#so now he's tryin to trick me into em instead? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deniigi · 3 years

Note

I love the fic you showed on Luke, Han, Chewie being kidnapped by the trio- I would love to see more! Is there a chance we might see that fic or sections of it? I hope you are having a great day!

You may see more sections of it! It’s like 30k because I have zero self control sometimes, so idk if I will post the whole thing, but snippets I can do!

I wrote a fuckin’ hilarious bit where Han tells Paz that Luke’s got a crush on Din. Paz thinks about Din’s sexuality for .05 seconds and immediately has an anxiety attack that Din feels like he’s got to hide his queerness.

He brings it up with Din, who promptly astral projects in embarrassment.

--------------

This was a reconnaissance mission now. One which Luke was again having fun on. With Djarin refusing to speak to his comrade, Luke wriggled right into the place he’d left behind and started agitating again. He goaded Djarin and Fett that he could shave hours off the current course time. Han and Chewie hung back and strategically did not back up a damn thing he said.

Paz, uncomfortable to be on any ship that was not his own, clutched at his fingers and watched Luke chasing Djarin like an underfoot puppy in concern.

“What does he want from Din?” he asked Han and Chewie quietly.

Han blinked slowly.

“He’s got a crush,” he said.

Paz’s helmet managed to blanch.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“Yeah, your boy’s ticking every one of Luke’s boxes, I’m afraid,” Han said while Chewie snickered. “He’s already decided on a destination wedding.”

Paz rubbed a few knuckles under the edge of his helmet and looked away.

“I dunno if the Armorer’s gonna be cool with that,” he said.

Han snorted.

“Armor isn’t strong enough for him, he’s got mind powers,” he said.

Paz’s helmet turned slightly back towards him.

“The Armorer is Din’s parent,” he said. “She leads the teachings at our covert.”

AHA. Orthodox. Han had it now. Djarin was a preacher’s son.

“I don’t know what that means,” Paz said.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Han told him sympathetically. “It’s okay, though. People are more tolerant than you think.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” Paz repeated.

“You will,” Han soothed, “You will.”

It was an hour before Paz blurted out, “Wait you mean he’s gay?” and Han almost cried, he was laughing so hard.

This was supposed to be a hostage situation, but Paz was making this trip a pleasure cruise. He’d gotten about fourteen thousand times more awkward around both Luke and Djarin anytime they passed by. Luke had caught onto this with interest.

Han did nothing to stop him. He and Chewie finally had entertainment after hours and hours of torture.

Paz inched away.

“I’m happy for you,” he told Luke. “It’s fine.”

Luke cocked his head at him and got closer.

“No, man. Not me, sorry,” Paz said. “You got—you got Din. He’s—well, honestly the last I saw him he was like, fifteen and sort of scrawny, but you know he’s probably grown a couple muscles by now.”

Luke lit up.

“I know, he picked me up,” he said.

Paz vibrated.

“Mm-hm,” he said.

“Do you think he likes me?” Luke asked him.

Paz vibrated so hard his armor nearly started knocking against itself.

“He’s really into ancient Tusken shit,” he said. “Ask him about ancient Tusken shit.”

Luke’s eyes couldn’t get any wider or rounder. Any more of this and his pupils would start dilating, too.

“Copy that,” he said, then vanished.

Chewie whimpered and wiped tears from his eyes. Han leaned into his side and grinned so wide his face hurt.

Luke took to flattening himself against the cockpit door and serenading Djarin in the other side with pleas for information about Ancient Tusken culture. Djarin was understandable baffled. He smelled a rat and refused to be forthcoming with any new knowledge.

That made Luke caterwaul louder until Fett had enough of him and locked Djarin out of the cockpit too, with instructions to ‘silence the Jedi before I do permanently.’

Djarin was now stuck out here with the rest of them. He crouched in front of Luke and they had a staring contest for a good two minutes before Djarin got up and sighed.

“You have so much energy,” he said. “No wonder Grogu likes you.”

Luke rocketed up to stand next to him proudly.

“I don’t sleep most nights,” he said.

Djarin studied him.

“I see that,” he said.

“Han and Leia say that I’m a ‘hostile’ bedpartner when I do,” Luke said with finger quotes for Djarin’s benefit.

Djarin, Han swore, was trying to think of a polite way to say, ‘Sir, I think you’re at breaking point.’ But instead he said, ‘do you like tea?’ to which Luke said, ‘absolutely not.’ Djarin told him that he had a great tea for him to try and was thereafter followed into the Falcon’s kitchenette around the corner.

Paz, in the meantime, was absolutely shitting himself. No longer able to avoid this conversation with Djarin.

“I think it’s cute,” Han goaded with Chewie nudging his ribs the whole time.

“The Armorer will not approve,” Paz insisted.

Djarin had done the impossible: he’d put Luke to sleep. He delicately removed the mug of (possible sleep medication) tea from Luke’s unconscious deathgrip and asked Han where the used dishware went. That was thoughtful. Han told him to just stick it any damn place around the sink and he or Chewie would get to it.

He did and then came back to settle in next to Paz. Paz visibly experienced a rainbow of emotions. Djarin didn’t notice a single one of them. Instead, he crossed his legs and held the orange tips of one hand in the orange tips of the other.

“I wanted to apologize, Paz,” he said. “After what you’ve sacrificed for me and the kid, I should have been more grateful.”

“D—don’t mention it,” Paz stammered. “It’s—it’s the Way.”

“It is the Way,” Djarin agreed. “I think I was afraid of how to face all of you afterwards.”

Han could hear Paz’s internal scream from here.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll bet you, uh, did. It—it wasn’t the first time, was it?”

Djarin sat up a little straighter.

“No. How did you know?” he asked.

Paz shivered.

“Just a feeling,” he said. “You know, uh. Din. You don’t have to be ashamed of anything, right? You’re—you’re like my little brother. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or anyone say anything to you. Okay?”

Awwwwwwwww.

Djarin looked up into Paz’s visor.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

“What? No. I’m. I’m saying, that if you ever had something you wanted to tell me, or you know, any of us. We’re always here to listen,” Paz said. “And to support you.”

Djarin’s silver helmet tilted worriedly.

“I already did,” he said.

“GREAT,” Paz said. “Perfect. You’re doing amazing.”

Djarin pulled back, officially disturbed.

“Right,” he said slowly. “So I’m gonna—”

“Listen, kid,” Paz said, grabbing the strap between Djarin’s chest and back plates and dragging him back down to sitting. “Think about your parent.” He took Djarin’s hand from where he was actively trying to escape and held it in a firm, masculine grip. “She loves you, you know that.”

“Paz, I’m panicking,” Djarin said outloud.

“And she was so happy for you to have a foundling,” Paz carried on like plough. “So she’s gonna be happy for you, no matter what.”

Djarin could not pull his hand out of Paz’s grip, and boy was he trying. He’d started a cool descent to the floor, he was trying so hard.

“I know,” he grated out.

“But a jedi, Din?”

“He can’t help it, man,” Djarin said, still struggling almost on his back now. “You said it yourself. It’s a born-with-it thing.”

Paz stared forcefully at his knuckles.

“You’re right,” he said, letting out a slow breath. “But if that’s how it gonna be, you really should propose first.”

Djarin’s helmet somehow managed to emote ‘shock’ on the ground there.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked. “I barely knew her.”

“Her?” Paz asked, then caught himself. “Sorry, sorry. Not my business—”

“It was like, a week at most—”

“Not my business.”

“And yeah, she had a great kid and—”

“Wait, wait, hold up,” Paz said. “Who are you talking about?”

Djarin stared.

“My friend? From Sorgen?” he said. “Who are you talking about?”

Paz went very still.

“You’re fuckin’ some gal on Sorgen?” he asked.

“No?” Djarin said. “I mean. She wanted to, and I thought about it, but it was only a week, and I didn’t want her to feel like I’d used her only for—who are you talking about?”

“The jedi,” Paz said, pointing at Luke’s languid, curled up self on the table’s bench.

“Why would I be fucking the jedi?” Djarin asked. “He’s my son’s teacher, Paz.”

“Because he’s crushing on you?” Paz asked, equally upset and confused. “And you’re gay, so?”

“I’m what?”

“Gay????”

“I am??”

Han was crying. Han was sobbing.

These idiots were days of comedy. Look at them go. Look at ‘em spin.

“Din, please. You don’t have to fake it. I support you—”

“I didn’t ask for your support?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m picking up some strong feelings. And I don’t want you to think that—”

“Paz, what I want more than anything for you to do right now is to stop thinking. I’m not gay.”

Paz pressed a hand against his helmet like he was in physical pain.

“But the way you always looked at Teyo,” he said.

Djarin had a tiny stroke and slammed his fist into Paz’s arm.

“DON’T MENTION—”

“What the FUCK, brat?”

“HOW DARE YOU—”

“Why’re you yellin’ at me now??”

“Why’re you bringing up some childhood shit, haven’t we done enough of that already?”

“Why’re you so mad? I’m tryin’ to be supportive. If you wanna fuck the Jedi, fuck the Jedi. I’m just sayin’ maybe don’t tell the Armorer until after you’ve done it, so she doesn’t think you’re under some kinda mind-trick or somethin’, alright?”

Han no longer needed those helmets. He had these characters down. Djarin was gaping now. In shock and offense.

“Never speak to me again,” he decided.

“Bro,” Paz said.

“NO.”

“Karkin’ hell, Din. What’s your problem?”

“Excuse me, I must drown, where are your facilities?” Djarin asked Han directly.

“Round the corner, on the left,” Han told him.

“No, no, no,” Paz said, grabbing Djarin by the cape and dragging him back. “We gotta talk about this. We gotta process.”

“I’m not processing shit with you,” Djarin said. “I am not fucking the jedi.”

“But you want to,” Paz deduced.

“I—what? Wh—do you want me to have relations with him? Did I miss something?” Djarin asked.

“I want you to feel supported,” Paz said.

“I don’t. I feel targeted,” Djarin said. “Stop targeting me.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

“Good. Let go.”

“But if—”

“Paz, I’m going to behead myself.”

“If you do want to have sex with the jedi, later. That’s fine. Or anyone else. That’s fine, too.”

“BOBA.”

Behold. A breaking point.

#fic #paz vizsla #din djarin #the mandalorian #I literally just want to write Din and Paz fighting and being secretly protective of each other 24/7 #idk if that's been made clear yet #do you think I'm being too subtle?#ficlet

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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What about for bnha (any character) a darling that's actually happy to be getting this overwhelming affection and 'protection' like their touchstarved or something?

I decided to go with Bakugo for this if only because he’s the only one I can think of that wouldn’t take full advantage of a willing Darling. It’s nice to give him something to work with every once in a while, too, when I’m not seeing how often I can get away with making him cry.

Title: Protector.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Stockholm Syndrome, and Implied Kidnapping.

You’d never been much of a provider.

It was a preference, more than anything else. It wasn’t that you were inactive or unmotivated, you just liked to be… stable, for lack of a better term. Stability came with routine, with predictability, even if Katsuki didn’t seem like the type to shower you in either. There were too many factors, in a normal lifestyle. You couldn’t control how much rent would go up or how nice the people you spoke to would be, nor were you eager to try and do so on your own. You’d never had that kind of drive. Not like Katsuki did.

You weren’t made to survive on your own.

Your boyfriend was just the one to make that fact clear.

He was so much bigger than you. Usually, it was the cute, domestic height difference the media had fawned over back when you were still a new, shocking celebrity couple, but you could never seem to forget that you were the lesser half of a whole when he insisted on being this… close. It wasn’t really his fault. His eyes were still closed, a thin sheet draped lazily somewhere below his waist, but his body seemed to eclipse your own, an arm snaking around your midriff and keeping you pinned against his form as easily as a toddler would cling to a favored stuffed animal. Pale beams of sunlight shined through parted blinds, warming your skin wherever they made contact. You shifted towards the sensation, Katsuki’s bed wide enough to allow the slight change, but you stopped the moment you heard the mass behind you groan, pulling you closer in an effort to minimize the nonexistent space between you.

“One more hour,” He mumbled, his voice weighed down by sleep and exhaustion and all the things you were sure a strong, hard-working Hero was afflicted by. “It’s too early for… whatever you’re doing.”

You were silent, for a beat, not afraid to speak, but still hesitant to. Instead, you rolled over, resting your head in the space between his collarbone and his chin, more intent on making Katsuki think you were comfortable than anything else. It was nice to sleep next to someone, even if you had to remind yourself of that, occasionally. Nicer than that empty, freezing room you used to be stuck in, anyway. “You don’t have to work today,” You said, the statement as much of a declaration as a rebuttal. “We should do something, it feels like you haven’t been home in weeks.”

Another groan, this one labored and throaty, signaling Katsuki’s exaggerated discontent. With a single, muscular arm, you were pulled from your place at his side and deposited unceremoniously on his chest, left to straddle his stomach and glower as he settled onto his back, the man smirking as he scanned over your disheveled form. It was a lazy sort of affection, only made more potent as he cupped your cheek, pulling you into a kiss that was barely a kiss, his lips only just touching yours before you both devolved into tired laughter.

Katsuki was the first to speak, only a touch more awake than he had been a second or two ago. It was the most you could ask for, though. “Exactly. It’s my day off, so I get to say what we’re doing.” He paused, watching intently as you sat up. You almost thought about moving, but something about the hands currently resting on your hips gave you the feeling you wouldn’t get very far. “And I say we’re doing absolutely fucking nothing. I don’t want to hear, see, or deal with anyone outside these four walls, not until Deku calls me to cry about whatever he stubbed his toe on today.”

You pursed your lips, glad he wasn’t capable of giving you his full attention. Any expression so mildly opinionated would never escape his notice, anytime else. “I was really hoping we could go out--”

“You want to go outside?”

You realized your mistake as soon as the words left his lips. “No, that’s not what I--” You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath and straightening your back, attempting to seem professional, composed. As if asking for his permission was a courtesy, rather than an obligation. “I want to spend time with you, ‘suki, and I want to do it out there. I’m not trying to trick you or find a way out or--”

“Or run away?” With one hand, his nails dug into your skin, rooting you in place as he pushed himself up with the other, coming to tower over you with little more than a change of position. He glanced towards his sides, looking for a way to restrain you, but rope and cuffs and chains weren’t necessary. Not when his glare was enough to pin you down. “Because least time I trusted you, that’s what you did. You attacked me, then you ran.” You could hear him choke on the phrase, his voice hitching and emerging as a growl in an effort to compensate. “And now, you’re trying to do it again. I don’t know why I thought you’d gotten better.”

“I’m not.” It was a weak defense, but you didn’t have a better option. There was rarely a good way to defend yourself against someone as insistent as Katsuki. “I’m not like that, anymore. I’m not going to leave--”

At that, he scoffed, rolling his eyes in a way that told you he was past the point of listening. “Remember what happened when you tried to take care of yourself? Remember how long it took you to recover, and how desperate you were when you finally dragged yourself back home? How long did you last? A week, two of ‘em, at most. We’re just lucky you made it out of that alive.”

You hadn’t realized you were still holding onto him, not until you found yourself moving to clutch at your own shirt, kneading at the fabric like that would ease your nerves. “It was a mistake.”

“Got that right,” He agreed, the scowl pressed into his lips never wavering. “There’s nothing you can do out there. No one’s gonna step up and protect you, not like I do. You’re helpless without me. There’s no point in tryin’ to deny it, not after we both saw what’ll happen to you.”

He might’ve had more to say. He might’ve gone on until you were silent and shaking and he was still ranting about criminals and villains and all the things he seemed so convinced would end your life the moment you took a step without his help. You’d been gone for a month, you’d escaped for a month, but that didn’t make your eventual submission any less painful to recall, and it certainly didn’t stop the tears from gathering in the corners of your eyes, or muffle the scratchy, uneven sob that was clawing its way up your throat, demanding your acknowledgment before it surrendered.

Katsuki went quiet as you began to cry, but he was far from finished. Rather, his approach morphed into one of faux-sympathy and inescapable affection, his arms wrapping around your torso and dragging you towards him, smothering you in a strategy so uncharacteristic, you had to melt into it. Resisting wasn’t an option, when Katsuki chose to be patient. “It’s alright,” He muttered, his tone suddenly so soft, so tender. If anything, it only made you cry harder. “That’s why I’m here, yeah? I need to keep you safe, even when you’re too much of a dumbass to appreciate me. I have to keep you grounded.”

This time, you didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were too busy burying your face in the crook of his neck and clinging to him and letting him cling to you, not daring to wonder why you’d been opposed to it, earlier.

He was right. Katsuki took care of you, protected you, and you couldn’t afford to consider the alternative. You didn’t want to consider the alternative.

It was easier to let him hold you than it was to think about why you shouldn’t want him to.

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Shepherd’s Honor

This oneshot brought to you by the mental image of Trouble carrying Trick piggyback that wouldn’t go away. :D Not that I tried all that hard.

----

Patrolling Haven was boring. Usually. Trick couldn’t say she cared much for how today chose to make itself an exception to that rule.

Namely the sharp, familiar pain that spiked through her right shin. It had her bracing one hand against a nearby wall for support even as her gaze tipped skyward.

Trouble must have heard her harsh breath in, because he stopped and swung around to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Trick said, not finding what she’d expected in her scan of the pale blue sky. She pushed away from the wall and fell in step next to him again, but only made it a few paces before a follow-up ache cramped her leg and made her flinch. “Okay, maybe something...”

Trouble shot her a look caught somewhere between confused and concerned. “What?”

“Well, first off, it’s gonna storm later,” she replied, leaning against his shoulder for support as she tried to shake out the cramping muscles.

That made him frown up at the cloudless sky. “How can you tell?”

“I’m magic,” Trick deadpanned, cautiously setting weight back on that leg.

Trouble snorted. “Shit, I know that. Seriously, Trick, how can you tell? An’ are you alright?”

“Yes, to the second,” she assured him when her leg held weight, “and short answer for the first is I broke my leg real bad when I was younger an’ now it aches when rain’s comin’.”

His nose wrinkled. “That’s... bad. But also kinda cool.”

She laughed. “Tell me about it; all in lookin’ for the silver lining. I don’t like that my leg hurts, but it really comes in handy to have a warning about that kinda thing when you’re debatin’ if you should move on from a town or stay put one more night.”

“I’ll bet.” He cocked his head. “You okay to keep going?”

Trick nodded. “Kinda hafta be, don’t I? We’re only halfway done.”

Trouble rolled his eyes. “Like I’d make you keep walkin’ on that leg if it was hurtin’ you that bad.”

“Sweet of you,” Trick laughed, flipping her braid back over her shoulder. “But it’s fine for now. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

He grinned and nudged her shoulder. “Promise?”

“Shepherd’s honor,” she grinned back. “I promise.”

They made it another quarter of the way before it changed. Not coincidentally, that was when the first dark storm clouds appeared on the horizon. Trouble noticed those two things in the opposite order Trick did; saw the clouds and turned to look at her.

She was limping, she knew, just noticeably, and flashed a sheepish smile. “It doesn’t hurt. Not that bad. Only thing that might be a problem is stairs.” The words had barely left her mouth when they reached the first (very long) flight of stairs back down to Ashtown and the Shepherd compound. “This just isn’t my day, is it?” she muttered wryly, and kicked a pebble off the top step.

Trouble scratched the back of his neck. “Want me to carry you?”

“What, like piggyback?” Trick snarked, touched by the offer but unsure how well it would work.

He shrugged. “’Less you wanna bang your head against the wall every few steps, that’s prob’ly the best way, dontcha think?”

“Yeah, but...”

He winked at her. “C’mon, Trick, you can’t be that heavy.”

Not for you, at least, she thought dryly. “It’s not that! I just know how fast carryin’ weight--any weight--can tire you out on stairs.”

Another shrug. “Better that than makin’ you walk on it.” Trouble grinned. “I’m not gonna drop you.”

Trick laughed. “Promise?”

His grin widened. “Shepherd’s honor.”

She only hesitated a couple seconds more. “Oh, fine.” It would be better than fumbling down on her own, no matter the loss of dignity. And they were pretty close in height, it was easy enough to wrap her arms around his neck and boost herself up. Trouble jokingly staggered sideways as he settled his grip under her legs.

“Muti,” Trick growled through a laugh as she freed one arm to punch his shoulder.

“Just teasin’,” Trouble promised with another grin.

“I know,” she said, resting her chin atop his head. His hair smelled like sun and charch and she smiled at the familiarity. “I’m good when you are.”

“Right.” He shifted ever so slightly so his hands were closer to the backs of her knees, and started down the steps.

It was trickier than either anticipated to keep their balance, but they managed to get to the bottom without killing themselves. There were two or three more similar flights to go, but Trick insisted on walking in between so Trouble could have a break. “It doesn’t hurt that much,” she promised. “More like a really strong cramp than anything.”

“You say that like it’s any better than your leg actually hurtin’.” he muttered.

“Trust me, it is,” she sighed, running one hand along her braid. I know from experience.

Trouble kicked a pebble, and they watched it skitter ahead of them. When they caught up to it, Trick kicked it further. This time it veered sideways when it ricocheted from the edge of a cobblestone and out of reach.

“So, how exactly didja break your leg so bad it helps you predict the weather?” he asked when they reached the next flight of stairs, longer and narrower and curving left.

Trick laughed as she hoisted herself up on his back again. “Oh, it was very exciting. I fell off a ladder.”

Trouble barked a disbelieving laugh of his own. “Really? That’s it?”

“Well, I may have been runnin’ from some people...” she allowed, tightening her grip when he started to turn and look at her. “Trouble, watch where you’re goin’.”

“Right, right.” He hesitated a beat. “Who were you runnin’ from?”

“You want the long version?” Trick chuckled. Even that wasn’t a terribly exciting story, in her opinion, but he was carrying her down steps without a word of complaint. She’d spin him any damn tale about herself he wanted.

“Sure, why not?” Trouble grunted, shifting his grip. “If you don’t mind, anyway.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” she promised, wriggling higher when she realized she was sort of strangling him in her current position. “So, there’s this merchant. Decided he wanted extra muscle for the trip from Capra to this town out near Lindell, which makes sense. He was offering good money and I needed work, so I signed up. It’s a pretty long trip, we had to scare off a couple groups of bandit, actually kill some mean-spirited critters, so I more than earned my lyss this time ‘round.”

“And?” Trouble prompted when she paused.

Trick snorted a laugh through her nose and rested her chin atop his head again. “And the kisich tried to weasel outta payin’ me. Dunno if he was just a skinflint or had something against Diminished or whatever, but when I stood my ground instead of cavin’ like he expected, his men went to force the issue and we had a... uh, scuffle.” She chuckled. “Got the mother of all beautiful black eyes from that scrap. Anyway, partway in, one gets the bright idea to taunt me with the coin purse holdin’ my pay. Guess he thought it would rile me up so I didn’t think straight. He forgot how hard I am to rile. And how quick I can be.” She grinned, her fingers digging into Trouble’s collar. “Punched him in the nose and took off with my money when he dropped it.”

Trouble snorted. “Lemme guess, they came after you.”

“Like yiwari after a rabbit,” Trick confirmed, sliding off his back as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “But I had a really good head start.” Her leg cramped and she glanced up at the much closer storm clouds. “And I made it even bigger ‘cause the outskirts of the town had the houses all built close together, y’know, where you can jump pretty easy roof to roof?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“There was a ladder to the roof every so many houses, so I went up the first one I found and zigzagged my way along the outskirts, jumpin’ alleys an’ hidin’ a couple times ‘til I lost ‘em.”

“Good thing you didn’t fall,” Trouble commented

“Oh, very good,” Another of those silver linings. Trick agreed wryly, scanning the side streets they passed for anything off. It seemed all clear. “Would not have been pretty.”

“Why didn’t ya just tell somebody that kisich was tryin’ to cheat ya?”

She snorted. “Maybe I woulda if I weren’t so obviously Diminished.” She watched his gaze flick to her hair, then back to the street. “They had an.... unlovey reputation regarding how they treated my kind.”

“Oh.” Trouble cracked his knuckles. “I’da kicked their asses. The merchant’s men, I mean.”

“I know,” Trick said with a smile, bumping her shoulder to his(harder than she’d meant to, her limp was getting worse). “If I’d had you backin’ me, I mighta gone for that myself. As it was, I didn’t really wanna fight them. Not there. Just wanted my money. An’ I got that.”

This last stretch of road was a short one, and they reached the final flight of stairs much more quickly than the previous ones. The clouds were actually starting to dim the sun as Trick climbed up on Trouble’s back again, and she hoped the approaching storm held off long enough for them to reach the compound.

“So where this ladder you fell off figure in?” Trouble prompted as he started down the steps.

“Right.” Trick pulled her attention off the sky and back to her story. “Getting down. I waited a good... half hour in my last hidin’ spot to make sure they were gone. The sun was startin’ to set when I finally felt safe comin’ out; the shadows kept me from seeing the, uh, condition of the closest ladder. The wood was all dry-rotted, fourth or fifth rung down broke the second I put weight on it. I fell maybe fifteen feet? Somethin’ like that.”

Trouble gave a low whistle. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it, I’m lucky my leg’s the only thing I broke. But it was bad enough to more than make up for being the only damage--bone ripped through the skin and everything.”

“What didja do?” he asked, boosting her higher as she started to slide.

“Limped--well, hobbled is prob’ly better--around til I found a healer. Fortunately didn’t take too long,” she shrugged. “Hadn’t scrapped together enough know-how to fix somethin’ that bad for myself yet.” She wiggled her finger significantly and snorted. “Barely had twenty lyss to my name after payin’ the man. And even with his help, it still scarred real nasty. ‘Bout this long.” She let go with one hand to hold thumb and index finger four or five inches apart in demonstration. “An’ now I have a surefire way of tellin’ when it’s gonna” --a fat, wet droplet hit the back of her neck and made her flinch--”rain.”

Trouble swore as they reached the bottom of the steps and he let her down. “Was hopin’ we’d make it back ‘fore that got here,” he admitted as rain freckled both their shirts.

“You and me both,” Trick said wryly. She grabbed his wrist. The compound was in view down the the far end of the street. “C’mon, if we hurry, maybe we can at least avoid getting completely drenched.”

He laughed and let her tug him into motion, but was nice enough to not outpace her when her limp slowed her down. Which meant they both got drenched when the skies opened up just before they made it through the Shepherd compound gates.

Trouble swore again, but he was grinning when they ducked under the cover of the entrance and he shook water from his hair like a dog.

“Sorry,” Trick said through a laugh, only slightly sheepish, and squeezed water from her braid. “But thanks for the help. And stickin’ with me.”

“Don’t mention it,” he winked, thumping her on the back with one hand while he raked hair out of his eyes with the other. “It’s what you do for friends.”

“Still.” She lightly punched his shoulder. “I appreciate it. And I appreciated even more that you didn’t drop me.”

“Hey, I promised, didn’t I?” Trouble said with a laugh. “Shepherd’s honor an’ all.”

“And I’ve encountered enough people who didn’t keep their word to make me appreciate when someone does.” Trick glanced toward the courtyard, rain now falling in sheets. “You know we still have to make it across that to get to our rooms, right?”

Trouble’s grin widened. “Need another ride?”

Trick’s leg twinged even as thunder rumbled and she snorted a laugh. “Wouldn’t turn it down.”

““Alright, then.”

Neither of them cared if anyone saw their pell-mell run through the downpour for the dormitory wing of the compound, Trick’s arms locked around Trouble’s neck and both laughing the whole way. Trouble kicked the door shut behind them and Trick tightened her grip in a backwards sort-of hug before sliding off.

“Thanks, Trouble,” she grinned, bumping her shoulder to his.

“Welcome, Trick,” he returned, also grinning as he returned the shoulder bump before they headed for their rooms to dry off.

Trick found herself smiling as she stripped off her wet clothes--and not just because her gun had escaped getting wet. While her leg flaring up and then getting rained on wouldn’t have been her first choice for how to break the monotony of patrol, at least handling it with a friend--especially one strong enough to carry her--had kept it from being entirely awful.

Honestly, she had to admit as she dried off and reached for fresh clothes, it had almost (almost) been fun.

#queens fic #shepherds of haven #elyana trick #trouble alder #shoh #not really shippy bc neither of these goofballs has started falling yet #(not that they'll REALIZE when they start falling #she's at least as oblivious as him)

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nyahsaqueen · 3 years

Photo

Task 001: Character Playlist.

Death Becomes Her - a Nyah Queen playlist

Snippets of Lyrics below:

1. tipsy - Chloe x Halle

man just this entire song is her vibe, k bye

I've been crucified, darling Ghosts haunt me like New Orleans I've been charged with murder Need someone to push me further I'll hit you where it hurts, yeah If you don't put me first, yeah And I don't give no apologies If you lose a life, that's not on me, yeah

[Pre-Chorus] Better, baby, better treat me better Better than those other guys who change up like the weather, yeah It is such a shame that they went missing, they can't find 'em now Oh, I wonder how I accidentally put them in the ground, yeah

[Chorus] I might be a little tipsy on your love Makes me a little crazy, but so what? You're strumming on my heartstrings, don't be dumb If you love your little life, then don't fuck up

[Verse 2] I'll take you to the afterlife Boy, if you ain't actin' right Key your car and crash the lights Hit your head, I'm not polite Then I'll hunt down your family Let 'em know 'bout the tragedy Who did it? A mystery But you know that it, it was me, yeah

2. scream - Michael Jackson & Janet Jackson

Tired of injustice Tired of the schemes The lies are disgusting So what does it mean, damn it? Kicking me down I got to get up As jacked as it sounds The whole system sucks, damn it

Peek in the shadow Come into the light You tell me I'm wrong Then you better prove you're right! You're selling out souls but I I care about mine I've got to get stronger And I won't give up the fight

3. girls like us - Zoe Wees

It's hard for girls like us We don't know who we trust Not even the ones we love 'Cause they don't know

4. motive - Ariana Grande & Doja Cat

'Cause I see you tryin', subliminally tryin' To see if I'm gon' be the one that's in your arms I admit it's exciting, parts of me kinda like it But before I lead you on

Baby, tell me, what's your motive? (Motive)

You treat me like gold, baby Now you wanna spoil me Did you want a trophy or you wanna sport me, baby? Want me on your neck 'cause you wanted respect 'Cause you fightin' some war, baby Well, I had to bring the fists out, had to put a wall up But don't trust phonies, baby (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) You gotta tell me, what's your motive, baby?

5. boss bitch - Doja Cat

Yeah, ain't tryna be cool like you Wobblin' around in your high heel shoes I'm clumsy, made friends with the floor Two for one, you know a bitch buy four And two left feet, you know I always drop First thing a girl did was a bop I'm the whole damn cake and the cherry on top Shook up the bottle, made a good girl pop

I'm a bitch, I'm a boss I'm a bitch and a boss, I'ma shine like gloss

6. nightmare - Halsey

"Come on, little lady, give us a smile" No, I ain't got nothin' to smile about I got no one to smile for, I waited a while for A moment to say I don't owe you a goddamn thing

7. all the stars - Kendrick Lamar, SZA

Tell me what you gon' do to me Confrontation ain't nothin' new to me You can bring a bullet, bring a sword, bring a morgue But you can't bring the truth to me Fuck you and all your expectations I don't even want your congratulations I recognize your false confidence And calculated promises all in your conversation I hate people that feel entitled Look at me crazy 'cause I ain't invite you Oh, you important? You the moral to the story? You endorsin'? Mothafucka, I don't even like you Corrupted man's heart with a gift That's how you find out who you dealin' with A small percentage who I'm buildin' with I want the credit if I'm losin' or I'm winnin' On my momma, that's the realest shit

8. needed me - Rihanna

But baby, don't get it twisted You was just another n**** on the hit list Tryna fix your inner issues with a bad bitch Didn't they tell you that I was a savage? Fuck ya white horse and ya carriage Bet you never could imagine Never told you you could have it

You needed me Ooh, you needed me To feel a little more, and give a little less Know you hate to confess But baby ooh, you needed me 9. checklist - Normani, Calvin Harris feat. Wizkid

Come show me what the neck ’bout Might show you what the check ’bout Might show you what that net 'bout Give it all to you if you check out Way you moving it around me Make me feel like you wan’ drown me Make me feel like you wan' wet me Only you know how to get me up

10. truth hurts - Lizzo

You tried to break my heart? Oh, that breaks my heart That you thought you ever had it No, you ain't from the start Hey, I'm glad you're back with your bitch I mean, who would wanna hide this? I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever be your side chick I put the sing in single Ain't worried 'bout a ring on my finger So you can tell your friend, "Shoot your shot" when you see him It's okay, he already in my DMs

I'ma hit you back in a minute (Yeah, yeah) I don't play tag, bitch, I been it (One time) We don't fuck with lies (Two times), we don't do goodbyes (Woo) We just keep it pushing like ay-ay-ay

11. juice - Lizzo

If I'm shinin', everybody gonna shine (Yeah, I'm goals) I was born like this, don't even gotta try (Now you know) I'm like chardonnay, get better over time (So you know) Heard you say I’m not the baddest, bitch, you lie (Haha)

It ain’t my fault that I'm out here gettin’ loose Gotta blame it on the Goose Gotta blame it on my juice, baby It ain't my fault that I'm out here makin' news I’m the pudding in the proof Gotta blame it on my juice Ya-ya-ee, ya-ya-ee, ya-ya-ee, ya-ya-ee Blame it on my juice, blame it, blame it on my juice

12. motivation - normani

Fallin' into the bed Why would we ever do somethin' instead of Fallin' into the bed right now? Yeah

I'ma break you off, let me be your motivation To stay and give it tonight And, baby, turn around, let me give you innovation Hey, 'cause I do it so right Think about it, ooh, I think about it Think about it, ooh, take a look at me now Hey, a little motivation, alright

13. mi gente - J Balvin, Willy William

Esquina a esquina, de ahí no' vamo' El mundo es grande, pero lo tengo en mi' manos Estoy muy duro, sí, ok, ahí vamos Y con el tiempo nos seguimos elevando

English: i’m rusty, i had to get some google help

Corner on the corner, that’s where we go The world is big, but I have it in my hands I’m very tough, yes, okay, there we go And over time we keep going up

14. sorry not sorry - Demi Lovato

Now, I'm out here lookin' like revenge Feelin' like a ten, the best I've ever been And, yeah, I know how bad it must hurt to see me like this But it gets worse (Wait a minute) Now, you're out here lookin' like regret, ain't too proud to beg Second chance, you'll never get And, yeah, I know how bad it must hurt to see me like this But it gets worse (Wait a minute)

Now, payback is a bad bitch And baby, I'm the baddest You fuckin' with a savage Can't have this, can't have this (Ah) And it'd be nice of me to take it easy on ya, but nah

Baby, I'm sorry (I'm not sorry)

15. django jane - Janelle Monáe

And hit the mute button, let the vagina have a monologue Mansplaining, I fold 'em like origami What's a wave, baby? This a tsunami For the culture, I kamikaze, I put my life on a life line If she the G.O.A.T. now, would anybody doubt it?

16. perfect illusion - Lady Gaga

Tryin' to get control Pressure's takin' its toll Stuck in the middle zone I just want you alone My guessing game is strong Way too real to be wrong Caught up in your show Yeah, at least now I know

It wasn't love, it wasn't love It was a perfect illusion (Perfect illusion) Mistaken for love, it wasn't love It was a perfect illusion (Perfect illusion) You were a perfect illusion

17. formation - Beyoncé

I see it, I want it, I stunt; yellow bone-it I dream it, I work hard, I grind 'til I own it I twirl on them haters, albino alligators El Camino with the seat low, sippin' Cuervo with no chaser Sometimes I go off (I go off), I go hard (I go hard) Get what's mine (Take what's mine), I'm a star (I'm a star) 'Cause I slay (Slay), I slay (Hey), I slay (Okay), I slay (Okay) All day (Okay), I slay (Okay), I slay (Okay), I slay (Okay) We gon' slay (Slay), gon' slay (Okay), we slay (Okay), I slay (Okay) I slay (Okay), okay (Okay), I slay (Okay), okay, okay, okay, okay Okay, okay, ladies, now let's get in formation, 'cause I slay Okay, ladies, now let's get in formation, 'cause I slay Prove to me you got some coordination, 'cause I slay Slay trick, or you get eliminated

18. be careful - Cardi B

Be careful with me, do you know what you doin'? Whose feelings that you're hurtin' and bruisin'? You gon' gain the whole world But is it worth the girl that you're losin'? Be careful with me Yeah, it's not a threat, it's a warnin' Be careful with me Yeah, my heart is like a package with a fragile label on it Be careful with me

19. i like that - Janelle Monáe

I remember when you called me weird We was in math class, third row, I was sitting by you Right before Mr. Ammond’s class 'Cause my mama couldn’t afford new Js Polos, thrift store, thrift clothes that was all I knew Do you remember? Uh, I remember when you laughed when I cut my perm off And you rated me a six I was like, “Damn” But even back then with the tears in my eyes I always knew I was the shit 20. W - Koffee feat. Gunna

Everything we do, we give thanks, tell dem wah we do Lowe di L, take di W (Ayy, ayy) One thing deh out deh fi you (Ayy, ayy) And it nah come if you no go

#darkesttask1 #( dossier. )#( tasks. )

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biihoebi · 3 years

Text

@newsiesgiftexchange

for @what-goesaround-comesaround for the Newsies Winter Gift Exchange 2020

aaaah ok so this unbetad because usually I bully you into betaing my stuff so it's quite stream of consciousness but whateverr. also maybe I took some creative liberties on the historical accuracy but who cares

(its kind of a shit show but shhhh Irish Spot)

——————————————————————–

read on ao3 here

——————————————————————–

While it was Jack's father who taught him not to starve it was his mother who taught him the value of his heritage. Which is why when the new kid at the lodging house was sitting at the end of his bed, distressed over a throwaway comment Albert had made, Jack was doing his best to comfort them.

"He said I was losing my accent" Rua had all but wailed. "How can I be Irish without me accent. And Granda said he used to have flaming hair like mine before it went dark with age. Then I won't even look Irish." they continued.

"But yer Irish by blood not by hair or by voice. I mean my hair ain't red but you'd be hard pressed tryna tell me I isn't Irish." Jack sighed. "Look, I've never stepped foot in Ireland, youse is ahead of me there, but my Mam kept it alive in the stories she told. Some were legends and some were just memories of her and her siblings getting into all sorts of trouble in the fields. And I can speak Irish just as good as the next guy, no matter what Spot Conlon says" he finished. Rua let out a short sniffle.

"But my Mam works in a factory. I never see her no more" they said wiping their face with their sleeve.

"We ain't the same, I'm Irish sure but I was born here. Youse is better off asking Spot about this, he was born in Dublin, didn't come here til he was about 8. And seeing as Albert started this whole mess he can be the one to go to Brooklyn to deliver the message after he's done selling. Now it's time for newsies to go to bed, you ain't no use selling if your half asleep." Jack declared.

——————————————————————–

To a bright eyed and bushy tailed Rua morning couldn't come soon enough and neither could the circulation bell nor could the final sell of the day. By the time Albert left for Brooklyn every newsie in Manhattan knew about it and was sick of hearing about it.

"Just because Albert's gone today, don't mean Spots gonna visit today. Heck he mightn't even visit at all. Do youse really think this is a big enough deal for the King of Brooklyn to take time out of his busy sche-

"Stop shit stirring Boots" Jack interrupted sternly. "Just because Spot doesn't like Brits like you doesn't mean he won't help out a fellow Paddy" he joked. At that Boots straightened his back

"I'll have you know Mr Kelly that Spot Conlon said I's is the best 'Brit' he knows" he said, smugly straightening an imaginary tie.

"Best of a rotten bunch" a new voice chimed in. Every newsie in the room suddenly started scrambling to look half presentable. "I got your message Kelly, now where's the young wayne?" the person continued. In response Jack stepped aside revealing Rua, who had been hiding behind his legs.

"I-I'm Rua" they stuttered out. The man crouched down to their eye level.

"I'm Spot Conlon, but I thought youse was supposed to be Irish. Where's me 'dia duit'? It's like you ain't even tryin'. No wonder youse losing yer accent" Spot said. That did nothing to help the already nervous wreck that Rua was.

Spot shot up suddenly, shooing everyone but Jack, Rua, Crutchie and Race out. He sat down on the middle bed and kicked his feet up, gesturing for everyone to follow. Ever the rebel Race decided to lean against the bunk instead while the rest settled into the surrounding beds. "Look, Jack says youse is struggling with moving on with yer life while staying Irish. I went through the same thing when I first came 'nd look at me now, King of New York"

"King of Brooklyn" Race coughed out which Spot shot daggers at him for.

"I'se is the King of New York, don't let no street rat tell you otherwise" he spat "but I wasn't always, I was once a youngin like you, fresh off the boat with only my poor parents and a sack full of stuff between us…"

——————————————————————–

The dock bustled with workers and passengers alike. Some leaving but most stepping off boats and into their new lives. Among those coming off was a young Seán Conlon. With wild hair and big eyes filled with the wonder and excitement of seeing somewhere beyond the slums of Dublin. It was an outbreak of TB amongst the tenements that did it in for his parents.

Seán didn't have long to admire the new world he had just entered before his hand was grabbed and he was dragged off into a long line filled with fellow immigrants. Hours passed before the tired young boy would make it through the front door to his new home. It was a small one room apartment completely unlivable by today's standard but to someone from the worst slums in Europe it might as well have been Buckingham. "Go bhfoire Dia orainn, tá sé linne!! Níl aon theaghlach eile ina gconaionn liomsa?" Seán gawked in awe.

"Tá, ach bí curamach, níl cead agat bí ag caint as gaeilge nuair a tá tú taobh amuigh" his father responded.

"Cén fáth?"

"Mar ní maith a lán daoiní, duine eile ag caint as gaeilge agus sin é sin a bhfuil."

"Ceart go leor"

That night Seán lay awake in his bed wondering why anyone could dislike speaking Irish. Well besides the British but Uncle Seamus always said that their opinion didn't matter and that he and a few of his friends from the Irish Republican Brotherhood would soon rid Ireland of them. Whatever that meant. His father would always laugh alongside and say 'that would be the day' while his mother would give out to him for encouraging Seamus.

It wouldn't be for a few weeks that Seán would find out what his dad was talking about. He was out selling papers to help make ends meet, as small as the room was all three of them had to work hard in order to pay for it. He stood there waiting at the gate for the circulation bell to ring, when it happened. On his first day one of the older kids taught him a few tricks and gave him a few pieces of advice. One of those pieces was 'stay away from Acton Williams'. An unspoken rule he had managed to avoid up until that point.

Acton had walked right into him, dropping a strange wooden item in the process. Seán liked to think that his mother raised him right so he apologized and bent down to pick up the trinket

"Brón orm" he mumbled as he crouched, item in hand.

"The fuck you say to me?" Acton grunted. Seán froze realising his mistake and everyone went silent at the sound of Acton's voice.

"I was just saying sorry" Seán rushed out, trying desperately not to get baited so soon after joining the newsies. Acton let out a laugh.

"That's not what you said though is it?" he said " see I think youse was speaking some stupid language from the stupid country you came from. So I'mma ask again 'the fuck you say to me?"

"I said 'brón orm', you heard me the first time," Seán said, gaining confidence. It was one thing to be intimidated by an older kid who would definitely knock your block off but his Nan taught him better than to let someone talk shite about Ireland. Acton scoffed.

"I pity the Mum who raised such a rude brat " he spat taking a step towards Seán.

"Yeah well I pity the Mam who gave birth to such an ugly ogre"

And they were off! Acton could easily outrun Seán's tiny legs so his only hope was to lose him with twists and turns through the back alleys and busy streets. After what felt like hours of running, Seán finally ran into a deadend. Turning to face a panting Acton, Seán gulped and started reciting any and all prayers he could think of to any saints that popped into his head. In fact it wasn't until Seán went to clasp his hands in prayer that he noticed what he had picked up earlier.

A slingshot!!

Grabbing the nearest rock Seán loaded the sling. 'Dear St Anthony, pleeaassee help me find the ability to aim well' he prayed as he scrunched his eyes shut and released.

The next thing Seán heard was the large thump an unconscious Actons body made as it hit the ground. Opening his eyes to examine the noise he had heard Seán was shocked to see his feeble attempt at fighting back was actually a success. Seán quickly pocketed the slingshot and left before Acton had time to wake up.

——————————————————————–

"...and that's what it means to be Irish" Spot finished proudly

"Beating up British people is what it means to be Irish?" Rua said in awe of Spot's story. Spot grinned.

"See, this kid gets it" he joked, ruffling Ruas hair.

"That was a lovely story yer highness but how is that surppsoed to help 'em keep their accent" Race chipped in.

"Well what about you then Higgins if you have so much to say? D'you have any stories worth listening to?"

"What about being Italian? Well I-"

"Italian? Are ye not Irish?"

"No? What made you think that?"

"Yer surname is Higgins"

"Yeah, Higgins is a classic Italian name"

Jack and Spot made eye contact for a good minute before bursting out laughing. "Yer telling me this entire time youse never knew you was Irish?" Jack choked out between laughs. Even Rua stifled a giggle.

"My own mam was a Higgin, Racetrack" Spot roared. "Yee just can't make this stuff up" he said wiping a tear from his eye. Race's face was a brilliant red as he sputtered out excuses.

"Yer just joking, right guys? Right guys??"

——————————————————————–

BONUS :

At the gates the next morning Seán stood there absolutely shitting bricks. What had happened yesterday had been a stroke of luck but if Acton decided to continue the fight he was dead meat.

"Wait, is that Williams? No way what's with the giant bruise on his forehead?" a voice spoke interrupting Seán's train of thought.

"No way that's a bruise, he doesn't get those" another shot back. Soon a whole symphony of voices were arguing over whether it was a bruise or not.

"Wait a minute, weren't you getting chased by him yesterday, newbie? How come there's not a scratch on ya, and why's there only a big bruise on him?" the first voice said piecing the puzzle together. Soon everyone was crowding around Seán, looking for the story of what happened.

"Look nothing really happened" Seán reassured trying to downplay the situation "he chased me for a bit before I eventually shot him with this sling and he passed out on the spot."

Apparently telling them he knocked out the bully of the newsies was not the right thing to say to defuse the situation. Some started cheering for him others just rolled their eyes at his story.

"He clearly made that up on the spot" one voice chiming in.

"Nah, look at Acton, that's a massive bruise, obviously from being shot with a sling" another rebutted. Eventually the crowd settled a bit and someone had the common sense to ask for his name.

"Oh! I'm Seán." he responded. Everyone groaned.

"Not yer real one, yer newsies one" someone said. After Seán told them he didn't have one, everyone put their thinking caps on.

"Let's call him Spot, 'cause we'll never really know if he knocked him down on the spot or made up that story on the spot."

#boots newsies #jack kelly #livesies #newsies live #crutchie morris #jack newsies #race higgins #racetrack higgins #albert newsies #albert dasilva #spot newsies #spot conlon #newsies holiday exchange

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thecursedhellblazer · 4 years

Text

At the Edge of Nowhere

(( So, guess who went ahead and scratched that crazy itch I got yesterday? Yep, Scotty did. It turned in a small fic instead of a drabble, since apparently I had more to play out than I initially thought, but...here it is. I took the chance to experiment a bit with the writing style too, while I was at it, ‘cause...why not? ))

(( I’m not really sure of where the idea came from, I just really wanted them to have interact, somehow, without inventing something too complicated. And this was the result. Also, it doesn’t mean that I won’t try to shove Five into John’s universe or vice versa at some point, but for now I’m good with this xD ))

(( Sharing just in case anyone is in the mood for some random oddity! ))

(( I even posted in on Ao3 if anyone wants to have a look at it there! ^^” ))

They sit side by side, watching the eternal sunset of Eternity stretching before them, swinging their feet past the edge of the Abyss, unfazed by the danger of its depths. The darkness seems to be threatening to suck them down, condemning them to an endless fall, and yet they pay it no mind, each of them far too interested in sipping and enjoying his drink.

The silence floods past them, over them, through them, carrying the whispers of their lives. However, for this ephemeral moment, they are given the almost unique chance to ignore them. It’s a rare gift, one that deserved to be savoured, like a fine well-aged vintage. Like the ambrosia that the ancient gods, legit and false, so much have lauded.

And so they sit, the Boy and the Fool, side by side, on the edge of the Abyss.

The atmosphere is almost companionable, as much as it can be when shared by two strangers who carry with them too much baggage. A past and a present that are too dark, too painful. There’s as much kinship and understanding between them as there’s mistrust.

They let the quietness linger for a while, listening only to the taste of the alcohol that coats their tongues, knowing that the stasis won’t last. Neither of them is good at keeping his mouth shut when something is making their skin itch.

“Th’ ‘ell ‘s a lad like yeh doin’ in such a place?” The Fool finally asks, turning his eyes away from the magnetic horizon and landing them on his unlikely companion.

The Boy scoffs. Why is it always the same old story with everyone he meets? “I’d watch my fucking tongue if I were you, young man,” he shoots back, with a withering look. “I’m far older than I look. And I’m older than you for sure.”

A half laugh rises with a small cloud of smoke, but it dies in the matter of seconds as the seriousness of those declarations settles in.

“Blimey. Yeh ain’t pullin’ me leg, are yeh? ‘Ow old are yeh s’posed to be den, mate?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Trust me, mate, I’m not. I’m fifty-eight. And I’m stuck in the body of a thirteen-years-old. There’s nothing funny about it.”

“Bloody ‘Ell. Fifty-eight n’ still a lad? Tha’s...insane. I dun envy yeh. Nay.”

The Fool shakes his head, but, despite the lingering astonishment, there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Tell us, tho. Woh’s yeh secret? I gots me diabolical trick to slow down agin’ n’ all, but it obviously ain’t workin’ as well as yehs.”

“I got stuck in the future for forty-five years and, when I finally figured out the equation to go back to my time, I missed a typo and...this is the result.”

“Soddin’ math. ‘S one o’ th’ bloody reasons why I ne’er managed to get alchemy rite. T’in’s keep blowin’ up in me face.”

“Sodding math indeed. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They clink their glasses together and go back staring at the frozen skyline. Two sets of blue eyes. Different shades of the iris, similar heaviness burdening them.

The Boy steers his drink with his straw, lips pursing pensively. “Speaking of things that suck, what is this place exactly? Am I dreaming? Or did I accidentally take some of my brother’s drugs and this is like the most boring trip in history?”

The Fool scoffs. “Gonna pretend tha’ yeh didn’t jus’ insult me too, together wit’ dis soddin’ place.”

His gaze wanders for a split moment, touching their motionless surroundings. “Ah, I dunno, mate. Could be yeh dream, aye. Could be mine. Or maybe we bot’ stepped inside another real wit’out noticin’ n’ ‘ere we are. Wouldn’t be th’ first time for me. Won’t be th’ last either.”

“I’ve never been in another world. I’ve travelled through time, maybe a bit too much, and I’ve rushed through the fabric of space but this…” The Boy waves his free hand. “This is new. It’s easier to think of it as a dream, so I’d go with that, if you don’t mind. The last thing I need is another headache.”

“Wohe’er works wit’ yeh, mate. I get it. At times, ‘s be’er pretendin’ life ain’t real. ‘S good for yeh mental sanity. Even if yeh got none left.”

The Fool takes yet another drag from his cigarette. Curiously enough, it doesn’t seem to be shortening, even if the ash falls down on his trench coat.

“One t’in’ I can tell yeh ‘bout dis place, tho. It ain’t somewhere e’eryone can visit. Yeh gotta carry some serious shite wit’ yeh to ‘ave stumbled in ‘ere. Do yeh?”

The Boy shrugs. “Maybe? I kept pushing and pushing, even after my father had told me not to and I ended up after the End of the world. I heard the bastard’s voice echoing in my head for the past forty-five years.” He makes his voice thicker for a moment. “I told you so, boy. I told you so. Asshole.”

A long sip from his drink, as if he is trying to wash away that intrusive voice from his ears, before he continues.

“I worked for this organisation that monitors the timeline for a while as a trained assassin. They made me into the perfect killer, a tool for their plans. I had my goals, though, since the start. I took their deal just so that I could go back to try to stop the Apocalypse and save my family. We ended up breakin the world anyway, so I dragged them all back in time to try again. Of course, all that shit followed us. Because it’s never that easy, is it?”

The Fool nods and the Boy can tell that his companion knows that sort of feeling far too well. It’s nice to be fully understood, for once. Even if the understanding comes from a nameless stranger he’ll probably never see again. Assuming that their meeting is truly happening in the first place.

“So...We saved the world this time but broke the timeline. And now my childhood home is gone and me and my siblings are stuck in a timeline that holds no place for us anymore. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. Oh, and that bastard of my adoptive father is hunting us down using the kids he adopted in our place. It’s a real mess.”

There’s bitterness colouring his voice, the embers of a fight that’s too stubborn to die just yet, but the exhaustion is stronger.

“Though, between you and me...All I really want is a decent nap and a dozen more drinks. Maybe get a dog too. Not necessarily in that order.”

The straw produces a light slurping sound as he takes the next sip. “What’s your story? You must have one too, since you’re here...wherever here is.”

The Fool tips his head, in a sign of acknowledgement. No comments follow the tale, and there’s no real need for them there, out of time and space.

“Grew up in me own particular version o’ ‘Ell. Me oul man was th’ fuckin’ opposite o’ ‘father o’ th’ year’...So, I ran in my teen years, still thinkin’ I coulda owned th’ world. Stuck me nose in e’ery bloody t’in’ tha’ was magic n’ occult. One nite I got too cocky and damned an innocent girl to Hell. Earned a bloody place wit’ me name down there too in the process.”

The voice that spells out the words is casual, but there’s something haunted in his expression, darkening his eyes.

“Spent all me life tryin' to make up for tha’ bloody mistake. Ended up messin up meself and most o’ me mates n’ th’ people who ‘ad th’ ‘orrible o’ puttin’ their faith in me as a result. Girl’s still in ‘Ell, th’ bloody Devil ‘imself gots an eternal grudge against me, I gots demon blood in me veins n’ me soz arse ‘s still damned. I might not be a professional like yeh, but I bet I gots jus’ as much blood on me ‘ands. N’ even more souls on me conscience.”

The ice clinks against the transparent walls as the glass is lifted. More sourness to wipe away the one that the words have left on his tongue.

“Nowadays, ‘s mostly me, meself n’ I. Me best mate, too, from time to time. No clue o’ ‘ow he survived bein’ by me side for so long. ‘M still tryin’ to make t’in’s rite, but...for th’ most I jus’ try to be there to do th’ bloody dirty job no self-appointed ‘ero gots th’ time to do. I might be lost, past th’ point o’ no return, but there are lots o’ people out there who aren’t yet. Th’ fuckin’ least I can do ‘s tryin’ to ‘elp ‘em, aye? Make dis soz existence o’ mine wort’ more than misery n’ destruction.”

A drag from his cigarette and there’s a small hand landing on his shoulder, in a brief pat, before he has finished sucking the smoke in. The light pressure says more than a thousand words could.

“Between you and me, tho...I could use a dozen drinks too. Maybe more. N’ a bloody vacation. To sod off somewhere, even for jus’ a day. Maybe take me best mate n’ dis other lad I know. Oh, he could use a break too, th’ poor sod.”

The Boy makes a sound of agreement and he is back stirring his drink. “What a pair we make, you and I. And I don’t even know you.”

“I ‘ear tha’ loud n’ clear, mate. Bloody loud n’ bloody clear. Woh’s tha’ yeh drinkin’ anyway?”

“What? You ne’er seen a margarita? Where the hell are you from? England or Mars? Come on, try it.”

“Oi, I know woh a fuckin’ margarita is, oul man. Yehs jus’ a bit...flashier than woh ‘m used to.”

“Special recipe. I perfected it myself.”

“Now, tha’s more like it. I like a bloke who can make ‘is own drinks. There. Yeh like g n’ t?”

The glasses pass from one hand to another and then they both turn to look back at the unchanged horizon, holding each other’s drink.

A moment to sniff the liquors, in unison, and then the Boy dips his lips in the clear spirit while the Fool wraps his mouth around the straw. The tastes mix in the silence and it’s a symphony of citrus and sourness, with just the right amount of sweetness coming at the end.

“So, what happens now?” The Boy asks, after a moment.

The Fool shrugs. “Ah, I guess we wait till all dis fades. Or till we do. ‘S always ‘ard to tell when it comes to dis sort o’ shite.”

A huffs, with the faintest hint of irritation. “For someone who’s supposed to know a lot about this stuff, you give the worst cryptic answers. I can’t tell if you’re that ignorant or if you’re just fucking with me.”

A nudge in a smaller, slender side and a sharp smirk. “Who knows, mate. Yeh guess ‘s as good as mine. Keep th’ drink. I gots more back where I come from. Consider it a safe trip back home present. I’ll keep yehs as a reminder.”

“A present from a guy I never truly met? And a reminder of something we didn’t even speak about?”

“Nay. Jus’ th’ memory o’ some peace n’ quiet in decent company.”

“Fair enough. I can drink to that.”

#hellblazer #the umbrella academy #john constantine #five hargreeves #number five #tua #crossover #(( scotty writes ))

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years

Note

"we sleep together the same night a terrible snowstorm hits the city and everything gets shut down so now i have no way to get home so let’s make it a two night stand?" indruck prompt? (eyes emoji)

This prompt is Not Suitable for Your Workplace

Duck stretches out on the cushy lounge seat at “Woofs,” his favorite gay bar in the city. He’s in a celebratory mood, having scored a promotion (okay, so it’s from “almost full time” to “actually full time” ranger, but that’s still pretty damn good). So he’d fucked off to the big city for a night for as a reward.

He’s not sure if he’ll score in another way just yet. Duck isn’t prone to prowling at these places; if a guy is bear hunting and happens to like the look of him, he’s more than happy to dial up his quiet charm. Maybe growl in the guys ear a little and see if that gets them to a car or apartment or somewhere else where his date can bounce in his lap until he comes in some tight, if forgettable, ass.

He used to be more proactive, but if he’s honest it feels weird being thirty-two and trying to put the moves on a guy who might be ten years younger than him,

As he sips his beer, a flash of white hair catches his eye. At the end of the bar nearest him, a skinny, gangly man of indeterminate age is drawing a finger around the rim of his glass. He turns for a moment in Ducks direction and he’s struck by how strange he looks. Not bad, but like no one Duck’s ever seen before. He doesn’t seem dressed for the setting, in fact he looks a little disheveled, and not in the scruffy way Duck is trying to pull off.

Duck keeps an eye on him, looking for signs of interest. What he gets is the man staring at his drink for a solid five minutes, stirring it but never drinking. When he finally glances Ducks way again, he looks sad.

No, no way, Duck is not spending the night he set aside to relax and get laid seeing if someone random guy at a bar is okay.

The seat next to the mystery man opens up.

Duck stands.

“Mind if I sit here?” He gives his most neutral smile.

The pale-haired man stares at him, eyes seeming far away behind the red lenses of his glasses.

“Oh, no, go right ahead.” He flashes a tight, oddly wide smile, goes back to staring at his drink. Takes the tiniest sip and makes a disgusted face.

“Not an Old-fashioned man, huh?”

“I just like the cherries, the rest is too bitter. I saw too late there was an eggnog cocktail. Really only have money for the one drink.”

Duck’s beer is empty. He signals the bartender, orders an Old-Fashioned. When it arrives, he slides it towards the other man, cherry stem pointed at him.

The man pauses, and to Duck it looks like he’s calculating odds in his head. Then he plucks the cherry from the glass and tugs it off the stem with his teeth.

“Thank you.” His smile is shy, and this time he doesn’t turn away. So Duck keeps talking.

“Alright, I gotta know, do you only come to this place for cherries?”

“No. I came here because once again no one listened to me and I am so very tired. I thought I could get past my distaste for alcohol in order to get drunk and enjoy not having to think for awhile. No such luck.”

“So you were plannin just to sulk into your drink all night?”

“It was the probable outcome.” He looks longingly at the jar of maraschino cherries just visible on a back shelf.

“Y’know, if you order a shirley temple it’s got a bunch of those in it and no booze.” When the other man perks up he adds, “could even buy one for you, if that ain’t unwelcome.”

The man cocks his head as he looks at him, “Is this a flirtation?”

“Can be, if you want.” Duck takes a casual sip of his drink. The taller mans eyes trace from his hair down to his toes, widening with appreciation the more he takes him.

“I’m certainly interested.” This comes out in a purr, and Duck feels heat spark through his gut.

He’s delighted to find that he made a remarkably good call coming over here. His new friend is odd, yes, but also pretty damn funny, with a cute, crooked smile a promising shape to his ass. As they talk, he relaxes, his glum look vanishing, and he places soft, teasing touches on Ducks hand, arm, and thigh.

By the time Duck’s finished his drink, he’s pretty sure where this night is going.

A cherry is resting on the ice in his glass. He plucks it out, holding it between his thumb and finger. His companions’ eyes flick to the fruit, then to Ducks face, and a mischievous grin spreads across his lips. He leans forward, parting them and taking the cherry before licking along Ducks palm.

“Mmmm” he purrs again, doesn’t bother to put any distance between them.

“You got a name, darlin?” Duck whispers, voice husky.

“Indrid. And you’re-”

“Duck.” He replies, though it almost sounds like Indrid says it along with him.

“Duck” Indrid repeats, “huh, I like that name.”

Duck likes it too. And he’s got a hunch he’s going to like it even more when Indrid is moaning it.

----------------------------------------

Ducks’ hunch is correct.

“Duck.” Indrid whines, breathy and needy, pressed against the door of the Winnebago that he apparently calls home, “Duck, please, bedroom, now.” Deft, slender fingers are tugging his shirt open and he’s harder than he’s been in months.

“Don’t want me to fuck you right here?” He grins, cupping Indrids ass and lifting him off the floor with ease (thank you weird powers he doesn’t want).

“Goodness!” Indrid wraps his legs around Ducks waist, “That was a surprise. I don’t get many of those.”

“Got good news for you, sugar.” Duck purrs, making Indrid wiggled excitedly in his arms, “I’m full of ‘em.”

------------------------------------------

Duck wakes up to snow falling in thick sheets beyond the small window in the bedroom. It’s a little later than he meant to wake up, but it’s Sunday and the drive to Kepler isn’t that long so he’s not in that big of a hurry.

Indrid is curled in his arms, limbs intertwined haphazardly with his own. He makes a small, chirping noise, then cuddles closer.

Duck could probably just get up and go without Indrid noticing. But he’s got manners, and it would be impolite to leave without thanking his host for a lovely time.

He kisses the top of Indrids’ head, “Mornin, sugar.”

“Nmmmh.” Indrid’s eyes flutter open behind his glasses, then he peers over Ducks shoulder out the window.

“I hate snow. ‘S cold.” He grumbles, burrowing further under the blankets.

“Well, you hunker down for the day then. I gotta get on the road, snow’s liable to make gettin home take way long than I planned.”

“But you’re warm.” He holds Duck tighter, kissing lightly at his neck.

“And you’re real fuckin cute. But I still gotta go.”

“Very well.” Indrid smiles softly, “I’m glad you decided to celebrate with me last night. Congratulations on being a park ranger. It must be fascinating work. Do you like it?” The sweet, sleepy look on his face makes Duck melt a little.

“I see what you’re tryin to do” he teases, squeezing Indrids ass once for good measure, “you’re tryin to distract me, get me talkin about trees so you can steal my warmth.”

A sly smile this time, “perhaps a little. I won’t really keep you though. If you need to shower, it’s just through there.”

Duck thanks him, slips from the bed and heads into the bathroom. Emerges with a towel around his waist a few minutes later, gathering his clothes from where they were strewn about during last nights activities. Indrid is bundled in a thick, fluffy bathrobe, fiddling with the radio at the front of the trailer. As Duck retrieves his boxers from a lampshade, Indrid murmurs, “oh dear.”

A moment after, the radio informs them that a massive storm is moving through the area, and that travel is inadvisable at best and impossible at worst.

“Looks like you may be here another night.” Indrid says apologetically, his face lit warmly by the space heaters dotting the Winnebago.

“Can think of worse things.” He notices Indrid staring, remembers he’s still only in a towel.

“See somethin you like?”

“I should think that was obvious.”

“I’m tryin to be smooth here, darlin.”

“Be bold instead.” Indrid licks his lips and Duck shrugs, letting the towel drop to the floor.

“That bold enough for yAHhhhhnnn, fuck.” Duck is pressed against the kitchen counter, Indrid dropping to his knees and rolling a condom on so swiftly that Duck swears it was like a magic trick, before taking all of Ducks cock in his mouth in one go.

“Jesus, jesus sugar, oh fuck that feels so good.” He pets his fingers through white hair as Indrid looks up, smug expression clear even as his lips turn shiny with spit and lube.

“That’s, darlin, oh lord have mercy, fuck, your throat is so fuckin tight, feels amazin.”

Indrid purrs, which makes Duck moan, then guides his other hand down so both a resting in his hair.

“I’m real close, shit, just a little faster, c’mon, I know you can go faster please.” He whimpers embarrassingly loud when, instead of speeding up, Indrid slows down and blinks up at him with a mockingly innocent expression.

“Oh you fuckin…” Duck growls, orgasm nudged closer by the thought of where this is going. He tangles his fingers in Indrids hair, locks eyes with him.

“Yes?”

Indrid nods. And then Duck is thrusting his hips wild and fast, yanking Indrid back and forth along his cock. The taller man is moaning, blissed-out expression on his face as Duck fucks it. Duck finds filth pouring from his mouth with surprising ease, increasing in gruffness when Indrid moans at the harsher words.

“Fuckin smartass little tease, oughta keep you on your knees and do this all day so you remember who you’re fuckin with. Oh fuck, Indrid, yes, oh fuck yeah.” He comes hard, forcing Indrids mouth all the way down again. His hips pulse a few times, but when the man tries to pull away he keeps him trapped.

“Nuh uh, you’re gonna keep suckin til I’m done.”

A high, whimpering purr leaves Indrid, and Duck spies him palming the front of his pajama pants through his robe. Soon, he releases his head and he pulls back with a gasp. He makes a wordless, happy sound, nuzzling along the line of Ducks hips.

“You want me to take care of that for you, darlin?”

“Yes, please.”

Duck gathers him up off the floor, sets him on the counter and carefully tugs down his pants. His cock is dripping as Duck closes his hand around it.

“Oh! Oh yes.”

“How do you want it?”

“H-however you wish, but, but please touch the rest of me too.”

Duck wraps his other arm around him, pulling him close as he steps between his spread legs. He kisses him wherever he can reach, little sighs echoing through trailer when he does. Indrid embraces his, lips trailing along his neck and face, kissing him eagerly. The kisses turn sloppier as Duck tightens his grip, stroking him hard and fast.

“Kiss me, I want to come while you kiss me.”

“Think I can manage that.” He steadies Indrids head with his free hand, kissing him hard. The other man is making sharp, high noises against his lips and when he comes across Ducks hand and belly the noise changes to something like a trill, muffled as Ducks tongue slips between his lips to meet his own.

Indrid keeps kissing him dreamily as he comes down from his orgasm.

“You’re tremendous.” He murmurs under the hum of the space heaters.

“Right back at you, darlin. Now, let’s go shower and, uh, see where the day takes us.” He says this last part with a grin that suggests they both the answer is “to bed.”

------------------------------------

In the decade that follows, both Indrid and Duck think on that night from time to time. For awhile, neither of them see it as any more than a two-night stand that was particularly excellent, one that they remember fondly.

It takes on irony much sooner for Indrid, but only because he sees what’s coming in a way Duck can’t. Then he nearly forgets about the whole thing because of the Cottonwood and the disasters and the phone calls.

It’s only when he sees the Pine Guard coming up the trail to his home that realizes Duck Newton is in for quite a surprise.

#prompt fill #indrid cold/duck newton #Indruck

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kensboytoy · 5 years

Text

The Classifieds Ch. 1

Title: The Classifieds Fandom: Beetlejuice (Movie) Pairings: Beetlejuice/Reader Ratings: Explicit Chapters: 1/? Summary: A curious leaflet falls into your possession on the day you move into your new place. You decide to call on the services of one 'bio-exorcist' and realize that you might be crushing pretty hard on a dead guy. How seductive can a sleaze like Beetlejuice really be?

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Moving into a new place was already a pain in the neck. Moving all by yourself? The worst. Well, except when you donated all your furniture to Goodwill because you knew that you weren’t strong enough to lug it up the teetering second story floor where your new place was. So, three big poofy comforters, several dozen pillows, stuffed animals, and many, many boxes full of weird 80’s toys later… Well, you collapsed in your makeshift nest and enjoying the rest of your busy evening in total silence.

The only lights you had were battery-powered string lights because the electric company hadn’t turned the power on yet, so you made it a lazy, comfy space all your own.

But without power, you couldn’t sit down and edit on your laptop or even use your phone (you’d need it to be on power-saving mode until the lights came on.) So you tried reading. That worked until the sun went down and your shitty vision was impaired. Then you tried sleeping but every creak of the apartment settling gave you a fright.

You idly flipped through the leaflets you had gotten in the mail around, squinting to see if there were any coupons to use. A small business card fell into you lap:

Betelgeuse: The 'Bio-Exorcist'

Call BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE!

You snorted. It was cute! Maybe you wouldn’t throw it away. But… there was no number on the back? You flipped it around and held it to the light. Nada.

“Pft. Like a dorkier version of Bloody Mary.” There was a smile on your face and you folded the paper up neatly to put in your wallet.

With a yawn and a stretch, you arose from your nest and waltzed into the bathroom to brush your teeth. The only light you had was a pocket flashlight you had gotten along attached to a rape whistle from some medical center long ago. You stared into the mirror for a moment as you patted your face with a warm towel.

“Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you. Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you. Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you.”

You waited. Nothing. You shrugged your shoulders. That myth had been scary when you were younger but it never yielded any results.

As you started brushing out your hair, you continued.

“Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice…”

Another yawn and you closed the medicine cabinet before you changed into your nightgown and waltzed back into your bedroom. You flopped into your makeshift bed and stared at the card once again.

“What the hell is a Beetlejuice?”

Had you been looking at the mirror for a moment longer, you would’ve seen Bloody Mary, hair done up in curlers and charcoal face mask covering her very surprised expression before flickering away the moment you began to speak the words for the other spirit.

He was… stronger? Maybe that was the wrong word. Mary only had a passing interest in terrifying people, whereas Beetlejuice?

He thrived on it. Hell, almost got off on it, if he was honest. There was something delicious about scaring the living shit out of breathers.

So, Mary never stepped in when it was clear that the person had moved onto summoning him, instead. It’d be rude.

And summon him you did.

The lights flickered for a moment before shutting off, throwing the entire room into a pitch-black darkness that shouldn’t have been possible. Some of the light outside should still have been filtering in, or at the very least there should have been moonlight. Something. Anything. but all you got was darkness.

Darkness and the faint feeling that you were no longer the only one there.

After a brief moment, there was the distinctive sound of slithering and something crawled across your foot, wrapping around it as the lights flickered back on to reveal a… guy?

Well, a slob. He was normally built everywhere except for his stomach where he was decidedly bulky enough with a round beer belly. His hair was wild and all over the place - you couldn’t decide if his hair was white, blond, or green from the moss covering every inch of him. He looked like a bad Halloween decoration you’d leave on the porch to scare neighbors away from trick-or-treating.

“Why hell-o there, sweetcheeks,” he purred, voice somewhere between when you inhaled a fat cigar and the flush of a toilet. “You called?”

You yelped, flinging your blanket off you in a state of panic before grabbing your phone and fumbling to turn the camera light back on. You didn’t have a chance. The lights came back on to illuminate the figure in front of you and you shrunk in your seat.

And then you squinted.

“What the fuck?” you managed to gasp. “What the ever-loving fuck.”

Your hands instinctively reached for a pillow to cling onto for dear life and to use as a potential weapon if he got any closer.

“Holy fuck, there’s a fucking crazy homeless man in my fucking house and he looks like Riff-Raff from Rocky Horror fucked a pile of moss. What the fuck.”

Had you not been completely terrified, you would have said he was kinda cute. Kinda. If you were into creepy corpses with shit-eating grins.

“I understood-” Beetlejuice paused, counting on his grimy fingers for a moment and having to think about what he was about to say. “More than half of those words, I think. But I’ll go ahead and treat ‘em like compliments, babes.”

There was a wide grin on his face that displayed his crooked teeth and showed off some of the most prime real estate for bugs that existed in this or any other plane of existence. It would have been charming to a certain type of people, but as you had not taken any hard drugs in your life, the chance of you being one of those types of people was slim.

Spitting into one hand and using it to slick his hair back in a manner that usually turned a few stomachs, the ghostly, grody apparition leered down at you in what could almost be likened to a man leering at his hangover-curing breakfast after a long night drinking.

“Beetlejuice, at your service. Bio-exorcist and professional haunter since the late black plague.” He swiftly bowed and smirked. “What can I do for ya, little breather?””

“Oh, you’re Beetlejuice? I mean, I guess… that makes sense.”

You paused and sat up, staring at him over and over again, your heart still racing. He certainly made the place smell damper than an apartment in this neck of the woods usually was.

“Uh. Your ad - well, I found your ad in my mail. It was pretty vague. It just said to call your name three times-”

You reached out and touched his leg and then quickly recoiled. Oh, he was real. You were not dying.

“What the fuck. Am I really seeing you? I swear to God I don’t use coke or anything weird and - holy shit - you’re real.” You poked at him. “You’re actually here and not some Hatsune Miku hologram what the fuck is happening.”

You scrunched your face up and furrowed your brow.

“Bio-exorcist? …Living exorcisms?” you frowned. “Shouldn’t it just be ‘exorcist’?”

Pursing his dangerously chapped lips, the poltergeist frowned at you and let his bushy brows furrow into a look of confusion, mimicking your expression.

“I’m real, dollface. What, you didn’t think my business card was serious?”

Oh, now that was worrying. He’d spread those out as much as possible during his last visit to the world of the living, and what if people were just calling him up for no reason other than thinking it was just some prank?

“Just ‘cause I ain’t flesh and bone doesn’t make me any less real.”

Then the subject of bio-exorcism. Oh, one of his favorite topics, aside from how good he was with his tongue and how easily he could drink anyone in any dimension under the table. Despite the fact that sometimes, he did drink under the table.

Not a lot of bars liked that. Wasn’t really a good party trick either.

“I'm here for spirits, y’see? If some living jackass moves into their place, I chase ‘em out. Keep the crib empty. Make sure no one’s tryin’ to regular-exorcise them.”

You frowned.

“Well, like I said, it was pretty vague. Slipped in with the coupons you usually think you’re going to use but never end up using.” You took out your wallet and removed the slip before handing it over to him. It was one of his more vague cards that left out the specific details of his gig. “There was something about it that just made me… I dunno.”

You, being the sweet young thing you were, blushed and cleared your throat gently.

“I’m really sorry - honestly I am. But I… Well, how to put this very gently and in a sincere way… I personally don’t believe in ghosts. Not saying they can’t be out there, especially not after that crazy weird stunt you just pulled.”

You held up your hands defensively, trying to show that you didn’t mean any harm.

“If I did, I think that’d open a lot of gates to my already hard-to-deal-with trauma.”

Then, you sighed and slumped back in your big cushion of a bed to stare up at him. You were studying him in what little light there was now that it was back on. He didn’t really look like he was fucking around.

“But I guess this might shake that idea up.” Your eyebrow perked up in inquiry. “Are you some sort of ghost advocate? Like… their protector?”

“Their… protector?”

Beej stared, open-mouthed and slack-jawed for a long moment before leaning back and slapping a hand across his knee as he let out the world’s loudest hoot of laughter and fell into hysterics.

Oh, first you didn’t believe in ghosts, and now you thought he was there to protect them? That was absolutely rich.

Just because he worked for them didn’t mean that he was suddenly their protector.

Tears of absolute mirth rolled down his ghostly cheeks, the spirit having to try a few times before he could actually stop laughing. Chuckling and wheezing a few more times before he could actually calm down enough to answer you, he glanced down at you and let his face fall utterly blank.

“No.”

A wave of his hand and a cloud of smoke, a pair of reading glasses appeared perched upon his face along with a booklet in his already outspread palm.

“I am solely here to facilitate the removal of pre-mortem nuisances from the property of any spirits, hauntings, or those of the ghostly persuasion,” came the weirdly educated, prim and proper voice before it dropped down a few registers to rock tumbler. “I boot living folks out of ghost homes.”

You shrugged, not fazed by his childish behavior. Sure, you thought he was weird and yeah, it was freaky to have a stranger in your house. But for all you knew, he was harmless. Annoying but harmless.

“Well, I’m not a ghost and there ain’t one here, my dude. I don’t think I need your services…” You frowned and opened up your wallet again, this time grabbing a couple twenty dollar bills and handing it to him. “I feel like an asshole for calling you. I was gonna use that for take-out but I think you should have it. Y’know. For showing up to perform your services of, uh, removal. Like a cancellation fee you gotta pay if you fuck up.”

You thought for a moment. And then uttered words you never thought you’d ever say:

“Or you could hang around here for awhile. Lights aren’t on and there’s no cable… But I could order that food for two-” Wait. “Uh, if you eat? Sorry. I don’t want to seem ignorant. I just. This shit is a lot to process.”

Annoyed at yourself, you rubbed the bridge of your nose.

“What I’m saying is that even though there aren’t ghosts, you can kick it if you don’t want to go back to wherever I summoned you from. Can’t imagine it was pleasant.”

“No ghosts, huh? What 'm I, chopped liver?”

As if to prove his point, Beetlejuice kept very steady eye contact with you as he reached into his torso and stuck a hand out the other side, the other moving to yoink off his head and alas-poor-Yorick with it.

Practical effects were good. But to do that on the fly? And as convincingly as he did?

That wasn’t really… something possible.

Beetlejuice pulled his hand back through and replaced his noggin as he stared right at you, one grimy brow lifted as he wordlessly pocketed the bills. Even if he didn’t typically use living money, there was still bartering worth in the paper. He could always sell it to some sentimental dumbass who missed the green of the living world.

Which were… far more people than most thought. Most would assume that the first thing you’d do when you died is embrace socialism.

But apparently not.

You grimaced. Not because the sight was scary to you - you had grown up on horror movies. It was just the suddenness of his motions that unnerved you. You ran your fingers through your hair and shook your head before he continued.

“And we do eat. it isn’t something we need to do, but it’s… fun. Little reminder of breather life.”

“This is nuts. I’m talking to a dead guy on my first night in my new place. Who the fuck even prepares you for this shit?” You sighed and moved towards the edge of your bed. “Look, man, I’m going to play the dumb living human card a lot tonight and I’m sorry but…”

You eyed him up and down again curiously.

“I didn’t even think there was a God or an afterlife - to me this just feels like some drug trip. But… you’re real.” You stood up to walk around him. Your hand gently touched his lapel, fingers sliding down the fabric before you pulled away. “I’m having a fucking existential crisis with some zoot zuit wearin’ - pimp? - showing up because I said his fucking name three times.”

Your eyes locked with his briefly.

“I’m guessing say it another three times send you back to - Hell? Purgatory? So I won’t, ‘Juice. Unless this is painful to be here.”

Annoyed at the situation, you rubbed your tired eyes. Without another word, you unlocked your phone and pulled up a Chinese delivery place's menu.

“Well, dinner’s on me. I promise not to ask you anymore super stupid questions if you stay. Lord knows I’m too dumb to get this shit. But, uh. Company would be cool. If you want.” You blushed. It wasn’t like you were asking him for a date. But you were curious if you could learn more. “Or I could send you back to whatever bliss awaits you. Uh. Dealer’s choice?”

His face contorted at the mere mention of the other side. Sure, it wasn’t eternal damnation. but it also wasn’t blissful. It was… mostly like being alive. Paperwork and jobs and having to still deal with money.

Capitalism didn’t stop along with someone’s heartbeat. No, the fucking system stuck around post-mortem. Perhaps there was some special place where the really exceptional people went - to some sort of good place - but Beej’d be fucked if he ever saw it or even heard mention of anything like that.

“Eugh. No, the longer I can stay topside, the better, dollface,” he grimaced, one eye following you as you walked around and examined him. And sure, he tried to look his best, puffing out his chest and sucking in the gut he had. After all, he did that around any pretty little thing he saw, on the off chance that… well…

That you’d wanna hitch a ride on the B.J. Express. First and only stop: Fucksville.

Christ, that line was probably why he never got laid unless it was through the exchange of some cold, hard cash. He nearly owned a huge stake at Dante’s at this point.

“I'll stay with you,” he proclaimed, then as if he could read your mind, “Consider it a date. I'll pay ya back for this.”

“A date?” You didn’t sound repulsed like a normal person should have been. No, you were more perplexed. “A cool ghost pops into the world of the living and wants to go on a date with some random human - no wait, what did you call me, a breather?”

You laughed softly and handed your phone over to him, the menu pulled up. You rested your chin on your hand as you looked up at him quizzically.

“Not trying to presume anything, but, uh. I heard demons and shit were hot, right? I mean, you guys can have orgies and orgies without fear of STDs or baby-making. Plus, again, demon girls are hot. Now you’re stuck on a date with a breather?”

Figuring it was a joke, you shrugged.

“Whatever floats your boat. You don’t gotta pay me back. Like I said, I could use the company.” You flashed him a smile. “You are pretty cool, after all. It’d be nice if you stuck around…”

“Oh, yeah, no. Don’t get me wrong, succubi are great. They’ll ride you until you can’t see or walk straight. But, uh.”

Rubbing the back of his head, he tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t be an outright lie, but that wouldn’t make him seem like too much of a creep. After all, most folks didn’t go for creeps. And those who did? They were usually into the stereotypical “hot stalker” creep. No, he couldn’t blow this shit with his usual molestation and upfront attitude. He might actually have a chance here.

“They don’t tend to be my type. Waaaaaay too aggressive. I prefer to be the one in charge,” he said, glancing at the living human to see what sort of reaction that would have on you. To see if you scoffed, turned red, or both.

To see if you would be into banging.

You blushed. Well, you had asked so you couldn’t be mad. Not like you were. Beetlejuice seemed gross and weird but… no alarm bells were ringing yet.

“So I was right about the pimp suit?” you chuckled. “Well, if you wanna live lavishly like a King then by all means, order whatever you want. Just be careful ‘bout the duck. It’s the fanciest thing on that menu but…”

You waved your hand flat out as if to say so-so.

“Not worth it. The kung pow chicken? Super bomb.”

You relaxed back in your cushions and waited for him to place his order.

“I get more of a switch vibe from you, Juice. But I’ll believe you. I’d be confident with a cool suit too.” You pursed your lips for a moment. “Did you die in that suit or do you get to pick your outfits in the afterlife?”

A switch?

Oh, that was entirely true. Hell, if anything Beej could be a pushover if someone batted their eyes and pursed their lips in the right way. But would he ever admit to it outside of either regular or sexy torture?

Never.

...well, maybe. But he’d have to be either overwhelmingly drunk or high to do so. He didn’t like to admit that there was any part of himself that was anything other than a smooth-talking, dominant, seductive casanova, but he knew that secretly there may have been something that wasn’t wholly dominant about him.

However, he wasn’t about to let this pretty young thing know. Not unless there was a whip or stilettos involved.

“Nah, doll. I'm all daddy.” He thumped his chest at that, shooting you his best smile. Which was more like looking at a pane of broken glass.

“And this old thing? Buried in it, but can change if I want. I just think it adds a certain charm, don’t you agree?”

You giggled, delighted that this old dirt bag used such a trendy title. Sure, older gals used to call men Daddy all the time, but the way he said it wasn’t exactly in that context. It was more like the horny millennial fad.

“You must have been fucking some younger spirits to get that lingo, Daddy-O,” you teased, purposely using the outdated version of the name.

At his narcissistic question, you decided to indulge him just a little bit.

“I like it. Not everyday someone pulls off stripes so well,” you complimented to boost his ego. “If only I could see you properly, but all these little lights can only show me just a little taste.”

Maybe he could light up the room. If you goaded him with compliments… Free utilities were free utilities, man.

“I guess a Daddy does need a suit. Maybe a nice belt…”

Oh, you hoped it was too dark to see your clever little smirk. You liked playing this game with a dead man.

“But it depends on what kinda Daddy you are, Juice. The word is so carelessly used nowadays. So many wimps using it to sound cool.” Woah, hello sudden confidence. It was nice to feel like you weren’t some meek geek. “There are lots of ways to wear the name up here in the living.”

Oh, but he wasn’t going to fold just like that. Even if you were acting so confident, Beej still had enough ego to topple civilizations. Granted, had you taken the lead and pushed him over, that would be a completely different story.

But as it was? He could deal with words.

At least until you either started pointedly giving commands or begging for his cock. Either of those - anything that was explicit and couldn’t just be mistaken for simple flirting - and he would be a goner.

With a snap of his grimy fingers, the lights buzzed and came on. Not with their usual electric glow, but with what almost seemed like candlelight from within. He wasn’t really turning the power on - he was using them to conduct a different light source.

And from there? His suit was all the easier to see. Along with the very obviously hard cock that pressed against the front of those striped slacks.

“How’s about it, dollface? Like what you see?” he purred, running a hand down his body for either your amusement, or for your enjoyment. Depended on whether or not you were just teasing to be a tease, or if you would actually go for a roll in the hay. “Does Daddy measure up to what you were thinking?”

You gawked. You stared! Your eyes were round like dinner plates. That blush burned your face so suddenly that it was an obvious tell. And your heart nearly skipped a beat. That was very unexpected, despite you explicitly trying for this very result.

Beetlejuice was gross. But in a very, very attractive way. A slob with charm.

“O-oh wow,” you murmured. Bashfully, you looked away and grabbed the pillow you were holding earlier. You bit your lower lip. You didn’t find it wrong to embrace being dirty, but part of you felt like it would be too ‘slutty’ of yourself to start flirting harder. The ghost just met you - would you really want to mess with someone who would hit it and quit it?

“That and more,” came the soft reply. “You sure I called a bio-exorcist and not some other dirty line?”

Cautiously, you sat forward in your seat and looked up at him. God, he was cute.

“I can see lots of us living folks calling you up.” You wet your lips eagerly. Then, you paused. And blushed even harder.

It was then that you realized that you were only in your pajamas. No underwear underneath, nada! Just the thin fabric of your shirt and pants. It was pretty revealing in this light if you could look at yourself the way he was leering at you.

“I-I feel very underdressed compared to you… Um. Sh-should I change into something nicer? I, uh, don’t want you to think I look like a trash goblin.”

Oh, he could instantly see that you were hardly wearing anything once the lights flickered on, his eyes doing a full sweep of your body and taking in your warm, plush form as he felt his cock twitch. Hell, it was probably something that was very visible.

A slow grin spread over his face, Beetlejuice leaning in and reaching out to touch your thigh as he gave his lips a long lick. Entirely done just to draw attention to how long and talented his tongue looked. Just wanting to spur you on and encourage the little slut to get up and climb over and onto his lap.

“Oh, not at all. I think you look good enough to eat, babes.”

Slut? Was that already what he was thinking of you as?

Well, given that some of his favorite folks were sluts? Including himself? He thought of slut as a term of honor - the way some folks might call their pals bastards.

Almost immediately, the hand on your thigh slid further inwards, pressing against the clothed flesh of your cunt. Straight to the point. After all, as much as Beetlejuice did love himself some good bush, he hated to beat around it.

His thumb set to stroking you through the thin fabric of your pajama bottoms, the lights beginning to dim a bit more. Grow hazier. Grow more seductive. in line with his mood and actions.

“In fact… I think i could forego dinner for somethin’ sweeter.”

You stared at that tongue for a moment and let your face feel hotter. It was clear you liked what you saw. There was a small piece of your mind telling you not to let some creep get it on the first date, but...

He was cute. Gross. Very, very much so. But he was a poltergeist just looking for fun.

When he touched you, you gasped involuntarily. Your back stiffened along with your now hardened nipples and you froze. What should you say to that bold statement?

“Do you do this to all the humans who summon you or did I catch you in a mood?” you breathed. It wasn’t a denial or a refusal. And from how the thin fabric clung to your wet self, that very much indicated that you were already turned on from the sight of him.

“You haven’t even been here ten minutes and you’re already so handsy.”

You tried to be as playful as you could despite being so nervous.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna skip foreplay and try and get to it… Why, that would be no fun at all, Daddy.”

Oh, you were playing with fire now.

“Well, when I see such a cute little doll, surely you can’t blame me for being so eager to get to know you,” he purred, fingers slipping past the fabric as soon as he could see that you wouldn’t put up a fight and plunging knuckle-deep into your soaked little cunt. Getting a good feel for what he’d be fucking later.

And then you insinuated that he wasn’t gonna give you any foreplay. Beetlejuice didn’t take kindly to that. He may have been a pervert, a scoundrel, a knave, a bastard, a…

He forgot where he was going with that.

Oh, right. he may have been all of those things, but he was also an egotistical prick. Meaning that if he could have someone begging for his cock after being teased for hours, then he would put in the extra effort.

So one of his striped tentacles slipped forward, curling up your shirt to wrap around your tits and mimic fucking them.

“Are you gonna be good and let me have what I want, babes? Or does Daddy have to take it?”

With your cunt throbbing and body aching for his touch, you moaned abruptly as soon as he entered you with those dirty digits. You squirmed and let your tight hole wrap around him, tightening as he played around. The tentacle was what really caught you by surprise. There was a small squeak from your lips and you tensed up before allowing him to continue.

Oh, was he threatening you?

“Well… what happens if I struggle?” you asked curiously. It was clear you were a little freak who enjoyed the idea of both. “Will that tentacle make sure I join you in the afterlife?”

You were pouting a bit up at him. Your body wanted him to continue, that was clear. But you wanted to know which side of the dice to roll.

“I wanna know what Daddy’s capable of - if he’s mean or if he wants to be playful…”

“Depends on how you act, sweetheart. Daddy’d love to just be playful, but if you don’t behave…”

He leaned in at that, rancid breath blowing in cold clouds along your skin as he chuckled to himself. Wondering what your reaction to his next words would be; if they would repulse you, or if you’d be hornier than ever.

Thankfully, he was already buried knuckle-deep in the best lie detector there was when it came to something like that.

“Daddy’s fucked dollies that were unwilling before. That fought and screamed and cried.”

Oh, he didn’t even touch on if he would kill you for not behaving or not. He was a vengeful spirit, of course he would. He knew that there was life after death, so dooming a toy to forever have to be fucked by him? Essentially creating his own undead sex slave? It’d be like heaven for him. honestly, it was kind of a wonder he hadn’t done it yet. Well, he did like it when they were warm, after all.

“But Daddy knows best.”

Your heart started to beat faster at that. You weren't scared - no… quite the opposite. Thrilled? You were playing with a powerful being now. One that could kill you in an instant but was deciding to indulge your dirty fantasies. Maybe he could sense what freaky shit you were into. The more likely thing was that he hadn’t had a proper fuck in awhile and now had a prime toy to test out.

Your cunt constricted around his fingers, being the dead giveaway that he needed that you were indeed a little freak.

“What does Daddy like best? When they cry or when they give in easily?” You watched him closely for a response, your teeth raking over your bottom lip. “I…”

You were very embarrassed at the next words that fell from your lips:

“Wanna make sure ‘m good enough for you and can keep up..”

Beetlejuice grinned at that. Because even if he did enjoy forcing himself upon people and watching as their will slowly drained away until they were nothing but pliant little fuckpuppets… He had to admit to being charmed by obedience. It was pretty rare that people actually begged for him. Most were disgusted by, well, all of him. The only good lays had been at Dante’s and those were paid for. Having a willing, breathing slut? Oh, that was priceless.

And so, he stroked your hair. Rewarding you for being so good for him so far. Good enough to make his cock throb and leak. Leak a nasty green, glowing ooze.

Ectoplasm. It wasn’t just something that the dead produced on their flesh when trying to scare the living. No, since their bodies technically couldn’t produce real cum, it made do with the closest thing it had.

“I like both. but you’re being such a good doll for Daddy. I'm thinking being willing’s gonna be the hottest thing you can do.”

You could see the bulge in his pants, your eyes widening like two full dinner plates. Eagerly, you wet your lips. His fingers were still curling and uncurling in you that you almost found it so unfair that you couldn’t see what he had in his pants. Your imagination was running wild! Was it a tentacle like the one groping your tits? Or maybe it was something even more peculiar? Dude was a straight up ghost! He could have anything.

Whatever it was, you were eager to have it be inside you.

So you sidled up closer to him and gently sat on his lap, not wanting to crush the poor poltergeist under you. You had no idea what his limitations as a now corporeal being really was so you played it safe.

Shyly, you fiddled with his tie and bit your lip, worrying the skin until it broke. How was one supposed to flirt with a ghost that was knuckle-deep in your pussy? God, he was so handsome…

“Good,” you murmured, mouth so dangerously close to his. “I wanna be good for you, Beej.”

#Works of Oz #Writing #Beetlejuice #(Yes I plan to do ALL versions of Beetlejuice for my fics soon!)#Fanfiction

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fallen029 · 5 years

Text

Inspiration

There's never a truly quiet day at the guildhall. That's what Mirajane giggled to Levy when the other woman implied the day was such. The barmaid only refilled her drink and said she was sure that, eventually, something would happen. A rowdy team would return, maybe more than one, two members would get into a disagreement, maybe more than two, and as the day wore on, so did liquor, after all, so they were due a brawl soon enough.

Levy agreed, but didn't seem as thrilled at the idea as Mirajane did. She seemed to thrive off the chaos that the bar provided, perhaps as a replacement for the lack of it she had currently in her own. Mira once lived the exciting life of a mage that Levy currently held and, while she knew that the oldest Strauss was most in her element behind the bar in those days, she imagined that there was some draw, still, to her former life.

She couldn't do it, at least, the letter mage couldn't. Not go on jobs. It wasn't as if she took the most exciting or thrilling ones, or even felt as if she contributed much when the guild was going through it's typical crisis that befell the land at least, what, six times a year? Still, the idea of having no true bearing on things was unimaginable. Worse yet the idea of having to actually come into the bar each day.

She loved the guild dearly. It was a second home to her. But it (and it's typical regulars) could really wear a person down.

Not that day though. No one of interest seemed to be about, honestly. Even Lucy, who she'd planned to meet that day, had to cancel on her when Natsu and Gray somehow managed to both want the same job up on the board and, after a quick argument, decided they'd go on it together, again, which meant Erza had to go to mediate and was it really a Team Natsu job if they didn't force

Lucy and Wendy along with them in their inevitable shenanigans? Levy wasn't too mad about the cancellation though. She knew her friend would probably have more fun out there with her team, on a job, than she would sitting around the drafty bar all day.

It was difficult though to truly get into the book before her, Levy was finding. It shouldn't be that way, considering the bar was relatively silent that day, but she worked better somehow, when it was more bustling, providing a steady hum as a backdrop. For some reason, it aided in her concentration rather than act as a disruption. The guild definitely felt much calmer when it was packed and boisterous. Even slightly less and it felt off.

"Readin', huh?" And she was joined then, at the table, as someone sat down right beside her. With little care, they shoved the large book she had laid on the table before her to the side. "Well read this for me, eh? I need your help."

Levy made a face at Gajeel as he only sat there, staring at her in complete seriousness.

"That's kind of rude, you know."

"Only kind of? Huh? I'm improving them."

"Gaj-"

"Look at this for me." He tapped the new book he'd sat before her. "It's real important, huh?"

"Is it for a job?"

"Personal reasons."

"What personal reason could you possibly have for reading this?" she questioned as she eyed the title. "It's what? A collection of poets? Why would you ever-"

"I ain't ever, is when I ever."

"Uh-"

"I'd never read this." He even snorted. "That's how come you're gonna read it for me, huh? It's not like I couldn't read it. Understand it. But I'd much rather have you do it for me, huh?"

"You want me to read the whole thing?"

"Ya can if ya like, I guess, but I mostly just need help with this." He was reaching over them to flip the book open to a specific page. "Starting here, see, it's all this one author's stuff. A whole bunch of it, see? I need ya to read them all. Break 'em down for me."

"Why? Gajeel? What are you-"

"It's important."

"But-"

"So what'll it take ya, huh? To read through it?" He was picking his nails then as he took a few harsh stares around the hall. No one of interest seemed to be about though. "A few days? It's tough stuff, ain't it?"

"Well, it won't be too hard." And she was moving to produce her special glasses then. He regarded them with a glare. "But is there something specific that you're wanting to get out of this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am I supposed to tell you about the themes? The prose? Do you want to know about symbolizm or-"

"Look, shrimp, I'm not appreciatin' you tryin' to show me up with all these big words, but-"

"I didn't exactly appreciate you just slamming down beside me and making demands either."

"Demands? He snorted heavily. "Hardly. I'll have you know that I asked ya. Did you miss that part? Do you know how many people I make requests of? Rather than just demands? And you're all pissy about it."

"You haven't even explained why you want me to do it though. Or what you want me to do."

"To read it and understand it," he complained. "Then to explain it to me."

"Even though you could read and understand it-"

"But don't wanna," he agreed with a nod. "Yeah."

"How deep is this writing then? Huh? That you need me to explain it to you?"

"Extremely."

"Well, what do I get then?"

"What do you mean?" He frowned at the suggestions. "Why would you get something?'

"I mean, you're basically hiring me."

"No." And he reached over to pat at her head, grinning toothily from the thought. "You're gonna do it outta the goodness of your heart, huh? Since we're such great friends and all."

She wasn't nearly as thrilled. "And all."

"Besides," he went on as, finally, he was getting to his feet. "What else are you gonna do all day?"

He had a point. Not to mention, her curiosity was piqued now. Since, apparently, there was no request involved in this, Gajeel, for 'personal reasons', really was tasking himself with reading poetry. Though he was being secretive for the moment, she had a feeling if she did as he wanted, the man would eventually divulge his reasoning.

It wasn't like he was just made of brains, after all. She could no doubt trick him into it, if she had to. Something told her though that she wouldn't.

There was a lot though. A lot. The book was a collection of works spanning many different authors, but she didn't even have a chance to look at any of the others. Just the one he'd wanted her to dive into. And she did. It was just a bit more consuming that she thought.

"Already?" Gajeel grumbled a bit when she turned up at his apartment the next day. "What'd I say about showin' me up?"

He invited her in though, regardless, and the woman had been there a few times by that point, so it wasn't really that awkward. They weren't too close or anything, but she'd stopped by in the past. Just for a few minutes. She wasn't so sure that this time was going to be so brief, however.

"Where's Lily?" she asked, glancing about for the Exceed as the man flipped through the notebook she'd handed off to him where he notes were. "Is he-"

"Out," was his curt answer. "And hey, shrimp, what the fuck is all this, huh?"

"What do you mean? I did what you asked."

"I asked you not to show me up," he complained. "Explicitly."

"How is me doing what you wanted showing you up?" She stood at his side with a frown as she glanced at the paper as well. "I broke down each stanza, so that if you just open the book, you can read it, you know? And then read what I wrote. And then at the end of each one, I wrote what the overall theme was-"

"This is just too much." He growled too,, frustrated it seemed as he went to toss the journal down on the couch behind them though, just as quickly, he was falling into it. "Fuckin' stupid."

"Uh, Gajeel-"

"Not you. It's just… A lot, is all, I guess. More than I thought."

"Why did you want to do it anyways? And what is it?" She had a lot of questions and, well, not wanting to ask them as she lorded over him, the letter mage tentatively moved to pick up the discarded journal before taking it's place beside him on the couch. "What are you doing, Gajeel?"

He was pretty snarly then, but still only shrugged as he said, "It was supposed to help me with my music."

"What do you mean?"

"You know," he insisted then, "it's a thing, ain't it? That people say? Or think, I guess. That writin' music is just writin' poetry, ain't it? So I thought… I thought that if I just read up on it, on this guy, that I would improve. Get better, you know." His face changed then, dark once more as he clinched a fist. "But it's just too much. It-"

"Slow down," she complained with a frown of her own. But there was some amusement behind it as well. "You hardly even gave it a chance."

"I gave it plenty of a chance."

"Gajeel, do you wanna improve your skills or not?" she complained. "I mean, you wouldn't just give up on this if it had to do with your magic, would you? So why are you giving up on this? Huh? I thought you had more tenacity than that."

His growl was one of determination then and, jumping up, she had the sudden realization that he was going to get his guitar and great, she was going to have to listen to him actually play it…

Curiosity definitely killed the cat.

Still, she forced herself to endure as they sat together, on his living room floor, him with his guitar in his lap as he tried for a good few minutes to tune it before giving up and, instead, just strumming on it as is.

For some reason, it sounded even less in tune than it had before he started toying with it…

"Now," Levy started, anyways, as she opened both the book and notebook, "what if I read it to you? Huh? And you kind of strum along with it, maybe? Or I can even read you what I thought about it, after each one. Wouldn't that be easier for you? To hear me say it and explain it than just you reading it all on your own?"

Anything was worth a shot.

It felt kind of silly, in a certain way, to Levy. Just sitting there reading poetry aloud. With Gajeel of all people. And when the man eventually quite fiddling in vain with his strings, instead only sitting and listening, she blushed a bit. His eyes were on her though, with interest, and he didn't make any smart remarks or grumble about misunderstanding. Only sat there and listened.

They must have went through a good number of the poems.

It was her that finally broke as, looking over at the man, she met his eyes as she questioned, "Why do you wanna change your music, Gajeel?"

"Eh?"

"These poems are all very...romantic and…"

"I can't be romantic? I can't have feelings? My songs are full of feelings!"

"No, I just meant, well… Why did you decide on this author?" She found that question much easier. Still, the best she got from the man was a slight shrug. Frowning, she insisted, "Did you come up with the idea on your own? Or is there...someone that you're-"

"Mirajane."

"Mira?" Levy repeated her name slowly, but nodded. Of course. She thought of the slightly older woman then and it made sense. She had the eye of most the guys up at the hall. "I didn't know that you… I mean, well-"

"She's the one," he went on though, "that told me to look this guy up. This author. To read his stuff."

"What do you mean?"

He was the one uncomfortable then, in his own home even, as he couldn't quite keep her gaze.

"I might've, kinda, gone to her, you know? She plays guitar too. Good enough, I figure. She's okay. I guess. If you like that kind of thing."

Actually playing in tune? Most people did, Levy was pretty sure. But she stayed silent, not wanting to allow the moment to slip away. She ad a feeling if she teased him, it just might.

"So I thought… If I wanna improve, maybe I could go to her." He snorted. "But she's got all these suggestions and things. Like I don't know hwo to play or something. Been playing my whole life. Who does Mirajane think she is? Huh? The fucking she-devil, I guess, because we got in a bit of an argument over the whole thing."

"You did?" Levy asked with wide eyes, but he only shrugged.

"The next day though," he went on, "she came up to me at the hall and I thoguht she was gonna try and get onto me again, but she only handed me that book, yeah? And said she can't help me, not with my technique, because I'm not a very good student- What the fuck does she know?"

Again, a lot, but Levy stayed silent.

"She said though," Gajeel continued to grumble, "that it's some of her favorite stuff to read, these poems right here, by that specific guy. That inspires her. And that the music isn't just, you know, the instrument. It's more than notes. It's feeling, you know? And I agree. On that, at least. Then she said that maybe I should try and read up on some poetry myself, you know? See if it spoke to me. If I learned anything. That she still did it, you know. Studied others. Listened to others. Read others. To improve her own stuff. But..."

"But what?"

He only shrugged. "It didn't say nothin' to me. Don't get me wrong, shrimp, I sure liked listening to ya read it, you/re real good at keepin' my attention, but the words just kind of go over my head and I don't think I ever want to sound like that. When I'm writin'. All flowery and stuff. It's not me."

"It's not," she agreed with a smile. "But it's Mirajane, maybe. And that's why she likes it so much. Why she can draw from it so much. But you're not that way."

"Clearly."

"She had the right idea though," Levy insisted to the man. "Gajeel. And I mean, you probably do it when you write already, huh? You find something that inspires you and then you write about it. But Mira was just trying to tell you to dig deeper. Like… You love Lily, don't you?"

"I guess it depends on what you're implying," he asked with a frown back at her. "But sure, he's my cat. What of it?"

"You wouldn't just say that in a song, would you? Just flat out inform someone listening that he's your cat, huh? You'd...you'd tell a story or a metaphor or give an antecedent about him. That's what Mira meant. If your technique is lacking-"

"Which it ain't."

"But if it was," she insisted, "then, if your lyrics meant something, if your words were conveying real emotions, then it wouldn't matter as much. Your chords and notes could be simple because what you were saying wouldn't be."

He considered this in silence for a few seconds before whispering, "I guess she ain't so bad. Mirajane ain't. If that's all she was trying to tell me."

Nodding, Levy said, "She meant well. But these poems just don't speak to you. Don't mean anything to you. Maybe none of them in this book do. Because that's not what gives you inspiration. Not what;ll make you dig deeper. But that's okay. You don't have to get it from the same place that Mirajane gets it, you know. You just have to find what makes you feel that way. The way she felt about these poems she gave you. There's gotta be something."

He just stared at her though, for a few long moments, before looking off and saying, "I guess you can finish, you know. Reading them. If you wanted. I like listening, like I said. Even if I don't get it all."

She blushed some, but nodded as she looked back down at the book. "Of course, Gajeel."

Eventually though, she had to head out and the man just walked her to the door, left behind with the book and notebook to go over, she said. Before he gave it back to Mira. Just to be sure that nothing spoke to him.

"You can only improve," she assured him at the door and the man nodded. Then they parted ways for a bit.

Jet was back from a solo job by that point and she, him, and Droy were gone from the hall for a bit. When she returned, it was to find it back to it's noisy norm as not only had Team Natsu returned, but most everyone else, it felt like. Levy was actually enjoying listening to Lucy tell her all about her adventure as the pair sat alone, save Happy, who was mostly avoiding the scolding Erza was handing down to Natsu at the moment.

It was on her walk back to the dormitory though that she ran into the man. He and Pantherlily were just arriving back from a job of their own and though the man hung back to speak with her, his Exceed only flew on, calling over his shoulder he was too hungry for formalities.

Gajeel was too, honestly, as they hadn't eaten in a good solid few hours, but he found himself walking the woman home.

"Have you found it yet?" Levy asked after he went on, just a bit, about his job. "With your music? Something to, like, get you motivated?"

"I read some more of those poems, if that's what you mean."

"And?"

"And I don't like it," he told her. "It's like I said. They only sound good when you read them, I guess. Or like how you said too. That it's easier to make out, when it's being told to me."

She smiled with a glance up at the man, not bothered by the dry expression he had in return.

"You'll find it eventually." She even giggled. "Everyone has something."

"But you'll come over again?" he asked. "I mean, if you wanted. To read the poems. You don't gotta, but-"

"Of course, Gajeel."

And she did. A week later, she arrived at his home to do as she'd done before, reading from the book as the man mostly pretend to understand how to tune a guitar (it was becoming increasingly clear to the woman he was just flat tone deaf). They sat on the floor of his living room, this time with drinks, and it was more relaxed, even, now that it was something of a habit.

"You can't keep Mira's book forever, you know," she told him at one point and the slayer only grunted as he watched her down her drink. "She'll want it back eventually."

"Yeah, well-"

"And can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"What made you go to Mirajane in the first place?"

"Eh? I thought I told you that-"

"You said that you went to her to get better," she agreed. "But I already know that you think you're way better than her, anyways, on the guitar-"

"We're even. On a good day. For her."

"But why did you want to improve then? And on what?" She stared at him from across the floor and he only snorted, looking back down at his guitar. "I'm serious. What made you wanna get better?"

"Maybe," he stared as he glared off, "I wanted to write somethin'. But it just never came out right. Maybe that's it."

"Maybe," Levy agreed.

"And hey, I thought you were supposed to be reading to me. How am I supposed to ever retain it if-"

"Gajeel."

"What?" He snorted again. "And stop lookin' at me like that. Give me a complex or something."

But she only continued to as she asked, "Can you show me what you were trying to write?"

"How? Huh? It ain't finished."

"But-"

"It ain't," he insisted, "finished. Hardly even started. It just all sounded wrong and… Why do you care so much? Huh? You're more into it than me, it feels like."

"You're the one that sought me out," she reminded him. "Each time."

"The first time, maybe, fine, but the second time was pure chance."

She rolled her eyes at him though before they fell back to the book in her lap. Sighing, she asked, "Did you want me to keep going? Or-"

"What do you do, huh?" he asked instead as, setting his guitar to the side, he only moved to pick up his beer. "When what's, you know, makin' you wanna write and making you wanna feel somethin', is what's making it so hard? What if the same thing I can't put into words is what inspires me? Mira didn't think of that, did she? When she gave me this book?"

"I think Mira was just trying to be nice to you," Levy told him honestly. "You do make that a bit difficult."

"She told me to practice scales. Scales. Do I look like a chump who practices scales? Fuckin' barmaid gonna tell me how to play guitar."

"You did ask her though," Levy pointed out.

"What a mistake." Then, slowly, he shrugged. "Wasn't all bad though. I did get this book outta it. And you to read me from the book out of it."

"But neither of which have helped you with your original problem," she reminded and he groaned, when she did, because man, she was right.

"I guess it's just not easy," he whispered finally as she continued to look on. "When you're writin' somethin' so deep. I bet it took that guy his whole life to write all that. His poems. Not all of those couldda been easy. And Mirajane, she thinks she's so great when, what? All I ever hear her play is the same song, every time, up at the guild."

This didn't make sense to Levy as Mirajane knew many songs and played an array of them for the others. Then she realized that was probably because, in a fit of rage, Gajeel probably stomped out before she ever got passed that first one she tended to play. Sounded about right.

"It'll come to me, I guess," he gave in finally, "when it does. You can't rush genius, after all."

"That's true," she agreed because, yeah, the statement was. She wasn't so sure about the application. Still, as her eyes read over the line of the next poem, she asked, "Do you want me to go on now?"

And the man only nodded.

That time neither was out on jobs, but rather just caught up in the daily grind. Gajeel trained a lot and Levy had other things to worry about than counseling him through his never ending musical woes.

"You," she complained when, inevitably, she found herself back at the apartment to, once more, assist the man, "have got to give Mirajane her book back."

"If she wanted it, she'd ask for it."

"She's too nice to do that."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

Still, Levy only took her place and this time, he didn't even bring out his guitar. Instead, in the dark living room, he laid flat on his back, eyes shut, as she read from the book to him.

"I guess that's just what I don't get," he complained after she explained a certain part to him. "There's so much that they just want you to infer, you know? With this kind of stuff. I don't want no one to have to infer nothiin' when I sing for 'em. I want them to get it right off the bad."

"There's poems like that. There's songs like that."

"Then-"

"But you still want it to sound nice," she insisted. "If it was as easy as just writing out your thoughts, then- Oh, Gajeel!"

"What?" He sat up fast enough that his head spun (though this might have a bit to do with the beers he'd been downing). "What's wrong?"

"I got it." She was slamming the book shut then. "What we need to do."

"We?" he asked with a snort. "And what do you mean anyways, shrimp?"

"You should write it all down."

"Eh?"

"Your thoughts," she insisted. "On...whatever it is that you're so stuck on. You should write them all out. Then I'll read them and tell you what I think. Doesn't that sound like a good idea?"

He only frowned as he said, "No," before falling back down.

"Gajeel-"

"Why would I want you readin' all my feelings and thoughts and things? Huh?"

"Why wouldn't you?" she challenged back. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"But," he kept up though he stayed down, "these would be my deep inner feelings. I have those, you know."

She'd always figured, anyways.

"You can't," he insisted, "just let anyone read those."

"But if they were going to be in your song anyways-"

"But covered up with clever, uh, what were those things again? Metaphors. That's it. Allusions. Illustrations."

"Probably not the last one."

Whatever.

"You let a person in on one portion of your creative process," he grumbled, "and suddenly they think that they're your manager or something."

"I'm just trying to help."

That hung between them for awhile, but she didn't move to start reading again. She didn't move to get up to leave though either. So they only stayed where they were, on the floor of his living room, as time ticked away from them.

"It's just different," he finally broke the silence. "Once it's a song. Once I'm singin' it. If I wrote down how I...felt, or thought as I tried to put it together, that would just be too..."

"Raw," she finished for him. "And that's okay. I was just trying to-"

"But it's not okay." He sat up again then just so he could stare over at her. "Levy."

They just sat there for along while, staring at one another in the darkness, before she told him, "You should write it out then, Gajeel, just for yourself. That would help. Do you not do that already? You should."

"This is the kind of advice I wanted from her. Mirajane." He sneered then. "Scales. Fucking scales."

"I'm going to give her back her book," she told him then. "Today. I think we've kinda done all we can with it. Don't you?"

He nodded before fall onto his back once more. "Yeah, I guess we have."

"They're not really giving you any inspiration or whatever, anyways, I don't think."

"No. They weren't."

"I'm actually kinda surprised that Mira's into this kind of stuff. I mean, I don't want to be mean, but-"

"Levy?"

"Yeah?"

"You can still come over, you know, sometimes." He probably would have shrugged, were he not laying on his back. "If you wanted. We don't just gotta read stupid poetry, but-"

"Yeah, Gajeel." She got to her feet then, finally, book in hand. "Any time."

The bar was packed that night when she went in, which meant Mirajane was definitely on duty. Before she went to take a seat where Jet and Droy were arguing over something, she stopped off at the bar to hand the woman her book back.

"Oh." Mira seemed confused at first, but just as quickly was excited. "So you've spoken with Gajeel?"

"W-Well, yeah, he's been kind of greedy, keeping your book, so I thought I'd bring it-"

"So he played you the song then?" Mira asked and she was being called from across the bar by someone, but she only kept her bright blue eyes on the woman before her. "The one that he wrote for you?"

"What?"

"Did he not? Yet?" She frowned, Mira did, but now she had multiple people calling out for refills and Kinana was off that day, so it was all falling on her shoulders. "Oh, Levy, I didn't- Just forget I said anything, okay?"

She had to rush off then, Mira did, and Levy only stood there for a moment, confused only long enough to feel the blush creep up her cheeks.

"What's up?" Jet asked as she took her seat beside him, but she could only shake her head and, well, they need her then. To settle their argument. It was hard to get into though for the woman as all she could think about was…

It made sense, of course, and as she laid awake that night thinking about it, as she had been the entire night, all of it fit together so perfectly. Gajeel needed help writing a song for her, but given he was so irascible with everyone else, had no one to turn to help him with this and had to go to her. But unable to say what he really wanted, he had led her on this entire goose chase that ended in...what?

Her going back to his apartment with him, of course, a few days later, when he asked. He'd gone out, he explained, and bought another book of poems and maybe those could help him?

"If you read 'em to me, I think, and we work through them together this time," he kept up as they walked together to his place, "then maybe… Well, I dunno. Maybe something will click. I just gotta like someone's style, the way I see it, to have them influence me. Show me the way and all. Then I'll have songs flowin' from me like a river!"

She knew she should say something, but she couldn't. It almost felt wrong. Almost. But it would be more wrong, wouldn't it? To take it from Gajeel? The game he was playing was hurting no one, really, and it would only be better if it met it's natural conclusion rather than her throwing down the information that Mira gave her.

So she went. Each time he asked. If she were free. Sometimes she wasn't. He had to navigate the waters himself and, though she felt nervous each and every time, convinced that it was gonna be the day, he was gonna tell her, finally tell her, anything, really, Levy knew she had to stay the course. Else she risked tossing the slayer right off it.

But it didn't come. Not in those nights that she sat up there in his apartment with him.

They didn't just read poetry together. She could tell he wasn't nearly as into that as he pretended. Honestly, neither was she. They searched for things to inspire him. From real books to movies on a lacrima to other music, even. There had to be something. Something that gave him a breakthrough.

"Yeah," Levy whispered as they stared down at art in a magazine that sat in his lap while she was at his side, on the couch. "Something."

The song reveal came though in the worst way possible. Or maybe the best? She wasn't sure. Only that she wasn't expecting it. She was actually busy not doing much of all, talking with Lisanna and Lucy about something. Boos though drowned out the sound of what her friends were saying though and when they all glanced up, it was to find that Gajeel, once more, was taking his way to the stage, much to the protest of the others.

"This is important!" the slayer insisted to the others and yeah, maybe it was, but what about their hearing? Sure felt it weighed out whatever he thought was so crucial. "Fuckin' ingrates."

But Mirajane didn't seem to be stopping him for once and it took a moment to connect for Levy. Honest. She wasn't sure what he was going to play when he got up there on the stage, but she didn't think it would be so…

It was weird. To know something. In a room of a hundred people. Be one of only two who knew it. That was the kicker, too. That it was so revealing and personal and yet, seemingly, no one noticed. At all.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked her with a bit of a giggle when she noticed how stricken her friend looked. "He's not that bad. It almost sounds in tune this time."

Almost was key.

Which Gajeel was not singing in.

Still, Levy only muttered something about needing air before exiting. It was easy to do with little notice from the others as they all seemed very content with letting Gajeel know he was bad and should feel bad.

Fairy Tail was equally the most supportive and critical guild around.

"There are."

He came and found her after he finished informing the others that they just had no taste, hanging around outside of the building. Gajeel had come out rather sour, guitar still in hand, but the look faded as he approached her into something else. Something…

Something that was close to the same nerves that she could feel then as, the second he was close enough, she just did it. He was a lot taller than her, so she had to lean up as far on her toes as she could do so, but still, she pressed a kiss to his lips and the slayer almost felt the same heat she had, when she first realized what he was singing up there on the stage.

"Hey," he complained, but just a bit as he took a step backwards. "What was that-"

"How did you do it?" she asked instead. "Gajeel? How did you finsih your… You said that you couldn't, that you didn't know how to, but-"

"I guess," he grumbled as, with his free hand, he reached up to scratch at his head, "that I was getting it, you know? Inspiration or whatever? I thought that it was all getting blocked or confused, when you'd hang around, but ti wasn't. I just wasn't filtering through it correctly. But the more you came around, trying to help me, it just… It wrote itself." He laughed too, just a bit, after he said that. "I guess it is that easy. When you know what you want."

Finally processing that she'd just, quit impulsively, kissed the slayer, Levy could only let out a long breath as her eyes fell to the ground.

"Yeah," she agreed finally when he reached out to pat her on the head, being rewarded with her glancing up at him once more. He still looked kind of uncomfortable which she resented some, considering he'd been the one to put this all in motion, but still, through her blush she found herself smiling as she agreed, "It is easy, isn't it?"

#Gajeel #Gajeel Redfox #Levy #Levy McGarden #Gale #Gajevy #Fairy Tail #Fanfiction

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hypmicwritingbutbad · 5 years

Note

Samatoki’s reaction to his s/o getting into danger and injured because of his yakuza connections?

Ooooh I like this one!! I apologise for the delay and lack of activity– I was real busy yesterday;;; But today’s special: thank you all for 100+ followers already!!! ﾟ.+(〃ﾉωﾉ)ﾟ.+° I tried doing something different to celebrate so I wrote a scenario instead of the usual bullet point list, but dSLNds I love you all so much;;;;;

Tick, tock, tick, tock. The clock on the wall tells no lies, but Samatoki was honestly a stone’s throw away from flinging it to the ground and smashing it to a million pieces. Around him, the dim scenery of the living room in your apartment seemed only to amplify his worries; his shadow danced around the walls whenever he so much as moved, yet without yours to join it, it seemed… incomplete, in a way.

His legs twitched. You were supposed to have come back from work ages ago. The only time you usually stayed out this late was when you did overtime, but you would usually let him know in advance, right? Samatoki let his mind overflow with curses Juto would normally hit him for as he paced, shoving his hands in his pockets just to stop them from tearing at his hair.

Tick, tock, tick— GONG. He wondered if your cellphone was ringing as loudly as the Grandfather’s clock in the hallway, and if it was, why the hell you weren’t picking up. His chest tightened as scenario-after-scenario flooded his mind like water bursting from a dam. He saw you lying dead in a ditch; he saw you tied up and trapped in the booth of a white van; he saw your mangled body in the middle of the road and your blood splattered on the windshield of a dented car.

He saw the raw fear in his own face as he caught sight of his reflection in the black TV screen. Perhaps that was why the sound of the door unlocking was like music to his ears.

“You’re late!” He called, relief immediately settling down on his shoulders like a tired bird retiring to its nest. “What kept you—“

But that same relief soon turned sour the moment he laid eyes on your frozen figure in the hallway. His presence in your apartment seemed to take you by surprise as well; your hands instinctively flew to your clothes as you pulled up your collar and rolled down your sleeves. However, Samatoki’s eyes had already caught sight of the fresh injuries standing out like red and black tattoos on your skin— plus, your disheveled hair and the dirt smudged on your face told no lies.

“What the hell happened!?” Before you even had time to blink, Samatoki was by your side. “I thought you went to work, not war!”

He certainly didn’t expect to be greeted back with a sharp slap to his cheek. As he withdrew, momentarily paralysed by the force you’d injected into the gesture, the look of disgust on your normally-tender features took him by complete surprise. A shiver ran up his spine— if looks could kill, he would have certainly died in that moment.

“I should be asking the same question!” You shouted back. The hand you’d raised earlier to slap him with trembled, though he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear. “You’re into human trafficking now, I hear?! I’m disgusted!”

Samatoki stared at you, furrowing his eyebrows. “What are you talking about? Like hell I’d do something like that!! What I wanna know is what you’re all banged up— who did this to you!?”

You returned his look incredulously, eyes blazing with an anger he’d never once seen in your gentle countenance before. It scared him, but the adrenaline-fueled concern surging through his veins left that fear utterly redundant.

“I overheard some of the guys from your gang talking about their plans to trick some country girls into coming here! They’d promised them new jobs and good pay— but we all know where that often leads to, right?” You glared at him. “I got into a scuffle with them ‘cause I told them what a disgusting idea that was. They only fled after they remembered my connection to you.”

The bruises on your skin suddenly seemed so much more pronounced now that he was looking at you in better, brighter lighting. Dried blood caked the side of what looked like a split lip, plus were those… handprints around your throat? The more Samatoki looked, the more the anger bubbled inside his stomach like a volcano bordering the edge of an explosion… Yet despite this, he found that he couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking no matter how hard he tried to control them.

“You idiot,” He whispered, sinking down onto the floor, “You stupid hotheaded impulsive idiot…!”

“You’re only describing yourself,” You retorted, dithering uncomfortably. He was on the floor but his grip on your hands was as tight as ever, which left you in a rather awkward position of neither-standing-nor-sitting.

From the angle he held his head down at, his silver hair hid his eyes. However, as he clung onto you like a lover terrified of having his soulmate torn from him before a storm, you felt your stomach twist itself into a mangled knot. It was so unlike Samatoki to display such vulnerability, and honestly as foreign as it was, it scared you. In a way, it was like witnessing a brick house fall into a pile of demolition and dust.

Crouching down next to him, you sighed a little as you rubbed his back. Perhaps you had been a little too harsh earlier, after all. “I take it you had no idea of this?” You asked, unable to keep the tenderness from returning to your words.

“I’ll frickin’ kill those bastards!” Samatoki growled— yet his arms found their way around you and soon you felt yourself being pulled close to his chest. “Stuff like that’s not how we operate… I’ve warned ‘em time and time again, but now they’re tryin to pull their weight behind the scenes?! Bastards!”

Upon hearing you wince quietly as previously-dormant wounds flared up in fleeting hisses of anger, he quickly loosened his grip— though he was careful to keep you close by him. You sighed once more, but all previous rage you’d initially thrown his way seemed to have dissipated in clouds of smoke now that the misunderstanding had been cleared up.

“I should go get cleaned up,” You said, standing up and patting the dust off your skirt.

You made to turn in the bathroom’s direction, but a strong pull at your hand rooted you in place. Samatoki’s crimson eyes, blurred with a watercolour dilute, met with your own.

“I’m sorry,” He blurted out; the uncharacteristic waver in his voice stung at your ears. “If only I’d kept them in line better, then— I’d— you wouldn’t—“

You saw his eyes widen in surprise as a small gust of air escaped your pursed lips. “Idiot. This isn’t your fault. It’s them who stepped out of line, and me who picked the fight anyways. You couldn’t have helped that.”

“Yeah, but they touched you!” He argued back, tone fluctuating with mixed emotions you could only pick out in parts. Holding his head in his hands, you saw his alabaster fingernails leave angry red marks on his skin as they let go. “They laid their filthy hands on you and hit you, and— ah dammit, just how the hell can I live knowing that because of me, you…”

“That’s enough now.” You said quietly, coaxing him to his feet.

Cupping his face open your hands, you pressed your forehead against his. You saw yourself reflected into those ruby eyes: tired, bruised and dishevelled, just so unlike the normal you that you prided yourself on being. Despite this, that same image was blurred by tears that held Samatoki’s pride at gunpoint and threatened to spill at any second. That man was just about as weak as you were in the moment.

“Dammit…” He finally whispered, closing his eyes.

The hot tears dripped onto the dusty fabric of your shirt like little droplets of rain before a drizzle, but you only pulled yourself closer to him and wrapped your arms around his chest. As tight as his embrace was, you too found a soothing sense of comfort that washed over your aching body. You only hoped that letting him know you were alright would stop him from trembling— it did hurt you to see him so shaken, after all.

After a moment’s silence, he finally spoke. “You didn’t give them the upper hand, right?” His voice was still a softer than usual, but you couldn’t blame him too much.

“No, not at all.” You affirmed, “I may be beat up, but you’d be proud to see the thrashing I gave them when you meet them tomorrow.”

He clicked his tongue, immediately tensing up. “I’ll frickin’ kill them. Those bastards are gonna be cutting off their fingers, whether they like it or not!”

“Let’s not get drastic, alright? I thought the yakuza stopped doing that ages ago.” You laughed. There was a moment’s silence before you leaned over, pecking him lightly on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Samatoki. I didn’t think it’d spook you so much.”

“What the hell? I just— you— Gah, I’m the one who’s supposed to be apologising!” Samatoki’s face turned beet red for an inkling of a moment before he looked away, flustered. His next words were barely audible, but you could feel the sincerity within them nonetheless. “…I swear, I won’t let this happen again, I promise you—“

“Mope all you want, but I want you to go back to being the same idiot Samatoki with the bad temper by tomorrow, okay?” You cut him off. Pulling at his hand, you led him down the hallway before shooting him a supportive little smile. “Come on now. I need help finding the first aid kit…”

#hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypnosis mic division rap battle #hypmic headcanons #hypmic imagines #hypmic scenarios #hypmic writing #aohitsugi samatoki #s/o #yakuza #scenarios #100 followers special #TYSM ILY

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yohanes-magic-circle · 5 years

Text

Idol Distractions

(This is also on AO3 if you’d prefer to read it there. Hope you enjoy this light and fluffy YohaMaru one-shot!)

“Wow, there’s so many… I don’t know how you go finishin’ all of these.”

“I haven’t finished them all. Honestly, I haven't even played them all. I used to get through everything, but now I have practice after school, I’m falling behind.”

Hanamaru continued looking through the games on Yoshiko’s shelf, occasionally picking out one that she liked the sound of and looking at the cover art. “Ain’t that a problem?”

“I don’t mind,” Yoshiko replied. “I used to play so much because I didn’t have anything else to do. Back in middle school, I didn’t really… I wasn’t popular.”

“Oh…”

“It’s okay. I mean, sometimes I’ve got people to play with now!”

“Yeah. I won’t be any good, though,” Hanamaru fretted.

“You’ve got as much chance as any mortal when faced with the unholy gaming powers of Yohane!”

Hanamaru briefly turned to stick her tongue out at the fallen angel, before going back to browsing the shelves. “This is weird, zura. When I normally look at someone else’s shelves they’re full of books, and I can get talkin’ about the ones I know. But I don’t really know any games…”

“It doesn’t really matter what you pick – I can show you how to play it. Just go for whatever you like.”

At that point, Hanamaru picked up something that caught her eye – a largely white box, with colourful shapes and lots of English text, and a cute blue animal on the front. “Can we play this one?”

Trust you, Zuramaru, thought Yoshiko. She wasn’t going to refuse her, of course. “Sure, I’ll just have to set up the machine.” Yoshiko went over to the cupboard and came back with a dusty box, from which she pulled out a black machine and a couple of black controllers. She struggled to get it to work with her TV briefly, and was about to give up when she saw the screen fade to black, then turn white.

“Se~ga!” rang out the sound from the TV.

“Wooooow! Mirai zura!”

“It’s not the future, Zuramaru,” laughed Yoshiko. “This thing was my dad’s. It’s older than we are, they stopped making them before we were born.” Still, Yoshiko couldn’t help but smile as she saw the sparkle in Hanamaru’s eyes. She kind of wished she had the same sense of constant wonder at the modern world – to be totally fascinated by things most people found mundane.

“Yoshiko, what were we studyin’ in history class earlier?”

“Ancient Egypt,” replied Yoshiko.

“And how long ago did Ramesses rule?”

“About 3,000 years ago. What’s your point?”

“How old is that games machine?”

“Uh, I think it’s about 30 years old.”

“So people have been around for thousands of years without this, and we’re lucky enough to live in a time when it exists? Mirai, zura.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Yoshiko conceded, considering that perhaps their outlooks on the world were both strange. “So this one’s really easy to play – that little guy is Sonic, and he’s got to run along to the right. If you press any of the buttons, he’ll jump.”

“Okay! So I press this one an’… oh hey, is that a friend?”

“Zuramaru, no–!”

“Aaaah! What happened?”

“Sorry, I really should have explained that better. You ran into a bad guy.”

“So that’s it?” asked Hanamaru, sadly.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get another try. Just try to grab those spinning rings you see, they’ll protect you if you get hit. And when you see any of those robots, just jump on top of them.”

“Okay! So I run this way… zura?! Was that an animal in there?”

Hanamaru guided Sonic through the dangers of Green Hill Zone’s first act safely, albeit considerably slower than it could have been done. Yoshiko spent more time watching Maru’s face than the screen – she was so cute when she scrunched her face up in concentration, and even cuter when she panicked at Sonic’s speed through the tunnels.

“Hey, pass me the controller,” said Yoshiko as the second stage began. “I’m gonna show you a secret.” Within seconds, Sonic was smashing through a wall. Hanamaru asked how to do a roll on the ground, and then spent the rest of the stage rolling into every single wall she could find to see if it would break. She kept doing it in the third stage and was thrilled when she finally found one, even if it took a couple of attempts to break all the way through. It was a performance befitting an amateur gamer, but she was having a good time. Finally, she reached the last part of Green Hill Zone.

“Yoshiko! Who’s that?!” asked Hanamaru anxiously, as a man in a flying machine entered the screen with a huge wrecking ball.

“That’s Eggman, he’s the villain who put all the animals in the robots.”

“He’s scarin’ me. You fight him!”

Yoshiko had no choice as the pad was thrust into her hands before she could so much as utter a word of encouragement, she made quick work of the simple boss. “Hey, do you wanna play a game together? I’ve got Sonic 2, it’s just like this but we can both play.”

“Okay! But how do we both be Sonic?”

“No, he’s got a little friend called Tails in this game. We can play together, or race against each other.”

“Oooh, can we race? Let’s race!” Hanamaru practically bounced up and down on the spot with excitement.

“Very well. But know that when you challenge Yohane, your fate is determined before you even press the start button!”

Hanamaru brushed off Yoshiko’s theatrics, instead focusing on the orange fox on screen. “Cute, zura! Can I play as him?”

“You’ll be Tails, yeah. He’s on the bottom bit of the screen. Oh yeah, so you should know, it’s not just finishing first that counts here. If you smash bad guys and TVs, and collect rings, they’ll help you win too.”

“I see…”

The stage started, and Tails started to walk away, only for Sonic to roll right past at a terrifying speed. “Are you cheatin’, Yoshiko?” said Hanamaru, putting on a pout. “Oh yeah, you can do that in this game,” Yoshiko said, only half apologetically. “If you hold down and press jump, you can charge up a spin and shoot off. You’ve gotta go fast, Zuramaru.”

Although Yoshiko wasn’t particularly familiar with the game, years of practice allowed her to tackle the stage with ease. Hanamaru hung back as Yoshiko sped through, knowing that she couldn’t compete in that way – instead she made sure to collect rings and break item boxes, hoping to win on those fronts. Yoshiko saw that she was doing this and tried to break a monitor herself, but everything suddenly went white…

“Z-zura? I won?!”

Yohane’s curse had struck again. The random item in the box was a teleport, placing Hanamaru right next to the finish line and Yoshiko right back near the start of the stage. Suddenly, she had seconds to make it back through the stage and grab as much as she could along the way. But she’d largely ignored rings and items in her earlier haste – could she pull it back?

Nope. There it was, plain as day.

“2P WINS”

“Wow, I’ve never won at one of these before! I thought you said you played these games a lot, Yoshiko?�� Hanamaru couldn’t resist poking a little bit of fun at her friend, though in truth she didn’t quite understand how everything had just happened. “Do not be mistaken! Your victory was a matter of divine intervention,” Yoshiko responded, trying to save face. “Shall we play another round?” Hanamaru shook her head. “I think I’m retirin’ while I’m still undefeated. Besides, I was startin’ to wonder if we could get a drink.”

The two girls headed to the kitchen, and Yoshiko began to pick through the cupboard. “Coffee?”

“No thanks, I never got why everyone’s drinkin’ it all the time. It’s so bitter. I’d be happy with a glass of water, please.”

“Fancy, but I’ll push the boat out just for you,” Yoshiko confirmed with a wink, as she started boiling the kettle for her own coffee.

“You know, I’m really glad we could hang out like this.”

“Yeah, I’m having fun too,” said Yoshiko as she put down Hanamaru’s glass.

“No, I mean – what I’m tryin’ to say is that I’m pleased I could visit your home.”

“Oh, and why would that be?”

“Well, the temple… we don’t have video games or nothin’ like that at my place,” said Hanamaru. She let out a big sigh. “You’d be bored if you visited me.”

“Hanamaru, are you kidding me?” Yoshiko asked with unusual gravitas. “Do you really think I mind where he hang out?”

“Zura?”

Yoshiko decided it was time to use one of Hanamaru’s own tricks. “Where did we meet up before we come here today?”

“In the library,” she responded.”

“And how often have we hung out there?”

“I don’t know… I think I’d have lost count even if I was tryin’ to remember.”

“Now,” said Yoshiko with complete confidence, “how many times have you just walked in and found me there?”

“That never happ– oh…”

“Right. It doesn’t matter so much where we are, because what I’m interested in doing is spending time with you. And you’re not so into games, right?”

Hanamaru took a long sip from her glass. “Yeah. I know you love ’em though, so I like to make an effort.”

“Do you want to stop playing for the night, then? I’m happy to just chat like this.”

“No, just… is there an easy game we could try? One with a lotta story, where you don't have to do too much?”

“That’s a movie, Zuramaru,” Yoshiko joked. She was definitely an action gamer at heart, particularly racing games. “But now I think of it, there might be something…”

As the girls headed back to Yoshiko’s room, Yoshiko tried to think of a suitable game to put on. She didn’t have many visual novels. Well, there was that one she'd been playing that Riko had recommended… No! Yoshiko didn’t want to come across as weird. Honestly, Mari had never hidden her thirst, but Riko was a surprise. Who’d have thought that Yohane would be the purest member of Guilty Kiss?

“Whatcha thinkin’, Yoshiko?”

“A-ahhh haha… nothing!” Yoshiko had gotten wrapped up and totally missed the development of that awkward silence. “Hey, I haven’t started this one yet. Shall we try it? It’s a bit sci-fi but it’s more or less the sort of game you wanted.”

“Looks good, zura,” Hanamaru confirmed. “Hey, would you mind if I rested my head on your shoulder while we read it? I’m not used to stayin’ up so late.”

“S-sure,” said Yoshiko, turning her rapidly reddening face towards the wall as the game loaded.

The game began, and the player character started ranting about being a mad scientist chased by some organisation. “Hey, this guy’s funny,” said Hanamaru, giving Yoshiko a little nudge. “He kind of reminds me of you.” Hanamaru meant it affectionately, so it was fortunate that she didn’t turn her head – or else she’d have seen Yoshiko’s accusatory glare. Yohane was nothing like Hououin Kyouma! “The girl’s cute, though.”

“Right? She’s sweet and innocent… Really, I quite like characters like that.”

Hanamaru just gave a contented little “Mm” as the story continued apace. The characters went to get capsule toys on the way to some scientific press conference, then argued with a teenage genius, only to find her dead minutes later. “Hey, Zuramaru, let me know if you get scared, alright?” No response.

Yoshiko looked down to see Hanamaru softly sleeping, still propped up against her for comfort. Clearly, she hadn’t been kidding about not being used to late nights. But they’d had a fun night together, and besides, she looked so cute that Yoshiko could hardly be mad. She turned the console off and switched over to the TV, then carefully shifted to a more comfortable position.

This, she thought to herself, was something she could get used to.

#love live sunshine #yohamaru #yoshimaru #yoshiko tsushima #hanamaru kunikida #zuramaru #yohane #fluff

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blazardragon · 6 years

Photo

English Translation of Korotan B: Chapter 4

In this chapter, Pui meets Isogai’s family! Apparently, they have a traditional household sauce. I wonder what it’s made of? Other highlights include Terasaka, Itona, and Korosensei getting duped, Chiba, Hayami, and Nakamura discussing catchphrases, and Pui’s backstory finally getting revealed!

Also, unlike last chapter, while boobs are mentioned, there’s no sexual harassment this time (phew!)

Chapter 4: An Assassination You Can Be Proud Of Time

“This is my house. Go ahead and come in!”

Isogai brought Pui to his house after school.

When Korosensei asked his students if there was anyone willing to provide a home-stay for Pui, Isogai was the first to raise his hand.

“Isogai-kun, you’re good at taking care of others, making you more than qualified for the job. Obtaining an understanding of each other will be a boon to your assassination attempts.”

Korosensei, too, indulged in Isogai’s offer.

When Isogai opened the door to the entrance, he found two primary school-aged children waiting for him.

“Welcome home, big brother!”

“Wewcome hoowme!”

Isogai patted his little brother’s and little sister’s heads.

“I’m home! Where’s Mom?”

“She’s asleep now!”

“I see. Then, let’s be quiet so that we don’t wake her up, okay?”

“Okay!”

Isogai took off his shoes at the entrance and explained to Pui,

“You take off your shoes and then you come in.”

After watching Isogai’s example, Pui timidly entered his home.

~~~

The Isogai household was having hot pot tonight. Pui prepared some wild hare he caught when he was deep in the mountain, while Isogai added some Kawahara* grass.They flavored the hare meat with wild perilla and ginger and seasoned it with the Isogai household’s traditional sauce. Everyone circled around the now finished hot pot. This was the first time Isogai had ever eaten hot pot made with hare meat, and he was struck with admiration for the taste,

“To think hare meat would taste so good! We’re able to try new ingredients all thanks to you, Pui!”

Pui made a satisfied expression upon receiving appreciation from Isogai and stuffed his cheeks with meat.

When it was time for bed, Isogai put away the dining table and pulled out futons from the closet. His little sister and brother were put to bed in one futon, and when Isogai placed the other futon down, the floor became fully covered.

“Sleep here. It’s narrow, but it’ll have to do.”

Pui got into the futon as Isogai told him.

“Where will you sleep, Isogai?”

“I’ll sleep at the entrance.”

Isogai pointed to the entrance with a smile and started to head toward it.

“No way. I doesn’t want Isogai to sleep at the entrance.”

“Don’t mind me! I can sleep just fine even at the entrance!”

However, Pui wouldn’t listen to him and shook his head.

“If Isogai sleeps at the entrance, I won’t be able to sleep. Sleep with Pui.”

“Eh?”

“I always sleep in the same bed with my little brothers and sisters. I won’t mind.”

Pui grabbed Isogai’s arm and pulled him to the futon. Isogai gave in to his pushiness and reluctantly got into the futon with Pui.

Isogai’s younger siblings fell asleep in no time at all. Isogai, on the other hand, being in the same futon as Pui, a killer whose age wasn’t too different from his, was too nervous to feel drowsy.

‘Even if he’s a killer, he’s almost the same age as me, and we’re both human, right? What am I so afraid of?’

Isogai told himself to break the walls in his heart.

Suddenly, Pui began to speak.

“Isogai, I have one little brother and two little sisters.”

“You have even more than me? They must be quite the handful!”

“My brother is nine-years-old. He’s more useful at home than Pui. I want to protect them…”

Pui abruptly stopped talking.

“Pui? What’s wrong?”

Pui didn’t answer his question. He turned on his side and stayed quiet.

Although Isogai could practically feel Pui’s silence, he hadn’t yet closed the gap between them, so he felt that he couldn’t press on further.

‘I wonder if I was being too intrusive. However, I want to say one more thing.’

Isogai spoke to him one more time.

“If you’re ever in any trouble, let me know. My friends and teachers in Class E are pretty reliable.”

After saying this to Pui’s back, Isogai closed his eyes and fell asleep.

~~~

The next morning, there was a crowd of students in front of the classroom. Pui was showing off his talents on top of a platform. He prepared three empty boxes of caramels. One of the boxes had a mark on the inside. It was a game where Pui shuffles the boxes, and if the spectator chooses the box with the mark, they win. However, Pui’s judgement was brilliant, so it was hard to win against him. Terasaka was an easy mark for Pui, and he lost one game after another.

“Goddammit, I thought for sure it was the middle one! You’ve gotta have a trick set up in these boxes! Show ‘em to me!”

Terasaka took the boxes from Pui, flipping them over and tapping them as he searched for some hidden trick. Muramatsu laughed at the sight with his trademark “Shi shi shi”.

“Only Terasaka would be dumb enough to be caught in such a simple trick. You should be angrier at yourself.”

Frustrated at having been made a fool of by Itona as well, Terasaka made a face and yelled,

“If that’s what you think, then how about you try!? Tryin’ to make a fool outta other people…”

“Sure. I’ll show you a good example.”

Itona switched with Terasaka and stared at the platform closely. Pui grinned as he shuffled them, changing each box’s position one after another.

Pui movements were mysterious, giving the illusion that he had three, or even four, hands. Itona watched so closely it seemed as if his eyes would become bloodshot, and at Pui’s call he immediately pointed to the box on his left. Pui moved to touch the box, but stopped when Itona told him to wait.

“I’ll be the one to flip it open, okay?”

“If you want.”

Pui did as Itona told him and raised both his hands in the air. Itona opened the box, only to find that there was no mark.

“How lame! You can’t make fun of other people now, can ya!?”

“……There must be some kind of mistake. I’ll get the next one right for sure.”

Pui grinned, showing his white teeth to Itona and Terasaka.

“You’re all quite noisy today. It’s almost time for class.”

Korosensei had entered the classroom. The sight of Pui playing with Terasaka and Itona put a satisfied smile on his face.

“Pui-kun, is it alright if sensei has a try, as well?”

“Sure!”

Pui lightly shuffled the boxes, showed him the box with the mark, and then mixed them together again so that he wouldn’t know which one was which.

“This is a type of street gambling common in many countries outside of Japan. You’re quite experienced with it, I see. However, you cannot deceive the eyes of a Mach 20 super-creature!”

When Pui stopped his hands, the three boxes were side by side.

“Pick which one you think is right.”

Without hesitation, Korosensei chose the box in the middle. When Pui opened the box, there was no mark to be found.

“Nyu-yah!?”

With a calm face, Pui began shuffling his boxes again.

“My eyes must have deceived me…… though, there’s no way that should be the case.”

“Let me try again!”

Pui flipped all the boxes open to show that there was only one box with a mark before shuffling them again.

“I won’t make any mistakes this time. I can clearly see which box has the mark!”

When Pui stopped his hands, Korosensei exclaimed, “It’s this one!”, and held down the left box with his tentacle.

“May I be the one to open it?”

“Go ahead.”

Pui let go of the box. Korosensei carefully opened the box, which, as one would expect, didn’t have the mark on it.

“Nyu-Yaaaaah!!?”

The whole class erupted in laughter.

“T-this can’t be……..”

Korosensei was staring at the boxes so intensely he could bore a hole through them. At that moment, a knife flew at him from the back of the class. Korosensei managed to dodge it by just a hair’s breadth, panting as he shouted with a hoarse voice,

“W-Who did that!? Sensei’s kind of in the middle of something right now!”

“Huh~ Your reaction time was pretty slow this time. So, if you’re absorbed in gambling, your reaction time falls.”

“S-so it was you, Karma-kun!? Good grief……”

Korosensei fixed his necktie and turned toward Pui.

“Pui-kun, your technique is magnificent, but don’t become too involved with gambling. There are people who have gone crazy with gambling in every country.”

“I understand, Korosensei. I’ll be careful.”

Pui pretended to bow before thrusting at Korosensei with a knife he kept hidden from view. Even if the first strike is dodged, he would press on with his attack and swipe at his sides. This would push Korosensei to the door, cornering him. Or, at least, that’s what was supposed to happen, but instead, Korosensei was back at his podium in a flash. Struck with a sense of powerlessness, Pui’s hands dropped to his sides.

“That attack was quite good. You’ve certainly made a lot of progress in the past two days. However, it’s not quite enough for that flower-circle.* Let’s polish your blade even more!”

After dodging Pui’s knife attacks, a flower-circle mark appeared on his face. Pui’s suddenly began to glare at Korosensei, eyes filled with hatred. This sudden change in his demeanor piqued Nagisa’s curiosity.

‘I wonder why Pui is so obsessed with him? If he was just driven by a pro’s sense of responsibility, I don’t think he’d look so vindictive.’

While Nagisa’s head swam with doubts, he pulled out his notebook for class.

~~~

Once class was over, Pui finally sat down in a chair. He made many attempts on Korosensei’s life during class, until Korosensei ordered him to stand for the rest of the lesson. Seeing Pui stick out his lips and pout, Karma smiled gleefully and said,

“You want me to spell it out for you? One of the rules of this classroom is that our assassination attempts are not to hinder his class. If you want the 300 billion yen reward for assassinating that octopus, I suggest you follow them~”

“……300!? Isn’t it 100!?”

“If a group assassinates him, then the reward is 300. It’s so we combine our powers to assassinate him rather than try to trip each other up.”

“I see…… Then, Pui won’t lose anything if Pui cooperates with you guys?”

“That’s right.”

Nagisa joined Karma’s and Pui’s conversation.

“I’ll teach you about Korosensei’s weak points. They’re all things we’ve noticed while together with him.”

“Please, teach me.”

Nagisa flipped through his memo pad.

“First of all, Korosensei’s speed decreases when he panics. He exposes his weaknesses when he tries to act cool, and he has a surprisingly short fuse. Also, he’s weak to big boobs, so it’s good to aim for his life when he’s lovestruck by them.”

“……Every guy is weak to big boobs.”

Okajima and Itona instantly held their thumbs up in approval of Pui’s opinion.

“That’s your only reaction!?”

Nagisa couldn’t help but comment on the two’s reaction to Pui. Chiba, who was sitting in front of them, turned around to speak.

“Hey, if you’re working together with us, you’ll share any new information if you happen to get any, right?”

“Sure, Chiba!”

Pui nodded with a convincing look on his face.

“Ah, that’s right! This is important. Suicide attacks are no good. That was my first assassination attempt, and Korosensei got angrier than you could imagine!”

“How’d you try to kill him, Nagisa?”

“I put a toy grenade around my neck, which would scatter anti-sensei pellets everywhere, but he covered me with his molted skin, so I failed.”

Pui opened his mouth wide with shock.

“He can molt!?”

“Yeah, it’s his trump card, which he can use once a month. His speed drops after he molts, so it’s also something we aim to make him do.”

Pui’s eyes shone brightly.

“That information about molting is really valuable. But why are suicide attacks no good? It should be fine as long as you kill him.”

Nagisa felt that Pui’s question was only natural. Nagisa had a hunch that the reason lay with Korosensei.

“Korosensei told us at the start to, “Have an assassination that makes you smile and puff out your chest with pride”. We don’t really understand his reasoning, but it’s the major premise of this classroom.

“An assassination that makes you puff out your chest with pride…..? I am always doing assassinations that make Pui puff my chest with pride. I kill for my family.”

After Pui said that, he fell silent.

‘I think I put him in a bad mood.’

Worried, Nagisa wondered if he had somehow angered Pui.

“Just leave him be, Nagisa-kun.”

Upon being told by Karma, Nagisa quietly separated himself from Pui. Pui wasn’t angry at all. In fact, Nagisa’s words were echoing inside Pui’s head.

‘I wonder if, this time, I can have an assassination that makes me puff out my chest with pride?’

~~~

“Your English is improving quickly, Pui!”

“As one would expect, the concentration power of a pro assassin is something else.”

Chiba and Sugaya started praising Pui after English class was over.

“Hey, hey, Pui!”

Nakamura approached Pui’s seat, peeking at his face as if she was dying to ask him something.

“You’ve done a lot of work up ‘til now as a killer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a catchphrase you use when you kill someone?”

“A catchphrase……?”

“Like, words you’ve decided your targets will hear as they’re dying. I wanna know what it’s like to hear one from a real killer.”

Pui was stumped by Nakamura’s surprising question. Hayami took that chance to interpose herself into the conversation from the side.

“I don’t think that a real killer would say anything like what you see in manga or movies.”

“I wonder. I think that different killers would have different traits and styles, so there must be a few in this world that have a catchphrase. For example, something like, “If you’re feeling resentful, resent my client”.”

Chiba also got onboard with the conversation.

“In a drama, the assassin would say, “Someone wishes you dead, so please die,” or, “Allow me to explain the reason behind your death. It’s because you said too much”.”

“They’d be focusing on their work, so I don’t think they could afford to do something like that. Even so, they might bluntly say “Sorry” or “I was asked to give you a present”.”

Hayami was thinking more realistically.

“You’re so persuasive, Hayami-chan! It’s because of that professional air you have!”

Nakamura nodded her head to everything Hayami was saying.

After having time to think, Pui finally replied to Nakamura’s question.

“When it comes to catchphrases, I…… don’t really have anything in particular. I press my hands together in prayer, then I kill them. That’s all.”

“So, you’re the kind of guy who works in silence, huh? That kind of stoicism is cool, too~”

Pui became sullen upon being told he was cool by Nakamura and hung his head down in shame.

“Hey, Pui, can I see your knife?”

“Sure.”

Upon Chiba’s request, Pui took out his knife from the bamboo scabbard he had hanging on his belt. Chiba examined it thoroughly, flipping it over and touching it in various places.

“It looks incredibly sharp.”

“Don’t touch it too much, or you’ll hurt yourself. It cuts better than a standard knife.”

“Seriously? You must take great care of it, then.”

Chiba carefully returned the knife to Pui.

“Hey, hey, who taught you how to be a killer, Pui? You must have had a teacher, right?”

“Half of my skills I taught myself, the other half I learned from my master. There’s a lot of martial artists in my village. My master is really good at splitting people’s heads open with his elbow and skewering people with tree branches!”

“Skewering people with tree branches……”

“Master always makes his own weapons. There’s always tree branches, nuts, and stones lying around, and those can be turned into weapons you can use to kill others. Even that grass over there can be used as a knife to slit your opponent’s throat. The most amazing technique my master can use is to shoot and kill people with pebbles he flicks with his fingers. He can flick them away like a gun shooting bullets!”

“Are you serious… no way…”

“You don’t believe Pui? Want Pui to do it to you?”

Pui threatened before laughing and lightening the mood with a “Just kidding!”

“Hey, don’t scare me like that.”

Chiba let out a cold sweat.

“Though, I guess a lot of things must have happened up until now for you to become a killer at your age. Why did you become a killer, anyway?”

“There was no other way for Pui to make a living. My village is close to the border of my country, and we’re constantly at war. My father got hurt when he stepped on a landmine, and the fields are all burned down.”

The classroom fell silent as Pui told them his harsh personal story.

“I didn’t get to go to school very much. A lot of my friends got involved with the war and died. I also have friends who were shot by my country’s own soldiers. I learned a lot from my master so that I could protect myself. I learned martial arts and English so that I could kill those soldiers when I needed to. I’ve killed them with traps made from bamboo spears and knives. It became my job. In order to feed my family, I’ve continued that work. But, this time, my job is different.”

Pui pulled a photograph out of his pocket. In the photo, two adults, one man and one woman, and three children were tied up and restrained. There was also a man wearing a black suit and sunglasses and another man with a scorpion tattoo on his upper arm who was holding a gun.

“This is my family. We are being threatened. If I don’t kill the target and win the 100 billion yen bounty, they will be killed.”

The students of 3-E froze. The color drained from Isogai’s face as he listened.

“The money is due in three days.”

“You should’ve said so sooner!”

Nagisa blurted out in Japanese without thinking. He took the photo and ran to the staff room. Korosensei was flipping through a book called “Guide to Conquering the World’s B-Grade Gourmet* Foods” before lifting his head.

“Oh? Well if it isn’t Nagisa-kun. And everyone else, too. What on Earth happened?”

“Please do something, Korosensei! It’s your responsibility!”

“Wha-What!? I have no idea what’s going on! Please explain from the beginning!”

“Here, look at this! Pui’s family is in this picture! If Pui doesn’t assassinate you in three days, they’ll be killed!”

Korosensei was overcome with a cold sweat as he looked at the photograph. After taking a moment to examine the photo, he placed it on his desk and turned toward the window.

“Pui-kun is a killer. This may sound cold, but when you make killing a business, such dangers are an unavoidable part of the job.”

“But that’s…! That’s terrible! Are you just going to abandon him!? Can’t you at least give him a chance!? He studied to together with us over these past two days and improved his English so much!”

Nagisa tenaciously appealed Pui’s case.

“……I guess I did tell him to study and assassinate together with you all. I’ve given you students a chance to hone your blades and assassinate me, so I suppose it would be unfair of me not to give the same chance to Pui-kun.”

“Right!?”

“Then, let’s test him to confirm that he has been polishing his blade properly. I will hand him a test to measure the progress of his English. If he passes, then I promise I will give him a chance to assassinate me.”

A smile flashed on Nagisa’s face.

“It’s a promise!”

Nagisa and the others quickly returned to class. Korosensei once again examined the picture of Pui’s family left on his desk.

“So, his family is being held hostage…… It appears there are some people in need of help.”

~~~

After class, Pui alone remained in the classroom to take Korosensei’s test. To ensure that his students don’t help Pui cheat out of pity for his circumstances, Korosensei chased the other students out of the classroom and supervised the test alone. Worried about the results, the students of 3-E loitered outside the school building, quietly waiting for the results.

“……Do you think Pui will make it?”

Nagisa anxiously asked Isogai.

“He made a lot of progress in such a short period of time. I’m sure that’ll show in his test results!”

‘If only I had listened more to what Pui had to say last night. Please, do your best.”

Recalling the impact Pui’s confession had on him, Isogai continued to wait for him, praying for his success.

“It’s almost time, I guess.”

Sugino couldn’t stay still, frequently checking his watch as he stretched. Then, the window to the classroom opened with a rattle, and Korosensei’s head popped out.

“The test is over. I will be announcing the results of the test, so those of you who are interested should head inside.”

And so, the students who were scattered outside the school building all ran inside.

~~~

“Pui-kun, please come here. I will hand you your test.”

Pui was almost pitifully nervous as he walked to the front of the class. His fingers trembled as Korosensei handed him his graded paper.

“You scored 95 points. A magnificent job. The passing limit was 90 points, so you easily cleared this test.”

“Alright!”

Class E cried out with joy. However, as for Pui himself, his expression relaxed only a little. He didn’t show any joy.

“Korosensei, you’re gonna give him a chance like you promised, right?”

“Yes, of course! A promise is a promise!”

“What kind of chance are you going to give him?”

“Preparations are already complete. Look!”

Korosensei pulled out a hemp rope.

“I’m going to use this to tie myself to a tree, and–

Class E all began to boo at him.

“Nyu-yah!?”

“What!? That’s not even a handicap!”

“That’s totally unfair! You should give him a better chance than that!”

“You better not run away from this, you damned octopus!”

Isogai, Nakamura, Terasaka, and the others all hammered Korosensei with complaints. Korosensei nodded thoughtfully.

“Pui-kun, everyone in Class E is telling me I ought to give you a big chance. Are you prepared to bet on it?”

“Of course!”

Pui answered immediately.

“Good. Then, let’s move to a place more befitting of such a big chance. I’ll also allow those who have supported you up until now to help you.”

Korosensei brought out a huge travelling bag out of nowhere. While everyone was taken aback, Korosensei stuffed Pui and several of the students into the bag in a flash and flew away.

“They’re gone!?”

The remaining students could only look around, wondering where they had gone.

Notes:

*Kawahara (河原) was a town located in Yazu District, Tottori Prefecture, Japan. It merged with other cities to form the city of Tottori.

*The word Korosensei uses is 花丸, which means flower circle, which is used in Japan as an equivalent for those gold star stickers you earn in primary school for doing a good job. It’s the mark you see him use a lot when he grades 3-E’s papers. Personally, I always thought it looked like a Naruto.

*B-Grade gourmet refers to dishes that are delicious, inexpensive and provided in abundant amounts.

Ughh, this chapter was long... Pui’s home country sounds a lot like Korosensei’s. Can you guess who Korosensei packed in his bag? I’ll give you a hint: there are six students accompanying Pui.

#assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #Isogai Yuuma #Korosensei #Chiba Ryuunosuke #hayami rinka #Nakamura Rio #terasaka ryoma #itona horibe #Nagisa Shiota #Pui #Korotan B #translations

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westgateoh · 6 years

Text

“One Losing Hand” - a Han Solo story

Han’s father often said, “You gotta believe in people, Han. You gotta believe that one of ‘em’ll be smart and one of ‘em’ll help us. We’re gonna get out of here and find a better place to live. I’m workin’ on it, ok? I’m workin’ on it.”

He liked the sound of his father’s voice. It was low, but smooth and strong and safe. And it was always telling him to hang on, have hope, stay tough.

“You fight back. You hear me?” Han had gotten in a fight at what someone was still calling school, but his father wasn’t angry. “You always fight back.”

Han fought, but he didn’t always win. Once, he waited in their shanty house for hours for his dad to come home from work and tell him it was going to be okay. He waited with a cut on his head he couldn’t get to stop bleeding, an eye that swelled shut and turned black, a boot mark on his ribs that turned black, too, and a split lip that bled every time he winced too hard. His father with his dark shoulder-length curly hair and sparkling green eyes went pale when he saw Han lying on the floor with a bag of ice he was too tired to hold anymore melting into a puddle next to him. He knelt down slowly and pulled Han into his lap, brushing Han’s hair out of his eyes and being careful not to touch the bruises on Han’s face.

“Did you fight back?” he asked, his usually booming voice very soft and gentle.

Han could only nod.

“Okay. Let’s get you feeling better and then we’ll talk about fighting smart. Using that head for something more than defense. Looks like that school of yours ain’t doin’ the kind of teachin’ you need today, right?” He chided, and then he washed Han’s face, helped him drink some broth around that cut lip, and talked for hours about beating big guys at a different game, about changing the rules when you could, about the kind of winning that really mattered.

And then, one day, his father didn’t come home at all.

Han waited. He waited three days before he ducked down an alley and under a bridge and over to the shipyard where he wasn’t really supposed to go. He had to find his father. He’d just sneak into the line and look for his dad and make sure he was just working an extended shift and forgot to tell Han he’d be gone for a while.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and shoved him to the ground before he could get fifteen yards inside the fence.

“What the hell you think you’re doin’ here, kid?” the man with the guard uniform and stern face asked as he pressed his boot down on Han’s neck.

“I – I’m lookin’ for my dad. He – he works here but he hasn’t been home. I – I promise. I’m just makin’ sure he’s okay.” Han knew the penalty for actually trying to sneak into a shipyard. It was stiff.

The guy cocked his head and stared at Han for a minute. Who knows what he saw, but he asked, “Who’s your dad?”

“Enten. His name’s Enten. I swear I’ll leave. I just need to make sure he’s okay.”

A frown and something soft passed over the man’s face. “You didn’t hear?” he paused. “Of course you didn’t. They don’t care about who gets left behind. Your dad got blown up in a factory fire two days ago, kid. The idiot went back into the line trying to get some other guys out after the fire started and the whole thing blew.”

Han blinked and shook his head. Maybe his ears were still kinda messed up from the last school fight he had a week ago. The guy leaned over and pulled Han to his feet and pushed him toward the fence. “Now get outta here, kid. You don’t wanna get locked up for trespassing around here. You know that.” He pushed Han toward the fence.

Han must have left. He found himself back at their shanty holding a jacket that belonged to his father, feeling the soft white leather between his fingertips, pressing the jacket to his face so he could smell his father again. He ran his hands across the silver buttons, brushed his fingers around the collar, and finally pulled the jacket on. It was sleeveless and swallowed him, but that was good. He needed to feel his father again, hugging him tight, telling him to be smart, to look out for the littler kids at school, to watch out for bullies better instead of staying around to fight ‘em and get hurt.

He sat on the floor, huddling in the jacket, for hours until he couldn’t ignore the rumbling in his stomach anymore. He poured the last drips of the broth they kept in the small cooling unit into a bowl and stirred absently as it heated, thinking of his father’s promises of better food and some actual meat maybe soon if the factory got around to paying him what they owed him. He drank it before it really got hot enough and then laid down on the only bed in the place, where he and his father had slept together for five years after Han’s mother died from a sickness they couldn’t afford to treat.

He remembered her singing to him as he fell asleep in her arms, how her soft and faintly off-key voice filled the small room, and how if he opened his eyes while she was singing and snuck a look at his father, he’d be sitting with a small smile on his face as he looked at whatever he was making at their small table. He was always working with his hands, even off the clock, fixing something at home if he could scrounge materials, making a little wooden figure for Han to play with if there was nothing else to do. Han kept one in his pocket all the time, ‘for luck,’ his father said.

He also said, “Everything’s luck and tryin’ to make your own chances, Han. Don’t worry about the odds.” Han had been learning to play Sabaac after school with a few of the kids in the neighborhood. His dad had caught him looking at an old set of cards he’d found. Turns out his dad even had a few tricks with the game to teach Han, and had shown him the math of it, how to make chances better by keeping track of it. They’d sat on the floor for hours, playing, until his father leaned over with a grin and ruffled Han’s hair. “You’re getting’ it, kid.”

Now Han stood in the doorway before he left, and pulled his father’s white jacket around his shoulders again. He’d grow into it. There was nothing else to take with him, so he closed his eyes for a moment, committed the room to his memory.

His family’s luck had run out. He was alone now, without people of his own. It was time to go find a new chance, make some new odds.

#Solo: A Star Wars Story #Westgate fanfic #han solo #movie only #solo #alden ehrenreich #star wars

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abhisheksingh098 · 4 years

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None Like Joshua - Phanto Troupe Rap Lyrics

Phantom Troupe Rap | None Like Joshua, Daddyphatsnaps, Rustage, Gameboyjones, more | Hunter x Hunter Rap

Lyrics:- Witness tricks and pick a card I pick kids, and pick apart Their body parts while stiff and hard Pick a target, grip his heart Simpin for a king, well I’m a joker so the fight starts Stickin with the rubber and gum like it’s a fine art Strong opponents come at me and you’ll be gettin clapped dude Bungee gum attached too, you’ll be needin clown shoes I’m bad too, Ilumi-nate my blood lust in a bad mood I could carry all the spiders on my back like tattoos Do not act rash boy your life is hanging by a thread You get two strikes on the third filleting you instead Thunderclap flash, zenny stance aiming at your head Got that dome “gon” like Hisoka aiming for some neck Better reign in every breath I might take it as a threat I might shank you through your shoulder blades To take away your flex Send a message take your lungs away And say it with YOUR chest I’m not the “1” to fuck with Why you think they saved it for the best Don’t get attached to me In fact attaching limbs is one of my specialities No defendinga against these nen strings, Got you hooked, yea you’re no match Even if you do get away I can track you down and pull you back A catch If two thousand mafia fell short What makes you think that you have a chance Killin’ don’t come at me Abs-olutely not You two ain’t got what I got It’s an onslaught To us spiders you’re pot shots You cannot hope to come out of this on top Thief, but bet that I’m a threat Yea number three in the troupe I’ll cut your head off with these threads And make a puppet out of you The dark assassin and I’m packin the pain and faster than Anybody tryin to pass me will be Seein my image after Their death Now your fate’s gone, Feitan making the blade slice Then it’s raining blood, but I got the umbrella to stay dry They’re attackin me but I’ll be packin all the heat And now my Sun exposing anybody dyin like a Shadow Beast A spider burning every ant In the summertime Like the biggest ass magnifying glass that you see Unafraid to wear this all black When I’m too hot Come and battle me Look at my bullet to shoot thots No shades on, another head screwed off When I’ll be Giving every ounce of pain back for keeps Wait who are you again? I guess that I’ll fight you Taking out the trash with these ants, so you might lose Beat you in an arm wrestle? I don’t have to try to Find your weak spots, now you suck more than I do Call me Dirt Devil, die, son, from a Dyson Sucking out your blood like a spider till you dried up Turn you into dust, clean it up cause I have to I’m worse than your mom, when I beat you with a vacuum Monster No Frankenstein I’m just here to take what’s mine Go against the troupe Then I’ll start cracking skulls And breaking spines When I finger blast you I ain’t aiming for your gspot But this gon’ be your time of the month When I have to make you bleed dot Get upon your knees I don’t wanna make em bleed But I’m all about the money I’ve been living in the greed I don’t do refunds Double machine gun Loaded and cocked So don’t give me a reason To mow you down Like tall grass Better fall back I ain’t all cap So you better go Bring in the blinky to mop I’m like a soda They bout to get po Phantom Troupe coming in then we wage war Whether treasure or your life, we gon take more Scared of spiders in yo house, then we raid yours Run on one of us? That’s what a gang’s for Phantom Troupe coming in to control those Who oppose us, Hunters taking low blows Raining down like metors with Chrollo And you know we’re about to steal the whole show Dude’s a beast, fighting dog, bitch Shar Pei They’re food to me, biting of a bit, parfait Mushroom cloud, got ’em soiling, shitake Wild style, fur mink on, style archaic The brute is in It’s Uvogin The cruelest crew of fugitives Dispatching any enemy in seconds Do it super quick Try and reach my level, you might settle for a booster seat Deadin those who cross me like their body’s on a crucifix Y’all are buggin, so I best get to spraying shots like pesticide I put a pest aside if he keep tryna mess with I You catching fists, don’t need no straps to make you catch a round My music hits, I ain’t just talking bout my Cantabile I got bars, that’s my conjurer ability Bonolenov is my name and you ain’t getting rid of me I’m guy who’s known to trigger Trypophobia When I put more holes in ya than any of my people see Scanning through your recollection While I’m loading ammunition Got the truth no contradiction I don’t need your damn permission 6 shots for ya dome no reload I’mma tap ya banks for a repo Down low posted up no joke And I got you in the scope Ask Chrollo, he know Hp to take your hp No matter what the page reads I’m setting my own stage There is no way that you can break me I ain’t afraid to pull, Fire Your situation is dire You seen the legs but I’m the arm of the spider Soon as I copy, most likely I’ll catch a body Turn em to zombies, perfect artist I’m never sloppy Dont be surprised you see the eye I’m always watching Making hard copies like papers in a teacher’s office Never let the left know what the right is doing But in this case, your death is what I’m construing Let my replica reposition your entire condition Bodies in the gallery and you just another addition” He, she, them I don’t really care I just came to represent From the bottom of the pent Tryna rise to the ascent Number five in the fam Number four in the troupe Got a lot of things to prove Skip third I’ll be two My intel tells me that it’ll be true Bend, break, slice, and sever the rules Killua, yes, I am coming for you I don’t do it for the money I don’t do it for the fame Villains steady paper chasing Leave em’ winded Die in vain Veins are struck with confetti When I arrive on the scene Is it a party with voodoo paper dolls Or snake poisoning? Dance! Find a victim I can prick the nape of That does the trick, it’s danger when I Flick the switch it’s game on Bats just need a signal maker Manipulator Puppeteering, pups are tearing up I fit the plug, the current courses Through um Like a river does I played too roughly now my toys are broken There’s noise approaching Not a ghost, this troupe has tropes Of genocidal notion Remote controller, push your buttons Feeling desperation Sorta violent, auto pilot to your final destination It’s another enhancer You don’t wanna see me with the hands sir My street cred there It’s clear, I don’t care I did all my dirt off-camera Hit a lick with the clique We turantulas Hit my line better speak with some manners Could be holding yo kids for ransom One false move Pakunoda will blam em! We the Phantom We don’t fade rookies Seem like I ain’t do shit but hey lookie Y’all seen how I had the primate shooky Smoove turned his ass to a bape hoodie Up in York New City no A Boogie At the auction I’m planning to take goodies Like a bully, these kids try me like they gon kill me, don’t push me Phantom Troupe coming in then we wage war Whether treasure or your life, we gon take more Scared of spiders in yo house, then we raid yours Run on one of us? That’s what a gang’s for Phantom Troupe coming in to control those Who oppose us, Hunters taking low blows Raining down like metors with Chrollo And you know we’re about to steal the whole show Let’s go Stacking these corpses and headstones Thievery done in a Pen stroke Look through my book of abilities Killing you guess i could call it a Death Note Nen pro Fur on my coat that’s the dress code Flesh,bones Leaving you wondering Where did a chunk of your head go? Head of the spiders, Divine in my providence You cannot fight us It’s crime without punishment Riding or die We all frighten the populace Bury these commoners deep No sarcophagus Not even zoldycks can handle me When my flow starts The phantom troupe will bring a requiem Like mozart

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#Song lyrics

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fontainebleau22 · 7 years

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For the Ask Meme, could you do Faraday's flashback scene in Six of Bones?

Interesting choice: thank you!

Background: this is an AU basedon China Mieville’s short story The Dowager of Bees, which is about aprofessional card-player who is inducted into the secret of the Hidden Suits,and goes on to make a terrible mistake.

Writing this in Faraday’s pointof view was surprisingly rewarding: I don’t find him a particularly attractivecharacter, personally, but he’s in my view one of the two most clearly-definedof the Seven, with a lot of personal traits to work with.

‘When were you inducted?’ asksRobicheaux, fingers smoothing the edge of the card delicately.

Josh keeps his voice low.‘Four-five years back.

On reflection, this may be toorecent; I’m not sure how old Faraday is supposed to be in 1879.

In a bar in Colorado. I might havebeen playing dumb. Though I don’t reckon any of ‘em was what they seemed.’ It’sa scene he’s taken out and relived, over and over, but the shock, the oceanicstrangeness, never fades.

‘Oceanic’ is my favourite wordin this whole fic. I am very proud of it.

Josh had been playing young andgreen that night, not knowing then just how young and green he really was; as astrategy it usually worked well – he’d brag and draw attention to himself,playing eagerly and poorly through the first hour of the evening, establishinghimself as a mark, then as his opponents drank and tired he’d step up his gamelittle by little, marvelling aloud at his luck, and if it all went right he’dwaltz away at the night’s end with a hatful of coins and notes, too quick tocatch.

I can absolutely see a youngJosh doing this.

So when the dark bearded gentlemanin the fancy coat clapped him on the shoulder and invited him to join theirgame ‘out of the crush’, Josh took it as an opportunity.

The Easterner ushered him to asmall back room where two other players were waiting at the table, a burly manin a fur jacket that made the sweat pour off Josh just looking at it, who gavehim a long stare, and a little shrimpy fellow, no better dressed than he washimself, looking like his ma’d be coming to take him home any minute.

He looks like Brooklyn-era SteveRogers, that’s what I’m trying to say.

They were a strange bunch, but Joshreckoned he was as good as any of them, so he smiled all sunny and told themhis name like he was just some dumb Irish kid. The shrimpy guy smiled back andsaid, ‘Howdy’, then he picked up the deck and did something smart with hishands, cards fluttering like birds’ wings and then snapping back, and Josh musthave been sitting with his mouth gaping for real, because the man in the furhuffed a laugh and rumbled, ‘Play, not show.’

I tend to introduce OCs in apretty cavalier way, making up what I need to know about them as I go along (asI’m sure is obvious), and these three are just here for the purpose of thegeneral weirdness of the story. I have a strong visual impression of them,clearly. The man in fur is called Russe, but I don’t have names for the others.

Losing his first few hands wasn’thard, and it gave him time to size up his companions; he could tell straightaway they were all class players, and friendly enough too, the little guy in aflashy way and the Easterner keen on the sound of his own voice, though the manin the fur jacket didn’t do more than laugh at the others’ jokes. He wasputting down some clear drink from a bottle of his own, and when he saw Joshlooking he pushed the bottle over for him to try, and damn it if one gulpdidn’t have him choking and his eyes pouring; the man laughed fit to bust,though he drank it down without a flinch.

OC was running away with me abit here.

And after a while Josh began to get the ideathat the Eastern fellow and the shrimpy guy knew each other a mite well too,like they maybe hadn’t just fetched up at the same table by chance, and thoughthe one with the beard was better dressed and more smooth-looking, he seemed todo what the other told him.

Likewise. I have no idea whothey really are, but you can just see the weird relationship between them.

All things considered it wasn’t somuch of a surprise that when Josh began to warm up slow and subtle, making hisgame a little more competitive, he just kept on losing, not every hand, butmore than he won, slow and steady, even though in the end he was concentratingfiercely, never riding his luck. He might have had a trick or two of his owncould have sweetened his hand, but he was bright enough to see what a bad moveit would be to use them at this table, and he had to reckon that if he came outof the night at a loss, it would be a fair price for the lesson he’d taken.

Then it happened. The Easternfellow was dealing, halfway through a hand; Josh was giving himself one morechance to make good on a pair of Nines. As the cards flicked out he caught aglimpse of a red back that should have been blue, and a cold chill gripped hisstomach – surely he hadn’t let slip one of his little insurances? Could he havebeen so careless? But no, the card flipped face up, and the man in fur hissedbetween his teeth as the Easterner swore.

It was a Ten, but not a card he’dever seen, its pattern ten yellow chain links on a dark background, fourinterlinked on each side and two alone in the centre. The links were heavy,with a cunning highlight that made them seem to shine: he knew without beingtold that they were meant for gold, thick and unbreakable, the little figure 10in each corner wound around and through with a tiny golden chain.

The Dowager of Bees has closeand loving descriptions of all the Hidden Suit cards, and I wanted mine to beequally detailed.

Must be a joke, though a damnfool one: Josh looked at the Easterner and growled, ‘Tryin’ to make a codof us?’

The shrimpy guy raised hiseyebrows. ‘He don’t know.’

The Easterner looked pained.‘Congratulations,’ he said to Josh.

Josh pushed his chair back, showingEthel handy at his side. ‘What’s your game? Don’t take kindly to fake cards anddumb tricks.’

‘Calm,’ rumbled the man in fur. ‘Nocall for that: no tricks here. This is a hidden suit. Ten of Chains.’

Josh looked from one to the otherof them, searching for a hint of trickery or a glimmer of humour, but saw onlyseriousness, and perhaps a hint of concern. ‘Hidden suit?’ But even as he saidit, he felt a little slipping rightness at the idea: for those who know.Those who play. ‘Tell me,’ he said, crowding back to the table again, andthe atmosphere relaxed.

Right. This was one of the twoproblems at the heart of this story. The Dowager of Bees is a modernstory, so when a Hidden Suit comes up, the players in the story either get abook down from the shelf with rules of card games (if they’re in a professionalestablishment), or just look it up on their phones, and while the card is onthe table, the rules appear in the book or online – they disappear when thecard does. But while there were some printed compendia of card games in the1860s, obviously no saloon would have a copy, and relatively few people wouldhave been able to read complex rules. So I had to suggest a way that playerswould just intuit the rules, that they would appear in their minds as theyappear in a rulebook, for the duration of the hand.

‘Well now … ,’ said the Easterner,and so Josh had been initiated, had become a real cardplayer, had heard for thefirst time about Bees and Chimneys and Teeth, Dowagers and Detectives, and whatmight or should happen when you found them.

All Hidden Suits from the story;the Four of Chimneys plays a critical role in the original. I havered overwhether Detectives were appropriate as a rank for the era, and to begin withsubstituted Margraves instead, but the Pinkerton Detective agency had beenfounded by that time, and the word and concept were in common use, so I changedit back again. Elsewhere in the fic I mention Crows as a suit, and those I madeup for the purpose of the story.

Too soon, the man in fur grewimpatient. ‘We play this hand out,’ he commanded. Josh’s gaze refocused onRobicheaux, who was watching him attentively. ‘Drew my third Nine, though itdidn’t come to matter none.’

‘So you paid a forfeit?’

Josh’s face closed and he jerkedhis chin curtly. ‘All of us, then and there.’

And this was the second problem:how to make the two induction stories distinct. I decided to go with actuallydescribing Goodnight’s forfeit while keeping Josh’s vague: it mirrors the inductions in TDoB in some ways, which arealso varied: one forfeit is doing a favour you don’t want to do for the winner(and we never find out what that was), while another is claiming any one objectin the room which you can name, and we see that played out.

‘Bad?’

He shifted uneasily. ‘Heard ofworse.’ Many things more painful had happened to him since, and some moreshaming: it had left no visible trace, and the matter had never gone beyond thewalls of that small room, not from him nor the others.

China Mieville, Embassytown(when Avice goes to be a metaphor for the Hosts): ‘What occurred in thatcrumbling once-dining room wasn’t by any means the worst thing I’ve eversuffered, or the most painful, or the most disgusting. It was quite bearable.It was, however, the least comprehensible event that had or has ever happenedto me.’ This was a deliberate nod to another of his stories (and not plagiarismat all. It is an intertext, an homage…)

He’d kept an ear out after, knowingwhat to listen for even if it was told different ways, but no one had ever toldhim his own story in any form he could recognise. In time since he’d picked upenough from hints and rumours, of other hands and other penalties, tounderstand that he’d fared lightly that night. Josh Faraday always was a luckyguy.

Yes, well, you don’t want todraw a Scissors card, do you? Or Teeth.

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