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tgmsunmontue · 9 months ago

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You need to learn how to fall 7/10

Hangster (and IceMav) - Bradley is too tall to be a naval aviator and instead becomes a sky diver, specialising in spin recovery. He is a civilian contractor to the military to teach pilots how to survive parachute spins from ejections. A more in-depth version of this post.

PROLOGUE 2003-2006 2007-2010 2011-2015 2016+ ~2019

>>Bradley

>>Jake

The messages start off sporadic, and he’s unsure how to respond, which tone he should use, because there’s the casual work-related and simply friendly messages, then there’s the flirty ones, and then, then, there’s downright pornographic messages going into detail what Jake would like to do to him. With him. He’s never backed off a challenge though and he can go toe-to-toe so he sends back an equal mix of messages, some bland and mundane, others his innermost fantasies. They’re soon messaging multiple times a day, sleepy early-morning selfies, photos of lunches, short videos.

… … …

>>You don’t walk like a man in the Navy, your hips have this roll to them and it drives me fucking wild watching it.

… … …

>>Had a jump today, someone passed out while falling. Scariest fucking thing I’ve dealt with in a while.

… … …

A package arrives after about three months, and Bradley hadn’t mentioned sending him anything, but he knows it’s not from his mom. Bradley had mentioned helping bake some shortbread, lemon and rosemary; Jake had said he’d love to try it sometime and now… if he’s not mistaken, there are some sitting in a little container on his kitchen bench and he gets to try some. There’s a return address and he quickly adds it to the information under Bradley’s contact in his phone. The shortbread is delicious and he sends a quick selfie to Bradley of him taking a bite with the words thank you underneath.

… … …

>>Teaching has given me a new appreciation for how dumb some people are. I feel like I need to go and apologize to my high school teachers.

… … …

>>Your tongue drives me to distraction. When you’re flicking a toothpick I can’t help but wonder what you’d do with my cock.

… … …

>>Have I told you recently how much I don’t like sweet potato?

… … …

Jake hasn’t had this much fun flirting with someone in a long time, just this continuous banter back and forth. It hasn’t reverted to dick-pics or sexting or anything more than some pretty explicit messages sent and received out of the blue. Younger him would have been impatient, but he’s now enjoying the journey. Looks forward to the little peeks into Bradley’s day just as much as he looks forward to reading how he might turn Bradley on. It’s all sorts of sweet and different and he can’t wait to see Bradley again.

… … …

>>Can I take you out to dinner next time you’re in town?

>>Think I’d be pretty disappointed if you didn’t.

… … …

Ice calls him, tells him Mav is missing and his entire world freezes. They know nothing for certain, but he was flying, and then… something classified which Ice can’t divulge, but then he’s saying Mav might be alive, but simply lost, but they have no idea where and Bradley cannot fucking deal with this right now. He’s the one with PLBs sewn into his fucking jump-suits, he cannot believe the US Navy hasn’t done something similar for one of their pilots, let alone an entire fucking plane. How do they lose a pilot and a plane? Then Ice sends him a link to an unexplained explosion and he’s glad he’s already sitting down. Fuck. He thinks he might throw up.

Then Ice is standing in the doorway, phone pressed to his ear, expression serious as he nods and says something Bradley cannot hear through the thick air he feels surrounded by.

“He’s alive.”

His heart beats.

Slowly the air returns to something less solid and he can breathe again.

“Thank fuck. God, I could kill him.”

“Get in line… think I just aged another decade.”

“You look good for a man nearing his second century, what with all the extra decades Mav must have added…”

“I definitely feel that old some days.”

… … …

Bradley’s time to return to Corpus Christi is quickly approaching and he’s feeling excited to see him again. He’s not expecting the papers that he’s handed, he’s mid-assignment, not expecting sudden redeployment and he opens them slowly.

A special detachment.

Advice to visit any family with two days of special leave.

What the fuck.

He’d otherwise be excited and rearing to go, but Bradley is meant to be flying into Corpus Christi in forty-eight hours. They’re meant to be getting dinner. The irony that he’s got to report to North Island in four days isn’t lost on him. Fuck. Can they not catch a break? Whatever this special detachment is, is going to be risky, otherwise the strong suggestion of visiting family wouldn’t be there coupled with the leave in which to make it happen.

He has a choice.

He could skip over seeing his family just to see Bradley. Or he could wait another couple of weeks because Bradley will be in North Island after his two weeks in Corpus Christi finishes. He might not be in North Island in two weeks, but he might never see his family again and as much as he wants to see Bradley, he needs to see his family.

Fuck this mature adult bullshit.

He picks up his phone and presses call, something they’ve never done before and it might break his resolve but he doesn’t want to put this through text on a screen.

“Hi… This is new.”

“Hi,” Jake says, and Bradley sounds good, relaxed and happy. So good.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing. You?”

“I’m about to get in a plane and jump out of it with a person strapped to me.”

“You know, I think I might want to try it some time,” he says, and he means it, thinks he’d enjoy the rush, and the idea of being strapped to Bradley also holds a certain appeal.

“Yeah? You let me know the time and place and I’ll take you up.”

“Really?”

“Of course. And I don’t want to rush you, but was there a special reason for a call? I’m kind of on a time crunch.”

“Yeah. I just got new orders.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been called in for a special detachment, and you would not believe where I’m going. At least to start with…”

“North Island…”

“Yeah.”

“Talk about crap timing.”

“Yeah. I’ve been given special leave to visit family,” Jake says, and he has no idea if Bradley knows what that might mean. He knows his dad was a pilot, but he’s been dead since Bradley was a toddler and he’s only had Bradley refer to his uncles raising him.

“Fuck.”

Okay. He knows.

“I mean, I could stay here –”

“No. Jake. You have to go and see your family. If they’ve granted you that leave it’s for a damned good reason. Fuck. Okay. So. I might see you in North Island after all. If you’re here in a couple of weeks that is…”

“Yeah. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”

“Only the US Navy.”

… … …

His family are happy to see him, his mom organizing a quick family gathering and he’s grateful for the opportunity to see as many of his extended family as possible, although he hates the niggling in the back of his mind that resolves into telling his mom to take lots of photos. She looks close to tears, but she does as he asks, and his father grips his shoulder every time he brushes past. They all know what special leave means.

… … …

He savors the messages more now, studies each of the photos that Jake sends him, asks questions about the other people in the photos. Even has a video call when Jake’s parents apparently insist on meeting whoever it is that Jake keeps messaging. Every moment he’s not intent on teaching and training he’s messaging Jake, hoping that he stays in North Island long enough for him to get back there and scared he won’t be.

… … …

Jake’s been in North Island for ten days, and it’s been intense. Terrifying with what is expected of them, but still so exhilarating. This is why he became a naval aviator, why he worked so hard. There are just other things he’s realized he’d also like in his life. He looks at the house and it’s far bigger than he imagined Bradley having. Or needing. Maybe he shares with some others. The lights are on, he can see someone moving around inside and his stomach won’t stop swooping in anticipation. He knows Bradley gets in this evening, although he’s not sure of the exact time; not wanting to ask specifics for fear of showing his hand, wants to surprise him and also doesn’t want to wait longer before seeing him again.

Jakes wipes his hands on his jeans, nervous. He’s gone from wanting something quick and dirty with Bradley to wanting… well, he still wants quick and dirty, he’s not a eunuch, however he also wants to take him to dinner and listen to him talk passionately about military free fall physics. Wants to bring him coffee the mornings after the quick and dirty. And its mornings plural, because he’s realized over the last few months (and maybe years?) that once is likely not going to be enough. Feel the fear and do it anyway, that’s how the saying goes right?

He knocks on the door and waits, imagines what Bradley might be wearing, the look on his face as Jake surprises him with his appearance on his doorstep rather than at dinner tomorrow.

He does not imagine Captain Maverick Mitchell. Although he definitely looks surprised.

“Lieutenant. What are you doing here?”

“Uh. Captain Mitchell.”

“Yes. How did you get this address?”

“Uh. I’m looking for Doctor Bradshaw.”

“Bradley? Why?”

Jake purses his lips, shrugs and nods because at least it’s Bradley he’s looking for. It’s a good sign that Maverick at least knows who he’s talking about, but that he called him by his first name is a bit unnerving. Maverick still looks just as confused to see him and Jake’s trying to formulate the best way to say he’s just here to see Bradley…

“I just wanted to see him, sir.”

Maverick stares at him for an age that just seems to drag before his eyes widen with potential realization and Jake hopes he doesn’t blush.

“Oh. I didn’t realize you knew Bradley…”

“Pete, who is it?”

Holy shit.

Admiral Kazansky.

Jake swallows. Whose house is this? Maybe Bradshaw is currently staying with them as a guest? Maybe he’s been given the wrong address as a prank? That would be pretty humiliating. And cruel given that it’s in front of his CO and the COMPACFLT. But he can’t be a guest if he calls San Diego home. He didn’t think Bradley was cruel, had felt that their back-and-forth texting and phone calls were building toward something. But he only threw Maverick out of the Hard Deck ten nights ago and Bradley unintentionally gave him this address nearly two months ago. Maybe he’s moved? His brain can't make sense of anything.

“Lieutenant.”

He’s not in uniform, and Admiral Kazansky knows his face enough to know who he is and his rank. He has no idea how to feel about that.

“Admiral Kazansky sir.”

“He’s after Bradley,” Maverick provides, and he’s stepping away from the front door, like he’s inviting Jake in, but Jake can’t move.

“He’s not home yet. His plane is probably still in the air.”

They know Bradley. They know his schedule, they’re saying he isn’t home. So, this isn’t the wrong address. It explains nothing though.

“Come in Lieutenant,” Admiral Kazansky states, at the same time Maverick says;

“Well, you better come in.”

He was just about to suggest he come back later, however he’s just been invited and sort-of ordered to come in and he nods jerkily, his body stepping forward of it’s own volition.

“Thank you sir.”

“You can call me Tom, or Iceman if the first name is a step too far. Just at home. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a bit about you.”

Fuck. What has he heard exactly?

He nods again, takes a deep breath to settle the shakiness in his limbs, takes off his shoes, doesn’t think about what the Admiral said, implying that he’d be here, in this home, more than right now. Follows after Maverick to the lounge area and he looks around the room and sees photos, lots of photos and he feels his hairline suddenly prickle with sweat. There’s younger Bradley with Maverick, Bradley and Maverick and Admiral Kazansky on what looks like his promotion ceremony to COMPACFLT and he’s starting to see the picture the photos are painting and it’s making him nervous but it’s also answering so many questions.

NEXT PART (no time jump)

#Top Gun fanfic #Hangster #you need to learn how to fall #IceMav

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ky409 · 8 months ago

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First tumblr post! Exciting stuff (≧∇≦) Just thought I’d share a little about myself:

20 years old (2003)

5’10 (not a cute petite Asian girl unfortunately)

Female

UK based

Some of my kinks include:

DD/LG (not the age regression part though)

CNC (somno is a favourite)

Anal

Bondage

BDSM

Public Play

Exhibitionism

Watersports

and more.

Do have an nsfw twitter account @Ky_408 where I sometimes post pics/vids of myself. Honestly still figuring tumblr out so won’t be posting anything soon on here. Might eventually start posting writings/pics/vids but for the time being please have this pic <3

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mjsun-shine · 4 months ago

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youtube

Hello and welcome to my blog!

About Me: My name is Lyndon Smith-Combs. I have been a fanfic writer for about 2 decades. (I started writing in 2003 when I was in elementary school!). I always liked writing little stories using my favorite Yu-Gi-Oh! or Invader Zim characters when I was a child. I have always loved watching shows and breaking apart details about the show to expand upon later. Like, how lines are delivered or if character likes X then it makes sense that character would also know about Y. I tend to go off the rails with my head-canons and write way too much about the weirdest things.

What is this blog? Even though writing is something I have been doing almost my entire life, it never occurred to me that this was something I could do as a job. I was happily working as an account executive for an ad agency, selling printers and toners at my dream company when I was blind-sighted by getting laid off. Things have been really rocky, but it has given me the chance to sit back and think, "now what"? What do I want to do with my life? After talking with my husband, I have decided to give writing a try. My husband (L.L.) is helping me convert my latest fan fiction over to an original intellectual property so that it will be sell-able. This blog is a way to keep track of the journey as well as post inspiration and songs that relate to my project. I might also post writing warm-ups, character bios, and AMAs here as well.

Things I like to write about: My specialties include rare-pairs (send me your favorite rare-pair!), mental health, friendship and self-discovery, and LGBT+ issues. (I am a queer person with OCPD, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Depression. I have bad intrusive thoughts and my writing helps me handle and control these thoughts.) The main fandoms that I write for are Yu-Gi-Oh! (Duel Monsters), Yu-Gi-Oh! GX, My Hero Academia, and Voltron Legendary Defender.

Ask box is open: Feel free to send me asks about my process and my story. I love talking about my character and head canons. Also if you send me your rare-pairs I'll definitely tell you what I think about them, or share my rare-pairs as well. If you want me to write a ficlet for your ship or something in particular, then I am open for hire. You can send donations for writings or ask about my merch shop. (Coming soon)

The stuff people really care about: I'm a Ravenclaw (Trans Lives Matter). I'm an Earth-bender. INFJ. I main a Half-Elf Ranger in 5e. My patronus is a Manx-Cat (Trans Women are Women). Cancer sun, Sagittarius rising, Capricorn moon.

I think that's it! Welcome! I hope you keep checking back for my process.

#about me #artists on tumblr #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #welcome #Youtube

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seancamerons · 1 year ago

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I love semma so much. I love them so much. I have literally written roughly 60 pages of story for a universe I completely aside from a few things, made up, comprising and spanning over twenty years of time so far.

Impressive mildly, to say the least considering I rediscovered an outline for this from 2000s? I of course fleshed out doctored this storyline there's been quite a few versions of this story but ultimately I kind of have a hope that I have given my thirteen or fourteen year old self justice somehow?

At the very least I'm finding myself a writing machine which makes me feel good. 🙃

here's to the genuine hope that someday soon I will complete backtrack, find a way out of this corner I wrote myself into in together forever (an emjay vehicle and my pandemic baby), and some other long, multichaptered works. I suck at writing endings. ✍️

I always aspire to write a holiday esque story this might be the year it happens to be finished on time. Backtrack believe it or not was slated to be in the earlier chapters but I kind of diverged and I'll fated maybe this Christmas I pretty much scrapped and time got away from me is literally holidayesque. I have one I hadn't posted pretty much and this story ive been working on has always been a holiday type story but it doesn't like my other stories aren't all one ship there are multiple relationships interleaved such as in Backtrack there's Cranny and Janny in a weird triangle that ultimately leads to fall out for one ship and a full on romance for the other relationship which initially was planned to play out much differently than I started with, in this story mentioned above there is an original character and entire life that didn't pan out in canon who now exists in this universe I created circa 2003 and fleshed out and humanesque. By comparison Camille of Backtrack, the Wasaga Beach "girl next door" who is sort of cursed by where she comes from was somewhat based loosely on Theresa from The OC and also if you could believe it Haley James from One Tree Hill.

Camille, affectionately known as Cami or Cam, was Sean's childhood best friend he grew up with in Sean’s trailer park in Wasaga Beach. They were both not from money, she was a smart girl and had potential to be something but circumstances and luck seemed to not be on her side. While other kids in their neighborhood were about parties, drugs, are generally prone to growing up too fast, experimenting deviant behavior and the like they largely flocked together and that stuffc didn't phase them and they were boy and girl but the best of friends, the trope kind of Haley and Lucas or Steve and Robin. No sexual or romantic undertones what so ever. That was them, Sean and Camille, though at thirteen.

Camille knew Sean was going through a lot. Tyler Bishop was a popular guy who would push the other peers around but she never put up with that. Things were going in a bad direction and Sean’s anger was reaching a boiling point.

He blacked out in a rage and we know what happens next.

It's worth noting she initially dated or pursued Tyler, who was Sean's enemy, bully, and later catalyst for his departure from Wasaga, to get him off of Sean's back and she had a slight crush on him but she didn't intend to betray her best friend but tensions with Sean and Tyler only intensified.

When he went to live with Tracker, he unfortunately lost contact with Camille. She grew to love Tyler a little prior to Sean and Tracker’s fight, implied he

Fast forward to when Sean returned to Degrassi, and he and Tyler with Camille's now together in a long term happy relationship, Sean was able to bury the beef with Tyler and be peaceful and worked toward a friendship while they attended Wasaga High together for their junior year. Camille was still gearing up for her future. She still had good grades she had uncertainty about college and lack of funds and since Sean left she became a popular student through her relationship with Tyler and experienced the things they'd sort of thumb their nose at as young kids before things changed.

Sean then of course joined his friends back in Toronto at the start of the next school year and ultimately pursued the military and enlisted and all that. Fast forward to 2013 he briefly returns to his trailer park community. Camille is around, she wasn't successful post college and returned home after she graduated and is living with Tyler in this off and on revolving door relationship. She was in home Healthcare and taking care of Sean’s sickly father and her own older parents we don't really know them. The old friends catch up one night over beers and in their loneliness and drunken state have a brief hook up and one night stand resulting in a pregnancy and around the time Tyler and Camille reconcile. Days later Sean returns to Toronto and pursues a life there and also Emma who Camille knew all about her and was supportive of him. Their hook up wasn't something that ruined their friendship and was buried because she didn't know she was pregnant until months later. When she finally discovered it she assumed it was Tyler's because they were in a relationship around two days after Sean’s and they had make up sex. It's also worth noting Tyler is an alcoholic but he is a hardworking guy and loves Camille. He can't wait to be a father but she's looking for a way out because of his temper. They've had violent arguments before it's implied much like Theresa and Eddie in Chino and the animosity between Sean and Tyler in the past is the only real reason for their arrangement and she felts guilty, couoled with arguments and she can't justify staying together but ahe doesn't know how to be alone anymore. He's a very possessive boyfriend and she'd be arguably more successful and got away like Sean did if Tyler didn't root her in Wasaga and financial aspects and other influences too keep her complcant compliant and generally beat down so nothing changed really.

Tyler's alcoholism intensified with the financial stress of working more to provide for the incoming baby. It became more evident that there was a possibility that he might not be the father of the baby. Sean and Emma, since we're in a committed relationship, and paid his mom and dad a visit in a later chapter. Emma heard a doorbell ring and opened the door to find Camille in the early morning to take Sean's father's daily vitals and such visably pregnant. They shared a pleasant conversation while Sean slept unaware.

Emma had never heard of Camille or his life in Wasaga like it was some dirty little secret and she had limited information aside from how he wound up in Toronto but not the key players in the rest of it in the meantime. In Sean's past, she was key and instrumental. It needless to say hurt her feelings.

By now, all four are adults. The pregnancy on Camille is unplanned, but timing was on their side. Prior to this, Emma had been previously married to Spinner. They never had children and were currently divorced for over a year, and Sean and Emma reunited in December and quickly became romantic by Christmastime. Also, Tyler wants to be committed with Camille stable but his alcoholism and implied temper cause tensions and barriers and the fight to end all fights puts her in fight or flight mode and she ran away when he passed out.

somewhere along the lines prior to this all, Emma finds out she can't have a family of her own. She is essentially sterile Camille agreed to a surrogate situation upon finding out the news, and her circumstances being what they are it made the most logical sense. By now she sheltered by a battered women's drug and mental health center in Toronto since the violent fight with Tyler, she later meets Alex Nuñes there who is in recovery (drug addiction) become close as roommates. Sean and Emma catch wind through Alex of this situation, and Camille gets discharged, and she moves in with Sean and Emma.

#idek what i was doing #in my drafts #eh enjoy #wriitng #writing tag #ref #relevent to writing #semma #degrassi #prose #i was born to make queue happy

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lotusthewriter · 2 years ago

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What I've Done - Chapter 3

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)

Rating: T

Relationships: Alphonse (Wrath) & Edward

Characters: Alphonse Elric (Wrath), Edward Elric, Sloth, Dante, Envy, Izumi Curtis; MINOR - Roy Mustang; other characters to be added

Summary: “As soon as the homunculus decides to shove these feelings down his throat and take the alchemist to Dante for once and for all, his troubled opponent finally dares to say something that stops the world from going.

“… Al?”

It paralyzes Wrath.”

A Homunculus Alphonse Elric AU.

Word count: TBA

AO3

First chapter | Previous chapter

A/N: I actually already had this chapter planned but I hadn't written it out, so here you have it!

The next chapters will take longer to be posted, though, but I want to keep dedicating myself to this AU, because I really like exploring these characters and the idea of a homunculus Al. Even though this chapter specifically will focus more on Ed's side of the story.

If you want to check out my concept art for this AU, you can check out my art blog, @lotusthekat! I usually post it under the #homunculus al tag :)

Alright, so big trigger warning for suicidal thoughts/ideation in this chapter. It applies to the whole fic, but it's very present here.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - death, grief, repressed trauma, child abuse, physical and emotional abuse, emotional neglect, canon-typical violence, self-sacrifice, suicidal thoughts, blood and injury and loss of limbs. (More might be added)

P/roship DNI.

“... AL! ALPHONSE!”

His throat is sore at this point.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the forest, looking for that kid. Someone like that shouldn’t be this hard to be spotted.

Edward coughs roughly, exhausted both from the search and the fight that once took place. He has fought many, many powerful enemies before, but he never thought someone would be as quick as Ed, knowing his every move.

Ed has pretty much lost his strength at this point, unable to run or perform alchemy. He’s glad his automail hasn’t broken, but there’s too much inside his head and Ed doesn’t know what to do about it.

As he drops to his knees on the dirt, not caring about it dirtying his pants, there are desperate steps coming in his direction. Ed almost wants them to be that boy, but it turns out to be Ed’s alchemy teacher, Izumi, who also seems to have been hopelessly searching for someone in the woods.

“Ed!” Teacher exclaims. “Where the hell were you?! I’ve been looking everywhere-!”

She stops the yelling when she sees the state Ed is in, her eyes softening in concern.

“Oh, Edward… what happened to you?” She asks as she helps him stand up.

Ed looks away, gulping in fear. Izumi was really angry with him when she found out what he had done, so he doesn’t want to make her mad again. She notices, hence why the woman gently rubs his cheek, probably to clean off the dirt in his face.

“Hey,” Izumi whispers, “you can tell me, Ed.”

He’s not entirely convinced.

Thus, she sighs.

“I… I’m sorry I never made you feel safe enough to come to me all these years,” Izumi apologizes. “So, I want to do this one thing right. I want to be part of your journey. I wouldn’t have come all the way to Dante if I didn’t.”

Her smile is… truly soothing.

Ed doesn’t feel scared of her right now.

Though, it’s really not just her. It’s the fact that everyone involved with Ed will only get hurt or disappear. He doesn’t want that to happen to his teacher, either.

Regardless, Ed finds himself relaxing, letting out the deepest sigh.

“Okay.”

Close.

So damn close.

Yet Ed couldn’t even do this right.

His little brother’s hand was gone.

And there’s a monster in the transmutation circle.

He failed.

But most importantly, Edward failed his little brother.

And he couldn’t bear that.

With his own blood and an absent leg, Ed yells at the beyond, hopefully to bring Al back even if in this armor for now.

Once again, the bright light obfuscates the dark basement.

And Ed has no right arm.

Except…

“Al?”

The armor doesn’t show one sign of life. Other than the monster, there’s no other sign of life at all.

Still, Ed, obviously struggling, manages to cling to the metal armor, to see if it’s going to move.

“Al, can you hear me?” The boy begs.

Nothing.

“C-Come on, Al, say something.”

Ed starts shaking the armor, though pathetically since he only has one arm to do that.

“Please. Please, Al.”

It smells like tears, blood, and rotten flesh.

And dead metal.

“No…” Ed’s voice is a pitch higher. “No, no, no! I gave up my arm! Give him back! GIVE HIM BACK!!”

He’s pounding on the metal armor, hating it with every force out there, and yet unable to rip it apart in two. Ed is so angry that not even destroying a thousand armors would ever satiate the feeling.

Edward gradually sobs more painfully, growing numb to the pain and the blood coming out of him.

“He’s my little brother…” he whispers, his true priority. “Please…”

He’s probably going to die.

What’s the point, anyway?

"Al... come back..."

He won't.

The older Elric growls loudly and pounds the metal with force, not even caring about hurting his only weak hand.

"No! Al! AL!" He yells. "AL!!!!"

Ed lost everything.

And he’s going to die alone, all because he was too selfish.

“I’m sorry…” Ed cries, vision slowly darkening.

He has nothing. Nothing.

…

There are steps coming downstairs.

They sound like… boots.

Ed already feels rage just imagining who that could be.

Not him of all people…!

The steps rush to Ed’s direction.

The boy growls, “Go away…”

Whoever is there scoffs quietly. “Kid, you are literally bleeding to death.”

“I don’t care!” Ed ends up whining instead of sounding actually angry.

It’s not like he’s even able to resist much considering half of his limbs are gone, so Ed feels himself being held in the stranger’s arms.

“So, you did all of this…” the man mumbles.

The boy’s golden eyes are filled with tears again.

“It hurts…” Ed sobs.

He realizes he’s losing more and more touch with reality.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see Mom or Alphonse once he leaves.

“... Winry,” Ed whispers nonsensically, his last hope. “Rockbell…”

There’s silence, then a sympathetic sigh.

“You’ll be alright, kid.”

Beyond his better judgment, Ed finds himself hiding in that stranger’s firm arms, clinging to his wet coat. It’s far from comfortable, yet Ed has already lost everything to care.

The only things Ed will remember then are blurs.

When Ed wakes up, he’s in bed taking soup, Winry eyeing him with curious yet terrified blue eyes.

Winry and Granny are apprehensive, neither of them daring to speak. It’s quite a miracle that Ed survived, according to Granny. He expected her to give him a full lecture, and maybe she was about to do so… when Winry asked Ed about Alphonse.

With silence as their only answer, Granny is not even cranky. If Ed isn’t seeing things, she might be letting out tears in secret. Winry appears to have cried, too, and she still does every now and then.

It’s raining too much outside.

Ed knows that creature is still there in the basement, but maybe it’s just going to die due to its state.

Al, then… never came back.

Ed knows he can’t say anything. Nothing will be enough to explain what happened. No apologies will ever bring Mom and Al back. There’s absolutely nothing to justify the older Elric.

Unlike the Rockbells, he’s too empty to cry. Like all the tears were gone with the rain.

The boy doesn’t feel any pain.

He has nothing.

Nothing at all.

He could’ve just… died.

Why didn’t he?

Ed already lost everything.

What was the point?

He’s nearly claimed by the deep rain when the guy that saved him – and Ed already hates him for it – returns, after borrowing the house phone for the moment being. Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, apparently, was looking for the Elrics’ father thanks to a couple of unsent letters. Ed tunes out of the conversation entirely at the mention of that old man, almost wanting to tell everyone else to leave him alone to die.

Ed is staring at the window, golden eyes deprived of any hope, when he hears the same boots coming to him… gently this time.

“You may not think so right now… but I know you have talent, kid,” Mustang lowers his voice to him. Ed refuses to look back, and the man understands it. “If you want to use it, well… I hope you are ready for the next State Alchemist exam.”

Now is the time Granny Pinako yells at Mustang, appalled that the Lieutenant Colonel would suggest something as such to a bleeding eleven-year-old. At least he leaves before the older Rockbell can kick him out with her wrenches and automail limbs.

Ed, for the first time that night, frowns.

None of them see it.

State Alchemist…

“... everything has been for Al.”

Izumi’s black eyes are deep with sadness.

“Nothing else mattered,” Ed explains to her. “I would do everything to get my little brother back. I joined the military, I fought the fiercest and most dangerous enemies, all just for Al.” He could only stare at his automail arm… now knowing where his real limbs must have gone.

His metal limbs make noise, shaking.

“I… I never thought… I-I’d see his face again.”

Izumi tenses. “What do you mean?”

Ed’s head is lowered. “... homunculi.”

She gasps. “You mean…”

He sniffs.

“He fought just like Al, but he was much stronger and faster than me,” Ed narrates. “He was… the only homunculus I’ve ever seen performing alchemy.” He blinks. “I didn’t know why at the time… but I think he has my limbs, Teacher.”

Izumi grabs some of her own hair. “No.”

Ed chuckles bitterly. “Turns out I haven’t lost my right arm for nothing.”

His metal fist tightens, almost breaking into pieces. Winry would disapprove instantly.

“He really wasn’t like them. He only focused on fighting me. Until… I cut his hair with my automail, and he was suddenly really angry,” Ed recalls. “His hair was long and it covered most of his face, so it was only when he was about to punch me in the face that I… saw him.”

Growling teeth, intense purple eyes, profound hatred and resentment…

“It looked like… it was really him , Teacher.”

“Edward,” she warns, “you know that isn’t true.”

“It wasn’t just the- the physical appearance, it was like the real Alphonse wanting to beat me up for everything I did to him,” Edward’s voice breaks just imagining his little brother hating him. “And it’s even worse that the moment I called him Al… he looked terrified. He ran away from me. It was like he hadn’t heard that name in years, and… it meant something to him."

Izumi looks like she wants to deny that the homunculus is Al, yet she’s too pained to dismiss Ed’s suffering.

“I’m pissed off, too, that the homunculi never told me about him,” he bites. “They must’ve known this whole time, and they decided to play with my feelings to get what they wanted.” Ed can only remember Nina’s dead eyes staring deep into his soul, after he also failed to save her, after she brightened his darkest days without Alphonse’s sunlight.

The woman sighs. “I’m so sorry, Ed.”

“It’s not your fault, Teacher. It’s all mine.” His eyes grow wet, only for his left arm to dry them. “I’ve already suspected something was off for a while… but after seeing that boy…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, refusing to come up with the conclusion. Izumi notices, and while she does not force him to spit it out, she grabs him by the shoulders gently yet solidly, her eyes now serious.

“Edward,” she calls him, “you can’t run away from the past anymore. You have got to make a decision, to take up responsibility for what you’ve done. You must, or else you will regret it.”

The pain of a mother giving up her own child, and unable to turn back on it, is heard beneath Izumi’s stoic nature. Ed swallows the tears of his eleven-year-old self, the tears that rarely come out nowadays because he lost everything that night.

Izumi cannot ever go back on her choice. Ed wants to believe he can bring his brother back, but now that the truth has come to take him down itself…

He doesn’t want to give up on this. He can’t let Al go.

Ed doesn’t think he could handle living with his absence any longer.

“It’ll be okay,” Izumi reassures him, wiping his unseen tears for him. “I promise.”

She hugs him like he’s her own child, loving him despite all the mistakes he’s made.

Ed isn’t entirely soothed by the embrace, which is not Izumi’s fault. He knows she’s trying her best and will continue to do so.

The knowledge, however, of that lost boy in the forest, running forever and ever without a destination, and that ghost that keeps haunting Ed whenever he’s near the Führer…

He won’t be ready.

…

Not yet.

#fullmetal alchemist #fma 03 #edward elric #alphonse elric #elric brothers #izumi curtis #alternate universe #homunculus alphonse elric #homunculus al #fma au #suicide tw #suicidal thoughts tw #death mention tw #grief tw #fanfiction #long post

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badwasabi · 4 months ago

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Me: This Mass Effect fanfic seems pretty generic. And the writing itself is mediocre.

Me: I hope something interesting happens soon.

Story: Introducing Admiral Adama from Battlestar Galactica 2003.

Story: Not even trying to hide it. Just straight up Adama. In a pointless, random cameo.

Me: That's not what I meant by “interesting”.

So, yeah, I stopped reading.

And now,

----

I keep making the mistake of reading old fanfics I liked years ago, even though I know my tastes have changed, and I've become a lot more...detail oriented.

For example, take this one fic. War were declared, and a naval force and their marines invade a rural town. Our heroes are the local forces trying to defend against an enemy that is tactically inferior, but strategically superior, because they have a air cover and artillery support.

If you're not familiar with warfare, let me use a metaphor; the good guys can punch the enemy in the face, but the enemy's big brother can show up and kick the good guys' collective tails.

One particular sequence; good guys are in the town. They're on a street, trying to get away from the enemy foot soldiers.

And their tank.

One of the POV characters is a sniper posted up in an apartment building, near other snipers. The apartment is still occupied.

Specifically, by a dad and his daughter.

As the sniper shoots at the enemy, she keeps thinking about how the kid is getting traumatized by every shot. And blames the enemy.

When the tank says "MINE'S BIGGER", it blows open the front of the house. And blows the sniper across the room.

Well, half of her anyway.

Sniper realizes what's happened. Sees the "dead" look in the girl's eyes. And manages to say "forgive me" and realize she's basically “killed” the kid, then dies.

Wow. Very dramatic. Not a dry eye in the house.

Except for one glaring, obvious issue. See if you can guess.

Times up!

Why didn't the residents *move*?

The story claimed that everywhere in the city is "a warzone" with the enemy on the streets, so the civilians might as well stay put. Also, she didn't have time to find someplace better, with no civvies.

Okay. But why are they in the same room as the sniper? Why did she leave a distraction in her rear, and not even just try to tell them to go? And she is clearly distracted, because she keeps paying attention to how the kid is reacting.

Tornados and hurricanes are devastating and deadly, but authorities still tell us to go to shelters. Even in olden times, people would take shelter in churches, which were often highly sturdy and defensible, sometimes built specifically for the latter purpose.

Heck, many of them are still official emergency shelters. Sometimes the only one some small towns have.

The authorities had hours of notice. Why are people still in their homes?

More locally, why didn't the dad just...go into another room with the kid? Or even just into the hall?

Maybe the family does go into the hall, but the first tank shot barely misses the sniper and blows the door/wall open, the sniper tries to run, then gets tagged and sees the traumatized girl?

Or the tank shot just happens to blow her to a spot the little girl can see?

Also, "forgive me" seems a bit too studied and formal for someone dying. Let's assume that is possible to talk with half your torso missing, and the sniper is hallucinating.

She should've said something simpler, like "I'm sorry."

Also, why bisection? There's a lot of injuries that could be obviously fatal, traumatizing to the kid, and left the sniper actually able to speak. Like losing her arm and leg, and she knows she's going to bleed out.

Maybe the sniper could have a relative who was a military veteran, and got that thousand yard stare on his face sometimes, when he thought about some horrible conflict. Maybe he taught her to shoot a rifle. Tried to discourage her from joining the military, because "sometimes you don't come home" or something like that.

Then the dying sniper sees the same blank look on the kids face, and realizes what she's done. And what her relative really meant.

As written, the character arc is a flat line. It's a light switch. One opinion, another opinion.

She doesn't even consider the idea that she's doing wrong, until the plot demands it, and the writer's hand has clearly contrived the whole situation for drama purposes.

Like the late Shamus Young said about Mass Effect 3's heavy-handed opening, "a kid died!"

Just emotionally.

#writing advice #writing #nanowrimo #fanfic #fanfiction #bad writing #details have been changed to protect the guilty #original #rants #old man yells at cloud #war

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calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

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Driving My Baby

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 2,183 (i can’t drabble)

Summary: Dean doesn’t know about your mad skills behind the wheel, but it turns out there’s nothing hotter than seeing his baby driving his Baby.

Warnings: implied smut, language, fluff, dean’s bow legs, references to the fast and furious franchise

A/N: was originally gonna post a slightly angsty 2-part dean fic next, but decided against it in light off recent events lol. there’s really no plot or substance here, just some light floof. (and yes, the title is a reference to the song ‘you’re having my baby’)

MASTERLIST

The roar of Baby’s engine rumbled to a halt as Dean glanced over at you, “Alright, so you gonna sit tight while I go scope this place out?”

You sent him a close-lipped smile, trying your best to repress the excitement bubbling within you. “Mhm!” you concurred with a bouncy nod, pausing to sneak a quick peek at his shapely behind when he stepped out of the car, “I’ll try and see if I can get a hold of that morgue guy again.”

Walking over to the passenger side, Dean bent down to kiss you through the open window. “Mmkay, I’ll be back soon,” he mumbled against your lips, before turning to commence his search for the potential vamp hideout you suspected was in the vicinity.

“Oh wait! Dean!” you called out, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yeah?”

“The keys?”

Dean looked down at his pocket where the Impala’s keys were safely nestled and then back up at you with raised brows.

“You’re not gonna leave me in here like a dog, are you?” There was a subtle hint of amusement in your voice, but also a challenging edge, as well as a slight pout which you added for good measure. You knew he could never really say ‘no’ to you.

And as expected, Dean returned to deposit the keys into your waiting hands. You gave him a wide smile in return, “Thank you! Love you!”

Your boyfriend narrowed his glimmering green eyes at you, imparting one last suspicious glimpse in your direction as he grumbled somewhat warily, “Love you too,” and then finally sauntered off for good.

Biting your lip, you watched with bated breath as his figure grew smaller in the rear-view mirror. Normally, you would have enjoyed the exquisite vision of what you often dubbed his ‘sexy ass bow-legged swagger’, but this time, it was when Dean was no longer in sight that a devilish grin broke out across your face.

But really, who could blame you? You’d been a car enthusiast all your life, and classic cars were your weakness. “It’s just you and me now, Baby.” Your fingers glided along the dashboard.

With Sam on the bench due to a broken ankle (courtesy of the werewolf from your last hunt), you and Dean had driven out to Piedmont to take care of this vampire case on your own. So now after two years with the Winchesters, you finally had a chance to explore the front seat of Dean’s Baby, his pride and joy, the glorious, refurbished 1967 Chevy Impala.

When you’d joined forces with the brothers, it was readily agreed upon that you would be better off riding together in the sleek American muscle car, so you ditched your stolen, rusty 2003 Honda Accord and never looked back. Since there was a giant moose to accommodate, you were naturally relegated to the back seat, and rightfully so, but boy, did you miss the thrill of being in the driver’s seat.

You were always a bit of a demon behind the wheel, and it’d been ages since you’d gotten the chance to flex your driving skills. Back when you and Dean first got together, he promised you joyrides (and other recreational activities) in Baby, but the hunting life never seemed to let you get it on.

Sliding across the bench seat, your lungs released a contented sigh as you wrapped your hands around the leather-bound steering wheel. Dean’s bowlegs, however sexy, were not the same length as yours, so you pulled the lever beneath the seat to adjust its position to your liking. Perfect.

You took your time getting to know the ins and outs at the helm of the Impala, though it seemed like none at all had passed when you suddenly heard Dean’s deep voice cry out.

“Y/N!” Your eyes shot up to the rear-view mirror to find an image of the older Winchester running towards the car. “We gotta go!”

Well that’s strange, you thought. Dean never ran – not unless someone, or more often something, was chasing him… Oh shit. Had he somehow woken the vampires? But the sun was still thriving; how much could they retaliate out in the open at this point during the day?

“We gotta get outta here! Now!”

Dean’s voice was much closer now and if you’d learned anything from your experiences hunting with the Winchesters, it was to never doubt your boyfriend’s commands. He was a seasoned pro and possessed instincts like you’d never seen. It’s a good thing you’ve also got some of your own.

Plunging Baby’s key into the ignition, you started the car without hesitation, allowing yourself only a second to relish in the thunderous purr of the engine below you and the incomparable feeling of glee that always sprouted in your chest whenever you were sat at the wheel of a powerful, capable vehicle. Indeed, the adrenaline was already rearing.

As Dean approached the car, you quickly reached over to open the passenger side door for him. “Get in the car!”

“You- Wha-“ Dean stumbled for a split second, so accustomed to taking the driver’s seat. “Y/N, they’re awake and they’ve got bikes – a bunch of Harleys!” he continued to explain, as if that would get you to move out of his designated spot.

“OK, so hurry up!” you yelled again.

Seeing no better option, Dean hastily climbed into the car. Just as he got in, your ears picked up the unmistakable resounding growl of revving motorcycle engines. From the sound of it, they couldn’t be too far off. So when Dean slammed the door shut, your foot came down fast and heavy against Baby’s gas pedal, propelling you forward with an aggressive lurch before you whizzed off, burning rubber and leaving nothing but flying leaves and dust in your wake.

“Jesus!” Dean bellowed; his eyes had grown to about twice their usual size.

You paid him no attention though, too busy reveling in the delightful buzz that vibrated through your body starting from your fingers and toes, where you could feel every unit of Baby’s intoxicating horsepower, and travelling up your limbs until the exhilaration settled deep within your very core.

Stealing a glance at the rear-view mirror, you caught sight of the monster-driven motorcade advancing considerably, so you decided to take the next available turn as an attempt to throw them off. Things were getting truly exciting now.

“Vamps on bikes? Really?! And covered in leather?” you huffed mirthfully with a shake of your head.

But it was Dean’s turn to ignore you. He was clutching at his door tightly, as if afraid your driving might somehow hurl him out of it. In fact, when you took the first corner without warning, Dean just about fell over.

“Woah! Slow down, Toretto!” he shouted in alarm, looking over at you as if you’d grown a second head.

Seeing you’d managed to surprise the vampires with your unexpected maneuver however, a loaded smirk was your only reply.

It took you about twenty minutes to get the vamps off your tail, during which time Dean managed to recover from his initial shock and began instead to absorb your radiant form. The look of exuberance on your face and the utter determination in your bright eyes, mixed with the mischievous tug of your lips, and combined with the all-around liberated and euphoric aura that surrounded you was sexy as hell, not to mention your sheer competence. All of it astounded him and caused his blood to flow to places he could not have foreseen.

You seemed to be completely at one with his esteemed Baby, handling her with perfect control and aptitude, and all the while enjoying yourself so very much. It was something Dean never knew you were capable of, but more so, it was something he never knew he needed.

Dean had always loved how much you loved and appreciated his car, but this made him feel like he was seeing you in a new light; it made him feel like he was falling for you all over again. That devilish glint in your normally kind and virtuous eyes, your ever jubilant and fervent love for life after enduring so much pain and grief, the way you never ceased to amaze and surprise him – it was all gloriously heady and irresistibly addictive. His teeth couldn’t help but pull at his lower lip, emerald eyes glazing over with lust and adoration as he stared over at you in the driver’s seat.

So when you ultimately pulled into an empty clearing, not wanting to lead the vamps straight back to your motel room, Dean was at a loss for words.

“So, a bloodsucking motorcycle gang, huh? Can’t say I’ve seen that before,” you speculated in a cheery, nonchalant tone, feeling perfectly satisfied after your little stunt driving escapade.

Dean, on the other hand, appeared not unlike a fish out of water with his furrowed brows and pouty lips which appeared undecided as to whether they should remain open or closed.

“That was… I just- You-… I don’t even know…” he ran his hands through his hair, pulling the short strands forward roughly, “What just happened?”

You sent him a small, innocent shrug, rather amused at his adorably stuttery response.

“You never told me you could drive like that.”

“You never asked,” you replied truthfully.

“Fuck, Y/N. That was… so… incredibly…”

What? Your curiosity was killing you. Dean’s opinion always mattered to you and at the moment, you could read a myriad of emotions upon his face. He looked stunned and confused, perhaps a bit frightened, but at the same time awed and impressed, and maybe even – were you reading that right? – slightly… aroused?

Dean lowered his voice to answer your unspoken question, “Hot,” he finished emphatically.

You heaved a breathy laugh, “Yeah?”

“Fuck yes! Baby, that was incredible. The way you handled Baby like a fucking pro, the little faces you made when you were living for the thrill of the chase. The skill, the speed, the Tokyo drifting, all of it. Goddamn, you are so sexy when you’re driving my Baby like that.”

“Well that’s a coincidence ‘cause I also happen to find you amazingly sexy when you’re behind this wheel,” you joked lightly, “In fact, I think seeing you drive this car might’ve been part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

“And I think I just fell in love with you all over again,” came Dean’s suave response.

You giggled a bit, but soon sobered when you saw his gorgeous eyes cloud over with wanton desire. One minute you were dwelling in the heavily charged sexual tension that seemed to consume the entire car, watching his gaze wander down to your lips while yours did the same, and in the next your mouths met ferociously as your bodies swooped forwards simultaneously, crashing together in the center of Baby’s front seat.

You moaned into the kiss, your hands finding their way around Dean’s ridiculously broad shoulders and up to his thick neck. When you were forced to come up for air, his lips began to work their way down to your collar bone. “Mmm, god Dean.”

“Seriously baby, that was such a turn on,” he rambled across your skin, “I didn’t even know driving could be so hot.”

Your laughter was really more just an exhalation of air. “Are we finally gonna do it? Are we gonna christen Baby now, thanks to your newfound kink?” you whispered salaciously, your brain already presenting obscene images of the two of you re-enacting something akin to the infamous Titanic scene.

Dean paused for a moment, allowing you to rip off his outer layers with relish before he brought his large hands up to cup your cheeks. “See I wouldn’t call it ‘newfound’,” he started, dazzling forest orbs boring into your soul, “Cause I’m pretty sure it only turns me on when it’s you behind the wheel, and I’ve always had a kink for you.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to keep the smile off your face, “You are such a smooth fucker sometimes, Dean Winchester.” And with that, your lips and bodies collided yet again. His strong hands held you impossibly close while yours ran joyously across his expansive chest before travelling down to find the zipper of his jeans.

“Ungh, wait a sec,” you pulled back a little with knitted brows, a playfully incredulous tone taking over your voice, “Did you call me Dominic Toretto earlier?”

“Well, yeah. You were driving like a madman!” Dean exclaimed candidly.

You smirked, “So does that make you Letty Ortiz?”

“Sweetheart, I will gladly be the Letty to your Dom anytime you want… I still can’t believe you just took me on a high-speed car chase, that was fucking awesome! Just wait ‘til Sam hears about this one!”

Laughing as you pulled him back in, you shut him up with your tongue as it invaded his mouth, pausing only to smile against his luscious lips, “Mmm, well maybe he doesn’t have to hear about this next part?”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading, feedback always appreciated! oh and here’s a look at some new stuff at lexicolor.redbubble.com :)

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x male!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #my writing #text #fanart #lexicolor #redbubble

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potteresque-ire · 4 years ago

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hello, ily metas! thank you for taking the time for them. i hope you dont mind an ask with two follow up questions to your metas i'm curious about: 1) has mxtx rly been sentenced? i have seen others also share this news but other fans have quickly dismissed and gotten pissed at these reports for being fake news that are bad for mxtx, and as fearmongering. 2) for those who want to support yizhan but not the ccp, do you have advice how to navigate fan support and interaction with their media?

Hello! I apologise for the late reply! You’ve brought up some interesting points, so please forgive me for responding with an essay.

First, about MXTX — This is a follow-up to this post.

Unfortunately, this is all we got—all everyone has got about MXTX’s current situation: on 2020/11/10, she was sentenced in Hangzhou Shang Cheng District’s People’s Court (杭州市上城區人民法院). No details were given on her verdict, due to “人民法院認為不宜在互聯網公布的其它情形” (“The People’s Court decided it inappropriate to announce further details on the internet”). Here’s a link with the screenshot that showed all the information released about the case that day.

There are enough copies of similar screenshots to this one online, with the differences dependent on where the publisher pulled the information from the same website: 中國裁判文書網, an online archive of verdicts run by China Supreme People’s Court. There’re few reasons, therefore, to believe the information on the screenshot was fake. The link I used was Sina’s Financial News, which I believe is trustworthy enough for China’s standard.

It is also important to note, of course, that two scenarios may still render this screenshot irrelevant. 1) The verdict, which was not mentioned in the screenshot, was “not guilty” and 2) the name listed in the case, 袁依楣, was not MXTX at all.

Few have seemed to suspect 2) to be a possibility. Her real name might have been prior knowledge among some fans, or the combination of her surname and city of residence. 1) has been the where the concern / debate is.

I included China’s rate of conviction in the original post for this reason: acquittal is exceedingly rare (<0.1%) for the arrested in China. This short article discussed some reasons.

So, is it possible that MXTX is now a free woman? Yes. Is it likely? Not at all.

Still, since the probability that MXTX is imprisoned isn’t 100%, is spreading this news smearing her name? Fear-mongering?

I can only answer for myself, Anon, but my answer is no for both questions, which is why I’ve felt comfortable posting about her case. MXTX’s alleged “crimes” are things we already knew she did, or common practices among Chinese IP writers. We know she penned MDZS and other BL works; we know MDZS, in particular, has an 18+ element. She was said to have sold merch based on her works, but that wasn’t unusual at all for writers in Jinjiang, where she published her writing. Even those who don’t like her have seemed to agree that it was her writing that got her into trouble, not some other crimes she could’ve committed.

IMO, a guilty verdict doesn’t tell us as much about her as it does about the judicial system, the business practices of her country. It’s worth re-mentioning that media giants such as Tencent are closely tied to the government; Tencent’s WeChat, for example, is part of China’s Great Firewall and is used for surveillance, for censorship and removal of political dissidents. What MXTX’s case hints at is this: the government has (very likely) convicted her, while its close allies are continuing to use her works—works that got her into legal trouble in the first place—to make money. Some fans of MXTX have questioned if the courts have censored the details of the case to save the embarrassment of the rich and powerful, calling what has happened to MXTX 人血饅頭 (“human blood steamed buns”), an idiom used to describe the act of profiting out of someone elses’ life.

As for fear-mongering, here are my thoughts ~ it would’ve been fear-mongering if the public has access to the facts, and not years after they happen. Specifically, it would’ve been fear-mongering to leak the rumours of MXTX’s sentencing, when the judicial system is transparent and the case details will soon be published for all to see. Why? Because “fear” comes from the unknown, and “-monger” is the unnecessary promotion, stirring-up of this fear.

To promote, stir up anything, one needs a reference level. The reference level in this scenario is this: what is the level of fear if the facts about MXTX’s (and other BL writers’) situation are known? Of course, this knowledge doesn’t make MXTX’s experience any easier or more just; it doesn’t cause her less fear. However, she isn’t the target audience of this likely-to-be-true rumour. The target audience is the public and in particular, those who consume and/or generate BL material online.

What is the level of fear among this population if the facts about MXTX’s (and other BL writers’) situation are known? It’s the (relative) comfort in knowing the government’s stance on what they do: how the administration feels about BL, 18+ BL, and their distribution methods. The comfort comes from having the right information to decide how to act accordingly. For example, if I’m a BL writer based in China and I know the court has found MXTX guilty of bypassing publishing houses but not of writing M/M romance, then I’ll know to not produce paper versions of my writing, but I can keep writing.

This reference level of fear is unavailable here, however, since the government has decided to withhold all details about the case. Without this reference level, fear-mongering becomes a ... difficult to define concept.

Are these likely-to-be-true rumours agents of fear, or are they hints on how to survive in a country that lacks transparency?

Continuing with the example of I being a Chinese BL writer, since I cannot expect to hear more facts about MXTX, this rumour is all I’ve got in choosing what to do with my hobby, in deciding whether it is safe to continue. As I’m aware that a rumour isn’t a fact, I first research on the rumour’s likelihood of truth (similar to what I’ve done for MXTX’s case), and cross my fingers that I don’t get it wrong.

By doing so, I’m turning these rumours into my survival guide.

Is it risky? Yes. Is it exhausting? Absolutely. But this is the way of life for people who live under secretive, authoritarian governments—the authoritarian element making it impossible to demand more facts. It may take people outside such regimes some time to get used to—to the lifestyle, and to the idea that, in a place where news is often synonymous with propaganda, rumours are breadcrumbs of truth that should be sieved through with equal care as one would sieve through the news. Heeding, considering the probable truth of what the authority has deemed to be fear-mongering rumours can be a matter of literal life and death.

Take...COVID. (I apologize for bringing up this unpleasant topic!)

I shall link to an article about the early spread of COVID in Wuhan here and ask: were Dr. Li Wenliang and the seven other doctors fear-mongering? Wuhanese chose to believe in the government, but at what cost to them? What would the world be like today if they took the early COVID rumours as true and masked up like Hong Kongers—Hong Kongers who weren’t any smarter or better, but had simply learned their painful lessons from the 2003 SARS epidemic?

(Why hadn’t the Wuhanese learned? Because the government has long changed the narrative of SARS, taught their people that the illness originated in Hong Kong.)

(How can one learn from past mistakes if one pretends those mistakes never existed?)

You must be wondering, Anon, why I’m talking about COVID when your next question is about YiZhan. The death of Dr Li Wenliang on February 7th, 2020, sparked a demand for freedom of speech rarely seen in internet-age China. Its fury, its ferocity forced the government to change its stance on Dr Li, again an unusual move. Since January 2020, Weibo had been censoring COVID news and opinion pieces that shedded a negative light to the central government; after the death of Dr Li, the censorship apparatus stepped up, making way for the propaganda machine to kick in later and change the narrative of the pandemic.

Here are some questions without definite answers, but may be food for thought for YiZhan fans:

1) While the Chinese government’s censorship apparatus (including Weibo) might have silenced the voices of dissent, of mourning on the surface, was it more likely to pacify, or fuel the anger of netizens, many of whom had lost loved ones, many of whom were still under quarantine?

2) Less than three weeks after the death of Dr Li, a group of fans demanded even *more* censorship from the government—the closing of an internet website that had been seen as a relatively free space to express oneself. How would these netizens react, even though they knew little about these fans or their idol?

(It was, in the context of the massive silencing of COVID discussions in China, that I learned about the ban of AO3. There had been rumours that the government would censor more websites on 2020/03/01. When I read about AO3′s ban on 2/27, my thoughts were 1) Hmm. This came two days early. 2) AO3? Really?)

(I wouldn’t watch The Untamed or know who Gg was until several months later.)

Now, Anon, this is a good time to get to your CCP (Chinese Communist Party) question.

The very short answer is no. There’s no way to support YiZhan without, to a certain level, supporting the CCP. As mentioned above, the media companies are all part of China’s surveillance system. Weibo is where freedom of speech is curbed. Our two boys have been part of the propaganda machine; the BBC article linked above had a tiny picture of Gg on it, as he was a performer in the Hero in Harm’s Way (最美逆行者), a “real-life based” drama on COVID. DD just did a show glorying the Chinese police force (and here’s a video of the same force welding doors to lock in COVID-stricken residents).

Nonetheless, here’s my first advice: please do not beat yourself up for supporting YiZhan!

Gg and Dd are people who live within the system, inside the Great Firewall. They understand the world the way their government has taught them to—not only in school, but also in the news and media. Like most youths in every country, they’re patriotic—and to expect them to be otherwise, especially because of information they don’t have, is both unrealistic and unfair. Even if they do know about certain things impermissible within the Firewall, in China (as in many Communists countries), openly expressing / performing one’s proper political leanings (ie. loyalty towards CCP) is among the most important pre-requisites for any job. This has been especially true for c-ent in recent years .

They, like most of their countrymen, are doing what they have to do.

In this case, it comes to us, our decisions on how to interact with their works. How should we deal with them, their propaganda elements?

The answer, of course, varies from person to person. Personally, I’ve chosen the approaches of “immunisation” and “restriction”. By “immunisation”, I mean learning about as much historical and sociopolitical facts from non-CCP sponsored sources; this is understandably difficult for someone who doesn’t already have some familiarity with the culture and politics of the region, and/or cannot read the language.

Restriction means limiting my consumption of media produced by China. I avoid shows (dramas, documentaries, variety etc) featuring topics that are likely to contain heavy propaganda, such as the military, the police, Hong Kong/Macao/Taiwan, and of course, anything pertaining to the CCP, from its rise to its governance of the country.

In general, I’m wary of all information presented about the post-monarchy years (post 1911), even though CCP wouldn’t begin its reign until after WWII (1949). Why so early? 1) Because CCP was formed in 1921 and so its glorification requires a change of narrative since then; 2) because the Nationalist Party (Kuomintang, KMT), which governed China between 1912 and 1949 (the so-called Republican Era 民國), would end up exiling to and setting up a new government in Taiwan.

How much propaganda should one expect in shows depicting the country post-1911? The current TV and webdrama directives (previously discussed in this post) offer some hints. Here are my translations of the relevant items:

D7) Dramas about the Republican era: Glorification of the Republican Era, the Beiyang Government, and Warlord Era requires strict control.

D10) Crime drama: crime drama is the focus of content auditing. The Ministry of Public Security (Pie note: in charge of law enforcement, ie, police) will be involved in the audit. The process of crime solving cannot be exposed; criminal psychology and motivations can however be depicted in detail. Undercover police cannot use drugs or kill, or damage the image of the police force. Criminals must be punished by law.

D12) Dramas featuring realistic topics: realistic topics must adhere to the correct world view, philosophy of life and moral values. They cannot place too strong an emphasis on social conflicts, must showcase the beautiful lives of the commoners. Regular folks should display larger-than-life sentiments and aspirations; they can pursue wealth, but must use proper means to do so; they cannot damage the public image of specific employment types, groups and social organisations. Do not preach negative or decadent world view, philosophy of life and moral values. Do not exaggerate, amplify social issues; do not over showcase, display the darker sides of society; do not preach affluence, avoid things that have no basis in real life.

D16) Dramas featuring the Revolution (Pie note: CCP’s coming to power): 2019 is the publicity period of the 70th Anniversary of the People’s Republic of China. Although the “Three Importances” (important revolution, important people, important events) are still encouraged, the National Radio and Television Administration requires all departments, at all levels, to strengthen the control of content and the overall management of the industry, and focus on the auditing of content pertaining to the Sino-Japanese war and espionage dramas.

These directives (as those translated in the other post) are as vague as they are restrictive, and to err on the side of caution, production companies tend to “overachieve” to avoid going against headwinds at the censorship board. This means their products have a tendency to malign the Republican Era (D7). It means they will likely twist history in trying to depict the CCP as faultless heroes (D16). It means they'll probably present a utopian-like society and call it reality-based (D12), a society in which the good guys share the same values as the CCP and always win (D10).

Yes, my “restriction” means I skipped Hero in Harm’s Way. It means I’ve never listened to Gg’s version of 我和我的祖國 despite my absolute adoration of his voice. It means I just missed Dd’s performance in the law enforcement celebration event. It means I don’t plan on watching Being A Hero and Ace Troops.

So here’s where I’ve drawn the line, Anon, but it doesn’t mean that’s what anyone should do. Only you alone can decide where your own comfort zone is. I write these metas in the hopes that it can offer a … gateway for those who’d like to understand, with a more telescopic lens, Gg and Dd’s country—a country that holds a particularly strong hold over its citizens’ fate including, yes, their romantic fate. It’s not my wish to impose my opinions on anyone.

If I have other hopes… It’s this. Please, as long as it’s safe for you to talk, do not self-censor—especially about facts, especially on sites like Tumblr or Twitter that have long been banned by the Chinese government. I don’t mean one should go about and confront those who insist on a different version of reality. To undo opinions rooted in years of education, IMO, the process has to be voluntary, and the information is already at the fingertips of those who’re surfing these sites and wish to learn more. More importantly, open discussions of these topics may be risky for those who still have close ties to China, and keeping them safe should always be the top priority.

What I mean is simply this ~ please do not feel obliged to agree with every perspective presented in YiZhan’s work just because you support the leads. Please do not feel you must remain silent about the CCP—its good, bad and ugly—just because your favourite stars happen to come from the country it’s ruling. And please remember: “Chinese”, as a term, has always included people who live outside CCP’s control, many of whom still fully embrace the culture, traditions and values of Historical China, a 5000-years long string of dynasties with shifting borders, ethnic makeup and customs. The Untamed is a mainland Chinese production, yes, but its genre, its manner of presenting certain traditions, wouldn’t have been developed, or flourished, without the diaspora. The CCP has only been the ruling party of one country, the People’s Republic of China, for 71 years, and as a party with foreign (soviet) roots and a record of destroying the pillar of the country’s tradition, Confucianism, it doesn’t own a monopolistic say on how every Chinese should think and act—no matter how much it insists it does—or how everyone should think and speak about China and its people.

It isn’t qualified.

#Anonymous #pie metas #pie answers #BJYX #yizhan

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imaginesupply · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming - Chapter One

Chapter Two can be found here

(Gif’s not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies 

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This is pretty much a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter One starts after the cut. Let me know if you wish to be tagged in the new chapters.

Chapter One

Chapter warnings: Badly written smut (consensual), marriage awkwardness, alcohol consumption. Maybe OOC Sy, I don’t know. We never saw him being casual.

Sy checked his phone again as he waited for his bag by the baggage carousel. The airport was even busier than usual, it was taking ages and he was impatient to get out of there... and maybe even never set foot in an airport again for the rest of his life.

He read her text again, short and sweet. He sometimes called her that, short and sweet, just to tease her. Ada was considerably shorter than him and full of sugar, when she wanted to be, that was.

'I'm waiting by the gate for you, with a warm cinnabon :) So excited to see you again <3.'

Just then a notification popped up from Harper. It was a photo of the soldier at the airport, finally reunited with his wife and his two rugrats. It made Sy all the more excited to see Ada again, and then as if on cue, his camo bag appeared in the carousel and he groaned with relief.

He stood restless amidst the line, it seemed people in front of him were dragging their feet, but when they noticed his green beret uniform, most parted and let him through. Sy tipped his head gratefully.

His wife was there, just outside the gate. Sy spotted her instantly in the crowd of people. She was wearing a red dress under her open coat and her hair looked fresh out of the hairdresser. He caught himself grinning at the sight of her. Then, once she spotted him making his way over to her, she started waving her hand excitedly as if there was any way his eyes hadn't already landed on her. He wished he still had his phone in hand to capture this moment for all of eternity, but his memory would have to do, he decided before casting his arms open for his wife. Fuck, did he love her!

°°°

Ada had been biting her nails nervously for the past two hours. She had arrived at the airport way too early. The parking fee would hurt but she couldn't find it in herself to care at this point.

Three weeks ago, she had received a call informing her that her husband and part of his unit had been ambushed. There had been an explosion in some building they were scouting only God knows where.

Only a full week after that did she receive a call from Sy himself. He was coming home. For good, this time. They were sending him home early, a full eight months earlier than what he had originally negotiated with his superiors. She hadn't been prepared for the news. She had spent the days following the call asking herself whether she had heard him right, making sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her.

Now he was here, stopping right in front of her, his thick arms inviting her right in for a hug. Ada wouldn't have been able to resist the invitation even if she had wanted to. Within a second, she was enveloped in his embrace, her cheek pressed against his chest. She was overjoyed to feel his heartbeat again. Sy kisses the crown of her head before putting her down, his hands never leaving her lower back, his fingers big enough to reach the swell of her bum from there.

They pulled away a few inches to take each other in. His beard has grown a little long, but it was not enough to hide his apparent dimples as he smiled. He looked a little older too, she hadn't seen in seven months, except through a shitty quality facetime call once or twice. Her careful gaze spotted the new scar by his temple, it was the only visible physical evidence of the explosion he had been caught in. She dreaded what she might under his uniform.

Sy caught her eyes and she found herself blushing under his stare. It was always like that the first few hours when he was back, until she got used to his overwhelming presence again and to the fact that this handsome bear of a man was indeed her husband.

"You're looking good, darlin'," Sy grinned, making her spin for him. "I missed you."

Ada couldn’t resist his smile. "I missed you too, Sy." She confessed, handing him the still warm cinnamon roll in its paper bag.

He accepted the pastry with a smile and started eating it immediately but not before throwing his arm around her shoulders as they began making their way to the parking lot. Sy was eager to get her out of the crowd and have her just to him himself.

"So, what's the plan, darlin'?" Sy inquired with mischief to his voice, balling up the paper bag with his free hand and throwing it inside the trash can. "Did you book that hotel with the jacuzzi in the bedroom again?"

It had become a tradition of some sort between them. They would always spend his first night back at that hotel: they'd order some room service and eat in the jacuzzi. Though, usually, they would first end up on together on the bed.

Ada stopped suddenly in her tracks, making him still behind her. She smiled sheepishly. "Don't be mad," she started, his smile falling at once, "but your family is waiting for us in the parking lot. Your mom insisted that we celebrate your homecoming at the restaurant. Something about you missing Thanksgiving just by a couple days."

Sy groaned, thinking about the evening that now expected him. He'd been flying for God knows how many hours, all he wanted was a warm bath and Ada whichever way she'd let him have her, not a damn dinner party.

"I'm sorry, Sy."

He shook his head and leaned down to kiss her forehead again. "Don't worry, darlin'. I know it ain’t your fault."

As soon as they reached the open-air parking lot, Sy's nephew and niece start running up to him, having escaped their parents' grasp. His family was waiting for him with cheers and a 'welcome home, soldier' banner. Sy hated that kind of attention and she found it cringy as well, but she had been unable to stop his mother. Ada watched him hug the kids and lift them up into the air, making them laugh as she walked up to the machine to pay the fee.

Her hand trembled as she inserted the ticket into the slot, missing the opening a few times. She was happy - no, scratch that - she was ecstatic to have her husband back. It's just that, could you really say 'back' when there was never truly a 'before', a 'there'?

They had met when he was already deployed, but on a short leave back in Austin. They spent three weeks together, got married and he returned to Iraq. Since then, the longest stretch of time they had been together had been twenty days. Neither of them had ever gotten settled into married life and now he was 'back'. For good. Which was wonderful and foreign and overwhelming all at once.

Ada paid the fee and returned to join them, finding Sy hugging his mother. She smiled at the sight. She walked over to greet her sister-in-law and her husband, confirming that they'd meet up at the restaurant. With that, she went to the car, deciding to give Sy some more time with his family, and herself an occasion to take a few breaths and calm her buzzing heart.

"You didn't tell me my mom had gotten herself a boyfriend." Sy grumbled immediately as he sat down next to her in the car, putting on his seatbelt.

Ada turned on the engine and backed out of the spot. "I knew you wouldn't like it," she defended before casting a side glance at him. "Besides, I figured it wasn't my place to tell you."

Sy hummed noncommittally, removing his cap to rake his hand through his cropped hair.

"Though, as much as I don't exactly like your mother," Ada added quietly, "she's been on her own ever since your dad passed a couple years ago. With your father gone and you away, she must have felt lonely.”

°°°

Sy spent the rest of the drive mulling over her words in his head. The fuck was that supposed to mean? As soon as a woman feels lonely, she takes up a boyfriend?! Was Ada lonely too while he was away and… He wanted to ask if she was implying anything but then one look at her and he decided against it. Breathing out deeply, he forces himself to relax. He was just stressed out and on edge.

It was inevitable that things would have changed while he had been away. That was something he thought about frequently late at night when he got to be alone. Still, he hoped things hadn’t changed all too much. Ada still looked just as she had on their road trip to Vegas, focused on the road but leaning back on her seat, just one hand on the wheel with a grin on her lips. His wife loved driving.

"You got your nails done." Sy commented, already hoping the whole dinner thing would be over quickly so that he could go home with her.

Ada turned to him with a chuckle for a second, wriggling her graceful fingers and red painted nails, her wedding band reflecting the light. "I wanted to look pretty for you."

Sy huffed. "You always look pretty to me, Ada," he said and then watched her scoff.

"Or maybe, I just wanted to make sure I'd be able to scratch you up nicely," she wife winked.

Yeah, this dinner thing couldn't be over fast enough.

°°°

Ada saw him eat so much over dinner, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to be sick later. And, of course, the double serving of smoked ribs had to be accompanied with generous amounts of beer and whisky. She didn0t blame him, though. Out of curiosity, she once researched what they ate while on deployment and it looked anything but tasty. If she had been in his shoes, she'd have been eating her own weight in pizza and brownies right now.

It also didn’t help that his brother-in-law and his mom's new boyfriend, Phil from the hardware store, kept asking him about Baqubah and even touching on the subject of the explosion. It was obvious how uncomfortable the subject made him, his grip tightening around his knife and his jaw tensing up so tightly, she could imagine his teeth grinding.

So, Sy kept asking for refills, raising his glass, and giving them vague answers, but it seemed they didn't get the hint. At least, the subject changed when his sister interrupted the conversation to announce she was expecting again. A little girl.

Ada used the moments of cheer that followed to excuse herself from the table and go to the restroom. She was still somewhat nervous and her face was damp. She would have given anything for a glass of scotch at that moment but she was driving tonight.

Helen, Sy's mom appeared right behind her just as she was washing her hands. She hoped the woman would just disappear inside a stall but she wasn’t that lucky.

"Jack is back." Helen stated, arms crossed. A shiver ran through Ada's spine, damn she hated that woman. "For good."

Ada dried her hands with a paper towel, looking back at her mother-in-law through the mirror. "He is."

"Now's the time to prove yourself to this family and show us that Sy was right in marrying you.”

Before Ada could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Helen finally disappeared inside a stall. Rolling her eyes, Ada went to leave the restrooms when Helen decides to add some more venom. "Maybe a good start would be calling him by his first name, as a wife would."

°°°

"When do you start at Camp Mabry?" Ada asked, looking away from the steering wheel to glance at him for a second. Sy looked exhausted, not that she could she blame him after three different flights and a seemingly endless dinner. They had finally called it a night once the kids had started getting fussy.

"January 15th." He replied. "But they want me to stop by before then to have a look around the base and sign the contract."

"You're going to boss the hell out of the new recruits," Ada laughed, getting him to lighten up and even chuckle.

"You'd be surprised to know I'm actually a fair and considerate captain," Sy defended himself.

Next to him, Ada huffed as she tried stiffing the bubble of laughter, trying not miss the right exit off the main road.

"I just value discipline and compliance a lot," he added, his tone growing teasing.

This time, she was unable to stop her laugh. "Believe me, I know you do."

The drive was a short one to their house in the suburbs and she was soon parking her in their driveaway.

Ada fumbled with the key as she tried opening the front door, nervousness setting back in as she felt Sy standing behind her, holding his duffel bag. He followed in quickly after her, once she had finally managed to open the door.

"Welcome home, captain!" Ada cheered in her silliest tone as he discarded his bag on the floor.

Then, before she could even react, Sy was on her. His arms lifted her up, his body caging hers against the wall before capturing her lips in the most ferocious kiss she could imagine.

Out of instinct, her legs locked around his waist and her hands dug into his shoulders, unwilling to let go of him now that he was finally there. Sy grinned against her lips, amused by her fervour, not that he felt any different.

He broke off the kiss as he pulled them away from the wall, freeing a hand to shrug her coat off her shoulders. "You ain't gonna need that, darlin'," he promised, throwing the coat in the direction of the kitchen, not caring where it landed.

Then his mouth latched on to her throat, forcing a delicious moan out of his wife as he carefully manoeuvred them upstairs, still steady on his feet despite the alcohol. Sy was almost surprised when he pushed open the door to their bedroom with his foot and it didn't squeak, but that thought was fleeting as Ada started rolling her hips against his. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the war, not the explosion or his guilt, only the woman in his arms.

Unceremoniously, he let her fall on the bed, the urgency now flowing through his blood keeping him from doing things the gentleman way. Ada didn't mind, giggling as she unzipped her dress and slid the red thing over her head, along with her bra. Apparently, she had decided to forego panties. Sy stood there, almost mesmerised as he watched her, suddenly not certain if he dared tainting her with his touch but Ada quickly made that decision for him as she got up on her knees.

"A little less staring and a little more undressing, captain," she purred with a smirk, her fingers determined as they made quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

"That's it, darlin'. You're in for it now," Sy roared, pulling her in for another furious kiss before pushing her back against the mattress, making her land on her back as he got undressed in record time. Fuck, was he hard.

"Open up for your captain." Sy ordered and Ada complied instantly, her legs falling open for him as she peered up at him, holding herself up on her elbows and worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "That's a good girl," he praised.

Without losing another second, Sy settled in between her legs, wrapping his strong arms around her thighs and parting them to their limits. He wanted to worship her body the way she deserved, show her exactly just how appreciative he was of her, how much he craved her, but it had been months and Sy was a starving man who had just been presented with the perfect meal.

"Fuck Sy!" Ada screamed out, her back arching off the bed the instant he licked her just where she craved him most. He chuckled against her, marvelling at how wet she already was for him.

She tried closing her legs around his head, rejoicing at the feeling of his beard rubbing against her sensitive skin and never wanting him to leave again, but his arms were too strong for her clenching thighs. She was left defenceless against his assault, with no choice but to obscenely moan her pleasure and let herself cum against his tongue as his thumb expertly massaged her clit.

The coil inside her snapped and her body tensed up before letting go just as suddenly, her now damp back falling back on the mattress. "Fuck, Sy." Ada breathed out, her chest heaving as she tried to reopen her eyes only to find her husband playfully gazing up at her, smirking with her arousal glistening on his beard. The sight alone almost made her cum again. "I'll never let you leave again!"

He smiled in response, placing a kiss on her lower stomach before crawling up her body. "I've no intention to, baby," he promised.

Ada caught a glimpse of his hard, flushed erection as his body slid over hers, realizing in her post-orgasmic haze that she was in for an even bigger treat now. She could taste herself in his mouth as they kissed, his hand slithering behind her back to seize her shoulder and hold her closer. Teasingly, he started rolling his hips, his hard clock rubbing against her slick cunt, coating himself with arousal before finally, he found his way inside her, burying his head next to hers in the pillow.

Ada whimpered as he did so, her eyes tearing up as his clock slid inside her. She had evidently grown unaccustomed to his girth and length in his absence. Sy paused immediately, his muscles tense as he looked at her with concern. “You okay?” She nodded in silence, wanting him to start moving but Sy looked unconvinced, using all his strength to keep still despite his desire to fuck her right into the mattress. Without a warning, Ada tightly wrapped her legs around his hips, making him go deeper. Sy let out a reverberating groan. “God, darlin’. I missed you.”

He started thrusting into her with such vigour, such determination it felt as if he was trying to bury himself so deep inside her, no one would ever be able to pry him away from her again. It did hurt, her cervix was getting battered with each of his hard movements but she found herself enjoying the pain because it was him; it was Sy and he was right there with her, back in her arms, and she could feel his heart beat beneath her fingertips as her hand gripped at his chest.

"Fuck, I'm... I’m," Ada gasped incoherently, her nails now scratching the skin of his back. Sy was sure there would be marks there in the morning which made him enjoy the sensation even more.

"I got you," he rasped. If possible, he pulled her even tighter to him, his pubic bone now rubbing against hers in that delicious way only he was able to do. Her slick walls were now contracting around him, her second orgasm impending. "Fuck," he groaned, his breath coming out in a stutter. "Are you...Can I...?"

Sy didn't have to word it, she knew what he meant. "Cum in me, Sy. Please," she almost begged.

Her words did it. His hips stuttered as he pushed in deep just when his orgasm washed over him, exploding inside her. His face contorted with pleasure and that sight alone had her fast tracking her fall over the figurative edge. He had his face buried on the crook of her neck, muffling his groans and moans against her skin as the dam gave way within her.

°°°

Sy grunted against his pillow, slowly waking up the following morning. He was convinced he was just rousing after a very nice dream and he was ready to toss his alarm clock across the room, furious at the object for interrupting his dream, that for once, had been a good one. With a startle, Sy realized that no blasting alarm had woken him up but the sunlight on his face. Opening his eyes, he felt almost as if on foreign ground. He was home.

As quietly as he could manage, Sy turned around in bed, seeking his wife only to find her side empty. Just at that moment, he heard cursing coming up from the kitchen and scoffed. He’d bet his life Ada was cracking eggs, something she hated.

Feeling rested and in a much more relaxed mood than the previous day, Sy got out of bed and started searching for a pair of boxer briefs so he could go join her downstairs when he caught a sniff of himself. Fuck, did he stink. How Ada hadn’t thrown him out of bed, he didn’t know.

Out of habit, Sy hurried to the en-suite bathroom, wanting to shower as fast as possible before realizing that this time around, it was different. He wasn’t going back, he didn’t have to rush, their time together wasn’t counted. With that in mind, Sy forced himself to take his time, enjoying the act of brushing his teeth in a bathroom that smelled nice and showering with warm water. Ada had purchased his usual brands of shower gel and toothpaste, he noticed, even putting a red bow around his brand-new toothbrush by the sink. Even though he initially wanted to take his time to enjoy it, Sy still ended up rushing as he dried himself with a blue fluffy towel he didn’t recognize from his previous stay. He didn’t bother putting on anything more than his boxer briefs before heading downstairs. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t keep them on for long either.

Sy walked into one of the best sights he had even seen, when he entered the kitchen. Ada was standing in front of the stove, rhythmically tapping the black spatula against her naked thigh as she focused on the eggs and bacon she was preparing. The thin negligee - or whatever she called it, he always forgot - barely covered her ass and that outfit alone was one of the reasons he never minded that she always cracked up the heat so high, he felt like he was back under the hot desert sun.

Silent and stealthy like a predator despite his stature, Sy sneaked up on her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling her startle before relaxing once she noticed it was him. She smelled heavenly, Sy thought, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Watcha got cooking, darlin'?"

"Obviously breakfast," she sassed, making him softly pinch her ass in response. Ada squealed and jumped up. "Good morning to you too, Sy," she said but not before slapping the handle of the spatula against his thigh. He decided to let it slide... for now.

"Morning darlin'," he answered, kissing the crown of her head before darting his fingers into the pan and picking up a piece of bacon. It was sizzling hot, but the taste was worth it. He had missed being home! Speaking of being home... "What do you say we take the food and coffee upstairs and have ourselves breakfast in bed?" His tone failed to hide his true intentions.

Ada scoffed, the back of her head rubbing on his hairy chest and she shook her head. "Nice try but I actually intend to feed you. Your mother will have my head if I let you go hungry."

It was Sy's turn to laugh, his hands now roaming her body as she leaned forward to turn off the stove, pressing her ass against his crotch and eliciting a husky groan from him. "I'm hungry enough to eat both breakfast and you, don't worry."

Ada turned around, a huge grin on her angelic face. "Alright, you win. What do you say, we have breakfast, we do the kinky and then go grocery shopping?"

Sy tried hiding his smile but it was a lost cause. He loved it when she talked like that. He loved her, point. "Yes, ma'am."

#henry cavill smut #syverson smut #henry cavill x ofc #syverson x ofc #henry cavill x reader #syverson x reader

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cupofangst · 3 years ago

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Walking Dead AU

Ok, so here it is. I’ve seen people post their HOA AU ideas, and so I thought...might as well join in on the fun!

This one is a Walking Dead AU, based on the TellTale series. This isn’t a Jalim romance AU, but rather a father/son relationship between the two, as they are reflecting the relationship of Clementine and A.J.

In this AU, Salim is roughly 10 years old when shit hits the fan. It’s 2003 and the Iraq war is still going on, but when the vampires emerge and start wreaking havoc on the country, the war shifts. The U.S military and Iraqi army reluctantly join forces to combat a common enemy. Salim’s father is one such fighter in this war, while Salim and his mother are left alone to hunker down in their home at night, only venturing out during the day to find what little supplies they can. As the months roll by, Salim comes to terms with the fact that his father is most likely dead by now.

The situation gradually becomes more dire, as the vampires are infecting more and more people, and soon both the American and Iraqi forces are overrun as their own men and women fall victim to the entities. Salim’s mother is one such casualty when a horde forces its way into their home. His mother uses herself as bait to help Salim escape but does not survive the attack.

Salim is alone for a short while but eventually meets up with a group of survivors who take him in. Within this group of survivors is an American soldier whose entire squad was lost to a horde. With him is a woman he met during the very early stages of the apocalypse, who served as a medic for the injured soldiers and is now pregnant with his child.

One by one, Salim watches his group fall. One of the last to perish is the baby’s mother, who dies shortly after giving birth to a little boy, who Salim had suggested she name Jason, after the boy’s late father. Salim promises the boy’s mother that he’ll take care of him and keep him safe.

Salim and Jason are mostly on their own for the next 6 years, hoping to find a place that they can finally call home. When they stumble upon an old, abandoned school where a group of American (i’m still trying to figure out why a group of American kids would already be living in Iraq and i don’t know yet lmao) and Iraqi children are hiding out, their parents lost to the war against the creatures, they’re certain they’ve found it.

Aaaand that’s the jist of it xD And i think everyone can guess who the kids at the school are ;)

I don’t know that I’ll actually write anything for this, other than maybe short ficlets. If I do, then they will likely be posted over on my Pillowfort, though I’ll be sure to drop a link here.

This was honestly just an excuse for me to write the babies as literal babies xD Feel free to ask questions about this AU, though I’m still figuring shit out myself!

#house of ashes #jason kolchek #salim othman #walking dead au #house of ashes au

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trashy-mctrash · 4 years ago

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I know that Rook’s birthday has passed, but I saw a post today asking why Rook speaks French and I did look into this in an Rook Analaysis essay that I wrote for his birthday but didn’t post it here. So that post kinda made me want to post it to explain or hopefully look more into his character.

Rook Hunt is a mysterious and attractive character. Despite his unusual habits, he’s a true gentleman but is often seen as having strange characteristics. Here I will attempt to look into Rook’s character design to celebrate his birthday!!

Rook so far in the game is the only character we see speaking a language from our world, French. Some have found this confusing or unnecessary but actually, Rook speaking French makes perfect sense. Rook comes from Afterglow Savannah, a land based on the movie, the Lion King just like it’s NRC dorm counterpart. The Lion King is said to take place in Africa, specifically Kenya. Inspiration on the landscapes in the movie was from the animators visiting Kenya (Bake, 2019). French is the official language of 11 countries in Africa and the secondary language in 10, making it the 5th most spoken language in the world (Chutel, 2018). Kenya is one of the countries with french as its main language. Since rook comes from Afterglow Savannah, it’s natural that he would have qualities matching the area just like Ruggie and Leona who also come from the same place. But unlike them, Rook resides in the Pomefiore dorm, therefore he holds qualities for both of these. Therefore, Rook does not come from France or represent France, he is based on Africa and most likely comes from the twst version of it which would be Afterglow Savannah.

Although Rook is not French, many white Africans in Africa, especially South Africa originated from France, Germany and the Netherlands in 1652 (jyu.fi). It's common for some twst characters to be a mix of cultures and themes. Rook is one example of this, he’s a blend of Afterglow Savannah and Pomefiore as he comes from Afterglow and is based on the hunter from Snow White. Snow White is said to be based in Germany, specifically Germany during the Holy Roman Empire (esri). Germany is one of the three main countries previously mentioned, that majority of white Africans came from, which suits Rook’s appearance. Rook’s hats also resemble fashion from this time as well as matching his Snow White counterpart. As seen below:

Rook’s hair also appeals to both the hunter from Snow White and the matching time period. These hat styles were worn by those of higher class and by Rook wearing it, reflecting his position as deputy dorm leader of Pomefiore.

The 14th century was a time of vibrant poetry explosion fitting Rook’s personality. An example of a famous poet from this time is Dante, famously known for writing “The Divine Comedy” (Interesting Literature). He chose to write in Italian instead of Latin which was common during these times. French and Italian are both known as “romance” languages that both derived from Latin, which was the language of the Holy Roman Empire during this time (Language TSAR). When it comes to Rook giving out nicknames, these too fit the time period as it was common for people to be named after their place or qualities which is what Rook is seen as doing. An example is Riddle who he calls “Roi de Roses” which means “King of Roses” which fits the style of names of those of the high class (Benicoeur and Gwynek, 2003).

Bows were very common and practical in armies from the 12th to 16th centuries despite barely being recorded in history (Towens, 2019). This reflects perfectly onto Rook due to how little we know about him and the little trace he leaves behind which pairs well with his stealthy personality as a hunter but also shows his side as a “soldier” or a “guard” to Vil, his beliefs of beauty and possible other things we aren’t aware about. The main role of professional archers were for defense but were also used as mercenaries during crusades. Rook fits both of these as he plays the role of Vil’s defense and the protector of beauty wanting to cherish it. He can also be seen as a double edged sword as even though he stands by Vil, many have speculated that he may at some point betray Vil or help Neige doing what he believes to be most advantageous. Archery symbolises “aligning with the target” (Girvin, 2013) which means to give support towards something. Rook is seen as taking more supportive roles throughout the game by helping other students like Epel as seen in Leona’s lab coat story, helping him make a potion for his class (Twisted Wonderland Wiki). It can also mean to become the heart of a community, be truthful, in their times of need to be the voice of their minds to help solve their problems. Rook being honest can also be reflected in his arrows as they symbolise the sharp and accurate truths they contain, this can be seen in Vil’s lab coast story as he blatantly calls Vil “fat” with the intention of helping to increase his beauty, which despite his protests, Vil is seen appreciating (Twisted Wonderland Wiki).The archer is linked with the Centaur and Sagittarius (ironically his birth sign) which represents having insight which can be linked to Rook having knowledge of other students and of other things that normal people would not. Rook is known to freely speak his mind with what we see as with intentions of helping them even if his words or actions may be seen as weird or out of place, but in the end they have the effects he was aiming for or benefit the person in some way. Also “that hearts align in embracing the perfection of that targeting” (Girvin, 2013) which is poetic in Rook being a hunter and calling himself the “Hunter of Love.” An archer remains cool and observes from afar, becoming the symbol of honour, precision and patience.

In the Spanish caves of Cova dels Cavalls, they found etched carvings of archers estimated to be from about 7000 years ago (Stanley, 2020). They were believed to be a form or hunting magic ritual to manifest good hunting, this fits well with Rook being a magic user in the game and makes him wielding a bow make sense as well as again representing his Snow White counterpart. Archery and magic connections as referenced when Rook is in battle as he summons his magic attacks with an arrow releasing maneuver, as seen below:

This can also reference his love for art, arrows bound in one of the first forms of art for centuries and also shows their use and endless help throughout time. A metaphorical and physical weapon just like with Rook, attacking metaphorically with his words and physically with his arrows/magic. Arrows are meant to be simple yet two dimensional (with its pointy and flat ends), Rook too is portrayed as being simple yet ironically he is also not. Two dimensional as in maybe despite all our theorising, he may just be a simple man who loves beauty yet there are still many unanswered questions about him and his past. However this can be said for other characters in the game as well, so perhaps Rook Hunt is just a simple man with weird qualities? That is still to be discovered. “The durability of the arrow metaphor, as with archery in general, looks unlikely to go anywhere soon,” (Stanley, 2020) this is a simple symbol linked with archery which can further be associated with the idea of Rook being simple and not as complicated as we believe. Rook being able to use light and dark magic can reflect this as humans are neither dark or light, they are simple beings with desires and goals that can be either good or bad. Rook too has his desires that some might perceive as odd, his goals are simple to (as seen in the wish upon the stars event) see all the beauty in the world.

In Japan, Zen archery (or Kyudo) where the goal was to “achieve a balance among mind, body, and bow, which gives rise to a unity that links the spirit to the target,” (Encyclopedia.com, 2020). Which again reflects Rook’s ability of using both types of magic, showing his inner peace and balance and ability to use both types of magic. He is a character that we don't see explode or express vivid emotions which could be linked with his hunting too. Bow and arrows have been known as symbols of good luck against evil in Japan since immemorial. We will probably see this in action during Vil’s overblot as that will be the evil to defeat in Chapter 5 alongside the other characters.

The word “rook” has multiple meanings, like crows. Many have associated this and Rook’s poem about Crowley as them being signs of a possible connection between the two. Although this theory is very interesting and I would love for a twist like this, Disney is honestly too stupid to make a story as wonderful as that, but I could be wrong (please prove me wrong Disney). On the other hand it could symbolise Rook’s knowledge of everyone and how he could be aware of some of Crowley’s secrets or the secrets/mysterious of the school. They tend to be watchful creatures with great insight, which can be said the same for Rook as he observes other students and has knowledge of things that others normally do not have. Crows are also associated with transformation and change (Clifford, 2020) which could represent Rook helping Vil and Epel, along with others to bring forth their beauty. There is also a well known nursery rhyme about crows, as seen below:

Although the history behind the rhyme is not that clear, the seventh line does hold some connection to Rook’s wide range of secrets that he knows and holds himself. Rook is also used for loud and sociable people or animals who love to talk, Rook is known for his loud and expressive persona that fits this description. Rook can also mean cheat, which could link to him sabotaging Vil to save Neige. The name is given to those with dark hair which is clearly not Rook (with his blond locks) but could refer to his hunter counterpart instead.

Rook is famous for his golden bob that is quite the debate. However bobs have a deep history. In the 20th century, bobs used to symbolise independent, progessive people encouraging a more daring personality during those times. Movies have been the main reason for the spread and back in style of the bob. Rook embodies a free personality with his odd attire in the dorm that symbolises beauty (hunting boots and hats) showing his more bold side that can also be seen by his freely open speech. Joan of Arc is the main inspiration of the bob that was brought back by Antoine, a celebrity hairdresser, which he showed in his salon in 1909 (V is for Vintage, 2012). Although she wore it for more practical meanings, she still stands for representing the people and doing what she believed in. It’s likely though that the bob was more inspired by the hunter’s hair style for Rook yet it still represents daring and progressive people which Rook is commonly known for with his views and actions.

In conclusion, Rook Hunt is an odd yet interesting character. He is neither complex or simple. We still have much to learn about him which we hopefully will in the coming chapters and his birthday event. Although his character design may seem strange, in the end they make perfect sense when looking at the connections they all have towards the game and it’s details. I hope that this managed to clear up Rook’s character and explain more about him. However, there are a few attributes that are still questionable which if Disney has any concept of storytelling, they will explain...I hope for Rook’s sake. His stalking and obsession could be linked to how he sees himself as nothing much and viewing others as better or more beautiful, in that case he’s got some emotional package. Still does not excuse his actions. These tendencies might also be them expanding on a hunter stalking and keeping track of their prey, in this case for Rook it would be people he finds interesting. In the end he’s one of the many wonderful boys we have to learn more about and love.

References:

Baker, Craig. 2019. 25 Surprising Facts about the Lion King. Mental Floss.

https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/57386/30-facts-about-lion-king

Benicoeur, Arval and Gwynek, Talan. 2003. Fourteenth Century Venetian Personal Names. S-gabriel.org.

https://www.s-gabriel.org/names/arval/venice14/

Chutel, Lynsey. 2018. French is now the fifth most spoken world language and growing—thanks to Africans. QuartzAfrica.

https://qz.com/africa/1428637/french-is-worlds-fifth-spoken-language-thanks-to-africans/#:~:text=French%20remains%20the%20sole%20official,second%20official%20language%20in%2010.

Clifford, C Garth. 2020. Crow Symbolism & Meaning (+Totem, Spirit & Omens). World Birds.

https://www.worldbirds.org/crow-symbolism/

Encyclopedia.com. 2020. Sport and Religion. Encyclopedia.com.

https://www.encyclopedia.com/environment/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/sports-and-religion#:~:text=Throughout%20human%20history%2C%20sports%20and,their%20primary%20means%20of%20communication.

Girvin, Tim. 2013. The Symbolism Of Archery. Girvin.

https://www.girvin.com/the-symbolism-of-archery/

Interesting Literature. The Best Fourteenth-Century Poems Everyone Should Read. Interesting Literature.

https://interestingliterature.com/2019/11/the-best-fourteenth-century-poems-everyone-should-read/#:~:text=The%20fourteenth%20century%20was%2C%20in,vibrant%20language%20for%20vernacular%20poetry.

Jyu.fi. Ethinic Groups. Jyu.fi.

https://www.jyu.fi/viesti/verkkotuotanto/kp/sa/peop_ethnicgrps.shtml

Stanley, John. 2020. Archery HIstory: Arrows of the Imagination, Art and Culture Symbolism. World Archery.

https://worldarchery.org/news/178453/archery-history-arrows-imagination-art-and-cultural-symbolism

Twisted Wonderland Wiki. Leona Kingscholar/Personal Story/SR Lab Coat. Twisted Wonderland Fandom.

https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Leona_Kingscholar/Personal_Story/SR_Lab_Coat

Twisted Wonderland Wiki. Vil Schoenheit/Personal Story/SR Lab Coat. Twisted Wonderland Fandom.

https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Vil_Schoenheit/Personal_Story/SR_Lab_Coat

Towens. 2019. Arrows in the Middle Ages. Bow International.

https://www.bow-international.com/features/arrows-in-the-middle-ages/

V is for Vintage. 2012. The Bob: History of a Hairstyle. V is for Vintage.

https://visforvintage.net/2012/04/03/history-of-bob-hairstyle/

#I'm sorry this is soo long #it's 6 pages omg #I included references to the sites I mentioned #sorry if I made any mistakes #this was based on what I found on google so blame google #anyway Rook's deserves to have a week long birthday so it's a pass lol #rook hunt #I actually wonder if there is more i could mention next time muhahahahah #twst rook #I love u roookkkk #twst #twisted wonderland

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fkmt-promotional-stuff · 3 years ago

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what is the most rarest Akagi/Kaiji/Fkmt merch or product out there?

THATS actually a really tough one as there's an insane amount of stuff with very little info so i'll run down a list, no particular order again:

1. The akagi plushes have plenty of people who own them and plenty of info on them, but they're so sought after that it's incredibly hard to find for under ~200$

2. The akagi flashing keychain (that post is going up this week), and i guess by extension other official akagi keychains based on the anime that came out around a similar time. For the first mentioned item though, I could only find two people who talked about it and they linked to a dead, unarchived online shop.

3. The 3M Kaiji figure, it's insanely hard to find any info at all on and I can't even confirm that 3M made it, as I only saw their name attributed to him once in a random blog post , it appeared at a Onefest. It was sold, and i've only seen one blog user who had it.

4. on the note of figures, figures based on season 1 of kaiji by who might be "movic" that were planned and went up for preorder but were cancelled while the preorders were happening (I have an old patron exclusive post on my dive on this as I didn't want to do a full article until I had all the answers, but I haven't found any new info in forever so i'll probably just go for it soon)

5. Probably just early anime merch in general that was sold in physical stores, there's so much of it that just occasionally pops up and has so little info on it because it was before the era of people reporting on every anime merch release. though some of these things from this era are more hard to find info on than actually find.

6. An entire line of merch that just fucking disappeared including shirts, keychains, pillows, bags, baby clothes with hyoudous face on it, and even MORE announced "figures" that only had (in progress) next to, I have another patron exclusive post as I was researching this one, but in this case I did just give up on solving the mystery and a more polished article on what's known is in the queue. it was a line of goods that was only around for a few years then went silent.

7. Mobile games: From 2003-6 old flip phone games (which I have both existing posts, queued posts, and, of course, patron exclusive research updates) to many more modern apps, there's so much lost media here. 8. The washizu/HERO merch that came from a giveaway promoting the works when they came out. I mentioned the 3DS cover in an earlier post, and that alone only had 10 that were given out.

9. Pachinko merch, especially for much older machines. I always find the most random stuff that I've never heard of nor could find much info for specifically made to promote machines, such as this Kaiji fan or this Washizu nail care kit (???)

10. These Zero cards I have never seen them for sale like anywhere

#a lot of these have patron posts that mention them bc they take so long to get a full story on lmaoo #i do weekly updates for stuff i research and used to make unscheduled dumps of stuff #if you want info on things currently locked behind patron posts you can ask also im down to just talk abt it #ask #fkmt #it is FUN to just go off abt random shit

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hecticcheer · 3 years ago

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Hyponatremia (unfinished T/M/A fic)

Fiveish months ago I tried to write a fic based on this scenario post I made. I’m super definitely never gonna finish it, and, it just kinda trails off at the end? Also it’s very rough. Features some American measurements in brackets that I’m too lazy to convert, if that gives you an idea. But I figured I’d post it anyway on one-slice-of-cake>no-cake principle.

As for the plot... uh. Jon has a headache; Martin tries to help, but makes it worse. For *checks notes* ~4200 words. If it has one saving grace, it’s that you can mmmmostly understand it without prior knowledge of T/M/A? Long as you know Martin’s living in the Archives to hide from an evil worm monster, you should be good.

As usual, Jon was the first person to join Martin down in the Archives that morning, sometime between seven and eight. And, no more unusually, Martin had twelve-plus hours of nervous energy to work off, and nobody to shed it on but his boss. “Morning. Sleep well? Tim said you still had some work to do when we left for the pub, but I didn’t see you when I got back so you can’t have made too late a night of it.” (Jon shook his head.) “Shame you couldn’t join us, by the way. Elena and Clarisse and them destroyed us on geography, and Sasha says you’re pretty good on maps and that. Maybe you could’ve saved us.”

“Doubt it,” said Jon. Martin waited for him to add more to that thought, but instead he just sort of stood there. Pinched one nostril shut and inhaled experimentally through the other. Trying to figure out which one was clogged, maybe? Tim said Jon’d said he had a headache; maybe it was a sinus thing. Not that this was exactly reliable intel. On pub-quiz Wednesday Tim always regaled him and Sasha with Jon’s latest excuses not to join them. They were always bad, but some were so bad Martin suspected they weren’t so much Jon’s lies as Tim’s lies about Jon’s lies. Probably not a great idea to mention this one, then. He’d stick to the first excuse Jon had allegedly given:

“Did you finish what you were working on?”

Jon closed his eyes, for a bit longer than the average blink, but not long enough to count as a proper wince. “Not even close.”

“Oh. What… was it?”

“Cabinet of statements from 2003. Or at least, nominally from 2003, though by my count less than a third of them actually date from that year.”

“Yikes. Need any help? Extra pair of hands, or.”

“Not right now.”

“2003,” Martin mused—“are you still looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement?”

A short, but hearty sigh. Enunciated, practically. He didn’t open his mouth until afterward, but Martin could see his nostrils flare around it. “No. Three days ago, when I started to look through the cabinets marked 2003, I was looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement. Now I just want to find out which statements in there I can’t send straight to the discredited section.”

Jon stood in the open doorway to his office by this point, hand on the knob as if to remind Martin of his eagerness to close it behind him. Even so Martin tried to peer past him into the office, looking for a discard pile of statements he might offer to shuttle away himself. This was pretty hard to do surreptitiously, though. He’d hoped his eyes would land at once on the tallest pile, at which time he could point to it and say, Are those the discredited ones, then? But from his vantage point all the piles on Jon’s desk seemed taller than usual.

“Right,” Martin said instead; “good luck.” He smiled weakly and returned his gaze to Jon, meaning to restore eye contact before he remembered how seldom Jon looked at people’s faces anyway. At this moment both his eyes were covered by the hand not on the doorknob. It would’ve been weird, he figured, to just duck out now while Jon couldn’t even see him, so Martin told himself to wait until he opened his eyes and only then back off.

But then Jon just stayed like that, for ages, with his fingers on one temple and his thumb on the other, blocking all possibility of sight. Eventually Martin felt like he had no choice but to say, “Are you alright?—or, I mean, how’s your head, by the way? Tim said….”

“It’s fine.”

“Ssssso it—doesn’t still hurt, then?”

“I’m fine, Martin. Thank you,” Jon said, but in one of the least thankful-sounding tones of voice he had. And then he closed the door, without even waiting for Martin to back up.

—

“Thought you might like coffee this morning instead of tea. It’s got more caffeine, and, that’s supposed to help, right? Plus I remembered what you said on your birthday about tea having tannins just like wine does. Of course, for all I know coffee might too—”

“It does.”

“Oh. Well… maybe the caffeine’ll cancel it out and you’ll break even? Or, I don’t know, maybe if you already have a headache they can’t trigger one.”

Jon’s answering Hm sounded pessimistic. Sure enough, as soon as Martin had finished his sentence he said, “I’m not that lucky.”

“Probably not,” Martin agreed with a laugh. “Still, least it’s hydration. Though caffeine’s a diuretic, so if I recall correctly you only get about half, volume-wise. That mug’s about… [twelve ounces,] I’d say? So it probably counts as about [six toward your sixty-four].”

“Yes, yes,” replied Jon, picking up his bottle of water and shaking it. When he set it down again, one look confirmed what Martin had suspected from the sound it made—it was nearly empty.

“Oh hey, look at that! Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job even without…” he trailed off, realizing too late that the most logical end to that sentence was my help, and that that was a pretty pompous way to refer to a coffee he was pretty sure Jon didn’t even want. So instead he said, “I’ll go refill that for you.” And before Jon could look up Martin scurried off to the break room with it.

The water dispenser should’ve been changed yesterday. When the water got this low it took ages to fill even a mug, much less a tall bottle like this one. It startled as a trickle, and by about halfway up the bottle slowed to a glorified drip. In his mind he pleaded with the water spout not to make so much noise; promised it he’d put in a new one as soon as he’d returned Jon’s water to him, mouthed encouragements to it. Not much farther, just to the top of the M, come on, you can do it. (The bottle was an Institute freebie, with Magnus Institute inscribed on it in black-bordered green letters. Martin had one just like it somewhere in his flat. Worm bait now, he supposed.)

By the time he brought it back Jon’s eyes were on the statement in his hands. Skimming, by the looks of it, rather than either actually reading or pretending to.

Martin endeavored to set down his refilled water audibly, but not painfully loudly. But Jon’s answering “Thank you” took him so much by surprise that at the last moment his wrist jerked and the bottle fell over.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry.” It had a lid, so, not an actual disaster? Jon did snarl at him though, or at least at the noise. His hands flew up as if to cover his ears, but he seemed to reject that idea halfway through. Just closed his fists around thin air, then leant his temple on one of them and sighed through his nose. “Sorry,” Martin said again. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jon’s emphatic blink seemed to stand in for a nod.

“Anyway, here’s a further [sixteen ounces] for you, looks like, or thereabouts,” ventured Martin, patting the side of the water bottle with one hand while holding it down with the other so it definitely wouldn’t topple again. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

“Mm.”

“Good luck.”

—

After his stunt with the water bottle Martin had too much distrusted himself to risk making another big noise with the door, so he’d left it with its tongue sticking out rather than latching it. This meant he made almost no sound when he entered again. The first thing he noticed was that the water in Jon’s bottle still reached the top of the M. It still sat in the same place, too—not out of Jon’s reach but far enough away (Martin had told himself at the time) not to seem an imposition on his space. Almost definitely not where one would set it if one intended to pick it up again soon. His coffee seemed to have fared a bit better though. Half empty, one might say. Optimistically.

The second thing he noticed was Jon himself, who sat with his elbows on the desk, his chin on the heels of his palms, and his fingers arranged around his eyes like fence posts. Like a child peeking out at something they’re too scared to look at directly—except that his eyes were closed.

Martin snuck back to the other side of the door and knocked on it, gently. “Hey, uh, Jon?”

He didn’t look up, and opened his eyes for only a second before shutting them again. But he did drop his hands, threaded his fingers together and set them on the table, and bit his lip. “What, Martin.”

“Er—well, I know you said you’d given up looking for Marcus McKenzie’s statement, but I just realized I never asked if you’d thought to look in the discredited section. I mean, from what he said on the phone it didn’t sound like he took his dad’s statement all that seriously, so, maybe Gertrude put it in there, as, like, corroborating evidence that it wasn’t paranormal, and McKenzie senior’s statement just got misfiled?”

“Martin, I invented the discredited section.”

“Oh.”

“Anything else you wanted to say?”

“Oh, uh, nothing important. Just wondered if you’d like me to take that mug away.”

Instead of responding verbally, Jon picked up the mug and made what seemed a valiant effort to drink a little more of the coffee inside it. From what Martin could tell, he barely managed not to grimace in disgust.

“Do you like coffee? I’m not a big fan of it either, to be honest. Oh, well. If you can’t force that down you’ve still got plenty of water there, I see. Besides, it’ll wash out the taste.” (With an actual heh heh, which came out more like a small dog panting than like human laughter.)

Dramatic, snarly sigh from Jon. “Think I’ll pass. It seems to make it worse, if anything.”

“Oh. Sorry about that; must be those pesky tannins. I’ll just take your cup now then.”

But Jon only tightened his grip on it. “Water, I meant. The coffee’s fine. Not exactly my favorite beverage in the world, but, you were right. It’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Thanks, I’m glad you.” Martin smiled, then frowned. “Wait, water makes it worse?”

“Seems to.”

“Really? Are you sure it wasn’t just—too cold, or something.”

His laugh sounded bitter, hollow—theatrically so, in fact. A perfect Ha ha ha, except he didn’t say those words, didn’t enunciate them like Sasha sometimes did when Tim made a bad joke. He just made the exact sounds they were invented to transcribe. “No, Martin. I haven’t just been giving myself a brain freeze every time I.”

“…Right, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” For a few silent seconds Martin picked at a notch in his thumbnail, carved there earlier this morning by a stubborn paperclip. Part of him wanted to tear the nail off and have done, but he knew it would bleed if he did. Nothing to clip it with in the Archives, obviously. “Are you sure you won’t try again? This water’s quite tepid, actually, since I got it literally from the bottom of the barrel—”

“Martin—”

“Sorry, sorry. Just thought it was worth—”

“Don’t you have something better to do.”

“Er… no, actually. Pretty much finished with everything, at the momen…t. Though if you’d like to give me another assignment I’d be happy to—yeah. Do that, for you. Or I mean, for the sake of the Archives; I don’t mean it’d just be, like, busy work. Not accusing you of that or anything.”

“Are you comfortable leaving the Archives?”

For half a second Martin heard this as a hint—an offer? a threat?—that Jon meant to have him transferred to another department. Then he wondered if Jon was hinting it was time Martin found somewhere else to live. “What, like, permanently?”

“No—just as long as it takes to track down and interview Georgie Barker about her role in the statement Ms. King gave us.”

“Oh. Yeah, I think so, uh. Thank you for asking? I mean, Prentiss said she was done with me, right. At least, me personally. And she already knows I’m here, so it’s not like.”

Jon replied shortly, “Yes.”

“I’d like to listen to Ms. King’s statement first, though, if that’s alright. What’d you say it was about? The Cambridge Military Hospital?”

Another short, emphatic, nose-directed sigh. Couldn’t be too stuffed-up then, Martin guessed. “Technically, yes, though Ms. King insists the building itself had nothing to do with it.”

“Huh. What was it about, then?”

“She alleges that a woman she hired to help film one of her ghost stories peeled the skin off her arm.”

“Oh my god! I mean, did you—was she okay? Did she show you her arm? Did it seem to have—you know—skin?”

“Her own arm, not Ms. King’s.”

“Oh.” Martin sighed for himself now, though with relief rather than exasperation. Managed a tiny laugh, as well. “Okay, well, that’s. Creepy as hell, but, not nearly as bad as.”

“Mm. Nor nearly as verifiable as your version.”

“T…rue, no, I guess not. Anyway do you have the tape? I’d like to listen myself, if that’s.”

Jon pointed to a small stack of tapes on the bookshelf to Martin’s right. Sure enough, the top one had M. King, 0161704 sharpied across the label on its side. “Ah! Found it. Thanks.” He had a tape player squirreled away already; on another day he might’ve pretended otherwise, but for the moment he was too relieved not to have to make a pest of himself by asking to borrow one to worry whether the absence of that request might make Jon suspicious.

Besides, Jon seemed pretty… absorbed in himself, this morning. By the time Martin turned to face him again one of Jon’s hands had crept back up to his face, where its fingers now seemed to comb the hairs of his left eyebrow. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Jon do that before, plus doubted the hairs in question needed his help to lie flat. Jon’s eyebrows had always struck him as quite neat. Plus Martin had tried that with his own eyebrows plenty of times before the mirror in his youth, and knew it didn’t work very well even if you licked your finger—which Martin assumed Jon hadn’t. So he figured he should file this behavior in the same box as the earlier fist-clenching-to-avoid-covering-ears thing. As, like, headache-soothing for people who don’t want to look weak. Or unprofessional, or something to that effect.

This gave him a sense of foreboding when he thought too hard about it. But Martin needed so badly to keep this job, now that his flat wasn’t safe anymore. It seemed wiser not to look directly at abstract threats like that. If he could make Jon feel better then it wouldn’t matter, right? Or at least could be put off til next time.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Don’t recall saying I was,” Jon muttered.

Martin winced. He had said he was alright—Martin was certain. When he’d first come in that morning, he’d said he was fine when Martin asked, and then he’d closed the door. Didn’t seem worth correcting him over it, though. So Martin just said, “Try to drink something while I’m gone, yeah? Kool-Aid, for all I care, just. You really don’t look like you’re feeling all that well. And any kind of drink other than alcohol should—oh.”

He looked up, hearing Jon swallow what sounded like a lot more than the tiny sip of coffee he’d managed before.

“Well. Great. Thank you for obliging me.”

Jon continued to gulp down water, while staring right at Martin. He paused in swallowing to breathe, but even then did not remove the mouth of the bottle from his own mouth. When he tried to resume drinking it made him cough instead, and even then he didn’t set it down.

“O-okay, well, I’m sure that’s plenty, don’t—?” Hurt yourself, Martin wanted to say, but feared that would sound patronizing. The bottle was more than half empty now. Jon paused for air again. “For god��s sake, Jon, stop—that looks like it hurts—you don’t have to—?”

At last he slammed the empty bottle on his desk—more loudly than could possibly be comfortable for a man with a headache. Leant his elbow on the table, and between pants huffed a laugh and said, “Care to refill it for me?”

On a sort of autopilot Martin chirped, “Uh—sure! No problem I’ll just,” and rushed off with it to the break room. This refill took much less time, since he’d remembered to change out the thingy. But it still took long enough that by the time he got back he worried, “You’re not going to chug this one too, are you?”

“No,” said Jon, eyes and hands both busy now with a statement hitherto hidden by his elbow. He did not reach out a hand to take the bottle from Martin.

“Okay, I’ll just. Leave this here then. See you after the, uh. Yeah.”

—

And lo, it was as he had feared. Chugging [sixteen ounces] of water did indeed make his headache worse. By ten it seemed to count turning the page of a statement as an exertion worth pounding over. True, by lunch time it seemed to have backed off a bit—until he sat back down at his desk with his fork and plate. On his way to the microwave he’d thought he must be on the mend: his head throbbed a little harder than when he’d been seated, but not so much he’d have noticed the difference had he not set out to pay attention to it. Some food, maybe an ibuprofen or two and he’d be fixed, he’d told himself.

Once he got to the break room, though, he noticed something else odd. His limbs were weak. His knees seemed made of jelly, and wobbled beneath him every time he shifted his weight; his arms were steady enough, but when he set down the pizza box on the counter after retrieving it from the fridge he felt a surge of relief, which he hardly understood until he’d transferred a slice from the no-onion half onto a plate and picked up the latter to put it in the microwave. Even these tiny movements made his arms, neck and chest ache like they do when you hold your breath too long. He leant his elbows against the counter and gulped down air until his mouth felt so dry he couldn’t bear to keep it open. Wondered if he should sit down; he felt a bit dizzy. But he had less than 30 seconds left to wait for the microwave, which he figured couldn’t hurt him.

It didn’t, but the walk back to his office did a bit. Moving his legs’ sluggish muscles made his whole body ache—again like it does when you run too long and have to stop for breath. He figured it must be in a similar spirit that his head waited til he’d sat down to unleash its onslaught. Before leaving his desk he’d grown used to thinking of his heart beat’s faint buzzy shocks like the second hand on a clock, criticizing him under its breath from where it watched behind his eyes. This was… a great deal worse than that. He tried to time the beats against the ticking of his wrist watch, but couldn’t seem to focus on that and breathe at the same time. They were fast, though, at least at first. His heart rate did seem to calm down fairly quickly, but he could swear it never got all the way back down to its earlier rate—at least not before his attention shifted from the speed to just. How much it hurt.

Was that what made his slice of pizza so tasteless? When he cut his first bite, on its way to his mouth he thought he caught a whiff of the red onions with which its tip must have shared space, and only his horror of Tim asking What was wrong with that part, then? when he brought the otherwise-empty plate back to the sink stopped him from scraping that bite off his fork and trying again higher up the slice. But when he finally forced himself to eat it? Nothing. No onion taste, thank god, but everything else too seemed… muted. Hardly worth how the exertion of chewing made his head hammer after each swallow. Jon knew the taste of food was hardly the point of eating it, but? In the absence of everything he normally liked about cheese and meat and bread and vegetables, the fact the cheese squelched in his mouth made him wish he’d never left his bed. The way leaves of soggy spinach flapped over the sides of even his neatly-cut rectangles. His stomach tightened in revulsion, so that in his throat he could feel each swallowed lump shifting from foot to foot, waiting to be let in. Not to mention how the effort of cutting it shook the whole damn table.

He told himself he could skip the crust. If Tim asked about it, Jon’d just tell him it’d gone stale. Just get through the… other part, the crumb, the filling. Between throbs the ache in his tired jaw merged with the one behind his eyes. Why didn’t it always hurt to chew? Did the pleasure of tasting food give you enough endorphins to cancel it out? Would everyone have this problem all the time if we had to live on, say, dry toast?

Right, okay, close enough. Ibuprofen now. No, you idiot—other drawer. In the fantasy versions he’d rehearsed of this moment he clapped four of them from his palm into his mouth at once, and swallowed them dry. But his blister pack turned out to have only three left. Which was fine! Just fine. Better, probably, after so little lunch.

Also, dry-swallowing was kind of a misnomer? He’d never really thought about it before, but. Turned out it would only work if your so-called “dry” mouth had spit in it. As it was the pills stuck to his tongue, leaving streaks of spicy burnt-orange when he tried to claw them back toward his throat with his teeth. When they got far back enough on his tongue he had to concentrate not to gag, and they still stuck—even when he turned his nose to face the ceiling and thumped on his chin with his hand (which, ouch)—at that point he gave up and unscrewed his water. Allowed as little of it in his mouth as would let him swallow these damn things, and wash their stains off his tongue. And it still made his head throb harder.

Jon imagined shooting whoever next told him to stay hydrated. He derived little joy from the fantasy, though; couldn’t not think of the loud, sharp noise it would make.

Returning the plate could wait, he decided; not like it would attract worms in the thirty minutes it’d take for the pills to kick in. Meanwhile he’d just… keep sorting. He took a statement off the top of the pile in front of him and blinked at it over and over, until his vision resolved into a shape he told himself hurt marginally less than the others. 9720406, Nathaniel Thorp. Christ, 1972? “Misfiled” was practically an understatement for that one. And here he’d thought Gertrude had kept that part of the century in relative good order. Still, he stuck it on the all other years pile and reached for another. 0130111, David Laylow. Nope—still not 2003. 0002610, Jennifer Wong. 0910203, Lisa Jones. 0081711, Donald Gately. 0100912, Lawrence Mortimer. 0152101, Uzma Rashid. Ha!—0030707, Seymour… Backsides. Wait a minute. Hadn’t he seen a prank statement with that name before lunch? He grabbed a stack off the 2003 pile and found… Rashid, Mortimer, Gately. Had he switched the—? Look in the unsorted pile again, he told himself. Under where he’d found Mr. Backsides’ tale he uncovered statements 0031212, 0032504, 0031809, and so on. Great. After Seymour he must’ve got mixed up. There was no more unsorted pile—not on his desk, anyway. He’d have to pull some more out of the… open filing cabinet which stood across the room with its tongue stuck out at him. Yeah, well, that could wait too. For now he’d just. Check his email.

#a shifty tract #to be clear hyponatremia is uh. too little sodium in blood. it is the 'eat more salt' ailment #it's very common w/ dehydration so any diuretic (i.e. med that makes you pee more) can cause it?#my plan here was to have martin complain to tim and sasha that he Broke Jon and when he mentions jon said water made it worse ('god why #('didn't i just believe him?') tim as the only Sports Guy in the archives recognizes ah-ha! electrolytes!#and either get him himself or tell martin to get him some trail mix and sports drink #and have jon drag his feet since every other suggestion his coworkers have given him over the last few days of headache &c. has been Garbage #but eventually cave out of pure frustration--enjoy the taste of salty raisin and stale pretzel so much he grins til his face hurts--#and figure out it must be 'cause he switched adhd meds recently #(...tho apparently it's rare for them to have this effect BUT THEY CAN! i have two data points)#nonsearchable tma tag

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lotusthekat · 3 years ago

Text

The Visit

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)

Rating: G

Relationships: Alphonse & Alfons

Characters: Alphonse Elric, Alternate Gracia Hughes; MENTIONED - Alfons Heiderich

Summary: Alphonse buys flowers for a friend. Post-Conqueror of Shamballa.

Word count: 767

AO3

A/N: I can’t stop writing, help meeee

anyway, have this little drabble I got out of my system!

TRIGGER WARNING - past character death

“Alphonse, it’s good to see you!”

“Ah! H-Hi, Miss Gracia,” he clears his throat. Even though it’s been two months or so, Al can’t quite swallow that she’s not the same woman he saw giving birth to Elicia. “I’d like these, please.”

“Hydrangeas…” Gracia smiles, “they’re lovely, aren’t they?”

“Mm-hmm.” Al gives her the money. “Thank you.”

“Are you seeing someone, Alphonse?” She winks.

“O-Oh, it’s not that kind of someone. I wanted to visit a friend… far away from here.”

“Hm, I see…” Hopefully, she might have understood from his tone, but she doesn’t pry.

He begins to turn away. “I’d better get going.”

“You’re going alone?”

“Yeah, well, just for a bit,” Al grins.

“You be careful out there, alright?” Gracia warns him as he walks away.

“I’ll be fine!”

For once, the boy waves her goodbye and leaves the sweet, peaceful and motherly scents to the faraway land.

He hasn’t gone back there since.

Thankfully, the Romani gave him a ride and they might as well take him home again. They’re always moving places; it reminded him of people he once knew in the other world.

But that’s not the point today.

It’s a quiet, sunny day today. Alphonse walks calmly, analyzing each name he sees… otherwise, there are no other visitors. At least he will have privacy with his friend.

When he finds them, Al leaves the hydrangeas by the earth, alongside the picture.

“Hi,” he whispers, “sorry we can only talk like this.”

Al gets no answer as expected. He stares at the picture for a moment. It does feel like he’s looking at a mirror… but you can also tell the reflection is not the same. There is no such thing as a perfect reflection, he realizes. Each one has its life, its own story…

In any case, Al sits in front of the grave.

“It’s been a while, huh? I hope you haven’t been alone all the time... I couldn’t visit you before, because there’s so much to learn from your world,” he admires. “Especially your rockets, right? Brother told me you loved them so much.”

The photograph smiles still.

“I bet you’d love alchemy, too. Brother and I studied it like the palms of our hands. It’s… strange living without it. But the science from this Earth is beautiful, too.” Al’s grin fades. “It’s too bad that horrible people use it for the worst reasons. I guess alchemy isn’t that different from machines, after all.”

He pauses.

“But hey, we’re doing our best to make sure no one harms people again with science. Because, like you told my brother, and always reaches the impossible and make it all possible,” Alphonse states hopefully. “In fact, I have some good news! Ed helped create an institute in your name back at the University. Now everyone is learning how to build amazing rockets, just like the ones you built!”

It might even look like the photo is smiling wider. Or that’s what Al hopes, though.

“He… He really loves you, Alfons,” Al tells him. “He talks about you a lot. I know you guys had a fight before you… left, and he wants you to know he’s sorry. So, he’s making sure everyone remembers your name, and I’m so glad to know how much difference you made in his life.”

The wind blows softly through Alphonse’s blond hair, his dark eyes looking deeply into the bright ones of the photo.

“I wanna thank you for that, too. For taking care of my brother.” Al puts his hand on the earth. “Because well, between you and me, he sucks at doing it for himself,” he giggles silently. “You know, there was this time when…”

Al stays there telling stories for what feel like hours.

When he finally sees the sun making its way to east, he realizes Ed might kill him for disappearing (in his defense, Al did leave a note back home, but knowing Ed, well… he might be doomed).

“Oh, sorry, but I’ve gotta go home now. It was good talking to you,” he tells Alfons. “I’ll try and bring my brother with me next time. I know your birthday is coming up, right? We’ll have a surprise for you.”

Even far away, Al can tell there’s a car approaching somewhere in the road outside. Once he stands up, he touches the stone.

“I’ll see you soon, okay? I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are.”

He lets go.

Although the sun is setting, the sky seems to have gotten even more beautiful now.

(He might have just made Alfons' day.)

#fullmetal alchemist #fma 03 #alphonse elric #alfons heiderich #conqueror of shamballa #death mention tw #fanfiction

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