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develation · 4 years ago

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SCP AU

So @emeraldtrainer1 (Ao3), @writingforfunandbecauseboredom (Ao3), and DarkstarWolf53 (<-Dunno if they have Tumblr) did an SCP AU three-way Convo fic some months ago. I really enjoyed the outline and concept and asked if I could expand on it. With their permission and about a month of research into what the actual SCP Foundation is (and holy cow there is so much, no wonder people are all over this) I've finally managed to get a start on this. There is a decent amount of things that are different from their original Convo (via their permission) but it will basically follow the same storyline that they created. Please go check their Convo out, it's a very long and fun read with a lot of good fluff and Angst mixed in.

I will hopefully be drawing some of my designs soon but for now, writing seems to be the way to go. Here is a link to it on Ao3 -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/33213928/chapters/82464553

I'll also have it below in case you would like to read it on Tumblr instead.

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Error: (The End Of All But Me.) There are too many unworldly traits that spiders have that I couldn't just not give to Error, so I've kind of combined their Puppetmaster concept to my design. He has 4 arms with clawed fingertips, his tail is prehensile and his jaw can split open. He has 5 tongues still, 2 of them are spear-like, and can shoot out and impale victims. The saliva produced under the tips of the barbs on the two tongues can liquidity a prey items insides so he can drink them up (still a clean freak, using the skin as a cup and drinking up any mess leaving a skin bag behind). His other three tongues are prehensile and can extend to an unknown length, they are barbed aswell but do not carry the venomous saliva. Strings wrap along his bones from his eye sockets, which he uses to create a nest atop the ceiling of his cell.

SCP-002's (Apollyon class) cell is a blank room (it ask for a TV later on) that goes up vertically 2 floors. The top half is required to be shrouded in darkness as it likes voids of either white or black. It has filled the darkness of its cell with a nest of strings that it spends all of its time in, even when feeding. It does not attempt to attack staff, when asked why it replied with, "Not yet." Personal have not been able to decipher what it means by that statement. In an interview via speakers and mics within containment cell, it was asked why SCP-002 stares off at seemingly nothing for extended periods of time and never touches the ground. Subject responded with, "Busy." When asked what it was busy doing- "Watching." When asked what it was watching- "The world. Everything." Due to this experience, it can be concluded that 002 can view any place in the world and perhaps beyond via "screens". These "screens" are unviewable to anyone but 002 and 001 as the latter SCP had called them so, hence their given name. SCP-002 has a strange relationship with SCP-001 and it can not be determined if 002 likes or dislikes 001.

Ink created Error on accident. In the beginning, Ink didn't know what he was doing, and the brutality of Earth's natural forces of destruction were uncontrollable. If he wanted to bring life to his chosen planet he needed a way to control the chaos. And so through the storm, a new force was born. And even if Ink didn't create it, he did wish for it.

Error is a ticking time bomb for extinction. He waits and watches until he decides it's time for a "spring cleaning" and starts his work. The Ordovician, Late Devonian, Permian, Triassic, and Cretaceous mass extinctions were all him. He deemed the human race ready for a "cleaning" a long time ago and Ink agreed with him, ready to see and make something new. But Nightmare threatened the both of them by stating that he would make the earth forever inhabitable and they would have to kill him before he stoped his rage. Nightmare fears that if another extinction event were to occur he'd lose his boys.

Ink: (God doesn't care about what's right or what's wrong. God just wants to watch interesting things happen.) His form is always changing, different traits from different animals and organisms he's created. Ink is basically Gaia. Born when Theia crashed into Earth around 4.5 billion years ago, he made everything that ever existed. Since he's made A LOT of organisms he has a ton of favorites and the traits from them are what mostly show up when he mutates. Sometimes it's Kaprosuchus with belonged snout and fangs. Sometimes it's Tylosaurus with its marine reptilian posterior. Sometimes it's Chital Deer and their antlers. More often than not though, his tail has consistently stated having bristle-like hair at the tip of it, which is basically his brush. The concept of paintbrushes is pretty new to him since the human race has been around for a short time compared to other species, so while he does have one, his tail is his broomie. If his next from doesn't have it then he just uses his hands and his blood.

Ink can't be contained. It's that simple, he just can't. He just sticks around because it's interesting and hilarious to see his creations so intelligent but so stupid. (remember how humans are still young in terms of Earth's age, so the fact that they're so smart... on a thought level that could almost match his own is so very interesting to see and watch. even if there ruining his planet.) The SCP foundation just has to let him do his thing and hope that he doesn't override 003's and 004's decision to not have an extinction event.

His cell is basically a mini-ecosystem, with all of his favorite organisms living within whether they are extinct or not. He loves his little sample of the world and it keeps him in his cell for a good amount of time so the foundation let him have it. If any of them even touch what is HIS without permission then he rips them apart and feeds them to the baby Rhamphorhynchus. Don't touch his babies.

...Cross though... he can touch his babies... and Dream... and maybe Error... That's it though!

SCP-001 (Apollyon Class) is a being older than all living things, despite his toddler-like mannerisms. Even more infuriating, within an interview, 001 openly admitted to being the cause of all SCP's and their anomalous effects. It stated that they were all just mistakes and/or experiments, testing the limits of their own abilities. 001's quoted response- "You don't get it do you? I made everything here! All of your little "SCP's" are just of my creation as all of you. Sure there all mistakes but, it just proves my point that it's time to start over again. A clean slate y'know? Pfft- wow you look mad! If it makes you feel any better, I don't like most of them either. They were cool at first but... it's like flicking black paint over a finished painting. Sure, you can try to get over it but eventually, it will just bother you so much that you just can't stand it! Well... I do kinda want some of them to stay... If I could just convince Ru..." -shows evidence to this conclusion. Termination trials were approved by the 05 Council, though have not been able to start since 001's creation of a barrier around its cell, preventing entry of anything that tries to pass.

[Note: Error, Dream, and Nightmare are not included in what Ink views as "mistakes". Y'know when you're trying something new and you don't know what you’re doing, yet it works somehow. That's them, happy accidents. Ink adores them.]

Ink finds the attempt of Termination trials on him to be absolutely hilarious. The fact that humanity's insecurity about their lifespan and control is so great that they'd try to KILL HIM. Amazing. He can't believe he's managed to make the simultaneously best and worst organism ever.

Dream: (When day breaks.) Again he was accidentally created by Ink’s actions in an intense solar storm. The flare drifting over the earth in combination with Ink’s magic still working to bring life brought him to existence. Dream’s design is almost harpy-like, with beautiful golden, sun-like wings with a small feathery crest atop his skull. Two tail-like feathers sprout from the crest that can rise up and down depending on expression and mood. He also has bird feet and legs, and a tail.

Dream adores all life, his is the warmth and growth of the sun (original form being a ball of light and plasma that literally looks like a mini sun). He is basically like a piece of the sun on earth. His cell is kinda like Ink’s, only in the fact that there are just a couple of animal species. Some deer, birds, and insects mainly. Ink obviously just appeared in his cell one day and made it for him. While Dream could be considered to be a Safe SCP, his ability to damage or completely ruin the planet if inraged prevents that classification.

SCP-003 (Apollyon Class) has proven to be a relatively docile creature. It is elegant in nature (like that of a bird) and shows greater empathy towards all life in general. Unlike SCP’s 001, 002, and 004 who view it as more interesting and admirable, more like a pretty crystal than an actual being with its own consciousness. 003 can not be fully contained and has shown the ability to travel through light rays. Its aura has also shown to be some form of anesthesia, and exposure for prolonged periods causes victims to feel more at peace and calm. 003 does have the capability to travel through the “dreamscape”, what exactly that in tails is unknown.

Dream doesn’t agree with the extinction event thing because the Holocene period hasn’t lasted for nearly as long as it should. On the other hand, he does distaste humanity/monsterkind for all it has done to the planet. Even so, he feels like they deserve more of a chance.

Nightmare: (Does the Black Moon howl?)(Death) Complete with the theme of being Dreams opposite, Nightmare was born from a black moon and the combination of Ink’s magic bringing life to the earth. He isn’t an evil force or anything, just the night to the day. His design is pretty true to OG nightmare, although his legs and feet share the same digitigrade format. His tentacles are more ghostly than slimy and they drip upwards instead of towards the ground. His bones also have a ghost;y wisp to them, but it isn’t that noticeable. Instead of only having a turquoise glint in his magic, there are sparks of purple aswell. (His original form being a black sphere of what looks like smoke).

His cell is basically an entrance to a cave system that Ink had made for him. Inside is a galaxy of crystals and gemstones that glow and sparkle like the night sky. A small stream runs through, the light refracting off of the water, adding to the glow effect. It is a nice calm place for Nightmare to just chill in, his separate own little world.

Nightmare is kind of mysterious, in the realm of Error in which he likes to watch things happen. Just lurking in the shadows, a quiet observer. Though, he wasn’t as fascinated by life as the others. So to prevent his boredom Ink made him a present- Killer. Nightmare hated the little thing at first but it didn’t take too long to grow fond of the little guy. Not too long later Ink pronounced his joy in watching Nightmare sigh in frustration by sending 2 more bundles his way -Dust and Horror- and Nightmare had to threaten Ink to stop before any more joined the fray.

SCP-004 (Apollyon Class) is an entity whose intentions are completely unknown. A mysterious being that chooses to dwell in the cave system 001 made for it. The entity refuses to interact with personal unless in interview. And when it does respond, it does so in riddles and metaphors. It seemingly takes joy asking more questions than the interviewer, turning the conversation in its favor. On such question that has been repeated multiple times - “Does the Black Moon howl?” has puzzled personal. Though 004 states that if answered correctly and explained why, then it will share its secrets with that person and that person only.

004 proves to be uncontainable like its counterparts, able to travel through shadows. SCP’s 012, 032, and 024 seem to be “followers” of 004, and regularly go missing from their cells. Most likely 004’s doing.

[Ink created Killer, Dust, and Horror during the era where dinosaurs were still alive, so they have some traits from them.]

Killer: (War) Was created by Ink for Nightmare to keep him entertained. Killer was born as a baby in Ink’s very hands, a little skeleton with curved blades for hands and digitigrade legs and feet (and little quills on his back). Growing up under Nightmare’s care was an interesting experience, but he thought Kill’s everything he needed to know.

-[SCP-012, Keter]-

Killer is fast, very fast. And he enjoys killing things (what a surprise). He’s pretty much the same cocky boi as always. His more SCP side is that he doesn’t seem to ever feel pain and the black liquid that leaks through his eyes. That can be used as a type of venomous toxin to whatever he pleases.

Dust: (Pestilence) You know Epidexipteryx and Therizinosaurus? Those are Dust hands, long with even longer claws. He can also turn into literal dust, more of a phantom or wraith in nature. He can walk through walls, and turn others to dust and grow himself if he wishes.

He and Horror could be twins since Ink made them both at the same time. Holding his little creations in his arms as they wriggled and whined in confusion at suddenly being alive.

-[SCP-032, Keter]-

Dust is pretty quiet and tame. He has his episodes but he stays pretty much the same as bookwrym’s, writing’s, and Dark’s Dust.

Horror: (Famine) Since Horror is a vent crawler I based his design on that. Horror’s second set of arms are like a praying mantis with an extra joint, hands serrated blades almost like Killer’s. He used to sit in trees and wait for prey to walk underneath him, plucking them from the ground with his long arms and eating them alive.

Same thing when in vents, just waits over the openings and plucks a person off of the ground and into the vent (if personal don’t keep up with his feeding times)

-[SCP-024, Euclid]-

Other than his design Horror is pretty much the same as bookwyrm’s, writing’s, and Dark’s concept.

Outer: [SCP-044, Safe] His stardust makes him have luminescent galaxy and star patterns on his bones. He floats regularly without control over it and can sometimes make other objects float, in rare cases people, aswell. Ink made him a jacket where pieces of its hood and aglets float off like a sort of fluffy foam. The pieces orbit him like planets to a star before joining back, making a continuous cycle.

(And yes writingforFUN, he will still keep his anime sparkling eyelight’s).

Cross: [SCP-00X, Thaumiel] Was created by Dr. X to help contain and terminate Keter SCP’s. Being forced to kill his brother when he turned Keter, not completely in control of his actions. Dr. X’s “programing” making him see his brother no longer as such, just an object to be eliminated. When Cross became uncontrollable Dr. X put wiped his memory without the 05’s or administers permission and an MTF was sent after him that came back empty-handed. Cross was brought back soon enough and had his memory wiped.

They bring him back in as a staff member and that’s when the story kicks off, mostly following bookwyrm’s, writingforFUN, and Dark’s original outline/convo.

(I apologize for any typos)

#undertale au #scp au #writing

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edelwoodsouls · 4 years ago

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maybe in another universe - ch. 1 [fic]

Jon isn’t expecting anything good when he’s evacuated to the countryside. Living with his crush rival he can just about handle. The secret magical world in the upstairs wardrobe, on the other hand, might just break him.

AKA: Narnia AU

Word Count: 2,707 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 2,

chapter one: the train to everywhere

As the train leaves the station, Jon doesn't look back.

The corridors outside his carriage are filled with other kids, craning their necks out of the windows to wave at their parents, tears streaming down their faces. It's a mess of loud noise and emotion that makes Jon wholly uncomfortable.

There's no one for him to look back to, no one to share tears with. No one to yell at him, you'll be home before you know it! and have fun, dear! it's okay!

He curls his arms around his suitcase and stares out the opposite window, at the vanishing buildings. Smoke shimmers over the horizon, mixing with the clouds, and Jon tries to imagine the view from above. When the planes fly overhead, do they recognise the smothered lights flickering below? Do they spare a thought for the bodies on the other side of the flames?

The corners of his suitcase begin to dig painfully into his skin.

Before he can spiral any further, the door to the compartment rattles open with a sudden gunshot sound that sets every nerve in his body alight.

He flinches and turns to see a girl roughly his own age, head swathed in a dark blue hijab, pressing her lips in an apologetic line.

"Sorry," she shrugs noncommittally, inclining her head. "Is that seat taken?"

"Uh, no."

"So I can take it?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." She shoulders her way into the room, heaving her own suitcase up onto the rack above their heads with an easy movement. Jon grips his own sheepishly - several blows to the head have taught him that he is nowhere near strong enough to haul it up that high.

The girl settles into the seat opposite him, retrieves a book from the recesses of her thick navy trench coat. It's a weathered copy of The Iliad, well-thumbed and annotated.

He's leaning forward curiously before he can help himself.

The girl looks up with raised eyebrows. "Nosy much?"

"Sorry," he shrinks back behind the large bulk in his lap. "I just- I used to have that same copy. Before..."

The girl's face softens, infinitessimly. "It's one of my favourites," she offers, almost apologetically. "I started keeping all my books in the shelter a few months ago. It's the only reason this survived."

Jon says nothing - there's nothing he can really say. In this moment, they are just two strangers, sharing a burning world.

"I'm Basira," the girl says, with a decisive look. "I'm from Finchley, being evacuated to Dorset. You?"

"Uh- same," Jon blinks, surprised. "I'm Jon. I've- I've never seen you before?"

"I mean, I imagine you go to the boys' school."

"Not until last year."

"Oh."

Jon glances down at his hands, hoping Basira can't see the way his fingers are white-knuckled against his suitcase.

"Well, I was new before-" she waves her arms vaguely, "all this. Home-schooled. So not really surprising."

"Oh." Slowly, one by one, Jon allows his muscles to relax. "That must've been nice. Quiet."

"That's one word for it," Basira mutters in a way that implies a hundred other meanings than nice. "I was really looking forward to actually getting to know people, y'know? New people, my own age."

"Well, you know me now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

Jon tries for a smile, but it comes out as something more of a grimace. All the same, Basira seems to get the sentiment, and returns it.

~/~/~/~

Martin hates trains.

In theory, they're the perfect vessel. Hours of uninterrupted time, the world moving beneath your feet as you curl into a seat with a hot cup of tea and your favourite paperback.

But he hasn't been on a train since his mother sent him away to London, and that sort of memory tends to leave one with a distaste by association.

Now here he is, only a few years later, being sent away again.

He's just glad his mother refused to take him in. He's not sure he could bear going back to that house, potentially indefintiely.

All the same, he's trying to make the best out of the journey that he can. He's heard horror stories of other evacuees, forced to work on farms or taken in only to be used for their ration cards. If that's the sort of fate he's headed for, he'll take the luxury of a nice cuppa and the drafting of a few poems whilst it's still there.

And he really is in the perfect place for it. The smouldering London skyline behind him, the fathomless countryside ahead. A world in flux and chaos, defined in fire and water.

He notes that down in his journal.

"Any good thoughts?" Melanie asks through a mouthful of sandwich.

Martin blinks up at the girl sharing his compartment, an embodiment of chaos if ever he's seen one. She's lying across the seats opposite him, her suitcase open and contents strewn everywhere - she'd been digging through it to find something inane which turned out to be in her pocket the whole time, and hasn't bothered to pack it up again.

Martin's hands itch to tidy the space - instead he grips his pen a little too hard and settles for a quzzical smile.

"Your writing," she points with the corner of her sandwich. "You look very deep in concentration and dramatic. Any good thoughts?"

"I suppose," he shrugs, retreating somewhat under Melanie's energetic gaze. "Something about dichotomies. Peace and war, fire and water. City and country."

"Men and women, nurse and soldier. Alive and dead."

Martin raises an eyebrow. "I guess."

"Hey- if there's any time to be morbid, it's during a war, dontcha think?"

"True. Do you write?"

"Nope. I do photography, though."

Martin can feel himself getting interested despite himself. "Really? Do you have a camera?"

Melanie nudges at the pile of clothes somehow still heaped in the boundaries of her suitcase, revealing the packaging of a beautiful, sleek camera piece that makes Martin fall a little in love with this stranger instantly.

"Is that a Retina I?" he asks, unable to quite keep the awe out of his voice.

"You really know your tech," Melanie says approvingly. "Yeah, it is. I'm going to be a supernaturalist."

"A what?"

"A supernaturalist, Martin. I'm going to be the first person to prove that ghosts exist. I'm going to get one on film."

"Huh."

Martin deliberately avoids Melanie's eyes. To believe in the supernatural is not generally approved of, let alone to talk about it with the sudden reverence and conviction that have crept into Melanie's voice.

He's gotten very used to pretending he's never seen anything out of the ordinary. The smoke that follows him around like a shadow, the spiders that seem to understand him just a little too intelligently - they all have mundane explanations.

He's never met someone so open about such things.

He lasts a matter of seconds before his tongue gets the better of him. "What've you seen?"

Melanie grins, as if she's been waiting from the moment they met just for him to ask. "I got shot by a ghost."

Martin almost knocks over his tea. "I'm sorry?"

"I got shot by a ghost."

"Yeah, you said that already. What I meant to say was, what the fuck?"

Melanie looks delighted to have his attention. She reaches down and rolls her sock to her ankle, revealing a garish red scar screaming across her leg. "London's full of ghosts, if you hadn't noticed. They just love the chaos that's going on right now, always wandering all over the place when the streets are empty and everyone's hidden in their shelters."

"I'm guessing you're not one for shelters," Martin says dryly, attempting to smother the sheer confusion and excitement doing battle in his brain.

"Of course not," Melanie scoffs. "They won't let me enlist because I'm a girl, but, I mean, have you seen some of the boys in charge of Finchley's bomb clearance?"

"A lot of them were in the year above me at school," Martin nods. He could say far more bitter things, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"They're kids, just like us," Melanie nods, a furious look in her eyes. "I wouldn't trust them to protect me from a particularly vicious duck, let alone the end of days raining from the sky."

Martin grins in agreement. Despite initial perceptions, he's starting to like Melanie a lot.

A shame they'll only get to know each other for this one train ride, likely never to hear from each other again. Unless Melanie does actually become famous for photographing ghosts, and he becomes famous for his poetry, and maybe they'll meet at a gala sixty years from now and not recognise each other at all.

Martin mentally kicks himself out of that particular spiral. He's always had a problem with melancholy, and the world being on fire has hardly done anything to improve him.

He's convinced it's what makes him a good poet.

"Hey," he says, to distract himself. "Where are you being sent to?"

"Some professor," Melanie shrugs. "Probably a stuffy old bat who'll put you to work if she finds a single fingerprint in the dust. Academics are all the same, from what I've seen."

Martin looks down at his own tag, brown paper tied with fraying string, looped around his neck by a disinterested attendant at the posting office. He hasn't actually had the nerve to read the name yet.

His heart picks up. "Melanie... it's not Professor Gertrude Robinson, is it?"

~/~/~/~/~

"...But Patroclus called to his comrades with a loud shout: “Myrmidons, ye comrades of Achilles, son of Peleus, be men, my friends, and bethink you of furious valour, to the end that we may win honour for the son of Peleus, that is far the best of the Argives by the ships, himself and his squires that fight in close combat; and that the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, may know his blindness in that he honoured not at all the best of the Achaeans-"

"Achilles is such an idiot," Basira interrupts, rolling her eyes and flipping the coin in her palm in absent, distracted movements.

Jon raises an eyebrow and lowers the book. "I can stop, if you'd prefer."

"No, no, you're okay. You've got a surprisingly good voice for this stuff. I'm glad you suggested it."

They've been taking turns reading aloud, switching out every few pages to pass the time, since Jon has no books of his own. But Basira seems to have quickly decided that Jon is a born narrator and delegated all further reading to him.

He's been glowing faintly from the praise ever since.

The journey has flown by - as time often does when Jon's hyperfixations make an appearance - but for once he doesn't feel guilty about indulging it. Basira seems just as fascinated, somehow, and he greatly enjoys her interruptions.

"You don't think Achilles is an idiot?" she asks, crossing her legs and leaning forward intently.

"No, I definitely do- he sends his boyfriend out to fight a war he isn't prepared for just because of a grudge and then throws a tantrum when that hubris gets him killed. He's definitely an idiot."

"Oh good," Basira says, visibly relieved. "For a moment there I thought we were going to have to argue."

Jon laughs, and the sound comes easier than it has in a while. This realisation crawls under his skin, cutting the sound short. He looks out of the window for some semblance of escape-

"Hey! Look!" He points out at the approaching train station, a quaint thing, barely more than a slab of stone emerging from a field. But the sign, rusted as it is, reads the same as the looping handwriting on the label around his neck does.

"Oh joy," Basira sighs. "Countryside air and a new family who'll probably hate me."

"Where are you being sent?" Jon asks, more hopeful than he's willing to admit. "Maybe we'll be neighbours."

"The household of Professor Gertrude Robinson," she reads from her own label.

"So am I!" Jon's heart leaps high in his chest despite himself. "You know, if we're with a professor, she might- I mean, she probably isn't a rough work kind of person- so maybe... this won't be so awful after all?"

Of course, Jon has always had a habit of speaking too soon.

~/~/~/~/~

Gathering Melanie's discarded belongings is a predictably chaotic affair, but she executes it with the practiced air of someone who lives that way every day.

Martin can't decide whether he's excited or dreading living with this girl.

As soon as they sprawl out onto the platform with seconds to spare, Martin realises that Melanie's mess is the least of his worries.

Because perched on the station's only bench, face knitted into his iconic perpetual frown, eyes squinting against the sun, is Jonathan fucking Sims.

Next to his suitcase, and wearing a knitted jumper several sizes too big, he looks tiny. The tall hijabi girl standing on top of the bench, looking searchingly into the distant fields, only serves to exaggerate this.

Melanie notices the sudden drain in his skin immediately, and follows his gaze. "For fucks sake."

"You know him?" Martin asks faintly, resisting the urge to brush his hands through his hair, or smooth his clothes. Jon doesn't care what he looks like, doesn't care about him. He should've learnt back in primary school that being rivals isn't something to be romanticised.

But his heart doesn't seem to get the message as a stray gust of wind dances in Jon's dark hair, and it skips a beat.

"Do I know Jonathan fucking Sims?" Melanie grits out, heaving her suitcase roughly over one shoulder. "That guy is such a wanker. 'Ghosts are for idiots, Melanie. Just a romantic ideal made up by delusional people afraid of the dark.'"

"He's not that bad," Martin begins to protest before he can stop himself, "he's just been through a lot."

"Doesn't excuse him being a dick," Melanie grumbles. "Not to mention he used to date my girlfriend. Always having a disaster and blazing back into her life. What I wouldn't give for five minutes one on one, I'd teach him..."

Melanie goes on muttering under her breath, but Martin barely hears, because Jon has just met his eyes and nothing else in the world matters. There's surprise, then panic, before his expression settles back into a frown.

Martin sighs. It's not as if he should've expected anything else.

"Come on," he says to Melanie, picking up his suitcase. "We'd better get it over with."

The walk to close their distance seems to take hours, and somehow no time at all.

"Martin," Jon greets him with a clipped, emotionless tone.

"Hey, Jon," Martin smiles, refusing to let the other boy's walls get him down. "And you are?"

"Basira," the girl nods, still standing high above them and glancing distractedly towards the dirt path, likely looking for whoever will be along to pick up evacuees. "I guess you guys already know each other?"

"They go to school together," Melanie brushes off the explanation, before introducing herself, too. "Now we're all acquainted, how long before we never have to see each other again?"

Basira's eyes flick silently between the three of them, clearly noting the tension, but saying nothing.

"We're in the same house," Jon says stiffly. "I don't know about you two. I'm sure there are other benches you can loiter at."

"Well we're in the same house," Melanie shoots back, linking her arm with Martin and holding tight. She's a lot stronger than she looks.

An awful thought dawns on Martin, quickly encompassing and eclipsing anything else. "Where..." he swallows around his dry throat, "who are you guys with?"

Martin watches as Jon's eyes widen. Glance down at his own label, across at theirs, and back.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Martin wants to burrow into the ground and hide somewhere his blushing cheeks could never be seen. He shouldn't be surprised, really. This summer was already looking down, being far from London, living with strangers, adjusting to pretending to be whatever fit in most.

Living with the crush who hates his guts is somehow the only escalation that makes sense.

#the magnus archives #fanfiction #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #narnia au #own work #morgan writes

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littlemisskookie · 6 years ago

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We’ve Got You: Pt. 2

We’ve Got You: 1 2 Ship: Hoseok | Reader | Yoongi Description: The line between fiction and reality blurs further, and you’re unsure whether or not your best friends improve or worsen it. Warnings: Death, Mental Illness, Threesome, Dom!YoonSeok, Dirty Talk, Spit Roasting, Intercourse, Oral, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Unprotected Sex, Creampie Word Count: 3,441 A/N: I didn’t even plan to write part 2 but here we are- the conclusion.

"I don't understand any of it! I thought this medication was supposed to work, or do something. But she's still... she's still seeing them," Jin seethed, his tone exasperated.

Dr. Kim sighed, giving the man a sympathetic look. "Medication does take a while to work. Besides that, many have to try out different antipsychotic pills before finding one that works for them. If there was one pill that could immediately cure symptoms of schizophrenia, the world would be a far better place. But perhaps you're right. I'll look into switching her from Abilify to something stronger or more suited to her needs."

"Y'know, doc, sometimes I start thinking that they're real. Like she's got those two assholes just following her around and trying to... I don't know, take her. I see them for a moment and I'm convinced I'm the delusional one- but then I remind myself I'm just letting it get to my head."

"It's normal for you to be feeling this way- there's a lot of stress for taking care of someone with this disorder," Dr. Kim reminds him. "I'll remind you that if you ever feel the need to send her to the ward, we'll be more than happy to take her in."

"Is this normal, though? For someone of her condition?" Jin ponders. "I've been doing so much studying on this, but usually the hallucinations or delusions don't pertain to... well, dead people. To people she knew."

"There is a first time for everything. Besides, she's displayed other symptoms that link up to it. Stress tends to trigger mental illnesses, and it's usually around this age where it pops up for the few people who do have this disorder. Besides, according to your records, your family does have some history of schizophrenia. She's shown the symptoms of delusions and hallucinations, but another thing you've got to remember is that people with schizophrenia tend to be more of a danger to themselves than others. That's especially concerning considering what you told me happened last night. If she continues to show this sort of behavior, we may have to detain her regardless of you admitting her to the hospital."

Jin sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I understand, Doctor. I'll keep her safe, trust me. What should I do in the meantime?"

"There's not much else I can advise other than what you've been doing. Just make sure she takes her medication and keep her out of harm's way. It's the bare minimum you can do for now until we get more done," Dr. Kim advises.

"Alright, thank you, Doctor," Jin says. He leaves the office to see you, sitting in the chair, leaning back and crossing your arms. He feels so, so tired, but he wouldn't show you that side of him. He didn't want you to believe that you were a burden.

"So, what'd Dr. Kim say? Should I be locked up because I'm crazy?" you huff. "I would think that I'd get to listen in on those conversations. I'm still a functioning member of society, might I remind you."

Jin offers a weak smile of amusement, glad you still had some pep to you despite the lack of sleep. "Y/N, I think we should talk."

"This again? To scold me?" You huff childishly, but he knows you're only playing. You understood his concern.

He leans in front of you, holding your hands in his and locking your gaze. "Y/N, you're an adult. As you said before, you're a functioning member of society. But you and I both know that... Well, you're sick. Really sick. I'm- We're, trying our best to help you. But you've got to help, too, y'know? We wouldn't be here if we didn't care, and you know I only want the best for you. I only want to help."

Your hard stare softens when you analyze the expression on his face. He's gotten paler these past three months. There were circles under his eyes, and he seemed very sullen and skinny. Your brother was handsome, no doubt, even now. However, he seemed to lose the glow that once was.

"I know," you say slowly, diverting your gaze to your lap.

"I know it's normal for someone of your condition to truly believe what she... sees. But surely there's a part of you that knows that what you're seeing... it's not there. Yoongi and Hoseok are dead- they died three months ago. I know you need time to cope- they were your best friends and it's only been a few months. But you're only going to end up hurting yourself and me if you continue chasing after something that's not there."

Your eyes began to well up with tears. "I know... I just..."

"You miss them?" Jin offers for you.

"You don't understand. It seems so real. I can feel them, touch them, hear them. It's them through and through and... it feels like they're still there."

"Y/N, you saw their bodies at the funeral. You know what happened."

"I know, but don't you ever wonder... just wonder if ghosts are real? I've been thinking so much about it. No hallucination can touch me. No hallucination can seem so... so lifelike. It was just like them."

"Hallucinations and delusions are common for someone of your condition. I did ask the doctor about it, though, since it is... special. Most only have auditory hallucinations, but as he pointed out there was a first time for everything. As for physical interaction, I can't say I know much about that. I'm no expert, and the best I can find is through scholarly documents. But I am trying to use what little I know to help you," Jin says.

"I know. They always hated that about you," you smile weakly.

Jin mimicks it. "I need you to cooperate, though. When you... see Yoongi and Hoseok... don't follow them. They're not real. Don't do anything they want- they can't really harm you. You have to remind yourself that they're not real because they've caused nothing but harm. Even after death, apparently. Another thing that's common for people with your condition is that they tend to be more harmful to themselves than to others, despite popular media has shown. Think to yourself whether or not something's truly tangible, and what the ultimate consequences are. It'll be hard, I know, but I want you to try."

"I understand," you say softly.

"Good. I talked to Dr. Kim about getting you a new prescription since the pills we have doesn't seem to be very effective. If the new meds work out, you won't be seeing them again," Jin smiles, the sentiment one of good intent.

You didn't find it nearly as comforting.

You're woken in the middle of the night, the two of the boys beside you on the bed.

Yoongi smiles at you, combing his fingers through your hair- just like he used to. It feels so heartwarming and comfortable that you let yourself melt into the sensation, humming quietly in content. Hoseok, meanwhiles, snuggles into your side, affectionate as ever, curled up in fetus position as he wraps around you like ivy.

"How'd you sleep, beautiful?" Yoongi whispers in your ear, voice husky. "Did you have sweet dreams?"

At that, your eyes snap open. You realize despite the fact that his fingers thread through your hair, you can't feel his breath on your neck. You couldn't even feel Hoseok's chest rising and falling with his breath.

Because neither was breathing, to begin with.

You pull back from both, sitting up to stare at them with wide eyes through the dark. "You're not real," you whisper quietly.

Hoseok scoffs at that, rolling his eyes as he stretches. "Is that more bullshit your brother is spewing?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Please stop. You're not real and I know I miss them but... This hurts too much. Seeing you, feeling you, as though you're actually here."

"We are here, Y/N," Yoongi says, his voice soft as he presses a cold hand to the side of your face. You look up at him, still present. "You feel that? You feel me?"

You reach up to the hand on your cheek, but you can't make out a pulse. You don't know if it's because your brain can't make one, you're just too sleepy, or something else. "I don't know anymore. Hallucinations... they can touch you... I think..."

Hoseok grumbled at that, pulling you to him, your back flush against his chest. "Hallucination, huh? Could your imagination really even compare to this, though?"

You whine, arching your back when one of his hands gropes your breasts, his mouth finding its way to your neck, nibbling, biting, and licking in that way he knew you loved. You gasp in surprise, but his other hand comes up to your mouth, blocking the noise. "Shh, baby. Wouldn't want your brother seeing you getting off with a couple of hallucinations, now would we? Now be good and spread your legs for Yoongi."

You comply, your legs shaky as you spread them for the older man, relaxing when you feel his veiny hands massage the skin, loosening your muscles.

Yoongi and Hoseok had shared you plenty of times, and other times when it was only two at a time. The sort of polyamorous relationship shared between three friends. You kept it a secret, however, knowing your brother wouldn't approve. Turns out that the secret would be taken to the grave.

Yoongi tugs down your pajama shorts, sucking in a sharp breath once he sees you're not wearing any underwear. "No underwear, huh? Dirty girl. You were just begging to get fucked tonight, weren't you?" Yoongi questions, his thumb twirling around the small nub in a way that made you keen. "That's right, get nice and wet for us baby. We'll show you how real we really are."

The hand that Hoseok had clasped over your mouth now shoves fingers inside, muffling the moans as Yoongi continued his ministrations, two fingers delving inside to roughly finger you, knowing you can handle it.

"Do you remember the first time you did this with us, Y/N?" Hoseok questions. "On prom night? How we shared you in the back of a dirty old limo, with the driver oblivious to what was happening in the back? To how wet you were and what a nasty girl you were for us?"

You nod, some of the drool going down your chin and onto Hoseok's hand. Your eyes roll back as Yoongi leans down, capturing the small nub in his mouth and sucking harshly, his ministrations rough in an effort to get you to cum as soon as possible.

It had been three months since you had been fucked, and God had you missed it. Hoseok pulled his hand down, forcing you to look directly at Yoongi between your legs. His stare was predatory, locking with yours as he feasted between your legs, enjoying the way your eyes started to glaze over.

"That's right, baby, look at him. He's taking such good care of you, isn't he? He's getting you ready for cock. We've held back from you for long enough."

Yoongi's gaze stays locked on yours as he stimulates your g-spot and clit, trying to get you to race towards the edge. Your tells begin to show, from the slight quiver in your thighs to the glaze in your eyes as you tumble towards the edge of subspace.

"That's right, cum for us," Hoseok rasps in your ear. "There'll be more where that came from."

You find your orgasm washing over you, and the moan is suppressed. Yoongi holds your thighs down, still lapping at your heat, doing his best to overstimulate you as you soak the sheets. You whine in pain at the sensation as Yoongi continues to lap at your clit, but Hoseok only pets your head, calming you as you let the pain subside for pleasure, another orgasm, though less intense, coursing through your veins.

Yoongi comes back up for air, his face glistening with your juices. He grabs the back of your neck, Hoseok letting go of you as Yoongi presses you towards his own body, smashing your lips to his. You taste yourself against his tongue, and you feel yourself getting hot all over again at the thought.

Yoongi breaks apart, a string of saliva connecting you now parting into nothingness. "Still think we're just a figment of your imagination, baby?"

Your face goes red, and your mind is still hazy despite the fact you're wide awake now. "I... I..."

"She still doesn't know, hm? Maybe she needs a bit of cock to help get her senses straight," Hoseok chuckles. "Get on your knees, baby. It's time to take what's ours."

You obey, your limbs shaky as you get on all fours. You observe Yoongi, who has now yanked down his boxers and pants, stroking his length before you. Your mouth waters as you remember the girth of his cock, and how deliciously it would stretch you. Hoseok's cock wasn't as girthy, but he made up for it in length, always using it to mercilessly batter your g-spot.

At that thought, you feel the blunt head run over your folds, a low hiss coming behind you from Hoseok. "Fuck, I've missed this." He pushes inside, an easy slide from the copious amount of lubrication, and both of you gasp at the feeling. Hoseok stills inside of you, and reaches forward, grabbing your face and opening your mouth, pushing your head towards Yoongi. "Why don't you suck him off, Y/N? He was so nice to you. It's only right to return the favor."

You nod, opening your mouth in compliance. Yoongi accepts the invitation with little fanfare, pushing inside of your mouth as you begin to bob your head. Yoongi fucks your throat as Hoseok begins to fuck you from behind, both of their paces controlled and in rhythm, as though the two were synced.

Hoseok grabs fistfuls of your ass before pushing his chest against your back, his face next to yours as he observes how lewdly you swallow Yoongi's cock whole. "What a good fucking girl for us, taking our cocks so well."

"Shit, baby, just like that," Yoongi grunts, his hips stuttering slightly as he continuously dives into the warmth of your mouth. "You were made for our cocks, weren't you?"

You can't even nod up at him, fucked out as you rock between the two men, your mind going plank as you enter another plane of consciousness. All in a result of an orgasm that consisted of being sandwiched between two men. Everything seems to go into a dreamlike state, a subspace only they could bring you to.

Before you knew it you were swallowing all of Yoongi's cum, and Hoseok was filling up your pussy with a low grunt. You were brutally used by both men, with three orgasms now to boot.

Yoongi wipes the sweat from your brow, smiling fondly at you. They both look at you as though you're their world- a look you'll never forget. "Still think we're imaginary, Y/N?"

"No," you say, your lashes fluttering as you slowly come down from your high.

"Then come with us," Hoseok smiles. "It's time we finish what we started."

"Here again?" you whisper quietly, looking down at the seemingly endless abyss below the bridge.

"It's the simplest way," Hoseok shrugs.

You ponder for a moment, tossing the switchblade from hand to hand. "I didn't give it much thought last time you tried to get me to do this. But it's clear now that I think about it what you want from me. My only question is why."

Yoongi gives you an understanding smile. "Ah, you've figured it out."

"What can we say? We picked a smart one," Hoseok chuckled.

"If I cut this, we'll all fall and die. But you two can't die, can you? Because..." You suck in a deep breath. "Because you two are already dead."

The two are quiet for a moment, your words hanging in the air.

"What is it like? To die?" you question softly.

"It's quick. As you know I died on the spot. Hoseok wasn't so lucky. He had to go through a lot of pain and even a coma before he died," Yoongi pointed out.

"I remember," you say, tears welling up in your eyes at the memory. "They wouldn't even let me see him."

Hoseok gives you a warm side hug, embracing you. "It's alright, Y/N. I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Yes, but..."

"You wanted to know how death was like? It's painless when it comes, but with this method, it's quick. I don't want it dragged out for you the way it was for me," Hoseok says.

"We just want us all to be together, Y/N," Yoongi tells you. "We promised we'd always stay by each other's sides, right? We're a team, a trio. We'll never love anyone else as much for as long as... Well, ironically as long as we lived. You belong with us, Y/N. Even you know this. We wouldn't be here if you didn't."

You were conflicted. Could this be your mind playing games with you in order to bring about your doom? Or were they really ghosts set out on doing unfinished business... which was reuniting with you.

You swallowed hard.

"What about Jin?"

"What about him?" Hoseok scoffed. "Y/N, he thinks you're crazy- he thinks you're delusional. We're telling you we're real, and he's been out here drugging you, about to take you to some ward. He feels burdened trying to brainwash you and take care of you. He doesn't have your best interests at heart like us."

"Yes he does," you begin to defend.

"No, he doesn't," Hoseok clarifies. "He's always had the goal of keeping us apart. He's going as far as to get you drugged up on something new, isn't he? So you'll no longer see us? Do you never want to see us again?"

"No," you say. "I love you. More than anything."

"Then let us be together finally," Yoongi says, taking your hand in his and bringing the switchblade up to the rope. "We'll finally have our happily ever after, just the three of us."

You nod, the two of them giving support as you begin to drag the blade across the rope.

You're down to the last few threads when-

"Y/N!"

You turn, seeing Jin run towards you. You hold the blade up above your head, eyes wide as you threaten to bring it down. "Don't come any closer!"

Jin freezes in place before the bridge, panicked. "Y/N, don't! Please, let's just go home!"

"No! I'm not going anywhere, Jin. You've got to understand that. You've kept me away long enough," you say. "Yoongi and Hoseok... They're real. They're here, with me. They're real!"

"Y/N, Yoongi and Hoseok are dead. Please, we can get you the help you need. They have a division at the hospital to help you-"

"No! No more doctors, no more pills, no more treating me like I'm crazy!" you exclaim. Your eyes water as you stare at your brother. "I'm a burden enough to you, Jin. Let me go."

His eyes get glassy as well, and a lump forms in his throat. "I just don't want to lose my baby sister."

You falter at that, slowly lowering the knife to your side. Hoseok, however, grabs your hand, halting your surrender. "Remember what we said," Hoseok hisses at you.

"He's my brother," you whine.

"And we're your best friends. You didn't choose to be siblings with him, but you chose to love us," Yoongi says.

Jin sees you speaking to yourself at the bridge, and quickly makes out what he believes is going on.

"Y/N, I can't see them," Jin says. "Doesn't that prove anything to you?"

"You can't see them?" you question, eyes wide.

"Because he's a fool. You see us because of our bond, Y/N. He's blind," Yoongi hisses.

"Y/N... please..." Jin begs.

"He's going to send you away to some ward because he thinks you're crazy," Hoseok tells you. "Do you want that? To be locked up and become a prisoner? You're not crazy, Y/N. You're not."

You stop for a moment, torn between two worlds.

You look up to Jin with glassy eyes. "Maybe I should've died in that wreck, too."

"Y/N, wait-"

"I love you, brother."

With that, the bridge came falling down.

#yoonseok #hoseok #yoongi #jung hoseok #min yoongi #suga #bts yoongi #bts hoseok #jhope #j-hope #bts suga #bts jhope #bts j-hope #agust d #bts #bangtan #bts smut #yoongi smut #hoseok smut #smut

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aerialsquid · 6 years ago

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Noodling Part V: Angry Man Shops for Flower Arrangements

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Chapter-specific Content Warning: Emotional/mental trauma related to academic pressure and teachers. Nothing severe, but this is a little more intense than the last chapter. ----------

"This time I really need you to stay behind. This girl has an Earthshaking Quirk, and if she decides to use it she could take out half the block."

"You think she'll turn hostile?"

"Always possible, if I confront her directly. Which is what I plan on doing." Aizawa privately hoped she did. It would give him an excuse to vent the tension that had been building in him over the last several days, and that his trip to Kuroda and Samejima's residence hadn't sated in the least.

This time, instead of hunting for her home address, Aizawa and Yagi had targeted Tsukuda Jiodo's place of employment - 'Scent of Lilies', a small store selling floral arrangements and pots across the street from one of the city parks. Picturesque, but hardly the kind of place that a destructively-Quirked hero would be satisfied with.

Through the shop windows, Aizawa could see Jiodo rearranging small pots on the shelves. She had a slight build with night-dark hair, longer now than it was when he'd last seen her sobbing in Nezu's office on the day his request for expulsion was approved. The store seemed to be deserted, too, and they'd shown up about half an hour before the shop closed for the day. A good time for a private talk that might turn ugly.

Aizawa remembered Jiodo as a quiet, eager to please girl with a fierce dedication to her studies. As a student, she'd been fine. Not the best ever, but fine. He'd seen her type before - great at academics, born with a powerful-seeming Quirk, and lucked into passing an entrance exam designed to favor those who could break the most large objects in a given time period. Unfortunately it took more than that to make a good hero, which was why Aizawa considered the entrance exam only as a first culling before he made his own judgments about who deserved to move ahead.

Jiodo, in his assessment, had not.

"Good afternoo--" As the bell over the door jingled merrily, Jiodo turned and made it halfway through a greeting before her higher functions realized who she was looking at. She froze up.

"Huh. Long time no see," said Aizawa, expression blank. "You were...Tsukuda, yeah? Something like that?" He shrugged in false apathy and moved past her into the store.

"Ai..Mr. Aiz…" Jiodo bobbed forward into a frantic, shivering bow, clutching a clipboard tight to her chest for security. It reminded Aizawa briefly of the way Yagi reacted to Gran Turino, on the single awkward occasion he'd been in the same room as the pair of them. This wasn't the panic of a trapped criminal, it was the panic of a traumatized student abruptly reliving her past trauma at the sight of his face.

Right now, Aizawa couldn't bring himself to care. He waited, stonefaced, while his former student scrambled for words.

"HowcanIhelpyoutodaysir," said Jiodo in a single breath during the downstroke of yet another bow.

Playing dumb, for now. Fine. He'd see if she could be baited out.

Aizawa pretended to consider the arrangements and little bowls, pacing the store agonizingly slowly while she watched him with wide-eyes.

"So this is where you wound up, Tsukuda?" he asked, watching her reflection in the sheen of a metal vase.

"Yes, sir," said Jiodo in the tiniest of voices.

"Huh. What school did you go to after UA?"

"No, sir. I, uh. I didn't." Her voice dropped to the lightest, frailest of whispers. "I didn't go anywhere," she muttered, head down.

Aizawa prodded at the bowed head of a peace lily blossom. "Nowhere? You were a good study. It was the one thing you were actually good at."

"I would...like to not talk about this, sir. What kind of flowers do you want?"

"Something big and brash. It's my anniversary. I'll know it when I find it."

"Oh...anniversary...these are for someone you're dating?" Aizawa didn't need to check to know she was giving him that 'Aizawa-sensei dates??' look of horror and confusion that he got every time someone referenced the concept of him having a romantic life.

"Something like that." She'd be unlikely to believe Aizawa Shouta would go shopping for flowers of his own accord, and he needed an excuse to browse.

Aizawa drew the silence out as she kept following him around the store, offering quiet terse answers to his bullshit questions about the prices of flowers and how fast each type were likely to die. He made sure that he never had his back fully to her, but also never fully looked her in the face the way he would someone who actually meant something to him. Occasionally he made a small 'tsk' noise with his tongue, as if finding disapproval with the blossoms, and every time he did it Jiodo trembled.

"So. Hero school to flower shop. Must have been a rough time."

"Mhm."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you're treating me this nicely. Maybe expelling you really was a good decision if you're this comfortable with it."

Come on. Break. Take out that grudge you've been nursing. You know I have you dead to rights--

"I actually hated UA." Jiodo's hand slapped over her mouth. She stared at Aizawa with wide, fraught eyes as if he would somehow double-expel her for it. He turned to fully face her and stared back with an even, calm gaze.

"Go on."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Aizawa," she whispered.

"No, no. I'm not your teacher anymore. Speak your mind." He gestured for her to continue, carefully watching the movement of her limbs. If he remembered the nuances of her Quirk correctly she'd need to be touching the earth with her bare hands to cause a quake, but with all the dirt in this shop there might be a way around it...

Jiodo swallowed hard. Her fingers were white where they held the clipboard tightly to her chest. "I hated every moment of it. I hated being there. I never felt like I fit, I never felt like I could rest. I hated you and I hated my classmates, even the nice ones," she said quietly, eyes downcast. "After you expelled me, I...it hurt, but it meant that all my worries about class ranking and achievement didn't matter anymore. I was free. Doomed, but free. I was...I went in the bathroom and I just started laughing, because it meant I didn't have to fight anymore. I could just give up. It felt so good to just stop chasing something I didn't even want in the first place."

She tensed up again, wary, and bit her lip. "I'm almost grateful you did it, now."

"You work in a flower shop and you could have been a hero, and you're grateful for it?" Aizawa put every drop of venom he could into his words. He folded his arms, subtly getting his fingers around the end of his capture weapon. "Are you sure you're not just trying to justify failure to yourself to make it less unpleasant?"

Come on. Come at me. You're cruel enough to blackmail me using Yagi's body as a weapon, you're cruel enough to try and attack me in person.

"I like the flower shop," Jiodo insisted, a notch louder. Her breath was hitching and her eyes were still on the floor, but her voice was growing stronger. "I have friends now, and we can go play video games or just hang out, and we're pooling in money to start a little garden together. I didn't have friends at UA. I hated having to fight and compete all the time even when I was good at it. The money's not great, but...but I'm happy here. And at UA, I was miserable. The only people who were happy about me being there were...were my parents. I had my whole life kinda planned out around becoming a pro hero, so I had to...just put myself back together again. From scratch. And it, y'know...it's getting easier. No, not easier, just better. I finally feel like I can breathe. And I"m sorry, I know it's not what anyone wanted for me and I know it's a waste, but at least I'm happy."

"And is that what matters to you now? Being happy?"

Jiodo looked up at him over the clipboard, only to find Aizawa was half-smiling, a single corner of his mouth turned up.

"I...yes. Yes, it does," she answered weakly. "I'm sorry. I know I'm a failure."

"I don't just expel people for kicks, you know. If the business course passes a student who's not fit for the work, all we have is one more incompetent corporate executive in the world. If I pass a student who isn't right for hero work, I might as well be writing their death sentence. You weren't a bad student. You worked hard, and you had drive. Maybe you'd even have been a mediocre hero after all. But I couldn't take a chance on mediocre. Mediocre CEOs just lose money. Mediocre heroes die."

"I know. I'm sorry. The school put its faith in me and I let you all down."

"Bullshit." She flinched, and Aizawa moderated his tone a few degrees softer. "You weren't the disappointment. People who shoved you into the hero path from the moment you manifested your abilities are the ones who let us down. Not everything should be about climbing the ranks higher and higher until going any further would break you completely." He thought of the man waiting for him outside. All Might set out to be a symbol and it worked too well...he should have been a symbol of a terrible task that needed doing and ought not to ever be done again. Instead, and with as little of his consent as he'd given for the pornography, his path had become an aspiration.

"Huh." Jiodo let out a shaky huff. "Tell that to my parents. Anytime I wasn't pressing myself so hard I nearly lost my mind, they called me lazy. I think they took my expulsion even worse than I did--no, I know they did. All their hard work, down the drain. These days they barely talk to me."

"And is that so bad, not having them puppeting you around?"

"Well, no, but…"

"This goddamn system is broken, Tsukuda. it's been broken since before either of us were born. Don't be sorry for not becoming something you never wanted to be...I'm not sorry for keeping you from it either. A parent who'd prefer you rushing to your death instead of happy and working a retail job isn't worth of the title."

The spectre of Yagi, lurking in the back of his head like a long-limbed shoulder angel urged him to add, "But I'm sorry I made you suffer by denying it. I'm glad you've found what makes you happy."

Tears welled up in Jiodo's eyes.

-----------

Fifteen minutes after entering Scent of Lilies, Aizawa sent a subtle 'it's good keep waiting' text to Yagi as Jiodo poured her guts out to him. Yagi spent an agonizing twenty further minutes pacing back and forth in the park, trying to hide behind trees when people looked at him for too long, and thoroughly made himself seem like a creeper.

When the lights in the shop finally went out Jiodo and Aizawa exited together. Jiodo's eyes were red-ringed, but there was an exhausted smile of relief on her face. Yagi watched from the trees as the two exchanged a few final words, and then Jiodo gave Aizawa a tight hug that nearly crushed the air out of him. All the flowerpot-lifting had clearly given her good upper arm strength. She pressed something wrapped in cellophane into his hands, and then scampered off down the street, one hand upraised in a goodbye wave. Aizawa stood watching her for several seconds before slowly turning and heading into the park.

"Well?" Yagi asked, when Aizawa finally trailed back to him.

"She's not our blackmailer, but I know who is."

"Who?"

"Tsukuda Jidai. Her father. Similar enough name on the credit card statement to throw us off, plenty of motive, and one hell of an entitlement complex. I think I know how we can take him down a few notches, though."

Aizawa held out the package. Through the translucent wrapping at its base Yagi could see it was a pot of small purple flowers. The pot was in the shape of a plump yellow duck who'd clearly seen hard times, judging by the rough edges where a fall had broken off part of its wing. Damaged goods, impossible to sell, but still serving its purpose of protecting the tender blossoms embedded in its back.

"Also, happy anniversary. Here's a duck."

#bnha #erasermight #aizawa shouta #toshinori yagi #all might #boku no hero academia #squid writes fanfic #two more chapters to go I think?

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clawsout83 · 6 years ago

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Adrien Aug-rest 2019: Abandon

Day 0 /-1-/-2-/-3-/-4-/-5-/-6-/-7-/-8-/-9-/-10-

Read it on AO3

"Hello Adrien! My name is Jeanne Bonenfant and I’m a social worker. I guess you want to know why we're talking today?" asked the lady on the phone.

I admit that the fact that Emilie gave me the phone and told me that I had a call surprised me particularly and, I must admit, filled with hope. "I admit that I am... curious."

The lady laughed softly on the other side of the line. "Miss Prud'Homme called me to ask me to do some research on what’s happening with your family, but I’d also like to know how things are going at home. I'm not here to judge or criticize. I ask you to be perfectly honest and comfortable with your answers. I just take notes, that's all."

I turned to Emilie, silently asking her if she knew what was going on. She gently smiled and winked at me, then motioned me to go talk to the lady in my room. She did not want to hear this conversation that would undoubtedly expose personal details that I was not yet ready to share with her. I then locked myself in my room. "Is it going to cause trouble for Emilie?" I was afraid that what I was going to say could hurt her.

"Unless she abuses you, no!" replied Mrs. Bonenfant laughing.

I sighed with relief. "Am I obliged to say everything?" I was still afraid of having to expose my double life to this stranger.

She seemed to think about the question. "Y'know? You don’t have to tell me anything, but the more you tell me, the easier it’ll be for me to understand what's happening." I approved her reasoning and then invited her to ask me her questions.

So she began by asking me what had happened the night I had run away from my shoot. "During a break, Father called to find out how things were going. I was already frustrated to have to be on the other side of the world for a photo shoot, and the few times I left the hotel room, it was to go to the shoot. I took advantage of his video call to ask him if it would be possible to visit a little after the photo shoot, but I barely had time to finish my sentence that Father flatly refused. I tried to explain that I intended to wait until the end of the shooting and always stay with my bodyguard, but it was useless. He did not want to hear anything." I let out a long sigh before resuming, giving Mrs. Bonenfant time to take her notes. "After a while, he literally barred me from replicating, and even threatened to keep me locked at home for the week after I returned home. I was furious. He had not even deigned to accompany us. I... I do not remember exactly what I said, but I think I said something like, 'Still need you to stop me!' And I ran away without turning back. I... ran, ran until I lost my breath." I could not tell her that this race had actually been from one roof to another...

"It was during this race that you found yourself at the store where Miss Prud'Homme works?"

"Yes..." I paused, looking in my memory for what really happened. "In my frustration, I did not realize that I had left only with the shooting clothes. When I caught my breath and my mind, it was then that I realized how cold I was. I entered the store, but by the time I found a coat that could be suitable, I noticed that I had left everything on the spot: my wallet, my cell phone, etc."

Mrs. Bonenfant whispered for a moment before resuming. "Yes, I have a note here that says you tried to steal the coat. I understand that it wasn’t out of malice, but out of necessity?"

I nodded before realizing she could not see me. "Yes, I... I knew that to go back to the shooting, I would need something to keep me warm. Since I did not have my cell phone, I could not call my bodyguard so he could pick me up, and I was hoping to go back on my own track to return because I did not really take the time to make me landmarks to retrace my steps. With the snow that fell later, I realize today that I would never have succeeded!"

The lady burst out laughing. "Yes, we had a hell of December, this year!" I heard her spin a few sheets before starting again. "How are things going at home?"

I took a long time to answer, feeling a ball forming at the bottom of my throat. After a few minutes of silence, Mrs. Bonenfant called me, hoping to get my attention. I was always there, but I did not know where to start. "I... Apart from the employees at the manor, I'm alone with my father..."

She seemed to understand that I hesitated in my answers. "And your mother?" I was waiting for this inevitable question.

"She has been missing for almost three years. Nobody knows what happened to her."

"I'm really sorry about it..." she said softly. "You loved her a lot, I can feel it in your voice..." I nodded. "How are things with your father?"

This was another question I feared. "He tends to stay immersed in his work."

"But he's spending time with you, at least?"

I sighed deeply. "Much less since Mother's disappearance. I... I think he has not mourned yet..."

"Did you?"

"I... I don’t know... I miss her terribly..."

She laughed softly. "It's quite normal that you miss your mother; it's the opposite that would worry me! But my question is especially to know if you think to manage to turn the page, to continue to advance in life..."

I instinctively turned to the closed door of my room, visualizing Emilie working in the kitchen. "With the support of the right people, I should get there, yes..."

"Do you think of someone from home when you talk about 'the good support'?"

I gasped in surprise. I could have thought of my father, Nathalie, even my bodyguard. Of course, Nino and my Lady were some of my potential supporters, but in the immediate future, the only person I could count on was on the other side of the door. "No..." was the only possible answer.

"What do you usually talk about with your father?"

I almost choked, trying not to laugh. "The few times we talk to each other, it is to inform me of some of his projects for which I will pose as model, or to let me know that he is disappointed with my performance at school or out of school, or still to forbid me to leave the house because my friends have organized a party that he does not want me to go to..."

I suddenly wanted to scream, worried about the turn of the discussion, while Mrs. Bonenfant seemed to think aloud. "And how are things at Miss Prud'homme's?" I suddenly felt even more worried. "I mean... she's spending time with you, or are you at home to be at home?"

"Oh! No!!" I'm not going to criticize her way of acting with me while I'm exposing the parallels between my life in France and the one I'm recently leading in Quebec! "Emilie is great! She knows that I’m autonomous enough to be able to be alone while she and Alain are at work. She left me a house key for the times I would like to go out while they are away, and we have all our dinn~ uh... our suppers together. On weekends, we go out sometimes to go walking together, or we visit her parents, or we stay at home and spend a few hours on the game console, or watch animes,..."

I stopped when I heard Mrs. Bonenfant laugh heartily. "You seem to have a good time with them! Do you feel that they’re forcing themselves? That they do it by obligation and that it’ll not last? Do you feel like you're doing all the chores and they’re abusing you?"

This time, I burst out laughing. "No! Absolutely not! From the very beginning, I felt appreciated for myself, whereas usually, I’m appreciated because of my father. They seem sincere in their affection, and if I do chores, it's because I'm the one who decided to do them. I find that, for what they offer me, it’s the least I can do to help them when they are away..."

I heard the lady go through her papers again. "Good! I think I have everything I need! I leave you my phone number if you think you have forgotten something important, or if you just want to discuss something you don’t feel comfortable talking to Miss Prud'homme or Mr Croteau." I thanked her, taking note of the number in question. "Do you have questions or anything else you’d like to discuss today?"

"Do you have news of my father? Whenever I try to contact him, I fall on his voice mail and he never returns my calls. Has something happened to him?" I might not be as happy at home as at Emilie's, but I loved my father, and his radio silence was more and more disturbing.

"Unfortunately, I don’t have much to give you as information..." She seemed to look in her notes once more. "He still seems active. I don’t know how things are going in fashion, if he has employees who can continue to create in his absence or if he has some... collections in advance? But from what I know, there would always be people at Manoir Agreste coming and going..."

I was not really convinced, but I already had a beginning of an answer. I thanked the lady and advised her that I would call her back if needed. I then stayed in my room for a moment, curling up on my bed. Father never created collections in advance, and the employees were only instructed to manufacture what he created. If what Mrs. Bonenfant said was true, then Father deliberately ignored my calls. Why?! Was I such a bad son that he had preferred to abandon me the one and only time I had finally found the courage to stand up to him?

@adrienaugust

Notes: **I don't know how these kind of things work, and I doubt I'll ever know some one who will. Just roll with it, ok ?**

#qcfamily #clawstrash

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kbstories · 6 years ago

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Wrestled down chapter 2 of my Charthur fic

Quiet For So Long

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Nightmares, Cowboys Being Soft, Charles Is A Top And That’s The Tea

Again, very mild spoilers for chapter 3. Enjoy!

>>Read on AO3!

Charles wakes slowly, consciousness returning to him gradually, then all at once.

He blinks. The room is dark, only dim streaks of light making it past the curtains separating it from the rest of the world. For some time, that's all Charles's mind lingers on.

It must be noon, or late morning at least; Charles feels heavy under the covers, that unique weight that comes with too many hours spent asleep. It's been a while since he could rest beyond dawn, and in a real bed, no less.

There's an arm wrapped loosely around his waist. That, too, is a rarity in and of itself – an experience so far removed from memory, he can't tell if it truly happened or if he dreamed it up – but the muffled snoring coming from the body tucked against his is deeply familiar.

Charles closes his eyes and smiles. A lucky bastard indeed.

With Arthur in his arms, time is an abstract concept. At first, Charles barely dares to turn far enough to press a kiss to the crown of his head, Arthur's hair soft under his lips. He sleeps on, and Charles is glad he does.

Life on the road is tough, something easily forgotten while you're on it yet just as easily comes to haunt you when you're not. Especially when people are counting on you to keep things going – and it's no damn surprise Arthur is out like a light, given that that's his role in the gang more often than not.

Carefully, Charles shifts underneath him, giving Arthur the softer mass of his pec to rest against. The other mumbles and burrows his bearded cheek further against him with a sigh that's so content it makes Charles chuckle a little.

“You're like a cat”, he tells him quietly, voice rough with sleep, and doesn't mind when the only answer is another snore.

He dozes off, for a while, dimly aware of the give and take of Arthur's breathing and the subtle nubs of his spine against his palm as he runs his hand up and down his back. Thus he misses the moment those calm breaths turn more strained; idle fingers suddenly clench around his side and Charles awakes with a start, muttering comforting nonsense before he's even fully there.

Indistinct noises grow in volume: whimpers of no, no slip out of Arthur's mouth, small and desperate, and stop. Realization slams into Charles out of nowhere.

“Arthur”, he says, repeats it more urgently at the flash of pain that makes Arthur's slack features twist – then Arthur gasps, eyes snapping open in the same instant he starts to push out of Charles's hold.

Charles lets him go, hands raised and tone soothing, “Easy, 's just me”; in a confused haze, Arthur glances around the room – the hotel's opulence and simulated homeliness strikingly out-of-place with how stressed Arthur's gaze is – and finally at Charles, sinking back into his chest with a raw, “Ah, hell”.

After a beat or two Charles puts his arms back where they were, almost touching. “You okay?”

Arthur just nods against his neck, but it takes until his breathing is measured once again for him to speak. “Sorry 'bout that”, he drawls with something akin to shame in his voice, and Charles's heart softens with empathy.

“It's alright, I was already awake.”

A pause.

“This happen often?”

It occurs to him a moment later that he might be pushing too much, too soon, but he hears Arthur clear his throat before he answers, “Every now an' again”, and the fact that he admits to it tells Charles more than enough. Pulling him in, he kisses the tense line between his eyebrows and, eventually, it eases, too.

Arthur hums, tilts his head up to direct him towards his lips instead, sighs into the gentle brush of lips they share.

“Wakin' up ain't usually this nice, though.”

Charles smiles, “Yeah?”, tracing the twin scar on Arthur's chin with his mouth that's always had him curious.

“Mhm”, Arthur hums and, with one last peck, rolls to his own side of the bed, yawning against the back of his hand. “How late's it anyways?”

The opportunity to ask is gone but Charles shrugs. There's always time later.

“Past noon, I reckon. Breakfast?”

Arm draped across his eyes in a somewhat dramatic fashion, Arthur perks up immediately. “Been cravin' somethin' other than Pearson's stew for ages, it seems like.”

“You and me both.”

They don't get very far, in the end. Charles is told to wait – time he spends in a half-assed attempt to put on a shirt and get his hair in a loose braid – while Arthur slips in and out of their room in the blink of an eye, carrying two plates of something warm and steaming when he returns. Charles takes one look at the smug glint in his eyes and shakes his head, fondly.

“We're both leaving this place through the window, aren't we?”

“Yup. Watch it, it's still hot.”

Always a fast eater, Charles finishes what looks like potato soup quickly, leaning comfortably against the headrest of the still-unmade bed; the food is fresh, well-made, and he relishes the bits of carrots and other vegetables he can taste. Idly, he muses out loud: “Ever wonder what you would've done in life if not for, y'know...”

“Bein' an outlaw?”

“Yeah, that. Among other things.” Chasing the last spoonful, he sets his empty plate aside, careful not to touch Arthur's journal on the nightstand. “I think I'd've made a good cook.”

Arthur considers him with a tilt to his head, nodding after a while. “I guess? Waste of a damn good shot, though... How 'bout huntin'? For a living, I mean. Certainly'd be more of an entertainin' life than wastin' away in some saloon.”

Charles hums at that. “Maybe, yeah. And you?”

“Me? Haven't really thought 'bout it much. Dunno at which point my life wouldn't've lead to this, one way or 'nother.”

The expression on Arthur's face is pensive as he chews, nothing more. Charles nudges his thigh with his naked foot, gesturing at him with a nod. “Humor me, then.”

“Uh.” Arthur blinks at him, surprised, perhaps, that he's insisting. “Maybe somethin' with horses? Always liked workin' with 'em, breakin' them in. Saw people make a good penny selling 'em, too.”

The mental image of Arthur on his own ranch, training a young horse feels right, somehow.

“Yeah, I can see that. You got a good hand with 'em. Hell, even Taima's sweet on you, and she's picky.”

Arthur's smile is small, humble, the true extent of it to be found in his eyes. He says, “Glad ya think so”, in that sheepish way of his, like he's genuinely astonished someone would think that of him. And really, the things this man does to Charles – with his clever charm, and that glimpse of shyness hidden beneath layers and layers of smooth talking and acting rough-and-tough...

A side of him that, if Charles has guessed right, nobody else gets to see but him.

It's intoxicating, that. Makes him want to drag him back into bed and kiss the living daylights out of him; and when Arthur makes to stack his plate on top of Charles's, he doesn't hesitate to do exactly that, grinning wildly at Arthur's yelped “Charles, what–!“ that turns into laughter half-way through.

“Gotcha”, Charles announces smugly against Arthur's shoulder, and with Charles's arms locked around his waist, Arthur resigns to his fate with an exasperated shake of his head.

“You are aware we gotta leave this bed at some point, right?”

Yet it's him who leans in for a kiss, nipping at Charles's bottom lip and smirking when Charles rumbles a groan into the next one, hungry for more. It seems to be enough of an answer for Arthur; with a hand sliding into Charles's hair, he tilts his head for a better angle and Charles lets him, feeling his braid come loose. A shiver runs up his back at the needy sound Arthur breathes against his mouth.

“Charles–“

There it is again, that uncertainty that is so at odds with the sheer need in Arthur's touches, the longing in his gaze; Charles's hold on him softens, he brushes their noses together, “I want you, Arthur”, he says, voice firm and untouched by doubt. “Let me have you?”

Arthur's chest moves against Charles's with each panting breath he takes. He cups Charles's jaw, searching his expression for something before he licks his lips, nods, confesses, “I... ain't, uh, done anythin' before. With a guy.”

Charles expected as much, but he just hums and kisses him, gently.

“'s okay. I don't mind taking it slow.”

But Arthur huffs, brows drawing into a frown that once might've been intimidating but now isn't, not anymore.

“No, that's not– I'm tryin' to ask for somethin', here.”

And Charles mutters a relieved “Oh, thank God”, pulls him closer with hands that are no longer idle but wandering lower, and his mouth swallows the noise of approval Arthur makes.

The truth is: Charles doesn't have much experience with any of this, either.

Maybe on paper, if he'd remember enough names and dates and locations to compile a list. With how society sees these things, however, anonymity equals survival, and none of the sloppy blowjobs and rushed quickies in the shadows of dirty alleyways and dingy saloons could compare to having Arthur fucking Morgan moan his name as Charles takes him for the first time.

All he finds himself capable of doing is gathering the man in his arms, hand splayed across his lower back as he sinks into the warmth of his body and holds there, struggling for breath against his temple. “Just me”, he mutters mindlessly, brushing Arthur's hair out of his flushed face, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his ear. “Relax. 's just me.”

Arthur's clinging for dear life to his back, his nails having dug into the meat of Charles's shoulders slowly releasing, stroking down his sides in silent apology. Charles feels more than hears the breathless “fuck” he pants out, lids clenched shut.

“Okay?”

It takes a second or two for Arthur's eyes to open; Charles smiles when they do, falling all over again for how very blue they are, for the kind soul shining through them as Arthur mumbles for him to keep going in a low rasp.

Charles does, slowly, watches Arthur's face twitch with each thrust, his attempts to stifle the sounds tumbling out of his mouth, so receptive to his every move. Charles's own voice is hoarse – “Don't”, he asks, begs, strained as he tries to make himself last.

“Wanna hear you.”

It's hard to hold back when Arthur drops all pretenses, pulling Charles into a bruising kiss that affords more concentration than any of them are currently able to give – “Charles”, Arthur moans, and “harder”, head falling back into the pillow.

Charles growls, feels the muscles of Arthur's bared throat work under his lips, his mind drowning in Arthur Arthur Arthur as he runs his hand down his hairy chest and over the rapid beat of Arthur's heart, pounding against his palm.

The heart he has tied his own to, that day on the plains when it almost stopped forever.

Covering Arthur's body with his own, Charles's long hair slides down his shoulders, a shield keeping everything else out as he captures Arthur's mouth and comes, pushing in deep. Arthur whines, shakes apart, fingers reaching for his trembling hips and leaving burning lines across his skin.

“Look at me, Arthur, please–”

Arthur already is, with sweat trickling down his temples and his hair wild, and the look in his eyes is soft and open in a way Charles has never seen before; they kiss, unhurried, intimate, filled with words too precious to say out loud.

A kiss like a promise, gradually taking shape.

>>Read on AO3!

#red dead redemption #rdr2 #charles smith #arthur morgan #charthur #trying it again with ao3 links and all...#be aware it's n///sfw but i can't tag it because tumblr #anyways soft charthur is best charthur that is all #reblogs very appreciated!#edit: it's showing up in the tags i'm about to weep with joy aaaa #my stuff #RDR

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inke-ri · 4 years ago

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*winces* yea. see, I think this hits the nail on the head. After a year I finally found the post that really explains my big issue with the hidden world. I remember back when the movie came out, and I had a minor breakdown (okay, little more than minor, might have cried a bit) over the fact that Dean constantly called the dragons "wild animals" and that directly clashed with the way I saw them (as intelligent thinking creatures capable of making their own choices). I even quoted the exact two things in OP's post, but it was in the sense of "did I seriously misunderstand the plot so badly? were Valka and Hiccup just projecting onto the dragons after all?"

I was very confused and very upset but I kept putting the blame on ME, the viewer, thinking I had missed a key part of the way this story was written... But now, after having many months for this movie to settle in the back of my head, I can see that it... Wasnt really me. It wasnt my interpretation that was faulty. I had thought so, I think because it had been hammered into my brain that Dean had thought of the ending for so many years.

It's honestly kinda funny because I went off specifically about this several dozen times - how HTTYD1, GotNF and HTTY2's themes directly contradict 3's, that the WHOLE POINT was that love > instincts - but I always missed the fact that no, it isnt just love > instincts. Its the fact that those instincts were never violent in the first place.

The movies can sometimes throw you off, because of the Alpha's control on Toothless in 2 and the way the Queen was an aggressive little tyrant in HTTYD1. But the whole point of the movies was that "everything we know about you... is wrong" (or however the quote goes, it sucks that 3 has soured even my constant rewatching of the first movie). That dragons when left on their own arent naturally distrustful and aggressive, they're kind and curious and playful and respond to trust with trust of their own.

And I guess I had forgotten, I guess I took 3's canon as hard canon and thought the problem was with me as the one analyzing it. And now my tiny little brain was just blown once more, as I remember the lesson HTTYD 1 taught us all over again. Is this how the berkians felt when Hiccup showed them dragons werent inherently evil? hah! It's almost worth it, for the delight of feeling how they felt |D

I guess its just... good to know that the problem wasnt me, y'know? it takes a weight I didnt know I had off my shoulders. It isnt really us being salty for "no reason bc the movie was great you just dont see it". Its the fact that they literally changed the core of how dragons think and behave, and slapped a HTTYD-esque coat of paint and setting over it. Of course everything is gonna feel off and weird for a fan, because they're moving and talking like Hiccup and Toothless but theres a subtle underlying difference making them out of character. and thats it, thats exactly what made all these scenes feel so off! Its cause they changed the most important rule of HTTYD's universe. When you change the very core of your world lore, its literally impossible to keep the ripple effect of that from affecting every single character. And its just so freeing, to finally understand that it wasnt just a bunch of weird decisions and scenes that dont make sense. To stop wondering how all those changes were approved of when the message of THW is so contradicting of the rest of the series. Its literally just one change- a massive one, but so subtle that you dont really realize how much it impacts the plot until someone in tumblr whacks you over the head with it.

Valka: This wasn’t a vicious beast, but an intelligent, gentle creature whose soul reflected my own.

THW crew:

#today in Inke's mind being blown by things that were canon for like a DECADE #idk man like i said #I always thought the problem was ME #It was I who didnt get it #I who missed the point #and thats what the fandom tells you right? that youre wrong for not enjoying this movie and how it makes sense #and I just stopped touching anything httyd for over a year simply bc it hurt and it made me so confused #but this... realizing this very obvious fact #its funny but it really feels like I can enjoy this series again #knowing that 3 operates by a whole different set of rules than the other 2 #which is dumb because I KNEW THIS DANGIT #but somewhere in my subconscious I always linked the 3 movies together inseparably #and I STILL blamed myself for not getting it #but now I can finally unlink them #I can even watch 3 for the kicks knowing that its kinda sort of an AU #because it CANT BE HTTYD if you change the core of the universe #its a really interesting thing to analyze tho #how one change- one very subtle change that isnt outright spoken about like in 1 or 2 #changes the entire movie #idk its kinda neat even if the other side of me is reeling #pretty sure that side will eventually take the mic and yell about HOW COULD YOU DO THIS DEAN #how can they change THIS out of all the changes they decided to do #and think it makes sense OTL #but for now i'm just relieved #and happy and wanting to watch httyd for the first time in almost a year #httyd 3 criticism #I did not look over this or edit it we die like men today folks

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winedwords · 8 years ago

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Adam| Gasoline 2/2 |Cole

Title: Gasoline 2/2

Words; 10,104

Warnings; smut

A/N: repost from the old blog

"I hope you know what you're doing."

God fucking damnit, this was a redeye and I hadn't slept yet. If I heard someone say that to me one more time I swear to god, I will break some faces. It was a fourteen hour flight from Seattle to Tokyo and I was not gonna sit here and be lectured for those fourteen hours by some asshat who wanted to Monday morning quarterback my decisions. I whipped my head around with a snarl, ready to verbally disassemble the dude who'd dared to comment on the events of a couple weeks ago.

The words died on the tip of my tongue once I made eye contact with the man who spoke.

Kyle O'Reilly.

The current Ring of Honor World Champion, former best friend of Adam Cole, and by all reports, one of the most genuine people I hadn't met in the locker room.

I guess I was going to get to know him really well on this flight based off of the stoniness of his face and the last available seat on this end of the plane being the aisle seat next to me. The window seat had been taken by an older gentleman in his 60s, who had promptly fallen asleep in his seat well before take off.

"I've been asked that a lot lately and it's enough to give a girl a complex."

The corner of Kyle's mouth tilted upwards.

"I don't doubt that. I'm Kyle," he said as he extended a large, calloused hand to me. I looked to his face, to his hand, and back again before I reached out to shake his hand.

"(Y/N)."

The world champion nodded his head in acknowledgement before releasing my hand and swinging his carry ons into the overhead compartments. Karma really was a bitch, wasn't it. I did what I felt I needed to do to help the Motor City Machine Guns win, and the universe just wanted to keep throwing shit at me.

"I get why you did it, y'know."

I almost jumped out of my skin. Somehow, for such a large man, Kyle was able to settle into the seat next to me and buckle up without me noticing. I really needed to get out of my own head before we touched down in Tokyo. The boys needed me sharp for this tour with New Japan, we were going to be in Bullet Club's backyard.

"What?"

Kyle shook his head. "The thing with Cole. I get it. Anything to get an edge and the upper hand right?"

I turned to him and gave a weak smile. "Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself too."

The silence was thick as the jet engines kicked into gear and we slowly started heading down the runway. My head bowed as my thoughts travelled back two weeks, my lower lip caught between my teeth.

The start to the show was not going well.

Bullet Club was in the ring, holding it and the show hostage. The Young Bucks, the Guerillas of Destiny, and Adam Cole cut an imposing set of figures, with the former world champion pacing the ring like a caged animal and a microphone in his hand. I hadn't chewed on my nails in years, but since the show the week prior, my nerves had been taken out on my cuticles and tonight was no different as I stared at the monitor in the private dressing room.

The Machine Guns hadn't let me out of their sight, accompanying me pretty much everywhere. I love those two more than my own family, but I had to draw the line when they were trying to follow me into the women's locker room. They'd taken my protests as a challenge and asked Nigel to arrange for our own locker room. Nigel, having a soft spot for me, didn't question the request and happily ordered for a Machine Guns dressing room.

"Last week was a fluke. The Motor City Machine Guns aren't good enough to be the tag champions. They aren't good enough to carry Bullet Club's bags, hell they're not even good enough to carry my jock strap." Cole pauses, for a couple beats, to soak in the crowd's reaction.

"And then, what really kills me, is they send in (Y/N) to interfere in Bullet Club business," he scoffed. "They send in a woman to attempt to neutralize the greatest stable of all time, a woman who has to resort to underhanded and shady means to help her team screw The Young Bucks out of their titles. Titles, that without interference, would still belong to them and to Bullet Club!"

Adam stopped his pacing, turned to face the ramps, and leaned over the ropes, a menacing sneer on his face and practically spat his next words. "(Y/N), you're gonna come out from the back, you're gonna come into this ring, and you're gonna apologize to Matt and Nick for costing them the match. You're going to apologize to the Club for costing us gold and you're going to apologize to me, (Y/N). You're going to apologize for this bruise on my face, you're going to apologize for your actions, everything!"

In our dressing room, both Alex and Chris were on their feet, fuming mad. I stood as still as stone, the cuticle of my left thumb caught between my teeth and my right arm hugging my body. I figured it would be best for me to chew on it instead of admitting to myself that my hands were shaking.

"How fucking dare he?! He interfered in the match first!" Chris ground the words out through clenched teeth. Alex nodded tensely in agreement, "You wouldn't have had to go as far as you did if he just didn't come to ringside."

I said nothing. For as much as we talked about the events of last week, they didn't have any idea that I wanted that kiss as much as I did. They knew of my infatuation with Adam Cole, hell, they knew of that weeks before this whole mess had occurred. They just didn't know how deep this ran. How every night since that fateful show, I had woken up, wet and aching, with Adam's name at the back of my lungs and the phantom sensation of his lips on mine. No, they didn't know and they couldn't know.

"We're waiting, (Y/N). We're not leaving this ring until you come out."

Fuck fuck fuck this is not good. Adam was a stubborn man and he was used to getting his way by throwing his proverbial and literal weight around. The fans had paid good money to come see a wrestling show, to see their favorites compete in matches, and to have a good time. They didn't come here to listen to Bullet Club whine and lick their wounds in the ring.

It was as I was thinking, that the camera panned to the announce table, where Kevin Kelly, Steve Corino, and Nigel McGuinness sat. Nigel, that lovely Englishman, looked dead into the camera and spoke, "(Y/N), sweetheart, I know you're in the back, watching this. You don't have to come out here, we'll get secur-"

Shit, Adam had overheard and rounded on the announce team. "Don't you say it Nigel! You've been soft on (Y/N) since she got here. You've been helping her duck justice from the Bullet Club!"

Out of nowhere, there was this surge of fire in my belly, and I was so angry. I'd had enough of this. Quicker than the Machine Guns could react, I was out of the dressing room and down the corridor like a shot. I could hear their faint shouts behind me, but I knew I'd be at the gorilla position long before they could catch me. Those who were in the ring were the only Club members stateside, thank god. Cody and Hangman were in Japan up to no good with Omega.

As soon as I was at the guerilla position, I attempted a smile at Mike, the sound guy. It came off as more of a baring of teeth based on the paling of his face. "Mike, lovey, I need you to cue my music so I can stop that shit in the ring."

Mike nodded quickly and hit the lights and music for my entrance.

I could see in the monitors that Adam's, and indeed all of the Club's, attention had snapped back to the ramp at the first couple deep baselines of my entrance music. A quick cursory fluff of my hair, snatched the proffered microphone from a particularly eager gopher, and I stepped through the curtain.

Damn that pop was loud. I grinned at the crowd, if just to mask the surprise on my face at the intensity of the cheers.

"You really didn't have to do all this or bring all your friends if you wanted my attention, handsome. You know I will always make time for you, you just had to ask nicely."

Well that was sassier than I was hoping. Certainly sassier than what the Bucks were expecting. Matt's jaw dropped in a comical fashion and Nick's eyes widened to almost bugging out levels. Adam's expression was thunderous, a tic developing along his clenched jaw. I couldn't see a reaction from the two Guerilla brothers, but I wanted to blame that on their face paint. "Oh c'mon now, Cole. You had so much to say earlier. I just can't imagine what's got you so quiet, especially since I'm not down there to keep your mouth occupied."

And there it was, my mouth spewing shit before my brain had a chance to catch it. The audience roared in approval. Adam's face split into a shark like grin, all teeth and bad intentions. "Well, sweetness, why don't you get your fine ass into this ring so we can talk about this like adults, instead of you hiding on the ramp."

His strut screamed of confidence as he sat on the second rope and pushed the top rope up with little effort, an invitation into the ring with Bullet Club. The head of the American chapter waved his arm enticingly towards the ring. To the outside observer, he was the picture of charm and charisma.

I shook my head with a husky giggle.

"See handsome, that's not how I do things. I want you to have my total and undivided attention," I crooned lasciviously. "It'd be hard to do that while trying to avoid the super kick party that I know I've been invited to. I rather like where everything is on my face."

Adam let go of the of the ropes, snarling, "Don't get cute. You have to be held accountable for your actions, (Y/N), everything has a consequence."

"See Adam, I think you're looking at this the wrong way. 60% of the things that happened last week were business decisions. The other 40%? That was all personal, bay bay, and I wouldn't mind a repeat performance." I dropped my microphone onto the ramp with a wink, and hightailed it through the curtain as I saw Adam's eyes darken.

My mouth was going to keep getting me into trouble, in more ways than one.

I was jostled out of my thoughts by O'Reilly's elbow into my arm.

I hissed and rubbed the sore spot, but my retort was cut off by a stewardess with a kind face asking, "Did you want anything to drink honey?" I stumbled over my words, my face flushing bright red, before I was able to stutter out, "W-water would be great, ma'am."

Kyle's stare was indecipherable. Even after the stewardess handed me my water, he was still studying me.

"Do I have something on my face?"

He shook his head. "I'm sure you're exhausted of people questioning you. I just want you to know that Cole's been mooning after you for fuckin' years." The words struck me like an actual blow to my stomach and I almost choked on the water I was sipping, but Kyle continued.

"I think since the ladder match with Gail Kim down in TNA. I remember watchin' it with him and he practically had hearts in his eyes. I'm honestly surprised he hasn't made a move on you sooner. He's not gonna take all that's happened lightly. I want you to be ready for the shitstorm that's waiting for you when we touch down."

"What?!" God, I was so eloquent.

Kyle responded with a small, wry smile. "You forget, I practically lived in the dude's pocket for years. I know him better than anyone. He's been a little obsessed with you for as long as I can remember."

I blinked at him, the words being slow to process. Kyle, who must've seen the gears turning in my head, was patient and waited for the words he could sense coming.

"That match with Gail was almost six years ago. There's no way he's been carrying a torch for me that long."

The champion gave a rather uncharacteristic snort. "You've interacted with him enough to know that he's like a dog with a bone when he wants something. He's not going to stop chasing you, (Y/N), he's got this idea of you in his head. He was already hard up for you before you knocked him out, which was fucking awesome by the way, the highlight of my week, but he's not going to let you go now."

Given my interactions with Adam and the rest of Bullet Club over the past two weeks, the implications of Kyle's words sunk like a stone in my chest. I must have telegraphed everything on my face, Kyle appeared a bit panicked and was quick to rush out his next words.

"Look. I'm not trying to scare you. I just don't want you going in blind, because you seem like a good girl. I don't think Adam has it in him to intentionally physically hurt you. Hell, the way he's been acting these past two weeks, I think he'd do just about anything for your attention."

I had prided myself on being one of the most cerebral people in this business, watching nothing but tape of potential opponents and allies, getting a read on who to trust and who wasn't worth the tape on their hands. This business was one based off of politics and manipulations of the human condition. It only took me getting burned once, when I first started in this business when I was 18, to learn that there was a game afoot and you either played that game or the game played you..

I'd known before the title match the risks, or I thought I did. I'd known the potential repercussions of toying with a flirtatious Adam Cole, a man who could be considered vindictive on his best day and downright vengeful on his worst. I had no clue what to expect from a seriously infatuated Adam Cole.

"So what would you recommend I do, champ?"

Kyle appeared pensive and he ran a hand over his face. He wasn't the only one who felt that this entire situation was surreal. "I guess it depends on you. "

That was a curveball and I blinked. "What do you mean it depends on me?"

"What do you want with Adam Cole?"

Goddamnit, he just stated that as if it was such an easy question to answer.

"You ask that as if it's so simple," I scoffed.

"Because it is for him, (Y/N). Simple I mean. When he wants something, he does everything he can to take it. And once he has it, he's like a kid with a new toy. It's his and no one else can play with that toy, even if the toy is just sitting on the shelf collecting dust. "

Its during this speech that I can feel my face heating with indignation and my fists were clenched in my lap. Kyle holds up a hand and stops me before I can even open my mouth.

"Let me finish before you tear me a new asshole. I'm not sayin' its right, cause it's not. What I'm tryin' to say is he's a possessive fucker and a lot of people don't know it because he covers it up by being as charming and charismatic as possible. Once he knows he's got his hooks into you, it's over. I know Cole like the back of my damn hand and he wants everything from you. He's gonna take and take and take, until there's nothing left. So what. do. you. want."

O'Reilly's gaze was too intense for me to make eye contact. I turned my head back to my hands, which were tightly folded in my lap to stop them from shaking. His words were like an angry swarm of bees and I had to choke down the rising fight or flight response. This was not me. I was not a reactive, emotional person. I made lists, I plotted for things that might not happen, and I had contingencies plans for my contingency plans. I didn't panic, I didn't get blindsided, things like this don't happen to people like me.

My moniker, the Most Dangerous Woman in the World, wasn't because I could outwrestle or outmuscle the competition. It was because I was prepared for everyone, in one way or another. Except this.

What did I want?

I sure as shit wanted orgasms, that was a given. A girl could only get by so long with the help of her battery operated boyfriend, when she's waking up at all hours of the night completely out of her mind and in need of a change of panties. Sex with Adam had the potential to be mind blowing, if the assorted ring rat tales were to be believed.

But did I want him? He was a bit of a hothead, overly flirtatious, egotistical, and prone to double-crosses. He was arrogant, acerbic, and had a severe dislike of any authority other than his own.

On the other hand, on the rare moment where he thought no one was looking, he'd seemed years younger, less guarded, and downright playful, especially around the Bucks. Where he was carefree and quick with a joke. Where his shoulders relaxed and his eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed. That was the Cole I wanted, but I don't think I could get one without the other.

"I don't know what I want."

Kyle nodded, sensing that the conversation about Adam Cole was over. He reached into the seat pocket in front of him and produced an iPad. "Wanna watch some Netflix? I haven't started Stranger Things."

I practically beamed and nodded my head enthusiastically.

The remaining thirteen hours of the flight went by quicker than I'd like to admit, interspersed with episodes, naps, and happy chatter about what we'd be doing in our downtime during the two week Japanese tour.

Landing in Japan, saying goodbye to Kyle, and getting to my hotel had been a blur. When I had left Seattle, the sun had just set, nearing almost twilight. As soon as we had landed, it was late evening. Jetlag was a bitch, and all I wanted was a soft place to sleep. I must have looked a sight, all rumpled clothes and bleary eyes, because the matronly woman at the front desk told me as she was giving me my room key that she would be having a complimentary cup of tea and soup delivered to my room. She smiled and returned my hasty bow of thanks.

Now it was just an elevator ride to my bed for the night. It felt like the doors took a century to close and I almost cried with relief when the doors began to close. The elevator doors were close, so close to sealing and taking me to my ninth floor room when a hand stopped their progress and a too familiar male voice chuckled, "Almost missed it!"

My grandmother had a turn of phrase she would always tell me when I was small, something that never rang truer than it did now: speak of the devil often enough, and he shall appear. And there he was, looking like effortless sin in black sweatpants and a Bullet Club shirt, his hair swept up and away from his face in a messy bun.

The grin on Adam Cole's face spread to almost Cheshire proportions as he sauntered alone through the doors when he saw that it was just me in the elevator. "Well, well, well, it's my lucky day. Who knew it would take me a flight around the world to get you alone, sweetness."

Electricity shot up my spine as the doors closed and the temperature felt like it had spiked. "Look, not that you don't normally get my motor running, handsome, but I just got off a 14 hour flight and all I want is the bed waiting for me in my room."

He kept silent giving a casual glance at the directory of floors as he was moving towards me, my words clearly brushed off. For every step he took towards me, I took a step back, and it wasn't long until my back met the wall of the elevator.

Ding.

Adam was quick to crowd himself around me, his left arm caging me in, palm against the wall near my head, and his right wrapping around my hips to pull me in closer. His arm around my waist put every nerve ending on edge. It was the skin on skin contact of his wandering right hand finding just the barest sliver of skin exposed by my shirt that made me give a small whimper. The look in his eyes quickly shifted to something dark and heated at the sound and the fact that I made no move to extricate myself from his grip.

Ding.

"You wanna know what I think (Y/N)?" He leaned down to murmur into the skin at the base of my jaw. His mouth trailed along my jawline, the sensation of his breath and his facial hair caused my breath to quicken. "I think you want this as much as me. I think you can't get what happened two weeks ago out of your head. I think you want to know what it's like for me to make you scream my name."

He was so, so, so close and so warm. Body heat was practically radiating off of him as I began to feel sweat bead at my hairline. His lips were just an arched back away and the combination of his proximity and cologne were making the pink fog I had come to associate with his nearness come over my brain.

Ding.

"I think you like to hear yourself talk, Cole."

His chuckle was dark and the sound was like a bolt of electricity directly to my core, causing me to clench my thighs together to quell some of the growing pressure.

"That might be true, but I'm right, aren't I?"

I didn't get a chance to respond because he roughly pressed his mouth against mine. The intensity behind his kiss startled me and my mouth opened with a gasp. Ever the opportunist, Adam took the chance to sweep his tongue across mine and I had to anchor myself by grabbing his broad shoulders because I had lost confidence in my knees ability to keep my upright. Any misgivings I had had following my conversation with O'Reilly went out the window as I pressed back with my tongue enthusiastically. I'd be damned if I didn't give as good as I got.

I had never been so happy for the front desk taking my bags to my room.

Ding.

His left hand went from braced against the wall of the elevator to grabbing my thigh and hooking my leg around his slim waist, all the while his mouth never stopped moving against mine. Once he was satisfied with the knowledge that I wasn't going to immediately remove my leg from his waist, his left had returned to my ass, and with a firm squeeze and lift, he pressed himself up against my hips. I was glad for this wall and for him to be supporting some of my weight because I would have collapsed at the feel of his cock through our clothing.

Hard. Long. And given the amount of confidence Adam had, likely thick.

He was going to wreck me if this ever... no, when the inevitable finally happened.

Ding.

I bit his lower lip a little harder than I intended to at the first press of his hips against mine. The answering groan was almost pornographic, his hips pressed even harder into mine, and he began to grind. It felt like fireworks were going off when the hard ridge of his cock rubbed just the right way through my leggings, catching the little bundle of nerves between my thighs. I was practically mewling as he pulled his mouth away from mine, his hips never stopping their grinding motion, and began to press his mouth against my neck and collarbone.

Ding.

"God, the fuckin' sounds you make," Adam growled into the skin of my neck, making me shiver. "I've thought about this for a long time, sweetness, and you feel and taste so much better than I could have ever imagined."

I wasn't confident in my ability to form words, and they went completely out the window when Adam began to alternate between nibbling and sucking at the junction of where my neck met my shoulder. My hands went to his head and I pushed him away just far enough to issue a muttered warning, "No hater marks."

His only response was a devious smile and he went back to nibbling and placing open mouthed kisses along my neck.

Ding.

His right hand had become adventurous and had snuck entirely underneath my hooded sweatshirt and shirt. The touch of his hand along my spine caused me to arch into him with a whine and my nails dug into his scalp. Adam's hip bucked in response and he pressed his lips back against me, with what sounded almost like a purr.

My traitorous brain began to whirr. He liked his hair pulled, he responded to my nails digging into his scalp, he seemed to like me biting a little harder into his lip... Did he like a little pain with his pleasure?

Only one way to find out. I let my hands down towards his neck and then I dragged nails across his shoulders, hard enough that I knew I was going to leave behind little red lines.

My hips at this point were rocking against Adam's of their own accord, causing sparks of pleasure to fire along my nervous system. He thrust hard enough with his hips in response to my nails on his shoulders that my right foot left the ground for a moment.

"Don't do that again unless you want me to fuck you in this elevator."

The intense promise was muttered against my lips and I felt a bolt of exhilaration through the pink haze. That sounded so damn promising...

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open while we were embraced and a young, lanky bellhop, having not looked into the elevator yet, began to push his cart into the small space. The noise of the cart cause the two of us to look up at the same time towards the source. He looked up, made eye contact with the two of us, and grew red faced. I'm sure the position we were in was practically scandalous, hair mussed, his hands in compromising places, and my leg hooked tightly around his waist. The unfortunate bellhop was stuttering out an apology when I disentangled myself from around Adam, sidestepped the embarrassed young man, and dove out of the elevator to what I hoped was the hallway to my room.

I'd lost my cool. The pep talk I had given myself on the plane went down in flames as soon as I had met those too-blue eyes. Any resolve I had had to resist and be strong in the wake of Adam Cole's advances turned to dust. This was entirely unacceptable and quite frankly, made me doubt myself if I just turned into a puddle of goo whenever the former champion got into my personal space.

I could hear Adam calling my name as I hurried my way through the corridors, thankfully having found my room purely by mistake. I fumbled with getting the room key into the slot, the sounds of Adam calling my name in the hallways serving to further agitate me. The door finally opened and I swung myself inside, closing the door rapidly behind me.

The door had been shut for less than a couple seconds and I was crumpled on the ground of my hotel room, hand down the front of leggings and rubbing furiously against the slick little bundle of nerves between my legs. Given the state Adam had worked me into in the matter of a couple minutes, it only took a couple rotations of my wrist and I was coming apart with a broken sob of his name.

Morning came entirely too soon, and I woke in a foul mood as the sun hadn't even risen yet. I was jetlagged and exhausted and holy shit I looked like something out of a horror movie. I had deep purple smudges underneath my eyes, swollen red lips, and my neck looked like I had been attacked based off of the multicolored bruising I had on the right side of my neck and collarbone. I stomped out of the hotel bathroom and threw my suitcase open with a screech. Thank god this business had taught me how to cover bruises and jetlag with artful layers of cosmetics.

Bzz. Bzz.

Alex S.: You up? We're gonna grab breakfast and coffee before heading to the arena. Meet in the lobby in 20?

Me: Yeah. Meet ya'll down there.

I grabbed my go bag with my valet gear and paused in the hotel mirror to painstakingly apply a coat of matte red liquid lipstick.

My boozy aunty Eleanor, may god bless her southern heart, always did tell me that the best way to handle a problem was to put on some expensive lipstick and attack it. Once satisfied with my lipstick, I smirked in the mirror, and sashayed out the door.

Today, despite the rough start, was going to be alright.

Breakfast went off without a hitch, Chris and Alex were honestly rays of sunshine. It didn't matter what happened the night before, what kind of mistakes I may have made, they were always cracking jokes and constantly trying to out-clown the other. They'd said nothing about the amount of artfully applied concealer to my undereyes or the extra large quad shot espresso drink I had ordered in broken Japanese, even if it was clear that this wasn't all jetlag related.

I didn't pay too much attention during the van ride to the arena, or even the settling into the dressing room at the arena, I was content to just sip on my ridiculously large and sweet coffee. It wasn't until a production assistant came around with the night's card. It was when the assistant handed me the copy of the card that my mood soured again.

The universe just really, really liked fucking with me.

First match of ours on the Japanese tour?

Motor City Machine Guns, Kushida, and Yoshitatsu vs. Kenny Omega, Adam Cole, and the Young Bucks.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Erm, you okay, (Y/N)?"

Chris looked legitimately worried about the way my face had tightened up with irritation.

"Don't worry about me Chris. Just wondering when karma is gonna stop fucking with me," I muttered as I handed over the card to the man. It took him a second of reading down the card and then his face went stony.

"Wanna bet money that Cody is gonna be ringside? Hangman has a match against Evil."

I grimaced. "I fuckin' hope not. I haven't watched much tape on him since he left the 'E. I don't know what I might be working against."

"You'll be fine. You're one of the best damn women in the business today and we've got the utmost confidence in you." Alex called from the shower stall. "Where are we on the card?"

"We're match three, 20 minute time limit. We're on in two hours. So make yourselves pretty guys."

There was no time to think about why Adam kept getting thrown into my path. Getting match ready, even if I was only valeting tonight, was a painstaking process and we all had our own little rituals that needed to be adhered to. The makeup and taping of wrists and ankles were the easy part. It was the strapping on whatever scandalous valet outfit I deemed necessary. If I were actually in a match tonight, my gear would never by this revealing or risqué, due to the risks of malfunctions, but part of being a valet was to support your people by any means necessary.

So that meant we were honeypotting it up tonight. Thank god I had packed a wide variety of options. There was this strappy hot pants and bustier number that would be perfect with my over-the-knee boots for occasions such as this. I normally didn't need the red lipstick and the suggestive clothing to feel confident in high intensity situations, but given that I'd already lost my proverbial shit in the past twenty four hours, I wasn't going to be taking any chances.

The two hours passed entirely too quickly and we quickly found ourselves in the ring, with Alex's old Time Splitter tag partner, Kushida, and the Bullet Club Hunter himself, Yoshitatsu. We'd had just a couple of seconds to attempt to strategize over the noise of the crowd when the Bullet Club theme hit the speakers.

"Bullet Club f-f-f-f-for life..."

The crowd popped when five figures appeared at the ramp. Omega, Cole, the Young Bucks, of fucking course being accompanied by the American Nightmare, Cody.

Of all the tours to have left my brass knuckles at home, I thought, as the five men made their way towards the ring. Eight man tag action was going to be chaotic and awareness of my surroundings and the ring would be key, especially with Cody lurking at ringside with me. The five men were sizing us up in the ring, with varying degrees of interest. Nick and Matt were yelling and jeering, complete with crass hand motions. Cody seemed dispassionate and sized us up, his handsome face sent in a deep scowl. Adam had let his eyes wander over the four men in the ring before stopping on me. I could feel the hot caress of his eyes as they cased my body from head to toe pausing long enough to make me flush on my red painted lips. He'd stopped at the bottom of the ramp, chewing intently on the gum in his mouth. Once he'd seemed satisfied, he rounded his way to Bullet Club's corner.

It was Omega who had caught me off guard.

I'd known that he was an intense character, but catching his stare was like catching the stare of a mad scientist who had found a particularly interesting subject to dissect. I maintained the eye contact without flinching, when I was really trying to suppress a shiver at the clinical look, and he'd cocked his head with a smirk. He'd seemed satisfied with the fact that I hadn't backed down. He was the first to break eye contact, like he hadn't just been sizing me up.

It was as the members of Bullet Club were climbing into the ring that Alex began to nudge me towards the ropes. He'd seemed to notice that Adam had had his eyes trained on me. "Stay safe out there. If you have to get involved, make sure the ref ain't lookin'."

I nodded, walking with a little added swing to my hips towards the ropes. The heat of Cole's eyes on my back ratcheted up in intensity, I didn't need to look behind me to know that.

It was as soon as I was off the apron that the bell sounded to start the match. It was going to be Kushida starting off against Nick. They locked up and I was quick to start tracking the motions of the other Club members. Yoshitatsu, as the Bullet Club Hunter, had given us advice that really was invaluable: it's not necessarily what's in the ring that you need to worry about, its who's outside the ring.

Cody seemed to be conferencing with Kenny and Adam at ringside. The discussion itself was intense, with Adam reacting negatively to whatever Cody was saying. His entire body seemed to clench up and I could see the tic in his jaw from my end of the ring. Kenny seemed thoughtful and impartial, appearing to take into account both of the men's words. I didn't have to think long about what they were discussing when Cody pointed. At me.

Adam snarled and took a threatening step towards Cody. Matt put a hand to Adam's chest to stop him and Kenny stood and studied the second generation wrestler for a beat, before shaking his head and dismissing whatever it was that Cody had suggested. Cody scowled, clearly unhappy that neither of the two Club leaders were interested in his plan. Cole had seen me studying the episode in their corner and shot me a wink.

Through the course of the match, Cody didn't stop stalking in the Bullet Corner. He couldn't sit still and was full of nervous energy that it put me on edge. He was working himself up and it wasn't going to turn out well for someone.

It came to a head when all eight men began a brawl in the middle of the ring. Cody and I had made eye contact and a slow, cold smile spread across his face as he began to stalk towards me. He was taking advantage of the distraction of the mayhem in the ring to directly disregard what he'd been told to not do. My boys were going to be of no help, as they were busy trading punches with the Bucks. So I did the best I could do in this situation: run.

It didn't matter how low the heel on these boots were. It didn't matter how fast my mile was or high my endurance was. Cody had nearly a foot of height on me, so every two steps of mine, was one step for him. He was gaining fast and my lungs were burning from the effort. I had maybe twenty seconds before the second generation wrestler was in striking distance.

I didn't see that just around the bend, Kushida and Adam Cole had come out to the floor. I didn't see Adam gearing up for a superkick on a prone Kushida, because I had turned my head to check for Cody. What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion.

I had rounded the corner at full speed, as Adam was starting his super kick. Kushida, whom was in front of me, had some sort of freakish sixth sense of what was coming, and ducked out of the way.

Which left me running, full tilt, into a super kick.

The pain in on the left side of my jaw and face was blinding and I dropped like a ton of bricks to the floor, the right side of my head clipping just along the barrier on my way down. My ears were ringing and my vision was out of focus so I couldn't tell you who cupped my face so tenderly and was saying something to me.

Warmsafefeelsgoodwarmsafe

I'm not sure if I leaned into their hands and pressed a messy kiss to skin and slurred, "S'okay. S'okay. Happens."

The hands were ripped away and everything went dark.

I woke up two minutes later, bound to a stretcher, a C-collar firmly around my neck, and surrounded by medical staff. Alex and Chris' faces swam in my vision and I had to summon the effort to mutter, "Get the fuck back into the ring ya dipshits. 'M fine."

Their faces broke into grins, were they grins?, and then their faces disappeared as I was rolled to the back to be checked out by the trainers.

I couldn't tell you who won the match. Hell, I couldn't tell you how long I was in the trainer's room, being poked and prodded. I was cleared of a concussion, but it certainly didn't feel that way. The migraine I had was pounding in rhythm with my heart beat, my jaw was swollen and tight, and my hand was soon to be frostbitten from holding the ice.

I'd never been happier to see Chris and Alex burst through the door, sweaty and concerned. I could see the two of them grappling with their desire to wrap me up in a hug and their concern with injuring me further.

"Y'only get to hug me all sweaty like this once guys. Y'fuckin' reek."

They shook their heads in tandem and soon enough, I was wrapped up in a sweaty group hug on the trainer's table. We stayed like that for a couple moments, Alex mumbling, "You scared us taking that kick, (Y/N)."

Chris murmured his agreement, "You just went limp. We thought Cole had killed you. Though I don't think I've ever seen him so freaked out before."

"Wait what? Walk me through what happened, because I don't remember much of anything between taking the kick and then finding myself on a stretcher to the back."

Chris and Alex moved away just enough so that they weren't crowding me, but kept their arms over my shoulders and waist prospectively.

"I saw you take the kick, while you were running from Cody. You went down and down hard, I think you caught your head on the barrier?" Alex said, looking a little pale.

Chris nodded, adding, "Cole looked terrified, (Y/N), when he saw that he'd caught you with the super kick. He almost took off one of the medic's heads when they were trying to get to you." Chris' eyebrows arched, implying that he'd caught on to what was going on.

I shook my head, and then groaned at the motion. "Can we just go back to the hotel, guys? Ya'll need a shower and I need my bed."

45 minutes, a van ride, and two helicopters imitating men later, I was safely ensconced in my room. A hot shower left my skin pink and feeling a little more human. I had pulled in my normal sleeping clothes of an oversized Machine Gun's shirt and a pair of plain boyshorts and had curled up in bed with my phone.

Three new messages.

Alex: Let me know if you need anything.

Chris: If you need anything, text me before you text Alex. He took a mean powerbomb from the top rope.

My heart felt like it grew three sizes too big. I don't know what I did to deserve these two, but damn it I wasn't going to complain.

The third message was more concerning to me. I didn't recognize the area code, though a quick search of Google told me it was Japanese.

Unknown: Its Omega. Please, if not for anything but my sanity, talk to Cole. He's moping. I don't want to deal with his moping anymore. 850-555-1234.

My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline. How did Kenny Omega get my number?

Me: How did you get this number?

The three little dots on my phone mocked me as the man took his sweet time responding.

Unknown: Does it matter? Your boy is upset. Fix it.

Me: He's not my anything and he's surely not mine to fix.

Unknown: You so sure about that kitten? I'm handling Cody, you need to handle Cole.

I caught my lower lip between teeth and pondered my response. I didn't even get the chance, as Kenny had texted back before I had the chance.

Unknown: Fix it with Cole. The Club will owe you a favor. Within reason, of course.

Goddamnit, Omega had made an offer that the political animal in me couldn't resist. The thought of the head of the home chapter of Bullet Club owing me a favor? That was too tantalizing to resist, even if it meant potentially putting my soul on the line with Adam.

Me: You've got a deal Omega. Pleasure doing business.

I had pulled up a new message and punched in what I was told was Adam's number already by the time my phone had buzzed to tell me Omega had messaged back.

Me: Adam? It's (Y/N). Are you okay?

I quickly thumbed over to Omega's message before I psyched myself out by staring at the screen waiting for Adam's response.

Unknown: I knew I would like you. Don't be a stranger, kitten.

My face flushed red at what was surely a compliment from the notoriously enigmatic man. I was about to type in my reply to Kenny when my phone lit up and buzzed with text message after text message. Adam had replied and with a vengeance.

A. Cole: Where are you? I need to see you.

A. Cole: I'd never intentionally super kick you. You have to know that.

A. Cole: Please, where are you

A. Cole: I'm gonna kill Cody

Adam had never seemed like the type of man to blow up a woman's phone. The text notification at the top of my screen told me everything I needed to know.

Unknown: He's also drunk. Have fun kitten.

Goddamnit. I swiped back to Adam's message.

Me: Handsome, hurting Cody isn't going to change anything. Where are you at?

It wasn't more than 30 seconds before I got a reply back.

A. Cole: Bar downstairs. Can I see you?

I paused. I had a proven track history of not having any willpower when a sober Adam was around. Who knew what kind of havoc an inebriated one would cause. The cons almost outweighed the pros of inviting him up to my room, but that favor from Omega...

Cole didn't give me any more chances to think about the game plan.

A. Cole: Please sweetness

A. Cole: I feel horrible bout what happnd, I just want to know yore ok

Oh boy, he was really drunk. My traitorous fingers typed my room number before I got a chance to deliberate.

Me: 948

A. Cole: Thank you, I just need to kno your ok

I groaned and thumped my hands against the mattress. Why do I do this to myself? I looked like I a hobo in this oversized tshirt and with my wet hair tied into a messy bun. hopefully he'd be too drunk to comment on how tired I looked. Adam Cole was hell on a girl's quality of sleep.

It felt like it had only been seconds when I heard the rough knocks at my door. I gingerly got out of bed, when I realized how bare my legs were. Too late to go back now. It wasn't long before I had crossed the small hotel room to open the door.

"Ada-"

I couldn't even get the two syllables of his name out my mouth before the tall brunette man had crossed the threshold of my room and wrapped himself around me, his head in the crook of my neck, arms tight around my waist. The smell of his cologne was almost overpowered by the scent of bourbon.

"I'm so sorry, I'd never hurt you like that, thought I killed you for a couple minutes when you didn't get up," he slurred the words into my skin. "I was so scared."

I guess drunken words are indeed sober thoughts. I wrapped my arms around him as well, letting my hands rub his back as I hushed him.

"Its fine. Accidents happen all the time. If I wasn't able to take a super kick, I shouldn't be in this business."

He shook his head and pulled away just enough to look down at me. "No, it shouldn't have happened. I'm going to end Cody next time I see him." As he spoke his words, his grip on my waist grew tighter and tighter. The grip on my waist was tight, but Cole kept leaning his weight into me and I didn't know how much longer I could hold him.

"Come sit, and I'll grab you a glass of water."

His head had returned to my shoulder and he shook his head stubbornly, his facial hair rubbing against the bruises he had caused the night before. "No I like this."

Apparently alcohol made him more obstinate.

"Please handsome? You're kinda heavy."

He'd stumbled backwards, almost losing his footing, in surprise. I made sure to try to keep my hands on his arms to attempt to steady him. "Sorry..."

Fuck, he thought I was mad. His lips had curled downward into a frown and his brow was furrowed into a frown. Omega's texted words bounced around my brain to fix it.

"I'm not upset. I just don't think I can support your weight for a long period of time. If you come sit on the bed, I'll grab you some water, and we can talk."

He perked up, some light returning to his eyes. "Can I touch you? I promise I'll be good."

"Keep it clean, handsome, and there shouldn't be a problem." I guided him to the edge of the bed. "Just sit here for a second and I'll be right back."

I walked to the bathroom to grab a cup of water and when I had come back, Adam Cole was passed out in my bed, underneath the covers.

Of fucking course, because my life could never be simple. I wasn't cold hearted enough to push him out of my bed, he'd just had a match earlier and he was likely sore from bumps. That at least was my not selfish reason that I was telling myself. My id was practically crowing at the thought of Adam Cole laying next to me in bed, even if he was passed out.

I shook my head in resignation as I set the glass of water on the night stand nearest to Adam. Well, if you can't beat them, join them. I shut the lights off, and crawled into the queen sized bed with Adam. I didn't realize how tired I was until I had gotten underneath the sheets. I was asleep by the time I had ensured that there was a little space between our two bodies.

I'd woken up, four hours later, from a dreamless sleep overheated and feeling constricted by something. I'd tried to move away, but the something that had wrapped me up tightened its grip.

That something was apparently an octopus disguised as Adam Cole. Somewhere in the course of what was a nap, not actual sleep, we had begun spooning. Cole was behind me, his left arm wrapped underneath me and hand cupping a breast, the other banded over my hips entirely too close to my panty line. He'd thrown his right leg over both of mine and hooked me in tight. Which explained the hard cock pressing into the flesh of my ass and I felt the sudden, uncomfortable slick between my legs and my nipples tightened to pebbles at our positions.

I froze in my motions and my mind whirred against the incoming Adam Cole induced pink haze. I had to get myself out of this and I just didn't know how, as his body was wrapped rather tight around my own.

"I can practically hear you thinking, sweetness. Stop it and go back to sleep," the brunette man murmured into my neck, beard rubbing against the exposed skin of my neck and his right hand absentmindedly drawing figure eights on the skin above my panty line. The motions made me shudder and I gasped, "I can't when you're doing that."

The right hand froze in its motions.

"I'm not going to lie, I like the sound of that."

His right hand began the figure eight motions again, lazily tracing from my bellybutton towards my panty line. His left hand, not to be outdone, began alternating between caressing and squeezing my left breast. I whimpered and pressed my thighs together to get some sort of friction for the ache growing at the junction of my thighs.

"God you are so responsive," he mouthed into my neck, placing openmouthed kisses into the skin there. "Makes me wonder what kind of noises you'll make when I make you cum."

The hand on my breast pinched my nipple just hard enough to make me cry out and push my hips back into Adam's. He groaned at the sudden thrust of my hips back at him and I was quick to roll over and feverishly press my lips against his. I started to pull at his shirt and he moved away just enough to pull his shirt off and fling it off to an unknown part of the hotel room, before his lips returned enthusiastically to mine.

One of my hands secured themselves in his hair, which had broken loose from the bun that he'd tied it into and the other had settled onto a well defined pectoral. His hands had dipped into my panties to cup my ass. It was a particularly tight squeeze of my cheeks that made me hiss into our kiss and dig my nails into his scalp and chest.

Adam pressed my hips into his with his hands as he bucked, then stilled.

"This is your chance to back out if you don't want this to go any further," he choked out against gritted teeth. "Say the word and I'll leave, otherwise I'm going to fuck you into this mattress until the only word you're capable of is my name."

I shook my head, and leaned into to whisper against his lips, "I want yo-"

I didn't even get the words out before I had been pushed onto my back, his lips working aggressively against mine, his hands sliding my panties down my legs. I assisted by kicking the boy shorts to the floor his left hand hooked my left leg up and his right hand went to the pink slick between my thighs. The first touch made the two of us groan.

"Fuck you're so wet..."

Two fingers dipped inside of me, making hooking motions until he found the spot. I mewled at the first press of his fingers, and he grinned wolfishly, before setting to work with his hand, his mouth back on mine.

I could barely participate in the kiss, because his fingers were fucking magic. His thumb provided just enough pressure as it swiped over the bundle of nerves just above the slick opening of my pussy and the two thick fingers inside of me weren't thrusting, but pressing consistently in some rhythm only known to him against that one spot that made me shudder. The tension in my lower abdomen was growing at an exponential rate.

It took just a couple more moments of his efforts before I was shuddering and gasping my release, the walls of my pussy grasping at his fingers greedily.

Adam continued his ministrations with his fingers until I was keening and thrashing, but had pulled back to stare at me in wonder.

"Holy shit sweetness, already?"

My hands shot to his wrist to try to push him away, "T-too sensitive."

He nodded and pushed back to discard of his sweats. "I'll take my time with you later, but right now I need to be inside of you."

The revealing of his cock was almost enough to make my eyes bug out of my head. It curved to almost touch his belly button and holy fucking shit he was thick. It was enough to make me gulp and wonder if it was too late to call this off.

"Are you on the pill? I'm clean, tested two weeks ago and haven't been with anyone since the test."

I shook my head, still weary of his size, "Implant. The pill sucks on the road."

He didn't see my trepidation, and moved himself between my spread thighs. He rubbed the head of his cock over my pussy, stopping to pay extra attention to my clit and then he thrust into me, hips meeting hips.

I yelped and hit his chest with my hands. The intrusion was too large and sudden to be pleasurable, with the tip of his cock touching my cervix and my walls burning with pain at the stretch. He stilled and was shaking from the effort to not move.

"Holy fuck I'm sorry. I thought you would have loosened up after you came... Shit shit shit," He mumbled his apologies into my breasts, his breath torture against the stiffened peaks. The shock and pain caused by his cock decreased after a couple moments, which left the uncomfortable sensation of being skewered by a flag pole and of being too full.

I pushed my hips up against his, breath catching in my throat at the sparks of pleasure the simple movement had caused, my walls fluttering around his cock. Adam whined at the sensation and began shallowly thrusting. Stilled, it was almost painful to have him inside of me, but moving? The heavy drag of his cock caught every little sensitive hidden area inside of me and I was panting at the sensations.

It wasn't long before I was rocking against those shallow thrusts, but it just wasn't enough. Adam's arms were braced on either side of his body, his head resting against my breast looking downwards at where we were joined. It wasn't enough, it wasn't what I knew it could be. I took the initiative and grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged at his head to look at me. He groaned at the sensation of his hair being pulled, but lifted his gaze to meet mine.

The pupils of his too blue eyes were blown out completely, barely a sliver of iris left visible and the look of him trying to restrain myself was enough to make me bite my lip and bear down on his cock.

"You're gonna fuck me into this mattress Adam. I'm not gonna break."

His mouth dropped in relief.

" Oh thank fucking god."

He pulled almost all the way out and snapped his hips back to meet mine. I keened and he did the motion over and over again, leaving me to just grasp onto his shoulders and wrap my legs around his hips for grounding. The slight change in angle had left me breathless and allowed Adam to slide even deeper than he had already been.

It was when the headboard of the bed began to thump against the walls that he began to talk, and fuck was he filthy.

"Fuckin' thought bout this for years. How you would feel..."

I was mewling and writhing at every snap and roll of his hips.

"So fuckin' tight and good and hot, like you were made for me."

The tension was building again and I was helpless, the ability to speak anything more than a broken sob of his name and asking for more having left me long ago.

"Y'look so beautiful under me and I'm never gonna get enough of this," he growled, his pace picking up even more, the slap of his hips against mine setting a brutal tempo.

I was so close, so so so close.

"You're mine now, (Y/N). Tell me you're mine."

My head was thrashing, the words unable to leave my mouth.

Adam bared his teeth, balanced his weight on one arm, and let a hand reach down to rub the bundle of nerves just above where we were joined, never breaking tempo.

"Fuckin' say that you're mine, (Y/N)."

The tension broke, and I keened to the universe, "Yours!"

Little black spots littered my vision as my body shuddered uncontrollably in pleasure. The spasms of my walls around his cock brought him roaring to his own climax.

His body fell against mine, his cock softening inside of me, and he murmured victoriously,

"You're all mine now, and I'm not letting you go."

#adam cole imagine #adam cole fic #adam cole smut #repost from the old blog

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missblanchette · 8 years ago

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Birds of Paradise [3/5]

Series: Joker Game

Characters: Amari/Tazaki; Kaminaga and Fukumoto as Tazaki’s #squad

Rating: G

Summary: Tazaki never found a reason to talk to the shopkeeper with the chestnut brown hair and god-like jawline – that was, until his pigeons attacked the flower display. (AKA The Flower Shop AU no one asked for)

Words: 2628

Notes: Modern AU/Flower Shop AU; Sorry this is a bit late ;; I had a lot of trouble reworking this and started falling into the Cycle of Doubt™ on top of that lmao but here’s chapter three~

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | You can read this on AO3! Thank you guys for reading and I hope you enjoy~! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Ch 3: Surprises Come in All Shapes and Sizes

Unfortunately, or fortunately, Tazaki had little to no chance to pass by Persephone's in the days after his failed attempt. Part of him was thankful, because only the gods knew he was still recovering from last time. On the other hand, he missed seeing Amari work so diligently, even if he only caught it through the window; the bouquets that decorated his small apartment could only fill the void so much. Still, with Miyoshi's words urging him on, Tazaki tried to hype himself up so that he could finally ask Amari out.

Key phrase: "tried to."

This entailed a very long talk with his pigeons. Multiple very long talks. For the most part, his darlings seemed open to the idea of letting someone new into their lives. But then there was Kazuaki. It wasn't that he wasn't opposed to, but he didn't seem for it either. Then again, Tazaki couldn't really tell because the minute he mentioned Amari, Kazuaki went nuts. Well, at least he had approval from the majority.

On top of that, he rehearsed what he wanted to say in front of the mirror and even asked Kaminaga for some tips (most of which Tazaki swore never to do). Fukumoto also tried helping, but his advice was simply to take him on a date to his cafe and Tazaki knew he just wanted more business. The support was appreciated, however.

Regardless of whether or not he was ready, another opportunity to see Amari again arrived. So of course the night before, he stayed up late shaken by his nerves and ended up oversleeping.

Berating himself for not sticking to plan, Tazaki rushed out with his pigeons following in a tizzy. It wasn't too late, just about early afternoon, so Amari should still be there. Although as much as he tried to calm himself down, perhaps the adrenaline from power walking didn't help. The only thing keeping him grounded now was the weight of his darlings on his arms.

Despite the calm mask he put on, his legs quivered and his heart hammered against his chest. It really shouldn't be a big deal, he told himself. All he had to do was go in, ask, and get a date. Or get rejected. One or the other. But he couldn't start thinking like that or else he'd really chicken out. As Persephone's came into view, he looked over to his darlings for one last bout of reassurance. Right shoulder, check; left shoulder, good but... where was Kazuaki?

Tazaki paused.

What was that rustling noise?

Looking to the side, he saw Kazuaki had found entertainment in the bouquet of cosmos, the petals fluttering to the ground. Tazaki pursed his lips.

"Really?"

Kazuaki merely chirped in response.

Sighing, Tazaki went over to retrieve him.

"I thought I told you especially to be on your best behavior," he said, pointing a finger at him.

Before Kazuaki could reply, the shop's bell rang. Tazaki looked up to see Amari standing at the door.

"You're a bit later than usual," Amari said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Oh sweet Jesus. Okay, just like he practiced -- he got this.

"Sorry I'm late, I got lost in your flowers." Not bad, he mused.

Chuckling, Amari stepped forward.

"You're not the only one lost, it seems." As Amari neared the display, Kazuaki slowed to a stop. In turn, Amari petted him with a finger. "Would you look at that? Only one bouquet ruined this time."

"They're learning." He narrowed his eyes towards at Kazuaki. "Most of them, at least."

"Can't learn something overnight," Amari said, Kazuaki climbing onto his arm.

"Kazuaki's always been a procrastinator."

"It’s fine to take things at your own pace~"

"Even at the expense of your flowers?"

"Some sacrifices have to be made." Amari shrugged, passing Kazuaki over to him. "Though I have to admit seeing you -- your birds slam into the displays makes my shift a lot more interesting."

"And my bank account a lot more emptier," Tazaki mumbled.

Amari laughed.

"Let me guess, you want to take responsibility for this, too?"

"I-It's only fair," Tazaki said, grateful he was busy helping Kazuaki back onto his shoulder. Although, it was a good opening for him. "Speaking of which... I was thinking about other forms of payments."

"Oh?" Amari tilted his head.

As Amari looked at him with those chestnut brown eyes of his, the words died on Tazaki’s tongue. Practicing a conversation with one’s self in front of the mirror was nothing compared to the real deal. Amari was a nice guy, so rejection wouldn't hurt that badly, would it? Just when he considered backing out, Kazuaki's talons dug into his skin like a painful reminder.

Right. It was now or never.

"Yeah, how about a --"

"Papa!"

Hands shooting out, Amari clutched Tazaki's shoulders as he fell forward. Thankfully, his pigeons didn't do anything more than flap their wings about and trill in surprise, but Tazaki figured it would've been easier to deal with their frenzy than Amari's proximity. Amari's eyes, he thought, were just as pretty as his flowers, and he had to remind himself it wasn't socially acceptable to gawk.

"E-Emma!" Before turning around, Amari mouthed him an apology. Tazaki simply shook his head, having lost his voice. "You should be more careful."

"Sorry~"

To Amari's side, Tazaki saw a young girl with her arms wrapped around Amari's knees. She grinned as Amari patted her head and Tazaki couldn't help but grow weak at how adorable the sight was. Behind them, another man made his way for the flower shop.

"Thanks for picking her up, Hatano," Amari said. "What do we say to Uncle Hatano?"

"Thank you, Uncle Hatano!"

Hatano merely grunted in response.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, leaning against the door. "Just let me know when you're done, I'll be getting ready for my shift."

"Why don't you go wait inside with Uncle Hatano, Emma?" Amari asked as Hatano disappeared into the store.

"Not yet, not yet! I have something really cool to show you, Papa."

And as Amari knelt down to be eye level with her, two realizations hit Tazaki: Amari was a father. And if he was a father, then surely he must be married.

Dear Lord. He'd been hitting on a married man.

Mentally, he chided himself for thinking that being a father made Amari more attractive. Now was not the time be thinking that. But he couldn't deny it. Not when he listened to his daughter so attentively and treated her so gently; it reminded Tazaki of how he treated his birds the other day, and only served to make him fall harder. Moral crisis aside, he briefly debated on whether or not it was viable to have his pigeons fly him out.

Clink!

"Ah." Emma looked down towards the ground, a pout on her face. On the ground laid a coin. "It was supposed to come out of your ear."

Not missing a beat, Tazaki maneuvered his hands to slip a coin into his own palm and bent down.

"You mean like this?" he said, reaching behind Emma's ear and sliding the coin up, as if pulling it right out of her ear. Smiling, he presented it to her. "Ta-dah!"

"Yeah, like that!" She hopped up and down, pointing excitedly at his hand. Then she took a clear look at him and clammed up, taking a step behind Amari. Nevertheless, Tazaki just kept on smiling and handed her the coin.

"Here, this is for you."

Shyly, Emma looked at Amari as if asking him for permission to which he nodded.

"Oh, that's right! Emma, this is my friend, Mr. Tazaki." Friends. He could die happy right there. "Now what do you say to Mr. Tazaki?"

"Thank you, Mr. Tazaki," Emma said, her previous smile returning as she took the coin from him.

"You're very welcome, Emma."

With coin in hand, Emma shifted her attention back to Amari.

"Ah... Papa, I'll be inside."

With Amari's nod of approval, Emma ran off into the store.

"Your daughter's very cute," Tazaki said, as the shop's door bell chimed.

"Thank you, she means the world to me," Amari said, voice growing softer; his smile widened and there was a proud gleam in his eyes. "Ah, anyways, you were saying something about payment earlier?"

"Yeah, uh..." Just like that, what little confidence Tazaki had built up earlier dissipated, which was made worse with Amari looking at him expectantly. Amari seemed happy, and happy enough without him. He had his own family and he'd probably just be intruding if he tried anything. "...Do you take check?"

Amari blinked.

"Just, y'know, in case there's no other forms of payment."

"...Gotcha." Amari nodded slowly. "We do, actually. Did you plan on paying by check today?"

"Oh no, um, I was just wondering." Tazaki patted his pockets in search for his wallet. "I mean, it's just one bouquet anyways. I should have enough cash on me..."

"Money isn't necessary."

"Hm?"

Instead of answering, Amari picked up the bouquet Kazuaki had ruined and inspected it. The white cosmos seemed to be in decent enough condition despite the ruckus, as well as the bird beak-like flowers that sat in the center of them. Removing a few loose petals here and there, Amari adjusted the cellophane wrapper so that the torn parts weren't visible and re-tied the lavender bow that kept it together.

"You made Emma smile," Amari said, handing it to him. "That's payment enough."

"Are you sure? I really don't mind paying."

"I insist." Amari smiled. "We gotta do something with this bouquet anyways, no?"

"That's... fair enough." After a moment's hesitation, Tazaki took the bouquet from him, sending those goosebumps throughout his body again as their fingers brushed together. "Thank you."

"I'll see you around?"

"For sure," Tazaki said, cradling the bouquet in his arms. Because even if he couldn't be with Amari, he could still admire him.

Staring at the flowers in front of him, Tazaki had no doubt in his mind that they'd look good alongside the other bouquets he'd received from Amari. Despite it not receiving the same treatment the first two got, it looked as if nothing happened to the bouquet in the first place. The cosmos retained their color and stood tall and proud, the beak-like flowers he'd still yet to identify adding to their liveliness. Amari truly had skill when it came to flowers; whoever his spouse was must be very lucky.

"Dude," Kaminaga said, interrupting his pity party. "You look pretty down."

His voice brought Tazaki back to his senses, the sounds of the cafe rushing into his ears. He’d almost forgotten he was hanging out with Kaminaga. Tearing his gaze off the bouquet, Tazaki turned to him.

"You never told me he had a kid."

"What?"

"Amari. He has a kid."

"I didn't think it was relevant." Kaminaga furrowed his brows, resting his chin in his palm. "You love kids!"

"If he has a kid, then he has to be married."

"He's never mentioned it before. He doesn't have a ring, either."

"Oh my God," Tazaki said, hands flying to his cheeks with an audible smack. "Maybe his spouse is dead."

Kaminaga squinted at him.

"Then what's the problem?"

"He's in mourning!"

Snorting, Kaminaga took a sip of his drink.

"He looks pretty damn happy for someone who's mourning."

"Some people are really good at hiding their pain," Tazaki said, jabbing a finger in Kaminaga's direction. "Plus he has Emma to help him through the process..."

"Y'know, Emma looks nothing like Amari," Kaminaga said, leaning back in his chair. "Red hair, blue eyes, pale skin. Even her name isn’t Japanese."

As much as he wanted to deny it, Kaminaga had a point. But still, Amari treated her as if she were his own, and Tazaki didn't want to rule out any possible scenario.

"Okay, but --"

The scent of peppermint wafted through the air, a coffee cup placed in front of him. Though the drink was out of season, he knew one guy who'd make it for him.

"Tazaki." He looked up to see Fukumoto pulling up a chair next to them, his voice like an anchor. "Breathe."

"Oh, Fukumoto," Kaminaga said. "On break already?"

"I pulled some strings."

Both Tazaki and Kaminaga had learned not to question Fukumoto ever and so let it be, ignoring the yelling up at the cash register.

"So what's going on with Tazaki's guy problems?" Fukumoto said.

"There's no problem," Tazaki said, holding the cup in his hands. The scent of peppermint soothed him, the warmth comforting. In fact, it almost reminded him of… actually, never mind. "I'm already over it."

Kaminaga scoffed.

"More like you're trying to run away from it." Kaminaga folded his arms. "So what if you hit on a married guy? We all make that mistake --"

"Not really," interjected Fukumoto.

"-- At best, you'll get rejected; at worst, he'll never wanna see you again. No big deal."

Tazaki suddenly found his peppermint mocha unappealing.

"Kaminaga," said Fukumoto.

"Yeah?"

"Shush."

Kaminaga pouted, but stayed silent nonetheless.

"I just don't want to impose on anything, all right?" Tazaki said. "He seems perfectly happy without me."

“If you keep making excuses for yourself,” Fukumoto said. “You’ll never be truly happy.”

In the silence that fell, Tazaki tapped his finger against the cup. Fukumoto wasn't wrong; indeed, Fukumoto was rarely wrong. If he didn't do anything about it, surely he'd end up regretting it sooner or later. But he'd get over it, wouldn't he? He'd been fine without Amari up until now, so he could get by. He had his birds, after all.

Okay, even he had to admit that sounded a bit pathetic.

"I know it's difficult," Fukumoto said. "But if you really want something, then you should go after it."

Taking a shaky breath, Tazaki nodded.

"I know," he said. "It's just that... every time I try, I get scared."

"I understand," Fukumoto said, his eyes taking on a faraway look. He was quick to snap back, though. "But it'll be worth it if it works out, don't you think?"

Allowing himself a moment, Tazaki imagined what it would be like to be with Amari. There would be no need to admire him through Persephone's windows, since he'd be able to spend time with him without question. The thought of being able to see Amari's warm smile and feel his gentle touch sent his heart racing, though he had no complaints about that. He wanted to get to know Amari better, to be by his side and help him through his day, that he had no doubts about.

At the same time, he didn't want to rush into anything. Not when there was too many uncertainties. Perhaps he really was being a coward, but he'd rather be a coward than overstep any boundaries.

"You're right, but..." Tazaki finally said. "I need some time to think about it."

Fukumoto set a hand on Kaminaga's shoulder, stopping him from any outbursts. Though Kaminaga complied, he still gave Tazaki a concerned look. Meanwhile, Fukumoto opened his mouth as if to say something but decided against it. He dug into his apron's pocket and pulled something out.

"It's your decision and we'll support you no matter what," Fukumoto said, handing it to him. "But if you go through with it, take this for good luck."

Hesitantly, Tazaki took it.

"What is it?"

"A gift card. For when you take him here on your date."

"...I see," Tazaki said, pocketing it. "Thank you."

Another failed attempt today, but hey, he got a discount from Fukumoto. You win some, you lose some, he supposed. Eyes drifting back to the bouquet, Tazaki sighed. Perhaps more losses than wins.

#joker game #!fanfic #!f: joker game #!cliche storm

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youreghanamissme · 7 years ago

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Ch-Ch-Changes

9/1/2017

I've been back a few weeks, and life is not what I expected. I've never been more of a recluse. It's normal to need a few days to readjust to village life after a long period of travel, but since I've returned, I seldom leave my room unless it's to go to my latrine, go on a walk-jog, or buy chop. I'm lonely and alienated and melancholic at site, but more on that later. September is upon us (cue Earth, Wind & Fire), and so much has changed in my life that I'm a little stunned.

I came back to site to hear that the Orange Flesh Sweet Potato (OFSP) vines distribution went well! The vines are now in the ground, despite a few hiccups. Third time's the charm because RING didn't pull another fast one on me. We actually got the vines to my community this year, and my women will have Vitamin A -rich potatoes for consumption and for market in a few months! I've been trying to visit the farms where they're planted to check up on them, but it's been tricky to locate my counterpart. His phone is spoiled, and it's harvest time. Everyone is pretty much at the farm all day, every day, and it looks like dropping in at his compound and asking his sisters to let him know I'd like to meet up with him when he's free is not the best way to go about it.

Harvest time means the village is mostly deserted for the bulk of the day, but it also means the rains are still upon us! I returned to a room full of mold (it's the moisture and the heat and the fact that things have just been sitting there untouched), but that's the silver lining to being gone for so long. It's vexing to have to clean up, but on the bright side: YOU HAVE TO CLEAN UP! And make it a deep clean. So I thanked past-Diana for buying vinegar (I originally bought it for pickling, but it's multi-functional!) and antiseptic and got to work.

The rains brought with it a lusher, green landscape, as if transformed over night. It makes bike rides very dreamy and pastoral. The herds of cows are now allowed to graze freely which means wagashi (deep-fried farmer cheese) in the evenings! Unfortunately, this time of the year also means more mosquitoes, ants, flies, and rotting remains of smashed frogs on the dirt roads.

Other developments? I've picked up the ukulele again. Sort of. I brought it back with me from America. I didn't pack it when I left for Ghana the first time because I didn't think I'd actually practice. I read on reddit that if you didn't really practice it in America, bringing an instrument to Ghana (or any country as a PCV) was a waste of luggage space.

Well, the PCV who posted that is not me, and I should have pulled a Roxette and listened to my heart because I want to practice. Being in Ghana may be the motivation and time and space I need. I bought my uke when I was in third year of university. I had just gotten out of a relationship and thought I was going to channel all that sad energy into happy music. PFFT! How naïve. I've never played anything but the recorder, and I didn't even play that well. I remember quite vividly how my third grade teacher Mr. Moots asked me to stop during class practice one day because I was screechier than the rest of the lot. I wasn't just throwing us off key, I took the wheel and gave it to Thelma (or was it Louise?). “Practice at home, please, and then join us next time.” Oh, yeah?! Well Hot-motherfucking-Crossed-Buns to you too, Moots! I ended up pretending to play the recorder during class practice for the rest of the year. That's actually kind of sad in retrospect.

You hear stories of Tiger Moms putting their kids through piano lessons and violin practice. Um... yeah. Have you met mine? I was part of the Going Home Club and president of the Clean Plate Club. I don't know the difference between a G, C, E, or A note, so when I got a ukulele and a tuner I was at a loss. Didn't know what the hell I was doing, and I've been fumbling with it every since. Doesn't help that I've lived in flats half my life and was (am) embarrassed to be practicing badly for all my neighbors and flatmates to hear. But when I got home to America I figure that Woody (my uke, so named by a former flatmate. He's not even made of real wood, I gather. I think I peeled off a Made in China sticker a few years back too) could continue to sit in storage unused OR he can be picked up and prodded at a few times by myself in Ghana. Maybe I'll even earnestly practice... which is, actually, the goal.

My left fingertips aren't the only thing I'm trying to train. I also signed up for a 10K. I know—DEMENTED, right? I hate running, but I felt inspired after hanging out with my friend Sheena in America. She talked about how she had ran the Lake Merritt (Oakland) 10K recently. She didn't really train for it, but she just felt like doing it. And that made me think of the Accra International Marathon. I'm no marathoner, but there are smaller running events like the 5K, relay, half-marathon, etc. within it. I had been playing with the idea of signing up for the 10K since I first heard about it. I've done a few 5K's, and I knew that wasn't challenging enough. Relays require groups of people, and for myself, running is a very solitary thing. The universe and I know that I will shrivel into a desiccated vegetable husk if I attempt a half-marathon with my “I Hate Running” body, so the best choice would be a 10K.

I initially decided against the idea because it's in Accra. Never mind that I loathe Accra, it's so far from home. Besides, I want to be a Nutrition IST trainer. Last year, the IST was right before the marathon, and I had no idea 1) when the In-Service Training was being held this year, and 2) whether or not I was actually approved to be a trainer (I've gotten a symbolic wink almost a year ago, but that could also be interpreted as a twitchy eye in the world of Peace Corps administrative decisions). I casted the idea aside, but it remained, floating in and out of consciousness in the corners of my mind.

How cool would it be to take part in such an event in Ghana, while you are serving as a PCV? Just to do it for yourself, y'know? Not for the facebook likes or whatever that screams “Hey, Look! Me! How cool, yes?”, but because you were there and it happened and you participated. My conversation with Sheena immediately returned the 10K to my mental front-burner. I knew immediately that I'd regret it if I didn't sign up and at least try. So I gave them my $40 (Dollars, dude, but it's all for a good cause. The marathon benefits a charitable organization in Ghana), and now I'll have to figure out how I'm going to jog/walk-jog a 10K. I've been trying to practice, but most of the struggle is getting out the door and committing to the idea of running.

I've made some progress, but it's slow going. Lately it's been a “one foot in front of the other” kind of deal and a “think about how great it feels when you're done!You did good, kid!” kind of motivation. Once, my ipod battery died, so I made the choice to listen to a podcast while jogging. Do you need a pair of ice skates? Because hell may have frozen over. If you told me that I could more than less jog while listening to Levar Burton reading me a short story presented by Audible where the stories transport you to another dimension, even while sitting in traffic (TM), I would have laughed so hard that my tea would have sprayed through my nose. But it happened. I'm hoping that side of me sticks around until October 28th, the day of the marathon. Or, y'know, as they say in Ghana: pray for me.

There's been a lot of changes, but the biggest and most difficult modifier in my life? One of my best friends in service returned to America prematurely. I know it's all for the best, but I've been emotionally eating and binge-watching television shows off my hard drive so that I don't think about it and erupt in tears (again). Unlucky for me, I finished most of my America reserves before it happened. The granola, jerky, chocolate, chips, and cookies have long been devoured. The only things I have left are prunes and Parmesan cheese packets (the ones you get at the pizza parlor... who knew you can buy it in bulk off Amazon?), so I've made do... a very, very gassy do. Friends leaving is something they don't really talk about during Pre-Service Training. Hell, it happens every few months as one group leaves and a new one comes in. I've said goodbye to so many people, and I will continue to do so as some of my favorite Agric PCV's are the next folks to go (and then it's my intake group!). But it's different because she and I were in the same cohort. We've been part of a close group of friends since the beginning, and we've carried it on as Northerners and market buddies and support systems... that to think that she will not be here to finish service together breaks my heart. It still feels slightly surreal... like, I’m going to see her next week. But I won’t. It's selfish, I know. It's not like she's dead, yet I feel like I'm in mourning. I'm sad, mad, and need another mug of wine and spoonful of Parm. But that's the beauty of Peace Corps. It's not goodbye. There's still America.

I truly believe some of the people you meet in service are destined to be lifelong friends. Pre-PC friends aren't going to completely understand what it was like; all the shit—figurative and literal—you go through in service. But your PC people will. And you won't have to spend an hour explaining context. They'll just get it. Peace Corps is like one big national club you join. Membership is for life, even if you didn't finish or you served more than once. And then when you find yourself in New York or Chicago or Bum-Fuck-Somewhere, you have an old friend to meet up with. And it's also the best excuse to recruit your friends for a cross-country reunion road trip.

It may already be September, but this year is my year of intentional change. It's utterly saccharine and cliché, but life is really how you react to everything that happens to you and around you. I've been working on internalizing the sentiment that life is not a race; that you don't need to have acronyms that follow your last name or go to grad school to be successful or happy. It's a disconcerting thought because we've been conditioned by American society that you should have some semblance of your whole life figured out and a 401K started by thirty, or something to that effect. It's hard not to be a sheep, but conformity is what made Baby Boomers a repressed generation.

Next month I'll be closer to thirty than I am to twenty, and I will be none the more inclined to return to school and start a career with roots and a network that will one day lead to tenure or attending Sheila's divorce party or something. I'm still trying to figure out what path to take next and have been wavering between the idea of studying for the GRE or moving to Baltimore (or somewhere with snow) when I get back; of WOOF-ing across all of South or Central America or doing Peace Corps Response (or some other international aid job... USAID, holla at yo grrl?); of signing up for community college courses for nursing or hiking the Appalachian Trail... I don't know what I want to do, and that's OK in this moment, tomorrow night, and maybe next month too.

I've not been back a full month, and so much has already changed. Some of it great, some of it not so much... but all of it challenging in the best sense. I can eat another fistful of prunes (not many left at this point), and I will. But I won't do that forever. I'm going to leave my room. I'm going to work on those unfinished borehole grants. I'm going to go on a jog (ugh). I'm going to meet up with friends. I'm going to do more School Health Education Program (SHEP) lessons when school recommences. I'm going to master Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star on my uke. I'm going to be kinder to myself and to others... because change and challenges happen all the time. We just have to rise above it and try to be OK because It'll all be OK in the end. If it's not OK, it's not the end. That's apparently John Lennon. Now enough waxing on quasi-philosophic lofty thoughts. Forget about the pressure; life is short. Let’s Dance to some Bowie and Queen (okay, no more bowie refs, RIP)

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#pcghana #howiseepc #ghana #peacecorps #ofsp #bowie #changes #10k #ukulele #existentialcrisis #friendship #rpcv

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mystic-head-canons · 8 years ago

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RFA++’s families don’t like MC

Part 2 - MC winning the families over.

Yoosung

He brought MC over to meet his parents and little sister

They had dinner, laughed, and MC revealed that she and Yoosung played LOLOL together

All in all, it looks like things went well and his parents like her

However, the next day, Yoosung’s mother calls him and says she doesn’t approve of MC

Yoosung. Is. Shocked.

HOW?!

His mother explains that both she and his father are worried that she’s encouraging his LOLOL habits, not to mention she seems super… naive

She also admitted to having poor grades when she got her two year degree, and as academics, they don’t approve

Yoosung is pissed

He was the one that got her into LOLOL

If anything, she’s helped him turn it into a hobby, not an obsession

She takes care of him sometimes

AND she encourages him to study whenever she can!

MC is his world.

How can they think she’s a bad influence?! How can they disapprove?!

Yoosung makes it clear that he loves her and they’re going to have to get used to her being around

Jaehee

Her Uncle, Aunt, and cousins don’t much care for her anyways

But when they find out she’s dating a woman, they really don’t approve

They encourage her to go to a matchmaker and find a “real partner” for a “real marriage”

Jaehee is hurt they think this, but makes it clear that, if they don’t want to be part of her life with MC, they don’t have to be

If they don’t approve, they can deal with it :)

Zen

His family doesn’t really approve of him or his career anyways, so it’s not far fetched that they’d disapprove of his girlfriend

More so, even, after learning that they live together even though they’re not married

His parents are very in his face after meeting her about how they don’t like her

They think she only likes him for his pretty face

Zen doesn’t really care what they think, because he loves MC and wants to be with her

He does tell them that, without MC, he would never have gotten back in contact with them

He also warns that, if they want to continue to see him, they need to at least pretend to be nice to her

They agree to that, at least

Jumin

Considering the Chairman’s recent experience with women (i.e., he was manipulated by two gold diggers), he definitely doesn’t trust MC, let alone approve

He’s supportive of his son finally finding a woman, and is very clear about this

But the moment Jumin leaves MC and the Chairman alone, he turns to her, all serious

He asks her questions about her social status, her life before meeting Jumin, etc, and why she’s marrying Jumin

MC answers all these questions, a little confused why she’s being asked, and when he comes to the final question, she answers, “Because I love him? Why else would I be marrying him?”

Mr. Chairman now approves of her less, not because she loves his son, but because she’s of low birth and breeding

Her higher education is focused on business, but she went to a subpar school

And he tells her that he doesn’t approve of his son marrying her, but considering his own choices, he has no right to talk. He does, however, warn her that if she breaks Jumin’s heart, Mr. Chairman will ruin her.

That evening, MC proposes to Jumin they sign a prenup so people don’t think she’s after money

Jumin doesn’t understand why, but if it’s what MC wants, he’ll go with it

Saeyoung

Saeran doesn’t really like Saeyoung

And since he’s the only family Saeyoung has, he also doesn’t like MC

But it’s not really anything too personal, it’s just that she’s very similar to his brother

Wild, crazy, loud, very jokey, etc.

Saeran just doesn’t really like people like that

“…Jihyun, I though you were going to marry Rika.”

Both MC and V flinched

V never told them about what happened to Rika

Any of it

From Rika hurting him to her starting a cult

V ends up quietly explaining that, yes he was, but somethings happened, they were very hard on him, and they broke up

He also doesn’t tell them that he was blind/mostly blind for almost three years

His parents say, “We liked Rika. She was sweet. A good match for you. What makes you think this girl is better for you?”

“Y'know I’m right here, right?” MC asks, still holding V’s hand

“Of course dear, you’re right. Please pardon my rudeness. I’m just confused.”

MC doesn’t buy it but she leaves it

His parents ask her a ton of questions (e.g. What do you do? How long have you known each other? How do you feel about art? What do you think Jihyun? Etc.)

MC thinks she gives satisfying answers, but can tell they just don’t like her

Eventually, they come to a conclusion and just state that, “Of course we love you, Jihyun, and we don’t mind who you date, but we really wish you get back together with Rika. She is so much better suited for you than this little girl.”

Saeran

…. his only family is Saeyoung

The only reason Saeyoung wouldn’t approve would be if he suspected that MC didn’t love Saeran/was using him/was part of Mint Eye

Basically, if he thought she was a bad influence or an enabler

And it turns out, MC is a former member of Mint Eye, just like Saeran

If it wasn’t for the fact that, every time Saeyoung expressed concern over MC Saeran would snap at him and refute it, Saeyoung would have forced her to leave his brother a long time ago

Doesn’t mean he approves

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanon #mysme #Yoosung kim #jaehee kang #hyun ryu #mystic messenger zen #jumin han #saeyoung choi #mystic messenger v #jihyun kim #saeran choi

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khavvah · 8 years ago

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To Consider...

After reading the end chapter 17 of “Beasts and Beauties”:

Chapter 2: Scratch My Back

Example 1:

"What? Nah, it's good." He bunched up the coat around his shoulders, warding her off as if she were a thief. He obviously wasn't comfortable with a stranger handling his personal belongings.

Example 2:

"While he brought his troubles on himself, I do appreciate your attention toward him."

Those words, in that particular order, triggered a strange impulse in Guzma's brain; he twisted the heavy ring on his finger and blurted stupidly, "It's nothing weird."

She sipped at her tea, then gave him a querying look over the ceramic cup.

"Uh, y'know, it's not something weird, if that's what… You were wondering."

"I'm not certain what you mean," she said, a little cross that she didn't, "because there's nothing strange about helping a person in need."

"Y-yeah. That's what I meant."

Chapter 5

Example 1:

But he couldn't drop his meandering thoughts: his intense memory of the Nihilego's touch, Lusamine's faraway look when he spoke to her, the moans that roused him from his nightmare-fueled sleep-- Mohn, where are you, Mohn, can you hear me? All of this wrapped up into a tight, throbbing lump in his throat--all the pity that drove him to help her in the first place. She was sick, that was all. She was lonely and hurt, and he felt that he was the only person in the universe who truly understood that.

Example 2:

Guzma had never been one to lurk around Nanu's place. That was more Plumeria's gig--she liked to wander over here, hang out, exchange barbs with the old man. Guzma guessed, though he wasn't certain, that she did it to fulfill some longing for adult company. Guzma preferred to stay clear of the place, and when Nanu had the stones to wander into his turf in Po Town, he always made his disapproval clear. He let the old man stick around--they needed the money--but he distrusted the man's motives. What kind of geezer is willing to live in an abandoned police station? What kind of guy lives around little kids like that, tries to talk to them and give them sweets? A weirdo, Guzma thinks. Maybe some kinda perv.

[...]

"Ugh, what, did you watch me sleep, or something, you weirdo?"

Chapter 9

Example 1:

"Only because you're so quick to criticize him!" she implored. From across the table, she reached to take his hands, folding them into her own. "My dear, he requires a certain… Gentle touch. If only you took the time to encourage him, to praise him, to show him the slightest bit of care--" She took his two hands, then placed them together, guiding his fingers to weave into one another and clasp tightly. "I promise you, he will become putty in your hands."

Example 2:

Guzma, who stood awkwardly in the middle of his living room, stuffed his hands into his jacket and waited it out. He had known that some "fashionista" that Lusamine knew personally was coming here--the appointment had been long-standing--but he didn't expect to witness this much affection between the two. It confused and embarrassed him.

Example 3:

"What are you--!" Guzma lurched and knocked her hands away. "Woah! Hey! Hands off! My clothes are staying on, lady!"

"What is an artist without blank canvas?" she scolded. "Come now, there's is no need to be shy."

She tried again, and again he knocked her hands away. "Quit touchin' me!"

[...]

"She asked you to remove your clothes, is that right? It's perfectly standard--whatever's the matter?" She looked at him--studied him, as if trying to figure out the source of this resistance. "Do you not like your body?"

"What? Nah! It's not--" He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I don't care about that."

"Then what is it?"

"I dunno--I just don't want to."

Lusamine didn't look particularly moved by this logic, so he blurted out some more, tugging at the ends of his hair as he struggled to express his thinking.

"It's just weird. Like--it's not normal, to--you know--"

Example 4:

"Ah. I see." Was that all he came for? Faba felt a headache coming on. He motioned for Guzma to face him. "...Yes, let me help."

But when he stepped forward, reaching for it, Guzma immediately had an adverse reaction; he backed away, gave him a nasty look.

Faba jumped back, like he expected to be bitten. "Or--! Er, here, hand it to me. I'll show you."

Guzma seemed to find this more tolerable. He eased, pulled the tie from his neck and gave it to him.

Example 5:

This boy. This boy. Faba was no developmental psychologist, but everything about him smacked of arrested development, like something had caught Guzma by the throat when he was ten years old and hadn't let go since. Faba suddenly remembered that this was ostensibly a man, in his early twenties, the age at which Faba himself had graduated from university and had been already accepted into a prestigious doctoral program in Kalos. The scientist had his immaturities at that age, to be sure, but he wasn't throwing temper tantrums or slinking about begging for scraps of approval from his elders.

[...]

Child, what trauma did this to you?

Lusamine must have understood this from the beginning. After all, she was right: one tiny physical interaction, one half-hearted piece of advice, and the boy's defenses collapsed, making him clingy and needy, like a stray animal that had just received a tasty morsel from a stranger. In that moment, he could have told the boy to do cartwheels about the suite, and he might have done it, just to be praised.

It made… Faba more uncomfortable than anything. One thought floated in particular, unnerving him: a predator's dream. A person of fewer scruples than he would have a field day, taking advantage of this trapped adolescent who thumped his tail sadly and whimpered for validation.

Chapter 13

Example 1:

"But does he strike you as…" She searched for the correct word. "Disordered?"

[...]

"Early on, I made note of what I thought might be signs of repressed homosexual tendencies. But as I said. That theory died on the vine."

[...]

"He's not attracted to men, Faba, but he still has an enormous complex concerning them. He sees them as threats. But you―you're not a threat, you see."

[...]

"Don't get excited. I'm not suggesting he's raped anyone," she went on, ignoring his discomfort. She rolled her bracelet on her wrist, allowing its glimmer to guide her thinking aloud. "To the contrary―I think he has yet to live out his urges. It's strange. One would surmise that in all those years unsupervised with other adolescents, he'd find the means and opportunity. Yet he's so passive. Perhaps he's afraid of his impulses; it would probably take―well, if he were angry enough, I suppose―"

Example 2:

Lusamine suffered for being tangible, he decided―for coming out of his abstract brain. A part of him thrilled at the flesh and bone of her, that he could touch her, and do more, too―but another part, the child in him that he never successfully suppressed, began to loathe it: its heat, its sweat, its corruption, its biology. Bodies are for breaking, for being broken; for hurting, and being hurt. And nowhere in his life, outside of restless dreams or passing fantasies, has that ever been different for him.

He knows marriage is, in its ultimate way, a carnal and corporeal thing, but it had religion to it, too. Talk of spirit and sacrament. Promises. Promises, which he knows from experience always come with secrets, and secrets―

Chapter 14

Example 1:

Guzma didn't like Aster.

It wasn't that he was… A bad person, or anything. No, Aster was nice, kind, and patient with everyone, including him. He took Faba's verbal abuse with a whimsical smile, and he always wanted to know if there was anything, anything at all, that he could do to help. That alone set Guzma on edge. Aster was too nice, and spoke too sweetly. Whenever they interacted, Aster would hum with interest and affection, asking him questions, saying things that Guzma didn't understand until the man laughed and teased him. (Aster called him a "bumpkin" once, and though Guzma didn't know what it meant at the time, his face burned at the humiliation of it). Plus, he was a lot more touchy; he would grab Guzma by the shoulder or arm, and be quick to take his hands to guide him on something, or clap him on the back. It was all very… Disconcerting.

Example 2:

"Look at 'em. They're shakin'." (He said this, even though he was shaking himself, shaking from the strain of his world falling apart around him: the humiliation of defeat, the final flight from home, the depraved betrayal from a friend that still lingered, the vomit still burning his throat―).

Example 3:

"You aren't playing with your friends?"

Guzma looked out over the beach, seeing a group of boys splashing each other in the waves. He shook his head. "They aren't my friends."

"Oh." The officer took a second to glance around. "So are your friends around here somewhere?"

Guzma hesitated and didn't verbally answer, instead shrugging.

[...]

"Is that right? Well, my name's Daturo. Nice to meet you." The officer might have offered a handshake, but Guzma didn't accept it. The man didn't seem deterred by this. "Say, Guzma. Could you help me?"

Guzma looked up uncertainly.

"See, I'm new here. I just got transferred from Sinnoh―so I don't know the island very well yet. You live here, right? You think you could show me around?"

Guzma, perplexed, shrugged his shoulders again. "I dunno."

"Not right now," Daturo backed down. "If you're busy. Some other time, if you want. Huh―what do kids eat around here...? What are those donut things, that I've seen―?"

"Malasadas."

"Yeah, those. Tell ya what. Sometime, you can show me around, and there'll be a malasada in it for you. How's that sound, Guzma?"

[...]

But by then, Guzma didn't hear it. He probably wouldn't have stopped, even if he had. There were oppressive thoughts buzzing like angry hornets about his head―thoughts that didn't come from youth or play, but dragged him out in a riptide, pulling him farther and farther out, out to an alien place barren of life. It wasn't as if he meant to find happiness―he wasn't happy here, and he didn't expect any happiness where he was going. But if it meant… hope, or kindness, or the slightest taste of something good in life... For that… Wouldn't he give anything?

Chapter 15

Example 1:

Before anyone understood what had happened, Guzma roared for everyone to leave the room, except the one. Upon being left alone, he immediately grabbed the kid by the throat.

"You tryin' to say I like little boys?"

[...]

Guzma bellowed over the noise. "Try sayin' it again―and I'll cut your ear off! I'll cut it off and feed it to you!"

Example 2:

Gladion made an impromptu decision. "Never mind it. We'll go back to the motel."

"W-what?" Guzma glanced over his shoulder anxiously. "Uh, what's wrong with here?"

"We'll need the privacy."

"You don't think that's a little, uh―"

But Gladion ignored his floundering and got up, starting for the cafe door. When he sensed Guzma's hesitation, he turned around and prodded, "What's the matter?" He saw Guzma still glancing about worriedly. "Did someone follow you?"

"Nah! Just―" At last, Guzma pushed up from his chair and trotted behind him, trying to stay close and tugging his hood. He hissed nervously, "People are lookin' at us funny."

Reflecting on the closing scene in chapter 16:

For a long moment, Daturo sank into frantic thought. A loose plan formed in his brain, enough to make him say, "Guzma. This is what we'll do. You're gonna get in the car―"

"No―"

"You're gonna get in the car, and I'm going to get you someplace safe."

A moment of desperation cracked through Guzma's sobs. He started to stumble away, in an attempt to make a break for it.

But Daturo grabbed him by the arm again, making him fumble to his knees; he pulled him up, forcing him to stand facing him. "Hey! Stop! Listen to me! Have I ever hurt you?"

'Hurt.' Guzma thinks about fists that beat and clobber―palms that bruise―feet that kick. "No," he admitted.

"Haven't I always done what I promised?"

When Guzma hesitated, Daturo reached out and squeezed his shoulders, almost painfully. The touch made Guzma lean back―then forward―then back again, teetering on an edge of something. His sobbing started again, harsh and debilitating, causing him to convulse with gasps. Guzma gripped his aching head, crushing it between his arms it until it felt like it was about to burst open.

"Haven't I always looked out for you? Been a friend to you? That's why you called me, isn't it?"

When Daturo received no answer, he sighed and wrapped his arms about Guzma's seizing body. One arm folded across Guzma's back, just below his tense shoulder blades, pressing down firmly to suppress his shaking; with his other arm, he clutched a hand at the back of Guzma's bobbing head, pressing and nestling it just below his chin.

"Shh. Hey. Goose. Buddy. It'll be okay."

Guzma felt sick all over again―nauseated―the arms about him squeezed the spasms, swayed him gently. Cold passed over him, causing shudders, and in his diminishing strength, he lifted his hands and clawed his fingers into Daturo's uniform to keep upright. His tears moistened Daturo's shirt. The tips of his sneakers rubbed and dug into the dirt. Over the windless air, a distant siren let out a wail.

And the name origin for “Daturo:”

...Who first appears in the chapter “Devil and the Deep Blue Sea”:

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