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vivdunye · 4 years ago

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present day, present time

and you don't seem to understand

fabled adages of science

so i was watching the snyder cut of justice league the other morning, i couldn't really begin to tell you why other than i needed 4 hours of background noise . but i tuned in at one point when the fictional super Israeli, wonder woman, narrated a scene explaining an alien technology "that was so advanced that it almost seemed like sorcery", and wouldn't yknow, that's a real concept actually, i recognized it immediately as clark's third law:

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

it's perhaps the most well known and oft quoted of the three, but i always felt like arthur c. clark's first 2 laws don't ever get quite enough love . i've been thinking heavily about the first law lately:

When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.

i've been thinking about it in relation to this one quote from wernher von braun that i always liked:

Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation. Everything science has taught me, and continues to teach me, strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death.

many people are afraid of death; of ceasing the awareness of life, because they don't know what will happen to themselves after, where do they go if anywhere? it's much more nebulous in the secular sense if you haven't a construct for the afterlife already . i've been thinking about death more and more often lately to a worrying degree . however, scientific thought for all its clinical detachment from all things spiritual has strangely enough always felt like the perfect module for contemplating the metaphysical . so i decided to do some research .

i want to recall right now thomas edison's first intended use for the phonograph . edison had originally envisioned the phonograph primarily as a means of preserving the voices of loved ones after death . he later went on to try and develop a "ghost box" or "spiritphone" . this device would allow humans to communicate directly with the dead . he was unsuccessful .

if hauntology has taught us anything, we technically do have ghost boxes now, but maybe not in the way edison intended or even predicted . we carry them everywhere and can check them anytime, channeling messages through them constantly . we actively become digital ghosts, online we are both present and absent . the present implodes with the past, we've over-documented everything so now we can experience an instant nostalgia . today's future becomes archaic, we live in the archive to try and remember what the future once was .

'haunted' and 'futuristic' become one and the same .

by this token i'm reminded also by transhumanism . as the technological singularity fast approaches, as progress charges forward at a constantly increasing speed, current estimates posit the 2040s as the point in which technological improvements will occur at a constantly self-replicating rate . in the time between now and then, transhumanism and the eventual merging of human consciousness with machinery are theorized outcomes of technological progress . one day we might be able to leave the shackles of our human bodies and transcend our physical forms as a joined digital consciousness .

and in relation to this i also think now of clark's second law

The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

through the wired

this is the stage on which the anime Serial Experiments Lain is set . a story, that while constructed on the patchwork of fiction, is nevertheless symbolic of certain phenomena based in reality .

also i apologize if it wasn't apparent that this post was going to be about Lain . im lainposting boys

the first few episodes exist to misdirect the viewer right from the beginning . and only by returning to these episodes having thought through the rest of the show, does their purpose become clear . the first episode, aptly titled "Layer 01: Weird" , is meant to show us exactly one thing, that lain is fucking weird . we can't tell what she's thinking, we can't tell what she's doing, and that's exactly how everyone around her feels . lain is totally and completely disconnected, she doesn't keep up with current events at school, she doesn't communicate with her family, near as we can tell she has no actual interests besides her stuffed animals and totally phasing out of reality. the inciting incident of the series happens when someone tries to make a connection with lain, and that person happens to be dead...

or at least there body is dead, their consciousness seems to have escaped into the wired . lain's decision to pursue this connection is what lead's her to ask her father for a new navi (the series' name for a personal computer) and that's all that really happens in this episode . coming back to it from later episodes we know that lain is probably thinking a lot throughout this episode . the decision to not entreat us to any of her thoughts is intentional, it is to make us feel distant from her as viewers, the same way that the world around her is distant . as lain forms connections throughout the series, so too, will we form a connection with her .

we do not know how much time has passed since then and the second episode, but whatever has happened lain has already developed a significant presence in the wired . this episode is tricky in its presentation as it doesn't make us privy to which things lain is lying about and which things she's honest about . in it we have lain talking to someone on her navi, she types sporadically in an encrypted language, and someone who looks just like her appears late one night in a night club downtown . while lain won't admit it to her classmates it's apparent at the end of the episode that it was her at the club all along . the key to understanding her actions throughout the episode is to realize she is trying to keep her existence in the wired and her existence in reality as separate entities . the realization she has by the end of the episode, which she uses to terrify a gunmen into suicide is that there is no escape from the wired, no matter where you are you are always connected .

made in the late-90s, Lain was quite ahead of its time . it predicted not only how in the early 2000s the internet would be regarded as a separate world where anonymity and personas reigned—it also predicted how the internet would eventually and inevitably overlap with the real world, once people in the real world realized that the internet is the real world . people have a tendency to see one part of themselves as their "true selves", whereas the parts they show to others are personas, they think of these things as separate when in reality a person is an amalgamation of all of their personas . lain tries to change her personas by dressing and acting differently from when she's in the wired-mode and in normal-mode, but she doesn't realize how people have been doing this way before the wired existed . her classmates are all 15 but they all pass for adults when they've dolled up and hit the club . if the characters in the show seem a bit young for their attitudes then you may not have met enough tech-savvy teenagers before . the purpose of this episode is to ultimately to prove to lain that the so-called real world and the wired are merely two layers of one reality, which couldn't be more true of the world today .

let there be light300pMTK. .

in mythology, psyche was the mortal princess who fell in love with and, eventually, married the god cupid; in religion and classical philosophy, psyche came to mean the human soul, and in the modern, literate world, it retains that meaning as the human spirit; in freudian analysis, psyche refers to the totality of the human mind: the id, ego and superego .

every meaning of psyche is distinctly human: a human princess who achieves godhood, the soul or mind of an individual . if previous episodes introduced the blurring of the real world with the wired, then episode three; "Layer 03: Psyche" is the episode that starts to blur human identity online and offline . one doesn’t even have to venture into the wired to ask what is human .

by this point we know that lain is definitely up to something . at this stage it's hard to tell what, but all we get are little glimpses into her actions . she still seems to be hiding a lot from the world around her and from the viewer in turn . ironically, lain's blank-faced silence and response to the questions of those around her it's own incrimination . when a police officer tells her to speak up (regarding the gunman's suicide) even if she had nothing to do with it, he doesn't realize she's being silent precisely because she does have something to do with it . but her deer-in-the-headlights persona gets her out of it .

the lain of the wired and the lain of reality are slowly starting to mesh into one whole . it remains difficult to interpret the physical existence of "other lain" so to speak, and the show refuses to outright show her playing that character . at the least, we do get to see lain access the wired in all its chaotic glory and she does begin to take an active interest in expanding her knowledge as she learns about and installs the "Psyche drive", a computer circuit that lain procures in hopes of it enhancing her computer's processing power . on the smaller scale, when lain applies the psyche processor to her navi, she is installing a spirit or soul, an animating element, to her machine . notably, the psyche does not replace the main processor; psyche augments the main processor, interpreting the data that flows through it . the soul is not simply the brain, it is an elevated consciousness or meta-self. by this point in the series lines become blurred and the lains begin to merge (hehe) . all of this is set against the backdrop of lain trying to decide if she should remain in the physical world or fully integrate in the wired . she hears one voice telling her that death feels amazing, and god exists in the wired, that there is nothing left for lain in this world . however, lain begins to establish a connection with her classmate alice, saying her name out loud and commiting it to memory for the first time, alice asks why her friends are not more shaken up after watching someone shoot himself in the head the previous day . it's almost as though lain is clinging to alice as an excuse to stay in the physical world out of fear for changing over . this all sets the seeds for what eventually grows throughout the series .

i want to recall the final meaning of the word “psyche". that the word also meant “butterfly,” which is how the greeks imagined the soul to appear . no doubt the symbolism of a creature that begins as one thing and transforms into another is not lost on us here .

every event serves to emphasize the existence of one's own personal reality, and as individuals from all others, we desire a place to belong . however that too is an egotistical concept . in order for there to be a mutual understanding, it is necessary to recognize here and now, like the brain synapses, we are all—in a logical yet chaotic manner—connected .

each is seperate—yet they are one . by connecting, humanity gains first awareness of its function as a seed . and by connecting a human no longer remains a mere endpoint, a "terminus", but becomes a junction to another point, having won the right to continue itself . in a sense, the ability to connect is the ability to continue . this not only applies to the connection of axial coordinates but temporal coordinates as well . therefore, at the time when a conscious, intentional connection is made, surely the dead will rise from there intended place, appearing at the time coordinate of the connection's origin .

in that moment, the realization will dawn that the time in which we inhabit our physical bodies is but the starting point of the connection, and the very meaning of possessing a physical body might be questioned .

we recognize we are connected .

serialize thyself .

#tecnobabel #text

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bastardnev · 5 years ago

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Broken (But Not Beyond Repair)

yknow i spent a whole lot of time referring to this as “the valentine’s fic” but meanwhile valentine’s day is mentioned like Once during this whole story. Nevertheless !

tagging: @sailor-slam-dunk @residentjoth @riveliciousx @lambchopviking @storyranger @nerdbrose (lemme kno if u wanna be added to my tag list !!)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling, All Elite Wrestling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Pac | Adrian Neville Characters: Mustafa Ali, Pac | Adrian Neville Additional Tags: Valentine's Day, sorta but not really, its more mentioned than anything else tbh, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, i guess, Making Up, au where nev still lives in orlando and also has a big fucking dog, mustafa worries a lot, Implied Sexual Content Series: Part 2 of Jess Has Too Many Fics In Her Notes Summary: By all means, Mustafa shouldn't have even been thinking about Neville anymore. It had been over two years since he left WWE, and they were both at completely different points in their careers. It was pointless to dwell on the past or give any real thought to what could have been — all that mattered anymore was what the future held, and it looked like their respective paths were headed in opposite directions.

And yet, despite all of this, there Mustafa was. Seated in his rental car, in the parking lot of some cheap motel he had planned to spend the night at. Neville's number dialed on his phone.

(link to ao3)

By all means, Mustafa shouldn't have even been thinking about Neville anymore. It had been over two years since he left WWE, and they were both at completely different points in their careers. It was pointless to dwell on the past or give any real thought to what could have been — all that mattered anymore was what the future held, and it looked like their respective paths were headed in opposite directions.

And yet, despite all of this, there Mustafa was. Seated in his rental car, in the parking lot of some cheap motel he had planned to spend the night at. Neville's number dialed on his phone.

Mustafa stared down at the screen, squinting against the bright light. The rain rhythmically tapping against the roof of the car left him in almost a trance-like state as he debated whether or not to hit the "call" button. This wasn't the first time he found himself in this position — he was tempted to get in touch with Neville just about every time he and the rest of the WWE crew passed through Orlando during live event tours. He would usually only get as far as his contacts list, however, and he was never actually able to bring himself to make that move. Once he learned that the latest show would see him in the area again, he assumed that things would play out as they normally did, with him backing out at the last second and pretending like he had zero interest in seeing Neville.

But that didn't happen. This time, the urge to get in contact was so strong , far more than it ever had been. To the point where Mustafa was in the car and fully prepared to drive right over to Neville’s house. He had no idea what exactly it was, but he had arrived in town with an almost overwhelming feeling to just bite the bullet and do it. A sense that he needed to stop putting off something that was killing him not to do. He wasn't even sure where it came from, but it was certainly there — a feeling that he needed to reach out, to call, to talk to Neville again after so long of little to no contact.

To possibly rekindle a relationship that had meant so much to him.

To put it bluntly, Mustafa and Neville's relationship was, at its core, supposed to be just sex. Nothing more than that. "No strings attached", they always insisted. Once a week ( maybe twice, if they were feeling up to it), they would meet up in a hotel room to fool around, to blow off steam after a show. After Raw, after 205 — they weren't picky. Whenever they were both in the same place and could meet up, they spent the night together. It was nothing more than that, at least at first.

But then, it... changed. It had been gradual — Mustafa hadn't even noticed it right away — but the times they shared started to become something else. Before all they had done was meet up, do what they had to do, and then go their separate ways before anyone knew what they were doing. They did their best to make sure that no one even had a suspicion that there was anything going on between the two of them, hence why Mustafa would always go back to his hotel room after they finished. Whoever he was rooming with normally didn't ask too many questions so long as he was back from his "late night walk" ( horrible excuse, but it worked) at a reasonable time.

Then Mustafa started to actually stay the night with Neville. The first time he had simply been too tired and lazy to leave. The second time had followed a very similar format, only Neville didn't put up as much of a fight. Every time it happened thereafter, Neville cared less and less, and before either of them knew it it had become an established part of their routine, their desire not to clue anyone in on their secret be damned.

And then came the invites to each other's houses. It had started as a way to save money whenever tapings were in Chicago or Orlando, but before long they had becomed planned affairs, with one spending anywhere from a day to a whole weekend at the other's home. They acted like this was so they could hook up easier (and more frequently), but the fact was that those nights were... fun . More fun than they thought they would be. It wasn't just sex anymore — they were cooking together, and buying way too many snacks together, and eating those same snacks as they binged the dumbest fucking movies together. (Stupid Movie Fridays, they'd taken to calling them, though they weren't opposed to other days of the week being devoted to corny films.)

They were... getting closer. Close enough that Mustafa wasn't sure if they should be labeled as acquaintances, or as friends, or as... something even more than that.

Whatever the hell they were, it all came to a screeching halt in October of 2017, when Neville left the company and didn’t look back.

Mustafa still texted him after everything happened, but it was clear that things weren't how they used to be. Neville was distracted, so caught up in the drama of requesting his release that he didn't seem to have time to talk with him anymore. It wasn't like Mustafa didn't understand — though he'd never been through the process himself, he could only imagine how stressful it must be, especially given the specifics of Neville's situation. Not to mention that his own career picked up notably only a few short months later, and he hadn't done much better on the consistent communication front. This was far from being a one-sided issue.

What had gotten to Mustafa the most, though, was how abrupt it all was. How one moment the two of them were talking, and laughing, and genuinely enjoying one another's company more than they ever thought they would, only for all of it to suddenly stop. How they used to text each other the most ridiculous and pointless shit, only for their messaging to slowly taper off until it ceased altogether.

As of that moment, in February of 2020, contact between them was nonexistent. Like they were total strangers.

Mustafa wanted so badly to change that.

His thumb was hovering precariously over the "call" button. It was such a simple thing to do, but he was still having so much trouble with it. If he did that, then Neville would pick up, and then two of them would be talking again for the first time in years. He would get what he wanted. It was so easy, so doable .

Even so, he was hesitant. There was no guarantee that Neville would pick up to begin with. It was possible that he would see who was calling him and immediately reject the call, or let it ring and ring until Mustafa eventually gave up and left him alone. Worse yet, he might have deleted Mustafa's number, and he would hit him with a dreaded "Who is this?" the moment he answered. Each of those situations sent a chill down his spine, and it made him want to turn off his phone and forget about this plan like he always did.

But Mustafa couldn't let those worst-case scenarios get to him. Not anymore. He needed to do it, and he needed to do it right then and there. Otherwise, it would likely never happen.

With that, he made the call.

Bringing the phone up to his ear, Mustafa chewed on his lower lip. He listened to the rings, first one, then two. His heart was pounding in his chest by the time the fifth ring rolled around. A little voice was yelling at him from the back of his mind, telling him that he'd made a huge mistake and should just hang up the phone already. It was clear that Neville didn't want to talk to him — if he did, he would've picked up. It was only a matter of time before he got sent to voicemail and was forced to either hang up or leave some embarrassing message for Neville to delete—

"Ali?"

"Oh—" Mustafa's whole body tensed at the sound of Neville's voice coming from the receiver. He'd actually picked up — shit, shit, shit . He scrambled for something to say, anything . "...Hiya."

Real smooth, dumbass . "Hello..." Neville responded tentatively. God , it had been way too long since Mustafa last heard him. He probably would have enjoyed the moment more if he didn't just make a complete fool out of himself.

"What, ah...” Just say something! “What're you up to?"

"I'm... at home." Neville still sounded wary. Mustafa couldn’t exactly blame him.

"You had a match this week, right?" Mustafa remembered seeing tweets about it on his timeline. Reading that Neville had won had put him in quite the good mood for the rest of the night.

"I did."

"Good for you." Mustafa nodded. “Makin’ moves.”

Then, the line fell silent, and Mustafa had no choice but to come to terms with the fact that he did not plan this well — or at all, really. All those nights of internal arguments and wondering about how a potential phone call between him and Neville would play out ultimately failed him. He had no idea what to say next, or how to get to the point without making himself look like an even bigger idiot.

Fortunately for him, Neville was the one who eventually broke the silence. "Ali, what's going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I— Are you kidding? You just called me out of absolutely nowhere. Why?"

“...Oh, that.” What else would he be talking about?!

“Yeah, that .” The tone left Neville’s voice and, quieter, he added, “Is everything alright?"

Mustafa swallowed. There, that was his opening. "Everything's fine, it's just..." He paused. "I... WWE's in Orlando this weekend.”

Neville was silent for a beat. "...Is that so?"

"Mhm. I just got to my motel a little while ago. Haven't even gotten out of the car yet, though, because of this rain." Taking a deep breath through his nose, he said, "I... was thinking about you. Wanted to know how things were."

“I see...” The line went quiet again, the only sound being that of Neville’s breathing and the rain, which seemed to have only gotten worse in the time they were talking. Mustafa was dreading eventually having to get out of the car.

“I-I know it’s sudden,” Mustafa explained, an attempt to save himself from this awkward situation. “And that you probably didn’t expect to hear from me.”

“I definitely didn’t.”

“Yeah... But I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure things were good.”

“They’re... They’re fine, thank you.” After a beat, “And you?”

“Same here.” Mustafa looked out the raindrop-speckled window. “I’m tired as hell, but... Still, it’s all good.”

This conversation needed to end. It was going nowhere, and Mustafa knew this. Hearing from Neville again was great, but all he was doing was embarrassing himself. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well... I guess I should be going. Still gotta get my room.”

“You haven’t even got one yet?” Neville asked. “What do you plan on doing if there isn’t one available?”

“I’ve slept in enough cars during my career to be okay with it. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t remember ever saying I was worried.”

Mustafa snorted. “You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

“At least I’m consistent.”

“That, you are...” Mustafa licked his lips. “I’ll... talk to you later, maybe, okay?”

“Alright...”

Mustafa sighed softly. Here’s to hoping I’ll actually have the balls to call him again after this. He thought to himself as he brought the phone away from his ear. Considering how long it had taken him to initiate this five minute chat, it would probably take him an eternity to do it all a second time.

He was just about to hang up when he heard Neville say, “Wait!”

The phone was back to Mustafa’s ear in a flash. “Yes?”

Neville seemed to hesitate for a moment, but he asked, "If it’s not too far from your motel, do you... want to come over for a bit? Just until this storm lets up."

Mustafa’s eyes widened. “U-Uh...” He stammered, very much caught off guard. He had wanted to go to Neville’s house earlier, but he didn’t expect him to straight up invite him , completely unprovoked.

“If it’s too much trouble, then don’t worry about it,” Neville backtracked. “I know the weather is messy—“

“No it’s not,” Mustafa cut him off. “I mean, yes, it is, but I can still drive in it."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't. You know I'm a good driver."

"I know you're a slow driver."

"Close enough. I’ll... I’ll be over in a little bit.”

He heard Neville breathe out (in relief?) “Alright. You, uh, still know the way?”

“Yeah, I do.” Mustafa could never forget.

The one benefit to the rain being so heavy was that the roads were mostly clear. The few cars that were out at that hour were driven by people getting home late from work and lovesick idiots like Mustafa. He had to be careful, of course, since an accident was the absolute last thing he wanted at that moment (and always, really), but he maintained a decent speed as he went down familiar streets and made familiar turns, ones that he hadn't made in ages. All so that he could see Neville in-person again.

What would the two of them even do ? That question was bouncing around inside of Mustafa’s head the whole time he was driving. He... highly doubted that they would hook up, given the amount of time they had been apart. It was unlikely that they would so easily fall back into their old pattern. Chances were they would spend more time catching up (or sitting in uncomfortable silence) than anything else. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that — happy? Disappointed? An odd combination of both?

No matter how he might have felt, it was definitely happening. And before Mustafa knew it, he was pulling up to the front of Neville’s home, parking in what had been his usual spot only two years ago.

Mustafa shut the car off. Staring up at the house, he realized that it was no different than it had been the last time he visited. Very... ordinary. There weren’t any decorations up, despite Valentine's Day being just around the corner. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected, really — Neville had never been all that into decorating. Thought it was all a scam and a waste of time, even though it made his home stick out like a sore thumb during the holidays. Just as he’d said on the phone during their chat, he was as consistent as ever. The familiarity was... comforting.

Bracing himself for the weather, Mustafa stepped out into the rain, taking a moment to lock the car before hustling up to the front porch. His heart was thumping as he climbed up the steps. Come on, you can do this, don’t chicken out now. All the worst-case scenarios were starting to creep their way back into his mind, telling him that this visit was pointless. That they were far too different now, and getting together again even for a little while would only make things worse somehow. Mustafa stared intently down the doorbell, as if it were challenging him with its faint glow, and he pressed it before he could talk himself out of it. Screw that pessimism — he was already there. If talking to each other was bad, then running away when he was expected was even worse.

And, truthfully, leaving unnoticed at that point was impossible. The door was opened only a moment after he'd rung the bell, like Neville had been standing there waiting for him on the other side, and just like that Mustafa was once again faced with the man who he’d spent countless nights with only a few years ago. A soft, shy smile spread across Mustafa’s face. “...Hey, Nev.”

“Hi...” Neville’s expression mirrored his — his smile was still stunning. “It’s... certainly been awhile, hasn't it?”

“Sure has.” Mustafa’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets. Too long. Mustafa wasn't sure if he should say this last thought aloud or not.

“Well, don’t just stand there — it’s pouring.” Neville stepped aside. The rumble of thunder off in the distance did an equally good job of reminding Mustafa of the bad weather, and he nodded, making sure to wipe his feet as best as he could on the mat before he walked inside. "Just put your shoes with the rest of mine."

"Got it." Some of Neville's shoes were lined up against the opposite wall, surprisingly neat. This alone made it clear that Neville had managed to do (or, scrambled to do) some last minute cleaning before he showed up. They were usually a mess, one that Mustafa teased him about almost every visit. He couldn't say anything this time, however, and instead he went about slipping his own pair off.

Then, a large black shape came charging at him from the end of the hallway.

“Winston!!” Mustafa grinned, and he crouched down, scratching the bullmastiff on his head once he stopped in front of him. The dog responded by licking his face, and Mustafa laughed. “I missed you!”

“Looks like he missed you, too,” Neville mused from behind him, and Mustafa heard him close the door.

“It’s been way too long, boy-o!” Another rub to the head. Winston's tail was like a propeller, wagging rapidly. A paw came to rest on Mustafa's arm, and he faltered a little. "Hey, don't knock me over now."

"I don't mean to interrupt this tender reunion, but can I get you something to drink? Water, maybe?"

Mustafa looked up to Neville, Winston licking his hands now in an attempt to regain his attention. "That'd be good, thanks."

Neville gave him a nod and made his way towards the kitchen. Winston turned and followed him right away, which caused Mustafa's eyebrows to raise. "Wait, where're you goin'? I thought you wanted me to pet you!"

"He sees me going to the kitchen, he follows," Neville yelled back. "Seems to think me being in here automatically means he'll get a treat."

"Doesn't it?"

A pause. "...Well, yeah, but..." Neville trailed off, and Mustafa couldn't help but chuckle and roll his eyes. Who could've guessed the "Bastard" would be such a pushover?

Now alone in the hallway, Mustafa took a quick look around, noting some of the pictures on the wall. He wanted to say it was an evenly distributed assortment of photos, shots of family and the dog alike, but it was clear that there were just a few more of Winston than anything else. Neville's love for him seemed to have grown tenfold in the time he and Mustafa had been apart. Mustafa couldn't help but wish that he had a pet of his own. Winston had filled that role for awhile, but... well, it was hard for him to actually bond with an animal when he wasn't even speaking to its owner.

Mustafa decided to head into the living room then, and he sat down on the couch, shifting in the plush seat as he waited for Neville (and Winston, hopefully) to come back. The rain was still pattering away against the window, and Mustafa silently hoped that it would let up before the end of the night. Having to go back out into such a downpour and drive all the way to his motel — the same one he still didn't have a room at, now that he thought about it — would not be fun. The more he put it off, the more likely it seemed he would be spending that damp night in the backseat of his rental...

Mustafa shook his head and tried to get rid of the thought. He would worry about that later, after he did... whatever it was that he planned on doing with Neville. He still hadn't figured that out.

Sitting there and looking around the room, it was all so... familiar to Mustafa, just as so many other things were. Everything that had happened since he arrived at the house had been apart of his and Neville's routine — the old one, from before everything changed. It was all the same, from Winston greeting him at the front door to the drink offer. There was even some Netflix movie paused on the TV. Mustafa admittedly didn't recognize the name of it, but if he knew Neville half as well as he thought he did, it had to be tacky. Stupid Movie Night lived on, even though they hadn't actually gotten together to have one in years.

Mustafa missed this. All of this.

"Here you are," Neville at last returned to the room, handing Mustafa his glass.

"Thanks." Mustafa took it from him. Winston strolled in behind Neville, and Mustafa watched as he followed him closely, sniffing his lap after he sat down at the opposite end of the couch.

"I have nothing more for you, why are you looking at me like that?" Neville gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. "You've already gotten loads of treats tonight, take it easy."

"I see he's just as much of a mooch as he was before."

" Oh yeah. Actually, he might have gotten worse, if that's possible." Winston jumped up on the couch and settled himself as best as he could between Mustafa and Neville, the latter going right back to patting him on the head. "He's my boy, though. Wouldn't trade him for the world."

And then, without warning, it was quiet again.

The room that had just a moment ago been filled with their voices was now filled only with the sound of the rain. Mustafa licked his lips, and he stared at Neville, whose gaze was trained on Winston. When he looked to Mustafa, their eyes met, and Mustafa gave him an awkward smile (which was probably more like a grimace) before turning his attention to the paused movie on the screen. His nerves were beginning to make a comeback, just in time for he and Neville to have the first face-to-face conversation they'd had in a long time. He cursed his luck and, once again, his past self for not properly thinking through his plan for getting back in touch with Neville — he'd gotten as far as "call him and hope for the best" and left it at that.

Neville was the one that invited him over. He wouldn't have done that if there wasn't even a tiny part of him that wanted to see him, to talk to him. Even so, Mustafa was still hesitant, worried that he might slip up and say something that would do the opposite of saving their relationship. But he needed to take a chance. He'd told himself when he was standing on the porch that it was far too late to back out, and it was especially too late now that he was sitting on Neville's damn couch. Taking a slow sip of his water, Mustafa cleared his throat, and he made the first move. "Uh... So, things have been good with you?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Mustafa realize he'd asked him almost the exact same question on the phone earlier. However, Neville didn't seem to notice (or maybe he just didn't care). "They have." His hand was on Winston's back now, fingers slowly trailing over his fur. "Busy, but good."

"Weren't you wrestling on that cruise awhile ago?" At Neville's nod, "Damn, that must've been cool."

"It was... something, I'll say that much. Never thought I'd see myself wrestling in the middle of the ocean."

"Isn't there, like, no phone service on cruise ships, though? How did you even survive?"

"All the questions you could ask me about that trip, and you ask me about the wi-fi? I don't live entirely on social media like you do."

"Yeah, yeah..." Mustafa was tempted to take out his phone and begin scrolling through Twiter just to mess with Neville, but he decided against it. That would come later, once he was sure about where their relationship was at. "Either way, I'm really glad you've been able to find so much success."

Neville snorted. "Me too. And how about yourself? What've you been up to?"

"Things are..." Mustafa pursed his lips as he tried to come up with the right words. "They're okay. A little slow, but definitely not bad."

"Is that the polite version of 'I've been almost exclusively in dark matches for the last month'?"

He grinned sheepishly. "So, you know about that..."

"I haven't actually sat down and watched WWE programming in full in ages, but I still try to watch your stuff whenever I can. Once you stopped showing up, I kinda figured you were— ah, how do you put it? 'Stealing the show before the show'?"

"Hey, don't use my words against me like that!"

"Don't use them all the time, then! Seriously, you post the same thing after every dark match. Usually with a shirtless pic attached."

"Ooh, so you know about those , too?" Mustafa waggled his eyebrows. "You like 'em?"

Neville gave no response to this, though the hint of pink on his cheeks told Mustafa everything he needed to know. Cute .

Putting his glass down on the coffee table, Mustafa decided to follow Neville's example, and he also started to stroke Winston's back, the dog himself already sleeping. Mustafa had never known an animal that fell asleep so quickly until he met Winston. He nodded towards the TV. "I see you're watching a movie."

Neville looked to the screen. "Oh, yeah, that's right..." Had he forgotten all about it?

"Is it dumb?"

"Absolutely. You know I never watch anything good by choice."

"I knew it. So, what, is it a horror film?"

"It is, and it is atrocious , even by my standards. Sooner or later I'm gonna come across one that's actually decent, and I'm not gonna know how to handle it."

Mustafa chuckled. "There's no shortage of bad horror films, so I'd say your odds of finding a good one are pretty slim."

"Thankfully. It's, um..." Neville stopped suddenly, and Mustafa's brows furrowed.

"What?"

"It's... nothing, don't worry about it."

A statement sure to make a worrier like Mustafa worry every time he heard it. "Are you sure? You can tell me."

"Eh, you'll just laugh..."

"I will not." Mustafa's tone was gentle, yet firm. "I promise."

Neville blinked at him, then back at the screen. Mustafa couldn't even begin to imagine what it was that he was so hesitant to tell him. Of course, if Neville insisted that he didn't want to talk about it, then Mustafa would back off, but... Still, he didn't want Neville to think that he couldn't trust him not to make fun of him. Not if he wanted them to be back together for good.

Fortunately, Mustafa's prying seemed to be enought convince Neville. A moment later, they locked eyes again, and Neville quietly admitted, "Well... These movies just aren't the same when you're watching them alone. Sometimes I miss having someone to make fun of them with."

Oh. Mustafa's lips parted, his hand coming to a halt on Winston's back. This sudden stoppage caused Neville's hand to bump into his — ever so slightly, their fingers were touching. He expected Neville to flinch back, but he didn't, and his gaze was just as steady as it had been before. Mustafa couldn't bring himself to look away. Was this... an admission that he wanted he two of them to get back together...? Was that the sign that Mustafa had been looking for? He swallowed. "Um... Neville—"

BANG!

A sudden crash of thunder startled all three of them. The lights flickered, and a second later they went out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The loud noise prompted the now-wide awake Winston to leap off of the couch and bolt out into the hallway. "Winston, no!" Mustafa called after him.

"Christ, not again..." Neville griped. "Now is not the time for this..."

"No kidding..." Mother Nature sure had interesting timing.

The flashlight from Neville's phone was then turned on. Neville squinted at the screen. "Damn thing's gonna die if I keep the light on all night..." He muttered. He then stood. "I'll be right back, gotta go grab some candles."

"Can you check on Winston?" Mustafa pleaded to Neville's silhouette, which was already moving out of the room. "Make sure he's okay?"

"He's probably just in the kitchen — that's his hub whenever the power goes out." The little bit of light that had been in the living room faded away as Neville went down the hallway. "Yep, he's here. Hidin' out behind the island."

Mustafa breathed a sigh of relief. Winston was still scared, but at least he wasn't hurt. That was what mattered. "Good. You think he'll come back in with us?"

"Probably not." Neville's voice was fainter now — he must have gone into another room, possibly his bedroom. Mustafa was disappointed to hear this, but he had to have faith that Neville was wrong. He was sure Winston would rejoin them at some point before Mustafa needed to leave (he couldn't leave without properly saying goodbye, after all).

It was only when Neville re-entered the room holding two scented candles and a box of matches that Mustafa remembered the significance of those items.

The candles. How could he have forgotten about the damn candles ? He watched as Neville placed them down on the coffee table and went about lighting them, his brows furrowed as he moved the match from one wick to the next. That look of (almost unnecessary) concentration was such a familiar sight to Mustafa, one that he'd grown to like quite a bit during their time together, but also one that he had not seen for far too long. Now that he was looking at it again, he was transported to a different time, back when he'd first been invited to Neville's house. It very likely wasn't the same candles, but some of very similar scents and colors had been lit when he'd arrived. He teased Neville at first — he never thought he was a Mood Lighting kind of guy — but it turned out that he was just into candles. There was at least one in most of the rooms in the house. They had been a trademark of sorts for Neville.

Mustafa had lost sight of that fact after their separation. And now, on this gloomy, rainy night, he was once again being reminded of something that he'd missed terribly.

"There..." Neville's voice interrupted Mustafa's reminiscing, and he sat back down on the couch — notably closer than he had before, Mustafa realized. "That should be good enough."

Mustafa stared at the small, dancing flames. "Y...Yeah, it's fine," he replied.

"Something bothering you?" Shit. Mustafa had made his mood just a little too obvious.

"No, not really," he fibbed.

"Are you sure?" Then, "Am I... Am I sitting to close to you, or...?"

"No!" Mustafa quickly assured. "No, that's not it. It's..." He considered lying again, but after pushing Neville into talking a few moments ago he felt he had no right to keep any secrets from him — not to mention that Neville might get the wrong idea again. It was best to tell the truth. "These candles remind me a lot of the times we used to hang out. You had them lit all the time."

Neville followed his gaze, also becoming entranced by the fire. "Ah... Yes, that's right. The cinnamon one was your favorite, wasn't it?"

"It was."

"I wish I still had one, but it burnt out a long time ago. I didn't think to buy another one, to be honest."

Because Neville associated that scent with him. That had to be the reason. Neville had no reason to get a candle of someone's favorite scent if that "someone" wasn't even around to appreciate it. "I..."

"Hmm?"

"I..." Mustafa swallowed. "I miss you. A lot."

Neville didn't say anything to that. Mustafa continued, "I miss seeing you backstage, and talking to you regularly, and watching you wrestle, and just... being with you. Those nights we spent together were so fun , and I looked forward to them. I loved watching dumbass movies with you, and eating way too many sweets, and... everything else. But all of it— it just stopped . Out of nowhere. And I really, really wish that it didn't.

"I... I know you and I are both busy these days in our own ways. And I know that maintaining a relationship with our packed schedules is gonna be tough. But... I'm willing to give it a try, if you are. You obviously don't have to do anything you don't want to do, and I'm more than okay with you deciding that this isn't something that you're interested in, but I wanted to at the very least let you know how I feel."

Satisfied with his rambling, Mustafa took a deep breath, leaning back into the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and waited anxiously for Neville to reply — if he ever did. He was still staring at the candles, his expression unreadable. Maybe Mustafa's sudden confession was a lot to take in at once. Especially since it came out of seemingly nowhere, and was prompted by candles of all things. Is he... okay?

But then, faintly, Neville at last said something. "...I'm the one that fucked everything up."

"What...?"

"I'm the one that stopped texting you. I should've done more to keep in touch with you."

"But it's not like I ever tried to start a conversation," Mustafa argued. "I stopped, too. I'm just as responsible for what happened. You can't only blame yourself."

"I know, but..." Neville chewed his lower lip. "But I care about you. I never stopped caring about you, not even when I was sorting out my contract. And I should've done a better job at showing it. Instead, I just..." He shrugged. "I just let our relationship die."

Mustafa debated it for a moment, but ultimately he decided to take a chance, and he reached over and took hold of Neville's hand. For the second time that evening, Neville did not shy away from the contact. "It doesn't have to stay dead if you don't want it to. We can... try again."

"I want to," Neville admitted. "But like you said, it's not going to be easy. We're always traveling, and we're on completely different work schedules, and..."

"We can make it work," Mustafa cut him off. "It'll take some getting used to, but I think we can do it."

"But what if everything happens all over again? What if... What if something comes up and we just stop talking again?"

"Do you want that to happen?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Then let's try our hardest not to let it happen. We don't have to text every single day or anything, but if we both try to send each other something every now and again, things could work out just fine."

Neville swallowed. "...You're really serious about this?"

"I am," Mustafa said, clearly. "I wasn't lying before when I said that I missed you, and everything that came along with you. I wanna give us one more chance, see where things go. And if you want to, then... I say we go for it. What do we got to lose?"

Neville, whose eyes had been glued to the flames, turned his head to meet Mustafa's gaze. The soft, orange glow from the candles illuminated his face. The light gave him a haunting, mesmerizing appearance. One that Mustafa couldn't look away from even if he'd wanted to.

He looked... amazing.

Mustafa couldn't help himself from slowly leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

It was soft at first. Mustafa wanted to provide Neville with ample time to pull away. It wasn't until he felt Neville gently reciprocating the kiss that he deepened it, a hand moving up to cup Neville's cheek. Mustafa's lips parted, and Neville's tongue slid into his mouth. The intimacy was almost dizzying. This was what he'd been waiting for. After all that debating about whether or not to make that phone call, this was what he'd wanted. What he'd missed so badly.

It had been over two years since their last kiss. Somehow, this one was the best of all.

If only Winston hadn't decided that that was when he'd choose to return to the living room.

All the two of them heard was another rumble of thunder and the sound of nails frantically clicking on the floor before the dog leapt onto the couch, where Neville had been sitting earlier. "Oh my God—" Neville gasped, putting a hand on his chest. "What the hell, Winston?!"

Surprised as he was, Mustafa couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, he came back! That's good, right?"

"Would've been good any other time..." Neville moped, but Mustafa putting an arm around his shoulders prompted him to smile, and a moment later he moved in for a second kiss. Just as good as the first one.

"...Hey," Neville breathed out against his lips. Between kisses, he continued, "Did you... ever end up getting a motel room...?"

Mustafa froze, eyes wide. In the excitement of being back together with Neville, he'd forgotten about the other date he'd be having that evening — the one with the backseat of his rental. "Uh..." He grinned sheepishly. "No, I did not."

Neville smirked. Mustafa's heart rate ticked up just a bit. "Would you like to stay with me tonight? We still have some... catching up to do, you know."

Mustafa's expression mirrored his. Suddenly, his sleeping in the backseat seemed a hell of a lot less likely. "You're right..."

"Is that a 'yes', then?"

"It is. But , I left my bags in the trunk. With my pajamas in them."

This statement caused Neville to chuckle, and he kissed Mustafa again, tugging on his lower lip with his teeth when he pulled back. "Hmm, Mustafa..."

"What?"

"I wasn't anticipating either one of us sleeping with clothes on tonight..."

#mustafa ali #pac #wwe fanfiction #aew fanfiction #long post #just in case the read more decides not to work #jess.txt

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mythvoiced · 5 years ago

Note

Hana and Taemin for the ship meme??

— ultimate ship meme! | @busanbunnie

—

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship!

General:

How long will they last? - I think this is a very loving case of ‘til death do us part’, and their love even transcends AUs of all kinds and genres, honESTLY, MAYBE FOREVER

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - I’ll be bold enough to say I think it was like meeting The One? I wouldn’t say Love At First Sight, but something about them meeting struck me like two souls destined to find one another, actually finding one another. So, I think it happened relatively fast, but not too fast

How was their first kiss? - Considering Taemin didn’t use to kiss at all back then, on his side there was a lot of hesitation from there, and I can imagine Hana might have been shy about it, so it was a lot of careful testing the water, and then so chaste that all my teeth fell out and regrew immediately due to its sweetness and emotional power

Wedding:

Who proposed? - I don’t remember what I might have said for this section in other occasions, but I do believe Taemin would have been the one? I can’t promise he managed to keep it a secret from Hana because he probably involved Minhwan to figure out how to best go about it and also because he was panicking lmao, but in the end, they did, and it probably wasn’t very fancy, just a romantic moment in the bliss of domestic intimacy

Who is the best man/men? - Definitely Minhwan, like, yo

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Gale might be available for the spot, she might feel inappropriate, but I’d hope they convinced her to it anyway (because she’d feel loved and honoured)

Who did the most planning? - I think both, although Taemin probably let Hana go off and do a lot herself while he stood by and followed instructions to the letter, 1. because he trusts her decisions more than he trusts himself in general, 2. because I feel like Hana would love organising it? so he’d absolutely let her, 3. he’s a disaster and we been knew

Who stressed the most? - Maybe Taemin? I feel like (obviously always correct me, pls, like, I wanna knOW) Hana would stress over technicalities, the wedding itself, invitations, the places, just the organisatory aspect of it, and Taemin would over actually being a good man for Hana to say yes to

How fancy was the ceremony? -Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - No one! Everyone who needed to be there was there, and then some: Hana’s family, Hana’s teammates, Gale, maybe a few coworker of Minhwan and Taemin’s here and there

Sex:

Who is on top? - *cough* Well, depends on what position they’re fee- okay, just, Taemin

Who is the one to instigate things? - They seem to do both equally, and spontaneously, just a healthy loving couple with a healthy, adoring sex life

How healthy is their sex life? -Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? -Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - I’m seriously confused by this question, like, every time? Am I supposed to provide, like, an average amount of minutes, I’m- somebody who has sex, please let me know lmao, nah, okay, I’d say, an average amount?

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - A b s o l u t e l y, because Hana and Taemin are nothing short of a healthy, loving, respecting relationship between two people who love and respect one another very, VERY FKING MUCH, and they’d both want to assure that both parties receive as much as they give

How rough are they in bed? -Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Two! A little baby girl and a little LITTLE BABY BOY

How many children will they adopt? - We’ve never actually considered or spoken about this, but I actually feel like Taemin would consider? When it comes to seeing the opportunity to free a child from a childhood perhaps as dark as his had been, why wouldn’t he take it? How would Hana feel

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - They’re both quite hard-working people, so I feel like all these sorts of stuff they try to balance it out as much as possible, they work together because they’re a team and as such, everyone gets their turn

Who is the stricter parent? - I’m not quite sure, actually, I feel like they’d both spoilt them in different ways? Mostly with attention I feel, and utmost support

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - I feel like Hana would do a better job at it, because Taemin is a tad too apprehensive in this context; where Hana would guide and teach, Taemin might just... worry too much

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Resident cook, TAEMIN

Who is the more loved parent? - Gotta be honest, might actually be Hana. It’s just a natural thing that, if the relationship is well, there’s just the slightest bit of a tighter bond between a mother and her children, she’s spent so much more time with them and besides, who the heck wouldn’t love Hana

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - I feel like it depends entirely on their schedule; they’d probably try to go together, because they’re supportive parents who want to show that they’re there, but again, it’d depend entirely on work and whatnot

Who cried the most at graduation? - I think, Hana? == AND I DON’T BLAME HER, tbh I was probably there too, crying (although, neither are anywhere near the age of graduating yet)

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Well

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Taemin! It’s his *french voice* passiòn

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Not quite sure? Maybe Hana, because Taemin’s happy eating just about anything, and Hana’s got her Fave Snacks™ I’m assuming and besides, there’s a fat chance Taemin would have tried to spoil the heckers outta her

Who does the grocery shopping? - Whoever’s got the time, I suppose? OR EVEN BETTER, BOTH TOGETHER! Grocery Shopping Date™

How often do they bake desserts? - Not as often as they should >:(

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Headcanon that they’re both meat lovers? What does the jury say?

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - OH HANA’S amazing at surprises, so far we’ve had quite a few scenarios where Hana was just “boom, I cooked for you” and Taemin had no idea, but what would be even funnier, is if they tried to surprise the other simultaneously, constantly trying to shoo the other out of the kitchen to get it done, and then in the end they figure it out and just... cook it together and it’s sweet and domestic and I love them

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - They both seem more fond of the stay at home variant? Like, they def go out on dates too, but Hana has quite an exhausting job and as someone who works on the computer, just for the eyes alone, not only her job as a mecha pilot is tiring, so I can see her being tired late and wanting to be cosy and Taemin loves cooking for them and I think they both just love to stay and cuddle

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - H...m... maybe Hana

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Whoever gets up last, which is why we have to have a thread where they try to race each other to try and not be the one who has to make the bed and whatnot

Who is really against chores? - Taemin’s lowkey so lazy in this context, he does them, but, Christ, he’s gonna be so pouty about it, how does Hana put up with him

Who cleans up after the pets? - BOTH!

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Both?

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Depends entirely on who the guests are! It might be Taemin because they’re most likely either Hana’s teammates, family, or other friends so he’s worried about impressing them; or it might be Hana because the same people, but she actually wants to welcome them properly.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - HANA! I don’t know why, I’m just picturing her victory shout and her cheering and I love her

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Depends on whether they take ‘em together or not

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Whoever’s got the time! But I feel, for some reason, Hana is probably better with them: I remember we headcanoned them being quite big dogs, and Hana is used to handling things as difficult as a mecha and is physically more fit than Taemin (she’s so hot, fyi)

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - ALWAYS, EVERY HOLIDAY, EVERY OCCASION AND I HEADCANON HANA IS THE QUEEN OF DECORATIONS

What are their goals for the relationship? - Long days and pleasant nights, to continue being happy together, be there for one another, and just be the perfect couple that they are

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Depends entirely on what had happened the night before, but if Taemin takes to preparing breakfasts, especially for the kiddos, he’d leave Hana the luxury (also because she games so late into the night); plus considering the first almost year after either of the children’s births, she’d have to constantly get up during the night to feed them, BASICALLY SHE DESERVES TO SLEEP IN, and if they sleep in together, even better

Who plays the most pranks? - Please let this be Hana because I wanna see her pranking Taemin, PLS PLS PLS

#busanbunnie #the butterfly;busanbunnie #I'M SO GLAD YOU SENT THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEA-#a:#;queue

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shulto-masusdesus · 5 years ago

Text

The Cryptid Machine [BNHA AU: Chapter 1]

Time for the cryptid machine to go wild

(this is my writing sideblog btw)

i havent written anything else in days. i pushed for it so hard. 7k in three days and its just one chapter lol, fuck (i mean i wasnt writing anything else anyway so im glad i was productive at least thanks for giving me something to do lol)

But it was also fun

I accidentally really made them into the scooby-doo gang and honestly its the best thing ive ever done unintentionally. They just fit so well

@kawaiipotatuh @vango-bango and @sooske yo hi yall said you wanted to read it so i wrote it

sorry sooske i didnt get to shiga in this chapter but hes comin,,,,this is gonna be chaptered so he’ll definitely be in this soon. definitely plot relevant because i love shiggy.

anyway A/N over time for the story

Rating: T for language and fantasy violence (no nsfw this time this is group friend story)

tags in the tags. some body horror because cryptid-related creepiness yknow. and major character death later on so yknow

if i missed anything tell me, okay now time for the story <3

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Izuku, frankly, was stunned.

“I thought it was just a hobby!”

“A hobby?” Shouto threw back what looked to be his thirtieth Five-Hour Energy, pouring syrup on the pancakes Izuku brought without paying much attention. They were more syrup than pancake at this point, but that was hardly priority at the moment. “A hobby?”

The giant frog sitting on the table between them blinked its left eye, and then the right, after a little delay. Izuku shuddered. Too much frog, too close, too much detail. Very scaly and slimy and bumpy. Frogs were not supposed to be big. But it was easily bigger than his head, almost the size of his torso.

“How did you get it in here?”

“Thawed crickets.” Shouto raised an eyebrow, as if having frozen crickets stored for a time such as this was normal and expected. Like a madman consumed by his own craft, he picked up a syrup-coated pancake with his own two hands, and bit into it. Then he looked at the mess with mild surprise, a gaze that read “What the fuck is this? Where did all this syrup come from?” Izuku didn’t have the heart to answer him. “…You’re underestimating me.”

Izuku shut his eyes, sucked in a breath, rubbing his temples. “So. You found this frog in the woods behind your house. You just so happened to have a pack of frozen crickets-”

“No, that’s not what happened,” Shouto leaned forward, elbows on the table, the plate of pancakes Izuku brought ruined and pushed to the side, with that damned cursed light in his eyes he got when he was about to tell a story, dive head-first into a theory, or conjure up a new way to ditch work. “I’ve been hunting this frog for months. I learn about many creatures when researching,”

Scrolling r/cryptids, Izuku thought. And various other unspeakable 2chan threads and dark web sites. He sighed. Those pancakes were better than usual, too...he managed to remember to use less butter…he forgot that all the time…if he was going to make pancakes in the middle of the night, they may as well be good...what was Shouto talking about? Oh yeah, the frog.

“-and I encountered this post about a kappa sighting. It was confusing, and I almost wrote it off as another incident of someone just seeing something very mundane in the wrong light - until I recognized the location of the sighting.” There it was, Shouto’s rare grin, a look very reminiscent of the cat that finally caught the mouse. “…Heartstone Lake, on the park side of the woods.”

The giant frog grumbled. Loudly. Its chest puffed a little and Izuku felt a wild fear for what a real croak would sound like. This thing was huge. “Uhm, yeah? And?”

“So I went and checked it out.” He went over to his Wall, pointing to photo after photo, and Izuku hummed along, suddenly very, very worried about this frog in the Todoroki’s basement. This could end in many ways, and a very loud croak waking up his dad would be one of the worse ones. “Found tracks. Tracks, Izuku. You have to understand - nobody ever finds tracks.”

Izuku nodded. “Crazy.” He said, noticing how the frog’s eye was starting to slowly roll around, as if looking, scanning its surroundings. He was a little bit more than freaked out. He really had thought that this was just an interest of Shouto’s. Not something he was actually going to pursue, and that it produced a very crypid-like thing, a real result? A part of him wanted to go home and go back to bed, before Shouto decided to find a demon from hell or something. Or before the frog turned out to be a demon from hell. “…Did you do a steak-out?”

“Yes. Many steak-outs.” Shouto sighed, rubbing his face. “For…six weeks. Every night and every spare minute I could get. Along with a camera live feed setup. Only today did I actually see something, and once I did, I didn’t let it get away.” His smile was so wholesome, but the fruit of his labor was probably a harbinger of the void. Izuku was torn between supporting his friend and self-preservation.

Izuku decided to call the two people who would help back him up in whatever answer was the right one. The guardian angels, Tenya and Ochako. Because he needed help.

“I’m gonna call Tenya and Ochako.”

To Izuku’s bewilderment, Shouto deflated, smile dying, abruptly concerned. Izuku sputtered, pausing in pulling his phone out of his pocket. “What?! Do you not want them to know, or-?!”

With a sigh, Shouto grumbled, “Tenya…You know what he’d say.”

Izuku rolled his eyes. “It’s probably what you need to hear, really. Monster or not, this frog doesn’t belong indoors. We could get money for it, and what if it’s a new species or something-”

The other boy sighed. “Fine, whatever-”

The underside of the frog’s throat started expanding. Izuku watched in mute horror as it opened its mouth, and released a croak.

It was louder than Izuku expected. Very much so. His ears were left ringing from the rumbling warble, but that was hardly the biggest problem. There was a lot of thudding and yelling going on upstairs, in the upper levels of the Todoroki household; the family converging in on Shouto’s basement for whatever that definitely inhumane noise was.

Shouto’s dad was the strictest father around, and didn’t allow Shouto to have friends over on weeknights, nevermind late at night; since Izuku, an unapproved friend, basically snuck into the house on a weeknight at the unholy hour of three in the morning, he was breaking many, many rules.

And a giant fucking frog on the table in the middle of the room also would do more than raise a few eyebrows.

Shouto, however, was prepared. He pushed a mysterious white jar across the table to him, and pointed to the basement awning window. “I’ll help,” He said. “It’s actually not all that heavy.”

“Shouto! What was that?! What are you doing in there, it’s three in the morning on a school night-!”

There was his father. However, aside from the actual basement door lock, Shouto secretly installed about six extra locks, so he wasn’t getting in any time soon. “Studying, Dad,” Shouto said, heaving the massive, slimy frog off the table. He nailed he tired, annoyed, exasperated tone perfectly. Izuku opened the jar, and forced down a squeak - mushy, wet, dead crickets. “There’s a science tomorrow, I want to make sure I’m ready.”

His dad went quiet, which was his “you’re probably lying, but finding out the truth is more effort than I’m willing to put in at the moment” response. Izuku’s been witness to it a lot, as this is far from the first time he’s been a Master Lock away from getting caught. Shouto gave Izuku a look, frog in hand, as he opened the small window.

“Studying at such an…early hour is counter-productive. Get to bed, Shouto.”

“Alright.” Izuku shimmied out the window, onto the grass outside, and cringed as he opened the jar and gently picked up a soggy cricket corpse. With some difficulty, Shouto shoved the fat mass of jiggling skin through the awning, and Izuku pulled it the rest of the way out.

“Don’t let it out of your sight,” Shouto mouthed, scowling a little. Most likely because he was forced to get rid of his first find. Weird giant frog or not, it was really important to Shouto, so he couldn’t lose track of it-

The frog grumbled, and started hopping off.

“Get it!” Shouto hissed, and Izuku ran after it.

It wasn’t as fast as he thought. He caught up to it easily, and offered it a few crickets to bribe it into sitting still for a moment. Shouto’s window shut, and tense yelling ensued; Shouto buying time so he could hide incriminating evidence. His dad probably heard them.

An awkward ten minutes passed. Routinely, Izuku dropped a cricket or two, and the frog stayed put. Eventually, Shouto opened the window again, glaring.

“Take it to your house,” He said. “God knows I’m not gonna get away with hiding it here.” And he shut the window.

“So,” Izuku said, to the monster frog, dropping a couple more crickets. Its tongue flicked out to grab them, and honestly, Izuku feared for his safety. “I guess you’re coming to my place?”

_______________________________________________________________

Step one; get it onto his bike.

His basket was definitely big enough for the frog. He could probably stop every couple minutes to feed it a cricket so it wouldn’t struggle too much while he was on the road. It wouldn’t end well for either of them if it decided to upset the balance of the bike on the road.

He lugged the frog into the basket - it really wasn’t as heavy as it looked - and gave it a few crickets before locking the lid. Step two; get it home. That was the easy part.

The ride was mostly uneventful. The route was mostly muscle memory, so it wasn’t hard to hyperfocus on every odd rustle and bump on the back of his bike. He stopped to feed it about five times, and each time its tongue lashed out harder and faster. His fight-or-flight instinct begged him to run away from the very real monster frog on the back of his bike. He channeled the energy into maintaining cadence. If Shouto wasn’t his best friend, and wouldn’t probably murder him if he lost it, he would’ve let the frog hop into the woods when it tried to.

Finally, he reached his plain suburban neighborhood. He considered stopping at Kacchan’s house, but he’d probably kill the frog on sight, so he couldn’t rely on him for moral support. Time to call Ochako up for an early-morning napover. She said “anytime”, right?

Step three; get it to his room. His backyard didn’t have a fence, and he didn’t have a basement, and even if his mom didn’t have a panic attack when she saw the frog, she would definitely tell him to get it out of the house. Any rational person would, really. So. Hiding it in his bedroom was the only choice.

Mom never got out of bed past midnight, so it was easy to trudge inside, to his room, and to lock the door behind him. Then the frog leapt from his arms, and hopped its slimy body onto his bed. Ew. Time to call Ochako.

As promised, she answered by the fourth ring. “…Yaeah…Deku…?”

“Uhm, come to my house?” Izuku chuckled nervously. “Shouto found…uh, a giant frog, but he couldn’t keep it at his house, so I’m keeping it at mine. I need a little moral support?”

“...” Ochako sighed, a very, very long sigh. “...”

“Ochako?”

“What?”

“Shouto found a giant frog-”

“A WHAT?!”

It took Ochako all of fifteen minutes to get to his place, on foot. She took the short route to his room - through his window - and gawked at the frog for another five minutes, school backpack and sleeping bag falling from her hands.

“He - really?!”

“Yeah…”

She stared at it for a long, long time. It grumbled again. Izuku felt a sinking feeling.

“It’s - a giant frog.”

“...Yeah.”

“And…he just…?”

“No, he said he’d been looking for it for the past six weeks.”

“So that’s why he’s been passing out in class?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Ochako stared at the frog. “I thought it was all…”

“He flipped out a little when I said I thought it was just a hobby.” He ran his fingers through his hair with a huff. “This is really important to him.”

“Well…” She mumbled, eyes wide. “We may as well…take good care of it. H…how do you get a frog to go to sleep? Don’t frogs need heat lamps? How do we take care of a frog - a giant frog-” She stomped her foot. “Did Shouto think about this at all?”

She looked at Izuku. He raised an eyebrow in return. And she fell into giggles. “Yeah,” She said. “Let’s get it in front of a heater?”

Izuku left the room, running down to the hall closet to get a heater; on his way back, Ochako suddenly screamed.

He ran to his room, and to his horror, the frog was, for lack of a better term, erupting. Blowing up like a balloon. Ochako shoved him out of the doorway, into the hall, and slammed the door shut.

“What is going on here?” Oh, his mom was up now, rushing down the hall with concern. “What happened? Ochako, very…nice to see you, but at this hour? What’s happening?”

The two teens were speechless. They looked to each other for answers, but found nothing there but shock and general horror. Tentatively, Ochako cracked the door back open.

The frog was splayed about thinly like a shed bag. Sitting on Izuku’s bed now, instead, was a girl with long green hair. And also very naked, the frog broke open and was now a naked girl-

Confusion ensued. Mom screamed a little, shocked by the frog flash bag, and Ochako and Deku screamed because the frog was gone and Shouto was now on the list of people who wanted them dead; then his mom ran in, bringing the blanket up around the girl with shaking hands and firing off questions one after another, and Izuku screamed louder because he realized that somehow the frog became the girl - Ochako screamed louder, because she realized that with Shouto’s internet skill and wide range of information sources, there was no way to hide from him.

“Izuku, who is this?! Why is she naked?!” Mom turned to him with an unfamiliar demanding tone. “Explain! Now!”

“I don’t…!” Izuku was, completely, lost. “I don’t know…! I think - she was-!?”

Ochako stopped screaming, and said, “We don’t know! She - the frog - it exploded and - it was a frog before-!”

“A frog!?” Mom shouted - his mom never shouted. Izuku felt like reality was fraying at the seams. “What-”

“RIBBIT.”

Everything stopped. Ochako stopped. His mom stopped. Izuku felt like he suddenly lost the ability to breathe, like someone clicked ‘end task’ on his lungs and his panicking head.

The girl’s eyes were very, very big, an expression of pure confusion and shock on her face. “RIBBIT!” She screeched, again.

“R…’ribbit’…?” Mom said, weakly. “What do you mean…?”

“...” The girl stared at Mom with a wild lack of recognition. Not just that she didn’t know who Mom was; she had no idea what she was seeing at all and was completely lost. Izuku was almost as lost, really. “Ribbit…”

Ochako swayed lightly, gripping Izuku’s arm. “S-so - the frog was there before - did she come out of the frog…?!”

Izuku looked at the frog flesh and slime splayed on his bed. “…P…probably…”

His mom’s expression faded from extreme shock and confusion, to general surprise. “Izuku, Ochako, please explain - what is this mess - who is she-”

“I don’t know!” Izuku burst, shaking a little. “I don’t know! It was a frog before and now its a girl and Shouto didn’t tell me and I don’t know-”

“Izuku-”

“Izuku, baby, calm down,” Mom quickly crossed the room to him, softly taking his hands. “It’s okay, I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry. Let’s have some tea, and we’ll talk about it, okay?”

“...O…okay.”

_______________________________________________________________

Tea with a splash of honey was always good. It warmed him down to his core. The girl seemed to also be enjoying it, if her regular sips were any indicator. Even if she was a bit tentative, slow, testing about it, each time.

His mom sighed heavily. “So, according to your story, she’s…”

Ochako hummed. “Yeah. I don’t believe it either. We should call Shouto.”

“He’d love this,” Izuku mumbled, staring into his tea. “He probably knows what…she is. I certainly don’t.”

“...Well,” Mom glanced at the girl. She had a permanent frown on her face. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow. Today, we’ll…well, It’s already five, isn’t it?”

Izuku dropped his head onto the table. “One hour. Please. I want sleep. I didn’t sleep at all.”

“Ditto,” Ochako also dropped her head, with a heavy thud. “No sleep. At all. I almost was asleep, but then Deku called…”

“Sorry…”

“’S alright….I wouldn’t wanna miss this.” She huffed a laugh. “Somehow, I’m glad I saw it live.”

Mom sighed again, sounding old. “Okay,” She said. “You only have about two hours, though. Remember, you both promised you would ride to school this year.”

Izuku groaned, muffling himself on the wood table. Ochako also whined. The girl watched the both of them curiously.

His mom agreed to watch the girl while they napped; Izuku was so not sleeping in his bed, so he took Mom’s bed instead. Ochako splayed out over one half of the king-sized bed while Izuku took up one third, sharing it because his mom’s bed was wonderful.

It was, without a doubt, the worst nap of his life. Because just as he was getting settled in and kind of almost sleeping, the six o’clock alarm on Mom’s bedside table buzzed loudly. Along with the knee Ochako unconsciously jammed halfway up his ass and her loud drool-snore-choke-drowning, he kind of wanted to die, to get some real sleep. The reason why he stopped sleeping in the same bed as Uraraka Ochako came back to him. Violently, in the form of a foot mysteriously journeying its way up his pants. She was just the weirdest sleeper.

He untangled himself from the covers and Ochako and trudged down the hall. He went to his room, intent on grabbing a shower before school.

He grabbed his clothes from his closet and was on his way to the bathroom before he suddenly recalled what happened last night. Where the fuck was that girl-

He ran around the house, looking for her and Mom - the car was gone from the driveway. His mom had work early in the day, so that was normal, but the girl was still nowhere to be seen. Where was she?!

He texted his mom urgently, and she responded, I left her at home. She should be there with you. Have a good day at school <3

One, was he really going to just leave her at home all day? And two, she was absolutely nowhere to be seen. He checked the kitchen, the living room, all the closets, both bedrooms, and their house was one floor and small as fuck, so there wasn’t many places to hide. She was gone.

And then Ochako screamed. Izuku could probably guess where frog girl was.

He ran to Mom’s room, and there she was, Ochako standing on the bed in a martial arts defensive position with frog girl sitting on the floor, blinking cluelessly, now dressed in spare clothes Ochako left here. But she still had such an alien air around her that it felt like the clothes didn’t quite fit her. She confounded Izuku on every level.

Izuku was cobbling together some way to react to the situation when his phone started ringing. He answered.

“H-hello?!”

“Is the frog okay?”

Shouto. Izuku felt a range of emotions, from relief to joy to murderous intent to numbness. “…It turned into a person, Shouto. A girl. Did you know this would happen!?”

A silence passed.

“Shouto?”

“...S-sorry, I…”

“Shouto, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just…” He sniffed faintly. “I wanted to see it.”

“You knew it would happen?!”

“No, but I had a feeling. Part of the witness reports described a frog standing on two legs like a person, and even people with frog-like features, y’know, like a person, but a frog.” Shouto sighed. “So either it was just one creature that could shapeshift to varying levels of frog to humanoid, or it was many creatures that were all varying levels of frog to humanoid. Like kappas or something.” Something tapped rhythmically in the background. “I wished I could’ve seen the shift. Do you still have the shed skin?”

“For what, Shouto,” Izuku was, frankly, pretty fed up. The frog girl was now on top of Ochako and very closely watching her, scanning her features. “What are you going to do with a giant frog flesh bag, Shouto.”

“Research.”

“Shouto.”

“Testing.”

“Shouto! You’re missing the-”

“Fine!” The other boy huffed roughly. “I’m gonna call Mei and cash in a debt to use her research facilities.”

“Shouto, I love you, but you have a C in chemistry. But that’s beside the-”

“She’s going to examine the frog skin, okay?! That’s it! Sorry I don’t have a genetics lab in my fucking basement!”

Izuku tried to be exasperated, but he ended up fighting back a smile. “N-no, Shouto, that’s not - I - whatever Mei has to do with it, it’s a nasty sack of frog skin, Shouto. I was talking more as in, ‘it’s absurd that you would want it, so why’, not ‘you don’t have the means to do anything with it, so why’.”

Shouto went quiet. “…” It was a long, self-depreciating quiet.

“Look,” Izuku said, smile fading, because fuck, Shouto drove him crazy sometimes. “Get your ass over here and help me decide what we’re going to do about her. She can’t stay here while we’re at school all day, can she?”

“I don’t see why not,” Shouto mumbled. “Can’t take her to school. Can’t let her loose.”

“Shouto, you have the skin, basically, so you have a model of what the crypid frog looks like, right? And proof?”

“Yeah. That’s the best part.”

“So do we really need to keep her?” Izuku watched as the girl tried to lick Ochako with a freakishly long tongue. Being a reasonable human being, the brown-haired girl was scrambling away before she made contact. “She’s…well, I mean, endangered species preservation, right? And - I dunno, what’re we gonna keep her for? She looks like a person, kind of…it’d be weird. Morally.”

“...How human does she seem?”

“One hundred percent. She has big eyes, but that can be passed off as a feature, y’know?” Ochako ran to the doorway - the girl opened her mouth wide, tongue flicking out, and it reached all the way across the room, wrapping around Ochako’s waist and pulling her back in. Izuku flinched as his friend shrieked. “…But her tongue is super long and weird, like a frog’s, and she currently has captured Ochako with it.”

“...Well, human meat doesn’t sit well with frogs, so she isn’t going to try to eat her. Unless she’s an adventurous type or something. I mean, she is a monster, so she’s probably full of surprises. Don’t trust her.” Shouto laughed, like this was a joke. Izuku didn’t find it very funny...How did he know that human meat doesn’t sit well with frogs…?

Ochako was released once she was dragged close enough for the girl to grab her. “So we’re just gonna leave her in my house for the day.”

“Yeah.”

“There are hazards everywhere, Shouto.”

“She’ll probably be fine.”

“But what if my Xbox isn’t, Shouto? What if she burns my house down, Shouto? What if she breaks my Xbox Shouto-”

“Forget about your Xbox,” Shouto snapped. Izuku gasped loudly. “It’ll be fine. She won’t mess with anything. I think. And like you said, if she escapes, it isn’t that bad. As long as the skin is still there, she exists. That’s all I need. I have to take a shower before school, I smell like black coffee and steroids. Later.”

And there he went. Almost angrily, Izuku pocketed his phone and said, “H-hey!”

Frog girl looked at Izuku boredly. “Help me,” Ochako begged, held captive by the two arms around her waist. Izuku debated the pros and cons of tearing her away from the literally mutant creature. What was the likelihood of survival?

“We have an hour before we meet up with Shouto,” Izuku stated flatly. “I’m taking a shower first.”

“No!” In a flash, Ochako twisted free of her bindings and was out of the room, and zooming down the hall. “You take all the hot water!”

Izuku sighed. Frog girl, covered in her own hair like she was drowning in it, stared at him with wide green eyes. He averted his gaze, nervously.

“U-uh, hi,” He said. Wow, could he be any more awkward? Well, she wasn’t human, so it wasn’t like she’d pick up on any of human societal nuances-

“Hi.”

She said. She fucking said. She said?! She said. She talked. She said words. She said ‘hi’. Whoawhoawhoa - it had to be simple parroting, it had to be just-

“Where did she go.”

Izuku felt the inexplicable urge to cry. “Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-”

Frog girl stared at Izuku, eyes peeking between strands of hair with a strange light. “Where is she.”

“I-I-I-I-I-d-d-d-d-on’t-”

She stood up, and walked past him with halting, almost jerking steps. She left the room, and looked one way, then the other. “…”

“O-O-Ochako?!” Izuku felt like curling up in a corner and sobbing wildly. He felt like he just looked into the void and it talked back to him. He felt a number of things, and all of them involved some level of existential terror. “Sh-she’s i-in the sh-shower…D-don’t-”

She was already on her way down the hallway. Izuku didn’t really think upsetting this being of mysterious and potentially reality-breaking power was a good idea. Technically, she was another girl, so it wouldn’t be that weird for her to walk in on Ochako, right? Uh.

Right on cue, Ochako screamed. Izuku groaned. By finding this cursed being, Shouto effectively turned his life upside down. For better or worse was yet to be seen. But from how Ochako was currently fighting frog girl out of her shower, it was probably for worse. Would his life ever go back to normal?

_______________________________________________________________

By some miracle, they managed to get on the road on time, meeting up with Shouto on the way. While he and Ochako rode very practical bikes, he rode a skateboard. Why, he refused to really tell. If he wasn’t wearing his school uniform, he’d look like he was in the wrong decade. And somehow the uniform made it look even tackier. But it was alright. It wasn’t like he was bad at it; in fact, he pulled many moves that were reminiscent of a certain famous skateboarder, but he was also from the wrong decade. Somehow, it suited him. He, to a concerning level, didn’t care what other people thought of him, so it was okay. Just weird.

“So,” Shouto said, cruising along with Ochako, keeping up easily despite having much smaller wheels. Also weird. “Show me a pic of her.”

“A what?” Izuku blinked.

“A picture.” Shouto raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you didn’t take a picture.”

“...”

Ochako shrugged, rhythmically tapping her bell. “Didn’t think to.”

The boy huffed. “You guys are the worst,” He said. “How are we supposed to get proof that she shapeshifted if we didn’t get the after picture?”

“Shouto, I’m tired,” Izuku sighed. “I’m sorry. But this is way over my head. I’m not good at…this paranormal cryptid stuff. It’s fun when it’s just creepy stories, but - I dunno, this is too much.” He shuddered. “She talked. Just, started saying words. Like a normal person - super blunt and to the point, but it was like she said it like that on purpose. She knew. Just like that. And she was a frog before-”

“She talked?!” Shouto’s eyes lit up. “What did she say? What did her voice sound like? Ugh, I wish we got it on tape-”

“Shouto!” Izuku snapped. “Pay attention! Forget that stuff - I don’t want any part in it anymore! I’m scared! After school, we’re gonna let her go, and that’s gonna be the end of it! Okay!?” If there’s even a home to return to, Izuku thought bitterly.

Shouto stared at him, blankly. Then he looked away. “…Alright.”

Ochako whistled. “You guys fall out hard,” She said. “I give it…three days before one of you starts apologizing.”

Izuku’s face burned. He was the one apologizing, most of the time. But not this time, He thought resolutely. He wasn’t at fault here. Shouto was going to apologize to him, for dragging him into this mess in the first place.

_______________________________________________________________

[10:25 A.M.]

nessie: im dying. im actually dying

shouto: why

nessie: what the fuck is a lamange

nessie: mange is a disease

nessie: in french it means what??? food???? kill me

shouto: it means eat

shouto: pay attention in class and you might get it

nessie: fuck you

nessie: youre the last person i want to hear that from

shouto: ow

nessie: Rip Believe It Or Not

shouto: Ripley’s I Know This Stuff Is Real, But I Can’t Handle It, Dog

nessie: nibyguvtfcu

nessie: so you do get it

shouto: get what

shouto: what

nessie: oh my god

nessie: Oh My God

nessie: you are a national treasure

nessie: you know that

shouto: ??????

shouto: ?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!!what am I missing now

nessie: shut up for a minute teach coming

shouto: well I hope not thats a little inappropriate

---

[10:30 A.M.]

nessie: shouto holy shit what the fuck oh my god what the fuck

nessie: dude

shouto: yeah I sent that without thinking

shouto: and then I couldnt send a correction because

shouto: and yeah

nessie: dude

pppppppppppink: whats happening

pppppppppppink: oh wow what was that shouto hahahahha

shouto: oh my god look it was an accident

tenya: ochako its hardly fair to make fun of him for that

tenya: it was an honest mistake

nessie: tenya coughs, “unfortunately”

shouto: say that shit to my face deku

shouto: whos on the football team huh

nessie: surprised you caught that

nessie: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

shouto: i am going to kill you,

pppppppppppink: hey no death threats on my friendly christian minecraft server

nessie: deadmeme

tenya: yes, death threats are not the way to handle strife between friends

tenya: but neither were those insults, izuku

tenya: you know shouto’s skill does not warrant comments such as those

nessie: hes gonna get a coma i know it

tenya: what does that have to do with anything

nessie: football

nessie: caveman sport

tenya: that is inappropriate

shouto: dudedudedude look man

shouto: im sorry okay

nessie: FOR WHAT SHOUTO

shouto: I DONT KNOW

pppppppppppink: wow that was fast

tenya: please quiet teacher

------

[10:35 A.M.]

shouto: look man I dont know what youre so angry about

nessie: im not angry

pppppppppppink: izuku coughs, “im furious”

nessie: im n o t

tenya: izuku i believe you are, in fact, angry

nessie: im not angry

shouto: youre angry

nessie: SHOUTO WHAT THE FUCK MAN

nessie: EXCUSE ME IF IM A LITTLE SHAKEN UP ABOUT YOU DROPPING A FUCKING FROG DEMON ONTO ME

shouto: i wouldve kept it if i could

shouto: but i forced it onto you without asking

shouto: sorry

nessie: “sorry if i valued a mythical creature above my friends feelings”

shouto: well fuck

shouto: i tried

shouto: yeah fuck you

shouto: i wouldve loved to have it

shouto: you love it when i talk to you about it so what the fuck is the difference

nessie: THEYRE JUST STORIES

nessie: S T O R I E S

nessie: I DONT WANT THEM TO BE REAL

nessie: ITS TOO MUCH

nessie: ITS SCARY

shouto: dude theres always a chance of the stories being real

shouto: you didnt know that

nessie: dontdothat

nessie: i dont want to think of them like that

nessie: no one wants them to be real

shouto: i do

nessie: yeah but ur a weirdo

tenya: foul

pppppppppppink: yeah try again

pppppppppppink: stay within bounds

nessie: are you reffing our fight

tenya: yes

tenya: go on

shouto: dude if you dont want any part of it then ill take her okay

shouto: okay?

nessie: that isnt it

nessie: because ur gonna be all weird about it and be all offended

nessie: bullshit

nessie: were gonna straighten this out here

nessie: rn

tenya: as a distraction in class.

nessie: sure

shouto: im not gonna be offended

pppppppppppink: hahahahhahahhha

shouto: im not

tenya: you will be offended

nessie: you will be offended

nessie: you dont think my fear is valid

shouto: being scared of it and pushing it away isnt going to make it disappear

shouto: theres a monster under your bed whether you want it to be there or not

nessie: oh my FUCKING GOD SHOUTO

nessie: THIS IS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT

nessie: YOU DONT LISTEN TO ME

shouto: i am

shouto: im doing nothing but listening to you

shouto: im getting on aizawas nerves

tenya: he means respect

tenya: you arent respecting him

tenya: as evidenced by you “twisting the knife”, for lack of a better term

tenya: you understand that stories of paranormal activities entertain him?

shouto: yes

tenya: the rift seems to lay in the fact that although he enjoys them as stories, he does not wish them to be real, intimate experiences

tenya: this is where you two seem to split

tenya: because you strive to live the stories

pppppppppppink: *is eating popcorn* marriage counseling :D

shouto: i mean who wouldnt

nessie: I DONT I DONT I DONT I DONT I DONT

nessie: NONONONONONONONO

nessie: UCK AMN DO YOU THIINK I WANNA FUCKING

nessie: THAT IS

nessie: NOOONONONONOONONO

shouto: shit man calm down

shouto: so it scares you

nessie: fuck yess??? you get it????finally????

shouto: why

[nessie has left the group chat.]

pppppppppppink: dude you messed up

shouto: .

tenya: i advise understanding

tenya: not everyone feels the same way you do

shouto: well duh

shouto: but it isnt scary

shouto: .

pppppppppppink: are you hearing yourself? finally?

pppppppppppink: not to be mean, ur just

pppppppppppink: really dense :D

tenya: to him, it is scary.

tenya: and thats just how he works

tenya: youll have to respect that

shouto: but its not scary

tenya: that is an opinion, shouto

tenya: not fact. it varies from person to person

tenya: you have to respect his opinion, shouto

shouto: .

shouto: god

shouto: fine

tenya: now what’s this about a “frog demon”?

pppppppppppink: ohohoohooho

shouto: first of all, it isnt a demon

pppppppppppink: do i have a story for you!

_______________________________________________________________

Izuku settled on giving Shouto the cold shoulder. It lasted out of school and on the way home, even as they pulled up to his house. Even as he kept pestering him with his constant, creepy, begging stare. Fuck him. Because if he talked first, he’d end up apologizing. And he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t the one at fault.

The frog girl was gone. They searched high and low, all over his house, but she was nowhere to be seen. Izuku found the frog skin wrapped up in the dumpster outside, and threw it at Shouto without a word. Shouto didn’t say anything, either.

“Hm,” Ochako popped a sucker into her mouth. “I changed my mind. Two days.”

Izuku grumbled, flushing bright red.

“I find this whole story a little hard to believe,” Tenya said, and Izuku felt a wild urge to punch him. “You mean to tell me that this so-called giant frog split open and turned out to be a young girl? Who is now missing?”

“Tenya, I wish it didn’t happen,” Izuku crossed the driveway, grabbing the taller boy by his quarterback shoulders. “I wish desperately that it didn’t happen. But it did.”

“Oh yeah,” Ochako said, nodding. “It was crazy. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t been there.” With a shrug, she added, “Still kinda in doubt. It was super late.”

“Maybe it was a dream?”

“No,” Shouto said, coming up to show Tenya something on his phone. “Pictures. Video. It’s real. The frog, at least. I also have samples at home. I did some research - actually, there are some frogs that can grow up to about the size of our frog, but they can only live in equatorial Guinea. Without the girl, the skin only proves that a new species of giant frog lives in the area unless they map its genome or something.” He shrugged. “Not the story I was looking for, but cool nonetheless.”

“’Story’?” Izuku bristled. “What are you even looking for, Shouto? Why are you doing this at all?” Whoops. But he couldn’t help it. He’d been wondering it for a while, but this was the breaking point. Would he just hand the girl over to scientists for testing if he did have her? Would they take advantage of the fact that she isn’t human to do whatever they wanted? What was Shouto getting from this? Money? Fame? He wasn’t the type who would search out stuff like that, so what-?!

“Huh?” Shouto tilted his head. “...Why not? It’s fun.”

He could scream. Angrily, he stomped back to the porch, yanking open his door and ready to lock it behind him-

-and the kitchen was a mess, like a tornado whizzed around in the few moments they went outside. The dining table was on its side, chairs thrown around, cabinets raided and foodstuffs everywhere. The fridge was open, and judging from the aggressive clinking going on, someone was there. Izuku could probably guess who it was. But why now? She barely touched anything, earlier.

And then she peeked above the fridge door. Izuku screamed.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

if anyone knows how to color text please tell me because i spent a lot of time coloring the chat messages in the original doc and im sad it didnt carry so please and thank you tell me,

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axemetaphor · 5 years ago

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@ the oc ask game thing do all of em for Adam. I Dare Ya

oh shit asdfghjk i already did 2 so i’ll exclude those, but, HERE WE GO

🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

He doesn’t remember much of Scotland, but he likely has an idealized concept of it that he considers home. In his mind, if he lived in the rolling green hills he often hears described, everything would be fine! He’d finally be entirely at peace. But that’s not his home, and he knows it.

For him, home isn’t really a place. Technically he still considers his mom’s house “home” simply because he’s used to referring to it as such, but it doesn’t feel like home. What feels like home to him is being with Flint and Domino. What feels like home is the three of them working on a case together and bantering back-and-forth as they drive to and from wherever the hell they need to go. What feels like home is staying up ‘til absurdly late hours playing video games with Domino and Joey and sometimes Lotte. That’s home.

🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

Hm that’s actually interestin to think about. He barely knows New York and his space in the apartment is the living room, so, he doesn’t have His Room or smth to go hide in... He strikes me as the sort to like stargazing/skygazing, though, so maybe the roof. If he needs to think about something or calm down, he might take a walk to clear his head. He’s prone to anxiety and walks really help with that, afaik!

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with receiving affection from others?

Adam probably loves hugs, but is a bit skittish about them, mainly because he’s mindful of other people’s boundaries ! He doesn’t tend to easily trust kindness from strangers, or even from friends and family honestly, but he’d like hugs. He gives very nice hugs, he’s a very fluffy lad.

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

He likes birds! And nature in general! He just likes living green things a lot. He likely notices plants and wildlife the most. That being said, everything about New York City is probably very new to him, so for a while he’d be dazzled by all the hustle-and-bustle. Especially the concept of “the city that never sleeps,” the eternal Something Is Happening Someplace.

As for people around him, he likely notices their neutral expression the most, and can probably pick up on what their mood is quite easily. If someone else is happy, he’s likely going to be happy, too! Unfortunately, this sort of a skill is likely a defense mechanism-

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

this one was kinda tough lkjhgfd He’s a gentle dog with the prettiest unnervingly-bright-blue eyes around, and even when he hasn’t combed his mess of hair it manages to flop over his eyes in just the most adorable way. He handles everything with a certain level of delicacy that’s genuinely admirable. He’s always honest, even if it’d hurt him, fiercely loyal, and incredibly resourceful & hardy. He’s a little dumb but his heart’s in the right place, and he’s selfless to an almost dangerous degree.

💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

Adam is extremely good at taking care of other people and probably not very good at being taken-care-of lolol... He isn’t a terrible patient, just not the greatest one. He won’t be downright awful because he’s too sweet but he doesn’t like being fussed-over and feels guilty. Domino and Flint are both equally likely to take care of him when he’s sick, but Flint would probably be a little bit better at it by virtue of being More Adult than either of them lmao. Domino would Try, though!

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

He strikes me as the type to Gently Lean On Someone when he really trusts them. He’d be likely to hug Domino when they’re having a rough time. He’s the type to pay attention closely when he really cares about someone or something.

Flint is likely to just do nice stuff for both of his kids--he doesn’t seem to be the type to be good at being emotional via words, so he probably shows that he cares by just doing little nice things here and there. Domino is probably the same, though their main way of showing Adam they really do love and trust him is simply the fact they let him hug them lol. As for the other characters he interacts with ... I’m not sure!

🌳 What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

He likes to play video games ! His favourite to relax is probably Minecraft. It’s chill and also Domino is terrible at it, so it’s really funny for him to watch them get lost and die a lot-

He does strike me as the type to maybe like a calming bath, though. Maybe he’d just chill in silence, or maybe he’s listen to some soft music.

🌲 How deeply does your OC feel? Are they typically empathetic or do they have a hard time connecting with others in this way? What are they like when offering support and comfort to someone they care for?

He’s a very empathetic doggo, but he has a tough time making it a two-way street. He doesn’t open up very easily, albeit less-obviously-so than Domino. He’s more likely to deflect others’ questions about his emotions and focus on the other person’s feelings more.

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

When he wakes up after a nightmare, he usually hugs a pillow, or Domino if they’re awake. He just doesn’t want to be all alone again. Domino is the most-comforting person to him, with Flint maybe being second-place--or tied with Joey.

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

He loves video games, snack foods, gentle rainstorms, green hills and the outdoors in general, that light-in-the-chest happy feeling he gets when he’s Genuinely Praised, the smell of coffee in the early morning, waking up next to his family, road trips, peanut butter (though he has to be mindful of Flint’s allergies--), hugging Domino, the stars at night in a smog-free sky...

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

Adam’s only biological relative is his sibling Domino! The two were adopted by Flint Paper, who Adam sees as a father figure. He considers Joey (owned by @archielemon) his big sister, as Domino and Joey already sorta.. mutually adopted each other as siblings lolol. By extension he might also see Kathy, Joey’s girlfriend (also owned by @archielemon) as a big-sister-in-law (technically--they’re not married, but, yknow). He also sees Lotte (owned by @keenflapcowboytaco) as a younger sister. Adam doesn’t have many friends yet, but he admires Sam a fair amount. Max, however, scares the shit out of him.

Adam doesn’t have any romantic interests at present, nor a canon sexuality, because his mother was so stifling he never got any sort of opportunity to figure himself out. He has no idea what he would want in a partner or if he would want one at all.

Questions for You!

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

this is Another Really Hard question! I’d have to say ... my favourite fact is how he admires Sam but is scared of Max. Especially since Max just wants to be his friend kjhgfdsa. If Adam wants to talk to Sam he’s gotta brave talking to Max, too, poour guy--

☄️ Does this OC deserve better treatment from you? Do you make them suffer just a little bit too much? Be nice to them!

asdfghjkl all of my OCs suffer too much at my hands, i am Sorry, My Children,

🌠 On a scale of 1 - 10 how Baby is your OC? BONUS when asking this question rate the OC yourself as see if the reply matches up!!

100000/10 he is Pupy and he cannot change this. He is More Pupy than Domino is

💦 If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

oh fuck LMAO there are. so many. hm. well. Even though it was better for Domino to leave, Adam really wishes they’d stuck around. If he had them there, maybe they could have left together, instead, and been stronger for it.

#long post #im so sorry this is so goddamned long ASDFGHJKL #i jsut ... went off!#adam dog #rambles.txt #not sonic #asks #canadaisnolonger

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corruptedtxt · 6 years ago

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so i’m writing/creating my own btd murderer character. i’m still fleshing out his details and story, but i wrote an introduction for him and mc? if anyone wants to give it a read or whatever. i’ll post the link but also post it here

link also posting below here in case the link doesnt work or something it looks better in the doc bc of the fonts and shit but yknow

Happenstance ( mc pov )

Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt―.

Hearing the ever familiar whirring, eyelids gradually opened, staring blankly at the white wall of their dorm room. Judging from how lit the room was, it could be surmised that it was already morning. Releasing a puff of air, eyes returned to their shut state, burrowing further into the case that sheathed the pillow embraced within their arms. It was far too early to be awake… Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt―.

Having forgot about the continuous vibrations, a grunt was released, shifting in bed as hands blindly attempted to find the source beneath the mass of sheets. Why was the phone unable to just stay in one place throughout the night? Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt―.

Annoyance further pressed, their body lurched upwards, haphazardly throwing the sheets back to expose the bed. No phone. Reaching towards their surplus of pillows, each one would be raised, searching for the damned phone. Still, no phone. What the hell?

Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt―.

Eyes slowly went towards the foot of the bed, arms sliding beneath the previously thrown sheets. After a moment of blindly swinging their arms around, the back of their hand finally hit a glass surface. Victorious, fingers clutched around the mobile device and yanked it free. How did this happen so frequently. Vibrating in their clutches, eyes stared at the now lit up screen, finger sliding across the screen to shut the alarm off. Once gone, only one thing remained: time. 9:45 AM.

❝ ―Fuck! I’m gonna be late! ❞

Flinging themselves out of bed, their usual morning routine would be cut in half. Throwing on a simple hoodie would have to do. After running a quick brush through their bed head and brushing their teeth, they returned to their work desk, tossing their school books in, all while attempting to stuff their feet inside their shoes. Laces be damned.

Slinging the book back over their shoulder, they briskly exited the dorm room. It was mid-winter, a brisk, cool wild hitting their face as they sped walked across campus. Did they look rather silly? Perhaps, but after being consistently late for this class twice this week already, it had been a personal goal to arrive on time―early, even. So much for that. College campuses were essentially set up to doom any and all late comers with how spacious they were.

Approaching the quad, a chilled hand reached within the pocket of their hoodie and pulled out their cell phone.

9:56 AM.

❝ Of course... ❞ An exasperated sigh pushed its way through their airway, eyes gazing towards the building which held the cafeteria. ...Well, if they were going to be late already, what was a few extra minutes? With how this day had started, a pick-me-up would surely be needed, and coffee was a tremendous ally. Changing course, they now had a new mission.

Pulling the door towards them, warm air melting the frigid layer that encompassed their skin. After observing that the length of the line wasn’t too horrid, they approached, standing in spot, waiting to approach the barista to place their order.

The wait hadn’t been too awful, and it was worth it, especially to feel the heat radiating off of the styrofoam cup, feeling the sensation seep into their fingers. It was almost to the point of burning them, but it was a comforting feeling. Swiftly turning around, their heart stopped momentarily, narrowly managing to dodge running into someone. That would have been bad―especially considering how scolding hot the coffee was. It could have seriously burnt this man. ❝ Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay? ❞ The tone seemed less than sincere, if only because no damage had actually been done. Not to mention, they were on a bit of a time crunch. There was no more time to waste, otherwise they would be extra late.

The aforementioned male’s―actually, would it be more appropriate to call him a giant?―aloof countenance ebbed away any true concern, the corners of his mouth raising slightly into the tell-tale signs of a smile. Was he trying to make them feel better, or was it for himself? It was hard to read, for some reason.

❝ I’m fine, no harm done. You should be more careful, next time. ❞

While his words seemed a bit condescending, his tone was anything but that. It was almost as if he held more concern for them rather than his own self. Almost as if the coffee would have spilled on him, he would still be the one apologizing for some reason. While tall, he also appeared lanky in stature, maintaining a rather poor posture. Hair longer than most, it also curled around the ends, bangs parted in such a way to cover the left part of his face. His whole appearance gave off a rather ‘edgy’ vibe, but he pulled it off fairly well. His appearance didn’t seem to match his seemingly quiet and tender personality. Granted these were all assumptions they were making of a stranger…

Wait, shit. They had a class to get to.

❝ Right, I will be. I have a class to get to, though. I’m super late. Sorry, again. Uh―later. ❞

Well, as lame as an exit as that was, there was no time to dwell on it. Turning away, they exited the cafeteria, once more continuing their rushed pace towards the art building. Why did they need an art credit, anyway? Well, it wasn’t like they had really chosen a major yet, so dipping their toes in every field was what the adviser had suggested, but…

Art was something you were born good at, right? Drawing something as simple as a stick figure came out completely awful for them. Oh well, it was just for a semester. Maybe the teacher would have pity on them…

Judging by the disapproving glare they received upon entering late for the third time this week, they highly doubted it. Attempting to be as quiet as possible, they tiptoed around portfolios and book bags, getting to their table and taking a seat. With the semester just starting, class mainly consisted of simple vocabulary terms and slight history regarding class assignments and projects that would be accomplished through the semester.

Paying attention proved to be difficult, especially as the classroom door opened once more, and a familiar face walked through. It was that guy―coffee guy. He was taking this art class, too? Why had they never noticed him before? He was sort of hard to miss. After a brief verbal disapproval from the teacher, and having him take his time to arrive at his table and seat, the lecture continued. However, most of it was tuned out, staring at the mysterious, edgy tall boy. Various questions swarmed their mind: What was his reason for taking the class? Had he known it was him at the cafeteria? Why did he not say anything?

Apparently they had been staring too hard, because suddenly their eyes were locked together. Breath caught momentarily in their throat, they felt like a deer caught in headlights. He was staring so intensely...was he just returning the gaze? Had they been staring that hard? Seemingly amused, he smirked, the back of his hand pressing against his cheek, head facing back forward towards the board, zoning back into the lecture.

With their gaze broken, their regular breathing returned, but their heart rate was another story. It was beating rather hard against their chest...from being caught in the act of staring, maybe? Damn, what if they looked like a freak? Maybe it was pretty freaky, though…

❝ ...and so you will need a partner for this assignment. To keep things fun, I’ve put the number of students in this class inside of a hat. Pass it around, and draw a number. I’ll put the number pairs up here on the projector. ❞

What? How lame was that? Not only did partner and group projects suck, but being partnered with a stranger was so awkward...though, maybe it would be a chance to make a new friend. That was something they were lacking thus far in the ‘college experience’. Once the black top hat finally arrived, they reached in, fishing around for a scrap of paper. Pulling it out, they slowly unfolded it, revealing a hastily written number: 13.

Glancing up at the projector, their eyes scanned for the paired number: 8. So, whoever had the number eight was their partner, right? Noticing that the pairs were already beginning to meet up, their eyes scanned to room for any loners, assuming that by the process of elimination, that would be their partner. Once more, their eyes locked with his―coffee guy. Did...that mean that they were partners? Seriously? Why was life so against them today?

Slowly pushing them self out of the chair, they maneuvered around the room, until they were standing directly in front of the nameless classmate. Once more, their lungs seemed to constrict, making breathing a tad difficult. What were they so nervous for? There was no reason. He was just a normal guy―a classmate.

❝ You have number eight, I’m guessing? ❞

Fetching the paper that was resting on top of his closed notebook, he held it up between his pointer and middle finger, showcasing the number.

❝ Yeah, I do. ❞

❝ It’s a pretty bizarre coincidence, wouldn’t you say? ❞

They let out a nervous laugh, eyes diverting elsewhere. God, way to be even more of a loser in front of the guy. However, he didn’t seem to mind. Rather, a smile twitched on his lips, chuckling lightly as blue-grey eyes gazing up towards my face.

❝ A coincidence, or fate? ❞

#btd;#btd oc;#writings;#maybe this is Bad but im kinda here for it

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