobs shaking your frame.

“Breathe… breathe, there you go, hon’, you’re doing great,”

The blackness soon began to fade, and you struggled to follow the rhythmic directions being whispered into your ear. New tears were shushed away gently by another voice, like an ocean breeze blowing away sand. Your hands clenched severely to your thighs, but soon were peeled away and held in a grasp that burned like a furnace. When the light returned to your field of vision, you could make out the Captain and Sergeant giving you encouraging smiles.

“I’m.. sorry,” you wheezed hoarsely. You hadn’t experienced one of these since early college.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a lot to take in,” Captain Rogers spoke, squeezing your left hand in his. At the sensation, you looked down to see your small hand, once again, engulfed in his and laughed loudly, surprising them both. They were glad to see you laughing, at least, and only raised their eyebrows to question it. You shook your head, not knowing where to start, pulling your hand away and wrapping both arms around your legs. You didn’t notice Captain Rogers’ expression.

“How does this work, Captain?” You asked, murmuring, in hopes that if they didn’t hear you, maybe you could just avoid talking about it forever. “There’s… two of you… the Sergeant, I.. this… we’ve only just met.” You squeezed your puffy eyes shut, feeling your poor head starting to hurt.

“Please,” he called, “Please…” it was pleading, soft and slow, so, so desperate, “Call me Steve, please.”

You swallowed, trying the sound out over your tongue gently, “Steve,” You chanced a look over to his left, where icy blue eyes wandered over your face.

“You’ve got more options with me, hon’” a smile graced Sergeant Barnes, and you started to notice just how much more handsome he was in person. All those museum photos could never capture the sharpness of his jaw, or the way his stubble worked to frame his face, or the dip in his chin that seemed to make his rather intense features so agreeable. His long hair was much nicer in person than it was on all those breaking news broadcasts. His blue gaze was brighter than you could have ever imagined from those black and white reels. You licked your lips idly, and flushed pink when both men followed the trajectory of your tongue and lingered on your mouth.

“Bucky work for you? If not, you can call me James,” “That’s his government name,” Steve quipped, getting smirks from both of you.

You tried both, and promised you would try to settle on Bucky. Neither of them felt right anyway, since you’d grown up categorizing any information you knew of him under “Sergeant Barnes”. You relayed the information to them, and added that frankly, it unsettled you to call Steve by his first name too. They, in return, promised to be patient.

“What if… its’ wrong?” Your face contorted, your eyes were flashing from Steve to Bucky, back to Steve, back to Bucky. Your brain was revving up, “I mean, soulmates, you know? What is that? Right?” God, you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop. “Shouldn’t we choose who we love? We’re… god, we were born decades apart. You guys are… superhuman.. and I’m just 23…! Compared to you, you’re legends, you’re Avengers, you save the damn world? Oh my god, I just take pictures of people.”

“I’ve never even kissed a boy.” You said suddenly, squeezing your eyes shut. There were flashbacks to all the times you’d run away from boys, or during the speed-meets when you’d stare longingly into someone’s eyes for the good span of five seconds before having to do it again with someone else thirty more times, or in undergrad, when you tried to go on a date with Nathan Young but when he dropped you off at home and put his hand on your thigh, you bolted.

Bucky and Steve laughed in relief as you slid your head in-between your hands. They shared a knowing look with each other before Bucky slid his hooked finger under your chin and turned you upward to gaze at him.

“Sweetheart, you don’t gotta kiss anyone unless you want to,” he assured, “We just want to be with you,”

They laughed again in unison. Bucky leaned back on the sofa and put both arms behind his neck, letting Steve explain.

“We’re eager, but we understand. I’ve waited for so long. We’ve tried to ignore fate… with dating,” A snort from Bucky confirmed his fact, “It never worked out.” Steve continued, “I feel it, in my gut, this is right. Can’t you? Buck and I, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers; there are no secrets between us.”  

You placed a hand on your stomach, feeling it settle strangely, wondering if the sickness you’d experienced in the past around Steve was a sign you wrongfully chalked up to your anxiety. He seemed to hear your thoughts and nodded, letting you know that the fateful day in the conference room, when he reached his quarters, he had developed an angry red rash across his arm. He was curious, but since you were keen on avoiding him, he let you have your space. Now, as the three of you sat in each other’s company, you couldn’t help but wonder if the universe needed all of you together for the Words to work.

You asked them for their patience. You needed to go home, let the information settle, do some work to calm down, maybe. You could tell that Bucky was hesitant to let you go, but Steve assured him it would be fine. He asked for you to return soon, because as you knew, soulmates who were already bound to each other with Words, suffered each other’s maladies, and he was honest in letting you know that it would hurt him to not be close to you.

When you quietly got ready to leave, Bucky broke the silence by asking your name- a fact you’d forgotten to give in the chaos of the Binding. He repeated it, over and over again, tongue touching the top of his mouth in deliberate flicks, as if it was holy. Steve walked you to the car and watched it until you disappeared into the horizon.

Upon returning to the lounge area where Bucky sat, pained expression casting harsh shadows on his face, Steve placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Bucky understood the implication of the hand—a request to keep his promise of patience. He wanted to, for you. He wanted to do anything for you.

“She’s gotta come back, Stevie,” he muttered, hand reaching up into his shirt to trace the words. Steve assured him that she would. “I can’t stand it, Stevie, all those times in the chair, when they were scrambling my brain,” his voice dropped low, “I was thinkin’ about her. I could feel her somewhere, not knowing what she looked like or anything, but just feel her. Can’t stand it that she doesn’t want to be here now.”

Steve didn’t need his friend to finish the sentence to know what he meant.

“Buck, if we push her, we’ll lose her. I want the same thing, but she needs to come to that conclusion on her own.”

That night, as you fell into your bed, a message blinked on your phone- an e-mail from Pepper. It was the picture you took of of John, Francis, and Marilynn- from Prospect Park, beaming on that old wooden bench next to the birdbath. A single question was written beneath the photograph.

It worked out for them, didn’t it?

Next Chapter

[just-some-random-blogger]

Noodle City

NCT Chef!Wong Yukhei (Lucas) & NoodleMaster!Lee Sooman Characters: NCT 2019 bro, Lee Sooman Summary:  Lucas was a scholar of the dying art of noodle making. And when I say scholar, I strictly mean in the sense that he is studying it, not in the sense that he is excelling. Master Sooman however sees great potential in him. Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: CRACK LINDA CRAAAACK, fluff, more crack, typos?, etc.

A/N: Back when I hadn’t memorized NCT’s names, I thought it was quite impossible, and since lucas was one of the first people i knew, i imagined him naming his members... but as noodles beCAUSE THEY’RE ALL SO SKINNY FEED THEM SM

Through the busy streets of Seoul you may come across a famous restaurant, known for it's greatness in noodles. On one slow day, the owner and master maker had a class in the back of his shop. The master was teaching his only student how to get used to using his hands and not the machines he was so accustomed to.

After explaining he had to make twenty strands of noodles, he had left his apprentice of two weeks to make it on his individually, by hand, by himself in the kitchen with the freedom to use whatever he wished. He had not yet shown him the way to make noodles, maybe a few moves and techniques here and there, but the task was a step higher from what his student was used to, which was more than enough for the master he to make sure of him.

When he came back, he was instantly bombarded with a man who resembled a young boy on Christmas. His big eyes did match that of a child.

"Master, look at what I did!" Lucas smiled widely, raising a metal tray of thin strings of dough.

Lee Sooman, the last remaining practitioner of this dying, ancient art of noodle making, squinted at the strips before his eyes, "Mwo ya?"

"They're my noodles," Lucas smiled proudly.

The shorter, older man peered up at the face of his only student and adjusted his glasses.

It was not that the master could not teach many at once or could not find anyone else to teach, but it was because he did not see anything in the ones who say they are willing to learn.

He however thinks this culinary chef who had traveled far for him was a winning candidate.

The broad shouldered man sniffled and blew strands of his blonde dyed hair out of his face.

No, the eager souled being didn't really have an allergy to dust nor to flour. Lucas supposes the runny nose he had was due to the fact he accidentally kept snorting the flour up like cocaine and choked on it on many occasions. It wasn't his fault he was too tall and had to all the way bend down to see how his craftsmanship was holding up.

Though I suppose it was his fault that he kept falling out of balance, sucking in some powder on along the way to find his centre of gravity.

Actually, no. It was gravity's fault, not Lucas's.

The noodle neophyte wiped his philtrum with the back of his hand, unknowingly smearing the same substance that caused him to sniffle across his left cheek.

His master was about to tell him about it, but was silenced by the intensity of the voice that spoke.

"Look, look! I even named them, look!" Lucas chirped, bringing his pride and glory to the marble counter he had birthed them.

 Sooman spared an exhale of withheld breath and narrowed his eyes at his could be successor. He placed his hands behind his back and walked over to the young man.

"Here, look." Lucas turned over his shoulder and awaited for his senior to come to his side. Once he approched, Lucas continued, "This one's the first I made. His name is Taeil. He's Korean like the rest of them, exceot for those who are not. I ended up making him kinda small, but that's okay. Anyway, he has a big heart to make up for it," he pointed, "which is why this part of him is kinda bumped. It's his heart though, not a boob."

The man tried his best not to react in a way Lucas may seem negative, so instead he asked, "you named it?"

Lucas hummed.

"All of it?"

"Well, duh. This is my first time actually making noodles by myself so I have to. I even took pictures, wanna see?"

Sooman flattened his lips together.

Lucas mimicked the action to a degree, "I see. I'll take that as a no."

He offered a smile nevertheless.

"Okay, next one is Johnny." Lucas pointed, looking to the tray, to his master, and back again. "I tried to make up for what I didn't do to Taeil but then I ended up making him too long." He pursed his lips and nodded, "he's really funny, fun to be around, really good at English, and is a total meme."

Sooman's forehad wrinkled. Meme?

"Then next is Taeyong, who ended up kinda small, but that's fine. He's the type that seems like he's going to eat tou whole, which is ironic if you ask me, since he's a noodle, but he's actually a big pile of fluff once you hear him speak. He's really good dancer, great stage presense, and has good leadership skills, which is why I have decided to make him the leader of Noodle City, or NCT for short."

Lucas smiled once again afyer explaining, and pointed, "Yuta turned out to be just right size. He's Japanese, I reckon since I used some of that favorite flour of yours, the expensive one from Osaka, to fix him when I--" the look and Sooman's face made Lucas's words slower, "got him.... wet." The blonde haired boy cleared his throat, "He's good at football, and uh... he's got a great personality-- just like you," he chuckled nudging his mentor.

There was no reaction.

"You said I could use anything though."

Silence.

He cleared his throat again.

"Next is Kun. He's Chinese, like yours truly. He's great at cooking, better than me, I hate to admit, though not really because I was the one that made him that way.  He like to makes food for his noodle children like the nurturing parent figure he is." Lucas chuckled.

It was not so much out of character that Lucas would go out of his way to do something like this, but Sooman found it amusing that he made one of his characters better than him at something,when he proudly arms himself with the fact he is the top chef, The Iron Chef, from Hong Kong, who's leaving his mark all across Asia, making it his playground-- or rather is kitchen. Yes he did boost his ego along the way, but it was funny nonetheless.

 "Doyong over here is kind of tricky." Lucas continued, "He's very concerned, very smart, very much like a parent figure too, but he has a scary part to him. He has a bright personality and does want the best for his noodles, but deep down he's listing everyone's weaknesses and will attack swiftly all those that cross him!"

The man with greying hair knit his brows and found himself pulling his head back slowly.

"Moving on. This is Ten, or Chittaphon Leechiyapornkul. I went to Thailand once and so I decided he'd be Thai, but actually Chinese because well, I'm Chinese, and there is a lack of Chinese among them and, well, diversity. He's the squiggliest out of all of them." Lucas bit his tongue as he smiled.

He pinched the bottom of the noodle and moved him back and forth, "See? Look at how fluid he is."

The man with a cartoonish smile nodded at his work in approval, "He's a really good dancer. Plus, he sings really well too. I mean, they all sing and dance really good, but that's not the point.

"This next one I decided to give him a birthday on Feburary 14-- just because, even though it's the middle of summer. I named him Jaehyun, and he for some reason reminds me of bread. He looks very soft, which he is, but his noodlity is nice and firm."

"Did you just say noodlity?" the old man asked.

"Yes.

"---"

"Yes, I did."

"---"

"Jaehyun's noodlity doesn't need to be tested for it is firm."

Lucas turned to back to his work, still as pleased as ever, and counted on his fingers to keeo himself back on track. "Ah, next is Winwin because he never loses. Ayeeee."

There was no reaction but Lucas was still proud. He pat his chest with enough force that there was a puff of flour in the air. "Just like his dad. Aye!" Lucas dabbed, and Sooman merely looked at him. After settling down, he went on, "He's a real diamond in the rough. He's really talented, he's capable of so many things, but some people over look him for some," Lucas smacked the surface before him, "ga'damned reason."

He's getting upset over the fictionality he gave his noodles, Sooman thought. Odd.

Lucas heaved in and out heavily and went back to his senses. "Anyway, this is Jungwoo. Soft on the outside, soft on the inside, just a real big softie. You must protect him with all your life. He cries in passion. He's a real sweethert." the tall man gave a lopsided smile and clicked his tongue. "I love him so much-- I mean I love them all, but I love him."

 It was undenibale that the noodle master found the way his apprentice gave life to his lifeless work amusing to say the least. Though in the back of Sooman's head, he knew he should've stopped him the moment he introduced his first noodle. But it was far too late now, he had already spoke about half of them. It would be extremely unfair to the latter noodles if they were to be left unmentioned.

"This one's Mark. He's Canadian, not comdian, though personally, I know the cute little fellow would be really funny, or would find me really funny. But I mean, who doesn't I tell really great jokes." Lucas gave an airy ha, ha, ha, and pointed a finger gun at the man beside him.

"Next is Renjun. He's also Chinese, but is confident in Korean and Chinese. He has a bright personality and is a real goofball. Don't let that trick you into messing with him or his dongsaengs though. He'll rough you up.

"Then there's Na Jaemin, or Na-na! I personally think his nickname is the cutest thing in the world-- no bias. He's really sweet but will kill you if he gets a chance. He's not as good as speaking English as Johnny or Mark, but he's actually also really good at it too."

At this point, the older man adjusted the rims seated on his nose and spared an airy chuckle.

The younger man felt warmth in his chest at that.

He proceeded, "Jeno here, spends a lot of his time gawking at his sunbaes, thinking how great they are. He's really great too, but he believes he should still work hard, which is good. I taught him that. I'm proud of him, of both of us.

"And Haechan over on this side, rolls with the his hyungs most of the time, and so he has this air around him that makes him feel like he's all that, but he's not, really." Lucas proceeds to giggle, "he's still very much a dorky kid at heart and outside, honestlt, but in his head, he's really cool. I mean he is, but he's not, but don't tell him that.

"On to the last two. Here we have p Chenle, a big, big bowl of fruity sunshine who's confused in Chinese but just laughs it off in Korean. He is a ray of sunshine, and he's so sweet and pure and GAH," Lucas shouts, shielding the noodle, "don't touch him!"

Sooman didn't dare even flinch.

"And then baby Jisung. He's the youngest, but he wound up becoming quite long. I bet he'll get longer after he's been cooked. But he's quite thin though for my taste. I mean, honestly, they're all pretty thin to me. I dom't think it's healtht but that's how they turned out to be."

Lucas crossed his arms, "They should really eat more rice. I mean, if they were actual people, I'd call them over and feed them as much as they can eat."

"But they're not people, Yukhei. They're noodles." Sooman finally spoke after a while.

As much as he liked being called his Chinese name, he also felt tremendously nervous everytime that name of his was called instead of Lucas, especially since it was the name his teacher had decided on calling him.

"Kure," Lee Sooman huffed, "prepare me a--"

"Jangkaman," Lucas raised a hand, "those are just 17. I made three more separate ones."

The young man dashed off, leaving the older man to follow him with his eyes.

He ran back quickly holding another tray, much smaller than the first one.

Lucas smiled ear to ear, extra giddy, "I got bored after a while so I experimented on some Chinese flour, just to see what the difference would be. I mean, I don't see anything, but these ones came out really pretty. I mean they're all pretty, but- these one's are Chinese-Chinese. Not that the ones who are Chinese aren't but... ... I just realized this has nothing to do with being pretty. Sorry. I don't remember what my point was."

 Lucas showed the tray that held three pieces of noodles. He placed the smaller tray next to the larger one on the marble and took them one by one.

"Xaojun," he said, placing him on the tray with the rest of the noodles, "Yangyang," he adds, repeating the same action with a differnet noodle, "and Hendery."

Lucas looks at his work in satisfaction and looked to Sooman, "They're all Chinese; Hendery is from Maca--"

"Araso, araso," the professional noodle maker spoke, finally cutting the young one off. "You made a noodle city..."

Lucas pursed his lips, "Hmm, yeah."

"But with only males, so fundamentally just an overpopulated boy group."

"Hmmm, well, I actually made a separate batch of noodles, but I spilled some red food coloring on it. I was thinking of making a Red Velvet concept-thing, I already even had a Seulgi and Irene, but then I remembered you don't like adding unnatural additives to noodles, or anything you cook, so I scratched that."

"I digress," Noodle Master spoke. "Boil up your noodle city-" "you can just call it NCT, cause you know, N is for noodle and CT is--" "NCT and make me a dazzling bowl of noodles."

Lucas pursed his lips, noddedm and soluted. "Yes sir."

 Lee Sooman awaited the dish from outside the kitchen and sat soundfully. He could hear Lucas's professionality from outside and the smell wafting around was only  helping to support that.

When Lucas emerged, a delicious aroma followed, though the master expected no less.

The old man tasted the soup-- supurb, the beef-- well-cooked, and then the noodles.

He got his chopsticks and placed the boiled dough strings in his mouth. It all varied in texture and firmness. In his mouth, he could swear, he tasted the character of the noodls. He was torn between deciding whether or not it was a good or bad thing. The noodle master slurped up a strand and wondered which noodle it was along the way. Maybe it was that Johnny one because of it's irregular length, or was that Jaehyun? Jungkook? Jeonghan? He couldn't remember. Which one was the one that was really funny again?

Ah, how could Lucas think of 20 different characters and remember?

Lee Sooman really was getting old, huh?

Anyway, Sooman turned to his student who bore the same bright eyes he always had.

"Yukhei," he started, "did I ever tell you why you're my only student?"

The apprentice nodded slowly, brows knitting, "You said it was because you saw something in me."

"Ye. In all my days as a noodle craftsman..." he chuckled, "I have never encountered one who made twenty individual noodles that came with a biography."

The blonde stuck out his lower lip, "You didn't even hear about Yangyang, Hendery, and Xaojun."

The man chuckled, "Ye, ye, tell me about them later, but for now you must listen. The reason why I chose you, why I am teaching only you is because... well, let's put it this way-- I see you as my noodle. I have seen and placed an esteemed character in you that I have not others. Though you may be big headed and airy at times, I know you hold layers passion, it is flowing in your veins. And I know a lot of heart, and you put a lot of heart in what you do."

Lucas looked at his master, speechless. He had heard many compliments about him and his work, but he felt it, he felt this was most definitely the most genuine one out of them all.

"Of course your noodles... your noodles are horrible." Sooman chuckled, making Lucas do the same but in a much miniscule version, cheeks heating up as well.

"But they have character-- literally," the old man laughed again, "and so I've decided to tell you all the secrets, teach you all I know, and help you mold that character and carry on this sacred tradition."

Lucas licked his lips, and felt his eyes go glassy. "I WON'T LET YOU DOWN!"

The old man laughed, "I know."

[thisisnoticecreamthisisbutter]

Dusk Til Dawn

AU - Vampire & Werewolf High School

Name - Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul (ชิตพล ลี้ชัยพรกุล) / Ten

Open/Closed - Closed

Closed To - @taetaeloli

Location - Suncheon High School, Seoul, South Korea

Time - 7:30 a.m.

~

A dark haired male fiddled absentmindedly with the silver ring that sat innocently on his middle finger, his eyes trained on the piece of metal. On the ring there was crest; the foreign teenager’s family crest to be exact. It displayed to others, who he belonged to, which happened to be the Leechaiyapornkul family. Said family was a well known vampire family in Bangkok, Thailand.

Yes, vampires. It wasn’t the stereotypical kind of vampires either. They weren’t grotesque. They are capable of consuming food, especially garlic. They definitely do not sleep in coffins nor live in dark, damp places like dungeons or basements or whatever comes to a human’s mind. Vampires are also still alive. Their heart still beats in their chest, pumps blood throughout their body. They are beautiful and elegant in appearance and some are also beautiful in personality since there are plenty of horrid ones in the species. Vampires do possess the stereotypical capabilities: enhanced strength, speed and senses. They even have the stereotypical glowing crimson colored eyes. Vampires can never avoid the effects of vervain, which can weaken a vampire to the point where the vampire’s healing capabilities are slowed. Coming in physical contact with vervain can even burn the vampire. While he along with vampires can’t protect themselves against vervain, they are capable of protecting themselves from sunlight. They can go out in the sunlight albeit with the help of a sunlight ring, which was created by witches to prevent vampires from suffering damage from the harsh sun. The ring that was on the teenager’s finger was exactly that. It was a ring spelled by a witch to protect it’s bearer from being burnt to a crisp under the harsh rays of the sun. The young vampire’s ring was spelled by a popular and powerful witch from Thailand by the request of his now deceased parents.

The vampire’s gaze drifted away from his family ring before peering out of the car window, curiously. He’s never been here before. Well- he’s never been to this country in his life. He has always lived in Thailand in the city of Bangkok. He never really expected that he would find himself in South Korea by himself. He always expected that he would be in a different country with his mother, father and little sister, but nope. He was by himself in a foreign country. Ten would usually be nervous or feeling completely uneasy and on edge, but he was still in contact with two of his childhood friends. Both of them had moved to South Korea a couple of years ago because of family reasons. It was rather lonely not having anyone to spend time with, but settled on focusing his energy on his studies, which landed him here in South Korea. Ten was accepted into Suncheon High School due to his grades, which he had his previous school send them to schools in Seoul. He received multiple acceptance letters, but the declined all but one since he remembered two of his friends attended school there. That’s the main reason why Ten chose this high school. There’s also the fact that the school allows vampires, werewolves and surprisingly humans into the school. This would be the first time he’s been to a school that allows all three species. Usually there are only vampires allowed or only werewolves or only humans allowed with the occasional vampires and werewolves only schools. That’s what he and his friends attended, the co-species schools since his two friends were two different species. One of them was a werewolf while the other was a vampire just like him.

Ten began tapping his foot against the floor of the car as his nerves began to get a hop of him. Ahhhh~ He wanted to hurry up and get at the school. He wanted to see his friends again. He missed hanging out with Lisa and BamBam, going shopping, heading to a karaoke room, getting food, roaming around in the park or doing whatever. The vampire visibly perked up when his driver told him that they would be arriving at their destination meaning the school. A bright and adorable smile appeared on his face while the vampire moved in the back seat to get a better look at his school. It was a pretty huge school and it made the teenager’s eyes sparkle from how it looks. It looked better and a lot more impressive than his old school in his opinion.

Once the car stopped, Ten eagerly got out of the car with his backpack in hand while telling his driver his thanks before closing the door behind him. He slipped his backpack on with a smile on his face before turning around, waving goodbye to his driver. He stopped waving when he lost sight of the car before shifting his attention back to the school building.The vampire fiddled with the ring on his finger for a moment or two before moving towards the building and past the school gates with a slight bounce in his step. He couldn’t help but be excited, but he kept his cool and refrained from showing how eager he was. Ten found himself tugging on the black sleeve of the uniform jacket he wore when he neared the school and his nerves were getting to him.

The vampire pushed the door open and walked into the building already feeling lost. He silently looked around, his eyes scanning anything that  would help point him to the office so he could get his name tag and class schedule. Ten was mentally translating the korean words he saw into his own language. When he spotted a sign that pointed him in the right direction, he obediently followed where it was telling him to go and it didn’t take long for him to arrive at the faculty office. He went straight to the receptionist that sat behind the desk before going through the whole mess of getting his class schedule and name tag and that mess in general. (Poor writer of this mess is getting so tired of it so fast). The vampire had zoned out while he was pinning his name tag to his jacket before entirely zoning the adult even further when he realized that she was still talking. The only time he snapped out of it was when he heard her ask him if he understood what she was talking about. Ten immediately and sweetly smiled at her while obviously saying that he did understand before she ushered him away so he could find his first class.

Ten didn’t mind. He wanted to hurry up and get to his first class and meet up with his old friends and explore the school in general. That’s more or less why he tuned the woman out. He didn’t want time to drag on longer than it should. He wanted to speed things up and if that meant ignoring the woman then sure, why not. The vampire gazed at the piece of paper in his hand, blankly staring at the first time slot as he slowly processed where the hell he was suppose to go. Sure he could have asked someone for help, but he didn’t really want to bother anyone especially when everyone looked busy and he wanted to find his classroom by himself anyway.

Ten attempted to figure out where he was going and he thought he had it when he found himself in front of a classroom door. He glanced down at the paper then at the nameplate by the door. It had the same last name and first initial of the teacher who was suppose to be his teacher…so that means that this is the right classroom. Ten didn’t even notice the room number. He just kind of ignored it; his eyes skimmed right over it and shrugged it off as unimportant. Wrong move on his end in all honesty. If he did bother to look then he’d realize that this was the wrong classroom. Since he didn’t bother looking well… he just walked right on in.

First thing he noticed was that everyone in the room so far was a werewolf. Second thing he noticed was that the second he walked in there were immediately looking at him as if he kicked their pet or something. It was unnerving, but this was his classroom so the vampire went further into the classroom. He didn’t know where he wanted to sit. His eyes scanned the room before spotting an empty seat beside a wolf that wasn’t paying him any attention. So he made up his mind to side to sit by that wolf. Ten went straight to the wolf. The closer he got the more aware he was about the wolf’s appearance. Obviously the wolf chose to not wear the uniform jacket and he was barely wearing the uniform like how it should be. His hair was bleached and dyed to rather shocking and surprising shade of white. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it made the wolf look hella good in his opinion. It complimented the wolf’s skin tone and his overall aura.

Ten gently grasped the back of the chair before pulling it back so he would have enough room to be able to sit down in the chair. The vampire shrugged off his backpack, setting it on the ground before sitting down in the pulled out chair. The vampire wasn’t entirely oblivious. He could sense the tension in the room and it made the vampire anxious and jittery. So to distract himself from all the eyes focused on him, Ten set his attention to the werewolf that has yet to show any signs of hostility towards him. ”Good morning. My name is Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul. I just transferred here from Thailand so my name might be a bit of a mouthful so call me Ten. What’s your name?” The vampire chirped with a sweet and adorable smile on his face, easily ignoring the others in the room. He wanted to befriend this wolf mostly because he has yet to get a negative response from him just by walking into the room. It’s weird. At his old school - schools - no one get glared at for walking into a classroom. Although mostly everyone in the classroom so far is a wolf. Maybe they’re mad since he intruded in their “territory” maybe? Ah… He didn’t know and he wouldn’t catch onto the reason why they’re so fucking salty until someone tells him that there was a whole werewolf vs vampire shit happening in the school. Of course Ten wouldn’t understand the purpose of the whole thing and call it out on being a load of stupid bullshit in a very loud voice and in a less colorful way straight in that person’s face. He didn’t get it. He didn’t see the point so he would just call all of those people idiots. Sure he had that kind of stuff at his old school, but it was just competitive fun unless they legit hated someone then that’s an entirely different story.

[taekookstories]

Had We Met In Another Life (Draft)

1990, Seoul

        The inked sky dripped with wet panic, the sun too quick to cower behind the bleak horizon that washed behind a deep murk. Grey thicken clouds and muted city lights, rain drizzled down the foggy windows, wet lines etched into the panes. Bitter as the night seemed Jeong Hwa had a sour taste in his mouth, metallic and salty. Blood. His own blood, drawn from his bitten lip. Pain nulled by his thoughts, the blood still lingered, and he soon washed it away with a strong drink that burned his wounded lip.

There was a knock on his door.  He grunted, ‘Come one,’ and his secretary, Se Jin, stepped inside his office; head lowered. Jeong Hwa turned, then sat at his desk and fiddled with an empty cigarette pack in his trousers. He’s run out sooner than expected. “What is it?” He said.

“Excuse my intrusion Sir, but Miss Choi’s parents just called. They wanted you to know she had your baby early this morning. The also mentioned your son was named Jeong Guk”

        Jeong Hwa peered up at Se Jin, then straighten. His fingers dug into his armrests, then he released reluctantly. “What?”

        “Miss Choi had you baby... Sir?”

        “Does Eun Hee know?”

        Se Jin shook his head. “No Sir. As of right now it’s just you and her family. They feared if it got out that you had your first born especially during this situation, it’d be difficult for not only them but also the child.” Jeong Hwa pressed back into his chair and ran a hand through his hair, pulled at the ends tightly, then closed his eyes.

        “For now,” He said, “… keep this between us.” Se Jin nodded. “Should anybody else find out, especially Eun Hee, you’ll be the blame.”

“Of course Sir.”

Jeong Hwa grabbed his coat from his closet, tossed it around his shoulders, then fixed the cuffs to he shirt. The doors pushed open and two guards walked in. Their heads lowered, just as Se Jin’s.

One spoke into his ear piece, the other said, “It’s time Sir,” Jeong Hwa gave a curt nod and Se Jin stepped aside as he passed.

“One more thing Sir,” He said.

Jeong Hwa stopped.

“Our business partners are threatening to pull away from the Bureau if what’s being said on the news is true. Most recently, your partnership with Daesung Industries. They hold 35 percent of our shares, should they back out it’d be a huge setback in our funds.”

“Once again, Se Jin,” Jeong Hwa grit; hands balled in his pockets. “I’ll take care of it.”

When he reached the lobby a flock of reporters rushed towards him. Guards surrounded him and pushed past reporters. Microphones were held to his mouth. Questions thrown at him from every direction, and cameras were forced in his face.

“Mr. Jeon!”

“Over here please!”

“Mr. Jeon!”

“Mr. Jeon Jeong Hwa! Is it true you stole funds from the Share Your Dreams Foundation which were supposedly giving charity money to?!”

Jeong Hwa hesitated. He stopped, legs unmoving like he was paralyzed from the waist down. Through the bright flashes he looked for the reporter who pushed past the crowd, a wide smile plastered onto her face, as she sooth out her uncoordinated suit.

“Mr. Jeon, is it true you stole funds from the Share Your Dreams Foundation which were supposedly giving charity money to?”

“Boss.” A guard warned.

“As of right now I can assure you I’d never steal funds from a charity I am supporting or any charity, for the matter. And, I am looking into everything that’ll lead us to the truth of this matter. You and the public have my word.”

***

Blood splatter to the ground as a guard kicked Kyu Won across his face. He spat out the lingering blood. Jeong Hwa grimaced in disgust. The guard tugged on Kyu Won’s hair and lifted his head to Jeong Hwa. He glared, his tied hands struggling to pull free from the bruising ropes. Jeong Hwa kneeled in front of him, leveled to his height, then sighed. “How unfortunate.” He said. “That it’s come to this. Getting sent to jail for fraud. It really is sad. You just had your first child. What a shame, you won’t be there to watch him grow up.”

“Why’re you doing this. You know fully well, it was all you, Jae Suk and I backed out when we found out what you were doing. You think we won’t vouch for that?”

Jeong Hwa stood, then took a step back. The guards lifted him by his arms and dragged him to his desk. There laid a pen and a piece of paper. A guard shoved his face in front of that paper, and Jeong Hwa said, “We already took care of Jae Suk.” He smiled. “Even more unfortunate, we’ll find out about his passing tomorrow. A suicide… how terrible, that is. Nobody will take a lone man vouching for himself true. After all, the evidence stacks up against you.”

“Jae Suk?! Did you kill him?! Your own friend?! Your own family?!”

“MY FAMILY!" Jeong Hwa took a breath then brushed his fallen hair from his face."… is my blood. Kyu Won. I thought you knew that by now. Everything I do is for my own blood. They’re the first people I protect.”

“And us? What about us? For your family you just throw your friends away? We helped you get here, without us, you’d be nothing? You’d have no family. We were the closest things you had to family. Hwa Young too!”

Jeong Hwa punched him, his head rolled back but the guards forced it down to the table with brutal strength, that made his eyes go blurry and his head pound. “Don’t you dare let her name come out of your filthy lips.” He took deep breath, and rested his hands on his waist.

“Why do you think you’re so angry? Because you know she left you. When you tried to protect you when we tried to get her to understand you,” Kyu Won coughed. A string a blood dripped from his mouth and to the paper. “I guess she saw you for who you really were… I should’ve never helped you. Jae Suk and I-”

“Are you done mopping yet? Get him another piece of paper... Mmm... You will write… that you were the one who stole the funds from the Share Your Dreams foundation. That you felt guilty for framing your friend,” Jeong Hwa chuckled, “And that-”

“I won’t. I don’t care if you kill. Do you really think I’d take the blame?”

“Yes. For your child anyways, wouldn’t you? It’s bad enough the kid will have to grow up known as a criminal’s child, do you want the child to disappear on top of that? Off to a poor family, somewhere in the slumps of... Thailand? China?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Kyu Won choked. He restrained against the strong hold of the guards, fighting a battle he had no chance in winning to enter a war. There was no way in hell he was going to win.

The door to his office opened and Kyu Won’s bother Ri Wook entered restrained against two guards. He knocked one into book shelf, then slammed the other onto. He ran to Kyu Won dodged the guards, to knocked Jeong Hwa to the side. The two guards that held Kyu Won down struggled to restrain him. A shot was fired, directly at Ri Wook’s arm which had reached out for his brother. It pierced the skin near his wrist, and he let out the most pain wrenching scream.

“Wook!” Kyu Won called out, struggling against the guards. The others had Ri Wook thrown to the ground, every inched on their strength focused on keeping him down.

Jeong Hwa rolled his neck, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Just as you protect your family I do the same. Is that wrong? What makes our situations so different? Your family is there reason, your writing this confession letter, They’re the reason you’re going to jail, because you don’t want them to get hurt, right? Look.” Jeong Hwa pointed at Ri Wook, blood gaped from his arm onto the carpet, his face red, and thick veins stuck out from his head. He looked like he was getting suffocated.  “You’re not doing a very good job.”

Kyu Won’s clinched his hands into fist and grit his teeth so hard he thought they might break, then he said. “Fine…” He drawled “Fine. I’ll do it.” Voice raw and thick of desperation.

Jeong Hwa smiled. “See? Family can make you do crazy things. Kyu Won… do you still think you’re my better? You should let this be you lesson, so now you know we’re more alike than your wanted us to be.” Jeong reached for the door, stopped then turned his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your child. If you want, I’ll raise him as if it were my own. After all we are family, by your definition.”

Before he left Kyu Won called out for him, voice muffled and restrained, “Don’t touch Tae Hyung.”

So, his name was Tae Hyung.

Notes:

This is my very first draft, so I understand that it's suckish. Essentially I just wanted to know if it was interesting enough to continue on with, and what your though on it are. It also isn't the full chapter I just brought out the main plot points, that kick off the rest of the story.

[mizjoely]

Hi there :) Big sherlolly fan and also of your fics. Here is a prompts for whenever you need one: Sherlock and Molly's child worrying about not be as special/smart/remarkable as his/her parents and being afraid of becoming "dull" in Sherlock's eyes

This is an old old OLD prompt (like, 2016 old) that I just discovered. Sorry anon, hope you enjoy it even if it took forever!

Never Dull

“Dad’s a genius.”

Molly looked over at Moira, her wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, friendly, amazing twelve-year-old daughter. “Yes, I suppose he is,” she said, even though it hadn’t actually been a question. “Just figuring that out now are you?” she quipped with a grin. “Better not let him know it took you this long, he’ll be insulted!”

She knew she’d said he wrong thing by the way Moira’s blue-green eyes clouded over, her expression darkening even as her body seemed to shrink in on itself. Molly hurried across the room, laying her hand on her daughter’s where it clutched the arm of Sherlock’s chair. “Luv, I’m sorry, that was just a joke, what’s wrong?”

It distressed her to see her daughter unhappy under any circumstances, but to have caused that distress was like putting her heart in the jaws of a bone-cutter and squeezing hard. “Moira? What is it?”

“Dad and Uncle Mycroft are both proper geniuses, and you’re super smart, yeah? I mean, you’re at the top of your field. Even Uncle John is a doctor and and a published author and Rosie’s never failed a test in her life and I just got a stupid 70% on my maths test!”

“Hey, it’s all right,” Molly said, smothing a calming (she hoped) hand over her daughters disheveled chocolate curls. “There’s nothing wrong with that grade–”

“Yes there is!” Moira shrilled, jumping to her feet and pacing around the sitting room much like her father when he was in a strop. “Dad thinks ordinary people are dull, and what if this means I’m just ordinary? If he thinks I’m dull then he won’t love me anymore. He’ll pretend to, but I’ll know he’s just pretending, when he’s really just disappointed he only has one kid and it’s a dull, boring, ordinary girl.”

There were tears in her eyes when she finally wound down, and she spun away from her mother, hands raised to her face and tension fairly radiating from her trembling form.

Molly made to rise from the sofa when a well-loved baritone voice rang through the sitting room. “Bollocks,” Sherlock said firmly as he strode into the room, pausing only to give Molly a fond look before moving to stand behind Moira. “Who’s been putting such ridiculous notions into your head? Why would you think I’d stop loving you for any reason at all? I know it’s not your mother, and I certainly hope it wasn’t anything I’ve ever done or said…and if it was,” he added, gentling his voice, “I apologize.”

Moira lifted her head from her hands and stared at him. “Dad, you don’t ever apologize to anyone but Mum!”

He harrumphed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “First time for everything,” he said gruffly. “Now get that idiotic notion out of your head once and for all, and replace it with this one.” He peered at her intently. “I love you. I’ve loved you since before you were born and I’ll love you for the rest of your life and beyond, if there is anything beyond which frankly I’ve never really…” He cleared his throat and darted a quick gaze at Molly - an apologetic gaze - before returning his full attention to his daughter. “I will never stop loving you, Moira Mary Hooper-Holmes. Ever.”

“Even if it turns out I’m just dull and ordinary?” she half-whispered. But her eyes were hopeful.

“Even in the unlikely event that such a thing could happen, then yes, I would still love you. Even if you decided not to go to uni, to get a thousand tattoos, to run off and join a motorcycle gang in Thailand–even if you only make average grades in maths.”

“Even if I told you I wanted to stop taking violin lessons and take piano instead?” she asked, biting her lower lip and fidgeting a bit.

Ah, the real reason she’d been so distraught, Molly realized with an internal sigh. Should have seen that coming when she started complaining about her lessons on a daily basis instead of a weekly basis.

Sherlock looked slightly taken aback, but rallied immediately, much to his credit. “Yes, even then. No matter what, I love you. Do you believe me? And before you answer,” he interrupted himself to add, “do bear in mind the fact that I have never lied to you, unlike certain other members of this family.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Sherlock, telling children about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy is NOT lying.”

Moira grinned and allowed Sherlock to pull her into a comforting hug. “I believe you, Dad. And I’m sorry for getting all dramatic, Mum.”

Molly smiled and stood up, moving to join them and put her arms around them. “Forgiven, forgotten,” she replied. “Now. How about dinner at Angelo’s since Dad’s back from his case so early?”

And just like that, all was once again right in their world.

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTE: So I'm really broke, and anything you could donate to ko-fi would be appreciated! Also I'm thinking about doing the Patreon thing, though I seriously think my inexperience is going to show through glaringly. I guess we'll see!

CHAPTER 10

                                           ~ x JUDGMENT x ~

"This is serious, isn't it?"

Makoto remained silent. For a long time. And Sae waited for her little sister to speak up. She was feeling a lot of things herself that were nearly as strong as those of her flesh and blood. The temptation to round the table and try to comfort her in some way was almost too strong to resist.

"Yes."

"Then how do you identify?"

"I'm… uncomfortable with a label just yet," she admitted in a fragile whisper.

"Very well." Her tone came out as a harsh rasp, and she cleared her throat to hopefully get rid of that. "We can come back to that another time. So you had spoken to your friends, asked for their input."

"Wouldn't you do the same? Didn't you, a long time ago?"

Frowning, she looked away. "I did. You remember how difficult my journey was."

"Of course I do," Makoto told her as she leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table as her eyes stared straight into Sae's when she looked back. And they held each other's gaze for a minute. "I remember every step you took. Well, the ones here. If you hadn't been gone, I would have helped more, but it didn't feel like it was my right to… insist."

"Really? So you wanted to come with me to Thailand? Help me with dilating, hormone therapy, plastic surgery after plastic surgery? Bloody, messy, disgusting help?"

True pain flickered across the younger girl's features. "You're my sister. I would have done anything you needed and it would have been my pleasure."

That left Sae breathless. Her own emotions were rising to the surface, despite how deep she tried to bury them on a regular basis. Of course she knew Makoto had been supportive, but she had never given a strong outward display of it. Perhaps that was because… she never asked. From the very beginning, she had been so firm and sure of her path that she never dared disturb her little sister's education with trivial matters like her own transition. The physical agony, and the many and varied troubles associated with that and with the social problems. They were her burden to bear alone.

And all along, this girl had been waiting to share that burden. Denied that familial obligation that she seemed to see as no obligation at all.

"Makoto…"

"Do you want the rest of the story or not?"

"Makoto."

"What?" She let out a harsh little laugh. "Oh, now you're feeling guilty about forcing me to come out? Only now that you understand that I would never have done that to you?"

The elder sibling's expression suddenly became drawn, as pained as the younger's had been moments ago. "Makoto, please, I have told you that isn't why… I thought she was taking advantage of you. All I wanted was to protect the only family I have left. Why is that so wrong?"

After thinking about it for a moment or two, her little sister did nod. "You're right. I'm just angry that we got caught, and you're the one that brought me in here. But I know…" A deep, bracing breath. "I know you're doing your job, and you're trying to look out for me. Sorry about my attitude."

"Well I suppose in your shoes, I would be doing the same. Not that I think you have made the wisest decisions, but…" She sighed shakily, sitting back and gesturing for her to continue. "Finish."

"Sis… are you crying?"

"No. I'm waiting for you to finish your testimony."

Staring hard at the watery sheen to her elder sister's eyes, Makoto finally breathed, "Alright. We're almost through, anyway, so I suppose I should."

                                          ~ x The Priestess x ~

When I told Ann about the plan I had, she was actually pretty excited. Said that it was 'fantastique', and she was completely on board with helping me. However, there was one little detail we needed to take care of before we finished cementing all other plans - and it meant I finally had no choice but to fill her in.

"Nine…?" she whispered as we peered around the corner of the hallway toward class 2-D. Toward where Miss Kawakami was berating one of her students just outside the door, gesturing up and down his entire body.

"I would say seven."

"Nah, her hips are just a little too wide."

"Hmm… maybe." I squinted for another second, then nodded. "You're probably right. We'll play it safe."

"Still can't believe it's her," Ann hissed with a huge, conspiratorial grin. "Like… okay, sorry if this is super weird, but go you! She's really hot!"

My cheeks burst into flames. "Shhhhh! Sh-she is not! I mean, she is, but that's not what I- we aren't here to check her out!"

"Hey, c'mon, let me brag on you a little! The other teachers aren't bad, but even though half the time she doesn't do her hair or makeup… Kawakami is a knockout. And you're practically going out with her!"

"Ugh," I grunted, even while privately thrilled that Ann was still taking the situation so well. There had been a lot of squealing, and some amount of "I had no idea!" and "You can't tell by looking at her!", but overall my friend stayed focused on helping figure out how to get the two of us together. How did I luck into such supportive, understanding, non-judgmental friends? But I would have to ponder that later. "What about the shoes?"

"You're asking me? You were the one playing with her feet!"

"I wasn't playing with- okay, fine. I'm not very good at knowing sizes by sight though. Mine are twenty-twos."

"Lucky. Mine are twenty-fives; can't ever find cute shoes. Well, I can, but not everywhere. Easier to find 'em out West, they stock bigger sizes there."

"Ah, I'm sure that's frustrating," I told her earnestly. "Um… so compared to us…"

"She's probably… a twenty-three? But we're gonna be able to slip up less with shoes. You know if they don't fit just right, they suck. Murder if you have to walk in them at all."

Sighing, I said, "Yeah. I'd better ask."

"You got this! I believe in you!"

As I made my way around the corner and toward my teacher, I could just catch her snapping, "...and next time, I won't be so nice. Get going, Takeba." Meanwhile, I was quickly scrolling through a webpage on my phone. As the student ran off, she turned to sigh when she saw me coming. "Niijima-san… I hope this is about schoolwork."

"Well, not exactly. It's not that bad!" I headed her off when she started to look even more tired.

"Okay, okay. Follow me." She led me to the corner of the hallway that was the least occupied. "What's up?"

"So I've, um… I've been thinking about getting into solestry. What shoe size are you?"

"Huh? Oh… um, twenty-three and a half. But what's that got to-"

"Cool! I just, um, I would need to factor it into your chart. So do you have wide feet or high arches? Flat arches? Anything like that?"

My poor, mystified teacher shrugged. "Not that I know of. Did you notice anything like that?"

"No, but I mean, a lot was happening," I admitted with a slight wilt, and she chuckled. "Sorry. But I'll do your chart after school and can show it to you soon - and if I need to fill more in, well, I'll take a look later."

"You're starting to worry me. On the other hand… you do have me curious." She lowered her voice even more to ask, "Were you going to request me?"

"Yeah. Of course. I'm looking forward to it."

"Seems that way," she sighed. "And this isn't about the money - though I still have to charge since it's through Victoria. There just isn't any other inconspicuous way for me to meet up with you. Um…"

When she continued to hesitate, I prompted, "What?"

"It's not going to be another rabuho, right?"

"Oh, no, no! My apartment." Her eyes widened. "Is that not good?"

"What about your family?"

"It's just my sister living with me. And she's gone almost… all the time. But I made sure she plans on working late tonight."

Kawakami nodded, eyebrows still furrowed as she regarded me, smooth lips just the tiniest bit pursed. I had this sense she was about to make a comment about my family situation - maybe one of regret. Not that she could have resurrected my parents either way. Then she merely said, "Alright. Put in the call when you're ready."

"I will. Thank you." I bowed slightly, turned, and got the hell out of there.

"Oh my God, you took so long," Ann whispered as we headed off to the courtyard. "What was all that about?"

"Fortune-telling."

"Huh?!"

                                          ~ o ~

Our little shopping trip went smoother than I had any right to expect. Armed with recently-acquired knowledge, I was able to pick up everything in one trip. Ann tagged along, and Ryuji even ran into us while we were out - which came in especially useful.

"Awww, c'mon!" he grunted as we staggered away from the subway with a huge armload of boxes and bags. "How much further, you guys?!"

"Almost there," I promised him easily as we turned a corner. "Just a few more kilometers."

"Ahhhhh, you gotta be kiddin' me! What the hell?!"

Ann giggled. "C'mon, be a trooper! Do it for me? Huh?"

"Told ya before, you ain't my type," he grumbled - though it was barely audible behind the wall of packages.

Our apartment is not large, but it is fairly nice. Very classy. That wasn't why I was nervous about having friends over. Mostly it was the unfamiliarity of it; I had never done this before, for anybody. Not a single friend from primary school ever stopped by. Just didn't bother asking because none of them wanted to hang out with me.

I guess now I know that's because you gave me that advice, Sis. Well-intentioned, but it didn't work out in my favour.

"Whooo, sweet place you got here!" Ryuji declared once he had dumped all the packages on the dining room table. "Yeah, real nice pad!"

"It's super fancy and modern!" Ann gushed. They had such a similar energy, those two - just directed down different avenues. "Wow, I'm so jealous of this kitchen!"

"Sweet TV! Man, like super high-def and shit!"

"Can I get some water? You have your own water cooler! Oooh - is that an espresso machine?!"

Laughing a little, I said, "Can you two calm down for one minute? It's just an apartment. I can give you the tour if you want."

So I did. Only when I got to my bedroom did Ann waggle her eyebrows at me, but she didn't do anything more than that, at least. Ryuji crept curiously toward my closet but Ann pulled him back by the waistband of his cargo shorts before smacking him across the back of the head. At least it only took that one admonition to cut him off.

"And that's your sister's room?" she asked as we passed the door.

"Yeah. Um… it's the smaller room, and it's kind of… we should stay out. I don't think she would be happy if we went in there."

"Yeah, yeah," Ryuji sighed in Ann's direction. "And listen, I wasn't even gonna take anything, I just wanted to see how big it was!"

Her smirk was poisonous. "Sure, sure, you little perv."

With a groan, he flopped on our soft purple couch. "I'm beat from carryin' all that stuff. Chicks are all the same, just want you to carry stuff while they shop."

"You haven't even known any 'chicks' until this year!" Ann fired back.

"Maybe not! But like, I watch movies about 'em and whatever! Ren and I saw that one flick at the theater, where the-"

"Okay, okay, Ryuji, yes," I interrupted their budding spat. "And I'm sure I'll agree with you any other day. But Ann and I have girly things to do, so…"

Alright, so I actually did feel guilty when he looked like a wounded puppy. "Oh. I thought we were gonna hang out and junk."

"Maybe another time. But, um…" I moved to the fridge and got out a bottle of Pocari Sweat and handed it to him where he sat on the couch. "Consider this a down payment on me getting you ramen sometime? You can hang out for a little longer and catch your breath."

Noticing how put out he looked, Ann added, "Yeah! Seriously, thanks."

"Well… I guess the girly stuff wouldn't interest me that much… though I do wonder how you do the eyelash thing without poking yourself in the eye."

"Well… why don't I show you that while you rest? I don't mind."

"Yeah, sure, why not? Might be cool."

Demonstrating the finer points of mascara seemed to help our friend feel a little less unceremoniously ousted. By the time he was at the bottom of his beverage, he was willing to hop out the door and leave us to our "girls' night", as he kept calling it. Way too many times.

                                          ~ o ~

I'll skip ahead to when Ann had already left me to my own devices. Once the scene was set, and the hour was right, I dialed the number for Victoria and had them patch me through to the proper maid.

"Hiyeeee! I'm going to fill your tired heart full of lovely energy, Master! How may I help you tonight?"

"It's me."

"Oh." Her saccharin tone faded, though she didn't sound displeased to hear me. Just comfortable dropping the act. "Well, considering most of my clients have deeper voices, I don't really need to ask for confirmation."

"Probably not," I laughed softly, excited more than I wished I was. What a little dork I've turned out to be. "Um… can you come soon?"

"I'm totally free. It's… kinda sad how free I am, but at least it means I can see you right away."

"Another double-length slot. Is that alright?" No answer. "Becky?"

"Well… it's fine, but are you sure you have that kind of a budget to work with? Normally, I wouldn't ask that since it's so personal, but…"

I waved my hand to dismiss the question, despite her being unable to see it. "Don't worry about that. Seriously. I just wanna make sure we have all the time we need. That's more important than a few more yen."

"Sure, yeah. I understand." A little of Becky returned as she said, "I look forward to serving you, Master! See you in about fifteen minutes!"

"Okay. See you then."

By the time I heard a knock at the door, all was in place. I moved to quickly open it, not wanting to waste a second of her time.

"Housekeepi- oh! Master!"

"Good evening," I told her easily with a slight bow before I took a step backward. "Welcome to my home."

As my maid stepped inside, I could see her eyes raking up and down my form. Perhaps I went a little overboard, between the deep shade of crimson I had painted my fingers and toes, and the sleek black a-line dress that hugged my curves. But she didn't seem disappointed; just surprised and unsure of how to react.

"Thanks for getting here so quickly," I told her as I shut the door behind her.

"Sure… no problem. Um… what's going on? Something smells amazing."

"Don't worry about it right now. I have one job for Becky."

"One?" Then she turned to me and bowed deeply. "I mean, yes, Master! Becky just wants to see a smile on Master's face more than anything!"

"Sure," I chuckled. "Then what I want you to do… is change into the clothes in the bathroom. Then I'd like Miss Kawakami to come out. I figured I could do better than a robe this time."

Though her eyes were definitely suspicious, after a moment to think it over she bowed again. "Right away, Master."

About five or ten minutes later, Sadayo emerged. And she looked gorgeous. The silver evening gown with the modest neckline shimmered as it caught the light, the slit that ran halfway up her thigh giving just the tiniest glimpse of interest without revealing everything. Somehow, we even found a pair of heels to perfectly match. And, as I had been hoping, she ditched the wig along with the maid uniform.

"Ohhhh wow," I breathed into my hands, which had flown up to cover my mouth the instant I caught sight of the vision in my apartment.

"Oh wow!" she echoed when she saw my table. Having planned for a quick change, the amount of time she spent putting on the dress was enough for me to move the duck l'orange to the center of the table, two flickering candles on either side and the other dishes further along. Soft piano music was playing in the background as an open bottle of wine breathed, ready to be poured into the two glasses at each place setting.

"Dinner is served," I told her with a very Becky-like curtsy. "Care to join me?"

A smirk was just blossoming on her lips as she walked over to stand next to me. "What's going on here? If I didn't know any better I'd say you're trying to sweep me off my feet again."

"Maybe a little. But… I mean, you were coming over to talk, not just to clean my apartment or whatever. Why shouldn't we have a nice dinner while we talk?"

"That… is a little bit of a stretch, but I guess it does make some sense. And that duck smells amazing." When I pulled out the chair and gestured for her to sit, she laughed, "Such a gentleman."

Still, she did take her seat. Once I scooted her forward, I rounded the table and took my own, then held the bottle out for her to inspect.

"Yep, that sure is wine. But I don't think either one of us is supposed to be drinking it right now; you're a couple years too young, and I'm on the clock. Technically."

"Oh, that's right… sorry."

My expression must have made her feel guilty, because she held up her glass and said, "One glass probably won't hurt. You did book a double; we have time."

So I poured us both a moderately sized glass. Then I put the cork back in the bottle, just to show her that I was serious about not trying to get her drunk or whatever she might be thinking. She took a small sip while I served her some of the duck, plus a heaping spoonful of the potatoes au gratin.

"Mmmhhhhh, it is as good as it smells!" she announced after she had sampled a forkful. "I didn't know you were such a little chef."

"Oh, I googled a recipe. Even if I don't know something, I'm pretty good at research."

"And putting that research into practice, I see. Not bad, Makoto-chan." Her eyes closed for a moment. I wasn't sure what she was doing until she corrected, "Niijima-san."

I waved my fork at her as I finished swallowing my own bite. "I don't mind."

"That's not…" With a sigh, she set down the fork and took a long drink of her wine. Then she fixed me with a level gaze.

"Okay," I muttered as I also set my fork down. "Guess we're doing this part already."

"Guess so. Niijima-san… Makoto. If I have led you on-"

"No, no… wait." I cleared my throat, folding my hands just in front of my plate. "You haven't. I'm sorry. For the way I looked at you in the hall, or… whatever made you think that."

Sadayo let out a weak little chuckle. "Then what are we doing here? Candlelit dinner, these dresses… I'm actually flattered. More than I thought I could be flattered by one of my students. But you know this can't happen, don't you?"

My heart was already speeding up, stomach churning. But I tried to take a sip of wine and let both of those reactions calm down. "I know."

"Then… what…?"

"Maybe I just wanted to see what this would feel like. Pursuing a woman. A test." Heaving a big sigh, I added, "But I also wanted to give you a nice dinner, because… it just… felt right. You do so much, and are being so great about me not knowing what I'm doing, and… we had to talk anyway, so…"

"Makoto…" Frowning, she leaned a little further forward and reached past the duck and my plate to my hands. "Listen. You're a wonderful girl-"

"You don't have to-"

"No, no, let me say this. Alright?" Her thumb caressed up and down my fingers. "You're… really surprising me. Like I told you before, I've never had anybody chase after me this much. Even if you are my student, and young, and… not quite my 'type', it's really… I do get butterflies anytime you do something like this. You're gonna make somebody really happy someday! But I can't enjoy those butterflies because I know it's wrong. Okay? So you have to stop, but I just need you to understand it has nothing to do with you as a person."

My hand flipped over to catch hers, and we held on for a few more seconds. Looked into each other's eyes. And I could see fear mingling with excitement, doubt mixing with despair. And longing - the same kind that I felt in the pit of my stomach.

"Sadayo?"

Her eyes lowered. "I'm your teacher. And older, and… come on, why would you care about some old woman?"

"Because you aren't 'some old woman'. You're a beautiful, smart, capable… strong, brave, kind, funny woman. Which are good things."

"But that's-"

"And I know that doesn't have to mean anything between us," I hurried to follow up. "That's not what this is about, I promise. Honestly, I have no idea what I'm feeling because it's the first time I felt it. But maybe… part of why I did this was to prove I'm not just some little girl who doesn't know anything at all. What I don't already know, I can learn."

Magically, it worked. I left Sadayo speechless. The tiniest part of me started to hope she at least wasn't going to dismiss me. Not that we would be together; that was impossible, just like she said. But that she would consider it for more than a half-second.

What I didn't expect was for her to pull her hand back, shaking as she pressed it into her forehead. "Oh God… oh God, this is not happening…"

"Sadayo?"

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay." She cleared her throat as if she were going to say something else, but all that came out was another, "Okay."

"Seriously, what's wrong?" I asked in a sharper voice, sitting forward the tiniest bit. The way her eyes were bugging out of her head was highly disconcerting.

"What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong - I'm on a damn date with my damn student."

                                          To Be Continued…

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON 1NFERNO’S MAIN RAP, LEAD VOCAL AROON BANTHAO...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Aroon CURRENT AGE: 24 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 16 COMPANY: Midas ETC: This member is known for his work as a rap soloist as well as lyric writing

IDOL IMAGE

At his audition Aroon tells the staff he is coachable, ready to be molded into whatever they want and they laugh in between them, thinking he is just an eager kid desperate for a chance, who will say just anything to get it. But he is not lying and after years of training it’s easy to see that Aroon can indeed turn into anything they tell him to.

They want intense choreography? Aroon delivers (within his limitations, he is not a dancer first, after all). They want a bad boy? He does it. They want soft and ideal boyfriend? He gives that too. But it’s when his real personality meets their expectations that they find what maybe one day will be the perfect image for him.

“For a rapper you’re not very…” his trainer gestures, searches for words. “Hard.”

It’s not a bad thing, they tell him. It’s different from all the boys who try too hard to be whatever American rapper is playing on the radio. His image is less about swag, about slangs he doesn’t understand, and more about the performance itself, the way his low register voice is projected.

They would tell him to be quiet if they could, Aroon knows. But he is not the only non-korean in the group and 1nferno is not going to be successful with all silent types, so they change their approach, give Aroon the soft, charming image. He talks most of the time because his korean is good and soon management learns that people love the way he smiles, his boy next door ways.

The fans start to call him prince and Aroon learns how to feed into the image, to be seen helping the staff and bringing blankets to fans on fan meetings, to always smile bright when he is happy, smile even more when he isn’t. As 1nferno enter their third year Midas start to slowly shift his image from the perfect prince into something sassy, teasing and flirty, the one who can say questionable things ( “do you know my fans call me confident guy?” aroon asks on an interview, smirking because he knows guy is not the term they use to describe him at all. ) because it’s part of his charm.

It’s the duality between his smiling persona out of the stage and the intense performer when the music hits that makes Aroon’s fame, and Midas finally learns that he meant when he said he would be anything they wanted as long as he could debut.

IDOL HISTORY

Imagine this:

You’re ten years old, your parents already have your whole life planned for you. You are skipping the mandatory army service because you’re rich, and the world doesn’t work the same for you as it does for the other boys. You are going to college, you are marrying a pretty girl, someone with kind eyes and kinder personality, who will forgive your mistakes and love you no matter what. You are going to succeed, because failure is not an option.

This is the first lesson Aroon’s parents tell him: Failing is not for people like them, who are better than others, who are made of greatness. They expect big things of him, they tell little Aroon, because no one on his family is ever a failure, no one ever stopped from getting the things they wanted.

(“You again.” it’s the same woman from the past year, she had longer hair, but Aroon recognizes her. “Still trying?”

“Failing is not an option.” Aroon says in ways of greetings. Because it’s what he has been taught.

And because he can’t go back home. Not again.)

His mother was leader of the debate club, his father was a star soccer player, Aroon inherited the best of both worlds, they say. Every time they talk it’s not like they talk about a marriage, like having a child and raising him, it’s more like an experiment, like they were forced to have him, the perfect son (patent still pending), like soon Aroon will be taken to lab and dissected so other couples can have perfect children like him.

It doesn’t fuck him up, growing up with the pressure. Of course not.

It forges him.

(“Would you consider yourself a coachable person?”

“Absolutely.”)

Picture a scene:

A thirteen year old, beautiful features and beautiful bank account, school uniform ironed perfectly, top three percent of the class. Aroon knows what popularity is because everyone likes him, everyone wants to be his friend, all the girls want to date him because he would be the perfect boyfriend (patent still pending). He gets a taste of it and it’s addicting, all the eyes on him, his peers showering him with attention – and so what if it’s still the same “you’re so perfect” way, it comes in different voices and different touches and Aroon craves it.

He is fourteen when they tell him to find a girlfriend, so Aroon does; she is a girl with kind eyes and kinder personality, who is so easy to get along it’s like she was made for him. He can picture them thirty years from now, telling their grandkids about how they met at school and knew they would be together forever. They kiss and Aroon doesn’t feel like the books and tv shows told him he was supposed to, but maybe it’s because he is too young, maybe it’s because he isn’t trying enough.

She has an older brother and they talk a lot. He is the one who shows Aroon all about rap, who takes him to his first concert and who teaches him how to write his first lyrics. They suck, but Aroon likes it, the freedom, the feeling of his pen scribbling paper, of speaking it fast.

They get drunk together – Aroon is too young to be drinking and too perfect to do it in public, but in the privacy of his bedroom he can be less than perfect for once – when his girlfriend is away on a girl’s trip.

They kiss and Aroon feels.

Just that.

He feels.

(“Who taught you to write raps?”

Aroon blinks. Seconds seem like centuries.

There is a faint memory of a boy.

“No one.”)

He breaks up with his girlfriend, tells her all the usual excuses: It’s him, not her, she is great, she will find someone else blablabla. He tells his parents he wants to be a rapper. In South Korea. They look at him like he has gone crazy and they laugh. Aroon is serious.

“I’m leaving to audition next summer.” it’s not a question. Aroon never asks for permission, he does things his way and deals with the consequences. He is the perfect son, nothing he does can go wrong anyway.

He has to come back home because no one accepted him. Failure is not an option, so Aroon doesn’t give up, he can’t stay there, can’t stay where he isn’t as perfect as he thought, where he can see all his flaws and feel them under his skin when he remembers of kissing a boy.

(“You’re not giving up.” the same woman tells him the following year.

“No.”)

Aroon is sixteen when he is offered a contract, many responsibilities dumped on a boy, no guarantee that he will ever debut. That is what they say the most: Nothing is for sure, you have to work for everything. It’s different from home where he was the perfect boy, where his parents would handle him everything and his friends would give anything to hang out with him.

In South Korea he is just another boy, not the most intelligent or the most skilled and Aroon hates it. They turn everything into a competition, all the trainees seem to be fighting even for the air they breathe, nothing comes for free, not really. For the first time in his life Aroon is told to practice more, to work harder for he is not the best.

He hates it, every second of it.

But it’s easy to hate the system than to hate himself and his flaws, it’s easy to look at the other boys and pretend he hates them because they are more skilled, because they dance better, sing better than to think he may like them more than in a platonic way. It’s easier to push the feelings and thoughts away when he has to stay on the company’s building until late hours dancing on his own. Everything else becomes unimportant when he can go back to the dorm and throw himself into a dreamless sleep.

They pick him apart and show him everything he does wrong, but it’s never because of who he is, it’s because of what he can do, and in some twisted way that is much better. Aroon can train more, he can push himself harder, he can do it until he is good enough for them, until he is the perfect boy again.

Imagine this:

You’re twenty one and you’re in a room with other four boys, all who you consider your competition. You know each other well because you study each other every day in addition to studying how to sing and rap and dance: You know each other’s strengths and weaknesses and quirks and you hate and like each other depending on the day of the week. You will debut on a group together, so you better make this work.

But before they throw Aroon into some competition show, tell him it’s for exposure, tell him people will love him because it’s impossible to hate that face (after the convenient nose job he got). Aroon hates it, competing. It crushes him every minute, but he doesn’t give up. Not until they are debuting and Aroon falls sick and they pull him from the show. He did good, they tell him, he served his purpose.

Aroon hates it.

1nferno. It’s an okay name, he thinks. His parents come all the way from Thailand to watch his debut showcase and his mother cries. It’s the most embarrassing thing but Aroon likes it. Of course he would make it, his parents tell him, he is the perfect boy and now the perfect member.

It crushes him, how everything is ten times harder than as a trainee. Turns out people can hate him, can talk about flaws and problems, but Aroon doesn’t pay attention to them. Because the truth is, people can also love him too much, people who have never seen him in person, who never saw him throw a fit because he is the last one to shower, or who never saw him cry because he got a choreography right.

Aroon loves it.

They call him a prince and Aroon basks in the adoration, makes it the reason to get up and perform, even when 1nferno is not as successful as he hoped, even when things don’t happen the way he wanted them to. But one year turns into two and soon Aroon is given chances to write lyrics, soon he has his names on the credits and things are better.

One year turns into two and 1nferno is still going strong. They make it work, somehow. It’s still difficult, or even more, because now they have some baggage, people expect things from them, they expect results, expect success, expect the goddamn Midas touch. Matches still love him dearly, give him crowns to wear on fan meetings, write about how would be to marry him (and other things, but that is disturbing, so Aroon doesn’t think about it much) and it’s enough to keep him going.

Two years turn into three and here they are, still going. They still make it work, somehow. It’s still difficult, of course it is, but Aroon is in control now. He has his members and his lyrics and he is still the perfect Aroon that started this journey. He knows he is not going to marry a pretty girl with kind eyes and it’s a boy who makes him feel things when they kiss but it’s okay, it’s nothing to run away from.

It’s who he is, and that makes him perfect.

[marisatofu-blog]

Well well well…I’m back!

In case you forgot about me, I’m still here!

It’s been a long while since I last posted! It’s kind of nice to give my perfectionism a break from reading and re-reading my blogs over and over again to make sure my grammar is spot on.  I have quite a few pet peeves when it comes to grammar…but even I know I’m not perfect all the time. (Like you should know the difference between ‘their’ and ‘there’, ‘than’ and ‘then’ or ‘our’ and ‘are’…but I’ll still forgive you if you don’t :) haha)

To get to the point, ’cause you’re probably like “What has this girl been up to lately?”. Well my friends, I had a glorious, month long visit home! Our (Ryan and myself) departure was December 23; so up until that point I was listening to Christmas music as often as I could…and Ryan judged me majorly for this. We both needed to pack up the apartment we were living in (because we’re moving soon!!) and I had all the songs on repeat. Thankfully he put up with me and my insane Christmas cheer :D (and I love him even more for it).

China doesn’t really decorate around Christmas time, (well, the city we were in doesn’t) so I can still remember the feeling of  excitement I had to go home and see the Christmas tree my mom decorated, or just any decorations. Or to smell the homey Christmas candles….ahhhh. Also I was really pumped for all the snow! Weird right? Everyone seems to dread the snow, but I was welcoming it with open arms. In fact, just the other night I missed the sound of a snow plow going by. So strange…But the main reason for my excitement was just to be with my friends and family to celebrate the holidays. I mean that’s what the holidays are all about, right!?

Right?

Well, I feel like presents are such an expected thing around Christmas-time, or even for birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day…okay a lot of days. Kids (well most kids) aren’t afraid to show their expectations/excitement when it comes to presents. I personally remember a time when it was my 9th birthday (or around that..okay it was last year you guys! ahah kidding) and my parents got me a stuffed animal.  I didn’t want a stuffed animal…pshhh. I was too mature for that (meanwhile I tucked in all of my 7 stuffed animals into bed every night)….But I was definitely a child that loved gifts.

But as adults I feel like we hide it, as we often do our emotions. “Oh you didn’t have to get me anything!”. Meanwhile, if you have a birthday party and no one brings you a gift at all, are you slightly disappointed? Or lets say it’s your anniversary and your special someone doesn’t get you a gift. My guess is that your inner, immature self would be throwing a tantrum; if you had even a shred of hope that someone would bring you a gift. BUT if you’re like, an amazing human being and just cherish the company of others, kudos to you. You are awesome.

And this year, I’m joining that awesome club! I feel like this year I truly cared less about gifts. Seriously. This year I didn’t care what I got, or if I even got anything. I was truly happy to be home with friends and family to just spend my time with them (not that I didn’t appreciate the gifts I got!!). And I know you’re like “yeah sureeee she cares about her family this much”…

I DO. With all my heart I would do anything for every single one of them. They’re all a bit loud, fun, weird, and different…and sometimes a bit moody (okay that’s me on low sleep). But they’re all amazing (I guess I’ll put myself in that category as well…hehe..I mean blood relation you know, I have to have it too!). And boy was it nice to be home!! I arrived home safely, and Ryan, after having our flight delayed, rushing to his connection flight, only to have that delayed an hour, meanwhile having zero sleep on a 14 hour flight, reached Florida safe for his family holidays. For me, as usual, my arrival was on a Friday night pizza night, and my mom saw me at the door and welcomed me with a big hug. I walked in and saw my dad with our very close family friend (again, hugs all around), and I of course got to see my BABIES.

These two little ones…

They steal my heart every time. It melted my heart when they came to cuddle. I feel like they know who I am, but who really knows with cats. They definitely weren’t jumping up and down when they saw me, as most dogs do (they would run you over). But my cats behaved much like cats (surprise surprise) and did that cool cat walk like “Hey…what’s up? Come here often?” just to rub it in my face that I haven’t been around, making me feel bad for leaving them :(

I remember Ryan suggesting at one point to go to Toronto to meet up with friends, and I didn’t want to go because I wanted to spend as much time as possible at home. Even if no one was home because they had to do their regular day things, I just wanted to be at home and cuddle my cats….which I mean, judge me however you like (crazy cat lady, crazy animal lady), but I just wanted to smoosh them as much as possible. (We did end up going to Toronto by the way and it was a blast!)

So at this point you’re probably thinking “Okay, your entire time home did not involved just smooshing your cats…”

You’re right.Let me get to the more interesting parts of the holidays.

Florida New Years

This New Years was a big deal to me you guys. I feel like most New Years I end up staying in and watching the ball drop on TV with whoever else I’m celebrating with. Which, yes, it’s about the company and whatnot, BUT I seriously wanted to get out and do something fun for New Years….Okay last year I celebrated New Years in Thailand with some pretty awesome people (Ryan’s family), so that was amazing. But most new years I tend to spend indoors at my own fault. Sometimes you gotta make your own fun!

So, this year I did my research and figured out what Ryan and I could do in Florida. I booked us a hotel, a restaurant reservation, and mapped out where we would go afterwards. Perfect! We were not going to have a boring New Years.

My flight arrived in Florida the evening of December 30, and we drove to Fort Myers on the 31 to get to the hotel and get ready for our evening.

Views from the sky!

Here’s what the night looked like:

Followed by this:

And then this:

So we had our lovely dinner and we walked around Fort Myers to celebrate with everyone around. This was really cool because there were multiple streets shut down just for people to walk around, drink, and listen to the handful of bands dispersed throughout. As well, a part was sectioned off for the ball drop. All through the night we were able to order alcohol from the booths stationed outside, and that’s when Ryan noticed the Jell-O syringes. Yes…they were actually in a syringe!

I don’t remember exactly how many I had, but I remember hating the taste of them; but yet with peer pressure from Ryan I continued to have them anyway (notice the whipped cream on top; it wasn’t totally awful). I just remembering shuddering every time from the nasty flavour, and having to chase it with beer.

As the night went on, the streets got more crowded and I started feeling like I was back in China, but at this point I already had enough alcohol in me that I didn’t really care about my surroundings. Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything inappropriate! But when we were waiting for the ball to drop, which was blocked off by moveable fencing, there was an interesting security guard watching ‘his area’ (by moveable I mean someone has to physically move it…it can’t move on it’s own!). Ryan and I had our hands on the fence, just chatting away, minding our own business when the security guard comes over and tells us to take our hands off the bar. I didn’t realize a resting hand could do so much damage to a fence! We kept watching him and he continued to do this for anyone, even if they just rested their foot on it, or any body part for that matter. Well, I was feeling pretty rebellious so I kept my hand on their anyways. I showed you Mr. Security Guard!!

…and then he came over and pushed me, and Ryan got in a fight and that was the end of our evening.

Just kidding! But wouldn’t that be interesting!

That really was the extent of my rebelliousness though…nothing happened. (I know, why can’t I be more rebellious just for the purpose of this blog??)

Later on in the night more ‘fun’ people came out from wherever they were hiding. This included a group of super interestingly religious people;  they announced to everyone continuously via loud-speaker, that everyone around Fort Myers was going to hell. Just the kind of vibes people want around New Years right?! I remember seeing some people going up and trying to hug this one particular speaker, to try and show him some compassion. Instead he said “What are you doing, do not touch me, I said to not touch me. Please stop touching me. You’re all going to hell”. This guy was dead serious. Some others went up and explained their own religious views, but this group still put them down for going out and celebrating New Years Eve. I really had no idea religious people weren’t allowed to go out, drink or have fun. All I know is, I wont be joining that religious group (and I probably wouldn’t even be allowed!).

When it got closer to midnight,  Ryan and I gathered with everyone else around the ball drop area. And as you might imagine New Years being between couples…well yeah it was darn cute. And if you’re single, you’d probably kiss that random stranger or hug a good friend…or all of the above if you’re really having a good time!

A really blurry photo shortly after midnight by the ball drop!

I however stuck with Ryan, and we continued to have a good time by going into a nearby bar. The place was huge, with lights flashing, people dancing and the music vibrating through the walls. I decided (like a kid) to follow the bright flashing lights upstairs. With alcohol in my system I tend to be a bit more curious than normal, and Ryan tagged along. Once we got upstairs, the room opened up to a less busy of a bar with several couches placed throughout, and people dancing to the music between them. I remember seeing the couch and was like “Oh that’s nice, I’ll just sit down for a bit”. I at that point hadn’t sat all evening and my feet were tired. Suddenly, a husky security guard comes over and says “This is VIP! Get out!”, and as we jump out of our seats we hear one of the guys from VIP say “No it’s okay, they can stay”. I should have figured out it was the VIP section before I sat down, based on the environment, but my situational awareness wasn’t the best. So Ryan and I were sitting there and this guy didn’t even tell us his name, he just said “Yeah I’m a football player. We’re all football players up here, and this is our section. But it’s cool if you want to stay”. My mind was at first like “Ooookay football player with no name”, and then thought “I know he wants us to be blown away by his sheer amazing-ness, but what’s his name again?”. In my mind, your name is more important than your occupation, but I think he thought opposite. So to make him feel more special, here was my reaction: “NO WAY! WOW. THAT IS SO COOL! Oh my gosh. This is crazy. No we should leave! We’re sooooo sorry”. In which case he was like “No, no you guys can say”. Then Ryan and I looked at each other and are like…crap, now we owe him/them something. We have to buy them all drinks, and I don’t know that we have that much money left! (I also don’t know if I can worship them that much longer…). So I asked some of the guys and girls around what they wanted and Ryan and I waited at the bar for a bartender when Ryan said,  “I just really want to get out of here”. Smart cookie Ryan is!  So, we literally bought zero drinks and just walked out of the building, not even saying goodbye to anyone.

Poor football players were probably wondering where their rum and coke’s were at!

At this point it was getting late and we decided to walk back to our hotel, which was about a 20 minute walk. We had stopped in at a gas station to pick up some food and refreshments and next thing you know, it’s morning and we were in the hotel. I was laying on the bed, on top of the covers with my clothes from the previous night on….we made it back to the hotel??

I turned over to make sure I made it back with Ryan, and saw him on the other  double bed. I tried get up to go to the bathroom but my head was pounding, and the room was spinning. I finally forced myself to the bathroom because my bladder couldn’t take it anymore, and as I was washing my hands I regretfully looked at myself in the mirror. You can use your imagination to picture how good I looked just then. (hint hint: amaaaaazing). I drank some water, and very, very slowly walked back to bed.

Checkout was at noon, so of course we needed to get out of the hotel, but I was in no state of wanting to live.

I tried to pack up some of my things when I had to suddenly run to the bathroom to puke….ugh. I tried again…and puke again. Then we made it to the checkout, I looked like a mess and didn’t even want to talk, so I let Ryan handle it. We decided to grab something at Dunkin’ Donuts before we drove back, but I couldn’t even look at food, or coffee…not even Ryan because the sun was reflecting off his magnificent white skin.

Ha! Just kidding. He’s no vampire. Anyways, Ryan ordered something at Dunkin’ Donuts and I sat there, slumped in my chair with my eyes closed, waiting, and hoping not to throw up again. After he was done, we made it to the car and Ryan pulled out of the parking spot when a wave of nausea hit me again. He pulled back in the spot and I quickly got out, thinking I was going to puke, but it was a false alarm. Thank goodness Ryan’s mom had the travel sickness bags in the car; what a smart lady! I got back in and took the bag out just in case, and ended up falling asleep. We finally got back to the condo, with no accidents in the car (yay!), but as I got out of the car and can you guess what happens next?! Yepp…I threw up again. Ryan left me to do my business each time because he couldn’t handle it, which I totally get! Who wants to see that. But the plus side of this situation is that Ryan complimented me on how quiet I am when I throw up. Sooooo I’ll add that to my resume!

Anyways, the whole day I felt like crap. I was willing myself to feel better because I saw how beautiful of a day it was. I just wanted to be out in the sun, and I only had a few days left in Florida! But no matter how hard I tried, I never did get to sit out in the sun that day. I made my New Years Resolution to never drink again (as if a year is that quick to get through)….but I’ve broken that promise several times since! But New Years was a blast with Ryan and SO memorable, and that’s all I really wanted. I would go back and do that again another year, just minus the Jell-O syringes. Bleh.

Me the day after New Years: recovering all day

I was able to get to the beach a few days, and was it ever nice!!

Post New Years Adventures

Pretty much every weekend after getting home from Florida, we spent staying up late and having fun. I have to say, Ryan did really well in this area. Ryan’s dad has this saying that nothing good happens after midnight; but I would say for Ryan that nothing good happens after 5am.

There was the one pizza night when everyone was over, being all loud and having a good time. One person we were extra happy to have around because he doesn’t make it to pizza nights as often anymore; my brotha from anotha motha, Eric. Actually though he is like another brother, since my family grew up with his just 2 houses down the road. Anyways, it was getting late and I was super tired that night so I decided to head to bed early. Ryan and Eric however stayed up until 6AM!! Like a little kid on Christmas morning, Ryan came into my room and excitedly woke me up to tell me that we’re going out for breakfast at 7am. They wanted to keep the day rolling, and I was their ride to breakfast. I negotiated with Ryan that 7:30 would be better, but when that time came around Ryan didn’t wake me up. 8:30 came around and still I heard nothing.  So I went downstairs to where the guys were last, and I see the them both sleeping away like little angels (okay maybe some snoring was involved). When they finally woke up they were both still drunk, and they knew breakfast was off, especially since Eric had to be somewhere for noon.

The next really fun time of Ryan waking me up was when he went out with my brother and his girlfriend to celebrate their friends birthday. (PS. do you notice this pattern of me not staying up late and drinking?? I learned something from New Years!) We had just gotten home from my grandma’s 80th birthday around midnight, and they were ready to party! Rico and Ryan had some shots before I dropped them off downtown, and I told them to text me if they needed a ride. I even stayed up late to wait for a text, but received no response. SO I got a lovely call at 5am, and I don’t even remember what Ryan said because I was pretty much still asleep. In my half asleep state, I went downstairs and saw Rico propping Ryan up and trying to open the door at the same time. I at first was like “Okay…they’re just really close now”. Then I finally, really woke up and because something about it didn’t look right. Finally Ryan bursts out “I broke my ankle!!” He’s drunk, and Rico’s giving me a smile like “Geez I dunno what happened…yeah it was stupid”. Confused with how he could possibly break his ankle, I respond “What?? Are you okay? What happened??”. I swear I didn’t hear the full story of what happened until the next day (I did not get much information out of the drunk Ryan).

Here’s the story:

Everyone goes out to the bar, has a great time, Ryan’s not drunk

Bar closes, everyone Uber’s to the birthday girls’ house, Ryan’s not drunk

Birthday girls’ family (and Rico’s girlfriends’ cousins) arrive, Ryan’s not drunk

The family brings out the real alcohol, people start dancing in the living room, Ryan’s drunk

Shots, shots, more shots, Ryan’s really drunk

Deep conversations, heart to hearts, still drunk

More shots….still really drunk

Time to go home, Rico and Ryan have the brilliant idea of walking..still drunk

What’s that Ryan see’s? A really tall shed you say?….still drunk

Ryan parkour’s to the top of the shed and proceeds to jump down (stupid, stupid idea…really drunk)

Ryan lands…and voila! He can’t really walk (maybe a bit more alert, but still drunk)

Rico somewhat carries Ryan home

Ryan calls Marisa

So yes, Ryan jumped off a very tall shed in a random person’s backyard, and seriously messed up his ankle. Rico said he was just walking along, and the next thing he knows Ryan brings out his inner monkey and is climbing on a fence towards a shed, gets onto the roof, and jumps off, landing flat on his feet. Okay there Mr. Hulk! (Except instead of him shattering the ground beneath him, the ground shatter him) Something in his ankle must have cracked, or fractured…we still don’t know. My biggest worry at the time was that we were leaving for China the next day and I was wondering how I would get him through the airport with all the luggage we had. Also I have yet to see any people in wheelchairs in China, and there was no way I could carry Ryan the whole way through.

If you’re wondering what’s up with Ryan’s ankle now, we still don’t really know. It was, and is still sometimes painful to watch him walk. On the day of our departure, my dad was able to find some crutches for Ryan to use. Thanks dad! I didn’t have to end up carrying Ryan after all!

Overall the trip home was a blast; we made the most of our days home and spent as much time with people we knew we wouldn’t see anytime soon. Going away has made me appreciate those important people in my life even more; I often randomly think of people from home and sometimes feel like crying! But crying from missing friends and family has subsided a lot, compared to when I initially got here. Sometimes I have the opposite reaction and feel like bursting out laughing, which is equally as funny. The longer I stay, the easier it gets.

Some other memories from my visit home:

Skiing at Blue Mountain with my dad and family friend

More cuddles

Going for a nice hike, full of smog-free air!

Got my Italian passport!!

Axe throwing competition

Being home always creates warm memories for me; I laugh uncontrollably at least once a day, and I feel surrounded by great people.  My brother, for example, has an awesome humour that can make me laugh non-stop for about 5 minutes from just a silly noise.

Which brings me to a 1.5 hr  Christmas Eve drive home from my grandparents; my brother was driving, and everyone else in the vehicle had been drinking. We listened to all sorts of music, had some good talks, and Rico did insanely good voice impressions of an old Japanese man, an Australian, and Hermione Granger from Harry Potter (pretty much just sounded like Mrs. Doubtfire). It was the Japanese man that got everyone in the car gasping for air; and I had to tell Rico to stop because I was concerned my sister was going to pass out. If we sound like an insanely happy family, I’d say for the most part, we are :D (We’re probably truly insane, but also happy at the same time) And I’m so glad Ryan has joined in on our crazy train; I remember when he first met everyone, his facial expression was like “What kind of water are these people drinking?!”

Anyways folks, as always, thanks for taking the time to read my blogs (even if they can be a tad long), and listening to how awesome the people in my life are. Going home is bound to create some good memories, but I’m also loving my life here in China. We’ve met some pretty cool people from America that will unfortunately be leaving us soon to go back home. However, this coincides well with Ryan and I moving to Chongqing within the next week or so! I’m SO excited to move. Until then, I hope you’re all enjoying your 2017 so far. If you’re not, come visit us in China, it’ll change the way you think!

Coming up: The move to Chongqing

Next trip:  Vietnam

One Wild Month Well well well...I'm back! In case you forgot about me, I'm still here! It's been a long while since I last posted! 

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON TITANIUM’S LEAD RAP AND LEAD DANCE AROON BANTHAO...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: n/a CURRENT AGE: 24 DEBUT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 16 COMPANY: Midas SECONDARY SKILL: Lyric writing

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): prince aroon INSPIRATION: tupac, epik high, gemini SPECIAL TALENTS: 

freestyle rap

flexibility

NOTABLE FACTS:

Played soccer in high school and won one championship with his team

Started writing lyrics when he was 14

His secret talent is learning new languages fast

Is terrible at cooking and made fun of because of this by the other members

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

to improve more as a lyric writer and move into producing as well, to help write and produce titanium’s next comeback and make it more successful than the previous ones.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

to release a solo, promote as a soloist a few times and maybe become one when titanium debuts, to become a house holding name as composer and producer and produce for other groups, be able to live off of his royalties.

IDOL IMAGE

At his audition Aroon tells the staff he is coachable, ready to be molded into whatever they want and they laugh in between them, thinking he is just an eager kid desperate for a chance, who will say just anything to get it. But he is not lying and after years of training it’s easy to see that Aroon can indeed turn into anything they tell him to.

They want intense choreography? Aroon delivers (within his limitations, he is not a dancer first, after all). They want a bad boy? He does it. They want soft and ideal boyfriend? He gives that too. But it’s when his real personality meets their expectations that they find what maybe one day will be the perfect image for him.

“For a rapper you’re not very…” his trainer gestures, searches for words. “Hard.”

It’s not a bad thing, they tell him. It’s different from all the boys who try too hard to be whatever American rapper is playing on the radio. His image is less about swag, about slangs he doesn’t understand, and more about the performance itself, the way his low register voice is projected.

They would tell him to be quiet if they could, Aroon knows. But he is not the only non-korean in the group and titanium is not going to be successful with all silent types, so they change their approach, give Aroon the soft, charming image. He talks most of the time because his korean is good and soon management learns that people love the way he smiles, his boy next door ways.

The fans start to call him prince and Aroon learns how to feed into the image, to be seen helping the staff and bringing blankets to fans on fan meetings, to always smile bright when he is happy, smile even more when he isn’t. It’s the duality between his smiling persona out of the stage and the intense performer when the music hits that makes Aroon’s fame, and Midas finally learns that he meant when he said he would be anything they wanted as long as he could debut.

IDOL HISTORY

Imagine this:

You’re ten years old, your parents already have your whole life planned for you. You are skipping the mandatory army service because you’re rich, and the world doesn’t work the same for you as it does for the other boys. You are going to college, you are marrying a pretty girl, someone with kind eyes and kinder personality, who will forgive your mistakes and love you no matter what. You are going to succeed, because failure is not an option.

This is the first lesson Aroon’s parents tell him: Failing is not for people like them, who are better than others, who are made of greatness. They expect big things of him, they tell little Aroon, because no one on his family is ever a failure, no one never stopped from getting the things they wanted.

(“You again.” it’s the same woman from the past year, she had longer hair, but Aroon recognizes her. “Still trying?”

“Failing is not an option.” Aroon says in ways of greetings. Because it’s what he has been taught.

And because he can’t go back home. Not again.)

His mother was leader of the debate club, his father was a star soccer player, Aroon inherited the best of both worlds, they say. Every time they talk it’s not like they talk about a marriage, like having a child and raising him, it’s more like an experiment, like they were forced to have him, the perfect son (patent still pending), like soon Aroon will be taken to lab and dissected so other couples can have perfect children like him.

It doesn’t fuck him up, growing up with the pressure. Of course not.

It forges him.

(“Would you consider yourself a coachable person?”

“Absolutely.”)

Picture a scene:

A thirteen year old, beautiful features and beautiful bank account, school uniform ironed perfectly, top three percent of the class. Aroon knows what popularity is because everyone likes him, everyone wants to be his friend, all the girls want to date him because he would be the perfect boyfriend (patent still pending). He gets a taste of it and it’s addicting, all the eyes on him, his peers showering him with attention – and so what if it’s still the same “you’re so perfect” way, it comes in different voices and different touches and Aroon craves it.

He didn’t want to become a bad person, but it’s so easy to get lost in the countless adoring eyes, to drown in the sea of adoring voices. It’s easy to be the perfect boy they want him to be, to laugh at everyone’s imperfections and talk about them aloud, so he will look better in comparison.

He is fourteen when they tell him to find a girlfriend, so Aroon does; she is a girl with kind eyes and kinder personality, who is so easy to get along it’s like she was made for him. He can picture them thirty years from now, telling their grandkids about how they met at school and knew they would be together forever. They kiss and Aroon doesn’t feel like the books told him he was supposed to, but maybe it’s because he is too young, maybe it’s because he isn’t trying enough.

She has an older brother and they talk a lot. He is the one who shows Aroon all about rap, who takes him to his first concert and who teaches him how to write his first lyrics. They suck, but Aroon likes it, the freedom, the feeling of his pen scribbling paper, of speaking it fast.

They get drunk together – Aroon is too young to be drinking and too perfect to do it in public, but in the privacy of his bedroom he can be less than perfect for once – when his girlfriend is away on a girl’s trip.

They kiss and Aroon feels.

Just that.

He feels.

(“Who taught you to write raps?”

Aroon blinks. Seconds seem like centuries.

There is a faint memory of a boy.

“No one.”)

He breaks up with his girlfriend, tells her all the usual excuses: It’s him, not her, she is great, she will find someone else blablabla. He tells his parents he wants to be a rapper. In South Korea. They look at him like he has gone crazy and they laugh. Aroon is serious.

“I’m leaving to audition next summer.” it’s not a question. Aroon never asks for permission, he does things his way and deals with the consequences. He is the perfect son, nothing he does can go wrong anyway.

He has to come back home because no one accepted him. Failure is not an option, so Aroon doesn’t give up, he can’t stay there, can’t stay where he isn’t as perfect as he thought, where he can see all his flaws and feel them under his skin when he remembers of kissing a boy.

(“You’re not giving up.” the same woman tells him the following year.

“No.”)

Aroon is sixteen when he is offered a contract, many responsibilities dumped on a boy, no guarantee that he will ever debut. That is what they say the most: Nothing is for sure, you have to work for everything. It’s different from home where he was the perfect boy, where his parents would handle him everything and his friends would give anything to hang out with him.

In South Korea he is just another boy, not the most intelligent or the most skilled and Aroon hates it. They turn everything into a competition, all the trainees seem to be fighting even for the air they breathe, nothing comes for free, not really. For the first time in his life Aroon is told to practice more, to work harder for he is not the best.

He hates it, every second of it.

But it’s easy to hate the system than to hate himself and his flaws, it’s easy to look at the other boys and pretend he hates them because they are more skilled, because they dance better, sing better than to think he may like them more than in a platonic way. It’s easier to push the feelings and thoughts away when he has to stay on the company’s building until late hours dancing on his own. Everything else becomes unimportant when he can go back to the dorm and throw himself into a dreamless sleep.

They pick him apart and show him everything he does wrong, but it’s never because of who he is, it’s because of what he can do, and in some twisted way that is much better. Aroon can train more, he can push himself harder, he can do it until he is good enough for them, until he is the perfect boy again.

Imagine this:

You’re twenty and you’re in a room with other four boys, all who you consider your competition. You know each other well because you study each other every day in addition to studying how to sing and rap and dance: You know each other’s strengths and weaknesses and quirks and you hate and like each other depending on the day of the week. You will debut on a group together, so you better make this work.

But before they throw Aroon into some competition show, tell him it’s for exposure, tell him people will love him because it’s impossible to hate that face (after the convenient nose job he got). Aroon hates it, competing. It crushes him every minute, but he doesn’t give up. Not until they are debuting and Aroon falls sick and they pull him from the show. He did good, they tell him, he served his purpose.

Aroon hates it.

Titanium. It’s an okay name, he thinks. His parents come all the way from Thailand to watch his debut showcase and his mother cries. It’s the most embarrassing thing but Aroon likes it. Of course he would make it, his parents tell him, he is the perfect boy and now the perfect member.

It crushes him, how everything is ten times harder than as a trainee. Turns out people can hate him, can talk about flaws and problems, but Aroon doesn’t pay attention to them. Because the truth is, people can also love him too much, people who have never seen him in person, who never saw him throw a fit because he is the last one to shower, or who never saw him cry because he got a choreography right.

Aroon loves it.

They call him a prince and Aroon basks in the adoration, makes it the reason to get up and perform, even when Titanium is not as successful as he hoped, even when things don’t happen the way he wanted them to. But one year turns into two and soon Aroon is given chances to write lyrics, soon he has his names on the credits and things are better.

Two years turn into three and Titanium is still going strong. They make it work, somehow. It’s still difficult, or even more, because now they have some baggage, people expect things from them, they expect results, expect success, expect the goddamn Midas touch. Titans still love him dearly, give him crowns to wear on fan meetings, write about how would be to marry him (and other things, but that is disturbing, so Aroon doesn’t think about it much) and it’s enough to keep him going.

Three years turn into four and here they are, still going. They still make it work, somehow. It’s still difficult, of course it is, but Aroon is in control now. He has his members and his lyrics and he is still the perfect Aroon that started this journey. He knows he is not going to marry a pretty girl with kind eyes and it’s a boy who makes him feel things when they kiss but it’s okay, it’s nothing to run away from.

It’s who he is, and that makes him perfect.