#he used to put frogs in her backpack to bully her but she thought it was friendship gifts

[musubiki]

lime habit

#its now an ongoing theme appearently #who needs flowers when you can give frog and cool rock #no words just frog #he probably did this as a kid and never deviated #he used to put frogs in her backpack to bully her but she thought it was friendship gifts #and now when he sees a frog he saves it for her #things she never gets tired of #mochis :O face is so !!!!!!!!

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Rage Fire Institution

Bridging. 20.

Tatsumi was a tyrant.

Tatsumi was a tyrant, a bully, a tyrant, and any other words along those lines that Maki couldn’t think of thanks to his tired state. Beneath his meek looks, stupidly long hair, damned glasses, and pilot suit, Tatsumi was more like a damn predator and he’d been the damn mouse all along. Now the game was over, he’d been swallowed entirely. Every part of him hurt. His pride included as he’d been repeatedly slammed to the gym floor no matter how hard he’d struggled.

The first night training had been brutal. The second night not as bad as his babysitter had opened up the comms and talked him through how to defend himself properly. He’d shown him to move and how to exploit mech movement despite how shitty the mech was. Two weeks had passed with this bi-nightly new routine, and the previous night he’d finally met his two fellow pilots.

Collapsing into his bio-engineering seat, a coffee cup magically appeared in front of him. Maki greedily snatching it up, indulging in the warmth seeping into his fingers. Winter was upon them, and winter could kindly go fuck itself. The heavens had opened between the dorms and the main building, students sent running like ants to escape the cold rain. As a chuckle came from beside him, Maki raised his tired head

“Fuck off, you bastard”

Tatsumi teasing him with his greeting

“Didn’t sleep well?”

If anything he was sleeping better than ever, learning new things brought out the hunger in him and if not for his babysitter he’d have pushed himself harder

“Not thanks to someone. You’re a fucking arsehole”

Tatsumi laughed lightly at him, happy morning people deserved to be stabbed.

“I did warn you that you’d hate me. Stella said you held on well”

“Stella talks too much”

Stella Wells was a fourth year pilot with her own modified mech. She personified happiness, flowers, love and destruction at the hands of her candy yellow TC-157 which was basically the private sectors version of a student mech only built far tougher. Her mech was made for defence and her years of combat training shone through, even though her synch rate sat at 83%. The third pilot Tatsumi had chosen was another alpha, a foot shorter than him, Maki thought he was being mocked when he was introduced to Anthony’s lily pad green mech he called “The Frog”. Being the same age as Maki, Maki had thought for a sliver of a moment they’d be closer in ability. They were not. Anthony and Stella were both entering the engineering division on the front lines once graduating and Maki feared the day that the pair would meet with Silva. Not only would they have more than enough to talk about, the three had the same damn personality of picking on him.

Pulling out his data pad, Tatsumi shook his head

“She’s a great pilot for her age. Skylark had me to talk to her when she was settling her career path. The same with Anthony. I wanted you three to meet before I bring them to the next project meeting”

Throwing the man a salty look, dealing with excitable researchers was also exhausting. They’d not met Stella and Anthony, and seeing they’d only be providing limited upgrades to both mechs, Maki was uncomfortably the focus of their attentions

“Yeah. I’ve noticed. Flo isn’t happy with you”

“Flo is never happy with me. I’ve got good news though, this weekend we’ll be taking a trip. I know it’s your free weekend, but I think you’ll find this enjoyable. I put feelers out weeks ago and things have finally fallen into place”

Sliding forward, Maki let out a soul deep groan. Tatsumi making him shoot back up as he flicked the back of his ear. Scowling at his babysitter, he crankily complained

“Because being stuck with you in a car isn’t punishment enough? I can’t escape you”

Tatsumi teasing

“And here I thought we’d bridged the gap between us. Why must you be so cruel?”

“What’s he done this time, Professor?”

Slinging is backpack down, Maki was grateful for Li. He didn’t have a snappy retort ready and now it seemed he didn’t need to. Tatsumi directing his attention to Li

“He hates me again”

With the pair of them becoming closer, Tatsumi had been teasing him more and lecturing him less over the trivial things. It was suspicious and weird, and odd. Definitely odd. He didn’t hate Tatsumi as much anymore, but there was no way he’d call themselves friends. Tatsumi still owed him too many explanations and Maki still felt as if he were dancing on invisible strings. Passing a coffee over to Li, Li lit up

“Even if he hates you, I don’t. It’s a lot easier to keep a good grade when you’re around”

Tatsumi’s expression seemed to say “See, even Li likes me”, Maki having none of it

“Fuck both of you. Let me die if I fall asleep”

His comment drew snorts from both men, Li elbowing him as he sat

“You can’t sleep, not until next class. I need help here. Our next test is next class and I’m seriously screwed. Yon’s going to break up with me, I just know it!”

Mentally the alpha wondered whom was babysitting whom, yet the arrival of Ms Walters put a pin in him asking.

***

When Li heard of their shopping trip, he begged to come with them. Tatsumi had planned to take only Maki so he could get his opinions on what parts he wanted to use on the project mod, and Flo as she was effectively the head of the research group. He’d wanted to keep the whole trip quiet, yet, he’d failed. 7 people were now crammed in the cab of the truck on a bench seat made for 3 grown adults. Skylark and Samara rounding out their number.

It’d not been a lie when he’d told Maki he thought he’d enjoy the trip. Another researcher by the name of Steven Hallod was supposed to be coming to collect research materials from the market, yet had cancelled at the last moment, Poaw notifying Skylark, who’d in turn, notified Tatsumi that he would be joining them on the drive.

It was a tight squeeze. Samara not giving them a chance to drop the back seat so the students could sit in the row behind the front seat before ushering them into the cab of the truck. Squashed against the passenger door, Tatsumi felt stifled. To ensure no funny business happened between students, Skylark sat between Maki and Flo, Flo practically sitting in Tatsumi’s lap, making him uncomfortable, and wonder if Li was half sitting on Maki or Samara. Maki was like him and liked his personal space. He liked to be able to feel he could breathe. Instead Tatsumi was sitting there battling a headache and a sick feeling in his stomach.

From the institution to Solast was a three hour drive at the hands of a semi-trailer truck. Three hours of hell as far as Tatsumi was concerned, which was saying a lot after all he’d experienced. They needed the truck in order to collect the Erebus that Maki would use in the competition, another thing Tatsumi had hoped to surprise Maki with. Samara had tracked one down in reasonable condition, then bartered down the price with the fact it was for a student competition. Samara hadn’t spilt the beans yet, but he’d been excited to meet Maki, so Tatsumi felt sure it’d all come out before they reached their destination. He sorely regretted not going alone to collect the mech, but he couldn’t change the past, but he could change this damn seating arrangement now they’d cleared the city.

“Samara, pull over”

Taking his eyes off the road, Samara leaned all the way forward to reply past the other sardines in the cab

“What? Why?”

Greaaaat. Samara was probably having the time of his life teasing the students with them. It was time to use the vague threat card

“Because there’s going to be a mess if you don’t”

“Oh, shit! Hold on, man. No blowing chunks in my cab today”

With zero subtly Samara navigated across the four traffic lanes with absolutely no care for the other drivers. Tatsumi not feeling as if he’d actually vomit until the sharp lunging turn. Before the truck could come to a complete stop, he was out the door and gripping the guard rail, thankful to be able to take a proper breath again. Behind him he imagined a quick conversation over who would be nominated to check on the poor sickly return pilot, leading to Skylark ultimately being the one to come to his side, cigarette hanging out the side of the his mouth

“Puke already. We’ve got places to be”

Turning around, Tatsumi leaned back against the guard rail

“I’m not going to puke that easily, I needed an excuse to kick everyone else into the back. You know he wouldn’t have done it on his own when he can fuck with the kids”

Skylark gave a small chuckle

“You’re as crafty as ever. You had me concerned for my boots”

Reaching out, Tatsumi plucked the cigarette from Skylarks lips, taking a deep drag before handing it back and looking to the sky

“Why aim for boots when a jacket would do nicely? Fucking hell, I’m fucked and we’ve only just left”

“You did look pasty this morning. You’re not going to pass out next, right?”

“I’ll aim for you if I do”

Skylark scowled at him, crossing his arms and drawing himself up. Tatsumi knew this meant an incoming lecture

“If training Maki is too hard…”

“No”

“You need to put yourself first. There’s a reason you couldn’t return to active duty”

“And there’s a reason you’re lecturing me. We both know and we both know I need this. Training is fine. He’s paired up with two other students and hasn’t noticed anything. I’d like to keep it that way”

“You’re a damn fool. The kid’s got potential but not at the risk of your life”

“What life? Washed up and spat out, thrown a lifeline out of pity? All I wanted to ever do was pilot, you know that, it’s better than sitting on the sidelines cursing myself”

Skylark reached out, ruffling Tatsumi’s hair

“Get some shitting sleep in the cab then. Samara loves his own face too much to crash”

That Samara did. From the corner of his eye, he could see Samara hassling Maki and Flo, probably trying to recruit the pair or trawl for embarrassing stories to throw in Tatsumi’s face later. The man was a menace. An utter menace that he needed. By the way Samara had carried on over Tatsumi’s call, one would think he’d never asked Samara for a favour before. Still, the bigger issue was Skylark’s care, the man taking any out that didn’t lead back to how he was feeling

“That and he knows how to fear for his own safety when you’re involved”

Throwing down his cigarette, Skylark stubbed it out before clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention

“Alright, people! Kids in the back! I want no complaining between here Solast!”

#ashratherose #omegaverse #mpreg #rfi #rage fire #rage fire institution #mecha #pilot x pilot #tatsumixmaki

[stillness-in-green]

Shigaraki Birthday Week, Day 3: party (split)

Spinner and Shigaraki childhood friends AU.  Broad-strokes spoilers about Spinner’s backstory+quirk and Shigaraki’s family members, much vaguer  spoilers about the latter’s fates.  Content warning: It’s cute but I made myself sad.

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

Tenko and Hana moved into Shuuichi’s village in the spring.  Their first day of school, Tenko took a long look around the playground, sizing up the rough-and-tumble crowd of kids chasing around a ball, the group taking turns on the jungle gym, the manga-readers huddled in the shade of the cafeteria building, and Shuuichi, sitting by himself on the far side of the old maple tree where he’d be less visible from the rest of the playground.  Then he quietly made his way over to Shuuichi’s tree (which he used to climb, before Harada-sensei found out and scolded him about doing dangerous things, as if he’d fall out of a tree when climbing things was the only thing he was good at) and politely asked if he could sit there too.  

They talked about heroes (like everyone else, Tenko liked All Might), about quirks (Tenko didn’t have one yet, but he thought being able to climb anything sounded cool, and didn’t understand what Shuichi meant when the older boy called himself a mutant), about video games and comics and cartoons they liked, and by the end of recess, Shuuichi had made his first ever friend.

He went to Tenko’s birthday party the next month, met his kind grandparents and his soft-spoken mother and his roly-poly dog, ate cake and gave Tenko an All Might sticker book he saved up three weeks of allowance for.  He was rewarded with Tenko’s brilliant smile and, after, the siblings confiding in him their plans of being a brother-sister hero team, and asking if Shuuichi wanted to join them.

It was the first time he’d even thought about becoming a hero, and he panicked, then cried, then felt awful for spoiling the party, though they promised him he hadn’t.  He told them he’d think about it (he thought about little else for the next week).

At school he and Tenko hid out, because it was hard to avoid the bullies if they tried to play in the open, and getting rescued by Hana was one thing when they were playing pretend, but in real life it was just embarrassing.  In the afternoon, though, they roamed the countryside freely.  They played at being heroes and villains—Hana played a good villain, with a loud, fake laugh and a proud way of tossing her pigtails; the only trouble was that she sometimes didn’t like letting her baby brother beat her.  They splashed around the creek and hid from grown-ups; Tenko rescued a frog from Mon-chan and let it loose back in the water, and Shuuichi maybe fell a little in love with him that day.  

Shuuichi started putting rocks in his backpack to train with, and when he was sure he was strong enough, he climbed up the tallest tree in the woods with Tenko clutching onto him piggy-back, and the two of them watched the sun set from the top of their own little world, the roofs of houses and the tops of the laurels and beech turned into a sea of reflected orange and gold.  

It was the best few months of his life, right up until the August morning when his parents sat him down just after he got up to tell him about how the big noise that had woken up the whole family the night before was Something Bad happening to the Shimuras. 

Their whole house had collapsed.  The lot was roped off with police tape, and there were actual heroes there, not just the one local with his sad, fraying blue cape who directed traffic more often than he chased villains.  Shuuichi had to talk to the police, and he could never remember much of the interview past the feeling of his mother’s claws pressing hard enough against his shoulders that when he checked later he found two neat rows of tiny holes.

No one was sure right away if it was villains or something structural.  Not until they started pulling out the bodies.

(Shuuichi never got to see any of the Shimuras directly.  They came out in black bags, and anyway, one of the heroes found him sitting on a neighbor’s roof, so he got another scolding, again for getting himself into dangerous spots but with a new lecture for spying.)

He’d been planning to invite Tenko and Hana to his birthday party next week.  

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

This is a loose Part One.  Look for the continuation on Friday!

#shigarakibirthdayweek #shigaraki tomura #iguchi shuuichi #bnha spinner #my writing #boku no hero academia #ficcing #bnha

[krisbeecream]

Teach Me to be Brave Ch. 5

Read on AO3

The day whizzed by Manon in a blur of assignments and overheard excited chatter about Paris’ new dynamic duo. She moved from class to class without a thought, but the narrative of the students around her remained the same buzz of excitement and wonder. Before she knew it, the final bell was ringing, and it was time for her to take her leave and head home.

Emotionally, Manon was exhausted. Her body, of course, was largely unaffected by her gymnastic endeavors the night prior as a result of the magic in the suit. She found, however, that keeping up appearances and watching her every word very carefully to avoid any and all suspicion from her classmates was more weight than she was used to carrying on a daily basis.

“What’s for dinner tonight, then, Manon?” Remy elbowed Manon in the ribs to pull her from the mental fog she appeared to be lost in. The spunky brunette jolted and shook out her jumbled thoughts before turning to her best friend who was watching her pack up her things with a quirked eyebrow.

“Tonight’s menu features a Taleggio, Ham, and Cornichon baked croissant with a summer berry tossed salad accompaniment,” Manon declared in a fake fancy accent, putting on airs about her culinary creation-to-be. A strange, high-pitched, muffled whining noise was suddenly heard from the back corner of the room, and Manon turned to see Chris gripping something in the pocket of his black hoodie with all his might before he loudly coughed.

“What are you looking at, Chamack?” he bit, though the tips of his ears were tinging red with clear embarrassment. Manon rolled her eyes and turned back to her conversation without acknowledging the obnoxious boy.

“Chris, would you mind hanging back after class for a minute?” M. Agreste called out to him.

“Again?” Chris groaned. Manon couldn’t help herself, and she twisted around to stick her tongue out at him, hopeful that maybe their teacher had caught wind of his actions that day.

“God, my stomach is yowling. That’s either going to be really gross, or it’ll star in my hungry daydreams for weeks to come…” Remy grabbed the attention of his experimental chef bff again as he rubbed his stomach performatively.

“Who says you get any?” Manon scoffed, acting offended. Elise laughed her bright, sunshiney laugh as she hung off her boyfriend beside Manon.

“Your mom is lucky that she gets to try it! It’s definitely gonna be better than those bacon onion tempura lollipop abominations you brought for lunch yesterday.”

“When she bit into it, it brought a tear to my eye,” observed Remy. He dramatically brushed a finger across his bottom eyelid as if he were crying right then.

“Sometimes they’re hits, sometimes they’re misses! You still gotta take the shot,” Manon winked. All laughed as they slid their respective backpacks onto their shoulders and made to leave the room.

“Have a good evening, M. Agreste!” Manon called as they exited. Their spirited homeroom teacher looked up from his computer to smile warmly and wave to the trio.

“Goodnight, guys! Good luck on problem #6,” M. Agreste flashed a devilish grin at them, and Remy groaned in response. “Ready, Chris?”

The bully nodded reluctantly and headed for the front of the room as the teacher stood to close the door. Manon was silently disappointed that she didn’t get to hear the beginning of her rival being chewed out by an authority figure. She decided to try to watch his behavior tomorrow to see if he’d really given it to him.

The group of friends chatted casually on the stroll towards home, as they did every day after school. They all lived within the same neighborhood, so they were able to walk together most of the way before diverting onto their respective streets. Manon expounded on her recent trip to the produce market across town in search of the perfect, crisp cornichons she needed for her sandwiches. Elise updated the gang on her latest modern dance routine that she was cooking up for competition, flip-flopping on which moves were too complex for her to pull off in a fast-paced sequence like that. Remy filled them in on how his twin pet frogs were currently in a fight, refusing to occupy the same half of their tank at the same time. Manon suggested couples counseling.

“They’re not a couple, they’re brothers!” Remy shouted, his voice reverberating off the tall buildings surrounding the group of friends.

“That doesn’t always stop a relationship in the animal kingdom….” observed Elise.

“You are not allowed near Erlân and Ramón ever again.”

“Aw, come on! They love me!”

“Nuh uh. You’re a bad influence with those utterly impure frog thoughts you just aired.”

Manon rolled her eyes at her lovestruck besties as they bickered good-naturedly beside her. She loved them so, but thinking of that fact reminded her that, since last night, she was keeping a very large secret from them. Guilt quickly soured her mood.

“H-have a good night, guys. I’ll let you know how the croissants turn out! Maybe there will be enough leftovers for me to bring them for lunch tomorrow.” Manon tried to keep her voice even and cheerful as she turned rapidly down her street, breaking off from the group to hide her conflicted face.

“Oh, uh, bye, Manon!” Elise called at her rapidly retreating pal with a confused wave. She shrugged to Remy, and they continued walking and discussing frog technicalities.

“Are you feeling okay, Manon?” Tikki poked her little bulbous head out of Manon’s backpack to speak into her charge’s ear. A look of concern was plastered on her adorable face.

“Huh?” Manon startled, almost forgetting she had Tikki in there. “Sorry, Tikki. I just don’t like lying to people. It makes me feel… dirty.” The girl frowned.

“I’m sorry to hear that you’re upset, Manon. It’s a tough job to be a superhero, and it’s a lot of responsibility to have foisted on you all in an instant. However, Ladybug chose you because she knew that you could overcome the obstacles and thrive.” The kwami patted Manon’s shoulder with her tiny paw.

“That’s right! Ladybug chose me.” Manon looked confused, struck by the thought. “How does she assume these things about me? Do I know Ladybug?”

Tikki shook her head dismissively, “I am not allowed to speak the name of my previous owners to those who don’t already know it. It’s a magical spell placed on the Miraculous to protect secret identities if a kwami is captured, so don’t even ask,” she chuckled. “And anyway, I think maybe you should just get inside and look in your physics book.”

“I promise I’ll get the homework done, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Manon replied, twisting her head to look at the little bug creature over her shoulder with a curious quirked brow. “Science is usually my worst subject, but M. Agreste is a good teacher.”

Tikki shrugged and nodded. As they came upon Manon’s building, the girl keyed her code into the pad next to the front door and took the elevator to her floor. Once inside her apartment, she flopped her bag down on the couch and set about getting her dinner ingredients out of the fridge.

Tikki watched her new Chosen as she worked, a look of determination and excitement on the teen’s face like a great artist struck with inspiration. Manon turned the TV on for background noise, pulled out a cutting board, and began slicing up deli meat, cheese, and tiny pickles while the oven preheated. The brunette danced gracefully about the kitchen, pulling armfuls of sauces and liquids from the refrigerator, several spice jars from a tall cabinet, bowls from the dishwasher. Tikki caught the sparkle in Manon’s eye as she made various concoctions from citrus juices, vinegars, creams, seasonings, and oils in little bowls.

Twenty minutes later, the sandwiches were in the oven, roasting the croissants to a golden brown while the cheese melted. Manon wiped sweat from her thick brows and took down her hair from the ponytail she had tied it back into, shaking it out to her shoulder blades with a sigh.

“Phew. I hope this one works!”

“You look so alive while cooking! Is this a hobby of yours?” Tikki questioned, hovering over to the tired girl.

“Yeah!” Manon perked up instantly at the mention of her special interest. “I’ve been cooking things by myself since I was little, because my mom was always gone at night working. Over the years, I think my tastes have strayed from the norm, though…” she trailed off with a light giggle, reminiscing about the strange dishes she had come up with just in the last month.

“I think you have great taste,” Tikki beamed, “and I can’t wait to try a tiny bite of that sandwich when it’s done.” The hungry kwami rubbed her hands together and licked her lips, looking at the oven.

Manon laughed and felt herself relax slightly. She had really come to love cooking. Someday, she thought maybe she could open a restaurant, or maybe a bistro, to showcase her unique recipes. That is, if enough people actually liked them. She made a mental note to pinch off a tidbit of her sandwich to slip to Tikki during dinner later without her mother noticing.

Right on cue, Manon heard her mother’s key unlock the apartment door as the oven timer was about to ring out. Quickly telling Tikki to hide, Manon slipped on an oven mitt and pulled the tray out of the hot oven just as Nadja entered.

“Hey, Mom!” greeted Manon.

“Hi, Sweetie. How was school?” The pixie-haired talk show host replied to her daughter.

“Ah, nothing to write home about.” Manon shrugged, deciding not to vent about Chris and his goons today. She wanted to keep her spirits up to enjoy dinner.

“No new drama with that boy today?” Nadja asked anyway, like she had read Manon’s mind and decided to pry.

“Ahhh,” chuckled the girl, “He gave some trouble to Odette, the girl who got akumatized last night? She’s in my class.” With her face turned away from her mother, Manon frowned briefly as she glossed over the detail that she had been targeted by them as well, and may have even made herself an enemy of the group with just a few sentences.

“That’s a shame. I hope she didn’t let him get in her head. He seems too stupid for her to trouble herself with.” Nadja shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. She had heard plenty of earfuls about Chris Lahiffe and his jerky jock pals over the years, ramping up now that he and her daughter were in high school. Nadja had even had some talks with various teachers and Principal Mendeliev regarding the rambunctious behavior, but the problems always returned in time.

“Exactly, Mama. Plus, M. Agreste held him after school when we were leaving. Here’s hoping he got expelled!” Manon’s optimism was a bit misplaced in vengeance, but Nadja decided to let the girl have her fantasy. “And he seemed kinda jealous when he heard me talking about these sandwiches,” Manon grinned with pride as she plated the croissants and poured homemade dressing on the salad she had crafted. Nadja lit up, hunger in her eyes.

“You’re too good to me, Manon.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The croissants were a success in Manon’s book. She may sometimes find out that not every idea was as delicious in execution as it sounded in her head, but lately she had been right more often than wrong. Even Tikki agreed, having eagerly gobbled up the bite Manon offered to her when Nadja’s back was turned during dinner.

After the dishes were cleared, Manon packed the remaining few croissants into a container and slid it into her lunch bag for the next day. It was time to start her homework, she realized with a groan. The teen slung her backpack over her shoulder and marched into her bedroom to begin.

Flicking on the light, Manon was greeted with the comfy, familiar sight of her room. Three of the walls were an ashen grey color, accented by the fourth wall which was almost neon teal. Leaning against the accent wall was her dresser, tall and white with several keepsakes and curios on top such as Ladybug merchandise and little Japanese keychains made to look like miniature foods. A bookshelf stood proudly next to her queen-size bed, full of fiction novels about girls who go on adventures and participation trophies from various sports Manon had played as a child, but never exactly excelled at.

Her desk was triangular in shape, placed in the corner with a large, plush rolling chair at it. The great window beside it gave her a view of the streets below and the buildings surrounding, as the apartment was on the 7th floor. Manon placed herself elegantly in the chair as she tossed her bookbag onto the ground beside her before slumping and groaning at the idea of homework once more. She flicked on her lamp, which was clipped to the bookshelf between the desk and her bed in order to provide light to both.

As Manon flipped open the heavy textbook to read her first homework question, a yellow piece of paper stuck to the page caught her eye. Lifting it to catch the light, Manon read the mysterious note curiously. It seemed to be an address, though Manon didn’t recognize it, and a time, 8 p.m. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the initials in the bottom right corner:

“-L.B.”

Her eyes snapped to the clock on her bookshelf instantly. 7:36, it read. Manon’s golden eyes blew wide as she glanced rapidly between the note and the clock, urging her brain to form thoughts. Once she managed to push through her shock, she flipped open her personal laptop on the desk and speedily hopped on a navigation website. The walk time to the address was almost half an hour.

Manon stood before she even finished thinking, twisting her long hair into a braid lightning fast, two strands of cowlicked hair hanging loosely over her forehead as they always did when her hair was pulled back. The frantic girl grabbed her backpack and tore through the apartment to the front door.

“Are you going out, Manon?” Nadja turned around from where she sat on the couch to look at her fleeing daughter.

“Oh! Mom! Ah, yeah! Remy is having…” her mind blanked briefly, “relationship issues? With his frogs! Not Elise. We’re gonna help him! But I gotta go right now so bye!” Manon blew a kiss to her confused mother as she tugged on a light jacket to face the brisk evening ahead, and then she was gone.

Tikki floated along behind Manon down the hallway of the large building as the girl decided the stairs would be faster than the elevator. The kwami looked sheepish.

“Oh, right. I did tell you to check your physics book, didn’t I? Sorry, I got a little distracted by the food.”

#teach me to be brave #mlb #miraculous ladybug #manon chamack #mlb future fic #post-s3 #mlb fanfic #chris lahiffe

[losersclubimagines]

the coroner’s girl

[the losers club x reader]

warnings: swearing, bullying, blood and body parts.

summary: being the coroner’s daughter means dressing practically rather than flatteringly, carrying your father’s blood samples in your schoolbag, and having maybe too much of an avid interest in human anatomy for your classmates’ tates. you’re an outcast - a loser, something you had always been and been pretty okay with, until the last day of school in 1985, when greta bowie gets a little too familiar with the things you carry in your backpack.

request here

Being a coroner's daughter was never going to be easy.

It was like being the daughter of the exterminator that came to rid your school of rats or termites; nothing inherently bad about it - it was an honest profession, all right - but goddamn embarrassing.

But you knew that. You'd known that since second grade when the teacher said your class had to go around the circle and everybody said what their parents did for a living. There were four temps, one dentist, one taxi driver, a receptionist and a cashier before you proudly said, "my dad examines dead people to see how they died!"

Your teacher had thought it was interesting. Your classmates, not so much. They thought you were dirty. Most of them didn't touch you, if they could help it. You had your own special brand of cooties, creatively named 'The Y/n Touch" that the others would pass and tease each other with at recess and lunch in games you couldn't participate in. Well, fine. They'd decided you were to be an outcast, you'd do just that.

You stopped really trying in third grade. Stopped putting your hair in curlers every night and teasing it with hairspray every morning like the others, stopped dressing fashionably and started dressing practically, stopped trying to fit in at all. A lot of girls talked about lipstick or boys or singers, or else music you'd never heard of and movies you'd never watched. The boys talked about girls and soccer and bikes, or else books you'd never read or bands you'd never listened to. You didn't fit in with anyone else's conversation - you knew hearts and brains and lungs, vessels and arteries and veins, homeostasis and rigor mortis and symptoms of asphyxiation. But when you tried to talk about that, all you got was disgusted or scandalised looks, so you stopped. You kept to yourself.

All through third grade to eighth grade, the closest thing you had to a friend were our various biology teachers throughout the years. You were hopeless at the other sciences, barely passing, and mediocre at everything else, but your biology always came back with a fat shiny A on every report card.

It was the last day of school before summer in 1985. Before you'd gone to school, your dad had passed you three plastic sample jars, half-full of blood. At your raised eyebrows, he grew defensive.

"The refrigerator's stocked again!"

"Maybe it wouldn't be if you did your job like every other coroner in America and stopped-"

"Yes, I know, I know," he interrupted, looking badgered. "Can you just ask your friend in the prep room to store them, just for a day? I'll have the refrigerator cleared out by then."

"Fine." You checked the lids were done up tightly then stuffed the jars in your satchel. "Can I go now?"

"Yeah, go, you'll be late. Don't go throwing your bag around now, those jars are done up tight but they'll burst with pressure."

"Got it," you called, moving to the front door.

"In the fridge as soon as you get to school!" he shouted from the cellar. "As soon as!"

You shut the door in reply, disgruntled.

You did as bid, making your way to the science prep room before class and sweet-talking Mr Keary into letting you store the samples in the huge refrigerator. They kept the stuff used for dissecting in there - sheep hearts and frogs and pig brains. Needless to say, you'd aced that particular section of biology. A scalpel was so familiar in your hand by now, it felt like an extension of your fingers.

They stayed there throughout the day. It grew hotter and hotter, but you kept all your layers on - black jeans cuffed to keep them from trailing on your battered sneakers, a charcoal-grey shirt of your father's that hung to your thighs and a soft, woolly, dark green cardigan that swung about your calves. You liked the comfort that layers of clothes gave you - like wearing multiple plates of armour. The day passed as usual - you ad no biology class, so you spoke to barely anyone and barely anyone spoke to you, you kept your head down and ate lunch alone and doodled in every class until the final bell rang. Great. Okay. Finally.

You swung by the prep room and grabbed your father's samples, placing them carefully in your backpack, ensuring they were cushioned by your pencil case and textbooks before hefting the bag onto one shoulder and making the trek to the front exit.

You were literally twenty feet from the door when it happened.

Greta Bowie stormed out of her history class with a dark expression on her face, evidently having to be held back to be lectured by her teacher. Her mean eyes flickered over the corridor for someone to take her anger out on, and, most unfortunately, they landed on you. You didn't even notice her until her shoulder collided hard with yours, and your bag slipped from your shoulder and sailed through the air, hitting the linoleum hard and skidding away. As you stumbled, Greta hooked an ankle around your's and sent you flying backwards.

"Sorry, Y/n!" she called, sweet as sugar. Sweet as fucking diabetes, you thought to yourself furiously as you reached for your bag - only to draw back in surprise and dread. A large, dark, sticky stain was spreading rapidly through the fabric. You tore your bag open, pleading with God that it wasn't so - but of course it was. The samples your dad had entrusted you with, that you'd chilled all day and packed so carefully in your bag - had burst on impact, and now two were all but empty, and the third was drooling blood slowly, it'd lid knocked to the side rather than all the way off.

"Shit!" you shouted, jumping up, your hands flying to your hair to grab it in despair. "Fuck it all, shit on it you bitch!" Before you even realised what you were doing, you'd lunged at the retreating Greta and shoved her in the back. Hard. So hard she flew into the lockers and slammed her head on the metal.

She yelled in pain, spinning round to look at you. The whole corridor was raptly focused on the two of you, Greta furious and red-faced, a bleeding split on her forehead where she'd grazed a padlock, and you, realising what you'd just done with your eyes widening and your feet beginning to retreat.

"You are so fucking dead!"

Greta ran right at you, her arms catching you in the midriff and knocking you back several paces. You gasped as your back slammed into the floor, hard, and Greta seized a handful of your hair, yanked your head up, and slammed it back down again. You wheezed and whimpered, trying to push and scratch to no avail, and Greta straddled you, her fist raised, ready to punch-

Your left hand closed over something cylindrical, smooth and vaguely wet and warm. As quick as you could, even as Greta drew back her fist, you whipped the lid off the last jar of blood, brought it out from the depths of your bag and tossed what was left of the sample square into Greta's snarling face.

She shrieked like a banshee, rearing back and gagging, and you took the opportunity to throw her off your body. You sprang to your feet, stumbling only a little as Greta retched and choked, groping for you blindly with red in her eyes. You took of running, pausing only to pick up your soaking red bag on the way, slamming through the double-doors at the end of the corridor.

You jumped down the steps double-time, jumping at the end and staggering as you hit the floor, then you ran again. In your haste you charged straight through a group of four boys making their way leisurely down the path. You knocked into two of them heavily, felt them stagger.

"What the fuck, dude?" someone called after you furiously, and you turned your head, still running, to look back at them.

"Sorry!" you yelled hoarsely, tearing out the front gate and out of sight.

"Fuckin' weirdo," mumbled Richie Tozier to Bill Denbrough, who was bending down to help Eddie stand after that girl had barged into them. Richie hauled Stan, who had also fallen, to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder, before picking something up off the ground.

"Stan my man, you dropped your yokefellow!" Richie told Stan cheerfully, holding a brimless cap up with a flourish.

"Yarmulke," Stan corrected tiredly, snatching it back.

"Bless you."

"E-Eddie, I think that g-g-girl left a suh-suh-stain on your sh-shirt just now," Bill interrupted demurely.

"Is that fucking blood?" Eddie squeaked, his eyes widening in horror.

"What the fuh-fuh-fuck?" Bill laughed.

"Maybe it was that time of the month," Richie said wisely.

"Buh-beep beep, Richie."

Richie looked seriously at Eddie, who was frantically scrubbing at the dark red patch on his perfect pink shirt. "Werewolves," he told the littler boy sagely.

"Shut up, Richie!" all three of the boys said together, as they crossed through the front gate, making for the Barrens.

——

a/n: just a lil something to get my creativity going while i work on requests. let me know if you want to be tagged in coming parts!! i’m thinking there will be at least two more <3

#it 2017 #it imagine #it x reader #it oneshot #the losers club x reader #the losers club imagine #the losers club oneshot #richie tozier #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #stanley uris #richie tozier imagine #stan uris inagine #bill denbrough imagine #eddie kaspbrak imagine #finn wolfhard #jack dylan grazer #wyatt oleff #sophia lillis #chosen jacobs #jaden lieberher #jeremy ray taylor #it 2019 #it 2019 imagine

[no-goddamn-cilantro]

I've got you, Kid

Or, five times in which Tony Stark has his kid's back, and one time where his kid has him.

*One*

"Hey Penis! Penis Parker! Going to your pretend internship tonight?" Peter heaves a long, slow sigh, hitching the straps of his backpack up a little more comfortably onto his shoulders and attempts to ignore the irritating bully, increasing his pace to the exit. Alas, if nothing else can be said about Flash Thompson, it's that he's persistent.

"I bet it's just an excuse for you to hide that you don't have any friends besides that weird Ned kid." The boy in question takes this opportunity to rise to the bait and while Peter appreciates the continued staunch support of his best friend, on days like today he's nothing short of exhausted. Patrol went way past curfew and he just knew Mr. Stark was going to have something to say about it.

"Peter's internship is real! You're just jealous he gets to spend time with The Avengers." Peter could actually hear the capital letters on the Avengers and he felt a tension headache begin in one temple. Before Flash could continue berating him for the internship, Peter escapes out the door and makes a beeline for where Happy is normally waiting for him. Instead of the SUV with staid coloring, a familiar orange Lamborghini sits with the genius owner of it casually leaning against the passenger door. A single eyebrow ticks up as he meets Peter's eye.

"What's up kid? You ready for the conference this weekend?" One blink, then two. No, Peter isn't hallucinating. Mr. Stark is really here to pick him up from school. In front of God and Flash and everybody and oh my God Mr. Stark is here. Peter's grin lit up his whole face and he bounded over to the car in four long strides.

"Mr. Stark! Yeah, I-I think I've got everything," a little breathless, Peter continues to grin at his mentor, a thousand words jockeying for space in his brain and exactly zero getting air time. Mr. Stark pushes off from the side of the car and saunters around to the driver's side, leaving Peter to scramble to get in and shut the door.

Once they're on the road headed to the compound, Peter breaks the companionable silence.

"Hey Mr. Stark?"

"what's up Underoos?"

Slight hesitation, then a very quiet, "How did you know?"

With a deliberately casual handwave and shrug, the genius billionaire gives a breezy, "That guy in the chair of yours- Ted? Ed? Bread?- is pretty protective of you. I notice these things." Peter's face blooms with a mortified blush and buries his face in his hands. Chuckling, his mentor reaches over with one hand and runs his fingers through the teen's hair, disguising the gentility with a playful ruffle.

"Hey. I've got you, kid. I wish you'd talked to me about this stuff before, but you know I've always got you."

The warm glow in Peter's chest kept him warm all weekend.

*Two*

"-and son, I need you to come along in wave two with Widow and Falcon and work on webbing 'em up while they fall. Let's try to minimize property damage if we can, but civilian safety come first." Peter zoned back in just in time to hear his part, giving the Captain a jaunty wave in acknowledgement before shooting a web to the nearest building, waiting for the orange and green... Giant frogs? Giant frogs, ranging in size from an oven to a Buick, crawled out of the wormhole between two buildings and began attempting to... What was that?

"Uh... Mr. Captain America sir? Are they eating the road? And the cars?"

Over the comms comes the somehow both angry and delighted voice of Hawkeye. "You're goddamn right they're eating cars and road! They just ate a Camaro right underneath me and the asphalt underneath it. That was beautiful!"

"Do we need another talk about language, Barton?" Tony's snark was never going to get old to Peter- he snickered and began shooting webs, lifting the oversized frogs and sticking them to the sides of buildings nearby-

-only for them to begin eating through the buildings they're webbed to. "Heckin darn it!" Thinking quickly (and ignoring the suspiciously Tony-sounding laughter in his earpiece), he shot a web and snagged the underside of one of the alien's jaws, flicking his wrist just so and managing to wrap the strand of web around the- frog? Not-frog? Whatever's- mouth, effectively cutting off the wanton destruction of innocent vehicles and roads. Giving a whoop of triumph, Peter went to work on each of them that he could find, swinging between buildings and city blocks to cover as much ground as he could.

Then one of the largest Asphoads (as Peter had secretly named them in the privacy of his own mind) opened its mouth at exactly the wrong time and caught his web directly on the tongue. Immediately it have a hard jerk of its head, stronger than he'd expected, and pulled him off course. The frantic release of the now-being-eaten web and attempt at sending out a web to the next building didn't arrest his fall in the slightest and before he could do more than panic-flail, a metal arm wrapped around his chest and brought his fall to a very sudden halt. As he was lowered the last few meters to the ground, Tony's amused voice sounded in his ear.

"I've got you kid. What would you do without me?"

"Get squished by a rolled up newspaper?"

A bark of laughter and he landed gently on his feet. The Asphoads appeared to have no interest in eating him now that he was on the ground, but he still went out of his way to finish webbing up the original target.

Later, back at the compound, Barton and Sam put on a dramatic reenactment of the fall for Rhodey, complete with Peter's doe eyes and a tearful, "Thank you so much for saving the day Mr. Stark! You're the best dad a nerd could ask for!"

Well, Peter didn't exactly disagree. So it all worked out.

*Three*

His kid was gone. His kid was gone. Ash between his fingers, along with almost everyone else that was on this godforsaken rock. He was vaguely aware of a high-pitched, keening noise, before abruptly realizing it was him. He was making that sound, and he couldn't seem to stop until the violent, racking sobs began to rip through him and he bent to push his forehead into the (ash ash ash Peter's ash) dirt beneath him.

In between the sobs he berated himself.

"I've got you," he said

"Liar!" he accused

"Not enough," he knew

"Bring him back!" he demanded

"Oh God, Peter..."

The name sat like the ashes (all that was left of his boy oh my God my boy my kid gone gone gone) on his tongue, terribly heavy and burning.

He clawed at the ground, as if he could dig through the ashes and dust and, like a phoenix, Peter would rise reborn. All he did was dirty his hands and seem to tear something inside the stab wound he abruptly remembered.

Exhausted, he picked up his head and looked dully up at the blue woman that was watching him fall to pieces without so much as a hint of pity. Somehow, this steeled him against his breakdown and he stood, meeting her eye.

"Nebula, right?"

A nod, her gaze unwavering.

"What's next?"

Her voice is rough, the only sign of any emotion from the cyborg.

"We find him. We kill him. We get our families back."

Tony nods.

"We need help. Get us to Earth and we'll have it."

Without a word she turns and stalks towards the Guardians' ship. He follows, after about ten steps realizing that it isn't dust in his eyes, but his vision blacking out. As he hits the ground, he hears Nebula turn and come back, lifting him and carrying him to the ship. She's still eerily silent, but that just leaves room for Tony's last thought before he succumbs to the darkness taking over his sight and his mind.

I've got you, kid. I'm bringing you home. I promise.

*Four*

Tony and Peter are sitting in his workshop, doing what they do best- tinkering. He's letting the kid go nuts with one of his older gauntlets while he works on a new arm for DUM-E. It's peaceful, and he's quietly enjoying the light chatter from the kid as he discusses his latest Spanish test and Mr. Stark, it isn't fair that we have a test every week, it unfairly skews our grade!

He hasn't actually turned and looked at the kid in a few hours, engrossed as he is with this wiring that just isn't working for whatever reason. But the chatter is soothing, a balm to his soul that is deeply weary.

... why is his soul so deeply weary?

... what's going on in the outside world?

What time is it? Shouldn't Peter be tired? Hungry?

Tony shrugs it off and continues for a few more hours, blissful in the unanswered questions. He notices a bit of (ash) dirt smudged on his hand and for some reason (oh God my boy) it's really bugging him all of a sudden.

"Hey Pete, will you pass me a clean cloth from the bucket under your workbench?"

"Mister... Stark...?"

His hands begin to shake.

"Peter. Buddy. Cloth please."

"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good."

His heart pounds in his chest and he turns around.

And he's not in his workshop anymore. It's Titan, and there's Peter. Bruised, battered, and scared. Looking to him. Reaching for him.

He runs and catches his boy in his arms, lowering him to the ground just as he crumbles to ash.

"Peter! No, Peter... I've got you. I had you... God I'm so fucking sorry... Petey..."

With that mournful cry he jerks awake, met with the darkness of the dead ship he shares with Nebula.

I've got you kid. I'm bringing you back. Just hold on a little longer, wherever you are.

Sick from his injury and exhausted, Tony sleeps.

*Five*

It's over. It's finally over.

Thanos is gone, back where it all began for him.

Back on Titan.

The gauntlet weighs heavy on Tony's arm, not just physical weight but the weight of purpose. The weight of promise.

He breathes deep. Lets it out slowly. Focuses on his exact desires. Personally and as an Avenger. Another breath.

Then. Tony Stark Snaps.

A serene pool stretching into infinity around a tiny Pagoda is before him. In it, stands Soul. Wearing Peter's face, but most definitely Not Peter.

"What did it cost?"

Tony stares at Not Peter.

"Everything."

Burning pain.

Exhaustion.

Then, brightness and relief.

The Infinity Gauntlet, and Tony's entire left arm, fall to the ground, burnt and mangled far beyond repair. Where the stones rested are burnt husks.

Tony doesn't care.

Standing where he fell, looking confused but unharmed, is Peter. His kid, his boy. Whole and healthy. Vaguely aware of the return of the other Fallen, but deeply apathetic to it, he rushes to Peter, wrapping him in a tight hug with his remaining arm. Peter, confused and afraid ("Mr. Stark what happened to your arm?!") but utterly trusting, hugs him back just as tightly, burying his face in Tony's chest.

The genius rests his face in the chocolate curls, whispering fondly.

"I've got you kid. I've finally got you and I'm taking you home."

*And One*

A scream rips through the once-silent hallway, waking up three people simultaneously.

Rhodey sits up, sighing and reaching for his braces again.

Steve rolls out of bed, going to stand watch outside the door with the screaming.

And Peter takes off in a mad dash towards the sound. Even though it's a nightly occurrence, it never stops the spike of terror drilled into his spine hearing Tony scream his name like that.

As with previous nights, Peter and Steve exchange nods before Peter walks through the door, hurrying to the bed where Tony is tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Another scream escapes his throat, ending with a plaintive whine and rattling sob. Peter sits next to him on the bed, pulling the blankets and sheets off of his mentor and reaching to wake him.

The teen speaks loudly over the sobs, firm as he tries to bring his mentor back from his own personal hell.

"Mr. Stark I'm right here. You saved me from Titan. We're back on Earth. Mr. Stark, I'm right here!"

Finally, dark eyes open and lock on to Peter who opens his arms to the anticipated and much-needed hug. He still jumps a bit at the cold metal of Tony's prosthetic arm, but quickly melts into the embrace, rubbing the genius' back until the shaking stops.

Into the dark, Peter finally summons the courage to say what he's been thinking in the weeks since they returned.

"Mr. Stark, you don't have to try to be so strong anymore. You did it, you saved us. You saved me. Now let us save you. I've got you, Mr. Stark."

Peter pretends to not feel the wet heat of tears in his hair. He adds one last, soft whisper as he pretends to not feel his own tears.

"I love you Mr. Stark. We'll get through this together."

#irondad angst #irondad and spiderson #irondad #iron man #spiderson #five plus one #tony stark #peter parker #why did i write this #why did you do this to me #why did i do that to myself

[mardi-nah]

Kitsune (2)

Angst, fantasy, bullying, lore, eventual romance

When I arrived, crying and breathless, Mom tried to ask me what was wrong, but Grandma took one look and pulled me into her bedroom for a private talk.

“Did you go into the woods?” She demanded.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, “I’m sorry. I was just playing.”

Her lips thinned, but she wasn’t yelling at me—not yet. “Did you meet anyone? Did you see something?”

“Th—there was a man by the cemetery. A kitsune. He changed into me! He stole my face!” I wailed.

Grandma hushed me. “Stop that, mago. There’s no need for any of that. You met Katsu today, but you were bound to meet eventually. He belongs to us.”

“To Mom and Dad too?” I sniffled.

“No, Mia. Only you and me. Katsu can only belong to the females in our family, and your mother doesn’t have our blood.” She grabbed my shoulders tightly, her dark eyes on mine. “Listen to me carefully, mago. This is important; don’t ignore my words like other times. Katsu is old, he is powerful, he is clever. And he is angry with me, angry that I left him to join your grandfather in America. He hates me so much that he might hate you, too. Don’t accept anything from him. Don’t promise him anything. Don’t let him have you, mago. Be careful.”

Her words were almost like a premonition: for the rest of the summer I was constantly in a state of distress. Mom became absolutely fed up with me when I lost my eighth hairbrush in two weeks, and none of us could ever find them again. Some of my ribbons went missing only to wind up back in my room come evening, usually tied around the waist of a tree frog hopping about my dresser or bed. There were leaves and dirt in my hair every morning, and a familiar giggle followed me around Grandma’s house, though I never actually saw Katsu again.

I worried the kitsune had followed me home, and was more than relieved when our visit came to a close that summer. We returned to the US, and everything seemed to go back to normal.

Every summer after was miserable and only seemed to grow worse. If he hated Grandma for leaving, he apparently had a whole new level of anger for me every time I returned.

The first summer after, I had to continuously beat and wash my sheets for all the bugs I kept finding in my futon. My room was unbearably hot compared to the rest of the house—and outside—even if I left the sliding door open and used a portable fan. Katsu smeared messages on my white walls with mud, rude and creepy things like: “HOW’S THE WEATHER?”, “GUESS HOW MANY BEATLES I PUT IN YOUR MOUTH WHILE YOU SLEPT”, “SORRY IF I USED YOUR OBI TO WIPE MY ASS”.

The following summers only became progressively worse. My cloth suitcase (still full of clothes) was found outside drenched in mud and rain one morning; another time the bath water turned to slime right as I was about to get in; bloody underwear from an unexpected period were found hanging above the front door after a frantic search of the whole house.

And then, when I had only just turned seventeen, my parents passed away.

Legally I couldn’t live alone without an adult’s permission, and Grandma desperately wanted me to move in with her, so off I went back to Japan. She told me not to bother about the house just yet; my parents had paid it off, so there wouldn’t be a mortgage. We’d pack everything and sell it off next summer. Instead, I grabbed everything I could fit into two suitcases and a backpack and brought it with me to the airport.

My flight landed in the Toyama airport late in the evening, and like every year, jet-lag and the gross feeling only from airplane travel followed me as I walked out of the gate. I expected Grandma to be there, waiting for me, but she wasn’t.

Maybe she’s behind, I shrugged.

Thirty-seven hours of travel had a way of making you extraordinarily tired and slow, so I simply made my way to baggage claim to grab my checked back.

Grandma wasn’t there either, and she hadn’t sent me any messages or called. I waited until I had rescued my suitcase from the conveyor belt and then moved aside to try her phone. It seemed to go through just fine, but she didn’t answer. Guess she was still driving here.

Hey Grandma, I’ve landed and grabbed my bags. I’ll wait for you by the baggage drop-off! I sent it as a text and moved right along.

I was exhausted enough that building a chair out of my luggage seemed like a brilliant idea, so I went to a corner of the room, laid my big suitcase on the floor as a seat and pushed it against my smaller one as a backrest. I then plopped down, put my backpack in my lap, and passed out.

When I awoke again, groggy and starting to smell a little, the sky outside the windows was pitch, the baggage drop-off was closed, and only a handful of other people were around, sleeping in small groups or pairs.

I yawned, checked my phone. No new messages or calls. I glanced outside. No cars.

A strange sort of emptiness had taken over after my parents’ car crashed and I found a police officer on my doorstep, saying things like It was fast, and drunk driver, and I’m sorry. Now that emptiness curdled in my stomach, sour and rotten, like milk left to expire.

I tried to call Grandma again, but once again the phone rang and no one answered. I tried again. Again.

I didn’t have any of the neighbors’ phone numbers; I didn’t know anyone else who lived in Japan. I wasn’t even legal yet. What the hell was I supposed to do? What if something happened to her?

Her address was in my phone. I could—I could take a bus or a cab. The life insurance for my parents made ticket prices almost irrelevant.

I found out with a quick search of the bus ramp that none were running; not a surprise at this hour, but disappointing regardless. Cabs were more expensive and more dangerous, but that seemed to be my only option.

Grandma lived in a small village almost two hours outside of Toyama, and I made sure to tell them that when I called for a cab. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I was asking for was possible with taxis, but I was assured it was. An hour snd a half and two hundred dollars later, I was at Grandma’s darkened doorstep.

Nausea boiled low in my stomach, and a pinching sort of pain had started, uncomfortable and anxious.

I grabbed a house key from the hiding place (inside a small birdhouse beneath a fake bottom) and made my way in, dragging my stuff behind me. “Hello? Grandma?”

No one answered.

“HELLO?” I tried again, chest inflating, hot and choking and wrong. I left my stuff at the door and started around the house. “Is anyone here? HELLO?”

No sounds, no people. No signs of a struggle. Not even Katsu’s pranks.

I warily climbed the stairs to the second story, throat closing. Still, I forced myself forward, forced my voice past the knot. “Is everything okay? Grandma?”

But she wasn’t here. No one was.

It was impossible. It made no sense. I checked her bedroom, her closet, her dresser—all of her stuff was still here, empty bags still pushed to the back of the closet, no blood or broken furniture or crumbled clothing. It was as if she had disappeared out of thin air.

A chill crawled up my spine. Did she—did she get in a wreck on the way to Toyama? Did I lose a third person to a crash?

According to the news app on my phone, a wreck had taken place this evening, but it was a motorcyclist and an SUV, not a small Accord. But there was only one way to make sure.

I thumped down the stairs, rounded the corner to the back of the house, pushed my way out into the garage.

Her car was still here.

Where is she?

There was only one place I had left to check, but the thought made my palms sweat. I didn’t want to go back into the woods; truthfully, I hadn’t ventured back there since the day I met Katsu. I didn’t want to see him right now—I wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t responsible for this.

But I had to look. I had to know. I had to find her.

I grabbed a flashlight from the hall closet and set off into the woods.

#kitsune #my post #angst #enemies #childhood #fantasy #magic #romance #slow burn #katsu #tw: death #tw: bugs #bullying #my writing #monster and human #monster romance

[sweet-xoxo-thatcares]

I want another siamese cat from childhood when I was in elementary.

Dad dropped her off on the highway in Florida because the neighborhood association was gonna start charging him for her and her child meno (I named him that because he was so meannnnn, complete opposite of Nemo from finding Nemo. My favorite movie at the time) and then her youngest, Snowflake. They all had white faces, but the similar siamese black or grey striped tail.

She had to be mixed. Because siamese have a black or dark brownish face with white around the edges. Like the Instagram filter feature that darkens the edges. I forgot the name, but its something to do with the exposure.

I still have pictures of her and her 1st batch of kittens. She only had one that looked just liked her, I think I named her snowball. The other two were black and gray striped....I think Dad knew who the cat was. He let her outside one time cause she kept meowing to ask one time and then he saw when she came back that there was another cat nearby....they didn't think to get her neutered since it was already too late by then....lol

I named one striped one Tigger, since he was the most to get in a fight with the other striped...but I forgot her name....aaayyyyeeee I don't remember because it happened so sudden and then I think a week later mom drove them to petsmart because she said we couldn't keep them. I was so sad. Cause I had already gotten used to the kittens and I remember someone was throwing up the Purina cat food we gave her, but there was also a bit of fur in there too...or she going through the trash or eating crumbs that wasn't vacuumed yet from the carpet.

I don't think it was the kittens. She taught me a trick on how to pick up the kittens when they would get into a fight if she wasn't there. She pinched them behind their heads, the neckfat where the collar would be. I copied her from watch her take care of them and feed them. She had them in the garage and mom and dad found her. I didn't know she was hiding in there or that she was even pregnant. But she did seem like she wasn't as active as she used to be. Sitting in my warm, red Elmo all day because it was soft. I just assumed she wasn't feeling good. I was too young at the time. I even had a matching Big Bird chair. They were little and furry just like the real puppets. That's why I liked the chairs the most.

Her 2nd batch of kittens, were 3. Unfortunately they died behind the freezer, because I remember her guiding me to the garage in the new house and there were scattered dead kitten fur and there were kitten skeletons like they were caught behind the big freezer for days, their faces looked decayed and the fur was still on them. I told Dad and he said there was nothing we could do. Mom made her an outside cat because she kept going outside. So when she came back pregnant, I think mom and dad forgot she in the garage for that long. I fed her water and food sometime, but looking back we were negligent cat owners and I was young, but too worried about school and chores. Had mom and dad reconsidered to let her stay in the house again, I think we could have saved the kittens.

Their logic was, if she's always meowing by the door, asking to go outside the house where it isn't safe for her, then she should stay outside and then yall (the kids) could put her food bowl and water outside for her to get if she came back. She would gone 2-3 days at a time, depending on where she went in our suburb. We thought it was okay to do. Mom and dad just assumed she was a dirty, street cat, not a housecat.

This was maybe between 3rd and 4th grade when I saw Furina wasn't coming back. They kept going into the little forest trees in the neighborhood and behind the house.

I didn't find out until I just straight up asked Dad, "what happened to Furina?" Cause I wanted to know the truth...

And that's when he said it.

I was upset with mom when I was younger because I assumed they took her to the pet store like last time with the kittens. But it was Dad. And dropping her off in the middle of the real big forest in Florida. I could always imagine him doing it in the middle of the night so nobody would see it.

Abandoning my distant, but friendly neighborhood cat.

Snowball and Meno, came back to the house after I noticed she stopped coming for weeks.

And then after they saw she wasn't there anymore.

They left too.

It was sad to see them leave, because it's like they already knew. They saw my face waiting for her outside the patio door, calling for her. But she wasn't there. Meno, looked like he was upset with me. Like his owner neglected his mother, like he was so mad that he never wanted me to own him. And now that his mom was gone, the brothers left together.

I was sad too Meno, not just me. And I didn't do it. It was my mean old dad. Mom didn't care about Furina once she kept going outside. But we were the ones who taught her that it's ok to go outside, we opened the door for her when she meowed and asked at the 1st house. We just assumed that she would always come back to us.

It's like they just gave up on her, just because she wanted to go outside. Like fine then, leave, and stay out. It's sad because I wanted her to be a house cat.

I didn't want her to leave, but mom and dad did. And they didn't want to pay for a groomer and they stopped buying her flea collars.

They would try to make it fair, like I was part of the blame, because I didn't check up on her enough or didn't try to bring her back in the house fast enough when she started slipping through the slide door at the 2nd house. Cause I remember that door from mom yelling so many times "close my slide door" making sure we locked it if we were coming back in or going back outside cause of mosquitoes, bugs, lizards, and frogs could get into the house. Dad said screen door when he yelled it. Lol he was northern based, she was from a southern family, but in raised in the north too.

I think that's one of the other things I liked about Florida. All of those different kinds of bugs and things you would see outside your house or in your front yard.

Dad used to scare us when the frogs would pop up on the screen door....he would say yyyaaaahhhh like he was gasping for air. The same look the frogs 🐸 had when they would get stuck with their faces glued to the glass. The grudge, that's what it reminded me of.

Watched too many scary movies with my family at such a young age. That shit used to haunt me, to go from nice people and animals on Disney movies to scary ugly evildoers like Jeepers Creepers, Michael Meyers, The Aliens and Jurassic Park animals that could snatch you up, take your family away, or just eat you and Freddie Kreuger just looked creepy and gross to me.

And I hated Saw. That little goblin clown with the sarcastic deep voice. It confused me on why he would wanna torture people so detailedly and specific to where their body parts grew in grotesque forms or he made people manipulate their best friends and people who would even try to help them play? It was so sad and dark for 2-3hrs, no.mix in the plot just torture.

and Darius's favorite movies were Saw 1,2,3,4.

I hate that bitch. But I can understand now why...

He pulled apart a lizards tail just because he said they can grow back a new one.

DOESN'T MEAN YOU SHOULD PULL IT OFF ANYWAYS!!! POOR FREAKIN LIZARD NOW GOTTA WAIT FOR A NEW TAIL JUST BECAUSE OF THIS IDIOT. HE DIDN'T EVEN TELL ME HOW LONG IT WOULD TAKE FOR THE LIZARD TO GROW IT BACK!!!

what a sick, weird, little fuck I was into. Too fascinated with gore and torture. He even pulled a part an earth worm. I think he just said that animal fact about the lizard, just so he could have an excuse to pull it apart.

The little demon bullied me and tortured me too at school. Consistently, on, and on, then off if he noticed I had feelings for him, then on and on, then off, if I ignored him on purpose, then on, then off again, then suddenly he stopped....like jokes here and there....and I don't know why I cared....but all that negative attention he gave me, ppl said it was because he liked me, but was deep down ashamed of it and didn't want ppl to know (because I was fat).

But it was dumb.

Why pick on somebody you like...so much to where they want to punch you, kick them in the balls, and burn their backpack if they ever hit you with it?

I kicked him in the balls indefinitely.

[trdwriting]

The Many Exes of Wilbur Robinson: Chapter 1- Tim Anderson

Portals: FF.net | Ao3

Summary: Wilbur Robinson may think he has everything under control, but his rocky love life may be an exception. Who does he date and how do things go wrong? Well, that’s an excellent question.

Story Rating: M (technically MA)/E/R. Story Content Warning: strong cursing, mentions of drugs and alcohol use, sex scenes (both implied and explicit), instances of underage sex (under 18, but not before 16), toxic relationship.

Chapter Rating: G/K. Chapter Content Warnings: None.

A/N: Hello, everyone! This project was born out of a desire to explore Wilbur’s romantic experiences as he moves from his teenage years to his adulthood. Each chapter of this fic will be focused on a different person he has dated. Because there are no characters Wilbur’s age or viable love interests from the movie that I can explore, all of Wilbur’s relationships will feature an OC. I know there are crossover characters that Wilbur has been paired up with (Violet Parr, for example), but since this fic is taking place within the Meet the Robinsons universe, I will not be exploring those crossover pairings. (There may be some OCs that draw inspiration from these pairings, though, Hint hint.) I aim to keep Wilbur and his family at the center of the fic, so that my OCs don’t become overwhelming or take away from things. I hope they come off as normal people.

Currently, this fic is rated G, but I am planning to increase that rating as the series progresses. I plan for the rating to jump to an E by the time the end comes around. In each chapter, I will note any trigger/content warnings that may apply.

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy the first chapter.

Wilbur walked through the halls towards the buses, weaving in between his classmates. Normally on Wednesdays, he would have run straight to Comic Book Club, but Lazlo was unveiling his newest art installation. Wilbur was obligated to attend. Just as he turned a corner, someone called out to him: “Wilbur!”

He stopped and turned around. Tim Anderson, a boy in Ms. Kroman’s class that he had talked to a total of one time, ran up to him. “Uh, hi.” He said softly.

Wilbur studied Tim. He was fiddling with the loose straps of his backpack and looking all around the emptying hallway like he was afraid someone would stop and tackle him. “Hi. What is it?”

Tim finally met his eyes for a second. “Are-aren’t you going to Comic Book Club today?” he asked.

“No. My cousin Lazlo has an art thingy that he’s doing. My folks want me to see it. I don’t want to go, but I gotta support my family, you know?”

Tim nodded. He rocked from heel to toe, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “Oh, gotcha. Well, uh…”

Wilbur put his hands in his pockets, not sure how to respond. While he waited for Tim to say something, he looked at one of the bulletin boards next to a nearby classroom with the title “All About Fossils” spelled out in big shiny blue letters. He was just about to read one of the holosheets underneath about how the preservation process worked, when something soft, warm, and slightly wet briefly touched his lips. Wilbur froze, eyes glued to an image of a trilobite. By the time Wilbur blinked, the sensation was gone and Tim was booking it down the hallway.  Wilbur knew he should do something: call out to Tim, run after him, demand to know what just happened. Instead, he stood alone in the hallway, his mind still fighting to make sense of what had passed between them.

On the bus ride home, he was lost in his thoughts. Had he…been kissed? Wilbur dismissed the idea immediately. Surely, there was some other explanation. Maybe Tim just brushed his face in a weird way. That had to be it. It was an odd thing to do while you are having a conversation, but then again Wilbur had been distracted. Maybe he was just trying to get his attention! None of this explained the wetness he had felt. He turned the event over and over in his head while he ate dinner. He was pulled away from his homework every now and then, thinking about what happened. To the surprise of his mother, he barely put up a fight when she fixed his hair and straightened his tie as the family prepared for the gala. He wasn’t very talkative during the ride to the gallery and he couldn’t have told you anything about Lazlo’s new pieces. All that existed in his brain was Tim Anderson, a cartoon trilobite and a wet something on his lips. During his ride home, he pulled out his tablet, debating whether to text his friends about it. He tried George Yagoobian, his best friend, but he was inactive. He sent Angela a quick text as her icon indicated she was available, but she never respond quickly, so Wilbur didn’t hold his breath.

Eventually, he closed out of the messaging app and slouched in his seat. Tim Anderson is cute at least. he thought absently. Maybe not super cute, but cute enough. Maybe this wasn’t that bad. Sure it wasn’t ideal and he really wished he could’ve saved his first kiss for someone special. Not that he cared about first kisses that much. Just Tim hadn’t been on his top ten list of people he might’ve been kissing. Yeah. This didn’t bother him at all.

Later that night, before he fell asleep, his mother knocked on the door and came in. She didn’t tell him why she was there, but he knew immediately. Franny sat down on the edge of his bed, looking at him. “Are you ready to tell me what’s been eating you?  You’ve been quiet all evening. And I normally get an eyeroll out of you when I tell you to put on a tie.”

Wilbur shoved his stuffed bear under the covers and gripped at his Captain Time Travel-themed bedspread instead. “Someone kissed me?” Wilbur felt his cheeks reddening as the word came out of him.

Franny’s lips twitch a bit upward. “Oh really? What kind of kiss? Was it a pretty young girl? Or a handsome young boy?” She had a full smile on now, though it was probably more of a smirk.

“B-boy and it was uh, on the lips? But I didn’t kiss him, really, he kissed me first.” The last sentence rushed out of him. Wilbur didn’t need his mother getting the wrong idea.

“Uh-huh.” She narrowed her eyes and leaned in a bit closer. “Was it George?”

Everything internally within Wilbur grinded to a halt. “WHAT? Ew, no! Moommmm! George and I are just bros. He’d never kiss me.” He couldn’t even believe his mother was suggesting something as ridiculous as that.

Franny laughed. “Oh, honey! I was just joking.” She stopped laughing and continued. “Who was it?”

“Tim Anderson.”

“Hmmm…Tim Anderson.” Franny tapped her chin. “Do I know him?”

“No.” Thank goodness, he thought. He could imagine the scene now: his mother calling up the Andersons to ask innocent questions, peering into their house from the bushes with binoculars….

“I guess you didn’t like being kissed by this mysterious Tim Anderson?”

“No…He’s not really my type.”

“I didn’t know you had a type.”

“Mom, I just don’t like him that way, okay?”

Franny laughed again, but gentler this time. “Okay, baby. I believe you.” She leaned in to place a kiss on his forehead. “Did you tell him you didn’t like the kiss?”

Wilbur chewed at the inside of his lip. “No. He kinda…left before I could say anything.”

“Well, you should tell him. You don’t want him thinking that it was okay for him to kiss you if you didn’t want to be kissed.”

Wilbur just nodded. He thought about tomorrow during recess, about Sharon talking to her friends and those friends talking about them in whispers. He thought about bullies teasing Tim on the playground. He knew he had to tell Tim before that happened. “I think he has a crush on me. I don’t wanna hurt his feelings.”

Franny pat one of his legs. “Having your crush reject you is never fun and it isn’t easy when you have to be the one to do it, but it’s also not fair to either of you if you aren’t honest.”

For a moment, there was a silence as Wilbur let everything sink in. His mother moved to get up and say goodnight when Wilbur said. “Mom?”

“Yes, Wilbur?”

“Do you think...Is it weird that my first kiss was like this? I mean, it wasn’t really you know, romantic or anything…”

Even with her face partially in shadow, he could still see her smile. “Of course not. My first kiss was with a frog, so I think I have you beat.”

Wilbur huffed. “You’re lying.”

Franny winked at him. “If you say so. Now, get some sleep. Good night.”

“Night.”

His mother turned off the lights as she left, leaving Wilbur to contemplate kisses in the darkness.

 Wilbur found Tim at recess. He was sitting with Jay playing with action figures amongst the fallen leaves. Wilbur stood at the other end of the playground, pacing back and forth.  As soon as he arrived at school, the rumor mill churned away. People came up to him, accusing him of kissing a total of ten different people.  He was thankful that the rumors had not just involved Tim. Even George had asked him about the situation, having heard about it from Sharon (of course, who else would be telling people things to literally everyone!) Since Tim wasn’t in the same class as him, Wilbur needed to talk during recess, the only time the whole fifth grade was in one place. Not only were there other people around, but the rumor mill wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

“You know, recess is gonna be over soon.” Wilbur jolted, turning around to see George standing nearby, a kickball tucked under his arm. His messy chestnut hair was partially in his face and Wilbur had to bite back a laugh at how George looked, peering through his own bangs.

“Yeah….I just…I don’t want to do this. What if I say something wrong? What if I accidentally say yes? What if he kisses me again? What if I fart randomly while I’m talking? What if-?”

             A hand grasped Wilbur’s forearm firmly. “Wilbur….just tell him the truth.” George said, squeezing his arm. “I promise that the world won’t blow up. I’ll be at the hoops if you need me.”

             He knew George was right. Why was George right so often? “Okay…Okay I’ll go.” He gave his best friend a quick smile, before sucking in a deep breath and walking over to Tim. Eyes were on him, but he ignored it.

“Hey, uh? Tim?”

Tim shot up to his feet almost immediately, his action figures abandoned on the ground, leaves scattering around him. “W-Wilbur!” he said, “H-Hi!” Tim was practically shaking as he stood there and Wilbur knew it wasn’t from the cold. “U-um. Look, I-I’m sorry. About the uh…” He glanced at Jay, who nodded a bit at him. “About the kiss. I-“

“It’s fine, Tim. It’s no big deal.” A blush grew on his cheeks, which he hoped Tim would think was just from the brisk weather.

“No. You…It was dumb and…well…” Tim’s voice cracked.

“You…you have a crush on me?”

A strong gust of autumnal wind blew through them before Tim whimpered out a yes. His face was tomato-red.

Wilbur inhaled deeply through his nose. He could do this. Be honest, Wilbur. “So, Tim. I…I can’t date you?”

Wilbur swore he could see life literally drain from Tim. He instantly wanted to take it back. “Oh. That’s fine. I get it.” He heaved a sigh. “It’s not like you’d feel the same way.”

He let out an awkward laugh. “Well, hey. You never know! I’m sure someone else likes you. Maybe someone who’s even better than me.”

 “Yeah. Maybe.” Tim sat back down on the ground, turning away from Wilbur.  He knew he should leave, but Wilbur felt like somehow winter had come early and froze him to where he was.

 “…I’m really sorry, Tim.”

Jay wrinkled his pudgy nose up at Wilbur. “Get out of here, Robinson! Leave us alone.”

Wilbur finally got his muscles working after that. He walked as confidently over to the basketball hoops, where George was busy attempting to make a three-point shot. George caught the ball on a rebound,  tucked the ball under his arm again when he noticed “How’d it go?” 

“Welp. I’m pretty sure Tim and Jay hate my guts. And everything else for that matter.” He knew that he had to say what he did and be honest with Tim, but he still felt guilt making a home for itself in his stomach.  He kicked at a stray pebble on the ground.

George put a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, giving him a soft smile. “Yeah. It sucks, but I think it would’ve been a whole lot worse if you dated him.” Wilbur somehow caught his ridiculously contagious smile despite himself.

“You’re right. Thanks.” He might have made two enemies today, but he still had a best friend.

“Y’know, I think there’s a saying that you may or may not have heard before, Wilbur. I think it would work perfectly for the situation.”

“Let me take a wild guess. Keep moving forward?” Wilbur crossed his arms.

“Actually, it was ‘It could’ve been worse’, but close enough.”

Wilbur laughed and George pulled him into a game of HORSE until the recess bell rang.  For the time being, Wilbur didn’t worry himself with first kisses.

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

And there’s the first chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it! I have decided for this project to include songs that I think match the feeling of the chapter, especially the ones I listened to while working. Unfortunately, there isn’t really a song that I knew that matches this chapter’s mood, so I decided to go with a song I thought fit the general feeling of this project.

The first one is Crushcrushcrush by Paramore. I think this song may be a little more edgy for the kind of situation going on in this chapter, but there are still discussions of a secret crush, so…it works? Mostly, I just think Paramore is a great band and their songs have aged incredibly well. Please enjoy.

The second video is a groovy song, Hit the Road Jack by Ray Charles. Since this story is about break-ups, I figured I’d put up a generic song about it. Also, I felt it was appropriate since jazz is a music genre that Wilbur probably listens to a lot, considering Franny’s work.

I have accounts on AO3 and Fanfiction.net. Want to request a fanfic? Send me an ask or PM!

#Meet the Robinsons #wilbur robinson #MTR #franny robinson #ocs #fanfiction #the many exes of wilbur robinson

[the-tales-of-horror]

I had a really difficult experience with a disturbing student. I don't know how to deal with this.

Original Link By senbei-bob

I had a really difficult experience last Friday that I need to get off my chest.

I work as a Portuguese teacher in the basement of an ordinary office building. Most of my students are Japanese business people in their 40s and 50s, who are relocating to Brazil because their company forces them.

Being on the absolute rock-bottom of the corporate ladder, I have no say in who I teach, but up until last Friday I had exclusively taught adults. Of course, being forced to learn Portuguese and shipped off to Brazil against ones volition will inevitably make anybody unhappy. The environment in which I work is also terrible. There are no windows and no air conditioning. The whole place is covered with a purple carpet with stains all over it. The classrooms come equipped with a whiteboard, a wobbly desk and two chairs. Nothing else. No ABC posters, no pictures - NOTHING. It often reminds me of an interrogation room. A bell rings at the start and end of every lesson for reasons I have yet to understand.

Last Friday was no different from any other day. I had my business students and went through the excruciatingly dull and soul-sucking steps of going through the mandatory textbook which is forced on us from the upper-management.

My supervisor- let's call her Linda- was in a terrible mood as always. She yelled at me in front of everyone for not wearing my hair in a proper ponytail. She rolled her eyes at me for standing in her way in front of the microwave during lunch. She made rude comments about my skin (I had acne in the past and still have some light scarring). In other words, she was being her usual, insufferable self.

Most of the time, I just try to ignore Linda since I'm a nobody in this giant corporation and nobody listens to me anyway. Being my supervisor, Linda also has access to my schedule and can alter my lessons and who I teach whenever she wants. For example, we had a very handsome business man once and he was originally scheduled to have a lesson with me but when Linda heard about it she promptly moved his lesson to her own schedule. She spent the entire lesson laughing and flipping her hair and her falsetto squeals could be heard all the way down the dreary, windowless, fluorescent lighted hallway.

Last Friday was a national holiday in Japan, so all the other teachers left early (including Linda who also gave herself the next three days off but denied everyone else the same privilege). As I watched my coworkers excitedly bolt through the door, I asked if I could leave early too but Linda just scoffed loudly and said: "Oh my GOD. Who do you think you are? Are you SERIOUS!? If you think you can pick and choose your days off you're clearly in the wrong business. Bye!". And then she left with a loud door slam.

I was all alone. In a way, it was nice. It was nice to not be bullied and put down by Linda for once. I looked at my schedule. Only one student left. "That should be easy", I thought. His name, Taro, sounded familiar but I hadn't taught him before. He worked for a pharmaceutical company. Nothing unusual.

The bell rang its usual depressing chime and I steered towards room number 1. But the light was off. I figured he might be late and on his way so I fumbled in the dark to turn on the light.

What met me in the light was not an empty classroom but a little boy sitting on one of the chairs. He was about 5 years old and wore red t-shirt and blue shorts. He still had his "Thomas the Train" schoolbag on his back. I felt the anger build up when I realized that Linda had given me a kids lesson without notifying me first. It was clearly on purpose. Despite being a relatively new teacher, my annual performance had been impeccable and she wanted to sink my ship by giving me a lesson that I had no experience teaching. She wanted me to fail.

So there I was, a business Portuguese teacher with no experience with kids whatsoever.

"Hi there. What's your name?" I asked.

No answer. The boy just stared angrily at me with dark bags under his eyes.

"Are you Taro?" I tried again and gently sat down across from him.

Still no answer. I desperately looked around for some toys or puppets but of course, Linda hadn't prepared anything for me. And Taro wouldn't take his eyes off me. Wherever I went in the little classroom, searching in vain for anything that could entertain him, his angry eyes followed me. And It was then that I realized another strange behavior. He was jutting his jaw back and forth like an old man.

"Do you have your textbooks? We need to look at your homework." was also met by silence.

I decided to reach for the backpack on his back and take out his textbooks myself. I don't know how to deal with kids so that was the only solution I could think of at the time. I don't know this kid’s parents, so I don't want to get a customer complaint just because the kid refused to participate.

This idea turned out to be bad. No, disastrous. Taro, upon seeing my hand moving towards his backpack opened his mouth aghast and let out... well nothing. I thought he was about to scream but he just sat there with his mouth wide open. It dawned on me that he had no teeth despite being 5 years old. I wondered how he chewed his food. Did someone spoon feed him? I pulled my hand away from the bag and watched him go back to his "normal" jaw jutting, angry self.

It was becoming clear that Taro did not like me at all. He pulled the straps of his backpack to his chest and hid under the desk. Any time I tried to go near him he hissed at me and created a clicking nose from the back of his throat.

His parents were nowhere in sight so I decided to just sit by the desk until the lesson ended. That was company policy after all. I heard the backpack unzip under the table. "Great, maybe he is ready to make some drawings or something. My distance clearly paid off". But I was wrong.

I discreetly looked under the table to see what he was up to. It was hard to get a clear picture in the shadow but I could distinguish that he was holding something. It still hard to talk about this because it disgusted me SO MUCH.

It turned out to be a dead frog. It has been rainy in Tokyo lately and there are lots of frogs in the Shinjuku-Gyoen park nearby. I thought to myself that he might have caught it and killed it by accident. He is just a kid after all. But the way he held it was not normal. He dug his nails into its limp, lifeless body and shook it violently.

By now, the clicking throat sounds and weird jaw movements had increased and were freaking me out a lot. We still had 20 minutes to go so I just continued to sit there pretending not to exist. I watched as Taro took color pencils out of his backpack, sharpened them and dug them into the frogs flesh. He seemed amused by this and proceeded to stab the frog with every single color pencil except for the black one. Every stab was followed by the clicking throat sound. He seemed as if in a trance.

The bell finally rang, signaling the end of the lesson after what felt like an eternity.

But of course, Taro refused to leave the classroom. I had to lock up the school and leave but he completely REFUSED to move from under the desk. His parents were not there to pick him up, I didn't have their contact information and there was no other staff member on duty.

I can't believe I did this but after 2 hours of trying to get him to leave, I just locked up and left, leaving him and the frog under the table. I thought I'd definitely get fired and maybe even reported to the police but when I came back the next day Taro was gone and everything seemed normal.

I tried to get the whole incident out of my mind but when Linda came back three days later (with a new tan) she promptly wanted to speak to me in her office. I froze to ice. This was it, I was getting fired or going to jail for leaving a kid unsupervised in an office building in the middle of the city.

She looked annoyed and gestured towards a chair for me to sit down. "I forgot to tell you last Friday, Taro cancelled his lesson" she said. "He had a last minute pharmaceutical conference in São Paulo. Here's a Starbucks gift-card for your trouble".

#I had a really difficult experience with a disturbing student. I don't know how to deal with this. #Horror Stories #TTOH #Scary Story #Reddit NoSleep