#but i must attempt sleep nao

[aikainkauna]

Movie meeeehm

Thanks to @nitrateglow for these!

1: A movie you enjoyed as a kid that you don't now

-Probs some comedy I'd find awfully sexist/racist/homophobic etc. now. But of course, I can't recall a specific one, probs because the experience is so deeply squicky and traumatic. Oh, wait, I know. I adored The Great Mouse Detective as a kid, but have heard so many "bleh" comments about it later that I don't want to ruin it by rewatching it as an adult. Why take a happy, cherished, pure and joyous memory away, especially as there are so few of those in my life anyway in proportion to the bad memories?

2: A movie you disliked as a kid that you like/love now

-Not a movie, but I was literally too fucking terrified to watch Doctor Who as a kid on cable, because the Tom Baker repeats they were showing terrified me with the title sequence alone. That empty stare and howling, diddly-duming music were enough to give me nightmares. So I only got into Who in my late teens!

3: Your favorite movie as a kid

-Define "kid." I went through several. I loved the Disney Robin Hood, of course, and at puberty, Wayne's World (yes) and The Princess Bride were my own cult movies, before I had anyone to fangirl them with. Ah, the pre-Internet era.

4: An actor/actress it took you time to warm up to

I remember being weirdly terrified and disturbed by Jeremy Brett as a kid, but then I felt the same about Bowie, and... well. Clearly it was my baby self not knowing WTF to do with all this stirring, restless energy that later turned out to be my skinnyandrogynousbisexualguy orientation thingy. And while I'd first seen Caligari and Casablanca as a teen in the early 90s, I wasn't ready for Connie until he pounced me in 2012. I would not have "got" him the same way and as hard until I was a grown-up, with a wide variety of experiences from many areas of life and a boatload of books/learning behind me. Just... no way.

5: A director it took you time to warm up to

-If anything, I've cooled off various directors I was impressed by when younger. So much of the auteur stuff gets wanky and self-imposing, in this Arrogant Artist Guy "look at my GENIUS big VISION and also insecurity about my penis size" kind of way. I like directors who can be warm and have fun and who show some real humanity (not wanky anvilly/kitchen sink-y sort of "humanity" either). Maybe Branagh? I found him a bit annoying as a kid, but now fap all over his stuff because now I'm old enough to Get It. He is the best kind of fanboy director; his geekiness is catching. Listening to his Thor commentary was a real eye-opener into my realising just how massive a nerd he is, and in a good, "one of us" kind of way.

6: Top five favorite soundtracks of your favorite movie composer

-There isn't just one! But Clint Mansell and Debbie Wiseman turn to gold everything they touch. Debbie especially is hugely unknown still, but she has this most amazing, swellingly Romantic music full of sweeping emotion that I just can't rec her enough. Do check her out; she'll give you goosebumps.

7: Three movies that defined your teen/childhood years

-I think I mentioned those already! But as a teenager, Bram Stoker's Dracula, La Reine Margot and Heavenly Creatures were formative. There were others I obsessed about way more than those, but they weren't as influential--it's more like they were massaging buttons I already had.

8: Sci-fi or westerns?

-Blake's 7! AKA "The Dirty Dozen in Space."

9: Are there any movies you own more than one copy of?

-Ahhahaha. AAAHHAHAHAHA! Of The Thief of Bagdad, I own: The Criterion clusterfuck with the awful clumsy cover someone had their 5-year-old draw, the Nordic DVD, the German Blu-Ray because I live on the edge (what with those Veidt Eye Closeups in HD being a hazard to any uterus) and at least three different digital copies. Because I'm me. I also own two digital copies and one DVD of Casablanca, three digital and one DVD of A Woman's Face and don't get me started on the British telefantasy I have on both DVD and VHS. I have spare copies of both the Caligari Masters of Cinema release and the ITV DVD of The Spy In Black, so I guess I should throw them at somebody.

10: Physical media or streaming?

-Neither. Video files firmly saved onto and run from my hard drive. Fuck streaming with its choppiness (ruins the viewing experience for me) and physical media are usually beyond my budget (unless I save up for a Connie DVD). Besides, I rip my favourite movie discs onto my HD anyway. I want to be able to gif that shit, dammit!

11: Are there any movies you watch on special occasions every year (Christmas, Halloween, birthdays, your mother's aunt's wedding anniversary, etc.)

-Used to do Nightmare Before Christmas on Halloween, but not any more. I still attempt ToB every Christmas. And I used to do All Through The Night with wine on my birthday, but as I can't tolerate alcohol anymore, the experience of Watching ATTN Drunk is no more. Someone start a Halloween tradition with me where we watch either The Student of Prague or Eerie Tales (or both) every year?

12: What movie do you most associate with your best friend(s)?

-Gosh, so few have stayed, so it's more like "movie that reminds you of a broken friendship," yay...?! I've learned to try and not associate movies with people that way any more, because it's more painful than it's worth. Connie is my best friend. He's like Krishna that way.

13: Name a movie adaptation you thought was better than or equal to its source material.

-LOTR put in more facial features and characterisation than Tolkien ever did, and did the tales far less fucking tediously. Imagine if you'd had to sit and watch hobbits walking through the countryside for 6 hours with barely anything happening?! Yeah...

14: What genres do your favorite movies tend to be?

-Historical, fantasy, Gothic Romantic, just Romantic stuff on the whole. More old than new movies these days. Why watch shitty modern chick flicks when I have far better characterisation and far less narrowly defined female lives in old-timey "women's pictures?" And guys who actually fucking shaved, dressed in clothes that were tailored for them instead of rented and saggy, whose bodily expressions weren't frozen for fear of "fagginess," and who weren't pumped full of 'roids.

15: Are you a fan of period dramas and if so, what era do you enjoy best?

-Yes. I love me some costume dramas, but I am seriously picky about them--most post-90s ones have been fucking awful and tend to feature shitty costumes and unkempt hair that would've sent real historical people to Bedlam, wobblycam from hell, vomit-inducingly excessive modernisation to be "edgy", and that one painfully skeletal bint they shove into every period drama ever these days, so it's... slim pickings for a history nerd, these days. There aren't many good ones set in the 17th century/Baroque era, which I love the most: the two Baroque dramas I wholeheartedly love are both series. (The Devil's Whore and By The Sword Divided.) The Angeliques and Musketeer adaptations are riddled with flaws, but there are some glowing bits within. As for The Golden Age of Islam... bloody hell, there really aren't that many good ones out there, are there?! ToB and Jodhaa Akbar and Disney's Aladdin, obviously. La Reine Margot isn't "my" period but it's great, as is Dangerous Liaisons (also not my period)--those are so fucking perfect. And the Connie period dramas, well... I think of them as primarily "silent movies" or "old movies," actually. Of those, The Student of Prague, ToB and The Wandering Jew are the best "costume" ones, IMHO. (I'd probs enjoy Lucrezia Borgia and Carlos and Elisabeth way more, were the copies we have not so smudgy.)

16: Name a movie you love that you would recommend to just about everyone.

-Ah, but we know there are always cynical cunts out there who'd give even Casablanca two stars, so what's the point? I'd still recommend it, though. And The Lion King, I guess.

17: Name a movie you love that you consider an acquired taste.

-Honestly, I'm thinking of telly rather than movies again. You will pry my cherished copy of The Time Monster from my cold, dead hands. Does The Devil of Winterborne count as a movie or TV? That's how far back my love for Mark Gatiss goes. Um... Don't Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood makes me fucking cry with laughter (the comedic timing is what does it. *beat* "Ain't dat some shit!"). Of Connie's oeuvre, yes, I know Bella Donna is rubbish, but Connie and Mary are SIZZLING and horny and juicy and it's Valid as a BDSM porn movie. And the novel is actually good.

18: Name a film you like directed by/starring a filmmaker/actor you normally don't care for.

-Not so much actor/director, but I did *not* expect to love Thor as much as I did, because I expected a dumb popcorn movie but got great adventure cinema with a touch of Shakespeare instead. I really am not the right audience for regular Marvel features at all, before or after. Fuck Marvel up its dumb macho Republican ass. But Thor is fucking beautiful and operatic and poetic and majestic and Pagan and shit. Branagh knows what I like.

19: Name a movie that blew your mind.

-A Woman's Face (1941). Because. Holy. Fuck. How can I keep on finding yet more details in it six years after first watching it, having watched it countless times by now?! And obvs all the other stuff, like the shockingly good female POV, amazing and complex woman protagonist, amazing writing, amazing ensemble cast, amazing direction, amazing lighting, amazing evil Torsten Slinkypussy Barring and The. Goddamn. Attic. Scene.

20: What genre mash-up would you most love to see that either hasn't been done yet or hasn't been done enough?

-Feminist-savvy historical romance with fantasy elements and hot explicit sex that's not shit. Basically, like the stuff you see in my fics, but better paced and woven into coherent adventure movies.

21: The coolest movie you've ever seen

-Too, too many. But Bogie was the coolest. And Claude Rains had the best acting skills. And Conrad Veidt was Conrad motherfucking Veidt. So what with those three mountains of coolness all converging under the Moroccan sky, I'm sure it's safe to say "Casablanca."

#movies #personal #meme #i am leaving out tons i know #but i must attempt sleep nao #i was quoting don't be a menace to myself just yesterday ffs #every time there's an anvilly Point in a movie #i keep screaming 'mmESSAGE!'

[cubedmango]

5, 29, 34, 48 for PranPat please 💖

34. “You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, to cuddle?”

When Pran checks the door to his dorm in the middle of the night, who he's reasonably expecting to see through the peephole is someone from security, coming with some announcement or warning, or one of the other occupants of the floor, possibly drunk and knocking at the wrong room by mistake—or literally just anyone else for who it makes logical sense to be here in front of him this late.

Anyone but Pat, who he saw just a few hours ago and already bid good night to, who's now grinning as Pran opens the door. “Hi. Can I come in?”

“What do you want,” Pran tiredly asks, not really having the energy for the usual, now month-long game they've been playing at this point in the night. He was having a really nice dream, too. Damn this asshole.

“I can't sleep,” is all the explanation his neighbor gives, and Pran sighs.

“Then go cuddle with that stinky doll of yours.”

“Nong Nao is not stinky, thank you very much,” defends Pat, completely wrong in his facts. “Besides, I literally can't. Pa sent him off for dry cleaning without even asking me.”

Pran reminds himself to thank the girl for that later, for various reasons. Mostly for carrying all the common sense between the two siblings. Her hardwork deserves recognition.

“See, now I'm all alone,” Pat continues, sweetly, “And you know I can't sleep if I'm not cuddling my comfort object.”

Taking a deep, weary breath, Pran starts, “Let me get this straight. So, you come to my room and wake me up at—” he pauses to check his watch, and for dramatic effect, “—four am, to cuddle? Really, Pat?”

Pat blinks, smile falling, and then he mutters to himself, “Well, when you put it like that...” but makes no move to walk in or walk back.

And he's lucky Pran likes him—despite the rude interruption of his sleep—because the door opens just a bit more, and Pran nods towards his bedroom without a word.

“Thanks,” Pat says, beaming, coming in. Something in the way he so easily navigates through Pran's dorm, despite the dim light, makes the architect's heart flutter and swell.

And that's just not fair. He's not losing the bet, no matter the time of day. Gathering a bit of confidence, Pran asks, “How many doors did you knock on before you landed on mine, huh?”

“None.” Pat looks at him, from the entrance to his room. “You were the first person I asked.”

That's just worse, but Pran turns back to lock his door again so Pat doesn't see the flush on his face. “You're confident. You must like me a lot to come straight to me, then?”

“Pran,” Pat's saying, and the strange tone of it has him looking back around with a frown. Pat's smiling, yes, but it's not very bright. “Can we not do this right now, please?”

Oh. That's very weird, coming from him of all people, but Pran knows the sign of a bad day when he sees it. “Okay, let's go to sleep.”

They settle onto bed together with relative familiarity, now that Pat's been coming over more and more often. On another day, Pran might've joked about making him sleep on the floor again, but he saves it for a better time. Right now, he only spreads his blanket over the both of them, and stays perfectly still as Pat lies on his side and comes in to hold him by the waist.

“Thanks,” Pat says again, far quieter this time. “I really couldn't sleep, you know.”

They don't normally have talks like this, not really, but Pran's worried enough now to ask, “Did something happen?”

There's a pause, as Pat sighs. “Dad came to see us today,” is all he says, and that's enough for Pran to get it. It's not much different for him, after all.

Pran gives him some experimental pats to his head, in his own attempt at support. “Go sleep. You'll need the energy to bother me in the morning.”

“I won't bother you all day,” Pat mumbles, “Promise.”

“Oh, and here I was already wondering what I should make you for breakfast,” Pran quips, though it's not a lie at all. “But if you don't want to, then sure.”

Even in the dark, Pat's face lighting up is something he just can't miss. “I take it back. I'll bother you so much. I'll eat all your food, and—”

The head patting turns into one light smack, and Pran shuts him up with a hissed, “Sleep.”

“Okay, okay. Good night,” Pat replies, hugs him tighter, and says nothing more.

“Mm, night,” Pran says back, eventually falling asleep to the sound of Pat's low breathing and the smile against his chest, and for a sleep he gets at four in the morning, it's surprisingly sound and comfortable—but he's never about to admit why.

#patpran #bad buddy #my writing #my answer #ty for the req! chose this prompt bc i think it fits them best hehe #gave me some practice for my fic too so that was productive

[strawberryjamsara]

Idea for a yttd no death game au that I may or may not write

-Joe is dying and Sara is frantically pushing at the button trying to stop him from succumbing. Everything seems bleak. Then she wakes up with the reveal it was a dream. Gin is shaking her awake yelling that Kai made chocolate chip pancakes and to go downstairs.

-Keiji is also down there, looking like he just woke up. Sara makes a snide comment about his eyebags, and he retorts that she doesn’t have much room to talk after she just refused to go to bed last night. Kai just serves breakfast with several one liners and Gin makes a comment about how he’s glad Kai is around because Mr Policeman and Muscle Gorilla can’t cook. Keiji takes offense to this and offers to try and make a side dish and about ten seconds in cuts himself on the knife. He gets the shit roasted out of him. Qtaro comes down looking pretty good and proceeds to see all the food is gone and gets roasted. All is well and good but something is bothering Sara.

-She meets up on the school path with Joe, Ranmaru and Anzu and they all begin teasing Ranmaru and pointing out his crush on Sara. At one point Anzu and Joe walk ahead and Ranmaru asks Sara if he can talk to her in private some time soon. Sara agrees then goes up to Joe and Anzu to loudly tell them that Ranmaru is gonna confess. Ranmaru protests loudly.

-She has a good day at school. Professor Mishima has always been her favorite teacher. However he says the old assignment Sara was working on got lost so she’ll have to start again. Sara agrees and accepts his apology, as well as his offer for an extension, and begins trying to recreate her old painting but comes to the realization she doesn’t remember what her last painting was.

-To amend this, she tries calling up Nao after school, since she remembers doing a lot of the piece with her. But strangely, Nao doesn’t seem to remember either. Nao offers to come up with a new painting if Sara comes over though, and Sara agrees. But before that her meeting with Ranmaru.

-She meets Ranmaru behind the school where he asks if she had a weird dream last night. She’s surprised and is about to say yes, but a sinking feeling arrives in her stomach at the idea of acknowledging it. She tells him no. So he says okay and tells her she can leave.

-She comes to Nao’s house and finds the usual scene. Reko is keeping to herself, Alice is lounging around before loudly announcing her presence when she comes in, and Nao is excited to see her! When coming up with a theme they toss ideas back and forth before Sara just suggests… a button pressing. She doesn’t know why. She just wants to. Nao doesn’t see a problem. Sara goes to give Reko a wave out before she leaves but she seems to be in a crabby mood. Alice explains it’s because of Samurai Yaibas concert getting cancelled due to an unexpected meltdown whatever that means. Sara offers to go shopping downtown with them on the promised day to make up for it. They agree and Sara is on her way.

-Sara is trying to go to sleep at night but the lights down the hall are still on so she storms to Keiji’s room to tell him to go the fuck to sleep it’s 1 in the morning. Good night Keiji.

-The next day, her and Joe are being sent together to babysit Kanna and Hinako after school. During school, Anzu asks Sara about her confession from Ranmaru and Sara just informs her of the conversation from yesterday. Anzu gasps and makes cries of Ranmaru playing with Sara’s heart, and Ranmaru tells her to calm down and more shenanigans ensue as they make a bigger and bigger scene.

-Joe is sent to pick up Hinako while Sara is out in charge of going to the Tsukimi’s and waiting on Kanna. Shin is pretty much already halfway out the door trying to get to work when she gets there, and she makes a few jokes at his expense but then feels a need to back off at how hard he recoils- usually he claps back twice as hard. Maybe she caught him on a bad day- and Joe comes in with Hinako who seems to have a new habit of writing everything that happens down. They watch She ra and play pretend well into the night and Shin comes back, thanks Sara and Joe profusely, and they even play a quick game of Mario Kart together, Sara taking note of how squeamish Shin is.

-Sara wakes up to see the lights are on again. She stomps to Keiji’s room again but this time she sees him hurriedly putting away a theory board when she comes in. She doesn’t know and she’s too tired to care. Goodnight Keiji.

-Ranmaru is absent from school the next day. Anzu and Joe are complaining loudly, but Sara for some reason feels a deep pit of dread in her stomach. She excuses herself trying to call him but gets no response. So she pulls Joe aside and tells him she had a dream he died and the last one on one conversation she had with Ranmaru was him asking her if she had a weird dream. Joe agrees that’s kinda weird and they decide to go around looking for answers.

-But first Reko Alice and Sara hangout! They go shopping downtown, and eventually stop at Mai’s bakery to sit down and eat. Throughout the trip Sara notices Reko being uncharacteristically mean to people they run into. Sara questions this before Alice replies that she’s always been like this and Sara must be remembering wrong. Sara can’t help but feel like she’s had this conversation before. On the bright side, Samurai Yaiba got rescheduled and Sara is invited. She gets 4 tickets, one for her, one for Anzu, one for Joe, and one for Ranmaru. She goes back home and tries to speculate on the personality shifts between Reko and Shin.

-It’s Sunday and time for Sara and Joe’s investigation! They meet up at her house, where they play with Gin and chat with Qtaro and Kai, then go off looking for leads, starting with Ranmaru’s apartment which is completely vacant. They track a few leads that go nowhere the final being that they know he would sometimes try to go and start shit with Kurumada so they go ask him and see him talking with Shin and Kanna, so they ask him and Shin for information. They don’t really have anything, and Shin actually says he’s looking for Hinako since she got a little far from him in a crowd. They agree and track her down writing notes again, and explain the situation, but Sara picks up one of the notes. “‘The case for Ranmaru Kageyama’? ‘A non-termination request’? What is thi-“ then she feels a shock at her back and falls over. “Sorry Sara senpai. I’m doing what I can.”

-Sara wakes up back in her room the next day. Was that a dream? She eats breakfast again tuning everything out, remembering how the scene went last week and then she remembers what bothered her so much about last weeks breakfast.

-Keiji didn’t bleed when he cut himself.

-Ranmaru is back in class the next day. Sara runs up to him trying to get answers out of him only to realize he hardly knows her and thinks she’s just a random classmate he’s never talked too. She yells to Joe and Anzu to snap him out of it but they seem to share a similar sentiment. She’s totally lost.

-She goes up to Mishima and asks what her previous art piece she was working on was. He says he doesn’t remember. That’s between her Nao and her own teacher not remembering. What is going on? How could they just forget? Did someone just erase it? Mishima asks if she’d like to see the nurse and she agrees.

-Until she sees the nurse. It’s her. She looks meek and quiet but the second Sara sees her her stomach drops to her shoes. She has to get out of there.

-She runs home- Keiji- Keiji had that theory board, he was saying something about her refusing to go to bed for some reason, and he went cooking to show her he didn’t bleed- he must know something-

-She finds the house empty. She calls for Kai and Gin and Qtaro and Keiji but nobody comes. The theory board- she runs to Keiji’s room and finds it- dolls- AIs- wait what? Everyone here was dolls and AIs? Was she…? She takes a pin from the board and pricks herself but she bleeds… so was everyone else… was this a box meant for her? Why?

-Then suddenly it slams into her brain like a freight train. She remembers what the previous version of the painting was.

-A sea of death. A pool of crimson with her standing above it, like she was somehow walking on top of it.

-“Ah… that’s another attempt miserably failed.”

-She turns around. She sees him. She doesn’t know him and yet she despises this person like mad. “Midori!”

-“You winning the game wasn’t supposed to be so much of a pain. Putting you in this glorified simulation for therapy is so much more trouble than it’s worth, but you were so hysterical otherwise we didn’t have a choice! And Hinako insisting we keep in people who keep cracking the code… we might have to do something about her too… but that’s nothing for you to worry about! Now go to sleep Ms Sara! When you wake up, everything will be fine again.”

#your turn to die #kimi ga shine #yttd #sara chidouin #keiji shinogi #gin ibushi #ranmaru kageyama #ransara #anzu kinashi #joe tazuna #qtaro burgerberg #kai satou #keikai #kaiji #qkai #keitaro #alice yabusame #reko yabusame #Nao egokoro #kazumi mishima #naomichi kurumada #mai tsurugi #midori yttd #kanna kizuchi #shin tsukimi #sou hiyori #hinako mishuku #gothitxt

[athenasilver7]

The Origins

Part 1 - Rough Reunion

Hawks x GN Reader x Mirko

Synopsis: After a long day of fighting crime, Hawks pays a visit to an old high school friend— Y/N. However, things don’t go so smoothly thanks to Hawks’s inability to read a room.

948 words 5,281 characters

Y/N stares down at their phone, sighing at the news reports of an uprise in villain attacks as of late. Was it really safe to go to work today?

They swallow a lump in their throat. ‘I’m not really keen on dying today.’

Their bare feet are getting colder by the minute while standing on the kitchen tiles. Y/N ponders the outcomes of the situations. ‘Should I just go in today? If I do, I should keep getting ready, then.’ They huff in annoyance. ‘...the attacks are pretty close to the cafe though..’

Why would they be overthinking such an obvious decision? It’s not like their boss is a bad person, he’s quite the jolly old man who is nothing but nice to everyone around him.

So why is this a hard decision? It’s obvious. Y/N has bills to pay.

Y/N leans against the counter, rubbing circles to the side of their head and letting out an irritated groan. Before they can stress over the situation anymore, their phone rings.

They scramble to grab it, having it nearly slip from their hands to meet it’s fate on the floor. Sparing a quick glance at the user, Nao Tatsuya— boss.

“H-hello?!”

A bellow laugh comes from the other side, “Y/N! You sound frightened!” “O-oh! It’s nothing, Mr. Nao.” There’s a defeated sigh,“How many times must I insist to drop the formalities and just call me Tatsuya?”

What a persistent old fellow.

“Right. Um...so why did you call me?” “Oh, yes! You better not be on your way to work right now! Cutie Pies is closed today due to all the frequent attacks in the area.”

Well....that makes sense. Y/N sighs in relief, “Of course. I’ll see you soon Mr— I mean, Tatsuya. Be careful.” “Take care yourself, Y/N!”

Hanging up the phone, Y/N looks around their tiny appartement.

......well, now what?

Lazing around on a laptop all day and doing absolutely nothing isn’t as bad as it sounds. Y/N drowned themselves in cartoons to distract from the pain of possibly not being able to pay bills on time....again. Being an adult comes with consequences and responsibilities that no one signed up for.

In the middle of a Steven Universe episode, there comes a sudden rapid knocking on the door. Who in the hell could that be?

“Just a minute!” They dash for the door, stumbling and tripping along the way. What they see as they peer through the peek hole shocks them.

‘....Keigo?’

They fumble with the lock before swinging the door open. “....Hawks?..What— what are you doing here?” The pro hero’s gaze shifts from Y/N to the inside of the apartment, “What, an old friend can’t stop by?” His feathers ruffle as his eyes inspect the indoor scenery.

A sudden wave of insecurity washes over Y/N. Their small, shaggy, run down apartment complex must pale in comparison to whatever and wherever it is that Hawks lives.

Y/N straightens their posture in an attempt to look bigger. Unable to look past them all that much, Hawks’s eyes pierce down to the person in front of him, a smile playing at his features. Clearing their throat they respond, “There’s no problem with that...it’s just— I’m busy at the moment. Besides, shouldn’t you be in the city right now? Fighting crime?”

The man in question hums, “We’re done for today. Those villains didn’t take much effort, just a lot of time.” He casually props an arm against the door frame and leans into it. “What’re you busy doing anyway? I thought when you aren’t at work, you’re sleeping.”

“I— no, you know what? That’s fair.” Hawks let’s out a startled laugh. “Man....alright, I’ll let myself in now.” He lightly nudges pass Y/N. “Hey hey hey! What the hell?!” Nonetheless, Y/N closes the door behind him.

He spins circles as he walks around, “Woahhh. This place is....” He takes two steps from the kitchen to the living room, “Small.”

“You don’t say?” Y/N props an elbow against the kitchen counter and watches as Hawks awes at everything in sight. He was always the curious type, the type to observe anything in the area.

He sits himself on the small sofa and lets out a deep sigh, “....All these years after graduating and this was the best you could get?”

Y/N freezes, a small feeling tugging at their chest, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hawks looks over at them with his usual wide smile, “Your looks, your personality. You weren’t able to wed off with someone to finically support you?”

He can’t be serious, right?

Time feels like it slowed down for Y/N. Did he come here just to bash on their lifestyle? Would he do that? Has he changed since becoming a pro hero?

No...it’s none of that. His expression appears oblivious to his own words. He’s, what seems like a mix of eagerly and stressfully, waiting for a response.

Y/N swallows the lump in their throat, “.....Hawks. I know you mean well and are probably just joking around, but what you said really hurt.” Y/N stares down, tugging at their sleeves in anticipation.

The smile quickly falls from his face, “Hurt?” Hawks speedily gets off the couch and stands on the other side of the kitchen counter. “What, um...” He clears his throat, “S-sorry, Y/N.”

Y/N shakes their head, “It’s fine. It just kinda felt like you were looking down on me.”

“Oh fuck.” He throws his head back and runs a hand through his hair, “I’m really sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think before I spoke. I—”

An impatient and rapid knock comes from the front door. The two freeze.

Who the hell could that be?.....

“Y/N! Are ya in there?!”

Part 2 coming....at some point? In the meantime, check out my BNHA Masterlist!

#MHA #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha hawks x reader #hawks x reader #hawks x mirko x reader #bnha takami keigo #keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfic #MHA fanfiction #hawks x reader x mirko #mirko x hawks x reader #mirko x reader x hawks #I tried #had breakdown #bonappetit #Mirko x reader #Mirko x reader x hawks #rumi usagiyama #hawks #Mirko #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia fanfiction #boku no hero academia #my hero academia x reader #takami keigo #cafe

[jaedencex]

SEKAIICHI HATSUKOI: TAKANO NO BAAI 2/(PART 3 SUMMARY TRANSLATIONS)

As I say at the start of everything, I apologise if you notice any grammar mistakes or errors in general. I will fix them as soon as I notice. The final part is going to be out probably in the next two or three days. Almost done!

The scene immediately cuts to Nao barging in and surprising Takano. “I’m home!” (yikes, I wonder how Takano felt hearing that). Nao spots Takano and starts to question if he’s in the right house but Takano just explains that Ritsu was ill and he fainted in the hallway this morning. Nao, now a bit alarmed at this news asks where he is and finds Ritsu sound asleep in his bed though looking rather unwell. Takano tells Nao that he’s sleeping and that he took some medicine this morning however it’s best to keep a watch on his condition. In frustration, Nao complains how this is exactly why he’d told him not to sleep on the floor. Takano lets Nao know that if he’s still not feeling well when he wakes up then to take him to hospital. He also made Ritsu a simple porridge to have when he wakes up (so soft > . <). Nao apologises for the inconvenience and expresses how good it was that he was there when Ritsu fainted and Takano explains that it happened as he was leaving. Once again, Nao apologies for Ritsu burdening him and dismisses Takano by telling him he’s going to take over from here, thanking him for what he’s done up until now. (noooo let Takano take care of him you stupidbitchru34urhur. Honestly, I think Takano looked a little uneasy and annoyed at that. He probably wanted to continue caring for Ritsu I like to think and obviously he doesn’t trust Nao). 

After that, Nao tries to stir Takano a bit. Nao acknowledged how difficult an editors job really is and how Ritsu’s always working until super late. Though, he realises Ritsu probably does this because he genuinely likes his job, but normally it gives off the impression that he’s being overworked. Once Ritsu makes a decision on something, he does everything in his power to make it work out and so that attitude also makes Nao want to work harder.

Takano’s not in the mood for chitchat right now and so all he says in response is “I’m aware of that.”. Nao carries on with his fake happy-go-lucky mood and tells Takano that as Ritsu’s boss he’d really appreciate if he’d watch over properly. Takano just simple says that he is watching over him and he doesn’t make people do things they’re not capable of doing. Nao is pleasantly surprised to hear this and says that must mean “Saga-san” has high expectations for Ritsu. He also attempts to give Nao his contact info in case anything like this happens again but Takano is just straight out ignoring him at this point and Nao notices that. As Takano is heading towards the door, Nao calls out to him and warns him to stop hurting Ritsu, that’s always being strung along like a fool by him. Finally, Takano seems to stand up for himself this time and tells Nao that he doesn’t need to hear something like this from him (kind of like silencing him).

Now alone, Takano thinks “Who’s the one getting strung along?” as his heading towards the front door, but it’s not like that really matters because if his presence is causing Ritsu pain then…

His foot touches something lying on the floor. He picks up the key he gave to Ritsu and wonders what it was doing in a place like that. Maybe it fell out whilst he was carrying him inside? But nothing spilled out of his bag when he fainted, so how? “Was he holding it in his hand?” Takano wonders what exactly Ritsu was doing clutching onto his key so tightly. Was it because he’s told him to come over and use the key whenever he liked? Was he planning to come and tell Takano he wasn’t feeling well? No, maybe…

It flashback to Ritsu’s word to Takano before he fell asleep.

"I- There are so many things I have to say to you.”

“I have- I have to tell you properly.”

“I’m… really…”

End of flashback.

Takano realises that Ritsu must have wanted to personally come talk to him about them. As he begins to slip the key through his fingers, he thinks about how Ritsu always detains him and gets his hopes up. So, Takano throws the key into Ritsu’s shoe with new hope “You’re so unfair.”. 

Final Part Coming Soon... (I swear I'm not trying to be dramatic when I write that but it comes off that way)

#sekaiichi hatsukoi #sih #takaritsu #takano no baai #takano no baai 2 #takano masamune #onodera ritsu #sekaiichihatsukoi

[derivepath]

➻ @calpio​ whispered : "nao-kun... hold my hand?" yuuta is doing puppy dog eyes.

jumping up awake , sweat pouring down from his expression . yet , another nightmare of his inescapable prison , nao's previous family home . constantly running in fear & in the hopes of surviving & not being harmed or broken even further . breathing in , breathing out . reality soon comes flooding in , realizations that nao was not in that cursed house but instead safe within his shared apartment . glancing around , Yuuta was sound asleep . that's right , nao had volunteered to help Yuuta out with some vocal practices , albeit inexperience but agreed to assist nonetheless . a hand rests 'pon his bubblegum pink locks , stroking back & forth .

❛ everything will be okay . it has to be . it has to be . ❜ bitting down on his lip , in an attempt to subdue from any bubbling emotions from erupting . it's only when yuuta starts to stir in his sleep , nao comes back to reality & sighing , no matter how much he pleaded with himself nothing ever changed . ( far too broken to heal ). his gaze becoming clouded , gods , why must tears come so easily nowadays . about to get up from the couch to go & fix his appereance , a hand grabs his . looking back to see a sleepy Yuuta , nao's current state goes unnoticed . ❛ i - i . . . . alright. ❜ heading back to the couch and holding yuuta's hand , who's already taken the liberty of hugging nao's waist . closing his own eyes . ( days like this , weren't so bad after all )

#I'M NOT CYRING UR CRYING WAHHHHHHHHH #* 「 CHARA : nao shimizu. #*「 AU : b project. #* 「 DYNAMIC CALPIO NAO / YUUTA : all we see the sky & pass by the world let us continue on forever. #calpio

[askthedespairkids]

Yet another birthday post

//assuming they both survive until September 24th in universe, of course. Karma: *they tackle hug Naomi awake* HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! Naomi: Haa? *blinking* Oh. Good morning, love. Is it my birthday? Already? Karma: Yup!! Naomi: I didn’t even think…. I guess I was so busy thinking on when this one will arrive I missed the date. Karma: Well I’m here to remind you. Naomi: Thanks. * she thinks about it for a second. * So. my birthday, haa? Nice. *she sits, pulling a hair brush and unties most of her hair to brush it, keeping a bit still collected. * So, did you sleep well, sweetie? Karma: I slept alright, yeah. You? Naomi: great, once this one let me feel comfortable. right, Hope? Karma: Has any name stuck out to you? Naomi: Not a very different list then last time, honestly. Haru, Madoka, Nao, Ren, Sora… Naomi: There’s a bunch. Karma: I think I have a personal favorite out of those. Naomi: We probably should get around deciding it… we have about a month. Karma: Oh jeez, yeah. Naomi: We should start taking query, I guess. Someone must have some good opinions. Karma: I’d hope so. Naomi: *thinking about it * Maybe not many of them, though. *She moves her fingers in Karma’s hair. * Karma: Yeeeeeah. Naomi: Your hair is nice. I like it. Karma: Thank you. Naomi: Can I play with it? Please? Karma: Oh! Sure. *Naomi starts brushing Karma’s, trying to do it as softly as possible. * Naomi: Sorry if it feels wired, I never actually brushed anyone’s hair but mine. Karma: It actually feels really nice. Naomi: Oh, great. *She keeps brushing, moving to tying and untying it when she’s done. * Karma: I don’t really do much with my hair. I just colour it. Naomi: But I like your hair. And playing with hair is fun, and one of the things I’m good at. Karma: Clearly. Your hair always looks really nice. Naomi: I work very hard to get to this point. It’s… important to me, I guess. There’s a reason I make sure to always have something in my hair. *Naomi quiets for a second, her fingers moving through Karma’s hair. * Karma: And why is that? Naomi: Because it’s the only way people will give a shit. Karma: What do you mean? Naomi: …I am not an important person. *her grip tightens, though unintentionally. * I could pass by and no one will notice. Karma: Well you are an important person. I mean I sure notices you. And I doubt it was because of your hair. Naomi: I have things in my hair and I do fast math. That’s it. *She sighs, leaving Karma’s hair. * There is not much else to notice. Karma: You’re kind. Passionate. Goal driven. Determined. Level-headed. I could go on and on. Naomi: These are not things you notice, these are things you say when you can’t think about anything else. *She sighed once more. * It’s nothing, love. I’ve been dealing with this for a long time. Karma: But I do mean these things. These are things I notice. Karma: And me loving you must mean something, yeah? Naomi: Do you really want me to answer that? *She hates this talk, she hates it so much, it makes all her fears to rise again, and she can’t be rationall. In attempt to calm herself, she starts mumbling * two, three, five, seven, eleven…. Karma: *they turn around and pull Naomi into a tight hug* Naomi: *she buries her face in Karma. * Careful, love. Karma: Right. Sorry. Naomi: I don’t… having something in my hair helps me feel confident. I don’t know why. Karma: If it helps, then keep doing it. Naomi: I love you. Karma: I love you too. What can we do to celebrate today? Naomi: If you could find some chocolate, I’d like it. But I have no farther idea. Karma: I can try. How old are you now? Naomi: Nineteen. she laughs do you realize how long it’s been? Karma: Time flies by too fast for me to keep track. I hardly remember how old I am. Naomi: seventeen and … eight months, I believe. But really. We spent my last birthday together, and for the birthday before that… it was maybe a month before everything fell down. Karma: Jeez…. Naomi: Times flies fast. Karma: It really does. Naomi: *she returns her fingers to Karma’s hair, spinning it quickly. * Karma: But things will be okay. Naomi: I sure do hope so. Karma: We all do. Naomi: Why do you love me? Karma: *they think for a moment* You know, I can’t really put my finger on one specific thing. I like your personality. And you understand me and love me too. And I enjoy being with you. You make me happy. Naomi: *she kisses Karma. * Sorry for being gloomy. I shouldn’t… Karma: It’s perfectly okay to have feelings. Naomi: … I guess it is. But someone needs to keep themself calm and it sure won’t be any of your classmates. Karma: Don’t pretend to be calm if you aren’t. Naomi: It may be easier for everyone. *She finishes Karma’s hair, using her ribbon to hold their hair, letting her own fall on her back. * But… for now, with you, in here… I think I can be less brave. Karma: I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to be like that around me. Naomi: …I … I asked you to marry me. We’re going to be parents. I should trust you enough for this. Karma: And you do. And I’m glad. Naomi: *she chuckles. * I love you. Karma: I love you too. Naomi: *she lies on her back, placing hands on her womb. * Soon, Hope. Karma: ….. Soon. Naomi: Lie near me? Karma: *they do so* Naomi: I love you. Karma: And I love you.

#bubhh #Naomi Kizakura #Karma Graves #DR #submission

[pucketknife-blog]

WE’LL CALL YOU~ self para [G]

↪ TAGGING: Noah Puckerman ( @pucketknife ); mentions of... pretty much everyone that manages a shop at JIH AND ELVIS THE DWARF MONGOOSE BLESS; ↪ LOCATION/TIME: NYADA Campus’ JIH Marketplace; May 11th & 12th; Friday afternoon and Saturday morning and afternoon; ↪ SYNOPSIS: It do take nerve! Puck tries his best at being “normal”. It starts with getting a job. Don’t call us, we’ll call you; ↪ WARNINGS: language if any, but nothing major. this is like 14 mini paras in one aka the longest para of all time rip my writing lol;

He’s got a pile of resumes in his hand and nothing but time ahead of him. He’s made sure to schedule every interview at least an hour apart from each other and split them into Friday and Saturday, even fit them to his classes so he doesn’t miss any more. Still, Puck’s hands are sweaty as he walks past Notos Towers as he heads to the JIH Market.

He doesn’t know what to expect. His eyes fall to his curriculum vitae, nothing on it but his personal data and one item that says “Trained Slayer” on it, the date of his thirteenth birthday, a dash, and the date of the sentencing. He downloaded a form from the internet trying to look professional, but it feels like he was reaching. He can’t even put himself as an A-ranked Slayer anymore.

He feels stupid.

However, it’s not like he has a choice. Puck likes eating. He likes being able to pay for his own expenses. He likes being self-sufficient. He doesn’t particularly like clothes, but he likes not getting arrested for walking around naked. Besides, at that particular moment in time, Puck doesn’t have anywhere to fall back onto. He’s on his own, and, even if the times were trying, a Puckerman never gives up.

( Even when other Puckermans are still debating if he could be considered as a Puckerman or not, that is. )

Ergo, him standing there, in a marketplace filled with laughing students, playing nice and being normal and getting a part-time job --or a few, if he manages to succeed.

The mere thought of what his father would say if he was still alive makes him sick to his stomach, and not for the first time in his life, he’s really glad his old man didn’t live long enough to see him where he is now.

He steps into the office of NYADA postal services, just a few people around coming and going, and he approaches the main desk to ask for the manager.

“It’s Amram Puckerman,” he tells the girl. “I believe they are waiting for me? I have an interview scheduled for today.”

She types something in her computer, then gives him a solid nod. “Yes, of course. You are welcome to wait for mr. McNaab right there,” he adds pointing at the chairs under a shelf of flying piggy bank deliverers. “Please, take a sit. He will be with you as soon as he’s free.”

He nods back and sits down, unsure of what comes next. What’s he supposed to do once inside? He’s never been in a job interview before. Are they going to ask him to fit him for a messenger bag? Is he supposed to know anything in particular? Is he overqualified? Or worse, is he underqualified?

“Amram Puckerman,” A whiny voice calls after him a moment later, and he stands up so fast the chair behind him menaces with falling back.

“Yeah, yes, here! I mean... That would be me.” He raises a hand awkwardly, and the old man peaks at him from over his rectangular glasses. They kind of look like envelopes, Puck thinks, but grandpa looks like he’s got little time to deal with bullshit, so he makes no comments and follows him into his office.

He keeps the introductions short, speaking only when he feels a question is directed towards him and hands his crappy resume. Mr. McNaab has to make a double take in between the resume and him a couple of times, but he doesn’t ask. He thinks that’s going to be something he needs to get used to. Maybe he’s read his name on the news. He wonders if that will affect his chances of making it in.

“So, tell me, Amram --may I call you Amram?” he asks politely putting the sheet of paper down and interlacing his fingers as he locks his bright honey-gold eyes on him. “Do you believe that the punctual delivery of mail can contribute to student happiness and health?”

Puck raises a brow.

“Excuse me?”

Mr. McNaab grimaces, but he repeats the question, this time slower. However, it doesn’t really help Puck to hear it again.

“I guess?” he answers. Mr. McNaab is not amused. “I mean, sure. Some students... need the support of their families, right. Like, their gifts? So it’s... like, super important... to get their shi- their stuff. On time. Sure.”

The old man’s expression doesn’t change as he speaks, and Puck can feel a drop of sweat slide down his temple.

“It’s important to keep people communicated,” he tries in a desperate attempt to fix it. “I’m sure it’s not easy to do it, but I’m willing to learn everything necessary to be good at it. I’m a morning person and I wake up before the sun is up, so if you give me a shot, you could have someone delivering mail even before the sun is out. I am also a really fast runner, so I can guarantee my deliveries will always be on time.”

Mr. McNaab nods slowly and his eyes go from Puck, to his resume, then to Puck once more. “Well, that’s most definitely something we like to see. At least you are willing to commit yourself to this job.”

“I am,” Puck adds quickly, almost talking on top of him. “I’m very good at following orders, and I don’t get tired easily --I’m in great physical shape.”

The old man dips his chin again.

“Good. Very, very good.”

He doesn’t say anything else as he stares at Puck intensely, and he squirms in his seat.

“So... Do I-” he starts, but Mr. McNaab raises a hand.

“Thank you so much for your time, Amram.”

Puck frowns, but presses his lips together and doesn’t say a word.

“We’ll call you.”

WITCHKEA looks just like a Common store he’s seen almost all over the country, full rooms in display for someone to point at and buy in it’s entirety. Puck doesn’t really understand what drives people to spend so much money in furniture when he’s managed to survive his whole life with a tent and a sleeping bag, but he’s still applying for a job there. Maybe he doesn’t get it, but he could probably lift one of those armchairs over his head without almost no effort at all --he thinks it’s a reason enough to get hired.

“Have you ever made a purchase at WITCHKEA, Amram?”

Mr. Edison Syven looks like 1800′s oil painting brought to life. His white blonde hair is slicked back into a high pony tail adorned with a white bow, at tune with his white vest and slacks. He walks among the furniture as a model would walk on a runway, fingers grazing at the items as if he was caressing them. Puck shakes his head as he follows him through the store.

“Here at WITCHKEA, we believe comfort is everything. Do you believe in comfort as a root for happiness?”

“Sure,” he shrugs involuntarily, and he’s happy Mr. Syven is more focused in wiping a spot on a mirror and smiling at his reflection than him.

“Tell me, mr. Puckerman, why do you think a properly furnished dorm room is essential to student success at NYADA?”

“Comfort?” he asks, and when the other man looks back at him with a raised brow he knows he should’ve answered that some other way. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “It’s important for students to feel at home so... they don’t get... stressed.”

Oil Paint Gent doesn’t seem to love his answer.

“Thank you, mr. Puckerman.”

“I’m really strong,” he adds in a desperate attempt to save himself, but something tells him he’s too late.

“We’ll let you know,” Mr. Syven smiles, yet the gesture never reaches his eyes. “Thank you for applying.”

He steps into Wholefoods Market and sees nothing but a line of cashiers, gazes blank as they pack groceries like robots. He swallows hard.

This was his future now, wasn’t it?

“Hello! Welcome to Wholefoods Market!” a thin redhead with a surprisingly low voice calls out excitedly, and his huge grin kinda makes Puck want to punch him in the face. “My name is Petey! How can I hep you today?”

He opens his mouth to ask for the manager, tell him he has an interview, let him know he’s desperate for a job, but nothing comes out. All he can see is Petey’s smile and the manic way in which he’s staring at him intensely, almost as if it was a hopeless cry for help. He turns his head to the cashiers, none of them smiling.

This was never gonna be his future.

“You know what, Petey?” Puck taps his shoulder a couple of times, offering a fake smile. “I’m good.”  

He turns on his heels and walks out, leaving Petey and his crazy smiling as he waves him goodbye. First dead than dead inside.

“Amram Puckerman, here for an interview?” He leans into the counter as the cute girl on the front desk types into her tablet, sending her a seductive smile. American Witchpparel was never a place where Puck thought he would work, but seeing the girls that worked there really made him want to change his mind. “Here for your number, too, if you’re up to it,” he flirts shamelessly, smiling as the brunette looks up to meet his eyes.

“Mizra will see you now, Puck,” she smiles back, and he raises a brow at the use of his nickname. “What? I watched the NAO,” she shrugs and he can swear she’s batting her eyelashes at him before pointing to the office.

“Of course you did,” he winks as he straightens up. “I’ll see you later?”

“Maybe,” she singsongs, and he feels a boost of confidence. If he fucked it up, maybe she would speak up for him. Even if she didn’t, maybe he’d come back anyway.

“Hello, you must be Amram,” Mizra greets him as she opens the door for him and points at a chair. “You’re interested in becoming a part-time Sales Associate, if I’m correct?”

“Yes ma’am,” he nods handing her his resume before sitting down. “I... don’t have any previous experience, but I’m a quick learner.” And my smile can sell pretty much anything, specially to rich white girls, he wants to add, but he doesn’t. Just in case. So he smiles. He gives her his best, most seductive self and hopes that’s good enough.

“It’s exactly what we need! At least you’re honest about it!” she covers her mouth as she lets out a little snicker. Puck takes that as a win.

“So, Amram,” she starts sitting at the edge of her desk as she looks back at Puck. “What do you think about the phrase ‘dress to impress’? What does it mean to you?

Puck’s smile falters. “What’s it mean to me?” Nothing. Absolutely. Nothing. “Well... I’m more of a ‘dress for the occasion’ kinda guy myself...” he shrugs. “I see clothes as...” Annoying, most of the time. “A practical thing.” What.

“What?” Mizra asks.

“What.” Puck shrugs.

A long pause.

“I’m... not sure I follow...” she tries again, gently.

“I don’t really care how I look, I’m mostly into durable clothes. Like, the ones that won’t set on fire, or wont tore easily when I’m in the field?”

More silence.

“I’m not sure you will be a good fit for this job, mr. Puckerman.”

Puck gulps. “I can do this,” he says, then takes off his belt in a quick sweep, turning it into a whip.

Mizra jumps off the desk and yelps.

“OHMYAETHER, GET OUT!!!”

He doesn’t even try to ask for a second chance as he apologizes and puts his belt back on, hurrying out of the office. The door slams behind him and he sighs deeply.

Well, there goes working among the pretty girls.

“Cheer up,” the girl at the front desk tells him as he walks towards the door, and makes her way up to him, taking his hand in hers and pressing an American Witchppparel card with her number on it as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’ll do better next time. Call me,” she whispers in his ear before walking away, flipping her hair and swinging her hips as she walks back to her workstation.

He lets out a snort and grins to himself as he walks away, saving the number to his phone’s contacts. At least it was not a total waste of his time.

The smell of Cookery & Cauldron makes his stomach groan and bark, but Puck doesn’t let that stop him from trying to act professional as he introduces himself to Patrick and Ersatz Spitz. They seem nice enough, and the shop is inviting. It’s not his dream, but at least it’s not Wholefoods Market.

“What does being a good customer advocate mean to you, Amram?”

Puck has no idea what ‘customer advocate’ means, but he thinks it might have something to do with being a waiter. Patrick and Ersatz’ piercing blue eyes fall on him, and Puck thinks about having them looking over his shoulder every day at work, which doesn’t help him relax.

“I think customer service is super important,” he blurts out. “If you make people feel good enough, they’re gonna come back all the time. Even if the food is not good enough,” he shrugs.

Their smiles falter. Both Patrick and Ersatz Spitz wince a little bit.

“I’m not saying yours is bad!” he adds hurriedly. “I’ve honestly never eaten here before, but the smells right now are pretty phenomenal.” There is a pause of silence, only interrupted by Puck’s stomach protesting again. “Sorry. But, eh... yeah. It’s like, if you treat people well, you make them feel comfortable and at home, it just makes them feel good. They feel like they’re among friends, so they tend to come back for more, right?”

He looked back at the couple, who were now nodding at him silently.

“And I can juggle,” he reaches. “And I do a mean Barak Obama impression, too.”

Just give me chance, Puck begged in his head. All I need is one chance.

By the exchange of looks between the Spitz, he wasn’t sure if he was going to get it.

He steps into The Spa at NYADA taking a deep breath as he is welcomed by the scents and aromas of the place, its warmth seeping into his skin and making him feel relaxed for the first time in the afternoon. Even if he doesn’t know the first thing about Spas, he thinks this wouldn’t be the worst place to be working on the downtime. At the very least, he can predict he’ll be chill, something that he can’t say very often.

“Missus Graeme will see you now, Mr. Puckerman,” the boy on the front desk tells him, his cheeks blushing green as he smiles up at him. “Please, follow me.”

The changeling guides him through a long hallway, doors to each side with different signs that list the special treatments, until they get to the other side and he opens the last door to reveal Millicent Graeme’s office.

“You must be Amram,” she greets him with a smile as he takes both his hands in hers and kind of bows. Puck does the same, just in case. “Please, take a seat, love.”

He does as he’s told, smiling back at her without being able to help himself. Wow, this Spa place was powerful.

“Hi,” he grins. “Thanks for having me.”

Her eyes seem to sparkle as they crinkle in upside down half moons, “Of course, everyone is welcome here at The Spa at NYADA, dear boy.” She takes the resume the changelling hands her and reads it over, brow quirking and smile faltering only slightly.

“Oh,” she sighs, and Puck can swear she looks disappointed. “Well. That’s unexpected.” Still, she puts the curriculum down and looks back at Puck.

“Tell me, Mr. Puckerman, do you have experience or knowledge in physiology and therapy?”

He shakes his head. “I... have some experience in healing others on the field...” he tries. “I can also carry a lot of weight on my shoulders.”

Ms. Graeme lets out a soft, airy giggle.

“That is very interesting, dear. Now, can you tell me something about the scents, and essential oils that help you relax after a long day?”

“E-essential oils?” The only oils Puck knows about are cooking oil and the one that goes in the car. He stays silent for a moment. If he weren’t under the influence of whatever it is they put in the air in this place, he’d be nervous again. “I like the smell of cinnamon and mint,” he offers as a last resource.

“You are a such a sweet boy, aren’t you, mr. Puckerman?”

He raises a brow. He doesn’t know how to reply to that.

“Thank you for your time, love,” she smiles again.

“Okay...”

“I’ll let you know.”

He doesn’t know why he’s trying anymore, but as she smiles, he does the same, too. His smile stays on until he steps out of the shop, when it falls, just as his shoulders and the realization that that was probably a terrible interview. He hates reality.

He schedules his interview at Madame Jason's for Friday morning before his classes, and as the bells chime as he walks into the shop, he is greeted by Ermis Johannes themself.

“Good morning, Puck! The same as always?” they ask with a smile as they reach for their amazing Babka.

“Ye- wait, no, actually,” he stops himself. “I am here for an interview? I kinda need a job and I thought, what could be better than working in my favorite shop in the JIH, right?”

Ermis laughs as they walk around the counter and guides him to one of the empty tables near the window. Once they settle down, they reach out and take the sheet of paper Puck is holding out, brow arched as they read.

“It looks like you don’t have much experience with baked good, don’t it?” they snicker as they slide the page back at him.

Puck shrugs and gives them an apologetic smile. “I’m a quick learner? I can also make some mean-ass waffles,” he offers. “C’mon, I gotta be one of your best customers,” Puck smirks. “Maybe you’ll end up paying me in nothing but baked goods, huh? Seems like quite the offer to me...”

Ermis shakes their head, amused. “You are quite the character, aren’t you, Puckerman?” They roll their eyes at him. “I’ll give you a chance, just for that. How about you tell me about your favorite homemade family recipe, what does it mean to you?

Puck is taken aback by the question. In the back of his mind, an alarm rings. He can almost smell the fain aroma of freshly baked Challah, the taste of the Babka heavy on his tongue, double chocolate chocolate because he’s earned it. The faces are blurred. He can almost hear the voices speaking in gibberish, out of tune, calling his name, his first name.

He shakes his head. Too real.

“Does rice count as a homemade family recipe?” he only half-jokes.

Ermis laughs. “I’ll let you know, Puck. Now, c’mon, let me get you your Babka --aren’t you late for class?”

After class, he doesn’t even bother leaving his backpack in his dorm. Instead, he heads directly to Magical Best Buy and asks for the manager. Soon enough, Ayal Varfolomey walks up to him and shakes his hand. “You’re a little late, but it’s fine. We are in the down season, but we do not tolerate tardiness when school is on. If you want to work here, is important you know that.”

Puck nods, letting them know it was a one time thing of his course running late, and it won’t happen it again, but he’s not sure if Varfolomey is even listening.

“You don’t have any experience with altered electronics, I see...” Ayal points out as they rearrange their cufflinks.

“I don’t, but I’m a quick learner.” He seems to be saying that a lot in these interviews.

“I doubt it,” the employer dismisses him before looking into his eyes. “At least you’re a New Age. So, Amram, what’s your favorite kind of altered electronic?”

Puck doesn’t know how to react to someone like Varfolomey. In other circumstances, he would’ve probably walked away, but he had already walked out from another shop the day before, and his options were limited. He couldn’t take the risk anymore.

“Well, after being hacked when I came to NYADA, I started using magic antiviruses in my computer, so I’d say that’s among my favorites...” he points out, but by the way Varfolomey is raising their eyebrow told him he isn’t selling it. “I also bought a tiny necklace that works as a one tera disk.”

Ayal smiles, cold and clearly unimpressed.

“We’ll let you know, mr. Puckerman. Thanks for stopping by Magical Best Buy; may I interest you in our new collection of Gonzalo the Dragon USB flash drives?”

“Please, sing for us the classic Commons melody ‘The Candy Man Can’ from the iconic movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, while you glide around the shop on this rolling ladder!”

“Excuse me?” Puck blinks incredulously as he looks at Valent Antigonus, surrounded by his smiling employees.

“‘The Candy Man Can’! It’s my favorite song. Everyone here has done it!” he squeals excitedly as he points at the people around him, who nod eagerly. “Do you suffer from stage fright, mr. Puckerman?”

“Not really, I just...” he replies as he scratches his head. Antigonus stares at him, eagerment visible in his eyes. He shrugs his shoulders. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

Puck settles himself, grabbing the rolling ladder that sits to the side as Antigonus claps and cheers. “Go for it, mr. Puckerman! We believe in you!”

Oh, how wrong they all were in believing in him. Because Puck is not as well versed in Common music as he thinks he is, and he starts blurting out Christina Aguilera’s version of ‘Candy Man’ at the top of his lungs instead.

🎶 ‘I met him out for dinner on a Friday night He really got me working up an appetite He had tattoos up and down his arm There's nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm He's a one stop shop, makes the panties drop He's a sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man A sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man’ 🎶

He’s kind of getting into it, too, shaking his head to the imaginary music as he glides around the shop to the best of his abilities. He has to admit, it’s kind of fun.

It’s not what Valent Antigonus expects, but he respects the effort. He doesn’t tell him he’s got the wrong song up until after he finishes the first chorus.

Puck would feel stupid if gliding in that ladder wasn’t as enjoyable as it was. He kinda wants to have another shot. He kinda wants the job.

Familiarsmart is bigger than he thought it would be, and as he waits for the manager, Puck can’t help but look around. There’s a huge variety of unnecessary things for animals and familiars, a really cool cowboy hat he thinks would look great on Elvis included, and he’s about to grab it so he can see how much it is when someone taps at his shoulder.

“Puckerman, yes? I’m Saleem Katmandu! Why don’t you come with me? Let’s talk.” Her smile is warm, as it is the hand she places on his arm as she guides him to her office in the back of the shop.

The room is small but cozy, the soothing smell of incense heavy in the air. Puck takes a sit in a puff opposite the one she takes and tries not to look stupid as he sinks deeper and deeper into it, but he probably fails.

“So, you’re interested in working with us?”

He nods. “Seems like a really cool place to work, not gonna lie,” he shrugs a shoulder. “You guys have all kind of good stuff out there. I’m pretty sure Elvis would go bonkers if he saw it...” he smiles back at her.

“Is Elvis your familiar?” she asks excitedly interlacing her fingers and tilting her head. “I would love to meet him, if that’s okay with you.”

Puck wants to say no, that Elvis a hurricane and he will destroy everything on his wake, but her eyes glisten with hope, and Puck feels that denying her this would be like taking candy from a child. So, he smiles.

“Of course, I don’t see why not.” He reaches for his Grimoire inside his pocket, trying not to fall in the process and only half-succeeding. As the book lays on his palm, it starts growing in size until is about as big as his hand, and he opens it to summon him. A blink of an eye later, Elvis jumps out of the pages and lands on the desk to their side.

“FREEDOM!!” Elvis yells at the top of his lungs into Puck’s brain, but all that comes out of his mouth is a ridiculous squeak that makes Saleem giggle.

“Well, aren’t you a delight,” she smiles at Elvis as Puck silently begs him to not fuck up. “Elvis, do you want a snack?”

“Do I want it!” Elvis is quick to jump on top of Puck’s head and land on the manager’s extended hand, taking the treat into his little hands and chomping on it loudly.

‘Be nice, be nice, be nice,’ Puck repeats in his head. ‘Do not screw this up, Elvis, or I swear, you’re not coming out in a whole month.’

Elvis, however, doesn’t have time to listen to Puck whine. He’s all over that tasty treat ms. Nice Eyes hands him and is humming as he savors it. “This is SO good, you need to get me more of these, WOW. Hey, can I be her familiar instead?”

Puck rolls his eyes, “I think he really likes you.”

Saleem’s eyes don’t leave Elvis as she speaks, a kind smile plastered on her features. “I like him too... You’re a little sweetheart, Elvis, aren’t you?” She tickles his stomach with her finger, and Elvis pretty much melts in her hands.

“Ooh, yeah, right there,” he purrs, and Puck is a second away from snatching him away. His little foot taps against Saleem’s palm rhythmically as he leans into her touch.

Still, she doesn’t seem to mind it. She doesn’t even look back at Puck as she follows up with the interview. “Tell me, Amram, how did you meet? Why do you think your relationship with Elvis is important?”

Puck thinks about the question as he watches Elvis lay down on her hand, rubbing himself against her as he keeps making really weird sex noises in his head. Damn, he was a kinky fucker.

“We met way back when,” Puck starts, and then gives her a short version of the story. “He found me in a time of my life in which I felt very alone, and he... kind of became my best and only friend. He can be a bit sassy and annoying at times, because he’s super demanding and he won’t let me cut his nails and he keeps jumping on me and scratching me, but... at the end of the day, he’s always there, y’know? He knows what to say to make me snap out of a funk or encourage me when I need a buddy. He helped me get more in tune with my magic and myself, he helped me understand my powers and, even if he’s got quite the mouth, he’s always been very supportive... in his own way.”

He smiles, and Elvis looks back at him as he lays on Saleem’s hand comfortably and hugs her finger with his tiny hands. “Dude, that was so beautiful,” he mocks him. “C’mere, I wanna kiss your bald-ass head, I wanna smooch your ugly face.”

“Shut up,” Puck snorts rolling his eyes at him, but he’s still smiling.

“You two are adorable,” Saleem chimes in, and in that moment, Puck is sure she heard every singe word Elvis said to him. He doesn’t ask.

When he walks into his next interview in the Coughing Coffee, he’s feeling somewhat confident. He thinks his interview at Familiarsmart wasn’t as bad as every other he’s had this far, and even if he doesn’t want to go on record on it, he believes he might have that one in the bag. He would never tell him, but it probably was thanks to Elvis, who has once again had crept into his Grimoire --he has considered keeping him around, but upon second thought, he was pretty sure he didn’t have the manners to be freed in a public space like the one he was walking into right then, specially not during a job interview. Specially not with so many tasty treats displayed around.

With or without him, Puck is not feeling as crappy as the day before. For the first time since his sentencing, he thinks maybe he could make this work. Just being a student. Having a couple part-jobs to support himself. Get his degrees, at least major in Engineering and Jewish studies --he believes he can get somewhat of a normal job with those. He could design shit. He could fix shit. He could teach. He could blend in.

It’s not ideal, but he has an option. Quinn wasn’t wrong. He does have something to look forward to.

He introduces himself to the manager and follows him to a table far away in a corner of the shop. Mr. Yanick Haanraads sits up straight as he watches Puck closely, just as if he was trying to find what was wrong with him. Puck straightens up himself, smoothing a hand over his chest to fix his shirt, looking down to make sure there were no stains before he looked back at the other man.

“Well,” mr. Haanraads starts, his voice low and soothing, “Why do you want to work on the Coughing Coffee?”

Puck sighs, and he stops himself from shrugging just in time. “I think you guys have the best coffee in NYADA,” he chooses to say with a solid dip of his chin, and he’s not lying. He also think it’s the most expensive in school, but that’s beside the point. “I think, if given the chance, I could... learn to be an amazing barista.”

“Learn?” the man repeats, and he picks up Puck’s curriculum vitae and reads it, brows raising in surprise. “Oh. You don’t seem to have any previous professional experience brewing coffee or other hot beverages. I understand now.” He puts the sheet down and gives him a tight smile. The silence that sets between them makes Puck fidget in his seat.

“I make coffee in my dorm a lot,” he chimes in, and the manager nods.

“Of course you do,” he comes back, clearly unimpressed. “Tell me, mr. Puckerman, what type of coffee bean you consider to be the best and what’s, in your opinion, the ideal way to prepare it and consume it?”

Puck is startled by the question, brows raising in surprise. “Type of coffee bean?”

Yanick Haanraads arches a brow.

“Black?” Puck tries.

“Thank you for coming in, mr. Puckerman,” the man says politely, and Puck’s chest deflates. The interview is over.

“Thanks for your time, mr. Haanraads. I’ll show myself out.”

Dick's Sporting Goods seems like an easy bet, and Puck walks into the shop with much more confidence than he’s had in almost every other job interview he’s got this far. He’s not so much into sports, but he’s always been an athletic guy, he’s sure he could fit in Dick’s Sporting Goods with ease and almost no effort. That’s if he manages to get through the interview without screwing it up.

“Amram Puckerman,” he repeats for what it seems the hundredth time in the past few days as he shakes mr. Pertu Leoni’s hand.

“Ah, yes. Yes, we were expecting you, Amram,” the short man nods as he squeezes his hand. The Italian accent is heavy on his tongue, and his grip is much stronger than he thought it would be. However, even if the man didn’t smile up at him, he appears to be willing to give him a chance.

After a quick round of introductions and Puck letting him know a little about himself -what he studies, what sports he likes, what was he looking forward in a job- the manager looks back at him with intensity in his gaze. “So, tell me, are you a guy who likes to display your school spirit?”

Puck chews on his bottom lip and shakes his head. “Honestly, not really. I’m more of a solo player, most of the times.” He knows it’s not what the man wants to hear, but he hopes at the very least he values honesty. “But I have no problem in being a team sport when necessary. In fact, I was one of the Thundercats, the NAO semifinalists. I think you could say I was kinda getting into the school spirit?”

“Aha, aha, and, do you think sporting events are events are important to student unity?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Because, really, who cares about student unity. It’s not like this school will be the rest of his life. This is supposed to be nothing but a stepping stone in his path to success and eternal glory. Yet, he wants to do good. Working in Dick’s sporting goods sure sound better than WITCHKEA.

“I think so, yeah,” he replies, very little conviction in his voice, but he really wants to try. So, he appeals to the only thing he knows how to do well: he gets brutally honest. “The thing about sporting teams and sporting events is that with the whole team spirit, they give you a sense of belonging, and a sense of having something to fight for. Most of these kids, they’re not really used to fighting. Growing up in the field as a Slayer, I think it’s kind of different. We learn to trust ourselves, but also rely on others to achieve our goals. We are a team, because we have no other choice. Relying on each other, how well you can work among other people, can make the difference between living and dying. We train others to make ourselves stronger. Passing the torch is as much of an honor as it is to yield it, you know what I mean?” he sees himself drifting from the point and clears his throat. “What I mean is, sporting events are like the field I work on, but in a controlled environment. You get to learn about your own strength, and by being part of a team, you make each other stronger. You learn to share and to work together as a unit, which is really something many kids who come here never been through before. I think... it’s a healthy and ‘fun’ way to grow. And that’s... well, it’s nice. To belong somewhere.” He gives the manager a smile, sadder than he wishes it was.

“That is one way to put it,” the man nods solemnly. “Thank you, mr. Puckerman.”

He has no clue what that means for him, if his response was enough or if he had just buried his chances, but he knows for sure the interview is over.

“Thanks for your time, mr. Pertu Leoni. I’ll wait for your call.”

He notices the smell of dust and old paper heavy in the air as soon as he walks through the door of Grim & War, and he sniffles as he makes his way to the counter and rings the little bell. As he waits, his eyes drift to the floor to ceiling shelves stocked to its maximum capacity and wonders what kind of things are just sitting there. Puck has never been a big fan of books, but he can understand the appeal. Books aren’t practical, and he’s never been one to read more than what’s absolutely necessary for him (aside from Fight Cub). He respect books, of course he does. He just... rather watch the movie.

“Are you Amram Puckerman?” Mr. Moore smiles at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s nice to meet you, my name is Lazarus Moore. I’m the manager of this store.”

As he tells him a little bit about the history of Grim & War, Lazarus leads him through a mini-tour guide of the shop, pointing at shelves and telling him which section is which and why, how to guide the readers from the best sellers that he wouldn’t buy, to the treasures in the back, those that make his eyes sparkle and sigh in content.

“What kind of experience do you have with magical texts and literature, mr. Puckerman?” Lazarus asks when the tour comes to an end and they stand on the front desk again, and Puck gulps as he works out a way of saying he’s not an avid reader in a way that doesn’t get him dismissed as a candidate for the job immediately.

“I guess you could say, I don’t have much experience with them,” he finally confesses with sincerity. “I’ve never been an super into reading, but I’m slowly but surely learning the appeal of a good book.”

Well, maybe not full sincerity. He’s running out of options, after all.

“My family likes more the kind of hands-on approach of learning, but since I started here, I’ve found myself relying on books and magical texts a lot. If you’d ask me the same question a couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to reply at all, but today... I wanna say, I’m a work in progress. I enjoy reading about things I find interesting as a hobby, specially things that revolve around engineering and constructing things. I’m trying to... train myself, if you will. Make it a habit, reading a little bit everyday.”

“It’s always a good way to start,” Lazarus nods and gives him a little smile. “Are there any books in particular you gravitate towards?”

Puck chuckles and shrugs a shoulder “I’m a bit basic when it comes to literature, so I was hoping maybe working here would somehow... educate me? You see, the only books I read are the Torah, text books on Slaying and weaponry and Chuck Palahniuk. Mostly Fight Club. Several times. Someone I care about gave me some books on engineering that have become my favorites, too.” He can see the manager is amused, and even if he knows he has little to no chance there, he takes that as a good sign. “But, I’m open to suggestions... Is there something you can recommend for me?”

Finally, Lazarus teeth shine through from in between his lips, flashing him his pearly whites as he nods in excitement. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He’s been in Jiggly's more than once before, sometimes with Finn and sometimes alone. He finds it to be a great place to unwind after a long week, so as soon as he walks in, he waves at the staff as he sits on the bar.

“The usual?” A blonde boy at the bar asks as he sets shot glasses in front of him, hand already reaching for the houses’ best Tequila, but Puck puts his own over the glasses and shakes his head.

“Can’t. I’m here for an interview, actually. Do you know where Bert is?”

“Office on your nine,” he points at it with his chin as he wipes the dust off the exhibited bottles. “You think you can keep up with me behind the bar?” he teases him with a smirk. Puck shakes his head as he stands up.

“Oh, Rudy,” he chuckles as he walks away, “You know no one compares to you, babe!”

He laughs as the blonde shakes his head, knocking on the door and waiting for the manager to let him in.

“Mr. Puckerman, no?” Bert asks once he’s sitting in front of him. His bushy brows take over half of his face, expression menacing as he glues his eyes to Puck’s. “Do you have any previous experience in bartending and mixology?”

He sighs softly as he tries to say ‘no’ in the nicest way possible. “It depends on what you call experience,” he chooses to say looking back at Bert. “I’ve done my fair share of bartending for the Guild, but no one’s ever payed me for it.”

Bert doesn’t laugh. Instead, the corner of his lip twitches up and he nods his head. “Funny. You’re funny. I like you. Tell me, what’s your favorite drink? Please describe the best way to make it for me.”

“Favorite drink?” Puck has always been into beer and tequila before fruity cocktails, but he’s lucky his father used to be such a big fan of a good Old Fashioned. “Is there anything better than an Old Fashioned? Just some good bourbon poured on a Angostura bitters saturated sugar cube, a slice of orange and a cherry... In my opinion, it’s even better if it’s a Maraschino Cherry, but my father preferred to use fresh ones. Whiskey works fine, too, but bourbon is ‘for real men’. Or at least, that’s what my dad used to say.”

“Your dad seems like a smart man,” Bert nods solemnly, and for the first time in his life, Puck silently thanks his father for literally beating that recipe into his brain.

He leaves the interview at Black & Deck Her for last, knowing it was going to be the easiest one. After two days of talking to people and begging them for jobs he doesn’t want, Puck finally gets to the one shop he really wouldn’t mind working at. As he watches the display of weapons sitting in the window, he finally feels at home. He’s got this one in the bag.

“It’s nice to meet you, ms. Deck Her,” he says with his most charming smile as he shakes her hand. “I’m Amram Puckerman, here for a job interview?”

“Ah, yeah,” she eyes him carefully. “The Slayer, ain’t ya? Yeah, Davis said something about ya stopping by...”

Puck tries not  to take the way she’s looking at him personally, and hopes she’s not one of those people who think ‘Slayers are murderers’, but he’s pretty sure hating on the people who buy from you would be a stupid choice, so he chooses to believe that’s just the way she looks at people in general.

“Well, I’m very interested in the open position you have. Not only I have a good deal of experience with weapons, but I’m also majoring in engineering --I kind of want to expand on my weapon manipulation abilities and be able to create new weapons that are more effective and practical for the field.”

“Weapon manipulation?” she asks, a spark of interest glistening in the corner of her eye. “Do tell...”

Puck smiles and points at an empty cup on the table, “May I?” She nods, and the Slayer wraps his hand around it, an orange flash covering it for a second as it shifts into an RE-45 autopistol. He shows it to the manager, then closes his hand around it and the flash covers it again. He opens his hand to revel a classic Bowie knife, and when he places it on the table and moves his hand away, the knife turns back into the cup.

“That’s a first,” Hilda Deck Her quirks a brow at him. “New Age?”

“Yes, ma’am. Developed that myself,” he states proudly, and even if her face is inscrutable, he knows there’s no way she’s not impressed if she’s as much into weaponry as she is.

“So,” she blurts out a second later as she plops her elbow on the counter, chin resting on the palm of her hand. “What kind of weapons do you practice with? Why do you like them?”

“I’m trained in multiple fighting styles, so I have basic knowledge of how to use most traditional weapons -firearms, swords, the eventual bow and arrow, though personally I’ve always preferred a crossbow, knives and other things- but I usually lean into guns I can yield in one hand. I tend to combine a lot of body combat with weapons and magic, and the good thing about guns is that you can always use them with one hand and punch with the other,” he shrugs with a little smirk. “I think they’re practical, easy to use and effective. Plus, who can resist the smell of gunpowder?” he adds with a teasing wink. He doesn’t get much of a response, and he shrugs a shoulder as he continues. “If I don’t have a gun, my second choice would be a handy combat knife, mostly because of the same reason. They give me the freedom to fight freely and a good back-up plan in case things don’t work my way.”

Ms. Deck Her nods again, writing something down on his resume before she looks back at him. “Seems like you know your way around weapons, huh?”

Puck smiles at her. “I could always learn more. If you’d let me, that is.”

He really wishes she would.

/// Do you want to help Puck get a job? 👉🏿 Call me, maybe? The Survey. ///

#nyadajobs #paras #para: self #para: we'll call you

[danganww]

I’ll Be Watchin’ You

Anyone in the jail on the afternoon of the second day would’ve been privy to the discussion going on. Naomi was many things, but quiet wasn’t one of them. She sat on her cell bed, kicking her legs and looking through the glass at Kyo with a concentrated look on her face. 

“Fine. I’ll do it, but only because you’re being so pushy.” She was reluctant, yes, but she’d given this plenty of time to think since Kyo had suggested it the day before, so there was little hesitation left now as she pressed the betray button on her tablet. She looked over at them, apology clear in her eyes. Not for what she’d done, but for what she was about to do. “Hey, kids, make sure Kyo isn’t alone, okay? Leave… him here, to keep them company.” She was sentencing her best friend to a cruel fate, but she could at least have some fun with it.

It was more than just Kyo asking her to do it. It was only a matter of time before someone died, and she couldn’t let it be Kyo. In the cell, they’d be safe, at least. The only one to be able to open their door would be her. She could take solace in that, even if their situation was unpleasant. As her collar turned blue and the door opened, Naomi stepped out, hugging Kyo as they swapped places.

“If we have to do this again, you push it next time.” 

——

Even at the perfectly reasonable afternoon hour of 3 PM, Kyo looked tired out of their mind. It was one of the universe’s constants. 

“Not pushy.” They’d mumbled after Naomi, leaning against the cell door. Their arm dangled limply at their side, and their tone could probably be best compared to an exasperated parent. “Jus’ wanna help. Know you’d probably get more done out here ‘n me anyway.”

They straightened as she pressed her button, preparing for her leave. Honestly, whatever punishment they may get didn’t even occur to them — just that they’d be in there and Naomi would be out here getting things done, and really, that was all that mattered. They squinted at her request, taking a moment to process it, before...

“Oh god. Him? Nao, I already can’t sleep at night. You’re gonna do that to me?” Their voice was the closest it’d get to a genuine fear, but even then, it was all in good fun. They were just thankful she didn’t vote to have their legs cut off or something, though they knew she wasn’t that cruel.

Regardless of that, though, they appreciated her acceptance. They knew being cooped up in there would just drive her insane — Naomi Nojiri needed work like a fish needed water, they’d learned. They hugged their partner back, maybe a little tighter than they usually did, but even among all the banter the grim nature of the situation couldn’t be ignored.

“... fine. Better tell me everythin’ y’ find...”

Just then, Kino approached the cell, somehow managing to maintain her composure while single-handedly wheeling the segway Naomi had requested along with her. It was promptly parked off to the side as she pulled out her tablet and pointedly tapped at it. The sound of the lock opening played.

“Naomi Nojiri, Kyoda Komadori, your roles have officially been swapped. You may remain outside of the cell for two minutes before you must enter, as the others have been granted this time as well. Naomi Nojiri, your card will now be able to unlock the door during the allotted times.”

Kino proceeded to slip something into Naomi’s hand, whatever ‘something’ was.

“Kyoda Komadori, your diet is now restricted to the mess hall’s gruel. Any attempts to consume a different menu option will be considered a violation of your motive conditions and treated accordingly. This also extends to any consumable items you may receive through exchanging coins for items. If you do not have any further questions, I shall take my leave.” 

That loophole from first time was now closed.

A something, huh? Kyo couldn’t help but be curious, though they figured Naomi would relay the information to them anyway. They were good at being talked at. 

After making sure Naomi was out, Kyo gave Kino the laziest of lazy mock salutes. “Sure thing, ma’am...” Their eyes could NOT leave that segway, though. That would just be watching them sleep, huh? Terrifying. 

They looked over to their partner, feeling like they should give some form of goodbye, or a request to not burn the place down while they’re cooped up, but instead just gave her a nod as they shut the cell door in front of them, dragging the Blart in after. 

God that thing was creepy. What the fuck.

Naomi dangled the small electronic key she’d just received from Kino for Kyo to see, hoping they considered this worth it. “I’ll find out where this goes, I promise.” She’d been on a winning streak of unlocking things, as Kyo knew. 

“As for Paul, well. You always said I was just like him, so it’ll be the same having me there, right?” She smiled her usual charming smile, but it was much more genuine with Kyo than most others. She really hoped they were right about this being a good move. If something happened to them… No, she wouldn’t let it. “I’ll visit in a bit, criminal scum. I’m too worried about you to get much work done anyway.” Even for someone like her, there were things more important than the job.

#Motive3 #Naomi #Kyoda #Kino