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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 4 years

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A Preview...

Someone requested a fix for their birthday...I don’t have the next chapter for I Just Think I’ll Scream quite ready for prime time, but here’s a sneak peak:

Ch 20 Sansa

Robb and Ned were up and away before Sansa emerged from her shower in the morning. The house is chaos as Catelyn tries to wrangle the remaining Starks out the door. "Sansa, stop feeding Shaggydog scraps from the table and get dressed! Bran, there are two boxes of gourds by the back door that need to be brought to the store for the window display. Be a dear and put them in the car. And where are Arya and Rickon?"

Sansa skips up the stairs before she's pulled into the hunt, almost knocking into her younger sister as she slides down the bannister. "One of these days that's going to break."

"Whatever, killjoy."

"Mom is looking for you, but you better change. We are supposed to wear floral for the Women's Club Bake Sale. It's themed and Cersei Lannister is going to be there, so we have to be on our best behavior." Her little sister is wearing their dad's old Falcon's sweatshirt and ripped up jeans, looking for all the world like she's about to spend the day painting a house or cleaning out a garage, and not hobnobbing with their mother's friends and clients.

"I'm not working the bake sale. I'm selling tickets to the haunted fun house with Mycah."

"Says who?"

Before Arya can respond, Catelyn is at the bottom of the stairs. "Me. You know that it'll be better for everyone if Arya isn't cooped up all day in a tent with the Women's Club ladies. Help me get through the midday rush, Sansa, and you can slip away and spend the afternoon with Harry if you'd like."

"Gods, Mom! They broke up weeks ago! Catch up!" Arya yells as the back door slams behind her and Sansa is alone, staring down the steps at her mother whose face has fallen into a look of concern.

"Oh, Sansa, dear. Why didn't you tell me?"

She sighs, "It's fine, Mom. Like Arya said, it happened weeks ago, and it was just a high school fling. They aren't meant to last." She turns back up the stairs, not waiting to see if her brush off was convincing. She dresses in the dark maxi dress waiting on her hook, with its long flowy sleeves and pattern of intricate woodland flowers. Usually, she feels like Florence Welch in it. Today though, as she inspects herself before the mirror, it's coming off less stylishly bohemian and more dowdy Victorian with the small ruffles along the high collar and shoulders. Ygritte would never wear something like this, a small ugly voice whispers.

Just as she's about to dive back into her closet, Bran yells up the stairs, "We're going to leave without you, Sansa," and it makes her choice for her. It's fine. She'll just hide in a corner of the tent with Old Nan and sneak lemon cakes all day. No one has to see her. So what if the band is playing this afternoon? It's not like any of them care if she watches their show, and she's basically heard the whole set already in rehearsals. It's not like Robb told everybody at school about it. It's not like she promised to get there early and save a spot up front with Marge and Jeyne.

Ygritte will probably be there to watch Jon. Best to skip...at least until she gets over her absurd crush.

"Sansa! Mom is literally starting the engine!" Bran yells again.

"Coming!" The best she can do is throw on sunglasses and a wide-brimmed fedora and hope no one recognizes her. Outside, Arya is still arguing with Rickon about buckling his car seat and Cat is on her phone, pacing up the driveway while Bran sits on the back step, whistling the march from Bridge Over the River Kwai. "Liar," Sansa flicks off his baseball cap. "We're nowhere near about to leave."

"She was starting the engine before her phone rang."

When they finally find a parking spot, it's apparent to everyone that they would have been better off leaving the car at home and walking. Though the festival hasn't officially started yet, the main street is closed off, and the big parking lot has been covered in carnival rides overnight. Arya peels off from their group when Mycah gives her a holler from on top of the Ferris wheel, leaving Bran and Sansa to lug the several boxes filled with decorative gourds to the hardware store, while their mom takes Rickon and their contributions to the bake sale in the opposite direction.

Outside the store entrance, Benjen is struggling with his pop-up tent, which keeps leaning to one side in the wind, while Meera watches him from the front step. "This is your fault, Sansa! Making me set up a stand, like I'm some lady selling doilies at a craft fair," He curses when the whole thing folds up on top of him.

"Good morning to you too, Uncle Ben," she rolls her eyes. "Where is Robb? He can get you bags of sand to anchor the tent. And don't knock doilies. There are entire rooms at the Met devoted to Myrish Lace alone. You can poke fun at craft fairs once even one of your pieces is on display at a similarly storied institution. Until then, you better get comfortable setting up this tent because I have three holiday craft markets lined up for you this season."

"You're just supposed to be sprucing up my website, not taking over the business! And don't get me started on your brother. I haven't had my morning caffeine fix yet because he disappeared on a coffee run ages ago. How long does it take to pour a bloody cup of coffee? If Jon Snow is holding up my joe with some pumpkin spice, whipped cream nonsense-"

On cue, Mr. paparazzo himself, appears in the doorway and before Sansa can land on an emotion, he's lifting the box from her arms with a gruff "G'morning Sansa," and then he's back in the shop, leaving her empty-handed and a bit empty-headed.

"He looks like he needs caffeine more than you," she remarks at last, meeting eyes with her uncle.

Meera sniggers. "You think? He looks like he spent the night sleeping under a car." Sansa wouldn't go that far, but it was hard to miss the circles under his eyes or how pale and papery his skin looked in the cold morning light.

"Give the kid a break. They played their first show last night, didn't they? If he's a bit wrung out this morning, that just means he's doing it right." Benjen jumps to Jon's defense.

"Well then, he's been doing it right every weekend. He's looked like this every morning since he started at the store," Meera says, heading back inside to supervise since Robb is still M.I.A. Sansa thinks about Ygritte's Instagram feed with its late night cigarettes and coffee at the diner and regular parties in what looks like someone's grungy basement. So, Jon works hard and plays hard. It's not entirely shocking. It niggles at her though; how tired he looks and how he doesn't talk about partying when he's at Winterfell. Her other friends are always eager to share their weekend escapades, but when Sansa asked how his party went when his Mom was out of town, Jon just gave her a noncommittal shrug and told her it was fine.

That's because you aren't really friends. She turns, more than ready to join her mom at the bake sale, when Robb comes skipping across the street with a drink carrier in hand. "Sansa! Just the girl I'm looking for." Her brother is as chipper as ever, seemingly inured to whatever effects from last night's show have taken the wind from Jon Snow's sails. "Can you help with the window display? Mom told me to spiff it up for the festival, but you've got a better eye for that kind of thing."

"Oh, sure. Skip out of work for an hour to flirt with some barista and then come back at the last minute to coerce your sister into doing your job?" Benjen barks and Robb's face turns scarlet.

"I… uh, what? No… I wasn't flirting…"

"Aren't you doing the same thing to me, Uncle Ben?" Sansa retorts, saving her brother from his bumbling. She makes a note to stop by the coffee shop and find out who this barista is. Uncle Benjen may be onto something. "Come on Robb, give Uncle Benji his coffee and I'll spare a few minutes for a consultation."

Inside, Bran and Meera are balancing tiny pumpkins on their heads as they wind through the aisles, trying to trip each other up. Jon Snow is leaning against the paint counter, looking ragged. She fights the urge to ask him if he's okay, opting instead to tip over Bran's pumpkin and herd him over to the window display. "Here, help me before Mom walks by and turns Robb into the headless horseman." They distribute the gourds in artfully artless piles throughout the window, as Jon and Robb hang a paint chip mobile over their heads; the autumnal pièce de résistance that Sansa spent hours making last year.

"Sans, I wish you could have been there last night. It was amazing," Robb excitedly recounts the band's show, "Jon was on fire, and apparently some promoters from White Harbor were there and Satin thinks he can book us some shows at North State! Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, though, won't that be hard with swimming?" She doesn't want to rain on Robb's parade, but maybe Arya is right. She is a killjoy.

"I have a meet in White Harbor next month. Maybe we can book a few gigs around it. What do you think, Jon? You up for a weekend road trip?"

"Uh.." Jon scratches at his neck, blearily. "I mean, that's a long drive to do late at night."

"Don't worry, we'll get a hotel for the weekend!"

"I don't know-"

The bell jingles at the door, and before Meera can scramble off the counter where she's been reading a comic, Catelyn is inside, gazing around the space, looking deeply unimpressed.

"Mom, uh, we were just finishing up with the decorations." Robb wobbles on the ladder in terror, unable to hook the last end of the mobile in place, and Bran ducks behind a pile of pumpkins, trying to hide his glee.

"Robb, you should have opened the store fifteen minutes ago. How are you just now finishing the decorations?"

“Well, the gourds only just arrived-” Robb starts, lamely.

“Never mind,” their mom sweeps through the space, picking up the boxes still out from stocking, tidying the candy by the register, before turning one last critical eye on her teenage employees. Jon cups his neck as he holds the ladder with his other hand. Robb scrambles down, having finally managed to hang the mobile correctly, rushing forward to grab the empty boxes from his mother. “Cersei Lannister is going to be here any minute. Get this garbage to the back. Meera, flip the sign and Jon, take the ladder back and...splash some water on your face or something. You look like death, warmed over. Jory is coming around ten, if you need to take the afternoon off.”

Jon’s ears turn pink as he folds up the ladder beside Sansa, and she looks out the window, mortified. “Sorry Mrs. Stark, but that’s not necessary” he begins, but Catelyn is already walking back to the office with a tired wave.

“I said it was a lot of hours you were taking on between school, the lumberyard and this. Just make sure you are fitting sleep in or you’ll make yourself sick, dear.”

#i just think i'll scream #jonsa fic #jon x sansa au #for k #happy birthday #wip excerpt

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lnarizakis · 4 years

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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ COACHES DON’T PLAY

MONTHLY NEWSLETTER #3

HOT OFF THE PRESS ! Thanks for picking up the third monthly newsletter of the school year! Not what you’re looking for? Please view the masterlist [here]! This month we’ve got (Y/N)’s third piece of dating advice, and what’s this...? Our very first submission that’s not anonymous! Let’s see what (Y/N) has to say about this!

EXTRA ! miya osamu x fem! reader. 1.8k words. original characters.

DATING-SAN HELPS INARIZAKI HIGH !

Dear Dating-san,

My name is Miya Atsumu but you probably already know that. I am a second year in Class 2 and I am the setter of the volleyball team of our school. You probably heard about us at nationals last autumn. My brother, who is in your class, has a crush on someone and he doesn’t know I am writing this. If he did, well, he’d probably kill me. Anyways, I found out by strict interrogation and a couple outside sources that he has a crush on your pretty third-year editor, Asai-san. He doesn’t know much about her but he met her through seeing each other during a Cooking club meeting.

He’s constantly thinking about her and I know this because his mind wanders far more often than usual. He is not playing very well during practice and frankly it’s getting me a little annoyed. That is the reason I am writing this letter to you. Please help Osamu get together with Asai-san before his little crush on her gets him kicked off the starting line-up for our games.

Thank you very much.

From, Miya Atsumu of Class 2-2.

(Y/N) stared at the email on the screen of the school-provided computer until the words didn’t look like words to her. Everyone else in the club room with her was focusing on whatever they were focusing on themselves, and they didn’t notice the boggling eyes of the author. She swallowed dryly down her throat, and the words on the screen blending together began to look similar to fuzziness that she didn’t care to make out to read anymore. (Y/N) blinked a couple of times to get rid of the dryness in her eyes, and as she looked up from the screen to focus on something else, she saw Asai Kanako, her editor, walk by in front of her.

“Asai-senpai. Come look at this email,” (Y/N) said, catching the editor’s attention. The short-haired brunette turned towards (Y/N), and hummed, asking what was up. (Y/N) becomes for Asai to read what was on her screen. She made her way towards the author and situated herself behind where (Y/N) was sitting. Asai leaned forward and read the email with her big, hazel eyes. She scanned the email, and stifled a laugh as she read how Osamu, (Y/N)’s classmate that Asai had the pleasure of knowing she liked, ironically liked her. When she finished, she leaned back and gave (Y/N), who turned around to look at Asai’s reaction, an awkward yet teasing smile.

“Well, good luck writing your advice for this month. You’ll need it,” Asai said, with a terribly taunting tone, as she walked away. She regrouped with the other editors at a different table in the room as they gathered around to look at some funny video that the editor of the sports column was currently sharing on his phone. (Y/N) turned back to the computer screen in front of her. She placed her chin on the palms of her hand and sighed lengthily.

Just how was she going to write something for this month?

✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙

Back in March, before the next school year had even started, (L/N) (Y/N) had assumed the role of the next Dating-san for the next year and her third year. She was extremely proud of taking up the responsibility, despite the multiple warnings that the previous Dating-san, her cousin, had given to her. He warned her that she could potentially receive dark or stressful emails, or perhaps even a letter that could possibly turn things for the worse. (Y/N) swept all of her cousin’s worries under the rug, as she was currently basking in the fame that she was to receive.

Her first letter she received in April was not at all bad. She had to help a girl, whose boyfriend she had suspected was cheating on her, come to terms with if he was actually cheating on her. (Y/N) advised that the girl must reconcile peacefully with him instead of coming after the girl with whom the boyfriend was cheating, which would cause so many unnecessary problems. A couple days later, (Y/N) received a couple of looks as she walked down the second-year hallway, and the stares confused her slightly until she passed by classroom 2-4, where she was met with the girl who wrote the letter, wrapping her arms around her and praising her. The whole situation was so comical it looked staged.

Her second letter that she received in May was way easier than the first. A first-year boy, whose email came out to look like he was crying as he wrote it, needed help with a crush he had on a girl he thought was so pretty he couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to her, let alone confess to her. (Y/N) helped him gain the confidence he needed to introduce himself to her—with style, too, as he fixed up his hair and showered with a scented wash. He sent a follow-up email a week later thanking her like the god he had made her out to be. (Y/N) thought about that email for the next few days, strutting around the hallways like she owned them, hearing—or perhaps imagining—applauses all around her wherever around the campus she walked.

And now her third letter, sent to her one hot June afternoon, by a brother of the twin set that probably almost everyone knew as the Miya Twins. To make things worse, he sent the letter on behalf of someone—that someone being the one guy (Y/N) just happened to have a crush on. How does it get worse from there? She was doing so well before, and now this could possibly ruin her entire reputation as Dating-san. If she messes up her advice for Osamu (although she wishes she could, for everything in her wanted to pull Osamu to herself, claiming him as hers), the entire school would go against her and possibly riot. Oh, the possibilities! She had to get things right or else her entire career would crumble into shambles. What (Y/N) realized was that her affection for Osamu blinded her from being able to write the best advice she possibly could, since this letter that Atsumu had sent was far easier than the first (the May letter was still deemed the easiest in her opinion).

So here (Y/N) was, sitting at a blank word document opened up for her on the computer to write the best advice she could as Dating-san, but the crush she had on him blocked her from writing. Her hands hovered over the keyboard; she could imagine herself typing out what she wanted to say, but she just couldn’t. (Y/N) tapped her fingers over the keyboard lightly, so as not to keyboard-smash onto the word document, and her eyes wandered all around the club room. The person across from her, a fellow author whose name she did not know, watched as she continued her actions, slightly amused by her writer’s block.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asked playfully. A smirk ghosted upon his lips, and (Y/N) tilted her head away from the computer screen to get a better look at the person in front of her. She too smiled and shook her head no.

“Nah, more like: crush got my tongue,” (Y/N) replied, and the person in front of her nodded in understanding. He hummed, and laughed slightly. He apologized, and jokingly said that if she wanted to, she could take a walk around the campus to clear her head. (Y/N) declined the offer, not wanting to get reprimanded by their very intimidating, and—might the two authors add— very, very scary chief editor for leaving the club room without notifying him first. The two shuddered at the thought of getting reprimanded by him, especially with his scolding tone, and they went back to work.

After a couple more minutes of staring at the (still blank) word document, (Y/N) groaned into her hands, exclaiming out loud that she didn’t want to write a word of advice for her crush. It was something that everyone in the club room heard, at which they all laughed.

By the end of the club meeting, (Y/N) was able to complete a first draft of her advice column for the newspaper. She removed her hands that seemed glued to the keyboard, and stretched out her hunched back. Stretching out her arms, she groaned out loud. The author across from her stopped typing whatever it was he was currently writing and he watched and giggled as (Y/N) groaned out loud while stretching her arms. (Y/N) turned her head towards Asai, who was currently leaning back in her chair while drinking boxed milk that she got from the vending machine while sneaking out of the club room a couple minutes ago.

“Asai-senpai, can you please read over my work? I’ll send it to you,” (Y/N) asked as she clicked over some things on her computer to forward her document to Asai for her to edit and read over. Asai rolled her eyes, an action which (Y/N) had overlooked, given the distance they were apart from each other, and opened up her laptop where she would be reading the first draft.

Asai’s eyes scanned over the document quickly, not giving her full attention to it since the editor of the academic achievements column was currently telling her a story of how he almost picked a fight with someone from a different school. After reading through it once, Asai closed her notebook and promptly said that the draft was okay to be published. (Y/N) tilted her head confusedly and looked back at the document on her own screen.

Really?

Miya Atsumu:

Thanks for sending in a letter to Dating-san!

I think your brother would really appreciate the thought of you sending a letter on his behalf. It’s not easy confessing that you have a crush on someone, let alone if that someone is an upperclassman of yours.

As Osamu’s brother, you should let him off easy with volleyball practice. He may feel stress added on to what he is currently feeling. It may be difficult, but it will help him—and even you— in the long run.

For Osamu himself, he should know that Asai is a nice and easygoing person who enjoys talking with almost anyone. She has a soft spot for food, so he should probably try cooking something for her if he does fess up the courage to confess to her. He shouldn’t be shy when he talks to her because she can immediately be put off by people who don’t have a direct object in mind when talking to her. She is a very direct person and can be intimidating sometimes, but this shouldn’t deter you from wanting to make conversation with her.

I wish you luck on your endeavors! Have a great day.

From, (L/N) (Y/N), Dating-san.

taglist: send an ask to be added ! [ @lcaita @reogou @alienvarmint @annalyn-annalyn @kunimwuah @akaarin @wansseul @anime-simp ]

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fizzingwizard · 3 years

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I fell asleep so here’s day 5 a bit late to party... Day 6 will surely be late too xP Again, thanks for the comments last time, I enjoyed them, even the ones hidden in tags haha.

Koushirou and Taichi have a talk post-Bokura no Mirai. Watch out, cuz both boys have mouths on them. Taishiro if you squint.

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Tri week day 5 - Survival - They Make Miracles

Taichi texted him wanting to hang out over after school, and as Koushirou had spent the day at the office, that meant Taichi came there. He spread out on the couch, flipping through the pages of some comic book. Koushirou sat at his desk. They had a bottle of cold oolong each and a bowl of shrimp crackers. Out the window, the din of rush hour traffic filtered in from the Tokyo streets below.

Some might look at them and think they were ignoring each other, each occupied in separate activities, only looking up to acknowledge there was someone else in the room when their hands bumped reaching into the cracker bowl. But their friendship worked like this. In fact, if the long stretches of silence bothered Taichi at all, he would have ditched Koushirou way back in elementary school.

That was something about Taichi not everyone understood: he could get as wrapped up in his own head as Koushirou did. Sometimes it seemed like Taichi sought him out because he wouldn't have to feel pressured to make small talk. He wanted to think, and he wanted someone else to be there while he was thinking, but not Sora, who would want give him advice, and not Yamato, who would stay quiet but coiled with tension until Taichi finally said something to bring them back to known waters. Koushirou, at least, understood the need for privacy for his thoughts, even if he didn't quite get why Taichi still wanted another body there anyway.

So it came as a surprise when Taichi shattered the silence, a page of the comic book suspended in the air as he paused mid-turn. "I'm never going to know if it was a mistake or not, am I," he said.

Koushirou looked up. Taichi's gaze was fixed on a random spot on the coffee table. But then he straightened, throwing his arms over the back of the couch in a deceptively casual move. His face, though, he kept turned away.

On days like this, Koushirou tended to be so involved in his work that, even if Taichi did have something to say, all he'd get in reply was a vague "Hmm." Later he might not even remember that they'd talked. It was a habit that drove Mimi up the wall, but once again, Taichi never seemed to mind that much. Of course, most of the time the conversation was along the lines of "Look at the cool play this soccer star made," or "Can you believe Satou-sensei expects us to finish the group project by tomorrow?" and "Hmm" was, more or less, all the response needed. Plus Koushirou was pretty sure Taichi sometimes took advantage of it to insist he had agreed to things he couldn't recall ever discussing.

Too bad he couldn't pretend this was about a mistake on some test.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard while he weighed his options. "... The world isn't divided into good and bad, Taichi-san," he said at last, though once the words were out, they felt pale and trite horribly inadequate. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. Really the only choice."

He didn't add the rest: that he viewed killing Meicoomon as akin to chopping off a gangrenous limb. A terrible choice to make, but without it, the necrotic tissue would continue to spread and infect until there was nothing left. The metaphor worked, but he felt pretty sure the depersonalization wouldn't sit well with Taichi.

Taichi made a noncommittal noise. Something knotted in Koushirou's stomach. Probably, more than any of the others, Koushirou was the least upset with how things had ended with Meicoomon. In his wildest dreams he'd never imagined separating a Chosen from their partner, let alone - let alone killing one. When he'd realized Meiko might know the password to unlock the Digimons' sealed memories, hope had struck him like a bolt of lightning: all those dark predictions he couldn't see his way out of were about to be swept away by a miracle. Just like when they were kids.

That was the fatal error. There hadn't been any miracles when they were kids.

It had only felt that way because they didn't know how else to explain the unexplainable.

He and Taichi had talked many times over the years, about the fact that they were killers. The others didn't get a lot out of putting it into words like that, but it was true. They'd been killing since they were ten years old, killing to protect, killing to survive. It was just that, this time, they'd killed someone that loved.

"I just," Taichi swallowed thickly. "At the time, we... there wasn't any more time, but... now I just wonder... no one else wanted to do it, they all followed my lead and maybe... Sorry, I'm not making any sense..."

"We followed your lead like we always do, Taichi-san, because you lead us well." In a sudden fit of nerves, Koushirou pushed off the polished surface of his desk and stood. Once standing, though, he felt infinitely more awkward and wished he hadn't.

He was trying to think of an unobtrusive way to disappear behind his workspace again when Taichi at long last gave up staring at the wall. He looked over at Koushirou with liquid brown eyes. It was only the briefest of glances before he hunched over on the edge of the couch, fingers digging into his scalp.

His next words were muffled and wet-sounding.

"Nishijima-sensei died. I was - I was so messed up. I shouldn't have made that decision. I shouldn't have made any decisions. I was - what's the word they use -"

"Compromised?" Koushirou offered.

"Yeah, that."

Fuck.

Why did Taichi have to come to him for comfort? Yamato or Sora would be so much better at this.

If they were better, he would have gone to them, Tentomon's matter-of-fact voice in his head pointed out. Tentomon was in the digital world at present, but Koushirou didn't need him there to know what he'd think about this.

Then another voice, one that didn't sound like Tentomon at all, added: Maybe comfort isn't all he wants.

"You witnessed something... unspeakable," Koushirou said gently. His feet seemed to move as if on automatic, making a winding path around the desk to stand at the coffee table's edge, an arm's length away from where Taichi had begun to collapse in on himself. "It had to affect your judgment."

A beat. Taichi gave a tremulous nod.

"It doesn't follow that your judgment must have been mistaken, Taichi-san."

The hands smoothed down his face. "But I'm never going to know," he said in a dull voice.

Folding his arms, Koushirou sat down on the opposite seat. "Let's not deal in vagaries. Here's what I know," he said, careful to keep his tone level, bussinesslike. "I know the world was going to change, at that moment, one way or another. I know a lot was at stake." Lives, the entire world - Mochizuki and Meicoomon. Taichi was certainly thinking it on his own. Koushirou forced himself to hold his gaze as he went on. "I know Meicoomon's data had been corrupted beyond recognition. I know Yggdrasil and Homeostasis both intended to move regardless of how we felt about it. I don't know how much was ever really salvageable. But I know you salvaged control. We're not their unwitting pawns, and that's thanks to you."

A slow smile crept over Taichi's face, brittle at the edges. "Isn't that thanks to you? Every time we need a miracle, Koushirou, you -"

"There are no miracles," Koushirou interrupted, with a stubborn set of his jaw, "that don't sacrifice on the altar of mysticism the ones who broke their backs to make them happen."

Stunned silence. Taichi gave a startled laugh. "Wow... I'm not sure I understood all the words there."

"Maybe there was a way to save Meicoomon." The words spilled out like a runaway train, and he had no idea if he was helping or hurting, but he couldn't stop now. "And maybe there was a way to save the digital world that didn't involve abducting eight children from their homes and making them fight for their lives, resetting their innocence, teaching them how the world assigns value, whether something is cheap or precious, based on circumstance, on convenience. We all handled it the best way we knew how, and sometimes - sometimes that way wasn't very good. The whole time, there was one thing that got us through it, day after day. Taichi-san, do you know what it is?"

Taichi looked as if he were hanging onto what Koushirou was saying like it were a lifeline. He nodded. "It was hope."

"No, Taichi-san," Koushirou said viciously. "It was you."

Taichi's throat worked, and his long, dark lashes stuttered. He seemed to try to answer, but lost the words he'd been looking for. "Fuck," he choked out after a while, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling.

Koushirou gave him time to get a hold of himself. He'd seen Taichi cry before. Always out of guilt. Well, not this time - not if he could help it.

The ping of an incoming message lit up his computer, followed by an insistent buzz from his phone a moment later. He didn't get up.

"I-I wish-" Koushirou listened in silence as Taichi tripped and stumbled over his unruly emotions. He suspected it had been a while since Taichi had done any sort of maintenance on them. Not since Meicoomon, probably.

"I wish we could have saved Meicoomon, Koushirou." He'd never sounded so much like a child, not even when he was one.

"We all do."

"But I don't know if it's because I regret what I did, or because I don't like the way Yamato and Sora treat me now, like I'm about to break down any second, or because Hikari will never look up to me the same way again-"

"None of the above. It's because you're a good person, Taichi-san."

The look on Taichi's face was somewhere between bleak and utterly desperate. "How can you be so sure about that?"

"I know many things," Koushirou said. "I think you'll agree with me there. I could be wrong about any of them, but not that one thing." He didn't smile, he didn't let his gaze waver. "Never that."

I don't wany any leader that isn't you.

"Fuck you," said Taichi, voice breaking, but there was unexpected laughter at the end of it. "Geez, Koushirou. What am I supposed to with that?" He shook his head, looking exhausted. "I couldn't talk about it before. I couldn't - make things all about me, when Mochizuki's the one who-" He stopped, fists curling and uncurling on his knees. "Yamato will beat me up if that's what I want from him. Sora will tell me everything's fine even if it's not what she really thinks. Hikari won't talk about it all. I figured you at least didn't hate me for what happened. Out of all of us, you would have thought everything through for yourself. At least your opinion would be your own."

"It is," Koushirou promised.

Taichi nodded. The color had begun to return to his face. Slowly, as if carding through his thoughts, he said: "I'll never know if it was a mistake. But it's done."

"It's done."

"That's not much of a balm for the soul," Taichi sighed.

Koushirou looked down. "I guess not," he said. "It's real, though."

Another silence followed. Like the calm after a storm, Koushirou thought. He did feel as though they'd just weathered some catastrophe, or perhaps escaped it by a hair.

"She says she doesn't hate me," Taichi said after a few minutes passed in therapeutic quiet. "Mochizuki."

"Ah."

"But she's... y'know. Kind. She's the type to blame herself for things that aren't her fault."

Koushirou shrugged. "Seems like you two are a matched set, then."

Taichi gave him a sharp look, but didn't say anything. He took a deep breath, whole body swelling like a cresting wave. Then he reached for a shrimp cracker.

"Damn... heavy talk makes me hungry."

Koushirou couldn't help it. He laughed. And reached for his bottle of oolong. He was parched.

"Koushirou..." Ah, he knew what was coming now. "Thanks. When I came over, I didn't mean for..."

"I don't want thanks. Or apologies." I just want you. But, no, that... he wasn't at a point where he could say that just yet. "I just want you at your best. I still think we can change the world, Taichi-san."

A hesitant grin. "That's a promise," Taichi said, only it sounded more like "fash a fwomish" with his mouth full of cracker.

Demons couldn't be defeated in a single afternoon, over oolong tea and shrimp crackers, despite best intentions. Koushirou knew that. He'd dealt with his fair share of demons and they were intractable little brutes. But Taichi could out-stubborn anything. He wouldn't have been able to lead them this far if that weren't true.

As for Mochizuki Meiko - even if Taichi couldn't quite admit it yet, Koushirou thought he understood why she was being "kind." Because though what they'd taken had been enormous, they'd done their utmost to give back what they could. It might be small, but seeds always are. Mochizuki had a future stretched out before her too, free from the designs of any government organization or mysterious otherworldly power. Teeming with possibilities, neither good nor bad. Simply there.

Taichi was going to change the world. Koushirou meant to do the same. People would say they made miracles, but the two of them would call it something else.

They would call it living.

---

as usual i am an overdramatic bitch

side note: I was gonna have Koushirou call out Taichi for saying Yamato would beat him up, but just didn’t find a spot for it. So for clarity’s sake, this is Taichi being hard on himself, not indicative of what Yamato would actually do. We all saw him cry after losing his bestie *wibble*

I don’t know how they can both reach the shrimp cracker bowl if Koushirou’s at the desk and Taichi’s on the couch, by the way. I guess it’s hovering in the air between them, or they both have Elastigirl arms :P

#triweek2020 #digimon adventure tri #koushirou izumi #taichi yagami #digimon #fizz writes

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allthevmff · 3 years

Photo

Find Afrocurl’s work // AO3 // LJ interview from vmfictitious // originally posted Mar. 20th, 2011

How did you get into Veronica Mars fandom?

Somewhere in the middle of S2, a friend of mine from high school started to talk about this show and how much I’d like it. At the general description of a high school detective, I borrowed her S1 DVDs and devoured the show in three days. After that I started to discover fandom, mostly because I used Inigo’s transcripts to keep myself up with what the show was doing before I could watch live.

Shortly after starting the show, I had this job where I spent too much time in an office and was easily bored. I used a bunch of downtime to read fic and post in a message board (FanForum for anyone curious.) When that job ended (thankfully) I had all of this spare time and just sort of fell into writing.

Were you an experienced writer when you started writing for VM? If so, what kind of writing had you done, and/or what fandoms had you written for? If not, was it really intimidating to post your first story?

I’m a little fuzzy on these details right now, but I wasn’t that experienced when I started writing in VM. I think I had a story or two written in The OC before I posted here, but I had some great support from a few friends (sarah_p // Sarah's Crack ) for one was a big support) when I did post my first story.

What was it about Veronica Mars that interested you? Why did you feel compelled to write for this particular show?

I really fell for the characters when I started to watch. Veronica was such a compelling character, and as I kept watching I fell more in love with Logan, too. I felt compelled in that post-S2 summer to see the relationship between Logan and Veronica explored (as so many other people did.)

Are you creative in other media for fandom (vidding, icons, etc.)?

I pick up making icons here and there, but I don’t think I have the same skill as many other people do. It’s a different creative medium, and one that I think stretches a different part of my brain.

What was the best moment for you, in fandom? (Not necessarily a moment in the show, but fandom itself.)

I think it was the moment when I found myself in a position to go to all of these events around LA and San Diego. I found that people around LJ were interested as a result because there was something for people to enjoy that I had been able to capture.

If you had a magic wand, and could change VM fandom in any way, past or present, what would you do?

I wish S3 hadn’t been so divisive—it’s spoiled so many people on the show, and when you still love parts of it, but not all of it, it’s hard to stay positive around other people.

Of your accomplishments in fandom/cyberspace, which are you most proud of?

Weirdly, I think it’s little things I’ve done that bring a smile to my face. Sharing my time with the cast with others in any way. That’s not just the picspams when I went to an event, but these moments where I could get autographs or phone calls to other people. At different times, I’ve been able to make a friend’s birthday just a little brighter with a message from the cast (Sarah and another friend M.)

What’s your favorite VM episode and why?

I go back and forth on this answer all of the time, but I think it’s Ain’t No Magic Mountain High Enough. In part because it was the first episode I remember watching live, and also because I’m a sucker for banter between Logan and Veronica. That whole episode is filled with it, even if they aren’t together as a couple.

What’s your least favorite episode and why?

Blast from the Past—I just can’t get behind the mystery of the week, or what Jackie does to Veronica as a way to keep Wallace to herself.

How do you feel about season 3?

I’m a mixed bag on the subject. I think that the first arc has promise, though it didn’t do much to satisfy my need for Logan and Veronica in a healthy relationship. I’m not a fan of how Piz was introduced, or what his purpose was in the long run.

The Dean O’Dell arc lacks heart (and the Hearst rapist does too when I look at it), and the last five are just all over the place.

In total, I haven’t brought myself to rewatch the whole season since it aired, but I made a promise to myself at some point I would (I plan to live-blog all of the episodes, but I only managed to finish the first three.)

If you met Rob Thomas, what would you say to him? (Assume that you have taken magical drugs that enable you to not be tongue-tied and you can completely speak your mind.)

I briefly met him and talked to him during season three, but if I could have a longer conversation, I’d really want to understand what his motives were for Logan and Veronica in that season. It seemed that the show always had Logan and Veronica together off screen so that the audience had no real reason to understand those later break-ups.

If you could talk to the writing staff, what question(s) would you have for them?

I’m always interested in some of the specifics of the room—are there any writers who cater to writing for certain characters? What characters do you like to write more than others? I think I’m just interested in their process more than anything else.

Writing

Which story of yours is your favorite, and why?

I’m really a fan of “The Black Hole” because I think it was a different sort of writing exercise for me. I also think I was really into the moment when I wrote it, and it shows. I can’t remember how long it took me to write, but I think it was a pretty quick write once I had the idea solidified in my head.

Are there any stories of yours that are (to your surprise) fan favorites?

Not really a surprise, but I love the reaction I had to Rational Thought. My Piz issues just got one big escape in that piece and everyone who read it had a similar reaction.

Do you (or did you at first) feel uncomfortable posting R or NC17 rated stories?

I think I was a bit apprehensive the first time (especially since it was my first fic in the fandom), but as I’ve written more and more of those fics, I’m more comfortable with the ways of writing it. I also love all of my betas who help me through the mechanics of writing it.

If you could start over and rewrite any of your stories (assume unlimited time and you would be paid for your efforts, because this is a fantasy), which story would you choose, and what changes would you make?

I’m not proud of Compulsion as it was written in the end, so I’d work there and really craft the narrative more than it is now. It’s not that it’s not beta-ed, but that it wasn’t really planned or structured beyond what is written. I think there was promise in the beginning and it floundered.

Do you write for any other fandoms?

I write here and there in a few other fandoms, but most of my work is in VM. Some of the other shows are harder to get a feel for, so much that I don’t know if I have the character voices down.

Do you write any original works, and if so, can we see any of them? Have you ever taken any writing classes? Have you ever published anything? Won any competitions?

I wrote a few pieces of original fic, which are at my writing community. I haven’t been one to take a writing course, but in high school I had an award-winning poem at the local county fair.

That piece, I wrote was in my junior year of high school, spring semester (so let’s call is March 2000.) We had to write an emulation of Langston Hughes’s “I Am”, and I went all out—confused kid to the max. My teacher ate most of it up, and had me submit it to the Fair. It went on to win the best poem for high schoolers, the best high school piece and Best in Show for all student work. I have three lovely ribbons, a paper weight to show for it.

What other VM author influenced you the most? Do you have a favorite VM story (by another author)?

I spent most of my time reading things from Loveathons and Fic From Mars when I was reading, so I guess any of those authors. I really love dark_roast’s ( dark_roast) style. I think mutiousmuse and truemyth (TrueMyth) each have some amazing pieces, too. What’s great about being part of fandom is learning how much else you have in common with authors you love. I’m still friends with Musey and Truemyth after I met them at Comic Con in 2006.

Overall, I think my favorite story is Finite Erasure (TW), which puts me in the camp of loving angst. I worked with Trixx (Trixx) as she wrote it and I think I fell for the story she was telling and how much it hurt along the way.

What fanfic do you wish you’d had the idea for and written yourself?

If I had a mind for her particular brand of crazy, I’d have love to have written One True Pair, because the creativity and perspective amaze me.

Who are your favorite traditional authors? Do you have a favorite book or series?

I love Oscar Wilde’s wit; I love Fitzgerald’s use of flawed characters. When I was in college I became a huge fan of Isaac Bashevis Singer. Sadly I’m not a huge book fan, though I do love words and compelling stories. Persuasion is one of my favorite stories, along with The Alchemist. I found myself more easily distracted by television as a kid and when I do get a book, I tend to read some fluffy chick-lit.

Getting to Know You

To which character in VM do you feel you are the most similar, or what situation in VM reminds you of your own life?

Even though I don’t write her enough, I feel like I’m a slightly less tech-savvy version of Mac. I wasn’t one to have boyfriends in high school, and I think that just influences my outlook now.

Share a fun memory with us, something related to fandom.

This moment at an event in San Diego where my friends and I spent a good five minutes trying to remember the Eleanor Roosevelt quote from Logan’s voicemail.

Or the time I had Jason write a message to my journal without him really knowing where it was going.

Dog person, cat person, neither or both?

Cat person! My cat Auric loves everyone he meets, and wants to keep me from my computer when I leave it open in his presence. He really loves to sit on my keyboard when I’m not around.

What was the happiest day in your life (that you can share with us)?

December 12, 2000—the day I got into college. I’m pretty lame most of the time.

The apocalypse is on us. You’ve got five minutes to gather your stuff before you flee (assume that your loved ones are already safe). What do you take?

This is going to be pretty typical, but my laptop, and external hard drives, so I’m not without my pictures. Maybe a few of my autographs and old-school photos too.

What don’t we know about you, that we should know?

I’m not nearly as interesting as I sound on the internet. ;)

The Nuts and Bolts of Writing

Do you consider yourself a stickler for grammar, or do you prefer a more casual approach? Specifically, serial comma: for or against?

I’m weirdly a stickler for grammar when I’m not the one writing. I’m usually for the serial comma, which I blame on years of it being grilled into my head from school.

What grammar issue do you constantly have to struggle with?

Spelling—I’m horrible at it most of the time.

Do you have any writing reference books you can’t live without?

I have a few copies of writing guides tucked away in my garage, but I don’t regularly look at them when I’m writing.

Are you a plotter or a “pantser”? (Do you outline your stories or do you write “by the seat of your pants”?)

It really depends on the story. I have some basic idea of a fic when I start to write it, but there are times when I only know that general outline and other times when I have a better plan.

There’s one story that’s been buried on my computer that’s plotted more than anything else I write. There are notes on how each chapter should work, but I only did that because it was a true multi-chapter fic.

My other fics that have turned into WIPs are not as plotted as they should be.

What’s your favorite point-of-view to write?

I love third-person more than anything else. It gives you the flexibility to talk about more than one person in the context of the story.

What type of writing is your favorite to write (dialogue, plot, action, interior monologue, description, sex scene, etc.)? Your least favorite?

Dialogue—no questions. I love banter as much as anyone else.

My least favorite—probably sex scenes. They’re awkward to figure out, positions, how clinical but not too clinical.

Do you listen to music while you write? Do you listen to different music depending on what you’re writing?

I do, unless I’m watching TV. My music doesn’t change depending on what I write, though maybe it should. My poor iTunes has been known to be demonic when I read fic, though it doesn’t do that as often when I’m writing.

What inspires you to write?

I like motivational moments that can drive a point home—so I tend to write shorter pieces that are about emotions instead of plot driven.

What blocks you from writing?

Lack of time. The inability to express what I’m looking for.

Specifically for Afrocurl!

What surprised you the most about Jason Dohring in person (that you can share with us)?

He’s a genuinely sweet person who adores his fans and what they do for him. I’d never had too many experiences with actors before I met him and he set the stage for being kind to fans.

How is he like Logan? How is he not like Logan? Did he do anything that freaked you out after watching him on TV so much?

I think he has Logan’s physical ticks—hair rakes and the like.

He’s not as precise with language as Logan. In person he’s sort of like any other California guy I’ve met.

Which story of yours would it appall you the most to find out that Jason had read?

The Weevil and Logan story. I think he’d blush and be shocked at the subject more than anything.

Which of your celebrity encounters thrilled you to death, but the rest of world could care less?

The girl who loves politics was thrilled by meeting Justice Scalia at my college. Though I’m sure I’m the only one who can appreciate it now.

We know you do a lot for charities. Do you have anything coming up that we should know about, that you’d like us to support?

Since Sweet Charity has ended, I haven’t done much work for charity recently. I’ve been a little too busy with the rest of life to help out with the Queensland floods and the like.

What’s your dream job?

Working at a high school teaching either Government or US History, maybe AP if that’s an option.

Your life seems to be going through a lot of changes right now. How do you see yourself ten years from now?...family, job, hobbies, etc., anything you want to share with us.

I’d love to have a stable job, with friends and family nearby for support. I can’t hope for much else than that right now.

Find Afrocurl’s work // AO3 // LJ

Source: X

reposted from vmfictitious // originally published on Mar. 20th, 2011

#vm fanfic #veronica mars fanfic #veronica mars fanfiction #writer wednesday #writerwednesday #author interview #authorinterview #the more things change

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closer-stars · 4 years

Text

Nothing Else Matters - San

Member: San Genre: Fluff Word count: .. idk just not as long as my usuals i think. Requested: No Content: San’s birthday. His love for cats is endearing. Choi San best boy. Note: tbh, this didn’t really have much direction, i just really want that boy to be a lil spoiled and feel loved. Repeat after me: Choi San Best Boy.

San already knew that you couldn’t spend the entire day with him. That was perfectly fine with him, both of you had responsibilities. You juggling work and studies, him with his idol life. You did promise that you’ll have the night free for him, just meet you at the cafe you worked for.

That’s why he’s outside of a coffee shop that had a cute animated cat standee by the door. He had already told you that he’s just outside, waiting to be greeted by you whom he considers his rock.

“San! Come in.” You call out, a smile lighting up your worn features. You opened the door wider for him, urging him to come in. The look on your face left no room for the male to complain and so he enters the place quickly and looks around.

“So pretty.” He said, bright eyes scouring the environment. Come to think of it, he never knew where you worked. You always told him that you work at a cafe, just not really saying much as to how it is. The place was well lit, spacious, with only a few tables here and there. He did notice the rattan posts, the platforms perched high on the ceilings and what looked like a few cat toys still waiting to be packed away.

You let him sit on one of the nearest tables, letting him think that you were just cleaning up for the night. It was oddly easier than you thought as he busies himself with his phone, itching to get out of the place to spend time with you.

A soft mewl falls on his ears and he immediately looks around. He looks down and there he spots a young Russian shorthair bumping his head against his leg. “Holy shit.” He mumbles, suddenly running on adrenaline and excitement at the sight of the feline. Three more cats come over to inspect him, all of which were different breeds. A soft squeal escapes his lips. “Babe?” He calls for you, unsure of how to act-- well he did, he wanted to cuddle all of them but he wasn’t sure if that was the right choice. You come out from behind the counter, a slice of purple frosted chocolate cake and a cup of iced americano on your hands. You softly sing him a happy birthday.

His dimples come out at the sight of you singing with the cake and cats that still pester him for head scratches. “Babe..” he breathes out, unable to say anything else. He stands up slowly to help you settle the food on the table. Already a Scottish fold has snatched his seat, to which San makes a high pitched sound. You weren’t sure if it was one of annoyance or of endearment. Probably both.

“So this entire time, you work in a cat cafe and never told me?” He says as he sits on the free seat next to the cat. You seat across him, the Russian shorthair now nestling himself on your lap.

“Before I answer, make a wish and blow out the candle birthday boy.” You muse, endeared by the sight of him playing with the Scottish fold who had taken an interest with his fingers. He does as he’s told. He stops for a moment, then blows the candle out.

“Now answer meee!”

“I do. Been working here even before we met. Also yes, I kept it a secret. How else could I have gotten that look on your face when Nini butt his head against your leg?”

His eyes widen, the small bit of cake stopping midway from his mouth. “You saw that?”

You opt to answer his question with a video taken from the counter. His raised eyebrows, a soft squeak slipping from his lips along with his sudden frantic shaking of his fists. He only looks at a few seconds before covering your screen. His embarrassment causes you to laugh as you keep your phone away. “I wasn’t sure honestly of what to give you so I figured it would be good to have you visit the cafe and meet some of the babies.”

“Oh my god, you call them babies.” His heart was already melting.

“Are they not? Yuni’s already asking for more head scratches, babe.” You remind him, as the Scottish fold paws at his arm. He takes a big bite out of the cake then gently runs his fingers against the head of the small feline, before he opts to settle himself on his lap. It takes everything in San not to squeal at the action.

“What about the other two? What’s their names?”

“The munchkin’s name is Mars.--”

“Seonghwa-hyung.. oh my god.”

You really couldn’t believe that your own boyfriend is pretty much short circuiting at the sight of the cats. Well, you could. The amount of time he sends you photos and videos of cats he finds online was already a giveaway. “Yeah, just like Seonghwa, heh. While the shorthair’s Miru.” You continue to introduce the four cats that have settled around you until he finished his cake.

It didn’t take long to clean up the place, along with making sure the cats were back in their sleeping abodes. Once everything is accounted for, you lock the place up for the night. “How was your day, birthday boy?” You ask as the both of you head back home.

The male starts to recount his entire day, starting with the V-live, practices, and the boys giving him a few gifts. Overall, he admits that today was a day where he really felt loved and appreciated.

“I kind of got you something too..” You admit, now a little self-conscious. From what he said, the gifts from the boys were all out of your budget. It was a struggle to find him the perfect gift.

“Still? I thought it was only the cat cafe, babe!” He says, wearing the same comical shock from earlier. You kick off your shoes as you enter the living room with a chuckle.

“It’s on your dresser. I’ll just go shower okay?” Just like earlier, you don’t give him a chance to fight back, already making your way towards the bathroom.

With a pout, he does as he’s told. There was no other choice really but to do as you say and look for part two to your gifts. He sees a clean white envelope on his dresser with his name written with your distinct penmanship. Curiosity got the better of him so he opens the envelope and out comes a two page letter.

‘If you’re reading this, that means I’m not in the room because I’m a little embarrassed.

Anyways, happy birthday to the mountain that shines brightly, Choi San!...’

He takes his time reading through your heartfelt letter, finding his eyes water up with emotion. He really found himself thinking of you as his home and strength. You never failed to remind him that you were just a normal person who only happened to luck out in loving him. He thought otherwise. You weren’t just normal in his eyes. You were extraordinary to him. The way you loved endlessly, worked diligently, and stood for your own morals. You were the reason he is what he is now, and the same for him to you.

You come out of the shower in your sleepwear, a towel resting over your shoulders when you’re greeted by the sight of San trying his best not cry. “Babe?” He jumps from his spot and looks at you with eyes that shine with unshed tears. Without any other word, he makes his way to you, wrapping you in a hug that could express what words couldn’t.

“Thank you.” He says simply, brushing his lips that faintly taste of coffee and cake, against yours.

“I tried my best, babe. It’s not easy finding a gift for someone who already has everything. Happy birthday again, love.” You admit with a light joke.

“As long as I have you by my side, nothing else matters.”

#san scenarios #san fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #my writings #please i just want to spoil him #can kq bring him to a cat cafe #at least a cat cafe that's humane :c #ive been watching a lot of cat videos too pls send help

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houseofhalation · 4 years

Text

Am I attempting to write slice of life comedy because I’m depressed and having a hard time writing the three billion other things I have going on, despite never having written slice of life comedy ever at all in my entire life? Yeah.

Am I sticking my entire middle finger up at the canon as it stands and doing whatever I want? Also yeah.

Anyway enjoy the first part of this so far untitled thing. Lots of swearing, currently genderless MC, let’s all ignore the canon for a minute okay?

Monday mornings are extremely, unrelentingly, unquestionably cursed. Nothing good ever happens on a Monday. That’s how you know you’re utterly boned when your boss asks you to come in early for a private meeting. On a Monday.

Fuck.

You haul yourself out of bed and wonder how much effort you should put into your appearance if you’re getting fired. Eventually you settle on not too much and crawl your way into the office, a prompt forty-five minutes before it’s actually meant to open. Most things are still dark. Your desk looks cold and neglected, and you wish you could have neglected it for just a bit longer.

The bushy facial hair on your boss’s lips twitches in what is either a smile or a grimace when he sees you, and while you’re not sure which would be best to see at the moment, you think that it’s maybe not a grimace. You heave a sigh and follow him into his office, staring out his window into the still-sleeping city.

He sits down behind his desk.

You sit across from him, wondering if you should have brought a box or if your tote bag is big enough to carry everything out in. Regardless, it’s going to be a bitch to haul the contents of your desk home on the subway.

He stares at you long enough that you start to wonder if you called the meeting. Then you remember that’s absurd. Isn’t it? It’s becoming abundantly clear that you shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine before going to bed.

“We have a new client,” your boss says, and because you’re too busy wondering if your LinkedIn profile is up to date and considering his similarities to a walrus, you don’t immediately hear his words. They hit you like a brick wall.

“Okay,” you say because you’re not sure what else there is to say.

“They’re out of the country,” he continues, looking more and more nervous. The last time he’s looked this nervous a prominent client went on a week-long bender and livestreamed most of it. Christ, that had been a mess to clean up and almost made you go on a bender of your own.

“You noted on your application that you wouldn’t mind relocating,” he says as if he can read your thoughts. “And you’re the only one in the firm without a family, so…”

It doesn’t sound like you’re being fired.

“I’m not being fired?” You ask because you just have to be sure. Your boss blinks down at you and cements the walrus imagery in your mind forever.

“Of course not,” he tells you. “They’ve requested someone to handle all of their online presence, and the firm determined that you would be the best fit.”

Most likely because as the newest hire, you’re lowest on the totem pole. Ugh.

“Now, you’ll be living on campus, so all of your accommodations will be taken care of. Nothing to worry about, really. The contract is indeterminate, so you’ll be there for…” your boss’s tongue peeks out to lick his lips and oh, shit, he’s super nervous. Not a good sign. “You’ll be there for as long as they need you to be,” he finally finishes. He slides a suspiciously slim manilla folder across his desk at you, narrowly missing one of his goofy little desk decorations as he does so. You flip it open and find a single page inside.

Welcome to the Royal Academy of Diavolo! It proclaims proudly, right beside poorly-framed, blurry photographs of what you assume is a student, dressed up either for a theatre production or for a halloween event. Either way, not a super awesome first impression. You can’t even tell how old the student is supposed to be.

“Is this it?” You wave the single paper beside your head as if waiting for it to multiply magically. Your boss has the decency to look ashamed. “Can you tell me anything else about it?”

“It’s a school,” he says.

“Right, but… College? University? Primary education? Public? ...Private?” Probably private, you determine with another glance at the name, and christ, is that comic sans? Your boss coughs lightly.

“It’s a school,” he says again, as if that in any way answers any of your questions.

Fucking fantastic.

---

If you didn’t need the money so bad, you’d have tossed the sad excuse for a client profile in the trash. What the hell is your boss thinking, taking on this client? But you do need the money, so you go home and pack a few bags and look at your sad, shitty little apartment you sublet from your college roommate. They’ll be able to find someone new no problem, and you’re honestly not too sad to be saying goodbye to the shoebox.

Sayo-fucking-nara.

At least room and board is covered at your new gig at the mystery school.

---

You agreed to meet at the train station because that’s a public place with plenty of security cameras and witnesses, and honestly, if you’re going to get murdered for this job you want your kidnapping to be recorded, at the very least. You don’t know if your chauffeur is going to be holding a little sign with your name on it like in the movies or not, but you think probably not. You scan the crowd for someone who looks like they're from the Royal Academy of Whevever-the-hell and give up after an hour of sitting on the hard wooden bench provided for poor schmucks like you.

The whole thing is probably a joke. Ha, ha. Very fucking funny, let’s haze the new employee. A lawsuit sounds like the perfect way to round out your Monday morning.

Irritated at a brand new level, you haul your bags into the bathroom after you, fully intending to splash some water on your face. If you didn’t think they’d get stolen, you’d have left them behind on the bench. But seeing as how just about every earthly possession you have is within them, you’re not too keen on the idea.

So they follow you into the pitch-black void that is meant to be the restroom, which really, is just another cherry on the shit sundae that has become your morning. You’re tired, in the last place you want to be right now, chasing after some stupid-sounding client that probably doesn’t exist, and now the electricity is on the fritz.

Perfect.

Awesome.

Two enthusiastic thumbs up.

You swallow a growl and fling out your arm, fully intending to find the wall and, hopefully, the lightswitch. You don’t find anything at all, just more black void, and why the hell aren’t your eyes adjusting so you take a mincing step forward. And then another.

And another, just for good measure, which turns out to be the wrong decision, all things considered. You go hurtling forward and just before you make impact, all you can think is they’d better have cleaned this godforsaken floor sometime this decade before you smash against flagstone.

Not the tile you’d been expecting.

What?

Your phone skitters out of your hands and you hear something on it snap with a sick, twisting feeling in your stomach. That sounded expensive and you don’t relish trying to get it fixed on a budget. Not to mention that you’re… somewhere and without a means of communication.

“Oh!” Someone exclaims from above you just as you become aware that you can see. Kind of. The lights are still dim, but the moon gleaming in from the huge windows provides at least a little light to see by.

Wait.

Windows?

“You’re early,” the voice says, interrupting your stalled-out train of thought. Hands reach down and pick up your bags, and then help you to your feet. You allow them to because this has to be a dream. You’ve not woken up just yet, surely, and any minute now you will, and you’re going to get fired like you thought you were going to be. This is just a stress dream. A weird one.

“Sorry about that; we didn’t expect you for a few more minutes. Things were still being prepared.”

Or you’re dead. You’ve died in your sleep of an aneurysm or something and this is your brain’s last dying gasps as it tries to make sense of all your misfiring neurons or whatever. It’s been a long time since freshman biology class.

“Either way, let me be the first to introduce you to both the Royal Academy of Diavolo and the Devildom!”

You stare dumbly up at the huge mountain of a man, dressed in what looks absurdly like a red military uniform. He smiles widely at you, eyes crinkled up in expressions of pure joy like you’re not dying or stuck in a fever dream. You pinch yourself hard on your arm.

Son of a bitch, it hurts.

Which means it’s high time your brain catches up and tries to process all of the words that have been spoken at you. A herculean task, really, because they don’t make a lick of sense and now that you think about it, maybe you hit your head when you tripped in the dark. Yeah. That would make sense. You’ve got a concussion, probably. Those come with hallucinations, right? You have no idea how concussions work, but that doesn’t stop you from deciding you have one.

“This… is not the bathroom,” you announce.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me! fanfic #when i have a title i'll post it properly to ao3 #gladly welcoming suggestions #mc isn't a student but is a struggling young professional who just wants to take a depression nap

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songfell-ut · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2, bc this is happening

Yo. I’m charging ahead on this project because I’m a terrible mother and my kid is getting a lot of (educational) screen time during the day while my husband works from home and I get this written. It remains based on this comic by @lostmypotatoes. It’s so long that I split off the end and it’s mutating into Chapter 3. Lots of talking, with Stuff to come of it very soon, no worries.

Now featuring a cut! Thanks (what’s an easy nickname for you? “Lost”? “‘Tatoes?”) for the tip on how to very easily do that.

Lastly, I have login shenanigans to deal with, and have been chatting with Lost (?) using @ikustioa on my phone, so I suppose that’s my blogging/personal handle now. Anyway, here we go:

Three nights later, Sans woke with a jerk. Someone in the next room was sobbing. It wasn't a memory or nightmare, he realized a moment later, and it wasn't the priestess; it was a small child, crying so hard that it could barely breathe. Steeling himself, the boss monster slid out of bed and listened intently.

He heard a woman whisper something, and the child's sobs quieted as a familiar sound came through the door. It was the same humming that had de-powered his blaster the other day, though not the same tune. The skeleton took a moment to be sure that the glow in his eyes was out, then cracked the bedroom door open.

Frisk was kneeling, bare-headed, with her arms around a little boy of perhaps eight or nine years. In the light of one lamp on the worktable, Sans saw a dark patch of blood in the child's hair. Frisk glanced at the skeleton, giving him a wan smile, still humming. Sans closed the door enough that the child wouldn't see him.

The priestess waited till the boy had calmed down to the occasional sniffle, then leaned back and reached for something on the table. "I've got a treat for you," she said cheerfully. "Do you like peppermint?"

The child thought it over, and nodded.

"Wonderful, because that's exactly what this is. You'll feel better in no time." She held out a glass bottle. "You can have three big swallows, but only three, all right?"

Well played, Sans thought, framing it as something he got to have, not something he had to take. Sure enough, the little boy gulped it right down, smacking his lips as the young woman retrieved the bottle. "Good. Can you do something very important for me?" she asked. Nod, nod. "Can you lie down and count to one hundred? That'll make the magic work better. Let's go to my office."

The child went with her quite willingly. After a few minutes, the High Priestess re-emerged into Sans' field of vision. Her pleasant expression was gone, replaced with one that actually made him feel a little sorry for whoever had pissed her off. Then he remembered the blood on the kid's head. "Anybody you want me ta kill?" he asked through the door.

"Don't tempt me." Frisk jerked a sheet of paper from a stack on the desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing rapidly.

Sans checked the time. "God damn, what's that kid doing awake at two in the morning?"

"Being beaten." The pen scratched viciously across the page.

He decided to shut up. Frisk soon finished the message, blew the ink dry and folded the paper in thirds, then sealed it and marched to the outer door, where she woke up the guard on duty. Sans heard her reaming the guy about doing his job properly, serving a writ, and not letting a guy out of the castle. She came back in, only to return to the office.

This seemed to be typical for her, as far as Sans could tell, though it usually wasn't this dramatic or this late at night. If she wasn't off at church or giving him lessons, she was talking to someone who needed help and apparently couldn't get it elsewhere. He had yet to see her do something for fun, or sleep more than five hours at a time.

Meanwhile, his daily routine had been surprisingly low-key. The first day, after being flagrantly mind-controlled into agreeing to stay, he'd eaten some more, then slept for another dreamless twenty-four hours. The next morning, she'd let him have another pile of food, then started his apprenticeship by showing him the most common ingredients for potions and how to identify them by sight, as he couldn't smell and didn't have much sense of touch. Yesterday had been a review, emphasizing that a mistake could literally kill someone, and she'd given him a book of basic recipes, asking him to make a list of any ingredients he found that she hadn't already introduced.

It was kind of annoying to have homework, and he was starting to get cabin fever, but otherwise, the whole experience hadn't been too terrible. He was relieved and disappointed that she kept the veil on almost all the time, which reduced the distraction somewhat, though she persisted in having a fantastic shape, and he was really starting to enjoy the sound of her voice. When he could focus enough to ask questions, she was patient and encouraging, and let him use all the paper he wanted to write down the answers. She was obviously pleased that he cared enough to take notes, though not in a smug or irritating way; it just made her happy, and that made him...not unhappy.

It was also still novel to talk to a human who wasn't afraid of him. He hadn't seen many humans up here besides the little boy, and figured they were forbidden to come into her rooms unless they desperately needed help, or could sneak past a sleeping guard. That was fine with Sans, though he'd overheard one cleaning lady being so persistent that he really wanted to come out of the bedroom and tell her to piss off. Unsurprisingly, Frisk had asked him to not do that.

There were only a few real mysteries so far. One was a pile of letters she'd brought in on the second day and tossed into a basket of also-unopened envelopes standing by the roaring fireplace in her workshop. He'd caught her looking at the basket a couple of times, as if debating whether to burn them all, but she never did it, or opened any in front of him.

The biggest question was how she knew he could teleport, and the nature of his blue magic, even if was getting more red than blue these days. He had unthinkingly used the latter to grab a couple things yesterday, and his magic had almost immediately died out. He didn't know exactly how she was doing it, but her barriers weren't just blocking him in: they kept his power so muted that he couldn't have summoned a single bone. It seemed that he'd be allowed to use some magic to make the actual potions, and that was it.

Well, there was time to worry about that later. The injured kid had made him think of Kris again, which made him think of the book passage Frisk had quoted at him. He'd have to ask if she...wait, no, he didn't have to ask. She'd given him carte blanche to read anything he found in her bedroom or workshop. Sans tapped the nearest witchlight on, noting that it was much weaker than the ones Underground, and started perusing the shelves.

Fifteen minutes later, Frisk knocked on the door, waiting for him to grunt acknowledgement before she came in. "I'm sorry for waking you," she said, dropping into her chair with a deep sigh. "There's going to be hell to pay in the morning."

She did look like hell, with bags under her eyes and a smear of blood on her cheek. Sans put the book down and tapped his own face, and she got the hint, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. "Ugh. That poor child." She sighed again, curling up and resting her head on the arm of the chair. "I'll wash up in a minute."

"Didn't you just get back from a thing?" he asked, wondering if she was always this cavalier about bodily fluids.

"Yes. His Holiness decided we needed more midnight services, and I have to be there every other night." She rubbed her eyes. "Flynn must have followed me back here. People aren't supposed to know where I live, but word is spreading. At this rate, I'll have to move again."

Sans drummed his fingertips on the bedpost. She'd found an oversized stool to use in the workshop, but there were no armchairs big enough for him, so he spent most of his leisure time on the bed. "Bein' High Priestess sucks. How long ya been at it?"

"Three years. The last Thea was assassinated, and they had to find a replacement as fast as possible. Out of all the minor priestesses available, I was the only one who passed all the tests. It's been...instructive."

"Hm." That didn't surprise him. A human strong enough to block a boss monster's focused attack had to be pretty rare. "How old are ya, anyway?" he asked, suddenly curious.

Her eyes shut. "Twenty-two. I was educated in a convent, ordained at sixeen, High Priestess at nineteen." A mighty yawn was partly hidden in her arm. "Lucky me."

Sans didn't know much about humans, but he was pretty sure that was young as hell for so much responsibility. The problem was that she was good enough to handle it, which meant they'd pile on more and more until she went nuts. "Nah, it sucks ta be you. Any way you can get out of it?"

"Well," she mumbled, eyes still closed, "I can die, or marry, or go back to the convent and become the Mother Superior, which would also be until I die." Frisk yawned again. "The Feast of All Saints is next week. That's when the last High Priestess was murdered."

Something prickled up Sans' spine. "You spend all yer time doin' church stuff, kissing babies and healin' puppies or whatever. Why the hell would anyone wanna kill you?"

"I meant it when I said I have influence in the Church and at court. I don't hate monsters, which is inconvenient for several people, and I'm not quiet about it, which is extremely inconvenient for many more of them. Besides, my natural father is very wealthy, and his other childr—"

"'Natural' father?" he queried. "What, do some humans have unnatural kids?"

Her eyes opened. She looked lovely in the soft light, but troubled and sad, so much that he wished he hadn't asked. "I'm illegitimate. My father never married my mother, and our life was...bad. Very hard, for a very long time." The priestess rubbed her fingertips together, as if seeing more dried blood. "He was a very busy man, but he only has one legitimate heir. After his second wife died, he started tracking down his children born out of wedlock, and it's an open secret that he'll leave each of us a large amount after he passes."

"And whoever's left gets a bigger piece of the pie?" Sans guessed.

"Exactly. As far as I know, there were fourteen or fifteen of us, but magic runs in his side of the family, and most of his children became sorcerers. Almost all of my half-brothers have been killed fighting monsters. Two of my half-sisters blew up in an experiment that went wrong. There are only six of us left, including the—his heir."

Sans' eyes narrowed. "What is it with humans an' explodin' stuff by accident?"

He couldn't read the look on her face. "If we knew the answer to that, history would have taken a much better course."

Of course, that made him think of Kris again. It seemed pretty inevitable, so he might as well ask... "I don't s'pose," he mumbled, "there's a record of the humans who went t'the Underground on that last trip? Maybe what happened to 'em after they got back?"

Frisk raised her head a little. "That depends. We know exactly which nobles, sorcerers, and other dignitaries attended. Do you mean one of them?"

"Nah, this was a servant, I think. Prob'ly. I dunno." The skeleton felt his eyes lighting up again. "He was only 4 or 5. S'comin' up on thirteen years ago, so he'd'a grown up by now."

The priestess frowned. "No one that young was in attendance, so far as I know, and I've read every account that I could find. May I ask why you want to know?"

"Nah." Sans flexed his hand around the bedpost. "Forget it."

Frisk sighed, carving a design into the plush chair with her thumbnail. "Well, I'm afraid the answer is no. There's no record of the servants who came along, except the ones who were killed, and that didn't include any children. You'd have to check with each of the—" She sat up. "Wait. I know someone who was there—my mother. Do you want me to ask her?"

"Hell yes, I do!" Sans' hand tightened, splintering the bedpost. He guiltily released it. "Did she talk much about it? What all did she tell ya? Can I ask 'er a coupla things?"

The priestess laughed, quieting him with a wave of her hand. "Sans, please! She's been very sick recently, and I don't want to excite her too much. I will ask her anything you need to know, thank you. And yes, she talked about it to anyone who'd listen. She's the one who told me all about monsters, and what you're actually like."

Sans sat forward, but she forestalled more questions with another gesture. "First, her name is Rosa. Did you ever meet her?"

It did sound familiar. "I think so. Little, blonde, wore her hair up?"

"That's her. She would've been in charge of any children they brought along, but she never mentioned any of them to me." Frisk tapped her finger on the chair arm. "She did say there were things she wasn't allowed to talk about. She worked for the Duke as a nurse, and she would never disobey him."

He wondered for a moment if that meant the guy was Frisk's father, but was too excited to dwell on it. "What'd she say about us?" he asked curiously.

Frisk hesitated. "Well...she didn't talk very much with individual monsters, but she said the Queen was very kind and made sure to tell each of the humans how glad she was to have them visit. The King was also very courteous. He tried his best not to frighten anyone, and he thought it was rude that the servants weren't allowed to eat with the nobles."

Sans' foot started tapping. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he reluctantly stopped. "Who else?" he demanded.

The next moment, they both heard the office door open into the workshop. "Miss?" came a plaintive voice.

Frisk was at the bedroom door in an instant. "What is it, Flynn?" She closed the door most of the way.

Damn it all to hell. Sans grumpily listened to the child explain that he'd scratched his head and sorry, there was blood on the couch now. Frisk explained that wounds got itchy as they healed, and to please not scratch it, and that it would be much better to wipe his hands on the towel she'd put down than on the furniture. Then he had to be cleaned up again and a bigger bandage applied, and someone was sent for to take the boy somewhere he could sleep safely.

A thought stabbed at him as he listened to the proceedings: that was how she knew he could teleport and zip things around without touching them. King Asgore had insisted the monsters show off their powers in various amusing ways so that the humans would be less afraid of their magic. Sans thought it was a bad idea at the time, and look what came of it!

Frisk eventually came back to the bedroom, drying her hands on her skirt. "Let's cut t'the chase," Sans said quietly as she sat down. "Did she tell ya about any skeletons?"

"Yes." Frisk folded her hands and looked straight at him. "Two brothers, Sans and Papyrus."

Sans laced his fingers together to avoid accidentally destroying anything else. "And...?"

"She liked them very much," Frisk said calmly, "especially Papyrus. Sans was friendly, but she said he watched their every move, and it made them nervous." The priestess smoothed her skirt over her knees. "Papyrus was a joy to be around. He was very full of himself, but there wasn't a mean bone in his body, and he considered it his duty to welcome the humans as much as possible. My mother talked about him more than any other monster." She coughed. "Apparently, his spaghetti was terrible."

"...Sounds about right."

Frisk looked at him sharply. "I wanted to ask you about that, but...are you all right?"

Sans couldn't answer. He'd avoided thinking too much about home, especially the fact that he'd already been gone for a week when he got caught. It'd been easy to tell himself that he could always bust out of here if he needed to, or that the lady would let him send a message or even go have a quick visit before coming back here, but...

"Are you Papyrus' brother?" Frisk asked.

"Yeah," he ground out.

The priestess shook her head. "I don't understand. R—Mother said that Sans was shorter than any of the humans who came to the Underground, and the only boss monsters mentioned in the official histories are Asgore and Toriel. Can you tell me what happened? I wasn't sure if you were the same skeleton, you seem so diff—"

"A lot of shit happened, that's what." Sans lurched to his feet, and she had to tip her head back to look up at him. His sockets were glowing again. "Ya know what? I'm tired, an' you look like crap. Time for night-night." He jerked the door open, rattling the hinges. "Good luck cleanin' up. Blood's a bitch to get out. Trust me, I know."

She rose quietly, folding her hands in the style he recognized from the very first time he'd seen her. "All right, then. Good night, Sans," she said, and walked past him, out of the room.

He didn't slam the doors shut behind her, but it was pretty close.

Once she had control of herself again, Frisk wiped her eyes and resumed scrubbing the couch. She kept glancing underneath it, and as she threw yet another towel into the laundry basket, she decided, To hell with it, and pulled the couch aside. A nearly invisible seam in the floor showed where a board could be pried up to access her hidden safe. There was no lid, no lock, and no key, just a solid golden film that vanished when she pressed her thumb into its center.

The High Priestess surveyed the contents: several tight-folded papers, a bag of high-value dinar, a sack of silver ingots, a few pieces of jewelry, and a small box. She selected the box and removed its rosewood lid to reveal a tiny glass orb, something swirling around on its surface like smoke. She stared at it for so long that her knees began aching, but she didn't notice. Her vision blurred again, and she jammed the lid back on the little box, shoving everything back into the safe, re-sealing it, thumping the floorboard into place and pushing the couch back. Not today, she told herself fiercely. She didn't care what Sans said or how he acted. It couldn't be worth it. Nothing could!

The next day, after a late breakfast, Frisk quizzed him on the differences between various herbs and powdered animal bits and their uses; they looked over the list he'd made of new ingredients, going through the recipes and identifying how each item worked in each potion. That was the first time she demonstrated how to mix and infuse something, and the first time she warned him, "You have to be careful how you feel when you make potions. Intent is always important when you're using magic—you fully intend to cause damage, and I fully intend to protect, which is why we're good at what we do, yes?"

He shrugged philosophically, and she half-smiled. "Well," she continued, "it's similar when you're making something for someone else to take. If you're in a foul mood and you want to cause harm, or you simply don't want the person to get better, you might as well be concocting poison, or giving them water. Of course, your feelings don't matter if you're just throwing herbs into a pot, but these work as well as they do because you're putting a tiny bit of yourself into it. You have to make sure that it's a good bit."

"Pretty sure all my bits are bad by now," Sans remarked. "How's about I make some poison instead?"

Frisk shook her head, leaning over the table. "No one is all bad, Sans. Here." She took the glass stirrer out of the miniature cauldron bubbling away in the middle of their workspace. "I'll infuse it now. Watch."

He did observe closely as she bent forward, though probably not the way she'd intended; he just made sure he was looking at the potion when she glanced up at him. "Try thinking of someone you care for, and imagine it's for them." She opened her hand over the cauldron and, to his surprise, let out a low whistle, piercingly sweet.

A mote of light drifted from her palm and settled into the mixture. It seemed to sparkle for a moment, then resumed being a potion. When he concentrated, though, he could feel a little tingle of magic in it. "I won't ask you to try it till you have better control of your emotions," she said. "Right now, you're so angry that I don't know what would happen."

A different note had crept into her voice. Sans shifted his bony weight on the stool. "S'not like I can help it."

"Perhaps," she said. "You probably don't even notice it anymore. It's become a part of you, through whatever stuff has happened since the humans left the Underground. And before you ask, my mother is ill again. We can't speak with her until she's better."

There it was; he'd wondered if she was going to pretend he'd never snapped at her. "Well, you can only ask me so many personal questions before I get touchy, lady. Frisk." He tapped the worktable a couple of times. "Look, I know ya have a lot on yer plate, an' havin' to deal with me isn't much help. I just want t'know...is there any way to tell the others I'm not dead or somethin'? My brother's gotta be out of his mind by now, and I don' want someone comin' after me and gettin' caught."

Frisk shook her head, and his SOUL sank to the floor. "I'm sorry, Sans, but that's out of the question," she said, soft but firm. "Our King has forbidden any humans from coming within a day's walk of the entrance to the Underground, and let's be very honest—what would happen if a human came up to you out of nowhere and said they had an important message to give the monsters?"

Sans' jaw clenched so hard that the priestess put her hand out, not quite touching his arm. "Sans, please. If there was any way to—"

"Forget it, okay? Just...never mind." The skeleton glared at the windows facing out from the workroom. Like everything else in this damn place, they were too small for him to fit more than his head through. He'd gone through this in his own mind a dozen times: even if he could break through the wood and stone, he could sense the barrier set behind the wall to block his shortcuts. The one along the outside wall was heavier than the ones in the bedroom, which were permeable, purely there to track his movements. It was debatable whether this one could be physically broken with...something, but the moment he tried, she would know he was trying and stop him with a stronger barrier.

Hmm. What if...what if he waited till she wasn't here and couldn't get back in time to stop him? If he broke through when she was distracted, and far enough away – say, doing her church stuff in the middle of the night – then there wouldn't be much she could do. He could escape and decide later whether he wanted to come back or—

Wait. Come back? What the hell was he thinking? Why would he choose to be locked up by any human? No matter how pretty, and gutsy, and sweet and nice-voiced and...

Crap.

Anyway. He wouldn't come back. He'd have to be sure to grab his notes and a few books for Alphys; Frisk could always get more copies. He already had plenty to report to King Asgore, though he felt a little uneasy about letting ol' Gorey know that the most powerful barrier-making human was a determined sorceress whose SOUL could probably make you invincible. Actually, he felt a lot uneasy. Maybe he'd keep that to himself for now.

Too bad he couldn't bring her with him...

"...ans. Sans?" Frisk was touching his radius. She'd lifted her veil, large brown eyes turned up to his. "Are you all right?"

Sans studied her for a long moment, reflecting that Papyrus had always wanted a pet. The idea was more appealing than he'd have liked to admit; he had to dismiss it with a shake of his head, and shake it again to get it loose. "'m fine, kid. Remind me what this stuff was for?" After all, he thought darkly, he'd always told Pap no. Pets were too much trouble, especially if you got attached to them. Besides, what would they feed her?

A knock on the outer door startled them both. Before Frisk could respond, the door opened, and in strode a tall, thin man in dark robes, holding a box under his arm. "High Priestess. Honored guest," the man said in a cool, whispery voice, giving them a short bow.

"Dr. Serif? This is a surprise," the High Priestess responded, replacing the veil as she stood up. "I wasn't expecting you so early. Sans, this is Dr. Serif, the royal sorcerer. Doctor, please meet Sans the skeleton."

The man regarded Sans with mild curiosity. "I am very pleased to see you again, Sans the skeleton. Has Her Eminence been treating you well?"

"Uh...yeah," said Sans, nonplussed. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The royal sorcerer bowed again. He was unnervingly pale, the effect enhanced by dark eyes and long black hair framing his face. "I helped transport you from your cell to this room."

"It took magic," Frisk said helpfully.

He'd figured as much; magic was the only way humans could do any damn thing. The boss monster looked at the box under the doctor's arm, which had a strange feel to it. He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew he didn't like it.

"This is for you, as we discussed, Your Eminence," the man said smoothly. "I will leave it in your office."

Frisk looked so uncomfortable that Sans glanced at the sorcerer, but nothing was visibly wrong. The man ignored them both, striding past the table and opening the door to her office. They heard rustling, and the doors closing as he stepped back into the workroom. "That will be all. Good day, my lady, Sans." With another bow, the doctor turned and left.

"Weirdo," said the ten-foot skeleton. He found he didn't want to look away from the door lest the guy come back and catch him unawares. He hadn't been threatening, but something about him was very off.

"He's...unique." Frisk sat down again. "Now, this infusion is almost ready. We'll leave it at room temperature for another ten minutes or so before we stir it again. In the meantime, you can add two drops of peppermint oil, mint, orange or lemon extract..."

The rest of the day passed without major incident. Frisk had to stop in the middle of concocting a burn salve and leave Sans to finish it, though she cautioned him not to infuse it yet. She rather envied him; she had to walk to the other side of the castle to go over her parish's monthly accounts, balancing foot-long columns of tiny numbers to check that tithes and alms had come in and gone out properly. They never quite did, though it had gotten better in the past year, as she had made it increasingly clear that she was not interested in stealing from the poor or turning a blind eye to it, even for a few hundred extra dinar in her own column.

The attempts at bribery were particularly insulting because she didn't need it. The realm's High Priestess was entitled to half a percent of the Church's total monthly income, and through the magic of frugality and compound interest, her personal fortune had grown to the point where she didn't want to use any of it. Life was so strange; as a small child, she had only eaten once every couple of days, and now she could decide not to buy her own estate and maintain a huge staff for it.

She was starting to wonder, though, about a rumor she'd heard regarding several hundred acres of land that would supposedly be up for sale in the next few months. They were principally wheat and barley fields, no more than two days' walk from the Underground's main entrance. That was food for thought, indeed.

Frisk eventually finished and stopped by the kitchens on her way back to her room. Sans was still wary of what he ate, and she took care to have more than one damned fork now when she tasted his food for him. She wasn't worried for herself: if she didn't have time to eat in the kitchen, she routinely paid several of the staff a bit extra to make sure that everything they brought her had come straight from the pot or the pan, with no chance for someone to add any surprises.

That had felt hypocritical at first, but she'd soon realized that she couldn't rely on people's consciences or sense of duty to keep her safe. Many, like the guard captain, were loyal for loyalty's sake, but many more of them needed external motivation, and she was helping the cooks and servers support their families. And she wasn't literally stealing from orphans to do it!

An overstuffed basket sat outside her chambers, and the guard hastened to open the door and push it inside for her. Frisk carried the tray to the table, setting it by Sans' elbow as he compared nearly identical recipes in two separate books. Then she dragged the laundry basket over, pulling a sail-like garment out end over end. "Here you are," she said around an armful of fabric.

The skeleton looked up, scowling at the interruption. "Wha?"

"This is for you." Frisk tried to hold up an enormous shirt, then an enormous set of trousers. "I had them measure your clothes when we washed them for you. They made you another set."

Sans slowly got up and took the shirt from her, holding it against himself. It was sturdy linen, almost as thick as the canvas shirt he wore now and much softer. The skeleton turned it this way and that, poking the material. "What's this for?"

Pause. "It's a shirt," said Frisk. "It goes on the top half of your body. Humans need it for protection against the elements, and modesty, but for you, it's principally so that you have a shirt on."

He acknowledged her smartassery with a respectful nod. "I mean, wasn't this a pain to make? I hope nobody expects me t'pay fer this. Not my fault if what I got on ain't pretty enough for ya."

"Oh, it was. Getting something that size made up so quickly cost me more than I paid for all the clothes I've had this year combined. But you're not a slave, you're my apprentice. That means you're working for me, and I'm keeping track of your wages. It'll take a while to pay this off—" Frisk stuck her arm through one of the trouser legs, flapping it to shake it out. "—but I think you'll manage it before you leave."

Sans had another odd expression. "Yer payin' me for the stuff I make? I thought apprentices were the ones payin' to learn."

"I consider the knowledge you'll bring back to the Underground to be your apprenticeship fee, and as this arrangement wasn't your idea in the first place, we're bending the rules," she said patiently. "I see you've made three sets of burn salve, two of which look useable, and you're almost done with a cough elixir. Fair market value for those is about ten dinar total, so minus the infusion I'll do for you, you've earned about seven already."

"Hm." He scratched the side of his head. "What am I payin' you for my food?"

Frisk laughed, shaking out the other leg. "The pleasure of your company." At his blank stare, she shook her head and uncovered the tray. "No one charges their apprentice for room and board, Sans." The priestess put down the trousers, picked up the fork and leaned in for a bite of baked fish.

The skeleton pulled the tray away, making her stab the table instead. "If I owe ya money, you're definitely not gonna poison me," he pointed out, and began shoveling it in.

"You're right," Frisk said gravely, trying and failing to hide her grin. "I'm glad you've had time to mullet over."

Sans pounded the table with his free fist, rattling the glass vials. "Might as well, just for the halibut. Right?"

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "That was weak. Think of a better one and let minnow," she said around it.

"You're right," he said, and waited for her to take a bite before he added, "We really need to scale back."

They had to stop laughing long enough to eat. By the time dinner was over and Frisk had carried the dishes out, both were relaxed enough to be sleepy. "Dunno why I keep wantin' to go t'bed, all I've done is read 'n catnap," mumbled Sans, trudging into the bedroom and flopping onto the mattress. "'m not even usin' my damn magic."

"You're eating human food, so your body is getting more nutrition and working harder to process it," Frisk pointed out, settling into her chair. "Mother said the humans all had to eat more to stop being hungry Underground." She tried not to burp out loud. "Besides, you're probably still recovering from the energy you spent being captured and then trying to kill me. Thrice."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." The skeleton stretched all the phalanges of his toes, flexing them in turn. "Probably won't do it again," he added truthfully.

"Thank you." Frisk also stretched her legs out, Sans noticing how absurdly tiny her feet were as she got up from her chair with the recipe book. She reached down to dog-ear the page they were on. "Well, I—"

He whisked the book out of her hand and flipped it open to smooth the page out. "Use a bookmark, woman! What are ya, some kinda barbarian?"

"It's an old book! They're all creased anyway," she argued, trying to take it back. He held it over his head, roughly a mile out of reach. "All right, then, fine," she said with a smirk. "I'm going to take a bath. Read through and find five more ingredients to discuss when I get back." She shut the door on quiet skeletal griping, smiling to herself.

The next day passed in a similar fashion, at least outwardly. Frisk took careful note of everything Sans made, ignoring his suggestion to dock him the price of the ingredients when he screwed up; luckily, he was catching on fast, even if she wouldn't let him infuse anything yet. She also wouldn't tell him how much his new clothing had cost, saying only that she'd let him know when he broke even. What really got his attention was her adding, "If you make enough money, we'll send a few bushels of wheat back with you. No one can be upset that you were gone for so long if you come bearing gifts, can they?"

Sans was glad he didn't have facial muscles or anything similar to betray his inner turmoil. He'd had a lot of second thoughts last night about bashing his way out of here, due in small part to the new outfit and the possibility of bringing food to the Underground, but mostly because she was working her brain-magic on him again, being attractive and kind and easy to talk to like the terrible, sadistic person she was...not. She was not remotely terrible or sadistic, and that was the problem. He still didn't understand it, or how it was getting worse so much quicker than he'd anticipated. He just wanted to get away before she entangled him any further.

Then he'd started thinking of Snowdin right before he fell asleep, and for the first time since he'd been captured, he had dreamed of home. He dreamed their house was cold and dark, with no one upstairs and a single light on in the kitchen. A female form was silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, facing something slumped over the side of the couch. "C'mon, Pap. He's probably just out on another hunting trip," she argued.

"...IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?" The thin, nasal voice hurt Sans' SOUL, and not just because he'd desperately wanted to hear it again. This wasn't his boisterous, indomitable, recklessly cheerful brother; this was a small, heartsick Papyrus, one Sans hadn't seen or heard in a long, long time. The last time it happened, at least Sans had been there for him. Now Sans was gone, too.

"Hunting animals, Papyrus! He's hunting animals. Not humans." The woman thumped the wall for emphasis, knocking little bits of plaster from the ceiling. Dammit, Sans had told her to quit doing that. "That's gotta be it. We don't eat humans, and he knows how bad the food situation is, right? So..."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE'S DOING. ...WELL. NOT MUCH." The skeleton heaved a sigh, raising his face from the couch cushion. "...UNDYNE, I...I CAN'T REACH HIM. IF HE'S ALL RIGHT, WHERE IS HE?"

And then something had seeped out of the darkness and gently enclosed Sans' mind, blotting out the dream like a sponge on spilled water. He had woken up knowing that it wasn't a dream, and was instantly enraged—he'd been so grateful that the nightmares had stopped, and too damn stupid to figure out that she'd set a barrier up against external influences, including dreams shared with Pap. He'd ponder the full ramifications of it blocking nightmares another day; the memory of his brother's expression had decided him. Agreement or no agreement, he was getting out of here tonight.

Of course, he couldn't pack up the stuff he needed before their lesson was done, or right afterward. He wasn't worried about giving himself away: as an accomplished bullshitter, he knew he was behaving perfectly normally. The moment dinner was cleared away, he called dibs on the bathroom, which had a nice, huge tub that he wanted to use one more time. When he was done and she'd gone in and locked the door – and after the usual stab of curiosity as to what she looked like outside of clothes – Sans quietly put everything he wanted into a satchel he'd found under the worktable, and stowed it behind the door in the bedroom, where he had to wait until she was done getting dressed.

The one odd thing was that after she emerged from her dressing room in her full priestess-y regalia, she went into her office and spent a few minutes doing nothing that he could hear, after which she was wearing a different brooch. She'd had a white one on the first day they met, but this one shone with a greyish light under her veil.

"Goin' so soon?" he asked carelessly. It was ten o'clock.

She smiled. "If my duties only included saying words and a few songs, I would sleep much easier. There's always someone to speak to before and after services."

"Gotcha. Well, have fun. 'm gonna read somethin' with a damn bookmark 'fore I go to bed—I forgot t'ask, mind if I try ta make a few things while you're not here?"

"Go right ahead. You'll pay for it if you burn down my workroom, so I'm trusting you to behave." Was he imagining a weird little inflection there? No, she looked totally wonderful. ...Normal. She looked totally normal. "Good night, Sans," she said, adjusting her veil.

"G'night, Frisk." He stretched out on the bed as she shut the door.

That was it, then. He might not ever see her again. It...wasn't a good feeling. In fact, it felt pretty bad. Time to quit feeling it, think of Pap, and focus on his plan of action.

The plan: well, for starters, it would be dumb to try breaking out immediately. He wished he knew exactly where the chapel was. He'd heard occasional church-type singing off in the distance, but that didn't give him an idea of how far away she'd be during the service, or for exactly how long. Instead, he watched the clock and fidgeted, as nervous as the first time he'd faced down a group of human sorcerers.

Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe he should just ask her to take down the barrier keeping him from dreaming with Papyrus, just for one night. She was too kind to refuse, and intelligent enough...

...to ask him for more information in exchange. Frisk knew he used to be a normal monster, and might think to ask if he'd always been able to speak across dreams; it wouldn't be too far a stretch for her to keep questioning how he became a boss monster. She'd also realize that if she let him communicate with other monsters, he could tell them several things that she would prefer they not know, including her identity and full capabilities. It was one thing for her to take a calculated risk and let him go back to the Underground with that information, or – much more likely – to make him forget it before he left; some humans had the ability to excise bits of memory like that. It'd be another thing entirely to permit a conversation that no one else could even hear. She was nice, not stupid.

So Sans waited until eleven forty-five, and then he sat in the workroom with the satchel looped around his wrist for another ten minutes, nerves humming. Then he got up, went to the double doors leading out of her rooms, and silently picked up a seven-foot decorative statue standing at the room's threshold, wedging it inward across the doorframe. He went back to the workroom, judged the weakest place in the outside wall, reared back, and slammed his fist directly between two of the windows.

Frisk had started to relax as the organist began playing and incense floated in the chapel air. She was opening her mouth for the first hymn when a warning note sounded in the back of her mind: the barrier to her workroom's outside windows was tingling, and then it suddenly burned away, the warning note sliding all the way up to a full-blown klaxon.

She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt, controlling her expression with a supreme effort as the voice in her head screamed, Sans, you two-faced sack of fertilizer!

The only good thing about the situation was that she wasn't leading this service. Therefore, it was odd, but not completely conspicuous, when she stepped to the back of the choir, touched her new brooch, and vanished.

#frans this fic brought to you by ABC Mouse

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sector-i-closed · 4 years

Text

Find Your Answer

I had a typo and ended up discussing this with @youneedapiratekink and I'm tagging them too

Werewolf au

Warning: smut, urination or golden shower?

It was yet another day of grueling classes for you and concentration was something that you wished that you could have ownership of.

The professor was boring you with his monotonous speaking, encouraging random thoughts to surface in your mind, thoughts that were almost comical in contrast to the lesson that was being taught.

One of the things that you were thinking quite hard about was the question as to why Hongjoong, your werewolf mate, would urinate on you every so often.

It was something that you found annoying but you also couldn't stop your body from becoming aroused at the thought of him doing something that was so dirty to you in your mind but he didn't see anything unusual about it.

Meanwhile Hongjoong watched you from his desk, easily smelling your arousal from where he sat and he knew that the few werewolves who were present in the classroom could smell you as well.

Earlier he had seen San and Seonghwa casually leaning towards you, sniffing to see if you had any of your boyfriend's scent on you and through the entire time you were oblivious to the fact they were even that close to you.

Hongjoong reminded himself and his wolf reiterated the reminder that he needed to leave his scent on you again, really soon.

He watched you shift restlessly in your seat, attempting to pay attention to the professor and he thought you was cute, handling your neediness as discreetly as possible.

Soon the final class was over and the relieved students were starting to file out of the classroom, leaving you staring at your phone as you typed in your query in the search bar of your search engine.

'Why does my werewolf boyfriend pee on me' You were grazing through the results when a gentle warm breath tickled your ear.

"You could have asked me such a simple question. My baby is so innocent and naive." Hongjoong cooed against your ear, freezing your actions and rendering you too embarrassed to continue scrolling the search results.

"Don't stop. I want to watch you find your answer." Your boyfriend feathered his fingers across your bare forearm, inciting tremors to take over your control.

His touch stirred the mate bond, sending ripples of tingles across your skin that coaxed you into submission.

"Erm..." Your cheeks heated up at his statement. You couldn't focus on the words that were on the screen and your boyfriend chuckled, being humored by your temporary inability to read.

"All you can see is me isn't it?" Hongjoong teased, infuriating you until you saw red.

Finally you were able to make out a few words, coming to the conclusion that it was a way for werewolves to openly mark their mate.

"Oh my god..." You blurted out in shock, feeling your sex tighten in response to what you read.

"You're wanting me to piss on you and mark you as mine right now, huh? I can smell how turned on you are, thinking about me leaving my scent on you to let everyone else know who you belong to." Hongjoong murmured as he roughly nipped the marking at your neck that was the visible proof of him mating with you.

You moaned quietly at feeling his plush lips touched the sensitive skin of your neck as the pleasant tingles became more insistent, prompting your instincts to do what you would normally not do.

"I want you to get down on your knees." He whispered against your ear after sensing that you were submitting to your instincts, the softness of his lips brushing against your earlobe nearly made you cry out for him.

Hongjoong watched you glance around at the empty classroom and his lips twitched, contorting into a wicked smirk that caused you to feel mixed emotions of anger and elation.

"We're alone, babe. Should I call for someone to watch us?" He chuckled, watching you go down to your knees.

"N-no..." You stuttered nervously, gazing up at him and watching him in expectation.

He unfastened his jeans and lowered his underwear, allowing his firm member to be released of his clothing.

You unconsciously licked your lips, eyeing his length hungrily and your boyfriend noticed how entranced you were, staring at his cock and drooling.

"Can I please taste...?" Your heart pounded as you stared pleadingly up at Hongjoong.

"Taste what?" He smirked while stroking himself, enjoying the submissive position that you were in, just for him.

"Your cock... I want to taste y-your cock." You breathed out anxiously.

"You can suck my cock after I leave my scent on you, princess." The words had scarcely left his mouth when you felt a warm, wet sensation trickle onto your clothed body. He didn't give you a chance to protest but you complied, in spite of knowing that you would be soaking wet in more ways then one when you leave the classroom.

You inhaled his strong, pungent scent, feeling a vague buzz as his hot urine trickled down your shoulders, chest and stomach, puddling around you on the clean floor.

"You look so pretty, down there willingly allowing me to leave my scent on you. You like being marked for everyone to smell and see don't you?" Hongjoong cooed, stopping the flow of urine and bringing his still moist tip to your waiting lips.

"Y-yes..." You nodded shyly. Slowly your tongue slipped out of your mouth, flicking across his moist tip and tasting the salty urine and precum that beaded on his slit.

The single taste was enough for you to crave him even more and you couldn't stop yourself from taking him deeper into your mouth, salivating over his throbbing hot length as you desperately began to give him strong suction.

"You're starving for my cock aren't you?" He grinned down at you mischievously, running his fingers through your damp locks and watching you move with deep meaning behind every lick and suck that you inflicted on him.

"Fuck you love sucking my cock, baby. I can tell by the effort that you're putting into it." Hongjoong grunted while bucking his hips forward, pressing his pubic bone against your nose occasionally as his wolf attempted to take the reins and guide him to his release.

You uttered small sounds of enjoyment around his member, prompting your boyfriend to orgasm in your hot mouth before he could warn you of his climax.

Hongjoong attempted to stifle his sweet moans as he messily rode out his release while you swallowed the saline flavored fluid down greedily.

You pulled away from him, feeling embarrassed and aware that both of you needed to leave before someone came in and found you kneeling in a puddle of urine.

Hongjoong fastened his jeans, knowing that even after the floor would be cleaned the other werewolves would know what happened in the classroom tomorrow and he felt a sense of pride coarse through him.

#ateez hongjoong #ateez smut #kim hongjoong smut #kpop scenarios #kpop smut

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enchantingkittengaditor · 3 years

Text

Deep Water | 03. August

Summary: With fame comes pain. A fact that Caitlyn knows all too well. But when she is the one thrust into the spotlight instead of one of her relatives or friends, she struggles to keep her head above water. Especially when her frenemy Harrison is destined to become her co-star in an animated version of her favourite book. She has to hide her family’s past. He has to hide his feelings and truth. They can’t trust anyone not even each other and if their secrets ever come out, they’ll end up in deep water. This Story follows the trials of the three Watson sisters as they battle to keep part of their past secret.

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Slight mentions Torture and Swearing

Character Page | Masterlist

AUGUST 3rd: Brenten

A phone was ringing on the stack of phones in the middle of the dining table.

“It’s Brenten’s,” Finn said in victory.

“So he pays?” Millie asked trying to get her head around the game we often played.

“Yup,” I said sadly, grabbing my phone, “Hello,” I answered.

“Hey, Brenten. I know that I’m on tour and everything but I may or may not be coming to Atlanta because I have a project and I wondered if you would be interested in doing dome of the drums for it?” I heard Alice’s voice come from the other end of the phone.

“Wha-Wh- Sure,” I answered. “New album?” I asked her.

“Yup and Cat said you’d be down for it. I can send you the sheet music. Maybe Finn wants to do guitar?” She said, I could hear the strained smile in her voice.

“Of course, Cat did,” I rolled my eyes at the thought, “I can ask Finn if you want me to,” I asked her.

“Yes please,” She said happily, “I’ve got to go, rehearsal and all that Jazz. I’ll email you the sheets, can you text me his answer?” She asked.

“I’ll ask him now for you,” I told her. “Hey, Finn! You wanna play guitar on Alice’s new project?” I asked him.

“Alice?” He questioned.

“Cat’s sister aka Taylor Swift, dude,” I told him again rolling my eyes.

“Sure, it’ll be fun,” He told me.

“He’s in,” I told her.

“Thanks,” She told me, “I’ll send you all the details. Cat says hi!” She hung up, probably getting back to dance practice or lunch with her sisters.

“The bill,” THe waiter said placing it down on the table.

“Brenten,” Finn said with a smug look on his face.

“Dork,” Cat said walking into the sound booth.

“Your sister said it was her project,” I whined.

“It is. I’m producing an album by Cat,” Alice said with a proud smile. “Plus if you two do a good job on hers you can do my next one.”

“So, my album is an experiment for you?” Cat asked her.

“Exactly little kitty cat,” Alice told her.

“What are the songs called?” I asked her, interrupting their sibling fight. “Any about Harry?”

“No,” She said not convincing enough.

“What are the songs, Caitlyn?” Finn asked.

“Pheonix, Thin Air, In the Dark, What you Love, and History,” Cat said.

“All sound like they could be about a certain brunette,” I teased.

“Can you please just play the notes and do the thing,” Cat asked us.

“Your sister is a grammy award winner and you call playing instruments notes and thing,” Finn asked her.

“I know what it’s called I’m just jetlagged from Oxford,” Cat told me.

“Shouldn’t Alice be in Kansas?” I asked her.

“Yes, I just came to set up everything and make sure you listen to her,” Alice said, smiling and waving goodbye to her sister.

“Why Atlanta?” I asked her.

“Oh, right, I’m filming something soon in New Orleans and decided that I could come here to do this, plus it’s easy for Alice to come and visit,” She smiled at me.

“At least it’s music,” I muttered to myself.

AUGUST 10th: Jasmin

Home, sweet home. Well as sweet as a home with six siblings can be.

“JAS!” My little brother yelled as I dropped my bag on the wood flooring of the entrance to our house.

“Hey, where’s mom?” I asked her.

“Kitchen,” He said, suddenly losing interest in me.

“Hey mom,” I said giving her a peck on the cheek.

“How was America?” She asked as I sat on the barstool by the kitchen island.

“It was good. I just wish you could have come, you would’ve loved Alice’s Rhode Island house and comic con,” I told her.

“I wish I could’ve been there too. But with everything I couldn’t. Anything else happen?” She said handing me a cup of tea.

“Cat’s soulmark also happened to turn colour. She shot an entire TV show. Brenten’s doing his thing in Atlanta and Harry nearly killed me several times,” I told her. “I’m going to go up to my room and get some rest, Jet lag and everything.”

“When you wake up, there’s food in the fridge for you,” She said as I went up the stairs to my room.

My room was nice but I was busy messing around on my phone, listening to music and getting into PJs before I went onto Instagram. I forgot to post about comic con. Of course, I did. Should I go back and do a latergram or do I simply ignore it?

I scrolled through the endless photos of me and my friends having fun around San Diego and messing with people and each other. I found three photos that I thought looked decent to post and comment on before going for my nap.

My phone woke me up.

“Cat,” I mumbled rubbing my eyes.

“I need to talk to someone and the only other person near me is Harrison and I can’t talk to him about this,” She said quickly, panicking.

“What is it?” I asked her.

“Harrison kissed me and I didn’t hate it,” She whisper yelled over the phone as if she was worried about someone ever hearing her.

“Really?” I laughed. “Cat that’s not the end of the world. People kiss all of the time.”

“No, I blocked out the memory. Not recently but like two months ago and it may have happened again and I’m freaking out. I hate his guts and then in LA he touched my arm and it changed colour and now I’m really panicking,” She said, I could hear the tears in her voice.

“Where are you now?” I asked her.

“Atlanta, at a hotel, Harrison’s next-door other than that no one,” She told me.

“Ok, breath, do the sky thing. And watch a movie or go get Harrison. I know that you hate him but he can help you more than I can. Love you, but I can’t help over the phone at,” I checked the time on my phone, “5 am.”

“Thanks,” She said the panic still lingering in her voice.

AUGUST 11th: Harrison

Knocking on the door woke me up from my sleep. Who the hell knocks that frantically at midnight? I got up, rubbing my eyes and stumbling to the door to see my blonde co-star having another panic attack.

“I’m kinda freaking out,” She said shaking her hands nervously. I habit that I’d noticed when she had her last panic attack.

I didn’t need to say come in, I just needed to move to the side to let her in for her to know it was alright. “Why are you freaking out this time?” I asked her.

“Anxiety Memories,” She told me, still hyperventilating as she paced around the room.

“What about?” I asked her, still half asleep.

“Everything seems to be crashing down around me and I got a text from mum and now I’m freaking out more than I usually do,” She said between heavy breathing. Still shaking her hands.

“What text did you get?” I asked her suddenly more awake than I had been previously.

“Dad’s getting out of prison and the news found out and now I-” Her hands waving around too quickly, “-I don’t know what to do. Bea said he tried to contact her and I’m really,” Her hands were waving faster. I grabbed them in an attempt to calm her down. “I’m really freaked out.” By now tears were streaming down her face.

“Hey, breath. Sit down and breath,” I told her, leading her to the edge of the bed. “When your ready tell me about it.”

She just sat there for a few minutes calming her breath and sobbing into my chest. I could hear my phone going off with notifications from people telling me about what this panic attack was about.

“Dad got let out because of something, the press found out and since the whole we haven’t talked about him and they jumped to the conclusion that he’s dead. They’re coming after us,” She whispered.

“It’s alright. I-We’ll help you through this,” I told her rubbing her back. “We can all get through this together. I’ll support you no matter what. You may not like me, but the whole mark thing means I’ll always be here for you.”

“Thanks,” She murmured.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I asked her softly.

“Yes please,” She whispered to me.

“Alright,” I said moving up the bed so that we could actually lie down and started creating a pillow wall like the last time we had to share a bed.

“Is it OK if we don’t do that? I just need a hug, even if I hate your ass,” She said, a small sliver of her old self returning after the brief lapse of it.

“Sure,” I said giving her a small half smile.

“Thank you,” She said as she started falling asleep in my arms. This is something that I could get used to if she stoped hating me. I just have to make sure she’s alright before I leave tomorrow.

In all honesty I didn’t get much sleep that night, I was too focused on controlling my breathing and trying to figure out what could have been the memory to cause her to get like this. And trying to make sure it wasn’t awkward when she woke up to see she was in her enemies arms.

The sun was shining through the blinds when I woke up the next morning to my alarm going off. Cat tried to turn off the alarm but only ended up hitting my nose and face repeatedly, just making me giggle.

“Urg,” She said opening her eyes, “What time is it?” She asked.

“It’s eight thirty,” I told her.

“And why am I in your room?” She asked again.

“You came to the door last night having a panic attack and you wanted to stay the night,” I told her getting out from under her head and went to open the curtains.

“It’s really bright,” She said sitting up.

“How is your hair that neat?” I asked her, only noticing that her hair wasn’t a crows nest like most peoples when they get up.

“Magic,” She said half drunk on sleep. “It just is. A family secret. Why didn’t I mention the fact you’re only in your underwear last night?”

“You were crying and didn’t notice,” I told her.

“Thank you,” She said getting up off the bed herself and going toward the door.

“You want to get breakfast? I can drop you off at the set before I go to the airport,” I suggested.

“Sure, but can you take me to the airport too. I have to catch a flight to New Orleans for filming,” She said while at the door.

“Cool,” I said.

AUGUST 13th: Caitlyn

“Good morning,” Aubrey greeted me on set.

“Good morning. First day of our pilot episode, you nervous?” I asked him, handing him a coffee as I sat in the make-up chair.

“No, except if we don’t get picked up,” He ansered, “You?”

“Not at all. Well not this, other things but-” I started to answer a mile a minute.

“How many coffees?” He asked me.

“None. I hate coffee. But I’ve had 18 colas in the past ten hours and haven’t slept since the 11th,” I told him.

“You need to sleep,” He said.

“Probably but I can’t. It’s like there’s something missing. That and the news has been keeping me awake for ages. That and doging calls has become my full time job,” I told him sadly.

“How are your sisters handling it all?”

“Alice is focusing on tour and ignoring it all. Bea is focusing on filming her new show. Dot’s focusing on tennis and Ellie is unaware of it all, mum’s protecting her. Well, she’s at summer camp her in the US so it’s more like no cable or internet is protecting her. And I’m constantly having panic attacks and missing someone whose guts I hate but gives good hugs,” I unloaded. “All while being an emotionally repressed closteted english sixteen year old.”

“Fuck dude. That’s a lot on your plate,” he said looking at me over his phone.

“I’m also filming this, something in LA, doing voice stuff and having to finish doing my last few scenes for a disney show that I’ve been doing on and offn for the past few years, before anxiety knocked on my door and said ‘I’m going to ruin your life.’ AKA I lost my damn mind. Oh and school.” I laughed to myself.

“You need to take a break for yourself,” He told me.

“I would but, my family never takes breaks. My sisters are insane, my cousins are even more so. We don’t take a break because if you take a break you can fail and fall from grace. And rule number 13 is if you fall from grace you may never return to the stature you had and rule 14 if you fail and fall you are no longer a proper lady,” I recited.

“Rules?” He questioned.

“My grandmother’s rules about being a proper lady. The rules we’re meant to live by or else,” I informed him.

“Your family seems… intense,” He told me.

“That, my new friend, is the understatement of the century,” I told him.

“Are you going to do anything insane while on set?” He asked.

“Not anything that you need to worry about. The biggest thing would probably have a panic attack,” I informed him.

“If I see you having one, I’ll try comfort you,” He said.

“Good luck with that,” I muttered going back to my phone.

Out of the corner of my eyes I could see him laugh slightly before going back to his own phone.

#august #Deep Water #writing #my writing #my ocs #celebrity au #celebs #pjo #caleb mclaughlin #jake t austin #olivia holt #Amandla Stenberg #Social media #social media au #'cause i still fuckin' love queue babe

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universallywriting · 4 years

Text

Drive Home

Steven's breath puffed in the air as he came to sit beside her, feet crunching in the frost and pine needles. He was glad they'd planned it the way they did, just cold enough so the Rocky Mountains were dusted with snow. Specks of brown and green covered the mounds that swallowed up the horizon, towering and beautiful, almost touchably close and endlessly far at the same time. Pine trees circled close around them, boulders jutting up from the earth, and he came to sit down on one beside Connie with a smile.

It was odd up in the mountains. Occasionally hikers would pass them by, or a family of tourists, but off the more well-worn trails that was rare. It was still odd for Steven, who so rarely traveled, to see so many people pass him by that he didn’t know the names of. So often he felt like he should see Buck’s familiar deadpan face, or hear Jenny’s laugh from one of the people that passed him by.

But the only familiar face was Connie’s. The thermos of tea he had brought her was hot in the metal flask. When they drove lower, he would switch back to her favorite black teas, carefully measured with swirls of honey and just the right kind of milk to make her smile. But high up in the mountains, the water didn’t boil hot enough.

Just thinking of her face the first morning she’d tried to make them both tea at 10,000 feet was enough to make him smile. The weak brew had made her nose wrinkle up in confusion, baffled at her perfectly measured cup failing, before she burst into giggles and explained the correlation between how water boiled and the altitude.

She was so brilliant. He handed it to her, enjoying the feel of being stupidly in love and out in the world alone with her before murmuring, “How do you feel?”

"Small. But in a good way. You?" She took a deep breath of mountain air, looking over the landscape. He wondered if she felt the same as him, or if we-moved-a-lot Connie never felt that same warm loneliness.

"Same." He smiled and looked back out. Questions about wanting to see familiar faces could be saved for the road home when they were barefoot and bored. “Wish I had come to places like this more often. Oceans are beautiful but... Nothing makes you feel more like a speck than a mountain. It's comforting."

"Just another little person, running across a big marble." She nudged him softly with her free hand. "Gets a little too much when you really see the marble though. I think going out in space can make Earth feel a little too small."

Steven nodded. "Yeah. This is a good middle ground. Earth feels big. I feel small. I like it this way.”

“Why don’t we stay?” Connie asked lightly. “Drive around forever.”

“I could be happy getting lost in these woods,” he agreed, but there was no weight to it. There was no weight to her words either. They swept away in the breeze, tumbling down stone and needles and babbling brooks to the world beneath.

"Me too." Her fingers wrapped tight around the sketchbook in her lap, the cover digging into her skin just at the brink of hurting. "I'm, um... I'm done with it, by the way. With my portfolio. I’ll submit it in the morning."

"That's great!" Steven said, throwing his arm around her shoulders with an eager squeeze. His lips found her temple in a reassuring kiss, seeing the nerves in the stiff lines of her body. "I'm so proud of you. Did the landscapes turn out the way you wanted?"

She opened her sketchbook and Steven eagerly looked over her shoulder, never tiring of the contents. It started with the temple. The morning they left Steven had found her on the beach, wrapped up in a hoodie in the early dawn chill, sketching his home and occasionally sipping at a coffee that had gone cold, and though she had insisted it wasn’t important, he had happily delayed their start until she finished.

Connie flipped to fields of grain. Traveling the midwest had been much less exciting than he expected. Keystone had rolled by and their eyes had glazed over as everything seemed to be the same three trees and two rocks. They had burst into Buckeye and passed through Kansas and had mumbled incoherently about corn while the radio tried to keep them alive and driving. That night they had stared at Connie’s grain drawing with a ghostly horror, neither of them remembering when she had drawn the stuff.

She moved past a drawing of rolling grassy hills. In Nebraska, he had floated to the top of the RV with her. While she drew, he had read about the Great Plains on his phone. They had taken a moment, in warm breeze and isolation, to let tears hit their eyes and cries choke their lungs as they read about what happened to buffalo who had roamed there once. They had whispered about colonies of all kinds, and there was no one around to reassure them, so they took the time to mourn things that might have been.

They had done the same in sand dunes, or close to it. The sketch she passed held more memory than a picture, the grays of her pencil capturing more than just the desert, but him breaking down over Kindergartens sucking life from the earth. Another sketch just after, with a lovely pink flower blossoming on top of a cactus, and he could hear her voice reassuring, “Nothing’s as lifeless as you’d think.”

Connie paused on his favorite, the polar bear she had sketched from the San Diego Zoo. They had spent such a long day there, but when they got to the polar bears she had stopped and gushed about them. The Spirit Morph saga had inspired her to do research, and she rambled facts. Polar bears had terrible success rates, with only two percent of their hunts being successful, did he know?

He really liked that idea. The largest bear of all, living in such a harsh environment, failed almost all the time. It fumbled and watched as victory slipped away, but it came back to try another day. It survived.

She finished on a sweeping mountain landscape, not too different from the one they sat in now. Connie set her phone next to it, a copy of her finished project next to the rougher draft. "That's the last one," she said quietly, pointing to the screen. "I think it turned out okay."

"It makes Earth look beautiful. I’d put it in a gem brochure," he reassured. “You chose a lot of amazing stuff.”

She bit her lower lip. “I hope so. I tried to choose what a school would think is best, not just the stuff I think is great. The stuff that shows skill, you know?

He kissed her cheek this time, saying, "Any school is going to be lucky to have you. You're amazing, Connie."

"I'm okay," she said, voice very practical about her own skills. Connie looked at him with a little laugh. "I don't know what's scarier - getting rejected or getting in. Mom was mad enough about the world US road trip gap year."

"She got over it! You know, after the meltdown." Steven said, wincing a little at the memory. He had sat behind her, trying to support her as quietly as possible while Priyanka and Connie growled and snapped at one another, each insisting on how the next year should be spent. And, at the end, the tearful apologies, the confessions of fear over the future… He had to admit that it was a relatable feeling, even if no one had fought with him.

"She'll get over this too. Come on. This is what you've always wanted. You're going to be an animator, Connie,” he said, and just saying the word made her eyes go a little wide with hope.

He remembered her earliest drawings with him, rougher but already so much nicer than his own. He remembered her working through how to draw anime books, silly cat-eared characters with huge eyes. Steven remembered her fumbling beyond that, hours of Tubetube tutorials, crying at the tablet he got her for her birthday, the countless gifts of fanart for his favorite shows. He remembered trembling hands the first time she showed him a comic, with characters he had never seen, because she had snatched them from the air the way he grabbed music.

Steven knew he was tearing up again like he did every time he told her, but he could never hold it back. “It’s what you live for, Connie. It’s what makes you happy. You're going to tell stories."

Connie breathed again, taking in pine and chill and rocks older than even the Crystal Gems by orders of magnitude. The world was big and wide and old, the universe even more so, and usually that made her problems feel small. But nothing could swallow up the fear and doubt today. She took his hand tight in her own.

"This has been amazing. Driving across the country, seeing all these different parts of the world, pitstops to warps so we can see everything Earth has to offer. Steven, I..." She looked up at him, shaking her head in disbelief. "These past ten months have been the best months of my life. Everyone said we were going to get sick of each other. Your dad gave us that speech about how it was okay to bail. Everyone thought we were going to mess this up but... I'd do this for another year if it wasn't for college."

He was careful not to jostle her phone or sketchbook from her lap as he lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. "I loved this. I love you. No expectations. No scary future. No responsibilities. Just a big journey together.”

“I’m glad you loved it as much as I did,” she said with a smile.

“More than that. I needed it.” He laughed and shook his head. “Connie, I never could have asked for anything better than this. Everything at home was a mess. I’m so tired of all the work and responsibility and wondering what I’m going to do with my life. But this past year I just got to be with you and not be afraid."

"But now we have to go home," she whispered looking at the RV parked behind them. The place where they slept and ate. The place where they made stupid jokes and listened to terrible radio and podcasts. The place where they’d cried and kissed and worked through things they never thought they’d work through. But that was over now, and it loomed like a hearse. “We have to get in there and drive all the way back to Beach City. And then I... I have to wait to see if I get accepted.”

She laughed, cold and bitter, and took a hand to wipe at her eyes. He couldn’t see any tears falling, but Connie felt them stinging. “I’ve messed up on a lot of stuff, Steven. I know I seem smart, but most of it is from studying so hard. I’m not… special. I’m not talented. The odds are good they’re not gonna want me. And if they don't, I guess I'll go be a doctor or something. And, if they do, I..."

I’m screwed either way.

Steven shook his head hard. "You'll be an animator," he insisted. He took the thermos and set it aside, untouched, just so he could take both her hands in his. "You'll do exactly what you've been doing ever since I met you - telling stories. You'll finally get to be who you've always wanted to be."

She winced. "But my mom-"

"Who cares?" Steven said, barely holding back his temper. "We spent a year, just the two of us! You don’t need her to agree."

"Ten months," she corrected softly. "But, you're right. We did."

Steven didn’t like his temper. He didn’t like how angry he got. He didn’t like how easily he could drag Connie into it, drown her in it when they fused. He felt guilty about that. He worried about that a lot, that maybe his anger meant he wasn’t as good of a person as he liked to try to be. He loved Dr. and Mr. Maheswaran, didn’t he? His anger shouldn’t be so burning and flaring when all they wanted was for Connie to be safe.

But his feelings for her parents got tangled in his own, and when he started down that path he felt that little voice hissing that they should leave them alone, and that they could do things on their own, and for once they wanted to live their own lives and forge their own paths, and was it really so much to ask for unconditional support in that?

Steven took a steady breath to calm himself. "She should be in your life. The gems should be in my life. But nobody... Nobody gets to tell you what to do with it. It took me so long to figure that out. I didn't get that making other people happy and hurting yourself to meet their expectations aren't the same thing. I spent my whole life trying to be my mom. I didn't know what to do when I wasn't."

Connie nodded weakly. "I know."

He took her face in his hands, pressing her forehead to hers. "You're not your mom. You never have been. You don’t love rules and coloring inside the lines. You sneak candy into movies and find loopholes in the law and climb giant robots and... And you love books. And comics. And television. You love survival."

Steven flipped back to the polar bear, gently tapping the page. "You drew this because of the warrior bears in the Spirit Morph Saga, because those books meant everything to you, and you want to make something like that for other people. That’s who you are. You want to inspire people like people who have inspired you."

She closed her eyes, trying not to cry. “I know. But I’m… I don’t know if I…”

“I’ve seen you capture Pearl on a page, and I can see all her determination and all her fear at the same time,” he whispered. “I’ve seen you draw your dad as a superhero, with a goofy flashlight and a big smile, because that’s who he was when you were small. You… You drew me, Connie.”

His thumbs smoothed over her cheeks as he took a shuddering breath. “You drew me the way you love me. It was just me, sleepy in our RV, and I looked peaceful and happy and I was looking outside and… and I could feel the way I love our stupid little rock. I was human and not human and I loved it, Connie. You made me feel so much.”

“I know, Steven. I know you feel the things I make but…” She whimpered, the tears he hadn’t seen before finally rolling. “What if I'm not good enough? What if I reach for Kansas and burn out halfway there?"

Steven hugged her tight, and let her bury her face in his shoulder. They were all alone up there, softly rustling trees holing them up from the terrifying landscape ahead. But there were such beautiful things below, pressed into the pages of Connie’s sketchbook, and it was time to face them all.

“I’ll pick you up.” His face buried in her hair, thoughts of their families fresh in his mind, and there was only one thing to promise, "I'll drive you home. And we'll all love you anyway."

#jamweek #steven universe #connverse #connie maheswaran #su fanfic

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jokertrap-ran · 4 years

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[Stand My Heroes] 挽夏のミステリーブライド (Late summer Mystery Bride) Event Story: Part ④ Translations [FINAL]

*Sutamai Master-list *MC name is retained default Izumi Rei *Scenario Writer: @eno_bara (榎戸乃ばら)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Special Stages

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Corridor ☆⋅⋆

Rei: ――!

Rei: (…I’m in the Corridors. And it’s back to being Afternoon now.)

Breathing, sight, warmth—All of the basic feelings of being acutely alive suddenly rushed back into my body. That was how I felt.

Rei: (The picture I received from him; it’s gone!)

I had my Smartphone in hand. Looking at the time, I saw that it was the exact same as the time I had originally left the Study to pick up the call.

Rei: (Am I back to reality?)

Gripping onto the cool doorknob of the door, I nervously sucked in a deep breath before pushing it open…

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Study ☆⋅⋆

Hinata: …Oh. Are you done with your call?

Rei: Shion-kun…

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Study ☆⋅⋆

Miyase: Is everything okay with work?

Rei: Yes…

I smiled as I replied him, but I couldn’t help keeping my eyes trained on Kujo, Kaname, Kirishima, Shindo and Shion, intently watching their every move.

Kaname: …Big sis?

Shindo: Did you see my other self again?

Rei: No, you never did appear again.

Shindo: Hah…?

Kirishima: …Rei, sit here.

I took a seat beside Kirishima as he prompted me to. Atop the table laid an open Album with a familiar photograph.

Rei: This…

Hinata: Yup. This is the only photo that has her looking directly at the camera.

Kaname: This letter was together with it.

Opening it after Kaname passed it to me, I could see the words “As thanks” written in beautiful font.

Miyase: It seems like the owner of this Castle helped her out back when she lost her footing on the steps.

She had told Ayanokouji Hirokimi, “Please allow me to thank you”. To which he had responded with, “Then, allow me to have a picture of that lovable trickster cat of yours.”.

“If possible, I’d love to snap a picture together with it’s owner. I’m sure it’ll make for a nice happy picture”.

Rei: (So he did have a chance to talk to her properly…)

But even so, he never did convey the feelings he had for her even till the very end. And now, he was chained down within this Castle with only his loneliness as company.

--And if what I witnessed earlier wasn’t just a fleeting mid-summer’s dream…

Shindo: What an opportunity. Wouldn’t someone normally ask for something of a high price in return?

Shindo: So the owner of this Castle was someone cowardly in the face of someone he fancies?

That’s…certainly how it looks like. It was a logical conclusion, coming from someone who has never contacted said person before. However, having been moved by the strange string of incidents, I found myself wanting to ask him more about it…

Rei: …Shindo-san, if someone you fancy had already had a lover,

Rei: Would you still convey your feelings to her and not be a coward?

Shindo: What—

Rei: Oh…Sorry, I was just curious.

Shindo: ……

Shindo: --I actually might.

Rei: !

Shindo: (But, that’s only if there’s even a woman out there who’ll out-win my thirst for money.)

Miyase: You’re a passionate one, aren’t you?

Kujo: ――

Shindo: Kujo, wipe that look off your face right this instant.

Kujo: But this is the face I was born with.

Shindo: You know that’s not what I meant.

Kirishima: WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH HIS ABSOLUTELY COOL AND BEAUTIFUL FACE!?

Kaname: This conversation’s going to moot again.

Hinata: Yaawn…I think I’m starting to get sleepy.

Was it a dream? Or had it been real?

It certainly felt real, but everyone was acting as per normal, as if that strange time I had spent earlier never happened. As such, I returned back to having a peace of mind. --But the information of “Kiyo-san” was ingrained into my memory.

Rei: (I’ll search her up once we get back and find out as much as I can!)

Having put my foot down on that matter, I— Continued staring at the picture that enclosed a sad past for a little while longer.

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

--A few days later.

⋆⋅☆ Investigation Division One ☆⋅⋆

Asagiri: And here you are, right on time.

Rei: I apologize for coming in when you’re so busy.

Asagiri: I’ve gathered the documents here, regarding what you had spoken to me about previously on the phone.

He handed me an A4-sized tea-coloured envelope. Within it, was the information pertaining to “Niikiyo”.

Asagiri: She’s the daughter of one of the Japan’s Four Great Financial Groups, so there was a relative lot of information that’s known to public saved in the database along with some of her private un-disclosed information.

Rei: I’m truly thankful for this.

Asagiri: …So?

Rei: What?

Asagiri: I’m asking about what you said in the phone call. Are you really going back to see the “ghost” you mentioned, to report all of this information to him?

Rei: Well, yes…I did promise him that I would.

Asagiri: …I know someone from the Department of Psychosomatic Medicine who’s pretty good at what he does. I could introduce you.

Rei: Ahaha…I suppose it’s normal for you to think that I’m hallucinating it all.

Asagiri: ……

Rei: But I think I want to try heading back to that Castle once more.

Rei: And put this to an end, once and for all.

Asagiri: ……

I smiled a little comically as I faced Asagiri in all his muteness.

Rei: If I ever end up seeing anything weird after that…Then I’ll take you up for your referral offer.

Asagiri: --I’ll accompany you.

Rei: Eh? To the Hospital?

Asagiri: To the Castle. I want to try meeting this ghost, or whatever it is, too.

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Inside the Car ☆⋅⋆

--Weekend.

I was seated in the Passenger seat of the car that Asagiri was driving.

Rei: Sorry. I made you come with me even though it’s a weekend.

Asagiri: I’m the one who decided to come.

Rei: But…

Asagiri: ……

Rei: (It kind of feels harder to talk to him than usual with the atmosphere in here…)

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Corridor ☆⋅⋆

We headed down to the Corridors outside the Study, having told the Staff that we had “forgotten something”.

Asagiri: …So where’s this ghost you speak of?

Rei: The last time we saw him, the Teacup fell off the table of it’s own accord.

Rei: And the books flew out of its shelves.

Asagiri: …Ghosts don’t exist.

Rei: (Asagiri-san…)

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Study ☆⋅⋆

Reaching the Study, I slotted the envelope with Kiyo-san’s information into the Album.

Rei: --Alright. Let’s go back, Asagi—

Asagiri: You have my gratitude.

Rei: !?

Asagiri: I never thought that’d you’d actually search into it for me.

Saying as such, Asagiri (?) picked up the Album and touched the envelope.

Asagiri: ……

Rei: You’re Ayanokouji-san, aren’t you?

Asagiri: ――Back when I was alive…

Asagiri: ―I thought that I’d lose everything, once the spark of life snuffed out.

Asagiri: ― Affections. Loneliness. Happiness, sadness…--All of it.

Asagiri: But I was mistaken. Everything still resides within me, as vivid as ever.

Asagiri: Affections, loneliness, happiness, sadness…--Therefore,

Asagiri: I wish to stay by you.

Asagiri: I cannot stand being alone any longer.

Rei: A-Asagiri-san…?

Asagiri: If I’m unable to stay by you, then I’d much rather I--…

Asagiri: That’s what I thought, back when I was alive. That’s why I took my own life.

Asagiri: It seems like she had apparently lived out a happy life, thanks to my death.

Asagiri: I’m glad; I really am.

The second he smiled, however-

Rei: Ngh…

I found myself hit by an intense bout of dizziness and had to hold onto the bookshelf to steady myself.

Asagiri: Izumi-san? Is something the matter>

Rei: Ah…

Asagiri: Are you feeling lightheaded?

Rei: Are you…Are you Asagiri-san?

Asagiri: Huh? I am. Why?

Rei: Of course you are…Of course. You are Asagiri-san.

Asagiri: ……

Rei: Sorry. I think I’m a little sleep-deprived.

Asagiri: Did you see something?

Rei: What?

Asagiri: Was the ghost here? Please do tell me more, in detail, if you’re able to explain it.

Asagiri: How was this ghost able to talk to a living person like you?

Rei: Um…

Asagiri: What’s the difference between people who can become ghosts and people who cannot? Please help me ask that ghost, if he’s still here.

Rei: …Err, I think he’s not here anymore.

Asagiri: ――

Rei: Asagiri-san…?

Asagiri: …Sorry. What foolishness have I spouted— We’re leaving.

Rei: (Ah-)

I couldn’t help but to blurt out the one question that was on the tip of my tongue as I saw his retreating back.

Rei: Asaigiri-san! Why are you so sure that ghosts do not exist?

Rei: And if you believe that they don’t exist, then why did you come along with me today…?

Asagiri slowly turned back around.

No emotions showed on his face. --Or rather, he was intentionally putting on a poker-face, but if I had to describe it, there was a hint of denial to his expressionless-ness.

Asagiri: There is no such thing as ghosts.

Asagiri: …Because I know that there’s no way you can meet someone who has died again.

Rei: ――

Asagiri: Let’s go.

I thought as I followed his retreating back this time.

I’m sure that there’s someone he wants to meet again, even if they were a ghost. But meeting them again is impossible, despite how much he wishes for it. That’s why he’s so determined that ghosts do not exist.

Rei: (…I don’t want to leave him alone like that.)

I know that it was arrogant of me to think so. Perhaps it was even out of my place. --But even so,

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Rei: Um! If it’s not any trouble to you, would you allow me to treat you to something as thanks for accompanying me here today!?

He came to a halt as he voiced a reply without turning back.

Asagiri: …Do I get to choose what we’re going to be eating?

Rei: Of course!

A split second was all it took. I heard shoes clicking against the Corridor’s flooring. Asagiri was coming back.

Asagiri: …Then, can we go to the Italian place nearby where there’s all-you-can-eat pizza?

Rei: Let’s go! There was a place like that nearby?

Asagiri: I looked up the places near this place, since we were headed here anyway.

Asagiri: It’s a place where you won’t be wasting any time, for you’ll be able to eat whatever you like—and loads more of the good things.

Rei: That’s a brilliant mind-set you have there.

Asagiri: Rather than it being a mind-set, I’d say…

Asagiri: --That it’s because we’re alive and kicking today as well.

───⋅𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐸𝒩𝒟⋅☆

#Stand My Heroes #スタンドマイヒーローズ #スタマイ #Sutamai #Translations #Otome #挽夏のミステリーブライド #Late summer Mystery Bride #Asagiri Tsukasa #Shindo Kiyoshi #Kirishima Koya #Kujo Soma #Hinata Shion #Yamazaki Kaname #Miyase Go

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noladyme · 3 years

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Skip To My Lou, My Darling - Chapter 5, Bloody Demons I

Disclaimer: I posted this story a few days ago, hating it, and regretting it the minute it was up. I re-wrote it, and hope you’ll like it.

The road so far…

Waitress. School teacher. Bartender. Hunter. Lulu has come a long way since she first met the Winchesters, including the father, John. Having left behind the occult for a life of peace, she was ripped out of it, when – once again – the Winchesters came in to her life. Realizing she is in the life now – for good – she also made a decision for herself. To live that life without the only man she has ever truly cared for. Both to keep him and his brother safe from leviathans, angels and demons; but also, because she doesn’t trust that her feelings for Dean are true – and not part of some higher plan set up by celestial powers.

Our story continues in season 8

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added) @edonaspanca @wonderlandfandomkingdom

You’d be surprised how much info you can get in a library. This statement might seem ridiculous, because – of course – a library holds all the knowledge in the world. But there’s more than what you can find in books. There’s peoplewatching.

If you look at what people check out, you’ll learn a lot about them. That middle aged woman checking out a book on auto repairs – her car broke down, and he husband usually takes care of those kinds of things; but now he’s left her for a younger woman. The teenage boy with the masses of comic books in his arms – odds are there is at least one My Little Pony comic among them, that he’s too embarrassed to buy at a store; so he goes to the library to get it, hiding it among comics about big breasted women and superheroes. The woman sitting alone at a table with a massive paper cup of black coffee; surrounded by books on local history and papers and notes on the occult – if you came into the library on that specific day; that was me. And I was hunting a ghost.

I’d spent more than a year salting and burning my way across the states; avoiding any real fights, and sticking to the easier and more obvious cases, where all I needed was to open a grave, and take care of the bones. Managing to convince my ex, Pete – who was still reeling from the traumatic temporary memory loss he’d suffered, after being kidnapped by leviathans – to send my belongings to my friends in San Francisco; I was now free to disappear for good. No strings attached; save for the occasional call to Raul �� letting him know I was alive, and still serving beer in Alaska. In reality, I was in Hartford, near Sioux Falls, South Dakota; having just picked up a box of old papers stood in the basement of a good acquaintance.

“How was your visit with the good sheriff?”, a female voice asked me. I jumped in my seat; having been deeply invested in a piece of paper scribbled over with rantings of what seemed like a madman – who’s every tenth word was balls. “Jesus Christ, Tamara”, I hissed. “You scared the crap out of me!”. My friend sat down across from me, and took the paper from my hand. “Bobby Singer… I still can’t believe what happened to him”, Tamara said sadly.

I rested my elbow on the table, and took a sip from my coffee. “When did you last see him?”, I asked. Tamara’s face was ghosted with sadness, before she met my eyes. “Years ago. Back when Isaac…”. She didn’t finish the sentence. “You never told me what happened to him”, I said. “I mean, you don’t have to…”. She smiled slightly. “It’s all right”, she said. “Demons. We were working on taking out a whole group of them, when… he didn’t make it”. She sighed. “Bobby was there; along with some younger lads… Sam and Dean Winchester. Heard of them?”.

It had been a long time since I’d heard those names. Even Jody didn’t mention them to me, when I checked in with her – as she’d insisted I do weekly, after that one time I called her from the ER, telling her about a tulpa in Minnesota; that I needed her to have the brothers check out. I’d had no idea what to do with it; and had ended up with a nasty gash down my ribs. She’d told me she hadn’t been in touch with them for months, and didn’t know how to reach them at the moment. I’d thanked her, but when she heard the sadness in my voice, she’d insisted on picking me up, and I’d spent a few days on her couch; eating lasagna and watching daytime tv. I’d been too afraid to decline, when she used her mom-voice on me.

I swallowed hard. “You worked with them?”, I muttered. “Only that once”, Tamara said. “Why, you know them?”. The corner of my lip twitched. “I saw that!”, Tamara gasped. “What?”, I croaked. “Which one…?”, she whispered. “Sam… he’s got that tall broody thing going”. She smirked at me as I looked away. “Oh… Dean… Sure you didn’t catch anything?”. “Tammy!”, I hissed. “Don’t you Tammy me!”, she retorted. “That car… is it to compensate; or does he not need that…?”. I met her eyes, and gave her a crooked smile. She grinned widely at me. I shook my head. “I have work to do”, I muttered.

Forcing myself to ignore the memory of Dean and his car – and Dean in his car; with me on his lap – I returned to the 1950 death of a young woman, who had ever since been seen, once a year, walking over a bridge near a lover’s lane. Tamara sighed. “I need to get to Kansas”. “That vampire nest?”, I asked, taking another large sip of my coffee. She nodded. “You sure you don’t want to join me? Girls trip?”, she asked. “You have all the help you need up there; and I never took down a vamp before. I’d just get in the way”, I answered. “But thank you for the ride here”, I added.

She stood up. “You, my friend, need a car!”. “Yeah… Digging up old graves and reading weird books doesn’t exactly pay well”, I muttered. The last car I’d had, had broken down three months earlier. She looked at me with worried eyes. “You can’t keep hitch-hiking across the country, love”, she said. “Bloody dangerous, that is”. “I’ll be fine. Really”, I smiled. I stood up, and hugged my friend goodbye; and promised to call if anything came up, she needed to help out with.

I took a bus back to my motel, and settled in for the night; with a beer and some day-old pizza. My burner-phone buzzed; and recognizing the number, I picked up. “Hey, Jody”, I said. “Did I forget something at your place?”. “Hey, sweetie. Uhm…”. “What? Jody…”, I demanded. “I just had a visit from a weird guy in a flasher-coat… he was looking for you”, she said. Castiel, I thought to myself – my heart leaping from my chest. “What did he… Did he hurt you?”, I asked; by instinct reaching for the angel sword. “No… But he wanted to know where you were”. She sighed. “Look, I don’t mind being your switchboard receptionist; god knows, things around here can get downright dull. But this guy…”. I chewed my lip. “I’m sorry, Jody… Did you tell him where I was?”, I asked. She scoffed. “You won’t even tell me yourself. How could I?”.

I sighed; unsure whether it was in relief, or something else. “You know, I’m aware you’re close by… I could just check all motels in a 40-mile radius for check-ins by classic rock superstars…”, Jody said, a smile in her voice. “Going full cop on me?”, I grinned. “I don’t use those anymore… too obvious”. “Burlesque names then?”, she said. “You caught me…”, I replied. As it was, I was checked in as Justinia Timberlake; going with boybands – for reasons I didn’t want to admit to myself. “Thanks, ma’…”. “Well, that makes me feel old… Anyway, he said he’d be back later tonight. Needed to find you. Do you want to be found by him?”.

I took a deep breath, pondering the question. No, I didn’t want to be found by the person who’d let leviathans loose on the world; causing me to be almost eaten by one 18 months ago. Yes, I wanted to see my friend; to know he was ok. He hadn’t hurt Jody to get to me, so maybe he was good Cass again. I sighed. “When he comes, tell him… Tell him I’ll be in the shower at the Motel 6 in Hartford. Room 13”. I’d know when he arrived if I could trust him. “That sounds… Ok, I’ll tell him. Be careful, Lulu”. “I will. Bye, Jody”. I hung up; and began preparations.

---

Bobby’s journal had helped me out quite a bit in the last year, helping me keep under the radar by pointing out which motels were off the beaten path; and which monsters to stay clear of. Even after it seemed the leviathans had disappeared, I still kept well away from anyone and everything that might put me in contact with angels and demons – and the Winchesters for that matter.

Another thing it had taught me was the sigil I was currently writing on the wall; while still wincing in pain from the gash in my palm I’d cut to draw blood. All my belongings were in my backpack – which I was wearing – and my sword was in my hand. I was ready to repel a crazy angel; and to skip town quickly. I took a deep breath, and readied myself.

After what seemed like forever – just standing next to a bloody scribbling on a wall – I felt a gush of wind; and Castiel stood in front of me. He was covering his eyes with one hand, and holding out a towel with the other. The sight brought joyous tears to my eyes.

“Cass…”, I breathed. The angel carefully parted the fingers over his eyes – and satisfied that I was indeed dressed – he dropped the towel, and smiled at me. “Lulu. It is good to see you”. I dropped my sword, and leapt over to embrace my friend. Castiel reacted as he’d always done when I showed him affection; by tensing up, and gently patting my head. He smelled like old librarian mixed with fresh air, and – for some reason – musk and gunpowder. He’d been with them.

I let go of him, and stepped back. “What happened? Are you ok?”, I asked. The angel smiled amiably. “Yes. I am… myself again”, he said. “I have to apologize for our last meeting. I was… different”. I gave him a crooked smile. “I wish I could say it was water under the bridge, but you did kind of bad-touch me”, I said. “Not sexually, I mean… but still”. Cass chuckled. It was a strange – almost human – reaction. “Yes, I carved words into your bones. It is also why I haven’t been able to find you”.

I took off my backpack, and got out the small first aid kit I had in it. Castiel frowned. “I’m sorry, but I can’t heal you. I need to save my strength”. I shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve been taking care of my own wounds for over a year”. “Yes, that is what others have told us…”. My breath hitched, and I tried to seem indifferent. “Us?”, I croaked; and began running a bandage around my hand. “Yes”, Cass nodded. “Me, Sam… and Dean. We’ve been looking for you for a few weeks. We need… your book. Bobby Singer’s book”. Just the book. Of course, it was just that. “We are working on… something”. I let out a scoffing laugh. “Well call me not surprised”, I said.

Cass stepped towards me. “So… you’ll give me the book?”. I narrowed my eyes at him. “No”. “No?”, Cass retorted with a confused look at me. “That’s right”, I smiled. “It’s mine”. “But… we need it”.

I took a deep breath; and made a decision. “Where the book goes, I go… So, I’ll go with you”. Castiel’s eyes lit up. “You will? That’s… good. I think”, he smiled. “I can take you right away”. He stepped towards me. “Wait, stop!”, I said. Cass halted. “Where?”. “Lawrence, Kansas. It’s a safe place, don’t worry”, the angel smiled.

I looked down at my feet. I was wearing my boots; that was good. I packed up my backpack, and put it on my back. I picked up the box of Bobby’s old papers; but Cass took them from me, so I wouldn’t have to carry them. “Ok… let’s go”, I croaked.

Castiel lifted an arm, and walked towards me; putting his hand on my shoulder.

---

We were standing by a large mound with what looked like an old factory building seemingly growing out of it. My legs felt like jelly, and Cass grabbed my arm to steady me. “We’re here”, he said. “Where’s here?”, I asked breathily. “I’ll show you”, Cass smiled. We walked up a small road, and passed a black car I recognized from my past – and my dreams and nightmares. Cass led me to a metal door sprouting from the mound. “It’s inside”, he muttered, and opened the screeching door for me.

I stepped inside and was met by a dark spiral staircase leading downwards. Castiel walked ahead of me; which I was thankful for, as I didn’t trust my own legs, and would rather be caught by him, than fall and break my neck. Suddenly a warm light hit me, and I stepped out on a balcony overlooking a large room outfitted with a large table made out as a map. The scent of library hit me, and I understood why Castiel had smelled the way he did when I hugged him. The large room was warm and inviting; but also looked very official, with it’s filing cabinets, and papers on the table.

Castiel walked ahead of me down another flight of stairs, and put the box of papers on the mapped table. “I’m back!”, he called out. “About time!”, a voice that sent shivers down my spine growled. “Please tell us you got something. At least dinner”. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the time to get food for you”, Cass said, and walked towards a large archway leading to another room further inside the bunker – as I decided this place was. “Dude, I gave you 20 bucks for burgers!”.

I considered turning around and leaving. I screamed at myself internally to just haul ass up the stairs, and never come back. But I couldn’t.

Castiel stood in the archway, and looked up at me. “I brought the journal… And a guest”. “You shouldn’t bring people here”, I heard Sam’s voice. My heart pounded, as I heard footsteps across hardwood floor; and then my 6’4 friend stood in the archway with the angel; looking the direction he was. His jaw instantly dropped, and his eyes sparkled.

“I want my 20 bucks back, dude”, Dean said as he joined the other two. “I could eat a…”. He looked up. “Lou…”. Castiel frowned. “You can’t eat…”. “Shut up”, Dean croaked, stepping down the few stairs into the large concrete floored room.

I took a gasping breath; having to remind myself to breathe at all. “Hi…”, I rasped. Dean seemed unsure what to say. “Hey…?”. I began descending the stairs into the room; taking care to hit every step just so, so I wouldn’t trip. Before I hit the last step; Dean took four long strides towards me – and threw his arms around me – holding me tight against him. I put my arms around his neck, and he lifted me down the last steps. Musk, gunpowder, whiskey – Dean. My warm, constantly five o’clock shadowed, strong; yet so fragile, Dean.

I had to tear myself from him; taking short breaths, and trying desperately not to inhale him even further. It was agony. His eyes where as deep and soulful as ever, and the corner of his lip lifted; giving him an expression I couldn’t define as whether being relief, joy or pain – or maybe all three at once.

“Lulu?”, Sam croaked from behind me. I turned around, and threw myself into his arms, earning a spin in the air, as he lifted me. “Hi, Sammy”, I breathed. He squeezed me tightly. “Air!”, I gasped. “Sorry”, Sam chuckled, and put me down; before stroking my cheek.

All four of us stood for a moment, before Castiel cleared his throat. “Well, Lulu is here now. She has the book”, he said. “We can get on with our work”. “Just give us a moment here, Cass”, Sam said. “How are you, Lulu? We’ve been looking for you”. ”You shouldn’t have”, I muttered. “I know, you made that pretty clear last time we heard from you. But…”, Sam began. “We need Bobby’s book”, Dean said; having stepped up next to me. Right, the book.

I raised a brow at him. “My book. And you can’t have it”, I said. Dean frowned. “But… we need it”, he said. “So do I”, I retorted. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why does it feel like we’ve had this conversation before?”. “Because we did, agent Osbourne”, I chuckled. “Right”, he smiled.

Sam – who apparently just needed a bucket of popcorn for the entertainment he was getting from our conversation – stifled a smile. “Lulu, we’re working on something pretty big here”, he said. “What?”, I asked. “Saving humanity”, Dean said. “Again?”, I sighed. Sam let out a soft laugh. “Wouldn’t be us if it wasn’t, right?”.

I walked up the stairs into the other room, which walls were covered in filing cabinets and books. “What is this place?”, I asked, in awe. Sam followed me into the room. “This is The Men of Letter’s bunker”. “Who are they?”. “Us… now”, Dean shrugged. “We’re kind of like a secret society”. His smugness was tangent of embarrassing. “Look, we’ll fill you in on whatever you want…”, Sam began. Dean cleared his throat, and suddenly looked at his brother with hard eyes.

I rolled my eyes. “This again…”, I muttered. Dean frowned. “What?”. “We need to keep you safe. Keep your head low. Stay here. Go there”, I imitated his growling. “I don’t sound like that!”, Dean growled; proving my impersonation had been right on. He frowned at me, looking cute as a button doing so. I sent him a pouting smile. “Whatever. We need the book”. “And I told you. You can’t have it. I need it”. “For what?”, he grunted. “For jobs”, I replied.

Dean pursed his lips, and blew out a deep breath; clearly trying to control himself. “So you have been… doing jobs…”. “Of course I have”, I said. “What else am I supposed to do? Officially, I think I’m probably dead. There aren’t a lot of teaching gigs out there for dead chicks, who hit the road with fugitives”. He stepped over to me, and grabbed my hand. “And what’s this?”, he asked, pointing at the bandage on it. “A precaution”, I said. “Against me”, Castiel said. “Lulu was right to be careful. Last time she saw me…”. He looked down in remembrance; clearly still ashamed of his former actions.

Dean unwrapped my hand. “Sam, this needs stitches”, he grunted. I tore my hand from his grasp. “I’m fine”, I muttered. “You’re not fine, Lulu. You’re bleeding. Just let us fix you up”. I shook my head in surrender. “There’s a needle and some floss in my bag”, I said, and took of my backpack. “We have actual medical supplies now”, Sam smiled, and disappeared through a door.

Castiel slipped away as well, leaving me and Dean alone in the large room. I sat down at one of the large tables. Dean sat on the edge of the table. “So, hunting?”, he muttered. “How’s that treating you?”. “Well enough”, I said. He clenched his jaw. “Huh… How do you take down a werewolf?”, he asked. “Silver bullet”, I said. “Vampire?”, he continued, raising a brow at me. “Decapitation or fire”. “Shojo?”.

I let out a frustrated breath. “I have no idea, Dean. Never met one”, I said. “Never met a werewolf or a vampire either”. “Good, you’re not ready for any of that”, he said. “You shouldn’t even be here right now”. “It’s not safe”, I imitated him again. “Stop”, he grunted. “You have no idea how to be a hunter. Or what you’re getting yourself mixed up in by coming back here with Cass”. I clenched my jaw. “You’re right on one of those two accounts”, I said. “No, I don’t know what you’re working on, and it’s probably much to dangerous for me. But yes – I do know how to hunt. At least partly. And I’m learning as I go. Isn’t that what everybody does?”. He scoffed, and shook his head with a sarcastic smile. “In over your head, sugar”. “Screw you, Dean”, I growled.

I got of my chair; almost making it topple over from the force of my movement. “I have been working jobs all over for a long time now”, I hissed. “I’ve been playing it safe, yes; but what I’ve been doing, matters!”. Dean rolled his eyes. “Lou, you’re…”, he began. “A newbie. Unskilled, untrained; and with a desperate need for better equipment than the .45 you gave me 18 months ago”. I drew my lips back in a sneer. “But I’m not an idiot, and I don’t want to die. I’m not gonna throw myself at monsters I know nothing about, and can’t take down. But I have to learn to survive in this job, and I’m learning by working”. He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about”. “Then tell me!”, I yelled.

Dean suddenly laughed. The gesture made me want to smack him across the face, but my hand still hurt from the cut. I snatched Bobby’s journal from my bag, and held it up. “You want this?”, I snarled. “Then you treat me with a little more respect for what I’ve been doing the last year!”. I grabbed my bag, and stormed towards the stairs. “Lou!”, Dean called after me. “Go to Hell…! Again!”, I yelled over my shoulder.

I heard him run after me, and he grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry”, he said. “Really…”. I turned around to face him. “I don’t need your permission to do something I’m actually kind of good at”, I said. “You don’t know…”. “You’re right. I don’t”, Dean said earnestly. “So, tell me… please. Maybe I… we can help”. I calmed my breathing. “Let go of my arm”, I croaked. He instantly stepped back.

Sam returned with a box. “We’re out of disinfectant”, he said. “Whiskey it is”, I muttered. “Please tell me you have that”.

---

Soon after, we were seated at the big table; as Sam was carefully stitching up my hand. “So, Ohio… ow! Bloody hell, Sam!”, I hissed, as he poked the needle through my skin. “New curse words, Lou”, Dean chuckled. “And fancy English ones as well”. I smiled. “Yeah, speaking of Ohio… ow”, I continued. “A crazy nurse had been killing patients in the 40’s; and the hospital was closing down – pissing her off something fierce… ow”. “Sorry”, Sam muttered, and pulled at the surgical thread. Dean poured me another drink. “Go on”, he said.

“She was suddenly nabbing pretty much every and any patient she could”, I said; before taking a sip of the whiskey. “I was looking up where they’d buried her after her execution, but it turned out she’d been cremated”. “What did you do?”, Sam asked. He made a final stitch. “Remind me to smack you across the face, when this heals up”, I muttered. “That hurt!”. He chuckled at me, and began wrapping up my hand in a clean bandage. “I found out from an old picture that she had a locket around her neck; which they took from her before she died. It was displayed at a museum in Dayton; and when I tracked it down, I met another hunter”. I looked up at Dean. “Tamara”.

Dean looked stunned. “Tamara? As in British Tamara?”. “Yeah”, I smiled. “She’d gotten there before me; and like me, suspected a strand of hair might be stuck in the locket. I distracted the security guy long enough for her to nab it”. “How?”, he frowned. I looked at him innocently, biting my lip. He looked at me exasperatedly. “You didn’t… Please tell me you didn’t…”. I rolled my eyes. “Sleep with him? No. I just flirted with him a little”. Dean swallowed hard. “You do that all the time”, Sam grinned. “That’s totally different!”, Dean growled.

Sam shook his head. “Then what?”, he asked. “Salt and burn”, I smiled. “Which is pretty much all I’ve been doing. I haven’t been taking on anything hardcore. Yet”. “Really?”, Dean asked warily. I grimaced. “Well… about 9 months ago I came across a tulpa. I thought it was just your every day ghost, and I was just checking out the house; when it attacked me. Salt didn’t work, or iron…”. Dean suddenly looked tense. “What did it do to you?”, he growled. I lifted my t-shirt slightly; exposing a mostly white scar down my ribs. Dean reached over the table, and made to touch it, but I dropped the fabric, and sat back in my chair; finishing my drink in one go. “I had no idea what to do about it, but Bobby wrote something about you guys taking one out some years back; so I called Jody”.

“I asked the sheriff to help me find Lulu”, Cass said, having reappeared with a bag of Mexican food. “I have… taquitos. And jalapeño poppers”, he added, with a soft smile in my direction. “Ranch?”, I asked. The angel nodded. “I love you!”. Castiel cleared his throat. “I have warm emotions towards you as well”, he said.

“So, you called Jody. Why?”, Sam asked; packing up the medical kit. “To get her to have you take care of it. But she said she couldn’t get in touch with you”. Dean scratched his chin. “Yeah, Cass and I were in Purgatory, and Sam hit a dog…”, he muttered. I shook my head. “Nothing’s ever easy with you guys, is it…”.

I opened the bag Castiel had put on the table, and dived for my poppers. “Yum. Extra cheese”, I hummed. I noticed Dean’s eyes warming almost endearingly; but when I licked my finger for a stray dollop of dressing, his gaze suddenly darkened into something else. He parted his lips, and his eyes fastened on my mouth. My breath hitched, and I shook myself – quickly wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I’m gonna go grab the beer”, Dean grunted; and left the room as quickly as he could.

“So, what are you working on?”, my voice broke. “We found a tablet”, Sam said. “The word of God”. My eyes widened. “The actual word of God?”, I breathed. “What?”. “We’re going to use it to seal Hell. For good”. I nodded. “That sounds like an awesome idea!”, I smiled. “How can I help?”.

“You can’t”, Dean grunted, returning with three beers, and a bottle of seltzer for Cass. “This isn’t on you”. “But you need my book”, I said. “And you’re not getting that without my say so”. He tilted his head, and gave me his trademark smirk, sending electric jolts straight to my core. “We could always take it from you”. With bated breath, I put my sword on the table; keeping my hand on the hilt. “I’d like to see you try”, I croaked. “All right, you know…”. Dean clenched his fists, before rolling up his sleeves. I stood up. “We gonna dance now?”, I said; trying for menacing – and failing miserably. “Let me just get my NSYNC-album”, he snarled.

“Ok, guys! Stop!”, Sam called out. “Lulu, Dean’s right. This is a pretty dangerous operation we’ve got going on here. You shouldn’t get involved”.

I clenched my jaw, and took a deep breath to calm myself. “Tell you what… I’ll go back to my own work; and you three can figure out how to save the world without Bobby’s journal”, I said; beginning to put my jacket back on. “When you decide to stop acting like dicks, and let me in on why you’re trying to mess up my job, by taking away my research…”. “It’s Bobby’s research”, Dean snarled. “That he left for me!”, I yelled. “And it has my additions”. I went to grab my bag, when Dean snatched the journal from it, before I could reach it. He held it over his head, as he had my sword, years ago. “Don’t do this…”, I hissed. “I watched plenty of roller derby games, sweetheart. I know your moves”.

His smug smile lit a fire in me, like none other I had never felt before. I ran at him, throwing my shoulder against his chest, making him stumble backwards, and knock over a chair. The journal fell from his hand, and slid across the floor; and I threw myself after it. Dean grabbed my ankle; and I fell to the floor, on my stomach. I tried to kick myself free from his grasp – and reached the book; clutching it to my chest under me. Dean straddled me – his strong legs keeping me in place – and he twisted my body around by my shoulders. We wrestled for the books, and when Dean grabbed my wrists – forcing them over my head – I finally had to let go. He looked at me with hard eyes. “Take it”, he growled; still holding me in place. “Dean…!”, Sam yelled; running over to us. “Take it, Sam!”, his brother roared. Sam took the book from the floor, and looked at me with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Lulu”, he muttered.

Dean stayed on top of me – holding me down. His weight on me made my body scream for his touch; at the same time as I wanted him to let me go, and to never touch me again. He looked enraged; but then a thought seemed to cross his mind – one that made him realize what he was doing. He let go of my wrists, and I pushed at his chest hard; making him get off me. Castiel came over, and helped me to my feet.

I stormed out of the room, and down a hallway of doors with numbers on them. Once I found number 13, I opened the door, and stepped inside; slamming it shut behind me.

I took deep breaths – fighting tears and hiccupping sobs. Looking around the room, I tried to focus on what I was seeing, to distract myself. Damn self-help books, I thought to myself. Please help me now. Five things I could see. A bed, a desk, a chair, a book on 1920’s psychiatry, and a dresser. Four things I could touch. I stood up. The floor, the wall, the comforter on the bed, and the gun in the back of my jeans. Three things I could hear. The clock ticking over the door, the drips from the faucet on the sink, and my own footsteps. Two things I could smell. Gunpowder and musk. Dammit. One thing I could taste. The whiskey I’d had earlier.

With one final breath, I felt my heart settle – before it sprang up in my throat again, when the door knocked. “Lou…? Can I come in?”. I stood with my back to the door, not answering. “I know you’re in there. Table 13; always table 13, right?”.

Dean opened the door, and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

“I’m sorry, baby… I didn’t mean…”, he began. “I still… It hurts… even being in the same room as you”, I croaked, and a tear fell down my cheek, as I turned around – making Dean’s face fall into a pained expression. “I keep trying to get over you… Hunting, drinking… sex”. He winced at the last word. “I tried it all, Dean, but it never works”. “I know…”, he breathed. He might as well have added an I feel the same – his eyes gave away the words. “Why doesn’t it work?”, I whimpered.

He stepped towards me, but I held up my hands to stop him. “Don’t… please”. I balled my fists up – forcing my body to stay in place, and not walk into his arms. “You can use my book. You have 48 hours, then I want it back”. Dean nodded solemnly. I closed my eyes. “After that, I’m gone. For good”. I crunched up my brows, and opened my eyes again, looking at Dean with as much determination I could muster. “You don’t look for me, don’t ask for me – pretend I’m a stranger if you hear my name”. Dean’s lips parted, but I continued before he could speak. “I’m done. I can’t… see you. It hurts to much”.

Dean’s eyes watered. “Lou, please… don’t do this”, he breathed. “Don’t throw me away like this”. “I’m sorry”, I rasped. “This isn’t real. If they hadn’t planned it, we would have never gone beyond that first kiss; you know it as well as I do”. He shook his head, and a tear escaped his eye. “I lo…”. “You don’t”, I said. “You think you do; but it’s only because I was made for you. I have to be my own. And I can’t, if you keep popping up in my life”.

Dean closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he looked at me again, I saw complete defeat in his gaze. I’d just broken his heart. “Ok. If that’s what you want”, he whispered, a tear escaping his eye. I wanted to say It’s not. I want you. I want us. But I needed a clean break, and I believed Dean needed that as well. “48 hours. Give me back the book, and you’ll never have to see me again. It’s better this way. For both of us”. Dean nodded. “You can stay in here, if it’s easier than being around me”, he muttered; eyes on the floor. “I’ll stay away”. “Thank you”, I croaked.

He left the room, and I closed the door behind him.

---

I stayed in the room for hours, curled up on the bed. At one point, there was a knock at the door; and when I opened, there stood a tray outside, with food and a bottle of seltzer. I sent a warm thought to Cass, and took the tray inside; eating my meal in peace. There was no entertainment in the room – save for the outdated book on psychiatry – and after finishing my meal, I was going stir crazy.

I tried to catch a little sleep, but couldn’t rest properly; and decided to leave the room. Avoiding going in to the library, I snuck down the hall; and examined my surroundings. I found a large kitchen, outfitted to serve a large amount of people. The fridge was filled with leftover fast food and beer; making it clear that the Winchesters had yet to become all the way domesticated. Down a smaller hallway was a large storage room, with things I was quite sure I shouldn’t be touching. I left the room as quickly as I had entered.

Passing another few numbered doors, I went past number 21. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, Sam was bent over Bobby’s journal, seemingly enraptured by what he was reading. He looked up, and met my eyes – sending me a crooked smile – before I hurried away, to avoid conversation. He didn’t follow.

I found what looked like an old-fashioned gym; and my eyes widened in glee. Here, I felt at home. The punching bags and boxing gloves reminded me of my sessions with Raul. I took off my boots, and grabbed a pair of gloves that seemed to fit my hands – turning my attention to one of the bags.

Punch, punch, kick. This I knew. All my frustrations – the pent-up emotions – I let travel through my arms and legs; as I attacked the bag. “You’re angry”, Cass said; having appeared in the doorway. “I’m… no”, I said. “You’re distraught”, the angel tried. “Something like that. I’m sad. Frustrated…”. I punched hard at the bag. “Tired”.

Muscle pain was building up in my shoulders, and I took off the gloves; dropping them on the floor next to me. “I thought you would be happy to see your friends”, Castiel said. I was thinking of a good way to explain my emotions to him. “I can’t… be happy. Not now”. “Why?”, Cass asked. I chuckled. “Talking to you is like talking to Rain Man”, I said. Castiel grinned. “I’ve seen that movie now. Uh oh, fart…”, he chuckled. “But I would like to understand”.

I punched the bag hard with my stitched-up hand; wincing from the pain. I held it up for Castiel to see. “This – pain – I can feel it. It’s real”, I said. “Impact… physical reaction… It makes sense”. “And happiness doesn’t?”, Cass asked. “No, because I can’t trust it… it’s not real”. Castiel looked like he was pondering my words. “But your physical interactions with Dean… those make sense, don’t they?”. I groaned. “Me and Dean… Is… was, more than physical”. “Yes I know”, the angel said. “You have feelings for each other”. “But they’re not real”, I explained. “Why not?”. “You should know”, I scoffed. “Angel…”.

Castiel seemed even more confused. “I’m not following”, he said. I shook my head. “I… just can’t do this anymore”, I breathed. I put my boots back on. “I’m going back to my room. You have about 40 hours left with my book”. I left the room and the angel behind.

I was feeling sweaty, and decided to search for a shower. The many hallways were confusing; and I finally caved, and decided to ask Sam for help. Arriving back at room 21, the door was closed, and when I knocked there was no answer. I opened the door to see if he was inside, but all I found was a made bed, and some clothes over a chair. I walked back towards the kitchen, and bumped in to Dean; who was leaving the room with a mug of coffee in his hand.

“Sorry”, I muttered, as I noticed his coffee having spilt slightly over the floor. “I’ll clean that up”. “Don’t worry about it”, he said quietly. “I got it…”. “Ok”, I nodded. “I just…”. He looked at me hopefully. “I was looking for a shower”. Dean nodded. “Down the hall, to the left by my… by room 11”, he said. “Thank you”, I whispered; and scurried off.

Finally finding the showers, I got undressed, and turned on the water. The water pressure and temperature were amazing; just like everything else in the bunker. So far, everything I had seen here was perfect. There were clean rooms, a well-stocked library, access to training equipment and weapons, and my friends were here. And Dean. I could stay here, and be happy. But it wouldn’t be real.

As I let the water drip over my naked body, I leaned against the wall. I began questioning my choice to continue hunting. I’d have never started in the life, if I hadn’t met the Winchesters – if angels hadn’t put me in their path. Maybe angels had sent the maren after me to begin with. Maybe I should quit.

The thought was comforting and terrifying all at once. I’d have to start over – again. Be a teacher or tend bars; that was all I knew, other than what I had been doing the last year. And I loved hunting, I helped people; even if I never let anyone know why their houses stopped having flickering lights; or why hospitals stopped losing patients who had only minor injuries. I stayed quiet about what I did; didn’t need the glory.

Turning off the water, I realized I hadn’t brought clean clothes into the bathroom; and wrapped myself in a large towel – slipping quietly down the hall to avoid meeting anyone. I passed room 11, and heard voices from inside.

“She doesn’t really want to be here, Cass”, Dean muttered. “Why? I don’t understand. You two…”, Castiel began. “Because it’s not real!”, Dean growled. “Your… ass-butt brothers made her specifically for me. It’s not real, it’s forced on me… and her”. “Dean…”. “Find some way to break this bond we have. It’s not fair to her…”, Dean said. “I can’t do that…”, Cass said quietly. “Why?”, Dean roared. There was no answer. “Cass… just get out”. The door began opening, as if someone was pulling at the knob, and I ran for room 13; closing and locking the door behind me.

Good. He was on the same page as me. And maybe there was a way to break our bond; and make me free of these feelings. Maybe Cass just didn’t know how to, and I just had to find another angel – or whatever – to help.

My phone rang – distracting me from my thoughts. “Yeah?”, I answered it. “Lulu. It’s Tamara”, my friend said. “Hey, Tammy. What’s up?”. “I need your help. My partner didn’t show up; and this nest isn’t a one-woman job”. I sighed. “Tammy…”. “I know, I know; but I really need you on this one. Think of it as a learning experience”. I frowned. It would be a good way to learn, I agreed – and I trusted Tamara knew what she was doing. On top of that, I needed to be as far away from Dean as I could. “Give me the address…”.

After Tamara had let me know where to meet her, I got dressed quickly, and put on my jacket. Almost running through the library, I saw Sam now bent over a strange looking rock, by the mapped table. “I’m going out. I’ll be back for my book”, I muttered, and went to get my backpack, when I realized it was missing. “I packed up a bag”, Sam said. “It’s got some better equipment for you; if you’re gonna keep up hunting”. I looked over my shoulder at him. “Thanks”, I muttered. “Welcome”, he said.

He handed me a canvas backpack, with a little more weight than my own. I opened it, and saw bullets and a large knife, and a machete in a leather sheath. “Silver ammo, iron knife; and there’s a zippo in the side pocket”. “Weres, witches and vampires. Got it”, I said; and put on the bag. Sam frowned. “Where are you going?”. “Just… out. Meeting a friend”, I said. “Do you have a car I can use until I get back?” He threw me a set of car keys. “There’s a Dodge parked a little way down the road. Take it. And uhm… my number. Just in case”. He scribbled down a number on a piece of paper, and came over to hand it to me. I smiled warmly, and pocketed the keys and the note. “How long will you be gone?”, Sam muttered. “As long as it takes. That’s how the job is, right?”, I shrugged. Sam’s face dropped. “What job?”, he demanded. I sighed. “Don’t worry. Your care-package here will keep me safe”, I smiled. “I’ll be back before you know it. Maybe you’ll even have a few extra hours with my book”. “Lulu… what job?”. I got on my toes, and kissed his cheek. “Bye, Sammy”. I ran up the stairs, and exited the bunker.

I found my “new” car half a mile down the road. It was rusty and sad looking; and fit my state of mind perfectly at the moment. I got settled in the driver’s seat, after having set the Dodge up the way I wanted it. Surprisingly, the engine started without trouble; and I turned on the radio. Dean must have driven the car before, because a tape began playing Girls Girls Girls. I was smiling sadly to myself, as I drove the car out on the road at the bottom of the mound.

---

#dean winchester fic #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester #dean x oc #sam winchester #supernatural #supernatural fic

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lnarizakis · 4 years

Text

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧COACHES DON’T PLAY

MONTHLY NEWSLETTER #4

HOT OFF THE PRESS ! Thanks for picking up our monthly newsletter! Here you can read everything that has happened this past month, and any news going on today. Not what you’re looking for? Please view the masterlist [here]!

EXTRA ! miya osamu x fem! reader. 1.2k words. original characters

Anonymous:

Thank you for sending a letter to Dating-san!

I respect your anonymity. Communication between you and your girlfriend is necessary for your relationship to work, and that goes with all relationships. Unfortunately, there must have been some miscommunication between your relationship with her, and if you would like to continue in it you will need to have a long talk with her about it.

If you are really set in stone about wanting to break up with her, which I do not suggest, you should let her off gently. Try sitting your girlfriend down for a talk, and ease into the topic of cutting off your relationship. However, while the two of you will be going your separate ways, you do not want to ruin the relationship the two of you have, so suggest the idea of remaining as friends. If your girlfriend is fuming and she does not want to remain as friends and would rather instead cut off all ties between the two of you, agree to what she wants to happen between you two and come to an agreement that would satisfy yours and her conditions.

I wish you luck on your endeavors! Have a great day.

From, (L/N) (Y/N), Dating-san.

(Y/N) stared at her draft for the newspaper column in front of her, and the bright screen of the club room’s computer burned in her eyes as she read and reread the draft again and again. She was contemplating sending it to Asai, who would undoubtedly berate her for this article that was definitely going to cause a rise in commotion against her relationship with Osamu, and, more importantly, against her. The author turned towards the editor; who was sitting at the editors’ table, casually scrolling through some social media app on her phone, mindlessly liking images. In her other hand she held a boxed drink that, through the chewed up straw, made a loud slurping sound.

“Asai-senpai, I finished my draft for the newspaper column.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll send it over to ya now.”

“Okay.”

Asai’s indifference annoyed (Y/N), but she didn’t want to pay any attention to it. She took a deep breath as she hit the “Send” button, and just a few minutes shy she heard the boxed drink that Asai was drinking set gently down on the table. A couple seconds later, Asai stood proudly in front of (Y/N), cowering in her seat.

“Osamu’s plannin’ on breaking up with me, huh? I can see it.” (Y/N) set her gaze downwards, at the keyboard sitting lonely in front of her, and tried her very best not to make eye contact with her menacing editor. She shrugged, trying to show that she had no other option on what to write, and that she was neutral on the matter.

“(Y/N), by writing this, you’re gonna ruin a relationship that you, the star of the freakin’ show, Dating-san, started. That’s a big scandal, girl. I don’t think you want that.”

And that was that. Asai turned away, leaving (Y/N) in her dust. She returned to her computer and closed the tab with the draft sent to her not too long ago and the editor began playing some mindless computer game, hoping to pass the time. (Y/N) wasn’t too sure about what was to happen next, as many things were unpredictable with her editor, and so she leaned back in her chair, working on her homework that she still had yet to begin.

A couple days later, after the publication of the fourth monthly newsletter of the school year, (Y/N) walked to school as normally as she could before she began to receive weird stares from other incoming students. She had yet to read the newsletter for this month, being caught up in other work, but the way these other students were staring made her think it was something of her fault. Was there a mistake in the way she suggested how Osamu should break up with Asai? (Y/N)’s heart beat a little faster as an anxious feeling bubbled within her. She felt her legs moving more quickly than they usually walked, and before she knew it she was sitting down in her classroom, weighed down by the heavy stares her classmates gave her.

She turned to Osamu, who was hiding a bagged snack in the pocket of his uniform pants as he ate, and asked, “Osamu, why’s everyone starin’ at me?” Finishing whatever was in his mouth, the twin pulled out the most recent issue of the monthly newsletter and handed it to (Y/N). She flipped it to her column, and she was afraid her sweaty hands were dampening the paper. Setting the newsletter down on her desk, she read the latest what was supposed to be her advice column, but instead it was replaced with something else. (Y/N) felt her heart drop in her chest.

“Oh my God, did she really…?” (Y/N)’s breath hitched, and she placed a hand over her forehead, caressing the area. (Y/N) felt her eyes begin to water and could sense that lump in her throat, and she especially did not want to cry in front of Osamu, who watched to see her reaction patiently. She turned to Osamu, as slowly as she could before bursting out into tears, and upon looking at her disheartened expression, he grew a sense of worry for her, reaching over to grab her shoulder.

“(Y/N), don’t cry. Everyone knows she’s a terrible person now--”

“Osamu, my career as Dating-san is ruined!” she told him, shoving his arm away as she held her face in her hands. The scene was comical, and (Y/N) hated to admit it. Propping her elbows on her desk, Osamu could do nothing but watch as she shed a few tears, not wanting to overdo it in a place where everyone can see her crying over her humiliation.

Reaching underneath her arms, Osamu grabbed the newspaper before it could get wetter from (Y/N)’s tears. Oh, what he was to tell Atsumu about how bad of an idea it was to email Dating-san.

DATING-SAN HELPS INARIZAKI HIGH !

Hello, everyone. We apologize for not responding to any letters this month, as we have something very important to discuss before the situation can get any worse. The letter that (L/N) (Y/N), who you may recognize as Dating-san, was supposed to answer for this month’s newsletter was an anonymous letter, even though it is obviously written by Miya Osamu, editor Asai Kanako’s boyfriend. It was, unfortunately, not a follow-up letter about how to treat her well and act like a good boyfriend, but rather, a letter in which he expresses Asai’s toxic traits as a girlfriend and wishes to break up with her. And (L/N) was to give advice to him, even though she was the one that brought the two of them together.

We have a pool of letters that we as a newspaper club come and agree to choose together for (L/N) to write, but it seems like this month (L/N) went ahead and decided to choose her own letter to write for. She wanted to break up the relationship between Asai and Miya, and, even more, she wanted to expose the non-existent toxic traits of Asai as a girlfriend using Miya’s letter. This plan of hers obviously backfired, since all her measly little response came out to be an attempt to break the two apart and a way to get with Osamu, the one guy she’s liked since her first year. Yes, (L/N) sacrificed her crush on Osamu to bring him with the girl that he liked. However, her own selfishness caused her to write a response for Osamu’s letter, all so she could have Osamu for herself.

Explain yourself, Dating-san.

EXPLAINURSELF(L/N)!

taglist: send an ask to be added ! [ @lcaita @reogou @alienvarmint @annalyn-annalyn @kunimwuah @akaarin @wansseul @anime-simp @dorkyama @keiyoomi @studywoo @steggy4ever ]

#coaches dont play #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyu!! x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #haikyuu osamu x reader #hq osamu x reader #miya osamu #osamu miya #haikyuu osamu #hq osamu

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writing-radionoises · 4 years

Text

family

ship: pre-relationship akuatsu / shin soukoku, implied kunikidazai

genre: pure fluff

prompt: yosano hears that atsushi has never had a birthday party and she will not have it

notes: i wrote this for atsushi’s birthday! i love atsushi very much im going to give him the world

Ring, ring, ring.

The sound of his cellphone ringing is what brings Atsushi out of the dream world, feeling around his futon for his cellphone with his eyes closed until he, eventually, finds the damn thing.

He flips it open to answer the call, slowly opening his eyes and beginning to fully wake up.

"Good morning, Nakajima," says the voice on the other end of the call.

It's Akutagawa, which is rather strange as he never calls Atsushi.

"Akutagawa? Hey, you used my actual name!" Atsushi points out happily, sitting up, "Why are you calling?"

"Point it out and I'll continue to call you mantiger for the rest of your life," Akutagawa replied, taking a moment to cough away from the phone, "It is common courtesy to call and send birthday wishes on someone's birthday, is it not?"

Atsushi paused for a moment, "Birthday…?" He says, bringing his phone away from his ear to look at the date, "Oh, I guess it is my birthday, huh… but still, you hate me. Why would you do that?"

"It's complicated."

Atsushi rolls his eyes, "Sure. I'll get the answer out of you later. Thank you for the birthday wishes, though, Akutagawa."

There's mumbling in the other end of the phone as Atsushi gets out of bed, opening the closet door and stepping out. Kyouka had apparently already gotten dressed and left for work…

"Are you seriously embarrassed that I thanked you?"

"No! Why would I be embarrassed by that?"

Atsushi laughs, "Whatever you say, I'll talk to you later."

*Later? When I try and kill you again?"

"Probably. Bye, Akutagawa!"

Akutagawa stutters on the other end, to which Atsushi laughs a bit and hangs up, then continuing to get ready.

Atsushi gets off the train to the agency, walking in like everyday, only to see about half the agency in the room.

Dazai has himself draped across maybe three desks, lounging about carelessly as Kenji has Ranpo on his shoulders, Ranpo putting up decorations and banners with Yosano directing him where to put what.

Kyouka, Kunikida, Junichiro, and Fukuzawa are nowhere to be found.

It takes a few minutes for Atsushi to realize what the banner Ranpo and Kenji are putting up actually says, and another minute for Yosano to realize he’s here.

“Atsushi, hey!” She says, running over to him and giving him a hug, “Glad you’re finally here, happy birthday!”

Atsushi blushes for a moment, then smiling, “Ah, thank you Dr. Y-”

“Atsushi!” Dazai calls, sitting up from his spot over three desks, “Didn’t even realize you were here, how are you?”

Yosano releases him from the hug, and Atsushi turns towards Dazai, “I’m good, just, where is every-”

Within that moment, Kyouka bursts through the door with a kazoo, blowing through it half mindedly with a smile.

“Happy birthday,” she says.

Atsushi can’t help but smile back, “Thank you.”

“Food is ready in the coffee shop, courtesy of Kunikida-san and Tanazaki. Just about everyone else is already there.”

Dazai throws his legs over the desks and gets down, “Kunikida is an excellent cook, I assure you, Atsushi,” he says, throwing an arm around Atsushi’s shoulder.

Kenji sets Ranpo down, to which Ranpo sighs and sets the basket of decorations on the ground, “Finally, I’m starving!”

“Ooh, food!” Kenji exclaims, following closely behind Ranpo as they head downstairs.

Yosano ruffles Atsushi’s hair with a smile, “Kyouka-chan told me you had never celebrated your birthday before, we decided to change that.”

“Lesson twenty of being with the Armed Detective Agency, never underestimate Yosano’s ability to mother,” Dazai hummed along.

Yosano glared at Dazai, “Lesson twenty-one, I’ll kill you.”

Dazai laughs nervously.

Kyouka whistles from her place in the doorway, “Are you guys coming or not?”

“Coming!” Dazai replied eagerly, practically dragging Atsushi away as Yosano follows.

If the Agency was over the top in decorations, the coffee shop was even worse.

There were streamers and balloons everywhere, some of them had pictures of cats and bunnies drawn on them, which Atsushi could assume was Kyouka’s doing.

Tanizaki was slumped over the bar of the coffee shop while Kunikida was yelling at him, hitting him with a wooden spoon until eventually Dazai dragged Kunikida away from poor Junichiro.

Kyouka had disappeared back into the kitchen, while Yosano sat on the table, having a conversation with Fukuzawa.

Fukuzawa had dressed much more casually than usual, he wore a pair of jeans with a white tee shirt over a green long sleeve. The white shirt had a picture of Atsushi printed on it, with the words “this is my son, I love him,” printed on it in comic sans.

Given what Atsushi has seen on Fukuzawa’s other casual tee shirts, this was honestly the best outcome. He had a habit of wearing various tee shirts with the most random things on it, and owned a myriad of tee shirts condemning pedophiles.

Kunikida eventually sat down at a booth with Dazai, and Atsushi joined them in that same booth.

The booth behind them housed a very tired Junichiro, Ranpo, Poe, and Kenji. Ranpo and Kenji were having a nice conversation, something about cows, while it appears Tanizaki had fallen asleep on a very uncomfortable Poe.

Atsushi couldn’t help but smile.

Eventually, Kyouka and Lucy began to bring out bowls of chazuke, giving them out to everyone before Kyouka took a seat beside Atsushi, and Lucy sat beside Yosano and Fukuzawa.

“Everyone in the agency was well aware it was your favorite dish,” Kunikida explained, watching Atsushi stare at the bowl as if he had just met god, “Kyouka-chan insisted I try to make it.”

“He taught me how to make it too,” Kyouka added on, “Thank you, Kunikida-san.”

A slight smile appeared on Kunikida’s face before Dazai elbowed him in the ribs.

“And you say you don’t even like Kyouka-chan,” Dazai teased.

“Well, I don’t!” Kunikida insisted, elbowing Dazai back as Kyouka laughed.

The agency ate happily, at some point Poe attempted to get Tanizaki off of him and accidentally woke him, resulting in Poe deciding to continuously apologize and occasionally sob about it for the next hour and a half. Yosano threw one of her heels at Dazai after he said something about Yosano being over the top, to which Dazai swiftly dodged, and instead the heel hit Kenji in the back of the head. Kenji remained unphased, however.

By the time everyone was finished with the meal, Tanizaki removed himself from his booth and went back into the kitchen, returning with a two tiered chocolate cake he had baked himself, Lucy and Fukuzawa helping him hand out the pieces.

Fukuzawa ruffled Atsushi’s hair when he passed by him, humming something about Atsushi being cute over him shocked at the fact that Junichiro actually made such a cake.

With that, gifts were slowly handed out. Kyouka had gifted him a white tiger plushie, it was one of the first things she had bought with her own money, so she was incredibly proud of it.

Junichiro, on the other hand, gave him a set of hair clips so he could properly pin back his bangs without borrowing some from him.

Yosano gave him a set of new clothes, a sweater with a cat on it with a set of shorts and knee high socks. She assured him that all of it would fit perfectly, as she had already had his measurements, somehow. Fukuzawa had gifted him a couple different picture frames with photos of Atsushi with Kyouka, Dazai, or some even with Akutagawa. It was a very cute gift, Atsushi had hugged Fukuzawa right after receiving it.

Ranpo and Poe gave Atsushi a simple basic of snacks and such, mostly Ranpo’s doing, though Poe slipped in a couple different recipes and such into the basket as well. Lucy admitted the moment she gave Atsushi a gift that she had never really given or bought gifts before, so she wasn’t entirely sure what to do, though she gave him a couple boxes of bandages and a hand made cat plushie.

More and more gifts went by, and eventually it came Dazai’s turn, to which he handed Atsushi a simple box with a purple ribbon tied around it. Atsushi rose an eyebrow as he began to untie the ribbon and open the box.

Instead was a cropped purple jacket with cuffed sleeves that ended at the elbows, the sleeves could be unbuttoned and rolled down as well. There was a zipper, and pockets on the chest, and under the folded jacket were a couple of different iron on patches.

“So, it’s sort of a tradition from where I came from to give your pupil some sort of item of clothing, usually a clothing item of your own. However, I’m well aware that we are very different in fashion tastes, so I decided to go off script a little bit,” Dazai explained.

Fukuzawa looked at Dazai with a knowing smile as Atsushi slowly began to tear up, quickly rubbing the tears away as he slipped on the jacket, rolling down the sleeves before looking at Dazai with a teary-eyed smile.

“Thank you so much, this is all too much, you guys are too kind…”

“It’s nothing at all, Nakajima,” Fukuzawa replies, “The agency is like a family, we intend to treat you like such.”

With that, the door to the coffee shop opens, and reveals a young woman with her hands up, a bag resting on her elbow. She has medium length black hair, wearing a flowy black, long sleeve dress and a white trench coat over it.

“Don’t shoot the messenger!” She calls calmly with a smile, slowly putting her hands down and making her way over to Atsushi, handing him the gift bag.

Atsushi takes the bag, staring curiously at the woman before Dazai speaks up.

“Ah, Gin, it’s good to see you,” he says with a smile, “Is your brother too embarrassed to come in himself?”

The woman, Gin, nodded, “As you know, Ryunosuke is a coward outside of work.”

“Ryunosuke?” Atsushi asked.

“Akutagawa,” Kyouka replied, softly, “Were you not aware he had a sister?”

“Really? That’s a shame,” Gin replied a frown, “We’ve even met before, many times!”

Atsushi can’t help but look at her in confusion, scanning his memory for some sort of memory of this woman before it hits him.

“Oh. I’m so sorry!” He calls out, to which Gin just gives a smile, followed by holding two fingers up in a cute manner by the doorway.

“No bombs or anything, I promise!” She replied, then leaving the coffee shop and closing the door behind her.

“I feel stupid for not recognizing her,” Atsushi says with a nervous laugh.

“No need to,” Dazai reassures, “It’s her whole thing, she’s just teasing you.”

Atsushi sighs and shrugs, beginning to go through the bag.

The first thing in there is a yellow sticky note with messy, yet cute handwriting.

It reads, “From Ryunosuke Akutagawa, who’s too much of a little bitch baby to give this to you, Jinko-san! Signed, Gin.”

There’s a little heart at the end of the message, and Atsushi stifles a laugh.

Inside the bag is a soft, handmade pastel purple sweater, “Jinko” is neatly stitching over a white patch of fabric towards the top of the sweater. Below it is another sticky note, this time in purple and with much nicer, more elegant handwriting.

It reads, “Happy birthday. You’re foolish and I hate you. Please call more. -Akutagawa.”

Atsushi smiles happily, and Kyouka laughs.

“That’s cute,” she says.

Atsushi nods, “He’s kinda funny. Really bad with people.”

By the end of the day, Kyouka helps Atsushi bring everything home to their shared dorm, and Kyouka falls asleep almost instantly. Atsushi doesn’t keep her up much longer, but instead decides to sit in the kitchen chair, going through his phone when he gets a mysterious text.

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 9:58 PM

pissyryunosuke.png

The image is Akutagawa sitting in a car with his arms crossed over his chest, pouting. He has a yellow sticky note on his face that says “stupid fucker” in Gin’s hand writing, and a hand, presumably Gin’s, pointing at him.

ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA, 9:59 PM

hdbchbgciasxh thank you so much for this image. ill frame it.

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 10:00 PM

g IN I HATE Y OU

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 10:00 PM

you’re welcome.

Atsushi smiles, standing up from his place in the kitchen and deciding to go to bed.

As he lays in bed in the closet, he looks at his phone one last time, before drifting to sleep.

I did it, I’ve managed to live to turn nineteen, he thought.

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