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daceydeath · 11 months

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When you Fall and Hurt Yourself While Dancing - Maknae Line

Pairing: OT8 x reader Word Count: 2.3k Genre: Fluff, Angst Warnings: Swearing, Injury (obviously) Requested

a/n: This is part 2 of a request you can find the first part here

Han: You had been stuffing around in the studio for the past 45 minutes waiting for his members to arrive before you left Han to practice with them and go home to start cleaning up after spending the day together. Being that you were both bored and both feeling a little too over energetic what had been watching videos on your phone while he warmed up had turning to a full on episode of him chasing you around the dance studio.

"Baby let me catch you I just want to tickle you a little bit" he cackled as he reached out to grab you as he started to corner you again.

"No fucking way Ji" you squealed back dodging him successfully and making it to the other end of the room.

"But you're mine" he whined playfully "I want to tickle you and kiss you and squish you".

"Nooooooo" you shrieked again as he once again attempted to catch you only this time he did manage to grab the hoodie you were wearing, his hoodie, spinning you around and making you lose your balance. Trying to right yourself you stepped to your left immediately colliding with Han who knocked you to the ground and he continued at full speed. You screamed loudly as you hit the ground tears instantly running down your face as you looked at your ankle which did not look right.

"Baby?" Han questioned looking at you sitting in a heap in the middle of the floor.

"What's happened?" Minho yelled as he, Hyunjin and Seungmin flew through the door looking around wildly.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" you were feeling dizzy and beginning to hyperventilate as you started to panic.

"We were mucking around she fell, or I knocked her, I dunno Hyung" Han cried as his eyes filled with tears as he crouched beside you.

"Shhh" Minho whispered to you as Hyunjin called Chan and Seungmin called for an ambulance "You will be just fine, just lay back for me, you can use my hoodie as a pillow while we wait" Minho was trying to sooth both of you into a vague sense of calm before either of you panicked yourself too much he also threw the hoodie Seungmin had been carrying over your foot to prevent you seeing it.

Chan and the others arrived quickly after Hyunjin called him and the others were told over the group chat that the schedule would be moved to later that night because you had been hurt. You continued to lay of the floor tears running from your eyes because of the pain and the fact that Han had started to get past his panic and was blaming himself for everything.

"I never should have been mucking around with you" He sniffed holding your hand tightly.

"It's not your fault Ji, we just collided" you sniffed looking at up him with watery eyes.

"I never should have asked you to come today, I know how clumsy you are and I know you get hurt all the time" he continued making you pout. By the time the ambulance arrived the other members were trying their best to keep you distracted not just from the pain but from your sulking boyfriend.

"Just hold still Miss I am going to have to have a look at your ankle, it might be better if you look away in case it makes you squeamish" the paramedic explained in as friendly a way as possible as he lifted the fabric hiding your ankle from the others.

"Is it really bad?" you whimpered sullenly.

"I'm pretty sure it's broken but we won't know until we get you some x-rays" the other one explained helping you onto the gurney as Han looked like he was going to pass out.

Felix: You had been stuffing around with Changbin learning the choreography to the new Nmixx release and although you were competent when it came to learning other groups dances for TikTok challenges you were in no way, shape or form an actual dancer which is why you always learnt them with Changbin. Unlike your adorable and sweet Felix who was absolutely a dancer who focused on precision, Changbin focused on fun as well and always made you laugh even when you obviously screwed up.

Being in Nmixx's studio was a little weird but the girls were super sweet when they had first run through it with you so you could practice before Changbin filmed with them later that afternoon. It had been going smoothly until you tripped over your own feet a rolled your ankle slightly wincing as you stood up to the soundtrack to Changbin's loud laughter.

"How are you so clumsy?" He continued laughing while you pouted and restated the track on his phone so you could try again.

"I can't help it you know" you glared at him through the mirrors as you took a quick sip of water and re joined him in to go over it again before you were going to film it for him this afternoon so that the others could continue their schedule uninterrupted. You went over it once flawlessly but the run through on the next chorus was anything but, stepping on your own half undone laces you sent yourself once again crashing to the floor. Changbin would have started laughing again if you didn't instantly cry out in pain your ankle already starting to swell as you tried to stand.

"Fuck, Felix is going to kill me" he sighed scooping you off the floor as your tears started falling "It's ok we will go back to our studio and get the staff to wrap and ice it".

"Why does it hurt so much?" you whimpered as he walked down the hall holding you close.

"I'm pretty sure its swollen, I'll call a doctor and make you an appointment if Felix doesn't kill me first" he shushed you reaching the door of the kids practice room. Opening the door you could hear music and loud laughing which stopped as soon as they realized that Changbin was carrying you.

"Baby, what happened?" Felix was beside you helping Changbin get you seated on the couch "Hyung you need to be careful with her".

"Lixie, I fell over my own feet it wasn't Changbin's fault although he did laugh at me" you sniffed a little not wanting to seem too upset about it.

"Yeah it's not my fault she tripped twice in one chorus" Changbin added jokingly trying to cheer you up.

"Still you're too precious to me to get hurt" Felix pouted making you smile at him as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. One of the staff had come in and put an ice pack on your ankle and was trying to get your shoe off as gently as possible.

"I'll take you to the doctor baby" he frowned looking at the bruise already forming under your skin "Then no dancing without supervision" he whispered to you making you want to roll your eyes if they hadn't been full of unshed tears.

Seungmin: You were both laughing like idiots and messing around when the inevitable competitiveness of the members came out.

"I bet you dinner that you can't do the chorus holding our maknae" Lee Know teased Chan making you giggle as Jeongin looked confused as to why he was getting dragged into the argument.

"You couldn't do it holding Hannie!" Chan laughed as he challenged him right back as the whole stupid bet continued until somehow everyone in the room had been roped in and you were looking increasingly confused as to why exactly you had to be the one in Seungmin's arms when you weren't even a member.

"Guys, you know this is stupid right?" you quipped as they discussed whether piggy backs would count and other stupid factors.

"They know bub but food is on the line now so it is on" Seungmin laughed making you realize that for him this was just about the teasing rights that would come later. Sighing you let him put you down now that it had been decided that Changbin, Chan, Lee Know and Seungmin were going to attempt the do the entire choreography with another member or, since Hyunjin wasn't there at that very second, you on their back.

"Ok so whoever drops their member or girlfriend" Lee Know gestured to you" first buys everyone dinner".

"So Chan then?" Changbin cackled as he lifted Felix easily.

"Don't even say it I am not trading you for Felix just because you think Chanbin hyung is less likely to drop you" Seungmin groaned before you could open your mouth so you just pouted instead making all of the boys laugh. Lee Know started the track and they all got into position with you clinging to Seungmin for dear life.

The first verse had barely finished when Lee Know started bumping Chan to throw him off, then bumping Changbin to get him to lose when Chan remained steadfast. It was hilarious watching them try to get through the song while continuing to throw Felix, Han and Jeongin around as they tried not to let go from laughing. So by the time it had gotten to the last chorus it was utter chaos with every opportunity to make one of the others stuff up the preference to actually following the choreography, Lee Know was again being a menace and trying his best to knock over Chan eventually tripping him and sending him stumbling into Seungmin and you and making the four of you crash to the floor in a pile of limbs and curses.

Lee Know's chorus of celebration with Changbin was short lived as each of the boys lifted themselves off the floor leaving you whimpering softly.

"Shit, bub?" Seungmin stopped his smiling instantly when he heard you crouching instantly back down beside you as the room fell into silence.

"I can't get up" you sniffed "my ankle isn't right".

"Here let me and hyung get you to the couch" he soothed trying to hold in the worry that you could see in his eyes. Chan stepped forward looking concerned the bet long forgotten now as he instructed you exactly how he and Seungmin were going to get you to the couch.

"I'm sorry" you apologized softly knowing that what had been them enjoying themselves was now them all looking guilty as Felix wrapped an icepack in a towel for you to put around your ankle and Chan strapped it in place so it would keep the swelling down.

"I think we are all going to have to buy you dinner now" Han joked trying to make you smile.

"Oh yeah that makes it all worth it, she can't walk but she gets eight free dinners" Seungmin snapped still looking at you and smoothing your hair back down.

Jeongin: Innie had been glued to you all morning so since it was your day off work you had been dragged to rehearsal so he could still be near you despite having to still stick to his schedule. Greeting the others you had sitting in the corner watching them and playing on your phone for an hour before they started to get organized to film half a dozen Tiktoks for their album promotions you laughed as you watched Felix practice a random one that he had been trying to convince the boys to do which you had filmed last week with Innie's help.

"My jagi filmed that last week she did so well" he started bragging pulling out his phone to show Felix.

"Woah you really did, do you want to help me teach the members?" Felix grinned impishly knowing that none of them were able to say no to you since they all saw you as a precious little sister.

"I'm not as good as you Felix, it's embarrassing" you flushed covering your face.

"Aww so cute" Changbin teased making you even more flustered.

"Please go over it with me and then the guys will see its not so stupid" Felix pouted and you nodded unable to resist his puppy eyes like every other person of the whole team. You stood beside Felix as Innie started the music loudly before Felix counted you in and you started to dance even though it took all of thirty seconds you couldn't help laugh as Innie acted like a personal cheer squad for you.

"See it's super easy and its fun so we are going to do it in pairs" Felix grinned as the other members begrudgingly agreed. After a few run throughs the professional dancers that they were had learnt it well enough to perform it and you watched as Felix and Hyunjin went first followed by Chan and Changbin.

It was only when Changbin thought it would be hilarious to dump a cup of water over Seungmin's head during his turn that things all went wrong. Seungmin had pared up with Han so when the water hit the floor so did Han who took out Seungmin and then pair of them slid straight into where you were standing to the right of the staff member filming them taking your legs out from under you and making you crash into the mirrors.

"Ow" you yelped loudly tangled up with the two boys as you whimpered every time one of them wriggled to get up.

"Jagiya" Jeongin shouted skidding across the floor to you and helping to slide you out from under them "Where are you hurt? How can I help? Why would you even do something so stupid that my jagi got hurt?".

"My ankle" you groaned as Jeongin moved to take your shoe off while his eyes went side.

"Hyung?" Jeongin squeaked as he saw your ankle starting to swell.

"Here, hold this to her ankle" Lee Know instructed calmly helping to lift your leg so he could prop it on one of their bags.

"I've called the physio to come down and check it then we can take her to the doctor if we need" Chan soothed ruffling Jeongin's hair.

"We're so sorry" Han pouted looking at you with sad eyes.

"Yeah we really really are" Changbin agreed looking guilty "I shouldn't have done that".

"It was an accident" you mumbled a small frown still gracing your face.

"Doesn't excuse that we hurt you" Lee Know sighed "but we will make sure you are alright".

a/n: Thank you for reading and I am sorry this took so long I hit and idea wall. All your reblogs, comments and likes are adored and I wish I could give you each a forehead kiss xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @armystay89, @damnyouficc, @roamingpolar, @tara-skyhold, @bakedlilgoonie, @krishastumblernow, @mrsseals16, @fawnpeaks, @leeknowinggg, @uno7, @tanzen-ist-gold, @junebug032

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queenharumiura · 7 months

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"Did they fucking touch you?"

Taken from meme: [x] ||Accepting|| @signorinavongola

It was very seldom when she witnesses Tsuna swearing in front of her, so she knew that the other was quite upset at the moment. Upset was likely an understatement, but-! you get the point.

Tsuna would be able to tell if she’s lying (for their benefit) so it was best to be transparent now. “They did, but it wasn’t that bad.” She looks over her red wrist. From how it still stung, it was probably going to bruise later. “I gave a few of them a good punch or two, so it was an equal exchange.” All’s fair.

“They were just your casual street punks, it’s not worth getting riled up over, Tsu-chan.” If they come for her again, then she’ll make sure they leave on a hospital gurney. She turns to look at Tsuna again, “I promise it wasn’t that bad… don’t get so mad… okay?” It was one thing if she herself got mad, Haru could cause some serious damage.

If Tsuna were to get mad? Things could get real messy, really quick depending on how the events play out.

#SignorinaVongola #Meme answered #Answered ask #Thanks for the ask!#Haru speaks #((Muse; Tsuna))#Lady Boss AU

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gatecast · 7 months

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Stargate Birthdays for September 29th

Alexis Cruz - Skarra (Movie & SG1) Jorge Vargas - Abu (SG1) Shannon Gurney - Visual Effects Coordinator (SG1, SGA & SGU) Brett Chan - Stunt Performer (SG1, SGA & SGU) James Ralph - Stunt Performer (SG1)

#stargate #birthdays

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lurkerwithcomputer · 2 years

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(This is an expanded version of something I posted quite a while ago. A canon-divergence from the Auction Arc, possibly earlier, in which Saiko is driving a lot of the plot.)

The air is cool on her back, from the gaping hole in the back of her clothes - she hasn't even had time to get a spare coat after using her kagune earlier. That coolness is the only nice sensation right now. The torn scraps of her clothing are itchy and scratchy on her back, the chilled sweat makes her under-layers stick to her skin. The crime-scene lights make her eyes ache, the noise and commotion drills into her ears. The smell of blood is still all around her, filling her nose with salt, iron, and something heavier that sticks in her mind, despite the cleanup crews already pressure-washing the pavement. She still feels cold, more than physically, after...

...after seeing all of that. That other one-eyed ghoul who fought Maman, the torture, the screaming - the one they called OWL screaming too, beating his head on the walls, on the pillars. The way Maman changed, became... Other Maman. Herself standing frozen, staring at the screens, only doing something, saying something, until it was too late. Or, maybe not. They did get away, Yotsume and OWL. Because of me.

She looks up at Akira, trying to keep her shaky hands still. She needs to put her best foot forwards here. Akira turns to her and looks... Pale. Stressed-out. She looks like hell, honestly. Still, Akira's grimly blank expression warms a little bit.

"Yonebayashi-chan?"

"Akira-mama. I want to help Maman - Haise - like I couldn't in there."

It's not a lie. It's not. But it kinda is. Sorry, Akira. She does have regrets about not helping Maman until after. The thing about that is, telling the truth can cover her motives just as well.

"I see. How about you ride in the van with Sasaki-kun then? You'll have to give him his medicine, but it's not complicated. Just a pressure syringe into his arm or leg muscle," Akira takes a deep breath, "Can you do that for me? For Sasaki-kun?"

"I'll do it, Akira-mama. For Maman."

Akira presses a keycard and an injector into her palm. She can smell the mixture from here, the sickly chemical stink of what's inside it.

Now, the code for Sasaki-kun's recovery room is," Akira leans in close while Saiko boosts herself up on the hood of a car, cupping her ear to hide the whisper, "18-02-09"

She tilts her head up to Akira's ear, repeats it back. Akira nods and grips her shoulder, firmly.

She didn't need to repeat it back. She didn't need to hear it, either. She's already overheard Arima telling Akira, and she knows how often the code changes, roughly - which means, code hasn't changed yet. It's just that she can't reveal knowing that. Have to play the game to break the rules.

The injector feels heavy in her pocket as the van growls along, shaking and bumping. It's probably the weight of tricking Akira - she's got no plans to use Maman's medicine just yet. This is a chance to talk to the Other Maman, The Maman who knew Serpent, who knew Yotsume, who knew things about ghouls, what it's like to be one. To become one.. She might not get another chance to talk to him.

She jolts out of her thoughts as the van stops, roughly. It's not exactly fitting for a van carrying someone battered and semi-coherent.

But then, they don't care that much about Haise. Or Not-Haise, the Other Maman. A favorite tool is still a tool. That goes for all of us - Shiragin, Mucchan, grumpy Oreo Cookie. And me, too.

She's working on that. She's not quite sure how she'll get there, but asking Other Maman is a start, and acts of defiance have to start somewhere. She's been sleeping on all this for long enough.

The walk to the elevator passes in a blur that's somehow too slow and too fast, all at once, like the consequences of exploring alcohol. It's a familiar sensation - she more-or-less grew up in a bar. She looks up at the staff wheeling the gurney - entry-level CCG staff who look deeply uncomfortable around her and Maman. Because people have heard of Haise and the Quinx Squad. And they're scared. That's... sad. But, it's convenient for me.

"I'll take it from here," she says.

The two new hires - she recognizes neither the faces nor the scents - look relieved as they hurry away, awkwardly adjusting their collars and ties. There was nothing crooked about their ties in the first place. Cowards. She's not the type to call someone that, not usually - she's been scared of fighting, herself - but their unease around her and Maman just really, really rubs her nerves raw.

The cold metal of the gurney is grounding as she holds the keycard to the reader in the elevator. It beeps and the floor-number buttons turn from green-lit to yellow. She punches in "180209". Then does a double take. Because no elevator has a floor zero, she knows that - she's used the elevators in the CCG head office every day since Shiragin first dragged her to work.

Except for this elevator.

The floor buttons are backlit green once more, and the elevator descends, with a little moment of a floating feeling in her stomach. It goes down, and down, going past any of the basement floors that are actually marked, and the display that shows what floor she's on reads "0". She wonders if characters in spy movies feel this tense while using their secret elevators. Probably not - they're usually not lying to one authority figure while another squirms and groans on a hospital gurney beside them. But she's not them - she shakes herself out of her wandering thoughts, because she's here and she has a plan to pull off - at least, part one of a plan.

The force of the elevator tugs at her belly and makes her legs feel twice as heavy as it stops. It also jolts Maman awake. Or more awake than he was. A red-and-black eye looks straight at her.

"Ah... You are..." he says, voice pitched differently than the Maman she knows.

This is him. Not-Haise. The Other Maman.

Her heart is racing, but she can feel the corners of her mouth pull up, despite the situation, and now, her discomfort. The screeching of the gurney wheels as she pushes it along drills into her ears, the scent of disinfectant clogs her nose. There's only one room in this hallway that's open, and Maman points to it. The door looks like it should be heavy, metal plates just barely covered by the appearance of an ordinary door. It moves easily, with just a one-handed push, as she shuts it behind them, so maybe it's lighter than it looks. Or maybe I'm just strong.

Dead cut flowers droop from the vase on the bedside table, dry and browning, making the bottled water look like a sad reminder instead of a welcome gesture. It's a miserable place to call a "recovery room" - more like "prison", if she's right about the armored door. There's a calculating expression on Not-Haise's face now, kakugan eye still fixed on her. He gestures stiffly to the room.

"No camera... no mic-r-phone," he croaks, voice scraping in his throat.

He sounds like the old men who sit outside her mother's bar, throats gone raspy from chain-smoking.

There's a bone-dry laugh, that cuts off in a cough. Not-Haise licks his lips, as if seeking moisture in the blood still on his face. She grabs the water bottle and twists the cap, frail plastic snapping. The action feels almost violent, in this moment where she's about to twist her own world off its foundations. She offers it to Not-Haise, who hunches upwards off the bed, with a wheezing groan. He takes the bottle in a shaky grasp that gets firmer as he grips the cool plastic, and it leaves her hand.

He drinks, still staring at her with his single kakugan, face more alert now. He coughs one more time as he moves to put the bottle back. His movments look steadier. He sits up fully in bed, shoving the thin hospital pillow up behind him.

"You're... strange. No needle? No medicine for me?"

"I want to talk to you. This you, not Haise."

There's that dry, not all there laugh again. Not-Haise gives her a strained, sharp smile, filled with teeth.

"And what do you want to know?" he rasps. It sounds so bitter, her chest twists.

She takes a deep breath.

"You. Your story."

#yonebayashi saiko #canon divergence #sasaki haise #but not really because it's #kaneki ken #that saiko's talking to #tokyo ghoul re #tg

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saintanjiro · 2 years

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Tomura’s head snaps at the sound of Toga’s cry, rushing over to you the second you begin to fall forward. You fall into a limp heap in his arms, his hand coming to cradle your skull and his stomach turns when he feels the dampness soaking your hair. He’s pulling you into his arms and taking off to the first vehicle he sees with the league behind him.

He carefully places you into the back seat, Toga slipping in so your head and settle on her lap. Tomura is starting the car and is almost panicking. Rage bubbles over, furious that heroes once again have ruined something for him, made his life difficult.

“Don’t let her go to sleep, keep her talking,” he knows a head injury is dangerous, knows that if you fall asleep you could not wake up for awhile. Toga sniffles when she talks, Tomura punching on the gas pedal to race to the nearest hospital. You mumble to her every now and again but your lids keep fluttering closed.

He barely throws the car in park whenever he’s gathering you in his arms as carefully as he can, “hey, hey keep your eyes open. Stay awake, you’ve lost a lot of blood and you hit your head.” He tries not to shake you but he’s feeling the desperation, ER staff coming quickly to take you from him and get you taken care of.

- Tomura

I barely see Tomura, and his voice is distant. I feel my body being moved, white lights don't bother my eyes. I try to keep my eyes open, but it's become impossible.

I sleep.

------

"Cherry, can you hear me?" The doctor asks, but gets no response. The rest of the team runs to the nearest shock room and begin the procedure. One of the staff members assigned to my case turns to the door, where Tomura and Toga are.

"did you come with her?" He asks, "are you her family? Her friends?"

But tomura doesn't answer.

"she's my family..." Toga sniffles as he watches me leave, "Tomura-kun is Cherry-chan's—"

"what happened to her?"

"t-the back of her head... She's bleeding, and..."

"she fell forward. Hit the side of her head."

"w-we tried to keep her awake..." Toga continues, "is she going... Is she going to be okay?"

"we can't know for sure. But I promise we'll do whatever we can for her—"

The sound of the shock room being opened all of the sudden interrupts the resident, and everyone turns to the medical team rushing the gurney, saying BP's dropping and that they have to rush to the OR as soon as possible.

#✞; el bagdad.#tomura.👑

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the-shared-brain-in-retrograde · 2 years

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Hail, Caesar!

Or, What if Natasha Romanoff was a mermaid?

a joint review...

We feel like we should address this first. We chose this film because we both absolutely love it, but our star Scarlett Johansson isn't in it quite as much as we remembered her being. This bits she was in were divine, and we remember each part so clearly, but on reflection we do feel we've done her slightly dirty on the screen time. So we apologise.

@cassandrafey: Maybe we should class this as a Thanos film?

@becksxoxo: NEVER!

@cassandrafey: What if Thanos carried on being a dickhead only he worked in the pictures?

We then got slightly distracted over a gif set of dear Frank in Endings, Beginnings, which Becks hasn't seen but Cass has filled her in on why she should. We're both a bit flustered, but we're going to push that down now and get on with the task at hand.

Let us tell you why we love this so much. We really had to choose our words so carefully for this. It’s a comfort, but it’s not a comfort film. It’s a shared love of the Hollywood Studio System, our fond remembrance of a time we never experienced but were ingrained into as film student babies. It’s the rumours, it’s the grandeur, it’s the backlots, it’s the people. We feel like we know them, and each scene is just perfectly presented, and we just fucking love it.

We were joined by a guest for this watch through, who finished the film by saying:

"I felt not one single emotion. I may as well have sat staring at the wall."

Anyway, we will be cutting her out of our lives, so don't worry too much. Here instead are all the emotions we had...

We both started our notes with "Is that Dumbledore?" The second film we've watched that's been narrated, who knew it was such a big thing. Anyway, it was Dumbledore and he tells us all about what Thanos is up to. Being punished in another life for all his past crimes in the MCU, no rest for the wicked you fucker.

We'd do well in Hollywood.

@cassandrafey: What would we do there?

@becksxoxo: You know, things, and stuff, and people would just appreciate us.

@cassandrafey: ah Tinseltown.

We're going to go for a character based narrative of thought this week, because the plot dances around a delightful amount and may become unwieldly.

DeeAnna Moran

We're going to start with the perfection that is Scarlett as DeeAnna Moran. We love her rising out of the water, a goddess, and then unleashing her full blown rage at the conductor, flinging that crown with a panache that we haven't seen since the finale of Miss Congeniality. We both really loved the synchronised swimming, we were mesmerised by the shapes and colours. Cass had a wild moment of abandon and thought it might be something we should have a go at, but then could only see the French and Saunders ballet scene in her head, and soon decided it was a terrible suggestion. The whole premise of her being this silent beautiful starlet, and the reality of her being this potty mouth broad is just so perfect. Her secret sleazy marriages, her questionable baby daddy choices, we just love her. We also love how interested she becomes when she finds out just how reliable Joe Silverman is, a legal personhood. And most of all we love her removal from the mermaid's tail. After her eye rolls at Chris Evans saying how easy the Black Widow outfit is to slip on and off, Becks likes to think it was much more like this each time she had to get in and out of it. And who doesn't love the yelling the line:

"So you go and strap on a fish-ass and marry Arne Seslum."

She's just so good at being this character. LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE

Hobie Doyle

Hobie Doyle is a wholesome little puppy. Not our usual type, but we are terribly fond of him. Cass has suggested it’s his prowess with the lasso. Other than our absolute favourite scene in the whole film, which we will discuss in a moment, what we love most about him is the fact that he sat and listened to Eddie have a small breakdown about the shit going on, thought about it for a moment and then took it upon himself to help.

"This is bad. Bad for movie stars everywhere."

And he did. The solemn way he says:

"You got Mr. Mannix worried sick."

is just too much. We don't think Eddie was at all worried about Baird, but we just love how much Hobie cares. We completely ship him and Carlotta Valdez. Their little date, no matter how set up it was, was just so cute! Her little dancing, his little spaghetti lasso, HIS TEETH! Totes adorbs. We were also very impressed by his horse acrobatics, you know Cass and horses. Also he was shovelling away a mighty large portion of beans.

Now we have all that out of the way we shall share his part in one of the most perfect scenes in cinematic history, alongside the wonder of men, Laurence Laurentz.

Laurence Laurentz

"Would that it were so simple."

Words cannot describe the perfection of this sequence. We can't write everything that we loved about it, because it is literally everything. It’s just perfect, and it’s hard to imagine anyone involved in it achieving anything better in their careers.

The differences of the two of them, and they're trying so hard. The names, the words. It’s just so good.

You'll be glad to know we're both sat here trying to say the word suit now (in the way that a posh person at Cass’ work says it rather than the nice normal way anyone else does. Very hard to do, makes our voices go quite high for some reason).

Laurence is being so kind, but you can see him dying inside. A struggle we've all faced from time to time.

Also when Hobie is told to look serious and pouts Becks got heavy Sebastian Stan vibes. And ladies, is that ever a bad thing? What a mouth...

What a perfect scene. We can't think of anything else to say other than it’s just so perfect.

Baird Whitlock

Severe himbo energy. Didn't seem at all bothered being dressed as a Roman, being kidnapped, and getting offered finger sandwiches. Just another day in the life of a Hollywood Movie Star. He was just happy to be there, thrilled to be part of a club. Imagine just being at that much peace with your life, either getting your end off or being brainwashed by a cult. Must be nice.

Our friend, who didn't like the film, also doesn't understand people being attracted to George Clooney. Another reason for her continued bafflement.

We don't really know how convincing the communists were, although you know we're all for it #jointheunion but they seemed just as pleased to be able to listen to him tell his stupid stories as to share with him the whole economics business. What a nice little study group, discussing all sorts of jolly things.

Until he is slapped round the face by Mannix, and told to get his mind back on the job. Movies don't make themselves you know.

"Squint. Squint at the grandeur."

Burt Gurney

Now, we're not ones for Channing Tatum. We're neither for or against him, we're just indifferent. However, singing and dancing commie Channing Tatum, quite good fun. The whole bar scene is great, the singing, the dancing, the homoeroticism.

Becks has a small fantasy revolving around this scene and the Howling Commandoes. So she'd just like to leave that gem of a thought in your minds, let it go whereever you wish it to.

We also love the little twist of him being the leader of the Hollywood Communists, off to defect to Mother Russia, with such flair and drama as he springs onto that submarine. Submarines are a difficult subject matter for Becks due to that time she was depth charged as a child, so this part of the film could have taken quite the turn, but the leap and the dog saved it.

C. C. Calhoun

C. C. makes Cass very nervous, with the whole room being a smoke filled danger zone, the cigarette, the machinery, the scarf. And she was proven quite right about this. (Becks' notes just read choking kink? so we won't give her a voice at this stage...) It’s a good little scene with her, Frances McDormand is always a treat, it’s very atmospheric, and we get treated to a flashback of our favourite scene, so what's not to love.

Thora and Thessaly Thacker

Isn't it a treat when you forget about Tilda Swinton and there she is, twice! She's so fucking good. Such a wonderful woman in fact that Cass made no notes, she was so caught up in watching her. Becks waxed lyrical about her hats, and her tenacity.

Eddie Mannix

To be honest, we always forget that really Eddie is the star of the film, because we're so caught up in all the other little stories, which we suppose really is the point of Eddie as a fixer. He isn't there to be the star, he is there to make sure everything works, everything stays right and no one knows the dark and shady underbelly of what is truly happening.

Neither of us are Catholics, but we really felt for that priest. That poor man just wanted to go home, and haven't we all been there? Someone just constantly pouring their troubles out on you, demanding you to pardon their soul for their stupid little actions. Although we bet the gossip you get from a confessional must be great, but we suppose that's not really the point.

"Baird, go out there and be a star."

Cass and Becks like to pretend to be Patsy and Eddie, so we've just hissed Eddie, Eddie, Darling, Eddie, Sweety, Eddie, at each other and Cass is now going to spend her afternoon drunk and carry on with that. (Truly, I will in fact be wearing a little black leather mini skirt that has Patsy all over it - and perhaps I’ll have a Stoli…)

All in all, a cracking film. We will have to do another with ScarJo in it, because she wasn't in it that much, but she did steal the show. The whole film just works as a good story, but also as a homage to the golden age of cinema.

Hollywood is God.

The cinematic quality may take a slight nose dive next week, as our chum Clint joins us in a little fairy tale romp, all this to say we're watching Hansel & Gretel : Witch Hunters next week. Strap in kids, it’s gonna be great, or not, who knows, not us!

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stillsmybeatingheart · 6 years

Photo

#hail caesar!#sailers #burt gurney #channing tatum #the coen brothers #joel coen #ethan coen #roger deakins #dancers #bar

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feilongfan · 6 years

Photo

Channing Tatum and Joel Coen on the set of Hail Caesar!

#Hail Caesar!#Channing Tatum #burt gurney #communist

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scribble-dee-doo · 2 years

Text

“Kisuke, who gave you a child?”

Kisuke looked up from the readouts he was hunched over, but she could see him digging out of the science haze with a couple bleary blinks before he registered her. Then he looked at the child on the gurney, and back at her, and with the self-depracating smile she was hoping Hiyori would eventually beat out of him he said “aha, an experiment?” like he wasn't really sure.

Kisuke smiled at the – probably kid. It squinted back at him for a minute, little baby forehead all wrinkly, and then bared its teeth back. After a second she realized it was a smile attempt, but the fangs and the grimace kind of got in the way.

Kisuke was quick about it, but he still grabbed enough wires to net a hollow and enough gadgets to bludgeon it to death and rigged up a sensor harness and possibly also a bomb. Good enough.

He scooped the kid up in the crook of one elbow and followed her out.

“I dug him out, Hiyori!” she sang as soon as they reached the door and reveled in the sound of Kisuke fumbling something and swearing.

Hiyori greeted them with her usual candor. Yourichi grinned and stepped out of the way as she wound up for her usual kick and then had the pleasure of seeing both Kisuke reeling back and Hiyori stopping in the middle of a jump.

She started laughing at both of them, and then the kid threw out a hand, palm flat, and shot a bolt of red-black power at Hiyori's face.

Everybody paused for a minute.

“Not quite a cero!” Kisuke announced triumphantly while Hiyori pinched at the smoking edges of her hair.

“Where,” Hiyori said, flat, “did you get a child?”

“Experiment!” Kisuke said, still fiddling with his gadgets and screens.

“I'm calling a Shiba.”

“Oh that's a perfect idea, why didn't I think of it? I'm gonna get Kukkaku-chan – Kisuke, bring us booze! No party like a Shiba party!”

“As you say, Yourichi-sama.”

“No! No booze shops with a kid! Shibas first, no parties, this is a very serious situation Urahara put that gauge down immediately and give me the kid!”

#shihouin yoruichi #urahara kisuke #kurosaki ichigo #sarugaki hiyori #bleach #bleach fanfiction #fanfiction #noodle fic #fic snippets #ichigo is the baby!

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asknarashikari · 2 years

Note

ooooh! I love the Tomari is missing Idea XD! Minific Idea: Tomari's colleagues are out for Tomari to be arrested, apparently he's once again wanted for some crime. (It does not help that he apparently went missing days before the crimes were committed)

Genpachi and his squad, alongside Kiriko and Gou, somehow found Tomari, unconscious, shirtless, and tied to a gurney attached to something that has a bag of red liquid above it.

[Bonus points if you include Tomari's reaction that he was somehow wanted for another crime he did not commit after recovering from his kidnapping]

Why do you insist on torturing the Dad Friend

Also, woe be to the one who kidnaps Kiriko's husband

Kiriko impatiently looked up at the clock, worrying her lip as she paced in the hallway, on vaguely aware of the shouting match going on in the room she was outside of. She should've been in there, pleading for her husband's innocence on his behalf, but Honganji had assured that he would take care of it himself, and that she should wait for Gou and Chase to call with news on Shinnosuke's whereabouts.

Everyone and their mother could see that something was afoot when accusations against Shinnosuke surfaced not even an hour after he went MIA. No one in the department believed it, and certainly not the former SIU, or the other Kamen Riders. No less than Himuro Gentoku, a top politician and Kamen Rider Rogue- had vouched for Shinnosuke.

Yet this other detective insisted that Shinnosuke was responsible for the crime he was investigating. Despite all the evidence pointing to Shinnosuke being merely circumstantial, he was strangely insistent on Shinnosuke's guilt.

He even had the nerve to ask other police departments to assist in the investigation. Both Terui Ryu and Daimon Rinko had warned her that if not for the jurisdictional issues that would arise if they did, they would probably had been forced to help.

Kiriko was brought out of her thoughts as her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she scrambled to answer it quickly. "Gou?"

"Nee-chan, we found him, we found Shin-nii-san." Kiriko nearly sobbed in relief. "Chase and I are on the way, and Gen-san's coming to get you."

"Okay. Be careful, Gou." She said as she grabbed her coat and walked to the elevators to go down to the lobby.

"You too, Nee-chan." Gou replied, then hesitated. "Nee-chan... you have your boots on, don't you? Those special ones...?"

"Of course I do." Kiriko practically growled as she walked out of the building. "I wanted to use them on the bastard, to be honest, but... I guess I have to settle for my husband's kidnapper."

Gou laughed awkwardly on the other side of the line. "Uh... okay..."

"Damn right you should." Kiriko said as the Tridoron pulled up in front of her. Genpachi got out of the driver's seat and Kiriko slid in as he got into the passenger's side. "Gen-san's here, Gou. See you in a bit."

~0~

Kiriko arrived at the location not even ten minutes later, along with Genpachi who looked rather dizzy as he got out of the Tridoron.

"Nee-chan, over here!"

Kiriko went to her brother's side. "Are we sure that he's in here?" she asked, looking at the rather ordinary looking warehouse that he and the other Kamen Riders were staking out. She wasn't surprised to see quite a lot of them gathered, ready to retrieve one of their own.

"Pretty sure, Nee-chan. It's quiet now, but there's Foundation X bumbling about." Gou, already transformed into Mach, explained.

"Those guys again..." Kiriko huffed.

"Do you want to take the lead, or-?" Genpachi asked, looking at the other detective with a raised brow.

"No." Gou stared at his sister in surprise. "You Riders do your thing. Gen-san and I will find Shinnosuke. And if you find whoever's responsible..."

"I'll make sure to save you a Rider Kick." Gou agreed. He turned to the other Rider at his side. "Chase..."

"I have informed the others via the group chat," Chase informed. He turned to Kiriko. "We will bring back Shinnosuke safe and sound, Kiriko."

Kiriko nodded. "Alright, let's move out."

Gou and Chase nodded to each other. Gou whistled sharply, and the Riders moved in to surround the warehouse from all sides. Shocker mooks came out to meet them, only to be quickly felled, clearing a path for the four of them to run straight into the warehouse.

The warehouse was mostly dark and empty, except for a small area set up like a hospital room and lit with dim lamps. And, lying unconscious on the medical cot, with a bag of mysterious red liquid hooked up to him was-

"Shinnosuke!" Kiriko all but screamed as she rushed for her husband's side. "Shinnosuke, wake up, it's us..." she said, shaking him to try rousing him.

"Kiriko, I think whatever this stuff is it's keeping him sedated," Genpachi said, gesturing to the IV in Shinnosuke's arm. "We need to get Hojo-sensei in here to check on him-"

Suddenly, a portal opened and someone stepped out of it. Genpachi and Kiriko drew their guns and Chase and Gou raised their own weapons as the person stepped into the light.

"What are you doing in here?!" The detective who'd been dragging Shinnosuke through the mud exclaimed in surprised.

"You!" Kiriko screamed with fury. "So you're one of them, huh..." She asked, eyeing the white Foundation X uniform he wore. "You infiltrated the TMPD, too?" She asked.

He tsked. "We would've, if this pesky one just kept his nose out of our business." The detective sighed. "Oh well. I didn't want to have to kill Detective Tomari, but I guess I have no choice-" he said, raising a Gaia Memory to use.

"Don't you fucking touch my husband, you bastard!" Before he could even activate it, Kiriko shot the Gaia Memory out of his hand. Then in one swift move, she activated her boots, and kicked the perpetrator in the ribs, sending him flying across the room, crashing through the wall for him to land outside.

"Uh... Everything okay in here?" Kamen Rider Zi-O asked, awkwardly peeking in from the hole Kiriko created with her "Rider" Kick. "Was that the guy who...?"

"Uh... yeah... Nee-chan just used her Boots of Doom on him..." Gou replied, and Sougo winced. "Uh, can you get the doc? We're gonna need help with Shin-nii-san..."

#kamen rider drive #shijima kiriko #tomari shinnosuke #otp: your smile is the best #shijima gou #chase #otta genpachi #minific #hxmxbros

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cyhyr · 3 years

Text

KakaIru Maze 2021: Decoding Ancient Lost Languages

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

WC: ~4540

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Mysterious Injuries, Old Gods, Sacrifice, Poisoning, Curses, Hospitalization, Hopeful Ending, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Hair Loss

A/N: *~*Throws Confetti*~* I. DON'T. KNOW. WHAT. I'M. DOING.

I did the barest amount of research for this fic. *~*More Confetti*~*

Read on The Archive

Normally, Iruka would balk at the idea that he should be carried through the front gates after a mission, no matter how gruelling. He has an image to uphold, and what if one of his students were to see him broken and weak after one of his missions? He’d either never hear the end of their worry or, worse, lose their respect as a strong shinobi capable of teaching them.

So no, this situation is far from normal.

He holds on tight around Kotetsu’s shoulders and buries his face in his teammate’s hair. His back is on fire, carved wounds shifting and worsening with each step. Some kind of curse-seal, or a time-released jutsu; whatever happened, Izumo couldn’t use the mystical palm jutsu to heal it, not without causing further excruciating pain and making the wounds ooze and seem to cut themselves deeper into Iruka’s back.

They had cut their losses and abandoned the mission. Iruka’s fūinjutsu was vital to its success anyway, and he was—is—in constant agony.

Thankfully, they enter the village just after nightfall. Iruka can feel a bit relieved over that—most of his current students are home and inside at this time, so the chances of being seen by any of them are slim. He bites his lip to stifle a cry as Kotetsu pushes off a rooftop a bit harder than usual and it shifts him too much.

They’re halfway to the hospital when the ANBU team flank him and Kotetsu, escorting them the rest of the way. One of them, Cat, runs close enough to talk.

“Report.”

Iruka can’t. Kotetsu responds, “An injury that responds poorly to normal medical field ninjutsu.”

“Is he awake?”

Iruka nods, knowing Cat will see.

“Iruka-sensei, can you speak?”

He shakes his head.

Kotetsu says, “He’s been in too much pain to do much more than nod or shake his head.”

“Rokudaime-sama wants you and your other teammate to report directly to him once Iruka-sensei is admitted to the hospital.”

Kotetsu fumbles another step. Iruka grits his teeth and groans, holding back a scream. “Sorry, Ru,” he mumbles. To Cat he says, “Of course, ANBU-san. Izumo’s checking us in at the gate. I’ll collect him and report, once I drop Iruka off.”

Iruka doesn’t remember being admitted. He does remember Sakura’s startled cry as he’s placed face-down on a gurney and his wounds are finally able to be seen in harsh fluorescent lighting for the first time. Gods, he’s tired of being face-down in hospital beds.

Will something, anything, have the wherewithal to fucking strike him in the chest for once, please?

He passes out.

A hand is holding his own gently as he wakes, extremely disoriented and floaty on painkillers. He blinks his eyes open and turns his gaze to the man beside him. Iruka smiles faintly. “K’shi,” he slurs. Oh, they have him on the good drugs.

“You are never leaving the village again,” Kakashi whispers harshly. He bows his head and kisses Iruka’s hand in his own and continues, “Hokage’s orders.”

“I‘ll go rogue,” Iruka mutters, closing his eyes. “What’s in my IV?”

“From what Sakura tells me? Everything.”

“That explains.” Iruka stops, trying to think of the rest of his sentence, but a fresh flood of painkillers just flowed into his arm and he hums instead.

“I heard from Kotetsu and Izumo what happened,” Kakashi continues. “Are you able yet to talk about it as well?”

“Nope.” Iruka nuzzles into his pillow. He’s feeling really floaty and he’d like to go back to sleep.

Kakashi chuckles. Iruka receives a kiss to his hair and a tighter grip on his hand. “Sleep, then, my love. I’ll see if Sakura can get you on something less strong, enough that we can talk soon.”

“‘Kay. Love you.”

He falls back asleep.

When he wakes the second time, there’s a different kind of energy in the room—a different sort of love in the air, and Iruka knows it sounds crazy but he can just tell, even with his eyes still closed, when he’s around Kakashi or if he’s around Naruto.

Now, it’s Naruto.

Also, he can feel the carving in his back, so whatever they’d had him on before they’d lowered the dosage or put him on something else entirely.

“Hey, Naruto,” Iruka says, opening his eyes.

In the chair beside his head, the blond bundle sits, knee twitching. With his bandaged arm crossed over his other and his head bowed in thought, he almost looks like the adult he’s so close to being, instead of the teenager he still is. They argue good-naturedly about it all the time; Naruto insists that he’s an adult, but at eighteen, he’s still technically a teenager and Iruka reminds him of it as much as he can.

“Iru-nii! How are you feeling?”

“Like someone took a carving knife to my back,” Iruka scoffs. “Also, strangely drained.”

Naruto nods. “Sakura-chan said that the new pain medicine has the side-effect of making it feel like you’re chakra-exhausted. But,” he frowns, “she also said that the dose should be strong enough that you wouldn’t be in too much pain when you wake up.”

“It’s bearable, Naruto. You…” He sighs, “You didn’t see me when I came in, did you?”

He shakes his head. “I was out with Kiba and Shikamaru. Kakashi-sensei told me about you this morning, when we got back. You’ve been drifting in and out for, like, three days!”

Iruka buries his face in his pillow and groans. There goes his hope that the carvings won’t scar.

“He says he’ll be by later,” Naruto adds. He shivers comically. “I still don’t see why you’d pick him of all people, Iru-nii.”

Iruka smiles. “You have a different experience with him as his student.” The smile fades and he asks, “Has there been any progress made on fixing my back?”

Naruto sobers. “See, that’s the thing. Every time Sakura tries to get close with some kind of medical ninjutsu—or even with normal healing balms and stitches—the cuts react violently. Like there’s some bad chakra embedded inside them.”

“Has anyone had a Hyūga come and look at it?” Iruka muses. “If there’s chakra in the cuts, then a Hyūga would see it with the Byakugan.”

Naruto jumps up. “You’re a genius! I’ll go and check with Sakura-chan!”

Iruka watches him leave and sighs fondly. Kakashi did well with him, he thinks, and then closes his eyes and drifts.

At least he’s able to move around on his own now. Iruka washes his hands in the bathroom and then braces his palms on the sink. It’s been almost a week, and no one is any closer to figuring out how to fix his back.

Having a Hyūga look at the wounds didn’t help. It nearly blinded Hinata. Iruka still feels horribly guilty about it, but she can still see and activate her Byakugan, so he’s been told multiple times to let it go.

What she had seen made everyone uneasy though. A slimy discharge of chakra oozing from the wounds, bright and powerful enough that Hinata had to close her eyes against it.

Sakura has a small team of medi-nins on his case, researching at all hours. Two days, and they still haven’t found anything.

Iruka’s frustrated.

Kakashi visits every night and Naruto most mornings. It’s nice, but he’d rather be back in class with his kids.

He had to get a blood transfusion last night. His back hasn’t stopped bleeding, and the blood loss finally caught up to him.

Iruka turns his back to the mirror, takes off his shirt gingerly, and looks over his shoulder at the carvings. He frowns—it looks odd. This is the first time he’s gotten to see the wounds, and he can’t imagine no one's noticed…

He leaves the bathroom and hunts around in the stack of drawers by his bed. “Ha!” He finds a pad of paper and a pencil, and heads back into the bathroom.

It’s difficult, transcribing the still bleeding wounds onto paper through a mirror while looking over his shoulder. It’s even harder once the dose of painkillers he’s on fully metabolizes and he’s not yet done. Twisting his upper back, stretching and sitting on the edge of the sink so he can see his lower back—it aches.

A voice comes from the other side of the door, along with a soft knock. “Iruka-sensei? Is everything alright?”

Sakura.

He places the pad and pencil on the counter and slides the door open. “Sakura, has no one realized that the wounds are words?” he asks.

She looks startled. “Huh?”

“Could you please clean them for me again, and check that I’ve transcribed it correctly?” Iruka reaches back inside the bathroom and gives the pad of paper to Sakura. “I’m sure Rokudaime-sama will be interested in this.”

Sakura finally catches up. “Yes! Um, let me get you another dose of painkillers, and a flush kit. If you could sit back down, Sensei? I’ll be right back!”

Iruka just about collapses onto the mattress, leaning his elbows on his knees. Finally, some answers are on the horizon.

“It’s no language the cipher corps recognize, nor is it a code in our archives.” Kakashi has his arms crossed and a shoulder leaning against the window. “But they do agree with your assessment—it’s definitely a message of some kind.”

Iruka sighs, picking at the hospital food. “Validation is nice, but I was hoping for an end to this pain.”

“I know, love. Me too.”

“When can we expect word back from Sasuke?”

“If it is Otsutsuki, Sasuke should arrive as soon as possible, per my order. If not, he likely will only return a messenger hawk with the information.” Kakashi leaves the window and comes to sit on the mattress beside Iruka. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Iruka hums and leans against his partner, resting his head against Kakashi’s collarbone. It’s not comfortable, but it is comforting. “I miss sleeping with you,” he whispers.

Kakashi kisses the top of his head. “I miss you too, love. The house is too quiet without you.”

Iruka stares at the encoded characters transcribed from his back. He’s… discomfited. He’s been staring at the words for almost a half-hour, trying to make sense of it.

It doesn’t change.

Iruka knows this language.

Not… not well enough to read it outright, but enough that with the characters cleaned up and a fresh copy in his hands, one that was written down while the scribe (himself) wasn’t in immense pain, he recognizes it.

“Iru-nii!” Naruto steps in for his morning visit. “How’d you sleep?”

“As best as can be expected,” Iruka mutters. “Naruto, can you do me a favor?”

“Hmm? Sure!”

Thank the gods he still has his moments of dull-headedness. “In the office at home, I have a scroll with the Uzumaki clan seal on it. It’s the only one, middle shelf. I need you to get that scroll for me please.”

“Nii-chan, why do you have an Uzumaki scroll?”

Iruka sighs. “Go get the scroll, and I’ll explain when you get back, okay?”

Naruto leaves through the open window, his footing unsteady. But he leaves and that means that Iruka can breathe and take the time to think of a way to tell him, when he gets back, about how he found out that they are actually distantly related.

Actually, no—how is he supposed to—shit. Iruka drags a hand down his face.

Hey Naruto, oh this old scroll? Found it in the archives after Tsunade-sama left office! It was in a box marked with my parents’ names on it. Yeah, turns out that my father was a refugee from Uzushio, just like your mother! Oh, and funnily enough, Umino is also a branch family of the Uzumaki!

That’s… not going to go over well, is it.

Break a thing for fragments. Break the fragments for dust. Break the dust, and break what remains. Here is fire.

To forge a sword, to fight, to curse your enemies on the eve of battle. This is the story of blood and its exits.

A word that sanctifies the change that comes when the seared skin peels. Words spoken in ritual to inspire an unmerciful Change. To speak them aloud is to hear the sword hiss.

All these things share certain patterns.

“Mercy,” saith the Altar, “is found only in shadow.”

…

Iruka wakes gasping, not realizing that he’d fallen asleep. He pats his lap for the scroll Naruto had brought him, and startles as he realizes that it’s not there. It—It had been there just, just a little while ago, hadn’t it???

“Mercy is found only in shadow,” he mutters to himself, looking around his room. “Mercy is found… There!” The scroll, the one with the Uzumaki clan seal, is rolled up and tucked neatly away on a table on the far end of the room. Iruka gathers his strength and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

He tries to stand.

And fails.

He catches himself on hands and knees, and then feels his elbows weaken and give way. His cheek hits the tile and he hisses. He tries to push up again, but can’t…

Can’t…

…

The Altar holds a spark.

Freol is the mouth, the door, the flame, the altar, and the reward.

Knife and sword shed blood for Freol; what is spilled is hers. Fires burn for Freol; what is consumed is hers.

“Iruka! Iruka, please, wake up!”

“The breath of Freol brings change and endings,” Iruka slurs, barely awake and compelled. He can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t speak anything other than this ancient language. “‘Mercy,’ saith the Altar, ‘is found only in shadow.’ Let those who gather near Freol be blessed and cursed. Mercy is found only in shadow. Mercy—”

“Naruto, tell me Sasuke has gotten back to us.”

“He hasn’t! And-and Kurama has no idea what Iru-nii’s saying, either!”

Kakashi shakes him, taps his cheek. “Iruka, come back, please.”

Iruka tries to say I’m sorry Kakashi but what passes his lips is a murmured, “‘Mercy,’ saith the Altar, ‘is found only in shadow.’”

Sakura stands in front of him solemnly. “We gave him a high enough dose of tranquilizer that he shouldn’t even dream, Kakashi-sensei. My team—”

Kakashi holds up a hand to stop her from speaking. He knows he doesn’t look good, knows he hasn’t been home in over forty-eight hours, but he can’t… he can’t stop. Iruka… “What about the scroll that was in his room?”

“Naruto said Iruka-sensei had him collect it from his home office,” Sakura says. “But no one can read it. We have been able to determine that it’s in the same language as the carvings he transcribed from his back, though.”

Kakashi looks up. “The cavern he and his team had been in—where were they?”

Sakura turns to the map hanging up in his office, and points, “East of here, near a village on the coast. Naruto mentioned—”

“The scroll is from Uzushio,” Kakashi muses, “and it has an Uzumaki clan seal on it. I’ll bet we’ll find more information about all this in the ruins of Uzushio.”

Sakura nods. “But Kakashi-sensei, you can’t—”

“I know.” He sighs. “Take Naruto and go. Find out what’s causing this. Find out how to fix it.”

She nods again and turns to leave.

“Sakura,” he calls out, softer. She stops, but doesn’t turn back to face him. That’s good; he might not be able to say this to her face. “This part comes not from your Hokage, but from me, personally. Please. He’s… Iruka’s everything. Please, find something.”

She gives him a thumbs-up over her shoulder, and says, “We won’t let you down, sensei.”

Kakashi watches from the windows as the nurses check Iruka’s vitals and change out his fluids. She bows to him when she’s done and then turns to leave; Kakashi holds up a palm and says, “Wait.”

“Hokage-sama?”

“How… How is he?”

She smiles softly, gently. “We’re taking good care of him, sir.”

“That’s all Sakura told you to tell me, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”

He sighs. “Thank you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Her smile turns just the tiniest bit mischievous. “A higher budget for the hospital in the next fiscal quarter wouldn’t be remiss, Hokage-sama.”

He waves her away, “I’ll see what I can do,” he says with as much humor as he can muster. She leaves, and he goes to sit in his chair by Iruka’s side.

They had to intubate him today. Kakashi couldn’t get away from the desk long enough to be here for him; not that it mattered, because they were keeping him sedated even before shoving a tube down his throat. But it matters to Kakashi because he can’t…

He can’t do anything.

He’s stuck here, managing the village, while his students are out looking for answers to whatever mysterious illness his partner has fallen to. And all he’s good for is holding Iruka’s hand, and maybe going and lobbying for an increase in the hospital budget.

His hair is limp and matted from long weeks in the hospital. Kakashi runs his fingers through the ends of brunet strands and hopes that, when Iruka wakes up, he’ll let Kakashi wash his hair.

“Please get better,” Kakashi murmurs into the clasp of their hands. “I need you. Please.”

“Sakura-chan.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting real sick of goddesses thinking they can ruin everything, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

Mercy is found only in shadow.

“He needs another blood transfusion.”

“Take mine,” Kakashi offers. “We have the same blood type.”

“Hokage-sama—”

“Just take the damn blood,” Kakashi snaps. “Whatever he needs, please, just. Just do it. Take it.”

The nurses bow. “Yes, sir.”

Footsteps in the hall, rapidly approaching, signal Kakashi to a messenger. He stands up and crosses to the door just as Shikamaru slides it open, panting from his run.

Shikamaru turns to the nurses and says, “He needs a bone marrow transplant.”

The nurse looks at him, startled, and says, “Whyever for?”

“Naruto sent ahead a messenger.” Shikamaru glances at Kakashi and finally catches his breath. “The one word Iruka-sensei had said, Freol? It’s the name of an ancient deity of the Land of Whirlpools, one whose purview is to change its followers. One of the ways it does this, as Sakura describes it, is through a kind of radiation poisoning.”

“But that doesn’t explain the,” Kakashi gestures vaguely, and then ends helplessly, “speaking in tongues.”

“The message said they’ll explain that part when they get home,” Shikamaru says. “Naruto and Sakura are on their way back, arrival is estimated at thirty-one hours.” He turns to the nurse. “Can we perform a transplant?”

She hums thoughtfully. “Normally, I’d say yes. But Iruka-sensei doesn’t have any close blood relatives, and if his own marrow is compromised as you say we can’t assume an autologous transplant will be effective.”

Kakashi’s heart stops. “But—”

“But,” the nurse continues, “we can start him on a treatment regimen which will increase his white blood cell count. We’ll start checking in with frequent blood tests. We can also start on a broad-spectrum heavy metals sequestration; we’ll cover Iodine, thallium, caesium, plutonium, and curium. They’re the most common.”

Kakashi motions to her, and says to Shikamaru, “She’s my favorite.”

“You shouldn’t have favorites, Kakashi-sama.”

He groans. The nurse smiles and says, “I’ll go order those tests and treatments,” and then ducks around Shikamaru and leaves.

Kakashi holds the scroll open on his desk, reading the translation Sakura and Naruto brought back. It’s a puzzle in its own right, but coupled with the Uzumaki scroll Iruka had kept in their office, Kakashi finds himself even more thoroughly confused.

“I understand how you came to the conclusion of radiation,” he says. “But I don’t understand how this is supposed to explain why Iruka began speaking the language. Because that is what happened, isn’t it?”

“That’s where a little bit of Iruka-sensei knowledge comes in handy,” Naruto says. He steps forward and points to a line near the bottom. “‘Many others can open the way. Few can place a seal where there was none before.’ And then I remembered this one, off-hand comment Iruka-sensei had made when we were kids. That the people from Uzushio were really good with fūinjutsu.”

“And that has to do with Iruka?”

“Kakashi-sensei,” Naruto groans, like he’s the genius and Kakashi is being deliberately stupid. “Umino is an Uzushio family! ‘Few can place a seal where there was none before’! I’ve seen him do that, just, poof, barrier seals.”

“Naruto, I know he’s from Uzushio. What does that have to do with his condition?”

“Freol,” Sakura says. “When he and the other chūnin got close to that cave. She recognized him as one of hers and marked him.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the same thing happened to Naruto when we got close.”

Kakashi stands up, vaults over the desk and puts his hands on Naruto’s shoulders. “You’re alright?”

“Kurama beat her up and kept me safe,” Naruto nodded. “But I could hear her. She said something like, ‘the flames will consume, or change, or seal at my whim.’ She was angry.”

Kakashi sighs and drops his hands. “And even Kurama doesn’t recognize this goddess?”

“Actually, once they came into contact, he did recognize her,” Naruto says. “Freol was a protector of the Land of Whirlpools, he says, a creator of soldiers superior to ninja.”

“Superior?”

Sakura interjects, motioning back to the scrolls on his desk. “Right here, see. ‘Hers is the flame which hides in the flesh and the soul and twists both into something new.’ But also, this line, ‘What is left behind is Changed, and may Change others in turn.’”

“Kurama was able to tell us about Uzushio as it once was, back in the warring states,” Naruto continues. “That there would be those who would willingly sacrifice themselves to Freol, for the chance to Change into something more. Something different.”

“A superior soldier,” Kakashi muses. “And this Change. This is what’s happening to Iruka.”

Both of them nodded. “That’s what we think.”

“How do we stop it?”

“That’s the thing,” Sakura’s face falls. “I don’t think there’s a way to stop the process once it starts. Freol marks those she wishes to undergo the Change, and then… Well, all of the writings we managed to find say that the sacrifices either come out stronger, or their families seal their bodies into stasis, or—”

She stops, choking on tears she fights back with every bit of training she’d gone through.

“Or they die,” Kakashi finishes in a soft, defeated voice.

All three of them stand silent in the office for a long time.

Kakashi finds himself sleeping in Iruka’s hospital room most nights. The treatment is hell on his partner’s body—the windows are covered with heavy curtains now, to keep out the sunlight which could very easily burn his skin on the medication; hair which was once limp and matted is now starting to fall out every time Kakashi pulls a brush through it; his lips are chapped and broken around the tube, his skin dry and thin everywhere else. The nurses had to change his IV from his arm to the back of his hand today, because the veins in his arm are becoming too thin to support the needle.

He’s dying.

Iruka’s dying, and all Kakashi can do is hold his hand and watch.

And, gods, the last thing they said to each other… Iruka was speaking a different language and Kakashi was begging him to wake up.

Will he really have to watch Iruka die, knowing that he’ll never get to hear I love you from those lips again?

Kakashi buries his face in his arms, carefully arranged over Iruka’s thigh. He used to have such thick, muscular thighs; it’s barely skin and bone now.

Alone, with only his dying partner to hear—or not—Kakashi lets himself cry.

“I’m going to try something.”

“Naruto, please—”

“No. Kakashi-sensei, Iru-nii is strong. And Freol won’t pursue him if he goes through the Change, right?”

“There’s no guarantee of that.”

“He’ll be stronger, just like the other sacrifices who survived. Kakashi-sensei, all Iru-nii needs to do is survive.”

“The Change—”

“We’ll deal with it when we’re on the other side of this!”

Naruto places his hands on Iruka, and the Nine-Tail’s Cloak bubbles up around him.

The monitors, registering Iruka’s nervous system, don’t react. He’s in no further pain.

Kakashi feels the tiniest bit lighter. “I hope this works, Naruto.”

“It was Kurama’s idea,” the teen grins. “He remembered that normal healing jutsu wasn’t working before; but he was able to beat back Freol himself when she came after me. So letting Iru-nii use Kurama’s chakra as a kind of life support—it should keep Freol from making this worse at least, right? While he gets better?”

It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t work.

But it does.

Almost a week later, the nurses are removing the tubes from his throat, and Kakashi is pacing the room waiting for the tranquilizers to wear off. Iruka should wake up any minute now. Naruto’s plan worked. Iruka made it through, and his most recent blood test showed no abnormalities due to radiation. They stopped the heavy metal sequestration yesterday, but the white blood cell proteins will continue for a few days still, to help prevent further infection.

They still don’t know what kind of change Iruka’s undergone. At least, other than the physical.

His hair is gone. Sakura has assured Kakashi that it will grow back. It’s so odd, though, seeing his partner without hair. They’ve put a cap on his head to keep him warm—his body temperature has been fluctuating oddly the last day and a half, and in particular today he’s running cold.

Also, his scent has changed. He hasn’t told anyone about it yet, but Iruka smells different. Less like old parchment and a swift river, and more like… like a waterfall and the deep, loamy scent of rich, black earth. It’s not a bad change. But it’s significant. He’s already taken an overnight to summon the pack and have his ninken memorize Iruka’s new scent, just in case it’s permanent.

“K’shi?”

He’s across the room in a flash, holding Iruka’s limp hand and holding back tears.

“I thought—”

“My K’shi,” Iruka slurs, turning his head to face him and closing his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

The tears fall anyway. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Iruka hums. “L’ve you.”

He’s still on a considerable amount of pain medication, Kakashi realizes. He laughs wetly, leans forward and kisses Iruka’s forehead. “I love you, too. Rest, dear.”

“M’kay.”

And just like that, he is breathing slow and steady, his eyes close gently, and he is sleeping peacefully for the first time in months. Kakashi falls back into his chair with a huff and tips his head to the ceiling, still holding Iruka’s hand, and also, finally, finding an easy sleep.

#kakairu maze challenge 2021 #decoding ancient lost languages #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #KakaIru #my writing

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imkeepinit · 3 years

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♫ But we have to disagree ‘cause the only guarantee Is I’ll see a lot of you and you’ll see a lot of me And it’s absolutely certain that we’ll see a lot of seas

But we ain’t gonna see no dames! ♫

Burt Gurney (Channing Tatum) and his co-stars are filming a scene set in the Swingin' Dinghy bar. Though the song is titled We Ain’t Gonna See No Dames, the lyrics and the dance routine are ambiguously homo-erotic -- bold stuff for a movie being filmed in 1951. The unnamed Capitol Pictures film was actually in the 2016 Coen Brothers comedy Hail, Caesar! which was distributed by Universal Pictures.

#gif #Channing Tatum #Hail Caesar!#Universal Pictures #2016 movies

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

Text

young god | chapter 13

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 3.5k

warnings: foul language, implied sexual assault, mentions of trauma and mental illness

description: Yang Jeongin, the only living witness of the Miroh Heights Murders, is finally awake, casting a new shadow of possibilities onto the entire investigation. Han Jisung knows deep down there’s only one place left to go, and takes his chances with a familiar blond detective -- but they find that where chances are given, lives may be taken away.

watch the trailer here!

13| give and take.

They say when you have a close brush with death, you see your life flash before your eyes.

Jeongin supposed there was some truth to that. One moment he had been squinting at the golden-haired boy in the darkness; the next he had found himself collapsed against the forest floor. The sky had spun above him like a broken kaleidoscope, until the unbearably hot throbbing in his head had finally forced his eyes shut. He had felt the strength seeping from his limbs, like blood being drained from livestock, and had let the numbness wash over him like an icy tidal wave.

That was when Jeongin’s life had flashed behind his closed eyelids — choppy flashes of memories and people’s voices, warped and dizzying.

“Life in prison?” Jeongin’s own voice sounded tinny in his ears, and his father gave him a sad smile on the other side of the plexiglass. “B-but all you did was—”

“A man lost his life because of me,” his father spoke slowly, eyes steady on Jeongin’s distraught face. Slow, steady, careful. Kind. That was how Jeongin had always known his father — a gentle man who wouldn’t hurt a fly — yet now he was sitting across from him in an inmate’s uniform, handcuffs locked tight around his wrists.

“But he—he hurt Mum first,” Jeongin whispered, barely able to push the words out of his throat. “He—you said he—”

“He did.” His father’s face had darkened, his normally soft jaw clenched. “I...lost it, and what happened to him was what that bastard deserved — but nothing changes the fact that I...killed him.” He let out a deep, weary sigh, and Jeongin was suddenly struck by how much older his father looked. “He got his punishment for his sins one way, and now I’m paying for mine. It’s as simple as that, my boy.”

The buzzer sounded and the door behind him clicked open, a stone-faced officer stepping into the room as his father stood. “Take good care of your mother, would you?”

“Dad, if—” Jeongin’s shaking voice made his father turn back around. The question was odd, but it had been burning at the back of his mind since the beginning of the visit. “If you—had the chance to go back. Would you still have...done it?”

Silence fell between father and son like a curtain. His father inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrows before meeting his son’s eyes again. “I don’t doubt it,” he finally replied, voice soft. “What could I do? It was for someone I loved.”

From then on, Jeongin’s mother had spent the better years of her life working whatever job she could find, and the two of them lived off minimum wage and money sent by estranged relatives — until the poor woman had finally fallen ill. No one would hire a sickly old woman — especially not one that had been involved in a sexual assault case, all those years ago.

That was why Jeongin worked with four different delivery companies at a time; that was what he could never bring himself to tell Hyunjin or you. Work four jobs, graduate, and make proper money to pay his mother’s hospital bills, to dig himself out of the poverty he’d known his entire life. Yang Jeongin’s one-way, masterplan. Until…

The coma.

He had become almost comfortably numb, like a body submerged in the middle of a pond — yet occasionally, something would pull him above the surface, even if just for a brief moment. A voice, a pressure, a light. It was almost always Hyunjin, the soft-hearted barista talking to him about his day as if Jeongin had simply sat down to chat in Glow Cafe, not rendered immobile and unresponsive by a concussion. Sometimes, though, the older boy would be crying, silent sobs shaking his lean frame until he was so exhausted he’d fall asleep by Jeongin’s side. And Jeongin wanted nothing more than to reach out to reassure him, to pull his friend into a hug, but he couldn’t will his body to move no matter how hard he tried.

Until now.

An incessant high-pitched beeping was growing louder and louder, the tips of his fingers prickling. Jeongin’s heartbeat surged into his temples, pounding against his eardrums like fists demanding entry. The darkness behind his eyelids was shifting, pinpricks of light poking their way in — and like a breath of air had been knocked straight into his lungs, Jeongin felt his entire body lurch forward and his eyes shot open.

For several seconds he could only take deep, gasping breaths, obsessed with just the feeling of it all, vaguely registering the inhaler pressed against his mouth. His eyes were still adjusting, flashes of white light and black stars painting his blurry vision. There were shouts from all around him, a deep rumbling as everything seemed to shake.

It was as if the entire sky was falling above him, he thought vaguely.

He blinked, hard, and his vision finally focused, the incongruous voices and sounds growing clearer. The incessant beeping had been the heart monitor by his cot, keeping in time with his gasping breathing. And the yelling was coming from none other than Hwang Hyunjin, whose dark hazel eyes were wide with disbelief and already brimming with tears of shock.

“J-Jeongin? He’s — he’s awake,” the taller boy nearly tripped getting to his feet, yanking aside the curtains and disappearing from Jeongin’s sight. “He’s awake!”

Jeongin winced, a throbbing pressure beginning to press at his skull. His fingers twitched twice and he flexed them gingerly. Suddenly remembering, his hands weakly scrabbled for his pockets, desperately feeling for a familiar metal box but coming back empty.

His Walkman was gone.

The deep rumbling passed by him again and he realised it was the sound of carts full of medical equipment speeding across the halls — like there had been yet another emergency. Jeongin could only make out some of what the hospital staff were saying as they rushed past.

“Stab wound to the chest...brought her in...no sight of him.”

Jagged fragments of his memory were coming back to him, the empty feeling in his chest beginning to fill with a sinking sense of dread. The strange boy. A dismembered corpse.

What on earth happened while I was out?

━━━━━━━━

Run.

Jisung’s feet slammed into the pavement, puddles splashing cold rainwater onto his bloodstained jeans.

“He’s a runner, that’s what he is.”

His chest was burning, ribs feeling as if they were closing in on his lungs. He could still feel your warm body pressed against his, widened eyes fluttering shut as he could only watch in horror. With strength Jisung didn’t know he had left, he had carried you in his arms and bolted into the alley just as the police had turned into the diner’s back lot. The hospital was only a block away. He had burst into the lobby, nearly collapsing as he shouted for someone, anyone to help — and nearby, stunned doctors had loaded you onto an empty gurney before whisking you into the emergency room. Once they returned, Jisung was long gone.

“You ran away from her, too, yeah?”

The gang’s taunting voices echoed in his head, the sky rumbling above him — just like how his father’s voice had always rumbled, shaking the thin walls of his childhood home. And now, Jisung was ten years old all over again, clutching his camcorder in his bloodstained hands.

There had been a fine layer of dust coating the dented metal when Jisung had seized it from his dorm closet. Just touching the metal made his hands slippery with cold sweat, but he forced himself to grip it harder, counting the memory cards before he took off. Running, one last time.

“Try running now, Han.”

He wasn’t running away.

If he wanted to reverse the horrible things he’d done, there was only one place left to go.

“Han Jisung, always running away.”

“Not this time,” Jisung breathed through gritted teeth, almost welcoming the way the falling rain burned at his eyes and nostrils. “Not anymore.”

━━━━━━━━

Bang Chan didn’t realize how long he had been pacing the room until his feet began to ache in protest.

The detective hadn’t left the police precinct since Woojin had called him over, the pair pulling out files and chasing leads from dawn till dusk. Kim Seungmin had popped in for several hours before he had been called back to the law office. The moon had come and gone, until telltale sirens sounded not long after noon, and Woojin was called onto the scene of yet another emergency.

Another hour or so had passed since then, and Chan was replaying the same conversation with the police chief over and over in his head.

“I didn’t want to believe it, Chan, but from the beginning I had this—this feeling—”

“A hunch,” Chan finished, and when the police chief looked hesitant, Chan continued, “is almost always based on something more concrete, whether you know it or not. Something familiar, or strange. We’ve hit all the dead ends; a hunch is one of the better things we can hope for right now.”

Woojin exhaled, then spoke slowly. “The victims’ backgrounds, how they’ve all had pasts connected to abuse, or adultery. Not to mention the modus operandi that stood out the most — you remember the fire, and numerous counts of brute force.”

“I thought something was familiar, too,” Seungmin had interjected, his brow furrowing. “I studied this...case back in law school — a shotgun marriage, their young son growing up in an abusive household, until one day —”

“The house went up in flames,” Woojin finished, nodding. “It’s the same case, the most infamous amongst domestic abuse cases in Miroh Heights. The names were withheld for privacy reasons. Though the case was closed over a decade ago...the accuracy of the final verdict, and the true events that transpired that night, are still unknown.”

“Victims of cold cases often reappear as suspicious persons,” Chan muttered. “It’s a reach, but if you look at the similarities...”

“We’ve been blindsided this entire time,” Seungmin said slowly, his fingers raking through his hair. “Not a substance abuser, quite possibly not a cold-blooded killer.” He looked up at Woojin, whose brow was furrowed in deep thought. “So if your hunch is correct, then—”

“This is the aftereffect of a cold domestic violence case from over a decade ago,” the young police chief said firmly, eyes flickering up to Chan. “And we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

Something had been pricking at the back of the detective’s head since Woojin had begun talking — no, far before he had even arrived at the police station. Chan had always been known for having a quick mind; it was one of the things that separated him from other, more mediocre detectives in his field — but this time, something was blocking him from reaching the final conclusion. He didn’t lack evidence; there were no flaws in his logic. It was the horrible feeling of familiarity that made him choke, that forced him to hesitate. Because he knew this case, he had seen it before.

“And it’s not a reach, Detective,” Woojin continued, voice gentle but eyes firm. “Because I believe you know the story yourself.”

Seungmin turned towards Chan, eyes questioning. The detective shook his empty coffee cup in his hands, eyes skirting over the countless case files and papers they had been sifting through for hours.

“The perpetrator is—”

A blond boy burst into the dimly lit room, breathing so hard Chan thought he was about to have a stroke. It didn’t take longer than a second for the detective to recognise him.

“Han Jisung,” Chan finished the flashback aloud, the name hanging in the tense air. His eyes scanned the shaking boy from head to toe, a cold feeling running down his spine. He wasn’t even trying to hide the blood soaking his clothes and skin, Chan thought numbly. This was his friend, someone he’d always looked at like a little brother—but he had seen, solved too many of these cases not to recognise the stricken look on Jisung’s pale face.

This was the shell of a man who had just lost everything.

“What brings you here?” Chan asked, watching him carefully. The same tousled golden hair, he noted, pushing down a pang in his chest; the same boyish round cheeks, although there was a smattering of bruises and cuts across them now.

“You told me I—I could talk to you or Woojin. Anytime.” Jisung’s voice faltered, wiping at his face as if to clear away some of the muck, but the dried blood on his palms only smeared more across his jaw. He looked like a lost dog, a stray that had turned up on the nearest warm doorstep and was watching him with almost apologetic, apprehensive eyes.

Chan set down his notebook, nodding slowly. “That I did,” he finally replied, glancing back up at the younger boy before pulling out two chairs. “Woojin got called to a scene, though. You okay if I listen for now?”

Jisung felt a flood of indescribable emotions wash over him. The same twist in his gut he had felt back at the 3rd Eye, when the Chan had pulled him close and asked if he was okay.

I’ll listen.

That was more than anyone had ever offered him since the incident thirteen years ago. The therapists, the police, the social workers — all they had ever wanted was for him to listen to them, to heed their advice and bury his past behind him.

Other than you, of course. The memory of your fading eyes burning into his own shook him back to the present.

“I think you know, Chan,” Jisung said softly, marking the way the detective was warily scanning the blood covering him from head to toe; the dishevelled look Jisung must have had on his face.

“I have a hunch,” was the detective’s reply. He sounded as if he were repeating someone else’s words, but his voice was steady as it had ever been. “But you’re going to need to help me on this one, kiddo.”

Jisung met the older boy’s eyes — Chan’s always tired but unfailingly kind eyes, always willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that was what made him such a meticulous detective, respected by criminals and citizens alike — never jumping to conclusions, always seeing a problem out till the end. The detective’s gaze dropped to the silver camcorder in Jisung’s hands.

“You used to carry that around everywhere you went, I remember. Never showed anyone what you’d film, though.”

“Do you have...anything that can play memory cards?” Jisung swallowed a painful lump in his throat. “I need to—show you. Now.”

Wordlessly, Chan moved his laptop over on the table, and made the younger boy take a seat next to him.

Jisung had always thought his past was something to be kept buried — below the ashes of his childhood home, or six feet under his mother’s grave, or bottled deep within his chest. That no one would ever truly know — would want to know — what had happened that day, let alone what had been happening for the years leading up to that day. And yet, for the second time in two days, he was sat next to someone who, to his surprise, didn’t make him want to run. Someone he was willing to take the risk of revealing the darkest parts of himself with.

For the next hour, Chan watched the footage in silence, from the very first Christmas to the day Jisung’s father’s mistress had pressed burning cigarettes into his bare skin. From the fateful day their entire home was brought to the ground with alcohol and fire at the hands of a ten year old boy, and to the choppy records from the years that followed. Jisung had taped his encounters with the incompetent officers and dismissive social workers at the police station, and the mandatory therapy sessions they had subjected him to. He had taped the kidnapping, and his years at the children’s home with Minho.

He had not taped any of the killings.

Chan sat through it all, reliving Jisung’s nightmares the way the younger boy had every night for the past thirteen years, an ugly childhood told through the fisheye lens of an old camcorder. By the time the last tape had finished, the detective had not moved, but Jisung knew him well enough to catch the tension in his jaw, the shaken look in his normally bright eyes.

“You were the cold case,” Chan finally said, a long exhale leaving his now-dry lips. “From thirteen years ago. The one they couldn’t solve, and swept under the rug.”

Jisung didn’t respond, too busy forcing every inch of his body to remain still — to not stand and sprint out of the room, out of the police station he had been avoiding his entire life.

“Why are you telling me this?” The detective asked, turning his body to face the younger boy.

“Because I—I killed—all those people,” Jisung wove his hand towards the files Chan had splayed onto the desk, the headshots of victims lying at the very top. The words were heavier than weights in his mouth, and and the truth of it all tasted more bitter than poison. “And then I—I couldn’t stop. I sound insane, I know I do. I know I p-probably am. They were—flashes at first. Triggers, seizures that went too far. And soon it became like--like an impulse, until I started blacking out completely—” Jisung’s breathing caught up to him and he choked, but he managed to force the last words out. “And today, I...hurt...y/n.” He saw the alarm flash across Chan’s eyes. “The last person who made me hope...made me want to hope that life was worth living, after all.”

He sounded insane.

He sounded like a serial killer trying to make excuses for something inexcusable.

He sounded like a monster.

“You sound like you’ve been through a lot.” Chan’s voice made Jisung look up from his shoes. The soft look in his eyes was back, and though a bit of the blood had drained from his face, the warmth in his voice had never left. “Thank you. For telling me.”

That was the final blow.

“S-stop. Don’t—say that,” Jisung could feel his voice breaking, the tears burning at his throat. “Chan, you have to turn me in, make them give me the death penalty, I-I—”

“Han Jisung.” The detective’s voice was stern, his normally gentle eyes narrowed. “You turned yourself in. The case from thirteen years ago needs to be reopened, and all the factors reinvestigated to be fairly taken into account. You do not deserve the death penalty.”

Jisung was shaking his head numbly, lips unable to form protests as the detective continued, a blazing look in his eyes Jisung had never seen before. “You’re not gonna be a martyr now, you hear? Han Jisung, you’ve been hurt by everyone else your whole damn life. I’m not about to let you hurt yourself.”

There it was again. That feeling of unfamiliar warmth aching deep in his chest, like an old bruise being pressed into. Before Jisung could speak, a slow, sarcastic clapping echoing through the room made both of them raise their heads and turn in alarm.

Prosecutor Kang pushed the door aside, eyebrows raised in amusement and mock sympathy.

“What are—you can’t—” Chan leapt up from his seat, but Kang only looked more amused as he looked over his shoulder at the open doorway, where a huddle of prosecutors and police officers alike were gathered with expressions of horror. Seungmin was among them, his face white.

“You all heard him, didn’t you? Detain the murderer.” Kang smiled triumphantly as the officers surrounded Jisung, seizing his arms so roughly he felt like they were being pulled from their sockets.

Chan looked livid, eyes darting wildly between the officers and Prosecutor Kang. “Let him go. Keep him in the precinct until Woojin comes back, Kang,” he protested, but the older prosecutor only sneered.

“Detective Bang, aren’t you overstepping your boundaries? Wait for Kim Woojin? Don’t forget—” Kang took a step closer to Chan, eyes narrowing. “Personal relations with the perpetrator cannot participate in the investigation.”

Chan felt his gut twist, scanning the whitened expressions on the surrounding staff’s faces. How much had they seen, overheard? Kang watched the detective’s eyes flicker momentarily, and laughed.

“Besides,” he continued, “I’d say it’s time the prosecution did its part.” He shot a meaningful glance at Seungmin, who had been glaring between Jisung, Chan, and Kang with his fists clenched. Kang clicked his tongue, sighing. “Kim Seungmin, Kim Seungmin — I can’t believe I have to do your dirty work.”

Chan’s mind was reeling, all options coming back blank. This was the District 9 Precinct, and as a homicidal detective, he had no power over Woojin’s men. In fact, after what Kang had said, Chan wasn’t even sure if Woojin had power over Woojin’s men anymore. You fucked up, Bang. You fucked up bad.

Chan risked a glance at Jisung’s face and immediately regretted it. What he saw had no traces of anger, no more hate, no signs of struggle. His eyes were wide and dark, as if the boy had shut down completely. Kang scoffed at the detective’s sudden silence, turning on his heel and motioning towards the officers.

Chan could only watch helplessly as Jisung was dragged out of the room like a limp doll, his once-rounded cheeks still shining with blood and fresh tears.

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