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staticscreenwriting · 4 years ago

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The loneliest time of the year || Part one

Part 1 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ? A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Every sunday leading up to Christmas you will get another part. That’s 4 parts in total. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Christmas time is the most depressing time of the year. Seriously, you can look that up. There’s a bunch of statistics about it and essays using long fancy words.

It’s a time that makes you so acutely aware of how lonely you actually are. And then you’re left to reflect on all the reasons why and that’s just fucking depressing.

Frankie maneuvers his car along the streets of his hometown, a light dusting of snow covers the ground and the trees to his left and right have long sharp icicles hanging from their branches like the sharp teeth of an imaginary monster that lives under your bed.

He passes by the old movie theatre, the 7/11, the diner where he got his first kiss, the red brick building that was once a printing house but has been turned into a Starbucks for some reason, and the public library that he used to volunteer at when he was in high school. There are ghosts in all the windows looking back at him. Ghosts of the boy he used to be and the memories he thought long forgotten.

This wasn’t the plan. He’s not supposed to be here. Or maybe he is. Maybe this is exactly what he deserves. To come crawling back home to mom and dad because the future he had tried so hard to build for himself came crumbling down on him in a matter of moments. And all of it is entirely his own fucking fault. If only he wasn’t such a damn mess.

“I'll have a blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue just thinking about you.”

“Ah fuck off, Elvis!”

He turns off the radio and is left with just the quiet and his thoughts until the little blue house at the end of a cul-de-sac comes into view. This house has seen many versions of Frankie. Highs and lows. He wonders if he even knows the person he is anymore.

Across the street sits a park and then another little house, this is one red and the shutters are white and the paint is chipping. It used to sit empty for a while but there’s a car in the driveway and light coming from inside. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he isn’t the only one that changed, maybe the town did a little bit of changing too.

His mom is a hugger, always has been. Still is. At least that hasn’t changed. She has him wrapped in a warm big hug as soon as he gets out of the car. She smells the same way she did when he was a little boy. Like lavender and fresh cotton and warmth. His mom, Frankie thinks, has the ability to talk faster than anyone else he knows. Even faster than Pope when he’s drunk. She bombards him with information about various distant relatives and has him caught up on the last several years of their lives before his dad even manages to get to the door.

His dad looks older than the last time Frankie has seen him, but not in a fragile way. Age doesn’t make his dad look sickly or weak, it just makes him look wise. He’s got lines etched into the skin around his lips, from all the laughter and the smiles. Every adventure, every memory, it’s all there in his face and Frankie admires that so much. With every day passing he himself just looks sadder and more worn out.

“Darling, let him come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Ever since he was little, Frankie knew that what his parents have was special. There was so much love in the way they talked with each other. It exuded from every word. From every look. They were a package deal. One could simply not be without the other. It’s something he knew most of his family members were envious of. Hell, he himself was envious of it.

“Hey Pops, good to see you.”

His dad wraps him in a hug as he steps into the warm house. His dad isn’t a hugger, he’s more stoic and calm but that doesn’t make him any less loving. There was never a day in his life, that Frankie ever doubted his father’s love for him. It’s just that he’s not the most physically affectionate guy, and that’s fine. When he does give out hugs, they are the best.

“Did the Murphy’s house get sold then?” Frankie questions, motioning over his shoulder towards the little red house. The couple who lived there, Margaret and Edwin, were lovely. They were the kind of old people that others just adore. Always a smile on their faces, always greeting you with the most infectious of good moods. They were already old when Frankie was a kid, but they were the kind of people you’d expect to live forever. Though death doesn’t care for any of that and eventually it came for them too. The house went to their only son, a man that always intrigued Frankie. Michael was a photographer and always on the road looking for a new adventure. He was his parents' age but there was a youth about him that made him look much younger. He always seemed like more of a friend or older brother to his daughter than a father.

His daughter. (Y/N) and Frankie weren’t friends. Not really. For that, they didn’t spend nearly enough time with each other. But whenever she would come around and spend the summers at her grandparents' place, Frankie and her would gravitate towards each other. There was an undeniable attraction, a magnetic pull. She always had the most exciting stories and for a teenage boy, there was nothing more exciting than a pretty girl with adventure in her veins.

He hasn’t seen her for a long time though, eventually, she went off to college and he joined the military. She came around less and less and then when first Edwin and then Margaret died, the house stayed quiet and lonely. Last time he saw (Y/N) was when he randomly ran into her at a bar but even that must’ve been at least 10, maybe 12 years ago.

“Oh no. Their son, Michael, do you remember him?”

“Sure.”

“He had a bad accident. Can’t work no more, needs a lot of help. You know what he was like, always on the road never really having a place he called home. Other than this house. So him and his daughter are back here. Do you remember her?“

“ (Y/N), yeah.”

“She’s moved back too. Gave up her entire life to help her father. Poor thing now works at the diner waiting tables for a living all the while taking care of Michael and her young son.”

“She has a kid?”

A sting of pain runs through his heart. Big brown eyes stare up at him in his mind, eyes that look so much like his. Eyes he couldn’t wait to see sparkling from joy on Christmas morning. Eyes he ain’t allowed to look into anytime soon.

“Yes, a little boy. Leo, he’s 7 years old. So well behaved and smart. Such a lovely little boy.”

A warm mug of coffee is thrust into Frankie’s hand as his father guides him to sit down on the big couch in the living room that’s been there ever since he was a kid.

“We invited them to come around for Christmas Eve dinner which reminds me that I still need to get a present for the boy.”

“Darling, it’s December 5th we still got time.”

Despite his heart laying in shambles by his feet, being around his parents sends a warmth through Frankie. It’s so familiar and comforting to be here. Maybe this isn’t all bad. Maybe this is exactly what he needs.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: One sweet reunion.

Frankie sits on his old bed in his old room. There are fewer posters there and the wall that used to be painted a dark blue is now a soft peach color. The old dark wood furniture has been replaced by white cupboards and two beds, both white too. An adult-sized bed for him and a toddler bed for Rosie. Little butterfly decals decorate the walls and soft pink curtains hang before the window. This is more Rosie’s room that’s his now, only she isn’t here to see it.

A knock on the door shakes him from his daydream. Voices echo through the halls and up the stairs. Voices he doesn’t recognize but by the tone in his mother’s words, he can tell they’re friendly faces.

“So we thought maybe we could borrow your car.”

Frankie sees her before she sees him. Had he not knows she was in town, maybe he wouldn’t have recognized her. (Y/N) looks older. Not old. Just more mature. She must be in her 30s now. Grown into her body. A mother.

“Of course dear, Frankie can help you get the tree if you want. We still need one ourselves anyway. Two birds one stone.”

“Frankie is home?”

(Y/N)’s voice shines with a glimmer of hope.

“I am.”

A smile spreads on her face, and that one he recognizes so well. It’s equal parts mischievous and warm. Familiar and comforting. Sassy and soft.

“Oh man, it’s so good to see you. It’s been some time, huh ?”

“Sure has,” he replies and the two of them share a quick hug. She’s cold from the air outside and smells like winter and snow. Her hair is hidden beneath a beanie and her fingers are kept warm by some fluffy blue mittens. She’s adorable. So fucking adorable.

“So, you want help getting your Christmas tree?” Frankie asks as she pulls away, missing the softness she brought.

“Well actually I was just asking to use your dad’s car but since you’re here, would you mind helping out ?”

“ Course not! We need a tree anyway and I’ll have you know, I’m great at finding the best Christmas trees.”

“That so?”

“Sure is.”

Another big smile spreads on (Y/N)’s lips. “Okay cool. Let me know when you’re ready. Leo and I are free all day.”

“That’s right, you have a kid now.”

There’s an infinite sense of pride that washes over her face. He knows the feeling, sees it in his own mother when she talks about him. Feels it in his heart when he thinks of Rosie.

“Frankie has a baby too, little girl.”

His mother means well. Doesn’t matter though, the mention of her still sends a pant of pain through him. Right to his heart and then it spreads slowly but surely to the rest of his body. Like an ice pick melting slowly.

“You do? Oh, I can’t wait to meet her.”

His heart breaks. Shatters. Crumbles.

“She’s uh — she’s with her mom for Christmas.” And pretty much any other day too.

“Huh, well I guess you’ll just have to tell me all about her then. “

He appreciates this. Her not asking but just taking the situation for what it is. Questions ask for answers he can’t give, doesn’t want to give.

“I can do that.”

“Okay great. Let me bother you no longer, just come knock on our door when you’re ready. You know where I live.”

With a wave and a smile, she makes her exit and steps back into the cold. Snow now falling in big white flakes from the skies, like big bubbles of soap. Like star fragments.

“She’s such a nice young woman, I wish life was a bit more gentle on her. “ his mom spoke up from beside Frankie.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too mom. Me too.”

When he steps out of the house a few hours later, the ground is already covered in a thick coat of fluffy snow. His boots leave deep prints in the pristine white blanket.

Across the street, he can hear a melody of laughter flowing through the air before two figures jump out from behind the house, wrapped in warm clothes, throwing snowballs at each other.

“Mom you’re cheating!” The young boy, Leo calls out, laughter ringing along with his words.

“No way! Nu-uh.”

“Yu-uh! “

The exchange puts a smile on Frankie’s face. It reminds him of his own childhood. When the world didn’t feel like it was working against him. When it was kind. When things were easy. When he was happy.

Realizing neither of the two has spotted him yet, Frankie squats down and gathers some snow in his glove covered hands. In a swift motion, he pulls his arm back and throws the snow in (Y/N)’s direction hitting her right in between her shoulders.

“Hey!”

There’s a second where anger and confusion reign over her face and then she realizes it’s Frankie who threw the snowball and it melts into warmth and mischief.

“I’ll get you back for that, dude. “

“That a threat?”

“Nah, it’s a promise.”

The boy regards them with careful curiosity.

“Leo, come here. This is my friend Frankie.”

To be quite honest, Frankie hadn’t really considered himself a friend of (Y/N) but to hear her introduce him as such felt real nice. He had friends, good friends, brothers even. Pope and the Millers knew him like the knee themselves but this was different. This was home.

“Frankie, this is my son Leo.”

The boy is all (Y/N). Same smile, same eyes. Like a copy and paste.

“Hey, Leo, nice to meet you.”

The boy gives him a shy wave. “Hi.”

“You guys ready to get some Christmas trees?” Frankie asked, looking from (Y/N) to Leo and back to her. The excitement on their faces makes him feel a little giddy.

Back when he was a kid, buying a tree was one of his favorite things to do during Christmas season. His dad always used to wake him up real early so they could be one of the first people at the Christmas tree sale. They’d stay for hours looking for the perfect tree. Now perfect didn’t mean it had to be actually immaculate. Perfect meant perfect for them. Sometimes they’d decide to find the fastest one or the one with the biggest hole. One time they found one with a bird's nest still inside.

Those were the good times and Frankie, knowing now how harsh life can be, will never take them for granted.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Two perfectly imperfect Christmas trees.

“Too big.”

“Too small.”

“I can literally count the branches on one hand.”

(Y/N), Frankie realizes as they look at what feels like the 12 millionth tree, is very particular when it comes to her Christmas trees.

“Mom, can we just pick one? They’re all good!” Leo chimes up as his mother dismisses yet another tree for being too skinny.

“I just want it to be perfect. When I was a little girl my dad and I were always traveling and when we’d come to my grandparents for Christmas they’d have this big beautiful tree every year. I want my dad to have that again.”

There’s more there, he can tell. By the way, her voice shakes slightly and the determination and chaos raging in her eyes. Frankie has yet to find out what exactly happened to her dad, what kind of accident he got in. But it’s not really a conversation starter now, is it?

Leo’s eyes meet Frankie's, a clear message traveling between them. A silent understanding.

“Look (Y/N) how about we let you roam this place in peace until you’ve found the perfect tree and Leo and I go see if we can find one for my parents? “

Leo nods his head in enthusiastic approval. A smile playing on his lips that is so strikingly similar to the one Frankie has seen so many times on the boy's mother.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, two of us are gonna find a perfectly imperfect tree for my folks and you go find the tree of your dreams. Just call if you need us, okay?”

She takes a breath, lets out a sigh. “Okay sounds good. Leo?”

“Sounds good to me too, mom.”

“Okay. Well, you boys have fun then.”

As she rounds the corner in search of the tree straight from a Christmas fairytale, Frankie turns to Leo who regards him with a guarded kindness.

“Thank you. “

“ For what? “ Frankie asks and raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“ For not making fun of my mommy. She’s so worried about grandpa, sometimes she goes a bit crazy.”

“ Nah she’s not crazy. She just wants to make everyone happy. Why would I make fun of her? Did someone make fun of her? “

It sends a flash of anger through him, the idea that someone might ridicule her for caring too much. If anything it’s what makes her so endearing. The world could do with more people like her. People who care. Deeply.

“ She talked to my daddy on the phone yesterday. I think he made fun of her. She cried. “

“ That’s — that’s not nice.”

Leo shrugs his shoulders in a way that seems casual but weary. As if he’s so used to it. Geez, the kid is 7. This isn’t something he should be used to.

“ Dad is not a nice person. Mama always says he’s busy and that he wants to see me but I don’t think that’s right. I think mama just doesn’t want me to be sad. I think daddy doesn’t really want to see me. Don’t think he loves me. But that’s okay mama loves me so much that’s enough. “

Leo’s words sent small cracks to Frankie’s heart and it’s quite hard not to let it crumble entirely. He’s never known what it feels like to be unloved by those that are meant to love you most. His parents adored him, still do. Even when he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t even begin to understand how much that must hurt. How devastating it must be, especially to a 7-year-old.

And yet Leo looks so — at peace. Like it bothers him sure, but it’s no big deal really.

Because he is loved either way. By (Y/N).

“ You’re a cool kid, you know that? “ Frankie asks and pats the young boy’s back in a friendly manner.

“ Mom says so. “

“ Well, she’s completely right. You really are. Now, you wanna help me find a tree? “

Leo nods enthusiastically.

“ Okay cool, but I’ll have to tell you how it works. “

“ We don’t just look for one we like?”

“ Oh no, you see the Morales family has a very specific tradition. Each year my dad and I go looking for a special tree. “

“ A special one? “

“ Mmmh. We always think of something special and then try to find a tree that fits that special thing. One time we tried to find the tallest tree on the lot or the widest or the skinniest. “

“ So what are we looking for this year? “

“ How abouuut … we look for one that has two tops? “

A giggle falls from Leo’s lips. “ That’s silly, that’s not a thing. “

“ Sure it is. You wanna go look for it? “

“ Yeah.”

There are big trees and small ones. Ones in shades of greens and some that look almost blue. There are fat ones with lots of branches and skinny ones that look like they’ve seen better days. None of them have two peaks though — until …

“ Frankie, look !”

His small, glove-covered hand is outstretched, pointing towards a tree before him. It’s a big tree, wide too. It’s blueish green color shines through the white haze of the winter's day.

And true to Leo’s words, the stem of the tree goes halfway up before it diverges into two different branches. Two tops.

“ That one’s perfect! “

“ He’s special! “

“ He is special. Good job, kid. “

The two share a high 5 as a laugh sounds from behind them.

“ I see you boys are getting along well. “ (Y/N) says as she approaches the two of them, placing a kiss on her son’s head as she reaches him.

“ We found a special tree, mom.”

“ Did you? Well so did I, it’s perfect. “

Her eyes wander towards Frankie’s and for a second it’s only the two of them there, veiled in shared understanding, a silent thank you.

“ I’m glad you found your tree, (Y/N). “

“ I’m glad you two had fun. Now hooow about we get those trees home and set up? “

“ Can we have hot cocoa at home, momma? “

“ Duh. Of course. You can’t decorate a Christmas tree without a good hot cup of cocoa.”

The softness in her voice, the pure adoration she holds for this boy, it makes Frankie think back to Leo’s words about his father and about (Y/N). About how she loves him enough for the both of them. And he can see it, clear as day. Her love for Leo.

Those two, he thinks, don’t need anyone. Especially not someone who doesn’t treat them with the love and respect they deserve. Those two are their own warmth, their own little universe. And it’s enough. It’s plenty. Everyone who’s allowed to be a part of their little world should be grateful because it’s a good world. It’s gentle and kind.

“ Alright you two, let’s get those trees home. “ Frankie pipes up and for a moment he is part of their little universe too. And it’s wonderful. He doesn’t wanna let go of this feeling. How anyone ever could is entirely beyond him.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Three mugs of cocoa.

Bobby Helms’ voice echoes through the room accompanied by the soothing crack of a vinyl record. It’s an old one, one (Y/N) has found in a box of her grandparent’s stuff. Jingle Bell rock fills the air with a sense of excitement and wonder only a good old Christmas song can bring.

There are 3 cups of cocoa on the table, one of them in a Star Wars mug. It all feels warm and cozy. Homey. And for the first time since he’s back, Frankie doesn’t feel out of place. He doesn’t feel like a stranger watching through the window into someone else's life. Someone familiar. Someone he once knew. Someone he once was.

Right now he feels like he’s right where he’s meant to be. With friends who chose him. A family that lets him into their lives and willingly shares a piece of their kindness and warmth and magic with him. Not because they are bound to him by blood, by shared trauma. Just because they like him, as he is.

(Y/N) and Frankie sit on the old leather couch that’s been there in this same living room for so many years. One that has seen different versions of (Y/N). Some of him too.

In the corner of the room, across from the big window leading out into a snowy dreamland, stands a perfect Christmas tree. (Y/N)’s perfect tree. It’s decked out in lights and ornaments and tinsel. Leo hops around the tree, adding yet more ornaments here and more tinsel there, a big smile on his face the entire time.

And as she watches her son relish in the pure unfiltered joy only a child really knows, (Y/N) smiles too. Because sometimes this is what it means to be happy, seeing your loved ones smiling.

“ Thank you, Frankie. “ she says, eyes still locked on her son.

“ For what? “

It’s the second time that day that he is being thanked and for what? For being there? Really he hasn’t done much. This is what friends do, isn’t it? What they should do. Help each other out. Be there for one another.

“ For playing along with my crazy antics. I know it’s just a tree but I just want this Christmas to be — to be good. For me and for Leo and for my dad. We haven’t had the best year and I just want to make this perfect for us. Or as perfect as possible. Thanks for not letting me see how annoying I was back at the tree sale. “

Frankie shakes his head dismissively. “ You weren’t being annoying. I get it, don’t worry. Leo, he uh — he said something similar to me earlier. Said his dad made fun of you? Made you cry. “

(Y/N) lets out a scoff, curls her lips in an unamused smirk. “ Derek’s a — “ her eyes trail towards her son who pays the two adults no mind “ — he’s such a dick. Always has been. But he was suave and he had a motorcycle and I just kind of fell for his bad-boy charms. He’s unreliable though and a goddamn child. When I told him about Leo he bailed on us. Sometimes he tries to be a dad, whenever he gets one of his moods and feels like he needs to turn his life around. Those don’t last very long though. He sends birthday gifts and Christmas presents and he calls every once in a while but — well his interest in Leo isn’t all that big. “

“ What an asshole. Why’d he make you cry? “

“ Ugh, it wasn’t really any particular thing, just an amalgamation of so many. He was making me feel stupid because of the tree thing. He was being dismissive of my feelings. He didn’t want to talk to Leo. It was just his entire mood that day that once again made me realize why I ended things with him in the first place. And it isn’t fair. It really isn’t. That I have to work twice as hard to be a good parent because I have to fill both roles and he gets off scot-free. Not even a guilty conscience. How am I ever gonna be able to play both roles and play them well? How can I do that? I feel like I am failing already. “

“ Are you kidding me? “ Frankie says and softly nudges her shoulder with his “ You’re a great mother. You’re fun, you’re loving. What else could Leo want? (Y/N) you are doing an incredible job, trust me. Little mistakes you make that might seem big to you, they really don’t matter to Leo. Not now and especially not in the long run. He’s gonna remember the good times. The snowball fights and the hot cocoa and the tree decorating. Those are the little moments that will become memories. “

“ You think so ? “

“ I know so. It’s what I remember about my childhood. And it’s uh — it’s what Leo told me. He said that his dad might not be around but that it doesn’t matter because you love him twice as much. Said that’s plenty enough. The boy loves you. You’re a wonderful mom. “

He forbids his mind from going to that dark corner where he’s banished all his own fears. Those that whisper to him in quiet moments. About how his shortcomings, his mistakes, his faults, how all of that will stain his relationship with Rosie. His ability to be a good father.

Lord knows he wishes his daughter was here now. Maybe not in this exact moment, a toddler really ain’t much help when setting up a tree. But here. In his arms. With him. During Christmas time. He fears that she never will be. That the times he gets to see her will become few and far between. That he will one day only be a distant memory to her because he ain’t ever given the chance to make any good ones with her.

His heart aches from how much he misses his little girl at that moment. But he has to remind himself not to wallow in it. Because once he goes there, lets himself fall into this big black hole of grief and of missing and of fear, there’s no coming back.

So he looks back at the people around him, at their soft smiles and the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes. Shining with happiness. Shining with joy.

And as the snow falls softly outside, he tries to focus on the warmth in this room. The warmth from the fire and from the hearts so soft and so filled with love.

Because he’d rather get lost in a beautiful dream than the sad reality of his fears.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales imagine #frankie morales imagines #francisco morales imagines #triple frontier imagine #jos2020xmasspecial #catfish imagine #catfish x reader #catfish x you

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askwaterwitch-perbear · 5 years ago

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Monsoon Isle HCS: villager edition

Barbra

Her sweet demeanor should not surprise anyone she’s a sweetie

She used to be much more savage over the years, but she’s mellowing out with old age

She worries everyone who cares about her old sheep bones because she sleeps on a towel

Is the island representative's absolute favorite because she has a soft for the grandma like behaviors. (I don’t care if she’s not old. She might not be I’ll always think of her old)

She acts like a grandma figure to so many of the younger residents

She always has candy on her especially in her purse

She wishes to live the high life because her house is literally her own spa

She still has some sass and foxy for her age her current friends right now is Audie, Rolf, and Muffy, though two of them won’t be around for much longer

Favorite music is the tango

Flora

Wants stardom!!!

She has the fabulous oh! everything is so fabulous girlfriend!!

She doesn’t know how to not be quiet!

She is fast friends with June, Rolf, and newcomer Marina.

She wants to be Lapis’s best friend and knock June and Bob out of the picture

Wants to know everything about everyone so nosey!

Hates that Bob is so lazy and “influencing” her forever bestie to hang out with him

All the cats are sleazy to her and she doesn’t like them very much. They have some nerve showing up and kicking her friends Flip and Phobe out!

Curious about Pearl and wants to be friends but thinks herself below her status

Steven is always sweet to her she might do well to have him for a friend instead.

Bratty attitude and her home full of squid and butterflies!

June

Super soft-spoken and polite teenage cub

She wants Lapis to be her mentor or become like her big sister.

Is semi jealous of Kyanite, because of how close Lapis is with her actual sister, but still likes her. No bad blood.

She loves the sea and the tropical getaway package and was lucky to meet so many nice animals

She likes to receive fish as pets especially tropical fish.

She thinks Flora can be too pushy with no disrespect because she hit it off better with Lapis by being cautious and not so invasive

Wants to know about Peridot! She showed up to her birthday party and gave her a present so she would like to be her friend!

She’s scared to approach Pearl and if she talks to Aquamarine she will get bullied.

Lapis will protect her like she would protect Ky and Bob too

Bob and Punchy act like strong big brothers to June and she’s uber close to Punchy (Hey! How about that? Steven and Lapis’s Favs are friends)

She makes a point to talk to Rolf and Barbra when they are out and about, good grandpa and granny figures.

Rolf

An old friend very loyal companion especially for Kristin he does call her kiddo every single time he sees her

This island is getting a little too wiper snapper young boys for his liking but he stays because Barbra is there and Kristin who gave him a home when he needed it they became a family unit and good friends

Rolf wants to teach the funny boy some respect going around blastin’ his horns and throwing cream pies at people what RUBBISH!

These kiddos don’t know how to make the true honest living!

Has a lawnmower but rarely uses it he’s just going to sit outside and complain

Spends a lot of time in the mountains enjoys to fish but is miffed when he can’t catch any

Close to death and he knows that leaving an impact!

He doesn’t like Lapis’s attitude because she teases him a lot about his gruff deep voice because it sounds like he’s choking on his words smoking six-packs of zigs a day!

He would like to be an uncle figure everyone can look up to but he’s not popular enough

appreciates Steven’s good nature thinks the boy can do no wrong

Bob and Punchy throw fish around his yard

Bob

The newcomer has approached!

Bob will always be best friend with his god-tier friend Punchy

Bob is a little older and looks out for Punchy they’ve already hit it off like brothers

How does he sleep on a block bed?

Is the most easy-going guy just don’t hurt his friends.

Bob closest friends are Punchy and June

He likes to pretend he’s got an ouchie to con some candy off of Barbra

Insanely easy going just don’t touch his sandwich

He can tell he’s hit it off really well with Lapis and will cherish her as a best friend since they are eerily similar in enjoying the simple pleasures of life

Will always have mad respect for Flip to go out into the world and find a new place because Bob can see he got some good property with a beach and a Pool!

Loves to meme

Pisses Flora off on purpose

Is excited for the playground and the campgrounds

Is there when someone needs him even if he’s sarcastic

Punchy

Convinced to move to Monsoon island because of Steven now that is incredible because most cats hate water!

Loves to nap in the sunshine on Lapis’ beach and Pearl’s private beaches

Precious. Must protect!

Will touch all of the gizmos and gadgets and camping gear Peri has just to be sneaky and attempt to be friends

becomes spikey scared boy when Aquamarine is around

He enjoys Kyanite thinks she’s very sweet

He wants to be friends with Pietro he’s SO FUNNY! But Spinel growls at him

Will protect June with his snacks and risking his tail for her

Everyone is a good friend even if Rolf doesn’t like his laid back personality

Flora is a little too judgy for him and it hurts his feelings

Goes for long walks on the beach with Steven and Lapis and sometimes June, Bob, and Biskit

Cutie Pie

Respect!

Biskit

A very good girl yes I said girl (fight me)

Peridot’s favorite VillagerTM (Strong personified Pumpkin vibes)

She doesn’t mind being Peridot’s best friend since the mad scientist smart city human gives her presents and treats her very sweetly

She has a dog house in her backyard because sometimes she’ll lay in it and watch the clouds up above

She is friends with practically everyone except for Muffy, Bluebear, and Flora since they are very judging of her stimmy dog behaviors.

LOVES PERIDOT AND LAPIS!!! Even if they are judged.

She will growl at intruders if they don’t smell right.

A good younger sister and teacher’s pet character

Has picnics with June and Flora begrudgingly when she can

Chases anything that moves including her tail

Enjoys STEVEN, PEARL, AQUA, SPINEL, AND MUCH LOVE FOR LEADER KRISTIN!

Pietro

He somehow got to be the ONLY villager that isn’t beat up by Spinel

Even stranger he respects and genuinely cares for Spinel like the other two strange weirdos who love Spinel and teach her right things.

Us clown acts gotta stick together

Marina tries to get him to consider taking amusement jobs that pay better but he won’t do it

Wants to be besties with Julien, but Spinel doesn’t think he would make the travel with how he got plane sick on the way to her island

Pranks everyone and thinks he’s the hottest stuff in the world

WHERE IS HIS BED? THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOW!

He is misunderstood and Bob and Punchy know that so they make an effort to dry his tears

We’re not sure if he’s an adult or not???

Not doing so good with Rolf the dude has to loosen up a bit

Walks around spraying people with flowers and Joins Spinel in net fights and slapping villagers with fish learns from Her

“THAT’s a big sister figure you don’t need to be influenced by,” says Steven to him time and time again

Blasts loud Boom Boom ain’t it great to be crazy?!

Very Sad that Weasel is afraid of him wants to be their buddy.

Marina

The mom friendTM

She can tell everyone is goofing around and not working hard so when it happens she tells them they can’t have snacks until they get it done

She adores that Pearl H. is so welcoming to her and will jump in at the chance to live on the island with her and teach her some responsibility

She’s a little uptight, but she’s older than almost everyone except Flora, Barb, and Rolf so it falls on her to make sure things don’t go south.

She adores the Island Rep K. May not be the smartest, but her heart is bigger than anyone’s

June, Bob, Punchy, Bluebear, Flora, Pietro? Protective as hell

Would LOOOVE to visit Cheeri and tell her how everything is

She thinks that the “farm couple” (Peri and Lapis) are little scamps

She loves sunsets, water fights, sweets, togetherness

FAMILY ORIENTED

Bluebear

INSTIGATOR!!!

Young, bratty, little shit

Stirs up drama at any chance she gets

Still teases Pearl by flirting with her partner even though they are MARRIED

Is tired of Muffy and Audie can she leave already so she can take over!

Girl Power!

Has a good heart but still very judgy of others

BFF is Aquamarine, Flora, and occasionally Pearl

Wishes she could get into Julliens friend circle on Typhoon Island, but he has a bestie already but she can easily be replaced teehee.

Misses Rosie a lot and can tell Aqua does too, but they bond over tea and discussing who they think is a screw-up

They laugh at how Flora thinks she’s famous, but since they also wanna be they kinda relate,

She will be nice to June and Biskit but she’s still on the fence about being seen too much with them. Deep down she does care though

She will stir up drama Real fuckin’ fast

WHERE’S MY TICKET ALREADY?!

I”M A LITTLE ANGEL!!!!

I WANT MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stays away from Bob and Punchy and Pietro they’re boys ewwie

believes Bob has cooties and will avoid him but he will scoop her up and throw her into the pool!

Not at the biggest fan of any of the human residents

Omg Freak Biskit!

Gonna own this island she believes

Sunbathes frequently

Bubble Gum K. is her favorite song.

#LOOOOOONG POST #HC #hell horizons #hell horizons hc #My headcanons

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

Text

A/N - Welcome to the season one finale! Hoo boy, this is a good one ;) be sure to send me your thoughts! Warning: use of a homophobic slur

LOST IN TRANSLATION

↳What do you do when you have no qualifications but want to see the world? You help teach English in a Korean primary school, apparently. ↳Principal!Jin, math teacher!Yoongi, PE teacher!Hoseok, English teacher!Namjoon, school nurse!Jimin, art teacher!Taehyung, and science teacher!Jungkook.

CHAPTER TEN ↳Parent teacher interviews are here, and with that comes an interaction that will have very lasting consequences for you and some of the staff.

“One black coffee and I brought also a rice cake.” You set the small plate on the edge of Yoongi’s desk and give him a short bow as well as the lady perched on the seat across from him. Ignoring the dubious look she gives you, you walk away just as quickly as you arrived. God, parents were scary. Just from wandering around and giving everyone tea and coffee, you had seen your fair share of tiger moms and oblivious dads, single parents who were going prematurely grey from the stress, couples who made their children come along and sit in the corner of the room while they spoke with the teacher. Spending all your time with pretty young adults, you had almost forgotten that you needed to be really careful to speak formally to them whenever you addressed them. You solved that by, for the most part, just silently bowing, not wanting to expose the inadequacy of your Korean.

You had started off the evening sitting beside Namjoon, smiling politely and pretending you knew at all what was going on, but soon enough it became clear to the two of you that you weren’t much help. Now, you were jumping between classrooms, from freezing evening air to thickly heated rooms, delivering refreshments. The others were all giving feedback in ten-minute slots, Principal Kim available to answer any administration or curriculum queries, and Jimin was holed up in the clinic, running a walk-in session.

As you make your way down the row of buildings, you spy through a window in one of them that Taehyung is alone. For whatever reasons, it seemed parents didn’t find it as important that their children were doing well in arts compared to science, math, and English. Although things had been awkward between you two since the day at the museum, your heart breaks when you stop for a moment and watch him. Beyond visible wisps of your breath that billow with each exhale, you can see him, chin resting in his hand as he stared blankly into the middle distance, bottom lip slightly sticking out. He looked unbelievably lonely.

“Knock knock,” you say awkwardly as you enter, “how is it going?”

He straightens up, glancing at you with a surprised look on his face. “Y/n. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be over with Namjoon?”

You shrug, sitting on the chair set out for parents. “Before, yes. Now I help with give drink. Help with giving drink,” you correct as an afterthought. “Do you want tea or coffee or water?”

Taehyung shakes his head slowly, leaning back into his seat with a sigh. Today he’s wearing a black beret and an oversize maroon cardigan, and you can’t help but admire the way it truly makes him look like an artist. Not that anyone could doubt it after speaking with him for longer than a minute. “I’m okay, thanks. I-” he breaks off and purses his lips, eyes searching your face for a moment. Something in them changes, and his eyes lower. “My next appointment isn’t for another half hour. I think we should talk.”

You feel your stomach flop with cold tension. “Yeah.”

He clears his throat, the sound harsh in the silence of the room. Shifting in his seat awkwardly, he avoids eye contact. “Listen, first of all, I need to apologize. What I did was unprofessional, as well as not fair to you. I regret,” his mouth goes tight and his eyes hard, “I don’t regret…kissing you, but I regret the timing of it. I should’ve handled things better.” He swallows nervously when you remain silent, still processing. “Please say something.”

With a soft sigh, you shrug, feeling useless. “I think we can, uh, not talk or think about it. And that is okay.”

He crumples his brow. “You just want to ignore it? Ignore everything that happened?”

You can’t bear to look at the sullen look on his face. Cheering him up really wasn’t going so well. “A little bit yes. It is okay that you kissed me, I forgive you, but I think it will be very, mm, not comfortable if we are still thinking about it.” You clear your throat and set your shoulders, fixing him with a smile braver than you were really feeling. “New start? We can be friends.”

An eyebrow twitches as he appraises you, but then the dubious look turns into one of amusement, and, more importantly, acceptance. “Yeah, okay. If I’m going to sweep you off your feet, I’ll do it right this time. Hello, I’m the art teacher here, Teacher Kim, but you can call me Taehyung. Nice to meet you.”

With a warm gaze, you tip your head in a short bow as if you really were meeting him for the first time. “Hello, Taehyung. My name is Y/n. Please take care of me.”

He scoffs in good humor, and you’re relieved to see that edge of solemnity has left his eyes, replaced with twinkling mischief. “Now, I would love some coffee, but I’m also quite hungry, and I know for a fact Jungkook always brings snacks to these things to eat between appointments. Would you mind popping down to the science department and getting me some? Anything is fine, preferably something salty.”

You nod and stand up, patting him on the shoulder as a quick goodbye. The air outside is considerably frostier than it was before, so you hurry along a couple doors down to the science block. From outside, you can see in the warmly lit classroom that Jungkook has company, a relatively older couple, likely in their 50s, just sitting down and making introductions.

You consider waiting around for them to finish, but they’ve only just arrived, and you don’t fancy freezing your ass off for ten minutes. Instead, you knock lightly on the door and step in, quickly bowing to the three inside. “I apologize for coming in, I need to pick up some things.”

The parents give you wan smiles and turn back, and when they’re facing away you mime biting down on something. Jungkook gives you a broad grin, and tips his head to his side, where his desk is. You make your way there quietly and begin delicately rooting around his desk and drawers in search for the food stash, not wanting to disrupt the meeting.

“Thank you for taking the time to come in and meet with Soo-an’s teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Oh. It’s great to see the parents responsible for raising such a kind young lady.” You bite the inner corners of your mouth to stop from grinning. Always say at least one positive thing. Jungkook was certainly making sure he ticked the boxes on sucking up.

“Well,” the mother starts stiffly, clutching her hands over a jade green, plastic-y purse, “we’ve heard good things. Soo-an says you’re quite a, what was the word? Flamboyant teacher.”

Studiously avoiding looking over, you can still hear the strain in Jungkook’s voice as he tries to remain positive. Asshole parents were certainly something you couldn’t avoid in his line of work. Instead, you subconsciously slow down your search, wanting an excuse to remain here rather than leaving him to deal with them alone. Luckily, Jungkook’s stash seemed to be pretty hidden, as all you’d found was an empty sleeve for M&Ms.

“I think it’s important to be energetic and enthusiastic in class, in order to get the kids excited about learning. All of us in this school do our best to make our classes engaging. Should we go over some of Soo-an’s results?”

“She’s always talking about you,” the mother continues in an unflattering whiney tone, “Teacher Jeon did this, Teacher Jeon said that. It’s clear you’re having a lasting impression on her, and likely other students as well.”

You finally take some stacks of papers out of the bottom drawer and see a technicolor assortment of packaged snacks, but instead of reaching down to find something, you seem to be frozen in place. This conversation sounded like it was getting ugly.

Glancing over quickly, you see the father place a hand over his wife’s knee, leaning in towards Jungkook like a show of authority. “Listen, boy, we just want to make sure the teacher our daughter sees as a role model isn’t an…unsavory type.”

The uncomfortable laugh that leaves Jungkook’s lips tugs at your heartstrings. “I- I don’t know what you mean by that, sir. Anyway, Soo-an’s grades have been steadily improving, and-”

“I’m asking if you’re a dirty faggot, boy. I pray it’s not true; I mean, what respectable school would hire one of their kind? But it certainly seems from what we’ve heard from Soo-an that you’re a very frilly guy. You have to understand, we’re only concerned for our daughter.”

You’re completely unmoving; staring at the older man in shock. Jungkook, poor Jungkook, has gone completely ashen, and you can see his eyes gleaming with unshed tears as his mouth opens and closes silently.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer?”

At his wife’s question, the father rolls his eyes. “His silence is answer enough, sick fuck,” he stands up suddenly, tugging at his wife’s elbow so that they can walk out.

Jungkook snaps back into life with a choked noise. “Uh, no, I’m not- That isn’t-”

“Don’t lie to us, boy,” the man spits, “we’ll be finishing the term here and then taking our little girl elsewhere. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Everything seems to slow down impossibly as Jungkook’s terrified gaze darts over to you. He mouths something, something you don’t catch, and rushes up to catch the husband’s elbow. “No, no, I’m not, I swear. Look, this here is Y/n.” He glances at you one last time, a pleading look that you can read from a mile away. “Y/n’s my girlfriend.”

TAGLIST Message me or send an ask if you wish to be notified every time I post a new chapter of Lost in Translation.

For some reason I can’t tag some people, I’m so sorry if the tag isn’t working!

#bts angst #bts x reader #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts au #yoongi #hoseok #taehyung #jin #jimin #namjoon

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britishassistant · 5 years ago

Text

Mr. Hale’s Art 301

August— Before Class

7 Months Earlier

Peter needed to remind himself more often that, high schooler or not, Lydia Martin was a force to be reckoned with.

She and the rest of the original Hale-now-McCall pack vowed revenge on him not long after he revived, but all went about it in different ways.

Scott McCall simply punched him in the face and left it at that.

Stiles Stilinski somehow managed to find and break into his apartment and sprinkle crushed wolfsbane into enough garments and towels that Peter was still wary when he was getting ready for the day.

When Allison Argent was alive, she repeatedly left arrows bearing her family sigil in both his home and places he frequented— presumably, like Stiles, to violate his sense of territory and just to show that she could.

Derek just brooded and looked by turns murderous and guilty whenever his uncle was in the room before he left town, though his stint as Alpha could be called punishment enough.

Lydia Martin, however, played the long game.

He still wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed it.

Somehow, despite Peter never sending in his resume or going for an official interview, Lydia Martin had arranged for him to become Beacon Hills Middle School’s new art teacher.

She’d even managed to have a touching, heartfelt story printed on the front page of the Beacon Hills Daily about the miraculously recovered coma patient attempting to give back to the community via imparting his gift to impressionable young minds.

How she’d found out he was capable of art despite all of his portfolios and most of his dissertation research burning in the fire was also a little beyond him, but he digressed.

Scott appeared so moved by the article that any attempts to suggest that Peter wasn’t actually going to take the job resulted in the alpha’s claws and fangs coming out in a way that promised either a maiming or expulsion from the McCall pack entirely.

And Peter had too many irons in too many fires to allow that to happen.

So he’s standing in the front office of Beacon Hills Middle School, contemplating the rictus of existential pain on the face of something he thinks is meant to be a beaver.

It’s one of the better methods that he’s devised so far of blocking out the scent of emerging hormones, social anxiety and too strong body spray belonging to over 300 adolescents that are sleepily beginning to shuffle into the halls of the building.

While waiting to meet the Principal and Assistant Principal of this farce of an educational facility at 6:30 in the fucking morning.

So yes, Lydia Martin needs to have a closer eye kept on her in future.

For the good of man- and werewolf-kind really.

Finally, finally, he’s able to hear a man’s footsteps walking towards where he’s been waiting and politely avoiding the leering gaze of the elderly secretary. For some reason the man’s heartbeat, as choked by cholesterol as it is, sounds vaguely familiar.

“Well, well, well. Long time, no see, Hale.”

A portly man with a large bald spot has swung open the door and stands there with his hands on his hips as though he’s in some kind of soap opera. He has the beginnings of jowls and a shiny badge with the words ‘Assistant Principal’ on it that smells like it’s recently been polished. He’s also got a look of cocksure smugness on his face that seems out of place for some reason—

Peter’s mind supplies an image of a gangly teenager with overlarge glasses, a perpetually resentful expression, one ill-fated month with a fedora, and several pathetic attempts at a beard.

“Tommy!” Peter exclaims, smothering as much delight into his tone as he possibly can. It’s galling that he has to work for this sniveling toad, but he’ll be dammed if he lets the scum of his high school know it. “It’s been ages since we graduated, how have you been? You seem to have done well for yourself.”

Tommy’s face drops into the nostalgic expression of sour resentment that Peter so fondly remembers. “It’s Assistant Principal Thorne to you, Hale.”

He turns sharply on his heel. “You’re late— not a promising start. Follow me.”

‘Because you kept me standing out here for 30 minutes while you primped for your grand entrance, you miserable tapeworm.’ Peter thinks, but does not say, plastering on his widest devil-may-care smile on his face instead.

Memory serves him well despite his brief sojourn into the great beyond, because Thorne’s face twists further in response before he feebly tries to not look like he loathes Peter’s guts.

He is lead into a warren of corridors that end in a door that is marginally nicer than the others, with the plaque ‘Principal Melinda Johnson’ on it.

Thorne knocks on it, and opens it when a pleasant female voice bids they enter.

The Principal is a professional, pleasant woman with cropped hair and prominently displayed family and wedding photos on her desk. She looks him in the eye when shaking his hand and tells him honestly that she is honored to have him on board her staff, without a whiff of arousal to be found in her scent to Peter’s subtle relief.

She is clearly more used to dealing with the administrative affairs of the school as her speech about her school and students makes it evident that she is laboring under the slightly misguided assumption that her successes as a parent have translated to successes as an educator.

Thorne continually shoots his boss dark glances that were overlaid with the warring stink of contempt and arousal.

Peter kept a disgusted snort to himself. The toad really hadn’t changed since high school. He’d been like that around Talia, loathing her for her position as Student Body President and objectifying her in the same breath.

It was one of Peter’s most cherished memories, watching his sister casually verbally tear the covetous little bastard a new one when he tried to suggest that she was somehow unsuitable for her position due to her “womanly concerns”.

It was just a shame she’d shot down his suggestions to tear Thorne’s gaseous black sedan a new one as well.

“And once again, Mr. Hale, may-I-say that your decision to come in so early for your new position shows remarkable promise for your future teaching career.” Principal Johnson enthuses, oblivious to the mutinous glares of her subordinate.

“Early, ma’am?” Peter inquires pleasantly, feeling the prickles of both righteous outrage and not-quite-so righteous homicidal urges at the sight of Thorne’s now sickly grinning face.

“Oh? Well, I thought Mr. Thorne had sent you the package that outlined the time slot for your class this year–1:30, wasn’t it Mr. Thorne?”

“12:30, Principal Johnson, just before A-lunch.” Thorne replies in a tone that does very little to disguise how smug he sounds.

Peter needs to clench his hands slightly to force his claws back in.

Don’t rip his throat out now. It’s too quick. Too painless. Wait until McCall’s pack is suitably weakened, then tear apart this farce of an educational facility while the toad whimpers, and string his guts from the rubble.

Maybe total his car beforehand just to rub salt in the wound.

Peter smiles sheepishly, making sure none of his intentions for the school or certain members of its incompetent staff are visible. “Unfortunately, my apartment’s mail system is a bit byzantine; it wouldn’t surprise me if one of my neighbors ended up with my packet and forgot to return it to me.”

“Oh dear! Well, I’m sure Mr. Thorne can easily print you off another copy, can’t you, Mr. Thorne?”

“Mr. Thorne” curls his lip and then attempts to straighten his expression into a genial smile at the small frown that flits across Principal Johnson’s face.

Peter keeps his look of boyish, charming innocence, and begins to plot exactly how he can have the assistant principal removed from office, and maybe even from the great state of California.

He’s got to amuse himself somehow during this torment, after all.

Peter wishes he’d been able to go home and at least nap for one of the six hours between his meeting with the principal and when he was due to start his class.

But no. Assistant Principal Thorne decided it was imperative for him to meet every member of the faculty that the school building had to offer.

After the third lunch lady and the fourth janitor, the adults began to blur together into an amorphous mass of names, ink and stress-soaked scents, and awful, awful fashion sense.

Really, Peter should be commended on his self-control for not ripping out Thorne’s throat in the boys’ locker rooms then dragging the body outside to claim that it was a random vicious mountain lion attack.

But he digresses.

A couple do stand out.

The gym teacher—Brody or something— who starts out acting like he belongs on McCall’s high school lacrosse team, before breaking down in hysterics over his ex-wife and children. The long-suffering faces of his students suggest that this isn’t an uncommon occurrence.

The mathematics teacher— a Ms. McGrath—who reeks unpleasantly of resentment and poorly concealed fear. She is in the Derek Hale School of trying to control people via shouting and threats, though hers are more geared towards grades than bodily harm.

The english teacher— Mr. Joshua Nord— is a name Peter takes the trouble to remember simply because he appears to be the least afraid of his own students. He could be tolerable company or the one most likely to stand up to Peter if he gets bored and decides to make his own fun.

By the time 12:00 rolls around, Peter already feels exhausted. He hasn’t even had to deal with any of the actual children yet.

He was suddenly very glad for Principal Johnson’s insistence that he only hold one small class this year, as though exposure to too many middle schoolers at once would send him back into a coma.

Still, at least the scents of paints, inks and clay was familiar enough that it loosens something in Peter’s chest a little.

Funny, the things you don’t realize you miss until they’re suddenly returned to you.

He decides to peruse the back rooms, see exactly what he’ll be working with and how much he’ll need to compensate for budget limitations.

It’s mostly cheap paints, crayola color pencils, crayons, markers, a few sharpies, and some watered-down india ink, but at least there’s a decent set of lino blocks, some traditionally “craft” materials, and several air-sealed bags of clay that make him grin in anticipation.

A pair of small footsteps approach his classroom, and the door creaks open.

Peter contemplates emerging, but none of his students should be here yet. The footsteps that creep into the room are cautious, hesitant, ready to turn and run at any moment.

There’s a couple of high-pitched whispers of “It’ll be on the desk!” and “Quickly, quickly!” and Peter shifts so that he’ll be able to spy on the intruders into his territory through the glass window in the back room door.

The brown hair that rests on the child’s shoulders reminds Peter of a beagle’s floppy ears. The bags under her eyes (it’s usually a her with that sort of hairstyle) only furthers the similarities as she looks around wide-eyed on her twitchy, overly-cautious journey to his desk, clutching a brightly colored piece of plastic.

There’s a scent of heavily applied makeup emanating from near the door, combined with high-pitched snickering, suggests that her lookout is most likely a girl as well.

The child finally gets to his desk, and Peter rolls his eyes at the sound of rustling papers.

Really, how does this child ever sneak anything past her parents or older relatives? It’s almost cartoonish how obvious she is— she makes Stilinski at his most discombobulated seem subtle and discrete.

There’s a soft scratching sound, and the scent of graphite. So a basic graffiti prank then. He hopes she at least does something more creative than a simple penis. Though it could make for a good first critique project...

The acrid burst of Sharpie ink gives him pause. Well, either she’s going above and beyond in the call of duty or, as the repetitive sound of the mark making suggests, she’s looking more to conceal something than to add.

Peter’s lips curl into a slow smirk.

The pencil scratches a few more times against the paper before the girl loses her nerve and barrels back towards the door of the classroom, bumping into her lookout, and the two sets of footsteps pound off down the hall, nervous giggles floating in their wake.

Peter lets himself out of the back room, and rearranges the freshly photocopied syllabi and scattered codes of conduct. He pauses to take in the results of the intruder’s meddling.

The smirk widens.

This promises to be interesting.

#my writing #art 301 #art teacher Peter Hale #teen wolf #peter hale #art class #middle school #lydia martin #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #talia hale #teen wolf oc #chase brody #ocs #nanbaka oc #wkm oc #AP Thorne #Principal Johnson

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chuffyfan87 · 5 years ago

Text

Hiding. Part 28a

Cowritten with @disastrousintention.

-x-

Christmas morning started early in the Fairhead/Duffin household. The family gathered in the lounge to exchange presents, the adults on the sofa and the kids on the floor. Emily was able to sit up fairly confidently now and was revelling in the sounds and sights of her first Christmas. They’d been up late the night before, finishing the last touches to the presents. Charlie squeezed Duffy’s hand as he watched the children on the floor.

Duffy tried not to give away her utter exhaustion as she watched their boys tear through the presents. Emily, on the other hand, seemed quite content to simply play with the wrapping paper as she liked the sound of the it made when she squeezed it in her hands, giggling as it crunched and crinkled.

Reaching into her dressing gown pocket Duffy handed Charlie a small wrapped package. "I know we said we weren't going to but I got you a little something." She whispered.

Charlie smiled as he took the small gift from Duffy. “Hmm, I may have accidentally forgotten that rule too.” He chuckled softly, “Yours is under the tree somewhere.”

Her eyes lit up like a child's at the thought. She waited with barely hidden anticipation for him to open the gift she'd gotten him.

"I hope you like it." She smiled.

Emily watched her parents as she heard the sound of wrapping paper being torn.

Duffy turned away from him slightly to watch the boys. She worried he would think it was too extravagant, that she'd spent too much money.

He opened the box, his eyes widening in surprise at the present. “Duffy? It’s beautiful, thank you.” He said as he placed the watch around his wrist.

She grinned at the genuine delight on his face. "I'm glad you like it." Her smile grew impish. "Can I have my present now?"

“You're so impatient!” He smirked and kissed her cheek. “Boys, do you think you can find your mum’s present for us?” There was suddenly a loud trump and then a giggle from Emily’s direction.

"Emily!" Duffy gasped. "She's been spending far too much time around you boys!" She remarked seeing their failed attempts at concealing their laughter.

Eventually they found what they were looking for and Peter handed his mum her present.

Taking it in her hand Duffy raised her eyebrow at Charlie over the small size of the box. Surely it wasn't...

Emily continued to giggle loudly. “Hey, don’t be blaming us boys. We’re not to blame:” Charlie protested. Seeing her expression, he smiled and whispered; “Open it.”

She tore off the paper and found a small square box, clearly designed to contain a single item of jewellery. She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip.

He’d brought her a ring. An engagement ring. He wanted to marry her and had already asked Kate’s permission.

She handed him the box and nodded.

“Just a nod?” He teased and opened the box.

"I believe you're supposed to ask me a question first." She giggled.

“Duffy? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Yes!" She squealed with barely contained delight.

“Yes?” He grinned.

"Yes!" She repeated, holding out her left hand towards him.

He took the ring out of the box and slid it onto her ring finger. He kissed her passionately.

She blushed as they parted a few moments later, hearing the disgusted noises the boys were making between bursts of laughter.

He rested his forehead against hers and kissed her nose. “I love you.”

"I love you too."

A few hours later the wrapping paper had been cleared away and everyone was dressed for the day. Christmas lunch was cooking away in the kitchen as the doorbell rang. Duffy called out that she would answer it. Pulling open the door she grinned at her mum, showing off her hand before her mum even had chance to speak or step inside.

Kate’s eyes widened, “He’s done good! It’s about time Charlie asked you to marry him.”

"Mum!" She complained, rolling her eyes and sounding more like a teenager than the fully grown woman she now was.

“It took him long enough!” Kate teased and smiled. She kissed her daughter’s forehead.

She ushered her mum inside and soon the family was consumed with all the Christmas bustle and madness.

A couple of hours later Jake wandered into the kitchen. "Where's mum?" He asked.

“She went to the toilet.” Charlie answered and glanced at his watch. “Kate, will you be ok while I go and check on Duffy?”

"Of course." She nodded.

As Charlie reached the bottom of the stairs Peter came racing down. "Dad!"

“Yes Peter?” As Peter reached the bottom of the stairs Charlie saw the look of terror in the young lad's eyes. “What’s wrong?”

"Its mum. She's been really sick. She started shaking on the floor too."

“What?” He swallowed, “Stay down here, tell your gran to ring an ambulance. Please don’t worry.” He kissed the top of his head before racing up the stairs. He reached the bathroom door just as the seizure seemed to be ending. “Duffy? Shit!!” He put her into the recovery position. “It’s ok, I’m here.”

A few moments of silence passed before Duffy began to groan, her eyelids fluttering.

“The ambulance is on its way.” He told her, stroking her hair.

She let out a sudden, startled yelp of pain as a pool of fluid began to form around her.

“Oh fuck.” He muttered and swallowed hard, “It’s alright darling, it’s ok.” He didn’t know who he was trying to convince. Her or him.

It was clear from her face that things were progressing fast.

He called downstairs, “We really need an ambulance now!!”

Kate climbed the stairs. "They're on their way." She replied. She gasped as she entered the room. "Lisa!"

“Kate it’s ok, she’s in labour.” He was on the floor with Lisa, stroking her hair.

"But... But... She's not supposed to be having them for another 3 weeks!"

“I know, I know.” He took a deep breath, “Lisa, honey, are you having contractions?” He moved to feel her pulse.

Duffy managed a brief nod, not able to fully articulate everything that was going on.

Her pulse - for the time being - was steady. That was something. “Alright baby.” He kissed her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

"Lousy."

“I’m not surprised.” He smiled sadly. There were sirens outside and then a knock on the door.

Peter ran to open it clutching his screaming baby sister in his arms. He'd never been more thankful to see Josh!

“Is your mum upstairs?” He asked Peter as he came into the house.

Kate came downstairs when she heard Emily screaming and took the tot into her arms. It was hard tearing herself away from her only daughter but she had to trust Charlie and the paramedics. “Come and sit in the living room, boys.” She told Jake and Peter.

Josh jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, a horrible feeling of deja vu wrapping itself around his insides.

“Don’t you dare go to sleep on me!” Charlie told Duffy. “Please, I couldn’t cope.”

She tried to keep her eyes open but they felt increasingly heavy. "Love you." She mumbled.

“I love you too.” He checked her pulse again, just as Josh and Penny walked in. It was a horrible sense of deja vu - he’d been here once before.

Josh took one look at Duffy and declared. "We scoop and run."

“Yeah, be for the best.” Charlie swallowed. “I need to get her maternity notes and the overnight bag.”

The next few minutes passed in a flurry of activity until, finally, the ambulance was on its way to the hospital, hurtling through the streets of Holby, sirens wailing.

Charlie was feeling incredibly sick in the back of the ambulance, he kept checking her pulse and saturation levels.

As they crashed through the main doors of the department the monitors began to blare a series of alarms.

Charlie handed over the maternity notes to the doctors but couldn’t stay. He couldn’t watch Duffy die in front of him. He went to his office instead, turning out the lights and sitting on the floor by his desk.

About half an hour later there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in.” He called quietly. His knees were against his chest.

Josh entered the room looking utterly exhausted.

“Is she dead?” It was the first thing he asked.

"No. She doesn't look it but I swear she's tougher than rest of us put together!"

“It’s that stubbornness of hers.” He replied, “Is she ok? And the twins?”

"It was rough going for a while but both Duffy and the twins made it through the delivery."

He nodded, “Can... Can I see them? How are the twins?”

Josh smiled and nodded. He held out his hand towards his friend.

Charlie took Josh’s hand and stood up. “I couldn’t stay and watch it all over again. The first time gave me nightmares for months.” He admitted. He’d never told anyone that before, not even Duffy.

"You're not the only one." Josh sighed. He'd never tell her to her face but viewed Duffy as like the little sister he'd never had growing up.

“Are you okay?” He asked Josh.

"I'm OK. Just promise me you'll take care of that precious family of yours and never take it for granted."

“I’ll take good care of them. I promise Josh. Nor will I ever take them for granted.”

Josh pulled his friend into a brief hug before turning towards the door. "Let's go take you to meet the latest two members of the Fairhead brood shall we?"

“The latest and last two members.” He smiled brightly.

"Yeh, yeh!" Josh replied, nudging Charlie's shoulder, glad to lighten the mood slightly.

“Don’t jinx us.” He laughed slightly, “These lot break the bank enough as it is. And we need to start saving for the wedding.”

"So you finally asked her then?"

“Yeah I did.” He smiled brightly. “This morning. When the kids were with us.” He reached the room where Duffy was and swallowed hard, a wave of sickness floating over him.

"And here was me beginning to think you'd changed your mind and decided it was far too much fun winding her mum up with your sinful misbehaviour together!"

“Maybe I do get a buzz out of winding up her mum but, ssh, don’t tell Duffy I said that. Or Kate. These Duffin women are scary you know.”

"And I imagine Emily and the twins will quickly follow in their mum and gran's footsteps!"

“The twins are both girls?” They hadn’t found out, wanting it to be a surprise like all their babies had been.

"Yeh, good luck with that!" Josh chuckled.

“Me and the boys are outnumbered. Great!” He joked. “Do you want to come with me? To see them?”

"If you're sure? I wouldn't want to intrude."

“Of course not.” They went to see Duffy.

Duffy slowly opened her eyes as she heard them enter. She was still very sleepy and incredibly sore.

“Hey, sleepy.” He smiled and kissed her forehead.

"What happened?"

“You gave birth to our children.” He told her.

"I remember feeling sick and then..." She shrugged.

“You had a seizure in the bathroom. But you’re okay. And so are the twins.”

"Where are they?"

“In neonatal. They’re ok, both of them.”

"How tiny?"

"3lbs 4oz and 3lbs 2oz." Josh replied.

“Fat, like their dad.” Charlie joked, “Healthy weight for the time they were born.” He reassured her.

"They're really OK?" She asked, her voice increasingly sleepy.

“Yes. I promise.” He kissed her head, “Sleep and relax.”

"Love you." She mumbled.

“Love you too, gorgeous.”

Once they were certain that she was asleep they left the room and began to head down the corridor.

“The twins are ok, aren’t they?” Charlie asked Josh.

"They're just perfect." He reassured.

“We haven’t even thought of names. Not properly. Although there’s two names that I like.” He smiled brightly.

"What are those? I promise not to tell anyone else."

“I like Matilda, Tilly for short. And Charlotte.”

"Tilly and Lottie?"

“Tilly, Lottie, Em and Duffy. My girls.” Charlie grinned.

"Its funny how the two of you together only have girls yet have boys with others." Josh mused.

“What can I say? My sperm can obviously only make girls with Duffy’s eggs.” Charlie laughed gently.

Josh caught something in Charlie's tone that struck him as odd but wasn't sure how to approach it.

“Except that’s not strictly true.” He continued. “Duffy and I... made a son.”

"I don't understand. What happened to him?"

“If I tell you, you have to promise, you can’t tell anyone?”

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

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bxebxee · 7 years ago

Text

and what a way to go

Note: written for @jeonalis because i love my college girl <3 Based on THIS THING. Names of gadgets and widgets and places and things cheerfully borrowed from all the nerd stuff I used to love many years ago. Mostly Ratchet and Clank though. I think there was also an unintentional fight club reference, but i’ve never seen the movie and have no desire to do so either. Points if you spot all the random nerd stuff I put in there.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Crack, Sci-Fi, Smut Lite (Diet Smut a.k.a. Lazy Smut) Warnings: it’s crack. it’s (bad, lazy) porn. Ah, actually there’s some physical violence. Word Count: 4225 Rating: BC, for bad crack.

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can,” you tell Jungkook.

“Excuse me?” he splutters.

“You heard the woman,” Jimin eggs him on.

“Hit me,” you dare.

Good entertainment is hard to come by in the Year of Our Lord 3333. Jungkook warily orders his holo-projector to turn off the hyper-realistic porn of two human women tribbing because it’s a re-run, and he’s used up his free trial of the sensory package. Somehow actually smelling the sex and experiencing mild neuro-stimulating jolts at key points of the adult film really made the whole porn watching experience better. Anything less was just depressing.

“Did you shut that shit off?” Yoongi asks from outside Jungkook’s bedroom. The door being shut is a clear indication that Masturbatory Events were happening, so the older human boy has learned to not even bother knocking.

Jungkook heaves a sigh because he doesn’t even have a boner. “Yeah,” he answers glumly.

“Is your junk tucked in?”

“It wasn’t out to begin with.”

The bedroom door opens with a force that only comes from a person seeking to pick a fight. Yoongi frowns at Jungkook’s unmoving, prone figure. “You do know that your holo-projector is still connected to the amplifier downstairs, right?”

Jungkook bolts out of his bed, face drawn into a comically horrified picture of contrition and shame. “Uh...” And Yoongi’s girlfriend was over too. He’s dead. More than dead. Deader than dead.

“Lucky for you my girlfriend found it hot and a little bit funny, but seriously...”

This is mortifying, and Jungkook swears he needs to move out as soon as possible - except he’s still broke and fixing hovercrafts from time to time wasn’t any way to make a steady living.

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and scratches the back of his head with a sigh. “I’ll... leave you guys to it then.” (He tries his best not to look her in the eye when she leaves. She fucking waves though. Weird.)

It is 127% because of boredom that he finds himself “borrowing” (read: taking without consent) Yoongi’s mobile airship for the express purpose of hyperwarping to Abraxas-II for a night of wild, youthful revelry. Much to his roommate-slash-employer’s dismay, Jungkook has no qualms about contributing to the statistics of bored young human boys wreaking havoc across the galaxy. If not now, then when? Humans did have one of the lowest life expectancies around, and he wasn’t going to wait until he was pushing fifty-five and seeking cryo-regenification to have a little fun.

“Warning, impending destruction of Abraxas-II,” the Computer tells him twenty minutes into hyperwarp. “Recalculating.”

What the actual fuck. Jungkook takes out his limited edition communicator designed in the tradition of old-school, earth-class cellular devices from the early 21st century. Thankfully he still has signal. At least the UMN was doing something good for the galaxy.

BREAKING: LARGE METEOR IMPACT TO DESTROY “SIN PLANET” ABRAXAS-II - says the headlines. Almost immediately, there are op-ed interviews from Voths and Cragmites who loved to, colloquially speaking, talk shit about everyone else - especially anyone else having fun. Jungkook suspects it’s not some freak meteor because the live feed of the impending destruction shows the “meteor” looks a lot like an intentional laser beam coming from an ominous-looking ship.

“Changing course to Abraxas-X,” the Computer lets him know in a cheery voice. “Estimated time of arrival: seventeen minutes.”

“Uh, Computer, I think I’d rather just go home,” Jungkook tells the ship’s control mainframe.

“Unable to execute command. Due to the projected debris fallout from Abraxas-II’s destruction, all routes back to HOME are closed until further notice from the Federation. We Apologize For The Inconvenience.”

Yoongi will kill him for real this time.

“Did you hear? It’s Abraxas-II this time,” Jimin remarks, wrapping his hand in bandages for the fight tonight. As his “fling for the night” you were allowed in the locker rooms by a creepy looking Agorian guard.

You roll your eyes because of course you heard about the “meteor” about to destroy another planet. The Federation really needed to get their act together. And where was Captain Qwark when you needed him?

“Don’t get distracted, baby boy,” you smirk, completely ignoring his question in favor of sticking to a topic you actually cared about - money. “Tonight is a toss-up.”

You and Jimin played dirty when it came to Abraxas-X’s infamous underground fighting cages. It was a pretty simple scam: Jimin fought based on a pre-determined strategy and you either bet for or against him depending on how it was supposed to go. Sometimes it made more sense to dope up on nanotech painkilers and lose on purpose, and you made sure to bet high and reckless on those days.

Win or lose, you and Jimin always made sure to come out on top. Sometimes though, Jimin faced odd toss-ups like the one for tonight, V, and you had to bet carefully based on Jimin’s condition.

“I think it’ll be a win for tonight,” Jimin decides, handing you the vial of unused nanotech. And herein lie the loophole that allowed for your cute little scam: officials only checked the winners to see who’s doping. Never the losers. This made it easy for Jimin to inject, inhale, and rub as much nano into his system on Lose Nights so that he could take a beating and come out normal the next morning.

“If you say so,” you hum, “And be safe.”

The Agorian guard opens the door, and Jimin pulls you into a kiss fit for the pay-per-view holo-channels. “Fight’s starting soon, lovebirds.”

“Thanks for the hot sex, baby,” you laugh at a smirking Jimin, waving as you exit. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

Jungkook nearly pisses his pants when he gets to Abraxas-X because it’s the furthest thing from Abraxas-II. For one, it’s fucking cold and snowing, unlike Abraxas-II’s modulated temperature system where it was always tropical year round. He’s ridiculously under-dressed for this climate, but that doesn’t mean he can afford to planet hop until he gets somewhere warmer. He’s running out of hyperwarp fuel, and his communicator’s battery is nearly dead.

For another, it’s pretty much deserted along the landing site in a scary, dystopian kind of way.

“Oh fuck me,” he says, but it sounds more like, “Oh-hoh, fuc-c-c-ck, m-me-hee,” because his teeth clack from the cold.

He has a good seven percent battery left which he uses to shiver his way towards civilization. The first group of parka-adorned humanoids he enounters looks at him as if he’s a fucking Cragmite.

“What’s up,” Jungkook smiles in what he hopes to be something more winsome and not pained. “Hey, can you guys direct me to the closest Gadgetron vendor? My communicator is about to die.”

Parka One points to a cave with a fading sign that reads COLOSSEUM, as if the anguished shouts and curses weren’t frightening enough.

“I don’t know if they sell communicators though,” Parka Two tell him. “The guy’s an ex-RYNO dealer.”

What the fuck was this planet even?

“Th-thank you.” Jungkook prays it’s warmer inside.

“No Foul.”

You glare at the referee who refuses to call a foul on that shout. That V fighter asshole is very good at getting in potshots that look legal, and you don’t like it one bit. Jimin is getting his ass handed to him on a rusty copper platter, and you’re more than a little pissed off that you just bet a whole week’s income on this.

V, or whatever his fucking name was, actually has the nerve to wink at you. Apparently he thinks you’re Jimin’s fuck toy, and he’s trying to use playground tactics to piss off your “boyfriend” into making mistakes in the ring. Well, the joke is on you because neither Jimin nor you cared two shits about taunting, and Jimin was still losing.

Your gaze shifts to your partner in crime who shakes his head. He should have taken the fucking nano.

You nod slowly while tucking your hair behind your left ear and blink three, distinct times. The message is there: Next round, submission, tap out. It would be a loss for tonight, but at least Jimin wouldn’t be too injured.

In a fit of annoyance you leave the crowd and make your way towards the exit.

“You don’t accept bolts?” comes an incredulous voice by the entrance next to Jeff, the Gadgetron vendor. “How could you possibly not accept bolts?”

“Sorry, my sexy, muscular, human macho man,” Jeff purrs, “It’s either munny, gil, or credits. I don’t live in the stone ages of bolts.”

You blink when you see a human man fuming at the way Jeff condescendingly refuses to sell him a communicator battery pack. Humans were rare in these parts, so you’re a little taken aback to see one standing at the entrance of the Colosseum wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and a pair of black pants that looked like they were painted onto his skin.

“My friend, no- my boss is going to kill me unless I get in touch with him, and I literally only have three percent battery. This Abraxas-II bullshit is really-”

“Oh honey, everyone is inconvenienced by Abraxas-II,” Jeff smiles, knowing a wallet when he sees one.

Unfortunately for Jeff, you also know a wallet when you see one too, and that guy with the nice thighs looks like he could do some serious damage in the ring. You want him - for your scam, of course.

“Oh Jeff,” you call out in sing-song voice, hastily shrugging off your parka and pulling down your top.

“Whaddya want?”

“A communicator battery pack,” you answer with a cute smile and a wink in the human guy’s direction.

“Five hundred credits-”

You give him a long look. “Jeff.”

“Abraxas-II-”

“Don’t,” you warn, balling your fist.

“Two hundred,” he replies meekly, and you pay him using your card.

You accept the battery pack and promptly hand it over to the human who’s looking at you in awe. Hook, line, and sinker. And for your next act, you turn away saucily and head for the locker rooms, even though that’s exactly where you came from. You’re pretty sure the pretty boy wouldn’t notice.

“Hey wait,” comes his voice, and you can’t help but to smile because it’s all so predictable. “Wait, what’s your name?”

“Like that’s important,” you laugh, shooting him a flirtatious look. “You got your battery. Go make your call.”

You walk into the crowds once more just in time to see Jimin tap out with a sour look on his face. He looks surprised to see you still here because he thought you would have just left.

“What the hell is this place?” the human next to you exhales, looking around in awe.

“Welcome to the Pits of Abraxas-X,” you grin. “People beat each other up here for money.” As if it weren’t obvious.

“Well fuck.”

“Jungkook, Jimin. Jimin, Jungkook,” you make the introductions in a careless fashion as Jimin ices his bruises. You hand him a vial of nano with a frown.

“Nice to meet you,” Jungkook mutters, eyeing Jimin’s black eye warily.

“Yeah, whatever,” you brush the niceties aside, “Now that we all know each other and seeing as we’re all in the at-least-fifty-percent-human club, let’s get down to business.”

“Wait what?” Jungkook frowns, looking at you with a giant question mark on his face. He only followed you in here because he thought you were hot and maybe (just maybe) on the slim chance that you might blow him in some seedy locker room.

“First of all, you owe me two hundred credits plus tax,” you inform Jungkook who looks like he swallowed a lemon. “Second of all, if you came in here in an airship, you’ll need hyperwarp fuel, which is expensive as fuck on this planet.”

Jungkook gulps.

“Oh, unless your boss can wire you two thousand credits of course,” you smile sweetly.

“Two Thousand,” Jungkook hiccups.

“Lucky for you I have a plan,” you continue, ignoring the way Jimin groans. “My fighter is going to be out of commission for the pits until the nano’s out of his system, and I’m already in the negatives for this week.”

“So what’s your plan?” Jungkook asks, already getting a sense as to where this is going.

“You are the plan, Jungkook,” you tell him, “I need you to play substitute for Jimin for about a week. Can you do that?”

And even you ask him, you’re not really asking him. You’re practically ordering Jungkook to be Jimin’s substitute. The “or else” doesn’t even need to be said because the guy has no other options. He’s stranded here anyway, in desperate need of cash to escape and already two hundred credits in debt with yours truly.

“I don’t know how to fight,” he sighs glumly, “I’m gonna get beat up a lot, huh?”

Your gaze drifts to his thighs and his biceps. “Jungkook, I think with a little training you should be okay. But yeah, you’re going to get wailed on.”

He looks terrified so you amend your statement. “Ah, you’re not going to feel any of it though. You just have to act like you’re in pain.”

“What?” he gasps.

You hold up a fresh bottle of nano. “I love biotechnology and messing around with this shit,” you giggle, “Everyone reacts differently to nano, but for humans, it’s found to be particularly good at repairing physical damage. That’s why it’s illegal in most fighting communities.”

Jungkook lets out a small, choked sound because not only was nano injections illegal in “fighting communities,” this shit was also illegal in five hundredish out of six hundredish planets in the Federation. Whole Planets have outlawed this substance, including his home world.

“It’s safe,” you guess, “From my experience.”

And Jungkook does not know what to say because it’s either get beat up by alien uglies without nano, or get beat up with nano. Yoongi would probably tell him to “just say no to drugs” but Yoongi wasn’t the one facing a just-under-five-foot terror in the shape of a human girl.

“How can I trust you?” he asks, attempting to sound cool.

And you really have to laugh because he’s too cute. “You don’t get out very much, do you?” you smirk, shaking the tube of nano before injecting it straight into a vein in your forearm.

“Here we go,” Jimin snorts, watching the two of you share in Prime Banter. Jungkook almost forgot the older human man was even there.

You let the nano filter through your system, and it’s quick because you’ve done it so many times now. “I want you to hit me as hard as you can,” you tell Jungkook.

“Excuse me?” he splutters.

“You heard the woman,” Jimin eggs him on.

“Hit me,” you dare.

“Wha- I- I can’t hit a girl!” Jungkook finally spits out.

“Cute,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “If you won’t, I will.”

And Jungkook, bless that boy, actually steps in between you and Jimin. “No, dude,” he says in his best strongman voice. “It’s not right.”

“She has a million little robot things currently filling up her entire body waiting to repair even the slightest bit of damage,” Jimin explains as if he’s talking to a little kid.

“She is right here,” you remind the boys, tapping Jungkook’s shoulder. He turns around and you promptly wack him across the face. “And she is still waiting for that hit, Jungkook.”

Jungkook to his credit really doesn’t like getting physical. He was kind of lying when he said he didn’t fight because he did learn some human fighting techniques growing up, and he could hold his own in a bar brawl. But that was always up against human fighters, never stronger, weirder aliens that could potentially kill him.

You piss him off though. He realizes belatedly that you probably paid for his battery pack on purpose, and he’s beyond annoyed because if there’s one thing he hates, it’s being used.

“You wanna get hit so bad?” he challenges through gritted teeth, and you nod.

“Go for it, baby,” you tease, crooking your finger in a crude, pseudo-sexual gesture. “Give me your best shot-”

Jungkook steps back, engaging in a standard stance and rears his leg up to kick you square in chin. The force of the blow has you slamming into the lockers, the loud metallic sound ringing through the cramped space. You’re dizzy and disoriented, but you don’t feel a damn thing other than excited.

“Oh,” you sigh, mouth curving into a satisfied smile, “Oh, fuck, you’re good.”

Jungkook doesn’t have a damn clue what to say.

Jimin takes a day to teach him how to play Wounded Warrior in the pits, and you take another day to teach him the ins and outs of Coliseum etiquette, frequently encountered alien species, and about Abraxas-X in general.

Jungkook is thankful that Yoongi is more worried about him being stranded on a foreign planet rather than angry at his missing mobile airship.

“Sorry,” Jungkook apologizes for the fifth time. “I really, really fucked up.”

Yoongi doesn’t disagree. “Yeah, but you’re safe. And you’ll find a way of getting back. Just don’t die.”

“I’ll try my best,” Jungkook sighs, depressed out of his mind when he hangs up. His first fight is tonight, and while you’ve gone over the plan with him a million times, he still can’t get rid of the jittery feeling that he’s going to ruin everything.

“You’re actually perfect, you know,” you tell Jungkook. “See, you look really built and like you’d totally kick everyone’s asses. And they’re gonna bet that way. But you’re going to lose, Jungkook. You’re going to take the hits and get on the ground.”

“Can’t wait,” he deadpans.

“Good,” you smile cheerfully, ignoring his willful attempts to be sullen, “Because my estimations show that we’re going to make about five hundred credits tonight.”

Jungkook whips his head towards you from the news. Five hundred? that only meant four nights of this could lead to his freedom.

“Don’t get too excited, champ,” you tell him as you pat him on the shoulder. “It’s five hundred divided by three.”

“Three?”

“Jimin’s cut of course.” You don’t leave your friends out of a cut, even if he did fuck things up with V.

Jungkook looks like he might cry.

The first thing Jungkook notices about the ring is that it smells bad. It smells like the time when Yoongi’s Markazian ex-girlfriend’s cat-looking pet climbed into the exhaust vent of their repair shop and never came back out. They had searched, and searched for that annoying little beast, and they finally found it from the stench of the rotting corpse.

Likewise, it smelled like rotting organisms here.

Jungkook wants to throw up from the smell and from the nerves. The nano is in his system, and it feel kind of itchy and akin to someone tickling him from the inside. His opponent is an eight-feet tall Agorian boxer. Fuck Everything.

“You can do it, sexy!” you shout from the crowd, playing your part of adoring pit fangirl. The funny thing is that you’re not the only one yelling these sentiments to him. There are other pit girls screaming their love for Jungkook even though this is his literal first time making an appearance.

To be completely honest, you didn’t blame them one bit.

The horn sounds, and the Agorian charges at Jungkook. And instead of cowering, Jungkook charges right back, much to your surprise.

“Oh,” you gasp, eyes widening when he draws first blood, using the same kick he used to hit you with on the Agorian.

Jungkook’s opponent is unfazed, and sends a killer right hook at Jungkook’s side. The blow sounds painful and like it hit a bone from the nasty crunching sound. You can see Jungkook’s confusion because he heard the sound, and he felt the force from the blow, but there was also a distinct lack of pain.

The surprise fades nearly instantaneously and you only notice it because you were looking for a flaw in his acting skills. Jungkook launches into the routine Jimin trained him on - rolling on the floor in pain. The referee blows his whistle and it’s all over.

The fangirls mope around you.

“It’s his first time,” one of them says.

“Yeah,” another one agrees.

“He’ll get better. He has to. I mean look at him.”

You smirk when you see the referee shake his head and signal to the official that this match is over by TKO. Keep dreaming girls, you think. This is your house.

“Payday,” you smile, handing over Jungkook’s cut of the winnings.

Jungkook’s eyes go wide at the number. All that for taking a punch to his ribs?

“Good job out there,” you compliment. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jungkook wonders if he should even feel proud of this, but it does feel nice to have done something to work towards a goal.

“I have to say I was surprised though,” you comment, “I didn’t think you’d charge at Ortax the Merciless like that.”

“Just reflex,” Jungkook mutters shyly. He doesn’t really know why he did it either.

You wink, and watch as Jungkook’s ears go red in front of you. “It was a nice touch. Got the bets going up in your favor for a short while.” You pause, wondering if you say the next thing on your mind for all of three seconds before deciding that life was too short to play it safe. “It was fucking sexy.”

Jungkook blinks owlishly.

“Goodnight handsome. Take your vitamins.”

Jungkook continues the losing for two more days until he’s matched up with V.

You frown at the match up because you can’t tell what kind of alien V is because he looks so humanoid, but he’s not completely homosapiens either. His eyes and reflexes give everything away.

“You have to win this one,” you tell him point blank.

“Are you nuts?”

You shake your head. “You have to. We lost the shock factor of people betting for you. Now people are going to bet against you, and even if you lose it’s not going to make a difference money-wise. You have to win for us to collect the winnings from tonight.”

Jungkook swallows. “That means no nano.”

“Nope,” you confirm. “You go in cold. And you have to win.”

“Gee, thanks for not putting any pressure on me,” Jungkook sighs.

You don’t have the luxury of feeling bad because your rent is kind of past due. “Jungkook, let me put it this way,” you start, “If you win, that means you’ll probably have enough money to back to your home planet.”

“Where Yoongi will murder me,” Jungkook nods. He’s pouting again.

Your heart warms at how his expression is in direct contrast to how his body looks cut up and bruised from the fights he’s had in the past few days. Jungkook’s handsome, baby face is so incredibly juxtaposed on his toned fighter’s body in the best way possible.

“You’ll get another thing if you win,” you start, biting your lip and sitting down next to him.

“What?”

“I’ll kiss your boo-boos better,” you mutter into his ear. It’s a come-on, obviously.

Jungkook swallows thickly when he sees your suggestive expression. “Like a blowjob?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer, opting for simplicity.

Jungkook wins.

Jimin is not expecting this at all. He’s finally recovered from his fight with V, and after getting a text announcing Jungkook’s victory, he supposes a little congratulations is in order for the youngest in your group of scammers. Jimin breaks out the Ogre Killer from his stash of Serious Liquors, and makes his way towards the locker rooms where Jungkook and you would no doubt be high-fiving it up.

He sees the Agorian guards with their ears pressed against the door when he arrives.

“Uh-”

“Can you shut up?” Agorian A hisses, ear pressed firmly on the metal.

“Fuck, I just heard her slurp,” Agorian B giggles.

Agorian A glares at Jimin. “I missed the slurp because of you.”

“Slurp?” Jimin questions. Without a word, they unlock the door for Jimin to enter, and he sees you on kneeling on the floor with a mouthful of Jungkook’s dick.

The younger man’s attention is entirely focused on you, but you manage to make a sideways eye-contact with Jimin.

“Shut the door,” Jimin orders, glaring at the guards.

Jungkook gasps when he hears Jimin’s voice, but you pull him back to concentrate on you when you pull away to suck at the tip of his penis.

“Jungkook was really good today,” you laugh, laving your tongue against the underside of his cock. “He beat V.”

“So I heard,” Jimin replies, taking a seat on a bench and staring at the image in front of him. “Just to clarify, you texted me so that I could watch you suck his dick, correct?”

“Correct,” you answer.

“Correct? What the fuck?” Jungkook moans. You suck him in deep and let him hit the back of your throat. And just to add a little spice, you fake a gag. “Fuck!”

You make him cum in about sixty seconds.

(Later: “What do you mean you’re staying in Abraxas-X?” Yoongi hisses over speaker. He calms down only marginally after Jungkook tell him he just wired him money for the mobile airship. That wasn’t even the point? This Kid!)

#bangtan bookclub #bts writers #noonanet #CMBNetwork #jungkook fic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook scenario #jeonalis #member: jungkook #genre: crack #jungkook smut

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stacks-reviews · 7 years ago

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Must Reads Special #3

Grab your favorite comfort food and an extra box of tissues. It’s time for another special edition of Must Reads. This months episode: Tears Part 1 Some of my favorite moments that will always make me cry.

--Cowboy Bebop “The futuristic misadventures and tragedies of an easygoing bounty hunter and his partners.”

Episode 24: “Hard Luck Woman” Faye comes across an elderly woman who knew her when she was younger which triggers some of her memories to return. Back at the Bebop, Ed runs into her absentee father and the rest of Faye’s memories return. As Faye leaves to find her home, she tells Ed that belonging somewhere is the best. Which prompts Ed to leave as Ein follows. Spray painting bye-bye on the ship before she leaves. As Spike and Jet eat the eggs that they had split for everyone we see Faye excitedly run up to her old home only to find nothing but ruins. She draws where her bed was and lays down.

It’s sad enough to see the Bebop crew split up like this but with “Call Me” playing in the background, it makes this scene all the more heart breaking.

Episode 18: “Speak Like A Child” Our first look into Faye’s past through a mysterious package that turns out to be a tape that she sent to herself as a child. All other music and sounds stop, except for a quiet piano in the background. As the crew looks on, Faye spying from the door, it starts of easily enough. A glimpse into what was. But what rips out my heart every time is the cheer Faye gives to herself. Faye doesn’t remember making the tape or who she was and was like. So although young Faye is telling herself not to lose, to keep trying, adult Faye has already lost (at least in terms of memory).

Young Faye: “Good morning, me. Did you sleep well? Did you wake up feeling good? Did the light, and the wind, and the smell, and the sound, all seem like they’re brand new and fresh this morning? Is each and every cell in your whole body awake and alive now? Today, you are who you are today. See? You’re still me, but you’re a newer version.…Myself ten years from now. It’s so far away; it’s almost impossible to imagine. Am I alone or is there a wonderful person next to me? Knowing me I’m sure you’re causing all kinds of trouble for lots of different people. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, but it’s all right. That’s part of life too, isn’t it? You’re not perfect but you’ve got a lot to give, so remember: I’ll always be cheering you on. And now a big cheer from my heart. Let’s...go...me, alright! Do your best! Do your best! Don’t lose me! Let’s go, don’t lose, don’t lose me! Do your best! Do your best! Me, me, me! Don’t lose, don’t lose! Me, me, me! Go me! In your time I'm no longer here, but I am here today, and I'll always be cheering for you, right here. Cheering for you- my only self.”

--Futurama “The adventures of a late-20th-century New York City pizza delivery boy, Phili J. Fry, who, after being unwittingly cryogenically frozen for one thousand years, finds employment at Planet Express, an interplanetary delivery company in the retro-futuristic 31st century.”

Episode 2: “The Series Has Landed” Fry, Leela, Bender, and Amy head to the moon to deliver their first package as a delivery crew. The scene that makes me tear up; in more of a bitter sweet kind of feeling instead of downright sad, is when Fry and Leela are on the dark side of the moon in the Apollo 11 lander. Then this moment happens:

Fry: “Look, Leela. I’m sorry. I never should have dragged you out here.” Leela: “That’s right, you shouldn’t have. I still don’t get what the big attraction is.” Fry: “I never told anybody this, but a thousand years ago I used to look up at the moon and dream about being an astronaut. I just didn’t have the grades, or the physical endurance. Plus I threw up a lot, and nobody liked spending a week with me.” Leela: “A week would be a little much.” Fry: “The moon was like this awesome, romantic, mysterious thing, hanging up there in the sky where you could never reach it, no matter how much you wanted to. But you’re right. Once you’re actually here, it’s just a big, dull rock. I guess I just wanted you to see it through my eyes, the way I used to.” Leela: “Fry, look. It really is beautiful. I don’t know why I never noticed it before.”

It was the first scene that showed me that this show was going to be much more than a silly comedy. It would have moments like these where it becomes something beautiful.

Episode 137: “Game of Tones” A strange ship is heading toward Earth emitting four loud notes that start to cause structural damage on the planet. Fry seems to recognize the melody so they put him to sleep to explore his memories of the day he was frozen to find what was causing the melody.

I haven’t seen this episode as much as the others on my list today but I do remember the ending. As a thank you for helping save the world again Nibbler helps transport Fry to his mothers dream so he could speak to her. She mentions that she dreamed about him a lot since his disappearance and asks what he wanted to speak about. Speechless, he just hugs her and back in the year 2000 his mother wakes from her dream to Fry’s picture on her nightstand, smiles, and peacefully falls back to sleep.

Episode 56: “Leela’s Homeworld” Leela learns the truth about where she is from. She is not the only cyclops alien in existence, she is a mutant and her parents gave her up so she could have a better life on the surface. At first she believes that the two mutants killed her real parents and almost kills them when they said they did. Then Fry shows up with the note that was left with Leela when she was given away saying it was written on paper commonly used in the sewers. After the reveal Leela says that they are her parents, they embrace and everyone cries. Even Bender gives out a little aww. But what really kicks you in the feels is the montage that follows, showcasing all the ways that Leela’s family secretly looked after throughout her life. Catching her before she could fall down some stairs, leaving her cookies while she worked on homework, giving her birthday presents, and even covering her up with a blanket to this day while she slept.

Episode 36: The Luck of the Fryrish After a string of bad luck Fry wishes he had his old seven-leaf clover; that helps him beat his older brother at everything, and with the help of Leela and Bender they travel to the ruins of Old New York to see if they can find it. Amazingly his house is still there but the clover is gone and after finding a statue that looks like his brother, Yancy, with the inscription, “Philip J. Fry The Original Martian, he concludes that his brother must have stolen it and his dream to be the first person on Mars. Fry finds out where his brother is buried and decides to do a little grave-robbing to get his clover back. The episode jumps between Fry’s past and his current time. Mainly focusing on his relationship with his older brother. Showing how Yancy wanted to be named Philip and kept copying Fry.

Once they arrive at the grave Fry knocks off the moss that had covered the graves inscription. It then jumps to his older brother discussing what to name his newborn son with his wife:

Yancy: “Daddy has a present for you today. Do you know what it is? It’s a lucky clover that can help you be successful whatever you do. Even break dancing. And it once belonged to someone very special.” His wife: “I know what name you want to give him, Yancy. It’s okay.” Yancy: Really? Son, I’m naming you Philip J. Fry in honor of my little brother, who I miss every day. I love you Philip (sniff) and I always will.”

Fry (reading the inscription): “Here lies Philip J. Fry, named for his uncle, to carry on his spirit.”

The episode packs quite a punch. We spend the majority of the episode under the idea that Yancy didn’t care for Fry much. He wanted to be the one named Philip, he wanted to steal the clover, he kept copying his brother’s style, and appears to have taken over Fry’s life. And through Fry’s frustrations, we don’t care much for Yancy in the beginning. But upon later reflection we realize that Yancy actually admired and loved Fry a lot and wanted to be more like him. And I think Fry spends most of his life thinking that his brother may not have liked him and here he has irrevocable proof that his brother loved him.

Episode 61: Jurassic Bark At a fair about the 21st century Fry finds his old dog, Seymour, fossilized. With the Professor’s help they plan to clone Seymour but Bender becomes jealous and throws Seymour into lava. But realizing that Fry could love an ‘inferior creature’ and wasn’t trying to annoy him jumps into the lava to rescue Seymour before he melts. As they begin to extract Seymour’s DNA it is revealed that Seymour died at 15, 12 years after Fry was frozen, and Fry has them stop the cloning. When this happens:

Bender: “Fry, what’s wrong?” Fry: “Think about it: Seymour lived a full life after I was gone...He probably even added new songs to his repertoire.” Bender: “But that’s a good thing. “Walkin’ On Sunshine” sucks noodles.” Fry: “I had Seymour ‘till he was three. That’s when I knew him, and that’s when I loved him...I’ll never forget him...But he forgot me a long, long time ago...”

After giving Seymour one last affectionate pat goodbye it cuts to show that Seymour spent twelve years outside Panucci’s Pizza waiting for Fry to return (while ”I Will Wait for You” plays in the background). Until one day he laid down and closed his eyes.

Kills me every time. Fry thought Seymour happily moved on but he dutifully stayed there and waited for his return.

--Gattaca Gattaca is my favorite movie. And I have a lot of contenders for that position. But when it comes down to it and when I really stop and think about it, Gattaca is the first that comes to mind. I’ve looked up and thought about many of the quotes from it.

In a futuristic setting (though the present gets closer and closer to it everyday) people are born through eugenics. Born to be the best of both parts of their parents DNA. Those born in a more natural was are known as “God-child” and are discriminated against.

Vincent: “I belonged to a new underclass, no longer determined by social status or the color of your skin. No, we know have discrimination down to a science.”

Vincent is one such God-child who dreams of going to space but no one is willing to hire him due to having a high possibility of getting sick and having an estimated life span of only 30.2 years. But with the help of a genetic donor he switches places with one Jerome Eugene Marrow, a former professional swimmer who was injured in a car accident. Posing as Eugene, the fake Eugene gets a job at Gattaca and will be heading to Titan as a navigator. But a murder occurs at Gattaca and almost gets him found out when an eyelash of his real DNA is found near the scene. After evading police and the real murderer being found fake Eugene is all set to go to Titan. Only to find a new security DNA check before loading. Not having any extra samples of real Eugene, fake Eugene is found out by the doctor that has always done the DNA tests. And has known about Eugene posing as someone else for a long time. He then joins the rest of the crew and is last scene heading off to Titan.

I love this movie for various reasons and I might someday do a whole breakdown of why. But for now, why it makes me cry. It is the ending. As he says his last line:

Vincent (as Eugene): “For someone who was never meant for this world, I must confess, I’m suddenly having a hard time leaving it. Of course, they say every atom in our bodies was once a part of a star. Maybe I'm not leaving; maybe I'm going home.”

I tear up every time. The first time I don’t think I even knew why because I didn’t grasp the full film. That took a second viewing and a little research. There is the argument of how far are we willing to take science, there’s the issue on prejudice, and how limiting creating people in such a way can slow progress and ultimately affect our lives. How we would stop pushing ourselves. But for now let’s just leave it as an example of the underdog proving everyone wrong and rising to a position that no one believed they could make it to.

Anton: “Vincent! How are you doing this Vincent? How have you done any of this? We have to go back.” Vincent: “It’s too late for that. We’re closer to the other side.” Anton: “What other side? You wanna drown us both?” Vincent: “You wanna know how I did it? This is how I did it Anton: I never saved anything for the swim back.”

And then there’s this moment with his love interest, Irene:

Vincent: “My name is Vincent, all right? Vincent Anton Freeman, and I'm a "faith birth" or a "de-gene-erate", whatever you want to call it; but I am NOT a murderer!” Irene: “You're a "God-child"?” Vincent: “But we do have one thing in common, only I don't have twenty or thirty years left in mine. Mine is already ten thousand beats overdue.” Irene: “It's not possible.” Vincent: “You are the authority on what is not possible, aren't you Irene? They've got you looking for any flaw, that after a while that's all you see. For what it's worth, I'm here to tell you that it is possible. It is possible.”

--The Possibility of Fireflies by Dominique Paul “It’s 1987 and fourteen-year-old Ellie Roma doesn’t have much of a family. She lives with her mother, who has taken a break from parenting; and her older sister, Gwen, who is on her way to becoming a juvenile delinquent. Her father left them to start a new life. So Ellie spends a lot of time alone, especially at night, when all she has to keep her company are the fireflies that flicker in the summer air. Then one day a mysterious stranger enters her dark world. He is Leo, twenty-one, who is on his way to Hollywood to become a rock star. Ellie and Leo connect instantly, and Ellie hopes Leo will be the one to rescue her from her unhappy life. But instead, Leo teaches Ellie that no one can save you. You have to go after what you want. So one night - one terrible, frightening night - that’s exactly what Ellie decides to do.”

I loved this book. I read it at least three or four times when I was in middle school. Partly it was because I could relate to Ellie really well. My parents got divorced when I was nine and although I didn’t have abusive parents, the woman my dad got remarried to did do a lot of emotional and mental abuse to my older sister and myself. And those first several years of the divorce it was pretty rough. I’ve blocked a lot of it out and I try my best not to think about it but every now and then those memories like to attack. Due to the strong connection I felt toward Ellie and my own history, I have cried every time I have read this book.

Why it makes me cry. There are plenty of sad moments throughout this book but what makes me cry every time is the ending. Near the end Ellie’s older sister decides to run away with her friend. Ellie doesn’t really want to stay there with her mother alone so she runs across the street and asks to leave with her new neighbor friend. Who turns down her offer but does give her a ride and some money to get on a bus. She decides to go to her dads house and thinks of everything they’ll do together. But when she arrives no one is home and there aren’t even any fireflies for her to watch. As she starts to wonder if he even still lives there and would even want to see her, a car pulls up. It is her father and he leads her inside and shows her a bed (or was it a couch? It’s been a while since I last read it) so she can get some sleep. He tells her goodnight and leaves a house key for her on the table.

--Yu Yu Hakusho “From cutting classes to brawling in the streets, Yusuke Urameshi is not your typical role model. In fact, this kid's nothing more than a fourteen-year-old delinquent with a talent for trouble. But in a single selfless act Yusuke dies while saving another. For such noble sacrifice he is given a second chance at life, but it's to be a life far different than the one left behind. Now a Spirit Detective, the young man must track down demons and humans alike who desire to rule over the three realms of reality.”

Episode 1: “Surprised to be Dead” Yusuke’s funeral. The first time I saw Yu Yu Hakusho was during my early anime years. So I was very unprepared for someone to actually die in their show. No other anime I was watching at the time had any deaths yet, least of all it the main character.

If you’ve never seen this classic series Yusuke is a delinquent. He skips school, starts fights, all that. And yet he stops to save a child who was almost hit by a car and dies in the process. The shinigami who breaks the news to him, Botan, takes him to his funeral. Yusuke expects to see everyone laughing and being glad that he’s dead. Including his mother, his rival, classmates. Only to find his mother and his childhood friend, Keiko, crying. Then comes in his rival, his principal, and the boy he saved. And then I’m an emotional wreck.

Komada: "Come on, let's go back! This isn't right!" Kuwabara: “Shut up! Let go of me, wouldja?" Yusuke (floating over everyone’s heads): “What? Kuwabara [his rival]?!” Kuwabara (enters Yusuke’s apartment): "Damn you! You think you can just back out 'cause you're scared!" Okubo: "Kuwabara, this place is for mourning!" Kuwabara: "I'm not gonna leave! Not until he comes out here and lets me fight him!" Okubo: “He can’t do that!” Kuwabara: "I'm gonna beat you down, you punk! You hear me? Who do you think you are, huh? Dirty punk! Who am I gonna fight now? Who am I gonna fight?" Okubo: “He’s gone!” Kuwabara: “No! You’re supposed to be here...for me.” [and thus this bromance was born]

Takenaka: "At first I was so surprised, Yusuke...to hear you'd saved a kid at the cost of your own life. You've always acted more selfishly than that. Darn. Yusuke, I don't know why I don't feel like speaking well of you. [begins to cry] Why didn't you stay? You could have made something great out of yourself!"

Little Boy (the one Yusuke saved): "Mommy, do you think it'd be okay if I played with that boy tomorrow, if I'm good?" Mother: "No, son." Little Boy: "I know some people sounded angry at him, but he's really nice. He made really funny faces at me too, and he got me my ball! I don't know why those people were crying like that. It was probably because they wanted to play with him, too."

I think this was the first anime that ever made me cry. Yusuke thinks everyone hates him, would probably be better off if he wasn’t around, and then finds out that isn’t the case (a bit of It’s a Wonderful Life moment). It was a very sad scene and gets me every time.

#must read #must watch #books #Book Recommendations #anime #manga #cowboy bebop #futurama #Gattaca #yu yu hakusho #yusuke urameshi #the possibilities of fireflies #dominique paul #it's gonna make you cry

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starsfadingbutilingeron · 8 years ago

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Chapter Two: The Hand That Rocks the Cradle

Fic Title: Secondhand Hero Author: @starsfadingbutilingeron Summary: What if All Might had been able to save Shimura Tenko? Read this free fic to find out the results!! Rating: General Audiences Read On AO3: x

----

Toshinori was beginning to doubt whether or not he’d taken a kid into his home after all. In the few days Tenko had been living at Toshinori’s house in Japan, the pro hero had barely seen the boy poke his nose out of his room. Sometimes he’d spy Tenko’s bedroom door open just a crack wide enough for one red eye to peek out; but the second Toshinori called out to the child, the door would slam shut again.

The only indications that Tenko ever opened the door wider than a crack were when he’d creep out to use the restroom and when he’d open the door up to take in the trays Toshinori left out for him. Toshinori had never been in the position of having to cook for anyone other than himself, let alone a small child; and found himself poring over cookbooks in his spare minutes for ideas of what an eight year old should even be eating.

Ever since word had gotten out to the media that All Might had taken in an orphan, pretty much every person across the globe had decided to adopt Shimura Tenko as well. Dozens of packages of toys and clothes from fans all over the world arrived at Toshinori’s doorstep care of his P.R. team as soon as twelve hours after he’d first brought Tenko home. The gifts were hardly enough to lure the young child out of his room, but Toshinori was always pleased to find that Tenko had taken in a package that’d been left outside his bedroom door for him.

Tenko didn’t really understand why so many people wanted to give him presents, and it felt strange for him to suddenly have so many nice new things; but he couldn’t say that he was displeased with having a few new toys and clothes after having spent the past few years in whatever secondhand clothes his father would deign to give him. The clothes his father had bought him were always bought from thrift shops, scratchy shirts and weathered pants that never fit quite right.

The young boy thought a few times of just going out into the main part of the house and saying something - anything - to Toshinori just so the man now taking care of him would know he didn’t hate him; but always froze with his palm on the doorknob and, after standing staring at his hand for a while, retreated back to the corner of his bedroom. He really did like Toshinori, Tenko got a small thrill every time he remembered that he was living with the Number One Hero; it was just strange to be living somewhere new and with a new guardian who had quadruple the energy and none of the cruelty his father had had. Tenko was relieved though that, for the most part, his new guardian seemed to be giving him the space to get comfortable in his new home.

Still, after five days of Tenko barely leaving his room, Toshinori opened up about his concern one night over the phone to Naomasa.

“I’m just worried about him, you know,” Toshinori rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his voice low so Tenko wouldn’t hear him talking about him over the phone. “He’s hardly left his room and hasn’t said a word since he came here.”

“Well, he’s been through a lot,” Naomasa said, voice a touch distracted. Toshinori could tell he was at the station, probably trying to focus on a case file but making time for his friend anyways. “It might take him a while to warm up to you.”

“Yeah, but is this normal?” Toshinori asked. “I mean, he acts so afraid but doesn’t he know he’s safe here now? Maybe he...Maybe he just doesn’t like me?”

“Toshinori, you really can’t take this personally,” Naomasa said, almost laughing. “You’re always there when the bad stuff happens, right? You save the day and give a huge smile and then that’s it. Well, this is what happens after the bad stuff ends. It takes people a little while to feel safe again after a traumatic experience; especially when that person is an eight year old whose father basically used his quirk to commit suicide. Be patient, he’ll come around.”

“You’re right,” Toshinori sighed. “Thanks, Naomasa, I owe you one.”

“Oh, I’ll add it to the list,” Naomasa laughed. “See ya around, Toshinori.”

“See ya,” Toshinori said, hanging up the call and sitting back in his chair.

----

Being the Number One Hero while also attempting to be a parent proved to be quite the juggling act; All Might had upgraded his security system even more since Tenko had moved in, but that was hardly a substitute for having an adult present at all times. The first few times Toshinori had left Tenko with a babysitter, the reports all came back the same; the kid had remained dead silent and hadn’t set so much as a toe out of his room.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tenko murmured on one of the rare rare occasions he’d left his bedroom door open and let Toshinori come inside. The two sat on the floor, the soles of their bare feet pressed together to form a lopsided diamond shape as they rolled a ball back and forth to each other. Toshinori had noticed that Tenko seemed to feel less anxious about speaking when he had another activity to preoccupy him.

“Oh, you don’t?” Toshinori raised an eyebrow as he pushed the ball back over to Tenko.

“No,” Tenko shook his head, rolling the ball with the flat of his palm. “I used to stay at home by myself all the time. It’s fine.”

“Hmm,” Toshinori pursed his lips, tapping his fingers against the ball before rolling it back across the floor. He tried not to let on how much it bothered him to hear that Tenko was left alone so much. “You know, if you don’t feel comfortable with the people I’m hiring, you can tell me and I’ll get someone different. Is that it?”

Tenko gave a small shrug, not looking up from the floor. After that, Tenko was quiet; Toshinori didn’t press him to say anything else, just sat and rolled the ball back and forth in silence. The simple game continued until Tenko accidentally touched the ball with all five of his fingertips; the child barely reacted, just gave a tired sigh and stood up to go sit on his bed. Toshinori had left him alone after that, shutting the door quietly behind him.

After a couple weeks of having Tenko in the house, Toshinori came up with what he considered a decent alternative to hired babysitters. While he trusted the person he’d requested to come look after Tenko, Toshinori couldn’t fight the violent flinch he had to suppress as his old teacher came crashing through the front door.

“Well, here I am!” Gran Torino exclaimed, looking around Toshinori’s house with a sneer of disgust. “I guess it’s pretty obvious you didn’t make interior design one of your supplemental skills, huh?”

“Thank you again for doing this,” Toshinori said as he followed behind Gran Torino into the living room. “I think Tenko will like having someone he knows around the house. Even though you only met the one time at the hospital, still...better than a total stranger.”

“Shouldn’t you, uh, be getting to doing your job?” Torino threw Toshinori a look over his shoulder. “I’ve got things handled here.”

“Okay, well,” Toshinori continued. “Don’t be surprised if Tenko doesn’t come out of his room; it’s been weeks and he still only comes out occasionally when just I’m around.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” Torino waved a dismissive hand, tossing a plastic grocery bag onto the coffee table and then flopping onto the couch. “Think I’ll just hang out here, maybe catch a nap. You should get going. Cities don’t save themselves, as you know.”

“Right, okay,” Toshinori said, running a nervous thumb over his clenched knuckles. “So, you’re good?”

“I’m good,” Torino nodded, voice dropping into an irritated tone. “Hit the pavement, Toshinori.”

“Alright, well,” Toshinori took a deep breath, raising his voice so Tenko could hear him. “I’ll be back in a few hours. If anything goes wrong, just give me a call.”

“Subtle,” Torino raised his eyebrows.

From behind his closed door, Tenko stifled a laugh. It was true that he liked Toshinori, but it was also fun to hear the boisterous larger-than-life hero talked down to for a change. Tenko remembered Gran Torino from the hospital, he was the only adult who hadn’t talked to him like a scared puppy; Tenko had appreciated that.

Eventually, Tenko heard the front door close as All Might left to do hero work. He waited by the door, expecting Gran Torino to come knocking to check on him any second. But he didn’t. The house remained silent apart from the occasional roar of some televised crowd. Gran Torino was leaving Tenko completely alone.

After about half an hour of sitting alone in his room, Tenko became curious as to why Gran Torino hadn’t come to check on him. Crossing to his bedroom door, Tenko gripped the knob carefully and gave it a reverently slow turn to prevent a loud opening. Creeping out into the hallway on his tiptoes, Tenko made his way slowly to the main part of the house. Tilting his neck a bit from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs, he caught the sound of someone clattering around in the kitchen. Tiptoeing up to the kitchen doorway, Tenko poked just enough of his face around the corner for his eyes to show.

“Oh, hey there,” Gran Torino said, catching sight of Tenko’s silvery hair out of the corner of his eye as he fiddled with the microwave. Tenko flinched back behind the doorframe, but Gran Torino just kept talking in his same casual gruff tone as if Tenko were still visible. “Didn’t know you were out and about,” he said, punching the buttons on the microwave with purposeful beeps. “I’m warming up some taiyaki, if you’re interested.”

Tenko poked his head back around the corner and found Gran Torino sitting atop one of the kitchen counters, watching the microwave countdown. As Torino just sat there staring quietly, Tenko grew more confident around him and moved to lean his whole body against the doorway in full view of the adult assigned to watch him. The two stood in silence, the only noise in the room coming from the whir of the microwave; by the time the taiyaki was done heating up, Tenko felt comfortable enough around Torino to follow a few feet behind him as he carried the plate of pastries into the living room.

“Welp, sit down if you’re gonna,” Torino said, patting the couch as he settled into the plush cushions with a taiyaki in hand.

Tenko glanced towards the exit, considering just leaving; but the longer he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t really want to leave just yet. Climbing onto the couch, Tenko took the seat farthest from Torino as possible and sat rigidly with his palms resting on his knees. Gran Torino just sat quietly next to him; engrossed in whatever game show he had put on, occasionally muttering the correct answer when a contestant couldn’t get it.

Leaning back into the seat of the couch a bit more, Tenko began to relax there next to Gran Torino. Pulling his hands up to rest on his chest, Tenko carefully moved his thumbs around each other; he felt like he should say something to Torino and wanted to be able to talk to him, but found the act of opening his mouth to be extremely difficult.

Gran Torino’s blase front turned out to be exactly that, because when Tenko shifted and made a noise like he was about to speak, the older man flicked his attention to the child seated on the couch next to him.

Tenko scrunched his lips up, looking up at Torino through his long eyelashes as he forced himself to speak.

“You used to be a pro hero,” he murmured quietly, looking straight at Torino as he waited for the adult to respond.

“Sure did,” Torino nodded, straightening up and angling himself so he was facing the kid. “Taught Toshinori everything he elects to ignore.”

Tenko smiled a bit at that, and Torino smiled in turn when he saw the kid’s blank face give way to a positive emotion.

“He was a student of mine when he went to UA,” Torino continued once he noticed that hearing him crack jokes about Toshinori sparked Tenko’s interest. “The most talkative, annoyingly optimistic kid you ever met. In fact, there was this one time, right before the Sports Festival…”

Gran Torino shifted into full-on storytelling mode, bringing up as many embarrassing high school stories about Toshinori as he could remember. Granted, he probably got some of the details askew and couldn’t remember a lot of the other students’ names; but the stories seemed to warm Tenko up, even getting a small laugh out of the boy at one point. Once Torino was out of storytelling steam, the two settled back into watching the television in silence.

Tenko looked down at his hands again, bending his fingers in towards his palm a little bit and then glancing over to Gran Torino. He looked between the former pro hero and his hands a few times before working up the courage to ask what he was thinking.

“Did you…” Tenko murmured, voice soft enough to almost get drowned out by the television. When Torino heard Tenko trying to ask him something, he quickly turned the volume down and looked to the kid. Tenko felt suddenly nervous as he knew all of the possible attention in the room was on him, subconsciously reaching up to scratch at his neck while he spoke. “...Did you really know my grandmother?”

Gran Torino blinked in surprise at the question, he honestly hadn’t been sure if the kid had even been listening to him when he’d mentioned Nana back at the hospital, but obviously he had. Shaking off the initial shock of the question, Gran Torino resumed his easy smirk and gave a soft laugh.

“Ah yeah, I knew Nana,” Torino nodded. “She and I were pretty close actually.”

“What was she like?” Tenko asked, looking down at the curl of his toes.

“Like?” Torino rubbed his chin, having to think for a minute. “Well,” he settled one hand against his thigh. “She was a hell of a hero, of course. Brave, strong, all that jazz. Really wise...wiser than a knucklehead like Toshinori...Practical to the point of giving up stuff she really really wanted...Hah,” Torino paused, looking down and away as he thought of his absent friend. “Ah, the really great thing about Nana thought was that she knew how to make people feel better; she could get anyone to laugh, it was quite a skill.”

Tenko smiled, looking down at his bare feet as he soaked up the words. “What happened to her?” he asked quietly, turning his gaze back up to Gran Torino.

“Ah, well…” Gran Torino blew a heavy puff of air out of his cheeks. “She was a pro hero too, as you know; and she knew the risks of that. A villain called- ah, uhm- A villain ended Nana’s life when she was still pretty young.”

If Tenko noticed Torino’s redaction of the villain’s name, he didn’t say anything; in all honesty, he assumed that Gran Torino had just forgotten another named. Instead, the child was more preoccupied looking down at his own hands as he fidgeted his fingers around each other.

“A villain?” he mused. Looking up to Gran Torino, Tenko scratched at his neck some more as he prepared to ask another question. “Gran Torino, do you think I-”

“Hello? Anybody home!?” All Might’s voice boomed out as the front door swung open. In an instant, he was leaning his muscular torso in through the living room doorway and taking in the scene before him. His usual smile faltered out of surprise when he saw Tenko sitting on the couch with Gran Torino, but Toshinori’s smile quickly returned as he realized Tenko had come out of his room. “Hey you two, have a fun time tonight?”

“Oh yeah, lots of fun,” Gran Torino winked at Tenko, and the small boy smiled as he remembered all of the embarrassing stories Torino had told him about All Might. Torino shifted off the couch and stretched his back out, giving a tired groan as he settled back into his usual slouch. “Alright, Tenko, we’ll pick this conversation up next time, okay?”

“Okay,” Tenko nodded, not really wanting to finish asking his question while Toshinori was in the room.

“I’ll see ya around, kid,” Gran Torino smiled at Tenko and began ambling towards the door. “Well, Toshinori, aren’t you gonna show an old man out?”

“Of course,” Toshinori nodded, turning and walking a step behind his old teacher until they reached the door. Holding the door open for Torino, Toshinori showed the old man out. “Thanks again.”

“Eh, chalk it up to my giving nature,” Torino waved a hand at Toshinori and then continued on his way down the walkway.

Toshinori closed the door and turned back towards the living room, finding Tenko standing half-hidden behind the doorframe with a small smile on his face.

“He was telling me about Nana,” Tenko said softly.

“Is that right?” Toshinori grinned, silently resolving to interrogate Gran Torino for the specifics of what he’d told Tenko at a later date. “Any thoughts?”

“She sounds like she was nice,” Tenko murmured, running a single finger up the doorframe before stepping out to the entry hall to stand by Toshinori. “How did you know her?”

“That’s...a bit of a long story,” Toshinori said. When he caught the flicker of disappointment cross Tenko’s face, Toshinori quickly backpedaled and added to his previous statement. “So, uh, why don’t you go get ready for bed and I’ll come upstairs and tell it to you?”

That suggestion elicited a tiny smile from Tenko. “Okay,” he nodded, turning to go up the stairs.

Toshinori watched the young boy disappear up the stairs and listened to him bustle around getting ready for bed. He tried to come up with a different story than the truth right on the spot, but he just wasn’t very good at lying; let alone lying to eight year old kids who were just starting to trust him. Taking a deep breath, Toshinori decided that if Tenko was going to be an official part of his family, that he’d have to tell him the truth about One for All eventually; and it would probably be better to get it over with sooner rather than later. Moving to the staircase, Toshinori began the walk up to Tenko’s room; preparing to let another person in on the secret of his quirk.

----

A soft knocking pulled Tenko out of the scene he’d been playing out with his action figures; he knew that Toshinori had to leave for work soon, and assumed that the knocking was him. It was funny, sometimes Toshinori would just leave with a hollered goodbye and sometimes he’d make the journey all the way to Tenko’s room just to tell him he was leaving, as if the child weren’t fully aware.

As it was, Toshinori had already said goodbye about fifteen minutes ago, and Tenko was positive he’d heard the front door open and close; but he figured Toshinori was just going through another phase of clinginess. He’d swing from his usual behavior to near-obsessive hovering every few days; but after almost a month living with Toshinori, Tenko had come to expect it.

Which was why, when a different man’s voice spoke out, Tenko nearly jumped out of his skin. It wasn’t an unfamiliar voice, Tenko definitely recognized it, but it wasn’t Toshinori or Gran Torino so he was immediately wary. He went through a whole cycle of anxious thoughts before he remembered that Toshinori had already told him who it was; it had been a few days ago so Tenko hadn’t immediately remembered. Letting his breathing return to normal, Tenko clambered to his feet and tiptoed over to stand by the door.

“Hey, Tenko,” the man’s voice called out from the other side. “It’s Detective Naomasa from the hospital, remember me? Yagi told me you knew I was coming over but I thought I’d come up and say hi just the same.”

Tenko remained silent behind the door, not feeling particularly threatened by Naomasa but not really having the energy for a conversation just then.

“Alright,” Naomasa said after a brief silence. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Tenko listened to the police officer’s footsteps recede down the stairs and then turned away from the door, more interested in getting back to his action figures. He secretly wished that Gran Torino were the one watching him again, but tried not to be selfish as he picked up his own figurine of the former pro hero. Dropping to the floor, Tenko resumed the narrative of his toys and hardly thought about the detective downstairs.

As the evening persisted however, Tenko’s intrigue at the placid quiet traveling up to his room grew. He remembered Detective Naomasa from that night in the hospital, how the policeman had been really nice to him in that way adults were when trying to prove to a kid not all of them were going to hurt you. Tenko also remembered how the policeman had been with Toshinori, the two of them talking and interacting like there was no pretense of Toshinori being the Number One Hero at all; it made him feel more relaxed about the man to know he didn’t idolize All Might.

Crossing easily to his bedroom door, Tenko pulled it open and stepped out into the hallway. Walking with more confidence than he felt like he should have, Tenko made his way down the stairs and into the living room where Naomasa was.

The detective was sitting at the table by the window, papers spread out and laptop open in front of him. When he saw Tenko enter the room walking towards him, Naomasa turned his attention to the young boy. He smiled at Tenko, opening his mouth to speak; but Tenko beat him to the punch.

“If you’re a cop,” Tenko said, coming to stand by the table’s edge. “Why aren’t you out catching bad guys?”

Naomasa laughed a little, sitting back as he regarded the child in front of him. “I had the night off,” he said, simple as anything.

“Oh,” Tenko nodded, turning that over in his brain for a second before responding. “And you wanted to spend it here?”

“Here’s as good as anywhere,” Naomasa shrugged.

“Hmm,” Tenko lifted an eyebrow. Then, he turned and walked to the opposite end of the table and sat down across from Naomasa. Reaching out, he tapped a cautious index finger against the stack of papers in front of the detective. “Is that about me?”

“Huh?” Naomasa furrowed his brow, looking down at the papers in confusion. “Ah- No, it’s not about you. Your case was pretty open-and-shut, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Open-and-shut?”

“Yeah, uh, straightforward, y’know? Easy to figure out,” Naomasa explained.

“Oh,” Tenko mused, resting his head on his folded arms. He kept his fingers carefully curled so only his thumb and index fingers touched the tabletop. “Then, why aren’t I in jail?”

“From what you told us, your dad made you use your quirk on him,” Naomasa said. “That’s not your fault, Tenko.”

Tenko felt his lower lip begin to wobble, so he bit down on it; his teeth grazing over the freshly healed scar the stitches in his mouth had left behind. He slammed his gaze down to the light brown wood of the tabletop, not wanting Naomasa to notice how emotional he was becoming. As he stared down at the table, the question he’d been worrying over and over and over again in his head for so many years; the question he thought he’d known the answer to that his father had so carefully ingrained in his mind. He’d been hoping to ask someone else, tried once before with Gran Torino and been too afraid of Toshinori’s response to ask him; but he figured a policeman might give him an honest answer.

“Tenko?” Naomasa asked in a soft voice, reaching out and giving the boy’s arm a small nudge. Tenko jolted upright, his shoulder blades hitting the back of his chair; once he remembered where he was, the small boy’s frame relaxed and he let go of a deep breath. Naomasa gave him a patient smile. “Is there something that’s bothering you?”

Tenko gave a small whine, flumping his chin back down to rest on the tabletop; bringing his arms around his face like a protective barrier, only letting one eye - the one with the scar - peek out at the kindly detective across the table.

“Do you think I’m a bad guy?” Tenko asked quietly.

“Do I think…” Naomasa trailed off, his voice going soft as he took in the question. Shutting his laptop, Naomasa folded his hands on top of the piece of technology and looked directly at Tenko. “No, I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”

“But…” Tenko looked to the window at his side, his words feeling muffled by his tongue. “But you saw what I did to my dad. Don’t you think...Don’t you think it’s a bad guy’s quirk?”

Naomasa sat back a little bit. “Tenko, do you want to know a secret?”

Tenko wrinkled his brows in confusion, but nodded his head just the same.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘bad guy’s quirk’ or a ‘good guy’s quirk’,” Naomasa said. “I’ve been a cop for a long time now, I’ve seen all types of villains and heroes and you know what that made me realize?”

Tenko shook his head.

“It made me realize that it doesn’t matter what quirk you have - or if you have one at all,” Naomasa said. “The thing that matters, is what you choose to do with the power you have. And bad things might have happened as a result of your quirk,” he gave a pointed glance to where Tenko was staring at his hands. “But those weren’t in your control. A real villain is someone who can do something good, but chooses to do the bad thing anyways. And I don’t think that’s who you are at all, Tenko.”

Falling silent, Tenko looked to the grainy wooden surface of the table. Chewing on his lip, he thought of another question he wanted to ask Naomasa. “Do you…” he hesitated, not sure if he should even be bringing the subject up.

“...Yeah?” Naomasa prompted when Tenko fell silent.

“Do you…” Tenko squinted his eyes, wanting to phrase his question as vaguely as possible. “Do you...know things…?”

“Things…?”

“About Toshinori?” Tenko clarified carefully.

“Things about Toshinori?” Naomasa nodded as he put together the question Tenko was asking. “Things you’re not supposed to talk about to people who don’t know?”

Tenko nodded slowly.

“Is it something about his quirk?” Naomasa asked.

Tenko nodded again.

“Something that has to do with Shimura Nana’s quirk as well?”

Another nod.

“I think I know what you’re talking about,” Naomasa said. “What do you wanna know?”

Tenko thought about how he should phrase his question, not wanting to directly give away what he knew about the One for All quirk even if Naomasa did know about it. But the idea that the Number One Hero’s quirk could be passed down to anyone All Might wanted, was an attractive concept to Tenko, to say the least.

“Do you think…” Tenko scratched his neck. “...the question could ever be about my quirk too?”

Naomasa blinked in surprise when he realize what Tenko was asking; but in the end, it was hardly surprising for a little kid to want to be just like All Might. So, Naomasa just shrugged and said, “Stranger things have happened.”

----

Toshinori was frantic. He’d looked in every nook and cranny of the house and couldn’t find Tenko anywhere. It wasn’t like the boy to hide anywhere other than his bedroom, but when Toshinori had gone in to check on him earlier he wasn’t there. Clutching his chest, Toshinori struggled to control his breathing; he could face down dozens of villains at once and not feel an ounce of fear, but one missing eight year old and the great hero All Might was on the verge of cardiac arrest. He was heading out the front door, hand poised on his phone to call the police, when he finally found Tenko.

The boy was crouched in the front hard, holding three fingers out to a small hidden figure. Staying poised as silent as possible in the doorway, Toshinori tilted his large frame to get a better look at what had drawn Tenko out of doors when it had taken weeks just to get him out of his room. When he saw what it was that had Tenko so enraptured, Toshinori almost laughed. There, inching closer to Tenko’s outstretched fingers, was a small black cat.

It figured that while Toshinori’s security system could keep out villains and the media and rabid fans, the one thing to get past would be a cat. The hero relaxed, leaning against the doorway as he watched the cat sniff Tenko’s hand. Toshinori fought the urge to move closer and start snapping pictures with his phone as Tenko began to tentatively scratch the cat behind her ears. It warmed Toshinori’s heart to see the boy’s face light up with happiness as the cat began to purr under his touch.

But then, as if Tenko needed another reminder, things took a quick turn for the worse. While the cat was getting eager to be more, she bumped against Tenko’s hand at exactly the wrong angle to open his grip which he’d let relax while petting the cat. And even though Tenko’s pull back as soon as he realized what was happening was as quick as lightning, the cat didn’t fully escape the effects of his quirk. The black fur around her left eye had frayed away, and a bit of her skin underneath was destroyed giving way to exposed muscle and blood.

Toshinori was out of the house in an instant, bolting down the front steps and over to where Tenko had toppled backwards and was now scrambling up to his feet. Holding his arms out awkwardly towards the distraught boy, Toshinori tried to offer a reassuring smile to him as the cat began to yowl out in pain.

“It’s alr-”

“Shut up!!” Tenko screamed, elbowing his way past Toshinori as he ran to go back inside.

Bending down and picking up the injured cat, Toshinori made it back into the house just in time to hear Tenko’s bedroom door slam and the sound of hysterical crying get muffled by a pile of pillows.

----

Usually when he knocked on Tenko’s door, Toshinori would wait to be invited in but this time was different. Before, Tenko had been doing what was best for himself by giving himself time to get comfortable and feel safe again; this time, he was isolating himself so he could spiral downward in his own negative thoughts. At least, that’s what Toshinori told himself as he slowly pushed the boy’s door open after giving a soft knock of announcement.

Tenko was laying face down on his bed, head buried under a pile of half-destroyed pillows unfortunate enough to bear the brunt of Tenko’s unrestrained quirk. The boy’s hands were balled tightly into half fists, his pinky and ring fingers on each hand pressed to his palms while the others lay splayed against his mattress. He was quiet; Toshinori hadn’t come up for a while because he’d been taking care of the cat, which was just as well for Tenko to have time to calm down before talking about what had happened.

“The cat’s fine,” Toshinori said as he edged closer to Tenko. “Called a vet with a quirk that can heal animal-related injuries. She took the cat with her to the animal shelter.”

Tenko didn’t react at all, just kept laying still in the hopes that Toshinori would just give up on him and leave. But All Might was nothing if not persistent, and came to sit on the corner of the bed by Tenko.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Toshinori said quietly.

Tenko gave an exasperated sigh. Planting both elbows into the mattress, he shoved himself up and turned a tearstained face to glare at Toshinori.

“Then whose fault was it!?” Tenko demanded, lip pulled back into a vicious snarl.

“Sometimes bad things happen and it’s nobody’s fault,” Toshinori said.

Tenko rolled his eyes and flopped down onto his side, the feathers from his destroyed pillows sticking to his still damp cheeks.

“My dad was right,” Tenko murmured. “The only thing I’m good at is hurting and killing.”

Toshinori felt a surge of rage burn in Tenko’s father’s direction. “That is not true,” he said, leaning forward on his muscled arms.

“I killed my dad,” Tenko sat up, glaring directly into Toshinori’s eyes.

“He did that to himself,” Toshinori enunciated, placing his hands on Tenko’s shoulders. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I killed my mom,” Tenko shook off Toshinori’s touch, deepening his glare to keep from crying. “Or did they forget to tell you that when you decided to adopt me!?”

Toshinori backed up a little bit, but quickly shook himself out of the initial shock. “I’m sorry, Tenko, I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, you don’t know anything about me,” Tenko spat, chest heaving with angry breaths. “You’re better off getting rid of me now before you end up like my other parents.”

“It’s gonna take more than a quirk like yours to scare me off,” Toshinori said.

“Just leave,” Tenko rolled his eyes again and laid back down.

Toshinori reached out to touch Tenko’s arm. “No, I-”

“I said get out!” Tenko screamed, swatting his hand back to ward off Toshinori’s touch. The tiny bump from the frail child was hardly enough to hurt Toshinori, but he didn’t try to touch Tenko again just the same. Having hit Toshinori seemed to trigger something for Tenko and Toshinori watched in horror as the boy’s face crumpled into distressed sobbing. “Please, just leave me alone. Please. ”

“Okay,” Toshinori murmured, holding his hands out and backing away. He didn’t want to push Tenko any further and realized he may already overstepped his boundaries. “Okay.”

Toshinori pulled the the door shut behind him and sighed heavily. Walking down the hallway, Toshinori closed himself in his own room and pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Hey Naomasa,” he said when the line picked up. “I’ve got another favor for you to add to your list.”

----

It was after midnight - hell, it was after three in the morning - and Tenko should have really been asleep, but regret of words left unsaid was keeping him awake as if someone were sharing the bed with him and kept planting their knee in his spine every time he was about to nod off. Rising from his bed, that was a mess of feathers and crumpled sheets, he padded over to his bedroom door. Looking down, he realized he’d never taken his shoes off; not seeing a point in taking them off just then, he shrugged and left them on as he stepped silently out into the hall.

Tiptoeing the way to Toshinori’s room, Tenko was both surprised and relieved to find light coming from under the door. Reaching up, Tenko bit the inside of his cheek and knocked softly on the door. There was no response. Knocking again, a little louder, Tenko waited for a response that never came. Getting frustrated, Tenko reached out again but this time just grabbed the knob and opened the door. Peeking inside the room, Tenko felt his eyebrows raise into his hairline.

Toshinori was hunched over in bed, a book pooled in his lap which he read as intently as a college student trying to find quotes worth a damn to pull for their final essay due the next morning. Tenko pushed the door open a little more, leaning his shoulders past the shield of the door as he tried to get a look at what had Toshinori so engrossed. But he couldn’t make out the blurred words on the cover of the book if his life depended on it so, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, Tenko found his voice and spoke up.

“What are you reading?”

“Ah AH!!” Toshinori jumped, tossing the book up in the air. It landed with a thunk on his head, and bounced off the bed and onto the floor. Tenko stepped fully into the room then, walking over and picking up the book to see it for himself. “Ah, wait, don’t look at-”

But Tenko already had the book in his hands, pinky fingers held carefully away from the hardcover binding. Moving the book back and forth as if playing the trombone, Tenko slowly made out the words on the cover. “Parenting for...Parenting for Dummies?”

Toshinori sat with his face in his hands.

“Were you seriously reading this?” Tenko raised an eyebrow, tossing the book back to Toshinori.

“Yes,” Toshinori admitted, flushing bright red with embarrassment as he tucked the book away in his nightstand drawer.

“Why didn’t you want me to know?” Tenko asked, suppressing a small smile.

Toshinori sighed, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned forward. “I kind of wanted you to think I could do this all on my own.”

Tenko sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to Toshinori as he twiddled with his fingers. “You weren’t really fooling me.”

“I figured as much,” Toshinori said then, clearing his throat, attempted to change the subject. “Wh-Why are you up?”

“I wanted to apologize,” Tenko muttered, reaching up to scratch his neck. “For yelling at you...and hitting you.”

“Ah, that’s quite alright!” Toshinori said immediately, his heart swelling with joy and pride at Tenko’s sincere apology. “No harm, no foul!”

But Tenko wasn’t as quick to recover from their earlier argument; looking down to the carpeted floor, he scrunched his nose against the tears he felt coming on. “I want to be a good guy,” he murmured. “I want to do good things.”

Shifting out from under the covers, Toshinori moved to sit next to Tenko; careful not to touch him without permission again.

“Naomasa told me what happened to your mother,” Toshinori said cautiously. “How it was the first time your quirk activated. I’m sorry that happened, Tenko.”

Tenko remained silent, not wanting to talk about his mother. He kept his gaze glued to his feet.

“You know,” Toshinori rubbed his chin, dropping the subject of Tenko’s mother. “The fact that you worry about making the right decisions, proves you’re a good person. A bad person wouldn’t care if they were doing something wrong; in fact, they enjoy it.”

Tilting his head to the side, Tenko threw a lopsided glance up to Toshinori. “Do you think I can be a hero?”

“The truth?” Toshinori asked. Tenko nodded, face serious. “I think you’ll make a fantastic hero one day.”

Tenko smiled a little, looking back down to his hands. Even after living with him for over a month, the fact that the Number One Hero was telling him this still meant a great deal to Tenko. “Now, then!!” Toshinori spoke up. “I think we both ought to get to bed, don’t you agree?”

Tenko nodded, standing up from the bed and turning to his guardian. “Goodnight, Toshinori,” he said, smiling a little.

“Goodnight, Tenko,” Toshinori chuckled, unable to stop himself from reaching out and ruffling the young boy’s hair. Tenko’s smile widened a bit at his hair being ruffled for a change; then, he turned and left the room. As the door clicked shut, Toshinori laid back in bed; turning his biggest smile up to the ceiling.

----

“I got you something!” Toshinori announced a couple mornings later, holding out a small flat box to a fresh-out-of-bed Tenko.

“Thank you,” Tenko said quietly, taking the small box in through his bedroom doorway. The door was wide open, but Tenko still remained inside. “What is it?”

“Well, open it up and find out!!” Toshinori smiled.

Tenko took the lid off and, carefully keeping his pinkies raised from the box, lifted the tissue paper away.

“Gloves?” Tenko wrinkled his brow, lifted the small black scraps of fabric to his nose with two fingers.

“Not just any gloves! Here,” Toshinori said, reaching out to help Tenko put them on. “I had them specially designed by my costume team. This is official hero gear. There you go!”

Tenko held his hands out in front of him, starting to get the idea. The gloves were lightweight, plain stretchy material that felt barely-there; fingerless all except for the pinkies. Looking up to Toshinori, Tenko smiled a little bit; reminded of the EMT who had wrapped his pinkies in gauze all those weeks ago.

“Thank you, Toshinori,” Tenko said again, voice full of sincere gratitude.

“Test them out!” Toshinori beamed, picking up the box that had been dropped to the ground and holding it out to Tenko.

Tenko took the box in his hands, putting all ten of his fingertips against it. Turning the box over and over as he held onto it, Tenko’s smile grew larger and larger as the box remained completely intact.

“They work!” Tenko exclaimed, his smile stretching to touch his eyes. Looking back down to the box in his hands, he smiled again and lowered his voice. “They work.”

“I’m glad you like them,” Toshinori smiled, relieved his gift had gone off without a hitch.

“Toshinori?” Tenko asked suddenly, quietly.

“Yes, my boy?”

“Do you think we could…” Tenko averted his gaze to his toes. “Do you think we could go check on the cat?”

Toshinori gave a laugh. “Of course we can! Just get ready and we’ll leave immediately!”

“Okay!” Tenko said, closing his door and making excited shufflings to get dressed in record time.

Toshinori waited for Tenko by the front door, and the boy came bounding down in a matter of minutes.

“You all ready?” Toshinori asked as he helped Tenko put his coat on, doing up the buttons for him.

“Yes!!” Tenko nodded.

“Alright then!” Toshinori stood up and pulled the front door open. “Let’s get going th-”

Toshinori broke off with a jolt. A small pressure on his hand that he’d never felt before was now wrapped around two of his large fingers. Looking down, he saw Tenko looking off into the distance with an unassuming smile on his face. Curling his small fingers around Toshinori’s a little tighter, Tenko tried to fight the happy blush burning up his face.

Trying to regain his composure, Toshinori cleared his throat and turned his gaze forward. “Let’s get going, Tenko,” he said, giving the tiny hand in his a gentle squeeze and leading the young boy down the front porch steps.

#bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha fic #mha fic #secondhand hero #beth writes #long post #immmm love this chapter!!

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etn-story-archive · 3 years ago

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Enter the Nomicon - Chapter 13: Picture Perfect

It was Tuesday morning. The sun was glistening brightly against the cerulean sky.

Randy let out a soft grunt as he slowly registered the sun's bright rays that cut through his green curtains, hitting him squarely in the face. The amethyst haired teen begrudgingly sat up, releasing himself from his cocoon of warm blankets. A deep sigh escaped his lips. Those curtains were absolutely useless.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Randy began to wonder where Nomi could be. From his perch atop his bed, Randy peered down at the carpeted floor and found Nomi seated still, in complete silence.

The human book was completely lost to the world around him, too enveloped in some peaceful, otherworldly trance to be even remotely bothered by the rays of sunlight that had previously violated Randy's eyes. The lines of Nomi's face were entirely relaxed, the most calmest Randy had ever seen. The redhead was meditating.

Now fully awake, a boyish grin began to etch itself into Randy's face as he stared at the unsuspecting ninja, and without a second thought, hopped off his bed.

Just as Randy's body left the bed, he realized his mistake, but it was too late. Randy had miscalculated the height of the bed from the ground, and unceremoniously face planted beside his teacher.

Nomi stifled a chuckle when he heard the 'thump' of Randy's less than graceful landing.

"Good morning. It’s about time you have awaken."

Randy groaned a pained "morning" as he pushed himself up off the ground sluggishly. He then sat himself in front of Nomi, who shot the younger teen a light smile to which Randy returned.

"You know, it is nearly ten in the morning." Nomi opened an eye.

Randy shrugged,"So?"

Nomi quirked a brow,"You missed breakfast."

"Well, why didn't you wake me up?"

Randy was never one to backsass (especially Nomi, the sass master), but his remark adorned as much sass as his teacher usually did.

Nomi noted this and smirked, closing his eye again.

"Because I thought it would be very rude of me to do so, and you looked much too peaceful to wake."

Randy pouted, not really sure how else to respond. He stood again on wobbly legs.

"I'm gonna go get breakfast, want anything?"

Nomi's smirk grew. He opened his eyes and stared up at Randy,

"Well, unlike you, I did wake up and already had a nice breakfast, so no, thank you."

Randy snorted.

"Are you just saying that, or did you actually eat?"

Nomi chuckled.

"You would've known had you been awake."

"Argh, forget it!"

Nomi laughed as his student stomped out of the room.

Randy huffed. He could still hear Nomi's laughter echo throughout the hall. As Randy reached the kitchen, he searched the room for an easy breakfast, and managed to scavenge a bag of chips and a juice box. Opening up the bag of chips, Randy began to chow down on the salty snack.

Randy grimaced as he ate. He much preferred his mother's pancakes or even Nomi's sushi, but Randy didn't feel like pestering the redhead to make him any, along with the fact that Randy wasn't in the mood to hear Nomi chastising him.

Instead, Randy considered asking his mother if she could possibly make him breakfast, that is, if she hasn't gone to work already. Ms. Cunningham's current work schedule was an unpredictable mess that was constantly changing, so it was difficult for Randy to tell if his mother was home or not.

He decided to look for her, but after a good fifteen minutes of poking his head in every one of his mother's typical hangouts, Randy had come up with nothing. There was no sign of Ruby Cunningham.

"Maybe she's in her study..."

Randy hesitated and debated with himself whether or not to continue seeking her.

Ms. Cunningham's study was the only place Ruby never allowed her son to even go near, and though she never explicitly stated why, Randy respected her request and since then never once thought to enter it. He supposed that his clumsy tendencies were the reason why he was "forbidden" to enter the room.

Randy's stomach suddenly growled loudly, reminding the teen of his purpose in searching for his mother. He continued to debate for another minute before his stomach growled again, but louder, and that settled it.

Randy hastily sought after his mother's study and very quickly found himself staring face to face with the burgundy, cherry wood door of Ms. Cunningham's study.

He awkwardly knocked on the door, but no answer came. He knocked again and once more there was no response.

With a nervous and doubtful hand, he reached out the cold, bronze colored door knob and clutched it tightly. He was practically shaking with how nervous he was; if his mother caught him right now she'd ground his sorry butt for an eternity.

Randy was truthfully doubtful that the door was even unlocked since his mother never did, especially, if she wasn't around.

Gripping it even tighter, Randy began to turn the knob and was shocked as the knob turned with ease, making a soft click to show the door was opened. He pushed it open enough for him to slink through, and immediately drank in the sight of the lowly lit room.

His mother's study was nothing Randy had ever imagined it'd look like. He expected a colorful room filled with lots of light and organized so well it'd look like something from an office building.

The room was an utter mess of paperwork and work files all cluttered around the room. On the left of Randy was a black wood desk with a fancy lamp (which was still on, and was also the source of light), more paperwork (including some orange files), and a photo of himself and his mother.

An old, beaten up computer chair sat snuggled against the desk.

In the center of the room was a loveseat the color of red wine, a coffee table was nestled beside it, and right underneath both furnishings was a red, shaggy carpet.

The walls of the room were bare save for a few photos that were hung upon it's dark red (or was it brown?) walls which made the room seem even darker than it probably was. The floor beneath Randy felt cool on the soles of his feet, and was the color of black obsidian.

All in all, the room was the exact opposite of what Randy had conceived it to have looked. It was messy, but home like, and bright colors were nonexistent.

No longer fearful and more curious than anything, Randy stepped further into the room, ignoring the little voice in his head that told him not to. He grinned widely and made his way to the desk and hopped onto the computer chair, before beginning to spin around in it. He held back the urge to giggle in utter delight as he spun around madly. He continued spinning until the room was nothing more than a dizzying blur, and then lifted his feet to let the chair slowly stop spinning on its own. Randy sunk back into the chair, feeling pleased with himself. He finally glanced at the cluttering mess on his mother's desk, his attention immediately taken by a very worn out and faded file.

Picking it up from the the pile (and being careful not to topple over the pile), Randy studied the file, noting that its corners were wrinkled and slightly bent, and its vibrancy was faded to a bland peach color.

Carefully, he fingered the opening before peeking inside.

Randy was a little disappointed to find that the file seemed to only contain papers. Still, he took the contents out of the package anyways and began to skim through them. Much to his surprise, there was more than just the expected boring reports. Instead it contained research reports, the legend of the Norisu Nine in suspiciously great detail, and archeological photos of miscellaneous artifacts from the ancient Norrisville village.

With renewed vigor, Randy grabbed all of the papers and sat himself onto the loveseat as he began to look through the pictures. He saw a few familiar items, such as: a silk kimono, a straw hat, a carp statue, and so forth. However, Randy's fingers stopped on two particular photos.

A portrait-sized painting that looked positively ancient with its edges singed and corners ever so slightly bent, sat snuggled against a photo of it that was equally as huge, but completely free of the damage the painting itself had endured and clearly suffered for centuries. Randy decidedly reached for the picture first, immediately studying it.

The picture depicted six figures, shortest at the front and tallest at the back. Two adults, two teens, and two children; four male and two female. All six figures bore happy smiles, hair of varying shades of reds and oranges, and adorned gorgeous black and red kimonos with the Norisu Nine symbol etched at the breast.

To Randy, he was sure that the group of six were all siblings, each had an uncanny likeness to the other for it to be otherwise. He found himself scrutinizing each figure, and noted specific features of each. Who he assumed to be the oldest sibling had golden eyes like that of a fox. His hair was a light orangish shade and was pulled up into a high ponytail, and he adorned an interesting neckpiece that rested on his broad shoulders.

The next figure stood right beside the young man, she was a beautiful young woman. She was nearly the same height as her brother, however, she didn't have her brother's golden eyes. Instead, she had two lovely pools of forest green and hair the color of a ripe cherry. It was pulled up into a half ponytail with a green silk ribbon with three little bells resting on the ribbon's knot.

Below the two were the teens, two boys. Randy looked to the taller of the two. Unlike the man or woman, the boy's hair was a dark shade of red, a lustrous burgundy, and was a shaggy mop compared to his elder siblings, and the teen's eyes were a rich green like that of fine emeralds.

Randy stared at the teen for a moment longer before turning to the shorter teen and his mouth nearly dropped to the floor. A pair of chestnut eyes stared straight back at him, its owner had hair only a shade darker than the oldest brother and a smile Randy had never seen before. Nomi. The teen looked exactly like Nomi, and yet he looked so different. The mischievous glint behind those eyes, a cheeky smile to match, and long hair tied up in a loose ponytail that draped lazily over his shoulder.

Randy's mouth snapped shut, his cheeks began to burn. Oh my cheese he's hot.

The young ninja quickly glanced away and down to the last of the six siblings. Twins, one boy and one girl.

The boy had golden eyes that were a tad bit darker than his eldest brother and his hair was almost completely black, and was bowl cut. He held a shy smile. It was the complete opposite to his sister on the right of him.

Her eyes were a soft shade of green with a drop of yellow mixed in, and a boisterous grin gracing her lips. Her hair was a dark red where half of it was pulled up into two buns tied up with red ribbon and bells, while the rest was let free, stopping at her shoulders.

These were Nomi's siblings, that was Nomi standing beside them. He looked almost exactly how he did now, so did that mean that this portrait was created right before the Sorcerer had attacked? Randy couldn't believe it, how different Nomi looked, how happy he looked. He looked like an actual teen, his actual age.

A lump formed in Randy's throat, and his heart sank. He turned back to the photo, turning it over in hopes of finding more information on it, but was disappointed to find it blank. Frowning, he placed the photo back inside the folder before carefully grasping at the actual portrait. He looked it over once again, his eyes falling to Nomi for a brief moment, before he turned it over, discovering a list of names scrawled in the very top of the portrait; each name being badly smeared yet still decipherable.

Daiku

Yui

Nomi

Naru

Ming

Mei

A slight pang of sadness spread through Randy's chest. They really were Nomi's siblings. A part of him had hoped it wasn't, knowing just how much Nomi would be hurting if he discovered this portrait...or would Nomi be happy?

Then suddenly, Randy had an array of questions. Why was all of this information in a folder in his mother's study? Why did his mother have this particular folder? What purpose did it serve and why? Randy swallowed dryly, he was starting to feel terrified of what the answers to his questions may be and what exactly they meant.

Randy carefully, yet hastily, began to fold the portrait before pulling out his wallet and safely tucking it away. He then reached for the folder, hiding it inside his shirt. He needed to show this to Nomi.

"Randy honey, are you awake?"

The purple haired teen jumped at the sudden calling of his name, and quickly scrambled out of the room, shutting the door behind him. "U-uh, yeah Mom, I'm awake!" Randy hastily left the hallway that led towards his mother's study room, and ran towards the living room in time as his mother came in carrying a small brown paper bag. Ruby jolted as Randy was suddenly before her.

"Oh! Well, I brought you a donut. I figured you'd be hungry." Randy nodded tentatively. "Oh, y-yeah. Thanks, Mom."

The woman smiled, but then began to look around.

"Hm, where's Nomi? There's a donut in there for him too." Randy ran a hand through his hair.

"I—err, he's upstairs." "Ah. Meditating?" "Yeah."

#Enter the Nomicon #ETN #Chapter 13 #story repost

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themadvigilantist · 6 years ago

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💙❤️💖💛💚

Send some hearts for headcanon!

long post because some are detailed and some are not.

💙 for 4 “Slice of Life” headcanons of our muse’s relationship

A Christmas morning where nothing happened. It lasted for a week. It was nice.

A sleep- in day.

Meeting Vin’s adopted kids and his one biological kid, which by this time, all of the adoptive kids are visually preteens to young adults. Meanwhile, his first biological son (Galaxy) came back from traveling on his own while meeting Charlemagne and a man that favored his father before offering cheese to Charlemagne. Which threw a lot them back because he still looked like a teenager like his adoptive siblings instead of his half-siblings who appeared more so of their thirties or older. It was also the first time his son got to meet his half-nephews/nieces due to coming back back because Evangeline gave him baby duty and forgot that she not only planned a family meeting at the house but, also told them to bring the babies. V laughed because they fell for it and Vin was just happy that none of his kids had school during that time since it was winter break. Kira was mad he and the ship never said anything about the half sibling her kids had now but, Allura ends up stating that half of their baby toys were accidentally invented by the boy.

Seeing the biological oldest walk for the first time in person before the TARDIS shows that she was able to show Alex all of his sibling first steps before they were even conceived.

❤️ for 4 romantic headcanons of our muse’s relationship

Instead of going to a ball, they had went to one of Casanova’s parties that he would frequent and that where they learned to dance with Casanova. Which was really hard to do because everyone kept staring at him and Vin who looked the same, mind the eye color, different clothes, and the fact that Vin had his hair out and down in curls.

Laying in fields stargazing is better when you have a boat. Much more private than one assumes.

Seeing pigtails is alluring, wearing them is a whole other feeling

Vin serenades in french to lull people to sleep.

💖 for 4 fluffy headcanons of our muse’s relationship

Cuddles all around.

Vin always give hugs. Always.

One time, in his ninth regeneration, there was a large fellow that was too forward and was growing aggressive in the 1700s towards her, he punched them in face, understanding what they were saying to her despite at the time where his ship didn’t fully translate olde english and was more of a free-for-all. Which was hard physically punch them because they were pretty tall. He jumped off a chair just to punch them. They were knocked unconscious and had fractured jaw out of the deal which, to most people, it looked like a simple punch. The women there thought it was cute.

His ninth self remember school schedules for her and it is obvious that he’s later lining up her lesson plans with the travels as topics.

💛 for 4 random headcanons of our muse’s relationship

Vin wears and models most of the clothes that he would think Kira (actually any significant other but still) would like before buying them in her size. Which he becomes right when she does choose the dress he got for her.

He gave a rather romantic evening for Kira and Hal. And nothing happened and he was rather upset about it. Did all that and not once did Kira have anything to share. Booo. Not that Vin was giving her away but rather because he wanted her insight on the royal. That and details were everything.

One time he accidentally did a flip to avoid falling on his face in front of her but, then hit his shoulder in a wall mere seconds afterwards.

In his ninth regeneration, he would always forget to tie his shoes and she would remind him but, when he did, he ended up tripping on himself as if they were untied in the first place.

💚 for 4 jealousy/insecurity headcanons of our muse’s relationship

Everytime the family doesn’t mention someone or something that is important to Kira to know about, she trusts them a little less. Of course, eventually it just slips that the reason they don’t tell her anything is because she doesn’t like it so why tell her at all if it’s a waste of time.

Vin only gets jealous if: A) if his significant other get flirted on by someone they visually do not like and they aren’t flirting with him too or B) too many people are flirting with their significant other to where he instantly becomes claustrophobic because crowds in a small space and no one is distracting him by flirting him too. basically he becomes ‘we’re a package deal bub’ and is very punchy.

Vin isn’t insecure about everyone leaving. It’s them dying immediately afterwards is what he’s insecure about. Just don’t die.

Almost the entire family is insecure when it comes to letting people know that they kill bad people because people are people, no matter their species. Except Evangeline. She just goes ‘oh i shouldn’t have told you that’ and then when forgiven, she instantly goes ‘well now you know so suck it up’. It’s not because she doesn’t care, it’s because she should not have to care about your feelings or opinions on the subject. It was none of your business to begin with and it will remain that way until you’ll take part in it. Vin also doesn’t care about if you know he kills people. He just wants to use that time of someone processing that fact by showing them specifically who/which species he kills and the rules he has about it and then would want you to join him in one of them after giving background on it. Just one.

#answered #girlinthetardis #c: 9 #c: 10 #mv: headcanon #ic

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candycr4sh-blog · 7 years ago

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lunamysteria-blog · 7 years ago

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What Are the Ideal Items for Young children That Are Age Suitable?

dárky If you're setting up to go to a kid's birthday occasion, or if Christmas is about the corner, you may possibly will need to commence considering about finding the greatest gifts for kids that are age appropriate. Underneath we have stated a quick summary of the two finest reward ideas for little ones aged among a single and 8 years aged to consider a whole lot of the hard function out of the collection approach. Ideal Gifts for one 12 months olds: The two ideal presents for little ones of this age are Plush Toys and a Bucket and Spade. The important attributes to look for in Plush Toys are softness, short fur, flashing lights, exclusive sounds, and if possible a huge smile with participating eyes on the toy. The conversing Elmo is typically the most common of the plush toys, but is at the much more expensive stop. In terms of a bucket and spade, go for a tiny established at this age with a small take care of on the spade, so they can dig small holes and construct sandcastles. If sand is flying in every single way from the spade, the package will commonly have a tiny rake in it as nicely which you can swap for the spade. A bucket and spade is one particular of the ideal price presents that you can acquire for little ones, generally costing below $ten. Ideal Gifts for 2 calendar year olds: The two very best presents for a two year outdated are a Kid's Auto and a Bubble Device. A tiny plastic kid's auto the place little ones can open the doorway, sit in and press all around with their toes is a large winner. With any luck , there is also a horn for children to toot, a critical to commence the car or truck and a petrol cap for when they really feel it is time to refuel. Young children will have a yr or two of enjoyable with this, whilst a lot of other toys for this age team are played with for only hrs. The 2nd concept of a Bubble Machine is an low-cost present (

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tinypeckers · 8 years ago

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Pineapple Juice Boxes (LOST FIC)

Words: 1,932

Pairing(s): I guess Dan/Jordan (KootraNews)

Summary: Jordan’s children refuse to drink water... so he’s got a solution.

AO3

A/N: So, on the hunt for the camping au (because I’ve been watching a lot of treetopia lately and I’m back in dat groove yo), I found this. Barely edited & three years old - (OG 2015) I have no idea if it was posted, can’t find it so? :-)

When the season of summer struck, so did Jordan. At the first inkling of a hot, wonderful day Jordan would be at the grocery store with a fat wallet in his pocket and a basket full of juice boxes. He brought apple, orange, pineapple – any juice that he could get his hands on. For Jordan knew that when one of his boys whined, and they were bound to, he would be prepared. Why juice? Someone had once asked Jordan, why juice and not water which you can get for free? Jordan had laughed in their face. He bought lots of cartons of juice because his boys liked them and well, in their own words, water was boring. Jordan could throw in a curly straw, a wacky glass and a bunch of ice but every single one of his boys turned their nose up at it. He could not win. It was only when Jordan presented the juice boxes that he was the most popular dad in the world.

Personally, Jordan blamed Seamus. Ever since he was young Seamus had been against water. In a weird little kid way that was never given any explanation and was never asked to. Seamus often refused to drink anything but juice, soda or on the rare occasion Jordan would let him sneak a sip – beer. Seamus had once attempted to explain why he had such a distaste for water and it had all boiled down to the fact that it ‘tastes like metal’ for some reason. Jordan hadn’t ever asked what that meant and even to this day Seamus had never bothered to elaborate. Even at the grand old age of eight Seamus could still appreciate the marvels and brilliance of such a simple thing as a juice box. In fact he was often the first one to find them, whether through big brother intuition or just simply annoying child knowledge Jordan had never quite found out.

It would be James then after, begging for a carton of whatever Seamus had got. He didn’t necessarily ever want the same flavour, James just wanted a drink and he too had such a distaste for water. James didn’t say that it tasted like metal but he liked to tell Jordan that “it tastes of nothing and I like a little flavour in my life.” Jordan had never quite wrapped his head around where his five year old had picked that phrase up. He could only imagine what crappy reality TV shows Dan was watching late at night and James managed to take a sneak peak of. It was dreadful. Unlike Seamus, James couldn’t quite reach the shelf with the juice boxes on and often had to ask someone to help him. It usually fell to his fathers, Jordan and Dan, because his older brother was selfish and often unkind. Jordan had never brought it up to Seamus for he knew that was just the way that the world worked for siblings. Seamus could be nice but sometimes he just didn’t feel like it. Jordan was not going to push him and make him feel obligated to do everything for James. That was just silly.

It was their youngest child that was Jordan’s current problem. Aleks was young and impressionable. With awful role models like James and Seamus, Jordan and Dan really had no chance of getting him to drink properly. He’d watched over and over again as both James and Seamus refused a glass of water for their different reasons. The first time Jordan had given Aleks a child-proof cup of water, it had been knocked from the high chair and onto the floor. Now that Aleks had been gifted with the power of words, he’d also developed a favourite one. It was one that haunted Jordan to this day.

“No,” Aleks would say whenever water was offered or, more accurately, handed to him. No, no, no – it was all Jordan would hear until he gave in and got Aleks some milk or one of the juice boxes he often bestowed to his brothers. Jordan hated the word no. Aleks knew that. It was probably why it was his favourite word – Aleks was a crafty little boy.

It was that time again, Jordan realised shortly before the end of the school term. The sun was almost shining in Colorado and the snow had melted. He’d anticipated it, thankfully, and did not have to run to the grocery store for more juice boxes. They had plenty that were stowed away in a specific part of their fridge. It was just high enough for James not to be able to reach and barely high enough for Seamus. Jordan rued the day that his boys grew taller and he could no longer really keep the juice boxes from them. It was the weekend, more accurately Friday and Seamus had already raided the fridge. Jordan had seen him in the living room with a pineapple juice box in his hand. There were at least two other pineapple juice boxes littered around his eldest son. Jordan had never known a child to go through so many so quickly. It didn’t matter, though, as Aleks and James were quite happy with whatever flavour they were given and as Seamus hogged the pineapple they got the leftovers.

Except today apparently everyone wanted pineapple.

“Dad,” James said. He leaned against the dining table, looking up at his father. Jordan attempted to return the smile. He’d been left with the boys while Dan had gone fishing with some friends. Dan had offered to take James and Seamus but they’d both pulled faces and said that it was lame. “What’s up, James?” Jordan yawned. He’d got some stuff to finish for his work and he really could not be bothered with it. For the past half an hour he had just been staring at his laptop and thinking about well, nothing in particular.

“Can I have a juice box please?” James said. Jordan didn’t waste a second, slamming his laptop closed and pushing his seat from the table.

“Yes, of course. What flavour would you like?” Jordan, taking a moment to stretch before he stood.

“Pineapple.” James said, “please.” He added before Jordan could catch him out on it.

“Pineapple?” Jordan questioned. James rarely drank the pineapple ones. Still, he reached to grab James a carton. His fingers crumpled plastic, the remains of the outer packaging Jordan was too lazy to remove. It crinkled beneath his fingers. Jordan had to shove his fingers right to the back of the package to grab the juice box. The last pineapple juice box.

“Yes, dad.” James groaned. Had his father suddenly become deaf? Would he have to learn sign language just to get a juice box? No, thankfully not. James smiled as the juice box was handed to him. He ripped the straw off and stabbed it into the carton.

“Weren’t you supposed to be watching Aleks?” Jordan closed the fridge. Dan would kill him if he lost the toddler again.

“He’s with Seamus.” James shrugged. Thank god, Jordan thought.

“All right.” Jordan hummed. He turned, stared resentfully at his laptop and when James didn’t bug him again (like Jordan wanted him to) he resigned himself to his work once more. James left sporting a triumphant smirk – both because he got his juice box and because his father didn’t make him say thank you.

It was Aleks next who came in search of the holy juice box. Jordan couldn’t see him when he entered but the door that opened by itself gave him a clue.

“Dada!” Aleks screeched. He ran into Jordan’s leg, unable to stop himself as he headed towards his father full speed ahead. Luckily, Jordan’s legs were soft.

“Hi, kid.” Jordan hummed. He lifted Aleks up and onto his knee. Aleks frowned.

“No, juice.” Aleks demanded. Oh, Jordan sighed. Of course his son hadn’t actually wanted to spend time with him. Still, a distraction was a distraction.

“What do we say?” Jordan asked. Aleks sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Please.” He murmured rather cutely.

“That’s better.” Jordan said. He lifted Aleks up and held him upon his hip as he walked to the fridge.

“What flavour would you like, we’ve got orange or green?” Jordan asked. He didn’t bother using their actual names. Aleks only knew them as the orange, yellow and green juices.

“Yellow.” Aleks said. Jordan frowned. He must have seen Seamus and James’ boxes.

“There’s no yellow left, bud – we’ve only got orange and green.” Jordan soothed. He reached for orange, usually Aleks’ favourite, and pulled it out. Aleks growled. Like, actually growled like a dog.

“No. I want yellow.” Aleks grit out through his teeth. It was more like ‘yewo’ but Jordan wasn’t about to pick a toddler up on his pronunciation.

“Well, why don’t we see if James will let you have a sip of his.” Jordan suggested. Seamus was bound to have finished his by now. Aleks nodded. Jordan closed the fridge. He didn’t put the orange back in case Aleks found that he really didn’t like the yellow one. It would be much easier to drop Aleks off with it in the living room or wherever James was than to go back and grab a new one.

“Okay then, let’s go and see if your nice and caring big brother will be happy to share.” Jordan said. He said it mostly to reassure himself for he knew that James was none of those things, even if Jordan wished him to be.

“James,” Jordan peered around the living room door, spotting Seamus and James on the couch. They weren’t kicking, screaming or throwing fits so that seemed to be a good sign.

“What?” James asked. He was too busy watching cartoons to care what his dad had to say.

“Can Aleks have a sip of your juice box? We’ve ran out of pineapple and he wants to try it. Please.” Jordan asked, jostling the toddler on his hip.

“What? No! I’m drinking it.” James protested while Seamus gasped.

“We’ve ran out of pineapple?” Seamus questioned. Jordan ignored him.

“James, it’s just one sip – please don’t be a brat.” Jordan begged. James frowned but he knew to fight Jordan on this was pointless. He’d lose. Jordan was the adult, James was the child. He’d learnt that from one too many punishments.

“Fine.” James relented. He held out the juice box. Jordan took it and held it up for Aleks to take a sip from. James glowered when Aleks ‘sip’ was more like a huge gulp. Everyone watched for his reaction.

Aleks was apathetic at first. There was no expression on his tiny face. Then it crumpled, his tongue stuck out and he made a sound best described as ‘bleh.’

“Not your thing?” Jordan smirked. He handed James his juice back. Seamus rolled his eyes. The last juice box had been wasted on both of his brothers.

“I want orange.” Aleks sniffled. Yellow was a bad, horrible taste and he never ever wanted that again. Jordan smiled.

“Here you go.” Jordan said as he offered the juice box. Aleks snatched it but Jordan didn’t bother to tell him off. James and Aleks enjoyed their juice boxes while Seamus glared at them both. He’d have to rush to the store soon enough, Seamus wouldn’t take an apple or orange juice box lightly. For now, Jordan was quite content to forget about the work that lay waiting for him in the kitchen and appreciate one of those rare moments when all of his sons got along.

#crt #fanfic #drabble #kootranewz

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ratherhavetheblues · 8 years ago

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JIM JARMUSCH’S PATERSON “We have plenty of matches in our house…”

Poetic filmmaker/ musician, Jim Jarmusch, has been bringing to our consideration singularities of dynamics for a long time. The effectively eccentric apparitions populating these works, often far from the dominant sagas of the struggles, treat us to white-hot energies paradoxically muted and doomed. With his recent creation, Paterson (2016), a memorable motif from the past resurfaces for the sake of contemplating 21st century dotage toward lives having erected fire-walls the better to confine themselves to tepid and myopic cocoons. The off-beat motif in question is the positioning of a dog being too-carnal to well-coincide with busy escapists. In that hipster/inventor’s Broken Flowers (2005), a TV-comic-like winning sensibility having made a fortune with IT has to rein himself in to avoid laughing in the face of an old flame who claims to derive insight from wild animals, especially the instance of her now-dead dog. In Ghost Dog (1999), a connoisseur of samurai methodology is far too preoccupied with practising his underground art to notice (twice) a black mutt who would love some attention from the ascetic self-server.

The protagonist, Paterson, of our film today is, like those just mentioned, a technician of sorts (being a local bus driver and poet of rigid literalism stifling the volatility of his muse); and he’s numbingly negligent toward his English Bulldog, Marvin. The legions of reviewers holding this paragon of modesty, civilized expression and citizenship as a new-wave everyman have no time for what he’d be like to a non-rational being. Clearly never having expended any time and energy on fathoming Jarmusch’s discoveries, they stumble into the axiom/meatgrinder which could be put as, “Mess with the dog and you get covered with shit.”

Notwithstanding The New Yorker Seal of Approval, the figure of Patterson, as we’ll get going discerning, is a hero with feet of clay. He being, in his source of income, a source of motion strictly scheduled, we eventually find that virtually everything he does consists of a high degree of predictability. He wakes at the same hour, he gives his wife, Laura (who has no salaried work and so sleeps late) a rather inert cuddle, he silently spoons his Cheerios and tramps along a verdant deciduous pathway to the textured red-brick center of the small city of Paterson, New Jersey, where he spends a few minutes at the wheel of his parked bus with his poetry production. Paterson, having been a gritty 19th and early 20th century manufacturing centre, now consists of remnants of industry, retirees and those, like a pair of college students being regular riders, who are quick to describe and slow to do. The girl recounts the exploits of a resident anarchist more than a century before, who travelled to Italy to assassinate the King. She, and the boy with her, pivot the incident to the situation that the killer could not be executed because there was no provision for the death penalty but died in prison either assassinated by guards or having committed suicide. They show some liberal disfavor about America’s still using the death penalty and dovetail that outrage with lightly knocking the absence of an anarchic spirit in Patterson and lightly enjoying the good fortune of having time for a coffee before their first class. From the flotsam and jetsam of this civic dip our protagonist records the mundane products and services as if seeking a bracing mystery within so much retreat. Here is the first incantation we hear: “We have plenty of matches in our house/ We keep them on hand always/ Currently our favorite brand/ Is Ohio Blue Tip/ Though we used to prefer Diamond Brand/ That was before we discovered/ Ohio Blue Tip Matches/ They are excellently packaged/ Sturdy little boxes/ With dark and light blue and white labels/ With words lettered/ In the shape of a megaphone/ As if to say even louder to the world/ Here is the most beautiful match in the world…”

This reading of a mixture of doggerel and the Dadaist/ Surreal spreads out to his purporting to be inspired by wordsmith, William Carlos Williams (1883-1963). But the latter was (although stylistically drawn to the obvious surfaces of domestic life) a medical doctor eager to maintain that life is nasty, brutal and brief. Paterson’s poem cited above has the title, “Love Poem” and its home stretch reads, “So sober and furious and stubbornly ready/ To burst into flame/ Lighting, perhaps, the cigarette of the woman you love/ For the first time/ And it was never really the same after that…/ I became the cigarette and you the match/ Or I the match and you the cigarette/ Blazing with kisses that smoulder toward heaven.” The central image of fire and loving dynamics (“Blazing with kisses”) in mysterious conjunction with a solid materiality (“Here is the most beautiful match in the world/ It’s one-and-a-half-inch of soft pine stem/ Capped by a grainy dark purple head…”) comprises the heart of Jarmusch’s filmic architecture. But whereas the poetasters beside themselves with a portrait, like themselves, talking the talk and in addition going on to mincing hyper-civility, Jarmusch, as always, is on the trail of walking the walk in serious accordance with the dynamics of fire. In the passage, “Sturdy little [match] boxes,” we are to know about the anonymous, ritualistic and yet very physical hit man in Jarmusch’s The Limits of Control (2009), who handles nicely-designed match boxes in the course of his (open to adjustment) métier bringing a comprehensively poetic twist to the nasty, brutal and brief.

There is a moment at the bar Paterson frequents every night where the owner-bartender consults him about putting on his wall a newspaper clipping with a photo of extreme rocker, Iggy Pop, chatting up some Paterson residents. The proprietor—a middle-aged African American and chess devote, named Doc—presides over a pool and beer centre bringing to mind the black Memphis lair of a British psychopath named, Elvis, in Mystery Train (1989). The careful Doc knows there is something about that musician a bouncer should deal with, but Patterson, having some vague recognition of the name and no real interest in rock (Doc’s place being a retro-Motown bailiwick [with a pair of customers named Sam and Dave]), thinks it would be fine to show the home-town in the spotlight. There is, in many Jarmusch films, a running joke about the effete qualities of Motown; and here, with the very different Detroiter, it shoots to us another take on florid poetry and action running on empty. Iggy’s ragged drive to dangerous heights is not only an irony in that context, but the very idea of paying homage to such an alien demonstrates the workings of vitiating anything requiring painful effort and replacing it with a bland facsimile. Paterson drinks a single innocuous bottle a night at the bar; but he’s been overrun with a process of soporifics from which he will never sober up. (A visually salient and far-reaching impact within this reflection stems from the undertaker-sober, deadpan body language of actor, Adam Driver. Such evasiveness engages the notion of “jerking off,” most directly exposed in Down by Law (1986), but rampant in all of Jarmusch’s films.) His wife urges him to publish or at least back up by duplicating the sweet little sentiments which repose in a “secret book.” (One afternoon, on his way home, he encounters a young girl in an alleyway who tells him of her fondness for writing poetry. He had been primarily making sure she was safe while waiting for her mother and sister. But soon the kinship takes over and his new, brief friend leaves him with, “A bus driver poet! Awesome!” That latter cheapened word gives us a taste of the omnipresent instinct whereby precious articulation [the child asks if he ever drives an “accordion” bus; and he tells her, increasing her vocabulary, the official word is “articulated”] becomes an end in itself, stifling wild, adult syntheses to be risked by those knowing the exigency of shutting up and delivering.) He’s remarkably unmotivated to bid for awesomeness, and we have been given the sightline to see that, for all the consistent effort and charm of his production, what is lacking is the full point about moving another or others to join in taking to heart the incendiary countering of that superficial dominance to which literary poetry is an entrenched partisan.

In a bemusing binary association with the introverted endeavors of Paterson, there are the off-the-grid researches of homebody Laura, pulsing with extroverted zeal. We see her adding touches to their cramped bungalow which would bring an illusion of space to a warren where her husband is most at home in a cluttered unfinished basement bent over his filling the “secret book” forming the bedrock of his experience. One day she pries him upstairs to ask for financing a guitar (including do-it-yourself learning accessories) she’s found online (a dimension he never visits). Though never having till then thought of herself being a musician, she feels there’s a real possibility that with her “Harlequin” model (with a black and white color scheme from which she never departs in her home renovations and clothing designs) she could be the next Tammy Wynette or Patsy Kline. “Nashville here I come!” After a few seconds of assimilating the 300 dollars involved, he endorses her shot in the dark with the same muted and stilted tone by which he circulates elsewhere. “Maybe you could be a country singer…” Do the black-on-white circular patterns, she finds right, seep down into her perception of an earthy circularity which would prepare her for the slippery slope where her heroes, Tammy and Patsy, were hardly avatars of simple contrasts and making nice? The day before, while on his lunch break by a picturesque river racing with rapids and a soaring, minty bridge, he had broached, from a very different angle, the universe of possibilities. “When you’re a child you learn there are three dimensions/ height, width and depth/ Like a shoe box/ Then later you hear there’s a fourth dimension/ Time/ Hmm/ Then some say there can be five, six, seven…/ I knock off work/ Have a beer at the bar/ I look down at the glass and feel good.”

A canny beer with Iggy Pop pinned to the wall is as good as it gets. Time and its uncanny spray of dimensionality merits “Hmm…” Brought to mind by this caution is a night in the Sam and Dave chapel where two other regulars don’t find the kind of peace in the valley Paterson believes in. Marian and Everett, sweethearts since grade school, are no longer feeling born to be wild. Marian wants him to disappear and Everett has begun to disappear in a quicksand of failing to ween himself from her. During one of the nightly melodramas, Paterson is happily attached to his glass while behind him Marian accuses her ex of acting out and he reminds her he is an actor by trade. (Self-absorbed artifice and disinterested passion making a painful brew.) The scene is filmed with the nice guy in the foreground and the hobbled relationship further back. That induces the poet to stifle revealingly a laugh at the suitor’s lack of self-control. Everett sees the slight and makes things worse for himself by claiming to be insulted. (Here is the moment to note that we’ve been given two quick glances of a framed photo of Paterson in his Marines parade uniform [linking sharply to the image of gung-ho Iggy]. Along with Laura’s Middle-Eastern make-up, they exude an innate expertise in survival tactics, especially in coming up roses while making sure to do nothing decisively difficult. As we keep shaking our head about something systematically amiss, we are caught up with the question, “What kind of dark alley do a pair like that represent?”)

There is, however, one creature stirring who dares to change the prevailing tempo, dares to want more. Paterson arrives home from a day like every other and the only recurrent event he doesn’t control comes up in his front yard, where the letter box is always, somehow, askew (though it was straight, by his hand, in the morning when he left). Peering from a front window there is Marvin. He had taken the measure of Paterson’s scratching in the basement for hours and seen fit to not only shake things up but feel a bit of the play he never gets directly. Laura’s rendition of taking him for a walk being opening the front door to let him pee (a rendition on the same level of her deadly guitar-accompanied version of, “I’ve Been Working on the Railway” and her occasional reflexive baby talk to him), the virtually invisible full-of-beans has settled upon pushing the post in order to see Paterson (sort of) play with him. The other “contact” in Marvin’s life speaks volumes about the putative Humanities luminary. Marvin gets to stretch his legs, as far as Doc’s bar. On the first outing we see, he’s belting along as vigorously as he can, with Paterson in tow, grim and obviously bored. He treks past the destination and Paterson drags him back, ties him to a pipe and leaves as if he were dealing with an inanimate object. (We can extrapolate that, in a considerable past, the small, going concern would have tried his utmost to generate some affectionate fun. But, as with Everett, full-scale ardent life is, at best, an odious joke to our antiseptic protagonist. In accordance with a Tephlon basic body jacket which Paterson would never be without, the dark and perhaps criminal-infested streets where he accesses his nightly Mass provide figures on the scale of the awesome child—spilling into view from out of that vein of ritualistic blandness which beats being mugged or otherwise having to dig down for something more and exhausting. At a laundromat a scrawny gangstah works, with some verve, on his rap routine of stepping on toes, and our good humor man rewards him with an elbow salute. “You’re on to something,” he purrs donnishly. Before Paterson comes into view here, Marvin is the gambit and the town crier regards him ominously as possibly uncontrollable. The emotional animal emits a growl/ purr, ready for both possibilities. “Shut up, Marvin,’ is the master’s ingratiating himself with diversity-safety. Another time, the silent walkers come upon a convertible full of non-9-to-5ers, and, with an unmistakable eye for value that could be theirs, the driver rallies the pedestrian with “Yo, c’mere!” Marvin growls, and the spokesman moots, “That’s an expensive dog…” The impasse, punctuated with the pup’s seeing the possibilities and offering a threat, dissipates with the Neighborhood Watch all-clear, “Be careful he don’t get dog-jacked…Be safe” At the hitching post a moment later, Patterson, in the only mode he’d be interested in engaging Marvin, mocks, “I’m cuffin’ you, Marvin…Don’t get dog-jacked…” During the festivities within, Doc’s wife spoils the mellow with barging in to complain about his stealing her pin money with a view to the all-important chess tournament on the week-end. She shows a bit of Metaphysical wit, probably not to be found in the resident poet’s repertoire, in linking his event to his need for a tourniquet if the cash doesn’t return. On this occasion, Paterson doesn’t laugh. But, in face of molten currents a real poet would take to heart, he reflexively asks his friend, “Are you alright?” and looks into his glass to restore feeling good. That pacifier code is also frequently in trusty shape while he gives short and dry shrift to the transit dispatcher’s domestic and medical woes.)

Marvin lacks classical, radiant canine presence. His eyes don’t twinkle, his coat is a dirty sand color with a pronounced whitish bib, like a bit of errant foam, and his feet are too big for his body. He knows his rights and assumes they should be respected. He needs a family to coincide with his own kinetic gifts. He very pointedly doesn’t have one. He’s a vigorous and often contrary puller on his leash, as if the tugs between them might miraculously amount to affection. Many viewers purport to be bowled over by a Zen-like magic emanating from the mundane processions of Paterson and Laura. The young Japanese tourist to Memphis (in Mystery Train) who surprises himself with an epiphanic (brief) moment in face of a homely home-town of Elvis, had gone 7000 miles out of his way and fervently reflected on Rockabilly for years—leaving him with dour facial qualities—before reaching that reward. Paterson’s dour facial qualities perhaps have to do with a similar long trip. But they come by a vaguely humiliating retreat, the opposite of a full-scale and daunting encounter. That’s not Zen. That’s anesthetics.

Though the regime of feeling good has had a solid check-up in our presence, Marvin brings tidings from an exigency worth risking a lot for. Another of Laura’s pipe dreams is to convert her skill in baking to a cupcake empire. On Saturday, she attends a food market (alone—the deep thinker not wanting to be involved [he telling Doc, “She understands me,” in his good times dividedness, and hoping that she’ll bring along Marvin [she won’t]); and, on returning, she claims to be a “sensation.” In the meantime, Patterson’s extraordinary afternoon dog-time showed a particularly peeved and difficult entity no one wants. Thus, as they celebrate her coup with dinner at a restaurant and a movie—Paterson forgetting to put away his secret book—they return home to find that nobody’s dog has ripped to shreds the only versions of those bemusing preoccupations. The movie they chose was a classic from the Depression Era, once again circumscribed by the kind of Hays Code they live by. Their first response is to do what they both had wanted to do since the Gigigi whim wore off, namely, dump him in the garage. After a sleepless night, Paterson has restored the vandal to the living quarters and he regards the latter with a listless glare. He drones, “I don’t like you, Marvin,” (as if Marvin needed to be told). Laura, probably the purchaser and trying to make a decisive statement from out of a spigot of semi-consciousness, drags the misfit back to the garage.

In one of his stressful ruminations, he insisted, “They were just words…” During a walk to try to still the paradox of verse of no significance and yet of great significance, he comes to his lunch spot by the racing river and a Japanese tourist devoted to local-legend William Carlos Williams declares, “I breathe poetry!” Paterson first describes himself as “Just a bus driver;” but his conversation reveals how knowledgeable he is about poetry and he’s left with a gift of a leather-bound journal. (Marvin could be described as a leather-bound vehicle for filling up a lovely void with dimensions ripping past mere reading matter.) When last we see Paterson, the soulmate to the stranger has come to resume his string of poems. The first one, in homage to a long-gone relative, is far from a triumph. In fact it derives from a Bing Crosby movie, “…or would you rather be a fish? / Or would you rather be a mule?/ Or would you rather be a pig?/ Our pick is the fish/ We started with…” The original, which the family elder (like Paterson, a Paterson native) loved, speaks to an exigency of going full-tilt, with grace. “Would you like to swing on a star/ Carry moonbeams home in a jar/ And be better off than you are? / Or would you rather be a mule…” The several instances of twins, beyond Sam and Dave—Laura’s dream of their having twins; the old-timer twins on the bench he passes that first day; the girl poet waiting for her twin sister—would seem to cut two ways. Identicalness in retreat. But also the rising above Paterson (person and place) being in play from the same launch-pad bringing forth such paltry and widely acclaimed results.

#jim jarmusch

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