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petri808 · 4 years

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my story for the @bakudekubigbang w/artist @kurisutythehero

Summary: Kitsune yokai Midoriya Izuku is a simple shrine fox protecting the Tamaki-jinjja shrine as well as the surrounding forest. One day he comes across hunters who dare to poach in his forest along with an injured wolf they'd shot. But after nursing this wolf back to health, Izuku learns... he's a yokai too.

Tags: fantasy AU, Japanese folklore, Sex, A/B/O elements, marking, elemental magic. Kitsune & Okami.

Ch 1 of 4 to be posted in completion between now and New Years 😊 and when the artist posts I’ll add a link into the story.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352196

The loud cry of a wolf rings out through the sacred forest surrounding Tamaki-jinjja shrine. It’s spirit keeper, a kitsune fox yokai named Izuku Midoriya looks out, training his ears towards the direction it had come from. A second guttural growl pierces his ears causing him to flinch; the animal was in pain, followed by the fainter sound of male human voices. How dare! Hunters in his forest and so close to the shrine! Furious, the kitsune races through the dense brush using his keen senses to track the hunter’s movements. They would pay dearly for coming here.

In the 1100 hundred years since the shrine had been created, a kitsune yokai has protected it and all those that sought to gain enlightenment through Shugendo. Nature was sacred to these mountain worshipers and they believed that deities could be communed with there. The forest surrounding Mount Tamaki was precious to Midoriya and he didn’t care if a wolf could provide meat for the humans, they needed to leave this place in peace! He was only 200 years into this job, and he would be damned if he let a bunch of hunter’s ruin Tamaki’s tranquility.

The men were traipsing through the brush as well searching for the wolf. Midoriya could hear them talking now, the animal had been hit by an arrow twice but managed to escape into the dense underbrush. He needed to be careful, scare these men away and not become a victim too, but his cleaver and somewhat devious nature was one of the reasons a fox yokai guarded the temple. His two-tails swish excitedly as he survey’s what turns out to be only two men, one with a bow and the other brandishing a large broad-bladed knife. Based on their attire, he assumed they were most likely just peasants from a nearby village at the base of the mountain.

He needed to work quickly for the stench of blood rang true in the air. The wolf was definitely hit and bleeding badly enough for its smell to permeate the surrounding area. Midoriya turns on his invisibility magic and moves in to where the hunters would be able to see him.

“Who dares to disturb this sacred forest! We will not allow you to hunt within our territory!”

“What the hell is that?!” Midoriya sees the hunters ready their weapons and frantically scan the area. The one who’d asked the question has their bow knocked and raised.

“This land is protected by the spirit guardians of Mount Tamaki.” Midoriya sends out a blast of spiritual, blue-flamed fox fire close to the men as a warning. “Leave now and never come back or face the wrath of the kami!!”

“I told you this place was inhabited by spirits!” The second man now speaks up, punching his friend in the shoulder. “That’s why no one hunts up here, baka!”

“I don’t believe in stupid spirits!”

‘Oh, you don’t huh?’ Midoriya sends out another blast of fire this time hitting the man’s bow. The man screams and drops the weapon as the fire quickly consumes it. He takes off without a second look, running along with his friend, and heading down the mountain. “Good riddance,” the kitsune grins and turns off his invisibility. Now to find the wolf.

It couldn’t have made it very far. He tracks the trails of blood and scent through the forest for about one hundred feet back toward the side of the mountain. Perhaps it was heading for a cave? But beneath one of the ancient cedar trees, he finds the wolf barely clinging to life. One arrow had hit it in a hind leg, and the other the chest area. The frightened wolf growls at him.

“Don’t be afraid,” Midoriya shuts off his cloaking magic to show the wolf he was no ordinary human. “I am the spirit guardian of the mountain and shrine. I can help you.” He tries to reach out, but the wolf continues with a low growl. “You will not survive unless we take care of those wounds.” Frankly, until he inspected the chest wound, he wouldn’t know for sure. He lowers his ears to show concern, “please let me help you. It is my duty to care for this forest and its inhabitants and I do not want to see any die.”

Now that he was up close, this wolf was unusual for the area with its yellowish fur and red eyes. Japanese wolves were usually a brownish gray color. He kneels next to it and tries again to reach out his hand, very slowly, allowing the wolf to take in his scent. The wolf’s heartbeat was strangely calmer than he expected it to be, shouldn’t it be beating rapidly? But just as Midoriya lowers his hand again, the wolf tries to get up and run. It makes it only a few feet before collapsing with a pained cry.

The kitsune rushes over and drops next to the wolf with tears building in his eyes, its tail flicking with agitation. “Please let me help you!” He reaches for the wolf, but this time, it growls low, and turns its head away, communicating its intention not to stop him.

Midoriya assesses the wolf to determine the best way to get it back to the shrine. He would have to carry it as gently as he could. The terrain shouldn’t be too difficult for him, but ugh, it would be so much easier if he had more powers. Those came with age and experience, and at 450 years old, he was still young in the eyes of other yokai. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers as he picks the wolf up, knowing the jostling and shifting of its body would cause more pain. It shrieks, but at least doesn’t try to bite.

He takes the wolf to his part of the temple, a section reserved only for the spirit guardian where the human priests are forbidden from entering. There he creates a simple make-shift bed and begins collecting medicinal herbs to treat the wounds. The monks keep many on hand in case lost or injured travelers are found. Midoriya places a few drops of Hokuto mint into the wolfs mouth, hoping it will have the same pain killing effects on an animal as it does for humans.

“This will hurt, so I am binding your mouth and limbs to keep you from injuring yourself or me,” Midoriya explains as he wraps a strip of fabric around the animal’s mouth. “I need to remove the arrow.” Luckily, based on what he saw from the hunters, they were only using plain pointed sticks rather than full arrow heads. If he’d had to dig out arrow heads, things would be a lot more complicated.

“Okay guy, brace yourself,” he warns regardless if the wolf understood him or not. But when the wolf looks away and locks the muscles its jaw, Midoriya realizes that somehow it understood. Odd, but nevertheless a minor mental note is made for later.

Using his sharp claws, the kitsune slices through the skin where the arrow has lodged itself to make freeing it a smoother transition. Surprisingly, the wolf’s body only reacts with a slight tremor and nothing more. Animals often refrained from showing weakness, but this was strange. Shoving that intrigue to the back of his mind, Midoriya focuses on his task, removing the two arrows and using various medicinal rubs to stem the blood loss. He stitches up the wound’s gaps, then wraps bandages around the area to keep infection to a minimal.

He sits back on his haunches, twin tails flickering as he gauges the animal. “You’ll need time to heal Mr. wolf, but you can stay here where no one will bother you. I’ll have to change the ointments and bandages daily, and hopefully you��ll be back to new in no time. Until the flesh mends and the stitches are no longer required, you shouldn’t move around.”

The wolf just stares at him but makes no movement to get up from where it lay.

Midoriya smiles and chuckles, “It’s so weird that you understand me. Stay here, I’ll fetch you some food and water, you must be hungry.” Maybe it was a part of his magic that allowed animals to understand him. Wouldn’t it work both ways if that was the case? Again, he pushes the idea to the back of his mind for now. He places a bowl of water next to the wolf along with some fresh meat and goes back to his shrine duties, promising to check on him through the day.

He swore every time he entered the room where the wolf lay, it’s ruby red eyes would track his movements like a predator stalking its prey. No sounds, no head movement, just the eyes. If it was a human, Midoriya would have sworn it was glaring at him. He didn’t blame the wolf for being wary. All across Japan, wolves were slowly being hunted, and in some areas to extinction. Well, as long as there was a forest guardian, they would do their best to protect this area.

“Not hungry?” the kitsune questions the wolf when he sees the food untouched. “Does it hurt to eat? You really should put something in your stomach,” he holds the bowl closer, “to help you keep up your strength.” But the wolf doesn’t make a move. “Here,” he picks up a piece of meat and holds it next to the animals mouth, “please?”

After a couple of seconds, the wolf blows out a puff of air as if it was huffing in annoyance but takes the meat gently from Midoriya’s hand. Did it roll it’s eyes at him? Regardless, the kitsune repeats the action, and again the wolf takes the meat. Well at least this was working. He continues to feed the wolf until all the meat was gone, then holds the bowl of water close enough to the animal’s mouth so it can lap up the liquid.

“I’m going to check your wounds, okay? To make sure it looks okay.” Midoriya feeds the wolf a few drops of the mint once more, enough to last him the night. He then slowly unwraps the bandages, careful not to pull in the areas where the drying blood has stuck to the wounds.

The wolf flinches and growls lightly when he tugs to get the last of the stuck areas off. “Sorry, sorry!” the kitsune flinches too, ears drooping. He’s never endured such a wound before, so he couldn’t even imagine what kind of pain the animal might be in. When the wolf settles down, Midoriya leans closer to inspect the flesh. There was a bit of bruising, but the area was a nice pink color indicating the blood flow was good and working on healing. So far, so good, no indication of infection, and the bleeding had stopped.

He smiles at the wolf, “you’re on the road to recovery my friend.” After removing the old bandages and placing them to the side, he readies fresh ones. He wipes off the old honey and ointments gently with a wet cloth, then pats the area dry. Then he applies a new coat of medicinal ointments and honey, explaining as he goes along. “I know, it probably seems weird right?” he chuckles, “but the honey helps against infection.” The kitsune finishes securing the new bandages and sits back to admire his handywork; not bad for his first time tending to a wounded creature.

“Are you comfortable mister wolf? Hmm, you know I should give you a name.” He taps his chin, “how about Akaime?” The animal blows a deep puff of air at him and growls. “No? Okay, um, what about Tsuyoshi?” Again, the wolf just stares at him looking irritated. “Alright fine, how about Ryota since you’re such a strong one.” The wolf puts his head back down. Midoriya couldn’t tell if the wolf was annoyed, gave up, or really didn’t care. “I’m just gonna call you Ryota then.” He bundles up the old linen to wash and stands up, “I’ll see you in the morning Ryota. Good night. Oh,” he turns back around and smiles, “I’m Izuku by the way.”

He finishes tidying up, depositing the soiled linens into the laundry pile, washing the food bowl, and putting away the medicine jars. After one last look at the wolf who appeared to be asleep, Midoriya grabs his candlelight and moves into an adjacent room to set up his futon bedding. It had been a tiring, but exciting day for sure and he was ready to get some sleep.

Part of him wondered if the wolf had been waiting until the cover of darkness to sneak away in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t surprise him considering it was a wild animal that shouldn’t be very comfortable around a human establishment. But then again, in its condition Midoriya also knew it wouldn’t be able to get away very quietly. Judging from the fact it hadn’t moved at all through the day, not even to adjust its position, the wolf had to still be in a lot of pain.

‘I wonder if there are other wolves in the area?’ These animals tended to live in packs, but where was Ryotas? It wasn’t impossible for it to be a lone wolf, just odd if it was. Maybe because he looks very different from the others… In fact, why was it a different color? Is there something special about it? All the questions that had concerned him were coming back up as he tried to get to sleep, but probably the biggest one was why did it seem like the wolf understood what he was saying? ‘I’ll probably never get an answer,’ considering the animal couldn’t talk.

Guess it can’t be helped.

As the week went by, each day Midoriya would dutifully care for the wolf’s injuries, making sure it was fed, and carrying it outside whenever it needed to take care of bodily functions. It was a strange little relationship that by the second day, the monks were aware of the animals presence in the shrine because the kitsune required extra meats and supplies. Not that they questioned anything, nor would they dare to venture too close, but it was unusual.

Slowly but surely, the wolf was getting better. By the end of the week, it could limp outside to do its own business, and yet would still return to the bed Midoriya had made for it. This only added to the kitsune’s confusion, confirming that the animal truly understood it was being cared for. Confused, but it brought a smile to his face to know he was doing something truly good. Under his tender care the wound was almost fully closed up and soon the wolf would be able to return to the wild good as new.

But another part of him wasn’t happy about that idea. It was almost a full two weeks since the day he’d saved Ryota from those hunters and the wolf was becoming like a roommate to the kitsune. Even though the animal couldn’t talk back, it didn’t stop the forest spirit from conversing with it, sharing things that happen at the shrine or just things about himself. It passed the lonely hours away especially in the evenings and he looked forward to hanging out with the wolf once his shrine duties were finished. He couldn’t tell for sure and yet it felt to him as if the wolf was tolerating it... maybe even enjoying the company too? Yeah… he was sure gonna miss his new friend when it left.

“Well, Ryota,” Midoriya sits back after unwrapping the last bandage, “you’re pretty much all healed up now.” A bit of moisture gathers in his eyes. “You could go home now, wherever home may be.”

The wolf looks at where the injury had been as if inspecting it for itself, giving it a sniff, before looking back to the kitsune. After a minute, it stands up, stretches it’s body and legs, then bolts out of the door into the night.

Midoriya hangs his head, wiping the fresh tears away. Knowing this day was coming didn’t make it any easier, but hey, ‘you did a great job,’ he assures himself, ‘you saved that wolf.’ “I know,” his voice murmurs out to no one but the empty room. Maybe he’ll see the wolf around again. “Goodbye, Ryota.” ‘I’ll miss you.’

For the rest of the night, Midoriya putters around through his normal routine. He disassembles the makeshift bed the wolf used while under the kitsune’s care and disposes of the soiled linens. When he was finished cleaning up, it was as if Ryota had never been there at all. With a heavy heart, Midoriya climbs into his own bed and closes his eyes. Tomorrow will be a new day. It was time he resumed his normal life once more.

“Mmm, warm…” Midoriya mumbles and wraps his arms around the furry warm body. His mind was only semi lucid and certain it was a dream, but a really amazing one for Ryota had come back and curled up next to him in his bed. “Missed you…”

When he opens his eyes the next morning, Midoriya yawns and stretches, reaching out but finding nothing. He frowns, it really was just a dream that felt so real! Wait a minute? The kitsune sniffs at the bedding. It smelled like Ryota! The wolf had come back in the night but left before he woke up. Why had it done that? This wolf brought about a plethora of unanswered questions for the kitsune and even after two weeks he really knew nothing.

Days turn to weeks as a strange new routine takes root between the kitsune and the wolf. On random nights the wolf would return after Midoriya has gone to sleep to curl up with him in bed. There was no rhyme or reason to these visits. Sometimes the wolf would sneak in for several nights in a row while at other times it would disappear for many days. Always waiting for him to be asleep and always gone by morning, leaving only his scent and the lingering warmth he’d brought to the kitsune. It was odd to say the least, like having a ghost for a pet.

Life at the shrine could get lonely at times, so these gestures filled Midoriya’s heart with happiness. He hoped Ryota was doing it because he cared for the kitsune. Sort of like accepting him into its pack. His only wish was that it would show itself when he was awake. So many nights would go by with Midoriya’s last thoughts centered around the wolf and those ruby red eyes that almost peered into your soul.

But this wasn’t the only change in their relationship.

Because of the shrines location set away from urban settlements and knowing that visitors would leave money in the offering box, wayward robbers would occasionally pass through and break into the prayer box. It happened so infrequently, that Midoriya and the priests didn’t try to stop them because it would require someone to be on guard all night, every night. All that would remain was a broken box empty of its contents.

“What’s this?” Midoriya surveys the broken offering box laying on the ground that morning. It appeared to have been cracked open, but the money was still in it. He looks around curiously and notes a few more signs of the intended robbery. The gravel area next to the box was disturbed as if a scuffle had taken place as well as finding several drops of blood still tacky to the touch along the stone walkway leading away from the shrine.

Someone or something had evidently thwarted the robbery. The kitsune tips his nose to the air scenting for any other traces, then follows it to a nearby shrub. There he finds a tuft of yellowish blonde fur stuck to the brush. “Ryota?” Midoriya looks around even though the wolf’s scent was no longer in the immediate vicinity. Had the wolf stopped the robbery? And where were the robbers? He hoped the wolf had not killed them, for even though what they did was wrong, he didn’t believe in killing unless absolutely necessary.

A part of him wanted to search for his missing friend, but his duties at the shrine were more important for now. He washes the blood off the stone walkway, smooths back out the gravel of the garden, and takes the offering box to his rooms to fix. Ryota’s scent was definitely on the box, so it must have touched it at some point during the fight. Was this the wolfs way of paying him back for his kindness? If it was such a gesture, the kitsune was appreciative and so were the priests.

Almost a month later, a similar incident is discovered bright and early one morning. Another broken offering box, another thwarted robbery. This time the thief had gotten farther than the last one. There were coins scattered across the stone walkway, but the bulk of it remained inside the vessel. To Midoriya, it looked as if the box had been dropped, perhaps when the savior had caught the robber in the act. He gathers up all the coins, placing them back into the box before taking it back to his room to fix, while another priest takes care of cleaning up the area.

As he works on fixing the wooden container, Midoriya can’t help but think about what’s been going on. He was certain that Ryota had snuck into his room last night… and come to think of it, the wolf had been here during the previous robbery as well. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, only that it made the thwarted robberies easier on the wolf to deal with. “Maybe that’s why he comes here?” He thinks out loud. “So, he can be closer?”

But on the third incident a few weeks later, that logic doesn’t apply. Ryota hadn’t made his nightly visits to Midoriya for several days, and on the night of the latest attempted theft, the wolf never came to his room. Yet it was clear based on a few strands of fur left behind, it was Ryota that had saved the offerings once again.

#bakudeku big bang 2020 #bakudeku #bkdk #bakudeku fan fiction #bakudeku fan fic #bakugou katsuki #midoriya Izuku #katsudeku #ktdk #kitsune midoriya #okami bakugou

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scriptaed · 5 years

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his side, her side | 12:02 a.m.

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut;

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 1.7k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

her side;

[12:02 A.M.] happy 420 birthday hahah

Casual yet thoughtful with a dash of humor—it’s the least embarrassing text you could muster. The clock had just struck twelve, marking the first hour of his birthday, and you had spent the past ten minutes crafting a text of four words that he would probably spend a mere three seconds skimming through. The thing is, if you were to be completely honest with yourself, two minutes is an underestimate of your total time wasted on this simple task; because truth is, you’ve been entranced by your daily reveries and nightly fantasies that were your dreams ever since your paths have intertwined for the first time on a project at work.

Your history with him began much farther into the past than five months back, however. Aloof, cold, yet chic, Jungkook and his nicely kempt, side-swept hair had caught the eyes of every girl in your orientation group just two years prior. Perhaps it was your preference for exuberant boys or your avoidance of bad boy lookalikes, but Jungkook had left little to no impression on you during the first half of the year. Sometimes you wonder if he, too, had failed to notice you.

Ironically, it was only when your second partner at work had pointed out the charming looks of the boy’s that you were reminded of his existence.

“Hey, you know that guy from across our station?” she whispers under an impending fit of giggles.

“Oh,” you pause for a moment to scavenge through a mental image of work, “you mean Jungkook?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Well, we’ve talked occasionally—” more interestingly, you’ve noticed his multiple failed attempts to befriend another man, Taehyung, who’s been pining for you in the past months… but you decide to keep that to yourself for the sake of Jungkook’s suave reputation “—but why?”

“Don’t you think he’s kind of cute?”

“Uh… I guess?”

It wasn’t a lie. Really. Precisely half a year ago, the boy was just another one of your colleagues with a slightly above average look. From meeting at orientation and occasionally bumping into each other in the coffee room, you had never paid much attention to him; but it’s almost as if your friend’s admiration had suddenly piqued a newfound interest in him… because the more you think about it, the more you’ve realized just how often you’ve crossed paths with this boy you’ve probably spoken to for less than a total of one minute. Now, you wonder: has he also come to recognize this oddity between you and him?

There was an undeniable connection, nonetheless. Between you and him, like two classmates sneaking peeks at the other, one knew of the other, despite the lack of effort to communicate. The opportunities to meet were endless, but neither made the leap to fully engage until the both of you recognized the other when you were partnered for a shared project just months prior—and ever since then, flutters of your heart has incorporated itself into your daily routine. His smirks at your dumb jokes, his primmed grin at your clumsiness, his divinely chiseled jawline, his subtle gestures of concern over your nightly walk home, and his hushed presentation of which his words were reserved for the occasional curt jokes and uncensored curses became his irressitable charm.

Before you knew it, your friends would watch you awe over his looks of which you would claim to be his only redeeming quality. Before you knew it, your feelings grew by the second but your heart shunned the possibility out of a last resort to save an impending ache.

He’s too good looking. Too many girls fawn over him. He has absolutely zero interest in you. He isn’t that great anyway. What does he have going for him other than that damn crooked grin of his? And his muscular build? And his overly explicit jokes that you never would have thought would come out of the mouth of a remote man like him?

Why does fate seem to perpetually tie you down to a man like him, time after time? Perhaps it’s the hopeless romantic in you that’s speaking, but from orientation to bump-ins both inside and outside of work, you’ve started to succumb to the idea of a destiny in which fate would inevitably bring you two together.

[3:04 a.m.] thank you! Lmao

You would soon awaken to the next morning after a night long of anxious anticipation. Your heart would panic in a frenzy at the mere heart he had sent you as a reaction to your message.

3:04 A.M.

He must have been awake late into the night, probably playing his last round of Fortnite. You would probably tease him tomorrow over his obsession with computer games, as you always did, and he would probably laugh it off with a plea for you to stop your incessant teases.

...or, he was up with that one particular woman you had seen him chatting with at work. You were never the type to overly inspect punctuation use or time stamps—hell, you were never the one to chase in the first place—but why else would he be up so late on his birthday? The sighting of the two and their names that would pop up occasionally on your social media feed would always sting your chest—and ashamedly so.

She’s beautiful. She’s popular. She probably got along well with Jungkook—something which you never seemed to be capable of, for your eyes would waver and your mind would blank whenever you were around him. Jungkook probably saw much more in her than you. Even though you two were the familiar ones. Even though you knew him first. Even though fate provided you endless opportunities to seize yet you would never come to do.

This is why you deny this crush of yours with every ounce of your heart. This burning, unwarranted jealousy would be the bane of you. Your friends shall never hear of this pain nor of the butterflies in your stomach instigated by that boy’s simplest of gestures—he had replied to you with a heart, not to mention.

It’s pathetic, but it’s enough for your foolish self; because even now, at this very moment as you lay in bed with your phone over your chest and your lips stuck in a wide grin, you relish in the ephemeral heights of cloud nine.

Despite it all, you try to convince yourself: this would be nothing more than an infatuation, for something tells you your heart could not handle the truth of his whereabouts.

his side;

[12:02 A.M.] happy 420 birthday hahah

He doesn’t realize it but an evident, crooked smile presses against his lips. She’s the first and only notification that lights up his phone screen. Aside from the distant lights of the cityscape dozens of floors below, her message illuminates his eyes amidst the darkness of the hotel room.

She’s the first to remember, he repeats to himself silently, the first to wish him well.

“What are you looking at?”

With a simple click, he turns his phone off right as the bare chest of a woman spreads warmth against his back. She begins to press firm kisses down his neck and shoulders as her hands explored his hard abdomen along with the domains of what laid beneath the zippers to his pants.

“Let me guess,” she muses at the lack of a response to her touches, a rare occasion for him, “is it Y/N?”

“Why do you care?” he says after a stagnant pause.

“I don’t… unless you like her,” she watches him as he does her through the floor-length mirror. “What’s she doing texting you at midnight anyway? Something special today?”

“Fuck if I know,” he mutters when she slips her hands underneath his waistbands.”

“Does she like you?”

The boy chuckles amusedly, “the hell? No. I’m nothing but deadweight to her for our project.”

“Did you meet her through this project?”

“No. We’ve crossed paths multiple times before,” he recalls the shifty gaze of hers with a grin. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“Oh? What’s there not to like?” she marvels at his muscular stature as her hands went to work. “What if she does like you, though?”

Jungkook nearly bursts into laughter—or at least the most of a laugh he could muster. The thought of Y/N’s admiration amuses him almost just as much as her peculiar actions, from her constantly flickering eyes that would avoid his gaze to the dozens of times he had easily spotted her in a crowd of many in locations that could never be by mere happenstance.

“No,” he muses, “why would she?”

With a meek smile and a cautious heart, she peers up to meet his eyes, “and do you… like her…?”

Like her?

“No,” the grin from the joke before disappears from his lips, for his answer was uttered with sincerity. “Not that way. We’re barely friends…”

...at least to her.

The girl’s lips stretch from ear to ear in delight. Grabbing his phone and tossing it to the side with a newly found confidence, she turns him around to place a kiss to his lips.

“Then why do you keep smiling at your phone like that?”

“I am? Damn, the fuck’s wrong with me?” he quips with a lopsided grin. “Another round?”

The girl squeals when he roughly pushes her toward the bed, the back of her knees hitting the edge as she topples onto the mattress in a fit of giggles.

The boy doesn’t know it, but the girl takes notice of the knitted brows of his that told her his mind was elsewhere. He approaches her quicker than usual, his hands are rushed, and his lips are absentminded with the sole purpose of pursuing pleasure all in a fruitless attempt to bury his thoughts elsewhere.

Why was he grinning? What did Y/N think of him? And what is it about her that amuses him so?

Through the remaining hours of dawn, from a room that towers over the city where he figures she must be indulging in her favorite mochi ice cream, he tries to convince himself: she would be nothing more than an infatuation, for something tells him his heart isn’t prepared for its own truth.

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sallytheseamstress · 4 years

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HAPPIESTPLACEHQ Task 2 - Sally Finkelstein

Playlist you feel best describes your character

Touch In Mine (fingers) - Esperanza Spalding “Touching surfaces every day Feeling no spark of tenderness within” Sally is a very sensitive person, both physically and emotionally: loud sounds, bright lights, strong smells can overwhelm her easily, as well as angry words and open displays of aggression. That is partly why she keeps to herself, to her routines, to her little comfortable bubble; but as she has become older, Sally finds that this existence is now wearing her down, and has come to realize that, even with the friendship of Jack (who is so often locked up in his own world as well) and Zero (who, much like her, keeps to himself), she craves affection and love that, so far, hasn’t experienced neither from family nor friends.

Like Someone In Love - Björk “Each time I look at you, I'm limp as a glove And feeling like someone in love” Just a little love song that very accurately depicts Sally’s sort of clumsiness towards her own feelings, and how she feels she could express them towards a loved one. It is a beautiful, if rather awkward, way to feel for her, one that sticks to her mind and heart and colors her world, filling her with conflicting emotions -giddiness of being lovestruck, fear of being found out, sadness at the inevitability of vulnerability, hopefulness at the chance of being requited.

Your Woman - White Town “Now I know your heart, I know your mind You don't even know you're being unkind So much for all your highbrow Marxist ways Just use me up and then you walk away Boy, you can't play me that way” Even though this is a break up song between a romantic couple, this could very well reflect Sally and her father’s codependent relationship. With no family beyond him, no other place to go and with her low-paying job, Sally is basically dependent on her father for everything; and, similarly, her father, being in a wheelchair and stubbornly determined on never leaving Redwood Hollow, depends on Sally for everything he cannot do himself. Sally does recognize her father’s brilliant mind, his cultured thoughts, his well-read expertise and knowledge, but even though he spouts a philosophy of mutual aid, of small-town solidarity and community that he passed down to his daughter, Sally knows deep down this is pure bull -when he himself seems to regard her as a slave, something he owns and is in his right to mistreat, withholding any sort of affection or praise or kindness, treating her more like a robot than as a child.

Glory Box - Portishead “Sow a little tenderness No matter if you cry Give me a reason to love you Give me a reason to be a woman I just wanna be a woman” Going back to the first song, what Sally wants most is affection, and that means vulnerability both from her part and from whom the affection comes from. Since she was very little she has learned to keep her emotions in check, not asking for much, never be a nuisance. This has also led to her feeling somehow disconnected from her own self, from her gender and age, as well as from society at large. Now that she has arrived to her thirties, Sally feels like she needs to break out of this subservient position she has been chained to, and that means, in part, reclaiming her own self as a person with autonomy, as someone capable of and deserving of love, and as a woman with the capacity to socialize with others, to be nurturing, to be affectionate; and, as well, partly resenting her status as a woman as someone who needs to fulfill that nurturing role, to provide for her father, to cook and clean and do the domestic chores.

Sounds Of Blue - Morcheeba “A sort of stoned silence Sat on that boat floating out The waters left me open All my emotions fog my lenses” Despite acknowledging her own sensitiveness, Sally isn’t very good with emotions; she knows the basics of comforting, to leave her shoulder free for someone else to cry on, to be available and listen to someone in need; but she is awful at managing her own frustrations and despair, choosing instead to bottle it all. Sometimes, it can feel almost asphyxiating, to be so full with words she can’t pronounce, with nowhere to pour them. This often makes Sally feel even more alone, like a boat in the middle of the ocean. As she grows older, though, she has begun to try her best and be mindful of what she feels; instead of simply allowing the emotions to overwhelm her, Sally tries to question them, to dive deeper and find the root cause, even if that means giving in and having to have a good long cry about it.

Walking In The Rain - The Ronettes “When he's near me, I'll kiss him And when he leaves me, woah, oh, oh, I'll miss him Though sometimes we'll fight, I won't really care And I'll know it's gonna be alright 'cause we've got so much we share” Sally would like to think of herself as the practical sort; but, of course, this doesn’t mean she has a romantic side as well. Being raised by her father, homeschooled, with no distraction beyond books and constantly monitored TV watching, she grew up during her teens with a strong idea of what true love is like: it is instant, it is irresistible, it is everlasting, it is passionate, it is destined... As an adult, she knows this isn’t realistic at all (especially having witnessed, from a distance, the romantic troubles of the rest of the town); but a part of her still wishes she could be whisked away by a prince, somewhere far away, to an idyllic world of tenderness and freedom.

Good Morning Heartache - Billie Holiday “Stop haunting me now Can't shake you, no how Just leave me alone I've got those Monday blues Straight through Sunday blues” Kind of a byproduct of her buried-deep-down idealizations of love, and her repressed emotions and expectations, the weight of Sally’s loneliness can sometimes pull her down to periods of depression. As a full-time worker, both as her father’s caretaker and in her work at Jack’s Attic and in the Community Events Committee, Sally often has to put on a happy face to deal with the daily grind; but, once she has some time alone, she either tries to keep herself distracted, or gives in to that despair for as long as she can allow herself to.

Les Fleurs - Minnie Riperton “For all of these simple things and much more, a flower was born It blooms to spread love and joy, faith and hope to people forlorn” Most of all, Sally feels most comfortable in nature: as at home as she is in her own house, it also feels, increasingly so, as a place of repression, lack of change, and constant surveillance. Nature, especially Redwood Park and the surrounding woodland, feels to Sally as the place where change is required, where it is most clear, where it is most, well, natural. Whether it is a rainy day with the air thick with humidity and the tension of a coming thunderstorm, a sunny afternoon having a small picnic at the shade of a tree in full bloom, or a lovely, glittering snow morning, snowflakes falling quietly and magically from a cotton-clouded sky, Sally loves it when she can be outside, forget about her responsabilities and duties, and focus on the sensation of the world, the real world, around her.

Day Dreaming - Aretha Franklin “He's the kind of guy that would say Hey, baby, let's get away Let's go some place, huh Where I don't care” This is also a continuation of her own ongoing matureness and acknowledging of how she tends to idealize the idea of love. Sally tries her best to reject her old teenage conception of a prince coming to sweep her off her feet, but at the same time, especially when she can allow herself some time to doze off and daydream, she still nurses that little hope that, whoever it is that will come along and give her the affection she wants so bad, will wish, just as she does, to explore the world beyond Redwood -it doesn’t matter where, since they would be together, mutually helping each other in their struggles, loving and trusting each other, and that would be everything they would need.

Please Don’t Make Me Cry - Lianne La Havas “I'll try to let it go, my fingers are crossed I show you my pretty scars, they make us whatever we are” Sally knows fully well that she comes with a good deal of issues, and that’s what scares her most when considering pursuing a romantic relationship. She is, however, aware enough of her traumas that she feels she could be honest about it -of course, as long as she manages to not let herself be drowned by them. Honesty is a very important quality for her. The only problem, then, is that while Sally truly wants to confess just how much she feels what has happened to her, she is still afraid to intimidate someone else, to be seen as “high-maintenance”, as someone hard to love. Once more, while love is her goal, vulnerability is her greatest fear.

#sally finkelstein #happiestplacetask #happiestplacetask2 #. HEADCANONS { try as i may it doesn’t last }#. TUNES { i sense there’s something in the wind }

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darlinrogue · 4 years

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“ sometimes i realize one day i could die, i could just disappear and the world would be none the wiser. there’d be no one to miss me and that terrifies me more than death itself. ” — kenny @ adam!

It’s All Down Hill From Here Ya’ll

Adam and Kenny || @ofgrief

Adam woke-up with the hangover of a lifetime. A whole ass construction crew wedged inside his cranium going to demolition town. Big, sweaty, muscly guys with jackhammers, wrecking balls, and heavy machinery. For some stupid reason he left the curtain open last night. Morning light spilled into the room and stabbed his eyeballs with serrated knives. Adam groaned and rolled over. He pressed his face into the pillow. His body ached, his head hurt, he was nauseous, and he kinda had to pee— shit, he hadn’t woken-up like this in a minute. Someone needed to shut-up their phone, the incessant chiming was getting on his last nerve. Then it hit him. That was his phone and his alarm going off at God’s forsaken hour of six-thirty.

Adam slapped at the nightstand. He smacked the shit out of the alarm clock and knocked his car keys to the floor, no phone. Adam weathered the agony of lifting his head-up enough to look and hear the blasted thing beneath him. He slid halfway out of the bed and clawed at the floor beneath the headboard. Then, bingo, his hand closed around the phone and he pressed the power button to shut it up. With most of his upper body hanging off the mattress, Adam crumpled to the floor. His calves tangled with the blankets and he dragged the sheets clean off the bed with him. Flopped against the carpet, he massaged the bridge of his nose. There was a black hairband around his wrist and he had no clue where it came from. Adam yanked back his tangled, frizzy hair into a ponytail to get it out of his eyes. He laid there, blithe and numb, letting incoherent thoughts skim the surface of his consciousness. Bit-by-bit, Adam reconstructed the past twenty-four hours and it was enough to make him laugh.

Damn, he was good.

Eager to bask in a rare accomplishment, Adam turned his attention to his phone. He blinked and wiped the grit from his eyes as the screen flicked to life. He had one text message in his notifications. Kenny Omega, at a little past midnight texted him: [Wanna hang out?]

Adam let that time bomb tick as he unlocked his phone and checked Twitter instead. He searched Matt Hardy and perused the iconic’s Twitter feed. Another grin cracked Adam’s face down the middle. Hardy had no idea. That little task of self aggrandization done, Adam opened the messaging app. He stared at the screen and the little bubble of text from Kenny. Absent-minded, Adam reached down and yanked his belt off— only now realizing he never took it off. Then he answered Kenny’s question with a question.

[Got anything in mind?]

He paused, tongue running over his lips. Then, he untangled his legs from the sheets and blankets. Adam pushed to his feet and stumbled across the room to his bag on the desk. Inside he found Advil and a flask of whiskey. He washed the pain medicine down with a generous swig of alcohol. Adam coughed, beating on his chest to clear his dry throat. On the way to the bathroom he stripped out of his jeans. While brushing his teeth, his phone chimed. Adam spat into the sink and leaned over to read Kenny’s reply.

[My place. Dinner at six?]

Okay, so that wasn’t ‘hanging-out.’ In Adam’s book, ‘hanging-out’ with Kenny was playing video games or going to an arcade. Maybe they’d work-out, train and drill in the ring, sit around the hotel room and watch movies. All the little things they did as a tag-team to kill time on the road or between matches. What Kenny proposed sounded like a —dare Adam say it— a date. Like two adults, sitting down over a candle-lit table, and talking about serious things for a couple of hours. Which, it was Kenny, so not a big deal, but at the same time, it was Kenny, which was a big deal.

Since, November their relationship had been stuck in this weird, strange, gray, Twilight-Zone that was neither friendship or anything else. Cuddling in bed or on a couch, flirting, lingering too close, heady with physical desire, and softened by intimacy. Stablemates were always close, stuck on buses and planes for hours together enforced liking someone. Kenny and Adam had seen each other at the worst, at their best. This thing went beyond that. They were friends, tag-partners for a period, all they had left, and yet, nothing at all. Adam could ask Kenny: ‘What the fuck are we?’ If he thought he’d get a straight answer.

Unwilling to unpack all that, Adam dressed to work-out. He left his hotel room and started down the stairs to the lobby. He thought about dinner at six. Today’s original plan was to drive seven hours back to North Carolina, shooting straight-up I-95 along the coast. If Adam left after breakfast he’d be back in the afternoon. Staying another evening in Jacksonville wasn’t a big deal. Such were the benefits of a lonely bachelor life. A neighborhood girl usually took care of Adam’s dogs on Wednesdays. He could call her, offer a generous tip, and get another night. Around the sixth floor landing, he yanked his phone out of his pocket and gave Kenny his answer.

[Sure, I’ll bring milk and beer. Give me your address.]

Down in the hotel gym he started his work-out, running through reps with almost memorized, mechanical ease. While Adam counted bicep curls, his phone chimed and he glanced at it long enough to see that Kenny had sent the address. Between sets, Adam popped the address into Google Maps. The house was a little over a half-hour drive away on Pointe Verde Beach, just outside of Jacksonville. Strange, because Adam had no memory of Kenny owning a house in or around Jacksonville. He heard whisper of a house near Orlando. He was vaguely aware that Kenny had stayed with Callis or Nakazawa a few times. Adam shuffled this mystery home off as another thing he just didn’t know about Kenny. He finished his work-out on the treadmill, running until endorphins blasted Kenny and the last of the hang-over from his brain. Adam returned to his hotel room to shower.

While hot water rolled down his back and he scrubbed conditioner from his hair, Adam wondered after Kenny’s ulterior motives. Back in December Kenny made it clear what he wanted from Adam: sex. That wasn’t Adam’s own ego talking, that was straight out of the horse’s mouth. Kenny had said he wanted Adam to kiss him, touch him, and fuck him. That was what he said, almost verbatim. Adam was an adult. He spent a significant chunk of his twenties sexually active. He wasn’t shy or prudish, he had no hang-ups. He could do all the things Kenny wanted. Hell, he’d gladly do them, under the right circumstances. Provided Adam could negotiate the differences between male and female anatomy with any competence. Physical desire was absolutely a dimension of his attraction to Kenny. Except, he wasn’t sure if this was the right circumstances. The thought that Kenny was inviting Adam over to dinner for the sole purpose of propositioning him for sex, turned Adam’s stomach over. He cranked the water cold and sobered beneath the icy spray, jaw tight. He turned off the water and toweled off. Adam texted Kenny again.

[Nak’s not going to be there, is he?]

Two seconds later, Kenny replied:

[Nope, just us.]

And to keep some kinda banter, Adam texted him back, hoping that the words read as teasing.

[No Callis, either?]

[lmao no he’s in Tennessee doing Impact crap for the PPV. He left this morning.]

And Adam hadn’t felt this nervous about being alone with Kenny since the first time they played Mario Tennis with Chase Owens. Because shit, he’d been stringing Kenny along for months now. Sure, Callis had been a consistent cock block, but Adam wouldn’t pretend he and Kenny weren’t playing some kinda game. A no-rules, Calvinball-Esque, game with moving goalposts. There were no boundaries because Kenny and Adam never set any. That would imply proper and honest communication. All of it was impromptu and they were living on a prayer that neither of them stepped on any toes. In a way, Daily’s place was a blessing. The presence of others acted as a natural check-and-balance on Kenny and Adam’s weird dynamic. So long as they didn't talk about it, didn't acknowledge the elephant in the room, everything was fine. An evening alone felt like cutting the breaks. It wasn’t that Adam feared having sex with Kenny or Kenny outright trying to jump his bones. It wasn’t that he didn’t want that, or that he hadn’t thought about it.

It was just that he wanted more.

Call him a sap, but Adam loved Kenny and he wanted Kenny to love him too. He wanted to go on dates. He wanted to wake-up in the same bed in the morning and to kiss Kenny awake. He wanted the small pleasure of fixing breakfast for both of them. Even to do the dishes together and all the boring domestic tasks of day-to-day life. To talk about how their days went but also to exist in quiet intimacy. He wanted to walk down the street holding Kenny’s hand. To drop casually in conversations, “My boyfriend Kenny—” To argue, make-up, and do better next time, all of it. And they were so off the rails because Adam was afraid that saying ‘no’ to Kenny in any capacity would kill what little they had. The what-ifs piled in Adam’s brain. Kenny using him for sex and then never talking to him again. Kenny telling him off for introducing more emotion that was necessary to a physical relationship. Kenny letting Adam know that he had finally moved on from his hot cowboy tag-partner and he won’t be needed anymore. The moment Kenny figured-out that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from Adam— was the moment Adam lost him.

Adam ate breakfast at the hotel hot bar. He had yogurt, an orange, eggs, and some links of sausage. He arranged for an extra night at the hotel and texted the girl who took care of his dogs. Then he got hustled by said teenager for almost twice the usual rate because she had, ‘lots of homework.’ Adam couldn’t complain because he was honestly kinda proud. She’d make a great carny one day. With not much else to do in Jacksonville, he left the hotel to go shopping. Adam had only packed for one night and not for a maybe-date with Kenny. He bought a white button down at a clothing store. Then, stopped by an uptown grocery store to buy 2% milk and local IPAs. Adam spent about three minutes lingering by a display of pre-arranged bouquets at the store, wondering if flowers would be too much. He walked away from the display, walked back, almost walked away again, stopped, and then stared a little longer. His hand fluttered by his side and before he could stop himself, Adam grabbed a bouquet of yellow flowers. Shit, he was an idiot.

He thought, as the cashier rang him up, that Kenny was going to laugh at him.

He took a lunch break at a small Mexican hole-in-the-wall because his diet was shot to hell today and he’d just have to admit it. Back at the hotel, he did his second work-out, showered again, and then realized he had three whole hours to kill. Three hours to get dressed, fuss over his hair, sit around, stare at the dumb flowers he bought, and consider if waterboarding would be a more or less effective form of torture. He scrolled Twitter, did some Duolingo. His body was tense, a live wire, his heart pounding. Adam left thirty minutes early and so took a twenty-minute detour, just to kill time. All so he wouldn’t look like a complete, desperate dweeb— showing-up early and with flowers? That would be way too much.

The house was situated in an upscale, rich and retired, suburb nestled by the ocean. It was smaller, blander than the two, three story beach homes that towered around it, with their sparse lawns and obnoxious, pastel colors. It was a one-story, Spanish-style home with a brown roof and off-white siding. Palm trees and shaped topiary decorated the well-tended front yard. The sun back dropped the city to the West, burning gold. The angles of light painted the thin, sparse clouds pink, purple, and orange creamsicle. Adam parked in the driveway in front of the garage. He stepped out of his car and the wind, tasting of salt, pulled at his hair. Between the neighbor’s fence and the sand dunes, he caught sight of the Atlantic. The waves rolled and churned, edged by white foam-like lace. Adam walked around to the other side of the car. On the floorboards were the milk and beer, and on the passenger seat were the flowers. His hands trembled and his heart thudded against his chest like a hammer. Do or die, he had to commit now— fuck it, life was short and that bouquet was like twenty bucks. He tucked the beers under his arm, picked-up the milk in one hand, and the flowers in the other,

Adam walked up to the front porch and used his elbow to ring the bell. Before Adam even retracted his hand, the door opened. Kenny stood on the other side of the threshold. His hair was yanked back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. Flour dusted his pink t-shirt across the chest. Adam’s eyes drifted down to khaki shorts and the loafers he wore without any socks. For a brief second, Kenny stared at Adam, also giving him a once-over. Adam hesitated, trying to decide if he should give Kenny the flowers or put something down to offer a handshake— like a dork. He managed neither before Kenny cussed.

“Son of a bitch, you dressed nice, shit, stay there.” Kenny pointed at Adam to indicate where he should 'stay.' Then, Kenny vanished into the house, leaving the door ajar. Adam gaped, brow furrowed and blinking like an owl. A Gregorian choir in his brain chanted, ‘dork, dork, massive dork!’

Kenny hadn’t come back by the time Adam processed his absence. So, he took the first step over the threshold. “Uh, Kenny? I’m coming in?” Adam called, to no reply.

The inside of the house had a blandly typical beach house vibe. White walls, seashell decor, stock paintings of the ocean, and blue accents. There was a wood sign on the entry hall wall that read: Happiness comes in waves. To his left was the kitchen, a large space, with expansive white countertops and black appliances. There were a few bowls and dishes left out, with signs of being used. The sink was to put it lightly, a wreck, filled with utensils, cutting boards, and knives. Adam put the milk and beer in the fridge. Then noted that the dining room table was set. Each place had a gleaming crimson plate. No forks or knives, just chopsticks. A drinking glass for water. Kenny even had even folded the cloth napkins. All set on a black placemat. Adam wandered on into the rest of the house in search of Kenny. Connected to the dining room was the living room. Tall windows on the East wall allowed an expansive view over the pool, yard, and ocean. The sliding glass back door had been left cracked, to allow the cool and brisk breeze in. Adam pushed his hands into his pockets and soaked in the ocean at sunset.

Footsteps echoed down the far hall. Kenny passed the living room doorway, on the way to the kitchen. He caught Adam out of the corner of his eye and pulled back, changing direction at the last second. Kenny smiled and spread his arms wide so Adam could admire new outfit. He’d changed into dark jeans, a red v-neck, and a black blazer. Still in the loafers, Adam noted, but that was just part of the Kenny charm.

“Better, right?” Kenny asked. He did a full turnaround and then jaunted over to Adam. He smoothed the lapel of his blazer down. “I didn’t give you a dress code, so I packed something nice to wear just in case. Didn’t wanna feel awkward in khakis, ya know?”

“Yeah, you look good,” Adam agreed, returning Kenny’s grin. They diverted their gaze to the floor together. Adam, trying to find something to say, exaggerated a look around the house. “Is this your uh, home?”

“Nope! I rented it on Air BnB,” Kenny said, proudly. “I’ve never used the app before, but it found this pretty sweet crib, so I’m impressed. A little pricey maybe, but for an evening, just for us? Worth it, I’d say.”

Adam heard Kenny but he couldn’t think of a response. It hit him that the food on the counter, the set table, the entire house, pointed-to one thing. Kenny had planned this. He had to look for a house, find one, pay for it, plan a menu, buy food, bring tableware, find time. He had planned this at personal expense. He had put real thought into setting-up a dinner for him and Adam. This wasn’t some off-the-cuff idea. The only improvised part about this was inviting Adam himself. And to think, Adam thought Kenny only wanted to Netflix and chill.

“I, uh, I got you these,” Adam stammered. He held out the flowers to Kenny. “Just, a housewarming, gift, I guess for — for you.”

“Oh, you did, thank you, Cowboy,” Kenny smiled, he took the bouquet from Adam. He hesitated, awkwardly gripping the plastic casing of the flowers.

“I guess, you can put it in some water?” Adam suggested. He scratched at the back of his head.

“Yeah, right, good idea,” Kenny nodded, he stepped back from Adam, lingered for a second, and then headed to the kitchen.

Adam followed Kenny and while Kenny tore through the cabinets in search of a vase, Adam took a second look. Beside the stove were three white bowls with flour, eggs, and panko crumbs. On the burner sat a large, cast-iron pot filled several inches deep with cooking oil. A thermometer rested beside the burner. Kenny exclaimed, “ah-ha,” When he came up with a vase. He filled it with water and settled the flowers in. Brow furrowed he poked a couple daisies upright. Kenny set the vase with the flowers in the middle of the table, as an impromptu centerpiece.

“There, that livens-up the place,” Kenny said, putting his hands on his hips. He smiled at Adam and the ocean, through the windows behind him, framed his face. His eyes bluer than the sea and Adam only just noticed he didn’t have his glasses on. Instead, the glasses were hooked in the pocket of his blazer. Adam was invited here, talking with Kenny, about to have dinner, and his trepidation only grew.

“Is this all for us?” Adam asked, he leaned against the kitchen doorway and shoved his hand in his pocket. With his other he gestured broadly at everything.

“Yeah, I thought it would be nice?” Kenny admitted, it was his turn to shrug. “Just us, for once. We haven't gotten to spend a lot of time together recently and there's some, some things I wanted to talk to you about. Stuff that's— that's better here maybe than at Daily’s Place. Is it too much?”

Kenny looked bashful, his smile soft, peering at Adam, his hand working over the back of a chair. It was nervous and sweet, open in a way that Adam hadn’t seen in months. Words were hard, but pushing off the doorpost and walking over to Kenny was easier. For a second, Adam’s hands hovered between them, and then he hooked his fingers beneath Kenny’s lapel. Kenny giggled and rested his forehead against Adam’s, his breath tickling Adam’s bottom lip.

“It’s perfect,” Adam murmured. He untangled from Kenny’s jacket and slid his hands down Kenny’s sides until Adam held his hips. Adam pushed his palms against the jut of Kenny's bone, “What's for dinner, chef Kenny?”

Kenny giggled and gripped at Adam’s hands. “Well, I was thinking,” he glanced back at the kitchen, “I’d make us Tonkatsu, you know, those pork cutlets you get in Japan, with the breading and cabbage? I haven’t had any in a while and it’s one of my favorite dishes. And I ordered sushi, and dessert, from a couple local places—”

“So, you’re cooking?” Adam asked, he quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, what’s so bad about that? I can cook,” Kenny protested. He pulled back from Adam and moved into the kitchen. Adam returned to his position by the doorpost as Kenny rummaged in the fridge. He pulled-out a bag of plastic boxes and then a platter of salted pork. Kenny rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll burn it? I promise only a little singe, for flavor. I mean it’s Tonkatsu, grade school children can make it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Adam laughed, he lifted his hands to placate Kenny. “It’s just, you never hit me as the cooking type. Order in and dine-out always seemed more your style.”

Kenny stuck his tongue out at Adam. He laughed though and turned the stove on to heat the oil. The plastic bag crinkled as Kenny sorted through small platters of elegant sushi and laid each on the counter. “We can eat this while the oil heats. I wish I had a nicer serving tray but I didn’t think to bring one, and this house doesn’t have one— I looked. Oh, and I don’t know how you feel about it, but I got some sake too. It’s in the fridge. Do you like it hot? I’ve never had it, so, I don’t know what’s better.”

“Man, I don’t even know,” Adam said. He never liked the flavor of sake —too dry for his taste— so he’d let the discussion drop and hope that was better than rejecting Kenny’s offer. Adam walked over to help Kenny carry the sushi to the table. “I got you milk, though, two percent. I uh— put it in the fridge.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Kenny smiled.

While Kenny removed the covers from the sushi, Adam fetched his meager contributions to the meal. He returned with the gallon of milk and an IPA. Adam poured Kenny a tall glass of milk and Kenny poured Adam’s beer. Teeth buried in his bottom lip, like this task was monumental, Kenny dumped the bottle into the glass. By the time the bubbles fizzed down, Adam’s ‘beer’ was mostly air. It was the thought that counted and Kenny looked pleased. Before sitting down himself, Kenny pulled-out Adam’s chair for him. Adam muttered his thanks and sat down. Kenny took his place on the opposite side of the table and used his chopsticks to divvy up the sushi pieces between them.

“Where’d you get this?” Adam asked.

“Sushiko, a small place by the river, Cody recommended it,” Kenny said. “It’s a nice little restaurant and we’re by the coast so the seafood is fresh. I mean it’s not really, authentic, but that’s hard to get in America anyway.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be good,” Adam countered. “Do you want the ginger?”

“Nah, you can have it,” Kenny said, to punctuate his point he picked up a heap of the ginger and plopped it onto Adam’s plate. “Do you remember how to use the chopsticks? It hasn’t been that long since you were last in Japan, right?”

“I order take-out once a month to keep my skills sharp,” Adam promised. He picked-up the chopsticks by his plate. Then, took the ends and stuck them beneath his top lip like a walrus, “Goes like this right?”

Kenny laughed, hand lifting to cover his mouth as his shoulders shook with racks of giggles. Adam smiled and wiped off his chopsticks with his napkin. It was the kinda joke he’d crack when he was ten, on the rare occasion his parents took the family out to eat. His sister would find it hilarious, his father and mother less so. Yet, it seemed to amuse Kenny to no end, and all that bashful shyness was gone when the laughter subsided.

“Yeah, close enough,” Kenny said, waving his hand. “Here you should try the tempura roll, it’s my favorite of all the inaccurate American sushis.”

Kenny picked up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks and offered it over the table for Adam to try. Adam didn’t point out that he already had a piece of that type on his plate. He only leaned forward and opened his mouth so Kenny could feed him the sushi. Adam bit down and savored the taste of shrimp, rice, and crunchy breading.

“It’s good,” he said, nodding and humming his approval.

“Isn’t it?” Kenny asked, he jammed a roll with avocado in his mouth and grinned, pleased. “It’s kinda cliché, but I love this stuff.”

Adam took a sip from his beer to wash down the rice gummed behind his teeth.

“I’ve always meant to ask,” Kenny said, he pointed with his chopsticks at the beer. “Do you... like that stuff?”

“Beer? Yeah, pretty well, it’s not my favorite drink,” Adam admitted. He ate another piece of sushi and chewed through his thoughts. “It has to be a good beer, the cheap crap isn’t worth the calories. Pleases the hell out of a crowd though.”

“Yeah, don’t you have to drive back?” Kenny’s brow furrowed.

Adam laughed, “A beer or two isn’t going to send me over, Kenny. It's not like liquor, it's a much lower alcohol content. I probably won't even feel the buzz, especially drinking on food. By the time I leave, I'll be close to zero. I try to keep track of my limits these days, and you know, it’s hard to be no carb and take shots.”

“Trainers got you on no carb?” Kenny asked, with a lifted brow. It was a quick change of topic and Adam appreciated the tact.

“Yeah, have been for a while now, it’s probably better that way,” Adam shrugged. “You know not all of us shred fat like you.”

“Well, that’s not so easy these days,” Kenny admitted. “Not all of us are as young as you.”

“Hey, a few months and I’ll be thirty,” Adam pointed-out. “Or like, twenty-four by Cody’s metric, something like that.”

“You can’t say that being youngest wasn’t a good shake,” Kenny said. “You never had to pay for anything.”

“Just all the ribbing,” Adam grinned.

Adam popped some ginger in his mouth and waggled his eyebrows for emphasis. Kenny was all grins and the smiles were a relief. This wasn’t a total cluster fuck and Adam hadn’t said something to screw-up the mood. This was going much better than his anxiety allowed him to anticipate. A pause to eat lulled the conversation to a brief silence. Yet, Adam could tell by the way Kenny studied his Philadelphia roll, there was something on his mind.

“So, uh, last night,” Kenny said, he placed his elbow on the table. “Did you sign a contract with Matt Hardy? Did I interpret that segment correctly? I was preparing for my match so I wasn’t really paying attention, but—”

Adam paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and then he grinned. “I did.”

“Did you read that contract?” Kenny probed. “Listen, I know you and Hardy go back but I’m not sure you should trust that guy, Page. He’s a bit of a carny— I mean his gimmick is ‘Big Money Matt.’ That has got to be a warning sign. I know Matt and Nick brought him in by burying his vessel or whatever, but he’s changed a lot since the Stadium Stampede. He’s got the whole, I guess split personality thing going on?”

“Oh, I read the contract I signed,” Adam nodded. He savored the taste of a Dragon roll, fishy and popping with acidity. “Hardy didn’t, but I did.”

“Oh, really,” Kenny waxed, he pressed his finger tips to his chin. “Something you wanna fill me in on?”

“Yeah, I switched the contracts,” Adam said.

Kenny gasped, “You switched the contracts?! Oh, ho, Page, I knew you were smart, brilliant, tell me everything.”

“Well, I knew he was going to invite me to a bar, because he said so on Twitter,” Adam began. “Like, you said, I’ve known Matt for a while and he’s always been a dick. He was talking all about how I’m going to be some great star or the ‘top guy’ in AEW, or whatever, some bullshit, but I kinda figured his plan was to get me drunk and willing to sign something stupid.”

He leaned back in his chair, sipping on his beer and thinking. Adam couldn’t get why every other manager in AEW was salivating at the idea of getting him on their payroll. The Dark Order was trying to recruit him. Taz was talking about him. Matt Hardy seemed to think Adam was the second coming of Jesus. Adam assumed that he was so sought after because the actual best wrestler in AEW was already spoken-for. And Jon Moxley wasn’t the type to tolerate companionship. So, that left Adam Page. Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel.

“So, I uh, had a little something prepared for him,” Adam shrugged. “I don’t think he’s figured it out yet, so like, don’t go spreading it around? Snitches get stitches, Kenny, and I mean it.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kenny promised. He pantomimed zipping-up his mouth, locking it, and throwing away the key. He leaned forward, hand bracing against the table. “But really, what was in the contract?’

“You wanna know?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, I wanna know!” Kenny said.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” Adam smirked. “You’ll just have to find-out with Matt Hardy and everyone else. I don’t wanna pop the surprise.”

“Aw, Pizz, you’re killing me, now that’s all I’m going to think about for the rest of the night!” Kenny laughed, he deflated into his chair. Then he bounced back, livened with an idea. “Oh, I know, you made it so you get a third of his merch sales? A half?! Man, that’s brutal. Ooh, I know what you should’ve done, what I would do? Make him your butler for a few weeks, that would be funny.”

Adam chuckled, cheeks flushed with amusement. All he did was shake his head and keep his mouth shut. Kenny gave-up, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. While they ate, Kenny talked about the Women’s Title Eliminator tournament and all that went into organizing it. He seemed excited to debut the woman’s bracket next week. He promised that he had seen the matches, and they were, “fantastic.” In particular he was ecstatic about Aja Kong and Yuka progressing. Adam had no idea who Maki Itoh was beyond her Twitter, but Kenny was adamant she get a contract at some point. On his part Adam was happy to sit back —long after polishing off his own plate— and listen to Kenny, occasionally interjecting a question or an affirming, “mhm.” Eventually, Kenny got around to eating his last piece of sushi. His eyes darted beyond Adam’s shoulder and pushed himself to his feet to go check on the oil.

Adam turned in his seat to watch Kenny in the kitchen. He was eyeing a thermometer dipped in the pot. Pleased with the temperature, he moved to start working with the meat. Kenny used a skewer to dip a pork cutlet into the flour, then egg, then back into the flour. Adam cleared the sushi plates from the table. He rinsed them in the sink. He cleaned a few other dishes, cutting boards, and knives, listening to Kenny complain about getting flour on his fingers. Adam put the dishes on the rack and dried his hands on a towel. He wandered to Kenny’s side. Kenny had coated two cutlets in panko crumbs and the breaded meat sat on a plate ready to go. He fiddled with the thermometer, brow furrowed in concentration. He adjusted the temperature on the stove and then gripped the pot handle to center it on the burner. He hissed when his hand touched hot metal. Kenny stuck his finger in his mouth.

“Hot,” he breathed to Adam.

“Yeah, no shit, go rinse it under the cold water,” Adam ordered. “Are you okay?”

“Just my pride,” Kenny said, as he ran his finger under the faucet and washed his hands of flour. “I thought I was going to be so cool, making Tonkatsu for you, and you’d be like, ‘wow, look at Kenny be a boss in the kitchen,’ and now I’m just kinda—”

He returned to the stove and looked at the simmering oil with particular trepidation.

“Now, I’m just kinda nervous,” he admitted, smiling again. “Like, I don’t want to fuck this up and ruin the evening, or something.”

“Do you want help?” Adam asked.

“How heroic,” Kenny pined. “A cowboy come to save me.”

“Yeah, yeah, mostly I just don’t want the food burned,” Adam said, stepping to Kenny’s side. He nudged his hip against Kenny’s and picked-up a skewer. The task was simple, pick-up the two pieces of meat and plunge them into the boiling oil. Yet, when Adam did it, Kenny looked at him like he did something astounding. Adam handed the tongs to Kenny, “you can flip them on your own, right?”

“Pfft, I got that,” Kenny bragged, taking the utensil from Adam. He positioned himself, watching as bubbles formed around the meat. The panko browned to an appetizing gold. As the meat cooked, it exuded juices that caused the oil to spit. Kenny yelped, when some struck his arm, shifting behind Adam. “Unless it fights back?!”

“Aren’t you the guy who fought a G1 with a fractured heel?!” Adam snapped. “Don’t be a baby, it’s just oil, it’s not going to bite you! Get in there.”

Kenny patted Adam’s shoulder and shifted to plunge the tongs into the oil. He flipped both pieces of meat. Although, he held the tongs at the furthest extent to avoid oil splatter. Adam placed his hand on the small of Kenny’s back to hold him steady as they waited the last minute for the meat to finish. It was such a simple gesture but Kenny’s nerves seemed to evaporate under his touch. Kenny fished out the cutlets and placed them diagonally on a draining rack. The cooking done, Kenny kicked Adam out of the kitchen while he finished the rest of the meal. Adam returned to the dining table, sat down, and enjoyed his beer. The soothing melody of Kenny banging around behind him as background noise.

A few minutes later, Kenny placed a plate in front of Adam. The cutlet had been sliced thin and fanned across the edge of the plate. A generous heap of shredded cabbage piled in the middle garnished with a slice of tomato and lemon. On the side were pickled radishes. The colors popped and the meat smelled delicious. Kenny laid a small container of pouring sauce between them on the table. Kenny sat down with his own plate across from Adam.

“This is so— great, Kenny,” Adam breathed, looking over the food. He picked-up his chopsticks and dove in for the Tonkatsu. It was juicy and savory, with a nice crunch. Adam groaned, “It tastes fantastic.”

“Thanks, I was worried about overcooking it, but with you at my side, it was easy,” Kenny said, he smiled. He poured some sauce on his cutlet. “We make a great team.”

Adam focused on pinching some cabbage between his chopsticks, eyes casting down to the plate. “Yeah, I— I guess we do.”

“Hey, it was just an observation,” Kenny said, he nudged Adam’s foot under the table with his own. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

“No, no, it’s fine,” Adam said. He took a sip of beer but didn’t taste it. “You’re right, I was just thinking— I’ve tagged with a lot of people lately, and none of them are like you. You really are the best.”

“That’s sweet, cowboy,” Kenny grinned, but Adam sensed the need to change the conversation. Mourning the tag-team wasn’t uplifting for either of them.

“So, where did you learn to make this?” Adam asked. He gestured at the Tonkatsu. “’Cause it’s really good. Not going to lie, that’s what I miss about Japan— the food. They just don’t have the same, I don’t know, style? Yeah, style, in America.”

“Well, I learned from one of the ladies I stayed with when I first moved to Japan in, 2008, well, kinda learned,” Kenny elaborated. He shrugged, “mostly I just watched her cook and sometimes she let me help. She always did the bits with the oil because she was afraid I’d burn myself. My Japanese wasn’t good back then but I’m pretty sure she thought I was just an idiot.”

“I mean, you can be a bit,” Adam paused. Kenny pressed his lips thin, so he picked his next word carefully, “ditzy?”

“I’ll give you that,” Kenny said. “I wouldn’t trust me around a big pot of boiling oil either. You handled yourself pretty well in there, though.”

“Deep fried is a staple food in the rural south," Adam said. "It's a survival skill, where I'm from. It's okay, Kenny, you can kick my ass Street Fighter, later, so that way we're even."

The conversation slowed so they could finish eating. Just the sounds of chewing and chopsticks clacking. It was good, the cabbage contrasting to the meat, and the sauce adding a hint of sweetness. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfy silence, Adam wasn't looking for an excuse to breach it. It was just them, together, enjoying the mutual company. When Adam finished eating, just to gross out Kenny, he picked up his plate and licked it clean. The gesture had the intended effect of making Kenny screw-up his nose and expression. Adam took his last swig of beer and then carried both their plates to the sink. Adam helped Kenny tidy-up the kitchen. Adam washed the dishes and Kenny dried, putting the plates away on the shelves. They moved around each other like this was something they did every night. Yet, each time Kenny’s elbow jostled Adam or he moved a step closer, a warm heat spread across Adam’s skin. It was dark outside when they finished and Kenny turned on lights in the house to illuminate the rooms.

“You up for cake, cowboy?” Kenny asked as he returned. He took a box out from the fridge and finagled the lid open. Inside the box was a small, white cake decorated with vanilla icing, raspberries, and fancy swirls. Kenny smacked Adam’s hand away when he tried to taste the frosting.

"Ow," Adam grunted. He cradled his hand to his chest.

“I didn’t really know what you liked, but everyone likes vanilla, so I figured I couldn't go wrong,” Kenny admitted as he took the cake out of the box. Adam got plates and a knife to cut with. Kenny stuck his tongue out as he sliced into the cake. It was obnoxiously cute. He pointed with the knife, “Is this big enough?”

“That’ll do it,” Adam said.

Kenny sliced the cake and put a piece on a plate that he handed to Adam, then cut his own piece. The inner filling of the cake was a bright red raspberry and Adam hummed, eager. to try Kenny took a fork and cut off a small piece of his cake slice. He offered the morsel to Adam. Once again, Adam let Kenny feed him. It was sweet, with a delicate crumb, and acidic with the fruit. Kenny opened his mouth, making an ‘ah’ sound, to indicate he wanted Adam to return the gesture. Adam obliged, watching with fascination as Kenny’s lips closed around the fork. A speck of icing trapped at the corner of his mouth. Before he could stop himself, Adam leaned forward and kissed it off— grinning all the way back as Kenny’s cheeks flushed.

“You remember when we tricked that waitress into giving us free cake?” Kenny asked. His eyes lit-up, to divert his attention though, he glanced down for another bite. “That was— fun.”

“I don’t think we tricked anybody,” Adam laughed. "I think the waitress knew what was up the whole damn time."

“What, we weren’t a convincing couple?” Kenny asked. The question so earnest, his voice so soft, that Adam almost dropped his plate. Deep in Kenny's eyes hid a kernel of curious probing. Like he was testing the waters. Wading-out waist high in a surging tide.

“I— um, I guess we were.” Adam ducked his head, but Kenny shoved at his shoulder and the tension dissipated.

“I’m just teasing you, Hangers,” he laughed. “Eat your cake, before I do. Hey, I know, why don’t we go sit outside? C’mon.”

Kenny had already split off and so that settled it. Adam got a beer from the fridge and followed Kenny out the back door. At the edge of the pool was a small sitting area with chairs and a couch. The ocean crashed against the shore, loud and echoing in Adam's inner-ear. He felt the tide wearing away the sand in his teeth. Kenny sat down on the couch, tossing his phone on the coffee table. He crossed his legs up and finished off his cake. Adam joined him on the other side of the couch. They remarked on the flavors of the cake and speculated if the icing was cream cheese or not. Finished eating, Kenny put his plate down and lounged back against the cushions.

Adam studied Kenny’s profile. His straight nose and angular jaw, the untamed stubble on his cheeks. His lips pink with red raspberries. In red and black, he looked marvelous. The wind tussling his curls. And his eyes, so scarce these days, holding every emotion Adam hoped to see reflected in them. Adam’s heart collided with the inside of his ribs. He took his last bite of cake and put aside the dishes. Then, for courage, he swigged on his beer and set that aside too. He leaned into the cushions, adjusting a pillow underneath his right elbow.

“Hey,” he said, voice coarse and weak, the word lost to the ocean. Kenny looked at him, hearing him anyway, and Adam opened his arms wide, “What are you doing over there? Get your ass over here.”

Kenny slid over until he leaned against Adam’s side. Adam swung his legs up onto the couch and pulled Kenny against his chest. Kenny settled between his legs and Adam draped his arm over Kenny’s back. Something dislodged in Adam’s lungs and he breathed easy for the first time in months. Kenny sighed and pressed his cheek to Adam’s collarbone. His hand ran over Adam’s bicep. Adam reached over Kenny, picked-up his beer, and took another casual swig. Part of him regretted the alcohol because now his breath must smell like beer and cake. The other part of him needed it to function in this moment.

Adam drew broad circles between Kenny’s shoulder blades, feeling each hard muscle, defined and strong beneath his hand. Kenny was warm in contrast to the cool night, like a little personal heater. Adam chuckled, content as he leaned back against the arm rest. Kenny turned his face into Adam’s chest and buried his nose into Adam’s shirt. He shuddered in Adam’s arms, a full body tremble working all the way down his spine. Adam lifted his hand to work his fingers through Kenny’s hair and curls. A little coarser now since he dyed it, black and silver. Adam didn’t know what else to say or think, or do. Didn’t know if this was Kenny using him for comfort or something more. If he was supposed to read between the lines, look for the fine text, or just be a quiet and good pillow. Maybe, he'd just pretend that the way Kenny clung to him was because of love.

“I like your hair like this,” Adam mused. He ran his fingers through Kenny’s scalp. It was an easier question than: why did you bring me here? What do you want from me? What are we?

“Thanks,” Kenny muttered. He turned his cheek to press against Adam’s chest. Adam considered that an improvement.

“Are you okay?” He managed.

Kenny sighed, shoulders heaving. He wrapped his arms around Adam’s waist and cinched in, holding him close. It was the total experience of being owned. That Adam was Kenny’s to have and hold onto. It was possessive in a way that thrilled Adam. That there were seven billion people on this planet and he was the one Kenny Omega invited to a rented house for dinner. Adam was the one who got to hold Kenny Omega, not anyone else. Adam was the one Kenny Omega wanted to be held by. It had to mean something. He wanted it to mean something. Please, let it mean something.

“It’s just,” Kenny whispered. His voice soft, but Adam carded his fingers through Kenny’s hair to encourage each word forth. “Sometimes, I realize one day I could die. I could just disappear and the world would be none the wiser. There’s be no one to miss me and that— that terrifies me more than death itself.”

Then, Kenny laughed, shaking his head, giggling like he said something funny. Not something that Adam had no idea how to react to. Every word of it raised a protest inside Adam though. That he cared, that he would notice, that he would be devastated to lose Kenny. That he lost Kenny once and he had no intentions of ever doing it again. Except, Adam had no idea how to say all that in a way that made sense. When he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out but a huff of carbon dioxide. Kenny tensed, feeling Adam’s diaphragm tighten. It was as if Adam’s anxiety infused and intertwined with Kenny's, into something ugly between them. Adam could just hold Kenny tighter and that would make Kenny understand. Hold so tight to Kenny that he couldn’t leave, couldn’t go anywhere, and they’d just fit together, and it’d work.

Except, Adam was no longer so young and stupid as to believe that would work. It wasn’t enough to ask Kenny, ‘do you trust me,’ when he already breached that trust. Adam couldn’t hold on alone, they had to meet in the middle. These things had to be mutual. This was a two street and Adam had no idea if Kenny was walking towards him or away. He was just a blur in the distance that he was chasing like hell. As if, when he caught Kenny, he’d get the answers to the questions he was too afraid to ask.

Kenny shifted, pushing back against Adam and the awkward silence between them. The silence Adam let linger too long. He wondered if just screaming would work better than this. Kenny sat-up, and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. He clung to one of Adam’s hands like it was a life raft in the middle of that ocean out there. They sat thigh-to-thigh, hip-to-hip. Maybe, that’s how Adam felt, like Kenny was drowning and all he could do was yell advice from the shoreline.

“Look,” Kenny began, he licked his lips. He stared at where their knees touched. Adam could feel Kenny's pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. “There’s something I gotta tell you.”

Kenny giggled again, shoulders shaking and Adam had no idea what the joke was. He placed his other, free hand on Kenny’s shoulder.

“I set all of this up to tell you, but I— I don’t know what to say,” He admitted. He shook his head and squeezed Adam’s hand.

“Whatever, whatever you feel, man,” Adam offered, lamely. “You know I’m here for you.”

“Look—” Kenny began.

He looked-up, gunmetal blue eyes matching Adam’s gaze. The warm glow from the house burned his cheeks gold and he shivered. Kenny was scared, the thought hit Adam like a gunshot. Terrified, looking at Adam, like Adam was going to hurt him. Like a whipped dog anticipating being taken out back.��

“Adam, I—” he began, then a sharp chime cut him off.

Both Kenny and Adam looked down at Kenny’s phone on the coffee table. Don Callis, calling Kenny, the phone vibrating against the glass. Kenny withdrew his hand, untangling from Adam, scooting away. Like, he'd been burned and scalded, like he just put his hand back on that pot handle and this time gripped tight. “I’m not— I’m not going to answer it. I— I told him I’d be busy,” Kenny stammered, his hands working through his hair. There was a bite to his tone that set Adam’s heart on fire. “I don’t know why he’s calling me he should know.”

As Kenny’s pitch hitched and his voice cracked, Adam lunged forward to hit the decline button on the phone. The phone stopped ringing and Kenny sighed, his face stricken pale. Adam himself breathed for the first time in almost a minute, slowly leaning back into the couch. His hands rested on his knees. The ocean crashed and receded.

“He can leave a damn voice mail,” Adam managed, cracking a half-grin but when he looked at Kenny it was not returned. Instead, Adam met wild eyes and a pale face, white with fear. In a few seconds it calmed, the war raging in Kenny dying down as he glanced away from Adam. As Adam watched Kenny pulled the glasses-free from his front pocket and shoved them on his face. He licked his lips, jaw working tight. “Kenny, is everything okay?”

“Fine, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Kenny repeated, his hands rubbed over his thighs. “I’m not— I’m not going to keep you, you can go. It was— It was fun tonight, thanks.”

Kenny lifted and waved his hand as if to dismiss Adam. Adam’s felt his temper go through the roof, just a moment of complete rage that calmed immediately. There were no words, just screaming like if he opened his mouth, a long drawn howl would escape instead of anything coherent. And that was the best he could do to express the emotions in his head. His teeth gritted and Adam rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to clear out the thoughts from his head.

“No, wait, Kenny what did you want to tell me?” Adam asked. “What were you trying to say before Don called?”

“All, I wanted to do was just tell you that— that,” Kenny stuttered, and Adam had no faith that what came out of his mouth next was the truth. “That you can always talk to me if you need it. That, that I’m here for you, Page, and like, that you don’t need to go signing stupid contracts with Matt Hardy, but you didn’t so, it’s really not a problem. You— you didn’t need me.”

“Is that it?” Adam asked, he glanced around the house. Thought of the sushi and the home-cooked meal. Of cake and Kenny dressing nice just for Adam. “You did all this, just to tell me that? Are you sure that’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“What do you think?” Kenny asked, he peered at Adam. The glasses and his expression were like a brick wall. Impassive, unreadable, and drawing Adam to a total stop. Adam’s stomach twisted, lips parted in unvoiced confusion. Adam couldn’t answer the question because he was afraid of what Kenny thought. Kenny didn't love him, Kenny didn't care, Kenny was using him.

“Seriously, Page, I’m fine— you can leave if you want,” Kenny repeated. “It was fun tonight.”

“No, no, no, Kenny,” Adam interjected. “No, I’m not just leaving, I’m not going anywhere until I get some damn answers about what the hell is going on. I’ve been out of my mind for months trying to figure us— this, out. It ain’t even just about what you did to Moxley or any of the other crap. I was with you in Japan, I know how you are. Excalibur may be scandalized but I was there when you won the Intercontinental title off Tanahashi. I know how it goes. What gets me, is that you hadn’t done that shit since Japan. Ever since Don Callis came back you’ve been acting weird and I think by this point I deserve some damn answers.”

“Okay, fine, fine, what do you want to know?” Kenny demanded. He crossed his arms over his stomach. “I am an open book.”

“It’s just, I don’t know—” Adam stumbled over his words, the real questions getting in the way of the ones he could actually ask. What are we? So, instead, he stumbled-on, “Are you sure you can trust Don?”

“Of course, I can,” Kenny scoffed. “We’re changing the business Adam, changing the world, history! All those solid steel doors, those arbitrary barriers in our sport? They’re gone now! Impact, New Japan, NWA, Stardom, they’re all clamoring to get a spot on our show. We are the hottest thing in wrestling, not WWE, us. Tony Khan, the Bucks, and Cody, the whole locker room, they should be thanking us, we’re giving them jobs, improving their pay checks, and what do we get?! Just like you said, Excalibur on commentary with a bad attitude. No one else shares my vision, no one else gets it, not like Don does.”

Kenny shook his head, curls flopping around. He spoke fast, quickly, trying to get to the next words as soon as possible.

“I thought that was all bullshit,” Adam admitted. “Just shit Don was making-up to justify taking the title.”

“Page, please!” Kenny said, his hand fluttering in Adam’s direction. “We’ve been planning something like this for years. This isn’t a mere money-making scheme, Don isn’t like Matt Hardy. And yeah, maybe that means I can’t be around Matt and Nick as much anymore, maybe the locker room hates me, maybe I’m not as popular with the audience— big deal. They’ll come around, they always come around, they’ll realize how much I’ve done for them. People change, this is— this is bigger than any one person.”

“Oh, Don isn’t like Matt Hardy?” Adam asked, he lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Kenny pushed to his feet and Adam stood too. Kenny’s hands fluttered around and something flexed in his jaw like he was chewing on sand. His voice was darker, biting with anger as he shook his finger at Adam. “Don’t even start with me, Page, about who to trust. We both know your track record.”

“Matt Hardy doesn’t give a shit about me,” Adam stated. Kenny stepped-in like it was a warning, but Adam squared his shoulders and with a look wilted Kenny. Adam took sick satisfaction in the inch or two of height he had. To lift his chin, and stand his ground. “And Don Callis doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“Don is like family to me,” Kenny snapped, his finger jutted into Adam’s face, his voice lifting in pitch and volume. Adam couldn’t remember if they ever got to this point with each other, yelling. No, he remembered some shoves in the ring. “He cares about me. I know he does. I’ve known him since I was a child, Page. It’s not the same thing.”

Adam worked his teeth into his bottom lips. He placed his hand on his hips and glanced towards the ocean. Black and churning, the waves thrown in turmoil, rolling, clawing-up the beach to high tide. Adam let himself feel the wind in his hair and his pounding heart. He glanced back at Kenny.

Back in the day, Biz Cliz days, the Bullet Club, and the Elite was Kenny’s family. They were the ones who looked after him after matches. They were the ones who fetched ice or hot packs for his injuries. They were the ones at ringside. The ones in his tag-teams. The ones who helped him pick-out clothes or get in his ring gear. Adam thought they were family and he had fought like hell for that family. Scrabbled to keep the little niche of home he’d found, that place he belonged. He spared a thought, that something had gone wrong, terribly wrong. So wrong, that Kenny, went to someone else instead of his family. FTR, the Dark Order, Matt Hardy, the Good Brothers, Don, all these side distractions instead of the stable that cared about them. Egos blew-up, friendships faded, but it took more than a couple of arguments to break the Elite. There was a looming specter, sticking his fingers in the crack. Adam may’ve left the Elite but he always thought there’d be something to go back to. He never thought his absence would unravel his friends— never dreamed it.

He didn’t even think they’d notice he was gone.

“Does your family usually hit you with a microphone?” Adam asked.

Kenny’s lips parted, his jaw falling slack. His shoulders drooped and then he rubbed his hand beneath the rims of his glasses. He crossed his arms, gaze turning downwards. Adam’s hands fell to his sides, feeling that the fight was over. Kenny shook his head as if to physically dislodge Adam’s words from his skull. Kenny was a fighter, he was a leader, he was a crazy visionary, who did his own thing. He always had an argument in him. He always kicked-out. He fought sixty minute matches against Okada. The way he capitulated in defeat here and now was fascinating because it was so against him. It was like Adam pushed back and found nothing but dust. That he had glanced back over his shoulder and suddenly Kenny had turned to salt. A pillar of salt, crumbling in Adam’s hands. A divine and cruel trick, stealing from him what he most desired, at the last possible second.

Adam sighed, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. Then, Kenny lurched forward and pressed his forehead into Adam’s shoulder. Adam closed his eyes and reached-up to tangle his fingers back in Kenny’s hair. He worked out a knot and then smoothed his palm down Kenny’s back. Kenny trembled against him, fingers twisted in Adam’s shirt. It was a desperate grip, like this attention and concern was foreign to Kenny. Like he was starved and Adam supposed that made sense because this didn’t feel like something Don Callis would do. Because Don Callis didn't care about Kenny. He wouldn't take care of Kenny, not like his friends would— like they were supposed to. They had failed Kenny and so he went to someone else. (They had failed Adam and so he had went to someone else). Adam hummed, low in his throat, and buried his nose in Kenny’s hair. He smelled of cologne and sea salt, and everything Adam missed.

“Forget about Don,” Adam said. “I— I shouldn’t’ve said that, it’s none of my damn business.”

“I just don’t want to fight with you,” Kenny admitted. “I don’t— I don’t deserve you, Page.”

“Nah, don’t say that,” Adam shook his head. “Because if you were gone, you know I’d miss you, right? I ain’t got that many friends left, Kenny. You’re special to me.”

“Charmer,” Kenny grunted.

“Can’t coast on just my good looks, you know,” Adam chuckled. He wrapped both his arms around Kenny and drew him tighter. Knowing that he was being used. Knowing that they were no closer now than they were before. “Gotta have some personality.”

“Hmm, but you are good-looking,” Kenny agreed. His hands smoothed down Adam’s side, unabashed in feeling the muscles and curves of his waist. “You’re very handsome, cowboy.”

Adam chuckled as Kenny wrapped his arms around him. It felt good to be needed. Good to be wanted and held. To be possessed by someone. Adam wanted Kenny to own him. But, he wasn’t sure if it was real or if Adam was just here, and hot, and it worked.

“I can stay,” Adam murmured. “Just one night, you and me, like— like in the hotel.”

“You— you want to?” Kenny asked. He pulled from Adam to look at him, or rather let Adam look at his glasses. “I have an extra toothbrush.”

“Good, because all my shit is at the hotel,” Adam said, flashing a grin.

Adam tapped Kenny on the back to urge him back inside. Adam carried in the plates and his mostly undrunk beer. At the kitchen sink, he chugged a few big gulps and poured the rest of the alcohol down the drain. Adam rinsed and cleaned the dishes, while Kenny finished tidying-up behind him. The domesticity was intoxicating, giving Adam more of a buzz than the beer. It was deceptive too. For a second, Adam could pretend they did this little ritual every night. Clean-up after dinner, put-away all the dishes, and then, turn off the kitchen lights, head for bed. As Adam followed Kenny down the hall to the master bedroom, he rubbed the sweat off his palms and onto his pants legs.

The master bedroom had a large bed, a couch, desk and chair, and a TV on a stand. A sliding door connected to the back patio outside. Airy, light blue curtain hung over the windows and glass. The walls were painted white and the bedding was blue. The typical beach decor was as bland as the rest of the house. Kenny rummaged around in a suitcase, left on a couch with a few stray articles of clothes on the cushions. He procured a set of soft fabric shorts and tossed them to Adam.

“I don’t sleep in pajamas like you do, Pizz,” Kenny said. His early energy was gone and he said all of it like it was a statement of fact. Adam didn't doubt Kenny's ability to put on a show though. Even if he felt like shit he'd find a way to hide it. “So, you’ll just have to do with my work-out clothes. I washed them, I promise.”

“Are you going to sleep in your X-men undies again?” Adam teased. Kenny found a toothbrush but instead of handing it to Adam, he chucked it at Adam’s head. Adam caught the flung toothbrush with a clap of his hands. “Hey, I like Wolverine!”

“No, for the record I wore briefs this time,” Kenny said. He shrugged off his blazer and smiled softly, almost regretfully. “I came prepared.”

Adam stepped around the edge of the room, watching as Kenny peeled off his shirt. He’d seen Kenny shirtless a thousand times. He could map each expanse and stretch of muscle, the powerful curve of his back, his thick arms, and broad shoulders. This time felt special, significant, especially when Kenny glanced over his shoulder at Adam and caught him watching. Adam ducked his head and escaped into the bathroom.

Once the door was closed behind him, he stared at himself in the mirror. Adam splashed cold water on his face and then brushed his teeth. He changed into Kenny’s shorts, used the toilet, and left, wiping his hands on the hand towel. Kenny had changed into a pair of sweat pants and he was yanking the curtains closed over the window. Adam walked-up behind him, hooked an arm around Kenny’s waist and pulling him back to his chest.

“I’ll wait for you in bed,” Adam murmured, dipping his head to speak in Kenny’s ear. “Don’t take too long, I’m tired.”

“Yes, sir,” Kenny chuckled. “You know, I like it when you boss me around.”

“Make sure you wash behind your ears,” Adam ordered, severely.

Adam tapped Kenny’s hip and sent him off towards the bathroom. He turned off the bedroom lights and the nightstand lamp then slid underneath the covers of the bed. It felt like this would be easier if he didn’t have to look at Kenny. Then they wouldn’t have to face anything, just be with each other. The bed was softer than Adam was used to and he fought the mattress to roll over on his side, punching at the pillow to get it shaped right. The ocean rumbled and Adam sighed, exhaling with the tide. He heard the bathroom door open and the latch close behind Kenny. He heard each pad of Kenny’s footsteps on the carpet before the mattress dipped and Kenny slid into bed. Adam rolled over, reaching for Kenny and guiding him closer. Kenny shimmied over and Adam tucked his arm over Kenny’s side, his hand resting over Kenny’s stomach. He pressed his nose into Kenny’s neck and Kenny hooked his calf around Adam’s leg to bring them flush. Every inch of Kenny’s body pressed against Adam. Kenny laid his hand over Adam’s and intertwined their fingers. Kenny rumbled, content, then slid his foot down to put his ice cold toes on Adam’s ankle. Adam jerked, cussing, and Kenny giggled.

Adam’s eyes fluttered closed. Kenny’s breath as gentle as the ocean. He’d been dreaming about this for months, having Kenny back here. The memory of the hotel room a poor substitute for having him under Adam’s arm. Warm, heavy, his pulse tangled with Adam’s. Adam wiggled his arm underneath Kenny and clutched him tighter. He nuzzled his nose into Kenny’s neck. Here he could say anything. Anything at all, whisper it and pretend Kenny was sleeping, and Kenny could pretend he was sleeping if he didn’t want to hear it. And it’d be like a confession, words lost to empty air, absolution offered to wash them clean. Adam opened his mouth and nothing came out. Instead his lips moved and he mouthed, “I love you.” Without uttering a single sound. Then again, “I love you.”

“Adam,” Kenny grunted, and Adam almost panicked, wondering for a second if he had actually said those things out loud. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Adam asked, sleep dragged at his mind, making him a little dumb.

“Staying,” Kenny said. “I know I— I freak-out on you there.”

“It's fine,” Adam whispered. “It happens. Wanna hear a crazy idea I have?”

Kenny shifted, wiggling in Adam’s arms to turn over. Adam grunted when Kenny dug his elbow into his ribs so he could leverage himself onto his opposite side. Kenny buried his face in Adam’s chest and Adam wondered if that was just how he preferred to sleep. Adam rolled onto his back and dragged Kenny with him. He let his fingers play with the ends of Kenny’s hair as the other hand interlaced with Kenny’s on his stomach. Kenny settled himself and Adam licked his lips, just stupid enough to share this crazy idea.

“Hit me, cowboy,” Kenny ordered.

“We leave in the morning,” Adam suggested. “I don’t know where to, maybe nowhere specific, but it’s just the two of us. Sleeping in motels, eating shit at dinners, and working the indies— making like fifty bucks a show, so there’s never enough money but we make it work. Maybe we’re a tag-team again or it’s just us in singles. We dominate the competition, earn those dumb little regional belts we used to own. No more stakes, no more crap, just— wrestling, fun as it used to be.”

“We’d be recognized,” Kenny muttered, and Adam remembered the goofy BTE bits he used to shoot down for Kenny. Poking holes in the logic or saying the joke wasn’t funny. All because he was afraid of committing to an idea. Turn about was fair play he guessed. “We could— we could wear masks.”

“You ever wrestle in a mask?” Adam asked.

“No,” Kenny admitted.

“Sucks,” Adam grunted, “And the moment you did a One-Winged Angel, everyone would know who you are. It’d just be El Generico all over again.”

“We should go horse riding,” Kenny suggested, he yawned. “I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Next time you’re in Virginia,” Adam promised. “I’ll take you.”

“Mhmm, maybe that should be sooner, rather than later,” Kenny smiled. He settled then and Adam shut-up so he could sleep. In a few moments Kenny breathed easily, and steadily, his eyes closed. Adam twirled a black curl around his finger, absent-minded.

“I love you,” he said, to the empty room. An observation, a statement of fact, Adam kissed the top of Kenny’s head. This time, he whispered into those curls, “I love you.”

And then he adjusted himself so he was comfortable in the pillows. Adam sagged, the tension bleeding out of his stiff frame like water. Kenny mumbled softly in his sleep and Adam tucked him close to his side. Thoughts twisted-up in his head, Adam drifted unconscious. Then, when his eyes opened, the room was bright, light spilling in through the thin curtain. The sea raged and the gulls cried. His arm was dead weight, asleep. Adam blinked, lifting his head. In the night, he and Kenny had shifted. Kenny’s head laid on his bicep as he slept. His hand rested on Adam’s chest, fingers crooked. Needing blood flow back in his fingers, Adam slipped his arm out from under Kenny’s head. He sat-up in the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. Adam opened and closed his hand, fingertips tingling painfully. He looked down at Kenny.

His hair was in total disarray, tangled on the pillows. A little bit of drool welled at the corner of his parted lips and he breathed rough, long, slow. Without Adam, he turned onto his side. Adam slid out of the bed. He found his jeans and changed back into his clothes. Adam stepped into his boots and returned to the kitchen. He rummaged in the fridge, the options were meager. Eggs, ketchup, cheese, milk, and luckily, a pack of bacon— probably stuff Kenny bought specifically for breakfast, based on the large container of protein powder beside the fridge. He poked through the cabinets and found the flour from last night, but also sugar, baking powder, cheap imitation vanilla, and salt.

Adam was methodical as he cracked eggs to scramble and for pancakes. He whipped-up the batter in a bowl and found the frying pans in a lower drawer. The back burner slow-cooked bacon with a tantalizing sizzle and on a front burner, Adam cooked the pancakes. Making just enough for him and Kenny. He cleaned-up as he went, leaving dishes on the drying rack. He did the eggs last, scrambling them with cheese and pepper, when he heard the water run, indicating Kenny was up and using the bathroom. A few minutes later Kenny wandered into the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his hands over his eyes. He paused in the doorway, gaping as Adam assembled two plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

“Mornin’,” Adam grunted, as he took a knife and fork out of the drawer. He walked over to the table and sat down.

“You made breakfast? I should invite you over more, geez,” Kenny said. He sat down with his plate. “Did you sleep, okay?”

“Not too bad,” Adam said. He watched as Kenny took a bite of eggs and grinned as Kenny moaned almost obscenely. “Was pretty nice sleeping next to you.”

“Well, cowboy, you can do that anytime you want,” Kenny promised. He tapped his fingers against the table. “So, I guess you’re heading out then?”

“Yeah, I gotta,” Adam said. “I got a seven-hour drive, training and working-out to get on, and like, I’m bleeding money paying my neighbor’s daughter to watch my dogs. But uh, this, thing, last night, it was fun? We should do it again.”

“Including the cuddling?” Kenny asked, propping his chin against his hand. He picked-up a piece of bacon between his fingers and cheekily tore a piece off. “I couldn’t agree more. Especially, if you’re going to cook like this.”

“Definitely the cuddling, you’re a pretty good hand warmer,” Adam nodded. He scrapped the last of the eggs onto his fork and polished it off with some pancake. He stood-up and took his plate to the sink while Kenny finished eating.

Kenny followed Adam out as he returned to his car. They hugged and Adam settled into the driver seat. He recalled the inane story he spun last night, where they go back to the indies and pretended the past year didn’t happen. It wasn’t fleeting because it was impossible. It was simply too late. As Adam turned the ignition he wondered if he could convince Kenny to come back with him to North Carolina instead. Just hide there until the next Dynamite or something. Steal a little bit more time. He put the car in the reverse and let the thought die under the rear wheels.

#ofgrief #‘The Idiot Speaking’ || OOC #‘Beloved’ || Adam and Kenny #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse #i bet there's at least a few typos in this but it's in god's hands now

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 5 years

Text

Valentines in Tibet: Celebrity is as celebrity does

(Newtina ❤️. Thanks @possibility-for-joy for the dialogue prompt, which inspired me to revisit Chamber of Secrets which was a muse for this one-shot. Writing this has been something different for me — fun and hopefully not too contrived. Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone.)

***

February 14, 1990; International Task Force Headquarters in Tibet; International Confederation of Wizards Summit regarding prevention of Muggle sightings of Yetis

***

“Orchideous,” with a whisper, Newt conjured a tiny flower in Tina’s palm.

“It’s beautiful.” She breathed in the flower’s fragrance and filled his hand with hers. For more than sixty years she’d been holding his hands. When their fingers entwined, it always felt like the first time.

“I appreciate you coming with me,” he continued to speak softly, “I recognize that the Tibetan Plateau is far removed from a typical February get-away.”

“When have we ever done anything typical? Besides, it would have been difficult to say no to a personal request from Albus.”

Years ago the professor invited the Scamanders to please use his given name. Tina took to it readily, but Newt still felt more comfortable with the age old formality of ‘Dumbledore.’

“Since the delegation is so small, he appointed someone to oversee the summit in his stead, but he wants us to keep an eye on Lockhart and make sure the Task Force receives accurate information.”

“Having read Lockhart’s books, I admit I’m curious to meet him,” Tina said, “Where is he anyway?”

“Perhaps waiting to make a grand entrance. Based on Skeeter’s reporting of him in the Daily Prophet, that seems his style.”

“You’re still reading that rubbish? I thought we were using Queenie’s subscription to line the Kneazles’ litter boxes.”

“You sound like me, Darling. I can’t seem to help myself. It’s like a train wreck — difficult to look at, yet more difficult to look away.”

Newt and Tina had already taken seats near the podium while most of the delegates and Task Force members milled about the room engaging in conversation. A fire burned in the hearth. The temperature outside was below freezing, and Newt’s bones ached a little. Some days he felt his age.

Tina caressed his palm as they waited. She felt so good, so good to him always.

The Acting Supreme Mugwump, Babajide Akingbade from Uganda, connected briefly with them on his way to the podium. “It’s wonderful to see you, Mr. Scamander, Mrs. Scamander. The Confederation is honored to have you travel so far to share your expertise.”

Newt reluctantly disengaged from the softness of his wife’s caress to shake Akingbade’s extended hand. “It’s good to see you too, sir. I’m happy to help.”

Akingbade greeted Tina with the same expression of gratitude.

“You received the agenda?” he asked them.

Just then, the door burst open, and Gilderoy Lockhart stepped inside with a flourish of his cloak. His personal photographer followed close on his heels.

“I apologize for my delay,” he announced to the room, flashing a broad vacant smile and extremely white teeth, “My publisher insisted I make a brief stop at the capital city to take photographs for inclusion in my upcoming autobiography... Magical Me.”

He paused for a moment to smooth his hair and adjust his lilac-colored ascot. Tina rolled her eyes. “Is this guy for real?” she whispered to Newt.

“I’m not sure yet.”

Akingbade greeted Lockhart and pointed him to his seat on the opposite side of the podium. Lockhart caught sight of Newt and Tina and approached, snapping his fingers, “Photographer! One with the Scamanders.”

Lockhart positioned himself behind Newt and Tina, and placed his hands on their shoulders. “Fellow heroes,” he spoke of Newt and Tina without actually saying hello. The camera flashed. “Fame is a fickle friend, ...unless you work at it, of course.”

He slapped them on the shoulders and winked at Tina. She feigned a cough to conceal emerging laughter. Newt watched with keen interest as Lockhart made his way to his seat.

“Everyone, please be seated,” Akingbade announced before diving into the Summit.

“Thank you all for being here. The Task Force has called our attention to Yeti activity which over the past year has become an increasing threat to Clause 73 of the Statute of Secrecy. In lieu of continuing to fine the region. the Confederation has responded by convening this meeting with two experts, Newt Scamander and Gilderoy Lockhart, who each have extensive experience observing and interacting with the Yeti. Our goal is to develop improved strategy for the Task Force to prevent the Yeti from revealing the Magical World. Our first speaker...”

Lockhart stepped up to the podium. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

The Acting Supreme Mugwump stepped aside.

“Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, inventor of Occamy egg yolk shampoo which guarantees locks of luminosity, and, thus far, three times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award. But I don’t talk about that. ...I didn’t tame a wild Yeti by smiling at him, now did I.”

He removed his cloak and tossed it into the audience. The witch who caught it blushed noticeably.

“We’re just going to listen to this idiot?” Tina muttered under her breath with fists clenched, “He uses unhatched Occamies to make shampoo?!”

“It appears we don’t have a choice right now but to listen.” Newt covered her hand with his and stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “It’ll be alright. It’ll be alright.”

Occamies had been in some respects the beginning of everything for them. An Occamy hatchling had been the first magical beast that Tina had ever held and looked at with wonder. She was very protective of them.

Lockhart continued, “Can everybody see me? Can you all hear me?” He glanced around the audience to ensure nobody’s view of him was obstructed. Nodding heads assured him.

“The books I’ve written detail my encounters with dark creatures and provide instructions on how to safely repel them: Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, Break with a Banshee, Gadding with Ghouls, Holidays with Hags, Travels with Trolls, Voyages with Vampires, Wanderings with Werewolves, Marauding with Monsters, and Year with the Yeti. The latter may be most relevant to our task at hand, but I’m sure you’ll find the others thoroughly enjoyable. They can all be purchased through Flourish and Blotts.”

A wizard on the Task Force raised his hand and asked, “In your year with the Yeti, how did you tame them? They’ve been pushing at our borders. They devour everything that strays into their path, including Muggles. The only thing that’s been working to repel them is fire.”

“Well it was simple really. I gave them head colds, and they returned to their ice caves. For full details, see my published work.”

Realizing this discussion was going nowhere, Akingbade stepped up to the podium. “Thank you, Mr. Lockhart.” Several witches and a couple of wizards initiated a round of applause. Lockhart took a bow before returning to his seat.

“Now, Mr. Scamander, can you please offer us further enlightenment?” Akingbade asked.

Newt stepped to the podium. His silver hair reflected the firelight. How attraction could grow finer with time, Tina didn’t understand, but it was the case with them nonetheless. She loved to watch him work, in all of his capacities.

He looked at her before beginning his speech. Her eyes were reassuring, eternally reflective of the fire within her spirit, ageless in a world growing old.

“Hello. As we talk about the requirements of the Statue of Secrecy, we must not forget the primary intention of Clause 73 which is expressed in its introductory language, ‘Each wizarding governing body will be responsible for the concealment, care, and control of all magical beasts, beings, and spirits dwelling within its territory’s borders...’ The word there that I haven’t heard mentioned yet today is CARE.

“We have a responsibility to care for these creatures and consider their needs along with our need for secrecy and Muggle safety. Without the protection of this Task Force, Muggles would hunt the Yeti. Some already claim to. The Yeti would soon face extinction.

“During my time studying the Yeti, I observed that individuals have seasonal migration patterns and often must travel long distances to hunt and forage or else suffer starvation. Many also travel far to seek out mates. This ensures a genetically healthy population. Please consider the Task Force may be too severely limiting their natural range, and the Yeti are merely pushing those borders in order to survive.

“Also, consider the possibility that Yeti unrest is mirroring recent civil unrest in the region. My wife is more versed in Muggle politics. Tina, can you explain.”

Tina looked to Akingbade who nodded. She said, “When monks in the Drepung and Sera monasteries started protesting for the independence of Tibet, the Chinese government halted reforms and started an anti-separatist campaign. Last June, thousands of students demonstrating in Beijing with a hunger strike, sit-in and occupation of Tiananmen Square were massacred by their government. Muggles of the region are wanting more freedom, fundamental liberties, and so may be the Yeti.”

Newt added, “Also, with the exploding human population in the region and worldwide, more communities are pushing up into the mountains which are the Yetis’ homeland.

“Safer measures can be taken besides flaming torches to force the Yeti into reserved areas too small for their hunting, foraging, and reproductive needs, then slaughtering those that continue to venture beyond the boundaries set by the Task Force. Broader boundaries, wider use of protective enchantments, a larger Task Force including intensive training in memory charms...

Lockhart jumped in, “I have exceptional talent with memory charms.”

Newt ignored him. “Our responsibility to ensure the Yeti’s concealment, protection, and vitality is not simply dictated by this Confederation and Clause 73 of the Statue of Secrecy. ...We know it in our hearts. There is a strange beauty and resonance with these creatures. Though savage and untamable, they are an integral part of the ecology of this region. They have a right to the fundamental nature of their existence. ...Each of you must know that. In your hearts, you must know.”

The room was silent. Hearts and minds were opening. Newt’s means of gentle education was one of his most unique gifts, honed throughout his lifetime.

“That’s all I had planned to say.”

Akingbade began, “Thank you, Mr. Scamander, Mrs. Scamander—“ when he was suddenly cut off by a cacophony of hooting and screeching on the roof. A wizard opened the door and at least a hundred owls swooped in, dropping pink and red envelopes in the vicinity of Lockhart.

“Ah,” he said, “This happens to me every Valentine’s Day. Celebrity is as celebrity does, you know.”

Tina’s earlier question rang through Newt’s mind along with the incessant hoots and screeches. We’re just going to listen to this idiot?

They looked at each other. Tina’s eyes were burning with annoyance, a look which Newt unfortunately knew quite well. They had listened long enough.

“Well, we must be going now. Tina and I have another engagement. You’re welcome to contact us with further questions ...that is, when the owls are available again.” The birds continued to swoop overhead.

He held Tina’s hand.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“After putting up with this, Love, the choice is all yours.”

“As I said before, when have we ever done anything typical? The day is still young. Let’s get out of here.”

She apparated them to their next adventure.

#old newtina is my heart #newtina #newtina fanfiction #newt scamander #tina goldstein #gilderoy lockhart #fantastic beasts #valentines day #valentines #harry potter #chamber of secrets #occamy #dialogue prompts

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unikornu · 4 years

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Page 13, Reassurance,

Early morning at Nuka Town gives impression that its still asleep but it never is. Raider patrols are always on their watch to make sure traders do not slack and prepare their stations, just without excessive shouting due to early hours and half of them being hangover. Neither asleep was Gage and Lucy. They were heading relaxed towards the south exit, wind blowing rather strong today, raising the dust particles and paper scraps in the air.

-You look rather…uhmm professional today, Boss. Gage pointed out looking at the white sturdy vest with a high collar around the neck. It was striking Institute right in the face but it had more combat aspect to it rather than the appearance of the usual lab coat especially that she still kept her spiked bracers on. With a tight pants and sleeves combined with some additional reinforcements into the grey fabric it almost looked like a field agent suit. He wasn’t complaining one bit about it, once he took a good look at her back and dropped his eye lower.

- Ekhem. Lucy grunted under her nose pulling her hair into a ponytail and directing his attention back up to her. - Since Lizzie managed to burn holes in my usual clothes after last trip i had to find a temporary replacement. Institute provided me with it as i agreed to be their agent on the ground before i came here.

- Institute shitheads…i really hope they won’t interfere with our plan Boss. I know they are involved in some shady stuff out there but, shit… you have been there, ya know better, i hope. Gage looked at her raising his eyebrow. He knew the eggheads were the only ones Lucy didn’t turn away so far, hell, she’s been even sending them occasional reports on her situation and to his surprise after each one sent there would a package awaiting for them under the famous corpse “decorated’ tree that was burning each night spreading the smoke and stench of fresh victims that didn’t escape the gangs thirst for caps and blood.

- I think they just want to survive and reach their own goals, pushing their plans, no matter the cost even if its humanity…not so different than us, don’t ya think? We, here, just lack uhm, some control and manners i guess? And we don’t run around in clean lab coats. She ended her thought with a shrug looking for a small confirmation back from the raider.

-Maybe….i dunno Boss..but still, lots of folks out there never dare to raise their fucking nose higher out of their stupid little lives to see all of this deeper like us, so we will have to deal with their opinion the usual way, my favorite one. He smiled with a corner of his mouth at the thought.

They passed the station and decided to take the first stop at the remains of the small town nearby.

----- -So who are those Hubologists that we are about to visit? Never heard of them. Are they any threat to us?

-Threat? - Gage laughed. -No…but they sure are weird as fuck. I pointed a gun at one of them once and the shithead still asked me if i’m truly happy. And then he just walked away like nothing happened. I guess we find out more today, Boss.

They strolled slowly through the ruins with their weapons prepared for any surprise awaiting in the shady, crumbling corners. Instead they heard some voices deeper into the town and sounds of a brawl. They nodded at each other and rushed towards the noise. Peeking from behind the wall they noticed a troubled caravan trying to fend off a group of hungry oversized crickets.

-Cmon Gage, lets help them first and ask questions later. She ordered but Gage hesitated a bit as he wasn’t always feeling like giving a helping hand to a strangers but eventually listened and went after her, growling under the nose. After a short struggle with nasty jumpy invaders traders turned towards the duo pointing their guns at them. There were five of them, three men dressed as an escort and two women.

- Easy there. Lucy backed off a step, raising her knife in the air. - We just saw you were in trouble and felt like jumping in.

- Right…i’m sorry. We just prefer to be sure you are not raiders trying to steal from us. Eh, its ok men. Just put the gun down. The woman with short dark blond hair stepped out and ordered.

- Are you a trader? And how did you end up here? It’s not very….common road. Lucy punched Gage with an elbow to put his rifle down as well.

- Yes, we are merchants. I’m Cora. After our village didn’t survive the attack of the super mutants we decided to move on and we heard about Diamond City. We are just on our way there. Are you from…? She looked down at her suit squinting her eyes in suspicion.

-Institute? Oh no no…i’m just a field scientist, Lucy, helping some folks in Nuka Town with local…flora and getting some materials for my work. She lied and smiled at her. - And this is my lovely mercenary Porter that i hired to protect me out there. Lot of nasty bugs. She patted him on the shoulder like a good pup. Gage was about to punch her in the arm but noticed what she was stirring there and decided to leave it for later. - You mentioned Diamond City? Its still a long road. Why don’t you just stop by the Nuka Town?

- We actually never heard of it. Everyone were saying that Diamond City is the best stopping big point right now and very safe for traders.

- Of course, because they have never been in Nuka Town. It is as safe as Diamond City and i can guarantee you that can get really good deals there. And as a scientist i do have quite high standards. You should really check it out first, with your group you can get there in around two hours. Look i can show you in this tiny little device. She approached Cora and showed her a location of Nuka Town on her map. With her looks and some basic science babble on how she got a working pipboy she managed to convince them to stop by Nuka Town.

-Dayum Boss…i was not expecting you doing that. He whispered to her as they were waving back at the Cora in the distance.

-Doing what? Lying to them…partly? They sat in the patio chairs in the camp left by traders to catch on a snack and drink before moving to Hubologists.

- You know what’s gonna happen. You might see them in a few days..just they won’t be that grateful this time but..screw em. You just pushed yourself to the next level Boss. Gage grinned proudly but Lucy got stirred for a moment in her thought process on what she just did. It all happened so natural and fast, no doubt stopped her at any second of it. Was she becoming truly evil, heartless? Or just stepping up in a survival ladder and shaping every occasion to benefit her community.

- Hey Boss…heyyyyy. He shook her by the shoulder.

-Ugh sorry i got caught again in some..thoughts. She raised her hand and brushed the inner corners of her eyes. Gage wasn’t very much for a talk but he at least wanted to show at least a little bit of interest beyond the usual routine from time to time.

-Um..something troubling you Boss? He asked and offered her a cigarette.

- Did you ever lie so much in your life that you actually felt bad for it at some point? She snatched a smoke out of the pack.

- I don’t think so Boss….as i started my fucked up “career” quite early. I kind of lied to my parents promising them to take care of everything as i grow up, be a good man or some shit. I ended up just taking care of myself but i accepted the facts and moved on pretty fast. He lighted one for himself and stuffed the pack back into his pocket in ugly fashion.

- I lied to my partner before, our whole time actually but i loved him at the same time. The longer it was going the easier was lying but at the end of the day i felt more and more like shit for hiding what i was doing, with my boss and the gangs. And he truly loved me back and believed everything to the very end. It wasn’t fair for him. She left out a deep sigh along with the smoke.

-Look..Boss. That is gone and none of it matter here anymore. I don’t care who you were before. What is fucking important is if what ya do feels right for ya and if it keeps your head on your shoulders. Sometimes you might need to dirty your hands up to get there but…yeh. Gage stood up and threw a smoke to the ground.

-So far you didn’t have to lie to yourself, neither to me as you came here so i guess….you’re good eh? He looked down at her, with reassuring smile and offered her a hand. He usually failed at offering any kind of support other than the one related to bullets but he was quite convinced he managed to deliver some of it this time.

- Ye…i think you are right, okay, enough of this. Lets go. She grabbed his palm and pulled herself up focusing her mind back to their daily task. He was right, she even told him back at cappy cafe that she can finally openly express how partly wicked she is and the only consequence is a bullet in her or someone's else head.

Upon entering a a Hubologists camp Lucy immediately rolled her eyes towards the huge fire hydrant. She was about to say how fucked up of an idea it is but then again it was Nuka World so this was still falling into almost normal category along with museum of shovels.

-Welcome stranger! I’m Dara. A woman with grey short hair wearing something that looked like a spacesuit…more of a costume than a spacesuit came right up to them. Her overwarm welcoming already felt strange.

-Uhmm hello? You are the leader of hubologist? Lucy asked.

-So you heard of us? Fantastic! I was hoping you would finally join us on this great path that Star Father has guided us towards! Dara started explaining the greatness of her “cult” and Lucy slowly started to get the idea of what they are, as along with Gage her face was twisting into a confusion and she abruptly stopped Dara from talking any further, raising the palm of her hand in front of the woman.

- Dara…ye? No offense but..you guys are fucked up in the head quite…much, not sure on what drugs are you but even i wouldn’t dare to try, so..i will pass on further..cosmic story. Gage hold his chuckle to himself as Lucy pointed out with total seriousness in her voice.

- It’s a shame then that you think that but… i might have something else for you then. Dara face also turned into serious expression, losing her crazy vibe in that moment. - I need more spacesuits from the Galaxy Zone you look quite…for a task.

- Oh, really? Spacesuits? What the hell you need spacesuits for? Lucy looked at Gage but he only gave her a shrug back.

- Its none of your business right now. Get them first and then maybe we will talk further as we will be preparing for our journey out of this shithole. Lucy was about to turn her down but the idea of some extra caps wasn’t that bad and they were headed to the Galaxy Park next anyway. And if they were planning to get out anyway why not help them.

- How much you pay? She asked.

- Enough to convince you to take up on a task and leave right now. Dara looked at the man in a hood nearby, pointing at the laser rifle in his hands.

- Fine, we will meet later. She turned away and pulled the Gage after her, leaving their camp.

-----

Lucy decided to head back to Fizztop. Further preparations had to be done before giving a hit to the last park. From the description of it on a colorful pamphlet they indeed needed some pulse grenades to deal with robotics that might still be in there.

-Boss, i know they don’t cause any issues and they are fucked up crazy but we will have to get rid of them at some point, one way or another. Gage pointed out as they were crossing the town.

-We will Gage, don’t worry. I still have to stop by Lizzie to check how she’s doing on those grenades. We will meet later at Fizztop. Lucy took a sharp turn towards Parlor, leaving troubled raider to himself.

As the afternoon passed and it turned into late evening Gage decided to take a break from tinkering with his weaponry and leaving some notes on the terminal, that now changed its purpose along with the new Overboss. He heard a silent guitar notes coming from the radio, striking in the air to the hall. Gage walked towards the patio stretching his arms and neck on the way.

-Hey Boss, what ya doin? Been pretty silent here since you came back from Parlor. He approached her sitting at the bar with a bottle of wine and two empty glasses.

-Was waiting for you actually. She poured a bit of wine into both glasses and stood up from the the bar stool.

-Huh..me, why? Gage asked nervously and his eye opened more widely, noticing what she was wearing. It looked almost like a cocktail dress from a parlor ripped poster, black and glittery -Something specific on your mind Boss?

-Just a small occasional toast, for a job well done so far. We are going down to the last park very soon. She stretched her hand offering him a drink.

-Ye, i guess that can’t hurt. He took it gently and smelled the booze inside before clinking the glasses with her. - Also, where did you get all of…. that? He scanned her from head to toes leaning to the side against the bar.

-Oh..a recompense from Lizzie on turning my last one into a swiss cheese. She found it somewhere deep into the storage room and snatched it before Mags threw it away by mistake. - You like it…? She gave a fast spin and noticed him trying to resist the smile growing to the sides of his face.

-Well, your ass always looks great but…that is something..else. He brushed the back of his neck and pushed himself away from the bar preparing slowly to leave before she would catch him and convince to do more unprofessional business.

-Gage listen, i know you hate these kind of chit chats but…

She took his hand and pulled him close to her. - I just wanted to tell you that i feel good so far…where i am and what we do together, to get this place back for us. She bit her lips nervously and slowly looked up in his eye.

-I thought it would be the end of my fucked life…that the gauntlet would take my sorry ass or you right after it. She joked trying not to scare him too much with her words. - But look, i was lost when everything blew up and went to shit and i finally feel like i found my place in this garbage and also...there is you, protecting and covering up for my dumb mistakes and i just...appreciate it, i guess. Her eyes rolled nervously around before looking at him again.

-Uhm…shit…Boss i…i am glad you think so.. really..i do. And you are not that dumb..i mean just…impulsive. His brain was storming to find literally anything better to say at this moment as she started to gaze at him. - Look, i know we are kinda busy, deep in work and shit and its been some time but…i am happy it was you who showed up here...and that i didn’t have to kill ya. He managed to joke back at her and calmed down a bit as the smile showed up at her face in a response.

He almost took a step back as she put her hands around his neck trying not to blush like some kind of soft fucker. But on the other side he felt a pinch of pride mixed with surprise, that she was saying all of these words to him, only. That she was standing there looking like from some damn magazine, for him. He almost felt like he didn’t deserve all of this trust and sweet talk at this moment but he wouldn’t dare to throw it away either.

-Just stay, tonight. I won’t torture you further with my shitty talk. She whispered as she leaned herself on his chest. He wrapped his arm firmly around her waist. That was indeed something else, more meaningful, not just joking around and some occasional corner teasing and kissing.

-Hey..when i shouted in your face that i care about you i did fucking mean it. I’m not good at these talks..and stuff but maybe that will do…. He placed his both hands at her waist almost tempted to drop them even lower on her ass and started slowly swinging with her to the sides in the tune of the radio.

-Gage..but you hate….

-But you like it so…shut up. He interrupted her and endured another round of slow dancing.

Lucy tried to turn her head to hide the wide grin but got caught in a surprise kiss from the raider. There was nothing else to be said. Just them, swinging slowly, being reassured in their future plan and each other. Only the swinging didn’t last so long as the kiss and temptation led them both pretty fast to a nearby couch for the rest of the evening.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #nuka world #lucy's diary #lucy feit #porter gage #screenshot #thrax's action poses #pose it mod

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little-bit-of-cinnamon · 5 years

Text

Cafe Helado con Leche - Sonny x Pete

Would you please write a fanfic about them? Maybe that cliche Pete comes in and buys the same coffee order every day so /of course/ Sonny memorized it and... cliche occurs. Would you please write a fanfic about them? Maybe that cliche Pete comes in and buys the same coffee order every day so /of course/ Sonny memorized it and... cliche occurs.

Following Pete and his coffee from ages 8-18

2.1k words

Mentioned minor character death but nothing heavy

Disclaimer!! All the spanish used is my own, correct me if I’m wrong!! I’m conversationally fluent but I’m not by any means claiming that all spanish used is correct or perfect

Some had said that Pete was too young to be drinking coffee, but he didn’t mind. The coffee at the de la Vega’s bodega was cheap and it was something he could rely on, a daily routine. So, ever since he was hardly taller than the counter, he went in every day. Saved quarters and dimes from couch cushions and sidewalks to be able to pay for a medium iced coffee with milk. It was among the few consistent things in his life.

The person behind the counter changed with the years but the taste of the not-too-bitter and sometimes-too-cold coffee stayed the same. When he first started coming to the bodega he was met with Señora de la Vega and a heavily accented “Aren’t you too small for this caffeine, hijo?” but she gave it to him nonetheless with a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” he was on his way.

Drinking coffee made him feel grown up. With no family consistently supporting him Pete was forced to grow up fast. If he had to walk himself to school and make himself dinner like an adult then he at least deserved to drink coffee like one, even if he was only eight. His routine remained constant for two years before anything drastic happened. He would walk to the bodega after school and order his drink, politely chatting with either Señor or Señora de la Vega as it brewed. In the fall when he was ten the bodega would be closed some days. Pete didn’t think much of it. He ignored the headaches that the lack of caffeine caused and waited for the next day when he would stop by again. On the days the store was open the owners seemed tired, less chatty so Pete quietly waited for his drink, not wanting to bother them with unnecessary conversation. Throughout all this, the “Thank you, ma’am” or “Thank you, sir” and the “De nada, hijo,” stayed the same.

Around Christmas time the bodega was closed for weeks. Pete didn’t dare go anywhere else for his coffee. It wouldn’t be the same. He used the dollar he saved each day to buy art supplies and he began to fall in love with painting. He started to spend more time with the kids in high school and learned how to use spray paint. His art on abandoned buildings was like a physical representation of any emotions he hadn’t learned how to express.

He was walking home with his paints in his beat-up backpack when he noticed a light on in the bodega across the street. Hastily looking for cars Pete ran across and stepped inside, the familiar sound of the bells jingling as he opened the door. Behind the counter was not the owners he had gotten used to over the past couple years but a boy, hardly sixteen, looking exhausted and reading a textbook. He didn’t even seem to notice Pete walking in.

“Hey man,” Pete said when he approached the counter “can I get a medium iced coffee with milk?”

“Café helado con leche? Are you the same guy my parents used to talk about?” The boy smiled, wrinkling the edges of his tired eyes. “They used to talk about a little guy with that same order coming in every day”

“Yeah, that sounds like me,” Pete said. “Your folks own this place?”

“They did. They, uh, actually passed a couple weeks ago.” The boy’s smile faded as he placed Pete’s order on the counter. “That’s gonna be a dollar.”

Pete put his folded dollar bill on the counter, too embarrassed to make eye contact. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Not your fault,” the boy said, opening his textbook and pulling a notebook from under the counter. “Have a good one.”

As time went on and Pete continued painting he began to earn a reputation around the barrio. People began to think of him as delinquent, a teenager with no respect for authority or the community. It didn’t bother Pete much because he knew they were wrong. He wasn’t trying to harm anyone. He was trying to express himself in the only way he knew how. Pete was thirteen one day when he entered the bodega. He opened his backpack to fish out the dollar for his coffee, his spray cans knocking together and making a soft metallic sound.

“Aren’t you too small to be tagging buildings?” The resemblance between Usnavi and his mother had never been so obvious.

He continued to see Usnavi every day and eventually stopped trying to convince him that he wasn't actually so rebellious or criminal. Pete got his coffee and Usnavi got paid.

Besides, Pete wasn’t too worried about what his local bodega owner thought of him. He had a good group of friends who would hang out with him so he had something to do instead of going home. Pete had a solid group that he could go out for dollar slices with and who would walk anywhere but home with him, ignoring their curfews. The high school kids who taught Pete to paint had since graduated, leaving him to make friends in his own classes and in the neighborhood.

That was how Pete met Sonny. Pete was alone that day, his friends busy with work or family or whatever reasons they provided that they couldn’t hang out. But loneliness was an issue that a greasy slice of pizza from the parlor down the block could easily solve.

He got his slice and sat at the bar seating at the window. People watching was one of Pete’s favorite ways to pass the time.

“Yo,” Pete turned in his seat and say a boy, maybe a little younger than him with a green baseball cap and the gap of a missing tooth. “Can I sit here? You look lonely.” Before Pete answered the boy was already climbing into the seat next to him. “Go for it, man. I’m Pete by the way.”

“Sonny,” the boy, or Sonny, replied through a mouth full of pizza.

Pete and Sonny talked and talked until they were forced to order more food or leave. Two slices later they parted ways, but not before making plans to meet there the following day. Pete could tell that they would soon have a unique friendship as he already felt that he had known Sonny for years. Pete learned that Sonny was, in fact, younger than him, twelve to Pete’s fourteen. He learned that Sonny’s parents stayed in DR and he lives with his cousin. He told Sonny about his absent parents and his love for art. It was easier for Pete to talk to Sonny than anyone else, even though they had just met.

Pete and Sonny transitioned from getting pizza together to walking around the barrio together to Sonny watching Pete paint and so on. Soon, whenever they had a free moment they were together.

That summer they were walking down the block, talking about nothing and everything. The sun was pounding down on Pete’s back, enhancing his mixed skin tone. “Damn, it’s hot out.” Pete wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Wanna pop into my cousin’s bodega and grab some ice cream? It’s three blocks that way.” Sonny offered, pointing down the street.

“Hell yeah, Sonny. I knew being friends with you would have benefits.”

They turned down an all too familiar street. “No fucking way,” said Pete, shaking his head as he stepped inside the bodega.

“What?” said Sonny “Something wrong?”

Before Pete could answer Usnavi stepped out from the back, wiping his hands with a towel.

“Sonny, is this the friend you’ve been hanging around with?” Usnavi spoke to Sonny but stared directly at Pete.

“Yeah, Usnavi this is my friend Pete. Pete, this is my cousin Usnavi.” Sonny walked to the freezers for something to cool off with.

“We’ve met,” said Pete. “What’s up Usnavi?” Pete gave Usnavi a small wave and followed Sonny to the ice cream.

“No no no, Sonny you can’t be hanging around with him anymore.”

“What do you mean? Pete’s my best friend.” Sonny headed to the counter, confused.

Pete said nothing, frozen in his tracks.

“Sonny, do you know how hard your tios and I have worked to give you the best life possible? Pete is bad news. I will not let you throw away the life we have worked for so you can hang out with some punk. I just won’t.” Usnavi kept his voice calm and level and it somehow hurt Pete even more.

“He’s not a punk, he’s my best friend. Usnavi, I thought you trusted me.” Sonny looked as hurt as Pete felt.

“I trusted you to make good choices and look who you ended up with. If I can’t trust you to make good choices in your free time you won't have any at all. You’re working here this summer. Pete, you should go.”

Pete knew that Sonny was calling out to him but he was too hurt to actually hear what he was saying. He went outside and walked straight home.

Fortunately, Usnavi’s plan backfired. Having Sonny working at the bodega allowed Usnavi to do paperwork and tasks that he would typically leave until after closing during the day. When it was slow Usnavi would go into the office in the back and work. This allowed for Pete and Sonny to spend more time together than ever.

“Hey, Sonny. I’ll take a medium iced coffee with milk.”

“You got it.” Sonny turned to start making Pete’s drink. “Man, it blows that I have to work here now. I can’t believe Usnavi got so mad. Aren’t there some kinda labor laws or whatever?”

“I guess it’s not that bad. He can’t make you work forever and he’s gotta pay you. Now you can like buy me pizza and stuff.” Pete pushed himself onto the counter, swinging his legs.

“Is my pizza buying ability the only reason you hang out with me?” Sonny handed Pete his coffee.

“Not the only reason.” Pete took a sip. “You also make me coffee.”

Despite Usnavi’s complaints, Pete and Sonny never grew apart. As Sonny got older he gained more independence and Usnavi realized he can’t dictate who he spends time with anymore. Pete continued to hang around the bodega after school and on weekends and Sonny began to willingly work the register, now having actual uses for his paychecks.

“Hey, Sonny.” Pete walked into the bodega and threw his backpack down behind the counter. “I’ll take a-”

“Medium iced coffee with milk. Damn, Pete do you really think I wouldn’t remember after like two years?” Sonny began filling the cup with ice.

“You know me so well it’s scary.”

“No,” Sonny poured the coffee. “I’m just smart enough to notice a pattern when you get the same thing literally every day.”

“Fair enough.”

As time passed Sonny and Pete transitioned from Sonny sitting on the counter eating grape nerds and complaining about homework to Sonny sitting on the counter with Pete standing facing him, stealing quick kisses and resting his forehead on his boyfriend’s. They had it good.

The transition from best friends to boyfriends was easy. They already spent so much time together, creating a nice domestic routine. They’d known each other for so long and cared about each other so deeply that not much changed about their relationship. It was hard for them to not fall in love. It was natural, necessary.

As Pete grew as an artist he was able to make money on painting commissioned murals and artwork for buildings and organizations. He was currently working on painting a brick wall of a rec center. As soon as his shift for the day ended he headed for the bodega, where he knew Sonny was working.

“Hey, Sonshine. It’s hot out there can I get a-”

“Café helado con leche?” Sonny finished for him. “Right here.” Sonny pulled Pete’s already made coffee from the fridge under the counter.

“You really are the perfect boyfriend, huh?” Pete took a sip, “When’d you make this?”

“Um, ten minutes ago?” Sonny glanced at the clock. “Soon as I knew you’d be done working.”

“Yep, definitely perfect.” Pete leaned over the counter, intending to give Sonny a chaste peck but Sonny took hold of Pete’s jaw, pressing further into the kiss. The counter made things a little bit awkward but it was nothing they hadn’t done before. They were lost within each other, too distracted to hear the office door open and close.

“Ay, carajo. No kissing on the clock.”

#in the heights #sonny de la vega #Graffiti Pete #graffiti pete x sonny #ith #twist writes

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keelywolfe · 6 years

Text

FIC: A Perfect Blend

Summary: A community effort requires a community. They're working on it.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Original Undertale Characters, Fluff, Domestic

Notes: This is not what I was supposed to be writing today. I have no control over my writing brain, seriously.

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

It had taken much longer than Edge would have preferred, even with him and Antwan spent any free time they could dealing with red tape and insurance companies, architects and contractors. Months of effort and headaches, but finally all their work was bearing fruit. Barring any hitches, legal or otherwise, (and Red was dealing stringently with those sorts of issues, far from Edge’s plausible deniability) the Beanery would be opening their doors again by the end of the month.

They’d gone with an entirely new location instead of rebuilding over the old, one that was strategically closer to both the Monster community and en route to the college, allowing both of their most common clientele easy access.

The new building had an open floor plan with large windows letting in the light and the sitting area was twice what the older building held. The walls were going to be a clean white with dark wood trim, tasteful art already chosen and waiting to be hung.

Behind a wide counter was the work area, designed with plenty of space for their more esoteric brewing equipment and that combined with the industrial lights overhead gave the shop a bit of a mad scientist effect that Edge knew the college students who had always frequented the shop were going to appreciate.

He suspected Stretch had a hand in the design.

This was his first time in the building and Edge explored it with a jaundiced gaze, looking for any flaw, any issue that would need to be dealt with before the grand opening. Nothing had caught his attention yet, but there was still time for him to ferret out mistakes while he waited for the others to finish the task at hand.

Painting the walls was going take a little time, particularly with this group.

They could have easy paid for professionals to come in and paint the shop; they had retained plenty of local contractors for this project, out of both practicality and a way to build a relationship with other Human businesses.

Stretch had been the one to suggest inviting the Monster community out to help with this portion of the development. Many of them had visited the shop daily and losing the Beanery had something of a ripple effect. Without their welcoming coffee shop to start the day, less and less Monsters had bothered to come into town at all, isolating themselves within New New Home.

A lack of Monsters in the Human community meant a lack of adjustment to their presence and while Stretch never let himself be held back from visiting his favorite places, one skeleton couldn’t do it all on his own.

“people loved the beanery and everyone who worked there,” Stretch argued to Edge when he’d absently mentioned they were looking into contracting it out, “they wanna help and you guys need to let them.”

He’d been quickly proven right; the signup sheet filled up in less than an hour. Plenty of Monsters were bereft without the Beanery and there had been little they could do to assist in rebuilding, until now.

It was a small gesture and with the size of their group, they’d be done quickly. But the show of support would be priceless. Most of them were already hard at work, and if they lacked the skill of professionals, at least they worked with enthusiasm.

Speaking of…

“hey, babe,” Stretch said cheerily when Edge walked over to him. Normally, Edge would steal a soft kiss or a touch, but Edge was fond of his outfit so today was going to be an exception to the rule. How Stretch managed to get so much paint smeared on his clothes in such a short time, Edge would never know. Jeff was standing next to him and if he wasn’t quite as liberally decorated as Stretch, it was a close thing. “how is it looking? not bad, right?”

For all that his technique was haphazard, to put it generously, it looked acceptable enough. It was a good thing that all of the wood paneling and tables had been carefully covered before they began.

“Your painting is better than your fundraising suggestions,” Edge said dryly.

Stretch only snickered but Jeff raised a curious eyebrow, “Why? What was your idea?” He shifted on his paint-daubed sneakers uncomfortably, but managed to add, “And, um, I thought you guys were okay with money?”

“eh, we don’t really need the cash,” Stretch shrugged, dabbing at the wall with his brush. “but the public relations department likes to do different things, right, babe?”

“It helps build a relationship with the Human community,” Edge agreed. “However, I don’t believe a nude Monster calendar would give us the kind of exposure we’re looking for—” Edge stopped and closed his sockets, pained, as Stretch and Jeff both cracked up with laughter.

“good one, babe,” Stretch chuckled. Absently, he scratched at his cheek bone with the back of his hand and managed to smear paint across his face. The white against bone gave him something of a ghostly appearance. “anyway, what we decided on was a joint effort between the beanery and our local monster bakery.”

“They are going to supply baked goods for them to sell and we’ll have advertisements here on how a portion of the sales go to support different non-profits in the area,” Edge agreed, trying not to think about how he was getting these two into his car. Hopefully there were a couple leftover drop cloths. “It’s mutually beneficial. That will provide good PR and awareness for everyone, the Monster community and the nonprofits.”

“Really? Like for veterans and stuff?” Edge didn’t know the meaning behind the glance Jeff and Stretch exchanged, but he made a note of it. Much as he appreciated their close friendship and the support it gave Stretch, part of Edge sensed trouble surrounding these two like a miasma. Better to be prepared for whatever they stumbled into.

Not to the point of secreting tracking devices on them, of course, but there were certain days that Edge saw the appeal in his brother’s approach.

Instead of asking, though, he only nodded. “Oh, yes. For example, our first organization is one providing equine therapy for veterans and children with disabilities. A couple of my boys from the Y have gotten involved and it’s been a valuable resource for them.”

“That sounds like a pretty good way of doing things,” Jeff admitted. “If you ever need any help, let me know, yeah?”

“Actually, we do have an opening available in the Public Relations dep—” Edge began, only to be interrupted.

“shit,” Stretch yelped, “here, here, help!”

It was with no little frustration that Edge let go of his lost opportunity to steal Jeff from his current employment and instead watched his two stooges struggle to keep a ladder from overturning, the paint can at the top wobbling dangerously.

He should have banned these two from ladder access before they ever got here and now it was too late. Missed opportunities abounded today, it seemed.

Trying to take it away would probably get him an argument from the both of them and Antwan hadn’t been able to come, so Edge wouldn’t have any backup. In other words, not worth the effort to fight a battle he wasn’t likely to win.

He kept his magic at the ready, though, and two-thirds of his attention on these fools as they worked. Stretch wouldn’t be able to stay angry for long if Edge had to turn his soul blue to keep him from landing headfirst on the floor.

His remaining attention was on the rest of the room where groups of Monsters were gathered at each wall, all of them painting amidst laughter and chatter. Monsters young and old had come, alone and with their families, and all of them eager to help.

Edge stood back in the middle of the plastic-draped tables, watching, and only glanced to the side when he felt a presence next to him. Debbie stood there, watching. She dressed like she would have any day at the Beanery, down to her apron and her tidy ponytail. That, at least, had not changed. There was a coffee cup in her hands, wafting a gentle steam.

They stood in silence together for a long moment, watching the hard work and laughter of the others.

“I can’t possibly thank you enough for this,” Debbie said quietly.

“You don’t need to thank me, the Embassy—” Edge began, automatically. He broke off, startled, when she nudged him lightly in the ribs with an elbow. At her height, she had to reach up to do it.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to slip a thank you?” Debbie scolded lightly. Her smile was teasingly warm but there was no mistaking her gratitude, shining in her damp eyes.

“I…suppose not,” Edge said, slowly. Red did sometimes extol the benefits of using the gratitude of others, but Edge sincerely doubted that was what she meant. “Debbie, what happened to the Beanery was not our fault but there is no getting around the fact that it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been an adamant supporter of ours.”

Carefully, he reached over to settle a gloved hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You gave us a place in your world to be ourselves, you gave us normalcy when all too often, we stand outside. For what you gave us, it’s our turn to support you. I’ll accept your thank you, if you’ll accept mine, for allowing us to give you this. The Beanery was never just a coffee shop. Not to us.”

“Blast it,” Debbie let out in a watery sigh, pulling up her apron with her free hand and dabbing at her eyes. “All right, enough of that. Honestly, I came over here because I wanted to give you this.” She held up the cup in her hand. It was plain black, thick ceramic, and large enough to hold a generous serving. “It’s the first cup of coffee in our new building. Your usual.”

Oh.

He took it from her, held the mug up in both hands and breathed in the aroma, beautiful, rich darkness. Pitch-black coffee, roasted in house, and that first sip carried with it memories that were as sweet as the coffee was delicately bitter. He rolled it over his tongue before swallowing with a heartfelt sigh.

“It’s perfect,” Edge told her, and Debbie grinned.

“That’s what I like to hear.” She nodded at the others, dropping her voice conspiratorially, “I’ve got drinks and pastries for everyone when they’re done, but I thought it was better not to mention the lemon bars until he was finished, or they might never get started.”

“Good choice,” Edge chuckled. He didn’t flinch when Debbie gave him a gentle pat on the back before she went back behind the counter to finish setting up equipment. His back was probably as high as she could reach without a stepstool, he thought ruefully.

After the painting was finished, they would be bringing in carpenters to add shelves to the walls for displaying the various coffee beans and teas that the shop carried. The floor still needed tiled and there were plenty of small details to tend to yet.

But by the end of the month, the new Beanery would be open for business. The plastic on the tables would be removed and they would be filled with people, Humans and Monsters, couples and college students as they enjoyed coffee and pastries, indulging in both treats and community. A place for Monsters to slowly work towards joining the Aboveground.

Quite the burden to place on a coffee shop, but then, as Edge had said, it had never been just a coffee shop. Not to them.

Edge sipped his coffee peaceably, watching his family and his people laugh together as they worked, waiting for them to finish and join him.

-finis

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underswap papyrus #underfell papyrus #by any other name

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ramrodd · 5 years

Video

youtube

A Protestant Talks With a Catholic Priest

COMMENTARY:

I'm writing as I watch this and I have paused at timestamp 4:48. So far, so good. I was raised in the communion of the Army Protestant Chapel and I was confirmed in the Chapel of the Centurion at Ft. Monroe sometime in my junior year of high school, 6 months before I heard Sergeant Pepper's, Ode to Billy Joe for the first time and that John McCain was having Christmas in the Hanoi Hilton, after a tour of the medical services of a city being bombed by guys just like him before he intercepted a SAM in his F-8. That can spoil your wholle day.

I'm not Catholic and an really don't trust their version of Jesus because of all the blatant pedophiles in the cloth. The orthodox understanding of St. Paul, the man, is that he is like Peter, a confirmed celebant long before he was crucified. He had effectively given up sex by the time he gave up fishing for a living, but it was just like Spencer Tracy in "The Old Man and the Sea". As a history major, you do understand that Hemingway wrote that as a fable of St. Peter fulfilling his commission to "Feed My Sheep". It is a very elegant Catholic parable. A lot of spanish sunlight, like the moment of truth in “7 Spanish Angels”. This is I'm writing as I write this and I have paused at timestamp 4:48. So far, so good. I was raised in the communion of the Army Protestant Chapel and I was confirmed in the Chapel of the Centurion at Ft. Monroe sometime in my junior year of high school, 6 months before I heard Sergeant Pepper's, Ode to Billy Joe for the first time and that John McCain was having Christmas in the Hanoi Hilton, after a tour of the medical services of a city being bombed by guys just like him before he intercepted a SAM in his F-8. That can spoil your wholale day.

I'm not Catholic and an really don't trust their version of Jesus because of all the blatant pedophiles in the cloth. The orthodox understanding of St. Paul, the man, is that he is like Peter, a confirmed celebant long before he was crucified. He had effectively given up sex by the time he gave up fishing for a living, but it was just like Spencer Tracy in "The Old Man and the Sea". As a history major, you do understand that Hemingway wrote that as a fable of St. Peter fulfilling his commission to "Feed My Sheep". It is a very elegant Catholic parable. A lot of spanish sunlight at the moment of truth in “7 Spanish Angels”, only it's just another day in paradise, doing the Lord's I'm writing as I write this and I have paused at timestamp 4:48. So far, so good. I was raised in the communion of the Army Protestant Chapel and I was confirmed in the Chapel of the Centurion at Ft. Monroe sometime in my junior year of high school, 6 months before I heard Sergeant Pepper's, Ode to Billy Joe for the first time and that John McCain was having Christmas in the Hanoi Hilton, after a tour of the medical services of a city being bombed by guys just like him before he intercepted a SAM in his F-8. That can spoil your wholale day.

That's who Peter is, That's who this priest is selling and it's a true portrait, but both Rome and Canterbury do a bit of bait and switch and hand off most of their intellectual grounding to Paul and Paul is as queer as a $3 bill, but everybody pretends he is just exactly like Peter OR if he's queer, then so is Jesus and it goes on and on. Peter was raised as a Jew in a very circumscribed sexual climate focused intently, and exclusively, on reproduction. Producing children as a divine obsession. The reason they rested on the 7th day was so they could fuck and if you only fucked on the Sabbath, the law of averages was working for you to that end. And women, who have had children and like the process, come to know exactly when they are ripe for baby making. I've had a lot of sex with a lot of women who had acquired that sense of their own bodies and I've had sex with a whole lot more women who didn't but knew that when they needed to fuck they could count on me.

Paul came from a Greek culture where naked wrestling was encouraged and there was (and may still be) a respected tradition of legal male union as a religious pre-Christian ritual, which is exactly what the circumcision of Timothy is all about, but everybody pretends is an expedient measure allowing Timothy to move in and out of Synagogues, legitimately. It's is an expedient measure, but it provided Paul the sexual outlet he required to soothe his “thorn in the flesh”: he was into twinks, like Roy Cohn. Pretty boys. He made a pass at John Mark, mistaking him for Jesus's “Pretty Boy” and John Mark wasn't that kind of guy and neither was Jesus. Neither was Socrates. It was universal, the Greek Love traditions, but it travels well and the Catholic Church would profit from making long term relationships in the Church the norm, like the Salvation Army. Most of their abuse would resolve more or less naturally and painlessly.

So,, anyway, there is no one in the Catholic Church I identify with except Cornelius. The one thing I identify about Jesus is that He had been through Ranger School, because He was absolutely mission oriented. The phrase “Give us this day our daily bread” translates into Ranger Speak as “MISSION” in a 5 Paragraph warning Order. Just like “Mission” Impossible”, only, just getting the order means you have accepted its premis, its assumptions, its legality and its imperative without qualification. “Instant Obedience:Self-Discipline”. Jesus is community organizer and the Squad Leader in a TO&E USMC Squad. 13 people. 1 leader,-player 12 players. The followers of Jesus showed up for the breaking of the bread, but, as your priest says, the Apostles are players under the authority of Jesus and His authority conveys directly in a chain of command kind of way.

So, I see Jesus as operating at the matrix between the economies of scale of the task environment, the battle space, and the economies of scale of the next higher command and the whole rest of the Army It is US Army doctrine that the squad is the basic unit of the military organization. Jesus is running an Army squad engaged in social engineering, just like the Green Berets in Vietnam before the commie cocksuckers in Hanoi decided to steal the Republic of Vietnam for Uncle Ho and Joseph Stalin.

So, here's the thing to understand about Cornelius that's pertinent to your experience: Cornelius is a republican soldier serving his nation in a foreign, and actively hostile, territory, Indian Country, and he, Cornelius, is doing his most important work outside the wire just like the Green Berets in Vietnam before the commie cocksuckers fired on Ft. Sumter, in effect. Cornelius is working outside the wire just the the 38th Indiana “Cyclone” Division in Afghanistan right at this moment. Out in IED land. That's where Cornelius is. Jim Kimsey, the venture capitalist that backed Steve Case and AOL, was a Green Beret in Vietnam back when it was cool to be in Counter-Insurgency in the Army, and he and his team built an orphanage for the same reasons Cornelius helped build the synagogue in Capernaum. The same imperative. Kimsey's orphange is still in operation. If you want to understand why Afghanistan is so important, it's because we are using the lessons learned from Vietnam to help Afghanistan, including the Taliban, bot adopt a superior form of national problem solving and organically spiritual health and economic equity as an expression of the economics of Jesus as explicated by Adam Smith as a moral science which I call process theology.

Before I go back to the video, I wanted to complete my thought about women knowing when their eggs drop is that the Samaritan woman in John 4 is at that moment and she wants to get pregnant, just like Tamar with Judah. The interpretation that she, the Samaritan woman in John 4 is a whore is as much bullshit as anything that comes out of Canterbury. I don't know Rome's version of the passage, but if you want to understand what bullshit the Pro-Life/Salvation Gospel is, ask your wife if it makes a difference whether the women in John 4 is a whore or just a woman with a mission and a window of opportunity.

St. Peter is asexual. St. Paul is a South Beach drag queen without the wardrobe. Both Rome and Canterbury are selling St. Peter, but you are getting St. Paul.

4:48: lift off.

Hover at 8:17 St. Paul is the dominant Apostle of American Evangelicals: Peter is your favorite from the perspective of Paul.

Evangelicals lean heavily upon Paul because of his emotional appeal relative to the “Just the Facts” testimony of Peter. Here's an example where God doesn't not consider our expectations as a critical factor in His design, Paul, in particular, appeals to women. According to the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, Peter was actively hostile to everything Mary represented. Part of this is a problem Peter had with the whole idea of eating with gentiles and there is little question in my mind he at least agreed with the prayer of pharisees of the age “Thank you, Lord, that I was not born a slave, a dog/gentile or a woman”. I mean, Peter was fighting an up-hill battle all the way in regards to the implications of Mark 7:19 and Acts 10, while Paul was a pig in shit with the whole abrogation of all things kosher. And that whole drag queen aspect of his personality evident in his writing attracted women in ways very similar to the way Jesus did. I mean, Peter sent a woman to argue Romans in front of Theophilus and the covert Christian cell in the Praetorian Guard that represented the Church of Rome and why the Catholic Church remained in Rome. The Christian Church is a legacy of the Italian Cohort both Pilate and Cornelius were employed by: they got their paychecks via The Praetorian Guard, just like Julius Caesar. Except for the whole arising from the dead thing, the whole l'Affaire Crist was handled in a routine manner and His file happen to land on a desk in Rome and there it stayed until Constantine disbanded the Praetorian Guard after the Milvian Bridge, no hard feelings, we're just moving you to Iowa to be closer to real people sort of thing.

8:17 Resume:

9:52 pause: Everywhere the legions are, Christianity appears. The whole story of the experience of the Roman soldiers in Matthew 27:66 and Luke 23:26 – 47 goes throughout all the legions by that mysterious grapevine of the soldier's Rumor Control that relayed the murder of the negro soldiers at Ft. Pillow to the negro soldiers in the Army of the Potomac before Petersburg before the publication of Stars-and-Stripes, which wasn't created until the first world war.

Christianity is a creature of the Roman legions and a legacy of the Profession of Arms. The soldiers of Rome were in service to Rome but they offered their oaths to Yaweh, Queen of Battle and performed their Duty to Rome on that basis. That's a central tenet of Paul's legal argument in Romans.

Jesus placed a bet with The Satan that He could create a church without a bureaucracy. And He realized at the Transfiguration that He couldn't, which is why He was so brutal with Peter “Get thee behind me”. The Temptation is a continuation of the wagering between God and The Satan begun in the Book of Job and The Satan went long on the assumption that, to complete the process begun with Moses to create a universal consciousness of The One, Jesus was going to have to perform demonstrations of logistical competence, organizational efficacy and some death defying stunt and Jesus went short. Feeding the 5000 and the 4000 established His logistical competence, His scourging of the Temple merely emphasized the practical necessity of organizational efficacy in order to sustain His logistical competence but He believed He could finesse the death-defying stunt, personally, by avoiding fatal confrontation in the manner of wily Odysseus. And then, the Holy Spirit tossed Lazarus into the mix and, after four days, there is your death defying stunt. It is useful to remember that the Book of Job is a cosmic farce, with God, the Father, as the butt of the joke. The Satan tricks God, the Father, twice to beat up on Job for no other purpose than to exploit God, the Father,'s pride, And it works. And the Temptation of Jesus is a similar farce, a game of cosmic Three Card Monte, where Jesus believes He can always find the Queen of Spades until He discovers it was the Queen of Hearts, all along.

Jesus is absolutely correct that the Church He envisions is organic in nature, but even a jellyfish has structure and man has a spine to support the cathedral of the Spirit and it isn't even a paradox: the spine serves the spirit, The law was made for man, not man for the law. And the law propels mankind in a manner similar to how the spine propels the man and that's exactly what Jesus had in mind, but He didn't know it until The Satan made it apparent.

9:52 resumes.

14:52 full stop. The Canon Law, as ratified in 1918/1983, is what the Roman Empire lost when Constantine disbanded the Praetorian Guards, essentially, the Inspector General function that Baron von Stuebin brought to Valley Forge. A great strength of the Roman legions, as personified by the centurions, was uniform doctrine, training and the operational arts and that was maintained by the Praetorian Guard in pretty much the same function as the Pentagon, today (actually, all elements of the Executive of the constitutional government, i.e. The Republic).

In terms of Canon Law, I am a Protestant and the Presbyterian structures of Canterbury inform my own notion of the Body of Christ. It's why I say the Pro-Life doctrine is such heretical bullshit. It's a made-up doctrine established entirely for political fund raising.

From the description here, Canon Law became, in 1918, what John Knox presented with the Book of Discipline in 1560. Federalist 10 is basically a recapitulation of the Book of Discipline, which reflected the structures as processes of the Praetorian Guard, which was a practical application of the concepts presented in Plato's Republic, As Bruce Gore observes, the Romans were good students of philosophy but never professors of philosophy. And that's worked out pretty well.

14:52 restart:

15:25 “How does one go to heaven?”

One fucking dies, shit for brains.

There is no mystery, Going to heaven is why Jesus went to Hell, for Christ's sake! Review John 3:16, if you don't understand. As a paratrooper, you have a far better chance of going to heaven, in the final analysis, than your parachute opening and that's something like a 98% certainty. You are worried about the wrong fucking thing.

This is the problem with the Salvation Gospel of Campus Crusade for Christ (which is where I first encountered, and rejected, Salvation Gospel). I went to Vietnam on the basis of Liberation Gospel: that's what Jim Kimsey was doing as a Green Beret in Vietnam. Everybody at that time believed in the Liberation Gospel of the Marshall Plan. Salvation Gospel is an exercise in monetized navel gazing.

15:25 Begin again.

I'm listening to Kellyanne Conway on FOX News Sunday. She is as anchored in existential reality as the Pro-Life doctrine reflects anything Jesus represents except His repulsion of the den of thieves in Jerusalem.

22:11 this gets back to the Book of Job, In my experience, it is impossible to actually know The One, as I do and Job did, and, subsequently, not know The One and to know, know, know Him is to Love Love Love Him, The mind will not allow not knowing while remaining whole and healthy. That's the thing about having a relationship with The One that Job has that God in the Book of Job doesn't understand: you cannot run away from God. And to actively hate The One is, as your priest says, virtually impossible beyond the conceit of Satan in Paradise Lost.

The issue of a personal relationship with the Holy Spirit, as a proxy for The One, is awareness of the presence of the Holy Spirit in your consciousness in some manner. Most people begin with dreams. Making two parachute jumps is a good way to calibrate your Pucker Factor to distinguish between the Fear of the Lord and garden variety fear of fire, heights, the dark and death and dismemberment by tooth and claw. The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever, while pure animal fear is not. You can get over pure animal fear, which brings us back to the Book of Job.

22:11 restart

22:46 Resurrection validates the God Hypothesis. It's the thing the Richard Carriers of the world cannot conveniently dismiss as myth: the entire Roman army understood the nature of crucifixion and the anomaly of resurrection was big medicine for people who had already been baptized by fire and baptized by blood and had a working, professional relationship with Yaweh, Queen of Battle.

In the final analysis, The One remains a mystery. The great gift of Jesus is that He represents the existential evidence that the mystery is the universe, itself, saying “Hi!”

22:46 restart

23:48 - 25:00 The reign of God in the Kingdom of Heaven here, on earth, brings us right back to Liberation Gospel. Because our salvation is a given, our obligation arising from John 3:16 is to go forth unto the world and bring on Earth as it is in Heaven which brings us right back to Ranger Jesus and the 5 Paragraph Field Order.

25:00 It's not about you going to heaven. Rome and Canterbury agree, at least as far as N.T. Wright is concerned. This is not the Campus Crusade for Campus position, which is like proposing to compete in the Tour de France on a bike with training wheels. I mean, the 4 spiritual laws are great, but then what? For the Charismatic, it's sexualized navel gazing rebranded as the Spirit of God moving on the waters.

25:35 Great video. As a Protestant, the idea that there was anything that needed to be pushed back against is just someone looking for a fight. I'm not going to become a Catholic for the same reasons I'm not going to become Jewish or Muslim: the essence is available to me from where I am,

Anyway, good show.

#transformingamericafirst eisenhowerrepublicansforAOC

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