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nomettesbizzareadventure · 5 years

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CaeJose Week 2018 // “Future”

The night after Joseph retrieves his adorable pissy nerd grandson and his purple friend from prison, he gets a phone call from Suzie. It must be early in the morning in New York- he can hear the sound of water kettle heating up and dishes clinking as Roses prepares breakfast, and he feels a sudden stab of jealousy that he’s not there with her.

“Caesar’s on his way to you,” Suzie says, her voice uncharacteristically serious.

“Caesar?” Joseph says. He and Caesar have always orbited each other like planets, but in the years since Holly moved to Japan their contact has been more and more infrequent, their lives stretched out between New York and England and Los Angeles and Rome. The last time Joseph saw Caesar, they were at Lisa Lisa’s funeral, shoulder to shoulder with her coffin between them. Lisa Lisa was more of a mother to Caesar than she was to him, and while Joseph didn’t resent either of them for it, it meant that he didn’t have anything to say- not to Caesar, and not to the gravestone. Afterwards, they went out and got incredibly smashed, and for about six hours Joseph felt like he was 18 again. But that was months ago, and they haven't spoken since.

“He’s worried about this whole business with the stands,” Suzie reports.

“He’s always worried,” Joseph complains, but he’s not really annoyed. It’s starting to look like they’ll need all the backup they can get.

“Did he tell you about his stand?” Suzie asks, and giggles at Joseph’s obvious surprise.

“OH MY GOD?! A stand- how- where did he- when- Suzie, what does it do?!”

“Well, if he didn’t tell you, I don’t think I should…” Suzie says coyly.

“Suzie, baby, angel, sweetheart, you can’t just-”

Joseph’s conversation with Suzie is interrupted by Jotaro appearing ominously in his doorway, dressed in a Queen tank top and pajama pants and exuding ominous vibes in every direction.

“I’m trying to sleep. Keep it down, gramps.” Joseph tries, he really does, but he fails to get any more information out of Suzie and after fifteen minutes Jotaro reappears, silently crushes the phone into dust, and then goes back to sleep. It’s hard being a genius, Joseph reflects sadly as he ticks himself into bed. No one appreciates him.

The next day Jotaro comes home with an unconscious boy slung over his shoulder and then rescues his new friend from vampire tentacle. Joseph will give this to Jotaro- he might be a bad-tempered little brat, but at least he has the composure and skills to back up his scowls. Of course, he immediately leaves after his rescue, probably embarrassed to have done something nice for another human being, and Joseph is left to explain to Kakyoin that he’s been under control by a sexy vampire for several weeks.

Kakyoin takes it about as well as anyone can considering the circumstances, which is to say that he excuses himself to the bathroom and doesn’t come out for a long period of time. Joseph suspects he’s crying, or trying not to cry. Teenagers.

Between this and that, Joseph entirely forgets about Caesar until about 7 the next morning, when someone comes careening into their driveway, motor loud enough to wake the dead, brakes squealing like a subway train, opera music playing at full blast. One last scream from the lead singer, and the car switches off. There’s the sound of a door slamming shut, and then the beep-beep of a car being locked.

Caesar’s here, Joseph thinks, and then he’s clambering out of bed and putting his clothes on. A minute later and he’s at the door. He can see Caesar’s pink rental car through the window; it sits among the tasteful gardens of the Kujo estate like a stripper at church.

Caesar himself is waiting impatiently at the door, beautiful as ever. He’s the only bastard Joseph knows who could hop on a flight from Italy to Japan and come out looking the kind of disheveled that models spend hours in the makeup studio trying to achieve. His hair is a fine light blond, just beginning to shade to white, and he looks closer to thirty than to sixty, the wide muscle of his shoulder framed by his crop-top and elbow length gloves. At the sight of Joseph, a pink and blue humanoid flashes into existence behind him and poses, one finger pointed in Joseph’s direction.

Caesar grins real wide at Joseph’s shocked expression and throws his head back, his stand combing its fingers through his hair.

“I call it Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy,” Caesar says. His stand blows Joseph a kiss, and a pink bubble emerges from its lips and floats through the air. Curious, Joseph reaches for the bubble with his mechanical arm. It pops. A curious tingle passes through his body, and he finds that the entire left side of his body has gone numb.

“Hey,” he starts to protest, and Caesar grins and grabs Joseph in a headlock. They scuffle for a bit before Hermit Purple can finally get a grip on Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy and make it reverse the effect, which it does with a delicate kiss.

“Not dead yet, I see,” Caesar jeers. It’s a long-standing contention between them that Joseph doesn’t practice his hamon training as much as Caesar thinks he should. When Joseph’s hair first started to go white, Caesar took it as a personal insult.

“You’re two years older than me!” Joseph responds, like he always does. Holly comes out of the house, and all the levity drains out of Caesar’s face. It’s only a moment and then his smile is plastered back on, but Joseph knows Caesar well enough to know when he’s bluffing.

“Holly!” Caesar says, pulling her into a hug. They exchange enthusiastic greetings, but Joseph can tell something’s wrong. Caesar’s stand is hovering behind Holly, hand outstretched over her back like it wants to touch but can’t.

“It’s been such a long time since we’ve had this much company,” Holly says, laughing. “Are you here to help Papa?”

“I am,” Caesar says, and kisses her forehead. Holly’s eyelashes flutter, and goes limp. There’s something growing all along her back, thorns and vines, and Joseph doesn’t need to catch Caesar’s eyes to know what it is. A stand. A parasitic stand.

“Holly,” he says, and his voice trembles in his throat.

“This is your fault,” Caesar says quietly. The one big argument, the one that nearly brought down their house, the one that kept Ceasar from talking to Joseph for nearly a year- was about teaching Holly the ripple. Caesar wanted her to learn. He said that there were more monsters in the world than either of them knew about, and that it was an important tradition, and that Lisa Lisa would have wanted her to know, and then as the argument progressed he called Joseph negligent and lazy and selfish and, well...

They both said a lot of things that they would regret later, but Holly never learned the ripple. Joseph wanted her to have a better life than Caesar had, a better life than Lisa Lisa had, and here she is, her life leaking out of her drip by drip by drip.

“What’s wrong with her?” Jotaro demands. Joseph didn’t even see him appear.

“Her stand is killing her,” Caesar says, and Jotaro’s face goes pale and furious, his stand looming behind him. After that, a lot of things happen in quick succession. The Speedwagon Foundation is called. Jotaro’s stand discovers a new talent for zoological artwork. Plane tickets are booked. Suitcases are packed.

Caesar comes to Joseph when he’s in his room packing and shuts the door, and Joseph thinks for a moment that it’s going to be bad.

“If you’ve come here to gloat at me over my daughter’s unconscious body I will beat the shit out of you,” he says, and means it. Caesar pauses, and then he keeps walking. He comes to a stop in front of Joseph, and then grabs him in a hug.

“Dumbass,” he says. A lump rises in Joseph’s throat. He’s not a crybaby, whatever Caesar might accuse him of. He can hold it together for as long as he needs to, and right now it’s looking like that will be forty days and forty nights, god- the timer on his little girl’s life. Still, he lets Caesar hug him. He misses the days when they used to cuddle in the tower while insisting that they weren’t cuddling and Caesar would let Joseph fall asleep in his lap. It’s terrible, what time does to people, how far it takes you from the things you care about.

“I wish I’d been wrong,” Caesar says, and that gets a muffled laugh out of Joseph. Caesar gives great hugs. He’s huge, solid, the feel of his body familiar even after all these years.

“You? Wrong?” Joseph says. “I’m sure that never happens, Caesar-chan.”

“I’m glad you can admit it at last,” Caesar says, pulling back from him. “We’ll do this, Joseph. Just like last time.”

“If I recall correctly, I did most of the work last time,” Joseph says, earning him a scowl from Caesar.

“That’s a failure on both our parts, then, since you hate work,” Caesar retaliates.

“You’re mean,” Joseph says, but he’s smiling. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Old Man,” Caesar says, and Joseph winces.

“Don’t say that, it makes you sound like Jotaro.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to call you Jiji? You’re right, I don’t want to imply that I respect you.” Caesar may be the last remaining ripple master and have a shiny new stand and this and that, but at the end of the day Joseph can put him in a headlock until his hair looks awful and his face is pink, and that’s what really matters.

Kakyoin takes the initiative to order in some food, and they all troop outside to eat by the river while the doctors set up inside the house. None of them really want to watch as Holly is hooked up to their machines. As they’re trooping over the bridge and back towards the house, Jotaro’s new tentacle friend declares his intention to come with on their trip.

“What use are you going to be?” Caesar asks. Behind Kakyoin’s back, Jotaro’s eyebrows go up slightly. He and Caesar have always gotten along well. Before Jotaro was a punk, he was the kind of nerd that admired Caesar’s flashy clothes and sweet words, and Joseph’s always suspected that he took up smoking in imitation of his ‘cool uncle.’

“I beg your pardon,” Kakyoin says politely, and then Caesar goes careening over the edge of the bridge and comes to a stop just shy of the water, a piece of Hierophant Green wrapped around his ankle. Joseph didn’t see Kakyoin summon it, so he can only assume it was lurking under the bridge. He reluctantly awards Kakyoin points for preparation and audacity.

“Is that all,” Caesar says, laughing. Lover Boy pries Hierophant Green’s tentacle loose from his ankle, and Caesar flips over backwards onto the pond. He lands on the surface of the water like a gymnast sticking a landing. “I asked what use you were going to be, not your stand.”

Kakyoin looks flabbergasted. Behind him, Jotaro also looks surprised, or what passes for surprised with Jotaro. He really shouldn’t be. It’s not as if Joseph hasn’t told him about the ripple.

“Kids these days are so spoiled,” Joseph says. A snap of his fingers and the water rises, in an unnatural wave, depositing Caesar back on the bridge. Caesar strikes a pose like a model on a runway, his hand braced on Joseph’s shoulder. They’re standing in pairs now, Caesar and Joseph on the right, Kakyoin and Jotaro facing them on the left. Joseph knows the next step to this dance, even if the kids don’t.

Sure enough, Caesar’s stand strikes a pose behind them, and then the air is filled with bubbles. Kakyoin tries to move, but Hermit Purple’s got him pinned to the spot- and Jotaro too. It won’t hurt Joseph’s grandson to be reminded of the advantages of experience and trickery over power and youth. The bubbles pop, and Kakyoin and Jotaro are locked into place, unable to move. Joseph winks. It feels good to stand like this, shoulder to shoulder with Caesar, united in their quest against an unknown foe. It feels like fate, like every step he took in the last decade was bringing him here to Caesar’s side.

“Caesar,” Joseph says. “Let’s show them how it’s done!”

Written for CaeJose week 2018, for the prompt of “Future”. I’ve always wanted to see an SDC au with Caesar in it. I think he and Jotaro would bond over their love of cigarettes and being mean to Joseph.

The name of Caesar’s stand stolen from the incredibly funny Havisham and her wonderful CaeJose fics.

A big thank-you to the organizers for putting this together! : 3

#caejose #caejose week #caesar zeppeli #Joseph Joestar #with guest appearances from 'tired teenager' jotaro kujo and his future boyfriend 'tentacle melon'#people always write caejose as disagreements over trivial things and yes that too #but i think they've also got very different ways of looking at things in a real and serious way #despite these tags this is a comedy fic please ignore me #good old fashioned lover boy launches bubbles that freeze the affected person #the effect can be undone by putting them in the dark #the brighter it is #the more powerful the bubble effect because goflb draws power from the sun shining on it #is this a gimmick absolutely

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sugar-petals · 3 years

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SuperM Fluff & NSFW Notes

↳ 🌹aka some of their romantic antics plus random 18+ imagines 👋

warnings ⚠️ rated (super) m, boyfriends hc, porn mentions, partial fem!reader, sex toys

FLUFF

since baekhyun knows how to make scented candles, he creates one for you as a birthday present with your favorite fragrances.

every entry in mark’s diary involves fond thoughts about you.

taemin kisses you more than his cat kkoongie on a daily basis so let that sink in. his smooch obsession is getting out of hand.

lucas, having giant fingers after all, learns how to knit in order to make you a warm scarf. he’s still a bit clumsy with it and had to call kun for advice, but the result is surprisingly proper and quickly becomes your favorite item. it’s a little huge but well, he thinks in his dimensions. lucas’ next project is a beanie.

ten overwhelms you with pet names. in fact, he seemingly seems to come up with a new one each day.

kai is a candlelight dinner, rose petals and music kinda guy. he does every old-school thing in the book.

taeyong can cuddle endlessly in bed. he just doesn’t wanna leave.

lucas gladly shares his sweaters. they’re ginormous so, perfect cuddle material.

baekhyun is already a fool. so — when he falls in love, he becomes an even bigger fool. or, the contrary happens: he becomes dead silent around his partner because he’s so enthralled. he can take this more seriously than you think.

mark likes to write little cards and many many texts to express his love.

lucas is the type who can help you put on your jeans when they were shrinking a bit too much in the dryer. he’s pretty sexy like that and things can get really touchy.

cheesy fucking kai, and there’s only one guy who would do this, has actually lowered himself over a puddle once so you would have a bridge. brushed it off like a daily workout rep.

not one shower missed without baekhyun joining you. yes, it’s not always sexy time, he likes it when you shampoo his hair and whisper sweet nothings. and obviously: it’ll all devolve to a laughing fit.

taeyong is the type who wants to be proposed to.

taemin will get a motorcycle license and take you for a frequent ride. he loves getting those kind of back hugs.

both ten and lucas are great at making bracelets. wayv’s dorm is fully equipped with charms, strings, and pearls, so expect matching ones for you.

we’ve seen it, that one’s his favorite move. kai wraps his hand around your shoulder when you walk together.

mark will ALWAYS share his melon.

making you swoon on a DVD evening is lucas’ favorite hobby. he will buy you the most sugary-sweet romance movies. he will often browse streaming sites to select the latest sentimental plots. all these dramas seem to have a male lead who is suspiciously tall and lanky.

if you allow him, taeyong customizes your white tees with his cute drawings.

since taemin swims in money thanks to his profession as the god of kpop (yes, this is a registered job name because i say so), he can fulfill you any wish. he’s stingy and pouty when the shinee hyungs can pay, and the motherfucker baekhyun is even richer since his albums have been taking off so he opens his mochi wallet when superm is gathered, but you... are a different case. taemin will humbly empty his entire pockets when he overhears you gushing over something. there’s a voice in his mind going: must splurge!!

mark loves christmas, you establish an annual tradition to stage a whole couple evening.

baekhyun likes to play charades and especially do karaoke with you. he’s always cutely wiggling his butt and dances like a drunk uncle. he hits the high notes anyway and makes sure you score 100 points.

taeyong can make out with you while at the same time making sure that the milk doesn’t get burned on the stove. kiss’n’stirr multitask tyong alert. gotta make sure the cocoa is served in time, you know.

all the members enjoy playing board games. yep, imagine the fun and sheer chaos.

lucas has the funniest laugh ever indeed. he’ll react to all your jokes, no matter how lame they might be. intensely reassuring.

taemin’s hand is basically glued to yours.

taeyong and mark are the kinds of boyfriends that spoil their partner with skincare. fancy a nice face massage with a nice fragrant oil?

baekhyun has been baking heart-shaped pizzas ever since you started dating. he just can’t make them round anymore.

mark will join you on anything you’re currently bingewatching.

kai sometimes — only half-jokingly — goes down on both knees bowing forward with his hands on the ground just to show how much he wants to thank you. in case you didn’t notice: this guy treats you like a deity.

ten usually gets confused glances from the other members whenever he gets the current date wrong: he simply loses track of time with you.

lucas makes a habit of buying you flowers every other week. but on unpredictable occasions, and he arranges them in places you’d never expect.

taemin will build you a weird-looking snowman to make you laugh, and give it an even stranger name. ten will build one that looks like you. kai doesn’t build snowmen, he just stands there challenging you to throw snow balls at him.

mark will hang out with you at the beach constantly bringing his guitar. he’ll serenade you all the time.

returning from three months of touring, baekhyun has once climbed your balcony when your parents were in the other room. yep, he was that desperate to see you. somebody give this man a rope and helmet.

taeyong writes down heartfelt confessions on 365 folded slips of paper so you can open one every day. your reactions will range from ‘awwh!’ to straight-up tears.

ten does regular couple yoga with you. a mildly challenging form, not the circus acrobat version. he’ll do the difficult parts anyway. you can pretzel this guy up, he’ll do anything to make you laugh.

when it rains you hook your arm around his, and lucas always holds the umbrella. even the wildest gush of wind can’t make it turn inside out. you arrive home entirely dry. xuxi is so cute, he’s also a great source of cooling shadow in the summer without even trying.

taemin’s skinship overdrive doesn’t stop with endless hand-holding, back hugs and kisses. he wants to lay down in your lap whenever he can. he looks damn pretty with his hair splaying there. if you work on your laptop, you can pretty much count to ten and he’s already nestled there.

kai does pushups with you on his back. it’s a staple. each time he does one, he says ‘i love you’. he increases his count every day.

NSFW

it’s no secret that taeyong is great at acting or pulling off any outfit and costume. expect roleplay of the finest kind — literally. he looks good in a firefighter uniform. you’ll be burning up pretty much automatically.

taemin can’t keep his tongue in. it’s terrible. he’s always in the mood for head. his sloppy noises are the absolute worst, it turns you on way too fast.

lucas had some major problems finding condoms that fit him.

ten and taemin are so switchy, they have an unresolved power struggle going on. begs for a dominant third party to help them out.

kai owns expensive latex gear.

baekhyun may be the king of vocals and breath technique, but if you push him far enough he does get hoarse.

taemin often jokes how kai will one day break his dick from fucking too hard.

meanwhile, mark’s dick is already falling off – from fucking too often. this guy has some major hormones going for him. no surprise, a guy who can promote in four kpop groups at the same time is a stamina king.

taeyong likes eating pussy with another party involved. three’s a crowd my friend. sometimes it’s taemin who unleashes his spit waterfall power, sometimes it’s baekhyun who preoccupies himself with nibbling at the inner thigh while taeyong digs in.

taemin owns the most underwear.

mark takes valerian drops because he is so nervous in bed. it never really goes away, it’s his nature.

taeyong keeps a lube collection. a different flavor for all occasions. he likes associating certain scents with specific body parts.

kai has a heels kink. he literally goes wild over it.

taemin likes to have sex with favorite glasses on.

taeyong and kai are the most likely to cry during sex. baekhyun as well if you rough him up enough.

mark gets rock hard the fastest, followed by kai. he’s a grower.

taeyong gets the best inspiration for a song when he gets a casual dick riding.

taemin watches extremely x-rated erotic thrillers and bdsm flicks that are heavy on the plot. he gets more invested in the characters and actors than you think. since his japanese is amazing? of course he also owns a giant 90s hentai collection.

when he’s jerking off, baekhyun chokes himself. a) because he’d make too much noise otherwise and b) because asphyxiation is his favorite thing.

kai feels pleasure in his every cell. he cums the hardest. and, as you can expect, his body expresses it the most extremely, accurately, passionately. if you’ve seen it even once, you’ll never look at him the same again.

taemin has less experience than his discography claims, but more than you’d think. he researches sexual techniques as well. you can brace yourself.

mark has not just a tiger inside, but a freak inside, waiting to be unleashed.

sex while gaming is a go-to activity for baekhyun.

lucas has the best stamina when it comes to getting head.

taemin throws his head back during sex. and no, he doesn’t T-pose. i’m kidding — of course he does. but only when he’s on his back.

taeyong tends to grip a pillow when he cums.

or he humps one when he’s by himself.

ten has the best taste in sexy time playlists.

baekhyun has the best taste in singing his own playlist along.

oh, the things kai has bought at a gas station at 3AM.

baekhyun sucks strap the best. he can open his mouth the widest, drools a lot, and makes the best noises unsurprisingly.

how to turn on lee taemin? he likes getting slapped.

since he’s the most avid and most diverse eater, lucas’ sperm tastes the best. he’s shove 50 fruits into his system just to give you a sweet experience.

mark is absolutely a starfish.

kai wears fishnet tops if you fancy it.

curiously, baekhyun out of all people doesn’t announce when he’s cumming. you’ll hear it, though.

taeyong’s dildo collection is one for the books.

taemin has visited a pro dominatrix a couple times. needless to say, he was the #1 favorite client at the dungeon. having fully submerged into a fantasy world, taemin was one whip crack away from falling in love with the mistress. but then covid happened and the venue closed.

mark’s dick looks really pretty.

taemin can grind on the strap at every humanly possible angle. he’s almost always ready to take it. he carries a prep kit.

kai — that fucker — knows how to make you wet the most with his bare hands. prepare for the thigh ride of your life, too.

taeyong, baekhyun, and taemin have the best arches. kai is coming for the top three as well. ten’s arch is so good, it can’t be considered one anymore.

baekhyun knows every adult movie out there. theoretically, nothing can shock him. in reality, he melts in your hands.

taeyong is so sexually active with you, he has quit eating garlic.

kai will exploit your muscle kink in any way he can.

taemin, being a devil, has that one button on his phone that he can press when you go out for dinner. he’s OBSESSED with getting you off. once you head home, it’s basically running down your thighs.

ten has once opened a condom with scissors to scare away a date that grew weird on him by the time it got to the do.

lucas is too tall for doing missionary normally.

this will surprise nobody: mark is great at constantly keeping up the dirty talk.

baekhyun’s car is sort of like a brothel on wheels. he can’t count how many times he got down and dirty in there. he cleans it all up by himself.

kai can technically grip you the hardest but he’s the gentlest and great at caressing the whole body.

taemin has the easiest time saying what precisely he wants. he is also the best people reader — most your wishes he can pretty intuit. taemin observes your interests well.

ten likes his hair pulled and makes angelic noises when you do so.

baekhyun likes camgirls and erotic chats with strangers online. he spends a lot of money for nsfw internet encounters.

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e-milieeee · 4 years

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hey cutea

Summary: In which Marinette brings Adrien to a bubble tea shop only to witness him order the most unappetizing flavour on the menu.

All’s well until Chat Noir does the exact same, and Ladybug makes an unsuspecting connection.

Tikki is also very unamused. If only they’d stop dancing around each other.

Notes: a month of procrastinating, the boba reveal,,, is finally here for day 1: cafe of @auyeahaugust! also for @buggachat because kelly started this with a drawing of an adrienette boba date and i spiralled :’)

Word Count: 6.2k

AO3

The shop is called Thirstea, a pun which makes Adrien laugh for a whole thirty seconds as he stares at the storefront.

“Seriously,” Marinette is saying as he pushes the door open for her. “You’ve seriously never had boba? At all?”

Adrien shifts his backpack. He’s hit with the smell of something sweet—foreign, as well, but it’s pleasant enough—and the sight of a bustling interior. A small line has already formed, so Marinette tugs him aside and points at the large menu displayed on a colorful board behind the cashier.

“You can decide on which flavour you want,” she tells him.

Adrien peers up at the board. There’s so many to choose from—hundreds, even—from milk tea to fruit tea to mixed flavours and smoothies and…

His head is spinning when he turns back to Marinette. “Do you have any recommendations?” Because I have absolutely no clue. “What do you usually get?”

She tilts her head. “I have five go-tos. Roasted milk tea is a classic, but the honeydew milk tea is pretty good as well if I want something fruity. If I want something lighter, I’ll get a fruit tea—I like lychee black tea. Uh… there’s also the real fruit bobas, and I usually get taro. Oh! And the matcha latte is one of their best. And I usually get it with tapioca, but if you want to be healthier, grass jelly or aloe vera both taste pretty good. But I mean, it is your first time here and you should probably try getting tapioca just to see if you like it. And brown sugar milk tea, but they said they ran out today…”

The words go in one ear and out another, because Adrien is too busy staring at the way she talks: enthusiasm shining in her eyes, the way she waves her hands in the smallest, cutest gestures to make her point, and…

“Adrien?” Marinette tilts her head. “Um, have you decided? Or do you need more time? Because that’s completely alright too.”

In a panic, he nods and blurts, “I’ve decided!”

She nods sagely, and they enter the line. Adrien has not yet in fact decided.

He continues to stare at the menu from the corner of his eyes, going through all the categories until he settles on real fruit smoothie. Adrien goes through the list: watermelon, strawberry, mango, peach, blueberry, raspberry, winter melon—

“What would you like to order?”

Adrien snaps back into reality. He is not ready to order.

Oblivious to his conundrum, Marinette smiles at the cashier and fetches her wallet out of her backup. “I’m paying for us both!” she tells the girl cheerily. “I’ll have a peach green tea with half ice and thirty percent sugar. With tapioca.”

Adrien gawks at her order. She’d lost him after peach green tea—is he supposed to order like that too?

“Adrien?” Marinette prompts, now waiting for the order that he does not have.

He squints at the menu again, hoping his panic isn’t visible on his face. He scans them. Watermelon. Strawberry. Mango. Peach. Blueberry. Raspberry. Winter melon. Durian.

Durian.

“Durian,” he settles.

Marinette’s mouth quite literally drops open.

He’s not too certain what’s that surprising about his order—is it the wrong thing to order? Perhaps it doesn’t exist on the menu and he’d hallucinated it. A double-check later and the word is still clearly imprinted underneath winter melon. “Marinette?” Adrien asks carefully. “Um, I’m not too sure about the sugar and ice—which do you usually choose?”

She finally snaps her mouth shut. “Durian?” Marinette echoes at last, ignoring his question.“Ah, are you certain about that?”

Adrien nods. “I can still add the pearls—the tapioca in, right?”

“Yeah,” she agrees absentmindedly, “but—durian?”

Adrien takes another peek at the menu. “The real fruit smoothie, right?”

“Have you… tried durian?” “When I was younger, once. Have you?”

Marinette swallows, and Adrien waits for her verdict, concerned. He’s honestly baffled why she’s so confused about his choice, but a moment later, Marinette squares her shoulders and gives the cashier a smile, this time slightly shaky. “And a durian smoothie with tapioca for him. Um, sugar and ice levels?”

Adrien has no clue what to ask for, so he tries, “The standard one for both...?”

Apparently that’s an acceptable answer because the cashier nods and jots down his order on a small notepad. Marinette pays, and they wait at the side for their order.

Marinette has gone quiet. She sorts through her bag for a little while, and Adrien waits in apprehensive silence. There’s quiet jazz music playing in the background and it makes him feel like he’s in an elevator. It’s becoming unbearably awkward.

Finally, Marinette lifts her eyes to look at him. “Sorry about that,” she apologizes. “I just… didn’t know you liked durian.”

“Oh.” He sounds equally awkward. “I liked the fruit the last time I had it which was about two years ago. Do you not like it?”

Her nose wrinkles. It’s cute. Wait, what?

“My mom really likes durian,” Marinette is explaining, and she motions with her hands again. “Apparently her hometown back in China had a dessert store that sold durian pastries and she had this brilliant idea of making them for Chinese New Year a couple months ago and the whole bakery reeked of durian and I could smell it all the way up into my room—” She clamps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I forgot you liked it.”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” he replies, flustered. Marinette has a habit of saying a lot in very little time and it doesn’t help that he gets easily distracted by her movements. “I didn’t realize durian was so… controversial. I hope it won’t make you uncomfortable or something with the smell.”

“I guess it’s not that popular here,” she replies with a shrug. “But my mom did say that people either hate or love durian. And the smell’s fine. I don’t like it, but once you spend a week with it stinking up your room, you kind of develop immunity.”

Just then, the waitress behind the counter sets down their two drinks. “For Marinette?” she calls.

Marinette takes the bag with a quick thank you, grabs two straws, and then returns to Adrien. She holds up their drinks.

Adrien takes the cup from her extended hand. The durian smoothie is a creamy white, and the black tapioca bubbles sit at the very bottom. He follows her movements as she shakes her cup then stabs a straw into it.

He can see Marinette eying him in his periphery as he raises the straw to his lips and takes a sip. The drink is cold and sweet and has a rich taste that explodes on his tongue in a plethora of flavours, and Adrien decides he likes it. He really likes it.

“So?” Marinette asks. Adrien wonders if she knows how skeptical her expression is. “Do you… like it?”

He chews on one of the pieces of tapioca. “Yes. Yeah, this is really great.”

The skepticism doesn’t disappear from her face, but she raises her boba to his. “Cheers,” Marinette says weakly.

***

On a good day, a cup of boba has two hundred fifty calories when the tapioca is replaced by grass jelly and the sugar level is brought to less than half. On a bad day, if her sweet tooth demands regular sweetness and tapioca, it can be driven up to seven hundred calories.

It’s why Marinette has begrudgingly limited herself—for the sake of her wallet and health—to only drink boba once a week.

And it’s why she and Chat Noir, decked in hoodies and track pants in an attempt to look normal, are lined up underneath the blazing sun at Thirstea.

Their disguises don’t do much, because a crowd has formed around them. First there are whispers of is that Ladybug and Chat Noir, then a girl summons up her courage to ask for a selfie, and finally, the press starts driving in. By the time that happens, they have luckily made it inside the shop, where the air-conditioning blasts out on the highest setting.

Another snap of the camera. Chat Noir is staring pensively at the menu when a thought hits Ladybug. “Have you ever had boba before?” she asks him.

He nods absentmindedly, still looking. Everyone in line is whispering or peering at them, and Ladybug sees a phone held up in the back, most likely recording.

They make it to the counter when Nadja Chamack and her team, armed with cameras and microphones, invades the shop. The girl at the register looks slightly overwhelmed and a little alarmed, but she doesn’t tell the press to leave.

“Ladybug!” Nadja calls. “You’ve been photographed once or twice coming to this shop in the past month—is this your favourite bubble tea shop?”

“Yup!” she replies.

“What’s your go-to order?”

“Depends on the day.” Ladybug turns back to the cashier, leaving Chat to deal with the press. He has the uncanny ability to drag on a brief topic for an unsolicitedly long amount of time. “I’ll have an original milk tea with tapioca,” she tells the cashier. “Regular ice and seventy percent sugar.”

The girl looks a little starstruck, but she jots down the order. With a tug on Chat’s tail, he turns around from entertaining the press to place his own order.

“One durian smoothie, please!” he chirps, chipper as always.

Ladybug chokes on air.

The girl taking their order also seems taken aback, but her recovery time is much quicker than Ladybug’s. Instead, offering him a quick, slightly strained smile, she jots his order down. “Is that all, then?”

Chat takes the chance to pay for both of their orders while she’s caught in her confusion. By the time Ladybug snaps back to her senses, it’s too late—Chat is already pulling aside to wait for their bobas to finish. Nadja and her crew take the chance to start their questions again.

“Chat Noir,” Nadja addresses when it’s clear Ladybug’s still out of commission. “If I heard you right, you chose a durian smoothie?”

He gives a nod so proud that Ladybug swears she dies a little inside.

“Could you tell us why? From what I know, durian is a well-debated fruit. Many people love it, but many also cannot stand the smell.”

Chat ponders the question thoughtfully. “The smell is rather funny,” he finally replies. “But I like the flavour! It has a very rich texture as well, and tastes pretty different from the smell, so it doesn’t actually taste bad.”

“Ladybug?” Nadja gestures for the cameras to face her. “What are your thoughts on durian?”

She’s too busy thinking about Adrien Agreste raising his cup of boba to bump against hers—a durian smoothie—and his casual enthusiasm for the fruit that Nadja’s words don’t even click in her brain. Who would’ve expected Chat Noir to have the same (terrible) taste as her crush? The coincidence leaves her feeling disjointed.

“Uh… Ladybug?” Chat waves his hand in front of her. “Are you okay?”

She finally snaps out of her reverie long enough to scramble for a response. Ladybug manages a sheepish smile in Nadja’s direction. “I’m doing fine, thank you.”

Chat frowns. “Ladybug, that wasn’t her question—”

Before either of them can say anything more, the girl making the drinks pops her head out from the counter. “Your drinks!” she says, then beams at both of them. “Here’s a buy-one-get-one free coupon! Please come by often!”

Chat’s eyes glimmer when he accepts his durian smoothie. Ladybug takes her own with much less enthusiasm. Focus is hard enough with the snap of Nadja’s cameras and the chaos all around them—the fact that an even larger crowd has gathered outside Thirstea in order to catch a glimpse of their favourite superheroes makes it worse. It’s all too much to take in, and Ladybug’s brain is still stuck on Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir and durian smoothies.

“We’re going to take off,” Chat tells Nadja, then waves at the camera. “See you guys around! Come on, LB.”

She allows him to drag her out of the store, then with a flick of his baton and a snap of her yo-yo they’re swinging off, bobas in hand and the rest of Paris watching them go.

But Ladybug isn’t thinking about them at all.

When they finally settle down somewhere secluded, Chat immediately stabs his straw through the top of his drink and takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. Ladybug can smell the scent of durian from where she’s sitting, and instinctively, she wrinkles her nose and shifts away. She pokes her straw into her own drink, still staring off at the distance.

A coincidence, yeah. Her crush and her partner both have awful taste in bubble tea flavours. It’s nothing but a coincidence.

“Are you going to drink yours?” Chat is asking, still slurping obliviously. “I wanna try your flavour.”

He makes a grab for her drink, and Ladybug ducks away. “Your breath smells like durian. You can’t drink from my straw.”

“Hey! Let me try!”

For a little while Chat wrestles for her drink, nearly spilling his own in the process. In the end he snatches out from her fingers, laughing raucously. Ladybug is giggling as well, forgetting about her predicament for the moment. This is what she’s used to; their routine of banter and playfulness that’s easy—it’s straightforward. Not confusing.

That snaps her right back to the problem. Chat sips her drink, smacking his lips in a purposefully annoying way, and makes his verdict. “Not bad. I like mine better. Wanna try?”

Ladybug shakes her head and reclaims her drink. As casually as possible, she asks, “Do you get boba often?”

“Mm, no. This is actually the second time I’ve gotten the drink.” He swirls his straw around. “Honestly, with all the percentages you give for the sugar and the ice, I’m not too sure what to say. My friend took me to get boba a little while ago, so…durian is actually the only flavour I’ve ever tried.”

A casual dump of information, information that really wouldn’t have meant anything. It’s vague enough that any other person wouldn’t have made any sort of connection; it’s the information they often share between each other.

Except for the fact that she—Ladybug, Marinette—might be the friend in question. And Chat Noir—Chat Noir is…

She stares across the building, where an ad of Adrien, the Fragrance is displayed.

No way.

“Um,” Ladybug stammers. “Your friend took you out for boba because you’ve never had it before?”

He’s painfully oblivious to her panic. “Yeah, about a week ago. You know, it’s pretty funny because she had a similar reaction to you when I ordered the durian smoothie. Apparently she hates the smell too.”

“Your friend?” Ladybug echoes.

“Yeah, my friend. Are you okay, m’lady?”

Can’t really breathe properly, so I’m not really okay, but youcan’tknowandIdon’treallyknowwhat’sgoingonrightnow—

“I, um, just realized I have something to do,” Ladybug stammers out, because it’s the only thing she can think of saying. She flails, but somehow manages to get to her feet. “Uh—uh, do you want my milk tea? I can’t swing around very well if I’m holding it because it might get on my suit and my hair—oh my God, my hair! I got ice cream once and tried to eat it while going around Paris on my yo-yo and it went so badly and honestly I feel like the bubble tea will do the same so you can drink mine too since I can just get another one by myself soon but I really gotta run—”

She all but shoves the cup into his confused hands. It’s a whole miracle Chat doesn’t drop it then and there, just like it’s a miracle Ladybug hasn’t screamed or slipped up or promptly tripped over air and simply… lay there crying.

“Ladybug–” she hears him call, but it’s interrupted by the zing of her yo-yo.

She takes off as fast as possible.

Marinette has never been so hasty in detransforming, but as she slips through the rooftop back into her room, she’s already calling Tikki out before she touches down onto her bed. She slams onto pillows and the soft mattress in her regular clothing, buries her face into the nearest cushion, and screams.

She really doesn’t deserve Tikki’s patience, but her kwami stays beside her and pats her with tiny paws until Marinette’s throat is hoarse and she has more or less yelled the remaining cinders of her panic and confusion into her pillow.

When Marinette finally raises her head to look at Tikki, her kwami has her hands on her hips. “Well?” she asks. “I didn’t want to interrupt your breakdown, but now that you’re through, can you tell me what it’s about?”

Marinette thinks about the cup of boba and the boy she’d left back on the roof. Then the one that sits in front of her in class, with the same shade of blonde hair and emerald eyes, both ordering durian boba.

“I think Chat Noir is Adrien Agreste,” she tells Tikki weakly.

Tikki has a scarily-good poker face. “Have you now,” she replies with calmness Marinette is incapable of. “And why do you think so?”

“Because—because—because they both like durian!” It comes out as a distressed wail.

Tikki ponders the question. Then replies, “I see.”

It’s such an awfully vague response that Marinette is tempted to bury her face into her pillow to scream some more. But she doesn’t, instead pulling out her notebook from the stand and a pencil. “I’m going to draw a venn diagram,” she announces with newfound determination. “I might just be jumping to a conclusion too quickly. And—and there was that one time when Chat was there but Adrien was too, right? When Gorizilla attacked?”

“Right,” Tikki agrees. “But you also did a similar trick with Multimouse and the fox Miraculous, so…”

“Chat didn’t have the fox or mouse Miraculous. Anyway… they both have blonde hair and green eyes.”

She puts that in the similar column. She thinks about it for a couple seconds more, and writes “composed” in Adrien’s column and “a mess” in Chat’s.

“Oh, come on.” Tikki flits closer. “You know very well Adrien isn’t as composed as you make him out to be. The only reason you don’t recognize it is because you’re even worse around him.”

Marinette stubbornly keeps those two where they are, even if she knows deep down that Tikki is right. For a while, she goes on making her list, with Tikki criticizing almost every decision she makes. Adrien Agreste has neat hair, a polite smile, the best grades in class and manners that would woo anyone’s parents. Chat Noir’s hair is messy and untamed, his smile is almost always accompanied with a raucous laugh and shutting up isn’t in his vocabulary. He steals food and drinks and everything he can from her whenever she brings it.

She scribbles and erases and thinks and stresses, getting a week’s worth of confusion down and then some.

“Marinette,” Tikki finally advises when Marinette has run out of ink. “Why don’t you just ask Adrien tomorrow at school subtly about it? If he didn’t mind telling Ladybug he went out for boba with Marinette, he probably wouldn't have qualms telling Marinette about getting boba with Ladybug. It’s not as if your identities need to remain a secret anymore.”

Ask Adrien.

Sure, they’re on good terms now. They’re friends. Marinette’s crush has faded into a more manageable level, and she can talk to him without her voice rising an octave higher than its usual key. She hasn’t tripped and fallen on her face in front of him for at least two weeks.

But this—with the possibility that Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir? To think she’d waxed poetic about Chat Noir to Tikki every night for months? It’s unspeakably insane to think about, and she doesn’t have the courage and probably never will but Marinette thinks she’s genuinely going to die if she doesn’t get closure—

“Okay,” she agrees at last, because it’s the only logical answer.

***

Adrien is the one who comes to find Marinette before she can go find him.

“Hey!” he calls from behind her.

In a quite frankly astonishing display of improvement, Marinette doesn’t scream or fall on her face, even if she does freeze for a good couple seconds too long.

“Uh… Marinette?” Adrien taps her shoulder. “I wanted to return the physics notes to you. You gave me your notebook from last time because I missed the class. Here.”

She takes the notes from him, movements stiff. A million words to say come piling from her throat, but they stick to the top of her mouth drily and none make it past her lips.

Adrien Agreste. Chat Noir. They’re the same person? How can they be the same person? Is it just a huge coincidence? Who is Chat Noir? Who am I, even?

Before she can work herself into more of a panic, Marinette gives him a forced smile, hugging her notebook to her chest. “Thanks!” she shrieks. “I gotta—I gotta run. See you around!”

She trips over air on her way out, face beetroot.

***

“Listen,” Tikki whispers to her, munching on her cookie as Marinette locks herself in a stall of the girls’ washroom. “You gotta do it. Just… just don’t think that he’s Adrien Agreste. I heard imagining people as potatoes helps with stage fright?”

Marinette lets out a distressed noise. “Stage fright isn’t my problem, though!”

“Adrien fright? If you ask me, it’s pretty similar. Anyway, just ask him if he’s had bubble tea recently or something! You don’t know until you try. It won’t be that bad. What’s the worst case scenario?”

“That you-know-who turns out to be you-know-who!”

“We did not decide on these codenames.”

“Yeah, but what if someone hears—”

Tikki interrupts her by giving her a little pinch. “Calm down, Marinette! It’ll be fine. Besides, is it really that big of a problem if it’s true?”

No, it isn’t. Marinette has thought long and hard about it last night, lying awake on her bed, unable to sleep because of the heat and turbulent thoughts and theories all mixing together. Would it be a bad thing, if Chat turned out to be Adrien? No—she could think of a thousand more worse people for Chat to be, and if she were to be perfectly honest, no better person than Adrien. But at the same time, it’s overwhelming in the strangest way: the sort that sends her heartbeat spiking, thoughts scattering, stomach turning in a not-quite-unpleasant way.

Marinette really doesn’t know what to think about it, and that’s the scariest part.

“Okay.” Tikki interrupts her train of thought. “We should probably get going before you’re late for class. If you hurry, you can probably ask Adrien about it before the bell goes off.”

Marinette steels her back. “Okay,” she grinds out with wavering determination. “Okay, I’m gonna do it.”

Tikki lets out a squeak of Attagirl! before diving back into her purse. Marinette marches out of the stall, down the hallway, and into the classroom.

She really hates the way her throat still closes up when she scans the room and her eyes land on Adrien. All of a sudden, she’s reverted to herself months ago, when her crush on him had reached its peak; when she’d been a jumble of frayed nerves and blabbering and hand motions violent enough to whack any bystander that wandered too close.

No, Marinette tells herself firmly. No freaking out. No stuttering. I’m past that.

“Adrien,” she calls, and he turns away from his conversation with Nino.

“Hey!” his smile is a thousand watts too bright. “We were just talking about you. Nino said he’s never tried boba as well.”

The word boba nearly has her choking on spit. “Cool,” Marinette manages out. “That’s very… cool.”

Nino’s eyebrows furrow. “You okay?”

“Fine! Th-that’s great you want to introduce Nino to boba as well! I’m glad to hear you liked the drink.”

Marinette’s well aware that she sounds like a buffering tape-recorder right now. She marches to her desk, sits down just as stiffly, and pinches herself on the arm, out of Adrien and Nino’s sight. Alya has yet to arrive—it’s now or never, Marinette knows. The longer she waits, the more nervous she’ll make herself, and the harder it’ll be. So…

“Adrien!” she blurts out again, voice too loud. Even Rose and Juleka leave their conversation briefly to glance at her.

He’s good-natured as ever when he turns to her, and Marinette is struck with another wave of trepidation. It’s all too sudden. It’s all too much. She takes a deep breath, mind turning to absolute mush, and somehow stammers out, “Have you gotten boba since that one time?”

She really can’t blame him for looking so confused at her question, but to Adrien’s credit, he regains his composure rather quickly. The bewilderment on his face quickly shifts to mild curiosity.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I actually went yesterday with a friend. Thank you for introducing me! I’ll probably go more often now if I find the time.”

Marinette’s mouth is dry. Her hands are sweaty. Her head feels like it’s going to explode. Her heart has moved to her throat and she’s positive that it’s going to stop beating any moment now.

“Oh.” It’s the only noise Marinette feels mentally capable of forming. Sentences are hard. Speaking is impossible. “Um, yesterday?”

“Yeah, it was pretty hot yesterday. I went to Thirstea, actually!” He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s the only boba shop I know at the moment so it doesn’t really mean anything, but… my friend who I went with really liked it too, so I think I’ll stick to Thirstea for now. Until I try all the flavours I want.”

Amidst her own confusion, Marinette somehow manages to think, if you wanted to try all the flavours you wanted why did you get durian again yesterday? It’s second nature: if the boy in front of her is Chat Noir—a fact that, despite the inconclusive results given by her venn diagram, is becoming more and more clear—then Marinette can’t help but want to tease him back.

Except if Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir and Chat Noir is Adrien… God. She’s just going in circles and getting nowhere closer to the final destination.

It doesn’t even hit Marinette that she hasn’t responded to Adrien and that’s why he’s staring at her so apprehensively. The shrill ringing of the bell startles all the class back into their seats, Adrien included, who shoots her a small smile before turning back around.

The rest of the period finds Marinette unable to pay the slightest bit attention. Mme. Bustier’s words travel in one ear, out the other, all muted static compared to the main problem at hand.

And a problem it is. She looks at Adrien’s golden head in front of her, imagining the flicker of black ears. If she reached down and mussed his hair up, it would look like Chat’s. They’re the same height too, to think of it. All the differences she had listed on her venn diagram seem to melt away, until Marinette is faced with one terrible, wonderful, conclusion.

***

She doesn’t confront Adrien about anything after the first period ends, nor does she at lunch, nor after. It’s too overwhelming to think of, but it hardly seems fair to keep him in the dark. When she asks Tikki to confirm at lunch, the only thing her kwami does is shrug with an indecipherable expression on her face—Marinette takes it as a verification.

But it’s a different story after school. By then, Marinette has made up her mind.

Her first stop is Thirstea. It’s not as sweltering as it were the day before, even if she has to wipe the sweat from her forehead after waiting fifteen minutes outside. The store isn’t as bustling now that Ladybug and Chat Noir aren’t there, so Marinette takes advantage of the peace to calm her thoughts. They have patrol in thirty minutes; she has thirty minutes to gather her thoughts and figure out how she’s going to come through with this. But is thirty minutes really going to help? She’s had the whole day alone to her thoughts, and, like it or not, she’s barely gotten anywhere.

When she finally gets her order—a fruit tea for herself, a durian smoothie for Chat Noir—Adrien Agreste—there’s only twenty three minutes to go.

Marinette transforms into Ladybug, hidden in an alley, and goes to wait for her partner to show up on the rooftop they agreed to. Then, once she’s reached the rooftop, she calls off her transformation.

The boba is still cold in her bag, so she wraps her hand around them to fend off the blistering heat from the sun. It’s uncomfortable, waiting like this, but physical discomfort is still better than working up a storm in her own thoughts, which Marinette is trying to distance herself from. They come in waves of stress, anxiousness, uncertainty, and fear. But she has to do this.

Her mood must’ve been evident enough for Tikki to feel, even though her kwami has slipped inside her purse to give her thoughts some space. She pokes her head out.

“Marinette,” Tikki says, a hint of concern in her tone. “You don’t have to do this now if you’re not ready, you know. Chat Noir will understand.”

Marinette, having resorted to biting her nails—she must be really nervous, because that’s a habit she’d gotten rid of years ago—shakes her head. “I can’t keep pushing it back. It’s one thing not revealing each other’s identities, but now that I know… I can’t just… not tell him. It’s not possibly fair, not when he’s waited for so long.”

“...are you happy that it’s Adrien?” This question is more tentative, quieter.

Marinette props her chin in her hands and stares at the skyline. Is she happy that it’s Adrien?

“Yeah,” she replies. “Yeah, I am.”

***

Chat Noir vaults over onto the roof, and he’s six minutes early. Marinette sees him before he sees her; she watches him look around for a couple of seconds, slightly confused.

She takes a deep breath and steps out of the shade of the door. “Chat Noir!” she calls.

He jumps around. “M’lady, you—”

His voice trails off. “M-marinette? I—uh, hi! I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I was actually going to find Ladybug but I might’ve gotten the wrong building! What—what, uh, are you doing up here?”

After a day of planning out the words to say, it’s rather funny how she can’t even form a semblance of the sentences she’s thought up.

It’s also a miracle in and of itself that she doesn’t stutter, panic, or go absolutely speechless. Even if her script lays lost and forgotten in the back of her head, Marinette says in a surprisingly steady voice, “I was actually waiting for you.”

Chat Noir doesn’t move from where he’s standing, so she heads towards him. “Did… Ladybug tell you I was going to be here?”

“Uhmh,” is the noise that makes its way out of Marinette’s mouth. She clears her throat and tries again. “I brought you boba because it’s hot today,” she explains. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

She sees it behind his eyes; questions, confusion, but most importantly, the beginning notes of a realization.

“Wait.” He doesn’t budge from his spot, eying her cautiously. “What do you want to talk about?”

“About the fact that you’re probably Adrien Agreste?”

Even the air, laden with the heat of the day, seems to still between them. Marinette looks up at him, and his reaction is the only confirmation she needs that she is indeed right.

Chat Noir’s reaction is less loud than she had expected. It’s shock, probably, the stage that Marinette has been stuck in for the good part of the day, because he still remains frozen. Then, in a shaky uncertain voice, he asks, “Ladybug?”

Her next breath escapes her in the form of a huff, a half-choked laugh. “We’re idiots.”

His lips lift into a wavering smile. “What.”

And then Marinette is laughing, because it’s so stupid. All the pent-up emotions come tumbling out uncontrollably and she’s laughing and laughing, doubling over and clutching at her stomach and nearly dropping her bag of their boba drinks.

Through her own giggles, she hears Chat mumble, “Oh my God,” and the way he says it makes everything all the more hilarious.

When Marinette finally gathers herself enough to straighten, she’s wiping tears from her eyes. Chat Noir is watching her, although his expression has softened into something that looks suspiciously close to fondness.

“Is this why you asked me about boba this morning?” he questions. “If I’d gone to get it with a friend?”

Marinette gives her eyes one last wipe. “Yeah. I just—when you ordered durian boba yesterday and all that you said—it was too suspicious for me to ignore.”

“Oh.” He tugs his hands through his hair—messy golden hair, how hadn’t she noticed how similar Chat and Adrien always were?—and lets out another groan. “Oh. I’m dumb.”

“You could’ve been any other person if I hadn’t been, well, me,” Marinette points out. “Tikki told me it’s due time, anyway. But yes, you’re dumb. So am I.”

“My identity got exposed because I ordered a durian smoothie?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Oh my God.”

She’s beginning to see why Tikki had found it endlessly amusing watching her panic. Instead of further antagonizing Chat, Marinette reaches into her bag to take out his durian smoothie. She stuffs it into his arms, and he’s too confused to do anything but accept the drink and the straw it comes with.

“Don’t worry,” she reassures him before she can stop herself. “I won’t tell anyone that number one model Adrien Agreste runs around Paris in a leather catsuit. My lips are sealed.”

The moment the words leave Marineette’s mouth, she feels her face heat up. It’s one thing to tease him before, now it feels like she’s treading on the edge of a cliff with a long, long drop. He’s still her partner, but there’s another aspect that they will figure out—with time, undoubtedly—and now is too soon to push it so much.

To her relief, Chat Noir’s face lights up, and a much wider smile slips across his face. “I’m still in shock, you know,” he tells her. If that’s his in-shock voice, then Marinette is thoroughly impressed. “But thank you. My father might have a bone to pick with this outfit if he ever found out.”

Relief is cool against the heat. “Your father won’t be the only one with the bone to pick with you,” she replies. “The bell is quite a… bold statement.”

He laughs once more. “I happen to like the bell the best, so I don’t know what your problem is.”

He has no business to smile so brightly like that, Marinette thinks to herself. In front of her is the boy she’s turned down countless times—the same one she would wax lyrical to Tikki every night before bed. God, what a coincidence. Or really, what a stroke of luck.

She’s jolted from her thoughts when Chat stabs his straw into his durian smoothie with a loud pop.

“Do you want to talk?” Marinette offers. “Somewhere shadier, that is? You probably have a lot of questions. I know I do.”

Chat nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that would work.”

She starts towards the small door on the rooftop, then stops when she realizes that Chat hasn’t been following her. Instead, his gaze is fixed thoughtfully on his drink, like he’s contemplating something important.

“Chat?” Marinette prompts. “Hey, are you okay?”

Then his face brightens. “I’m taro-bly sorry,” he says. “I just got distracted because you’re such a cu-tea.”

Marinette’s jaw drops open. It’s not that she’s particularly surprised by the pun, given his penchant for dropping them at the most terrible (taro-ble?) of moments, but she had half the mind to believe she’d permanently shocked the humour out of Chat Noir. Moreover, the fact that it’s Adrien Agreste saying these so casually is still new to her.

The grin he gives her is absolutely shit-eating, yet somehow, it works perfectly in her mind on Chat’s face as it does on Adrien’s. It also snaps her out of her reverie.

“Now my head is going to explode,” Marinette grumbles. “C’mon, cat-boy. We have a lot to discuss.”

He catches up with her with a quick jog, still slurping out of his boba. “I’m glad it’s you,” he tells her when they fall side-by-side. “In case you didn’t know.”

Marinette hides her grin behind her own drink, but she thinks Chat catches it nonetheless. “Me too,” she tells him. “Even if you have terrible taste in boba.”

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have terrible taste,” he points out, and they both share a laugh.

Notes: Here’s my fics masterlist!

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #ladynoir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #this was ridiculously long holy crap #identity reveal #boba reveal #its been a while kids #mlb fic #my writing

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reapers-carino · 4 years

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Beauty in Simplicity ver. 2

“Itadakimasu!”

Genji’s tone was jovial, the excited grin on his face and sparkling eyes set on the large bowl of shoyu ramen in front of him. Giving a small ‘whoop’ of excitement as he pulled his chopsticks apart, he gave a quick, sympathetic glance to his older brother. Hanzo’s brow was furrowed, staring into his bowl of shio ramen with such a contemptuous look, Genji tempted to ask how the meal had offended him. Reluctantly, Hanzo finally picked up his own set of chopsticks, brusquely snapping them apart before murmuring a soft ‘itadakimasu’ and beginning to eat. Genji waited til he was a few bites in before goading him.

“Sooo…?”

Hanzo’s eyes cut towards him, his frown somehow deepening as he bit into the chashu, a brief uptick in the corners of his lips indicating that the food was chipping away at the annoyance. Now was as good a time as any to keep prying; Hanzo’s love of good food had always been the younger brother’s way of cheering his brother up, alcohol coming in as a close second. As Hanzo’s eyes drifted back to the bowl, he grunted as Genji nudged him, wearily turning his gaze towards his younger sibling. Genji had taken several bites out of the tender pork belly from his own bowl and held it up so it looked like a goofy pork-based smile, wriggling his eyebrows at his brother playfully. Hanzo couldn’t help the choked off snort he made, the ridiculousness of the image drawing a small half smile onto his lips as he placed his chopsticks down on the tiny stand beside his bowl. Releasing a low growling sigh, Hanzo knew that Genji would not cease in his attempts to cheer him up until he finally spilled the beans on what was wrong.

“Let’s finish our meal and then we can talk”, he sighed, picking up his chopsticks once more and beginning to scarf down the noodles.

Hanzo couldn’t deny the delicious saltiness of the broth and the chewiness of the noodles were having an effect on him, slowly pulling him out of his dour mood and gently nudging him towards simply being cross. As he drank the last of the broth and bits of bean sprouts and garlic down, Hanzo allowed the warmth to spread throughout his body, breathing in deep and letting out a quiet exasperated sigh. Glancing to the side, his brother had drained both his broth and the sickeningly sweet melon soda he chose to go with it, looking at his brother looking at him with expectant puppy dog eyes. Tapping down on the urge to chuckle, Hanzo gave an over exaggerated sigh as he began his story.

“I had a meeting with the board this morning…”

Genji gave a brief suck of his teeth, a scowl tugging at his lips briefly before his smile returned, smaller and sympathetic. Neither one of them were strangers to the board, better known to them as the elders, the near omnipresent, insufferable hivemind of the Shimada-gumi. Gently patting his older brother on the shoulder, he gave it a brief good natured squeeze before responding.

“So how did that go?”

Earlier that day

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.”

Hanzo’s voice was warm, yet professional, the light of the holoscreen gently bouncing off of his skin in the dimmed room. His expression was neutral but not blank, the ghost of a simpering smile tugging at the corners of his lips but never rising into a true one. Shoulders back, posture straight but not stiff, his whiskey brown eyes giving the room a brief once over before continuing. Fake pleasantries and niceties were expected of anyone coming before the board and he was no different, even as the heir to the Shimada Conglomerate. Although, Hanzo wished he could have expected the same from the board. He could see several of the elders at the table flicking through the information transmitted to each of their datapads as they had entered the room, some actually reading the inscribed text while others stared at him, wrinkled faces set in a permanent frown. Years of training, school work and private lessons had led to this moment and he wasn’t going to let their lingering doubts of him deter him from victory.

Motioning at the screen, the beginning of his proposal popped up, simply titled ‘Partnership Program between Shimada Conglomerate and Caledonia, Co’. He heard the start of agitated murmurs begin around the table before motioning towards the screen once more and going to the next slide. It held images of both the Shimada Conglomerate’s main building in the heart of Hanamura and the shining new Ashe, Inc building located in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The next motion he made zoomed in on the section for Ashe, Inc. as he began to go through the history and details of the company.

“Caledonia Co. was started five years ago and is a subsidiary of the larger Ashe Inc. located in Sante Fe”, Hanzo said simply, watching as the facts illuminated on the screen before disappearing and being replaced with information from the company’s annual financial report. “They are currently the quickest growing modular home providers within the American southwest with projected earnings for the year predicted to be just under one billion dollars. There also have been whispers of the company securing a US federal contract with the United States Department of Housing and Urban Development to create homes for those still impacted by the Omnic Crisis.”

Pausing briefly, Hanzo glanced over the crowd, a small root of uneasiness swiping at his heart as not one board member looked the least bit intrigued by the company. Still, Hanzo refused to succumb to this adversity, flicking to the next screen with bulleted and referential lines about the benefit of partnering with the North American company.

“The Shimada modular manufacturing subsidiary, Sparrow is both well-known and highly respected within the Japanese market”, Hanzo started, showing the earnings for the company in the last three years before swiping and overlapping that with predicted earnings that could happen if they expanded into other markets. “But we are lacking any power in markets outside of Eastern Asia, meaning we are not realizing Sparrow’s full potential. It is estimated that despite our current hold on the market we may begin to experience 2 to 3 percent profit declines regularly over the next decade due to field competitors and possible housing declines.”

“We do have the opportunity to turn that around”, Hanzo stated as he again showed prospective growth if they partnered up, the charts morphing to show off his estimations. “By supplying the North American company with our modular manufactured materials, we have the potential to grow both companies profits as well as have an established name in North America backing the growth of the Sparrow company into that region.”

The loss of profit statement had earned him a scoff or two, the older members stubbornly believing that the Shimada’s hold on the Japanese market was impervious to competition or outside influence. It had been the Shimada-gumi that had led the underground into helping Japan in its most dire hour during the war; providing housing, clothing, medicine, food and non-perishables as well as shelter across for their countrymen. Hanzo’s father and grandfather had spearheaded those projects almost twenty years ago, transforming the Shimada-gumi from small Yakuza-run businesses into the conglomerate powerhouse with hands in almost all facets of modern society. When the god program was eventually pushed back under sea, the Shimada’s and their supporters and allies were the one that rebuilt Japan and in turn had earned the idolatry of their countrymen. The Shimada name was looked at with adoration and reverence, the name conjuring up images of Japanese resilience and charity in the face of animosity.

And while all that was true, they forgot that a new generation of consumers was being born, ones that were not as indebted to the Shimada name as the prior generation. People born on the cusp of the war did grow up hearing of all of their good deeds, but their attentions were fickle and easily wavered to newer, bigger things. While they would have a market to sail on for some time, it was not enough to maintain the current state of affairs and so Hanzo would try and better them. Even if it meant further catering to their more immoral heartstrings.

“Caledonia is also the largest black market weapon supplier in the entirety of North America”, he stated pointedly, pressing another button to fully lock down any possible leaks in the room. “Caledonia is headed by Elizabeth Ashe, daughter of the heads of Ashe, Inc. Although expunged and sealed, my sources were able to find that she had a record of gang activity that was previously connected to the Deadlock Gang. It appears her tenure with the gang never ended and she instead looked for clearer avenues in which to support and conduct business.”

The surprised looks and murmurs that rippled through the room almost made Hanzo smile for real, the man relishing the ball of pride that fluttered in his chest as he went through the rest of the presentation showing the profits that could grow for both their legitimate and illegitimate markets. The final page was marked with a simple question mark, the lights in the room coming up as he looked over the faces of the elders before finally landing on his father’s. Sojiro was the expert at guarding his true emotions, his eyes locking with his son before snapping down to the datapad that was used for each board meeting. Encrypted and only accessible through both fingerprint and retinal scanning, a security measure that ensured if any information got out, it would have to have come from within.

“If you would like a more detailed breakdown”, he began, reaching at the front of the long boardroom table and pulling up his own datapad. “Please take a look through these pages. I am happy to answer any questions.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Hanzo’s hands tightened around his datapad, lips ticking downward ever so slightly as his eyes pulled to Shoto Yamamoto. He was a portly balding older man seated near his father, his official title being Shimada’s general counsel. Unofficially, he was one of the saiko-komon of the Shimada-gumi, his father’s most trusted advisor and provider of counsel to the entire clan. The Yamamoto family’s allegiance went all the way back to the start of the 20th century, the two families intertwined by blood spilt and fraternity. With the exception of his father, Yamamoto held the biggest sway over the counsel and what they approved or rejected. One by one, Hanzo watched as the members turned their datapad’s off, eyes glancing at Hanzo before sliding back to Yamamoto.

“The board appreciates the time you took to present this”, Yamamoto began, the condescending intonation on ‘appreciates’ making the back of Hanzo neck burn with annoyance. “But the Shimada Conglomerate doesn’t need foreigners interfering with their affairs. Quite frankly, it’s disheartening to think your confidence, not only in the company, but also in our loyal consumers and stockholders, is so low.”

“My confidence in the company has never waivered”, Hanzo snipped back, tone tight as he placed the datapad down. Yamamoto had swiped at the lowest hanging fruit; doubt for the company, and by extension the clan, was an offense that could be punishable by death or expulsion. The accusation was weak, at best, but it shined an ambivalent light on Hanzo’s intention with the project. “My family toiled for generations to build this business into the pinnacle that it is today. I do not want to see it diminish due to the inability to adapt. The risk we face if we do not acclimate to changing times is much higher than the loss we would suffer if we do not. As I stated, the numbers--”

“And as I said we do not need any interference from some ridiculous American company”, Yamamoto snipped before leaning as far forward as his stomach would allow. He steepled his fingers briefly as he looked around at other heads of the family, inclining his head as he looked at Sojiro. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that while...ambitious, your presentation was wholly unnecessary. When and if we begin to lose profits, we will handle it as we always have. Internally. Is there anyone that objects to this?”

Hanzo listened to the murmurs that rose up from other members, eyes darting over to the future CEO nervously before looking back to Sojiro and then Yamamoto. It felt clear who they felt they were loyal to, his allegiance, ideas and future position not yet strong enough to sway those who sat on the fence to his side. Hanzo’s lips pursed together tightly, the entire back of his neck flushing in anger. Hanzo intended for this project to be his magnum opus, an idea that would show that he was not only deserving but ready to take over the role of CEO when his father finally abdicated the position.

Hanzo had worked tirelessly to prove that he was the heir the company deserved. He had gained his Masters in Business Administration by the time he was twenty-three, but the young scion had been interning and shadowing his father since the young age of sixteen. His father had made sure he had experienced every aspect of working for the conglomerate; Hanzo shadowing mail clerks, administrative assistance, accountants, marketing assistants and even human resources. All this while still maintaining his grades in school, practicing several sports and martial arts with his brother and taking care of any jobs that the clan required. This wasn’t the first time that he had come to them with proposals; his partnership with several of the nation’s biggest trade schools providing their prefabrication and metal fabrication warehouses with a constant stream of skilled workers. It would seem, however, that he still had not earned the respect that he was owed.

Taking in a slow breath, Hanzo gave a short, stiff bow as members of the board began to stand, the dozen men filtering out of the room slowly. Some stopped and gave Hanzo an apologetic pat on the shoulders, others shaking their head in unspoken disappointment. The chagrin he felt was sickening; head racing as he tried to figure out a way to amend his blunder, to find the mistake or shortfalling he had made so he could correct it. Failure was not an option. He had worked too hard, done too much. His stomach tightened into a ball, the creep of anxiousness in his chest slowly squeezing at his lungs as he drew in a shuddering breath. His eyes narrowed on the black marble floors, the swirling white in them blurring then vaguely coming back into focus.

“Hanzo.”

Hanzo’s eyes darted from the floor to his father, the breath caught in his throat coming out as a half-cough. Sojiro’s brow was minutely pinched, the concern he held for his son barely contained by the professionalism his position required. Standing straighter, Sojiro approached his son, gently placing a hand on his shoulder before motioning towards the door, clearly meaning to escort his son back to his office. A ghost of a smile touched Hanzo’s lips as he nodded, gathering his materials before starting towards the door, his father following close behind.

Sojiro had grown softer in his older years, his wife’s brush with death completely transforming him into a man that actually cared about his sons’ well-beings and not just the future they could provide. Yua Shimada had been a safe space for both of the Shimada sons’, each finding brief reprieve in her presence before they were thrown back into training or schooling or dueling. She emphasized how she cared for their mental well-being first and foremost, that she would love them despite what they did for the clan. Often Genji took advantage of this unwavering love, hiding behind their mother when punishment was to be enforced, Hanzo not wanting to burden his mother with any wrath incurred from his father, trainers or tutors. Hanzo often took the brunt of the anger for not ‘keeping his brother in line’, their younger years filled with quiet resentment and constant bickering.

It took their mother falling ill and entering the hospital during Hanzo Masters program for the family to mend, the men of the family rushing to be at Yua’s side as she was diagnosed with stage two COPD. Her lung function had fallen to 60 percent, a respiratory infection combined with years of smoking leaving her lungs extremely vulnerable. While they wasted no expense in her care, the situation remained extremely precarious for an entire month, both Hanzo, Genji and their father all taking a leave of absence from school and employment so that they could be at her side. Each night when they left their mother’s side, Hanzo and Genji would seek one another's company; drinking, dueling, gaming, anything to get their minds off of her frail body laying in that bed. Their father would even occasionally join them, silent and watching but with no malice in his gaze. Reconciliation was slow but solidified the healthier Yua got, the trials of almost losing their matriarch creating a strong bond amongst them all.

“So Hanzo…”

Hanzo gave a small sigh as he came to a stop, his father taking a few more steps before turning to look at his son. Sojiro’s dark eyes were calm yet prying as he looked his son over, gently rubbing at his goatee as he studied the boy, Hanzo suddenly feeling like he was under a magnifying glass. Clearing his throat, Sojiro tilted his head towards the datapad that Hanzo held in his hand, Hanzo glancing downward before his brow furrowed as he looked up.

“What do you plan to do with that proposition of yours?”

Hanzo blinked once then twice before his incredulity wrinkled his brow even more, shaking his head and staring at his father in confusion.

“What do you mean”, Hanzo inquired, tone bordering exasperation and his eyes bore into his father’s. “The board has rejected it, there is nothing I can do.”

“Disappointing”, Sojiro sighed as he turned on his heel and began his walk back towards the offices. “I expected more from you…”

In The Present

Hanzo’s face burned with quiet shame, staring down hard at the black iced coffee Genji had ordered for him as he divulged the tale, the same uneasiness at failure creeping into his stomach.

“Well”, Genji questioned, stretching out the word and looking at his brother excitedly, the younger Shimada practically bouncing in his seat.

“Well what”, Hanzo asked, brow furrowing deeper as his brother looked at him with wide, enthusiastic eyes. “The board shot down all my plans and father is disappointed in me, what else is there?”

The words left an acrid taste in his mouth, lips ticking down even more as Genji rolled his eyes and grabbed his brother by the shoulders.

“For someone so smart you can be so blind”, Genji sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically as Hanzo glared at him. He was unsure if his brother was trying to earn his ire but if he was, he was doing a good job at it. Forcing Hanzo to turn and look him directly in the eyes, Genji’s gaze grew slightly serious. “Didn’t you get what father was trying to tell you? Do it anyway! Fuck what the board says!”

Hanzo’s jaw dropped, mouth opening and closing several times before he found the words, confusion and disbelief fighting in equal measure.

“What do you mean fuck the board”, Hanzo hissed out, hands closing then opening as if they held the words themselves. “I can’t just dismiss what the board says. And how?! You expect me to just ignore the elders like y--”

Hanzo bit back his words but Genji rolled his eyes as he stared down his older sibling.

“Like me”, Genji finished for him, cutting Hanzo off before he could interfect or apologize. “Actually yeah, stop letting them make every single decision for you, aniki! Aht aht, don’t interrupt! Brother, you always followed what the elders said but has any of that ever made you the least bit happy?”

“Well…”

“That’s not a yes Hanzo”, Genji muttered deadpan before releasing his brother. “Think of this like Go, Han. Go has fortresses and if you play smart, what seems like an impenetrable fortress can easily be flipped or wiped out. If you do this brother and plan it out and succeed? They won’t have any choice BUT to listen to you.”

Hanzo mulled over this for several pregnant moments, lips pursed together as his mind raced over the audacious idea, warmth beginning to bloom in his chest as excitement trickled in. He may be able to pull this off. He would have no team or project manager, he wouldn’t be able to rely on the marketing department to make materials nor assistance to work alongside him. But if he took his time, he knew he could pull this off. Fate had been on Hanzo’s side when his father had him trained in every single aspect of the business, the man no expert but far from a greenhorn if the situation demanded it. If he could not only put together a business plan but also convince Ashe to meet with him in Japan, he could taste the sweet sweet flavor of not only success but he could begin to refute and rebuke the elders when the changes brought in profit. The only thing wrong…

“As much as I would like that”, Hanzo began, his Genji’s eyes growing suspicious on him. “I cannot. There is no place I can go where Shimada eyes do not follow.”

Hanzo’s shoulders began to hunch, his head drooping before he felt Genji began to shake him, elation and mischief tainting his tone as Genji force his brother to look up.

“I know just the place!”

#reapers-carino #Overwatch #Hanzo Shimada #Hanzo Shimada x Reader #yakuza hanzo #yakuza!hanzo #yakuza!genji #Overwatch AU #Hostess reader #Genji Shimada #Overwatch fan #Overwatch fanfic #Overwatch fanfiction #hanzoxreader #CEO Hanzo #shimada brothers #Timeline divergent #Sojiro shimada #Mama Shimada

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alstanfordart · 4 years

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No One Really Dies In Derry

From The Bradley Gang chapter of Tales From Neibolt

The lightning pulses across the gray October sky as Arthur, decked out in his spectacles he seldom wore, leans under the hood of the broken down LaSalle. George and Al stand beside him, restless eyes switching between the car's innards and the moonless cloudy night sky, with the storm just beginning to gather momentum. George has a small flashlight raised just above Arthur's head, highlighting the smoking engine.

George's wife Kitty remains inside the vehicle, fingering her compact mirror, trying in vain to powder her nose in the less than adequate lighting.

Parked just behind the LaSalle was a Chevrolet, with Joe's arm hanging out the driver window, cigar smoke clouding from his thin lips, elbow rested along the door. His brother Cal sat in the passenger seat, leaning on his hand, looking thoroughly bored with the situation. In the backseat are Marie and Patrick, with Marie leaning against his thick brown coat.

"Think we can get it going again?" George queries as he nervously casts his gaze around them, his timorous visage briefly made visible in the crack of light that splits across the sky. Marie nuzzles closer to Patrick, tucking her head down as thunder rolls above them. Patrick pulls her closer, stroking her brown curls.

"The engine's blown..." Al offers, ducking down to inspect closer.

"Aye. Seen better days, I'm sure," Arthur slams the hood down and wipes his hands with a stained white handkerchief from his pants pocket. "This ain't goin' nowhere, lads."

"Shit," George straightens as he switches off the flashlight. "What we gonna do?"

"Dunno." comes Al's simple reply.

They were safe, far away from the Lafayette city limits. After dumping the body of the banker they'd kidnapped in a swamp after collecting the thirty thousand in ransom money, they were on Route 2 in direction to a town called Derry after a brief stop in Augusta. Arthur, however, had his sights set on Bangor. When the LaSalle broke down just short of them reaching the Derry welcome sign along the shadows of the trees on the outskirts of the town.

A hush falls over the group as Al saunters out onto the middle of the road, sniffling and kicking a pebble aside. That's when he sees, in the far off distance, a pair of headlights appearing almost out of nowhere. He rushes to the driver's side of the LaSalle and reaches for his Colt .38 revolver-small and discreet, so as to be presented at the first sign of trouble.

He stands and waits as George tosses the flashlight in through the back window of the LaSalle and stands alongside Al, arms folded, not nearly as alert as his big brother.

Inside the Chevrolet, Patrick rests his hand on his Luger laying on the seat beside Marie that he'd stolen off the body of a Lafayette officer.

Meanwhile, Joe and Cal also ready their weapons, with Joe craning his neck out the window to view the car drawing closer.

Arthur casually strolls to the passenger side, eyeing his own much larger Remington 22. Al preferred a sneak up and get them approach. Arthur preferred things more direct. If whoever this was coming up the road was going to give them trouble, they would be dealt with accordingly before they even knew what hit them.

The car, a Ford Roadster, quietly comes closer, eerily serene, the headlights taking on a more orange tint as it draws near. It comes to a stop alongside the Chevrolet, the silhouette of a driver, a man with hat, is barely visible.

As he shuts the engine off, he sits a moment, George tightens his grip on his revolver as Arthur keeps watch on his Remington. Then the man leans over to the passenger side, rolling down the window.

"You needing some help there?" a gravelly voice drifts out of the Ford, a hint of a lisp making the 's' sound more like 'shum.' Al snatches up the flashlight and strolls over, shining it in the man's face and is a little taken aback by what he sees.

Scars. Thin pale scars, ever so faint, threading up the man's creamy cheeks, beginning at the corners of his mouth and ending just under the rim of his Homburg hat.

"You needing some help?" the scarred man repeats. "I've fixed a car or two here and there. I could take a look-see."

"Yeah, yeah...sure." Al replies, studying the man's features, with his square jaw and intense round eyes.

This guy looks like he knows where some bodies are buried.

Al tenses as the driver side door pops open and the man emerges, revealing an incredibly tall frame in a sleek gray suit. Certainly taller than all of the men in their group.

In fact, he was a good foot taller than Al.

No matter. If this fellow pulled any funny business, they outnumbered him.

"Here," the man saunters over to the LaSalle, popping open the hood. He reaches his long arms in and begins tampering with the wires. Not long after there's a loud 'pop' sound and the engine roars back to life, taking a few minutes to struggle before running smoothly. Arthur gives a pleased nod of his head.

"Thanks mate!" He gives the man an enthusiastic pat on the back as Al looks relieved, exchanging glances with George.

"What's your name , my good sir?" George inquires.

"Robert. Robert Gray. Although folks 'round here call me Bob."

The man shuts the hood and returns to his car, before he removes his hat to give his scalp a quick scratch, revealing a shock of auburn.

"You folks needing a place to stay for the night? Something tells me you'd rather not be in a motel. Gotta place just a mile up the road. Nice and cozy," he gazes at Kitty and Marie. "The ladies can clean up. Sit by the fire, get warm. Maybe a hot meal."

Arthur looks at both George and Al, who in turn glance to Joe and Cal, with Patrick keeping his eyes on the strange man, sizing him up.

Something not right with that fella.

"I'm pretty knackered," Arthur whispers as he tilts closer to Al and George. "And if this chap thinks he's gonna pull something, we'll handle it. At any rate, we'd have a place to lay low. If he oversteps, we'll teach him a lesson."

"Looks like somebody already did." Al retorts before turning on his heel to face the man. "Alright. One night. We'll be outta your hair come morning."

"Great!" the man replies, grinning as he retreats back inside the Roadster. Patrick is watching the man from behind the foggy glass of the backseat window, brows knotting together as the man begins to drive ahead. Arthur, Al and George retreat back into the LaSalle and follow, with the Chevrolet right behind.

Patrick taps Joe on the shoulder. He grunts in response. "What's it now, Caudy?"

"That guy, he don't look right to me. Got a feelin' in my gut," Patrick says, keeping his dark eyes fixed ahead on the Roadster. "He's bad news, I can feel it."

"And if you're right, we'll put a bullet in his melon. No big deal. Guy seems kinda dopey to me anyhow," Joe says breezily as he chucks his cigar out the window. "Not really a threat. Doubt he's ever fired a gun in his life."

Patrick is not convinced. "You saw his face. He looks like a blind man tried to take a whack at him," he glances at Marie. "And I don't like how he was lookin' at her."

Joe chortles softly to himself. Doubt she'd mind it.

At this, point, both he and Cal had secret trysts with her behind Patrick's back. He suspected she'd also been fooling around with Arthur too. An assumption born out of her comment about his "sexy" Irish accent.

Funny, Patrick was suspicious of total strangers, but not the men he'd grown to call friends.

Maybe it's because he'd never had any before. His paranoia was off-putting but also what made him so kill crazy. Handsome to look at, but underneath was a volcano. Always ready to erupt at the slightest provocation.

Not tonight. Joe would see to that.

"Don't go pulling any of that shit. We don't wanna be drawing attention to ourselves here. Not in this hick place. You know these small towns. Everyone knows everyone. Just keep quiet. We don't need a repeat of Toledo."

Patrick had gone ballistic on a gas attendant he'd thought muttered some smart-ass comment under his breath. They'd sped out of there after Patrick splattered the man's brains along the smooth concrete with a single clean bullet to the temple.

Patrick sits back, roughly pulling Marie to him as Joe glances at the street sign; 29 Neibolt.

The Roadster parks in front of a large Victorian house. With the LaSalle and Chevrolet lining up right behind.

"Whoa," Cal mumbles as he peers around his brother to glimpse the place. "Seems this fella might have some serious dough."

"Looks like a dump to me." Joe replies, shutting off the engine and swinging open the door. He was not a man who was easily impressed and he'd robbed much more grander mansions than this in Danville.

"Kinda gammy looking." Arthur mutters to himself as he slides out the LaSalle.

Patrick steps out, followed by Marie, who looks dazzled, her hazel eyes wide and her ruby red lips breaking out in a smile. It was the style of house that had always struck her fancy.

"This place is gorgeous. Just look at that architecture! It's a palace!" she exclaims as she rushes ahead, making her way to the front porch, past sunflowers sprouting from the grassy front yard. Robert reaches down and plucks one, handing it to Marie.

"Sunflowers symbolize healing and good luck." he elucidates as she tucks it behind her ear. Patrick stands glaring as Joe touches his shoulder.

"Don't. It's harmless." he growls.

"Thank you. That's really very sweet, sir." Marie touches the flower.

"Sweets to the sweet, I say." Robert replies.

Patrick shakes Joe's hand off before he stalks towards the porch as everyone begins to pile into the home. As elegant inside as out, with a lovely red Victorian chaise lounge, matching camelback sofa and parlor chairs, each one sitting across from each other in front of the fireplace. The mantel boldly read 'Good Cheer, Good Friends.'

George smiles and playfully swats Robert's arm. "We're good friends now, eh, Bob?"

And friends help each other.

Too bad we don't have the means to clean this place out. The furniture would make a buck or two.

Robert merely smirks. A slow, deliberate smile as he looks at George. "Sure thing there. Why don't you all have a seat. I'll be right back."

"That's what my ex-wife said." Arthur quips as he collapses on a parlor chair, sprawling his legs out. It takes him a moment to notice; there's a fire now crackling inside. He stares at it, puzzlement blinking across his mien.

Huh, when did he do that? It wasn't going when we arrived and he didn't go near it...

No matter. Just enjoy it.

Kitty approaches the mantel, running her long shiny nails along little figurines of clowns, each made of delicate painted porcelain, juggling, balancing and one holding a bundle of red balloons.

"These are beautiful figurines." she says, tucking a tendril of sandy blonde behind her ear, bringing her blue irises closer to examine the fine details.

"Take one. Just throw it in your purse. Might as well." George blurts out. Kitty whirls around.

"We're his guests. He was kind enough to let us in here-"

"Come now, lass. Let's not pretend this bloke is an average citizen. You saw his face." Arthur offers, stretching his arms and folding his hands behind his skull, giving her an amused expression. "Looks to me like he may have been in a wee bit of trouble. He was probably acting the maggot and someone decided enough was enough. Could be a right eejit."

"Yeah," Al cradles his chin in his left fingers, massaging the dark stubble. "There's something...I gotta feeling he wouldn't rat us off. There's no way he wouldn't of recognized me, at least."

He's hiding something himself. Al could always sense them. His fellow ' bad seeds.' The people who ran in the gutters. The lowlifes. He could always pick them out.

The wanted posters were scattered across the midwest, plastered along buildings, hanging in post offices and police stations baring Al's face; wanted for bank robbery kidnapping and murder, with a reward of five-thousand dollars offered. He'd taken up with his old childhood friends the Conklin brothers Joe and Cal, who were small time, with but a few petty theft arrests between them. Patrick had killed a cop in Lafayette during their last raid and prior to that had just a few arrests for assault. He was a friend of Joe and Cal from their early gang days and they'd reconnected with him when Joe briefly did time for robbery, knocking off a small liquor store in Bloomington. He and Patrick had shared a cell.

As for Arthur Malloy, also known as 'Creeping Jesus' because he was nearsighted, he'd fled Ireland after killing a man he claimed insulted his dead sister who'd just passed away from tuberculosis. ("Kicked 'em square in the plums, then put a bullet in his brains, I did.")They'd met when Arthur was attempting to knock off the same liquor store as them and offered his LaSalle that he'd stolen as a getaway.

Patrick's girlfriend Marie Hauser had inadvertently joined the gang, initially trying to persuade him to leave, but soon became an active member. But her role was mostly cooking and washing linens, hence her much-despised nickname, "The washerwoman."

George's wife Kitty Donahue was another matter. She entered the gang enthusiastically and without hesitation, but Al has never so much as seen a gun in her hands. Not one for shooting, she'd say.

Patrick sits on the camelback, with Marie beside him, still happily fingering the sunflower. He glances up as Robert emerges, hat and coat discarded and hair combed back. He points towards the kitchen.

"This way," he says, gliding down the stairs. "Let's eat. Got some stew heating on the stove. Some wine on the table."

Arthur pauses as they all stand, the edges of his brows coming together in rumination.

When did he get that going?

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he continues on with the others, with Kitty quickly swiping one of the figurines from the mantel and tucking it into her purse. The one with the balloons.

They all settle around the large rectangular mahogany-carved table with Robert dumping a hefty spoonful of a rather unappetizing red slop into each bowl. Patrick suddenly rises.

"Where's your bathroom?" he queries curtly.

Robert points. "Third door on the right."

Patrick darkly glances at Marie, then Robert before exiting. The murmuring of the group's voices fade as he stomps up the stairs, making his displeasure with the situation known. Of course, his real intention was to inspect this place. Make sure no one was hiding anywhere. He makes his way along the house's arteries, looking in various rooms, until he hears a door loudly creak. This makes him halt, glancing over his shoulder

The door to a room across from him is ajar, the lights inside faint, but enough to showcase what's inside.

Clown dolls.

Patrick charily begins to edge towards it, his boots stepping lightly as he sneaks up. He knew that man was strange. Something off about him. This could be an ambush. Nobody is this gracious. Not in his life experience. Everyone is always wanting something from you.

"Ah-ha!" he shouts, throwing open the door all the way and leaping in. He stands a moment, surveying the area with the clown dolls of all shapes and sizes along the wooden floor. Framed along the walls; more clowns of the sad crying variety.

"Jesus..." Patrick strolls over to the windows-also baring clowns-the circus-themed stained glass were partly obscured by thin brown cloths layered thick with dust.

Heh,heh.

Patrick spins around.

Who was that?

He reaches inside his coat and grips his Luger. "Hey, who's there?"

It had sounded like a man's voice inside the room with him, but before he could comprehend where a possible attacker could be hiding in here, he sees that the heads of the creepy dolls are now all turned towards him. Watching.

Whoosh.

The cloths covering the windows plunge to the floor and Patrick flinches as he turns to face the sound.

Hee!

Patrick does another turn around to face the clowns. That one sounded like a child. Specifically a girl coming from somewhere within the clutter of the room.

In that moment, Patrick feels something he hadn't felt in ages, since he was a boy running from his father's belt; fear. A powerful, overwhelming sense that he needed to leave this room now. The instinct to protect himself had kicked in.

He dashes towards the door, coming to a skidding stop before it slams shut. His breathing heavy, his heart hammering against the cavity of his chest.

Back in the kitchen, Patrick storms in, returning to his seat, sweat pearled along his large forehead. Marie touches his trembling hand.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," he breathes, wild pupils directly on Robert. "Got a thing for clowns there, Bob?"

Robert slowly chews, staring back, before loudly swallowing. "Yes, sir. You could say that...I see you found my collection. "

"And it's a lovely one. I saw your figurines." Kitty interjects.

"Pretty fuckin' weird to me. A grown man..." Patrick grumbles. "What you hidin' in here?"

Robert sniffles, nibbling on his food. "Nothing, I assure you, Mr. Caudy-"

"Oh bullshit! What are you hidin'! What's in that room you freak!?" Patrick shouts as he stands, with Marie trying to subdue him and Joe mouthing curse words, when Kitty shrieking at the top of her lungs shatters the tension.

All eyes are drawn to her as she stares gaping at her spoon. "It's a finger!" she screams, holding it out for George to take a look. Upon inspecting it, he chuckles.

"It's a carrot honey." he pushes the vegetable slathered in red sauce around on the spoon.

"I swear, for a moment it looked just like a finger! A child's finger." Kitty pants, her palm clasped to her chest.

Patrick sinks back down to his chair, not taking his eyes off Robert, who chuckles.

"No fingers. Just an old family recipe, you could say."

"And what of your family Mr. Gray? Do you have a wife? Kids?" Marie chirps, trying to calmly rub Patrick's forearm. Robert considers a moment.

"No wife. No kids."

"Had to think about it huh?" Patrick cuts in. Joe gives him a swift kick to the shin under the table. Patrick glowers.

Unfazed, Robert continues, "I live alone. Just myself. Seems I've been alone for an eternity." he chortles that last line, as he sips his wine.

"I'd die from the loneliness." Marie replies.

"Nah, no one really dies in Derry." Robert says, to which an awkward silence falls over the table.

After a few beats of quiet. "So, uh, swinging bachelor huh?" George grins. "I kind of envy you..."

At this, Kitty scowls, gently, playfully swatting his arm. Al then stands, pushing his chair out. "Well, we best be getting to bed. We got an early start tomorrow." he announces.

Robert shows them to their rooms, pulling blankets from the closets for makeshift beds on the floors of the bedrooms to accommodate all of them, with Arthur opting to sleep downstairs on the camelback. Patrick keeps Marie locked in his sights as Robert bids them goodnight, shutting off the lights.

The house falls dark, with no sound, not even the thunder could be heard. Just deathly cold silence. As each member of the Bradley gang dozes off.

Patrick, having fallen asleep with troubled thoughts, realizing the man knew his surname when he'd not offered it, is soon awakened by a pair of hands on him. Small hands, shaking him violently.

"The Hell?" he mutters, wiping the sleepiness from his eyes as he looks up. Nothing there. He sits up, glancing at a slumbering Marie as he is pulled, almost hypnotically, to that odd clown room again. Almost as if waiting for him, the door swings open. Hearing the beckoning of a little girl's voice, not very audible before, but crystal clear now.

"Molly..." he whispers as he sees a miniature coffin now on display between the stained glass windows, the clown dolls forming a pathway as he approaches.. The door quietly shuts behind him as the coffin lid creaks open. He glances down at his hands, seeing he is now smaller, childlike, around twelve. The age he was when Molly drowned.

In her coffin, her eyes are closed, her face sweet. Her skin a pale blue and her brown ringlets held by pink ribbons. Sniffling, Patrick leans in to kiss her cheek. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you." he whimpers through stinging tears. As he hangs his head, Molly's eyes burst open and she draws in a sharp breath.

"Ah!" Patrick stumbles backwards as Molly bolts upwards scowling, mouth sneering in contempt.

"Sorry for what? Hitting me in the head with that rock and accidentally knocking me into the river or running off like a coward? You didn't even try to save me, you fucking wimp."

She steps out of the coffin and leaps to the ground as Patrick watches her features distort, growing more white, her lips redder. She spreads her arms out, grinning maniacally, her angelic voice now raspy and insidious.

"Beautiful fear." she grins as she runs at him, roaring as she displays quill-like teeth, growing taller, her brown locks turning orange, her frilly pink dress becoming a gray-white. The clown dolls hiss with laughter as Patrick is backed against the door, which suddenly opens and Marie is there, screaming as the Molly creature, now a lanky tall clown with a striped face, comes at them. Patrick, now an adult man again, staggers up, terror gripping every inch of his being as he slams the door, yanking Molly away.

In the next room, George, Al and Kitty are awakened by the screams, as Kitty flips on the bedside lamp, standing just before them is the banker, covered in blackened mud and slime, his jaw dangling as he reaches his dislocated right limb out towards them. A deep otherworldly moan emitting from his misshapen mouth.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Kitty screams hysterically as George and Al reach for their guns, finding they are unable to fire.

"What the Hell! My gun is jammed up!" Al yells as they scramble for the door. Thankfully the banker zombie was nowhere near their escape route and they dash out, meeting Marie and Patrick, both holding each other. The lights above them flicker off and on, with a hideous high-pitched giggle echoing through the walls as Joe and Cal burst from their room, both looking pale.

As if they'd seen a ghost.

"That gas station worker Patrick iced? He's in our fucking room! Looking like he crawled straight outta his grave!" Cal yells.

Just then, they hear Arthur shouting. They all make their way downstairs, where Arthur is in the kitchen, his scrawny frame cowering against the wall, yelling as he points at a large boiling pot on the stove.

"I woke up and heard someone in the kitchen then I-I saw..." he stutters as he points a shaky finger at the pot. George steps over and gags at what he sees.

A head. Too disintegrated to tell the gender or age, boiling in blood. The sight and smell of rotting flesh sends George gagging and choking as he falls backwards, covering his mouth.

"Jesus fuck!"

"What is it?" Kitty demands.

"Never mind." George coughs.

Huddled together, they run towards the front door, The lights still flashing, the ugly laugh still reverberating. They all jump into their cars and by the grace of God, the LaSalle starts, engine blaring as they speed away. Some only barely clothed, with Marie wrapped in Patrick's coat that she often slept in to keep warm.

As dawn bleeds through the sky and the gang take refuge in a nearby farmhouse, the extra clothes and guns in the trunks of the cars coming in handy, The women take a calming trip to Freese's with Patrick in tow while the rest of the men went to Machen's Sporting Goods to order some more supplies. Lal, the owner, recognized Al immediately, despite the fake name he'd given; Richard D. Rader, and informed some of his buddies that he was expecting Al Bradley at two in the afternoon the day after tomorrow and just as the LaSalle and Chevrolet came into view on Main Street, the gang of Derry residents, armed to the teeth, opened fire.

As the shoot-out ensues, Biff Marlow, one of the gunmen, spies a scar-faced man in a gray suit with a sunflower tucked in the left breast pocket firing a Remington along with them. In fact, all the gunmen had spotted this complete stranger. They all figured he was an outsider wanting to join the party. Afterwards, as the bodies of the notorious Bradley Gang were on display in the bullet-ridden Chevrolet and LaSalle, Marlow watches as the man strolls away, whistling, one hand cradling the Remington on his shoulder, the other in his pocket.

Marlow could never be certain, and it bothered him for years after. Something he related to his drinking buddies while reminiscing about the killings. He could have sworn that, despite the bright sunlight, the stranger didn't cast any shadow.

No shadow at all.

#pennywise #it #Robert Gray #Fanfiction Art

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jmeddows2 · 5 years

Text

Everything I do, I do it for you (Roger Taylor x Reader)

It’s now time to give @veriloquently my present for ‘A night at the fandom’. Be prepared for a 2,6k+ fic filled with lots of fluff (some may even call it cringe, so sorry about that).I also tried to create a visual for some of the scenes which you can catch on the ‘moodboard’ :) anyways,I gave it a go, I hope you’ll like it - your secret santa @dtfrogertaylor ps: I’m sorry for any mistakes/weird grammar, english is not my first language, but I’m always trying my best :) Summary: It’s 1971. You’re John Deacon’s roommate, he joins a band, read for for more ;)

“Y’know, I’ll never get your taste of music“ startled as you were applying some makeup,when a quick glance in the mirror in front of you revealed Roger peeking into the room. Being John Deacons roommate was everything you could have ever wished for, it was very relaxing in fact. He was kind, attentive, strong, sane and quiet, so there were no wild college parties that could have kept you awake at night. John was also one of the most intelligent and independent people you’d have ever known and also witty and not as afraid of speaking up, once he warmed up to you. He was a morning person, even woke you up in time when he noticed you might oversleep and of course,the table always already decorated with breakfast every single morning, which he prepared beforehand. John was very fond of the football club ‘Queen’s Park Rangers’, but another passion of his was music. He wasn’t entirely obsessed with it though, so it surprised you when he told you about auditioning to be the bass player of a band, which you couldn’t quite believe at first, until he introduced you to his new band mates about two weeks ago. Freddie, the lead singer was somehow like John. He was shy at first, but as soon as he was on stage, Freddie turned into something else. He had the audience in the palm of his hand, which most people didn’t even realize at that time. Brian was the most caring one of them, he accidently stepped on your foot helping you reach for something on the top shelf of your kitchen and kept apologizing for two weeks afterwards, because the guilt was eating him alive. Oh Brian. And then there was Roger, the most annoying person you’d ever encountered. He was nosy and had been hanging out in John and your flat every single day now, since you’d first met. John even got quite annoyed by it, but didn’t have the heart to tell him off yet. “What do you want, Roger?” you spat playfully at him. He didn’t answer, instead he stepped into your room, admiring the posters of artists he wasn’t familiar with, or simply despised. Rock’N’Roll was the only thing that mattered to Roger, it was basically running through his veins. Almost causing him to abandon his own biology studies because of music, as he only ever started revising a week before big exams. “Who even listens to that? Or these hippies” he took a step toward the poster and squinted his eyes “Fleetwood Mac pfff” “Alright blind melon Taylor, are you done? Then leave!” you pointed towards the door. “Ok, I deserved that” he stepped back hopping onto your bed making a few of the pillows fall to the ground, as he was digging through some of your magazines that were lying on the bed, while constantly cringing because of the record that was playing in the background. You continued doing your make up. Being completely lost in thoughts, you didn’t even notice Roger staring, as he was lying on his tummy watching you intently apply some makeup along the waterline of your eye. “You’re really good at that huh?” Roger said with his elbows on the bed, hands rested under his chin as he admired you and you looked at him through the mirror in front of you when he continued: “uh with the makeup stuff. I’m sure John told you about our first gig that’s happening pretty soon? and I uhh.. Could you maybe do my makeup for it?” His sudden nervous being made you smile, as he had always been rather cocky, but you agreed to do it anyway. “Now let’s see what else you got there” he jumped up to roam through your collection of records, expecting him to pick one from the few (hard) rock albums you owned which were ‘worthy’ of his time. Once he found the right one, he placed it on the record player and put the needle on. The record started spinning and Roger watched you, waiting for a reaction on your face when a voice started saying: “Fellas, I'm ready to get up and do my thing I wanna get into it, man, you know I wanna get into it, man, you know Like a, like a sex machine, man, Movin', doin' it, you know Can I count it off? (Go ahead)” Then the music started. Get Up I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine by James Brown. He wiggled his eyebrows at you as your serious gaze turned into a smile. “Roger” “Hey, it’s not my record” he laughed. “I think I could get into your style of music” winking at you “I’m only kidding” He nudged your side and serious look was painted on his face. Roger was just inches away from your face when suddenly the door burst open. John. “oh uhm dinner’s ready” he awkwardly stumbled out of the room. “Did he come on to you or something?” John asked handing you another plate to dry off with the cloth in your hand, doing the dishes. Roger had dinner with John and you, but the awkward silence continued throughout,until he left. “You know, I don’t have to join the band, especially when it includes a guy creeping on my best friend or not treating her right” John continued, scrubbing another plate clean. Reassuring him was quite easy, at least you thought so, but John made sure to keep an eye on him every time Roger came over, or when you joined their band rehearsals. Every time Roger came over. Not a single day passed, where the blonde boy didn’t knock on your door. It was odd. He started making up little excuses for coming over. One time he claimed that his oven was broken and he couldn’t make something to eat, that’s why you thought he was just trying to scrounge around, looking for free food. Your assumptions turned out to be wrong though, when he called wanting to come over to study for uni, because there apparently had been a construction site right below the window of his living room. Of course it was a lie, which quickly proved itself when he turned up without any textbooks on him and joined John and you in watching some movies instead. It was 10pm and you were asleep, still able to make out some quiet noises from the tv, with your head on Roger’s shoulder, his arm around your shoulder resting on your back, the feeling of his soft, warm skin on your cheek and your nose lightly brushing against his soft, long hair, taking in his scent. It was a mixture of nicotine and faint cologne and it fit his whole persona. Your hand was resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Your heart clenched when he brought his other hand to your cheek, drawing circles on it with the rough pad of his thumb. Tracing along the features of your face, he audibly sighed: “If only you’d feel the same way”, continuing he brought his free hand to your long, dark hair to caress it. His soft touches were enough to make you relax and cuddle even further into his chest. “She still asleep?” John whispered from the kitchen, as he prepared a final ‘good night’ tea for him and Roger. “Yeah” “You can stay over, wouldn’t wake her now though if you want to continue staying alive” John chuckled thinking about how you weren’t a morning person at all, the complete opposite to him, as he sipped away his tea Roger smiled, thinking about how it would feel to wake up next to you, having you wake up in his arms, when John brought him back down to earth: “I see the way you’re always looking at her. Listen, Roger we haven’t known each other for very long now, but I know that look! I’m sure she’s the only reason you’re always over, but she’s not another conquest!” John said in a serious tone, almost warning his new band member. “Don’t play with her if you don’t mean it! She’s a special girl! One of the kindest, most beautiful people inside and out I’ve ever met!” both taking a sip from their tea. “I doubt she’d like me anyway, so you don’t have to worry, Deaky” Roger took a front strand of your hair, softly twirling it around his finger, then releasing it while his eyes were fixed on your face, admiring your beauty. “Better be telling the truth, Rog, or else I’ll have to punch you in the face. I wouldn’t be so sure about her not liking you though” John got up, reaching for both empty mugs. “Quite like the new nickname. Deaky.” John smiled wishing him goodnight. You could have sworn that it was all just a dream when a soft snoring into your ear woke you up. Roger. His arm draped over your waist, legs tangled with yours holding you tight. You were in your own bed now, as he had carried you all the way to your bedroom and and you kind of felt like a little kid again, that’s been carried there by their parents. The thought alone made you smile, so you pulled back a little to get a full view of his beautiful face. Roger was still wearing his jeans, but no shirt. He wasn’t really muscular at all, while his soft dark blond hair fell in waves to his shoulders, a few locks hanging in his face. You decided to carefully brush it out with your hands and the goal not to wake him up, without success. He slowly opened his shining blue eyes and you pulled back. “Good morning” he mumbled with a smile on his face, quite unsure of how to handle the situation without making you feel uncomfortable, removing his hand from your waist. “Morning” you were staring at the ceiling, trying to hide the fact you’d been staring at him, your heart beating fast, then looking back at him again. “You didn’t have to carry me here last night” “Wasn’t going to let you have a sore back, love, besides, it’s not very gentleman like leaving a beautiful lady on an uncomfortable couch” he smiled. “well, thanks, Roger” you placed your hand on his bare chest, leaving it there a little longer than intended, when his eyes dropped down to look at your hand, then back to your lips, biting his own. Roger slowly leaned forward to put a gentle kiss on your lips when you pulled back with concern. “I have morning breath” you managed to say. “I don’t care” he placed another kiss on your lips “but you have it as well” you laughed. This time he pulled back, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink, but you couldn’t resist him anymore. Reassuring him that he was fine, you moved on top of him, crashing your lips against his, earning a moan when your hands found its way into his messy hair, his hand placed on your hip and mouths moving in perfect sync. Since then you decided to keep your little affair? Hook-ups? private. You didn’t even know how to define it, but it was hard to hide your affection/cravings for one another. It was especially harder when the other boys were around, for example when you were doing his makeup for their first ever gig, not trying to get caught when he shamelessly placed kisses on to your face, every time you leaned forward with your makeup brush. It all changed when one night Roger invited you over to his flat for dinner. Opening the door it revealed him in a black shirt that was halfway unbuttoned and black trousers with little white bows along the outside of each leg. He greeted you with a passionate kiss, handing you a little bouquet of roses, then leading you into his flat. “That was just the first present of the night.” He winked. “Food’s going to be finished in a second, but first” he quickly disappeared into another room, only to arrive seconds later with a ball of fluff in his arms. “This is Dusty, my neighbour’s cat” he held the cat’s paw out for your hand to take and greet him . It was hilarious, yet adorable. His loving way of patting the cat oh so lightly made your heart clench. . “They asked me to watch him while they’re in Australia, visiting their family” he continued patting its head, but suddenly remembered the food on the stove. You took the cat from him when he headed off into the kitchen. “I didn’t know what you’d rather enjoy so I made two different meals, number one an Alfredo chicken bake and number two a pumpkin and spinach cannelloni” after placing the plates on the table, you were digging into your food, not expecting Roger to be that much of a decent cook. The dining table was also beautifully and romantically decorated with a vase of roses and tiny heart shaped décor all over the table making it seem like Valentine’s Day, and 100 percent unlike Roger. Dusty jumped on the chair right next to you, also joining in on dinner , when Roger grabbed a tiny plate to put some chicken on it for him. “Maybe we could also adopt a cat? Or a dog? “Roger asked looking up to read your reaction. “ I love animals, but dogs own my heart.” You admitted with your mouth full of food, bringing your hand to your mouth, trying to cover it. “I thought I owned your heart, do I have some competition here?” Roger cheekily smiled. “Y’know we’d make great dog parents” he continued, shoving yet another fork into his mouth. His comment made you blush considering you’d been ‘together’ for about three months now, but eventually talking about ‘children’ even if it was just in the form of animals. “Never took you for such an amazing cook, Rog” you hugged him from behind placing a kiss on his neck as he placed the plates into the sink. “I’ll take it as a compliment, but now moving on to the next surprise.” Roger took your hand leading you into the living room. “I know I’ve been giving you quite a heart time about your taste of music but..” “Roger” you interrupted. “No, please, let me finish.” He took your hands into his, looking deep into your eyes “as I said, your taste in music.. It’s different, but so are you” brushing your hair behind your ear “ you make me such a happy man, supporting me no matter what, being always there. You were putting up with me when I was being an annoying shit, trying to get your attention. That’s why I’m asking you now. Will you be my girlfriend?” he nervously pulled out two tickets from the back pocket of his pants, which happened to be for the Fleetwood Mac show at the Marquee club in the following august. He smiled at you waiting in anticipation for an answer when you pulled him into a tight hug. It was such a sweet gesture. You knew he hated the music, but still got the tickets, knowing they were your favourite band. “Yes, yes ,yes, Roger!” you took his face into your hands and kissed his soft lips passionately. “I love you, Lucy” “I love you too, Roger” And it was true. Roger would do anything for you. He would leave the light on for you, even if it was too bright for him. Listen to records he didn’t like. Take you to concerts of bands he didn’t like. Watch the worst and cheesiest romantic movies. It didn’t matter to him, as long as you were there with him.

#a night at the fandom #roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor x reader #John Deacon #Queen #queen + Adam Lambert #Brian May #freddie mercury #fleetwood mac

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danganronpedits-archived · 4 years

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Hello! I wanted a kin match if possible, preferably danganronpa! I’m an INFP-T (sometimes I get INFJ-T) and I’m probably either a 5w6 or 6w7. I fake my personality and lie to make people happy when I’m around them. I’m super anxious, self-conscious, and self-deprecating. I have many hobbies but feel completely talentless. I fake being bubbly and optimistic around people and I act cold and analytical when I’m trying to protect myself. I cry and daydream a lot, and I always feel like a burden. -🍈

yes, you can definitely get a kin matchup...! it’ll be placed under the cut, in case i start going off on a tangent again... i want your matchup to be as accurate as possible, so there’ll only be two major characters that i’ll assign you,, since you’re not asking for more than one source,,

um, but i do want to say that i hope you can feel better about yourself soon,, i’m sure that you have talent and that things will get better for you! you seem really lovely from this ask,, and i understand feeling stuck in your own head at times,,, but i promise you’re not nearly as much of a burden as you may think...

-mod tsu (mikan shift)

first off, from danganronpa another episode: ultra despair girls, i match you with...

kotoko utsugi!

unfortunately, kotoko doesn’t have free time events for me to refer to. however, like you, i think that even though she has extroverted tendencies, kotoko... has more of an introvert vibe to me, if that makes sense. she doesn’t really seem to get energised by other people the way extroverts do, although she does seem to generally like people. i think you could relate to this- it’s okay to take some time to wind down, haha... um, your enneagram types. i think that for 6w7s, both of you enjoy being around other people, fear losing your support systems(other people), strongly value reliability/trust in relationships, have a tendency to doubt themselves/others, and are naturally social and spirited. for 5w6s, both of you are hard-working and analytical solvers of problems, tend to pick up skills or knowledge that can be useful, remain calm in times of crisis(typically), have difficulty taking action when not inspired, and can be private or defensive. those are just some similarities.. and i think that the two of you share a lot of general traits. i don’t know you personally, but maybe you relate to her eccentricities- like how she’ll get into strange tangents(for example, in a conversation that’s too long, she starts going on and comparing it to how giraffe necks or elephant noses are too long). maybe not exactly something like that, but maybe you can relate to being a little odd in some areas !! i love that mango. and like, i don’t want to say “maybe you’re ~quirky~ because you use the ~melon emoji~” but at the same time... maybe you’re quirky because you use the melon emoji ? you’re gonna have to fill me in. ah or don’t !!! you don’t have to !!,, sdjf plus, i think that kotoko does fake her personality. in the art book, it’s implied that kotoko’s cutesy, cheerful personality is all a front. in fact, it’s specifically said by kotoko that without that character she plays, she would become miserable. she could also be joking here, or at least playing off her feelings as a joke, which relates to that self deprecating comment you said. she is definitely a liar, though... her ingame relationship with monaca is based off of her acting ability, at least until the end of it.

i think that kotoko is very anxious. specifically around adults- she has a strong distrust of them due to her... upbringing, and a lot of her jokes are very dramatic( “Sorry for the intrusion, tank you veddy much! Phew, I reached waaay back for that reference! I had to deal with baby boomers all the time, so my gags are kinda dated.”). um, with the implication of her theatrics being a persona, it can also be implied that her jokes are also part of that mask... um, plus, i think that her general vibe doesn’t make her come off as self conscious per say. but you may be able to relate to that too... since while i don’t want to call either of you dishonest, the “bubbly” and “optimistic” demeanor you both give off is a facade, as you said. while her happy facade isn’t directly for other people, she does find value(to an extent) in cheering up monaca, and does care about the other warriors of hope. plus, a big part of why she wants to be strong is to surpass her upbringing, in my eyes. it’s kind of clear with her trauma that there’s something lurking under the surface, though- you may not have the same story as her, but there’s a similar concept there. while kotoko doesn’t have many hobbies... honestly, you’d be a bit pressed to find a danganronpa character who does. however, i think that aside from acting, she also has enjoyment in the fashion department, as well as enjoying things she deems “adorbs”. she collects said objects, and is like... a connoisseur of cute. a cutenoisseur, if you will. she may feel talentless to an extent, however, as she doesn’t seem to enjoy talking about her previous stage life despite claiming to adore it. it could be that the acting reminds her of the upbringing she lived through, but. lastly, i think that kotoko fakes being cheerful, polite, and bubbly around other people. though i’ve already talked about that haha,, she does get very cold, borderline rough, when she’s paranoid or upset. she mans a robot from god-knows-where to take down what she sees as threats, and does have an entire setup of lies that she presents to monaca in order to keep herself safe. she does also cry very often, and we don’t exactly know about her daydreaming, but she doesn’t seem to have the highest attention span- as i touched upon with her off-topic rambles.

second off, from danganronpa V3, i match you with...

angie yonaga!

please hear me out on this one... despite angie’s extroverted tendencies, i think that she is an introvert to an extent. for starters, she’s the ultimate artist, a very introverted activity. for the rest of your mbti type, um... while i won’t go over the P/J since that’s not really set in stone... in the N(intuitive) and F(feeling) aspects, i think that angie can shine. while angie is a very logical person, i think that this is mostly because of how in tune she is with her feelings regarding her religion. um... her intuition is very much to trust in what she believes her god can do for everyone.. sorry, i got a bit off topic there. in the enneagram types, i think there’s also some overlap between both of them that fits into angie as well. um, first off, 6w7 types fear losing their support system(which for you can be other people. i think angie’s is her religion, but you may be able to relate to her in this way, using “support system” as a concept, instead of religion vs relationships specifically.), devote themselves to specific causes, enjoy being around others, and care deeply for other people(see the student council, and her classmates in general). plus, the 5w6 types also tend to make logical decisions, feel stressed out by emotional vulnerability, can struggle to believe in or understand others, and prefer to do deeper thinking alone. while they have a bit of contrast in both of their descriptions, all of the listed traits apply to angie, and i assume that at least a few of them apply to you as well. though, your “probably” kind of makes me feel like you got more unrelated types on the enneagram test, haha... maybe you got a 3, or something? my point is, both types “combine” to make angie. the two of you, i think, lie about your personalities. some people even point out how angie’s constant smiling is eerie, but i don’t think she’s that happy all the time. this comic made by ministarfruit pretty much sums up how i see angie... not to be a stan or anything ajfsdjf,,,, she does lie to an extent though, and is chipper and eccentric for the sake of people around her. she’s essentially everyone’s “hope” in the face of the k/lling school semester- or at least, she tries to be.

um... despite us not really being able to see into her possibility of self loathing, shuichi(in her free time events) finds it likely that she becomes lonely very easily. she has a sickle ready to... well, stab into her window in case she feels sad- and in her free time events she seems very ready to do so. even if it is dismissed as a joke- which, that “joking” part i think you can relate to, actually. plus, the fact that she finds it hard to budge from her own views could possibly,, be a defense mechanism for insecurity... i don’t want to assume, but !! um, also, it’s strongly implied that she struggles to differentiate her god’s intentions from her own. even though religion can be part of someone’s self, yes, i think that this could show that she has issues with her identity. at least, the identity she has that’s “her own”. like, beyond how her god demands her to be. without her religion, she might struggle to have an identity of her own. once again... we don’t really know a lot about her past, but issues with the self can... definitely cause(or be caused by) anxiety, like you mentioned experiencing. also, identity issues can be caused by factors of one’s upbringing, or stressful events... so while she’s not very self deprecating, i think angie could have lower self esteem. whether that’s from her upbringing or something else. despite her pride in her religion, which might make you disagree, she doesn’t seem to be very proud of her own achievements(such as being the ultimate artist), as she says that that’s all her god’s work. maybe you could relate to that; people complimenting you and you finding it hard to accept for one reason or another. i’m proud of your achievements, anon... um. but i think that this relates to your next point, saying that you have several hobbies yet feeling talentless. while “art” technically is one hobby, art is definitely an umbrella term. sculpting and drawing are very different medias, and angie is very talented in both, but both of you share the belief that it’s not really... a talent that you possess. there,, might always be a reason that you come up with for someone else being able to do it too, you know? eh, but that could be me just guessing... oh, and something i forgot to mention- in trials, angie also becomes colder or more analytical when she’s trying to protect herself/classmates. she doesn’t hesitate to incriminate others if she thinks they’re suspicious.

in the minor matchups category,, you also remind me somewhat strongly of masaru daimon, and kokichi ouma, as well as somewhat of toko fukawa. oh, and you lightly remind me of misaki asano, himiko yumeno, and ruruka ando...

i hope this was helpful anon !!! i had a bit of trouble deciding on someone for you,,, so if there’s anything i got wrong please let me know- i’m happy to modify something in here for you !! i’m not super confident in this one haha,, so if you disagree i completely understand, go ahead and tell me ,,,,

#kin matchup #danganronpa kin #dr kin #icon by xc4tb0yk0m4ed4-kinhelpx #religion tw #ask #request finished #anon

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jmsa1287 · 5 years

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Cupid's Arrow Hits & Misses Amazon's Starry Anthology Series 'Modern Love'

late to posting but here’s my take on “Modern Love.”

The romantic comedy has undergone a boom in the last few years. The genre that had a strong presence in the 90s and 00s has mostly vanished from the cineplex as of late but streaming services — namely Netflix — has filled that market, turning out a number of films ("To All the Boys I Loved Before," "Always Be My Maybe") and TV shows ("Love," "Easy," "She's Gotta Have It") that have fans excited. Amazon's new anthology series "Modern Love," based on The New York Times' popular column of the same name, aims to snuggly fit into that void but has varying results. Drawing inspiration from the anthology films "Paris, I Love You" and especially its American sequel "New York, I Love You," "Modern Love," which hits Amazon in full on Friday, consists of eight half-hour episodes that follow people through various types of love while living in the Big Apple. Of course, there's romantic love but the show also takes the time to explore bonds like friendships and familial connections. Tone, too, is different from each episode. Sometimes stories pulsate with new romance and others ache with loss. It is apt that Irish filmmaker John Carney created the series after finding success with warm musicals like "Once," "Begin Again" and most recently "Sing Street." He's the latest writer/director to head to the small screen and though he's behind most of the episodes here, he gets some help along the way, where "Catastrophe" star/creator/writer Sharon Horgan, "Shameless" star Emmy Rossum and "Bachelors Walk" writer Tom Hall fill out a few episodes.

Nevertheless, it's mostly Carney's words that dominate "Modern Love"; his penchant for romantic realism pops off here like in the first lovely episode "When the Doorman Is Your Main Man," starring "How I Met Your Mother" actress Cristin Milioti. (She also won a Grammy for starring in "Once" on Broadway.) Here she plays Maggie, a young woman living by herself in her parents' rent-controlled New York City apartment. As she says goodbye to dates in front of the building a doorman keeps watch and later disapproves of every new dude she brings by; his discerning critiques plaguing her mind. The episode could easily go sour but Carney makes the first offering of "Modern Love" surprisingly sweet without getting too saccharine, which can't be said about other episodes in the series, including the finale as well as the Dev Patel and Catherine Keener starrer "When Cupid is a Prying Journalist." Even if romantic comedies are not your thing, it is easy to dip in-and-out of "Modern Love" based on its star power. The best episode of the season — and one of the best episodes of TV this year — is "Take Me as I Am, Whoever I Am," written and directed by Carney. It stars Anne Hathaway and the episode is completely tailored to her, showcasing her strengths in a way we've never seen before. Here she plays Lexi, who is bipolar, as she navigates her complicated work and love life. (Comparisons to "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend" cannot be avoided.) Her story starts when she meets a man played by Gary Carr ("The Deuce") at a supermarket. She breaks into song-and-dance a la "La La Land" as she strikes up a conversation with him. There's pitter-patter about melons, late nights and the city, which eventually gives way to a proper date. Hathaway is charming as ever, glowing and electric. But things soon take a darker turn when it is revealed the romantic moment was part of a manic episode and Lexi quickly spirals into a deep depression. It's an Emmy worthy turn that allows Hathaway to do a little bit of everything.

Another "Modern Love" highlight is "Hers Was a World of One," starring Olivia Cooke ("Bates Motel"), out actor Andrew Scott ("Fleabag") and Broadway actor Brandon Kyle Goodman. Scott and Goodman are a couple looking to adopt a child and take in Cooke's character, a young homeless woman looking for the perfect loving couple to give her child to. It's a tense episode and perhaps the most nuanced and complex of the bunch, with excellent performances from the trio of actors. Horgan's episode "Rallying to Keep the Game Alive" stars Tina Fey and "Mad Men" actor John Slattery as a married couple on the rocks. They go to therapy, sometimes catch a movie afterward, hang with their kids and repeat. The couple rekindles when they start to play tennis — a metaphor for a relationship that is completely lost on the screen. It's a dull half-hour with Horgan's writing rarely shining through (Fey gets some one-liners and a built-up climax has some "Catastrophe"-like spark) but given the talent both behind and in front of the camera, it's a big letdown. What's worse is "At the Hospital, an Interlude of Clarity," starring Sofia Boutella ("Climax," "Kingsmen") and John Gallagher Jr. ("The Miseducation of Cameron Post"), who are on one of their first dates. Things go awry when they end up in the hospital, spending hours together and essentially compressing several dates into one long, arduous night. Boutella is naturally charming in the role but the tired trope of stunning women falling for normal-but-funny dudes is extremely tired and the episode greatly suffers for it. "Modern Love" is ultimately the Hallmark card version of TV. It's lovely in the moment — and may even tug at your heartstrings — but it most likely won't leave a lasting impression.

#modern love #tv #tv shows #romcom #romantic comedy #John Carney #Sharon Horgan #Emmy Rossum #Cristin Milioti #Catherine Keener #dev patel #Anne Hathaway #andrew scott #olivia cooke #tina fey #John Slattery #jennifer garner

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magioftheseas · 5 years

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Lonely Existence

KamuKoma Week Day 7: komaeda's birthday!

Summary: Kamukura's sent to give Komaeda a birthday present and spends the day with him while everyone else is out.

Rating: G

Warnings: None, really. Aside from like...language? Thanks Matsuda.

Notes: Last fic for the week! Yeeeeeeeah, I did it! Of course I included more Matsuda. MatsuKamuKoma is love and life although it’s still largely KamuKoma focused, haha. This is bittersweet fluff, I suppose?

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

It had been as uninteresting a day as any. He was content to do nothing about it, and indeed, because it was Sunday, he predicted such would be the case. However, that did not happen.

“Hey, Kayako. Get the hell up.” A few snaps overhead. “Up, up. I know you’re actually awake, you fucking brat.”

Despite the snarling, he’s of course unbothered. His eyes do open however it is leisurely and Matsuda’s scowl deepens as it looms over him. His face is pinched up in a special kind of annoyance. Ah.

“Something happened,” he said. “Inconvenient, I presume?”

“Stupid plane bullshit. I have to go pick up some ugly bitch before they call animal control.” Matsuda sighed heavily, raking his fingers through his hair. “Someone else would’ve done it, but she’s running late and she contacted me. I’m really not in a good mood right now. I have a favor that needs to be done.”

With that, he lightly smacks Kamukura’s forehead with a wrapped up book.

“This is for Komaeda Nagito in Class 77-B. Thankfully for you, he’s the only idiot in the class still on campus because the rest of them fucked off to some photogenic resort for someone else’s birthday. He was sick so he couldn’t go with. He’s probably depressed but is going to keep on smiling like a fucking idiot so make sure this gets to him?”

“You did not strike me as the type to prepare presents, Matsuda Yasuke,” Kamukura said lowly. “Is this retribution, then?”

“Yeah, it is. He bought me something I couldn’t find anywhere else.” Matsuda rolled his eyes. “Don’t make this fucking weird. It’s only courtesy to buy something for someone in return. I know you should have some basic idea of what that is.”

“...hmph.” He pushes himself up, but takes the gift anyway. “How boring. There is no value in celebrating a day merely for one birth of many.”

“If you’re jealous then I can have you registered for your own birthday.” A pause. “Or you can take Hinata’s. It’s not like he’s really using it anymore.”

“Such trifles do not concern me.”

“Of course they don’t. Well, either way, I expect you to deliver it. Or else I’ll draw on your face while you sleep.”

“...”

“And cut your hair too, while I’m at it.”

“Understood. It will be delivered immediately.”

“Awesome.” Matsuda seemed satisfied enough, turning on his heel to head out with a pop of some joints. He stopped for a moment. “I’m not going to be back until late tonight. The train ride to the airport is obnoxiously far and the flight is probably going to get delayed again, knowing what I’m dealing with. That’s not even accounting for the other bullshit I’ll definitely get saddled with along the way. Whatever. If you get lonely or something...”

Kamukura stared at him blankly.

“Well. You could do worse. Just saying. All the same. Ciao.”

With a wave of his hand, he stepped out. Kamukura finally scoffed.

Such trifles did not concern him in the slightest. But it was not often he left his room. It was even less so that Matsuda Yasuke requested his services. He often only ever did what the researchers told him to do, and whenever Matsuda Yasuke told him to do anything, it was often...less than menial. Always detached.

“Stand still.”

“Don’t whine so much.”

“Relax.”

“You will accomplish many wonderful things, Kamukura Izuru-kun,” the researchers would crow.

Komaeda Nagito hadn’t believed that at all. Not in the slightest.

“Hope can’t be born in a lab,” he would say, breathily and brimming with straining emotion. “Just what were they thinking?”

The answer had been obvious. Apparent. Boring. Komaeda Nagito had just gotten more irritated with him.

Komaeda Nagito...is irritable as Matsuda Yasuke. Around myself. And no one else.

It shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t care. It’s boring. Everything is boring.

“With an attitude like that, you really aren’t going to make any friends,” Matsuda had said once, tone dull and eyes on his manga instead of Kamukura.

Boring.

“You say that but it’s human nature to be social, y’know.”

So boring.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe you’re not at least a little lonely.”

Boring, boring, boring.

Such concerns were mere trifles. And yet, the crinkling of wrapping under his tightening grip cuts through those thoughts as if they were nothing. Kamukura lightens it as to not damage the gift, and keeps his eyes straight ahead. He walks until he sees the fluttering of birds. His pace does not quicken. He maintains a leisure stride.

Komaeda Nagito is crouched low. He has a remaining, crumpled half of melon bread in one hand, and is spreading crumbs with the other. The birds pick at them. One has nested into his hair.

“You know,” Kamukura finds himself saying. “That provides very little nutritional value.”

“Good morning to you too, Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda replies, without even looking at him. “Out for a walk on this fine day? It’s good luck, isn’t it, to have such lovely weather.”

“No.”

“Well, alright.” Komaeda’s laugh is soft, strained at edges that would’ve been indiscernible to anything less than Kamukura Izuru’s sharp ears. “I mean, I think it is. And with the rest of my class gone, it’s quiet. Relaxed. Not that I prefer being without them, but... They can be noisy.”

“Mm.” It is mildly irritating how Komaeda Nagito is willfully oblivious to the gift in Kamukura’s hands. How it has yet to be acknowledged. Kamukura twitched a little before throwing all caution to the wind and thrusting it forward. “Matsuda Yasuke asked me to give this to you.”

The birds all flee, leaving a flurry of feathers. One even gets stick in Komaeda’s hair. Komaeda, who just blinks blearily at the gift, before nodding and taking it.

“Aha. Haha.” He doesn’t sound terribly enthused, shuffling it rather hurriedly into his bag. “Matsuda-kun...so kind. Please tell him I send my highest regards. He must be quite busy today.”

“Yes. He is.”

“I see.” Komaeda nods again. “Well, then, you can get going now, Kamukura-kun.”

He says nothing to that.

“I can’t imagine that my company is terribly stimulating, so I shall not bother you further.” Komaeda finally stands, brushing himself off. “If you won’t leave, I will. You can have this spot if you want it so badly.”

“I do not want anything.” The words slip before he can stop them. And for once, a twinge is in his features. Hm. “How are you?”

Komaeda still hasn’t picked the feather from his hair. He also still hasn’t looked at him directly.

“I don’t know why you would care.”

“Of course not,” he said. “But I still asked.”

Komaeda’s lips twist before pulling into a smile.

“Fine, of course. Nothing to concern your oh so talented self with. As I said before, the weather is lovely. Atmosphere serene. My classmates are surely enjoying themselves greatly without my worthless presence to dampen their high spirits. Why would I be anything less than fine?”

One reason is obvious.

“You’re lonely.”

“Eh?” Komaeda laughs, more taken aback then amused. “What was that?”

He reaches out and swiftly plucks out the feather.

“You are lonely,” he says simply. “That much is clear. Despite how often you allow yourself to be isolated, you are still plagued by feelings of lonesomeness. How boring. How predictable.”

Komaeda blinks, eyes darting between the feather twirling around between his fingers and Kamukura’s own unmoved and stoic gaze.

Komaeda’s smile twitches; there’s a forceful tug at its corners.

“I didn’t think you cared enough to comment.” His smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s human nature to get lonely. But it’s for the best. My feelings don’t matter as long as the others can shine. Nothing is more important nor as wonderful.”

“Those are quite the flimsy justifications,” he pointed out.

“Mm, I don’t expect someone like you to understand. Kamukura-kun is all cold logic and rationale.” That smile doesn’t drop even as those eyes narrow sharply. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about being human. I feel sorry for you.”

Sorry?

“It’s not like you asked to exist, after all, it was all that insolent reserve. You really are pitiful, Kamukura-kun. Nothing drives you at all.” Komaeda steps aside. “What are you even living for? I wonder if someone like you is dissatisfied even with existing. Well.” He paused. “It’s not like I’d understand how that would be like.”

Kamukura lets him brush past. But it is not long before he finds himself turning on his own heel and trailing after him. Komaeda doesn’t look back, which is expectable. He’s not the type to do so even when being followed.

Neither of them say anything.

“Do you understand your purpose?”

“...”

“You’re going to be the ultimate symbol of hope, Kamukura Izuru-kun!”

“Wrong. I am a tool for your disposal. A symbol of power and of influence. The product of a boastful legacy.”

“No, that’s not...”

“You cannot fool me.”

“...hah. I suppose I can’t.”

Komaeda Nagito busied himself with humble leisure activities. Walking, admiring the paintings and sculptures throughout campus, relaxing near the gardens, watching the frogs and turtles in the pond, checking out books at the library, sitting by the windows and listening to people practicing in the music room. It was much, as if Komaeda Nagito were restless, but nothing eventful occurred.

Even when Komaeda Nagito got himself coffee from the vending machine, there was a single can dispensed. Komaeda Nagito paused at this, and purchased another.

“Here,” he huffed, tossing it to Kamukura. “You must get thirsty, too.”

“I am as sustained the necessary amount,” was the reply. “This is unnecessary.”

“Aah, is that so?” Komaeda pops open the can, lashes lowering over his unimpressed stare. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any different.”

He tilts his head back as he drinks. And he downs it quickly, Adam’s apple bobbling with each swallow.

Kamukura still opens and sips from his own can. It’s surprisingly bitter, and yet his expression gives nothing away. As per usual.

“You know,” Komaeda says. “Even though you have every talent, making the possibilities endless, it feels like even less happens when you’re around.” He chuckles, swirling around his drink. “Is that just your luck?”

“It could very well be, I suppose.”

How boring. Even though Komaeda Nagito’s life is plagued by extremities, they are circumvented by my presence alone. That really is so...

“Boring...”

“It is, but for someone like me you could call it a blessing,” Komaeda murmured. “To have a mundane day pass by, it’s akin to having a normal life, farcical and fleeting as it may be.”

“How dull it must be to long for normalcy,” Kamukura hummed. “You really are a boring person.”

“It was nice,” Komaeda said, firmer than before. “Even if it was because of you. Even if it’s you, I’m still...thankful, Kamukura-kun.”

He hmphed at that, but Komaeda kept talking.

“Living a normal life together really wouldn’t be so bad. Simply being allowed to exist without being excessively punished and rewarded for it—do you think that’s a privilege?”

“A privilege...” The thought does give him pause. He mulls it over, and then, he finds he has no answer. “What a thing to ask.”

“I guess it’s pretty strange to wonder, especially if you’re going to Hope’s Peak,” Komaeda laughed. “But when you weren’t talking, I almost could’ve pretended we were friends and that was even stranger...”

“...because you are lonely.”

“Perhaps. I don’t really want to think about it. My mind goes haywire easily.” He finishes up his coffee. “But, all the same, I don’t really feel lonely right now.”

“Because I am here.”

Komaeda just laughs.

“Perhaps, perhaps. Is it the same for you, Kamukura-kun?”

Is it?

He doesn’t think; the answer that forms is immediate.

“It is not.”

It is immediate—and distasteful.

“Aha, understandable.” Komaeda hurriedly looks away, and his ears are red. “Someone like me makes for poor company.”

“It is not because of you.” Kamukura frowns. “That much I am certain of.”

Komaeda laughs again, but this time the sound is strained. Anxious. It strikes an unpleasant cord.

“I think...” The words trail off into a hard swallow. “I’m going back to my dorm, to open Matsuda-kun’s present and take a look at it.”

Komaeda almost stumbles when he steps away, pausing only to toss his empty can. He glances over his shoulder, but it’s only slightly, only so that he can catch the smallest of glimpses of Kamukura in his glassy gaze. He gives a courteous wave and a barely perceptible smile.

“I’ll see you, Kamukura-kun. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he merely echoed.

Komaeda practically scurried away after that. Kamukura sees him nearly stumble, but he does not fall. He watches until the other is gone. He waits until he can no longer hear that quickened heartbeat without focusing, and downs the rest of his coffee.

It really is bitter.

“You’re really miserable, huh? Well, it’s not any of my concern, but...”

“You are commenting, nonetheless.”

“Yeah. Suppose I am.” Matsuda rolled his eyes. “Maybe because it pisses me off a little.”

There’s nothing to say to that.

“Maybe you should just try and go out more often, it’s not like you’re unable to leave,” Matsuda huffs. “If you just did—anything—you’d be miles better than you are now.”

“There is no point in doing anything when the results yielded are predictable and boring.”

“Factually wrong, dumbass. You know that. So what the hell are you so stubborn about?”

He does not answer that either.

“Geez, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you just wanted to remain inhuman and miserable. Or maybe you’re afraid.”

“That is...” He stops himself. “False.”

“Huh.” Matsuda whistled. “All that talent—and you’d think you’d be a better fucking liar.”

He finds himself knocking on the door. The back of his fist strikes it thrice, all intervals in-between the same length. He’s aware that it’s fairly recent from the coat of paint. He would not be surprised if Komaeda Nagito had lost a door to bad luck.

“Mm? Coming.” It’s a soft and muffled call. It does not take long for the door to creak open, and though Komaeda Nagito appears with a smile, it falls in confusion. “Kamukura-kun? It’s...barely into sunset.”

“You were born around this time, correct?” he asks. Komaeda raises a brow.

“I wouldn’t...know if I was.”

“You were. So, then, take this. For your birth.” He holds out the small box, wrapped in a ribbon. “It is a cake. It should be suited to your tastes.”

Komaeda takes it, eyes wide.

“Aha... Haha... Um. Am I dreaming?”

“No. You are not.” He shakes his head. “It is most certainly not a dream.” He frowns. “Do you not want it?”

He can see how conflicted and how twisted Komaeda’s expression gets. How his eyes crinkle at the edges and are, albeit briefly, on the brink of tears. Tears that could have been either joy or grief. Komaeda’s emotions swung wildly, as one would expect from someone who lived so tumultuously.

And yet, this person was still standing, even as his knees quaked.

“You do not have to eat it right away,” Kamukura says, perhaps so that Komaeda perks rather than collapses. “However it will deteriorate in a matter of time. Please do enjoy it before then.”

“I... Mm.” Komaeda nodded quickly, lips pressed tightly together. “O-Okay. Thank you, Kamukura-kun.”

“It is nothing.” And yet, it felt so strangely significant. How strange. So strange. “I shall be seeing you.”

Komaeda tugs on his sleeve before he can turn. Kamukura stares, both at his trembling, pitiful grip, and the twitching, twisting expression. Slowly, it morphed from troubled to—something else.

“Thank you, Kamukura-kun.”

It wasn’t a smile. It wasn’t a frown either. All it was—was heartrendingly sincere.

“Thank you... Really.” He squeezes that small bit of fabric of Kamukura’s sleeve before pulling away. Just like that, he gives an easy smile that conveyed nothing at all. “I’ll be seeing you. Tell Matsuda-kun that the book was wonderful. Well. I’ll tell him that, too, next time I see him, haha.”

Kamukura only nods.

“See you.”

“See you!”

He leaves on that rather discordant note.

When he returns to his room, there is not much else to do besides sit there on the bed and mull.

Komaeda Nagito...really is...

His eyes fall shut as the thought itself trails off into nothing. Nothing but quiet. Time passes, and there’s a knock on the door.

It’s well past midnight. Without even waiting for an answer, Matsuda Yasuke pushes his way in, yawning inelegantly.

“Yoo... Letting you know I didn’t somehow die.”

“I would have been aware either way,” was the blank response. Under the dull light, Matsuda rubs his eyes blearily. Another yawn, and Matsuda nods a few times.

“Right, right... Of course... Jackass.” Matsuda grumbles, and he straightens up. “How was Komaeda?”

“He liked his gift. He had a satisfactory day.” It’s dully spoken, but the words are strangely weighted. “I suppose—even one who exists miserably can find happiness in living.”

“Yeah? That’s—wild to hear you say. Mm... Wonder if I’m dreaming... Maybe I really did die.”

In the blink of an eye, Kamukura stood up and steadied him, keeping him from swaying until he toppled over.

“You should rest as well. I suspect—Komaeda Nagito will be happier to see you in higher spirits, Matsuda Yasuke.”

“Dooon’t tell me what to do,” Matsuda slurred. “But fiiiiine. See if I ever check on you out of worry again. At least you were nice to the kid on his birthday. I gueeeeeess.”

He thinks about Komaeda Nagito and that worthless smile. But he also thinks about Komaeda Nagito and his innocent gaze.

“I suppose,” he echoed. “I suppose...”

Matsuda had already dozed off. Funny, that. Kamukura wondered if Komaeda Nagito was resting as well—if he was sleeping peacefully. If he was lonely.

I want to see him.

What a strange, unsettling thought that was.

That this person exists is—

Kamukura pauses, and shakes his head, helping Matsuda to bed.

I suppose it isn’t boring.

#KamuKoma #izuru kamukura #nagito komaeda #yasuke matsuda #kamukura izuru #Magi fics #MatsuKamu #but not really #MatsuKamuKoma #but also not really #KamuKomaWeek #Yaaaaaaay #another week doooooone #whoooooo #I did it

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asterinjapan · 5 years

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Of gardens and animals

Good afternoon!

Well, five PM is still noon, right?

Anyway, a little earlier today, but I still managed to see quite a lot. Since tomorrow is Disney day, I’m not sure if I’ll still go out tonight or if I’ll just get some dinner and call it a day, but I have some time to think about it still. In the mean while, here’s my report for today!

I cheered at breakfast as they had scrambled egg (which works much better with my stomach), so I could have a pretty filling breakfast, whoo! After that, I grabbed my things and made my way to the station. This time, my goal was the subway: I took the Yurakucho line to Iidabashi station, which was just ten minutes.

A short walk away is a garden called Koishikawa Korakuen. It’s one of the oldest gardens in Tokyo as it was completed during the Edo era (1600-1868), more specifically in the 17th century, with Chinese influences. Like many Japanese gardens, this garden has reproductions of famous Japanese (and in this case also Chinese) scenery, like with miniature hills and bridges. There are several bridges and small rivers named after bridges and rivers I’ve seen in Kyoto, for example.

Koishikawa Korakuen is actually very central, close to the Tokyo Dome and an amusement park ( you can see the white dome and the top of a rollercoaster from the garden). And it was a whole lot bigger than I somehow thought, haha. I think I compared it to another garden on the map and didn’t realize the proper scale. Anyway! Most Japanese gardens have something special depending on the season, as the Japanese like to pride their country on having four very different seasons. Cherry blossoms in spring are famous, but the fall leaves are almost just as popular, and it can get super busy in the popular spots when the autumn leaves reach their brightest colours.

The maple trees here had dropped almost all their leaves, but I still found an area that was a vibrant red and yellow, making for very spectacular views as the sun was shining bright today. The tree tops looked to be on fire. I took a ton of pictures and then found out I’d only covered a quarter of the garden, at best, haha.

Overall, I took almost 3 hours trailing through the garden, and even then I rushed some parts because the trees were completely barren in that area. Whoa! It was also interesting to see some of the trees (like the weeping cherry blossom tree and the trees in the inner garden) protected against the winter weather. Some have straw belts, but the cherry blossom tree has a straw cape: straw ropes are suspended from a central pole to protect the tree from snow, in the process drawing out a very basic Christmas tree shape, haha.

Anyway! Two breaks in the garden later (I had some amazake – sweet sake, although this was non-alcoholic), I made my way back to the station again to take the Namboku subway line this time. Of course, it first went past a station called Korakuen… Oops. Oh well, the next stop was where I was getting off anyway, and riding the subway for just 2 stops sounds slightly less pathetic than for one whole stop.

The stop is Todaimae, ‘in front of Tokyo University’. No, I haven’t signed up for classes, there’s a statue here that I wanted to pay a short visit.

You see, you’re probably familiar with the statue of Hachiko – if only because I post a picture of it every trip without fail, ahem. In case you forgot the story: Hachiko was a dog who always came to pick up his master, professor Ueno, at Shibuya station after work. One day, he didn’t return anymore as he’d had a heart attack at work and died there. Hachiko kept coming to the station for the ten years after, until his own passing. Touched by the dog’s loyalty, a statue was erected at Shibuya station as early as 1934 (when Hachiko was still alive!). The bronze was molten for the war efforts, so in 1948, a new statue was placed in the same spot, where it remains a popular meet-up spot to this day. In 2015, 80 years after Hachiko passed, a new statue was erected at Tokyo University: one of Hachiko happily reuniting with his master. Excuse me, I have something in my eye all of a sudden…

Anyway! The statue is actually super close to Todaimae station. I was fully prepared for a long search, but nope. Just walked out the street, found the entrance gate, and bam! There was the statue. It’s amidst some trees, but the sun was hitting it completely today, so I took pictures from every angle.

It was a short stop regardless – when I made it back to the station, I think I may have missed one subway at the most, ahem. I wasn’t done with the Namboku line, though, as I rode it a couple of stations further to Oji.

Oji (technically Ôji, a long o sound) is mostly famous for the Oji Fox Parade, which is held on New Year’s Eve. It’s a bit early for that, but foxes are still very present in Oji, at least in its shrines. Foxes (or fox spirits, more accurately - kitsune) are depicted in Asian and Japanese folklore as tricksters with magical powers (usually shapeshifting into beautiful women), but also as sacred creatures that can be a good or a bad omen, and they’re messengers of the gods. In Japan, they’re mostly associated with Inari, the god of rice and business among other things. There’s a lot of Inari shrines in Japan, most famously in Kyoto, the Fushimi Inari shrine with its many red gates. Numerous red gates in a row are usually a good tell if a shrine is dedicated to Inari, as well as the presence of fox statues.

Of course, Oji has several shrines with most of them featuring foxes, so I did 3 of them today. I started with the Oji shrine, which is close to the station and is also on a hill right next to dried out waterworks. It was a very lovely and unexpectedly rural scenery, so I sat down on a nearby rock to have lunch and enjoy the view. (My lunch was way too cute to eat by the way, I had melon bread shaped like a turtle.)

After that, I walked up the stairs to visit Oji shrine. The complex isn’t very big, but it’s one of the oldest shrines in Tokyo and supposedly grants protection against fires and natural disasters, making it a popular shrine for a new year’s visit. Not a lot of foxes to be spotted here yet, but there is a huge Ginkgo tree here which is said to be 600 years old! Whoa. It sure was big, anyway.

Next up, I took a little stroll to Oji Inari shrine. As expected with Inari in its name, there are more fox statues here, guarding the grounds and the small shrines at the complex. There’s indeed a pathway of several red gates, and then you find an Oishi-sama, or a ‘wish granting rock’ inside one of them. The story goes that if you can lift it, your wish will come true. The plaque next to it stated that if it is hard to lift, it’s a wish that can’t be easily fulfilled, so apparently this stone can change its weight depending on your wish. I gave it a go and barely managed to lift the rock, but I did it! (Hey, it’s a huge rock and I had two bags slung around my shoulder too, give me some credit.)

Interestingly, this shrine is not only in the middle of a normal neighbourhood, there’s actually a primary school in its backyard. Literally, even – one of the gates was closed, but led right into the playground, and the area around the shrine was in use as a bike park for all the mothers who went to pick up their kids. Huh.

The last stop of today was Shozoku Inari shrine, although not before going through an underground pass decorated with foxes, haha. According to legend, blue fires were spotted on New Year’s eve under a tree that used to stand here, said to be kitsunebi (fox fire) from foxes gathering from all over the country. The Fox Parade starts here every year due to this legend.

The shrine is tiny, but it’s very detailed and has some very elegant fox statues. I took my time (I was alone here anyway) and made a small prayer (if only to ward off any cheeky foxes, haha) before I decided to leave Oji again for today.

A quick hop to Tabata station and another quick hop to Ikebukuro brought me back to my hotel, so here I am! As said, tomorrow is Disneyland, so I’m not sure if I’ll go out anymore tonight. There’s some lovely winter illuminations still to see, like in Shibuya ,but I don’t want to ruin my feet before tomorrow, haha. Oh well, they’re not gone yet, so maybe another day if I can’t make it tonight.

For now, good evening and see you tomorrow! I suspect it’ll be late, haha.

#report #report: tokyo 2018 #tokyo 2018

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twistednuns · 4 years

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April 2020

Let's get started this month with my list of quarantine activities. You know what is so beautiful about this whole situation? I have relearned how to play. I got my urge to be creative back. I'll follow any urge and interest because why not? It's not unlike how a child would spend their day. I have so many new projects and even though I feel like I don't really accomplish anything these days I actually do so much. My balcony is lush and green, the first seedlings have sprouted and found their way towards the light. Like a little garden. I am cooking and baking almost every day, trying new and exciting recipes. I draw and make collages, I got a new carving knife and I love sitting in the afternoon sun on the balcony, making a mess, working on my little wooden bird. I found happiness. Stillness. I'm good at being on my own. There is no pressure - only freedom. I'm so scared this feeling will go away again as soon as I have to go back to work.

Mushrooms.

An iridescent nail polish called Mermaid Fantasy. The 90s are back.

Cherry-flavoured diet coke (man, I LOVE artificial cherry flavour). Peppermint tea with milk.

Finding out that I have the same sun sign (Taurus), moon sign (Gemini) and ascendant (Virgo) as Sophia!

Losing my feeling for time. Only knowing what day it is when I take my vitamins in the morning (the weekdays are printed on the lids). Daylight saving is a bitch as well.

Eliot kissing Charlton in the very last episode of The Magicians. I'm so hot for Hale Appleman.

The BA test kitchen staff filming videos of themselves working from home.

Gerstaecker (resin!) and Amazon (raised bed planter!) orders getting way out of hand. But hey. I won't be able to spend my money on plane tickets so I gotta have the right supplies for some fun stay-at-home projects.

Sunset hour = rainbow hour because of the crystals I finally hung up over the balcony door.

The forest. I feel so at ease there. The colours, the light, the smell, the quietude. I have one right behind my house, I should really take a walk there more often. Walking on the soft, almost bouncy forest floor makes such a difference. I usually walk on asphalt all day - hard, cold, unforgiving. I cut some twigs with budding green leaves for my kitchen. And I spotted a cat in an alley - I actually turned around on my bike just to watch it more closely.

The word nohow - is that the opposite of somehow?

All those birdies visiting my balcony (now that there are interesting nesting materials and seeds to be stolen). I love how snatchily they keep turning their heads, it looks a little bit like a laggy glitch in a computer game.

Duolingo's story feature! You read and listen to little short stories (or longer ones - yesterday I read The Tell-Tale Heart in Spanish) and answer questions. So much more fun than those boring translations. So far I've only seen this feature in the English-Spanish course.

Smelling of honey after roasting a batch of homemade granola.

Thai curry. I still know how to make it. It's been a while.

"And Ally loved contradictions." Lena Dunham's novel Verified Strangers - she publishes a chapter every weekday on Vogue.com and the readers get to decide how the story goes on. She says a romance novel is the best way to distract people from the horrible reality these days.

Listening to Marienova's community podcast before falling asleep.

Watching Studio Ghibli movies for the first time ever. I LOVE them all so much, believe the hype! Super magical. I think Spirited Away might be my favourite so far but man, Howl's Moving Castle? Princess Mononoke? I really can't decide. I absolutely adore the tiny creatures the keep featuring like the soot sprites (Susuwatari) or the tree spirits (Kodama). Oh, and half way into Spirited Away I realised that Yubaba's German voice is Nina Hagen!!!

A really lovely letter from Lena.

Deciding to go out. Sitting down at the edge of a field, enjoying the late afternoon glow shortly before sunset. I make an effort to leave the house every day now during quarantine and it has been so good for me. The morning walk to Neuried, having breakfast in the sunshine, my visits to the forest. I love reconnecting with nature. It's such a big difference compared to my usual ways around the city - subway, asphalt, traffic.

An Easter walk through the forest with Adrian. Human contact! Gasp!

Wearing make-up for the first time in weeks. I love how it makes me look but perhaps I could start wearing it less when all this is over.

Applying my favourite Garnier sun oil on my arms just because of the smell. It reminds me of summer, the beach, time with friends.

An evening walk: almost stumbling over toads three times on a forest path / meeting a friendly black and white cat in front of one of my favourite houses / seeing the plushy toy penguins lined up on a shelf in the supermarket window. Walking past back gardens. A party, people in a whirlpool. Chalk graffiti on a lamp post. Venus shining bright.

The Virtual Orchestra makes me cry.

Playing a magical online escape game with Frank.

A break from FOMO. This phase we're going through is such a gift for me but I know I'm in a very privileged position.

Easter Monday was extremely cold but I really wanted to go to the forest so I went anyway. I love being alone in there, avoiding people whenever possible, taking the small, unbeaten paths. It was windy. I hugged a few trees and when I put my ear onto the trunk I could hear deep moaning noises because the wind made the crowns sway and the wood had to adjust. Eerie. I had never heard that before or maybe I just didn't pay enough attention.

Regularly thanking past me for being so clever and considerate, for thinking of everything and preparing accordingly. I love my new hands-on approach, it really serves me well.

Learning about Japanese pavement markings (oudanhodou ari) since I had always wondered what those diamond-shaped markings on the road meant.

Using a leaf care spray on my house plants. So shiny!

Talking to my neighbors. Learning that they're calling the big red cat that keeps walking through our backyard Garfield (I have a different name for him). They also saved me when my apartment door fell shut and gave me a ladder so I could break into my own flat by climbing on the balcony. Oh and Franky gave me his power drill because I needed to drill a hole in the balcony ceiling. More plant hangers! A project for next week: Makramee! I both hate drilling (scary, messy, have I mentioned scary?!) and love it (because it makes me feel like a feminist badass).

The smell of sunflower seed bread and sticky walnut cinnamon buns in the whole apartment.

Love in times of Corona. I'm so happy to be alone right now. I've stopped searching. I am enough.

Working with warm yeast dough.

That day I went to the forest with Manu. He arrived in my backyard and simply said Let's Romeo and Juliet this! (Doch still, was schimmert durch das Fenster dort? Es ist der Ost, und Julia die Sonne!) because he didn't want to come inside. We also tried the Rapunzel-method when I let my hair down to make him climb up the balcony but that obviously didn't work. On our way to the forest we found a plant garage sale and I couldn't resist, I took three pots and donated some money. Manu said that it was one of those moments when I get shiny eyes because I'm so happy or joyful. When we sat down in the nest made from branches a lady approached us after a while and asked us to help her friend who had fallen down. Those things only happen when Manu is with me, I swear.

Peeling a melon in one go without breaking the peel.

The mason bee makes its nest from flower petals.

Buttermilk.

Louise Bourgeois getting her fears under control.

#april 2020 #2020 #april #personal #present perfect #things i love

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dream2bu · 6 years

Text

A Halloween ghost story...

The days began to get a little cooler and crisper. Just one week ago, the leaves were green. Now they set the hills off in a bouquet of color. Fall was in the air. People had begun to place jack-o-lanterns, skeletons, witches and black cats to celebrate Halloween. Orange and black ribbons began to dart around the neighborhoods.

On this autumn’s day, the sun had refused to shine. Clouds covered the sky in a blanket of gray. As drops of rain began to fall, the wind blows leaves and loose paper around. This along with a busy day had made April tired and cranky. All day long people wanted to complain. AS April looked out the window of her office, the approaching sunset and sprinkles of rain made her long to be home, away from all these people. She wanted to be alone. She remembered she had a bottle of Bordeaux wine in the fridge that her best friend had given her on his last trip to see her and the kids. She knew right then what she wanted to do when she got home. The kids were with their dad so; she would stop at the store and grab a few scented candles, grapes, cheese and a bouquet of flowers. When she got home all she would do was draw a tub of bubble bath, snack, and sip some wine and read the novel she had started. Time to rest and take in the peace and quiet. As soon as the last customer walked out the door, April’s boss let her go and before he could change his mind, she was her purse and was heading for the door. Of course, it began to pour down rain at that precise time. She ran to the car getting soaking wet. Since it was pretty when she left the house, she did not have an umbrella or a coat. April looked like a wet cat by the time she reached the car. Her hair was all over her head. What little makeup she wore, started to run down her face. Since she did not want people thinking she had dressed early for Halloween, she did the best she could to tidy up. After she picked up her provisions at the store, she had to stop for gas. She went a little out of her way to get it. At one of the local stations, they still pumped gas for ladies. It did not hurt that the attendant was a dumb jock from the local college and was built like the “ROCK”. As she pulled up to the pumps, there already was a car ahead of her. She had to wait. April did not mind because it gave her time to look him over. His muscles almost did not fit in the sleeves of his shirt and his thighs made up both her legs and then some. As she sat there, she began to see together. She had them out in an open field making love. She imagined his strong yet gently making love to her. She felt his soft kisses on her neck. His teeth nibbling on her ears. She wanted him to move down to her firm perky breast. She wanted him to kiss on them a while. She began to grow wet in her womanhood as she pictured this. Her hand slipped between her legs. She began to rub herself slowly yet firmly wishing it was he instead. She began to feel herself tingling inside. She felt her hips swell and began to ache. How she wanted to slip her hands in her pants and feel the wetness. This was driving her crazy. Just as she began to touch her nipples, the car behind her startled her back to reality. He was honking his horn for her to move up. It was finally her turn. As she pulled up in place, she kind of got embarrassed. She felt he knew what she was thinking. When she lowered the window to tell him to fill her tank, she giggled. After he walked off she noticed the wet patch on her pants, right between her legs. Oh, My God! She thought. I hope that is not what he was looking at. Maybe he just thought it as from the rain. Either way, she could not look him in the eye when she paid him. She quickly left the station and headed home. Embarrassed yet excited. She drove in peace. She hummed along with the song on the radio, laughing to her self about what had happened. When April got home, she dropped her packages off in the kitchen and headed straight for the bathroom. She started her bubble bath; She undressed and threw the wet clothes in the hamper. Nude, she walked back to the kitchen to prepare her snack. She placed her flowers in a vase with water before she got her wineglass. She then immediately opened the wine and poured herself a glass, She took a small sip. It was sweet but good. She refilled the glass then headed back to the bathroom to check her water. April began to get a little cool walking around the house nude. Her nipples stood out hard and firm. She got goosebumps over her entire body. The bath would feel good but she still had to light the candles. Once this was done, she retrieved the grapes and remainder of the bottle of wine from the kitchen. She turned off all the lights on the trip back to the tub. Before she turned off the lights off in the bedroom. April got a glimpse of her self in the mirror. She set her glass and plate on the dresser. Her right hand reached up and felt her breast, as her left hand touched her stomach, Her breasts were still firm even after having children, They were as round as melons. Her stomach was flat; she worked to keep her figure. She then placed both hands on her butt and turned her body to look at it. It was firm and stuck out enough to make he struggle to get in her favorite jeans and shorts. They were so tight that if stuck with a pin, it looked like they would pop like a balloon. She smiled to her self. Whenever she wore her two-piece bikini to the lake, everyone watched her pass. Most women were jealous of her figure. They wished they looked as good. The men stumbled as she passed trying to get a good look at her breast for her top just barely covered her nipples. The bottom covered even less from behind. All this always got her noticed. As they say, she was built like a brick shit house! Some even called her thick; others said she was PHAT (Pretty Hot and Tempting!) When she finally stepped back in the bathroom, she placed both the wine and grapes where she could reach them after she was in the tub. The water felt good when she finally climbed in. She splashed a little water her chest then rested her head on the tub’s edge and sipped more wine. April slowly lifted one leg out of the water and began to massage it. As she moved down her thigh, she touched herself. This felt good and caused her womanhood to shake. Each time she moved down her leg, this happened. Soon she was slowly rubbing herself. She began to leak. The warm water moved in and out with her finger. She slowly massaged her clit, and then she slipped one finger inside and began to squeeze the top from inside and her clit with her thumb. She applied slow constant pressure. This made her body quiver. She repeated this several times. Soon she began to slide her finger in and out of herself slowly and gently. This felt so good to her she could not stop. This went on for several minutes. To the point, in fact, she lost all track of time. Soon her body began to shake uncontrollably. This rubbing had brought her to the point of cumming. The urge was so strong every inch of her body began to ache. Her womanhood swelled. She massaged deep inside her self harder and faster. All at once her body became taut, so taut in fact that the sudden jolt caused her to splash water all over the floor. So taut her body stiffened for several seconds aching as she exploded deep inside. She finally relaxed and lay back in the tub. She could not, however, stop from shaking. She had several small aftershocks. Aftershocks like those following that follow a large earthquake. April was snapped back to reality when she heard the phone ringing. She jumped out of the tub, grabbed a towel and headed to the bedroom to answer it. The only reason she considered answering it was it could have been the kids. It wasn’t! It was one of her friends stranded and wanting April to come rescue her. With the weather as bad as it was getting, April reluctantly agreed. April turned on the lights and blew out the candles. She did not bother to dry off; she simply put on her favorite jogging suit not bothering to put on panties or a bra. As hard as it was raining, it did not matter if it looked wet. No one seeing her would know if it was rain or the bath water making it wet. April was not familiar with the area her friend said she was at so she took her time to make sure she was heading the correct way. With the rain getting heavier, this was no easy task anyway. Large bolts of lightning filled the sky. At times it looked like day. This also blinded April. Slowly April began to realize she had no clue where she was. She began to get worried. Just then a big flash of lightning struck. It hit a nearby tree. The thunder was so loud it shook the car. At this same moment, the car died. She coasted to the side of the road. She tried to start the car several times. Nothing happened. She did not even have any electricity. In fact, her cell phone did not work either. Just then another bolt of lightning lite up the sky. This time April noticed her car had stalled in front of a small house. She thought she saw a light in the window. She decided to walk to the house and see if the owner would help her or at least let her use the phone. She climbed out of the car and ran to the house. When she climbed on the porch, she could hear the porch swing bumping in the wind. The house was kind of scary now. She still knocked on the door. No one answered. She knocked again, this time a little harder. The door swung open. No one was there. April stuck her head inside. “Hello” she cried out. “Anyone home?” She still did not get an answer. It is better to be dry and ask for forgiveness later than to stay in the rain she thought. She stepped inside. The light she had seen came from a candle and the fireplace since the house had no power either. April warmed herself in front of the fireplace. She was getting cold from the wet clothes and the eerie feeling being alone in a dark house. She took the candle and started to explore the house. There had to be someone here she thought. No one leaves a lighted candle and fireplace unattended. She walked the entire house over. As she explored the house, it began to get scary. Each step got scarier than the first. Doors squeaked as she opened them. The floor squeaked with each step. She began to shake in fear. She felt like someone was watching her every step. She felt like she was in one of those Halloween horror movies and at any time now someone with a knife was going to jump out at her to stab her. With every flash of lightning and clap of thunder, April jumped out of her skin. April finally decided to head back to the living room. At least there the fireplace lit up the room where she could see and it was not as frightening. Just as she turned the last corner to go in the living room a flash of lightning darted in the sky. She found herself standing toe to toe with a large figure. He stood a head taller than her. She jumped and screamed and dropped the candle on the floor. She stood frozen with fear. She tried to speak but no words came from her mouth. She could only manage small squeaks. Her legs got so weak, she headed for the floor. Just as her legs gave way, the figure reached out and grabbed her. She panicked thinking this is it. Tonight I die. She tried to run but his grip was too strong. “Calm down,” he said. “I won’t hurt you”. Then he let her go. “I just didn’t want you to hit the floor. You looked like you were about to hit the floor.” Just then she realized his grip was not so much tight, as firm yet gentle. She looked up at his face. It was not gruesome. In fact, he was quite handsome. She relaxed and got her footing. Her heart was still beating ninety miles an hour and her legs were still weak. She still almost fell to the floor. He picked her up and placed her on the couch. “How did you come to be in my humble home?” he asked. April explained about her friend calling and her car stopping just outside his house. She explained how she knocked on his door and got no answer, yet came in the house anyway. She even told him, she thought she was going to die when he grabbed her. He simply laughed. It was a sweet sexy laugh she thought. “Well as you can see I lost power also. Just as I was about to sit down to dinner.” He said, “Care to join me for a candlelit dinner?” Since all April had was a few grapes and glass of wine, April agreed. Besides she thought, I need to get my strength back. He led her to a small table. Pulled out a chair for her to sit. He then lit candles he had on the table. She noticed it was already sat for two people. “Were you expecting company?” she asked. “No”, He replied. “I hate eating alone, so I always sat the table for two. That way it does not seem like I am eating alone.” They ate their meal in a quite calming peace. The conversation was nice. She felt like she had known him for years. She enjoyed his company. When they finished, he led her back to the living room. They sat on the couch and continued to chat. She felt a cold breeze come from somewhere. She shook and but her arms around her shoulders. He saw this and came closer to her and put his arms around her to warm her up. His strong arms felt good around her. The more he held her, the more familiar his touch became. She did not want him to let go. When he turned to talk to her face to face, he leaned a bit. April could not resist. She kissed his lips gently then pulled back. He looked at her, then gave her a large wet kiss. She felt his strong hands rubbing over her body. It felt good. She soon realized her nipples were getting firm and a stirring was growing between her legs. She did not want this moment to end. She opened her eyes to get a glimpse of him again. She did not know how he did it, but he was not wearing a shirt now. His upper body was built like it was chiseled out of stone. His arms were just as large. He looked nice. When she felt his hand slide under her pants, she closed her eyes and kissed him back. She felt him gently touching her womanhood. He caressed her softly. She felt herself getting wetter. Her lips swelling. Her legs started getting weak again. This time it was not from fear but from pleasure. April opened her eyes again. This time they were in a bedroom lying on the bed. Her head began to swim. What is happening, she thought. How can we move so fast and I not know it? He started to lift off her top. She let him. He then began to kiss her breast. Her nipples grew firm and hard. They began to ache. His hands continued to caress her body and her womanhood. She began to shake. She began to fell her wetness flow down her leg. She had never had so much flow from her from a man’s touch. What is he doing to me she thought? I have never felt this way before. Soon she realized he had taken off her pants and was slowly kissing her womanhood. She felt his tongue sliding in and around her womanhood lips. He was driving her wild. His tongue darted in and out. Sometimes deep inside her, other times just at her lip’s edge. Then she felt something she had never felt before. He had touched a certain spot or placed something on her. Either way, it felt good. She felt a warming sensation come over her there. Yet she felt a cool sensation come over her. Her lips tingled. What was this? How is he doing this? Her lips actually began to kiss him back. Whatever he did, she did not want it to stop. She felt herself begin to swell inside. She was at the edge of cumming. She did not want him to stop. Her body began to shake. She noticed her body becoming rigid. She started to shake then exploded. She came as hard as she had in her tub earlier. Then without warning, she found him on top of her. He held his manhood in one hand and just let its head touch the opening of her womanhood. He slid it up and down her lips. This felt good. He was driving her crazy with this. She wanted to feel him deep inside her. She wanted him to take her now. Without warning she got her wish. She felt him inside, deep inside and taking up all of her. He was so big; he took up every inch of her. He touched her all the way around. She wondered if she could take it all. Yet she did. He did not force himself in. He slowly slid in her letting her womanhood adjust and take him deep. He began to slowly pump inside her. Without thinking her body began to move in time with him. Her hips raised and lowered with each movement of his body. It felt so good; she never wanted him to stop. As he began to move faster so did she. Soon she felt that feeling again. She was cumming. She started moving faster and faster. Just as she was about to cum, he stopped and slid out of her. He began to just touch her lips again with his head. She sighed. It all felt good. He then slowly went back in her. He began to slowly slide in and out again. Just like he had started. This made her start to shake again. She knew she was about to cum. Her body ached with desire. She wanted him to keep it up and make her cum He started moving faster again, bringing her to the edge of cumming again. This time it was more intense than the last time. She did not know if she could stand it. She did not know if her body could take any more, she wanted to cum and get it over with. He simply brought her to that door again and stopped. He knew exactly what to do and when to do it! NO ONE had ever made her feel this way. NO ONE had ever made her cum so close to cumming without cumming. She looked up at him to see him smiling at her. It was a sly, sexy smile. One that let her know, he knew how she felt and exactly what he was doing. In fact, every move he made was with authority and like he knew exactly what she wanted. Like they had done this before. She simply smiled back. But inside she was screaming. I can’t take any more. I need to cum. Her body shook, her legs stiffened. Her back arched, and without warning, he began to pump faster and harder. This time, however, he did not stop. He kept going till she came. She exploded like a volcano. She actually squirted cum from her pussy. He relaxed and let her calm down. Wow, never has anyone made love like that to me she thought. “Where have u been all my life?” she teased him. He simply smiled and stuck it I again. Her eyes grew as big as half-dollars. She did not expect him to stick it in so hard or deep. When he did, she jerked and came again. He started pumping again. This time not so slow. Fast and hard is how he did it. Yet it was not so hard to hurt her. She knew he would not hurt her. She started to move with him again. They were one. Without warning, they both came just as a loud booming thunder clapped. It was as if he planned it that way. They both went limp at the same time and just lay there, side by side. He finally got up without saying a word. He placed a blanket over her and walked out of the room. She lay there thinking about all that happened. She still was cumming with little ones. She smiled to herself. She soon realized he had not come back. She got up and found her clothes and put them on. She took a candle and searched the house for him. He was nowhere to be found. All at once the lights came on. She heard her cell phone ringing. She found her purse and retrieved the phone to answer it. It was her friend. She told her not to worry about coming to get her. For some reason, her car had started running again. April looked outside to see her headlights working and motor running also. Since she could not find him, she ran to her car and drove home. She still wondered where he had disappeared. The next morning, April called her friend to find out exactly what happened that night. She told her friend what happened to her; that she had been stranded also in a house in the country. She kept her secret about making love, however. She wanted her friend to meet her so that they could go find the house. April thought she remembered where she had been and drove straight to the spot. When she drove up to the drive of the house, all she found was a burned out house. Her friend told her, it was no way she was at this house, and it had burned decades ago. In fact, there was a story of a ghost living there. The ghost of a man looking for his wife and child that had died in the house fire. The story had it he had gone to the store for something and left his wife and child there. When he got back, he found the house ablaze. He died trying to go in and get them out. To this day and on that night, he came back looking for them. April did not believe her friend’s story. She knew she had been in that house last night and it was not burned out. She insisted on going inside. When they got inside, it was the same as outside. It was gutted. All burned up. They walked slowly around the ruins. When they found the bedroom, April saw the blanket he had placed on her when he left. It was like new. She picked it up and held it close. She turned to see the remains of a picture on the way. She stepped to get a look at it. When she did she gasped. It was of him, a woman and a child. They were the perfect couple and family. She then noticed something strange about the woman. She moved in to take a closer look. The woman looked exactly like April. They could have been twins. April almost fainted, she realized now that she had indeed made love to a ghost. A man looking for his lost wife. A woman that maybe was April in a different life. April and her friend left the house in silence. Just as they got to the car, April looked back at the house. She saw a family looking back at her. The man waved and smiled. They then turned and walked away. April waved back. She knew she had helped them in a way find each other again. Thinking about all that happened and smiling to her self. She was shaken but felt good. She knew all was right. She let her friend drive. They drove off in silence. She held the blanket close.

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unseelie-siren · 7 years

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taggy tag tag

tagged by @pulvis-astrorum

What is your aesthetic?

rain/thunderstorms, looking down from up high, forests, the sound underwater

What is your favourite halloween costume you’ve done?

I was a doll a year ago. I stayed at home. I also was a banshee two years ago. That was cool. I sprayed my hair black, had black demon lenses so my eyes looked like demon eyes from spn and I painted like a veil a beautiful ornate day pattern over my face. I also had black lipstick. I liked it.

What is your dream job?

I don’t really have what you call a dream job, except maybe being a writer. I’m considering being a flight teacher and an ingeneer for cars or motorcycles (no clue how that’s called in English) at once at the moment.

Who is your current celebrity crush?

you think I know celebrities? Nah.

What are three movies that make you cry?

Star Wars.

What is the last book you finished reading?

As for a real book that would probably be Harry Potter and the philosopher stone in English. I also finished milk and honey which is philosophy and Bloody Mary the third book which is a manga.

What colour eyes do you have?

blue? Grey? Blue-greyish? Idk?

Do you dance in the car?

How... do you dance... in a car?

Earrings or necklaces?

I wear both daily, the same four necklaces (and a fifth) and the same pair of earrings, because they all have a special meaning for me. I won’t decide.

Favourite drink?

Probably like... milkshakes maybe? No clue. What is great though is self made banana milk with ice confect chocolate (no idea whether that’s the same in English, but idc.).

What is one thing on your bucket list?

Get my final degree done, get all of my flight licences and go flying in South Africa or at the Grand Canyon or somewhere cool else. Also meeting my internet friend (who hasn’t tumblr...) which might be possible soon.

First concert?

Never been to a concert. Sadly.

What are your favourite lyrics?

that’s a tough one. Probably

Shining like a diamond,

Rolling with the dice,

Standing on the ledge and show the wind how to fly.

When the world gets in my face, I say,

“Have a nice day.”

From “have a nice day” by Bon Jovi, but there are so many, srsly, that’s just the first one that came to my mind.

What is your ideal weekend?

sleeping. Laying in bed, sleeping and watching something. This may sound boring and lazy and it’s like many of my weekends are, but I’m just exhausted.

Alternatively: I’m in Italy at our apartment which still looks the same like all these years ago, it still smells the same. I go to the nearby pool with my family, we have biscuits. We go into the water and swim, but we also just lay on the grass, on top of the blanket we brought and read. For lunch, we don’t eat much. We had and have biscuits so we’re not that hungry. We’ll eat some fruits or just bread. In the afternoon we go to the gelateria that is run by an old family friend who is friends with our family since 3 generations (me being the third) and who knows me and my brother since before we were born. We have a frappe, melon strawberry, and my parents have a cappuccino each. We chat with our friends, but when we finished we go back to the pool. We swim another round, then head back to the apartment. We dress into another outfit and drive into the nearby “city” where we eat in our favourite restaurant. The people who work there know us. We go through the shopping street there and eat another gelato. We come home and sleep. On the next day we go to the beach. We’re not there to eat ice cream at our friend’s, but we still visit her after we went to shower properly at the nearby pool. In the evening I’m sitting at the table with my brother and we’re drawing while my mother cooks. We eat simply spaghetti with tomato sauce, but how my mother does it, while it is raining outside. After we ate we play a card game or something like that or we just continue drawing or we read. Then we head to bed again.

What are three things you couldn’t live without?

Internet (yes, i’m not ashamed), my brother or my complete family actually, books/stuff to read and write

How would your friends describe you?

What friends? Describing? Me? Nope. Not in.

(Cute, fluffy, intelligent maybe? I have no idea. I’m not my friends you see.)

What song will always make you dance?

Careless Whisper by Wham!, because of memories

What is your favourite ice cream flavor?

if you only have one favourite ice cream flavour I am really sorry for you.

I tag @tallcansholdhands and @phaytesworld if you want to (you probably don’t even know me, lol) and @justhereforthefanartbean and anyone else.

#tag #personal #about me #not yoi #own post

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taizi · 7 years

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Personal Concerns (2/3)

back at it again with the always self-indulgent full circle au ٩( ᐛ )و

Satoru wears a hoodie under his uniform jacket. The weather's cold enough lately that it won't seem weird. The sleeves fall farther than his jacket sleeves do, covering his wrists neatly and with inches to spare.

Kiyoshi gives him an odd look as Satoru leaves in the morning, but it's not really so different, is it?

“A hoodie?” Kitamoto says the second he sees him. “Are you getting sick or something?”

“I'm allowed to get cold,” Satoru replies defensively. “The leaves are so cold they're dying. You want me to die, Acchan?”

The childhood nickname garners a few giggles from a few girls passing them by. Kitamoto's face gets a little pink and he scowls, grabbing for him. Satoru ducks his reach nimbly and rushes up the last few steps, waving a cheerful goodbye at the spot in the hall where they part every morning to go to their respective classes.

He makes it about four more steps before he runs straight into Tanuma. Runs straight into him, and staggers back like he just tried his luck bouncing off a brick wall.

“Jeez, what do you eat?” Satoru mutters, rubbing his face.

“Why are you wearing a hoodie?” Tanuma returns. At the look on Satoru's face—and he probably looks as gobsmacked as he feels—Tanuma adds, “You've complained about being hot in your uniform every day this week, multiple times. Did something happen?”

“No,” Satoru says quickly, wondering what the heck he did to get saddled with the most perceptive friends in the world. “I'm just cold today. Ask Acchan.”

After a moment, Tanuma's hard expression cracks and reluctant amusement shines through. “'Acchan'?”

“Please call him that when you ask, and please tell me what he looked like the second you did.”

Tanuma chuckles as Satoru steps around him, with barely two minutes to get to class on time at this point. He actually literally looks over his shoulder a few times, feeling somewhat hunted, and he's relieved when Taki doesn't pop up from around a corner somewhere and he makes it safely into his classroom.

“Good morning,” Natsume greets him, with that crooked smile that only a handful of people ever get to see, that Satoru earned fair and square. A second later, those soft amber eyes sharpen. “Why are you wearing a hoodie?”

“Oh, come on.”

But after that, it's okay. They stop bugging him. He even gets out of gym by volunteering to be Tsuji's lackey when a harried teacher pulls the class rep out for some errands. And when he and his group head to the roof to eat, a cool wind greets them, and Tanuma says, “Wow, alright. Maybe I should have worn a hoodie.”

“Hah!” Satoru whirls around to jab a finger at Kitamoto. “Hah!”

His friends roll their eyes at him, long-suffering and amused despite themselves, and Satoru waits until they're all occupied with their own lunches to try opening his melon bread with one hand.

It's no big deal, totally not worth worrying about—but his wrist kind of still really hurts.

“So are the two of you free on Sunday?” Taki asks brightly when they’re finished eating, lingering behind with Satoru and Tanuma as Kitamoto and Natsume head downstairs. “To come over and look at grandpa's library with me?”

“Sunday's good for me,” Tanuma replies easily, and Satoru flashes a left-handed thumb's up.

“See you then,” he says cheerfully.

Something outside the window catches his eye as he steps down onto the second floor landing. He's gotten better about not jumping at shadows in the past handful of weeks wearing the circle, so Satoru darts a quick sidelong glance down at the school yard.

And promptly forgets how breathing works, because the yokai from before is standing at the gate.

Okay, Satoru thinks, a little numb with terror, this isn't good.

“—shimura. Nishimura!”

Gravity goes a little bonkers at the same time fire shoots up his right arm, and Satoru only very barely manages not to cry out. And then he looks down and realizes he almost walked straight off the landing and fell down about twenty stairs, safely suspended by Natsume's hand wrapped around his bruised wrist and little else.

“Oh,” he manages. “Oops.”

“What's gotten into you?” Kitamoto is grinning, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “You're been zoning out a lot lately.”

Satoru is blinking wetly through the harsh sting as he disentangles himself from Natsume's grip, and prays it isn't entirely obvious that he's wincing as he slides his hand safely back into its pocket.

Preoccupied, he forgets to answer his best friend. He's rescued by Taki, who says, “We're gonna be late for class if we keep dawdling! Let's move it, boys!”

Satoru is stopped by a yank on the back of his jacket. Tanuma and Taki are frowning at him, and Tanuma says, “Meet us after school.”

“And we know where you live,” Taki adds, mostly teasing, partly serious, “so you better show.”

Satoru has visions of the two of them showing up unannounced at his house and unintentionally interrupting Kiyoshi's studying, and his mother's subsequent wrath. Since his friends aren't cowed by monsters or mortal danger, they certainly wouldn't be deterred by Satoru's mom. They would be politely unapologetic the entire time, too, and Satoru's mom would die before she'd give anyone reason to call her a poor host so she'd probably end up inviting them in, and the whole thing would be painfully awkward and awful and Satoru thinks he'd rather deal with the creepy yokai than that whole mess.

“Nooo, guys, come on.” Satoru doesn't bother trying to keep the whine out of his voice. “I don't know what you're thinking, but stop thinking it. I just—wasn't paying attention. We've all almost fallen down some stairs before, it's nothing to call the school paper about.”

“You forget that we deal with Natsume's deflections on a daily basis,” Taki says. “And he's had a lot more practice at keeping his friends in the dark than you have.”

There's no argument to make there. Satoru decides retreat is the better part of valor, and scoots a careful step back.

Tanuma sweeps a step closer to match it and all but looms over him. He can't help it usually, he's just that tall—but when he remembers to use that height in an argument, it's pretty convincing. Satoru tries very hard not to think of the last thing that loomed over him and meets Tanuma's eyes as steadily as he can.

“It's that yokai, isn't it? The one from yesterday. You followed it.”

“I thought it needed help,” Satoru says stupidly.

“What happened?” Taki's eyes are bright, like she's about to cry, and Satoru automatically feels terrible for that.

“Nothing! I mean, honestly, nothing. I walked with it to the woods, and it—it touched my hand, and then I left.”

Tanuma's dark eyes are heated. “Nishimura, I swear, if that thing did something to you—”

“Hey,” Satoru says, waving his hand frantically, “can we keep this conversation audience-friendly for the hallway please? It didn't do anything to me, it's fine.”

“Prove it,” Tanuma says, and holds out his hand. Taki moves to stand next to him, and they aren't budging.

Satoru curls his bad hand in against his center, feeling hunted again. The stinging hasn't let up since Natsume unwittingly grabbed him. He doesn't want anyone else to touch it.

Whatever he looks like is doing something to his friends' expressions in turn. Their stubborn care and almost-anger is fading into worry, and Taki says, “Nishimura?” very carefully, like she's trying not to spook a scared animal.

A hand lands on his shoulder and Satoru jumps, whirling around. Kitamoto is staring at him like he's never seen him before, and his gaze moves from Satoru to the two behind him.

“What's going on?” he asks slowly. “Nishimura, you okay?”

“I'm good,” Satoru replies, too fast. “I also really don't want a detention. So let's all go to class now.”

Kitamoto's eyes drop down to the hand Satoru is holding carefully against his chest, and his mouth twists.

But he lets go and steps away. “If you say so. I'll see you after school.”

“Um,” Satoru sounds weak to his own ears, “I gotta meet up with these two after school. To do a thing. I'll see you later, though!”

Kitamoto hesitates for a moment, eyes moving between his three friends like he's trying to find an answer in the spaces in between them, before he finally musters a smile.

“Yeah, alright.”

He looks tired. Satoru is rooted to the spot as his best friend walks away.

“This doesn't feel good,” Satoru says, to no one in particular.

The circle on his shoulder feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. There's a yokai following him, its mark burning and heavy where it sits on his skin. He's lying to pretty much everybody around him, about everything. He just lied to Kitamoto, of all people, and he knows Kitamoto didn't buy it because Kitamoto never does, but he lied anyway.

He wanted to understand Natsume better, to be there for him, but all he's really doing is drawing a circle around himself and keeping everyone out.

With a sense of looming dread, Satoru wonders if maybe that's a good thing. The things he can see are more and more dangerous the closer they get—he doesn't want them taking a step too far in either direction and snatching up one of these people he loves so much.

He wonders if this is how Natsume feels. If it is, he thinks he understands the other boy a lot better now, after all.

He thinks he can feel those sightless eyes staring at him from the window. There's nothing there when he looks, but he knows better than to trust only what he can see.

Satoru's wrist burns. His heart is heavy.

He's late going back to class. If Tanuma and Taki say goodbye, he doesn't hear them.

#natsuyuu fic #natsuyuu #full circle #nishimura satoru #my writing #natsume yuujinchou

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