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06 June 2014 @ 08:11 pm

So I've found a list of prompts online, and I figure, the only way to try to jumpstart myself back into writing, is with a prompt or more a day, until I catch myself. I'm not working for the holidays (even if I could do with the darn money) since I want to work on myself and figure out what I want in life and well, exercising.

The Original List

1. Introduction
2. Complicated
3. Making History (TBW)
4. Rivalry
5. Unbreakable
6. Obsession
7. Eternity
8. Gateway
9. Death
10. Opportunities
11. 33%
12. Dead Wrong
13. Running Away
14. Judgment
15. Seeking Solace (TBW)
16. Excuses
17. Vengeance
18. Love
19. Tears
20. My Inspiration
21. Never Again
22. Online
23. Failure
24. Rebirth
25. Breaking Away
26. Forever and a day
27. Lost and Found
28. Light
29. Dark
30. Faith
31. Colors
32. Exploration
33. Seeing Red
34. Shades of Grey
35. Forgotten
36. Dreamer
37. Mist
38. Burning
39. Out of Time
40. Knowing How
41. Fork in the road
42. Start
43. Nature’s Fury
44. At Peace
45. Heart Song
46. Reflection
47. Perfection
48. Everyday Magic
49. Umbrella
50. Party
51. Troubling Thoughts
52. Stirring of the Wind
53. Future
54. Health and Healing
55. Separation
56. Everything For You
57. Slow Down
58. Heartfelt Apology
59. Challenged
60. Exhaustion
61. Accuracy
62. Irregular Orbit
63. Cold Embrace
64. Frost
65. A Moment in Time
66. Dangerous Territory
67. Boundaries
68. Unsettling Revelations
69. Shattered
70. Bitter Silence
71. The True You
72. Pretense
73. Patience
74. Midnight
75. Shadows
76. Summer Haze
77. Memories
78. Change in the Weather
79. Illogical
80. Only Human
81. A Place to Belong
82. Advantage
83. Breakfast
84. Echoes
85. Falling
86. Picking up the Pieces (TBW)
87. Gunshot
88. Possession
89. Twilight
90. Nowhere and Nothing
91. Answers
92. Innocence
93. Simplicity
94. Reality
95. Acceptance
96. Lesson
97. Enthusiasm
98. Game
99. Friendship
100. Endings

Find your key emotion; this may be all you need to know to find your short story. ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Emotions List
1. Birth
2. Enthusiasm
3. Love
4. Hate
5. Triumph
6. Feel
7. Wrecked
8. Soft
9. Cold
10. Without
11. Inspiration
12. You
13. Confused
14. Affection
15. Joy
16. Horror
17. Acceptance
18. Sympathy
19. Holding (TBW)
20. Defeated
21. Pride
22. Knife
23. Overwhelmed
24. Depressed
25. Adoration
26. Worship
27. Zeal
28. Light
29. Exhaustion
30. Obsession
31. Rage
32. Empty
33. Anger
34. Fury
35. Delight
36. Submission
37. Infatuation
38. Anticipation
39. Pessimistic
40. Jolly
41. Grasping
42. Agitation
43. Calm
44. Astonished
45. Loneliness
46. Lust
47. Longing
48. Tender
49. Hard
50. Rebirth
51. Amused
52. Broken
53. Abused
54. Tranquil
55. Composed
56. Glad
57. Stress
58. Serenity
59. Colorful
60. Coping
61. Boisterous
62. Placid
63. Tired
64. Bliss
65. Neglect
66. Fine
67. Question
68. Energetic
69. Noble
70. Disgust
71. Lively
72. Power
73. Pity
74. Humiliation
75. Satisfied
76. Thankful
77. Hyper
78. Goosebumps
79. Worthless
80. Remorse
81. Degraded
82. Revenge
83. Fulfilled
84. Shame
85. Graceful
86. Shining
87. Content
88. Feelings
89. Pleased
90. Relief
91. I
92. Zest
93. Tears
94. Building
95. Optimistic
96. Thrilled
97. Dealing
98. Reflect
99. Embarrassment
100. Death

29 November 2030 @ 12:06 am

Name: Kimmy-chan
Age: 24
Nationality: Trinidadian


I love coffee and green tea, and salted caramel chocolate.
I spend too much time doing nothing, reading fanfiction, watching tv series, dramas, anime, and somehow within all that manage to study medicine.
My purpose, I'm not sure, but I do know that I want to become a writer.
Favourite Anime/Manga: Death Note | Code Geass | Yu yu Hakusho | Saint Seiya | GunxSword | Mirai Nikki | Bleach | Samurai X | Naruto | Beezelbub | Trigun | Samurai Champloo | Sekai-itchi Hatsukoi | Reborn | Bus Gamer | Sakura Card Captors | X | Coyboy Bepop | Durarara | Dragon Ball Z | D.Gray Man | Kuroshitsuji | Gundam Wing/AC | Trinity Blood | Digimon | Getbackers | Beyblade | Yugioh | Medabots | Duel Masters | Pokemon | S-cry-ed | Kyo Kara Maoh | Hikaru no Go | Saiyuki | Guilty Crown | Gintama | Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood | Prince of Tennis | Kaichou wo Maid-sama | Koisuru Boukun | Romantist Egoist | Border | Love Stage | Loveless | Godchild | Count Cain | Sunao Ja Nai Kedo | Noblesse | Eden no Ori | Dolls | Adekan | Border | Madness | Heaven's Love | Brave 10 | Zetsuen no Tempest | Hunter x Hunter | Ao no Exorcist | Shingeki no Kyojin |

  ~   ) \\\\\ o ///// (  ~

Harry/Draco (OTP of OTPs)
29 December 2016 @ 10:39 pm
Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Summary: Jaejoong is the leader of the widespread syndicate that runs underground Asia, and Yunho is his top agent and right hand man whose skills and composure are terrifying. The Korean Syndicate is under heat from the American company's invasion, and Jaejoong has his hands full, with protecting his people, and trying to control Yunho, the man that cannot be controlled.

~ Illogical ~

Some twenty years ago

“I can’t believe that you made me skip school for ice-cream,” said Jaejoong, tossing his backpack onto the table. Yunho apparently didn’t care that they were recognizable as students, even with uniform jackets stuffed in his bag. Yunho didn’t always bring his new leather bag to school. He came to school wearing his uniform and his company watch, and his wallet and phone. He kept a hardcover notebook and pencil case stuffed under his desk. Jaejoong couldn’t understand how it hadn’t gone missing as yet.

“It’s ice-cream,” Yunho replied, leaving after Jaejoong sat to go to the counter. Jaejoong watched as he chatted up a young woman, and from her broad smiles and Yunho’s small ones they knew each other. Yunho was probably a regular here.

It was more than half a year now that Jaejoong started hanging around Yunho (or Yunho started hanging around him and would not leave him alone). Yunho was odd. Not the bad kind of odd but neither was it the good kind. Yunho didn’t purposely ignore the other students in their class. It was like he didn’t see them.

He knew all about his work at the car shop and that he was learning to fight. That he lived with his uncle and that his parents were dead. Yunho didn’t know about the Syndicate, or that he was part of it. Forced to become a part of it.

“I know you like chocolate, so I ordered you a chocolate sundae,” Yunho told him as he took his seat. The table was varnished hardwood and the chairs carved out of the same-varnished wood.

“What did you order for yourself?”

“Salted caramel,” Yunho grinned. “It’s not a favourite to many.”

Jaejoong looked down at his hands. He didn’t have the well cared hands that Yunho did. Underneath his nails were black with grease no matter how many times he scrubbed them. His uncle wanted him to stop working at the mechanics shop, but Jaejoong was stubborn to keep it. Working with engines and grease made him forget. And it was becoming easier to forget that he was now a criminal.

Youngwha had him learning how to fight from one of the gang members, a solid man more than six feet, with muscles that Jaejoong felt every time he got his ass handed to him. He had a punching bag strung up in the living room, and he was practicing every evening, after working at the café and shooting at the gun range with his uncle.

It was fear driving him. Fear of death. Fear of going to jail. Fear of being eaten alive by gang men and criminals who were accustomed to this life. He hadn’t been exposed to the darkness of it yet, only seeing what his uncle allowed him to see. The café was relatively safe. There were spats and fights between members, and sometimes he saw the scuffles when he went on errands with his uncle. And there was three weeks ago, when he had seen his uncle shoot a man, right through his forehead. Jaejoong had gone home and attacked the punching bag without gloves.

“Your ice cream.”

“Thank you, Luna,” said Yunho.

“Just don’t make this a habit. Your mother will kill me if she finds out that I’m condoning this.”

Yunho’s smile was thin, dipping his small silver spoon into the glass bowl of ice cream. Jaejoong’s was topped with whipped cream and syrup. There were a few berries to the corner, and he ate the fruit first, looking over at Yunho whose interest was to his ice cream.

“What do you do when you finish school? I always wondered that.”

“I have tutors that come to my home,” Yunho answered, eating the thick stream of sticky caramel. “Different languages. Business. Fighting. And I help out at the company.”

“You’re learning how to fight?” Jaejoong asked, looking up from his ice cream.

“It’s boring. The trainers are afraid to teach me properly. They fear my father. They fear hurting me. That isn’t the way to be taught how to fight.”

“No it isn’t,” Jaejoong agreed.

“Why are you learning to fight?”

“Because I want to be able to protect myself.” It was the truth. He had to be able to protect himself from the other Syndicate members. From other gang members.

“You do need protecting,” stated Yunho dryly.

Jaejoong nearly cursed him, but he held back, and ate his ice cream. Yunho was right. The way he was now, he did need protecting. He was at the dregs of the Syndicate, only elevated through the shit pile because of his uncle. He was only there because of his uncle.

He still wanted to cry and curse because he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be stuck with his uncle as his provider, a man that was the right hand man to a crime lord. He could have run away. But that was before he killed a man. Before other gangs knew his face. His connection to Youngwha.

He thought through all of his options. And staying was the only way he could live. He hated it, but he had no other available options that could keep him alive.

And he wanted to live. For his father. For himself.

“Have you ever fucked before?”

Jaejoong stuck his spoon inside the bowl, startled by Yunho’s question.

“No. Have you?”


“But you want to?” Jaejoong asked, “I mean, since you brought it up.”

“I do. It’s a form of human pleasure. I want to find out what’s so pleasurable about it.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re fucking weird?”

Yunho stared at him with disinterest.


Jaejoong was stuck washing wares. His fingers and palm were wrinkly from water and soap, and he may have passed his wet hands through his hair too many times from heat and exhaustion that his hair was probably wet too. He was on wares duty instead of waiter duty because one of the main workers had the flu, and he was the youngest, the most inexperienced.

They had told him he would have had the chance to make coffee. The manager had told him that. But the manager was there once a month, and the other men liked to treat him exactly as he was, a kid without status.

There were some members that knew he was Youngwha’s nephew. The inner circle of the Syndicate knew because they had to. The other members, the ones that did the dog work and ran the low level businesses, knew him because he was new. And a kid. The Syndicate only took kids in under special circumstances, and those special circumstances occurred almost never.

“The shop’s closing up. Sweep the front up when you’re done.”

Seungjoon was the only one in the shop that spoke in proper Korean. And didn’t treat him like shit. He didn’t stick up for him, but he gave Jaejoong free coffee and dessert and Jaejoong was grateful for it.

He wiped his hands with a murky looking cloth, and grabbed the broom from the narrow cupboard that held the cleaning supplies.

“Lock up tonight,” said Seungjoon, tossing him the keys. Jaejoong fumbled to catch it.


A couple days later he was working the cashier. Seungjoon was the acting manager for the manager that was never around. And after hours of wares duty he was back out in front, fingers dry and handling money instead of soapy cups and plates.

“Blended caramel coffee please.”

Jaejoong took the bills and gave the change, passing on the little chit to the man working the machines. It was how his afternoon went by, nodding to customers and smiling if he had to, ignoring the jabs on his age. It slowed down by evening, and Jaejoong was on his phone, manning the empty counter.

“You work here.”

Jaejoong turned off his screen, and stared over at Yunho. Outside was dark, and Yunho was a long way from where Jaejoong knew his father’s business was situated. And his house.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Americano,” Yunho told him. Yunho’s face was blank, and Jaejoong hated that it was. They were something like friends, and he wanted more from Yunho than forced expressions and blank looks.

“Why are you in this neighbourhood? You don’t live anywhere near here.”

“Neither do you,” replied Yunho, leaning lazily on the counter as he handed him the money.

“Only place that’ll hire me at this age.”

Jaejoong knew that Yunho knew it was a lie.

“I’m taking a walk. I’m bored.”

“Rich people have the luxury of boredom,” Jaejoong muttered to him. He was cared for well enough, under his uncle. Now that his uncle’s profession was known to him, he understood just how much money Youngwha possessed, filthy money stacked up in offshore accounts and safe houses throughout Korea.

Yunho was from a different kind of money. The top 0.01% of rich that was near impossible to attain without business power and rigid rule. From the little Yunho spoke, his father was a total asshole, but a great man to have amassed such fortune during his years.

Yunho’s boredom was also different. He was bored of life. Of every day things like school and social normalcy. Yunho did not play games or go out with groups. Neither did Jaejoong, but Yunho didn’t actually enjoy anything, besides eating sweets and talking to him.

They hadn’t even exchanged cell phone numbers despite becoming acquaintances for months.

“Probably,” agreed Yunho.

There was no one else out front – Seungjoon left with the truck to pick up the order of coffee beans and milk cartons, and the other worker had taken off from his shift for date night with his girlfriend. It was seven in the evening, and it was nearing closing hour.

Jaejoong went to work on making the coffee. He had never actually done it before, but he had seen it done so many times that he had practically done it. Yunho stood from his slump against the counter to walk around the empty shop, fingers tucked into his jeans pockets.

Jaejoong was still in his undershirt from this morning, and school trousers. Yunho had changed, into distressed jeans and black t-shirt, and a suede jacket with an embroidered collar. He rarely saw Yunho out of his school uniform. The outfit made him look older than his actual age.

“Here’s your Americano.”

Yunho took the paper cup, staring at Jaejoong as he did so. Jaejoong hoped that he would leave before Seungjoon returned. He didn’t want anyone from the Syndicate finding out that he knew the son of Jung Industries.

“I might be late tomorrow,” he said suddenly, and with that he left. Jaejoong watched the door close, and sighed, picking up the damp cloth to wipe down the counter.

Youngwha was on a mission out of the country. His shooting practice was on hold until he returned. He had become so accustomed to his new life that having an evening to himself was foreign. The man who was teaching him how to fight had gone along with Youngwha.

It was quarter past eight when Jaejoong left the shop, pocketing the bundle of keys in his pants pocket, backpack stuffed with a notebook, his uniform jacket, and pencil case. He had a pocket knife in his other pants pocket, small wallet, his phone. He had another knife tucked beneath his socks. The paranoia had never left him, since that night.

There was a comfort in the night. His father used to tell him that there was nothing to be afraid of, in the darkness. Man only feared the unknown, and the night hid what day could not. So Jaejoong reveled in it, enjoyed the sweet smell of evening air, the sprinkle of stars above him. The streets were dusty and smelt of exhaust fumes, but at night it was less musty, and it smelt of stars and quiet, of calmness as Jaejoong walked the pavement next to the passing vehicles.

Out of practice he kept his hand in his pocket, close to his pocket knife in case he needed it. Syndicate members did not have a brand, or a sigil like the other gang members. They knew each other. It was a smart way to blend into society.

Youngwha had warned him about them. They had a picture of him, of Jaejoong, strung up next to Youngwha. An affiliation, a weakness, one that Youngwha did not bother to coddle. His uncle did not offer him bodyguards, but instead taught him how to handle a gun and sent him to learn how to fight. It was Jaejoong’s own money that was used to buy a pocket knife, the best one he could buy with the money he saved from working at the mechanic shop on mornings and the café on evenings. The other knife was given to him by his uncle. A present, for staying out of trouble for nearly a year.

On a night like this, Jaejoong was left to his thoughts. About what it would be like when he graduated, and thrust fully into the inner workings of the Syndicate. He would no longer have the safety of high school classes, of hours a distance away from men who were vastly different from him. It was difficult sometimes to remember that the men he worked with at the shop, that his uncle were all murderers. Killers. His uncle had congratulated him for killing a man.

Jaejoong stopped to cross the road. He could take a taxi home, but he had nothing but time and he preferred to walk.

There was something strange about tonight. Jaejoong couldn’t tell if it was his own paranoia, or because he was nothing but a coward who was still afraid of the darkness he had come to love, but he was on edge. His thoughts did nothing but dull that feeling, so he stopped thinking. He crossed the road, fingers gripped around his pocket knife. He could feel it. There was a tremble to his hand and that tingle of fear running up his spine. It couldn’t be just paranoia. He felt something.

He kept his pace steady. He wasn’t going to run. Running would not help him. His backpack jostled with every step he made, finger rubbing the edges of his pocket knife, eyes trained on the glass walls of the shops he passed.

The street lights were becoming more sparse. Jaejoong wanted it that way. He was sure of it, sure of the gut feeling and the cold against his back that someone was following him.

He stopped walking and turned around. The sidewalk was empty. There was no else walking behind him, or even to the front. This was gang area. Civilians stayed away from these parts. The Syndicate had keenly bought land to build the café in an area that could be accessed by the other people, normal people. But here, here was where the fights happened, where territory was marked and the low level Syndicate members fought and drank and did their underground business that Jaejoong was kept from.

It was a shorter walk home from here. And he was a Syndicate member now. He could walk through Syndicate land.

He gripped his pocket knife and the stiff metal decorations on it grated against his fingers. He walked up to the narrow corner bordered by walls. He could smell the cigarette smoke as he approached, the scent of piss. The cigarette smoke was fresh.

Seungjoon stood there, smoke in his mouth, gun in his hand. His eyes traced Jaejoong’s steps, reaching up to hold his cigarette in front of his lips.

“You did good, figuring out I was following you. Most of the men I’ve killed never realized they were being followed.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Jaejoong asked slowly, voice low. It was frightening that he was not scared. There was peace in knowing that his feeling was correct, that he had killed a man before and he could do it again.

“I heard that you’re Youngwha’s nephew. I’m surprised Youngwha didn’t kill you himself. He’s a bastard without a heart. Imagine my surprise when my source told me he had family besides his brother. And was raising the little shit. He brought you into a world of blood and shit. Like him.”

“When did you find out?”

“Today. I didn’t think that the kid working under my jurisdiction would be Youngwha’s little brat.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be working for a crime organization either, but here we are.”

Seungjoon laughed. “I do like you. I don’t know if killing you would hurt Youngwha. Killing his brother didn’t.”

There was a few moments, seconds, a minute or maybe two, that Jaejoong did not breathe. There was that sinking revelation, that came to him so quickly that he nearly reached for his chest to scrape at the flesh there, because it was too much. But he didn’t. He didn’t move. He could only stare at Seungjoon. This was the man. This was the man that had murdered his father.

He pressed the switch on his pocket knife. The blade shot out, and Jaejoong felt his mouth tremble. Seungjoon smiled.

“You didn’t kn–”

Jaejoong shot forward and jammed the tip of the blade through his throat. He felt it cut through his trachea, up through his vocal chords. He saw the surprise in his eyes, and Seungjoon choked, a sick gagging sound muted with the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and down his bottom lip.

He was a kid. Youngwha hadn’t told anyone about what Jaejoong did that night. No one else knew that he had killed a man. Just Younghwa, and himself. And the leader of the Syndicate.

Jaejoong stared at Seungjoon, watched him with enough intensity and hatred that he jammed the knife further up.

“Fuck you Seungjoon. I don’t give a fuck about my uncle, but my father was a great man. A better man than all of you.”

He yanked out the knife, blood squirting on his cheek and lips. He closed his eyes to it, heard when Seungjoon slumped to the dirty ground. There was a fleeting moment of pleasure. And then there was nothing. He couldn’t feel it, the guilt, the remorse. He had expected years of searching and begging to find out who had killed his father, expected the pocket of revenge to fuel some part of him. But it was gone.

He looked down at his hand. There was blood on it, dark red blood. His mind sent him back to that night, with his hands just as blood stained. When he had hyperventilated and stood in shock at what he had done.

But there was no guilt.

Jaejoong swallowed, bent down, and wiped his blade against a clean area on Seungjoon’s pants. The blade returned when he pressed the switch. He pocketed it. He wiped his hands on his t-shirt, and took it off, shivering. He wiped his face. He unlatched his backpack and took out his uniform jacket. He zipped it up and grabbed his undershirt, tossing it into one of the side street dumpsters.

He could still smell Seungjoon’s blood as he walked home.

He locked the front door as he came in and toed off his sneakers. He needed to wash off the smell. He wanted the heat of a hot shower, hot enough to burn and give him some form of remorse for taking a life.

Jaejoong had reached the kitchen when his cell phone rang. He grabbed a mug from the cupboard as he answered it. It was from an unknown number.

“Did you enjoy my gift?”

It was Youngwha’s voice.

“Your gift,” Jaejoong responded flatly.

“I hope you did.”

Jaejoong poured himself coffee, trapping the steam with his fingers and palm. “You knew it was Seungjoon that killed my father.”

“I did.”

“You lied to me.”

“You must not trust anyone Jaejoong, not even me. I wanted you to have your own revenge. And you did. A pocket knife to the throat. Well done.”

“You had me followed?”

“I’m always watching you. Seungjoon was greedy. He’s wanted my position for a long time. Him and his followers within the Syndicate. You killed a traitor Jaejoong. You will be rewarded greatly.”

“You set it all up,” spoke Jaejoong, “You were the one that leaked the information about me. You were his source.”

“Very good. You are smart after all.”

“Fuck you,” said Jaejoong through gritted teeth. He ended the call and carried his coffee to his room. He stripped and shoved the clothes in the washer. He held his wallet and pocket knife in his hands.

He took his pocket knife with him to the shower.

Jaejoong went to school with a bottle of strawberry milk and a chicken sandwich put together with the day old barbeque he had in the refrigerator. He didn’t wake up early for his morning run, and he didn’t head to Sun’s mechanic shop. He texted one of the workers to say that he wasn’t coming in.

Yunho was right about coming late. He showed up after the first period, a few minutes after the teacher left the classroom. He had a busted lip and horrendous bruise over his eye, swollen, blackish-purple.

Everyone was staring at him. He was smiling with his busted lip, allowing the few worried questions and the touches to his back from male students who valued fighting. Jaejoong wondered who dared to touch the Jung heir.

Yunho had his bag this time. He came to his seat, just in front of Jaejoong’s. He bent down, strap of his leather bag falling to his wrist, hanging there. Jaejoong wasn’t expecting the kiss.

Yunho’s mouth was on his, and he could feel the cut on his lip, the softness. Yunho kissed him hard, what he thought was hard because he had never been kissed before now.

Jaejoong hated losing. He kissed him back.

He could hear the jeers and catcalls when Yunho pulled away, grinning down at him with a smile so genuine that Jaejoong didn’t bother to punch him. Hell, he was gay. He wanted a boy to kiss him.

But Yunho? He wasn’t sure even Yunho knew what he wanted. Besides, Yunho would probably like it if he punched him.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Yunho sat down, accustomed to the stares of other students, other people. “Because I felt like it.”

“Of course you did. Who fucked up your face?”

“Some guy,” answered Yunho. He seemed excited. Yunho never got excited. Yunho never actually showed emotions other than interest.

“Did you enjoy getting your ass kicked or something?” Jaejoong had to ask. He could still feel Yunho’s mouth. It was horrifying that he could smell Yunho, his perfume. He was always aware of it, but he never really smelled it. Yunho was only fifteen anyway. What the hell was he doing wearing perfume.

“The pain felt good.” Yunho held up his knuckles. There were bruises, reddened from impact and scattered with dark lines.

Jaejoong didn’t know how to reply to that. He handed the half a bottle of strawberry milk to Yunho. He pretended that he hadn’t only drunk half because he was saving the rest for the other boy.


The café had a few customers when he entered, school kids, Syndicate men whose faces looked vaguely familiar. They stopped talking when they saw him. Jaejoong went into the back and tied the apron around his waist. He shoved his backpack in the usual corner.

The kitchen was quiet.

“Seungjoon’s dead,” said Mino. “Heard you killed him last night.”

“Yeah I did.” Jaejoong held back the “so what”.

“We heard news that he was a traitor. That he had plans to kill Youngwha. Youngwha’s the one that brought you into the Syndicate. You protected him. Us. We respect that. Traitors don’t belong in the Syndicate.”

“I can agree with that.” Jaejoong was uncomfortable with the attention. “I’m just gonna take my shift at the cashier,” he mumbled, grabbing a clean cloth from the folded pile.

The guy in his mid-twenties who had been working the cashier grabbed his hand. “You did good.”

“I guess.”

“You did. Be proud man. You fucked a traitor. Best thing you can do to move up this long ass ladder.”

Jaejoong took orders numbly, on autopilot. Everything was going how his uncle wanted. This was what his uncle had wanted. An elaborate plan for him to become assimilated into it. The only way to gain respect as a kid was through death. Righteous death in the eyes of the Syndicate. Youngwha had made sure of that.

It was ingenious. He was one of them now.

“Lemme show you how to work those coffee beans,” offered Mino.

“Yeah.” Jaejoong hauled over the bag of coffee beans, and refrained from mentioning that he had worked the damn coffee beans last night. He was one of them now.

I just want to say that Jaejoong is returning in a day and I'm so fucking excited y'all I just T___T I may be obsessed with BTS now but Jaejoong is my booboo and I will sob to see his lil face again T_____T
17 November 2016 @ 02:37 pm
Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Rating: Mature
Summary: Jaejoong is the leader of the widespread syndicate that runs underground Asia, and Yunho is his top agent and right hand man whose skills and composure are terrifying. The Korean Syndicate is under heat from the American company's invasion, and Jaejoong has his hands full, with protecting his people, and trying to control Yunho, the man that cannot be controlled.

~ Burning ~

Jaejoong took off his shades as he strode through the automatic doors of the ground floor of the Syndicate building. His subordinates must have sensed his mood. They kept a wide berth, bowing in succession as he passed, scuttling back if he came too close as he made his way to the elevator.

He was angry. It had been some time since he was this genuinely pissed off, but he pressed his finger against the keypad, waiting patiently for the elevator doors to open.

Seeing the business heads had taken a few hours. It was way past lunch time, and he had gone alone, with Changmin driving him to where he needed to go. Yunho had been compliant and had taken a car back to headquarters, along with the man that had tried to shoot him. And the gun he had used.

Jaejoong thought that he was angry too. But he wasn’t in the mood to try to figure out Yunho’s unendingly changing emotions.

He stepped out into the top level, and made his way to the interrogation room. It was built with a two-way glass wall, impenetrable steel painted dark grey on the remaining sides, and air-conditioning. It was also kept impeccably clean.

Creever was awake, bruised lip with a cut on the left side that had already scabbed over. His right eye was swollen, and purple. Yoochun had pulled off the nails on the left hand, and broken the distal interphalangeal joints on the other. Jaejoong wasn’t quite sure what else he had done to him to make him talk.

It wasn’t about torture today. Jaejoong opened the door to the interrogation room, retina scanner on the side, quiet hum of the door closing behind him. Creever looked up from where he had been looking at the floor, where the splatters of blood had caked on the deep grey tiles.

“Leader Kim. I’m surprised you came to see me yourself. Are you going to do your own dirty work instead of sending your men?”

Jaejoong leaned against the steel door.

“You said that you were creating microchips at the warehouse.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Creever said smiling. He had a tooth missing. “Why, you don’t believe me? I’m a very trustworthy man Kim-sshi. Or can I call you Jaejoong? I feel a connection to you, with how long we’ve been skirting around this past year.” He licked his lower lip, tongue settling at the scab. “You know, I was surprised when I saw a picture of you for the first time. I heard rumours, about how the Syndicate leader was nothing but a young man, a good-looking man with eyes colder than the previous leader’s. And without a conscience. I must say, meeting you in person blows away what I’ve seen in pictures. You have a beautiful face for a man.”

“Who is the leader of the American company?” Jaejoong asked. He kept his arms folded.

“I’m sorry, that’s information even I don’t know. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I did.” Jaejoong leaned off the door and came to stand in front of Creever. “They offered you up to me, didn’t they? A little sacrificial lamb.”

“And I am glad to be a sacrificial lamb. They’ll come for me.”


Creever stared at him, smile leaving his mouth. “They will,” he reaffirmed.

“Someone tried to kill me today,” said Jaejoong conversationally. “I don’t know as yet if he was from your company. He probably was. Your people have been on surveillance outside my building for a very long time, haven’t you?” The little flicker in Creever’s eyes told him yes. “I’m not in a very pleasant mood Creever. I don’t like people taking me lightly.”


The bullet went right through his forehead and into the wall behind him. His mouth was still open, mid-talk. Jaejoong lowered his gun, and replaced it on his hip, covered by his coat.

Creever was useless trash without information. Am.Co had given him away because he was dispensable. A face to the public and to the Syndicate.

Jaejoong was out in the corridor, phone out and dialing Yoochun’s number.

“Yeah Jaejoong?” Yoochun had zero understanding of respecting hierarchy. The men he trusted with the heart of the Syndicate were wild cards he took a gamble on everyday.

“Clean up the interrogation room when you return.”

Yoochun whistled. “Sure, no thing. I can be creative with where I dump the body? Up Am.Co’s assholes right?”


Jaejoong hung up, pocketing his mobile, going out into the living room and kitchen. He took a bottle of water from the counter, and went back into the elevator to go down to the third floor.

The training level also housed a holding cell. Yunho hadn’t brought up the shooter to the fifth level where the interrogation rooms were, so he had probably brought him here, if, he hadn’t already disposed of him. Yunho wasn’t one for questioning other men.

The men stopped walking when they saw, greeting him loudly. The young infiltrator who was bold enough to talk back to him was also there, towel around his neck, bowing when he passed.

“Where is Yunho?”

“The lounge,” one of them answered. They cleared the corridor for him. Yunho was, as his men said, sitting on the lavish couches in the lounging area, next to the furnished kitchen he had put in for his men to use during before and after training.

Yunho was smoking again. He had the window open, and he had taken off his jacket, thrown on the glass table that he was resting his boots on top of.

“What did you find out?”

Yunho blew out a puff of smoke. There was tiny stoneware cup on the table, next to his mobile phone, and handgun.

“Sent a picture of the gun to Junsu. T-shirt guy was one of the Am.Co. men they had watching the building. They weren’t using cars. They’re in the apartment complex opposite from here. They’ve been watching the front entrance for a couple months now. He was on shift last night and this morning. He saw you take the front entrance and took a chance, without orders. Figured he could move up the ranks if he injured you, or one of your men.”

“Where did you dump the body?”

Yunho grinned at him. He didn’t answer.

The shooter had been Korean.

“Did he say that he was from Am.Co.?”

Yunho shook his head.

It wasn’t adding up. Korean citizens were patriotic by nature. Most men were patriotic their country. Am.Co. had a few Koreans working under them. They paid well, gave out odd jobs and were quick to expand their empire through Asian soil.

But there were also the murders that Park Hae Jin told him about. Both Am.Co and his men were killed. The smaller gangs couldn’t have had the balls to do something like this. But he couldn’t underestimate the ambition of lesser men.

“I like you like this.” Yunho’s words cut through his thoughts. “I can smell the bloodlust on you. It’s stinking up the air. Your men are staying far away from you. They can smell it too.”

The lounge area was both open and closed off from the rest of the third level. There were no doors, but it was curved room, bordered by walls and the entrance only a narrow corridor.

Jaejoong owned the building and everyone in it. He didn’t particularly care for doors.

He leaned forward and grabbed Yunho’s hair and kissed him. He used teeth, gnawing at his bottom lip, opening up his mouth. Yunho let him plunder his mouth before kissing him back, lips firm, tongue stabbing against teeth and spit until he couldn’t breathe.

Yunho was grinning so wide that Jaejoong snarled against his mouth, kissing him again, pushing himself on top of Yunho, legs straddling his thighs. Yunho placed his hands on his lower back, fingers pressing in, and then dropped to settle on his ass. Jaejoong tore himself away from Yunho’s mouth as he squeezed, soft moan falling from his lips as Yunho kneaded fingers into his ass, leaning forward for him to get a better grip.

“You haven’t changed, have you Jae? The first time we fucked was after your first big mission. You killed that family, remember? You had blood on your hands and you were so gone, filled with adrenaline and lust and death and you came to me, kissed me just like you just did. That was one of my most memorable fucks. You were so beautiful.”

“Shut up,” Jaejoong ordered, even if he knew that Yunho never followed orders, especially when he was like this. He rubbed his mouth against Yunho’s neck, sucking on his Adam’s apple, rutting himself close until his groin pressed into the hardness between Yunho’s thighs.

Jaejoong bit down on his throat as he moved, groaning against the flesh there as his clothed prick rubbed against Yunho’s. It was dirty and hot to be getting off like this, fully dressed with Yunho’s fingers gripping his ass so hard it was going to leave marks for days. Yunho had him flush against his check and neck and prick and Jaejoong rolled his hips for more friction, for more, moaning lowly against Yunho’s shoulder.

He kissed him again, Yunho’s teeth catching his tongue. Jaejoong whimpered, tiny sob in his throat because it felt so good, rocking his body faster, fingernails digging into Yunho’s shoulder. Yunho’s lips were on his neck, teeth scraping, until he felt the pierce of the bite. He threw back his head, rocking out his orgasm, moaning as Yunho bit down on his skin, brutal enough that it hurt so badly, hurt so badly that it felt good.

Jaejoong was breathing loudly, and he looked at Yunho, his dark eyes staring back at him. He knew without words what Yunho was going do.

He slid off Yunho’s legs shakily, slumped on the couch on his belly, hands reaching down to push off his pants. Yunho’s fingers were there to help him, yanking off the leather, until it went past his ankles and on to the floor. He almost never wore underwear.

Jaejoong raised his hips, and Yunho grabbed his thighs, propping his higher, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of his inner legs. He felt him squeeze his buttocks, finger dipping into the separating line, gasping when he felt him pull his buttocks apart. The cold hit him, and his asshole clenched, moaning into the sofa. He could feel Yunho’s breath, and that part of him clenched every time he breathed.

He used his tongue. Yunho dipped into him, tongue swiping around the rim, and then right on it, Jaejoong gripping into the sofa with nothing to grip because Yunho was licking right onto his asshole and it was wet and dirty and it felt so fucking good every time. Yunho was lapping at him with vigour, tongue giving little jabs at the opening, and Jaejoong tried to open his legs wider because he wanted more.

Yunho’s lips came and suctioned, right on top of his asshole, and Jaejoong couldn’t hold back the loud moan, eyes closing tightly and shuddering into gasps to breathe. He was so fucking sensitive after his orgasm. Yunho knew that. The fucker knew that.

Jaejoong could feel the wetness between his buttocks, as Yunho’s mouth left him, spit coating just behind his balls and around his hole. He heard Yunho zip down his pants, felt the dip in the sofa as he got off.

Jaejoong didn’t bother looking up to see what he was doing. He kept his face on the cushion, legs still trembling from Yunho’s mouth. His cock was in the beginnings of hardening again, but it was too soon. It was too soon that it hurt.

He heard when Yunho walked back. There were cold fingers slipping between his buttocks, finger pad pressing against his hole, and he automatically clenched underneath it. The finger slipped in, slippery and smooth and he felt his own tightness, clenching and unclenching, grunting as Yunho moved his fingers in and out. They were too accustomed to this to move slow. Jaejoong was too sensitive and the need to fuck was too great for slow. Yunho pressed in two fingers, and Jaejoong raised his hips as he dug in, fingers curved, fucking into him slowly as his other hand rested on his lower back.

Yunho rubbed the remaining slick of lube on him as he pulled his fingers out. His cock pressed, knees dipping into the sofa, pushing against him and angling, pushing harder until he was just inside.

Yunho was not the kind of man to ask if he needed time. He was also the kind of man to know that he didn’t want him to. Not today.

He pushed himself fully in and Jaejoong choked on his pleasure, eyes clenched so tight and his mouth open against the leather. There was spit against his lips and mouth, little puddle of drool forming as Yunho pulled out just a bit.

Yunho’s fingers gripped the outside of his thighs, and began. His hips slammed into his buttocks, cock driving inside of him so hard that he shifted on the sofa. Jaejoong could do nothing but moan, trying to push back, eagerly open as Yunho fucked into him, cock driving in and out and in and out.

The pace was brutal. Yunho didn’t like talking during sex and neither did he. Yunho pushed him down, hips raised higher, cock driving deeper, disgusting squelching slaps that had him trembling, gasping. The head of his prick was hitting his prostate, and Jaejoong wanted to sob from how good it felt, being fucked after an orgasm, brutal fucking that made him feel raw from the inside and his belly feel tight.

Yunho fucking against his prostate was too much. He could feel the spit coming from his mouth. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t do anything more then let out little grunts, half moans with every thrust. He felt the dry orgasm that shuddered out his body, tightening on Yunho’s prick inside of him. Yunho hovered behind him, pressing down on top of him, fingers around the back of his neck, fingers that were sure to leave bruises.

Yunho’s prick was pushing up deep inside of him when he came, soft shaky breath, the wetness that came from cum spurting inside of him. Jaejoong was adamant about testing, and he made all the members undergo STI testing every few months in case of necessitating treatment. It included his higher ups, and Yunho had never once fucked him without cumming inside, even when they used to use condoms.

Jaejoong remained there when Yunho pulled out. The anger and adrenaline and hatred was gone, emotions that he didn’t need as a good leader. He was tired, the good kind of tired where he was unnaturally relaxed that he didn’t think he could move and his prick and asshole ached.

Yunho nudged him, and Jaejoong groaned.

Yunho was sitting down, and he forced himself to sit up, leaning next to him, cum rubbing on the leather seats, feeling disgusting as he shifted.

“You killed Creever.”

It was a statement, not a question. Jaejoong’s silence was an answer.

He rested his fingers on Yunho’s collarbone, staring at his hard chest, his tan skin. Yunho was a beautiful piece of work, so beautiful that sometimes it made his throat tight and he couldn’t breathe. He had skills other gangs would give a fortune to have, fortunes that they didn’t even have just to have a man like him. Except Jaejoong could remember Yunho when he was fifteen. When he used to share green tea and ice cream with him because he was a fucking weird kid that wanted a friend.

He let his fingers rub the middle of Yunho’s neck, right where his throat was, thumb pressing against the skin over his carotid artery.

Yunho’s gaze was heavy.

Jaejoong kissed him again.


“That’s the new kid. Heard he was staying with Leader.”

“Leader Kim likes men that could fight. I didn’t think he liked little boys.”

Jungkook slapped the wet cloth on the table, wiping across it. The commentary hadn’t let up since he had started cleaning up in the café under Taehyung’s orders.

“He’s the one that took out the fifth rank team. He got the second rank in trouble too. Fucking pay cuts for everyone in Squad B because of it.” The man sitting drinking a spiced latte spat out his words, loud enough for everyone in the café to hear it, and loud enough for Jungkook to hear it.

One of the first things Jungkook was going to buy with his first pay check was an Ipod, or one of those new fancy music players they had out on the market. He could probably use the smart phone that Junsu had given him freely. He had never owned one of them, always using the little money he scraped to buy food and clothes and cheap places to stay. It was hard to get a job when he didn’t finish school because he didn’t have the money to pay for his last year and buy the books he needed.

Public schools cost money. Public system my ass, was what he thought when he left it. They couldn’t even wave the fee when Jungkook had to take all the money he earned and scraped for to keep their shitty apartment for a few more months before his sister had died.

People liked to judge. He learned it at a young age and he was reminded of it every day since then. People talked too much, boasted, men talked loud enough for everyone else to hear like that guy was doing now. Jungkook always wanted something to drown out the world, the noise, all the words and nonsensical things that didn’t really matter to him. And there was nothing that mattered to him anymore, except surviving.


Taehyung was calling him from behind the work station. He was holding a tray with three cups of fancy coffee with too much sugar and cut sandwiches made with wheat – or was it grain – bread. He never had money to try those overpriced coffee drinks. He looked down at the cups as Taehyung handed the tray to him.

“Can you serve those girls sitting across there?” Jungkook grunted. “And Jungkook,” Taehyung smiled, “Thank you for agreeing to work here. We could do with the help.”

“I don’t say no to money,” Jungkook replied stiffly.

“I pay really real!” Taehyung was too much for him. He was too bright to be a professional sniper. He was skinny. Hair soft looking. Eyes crinkly as he smiled. Jungkook was very weary of his new boss. People that pretended be this happy always had something to hide.

Taehyung stopped Jungkook again. His voice lowered. “Don’t bother with those guys. They’re usually jealous when a kid years younger than them comes in and kicks their ass. Makes me kinda wanna see you fight with the way they’re going on about it.”

Jungkook walked over to the table where the women were seated. He hated being called ‘kid’. The women stared at him as he rested the tray on the table.

“I’m not sure what any of this is,” he told them. “What did you order?”

One of women covered her mouth. “Gosh you’re cute. Is it your first day here? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Yeah. So I don’t know shit about these fancy drinks.”

The women laughed, and he heard the sharp intake of breath from the other waiter. He was walking back to the counter after settling the order, and the other waiter rounded on him.

“Hey man. I get that you’re new. But you can’t talk to the customers like that.”

“Move away.”

The waiter put his hand on his shoulder. Jungkook despised people touching him. He grabbed his wrist and twisted it. Not enough to break, but with enough force to hurt. The customers in the café were watching him.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Jungkook released his wrist and the other waiter backed up, raising his hands.

“Hey man, sorry. Don’t want no trouble. But there’s a way to speak to customers. I’m just trying to teach you the rundown here, you know?”

Jungkook watched him rub his wrist, and he sighed.

“Yeah I know. Just don’t touch me again.”

“I wouldn’t.” The waiter was still rubbing his wrist as he grinned. “Though, with your…fuck everything, you’re gonna get away with shit. Those girls there loved you. Your fucking arms man. Where do you gym?”

Jungkook couldn’t tell if the waiter was a Syndicate member or not. Most of the customers were, but there was a steady flow of normal Korean citizens.

“I don’t gym.”

“You don’t?” The waiter was oddly horrified. Jungkook shoved the tray on the counter, and picked up the cloth again to wipe down one of the tables by the window. A mother and child had just left. Probably due to the comments. Probably because of Jungkook twisting the other waiter’s wrist. “Damn man, I’m jealous.”

“Jungkook right?” A large man poked his head from the kitchen. “Come wash some wares.”

“Name’s Hoseok,” said the waiter, as he went to clean up a table. Jungkook took the cloth with him to wipe the table before heading in the back. The man who had been mouthing off since he came in stood up, blocking his path.

“Jungkook, is it?” Jungkook was tall, but the man was taller. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay in the Syndicate. We’re planning to make your stay much more enjoyable.”

“Heard a rumour you were staying in the fifth level. Is it true?” One of them sitting asked, unlit cigarette between his lips.

Jungkook looked up at him, lips spreading. Oh, this was how they wanted to handle it. Good.

“I can’t wait,” he told the man, throwing up the cloth and catching it as he stepped to the side, going to the table he was supposed to wipe down.

He heard the commotion behind him, and ignored it.


“White hasn’t returned yet.”

“He’s probably taking a smoke after running to the convenience store. You know how he is.”

Blue was zipping up his boots. “I’m gonna get us some lunch. I can’t eat ramen for another day. I’ll fucking vomit. I haven’t shit in two days.”

“No one cares about your bowel problems,” said Silver. “Bring back some fried chicken.”

The apartment was littered with ramen containers on the table, opened bottles of green tea, and beer cans. There was a stack of files that they kept reading through and updating as they monitored the front of the Syndicate building. The high powered telescope was powerful enough to get a shot of the faces that came and go.

Today was a rare one. The Syndicate leader had taken the front entrance. And there was a face they could barely recognize driving the car. Black had sent them an email yesterday. An update. A new player. Shim Changmin.

“Bet you didn’t shit yesterday either. I was reading this health article. Ramen and processed shit clogs up your insides man. Too much of it and you’re constipated. I can’t – fuck.”

Silver had heard when Blue opened the door. “Did you hit your toe again?” He shouted.

“Fuck man. FUCK.”

“Walk it out,” Silver said, uninterested.

Blue came running into the living room. He was white faced. Blue was tan skinned compared to the average Korean.

“White’s dead. Fuckers dropped his body in front of our door. They know we’re here.”


“I checked out the restaurant,” spoke Yoochun. He sat on a bench, blowing out cigarette smoke. He had taken Squad C with him, and they stood, guarding the area. The white BMW was parked on the street. Jaejoong liked white cars.

“What did you find?” Jaejoong’s voice came out muffled.

“So they’re using it as a transfer point. Whatever they dropped off there is gone. The owners of the restaurant have shit tons of money stacked up in a room. They’ve sold it. It is microchips, but not only microchips. I beat it out of the owner. They’re mass producing a new drug. The street name is New York. It’s a stimulant, gives the user a bit of euphoria, and then sends them crazy. They’re in the manufacturing phase.”

“And the microchips?”

“I’m still working that out. I called up my contact in Japan. He said that he hasn’t heard about New York as yet, but he has heard about a new drug that’s supposed to hit the black market.”

“I’ll ask Yamashita about the microchips.”

“You should. Whatever they’re working on, they’re working on the same thing in Japan. Yamashita must have some information we can use.”

“Good work,” said Jaejoong, and Yoochun laughed, holding his cigarette with his thumb and index.

“You don’t have to praise me. I always yearn to please you.”

He could hear Jaejoong’s little sound of disgust. He hung up around the same time that Jaejoong did.

New York.

Yoochun remembered his years of trying out every drug on the streets. He was one of the lucky ones. He hadn’t gotten addicted to anything except cigarettes. He had a motto since young, ‘try everything once’. And he did. He tried all the cigarette brands until he found his favourite. Yunho usually stole Marlbolo. Or Dunhill Switch. They both liked the mint taste.

Before becoming Jaejoong’s handy man, Yoochun was an army man turned detective. With a double degree in Mechanical Engineering and Psychology. A wide disparity in work fields.

Back then he had a girlfriend. Sociology major. He had picked up his coffee addiction in his first year in university, coffee dates and staying awake to finish studying and kickboxing at the university gym.

Thinking back, it was some great days he had. Normal days. Going to school. Having a girlfriend to go on dates with. Competitive fighting instead of fighting to kill.

Normal days.

Yoochun finished off his cigarette, and stood. Squad C was alert, and one was already opening the door to the back seat for him.

Normal days were boring.


Jungkook’s shift extended into the evening. It was about eight when Taehyung sent him home, arguing about keeping him so late when it was just his first day, even if Jungkook had told him he liked to earn his keep. He had wiped tables, washed wares, handed out cups of black coffee and fancy drinks. Simple work, that he was accustomed to.

Taehyung only had a few workers. There was another baker that helped him in the kitchen, Hoseok and another girl that alternated between waiting tables and manning the counter. According to Hoseok there was another worker that came in, and they alternated shifts depending on the day. At least, Jungkook understood why Jaejoong had sent him there. The café needed the extra man power, with the amount of customers that flooded in every hour for Taehyung’s pastries.

He pulled up the hood of his jacket. It was cold out, and his fingers were quick to succumb to it, like they always did in the night air. Gloves were an extravagant luxury he never had the option of buying.

The workers at the café were allowed free reign when it came to uniform, except for the apron with the café’s logo and name, that came in pink or black when Hoseok explained it before Jungkook was sent off. Flexibility and eccentricity was what he managed to ascertain on his first day of working there. A mirror of the owner’s personality.

His phone buzzed inside his pants pocket. He took it out, staring at the bright screen. It was from Yunho. Computer tech guy had put in contacts on his phone before handing it to him. There were only five, and Jungkook had no one else of importance he needed to add.

He passed his finger across the wide screen. A smart phone was so much better than the shitty phone he used to have. Having money, was everything.

Yunho wanted him to meet him somewhere. The other job that Jaejoong had talked about. Underground fighting. He would be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that he was excited. Fighting was what he grew up with. It was something he had to do to survive, and along the way he fell in love with it. The exhilaration. The bite. The pain.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and turned the corner from the café. There were three figures blocking the pathway. Of course.

It was them. Loudmouthed people always liked to prove a point. Even if it meant coming back hours after and waiting in the cold to prove that point.

Jungkook grinned. He waved at them, and heard the scowl.

“Piece of shit kid.”

Jealousy was a hard truth and suicide to the owner. Jungkook had grown up with nothing, but he never had enough free time to be jealous of anyone, or anything. Maybe he was lucky.

“I kinda have somewhere else to be. Might get in trouble if I don’t show up on time, ya know? So you wanna get this over with?”


Jungkook showed up five minutes late with a bust lip and brimming of excitement. Yunho looked him over, hood up, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking around the place and the people that were crowding around the makeshift ring.

Underground fighting was fought in an invisible ring, created by spectators. There were two fighters already there, the jeers and screaming from men and women gambling on the outcome. The men and women were all filthy rich. His kind of people. His late father’s kind of people.

Some people knew him. Knew who he was. The Yunho that worked for the Syndicate and the number of bodies he dropped. There were probably two or three that knew him for his last name. Jung. Knew that he was the owner of Jung Industries and Technologies passed on by his father.

But everyone else here knew him as the orchestrator of the underground fighting rings. The fighter that always won. And it dragged in proud men that challenged him because they wanted to beat him.

He threw Jungkook a pair of gloves. The kid wasn’t skinny. He was all lean muscle, undernourished from being out in the streets and barely getting enough meals and sleep. After a few weeks in the Syndicate he would be fine. He needed muscle training and to work on his stamina, but Jaejoong was right in sending him here.

Fighters were made in two ways. One was through training. Learning a martial art out of interest and talent. The other, was through survival. Fight or get beaten. Kill or be killed.

Yunho was fifteen when he first started fighting in underground circles. He’d gotten his fair share of beatings. But he also had the background of money. Trainers that used to come to his house when he was eight until he kicked them out when he started preferring the real bruises to soft brushes of training. Down there, people didn’t care who he was. People weren’t afraid to hurt him. And the exhilaration of wanting to win, to fight, to kill, was born so early in him that it erupted.

“If you win, you’ll get half of the winnings I’ll be bringing in on your match.”

“How much would you get?” Jungkook asked, curiousity causing him to stare at the crowd. He wanted to watch the fight.

“You’re new. And a kid. They’ll bet against you. Probably make us a five hundred thousand.”

There were over fifty people there, watching, betting. Rich bastards that didn’t know what to do with their money. Yunho understood that feeling. He never had much need for money because he always had it.

Probably a hundred.

Jungkook’s eyes widened.

“US,” Yunho said.

“W-what?” Jungkook’s stammer made him seem like his age. Nothing but a kid forced into an adulthood.

“Five hundred thousand US dollars.”


SO, I actually went and read over a few chapters of Our Path of Gold. I’ve been embarrassed by it, by the writing, especially the first few chapters so I started reading from Chapter Nine. The writing did get better in that fic so I’m not so embarrassed and cringy anymore. But I still can’t read the first few chapters without wanting to sob.

I haven’t written smut in ages but still, this came out. (I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t write it u.u) I figured I might as well drop some smut when you least expected it. :D

I’ll come back and edit it after.

28 October 2016 @ 06:07 pm

Title: Burner
Series: The Syndicate
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Jungkook/Taehyung
Summary: Jaejoong is the leader of the widespread syndicate that runs underground Asia, and Yunho is his top agent and right hand man whose skills and composure are terrifying. The Korean Syndicate is under heat from the American company's invasion, and Jaejoong has his hands full, with protecting his people, and trying to control Yunho, the man that cannot be controlled.


His second morning as a member of the Syndicate was more normal that he expected it to be. He woke up, legs sore from the running Yunho had forced upon him, groaning at the time and the dim lights that came on as he shifted. Teeth brushed and robe tied across his waist, Changmin made it to the kitchen, where Junsu already sat, drinking coffee, and Jungkook, the younger boy who wasn’t much for conversation, was still half asleep, standing by the Keurig machine.

It was like an ordinary work day. Except with more people. And guns.

“Are you like the computer tech guy for the Syndicate?” asked Changmin, sniffing at the cold and rubbing his feet together. Jungkook looked over at them as he spoke.

“You could say that,” replied Junsu. “How was your training with Yunho?” Junsu had a smirk on his mouth, like he had had when Changmin requested to train with someone he knew. The only person that he knew from one measly interaction. And he understood why, after yesterday.

“He’s brutal,” he muttered. “Made me run for an entire hour. Then sit-ups, push ups, squats. I don’t know how the hell he does it.”

“Really? He didn’t kick the shit out of you? That’s new.”

Jungkook placed a mug in front of him. He went to sit by the couch, black hair messy from sleep. He was wearing a thin white vest and slacks, and like Changmin he had only shuffled out of bed, searching for heat and coffee. He was about to say thank you when Junsu spoke.


Kim Jaejoong was a man that Changmin had yet to comprehend. Under his eyes were dark, face gaunt from lack of sleep and food. He was dressed in a soft red robe, stopping above his knees and pale legs finished in bedroom slippers. He looked both soft and hard, and he saw Jungkook watching him too.

Junsu said his name with softness. Without title. Changmin himself wasn’t sure how he was supposed to refer to him. He was the leader of Korea’s largest criminal organization, and he was in his apartment, drinking his coffee, and watching him walk around in a robe and bedroom slippers.

“I’m craving shitty ramen,” said Jaejoong, rubbing his eyes. He walked in strides, like a man that knew he was of power, of grandeur. Even like this, soft, vulnerable, probably only a robe separating skin from the environs, there was something in his aura, the way he carried himself, that told of his position.

“We have shitty ramen. I bought some packs and the container ones last week. It’s in the cupboard above the countertop.”

Junsu and Jaejoong were very…domestic. Junsu really had been the leader’s lover. Changmin watched as Jaejoong moved behind Junsu, towards the cupboards. But there weren’t any touches, or stares. There was familiarity, closeness. Probably close friends? Close enough that he was staying in their leader’s personal level just for saving Junsu.

“Do you have a question?”

Jaejoong had spoken, fingers tearing open the top of the ramen container. The kettle was on, and Changmin was watching the little orange light.

Jaejoong was…shit. Staring right at him.


His gaze was too heavy. Changmin shifted his body away from Jaejoong, realizing how close he was sitting to the other man.

“I was wondering what you two were, you and Junsu. He was laughing at being called your lover, so…yeah. Was just wondering, you know.” Changmin swallowed. Telling the truth always worked out better than lying. Most times. And with Jaejoong staring at him like that, he would have told him anything.

“We’re cousins,” Junsu replied. “Blood. Can’t help that I’m related him.” Junsu grinned over at Jaejoong, and handed over his cup. “Make me some tea, since you’re standing.”

Changmin was aware that he was holding his breath. Was Junsu the only person that could talk to Jaejoong like this? Cousins. Of course it made sense now. He was family. Even in those mafia shows, the big boss always valued family, no matter how morally screwed they were.

Jaejoong placed chopsticks over the lid, trapping the boiling water and rising steam. He carried the ramen container over to the couch, where Jungkook sat, nursing his giant mug of black coffee.

“How do you like it so far?”

“Okay,” said Jungkook shortly. “Just shooting practice. Looked around this big ass building.”

“I’m considering giving you a job. Two jobs actually. The second job is optional.”

Junsu stopped typing, and paid attention to Jaejoong.

“You can work in the café the Syndicate owns. Waiter. Barista. Whatever they need help with, until I send you out on a job. You’ll keep training on mornings, and you’ll earn your keep, like you want to. The second job, is an offer. You’ll have to speak to Yunho about it.”

“About what?”

“Night fighting. Street fighting,” Jaejoong elaborated. “You like to fight, don’t you? Feel good when you break someone’s nose. Like flesh on your knuckles. I know you do. And it’s good money, as long you win your fights.”

Jungkook was quiet for a long time. Jaejoong opened his ramen container, blew at the steam, and began to eat.

“I’ll think about it,” Jungkook answered. His hand was in pocket. “But…thank you. For taking me in, offering me a job. I appreciate it.”


Ramen always made him feel bloated.

Jaejoong smoothed his dress shirt across his belly as he walked through the hallway, members bowing as he passed. The ground floor of the syndicate building was a reception area mixed with oddities, and Jaejoong particularly liked the way it was designed, with ostentatiously bright lights and high arched ceiling in gold coating.

Yoochun liked the office there, and it was where Jaejoong found him, sitting on the table smoking up a storm. He almost didn’t see Yunho. But there was smoke coming from the couch, heady cigarette smoke of memories and old habits. He was lounging on the leather couch, one leg stretched, the other bent. His head rested back as he smoked.

“Junsu just sent me the file,” said Yoochun. “It finished running after you messaged me.”

“What did he find?” Jaejoong folded his arms, standing in the middle of the office. Yunho’s gaze was lazy, sweeping along the length of his body, the leather pants he had spent a small fortune on.

“He was unable to recover the next piece of it where it snipped off at the end. But the missing part, somewhere along before the truck made the turnoff, they stopped off at a small restaurant. Stayed in there for five minutes – exactly five minutes – and then came back out with a couple bowls of soup and started driving again.”

“Did they unload anything when they stopped?”

“Not that I could see. I already sent men to scope out the area. Junsu’s pulling up background info on the restaurant and the current owners. I’ll head down there and check it out myself in a few.” Yoochun held his cigarette like it was an answer.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, puff of smoke tainting the cold in his room. “They gave us Creever that day, when we were at that warehouse in Daegu. They knew we were coming. Packed up shop. Creever and his men went to oversee the transfer for things to go smoothly. What if they want us to know that they’re creating microchips? What if it's a lie? Lead us down one path so we don’t follow the correct one. There are too many possibilities for us to be sure.”

Yunho fixed his legs, sitting up. “It’s something more.”

“I know.” Jaejoong fitted next to Yoochun, on the edge of the table. “But we have possibilities. And we have Creever. I’ll pay him another visit today and then dispose of him. Dump his body right up the Am.Co.s assholes so they can find him.”

“I love it when you talk like that.” Yoochun’s leer was coupled with laughter, the deep sort of laughter that made others wont to laugh. But he didn’t. He nearly reached for Yoochun as he walked by, for him to stay in the room so he wouldn’t have to be with Yunho alone.

“Coffee,” said Yoochun. He never did anything else but drink coffee and smoke. Jaejoong would force him to go for a check up this month. His habits were too unhealthy for one of his most valued.

Yunho’s cigarette was half-way gone. The smell of weed was there, lingering underneath nicotine and tar. They must have smoked a joint or two before he came in.

There was a time when it wasn’t like this. When it was easier to just call Yunho as his right hand man, best fighter, best killer. Junsu was just as much of his right hand man as Yunho, even Yoochun. But Junsu could never be in the frontlines, and it still riled him that someone knew. Yoochun was too much of a lazy fuck to be the face of fear.

And neither liked killing as much as Yunho did.

Yunho finished his cigarette. “So what’s there to do today?” he asked lazily. Yoochun and Yunho spent too much time together.

“Besides paying Creever a visit? I want you to look into something for me.” Yunho paid him attention by looking right at him.  “Four bodies were found two days ago. Throats slit. And one of the bodies is one of our men. Junsu found the police report for me this morning. He should have already sent it to your phone.”

Yunho’s phone was on top of Yoochun’s small table, nestled near the couch arm. Yunho would have already seen it.

“He was undercover in one of the small businesses run by Am.Co. According to the coroner’s report, he and the three foreigners were killed around the same time, with the same knife. One man did it. From the straight angle of the cut he was around their height. Not many bruise marks on the bodies. He’s quick. We’re dealing with an experienced killer that took out Am.Co. men. And I know it wasn’t you.”

“And the traitor? The one that sold out Junsu’s face to the Americans?”

Jaejoong couldn’t answer him. He didn’t know for sure if the traitor had a link to this, if he was the one that murdered Am.Co. men. There was someone else out there that was against the Americans, someone that wasn’t him. And they had killed one of his men in the process.

Could it be a killer sent by Yama-dono?

“If I find the traitor, what will you give me?” Yunho’s ability to look bored with every word he spoke irritated him enough to stand. But he didn’t. He had more control than that.

He wanted to ask if he could. But it was Yunho. If there was someone he could trust to do anything, it was him. If Yunho said he would find the traitor, he would.

If he wanted to.

It always came down to that – what Yunho wanted. Jaejoong could ask many things of him, order him to go on jobs and missions. But if Yunho didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t.

“What do you want, Yunho?” Jaejoong asked. Leverage. It was the only way to deal with Yunho. Leverage. It was how he dealt with him every time. Even if the bargains sometimes – most times – involved giving away pieces of himself.

“Join me on the couch Leader-sshi.”

Jaejoong walked to Yunho’s sprawled legs, not knowing where to sit. Yunho took up all of the couch, and he watched him, that bored look that Jaejoong remembered always being there. Bored of other humans. Of the world.

Jaejoong straddled on top of Yunho’s thighs, lying back until his head was against his shoulder, two grown men on Yoochun’s exuberantly large office couch. Yunho’s body was warm. It was his clothes too, the material. But Yunho himself was warmth, his skin, the smell of ash and nicotine and his signature perfume. Jaejoong didn’t have much for comfort these days. Besides Junsu’s soft looks and petting words, and Yoochun’s unannounced barging into his office to see if he was still living, there was little physical contact.

Laying this close to Yunho reminded him of how tired he was. About how good being so close to another human felt. The last time had been just a few days ago, when Yunho took his reward for capturing Creever. Yunho’s fingers were nothing but ghost touches on his skin, little lines of possession that he liked to leave when they fucked. He had teeth marks that were still fading on his throat, and Jaejoong liked them, the look of dark purple and red on his pale skin.

“You haven’t asked me to train the other kid.”

Jaejoong’s eyes were closed. Yunho’s arm was around his side, the side that was nearest to the floor.

“I’m sending him to work with Taehyung. I’m going there today, with Jungkook. And I’m planning to leave him with you.”

Underground fighting. It was Yunho’s turf, his domain. The underground fighting ring was where Yunho dominated. He owned the large scale fighting arenas, street fights glorified by bloodied men and loose money. It was where Yunho worked his magic into sanity and business. The traits passed on to him by his father were still there.

“How is the Jung Industries going?”

“Interested in how I run my company?”


Yunho still managed the multi-million corporation. The money he amassed from missions, killings, fighting arenas, it was meaningless. Yunho had never wanted for money. He grew up on an enormous silver platter, spoon fed necessities and wants unlike himself.

“Mother’s controlling the board of directors.”

Yunho loved his mother. Jaejoong knew from the way he spoke, the little drop in his voice. It was admissible, for anyone else but him. For any other man, family would have been weakness. Four years ago, someone had managed to kidnap Yunho’s mother on her way to a spa appointment, car found parked on the outskirts of a cemetery.

Jaejoong had read the report from Yoochun’s email, three men, decapitated, broken knees and elbows. Yunho’s mother was left alone after that incident.

“Come with me to Low Hearts.”

Yoochun was taking too long to come back with coffee. He was a bastard.

Yunho’s chin rubbed against his cheek. It was so affectionate, normal, and it brought out a warmth in his chest, hyperaware of the way Yunho’s hand was on his belly, fingertips pressing there.

He could fuck other men. He could fuck anyone. But Yunho had long spoiled him with his roughness, a sort of primal, unhinged pattern, too many emotions from an emotionless man. Yunho’s rewards were him. Their leader. His body. And Jaejoong used Yunho just as much as Yunho used him.

“Today’s Salted Caramel.” Yunho was talking to himself.

“You and Junsu are both disgusting. Salted caramel,” Jaejoong muttered. Yunho laughed, and Jaejoong closed his eyes to the sound of it. Yoochun was back, coffee permeating into the office. He heard him sit on the table, the ruffle of papers and pens shifted.

“Junsu’s heading in for class. He said to tell you not to worry about him.”

“I’ve already stationed men outside his university.”

“He’ll know.”

“He knows I don’t care about how he feels on this matter. Until I find the traitor, I rather him be safe than fucking happy about having bodyguards.”

Jaejoong moved Yunho’s hand, surprised by how easy it was to do so. He sat up, weight on top of his thighs. Yoochun was on his smart phone, checking through his schedule and the inbox of information.

“Report to me this evening,” he said, sliding off Yunho’s thighs as he drew up his legs. Yunho yawned, slapping his hand on the table next to the couch for his phone and pack of smokes.


Jungkook had sent the car window down as soon as Changmin took off. Jaejoong and Yunho were seated in the back, a narrow space between them. When Jaejoong had returned to the living room, he had thrown the keys to the white Bentley Coupe to Changmin, and told them both to follow him.

Jaejoong and Yunho were an odd pair. Body language told him that they were fucking, but he couldn’t tell whether there were feelings involved. Yunho was someone big in the Syndicate, from his presence alone and the way his instincts reacted to being in close proximity to him. He should ask Jaejoong. Or computer tech guy. It was good to learn who was who.

Changmin had orders to drive to a café, one, Jungkook remembered walking past, back when he was job hunting. Assessing and remembering the surrounding buildings and streets was a practiced habit that became inherent for him to do.

He wriggled his numb fingers on his lap. Maybe shooting a gun would be like that too for him, if he forced himself to practice enough. It was only this morning when he was drinking his coffee that he felt it, his fingers cramping up around the mug handle.

Changmin parked a ways from the café. Jaejoong was warmly clothed, silent and regal as he walked the pavement next to Yunho. Jungkook and Changmin kept a few steps behind them.

“This is fucking unreal,” Changmin muttered to himself, holding the door open as Jungkook walked in. The café was small, air conditioned, sweet smelling overpowering the scent of coffee. It was modernly furnished, flashy. It wasn’t Jungkook’s style, but there was air-conditioning.

“Leader!” The customers that were seated stood sharply. Jaejoong looked at them, and it was in moments like these that Jungkook could believe he was the Syndicate head. The men immediately sat, cowered.

“Morning,” said Changmin, as they walked past the line of customers waiting to order. Yunho sat first, legs crossed, fingers tucked into the inside pocket of his long coat. Jungkook ended up sitting across Jaejoong, staring back at the cold eyes.

“Order what you like,” said Jaejoong, shifting the laminated menus towards them. “Taehyung puts out cakes in front, so you can check there too.”

“He’s...very eccentric,” Changmin commented, taking one of the menus to look through it.

“You’ve met him?”

“Yesterday, when I met up with Yunho,” he answered.

Jaejoong nodded.

Jungkook just wanted another cup of black coffee. Being rich meant quality shit, because the coffee back at Jaejoong’s place was some of the best shit he had ever tasted, the best shit. The black coffee he was accustomed to was piss water compared to it.

A young man came to their table, brown dyed hair, skinny, with a smile that matched the furnishings and lighting.

“Leader. I’m so glad you’re here!” He leaned closer. Eccentric. Not afraid of Jaejoong, or Yunho. Probably the Taehyung person Jaejoong had mentioned. “What would you like to order?”

Jaejoong looked across at them. Changmin was already rattling away. “Mocha. Lots of whipped cream. And a turkey wrap with extra mustard and mayo. And one the chocolate cream things I saw in the front. To the left.”

“Black coffee. And a salmon Panini.” Taehyung stared at him.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he said. “You’re a kid.” He leaned close, and Jungkook’s lip curled.

“Taehyung,” spoke Jaejoong, and the café owner straightened. “Coffee.”

“Waffles,” said Yunho, tapping at the bottom of his cigarette box to pull out a smoke. There was a sign on the post flanking the glass panes: ‘No smoking’.

“Okay,” Taehyung chirped. “What’s your name? I don’t like not knowing who comes into my café.” Taehyung was still smiling, looking down at Jungkook. They were probably around the same height. Taehyung was skinnier. And he had called him a fucking kid.

Jungkook didn’t answer.

“His name is Jungkook,” Jaejoong responded, and Taehyung’s attention turned to him. “He’ll be coming to work here, starting today.”

“Nice to meet you Jungkook. I hope you’ll enjoy working here.” Taehyung bowed before leaving. He walked with little skips in his steps.

“Is he like a thug too?” Changmin asked in disbelief. “Maybe I’ve seen too many dramas but gangsters and thugs don’t look anything like that. Or…you,” he said, to Jaejoong. “Yunho he…he definitely looks like he’d kill someone.”

The other new guy didn’t have much of a filter. But he was likeable. For a common person to enter a situation such as his current predicament, he was handling it unusually well.

“Taehyung’s a professional sniper.”

Professional sniper. So the eccentric guy not much older than himself was a professional sniper. Jungkook had never even held a gun until yesterday.

Changmin sat with his mouth open. “No.” He pressed his fingers to his forehead. “You guys need to give me a break. My brain can’t keep up with all…this.”

Yunho tapped his cigarette into the ashtray.

“Who did you call yesterday?”

 Changmin froze. His face became white. “W-what?”

“Who did you call yesterday on the pay phone? I saw you.”

Changmin’s eyes closed. “Shit. I’m sorry I just – shit. I know I wasn’t supposed to contact anyone but I called my friend. Told him I had to go away for a bit.”

“Min Yoongi? Street name ‘Suga’.” Changmin was dumbfounded as Jaejoong spoke. “He’s the street racer that taught you how to drive, along with what your father taught you.”

Changmin closed his eyes again, bowing his head. “Of course you know. Look I know it was dumb, and I may not know much about how to function like you guys do, but it was a payphone, and he’s my friend. I’m not going to just disappear on him.”

“They already know that you’re with us,” said Jajeoong. “Ensure that it does not happen again.”



Yunho had smoked against the door to the backroom while Jaejoong and Taehyung spoke. It was some months since Taehyung was in the field. He was probably their best sniper in terms of skill, young enough that his skill had yet to mature. By the time his cigarette burned out they were finished talking.

Jaejoong slipped his gloves on as they took the back entrance. Changmin was waiting for them in front of the café with the Bentley, engine running. Across the street, civilians were rushing to work, pavement filled with civil workers, students skipping school, business owners. A man in his thirties in a white t-shirt.

“I’ll stop by all the businesses today,” said Jaejoong, “As I’m out. I’d like for you to accompany me, Yunho.”

“That depends on how boring your business owners decide to be this morning.”

He was slowing down. Not by much, but among the other civilians, the rush of city mornings, it was visible.

“Get in the car Jaejoong.”

Yunho saw the gun. A listening device. The range was far enough to listen in on their conversation in front of the café. The man in the white t-shirt was aiming for Jaejoong. He pulled the trigger.

Jaejoong had seen him. He crouched behind the Bentley, bullet ricocheting off the glass wall of the café. Taehyung was fussy enough to install bulletproof windows for his gun-toting customers.

He started running into the street. The shooter steadied his aim. He saw Yunho. He cursed, gun lowered, slamming through the crowd as he took off. Yunho felt for his handgun, pushing away a well-dressed woman, darting to the side as he ran past the jewelry store.

The shooter turned his head, and continued plowing through the throng of people. There was corner up ahead. A black sedan was parked there. Yunho sped up. He yanked the shooter by the collar of his t-shirt, spinning him around. He drove his fist into his abdomen, the gun falling from his hand.

“Police,” he said smoothly, to the paralyzed civilians. The sedan was no longer there when he looked.

Changmin had brought the Bentley to him, the back door open with Jaejoong peering out.

“Pick up the gun,” he said, after Yunho pushed the shooter into the back seat.

He bent to pick up the gun. A girl in her twenties had her phone out, pointed at him. He went to her, fingers closing around the mobile phone and plucking it from her hand. “No pictures.” He watched her as he deleted the video she had begun filming, and the pictures she had taken of him. He surveyed the remaining few people that had stopped.

AmCo. had nothing to gain from this. Attacking Jaejoong during the busy morning hours, in an area this populated, it didn’t add up, even if Jaejoong rarely left the Syndicate headquarters in an open manner like today. Subduing the shooter had been too easy.

“They have people watching outside headquarters. Twenty-four hour surveillance.”


So this chapter is pretty shoddy. I’m trying to put together all the little pieces together. Jaejoong is not an unnecessarily brutal leader for a crime lord. Yunho is impulsive, and can kill easily without remorse, but he can portray normalcy and act normally. Yunho’s personality is actually childish, in that he does what he wants, and only what he wants.
I was thinking on who to put as Changmin’s friend, to act as a street racer and well, Suga came to mind so he’s been officially added. I’m trying to keep the main character pool small.

I hope this chapter wasn’t too boring. Thank you for reading!

20 October 2016 @ 10:30 pm
It's been months since I've last been on here.

I've had a hard couple months, especially the last two months of surgery where I was not able to human. *cries*

I swear, it was two of the most fucked up months of my life. Shame rounds, getting shit up, panic, no sleep, more panic, always looking like shit. I just finished surgery last week and I swear the PTSD is real.

I finally have some free time and I keep feeling guilty for relaxing. It took me until today to finally calm down and not rush doing well...everything. I actually took my time and washed my hair. Like...it was so nice to do so.

I am going to update. Most likely my mafia fic because I do adore it. Unfortunately my little free time I have I also have to try to study so I'm hoping I gain some time management skills this month. And work on my book. I don't know why I keep procrastinating on the things I actually want to do in life.

07 July 2016 @ 10:35 pm
Sometimes I have to remind myself that if I could make it this far, then I could keep going. I'm in final year of medical school, and it honestly feels like a place I never thought I would reach, you know?

I have a hate/love or maybe hate/like relationship with medicine. I guess hate is an unnecessary word. I don't hate medicine. I like it. I may not have a god complex, but seeing sick people does make me sad, and I do like surgery, and helping people. But at the same time, I don't have that underlying drive, that drives some people who love medicine so much. Maybe I have it in me somewhere, but it's hard to find.

I know it's because I love other things. I have other dreams, like baking, and becoming a famous patissier. Or becoming a famous author. And I know, logically, that I could do all these things. I guess being young right now, and doubting myself, makes it seem sort of impossible, when I know it's not.

I ended up taking 6 days off. Six days of not studying. That's terrible for me considering my new rotation is only a month and I have so much to study that I have no prior knowledge about. But I guess I needed that break.

My main problem is that my depression linked to my weight still controls a lot of my life. I can admit that, that this past week has been me sinking into a depression and taking a day off from school because I was too fucked up over overeating for a couple of days. It sounds so stupid as I'm feeling better now, but I honestly hate how so much of my happiness is linked to something like that - weight.

But life is about trying and to keep on trying. It's what I tell myself, anyway. Two weeks to study out Orthopaedics. Fun stuff.

There's a lot of things I'm still lacking. Like I need to become better at IV lines and NG tubes. And I still have to study more and more anatomy and internal medicine because two months wasn't enough when they had us writing up 32 histories. And sometimes I wish I didn't do medicine in Trinidad because it's terrible here, and completely NOT student friendly. I think of that, some days, that if I'd gone Canada and done medicine that maybe I would love it. But then it shouldn't matter where you study it right?

I'm still stuck in that dislike/like stage. Maybe more like. But not love. After four and some years and it's hard to not become invested in what you're doing. And I am....invested. And sorely lacking normal hobbies, because most times fanfics and anime doesn't cut it anymore. Free time = boredom and well, I'm not too good at handling boredom.

I'm really writing this to cheer myself on. I need to. Some days it's really hard to keep going. I need to tell myself that I can do this. I just need to finish. And I need to pass. I need to fucking study and graduate from medical school and just...yeah.

I can do it. No doubts.

I need to stop doubting myself. It's my biggest downfall.
04 July 2016 @ 01:37 pm
Heyy this isnt usually my thing but you guys could check out sunhineonu she did an interview with me. :)

Thank you ~!